Jay Number Six - The One That Got Away

I've been doing so well in my quest for complete Jay nirvana, a bit of resentment towards Matador for making me this bloodthirsty because now I have an overwhelming void in my heart and my collection of Jaywad singles. I can blame it on the windstorm because I had no power and most of Columbus had no internet the day I was supposed to stay glued to a frozen computer screen till I secured number six. I was about to drive 60 miles to the nearest internets outpost just to get one of these. There's anxiety in my stress-filled muscles now without this on my turntable. A certain brother promised to secure one in NYC (where 75% of these probably end up) but no dice. So anyone that feels charitable, and could spare one (for maket value no less) give me a ring.

That said. I've heard this. In fact I've heard them all in succession barring the final "bonus" song. And this is the bittersweet denouement of the series. "No Time" is the NZ scruff-pop being played from the toy aisle in a Memphis Dollar General, nylon strings and GBV fruit-loops only with a few more tracks than 4 -- dusty but clear headed, tired but ready to tackle what lies ahead. "You Were Sleeping" is again, a b-side superior, Jay's goodbye for now, a lullaby with whispered harmonies and atmosphere meted over what might be bongo-fueled campfire folk were it in the company of wolves. He's starting to show that he's just a wide-eyed kid with melodies overflowing in golden hues -- not the crust-punk he plays on TV. Maybe it took money and love and tours around the globe to pry that side out, because I'm assuming it's always been there just waiting to weep and smile. Can't wait to see how soft he can actually get, this is cream-puff but certainly not as sincere as he might be when he notices his first gray hair.

Jay Number Five Conquers Indie Rock

I've not been listening to number four all that much since it arrived. It's potent, novelty stuff, but ultimately the misstep of the series. Not only does Bradford Cox celebrity presence (though he gives a fine interpretation) kill the flow -- Jay doing an inferior songwriter's dopey psych just doesn't fit him yet.

Number five then, is the redeemer. As a whole it the finest since the first, and the a-side "Trapped Here" is his first watershed moment as a solo artist. In a recent interview (found on the Matablog) he claims it took him ten years to conquer punk, and it will only take him a few months to conquer indie rock. In contrast, an inside source reports Jay's been releasing lesser material as the singles get smaller. "Trapped Here" begs to differ, as it's the most realized song Mr. Lindsey has written. If he conquers indie rock he can potentially do it in three minutes. The song is catchy and sharp as all the recent Reatard hits (has surpassed former favorite "An Ugly Death") but wrapped and creased in a disorienting haze of cave-pop, reverb and endless bliss, shambollic on every beat. The blistering end comes like a Beijing grand finale of distorted fireworks, building up a metropolis in a few short measures (there's a new Mogwai album coming out?).

That's not even touching the b-side, in which Jay returns to stripped punk. "Hiding Hole" a bit more 50's herky-jerky bop and "DOA" self-explanatory swift-boat of snot, cleaned up remeniscience of the first band to bear his name. Let's say now that Number Six just might explode in one's hands. In that same interview, the band says more than once, conquering metal is next.

Jay Hearts Cox (And Vice Versa)

Yelping about this single is pretty moot at this point, though I'm thrilled with the amount of incest going on in the underground these days. Yes, I finally got one of these, due to the snafu at Matador. It's really a beaut, pink and black split vinyl -- who they hiring for the articulate pressings over there?

The track listing for the eventual collection of these limited singles has been revealed, and it's kind of astonishing that Mr. Reatard's cover of "Fluorescent Grey" would be included. With number four, novelty is the key, though it appears as if Jay and Bradford (of Deerhunter) are engaged in a sparked romance. They must love each other enough to cover each other's songs. So what we have is Jay screeching through, what is perhaps, Deerhunter's most excellent burner before the forthcoming Microcastle, and in many ways ruining my first impressions of the song. He needs to get back to basics, or at least the weirdly profound streak he's been on. And the b-side is Mr. Cox actually giving a nice addition to "Oh, It's Such a Shame," by slowing it down, ridding it of the sharp edges, and getting it cooled and mellowed. Not as bad as first thought. Surely though, these singles and their concepts, were mapped out months ago. These aren't just imagined and recorded weeks before their release.

I'm officially hooked (as are thousands it seems) on this serial mode of collector scum bait. Number Five? Who knows? Thank god for the internet (or thee comp. that comes forth in September)

Jay Gets Sweet on Number Three

If I’ve been tardy in the W.O.W., waiting in line for a Reatard single is a legitimate excuse these days. My internet’s been clogged, slowed to a crawl, as I tried three times to get my hands on what might just be the worst two songs of the bunch (unsuccessfully, I might add). Despite the expectations for the upcoming split with Deerhunter and the clusterfuck that was their pre-order procedure, Matador made good. Yippee, but I’m still eager to see how exactly they’ll remedy this logistical nightmare, and what shall become of further releases (those smaller batches). But back to perhaps my favorite of the already fabled seven-inchers so far. Number Three finds Mr. Reatard adhering himself permanently to the power pop particle board. “Always Wanting More” is that blitzkrieg bubblegum that becomes a little mantra in the skull for hours afterward, but the entire charade is fairly predictable at this point – in terms of production and process. I’m really digging the jangle he’s hooked on, but am finding his cold heart and general disdain for those around him (“you’re such useless bore”) a bit redundant. Though he is the best at writing bad lyrics – and these are the best bad lyrics in the set I can find.

