 by Tom Hallett
Everybody knows rock ‘n’ roll music is supposed to be about rebellion. From Elvis “The Pelvis” to the British invasion to the advent of heavy metal, the form has always relied heavily on both shock value and a certain, inherent tendency towards danger and excitement. These days, though, when pop songs are used in political and advertising campaigns, kids’ movie soundtracks, and at sporting and family events, good ol’ rock ‘n’ roll seems to have lost a good deal of its bite.
Download an mp3 of The Rake’s song Satellite Whine.
The Beatles—courtesy of Michael Jackson—shill for tennis shoes. The Sex Pistols, The Clash, and Iggy Pop all offer up toothless sneers for various purveyors of products intended for ownership by folks whose idea of edgy entertainment is drinking Zima at a Dixie Chicks gig, and somewhere along Madison Avenue, a couple of greedy young sales execs with kick-ass music collections are laughing all the way to the bank.
 Which is why the lead track on Minneapolis rockers The Rakes’ (Aaron Pruitt,
vocals, guitar/songwriting; Steve Dupuis, guitar; Jon Sawyer, bass; and Brian
Mondl, drums) latest album, Automatic Volume, is so very important, not only
to fans of loud, scrappy guitar rock everywhere, but to the continued relevance
and power of the very genre itself. Titled “I Am The Insurrection,”
it refers not to the obvious, political definition of the term, but partly to
the act of turning rock ‘n’ roll itself inside out; rebelling against
the norms and standards employed by even the staunchest supporters of the ol’
two guitars, bass, drums and vocal attack. And that’s just the tip of
the iceberg, as a recent conversation with Pruitt and the rest of The Rakes—real
rockers, not a jack-a-dandy among ‘em—proved.
“‘I Am The Insurrection’ encompasses a lot of what the rest
of the record is about,” confirms Pruitt, a soft-spoken South Carolina
native with more than a hint of his old accent still intact. “I always
wanted to write a properly bombastic rebellious anthem, and ‘Insurrection’
comes really close. The song is about taking control and ignoring all conventions
and trends. There are a lot of references—with several different meanings—in
there. You can start making your own inferences about Dylan, the smallness of
us all ...”
Beyond those esoteric matters, however, lies a simpler Truth, and one the song’s
author is eager to explain: “I changed my normal approach to writing for
this record. If I felt like picking up the guitar first, I didn’t, and
if I felt like writing a narrative, I tried to disassemble all linear phrases.
Basically, I just wanted to do everything the hard way, and it nearly drove
me insane. I fled the basement in several anxiety attacks during the writing.
Don’t try this at home! At the same time, I have always been an album
fan, and have always tried to keep that focus as well. My main goal was no love
songs, period. That was just a small revolt against myself over the nearly autobiographical
Pass The Lies, which is still a great record, but not one that I needed to write
twice. Automatic Volume is more open to interpretation by the listener, and
I wanted it that way.”
Pruitt’s answers, if nothing else, display the classically-trained, eminently
curious Southerner’s penchant for serious soul-searching and his endless
quest to tie his natural talents and abilities into some larger, more complete
picture. Bottom line, though, is that his nontraditional approach to both the
big questions in life and his band’s studio output has made for some high-quality,
honest Midwestern-flavored rock ‘n’ roll over the past few years.
No-bullshit, from-the-gut, ballsy music made by real people for real people.
Bar music straight from the source—four guys who love to hang out in working-class
bars, pounding down stiff ones and grooving to loud, live local rock.
Pruitt, whose musical and artistic influences include Elvis Costello, Hank Williams,
Ray Davies, Alex Chilton, Paul Westerberg, and Charles Bukowski (“I thought
I was like him for awhile,” he chuckles, “but I admit I’m
not quite that dedicated to destroying myself”), is thrilled at early
reactions to Automatic Volume, but is quick to give props to his band mates
and to local producer/engineer/musician Mike Wisti, who again handled recording
duties—as well as contributing piano, guitar and organ to the mix—at
his Albatross studio here in town.
“We’ve had this lineup for almost five years,” he says with
a proud grin, “and as a band, simply playing together that long lets you
read each other better and respond accordingly. Working with Mike was great,
we seemed to see eye to eye on a lot of this record, as with the last one.”
The other three members of The Rakes, Mondl, Sawyer and Dupuis, are just as
excited about the group itself, their recent time in the studio and the resulting
body of work.
“[On Pass The Lies] I was very naive and afraid to try anything but what
I knew,” admits drummer/Chicago-to-Minneapolis transplant Mondl, the youngest,
and, next to Pruitt, most exuberant member of the crew. “I could’ve
done a better job if I’d listened to Mike more. This time around, I decided
to try everything that the guys threw at me, and I did. The recording of Automatic
Volume was a wonderful time for me. We had our arguments, but we were always
open. We experimented more and really got a feel for what you should bring into
a recording room. I can’t wait to go back again!”
Bassist Sawyer, the other half of The Rakes’ pulsing, pounding rhythm
section, seems equally satisfied with the band’s latest effort, if not
nearly as ebullient as Mondl. “I joined [The Rakes] because there was
a poster of Lemmy on the practice space wall.” (Grins) “Later I
found that it was left by another band.” Sawyer’s stoic, deadpan
delivery is classic Detroit, his original home base and the scene where he first
became entrenched in the seedy underbelly of rock ‘n’ roll, but
there’s no mistaking the pride in his voice as he talks about The Rakes’
new material. “We did a basic demo with our first drummer’s recording
equipment. I don’t think any copies of that survive to this day. The second
recording was the EP Wood And Wire, which was done on Steve’s digital
machine. I think it sounds good. Then we did the big albums with Mike, they
sound better.”
