MELVINS

Hostile ambient takeover

CD, Ipecac

I have seen a cartoon once, were a cat was falling out of a window. She fell until suddenly, just a few inches above ground, she stopped, turned around and lands softly on her paws. Then the cat walked away saying: “I don’t know how we does it. We just does it.” With the Melvins the same principle applies: I don’t know how they do it, they just do it.
How many times have I called the Melvins the best band on earth? How many other people have done it? And it is true, it is true. So very true. The Melvins combine all the weirdness of this world, the illsynchronicity and absurdities into one heavy guitarriff and slightly offbeat drums and words that never make sense, but it is big, my gosh so big. And just like life, you’ll never get what you expect: monstrous live-CDs with one song clocking in at 60 minutes. Three CDs in a row. Major-label. Suddenly King Buzzo winds up in Fantomas and plays genius versions of old movie-scores. Boy, how I’d like to say that this experience has found its way somehow in this new Melvins-record, but I really can’t, because I am losing words here and there as I write along, and fuck this is so big it makes every review something like black-box-recordings from a crashed airplane. 30-second-drum-song? Repeat that some time later. Sure thing. Years ago I read in a review to a Melvins-record, I guess it was “Bullhead”, so, you see, it really was a long time ago, that Melvins-songs look straight on the surface, but try tapping along to them and you’ll see how soon you get lost. In an interview back then King Buzzo said, that they are just playing Kiss-riffs very very slow. That is a long time ago. Somehow it is still true, but oh so much has changed. And it is not true anymore. Contradictions? Sure. I am big, I contain a lot of things. (W. Whitman) Don’t forget, have to get milk tomorrow. Big riff. Headache? No. Are there really people out there, who have never heard of the Melvins? But you like music, do you? So, what keeps you waiting. Hm, warm banana-nut-muffins. Repeat. Have I mentioned that this “Hostile Ambient Takeover” is big? Hostile, yeah, but as ambient as working-class pub on a Friday-night. But I am glad it is full of heavy guitars, and Buzzo reciting shit and crashing thunder and the same line-up going on now for how many years? Make them play at the White House, make Bush’s nose bleed and throw missiles at his own farmland in Texas. Just to make sure they work. There is a guy in the liner notes, called Sir David Scott Stone, who plays “electric wire” somewhere on here. Go out and find him. Where is the damn dog again? Has somebody called me from outside? I live on the third floor, no way. Dr. Geek is a big motherfucker of a song. I guess, I met him. I am not sure. Where does it take? They fucking forgot a song on the sleeve. Jeez, if that happened to me, I’d lose my job and would find myself living in the gutter. Or working somewhere else. No landing on feet, deerfucker. What? All these babies crying. Bombs dropped. Why? Why? Awww, shit. Did I just wake up. I have the feeling, I droned off somewhere a few moments ago. How many? This is some big thunder raging through my mind, courtesy of Dr. Geek. Lick ‘em, lick ‘em. Wait for the night to come. Just wait and I’ll show you. Some white noise, screeching guitars and feedbacks. S’cool. Is that foam around my mouth. Is it? Gonna go eat some. Thank you. A little rockabilly guitars and weirdo-singing. Then slow it down, cool it baby, cool it. This is so big, so big. I could feed from an angel as well. But this one will do.

05/2002