Seattle has long been a haven of indie rock, one that I've shamefully stepped into extremely rarely. I've seen more rock concerts in Boston, but those were for established acts that tour nationally (Tortoise and Lightning Bolt), and maybe my reluctance to pop into local clubs has something to do with not wanting to drop a pile of money on a group I've never heard before (but mostly the cost of parking and driving). It might also be due to my laziness in following current rock music, so whenever I hear something more up to date that I like I cut another notch in my In Touch With The Kidz pole.
That being said, let's talk about a forgotten Seattle group whose sole album came out ten years ago, one with a cracked sense of art design:
Founded in 2001, The New Mexicans managed to crank out a 7'' called Coleslawholywar in 2002 and the album I'm talking about today, Chicken Head Talking Diamonds, in 2004 before breaking up in 2005. Guitarist Rob Hampton and drummer Creighton Barrett ended up in the Grammy-winning dream pop Shins-wannabes Band of Horses while bassist Jeff Montano ended up with Grand Archives, a group headed by a guy who used to be in Band of Horses. Guitarist Joe Crawford presumably fell off the face of the Earth for how helpful Wikipedia has been in researching these guys. The internet seems to agree that The New Mexicans technically existed, which is as much as I know about them now and knew back when I found out about this album, when my brother bought it at a garage sale.
In a less kidding mode, Wikipedia helpfully linked to an article in The Stranger that preceded a show of their's in 2003, anticipating the release of Chicken and showcasing some of the most refreshingly humble and down-to-earth stuff I've heard from rock musicians. Hampton immediately won my respect by admitting straight up that the group sucked before stepping into the recording studio for Coleslawholywar, this revelation coming right after we learn that a record label was created by its owner for the sole purpose to get the fledgling band on plastic. Finding themselves under the harshest spotlights in town forced the band to whip themselves into shape, and thank God for that because what emerged was pretty dang good if Chicken has anything to say about it. The other fresh breath is that Hampton was able to talk simply and precisely about their genre, namely Hardcore, a genre I'm no expert on and might have had trouble defining before. His big motivation was to put melodic writing back into Hardcore music, mostly because he finds music primarily consisting of yelling and fast noise to be boring. I saw drummer Brian Chippendale live twice, once for his solo project Black Pus and once for his band Lightning Bolt, and for the life of me I couldn't tell you much of anything beyond how his constant barrage of fast punkesque drumming had the ability to lull the listener into a subconscious state, at least if it wasn't so darn loud*. Hampton's goal seems very smart in this respect, making sure the audience has at least one element they can clearly follow in a song, as that's just the way Western listeners are wired.
Before we begin, I must warn you that the only place in town to hear the album online, Grooveshark, is acting up in terms of embedding songs, so let's try out an alternative: here's the URL for the album: http://grooveshark.com/#!/album/Chicken+Head+Talking+Diamonds/4365557. Open a new tab/window and plug that sucker in, and you'll see all 10 tracks, all playable in full. Ready? Kewl. (Also, don't look on YouTube; the risk of letting Nathan Arizona and the New Mexicans out of their cursed toybox is too great to tempt).**
The article was right in pointing out the slight hypocrisy in Hampton deriding other Hardcore and Punk acts for yelling instead of singing when, y'know, he kind of just yells, too. Thankfully, we can hear all that melodic playing he was talking about in the instrumental parts. Stripped down and searing, the simple cells interlock beautifully and drive as hard as they can, seemingly on a mission to pierce the setting sun on some hellbent horizon. Barrett's drumming is outasight, rhythmically intoxicating and a perfect support for the note-borne cells. It's this carpet of fire and sincerity that supports Hampton's absurdist lyrics, unhinged by any standard and possibly improvised during the first practice session. Hampton describes them as "add-ons", the parsley applied after the instrumental meat is thoroughly roasted. In a way the precise meaning of the lyrics don't matter, as Hampton's delivery is so wailing, even terrifying, as to make language itself a moot point. That isn't to say he's as versatile or inspired as someone like Mike Patton, and the 10 songs end up exposing the limitations of the band's songwriting variety. Regardless, it's hard for me to dis on a guy who writes a song with a chorus that states "If I was a sailor I'd sail around the world! If I was an asteroid I'd fall to the Earth and kill everyone!"
