Too straight for hippies. Too far-out for punk. We're like the ultimate outsiders, Alex Coxen told this website in the fall of 2011. That is not just a stoned interview quip from the frontman of Milk Music, but rather a whole estranged state of artistic mind. These guys honed theirs at home in Olympia's freak scene-- a subterranean enclave of deep rock bands like Gun Outfit, Broken Water, Weird TV, Son Skull, Hysterics, Family Stoned (note that any or all may have broken up by now, Oly-style), groups with primitive web presences or none at all, mostly documented by one tiny label and an ink-stained, broadsheet zine. Olympia's had one of the most fertile rock undergrounds in America as of late, with Milk Music its paradigm and heart.
On the surface, Cruise Your Illusion begs to be defined by time and place. But the hissy 1980s and 90s rock of Dino Jr. and SST that Milk Music's earliest layers of thrashing, burnt fuzz recalled are now gone. There's temptation to color Milk Music an Olympia band, and yet Coxen's rapturous electric guitar leads feel more like the sound of transcending wherever you might be. And while you want to point out how Coxen's strangled, gold-hearted wail and sky-kissing solos are studiously indebted to moonlit 60s classic rock, his approach is direct and ecstatic enough to sound new. The songs have got real, heartfelt groove.
Coxen is also a candid lyricist who variously conveys the piercing emotional vulnerability of country blues or a confrontational punk swagger. Of his most affecting themes are sincerity, a free mind, and a world that repeatedly turns on him. Coxen winks at a cop, steals a car with a deluded bandit, hangs on a falling star. He's performative in his role of the outlaw rock eccentric-- journeying, daydreaming, and dancing around declarations of his creative intent.
"No, Nothing, My Shelter" is one of the best songs here-- a charming ode to Jimi and Elvis with a rock-as-saviour theme that goes for the vein of "Rock and Roll" or "Hey Hey, My My". It showcases delicate emotional heft and arresting imagery of a "crushed velvet moon," as Coxen sings open-hearted of an uprooted, nomadic existence. "I often grieve with Hendrix/ I often turn to the King/ In my suffering," he sings on one of Cruise's most striking hooks. "I've always been a dancing man/ To shelter the pain/ Whenever Jimi's playing." This is endearing stuff, and it helps that Coxen maps shining guitar leads you want to lose yourself in.
Elsewhere Coxen's more of a bratty punk vagabond. "Don't fuck with me, man/ I'm illegal and free," he demands on a charged anthem. It might come off as a bunch of talk if not for the fact that the music itself is unhinged and lawless. On "New Lease on Love" Coxen puts romantic lines alongside gutter slang, a recurring technique of juxtaposition from the school of Patti Smith. "Cruising With God", meanwhile, might be the record's most heartwarming song, carrying religious connotations appropriate for an off-the-grid guy who has clearly approached music as sacred. The entire first verse is a take-down of phony music journalists "From The L.A. Free/ To the NME," who all love Milk Music. "But even with the music on/ Baby you've got it all wrong," Coxen sings, confidently. "You haven't danced in so long." He lets out a shriek. It's sort of sweet.
Eight-minute closer "The Final Scene" is an astounding piece of music, with backwards guitar parts, subtle flecks of soft harmonica, and sharp melodies that are beautifully harmonized into something of a 1950s doo-wop burner. Coxen stretches out the raw urgency of his rasp and shades it, conveying skin-crawling melancholic feelings more so than specific thoughts-- he references Shiva's blissful dance, a laughing reaper, crumbling mountains, angels riding a moonlit hearse. It's grandiose and at times almost comically earnest, something you could picture Lee Hazlewood singing straight. But Coxen's howl is desperate and unguarded, the opposite of a cool-talker. The song feels half its length.
Cruise Your Illusion holds its ground, but there are sociological elements to Milk Music's story that make the experience of the record even more fun. In June they're touring with comrade acts Merchandise (from Tampa, Fla.) and Destruction Unit (from Tempe, Ariz.), all three of whom came up on the American D.I.Y punk circuit and have been wary of breaking through to wider popularity. They've instead favored a Sonic Youth-style embrace of counterculture and expanded musical vocabularies, thus amassing cult followings on their own terms. It's a moment that reminds me of Simon Reynolds introducing the post-punk era in Rip It Up and Start Again; "Young people have a biological right to be excited about the times they're living through," he wrote. Milk Music's message, ethos, and spirit speak well of our own.
