Dinosaur Jr. Bring Fiery Dreams To Life

By: June Garry

Monday May 28, 2007

Reunited
When something really good or shocking takes place, sometimes I have to ask myself if it ever really happened at all. Sometimes I need proof to believe.

I woke up a few times that sunny morning after, hearing the neighbors bustling about on the porch, doors slammed, stairs swept, bags rustled. The fourth time was for good, I came awake slowly and peered around the room with a squint. There was a burrito sitting on my table, completely untouched. The sight of the thing unleashed a blurry wash of recall that mercilessly flooded through my aching head. The night before had been rough. I had gotten home after two, reeling with alcohol and cocaine, intent on capping my night with a veggie burrito and a big hit of reefer, then slipping into sweet, annihilated sleep. There was only one immediate problem; I had an evil CD to unload, and right away. See, I'd met some guys at one of the parties I'd attended earlier, guys who were from someplace else and played in a band; they were annoyingly self-important and gave me their CD in hopes of having it reviewed for publicity. That was never going to happen, and the juju on these dolts so supremely sucked that I knew this damn CD in my hand was going to seep it all over me. I had to get rid of it right then, I understood with the definitive, irrational conviction displayed by only the exhausted and plowed, so I did the only logical thing I could think of - I stepped out onto the back porch and flung it, Frisbee style, into the dark night sky. It didn't get very far, and ended up making a horrible plastic-splintering crash onto some hard, close-by surface. Oops. Well, I felt a certain sense of rebirth having rid myself of the infected piece of crap, and felt sure that soon everything was going to be ooooohkay. Content, I settled into my bong hit and burrito: I needed to be naked for those proceedings, so that's how I got.

Suddenly there was a soft knocking on my front door. Intrigued, I peeped through the hole and standing there looking sleepy and concerned was this tall, unusually good looking man in a snug white tee shirt and faded jeans; an Abercrombie and Fitch model if I ever saw one, from high cheekbones to cleft chin. It took me a second to place him as my downstairs neighbor, the one I'd seen in passing here and there, the one with an alarmingly white grin, the one who was an unfortunate hack on his acoustic guitar (cue a rough, choppy, "(Sittin' on) the Dock of the Bay"). I threw on a sweatshirt and pajama bottoms.

Good looks never stopped anybody from slicing a girl to bits, so I cautiously opened the door, slid out and closed it quickly behind me. I figured the hallway was safer somehow. He furrowed his brow and asked, "Are you okay?! I thought I heard a crash." He must've heard me chuck that CD outside. Not wanting to disclose my superstitious, immature vandalism, I played dumb.

"Uh, no, no, everything's fine...but thank you for checking on me!" We stood there looking at each other for about a count of three, at which point he just moved on in and kissed me hard on the mouth. Truly incredible. The next thing I knew we were full-on making out against my door in the hall...a hand slid, a hand was moved, a hand slid again, and another was placed firmly in a naughty, naughty spot. We had a quick negotiation about our next step; he wanted to come in. Between the potential for the aforementioned being sliced to bits and the fact that at the time my place was a complete shit hole, I couldn't have him inside. His place below, for exactly the same reasons, was not an option either. Then I had the brilliant idea to continue our tongue-spelunking on the back porch. I told him to meet me there with beer, and asked if he was a pot smoker. "Yes," to the former, though he gave the caveat that it was crappy beer, and "no" to the latter. Our plans laid, we parted momentarily. Back inside, I helped myself to copious amounts of pot, threw on some flip flops and met this mysterious, sexy neighbor on the back stairs.

Things slowed down briefly at that point, and though my recall is pretty murky I do remember sitting and smoking and running down this list of reasons why it was probably a bad idea for us to screw. I talked about being too old for him and he grabbed the back of my head, tugging slightly on my hair, and slid his tongue deep into my mouth. I spouted on about us living so close being tricky, and he lifted my sweatshirt, said something complimentary and roughly rubbed my breasts. I brought out the big guns and mentioned the dude in my life, on the other side of the country. My downstairs neighbor replied to that by standing up, removing a granite erection from his jeans and just letting that bad boy speak for itself. My arguments got weaker as my arousal grew strong, and he finally said the one thing that shut me up and made a LOT of sense: "I think you're over-thinking it." He was right. His hard-on found my mouth and I was done for. Ten minutes later I was climaxing over the porch railing, fully taken from behind, two big warm hands cupping my tits, pj bottoms yanked halfway down. Unbelievable.

Dinosaur Jr. - Beyond (CD)

Fat Possum Records

Produced by J. Mascis

genre: rock

3.5 stars

Track Listing

01. Almost Ready
02. Crumble
03. Pick Me Up
04. Back to Your Heart
05. This is All I Came to Do
06. Been There All the Time
07. It's Me
08. We're Not Alone
09. I Got Lost
10. Lightning Bulb
11. What if I Knew

Beyond is Dinosaur Jr.'s first album for its original incarnation in a really long time. Thank God they didn't grow up very much. If at all. It was just enough to find the emotional maturity to regroup without killing each other. And, well, frankly, Mascis has really never been more confident and engaged in his music and his existence in general, exemplified cheekily in the album's first song; "C'mon life, I'm almost ready...". Their casual brilliance and capacity for noise isn't compromised at all, though those elements are embellished with some much more generally accessible cuts than usual, like the downright catchy "This is All I Came to Do." The production is pristine, as well, but this fact truly should not deter the diehard, though some of this is definitely a more amenable introduction to the new fan.

