Stay Alive With The SJ5!

Okay, this review's about seven months late, but I had to test the waters, per se. A-la bringing along this slab o' coated plastique on many a bike ride, five songs (by five dudes for five bucks) sammidged MP3wise betwixt Mission of Burma's newie and Fucking Van Fucking Halen Fucking One. And somehow it all seemed to fit; the sharp curves of gravel-throated Pistvox 'n' hamfisted barre-chordage 'n' offtime (but not mathy/masturbatory!) B&D thudlife a fitting (Epic!) Soundtrack for spilt sweat on concrete, facial roadrash and permanent bikechain-shaped scars on my left aknle. Hallelujiah!

First off, you can't write a song called "Stoogery" without making goddamned sure it lives up to its (hallowed) name, and the Five invoke more than just the namesake of the Fab Four from Ann Arbor. And quicker than you can say "Ooh I Been Dirt And I Don't Care", the lead track provides plenty of primitoid Ashton-esque string bending (courtesy of Southpaw Don Duppee, who may be a dark horse in the running for the Mark Poole award for Morgantown Guitar God status), hyperspaz crescendo snarefills and a vocal that when not falsettoing-out a-la Iggy circa '69, tears though more hardbought, tuffluck images of vengeance, transgression, and...well... vengeance than you can shake your older sister's copy of Fun House at.

"Psychobabble" is a respectable stab at Burmacity -- even the sympathetic, harmonic layer of acoustic and electric guitars brings plangent visions (heh!) of "That's When I Reach For My Revolver" and "All World Cowboy Romance." But it doesn't seem to REALLY take off until the elongated guitar-orgy coda where bassist singer Jeff "The Fuck Yeah Guy" Hindal and drummer Dave Krovich leave us with the singular thought: "...every single goddamn day/is getting harder now" ad infitium, as if to remind us of what we already know. Maybe in someone else's hands it wouldn't work, but when screamed with such forcefulness, earnestness, and conviction, you can't help but believe it even more.

In case you were not at Clampdown 2006, where the 123's floor erupted into '77-styled pogo heaven during the Five's version of "Clash City Rockers", let me remind you -- The Stonewall Jackson Five (or 5ive?) can play classic three-chord punk better than anyone in this 'burg. For those of you not in attendance, the duckass-tight "Dirty Poncho" will stand as proof positive that even West Virginians in their mid-30s can take the kids to (old) school -- and with more piss and vinegar than the entire Cherry Red catalog: "You are living in the past/ You can't make it last/ Too bad, revolution's done/ It's over now, you're living for the drugs/You're irrlevant/You're irrelevant/I am flogging a dead horse/But it's too bad, gonna stay the course/Face it, you can't open your eyes/I'm proud of, never closing mine."
And goddamn if they don't end their two minutes of piss-and-vinegar with some actual Pistolsness, by way of a majestic, affectionate nod to "God Save The Queen." A suggestion that if God exists he's definitely a rhythm guitar player, and his name may well be Jeremy McMillen.

The last two songs -- "No Yoko In The Studio" and "This Shit Ain't Free" feature the SJ5's secret weapon, and that weapon is none other than avid Hawkwind fanatic and Hyperceramicisit Jeff Ryan who divides his time between an unwholsome, reverbed-out Gretcsh Rocket guitar and the corrupted harmonics of a distorted, modulated cheap synthesizer. You'd also be surprised to learn that (aside from his tenure in a mysterious two-piece late-90s outfit known only as The Gooch -- a sly reference to the bully on "Diff'rent Strokes", for all you pop clututre obscurists) this is his his first ever "real" band. Interestingly enough, Ryan's raw naivette is what makes the SJ5 a "real" band. Unfettered by the restraints of what most veteran musicians see as the "right" way of doing things, Ryan sprays his Eno-ish guitar/synth ambiance all over the SJ5's angular, strict, disciplined rock. In "No Yoko" he's much more subtle, throwing a Jackson Pollock splatterpaint of synth beneath the bubbling bass, guitar and drums, but on "This Shit Ain't Free" the EP's closer, he steps to the fore (beneath lyrics written from the perspective of a crack-dealing whoremonger type), and the single arpeggiated note he plays during that song's verses suggest an alternate universe where Devo grew up in the late-80s Midwest, alongside suck "Pigfuck" luminaries as Killdozer or Die Kreuzen.

If you haven't already (tho' I suspect you may already have), buy it. Morgantonians can find it easily at the Den, Rocked Records, or OffBeat Music. Give it the once-over twice (or even thrice), 'cos it's a dense batch of jams. Better yet, upload it and take it with you everywhere you go. Play it loud. Play it proud. Just watch out for the wet pavement. And the goddamn potholes.