Violent Femmes - The godfathers of folk-punk

I need somebody. Not just anybody. Help me if you can, I'm feeling down. Could it be you? Could it be you?

(Gordon Gano)

Their music is fantastic, but the lyrics get in the way

(Ornette Coleman)

Intro

New American Frustration

Dawn of the Eighties. While Sting openly declares that "rock is dead", a certain music television channel called MTV opens its doors. Hedonism becomes a lifestyle and the dominance of image begins to spread with a flick of a comb and a spray of hairspray. New musical phenomena like hip-hop and rap flood the airwaves, gradually pushed aside by targeted TV broadcasts on a mission to promote music.

Sting, however, overstates his prophecy, because rock doesn't die at all. After all, Jon Landau knew exactly what he meant when he wrote, "I saw rock and roll's future, and its name is Bruce Springsteen". In reality, rock embarks on a path of gradual fusion with a pop music that resembles less and less the innovative lesson of the Beatles, and more and more the record-label lottery of "Thriller". Massive marketing strategies build well-defined (super)highways for the careers of dozens upon dozens of bands. Simon Le Bon's sexy poses, for instance, turn the romantic easy-rock of Duran Duran into a planetary success.

And yet, every phenomenon has its dark side. So one has to leave behind Quincy Jones's extreme cunning and the lavishly produced videos to peek into much smaller worlds, like the colleges of provincial America. It's here that the story of the Eighties runs through the musical choices of thousands of angry, marginalized students shaking their heads and hearts to punk and post-punk chords. A handful of underground bands refuse to follow the main road, avoiding settling into any one specific genre. So much for Sting.

Just head over to Wisconsin's biggest city, Milwaukee.

On the streets, in the cafés, three reckless kids amuse themselves by playing with the fads of the time, turning them into something of their own, something unique. A way of revisiting the oldest American musical traditions so conservative that it ends up being, in the end, tremendously revolutionary and innovative.

The humility of playing country and folk with deliberately rough-and-ready instruments thus becomes the key to adding a new sonic piece to the word "punk".

Three guys barely into their twenties have just the right dose of anger and frustration to give voice, with acoustic poverty and electric deviance, to their generation's post-adolescent discomforts.

Old and new small-town pathologies thus find the right, psychotic sonic outlet, much to the dismay of the girls swooning over Le Bon.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Violent Femmes.

Three Insolent Buskers

Milwaukee, Wisconsin. In 1980, Brian Ritchie and Victor DeLorenzo decide to form a band.

Ritchie, a multi-instrumentalist influenced by the eclectic virtuosity of Jaco Pastorius, plays a bass with a vibrant, almost mariachi-like swing.

DeLorenzo — of Sicilian descent — makes do instead with a pair of simple brushes and a bucket.

A year goes by and the duo becomes a trio. The son of a Baptist preacher, Gordon Gano is little more than an amateur guitarist with songwriting aspirations. In love with the decadent, nihilistic poetry of Lou Reed and the bizarre eccentricity of Jonathan Richman, Gano quickly becomes the axis around which the band revolves, turning into, in effect, the mind and heart of the fledgling Violent Femmes.

The odd name (which many claim comes from a sanitary pad brand) is taken from a Milwaukee slang expression indicating transvestites who prostitute themselves on the streets. And there couldn't be a more fitting name, because the three twenty-somethings mostly played on street corners or in the city's coffee-houses. Just like their music, which draws from the American folk tradition in a style that's rigorously acoustic, deliberately homespun, direct and rough around the edges.

Street musicians for street music. Until August 23, 1981. A day only seemingly like any other.

Violent Femmes are playing on a corner outside the Oriental Theatre, where, just a few hours later, the Pretenders are due to perform.

The English band's guitarist, James Honeyman-Scott, happens to be passing by that corner and is struck by the trio's spartan talent. Chrissie Hynde then invites the group to open, with a short acoustic set, the band's upcoming New York show. And that's only the beginning of the fairy tale, because in the Big Apple the crowd reacts with enthusiasm.

