In my metal days, I followed guitar players from band to band, not singers. It was a plus, for instance, that Graham Bonnet sang with Alcatrazz, coz I knew him from Rainbow and the Michael Schenker Group, but Graham Bonnet wasn’t the reason I bought Alcatrazz albums; the reason (as embarrassing as this is to admit) was guitarist Yngwie Malmsteen, who could, at the time, go wheedly-wheedly-wheedly-woo faster than anybody. (And Steve Vai was a reason to pay attention after Malmsteen left, but that’s another story.)

The exception to this rule was Ronnie James Dio.* I bought Holy Diver not because I thought Vivian Campbell was a hot guitar picker — he was okay, but not interesting enough for me to follow to other bands. I bought Holy Diver because of Dio’s work with Rainbow and Black Sabbath. And coz “Rainbow in the Dark” was the freakin’ bomb. And what made “Rainbow in the Dark” the bomb wasn’t Campbell’s de rigeur pinch harmonics and pro forma hammer-on/pull-offs, it was the cheap faux trumpet keyboard flourish, those almighty stomps on the one and three, and how Dio almost-but-not-quite rolls the “r” in rainbow and loses it in “dahk.” What strikes me most after a week reviewing Dio’s catalogue (with Black Sabbath. Rainbow, and his own band) contrasted with some of his contemporaries, is that Ronnie James Dio wrote honest-to-god songs, not just platforms for guitar licks and wheedly-wheedly-woo solos.

The next thing that hits me is the calibre of Dio’s performances. There’s his sheer conviction, which sells lines like “we’re the throw before the toss,” and makes them sound meaningful, if not actually profound. And there’s the tonal quality of his singing. Metal vocals fall on a continuum from castrati operatic wailing to the almost literally monotonous bark that characterizes a lot of extreme metal. Dio is right in the middle — harsh enough to convey aggression, but actually carrying a tune and hitting notes. It’s the quintessential metal voice — for my money, only Metallica’s Hetfield comes anywhere close.

Dio is still probably the most famous musician I ever spoke with in person, after a 1985 CMJ panel on “crossover,” the then-nascent music-marketing niche that, depending on who you asked, was either hardcore punk with prominent guitar solos or socially-conscious speed metal. Dio in no uncertain terms disapproved of the form. Metal, he said (and I’m pretty sure I have this quote exactly right, nearly a quarter-century later) “should be about magic, and gods, and demons,” not politics. At the time it struck me as kinda hidebound, even a little goofy,** when contrasted with content like “Reaganomics killing me, Reaganomics killing you.”

But here’s a thing about Dio’s lyrics: if they’re a little Dungeons & Dragonish, if he maybe sang the words “rainbow” and “dark” a bit too often, they’re also nearly free of metal’s least likable lyric tropes. There are handful of Lilith or Morgan Le Fey-type evil women in his oeuvre, but Dio hardly ever succumbs to metal’s reflexive misogyny or virigin/whore dichotomies. And sometimes he jumped farther out of the D&D manual than he got credit for; Holy Diver’s “Inviisble” has a sympathetic portrayal of an adolescent struggling with sexual identity issues. It wasn’t just an extraordinary thing for a mainstream metal artist to tackle in 1983***, it was positively brave.

R.I.P., R.J.D.

At least we still have your music.

*Technically I guess Ozzy should count, too, but I was first a fan of those two Randy Rhoads’-enhanced solo records, and only went back to Ozzy-era Sabbath later.

**I had a graveyard crossover radio show at the time, basically an excuse to play D.R.I., Hüsker Dü’s “59 times the Pain,” and Straw Dogs’ “Young Fast Iranians” over and over again, so I took it kinda personally, although not personally enough to stop me from seeking him out after the panel for some oldschool fanboy gush.

***Metal once had a leather-clad hold on the title “most homophobic music genre,” although gangsta rap probably loosened it.

