’round the dial: Making Rock the Old-Fashioned Way
Thursday 26 January @ 13:17:15 |
 by Tom Hallet
QUOTE OF THE WEEK: “You get on the radio by writing your own songs. But we had the dilemma of not being able to play anywhere because we weren’t able to play anything that anyone wanted to hear. So we learned songs that we thought that we could do without puking.” — Wayne Kramer of The MC5
SONG OF THE WEEK: “I Made An Offer” — Little Man
No time for jivin' an jawin' this time out, gang. We're divin' right into a killer local CD I’ve been just itchin’ to give some ink to, so kick back, crank up the tunes, an’ roll ‘em if ya got ‘em ...
 Capital
Sons
Self-Titled
2005
Self-Released
I reviewed a lil’ teaser EP from these cats in
this here space not long ago, and I said at that time that I couldn’t
wait for the full-length to hit the streets. Boy, was I not disappointed!! I
spent all night with a 12-pack of cheap beer, three packs of Marlboro Lights
(yeah, hadda give up the Reds after a few very rough mornings!) and mebbe a
few other treats you either already know about or never should. Anyway, the
three songs from the aforementioned EP are on this CD, plus four fresh ones
I’d never heard before. Excellent ....
Before I even get into the songs or the people that make up this record, I have
to say one thing: TURN IT UP TO 11, MOFOS!! This is one of those albums (partly
produced by Glenrustles/Ol’ Yeller front man Rich Mattson, natch) I can
unabashedly say, without an ounce of reserve or irony, was MADE LOUD TO PLAY
LOUD!! The vocals are soaring, glorious and keening, the guitars are riff-a-licious,
to-the-fuckin’-stars blasts of electric joy, the drums are driving, pounding,
meaty bumps of wake-the-fuck-up, the bass is throbbing, insistent and hypnotic.
Is this merely a collection of thrashing, snarling rawk fury? Fuck no. Is it
a raucous, shit-kicking country hoe-down? Bzzzt! Wrong-o-boyo! Is it a mind-melting,
psychedelic googly-moogly? Not even. Is it a bevy of snappy, in-your-face power
pop? Nawww. What it is is the perfect meld of all of those sounds and more—seven
songs that each stand on their own as viable radio singles and memorable, ear-pleasin’
daily soundtracks. So let’s talk about the band ...
These guys aren’t big scenester types: you won’t find ‘em
boot-scootin’ over to the latest critics’ darling’s [Hey
now –ed.] shows just to be seen with the seen-too-goddamn-much, or
slitherin’ around the latest “hot spot” in town in hopes of
bending the ear of some local press schmuck [Easy there –ed.],
nor will you find them slobberin’ at the office door of the nearest secretly
corporate-owned “indie” label.
Where you will find ‘em is at soul-stealing day jobs, crammed into tiny,
smokey practice spaces and vans, laughing an’ dancin’ at a live
gig by Ol’ Yeller, High On Stress or the Mammy Nuns, and definitely, when
the stars are just right, with heads hung over a late-night bar with goofy,
music-induced grins on their mugs an’ a half-empty glass of some shitty
tap beer or rotten bar pour whiskey in front of ‘em. Why? ‘Cause
they’re just regular folks, folks—and them are the kinda folks who
make really, really, really good records.
 The
four dudes in Capital Sons—Karl
Obermeyer on vocals and guitars, Gary Vogel on axe an’ vocals, Keefe Russell
on bass an’ vocals and Jesse Thomas on drums—all come from various
backgrounds, but obviously share a common interest in and love for classic country
in the vein of George Jones, Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash, classic rock from
The Doors to Cheap Trick, alternative stalwarts like Pearl Jam and Soundgarden
and catchy, insistent power pop, e.g. The Replacements, Big Star and The Beatles.
Which, to me anyway, is the perfect fuckin’ combo of influences.
C.S. blasts right off with the soothing, driving come-on of “Miss Understood,”
which simultaneously brings to mind Paul Westerberg’s “Dice Behind
Your Shades,” a sped-up “Elderly Woman ...” from Pearl Jam
and a song that’s never been written but sounds like you’ve always
known it. “You said it’s better to observe,” croons Obermeyer
in a voice that could be Eddie Vedder’s long lost little brother’s,
“than lose my nerve, an’ to slowly come undone ...” as the
band furiously matches the almost palpable sense of loss and staggered redemption
wending through the lyrics and vocals.
