Until 2019, the sole recorded evidence of the short-lived London quintet Rema-Rema was a 4-song, 12” EP released by iconic label 4AD. (BAD 5, for those taking notes.) Wrapped in a striking George Rodger photo of Korongo Nuba tribesmen, Wheel in the Roses grabs you by the lapels with “Feedback Song,” which opens with a chorus of voices (no instruments) chanting the band’s name — this is the band as a gang, with a signature schoolyard chant.* At 30 seconds, the voices drop out, and a lone bass note booms out, setting an insistent rhythm met 45 seconds later by a skeletal drum pattern filling in the wide-open space. A clarion-call synth snakes through, then ringing feedback. The feral vocals return at the 3-minute mark, sailing over the grinding backdrop with staccato insistence. Each band member gets their introduction before the song builds up to a weird, gripping groove that’s as bracing now as it was in 1980, when it served as Exhibit A for a promising band with an ignominious end.
Category: Interviews Page 1 of 3
During the past year that took so many things away from us, including the catharsis of live music, I’ve increasingly relied on listening to LPs in their entirety, rather than my iPod on shuffle.
All the Mirrors in the House: Early Recordings 1986-1990 (Disciples), the first of 3 volumes revisiting His Name Is Alive’s earliest cassette experiments, hit a perfect chord for me during this bizarre stasis-time we’re all trapped in; songs like “Piano Rev” feel unstuck in time and fathomless (a very now feeling). But it’s hopeful, too — it reminds me of standing at the edge of Lake Michigan at night for the first time. I just remember this vast, inky black inland sea with no edges, extending as far as the eye could see. It was awesome and transfixing, like staring into deep space.
There is no shortage of charisma (positive and negative) in Decline of Western Civilization — X, Alice Bag Band, the Germs, Black Flag Mach 1.0. But the segment where a certain Claude Bessy — Slash editor, raconteur extraordinaire, Catholic Discipline ringleader — holds court is different; even the hardcore punks look like poseurs next to Claude’s poetically splenetic rants.
Claude, whose poison pen reviews in Slash were signed with the unassailable pseudonym, “Kickboy Face,” is a profane French chain-smoker who is utterly contemptuous of any kind of hipster canonization of punk or any other music form. When “Decline” director Penelope Spheeris asks, “Does Kickboy have a lot of enemies?,” he practically spits out his reply: “I should hope so, otherwise I am wasting my fucking time.”