Versus: Bruce Springsteen March Madness Round 4

[Versus pits two of an artist’s classic albums against each other even if they’re stylistically different, because that “you can’t compare apples and oranges” bullshit is for people without balls, spines, or all those other things that separate us from the villainous jellyfish. This month, Versus is hosting a March Madness/Mortal Kombat tournament of Bruce Springsteen's 16 finest studio albums.]

Final Round: Nebraska v. The Rising

FIGHT!

At this point, the more obvious Springsteen favorites (Born to Run, Darkness on the Edge of Town, Born in the U.S.A.) have fallen by the wayside, leaving behind two albums that I think get overlooked in the Bruce canon. That doesn’t necessarily negate the point of Versus, which is the pursuit of rock ‘n’ roll truth or whatever, but I honestly didn’t think I would discuss any of Springsteen’s work post-1984 when I came up with this tournament.

I kind of always knew Nebraska would come up, though. It will probably never be as big as Born to Run, but its influence on indie music has been huge over the last 30 years. It began life as a demo collection of songs for the next E Street Band album. But practices yielded versions that lacked the demo’s haunting, sparse quality. Eventually, Bruce opted to just release the songs as they were, minus “Born in the U.S.A.” The resulting record took elements that had been present in Bruce’s work since at least Born to Run – the darker failings of America – and pushed them to the forefront.

The songs have various energies, but they’re all just different kinds of desperate. “Atlantic City” is the closest thing to a rocker, a strummed out ode to a failing romance. “Highway Patrolman,” “Johnny 99,” and “State Trooper” form a trilogy of bad dealings with the law. Familial strains come up as well, again on “Highway Patrolman,” as well as “Used Cars” and “My Father’s House.” The closest thing to uplift comes on the concluding track, “Reason to Believe.” Over a bluesy riff, Bruce is confronted with a litany of disturbing images and realizes that faith is meant to placate. It’s a stark conclusion to a stark record.

Nebraska gets by on minimalism and good lyrics. It also birthed a new genre, lo-fi. By utilizing lower fidelity, artists can create a haze for listeners to get lost in. Monster movies are more effective when the creature is hidden, a la Jaws or The Thing, and the same could be said of lo-fi. The tones implied are just as important as the ones heard. Springsteen has tried a few times to recreate Nebraska’s indie-folk, with mixed results, but it truly is a one-of-a-kind record in his discography.

The Rising is, in some ways, Nebraska’s opposite. It’s like 15 tracks’ worth of “Reason to Believe.” Released nine years ago (Holy shit) just after 9/11, the record is loaded with hope and rumination. While some of the songs date back to the late ’90s, The Rising took on an instant political context. Springsteen was one of America’s great rock heroes in the ’70s and ’80s, and here he was, back again to comfort us and prop the country back up.

Now that 9/11 is nearly a decade behind us (Holy shit 2x), I can listen to Rising without the political pull and just hear a solid collection of songs about getting better. Plenty of Bruce albums mix joy and desperation. Nebraska tipped towards the desperate; Rising is like the day after, the realization that the past is done and the future can still be glorious. It acknowledges hard times, but it’s still a midtempo party record, thanks to tunes like “Lonesome Day” and “Waitin’ on a Sunny Day.” Clarence “Big Man” Clemons provides fun sax solos while Bruce chimes in with goofy platitudes. One of the songs is straight up called “Let’s Be Friends.” This is a beers ‘n’ brats record.

The album deals with religious imagery at times, beautifully so on “Mary’s Place” and “My City of Ruins.” In fact, “Mary’s Place” might be one of the best Bruce songs of all time. I’d put it up against “Thunder Road” or “Rosalita” any day. That song just builds and builds to this epically huge chorus. It simmers on the bridge before exploding one final time. If you’ve seen it performed live, you know “Mary’s Place” drives the crowds crazy.

But what ultimately gives Nebraska the edge of Rising is consistency. Nebraska is fat-free. The Rising was Bruce’s comeback album, his first release of all new material since 1994’s The Ghost of Tom Joad, and while I can see the appeal in getting 72 minutes of new music, it just doesn’t need to be that long. Maybe if it had been trimmed to 10 tracks, like Nebraska, this would be a harder decision, but The Rising does not need to be 15 songs deep. No one needed the world music via Sting-ism of "Worlds Apart;" cutting that song along would save six minutes.

The clear winner in this round and this tournament is Nebraska, a subtle acoustic record that has lost none of its power. It’s the least representative of Bruce’s overall sound, but it’s the best.

[For Michael. I’m sorry Darkness got knocked out in the first round.]

Versus: Bruce Springsteen March Madness Round 3

[Versus pits two of an artist’s classic albums against each other even if they’re stylistically different, because that “you can’t compare apples and oranges” bullshit is for people without balls, spines, or all those other things that separate us from the villainous jellyfish. This month, Versus is hosting a March Madness/Mortal Kombat tournament of Bruce Springsteen's 16 finest studio albums.]

