Month: April 2015

As was the case with Diamond Rugs’ 2012 self-titled debut record, much of the band’s sophomore album, Cosmetics, formed and grew in the studio. That’s an impressive feat, considering that Diamond Rugs is something of a weekender project for members of no fewer than five bands, all of whom keep moderate-to-ridiculous recording and touring schedules anyway: John McCauley and Robbie Crowell (both Deer Tick), Ian St. Pé (Black Lips), T. Hardy Morris (Dead Confederate), Bryan Dufresne (Six Finger Satellite) and the legendary Steve Berlin (Los Lobos, Blasters and about six dozen other outfits). The boys in the band will be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read our recent feature on them.

Crowell: A while ago, I started revisiting the rock ‘n’ roll I first heard. I came to rock in an oblique way, being the son of a deceased Baptist minister. Rock, pop, R&B, soul—there was none of that in my house. I was raised on a diet of classical, religious and Celtic music, and it was up to me to beg, borrow or steal my rock on the down low. I’d sneak a radio in my room, listening to whatever rock radio stations I could find long into the night after my supposed bedtime. I guess you could say nothing’s changed, except now I stay up all night playing it instead of listening to it.

One of the first bands I fell in love with was Van Halen. My friend Kent Hunter, the guitar alter ego to my drumming at the time turned me on. Something about the virtuosity of Eddie’s guitar playing, coupled with the on-the-edge almost-sloppiness of it got me in a really different way than anyone else. So, on this time warp I’m on, I bought 1984 again, listened to it for the first time in years. It knocked me on my ass even harder this time. David Lee Roth, say what you will, is pure, beautiful cheese with an unerring sense of hook, Michael Anthony lays down bedrock bass parts (or does he? Eddie claims a lot of credit), and Eddie and Alex are inhuman. “Girl Gone Bad” is the one that gets me. Drums and guitar laid down first, before everything, and in one take. Nothing like this would ever make it onto a top-40 albums chart now. Time’s all over the place, click track’s out of the question, and it feels like it’s on the edge of falling apart the whole time. The guitar solo feels like doing a DUI test when you know for a fact that you’re 10 drinks over, but somehow spectacularly passing it. It’s completely unhinged. It’s beautiful.

Today, Van Halen’s a joke. Revolving cast, petty bullshit, delusional interviews, terrible shows. But putting on 1984 still makes me feel like a 14-year-old kid finding a new drug for the first time, and “Girl Gone Bad” makes me forget about the band gone bad.