Metz - Metz

Channeling the brutal rhythms of the Jesus Lizard and rendering the power-trio format to its very essence is always going to get an approving nod from your truly, but the point where I want to smack you across the face to take notice of the band Metz is almost immediately after the first listen of their self-titled debut.

Metz has spent the last five years stripping their best thirty minutes into this stunning release and it is of such head-nodding caliber that you may as well invest in a bottle of Excedrin on the way home from the record store.

And what a coincidence! The album begins with the driving “Headache,” which perfectly kicks things off with Hayden Menzies’ drumming, a man who hammers the skins like a dimwitted cousin of Dave Grohl-and that’s a compliment.

Menzies is usually joined at the hip with bassist Chris Slorach who is a one trick pony of quarter notes and piston simplicity-and that’s a compliment too.

But the band’s creative and chief noise monger is Alex Edkins who manages to sound like his destroying his larynx and his amplifier simultaneously. Nonstop. For a solid half-hour.

Metz is filled with dissonant guitars and cavestomp glee, causing Edkins to yell out “Woo!” like a punk rock Rick Flair during several songs. And while it may indeed be equal parts showboating and exasperation, it’s deserved. Metz shows a narrow focus and replicates the same formulas (jackhammer rhythms, dissonant note bends) throughout several songs, but the record builds up so much momentum that you can’t help but admire that this one, singular thing that Metz does, they do it very well.

Edkins doesn’t share Yow’s garbled rambles in his own vein-popping delivery. His is very précise and channeled, but as cathartic as his screaming is, Metz contains a very intentional pop element. It does little to minimize the very real power these three Toronto residents present on their full-bodied document, but it does wonders for repeated listens.

They could retire now and feel good about having their only recorded history be a worthy artifact. But let me be selfish for a moment and say, that I hope the band is able to pound the collective Jesus out of this thing on the road and still have something that’s at least half as good as this debut.

There’s a very clear indication that this band can take their path in any number of different directions. Whatever path happens to be, Metz will shine bright throughout their career and has the potential to inspire others to examine the fertile grounds of whiplashed post-punk rhythms and channeled dissonant aggression.

About A Girl

It’s been a long day.

This morning I woke up and learned that an old friend had passed.

Technically, she was more than just an old friend. About twenty years ago, we were in a relationship together. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment for a few years, both of us broke but happy, working at a small market radio station together.

During our time, we discovered new things and we learned more about ourselves. I think that’s what you’re supposed to do, but in the end, the more we learned about ourselves the more we understood that we weren’t meant to be with each other.

I stayed in Iowa and she moved to Minneapolis, thinking that such a move would eventually draw me into the city with her.

She was wrong.

The last time we were together was during the Hole show in Minneapolis, the same year that Cobain killed himself. By the time I drove through Albert Lea heading south, I knew that our relationship was over.

I fell in with one of her best friends back home and she quickly discovered that she wasn’t really one of her best friends for obvious reasons. She fell back into a relationship with the guitarist from a moderately successful hair metal band, the same dude that I was competing with when we had just started dating.

The fact that one of the members was in a relationship with my new girlfriend bugged me a little bit, but their music is what really what made me despise them. They had their success, the grunge movement killed it, and the guitarist suddenly died in an automobile crash a few years after the band’s moment had come and gone.



When my relationship with her former best friend ended, we reconnected. I was finally able to apologize for the way I passively aggressive broke up with her and she was finally able to tell me “Fuck you!” for doing just that.

She also took great delight in psychoanalyzing me, accurately confirming that Yes, I had issues to resolve with my father and that, Yes, I had a pattern of getting into relationships with women that I work with and that, Yes, I always had to be in a relationship with someone, which explained why I was always dating co-workers.

All true, except for the part where she described herself as “a good catch.” I’m not debating this, but I cannot admit that she was the catch for me. That’s why we didn’t stay together.

I’m grateful for the chance to make things right with her, especially now that she’s passed away.

But I’m having a hard time dealing with it, as I do with death in general, because out of all the people I’ve known in my life, she was one of the few that could be counted on to be the most optimistic about it.

We need more people like that.

Knowing this, I struggle with why she was taken.

I began to cry in the shower and the sadness followed me to work. I became worried that my wife would get angry with me for getting so emotional over an old girlfriend. She wasn’t, but you can understand how I would feel awkward about it.

Ironically, most of my grief had nothing to do with our combined experience together, but it had everything to do with losing someone who valued life so much.

After the guitar player died, one of her girl friends died at the hands of the St. Paul Minnesota police department. The murder-and that’s what it was-was quickly cleaned up as justifiable, and the incident became the only time I could hear a bit of negativity creep into her voice.

But with each bereavement, she would handle it with a new bit of appreciation of life.

When her body began to fail her in her 30’s, she arrive home from the hospital with incredible grace and poise, appreciating the little things and finding a reason to stay positive even when her body was in pain.

