Looking for a rock and roll hero who has had a career for
decades, never “sold out,” never made a shitty record, never been, er… spoiled
by great success (read: never got really famous)? Look no further than Steve Wynn.
He is still out there (sometimes with a reunited Dream Syndicate) playing his
brand of heroic music, equally in thrall to the late 60’s and late 70’s
underground (think Velvet Underground meets Standells meets Television with
lots of guitar based jamming in the live show and you start to get the
picture.) Lyrically, Dream Syndicate were in the beatnik/Patti Smith tradition
of literary, thoughtful anthems. The Medicine Show was their second
album and first for a major label, so expectation in the 1984 underground was
very high for this album. With big-time producer Sandy Pearlman (The Clash,
Blue Oyster Cult) on board, it seemed like these brainy L.A. Paisley
Underground heroes might break through to the mainstream and change the face of
modern pop (pretty bad at that time) for the better. As it turned out, history
frowned on the whole Paisley Underground movement (it would have gone
gangbusters now) and almost all of the great bands from that era (Opal, Rain
Parade, The Long Ryders etc.) are no more than a footnote. However, at that
particular moment in time I remember being blown away by this thoughtful,
intense album.
The heart of all Dream Syndicate music lies in the
juxtaposition of their lyrical ambition, with their fearless guitar workouts.
Somewhere between Neil Young’s ferocity and Tom Verlaine’s stinging precision,
lead guitarist Karl Precoda laid it down for the ages on this album. Snaking in
and out of Wynn’s snarling vocals on songs like “Bullet With My Name On It” or
the title track, his guitar coils in waiting for the opportunity to strike with
lethal force, biting with venomous lethality. One of the unsung guitar heroes
of the modern era, Precoda is as distinctive as he is reminiscent of the
greats. On the song “Medicine Show,” and the incomparable “John Coltrane
Stereo Blues” Wynn’s brains and Precoda’s brawn provide the exact raw
elements needed to combine and produce a musical explosion. The first time I
heard “Coltrane” I could not believe a rock band had the ballsy effrontery to
name a song after one of the great musical geniuses of the era and then just
OWN it as powerfully as The Dream Syndicate did. After Wynn sets the stage with
his hipster verses about 20th century musical ennui, he and Precoda
tear into an absolutely, joyously dangerous cat and mouse game with verses and
guitar breaks, building in intensity to a psychedelic punk frenzy that’ll grow
some hair on your chest. Live, the band would take this song to
sometimes-ridiculous lengths, but the album version is just right.
The album comes to a close with a reminder of Wynn’s superb
songwriting on the Springsteen-like “Merritville.” Pearlman’s intelligent production lends the band the gleam and
restraint they needed to smooth their raw edges, yet he keeps their spiky, punk
vitality completely intact. Precoda rips into a meaty, noisy solo between
Wynn’s honest verses on American life. Springsteen, Michael Jackson and Prince
all topped the charts in 1984, and when one listens to The Medicine Show
in that context, it is both a wonder that it wasn’t a hit, and a reminder that
in any given year, much of the cultural and intellectual vitality of our
society is well hidden from the public eye.
- Paul Epstein
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