Ah, good – a 2024 reunion of a band from the 1990s that I can get excited about.
The Jesus Lizard’s seventh album is their first this century, and it’s a juggernaut of angular noise rock that’s preposterous in places, but never anything other than glorious. It’s not as unrelenting as some of their 90s albums, which often pummelled the listener into submission, but we need to cut them some slack as these guys are now into their 60s. When the pace slows, though, the menace only rises. Here is a band not willing to compromise, with no clear desire to just repeat what’s gone before. They haven’t become a pastiche of themselves – and they should be applauded for that – nor are they simply going through the motions. The band originally split in 1999 but have had two short-lived reunions (in 2009 and 2017) that centred on live dates with no new recorded output, so there’s a feeling here that they mean this. They needed to get this out of their system.
Reunions are, for the most part, a terrible idea. When skint musicians get the band back together there’s only a few places they can go. They can put out new music of ever weaker material that’s laughable and/or painful in comparison to their earlier work you fell in love with (see Ride, Pixies), they can show a general disdain for any sense of creative authenticity by having no interest in producing any new material at all (see Oasis, Pavement), or they can be so bloody awful that nobody actually notices they’re back together (see Color Me Badd – it’s true, look it up). Oh, and recent events mean onstage brawling needs to be added to the list of possible outcomes, I suppose (see Jane’s Addiction).
Rarely do bands ever make anything genuinely credible when they get back together, preferring to milk the cash cow of semi-heritage status they may well be lucky enough to have bestowed upon them since they went away (so not you, Color Me Badd). Absence, after all, makes the heart grow fonder. In fact, in this hack’s humble opinion the only bands from that era that have made something creatively credible and beautiful from working together again are Slowdive and Madder Rose… until now, that is.
Rack is the sound of a band reinvigorated without the need for reinvention. There are some staple Jesus Lizard sounds here, but also some impressive leaps forward that highlights the creative integrity of this reunion and its value.
The Jesus Lizard were always uncompromisingly brilliant, which is likely the main reason for them never managing to break into the mainstream during the height of the grunge years, despite their endorsement from Nirvana which produced a split single. People can’t be trusted, that’s for certain. When an audience favour Pearl Jam more than Babes in Toyland it’s not to be taken all that seriously. Acerbic, witty, honest – The Jesus Lizard are without a doubt the second best thing to ever come out of Chicago (I knew a girl once, but that’s a story for another time…)
Of course, for those in the know, the band are also inextricably linked with Steve Albini and his presence sometimes comes into focus when you listen to Rack. Not that he had a hand in the record, but you do often start contemplating how he would have handled the material. There’s nothing wrong with the production here, and it’s likely not something most people will think about all that much, but there is a certain sheen on the album’s 11 tracks which he may well have eschewed a little.
The album begins with a noisy rush of generic drums and guitar and, truth be told, this could be a whole range of bands. Even David Yow’s voice seems a self-aware parody of itself to begin with. It’s not until the 51 second mark when Duane Denison’s delicious and disturbing guitar line comes in that we feel like we’ve finally arrived. “Hide & Seek” grows into itself, Yow becoming more unhinged with every passing line. As ever, the band mix the sublime and the profane to rapturous effect.
“Grind” has a singalong section which isn’t something the band are known for. As Yow repeats “We saw this coming” the band sit back patiently, waiting to be unleashed again. When they come back into the fray Denison’s spiky guitar work is underscored beautifully by David Wm Sims’ economical bass lines and Mac McNeilly’s thumping drums. Yow sounds like a mad street preacher, hollering an almost stream of consciousness diatribe about public executions and coming unglued. There’s precision in the maelstrom, a band completely in control of the disorder they create. They are, if nothing, a band brimful of oxymorons.
Songs about murder (“Lord Godiva”), giving birth to a dog (“Swan the Dog”), and bouillabaisse (“Moto(R)”) may well challenge some, and that can only be a good thing. The band haven’t mellowed, and you shouldn’t have, either. There’s a twisted sense of humour that runs throughout all of their previous records, and Rack is no exception. The lyrics are often simplistic, and other times overly wrought and close to the bone. The music is taut and lean, searing and precise.
The mid-paced songs give respite to the chaos, and on “Armistice Day” Yow does that meandering vocal style that’s like Mark E. Smith on Mogadon, languid and serpentine, while the even slower “What If?” is a stoic march of a track with a panic inducing monologue from Yow whose controlled and restrained delivery comes across as calculating and disturbing.
To say that the band still have a bite to their sound might be a little unkind to a group of men who may not have most of their own teeth these days, but Rack is testament to the need to grow old disgracefully. It’s good to have them back.
To quote that fox from Antichrist, chaos reigns.
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