She had another surgery a week or so ago, and she would post her progress on her Facebook page. She admitted her pain-almost eerily, as I read it now-but then would turn her attention on such seemingly trivial things, like how mild the weather has been here in the Midwest this year, and how blessed we are to experience it.

I speak as if she was a religious person, but that’s not the right word. While she was spiritual, it probably wasn’t in the same realm as I am with traditional Anglican worship. During the time we were together, she tended to favor crystals and other New Age items as her spiritual connection, and I probably teased her about it.

I sincerely hope that it brought her peace as she passed through, because it seemed to provide her with an enormous amount of it during her conscious time on this planet.

The pain in her passing is also fueled by selfish reasons. She was my first “adult” relationship, the first one where you pair up and live together. Like I said previously, we were broke most of the time, but we seemed to get along well with no cash, staying in on the weekends with Saturday Night Live, 120 Minutes (we'd make fun of Dave Kendall), and The Simpsons (when it was good) finding space on the VHS tapes, next to her never-ending recordings of All My Children, which she'd watch every night when she got home from work after midnight.

We’d save up money and go see shows. I can recall looking back at her from the front of a stage as I passed David Yow over the top of me, smiling brightly as this sweaty, drunk man made his way back to the soundboard. She was no dummy: her smile came from watching me bask in the glory that was the Jesus Lizard and from the fact that she had secured a table in the back at a safe distance to watch the entire spectacle. There she was, smiling at me ‘n Mr. Yow while she nursed a soda and took big, dramatic puffs of her Montclair cigarette.

We traveled to Davenport, Iowa and saw Nirvana play in a basketball auditorium. We both noticed that Cobain seemed depressed from our vantage point in the bleachers. The band was incredible, and our location provided us with a unique perspective as we could see the stage, the crowd, and an unrestricted view of the backstage area all at once.

When the set ended, Cobain went backstage-by himself-and sat down in a metal folding chair directly behind his amp and cabinet. We could see him clearly, as he reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a Camel Ultra Light cigarette and lit up while the crowd roared on the other side of his stack. He was alone and spoke to no one as he smoked his cigarette with a blank stare until a guitar tech brought a freshly tuned Fender for the encore.

Kurt rose, stomped out his cigarette, let the tech place the guitar strap over his head and obediently went out back on stage for a final song.

He was dead less than six months later.

By that time, she had moved out. It seemed that the band had about the same life span as our relationship. I drove up to Minneapolis to see that aforementioned Hole show with her in First Avenue, but aside from providing some strange closure from Cobain’s death, it didn’t save our relationship.

There was another time when she let me have it, years later right around the time that we reconnected. She had gotten mad at me for writing something on Glam-Racket concerning Nirvana, more specifically the death of Kurt Cobain.

You’ll remember that she was very much into commercial metal, and I was quite harsh on her for listening to it. Most of it was garbage, but I don’t think I ever admitted to her that I actually did like that Skid Row Slave To The Grind album and that first Faster Pussycat album that she played all the time.

I also will publically admit that buying Madonna’s Sex book was a good decision, even though I criticized her for being too expensive.

The Cobain piece bothered her because I brought up the time when I first brought Nevermind home and before a note was played, she offered up some criticism of the band. The inside photo shows Cobain giving the bird and she felt that was a slight of his fans. She was into a very self-righteous phase at that time, suggesting to me that her tastes in music were more worthy than mine because the bands that I liked didn’t seem to give a shit. Meanwhile, her favorite bands seemed to do more for their fans and were, therefore, more friendly to their supporters.

Eventually, she began to like some of the bands that I did, occasionally sending me pictures of her with Kim Deal of the Pixies and Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth after we had separated, kind of an early attempt at a visual “fuck you.”

Like, “Fuck you! I’m hanging out with Sonic Youth while you’re stuck in Iowa!” kind of thing.

I know that wasn’t her intent, but envy is a motherfucker.

Anyway, I pointed out in my post that she originally didn’t like Nirvana and that rubbed her the wrong way. She had completely blocked out this incident, but for my own benefit, I confirmed her reaction from another source who was there as a witness.

I considered removing the offending post for her benefit, but then I remembered that this blog is for me. I don’t try to hide my past and it would be disingenuous of me to lie about anything that comes out of these writings. I have been known to simply avoid topics-and believe me: there are things regarding this very topic that I have chosen not to address-but on that particular incident, I felt that the impact of Cobain’s death on me trumped her concerns of harshness on our combined rock and roll history.

Now the impact of her death trumps everything now. She rebounded from those words, probably mad at herself from getting all worked up over someone who had no real power on her current life.

And good thing too: I noticed how fully she lived after we parted, reconnecting with an old flame, scoring good tickets for Madonna shows, and rebuilding relationships with her family. She even expanded that family with her beloved pets, who provided her with even more reasons to live life to the fullest.

In short, she was one of those people who deserved to stay here longer, and her death brings the inevitable amount of cynicism to me in between all of these tears. It’s not fair. It’s not right. And it’s not easy imagining this life without her wisdom and positive outlook.

