Miracle Legion
Years Of Operation 1984-96
Fits Between R.E.M. and The Reivers
"Glad" by Miracle Legion
Personal Correspondence I've written before about "pet bands:" the ones that some critics or fans persist in loving and touting even though the community at large has no real interest. The college-rock cast-offs Miracle Legion may have been the first "pet band" that I recognized as such. When I was younger, I often failed to understand why the catchy alt-rock bands I liked couldn't break through on the radio—nevermind their cruddy production and off-key vocals—but Miracle Legion seemed doomed to unpopularity to me even when I was buying all their records and seeing them live and writing glowing reviews. They did come close to breaking through, with their lone major label album, Drenched (which may be the only entry in their out-of-print catalog that can still be found relatively cheaply), but though the album was slick and hooky, Miracle Legion's brand of uptempo, melodic meat-and-potatoes jangle-rock wasn't selling in the age of Nirvana. Bandleader Mark Mulcahy continued his journey into cult-ville by providing the music for Nickelodeon's offbeat kids' show The Adventures Of Pete & Pete, and he's gone on to record some solo albums and take part in some other unusual theater and art projects. But it's the 10 years of music he made with Miracle Legion—always respected, rarely loved—that is his real legacy, and almost no one gets to hear that stuff anymore. I'd be thrilled with a reissue project—especially since all my old tapes sound so tinny and thn, even after I transferred them to CD—but I'm a realist when it comes to Miracle Legion. We fans are devout, but we are few.
Enduring presence? So why didn't Miracle Legion catch on? Blame R.E.M. Miracle Legion's debut EP The Backyard sounded uncannily like Fables Of The Reconstruction-era R.E.M., and R.E.M. remained a reference point throughout the band's career, even after each band had moved in different directions. There were so many R.E.M.-ish acts around then that they were hard to keep straight, but for my money, Miracle Legion were the best. (Aside from R.E.M. themselves, of course.)
Mission Of Burma
Years Of Operation 1979-83, 2002-present
Fits Between Pere Ubu and Hüsker Dü
"Dirt" by Mission Of Burma
Personal Correspondence Mission Of Burma doesn't really qualify as a "pet band," because they were widely acclaimed in their original run and often cited as an influence throughout the '80s, especially by fellow Boston-area scenesters like Pixies, Dinosaur Jr., Blake Babies and The Lemonheads, who each aspired to MoB's mix of brute force and nimble musicianship. Still, once the college-rock era ended, the band seemed doomed to die out as a reference point for the next generation of bands (and the critics who write about them). In the early '80s, Mission Of Burma had a reputation as the loudest band on the club circuit, which forced the band into early retirement when guitarist Roger Miller developed acute tinnitus. But Burma's loudness wasn't really comparable to any punk or metal act. The band just vibrated heavily, through songs that combined erratic melody, Morse code rhythms, and siren-like instrumental interludes. I'm happy they reunited a few years ago, not just because they went on to release two very strong albums, but because a new generation has gotten a chance to hear songs that sound at once alluring and terrifying, with a complexity and ferocity that sounds like Steely Dan playing through an air raid. Two decades on, Mission Of Burma is sweating out the same nightmares, making art-damaged music that rattles and collapses, leaving amazing debris.
Enduring presence? The documentary This Is Not A Photograph, about the Mission Of Burma reunion, contains a couple of great quotes from drummer Peter Prescott, who'd had some rough times in the business in the decades since the band ended. At one point, Prescott is worried that the reunited Burma is doomed to be "a lame version of what we did we were younger." By the end, even he appreciates their enthusiastic welcome back, saying, "I feel like I'm getting way more than I deserve, which is fine. I spent years getting way less."
Mitch Hedberg
Years Of Operation 1989-2005
Fits Between Steven Wright and Henny Youngman
"sprite" by Mitch Hedberg
"candybars" by Mitch Hedberg
"jokes" by Mitch Hedberg
"pancakes" by Mitch Hedberg
Personal Correspondence I've been mostly skipping past comedians in my summaries of what I've been listening to, even though I have a bunch of comedy albums, and have burned some of them onto my hard drive. I'm including Hedberg mainly as an excuse to post audio files of a few of my favorite jokes, and to link once again to my interview with him, conducted the day after my daughter was born, with me feeling very unprepared. I hadn't had time to do more than cursory research before calling Hedberg up, so I didn't know enough to delve into his troubled history with drugs or TV executives. I called him in the afternoon and I believe I woke him, since he sounded more out of it than usual when we started talking (though he warmed up by the end). Hedberg died about six months later, and I immediately regretted that I blew the opportunity to do a definitive interview with someone who's gone on to become something of a cult figure (and who hadn't really been interviewed at length before). But you know, I re-read that piece this week, and it's not as bad as I thought. I may have dropped the ball, but Mitch carried it a long way all on his own.
