Gary Pig Gold:
February, 2005
Remember
the Cheepskates?
I certainly do. In particular the first time
I ever saw them perform, on the stage of some otherwise nondescript
club in Hoboken circa 1989. They brazenly encored that fitful,
fateful night with a powerfully popping rendition of Whitney
Houston's "How Will I Know" (or was it some ABBAsong?),
and it was there and then I fully realized there was more
- much more - going on here than merely met the ear.
Indeed, The Cheepskates, since their inception
at the very dawn of the dreaded 1980s, had always been the
most musically, and especially melodically adventurous of
any within New York's nascent post-punk'd neo-garage movement.
But this inventiveness never fully flowered for the record
until the release of their third long-player, Remember,
in the year of our Lord and yours 1987. It was perhaps, if
I may apply my retrospective rear-view here, this very genre-bending
that doomed the band to fall between critical cracks back
in the days. Yet I insist it's this exact same decorum-be-damned
Fun with Numbers approach which keeps such albums as fresh
this afternoon as it surely would've sounded to the band's
original core of hard, dedicated followers nearly two long
decades ago.
In fact, it doesn't take long at all after
Tony Low's "I'll Be Around" more than kicks everything
off by nodding generously back towards "Run Better Run,"
that great big Cheepskates hit that unfortunately never was,
before Remember launches the proceedings firmly upon
its bold new musical mission. Having recently stripped strategically
down to a lean if not so mean trio, the band were actively
refining their studio M.O. (for example, slowing the rhythmic
pace overall after initial sessions over-fueled in no small
part by Jeremy Lee's discovery of a certain potent, caffeine-laced
espresso soda), when not expertly tweaking their instrumental
approach to boot ("I remember - no pun intended - laying
down acoustic guitar parts, with Shane and I both playing
in unison," Tony recalls. "This was important because
there were absolutely no acoustic guitars on the Cheepskates'
first two albums. This was a new texture to our sound").
Hereto, precisely this strain of deceptively delicate rubber
folk most prominently shades "Every Time You Change Your
Mind," wherein Shane Faubert dips a toe or two towards
such semi-plugged horizons he would explore in more depth
throughout his own San Blass album six years hence.
Vocally as well, Shane's long-held infatuations
with the Millennium and '66-vintage Beach Boys, apparent only
in passing on earlier Cheepskate recordings, positively illuminates
the bulk of Remember's sonic sound-beds (witness that
astounding leap of acappella which breaks the otherwise jolting
jangle-pop jig "Questions" and, in the case of "Hold
Me," bravely takes center-stage all upon its Pet Sounding
lonesome). No sir or maam: this was most certainly not what
was expected from a band that, up til then, had happily been
lumped amongst the paisley plethora of "96 Tears"
retread-masters then littering all the world's trendiest lower
east sides.
Lyrically as well, the Faubert penchant for
analyzing human relationships - to say nothing of human frailties
- bubbles to the fore inside such telescopic three-minute
character studies as "Little Girl," "Backwards
Boy" and most pointedly "Lately," wherein rumors
of Fleetwood Mac-caliber accusations are duly muted with comfortably
keen observations a la classic Raymond Douglas Davies. Call
these, if you will, sagas of the Opposing as opposed to Opposite
sex.
Now, while signposts towards past masters
aplenty can be unapologetically spotted throughout this most
aptly-titled Remember (I luv the Yardbird chorales
which weave their sinister Gregorian way here and then there;
and what, speaking of which, can ever be more Summer of 65
overall than "Echo"?), The Cheepskates were obviously
becoming confident enough in their very own abilities to mix,
and in the process actually match, those which proudly popped
before. Why, "Better Off Alone" actually tips its
tune in favor of the Monkees' "Words" rather than
the Brothers Gibbs' -- before greasing into rockabillied guitar
territory altogether, that is -- while Jeremy's wholly pigeonhole-confounding
"Slip Away" defiantly stakes out some severe alt.
Country long before anyone's No Depression ever thought to
circle the wagons whatsoever.
But it is perhaps during those mere two-minutes-fifty-four
of "On Our Own" that all of the above-marveled accomplishments
coalesce, rise, and brightly shine to the occasion. Witness
Shane trading his trademark Farfisa for a most regal of harpsichords,
Tony's bass bounding octaves kept earthbound only by the steady
Lee right foot / left hand combination, an arrangement and
storyline both taut, tightly twisting and, finally, the vocal
roundelay which tags it all by conjuring an entire parade
of silly love songs past, present, and future.
Sadly, "doing Sixties-style garage in
1983 and early Seventies pop in 1986 made us pioneers, but
didn't make us incredibly popular," Mr. Faubert may now
reflect, yet I hearby proclaim that, as with all those most
potent sound and visionaries across rock's ages, The Cheepskates
simply seemed hellishly bent on creating some History rather
than Hits. And, truth be known, if that
wasn't the case, would either of us be sitting here right
now?
Join me now, for the three-quarters of an hour or so it takes
to spin this wondrous album at least, as we all fondly recall,
reflect, recast and reassess and, above all (you guessed it),
Remember the Cheepskates, won't you?
A quick pop straight over to www.tomlou.com
can more than get you started.
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