A few weeks pass, and those who until very recently had been insolent, oddball buskers become a full-fledged band, signed to a contract with one of the most active labels on the new wave scene, Slash Records.

Confessions and black girls: the birth of an underground cult

In July 1982, Violent Femmes shut themselves away at Castle Studios in the small town of Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, to record their self-titled debut album with producer Mark Van Hecke.

Ten songs for just over forty minutes of music that would nonetheless send a powerful shockwave through the American underground scene.

In fact, most of the tracks on Violent Femmes (Slash Records, 1982) had already been written by Gano back in high school in Milwaukee. The melodramatic irony that shines through his lyrics seems to perfectly capture typical post-adolescent feelings. The album's words become a jumble of contradictory emotions, more relatable than one might expect: from the desire for acceptance to hatred of conformism, from the longing for carefree abandon to feelings of anger and rebellion. The nihilistic anguish of beloved Velvet Underground is brought down to a more popular, everyday dimension. If Lou Reed waits for his "man" on Lexington, Gordon Gano begs his father to "give him the car" because he's got a girl on his hands and can't wait to try and make his move. A kind of unorthodox, overly simplistic treatise on teenage psychology, caught between romantic disappointment and endless crying fits. A schizoid, neurotic sensibility that is mirrored in the music itself, which filters the contemporary lesson of Talking Heads' new wave and the darker post-punk nightmares of Joy Division.

And it's no coincidence that many would also speak of "folk-punk", because Violent Femmes essentially turns the whole world of the so-called "folk revival" on its head. The record, in fact, seems to want to resurrect a musical tradition going all the way back to Appalachian song, reinventing it with an approach that couldn't care less about rules or conventions. A bit like taking Woody Guthrie and buying him a ticket to go see the Sex Pistols.

The trio has just the right dose of brio and lyrical-musical nonsense to craft memorable nursery rhymes and irresistible adolescent vignettes, as in the whisper-to-scream country of "Blister In The Sun" or the skeletal xylophone of the surreal march "Gone Daddy Gone".

The album is a constant back-and-forth between light and shadow. On one side, the choral pop melody of "Please Do Not Go" and the wistful violin of "Good Feeling", a tear-jerking ballad that could easily be passed off as a hidden outtake from the "Loaded" sessions. On the other, harsher, more vicious songs, like the hysterical drift of "To The Kill" or the dark, building despair of "Confessions".

"Add It Up", for instance, wraps Gano's stammering, neurotic vocal in a thoroughly ramshackle sonic structure, before exploding into a gospel-streaked blues. The album's seemingly ironic tension finally finds its release in the anthem "Kiss Off", a berserk rhythm and blues number that builds progressively up to a disillusioned count from one to ten. The message suddenly becomes elementary, stripped of any intellectual ambition: "Ten...ten...ten...For Everything! Everything! Everything!"

Violent Femmes was released at the end of November and, over the years, would become one of the most acclaimed debut albums in rock history.

It would never achieve massive fame, but it can boast one strange record: receiving its platinum certification ten years after hitting store shelves.

At the start of 1984, Violent Femmes moved to New York to record their second album, again with Mark Van Hecke.

As with Violent Femmes, the songs were built on a lyrical foundation already written by Gano back in his high-school days. This time, though, things didn't go so smoothly. Even though the religious streak emerging from the new material seems in a sense sarcastic, Gano is a devout Christian. Ritchie and DeLorenzo, committed atheists, initially refused to record the songs, giving in only later on.

Sarcasm or no sarcasm, on Hallowed Ground (Slash Records, 1984) the guitarist's lunar, visionary poetics remain anchored to the subtle small-town madness and pathologies of before, but are undeniably enriched by religious obsessions and a deeper spiritual quest. And while Gano seeks greater depth in his lyrics, the whole Milwaukee trio widens its instrumental palette with valuable outside contributions. Thus are born the so-called Horns of Dilemma, featuring, among others, Tony Trisckha on banjo and a certain John Zorn on sax. With this new sonic cauldron, the Femmes build electric vaults of blues, gospel and urban rock atop their previous acoustic structure, still carried along by the ordinary folk so dear to Gano.

