The Record Collection: 1988 (61-71)

19/08/2018 / Bjørn Hammershaug / Leave a comment

My album collection, presented in chronological order from when it was bought from January 1988 – revisited one at the time. This is the final round from 1988.

Green On Red | Here Come The Snakes | Red Rhino 1988 |

What comes after the blues? Green on Red went down to Memphis to figure it out, and teamed up with producers Jim Dickinson and Joe Hardy at Ardent. Only a duo at the time, leaving Dan Stuart and Chuck Prophet as core members, this album digs deep down in the American soil of country, blues and rock & roll and ends up somewhere between The Rolling Stones and Neil Young, where the three songs at the tail end of the album shines particularly strong. Here Come The Snakes might lack the youthful innocence and camaraderie of their previous efforts, but it sure adds another value. Something more severe.

The band members reconciled some years later, but dark shadows looms over Green on Red at this point in their career.

Various artists | Welcome to Comboland | Making Waves 1986 |

North Carolina must’ve been a joyous place to live in the 1980s, judged by the friendly atmosphere and cheerful indie presented on this compilation. Or perhaps it’s just a reminder of less cynical times, a time of less tension and a more laidback attitude. Or maybe it’s because of Don Dixon, being largely responsible for producing many of the bands presented here. His jangly signature sounds permeate the album of twelve artists from the state. The Connells are probably most remembered of these bands today, however, I urge everyone to grab a copy of this sampler. Just for you to enjoy forty-two minutes of Southern hospitality, including prime acts like Southern Culture on the Skids, Fetchin’ Bones and The Spongetones.

Naked Prey | Naked Prey | Down There 1984 |

The 1984 debut album from Tucson outlaws Naked Prey is a raw and ragged exploration of an acid drenched southwestern mythology at the crossroads of garage rock and country punk. Fronted by the one and only Van Christian, with lovely guitar work by David Seger. Produced by Dan Stuart, Steve Wynn and great cover shot by Scott Garber, this is a supergroup in my book.

Giant Sand | The Love Songs | Demon 1988 |

We are all things at different times. This album made such an impact on me that I convinced my pal to buy a ‘66 Barracuda. I still remember how we cruised down the road under a fingernail moon, while the pine trees transformed into cactuses, counting stars like neon lights from down the mud to way up sky. The car eventually got sold, but the The Love Songs still thrones up there as a one of my dearest favorite albums of all time. ‘Your passion is like world war three/my defense is a crumbling NATO.’ I mean, what’s not to love?

Jane’s Addiction | Nothing’s Shocking | Warner 1988 |

So, this was pretty mind-blowing stuff 30 years ago. It’s not quite as shocking today, but the cover art alone, the conjoined twins with their heads on fire, sets the tone for an ambitious and powerful album. Jane’s Addiction managed to unify punk, funk and metal into something cutting-edge and timeless. Nothing’s Shocking paved way for so much of the grunge craze to come, but this is smarter, more arty and engaging than most of them.

Thin White Rope | In the Spanish Cave | Frontier 1988 |

In the Spanish Cave is a tad brighter and varied than its predecessors. Ranging from almost joyous tunes (“Mr. Limpet”) to bulldozing guitar assaults (“It’s OK”), it features their most beloved song, the epic desert anthem “Red Sun.” In a thorough review celebrating its 25th anniversary in 2013, The Quietus points out how they created an alien take on the unfathomable vastness of the American landscape and its effects on the nation’s psyche, and how they used this landscape, not as representing a sense of freedom, but as an area of something uncanny and unsettling, summing up the album as a “potent, fantastical window onto a malign new phase of the American Dream.” Needless to say, this is one of my favorite albums of all time.

