Reviews - Chicago Reader · PDF filedigging for the next big thing or record labels marketing...
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38 CHICAGO READER | DECEMBER 9, 2005 | SECTION ONE DEAD KENNEDYS FRESH FRUIT FOR ROTTING VEGETABLES: SPECIAL 25TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION CD + DVD (MANIFESTO) BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN BORN TO RUN: 30TH ANNIVERSARY 3 DISC SET (COLUMBIA) By Monica Kendrick I t’s a little jarring to be reminded now that these two era-defining albums—which seem to lie on either side of a generation gap the size of Snake River Canyon—came out only five years apart. But if you were at an impressionable age in 1975, when Bruce Springsteen released Born to Run, or in 1980, when the Dead Kennedys put out Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables, chances are those five years made all the difference in the world. Relative age matters more the younger you are. I mean, do you feel the same way now about dating someone five years older as you did when you were 15? I turned 6 and 11 the years they were originally released— my dad even bought the Dead Kennedys record, bless him— and caught up with them both around the same time, so they occupy similarly exalted places in my consciousness. To my ears Jello Biafra’s declamatory bray- ing is an endearing minor irri- tant, and no more compromises Fresh Fruit’s brilliance than the Boss sinks Born to Run with his rambling beat-poetry riffs on “Jungleland” and “Backstreets.” Jon Landau, the former Rolling Stone writer who went on to serve as Bruce’s producer, manager, and Svengali, famously called Springsteen rock ’n’ roll’s future back in 1974—but neither of these records was ever the future of rock. They were its present—and in listener land, where there aren’t any critics digging for the next big thing or record labels marketing fresh trends, they still are. Somebody somewhere in the world is hear- ing “Holiday in Cambodia” for the first time right now. Somebody is listening to “Thunder Road” in her car, rolling down the window and let- ting the wind blow back her hair just like Bruce is telling her to. In the past few weeks both records have been reissued in special anniversary editions, and so the natural thing to do is com- pare them—which isn’t just an apples-and-oranges proposition. It’s like trying to choose between Guernica and Michelangelo’s David. But they do have some- thing in common: though they have yet to inspire an upwelling of fellowship between Bay Area punks in bondage pants and New Jersey jamokes in denim jackets, they both speak to the frustration and despair of the working class in ways that have yet to grow old. The differences, of course, are many, but perhaps the most important is that only one of these albums has made a shit- load of money. This class dis- tinction is instantly apparent in the packaging of the reissues. On one hand you’ve got a tony- looking box set with a lovingly remastered version of the record uncluttered by outtakes or alter- nate versions, a slick photo book full of shots of Bruce at his sexi- est and hairiest, a 16-song DVD of a November 1975 live set in London, and a second DVD with a documentary on the making of the record. On the other you’ve got a pretty per- functory double Digipak with a bare-bones discography on the inside and a reproduction of the original insert—a punk-ass black-and-white photocopied collage salted with pictures of John Wayne Gacy, Ronald Reagan, Travis Bickle, and Howdy Doody. The DKs release does come with a DVD of its own, which contains six songs’ worth of live footage and a decent documentary on the band called Fresh Fruit for Rotting Eyeballs. But my opin- ion—that these records are classics of roughly equal stature—is obviously not a uni- versal consensus. Springsteen, with or without the E Street Band, continues to make a shitload of money. Last month senators Jon Corzine and Frank Lautenberg, both Democrats from New Jersey, sponsored a resolution to rec- ognize the Boss for his contri- butions to American culture. Even though Republicans killed it, no doubt to remind everyone that not even rock stars are allowed to back John Kerry and escape retribution, can you imagine anybody so much as mentioning the Dead Kennedys on Capitol Hill? (I’m not even sure they came up during the infamous PMRC hearings in 1985, since the Frankenchrist obscenity prosecution didn’t kick off till ’86.) Needless to say the DKs never achieved Bruce’s iconic status or pulled in the rock-star bucks, and that’s no doubt added ran- cor to the squabbling over money that kept the band in the news in the late 90s. East Bay Ray, Klaus Flouride, and D.H. Peligro have accused Biafra of Music Music a 40 a 38 Dead Kennedys circa 1980, Bruce Springsteen circa 1975 Anniversary reissues from Bruce Springsteen and the Dead Kennedys REVIEW BY MONICA KENDRICK Old Clown Wanted at Trap Door Theatre REVIEW BY JUSTIN HAYFORD a 42 PETER CUNNINGHAM (SPRINGSTEEN) SALLY KITT CHAPPELL It’s the Economics, Stupid What could Bruce Springsteen and the Dead Kennedys possibly have in common? Theater Reviews Sprawl: A Compact History by Robert Bruegmann REVIEW BY HAROLD HENDERSON Books
Transcript of Reviews - Chicago Reader · PDF filedigging for the next big thing or record labels marketing...
