Garage-rock inhabits a narrow geography. It's easy to picture modern bands like The Strokes and The Libertines swarming the calcareous canyons of the commercial-industrial complex, but shift to just 15 minutes outside any major metropolis, in the surrounding slums or white collar suburbs, and their swashbuckling riffage doesn't quite pack the same punch. Out in heartland Iowa, or the New Mexico desert, forget it; irrespective of its misleading brand name, garage-rock embodies the spirit of the city, and no place else.
This, of course, hasn't prevented songwriters from all over the world from trying to capture the globe with their scuzzy aesthetic. Hailing from the tiny northern Norwegian village of Stokmarknes, 160 miles north of Arctic Circle, Madrugada's swagger is as cocksure as any of their municipal counterparts. Their incubated surroundings allowed them to develop freely, untainted by critical pressure, but the band has since uprooted its humble origins, playing music that's decidedly metropole-minded.
When Madrugada finally emerged from their frozen matrix to release 1999's New Depression EP, they were greeted with open arms by both the public and the press: The somber, Cohen-afflicted "Riverbed" shot to #2 on the Norwegian charts, and the band was summarily snatched up by Virgin Records. Grit was originally released in 2002-- placing it a hair behind the fore of the revivalist rock movement-- and is now seeing reissue in the U.K. But Madrugada were writing music together while The Strokes were still in private school, and belong to a tight but prolific Scandanavian rock scene that has produced a handful of significant acts in recent years.
The 11 songs here move at a furious pace, awash in treble and bombastic drums, rarely stopping to reconnoiter. Naturally, there are references to people crossing the proverbial "line," and a few songs come dangerously close to doing so themselves by spilling into monotony. Madrugada's sound is tight-clenched and frenetic, if ultimately unspectacular, and when the band runs out of killer riffs, and begins to sound overtly and incoherently derivative, the album falters. "Ready" is a clumsy MC5 takeoff that would better suit a more simple-minded band like The Mooney Suzuki, while other tracks are content to rehash The Stooges.
With numbers like these, it seems like Madrugada are trying to subvert the Norwegian stereotypes of eternal darkness and habitual suicide. By now, it's legend: When Dead, lead vocalist from Norway's premier death metal group, Mayhem, killed himself with a gunshot to the head in 1991, the band's guitarist Euronymous allegedly cooked and ate pieces of his brain. Euronymous was later stabbed to death by bassist Count Grishnackh, who was reportedly jealous of Euronymous's evil reputation. Top that, Cannibal Corpse.
That said, this is potentially the most happy and exuberant record you will ever hear from a group of Norwegian musicians. Grit is uplifting even for Madrugada, whose 2001 LP, The Nightly Disease, echoed with the loneliness and despair that is protocol for Norwegian art of any stripe. "Seven Seconds" is a rocksteady blues-tinged romp that wastes all Scandinavian conventions, as Madrugada take a cue from their neighboring Swedish rivals, The Hives. On "Blood Shot Adult Commitment", vocalist Sivert Hoyem displays his ample talent, curling his lips as he spits searing emotional indictments with a honed elegance. The wistful "Majesty", one of Grit's weightiest moments (along with the wrenching "Hands Up -- I Love You), is particularly affecting, as Hoyem delivers a breathtaking performance reminiscent of Smog's most harrowing tracks.
While Madrugada manage to evade sobriety in their sound, Hoyem's lyrics can't seem to avoid digging at a ponderous philosophical underpinning. The band are one of the more literate in rock: The title for Grit was lifted from a passage in a Henry Miller novel, in which workers at a shipyard collected thick black soot on their hands that stayed with them until they died, and then resisted even the embalmer's harshest chemicals. The name Madrugada, Spanish for the hour before sunrise, was bestowed upon the band by a writer friend. Wading in flanged drones evocative of The Jesus & Mary Chain, Hoyem's verses offer telling metaphysical nuggets that help flesh out this straightforward but sophisticated album.
One could easily define Madrugada's music in terms of a specific locale, but to do so would be reductive and unfair. With Grit, the band have produced a record that is palpable and full of nuance. This is music that's too intelligent and idiosyncratic to surrender pat answers, and, like the best rock music, it offers accessible routes to its hidden treasures.
