Carbon Records CR237
Do we need another “rock” album?
I mean, look in your basement. Look at all those “rock” discs you bought, or stole, or found, or made, over decades. A swampland of tired riffs, pounding beats, blood, thunder, flatulence: full of sound and fury, signifying not at all. When was the last time you played any of that shit? I mean, played it with no irony, no gloss of nostalgia?
Here. Take this. It’s the new Ian Downey is Famous release, Destroy Language. I’ve been driving around Rochester, NY, just listening to it...
When I drive through the neighborhood to my suburban Shangri-la, it reminds me that I don’t have a clue what I’m doing or where I’m going, reminds me how easily clapboards burn. I can hear them smoldering through my speakers. And when I’m in the city and I see the dude under the overpass with the dog-eared cardboard “Anything Helps” sign, I get the story that made his story. I’m not saying I know what to do...but Billboards touting lies, Wegmans trucks with radishes and carrots as big as trees, rail yards without engines, only empty cars— it all falls away. Language, destroyed. What’s left? I don’t know. But I know what’s gone.
So the answer to the question above is a resonant and unqualified “Fuck yeah!” There is a purity here—a filthy, rotten, purity, that can only be conveyed through rock played with a sublime kinda skull and a sublime kinda skill. So take this, get rid of all those discs made by nameless, shirtless, tatted tribesmen in leather pants. Take this, put it alongside what’s left: your Stooges and your SY and your Easy Action Alice and your pre-disco Gang of Four. Take it, dammit!
IDIF’s Destroy Language is for those of us who forgot to die before we got old, and for the few kids who know better. I wonder if Derrida or Habermas or Baudrillard or Nietzsche, or that hilariously annoyingly macho guy at the end of the bar that needs to just come out, already, can hear this?
I think I know...
- Brian Shafer (Nod)