The Fall - Slates

A Christmas gift that eventually became a permanent member of my car stereo after the player decided to power off every time I attempted to eject the disc.

After a few attempts, I let it be. And for an entire week Slates became a perfect fixture for my commute to and from work. In the mornings - if I got on the road early enough to miss the heavy traffic on the interstate - the mini-l.p. would fill in the entire drive. From driveway to parking lot, start to finish.

I suppose you could do worse rather than having The Fall’s six-song e.p. Slates stuck in your deck forever. Indeed, when I did finally manage to get it out of the player, I thought about putting it back in after a few minutes just to hear “Leave The Capitol” one more time before putting it away.

Originally released as a 10” e.p. in 1981, Slates finds the band not only contemplating change, but nearly defining it. It was the final record needed to complete their contract with Rough Trade, but unlike most bands who view the final contractual obligation as a make it or break it scenario, Mark E. Smith seems to view it as a way to burn as many bridges as possible on the way out. 

The band is still working within their post-punk abrasiveness, so don't expect too much in terms of accessibility. But Slates also hints at the band’s ability to work within the elements of pop, particularly with “Fit And Working Again.” With its acoustic guitar and quick pace, "Fit" is about the closest track here that would resemble anything remotely familiar - a familiarity would be featured more prominently in future offerings. If the rumors that Slates was the first Fall record to get future first wife Brix's attention, then "Fit" would seem to be the most logical track to grab her ear, at least judging by her own work within the group starting a few years later.

But it’s the left-of-center material that really shines, from the with the mouthbreather study of "Middle Mass," the anthemic closer “Leave The Capitol," the Beefheart worship of “Prole Art Threat” and the infectious title track, “Slates, Slags, Eset” that rolls on for a hearty six-and-a-half minutes when I could easily injest six-and-a-half more.

The brevity is undoubtedly part of the appeal of Slates, but the reality is that the spontaneous combustion of how this record was conceived wouldn't mean a thing if the songs themselves didn't burn a hole in your memory.

And these songs catch a fire immediately. The mundane existence of my morning/evening commute was not exacerbated by the fact that I literally could not remove Slates from my car stereo. In fact, it was therapeutic.

In the garage din of The Fall's inadequate musical abilities, Mark E. Smith presents some of the best lines he's ever written, a strong elixir of working class dread, Beat poet musings and an ample diet of coffee and speed.

M.E.S. was there with every turn of my odometer, reminding me of the routine I have nestled into every weekday morning ("The boy is like a tape loop") or explaining to me why I felt a great sense of release each time I headed home for the night ("He learned a word today/The word is misanthropy").

The reissue provides some extras that most Fall fans probably have in other configurations (the Peel sessions were a bit of redundancy for me), but I have to confess that I didn't mind it at all since the e.p. timed up perfectly with my drive and since the six original songs are downright vital, I didn't dwell too much past the original tracks.

Beyond the high quality of these half-dozen titles, Slates also served as the first strong indication that the sum of the The Fall's parts essentially begin and end with Mark E. Smith alone. It was the first record to ever dispel the notion that the band would ever have a true "classic" line-up and the first one to suggest that they really didn't need one.

Don't let the bonus material be the deciding factor - this shit would be a bargain if it was only the original six tracks and came presented in a scuffed up CD-R housed in an old Krokus jewel box. Slates may be one of the greatest e.p.'s ever released, a challenging and confident effort that holds up well, even when it's the only option available in your stereo.

Mark E. Smith: Renegade

By the time you’re done with the first paragraph from Renegade: The Lives and Tales of Mark E. Smith you know he’s an asshole.

As if there were any doubt beforehand, I suppose. Smith’s role as the lone member of The Fall for the past 35 years should be indicative enough of his problematic character. “Problematic” I suppose if you were one of the legions of Fall members to pass through its line-up during that time.

Smith has a penchant for speaking his mind, having a few drinks and getting physical with fellow bandmates if the situation requires. The first paragraph details an incident from a few years back when the band line-up had just gotten underway for a tour of the U.S. in support of their album Fall Heads Roll.

A prophetic title if there ever was one, for a week into the tour the entire band (except his wife, Elena) and the road manager, all abruptly quit after a gig in Arizona. Actually, the road manager quit before the gig, taking the transportation with him, leaving the three unhappy band members to pass on this important bit of information to their tempestuous leader.

It all culminated on stage that night, when the three received the support of the opening band who pelted the lead singer with fruit in solidarity towards Fall guitarist Ben Pritchard, who had earlier been the recipient of Mark throwing half-eaten banana pieces at him.

I know. It’s complicated. But the shit of it is that M.E.S. had another band in place, in a foreign country, mind you-put together to finish the tour and not miss a date.

What’s more, the same band cobbled together an entire record together, Reformation Post TLC, and Mark cites it as a record he’s proud of. While the fact that it got made at all is impressive, the reality is that Reformation would hardly qualify as a noteworthy entry in their vast catalog, now past 30 studio efforts.

In fact, many of the acknowledged Fall classics are either dismissed entirely or given brief mention. The bulk of Renegade is devoted to Smith’s opinion, mostly about other people, put also regarding sports, cities, musicians, writers, politics, drinking, drugs, facial hair, pretty much any topic that’s been related to The Fall in one manner or another.

And he doesn’t worry about how it makes him look, raking such sacred cows like John Lennon and Joe Strummer over the barbeque. Kind words are saved for few, and apologies are even rarer.

