CREEM—April 1985
by Jon Young
The Gun Club Loads Up
NEW YORK—Singer-guitarist Jeffrey lee Pierce can’t stop playing a part, but he does admit that he’s one satisfied ghoul these days: “My problem in the past was being separate from the band. They were just the band, and I was a freakshow object.”
“Now we’re all a freakshow!” laughs Kid Congo (Brian to his mom) Powers.
Kid Congo’s presence in the band probably has a lot to do with Pierce’s happy state of mind, for it was the two of them who founded the Gun Club in Los Angeles four years ago. Pierce, a Blondie fan club president, and Powers, a Ramones fan club president, were “trying to come up with something that was so anti-everything it would piss everyone else off.” But by the time sessions for the 1981’s Fire Of Love rolled around, Powers had amicably departed to play guitar for the Cramps. Ward Dotson signed on to play his parts, with drummer Terry Graham and bassist Rob Ritter rounding out the lineup.
Pierce has little to say about the first Gun Club LP, except: “I can’t even remember making it. What can you say about a record that you cut for 2,500 bucks in 48 hours on speed. It was just punk rock.” He gives 1982’s Miami much higher remarks.
However, the Gun Club didn’t have a really strong lineup until The Las Vegas Story, when Pierce and Graham were bolstered by the return of Powers and the addition of bassist Patricia Morrison, like Graham, a former member of L.A. punk band the Bags.
So now they’re one big happy family (like the Addams Family), united by a contempt for the grotesqueries of contemporary society. Ask Pierce why Elvis Presley keeps cropping up in his songs, for example, and hey says “I hate Elvis. I want his head cut off and his brain taken out. He represents the Americana I hate: the good Olympic star, the good hamburger eater, the good beer drinker, the good pill popper.” Or consult the inner sleeve of The Las Vegas Story for a graphic tale of the gambling capitol’s destruction by fire and the torture/murder of such beloved entertainers as Sammy Davis Jr. and Lola Falana.
Summarizes Kid Congo, “We’re probably much harder to please than the average American. We admit we’re from the punk rock era. We’re out to make trouble.”
And enjoying it too. “We’re having a great time,” smiles Pierce, lapsing into sincerity. “I’m very happy now that I didn’t drink or take drugs to the point of death during the making of Miami, when I was at my most depressed. Because since then, I’ve gotten to go on tour to Austraila and Mexcico, and do other wonderful things. And there’s so much more to be done!”
Like torching Vegas, maybe? |
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The Gun Club
Miami / Death Party / The Las Vegas Story
82 / 83 / 04 / 2004 Symapathy For The Record Industry
If the blues had a baby and they named it rock 'n' roll, it could just as easily be said that if Bakersfield country and punk rock got it on, they'd called the baby the Gun Club.
LA's Gun Club reputedly was an influence on the White Stripes (and countless others) with its high-energy combination of sweaty punk rock with Western-tinged jangle and twang. But while the group's legendary status is assured, these records have long been out of print and scarce (fetching big bucks on eBay). Now, thankfully, the good folks at Sympathy for the Record Industry have given us some primo reissues of these seminal records, all remastered and sounding great.
The band's second record, Miami, was produced by Chris Stein and released in 1982
The band (a trio at the time) quotes "Dixie," covers CCR and generally lays waste to every song it plays. Death Party, from 1983, is even more raw. The five original studio tracks from the EP are augmented with seven songs from a 1983 Radio Geneva sessions that showcases the band's intensity. A feedback-laden destruction of "Strange Fruit" dissolves into a torrid and plodding "Fire of Love" that lays waste to the version on Miami. The third album, The Las Vegas Story, was first released in 1984 has moments of lounge music and freakout free jazz mixed in among the walls of feedback and stomping beats. It's a gorgeous masterpiece of eerie debauchery.
Sadly, Jeffrey Lee Pierce left us in 1996, another rock 'n' roll casualty who never knew how important his work would be after his death. At least now you don't have to break the bank on eBay to find out why.
—Brian J. Bowe
November 2004
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