I managed to catch the mighty Mission of Burma Friday night at Irving Plaza, this time promoting their second post-reunion album, The Obliteratti. I met up with my old comrade, Hot Johnny (sadly, just one of several friends who were recently shown the door by TIME Magazine, my former employer) for some pre-rock drinkage (and some entirely dubious plates of shrimp cocktail and buffalo wings) at Pete's Tavern before showtime. Pete's Tavern may be a storied Manhattan institution (renowned for being both the haunt of O.Henry and the first bar David Lee Roth went to after being busted for buying crappy weed off an undercover cop in Washington Square Park in 1993), but their finger food kinda sucks balls. But, y'know, the beer was cold, so why complain?
I was kinda late to the table on Mission of Burma. I first heard about the band when I picked up one of the last few issues of fabled New Wave `zine, Trouser Press in 1981, prompted by a cover story on Devo (my abso-fave band when I was a freshman in high school). While the Devo piece was alright (finding Mark Mothersbaugh and Bob Cassale interviewing William S. Burroughs, an article I didn't understand or care for at the time, but would love to re-read again now), the pages of that issue were jam packed with bands I'd never heard of (and would later go onto love). In any case, there was a small feature on Mission of Burma, featuring a photo of the band standing against a wall, holding their arms in a manner reminiscent of those shots of celebrated death penalty recipient, Gary Gilmore. Regardless, because they didn't dress like the Dead Boys or the Plasmatics, I immediately assumed -- wrongly, of course -- that they probably weren't very interesting (nor should people be calling them "punk rock"). I'd continue to hear their name as I further immersed myself in music fandom, but never gave much thought to their artsily oblique album covers or seemingly po-faced humorlessness. They didn't seem like the band for me.
By the time I got to college, I'd discovered a slew of bands who -- despite the fact that they refreshingly didn't sport mohawks or wear spike-laden leather jackets -- were largelly more inventive (and summarily more interesting) than the yawnsomely predictable bands who'd adhered to narrow punk rock uniformity. These were bands like Gang of Four, Husker Du, the Mekons, the Feelies, the Minutemen (and later fIREHOSE), the Meat Puppets, the Fall, the Replacements, etc. etc. Mission of Burma ranked solidly among this class of band.
By this point, the band had split up (after vocalist/guitarist Roger Miller's crippling tinnitus had forced him to retire from playing live -- another reason for me to like them), but I managed to see `Burma drummer, Peter Prescott's new band, the Volcano Suns. The `Suns seemed like an entirely cheerier affair than Burma, and their live show was hyperkinetic and spirited (I remember catching them opening for the Wedding Present at CBGB at the crux of the 90's). I'd heard `Burma's "big hit," "That's When I Reach For My Revolver" (later covered by Moby, to no great effect), but -- honestly -- the song's always sorta bored me. But motivated by my appreciation for the Volcano Suns, I worked backward and picked up The Horrible Truth About Burma, a live album culled from their final tour (the fact that they covered "1970" by the Stooges, from Funhouse was a major factor). The Horrible Truth... is an amazing album (despite it's entirely uninspiring sleeve). I also warmed to the band via Michael Azerrad's amazing book, "Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground 1981-1991," which is entirely required reading for any serious music fan, as far as I'm concerned. Go pick it up right now!
In any case, I've been playing catch-up with Mission of Burma ever since. When I heard they were reforming a couple of years back, however, I didn't have high hopes. So many bands of that era were reforming -- from Bauhaus through Wire and beyond -- but the end results weren't always that inspiring. I didn't get around to picking up their reunion album, Onoffon, but have heard great thing about it. I did recently get hold of The Obliteratti and it completely rocks, bolstered by a savvy balance between catchy melodicism and the band's aggressive attack (largely thanks to Peter Prescott's brutish drum battery). I heartily recommend it.
And last night, they were a force to be reckoned with. Since fellow-tinnitus sufferer, Roger Miller famously wore rife-range-suitable ear-protection on the band's final tour in 1983, I took precaution and also wore weapons-grade ear plugs, but I was surprised to find that Roger didn't sport the headset this time around (although there was a plexiglass barrier separating him from Prescott's drum kit -- which, I'm guessing, has something to do with it). Having never seen them when they were a going concern the first time around, statements like "they sounded as if they'd never been away" ring a bit hollow, but they played like a band on fire. I can only imagine what they must've been like in their prime.
In any case, a splendid time was had. Incidentally, I snapped the photo at the top of this post with my crappy cell phone. I assure you that it is indeed Mission of Burma, although from the look of it, it could just as easily be the Wiggles, but I guess you'll just have to trust me.
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