Unwound and reunion wishlists

No. 1471: Unwound - Fake Train 

This post and the last all comprise albums that I bought in New York City in 2023, and our visits have become something of an annual occurrence—when you live just a few hours’ drive or train ride (though we’ve never driven there) and an hour-long flight away, it becomes less of an ordeal to make it there. But this visit in particular was for a very specific reason: We went to see Unwound.

Every music fan has had that experience of waiting years, maybe decades for a band to finally reunite, to get together and perform songs you’ve been waiting most of your life to hear. Some people are still waiting for Fugazi, for instance, which I don’t actually think will happen (but man, I’d be there in a second). And I did actually get the opportunity to see Drive Like Jehu twice, which again, I never thought would happen. But it did—and one of them backed by the massive sound of the Balboa Park pipe organ. That was a once in a lifetime show.

Unwound took nearly another decade to reunite after Jehu, but the wait was worth it, even if I didn’t love Irving Plaza as a venue. (Hard to see well in there, even if you’re not short.) If I’m being honest, I would have wished for a set mostly comprising Leaves Turn Inside You tracks, but they only played a couple. Still, the rest of their catalog rips, too, and while I was there, I picked up one of the last few Unwound records I didn’t yet have. Fake Train is their first official full-length album, and it’s their rawest, comprising abrasive noise rock songs that are mostly on the short side, with a few notable exceptions. In a way, it’s comparable to Nirvana’s Bleach, in that it’s a Pacific Northwestern trio playing some sludgy, noisy songs that would eventually flourish into a more melodic and fleshed out sound. Though obviously Unwound never was as commercially successful (or viable) as Nirvana. It rocks, though, and the band’s show at Irving Plaza did, too, even if I wasn’t crazy about the venue. But when it’s one of your all-time favorite bands, all that stuff doesn’t seem to matter as much. It’s the amazing performance itself that I’ll remember. (Also, I love that the album’s cover is just an old Tom Jones record with some collage text on top of it.) Rating: 9.0

Listen: “Dragnalus”

No. 1472: Townes Van Zandt - Our Mother the Mountain

When I was younger, I put a lot of value on artists whose music made an instant impression. The first time I heard something like DJ Shadow’s “Midnight in a Perfect World” is an experience I’ll never forget, and to this day it remains one of my favorite pieces of music of any genre, era, etc. That still happens all the time, but perhaps to a less dramatic degree—more “hey, this is really cool!” than “the direction of my life just changed in an instant.” 

As I get older, however, the more I tend to value the artists whose music has grown on me over time. The music that slowly gets under your skin and seeps into your bloodstream. I think maybe that’s a more healthy way to process music anyway; the algorithm’s kind of ruined our collective attention span, after all. All of which is to say, my road to truly loving the music of Townes Van Zandt took a while, but by god, I got there.

I wrote about the self-titled Townes record a while back, and sort of slowly started going back through the catalog, and while I don’t think I had even planned to pick up Our Mother the Mountain at the time, it was in front of me, so sure, why not. And damn if it’s not very nearly the equal of the s/t record. It includes some of his most haunting songs, like the title track, “Kathleen” and “St. John the Gambler,” the latter of which I once heard covered solo by Baroness’ John Baizley, which was awesome. It also has a barnburner or two, like “Snake Mountain Blues.” Everything you’d want in a Townes record, it’s here.

The last time I wrote about Townes, I mentioned that Rolling Stone didn’t include any of his records on their top 100 country albums of all time list, but much like I don’t need music to wow me before I skip to the next thing, I don’t need RS to acknowledge his music—its beauty and its genius have become indisputable to me over time. Rating: 9.6

Listen: “St. John the Gambler”

No. 1473: The Fall - Slates

About once every couple of years, I add another Fall record to my collection. I’ve had This Nation’s Saving Grace since about 2015, then during the pandemic picked up a couple more, got another one later in 2023, etc. But during the New York trip I’ve split up into two installments, I paid a visit to Stranded Records, which also runs Superior Viaduct, which has reissued several titles from Mark E. Smith and company. Slates is one of them, and it’s one of my favorites in the catalog, technically an EP, and all of it is printed on one side, with a live set on the other side. A whole-ass bonus EP, basically (and the cover text says it’s only two pounds, but that was in 1981, so… it’s gone up since then).

