MOST MESSED UP: This Is Not Your Mother's Old 97's Album...Or Your Kid's For That Matter

Today, April 29th is a High Holy day for us Old 97's fans. It's CD release day for their latest, Most Messed Up. Any year they churn out new music is buzz worthy, but this one... this one is something special.

MMU is a self-professed (from Rhett himself) autobiographical look back at the band's 20+ year career in music. A thematic collection of songs that pulls back the curtain of Rhett's life as a rocker. It's an honest account of a mid-life crisis laid bare-- from affairs to addiction to what I like to believe is acceptance of, or at least admission to his destructive behaviors fleshed out in the title track.

Only Rhett knows what personal chaos he's gone through to get to this point, but he has channeled the turmoil into a magnificent album of gritty truths, packed with adult themes and a plethora of glorious f-bombs that aren't the least bit gratuitous. It's a musical time capsule of this moment in his life, candidly capturing the highs, the lows, the drinking, the drugs, the women--written unapologetically from the heart, or in this case the bottom of an empty bottle. All of it played with a ferocity not found on any of their previous records. It's raw, raucous and roars from the speakers to your earholes at 90 miles an hour.

Both Grand Theatre volumes also covered a gambit of genres, they felt looser than prior productions, but still suppressed. MMU is pure energy with the lid blown off. This one is the very definition of hard-charging. Lead by producer, Salim Nourallah this album is the closest they've come to replicating their legendary live performances. After 20 years as a band, they aren't resting on their past laurels and phoning this one in. Not on your life!

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!

From top to bottom it's a winner. Unlike any of their other albums, MMU flows from one track to the next to tell the story of one flawed man's journey. As one of my lady friends articulated so succinctly, "It's surf, garage, jangle, booze, sex, longing & regret--all on one very rockin' record."

One of the many things I love most about Rhett's songwriting is how he masks darker, sad lyrics under wonderfully upbeat melodies. This is why I gravitated to his and their music in the first place. Aside from the slightly somber waltz rhythm of This is the Ballad which compliments the deteriorating relationship depicted (and even this builds to a crescendo by the end), all the cuts are set to deceptively catchy beats that hook you before you ever realize what you're singing.

The first track, Longer Than You've Been Alive is a nearly 6 minute opus that serves as a prologue for the rest of the album, It sets the stage, giving a candid peek into every aspect of life on the road from the great (and the fans are all clapping and screaming and squealing/I won't lie to you, it's a pretty sweet feeling) to the not so great (it's both a blast and a bore) to the oceans and oceans of alcohol and drug use (mountains of weed and a handful of pills) to the strains put on a relationship (love is a marathon/sometimes you puke). It starts off quietly, then builds to a roaring wail to "Get on the bus/And tell the driver to driiiiiiiiiiiive!"

The rest is a brilliant deconstruction of this rocker's life's pathos, mainly about women... Meeting women, drinking to excess with women, fucking women, fucking up with women, saying fuck you to the man, disconnecting from the world, fighting an intervention from friends and finally acknowledging he's the most messed up motherfucker, which I choose to believe is a ray of hope towards redemption instead of utter rejection of culpability ...because I'm a romantic asshat who believes everyone can earn forgiveness.

(Side Note (not to be confused with side boob): There are so many articles and interviews which speak to the momentous nature of this CD much more eloquently than I ever could. So if you don't want to read my nonsensical ramblings, please enjoy the professional interpretations here, here, here, here, here, a fun podcast here and NPR's Here and Now. And, hey, thanks for stopping by!)




There are so many beautiful phrasings, couplets and cadences throughout. The storytelling is superb. One could argue it's Mr. Miller's best yet. And the music is a head-on collision of tight jams and recklessness. I will now subject you to some of my favorites.

Grab a drink. I'm gonna gush.