Round 3, Bracket 1

1. Born to Run v. Nebraska

Here we find perhaps Bruce’s sound best distilled into two different styles: The joyous, thunderous glee of The E Street Band on Born to Run and the stark, acoustic minimalism of Nebraska. I’m generalizing, of course, but when I originally thought about doing a Versus on Springsteen, these two albums first came to mind. Born to Run is perhaps the most classic of Bruce’s classic albums. Born in the U.S.A. sold more, but if you’re looking for a single record that best encapsulates all of Bruce’s influences – top 40 ’60s pop, ’50s rock ‘n’ roll, noir movies – this is the record to buy. It’s the best introduction, it’s filler-free, and it’s got the best saxophone parts from Clarence “Big Man” Clemons. From “Thunder Road” to “Jungleland,” Springsteen paints a series of vignettes about love, loss, and cars, and while being stuck somewhere in the swamps of Jersey. This is how you shut up detractors.

But once you’ve absorbed Born to Run, where do you go from there? Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J. is a little more fun and Darkness on the Edge of Town is a little heavier. But Nebraska is the only record Bruce ever tried to remake (Although I guess you could argue that Human Touch and Lucky Town were a River retread). Most of Bruce’s albums were homages to his favorite styles. With Nebraska, he invented one of his own, lo-fi. Lo-fi is marked by low fidelity recording quality, which lends songs a hazy atmosphere. It forces listeners to imagine more about what’s going on, creating sounds that aren’t there. It’s like keeping a monster in the darkness: More effective. Born to Run is stuffed with instrumentation, but it’s the same listen every time. Nebraska constantly shifts its shape, lending already amazing songs like “Atlantic City” and “Johnny 99” an extra enticing quality. At this point in the tournament, there are no real losers, but let’s be clear: Born to Run is a great record. Nebraska is a better.

Winner: Nebraska

Round 3, Bracket 2

2. Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J. v. The Rising

Greetings is a party starter. It’s a euphoric romper-stomper that rarely lets up. Even when it does, it’s for emotionally resonant stuff like “For You.” Propelled by Vini “Mad Dog” Lopez’s loose, kinetic style, the songs are a little sloppy, but in a good way. The songs are played with conviction, and that’s what sells the record. Springsteen was still finding his voice as a songwriter, but as a singer he was already world-class.

Much like Born in the U.S.A. last week, The Rising has Greetings outgunned in terms of lyrics (and production quality too). Greetings is certainly catchy, but it’s also the sound of Springsteen before he got any real life experience. The tunes aren’t really about anything. Oh sure, some are about love or death, but in a vague sense. Rising, meanwhile, was an extended hand to help the country out post-9/11. The songs didn’t start out that way, but by the time the record was released in 2002, The Rising became something else: A call to hope. From “Lonesome Day” to “My City of Ruins,” the record acknowledges that hard times have come and will come again, but it finds a peace through determination.

The Rising isn’t just about big issues either. Some of the songs are out-and-out fun. I’ve seen people lose their shit for “Mary’s Place,” a six-minute epic about, well, having a party, just as much as they do for “Rosalita.” With just that one song, Bruce takes everything he did on Greetings and betters it. “Mary’s Place” packs a huge hook second only to that build-up of a bridge. The lyrics provide respite from all the chaos going on in the world, blending religious imagery with a reminder that we’re still alive. Greetings is fun, but it comes off as a little empty compared to Rising.

Winner: The Rising

Versus: Bruce Springsteen March Madness Round 2

[Versus pits two of an artist’s classic albums against each other even if they’re stylistically different, because that “you can’t compare apples and oranges” bullshit is for people without balls, spines, or all those other things that separate us from the villainous jellyfish. This month, Versus is hosting a March Madness/Mortal Kombat tournament of Bruce Springsteen's 16 finest studio albums.]

Round 2, Bracket 1

1. Tracks v. Born to Run

Tracks has a wealth of secret Springsteen material and takes a long time to fully digest. There’s B-sides and unreleased alternate versions galore. The Nebraska version of “Born in the U.S.A.” is chilling, while tunes like “Dollhouse,” “My Love Will Not Let You Down,” and “Thundercrack” are among his catchiest, so much so that it’s crazy that these tunes never made it onto a proper album before 1998. That said, Tracks eats shit on its fourth disc, which covers Bruce’s fallow ’90s period. For proof, check out “Part Man, Part Monkey,” a reggae/bar band hybrid that kills all the good times the first three discs cultivate (And yet somehow fans actually requested this when I saw Bruce at Hersheypark Stadium!). Tracks is good, but it ain’t perfect.

But you know what is perfect? Born to Run. Eight songs. No filler. No reggae bullshit. The record practically plays like a greatest hits package on to itself, from the opening swells of “Thunder Road” to the closing piano lines of “Jungeland.” A concept album about being young, in love, and broke, Run is an untouchable rock record. When people tell me they hate Bruce, I bide my time until I can casually quote a line or two from Run. Sooner or later they come around on the Boss’ poetry and realize there’s more to him than just “Glory Days.”