Kind words are offered to Jerry Lee Lewis. M.E.S. tells a story of bandmate Alan Wise who quit the Fall to work with The Killer and Chuck Berry, thinking that it would be an easier gig than working for Smith. Wise found out that neither legend communicated in the slightest with the backing band. Smith later attends one of the gig, enthusiastically cheering Lewis on, mostly for his performance, but part of me also believes a little bit of the enthusiasm was for Jerry’s poor treatment of Wise.

Smith also gives praise for simple, hometown characters like his grandfather (hated King Kong so much that he completely swore off films), a local Mancunian who bought him a few drinks when he was broke, the guy he collaborated with on I Am Curious, Orange, and his current wife, Elena Poulou.

Speaking of, Smith is surprisingly mild-mannered concerning the topic of ex-wife Brix Smith, who evidently has stopped using his last name since Mark brought it up in the book.

Far from just entirely a book about Mark’s opinion of others, Renegade does follow his decent into drink, including the rationalization of his obvious reliance of alcohol. It’s hard to tell if his vices have any real detriment to his quality, as the past 10 years have been more productive and better received than the decade before it.

The bottle certainly isn’t doing anything positive to his health, and it’s certainly created some unecessary drama away from his talent. He explains a spat with a former bandmate that got him thrown in jail in N.Y.C. as a drunken misunderstanding. Mark thought certain band members were using narcotics, so he got loaded, beat on their hotel door and subsequently got arrested for threatening a female band member during the confrontation.

He details his fear while residing in the tombs, surrounded by real criminals and from the honest fear of sharing a holding cell with a bunch of big black men and sociopaths at Rikers. Instead of considering how his actions were probably not the most effective way of dealing with the situation, he instead proceeds to blame the woman who put him there for failing to appreciate that getting thrown in the clink in America is a much more serious prospect here than over in England.

At the same time, Renegade makes it sound as if Smith has this rock and roll thing figured out pretty well. He just needs to determine out the limits of his vices and conceal them better. He views touring as a way in which he can pour on the excess, as it were, because someone else is picking up the tab.

So how is that different than anything that, say, Keith Richards has been doing? There really isn’t much difference, except that Smith’s line of work pays much, much less than probably even the session players receive on a Stones tour. With that in mind, Smith doesn’t have the luxury of being able to afford expensive lawyers when things go south, or eat the cost of a recording studio when the band up and walks out.

“Lads with no guts. I can’t stand them”

Renegade makes it very clear that Smith has enough guts to keep doing this, moving forward in each moment, even when adversity is right in front of him. Even when he feels that all of that adversity is because of someone else’s incompetency, at least, according to Mark’s reasoning.

While the title of “renegade” is still debatable after reading through this fun tirade of Smith’s side of things, it is unquestionable that the title of “living legend” aptly applies.

The Fall - Re-Mit

We’re on album number thirty. Try to keep up.

I’m almost tempted to encourage any Fall noobs to start with their latest, Re-Mit, which is exactly as Mark E. Smith described it when he offered, “Re-Mit is going to absolutely terrify people. It’s quite horrible.”

It is exactly as he described and more easily understood than anything coming out of his mouth throughout large portions of the record. He’s unintelligible now and seemingly proud of it. Mark E. Smith has finally turned his gurgle into a fucking instrument; it’s high in the mix and he explores a wide variety of gutturals, culminating into a coughing and wheezing fit at the end of “Hittite Man.”

I shit you not.

It’s disgusting. It’s fascinating. And it’s as good as anywhere else in their catalog to start. I mean, if you can deal with the sound of actual phlegm coming out of a 56 year-old man, then you’ll have a blast with the rest of The Fall’s remaining 29 records.

This version of The Fall has now circumnavigated M.E.S.’ temperament for longer than any other line-up in their history, and their unifying interplay finds a good balance between Smith’s more idiosyncratic pull and the general public’s need for things like melody and chorus.

That’s not to suggest that Re-Mit is by any means accessible. It is not, but it is a tad more bouncy by Fall standards. Part of that is because keyboardist/wife Eleni Poulou now seems to be imposing more of her influence into the band mix, drawing obvious comparisons to the band’s other notable influence in M.E.S.’ life, BrixSmith-Start.

But where Brix made inroads in expanding The Fall’s reach with more orthodox arrangements, Poulou stays true to the band’s other constant: its passion for garage rock. Poulou brings new tones and possibilities to the mix, giving Re-Mit more character than such disappointments like Ersatz GB. In the band’s recent volley between impressive and passive, Re-Mit is firmly entrenched as a noteworthy offering, yielding no calls for M.E.S. to throw in the towel while remaining as challenging as they’ve ever been.

Quick note: the packaging of Re-Mit is completely worthless, consisting of a lone, one-page sleeve with a cover that looks like a Victorian version of J.J. Evans’ mural from the title sequence of Good Times. For real: if you absolutely must have the physical product for this Fall release, drop the extra on the vinyl if you’re able. Otherwise, the digital version will suit you fine while the material within those ones and zeros stays true to the band’s legendary course.

The Fall - Ersatz GB

Featuring the same band found on Your Future Our Clutter, The Fall’s twenty-ninth album sonically mirrors the previous effort with Mark E. Smith incorporating even more marbles in his mouth.

And since Clutter was such a winner, Ersatz GB is more of the same, with the only disappointment being that it’s exactly that: more of the same. The line-up has become so adept at following M.E.S.’ phlegm that they sound a bit safe at times. There’s little evidence that the whole thing could go off the rails, and because Smith sometimes works best when he’s his own worst enemy, it’s an odd feeling.

Make no mistake, Ersatz GB is not accessible enough to finally make The Fall a household name, but it is the first Fall record in quite a while that appeals exclusively to longtime fans like myself while giving novices little reason to seek out the previous 28 efforts.

