The Boston Phoenix - January 14, 1986

from THE BOSTON PHOENIX -January 14, 1986

Boston Phoenix 01/14/86

George Hurley, Mike Watt, and D.Boon: the price of Paradise

D. Boon 1958-1985

And the Minutemen 1980-

Two distinct feelings of loss can come when a
rocker dies, depending on whether it seems that
his or her finest work lies in the past or the future.
So the death of the Minutemen's D. (Dennes) Boon, in a freak
car accident on December 22 strikes a very different
chord from that of Rick Nelson, in a plane crash on New
Year's Eve. Nelson of course, was far more famous and
successful: as a boppin' teen idol, he had it all over dorks
like Fabian, and if the thought that he rose to celebrity in
his parents' white-bread TV show appalls you, remem-
ber that for a crucial early chunk of his singing career he
was backed by one of the sharpest studio groups in the
land. Still, though he might have surprised us someday,
his work had been tepid indeed for at least 13 years.
When we mourn Nelson, we mourn a performer who
enriches our memories.

By contrast, Boon and his bandmates -
bassist/songwriter Mike Watt and drummer George
Hurley - have been releasing an average of two records
a year since 1980, growing increasingly articulate and
more complex; and the process continues on their new 3-
Way Tie (for Last) (SST). The Minutemen also boast an
unpredictability, a defiance, and a passion for social
criticism that sets them apart from Nelson. But he could
claim one pop achievement they haven't begun to
match: 53 Top 40 singles. What ties together the phases
of the Minutemen's career is their drive to remedy their
commercial shortcomings without giving up the vision
they began with. When we mourn the loss of Boon, we
mourn provocative rock and roll that will never be.

From their mid-'70s beginings as "bedroom war-
riors" (Watt's term), playing for one another in their
working-class homes in San Pedro, California, the
Minutemen have followed the wandering star of go-
your-own-way punk. When they began doing club gigs
at the end of the decade, hard core was the rage, and
numerous young, abrasive bands were lumped under
that rubric. The Minutemen have always insisted their
involvement was marginal; nevertheless, their debut EP,
Paranoid Time (1980), certainly sounded like the
hardcore of an airy, less vengeful Black Flag (whose
guitarist, Greg Ginn, produced the record). Letting
nature follow nomenclature, five of the seven tracks on
the record lasted less than 60 seconds - and though the
Minutemen's songs have lengthened steadily, Watt in
particular has remained fascinated by riff-snippets.
Without slipping into oppressive density or hyper-
activity, the three instruments raced one another to
finish numbers; choppy guitar lines, muttering bass, and
clattering drums tangled together, almost stumbling but
not quite, until they stopped short and began again in a
slightly different alignment. At this point, the lyrics
offered bald bursts of discontent over "Definitions" and
potshots at unconvincing bogeys, like "Fascist" and "Joe
McCarthy's Ghost." Boon and Watt knew their angry
alienation was snarled up somehow with the misuse of
power, propaganda, and politics, but they had trouble
getting out more than deliberately oblique, bright-
adolescent jeers. "Paranoid Chant," the frankest cut,
was also the most personal: "I try to work and I keep
thinking of World War III / I try to talk to girls and I keep
thinking of World War III / The goddamn six-o'clock
news makes sure I keep thinking of World War III."

What Makes a Man Start Fires? (1982), their second
LP, marked the apex of what might be called the
Minutemen's metaphysical-prole period. Boon, always
more the feverish orator than the conventional warbler
or harsh bellower, had mastered the ungraceful, prosaic
cadences of his and Watt's words so well that track after
track slipped by like an unbroken chain of aphorism.
The rhythms of the band, meanwhile; merged with and
diverged from those of the vocals at will, sometimes
falling into a mismatched call-and-response, sometimes
breaking off into an entirely new pattern. With Hurley
introducing more syncopation and Watt and Boon
weaving through polyrhythmic obbligatos and abrupt
solos, the Minutemen became the harmelodic Ornette
Colemans of punk (and re-emphasized how much the
jazzbos in that genre drew on the skewed beats of rural
blues). Leftover dabs of sensationalism ("Mutiny in
Jonestown") and non-sequitur vertigo ("Life as a
Rehearsal") were leavened with naturalistic/surrealistic
mixtures ("Plight") that probed into the systems that
enforce isolation and passivity in the underclass.

By the time the EP Buzz or Howl Under the Influence
of Heat (1983) and especially the two-record Double
Nickels on the Dime (1984) appeared, the Minutemen
had developed the internal fortitude to digest a
smorgasbord of fresh styles: funk with horns, country,
light metal, mid-tempo romantic numbers, and more.
The acerbic-humor quotient went up ("I Felt like a
Gringo," "Political Song for Michael Jackson To Sing,"
"The Roar of the Masses Could Be Farts"); some songs
were straightforward stories about everyday love and
labor, Boon renewed his fixation with international
politics ("Viet Nam," "West Germany," "UntitledSong
for Latin America") and a bristling guitar attack that ran
through drones, power chords, and peppery dance
figures. With four sides and 46 songs, Double Nickels
offered an overwhelming cornucopia of gems, throw-
aways, and outright weirdness; but curiously, much of it
repaid repeated listening by giving you an increased
sense of the Minutemen's affection for standard rock.
When they opened up the arrangements into knotty
good-time jams onstage, that affection was much more
evident. And as if to make sure this side of them was not
overlooked, Double Nickels included terse covers of
Creedence Clearwater Revival, Van Halen, and Steely
Dan.

