The Konks - The Konks; BBQ - Tie Your Noose

There’s a lot to be said for our modern, a-go-go world. While it’s true that we don’t have the flying cars or the vacation homes on the moon we’d been promised when I was a kid, this computer I’m typing on is pretty cool, for one thing. And, y’know, heart transplants and velcro and Altoids and such, they’re all very good. Especially the Altoids.

Every now and then, though, it’s good to get back to your more primitive roots. Throw that cell phone in the lake, pull that GPS tracking unit outta your sphincter and live a little. De-civilize yourself a bit. Stop and smell the tar pits. Roll around in the mud. Maybe put a bone in your hair. (C’mon, you know you wanna do it.) Remember, humans aren’t just birth-school-work-death automaton robot machines. No. We are, in fact mammals, and among other things, mammals are the animals that play.

That’s right. Model yourself on the playful otter, the sportive dog, the randy rabbit, the majestic chimpanzee. Have some fun for a change! Be goofy! Because you don’t see too many otters dropping dead from heart attacks or perforated ulcers or other stress-related diseases, do you?

Now, before you cast off that business suit and go swinging off into the trees, you’re gonna want a soundtrack for your de-evolution. Music soothes the savage beast, yes, but it can also inflame the senses, awaken the soul and generally facilitate the temporary triumph of the id. This is good.

There was a time, not so very long ago, when rock & roll was fun. No, really. You kids will just have to take my word for it. Set up, plug in, turn the amps to 11 (because it is, in fact, one louder), and bash it out. One-two-three-four! Lather, rinse, repeat.

These days, though, there’s an awful lot of humorlessness in music. Everybody’s so painfully earnest. I believe the British call it being po-faced. At any rate, that sort of thing is not what we’re looking for here. But fear not, my fellow monkeys, for the folks at Bomp Records have stepped up to the plate on your behalf. If you like it raw and primitive (and if you don’t, you should stop reading here), they’ve got a couple of new discs that’ll have you hopping around and doing the idiot dance in no time.

Straddling the divide between garage rock and punk like a snot-nosed colossus is The Konks’ self-titled album. As they proudly proclaim in “29 Fingers”, they play “cheap guitars and only two lousy drums”, yet the noise they make with those meager instruments is a righteously primordial one.

Had there been garages and electric guitars back in Neolithic times, The Konks would surely have been top of the pops. (Work with me, OK?) This band aspires to lo-fi status, and achieves it nicely. Bob’s guitar solos (all Konks go by their first names) on opening track “Outta My Mind” (not to be confused with “Out Of My Mind” – that’s track 7) and the aforementioned “29 Fingers” sound as if someone were very slowly dragging the tonearm across a Sonics album. (Kids, go ask your parents what that would have sounded like.)

Drummer/vocalist Kurt sounds more and more like the late lamented Bon Scott over the course of the disc – especially on the greasy cover of Aerosmith’s “Let The Music Do The Talking” that wraps things up – with some wild primate grunts and screams thrown in for good measure. And when Jon’s bass surfaces in the mix, it’s not just plodding along. He’s working that plank.

Article Author: bmarkey

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