Closer “Age Of Chang” does hint of a little chaos thanks to bullhorn vocals and lo-fi recording strategies that make Smith sound like some propaganda minister preaching over the airwaves while the band suddenly returns to proper fidelity. The problem is, they’ve used this strategy before, or better put Mark has used this strategy before during another lineup, decades ago.

If it was challenging then, what does that make it now?

It makes it an effort reeking of going through the motions, lazily coming to fruition because it was about that time to release another Fall record.

Ersatz GB will be the record known for giving Smith’s spouse her own entry, “Happi Song,” perhaps the most memorable tune only for the fact that it sounds nothing like the rest of the album. This isn’t to suggest that Eleni Poulou has finally reached the status of ex-wife Brix in terms of influence or talent; it merely means that one song on the album give M.E.S. time to cough up a few bits of lung and for us, a brief reprieve from the atonal monotony of The Fall’s latest document.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

The Fall Set To Release Their 29th Album: Ersatz G.B.

Hey it’s the holiday week, so the Totales will be in our state’s capitol city opening for Canned Heat and Leslie West’s Peg Leg Trio. Please don’t break into our place when we’re gone.

To act like the blog is being manned, the next few days will be posts about shit you can buy-which is what being an American is all about. Feel free to put this stuff on your Christmas List and remember to get up at 4:20 am on Friday morning to read the new post on Glam-Racket and to get in line for the Black Friday sale at Montgomery Wards.

Here’s something that will be on my list this year and hopefully yours.

"Ersatz G.B. is the new studio album from The Fall, the 29th in their impressive canon. As with any Fall recording, Ersatz G.B. retains many of the group's most distinctive elements, whilst offering a fresh take on Mark E. Smith's familiar style and subject matter.

The line-up on the album remains the same as for the last few Fall releases: Peter Greenway (lead guitar), Keiron Melling (drums), Elena Poulou (keyboards,vocals), Mark E. Smith (vocals) and David Spurr (bass).

Ersatz G.B. is The Fall's first album for Cherry Red Records and it will be released on CD, limited edition vinyl and digital formats, preceded by a double A-side 7" single.

There aren't very many groups that have been together longer than The Fall and it's difficult to think of any who, like The Fall, have released brand new material almost every year. Formed at the height of the punk rock movement in Manchester in 1976, The Fall is essentially built around its founder and only constant member Mark E. Smith. The group's music has gone through several stylistic changes over the years but it is often characterised by an abrasive, guitar-driven sound and frequent use of repetition, and is always underpinned by Smith's distinctive vocals and often cryptic lyrics.

The Fall were long associated with BBC disc jockey John Peel, who championed the group from the very early days and often cited them as his favourite group, famously opining, "they are always different; they are always the same."

The Fall - Extricate

I recently burned a copy of The Fall’s Extricate album, which prompted me to revisit it myself. It’s often overlooked by Fall fans-myself included, I suppose-but that quick reprise brought 1990 right back.

It was my final year of college and I was forced into sticking my toes into the cold reality of adulthood. As a result, Extricate played strongly into my life’s soundtrack and remains entrenched as a playlist from my final days of college.

There’s an expanded version available now, but this review represents that good ol’ vinyl version of two decades ago. To be honest, the expanded version feels a bit bloated to me. The brevity of the original is the best way to devour Extricate, but if you get the extra stuff for the same price as the first run, then so be it.

Extricate was the first album after Mark E. Smith and Brix divorced, so there was a real concern that all of the forward progression the band was making during the 80’s would soon be stunted during the new decade.

That’s a fair concern, as the Brix-era Fall is probably the band’s most consistently awesome period, and it began a process of bringing some unintentional consistency to the name.

That must have just killed Smith, a man enamored with the vitality of garage rock and a firm believer in limiting the exposure time to studio tan.

But there is some extra studio depth to Extricate and it makes the album a bit more interesting. Even with that additional professionalism, the record is still undoubtedly The Fall, and the band’s performances sound renewed, hinting at promising possibilities

None is more obvious than with the leadoff single “Telephone Thing,” a Hacienda-worthy dance number with the help of Coldcut manning the controls of the band’s curious creative decision.

Whatever.

It works.

And it began my first attempts as using the newly christened internet as a research tool.

You see, I had been listening to Extricate for so long that I became enamored with learning who this Gretchen Franklin was, the “nosey matron thing” that Smith barked about during the song.

“How dare you assume I want to parlez-vous with you!” he deadpans, prompting me to wonder, “Who is this Gretchen Franklin?” I discovered she was a character-a “nosey matron thing” from England’s popular EastEnders soap opera show-who served as comedic effect pensioner in the series.

“Hilary” is a lighthearted pop number that continually replayed in my mind during the 2008 elections, although the line “remember when you needed three caps of speed to get out of bed?” probably wouldn’t have helped Ms. Clinton’s chances.

But the bee’s knees is “Bill Is Dead,” one of my favorite Mark E. Smith songs ever because it is simply unlike Mark E. Smith. It’s a ballad, and Smith delivers it without a hint of insincerity. And the words, “I am renewed, I am aglow” and “This is the greatest time in my life” rank as one of Smith’s most sweet. But if you listen closely, Smith throws out a naughty “came twice, you thrice” in what is otherwise a surprisingly straight-ahead love song.

The rest of Extricate falls together wonderfully and it brims with enough confidence that you’re sure the new decade will be Smith’s for the taking. It also shows anyone who may have felt his ex-wife Brix would be an irreplaceable muse that The Fall is clearly Mark’s vehicle.

