Week 1, Firsts: Humanization (Afghan Banana Stand - Tellin' It Like It Is [EP])

Afghan Banana Stand's greatness, ever elusive, is not in the class clown quality of their introductory tone. Just make sure to forget the group's best interview was care of an NBC correspondent named Sid the Sock. No, rather Afghan Banana Stand's superfluous strength was always a in being a band that seeped with a raw stench of salmonella so obnoxiously strong that the Health department never approved their foodstand idea. Yet it stood. Gunkstronomy.

The vaudeville angle is not too far-fetched either. This was a band which I have thought of, and will always consider, as an extension of the vein opened by the Mothers of Creation just as much as NOFX. A comment on neither group's respective stature so much as on styles and approach.

And then there is the lying

The ideal Floydian narrative is not even a contributing factor. Sure no one cannot prove that ABS's other founder, Nick, eloped to Canada on a wild whim to chase down a pack vengeful grizzlies. Likewise no one cannot say that the second singer, Nate, never produced his own fitness videos and corresponding industrial soundtrack: Wax Trax workouts. This much is true, however: two people were the original force behind starting the band, and along with a series of early incarnations never appears on any recorded songs – and I have a great majority of them.

So at this blog's beginning, why not start at this band's earliest beginnings? Succinctly I will add that below is a review of the one and only Afghan Banana Stand and their first ever release Tellin' it Like It Is [EP] (Self-Released). An album which fits the description of pre-digital¹ An album with a short lived line-up and a set of homemade liner notes I can lay claim too:

Paul – lead guitar , back up vox, imitation of henry & overall sexiness

Sean – vox, horn, animal sounds, growling

Vint – uh, maybe drums, maybe bass, maybe bringer of lunch²

The entire album is fourteen minutes long. The longest song on the EP is 3:48 and the shortest is :48. I listened to the album twice before writing this review. Although I remember that it was recorded by high schoolers in 2006 with the intention of freely distributing in public, I was not prepared for what would follow:

The extended play commences with an ABS staple (no pun intended). This tune is what a manager on the suaver side of things would call a hit single. Not merely a fan favorite, but a band honor badge and bondage piece. Titled “Lulu the Blow Up Doll,” this renegade collective begins a not so subtle joke with throat clearing and mic check chatter when, when suddenly gong takes hold. Three chords dominate in a skate-punk style under the benevolent shadow of Vans overlords. Long lost lead singer Sean and his Wesley Willis fixation dominate both this song and the majority of the album with throwback theatricality by way of vocal emotion; training that would best be found on Spanish language soap operas. The singer never says he is sorry for anything and instead makes demands that are presumably met. As the track progresses the description seems just a touch too good to be real. The moment is awaited with exhaustive patience, the game of holding one's breath through tunnel's could be dangerous too. Until the tension is diffused with the punchline. Much like the title suggests, of course, the groupie is a blow-up doll. Lulu: to the winner goes the spoils.

“Oh shit,” is the transition. Verbatim.

Of note is the previously mentioned “rawness” of the band. Rap has street cred, pop has first week sales, classical has deaf guys. Punk and rock at large, though, have rawness. To a novice perhaps an insinuation of how mature or cohesive a band is capable of playing. Maybe even how savage and untame the band might perform. But rawness, I propose, is a device used to determine how much or how little a band has sold out to create an image. A definition which, I know, seems to be cooked in favor of an unsigned highschool band. Simply salty slander. Genuine or real could be substituted for raw. The word itself is not of any great importance.

Track 2, “Kacie's Kar Krash,” (available to stream at the site's SoundCloud here) is the ideal example for the excessive rawness of early ABS. Like student drivers, the members are concentrating solely on their action instead of taking their surroundings into consideration. Falsettos and growls are interchanged for the sake of stark contrast. The volume often peaks, but the fact of the matter is that it does not even appear to fit. It is almost as if the vocals were recorded after the instrumental, or without headphones. The tale unfolding of a newly folded character is meant as a public shaming. An automotive accident in a car not even possessed by the driver. Fuck you is repeated in disdain and rap type ad-libs are delivered, then whispered, as a reminder of the number's intentions. Yet the fuck you's have been mistakenly blamed on an innocent scapegoat the entire song. The listener has been the target of violent insults throughout. The very perceptible criticism is for any listener naïve enough to fall into the trap: this song is dressed up for the intention of sales. See: chants to buy our CD.

Remember, the CD is is free.

Juvenile humor is not an isolated incident either. “My name is Henry, and I love the cock,” is said as it becomes fairly safe to assume that local musician Henry did not consent. With a falsetto harmony Sean begins to wax poetically. The love for the local scene is palpable as the first half sounds and smells like a ballad, but upon further review is still a song called “Howie Day the Molester.” Exception is taken in one portion. A faint, almost nervous whistle – almost as if this is being sung to Howie as part of a fantasy. Alas, it was night time and sound traveled well in the house it was recorded.

A sudden end met by a stark awakening. A nearly four minute commercial with fart sounds, synth, and trumpet. Need I say more? Yeah, as a matter of fact I forgot the reading from a text book or news article paper not about the Alamo.

To settle down matters another acoustic song, and more importantly a piece of trivia. This one song on the album not sung exclusively - spoken word excluded – by Sean. Oddly enough the title is “ABS theme,” and is sung instead by ultimate lead singer Vint. Pure honesty expressed directly through word of mouth. Crossing these gentlemen will result in your never peeing right again.

Speaking of which: The song most resembling something not unlike a “hit” in the early ABS canon not called”Lulu the Blow-Up Doll” is “BAHS,” (previously titled “Liz Brown has chlamydia”). The title, another punchline, was luckily changed. But appropriate, though, is the title which serves as the acronym for Belfast Area High School. Rebel against those rules that interfere with you. More than a meager entry in the rich history of song titles for ABS. Anthemic.

The closer is vaguely familiar. The riff and the drums settle into their rightful spaces, and it becomes painfully clear that the rawness is highly attributable to the minor oversight that this is an outfit not having a solid set of songs fully rehearsed yet. A band's worth ultimately appears to resemble more of a Pythagorean theorem than a direct relation (rawness remaining on the vertical access).

The same joke again? The riff is that of “Kacie's Kar Krash,” after all. But I would prefer to think of it as the same joke magnified throughout the whole album. Mere wishful thinking? Admission is the first step to recovery and this was a band whose stated purpose is to sell out. A punk band out for the fame and notoriety. A song about an alternative school makes the listener feel like a pupil and turns the band into the valedictorians freestyling. “Take your ass and shove it up your ass,” is a highlight to say the least.

Jonathan Cohen is a recovering college radio DJ,discover-er of Jimmy Hoffa Tourettes, and once lauded expert on shrubbery. You can follow him on Twitter through the handle @BoggleUrNoggle

1Well...it was digital, then sent to me on AOL instant messenger, then burnt onto a CD, then ripped in WMA format onto a Western Digital external hard drive. Eh...child's play DIY

2Note that Vint (real name Vinton) was not drummer. In fact, the drummer is either unknown or may be Nick...or non-existent in the form of a drum-machine (recorded in Belfast, ME)