Saturday, April 30, 2011

ALL - Breaking Things



Breaking Things was one of those great achievements of a band firing on all cylinders. It has been my opinion that ALL albums tend to possess handfuls of throwaway songs that I'd rather skip and forget about but Breaking Things has no such instances. Looking back, ALL was the perfect band for my teenage sensibilities; able to weave heartfelt tunes about love and loss seamlessly with scathing indictments of politics and culture. While most of my early teen years was spent listening to bands with a 'simpler-is-better' policy, ALL had no qualms about showing everyone that their musical chops were above and beyond most of their contemporaries. Whether it is Stephen Egerton, who jumps with ease between crisp guitar melodies and discordant offensiveness; Bill Stevenson, who's solid surf inspired drumming is layered with years of punk influence; or Karl Alvarez who commands his bass to dance with a fury underneath it all, the group stands with few in their willingness to play to the height of their ability. Breaking Things also marks the first appearance of vocalist Chad Price, who's gruff voice was perfectly suited for the much more aggressive vibe displayed on the record.
Breaking Things was released when I was in 7th grade and was the second ALL album that I purchased. Its greatest attribute is the fact that it is played with much more passion and conviction than on all effort before and since; even the tunes that could be deemed 'slow songs' sound absolutely gigantic. As such, when heavier songs do appear, the group sounds to be a much more dangerous band than they actually are. It was such a refreshing album for the teenage me; the songs about girls and pain and loss were much more loud and cathartic than most power pop and the songs of rebellion and aggression were even more so. I know of few bands who could pull of the desperation of 'Shreen' and the rage of 'Politics' on the same record. Breaking Things will always be close to my heart because as a child, it enticed me both ends: the boy who craved the emotion of indie rock and the cynic who craved the antagonism of hardcore.

Friday, April 29, 2011

AC/DC - If You Want Blood, You Got It


Here we see the Australian greats at their most unhinged. Being the age that I am, I did not have the privilege of witnessing the coming of If You Want Blood . . . but I am sure that if I had been able to pay attention, it would have finally dawned on me that not one of their recorded works to that point had adequately documented the ferocity that they could unleash. Which is saying quite a bit considering that none of their studio albums could be called tepid or bland. But here we can finally see that absolute fury that they were capable of when not constrained by production.
AC/DC had always been one of the great forbidden bands. My impression of them as a child, from the little exposure that I'd had, was that of a dangerous band who would just as soon leave me for dead if it suited their fancy. What strikes me as odd as I sit here reflecting upon this, is that I was not as enticed by this as I should have for there were certainly dangerous bands that I had actively sought out in my youth. But for whatever reason, AC/DC stayed more or less on my periphery until my late teen years. And for that, I blame Brian Johnson. Not that he is a slouch without the means to bleed his pipes with the best of them, but he always struck me as unremarkable. And since most of my exposure to the group had come from Back in Black, The Razor's Edge and the soundtrack to Maximum Overdrive, he had been the beacon of my knowledge and no amount of heroics by Angus Young (epic as they may have been) could sway my opinion of AC/DC being not worth the effort.
But thank God for Bon Scott and the used vinyl store that had opened in my hometown for showing me the light. A 2 dollar copy of Powerage was all that it took; I became a steadfast believer. It was then that I saw that Bon and Angus were two wild children who were truly meant to be together. Their individual energy worked in symmetry; each magnifying the other. And nowhere does this shine more than on If You Want Blood . . .
Recorded live on the 1978 Powerage tour, this album displays AC/DC in their prime. I defy anyone to find an opening track to a live album, or any album for that matter, that compares to the energy released during the opening track once the whole band joins their feral lead guitarist on stage. Nary at note is missed on the entire album. The group rips and tears from song to song as if some unknown force compels them to push harder, faster and louder. The rhythm section of Malcom Young, Cliff Williams and Phil Rudd moves as a single punishing unit, providing an unquestioning backbone to the ferocity of Bon and Angus, embellishing ever so rarely and only when necessary.
As a performer, Bon Scott to me was the very essence of rock and roll idolatry; a dedicated man who adored so deeply the responsibility of the front-man to forsake well-being and vanity for the sake of the performance. No matter what cunning words his tongue was spewing forth, they always seemed brutishly sexual and one always got the impression that his lips were curled into a lecherous sneer. On If You Want Blood . . ., this sensation is only enhanced and every time he opens his mouth, it feels like an aural thrust bursting through the stereo as if he wishes to saturate your very being.
This is the live album to which all others should be compared, a monument to the idea that once pushed in the right direction, one needs only to step back and watch the great ones work their magic.