Honey, I Don't Believe This

#5: Hated: GG Allin & the Murder Junkies

(dir. Todd Phillips, 1994; released on DVD, 1997)

Only circumstantially aware of GG Allin and who he was, my main familiarity with his (ahem) work were the tales of theatrical and scatological stage antics and one great song by the Drive-By Truckers, "The Night GG Allin Came to Town" on the just-okay LP Pizza Deliverance.

I never meant to watch Hated, but if you're so inclined you can watch it on Pitchfork TV; it's being shown online as part of the "One Week Only" feature and will be available until Monday, May 5. Watch it here (NSFW!).

I've watched horrible things in my lifetime. I've seen most of Pink Flamingos, enjoyed Man Bites Dog, and highly recommend The Devil's Rejects as authentic campy horror. I didn't mean to watch Hated; I was just checking out Pitchfork TV and it happened to be the first thing that started playing. I can't say I'm glad I watched it, but I don't feel worse for seeing it.

My problem with Allin isn't the onstage defecation, the nudity, the indignancy toward humanity, or even the gross-out factor. Instead I take offense at the lack of a message in his body of work. The music itself is only secondary to his behavior and, in levels of fuckedupedness, drummer Dino ranks a bit higher than Allin. (Watch for him to start babbling in random words about the Lunachicks, yet in his mind he's making perfect sense.)

Instead, Hated takes on a sadly comic tone after the intial shock wears off. GG's brother Merle is as loving a brother as anyone could ask for--when asked about GG's propensity for violence towards others and his claim of committing suicide onstage Merle seems genuinely awkward and upset (even though he is sporting a Hitler-stache). Then there's the GG Allin fan Unk, who essentially boils Allin and his music down to a "hilarious" circus act, nothing more.

There are two scenes that stand out in this genuine mess of a documentary. The first I can't describe because it has to be witnessed for impact. I'll just say it involves a request that GG makes for his birthday that involves human waste and a female companion. But the second scene that captivates is the steady shot of GG playing an acoustic guitar powerfully and belting out an old-fashioned drug-murder-outlaw ballad that would stand tall on any Hank Williams or Johnny Cash album. It is here that one may come to realize that GG created the shell of a cycle that he became trapped in; perhaps his "serious" musical qualities could have been known had he not fallen into the endless pit of audience expectations and a persona he couldn't live up to, but could never live down.

Read about GG Allin's death at Wikipedia here. It's quite interesting.

Read the Drive By Truckers' lyrics to "The Night GG Allin Came to Town" here. You can listen to the song here if you have Rhapsody installed.

Almost No One Makes It Out

Glossary @ SXSW 2007, Magnolia Electric Co promo photo for "Fading Trails"
Thought I would take a post to plug two of my favorite bands; one you've probably heard of, one maybe not. Either way both bands are offering free downloads at their website and are well worth the hard drive space.

Glossary are a band from Murfreesboro, TN and their latest album "The Better Angels of Our Nature" is available for free download. Yep, the entire album is available in both FLAC and 320 kpbs mp3. For fans of Lucero, Drive By Truckers, Cory Branan, and Anders Parker. Follow this link. Spread the word if you like it.

Magnolia Electric Co is the incarnation of Songs: Ohia's Jason Molina. Some of their albums are hit and miss, but they have an entire Live Show Archive on their website to download in FLAC. Follow this link.

The files are large, so I recommend downloading one song at a time--unless you're on a T1. Then click away.
I recommend this page to download a FLAC decoder.

The Man's On the Guest List

Drive-By Truckers
Brighter Than Creation's Dark
New West Records, 2008

Before purchasing the latest Drive-By Truckers album, Brighter Than Creation’s Dark, I consulted the guru of all things mud, blood, and beer: “So, brother o’ mine, should I pay American greenbacks for a physical copy of one Drive-By Truckers CD? Or should I download it (legally, of course) and enjoy it without the restrictive mp3 format?"

“Oh,” he says to me, “you should definitely get it. But I must warn you, it’s a country album. It’s no The Dirty South.”

I laugh heartily, suddenly aware that I do not own ANY physical DBT CDs—all that I have has been ripped from said brother.
“And,” he continues, “there’s this weird song in the middle that sounds like a John Prine ripoff.”

The song he is referring to is “Bob,” a Mike Cooley composition that, at the moment, is one of my favorite songs on the album. It does sound like a John Prine ripoff, but the character of Bob is an endearing one: he’s not “light in the loafers” and he always keeps his momma’s yard “just like she wants it.” Still, it’s not the low-key country-tinged sound that might have turned me off from BTCD, but rather the hole in the band that should have occurred with the departure of Jason Isbell, one of the three genius songwriters behind the band for nine years.

The band fills up the space with songs by Shonna Tucker (Isbell’s ex-wife and DBT bassist). For the most part, they’re passable and keep the album moving (“I’m Sorry Huston” is the best of the lot). But at 19 songs and 74 minutes, you immediately begin to think about what should have ended up on the chopping block.

Fortunately, that’s the album’s strength. I can’t come up with one song—not ONE—that I would like to eliminate. Sure there’s filler, but DBT’s filler is better than most band’s radio singles. It’s abrasive to hear back-to-back Cooley songs when you’re used to an Isbell number in-between and while Cooley is a master of narrative and wordplay (“chicken wing puke licks the candy apple red off his corvette”), Patterson Hood is the one who finally cracks everything wide this go-round. Songs like “The Opening Act,” “The Righteous Path,” and “That Man I Shot” are the ones that matter here. They matter because they have more than just rock and balls—they have substance and adrenalin. Sweet, fist-pumping adrenalin. Hood can swing from a snarl to a yawp like he does on “Goode’s Field Road” or serenade you with his John Ford homage “The Monument Valley.”

Of course, everything else is damn near perfect as well. And I’m slowly beginning to emulate Brad Morgan’s drumming style with his booming floor tom and lack of ride cymbal. But DBT are one of those bands built for longevity, no matter what incarnation they come in. It may be tempting to pay fleeting attention to their new release but we owe it to this band to stick with them—they would never give us less than everything they had. And right now their music sounds an awful like American music—if such an untainted thing exists—should sound: long, loud, and still sweet.

Video--"That Man I Shot (Live)" (Thanks, Stereogum)