Although live albums are often notoriously hit and miss affairs, sometimes a special vibe emerges when individual venues get their shit together to release an album compiled from sound board highlights from their most kickin' shows.
Certainly this reviewer has a few such items lurking on his shelves, with the diverse likes of Virgin's 'Short Circuit: Live At The Electric Circus', last year's under-rated 'Rock Aid Kenmare' and a fine collection culled from Dutch venue Club Vera in Groningen (featuring such luminaries as SONIC YOUTH, THE GUN CLUB and ALEX CHILTON) springing to mind.
And, to this short but auspicious list, your reviewer is delighted to add 'Garage Mayhem: Live At Asbury Lanes' : a does-exactly-what-it-says-on-the-tin collection recorded raw, frenetic and thrillingly overdub-free at the former 1961 bowling alley venue which is fast becoming a staple on the East Coast circuit for discerning underground visitors.
This 14-track compilation also makes it abundantly clear that the East Coast US is pretty damn fertile breeding ground where shit-kickin' garage sounds are concerned right now. There are seven overdriven, hell-for-leather retro-pop combos contributing two tunes apiece here and virtually all of 'em simply sizzle.
MUCK & THE MIRES (Boston, MA) get us swiftly underway with the top-notch, drilled-as hell 'It's About Over Now'. It's quintessentially crafted power-pop all the way with hints to both anglophile mod-pop and also the Knack/ Raspberries axis. They proceed to transcend their daft name a second time with the classy Star Club-by-way-of-The-Marquee sound of their second cut 'You Better Write Your Number Down' which has 'massive radio hit' writ large through it like a stick of rock given the right promotional push.
(Almost) hometown heroes, New Brunswick NJ's THE BRIMSTONES give 'em a fair run for their money thanks to the Farfisa-driven grooves of 'FM Receiver' and the storming 'Original Sin'. The fact they've adopted the Ramones-esque 'Brimstone' as a collective surname and vocalist Deacon Brimstone sounds like a junior David Thomas only ups their cool ante while in Sam Steinig, Philly's MONDO TOPLESS have yet another charismatic organ-toting frontman (fnarr!) with a raunchy, gravelly voice (Roman Tucker meets Lux Interior, anyone?) perfectly suited to the full-on ramalama of songs like 'Can't Dig It' and the magnificent 'When I Die'. When he spews out the chorus of the latter ("I'm gonna take it with me when I die!") you get the feeling he ain't joking!
NYC, meanwhile, is represented by two equally talented by very different beat combos. Led by super-talented guitarist Victor Dominicis (Hendrix through Dick Dale to the Dead Kennedys' East Bay Ray in under 60 seconds), THE COFFIN DAGGERS play entirely instrumental music, pumping up everything from the B-movie, Duane Eddy/ Pixies vibe of 'Shark Attack' through to the heavy, spacier groove with stingin' solos of 'Forgotten Prisoner'. Needless to say, a vocalist would be extraneous, although it's the presence of gruffly skewiff leader 'Philthy' Phil McCune that holds your attention where the wonked-out SONS OF MOON are concerned, not least on 'No Soul To Sell' where the scabrous chorus gets under your skin like a case of shingles after several plays.
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In terms of sonic ambition, though, THE MISTERIOSOS probably deserve the blue riband. This Philadelphia-based trio pit scabrous guitars against a Doors-style keyboard bass, sci-fi overtones, syncopated drumming and great rising choruses ('Telescope') and seemingly have an in-built ability to capture both scope and punky aggression aplenty. Deliciously different and then some.
To these ears, the only minor disappointment are THEE MINKS, once again hailing from the incessantly creative Philly. Sure, there's nothing intrinsically wrong with the feral charms of tunes such as 'Shut Up And Kiss Me' and it's hard not to endorse a band with a vocalist called Hope Diamond (how wonderful is that?!) but - when taken in the flood of seething, day-glo garage volcano magma spill here - their three-chord crunch seems just a tad too generic and easily spotted.
This is very mild criticism, though. In the main, 'Live At Asbury Lanes' boisterously demonstrates that the legacy of 'Nuggets' is in more than capable hands and that Asbury Park deserves far greater musical rcognition than simply for being renowned as Bruce Springsteen's stamping ground. It's also the first of an eclectic string of releases we'll be covering on the emerging Headshop label, too, so make sure to stay tuned.
(www.asburylanes.com)
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