Slates is the band in peak krautrock mode, with lots of hypnotic rhythms and chiming guitars and Mark E. Smith doing his inscrutable, erratic frontman thing. The Fall in a nutshell. It’s loaded with great songs though (even though it only has six, but hey, they’re all great!). My favorite is “Leave the Capital,” which is simultaneously one of the most unexpectedly harmonious and climactic Fall songs, an essential of the early era. Rating: 9.0

Listen: “Leave the Capitol”

No. 1474: Bob Marley and the Wailers - Burnin’ 

It’s funny—when I left San Diego, I didn’t have any Bob Marley records. After I moved, I seemed to scoop them up every chance I got. I did eventually pause—he released about 10 records during his lifetime and I have maybe half of them—but I realized the mistake I’d made in leaving that gap in my collection. 

In fact, on this New York trip that I keep writing about, I found this used copy of Burnin’ for a nice, low price at Academy Records in the East Village, which is one of my go-to places for used digs. It’s always the luck of the draw; sometimes you walk out with an armful of heat, sometimes you see a bunch of records you already own. Keeps it interesting! Anyway: Burnin’. It’s credited to just The Wailers, unlike the rest of Marley’s Island output, which is all Bob Marley and the Wailers, though to be fair, Peter Tosh sings one song, and the final track, “Rasta Man Chant,” is a group effort, basically a group chant with nyabinghi drums.

But like the previous year’s Catch a Fire, this is right at the group’s rise, and while it’s not loaded with hits like Exodus (I’ll get to that soon, btw), it’s got some well-known songs: “Get Up, Stand Up,” which is the Wailers both at their funkiest and most pointedly socio-political. As is “Burnin’ and Lootin’,” which is not so funky, I suppose, more of a soulful, sorrowful dirge. “I Shot the Sheriff” is on here too, which might be even more famous due to Eric Clapton for better or for worse. But when they’re not engaged in more fiery social commentary, the group mostly sticks to tuneful, soulful standouts like “Put It On” and “Small Axe.” And while “Duppy Conqueror” is no doubt an excellent song, I’d be lying if I said I preferred it to “Mr. Brown,” which essentially has the same melody and riddim, but which I like so much better for two reasons: 1. The Suicide-style organ buzz that rips through it, and 2. The lyrics, which are about a ghost clown (!!!). I mean, fucking come on, that’s amazing. Now, I don’t have that on vinyl, so I’ll have to solve that problem one of these days. Who knows, maybe I’ll find it at Academy. Rating: 9.2

Listen: “Burnin’ and Lootin’”

No. 1475: The Men - Leave Home

I’m pretty sure this is the last record in the Great New York Record Shopping Binge of 2023. But we all know the drill: The fallibility of memory is what drives this newsletter, what keeps its core burning hot. But I like to think making an effort to try to remember where I was three years ago when I picked up some random LP that only I like will benefit me in some way. What’s the benefit you ask? I’m not sure, but it feels a little like taking photos, a way of documenting a time and place. However trivial.

Anyway, The Men’s Leave Home is a record I should have bought 15 years ago if I’m being honest, but I think I was still under the impression that I needed Just The Essentials back then. That really went out the window, didn’t it? Not that I’m not saying this isn’t essential. On some days, it’s my favorite album by The Men. On others, it’s Open Your Heart (I’ll get to that). But this is the band at their noisiest and most chaotic, more Pissed Jeans than Ty Segall.

What strikes me about this record every time I listen to it is that, despite how dense and powerful the distortion and noise is, it’s not that complicated a record. A lot of songs just have two or three chords, sometimes just one. The song that always blows my mind is the opener, “If You Leave,” which bears no similarity to the OMD song, but is rather a seven-minute noise-rock dirge that moves slowly and majestically, one hell of an intro. Then all hell breaks loose, in the best way.

I picked this up at the Rockefeller Center Rough Trade, which people have opinions about. Mine is that it’s actually fairly decent? New York City doesn’t really have enough stores that stock a wide selection of new releases, in my opinion, which I understand—lower overhead, expensive rent, etc. And Stranded and Ergot are both stellar shops, if more curated. But Rough Trade more often than not has lots of great stuff in stock, even if it’s in a super touristy spot. Anyway, when I brought it to the counter the clerk said “Oh hey, they’re doing an in-store, for the new album, which sounds nothing like this.” I wasn’t quite sure how to take that, maybe he preferred the old stuff. Or maybe he’s just saying what we already know: Every Men album is not going to sound like the one before it. Maybe that’s frustrating sometimes, but that’s what’s made them such a fun band to follow for, well, 15 years. Rating: 9.1

Listen: “If You Leave”