The Sonics

The best way to explain the history and the sheer weight of an album like "Here Are The Sonics" and the band that recorded it is, borrowing for a moment a term commonly used in linguistics, through the distinction between the synchronic and diachronic dimensions of time.

In the first sense, the synchronic one, we could say The Sonics lasted the blink of an eye: officially eight years, from 1960 to 1968, but really from 1963 to 1966, when in their definitive line-up they wrote and released the only two studio works of their first and, in a sense, only era (others would follow, in the Seventies and even in the new millennium, but that's a different story we won't get into here).

If instead we were to examine the diachronic phase of The Sonics, the one that would hypothetically deal with the dynamic, evolving perspective their music has echoed through time, we'd discover that their fleeting contribution was fundamental to rock as it came to be, so much so that many out there consider "Here Are the Sonics" and the follow-up "Boom" essential crossroads in the History (yes, with a capital H) of this genre.

After all, if you think about it, The Sonics embody the very definition of a seminal band. They seem to have formed with the sole intent of breaking away from tradition to invent something completely new, but not only that: they also do everyone the favor of leaving the scene before even the faintest hint of success touches them, rolling out the red carpet for new legions of disciples ready to reap those forbidden fruits. For their part, they limit themselves - so to speak - to taking Fifties rock'n'roll and turning it into noise. In reality, of course, things aren't quite so simple: simplifications are by nature misleading. Even if we wanted to identify "Here Are The Sonics" as the official start of the age of din - which would be wrong, if not by much - we still couldn't ignore that it marks not only the beginning of one era, but also the culmination and maturation of another: that of a restless, self-reliant American Northwest in relation to the r'n'r lessons coming from other latitudes of the same continent.

Tacoma, in particular, is deeply affected by this feverish climate. While Seattle (30 miles away) would go on to take the spotlight, in the mid-Sixties this outlying town a stone's throw from Canada is the capital of the "Northwest Sound". While the Beatles are about to blossom in Britain, on the Pacific coast a scene is born that takes American r&b and reshapes it to its own liking, perhaps largely unconsciously, toward different and partly new outcomes. In Tacoma, two bands in particular fall in line with this sentiment: The Ventures and, above all, The Wailers. Then The Sonics arrive, and nothing will ever be the same again.

In 1960, the first incarnation of The Sonics is a far cry from the one that would go on to record the albums in the middle of the decade. It includes two guitarists, Larry Parypa and Stuart Turner, drummer Mitch Graber and bassist Andy Parypa, who joins the lineup almost immediately. A saxophonist, Tony Mabin, soon follows. No one handles vocals, because this first version of The Sonics is purely instrumental - a situation that changes by the band's second year, which in the meantime sees a constant churn of members. Suffice it to say that by 1963 every piece is finally in place: Gerry Roslie takes care of vocals and organ, Bob Bennett sits behind the drums, and Rob Lind handles sax and harmonica. The Parypa brothers (bass and guitar) are the only survivors from the earliest days.

The lineup's stability allows the five to put together a repertoire long enough to play the local clubs, and covers are soon joined by their first original songs. But the distinguishing traits of The Sonics lie in their style and in a way of playing that pushes rock'n'roll to its limits. It's a mix of raw guitars, lyrics screamed at the top of their lungs, and volumes decidedly out of step with the times. Years later, some would call it proto-punk: all the seeds are already there, including the non-conformist attitude, the unorthodox lyrics and the total disregard for a clean sound - never so close, in fact, to what we'd now call lo-fi: garage rock is already all in here.

And above all, it's all in "Here Are The Sonics", the debut full-length from the Washington State combo. The title itself sounds like a proud manifesto of intent: here we are, this is us, what do you think? In 1964, on the back of a series of incendiary shows, The Sonics had been spotted by a talent scout from Etiquette Records, a label founded in 1961 in Tacoma by three musicians who wanted to give a platform to the exuberant local scene's emerging acts. It's the five-piece's first time in a recording studio, and the result is astonishing, despite - or perhaps precisely because of - the limited means at their disposal.

That same year sees the release of the single "The Witch", the first song written by The Sonics and destined the following year (1965) to open the album's tracklist. The rockabilly style that serves as its starting point (but certainly not its destination) takes on a menacing, dark shape, while the lyrics tell of a girl who has just arrived in town with a dangerous look about her, said to be a witch. All of it framed by a chorus that kicks into double time and has the shape of something that doesn't yet have a name - and would have to wait several more years to get one: something we call punk.

The single's success (the B-side is "Keep A-Knockin'", a Little Richard cover), boycotted by radio stations because of its lyrics but sold out in terms of pressed copies, pushes the band and the label to speed up delivery of the debut album. "Here Are The Sonics" is the fruit of a season as lightning-fast as it was fruitful. Twelve songs spanning just 28 minutes, never touching, even by accident, the three-minute mark. Recorded almost entirely live in the studio, using a small two-track mixer, the tracklist is a constant back-and-forth between original songs (few, but of vital importance) and covers of rock'n'roll and soul numbers. Although covers outnumber originals, the songs written by the band reveal a melodic and interpretive ability well above average.

"Boss Hoss" is a boogie born on the piano keys, written by Gerry Roslie specifically to shred his own vocal cords mercilessly, before giving way to Rob Lind's sax solo. Going straight into the history books is "Psycho", The Sonics' anthem par excellence, a masterpiece from a Roslie in a state of grace, one of the manifestos of sixties garage-rock with its perfect interlocking of guitars and sax and verses that mark out a hymn to the carefree recklessness of youth and its fleeting loves that drive you out of your mind ("Baby, you're driving me crazy/ I'm going out of my head/ Now I wish I was dead/ Psycho!").

The third and last song written by Gerry Roslie is destined to become another shining star in the American garage-rock firmament: "Strychnine", another piano-and-sax boogie that closely echoes the lesson of Jerry Lee Lewis.

But the personal takes on early rock'n'roll standards are just as strong. Chuck Berry's "Roll Over Beethoven" is once again rearranged for piano and becomes one of the most original versions among the many that have come out over the years. Even better is the carefree, almost raucous version of "Do You Love Me", originally by The Contours and featuring what is perhaps Roslie's single best performance behind the mic. "Dirty Robber" is a fitting tribute to The Wailers, effectively The Sonics' godfathers on the road to garage-rock. The other great classic - one that would become such partly thanks to the five from Tacoma - is Richard Berry's "Have Love, Will Travel", noisy just enough and further enriched by the sax solo.

Barrett Strong's "Money (That's What I Want)" is aptly sped up and beefed up with garage-rock arrangements, while Rufus Thomas's "Walkin' The Dog" is stripped of its soul roots and turned, to all intents and purposes, into a rock'n'roll number. "Night Time Is The Right Time" (Lew Herman) keeps its Fifties roots intact, and "Good Golly Miss Molly" is the last, irresistible boogie romp, borrowed from Little Richard.

The brief heyday of the five-piece from Tacoma would last just one more album, "Boom", released the following year and destined to become another classic of American garage-rock. Armed with nothing more than a handful of songs, The Sonics rewrote the course of the genre's history for decades to come.

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06/01/2019