September 5th, 1993 marked a sleepover for my brother’s 16th birthday. A Sunday night that went into Monday morning (Labor Day), I actually had the chance to watch They Might Be Giants–my favorite band–host 120 Minutes, a show that I usually taped and watched the next day.
Halfway through the show, they introduced a video that started with a wall-of-guitars one-note riff. Shown on screen was a mariachi band, completely incapable of this garage-metal crunch, but eventually the real band was revealed. In matching plain white greaser t-shirts (and also matching Hawaiian shirts), they played in a tiny room illuminated by a disco ball. Images of the band goofing off (all repeating the lyrics), some house party, that mariachi band again, snapshots of southern California’s hispanic culture… it was a blur. At the end, I didn’t have any idea what I’d seen, but I loved it. It was Rocket From the Crypt’s first MTV exposure: the video for Sturdy Wrists.
I have no clue what the song means. It’s got something to do with wrists, elevators, and being in tune. I haven’t even looked up what the words of the chorus are, because as it is in my head, it’s perfect. After the verse riff has punished you enough, this horn kicks in – a gorgeous saxophone, in a punk song. It’s a total left turn, progression-wise, from what’s come before. But again, it’s so simple: only the wall of guitars is playing more than one note. They’re not trying to impress you with diversity or overwhelming cleverness: this is about boiling something down to essence, and hitting you over the head with it. God, that riff! The second verse is the first verse again, but now stated in past tense, and now nothing’s in tune.
The riff is the intro is the bridge, and once the second chorus is over, the same crushing riff is the closing statement. It’s perfectly symmetrical. The whole thing might be over in two minutes. It’s as punk as power-pop ever got, as far as I know. There’s no quiet/loud, no irony, no jokes… it was as if Helmet formed in the 60′s, or Black Sabbath played their funkiest stuff in double time at a beach party.
Which is not to say that RFTC never got better. Their follow-up, Scream Dracula Scream!, is a perfect introduction to their wise-ass punk-plus-horns-plus-keys philosophy, certainly more friendly, and at times, more intense. Hot Charity might be the best thing they ever did, but it was only available on vinyl for about five years, which made it an even more intimate, special and secret experience. RFTC off-shoots (Hot Snakes, Drive Like Jehu, the Sultans) are in no way inferior to their more popular sibling: all excellent variations (more or less serious) on the same themes.
They played their final show on Halloween 2005, and the DVD of that experience comes out next month.
