Dangerous Rhythms #8 - Summer '87
Crime And The City Solution
Room Of Lights 12" - LP - 33.3
So, you get yourself a Brahma bull, shoot him full of dexadrin, lock him in a pen painted deep red for a couple hours, then turn him loose on a drunken, reeling poet. The moment of impact -- horn hitting alcohol-soaked hide is captured on Room Of Lights and reiterated endlessly like a session of Chinese water torture if your system has not been acclimated to such a raw, throbbing intensely human sound already OR 40 minutes of beatific rapture if you've been hepped. Definitely aimed at those who percieve at an angle.
Crime grew out of Birthday Party, who in turn were inspired by Crime. Singer/songwriter Simon Bonney is the only original member of the band has found able abetment indeed in Party/Boys Rowland Howard and Mick Harvey, Rowland's li'l bro Harry and Epic Soundtracks, drummer of Swell Maps (also nesting spot for Nikki Sudden who's had Crime guest on his latest stuff and plans on more collaborations in the very near future).
An ugly, ecstatic, swaying waltz -- odd amount of tunes move to mangled waltz metres. Rowland and Mick mesh guitars in the definitive Terminal Blues 'lectric mo-an. Lurching outta a Germanic Swampland mud-wallow, stinkin' an' sweatin' a' screaming. Ya-ow!
Bonney always reminds me of Tom Waits shriven of his major label recording contracts and forced to work within the SST aesthetic - you can see the moves a young Master Cave copped from watching Simon work-it-on-out in the late '70's. Tho' Nicky cut his Howling-Brain-Thrust-Into-Da-Void attack with a decided Vaudevillian air that in the Birthday Party was a nice contrast, but solo is kinda pathetic - like hokum. So Crime-'87 is a more concertedly fiercesome prospect -- a poisonous snake in search of food.
The LP mix of "Adventure" has a nice lumbering feel to it -- Jason Maskface having gained weight, sniffin' out toddlers to butcher. "Six Bells Chime" is another fave, a manic explosion of bad nerves running amuck -- in place; dashing its feet to bloody stumps before keeling over and twitching away into oblivion.
A long, tall drink of hot Spleen. Typically what I toss on Friday after work to wash away the botheration. (Botheration and dirty dishes are mutually exclusive annoyances --Ed.)
- Howard Wuelfing