Guitars, Drums, Tones, and Saxophones

Screeching Weasel - My Brain Hurts

I know, there’s not much to be said about one of the classic albums of pop-punk, and a landmark album of the Chicago scene, that hasn’t been said before, but whatever, I’m going to do it anyway, because I love this album. And rightly so!

The band had broken up after their previous album, the also-classic Boogadaboogadaboogada!, and the reunited band features different members, and a notably different sound than found on Boogada. Where that album featured the band playing breakneck, hardcore-inspired tunes that railed against just about everyone (see the classic-rock-baiting “I Hate Led Zeppelin” and anti-political screed “Nicarauga”), My Brain Hurts sees the band playing at a slower tempo, upping the melody, and frontman Ben Weasel actually attempting to sing his lyrics.

If there’s one obvious starting point for the Weasels’ sound at this point, it’s the Ramones. Ben Weasel and his newly-assembled cohorts clearly worship the famous New York foursome (this adoration would later come to fruition in Ben Weasel’s side project, the Riverdales) and the boys are clearly insanely inspired by their early, classic albums. And the band, including Jughead, Danny Panic, and Danny Vapid, is extremely tight and competent. Astute Weasel fans will note that this is the “classic” lineup. The music sounds great. It’s wild, reckless punk rock without being sloppy. It’s powerful and pummeling and energizing without ever getting monotonous.

It also doesn’t hurt that Weasel turned in what could very well be the best collection of songs of his career. I loved These Ones Are Bitter, and can’t get enough of Boogada‘s sprawling 26 tracks, but nothing on either of those albums comes close to equalling the quality of the songs found on this album. Stand-outs include “Teenage Freakshow,” “The Science of Myth,” lead-off song “Making You Cry,” “Veronica Hates Me,” “Cindy’s on Methadone,” “What We Hate,” and… I could go on, and on, until I named every song on the album. The point is, this album has nothing but classic Weasel tunes. Listening through the album, it’s compelling back to front; Ben Weasel’s lyrics and nasally vocals work wonderfully with the raw, tight music.

The album’s 14 tracks clock in at just over thirty minutes. That half-hour packs a lot of punch, and anyone who has an interest in the Chicago scene, or pop-punk/Ramonescore in general- or, alternately, is interested in why everyone seems to care about Ben Weasel when he is a gigantic asshole- owes it to themselves to listen to this album.

Tags: screeching weasel