Extricate is overlooked because there are so many examples of Mark E. Smith’s resilience within his catalog, but it’s probably the first one where he actually intended that message to be heard.

I hear you, telephone thing.

The Fall - "Bury! PTS 2 + 4"

And now a word from our name author


Taken from the album Your Future Our Clutter
"A new way of recording! A chain round the neck!"

The Fall - Your Future Our Clutter

“When do I quit?” Mark E. Smith asks listeners repeatedly during “Chino,” one of nine new offerings housed together for Your Future Our Clutter, the band’s in two years. The joke is that two years in between Fall albums is like an eternity, but it sounds like time well spent as even Smith knows he’s delivered something special this time with his unmatched cynicism declaring it to be “a showcase of raw talent” a few minutes into the first track.

The concern is that M.E.S. is beginning to contemplate life after the Fall, but the optimist in me would counter that while Y.F.O.C. gives cryptic hints of finish lines, morality, and growing old, it’s also an album where there’s a vibrancy to the production and the band is clearly on a roll as there isn’t any disruptions to it since the last record, Imperial Wax Solvent.

There was also a concern for some Fall fans that the band’s last few offerings were growing increasingly reliant on garage sensibilities, disregarding a willingness to shake the arrangements up a bit, like Smith has done in years past.

The mix on Y.F.O.C. should end that concern, and with the attention to detail, the fair-weather fans who pass or purchase on such demands should find nine very good reasons to jump back on board.

Even though the gloss shines a little brighter for this-the band’s debut effort for Domino Records, which is a bit more prominent than the curators of their last few releases, they’re still acknowledging those cantankerous Nuggets gems that prompted M.E.S. to consider his career choice in music.

“Never mind Jackson,” he mutters on the great closing track “Weather Report 2,” shrugging off Michael Jackson’s passing last summer. “What about Saxon’s?” he asks on the next line, reminding us that the Seeds’ Sky Saxon passed away on the same day as the King of Pop, leaving only but a few devotes to notice.

Personally, I didn’t mind the homemade vibe of the last few efforts, but I will admit that the big production strategy on Y.F.O.C. makes the album immediately infectious. The sonic clarity makes it a blast to be able to try to decipher Smith’s wordplay without having to filter out the hiss and dirt of low fidelity production.

Immediately, I need to mention that the first part of “Bury, Pts 1 + 3” was recorded through a cheap tape deck before giving way to better recording which then segues into the full-on studio recording. Yes, just because M.E.S. has spent a few extra pounds on the recording budget, don’t expect this one to appease mainstream ears.
Guitarist Peter Greenway delivers some tremendously colorful tones throughout and bassist Dave Spurr gets a few spotlights as well. Perhaps both are considering their inevitable sacking and have decided to provide their tenure with a memorable benchmark, which Your Future Our Clutter clearly will become.

The entire effort reeks of a welcomed surprise even when it shouldn’t; Smith has begun every decade with worthwhile offerings since the band’s inception and as he’s kicked off the fifth decade of Fall records with a not-so-subtle reminder that his senses are very much intact and that his bite can still draw blood, even when his dental work may suggest otherwise.

He bares the fangs on Your Future Our Clutter to everyone from the heath care providers who he encountered during a spill that left him with a busted hip, to the episode of Murder She Wrote rerun that aired beyond the reach of a remote control as he recuperated, and to the animal rights activists who called for his head after Smith admitted to killing a few squirrels with hedge clippers after the fuzzy-tailed rodents began chewing away at the fence in his yard.

But the strongest nip is served for those who doubted him musically, those who ponder if-at age 53 now-Smith would be able to break away from the comfortable garage primitism that he can undoubtedly do in his sleep. The final words, whispered as the album closes, are saved especially for those doubters: “You don’t deserve rock and roll.”

Thank you sir, may I please have another?

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

A Pledge Pin?! On Your Uniform?!

There’s a mystery in my house that no one seems to understand but myself. You see, I’m the only fan of the band The Fall in my house, therefore, I would be the only person interested in Fall-related merchandise.
With that being said, aside from an occasional t-shirt, I don’t have a lot of promotional material that would lend itself to actually promoting a band. Well, my man cave is full of concert posters, artwork, etc., but that’s nothing that I can necessarily walk around for others to notice.
So I was surprised earlier this week when I came across the item in the blurry photo: a Fall pin. You know, those pins that everyone wore in the 80’s. The more the merrier. It gave you a chance to display to anyone who’d notice who your favorite band was.
Realistically, I had a few of these, but they weren’t a part of my wardrobe by any means.
And a button of the Fall wasn’t a part of my pin collection.
I opened up the cabinet that holds our Tupperware assortments, looking for something to use for my sack lunch. In the cabinet, intentionally tucked off to the side like it was being hid was a pin celebrating The Fall.
How it got there is beyond me.
How I even got it is a mystery.
I will proudly find an item for this surprise, letting the citizens of Cedar Rapids, Iowa that I love the Fall.
I saw a girl-late 20’s-walking into Wal-Mart wearing a Smiths The Queen Is Dead t-shirt the other day. I would have said something, but I’m not a big fan of the general public.

