The Stigmatics – “Electric Cave Sessions”
I’ve reviewed The Stigmatics live before. I accused them of being “garage rock, proto-punk.” Oh, I’m sorry- that’s how they describe themselves.
I described them as sounding like the early Boston punk bands who played The Rat. Same difference.
And, on a side note, C sharp- I am now in the process of suing myself for libel and defamation of character.
I figure, either way for me, it’s a win/win situation.
And though my financial status should remain the same. It would indicate that my mental capacity, my cognizant recognition, my moral decrepitude and control of my bowels and bodily functions is most certainly declining.
But on a more serious note, B flat- The Stigmatics (Definition: relating to a stigma, in particular or conveying a mark of disgrace). Yeah, that pretty much sounds like most people’s definition of punk.
Oh, I seem to have lost my train of thought. I better get off at the next stop and ask for directions.
On this release I hear bits and pieces of great, classic Boston punk bands such as Lyres, La Peste and The Titanics. If you don’t know who they are, just think of them as the wise guys who brought Jesus in the manger- gold, frankincense and myrrh.
While what he was really hoping for was scratch tickets, Keno cards and a boilermaker.
Or better yet, think of all the energy, fun and passion that The Stigmatics bring to us mere, or myrrh, mortals.
Let us rejoice in our mangers and give them praise:
Starting out with four classic garage rock chords, “All Used Up” begins with a strut and style that Iggy Pop might’ve expressed. “I’m all used up, there’s nothing left. I’m all used up, even in my best.” The guitars seem to snarl and sneer as much as the vocals as the rhythm section kicks ass, mightily. “I lost my hope, I lost my way.” The chorus repeats the first lines but this time in a very melodic way while the guitar is almost psychedelic. I can’t comment about someone claiming that “they’re all used up and their life is a mess.” Though, I do know Sid Vicious wore a pin that said, “My Life Is A Mess.” But I can say this song is full of vitality and damn, near perfect.
“I used to believe in the American Dream. Now, I know just what it means. You work real hard to get ahead. And I believed every word they said.” So states “American Dream (Take It All Away). A song about the repossession of a home. This is a moderately paced protest song with a guitar lick that recalls Mink DeVille to me. (Though you probably don’t know that band). This song also makes me recall “Eve Of Destruction.” (Though you probably don’t know that song). But either way, you might know that this song is melodic, poignant and effective with an excellent guitar solo smack dab in the midst of it.
“Can’t Make You Stop” begins with grungy, fuzzing, garage-y guitar chords and a solid beat that brings to mind Paul Revere & The Raiders. And before you laugh, let me say, they are one of my favorite bands from the sixties!
“Driving in my car… this neighborhood’s so scary. But you’re the one I fear.” This song is about a stalker, a quite unpleasant situation. But the music is so rockingly joyous and fun. “Can’t take it, can’t fake it. Can’t make you stop. Stop watching me. Can’t break it, can’t take it, can’t make you stop, stop haunting me.”
This song has all the best elements of garage and punk and turns a terrifying situation, lyrics wise, into a pure musical joy ride. Another excellent rockin’ tune.
I knew The Stigmatics drummer, Randall Gibson III, back in ’80, ’81. His band, 21-645, had a practice space where my band had one, too.
It’s on the corner of Beacon Street and Brookline Ave, in the heart of Kenmore Square and is now known as The Hotel Buckminister. It’s address is 645 Beacon Street and Randall’s band practiced in Room 21, hence their name 21-645. My band was in Room 20. If I remember right, we were called Cocks Of Seagulls.
So many years have passed, so many seagulls have sung. But I’m glad that Randall is still playing and in a band that’s great and true to its Boston garage/punk roots.
I’ve got on my train of thought again, but I look at my ticket stub and it says “oblivion.”
Oh, well. Nothing lasts forever. As the Buddhists say, “Everything is impermanent,” and I believe that to be true.
But the guts and emotion, the power and passion, the sweat and the joy, the struggle and pain and excitement and elation of our Boston punk scene rises up once again on this release.
And I’m still on that train, and I’m not sure or don’t really care where it’s going. I just know that I never want to get off.
(Slimedog)