Give It Time, has a story arc about meeting and subsequently losing a woman. The last verse resonates with sadness under the bouncy tune:

When I saw you for the last time
I sweat right through my shirt
I'm no professional, heartbreak's just a past time
but that don't mean it don't hurt

Awwww... let's hug it out.


I push repeat at least three times every time Wheels Off pops up on the player. I love the pure pop beauty of the melody and the clever word play that isn't all hearts and flowers.

I've been a party to a number of things
of which I'm not proud but I sing
Every day 
for pay
I'm traveling

I said I like you
Like it or not
That's when it got wheels off

This song contains the phrase which, to me, sums up the entire mid-life crisis signature of this album:

She made me feel like a GOD

Is it the attention of a pretty young thing or the unconditional love of a packed house. Or am I over analyzing. Probably. Either way I can't wait to hear this one live. Hoping it becomes a fixture on the setlist.


Nashville is a syncopated beauty about a cad bolting from his less-than-ideal choice of a wife, hiding from his trials, and daydreaming of a bigger existence. Again, rhyming couplets of an unhappy nature skillfully juxtaposed to a head-bobbing, cow-punk driven beat. The beat of his misery is so fun, I'm compelled to yell "YeeHaa!" at the end.

Her brother and her Dad
They were spittin' mad
When I packed up what I had
and took off running
it was bad

It was mean
I didn't care
and it's gotten me nowhere
So I try to be a better man

Even when his protags are jerkfaces, Rhett's pen hints at a glimmer of conscience.


Wasted reads like a defense of ones choice of career in the arts to family still nagging one to get "a real job".  A shove-it-up-your-ass, screw-your-conventional-vocation sentiment we all secretly wish to bellow.

I'm not down with the uptight world
never gonna be no square
I'll circle round the edge of the big, black void
but I don't wanna live down there

It's also a wishful anthem for those who toil in soulless 9-5 jobs.

I'm better off being wasted
than working my whole life through
Tonight I want to get wasted with you

Isn't this the kind of discontent that fuels Happy Hours?

Speaking of Happy Hour, you still with me? Do you need a refill? Go ahead. Go get a healthy pour. May as well make some popcorn, too. I'll wait.

*whistling… more whistling…* Ready? Okay. Moving on then…


Perhaps my favorite (at this point anyway) of the album, the kicky, surf guitar laden Guadalajara is all about a short-lived holiday fling with one of the greatest opening lines: 

She said, Hey can I get a little help
My bikini is stuck in the back

...and a killer alliteration cadence

I don't need this kinda pressure
I'm a cynical man
I gotta lotta livin' left to do
I'm just here for a work trip, babe
Not to fall in love with you

Again the guy's a total Lothario, but In Mr. Miller's deft hands, he manages to give this scoundrel a touch of humanity. The fact he's shaken by pushing her away renders him impossible to hate. Well, not completely, anyway.

well I let her go
I watched her walk
I made a memory of her
I don't work no good no more
thinking about the holiday girl

So many great lines in this one! Mmm. I could go on and on. And also, Philip's drum line is crazy good!! There will be much dancing to this one if it's on the setlist. Pretty pleasepleasePLEASE let it be on the setlist!!


The Disconnect just makes me sad.

Green ones turn you off
the white ones turn you on
almost all night long
so high
come down, pay the price
it's steeper every day...
are you strong enough to say
bye bye

Come here, sweetheart and let me hug your head. :(


The Ex of All You See is Murry's only contribution, but it's a fitting one keeping to the theme this time with a Clashy, punk attack.

Oh, yeah, she'll say goodbye
As you are now, so once was I
As I am now, you're sure to be
The Ex of all you see


Intervention is a blast of a full-on punk rock bash fueled by the screaming guitar of guest, Tommy Stinson, a crazy-fun extraneous intervention-speak argument laid under a blistering outro that I still haven't deciphered completely, and some fantastic lyrics that will surely be enthusiastically shouted back to them in concert, namely...

My friend Richard doesn't want to go
He says "FUCK Y'ALL! HEEELLLL, NOOOOOOO!!!"