Meanwhile, “You Mean Nothing to Me,” (there’s the thematic trend again, hate songs for softies) tries to melt that icy soul with the Southern Hemisphere. There’s no other point of reference here besides pretty much every great song from New Zealand. I just want to yell “Tally Ho, Tally Ho” over the squiggly day-glo organ or the rapidly strummed mandolin, instead of “I Care Nothing For You.” Tiny guitars? Renaissance of a modern punk? On one-sided, paint splattered, clear vinyl no less? This is my favorite packaging and song sequence so far. Or did I say that last time? Another high quality, intricately designed, artifact from the over-worked staff at Matador.

Jay does Adam Ant

Though I'll admit to being detached/ or trying to become attached to the collector scum culture (wuz I coll' sc. before it became a term, prolly not, oh well), I was never aware of the backlash Mr. Reatard has received for going acoustic. Equivalent to Dylan going electric at Royal Albert Hall? Not to parallel the two, but you'd seem to think it in our tiny little universe. Fact is, Jay Reatard, through his series of minor-pressed seven-inchers, is re-establishing himself -- going from Memphis punk ditch digger to international pop sensation (check the whirlwind European tour for proof, as only in Europe do you become established (sic)).

"Painted Shut" is acoustic guitar based, theory now being most of Blood Visions was conceived in this mold (check the Night of Broken Glass EP). I can't say the lyrics are profound, though he does get a pass for rhyming "started" with "retarded" since it's his namesake, but the melodies are rich, flamboyant, the work of someone with an ear for the radio (and wouldn't we all like to hear this on the radio?). It's a song that's definitely over before it's done (a brief minute-forty-nine) and that's the charm, lodging a jangly hook in the head and heading off for a beer. Unfortunately lesser than the two songs on the first chunk.

It's the b-side here, "An Ugly Death," that is the marquee, starting with a keys/solo intro that could either be from Master of Puppets or Kings of the Wild Frontier, as the line between proto-modern-metal and post-glam-pre-new-wave is blurred beyond recognition. Reatard's been doing his homework, hitting the high notes like never before, ringing in a chorus that succeeds all the Josef K, Orange Juice, and XTC comparisons that will likely cock-block this (perfect) second statement. Like him or not, he's cementing a spot in our playlist for years to come.

Jay Does the Wedding Present

Now that Mr. Reatard is branded with the distinctive Matador logo (not that there was ever a problem with Goner, Empty or In the Red), is he expected to provide more for the underground, worldwide culture, the teens, the kids, the collector scum? Is he expected to go above and beyond the call of duty? Is he expected to become one of “America’s Greatest Songwriters”? These are questions that need to be answered with an emphatic hells yes. I expect a decade of flawless singles and nothing less. I expect Tiger Beat stardom, fold-out posters, pins with his curly locks busting out the sides. He’s the been-there done-that idol – the brat that got beat (b-side “Screaming Hand” has some daddy issues), the glue sniffer, the boombox-recording pre-pubescent Ramone, the drop-out, and the gutter snake.

My love/hate relationship with the man stems from many corners. I was never a huge Reatards or Lost Sounds fan. I saw him in Digital Leather one night baiting hatred and violence to no avail. The kids just want to have fun. All that rage seemed to taper off with the Angry Angles and his solo triumph Blood Visions - the latter a head-to-toe, Eno influenced, skate-punk, shocker, stocked tight with hook’s sharp as chum drags. The underwear and blood cover was a selling point in itself, as if saying “I made a record by myself. Ended up naked and brain damaged.”

With “See-Saw,” the first of six singles that might just define my summer, consider it nothing but love. Jay Reatard possesses a bubblegum soul. Every little nuance of his phrasing throughout this nitrous aim at nursery rhyme (the play on words, the reflection of his indifference to stardom?), the Wedding Present meets Circle Jerks pointillism of his trend towards scrappier, bright, guitars sounds, the fist-raising outro, all make for the most joyous three minutes I’ve heard so far this year. Could he purposely be ripping from Superchunk’s On the Mouth? If you head over to his blog, you’ll bear witness to his obsession with XTC (see “Tiny Little Home”) or attempts at black metal (see “Forest of Blitzkrieg”), it’s a testament that might just reveal too much, too soon -- but the guy’s recent prolific streak is flawless. An equation for “Screaming Hand” is likely to involve Queen and the Wipers, we shouldn’t get there yet. Another time? We still have three weeks till the next installment.