SONG OF THE WEEK: “Boys, The Night Will Bury You”
— Richard Buckner

Me, I find that during a particularly vociferous blast of wicked wintry weather, a person’s personal state of well-being is sometimes directly correlated with how close to the bottom of the ole bottle (G’wan, head down to the likker store an’ pick a couple of yer faves up—I myself enjoy a pint or so of Dr. McGillicuddy’s finest, 40-proof Peppermint Schnapps backed by a 30-rack of Old Milwaukee, but the choice, of course, is all yours) one is. A few snorts in—bah! That’s like puttin’ a little round Band-Aid on a massive cerebral hemorrhage, buddy. A quarter of the way down—now you’re startin’ to warm up a little, aint’cha? There ya go, might as well make it to the halfway mark. You don’t even remember what you were so pissed about now, do you? Three-quarters gone—not only do you not remember what you were so pissed about, you’ve actually forgiven the person/incident completely and are in the middle of making them a CD mix because you just KNOW that if they had some decent music in their souls, they’d be better people and you’d finally get along with them. Besides, it’s too crappy outside to do much else. Well, I’ve got your back. Here’s a few new releases you might want to consider for that mix. Now where’s that second bottle....?

CD REVIEWS

Peter Himmelman
The Complete Sussman Lawrence
(1979-1985)
(Deep Shag Records, 2004)

For most Minneapolis hipsters over the age of 40, the band Sussman Lawrence were as important—or at least as prevalent—a part of the early, original rock/club scene around these parts as The Suicide Commandos, The Hypstrz, The Suburbs or Curtiss A were. Formed as the disco-ized, punk-thrashed ’70s faded into the skinny-tie ’80s by Twin Cities natives (and cousins) Peter Himmelman (lead vocals and guitar) and Jeff Victor (keys and backing vocals), the outfit blazed its way across local and regional stages with their fresh blend of original music, heartfelt lyrics, and over-the-top (full stage outfits, makeup, items thrown at audience members) live antics.

Himmelman and Victor were no strangers to the scene, both having served apprenticeships as the only white members of Minneapolis soul/funk maestro Alexander O’Neal’s backing band, and they used that experience to augment their own sometimes-brilliant, sometimes-wacky master plan to usurp not only the local pop music throne, but eventually, become national and international sensations. This package, released on the 25th anniversary of the group’s formation, includes re-issues of both their critically acclaimed albums, 1980’s Hail To The Modern Hero and the 1984 double record set, Pop City, as well as four rare bonus tracks.

Himmelman, the band’s primary song-writer, grew up in St. Louis Park, where he was “heavily influenced by Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley,” and those influences shone through on Sussman’s debut effort, driven even harder by fellow ‘Lawrence members Al Wolovitch (bass), Andrew Kamman (drums), and sax-man Eric Moen. And though one of their first major reviews (by Billboard writer Jim Bessman, who also contributes thoughtful and honest liner notes to this pkg) immediately—and correctly—pegged the band as a “cross between Bruce Springsteen and Elvis Costello,” Himmelman’s authentic, spunky Midwestern lyrical style also created a link between the sounds and philosophies of both.

Kicking off with the insanely catchy “Shelly’s Dog,” Hail To The Modern Hero instantly establishes itself as a release that would ride proudly between much of the material released in the late ’70s by Graham Parker, Nick Lowe and (a slightly less twangy) Dave Edmunds. Himmelman’s voice nearly drips with the period’s standard, faux-English patios, while the ‘Lawrence boys zip out space-y keyboard riffs, pounding, “Welcome To The Working Week”-esque drum fills, ska-happy bass lines, and funky, horny sax runs—they’re so good, you have to wonder what crappy breaks this band had that kept them from achieving mass popularity in an era when even the best Costello knock-offs weren’t even a close second to their talents.

The Hail... re-issue caps off with four rarities, the first of which is a surprisingly hard-rocking, vitriolic reading of the song, “Modern Saint,” which was originally released on the Twin City Beat Compilation 1982. This growling, swaggering slice of ’80s power-pop is a great aural snapshot of the band at the time, and was probably the best song on that compilation. Also included is the previously-unreleased “Fortunate,” a dreamy, swooning little nugget from 1983, “Hard Rock Tambourine,” a funny, bittersweet unreleased cut from 1979, and a live reading of the bouncy, reggae-inflected fan fave, “Tough Suction.”

Disc two, a straightforward re-issue of the ’84 double-album Pop City, will be a welcome treat for longtime fans who’ve been, for the past decade or so, hoarding their one vinyl copy and listening to the thing on a tattered cassette they made back in college, and also for budding pop-ologists and the curious. Here the band’s reggae influences are far more pronounced, with album opener “Torture Me” hearkening a merger of island jambo, Two Tone tightness, and maybe something from the Howard The Duck soundtrack. Sussman were anything but predictable, however. Among the 20 tracks on Pop City, you’ll hear snaky, jazzy riffs (“She’s The Living End”), dark, driving pop tragedies (“The Fifth Of August,” a re-worked version of which later appeared on a Himmelman solo album, Skin), slinky, sexy, funk-fests (“Fireman”), bizarre, Zappa-inspired keyboard gurgles (the intro to “Made To Order”), acoustic heart-breakers (“Hope”), sharp, REM-ish rockers (“Bitter World”) hilarious musical mini-comedies (“The Sperm Song”), and rousing, roof-rattling should-be classics like “Baby, Let Me Be Your Cigarette,” probably the group’s most-requested song at live gigs.