(How hysterical is it this messed up MoFO's name is Richard? Extra points for that one. HaHa!)

And perhaps my favorite line ever set to music…

Somebody kick him in the sack 
just to stop his bitchin'
Intervention

LOVE IT!! That one never fails to make me chortle.

We're only here cause we care about you
we want you to get well
You're acting like an ASSHOLE
we're sick of it you can tell
27 days on a dry vacation…
Intervention


The title track closes out this opera. Most Messed Up could be a ginormous middle finger to the world or a self-centered, foot-stomping cry for a little understanding, goddammit!

Well I need a little 
need a little 
need a little
need a little...
sympathy

Whatever the case, it punctuates the end of discussion with a guttural, cathartic caterwaul.


Of course, what do I know. This is just my bullshit opinion and conjecture. I could be completely off base, but this is how I feel when I listen to this album. There is so much more I could say about MMU, but I don't have the space or the ability to express myself intelligibly. All I can say for sure is this is a ridiculously magnificent collection of work. It's perhaps Rhett's best storytelling, the band's greatest jams, and so FUCKING FUN! I cannot WAIT to watch them play this (hopefully as a consecutive block) full-on, no holds-barred, without a net.

Ten albums and Twenty years in, my favorite foursome haven't lost any of their swagger. They may be middle-aged, but they exhibit no sign of aging. None. If anything, they seem revitalized. I would pit their energy, showmanship and talents against any band decades their junior.

As the blue-eyed lovely one states in Longer Than You've Been Alive, Rock and Roll's been very, very good to him. He loves what he does and he's had pretty good luck. And you know what? I love what he does, too. And I feel lucky to get the chance to stand amidst a crowded room of Old 97's disciples, crane my neck up to the stage and have their particular brand of Rock and Roll wash over me for years to come.

Now THAT'S Church, BABY!!



As a reward for reading this and/or fast-forwarding through this ginormous fireball of drivel, here's a video of what might very well be my favorite Old 97's moment on stage. A triumph of rock in which Rhett puts the Roll in Rock and Roll.



Ha Ha! I love them so much!

In Which Paul Rudd Remains The Reigning King Of All Things

Okay, so this is super old now by interweb standards, but I wanted to leave something epically awesome as what could possibly be my last post for awhile. And hey, who DOESN'T love Paul Rudd. He is the benchmark by which I measure friends-to-be. It's simple, you love him, we're buds. You don't... well, you're dead to me.

Aaaaanywho, I'm not fond of Jimmy Fallon, but the lip sync battles he has with guests are pretty damn funny. Paul Rudd was on weeks ago and stole the crown forever with his rendition of Queen's Don't Stop Me Now.

I watch this video often when I need to both chortle and swoon. He busts a brilliant move at 5:15 that makes my sides hurt. Seriously, I don't know what it is about him, but I just LOVE this man. Apparently I'm not alone as evidenced by this very informal poll from Fuse's Billy On The Street.





Those chippies better back off, baby!! I'm pretty sure I can take those cougars.


As a special Easter gift ironically featuring a Jewish man, I leave you with this gem. It's all spectacular. The hip shake, the classic Elaine Benes (I SPELLED IT WITH AN "E" THIS TIME JIMMY MCPARKWAY) inspired move at the 5:15 mark, the armadillo in his trousers...

WHA??!?

No, really. Check it aht! There is something seriously going on in there. Or maybe it's just me. It's probably just me. C'mon! Really? It can't just be me. You see it too, right? I'm not imagining here.

Whatever. Enjoy!!!

Testing My Recovery Time With A Brit Invasion

Okay, so last week I had my own mini British Pop Invasion.

First up was Welshman, Jon Langford of punk rocker, The Mekons fame back in 1977. He has a very interesting and varied career which includes story writer, painter and multimedia performance artist. He was playing this odd little club, The Thunderbird Café in the hipster section of Lawrenceville. Apparently I was in major age vs. recovery denial, because I went out on a Tuesday!!?