Winner: Born to Run

2. Devils & Dust v. Nebraska

Devils & Dust is a fine display of Bruce’s political and religious imagery, but musically, it’s a Nebraska retread. What’s funny is that Nebraska didn’t even sell that well when it came out in 1982. Granted, it went gold, but The River went quintuple times platinum. Born in the U.S.A. went 15x platinum. Nebraska is a cult record by comparison, albeit a mainstream, critically successful. Which is probably why Springsteen has attempted recreating it a couple of times, first with The Ghost of Tom Joad and then with Devils & Dust. Those records are good, but they can’t touch the raw feeling one gets from Nebraska. The lyrics are among Springsteen’s darkest, which the grainy, lo-fi recording quality aids. Darkness on the Edge of Town at least had “Prove It All Night;” Nebraska’s lone source of hope is that, through all the shit its characters endure, they must persevere simply because there are no alternatives. Joad and Devils are sparse albums, but they still come off as overproduced by comparison. Nebraska started off as demos, but Bruce realized that the songs sounded perfect as they were. None of his other acoustic albums can claim that.

Winner: Nebraska

Round 2, Bracket 2

3. Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J. v. Born in the U.S.A.
   
   

U.S.A. was a huge record for Bruce. Hell, it was big for the ’80s in general, along with Michael Jackson’s Thriller and Prince’s Purple Rain. Yeah, it’s a little cheesy in places, but it deserved those big numbers. The record was honest and heartfelt as always, but it focused Bruce’s blue collar perspective into these tight pop gems like “No Surrender” and “My Hometown.” It’s also one of the few political records that broke into the mainstream. Hip-hop and hardcore were too underground at the time to take the U.S. government to task the way “Born in the U.S.A.” did. When President Ronald Reagan tried co-opting the song for re-election, only to find out that the song is actually an indictment of the U.S. government and its handling of the Vietnam War, it made the song all the more powerful, as if to say, “These dumb fucks really don’t get it.”

Born in the U.S.A. has the edge on Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J. lyrically. U.S.A. is focused and makes big statements. Greetings is more of a nonsensical party record. Springsteen was once dubbed “the New Dylan,” and in a way Greetings is his most Dylan-esque record lyrically. The words just kind of flow out and fill space. The choruses usually give the songs a purpose (“For You,” “Growin’ Up”) while the verses meander. Question: What is a “Go-kart Mozart?” Still, the songs pack resonance. Part of the power of Springsteen’s words comes from how he says them, and that’s especially true of Greetings. He delivers each song with energy and emotion. On top of that, these tunes are fun. U.S.A. may be more important on a soci-political scale, but musically it just can’t top “Blinded By the Light” or “It’s Hard to Be a Saint in the City.” It’s a fun listen, and that goes a long way.

Winner: Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J.

4. Magic v. The Rising

When Magic came out, all I could do was compare it to The Rising, so this seems appropriate. Rising arrived just when it was needed. It had been a while since Springsteen soothed Americans’ collective conscience, but here he was after 9/11 to remind us that life does and must go on. Truthfully, most of Rising was written before 9/11, but the themes Springsteen dealt with – failure and redemption – were so universal that it took on an instant context anyway. Magic was the belated E Street sequel after Bruce explored folk music on Devils & Dust and We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions, and I tend to judge the two as a piece anyway. Magic ultimately can’t compete with Rising on any level. Yeah, it’s got some good rockers like “Radio Nowhere,” but it’s all over the place stylistically, as if Bruce was trying to sum up his entire discography through “Livin’ in the Future” and “Terry’s Song.” It doesn’t comment on the times quite as well as Rising does, but then again Magic still took heat from conservative fans, so maybe Bruce applied just the right amount of political protest. Still, it’s too glossy and unfocused, whereas Rising has a warm sound and plenty of pep.

Winner: The Rising

Versus: Bruce Springsteen March Madness Round 1

[Versus pits two of an artist’s classic albums against each other even if they’re stylistically different, because that “you can’t compare apples and oranges” bullshit is for people without balls, spines, or all those other things that separate us from the villainous jellyfish. This month, Versus is hosting a March Madness/Mortal Kombat tournament of Bruce Springsteen's 16 finest studio albums.]

Bracket 1

1. The Ghost of Tom Joad v. Tracks
   
   

Ghost of Tom Joad was Springsteen’s best album of the ’90s. A quiet return to Nebraska’s acoustic, dark storytelling after the critical and commercial failure of the Human Touch and Lucky Town pop rock records, it features such essential Bruce tunes as “Youngstown” and the title track. But it’s also got some real clunkers, like “My Best Was Never Good Enough,” which closes out the record with a Forrest Gump quote for whatever reason. Tracks, meanwhile, is a four-disc boxed set of Bruce’s best B-sides, spanning about 25 years of gold. I feel bad shutting out Joad so early on, but this one isn’t even a contest.

Winner: Tracks

2. Born to Run v. Darkness on the Edge of Town
   
   

Now this is a contest. Born to Run made Springsteen a household name outside of the tri-state area; Darkness proved he wasn’t a one-hit wonder. Darkness is Bruce’s heaviest album musically and possibly his darkest lyrically, aside from maybe Nebraska. His characters here have no hope, and the songs are savage in their delivery. “Adam Raised a Cain” is a dissonant shredder that out-punks punk, the title track and “Racing in the Street” jam out the blues, and “Candy’s Room” is so sexually charged it’s scorching. Oh yeah, and you get the monster hits “Badlands” and “Promised Land.” Darkness is amazing live, if you’ve seen the deluxe boxed set’s DVDs from last year. But you know what? I’m still going with Born to Run. It’s a perfect blend of pop, rock, soul, funk, and R&B. Sure, “Badlands” is beloved, but it can’t stand up to “Thunder Road,” “Born to Run,” Jungleland,” and “10th Avenue Freeze-Out.” Those songs have an epic, cinematic quality to them, and they’re essential listening if one wants to understand Bruce’s legacy. I probably could have written a couple thousand more words debating the issue, but trust me on this one: Born to Run is the better album. It’s just as emotionally charged, but with friendlier hooks that make for better casual listening.

