Faith & Fumes – Brian McCarty (Electric Lab Recordings)
So there I was at some Indiana Sunday night punk rock juice bar, circa ‘87-ish, half blinded by strobe lights and taking liberal pulls from my handy flask. I was probably wearing some kinda gloomy trench coat, a NY Dolls T-shirt from High Street in Columbus (either from Mothra or Magnolia Thunderpussy), ripped jeans with band logos sharpied on them, combat boots, lots of hair spray and bad Cure kid makeup.
I'd just gotten outta juvie, where they'd stuck me in solitary for a month, for lippin' off to the kind of creep who thought that juvenile corrections seemed like a worthy calling, and that month alone made me even weirder and more stubbornly determined to escape the never ending abuse and behavior modification bootcamping of those plantation states.
The band on stage were doing some kinda crazy, confetti colored, frenzied clash between Hanoi Rocks and the NY Dolls with bubble gummy Ramones choruses and atomic energy. The songs I think I remember from back then were about defending free speech, freedom of the press, choosing one's own preferred lifestyle, and fighting the P.M.R.C. and Jerry Falwell's Moral Majority ("Smut") and struggling to find a redemptive romance while being stuck working low wage blue collar jobs ("Gasboy"). I think they were already playing "Downtown Nowhere" that night, too, which became a big favorite among our small group of peers. Always adored, "You Threw Me Away", as well. I could instantly relate to everything they were doing.
The guitarist looked like somebody from “Rocky Horror” or “The Addams Family”. The singer was like a bean thin heavy metal chick in white lace gloves and a slutty pink negligee and fishnet stockings. I told my own bandmates, China White and Rape Murder that we should steal the bassist if we could, cause he was doing all the perfect Dolls/70's Stones/Mick Ronson/Billy Duffy guitar hero poses, ridiculously over the top, and this was years before any of us had heard about Celebrity Skin. The drummer laid down that perfect choo choo train, “Rocknroll parts 1 & 2”, speeding locomotive glam rock stomp from the seventies, I seem to remember him wearing some kinda stars on his stockings, legwarmers even? The singer was already basically a fully formed rockstar, as reckless and bold as Stiv or Iggy, but with charm and modesty, jokes, pranks, aw shucks ma'am gentlemanly etiquette, and he looked like somebody from Vixen.
The Trash Brats were instantly my new favorite band since Elvis Hitler.
We were all like 16 or 17, except for our mohawked older guitarist, Rape, who was a Steve Jones/Johnny Thunders enthusiast from Van Wert, he was ten years older. Looked like Zodiac Mindwarp, or that Anti Nowhere League guy. Him and me shared a love of Slade, the Dolls, Lords, Cramps, and these Trash Brats were doing something in the same spirit, my own originals were still real poncey opaque, I was still heavily imitating Morrison, Astbury and Le Bon, back then, still finding my own voice as a writer, and Trash Brats were years ahead of us in many respects.
I couldn't be jealous of their sequinned big city androgynous regalia because they rocked like Dead Boys back then and were all nice, friendly, and polite, yep, that was my first impression, and in Ohio where we lived in those senselessly cruel decades, we were like the only nice and polite people we knew, and there was only about six or seven of us back then-metal heads, rappers, goths, and some girls who liked “McDonna”. The half dozen of us had to stick together.
My first impressions of the Trash Brats, were, "Fuck" and "Yeah!" Back then, boys in the Midwest really did get severely beaten for wearing makeup, and I should know, it happened to me more times than I could count, and the adults all kinda agreed they have it comin'. I was just saying to my old friend, Brian Oblivion, how growing up in the buckeye state, I never knew if my name was Devo, Boy George, or Faggot so I just mainly went by "Fag" for short. The Brats heard their share of wolf whistles and cat calls I'm sure, flagrantly dressed like that in DETROIT! We loved the punk bar in Ft. Wayne, 7th Level, cause we could all drive over there packed in the backseat guzzling malt liquor and listening to "Mommy's Little Monster" on the Oldsmobile tape player and hangout and get drunk in the parking lot, and introduce ourselves to all the big city goths and punks and skins and mods who had a really bitchen punk scene back then, in old Ft. Wayne.