I didn’t think about her all that much the past few years, probably because I shut off her update feed as it was filled with daily affirmations and cute postings of pets, angels, and funny pictures. Every once in a while, I’d check her profile to see if everything was ok.



A few weeks ago, she turned 42. I sent her a birthday message with a video to Concrete Blonde’s “Happy Birthday.” It was an appropriate gesture, I thought, and I’m sure she enjoyed it as she probably remembered all the times I told the story of when I got a phone call from Johnette Napolitano.

She replied back a thank you, and I tucked her away for another season.

But something-was it her spirit?-coaxed me back to her profile today. It was filled with comments of the many people she touched-and there were many-while I read in disbelief.

I struggled to get ready for work. I sheepishly explained to my wife why I was upset, concerned for her reaction. I made my way through work without much of a word except for those who approached, seeing that I was visibly shaken. I thought about what we do here in Iowa: buy flowers. The funeral is tomorrow, but then I remembered what a drag it is clearing out all the plants and flowers after the service is over. I lamented that I wouldn’t be able to make it to the funeral and questioned my place there anyway.

Who wants to see the guy she lived with a few decades ago?

So I’m staying home, trying to find time to adequately bereave while I write about a girl.

Time Capsule Clutter

What you see in the photo to the side is a leap year miracle.

Actually, it is the contents of a sealed box that I found in my garage tonight. A reminder of my past that I had sealed in a box, forgotten, and then reminded of when my parents shipped it to me because they didn’t want it cluttering up their joint any longer.

I would have easily forgotten about the box, even after they sent it, but tonight curiosity got the best of me just like it did Brad Pitt in Seven.

There was no human head in my box, just some old music related garbage that I thought I would share it on this day that gives you the opportunity to live 24 hours longer.

As you can see, there are a few band stickers ready for sticking. At one time, I used to cover my stereo speakers with band stickers and the like. You’d get a ton of them if you worked in radio, and my punchy Acculab 4-way speakers that I purchased at K’s Merchandise back in 1983 were covered with ‘em. It was pretty punk rock back in the day, but when I turned into a Yuppie in the mid-90’s, I felt that I needed to do away with such nonsense so I scrapped them for a pair of Bose 301s.

Not that you give a shit about my speakers, I’m just sayin' that these were the stickers left over from when I began to think that my speakers looked tacky with them on it. Now, of course, I wish I still had those Acculabs. I’d blow out a tweeter or midrange speaker, schlep down to Radio Shack (a Tandy company), and buy a replacement.

You can see an awesome Barkmarket sticker (I also have a spare), a Mathew Sweet dinosaur from Altered Beast (got about four of those, all different colors), a Sonic Youth washing machine from, you guessed it, Washing Machine, and the obligatory Jesus Lizard sticker. I loved that band so much that I was too gun shy to put it anywhere. Hell, you could say the same thing about all of those stickers I guess.

Next up is a Beatles pin that I stole from the Wal Mart electronics department on the day The Beatles Anthology I was released. I remembered all of those promotional items that Capitol Records had back in the 60’s and I thought, “I’ll have a bit of that!” Of course, I’ll have to wait a few more years before this button will be worth anything, but I now regret not nicking another one just for good measure.

On the upper right hand corner is a promotional item for the Pixies. It’s a simple black and white postcard of the band, standing in front of a bar that shares their name. This would have been from their Trompe Le Monde record, and it’s the perfect example of a ridiculous expense that serves no purpose. Why Elektra records felt the need to print up hundreds of postcards and ship them to radio stations across the country is beyond me. It in no way provokes radio programmers to think “I should add that new Pixies single this week!” and it’s not eye-catching enough for anyone to save. Instead, I’m sure Elektra added the cost of such dim-witted ideas to the Pixies accounting so that they’re still paying them off today. Even though it wasn’t very eye-catching, I saved it because I love the Pixies.

In the center is the add that Spinal Tap took out in radio trade magazines to hype up Break Like The Wind, the band’s early 90’s reunion album. I thought the ad was hilarious, and they really did hold auditions as part of the promotion. If I recall, Mick Fleetwood won the competition. Incidentally, this piece of paper survived over 20 years, most of which was featured prominently on one of the tom toms on my drum kit.

There were other items found: local band fliers, a Grateful Dead bota bag flask, an official Beatles Yellow Submarine Zippo lighter, etc. But the strangest thing is probably that Squeaky Fromme collage sent to me by a friend. It has nothing to do with music (that is Charlie in the upper right hand corner of the small piece) and I have no idea why I saved it other than my irrational curiosity towards the Manson Family.

Even more inexplicable is why Paul Shaffer plays a keyboard solo during The Pixies’ network television debut on Late Night with David Letterman.

The Jesus Lizard Release 'Club' DVD In Two Weeks

A Strange curio, considering that you almost want to start with watching a younger Jesus Lizard and then work your way down to the reunion shows that show a much older David Yow performing many of the same stunts that he did before.

