“Oar On Penelope” (Yep Roc Records)
By Eleni P. Austin
It feels as though Peter Buck never stops making music. Along with Michael Stipe, Mike Mills and Bill Berry, he formed R.E.M. in Athens, Georgia. Critical acclaim was instant and commercial success followed. Along with U2, they were considered the vanguard of the Alternative Rock scene. In 2011, back when R.E.M. amicably called it quits after 30 years. Peter was already a part of three other side projects, The Minus 5, Tuatara and The Baseball Project. Within a year, he embarked on a solo career, he’s since recorded seven solo albums. He formed Filthy Friends and later The No Ones. He’s also produced records for Alejandro Escovedo, The Jayhawks, John Wesley Harding and The Eyelids. Now, he’s returned with a new Minus 5 effort, Oar On Penelope.
The Minus 5 first began back in 1993 and included Scott McCaughey and two of The Posies, Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow. Scott first gained fame as the frontman and predominant songwriter for the Portland, Oregon band, The Young Fresh Fellows. All told, the band has released four EPs and 14 long-players. The line-up for The Minus 5 has always remained fluid and over the years, has included Terry Adams and Tom Ardolino from NRBQ, Jeff Tweedy and Glenn Kotche from Wilco, Colin Meloy from The Decemberists, as well as Ben Gibbard and Dave Depper from Death Cab For Cutie. Scott and Peter are the only mainstays, the former on guitar, piano, Farfisa and lead vocals, the latter on bass and 12-string guitar. The current iteration includes Linda Pitmon (Steve Wynn, Baseball Project, Filthy Friends), Kurt Bloch (Fastbacks, Young Fresh Fellows, Filthy Friends) and Debbi Peterson (The Bangles, Matthew Sweet).
The opening track, “Words & Birds” blasts out of the speakers at warp speed. A walloping beat collides with prickly guitars and loose-limbed bass. Scott’s reedy tenor rises above the calibrated chaos and lush “la-la-la” backing vocals, to offer an orgy of free association aimed at our fowl-weather friends: “Those impossible wings, messengers that bring inexplicable songs, purple twilight and dawn, oh oar on Penelope, sands of mystery, it’s all too beautiful man, too beautiful to stand.”
Scott is the main songwriter for this record, and it feels like his raison d’etre is to blend quirky lyrics, irresistible melodies and idiosyncratic arrangements. Take “Let The Rope Hold Cassie Lee,” a nugget of Garage Rock goodness anchored by swirly Farfisa organ, fuzz-crusted guitars, caroming bass and a thunderous big beat. Scott maybe, perhaps, yearns for simpler times, as the the nostalgic non sequiturs flow: “Do they remember my sweet nothingness? Ah, time gets fatter on its own decay, a million’s okay, but two’s a bit too many, a million’s okay, but two’s a bit too many, grab a harpoon and plunge into the breach, Hey! let the rope hold Cassie Lee.” The shout-it-out chorus is followed by a guitar solo that alternately stings and scorches, attacking like a sonic swarm of killer bees.
Then there’s “The Garden Of Arden,” which is powered by shards of thick freakness guitars, roiling bass and a bludgeoning beat. Apparently, Arden (hopefully, actress Eve Arden, the sardonic sidekick in classic films like Mildred Pierce, Stage Door and The Kid From Brooklyn), has a garden where “She colonizes all of my dreams, a golden voice from a silver machine, the queen of jokers in a sea of green, the Garden Of Arden.” A meandering guitar solo slithers through the mix with reptilian intent.
Thrumming bass lines are quickly supplanted by splayed, reverb-drenched guitars, and a jittery beat on “Blow In My Bag.” Drunk on wordplay, lyrics like “Here she comes, Saxophone Gibson, horizons hot and white as Gypsum, dial-a-song drunkard, morphing around, chomping all flowers, yeah, it’s pretty hard to breathe, blow in my bag,” confirm that absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.
Meanwhile, “Sharktooth” is languid and lysergic. Flickering guitars connect with sidling bass lines and a cantilevered beat. Scott’s lachrymose yowl mirror lyrics that trace the edges of heartbreak: “There was a cosmos, there was a sea, it took a piece of your heart, a little piece of me, out of the desert, down from the stars, the truth…Sharktooth.” The tension ratchets on the break as a Psychedelic solo uncoils, splitting the difference between angst and aplomb.
