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Rating:
OK. This is my first review on DeBaser, so I'll first list the reasons for my choice:
1. I don't have a picture of the album cover to attach, but it doesn't matter since
2. there are already other reviews of "Grinderman" with the cover included
3. it's time to tear apart "Grinderman", especially because "Dig!!! Lazarus, Dig!!!" has just been released, which seems to have enclosed the word "Grinderman" inside two round parentheses, giving us a slightly more comfortable vantage point – time, as we know, is sometimes an ally of intelligence.
I'll tell you right away: the image of Nick Cave playing the electric guitar singing about pussy (or the absence of it) dressed as a cowboy (pardon... as a bushranger) with a beard and followed by henchmen also equipped with Stetsons – all of them around fifty, give or take a year – did not bode well, especially if you think that during that same ill-fated period a similar look overhaul had been considered by our own Vibrazioni, remember? And then, come on, we are talking about a man who survived himself, exploring hell inch by inch – hell, damn it – before reaching the clear and translucent vision of divinity – God, okay? – in that masterpiece of minimal and chamber post-rock that is "The Boatman's Call," and then producing a series of albums certainly not brilliant (who remembers "Nocturama"?) but at least consistent in being the direct extension of someone who knew what he was doing, and damn, did he know what he was doing.
And yet now (that is, when "Grinderman" was released): Nick Cave – I repeat Nick Cave, not just anyone – thinks it's a good idea to gather his band of goons around the beloved concept of the tough man, all beard and horse manure stuck to spurred boots, the man who never has to ask, the man without aftershave, and therefore without pussy. I got the no pussy blues: make room, dude, you're fifty and a family man, the lack of pussy affects me too, and I'm a young valiant fellow, you're the one missing from this line. Let's be serious.
Garage-blues with a protopunk flair could be the genre label for the whole album. We know that Nick Cave is not new to the American tradition, nor to the punk emergency invective, since it was in (post)punk that his formidable persona was born, a saint intoxicated like not even a water supply in Casertano. So be it, I told myself reading the early previews, so be it the return of the Beloved's anger, long live the blues and distortion, screw the death of rock, we can't stay in mourning for all this time, it's time to dance, to shake our asses, to not give a damn, we had the funeral and now we want to get drunk and once again pogo to the Dance of Death in Life offered by the Immortal Nick Cave. Only that, when pressing play, all this preliminary enthusiasm was somehow abraded and consumed in the vortex of the CD that turned and turned and turned, and in the room dense with unnamed fumes and exhalations formed a gigantic yet ethereal – yet present and alive – question mark: "What is it?" Do you understand me or not? Have you ever heard a more sterile sound in Cave's productions? An inconsistency so made of nothing? And the voice, shall we talk about it? God, that baritone of "Murder Ballads" that made your ass hole clench now has become a timbre so uncertain that compared to it, Anthony seems to really have balls, the balls missing to our bushranger looking for trouble, and what troubles, ahiahiahi.
One question, just one: "Have you ever wondered why the wise and prudent Mick Harvey, always the rational soul who faithfully accompanied Nick Cave through and beyond all the hells that needed to be faced from time to time, this time brazenly told the King Ink to go screw himself? NO? Then you better ask yourself." I imagine the scene: "Come on, Mick, let's make this record of old and pretty raw stuff, I have some tough lyrics, and then look at my mustache, I even bought new boots..." "Listen, Nick, I have other things to do, and besides, tomorrow I start recording a record with Britney Spears, who might be more drugged than you ever were in your golden days, but at least I know how NOT to make her say all this crap..."
In short, the idea of tearing down this poorly conceived incarnation of Cave has been swirling in my empty skull for a long time, especially because "Grinderman" didn't manage to make my bones shake as many illustrious pens have written, leading me into deception at the limits of anomie. To make my bones shake, I need a raw and compact, abrasive, cruel sound, a sound slaughterhouse that "Grinderman" dreams of. Just to stay on Cave's theme, if "Grinderman" shakes your bones, then "Junkyard" slowly saws them off, covering your torn flesh with coarse salt and cauterizing everything with abundant warm piss, finally reducing you to a tumescent radioactive mush – and I hope I've made myself clear.
