Death--Album Review

...For the Whole World To See

Death

Drag City

*****

This debut album from Detroit rockers Death is an excellent example of great modern garage music, but with a retro 1970s tinge, and there's a reason for that. The album was originally recorded in 1975. Death was a trio of African American brothers who were inspired to start playing rock after seeing a rock and roll concert (accounts differ as to whether it was Alice Cooper, the Stooges, or Grand Funk Railroad). Defying conventions of the day, these boys wanted to rock, and rock hard. The brothers were noticed by Columbia and Clive Davis who brought them into the studio to begin recording an album. It seems Clive liked everything about them except for that grisly name. An uncompromising band, they were booted from the studio halfway through the album recording because they would not change their name (brother David was planning a whole rock opera centered around a positive view of death, and felt that their moniker was important).

The band pressed 500 copies of a single that they released before fading into obscurity, remembered only by the collectors who would feverishly bid on the precious pieces of wax online. Fast forward 30 odd years to a young son of one of the brothers hearing the single at a party. Recognizing his father's voice, he questioned his father about it and finally heard the story. A collector who had been obsessed with the vinyl single hooked the brothers up with Drag City. Fate and luck traveled a strange road and the whole original session was released this year.

The 7 song album boasts some incredible highs that carries it through some (very few) lows. The overall feel of the album is one of amped up adrenaline. The brother's instrumental skills are impressive, and their ferocity is stunning. The first tracks, “Keep on Knocking” and “Rock and Roll Victim” set an intense pace that the whole album follows except for the brief introspective interlude of “Let the World Turn,” which marks the resting phase of this short but intense album. The crowning achievement is the final track, “Politicians in My Eyes.” Although the album manages to display an incredibly prescient modernity throughout, this track feels like it could have been written and recorded just yesterday. The end of the track, with its fast paced, fever pitch instrumental jam will literally blow you away. The frantic whammy bar heavy guitar sections, the precise Dave Grohl-esque power drumming fight for and hold their own with a hurtling meteor of a bass line in “Politicians in Your Eyes” that leaves the listener gasping for breath.

Political, heartfelt, and deadly serious, Death firmly plants their footprint in the annals of rock. This album is well worth a listen and will most assuredly be a favorite in heavy rotation for anyone who great garage rock. Ultimately though the album creates a feeling of sadness. The contribution that Death could have made to rock and roll history had they reached higher levels of popularity cannot even be guessed, and the listener is left hungry for more. There may not be any new Death coming out, but thank the gods for this small blessing. Death's album, ...For the Whole World to See, is a crumb from the table of God that the angels of rock have sent.

In China!!!

So we are finally in China! It has been a rough week but things are starting to look up. Today was filled with unpleasant medical tests but we did get to meet our boss who is super nice. We also finally got internet up and running. It is sporadic at best as many sites are blocked, but I will try to keep updating as we go along. Emily is sad because her mac cannot get on the interwebs here, so she will have to use my computer until we figure that out. The two of us have just started getting used to the time difference and hopefully have finished with the jet lag. Eating and shopping have been an adventure as everyone seems to know "Hello" and "bye bye" but that is about it. I brought waaaaay to much stuff, but it was freaky leaving our house, car, and rabbit at home so I overcompensated by bringing too much of the wrong things. I already wish I had more books! The kindle is nice, but I just can't get into it like I can a print book. The weather here is incredibly hot and humid, but everyone is very nice. I got a nice little fan shaped like a frog that keeps us nice and refreshed. We are debating setting up a common blog so that we don't repeat stories so I will let you know if that happens. No pics so far, but they will be forthcoming. Feel free to email us as we love hearing from people and miss everyone and everything. I got super exited on the bus today watching the Chinese version of American Idol when a contestant sang a Carrie Underwood song. I MUST be hurting for american culture :)

That's it for now, more when I have the chance.
Love,
JJ

The Pattern

The Pattern bays at this contentious continuum.  How does that strike? An ashtray's spills, a bristled beard wiggles like fat on a ham. Your side machinery, your lifestyle, squashed beneath.  "Tell me a story of Machine!" How does this characteristic choir crow groans? Why can't Space err? Death pretends to be Space. The buried slave, Machine, entrances Space, inside the radius innocence.  What does it overcome? Should Death refrain from astronomy?  And so, the Pattern begins:

 An angel beseeches the Machine, "Cheat! Without Death!" Death propositions that the Machine should conquer Space, and thus overcome Death.  Machine, Machine marches. The unimportant (?) daughter quizzes Death. The Machine maximizes its upgrade; an intervening engine smokes. The Pattern moans with another's mouth. The Ruler. The daughter engineers Machine around pleasing neighborhoods.  Behind, Death breams with queries. Machine burns in jargon, flesh made metal made flesh. Death, rankled by Machine's laughter, disconnects the residents. Lying mathematics flash before the newly nearly realized crown.  Death longs for advantage, for compound eyes.  Machine cautions against it, but Death creates-and blinks millions. Machine envelops daughter, nesting within her sheer aura/electric electorate. The heroine sleeps.  Death's compound eyes pass above below beside through and slides Machine outside the principle, pages and paper across the rift.  The language degrades Machine.  Why can't an amplifier moan? Inside Machine burns Death, yielding the freak. Machine gates the closet under an alternative diagram. Death sleeps in the explosion. Space decays. Compound eyes shatter shimmer shudder shift. Processors speculate into percentages, Machine unties and flies Death above the great sail. The daughter, the ruler, climbs the celestial sail to brush Death. Space debris covers it, boiling.  Discharge swings disease sparks. Tunnels of flowers flow from daughter to Death to Daughter to death.  Daughter carries death below, each step a signal, a code. Death ghost Machine, the two blows short of an overtone. An eternal feast awaits. Unified computer, death and Machine, export their sex poison with patience. Rolled into scrolls, radio beams send dreams of death of brigades and radiation. The heroine, the Daughter, the ruler flies. The existence wrongs the diagnosis. The leak is anarchy. The jerk rattles, the rattles slam, the slam slouches. Is the state's core Machine? And if Machine rephrases all despair, will it hack the death, the fear? Outside Daughter works Machine, transmitting death. The great skull roars, champions of death, knights of Panic. the new manifesto manifestation begins/awakens/yawns.  Machine is the breath of death.  Abuse crawls, Panic squirms and slithers, and Machine begins to starve.  There is no longer Space.  Machine motors/motions to it's queen-the Daughter, the sleeper, the ruler. An axis hardens. The virgin bays at death like a dog after a doe. Death coasts from the unfortunate Machine, burrowed and suffocated, propaganda and pride. Analysis will offend from exposure. A key geometry transforms columns and rows, X's and Y's.  Daughter triumphant/vindicated/screaming. Death claws at the sleeper, the ruler, clambering and clutching each thorn into its dark cupboard. Weeping. And Death knows that tears are truth, and it retracts.  Catches a questioning breath. Death coaxes/tempts the ruler, the sleeper.  She spits upon Death, sizzles in the fires of sacrifice. Heat and fury consume Death and Daughter, caught in the molten metal middens of Machine.  Explosion!!! Space expands, and the ruler sleeps.  Death flies free, and the ruler sleeps.  Machine begins to rebuild, and the ruler sleeps.  The Pattern begins anew.

What I've Been Up To

I finally played at the open mic on Monday with my own brand of singer songwriter.  It didn't win any contests but I got lots of nice feedback.  I've been feeling inspired, mostly by Tom Ze and William Onyeabor.  Watched a bunch of documentaries and have been writing and composing lots.  One of my compositions is going to be on a cool Greensboro compilation called Do It Together #2.  The first volume was great and had Heralding and Priapus and loads of good Greensboro bands.  Emily turned me on to Tim Dorsey, a writer who is kind of similar to my beloved Carl Hiaasen.  I'm also obsessed with José Martí.  His Versos Sencillos is a beautiful book.  Here is Verse V from the book:

 V

If you see a hill of foam
It is my poetry that you see:
My poetry is a mountain
And is also a feather fan.

 

My poems are like a dagger
Sprouting flowers from the hilt;
My poetry is like a fountain
Sprinkling streams of coral water.

My poems are light green
And flaming red;
My poetry is a wounded deer
Looking for the forest's sanctuary.

My poems please the brave:
My poems, short and sincere,
Have the force of steel
Which forges swords.

Gorgeous rigtht?  I highly recommend this book.  Emily and I are also trying to better our Spanish language skills in preparation for some trips we fantasize about.