The Fall - Imperial Wax Solvent

While Reformation Post TLC was impressive in the sense that it’s coherent despite impossible odds (recorded with a last minute band after the original line-up abandoned our hero, literally, in the middle of the desert), Mark E. Smith returns with yet another Fall line-up and another impressive offering.
His wife, Eleni Poulou, remains in the fold on keyboards and vocals as does bassist Dave Spurr. The rest of the band is newly comprised of native English sons. But you’d have no way of guessing it from the sounds of things on Imperial Wax Solvent , probably their twenty-seventh album. Like with any Fall album, the music on their latest is drenched entirely with the open frame walls of the American garage.
How ironic that it hasn’t been offered an American release date then. But even in an elevated import-priced package, Imperial Wax Solvent is wonderfully satisfying, deserving more than just a passing nod as it’s another high-caliber, late career offering that’s as startling for its consistency as it is for its challenging aura.
The noteworthy item here is “50 Year Old Man,” an eleven-minute long celebration of Smith’s cantankerous five decades with clear hints that he has no plans at curtailing his day job. “I’m a 50 year old man!/What’re you gonna do about it?” he slurs, pausing a few times to insult younger curmudgeon Steve Albini and advising the ladies that he’s “got a three foot rock hard on” before admitting that he’s “too busy to use it.”
Instead of the female form, his attention has been placed, it seems, on loading Imperial Wax Solvent with a higher degree of studio folly than what one would expect from a notoriously grumpy old codger. The album bounces between stereo and mono mixes, levels rise and fall inexplicitly, and abrupt left-turns abound. Take “50 Year Old Man” again: four minutes into the track, the band suddenly stops for a minute long banjo exercise.
Throughout Solvent, Smith’s lyrics are in top form and downright playful (“I believe the pink IPod is spewed out”-“Strangetown”) and the performances are inspired, ranging from traditional two & three chord minimalisms, Krautrock explorations, to post-punk grooves. There’s a real sense that Mark E. Smith is, gasp, having fun as he slides into the last half of his existence.
Considering Solvent in the late-period Fall catalog would place it near the top while not managing to reach the lofty pinnacles of such universally acclaimed Fall material like Hex Enduction Hour or This Nation’s Saving Grace. But there are a few songs here that are of equal caliber to songs on those albums. In fact, there are more than enough to provide evidence among Fall fans like myself to preach how Mark E. Smith remains as one of the brilliant elder statesmen of rock. What’s even more impressive is how he’s able to achieve this even after passing through the chaos that he intentionally creates. We really shouldn’t be referring to him in such lofty prose, all things considered. But we do, because this is exactly the type of nature we hope to sow when the aches and pains become more prevalent in our own lives. We want to be able to bash and pop, to hurl insults at the spoiled younger generations, and top every story of overcoming adversity with our own, better story. We want boners without Viagra, hipper-than-yours record collections, and bloody fistfights with dudes in our band that are half our age.
We all want to be as cool as Mark E. Smith, and with each new album, we get to live vicariously through him.
The honest truth is that we will never be as cool as him and your favorite band of the moment will never really be as good as The Fall. Like Smith himself declares on the final track (“Exploding Chimney”) “Believe me kids/I’ve been through it all.” Considering this, we’re probably all too chickenshit to really live out that type of lifestyle anyway. So it’s a good thing that, judging from the sounds of Imperial Wax Solvent, Mark E. Smith is just now getting his second wind.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

The Fall - Reformation Post TLC

A week into The Fall’s 2006 American tour, the band was traveling in a Winnebago to their next gig in Phoenix, Arizona. For reasons only known to Mark E. Smith, he approached the tour manager and poured a little beer on his head as he was driving the r.v.
This wasn’t the first time the manager had faced the drunken shenanigans of the band’s de-facto leader. He’d also endured a barrage of verbal attacks and even witnessed Mark drunkenly attack the band members, but having beer poured on him while driving down the interstate at 70 miles per hour was enough for him to quit as soon as they hit Phoenix.
And he was taking the Winnebago with him.
Now for the band members, outside of keyboardist Elaine who happened to be Mark’s wife, the sudden resignation of the tour manager posed a big problem: How were they going to get back to England? Add to this, the band was sure to face the wrath of Mark if they verbally defended the tour manager, just like they did when he blamed them when the backdrop for their stage didn’t arrive in time for the start of the tour.
So there in the desert, the band decided to leave him alone with the remaining tour dates to contend with and hitch a ride with the exiting tour manager.
For lesser men, such drama would probably result in tour a cancellation. But for Mark E. Smith, who’s seen more than 50 musicians pass through the credits of 25 Fall albums, it was nothing. Amazingly, a new backing band (containing members of Darker My Love and On The Hill) was located through the efforts of their American record label and, even more amazingly, the band not only resumed the tour, but managed to record a new album in the process.
All in the span of a few days.
Reformation Post TLC starts with Smith cackling before he deadpans “I think it’s over now/I think its ending.” But before Fall fans worry that he may be considering retirement, he adds “I think it’s beginning.” A closer listen finds Mark prodding fellow Mancunians who announce “creative differences” as the reason for their demise only to reform “seven years” later for the benefit of nothing more than a large reunion paycheck. This irritates Smith, who (thanks in large part by bad business deals and a litany of notoriously uncommercial releases) lives a very meager existence himself.
What about the latest incarnation, this American-backed Fall complete with a bearded (!) bass player? Always different, always the same, regardless of who’s supporting him, Reformation Post TLC is a continuation of the path that The Real New Fall LP and Fall Heads Roll traveled. In other words: The Fall are making some of the most respectable records in the autumn of Smith’s years. And it sounds like he’s having fun too: there’s recorded evidence of Smith cracking himself up after improvising a line or two and, on occasion, there’s evidence of band members learning their parts immediately after the record button’s been hit. After 31 years of doing this, there’s something remarkably refreshing about having the balls to say “Wing it, fellas!” and watching it become something that’s still unmistakably The Fall.
The fact that Mark hasn’t noticed other bands slyly lifting a few bits here-and-there from their enormous output hasn’t been lost on him either. On “Fall Sounds,” he screams “There’ll be times they mock Fall sound!” Given his penchant for alcohol induced violence, my suggestion is that any artist should cease from name-dropping The Fall without the explicit written consent of one Mark E. Smith.
The “bits” that Smith has been presiding over while fads have come and gone is, essentially, a repetitive mixture of a few guitar chords, some basic percussive elements, and (occasionally) a blip of keyboards/synthesizers. In Mark’s world, the creative apex of rock music began and ended with the garage rock of the 60’s, and he’s rarely deviated from this basic formula. But “Mr. Pharmacist” doesn’t make a career. What made his career was/is an uncanny ability to wonderfully document, in a very intelligent and working-class style, the hypocrisy of politics, social status, and rock & roll itself.
Reformation Post TLC is an album devoted to the hypocrisy that Mark E. Smith needed to make another album with the Fall Heads Roll line-up, a band that he’d worked with for nearly seven years, to make another exciting Fall record.
The album’s highlight documents the tale of how Mark fell into the band’s configuration. “The Insult Song” (which comes immediately after a tender reading of Merle Haggard’s “White Line Fever”) creates a fictional account of the events thus far: Mark and his wife were captured by the band (“they were retards from the Los Angeles district…they had us trapped in the hills, playing their Los Angeles music over and over”) until he discovered it was merely a plot the band had instigated to get into Mark’s good graces. It must have worked: after making fun of their physical appearance, Smith declares “they were cool cats” before reminding them, after six minutes of incessant rhythm and Keith Levene-styled guitar, that “they were paying, by the minute, for the tape they were wasting.” The band obediently ends the song.
Reformation Post TLC won’t be the album that sends the novice headlong into the band’s massive catalog. Its one that, like some of the most revered Fall albums, contains some tracks that are intentionally difficult. “Das Boat” features nine minutes of synthesizer throbs, while a drumstick on a tabletop and glass jar keep tempo.
At the same time, it is an album that Fall fans will use to reaffirm why the band remains vital. While other bands from the same era find the need to reform and revisit the material that brought them notoriety, Smith’s primary mission is to keep his band and vision focused on the highway ahead. Even when he’s faced with a Winnebago full of ex-band members traveling in the opposite direction, leaving him to his own devices alone in the desert.
I think it’s beginning, too.

