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The Melvins are one of those religions with axiological principles that only ask you to close the oven and enjoy. There’s a large assembly of dictionaries, critics, thesauruses, conspirators, atheists who will tell you that “yes, the Melvins are important... more important than good... because yes, I mean, no, I mean, well, good ideas but bad realizations... many poorly made records.”
At this point, your unwavering faith will propose two solutions, one fun (kick their asses) and one dutiful (explain that they’re stupid). “So, my little Ruock dictionary, we pair a pleasant ‘who cares’ to poorly made records... take your classmate, the one who’s fat and with enough imagination to make a comb-over with four hairs, put him on drums and make records for twenty-five years, at an average of three releases a year, don’t care about the audience and do whatever you want, invent a dozen musical subgenres, make people argue to classify your genre... well, having done all these things, little dictionary, come back here and let’s see how many poorly made records you’ve made. And then poorly made what does that mean? Even God makes mistakes, instead of a handful of mud, confused, He threw a handful of crap and out came Scaruffi and Borghezio. And what should we do, start blaspheming or sulking or enjoy the sight of my neighbor's butt for a small imprecision compared to all the wonders God has created?”
If after such a wise response your trustworthy dictionary replies “yes, but Frank Zappa...” you have every right, at the mere mention of Zappa - just to name one - to take off your belt and whip them across the teeth, for God is with you and He will bless you.
The record in question... the record in question is the last divertissement released by Boner in 1992, before moving to Major because it’s known that, after Nirvana's explosion, in Aberdeen, despite the Melvins having lived in San Francisco for a while, rock stars grew on trees.
As we were saying, the record in question... 14 minutes for four songs of musical fun. The then Melvins lineup decided to release a record each like Kiss and King Buzzo enlisted Dave Grohl, skin breaker on behalf of Nirvana and Scream, crediting him as “Dale Nixon”, the same pseudonym Greg Ginn chose for himself to play the role of bassist on “My War”.
The first, “Isabella”, is a tribal-steamroller rhythm with Melvins’ Style riffs; the second, “Porg”, is a freak delirium in an industrial key, industrial as only the song of someone raised in a lumberjack town could be, as if a Twin Peaks character were to dabble in industrial; “Annum” starts quietly, dress rehearsals for “Houdini”, you can even sing it while cooking and then there’s that bass-snare-hi-hat you expected, but it fits like a charm and then everything is alright, you enjoy; the fourth, “Skeeter”, credited to Dave Grohl, who talks over it, is a succession of riffs on riffs that reconciles you with yourself... it was much needed, ahh.
In Buzz We Trust... Yeah! And it’s no small thing.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Isabella (03:15)
music: Buzz Osborne & Dave Grohl
lyrics: Buzz Osborne
I'm thinkin' fay
Cuz I'm diggin' the ray
Cuz I'm dee
And I'm sinkin', dance, dance
Plan my way
To steal the clothes
Weigh them down
Never filled up a
Way
03 Annum (04:29)
So he takes it once again
I didn't like you having one
And like a dream I could tear into that
Overboard with happiness
We're so gone
We're so free
With every everyone
And make it sure
I can deal with the dream but have a picture taken there
She can feel, she can scream, and two caught screamers happened like they say
You can feel like a teen /
that walked out through the door with
But I can peel you at the seams
And I can be your only
You don't seem like them
With all the houses that you'll be
And I can leave them lonely
And let it be away.
I wish there was a way for me
And she can never lie that we were
And I can feel, I can feel it's Sunday morning maybe like we said
We can roll like a hundred lies
She never takes you where know
Like a sore
Like a bill of certain money
money no
But I can peel you at the seams
And I can be your only
You don't seem like them
With all the houses that you'll be
And I can leave them lonely
And let it be away.
And is it about you left them there?
Do you feel like you're the same?
I can go like a million times you never let me over there
I'm so bull I can hear your song in mourning only I would know
I can feel, I can scream
I can feel you like you never have again
And I know I can send it down on Monday morning
Raise your fist
Like a doe
Like I feel
An only man a man oh.
04 Skeeter (02:02)
So we were in Amsterdam. And we were staying at this guy Tas' house, good friend of ours. Um, it was kind of in the middle of the city. We were just finished with our second European tour. And everything was going pretty good. Skeeter, he met this girl that lived next door to Tas' and within a couple of weeks he started living with her, ya know. And I guess she had a lot of money or something cause she was constantly buying him clothes and giving him lots of stuff and loaning him money, ya know. and he was constantly going to the coffee shop and always getting the best herb and the best hash, ya know. He was in good shape. She was really good looking. She was really cool. And I don't, I don't think he'd met ever her before. But she, she had ya know, other boyfriends, I suppose. So I'm sitting on the couch, ya know at Tas' apartment. And I'm reading ya know, Maximum Rock And Roll or Flipside, one of those punk things and I heard Skeeter come in. And he came in and he had all these really nice clothes on. She bought him all this stuff. She, like bought him cologne. He was really, really smelling good ya know, he looked good too. Ya know, he comes in, he puts his herb on the table and, whatever, I'm just reading my little punk magazine not really paying attention. And then he says ah, says,"Hey Dave". And I look up. And he's standing there with his dick in his hand. And he's kinda got it like lifted up so he's looking at the head of his dick. He kinda pointed at me and I didn't know what to think. He said,"Does that look like puss to you?" And I said," No, I think it's lint".
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