Anyone who thinks Seattle was put on the full-throttle punk map in 1991 misses the mark by about a quarter century. The loudest, meanest, screamin-est garage rock of 1965 came tearing out of the Northwest with drugs, the occult and raw sexual energy on its mind.
With icepick-damaged speakers and painfully overdriven amplifiers, The Sonics' repertoire (like that of all 60's garage bands) consists mainly of covers, but their singular talent was to ratchet up the aggression and noise on all of them. If punk was really born in 1977, then it must have had a seven-year gestation period: Larry Paryapa's guitar solos are brutal and harsh, slicing through the sugary coating of a Motown classic like "Do You Love Me" to find its desperate, bitter heart.
When most of their contemporaries were aping the chiming Byrds or bouncing British Invasion rock, the Sonics were bashing out their aggressive homage to American R&B gods. The country shuffle of Chuck Berry's "Roll Over Beethoven" rather eludes the Sonics, but Little Richard's "Good Golly Miss Molly" (and others) gives singer Jerry Rosalie some serious meat to sink his teeth into - his tattered, howling larynx is the only one worthy to follow in the footsteps of the Queen Himself.
Notably - and a departure from most 60's garage rock - The Sonic's originals are as riveting as their covers. Some folks like water, some folks like wine, but Rosalie likes the taste of straight "Strychnine", claims women drive him "Psycho" and has the feral shriek to prove it. A band with the chops and groove dirty enough to make a song called "Cinderella" sound evil and foreboding is bad-ass for sure. Just the kind of dangerous fun you're not supposed to have.
- Jared O'Connor
dangerous fun