Cover versions? This far along in the game? The
Minutemen had neatly reversed the standard newcomer
procedure of using familiar outside material as dry runs
for mature modes. Instead, Boon, Watt, and Hurley had
nailed down their idiom and then selected oldies
intended to expose their wellsprings and tip off (wider)
audiences where they were coming from. No question,
the itch for a bigger following affected the Minutemen -
and it wasn't just a simple impatience for fame but the
primal pop realization that they would stagnate if they
didn't get their warnings and exhortations a mass
hearing. With that in mind, the group released Project:
Mersh (SST) in the middle of last year. The supposedly
com-mersh-al EP includes a take of Steppenwolf's "Hey
Lawdy Mama," a couple of easy-to-grasp numbers
denouncing rampant military build-ups and superpower
posturing, and "Tour-Spiel," another in a series of band
autobiographies. Tempos and riffs are slowed down and
evened out (though not simplified); hazy, offhand bits of
SoCal neopsychedelia waft through the second side; and
Boon makes a game (if strained) stab at singing smoother
melodies. The songs bubble along agreeably enough,
though the Minutemen never get comfortable trying to
sweeten their tart rhetoric. Still, by allowing Boon and
Watt to experiment with more temperate and overtly
plaintive tones, Project: Mersh provided them with
another arrow for their quiver.

The Minutemen hit bullseyes every time on 3-Way Tie
(for Last). It's a generous record - 11 originals and five
covers - but not a profligate one, and it shows the
composure, the orderliness, of a group with a rich array
of cards to pIay and the support of an imaginative
coproducer (Ethan James, who first took the controls on
Double Nickels). Picking up on the straight-talking
manner of Project: Mersh, Boon's "The Price of
Paradise" is less a strident reminder of the lessons of
Vietnam than a fervent account of the impression left by
an older brother's war stories. It's tough to get bounce
and sway going in a song that eschews verses and chorus,
(as the Minutemen's always do), but the keening guitar
fills and the precise drum accents generate a subsurface
lilt here. Following a bracing detour for the Meat
Puppets' find-yourself-on-the-highway lament "Lost,"
Boon gets back on the government's case with "The Big
Stick." This brittle, folkish ditty led by acoustic-guitar
strokes makes a forthright call for accountability and
restraint south of the border: "Now over there in
Managua Square, American-made bombs are falling
everywhere.... These bombs are made by both me and
you and we're told that we hold a big stick over them.
What I know, from what I read, is that all men are
created equal." Boon manages only the rudiments of a
melody on "Courage," but his skittering electric break
and the dainty acoustic coda featuring Watt are among
the most deft on the album. The truly grand finale of the
"Side D." of 3-Way Tie is a remake of CCR's "HaveYou
Ever Seen the Rain?", which turns all the liabilities of
Boon's voice into liberations. No, it doesn't cut the
original; yes, it sure hammers home how devotion to and
profound association with a superb song can override
technical quibbles. Fogerty's terrifying image of bom-
bardment - "Sun is cold and rain is hot" - never
sounded so ominous coming from his glorious pipes.

The "'Side Mike" of the LP confirms that Watt and
Boon were traveling on complementary but increasingly
divergent roads. The bassist's first cover choice is Blue
Oyster Cult's "The Red and the Black," which though it
mocks the violent bloodlust lurking in any police force
finds the business of dominance and submission rather
sexy (and besides, the spacy bass interlude near the end
of this version scotches the song's momentum). A few
tracks later, "Stories" and "What Is It?" prove thatWatt
preserves hardcore's basic grimace-and-shrug attitude
toward love. This is not to say that his contributions to 3-
Way Tie fall flat (he's unquestionably the man who put
the bomp in the band, as his pelvis pump behind "No
One" reaffirms), but only that as a source of ideals and
humanism, CCR beat the Cult hollow. And that Boon's
touch of fellow feeling warmed up the Minutemen and
will be sharply missed.

Ironically, an insert in 3-Way Tie announces that the
band was planning a triple-record, half-live/half-studio
bombshell next summer and invites fans to vote on 30
favorite numbers to be included on the concert portion.
However Watt and Hurley pick up the pieces, it would
be a fine tribute to the guitarist to put out an album of
live tracks, since he was at his most exuberant and
freewheeling on stage. Finally, it must be noted that the
majority of the group's material was written by Watt;
though the minute may have passed, the men will go on.
To quote the lyrics of the shifting-textures showcase
"Situations at Hand": "There are still lofty dreams,
meager desires, and still sillyness."