38 CHICAGO READER | DECEMBER 9, 2005 | SECTION ONE
DEAD KENNEDYS FRESH FRUIT FOR ROTTING VEGETABLES: SPECIAL 25TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION CD + DVD (MANIFESTO)BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN BORN TO RUN: 30TH ANNIVERSARY 3 DISC SET (COLUMBIA)
By Monica Kendrick
I t’s a little jarring to bereminded now that these twoera-defining albums—which
seem to lie on either side of ageneration gap the size of SnakeRiver Canyon—came out onlyfive years apart. But if you wereat an impressionable age in 1975,when Bruce Springsteen releasedBorn to Run, or in 1980, whenthe Dead Kennedys put outFresh Fruit for RottingVegetables, chances are those fiveyears made all the difference inthe world. Relative age mattersmore the younger you are. Imean, do you feel the same waynow about dating someone fiveyears older as you did when youwere 15?
I turned 6 and 11 the yearsthey were originally released—my dad even bought the DeadKennedys record, bless him—and caught up with them botharound the same time, so theyoccupy similarly exalted places inmy consciousness. To my earsJello Biafra’s declamatory bray-ing is an endearing minor irri-tant, and no more compromisesFresh Fruit’s brilliance than theBoss sinks Born to Run with hisrambling beat-poetry riffs on“Jungleland” and “Backstreets.”
Jon Landau, the formerRolling Stone writer who wenton to serve as Bruce’s producer,manager, and Svengali, famouslycalled Springsteen rock ’n’ roll’sfuture back in 1974—but neitherof these records was ever thefuture of rock. They were itspresent—and in listener land,where there aren’t any criticsdigging for the next big thing orrecord labels marketing fresh
trends, they still are. Somebodysomewhere in the world is hear-ing “Holiday in Cambodia” forthe first time right now.Somebody is listening to“Thunder Road” in her car,rolling down the window and let-ting the wind blow back her hairjust like Bruce is telling her to.
In the past few weeks bothrecords have been reissued inspecial anniversary editions, andso the natural thing to do is com-pare them—which isn’t just anapples-and-oranges proposition.It’s like trying to choose betweenGuernica and Michelangelo’sDavid. But they do have some-thing in common: though theyhave yet to inspire an upwellingof fellowship between Bay Areapunks in bondage pants andNew Jersey jamokes in denimjackets, they both speak to the
frustration and despair of theworking class in ways that haveyet to grow old.
The differences, of course, aremany, but perhaps the mostimportant is that only one ofthese albums has made a shit-load of money. This class dis-tinction is instantly apparent inthe packaging of the reissues.On one hand you’ve got a tony-looking box set with a lovinglyremastered version of the recorduncluttered by outtakes or alter-nate versions, a slick photo bookfull of shots of Bruce at his sexi-est and hairiest, a 16-song DVDof a November 1975 live set inLondon, and a second DVDwith a documentary on themaking of the record. On theother you’ve got a pretty per-functory double Digipak with abare-bones discography on the
inside and a reproduction ofthe original insert—a punk-assblack-and-white photocopiedcollage salted with pictures ofJohn Wayne Gacy, RonaldReagan, Travis Bickle, andHowdy Doody. The DKs releasedoes come with a DVD of itsown, which contains six songs’worth of live footage and adecent documentary on theband called Fresh Fruit forRotting Eyeballs. But my opin-ion—that these records areclassics of roughly equalstature—is obviously not a uni-versal consensus.
Springsteen, with or withoutthe E Street Band, continues tomake a shitload of money. Lastmonth senators Jon Corzineand Frank Lautenberg, bothDemocrats from New Jersey,sponsored a resolution to rec-
ognize the Boss for his contri-butions to American culture.Even though Republicans killedit, no doubt to remind everyonethat not even rock stars areallowed to back John Kerry andescape retribution, can youimagine anybody so much asmentioning the Dead Kennedyson Capitol Hill? (I’m not evensure they came up during theinfamous PMRC hearings in1985, since the Frankenchristobscenity prosecution didn’tkick off till ’86.)