Winner: Born to Run

3. The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle v. Devils & Dust
   
   

Wild has “Rosalita.” There are other songs on there, and they’re pretty good as far as Bruce’s earlier, looser, jammier material goes. But everyone owns this record because of “Rosalita,” an epic jam about hooking up. The song is lengthy, yes, but it goes through so many catchy, rocking segments that it feels like a mini-album on to itself. Sing it with me: “You poppa says he knows that I don’t have any money.” But if you’re going with jammy Bruce, Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J. is the better buy. Devils & Dust, Bruce’s second attempt at reviving Nebraska, is a better record overall. Maybe it’s because I lived through the George W. Bush years, but it was really rewarding when Bruce got in on the political game with this album. Nebraska chronicles America’s tragic sprawl; Devils deals with its failures abroad. That means tackling the Iraq War (the title track), immigration policy (“Matamoros Banks”), and our messed up interpretation of Christianity (“Jesus Was an Only Son”). But the record also provides relief with sunnier fare like “All I’m Thinkin’ About.” I’m sure Wild is fun live, but Devils is a more rewarding listen. It’s more focused, hits harder, and, having seen it performed live, carries just as much weight in concert.

Winner: Devils & Dust

4. Working on a Dream v. Nebraska
   
   

Working was rushed out, partially to coincide with Barack Obama’s inauguration, partially because organist Danny Federici was dying, and it sounds like it. While there’s some strong, midtempo numbers like “What Love Can Do” and “The Last Carnival,” most of the record sounds indistinct. Brendan O’Brien’s glossy overproduction does the record no favor [Side note: I can’t believe this fucking guy helmed Rage Against the Machine’s Evil Empire]. Nebraska is perhaps Dream’s exact opposite. A collection of 4-track demos that didn’t need further instrumentation or processing, Nebraska has better lyrics and a swirling, lo-fi haze one can get lost in. Yet as depressing as the songs get, the hooks are surprisingly strong too, as evidenced by “Atlantic City” and “Reason to Believe.” It’s a record so good that even its B-sides were huge – “Born in the U.S.A.” went on to be one of the strongest tracks on one of Springsteen’s biggest albums.

Winner: Nebraska.

Bracket 2

5. Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J. v. Human Touch

Really? Is this even up for debate? Have you heard “Blinded By the Light?”

Winner: Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J.

6. Born in the U.S.A v. Lucky Town

As much as I love Bruce, he sucked hard in the ’90s. His Guns n Roses-styled attempt at breaking up a double album with Human Touch and Lucky Town didn’t go over well commercially or critically, although Lucky Town boasts enough solid tracks to make it only the Boss’ second worst album. Born in the U.S.A. may be a little cheesy and overproduced, but it still contains some amazing songs: “Born in the U.S.A.” “No Surrender.” “My Hometown.” “I’m on Fire.” Most of this album ended up being released as singles, and with good reason.

Winner: Born in the U.S.A.

7. Magic v. Tunnel of Love

Here’s a pair of underrated Bruce albums. Neither one was his best work from their respective decades, but they’re still solid. Magic feels like a Springsteen overview: There are rockers (“Radio Nowhere,” “Last to Die”), sexual testaments (“I’ll Work For Your Love”), and even a Born to Run throwback (“Livin’ in the Future”). It also shows new directions for Bruce, like the Beach Boys-esque “Girls in Their Summer Clothes.” It’s lone crime is that it’s really, really overproduced. Tunnel of Love, meanwhile, tends to get lost when people discuss Bruce’s ’80s records, perhaps because it’s an unshowy set of love songs about falling out of love. Aside from a soggy middle, it’s a solid record and doesn’t get nearly enough love from people. Go listen to “Brilliant Disguise.” It’s with regret, then, I have to declare Magic the winner. While the production irks me, it’s filler-free.

Winner: Magic

8. The River vs. The Rising
   
   

I love “The River.” I kind of hate The River. A sprawling double album that dishes out radio-ready pop rockers and tear-in-your-beer sad sack ballads. There are a lot of great songs on there (“Two Hearts,” “Ramrod,” “Out in the Street,” and “Hungry Heart,” which was originally written for The Ramones). Now, I’m not denying that The Rising has filler either (“Worlds Apart” is thoroughly mediocre), but it’s such a satisfying, up-with-people collection. Released after 9/11, the record took on an instant healing context, although songs like “The Rising,” “Mary’s Place,” “My City of Ruins,” and “Waitin’ on a Sunny Day” are so good that you could apply them to whatever personal drama is going on. It probably would have been stronger cut down 12, maybe even 10 tracks, but The Rising is Bruce’s best album from 2000s, and secretly in contention for one of his best records ever. Ultimately, this battle comes down to one very specific thing: The third verse from “The River” versus the bridge from “Mary’s Place.” I choose “Mary’s Place,” by just a hair.