Because, yes, he was older back then too-comparitively speaking-and the only time I remember Yow young was when he was in Scratch Acid.

Here was a small man, full head of hair, tight blue jeans, unbuttoned denim shirt and mouth that would continually spit on the floor.

Nobody was there, and I remember being scared to get too close to the stage because there didn’t seem to be something right with Mr. Yow.

A half-century later and he’s still at it, at least he was a couple years ago as this upcoming release showcases.

Here’s their spiel:


Directed by Matthew Robison (producer, Silver Jew - director, We Fun: Atlanta, GA Inside/Out) and produced by Henry Owings (Chunklet Magazine), The Jesus Lizard Club is the exclusive document of the The Jesus Lizard reunited for their first American performance in over a decade.

It was a tour that was heralded the world over, with stops at festivals and clubs all over the world. Sasha Frere-Jones of The New Yorker writes, "It may have been the only reunion show I've ever seen where I forgot almost immediately that the band hadn't played together in more than a decade."

Featuring the entire evening's performance, The Jesus Lizard Club goes inside a fan-favorite set list for over 90 minutes of an incendiary performance from one of the greatest bands of the modern era. The release will also include individual mp3 downloads for each track performed.

Scratch Acid Live 1986

It was a weeknight, if I recall.

Myself and another friend from college-the same person who introduced me to Scratch Acid's first e.p.-made the ninety minute drive south to check them out at a place called The Central in Iowa City.

It was a pretty nice club and had some great bookings for the short amount of time it was open. Not a lot of people came down for the show, but we convinced another friend of mine to join us for this encounter, sight unseen.

David Yow hadn't perfected his derring-do persona yet. Instead, he paced the stage, which wasn't even much of a stage, and looked menacing. Pretty much the same way you'll see in the video below.

While Yow spent most of his time with the Jesus Lizard out in the crowd, the crowd seemed to avoid him during the Iowa City performance. Only a few unsavory types made their way close to the disheveled Yow.

When I did eventually see the Jesus Lizard, Yow was revelatory. While Scratch Acid seemed like the only opportunity for him, the Jesus Lizard sounded like the last one. As a result, he gave everything during the performance, risking life and limb.

This isn't to suggest that Scratch Acid weren't anything to sneeze at; Scratch Acid were a very capable and menacing band that sounded just as good during the Touch & Go 25th Anniversary shows as they did during the first-run performance that I had a chance to catch.

Blogstalking: David Wm. Sims

One more post on the Jesus Lizard.
After the show, I learned that bassist David Wm. Sims is a fairly consistent blogger. Most recently, the blogs have involved Lizard news and tour date information. There’s a bunch of cool posters for various shows and if you’re looking for Christmas ideas for me, nothing “I love you Todd” like a framed copy of the 11/28 poster from the Metro gig.
Actually, I like the 11/27 gig poster better and it sounds like I would have preferred the show too.
I also found a recent review of the Lizard’s reissue treatments on Paste Magazine’s website and another reference to the Jesus Lizard vs. Steve Albini falling out. Paste printed their take on the argument, Sims attempted to clarify and insulted Albini in the process. Albini replied to the comment and Sims replied to Albini.
Here’s some tidbits from their tit-for-tat:

Thanks for the kind review, Austin. You've got a few facts wrong here, though:
1. Duane, David, and I started the band in Austin before the three any of us
moved to Chicago.
2. "Pure" is combined with "Head" on the remastered CDs,
but is released as a separate EP on vinyl, as was the case with the original
releases.
3. There was a rift that developed between the band and Albini
around the time we signed to a major label, but it wasn't because we signed to a
major label. Think about it for a second: he's recorded albums for Bush,
Nirvana, and Helmet, and others, for major labels. The major label explanation
doesn't hold water. For a variety of reasons, we decided while recording "Down"
that we were going to use another producer on the next record. This was before
we had decided to leave Touch & Go. Some of the reasons had to do with the
way the last couple of records sounded, others were more personal. Albini,
master of self-promotion that he is, spun getting fired into the Brave Stand for
the Indie Kids. Gotta hand it to him, it was genius.
Again, thanks for the
props.
Best regards,
David Wm. Sims

Then Albini responds:

Not to get all tit-for-tatty, but I haven't ever said to anyone, public or
private, that I stopped working with the Jesus Lizard because they left T&G.
David remembers the end of our working relationship accurately, though the bit
about me promoting myself can blow me. I basically didn't utter a word
pertaining to the Jesus Lizard for the next few years after they made the
corporate leap, which was just the consummation of a swing toward
"professionalism" or something like it the band had undertaken.
It was
evident from their dealings and the people they chose to work with that they
were changing teams. Though they might pretend they were never part of a
unified, cooperative underground culture, they certainly behaved like everyone
who was, and benefited from the structures and people who identified with it. It
isn't overstating it to say that when they turned that corner I was in a kind of
mourning.
For the record, the resuscitated Jesus Lizard is just as good as
the regular old everyday one from the early 90s, and pretty much destroys any
other band working right now. They have been playing brilliantly and blowing
minds anew, and I hope they wring the sponge and get everything they can out of
this revival.

