Squirrel Bait
Skag Heaven

The Squirrel Bait were truly an amazing band. Their life was quite short, but their ability to carve a long and deep trench into the alternative scene of the mid-eighties paved the way for the arrival of grunge, noise, and all those who in the 90s would then go on to cash in their credit. "Skag Heaven," the album I want to talk about, is one of those records I would undoubtedly take to the famous desert island, along with Belen, of course. I couldn't resist the temptation to revisit it because, heard again today, it provokes the same enthusiastic sensations as it did 40 years ago.

And to think that the quintet of kids from Louisville, Kentucky seemed like a joke; a bunch of fresh-faced students who, as soon as they finished playing, went back to their books to finish high school and avoid getting yelled at by their parents. Something Manuel Agnelli would have torn his wig off to coach them. Anyway, ignoring all the talent shows that luckily didn't exist, it was immediately clear that "Squirrel Bait" couldn't be underestimated. Bob Mould was one of the first to realize the incredible value of the band. It had nothing to do with their age, skateboards, or Replacements t-shirts... the band's sonic impact was simply devastating. An unstoppable guitar deluge of energy led by David Grubbs and Brian McMahan, two nobodies who would soon become somebodies. Not to mention Peter Searcy's "suffering" vocals, stretched to the limit of his own range to nail the notes purely instinctively. A lot of good stuff. And to cap it off, the hellish rhythm section, Clark Johnson's vaguely jazz-infused bass and Ben Daughtrey's Stakhanovite drumming, miraculously holding it all together. The sum of these individuals ends up making the difference, and Homestead, an emerging label in the independent scene, notices them and signs them for their debut album. It will also be their testament.

Drawing inspiration from the hardcore Bible, Zen Arcade, of course, Squirrel Bait updated that fundamental chapter of music "that came from the Northeast" with pounding bass drums. They built on those "important" sounds and enriched them with a new tension and exceptional compositional ability, creating their masterpiece. "Skag Heaven" lasts only 25 minutes and 45 seconds, but it's so intense it makes even the gorillas in Burundi pale. It's a full-on assault of dissonance and fury that takes no prisoners.

The album opens with "Kid Dynamite," the manifesto of the album. The rhythm is anxious and frantic. It tells of a street story gone wrong like a thousand others, and the Baits introduce us without fear to their personal hell of provincial teens, without a present and without a future. "Virgil's Return" keeps the tension high, but it's with "Black Light Poster Child" that the stakes are raised considerably. A new scenario opens for hardcore, and you find yourself far away from both Black Flag and the Dischord sound. Here, a deep and poignant melodic search takes center stage. Songs become epic, torn by impetuous guitar shocks but also by memorable choruses, with Peter Searcy's anxious voice engaged in a mad chase, almost as if the rest of the band had dumped him from the van and he was running after them. The sonic assault is relentless and continues with the splendid "stop & go" of "Choose Yr Poison," which, in just over two minutes, sends all the Green Day home with a kick in the pants. The next "Kick The Cat" features a truly brazen double guitar solo for a punk band of boys from Kentucky, even if Homestead's strictly "low budget" production doesn't do justice to the material's quality. But there's the suspicion, a justifiable one, that this absurd combination of lousy guitars and cheap amplifiers defines the "unique grain" of their sound. Mandatory mention for the tortuous and gloomy "Short Straw Wins," which contains all the forerunners of grunge and the granitic "Slake Train Coming." The biggest surprise, however, is at the end of the record with the improbable Phil Ochs' cover, "Tape From California," which in Squirrel Bait's version becomes impressive. Rhythm, power, melody. True to the schemes of their hardcore approach, the boys fearlessly redefine the folk aesthetic of the song, making it absolutely homogeneous with their compositions. Courage to sell or nothing to lose, I couldn't say. But, if he had been alive, I'm sure Phil would have been proud. Stop, end of the game, the squirrel is trapped. In my opinion, no record from that period encapsulates the spirit of American hardcore in a more concentrated and perfected form than "Skag Heaven." When it all ends, you feel euphoric and exhausted, as if you'd been running for 27 minutes around the block chasing the dog that escaped you, and you're so out of breath you can't even hit it.

The short saga of Squirrel Bait ends here. Discouraged by a snobbish and distrustful critique that couldn't fathom how five teenagers could record an album of that caliber, and despite the passionate concerts alongside monumental bands like Husker Du, Lemonheads, and Sonic Youth, the band doesn't linger any longer and decides to dissolve. Goodbye, and the boys return to school to finish their studies while the most uncompromising alternative rock takes a one-way bus from Minneapolis to Seattle, no longer passing through Louisville.

In stark contrast to the naive idea that only artistic longevity can confer immortal stature to a band, one must accept that, like others before them, Squirrel Bait have forever handed themselves to history in the very brief space of one fantastic album. With the release of "Skag Heaven," the band had practically already dissolved, scattered into many other future musical projects, like Slint (Brian McMahon), Bastro/Gastr del Sol (David Grubbs and Clark Johnson), and Big Wheel (Searcy). Personally, I would have exchanged all those bands for one more album from Squirrel Bait, but that's another story...