The record, more serious than its predecessor, speeds up the journey into American roots music, while still retaining the band's lucid madness, which once again manages to craft a sound unlike anything else around. "Country Death Song", for instance, unwinds over a driving country rhythm to tell a cruel tale of death from 1862. The Appalachian tradition, however, is upended by Ritchie's pulsing bass and the insertion of Trisckha's masterful, deranged banjo. Violent Femmes' dark streak takes, here, a more decisive path. The brief "I Hear The Rain" hypnotizes with a vocal somewhere between gospel and dark, just as "Never Tell" bares its teeth with razor-sharp punk tempo changes. A dark climax follows in the title track's convulsive, à-la Patti Smith Group fit.

This new spiritual-popular dimension finds release in the unhinged country-western of "Jesus Walking On The Water", which, over a doo-wop chorus, apes certain Salvation Army marches. Violent Femmes don't forget the melodic ballad either: "I Know It's True, But I'm Sorry To Say" leans on Gano's tear-jerking vocal and Van Hecke's carpet of organ.

Lou Reed keeps influencing the guitarist: the dazed "Sweet Misery Blues" sounds like it stepped straight out of "Transformer". While "It's Gonna Rain" staggers along on a blues harmonica, the record reaches its sonic peak in the collective madness of "Black Girls". Jug band, rockabilly, samba and music-hall are the building blocks of a kind of cubist blues verging on free-jazz, thanks to the crucial contribution of John Zorn's acidic, growling sax. "Black Girls" is the throbbing proof that the three street musicians have, by this point, become a genuine underground cult, tearing into their instruments with reckless abandon.

Broken Hearts: The Blind, the Naked Man and the Breakup

In 1986, Violent Femmes released their third record, The Blind Leading The Naked (Slash Records, 1986). Mark Van Hecke had left the band, so Talking Heads' Jerry Harrison was brought in behind the mixing desk.

The Milwaukee trio didn't abandon the extra-large instrumental formula tried out on Hallowed Ground, and the Horns of Dilemma changed lineup. Alongside Harrison himself came the saxes of Steve MacKay (ex-Stooges) and Peter Balestrieri, and the guitars of Fred Frith and Leo Kottke. Top-shelf session players for an album that tries to complete the deranged mosaic of their original sound, perpetually balanced between folk tradition and instrumental anarchy.

Gano carries on with his obsessions over sex and chastity, riding the wave of small-town gospel, blues and country. Yet there are no more hysterical xylophones or ghostly vocals in a record that, overall, sounds more tamed. Sure, the trio's imagination still runs wild at times. The chaotic saraband of "Old Mother Reagan" serves as the intro to the nervy, gripping gospel-rock of "No Killing". The country-western gallop continues with "Breakin' Hearts", even if it sounds like the little sister of "Jesus Walking On The Water".

Violent Femmes even go back to the acoustic punk of their debut with the abrasive, irreverent riff of "Special". The dark streak resurfaces too, in the tragic gothic ballad "Candlelight Song", while the jaunty march lives again in the tribal "Cold Canyon". But the second soul of The Blind Leading The Naked, however brilliant, seems to have lost that lucid surrealist madness. The record, then, bows slightly toward a sound more respectful of its genres. "Faith" treads the well-worn path of choral blues: it doesn't fail for lack of conviction, but it sounds like it walked straight out of Belushi and co.'s House of Blues. "Love And Make Three" apes the Rolling Stones' boogie, while "I Held Her In My Arms" embroiders itself with the E-Street Band's trademark horn section.

Further proof that the record is less inspired than its predecessors lies in how Gano revisits his beloved Lou Reed. While "Sweet Misery Blues" eccentrically picked up the lesson of "Transformer", "Good Friend" merely retraces one of his most banal guitar figures. Finally, the funked-up cover of T-Rex's "Children Of The Revolution" does give the band a minor chart hit, but it speaks a far less cubist sonic language.