The death rock and new wave girls I palled around with back there were still living with their moms, but their moms were cool, let 'em paint the walls in their bedrooms and shit, they all smoked Clove cigarettes. The older bands from that scene, like Primitive Baptist Church had band houses and that was rad to us back then, I'd been living in a bush in the Little Ceasers parking lot, and couch surfing when I could.
The Trash Brats were all super fun, rowdy rock ‘n’ roll people, and it was gratifying and encouraging to encounter kindred spirits, my tiny posse were into all the same stuff as Brian, Ricky, Tony and Troy, except I was still heavily into the Cult and Jim Morrison and Bauhaus and Flesh For Lulu, so our own songs were a little darker and more pissed off, some were about getting spurned by first love, some were anti-war and fuck the rich, many were protest songs about suburban dress codes and dumb jock bully bastards and sicko grownup, juvenile-probation officer goons who hassled us for being different.
The Brats were way already fleshed out and forged, fully developed as a solid gang, while we were still peer pressuring our normie friends into reluctantly joining out little clique of music making misfits and rejects-also, the Brats were probably always way more light hearted, selling smiles and giving permission to all those misguided farm boys and ROTC tough guys to mellow out and have fun. They were like our slapstick Marx Brothers fall down comedy cousins. I loved the singer's sense of humor and crazy courage. Loved the guitarist's Generation X style guitar tone. I brushed with those guys many times over the ensuing years whenever I was back in the Midwest and probably saw them play more times than any other band besides perhaps Circus Of Power, who we used to follow around. I did some correspondence with 'em in the mail, and later, email, eventually, I formed a little side project with Ricky Rat and Troy, initially Brian O had even offered to play bass or sing back-up vocals in the studio with us on that project, but that band I had with 'em came to a dead end when my ex-wife and I were breaking up and we never finished the record.
Had a couple good songs on it, too. A couple of 'em are still good, 25 years later. While we were first getting it together, though, writing songs and collaborating and merry making and the like, we sent cassettes back in forth and I'd take a bus up to scary, burning junkyard Detroit on the weekends and got to know the extended Trash Brats entourage which was really like a gang, or a tight knit family, even many years later. Unlike most bands in the eighties metal years, Thee Trash Brats never felt compelled to relocate to L.A. like all us dumb sonsabitches who showed up too late to get in on the post Guns N Roses hair metal bandwagon, they stayed in their hometown and built a rock solid community that exists to this day, all hard partying, super talented, devoted, hard-working and fun loving, whacky characters-even their eccentric record collecting photographer Brian T. kinda became a local celebrity. Love, ya, brothers.
They had another charismatic friend named Bootsey X who read my columns in the entertainment weekly, and collected my crummy old fanzines, and he showed up unexpectedly one night and we became fast friends, what a kook, what a blast, what a rock ‘n’ roll badass, he was, and I totally didn't get his shtick at first, I thought it was a gag, until he started telling me all these stories from the frontine trenches of Funhouse Detroit, we just had a ball together and laughed like pirates, he invited my girlfriend and I to move in with him, but his place sadly caught on fire.
Another eccentric genius madman punk character from the Canadian band, Bunchoffuckinggoofs, joined my little crew, by the name of Mark Gilder, a British born bassist/singer/comedian/hellraiser/daredevil with a larger than life fun hog energy, he became one of my dearest and most faithful friends. I loved their whole gang and they had another side project called Car City Call Girls, with summa their smart, cool girlfriends back then, and their music was pretty awesome, too. They were all really hospitable and loved to laugh and jam and sing and party, so we'd stay awake for days writing and singing and storytellin' and like I said, there mighta been some drinkin'. Good times, all the time.