Partly this is because Hussalonia is really good*, partly it’s because they (mostly just he — Jesse Mank basically is Hussalonia, although he has some collaborators on some tracks) is strikingly diverse, encompassing minimalist folk, musique concrète, power pop, heavy metal — too many genres to list. Like the work of many of my favorite songwriters, Mank’s songs are frequently funny and serious simultaneously; they’re seldom straightforwardly jokey. (His track-by-track re-invention of Billy Joel’s 1980 new-wave cash-in album Glass Houses is no joke; it’s a revelation.**)

“For Those About to Rock, We Ignore You,” is one of those tunes that makes me smile and wince at the same time and it melds a couple of Mank’s aesthetic directions. It’s about how unpleasant it can sometimes be to make it through a local band’s set to hear the band you came to see (or are in). This is certainly familiar territory for me.*** Mank approaches it with delicate picked acoustic guitar and a hushed, appropriately world-weary vocal. But what lifts it into the realm of the extraordinary are the underlying layers of guitar feedback — noisy, but melodically smart, and at least partly belying the sentiment of the lyric. (Another of Mank’s projects, Satan Among the Sofa Cushions, is a heavy metal EP that is too successful as metal to be dismissed as parody, even if Mank’s tongue is clearly in his cheek.)

Jesse Mank is manifestly uninterested in participating in the industry part of the music industry; his recent catalogue is only distributed digitally, and he gives the vast bulk of it away free on the entertaining and informative Hussalonia website.

*Triple-threat good: he’s an outstanding songwriter, a gifted multi-instrumentalist, and displays much more solid recording chops than I expect from indie home-recordists.

**Glass Houses was one of the first three LPs I ever bought, but while I still like Steve Miller Band’s Greatest Hits 74-78 and even some of Foreigner’s self-titled album, Glass Houses was the first record I disowned. I used an exacto to cut up the cover so it said “Mr. Shit” instead of “Billy Joel.” I hadn’t thought of that in years, and certainly never regretted it until Mank’s amazing renditions made me want to A-B against the original.

***For a couple years I’ve been trying to finish writing a song that starts “There’s not enough booze in this bar/To get me through another set by your band/And there’s not enough beer in my glass/To get me through one more song/But I’m too cheap to waste half a drink/So I guess I’ll buy another round.” Mank’s lyric is much better than mine; also, he finished his.

So maybe the most useful thing I can about “Mom and Dad Play Rock’n'Roll” is that listening to it makes tears well up in my eyes more than anything I can remember since Wilco’s Being There. I do think the song has ample quality in non-subjective terms. The lyric examines the plight of gracelessly aging amateur rockers with an odd mix of precision and compassion. The arrangement is masterful — I’m especially fond of the way the bass comes in at 1:11, right before “move the boxes, find the Gibson, dusty rust along the strings,” and the Cheap Trick-ish doubling of the last word of “your neighbors come to watch the house, and New York’s just two hours away.” I even learned to love the (thematically appropriate) fade out/fade back in and ramshackle finale.

It’s painfullly obvious to me, though, that part why this song cranks up my waterworks is because I, personally, have been wondering lately if I’ve already played my last show. The lyrics are all about the possibility of putting a band together again — but the chord progression knows that the possibility will remain forever unfulfilled.

It’s also worth mentioning that the album this song is from, Class Dismissed also features “Outbored Motor Boys,” the single best Bob Pollard pastiche I’ve ever heard.

Hat tip to Brian Block for hipping me to Krieger to start with.

“Salivating” was the first thing I heard from The Broken Family Band, but they’ve been around for a handful of years/albums, and I’m gradually exploring their back catalogue. They apparently started out as a sort of British take on Americana, with some identifiably country-ish traits, but now they’re producing straightforward rock with no particular genre signifiers. “Salivating,” with its bouncy bassline, simple-but-hooky verse riff, and energetically strummed chorus, sounds a little like a distant cousin of The Godfathers circa Birth, School, Work, Death.

Please and Thank You has several more strong songs, and a quarter of the way through 2009, it’s my current candidate for year’s best album.

At the moment you can listen to Salivating at The Broken Family Band’s official website.

The trick an unabashedly retro act needs to pull off is to craft songs worthy of the obvious influences. Nanobots deliver the goods with “Spontaneous Combustion.” It features an arresting, octave-hopping, staccato, guitar-masquerades-as-keyboard riff and outstandingly geeky (and hooky) co-ed call-and-response chorus (”No chemical/Spontaneous!/Accelerant/Spontaneous!”).

