Of course what it takes for most of the world to notice The Fireman is for Paul McCartney to start singing. I’ll give Mac and Youth this: it is more entertaining that way. There are a lot of genres represented, and the production is solid without having a lot of trickery. But in the end, is Paul any more interesting than he ever is?
The most paradoxical part of The Fireman is that Youth is quite persistent in changing McCartney into an album artist, but McCartney is ridiculously resistent to being anything other than a vapid collection of singles. It’s just his thing. “Sing The Changes” at least proves that he still has some good ones in him. I applaud him not only for writing a hook that lasts for an entire song (rather than grafting a verse/chorus/bridge structure onto it), but writing one good enough that it won’t make you crazy after hearing it through a whole song. It makes a good candidate for ambient music as hit single. He doesn’t sound as interesting aping Led Zep/Jeff Beck on the opening track (or was it “Helter Skelter” he’s aping? Ray Davies self-plagiarism, anyone?), or on any of the other tracks. But he does sound quite natural the whole time, even when he’s singing in someone else’s voice (like Leonard Cohen’s on “Travelling Light”).
The one song I could really do without is “Dance ‘til We’re High,” the tune that most reminds you that you’re listening to Sir Paul.
Bottom line — Apparently somewhere between aging Industrial Rock star and already-aged world’s greatest popstar, there’s a pretty solid album, and it’s good that the world is noticing. Paul has slid by on Sgt Pepper and Ram, or just his personality, for too long and it was about time he delivered something even passable again.
Have you heard this record? It’s a relatively short one, I guess qualifies as an EP. For all the ridiculously shitty bands the Misfits inspired, including those by former members (Bobby’s The Undead, Jerry’s Neaveau Misfits), the Manimals managed to be one that didn’t quite suck. Maybe it’s because they managed to release this when the ‘fits, and hardcore in general, were still fresh in punk fans’ minds.
Sure, take one look and they’re obviously one step away from a tribute band, but their metallic sound manages to capture some of the campy menace that all the whoa-whoa-whoa bands left for dead in a sea of half-baked Ramones-isms. Hell, even the Ramones themselves are more bad-and-menacing (think “53rd and 3rd”) than most of these bands that are too pussed-out to be called power pop (even Cheap Trick had a psychotic streak).
If you only need to hear one song, it’s the fucking awesome title track. Take the three best hooks Glenn never wrote, expand them into a 6-minute thrash metal rumble-fest, and pump your fucking fist in the air.
If you’re into crossover stuff like Suicidal or DRI, and if you sometimes need to be reminded that the Misfits’ legacy to punk is more than just Michale Graves, seek this out and feast on the blood of the unbelievers.
I enjoy going back to Khanate after a long period of not listening to them. Obviously there’s nothing that’ll re-create the ridonkulous feeling of listening to the first album or Things Viral that first time. It actually gave me faith in music — it’s hard to think you’ve heard everything when something that scary crops up.
If I could give up a small and insignificant body part to either write Alan Dubin’s lyrics or sing like him, I’m not sure which I’d choose.
now we’re here. pieces of us in my hands, on the floor, in my pockets.
my god, the smiles, the sneezes, the talking… we’re in that place again.
we’re gone, erased again.
no good times in here.
That’s pretty sweet, but it’s the throat-splitting, vomit-inducing delivery that really makes it.
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