And a final reply from Sims:

There is no need for tit-for-for tat. Honestly, I meant the self-promotion crack
as a compliment. I didn't mean to give offense, and apologize for any taken.
As I'm sure you're aware, the assertion that you stopped working with the
Jesus Lizard because we signed to Capitol is one of the most repeated items
about the band out there. I haven't tried it, but I'd wager if you Google "jesus
lizard" and "steve albini" together, it will appear somewhere on almost all the
results. It has become the conventional wisdom, and I'm gratified that you've
set the record straight.
"Professionalism" made me laugh. Thanks!
We
haven't ever pretended that we weren't a part of the underground rock scene,
although the scene I remember was anything but unified. People helped us and we
helped people, and it was an amazing place and time to be. I feel sorry for kids
starting band today. We made our decisions for what we believed were the right
reasons, sometimes knowing the decisions were going to disappoint some people.
Life can be like that.
Thanks for all that about the resuscitated Jesus
Lizard. The shows have been a stone-cold gas. And thanks for your and Bob's
great work on the remasters.

So there it is, the real reason why Albini severed his relationship with the Jesus Lizard after the Down album.
Personally, I thought it was mainly because Down sucked and the band (rightly) needed to get someone else’s hand on their album sound, simply because Albini records and doesn’t produce.
The band needed a producer at this point in their career.
The general consensus was that Albini got pissed that the band signed with a major label to release Show. It was a one-off record, but it did pave the way for them to sign with Capitol. Albini did have a point: how many more records could a band like the Jesus Lizard really sell on a major and would they really be better off under Capitol’s umbrella.
The answer was obviously “No,” but it turns out that this was only part of the argument between the two.
What's cool about this is how Albini, even in the comment above, has nothing but good things to say about the band's musicianship. Even back in the day he would refer to his work with the band as one of his best works and praised their performances.

One of these days, I’ll get around to reviewing some of those old Jesus Lizard albums, but for now I’m spent.

The Jesus Lizard Live

I think it’s safe to say that in all of the live rock shows that I’ve seen, at least two of the top ten of “best shows” would be reserved for the Jesus Lizard.
Prior to the penultimate performance that I saw on Saturday night, I’d seen them a total of three times, one for each of their best Touch & Go studio albums: Goat, Liar, and Down.
On the first show, I was close to the stage and suddenly found myself holding up David Yow over my head. By the end of the show, I’d gotten intimately close to his genitalia and found an efficient way to pass a small, sweaty man overhead. During the times he was on stage, I had time to breathe and watch three incredible musicians pounding out a menacing arrangement for their most recent album.
David called some dude “Shitmouth”
The second show was in the same venue. On the way up, a loud metallic jackhammer sound came from the engine compartment over the blaring of Goat on my factory cassette player. It was a hideous sound, and I understood the engine of my Ford Ranger pick-up truck was in grave danger.
I continued driving.
As long as I maintained a steady speed, the truck was tolerable. But the moment I accelerated-particularly when going up a hill-the sound returned.
The good news was that the truck was under three years old and still had time on its factory warranty. If I ruined the engine, I was damn sure going to make the Ford Motor Company paid for the repairs.
When I got to the club, I snuck it a small airline bottle of vodka. I made my way towards the front of the stage and stuck through the endless ebb and flow of bodies, capturing the smell of beer, cigarettes, and sweat in the process. I handed Yow the small bottle. He looked at it and considered it for a few verses. He then opened the bottle with his free hand and sprayed it over a few lucky souls being smushed in the front row.
I guess he didn’t like Absolut.
David yelled “Hey shitmout!” at someone during the set.
The third show was at First Avenue in Minneapolis after the release of Down. The main room is a great venue; it’s still a trip to consider how Purple Rain was filmed there. Anyway, that particular night was all about the Lizard. My girlfriend and I circled around the back of the club looking for a place to sit-there weren’t any.
Right as we’re walking downstairs from the balcony, the band begins playing. The first few bars of the song are dished out and within the first twenty seconds of the song, Yow had run full speed from the back of the stage and clears about half a dozen rows when he jumps into the crowd.
At one point, David responds to an overzealous fan “Shitmouth, I love you.”
And then there’s the fourth show, the reunion gig that was originally going to be the last show, but then they added a New Years Eve show and….you know the rest.
A full accounting of the show is over at Glorious Noise, but there’s always room for additional bitching.
Firstly, a kind “fuck you” to The Metro for a shitty “pre-party” that served no purpose and fucked me from getting a good view.
They gave away shit-like a reserved table upstairs-but you had to have a ticket to participate. Even though my wife and I were literally the fourth and fifth persons in the door, we got no ticket for showing up, on time, like the venue’s email monkey suggested.
More critically, the email hinted that you’d be able to get into the venue without having to wait outside in the cold, but no one seemed too concerned to actually tell us that THEY BEGAN LETTING PEOPLE INSIDE WHILE WE CONTINUED TO BUY DRINKS TO PASS THE TIME IN THE SHITTY SMARTBAR. By the time I’d hear T-Rex’s “Jeepster” for the second time (seriously, they put in a mix cd when we walked in, pressed play and pushed the repeat button). Ironically, “Jeepster” had already played on my IPod during the trip over to Chicago as we played all of the sequential song titles beginning with the J section.
It was hell when we went through a bunch of reggae songs that all began with the word “Jah.”
When we finally went upstairs and noticed people walking up to the main room, we found the only visual spot we could. We were slightly behind a fairly clean grad student couple and in between a couple of silly longhairs in their early 30’s. I reminded myself of the time I approached thirty with long hair and recognized the moment when I finally cut if off. Some people may think that it had something to do with my advancing age or desire to better mesh with the corporate culture. The reality is that it was my Grandma fault. She noticed the top of my hair thinning once as she walked downstairs and felt the need to mention my growing bald spot out loud.
She should have the same talk with the dude next to me at the JL show.
My wife hated it (more so because of the longhaired dude and the fact that she had to stand the entire time) and I was a tad disappointed.
The opening band Triclops had a few flashes of cleverness, but the lead singer used a dorky pitch shifter on his mic and would jump down into the security row in front of the stage for dramatic effect.
Then Yow was in a chair for the entire night and drank bottled water.
At one point, Yow screamed, “Shitmouth, I love you. Will you marry me?”
It's great that the band is back together, albeit for a short while, but there is no doubt that the prime era to see the Jesus Lizard was back when they were a hungry, working unit. Today, they're merely a glimpse into the kind of danger that occurred each night when they took the stage.
Today, I would have definitely stopped the truck and called AAA.

