Wussy -- a genuine American treasure

It was 2005, and I had heard a few good things about Wussy's first album, Funeral Dress, and so I bought it. All I knew when I put it on was what someone had told me: "It's Chuck from the Ass Ponys and his girlfriend Lisa, who has a kickass voice."

And I kinda lost my mind. I loved them.

My description at the time went something like this, no doubt in a high-speed, excited tone: "Dude! [Note: It always starts with "dude!"] This band is working this crazy Pixies-crossed-with-Neil-Young-loud/soft-Americana thing, but they sound like they wanna drone the fuck out of something at times too! They're awesome! Ok, the drummer doesn't seem to be awesome, but she's all right, and everything else is... Awesome!!!!"

Then I saw them as part of the bill at Twangfest in St Louis that year (or was it 2006?) and my description held.... Sadly, including the drummer. I loved the band, but she wasn't very good, and I kinda felt bad for her because, as I understood it, she had learned how to play drums specifically to join this band. But I distinctly remember my very English musician friend Louise coming up to me mid-set, interrupting my enraptured state and screaming at me full bore in her very English accent: "You're a fucking *drummer*, man! How can you like this?" My answer amounted to loving the records and loving everything else about them live and just kinda putting up with the drums. Go have another drink, my friend. It's a festival set. It can't go more than an hour. I went back to digging them.

But she had a point about the drums. They were dragging the band down a little -- enough, as a matter of fact, that when that show was over, I took a break from the band for a bit, still buying the records, but I didn't make a point to see them again for a while.

Fast forward: I next saw Wussy in the spring of 2010 in Philly. I had heard that the drummer had been replaced by a dude who could, to quote another friend, "really fucking play," and that Wussy had been officially and quickly launched into stratospheric heights of double-awesomeness as a live band.

My god, was that description ever spot-on.

See, the first three records -- Funeral Dress, Left For Dead and Wussy -- are great. (This was the tour supporting the third album). Those albums work the said Americana/Neil/loud/soft/Pixies/jangly/hell-of-a-lot-louder-than-jangly juxtaposition really really well. The drumming is competent, and I don't think it sticks out as awful, but it's not driving the boat, and, underneath it all, I really *really* want the drummer to steer that fucker, and lock it all down.

Enter drummer Joe Klug. He joined Wussy after the third album and before that 2010 tour, and he is *perfect* for this band. And when I saw the overwhelming look of joy on bass player Mark Messerly's face as they launched into "Funeral Dress" to start that 2010 show, and I heard the roar, and the groove and everything that makes live rock and roll a life-affirming gift, I knew they had hit their stride, and were going to stay there.

That show was perfect, and the record that followed, 2011's Strawberry, was pretty close as well, upping the drone factor a bit, while still keeping all the other elements that make Wussy their own unique snowflake of genius amidst a sea of mediocrity.

And they keep pushing the envelope. They did an acoustic reworking of their first record that somehow works, upping the twang and the jangle, but losing none of the intensity. And then, just recently, they released a freebie album of rarities, live stuff, and goofball moments. And all the while -- from what I hear -- they just keep getting better as a live band, having added former Ass Ponys guitarist John Erhardt on pedal steel.

And I say, "from what I hear," because they came through Philly last summer but I wasn't there because the show conflicted with that amazing vacation that I was on at the time.

So let's just say that I kinda lost my mind a little (yes, again) when I heard that, on March 8, Wussy is playing a show at the North Star Bar in Philly. Tickets are ten dollars. I have mine. Yes, ten dollars. For the love of all that is good and right, go see this band and help them sell it out. Yes, I secretly hate their name too (Wussy? Really?) but they are a force of nature live. Show 'em some love.











- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Wussy, live in Baltimore, March 5, 2016 -- a review

To lay my cards on the table at the outset, let's be clear: I'm not even remotely objective about the shimmering, droning, jangling, harmony-filled roar of the Cincinnati indie-rock band Wussy. I love them. On album. Live. Always. They do not have a single song on their six albums that I do not like and there are, in fact, only a handful that I don't flat-out love. I've rattled on and on about all of that, through the years of this blog. If you were to click on this link, you'd run headlong into a complete collection of all the fannish gushing I've done about them in the past.

That's my bias, in all its glory, and I stand by every fucking word.

(And, really, I am a jaded SOB. I think the number of truly great bands in 2016 is a mighty short list).

But the new Wussy album? It's better than all that.

And the show I saw them do last night? It left that new record in the dust.

