It’s a dangerous thing, remixing your own work for, while your sensibilities may have changed as an artist, somewhere out there, there’s a fan who would preserve you in aspic if they could. Nevertheless, with the original long out of print, the chance to revisit Whipping Boy’s Muru Muru (here remixed and reborn as Dysillusion) is not something to miss.
Originally produced by Dead Kennedy’s Klaus Flouride back in 1984, the original exists in a haze of lo-fi static that undoubtedly has a certain charm, even if the overall muddiness of the mix occasionally serves to obscure the musical skill of the band. In contrast, one listen to this sonically beautiful update and there are moments where you could easily convince yourself that it was recorded this year. It’s not just the energy of the band’s delivery that makes it sound so timeless, but the steadfast refusal to acknowledge any obvious genre conventions – both things Grammy-winning producer Joe Chiccarelli teases out in a new mix that stuns with its depth and clarity. Indeed, if anything dates this updated version, it is the authenticity of the band’s performance which, in the absence of industry standards such as quantisation and autotune, thankfully leaves everything sounding delightfully ragged and raw. Not that it lacks in power – with John Golden (Sonic Youth, Blag Flag) at the mastering desk, it sounds satisfyingly huge – making the overall effort that has gone into this new edition more than worthwhile.
Sealing the deal, the reimagined artwork from Aaron Turner (ISIS, Sumac) makes this limited edition re-release an essential purchase for any student of the US art-punk scene.
The album starts as it means to go on. Somewhere, in an alternate universe where Primus and Fugazi jam with The Cure and Sisters of Mercy, Nevermore is a hit single, the eerie ambience of the jagged guitars and plastic pulse of the percussion all underpinning a vocal that slides between studiously affected detachment and barely constrained rage – sometimes within the same line. It’s a brilliant opener, capturing a sense of irrepressible energy, and it is likely to instantly convert any punk / post-punk fans who let this pass them by.
Following an introduction that finds overlapping voices informing us that they talk to themselves, My Day At The Lake finds the band once more highlighting a certain sonic prescience as they evoke the spirit of Fugazi with their deftly entwined guitars. A darker, harder piece with a vocal approach split equally between Dead Kennedys, Butthole Surfers, and Suicidal Tendencies, it packs in more ideas in just under three minutes than most bands manage in a whole album.
Needless to say, two songs in, and I’m a fan for life.
The band take a trip down river into the heart of Vietnam on Sunshine Nelly – a track that opens with a re-creation of Marlon Brando’s haunting monologue from Apocalypse Now. It paves the way for a tightly plotted surf-rocker that proves surprisingly accessible – aided no end by the pristine remix, which allows the guitars to hit home with real force.
The first half of the record concludes in a dank hell, where the sound of dripping pipes and half-heard whisperings give way to the seething art-punk of Mister Magi, which sits somewhere between Sonic Youth’s Death Valley ’69 and Nirvana’s Mexican Seafood in terms of its delivery. Again, it’s a track where, on the original, much of the band’s performance was intimated rather than heard, and it’s fascinating to hear, in this remixed edition, the way in which the guitars slither around the vocals.
As the name implies, Interlude offers a few slivers of noise and guitar which briefly coalesce into a mariachi tune, before the band take a left-turn into the country-parody territory of Beck circa Stereopathetic Soulmanure for the sub-1-minute Walking Boss – the latter emerging from the sound of a needle hitting the groove. Something of a necessary palate cleanser, it lightens the atmosphere in advance of the closing pieces.
Having satisfied their penchant for the unusual, Whipping Boy get back to business with the harmonic-drenched Once In A Lifetime. A standout track on the album, it nods to Sonic Youth’s skewed alt-rock dynamic, capturing for posterity the wild-eyed wonder that existed at the heart of the US hardcore scene. It’s not only a brilliant track, but also a reminder that the bands who emerged from the US underground in the 1980s were sonic innovators who deserve far more credit than they currently receive for their sonic adventuring.
Concluding the album, Whipping Boy ring the changes once again, unleashing a junkyard blues that at least hints at where Oxbow would head some years later. Titled A Junkman, it’s a snarling finale that most closely articulates the likely outcome of Nick Cave fronting Mudhoney.
Panned at the time of release – Eugene Robinson wonders now if the band went too far – just a few years later, a whole host of bands would be taking influence from Whipping Boy’s scattershot approach, incorporating sonic fragments and little skits into their overall approach. Listening now, it’s easy to hear (such is the joy of hindsight) just how ahead of the curve the band were. Aided by a stunning remix / remaster that really opens up the band’s sound, this is the ultimate edition of an album that deserves to be far more widely known and, while it’s a shame there are no unearthed extras, there’s an argument that this perfectly formed time capsule needs nothing more – it really is kinda perfect the way it is.
Whether you own a rare original copy, or if this is the first time you’ve ever heard of Whipping Boy, this limited-edition LP is an essential addition to your collection. Ignore the genre tags and accept it for what it is, a bold, arty statement from a group of musicians who somehow transcended their influences to create something truly special. 9/10
The album is available for pre-order from now here.
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