Mission Of Burma - Songwriting for a noise ensemble

You have to imagine a contemporary, a-historical dimension; a tone that's black, yet pearl-like: so clear and crisp. Add to that the excellent recording quality of the time, plus a suspicion about the (“clarifying”) recent remix. That's the reason behind a sound. The sound of an album dating back to 1982, which carried no-wave — institutionalized by Brian Eno in 1978 (“No New York”) as a countercurrent to the new-wave countercurrent — from its experimental dimension (Glenn Branca, DNA, Lydia Lunch, Residents, Pere Ubu, Birthday Party) over to the pop one (Rem and company). In between sit Sonic Youth, Husker Du and Pixies, who drew on Vs as just one of their sources of inspiration.

Mission of Burma were from Boston, formed in 1978, and were among the first to strike a compromise between hardcore, no-wave and pop (which by then had already gone from new-wave to old or classic-wave). Mission of Burma were led by Roger Miller, essentially a “survivor” intellectual who turned paranoia and alienation into an art of living, if not a cliché. That's precisely why Mission of Burma are “perfect”; “perfect”, and about as far removed as one can imagine from imbalance and excess, from disharmony: and yet they're among the founders of noise (meaning: re-semanticizers, in the hardcore era, of the Velvet Underground language).

The difference between Mission of Burma and Flipper (the other great no-wave/noise band of the time) is the same as the one between Pearl Jam and Nirvana: the former aren't tied to the tragic moment of existence, as the latter are, but instead come to terms with the universally and diachronically shared instinct for survival and self-preservation: no diaphragm, just a continuum. That's why Nirvana, like Flipper, appear or will appear musically “dated”: because they dated themselves existentially by self-destructing; and that's why Mission of Burma and Pearl Jam will remain timeless classics: because they're integrated into that continuum — followed, accepted and understood by the majority of individuals — which is the flatus vitae. Both albums are from 1982 and both are undeniably valid: yet between “Generic” and Vs there seem to be at least 10 years in between. As far as rock history goes, this is all the more true given that certain Joy Division-like sonorities (as Flipper indulged in) were superseded by a mediocrity/averageness that shuns excess in favor of something soothing and reassuring (politically correct), such as that of U2 and REM, the two commercial musts of post-hardcore.

Vs runs 42 minutes and consists of 12 tracks. “Secrets” is an excellent instrumental charge, screamed (at the top of one's lungs) and sung: distortion, tape manipulation, hardcore, electronics. Somewhere between Bauhaus and Exploited. “Train” brings things back to more relaxed territory, but soon pushes toward meditating on existential anguish with a syncopated pace, at times choral, at times pounding, at times harmonic, at times dissonant. Practically every aspect of this complex architecture would go on to shape the entire REM sound (not to mention Michael Stipe's voice).

“Trem Two” is the first of the album's two absolute masterpieces. It's an existential ballad: sobbing, open, perpetually wrapped in a desolately enveloping guitar riff. Then it stops, and in a cosmic sigh even finds room for one last, desolate moment of self-pity. The form is different, but the content is as heartbroken as Ian Curtis's own. It ends in a headlong rush... toward death; and like a lid that, before settling, reverberates ever more frantically on itself, it comes to a close.

“New Nails” is a rich vein for the Sonic Youth to come, and for Thurston Moore's tastes in particular; it will also hugely influence Husker Du (especially, obviously, the one heard on “Whorehouse: Songs and Stories”).

“Dead Pool” channels the humorous, synthesized experiments of the previous track into a song-form that would become the launching pad for generations to come: from Dinosaur Jr. to Smashing Pumpkins. It's yet another ballad that shows how Mission of Burma's music is essentially songwriting for a noise ensemble.

“Learn How” opens onto pre-grunge territory (Soundgarden and Screaming Trees will endlessly plagiarize its ideas): the guitars are forever reckless and uncontrollable; then dissonant, disorienting choirs recite and shift masses of lament. The rhythm section is an erupting volcano. Then Miller's scream (restrained and muted, delicate) is already pure Vedder. The original melody is subjugated, instilled and violated by trail after trail of noise.

