OK, I have a problem. The Melvins announce an album and my bank balance immediately drops. Yet, even so, I have to admit I looked askance at a quadruple-vinyl acoustic album, containing thirty-six reworked tracks from across the band’s ludicrous twenty-four official studio albums to date; not to mention covers and lord knows how many side-projects and digressions. I should have known better… really, I should. After all, the recent effort from Melvins main man King Buzzo was basically an acoustic album (although Buzz’s definition of acoustic would probably stand at odds with most), and it was gloriously entertaining. Anyhow, I was wrong to doubt the band’s wisdom in this matter and, as penance, I’ll head off and blast my ears with Prick fourteen times in a row before returning to the keyboard.
Well, that was… cleansing [ahem].
Sooooo, yes, Five Legged Dog is kinda awesome and, of course, riven with contradictions. It’s an acoustic album that’s heavy; it’s a rampant ride through the band’s back catalogue filled with joy; it’s beautifully recorded and as raw as fuck (I’ll leave the extent of Fuck’s rawness entirely up to you); it’s gorgeously melodic and gleefully atonal; the songs are short (mostly), but the album is long (there are bloody loads of them) and the whole thing plays out like an acoustic jam held in Buzz’s basement. In other words, it’s a Melvins album and, if you like Melvins, then you will like this record.
[Sigh] No one ever said following this band would be easy…
Thirty-six tracks and, of course, no sense of order. It opens with Edgar The Elephant (from A Walk With Love And Death), which is rendered here as a neo-psychedelic jam, the main function of which is to remind the listener that the Melvins, no matter how much they may try to hide it under a wall of brain-draining riffs, are superlative musicians. Not only a brilliant track, play this to the unsuspecting and they could well believe you’ve unearthed some long-lest gem from the Nuggets-era. Then there’s Up The Dumper (Bootlicker), which sounds rather more like The Meat Puppets. Obviously.
And so it goes…
Familiar tracks are rendered in a whole new way and suddenly the prospect of The Melvins Unplugged (yes, MTV, I Know that’s your trademark) doesn’t feel quite so mad after all. Not that the band have lost their bite. Listen to the cacophonous drum intro to the twelve-minute Hung Bunny / Roman Dog Bird and you’re into Sonic Youth territory, with acoustic guitars flailing under the wall of cymbals and random acapella harmonies. Bold and arty, it underscores the fact that Melvins will give you an acoustic album… sure they will; but it’ll be on their terms. The first LP offers many such surprises over the course of its eight tracks, not least a cover of Red Kross’ Charlie that sounds like an R.E.M. b side from the IRS years. Go figure.
LP two opens up with a hybrid of Eye Flys (Gluey Porch Treatments) and Woman (a cover of the classic Free song, because who wouldn’t expect Melvins to cover Free?) With the six-minute original now an eight-minute jam that, somehow, maintains its heaviness without even an ounce of distortion in the mix. As such, it’s clear that the Melvins have somehow unlocked the secret that makes even the acoustic guitar an instrument of death. What follows is no less eclectic. The joyous Outside Chance (a cover of The Turtles) follows in the footsteps of the glorious Beach Boys pastiche from Working With God, whereas Evil New War God (The Bride Screamed Murder) is a percussive assault on the senses. It’s all comfortingly Melvins, of course, but don’t get comfortable, because there’s always something unlikely lurking in the wings. For example, Bad Move dips into Dale Crover’s solo album (The Fickle Finger Of Fate), while Alice Cooper’s Halo Of Flies (originally covered with Jello Biafra) makes an appearance, just to keep long-term fans guessing as to what’s likely to appear next.
LP 3 opens with the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Oven (Ozma) before segueing into an incongruously faithful rendering of the Rolling Stones’ Sway (recorded here for the first time). You could even be fooled into thinking that, some two LPs, Melvins have mellowed. But, of course… Boris (from Bullhead) clocks in at nearly seven minutes and reminds us just why it provided both name and inspiration for the Japanese noise band. With the layers of noise stripped away, it plays out like a long-lost psychedelic gem and, as with so many of the tracks here, you’re left in awe at the sheer inventiveness on display. If It’s Shoved and Honey Bucket are both short and weird, the aptly-titled We Are Doomed, with its awkward time-signatures and off-kilter chords, takes its sweet time systematically shredding your nerve endings. Fortunately, the band relent, and three shorter tracks see the album out, with Braniac’s Fly Paper proving a twistedly lovely delight.
LP 4 picks the awesome Night Goat as its opening track and it’s notable that, even stripped down to an acoustic core, it still remains stunningly heavy. Built around a tension-enhancing riff and creeping bass, Night Goat should be mandatory listening for all humans (imagine how much better the world as whole would be if it were played at nightmarish volume in school corridors between classes) and it remains a showstopper. Various short pieces follow, including Fred Neil’s Everybody’s Talking (well, why not) but it’s the final three tracks that bring the album home, each one clocking in at over five minutes in length, and each making good use of the expanded run time. First up, The Bit (from Stag) dips back into Sonic Youth’s avant-noise territory, before heading along a more conventionally doomy path. Civilized Worm ((A) Senile Animal) is a more straightforward piece, built around a surprisingly sprightly riff although, of course, digressions occur, as the weight of the percussion suddenly causes a collapse. Finally, we get a lengthy, and entirely insane, Don’t Forget To Breathe (Pinkus Abortion Technician), closing an album that, over the course of thirty-six tracks, takes in numerous sidings and digressions, and yet never once outstays its welcome. It’s hard to believe, and it says much of Melvins’ refreshingly innovative approach that they’ve managed to make what surely must be the longest album of acoustic re-imaginings ever, and made it sound entirely fresh and new.
Old favourites, deep cuts and covers. Nothing is sacred on Five Legged Dog and nothing seems ill fitting or out of place. From straight unplugged renditions that uncover the gorgeous melodies Melvins’ so often obscure under waves of distortion, to frankly insane re-workings that manage to sound more outré than the originals, even without amplification; Five Legged Dog is a marathon offering.
Best heard on vinyl, largely because each of the LPs feels like a natural break, the album works best as a compendium into which you can dip from time to time, but one thing is clear throughout, Melvins are outstanding musicians. A labour of love, Five Legged Dog is one of those albums that, on paper, simply shouldn’t work and yet, here it is, and better than anyone could possibly have imagined. 10/10
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