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(Clicka qua per la versione Italiana)
Summary.
Both the hippies' philosophy and sound reincarnated in a bizarre San Francisco project, Anton Newcombe's Brian Jonestown Massacre.
Despite the clumsy recording quality and the amateurish stance, Methodrone (1995) and Their Satanic Majesties' Second Request (1996) were monumental encyclopedias of psychedelic music, from the Jefferson Airplane to Hawkwind, from the Rolling Stones to the Velvet Underground.
Subsequent albums alternated between superbly derivative, such as Take It From The Man (1996) and Give It Back (1997),
majestically musical, such as Thank God For Mental Illness (1996), arranged with a wealth of instruments, and dreamy/melancholy, such as Strung Out In Heaven (1998).
Newcombe mostly followed in the footsteps of deranged street folksingers like David Peel, but his naif folly could also explode in noise collages.
Full bio.
At the beginning,
Anton Newcombe was a late anarchic hippie, born in Los Angeles but relocated to
San Francisco in 1989, whose brain was drenched in the psychedelic music of the
1960s, and in the sound of the British invasion.
He formed the Brian Jonestown Massacre in 1990,
recruiting Dean Taylor and Jeff Davies on guitars, Joel Gion on maracas,
and dedicating the group to the tragically departed
Rolling Stones member.
During the next ten years, about fifty musicians will take shifts in the
BJM commune.
Their first cassette, Pol Pot's Pleasure Penthouse (1991), was unreleased
for 20 years.
The project debuted with a batch of singles,
Evergreen/ She Made Me (Tangible, 1993),
Convertable (Tangible, 1993),
Acid (Tangible, 1994),
Hide And Seek (Tangible, 1995),
which harked back to the oblique melodies of
Donovan and Syd Barrett,
and to the early raw singles of their idols Stones.
The six-single box-set The Tangible Box (Tangible, 1994) became
a cult item, even though it proves, more than anything else, the poor
instrumental skills of the ensemble, whimsically in love with anything
that produces sounds, whether synthesizers or flutes.
Continuing that trend,
Methodrone (Bomp, 1995) is a monumental encyclopedia (72 minutes) of
psychedelic sounds.
Despite Newcombe's emphasis on melody and guitar, most of the time it is
the rhythmic element that is the real killer.
A thick, sustained bass and guitar riff supports the
ethereal male and female vocal duet of Evergreen.
Wisdom soars with the epic and loose space-rock jamming a` la
Jefferson Airplane and
Hawkwind.
That Girl Suicide carves a groove halfway between the
Rolling Stones' Jumping Jack Flash
and the Velvet Underground's
White Light White Heat.
Pow-wow drumming propels the gentle melody of Everyone Says.
The grand finale of She's Gone intones the ultimate hippie hymn,
a crazy, ecstatic and relaxed celebration of life.
The ten-minute jam Hyperventilation is the least derivative of these
acid rituals. It borrows a devastating distortion from the book of the
Stooges, but in the context of a subdued
shaman-like exorcism that is interrupted by sudden explosions a` la
Careful With That Axe.
Crushed is a six-minute inferno in the style of
Velvet Underground's Venus In Furs.
When the rhythm abates, Newcombe is less successful at animating his music,
as the trancey Wasted and I Love You prove.
On the other hand, the dilated and distorted End Of The Day and the
instrumental vortex of Outback show that he would be equally successful
at crafting apocalyptic textures that basically have no rhythm at all.
Whether because of ineptitude or design, the
BJM differ from other psychedelic revival groups in that their approach is
rather amateurish, awkward and chaotic, closer to the ethos of the punks than
to the pathos of the hippies. The resulting music is surprisingly fresh,
original, and universal.
The subsequent EP, Spacegirl And Other Favorites (Candy Floss, 1995),
is even more opulent in terms of drones and litanies.
