When punk was surging it's volatile head in the mid-late 1970's, a fanzine in circulation in the UK proudly encapsulated the character of the revolution by declaring on the rear cover "E A D - now form a band". This was the pillar ethic of punk rock; rebellious rock that was spawned not from the mother-friendly Chuck Berry or Pat Boone, but from the bedroom, from abuse and anguish, from ourselves. It is this same ethic which became the shrapnel of many musical movements to come after the punk explosion, and it this ethic within the Von Bondies early albums that made them such a brilliant force at the turn of the new millennium.
A further jewel in the early 21st centuries garage-rock revival (one 'revival' amongst many) the Von Bondies were riding a rave-wave side by side with Kings of Leon, the White Stripes, the Hives, Interpol, Franz Ferdinand, Modest Mouse, the Secret Machines, and the Killers as a 'new breed' of bands that would mark the birth of a new generation of teenagers keen for the rebellin', and frowning authority figures commenting that this is nothing the Who hadn't done first. And yes, it was a movement composed of the children of late 20th century heroes, who would dismantle the rock'n'roll of their fathers and cough it up in an all too familiar cry for approval, as if shrieking 'look Dad, I can do this too!" But none the less, it was a movement spurred on by genuine love for rock'n'roll and genuine music was made... but not only made, heralded by NME, Pitchfork and Rolling Stone as the only thing on the planet worth masturbating over.
The Von Bondies debut Lack of Communication was a dirty, distorted rock album - a direct heroin shoot of obvious influences from the 1960's and 1970's. The beats were felt more than heard, and the strings tugged rather than picked. It was pure potential in pill-form. An exciting start to what should be a promising new age.
The band positively exploded (along with the movement as a whole) after their release of their second album Pawn Shoppe Heart, and infamous single 'C'mon C'mon' which has grown to be an anthem of, well, my generation. The album was an attempt at leashing the marauding soundscape wild on their debut, and for the most part it was a success. It was less generic rock, and more Von Bondies. The character of the band is epitomised in 'C'mon C'mon'. I remember first hearing it at the age of sixteen and becoming utterly captivated with the feeling of how ... carefree the song was, how loose and wandering, as if the creation of an impromptu jam session on every listen; I wondered what stopped the entire thing from just falling apart. The video for the single had an even stronger influence on me:
The very idea of garage rock seemed to be directly connected with youth, and at the supposedly innocent age of sixteen I began to evaluate for the first time what it meant to be young. So yes, I had first hand experience at the soul inherent in garage-rock, as well as the other mentioned bands and their allocated movements; punk, blues-rock, indie, whatever.
It was with great excitement then that I learned this afternoon, that after six years of silence the Von Bondies had released a third album; Love, Hate, and Then There's You. Too anxious to wait for my download to complete, I Googled it's first single 'Pale Bride'...
There is no use for contrast analysis, for the contrast is obvious. This new sound is comparatively a gutless sack of skittles which lacks the heart and fire of the Von Bondies I grew up with. Unlike the hopping bass intro of 'C'mon C'mon' which is uniquely Von Bondies, the twanging monotonous opening of 'Pale Bride' is so generic it makes the Foo Fighter's last album look utterly inspirational. And watching the flashing backlight behind drummer Don Blum I couldn't help but beg the question why anyone would actually try to imitate the undoings of Kings of Leon. And the rest of the album is little different.
I couldn't play my favourite card of blaming an evil corporate music label for this swift change of character like I could with Coldplay (dammit), as the Bondies are signed with Majordomo; a label so indie it presumably doesn't know it exists. The producer is second in line on my blame-favourites list. But I believe there is a more over-arching theme in play.
It came from a question: where the fuck have the Von Bondies gone? And for that matter, where the fuck have the Kings of Leon gone? Where are the Hives hiding? All three have released third albums of a drastically inferior quality than their nature would almost certainly allow. Their nature has therefore changed.
The answer: they're in 2004. It is a sad truth that the fashions of music (especially music that wants to sell) changes face at every beat of the heart in contemporary times, and no matter how genuine and how brilliant garage-rock was in the early 2000's, revival movements can never stay in fashion for long. It is a garage-rock band's dilemma (as well as punk-rock, emo, hip-hop and countless others) when their overnight popularity - due it seems to simply having the right sound at the right time - disintigrates as the musical palette of a mass audience constantly craving the shiny and new grows disinterested and moves on. And as the movement tries to keep pace and keep their careers alive, it would seem only natural that they move away from their core talent to persue newer sounds, more simplistic ideas, and consequently underwhelming, generic music.
It will be interesting to see how well the Bondies third album succeeds in the marketplace, as my theory suggests it has been designed for purely this reason. I ask, what has happened to rock music? I conclude, look at Weezer. Look at Coldplay, the Dandy Warhols, the Hives and especially Kings of Leon. These are all artists who are struggling to find their once so beloved identity in an age where pop music has turned it's back on the music they make best.* The sign of the times does not change my personal feelings to the artists or my dedication to their work. None-the-less, it is with sadness and fond memories that I add the Von Bondies to the list of those that have been left behind.
- C. Gilbert
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