Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Pain Teens - Pain Teens (1988)
I don't know when or where I first downloaded this album but it languished on my computer for a year or two before I had to reformat sometime in 2007. I saved half of my mp3 collection on CD-Rs and then tossed said CD-Rs into a shoebox where they sat for about two years. Until now!
Suddenly I'm once again enjoying golden hits like DJ Tasaka's themes from "OH! Super Milk Chan," the elite compositions of Wilco's own Glenn Kotche, and Amon Tobin's Bricolage, which was given a perfect 10.0 on Pitchfork until the review was seemingly purged from the site during its last update, along with the classic reviews of Save Ferris, 12 Rods, and Beck's Odelay, among others. How could Mr. Tobin feel about this, being thrust from the privileged and seemingly immortal ranks of the the chosen? There's something eerily Orwellian about it, like it's been dropped into a chute from somewhere within the Ministry of Truth and incinerated, never to be spoken of again. At least will still have the review of Permutation, and the unforgettable account of Ryan Schrieber's trip down I-94 to a Chicago hostel. Sunroof top, digging the scene, but little did he know that it wouldn't be long before he'd have an entire generation along with him for the ride. And what a ride it's been!
Also on these discs was the self-titled debut from Pain Teens, which for the life of me I can't remember downloading in the first place or ever listening to more than once. I put it on this afternoon while rearranging my furniture, digging through old school notebooks and dusting off and trying to organize my growing collection of half-broken and obsolete personal electronics. I probably should have been licking the hairs off my bathroom floor or catching up on my collection of cheerleader snuff videos instead. Or at least that's what it felt like once this had been playing for a few minutes. Shit, these are some brutal songs! Did you hear about that guy in California who ate his son's eyes right out of his head? Can you believe what this world is coming to? I mean, grab the gurney! Gotta smh at that shit.
Lots of tape loops and electronics, employed in that heavy, lurching way that all you Wolf Eyes or Kevin Drumm fans will enjoy. But don't worry rock fans. This is a real band with guitars, drums, and other real instruments. They were friends with the Butthole Surfers, who wrote "Dracula in Houston," which could have been the next great Smash Mouth song if they hadn't sold out. Play this at your next party in between Trapdoor Fucking Exit and Twin Infinitives and thank me later!