Hey, so the thing that I hate about a lot of recent hardcore bands is that they almost to a single band, drench their vocals in reverb, making them a unintelligible …
A collection of releases all in one place and serves as a pretty good introduction to the band – starting off with a wail of feedback and off and running with …
I try to every Record Store Day, sift through the absolute dreck of releases and list what you should and shouldn’t buy – of course my tastes lead me to only …
Gauze (ガーゼ) is one of those bands that you either know, or need to know, if you are into long-standing, energetic hardcore punk bands. They are notoriously in control of what …
Gauze (ガーゼ) is one of those bands that you either know, or need to know, if you are into long-standing, energetic hardcore punk bands. They are notoriously in control of what Gauze is (to the point of turning down gigs in America in favour of staying in Japan) and have been rumoured to have dismissed whole albums of songs for not being good enough. Each member has a distinct role and look. Each album seems to be noisier, heavier and faster than the previous. All the more impressive due to the fact that they are in their 50’s. And their live shows are, well, the stuff of legends.
Their fourth LP, “面を洗って出直して来い” or Kao o Aratte Denaoshite Koi, was originally released by the band in 1997, to very little fanfare outside of Japan. Fans debate whether this, or “Equalizing Distort” is the best (and some will point to their first LP “Fuck Heads” as even better, but those people are wrong). I’m firmly in the camp for “面を洗って出直して来い” being the best album to date. Even better news is that all of Gauze’s recorded output, including “面を洗って出直して来い”, has been re-released by the band on XXX Records in an effort to stave off an enterprising bootlegger. Of course, the re-pressing isn’t to satisfy the west, but it’s for Gauze’s fans. Thankfully, I ordered it from Disk Union in Japan. I’d suggest going that route or seeing if someone gets enough to distribute them in the US (I hear Material World and maybe Sorry State will have these).
This review is perfunctory; it’s a little odd to review a record that’s 20 years old, but it holds up, and maybe even stands up better in hindsight. It all starts simply enough — staccato drum beat into buzzsaw guitars, add in a growling bass thrown into blender with shouted vocals, crank the velocity to 1000 and you might get a sense of what Gauze sounds like. And 16 minutes later it’s over. One thing I’ve always admired about the song-writing of Gauze is that they’ve taken pop sensibilities (especially around using repetition as a way to reinforce a riff) and mutated them to just be noisy, fuzzed out, and amplified. Oh yeah, played at breakneck speed. It’s stuff like this that makes me want to go see shows and play shows.
The re-issues for all five of Gauze’s records are available through Japanese record stores on November 29, 2017. Don’t support the bootlegger as the money will never be shared with the band. In this day and age, it’s not hard to use Google Translate to find what you’re looking for, and communicate haphazardly with someone half way across the globe. Hell, if punks were doing it in the 90’s when this was first released, without the Internet, you have no excuse not to go direct to the source and support the band themselves.
It’s taken a year to write the eulogy, even though the casket’s not been made. The Dicks are my favourite band. It all began as love affair in the mid-80s, with …
It’s taken a year to write the eulogy, even though the casket’s not been made.
The Dicks are my favourite band. It all began as love affair in the mid-80s, with a seedy, tawdry, hilarious, offensive, soulful band. A friend bought the Dicks (SF) album, “These People” in high school — it was the sort of thing punks did back then, just bought records based on the name- from the amazing Blackist Distribution. We got together on a weeknight in his apartment on Hamilton’s east mountain, and played those tunes (and Christ on Parade, and Neurosis — every thing in those packages saved our lives). That record cemented the fact that punk didn’t have to be full blast rage, it could be angry and have soul as well. I didn’t know that the Dicks (SF) were different than the Dicks, that only Gary Floyd was the common thread between the two bands. That voice, holy shit, that voice stuck in my head for years.
Dicks — Kill From the Heart LP (SST Records, 1983, repressed on Alternative Tentacles, 2012)
Fast forward to 1997, I was living in Austin, Texas, and my love of early Texas punk — cemented in the trinity of Big Boys, Dicks and Really Red (although you could substitute Butthole Surfers, DRI, Scratch Acid, AK-47, SNOT, The Stains, The Offenders…. take your pick really, they’re all great) was at a fever pitch. I had recently scored Kill From The Heart for $15 at the Austin Record Fair, and was excited to see that The Dicks were getting a proper reissue through Alternative Tentacles on CD. Hate The Police, the band’s first 7″ EP, which is honestly a song that I could hear every day for the rest of my life and never tire of, was as elusive as it had ever been. I’ve still never seen one in person despite years of chasing the white whale.