The Blind Leading The Naked exposes the friction that, by this point, was running through Violent Femmes. After the album was recorded and released, the artistic and personal differences between Gordon Gano and Brian Ritchie became irreconcilable. While the guitarist was thinking about a gospel project under the name Mercy Seat, the bassist increasingly wanted to push his instrumental eclecticism toward avant-garde jazz. The band's two leading minds thus decided to dissolve the partnership to pursue personal musical ventures.

Back to the roots

By the end of 1988, with their respective artistic egos satisfied, Gano and Ritchie decided to call DeLorenzo back to put Violent Femmes together again. The reunited trio then returned to the studio and released a new album at the dawn of 1989.

The criticism that had, in the meantime, rained down on The Blind Leading The Naked convinced the band to tighten up their previous sonic architecture, dropping the Horns of Dilemma with the exception of Balestrieri on sax and Sigmund Snopek III on keyboards. The idea was to treat the new album as the true third chapter of their musical saga, trying to breathe new life into the old, stripped-down guitar-bass-drums approach.

3 (Slash Records, 1989) attempts, then, a sort of return to the band's roots, aiming for a sound that feels more classic and more distinctly Milwaukee. And, to some extent, it succeeds.

“Dating Days” and “Fat” return to the folk tradition reimagined with playful irony, without much in the way of pop embellishment. The album's shorter tracks turn out to be its best, like the jokey “Telephone Book” and the building carefree energy of “Lies”.

It's true, however, that, despite the trio's intentions, the polite shift heard on the previous record can't be erased so easily. In the end, the surprise factor of the first two albums has worn off, and the Milwaukee trio are left with bright songs that can't quite shake off a cleaner studio sheen. Once again, the rock and roll of “Nightmares” sounds like it came from the pen of a Lou Reed in a suit and tie, while the Stones-style boogie grows even louder and wilder on “Fool In The Full Moon”. Amid all this, Gano tries to break new ground with “World We're Living In”, poised between funk and Caribbean music, but ends up being more convincing with the classic heartfelt ballad “Nothing Worth Living For”.

In 1990, to celebrate the band's tenth anniversary, the compilation Debacle: The First Decade (Slash Records, 1990) was released, though it's too skimpy to really capture their musical journey.

After signing with Reprise Records, Violent Femmes carry on their search for a sparser acoustic sound that ideally circles back to the beginnings of their career.

Why Do Birds Sing? (Reprise Records, 1991), entrusted to the seasoned production of Michael Beinhorn, thus stands as the band's second attempt after the not entirely convincing 3. Yet while the previous album was lit up by flashes of creative inspiration, this new effort from Gano and co. almost never gets off the ground. The eccentricity grows more banal and predictable. The band's old, beloved punk ethic is dampened by a pop aesthetic that's as pleasant as it is harmless.

It's not that effort and intent are lacking: the fifties flavor of “Look Like That” and the wild acoustic rockabilly of “Girl Trouble” sound like they could have come straight out of the Violent Femmes sessions. Still, these are polished, much more well-mannered songs, and the once rough and grubby clothes are now shined up nicely, as when the unexpected cover of Culture Club's “Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?” kicks in. Beyond all that, the trio still manage to be irresistible, as on the country of “Hey Nonny Nonny”, or at least to try out new musical paths, as on the Caribbean-flavored blues of “Flamingo Baby”.

Otherwise, “Why do birds sing?” is a decidedly colorless record, as on the pop of “Used To Be” or the bare-bones rock and roll of “He Likes Me”. The single “American Music”, however, reaches number two on the Billboard chart and boosts album sales, making it one of the most popular records in the band's catalog.

New Times

By the early 1990s, the three Milwaukee musicians are already well into independent solo careers, though they keep the band alive.

