Aside from having an album called Total Fucking Blowout and being the band that many of us cut our underground punk rock show teeth on, the Fireballs of Freedom have just got a presence and personality that's fully impossible to deny. "FoF" started in North Dakota as a band called Honky Sausage, moved to Montana in 1992 or 1993 after Ear Candy Music's John Fleming told them these were fertile pastures for the kind of high plains, country-boogie-punk-whatever-exactly-you-wanna-call-it rock and roll they were blasting out. And it turned out that Missoula and the Fireballs was a match similar in potency to coffee and cigarettes, chocolate and peanut butter, Peaches/Herb, etc. etc. etc. Missoula loved, and I'd hazard loves the Fireballs like few other things.
Missoula was a waaaay different feeling place in the 1990s. Namely, those of us who are older now, were younger then. There's your big difference. But also, the town was a fair piece grittier with rickety Jay's Upstairs defaulting as a venue for everybody worth their salt from about '93-'03. Everyone smoked, and did so indoors. Craft beer wasn't widely available. Gasoline cost less. Rent cost less. There wasn't an Ear Candy for a lot of the decade. There wasn't much of an internet. Zines existed. Dreadlocks were in vogue. Shows cost less. Bands constantly came through and played for too little door money.
FOF
A person could fill a decent sized book with Fireballs of Freedom stories. I won't here, because they're better I think as oral histories, told by friends, the band and acquaintances. It's exciting to me that the Fireballs haven't stopped, they've made some small lineup adjustments, don't tour nearly as often and probably are far steadier in their personal lives for it. They still are a completely blistering band, and regardless of your thoughts on the kind of music they lay down, you owe it to yourself to enjoy the unhinged power and love for music they bring.
Part of me wants to think that St.
Paul's Fargo transplants Animal Lover takes its name from the
Residents album of the
same name. It doesn't really matter if that's the case or not, but
for a band with such a wide range of influences, it's comforting to
hear a band that isn't fixated on a single genre or is laboriously
attempting to make sure they fit the mold of some post-something-or-other
sound that is played out and simple to categorize.
To make it simple, Animal Lover is a
punk/noise rock band that includes members from former Fargo
ass-kickers Gumbi (Addison Shark
& Nate Fisher) and Høst (Evan
Bullinger).
Thick roots.
So good, Pitchfork didn't know what to say
other than to make the easy comparison to Jesus Lizard (and by
extension Pissed Jeans). Whatever. Of course the influences are
there, but it's a disservice to Animal Lover to not point out the
ingenuity and incredible force that their songs exhibit. I'm not
saying these cats are totally re-inventing the genre or blazing
completely new trails, but (I think) the long history between the
members allows them to tweak the sound so it never feels forced or
excessive. It pounds and pummels; the vocals and guitar muscle their
way from beneath the bass and drums, only to be sucked back in. It's
a fucking whirlwind. Simple.
Over their three releases, Animal
Lover has tightened up their sound and polished away some of the
residual rust that may have been left over from their influences.
It's fierce but also contains numerous subtle changes that make them
efficient but a far cry from easy comparisons and categorization. Get
on board, folks. Animal Lover is going to keep pushing this until
that asteroid wipes us out. Or, until they form a Who cover band.
