Melvins
Lysol
Scum stats: in a just world, millions.
Writing late at night for what feels like the first time in forever, but with the Discogs livestream DJ set tomorrow (today really, 2pm Eastern, check it out), I need to be fully focused on that task at hand so knocking this one out with a doozy. So what that it's 1:06am?
For nearly twenty-five years, the Melvins have consistently been one of the bands I have most enjoyed. Amongst a catalog that is just too vast to completely comprehend (let alone listen to or own) “Lysol” is without a doubt the record of theirs I have listened to more than any of their records.
The music, for starters, is sublime and without a single misstep. Every note, every extended bout of feedback, every snare hit...there is nothing in the entire running time that is superfluous. Each action is essential in serving the larger statement.
Weirdly, when I first bought this record (roundabout July 1996 based on the Car City Records pricing sticker) I always listened to the sides in reverse order. So forever in my mind, the album starts with “Sacrifice.”
Seldom does a cover song surpass its original version. Never does it elevate to the level that the Melvins ascend to with their complete recontextualization of Flipper’s work. Now don’t get me wrong, Flipper’s version of “Sacrifice” is really, really solid. One of their finer moments. But the Melvins….shiiiiiiiiiiiiit. At various points in my life this song has fully encapsulated my reason for existing. It is, to this day, my go-to record whenever I’m setting up any new or reconfigured stereo equipment. I just know every last quiver the needle is supposed to make as it glides over this slab of wax, encoded into the dust that vibrates into strings that helix into the building blocks of my form. I may overuse this term (and for that I apologize) but I will absolutely fight to the death when I wholeheartedly exclaim that the Melvins’ version of “Sacrifice” is PERFECT.
The rounded bass tone, the dissonant squeal of the guitar feedback curdling into the song at the 36-second mark, the snare (triggered to a single snare hit sampled from Zeppelin’s “D’yer Maker”) coupled with cannon-strength bass drum, room for those two stutter syncopated with all kinds of personal inflection and style, the whole thing really just being six notes repeated over and over and over for over six minutes, literally getting better and better the louder you play it, the lyrics blatantly anti-war and military industrial complex...I could live inside this song for days.
Follow that with a brief segue into “Second Coming” straight into cover of “The Ballad of Dwight Fry” (both originally by Alice Cooper) and the dusty, Western vibes feel almost anathema as to what I would’ve expected from the Melvins at 14 years old. But man, it somehow flips the script and just works, bordering on Dust Bowl murder ballad vibes. I am only learning right now, at 1:36am, that Dwight Frye was an actor born at the turn of the century best known for playing maniacal characters in Universal horror films like Dracula and Frankenstein. Still, twenty years later, I am having trouble removing everything here from the Melvins, in my mind it all comes exclusively as their creation.
Good moment for an aside...most copies of this record come with NO information other than the band name and band member first names. When I first sat with a copy freshman year of high school, I had NO way of determining anything about this music, what side to play first, who wrote the songs, just nothing. It was mysterious and alluring and gave me just enough entree to not be that concerned about the lack of context. Not until buying a CD copy of Lysol in 2008 did I realize that the album DIDN’T begin with “Sacrifice”, let alone that there was a song on it called “Roman Dog Bird.” Furthermore, the songs are mastered in a way that they all run right into each other, no telling where one ends or begins, so much so that on the CD it is just one 31-minute-long “megacomposition.” That shit is confusing! But oh so worth it.
The album ends on “With Teeth”, a song centered around a chord progression that I have trouble describing in any way other than optimistic, triumphant or positive. As a vibe that is NOT common from the band by any means, it showcases here well, with little effort it could be some weird half-tone or down-tuned demonic, but if anything, this album is full of odd pseudo contradictions.
One-time Melvins drummer Coady Willis once said to me “I just can’t believe I get to play ‘With Teeth’ every night. That song is so important to me, meant so much to me when I was younger” and just little things like that, the insight into someone else’s perspective, gave me a wholly new perspective on a song like this. Lyrics are nearly impenetrable to my brain, so maybe in another decade I can make sense of them. Regardless, they FEEL right and in some instances, the feel is a thousand times more important than the syntax.
