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Blues, exploded >> Jon Spencer and posse wanna make it all right by ADAM GOLLNER
The first time I heard the Blues Explosion was in Las Vegas. I was just outta high school, and so high on Nevada champagne that I couldn't even open my eyes, but when "Afro" blasted outta that sweet little hi-fi, I was cogent enough to think it was pretty funny. Now that I am a little bit older and imbibe strictly inhalants (like Carbona, not glue), I can look back and say that, while Jon Spencer can do the shing-a-ling better than most live entertainers, I've never really been a major fan of his recordings, except for "Brenda." I am of the opinion that the majority of the Spencer canon can be summed up with the title of his Japanese live LP, Controversial Negro. But permit me to roll you some clean dice: the Blues Explosion never played blues music. "The blues is still number one," acknowledges Spencer on the band's new disc Acme, "but I do not sing no blues, I sing rock 'n' roll." (A reverse of Mississippi Fred McDowell, who once slurred, "I do not play no rock 'n' roll, I just play straight 'n' natchel blues.") I guess what Spencer means by rock 'n' roll, beyond his trademark Elvis Preslifications, is doo-wop harmonizing, gospel pleading, hip hop, soul grunting, tripnotic country and enough funk to keep yo' butt flexing all nite long. Never has Spencer demanded so righteously to know, "Does your kitty want to play with (his) dawg?" He's always been so intent on cultivating some elusive mystique that, until now, the main purpose of the Blues Explosion--making party music--has often been forgotten behind a veil of studio tomfoolery, discordant melodies, personality crises and jive talkin' meaninglessness. It's funny that it's taken him so long to realize how easy it is to be real. From the industrial-strength abrasion of his first band Pussy Galore, all the way to the uncomfortable punk posturing on Now I Got Worry (their previous, completely forgettable effort), Spencer's never been quite able to translate his interesting ideas into good music. Maybe it's the fact that he's a father now, or maybe it's that he "drinks more eggnog than malt liquor," but on the new LP, he wants to make it all right, rather than make it fucked up. Post-modern semiotical references! Due, quite possibly, to the sheer amount of collaborations on the album, Acme successfully recreates the Blues Explosion's tailfeather-shaking live atmosphere. Amongst others, Andre Williams (in attendance throughout most of the recording sessions, regaling all present with his irreproachable humour stylings and his permanent white leather pants), Alec Empire (Atari Teenage Riot), Calvin Johnson (Beat Happening! and Dub Narcotic), Steve Albini (producer of Bush and Page & Plant) and even one of the gals from Luscious Jackson all made it down, making this jam as much of a community groove as the Bran Van album. They spent over six months in the studio working it out. According to Calvin Johnson, rather than sample old records, the songwriting process involved sitting around, listening to some old golden cuts. Then, not exactly copying the originals (that would be cheating), they used what they'd been listening to as the "framework" for creating new songs. Feel free to peruse your old Lee Dorsey and Sly albums for clues: Acme is as rife with post-modern semiotical references as Paul's Boutique. Spencer namechecks Iggy's "I Want To Be Your Dog" and Johnny Cash's "I Walk the Line." There are so many "aw-rights" that it rivals the Velvet Underground's sheer abuse of the word. There's even a "c'mon, baby" that everybody knows belongs to the Ronettes. But the cherry on the top has gotta be sampling the Human Beatbox from the Fat Boys. Let's twist again! Now all that's fine, but when they get into nursery rhymes, I turn my radar on. I am a firm believer in the universally acknowledged chestnut that the sole bard capable of giving fairy tales a home in the pantheon of popular music is Sam "Li'l Red Riding Hood" the Sham. However, when Spencer quotes RUN DMC and Aerosmith (quoting Mother Goose), I feel compelled, begrudgingly, to soften my standpoint. Like, check this: "Hey diddle diddle/The pussy ate the fiddle/Eating my curds and whey/Along came Big Daddy." Word! The cow flew over the moon, y'all. With Alex Chilton at the Spectrum, Wednesday, December 9, 8pm, $15.50+taxes
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(Ed's note: In lieu of a Jon Spencer interview, which took place on Monday, November 23 at 11:45 a.m. and disappeared shortly thereafter due to Rupert Bottenberg's inability to work a tape recorder, the Mirror is proud to present a "think piece." Please read on.)