The best tracks here are a trio of full-throttle Rockers. “Death To The Bludgeoner” is equal parts snarly Punk and souped-up Garage Rock. The opening rat-a-tat drum salvo is matched by wily bass lines and brawny guitars. Barbed lyrics zero in on a ruthless virago who “Eats like a horse, drinks like a camel, a lying sack of shit on every channel, she swims like a flute, plays soft and hateful, I swallow her dust, she’s no Marianne or Faithfull…she thunders like Zeus, Epiphone or Epic, cudgels and clubfeet, a legendary all-too-septic, corps of dead corpses, omnipotent wench, shovels and pitchforks, a lovelier rosy stench.” A cyclonic guitar solo carpe diems on the break, clawing and caterwauling across a breakneck beat.
Then there’s the one-two punch of “Falling Like Jets” and “Burgundy Suit,” both lean in a Paisley/Power Pop direction. The former weds muscular guitars, kaleidoscopic keys and pliant bass lines to a triple-time tattoo. Once again, the lyrics offer a combo-platter of counterfeit conundrums like “Staining the world, hints for Heloise, what if they work but still don’t please.” The chorus cryptically insists that all ideas are currently being recycled: “All things are stolen, or borrowed at best, nothing is broken, just falling like jets.” thready guitars hug the hair-pin turns of the arrangement before skronking to a skidding stop and folding into “Burgundy Suit.”
Efficiently executing a stylistic 180, the latter feels like a sunshiny funhouse mirror. Trippy guitars, spiny keys, pulsating bass and frisky “ooh-la-la-la” backing vocals are tethered to a staccato handclap beat. Surprisingly straightforward lyrics speak to the emotional whiplash that currently powers our collective psyche: “I’m gonna take a stroll, eat a piece of fruit, believe in Rock N’ Roll, buy a burgundy suit, burgundy suit/I been down so down, like totally depressed, can’t get out of bed now, I’d rather be possessed, rather be possessed.” But, apparently, thank the Baby Jesus for alternative remedies: “Thanks for ayahuasca, mushroom microdoses, ketamine therapy, a hopeful diagnosis, hopeful diagnoses/The world is sucking hard, our future looking grim, my feathers may be tarred, I’ll be your Sunny Jim, Sunny Jim, burgundy suit, ah-ah, burgundy suit”
The action slows on three tracks, “I Don’t Want To Hate Anything” is a low-slung romantic rapprochement that manages to work the word “pigshit” into the lyrics, as well as a sideways homage to Tom Waits by slyly noting “The piano quit drinking on its own.” The low-key “Last Hotel” blends flinty bass, pastoral piano, strumming guitars and a tumbling beat. Jabberwocky lyrics instruct us to “Spin the Bible and kiss yourself.” Finally, there’s “Bison Queen” which verges on a dirge and echoes the rustic Americana sound pioneered by The Band.
The album closes with “We Shall Not Be Released.” While Bob Dylan’s Gospel-inflected “I Shall Be Released” longed to break the chains that bound him, The Minus 5 deftly flips the script. Jackknifed guitars slash and burn across search-and-destroy bass lines, spiky keys and a pummeling backbeat. Scott and Debbi’s vocals dovetail as defiant lyrics like “I am not becoming disciple, Wolf or priest, a failure to know no one, we shall not be released, we will not be released, we will not, no never be released,” feel bloodied by unbowed. Guitars shudder and squall, ping-ponging through the break, displaying resistance and resilience. It’s a ramshackle finish to a rollicking rollercoaster of a record.
This album is all over the place, but in a good way. The Minus 5 sound isn’t easily categorized or pigeonholed. Oar On Penelope shapeshifts from quixotic to chaotic and sneakily charismatic. As Peter plays it cool, anchoring the low end, Scott is allowed the freedom to let his freak-flag fly.
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The Minus 5 will be at Pappy & Harriet’s Pioneertown Palace on Sunday, June 1st 2025. Doors open at 8pm, show starts at 9pm. 53688 Pioneertown Road, Pioneertown. pappyandharriets.com.
