Everything I Know About Rock 'N' Roll I Learned From Sonic Boom

I remember once reading [ed. note: My memory for specifics is famously faulty, particularly in regard to reading retention. which is why I always seem to preface my anecdotes with the phrase "I read somewhere--"the perpetual "somewhere"--a source I couldn't name to save my life. I apologize for this very feeble crutch.] some rock journalist waxing on about Brian Jones' early roll in the Stones, a point that lead them eventually to the assertion that the true soul of the Band--what would become Mick's narrative throughout the 60s and 70s--lay squarely on his shoulders--with, of course, a little help from Keith. Something of a reasonable assessment, me thinks; I mean, sure: Mick was probably around for some harrowing shit, lived "the life" a lot harder than most anyone you or I know, but when it comes right down to it, he'd probably rather be fucking a model than meeting the smack dealer. Which, of course, is the difference. He was always more of a fly on the wall of a lifestyle that consumed the people around him. the "rock and roll lifestyle."

Though perhaps not as dramatic as the story of the Stones (I mean, what could be, really?), I've always sort of sensed a similar sort of dichotomy at work between two of the world's most under-rated junkie geniuses--Jason Pierce and Pete Kember--the duo at work behind Spacemen 3. I have no proof of this dichotomy, of course, but can only offer their disparate solo careers as evidence: Pierce (aka J. Spaceman), with his critically-acclaimed Spiritualized, gluttonously expands his track-marked image with each of his releases--with nearly every song containing a thinly-veiled drug reference--but whose work possesses a clarity and professionalism that simply doesn't mesh with the capacity of a 20-year junkie. Kember (better known perhaps as Sonic Boom), on the other hand, has actively grown less-and-less accessible with each release (both under the names Spectrum and EAR)--abandoning his pop roots for what basically amounts to lengthy, unintelligible synthetic drones. The man is obviously on drugs.

anyway.

Until Spectrum became Totally boring, Sonic Boom was on such an incredible roll following the demise of Spacemen 3. His first solo release, predating the break-up of Spacemen, was the truly stunning Spectrum, credited to Sonic Boom--a passively desperate record with titles like "help me please," "Lonely Avenue," "If I should die," and a cover of Suicide's "Rock 'n' Roll is Killing My Life," Spectrum finally sees Kember unencumbered by things like "choruses" and "changes." The "solo" record, strangely enough, also features the bulk of Spacemen 3, and a good number of the cast that would go on to make up Spiritualized. Notable not only for its beautiful expansion of his trademark American-by-way-of-England drone pop, Spectrum also introduces another very important facet of Sonic's early solo career--super rad packaging. Spectrum features this awesome plastic, spinning "trip wheel" cover (terrible description) and gatefold (Kember is first and foremost an obsessive music fan, and much like fellow record bin scourers Stereolab, he knows the value of a fancy collectible).

Produced while both parties refused to speak to one another, Spacemen 3's final album, Recurring, for all intents and purposes acts as the real debut for both Spiritualized and Spectrum proper--the record's A and B sides divided Speakerboxx style. After the break-up, Sonic took the name of his solo record and began working on a new record. The resulting debut--originally packaged in this weird plastic sleeve filled with lava-lamp-like colored oil and water (called the "squishy pak"--which now all smell pretty musty)--would be Sonic's defining solo moment, the nullifying Soul Kiss (Glide Divine). The album's beautiful formula is something like this:

Two or three synths plus farfisa organ plus soft, meandering guitar times a ton of delay times tremolo times flange, repeat. and then repeat. and again.

this record is essential. period. I can think of no greater personal influence on my specific intention in music making than the perfect semblance of Soul Kiss--its aimless, breathless delivery in constant stark consistency.

Around this time Sonic began working on his Experimental Audio Research (E.A.R.) project, with fellow wanksters like Kevin Shields, to produce freeform sonic experiments and otherwise milk his small audience of a few more dollars. While E.A.R. has its supporters, to be sure, I sort of view its "formation" as the beginning of the end for Kember, as the distinction between it and Spectrum began to become less clear. Spending the next few years releasing the last of his pop records (including a collaboration with Jessamine and his long-time obsessions the Silver Apples) Sonic took his vintage keyboard fetish to its ridiculous extreme, while slowly growing less and less inspired.

Never as commercially viable as his former bandmate, Kember continues to tour on occasion, even exploitively touring songs from the Spacemen songbook recently--despite the release of no new material ("It's so sad," Pierce recently remarked). Dude's still kicking around all rock and roll, presumably waiting for the inevitable deification of his former band, and all I can do is wish he'd put out a pop single. Then he'd be the Greatest Band of All Time.