Forever Sounds is the Wussy album that the rock critics are going to peg as the one where the band's live sound completely broke through to the studio. (Check Robert Christgau's upcoming 2020 release of "The Best Albums of the '10s" if you don't believe me). See, at a live show, especially since John Erhardt joined the band on a third guitar -- electric or steel depending on the song -- this band's studio subtleties get all intermingled into the roar of a jet engine. Their dynamics have dynamics. Drummer Joe Klug and bass player Mark Messerly hold down the bottom end like the bastard love child of the night Danko/Helm jammed with Peter Hook and Janet Weiss, while the three-guitar army weaves circles around each other. Glorious, kerranging, twisting and turning circles. Atop all that magnificence are soaring harmonies and lead vocals from Chuck Cleaver and Lisa Walker that are so simultaneously distinctive and awe-inspiring that, well, I lose control of my metaphors and resort to writing things like: all that great stuff that makes this band so stunning at a live show? This new album is buried in it. 'Nuff said about that. It's just about perfect. Buy it.

But when I took a ride down to Baltimore yesterday to see the band in a house concert, even though I was already over 24 hours into full immersion with Forever Sounds, and loving every second of it, I had little idea of what I was about to witness.

Let's take a moment to dispel the notion of the house concert as some sort of boring Kumbaya singalong session with musicians armed with nothing more threatening than an acoustic guitar and maybe a harmonica. There's certainly a time and a place for acoustic guitars and harmonicas. (Side One of this would be one of those). But this show was full-on electric.

"We may be a little loud tonight," Chuck said, with a smirk. "The neighbors are gonna shut us down." "I think most of them are in here!" Lisa corrected him. There were 50 of us crammed into the Special Secret Posh Neighborhood Location, and I think a not-insignificant number of the 50 fit that neighborly description. And then Wussy were off to the races....

The ensuing 90 minutes were glorious. It was a perfect night, even though I believe the total song count from the band's first three albums was exactly one. They hit the new album hard, and it hit back, like Muhammad Ali -- no, more like Ken Norton beating Muhammad Ali. The windows of the SSPNL shook hard during the hookline of "Sidewalk Sale," and the stops on "She's Killed Hundreds" sucked all the air out of the room right before the band slammed back in each time to restore our collective ability to breathe. They were on, way fucking on. If I had to pick one standout highlight from all the perfection of the live takes of the new songs, I'd say that somehow -- and I have no idea how this can be -- Lisa's vocals on "Donny's Death Scene" were even better than the on the studio version. But picking that one out serves only to minimize how great it all was. They are a band on a mission, and they surpassed all of the absurdly high hopes I had for them last night. Everything that they played from the new album -- and they played all but two songs -- was incendiary. But they also had that slapdash, adorable between-song banter and bickering between band members that always manages to make them more freaking endearing than their music already makes them. (A quick, nerdish aside: you just haven't seen an onstage look until you see that one that Lisa gives Mark when she has determined that he's gone "just too fucking far, dude," at the microphone between songs. I think I counted four of them during this show alone).

2014's Attica album was drawn on for a number of songs as well -- yes, of course they did "Teenage Wasteland," and of course it was the same mix of gorgeous, powerful and uplifting that every Who anthem that it evokes ever was. And "Pizza King," from Strawberry -- which I would have sworn was the best album they'd ever do, that is until Forever Sounds just came out and blew away that silly notion -- was another highlight, one which somehow keeps getting better on every tour.

But the secret weapon of a house concert is that it's likely to get weird and wonderful. Apparently the secret weapon of a Wussy house concert is that it gets really fucking weird and wonderful. On the weird end of things, there was Chuck's quick take on the B-side "Folk Night at Fucky's" and the band's amped-up version of a serious obscurity: the Twinkeyz' "Aliens in Our Midst." 

And the wonderful? Well, it was all wonderful, but the highlight of highlights, the thing that made me say, "Holy shit" to a friend just as he said, "Wow,"  and we both went fucking bug-eyed with awe, was "Ceremony."

Yes. That "Ceremony."

For me, "Ceremony" has the stature of, say, "Baba O'Reilly" on a hot date with "Sister Ray" and "Sympathy for the Devil." Iconic and anthemic don't begin to cut it as a description. Somewhere a few years ago, I heard a recording of Wussy sort of screwing around with bits of the song. But last night's version was not, in the slightest, screwing around. They nailed it, completely -- with Lisa and Chuck wailing away on the vocals, Mark Peter-Hook-ing the hell out of the bass, the guitars setting each other on fire and Joe perfectly harnessing the controlled dynamics of the drum part. My metaphors are again shot to hell, but really, it was one of those "Notch this one in your brain because it's top ten of all time, motherfucker" moments.

