In
1972, writer (and later Patti Smith collaborator) Lenny Kaye wrote the
liner notes to "Nuggets," an album of obscure and not so obscure
singles by psychedelic garage bands of the 60s, compiled by Elektra
Records head Jac Holzman. Now, almost four decades later, the concept
has become its own subculture: any modern, self respecting record geek
dreams of finding a lost classic, a dream that is getting more and more
elusive as the past is mined to eventual extinction.
Yeah, the concept is starting to show its age. Lots of "lost classics"
discovered these days are little more than obscurities, with the
vaguely alluring sheen of mystery that obscurity brings. Then there's
"Permanent Record," the one and only album by The Shizuoka Rock 'n'
Roll Union, a bunch of 17 year olds from (where else?) Shizuoka, Japan
who, in 1973, pressed up 100 copies of their album, sold 'em off, and promptly disappeared, lost in the
sands of time. It's a story told many, many, many times over, but what
makes "Permanent Record" stand out is that, well, the record stands
out. Way out. WAY out.
"Permanent Record" is spectacular. Not "hey, listen to this, it's
really good" spectacular, but balls out, rabid, sloppy, glorious,
holy-shit-there's-no-way-this-could-be-1973 fantastic, a debauched,
virile, and downright
sick
album of over the top, "Exile On Main Street" by way of the MC5 rock
'n' roll. It's sloppy in the way only 17 year old garage bands can get
away with, but contains such undiluted, cocky swagger that the
ramshackle playing becomes utterly thrilling. This IS rock 'n' roll, in
all its filthy glory.
"I am the Mick Jagger of Shizuoka!" declares singer Sean (just "Sean")
in "シャンのロック" ("Sean's Rock,") and while the sentiment might inspire
some giggles, I'm hard pressed to believe there could have been anyone
else in the prefecture with the cojones to make, let alone back up, the
claim. The band supports him with guitar and piano driven, Faces style
blues rock: good, but nothing too remarkable. Nothing too remarkable,
that is, until 2:29, when the mother of all snotty guitar solos kicks
through the murk, searing the sky with pure, undiluted attitude.
Everybody else perks right the Hell up, and Sean goes absolutely
ballistic, whooping and hollering in the center of a huge ball of
fire. Everything about it screams sloppy, slovenly,
dirty rock 'n' roll. You can practically feel the girls in the audience being corrupted.
The two guitarists, Takahiro Iwasaki and Yoshimi Kondou, trade off
blistering, dirt caked solos in "ロックンロール No. 1" ("Rock 'n' Roll No.
1,") an upbeat blues raveup in the "Travelin' Band" mold. The band gets
sloppier and more reckless as the song builds: by the time they reach
the end, everyone's shouting along breathlessly, atonal, rough, driving
just along the edge of the cliff at full speed. Its followed by "女と赤い花"
("The Red Flower Girl,") a (relatively) softer, psychedelic track
somewhat like early, pre-glam T Rex. It shouldn't work. Sean is so
cranked he lets out a primal, guttural, and completely inappropriate
shout to introduce his entrance, then "sings" in a tortured monotone
that suggests he only knows how to emote at full volume, subtlety be
damned. It should be a hideous train wreck...actually, it is...yet it's
somehow also perfect, a primitive, lunkheaded attempt at sensitivity
and romance by guys who are only a couple of links away from lacking
opposable thumbs.
Then, Oh Lord, "A39." Slow, lazy, dusty blues, complete with mournful
piano, even sadder guitar, and downright suicidal harmonica from
Charlie (just "Charlie.") Sean sounds like he's a thousand years old,
moaning about God Knows what, only stopping occasionally to allow for a
rude blurt of raunchy harmonica, or depressive guitar. It's nine
and a half minutes long, and it's too short.
Japanese label Decrec gave the album an official reissue late in 2008
(although the album has been bootlegged for years, using the
original cover.) The buzz around this record brings up Murahachibu quite a bit, and
there's not a whole lot of mystery in that comparison. Both were Stones
obsessed, unkempt bad boys on a one way trip to flameout, oozing
sleaze, energy, and danger in equal measure. Had they had a higher
profile, there's no question The Shizuoka Rock 'n' Roll Union would
have a similarly exalted place in Japanese rock history, a rough 'n'
tumble collection of bad boys that embodied everything destructive,
dangerous, and gloriously
wrong with post 60s rock 'n' roll. Hunt this one down.
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Available At Amazon Japan
Archival videos, featuring snippets of songs from the album, can be seen here and here. 