Winner: The Rising

regarding the return of Versus.

It's been a while since I've done an installment in Versus, the feature that pits two of a band's best albums in a battle for supremacy. But I hear there's this thing in sports called "March Madness." Something about balls and points in large quantities. With that in mind, next week I'll be rolling out a special edition of Versus, a March Madness edition if you will. See, Versus generally works best when a band either has only a few albums (a la Bear vs. Shark), or can be broken up into two different eras as represented by two albums (Ozzy-era vs. Dio-era Black Sabbath). But some artists defy these guidelines.

For the next four weeks, I will present a tournament in which Bruce Springsteen's discography dukes it out. I'm only counting original content, so We Shall Overcome will be replaced with Tracks, arguably the best of Bruce's rarity compilations, while the remaining 15 slots go to his studio albums. My cousin Mike and I could never settle on which two Bruce albums best represented him overall. So... here's hoping I find an answer this month.

Versus: 'The Troubled Stateside' v. 'Is Dead'

[Versus pits two of an artist’s classic albums against each other even if they’re stylistically different, because that “you can’t compare apples and oranges” bullshit is for people without balls, spines, or all those other things that separate us from the villainous jellyfish.]

If my cousin hadn’t died just a few days prior, Crime in Stereo’s dissolution would have been the worst thing to happen to me this August. As is, I haven’t had much time to process the break-up, what with all the shit going on around me. So here’s a belated attempt to memorialize them. They were one of my favorite contemporary hardcore bands. Each of their last three records is a scrapbook of where I was in life during their respective release dates. Nate Adams and I still text each other “Drugwolf forever.” And man could they bring it live. The shows got a little hit-or-miss near the end of the band’s run – the songs kept getting more and more technical – but when they were on, Crime in Stereo delivered some of the best live performances I’ve ever seen. If nothing else, their low priced merch inspired Eric Crack and I to coin the phrase “Deal in Stereo.”

With all due respek to this year’s I Was Trying to Describe You to Someone, the two CiS albums worth debating over are The Troubled Stateside, which represents the band’s hardcore pinnacle, and Is Dead, which marked a sharp turn into more atmospheric post-hardcore/alternative rock territory. Old school versus new school. Stateside was my introduction to the band, and it’s unquestionably the best release from their traditional hardcore years. The guitars crunch, the drums obliterate, the hooks are huge. There’s a reason why just about every CiS show from the last four years ended with “I, Stateside.” That song is so amazing and carries such a strong note of finality. And it’s not the only “hit” – “Bicycles for Afghanistant,” “Sudan,” and “Abre Los Ojos” all confident, catchy rockers. “Gravity/Grace,” meanwhile, is a powerful ballad about abuse. But overall, this is one rockin’ collection.

Which is why, when writing about it at least, I feel like I should Stateside as the superior album. I mean, these songs are amazing and they killed live. I can’t say that about the Is Dead material. It took a while for CiS to master that material – I remember them hitting wrong effects pedals when they first started debuting new songs when I saw them play Villanova University. And frontman Kristian Hallbert flubbed a ton of notes when CiS opened for H2O at the Trocadero back in 2008, a full year after Is Dead’s release.

But I still pick Is Dead as the best Crime in Stereo record. It’s so perfect that it took its creators years to actually master it. Guitarists Alex Dunne and Gary Cioni continually developed their playing style, and while you can hear them tinkering with sonics on Stateside songs like “I, Stateside,” it’s on Is Dead that they became this behemoth. That said, the band was just as defined during this period by Hallbert’s huge voice.

Thanks to Is Dead, Stateside actually sounds a little empty to me now. It’s not as well produced, which I get, but the guitars just aren’t as fulfilling. Dead can get pretty atmospheric at times, but it still rocks. It garnered a lot of comparisons to Brand New’s sonic evolution at the time, which is fair, but I’ve always preferred to rank them with Thursday. They don’t sound alike, but both acts took hardcore and tried pushing its boundaries by incorporating elements of shoegaze, goth, electronica, etc. They applied moody elements to a muscular genre to create something brooding and alive. I put on Is Dead and I hear a record few have equaled.

Of course, I love both records. Shit, I’m wearing a Crime in Stereo shirt right now as I type this sentence. But if I had to pick the band’s all-time greatest release, the one record by which they should be judged and remembered, it’s Is Dead. Because of the way Hallbert screams on “Small Skeletal.” Because of the giant continuous hook that is “Choke” in its entirety. Because it’s just really fucking good.

DRUGWOLF FOREVER.

Versus: 'Reinventing Axl Rose' v. 'New Wave'

[Versus pits two of an artist’s classic albums against each other even if they’re stylistically different, because that “you can’t compare apples and oranges” bullshit is for people without balls, spines, or all those other things that separate us from the villainous jellyfish. This one’s for Against Me! month.]