Nanobots have been active almost four years, but so far have left little recorded evidence — I’ve only tracked down a pair of (digital) singles. “Spontaneous Combustion” is only available in a live version on the one from Simbiotic Recordings that hints at, but doesn’t fully realize the song’s potential — the sound is a little murky and the performance is not quite as tight as you might expect from a studio recording. But Nanobots’ energy and enthusiasm carry the day, as far as I’m concerned, and if they can put together an album with a few more songs this good it will be a year’s best shortlist shoe-in.

If they make it to Boston (and I hope they do), they’d fit perfectly sandwiched on a bill between two Beantown acts: the similarly retro Miskatonic, and the similarly twitchy Ho-Ag.

Hitchcock’s voice is holding up quite well. You can hear a bit more strain at the top of his register, but not much. Rock-solid timing has never been his strong suit, and the one-two punch of “no drummer” and “lots of frantic strumming” led to several noticable gaffes. Hitchcock, who seemed relaxed and in good humor throughout, joked that we were getting the “organic” version of the show, from which the mistakes would subsequently be excised by the professional film crew.

Since there was a professional film crew (one could imagine that there might be some sort of 25th-anniversary hoopla for I Often Dream of Trains in the works for next year…) quite a lot of attention was paid to visual presentation, with Robyn taking the stage as a backlit, top-hatted silhouette, and wearing a black-and-white polka-dotted shirt against which his black-and-white polka-dotted electric guitar almost disappeared.

Highlights for me included the haunting, weird, and beautiful “Flavour of Night,” and “I Used to Say I Love You,” one of Hitchcock’s most straightforward, sad, and incisive songs (I think its lines “But you were reluctant/Although I was so hot/Now I understand it/But back then I did not” is genius). The barbershop trio arrangement of “Uncorrected Personality Traits” was outstanding, as were the three-part harmonies on faux-country “Ye Sleeping Knights of Jesus” (with lyrics updated from Cold War anxieties to Global Warmng anxieites). (Hitchcock also revised “This Could Be the Day” to make it slightly less un-PC, or perhaps he just mumbled. Either way, I can’t say I blame him.)

My favorite of Hitchcock’s trademark loopy anecdotes involved the recent colonization of Boston, and the construction of Logan airport after several hundred planes had landed there. The introduction to “This Could Be the Day,” was also memorable, casting the song’s narrator as one of the “Mojave Shrimp,” waking to fornicate (with a passel of synonyms) after the arrival of the once-in-several-decades deluge.

But if they pull a “Mission of Burma”-style return to active duty (and I hope they do), I would love to see/hear them again when they have another few shows under their belt, hopefully in a better-sounding room, and when I’ve had a chance to rein in my own unrealistic expectations a bit.

Damn, I’m prescient. Original bassist Steve Michener was missed, especially on “Ron Klaus Wrecked His House,” “Hey! Mr. Liconoln,” and “Faith Healer,” tunes to which generally capable fill-in man Tommie could not quite bring the required subtlety. But on the whole September 2008 Dipper seemed more sure-footed than April 2008 Dipper. Bill Goffrier had a little trouble pacing his voice through the set, but saved plenty of vim and vigor for the encore (”You’re Not Patsy”). And, most promisingly, there was a new tune (”Joke,” according to Bill’s shirt) with the typical Dipper earmark: just when you think you’ve got it pinned down, it takes a sharp left turn without becoming an iota less catchy. As an added bonus, after all these years, I’m finally clear on who is Bill and who is Gary Waliek. Bill is on the left:

Big Dipper seemed to feel constrained by their set time, so we didn’t get to hear two of the songs on Bill’s shirt, “Meet the Witch” and “Guitar Named Desire.”

We did, however, get to hear: Mr. Woods, She’s Fetching, Loch Ness Monster, Wake Up the King, Lunar Module, “Joke,” Edith, Bony Knees of Nothing [Gary: Here's one from our bad album. Bill: He's cute, he's real cute], Hey! Mr. Lincoln, Ron Klaus Wrecked His House, All Going Out Together, Younger Bums, and a rousing earned-encore rendition of You’re Not Patsy:

Bill says “Oh, yeah!!”

