Search - No New York, Brain Eno :: No New York/Brian Eno

Flawed, but a massively influential collection, warts 'n all

the18yroldmusiccritic | Michigan | 06/25/2005

(3 out of 5 stars)

"This collection of no-wave and avant-noise music, compiled and produced by Brian Eno with absolutely no frills, is extremely influential on the more out-there, and, strangely, more commercialized disco-punk that's been coming out of Manhattan recently (think the Rapture - whose sax player shows an occasional James Chance influence). The four bands inside this album are the Contortions, Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, Mars, and DNA.



The first and best band is the Contortions. Led by a man with the moniker of James Chance, the Contortions played a particularly homicidal brand of funk, complete with atonal accents in the organ and open-tuned slide guitar, sheet-metal bass, warped chicken-scratch lead guitar, and disco drums. Topping that all off were the sneering vocal screech (which did bear a slight resemblance to Richard Hell at his most bilious, though generally far more intense) and hideously gurgling, Ayler-influenced alto sax of Mr. Chance. He often squiggled across the stages he would play on one foot, like a Jerry Lee Lewis high on mescaline and raised on performance art. The four tracks here are all uniformly excellent, with "Dish It Out" leading the pack on a merciless bassline and a disfigured introductory sax solo. Chance's vocal here was perfect, nearly tripling the aggression with his entrance alone: "Sick of beeiiinnnnn'!!!!!! on the losin' end!!!!!!!!!!!" The band hurtles along with murderous intent, making this track a startlingly brilliant song. "Flip Your Face" follows with slide guitar snapping like a rubber band across the sonic spectrum, and what follows this rather grating little intro is a loping midtempo groove with charm and panache, with, of course, a trademarked ugly sax solo that would give Lindsay Lohan nightmares. Mr. Chance croons in a voice that would send Captain Beefheart into hearty titters about flipping your face over lightly, and that you aren't all there, anyway-yuh. I wouldn't say this was my favorite song of all time, as apparently Steve Albini did, but it is definitely its own song, and very fun, in a warped sort of way. "Jaded" opens with a hilariously off bass note, and then staggers forward with no desire to live, a disgusting little dirge with Chance's nonsensical vocals putting the finishing touch on it - brilliant. A truly - and I mean *truly* - inspired cover of James Brown's "I Can't Stand Myself" ends the Contortions songs, flying along at top speed with Chance posing, sassing, howling, shrieking and generally making himself a genius frontman, while the band detonates behind him. If only all white funk sounded like this.



The quality then takes a swan dive into the Grand Canyon with the next four songs, from the generally excrable Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, fronted by the infamous Lydia Lunch. I personally can't really tell three of the four songs apart. They are all really slow, static in fact, and most of the same chords pop up, and Lydia always moans at the exact same, sickeningly shrill pitch, and it all generally sounds like the musical equivalent of medieval torture. "Burning Rubber" and "I Woke Up Dreaming" are practically alike in musical structure, everything. "The Closet" at least has guitar that sounds actually nauseated - I don't know how Lunch did it, but the instrument sounds like it's about to throw up while playing the same chords she always does. I don't know - some people really do like this stuff, but I just can't get into Lydia Lunch. The one song of hers on here that I truly do like, though, is "Red Alert," an instrumental that is absolute, unbridled, furious aggression piled into 32 seconds. The bass is high-pitched, and slides between a couple notes again and again; the drums actually have some drive to them, for once; and Lunch shuts up and turns her guitar into an unbelivably high pitched sonic dentist's drill - really something. That they chose not to elaborate on "Red Alert" seems practically perverse.



The next act is called Mars. Mars had a lot of bad music, and were responsible for the no-wave opera "John Gavanti," as horrible a musical experience as I have ever had (though with two honest-to-goodness genius numbers on it, "Gavanti Samba" and "Mirror Mirror"), but here they realize their vision of noise-as-beautiful-expression, if only in flashes. "Helen Fordsdale" has a locomotive rhythm driving it; with the chattering, unutterably malevolent guitars, screaming vocals and the chordal catchy bassline, the noise becomes a song, albeit something almost ridiculously aggressive. But the smarts are there, making it an amazing slice of dementia. "Hairwaves" then takes about 3 minutes to go absolutely nowhere. "Tunnel" is flawed - not really very compelling - but the introductory guitar is astonishing, sounding exactly like a train chugging down the subway tracks. But "Puerto Rican Ghost" might be the best Mars selection here, with spasming drums, something which might, at a base and perverted level, be called funk bass, and of course the howling guitars and vocals - only this time, the vocals make chilling sense (the lyrics don't, really, but frantic gibberish was always Mars's stock in trade anyway): "Mommy, close the door!" Utterly terrifying, and only a minute long - one of Mars's absolute greatest songs.



The compilation ends with four good-to-fantastic songs by DNA, a power trio of sorts led by Arto Lindsay, whose solo albums are gorgeous. Arto sings here not in the soft, sensitive croon he employs on many of his other musical outings, but in an incomprehensible yowl that sounds like someone who just swallowed a jar of marbles trying to be swaggering and sexy. He also plays free-form, atonal electric 12-string guitar that somehow always sounds tremendously exciting and strangely musical. Robin Crutchfield, who would later leave the group for his own Dark Day, filled in the monolithic electric piano that proved the base of the band, and Ikue Mori played jerking drum rhythms around the others. Crutchfield was later replaced by ex-Pere Ubu bassist Tim Wright, but here the band is still with his lead-fingered keyboard, which often provides the songs with actual melodies. "Egomaniac's Kiss" is an absolute laugh, with Arto's vocals completely sending it over the edge into hilarity: think Bozo the Clown doing cabaret in a crack house and you may have an idea of it. "Lionel" is like a bombastic intro stretched into a two-minute instrumental: pure power, with Lindsay's frenetic strumming and Crutchfield's pulsing keyboard at one. "Not Moving" actually sounds like a hit song - from Neptune. Nonstop keyboard glisses and Arto's idea of blues bends make way for monotone vocal stylings and a relatively straight rhythm. "Size" ends the compilation on a glorious two-minute high with an amazing, irreplaceable riff and the band at its' most ecstatic. Brilliant art-noise.



This is quite influential on many musicians. I personally love the Contortions, really like DNA, appreciate Mars when they aren't just making noise, and really can't stand Teenage Jesus and the Jerks. But your tastes might be different."

History repeats itself

C. Hewitt | London, UK | 01/09/2007

(5 out of 5 stars)

"No New York is an essential recording for any lover of the alternative music scene of the last 35 years. Many of todays outfits owe a lot to the pioneers featured on this recording. Play loud, chow down!"