This band of Japanese noise punkers began life as the Psychedelic Speed Freaks, which summed them up so well their label recommended they change their name because it was “too direct.” So they opted for High Rise in tribute to the J.G. Ballard novel of the same name.
Other than that, nothing much changed—the band may have taken a new name, but they continued to produce some of the fastest, noisiest, most super-charged guitar-driven assaults ever recorded. In the red, they were, and the only question is, is there a color BEYOND red? Guitarist Munehiro Narita played like his goal was to find out.
And he was ably assisted by vocalist/bassist Asahito Nanjo, whose idea of a good time was recording, mixing, and mastering albums using extreme distortion, dynamic range compression, and clipping (overdriving an amp to the point of tweeter damage) to make the instruments unrecognizable. As for drummer Yuro Ujiie, his job was to hit the drums so hard they filed criminal charges for assault and battery.
1986’s II was High Rise’s debut, and I’m assuming they’re counting 1984’s live Psychedelic Speed Freaks (recorded under their original name) as their first. Unlike the live disc, which featured a slothful metal tune with a Black Sabbath vibe in “Bedlam,” II is a nonstop storm of furious fuzz, feedback, and fantastically fast tempos, and I’m pretty certain that listening to it frequently will make it impossible for you to have children.
There’s a sameness to the songs on II that doesn’t detract from its brilliance but does make describing each song an exercise in redundancy and tedium. Only the thirteen-minute-plus-change closer “Pop Sicle” deviates from the norm, insofar as it opens on a slightly slower note, swollen with power chords. By High Rise standards, it’s a ballad. I should tell you it’s not a ballad by any stretch. When Narita commences to bend reality with his guitar and the whole world goes sideways, you’ll realize it falls under the category of apocalypse by other means.
Then there’s the 53-second opener “Cycle Goddess,” which literally explodes out of the starting gate and is as succinct an expression of the chaotic High Rise sound as ever you’ll hear.
What can I talk about? Well, Asahito Nanjo’s vocals are always pushed way back in the mix, and as a result, he sounds like he’s trying and failing to sing over the mayhem. I have no doubt it’s deliberate. Nanjo sounds like the guy standing next to you at a Dinosaur Jr. gig, attempting to fill you in on the details of his recent trip to Bermuda. Except Nanjo isn’t a colossal bore.
What else? Well, Narita doesn’t play what I’d call noise rock on his guitar. What he does is achieve a multiplicity of effects on said ax, and it’s his constant switching up, from straight ahead speed guitar to squeals to shrieking feedback to uncanny double-backs to fuzz guitar that would make the Stooges jealous—that makes the album—which must be sixty-five percent guitar solo—so great.
The songs that don’t quite fit the mold are ones like “Turn You Cry” and “Wipe Out,” on which Narita doesn’t begin wailing right away, or “Cotton Top,” which opens with some earthquake rumble bass. But Narita always gets around to doing his thing, and when he does, watch out.
This is what American hardcore might have evolved into if most of your hardcore bands hadn’t made a tragic right-hand turn into metal, and sludge metal at that. II has hardcore-plus speed, and makes me think of Greg Ginn, if he hadn’t run headfirst into a sludge-metal wall. Had he injected nuclear levels of amped-up, high velocity noise and distortion into his instrumental band Gone, Gone might have sounded more like High Rise than a couple of stoners playing a hybrid of the Grateful Dead and bad jazz.
What High Rise had over American bands was that they were absolutely fearless and beholden to only two rules: play loud and fast. The rules of hardcore, in other words. But it only takes about three seconds of Narita’s guitar to make you realize what American hardcore was missing—the courage to freak freely, and (thanks Minutemen) the ability to buzz and howl under the influence of heat.
As for the speed metal bands of the world, I’ve never had any use for them. They all sound like they’re playing in a box of rules. High Rise, on the other hand, had no use for rules. They’re way out there somewhere, setting fires and delivering up what I value most in music—chaos, feedback, and joy.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