Creedence Clearwater Revival | Cosmo’s Factory | Fantasy 1970 |

‘They’re selling independence/Actors in the white house/Acid in digestion/Mortgage on my life..’ With all their standards and ballads on daily adult radio rotation, it’s often easy to forget how insanely cool CCR actually was. “Ramble Tamble” sounds like something The Cramps and The Dream Syndicate could’ve cooked up together a decade later, with the breezy mid-section as one of this album’s standout moments. But there’s a lot more gold here; “Run Through The Jungle” and the lengthy “I Heard It Through The Grapevine” are particularly great – and most of the other songs are established as beloved rock classics.

Hüsker Dü | Candy Apple Grey | Warner 1986 |

Signing a band like Hüsker Dü on a major label must’ve been a rather bold move back in 1986. But in hindsight this was a prophesy of new times for American alternative guitar rock, and soon bands like R.E.M, Dinosaur Jr. and The Replacements moved from indies to major – without losing their former edge. The Hüskers was constantly developing from underground punks to something far more diverse and mature, and in many ways Candy Apple Grey is the culmination of a journey they’d started on with ‘Zen Arcade’ only two years prior. It’s nothing but amazing to look back at their astonishing intense production and rapid progression, and no wonder they were about to burn out and implode just a year or so later. Candy Apple Grey gives us some of their finest songs, including “Don’t Want To Know If You’re Lonely”, “Sorry Somehow” and acoustic “Hardly Getting Over It.” What a truly great band they were.

True West | Hollywood Holiday | New Rose 1983 |

True West belonged to a group of likeminded 1980s Los Angeles bands dubbed ‘Paisley Underground’, along with The Dream Syndicate, The Bangles, The Long Ryders, The Rain Parade and others. It’s a shame that they’re largely ignored today, cause not only were True West the quintessential paisley band, a missing link between ’60s garage rock, trippy psychedelia (they do a mighty fine version of Pink Floyd’s “Lucifer Sam”) and Televison (check out “It’s About Time”), this album holds up very well compared to many of their peers efforts and is a lost classic of ’80s guitar rock. A little while ago I named Drifters (1984) their masterpiece, but after another couple of listenings to Hollywood Holiday I must reconsider that statement. Man, I’d completely forgotten what a tremendous album this is, from start to finish. I love the frantic guitar work between Russ Tolman and Richard McGrath on the almost Gun Club-like “I’m Not Here” and songs like “And Then The Rain” and “Throw Away The Key” would’ve been hits in the hands of R.E.M. Hollywood Holiday is produced by Russ Tolman (he later went on and made a great, still ongoing solo career) and The Dream Syndicate’s Steve Wynn. They knew each other very well as members of The Suspects, the short lived band they shared with Kendra Smith, later in the first incarnation of The Dream Syndicate and Gavin Blair, lead singer of True West.

Thin White Rope | Exploring The Axis | Frontier/Zippo 1985 |

Thin White Rope never really fit into the categories used to brand guitar dominated rock in the 1980s. They were too harsh to be labeled as jangle, too loud for the emerging alternative country movement and too dark to fit into the flowery Paisley Underground. Just as close to Television, Bauhaus and Joy Division than their more successful contemporary counterparts in ’80s American underground (R.E.M, The Replacements, Pixies), Thin White Rope’s desert psychedelia was a far more vast and difficult creature to cast. Out of time back in the day, they are timeless in hindsight. Thin White Rope immediately introduced their main modus operandi. The first song off their first album, Exploring the Axis, is something of a surreal country-noir story entitled “Down in the Desert,” about a guy called Karl who headed south and came back changed by his experiences in the desert. (“Karl came back and he works and he smiles/But if you look closely there’s still something scared in his eyes…”) Based out in the Northern California university town of Davis, Thin White Rope often returned to the desert as a recurring trope in their songs, both emotionally and musically. “Soundtrack,” from the same album, also laid a sonic foundation for what to come later; their ability to let an austere tune about alienation (“Windshields are like TV screens/I’m not involved at all”) explode into a ferocious assault as a sneering Guy Kyser goes full Mad Max (“She throws firebombs on the highway/Glass splashing and bushes burning”), revealing a band with a constant underlying rage – a beast they sometimes tamed, sometimes let loose.