I felt betrayed by Nick Cave, and I still think he caught a bit of senile daze, but on the other hand, it can't be easy for him.
And I felt betrayed by those who fell into his carnival and schizophrenic game and had many beautiful glossy columns available to shout at the miracle. Without Imagining Beautifully, Know Trickery Well.
Now I just hope that Lazarus returns to the world of the living and stops being an asshole.
Tracklist Lyrics Samples and Videos
02 No Pussy Blues (04:20)
My face is finished, my body's gone.
And I can't help but think standin' up here in all this applause and gazin' down at all the young and the beautiful,
With their questioning eyes,
That I must above all things love myself,
That I must above all things love myself,
That I must above all things love myself,
I saw a girl in the crowd,
I ran over I shouted out,
I asked if I could take her out,
But she said that she didn't want to.
I changed the sheets on my bed,
I combed the hairs across my head,
I sucked in my gut and still she said
That she just didn't want to.
I read her Eliot, read her Yeats,
I tried my best to stay up late,
I fixed the hinges on her gate,
But still she just never wanted to.
I bought her a dozen snow-white doves,
I did her dishes in rubber gloves,
I called her Honeybee, I called her Love,
But she just still didn't want to. She just never wants to.
Damn!
I sent her every type of flower,
I played her guitar by the hour,
I patted her revolting little chihuahua,
But still she just didn't want to.
I wrote a song with a hundred lines,
I picked a bunch of dandelions,
I walked her through the trembling pines,
But she just even then didn't want to. She just never wants to.
I thought I'd try another tack,
I drank a litre of cognac,
I threw her down upon her back,
But she just laughed and said that she just didn't want to.
I thought I'd have another go,
I called her mah little ho,
I felt like Marcel Marceau
must feel when she said that she just never wanted to. She just didn't want to.
I got the no pussy blues.
I got the no pussy blues.
I got the no pussy blues.
Damn! Damn!
No pussy blues.
I got the no pussy blues
I got the no pussy blues.
I got the no pussy blues.
Yeah! Yeah!
03 Electric Alice (03:15)
Don’t the stars look good tonight
Thought Electric Alice
In the pale moonlight
Don’t the moon look big and bright
Thought Electric Alice
In the pale moonlight
I think I hear a baby cry
Thought Electric Alice as she passed by
Makes me feel like I’m a little child again
Thought Electric Alice in the silver rain
05 Depth Charge Ethel (03:47)
I entered the room and the canned laughter
Ethel was angled across some dude’s knee
I offered to clothe her to feed and to bath her
If she’d just give me a little exclusivity
Depth Charge Ethel is something special
Yeah Depth Charge Ethel is special to me
Ethel is a woman that a river runs through
She is famous throughout the land
People come and bathe in her, yeah, you know, I do
But lately its been getting right out of hand
Yeah Depth Charge Ethel is something special
Yeah Depth Charge Ethel is something special to me
To kiss Ethel is like drinking the stars
To not kiss her can make you come unglued
So if you want a piece of her you better get in there fast
Right now there is a ticket box and a queue
Depth Charge Ethel is something special
Depth Charge Ethel is something special to me
Depth Charge Ethel thinks we should all just take a chance
We should all love one another, it could be special
I’m in the back of a taxicab with ants in my pants
(I can’t sit still) I know there gonna send me
Depth Charge Ethel is something special
She’s something special she’s heavy metal
06 Go Tell the Women (03:24)
We done our thing
We have evolved
We’re up on our hind legs
The problems solved
We are artists
We are mathematicians
Some of us hold extremely high positions
But we are tired
We hardly breathing
And we’re free
Go tell the women that we’re leaving
We’re sick and tired
Of all this self-serving grieving
All we wanted was a little consensual rape in the afternoon
And maybe a bit more in the evening
We are scientists
We do genetics
We leave religion
To the psychos and fanatics
But we are tired
We got nothing to believe in
We are lost
Go tell the women that we’re leaving
We done our thing
We’re hip to the sound
Of six billion people
Going down
We are magicians
We are deceiving
We’re free and we’re lost
Go tell the women that we’re leaving
Hey hey come on back now to the fray
Hey hey come on back now to the fray
07 (I Don't Need You to) Set Me Free (04:06)
I saw you walking down on the street
I called out from my window but you didn’t hear me
I lay down and I tried to sleep
I waited for you to walk on by again
I don’t need you to set me free
I don’t want you to set me free
Well every time I see you I get sick
And every time I think of you I get sick
And every time I dream of you I get sick
And every time I cry for you I get sick
I don’t want you to set me free
I don’t need you to set me free
I don’t want you to set me free
I don’t just need you to set me free
I don’t want you to set me free
I just need you to set me free
Alright!! Set me free!