Then, Tony Romeo, who I never got to know as well as I would have liked, mainly cause I think we were both sleeping with the same five Michigan-Ohio-Indiana strippers who liked boys in makeup and bad tattoos, but he was always super friendly and good humored, he suddenly quit the band for a minute and they replaced him with a Nikki Sixx lookalike for about a year, so that was weird, and TT left the band for a while and was replaced with another wild percussionist in a polka dotted dress, Craig Cashew who looked like Dee Snider. They continued rocking and making records full of unexpected insights with heart and hooks and likeminded social commentary, they kept getting better as the years rolled by, and I seem to recall them still packing the house even in the grunge years, that bogus corporate media hoax about grunge alternative killing glam dead was always bullshit to begin with, but while all the other college town bands were "going grunge", the Trash Brats just became more popular, by being themselves and sticking to their guns, selling out bars all over and they steadily became better songwriters.
Other touring, outta town bands coming through the Motor City all crashed at their bandhouse like I did, and they were instrumental in forging that whole punk/pop genre really. They were Green Day a decade before Green Day, who we kiddin', they were doing it before the Toilet Boys, too, I mean, all those baby bands like the Biters and Prima Donna and the Cry, and all the other ones that people talk about on Facebook, they were barely born when the Trash Brats were already developing their own unique glam embroidered with punk style. Lotsa younguns have come down the highway in the 40 years or whatever since I met them Motor City shag heads in Ft. Wayne, but the Brats had real personalities and were a lot more fun, and way cooler in my book.
We all wore out their cassette, popularly known as the pink tape. I got summa the cooler skateboarders from out tank plant town into 'em. My little bands morphed a lot in those first five or ten years, and half of us moved to Boston and the other half moved to Columbus. Ohio is always a mistake, if you are not a frat boy or hipster rich kid. Avoiding the midwest always seems most rational-they are like forty years behind back there in them redneck states. Last year, I-94 Recordings honcho, Jim Rinn asked me to film a small tribute to our ailing colleague, Tony Romeo for his benefit concert I was unable to attend, and when Tony passed away this year, I had some regret I never told him in person how much his showmanship and reckless abandon had inspired my friends and I back in the eighties, he was a fantastic performer, they all are, but it has really bummed me out, Tony's death.
I had a little music group online with David Roach and Steven Leckie and they all kinda left around the same time. Also, both of my boyhood drummers died the same year, my original bass player Bobby died, too, and my Catholic school Budweiser bro, Joey, as well. And almost all my old crusty punk drinking buddies. Fuckshit, my heroes, my friends, Johansen, a lot of people I know and love keep dropping dead in our fucking fifties and it's made me wanna tell everybody I love how much I love 'em, more frequently. As the lads taught us all those years ago, "Somedays's Too Late", ya know?
Brian McCarty put out a 45 last year called, "Hamtramck Jukebox" that I loved, it was a smash hit single that brought back tons of good memories and reminded me I needed to reach out to some of the old pals I'd lost touch with, over the years. "Faith & Fumes" is one of those rare and exceptional records, a real full length album, like the ones we grew up with from the sixties and seventies, it's beautiful to behold, comes with a lyric sheet, mine's on licorice red vinyl. The last album I heard that was as fully satisfying as Brian McCarty's latest side here, was by Richard Duguay, a couple years ago, in my humble opinion, but I do like those Continental Lovers a whole lot, too.
Brian's an ace song writer, part Gram Parsons, or John Prine, and part David Jo and Mae West. Ricky used to compare him to Bugs Bunny 'cause he's a witty, wise ass vaudevillian, but also a truly humane and compassionate human being, he's a born entertainer, circus people. Mark Twain in Fredericks Of Hollywood. The first song to yank me outta my winter gloom and grief was "Honky Tonk Hymn", which is a real soulful tune that reminds me of my own stuff, but he's working at a really high level on this album, the female backing vocals are gorgeous, almost sounds like the Stones gospel stuff, but with poetic, descriptive lyrics reminiscent of John Easdale from Dramarama, or vintage Westerberg.
Brian has always been doing social commentary like on "Electric Babysitters" and "Workin' For Our Chains", he continues to become a better and better songwriter, him and Ricky have been performing with legendary dudes from the Romantics in recent years, and it's always good to catch up with their newer material. Troy Toma even released a solo album. He. Is. Awesome..