Oh yes, they held us in a firm grip out on that ledge, but one also softened with beautiful melodies and a sense of melancholia and human kindness; elements that would be more prominent later on in their career.

The Dream Syndicate | Ghost Stories | Enigma 1988 |

Ghost Stories is the fourth and final studio full-length album from The Dream Syndicate, until they finally returned after a 30-year long hiatus in 2017. Fronted by lead singer and songwriter Steve Wynn, The Dream Syndicate managed to keep a consistent and recognizable style all through the 1980s, but every album has its own distinct personality: The untamed ferocity of the 1982 debut, an album they’ll always be measured against, the grandiose and ambitious sophomore show, and their underrated third album, when they came out of the grey with upbeat breeziness. Produced by Elliot Mazer, ‘Ghost Stories’ ties together all this greatness into an album that sounds better and rocks harder than ever before. Wynn once described the album to me as “dark, noisy, and bratty but its also quite self-assured and not undone by production – neither too little nor too much.” He forgot to mention that the songwriting is ace throughout, there’s not a weak track here and Ghost Stories is one mighty, classic slice of 1980s guitar rock. Just hear the opening verse and try to turn off: “Every cloud has a silver lining/Every down has an answer, I know/But in my heart there’s no light shining/Just emptiness and faded glow/Raining down on the side I’ll never show…”

Thin White Rope: The Band That Got Away

17/11/201624/11/2016 / Bjørn Hammershaug / 1 Comment

The first you hear is an impenetrable wall of grinding, chainsaw-like guitars. Then there’s that steady, motoric pounding rhythm that never surrenders. And then this raspy gravel, a spooky baritone voice, like a raging fire and brimstone preacher, with hazy, slurred lyrics that wasp away like smoke.

Thin White Rope – a name taken from William Burroughs’ euphemism for ejaculation in Naked Lunch – formed around singer Guy Kyser and guitarist Roger Kunkel as its sole constants, along with a revolving cast of members to fill out the quartet being active between 1984-1992.

The group never really fit into the categories used to brand guitar dominated rock in the 1980s. Thin White Rope were too harsh to be labeled as jangle, too loud for the emerging alternative country movement and too dark to fit into the flowery Paisley Underground.

Their widescreen musical scope, borrowing equally from western and eastern influences, is perhaps best described by numerous artists they covered, including Lee Hazlewood (“Some Velvet Morning”), Can (“Yoo Doo Right”), Hawkwind (“Silver Machine”), Suicide (“Rocket U.S.A”) and The Byrds (“Everybody’s Been Burned”). Just as close to Television, Bauhaus and Joy Division than their more successful contemporary counterparts in ’80s American underground (R.E.M, The Replacements, Pixies), Thin White Rope’s desert psychedelia was a far more vast and difficult creature to cast. And despite enjoying a steady fanbase, especially in Europe, they sadly vanished from the common memory following their 1992 demise.

Diving into their album catalog once again is a reminder of how preposterously steady, strong and free of flaws their output was, which that has preserved incredibly well, save for some dated production techniques. Out of time back in the day, they are timeless in hindsight.

Thin White Rope immediately introduced their main modus operandi. The first song off their first album, Exploring the Axis (Frontier Records, 1985), is something of a surreal country-noir story entitled “Down in the Desert,” about a guy called Karl who headed south and came back changed by his experiences in the desert. (“Karl came back and he works and he smiles/But if you look closely there’s still something scared in his eyes…”)

Based out in the Northern California university town of Davis, Thin White Rope often returned to the desert as a recurring trope in their songs, both emotionally and musically. “Soundtrack,” from the same album, also laid a sonic foundation for what to come later; their ability to let an austere tune about alienation (“Windshields are like TV screens/I’m not involved at all”) explode into a ferocious assault as a sneering Guy Kyser goes full Mad Max (“She throws firebombs on the highway/Glass splashing and bushes burning”), revealing a band with a constant underlying rage – a beast they sometimes tamed, sometimes let loose.