“Mica” tries to bring a bit of order. Everything gains in power as a result, thanks above all to Peter Prescott's consistently exceptional ballistic work on drums. Then, after a few sublime background screams, stops and restarts — never actually exploding or breaking anything, always as if confined inside a capsule or a bubble — comes the tape experimentation led by Martin Swope, which creates the album's most exceptional avant-garde experiment: it lasts a second, but feels spatial.

“Weatherbox” makes room for a dialectic of bass, drums and manipulated tape whistles, in a couple of minutes of futuristic DJ set. The final vocal chant feels like a way of reconciling — through “non-excess” — with the disbelieving listener. Violence is absent; what reigns is cerebral control.

“The Ballad of Johnny Burma”, for all that it offers no breathing room and no alternatives, is still power-pop rather than hardcore. It's a deliberate pursuit of totality through a filter, a decibel limiter within which even hardcore's forms and screams must fit — but depowered, gagged, blunted (and thus stripped of meaning).

“Einstein's Day” already outlines Sonic Youth territory, here rendered with a danceable elegance and refinement. Every track on the album, neatly circumscribed and confined within its moderate genre, comes across as so skillful, calculated and unimpeachable from every angle that it ends up perfect. The same goes for the individual instruments in the performance.

"Fun World" is the other masterpiece here; that is, the other track that stands out from the concentric, almost indistinguishable circle formed by the rest of the songs, each defined only by subtle shadings and constant internal and inter-track echoes. The rhythm section is obsessively percussive, both in cymbals and skins; the guitars sublimate into distortion and effects pushed to the very limits of the conceivable; and despite the jingle-pop reins on the vocals, there's still room for some breathtaking screams.

"That's How I Escaped My Certain Fate" was meant to be the album's programmatically hardcore track; in reality, it toys with hardcore while staying confined within the (albeit extreme and "total") bounds of power-pop. Much as David Bowie had already done with his disguised garage-rock move on "Rebel Rebel", and as R.E.M. would later do with post-punk (inevitably drawing on Mission of Burma, albeit with far fewer experiments!) on the quintessential power-pop anthem "It's the End of the World as You Know It".

In 2005, after 19 years of total silence and absence from the scene - interrupted only by a reunion three years earlier and an unofficial compilation - the name Mission of Burma unexpectedly resurfaced with the album On Off On. Compared to the original lineup, Swope had departed, replaced on electronics by Bob Weston, already known for Shellac and Volcano Suns (alongside Prescott), and as producer for several hugely important acts such as Sebadoh, June of 44, Polvo, Rachel's and Rodan.

The sound is as rock-solid as in the old days: "The Setup" is an energetic hardcore lashing, the electronically treated guitars are suitably disorienting, and Prescott pounds the drums like a madman. "Hunt Again" is slightly catchier, especially in the vocal department, while "The Enthusiast" drags everything down to a far more gloriously crude level, thanks mainly to choruses worthy of the worst (in the best way) punk anthems of yesteryear. Miller's guitar remains the album's great protagonist, dissonant and cathartic ("Falling", the gorgeous "Max Ernst's Dream"), a true wall of guitar that had already become the band's trademark in previous records. The anthem "Fake Blood", in fact, shows just how much the band's sheer noisiness has increased.

Having heavily influenced Sonic Youth, the new Burma now sound like them. Their old melodic streak, as always deeply disfigured, resurfaces in the heroic "Wounded World" and in the ballad "Prepared". "Dirt" and "Into the Fire" echo early-80s hardcore, Hüsker Dü above all. The album closes with the song that comes closest to their classics, "Absent Mind", pure hardcore where the melody is hideously disfigured by guitar dissonance and electronic treatments. Among the record's influences, a significant and deliberate one stands out: Television.

After the Snapshot EP (2005), which collects rarities and recent tracks, the second proper post-reunion album, The Obliterati (2006), confirms the band's renewed chemistry, moving between punk rage ("Man in Decline", "2wice"), hardcore deconstructions ("Let Yourself Go", "Good, Not Great") and walls of noise ("Nancy Reagan's Head"). With The Sound the Speed the Light (2009) and Unsound (2012), despite a certain ambiguity between craftsmanship and genuine passion, the trio further cements their second youth.

Contributions by Enrico Biagini ("On Off On")

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