Dupuis, a Northbrook, Illinois, native, who also does double duty in another
local T.C. outfit, The Blue Mollies (which he half-jokingly refers to as “kind
of a poppy-folky-rock band with a bit of a twang ... I guess.”), not only
provides some of the most searing sonic assaults in The Rakes’ repertoire
with his gritty, groove-stick guitar work, but also shares both musical influences
and philosophies with Pruitt. Both cite The Replacements as seminal musical
role models, and both are refreshingly humble and happy with their personal
successes. “There are lots of talented people out there who aren’t
any more successful than we are,” he stresses. “At the end of the
day, it comes down to being happy with what you’re doing. I’d like
to tour as much as possible. Getting signed ... I wouldn’t mind if it
were the right kinda thing. It gets hard with people havin’ babies and
buying houses and other commitments. I’d just like The Rakes to be as
successful as possible.”
With the release of Automatic Volume, the band named after those ne’er-do-well,
shady social rebels of days gone by have just the chance they’ve been
waiting for to garner that success. A tight, catchy batch of amped-up power-pop
on the order of Pruitt and Dupuis’ rock ‘n’ roll darlings,
The Replacements, with healthy doses of Big Star-ish angst, soaring Cheap Trick-ian
harmonies, and slightly miffed, Clash-y social significance, there’s simply
not a stinker in the lot. Kicking off with the aforementioned “I Am The
Insurrection,” a throbbing, ringing ode to Pruitt’s grand rock/life
dreams, this record makes it clear right from the get-go that The Rakes are
a band in healthy flux, at the top of their game, and eager to capture your
rock ‘n’ roll heart. “I’m deconstructing everything,”
howls the lanky, flannel-shrouded Pruitt. “Repositioning the pieces, I’m
the closing dream....”
“Satellite Whine,” with its stuttering rhythms, roiling guitars
and gut-thrumming bass, laments the state of modern society/pop culture with
a plaintive cry: “the heart of the broadcast is lost in the satellite
whine” but then rears up and snarls back at that realization, “Rip
out the pages/Your Now Society changes/I’ve still got my rock an’
roll ass/I’ve got my new kind of collapse/And you throw yourself into
the cleansing brine”
In the end, the already-reticent Pruitt seems even more taken aback at the sheer
aural beauty of these songs—and these recordings of them—than he
was by the band’s first EP a few years and a few lifetimes ago. But don’t
take that to mean that he’s not fiercely proud of ‘em and chomping
at the bit to play ‘em out live. “This recording was exciting, arduous,
and ultimately fulfilling. There were the usual arguments,” he shrugs,
“you know, the usual rock ‘n’ roll drama. But the whole atmosphere
I wanted in the sessions was that if someone—anyone—had an idea
and there was (an instrument) next to you, then plug it in and run tape! If
it’s a good idea, great. If not, so be it. We did things that sound completely
wrong, and most of it is on the record and sounds great in the songs. There
were ideas I had for these songs that benefited from the extra effort—I
think the album speaks for itself on that. We ran a LOT of tape for this album,
and if I’d had my way, we’d have run more!”
As for what the future holds for a guitar-based, Twin Cities rock ‘n’
roll band with a knack for a smart pop hook and subject matter that runs the
gamut from neutrinos to retaining one’s “rock and roll ass,”
only time will tell. The combo has certainly worked wonders in the past for
like-minded musical souls, that’s a given. Constant live gigging over
the past couple of years has produced a tight, esprit de corps among the members,
and their material has never been stronger, so it seems, for now, that the sky’s
the limit.
One thing’s for sure—The Rakes are one outfit that will stand loud
and proud as a testament to both the timeless, rebellious quality of the rock
genre as well as at the forefront of a continually necessary inner insurrection
that’s paramount to rock’s very survival. Like the album’s
lone soft, contemplative anthem—and final track—”ywyr”
(Echoing the sad, ghostly strains of The Replacements’ “All Shook
Down,” the key-and-axe-augmented tune shimmers like a skewed reflection
of itself: “on and on the radio song/Did it pass us while we laughed about
it?”), the author’s final comments find his demeanor suddenly slightly
self-conscious, his words delivered with a charming, old-world solemnity and
grace that could only come from his deep-seated Southern roots: “‘Automatic
Volume’ is about what the songs say, in a way,” muses Pruitt.
“Literally, of course, it’s a reference to our propensity to play
fairly loud. It also is a quip about having to churn out that dreaded sophomore
full-length. As in, ‘expected work.’” His face splits in a
wolfish grin then, a twinkle creeping into his eyes. “I think my favorite,
though, is the implication that The Rakes will deliver. This is what we do,
and we do it for ourselves. I try not to get hung up on anything else besides
the nuts and bolts of making the music. I’m a dinosaur, I guess. My drive
is the work itself.” ||
The Rakes play on Fri., Sept. 17, at 10 p.m. at the Minnesota
Museum of American Art with Dan Israel and Tin Horns. 6 p.m. doors. All Ages.
$5. 50 West Kellogg Blvd., St. Paul. 651-292-4355.
Check out The Rakes on their
official website.
Download
an mp3 of The Rake’s song Satellite Whine.
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