Oh yes, they held us in a firm grip out on that ledge, but one also softened with beautiful melodies and a sense of melancholia and human kindness; elements that would be more prominent later on in their career.
With an uneven but promising album under their belt, they turned it all up a few notches on their somber, bleak masterpiece Moonhead (Frontier, 1987), allowing for more space, more tension, more power. Often completely drenched in feedback, but with glimpses of sunlight peeking through, Moonhead is one of the lost classics of the decade, it was once flourishingly described by British psych-guru Julian Cope: “[Guy] Kyser mumbles stripped down considerations about life, sex and death, and he seems a scientist who describes microscopic life forms. Mankind is reduced to puppet-like dimensions: around us, there’s an enigmatic, useless, obscure universe, apparently enemy of any feeling and thought.”

In the Spanish Cave (Frontier, 1988), probably their most well known album, is a tad brighter and even more varied than its predecessors. Ranging from almost joyous tunes (“Mr. Limpet”) to bulldozing guitar assaults (“It’s OK”), it features their most known song, the epic “Red Sun.” In a thorough review celebrating its 25th anniversary in 2013, The Quietus points out how they created an alien take on the unfathomable vastness of the American landscape and its effects on the nation’s psyche, and how they used this landscape, not as representing a sense of freedom, but as an area of something uncanny and unsettling, summing up the album as a “potent, fantastical window onto a malign new phase of the American Dream.”

In 1988, at the height of their powers, Thin White Rope even packed up their unique take on American mythology and toured the Soviet Union, experiencing the earliest days of the empire’s revolution through a 15-date long tour, and returned with an album largely written while on the road. Their criminally underrated album Sack Full of Silver (RCA, 1990) was their first and only major label effort. One of a more subtle approach, showing the band experimenting further with dynamic song structures, fully epitomized on songs like “The Napkin Song” and “On the Floe.”

In a fair world, Thin White Rope would be the real heroes. Instead they called it a day after perhaps the most complete effort in their career. The Ruby Sea turned out to be their swan song, described by AllMusic as ‘slowly shedding their more blatantly psychedelic influences and polishing their sound as a surreal and chilling rock band.’ Going out while being at the top of their game – with majestic songs like “Hunter’s Moon” and “Puppet Dog” – the band still had one ace up their sleeve.

As mentioned before, their studio offerings didn’t always mirror their audacious live shows. Fortunately they decided to tape their final 1992 gig in Ghent, Belgium, releasing the monumental The One That Got Away a year later. For a sense on how the band really sounded, this is highly recommended listening. (Play loud.)

But by then Thin White Rope had already vanished back into the dust. For almost 10 years they set the plough in the barren desert soil, finding only weeds underneath. No wonder then, that Guy Kyser returned to school and turned out to be a respected botanist. Working as a specialist for the Division of Agriculture and Natural Resources at the University of California, he’s still affected by the desert.

A scientist describing microscopic life forms, searching for weeds to blossom.

***

We talked to guitarist Roger Kunkel about being a part of this history.

Thin White Rope, ca 1988: Roger Kunkel, Guy Kyser, Jozef Becker, John Von Feldt

Thin White Rope, ca 1988: Roger Kunkel, Guy Kyser, Jozef Becker, John Von Feldt

* * *

Who growing up were your favorite musicians?

My father was a fan of popular country music. I remember listening to Jim Reeves and Patsy Cline on his reel-to-reel as a kid. He had a couple of Chet Atkins tapes that I fixated on. Later, my older brother started bringing home the usual suspects of late-’60s, early-’70s rock, including Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, Creedence and The Doors. The Beatles made a big impression on me, but especially George Harrison because I was obsessed with guitar in general. By 17, someone gave me the Sex Pistols and first two Clash albums, and I was listening to the Ramones. I discovered the Davis college radio station KDVS, and I saw Iggy Pop. Everything changed.

Who inspired your guitar sound the most?