Against Me! has gone from one of the premier underground punk bands of the new millennium to the forefront of mainstream rock ‘n’ roll, and they’ve done it on their own terms. Their sound has evolved along the way, of course, which has helped create divisions among fans over what constitutes the group’s best works. It’s old school versus new school, indie label versus major. For me, Reinventing Axl Rose is the best example of the band’s independent days, although I’m sure some would argue Eternal Cowboy is a better pick. Then again, the same could be said for New Wave, arguably their best mainstream record, although plenty of people on the Internet are big-upping White Crosses right now.

But what makes Rose and New Wave preferable are the cultural shifts they marked in the punk community. Rose burst out of No Idea Records brimming with excitement. These songs were defiant (“Walking is Still Honest”) and life-affirming (“We Laugh at Danger (And Break All the Rules)”) and occasionally even funny (“Baby, I’m an Anarchist!”). It’s the best folk-punk album that will ever be produced, and arguably one of the great punk albums of all time, right up there with The Ramones, London Calling, Dookie, and …And Out Come the Wolves (And How I Spent My Summer Vacation… and Goddamnit… and The Greatest Story Ever Told...).

New Wave reached a broader audience though. Not everyone is attuned to the underground. And if we’re being honest, it’s the better produced record. Butch Vig made this shit clean. The album does feel tailor-made for success. These are Gabel’s most direct, anthemic songs. “New Wave” is practically a mission statement for AM!’s “up with people” attitude towards music. “White People For Peace” and “Americans Abroad” get political (but not too political). “The Ocean” jams out while thinking of the life that might have been. It’s less musically intricate than its predecessor, Searching For a Former Clarity, but it’s still quite catchy.

I have drunkenly slurred along to every song on both of these albums. What ultimately makes Rose the better pick for me is the memories. Like I said at the beginning of this essay, you could pick any two AM! records and make them duke it out. This is a band that has continually expanded its audience for the last decade, and so plenty of fans have different points of entry, different attachments. I’ve met kids who swear by “Thrash Unreal” but don’t know “Jordan’s First Choice.” But I entered the world of AM! through Rose in high school, at a time when a lot of my friends were not into them. In fact, I think NBT drummer Bob Maiden and A Man of Letters scribe Bryan Lowry might have been the only other AM! fans I knew until I hit college.

The point is, “We Laugh at Danger” makes me feel alive. It makes me scream until I start to blackout. It makes me feel good. You can argue against its fidelity and playing and you will be wrong. Which I guess is how punk is supposed to work. It’s not just about the notes you hit. Just like jazz!

Versus: 'Ziggy Stardust' v. 'Low'

[Versus pits two of an artist’s classic albums against each other even if they’re stylistically different, because that “you can’t compare apples and oranges” bullshit is for people without balls, spines, or all those other things that separate us from the villainous jellyfish.]

David Bowie is one of the greatest musicians of all time. Knock him all you want – he made plenty of crappy album, he stole from a lot of people – but he’s still awesome, and you’re still a dick. Dude wrote “Queen Bitch;” what have you done? At the same time, Bowie’s discography is admittedly not perfect. “Queen Bitch,” for example, comes from Hunky Dory, an album that boasts some pretty amazing songs (“Changes,” “Life on Mars?”, “Oh! You Pretty Things”) and some pretty crappy ones (“Andy Warhol,” “Fill Your Heart”). Most of his albums are worth owning; few are perfect.

There are two records in his vast discography that stand out as exceptional, though, and each one was a harbinger of sorts for Bowie’s many stylistic changes: The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars is, for many, the zenith of Bowie’s glam rock period, while Low is the pinnacle of his experiment/post-punk period and the best entry in his “Berlin Trilogy” for others. They were released five years apart, and they sound like they came from two very different creators. You can argue that Ziggy and Low weren’t entirely left field creations – flecks of flam rock show up The Man Who Sold the World, while Station to Station predicts the krautrock direction Bowie would fleetingly embrace – but both are the best starting points for exploring those respective points in the man’s career.

I’m a Bowie dork, so I think everything he did from 1969 (Space Oddity) to ’86 (um… the Labyrinth soundtrack) is worth owning, and I alternate my favorites constantly. Still, Ziggy and Low are two records that I’m constantly falling in love with over and over again. Ziggy strikes me as an album that isn’t straight glam rock, compared to T. Rex, but it’s all the better for it. There’s still a tinge of psychedelic jazz in the guitar work, like on the outro to “Moonage Daydream,” and a surprising amount of acoustic guitar considering how loud Mick Ronson got. There’s a little bit of glitter lingo spread around (“Let the children boogie!”), but the best images are apocalyptic. Ziggy sings about the world ending in five years, about aliens, about his got-damn band tearing apart. It’s all very sexy guitar rock. FACT: The chords to “Ziggy Stardust” are wicked awesome. Bowie tried to recreate this new rock sound for a while – Aladdin Sane succeeds, Diamond Dogs sinks, sinks, sinks – but he ultimately abandoned the sound by the time punk rock came around, which is funny since that new audience definitely would have loved the Spiders.

And let’s be honest: “Rock ‘N’ Roll Suicide” is a darn good closing track, tapping into rock’s mythology about casualties so well that Bowie used to close every show with it.