Photo by Greg Schaal
This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise

Sing Harpy

The Fall obsession is in full swing again, with some time spent on their early 80’s material, a salivation to pick up “Fall Heads Roll” (despite some consistently fair reviews of it) and that feeling that I don’t have any studio albums from 1991-2001 in my collection. It’s stupid; why split hairs over a band that I will admittedly never be able to complete and, in reality, have no desire to. They’re famously inconsistent but have a track record of never really releasing an entirely bad album. And when you look at bands with a similar 30+ year track record, that’s a pretty good batting average. I mean, fuck, even Scorpions released several duds (“Virgin Killer” anyone) during their lengthy career.
So let’s trace the history of this recent obsession: at my public Iowa University, there wasn’t a lot in terms of diversity. I’m sure that my Midwestern upbringing challenged a few of the left-of-center types, but what these judgmental folk didn’t understand was that my hometown was anything but a typical Midwestern home; the locale was built with fringe manufacturing blue-collar men and women, just an eyelash away from a lay-off and one beer away from alcoholism. Sure, these were the same people that would yell “Faggot!” without hesitation, but they were also oblivious to the fact that they were ridiculed with as much frequency as any minority group. It’s like the last concept they had of superiority was that they were white and heterosexual. Knowing this provided me with a better insight that some liberal collegiate who viewed them as just part of the problem. The problem was that these “enlightened” people would treat them with the same animosity that they were accustomed to and provoke the same behaviors that made them enemies to begin with.
I’d like to think that Mark E. Smith would understand this strange dichotomy too. I don’t see him as the type of person who would view intellectuals as know-all elitists. In fact, I see him feeling more comfortable with drinking a Bud with a factory worker and writing about it later on, in terms that the factory worker wouldn’t understand and in verses that would make him appreciated by fellow artists. I’d also like to think that he’d understand this lunacy.
So a friend in college had a mix-tape given to him provided by a lesbian who was in the same noise rock band as he was. The track included was “I Am Damo Suzuki” from then new “This Nation’s Saving Grace” album. The song was fascinating; it gallops along, sometimes losing time, while an inspired Mark E. proclaims his love for Damo, the lead singer for some of Can’s most important efforts.
From there, a slow, gradual dissent into Fall-dom began. “Nation’s” begot “Frenz” which sequed into “Oranj” and then “Extricate.” If you’re familiar with the Fall’s extensive catalog, you understand these references and you know that I had a long way to go from there. The task was too daunting; I left thinking that I had a fairly good idea of what the Fall were all about.
For a decade, I ignored their material. The continual changes in their line-up was offsetting. Of course, I didn’t know that this was part of their appeal: Mark E. is the Fall. And he’s an asshole. That’s pretty cool. Legendary BBC dj John Peel, who’s also pretty cool, cited The Fall as his favorite band. When asked why, he provided an infamous quote to his infatuation: "[they're] always different, always the same."
During this time, I kept a careful eye on Mark E.'s exploits, including the infamous fight he had with a fellow (then) bandmate moments before taking the stage. He went on with the show, in case you're wondering, complete with blood on his button down white shirt. Classic.
I came back. And at probably one of their highest points ever put to wax ("The Real New Fall L.P." a.k.a. "Country On The Clink"). It amazed me that they could continue to release such vital efforts some three decades into their career.
With this newfound revelation that I needed to examine their catalog further, I’ve gone headlong into becoming obsessive. It’s been a blast, really, particularly considering the recent exploits of their current tour.
Consider this: MES continually berated members of his band and his tour manager just days after arriving in America for their 2006 tour supporting the album “Falls Head Roll.” On the sixth day, the tour manager and every member of the band (except his wife, the keyboard player) made plans to quit because of the treatment they’d been receiving from MES. Opening band The Talk, apparently took sides with the rest of the Fall, and in an act of curious solidarity, the lead singer of The Talk picked up a dirty banana peel and threw it in Mark’s face during The Fall’s set. After ending the set early, the rest of the Fall grabbed a flight back to England, leaving Mark and his wife to complete the rest of the American tour.
In the hands of mortal men, this would have meant canceling the rest of the tour. But this is Mark E. Smith. He contacted his manager, who contacted The Fall’s North American record label, who contacted another band on the label, Cairo Gang, to learn the material and finish the rest of the tour. My friend who actually provided me with the mix tape that introduced me to The Fall, gives Glam-Racket some information about The Falls’ show at The Knitting Factory in Los Angeles:
Glam-Racket: Was Mark drunk?
MM: (incredulously) Was he drunk?! I saw these guys in the early nineties and thought the singer looked quite weathered for his age but there was nothing to prepare me for watching this doddering fellow who looked more like an octogenarian who had wandered out of his nursing home room than the singer of The Fall. It was sad, but wait, I will say that I quite enjoyed the show. His "new" band (early-twenties-somethings) did just fine and his voice is the same as always and there is something wonderful about just that. And they played lots of old school Fall and it rather rocked.
Glam-Racket: Did he twiddle with the knobs of the musician’s amplifiers?
MM: Indeed he twiddled knobs drunkenly and, of course, he walked around playing on everyone's instruments and at one point actually grabbed the neck of the guitar in the midst of a song which I thought was both extraordinarily silly and somewhat annoying. Most of all, however, I was pleased (thanks for the videoclip) that they played "Mountain Energy" which is the real reason for my rekindled interest in current Fall anyway, thanks to a track on a wonderful compilation provided by yourself. H. and myself and another couple had rented a cabin in the mountains over the past holidays and one night while lit on shrooms we listened to the comp, in particular we listened to "Mountain Energy" about four consecutive times and I'm almost ashamed to suggest it could have been more, but these were moments well spent. It's been a long time since I've had "favorite song" but there is just something about that tune that makes me swell.
Indeed....

