Few would consider the age of 60 to be the optimal time to release a debut album, but Kim Rancourt’s first LP under his own name makes a strong case for the wait. He hasn’t been inactive in the leadup, however; the longtime New Yorker’s been in bands, assisted in the making of many records, soaked up a lot of sounds, and as his ample biography indicates, lived a full life. Some heavy friends help shape plum plum, amongst them Don Fleming (Velvet Monkeys/ Gumball) and Joe Bouchard (founding bassist for Blue Öyster Cult). Satisfying and personal, it’s out now on vinyl, compact disc, and digital through Clown Heroes Records.
Kim Rancourt can be accurately sized-up as a sturdy underground figure. Born in Royal Oaks, MI, he was deeply impacted by the state’s mid-20th century artistic sweep, but by ’74 had moved to NYC. Eventually, a band did emerge, namely When People Were Shorter and Lived Near the Water, a conceptual cover band formed with Joe DeFillips that was situated betwixt irreverence, demolition, and inventiveness.
One component in the roster of Shockabilly/ Bongwater honcho Mark Kramer’s Shimmy Disc label, through depth of execution and sheer unpredictability (targeting-tackling-reimagining Bobby Goldsboro, Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess, Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, the Buoys’ “Timothy” etc.) WPWS&LNTW evolved far beyond expectations to deliver three 7-inchs and three full-lengths, concluding with the spiff Bill Kennedy’s Showtime, a remembrance of/ tribute to Detroit-area rock and soul acts from Rancourt’s youth.
Important contributors to WPWS&LNTW included Kramer’s associate David Licht and Dave Rick of Bongwater, B.A.L.L., King Missile etc. This brings us to Shapir-O’Rama, the group that formed when Rancourt replaced the vocalist in Wonderama, one of Rick’s coolest (and sadly, most obscure) projects. Shapir-O’Rama kicked out three discs amid the wild indie gush of the ’90s, the latter two in collaboration with Half Japanese’s Jad Fair.
WPWS&LNTW and Shapir-O’Rama situated Rancourt in a distinct nook of the US rock underground, merging art, rock, and varying strains of the unusual. As produced by longtime friend Don Fleming, plum plum strengthens his residence in said zone while simultaneously rocking up a storm. Given the assembled players, this is far from a shock; along with Fleming on guitar and the coup of Bouchard on bass, the band is filled out with NYC guitar giant Gary Lucas (ex-Beefheart’s Magic Band, Jeff Buckley, etc.) and Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley.
That vocalist Rancourt doesn’t get consumed by the all-star cast is credit to his songs and more importantly his delivery, which persists in the unconventional without tipping over into full-on oddball territory through a direct, occasionally spoken manner of address. Interestingly, both Fleming and especially Fair have employed a similar approach, but Rancourt ultimately comes off like neither.
Instead, he connects like a wizened Gotham dweller with some perspective to share and a few stories to tell, getting right to it with opener “Walking the Trashline.” plum plum’s promo text mentions time spent on the beach at Coney Island, but the increasingly passionate vocal makes clear that said activity is a launching pad for contemplation with traces of early NY punk rock attitude.
The players’ collective sharpness abets him, getting to the core of the thing with an aura of spontaneity intact, which helps to put the loose, impromptu-seeming “Circles Gotta Go” right over the top. Likewise, the intertwining flurries of guitar, some of it with a Spanish psychedelic hue, that unwinds across “Three Dimes.” “Claudine” finds Rancourt and crew upping a melodic angle, but with the Noo Yawk swagger of “Welcome to the Trashline” arising again.
Solidifying plum plum’s geographic stature is “I Kissed Pat Place” (concerning a smacker planted on the guitarist for crucial No Wavers the Contortions); on paper, this might seem a Half Japanese-esque maneuver, but no, it’s just (just!) a raucous pounder loaded up with amp scuzz and choice ranting. “Hail” shifts gears, slowing down to a psych-warped drift. “Arkansas is Burning” reups the rock and takes a political turn, though the consistent touch of the poetic in Rancourt’s lyrics swings matters away from sloganeering, as the sound of his voice is fleetingly reminiscent of Pere Ubu’s David Thomas.
It bears emphasizing that the resistance to trad verse-chorus structure is a recipe for inconsistency; lots have tried it, but few examples stick together this well, and the results gain traction with repeated listens. It all leads to the album’s centerpiece (and band showcase), the jagged, nearly ten-minute chug of “She Got Hit,” which uses Detroit-style proto punk as a platform and then barrels forth from there.
The leaves a pair of tracks, the fuzz-thump and string burn of “The Thing That Is,” and the off-center guitar-pop nugget of closer “Leave Your Light On.” It all ends abruptly but fittingly for an album of such left-field verve. plum plum easily avoids the tropes that lessen late-career affairs, with Kim Rancourt’s efforts thriving on the spark of invention that eludes many artists less than half his age.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
