Jeffrey Lewis - 12 Crass Songs (Rough Trade)
4/5
By: Thomas Hannan
The idea is simple. Crass fan records a Crass covers album. The execution of that idea is, however... simple, too. Punk and anti-folk share a love of all things lo-fi, and for that reason, '12 Crass Songs' can exist without coming across as too bizarre. It's a great idea - bring on Thomas Truax's version of Minor Threat's complete discography.
Yeah, we're guilty of loving this quite a bit before we even pressed play, given that we love Jeffrey Lewis, love Crass, and the press release is a bloody comic book. But after a touch of that button, we're loving it even more. What Jeffrey doesn't do is try to make these songs his own - you could never imagine a voice that polite coming out with words like these as if they were the product of his own consciousness. Most cover versions try to reclaim the song for another author, Lewis clearly doesn't want to do this. It works, then, because these are great interpretations, not reinventions of these songs, and most importantly, because these songs were pretty great in the first place.
Jeffrey Lewis, despite being the sonic opposite of the abrasive, confrontational sound of Crass, finds a kindred spirit in the band he's chosen to cover for a number of reasons. One is that behind the exterior, which some could misconstrue as violent, Crass were certainly a thinking man's band, the intelligent side of anarchic punk rock. They used anarchy as an actual workable political idea, a true 'rip it up and start again' for the sake of human equality approach, rather than just blasé Camdenite sloganeering. Previously, the ugliness of things like the opening 'End Result' was part of the point, but now it sparkles, making the song beautiful in a way which only the sentiment was before Jeffers got hold of it.
Interestingly, the message remains the same despite the delivery being the polar opposite. Crass meant their message so much that the words remain truly cutting no matter who's saying them, in what accent, or over what music. Even when they're being really rather cute instrumentally, just banging bongos and happily strumming as on 'Systematic Death', you perk up and listen, and feel like a cretin for being the kind of person the song berates. Yet the instrumentation isn't this sparse for the most of the record - Lewis is really going for it, out of a genuine love for these songs and a desire to do the best he can for them. It works, too - I'm far more interested in Crass now than I ever was before.
Sometimes he might even surpass the originals. You can't actually imagine 'The Gasmen Cometh' and its tales of holocaust being any more effective as a punk song, Jeffrey's deliberately monotonous, deadpan delivery of tales of horrific death over howling whistles, shuffling snares and gently, distantly plucked steel strings delivering the message perfectly. But Crass were a very English band, and Jeffrey's a very American fellow. 'I Ain't Thick', then, shouldn't work, given that the two most important words in it are 'f**k' and 'off', words that Americans very rarely juxtapose. Actually though, it's brilliant, and whilst he might not be ranting and raving, his staid, determined delivery seems equally formidable.
Yes, part of the fun is hearing genteel Americans swearing (the sound of "Do they owe us a living? Of course they fucking do...!" will have you in stitches). But the message was meant to be delivered in a fun way though, so it's OK that they're enjoying themselves. Sometimes Jeffrey just really enjoys strumming jaunty major chords for a while - 'Banned From The Roxy', for example. Yet that one is the first that doesn't work quite so well - unless you were yourself banned from the Roxy, Jeffrey, it's difficult to take your message seriously. We can't imagine you'd do anything rude enough to get banned from the Roxy. Crass, however...
As mentioned before, it's the strength of the original songs that carries '12 Crass Songs', and when the initial tunes are weaker, so are the new interpretations. 'Where Next Columbus' doesn't grab as much as its sibling tracks do as despite the lush strings JL's slapped all over it, it's just not that arresting as a song. And when there's nothing musically interesting going on, you're less inclined to listen to the message in the lyrics, even though what they're saying is probably spot on. What's more, having two very long tracks, 'Demoncrats' and 'Big A Little A' so close to each other brings the album to a bit of a plodding close. The first of that pair works better, exploding the songs boundaries so you can reflect on the idea, rather than be barraged with it. 'Big A Little A', despite its nursery rhyme introduction, just turns in to something of a dirge.
But then 'Punk Is Dead' arrives and actually comes across as really rather sad, an incredibly intelligent look at the state of the scene come the mid eighties. Though there's something ironic about hearing a song called 'Punk Is Dead', on a covers album, sung by an American anti-folk artists accompanied just on an acoustic guitar and a haphazardly thwacked piano, it would in honesty probably make a better closer than the drum machines and melodicas of a far more reflective 'Walls'.
So does it really work, does it really achieve its purpose? Am I enjoying this as a Jeffrey Lewis record? Well, sure I am. His style is stamped all over it. But has the message sat well, has my mind been opened, if only a little? Will I get myself some Crass records?
Of course I f**king will.
Stream 'Big A Little A' from '12 Crass Songs' HERE.
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