Chet Atkins was a big one. I loved the rock players, but I’d also watch “Hee Haw” and other TV shows so I could see the country pickers like Roy Clark, James Burton, Les Paul and Glenn Campbell. I started taking guitar lessons at age 6, following the Mel Bay Method. I wasn’t a very good student, but I knew I’d play guitar for the rest of my life. It wasn’t until I was 15 that I convinced my parents I needed an electric. I’d plug it into my dad’s tube reel-to-reel and get a nice fuzzy distortion sound.

I started learning Jimmy Page and Tony Iommi riffs. It took a while to discover the blues and early jazz players I now love because no one I knew was listening to that. Hearing Django Reinhardt for the first time really knocked me out and showed me that you need to dig a little deeper to find the really good stuff. Once I was in college in the early ’80s, I was hearing so much new music it was almost overwhelming. I was also backtracking and discovering all the great music I’d missed. The Velvet Underground, Captain Beefheart, T-Rex, and the Stooges come to mind as influences.

With bands like Game Theory and True West around at the time, I guess Davis was a rather vital musical area. How will you describe the musical environment surrounding the birth of Thin White Rope?

There really was a scene fed by KDVS and the college entertainment council who were bringing in amazing acts to the small, on-campus coffee house venue. Iggy Pop, Gang of Four and the Police came through. Local bands were producing records and getting national attention. Meanwhile, lesser-known touring acts like the Meat Puppets and Camper Van Beethoven were playing at house parties. Sacramento, which is much bigger than Davis, had a thriving underground punk scene, but not much of a college rock, alternative, post punk, art rock, whatever kind of scene.

I was doing my best to learn what I could. I fell in with an interesting crowd of people. We had a great time. The good thing was that there really was no set accepted style of music. Almost anything was embraced as long as it was something original and heartfelt.

Did you have a clear plan or idea from the beginning on what Thin White Rope should be when you first started out playing?

Guy had already been writing and singing with Joe Becker in a previous group called the Lazy Boys. They advertised at a local music shop for a guitar and bass player. That’s how I met them and our original bass player Kevin Staydohar. We worked on Guy’s songs. Guy and I had the general idea that a lead/rhythm guitar construct was kind of boring and that we would take a more orchestrated approach, having lots of intertwining lead lines.

Guy was already playing with a pretty heavy fuzz sound. He gave me an old Maestro Fuzz he wasn’t using. It didn’t produce the Big Muff sound, but I was able to find a big feedback sound with it. Guy went with a Marshall crunch and fuzz and I went with a Fender clean sound but we both had the ability to go into controlled feedback as well. Together this was great combination and the effect really came together on the Moonhead record.

You been called desert rock, linked to the Paisley Underground, compared to early Americana and what not. All in all you were thankfully hard to pigeonhole. How will you best describe the sound of Thin White Rope?

We were once described as a cross between Johnny Cash and Black Sabbath, and I like that. There was a purposeful desert aesthetic in Guy’s lyrics and album art and that’s because Guy did come from a small town in the Mojave called Ridgecrest. Some folks got the idea that the band lived in a desert, which Davis is not, although it gets damn hot in summer. It was impossible to shake the desert rock moniker so we generally ignored it.

I describe the band as noisy guitar rock with a blues and country influence. We had some influences that were common to bands of the day, like the Velvet Underground and ’60s garage bands. We also had some less common influences like Doc Boggs, Slim Harpo and Lee Hazelwood.

I’m interested in your tour in the USSR in 1988. Not many bands did this before you, I would think. How did that tour happen in the first place, and what was it like?

This was a surreal trip. We were working with an Italian booking agency that had a connection to the Ministry of Arts in Rome. They had some kind of sister city arts exchange program worked out and had had some Russian musicians come and perform in Italy. The reciprocal was to be Italian musicians visiting the USSR. We were inserted into the equation and flew to Moscow with two Italian bands.