Yes. A School night.

Madness. Sheer madness.

Not gonna lie, the hours-before-the-butt-crack-of-dawn 2:30am wake up call was bloody brutal. In my defense, the show was billed as 7pm with "no opener", which I took to mean, you know, NO FUCKING OPENER. I admit I'm not that swift with numbers, but that math added up to on by 7-ish and out by 9pm. A much more palatable number of lost hours of sleep.

Again with the numbers thing.

Imagine my confusion, chagrin, ire when a heavy-set, 30-something, Zach Galifinakis look-alike took a seat behind a Yamaha keyboard perched precariously atop four stolen milk crates and proceeded to play baroque melodies under his oddball songs about porn and such, sung in a lounge-singer warble. It was peculiar, yet slightly compelling perhaps because he seemed so uncomfortable with it all.

Moving on...

I became aware of Jon Langford and his cow-punk band, The Waco Brothers when Betty, Barney and I went to SXSW back in 2010. His band was on my short list of acts to see, but as things happen at SX, we never got around to seeing them play. I didn't want to miss him this time around even though I was not at all familiar with his work.

There were four other members in his current band squeezed on the tiny stage, including a lovely Asian violin player named June. Sturdy in stature and looking a bit like Billy Joel (he joked about a critics comparison to Joel) with his short-cropped, grey hair framing his round face, Langford exuded a mighty powerful presence.

He has a BIG personality, and he's not afraid to be himself on stage. He has a great energy reminiscent of Francis Dunnery and Billy Bragg. From the start, he interacted playfully with the audience, some of whom he had played with the last time through Pittsburgh. He's an engaging storyteller, who kept us laughing between songs with crazy tales and observations. There was a recurring bit with him egging June on to tell bad jokes, badly that was super charming.

And man, can he grind a guitar!! His songs are charged with an irresistible punk edge. Even the quieter ones have a contained punk vibe. A lot of his work sounds just like the Clash, his hoarse vocals channeling Joe Strummer. Makes sense since they were contemporaries during the birth of the genre.

(FYI- they kept the covers streak alive with a beefy version of The Go Betweens, Streets of Your Town.)

He was waaaay more fun than I ever expected. So much so, that I really didn't want to leave. In fact, we reluctantly got up to skedaddle after a rousing sing-a-long, when they started playing a Waco Brothers song. Well, SHIT! We were right there on the steps, ready to bolt, but I had to stay, even though it was rounding 10:00, and I was about to turn into a very blurry-eyed, crabby pumpkin in dire need of a couple of Zs.

Stupid livelihood. And bills... And mortgage... And the unending need to eat...

Next time I'm finagling the next day off.

*cough* *cough*

the middle bit of the Waco Brothers song that made us stay for one more

Saturday was a double dose of a young British Pop band, Fanfarlo. This group was also a SXSW find (as posted here from when I could write, even in a drunken stupor a la Rob Ford), only four years ago they looked like they were 15 years old. They don't look very old now either, but clearly they have grown up a bit.

at wyep
when there were five

After taking a wrong bridge and ending up who knows where, they found their way to WYEP (their live session here) for an in-studio where they played four songs off of their new album, sold merch and hung around a bit to talk to fans. There were five members at 2pm.

By 9pm, there were just four.

The bass player fell ill somewhere in between, which threw them off a bit. They sweetly apologized between songs while they debated how to play the next number without a bass or keyboards. They need not have worried, however, because the small but enthusiastic crowd was right there with them. Besides, hellooooo… charming English accent. They get extra leeway just for speaking.

The set was short, roughly only a dozen songs even though they have three albums. I suspect they trimmed it back because of their missing band mate. They have a terrific female drummer who smiled the entire evening. Like The Spring Standards, Fanfarlo are multi instrumentalists, busting out the Power Pop on guitar, keyboard, trumpet, saxophone and … the saw?

