Back in the day, before songs were numbered . . .
This one's been out for a while, but considering that I've been talking up the new Prisonshake records for a while, I might as well give you my thoughts on their new EP, The Nice Price. As I noted before, it's available in two different formats -- a three-song bargain-priced 7", and a limited edition of 200, blue 7" that comes packaged with a CDR that includes the three songs plus two exclusive bonus tracks. Being the Prisonshake fanboy that I am (yeah, I dropped $20 last year on a copy of the limited edition of 50, "poker chip sleeve" "Deanna" single), I opted for the fancy version.
And you know what? It was worth it, 'cause Prisonshake's picking up where they "left off" about 12 years or so ago. The Nice Price leads off with "The Cut-Out Bin", which makes the slick move of longing for the days when record companies put out way too many copies of records that maybe should have never seen the light of day, all while we're actually living in a time when more music is being produced than ever before. In other words, it's looking nostalgically, in these modern times of too much music, at the long-ago days when too many records were made. There's a lot of crap out there now (hell, I rereleased What's Wrong With Me last year), but Prisonshake's here to kick our asses out of the doldrums.
The conceit is one thing, but it only goes so far. The song itself makes everything work. Starting out with an almost exotic riff, "The Cut-Out Bin" slides into a more standard rock groove before sliding into classic Prisonshake anthem mode as Enkler laments that "no one gets a twilight to their career anymore / no one gets a chance to make mediocre record number four." No sooner does Doug kick out the chorus -- "When they bring back the cut-out bin, save a spot for us right behind The Pretty Things" -- than the song breaks down into some biting lead work from Robert Griffin. Next thing ya know, Enkler's shouting at you to "go call your mom and sell your guitar." More maximum riffage, and then everything stops for a split second before allofasudden you're back into the chorus. And then it's over -- only two chrouses and what seems like six or eight movements in three minutes. It's perfect . . . with one deft swoop, the Shake saves us from certain doom.
(As an aside, my copy of the Offbeats' Relativity Records LP is a cutout.)
"Your Sad Friend (Pt. 2)" isn't a song -- more like an old fashioned Prisonshake "found interlude," except they've matured (which means we get a version of the classic "Come On Eileen" joke instead of a fart or the end of "AIDS Reducing Plan"). "Fake Your Own Death (Hey Asshole version)" is the proper B-side here (in another form it also leads off the upcoming LP). This is a brooding, bluesy rocker, complete with keys, and -- gasp -- is that a wah-wah pedal?!?! We get the stops and the starts as well, along with another good dose of guitar leads, before veering off into a quick experimental oblivion (in a good way).
Anyway, it should go without saying that the standard version of the 7" is worth the $1.50 just for "The Cut-Out Bin", but getting the alternate ending to "Fake" seals the deal. Basically, you're a damned fool if you don't throw Scat the $4.25 for the single (shipping's an extra $2.75) right now.
For those of you wondering what you get with the deluxe version (besides getting the cd so that you can put the tunes on your iPod, and earning the right to annoy your friends by letting them know how cool you are because you've got #15 of 200), here's the scoop: "Cat O' 9 Codas" and "House Lights" are, as advertised, two instrumentals. "Cat" is pretty much what its title claims: a good handful of instrumental interludes (or outros, maybe), albeit in a basic, sketch form. I'm not sure if there's nine of them. You can count if you want. Most of "Cat"'s 5:15 are pretty much just interesting -- there's nothing too memorable or inspiring until we hit the final coda, which shows up around the 3:20 mark and really kicks it for the last 90 seconds. "House Lights," on the other hand, is close to a revelation, the kind of laid-back, dueling guitar instrumental that definitely would work over the PA after the band is done and you're settling your tab at the bar before shuffling out of Bourbon St. (or, sigh, the Euclid Tavern).
As of January 14, Scat had "a bit under 100" copies left of the deluxe version of The Nice Price, so you probably should hop on board soon, if you're ever gonna do it.
