"Like The Verlaines, but with Effects!": Why Eric Tischler (The Hurricane Lamps, The Jet Age) Has Been Bird-Dog-ging The Verlaines for 30 Years

By Eric Tischler

It was the summer of 1993 and I was looking to score. The club had let out and a beautiful stranger led me to her car to check out her wares. She popped the trunk and there it was: The Verlaines' Bird-Dog. A record that didn't even seem to really exist back when I had no internet through which I could track it down (much less download it), no social circle that could confirm it.

Some context: In 1990, I realized I was gonna have to write my own songs if I wanted to be in a band that didn't cover The Cure, The Smiths, and R.E.M. I sang like a girl and wanted to rock like The Who; what to do? Within four weeks, Ride had released Smile, their compilation of their first two EP's, and I had a direction. By mid-1991 I realized I was also gonna have to learn how to play guitar. Within three months, Swervedriver had blown my mind, but in '92, another band captured this English major's imagination. The Verlaines were part of the Dunedin Sound so wonderfully captured on the In Love With These Times compilation. The melody of the band's "Death and the Maiden" was intriguing, the lyrics smart, the Feelies-esque energy palpable (another formative influence, even if only through Jonathan Demme movies). Through what now seems like sheer luck, I tracked down the band's first record, the immaculate, ornate, baroque Hallelujah All the Way Home and the also-immaculate compilation Juvenilia. At this point in my life, The Verlaines had presented a kind of Rosetta Stone for making music, and Bird-Dog helped me truly understand the vernacular.

Given the above, I would've told you this record didn't need a remaster -- I mean, the material speaks for itself. (Full disclosure: I am currently remastering three of my own records and the demands of history weigh far more heavily on The Verlaines than my scrappy units.) "Guess the next chord" is what I call Graeme's style of songwriting and it is one I have endeavored to ape for 30 years. His voicings are complex, providing subtle but specific moods. Melodies linger when and where you least expect, turn in directions unforeseen, then finally resolve surprisingly and satisfyingly. And whatever the topic, he finds a way to engage by making the "old" (love, substance abuse, friendship) new through brilliant metaphors, a damned good thesaurus, and plain ol' creativity, delivered in his keening yelp that renders this otherwise heavenly music relatably earthy. The guitar strumming is thrilling, the drumming driving and frenetic, the bass undulating -- grounding the songs while keeping up. Think the aforementioned Feelies covering Pete Townshend's more complex material. For my money, the only songwriters who can match Graeme on both counts are Townshend and Mark Eitzel. Bird-Dog exemplifies these qualities, and I've always felt the relatively spare recordings allow the songs to unfold in their splendor. Why screw that up? Well, there are two schools of remastering: "Let’s make it 'competitive'" (read: "loud") and, "How can we best honor this material?" This edition embodies the latter's ethos, and it sounds wonderful.

Bassist Jane Dodd's lines are serpentine, but now they're muscular, like a python rather than reedy like an asp. Drummer Robbie Yeats delivers an energetic performance that often seems entangled with Graeme's frenetic strumming; on the remaster, Robbie's kick is firmly driving the songs, anchoring and propelling them rather than trailing in their slipstream. Whatever the apocalyptic first note of the epic "Slow Sad Love Song" is, it rattled my car, no longer just alluding to the song's grandiosity, but embodying it.

And let's talk about this particular batch of songs! If I were to tell you "Take Good Care of It" was a 2:22 second rocker, I'd be right, but it wouldn't prepare you for the way its velocity eddies and flows, building energy and tension. Despite its whipsawing nature, the structure is sturdy enough to allow for the startling (but-natural) inclusion of autoharp, horns(?), and bells. Knowing Graeme has a doctorate rooted in his study of Gustav Mahler, it's tempting to think of The Verlaines' rock songs as an exercise by a slumming classical musician, but he's just bringing his many tools to the construction of each song; there's no high or low art distinction in his work, just great craftsmanship from an exceptional craftsman.

For better or worse, Bird-Dog also is where Graeme's interest in what I call "show tunes" rears its head. Amidst the epic rockers are songs like "Just Mum," which, to me, has the feel of a solo vocal turn from a supporting character in a musical. I can almost see the actor milking the intro as he saunters to the spotlight for the verse, then is joined by the chorus on the refrain. "Only Dream Left" is another such song, its 3/4-time signature feeling like a tablesetting song in a more epic production, while "Bird-Dog" feels like the curtain call. All three represent an undeniable change of pace that Graeme would pursue to greater lengths later in his career (notably on the subsequent record, Some Disenchanted Evening, which came out the same year as the aforementioned Townshend's actual musical, the not-particularly-lovable Iron Man).

But on Bird-Dog, these songs provide a chance to catch your breath after the frenetic rockers. "You Forget Love"'s melody and dynamics expand and contract but the energy never flags, easing just enough for the chorale vocals to join in before speeding up again. "Slow Sad Love Song" takes its time, easing into its strings before suddenly changing gears, ultimately cramming in more great riffs than any one songs deserves. Yet somehow several more great riffs were available for closer "C.D. Jimmy Jazz and Me", another chugger that expertly ushers in epic horns and strings without ever laboring under their weight, even citing John Williams' theme for Superman as we cruise to a rousing, oh-so-gratifying finale. (On later records, Graeme quotes Danny Elfman's Batman score, so he's a DC guy -- take that, Glenn!)

Thirty years after crafting my musical mission statement -- "Like The Verlaines, but with effects!" -- I still don't know what a better template would be. Bird-Dog makes the argument that maybe, just maybe I never even needed the effects.

Author Eric Tischler tried to rip off The Verlaines over 12 records with The Hurricane Lamps and The Jet Age, proving even a watered-down version of Graeme Downes' music could lead to a side gig with multiple tours of the U.S., a UK tour with The Wedding Present, and cameos from some of the other musical giants mentioned above. (No, not Pete Townshend. Or The Feelies.) Ye olde editor Glenn wanted these self-promoting details in here, and Tischler is more than a little embarrassed (and flattered).

[Photo of Eric Tischler by me, 2011, at Comet Ping Pong]