Really. Top ten of all time.

If you read this as "Everything was perfect, but Ceremony was more perfect than perfect," I will have successfully conveyed my thesis.

And then, when it was encore time, Lisa came out on her own for what surely must be a rarity: a solo, soaring "Majestic 12." Then the band came back out and reached way back to the debut album for a fierce "Airborne." And it was all over.

Afterwards, I shot the shit with Mark about how I first saw the band back in like 2005 at Twangfest, am going to see them again at the same festival this year, and other nerdish fanboy shit (shocking, I know), and I yapped John's ear off about the majesty of Scrawl, the success of the recent Ass Ponys reunion, and the perils of rock and roll parenting. (Someday I am going to wax seriously poetic about Scrawl, but this post is long enough already....)

If it's not clear, I had a religious experience of sorts last night seeing this band. If it's also not clear, you cannot go wrong with Wussy. Buy their shit. See their shows. Make them famous. I'll be slightly sad when they headline Wembley Stadium and forget about us little people, but I wouldn't be sad for long. They deserve to be treated like the best damn band in the world.

Because they're the best damn band in the world.

Review: Wussy at the North Star Bar in Philly

You may recall that last month I posted this absurdly gushingly fannish article about my current favorite American band (and yes, I feel compelled to remind you each time that I really hate their name, but whatever....).

And I mentioned in that piece that I hadn't seen them live in a few years. Well, consider this your update on their live prowess....

If you have any interest in harmony-filled indie rock that drones, twangs, rises, falls, smokes and seethes like some sort of unholy/gorgeous melding of X, Shoot Out the Lights-era Richard and Linda Thompson, the Velvet Underground, Pixies and Eleventh Dream Day, for the love of fuck, go see Wussy.

They are hundreds of miles past their 2005 beginnings. As I told you in that other article, they were great way back then, but the bottom end of the 2005 live show was, as the Brits say, a little dodgy. So, maybe "great" is actually pushing it a little as a description of those days. How about: the albums were (and continue to be) essentially perfect, but they were just a competent live band. Then, as I also told you before, drummer Joe Klug joined in 2009 or so, and everything got much much better. A gig in Philly at the Fire in 2010 showcased just how far they had advanced in a very short time.

Jump forward to 2013. I saw Wussy at the North Star Bar in Philly on Friday night. Despite being plagued by a nearly atrocious sound mix for the first five songs or so (what the hell, Mr. Soundman? But at least you fixed it), they were wonderful. And they have, in the ensuing three years since I last saw them, done perfect little (or, in some case, not-so-little) tweaks to song arrangements that really play to their strengths.

I am completely stealing from a line of Joe Carducci's when I tell you that the single most underrated factor in rock and roll is the kick/snare pattern and the resulting relationship between the drums and bass. Do they lock down with one another and drive the bus, or is all that kind of questionable? Double-special points are awarded to bands that not only figure that one out, but add some slashing and rising and falling guitar parts.

Wussy has nailed all that stuff perfectly. On Friday night the drums and bass were locked in and the guitars (electric *and* pedal steel) crashed and burned all around them in the most beautiful ways. The vocal harmonies did their perfect John/Exene/Neil Young/Robin Lane beautiful/edgy sweet/fuck-you blend. And it *all* -- yes, every single song** -- was nearly perfect, but there was one particular, even-better-than-the-rest part: a gorgeous, instrumental intro to Yellow Cotton Dress that stole the show, alternating between a frantic Velvets-y/Eleventh Dream Day-ish rumble and something a little more ethereal that made me wonder if they were headed for Sister Ray or Love Will Tear Us Apart. Either of those destinations would have been just fine, and the actual result was, yeah, even better. And then the encore -- I don't think it's possible to juxtapose two very different songs that showcase all the strengths of this band better than Don't Leave Just Now and Rigor Mortis. The first one nearly makes me cry when I hear it because I happen to associate it with something sad and beautiful in my life from a few years ago, and the latter rips like Crazy Horse on a tequila and caffeine bender. Wistful followed by Fuck Yeah. Yes, please....

The bottom line: Wussy is killing it live, and not nearly enough of you are going to see them when they do. Can we all get on with fixing that, please?


