Boogie nights

Charlie Chesterman finally rocks out

by Brett Milano

There's a moment on Charlie Chesterman's Dynamite Music Machine (Slow River/Rykodisc) that sums up everything I like about this singer/guitarist. In the middle of a rocking pledge of love, Chesterman tosses off the most cornball rhyme in recent memory: "You and me, we go together, like bread and jelly -- whoa, Nellie!" Something about Chesterman's casual delivery of that line sounds warm and affectionate; and his band reinforce it with blaring harmonica and chiming 12-string. You get the impression that they didn't rehearse it to death, just that the spirits came through at the right time.

For those of us who've always figured Chesterman had a killer rock-and-roll album in him, Dynamite Music Machine is it -- and it's long overdue, marking the first time he's ever put the hammer down in the studio. His old band Scruffy the Cat may be remembered for raucous live shows, but they always got subdued when they recorded, especially on their more experimental second album, Moons of Jupiter. Likewise, his next band, the Harmony Rockets, went midtempo pop on the one single they released. And his two previous solo discs -- From the Book of Flames and Studebakersfield -- found him settling into a grown-up country groove. Both albums were heartfelt and enjoyable, but you only had to see the band live on a hopped-up night to know what was missing.

The new album plays less like a big career statement than a good club gig, complete with surf instrumentals (two of 'em) and four cover tunes (including the Frampton Brothers' above-quoted "Bread & Butter"). Like a good '60s album, or a good Ramones album, the whole thing zooms by in a half-hour; and the vintage rock oldies -- Fats Domino's "I'm Ready" and Freddy Cannon's "Tallahassee Lassie" -- add to the sock-hop ambiance. Chesterman's loose and rootsy version of rock isn't far from his version of country; it's just faster and louder. And though there were a handful of sad love songs on his previous albums, there's an essential sweetness to the happier ones on Dynamite Music Machine -- an angry punk he isn't.

"That's what I think rock and roll should be, a really happy record," he explains. "Little Richard didn't sing much about heartbreak. When we looked at the material we'd recorded, we didn't want to throw any dark clouds in there. Why break up the mood when you've got 30 minutes to dance?"

The louder sound came about partly because he'd gotten the sadder songs out of his system, partly because his band the Legendary Motorbikes were hitting their stride after three years together. And, he points out, partly because of writers who kept asking for a rock album. "We started recording again right after Studebakersfield came out, and there were two ways we could go. One was the full-blown loud thing and the other was the polar opposite, just voice and guitar. We ended up recording two albums' worth of material, and through the process of elimination this tuned out to be the best. And I thought, if it's a rock-and-roll record, let's incorporate the things we've always loved -- keep it short, keep it fast-moving, make it feel like it could fall apart any second. The way I gauge a rock song is whether it makes you want to get up and play air guitar, and these songs do it for me. If I can feed you a quote, the sound on the record is the sound of people having a good time."

Never one to give himself too much credit, Chesterman insists that he already made his best album with Studebakersfield. "That was my high-water mark -- I feel it's the best thing I've ever done and may ever do. And it's going to be hard in the rest of my career to get something as coherent as that for myself. In a way I feel bad that I shot my wad and put out my best record before there were more people to take notice. But that's the breaks -- you do your masterpiece when it's there."

Still, his profile is rising now that he's on a large indie label for the first time in a decade. He was one of the first to sign to Slow River when owner George Howard was running the label on a shoestring; now it's got Rykodisc distribution and he's one of the flagship acts. As a soloist he's already out-recorded Scruffy the Cat, who released only two albums and two EPs (all on Relativity and all out of the catalogue).

But Chesterman's never been the type to wax philosophical about the good old days compared with the present -- he's fine as long as he's still got a place to play. "I get phone calls all the time from people who look me up in the phone book and want to say hello because they remember Scruffy the Cat. And that's fine; I'm happy that people feel that strongly about what we did. I'm still out there digging it, but it's on a different level now; there are a lot of things you can get away with doing when you're 25 that you can't do 10 years later. So I'm taking my fun in a different way and in different dosages."

A strong dose of fun should be in store when he and the Legendary Motorbikes play a Slow River showcase (with Purple Ivy Shadows and Tom Leach) this Saturday at T.T. the Bear's Place. Plans are also underway for a benefit show this fall for Stephen Fredette, the former Scruffy the Cat guitarist who's about to undergo heart surgery; Chesterman and other local heroes will play and some notable reunions are likely to take place. Stay tuned for details.

