Like The Exploding Hearts or Metallica before them, Dub Narcotic Sound System had a pretty bad van accident last year, swerving to avoid hitting a deer. Luckily, nobody died, though it was severe enough that Calvin Johnson and bassist Chris Sutton were hospitalized. Benefits were held, and before too long, the band was rested and healed. In that context, you could view Degenerate Introduction, the band's sixth full-length (and first in five years) as a comeback celebration of punk-rock resiliency. (Get up! Ride that funky horse again! Show some resolve!) As they've been doing since 1993, Dub Narcotic concoct a mix of reggae, dub, hip-hop beats, sludgy garage, and Calvin's party-boy monotone in search of nothing more than a packed dance floor. (And it's a good thing they just wanna dance, because when CJ gets political on "Blood Flow", the sophomoric name-calling doesn't move beyond "Ashcroft is an ass," "Colin Powell is a corporate marionette wet dream," and "Cheney is a heartless corpse." Agreed, man, agreed, but c'mon, Belafonte, where do we go from there?)
You hate to kick someone in the shin when they're already nursing wounds-- especially when those cuts and bruises occurred in the course of saving Bambie-- but damnit if Degenerate Introduction doesn't make any sort of kindness incredibly impossible. I've always been a Calvin apologist and was a huge Beat Happening fan, so when I say that the majority of these nine tracks are emphatically embarrassing, please know that I'm also blushing myself. While I don't think a dud like this diminishes Johnson's past musical work, how many of these misfires can a person take before they turn their attention elsewhere?
In Dub Narcotic, there's an overwhelming sense that Calvin's lost touch with his strengths. Or maybe this project doesn't suit his better qualities? I know the guy has it in him; he formed Dub Narcotic just a year after Beat Happening went out with the triumphant swan song You Turn Me On. Occasionally, there've been a few flashes of guest-spot enjoyment: "C Is the Heavenly Option", Johnson's stumbling collaboration with Heavenly, made for a nice mixtape gag in the early 90s; he keyed-in adequately hushed background vocals for Modest Mouse's "Head South". Bar none, the most successful sustained post-Beat Happening project, The Halo Benders, works largely because of the pleasing juxtaposition of Johnson's guttural frog voice against Doug Marsch's high-end howl. (Plus they've covered the Smiths and basically sound like Built to Spill with Calvin on the guest mic.) Here, though, Calvin's only vocal foil is Liardbird's Heather Dunn, who seems to be trying as hard as she can to sing horrifically off-key on the endlessly bad "Fuck Me Up". (Bring back Lois! Bring back Miranda July!)
As proven on past Dub Narcotic efforts, Calvin himself is no Tikiman, King Tubby or Lee "Scratch" Perry, so his cravings for "old-school grooves and rare hip-hop beats" are embarrassing, especially when laid down over an awkward human beatbox and a drum that comes in a fraction of second too late. The self-referential "Dub Narcotic Groove" proves that perhaps Johnson really is the indie rock Paul Schaffer: His shoutouts to Olympia and funtime sloganeering ("The dance floor is your friend!", "No room for squares out on the dance floor!") are ingredients for an awkward jam at the 12th Annual K Records Retirees Fundraiser at the Punk 'n' Twee Hall of Fame.
In this broke-ass, no-voice context, the best tracks are the instrumentals. The relaxed, pleasing "Code of the West" is performed with Melodica, a la Augustus Pablo, and "Mate's Revenge" is eight minutes of noisy, convincing dub-psych, rife with guitar manipulations, handclaps, sax screech, pitch shifts, super wah, fluctuating drums, intergalactic soloing, and flippant instrumental turns that equally recall Temple of Bon Matin and Cul De Sac's ecstatic mid-90s jackpot, I Don't Want to Go to Bed. These two tracks alone save Degenerate Introduction from complete dissolution. Still, Dub Narcotic's aim has always been to bring people to their feet, and that they find the most success with the least dance-inflected tracks should serve as a wake-up call: DJs who clear the floor don't get invited back.
