The Nomads
Where the Wolf Bane Blooms

I don't know why or if there even is a reason, but in my youth, Sweden exerted a strong attraction on me.

At first, it was sports: never any doubt whether to be on the side of Bjorn Borg or John McEnroe, Mats Wilander or Ivan Lendl, Stefan Edberg – not to mention Annette Olsen – or Boris Becker; I even became fascinated with the stories of skier Ingemar Stenmark and Jan-Ove Waldner, a table tennis champion.

Then it was cinema, Ingrid Bergman, no need to even say it, but for her, I think I would have fainted at her feet even if she had been born in Kathmandu.

Finally, of course, the music: from the Nomads to the Hellacopters, passing through the Creeps, the Swedish fascination struck me inevitably in this case as well.

Then I discovered that in Swedish the “g” is pronounced as “i,” so the capital of Sweden is Iotebori, and my childhood idol was Bori and my teenage one was Edberi, and the fascination vanished without a reason, just as it came.

But the Nomads remained, perhaps because there’s no “g.”

The Nomads were an astounding group, suffice to say that in the very early Eighties, when the garage movement was strictly an American thing, they founded from scratch the European garage scene and practically did everything on their own; and even today, they are still touring, igniting stages with the same fierce grit that propelled them at the start.

One should own their complete discography or at least the amazing, quadruple guide that is the anthology «Showdown», both the first volume dedicated to the Eighties and the second tracing their path in the following decade; if you really want to go all out, the tribute «20 Years Too Soon» would also be a must-have.

Here, however, I'll narrow the discussion to their long-distance debut, the mini LP «Where The Wolf Bane Blooms», which is pure dynamite and, for anyone passionate about garage sounds, one of the ten records to own, no matter the cost.

The record was released a long time ago in 1983, following two singles, «Psycho b/w Come See Me» from 1981 and «Night Time b/w Boss Hoss» from 1982, in which the Nomads, without much fuss, gave to the Sonics what is the Sonics' due – that is, being the number one of all time and place, without much debate – and at the same time laid a foundational stone on which, in the span of just a few years, a fearsome musical scene was erected; and especially, that stone is as big and hefty as the entire old continent, so much so that the garage gospel reverberates all the way down to Italy and Greece.

«Where The Wolf Bane Blooms», then.

Six tracks on the list, four are covers, two are originals.

The latter are «Lowdown Shakin' Chills» which closes side A and «Rockin' All Trough The Night» which opens side B, tracks that keep at bay the sense of déjà entendu because the Nomads are different from all other garage bands of the moment, different from the Gravedigger V and the Fuzztones, thanks to a genuine rock 'n' roll attitude that leads them to contaminate the garage sound with so much else, and just hearing the attack of «Rockin' All Trough The Night» suffices to agree that these are the Cramps locking themselves in the garage, leaving the car engine running, and taking up instruments to maul that same Elvis who, before becoming the king, gyrated to the primitive sounds of rock 'n' roll and blues – sowing the seeds of much future psychobilly, while at it; not to mention «Lowdown Shakin' Chills» which, if recorded twenty years earlier, would have shot straight to open «Nuggets» or «Pebbles», and I mean this as a high praise, nervous psychedelic artistry of very fine craftsmanship yet imbued with acid punk rock, like that played in distant Australia, whether Master Apprentice, Missing Links, or whoever else comes to mind from there.

Because 1977 did not pass in vain.

The remakes are «The Way You Touch My Hand» and «I'm 5 Years Ahead Of My Time» on side A and «Downbound Train» and «Milkcow Blues» on side B.

The first two highlight the more psychedelic side of the band, which goes diving into obscure pieces of sixties history; and this, I write here and I do not deny, is the most exciting aspect of Eighties garage, because what the Nomads do, the Fuzztones and the Gravedigger V do too, and together they give visibility to bands that would have otherwise remained buried in the annals of time, like the Third Bardo. And later, when a random Pinhead stumbles upon the originals, waves of chills rush up and down one's spine, and off we go to retrieve the Nomads' cover to compare whether it measures up to the original, and I may be an idiot but the pleasure these trifles still bring me today is priceless.

And to wrap it up here, I previously mentioned the Nomads' rock 'n' roll attitude, so here they are, «Downbound Train» and «Milkcow Blues»: especially «Downbound Train» drives me crazy, with that menacing guitar feedback rising in the opening and unfurling over a fast-paced blues rhythm, that every time the train starts, the soul of Jeffrey Lee Pierce and the entire Gun Club rise again.

That in 1983 there was still enthusiasm for raw reinterpretations of Chuck Berry and Elvis Presley is surprising; that these still enthuse in 2016 is a marvel, and the Nomads have achieved their own small, great wonder.

They were Hans, Nick, Ed and Joakim, four young lads who accomplished something perhaps they hadn't even conceived.