The Fall-Hex Enduction Hour

I should have changed my New Year’s resolution to state that I would purchase six Fall albums, because I’m already two ahead of the Dylan resolution. Lord knows, The Fall approach Dylan in their proficiency, so I’d have plenty of product to chose from.
“Hex Enduction Hour,” self-described as “a well-produced noise thing,” is just that and generally viewed as a classic in The Fall cannon.

What a cannon it is, as Mark E. Smith opens the release with “The Classical” by asking “Where are the obligatory niggers?/Hey there, fuck face!” Smith is already coming out swinging and the rest of the band rollick along with a two drummer line up and some innovative guitar work from Marc Riley and Craig Scanlon. “The Classical” is one of the greatest and most vicious Fall songs ever.
How fucking cool is Mark E. Smith? Pretty fuckin’. Consider the track “Who Makes The Nazis?” where Smith accurately names “bad bias tele-v!” as the culprit. Who makes the Nazis? “Balding smug faggots/intellectual half-wits.” Brilliant. And this was over a decade before the advent of Fox-TV.
How influential is Mark E. Smith? Pretty fuckin’. Consider the track “Iceland” where a simple piano phrase lies underneath drums, percussion, and high-fret bass phrasing. Anyone who’s ever owned a Sugarcubes (or solo Bjork) album can pretty much gather how “Hex,” particularly this track from it, may have been their touch-stone. “And the spawn of the volcano/is thick and impatient/like the people around it.” Now you know why Sigur Ros made up their own language; M.E.S. has complete mastery of English prose.
I’ve got to hand it to Sanctuary records for expanding some of the Fall’s catalog like “Hex.” The albums are presented in their original form with an extra disc for bonus material. The packaging is also top-notch with informative liner notes. For example, when the album was released, Flexipop magazine had Mark E. Smith review a fucking Krokus album. If that wasn’t awesome enough, the magazine also had the lead singer of the Swiss heavy metal band Krokus, Mark Storace, review “Hex Enduction Hour.” Mark, who found a bit of notoriety with his ample chest hair and a cover of “Ballroom Blitz” felt that The Fall album was “One long downer”and that "this type of music doesn't appeal to me." One would think that someone like Mark E. Smith would be upset about a comment like this, but when he was asked about the current flavor of British pop music at the time like Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet, he admitted that he would rather listen to Krokus.
“And This Day” ends “H.E.H.” with 10 minutes of chaotic noise with what could be the most appropriate album closer since The Stooges “L.A. Blues.” Starting off with a certain amount of structure, the song gallops into a dissonant groove while Smith yells “everywhere just no fucking respite for us here!” According to the liner notes, this ten minute track was edited down from the original recording which clocked in at close to 25 minutes. Mark wasn’t very happy about that decision, either. But when is Mark happy?