A prolific group like few can be found, the BJM record the singles
Feelers (Tangible, 1996),
Never Ever (Stanton Park, 1996) e
Colt To The Touch/ Anemone (Candy Floss, 1996)
before releasing two more albums,
Take It From The Man (Bomp, 1996)
and
Their Satanic Majesties' Second Request (Bomp, 1996).
Take It From The Man (Bomp, 1996), explicitly dedicated to the memory
of Brian Jones ("murdered" by the other Rolling Stones), is essentially a
post-modernist essay on quoting classic British bands of the late 1960s.
A lot more instruments are employed (ten kinds of guitar, seven kinds of
keyboards) and they are played by a new quintet.
The rhythm section is approximate at best in imitating the Stones' Wyman and
Watts, but the solemn Vacuum Boots (a sort of Wish You Were Here
for real friends), the martial Who (one of their most romantic psychedelic trips), and the glorious retro-jam of Straight Up And Down (reprised in an eleven-minute version/medley at the end of the CD).
However, the album is mainly a parade of quotations from the history of rock
music:
Monkey Puzzle (a visceral BB King-ian rhythm and blues over a Bo Diddley-ian boogie);
Take It From The Man (an Animals-style blues);
Caress (a Them-style rave-up);
Mary Please (a variation on Jimi Hendrix' Hey Joe);
Since I Was Six (an accordion-led litany that mirrors David Bowie's Space Oddity);
My Man Syd (guess...).
Matt Hollywood contributes the Farfisa-led garage-rock of Oh Lord
and the seven-minute acid-fest Cabin Fever.
The generally anemic
Their Satanic Majesties' Second Request (Bomp, 1996) contains the
hippy singalong All Around You (Intro),
dilegent Syd Barrett imitations such as No Come Down and Cold to the Touch (with a riff a` la Troggs' Wild Thing),
country-psychedelic ballads such as Miss June '75 and Anenome,
and simplistic takes on raga-rock such as Feelers and In India You.
The eight-minute Bad Baby dissolves a
languid Beatles-esque melody before indulging in a freak-out.
Thank God For Mental Illness (Bomp, 1996), third album of the year,
was recorded in just one day
at their San Francisco residence. While the band still did not feature a
stable drummer, the album is played with a wealth of instruments.
The spirit of the music is clearly that of the early 1960s, the age of
peace-and-love folksingers and garage-rock.
The dejected blues Spanish Bee rings with the angst of
Rolling Stones' Play With Fire, augmented with spanish guitar and
church organ.
13 undulates with a riff taken from Rolling Stones' The Last Time
and a tone taken from Bob Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited.
Free And Easy mixes gospel hymn, country music and hare-krishna dancing.
Ballad Of Jim Jones is an epic, yodeling psalm reminiscent of Apalachian
folksingers.
And Those Memories is a choral singalong in the vein of Pete Seeger and
Joan Baez.
Newcombe follows in the footsteps of deranged street folksingers like David
Peel, but
his purpose is purely artistic. He has no solemn message for the world. He has
a vision, a hazy vision of people, things and events that matter to him.
Newcombe is more than just an inspired revisionist of the 1960s.
The suspenseful lullaby It Girl, propelled (like most songs here) by
rhythm guitar and tambourine, has the dark edge of a
Stan Ridgway parable.
The tender trance of Down floats in a raga space with the gloom of a
requiem.
Newcombe's naif folly explodes in the concrete collage of the 32-minute suite
Sound Of Confusion (six and a half of them spent "playing" the noises of
driving a car).