So, to recap: Himmelman’s pipes—awesome. Songwriting—powerful, original, soulful. The band’s sound—wild, unpredictable, brave and, despite the electronic trappings of those sometimes awful early ’80s, always entertaining. The whole package—something every discerning fan of pop music should own, and definitely a must-have for local archivists and collectors. After a move out East (to Jersey) in the mid-’80s, Sussman Lawrence morphed into the Peter Himmelman band, and eventually a one-man show.

Peter, of course, went on to fame and fortune as a solo artist, releasing some undeniable chestnuts over the years (check out ’92s Flown This Acid World, which featured Mike Campbell and Benmont Tench of Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers, backing vocals by Kristin Moody, and several must-hears, including the classic eight-minute album closer/anti-bigotry anthem, “Untitled.” Also give 1994’s Skin a spin—it’s a loose concept album featuring one of my Himmelman faves, “11 Months In The Bath Of Dirty Spirits,” as well as the aforementioned “Fifth Of August”), finally settling down in L.A. to release children’s albums and write TV theme songs—most notably that of the CBS drama “Judging Amy.” Andy Kamman and Al Wolovitch are out West, as well, the former playing drums for Vonda Shepard and Uma, the latter scoring for television shows and commercials. Moen’s back in Minneapolis (and, I hope, playing the living shit out of a sax somewhere tonight). If you live in the Twin Cities, it’s hard to miss Jeff Victor. He not only plays with wildly popular rock/pop outfit The Honeydogs, but also produces CDs for Target Corp.’s Lifescape label, and pounds those mighty keys at all Timberwolves home games.

Sussman Lawrence may not yet have reached their well-deserved spot on the old Cosmic Pop Classics shelf (and I think that’s mostly due to ignorance of the band by the public due to apathy on the part of music writers who don’t see any gain for themselves by unearthing these great sounds), but hell, even one-time underground heroes like Roky Erickson, Daniel Johnston and Jessco have graduated to full-on rock crit canonization through the passage of time, so there’s ample reason to assume that a great, somewhat unheralded-of-late pop-rock combo like Sussman Lawrence will eventually have their day. At least, nobody can say I didn’t warn ‘em. Great stuff from the vaults.

The Lift
Road To Hana
(Little Red Records, 2005)

Dammit, I didn’t want to like this record! Not only is it chock fulla the (for today) requisite programming, electronic gee-gaws and studio trickery, but the band itself (Matt and Jason Docter, Todd Beeson, and drummers Josh Quirk and Chris O’Brien) is one of those up-and-comers who absolutely do not need press from me. Matt, Jason and Todd have been writing TV soundtrack tunes for several years now—most notably, for Roswell, She Spies, and the NBC mini-series “The ’70s.” O’Brien (who took over drum duties from Josh after this album was recorded) has done session work for Entertainment Tonight and Hard Copy, as well as performed Sound Design duties for big names like Michael Jackson, Amy Grant and Lionel Richie. MTV, ABC and FOX all currently air one or more songs by The Lift in one form or another. Obviously, they sure as hell don’t need any press from me.

But I don’t write these little reviews because of what a band or artist needs—that’s a job for their PR flacks. I write them so the public knows a little more about what’s going on from a source that’s not on anybody’s payroll or shooting for a position at some publication that’s owned by the same corporate parents who own the record companies, radio stations and TV outlets across the nation. That’s why I’m recommending Road To Hana. Electronic wizardry aside, the record comes across in the end as a True, from-the-gut (via the cerebral cortex, of course), socially-conscious, HUMAN collection of righteous rockers, beautiful ballads and torch-y, timeless titillations.

Right from the opening sounds—loud gurgles from some tortured unit of modern electronic noisemaking (which immediately and sweetly morph into an up-tempo, down-beat mini-anthem) which preface track one, “Bury The Lead,” it’s clear that this is a different sort of electronica—if that’s what they’re calling it these days. Once in awhile (Alva Star, Halloween, Alaska and The Original Mark Edwards, in particular) an outfit that relies heavily upon “extra-rock-ular” gadgetry (read—guitars aren’t generally the focal point, although sometimes that approach can produce a shockingly effective six-string attack) is so pure, so real, so shimmering right beneath that shiny surface that even the most in-your-face, computer-augmented falderal can’t hide it. Such is the case here. Other standouts include the soothing, mysterious grooves of “Carousel,” the nervous glimmer of “War Parade,” the lilting, slightly off-kilter swoon of “Favorite Record,” the deliciously melancholy strains of “Spaceman,” the sexy, hungry-for-you vibes of “Surrounded,” and the undeniably powerful, soul-edifying blast of album centerpiece “Firecracker.”

Like I said, I didn’t want to like this record. I just can’t help myself. I want to crank “Firecracker” up to ELEVEN and blow a couple tweeters out while the neighbors frantically dial 911. I want to smash my computer keyboard, unplug my mouse and swing it around my head like Roger Daltrey with a wayward mic. Most of all, I wanna see if these guys can kick the living shit out of a crowd of sweaty, anticipatory Minneapolis rock and roll fanatics. You’ll get your chance on April 2, as Matt, Jason, Todd (who you’ll recognize from his stints with Marlee MacLeod and former Trip Shakespearean Matt Wilson) and Chris take their show on the road and land right square on the stage of the 7th Street Entry. Highly recommended.

That wraps up this edition of the ‘Dial, folks. Tune in again next time for more liquor-inspired rants, ravaged rock ’n’ roll raves, and rollicking pop culture references. Until then—make yer own damned news. ||

If you have local music news/gigs/events/CDs you’d like to see mentioned in this column, or you’d just like to hip me to your favorite delivery-only liquor store, send replies to: (temporary e-mail) jamescrouch_1@juno.com.