The Fall-The Complete Peel Sessions

Oh happy day. The mailman brings a collection of new releases and among them is a collection that I’ve been obsessing about since it was issued at the end of June. The Fall’s box set “The Complete Peel Sessions 1978-2004” compiles every single Fall session on John Peel’s radio broadcast. The good. The bad. The ugly: Mark E. Smith.
Peel and Smith had a very strange relationship. One would automatically think the two would be chummy in some romantic notion of a pair of English gentlemen talking tunes over tea. The fact was, by Smith’s own admission in explaining why he wasn’t present for Peel’s funeral, the two barely knew each other. Peel, perhaps knowing well enough not to break the wall of fanboy, stayed out of The Fall’s way and remained their most notorious supporter. From that point, it’s safe to say that you would look pretty cool by having a Fall album or two in your collection.
Or six: “The Complete Peel Sessions” span over a quarter century of sessions, tracks, personnel. Does a newcomer really need six discs of tracks from a radio broadcast to become familiarized with The Fall? They’d probably be better served with last year’s “50,000 Fall Fans Can’t Be Wrong” best of compilation. But you know what? I’d recommend the investment in this box set over any single disc set in a heartbeat. It has everything you need to hear to get an understanding of what kind of band they are (feisty, snotty, well read, primitive, unconventional, blah blah, wolf wolf) and it contains shit you don’t need to hear. Truly, this is the first compilation/retrospective that I’ve ever seen acknowledge some of the sessions were shitty. That being said, the shitty are few in numbers: there’s at least three dozen really great versions and about three dozen really good versions in this package. Do the math and that’s a better return on my investment than my Jimi Hendrix box set.

Out of the “really great ones,” disc two wins in my cd player. It contains my favorite broadcast (session six) from March 23, 1983, the period right around the Perverted By Language release, which ain’t even my favorite Fall album. Nope, that album The Frenz Experiment managed to produce another great session (eleven) from May 19,1987.
Here’s the thing: when Smith started to realize a degree of complacency in the band (read: proficiency) he would immediately rebuild the band with new members thereby forcing a continual feel of tension. When shown in such a large context, you begin to see the method to his madness. It plays like an audio rollercoaster and Mark E. keeps getting back on the ride.
Packaged in a simplistic brown box, the liner notes are well written and the sessions clearly identified and critiqued. Relevant pictures capturing the radio experience are throughout the booklet, including one of the only pictures I’ve ever seen of Mark E. Smith smiling…standing right next to Peel himself.

The Fall-The Real New Fall L.P.

Most people probably hate to be known as an asshole. Pablo Picasso was never called one, but I'd bet that The Fall's Mark E. Smith has heard it a few times during the band's 27 year existence. After all, when Mark started out, he originally auditioned for some heavy metal bands only for them to discover that Mark was 1.) tone deaf, and 2.) an asshole. So what's an asshole to do but form his own band and piss off 49 former band members (including 1 ex-wife) to the point where "The Fall" is merely "Mark E. Smith's band this time." Mark, perhaps one of music's greatest songwriters, of course worded it best with a song once that admitted "My friends don't amount to one hand."
Originally called "Country On The Clink," the album was planned for release in April 2003. Somehow, a promotional copy was leaked on the internet, even though the promotional material was clearly labeled: "For promotional use only - anyone abusing this will have Mark E Smith to contend with and may God have mercy on your soul!!!". Being an asshole, MES scrapped the album and remixed the entire project because he said so. To be an even bigger asshole, MES provided English fans with a slightly different version of the album last year before releasing it in America in 2004.
There have been some great Fall albums. There have been some really bad Fall albums. And if you believe that bands typically get a little soft after their first quarter century, you'd probably have a number of examples to back up your hypothesis. But you wouldn't have Mark E. Smith fronting any one of them. He's an asshole like that.
"The Real New Fall LP" is a great Fall album. After a few years of surprising silence, Mark comes across positively renewed and the "new" Fall line-up sounds exactly like they did twenty seven years ago: unlike anything else. The music, the lyrics, it's all remarkable. Proof that even at 46 (he looks much older) Mark has got more left in him than England's newest hitmaker. What keeps him both relevant and off the radio is his satirical rants and uncommon delivery. As John Peel said "They are always different. They are always the same."
Six years ago, it did look like the end. Mark had managed to piss off his (then) band enough to the point where a drunken on-stage fistfight broke out between him and...the rest of the band. The performance continued with Mark's shirt stained with his own blood. After the performance, Mark fired everyone except one individual and continued on the road. Mark even went a step further, perhaps salt on the wound, with the album's song "Portugal" which sounds like the reading an angry letter directed to him, essentially chastising Mr. Smith for his abusive treatment of band members and the crew ("You were abusive, way beyond what anybody should have to reasonably deal with. Words fail me how offensive a human being you are. Treat people as you want to be treated!").

"I hate the countryside so much/ I hate the country folk so much" he barks on "Contraflow," but Smith has always been more of an urban poet rather than some Hibbings, Minnesota troubadour. In 1965, Dylan let out a collective sneer asking a generation "How does it feel?, while MES has made a living with a sneer that seldom asks, yet instead demands that you "Open the goddamn box!" on "Boxoctosis," perhaps the album's most memorable track. And I've yet to hear Dylan rhyme "Dolly Parton" with "Lord Byron."
The coupling comes from the standout track "Mountain," which ranks as one of the greatest Fall songs ever recorded. Nobody in music could come up with a lyric like "So I went fishing, and a note from a fish said: 'Dear Dope: If you want to catch us, you need a rod and a line. Signed, The Fish.'" and make it work. Read the line aloud. Now sing it. Now explain how a guy with, at the most, two monotonic notes in his voice has managed to make a career out of it. Not that MES has gotten rich from his original vision of forming a band with "raw music with really weird vocals over it," but if I could, I'd pay him a King's sum to never change from being different.