(Translated from my original Italian text by ChatGPT and Piero Scaruffi)
With the band's sixth album, Give It Back (Bomp, 1997), Newcombes sonic pilgrimage reached maturity. Super-Sonic, a mix of Eastern ceremonial and psychedelic carousel, showcases the "track-copying" approach that is almost photocopy-like: Satellite is straight out of the Pretty Things, just as This Is Why You Love Me is the Byrds Feel A Whole Lot Better; Not If You Were The Last Dandy On Earth quotes the Stooges Loose with a Merseybeat chorus, while Malela is a street nursery rhyme worthy of David Peel, occasionally flashing the riff from the Rolling Stones Paint It Black. Many tracks are built on simple tricks: the nearly entirely instrumental jam Sue (eight minutes) is a slow, hypnotic flow of martial-rhythm chords, crowned by an apocalyptic crescendo; the other nearly instrumental jam, #1 Hit Jam, is a sly blues-rock with harmonica and organ. Its debatable whether this practice of making music by copying classics and piling on stereotypes is still music or merely a pathetic act of fetishism.
The album was released riding the negative fame the band earned from a series of turbulent concerts, after which Newcombe (responsible for nearly all the problems) lost almost all his bandmates.
The music of Strung Out In Heaven (TVT, 1998), however, is entirely the opposite of what one would expect from such a reckless band and such a psychotic leader. Newcombe seems far more interested in evoking the gentle side of flower power than the wild side of garage rock. The collection (or, rather, panorama) is more than ever a tribute to his idols: Going To Hell is a more melodic version of Thems Gloria and more visceral than Dylans Like A Rolling Stone; Wasting Away carries the melancholy pace of Neil Youngs Harvest; Jennifer embraces the dreamy jingle-jangle of the Byrds; Got My Eye On You drives with the hypnotic boogie of the Velvet Underground (complete with dissonant piano); Let's Pretend echoes the classical-style psychedelic march of the Association.
The rest of the record is unusually pensive: the melodramatic ballad I've Been Waiting, the psychedelic crescendo of Love (with transcendent organ), the pop and soul excesses of Spun, and the solemn finale of Wisdom, all present a Newcombe grappling with his inner ghosts, in a confessional and confused state.
Dominating everything is the portrait of the Rolling Stones. The execution is impeccable. The passion is genuine. Perhaps only a spark of genius is missing.
The EP Bringing It All Back Home Again (Which, 1999) touches on deranged and frenzied tones. The Way It Was, Mansion In The Sky, Reign On, and All Things Great And Small contain religious references alongside his usual grotesque imitations. The Godspell According To A.A. Newcombe veers into serial killer megalomania, and Arkansas Revisited (13 minutes) is credited to him and the deranged criminal Charles Manson Musically, it is perhaps his most direct tribute to the Rolling Stones.
(Original English text by Piero Scaruffi)
Newcombe's obsession with Syd Barrett may have outdone its time, but how can
anyone criticize him when he sculpts a majestic serenade like
If I Love You (church organ, apocalyptic guitar distortion,
exotic-sounding melody), the ultimate Madcap Laugh leftover, or
the darker and menacing groove of Let Me Stand Next to Your Flower?
Bravery Repetition and Noise (Bomp, 2002) is not an album full of
experiments, but it delivers some of the most tender and noble psychedelic folk
this side of the English master.
The gentle and poppy sound of Strung Out In Heaven is still pervasive,
in fact it is mutating into an obsessive craft, especially when coupled with
the pensive, autumnal tone that has taken over his original hippie exuberance.
Opening track Just For Today indulges in the atmospheric noir of
dark-punk (Cure, Bauhaus) adding, for good measure, a touch of pompous
electronic keyboards a` la Moody Blues.
The sullen Open Heart Surgery borrows the melody from Neil Young's
Ohio and its instrumental break unleashes an ominous guitar twang.
The oscar for most creative idea of the album may go to the
dancing, tinkling music-box tune that weaves itself into the droning
trance of You Have Been Disconnected.
Newcombe has calmed down a lot: frequently, as typified by Telegram,
the guitar strums as in a slower, calmer version of 13th Floor Elevator
accompanied by march-like drumming and sustains a simple, catchy refrain
(with an ethereal bridge that Paul McCartney would die for).
Leave Nothing For Sancho is a mediterranean/celtic dirge, a suave
melody carried by the syncopated steps of a guitar and a mandolin.
