Published on Dec 31, 1998
How many people would have heard of Flipper had the late Kurt
Cobain not mentioned them as one of his musical influences?
Too bad Cobain’s not here anymore. I’d like to slap him silly
for bringing this band back into the forefront. Once best known for
the drug overdose death of bassist/vocalist Will Shatter, this band
seemed fated to remain in obscurity. But once Cobain opened
Pandora’s box, not only did their earlier catalog get re-released,
but the band got back together to record even more sewage.
Their 1981 debut,
Generic, has about as much charm to it as a cattle prod in
the back. Each instrument seems to want to go in its own direction,
and the vocals are more shouted than verbalized. If you are a fan
of riffs being repeated over and over again ad nauseam, then have I
got the album for you.
I guess things don’t start off that terribly with “Ever,” an
angst-filled number which poses numerous questions to the listener.
The problem with Flipper early on is that they sound like a garage
band who have been left alone in a recording studio after maybe two
practice sessions, and are allowed to bang away for as long as they
want.
The drone of the repetitious chords hits bottom on numbers like
“(I Saw You) Shine” and the totally depressing “Sex Bomb,” which
features saxophone work that sounds like it came from a Mothers Of
Invention session courtesy of Ian Underwood. Problem is, this isn’t
so much music as it is an orgasm of cacophony – or is that
“ca-ca”?
Shatter gets his turns in front of the microphone – in maybe the
only bright spot on the whole album, his vocal style sounds a bit
like a thrash group I like, Life Sentence. (Anyone remember
them?) But the same story happens when he’s in charge of the
band. “Shed No Tears” falls into the same trap of repetition..
(click)… repetition… (click) … repitition… (click)…
I would have been able to stomach the roughness of Flipper’s
sound a bit more had there been some more variety to the music.
Even at Nirvana’s worst, they were able to inject new musical paths
into the songs, making things a little more bearable. This is the
musical equivalent to having a root canal without Novacaine; by the
end of the album, I was ready to claw my eyeballs out.
Generic is an album that appears to be mercifully out of
print. If the powers that be are smart, they’ll leave it there this
time.