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(Clicka qua per la versione Italiana)
(Translated from my original Italian text by ChatGPT and Piero Scaruffi)
In the college town of Norman, Oklahomahome to the Flaming LipsTyson Meade formed his first band, the Defenestration. The self-titled EP (Slow Iguana, 1986) mostly went unnoticed, but in reality it heralded the arrival of a heir to decadent rock, capable of vocal feats like the muezzin-like chant of Cut Your Soul In Half and the psychedelic lilt of Hearthrob. The quartet could tackle scorching tracks like Feminism On Television and Slaughterville, but the real novelty of the record were the fatalistic, Queen-inspired ballads Nothing Lasts (with a beautifully off-tempo, slightly out-of-tune piano accompaniment) and Lovers Grow In The Park (with an equally lyrical piano line in the foreground). Unfortunately, the following year Dali Does Windows (Relativity) marked the beginning of an early crisis, although Tripping Drag Queen and Cars In Trees increasingly showcased the leaders morbid sensitivity. While the Defenestration continued their career with guitarist Todd Walker, Meade formed the Chainsaw Kittens to give free rein to his glam tendencies. Alongside him were guitarist Mark Metzger and two other local teenagers, all still in high school. Violent Religion (Mammoth, 1990) is a breathtaking album, played at breakneck speed, chasing electrifying riffs and choruses while riding a relentless boogie pulsea concentrated dose of Aerosmith, New York Dolls, T. Rex, Cheap Trick, Patti Smith, Stooges, Velvet Underground
Bloodstorm, a dreamlike vertigo reminiscent of Velvet Underground updated for the Cure era, serves as a manifesto for the new direction, followed by lascivious, demonic punk rock like Skinned Knees, a sort of cross between Stooges and Sex Pistols.
These foundations are also used to build gentler themes, like the melancholy, Freddie Mercury-style Here At The End (though still against a wall of Stooges-worthy noise), the operatic finale of She's Gone Mad, and above all Bliss, perhaps the albums central chorus.
But Meades real strength lies in theatrical displays: Boyfriend Song is a perverse ritual worthy of Kim Fowley, warped by obsessive Led Zeppelin-style riffs and a choir of heroin addicts performing some infernal rite; exemplary of Meades stage acrobatics is Feel Like a Drugstore, which begins as a muted acoustic ballad (with baritone gospel phrasing) before exploding into wicked riffs; and the masterpiece in this category is the sarcastic Mother, built on an ironic Kinks-like melody over a powerful Bolan-style boogie.
The title track is Meades ultimate mass, a black priest preaching It's only flesh!; a prolonged agony steeped in tension (even borrowing the orchestral break from A Day in The Life), an underworld anthem without beginning or end, solely to showcase his most depraved instincts.
The funeral march Death-out at Party Central (with another historical theft, this time from Deep Purple) compresses all that violence and hurls it with murderous force into a maelstrom of guitar dissonance and insane wailing (ending with a faint hum of Fleetwood Macs Come Softly).
Always theatrical and metaphorical, as the best glam has been, the Chainsaw Kittens music explores, in Freudian fashion, abnormal states of mind, sexual desire, death, and eternal perdition. Ultimately, the albums theme is Evilthe negative energy oppressing provincial kids, which must somehow be exorcised.
Meade, a demonic rather than merely charismatic personality, a showman from another era, possesses a neutral vocal register encompassing all rock singers of decadence.
The album was epoch-making for its material and scandalous attitudes, unseen since the days of Kiss, but in reality it was a musical masterpiece and one of the years most prescient records (1990).
A different fate awaited Flipped In Singapore in 1992, immediately met with universal acclaim. Indeed, the album, strengthened by a second guitarist (Trent Bell) and a new rhythm section, retraces the sparkling eclecticism of the debut without losing much of its harmonic imagination or sly grit, if anything emphasizing its melodramatic flair.
The result often leans closer to the New York Dolls (stupid but angry choruses, beastly drum rolls, blind riffs), as in the breakneck title track and the even more epileptic rock and roll of My Friend Delirium, rather than the demonic vein of the early work (better preserved in Ezekial Walks Through Sodom and Gomorrah, the blasphemous peak of the album). The sound changed mainly because the band had become a true bandthe first album had been more a solo record by Meade than a group effort. Here blooms the roaring grunge of She Gets, with wah-wah and Cream-style falsetto choruses, and the melodic grunge of Connie I've Found The Door.
Meades Luciferian declamations still find release in the full-throttle delirium of Shannon's Fellini Movie (paired with Violent Religion from the previous album), the dramatic confession of Angels Selfdestruct, and above all the psychedelic High in High School, another highlight of the album, where the singer has the chance to disguise himself with different personalities, drawing on the full repertoire of performers like David Johansen, Steven Tyler, and Dave Vanian.
The lyrics are now more surreal and less macabre, more visionary and less showy.
The EP High in High School (Mammoth) adds to their core repertoire the driving Stuck, one of the fiercest tracks of their career. Preceded by the EP Angel On The Range (Mammoth, 1993), which includes the title track (one of their most purely glam songs) and a couple of lightning-fast Ramones-style punk rock tracks (Kick Kid, John Wayne Dream), the new album Pop Heiress (Mammoth, 1994) finally arrived. Once again, the surprise lies in this mutation of glam into punk-pop, or vice versa: Sore On The Floor rumbles with heavy metal and hardcore frenzy, Media Star Hymn overflows with rock-and-roll shouts and contortions, Silver Millionaire rediscovers the virtues of power pop, and I Ride Free exaggerates T. Rexs boogie pulse.
Not that Meade has lost his narrative and melodic talent: the Kinks-style melodic vignette of Loneliest China Place, the fatalistic Morrissey-style ballad of Pop Heiress Dies, and the Soul Asylum-style power ballad of We're Like are all there to captivate the most determined teenagers; not to mention the acoustic outburst with Renaissance flute on Soldier On My Shoulder. But what stands out most about the album is its grit, which gives the entire production a darker, more desperate edge. On the EP Candy For You (Scratchie, 1996) appears the long, melodramatic Bury My Heart.
Chainsaw Kittens (Scratchie, 1996) is impeccable in the way the music
follows and harmonizes with the lyrics. There is more to
Bicyclehead and Heartcatch Thump than just grieving melodrama,
there is transcendent contemplation, pure devotion, mystical communion.
The arrangements of Tongue Trick and Dorothy's Last Fling
are so subtle that one feels these must be acoustic songs, while in reality
they are carefully assembled sonic collages.
After the civilization of drugs came the era of Valium. The rhythm section later spin off into For Love Not Lisa.
Meanwhile, Meade confessed himself in his first solo album, Motorcycle Childhood (Echostatic, 1996).
Stripped-down and intimate, the record lets his powerful baritone take center stage. The songs showcase the eccentric decadence of a true showman, one who learned more from Robyn Hitchcock than David Bowieand more from Alex Chilton than Lou Reed,
resulting in a collection of improbable witticisms, whose indecipherable humor suggests that the problem lies not with the teller but with the listener. Perhaps too clever to be enjoyed by everyone.
(Original English text by Piero Scaruffi)
Meade is one isolated artist who has carved his own style with little or no
respect for conventions. Glam-rock was only a starting point. The
complex pop architectures of
Chainsaw Kittens' The All American (4 Alarm, 2000)
and the angry gay man's lyrics
hint at a form of art that fuses message and medium.
Meade has more in common with the likes of Bob Dylan and Jello Biafra than
with David Bowie.
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