Low isn’t quite the opposite of that, but it comes close. For his first collaboration with Brian Eno, Bowie piled on the synthesizers, although new best buddy Carlos Alomar certainly drops in some guitar, as does Ricky Gardiner. The instrument that stands out the most for me, though, is the drums. Producer Tony Visconti pulled some magic tricks to create a punchy, cavernous sound that has never been duplicated. I go back and forth over who got better drum sounds, Steve Albini on In Utero or Visconti on Low. Ziggy might rock more, but the drums on “Breaking Glass” hit so much harder.

Low is a more dynamic record, one that lends itself to different moods. There’s a chilly mood that lingers, but plenty of guitar licks that give it a sunnier vibe, like on the opening instrumental “Speed of Life.” Other standouts include the spastic rhythm of “What in the World” and the ominous build of “Always Crashing in the Same Car.” These opening tunes are all condensed, poppy, yet otherworldly. The flipside explores more ethereal territory, like the lengthy “Warszawa.” “Art Decade” is another solid, searching tune. “Weeping Wall” is deliciously weird.

Ziggy is the better gateway album to Bowie’s world, but Low is the better album overall (Better album cover too… way less mullet). It was more ahead of its time, then and now. Plenty of today’s indie bands can be connected back to Low; few have equaled its excellence. In a way, it also marks the slow, slow decline of Bowie. Not that he didn’t keep making good records (“Heroes”, The Lodger, and again the Labyrinth soundtrack all come to mind), but it’s the last perfect Bowie record.

Seriously, though, listen to those drums!

Versus: '24 Hour Revenge Therapy' v. 'Dear You'

[Versus pits two of an artist’s classic albums against each other even if they’re stylistically different, because that “you can’t compare apples and oranges” bullshit is for people without balls, spines, or all those other things that separate us from the villainous jellyfish.]

While their discography consists of only four albums (plus a live record and rarities compilation), Jawbreaker remains influential in the punk community, perhaps even more so now than when they were taking shit for signing to a major label back in the mid-’90s. Their swan song, Dear You, was lambasted by ’90s punks for being too clean-sounding and, well, un-punk. Now, though, those lines have blurred, and Jawbreaker has become part of a small cache of ’90s punk acts, along with Hot Water Music and Discount, that upcoming bands must contend with at all times. A quick glimpse through Alternative Press’ reviews section reveals dozens of comparisons to this holy trinity, though such labels are rarely deserved (although Banner Pilot might deserve the crown in time). Simply put, nobody combined raw emotion with dynamic musicianship, filtered through a punk lens, like Blake Schwarzenbach, Chris Bauermeister, and Adam Pfahler.

The album Jawbreaker is perhaps most universally loved for (within the subculture anyway) is 24 Hour Revenge Therapy. It’s the closest the group ever came to making a straightforward pop punk record. At 11 songs and 37 minutes, it’s a quick, exhilarating listen. It’s much easier to spin than Unfun (too long) or Bivouac (too dark, dense, and dissonant). Ten of the 11 tracks are of comparable peppy quality and could be played in just about any order, although the placement of the midtempo number “Ache” at track seven feels like a deliberate palate cleanser, a seventh inning stretch if you will. Otherwise, it’s a collection of what Schwarzenbach self-mockingly dubbed “stupid, happy songs.” Sure, you can dance to these tunes, so long as you don’t consider the topics: wasted potential (“Boat on a Hill”), ex-flames (“Ache,” “Do You Still Hate Me?”), and small-minded fucks (“Boxcar”). This one’s the crowd pleaser.

But it’s not my favorite Jawbreaker album.

Perhaps my opinion on the group is different because I grew up independently of puritan punk politics. Plus, I got to hear the band’s albums backwards, not chronologically. I don’t care that Jawbreaker A) signed to a major label or B) changed their sound for Dear You. In fact, I’d argue that Dear You is more like a streamlined version of Bivouac. Sure, Rob Cavallo’s production is a lot cleaner, but the music is more complex and the lyrics get way more depressing. Compared to the group’s overall output, Revenge Therapy is an anomaly, where Dear You is the pinnacle of their style. The topics covered on both albums are similar – scene politics, lady problems, and being really, really sad – but Dear You pushes these things further. Some of the guitar tones Schwarzenbach and Cavallo came up with here are just so obliterating, like on “Basilica” or “Lurker II: Son of Night.” Yet I can’t call Dear You a strictly “guitar record” since Bauermeister’s muscular bass lines and Pfahler’s loose, constantly evolving drum parts are so essential to the sound. Some folks might call that a power trio.

24 Hour Revenge Therapy is a fine record and I listen to it often. But I’ve never put individual tracks on repeat for hours at a time like I have with Dear You cuts such as “Accident Prone” or “Unlisted Track.” Oddly enough, it also features some of the group’s catchiest songs as well, like “Save Your Generation,” “Oyster,” and especially “Bad Scene, Everyone’s Fault,” all of which better what Revenge Therapy achieved. Revenge Therapy may remain the crowd favorite, as a recent conversation with my co-workers at Punknews.org revealed, but in my heart, Dear You remains the better choice.

That said, I had a blast listening to both albums on repeat this morning, so I guess I’m the real winner.