"Honky Tonk Hymn" will probably grab you right away, it's killer, a real heartfelt toe tapper and he brings the sunshine to the frontporch hoedown. "Puppet Show" is like the Pink Panther theme, really swanky sophisticated, rat pack hipster, oldschool Vegas, and it's a sly commentary about how most consumption obsessed Murkkkans have lost their ability to think critically and just mindlessly scroll on their fucking I-Phones all day, never questioning top down narratives, just obediently parroting the propaganda. When he hits me with one of my favorite Monkees songs,
"Look Out Here Comes Tomorrow", he has me jumpin' like a monkey on the bed, takes me back to third grade in Lexington, Kentucky when I was dancin' with myself, doing all my Davey Jones and Mickey Dolenz imitations in the mirror in my velvet newsboy cap, with all the Elvis, Monkees, "Grease", and Shaun Cassidy posters on the wall. Brought a big smile to my face that Brian picked the same song to record that I similarly cherished as a young kid watching them Monkees reruns on WXIX tv, when there were only three tv stations.
Brian and Ricky have been best friends since they were little boys into baseball, KISS and Shan Na Na, and I have a lot in common with both of those guys. My first record was Monkees "Headquarters" and Shaun Cassidy was my first rock concert at the Rupp Arena with Dr. Hook. So I can feel them roots that go deep.
"Travers City Bay" is like Beach Boys, or David Lee Roth's "Coconut Grove", it's beach music, right up my alley. Who's ready to make a store run for Blue Hawaiians and ice? "Arson Eyes" is a really exquisite fifties love song that might outlive us all. "Lucky Charm" seems like another devotional ode to his one true love. It's sweet pop with sincere soul and he's in top voice, singing his arse off. "Chains" is another winner from the record, reminds me of the stuff David Lee Roth recorded with John 5. It's good stuff, man. I know where he's coming from. This is a man who uses the word scallywag, okay?
"Faith & Fumes" is just beautiful heartfelt folk, Brian O's a real deep cat. I rarely hear anything that real on country radio, anymore. That one is probably my favorite so far from the new LP. I share summa that fatigue and weariness with everybody who has a real heart in their chest. "Mushroom Cloud" coulda been penned by Shel Silverstein or Tom T. Hall or something, it's old timey beautiful, think "Harvest Moon" by Neil Young, he brings that same earnest feel. "Love Ain’t Automatic" is badass sultry funk straight outta some seventies Blacksploitation movie, he flexes his Motown Roots and takes you back to all that cool P FUNK stuff your friend's parents tried to keep hidden from the kids-remember all them Ohio Players album covers? Brian McCarty does. It just hit me how this might be Brian's version of "Sign Of The Times", ya know? He sees it all but tries to focus on the love, the fun, the friendship, doing the next right thing, he's good people.
"Broken Promise" reminds me of Mick Taylor era Stones, I love all the different instrumentation he employs on this record and I think plenty of other old rock ‘n’ roll casualties and burnt-out survivors who grew up really believing in the healing and redemptive, mystical powers of real authentic rock ‘n’ roll in all of its coolest incarnations, ya'll are gonna dig this, too.
"Stones From Your Grave" gives me the chills, like I said, so many of my favorite people are already long gone, and I know just what it's like to lose your homies way too soon, especially if there were hurt feelings left forever unresolved, ooh. I tell my wife somedays that all my own songs are just obituaries now, least the ones I've written in these past twenty years. "Pearl" is so pretty, this album is so invested with real emotions and good intentions and uplifting messages, I think you should go buy a copy for someone you love right now. Christmas is around the corner, and we ain't gettin' any younger.
Thanks to Brian for his beautiful blend of seen it all wisdom, one liners, thoughtful and observant lyrics and pure, true heart. To me, this record feels like a real milestone. The production is sensational, the songs are meaningful and layered with memories and wonderment. He never let his heart die. If ya ask me, the brother is just golden. But that's just me, I'm old fashioned.