FOREIGN OBJECTS

One of my favorite college-music flashbacks concerns a Mount Holyoke mixer in 1979. Bands on this circuit usually did Earth Wind & Fire and Steely Dan covers, perhaps with "Still the One" by Orleans as an encore. But this time someone unwittingly booked a band called the Furor, whose songs were largely about World War II or pro wrestling -- unless they were Ramones covers. By the time the Furor finally eased off, the audience was ready to accept any excuse for a slow dance. So I got to enjoy the sight of a roomful of football players and debutantes holding each other close to a song called "I Eat Guts."

The Furor mutated into the Foreign Objects, who took the wrestling fixation to new extremes; nearly every song they did was on that subject. They were the also best punk band in western Massachusetts, though competition in those pre-Dinosaur Jr days wasn't exactly fierce. Now their legacy lives on in Not That Cool, a CD released this week on Dino (no relation to J Mascis -- it's a new Northampton label devoted to garage/punk reissues); and the disc is enough fun to prove that bad taste is timeless. The Foreign Objects had everything a band needed: a nasty sense of humor, a flair for hookified punk tunes, good TV reception, and too much time on their hands. Not to mention a garage-sale sense of musical history capable of covering Johnny Cash and Herman's Hermits back to back (both from a '93 reunion set).

With 72 minutes of everything the band ever recorded (though, alas, "I Eat Guts" was never immortalized), the CD finds leader Bill Perks waxing poetic about neighborhood perverts, TV reruns, and, of course, pro wrestling. You'd be hard pressed to find a more fervent anthem than "Who Will Dispute the Genius of Lou Albano." Or a more direct piece of advice than "Lose Some Weight" ("There's no reason, there's no excuse/You're obese and you're obtuse"). Other tunes ("Television Wizard," "Change My Shirt," "Collect Checks") celebrate the band's chosen lifestyle. These guys had the foresight to be slackers back when they were still called unemployed dudes.

BATHING BEAUTIES

The folks who make up the Bathing Beauties have been hanging out together for so long that they were bound to become a band sooner or later. But when the group made their debut at Charlie's Tap last week, few of the members were in their usual roles. Buffalo Tom frontman Bill Janovitz played acoustic and steel, leaving the lead-guitar duties to Shelf Life/Buttercup member Mike Leahy. Fuzzy co-frontwoman Chris Toppin was also on acoustic; Tanya Donelly's bassist/husband, Dean Fisher, was on drums, and guitarist-about-town Skeggie Kendall, whose songwriters' nights at the Middle East Bakery have pulled most of this crew together, was on bass.

You'd probably expect pop songs or '60s covers from this line-up; what you might not expect is the heartfelt country music they served up. The set was tilted toward weepy ballads played in loose and straightforward style, with male/female vocal interplay. Unreleased songs by Janovitz and Toppin, plus a new one they wrote together for the occasion, filled most of the set; the few covers fit in stylistically: Janovitz did an emotive job with George Jones's "The Grand Tour," Toppin did the same with Dusty Springfield's "No Easy Way Down." After the set Janovitz said they'd like to keep the band together, adding, "I'd like to have a regular bar gig." But Fisher's about to tour with Donelly, and Buffalo Tom are making an album this fall. So the Bathing Beauties' next go-round is more likely to take place around Christmas.

COMING UP

Squeeze singer/guitarist Glenn Tilbrook brings his band's impressive repertoire to the Paradise tonight (Thursday), and the Mekons make their overdue return to the Middle East downstairs while Gang Green are upstairs. Also, the Darlings are at Johnny D's, the Country Bumpkins are at the Phoenix Landing, Verago-go are at the Linwood, and January and Silver Star are at Mama Kin . . . Too Much Joy are at Bill's Bar tomorrow (Friday), the Varmints and Time Beings are at Club Bohemia, Scatterfield are at T.T. the Bear's Place, and the Blazers are at Johnny D's . . . Saturday, Quintaine Americana and the Shods are at the Middle East, Superfly and Flexie are at Mama Kin, and Luna are at the Paradise . . . The Peer Group play for free at Charlie's Tap Monday . . . Hitting town for the first time with ex-Belly bassist Gail Greenwood, L7 play the Paradise Tuesday.