08 Honey Bee (Let's Fly to Mars) (03:18)
1234
Mad mullahs and dirty bombs
Alert the coasal command
Ack-ack positions everyone
She’s my honey bee and here she comes
Cancer rabies sars
Hairy beards and hurtling stars
Won’t somebody touch me?
Won’t somebody touch me?
Honey bee lets fly to Mars
Buzz buszz buzz
There’s a kid laying on the lawn
His neighbours on the telephone
The dispatcher asks “What’s going on?”
“Please Sir, what’s going on?”
The kid is laying on the lawn
He’s been giving me shit for years
He rides his bike across my lawn
Now he’s laying on the lawn
Won’t somebody touch me?
O someone please touch me!
Honey bee lets fly to Mars
Buzz buzz buzz Ba baba ba ba ba Wo!
Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba!
Scud missiles Asian flu
The easily offended
We are the undefended
We are the undefended
Won’t somebody touch us
There’s a virus come to town
Won’t somebody give me a kiss
He’s been giving me shit for years
Honey bee lets fly to Mars
Buzz Buzz buzz buzz buzz
Honey bee Honey bee!
09 Man in the Moon (02:10)
My daddy was an astronaut
That’s what I was often taught
My daddy went away to soon
Now he’s living on the moon
Hang on to me people we’re going down
Down among the fishes in an absence of sound
It’s the presence of distance and it’s floating in time
It’s lack and it’s longing and it’s not very kind
Sitting here scratching in this rented room
Scratching and atapping to the man in the moon
About all the things that l’ve been taught
My daddy was an astronaut
11 Love Bomb (04:26)
C’mon
I read the book from back to front
It made a deep impression
Twenty thousand pages baby
I hoped for some direction
I stood before the mirror
I stared at my reflection
I’d almost disappeared
And I made no impression
I went down to my baby’s house
And I sat down on the step
Said 2000 yrs of Christian history baby
And you aint learned to love me yet
My baby looked me in the eye
My nails were bitten to the quick
She said you used to love me all night long
But you’ve gotten so thin and sick
I’m gonna send you a love bomb
I’m gonna send you a love bomb
I read that book from back to front
Looking for some inspiration
I’d been listening to the radio
Trying to find some self expression
I been listening to the woman’s hour
I been listening to Gardeners Question Time
But every thing I try to grow
I can’t even grow a dandilion
I’ve been watching the MTV
I’ve been watching the BBC
And I’ve been searching on the Internet
And I’m getting so thin and sick
I’m gonna send you a love bomb
I’m gonna send you a love bomb
I went to my baby’s house
And I sat down on the step
Yeah I went down to my baby’s house
And I lay down on the step
She said what are you doing here
I said I been trying to make some sense
But every action that I take
Is of absolutely no consequence
My baby said you can sit there
She reached down with her fingers
Her fingers went right through me
(I screamed my head off)
I was so thin and sick
I’m gonna send you a love bomb
I’m gonna send you a love bomb
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Other reviews
By Mr.Moustache
The sincerity that populates this album is disarming, much more incisive than other past works and the heavy criticisms it has already been subjected to.
Grinderman is the only true gem of the album, simple, communicative, and filled with both poetry and aesthetics.
By Lesto BANG
"Grinderman is one of the rock-nastiest things my bare, bleeding ears have experienced in the past 2 years."
"The guitar is a quartered ox harpooned to the hook, and the cleaver is its pick."
By Elfatossica
The return of a unique and inimitable character. Of someone who uses words as sharp blades and the voice as a nostalgic and restless organ.
Grinderman is a breath of fresh air, of a new energy that manages to express itself in every track.