I do, too.

Also, Bill said a word to me! It was “Hi.” I was struck dumb.

*

Boston Spaceships were really friggin’ good. It’s a little scary sometimes to watch Pollard: at times, he seemed like the incoherent rambling man you’d want not to sit next to on the bus. But he can still sing. And the band, critically, stayed a little less soused. There was a hellalotta beer on stage, but there was also some vitamin water.

Tommy Keene brought much rock and gave great guitar cord:

Jason Narducy brought much rock. But do not throw a beer at this man! He does not like it when you do that.

Chris Slusarenko and John Moen brought much rock too, but I didn’t manage to photograph them doing it very well. This is maybe a good time to mention that “Rat Trap” rocked so hard and so well I didn’t even recognize it.

Selected bits of Bob Pollard’s wisdom:

“I remember playing the ‘rat back in 1978″ (much laughter).

Much love was expressed for Dipper and Bill Goffrier’s moves, in particular “the circle,” but I didn’t capture it verbatim.

“That was fucking prog rock [mumble] Peter Gabriel. It moved me. I don’t give a shit what it did to you, but it moved me.”

“Drunk and tight — if you can do that, you’ve got it made.” Which is a good point to get heretical: I saw Guided by Voices only twice, and neither was a typical GbV experience; one was an outdoor festival with the classic lineup, and one was the co-headlining tour with Cheap Trick. But Boston Spaceships might be a better band than GbV. Moen’s an awesome drummer, Narducy kept up with him, and the guitar onslaught of Slusarenko and Keene was nigh onstoppable. So I felt a bit bad about this:

People were pretty much going apeshit all night, but the end of the first encore was “Game of Pricks” and everybody went really apeshit. (Incidentally, I do believe the club did not want the band to play a second encore — one of the few times I’ve seen the house lights go back down after coming all the way up.*) From there on out it was all GbV: A Salty Salute, Motor Away, [I think I forgot something here], Cut-Out Witch, and Tractor Rape Chain. And this band and this band’s material deserved better than to get the biggest response of the night for the other band’s songs. But here’s why I was going apeshit, in especial particular: because I could feel just how much Chris Slusarenko had dreamed of playing these very songs and how much he love playing them, and because I know how very much fun most of those songs are to play myself. So there’s that.

* It’s gotta be a bit of a double-edged sword to book Pollard into your club. You know your drink sales are gonna be a New Year’s Eve levels, but so are your cleanup requirements.

So I went looking for info, and found plenty at the Simulacra CD Baby page. Turns out there are neither keyboards nor guitars on this recording — it’s all clarinet. No joke — the distorted B-flat clarinet is provided by project mastermind Aaron Novik, and the distorted bass clarinet is courtesy Cornelius Boots of “Edmund Welles, the world’s only composing ensemble for bass clarinet quartet,” which I will probably have to check out. The great drumming is from Matthias Bossi (Sleepytime Gorilla Museum/Book of Knots) and the vocals are by Jesse Quattro (of heavy metal band Hammers of Misfortune and Mr. Bungle/Faith No More guitarist Trey Spruance’s Secret Chiefs 3 project).

Hanley’s voice sounds better than ever, by turns both tougher and sweeter than in her Letters to Cleo days. Guitarist/former-LTC-member (and husband) Michael Eisenstein fills Weaponize with the kind of fat, crunchy, tone that used to be the hallmark of Eric “Roscoe” Amble’s production jobs. Weaponized is also packed with catchy tunes, with the “The Wrong Year” probably my initial favorite. Also worth a mention is the expansive “I Guess I Get It,” a slow-burning ballad/rocker that could pass for the best Aimee Mann song since Bachelor No. 2. Even the closing jokey grunge-rap number “Drop a Bomb” is kinda growing on me.

I liked Weaponize so much, I’ve since got a copy of Hanley’s 2005 ep babydoll, and it’s really good, too. I’m left to wonder if I was just in a cruddy mood when I heard Cherry Marmalade.