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.

The Great Record Excavation: B is for The Black Halos

At last Friday's .357 String Band/Those Poor Bastards show at Turner Hall, Keith and Janet introduced me to their friend Dave from The Mighty Deerlick, a Wisconsin punk band that's existed in one for or another since at least my college years (i still remember a dude in the UW-Oshkosh music program walking around with "THE MIGHTY DEERLICK" written in marker on the back of his jean jacket...in 1993! In other news, i was in college when my current girlfriend was 11). We had an extended and entertaining conversation about our differing musical philosophies, stemming from some old AV Club comment thread where we (DJ and "prisonn") got into it here and there. Essentially, the conversation discussed the merits of "arty" bands vs. standard punk rock bands that play accessible music that many people can enjoy (you can guess which side i was on).

There's nothing wrong with playing accessible music, of course (which to Dave is the whole point of being in a band that plays shows in front of an audience)--some of my favorite bands play gorgeous, easily digestible music (see: Magnetic Fields, Murder By Death) that has earned them large followings. As i've said previously in this blog, if a band can accomplish something arty and challenging while also providing enough hooks to get large audiences invested (see: St. Vincent, Devo, Future of the Left), it's a special thing. But if i'm forced to defend either "accessible" or "arty" without straddling the grey areas, i'll end up on the side of "arty" every time.

A desire to try something different is why part of me always felt a little bit outside-looking-in at Green Bay's Concert Cafe, THE "most unlikely punk mecca" (according to a list New Bomb Turks singer Eric Davidson published, appropriately, in The Punk Rock Book of Lists) of the 1990s, despite being one of the regulars and despite becoming friends with Tom, Andy, and many of the people who kept that scene running. The Concert Cafe was the single most important building for hundreds of Green Bay and Fox Valley kids who would have never seen punk rock up close otherwise. It was home to some of the greatest shows i saw in my college years (at least two Brainiac shows, the last Rip Offs show ever, a New Bomb Turks/Teengenerate double bill, Archers of Loaf, Poster Children, the Jawbox/Jawbreaker double bill...i could go on). But it would be a gross re-edit of history to ignore the large numbers of kids that turned out for the most routine Fat Wreck Chords cookie-cutter pop-punk tours (oh good, No Use For a Name and Lagwagon are touring together; it'll be like one band with an intermission!), to say nothing of the legions of local garage punk bands that came and went with nary a hint of evolution beyond your standard Ramones/Rip Off Records/Maximumrocknroll-approved template.

It's that part of the Concert Cafe experience that i think about when i pull out the record that this week's Great Record Excavation will focus on--mostly because i picked it up at the Cafe.


The Album: The Black Halos, The Violent Years (Sub Pop, 2001)

Who they were: The Black Halos are a Vancouver, BC based punk rock band founded in 1993 by lead singer Billy Hopeless and guitarist Rich Jones as The Black Market Babies. The band was briefly on Sub Pop Records, and later signed with History Music. They broke up in 2008 after having their equipment stolen while on tour, however disagreements between the Halos and Billy Hopeless were also cited as a cause.

I ganked that paragraph directly from Wikipedia because i really don't remember all that much about this band.

Where i got the record: Like i said, it was a Concert Cafe show, apparently during its last year of operation, when it was known as "Rock 'N' Roll High School," judging from the fact that this CD apparently came out in 2001 (i honestly thought that maybe i got it in 1996 or '97). Despite all that stuff about all the cookie-cutter punk rock that came through the Cafe in those years, i remember legitimately liking The Black Halos live; they sounded loud and raw and looked like a bunch of mascara-smeared degenerates. But when i got the CD home, i remember placing it in my stereo, eagerly awaiting the grimy sleaze-punk that was presented on stage, only to discover...a record of cookie-cutter anthemic shout-along street-punk derived rock 'n' roll that i had heard about 500 other times (if i'm being generous) in the 6-year run of the Cafe. I shelved it after one listen and never went back.

