Lounge Lizards
Voice Of Chunk

Bebop.
Progressive rock.
Free-jazz.
Cool-jazz.
Arty-jazz.
New wave.
Post-punk...
For twenty-five years, people have been trying to label this band into a genre, obviously with little success.
The Lizards have always skillfully dodged every label. In every sense, since this album is self-produced.

In '81, the band of the Lurie brothers (John is known to film buffs for his collaborations with Jarmusch, Lynch, and Benigni) burst onto the New York scene with their first, self-titled album, and immediately - guess what - the inevitable purists were outraged. And off they went with "this is fake-jazz," and "the volume is too high," and "they're too vulgar," and nothing suits them. But Johnny knows what he's doing, he continues down a path that unfolds before him as he walks. He collaborates with great musicians (particularly Tom Waits, and let's not forget Arto Lindsay, who was in the lineup of the Lizards' first album), and in 1989 he produces the "album of maturity." And it's an album for which the saying "appetite comes with eating" truly applies. At first taste, the chili tingles a bit on the tongue. The aftertaste isn't bad though... In the end, you like that spicy and bold flavor. You take another forkful... And you end up having an overdose.

The first track, Bob The Bob (even better the reprise, number 8 Bob The Bob Home), is opened by John's velvety saxophone. A lazy, nocturnal riff, backed by a floating arpeggio from Marc Ribot's skilled guitar; then the muffled toms of Douglas Browne's drums join in, and Evan Lurie's clever piano fill-ins perfectly complete the initial riff of his brother, which by now has started to vary, only to close as it began once again.

The first thing that stands out is the naturalness and confidence with which the band members interact with each other. This cohesion that they manage to create is the true core of all formations led by Lurie.
"It's not just about musical skill," says John, "it's more about personality, spirit, energy, about how connections are made [...] it's as if this current band had always played together [...] we work hard on this intricate matter, and play almost as if it were a religious rite. We emanate this... thing. It's almost like a cult": a way to explain that this cohesion, or whatever you want to call it, is a necessary component, in a band as in any team. It's as if it increases each individual's capabilities by 100%. All talented bands that have built their music around this component have done great things, especially thinking of Led Zeppelin or Duane's Allman Brothers.

Back to the album. The second track, the title track, is my favorite. It begins with a syncopated tempo reminiscent of the prog-jazz-rock of Weather Report, marked by low piano chords. And here, ladies and gentlemen, Ribot takes the stage. The English purebred of the six-string. An inspired solo of his presents him: "hello my name is Marc, I'm one of the most ingenious sons of bitches to ever pick up a guitar". His style is multifaceted, cacophonic, unmistakable. He's one of those (along with Hendrix, Duane Allman's slide guitar, and a few others blessed by God) you recognize after the third note. His specialty is short and concise solos, give him 5 seconds and in 5 seconds he'll give you something right, something complete. Without frills, never overdoing it. If it weren't for his presence in this album, I would've reviewed the first one (which is objectively better than this one).
The songs, however, are all impeccably constructed. The third track, "One big yes", is another energetic prog-jazz, followed by "The hanging", a slow swing for 3 in the morning interspersed with John's classic "neurotic" sax; and we're already at the fifth track, "Uncle Jerry": it opens with a syncopated bass riff, then it is the usual stream of Lurie's notes in which other instruments flow, and by mid-song it has already become a river. Browne's drumsticks samba on the tom's metal, E. J. Rodriguez's djembes are the cheese on the macaroni.
The next is "A paper bag and the sun", definitely the most experimental, the one that makes you hesitate to label them "jazz".
Confirming this doubt is number seven, "Tarantella". The track you don't expect. A hybrid between Tom Waits, a Broadway song, and the soundtrack of "Il piccolo diavolo".
The eighth is indeed the reprise of the first, only a bit edgier. The ninth is an "Sharks" hard-bop frenzy.
And lastly, what did they reserve for us?
"Travel", which begins with Evan's solo piano and transforms into a melancholic, cinematic jazz tango. oh yeah.

There's nothing to be said, an album that's straightforward, balanced, inspired. Hats off to John Lurie.





Stars: 4+/5