Enduring presence? I quote Hedberg in my daily life as much as I quote any other comedian (or comedy). The line above about writing down jokes? That's pretty much how I live my life: laziness crossed with self-justification.
Modest Mouse
Years Of Operation 1993-present
Fits Between Built To Spill and Death Cab For Cutie
"Never Ending Math Equation" by Modest Mouse
Personal Correspondence Say what you will about Modest Mouse's career trajectory, but there have been few musicians as committed to espousing a unified worldview through his songs than Isaac Brock. Modest Mouse has released album after album and song after song about traveling through vast, unmanned spaces, while Brock's echoing guitar patterns and mobius-strip lyrics evoke the feeling of staring ponderously at endless nothing. The band has borrowed unapologetically from prog-rockers like Rush, post-punkers like Joy Division, and has even drawn on elements of alt-country and white funk—all in the name of roaming through the uncharted territories of rock 'n' roll and keeping diaries of what the experience does to the head. Brock's vocal stylings fall halfway between enraged square-dance caller and depressed rapper, but at the core of his nightmarish, perpetually elliptical vision is a rather touching analogy for life and how we live it: always repeating and always returning, but also always feeding each other. The swirling, droning music is the appropriate backdrop for the message. Brock and his band are both providing the soundtrack to long journey and warning their passengers that the ride may be neverending. There's no destination here, only further travel.
Enduring presence? From album to album, Modest Mouse has made forward strides, usually alienating old fans along the way. To me though, what's fundamental about the band hasn't changed: Brock's whole persona—the thematic anchor to his band's rambling indie-rock excursions—emerges from insights he's gleaned while traveling in circles in the middle of nowhere. Modest Mouse's music sticks to cycles of drone and wave because that best emphasizes its creator's obsessions.
The Monkees
Years Of Operation 1965-70 (essentially)
Fits Between The Hollies and The Archies
"Randy Scouse Git" by The Monkees
Personal Correspondence When I was still in the single digits, I was as obsessive about watching The Monkees in syndication as I was about watching Batman and The Price Is Right. (Honestly, you could probably triangulate my taste and personality from childhood to now just by using those three shows.) I knew nothing of the controversy surrounding The Monkees—Did they write their own songs? Did they play their own instruments?—I just thought of them as colorful characters, indistinguishable from the ones I cheered for on Saturday morning cartoons. (My favorite Monkee was Mickey, because he was the wackiest.) But I liked the songs, too, which were eclectic, zippy and surprisingly loud for a family-friendly show. Later I discovered that the band did write some of their songs, and that by the end of their run they were playing their own instruments, but I'm still not one to pick nits with the earlier, less organic version of The Monkees. The people behind the show knew what they were doing, and they represented the Sunset Strip scene reasonably well, both in sensibility and sound. I heard a quote once from Stephen Stills (I think), who said that every rocker in L.A. in 1966 hated The Monkees, even though a year earlier every one of them stood in line and auditioned to be on the show.
Enduring presence? Though slagged as a prefab rock band with cynical intentions by the rock press of the '60s, The Monkees' reputation has been rehabilitated over the years as people have come to realize how much of an effort the band made to use their moment in the spotlight to run a little wild. The last season of their show is utter Dadaist mayhem, and the feature film Head—while pretentious and silly in equal measure—is legitimately mind-blowing at times. And then there are songs like my boyhood favorite "Randy Scouse Git," which is some kind of weirdo pastiche of music hall, orchestral bluster, acid rock and old movie soundtracks. This shit was on TV, man.
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Stray Tracks
From the fringes of the collection, a few songs to share….
Mercyland, "Eula Geary Is Dead"
"Eula Geary Is Dead" by Mercyland
Because Mercyland main man David Barbe went on to play bass with Bob Mould in Sugar, Athens' Great Punk Hope received a posthumous singles compilation on Rykodisc—an odd turn of events, but a welcome one. Mercyland never quite fit into the Athens music scene during their heyday. They were louder and tighter than most, and if Barbe hadn't had a lucrative side career as a studio owner and producer, I wonder if he would've considered moving Mercyland to a more punk-friendly city, like Chapel Hill or D.C. The band mined the "fuck conformity" vein too often, but while their lyrics were simplistic, their music rarely was. They could roar like rampaging bear, but they always knew what they were doing, and usually varied their attacks.
The Merry-Go-Round, "Time Will Show The Wiser"
"Time Will Show The Wiser" by The Merry-Go-Round
I wrote about Emmitt Rhodes' post-Merry-Go-Round solo career a few months back, and now here's the original stuff: sunshine pop with a stronger grounding in Americana than most. Fits between: The Free Design and Buffalo Springfield.
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