The Mekons: alt-country pioneers refuse to let their music die
After nearly 30 years of flying under the radar, The Mekons have earned their role as the godfathers of alt-country
Born in art school at the University of Leeds in 1977, The Mekons long ago conceded that fame and fortune were outside their grasp, and it shows. The band's fan site, while kept current, is run by a guy named Nobby and looks like it was coded in 1996. Unlike university peers Gang of Four, The Mekons are seldom cited as an influence by hipster punks. There hasn't been a "Mekons revival". Their fans are ageing with them, and the rest of the world doesn't seem to care.
Such creativity in the face of ambivalence is a central theme of , the aptly titled and engrossing documentary by filmmaker Joe Angio. The film traces the rises, falls and plateaus of the self-described British "fundamentalist punk rock art project", whose eight current members are a mix of visual artists, writers, singers, gallery owners and field-recorders and are spread across three continents in Southern California, Chicago, rural England, London and Siberia. (Multi-instrumentalist Lu Edmonds is married to a Siberian.) Their masterwork, the folk-based , turns 30 this year, but it certainly won't be getting a collector's edition. Among the public, the band's most notable link to mainstream success is because of a failed union: Mekons singer Sally Timms was married to actor-comedian Fred Armisen and pushed him to pursue comedy.
At one early headlining gig in Ireland, an unknown but cocksure young band called U2 opened for them; needless to say, the legendary Mekons curse didn't affect Bono. Others might recognise the magnificent artwork of singer-guitarist Jon Langford, whose distinctive portraits of classic country stars have earned him a following in the fine art world and have ended up as album covers. Eric "Rico Bell" Bellis is a painter and accordion player; he and his wife recently moved back to their home in Highland Park, Illinois, after four years in London.
Rather than quit, The Mekons have endured. Across the decades, the band have continued at a steady clip, an album every few years that generates oft-brilliant art to noble gushes but little more. "It's no joke, I'm telling you," sings co-founder Tom Greenhalgh in the aptly titled song .
"I can't think of another band where there's a bigger gulf between unanimous critical praise and this mass general public indifference," Angio said recently, a few days before his film made its Los Angeles premiere.
Few would argue. But most of them would add that the band's genre-spanning output has generated a miraculous series of albums that draw from British folk, Nashville country, punk, dub, dance rock and rock 'n' roll. The result is a uniquely Mekonian sound, one that dredges up hard emotions for the sake of exploring them.
"There's no half measures with The Mekons," says accordion player Bellis. A handsome man with a soaring high tenor, the artist has been playing with the band since they united behind a contentious British miners' strike. Since then, he's helped propel mid-range melodies across the band's repertoire, one filled with wit and insight.
"Revenge ain't so sweet, but it'll have to do," sings Timms on , on the necessity of the occasional "vicious, cold vendetta". On the magical , from their 2000 record , Timms wanders, lost in isolation. "The last weeks of the war/ Left me wondering how much more/ Could the loveliest creature bear?/ I'm not ruined but I need repair."
I can’t think of another band where there’s a bigger gulf between unanimous critical praise and this mass general public indifference
moves from a drunken night at a pub to an existential, naked-and-shivering abyss over a few choice verses. Often half a dozen members sing simultaneously; usually a few of them are wildly out of key.
I'm among the devotees, so I forgive them. I flew to London in the late '90s to witness their raucous, shanty-based performance piece , composed with the late writer Kathy Acker. I've spent a string of blissful Chicago New Year's Eve concerts at The Metro, travelled to Maxwell's in Hoboken, New Jersey; Memphis, St Louis. They're my Grateful Dead, and I could argue their virtues year by year.
That's what Angio, who directed the 2005 documentary of Melvin Van Peebles, , does throughout his film. A chronicle of the band's entire run, including a through-story that captures the band making their 2011 album , the director paints a loving ode to an unsung band of lifers.
Angio's central question: "How does a band that's never enjoyed any success by the conventional definition not only keep going, but why do they bother? No band would continue to pursue that, with the same core of people" for nearly 30 years. Through the film Mekons fans, including writers Jonathan Franzen, Greil Marcus and Luc Sante, chime in as Angio weaves biographical titbits, band interviews and old clips that by the conclusion make a valid argument that the curse may be lifting.
"There's no behind-the-music drug casualties, no big fights and someone getting tossed out," Angio says. The worst stuff is the most boring to explore: label clashes. The band got dropped by Virgin after their debut and had a falling-out with A&M after a doomed partnership in the late '80s. "The commercial aspect of it was never going to happen, and they made peace with that," Angio says.
Many other acts have been active for nearly as long. Los Angeles duo Sparks have been going nonstop since the early '70s, to little mainstream success. Angular British post-punk band The Fall have released records at a steady clip since 1976 - but founder Mark E. Smith has burned through dozens of members. It's not rare for a few friends to stick it out for some decades and earn a living. But retaining eight core players is quite the accomplishment, even if a few have taken years at a time off.
Unsurprisingly, the band have no plans to celebrate 's birthday. Instead, they'll be embarking on a 2015 tour of the Midwest and East Coast while writing their new album. The jaunt will culminate with a sold-out Brooklyn show called Mekonception, where they'll record it. "We're going really lo-tech," said Bellis at the York, "using one microphone, and the audience is going to be able to participate, as well." He described the set-up as how bluegrass players perform. "One goes up to the microphone at a time. But they're pretty smooth. Ours won't be."
Los Angeles Times
