Local News & Reviews

[October 11th, 2006]

^Warcry Deprogram (Feral Ward)

Warcry struggles to escape the world that created it on its combative new release.

[D-BEAT THRASHCORE] As hard as it is to believe, hardcore music isn't always driven by aggression. Even bands who, like Portland's Warcry, are heavily influenced by the notoriously pissed-off Discharge (for whom the genre "D-beat" is named), sometimes write mournful, proud or even humorous songs. Warcry, however, writes only angry songs. But the eight thrash-influenced, abrasive, hardcore punk tracks on Deprogram represent a complex anger, one that is both a reaction to an aggressive, oppressive world and a painful, reluctant reflection of it.

The four-piece's last record, 2004's Maniacs on Pedestals, is entirely about the band's dislike of war ("You may be tired of the same three chords but we're just tired of war," says the insert). Not only does war remain a major theme on Deprogram, but the album actually sounds as though it was recorded in a warzone. I imagine the mid-range, bass-less and treble-less guitar sandblast emitting from an amplifier constructed out of shrapnel and powered by a series of corroded batteries. In addition, a pick is dragged across the strings every few seconds, creating textures that range from missiles to lasers. The low, rattling drums sound as though they're made of tent canvas strung over portions of a bombed-out heating duct. The percussive, quickly picked, repetitive bass is the war drum. The whole arrangement is fucking brutal.

This paradox—a band that is so angry about war that they play music that sounds like war—reaches an apex on the record's title track. With very few lyrics, essentially limited to "I'm an error not a machine/ Deprogram this world, deprogram me," it's the record's most anthemic song and by far the standout. Penultimate on the b-side, it puts the previous six tracks in perspective: They are attempts to overpower and escape our soulless, warlike world, but that world tragically colors those attempts. "Deprogram" contains one of many guitar mini-solos, but it's the wildest and most impassioned. The bending notes (earlier solos are characterized by quick hammer-ons) sound like the guitarist, "Mad," is trying to shake his mechanical shackles and failing. It's a beautiful sound.

—JASON SIMMS

Warcry plays with Coliseum, Coldbringer, and Criminal Damage, Friday, Oct. 13, at Satyricon. 7 pm. $7. All ages.

^Criminal Damage Self-titled (Feral Ward)

Portland punks prove better than journeymen, with a home recording that is one of Portland's most well-crafted punk albums

[PUNK] It is sometimes argued that true-to-form, old-school punk is not an art form. Indeed, there is little room for any sweeping reinvention in the classic formula popularized in early-'80s Britain by bands like GBH, recently revived by Danish up-and-comers No Hope for the Kids, and characterized by songs that are heavy to the point of hardcore, yet melodic enough to facilitate sing-alongs. But dammit if that style of punk isn't a craft, and if Criminal Damage's debut LP doesn't achieve near-perfection of it.

"The Power of Fools" kicks off the record with the time-honored tradition of a low, jovial group chorus painting a dismal portrait. In a song about the widening gap between rich and poor, the members of Criminal Damage dig out their best barroom chanting voices to sing, "And time won't ease this suffering/ All I know is we fight for what we need." This moment calls to mind songs like "New Age" by Blitz, a joyful-sounding song about the wastefulness of apathy.

But Blitz never sounded this good. The guitars and drums come through the stereo with such power and depth that they sound live. The throaty, half-growl of lead vocalist Paul Burdette (who is also the drummer in Portland punk staple Tragedy) is—as it should be—almost buried but always audible. According to the sleeve, this perfect balance between raw production and a polished sound was achieved in Tokyo for a mere $67, proving the members of Criminal Damage to be true journeymen of the punk record.

But certain subtle effects could be termed artful—like the tension that the high bass line and low, rumbling drums builds during the verses of "World Is Not Enough," a song that essentially has two different catchy choruses. But Criminal Damage seems most clever and self-aware on the album's final, most up-beat track, "Anesthesia," which, in its closing line, mocks the pitfalls associated with pub-punk: "So sit back and drink/ One more to the days/ That have gone by/ Just keep your heart in yesterday/ And kiss tomorrow goodbye."

—JASON SIMMS

Criminal Damage plays with Coliseum, Coldbringer and Warcry, Friday, Oct. 13, at Satyricon. 7 pm. $7. All ages.

^Northwest Noise Podcast

Tim Germer celebrates two years of sitting in a room and talking to himself.