“On Your Side” rolls out like a triumphant ode to The Dashboard
Saviors via Jon Dee Graham, Obermeyer givin’ a rollicking rock n’
roll shout as the band slams into the tune: “We used to argue about where
we’d go/ If we ever got out of here/ You said New York, I said California
...” A bittersweet, yet uplifting homage to a lost love (one that was
lost long before it was pronounced M.I.A., methinks, and one that’s still
pined for more than a bit ...), this one would ride just fine on any radio playlist
bold enough to pump out Son Volt, The Waterboys and The Raspberries in one set.
I can’t say enough here about Obermeyer’s vocals—this motherfucker
has pipes like a bleedin’ church organ, baby! To die for.
“Halo” is a grand, soaring anthem—the band members each reaching
for their own personal nirvanas, Obermeyer howling at the cosmos like some gladly
beaten, life-long gunslinger of the heart ready to trade his irons in for some
welcome peace of mind: “Take me in your arms/ An’ raise me from
this place /I know that I’m addicted to your charm/ Here’s to golden
days ... oh, the more I see, the more I take/ The time that’s come won’t
hesitate/ The more I look into your eyes/ The less I have to compromise/ For
you ...” Vogel’s hot-shit, showdown-at-the-OK-motherfuckin’-Corral
guitar solos here are absolutely ripping, and prove that he could tackle just
about any worthwhile genre of axe-slingin’ you threw his way.
 “So
Lonely,” co-written by Obermeyer and Vogel, eases in on a wing and a prayer
with tentative guitar, then evens out into a catchy, toe-tappin’ pop gem
with soaring backing vocals, in-your-face bass and spot-on skins. “Leaving
Town” is a barroom ballad of the highest order—“For the last
time, I’m leavin’ town,” warns Obermeyer, “That’s
the last time I bite my tongue, I’ll say what needs to be said/ Do what
shoulda been done/ I know it’s not only me/ That carries such a load ...”
But the very weight of his vocals, the constant pressure of those lyrics, belie
such sentiments. Obermeyer carries a lot of weight on his rock n’ roll
shoulders—and you’ll feel like you’re helping to lighten the
load with every scream, holler an’ bibulous belt-out you absorb from this
album.
“Spark” slides out gently on a rolling, calming bass line (that
cat ain’t usin’ no pick, is he?? Dunno but sounds fuckin’
REAL from here, mate), guitars gently cluckin’ an chimin’, Obermeyer
layin’ down a sexy line via Alex Chilton and that guy from The Outfield:
“I got you on my mind again tonight/ Seein’ flashin’ red colored
light/ Come back here so I can get your name/ Oh, I wouldn’t know what
to say, just the same...”
The whole (too short but oh-so-sweet) shebang closes out with the ringing rock
n’ roll celebration of “Paint This Town,” an upbeat, romping
wink-an-a-nod to the local scene, Obermeyer evoking that giddy belly-flip an’
shiver-inducing premonition ya get as you jingle your keys and head out the
door to what you just know is gonna be a kick-ass night at a great live gig
in a warm, friendly pub where (er) everybody knows your name: “Little
sister, I share your excitement, count the glimpses you’ve been throwin’
at me/ Will you let me show you delightment/ We could make it such a sight to
see/ We could dance atop these tables/ We can sway until they kick us out/ We
can play until we’re unable/ What color do ya wanna paint this town?”
Another fine example of just how little those people who claim there’s
no fresh, exciting, challenging music coming out of the local scene these days
(I hear they’re hiring journalists in Iraq RIGHT NOW, my smarmy little,
teetotaling, sweater-wearing collegiate chums!) actually really know about local
music—they obviously have their heads so far up their own asses that their
only hope is a six-foot crowbar, a bottle of Jim Beam and about 1,000 hours
of community service playing great local music on KFAI. Sorry, KFAI, I know
you don’t deserve it, but only you would have the patience and forgiveness
to allow such cretins any air time at all, though a damn good cause ‘twould
be for.
Oh well, guess the rest of you will actually have to break down and buy an album
this year—Capital Sons will be the bargain you’ll still be enjoying
come next season. Get out an’ see ‘em live—and for fuck’s
sake, BUY THIS RECORD NOW!!!! www.CapitalSons.com.
Time’s up, flyers. Kindly return your headsets to the seat back in front
of you, and file out in an orderly manner ... nawwww ... burn the bastard to
the ground an’ run like hell!! See you on the other side, ya monkeys.
Until then, make yer own damn 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 complain that I didn’t mention
your latest whiny e-mail to me, send replies to somebody who gives a damn. Or
just try Tmygunn777@peoplepc.com.
|
|
 |
|