Gordon Gano seeks to satisfy his “serious” composing side, working on the music for a play by Dadaist writer Walter Mehring and throwing himself into various musicals. Brian Ritchie increasingly shows off his eclecticism on solo albums like “I See A Noise”. Victor DeLorenzo plays between theatre and music with “Peter Corey Sent Me”. And it's the same drummer who, in 1993, decides to leave Violent Femmes to focus on his own musical projects as well as film work.

The balance painstakingly struck between group work and personal outlets is not, however, so easy to break. Gano and Ritchie carry on without DeLorenzo, recruiting former BoDeans member Guy Hoffman for the following tour, which is partly documented on the album Add It Up (1981-1993) (Slash/Reprise, 1993). The record manages, in an original way, to bear witness to the band's art, mixing classics, unreleased tracks, and genuine live gems.

“Waiting For The Bus” marches along on a wicked vaudeville groove in the style of “Transformer”. The furious punk riff of “36 24” sounds like it could have come off any of the early Ramones records. Tracks that never found a home in the official discography manage to revive the sharp, nervous spirit of Hallowed Ground, like “I Hate The Tv”.

The warped reimagining of the American tradition is cemented on “America Is”, while “Dance M.F. Dance” brings back the foul-mouthed, irreverent street buskers. The band's crazed, playful spark comes through via demos, phone messages and radio clips, but above all through irresistible live versions of classics like “Kiss Off” and “Add It Up”. And what, in the end, seems like a record made for collectors ends up becoming Violent Femmes' biggest commercial success, helping to cement their status as a cult band.

The first album without DeLorenzo, New Times (Elektra Records, 1994), comes out in 1994, preceded by the single “Breakin' Up”, whose video gets airplay on MTV.

The record suffers, however, from the obvious artistic differences between Gano and Ritchie, who by now are united only in name. The guitarist's forays into "serious composer" territory are revisited and filtered through tracks like "New Times" and "Agamennon", unusually complex and pompous compared to the band's classic sound. Gano tries to expand his old storytelling through music in the wake of Frank Zappa, but his aim proves a failure, since he does nothing but rehash sonic architectures already heard and better realized elsewhere.

The new trio commits to a reinvention, as on the irresistible saloon ballad "Don't Start Me On The Liquor", but listening to the pseudo funk-hard rock of "Key Of 2", it's clear this new direction doesn't convince. When the syncopated "I'm Nothing" or the waltz of "Jesus Of Rio" kick in, there's admittedly a more familiar air, but at least it's fresh and fun.

A handful of good tracks, however, aren't enough to make a good album: New Times is one of the Violent Femmes' worst-selling records.

Without DeLorenzo's imagination, the Femmes are in free fall. In 1995, Rock!!!!! (Mushroom Records, 1995) was released, only in Australia at first, then worldwide, and it already looks bad starting from David LaChapelle's glitter cover art.

The band tries, almost desperately, to rediscover the incendiary riff or the supersonic boogie through a punk-rock and roll lens. The result, instead, is thoroughly disappointing and drifts by through tracks that are practically indistinguishable from one another. "Tonight" and "Bad Dream" play with a Rolling Stones that's less blues and more punk. "She Went To Germany" sounds like it came from a lightning-fast Ramones session, while the very brief "Dahmer Is Dead" is an outburst in the style of the early Clash.

The organ on "Life Is An adventure" and the didgeridoo on "Didgeriblues" try to add a touch of eclecticism to an insipid, flat, banal record.

The sense of drift leads the Violent Femmes to take a break, contributing in the meantime to various soundtracks. The gloomy "Color Me Once" appears on the soundtrack to Alex Proyas's "The Crow" (1994), while "I Swear It" turns up on "South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut" (1999).

Rise and fall of Gordon Gano and the Milwaukee Femmes

At the dawn of the new century, the time comes for the Violent Femmes to return home.

In 1998 the trio played a series of mostly acoustic shows around the state of Wisconsin.

After a couple of disappointing albums, Gano and company essentially decide it's time to pick up their instruments again purely for the fun of it, both for themselves and their audience.