Poster by Diana Sudyka

Jesus Lizard Penultimate Performance

I have no idea what the Jesus Lizard were doing on ABC's Amplified a few months ago and I have no idea what Amplified even is. But I do know that it's totally hilarious to me that there's an obligatory sound bite newsroom edit job on the piece they did on the band. And I do know that I'll be at the penultimate performance this evening. I also know I'll be ordering room service tomorrow morning.

Jesus Lizard Announce New Year's Eve Show

So hey, what was going to be a chance to see the very last Jesus Lizard show has now turned into a chance to see the penultimate performance.
I’m a little pissed about it.
You see, I knew both Thanksgiving weekend performances would sell out.
And they rightly did.
And then they announced a New Year’s Eve show, the real final show.
That’s going to sell out too.
I’m having second thoughts inviting my wife along. I don’t think she’s fully appreciative of what is about to occur this month.
Regardless of the last show or second to last one, it’s going to be awesome.

Jesus Lizard Live DVD announced

Jesus Fucking Lizard Christ: The Fork announced that a live Jesus Lizard DVD will be released in early June. Now, I’m still a little pissed that David Yow has yet to approve me as a MySpace “friend” (even though that cocksucker Prindle has him prominently featured on his M.S. page) and some of the footage looks a little amateurish (lots of in-and-out zooming from the footage of “Seasick” on You Tube from the DVD’s distributor), it still hasn’t prevented me from getting a boner over the idea of having an official document to coincide with my own fond memories.
And yet another reason to get lost in the world of You Tube (which I often do): footage of Yow’s original band, Scratch Acid, both in their prime (circa late 80’s) and in their most recent “reunion” performances while they were preparing for Touch & Go’s anniversary concerts. Judging from the video, the guys still knew how to rock and in a more frightening coincidence, David Yow is starting to look more like my own Grandfather as he gets older.
It’s pretty cool how Dave hasn’t traveled far from those original Scratch Acid lyrics (“She Said”) of “I’m not using my body anymore…So you can play with it if you want to.”
For me, David Yow was the most exciting performer to grace the stage since Iggy Pop, and that’s saying something.
Cross Iggy with a little bit of Lux Interior and you get a good idea of what it was like to see Yow on stage.
I’ve gone on about these guys before, and nothing I write does the primal ferocity of their live performances any justice. The best thing for me to do is provide the obligatory clip.
But even that was a struggle.
Do I post the live footage of The Jesus Lizard in Dallas from ’94? The one where Yow gets hit with a beer bottle a minute into “Seasick,” causing the band to stop, the crowd to seek out the culprit, before Yow utters “Nice shot” before he takes a swig of beer and leads the band into the song again?
How about the Chicago ’96 footage where some unhappy novices declare that the show should have been shut down by police because the band was a bunch of “unorganized hooligans.”
Or perhaps the video from CBGB’s from New Year’s Eve in ’97, where Yow’s boot hits the camera as he is passed around the crowd.
No, my best bet is to post a concise video that features both the intensity of their shows along with an interview that nicely captures Yow’s humor as well. But those fuckers won’t let me embed it (find it here).
I’ve settled for another piece of footage from the Chicago footage at the Vic Theatre (which someone should look into releasing). It’s a live version of “Destroy Before Reading,” where Yow sings to the security guy at the front of the stage immediately before leaving it to be closer to the crowd.
Inspirational verse:
“Mingus and Parker fuck for breakfast
Because jazz is a slut again”
Dave is now the new lead singer of the two-piece band Qui.

