PERFECTION OF PERPLEXION

Endless Boogie

Posted in music by okkame on July 29, 2010

(The cover of their fresh album looks Sacred Bones-y, that’ not to say it’s bad but I like this much more and find it more pertinent to their music. And I wasn’t able to come by hi-res one of the new)

 

So, this band was New York’s best-kept secret. But the secret has been divulged. Now what (we call’ em)? New York’s best keeper of Rock ‘N’ Roll? That sounds proper. Their new is even more magnificent than their last. These dudes not only keep it but also better it.

I could gain access to the ex- secret via VICE records review where they won Album of The Month title. I like to read VICE records review in a tongue-in-cheek manner as they do their job, but being a colossal music snob, I wouldn’t have minded Endless Boogie if they weren’t on No Quarter which is a totes awesome label releasing some of the finest records in these days, in spite of the cajoling approval by the indisputable hipster magazine; And they often smile at shitty muzak, barf at righteous music (how they could cap on Little Claw? YYYs rip-off? Utter Shenanighans !).

Further to Endless Boogie’s hipster cred, they were even featured on PAPER Magazine, fashion-conscious, rather mainstream hipster culture mag which is nonetheless quite fun and helpful online. Here‘s what PAPER said about them (Carol Lee, who wrote this article is indeed very cool for a fashion person. Korea would be a trifle more liveable if Korean-Korean dimwits got at least 10% of this Korean-American hipster mogul).

And more from PAPER;  “What if your band plays in Miami and nobody knows who you are?  New York rockers Endless Boogie played the Max Fish pop-up during Basel/Miami and Miami New Times had to offer a reward to ID them. PAPER, of course, has known who they are for a long time.”

Huh, Max Fish? That denotes New York hipster socialites may be aware of them. But Endless Boogie are not for everyone, to wit, lameasses, as Doug Mosurock says in the below review. It’s about time I should give my two-cents. Hmm.. Endless Boogie are Endless Boogie as they are. New York Dolls/The Heartbreakers, The Groundhogs, Edgar Broughton Band, Royal Trux, Stephen Wolf…, They wake up all of them while I am intent on boogalizing (anyway, what this word means?) within my dream of their cocktight, singular brand. Sorry, I’m no use in this case. I am too psyched listening to their music to catch up this post.

 

Read VICE review instead. It’s for their previous album but will always be valid for militant stuckists who they are.

 

New York’s best-kept secret is not the dumpling place that only I know about in Chinatown, nor is it the jack shack near Wall Street where smiling Korean immigrants will adroitly jerk you off for ONLY TEN FUCKING DOLLARS, nor is it the whitefish salad at this one place where I won’t even tell you the neighborhood in case people start overrunning it, nor is it the best bar in Manhattan, which is a dead ringer for the dockworkers’ bar in season two of The Wire, the name of which I guard like my unborn daughter’s cherry. Nay, the best-kept secret in New York City is Endless Boogie, the best hard-psych band around right now. This is the kind of shit that meth-manufacturing bikers would decree “righteous.” It is the kind of shit that makes you want to simultaneously “make it” with a “foxy mama,” peak on four hits of pure windowpane, and fire off a greasy, hot AK-47 indiscriminately into a forest, all on New Year’s Eve, which also just happens to be your birthday and you just got out of jail. So Endless Boogie, with their most ultimate and powerful trance-inducing extended-jam ridiculousness, was, up until the publication of this review, the best-kept secret in this otherwise boring fucking town. God bless you, Endless Boogie. God bless and keep you.

 *

And the aforementioned Doug Mosurock one. I don’t quite like this review. But it’d help you.

 

Nothing if not consistent, Endless Boogie provides more examples of its casual approach to rock music. Full House Head is a good hour-plus demonstration of its craft. Proficient at its instruments, its membership keens toward a unified front, this self-aware everyman presence that eschews virtuosity in favor of togetherness, as these four men squeeze their way through a swamp-assed tromp in the wilds of nasty blues and Southern rock. Most of their songs hover past the 8-minute mark, so that anyone just walking into the bar they’re playing gets more of a chance to grab a lick. It’s incredible background music, and when/where/why you decide to pay attention depends solely on you. And when you do, GREAT! Dip in your friendly conversation with Boz Scaggs? Zen moment in the mens’ room, honkin’ on bobo? They’re your boys.

Endless Boogie is not high-concept, and as such, their music is easily deconstructed. There’s pop songwriting — then there’s these guys. There’s very little build-up to get to their songs. You’re there. But wait! Time travel is for suckers. You want to extend your time on Earth because it’s all you got. The triple-length jams that roll out of this forge give the illusion that everything’s the same, while robbing you of your time. Robbie Robertson wrote “you put the load right on me.” Hard rock, blues rock, psych rock … these are obsessions, the weight of the obsessed. I’m one of them. You might be, too. I’m aware that huge chunks of the world slip right past my view, choosing instead to go deaf in search of the righteous vibe. Its poison is the allure. It’s not for everyone, but it is for some. People with lots to do wouldn’t dig this too much.

There’s no Krautrock in their approach, no attempts at minimalism or pop jockin’ or rebranding of the form. It’s nothing more than riffin’ and blue-collar soloin’. And you better love those riffs, because it’s gonna take ‘em a while to resolve. Their music comes from confinement, in the garage, revvin’ in neutral, trying to get a base high. Class and personality is not on display. The public-facing organ of Endless Boogie, Paul Major, croaks like Fred Cole doing Chris Griffin from Family Guy. He barks about grabbin’ some “Mighty Fine Pie” and the sensible throngs drift off, as a pack of wolves up front leer like escaped cons from the foot of the stage. It’s dirty.

This is a band that has four full-length albums to its credit. Never has it bent or changed. Humans take a break from everyday life to do something they love, and in the case of these gents, they attempt to give back. We made ourselves this way. I’m far from a generation that told me it was a good idea to listen to Free. I had to travel backward to get there. It took a long time. That search, that struggle is represented in the 9-minute asphalt melters and the fumes they generate. You’re either impressed with their single-mindedness, or you’ve stopped reading this review.

Endless Boogie uses the infinity symbol as its logo. The problem with Endless Boogie is its solution.

 

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