It was December and incredibly cold. We played in Moscow at a fancy theater. It was shown on Soviet national television. We then travelled by train to Tbilisi, Georgia for four sold-out nights at the famous opera house. No one had a clue who we were, but we were an American rock band, so it didn’t matter. The 1988 Armenian earthquake hit. We drank green vodka and ruined a beautiful traditional dinner thrown for us by a local family with projectile vomiting – there is a long version of this story.

We flew to Lithuania and played two cities in basketball arenas and almost froze to death, arrived back in Rome later than expected and had no flights home. We found room on Pan Am 103 and made reservations but couldn’t find a connection from New York to San Francisco and cancelled our reservations last minute. Heard about the bombing at the airport the next day. Made it home alive, dazed and confused.

Thin White Rope have a remarkably strong album catalog. You established a rather unique sound from the beginning, but also pushed yourself into new sonic terrain all along. How will you describe the evolution of the band?

Naturally, we matured as musicians and became smoother, more capable guitar players. Guy’s voice developed into a bigger, more resonant instrument. Guy’s songwriting got more ambitious, more poetic. It was unfortunate that we had a revolving cast of bass and drum players. This affected the sound of the band in somewhat unpredictable ways, but ultimately our live performances got strikingly better. We went from a shaky and uneven live band to being known for our powerful shows.

You had a short stint with RCA. How was your experience working with a major label back then?

Not so good. The only RCA record was Sack Full of Silver. It sold less than our others as far as I know. It’s a common case when an indie band gets a major deal and the major doesn’t do any promotion. They’re just hoping the band’s fan base is growing so it’s time to snatch them up. In the ’80s –and maybe today, I don’t know – being on a major was bit of a scarlet letter. The indie distribution networks like Rough Trade wouldn’t touch it because it was the evil corporate BMI. So it didn’t last.

Looking back after all these years, where do you consider Thin White Rope’s place in music history? What are you most proud of during your existence?

I believe we’ve achieved the title of most famously un-famous band or something like that. ‘Criminally ignored’ was one we heard that had us laughing. I do think we were an influence on a lot of bands. I’m very proud of the live CD and I’m so glad it got made because it almost didn’t. I had to talk Guy into doing the final tour. The recording captures the band at its peak in its most intense and raw state, ploughing through most of our catalog. I can listen to it and remember exactly how that felt.

What’s your favorite Thin White Rope album?

Moonhead has to be the quintessential TWR record. The first album Exploring the Axis was very frustrating. Even though it turned into something interesting, it didn’t feel natural. With Moonhead we had found our sound. Next to that, I think our covers which are mostly on the Red Sun and Bottom Feeders EPs are my favorite recordings.

Why did you call it a day?

The band had been together for 10 years. There were some personal frictions; not too bad, but not helpful. There was the belief that the music business is a corrupt and unfair place to be. It seemed that you could be the best band in the world and still not make a living. We were getting more popular in Europe, but not in the States. It was time to enter a new phase of life. And the biggest reason was that Guy quit.

Are you guys currently in touch?

Guy and I actually played together for a couple years in a bluegrass band. He’d gotten into banjo and I was playing mandolin. Unfortunately, this fell apart when the guitar player moved back east. Matt Abouresk lives in Connecticut, so we just say hello on Facebook. Stoo has moved back to New Orleans. Joe Becker lives in San Francisco and I’d love to see more of him. Steve Tesluk is a veterinarian in Ashland, OR.

Any chances to see the band ever come back again?

Seems that Guy does not feel he wants to do this. I don’t want to put words in his mouth about it, but I think he simply feels he is a different person now.