Tight & Shiny: Remembering The Jesus Lizard

One of the biggest disappointments I have this year is not finding enough initiative to prioritize Touch & Go Records’ 25th Anniversary shows in Chicago as a destination. It should have been and I didn’t react selfishly enough when I heard about the line ups (Scratch Acid reunited! Big Black reunited!) and immediately book a hotel room for the event. Damn me and this domestication!
This prompted me to grab a Jesus Lizard cd the other day and remember those times when I had a chance to see them perform live when they were still a working unit. These shows are permanently embedded in my mind and they remain some of the most intense performances I’ve ever had the opportunity to witness.

I’d been a big fan of Scratch Acid, vocalist David Yow and bassist Davis Sims former band, and even had a chance to see them live. It goes without saying that it was a great performance. It also goes without saying that it was a drag to read about their breakup before anyone had a chance to hear and fully appreciate them.
But fate is a curious thing, and when the news that Sims and Yow had relocated to Chicago and formed another band called The Jesus Lizard, well, you tend to forget about what could have been and focus on what will become.
What they initially became was a real disappointment; part of the appeal of Scratch Acid was the rhythm section as Sims had a great drummer, Rey Washam, to play off of. The Jesus Lizard, on the other hand, started without a drummer and it undercuts the power of their first e.p. “Pure.” I mean, Big Black tried this approach first and they perfected it, so why bother replicating it?
Thankfully, they added a real drummer, Mac McNeilly, and then the real fireworks began. Their Touch & Go albums were perfectly recorded by Steve Albini and they do a great job of capturing the Jesus Lizard’s fury.
At the same time, the best way to appreciate this fury was to see them live. I don’t know what prompted me to travel on a weeknight to see them live with the knowledge that the show would end well past Midnight and the 90 minute drive home wouldn’t help my job performance at work the following day.
But I did. And I’m better for it.
I noticed David, a small man, standing by the soundboard before the show drinking a beer and failed to strike up a conversation. He looked approachable, but when their set began, he transformed into a lunatic.
Within thirty seconds, Yow was leaning into the front row of the tightly packed crowd of this infamous Iowa venue. Within 1 minute, Yow was on top of the crowd, the microphone chord his only connection with the stage. For well over an hour, David spent most of the performance either being passed over the heads of the audience, in the obligatory push ‘n pull of the crowd, or somewhere underneath a sea of sweaty concert-goers. Because I didn’t know any better, I found myself in the middle of all this. Yow’s boots kicked my head on a few occasions, his sweat dripped on my body, and he screamed unintelligible words every time I passed him overhead. It was glorious.

It’s easy to write about his drunken shenanigans, but it’s harder to express at how good the, essentially, power trio on stage was throughout this intense ordeal. They were more dangerous than Yow. Literally. Sims maintained his section of the stage by chugging out incessant rhythms on his bass while occasionally welding the headstock of his Fender like a baseball bat. I do remember the pegs of his instrument connecting with the head of an audience member who thought he would use Sims’ area as his own stage diving platform. The connection served as notice; nobody used that section of the stage to dive off of again.
On stage right, Duane Denison turned out creepy chord structures with his Travis Bean(!) guitar that belied their complexity. Seriously. Try to learn a few J.L. chord progressions and you’ll see that what he’s doing ain’t normal for your stereotypical band fronted by a small drunk dude.
And then there’s Mac McNeilly, who’s most lengthy appendage is more certainly his arms, bashing out the entire drive-by-shooting with stellar precision.
It was a twisted, beautiful racket that I simply cannot efficiently describe.
The Lizard was my savior. I vowed to attend church again.
That time came a few months later. Same venue, more people.
About thirty miles into trip, and unbelievable racket sounded from the engine of my Ford Ranger pickup. Like the aluminum headstock of a Travis Bean guitar, the sound was the undeniable noise of metal upon metal. And you don’t need to be a service technician at the filling station to understand that, when you hear the sound of metal on metal in a vehicle, it is not a good thing. Understanding that I was most certainly faced with completely ruining the engine if I continued onward, I had to make a decision: proceed to the show or pull over and call a tow truck. The truck was moving forward, so I steered it towards the show, which was well over an hour away, with my fingers crossed that I would make it.
Same venue. More people. The place was packed, hot and sweaty, but I was happy that the Ford brought me to the service. For some reason, I brought a gift for David Yow: an airline bottle of Absolut vodka. I pushed my way to the front and got situated between two tame looking indie rockers who had no idea what they were in for that close to the stage.
Most of the fear that the Jesus Lizard produces comes from the unsettling music along with the drunken unpredictability of Yow; you never know what to expect with a man who’s had too much to drink and with relatively little to lose.
Again, before the minute mark of the first song of their set, David was leaning into the audience, sweating, barking, and clearly loving his ability to shock the first timers like the ones next to me. He sprayed his beer into the crowd, and I thought that would be a good time to give him the little bottle of Absolut. He examined my gift as I handed it to him. He continued to scream into the microphone while he opened the bottle and, without a taste, he immediately sprayed the crowd with the liquor. I was a little put off that he didn’t drink it, but any good drunk will tell you not to mix your poisons.
Some of the more vocal members of the crowd continually berated David with profanity, a strange form of flattery that also served as a way to pry a primitive response from him. Being a veteran of the punk rock circuit and being used to probably more eloquent forms of verbal harassment, Yow ignored most of the verbal volleys. One did manage to catch his ear, and hey yelled back “Hey shitmouth!” to appease the baiter’s request for attention.
Another show, another life-affirming experience. That’s batting a thousand for you baseball fans and it placed the Jesus Lizard into the category of “must see” shows for me. The rapture overtook my reality and, for 90 minutes, I completely forgot about the late-model pickup with the barely working engine that sat in the parking lot of a friend’s apartment building.
The Ford dealership questioned why I didn’t bring the truck to them sooner, explaining that not enough oil was reaching all of the cylinders, thereby creating the unbelievable racket from the engine compartment. I didn’t hear a lot of the scolding, my ears were still ringing from the show, but I did hear that the costs of the repairs were all covered under the factory warranty.