Needless to say the DKs neverachieved Bruce’s iconic status orpulled in the rock-star bucks,and that’s no doubt added ran-cor to the squabbling overmoney that kept the band in thenews in the late 90s. East BayRay, Klaus Flouride, and D.H.Peligro have accused Biafra of
Music
Music
a40
a
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Dead Kennedys circa 1980, Bruce Springsteen circa 1975
Anniversary reissues fromBruce Springsteen and theDead KennedysREVIEW BY MONICA KENDRICK
Old Clown Wantedat Trap Door TheatreREVIEW BY JUSTIN HAYFORD
a42
PETE
R CU
NN
INGH
AM
(SPR
INGS
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)SA
LLY
KITT
CH
APP
ELL
It’s the Economics, StupidWhat could Bruce Springsteen and the Dead Kennedys possibly have in common?
Theater
Reviews
Sprawl: A Compact
History by Robert
Bruegmann
REVIEW BY HAROLD HENDERSON
Books
CHICAGO READER | DECEMBER 9, 2005 | SECTION ONE 39
sitting on years of royaltiesrather than disbursing them,hiring a lawyer and manager tosteer cash to himself, andattempting to take sole song-writing credit on tunes the bandwrote together, among otherthings. If you actually look atthe amounts they’re fightingover—the disputed royaltieswere about 80 grand—well,would that cover even one tourbus for the E Street Band?
I don’t mean to imply thatBruce and his buddies would’vebeen at one another’s throats ifthey’d had to struggle to makerent, but poverty rarely helps aband’s long-term prospects.Money is a great oppressor whenyou have to think about it all the
time, and Springsteen and theDKs both knew it. Born to Runromanticizes the mortal fuck outof the obsession with escape, ulti-mately passing through that sen-timental haze and lying exhaust-ed and almost lucid on the otherside. (A critic whose nameescapes me once said thatSpringsteen’s early music is torock ’n’ roll what West Side Storyis to real gang warfare.) FreshFruit takes the Jonathan Swiftapproach, gleefully and repeated-ly assaulting some of the last realsocial taboos in America (don’ttalk about money in polite com-pany, don’t acknowledge that theclass structure even exists) withall the crass, bad-boy bonhomieof Jim Morrison dropping trou.
If the passing decades havebeen kinder to one of thesealbums, it’s Fresh Fruit, probablybecause youthful bitterness agesbetter than youthful romanti-cism. The DKs’ music doesn’tsound groundbreaking or outretoday—for Christ’s sake, the gui-tar solo in “Let’s Lynch theLandlord” is pure surf—but thetunes have the timelessness ofgreat direct rock ’n’ roll, in thetradition yet not bound by it. Thepolitical themes in the lyrics areas relevant and urgent as ever,and their snarky outrage stillfalls on fertile ground. (Youcould make a good case that“California Über Alles” just keepsgetting more dead-on as theyears go by.) Born to Run is
slightly harder going for me now.The DKs for sure never said ineight minutes what could be saidin one—and if these albums wereall I’d heard by either artist, Iknow which one I’d pick as themore likely singles act.
Granted, “I wanna die withyou Wendy on the streetstonight in an everlasting kiss” ismore acceptable as a “deep” sen-timent than “I’m looking for-ward to death,” but both feed onthe same heady, adolescent emo-tional fatalism—in this appeal-ingly nonspecific ethos, death isalmost always the big ooga-booga climax to something orother, an irresistible vortex tug-ging on all those young peoplewho can’t imagine a future
they’d want to live through.Faith in love—or the scornfulspurning of that faith—becomesa social signifier, so that youmight as well be wearing yourpreference like a costume in aremake of The Warriors set in arecord store. If you were payingattention when Fresh Fruit andBorn to Run came out, whereyou stood probably mattered alot, but now it’s hard to enter-tain the notion that such a con-flict means anything. No matterwhich side you choose, yin oryang, you’re part of the samestructure of belief. Those dis-tinctions ultimately fall awayand leave the music to stand onits own, ready to be heard againas if for the first time. v
