my power pop addiction, no. 52 (124)

I'm having a nice time eating, drinking and relaxing at the country house my sister and her husband own in a rural part of New York State. I don't really know where we are in exact geographic terms, except that it's about two hours or so from the city (yet also light years away, if you know what I mean). It's one of those dirt-poor towns that, thanks to a combination of a widespread love of guns and god, on the one hand, and the abject lameness of the Democratic party, on the other, is deeply and irreversibly conservative. Throw in a knee-jerk hatred of the president simply because he's black and you have a guaranteed windfall of votes for the GOP. But in spite of all this, the pace of life here is delightfully slow and tranquil. I couldn't live up here full time, but it's very nice for a weekend here and there. ...So much of the experience of hearing music for me is about the way the music gels with my physical surroundings. And, to be honest, these rustic environs are much more suited to Clarence White-era Byrds or Workingman's Dead than they are to the more cosmopolitan sounding pop bands that continue to fascinate me. But I'll try my best to get into the proper frame of mind in saying a few words about the Scruffs, who recorded some of my favorite music ever. Even to this day, some 35 years after the release of the majestic Wanna Meet the Scruffs?, they remain one of the most inexplicably underappreciated bands of the 70s. Every time they pop up on my iPod, I discover new idiosyncrasies, subtle features of songs that make me want to listen to them again and again. Thematically, the irreverence of the Scruffs puts them squarely in the domain of punk, very much in the same vein as Richard Hell and the Voidoids. But what distinguishes the Scruffs from a lot of punk is their song structures, which are infectiously poppy without being overly simplified. Their vibe is much more akin to Television than the Ramones, and then throw in tighter songcraft, along the lines of the Raspberries and Pezband. I apologize for all this referentiality, but it seems like it's the only way to characterize music nowadays... A big part of the appeal of the Scruffs is Stephen Burns' words and singing. There's definitely some irony in what he does, but he delivers the songs in his high register with such incredible passion and abandon that you never feel even the slightest bit of condescension. Many rock/pop musicians of Burns' generation and demographic fell into the trap of contempt for their audience. I realize that this was part of the way punk deconstructed the spectacle of rock, but knowing this doesn't make the feeling of being talked down to any less grating, and it's why I've never been completely comfortable with the codes and rituals of the punk experience. I want my music to invite me in and to be as excited about itself as I am. In listening to the songs on Wanna Meet the Scruffs, you can't help but get caught up in the band's love of music, even when they're singing songs like I'm a Failure, Revenge, and You're no Fun. They're pretty much everything I look for in music, and whether this is your first encounter or you've heard them many times before, I hope you dig 'em as much as I do...