Circle round to the start of the album, “Hung Bunny” is an anti-song for nearly seven minutes, all wrung out power chords left to dissipate into the ether, drum accents barely punctuating anything, buried vocals that sound like disassembled chanting, avoiding annunciating any words, rather just honed in on differentiating vowel sounds. And THEN, around the 7:50 mark it kicks into an insistent, drum-propelled middle portion limbo, before settling on quintessential instrumental doom-inspiring Melvins 101.
Quickly, without warning, it crash lands into “Roman Dog Bird” And not until now, 2am, twenty four years of listening to the album, do I know that the first damn lyric on the album is “Lysol to get me high”
I didn’t think I could love this album any more. But somehow, with revelations like this, I do.
Another good moment for an aside: the title “Lysol” caused this album to get tied up in all kinds of legal trouble. The term “Lysol” itself is trademarked, and the then-owners (Sterling Drug) actually sent an undercover operative to the Boner Records (greatest label name ever) warehouse, posing as a journalist. Right before the release, records ready to roll out the door, Sterling drops the hammer, thousands of copies of the LP and CD need to have the offending words covered with black tape, crossed out with black marker, just completely asinine shit. Ben Swank recalls unwisely removing the tape from his copy as a youth. One of my prized Melvins-related possessions is an original copy without any signs of tape or marker, the title there in all its infringing glory. When Boner re-issued the album in 2015, they changed the title to “Lice-All” which is the ideal kind of clever.
Additionally, I’m just finding out now, at 2:15am, that Lysol was marketed as a feminine hygiene product in the late 1920s and was even utilized to induce abortions for women who could not obtain them legally….giving me a whole new perspective on this album title, which previously I had just thought was a clever, snide response to Nirvana naming their debut album “Bleach.”
Whether you consider it the end of side 1 or side 2, all is transcendently immortal. The cover is based on the sculpture “Appeal to the Great Spirit,” itself already depicted as the logo for the Beach Boys vanity label Brother Records and a Keef Hartley Band album cover...the image signals importance, something greater than us, a resignation of oneself to the higher power, all ideas I sincerely feel are embodied in this recording, while the center labels and printed inner sleeve match in a dizzying red/black/white flower pattern, hypnotic upon closer inspection and the feedback buzzing.
I can honestly say here, without any hyperbole or stretching of the truth, this album is one of the greatest rock and roll records ever made. Top five material. There is no overselling this one. Lysol is absolutely essential to any self-respecting record collection. No excuses. Everything about it is just exemplary.
And in an effort to throw a bone...I am giving away an LP copy of “Lysol” right here.
While my original ‘96 purchase and the unredacted will stay in my stacks, the wonderful Greg Siemasz handed me one in 2002 that I am now letting back into the wild, with hopes that it will inspire someone at least ¼ as much as it has me.
The contest is only open to people who don’t already own a copy of this masterpiece. From there...in the comments, spin me a yarn about getting busted. Cops, parents, the leader guy in your cult...doesn’t matter who did the busting. Maybe you were even the one who did the busting? Maybe you were scared it was going to ruin your life, maybe you were never scared. Maybe it’s funny. Maybe it’s sad. Maybe it’s entirely made up and should also be entered into a short story contest. Maybe it ruminates on some sort of feeling that there’s no word for in English, but the Germans sure as hell have one.
I just keep thinking back on what it must’ve felt like to have to tape and mark all those original copies of the record...how tedious, how demoralizing, what a set-up to give-up. But if anything, this record is only that much better because of the lore behind it. Getting busted does not stop greatness. Even if it’s 2:55am.
Pains me to have missed this contest, love the write up. Any more scum stats on unredacted copies? Numbers? Early distribution?
Lies all of them and don’t be drinking or injecting any of that shit!
A few years ago my band went on our first tour. Two weeks, West Coast, White Van, Broken Air Conditioner, Six Dudes, So Much In-N-Out…you know the story.