The record starts out extremely strong with "Almost Ready," which, despite the new confidence mentioned above, still possesses that unique element of shaky skepticism the band is famous for. A fast and upbeat melodic arrangement in combination with Mascis' thin and creaky voice, only better exemplified with age set off the pleasantly self-doubtful lyrics reflecting fear of losing his nerve, conjuring a picture of a kid's last deep breath before her first jump off the high dive. The record then rests a little, and kicks back in again with Barlow's love song "Back to Your Heart" in which he sort of justifies being such a difficult turd in real life, then flows into the simple yet extremely satisfying "This is All I Came to Do." "Been There all the Time" is sweetly simplistic. That sense of self-doubt is echoed endearingly once more in "Pick Me Up" ("Can I scream? Am I heard?"). This song has the best guitar solo on the whole album, with a truly impressive display of passion through sheer mechanical adeptness ending with some Floyd-sized drama. Other highlights are the simple yet extremely satisfying "This is All I Came to Do." The momentum is kept up perfectly with the also energetic "Been There All the Time," and I love the abrupt ending on "We're Not Alone".

Barlow really shines here, and though I've done more than my share of commentary on what I suspect to be an artistically priggish personality, I confess he does justify some of his...confidence...with his contributions to the record, though intestingly enough his stuff sounds remarkably like Mascis' early work. Murph and his snare have never sounded better or laid a nicer backdrop for that frenetic, self-propelled guitar of Mascis' either. This guy relays emotion and thought through his instrument that I personally have not heard the likes of since Jimi Hendrix.

Beyond proves it - Dinosaur Jr. really happened, and they were really that good. Now, they sound the same. They sound pristinely produced, but they sound the same; beautifully, wonderfully, ear-lickingly the same. Beyond is not only one to have in your collection, but one to cherish as a moment in time.

Dinosaur Jr. - Live in the Middle East (DVD)

3 stars

Track Listing

01.Gargoyle
02. Kracked
03. Bulbs of Passion
04. Little Fury Things
05. Lose
06. Forget the Swan
07. The Post
08. Budge
09. The Lung
10. The Wagon
11. Raisins
12. Sludgefest
13. Mountain Man
14. Chunks
15. Freak Scene
16. In A Jar
17. Repulsion
18. Just Like Heaven

Reuniting with a hugely successful 2005 tour, Dinosaur Jr. decided to not only hit the studio to record their impressive new album Beyond, they produced a live DVD as well, recorded in 2005 at Cambridge, Mass's The Middle East. It is an interesting undertaking for a band that has never been visual or overtly theatrical, so it is understandable that the picture is grainy, the light low, and that it's done mostly with hand-held cameras. The set is minimal and small, the lighting is simple, and it's all a perfect fit for their music, in which Mascis' guitar provides the gravitational pull for everything else. There is barely any tour footage, aside from some wayward backstage silliness run during the opening credits, so it's primarily just the show, which as always involves virtually no banter between songs. Afterwards, however, we are treated to insightful interviews with Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore (Sonic Youth), Mike Watt (The Minutemen) and renowned musician/engineer Steve Albini.

Unsurprisingly, the bulk of the show comes from the eminent and recently remastered You're Living All Over Me, in fact the highpoint of the show is the momentous apex that ends "The Lung" after being nicely built up by a self-assured start with "Gargoyle" followed shortly by "Little Fury Things" They finish the show with a superb rendition of The Cure's "Just Like Heaven."

All in all, Live in the Middle East is an excellent watch, and without any window dressing is very representative of being at their live show. Murph's drums and Lou's bass create the perfect terrain for Mascis' LOUD, screeching wall of guitar sound. You nearly never see is face beneath his sheath of hair, and the vocals are almost disregarded entirely. Although traditionally this would be hugely problematic, in Dinosaur Jr.'s case it's is a perfect reflection of the band's musical priorities.

Bringing things back to the morning after my torrid night with the mysterious stranger/neighbor, as I mentioned I heard folks on the porch starting their day, and despite the presence of the uneaten burrito I was absolutely sure the whole tryst with the hot neighbor was a figment. It had been some sort of dream; a good dream, one that inspired me to, despite my painful hangover, help myself to myself. But still, that sort of thing just does not happen, not really, and I didn't believe it. I pulled myself together and the search for my cigarettes led me out to the back porch. And there it was - sitting on the little table out there, ripped open, silver lining splayed and glinting in the sun, was a condom wrapper. Huh. Double huh. I peeked over the side of the railing to the yard across the way, and saw the shards of the cd I'd tossed out there. It had all happened. A hot flush crept over my face as I realized that all of my neighbors with whom I shared the top floor porch had already been outside and had seen that condom wrapper, and as I was the only single person there at the time, they had to deduce that it was me. In fact, one guy smiled at me awfully strangely every time I saw him until the day he moved out. The hot neighbor? He moved out too. None of my doom speak came to fruition, and I'm sure he's doing just fine, saving damsels in distress from tainted CDs all over metropolis.

Some things you need evidence for to believe. Like sex with hot neighbors and Dinosaur Jr. Twenty years ago, who would've suspected that this band would come along on the wave of Poison and Ratt and Whitesnake, and with some pals like Sonic Youth let us know there was more out there developing musically. A hero there to rescue us, a gallant neighbor at the ready when bad music goes crash in the night. Now, we can congratulate ourselves a bit too, for as I took a fortuitous risk with the neighbor on the porch, we took a chance on records like Bug and You're Living All Over Me and both the music and the man got us off, hard, in a clandestine moment in the middle of the night.


Photo By Brantley Gutierrez