Third show. Bigger venue. The legendary First Avenue in Minneapolis was full of the Lizard brethren and it was nice to see them in a larger setting, although it was offsetting to lose some of the intimacy. It’s hard to smell Yow from a distance and you miss the impact of assisting him scale the club as he passes above you.
Nonetheless, the band started the set with my favorite J.L. song of all time, “Glamorous.”
Denison crunched out the familiar chords while “Mac” counted off with his hi-hat. Yow stalked around the drum riser, mush-mouthing the first few verses before parking himself directly next to the bass cabinet.
“Smoke it down to the filter! And put it out on your hand!”
With the microphone still in his hand, he ran, full speed, towards the audience and completely cleared the first five rows before landing on the top of outstretched hands of the (literally) supportive audience.
First Avenue can hold a few people. So appreciate the distance that Yow covered while out in the crowd; the apparent goal was to try and take him back towards the doors to the bar area, and by-God, he nearly made it on a few tries.
“Shitmouth, I love you.” David muttered at one point while back on stage. Apparently Yow had seemingly come to terms with the loud audience member who kept yelling a request for “Seasick.”
A chance to see the Lizard for a fourth time in Peoria came and went thanks to some unsuccessful detective work on the part of my cousin who could find no mention of a Jesus Lizard show in his hometown and found it hard to believe that a band would even be playing at the local V.F.W. hall there. But it was true: a concert review in the next issue of Rolling Stone documented the performance and it mentioned that Yow had unveiled his “tight and shiny” routine for the crowd their. This trick consisted of David pulling out his sweaty testicles and displaying them under the bright stage lights for the attendees. It goes without saying that I was very disappointed with my cousin’s lack of drive in trying to find tickets.
Their next album, “Down,” was their final on Touch & Go and the band’s final work with Steve Albini. It was a bit of a “downer” for me as the band, understanding that they had pretty much run the course of abrasive noise guitar rock, attempted to shore up the chaos in favor for a more scaled down approach. Think of the albums “Goat” and “Liar” as reflections of getting violently drunk; think of “Down” as merely an even-paced way at getting inebriated. There’s a difference, and the Jesus Lizard started to sound like the beer was almost empty.
Curiously, they jumped to the majors. Why the decision to record for Capitol seemed like a good idea was beyond me; the band had limited commercial appeal and I didn’t think that the label’s better distribution could expand their audience much.
Albini didn’t like it either. He wasn’t present for the last two records and much of their fan base wasn’t present either. This included me.
It had nothing to do with “selling out,” again, there was no way the band could have been accused of that. It had everything to do with changing out of those sweat and beer-soaked jeans into a new pair of Levi’s off the rack. There was nothing wrong with that old pair. They may have been a little stained and smelly, but hey shitmouth, they fit just fine.
So the mention of “Touch & Go” records’ 25th anniversary show has got me reminiscing a little, and it’s made me realize that a band like the Jesus Lizard was fairly uncommon back in the day and even more so today. There was no video budget, no myspace street team, no video game tie-in that demonstrated their supposed street-cred. There was just a little man with total disregard for his own health and safety and a hammering trio that drove him to the edge of the stage night after night.
And there was us, a few thousand rock ‘n roll revival converts that were sure that was the face of God on stages some nights. On others, it was just the reflection of a middle-aged man’s testicles.