Alas, as the resident goody 2 shoes of the band a lot of the drugs and guns were not disclosed to me until the next tour. Gotta make sure the “new guy” isn’t a narc.
We’re driving into Vegas for our first of two nights playing at the Double Down Saloon (any self respecting rocker knows this place and still has some funk on their shoes from the toilet)
My job is to quickly find the cheapest hotel room nearby. Hooters it is.
Side note: That first night we met Mugen Hoso. A Japanese two piece band that basically play rewritten, more energetic Bay City Rollers songs, and do forward rolls while soloing. They try to tour the states every summer playing whatever venue will have them. Friends for life.
After our first night rocking (Wait!? This venue doesn’t have microphones!? Wtf!? Can we borrow yours?).What do six 30 something dudes do in Vegas at 1 in the morning? Buy Yard-Aritas and walk The Strip!
Around the time we hit the driveway to the Bellagio I’m quite aways further than my bandmates as I’m stoked to get my Danny Ocean on. Only 6 of us, but what the hell?
I notice no cars coming, but am still trying to slow down enough that Rusty, Linus, and the gang can catch up…so I do what any normal person would do…Style and Profile Across that Crosswalk Ric Flair Style. As I’m about to give Vegas a hearty Wooooo!, I suddenly have a police officer in my face going “What are you doing dancing in the crosswalk!?!”
Suddenly I’m standing in front of a police car getting grilled about what I’m doing, being threatened for “dancing in the crosswalk,” and being told how lucky I am I wasn’t hit! Somewhat nervous I stand at attention with my hands behind my back (from far away it looked like I was cuffed from the picture). Reluctant to say my Social Security Number aloud as we’re in public. Now my band mates have caught up and are laughing their asses off.
Another officer talks to Rusty and Linus and tell them “Ask Danny Ocean over there about his cocaine.” I don’t know this but I get told “Your friends over there say you’ve got cocaine on ya.” He can’t help but laugh when my response is “Yeah right, would you like to check?”
I literally write down my SSN (can never be too careful, the officer was both surprised but compliant with my request) and I finally get issued a warning for “Not Obeying Pedestrian Traffic Signals.” If I get caught in Nevada not stopping at the Red Hand anytime in the next year…Off To The Slammer.
In the 3 or 4 tours we did, I’m the only hoodlum that ever got in trouble with the law. Goody 2 shoes no more…
I’ve been funny in the past. let’s roll with serious this time. — Fraud Examiner here… These people aren’t always “bad people”, some you could even befriend in another world; your friendly neighbor, or your little old Sunday School teacher. In order to do these crimes, these people all experience: Pressure, Opportunity, and Rationalization. From dollars to millions… As we all move quickly toward a more digital workplace, some businesses more prepared than others. Cyber/Internet Fraud will go up as we’ve seen already during our battle with COVID. Be safe everyone, especially with your personal info!
I accidentally posted before writing my story! Anyway, for years I was just a dog person. Nothing against cats, but I just loved dogs and wanted dogs in my life. My girlfriend asked about getting a cat, and I said I wasn’t too crazy about it, and I used my allergies as an excuse (I really did have pretty severe allergies to regular cats). Anyway, one day I was bored and browsing the internet instead of working and came across a beautiful hypoallergenic cat that was listed at a shelter three hours away. I called the shelter, asked them to hold the cat for me, and I drove over to pick her up that week. I got busted when she came home and saw me, an eternal dog lover, with my new best bud.