I was pretty certain in 1997 that I would never see The Dicks play — I had discovered there was some issues between the original Dicks and the ones from San Francisco albeit not fatal blows, but simmering tensions. Besides, there was no reason to reunite. The records were scarce and relatively unknown beyond Mudhoney turning in an excellent cover of “Hate The Police” and Jesus Lizard covering “Wheelchair Epidemic”. Gary Floyd, the singer, had gone on to sing for Sister Double Happiness. Buxf Parrott, bass, and Pat Deacon, drums, played around in other Austin bands (the excellent rootsy Shootin’ Pains being one of them). Glen Taylor, guitars, had just died. That was it, in my mind. While I had heard rumours of one-off nights happening around SXSW or other venues around town, I thought, well, with Glen gone, they wouldn’t actually play again, would they? None of those older punk guys thought getting back together to play again was worth it — the prevailing attitude was that if you missed it, you missed it and you should create your own thing. In my mind, even though I was in the right place, often, within spitting distance of The Dicks playing, I was never in the right place at the right time.
Of course, I did end up in the right place at the right time. Seven or eight years later. Along the east coast of the US, in Hoboken, New Jersey of all places. By then my home was Hamilton again, returning to the city with grit, winter and, well, not much else. Hamilton wasn’t Austin, that’s for sure. Then again, neither was Hoboken. I absolutely couldn’t miss it.
Now, whenever you see bands that were good at one point in their lives, come back for a reunion or a victory lap, it tends to be lacklustre. Never quite the same emotion, never quite the same fire. Time is often not your friend. I had low expectations; I had heard the stories of drunken Dicks shows where they could barely stand, or were more concerned with freaking people out. I had stayed away from reunion shows. I had mixed feelings about this. What if this sucked? We ended up eating at Maxwell’s before the gig, and in walks Gary, Pat and Buxf. They’re eating; I’m starstruck. I don’t want to be rude. We leave.
I wonder if that was stupid? We wander around Hoboken. We head back to the show. Buy some merchandise. I see Gary again, I ask him if I can show him something. I try to roll up my sleeve to show him the Kill From The Heart tattoo I have on my bicep, but end up having to take off my shirt. Gary said, “ooo titties”, to which I responded , “No this” and point at the tattoo. Seconds later, I’m meeting Buxf and Pat, and then taking pictures — and then meeting Carlos the artist who did the cover art that’s part of my arm now. Chatting to Buxf outside he told us stories about the band playing better now than they did back in the day. Twenty or so years as musicians certainly didn’t hurt.
The show was all I could’ve hoped for as a fan. Hypnotic drumming, dirty, raw bass, swirling guitars and, yes, that voice. Bluesy, soulful. I was on a high after that show for a month. In fact I didn’t go see anyone else play for a while.
Gary Floyd, The Dicks at Maxwell’s, Hoboken NJ, July 26, 2006. Photo by Kate Munn
So when I heard about a “final” show, I had mixed emotions. I want the band to live in the present, and not constantly feel like they have to relive the past. On the ticket release date, I didn’t end up getting tickets. I missed the whole thing. By the time I figured out that tickets were on sale, they were sold out. I figured it wasn’t meant to be, but deep down I was disappointed in myself. A couple weeks later a second show was added, and I took full advantage of the opportunity. The last show was on Hallowe’en. That, we (Kate, my partner-in-crime and I) could do. In fact, I nearly missed it; missed the last stand, but for the sheer luck, and being in the right place at the right time, I made it.
Now, a decade later from the last time I saw them, and nearly thirty years since I first heard them, they were playing for the last time. I am not the sort of person to be up front at concerts anymore; I’m too old for that shit. Exceptions can be made. I was up front. They played every song. The last song, was “Dicks Hate The Police”, re-christened as “Love Song” on the set list. I got a little misty. I’m not sure why, but it was like a sense of grief, heavy in my chest. I’ll always have those songs on physical formats, but seeing them played live is always better. More visceral.
The denouement consisted of us sort of stunned, wandering around the emptying venue, debating whether it was worth saying “hi” and “bye” to the band again. We decided to stay. We informally lined up to say a quick good-bye to Gary, who came out to thank people for coming. As we neared the front of the line, Gary looked at us, and shouted “You! You came all this way!” to which we responded, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!”
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