Yuuuuuup. A saw.

it's a shitty photo, but that's a saw, dude
I spy with my little eye... a stolen milk crate
these brits have sticky fingers

An amusing note: When lead singer, Simon Balthazar asked if anyone knew who John Cale was prior to performing a cover of his song, there were crickets from the audience until he mentioned the Velvet Underground. He chided the audience's silence with "He's only the greatest Welsh performer ever!" to which some wise ass in the pit yelled, "I thought that was Tom Jones". That incited the entire band to yell "No! No one likes Tom Jones!" Then Balthazar cleverly worked both What's New Pussycat and It's Not Unusual into his next sentence.

Cheeky.


(they played my favorite song with the help of a member of the opener on bass)



They came out afterwards to meet fans and sign merch at the table, but Cindy and I left. Quite honestly, I was still recovering from Tuesday night's outing so the early ending was welcomed.

I know. Old-fart alert. The staying awake part isn't a problem, it's the extended recovery part that sucks major ass. I'm up to about three days now.

Blerg.

Whatever. I refuse to be deterred from partaking in late-night activities. That is until my shell of a body crumples in a rain-swept gutter, immobilized by exhaustion and crying out for the sweet release of death .. or a pillow. That curb is hard, yo.

The Spring Standards Spread Their Joy. No Fooling.

Spring Standards
busting through the 4th wall and taking it to the peoples

Okay, so one of our favorite up-and-coming bands is Brooklyn's Spring Standards. We've been following James, Heather and James (JHJ) since 2010. This is the same trio (+Noah) we hosted last summer at our house.

They are navigating through the new model of the music business, untethered by Corporate demands, making it up as they go with clever ways to crowdfund new albums, self publish and self promote. They work their butts off traveling all over the right half of the US and beyond in their Sprinter, Peggy Sue, connecting with their fans in a multitude of creative ways.

Recently, while on tour opening for Pig Pen Theater, some louse broke into their van while they were enjoying a museum in St. Louis, and stole their cash and backpack of snacks. Fortunately, their gear was untouched, but being independent of label backing, the loss of funds was devastating. Via the power of social media and the community they have forged with their fan base, they were able to recoup their losses by collecting donations during an impromptu online concert via Concert Window.

Good things DO happen to good people.

Faith in humanity restored. Temporarily, anyway.

(They wrote a lovely testimonial here.)

Anywho, they got their coffers back in the black and headed to the Burgh to perform at Mr. Small's on April Fool's Day. I don't usually venture out on my school nights. It's tough enough to wake hours before the butt crack of dawn as it is without purposely slicing my meager slumber in half with a late-night concert, but thankfully they were the openers, so... score one for the Zombie Non-Mom!

Much like with Rhett/Old 97's, there are a great group of friends who show up to support the Standards. Okay, they are the SAME group of friends who gather for the 97's. Ha! Ha! Whatever. They're a blast and it's always fun to hang with them. Added bonus Tuesday night: Geo was on board! Woot!!

I can't say enough about this band. They are such talented multi-instumentalists, songwriters and performers. And they are so, so nice. Every time we see them they get better and better. They have a fantastic rapport with each other on stage, goofing around and playing off of each other. They have a ball up there, and that joy spreads out over the audience.



At one point during their set, they decided to jump into the pit to sing one of their quieter offerings, Crushing Pennies, in an effort to connect with the crowd chattering in the bar area. At first the talking continued, but soon their beautiful vocals grabbed everyone's attention. It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. Not even James Cleare's blazing white legs could break the spell cast by their harmonies.

those are some pasty white irish gams

They may not be where they ultimately want to be success wise, but these three talents are on the right path. They're planning another house concert run this summer. We're on the list again. Hopefully that list will be double the size of last year's. These lovely kids keep making strides one gig at a time. I have faith one of these days soon they'll be able to give up their odd jobs for good.



Support live music, y'all. It's good for the soul.