This is a story where I did the busting. In college I worked at an amusement park in Ohio, specifically at one of those antique photo shops. Mother and her 3 kids (2 teenagers & 1 boy aged about 7), came in to get their antique photo. Mom was kind of rude, but I shrugged it off as the store was super busy. After returning from the back room where I “developed” their photo (4×5 Polaroid for $14) and cashed them out, I then noticed one of the cheap frames that we use to upsell from just buying the Polaroid was missing. Some of the other customers said that mother took it. When I asked the customers why they didn’t tell me when they were still in the store, they told me because that mother cut in line and I guess that irritated them. Okay. I leave another employee behind, and I go searching for this mom (she was sitting just next door with her kids at the Western Saloon drinking a beer). I confronted her, she denied and quickly walked off with her kids. I was so freaking pissed that a grown woman with children could be setting this kind of example, I basically ran after them….all the way to some ride that they all got in line for. Guess she figured I would give up? That just gave me time to find security so they could be there as they got off the ride. Anyway, a couple of frames were in her big bag (I only noticed one missing!) and I think they were just escorted out of the park. No charges filed. As much anger as I had for that woman (she can pay for a beer but not a picture frame?), I felt so horrible for that little boy.
I haven’t heard Lysol, but I am really intrigued by your write-up and I’ll check it out soon.
It was New Year’s Eve 1995. I was 16. I stole my parent car from my brother who was at his place of employment. I drove it to the palace of auburn hills to see NIN. Preparing myself to Walk through the front door after that was terrifying. It was so worth it though.
I’ve got a NSFW busted story for ya.. Names are made up to protect privacy.
I was 19 years old and had been dating a guy in his late 20s for a few months. He was “fighting” for full custody of his daughter whose mom was a heroin addict (read: filing custody paperwork his mom had filled out), had a prior domestic violence conviction, still lived with his mom, shared a car with his mom, and worked part time WITH HIS MOM handing out samples at a wholesale store that rhymes with Bosco. Dude was a pretty big loser but I thought he just needed a gal to help him reach his full potential – HA.. teenagers, right?
Since he still lived with mommy, getting frisky was a little problematic. His mom never let him have the car so my place wasn’t an option and I lived about 30 minutes away, so bringing him back to my place didn’t work either. We’d usually just wait until his mom made a grocery run to do the deed, but one week she was sick and hadn’t left the house in a few days. We decided to try to find a secluded place nearby where we could engage in some good old fashioned backseat wrestling. So we drove around for a bit and found a place we thought would be perfect: an empty church parking lot.
I park my car but leave it running and we hop into the backseat and start going at it. A couple of very uncomfortable and not at all sexy minutes go by, then suddenly the passenger compartment is completely bathed in light. We scramble around, trying to collect our clothes, and as I get my pants halfway up my legs (fucking skinny jeans) there’s a knock on the window. I look up to see a police officer with a flashlight in hand and a stern grimace on his face. Shit.
In the backseat with pants on up to my thighs and hair plastered to the sides of my face, I roll down the window. The copper eyes me in my state of undress and immediately realizes what’s been going down. His eyebrows furrow and he asks for my ID. I hand it over.
“You live across the river?” he asks me. I nod. “What are you doing out here?”
“My boyfriend lives here.” I gesture toward the guilty looking man beside me who hasn’t looked up from buttoning his shirt. The officer spares him a suspicious glance then turns to me again.
“What’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“Justa Guy,” I tell him. He squints.
“Middle name?”
“Dumb,” I answer.
“Sir, I need your ID too,” he says. Without looking up, my boyfriend fumbles for his wallet and fishes out his ID. The cop compares the name I gave to the one on the ID, then its photo to the holder.
‘Oh my god,’ I think to myself, ‘he thinks I’m a prostitute.’
“I’ll be right back.”
Another few uncomfortable minutes pass and my boyfriend is now panicking. “I’m fucked. I’m so fucked. I can’t get arrested,” he rambles as I stare at the ceiling. I laugh at the absurdity of the situation and he goes silent. The cop approaches again.
“Really? In a church parking lot?” he asks incredulously.
“We don’t have anywhere else we can go,” I tell him.
He sighs and shakes his head. “We can’t have you doing that at a church. Find somewhere else. You can go now.”
And that’s the story of how I was let off with a warning after I got busted by the police for having sex in a church parking lot and suspected of being a prostitute. Hope you guys enjoyed it.
I never got busted. Spend time planning, and remember you are only as strong as your weakest link.