Versus: 'Paranoid' v. 'Mob Rules'

[Versus pits two of an artist’s classic albums against each other even if they’re stylistically different, because that “you can’t compare apples and oranges” bullshit is for people without balls, spines, or all those other things that separate us from the villainous jellyfish. This week's installment on Black Sabbath is dedicated to two Nicks - Elmer, because I remember him telling me sophomore year of college to explore Black Sabbath’s discography beyond Paranoid and I didn’t heed his advice for another two years or so, and Gregorio, because he’s the only guy I know who prefers Dio-era Sabbath to the Ozzy incarnation.]

A long, long time ago, I thought I was a metalhead. By this, I mean I listened to Kiss and Metallica with some of my friends back in middle school. By freshman year of high school, I was on to Tool and Our Lady Peace. By the following summer, I was a pop-punker for life, and New Found Glory, the Ramones, and the Bouncing Souls dominated my listening habits. But I never entirely forgot my ever-so-brief flirtation with metal. I enjoyed the technicality, but I couldn’t stand a lot of the pretensions – hence my interest in Tool, who always seemed more “serious,” and thus more “real” (although the band has quite a few joke tracks scattered on their albums as well). Fantasy metal of the Rhapsody variety always seemed too goofy to me; anything indebted to Led Zeppelin straight up sucked (especially the dragon pants). But I liked anything sludgy. Maybe it was my childhood roots in grunge/alternative – I am the first generation to grow up in a post-Nirvana age – but the dissonance got to me.

Enter Black Sabbath. The Sabbath I knew wrote songs about Armageddon and sin and plagues. I don’t consider myself Catholic anymore, but those images still get an emotional reaction out of me. Also, guitarist Tony Iommi wrote some sweet-ass riffs. Their most well-known songs include “Paranoid,” “Iron Man,” and “War Pigs,” all of which can be found on Paranoid. It’s not the best Sabbath album with frontman Ozzy Osbourne – I prefer Master of Reality, although I’m sure other folks would go with Sabbath Bloody Sabbath – but it remains the best entry way to the Sabbath canon, if only because most people should already know about half of the album’s 42-minute running time.

Compared to the band’s discography overall, Paranoid is the moment the band’s signature sound began to cohere. Black Sabbath is a downright bluesy affair compared to what came later, and by the time of Reality, the group was into its own sludge-metal world, but Paranoid is the crossroads. It’s funny how much of the band’s sound was defined by accident – Iommi tuned in D because it was easier on his fingers, the supremely awesome “Paranoid” is as fast/brief as it is because the band needed to know out another track for the album as quickly as possible – but these decisions mark the beginning of the Sabbath sound even as the group continues to embrace blues riffs on songs like “Jack the Stripper.”

Paranoid is a good album, but it has its weaknesses. The second half is notably weaker than the first. “Electric Funeral” is a little silly, even by metal standards. “Rat Salad” is all filler, hence the extended drum solo. “Jack the Stripper” is a decent jammed-out closer, but compared to opener “War Pigs/Luke’s Wall,” it will always be second best.

Remember all that stuff I said about hating power metal? Well, I make an exception for Ronnie James Dio. He sings about faeries and dragons and whatever-the-fuck in an operatic singing style, but it’s so got-damned fun and infectious that I can’t deny his ability. Dude wrote “Rainbow in the Dark” and somehow made the title the most awesomest thing ever.

I picked up Mob Rules after I obtained the essential Ozzy-era Sabbath albums (the first six), and it took a while for the songs to sink in. Here’s where I really test the limits of my “fuck apples ‘n’ oranges” approach for this column, because Dio-Sabbath is a very different band from Ozzy-Sabbath. The songs are tighter, the hooks are more obvious, even Iommi’s playing is different. This shift was further aided by new drummer Vinny Appice, who tapped into Dio’s version of metal more by playing on the beat pretty much all of the time, whereas original drummer Bill Ward had a looser style. I should hate this album for erasing everything that Sabbath did during the ’70s. But got-damn is it one fun record.

“Turn Up the Night” is a quick number with squealing guitars and propulsive drumming. “Voodoo” is where Dio’s penchant for shitty lyrics gets the better of him but, again, it’s too hook-laden to ignore. “Sign of the Southern Cross” gets a bit maudlin for my taste, but the band gets things back on track soon after, first with the experimental electronic track “E5150” and then the ridiculously kick-ass fist-pumper “The Mob Rules.” Lyrically, it’s an argument for researching opinions before going along with popular sentiments, hence the lines “If you listen to fools / the mob rules.” The track sums up Dio’s brief original run with Black Sabbath (two studio albums and a live record, although Dio returned for 1992’s Dehumanizer) with its insistent instrumentals and bravado.

Here’s where I soften my conclusion a little bit. The best tracks of these two albums are on Paranoid. There’s a reason why “War Pigs” is so well known. But taken as a whole, I maintain that Mob Rules is the better album. It’s more consistent, makes for better driving music, and, really, that title track is one badass tune. It’s not my favorite Sabbath album – Master of Reality, remember – but when comparing the best of the Dio catalogue with the most classically known Ozzy album, Ronnie proves he deserved his time with one of England’s finest metal bands.