Thin White Rope, ca. 1990: Roger Kunkel, John Von Feldt, Matthew Abourezk, Guy Kyser

Thin White Rope, ca. 1990: Roger Kunkel, John Von Feldt, Matthew Abourezk, Guy Kyser

Bjørn Hammershaug
September 21, 2016

Green On Red: L.A Noir

12/08/201312/08/2013 / Bjørn Hammershaug / Leave a comment

Da jeg ble oppmerksom på den nye amerikanske rocken på midten av 80-tallet var det som å bli slengt inn i et parallellunivers som det viste seg å være vanskelig å komme ut av. Etiketter som Zippo, Enigma og Frontier, og artister som Giant Sand, The Dream Syndicate og Thin White Rope ble dyrket. Noen av de mange artistene som åpenbarte seg ble senere berømte (REM), noen lever fremdeles i beste velgående (Giant Sand), enkelte var kortvarige gleder (Naked Prey, The Long Ryders), mens atter andre raskt vendte tilbake til glemselens daler (Rave-Ups, Dump Truck, Rank And File).

Green On Red startet opp som punkbandet The Serfers hjemme i Tucson på slutten av 1970-tallet, men endret navn og flyttet tidlig i karrieren til Los Angeles. De fant sin plass i Paisley Underground-scenen, sammen med blant andre The Bangles, True West, The Rain Parade og The Dream Syndicate. Det betyr countryrock, psykedelia, ringende gitarer, storby og ørken i skjønn forening, der hele dere katalog fram til 1987 står som hjørnesteiner i en rik periode av amerikansk gitarrock. Deres beste album, Gravity Talks, får behandles ved en senere anledning.

Les mer:
The Paisley Underground: Los Angeles’s 1980s psychedelic explosion (The Guardian)

Green On Red: s/t (Down There, 1982)
Green On Reds første utgivelse på Steve Wynns Down There Records føyer seg inn blant etikettens stilige EP-debutanter. Dere med god husk minnes sikkert Naked Preys oransje, Dream Syndicates grønne og Green On Reds røde. Den er merkbart spinklere i lyden enn deres senere produksjoner, men forsterket av de samme psykedeliske overtonene og den angstfulle nevrosen som dels kjennetegnet bandet fram til 1987.

Gitarene ligger gjemt bak Chris Cacavas’ alltid tilstedeværende tangenter, og man hører deres new wave/punk innflytelser plassert langt fram i lydbildet. Uferdige og vinglete øyeblikk til tross, fyrverkeriene ”Aspirin”, ”Apartment 6” og ”Black Night” bidrar til at Green On Reds debut står som et av deres mest markante utgivelser, med preg av både skranglepop og surfrock som de egentlig aldri spant skikkelig videre på. Jeg synes bloggen Detailed Twang beskriver stemningen best: ’A cool trip through a flickering, late-night Los Angeles where speed is plentiful and troubles come in bunches.’ Slik blir det bra musikk av.

Gas Food Lodging (Enigma, 1985)
Fra bakgater til landeveien: Det er en stund siden jeg har hørt Gas Food Lodging i sin helhet, men den har holdt seg overraskende bra. Selve låtene er jo av tidløs karakter, og lydbildet er fortsatt slitesterkt. Dream Syndicate-gitarist Paul B. Cutler var hentet inn som produsent, og med ham på laget framstod Green On Red med mindre psykedelisk garasjepreg, og som noe røffere i kantene enn på sine foregående utgivelser. De skjærende gitarene som også preget tidlig Syndicate ble mer markante, og den æren må nok tilfalle nytilsatte Chuck Prophet IV. Chis Cacavas’ el.piano ble erstattet med en fyldigere orgellyd, Dan Stuart skrev noen av sine beste låter og hele kvintetten virket rett og slett i solid form. Bare et par år senere falt jo bandet fra hverandre i en salig blanding av pills & booze & rock’n’roll.

’It seems that no one has any faith anymore, but isn’t that what we invented heroes for…’ Slik åpner platen med ”That’s What Dreams” som en leksjon i realistisk booze’n’roll: ’Guess I’ll just be poor the rest of my life, but that’s better than giving up the fight…’ Sammen med den rufsete dagen-derpå slageren ”Hair Of The Dog” og honky-tonken ”Black River” understreker Green On Red et bemerkelsesverdig sterk debutalbum.

