The Great Record Excavation: C is for The Candy Machine

The Albums: The Candy Machine, #25 and A Modest Proposal (#25: Skene!, 1993; A Modest Proposal: Skene!/Eastwest, 1994

Who they were: Not much out there on the interwebs about this band anymore. The Candy Machine were based in Baltimore in the early 1990s. If from that information and a cursory knowledge of what normally can be found in my music collection, you were to infer that they were part of that era's Dischord/Desoto Records post-hardcore scene, you'd get a gold star, skip.

Where i got the record: is, in this case, not as interesting a story as why i bought them. Back in 1998, Yale Delay, the Wizard, and our friend Mandy started a silly little post-punk noise band called The Pop Machine. Our second show ever took place in a little coffee shop in Green Bay called the Factory, and we opened for a little Washington, DC based rock band called Smart Went Crazy. The vocalist for that band (who are essential listening, if you're not familiar) was a rad dude by the name of Chad Clark, who went on to form The Beauty Pill after Smart Went Crazy broke up on that tour (as the promoter, Rich Winker, claimed, in his living room the next morning, but that has little to do with this story). After we played our opening set, Chad was incredibly, flatteringly complimentary of us, saying he was shocked to learn that it was our second show. He then asked us if we had ever heard of a band called The Candy Machine, saying that he saw a lot of similarities between our band and that one. Curious, i picked up their first two discs from some Fox Valley used CD store or another, and gave 'em a spin or two before filing them away. To be honest, i didn't hear a lot of similarities between them and us, and i must not have been all that taken with the band, because i don't think i've touched these CDs since then.

Do they hold up? Here's the first fun thing i noticed about A Modest Proposal: this record came out on Eastwest Records in '94, which at the time was a Fake Indie subdivision of Atlantic Records. Back then, all the majors had these little satellite labels that got pasted on their "alternative" records in lieu of the majors' logo, lest the band have to deal with accusations of "selling out" (not like this worked; the zines caught on to that trick pretty fast, so Jawbox got plenty of guff for going major label, even though Atlantic slapped the vanity label "Tag Records" on them. Of course, the major label Jawbox record is as good or better than anything they put out on Dischord, so whatever). Thinking about the whole "fake indie label" routine in 2011 is powerfully weird; these days, if a big indie band signs to a major, no one blinks an eye, and in some cases, the reaction is one of "why would you do that? The majors are dying." In an age where indie bands are purposely tailoring their music to appeal to talent buyers for TV soundtracks and iPod commercials, and not being remotely shy about it (after all, no one's buying records anymore, right?), it's funny to remember a time when being perceived as a "sellout" was such a scarlet letter than majors tried to hide their dollar bills as much as possible.

In 2011, it's almost baffling listening to these records and thinking that The Candy Machine ever garnered major-label interest. Their sound is classic early-90s DC post-hardcore in the vein of Fugazi, landing directly in a sweet spot between the Monorchid's screaming hysterics and The Most Secret Method's unsettling, mellowed grooves. (Then again, 1993 was the year of In on the Killtaker, when music writers who didn't really have a grasp on Fugazi's ethics were certain that they'd be the next Nirvana, so it follows that a major in that era would want to throw an advance at any band with even a passing Fugazi similarity.) #25 in particular echoes many of Fugazi's quieter, more dub-inspired jams; the dreamy "Two Figures" features subtly rolling drums, a continually repeating bass/guitar groove, and laid back, crooning vocals from often-shouty frontman Peter Quinn.

While #25 is a heck of a debut full-length, and a solid entry onto the shelf of Fugazi soundalikes that emerged alongside Ian and company, the sophomore A Modest Proposal is the real winner here. #25 has a pretty homogeneous vibe throughout; Proposal shifts from high-energy post-punk car crash jams back down to the low-key interludes of the debut, while mixing up the instrumentation on those more meditative tracks. Random horns flow in and out of the mix, hooting or squawking based on requirement. There's a mature flow and thoughtful sequencing happening that makes Proposal a much more rewarding listen than #25. In songs like Proposal's "The Over Under Rule in Progress," there's a nervous energy undercutting the restraint, always threatening to and occasionally bubbling above the surface into an explosion of dynamics and discordance.

Looking back, i guess i can see why i didn't give these records too much of my attention back when i was 24; a lot of these tracks probably sounded awfully too "mellow" for my ears and just not rockin' enough, i dunno. But while a band like the Monorchid may still feel more viscerally exciting, with the constant threat of derailment always lording over their deliriously shambolic clanks and screeks, there's definitely room in my musical diet for some Candy Machine. I'm really glad i went back to these records; anyone with a taste for early 90s noise-rock would likely agree, i suspect. (Hey Absolutely guys--check these records out if you haven't yet!)

Download the first two Candy Machine records here.

