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Business as usual in the disinformation age.
The backlash against high-stakes exams.
Southern Bellwether
For unions to survive, they must organize in Dixie.
The Permanent War.
Viewpoint
A double standard on terrorism.
Appall-o-Meter
Israel targets Arafat.
Russia's last independent network goes under.
Dumping on Nevada
The Department of Energy approves Yucca Mountain as a nuclear waste site.
Prison Blues
Starbucks, Nike, others profit from inmate labor.
Against the Odds
Public housing residents eke out some rare victories.
Autumn of the Patriarch
BOOKS: What a difference a pop makes.
BOOKS: Carey McWilliams and the Fool's Paradise.
MUSIC: It's to Change punk rock.
The Docs' Good News
FILM: Documentaries are alive and well at Sundance.
Tony Kushner, Native Son
INTERVIEW: The playwright on America, Israel and terror.
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February 1, 2002
What’s The Plan
The other path leads back to the underground that spawned them. But the Plan
may not be welcome there either, as hardliners would surely balk at their penchant
for synthesizers, samplers and guitar effects. And yet for all their refinements
in sound, the Plan are the direct descendents of punk innovators and icons Fugazi,
Jawbox and Shudder to Think, bands that once ruled the D.C. scene. Over the course of four full-length albums in eight years, the Plan have developed
and refined a sound that mixes equal parts Elliott Smith pop smarts, Talking
Heads white-boy funk and Shudder to Think weirdness. Throw in the Minutemen’s
sense of humor and you have a rough sketch. But like all forward-thinking punks,
the Plan are more than the sum of their influences. Despite all the reference
points, the group’s albums sound startlingly unique. Only a deeper exploration
of their work uncovers the punk family tree many youngsters wouldn’t know
existed if it dropped a bushel of mohawks in their lap: bands like Telvision
and Gang of Four, art students and radicals who pushed punk beyond four chords
and a snotty British accent. The Plan push further. They are a smart band, musically and lyrically, but
they are not elitist (lead singer Travis Morrison candidly admits his taste
for Britney-flavored cheese). They engage brain and booty equally, and this
is the real secret to their success. It’s the thing bands like Talking
Heads understood, and the reason almost anyone can appreciate the music of George
Clinton. Because, as human beings trapped on the physical plane, sound alone
is not enough—we must shimmy and shake and move.
On first listen, the aptly titled LP sounds like a major departure, with less
visceral impact than the suckerpunch its predecessor delivered. But after a
few spins, Change emerges as the band’s strongest, most cohesive
work. “Sentimental Man” starts things off strong, but it’s the
seamless transition into “The Face of the Earth” that hips you to
the Plan’s evolution. As acoustic guitar plucking gives way to lumbering
dub bass and reggae-like rhythm guitar scratches, a yearning Morrison melody
addresses the titular theme that resounds throughout the album: separation and
resolution, breaking up and moving on. Understated synth floats through the
stereo field, lending a ghostly presence to the lyrics. Elsewhere on the record, “Pay for the Piano” is a furious, Fugazi-style
workout, full of awkward angles that resolve in a chorus of straight-line adrenaline.
“Secret Curse” rips like early Sonic Youth (but with guitars in tune),
mixing meaty rock riffs with whispered verses and a lung-bursting chorus of
“Please, please, please I’m sorry!” “The Other Side”
features a standard pop chord progression, but drummer Joe Easley lays an inhuman
drum ’n’ bass groove underneath the affair that must be heard to be
believed. The album’s closer, “Ellen & Ben,” is pure pop bliss: A
video game synth riff winds its way around Easley’s hip-hop groove while
disco guitars dance and Morrison sings about a pair of lovers “who made
each other feel like they could die, but couldn’t stay the slightest of
friends.” For an album about growing apart and growing up, it’s the
perfect finale.
The result of such scenester posturing was predictable: Divided we fall. Divisive
politcs, retro-kitsch and resistance to change have bled punk dry. Don’t
let the Dismemberment Plan’s name fool you: This is a band about uniting
body and mind, about making people think about punk rock as intensely as they
feel its caged-animal energy. Attend one of the Plan’s damn near religious live shows, and when the
beer-bellied Milwaukee native next to you begins gyrating to “Spider in
the Snow,” and the Costello-spectacled lad in the striped sweater next
to him follows suit, you’ll understand what I mean by unite. You’ll
understand why humans created punk rock in the first place. It’s the connection,
the “silver thread imbedded deep within our spines” that binds us
to one another. This is the Plan. This is how we change—for the better.
Evan Endicott is a music writer living in Los Angeles. |
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In These Times is committed to remaining fiercely independent, but we need your help. Donate now to make sure we can continue providing the original reporting, deep investigation, and strategic analysis needed in this moment. We're proud to be in this together.
he Dismemberment Plan, a four-piece
band from D.C., stand at a punk-rock crossroads. One fork leads the way to mainstream
success and MTV heavy rotation. But they don’t have Day-Glo hair or put
porn stars on their album covers, and they certainly don’t release Michael
Jackson covers as singles.
mergency & I was
released in 1999 and proved the Plan knew how to groove. Tracks like “Spider
in the Snow” (which mixed equal parts ’80s synth-pop and Lee “Scratch”
Perry dub-rhythm) and “A Life of Possibilities” (in which Morrison
emulates Prince’s falsetto over a dirty bassline) rocked and rolled like
some demented disco-beast with steel-toed boots and a union-jack tattoo. Hidden
beneath the butt-shaking, Morrison’s lyrics revealed a wry but sympathetic
observer of the human condition, able to mix abstract imagery, fantasy and heart-breaking
truth with effortless grace. The album generated serious anticipation for their
next effort, Change, released late last year.
ut Change is also an
alarm call. Although major labels traffic in watered-down Punk Lite™ and
the music’s rebel yell has been reduced to a meek, radio-friendly “Oi,”
you can’t blame The Man entirely. Even punk’s most “hardcore”
institutions, led by iconoclastic newsprint rag Maximum Rocknroll, have
helped foster the decline by proclaiming any music without buzz-saw guitars
or dexedrine-fueled screams “unpunk.”