Det er likevel side 2 på Gas Food Lodging som er bandets magnum opus. ”Easy Way Out”, ”Sixteen Ways”, ”The Drifter” og ”Sea Of Cortez” er alle sentrale låter innen skitten amerikansk hverdagsrealisme. De fortjener å bli spilt sammenhengende, helt til versjonen av protestklassikeren ”We Shall Overcome” bringer oss tilbake rundt leirbålet, etter en tunge ferd fra Seattle til Mexicogulfen. Her viser Green On Red sin tilhørighet, og de bør med rette plasseres et sted mellom Velvet og Creedence, Neil Young og Johnny Thunders, Hank og Stones. Dan Stuarts predikerende klagesang bærer fortellerstemmen om drapsmenn, sosial urettferdighet, fyll og elendighet. Sinte, troverdige og mørke historier fra USAs bakgater rulles frem med en fandenivoldsk energi og en seig knurring med jordnære røtter. Det er fra slike frø det vokser klassisk rock.

The Killer Inside Me (Mercury, 1987)
USA, 1987: Reagan-perioden drar seg mot slutten, økonomien er relativt svak, kriminaliteten og arbeidsledigheten høy, klasseskillet økende. Dette er den politiske og sosiale virkeligheten som vibrerer bak Green On Reds mørke odysse The Killer Inside Me.

Stemningen illustreres på omslaget. Bilkøen som slurer avgårde mot kveldsmørket, mens solen sukker langsomt farvel over neonglorien langs motorveien. Tittelen er hentet fra Jim Thompsons kritikerroste krimklassiker ved samme navn, om den paranoide og schizofrene politimannen Lou Ford. Han er en tilsynelatende sympatisk fyr som beskyttet av sitt presentable ytre begår en rekke ugjerninger. Boken er skrevet i første person, slik at leseren kommer tett under huden på drapsmannen. The Killer Inside Me anno 1987 er også en under-huden historie om drapsmenn, helter og andre skikkelser fra den amerikanske hverdagen.

Green On Red er rufsete og rå i formen, med Dan Stuarts piskende stemme i rollen som samfunnets anklager og småkårsfolkets forsvarer. Chris Cacavas, Chuck Prophet og Jack Waterson har blitt en tight gjeng, og rocker langt hardere enn det Green On Red tidligere hadde vist på plate. Her kommer det fra, både røttene til Neil Young & Crazy Horse på midten av 70-tallet iblandet en dose Exile On Maine Street. med rølperocken til The Replacements. Produsent Jim Dickinson sjonglerer lyden av rock, country og gospel og unngikk stort sett å skru den flate 80-tallssoundet som har ødelagt så mange fine utgivelser fra denne tiden.

Vi beveger oss inn i Clarkesville ’where the rich get richer and the poor get less’ og småbyen som symbol på vrangsiden av den amerikanske drømmen. Sosial kritikk er et tema som er gjennomgående for hele albumet. Her handler det om ’cheap labour’, om å bli hengt ’for the color of your skin or for the church you go in’. Det handler om å være ’a pilgrim in a no man’s land’ og om mannen som ’painted flagpoles for a living’. Det handler om rotløshet, der Mexico er eneste utvei. Det tyktflytende tittelsporet er en mektig avslutter. Etter en tung rundreise på det amerikanske kontinentet er vi tilbake i Clarkesville. Bare håpløsheten og oppgittheten er tilbake, og illusjonene er fraværende. ’There’s a light in your eyes that always finds the darkness in my soul.’

’I haven’t been sober lately’ tilstår Dan Stuart på et sted her, og ble sørgelig nok heller ikke edru på noen år etter sitt katarsis. Bandet ble spådd en lysende karriere etter Gas Food Lodging (1985), men The Killer Inside Me floppet for et større publikum. Medlemmene gikk også hvert til sitt, selv om navnet fortsatt bestod i en noen år. Dette er for meg deres virkelige svanesang. Solen stod aldri helt opp igjen for Green On Red.

Bjørn Hammershaug