The busker spirit thus celebrates the band turned cult act, as they revisit old and new songs through the folk-punk lens of their origins.

This plunge into the past is brilliantly documented on the live album Viva Wisconsin (Beyond, 1999), which, across more than an hour of music, forcefully reinterprets old black-and-white snapshots ("Gimmie The Car", "Country Death Song" and "Kiss Off") and casts new light on tracks like "Life Is An Adventure" and "Sweet World Of Angels".

The warm response from audiences convinces Gano and Ritchie to head back into the studio to record new material.

The two, however, get too carried away by the enthusiasm, and the hopes raised by the live shows are dashed following the release of Freak Magnet (Beyond, 2000).

The robust rock and roll of tracks like "Hollywood Is High" and "New Generation," along with the furious punk of the title track, fails to win over either critics or audiences.

The album passes almost unnoticed, discouraging Gano's efforts so much that he announces the band will not release any new material in the future.

The Milwaukee boys, then, are left with nothing to do but keep the glories of a bygone past alive.

In 2002, Rhino Records asked Ritchie and DeLorenzo to pad out their debut album with demos and live tracks for a splendid twentieth-anniversary reissue. The drummer takes the opportunity to rejoin the band, which can thus restore the original line-up after about ten years and head out on a new, lengthy tour.

And, from this point of view, the story of Violent Femmes comes full circle.

1980: three foul-mouthed, irreverent kids decide to form a band and play on the streets of their hometown.

2007: several albums later, the same three grown men are still in the same band, and even with street corners traded for theaters and clubs, their appetite for playing has remained intact.

The reunion

It was already clear from the lackluster We Can Do Anything in 2016 that the Violent Femmes' 2013 reunion (which, in any case, only features Gordon Gano and Brian Ritchie from the original lineup) wasn't among their finest moments, but pioneering acts like these Milwaukee folk punkers always deserve the benefit of the doubt, another chance to prove themselves. So we waited for Hotel Last Resort, the tenth chapter in a discography stretched across three decades, with trust, hope and curiosity.

Unfortunately, the result wasn't worth the wait, so much so that the metaphor chosen as the album's title paints a vivid picture not only of the current American political landscape but also of the current state of Gano's band. We have to wait for Tom Verlaine's guest appearance on the title track to feel any kind of spark - certainly not enough to turn the record's fortunes around, but worth a mention, perhaps subconsciously boosted by the prestige of the name involved. Everything before that track is recycling, a worn-out rehash dressed up as maturity, of the crooked, incisive flashes of inspiration from early in their career. Including a self-cover of their 1994 hit "I Am Nothing" in the tracklist, performed alongside skateboarder Stefan Janoski (who thus returns the favor to the band, of which he's a huge fan, after designing a pair of Nike sneakers with them), feels almost like an admission of a total lack of ideas.

Making the admittedly considerable effort to find something interesting (not good or worthwhile, I wrote interesting), two or three sketches of ideas worth noting would be the jittery a cappella of "Sleepin' At The Meetin'", the cheerful blare of "I'm Not Gonna Cry" and the solemn arpeggios of "God Bless America".

Outro

The Dorian Gray effect

Journalist: "What is it in these songs that keeps drawing hordes of kids to your shows? Don't you ever feel uncomfortable on stage singing songs like "Add It Up" and "Kiss Off," true anthems of disconsolate youth, as middle-aged men?"

Brian Ritchie: "Well, Gordon is the one who has to sing those songs, so that's his cross to bear! Mick Jagger still sings "Satisfaction" and he pulls it off just fine. Lou Reed still sings "Heroin," despite being an enthusiastic geriatric into Tai Chi. It's art. The bass parts I play are timeless, so it makes me happy to play them and watch those kids having a good time.

The lyrics are definitely the gateway into the Femmes' world for a lot of teenagers. Some relate to the words, and those words touch on universal teenage themes. But it's the music and our live performances that have kept us afloat for decades.

Contribution by Michele Corrado for "Hotel Last Resort"

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