"Guitar, screaming, and pounding." That's how Jimmy "Jay" Lindsey credited himself in the liner notes of his first proper LP, 1998's Teenage Hate. He also billed himself as Jay Reatard, the pseudonym he would use on a staggering number of recordings until his death early last year. According to a transcript included with this deluxe reissue of Teenage Hate, Reatard was a name taken on one night not long before the material was recorded, during a live set comprised of Bay City Rollers covers. "After our first song some guy with a big green mohawk yelled out 'you guys are fucking reatarded [sic],'" he said. "So at the next garage party we played, I announced us as the Reatards kinda as a joke but the name fit so we kept it."
The name Reatard was both a self-deprecating goof and an homage to Ramones and Oblivians, the latter being the Memphis-born garage-punk crew that served as his friends and mentors. Eric Oblivian's (née Friedl) Goner Records shop acted as Reatard's library, just as the Goner imprint is responsible for Reatard's first releases, including this one. Greg Oblivian (née Cartwright, currently of Reigning Sound) sat in on drums for Fuck Elvis, an added bonus collection of mostly solo four-track recordings originally released on cassette. As a first step, both Teenage Hate and Fuck Elvis Here's the Reatards are astonishing. All the energy one could hear in Reatard's better-known work is here in it's rawest, most volatile form. It's the same electricity he was able to funnel into his synth-punk adventures in Lost Sounds and later harness for 2006's Blood Visions, not to mention his more polished work for Matador just before his death early last year. "Guitar, screaming, and pounding" was an accurate credit.
We know that Reatard was prolific. But it's made especially clear here how whole-heartedly and violently he hurled himself into music from the beginning. Teenage Hate in particular has a hot, fantastically gritty quality to it. It's a rough and rude sprint through Southern-inflected, punk-driven garage rock. Reatards were a three-piece that included Steve Albundy Reatard ("Guitar, Occasional Yells") and Elvis Wong Reatard ("The Skins, Hollering, and Pickin'"), but it's quickly clear that Jay's presence is what sets them apart. You can hear it in the three-chord thwack of ultra-bleak opener "I'm So Gone" or the cyclonic sneer of "I Love Living", and it only intensifies from there. "It Ain't Me" is a two-minute runaway train. The chorus of "Quite All Right" lands like a warhead, as does the choir of howled "motherfuckers" on "Down in Flames".
While the lyrical themes are standard punk fare (he's bored, horny, angry, and lonely; he hates Memphis as much as he loves it), the screaming, red-faced delivery makes them feel personal and true. On "When I Get Mad", we get a look at the Jay Reatard who had a reputation for throwing punches. "When I get mad, I don't think/ Said, I don't give a shit about anything." Reatard talked a bit in interviews about growing up in Memphis, where Elvis' legacy was inescapable. And though he takes on a few of Elvis' vocal tics here, it's a young Kurt Cobain who comes through most, particularly in the bloody coughing of "Memphis Blues". He screams so hopelessly that you'd swear he'd conk himself out from exhaustion. Through 18 tracks just as unfiltered, he never quits.
And though its recording quality renders it flat in comparison, Fuck Elvis is a welcome addition as far as bonus reissue material goes. Many of its songs can be found on Teenage Hate with added muscle and clarity, so it plays more like a cache of early demos. The aforementioned "Memphis Blues" makes a blurry appearance, Reatard introducing it with a very appropriate, "Are you ready to rock'n'roll? Well, here I go..." There's a lot to dig into in the bonus material, much of it still coming into focus but all of it stamped Reatard's own. Alongside covers of Fear and Buddy Holly, Reatard offers herculean takes on Lil Bunnies' "Carrot Belly Bunny Blues" and early Beatles' B-Side "I'm Down", a live recording tacked on to close the set. It's insanely sloppy and dissonant, Reatard's screams barely audible over cymbal crash and sludgy guitar, all the way to the finish. "We're the Reatards," he says. "Thanks." People shout for encores.