Future of the Left's Polymers are Forever and the Necessity of Evolution

"I'm sick to death of people saying we've made 11 albums that sound exactly the same; In fact, we've made 12 albums that sound exactly the same."
--Angus Young

There are two kinds of music fans:

-Beatles or Stones (or Beatles or Elvis, if you're a Tarantino fan)

-Zeppelin or Sabbath

-Analog loyalists or digital technophiles

-For a while there in 1994, people were supposedly Green Day fans or Offspring fans, which in retrospect is hilariously sad

...You get the point. We love to divide our alliances into two camps and hash it out. The one i'm interested in today is

-People who never want their favorite bands to change, and people who demand evolution and progression

Very few people fall firmly on the hard black or white ends of this spectrum; i like to think that most people want their favorite bands to adhere to the sounds and principles that made the fan fall in love with them in the first place, while not pumping out cookie-cutter copies of their first album ad AC/DCium (although it should be noted that AC/DC is awesome). Still, there are hardliners that fear and distrust change of any sort. Ben Weasel used to insist with relentless frequency in Maximumrocknroll (hey, two MRR mentions this week; sweet) that bands should break up or change their names after three albums because it's unacceptable to tweak a band's sound to avoid running out of ideas (note: Screeching Weasel released its 12th album, First World Manifesto, in March). To the best of my knowledge, The Spits have written one song approximately 630 times; when i saw !!! live, i was really into it until about 20 minutes in when i thought to myself "oh...this is pretty much the tempo they're gonna use all show, huh?" and checked out.

My favorite bands excel by and large at finding ways to let their sound evolve while, well, still sounding like themselves: Fugazi's evolution from their raw debut EP to the nuanced The Argument; Poster Children's journey from the post-punk Flower Plower to the new-wave-tinged No More Songs About Sleep and Fire; Brainiac's Nirvana-esque Smack Bunny Baby to the just plain weird-ass chrome-icide of Electro-Shock for President. When Brainiac ended and John Schmersal continued with Enon, they recorded the phenomenally strange synth-damaged art-pop record Believo! before a wholesale lineup change resulted in the more conventionally post-punk High Society (Schmersal was the only band member carried over from Believo!, and while both records were great, the shift in sound was noticeably jarring).

It was this last example that i kept in mind while clicking on Spin.com's stream of the new Future of the Left EP, Polymers are Forever. Since we last heard from FotL, their sophomore LP, Travels with Myself and Another, had just finished kicking their also-impressive debut, Curses, into the dirt. However, bassist Kelson Mathias then left and was not only replaced by ex-Million Dead bassist Julia Ruzicka, but a second guitarist, Jimmy Watkins, was also brought on board, ostensibly so Andy Falkous could spend more time on keyboards. So a shift in sound should have been expected.

Sure enough, the opening title track is awash with the buzz and fuzz of analog synths while retaining FotL's trademark minimalist arrangements and sneering, acerbic vocals (not to mention an absolutely killer earworm throughout the second half of the song that rates up there with any of their previous hook-laden winners). From there, Polymers are Forever runs a gamut of union-standard abrasive post-punk ("With Apologies to Emily Pankhurst" and "Dry Hate"), cartoonishly dandy stomps ("New Adventures") and a disconcerting, creepily blistering gallop (the closing "Destroywitchurch.com"), all crammed full of Falco's instantly-classic couplets flavored with ridiculous left-field imagery, random pop-culture references and, well, snide Welshness (a winning line from "Apologies:" "I fear most women like I fear tomorrow: absolutely/I can't let something as French as fear determine this insecurity").

Upon repeated listens, the EP has grown from "different, but pretty good" to "hella great" to "goddamn brilliant." It's a grower to be sure--not one song sounds alike, so the record may sound a bit disjointed at first listen. And to be sure, the lineup change is obvious and apparent, but that's not a bad thing. It's not as jarring a shift as between those two Enon albums, but it's definitely not Mclusky Do Dallas.

While the reviews that have popped up today seem mostly positive (hell, aptly glowing for some tracks), the initial response to the title track largely indicated that some folks are legit pissed that Falco isn't putting out Do Dallas Vol. 4. Falkous himself apparently went on some Twitter tirade (since deleted, so i missed it) about lackluster response to "Polymers" when the track was posted at Pitchfork, and anecdotal evidence from my own Facebook feed and some Electrical Audio Forum threads have uncovered similar attitudes (my pal Nick Woods: "Why can't Future of the Left just be a direct rip off of Mclusky?").

It's an attitude that confuses me, because as a musician, if my band were writing carbon copies of the song that made people freak out about us eleven years ago, i'd be eager to hasten death's sweet release by taking advantage of Wisconsin's new concealed-carry law and finding a club where i could shoot myself in the face at the end of (what would be) our last show. If you want Mclusky, pull out your old records. If you want old school FotL, bust out Curses. Meanwhile, i'll stay here on the Andy Falkous bandwagon, because he drives it around some thrilling curves at top speed, it's a hell of a fun ride, and the airbags haven't fired off yet.