To gather a full understanding of the new wave era requires cognizance of Suburban Lawns. A Long Beach, CA outfit wedding spastic energy to an art-school approach, they scored modest success in the upside-down musical environment of the late ‘70s/early ‘80s. The group’s fortunes were momentary however, and they’ve subsequently lingered on the edge of obscurity in part due to a lack of exposure. In a positive turn, Futurismo’s remodeled expansion of their eponymous 1981 full-length returns the vast majority of Suburban Lawns’ discography to print; it’s available now on LP/CD.
Suburban Lawns were formed in 1978 by bassist William Ranson and vocalist-keyboardist Sue McLane. Students at the California Institute of the Arts, they adopted the monikers Vex Billingsgate and Su Tissue and promptly hooked up with drummer Charles Rodriguez aka Chuck Roast and guitarists Richard Whitney and John McBurney, the pair adopting the handles Frankie Ennui and John Gleur.
That Suburban Lawns partially sprang from the fertile creative environs of CalArts is quickly apparent; unabashedly smart in a field often valuing submerged intellect, their focus was as much on ideas as musicality. It’s frankly an unsurprising scenario for an act riding the new wave, though the Lawns’ instrumental adeptness was quite clear and over the years has sporadically been assessed by some harsh sticklers as a fault.
But don’t let the naysayers cloud the issue, for Suburban Lawns are the real deal; for starters, they appeared on New Wave Theater, the celebrated Peter Ivers-hosted cable program non-Los Angeles residents likely know either via ‘80s broadcasts on the USA Network’s Night Flight or through Rhino Video’s Best of New Wave Theater, two volumes of which came out on VHS in the early ‘90s. Also notable is a drawing of Su Tissue by artist Mark Vallen that made the cover of Slash magazine back in ’79, plus gigs with Black Flag, Monitor, Fear, the Plugz, and the Blasters.
Similar to much of the new music issued throughout their existence, the Lawns’ debut ’79 single was self-released, though the giddy urgency of “Gidget Goes to Hell” effectively put them on the map, inspiring director Jonathan Demme to shoot a video for the song, his finished work airing on Saturday Night Live. And over a decade hence, when asked his opinion of punk in an interview for Spin, a generally disdainful Frank Zappa cited “Gidget Goes to Hell” as a positive example of the form.
The response mainly illustrates Zappa as being off-target (no shocker; it was 1991), though the Lawns escape unscathed; undeniably punk-related, their biggest connection to the style remains a hyperactive nature plainly tangible on “Flying Saucer Safari,” the opener of the ‘81 album. Indicative of major headway, Suburban Lawns was cut for I.R.S. Records, a thriving enterprise of the period responsible for bringing R.E.M. and the Go-Go’s to the scene.
The verve displayed on the first single is undiminished, and “Flying Saucer Safari” excels as a one-tune distillation of the group’s essence, its pogo-ready rhythmic gallop interspersed with angular tangents as a vibrant blend of guitar and keyboards rounds out the instrumental template. Completing the picture is the vocalizing, Tissue’s non-trad skills spiraling forth in a manner assuredly off-putting to certain sensibilities.
And so it will be today as Suburban Lawns’ vigorous conceptualism helps to define an era. Just as important are lyrics grappling with societal awareness (“Taco Bells and filter kings/Correctol and onion rings”) in a fashion frequently icily snide, Tissue intermittently going full deadpan. Ennui takes the lead on the choppy “Pioneers,” the entry adequately punkish at least until the acumen of the midsection highlights the Lawns’ progressive side.
They occasionally suggest oddball pop, a reality discernible in the streamlined tempo shifting and in Billingsgate’s Lou Reed-under hypnosis vocal cop during “Not Allowed,” while another wrinkle comes through the combination of edgy rocking and Tissue’s Euro-shaded alienation in “Gossip.” But it’s really the grouchy guitar and speedy tempo of the Gleur-sung “Intellectual Rock” that gets closest to the punk paradigm.
If non-rudimentary they weren’t a bit longwinded at this stage, with nothing on the LP breaking the three-minute mark and many falling short of two; so it is with “Protection,” the original b-side to the Lawns’ second single finding Billingsgate a model of emotional detachment. “Anything” delivers a spirited dose of power pop alongside Tissue’s adenoidal musing.
Next to “Gidget Goes to Hell,” the Lawns’ highest-profile composition is surely “Janitor,” the a-side to the aforementioned follow-up 45 and the tune they played on New Wave Theater; essentially punchy organic new wave serving as a platform for fibrous string convulsions and Tissue’s bubbly emoting, it typifies a corner of the spectrum more bemused than angry.
By extension, the ad jingle-esque “Computer Date” registers like Devo fronted by D. Byrne after three pots of strong coffee, and while a smidge more Wave-inclined, “Mom and Dad and God” skirts territory cultivated by Greg Shaw’s Bomp imprint. Next is “Unable,” a trim and tough selection wielding hints of Deborah Harry. It’s followed by “When in the World,” a relatively expansive pop number subverted by the theatrical smarm of Billingsgate.
For those only familiar with “Gidget” and “Janitor,” the superb “Green Eyes” easily maintains Tissue’s considerable talent; as on “Gossip,” she sounds a little like Nico’s long lost sister transplanted to sunny Cali to front the Plimsouls. Later studying piano at Berklee College of Music, in ’82 she recorded “Salon de Musique” as Su Tissue. A terrific mini-LP of minimalist-leaning piano and (for one piece) voice, it came out in ’84 on the Adversity Ltd label. It would make a swell reissue.
But I digress. The frenetic Ennui-sung “Jam the Controls” exudes a touch of jazziness, adding a further curveball to the finale of the original platter, and at just shy of 28 minutes Suburban Lawns is a fitting candidate for Futurismo’s increasingly signature vinyl revamping; in addition to a new, far superior sleeve design the disc adds the five tracks comprising the ensuing “Baby” EP.
Contrasting with the above, every cut on the ’83 release exceeds three minutes as two near five, a factor signifying substantial broadening of ambition. The highpoints, namely the bouncy/loopy late-new wave of “Flavor Crystals,” the vaguely No Wave-ish title track and especially the multifaceted closer “Cowboy,” all feature Tissue’s vocals, a trifecta reinforcing her outsider-pop bona fides.
“Enjoy” is a bit lesser as it explores a zone reminiscent of Talking Heads, while the elasticity of “Hug You” suffers from excessive length, and yet these salvaged attempts to make a second album are an enlightening experience; Futurismo’s decision to include them is justified. This reissue corrals the complete studio recordings of Suburban Lawns with a sole omission, and therefore it’s a treat triggering a simple question. When’s the first 45 getting a repress?
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