Does it hold up? As i spin The Violent Years on my computer (shut up--the hard drive's spinning), not much has changed in 10 years. It's not a bad record by any means--heck, a standard punk rock band put out an album on Sub Pop, so it must have something going for it. And sure enough, everything you'd expect in a workmanlike, serviceable punk record is here: guitar riffs running through what sounds like a wall of Marshalls; solid-if-unspectacular mid-tempo drumming that varies by little more than 10 BPM from one song to the next; and ragged vocals soaked in Marlboro and rail whiskey. Anyone who wants their New York Dolls-influenced glam-punk to come wrapped in more of a Rancid jacket (minus the ska) than a Faster Pussycat scarf (minus the Aerosmith) knows what they're getting into with this disc.

And that's where i differ from the Dave Deerlicks in the world, i guess; ten years on, this sounds no different than the pile of dyed-black, leather jacket punk promo CDs that threatened to topple off the desk of my college radio station's music coordinator office like a game of Oi! Jenga. There's nothing here to distinguish the Black Halos from any other band from 10-15 years ago. They don't have the incisively, absurdly intellectual smartass lyrics of the aforementioned New Bomb Turks' Eric Davidson or Boris the Sprinkler's Rev. Norb. They don't have the dizzying 90-degree turns of a NoMeansNo. They don't have a dry guitar tone that matches the dry humor of their lyrics, like the Rip Offs. If you put The Violent Years on at a party where a bunch of dudes with "RAMONES" plastered across their leather jackets are drinking Blatz, it'll get the heads bobbing and the fists pumping. It's accessible as hell, but generically so. It's government issue (lower case) punk served in a white case with "PUNK RECORD" in black Arial font. Hell, one of the songs is cringingly titled "Sell-Out Love."

The Black Halos are a textbook case of a band that lots of people saw, said "hey, they were pretty good," and promptly forgot about. I can't help wondering, though, how different my opinion would be if they sounded more like that gritty, attitude-filled band that i hazily remember seeing on stage in Green Bay a decade ago? I remember a real sense of surprise that the record sounded so generic when compared to the band's live show. Maybe if the CD had been a more accurate translation of their live sound, i wouldn't be ready to shelve this disc back in the CD rack, not to be remembered until i unpack my next apartment. As it stands, the discs rates a big fat "meh" from me, but i'll bet if they reunited and did another tour, they could still find an audience and map out a string of grimy, hole-in-the-wall punk clubs where dudes would lose their minds. And sometimes that's all you need, i guess. Hell, beats playing for three disinterested lumps of space in a Nashville shithole. I should know--i play in a purposely obtuse "arty" band.

But hey, judge for yourself: click here to download The Violent Years by The Black Halos

The Great Record Excavation: A is for Arcwelder

In what was probably the most-read post on this blog to date (thanks to a lot of you re-posting it and passing it around...hey, keep doing that), i made reference in the opening paragraph to my CD collection and how it started me thinking about how some of those discs are the only relic i have left to jog my memory about bands long relegated to obscurity. As i said then, it's not an indictment of their quality as bands, per se; rather, it's a symptom of being a music fan and consuming as many different bands as possible.

So here's what we're going to do once a week (or more if i get rambunctious some week): I'm going to go through my recorded music collection, one disc per letter of the alphabet per entry. I will endeavor to grab a CD, vinyl LP, or commercial cassette that is at the bare minimum five years old, but will generally be older (it also has to exist physically in my collection; this isn't the Great mp3 Excavation). I'll re-listen to the record, recall how i came across it, and decide if it has held up over time. I'll also post a SendSpace link to a download of the record, as i'm sure many of these will be out of print or at least difficult to find (however if you like the record and can find it for sale, i of course strongly advise you to purchase it on the off chance that the cash will still make it back to the band members; likewise, if any of the bands i write about in this feature don't want their records downloaded, they can let me know and i'll remove the [temporary] link).

