You might say Lilys frontman Kurt Heasley is a world- class thief, and possibly a limey wannabe. It's no secret he's probably worn out many a copy of the Kinks' Village Green Preservation Society. But the guy's also as sophisticated a pop writer as we've got. And he's responsible for some of the stealthiest ripoff artistry since Steve Wynn and the Dream Syndicate so cleverly robbed the Velvet Underground's crypt for all it was worth on 1982's classic Days of Wine and Roses. Heasley's ransacking encompasses almost the entire stylistic sprawl of the '60s on the groove- a- minute shindig that is The 3-Way.
Although some critics accuse him of stealing Ray Davies' identity outright, Heasley has forged his own multifaceted re-tailoring of '60s mod- rock. And sure, Davies' influence looms large over songs like the harpsichord- laced "And One (on One)" and "The Spirits Merchant." And on "The Generator," there's some nice piano work worthy of Charlie Brown's ivory- tickling pal Schroeder, and some cheeky "Oye Como Va," guitar quotes. To round things out, there's a nod to Mitch Ryder's revved- up Motor City car- rock on "Dimes Make Dollars," and the bubbly Lawrence Welk jazz of "Solar is Here."
Oh, and you can shake your ass to some of this stuff, too: in fact, "Leo Ryan (Our Pharoah's Slave)" is the funky intersection in which James Brown's "Cold Sweat" might cross paths with the Beatles' "The Word." Believe me, if you can sit still to this song, your backside's probably made of the same lead- like compound as Pam Anderson's former breasts. "Socs Hip" may, at first, cause your hips to twist and grind. Then you'll get a chance to put your ballroom dance lessons into practice. The song suddenly shifts to the rattling castanets and smooth rhythmic glide of a Spanish tango. Then, just as quickly, it regroups and recasts itself as pure Standells pop. All throughout The 3-Way, there's a host of suprising tempo shifts, rhythm variations, time signature quirks, odd chord changes-- none of which seems to really inhibit the innate simplicity or forward motion of any particular song.
What's wholly original here, though, is the way Heasley arranges and incorporates all his filched musical bric a brac: banjo, toy piano, loopy Hammond organ, free jazz, harpsichord and cheeseball pastiches of European and South American musical styles are all harmoniously grafted onto bare- bones garage- rock. And all those big fuzz- guitar hooks are a real gas-- some at least as immense as the main riff to Count Five's "Psychotic Reaction."
As we've seen, the Greg Dulli's and Brian Jonestown Massacres of the world celebrate the '60s resurgence by throwing gaudy hipster costume parties, and buying shitloads of expensive Vox equipment. And, as an afterthought, the guys record hilariously bad albums that suck hard no matter what decade they're supposed to represent. For the Lilys, '60s references are modeled like so much trendy clothing... which, of course, makes for plenty of cut- rate resale material when the fancy inevitably passes.
And if the Lily's seem too prim and precious, well, I guess there's always the option of buying into all the half- assed greaser rock available out there. Or you could force yourself to love the increasingly popular cliques of critically- acclaimed avant- noisemakers: you know, those overly- serious Lower East Side- dwelling savants who give themselves stomach cancer attempting to transform one note drones and pick scratchings into something symphonic. Meanwhile, right under our collective noses, Kurt Heasley and the Lilys are making off with all the great hooks and still having all the damn fun.
