At this point Anton Newcombe can do with me what he will.
Just Like Kicking Jesus is an ornament on the Christmas tree of my obsession for all-things-BJM, and I would have never accepted a $17 pricetag for what amounts to three songs, two of them previously released on My Bloody Underground (which is Bloody Fantastic, mind you) from anyone else.
It’s easy to hem and haw about a “raw deal” like this until the music, the GIGANTIC, THROBBING music hits the speakers; at that point I’m helpless as a little bebby (mispelled to approximate a Scottish accent!), putty in the hands of a former junky — reportedly former junky — who has fascinated me, like so many others, ever since Dig!
That’s another story though, and Just Like Kicking Jesus merits examination if you’re willing to pony up the dough (dark-blue-swirl, 180-gram-at-least vinyl doesn’t hurt either). I can barely tell where one track begins and the next ends, the mix is so, in the words of The Melvins, gristle-thick, but Side 1 consists of two versions “Amazing Electronic Talking Cave.”
Both are extremely potent, like hot-yellow piss and vinegar mixed and put into a squeeze bottle and sprayed on passersby on a hot day. YUCK! The production is the chief source of this potency, forcing the bass into the red and contributing to the huge sound. The drums are especially plus-size and sloppy, and the absolute ONSLAUGHT of instruments barrels you over like an angry drunk (wearing Wranglers and a Nobama shirt) after you “made time” with his girl.
I don’t know who provides the vocals, but they’re fucking perfectly ripe with punk sneer. The sine wave of synth patterns straight out of Kraftwerk lore seal “Talking Cave”‘s status as another fantastic chapter in Newcombe’s book of alchemy. I know I keep mentioning the production so I’ll try to refrain, but BJM’s last few records have been so filthy, so vile, so dense, so ROCK AND FUCKING ROLLLLL I want to skull-fuck their record holes with my tiny pencil-penis (woah! weird!).
I only wish more Americans were paying attention (Newcombe’s huge in the U.K. and lives there now if I’m not mistaken).
The new take on ”Just Like Kicking Jesus,” the Song, is a lot like the original, only with double-tracked lyrics that seem to be in another language, though I can’t really discern enough to tell. Another disgustingly vibrant wall of Kevin Shields nosie hits a few minutes in and presents the true reason to check back in with this old song; the original never dissected my nerve endings quite like this.
It’s like Merzbow took on a Brian Jonestown Massacre cut and got the better of it, much in the way he mangled Racebannon’s Satan’s Kickin’ Yer Dick In to an abusive death awhile back. But there’s no mention of any Japanese noise artists or Load Records/No Fun alum here — it’s all Newcombe, still the master of stealing the life around him and re-releasing it into the wild with his unique stamp on it.
“Bring Me the Head of Paul McCartney on Heather Mill’s Wooden Peg (Dropping Bombs on the White House)” is tacked onto the end of this EP and adds very little. I’ve never liked this song; in fact I blame it for My Bloody Underground‘s poor reception (reviewers have a really, really, really tough time getting over a bad first impression).
If you still, after all these years, haven’t taken the time to sit down with Her Satanic Majesty’s Second Request, Thank God For Mental Illness, Take It From the Man! or My Bloody Underground (which remains my pick for Best Album of 2008), what the goddamn-hell are you waiting for? Are you trying to wait until Newcombe releases so much material it’s impossible to know where to start circa Robert Pollard or Leonard Cohen?
Tune in and tune out, people! The water is fine …