[PODCAST] I've never met Tim Germer, but I know his voice very well. For the last two years he has provided me with underground Portland music, news and plenty of insight into the slightly nerdy but ever-compelling world of Germer himself. As the host of a pioneering podcast, Northwest Noise, Germer has all the swagger and super-pronunciation of a veteran FM radio host, but he wanders through his unscripted show as if he's making a casual phone call home, bursting into the occasional fit of giggles. Northwest Noise is currently celebrating its two-year anniversary by nearing completion on a cycle of "45's Sessions" podcasts, where Germer introduces and plays just two songs per episode and keeps the banter to a minimum. I recently spoke to him via telephone. CASEY JARMAN.

WW: What got you into podcasting?

Tim Germer: It was done out of having too much time on my hands. I was always interested in journalism on an amateur level. When I came back from the [University of Oregon], I started listening to some of the first podcasts and thought, "This could be fun." I get to talk to myself.

I forget that you are usually doing these alone. Is that weird?

I'm to a point where it's not weird when I'm by myself. It's when other people are around that it feels weird, because you basically are just talking to yourself. In the beginning, I did really stupid things. I would script it out and try to do jokes. But it was a small enough community at that point that people would email me and be like, "Dude, I listened to your podcast and I talked about it in my podcast. Everybody knows when someone reads from a script. It sounds pretty stupid."

How did you decide on your format, where you play music from Northwest bands?

The music I played on the first bundle of shows wasn't really local; I definitely played copyrighted no-no music. But there's something to be said about someone who jumps into podcasting and plays music from a Top 40 station. Why would you want to do that when radio is already playing all of it? I think you look like more of a fool spinning Beyoncé on a podcast than you do playing independent music. I didn't really know much about Portland music in the beginning, but I thought I could learn and meet people through podcasting, so that's what I did.

My favorite interview you did was with Doug King, the Intel employee who produced all those early gangster-rap records for the Geto Boys in Houston. How did you come across that guy?

I had an internship at Intel, and I was put in an engineering group, a kind of "I sit here all day don't talk to me"-type programming group. After a little while I started talking to this guy Doug, and he was just this mild-mannered guy...I don't know anyone else who produced rap albums, so I asked if he'd be on the show. He always talks about that stuff as his "previous life." He says, "It was so crazy and so much fun, but that was my previous life." Every episode of the Northwest Noise podcast can be found in the archives at nwnoise.com. For more of the interview with Germer, go to localcut.com.

^Rob Walmart Contains The Hit Waterskiing In Canada (Yarnlazer)

Anonymous, crazy and drunk, this Portland enigma releases the modern beats.

[SPOKEN-WORD CRUNK] A waiter's voice opens one of the 12 tracks on Rob Walmart's latest, Contains the Hit Waterskiing in Canada, saying simply, "Mr. Walmart, your beer has arrived." A bass riff follows, and then the presumed Mr. Walmart opens his beer into the microphone. And the song called "Mr. Walmart Your Beer" ends. The song prior, "How Much the Wires," features a synth organ line, coughing, static and this series of slurred questions: "How much of that do you think is the speakers/ and how much the natural sound of my voice?/ How much the wires?/ How much the music?" Static swells. End song.

Contains the Hit Waterskiing in Canada is littered with these moments, and the fabulous title track, which is a ridiculous yet infectious five minutes of spoken-word poetry about robbing an unidentified "supercenter" while on waterskis, is backed by echoey beats and electronic fades, a mix of the extremely abstract and the extremely concrete that's common on the record. Imagine if Kerouac, Ginsberg and the rest of the Beats had access to an effects rack, and Rob Walmart is what you get.

An album as un-self-consciously experimental as this is what happens when you own a four-track, record at home and release on a DIY CD-R label, I suppose: Every late-night drunk has the potential to develop into a late-night drunk recording session. For most, that sounds nearly as regretful as a one-night stand, but for a figure as talented as the enigmatic Rob Walmart, the result—while occasionally drifting into somewhat pointless electronic jams—is absorbing, and a somewhat odd introduction to crunk beats, which underscore nearly every one of these 12 tracks. In fact, about the only introduction Yarnlazer gave me for this album was this: "A mountain of crunk." Rob Walmart steadfastly refuses to be identified, even by association (except for an affiliation with Marriage Records, which released some of their music near the label's genesis). The only clue we have that this is indeed a crew rather than a Mr. Rob Walmart is a brief introduction given on the Yarnlazer website: "It may take two to tango, but it takes eight to rob a _______." Or, eight to trip us the fuck out for 44 minutes.

—MICHAEL BYRNE