Hopefully, each entry will sort of look like this:


The Album: Arcwelder, Pull (Touch & Go, 1993)

Who they were: Arcwelder were a Minneapolis entrant into the Touch & Go Records 1990s-era noise rock family (sort of amusing, as they would have fit on their hometown Amphetamine Reptile label just as easily). While their rhythmically driving, largely midtempo gallops invited easy comparisons to Jawbox, their growly guitar tones were more in line with several of their Chicago peers and labelmates in The Jesus Lizard, Pegboy, or Pegboy predecessor Naked Raygun.

Where i got the record: Ah, therein lies a tale. I first heard Pull, Arcwelder's third full-length and first of four for Touch & Go, in my pal (and current HiFi guitarist) Chris' Jeep on the way to some Fox Valley show or another back yonder 'round '93 or '94. I remember digging how the drone-like, box fan riffs of songs like "Will When You Won't" were counterbalanced by vocals that were far more melodic than many of the noisy T&G bands i was discovering at the time (Girls Against Boys, Shellac, etc.), and i especially was taken by the tom-heavy drumming on driving rockers like "What Did You Call It That For." Living in the orbit of Green Bay's legendary Concert Cafe all-ages venue, we were treated to a couple live visits from the band as Green Bay was one of the few viable punk towns within decent driving distance of Minneapolis. Still, while we saw our share of Arcwelder shows and enjoyed the hell out of Pull, i feel like our crew still relegated them to "serviceable younger cousin" status in relation to bands like the aforementioned Girls Against Boys, Jesus Lizard or Brainiac. Arcwelder were good, but when reaching for something abrasive on the CD shelf, Cruise Yourself or Liar were more likely go-tos. Thus, as Arcwelder slowed down with age, they began to fade a bit from memory.

Similarly, Arcwelder were seen by me as a fun bonus on the last day of 2006's Touch & Go 25th Anniversary weekend outside the Hideout in Chicago. After two nights of GVSB, Ted Leo, Man...or Astroman?, Killdozer, The Ex, Big Black, etc. holy shit etc., the idea of seeing one of the "minor" T&G bands that i had vaguely fond memories of kick off the Sunday festivities sounded like mere icing on the cake. So when they hopped on stage and proceeded to blow several of us away with one of the more spirited performances of the entire weekend, you could say i was a bit floored. The Graber brothers, Bill and Rob, rolled their way through one rollicking face-scraper after another while drummer Scott MacDonald dialed it in with killer tom fills and SINGING! Holy shit, how did i forget that he was a singing drummer? Awesome! (We singing drummers need to stick together as we get shat on more than regular drummers despite obviously being more talented.)

As they finished their set to a rousing ovation from an obviously gobsmacked crowd, HiFi bassist Josh turned to me and said, "let's go over to the merch stand and buy all their records right now." We made a beeline to where the CDs and vinyl were being sold, and having limited funds, i was forced to choose between four different Arcwelder records, none of which i had ever owned. But of course, familiarity caused Pull to jump out at me; thus, it was Pull that i bought.

Does it hold up? Yup--still awesome. The guitars still pack plenty of sugary hooks inside their distorted bite, while veering nowhere near pop. Songs like "Lahabim" take their time to establish a moody, deliberate midtempo groove, adding what sounds like occasional double-tracked drums for emphasis, while haunted vocal melodies and countermelodies add plenty of tension. Meanwhile, songs like "Remember to Forget" and "Just Not Moving" simply rock out with a bit of grunge-formula loud/louder/loud verse/chorus contrast.

Arcwelder, incidentally, never broke up; they still play infrequent shows around the upper Midwest and even toured the West Coast with Shellac in 2009. Which naturally begs the question: how much to get you guys down to Milwaukee for a show, dudes? For some reason i never grabbed any of your other records, and i'd prefer to buy them straight out of your hands.

Download Pull by Arcwelder right here