****************************

** Two things: One: there was one song that Chuck declared "a mess." OK, but it was a beautiful mess. Two, a small digression: like any good dorky fanboy, I leapt on the opportunity, when invited by the band on social media, to suggest songs for the Philly setlist. Like any good band that knows better than its fans, Wussy did not play a single song that night that I had suggested. The fact that they blew my mind *anyway* is maybe the best testament of all to the undying strength of their catalogue, across the board. As some guy named Christgau noted, there really isn't a subpar song on any of their five albums. (But, oh-fave-band-of-mine, if you happen to be reading this, just as a reminder for the next Philly show (or maybe Newark, DE on April 27 ... Still haven't figured out if I will be at that one), it'd be pretty awesome to hear Little Miami, Retarded, Melody Ranch, Sun Giant and Waiting Room. Y'know, just sayin'.... Heh).

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Review: Wussy live at Milkboy Philly, 4/3/14

                                          Photo by acidjack from nyctaper.com

I walked up to Mark Messerly, bass player for the Cincinnati indierock band Wussy, after their gig at Milkboy Philly Thursday night and said, "Hey man, I just want you to know that I have been seeing you guys since the first album, and the way this all has progressed into this amazing controlled squall of complete noisy freakout onstage is really fucking impressive. You all are totally killing it, and I just wanted to make sure to tell you how much I appreciate you coming out here to do this." This huge smile came across his face and he clenched up both fists, and said, "Yesssssssss! That's so great to hear."

That's pretty much the totality of my review this time around.

I have previously gone on (and on and on -- perhaps, yes, like a putrid Stephen Bishop song from the mid-'70s) about the wonder that is this band. So, for that matter, has Robert Christgau.

You could go here to read what I wrote about their 2013 Philly show, or here to get the bigger picture.

I will just add this: the hybrid that Wussy has created of a twang/drone/squall full of melody and harmony is, as far as I can tell, the closest thing to simultaneously unique, powerful and hook-filled that I can find in the music world in 2014. They take the standard Americana vibe, paying particular attention to add extra bits from R.E.M., Neil Young and Gram Parsons, with male/female vocal harmonies that sometimes head for X and sometimes for more standard twang, but they contrast and juxtapose that against a rumble and thunder on the bottom end that brings bits of Joy Division into the room when least expected, and -- in the guitar department -- a controlled fury and, yes, squall (there's that word again) that rivals Sonic Youth and Electr-o-pura-era Yo La Tengo for sheer skronk and waves of chord and feedback-drenched glory. The addition of steel player John Erhardt has upped that guitar-fury ante so high that, when pitted against the formidable rhythm section, I get joyful visions of the Who circa 1975 or so.

Which is kind of ironic, because they opened the show with a gorgeous, building crescendo of a new song called "Teenage Wasteland" that pays deep and geeked-out homage to the wonder of being a (deeply geeked-out) fanboy (or girl) of the Who in the 1970s.

The first time I ever took someone who was completely unfamiliar with this band's catalog to go see them live, he turned to me, approximately 45 seconds into the first song, as Chuck Cleaver and Lisa Walker wailed away about saving money for a funeral dress and the band raged with them, and -- with a look like he had just found Jesus, Buddha, Allah and the Quaker Oats man cohabitating in a way that only John Prine could predict -- he said, "Holy SHIIIIIT, I'm glad I did this."

If you went to see them, you would too.

Which is what you should do.

Check the tour schedule. It should soon be chock full of dates supporting their soon-to-be-released new album, Attica.

And, putting on my Captain Serious hat for just a moment, let's not pretend that, in the modern world where making a living in music is already tough enough, this train of awesome that is this band can continue to roll on the tracks forever without a little more support from the music-obsessed among us. It's fucking hard to take a band out on the road and play for only 50-100 people (or fewer) a night no matter how much onstage glory gets created. (I've been there, and you get off the road after even a five-day mini-tour, and try to mentally walk a path through the never-ending conflict between the joy of the whole process and wondering why you fucking bother. Really).

Go see this band. Buy their albums. Make them keep getting in the van to be as great as they are. You'll be glad you did.





"Do you remember the moment you finally did something about it??
When the kick of the drum lined up with the beat of your heart.
Stuck in the corn maze with only a transistor radio.
Making paths with the sound waves and echoes in old Baba O."

Wussy --"Teenage Wasteland" live

This is my favorite song of 2014 so far -- a paean to being that 15-year-old kid hearing Quadrophenia and Who's Next for the first time and digging it all so fucking hard that it hurt.

Oh, and Wussy is the best damn indie band in America, but you knew that already.