Misery – From Where The Sun Never Shines (Inimical Records)
So here’s something that might excite somebody, somewhere (maybe). Long-dormant Minneapolis crust punk purveyors Misery emerged from a seventeen-year hiatus to offer up a double-album worth of new material, originally released digitally by the band and soon to be released on vinyl. Anybody who’s witnessed such a phenomenon should probably be leery of a record like this, as the track record for reformed bands’ comeback albums is not great. And I wish I could say that the new Misery album is an exception, but I can’t really go that far. There certainly have been worse offenders, but that’s about the highest compliment I can pay the band.
Misery – From Where The Sun Never Shines (Inimical Records)
So here’s something that might excite somebody, somewhere (maybe). Long-dormant Minneapolis crust punk purveyors Misery emerged from a seventeen-year hiatus to offer up a double-album worth of new material, originally released digitally by the band and soon to be released on vinyl. Anybody who’s witnessed such a phenomenon should probably be leery of a record like this, as the track record for reformed bands’ comeback albums is not great. And I wish I could say that the new Misery album is an exception, but I can’t really go that far. There certainly have been worse offenders, but that’s about the highest compliment I can pay the band.
It’s sort of cool that they include covers of Amebix and New Model Army – two of my favorite bands ever – even if they are wearing their influences a little brazenly. However, the choice of songs leaves a considerable amount to be desired – the instrumental intro to the Amebix album Monolith just seems like a selection uncharacteristic of that band’s larger body of work, and Sepultura already covered New Model Army’s “The Hunt” (and perhaps if Misery’s version didn’t sound like a sloppy version of Sepultura’s I’d give it more credit). Furthermore, the choice of bands themselves doesn’t really cast Misery in a flattering light. Both bands covered have existed for three decades and have constantly reinvented themselves, asserting their relevance with each successive release. Misery, on the other hand, is just doing what they’ve always done.
This isn’t to say that their approach is specifically bad. There are moments that the band pulls together into a mid-paced metallic gallop that shows their ability to digest their influences, but they largely seem to be treading water, albeit with considerably less energy than in their earlier incarnation. It’s not bad but not particularly exciting, though Misery does occasionally display some pretty solid moments that blend different strains of punk offshoots seamlessly, moments which keep me from being able to ever fully dismiss this album. It’s frustrating because there are really good parts in there, and some songs that could work really well. But – and this is extremely un-punk of me to say – these songs would be exponentially improved with a better recording. Blown-out low-fidelity production quality can sound good with some bands – even with Misery’s earlier work. But in the case of the band now, the recording is neither over-the-top raw nor cohesively well-produced, sitting in an awkward, muddy gray area that can make the songs seem sloppy and can overshadow what positive qualities are present.
The label’s description of this album said that the band had been working on it for five years, and I cannot figure out what exactly took them so long. What works to Misery’s disadvantage is that, unlike when they started in 1987, there are a shitload of bands playing this style of music and, thanks to communications technology, they’re pretty much all readily available. Misery were never a bad band, but their role as one of the earlier bands in their style to come out of the US aided their profile considerably. If you compare their most recent output with a lot of what has come out of their genre subsequently, their music doesn’t hold up well. While credit is due to them for being early progenitors of this style in America, that alone can’t carry an album.
The idea of old punk rockers carrying their frustrations and concomitant catharses into their later decades can be fairly divisive. In theory, the idea that music can age as gracefully as an individual, that we don’t have to surrender the things that meant so much in our youth, is an appealing one. In practical reality, many of the individuals who have attempted to reclaim past glories just end up rehashing the past. Maybe I’m just being immature (which I doubt; I’m pretty much the most subtle person that’s ever existed in the history of everything), but the title of this album sounds like a fart joke (and I pored over the lyrics trying to find some reference that might convince me otherwise). And that’s a lesson if ever I saw one: follow your dreams, never give up your passions, don’t let society dictate to you what you should do with your life, but if you’re in your forties and spend five years making an album titled after what could very easily be interpreted as a fart joke, maybe it’s time to recognize that your moment in the sun has come and gone.
