SOUNDTRACK: THE DEAD MILKMEN-Stoney’s Extra Stout (Pig) (1995).
Of course, I can’t forget the Milkmen’s final release! But, in fact, I had forgotten about it, so much so that when I played it again, I was totally surprised to realize that I knew and liked a number of these songs quite a bit.
This disc was their return to Restless records, and it almost feels like their detour to Hollywood never happened. Back is the dominace of Rodney Anonymous’ songs andthe more chaortic, frenetic guitar work of thier earlier discs.
It opens with “Peter Bazooka” a dark meandering song that features the one consistent thread on this disc: most of Rodney’s verses are spoken rather than sung. Which is fine, except the songs somehow feel more noveltyish when they’re delivered this way. So even if a song like the second track “Train I Ride” is just as silly as any DM song, because it’s sung it feels more like a proper song than a novelty. “The Girl with the Strong Arm” is even more frenetic than “Joe Bazooka” and it’s another rant (although with a more singable chorus).
But a song like “Helicopter Interiors” sounds like classic DM: simple clever guitar line, raucous guitar, and it’s under 2 minutes long. And, while the back half of the disc is less exciting than the front, the rocking “Chaos Theory” is good fun: “Study hard and you’ll have a future, oh yeah when the hell was that ever true?”
But Joe Jack Talcum’s songs are not absent from the disc. He appears first on “I’m Flying Away” a slow, reggae tinged track that feels too anemic to have ever been a hit. “The Man Who Rides the Bus” is a rocking, more catchy track although again it’s missing anything even resembling a hit.
A couple songs do overstay their welcome: “Blues Song,” a parody of the blues (yawn) is over 4 minutes long (yes, the solo section is pretty funny). Although even a lesser song like “When I Get to Heaven” is enjoyable enough (the return of odd vocal effects is also welcome). The only real failure is the horn-fueled pseudo funk of “Crystalline.” At this point I’m not sure if it’s wise for the DM to bust so far out of their comfort zone.
Joe Jack sings the final three songs. “Khrissy” is a trebly love song, “Like to be Alone” is a piano ballad that doesn’t really go anywhere, but the final song “Big Deal” is a another negative song package as a humorous uplift anthem. It concludes the DM’s output on a high note.
I’m not sure if the band should have done more after this. And of course, there is much sadness that bassist Dave Blood killed himself a few years ago. But I understand they still tour and they keep their website active. DM are a wonderful staple from my college days, and I thank them.
[READ: April 16, 2010] Monsieur Pain
It is not lost on me that while I was reading a book called Monsieur Pain, I was stricken with an abscess in my cheek. It swelled as if there was a softball in my mouth and it hurt like a mother. And, since this happened while I was on vacation, I had the delight of going to a Virginia Urgent Care center carrying this book around with me (and the medical services were excellent, thank you all).
Of course, the Pain in the title is not a man who inflicts pain or anything, it’s just his name. I was wondering if, since he is French, if the Pain is to be translated as “bread.” That is never addressed.
This story exemplifies the fascinating twists and turns that Bolaño puts in his books (this one was one of his first). In the introductory note to the book, he states that he wrote this story in 1982 and then submitted it to two different fiction contests under different titles. He won both contests. (Ha!). The other fascnating thing about this story is that most of the people are real. And while yes, that is a conceit he uses in a lot of his stories, in this one the real people are the main people: César Vallejo was a real poet (and did have the hiccups) his wife was real, Pierre Pain was indeed a mesmerist, and of course Madame Curie is real, too.
The story itself was fascinating and sometimes difficult. (I had to re-read the scene in the movie theater a few times to get the total picture). It is written from the point of view of Monseuir Pain. He is contacted by Madame Reynaud (a woman he is sort of in love with, especially now that she is widow) who urgently requests that he go to see someone “profesionally.” The someone turns out to be the husband of her friend Mrs.Vallejo (who turns out to be the poet César Vallejo–although plotwise that is not important). She says he is dying from the hiccups.
He agrees to help. But he is soon shadowed by two large Spanish goons. (In fact, they have been shadowing him since before he received the request from Madame Raynaud, he just didn’t know it then). After following him for a few days, they eventually sit down with him and bribe him not to get involved with Villajo’s case.
After much drinking, he takes the bribe and feels badly about it. So he calls an old friend to whom he hasn’t spoken in years, Rivette. After telling him not to worry about it, Rivette reminds Pain of an old friend, Pleumeur-Bodou who has recently joined the fascists. And from there, things get really weird.
Pain returns to the hospital to look at Vallejo, but he is told in no uncertain terms that he is not welcome there. He tries to sneak in but is forcibly ejected. And after an evening of drinking, he winds up sleeping in a warehouse, in a bathtub. He’s aware that someone is in the warehouse with him, mocking him with fake hiccups.
Finally, having had enough, he follows them man out of the warehouse. He is one of the Spaniards. They march through Paris in a soaking rain. The Spaniard eventually goes into a movie theater. The movie then shares center stage with the main story, as the plot of the movie and the plot of Pain intertwine. It gets even more surreal when the movie contains archival footage of someone that Pain knows.
The movie scene was wonderful and fascinating. There was so much crammed into it, although I’m not entirely sure it was all warranted. And yet, reading this story set in a movie theater was really fun and twisted. And, when the archival footage shows up, it really sends the story into a spiral.
The story ends in a customarily bizarre way, with no real resolution to any of the stories, except for the inevitable end of Vallejo. And yet, rather than being unsatisfied by this, I felt it all made a weird sort of sense.
The end of the book itself is an Epilogue for Voices: The Elephant Track. This epilogue is a series of biographies (prefiguring Nazi Literature somewhat). Each biography is written as a quote, as if it was a personal story about each person told by an unnamed narrator. The final one, about Pain, ends with “He died in my arms in the manager’s office at the Cabaret Madame Doré” (134).
It’s unclear what we’re supposed to do with the epilogue, but as with everything Bolaño writes, it’s enjoyable and weird, reasonable yet absurd. And completely enjoyable. It was translated by Chris Andrews.
For ease of searching I include: Bolano
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