NEWBEATS

NEWBEATS

DEPARTMENTS

LIFE-AFFIRMING NUNS

"... you stole my junk you low-down punk you�re my suicide child my suicide child you slit your wrists you fucking bitch you�re my suicide child suicide child...�

The tune that replaced �Brown Sugar� as rock anthem of the �70s rings out vibrant and just as sneeringly snotty tonight here at Al�s Bar in the fungoid depths of downtown L.A. as in its original incarnation deep in the gloom-imbued shadows of Sex Pistols-era San Francisco, 1976: the Nuns are back. And the good news for Nuns fans is that not much to nothing has been lost in the translation from past tense to present.

Back in the murky mist of the posterior side of the last decade, Frisco�swersion of p-rock (prior to manifestations of later-on-tooccur hard-core slam fest ritual) centered on a handful of misanthropic misfits espousing doomand-gloom codes of heavily advanced nihilism to the nth degree (brought to mind is the �loft party� hosted by local swingers, Death-, lead-vdker �Bobby� Death in a circle with assorted clown types and neanderthals playing underhand toss with a loaded .45—true story). The Nuns were the fulcrum of a scene nowhere near the peace and love euphoria of the City�s 10-year-before hippie haven. Depressed scowls and, in general, bad brain biochemistry contributed to the long standing notion that this was, indeed, Hell�s house band. Songs were apocalyptic (�World War III�), or at least apocalypse-stained, played out in grim and grungey detail. Lead singer Jeff Olener, rumored to be Bill Graham�s bastard child (more as metaphor than true fact), exuded this slimey, sick gooey type of frontman facade—writhing, undulating, pulsating to the last groan and drone of the big time beat. A suave kind of guy. Ghostly dead-looking and in the same breath deathly gorgeous Chanteuse Jennifer Miro, on synth and vocals, more than the token Nico stand-in; classically trained and massively talented, Miro quickly became identifiable as the Nunsters� Aunt Lilly (to Olener�s Uncle Herman).

More than anything else, original material was head and shoulders above the look and feel of local competition (maybe only the Avengers came close); the Nuns were a major draw in and around the Bay Area but conflicts, "internal� problems as well as drugs and the like, grounded ensuing momentum to an inevitable halt. Olener and Miro dabbled with interim projects not terribly successful, before crossing paths in San Francisco (1985) with rejuvenated scenarios of life-on-Earth.

Olener proudly admits to kicking heroin and Miro speaks of a newly-acquired spirituality precipitated by the death of her dad. �We�re not complete junkies anymore,� she�s quick to point out—and in this respect the underlying message is one of faith and optimism. The band �rehearses regularly,� quips Olener; this, in contrast to days when such was not the case (�it got to be pathetic�). Testimony to regular rehearsing is more than discreetly apparent with a super-charged ferocioussounding set of new and old songs performed with an equally superpowered airtight delivery. Conspicuously absent from the old lineup is former guitar-hound, Mr. Suicide Child (�he tried to kill himself�) Alejandro Escovido—now a resident of the True Believers (formerly w/Rank And File) and one of the better six-string players around on the scene. New axe presence, Pat Ryan, however, more than compensates in filling the hold Alejandro (cousin of Sheila E., I am told by reliable sources) left; plus, the pixie-like, 19-year-old Delphine Nied on bass admits a new-found sense of exuberance to the cacophonous throttle of sound.

The Nuns wear the look of confidence these days; the internalized enthusiasm (they look |ike they�re actually having fun) and no-fooling-around professionalism is quickly contagious. For the band who many once characterized as the �epitome of death-rock," this is a rather drastic about-face, no bout adoubt it. New songs rival old vis-a-vis this chugging, grinding crank-out of melodic hook and chorus, verse and volume handin-hand. Songwriting has always been the band�s penultimate strength, the Olener/Miro vision and scheme of things more than one step ahead of most others.

Olener, much the image of a junior Lou Reed, opines: �What it�s all about now is what it wasn�t about then. I think we all share now a very positive picture of life, where our lives are headed. I don�t believe in Armageddon, any of that crap. And if there�s a message to anyone out there who cares, it�s that positive expectations from what you work hard to accomplish and attain—can be just as self-fulfilling a prophecy as anything else.�

Gregg Turner

KEEP ON LORRYING!

Red Lorry Yellow Lorry?

�Initially a lot of people thought it was a really silly name,� vocalist and head Lorry Chris Reed points out, overlooking the fact that some people still find it silly.

�When we started out it was the height of the Gothic thing,� Chris continues, oblivious to my musings. �You know, all the names with Sex and Death and like that—anything that was weird and evil was fashionable. And it was a total joke, because we were listening to all these bands that were conning across as being weird and evil, and we thought it was all pretentious crap. So we called ourselves Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, even though we played far nastier music!

�What we�re trying to do, actually, is capture some energy on that piece of vinyl, which is what so many bands fail to do.

And we�re getting better at it all the time.�

So far their development has resulted in a brace of singles, some 12-inchers, and the LP Talk About The Weather, all of which have been college radio and import-rack faves. They garnered enough good word-ofmouth to ensure themselves a sizable American audience during their recent tour. As in their native England, they�re slowly building from a growing popular base rather than love �em ancl leave �em press attention.

At times they have the loopy structure of vintage Wire (�Hand On My Heart�), and Reed is not unaware of Joy Division�s Ian Curtis, but usually they manage to sidestep the cliches those bands inspired. Reed is particularly put off by continual comparisons to the Gothic set exemplified by Sisters Of Mercy and the like.

�Well, we�re not interested in dry ice,� he drawled with the distaste usually reserved for things found at the back of the refrigerator. �It�s not done in a pretentious or calculating way— it�s just the way we do things.�

John Neilson

BLACK FLAG DAY

It�s been four years since Henry Rollins chucked in his minimum-wage existence for a ride on the edge of that rusty razor called Black Flag, and the consensus is pretty much that he made the right choice. The Flag have cut a ragged swath through just about every corner of the country since then, touring incessantly, releasing more, albums in one year than some bands do in five, constantly pushing beyond. You might say they�ve gotten where they are the old fashioned way: they�ve earned it.

�We�re kind of workaholics. It�s a non-Puritan work ethic,� confides Greg Ginn, Black Flag guitarist. And sure enough, the Flag will have released two more albums by the time you read this: In My Head and The Process Of Weeding Out, the latter an instrumental record that should bean even further departure from the band�s hardcore roots...yet still within the freedom of expression Rollins needs.

�I�m not all that satisfied with a normal existence,� he says. �Because someone who�s raised on Sears and Roebuck and Wonder Bread and hamburgers, they believe the thing instead of believing themselves. And they go off �to war, they become the things they hate about their parents, they grow up to be cops. They don�t question anything. Pain isn�t necessarily bad. It can open you up. And that�s why I try to express myself very strongly, so that maybe I can trip someone out and they can go, �Whoa, well, I never thought of that before!��

To effect that sort of realization is what Black Flag works for, and though they say they wouldn�t pass up commercial success, it doesn�t seem likely they�re going to make any rank moves in pursuit of it, either. Rollins seems to realize instinctively that things are where he wants them—independent label, freedom, a loyal following. �I don�t know,� he says ruefully. �I think we�re doing it right now. You know—we�re playing. And that�s important.�

Richard Chon