The Widow Babies – The Mike Watt EP

What can be romantic to Mike Watt?

Formed in 2007, the SoCal quartet known as the Widow Babies has finally proposed an answer for the first time since fallen Minutemen hero, D. Boon, poised the question in the 1984 classic “One Reporter’s Onion.” Suppose Watt had his hands stolen, a necessity for his bass playing, and was forced to do battle with a vampiric Abraham Lincoln. Quite a sticky situation, as your Sunday School teacher might put it.

Consisting of Elise McCutchen on vocals, Danny Miller on guitar, Tabor Allen on drums, and Neal Marquez holding things down on bass, the Widow Babies have a sound that crosses between traditional hardcore and the giddiest of twee pop. Whereas the tightness of the guitars and rhythm section recall the militaristic fervor of hardcore and Miller’s guitar work occasionally recalls the punk-on-jazz chord changes of early Greg Ginn, McCutchen’s high and excitable voice, though certainly fulfilling the punk singer requirement of charismatically shouting for three minutes or less without losing your breath, does betray a more child-like style of bratty, more akin to Beat Happening than Agnostic Front. Also, there’s the fact that their record’s story is about as unrepentantly cute and quirky as those little cartoon kitty faces that hipsters used to put on things.

But enough strained comparison; this is a weird and groovy slab of fine punk rock. Sure, it’s apolitical, fluffy, pays tribute to someone, and is essentially a rock opera, but that’s only failure by the Johnny Rotten standards and I need not go on about that. Thirteen minutes long, recorded in less than a day, and more annoying to your neighbors than a gaggle of deranged monkeys, The Mike Watt EP showcases the most epic clash of this nature since Yoshimo battled the robots many moons ago. In one corner: Mike Watt, legendary founder of the Minutemen and fIREHOSE, early encourager of Sonic Youth, resident underground philosopher, and the only guy worthy enough to take Dave Alexander’s mantle in the current line-up of The Stooges. In the other corner: Abraham Lincoln, our 16th president, subject of an upcoming Spielberg biopic, mainstay of the five dollar bill and one cent piece, newly resurrected through the miracle of vampirism. The stake: Watt’s stolen hands and the fate of civilization. Sure, it’s not Spartacus, but it is a wonderful exercise in the ridiculous, bolstered immensely by McCutchen’s over-the-top singing. If titles like “Mike Watt Created the Universe With a Bass Solo,” “Vanity Thy Name Is Lincoln,” and “Whatcha Thinkin’, Vampire Lincoln” don’t tip the band’s hand, then certainly McCutchen’s loud anime girl shouts and cartoonish tantrums do the job.

Musically, the group mixes the pencil tapping precision of traditional hardcore with that genre’s more dancey inclinations. The chord changes have an almost jazzy flair, while Allen lays down some fairly complex beats. Song-wise, the group’s generally abrasive style makes things blur together, but enough creativity is exerted for each song to stand out. “Mike Watt Created the Universe with a Bass Solo” is the straight ahead hardcore number, bouncy and hooky enough to be hummable. “Whatcha Thinkin’, Vampire Lincoln” sounds like the Jesus Lizard circa Goat, while the concluding “In Which Watt Wins His Hands Back and Basses a River into Existence” is poppy enough, in a wonderfully ramshackle way, to fit onto Surfer Rosa. Easily the finest song here is “Vanity Thy Name is Lincoln,” a perfectly wacky and head-bangin’ welcoming of the apocalypse if there ever was one (where else will you hear “Vampire Lincoln! He’s coming for us!” as a chorus?).

While the Widow Babies aren’t the most original thing under the sun these days (unlike, say, drawings consisting only of squiggly lines. One is never the same as another, you know), their style is raw and infectious. Additionally, their lyrical ideas, though indie variety cute and perhaps somewhat obnoxious to those who hate unabashed hipster hero worship, are refreshingly creative and quietly intelligent. That’s enough for an easy recommendation.

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Tagged as: California, Los Angeles, punk rock

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