By Ian S. Port
By Tony Ware
By Emma Silvers
By Gary Moskowitz
By Alee Karim
By Ian S. Port
By Ian S. Port
By Derek Opperman
Formed over two decades ago, the Mekons have established a rabid following, pursued whatever music they pleased with no regard for prevailing trends, consistently changed the face of music with ideas and execution that took years for anyone else to follow, and had absolutely more fun on tour than just about any other band in the recorded history of traveling musicians. Name another act that's left such a legacy. As it turns out, it's almost as hard being a Mekon as it is to think of another band like them. Singer-guitarist Tom Greenhalgh sets the record straight with a dark honesty.
"You don't want to know the grim reality, mate," he says via phone from his London digs. "The horror, the horror, the horror."
Like everything with the Mekons, the truth likely lies somewhere in the middle between reality and Greenhalgh's reference to the track "Powers & Horror" from the new disc, Journey to the End of the Night. Any musical entity that survives for a quarter-century is in for the occasional bumpy ride, and the Mekons' rotating membership has certainly ridden out its share of turbulence. Greenhalgh is equally dour when it comes to the subject of the band's longevity, and the secret of its ability to withstand the fickle nature of the industry.
"Our lack of success means we do what we want, because we like doing it," he says with weary conviction.
There is the faint scent of cynicism in Greenhalgh's assessment, but it is borne out by the treacherous path that the band has had to travel since its late '70s inception in Leeds, England. After a handful of politically charged punk releases, the Mekons toured the United States and were exposed to hours of real country music while driving across the country, realizing that they were essentially making loud honky-tonk music with punk guitars. Gradually, the band shifted from an overt punk sound to a covert country flavor, while retaining its left-of-center political stance. Their 1985 masterpiece, Fear and Whiskey, and their subsequent albums from the '80s, were almost a decade ahead of the insurgent country sound and received little attention outside of their cult fan base and college radio.
After a decade and a half of critical acclaim and a string of label contracts that always ended in the band being dropped, the group's demise seemed certain with the news that Mekons frontman Jon Langford, smitten with an American woman, was relocating to Chicago, and that half of the band would be in tow. It didn't seem possible that the Mekons would continue at all.
Oddly enough, the band, and its extended membership, has flourished in the new situation, with five projects (including a collaboration with the late Kathy Acker) plus a host of related but distinct side projects resulting from the relocation to Chicago. Sally Timms and Rico Bell have both released a pair of solo albums in the eight years since the move, while Langford has formed a number of interesting diversions (such as the Waco Brothers, Skull Orchard, and Pine Valley Cosmonauts). A lesser band's focus would be diffused if it were to involve itself in the amount of outside material that the Mekons routinely produce.
"Members of the Mekons have always been involved in other outside activities," Greenhalgh says. "Perhaps not always as high-profile as some just now, so I don't think that's an issue, except maybe as a clue to our longevity."
Through it all, the Mekons have remained a tightly knit musical collective, resisting all attempts to categorize their direction or channel their potential into anything other than what the band decides it's going to be at any given moment in its history. The move to Chicago also netted it a contract with Quarterstick/Touch and Go, the label that has released all of the Mekons' work since 1992 -- it's the band's longest label affiliation along its tumultuous timeline.
The Mekons' new album is certainly among its finest and most cohesive of the last decade. The band's usual working relationship remains intact on Journey, as the individual members collaborate and share musical ideas on the way to the finished product. At first, Journey seems to be something of a concept album, with connective prose linking together the noirish lyrics. But Greenhalgh explains that the band's long-distance method of working has more to do with the outcome of the album than any conscious effort to create a concept piece.
"We're so spread out, when we get together, we have to work very fast for economic and logistical reasons," Greenhalgh notes. "We need a few guidelines discussed beforehand to keep things in focus -- general mood, type of song, basic sound and feel, etc. It's not really a concept album as such."
Night is certainly a prevalent theme on Journey ("Out in the Night," "Cast No Shadows," "Ordinary Night," "Last Night on Earth"). The disc's title is taken from the book by French novelist Louis-Ferdinand Celine, but Greenhalgh insists that's all they gleaned from the literary work. "We took the title because it's a good title," he says. "The book itself is fairly irrelevant."