The Gun Club - Miami

I can't say I'm a fan of neo-classic country though I have a few comrades who made a few bucks on the genre. It just never achieved the great nexus of haunting and desperate, perhaps having more to do with its practitioners being collections of exurb exgrunge kids. I think the words 'contrived' and 'disingenuous' also apply. But that's neither here nor there or your underwear...

When I probe the classic country avec punk rock matter, Ian Curtis comes to mind as a kindred spirit to the dark Johnny Cash chakra of the broken whiskeytango aspiration. And I feel pretty fuckin comfy saying Jeffrey Lee Pierce could be the closest thing to Curtis we have in the colonies. Pierce just took a lot longer and was more methodical in his suicide. But this gets back to psychic bond of the noir and lonesome moan of classic country and the major depressive disorder of the Manchester grime which Pierce bridged. He crossed the pond between the Cash and the Curtis - a tribal chunnel if you will.

Yes there are a few throwaways here and absolutely nothing about this record says, "Miami," but you know soul when you hear it, dig?

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AllMusic.com says: The sophomore record by the Gun Club bore the curse of having to follow a monolith of their own making. Fire of Love sold extremely well for an independent; it was a favorite of virtually every critic who heard it in 1981. Miami showcased a different lineup as well. Ward Dotson replaced Congo Powers (temporarily, at least) on guitar, and there were a ton of guest performances, including Debbie Harry and Chris Stein. Stein produced the album.

Going for a rougher sound, Stein left the instruments at one level and boosted Pierce's vocal. There is plenty of guitar here, screaming and moping like a drunken orphan from the Texas flatlands, but next to its predecessor it sounds drier and reedier. Ultimately it hardly matters. Going for a higher, more desolate sound, frontman and slide player Jeffrey Lee Pierce and his band were literally on fire. The songs here, from "Carry Me," "Like Calling Up Thunder," "Devil in the Woods," "Watermelon Man," "Bad Indian," and "Texas Serenade," among others, centered themselves on a mutant form of country music that met the post-punk ethos in the desert, fought and bloodied each other, and decided to stay together. This is hardcore snake-charming music (as in water moccasins not cobras), evil, smoky, brash, and libidinally uttered.

Their spooky version of an already creepy tune by Creedence Clearwater Revival, "Run Through the Jungle" runs the gamut from sexual nightmare to voodoo ritual gone awry. Finally, Pierce and company pull out all the roots and reveal them for what they are: "John Hardy," is a squalling punk-blues, with the heart of the country in cardiac arrest. Dotson proved to be a fine replacement for Congo Powers, in that his style was pure Telecaster country (à la James Burton) revved by the Rolling Stones and Johnny Thunders. Miami was given a rough go when it was issued for its production. But in the bird's-eye view of history its songs stack up, track for track, with Fire of Love and continue to echo well into this long good night.

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