The influence of the Byrds surfaces in the
spaced-out, jingle-jangling Sailor.
With simple instrumentation and humble delivery, Newcombe can pen the most
unlikely ditty and turn it into an emotional mini-epic.
The 17-song juggernaut And This is Our Music (Tee Pee, 2003)
introduces drum machine (Starcleaner) and electronics
(Prozac Vs Heroin) into Newcombe's arsenal but balances the new
with enough of the old
(the fuzz-fests When Jokers Attack and Here it Comes,
the psycho-ballads Tschusse and Geezers) to still sound classic.
The chamber psychedelia You Look Great When I'm Fucked Up and
the charming instrumental Some Things Go Without Saying also represent
new faces of the ageing but still untamed hippie.
Tepid Peppermint Wonderland (Tee Pee, 2005) is a two-CD career retrospective.
The five-song EP We Are The Radio (Teepee, 2005)
was, de facto, a collaboration with vocalist Sarabeth Tuceck, yielding a sound
reminiscent of Mazzy Star.
Former Brian Jonestown Massacre's guitarist and vocalist Bobby Hecksher formed
the Warlocks in 1998 to resurrect the rawer form of shoegazing. They recorded:
The Warlocks (Bomp, 2001),
Rise and Fall (Bomp, 2002), with the 14-minute Jam of the Witches,
the psychedelic Phoenix (Mute, 2003), with the ten-minute Cosmic Letdown,
the ambitious but uneven Surgery (Mute, 2005),
the live Red Camera (Bomp, 2006),
and the monotonous The Mirror Explodes (2009).
My Bloody Underground (2008) is a chaotic and amateurish collection even
by their chaotic and amateurish standards, with We Are The Niggers of the World being the only thing that somehow resembles a "song".
Absurd pieces such as Who Cares Why, Automatic Faggot for the People,
Just Like Kicking Jesus are particularly puzzling, and Black Hole Symphony is merely indulgent.
Who Killed Sgt Pepper (2010), a venture into dance music,
and Aufheben (2012), with German session musicians,
were trivial (and probably improvised) efforts, the latter's highlight being
the flute-driven instrumental Face Down on the Moon.
Newcombe continued his psych-rock mission with minimal variations (and little interest in carefully editing the sound) on
Revelation (2014), with the
Neu-esque Vad Haende Med Dem, the
Lou Reed-ian What You Isn't
and some weird instrumentals
(Duck and Cover, the flute-driven Second Sighting).
After the imaginary soundtrack Musique de film Imagine (2015),
Newcombe penned
Third World Pyramid (2016), with
the evocative instrumental Oh Bother
and with
Third World Pyramid crossing Neu and voodoobilly.
Alas,
the dilated and plodding nine-minute Assignment Song is instead tedious.
His best album of the era was
the double-disc, 73-minute Don't Get Lost (2017), that flirts with a
cornucopia of styles, from German "kraut-rock" of the 1970s
(the eight-minute Open Minds Now Close)
to dub (Melodys Actual Echo Chamber) and jazz (Geldenes Herz Menz),
with surreal interludes (UFO Paycheck),
the six-minute industrial litany Throbbing Gristle
and the deranged disco jam Acid 2 Me Is No Worse Than War.
Unfortunately, that seemed to exhaust his creative spirit.
Something Else (2018),
with the martial instrumental Animal Wisdom
and the eight-minute languid Doors-ian elegy Silent Stream,
The Brian Jonestown Massacre (2019), with
the ethereal Tombes Oubliees
and the mournful We Never Had a Chance,
Fire Doesnt Grow on Trees (2022), a collection of derivative garage-pop and garage-rock (the "southern-rock via
Suicide" Ineffable Mindfuck),
and
The Future Is Your Past (2023), with poppier numbers like Fudge,
are rather pointless exercises in repeating ad nauseam the same stereopypes
of psychedelic rock with minimal variations.
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