So yeah, I dig Chicken Head Talking Diamonds. The New Mexicans Story is most likely no more complex than a band that hung around for a few years before breaking up out of boredom or disillusionment, and I can't see Chicken rising through the muck of time as a shining beacon of mid-Oughts Hardcore, but that's no reason to leave its stone unturned. Maybe if I was a connoisseur of Hardcore groups I'd be harder on the group, as there are plenty of groups like Drive Like Jehu and Look What I Found that are way crazier than them, but Chicken delivers melody as well as drive and generally congealed rock goodness. Summer is slipping through our fingers faster than anybody wants to admit, and while I've been spinning acts like Hoodoo Gurus and Trotsky Icepick all Dry Season long there's always room for the Hardcore Jello. If you don't feel like wrestling with Grooveshark on this one there's always the supercheap new-'n'-used copies on Amazon to consider. C'mon, it's not even a half-hour long, you've got enough time for that, don'tcha? This brevity is in line with their traditionally short live sets, perhaps borne from an awareness that they weren't the most popular kids on the block. It's too bad more people didn't show up to fulfill Barrett's sly joke that closes the Stranger article: "If more people come we might even play for 29 minutes."
~PNK
*That subconscious state wasn't worth $15 and and hour of my time, in case you were wondering.
**Just don't, people. Every YouTube view only encourages them.
The article was right in pointing out the slight hypocrisy in Hampton deriding other Hardcore and Punk acts for yelling instead of singing when, y'know, he kind of just yells, too. Thankfully, we can hear all that melodic playing he was talking about in the instrumental parts. Stripped down and searing, the simple cells interlock beautifully and drive as hard as they can, seemingly on a mission to pierce the setting sun on some hellbent horizon. Barrett's drumming is outasight, rhythmically intoxicating and a perfect support for the note-borne cells. It's this carpet of fire and sincerity that supports Hampton's absurdist lyrics, unhinged by any standard and possibly improvised during the first practice session. Hampton describes them as "add-ons", the parsley applied after the instrumental meat is thoroughly roasted. In a way the precise meaning of the lyrics don't matter, as Hampton's delivery is so wailing, even terrifying, as to make language itself a moot point. That isn't to say he's as versatile or inspired as someone like Mike Patton, and the 10 songs end up exposing the limitations of the band's songwriting variety. Regardless, it's hard for me to dis on a guy who writes a song with a chorus that states "If I was a sailor I'd sail around the world! If I was an asteroid I'd fall to the Earth and kill everyone!"
So yeah, I dig Chicken Head Talking Diamonds. The New Mexicans Story is most likely no more complex than a band that hung around for a few years before breaking up out of boredom or disillusionment, and I can't see Chicken rising through the muck of time as a shining beacon of mid-Oughts Hardcore, but that's no reason to leave its stone unturned. Maybe if I was a connoisseur of Hardcore groups I'd be harder on the group, as there are plenty of groups like Drive Like Jehu and Look What I Found that are way crazier than them, but Chicken delivers melody as well as drive and generally congealed rock goodness. Summer is slipping through our fingers faster than anybody wants to admit, and while I've been spinning acts like Hoodoo Gurus and Trotsky Icepick all Dry Season long there's always room for the Hardcore Jello. If you don't feel like wrestling with Grooveshark on this one there's always the supercheap new-'n'-used copies on Amazon to consider. C'mon, it's not even a half-hour long, you've got enough time for that, don'tcha? This brevity is in line with their traditionally short live sets, perhaps borne from an awareness that they weren't the most popular kids on the block. It's too bad more people didn't show up to fulfill Barrett's sly joke that closes the Stranger article: "If more people come we might even play for 29 minutes."
~PNK
*That subconscious state wasn't worth $15 and and hour of my time, in case you were wondering.
**Just don't, people. Every YouTube view only encourages them.
