1979 was a very important year that for the most part (in the eyes of the media) slipped by the collective western cultural landscape, unbeknownst to pert' near anyone who was even paying attention to it. It left a stain of surreptitious influence which is still being watered down and synthesized for your protection; the final traces of it both splayed across the teen punk halls of the Americas, Japan, and Europe, as well as the deep house trance dancehalls of those same arenas. Confused? Lemme 'splain...
By '79, punk rock, for all its promises of no future, had delivered a future so wide open that Christo's deadly umbrellas couldn't cover as much cultural ground. No one, especially the fat cat record moguls, saw this coming. For those who began the movement, their clock had either wound down, been smashed to bits, or had been discarded for sleek new digital casios. The Clash, once "so bored with the U.S.A.", now traveled in Brand New Cadillacs up to Lovers Rock. Working For the Clampdown?...they were the Clampdown. The mighty Damned had dissipated and resurfaced as the MC5 (no complaints here), and it had been about a year-and-a -half since the final good Ramones lp. For the most part, the torch was lit to be passed off to the Gang Of 4's and Polices of the world. Stateside, Black Flag, Minor Threat, and the Misfits had boiled down different components to suit their own agendas for a new, much lazier generation. Was it still punk? Uhh, sure. Why not? Nothing else was happening at the time. But there was one last word to be had. And who more qualified than Johnny Rotten to deliver it.
It should be no surprise that in this year of bouncing flux, Rotten would stand at the helm of the best album ever made. Yes, take a second...THE BEST ALBUM EVER MADE! Better than Sgt. Pepper...better than anything by Dylan...better than "What's Going On", and even better than Oasis. Really. The album? Public Image Limited's Metal Box.
Over an hour or so of random drum tracks, bass lines that throb a subsonic repetition, some brittle guitar here, an organ there, and some noise washes, what transpires is an incredibly moody dub workout. Then Rotten, er...Lydon, pops in to read from his big book of doom and despair. Tales of foreboding country drives, dying babies in abandoned cars, and the touching ode to his expiring mother (you gotta admire a guy who loves his mother) cover the overall sound in a blanket of moan-und-drone which acts as a bonding agent for each groove. A massive glue infusion which sets an incredibly dark mood. A groove-laden dark mood, but dark nonetheless.
Sure, it's one thing to be dark and dismal; hell, Joy Division had made a career out of it. But this album works on several more levels. Take the packaging: 60 minutes of sub-sonic drum/bass dominated music stretched out over three 12" 45 rpm discs served in an logo-embossed film canister. Fucking-A, is that the pinnacle of simplistic beauty or what?!! To further exacerbate to mood, all information is confined to a white, digest size sheet of paper. Only song titles, legal notes and personnel are listed. Do you need more? Shut up.
But the clincher in this melee of sound is the production itself. It has been said that to visit Mr. Lydon's house is (at least at the time) to get an education in the history of reggae and dub. Supposedly he has every Jamaican record ever pressed; and the proof is right here. Even in the American version (the contents of the canister crammed onto two 33-rpm lps), the production is thick thick thick. The bass and drums are waaaayy up in the mix, driving this train to it's frayed destination (the haphazard 12+ minute style mishmash of "Socialist/Chant/Radio 4") like a slow locomotive on auto-pilot. Of the twelve tunes on this document, most of them are earmarked by drop-in beginnings (essentially, the tape being started from a dead stop, so that you hear each tune open from at least a few seconds from the real beginning) and similar endings. Is the point across?...okay, turn off the master tape. This works brilliantly throughout the whole album, giving the listener the sense of no beginning/no ending. It's arbitrary nature dictated solely by the producer's hand, and/or space/tape considerations.
No to be overlooked is the record's/records' sequencing. The first of the six sides is ball-hogged by the ten-minute "Albatross". Slow as molasses and deeper than the Marianas Trench, Lydon moans a monotone "Getting rid of the albatross..." to the most dense groove you ever heard. Kinda like Perry Como fronting Dub Syndicate, with Lee "Scratch" Perry at the controls. And this is the introduction. After a couple of more cooking numbers, the circular-phrased "Poptones" spews onto your turntable for eight minutes of haunting syncopated psychedelia (the best description for a song which defies description). Just when your eyes are rolling back into their sockets, that damn producer wakes up and turns off the master tape. After that it's a couple more sides of similar formulas devised for different effects. By the time you've become comfortable with the arrangement, side six's melange of blips, crashes, and shouts drains (literally!) into the passive-yet-evil-tinged synth-dream that is "Radio 4". And that's it. You've arrived. Now it's back to side one. No soup for you.
It's been stated in various publications that this record is responsible for the best music to have come out of several genres in the years since its release. I just find it hard to believe that any major label had the balls to put out such an amazing document. Regardless, writing about such a fine piece of work doesn't really do it justice. As much as I've waxed about the merits of this album, Metal Box delivers on so many more levels. One thing to watch out for: This release should only be experienced in either the original "Metal Box"-ed version (the grooves are farther apart, widening the scope of the bass tone) or the "Second Edition" two-record set. Avoid the compact disc, it just can"t translate the bass/drums combo correctly. But definitely get a hold of this for yourself; you'll be glad you did.