Billed as the band’s final album, Smoke & Fiction is a fulfilling closing chapter for X, the pioneering band whose breakneck rhythms and turbo-charged rockabilly riffs came blazing out of Los Angeles’s nascent punk scene in the late 1970s. Forty-four years after their debut, 1980’s Los Angeles, the group sounds vigorous and assured, finding fresh inspiration in familiar sounds, emotions, and ideas.
Chaos was central to X’s appeal in the early days. The intertwined lead vocals of John Doe and Exene Cerevenka suggested that the one-time couple were embroiled in an ongoing argument; guitarist Billy Zoom added to the frenzy, though he never forgot the swing of early rock’n’roll, even when chasing after the velocity of the Ramones. Inherently empathetic to the needs of his singers, drummer D.J. Bonebrake provided a steady anchor—though he, too, could occasionally get caught up in the band’s feverish excitement.
The band thrived on tension, channeling interpersonal drama and clashes with the culture at large into a potent songbook that sustained them decades after they stopped writing new material. In 2020, following a succession of lineup changes, hiatuses, and reunions, the group unexpectedly returned with the sharp, lively ALPHABETLAND, its first album of new material from the original quartet in 35 years.
The focus and urgency of Smoke & Fiction makes ALPHABETLAND look like a dry run. Part of that stems from the palpable sense that the band can feel the clock ticking away. Frustrated that they were unable to tour ALPHABETLAND, which landed in the early days of the pandemic, and keenly aware of their advancing ages—Cervenka and Bonebrake are pushing 70, while Doe and Zoom are over that line—X chose to re-run the play one more time. Teaming again with producer Rob Schnapf, who also helmed ALPHABETLAND, X knocked out Smoke & Fiction in a few days this past January—a working band working in the method that suits them. (To underscore the impending sense of finality, they’ve dubbed their new tour the End Is Near.)
Clocking in at 28 minutes, roughly the same length as Los Angeles, Smoke & Fiction sounds as if X is drawing inspiration from its long history, purposefully recalling the kinetic rock’n’roll of the band’s early records for Slash. As Doe explained to the Los Angeles Times, “It’s not in our nature to reinvent things. We have a clear idea of who we are.” As robust as they sound, Doe’s and Cervenka’s voices show signs of wear, while the rhythms feel heavier than in the past, even when the tempos quicken. These elements lend natural grain to the music, adding depth to the tales of aging that riddle Smoke & Fiction.
Doe and Cervenka are fascinated by the passage of time, accepting the present while being cognizant that the old days don’t seem as far away as they actually are. Those yesterdays are explicitly celebrated in “Big Black X,” a joyous recollection of the band leaving decaying Hollywood for a life on the road, a journey that takes them from “A big black X on a white marquee” to “A tiny little x on a white marquee.” There’s the desire to “get in trouble again,” as the pair sings on “Sweet Til the Bitter End,” with the realization that they’re in the process of—as they put it in another song—“Winding Up the Time.” But the prospect of the end doesn’t haunt the band. Rather, they seize the chance to create a righteous noise one last time, still getting a kick from turning country two-step into punk, or adding dusty, cinematic accents to hard-bitten urban tales like "The Way It Is.”
Listening to Smoke & Fiction in the same sitting as Los Angeles or Wild Gift, the lasting impression isn’t how they’ve changed over the years, but how much of their original spark they’ve sustained. No longer frenetic or hungry, X have nevertheless maintained their intrinsic interpersonal chemistry, drawing strength from the way their voices collide with a relentless backbeat and three simple chords. It’s a simple yet powerful pleasure that gives Smoke & Fiction its kick, along with a surprisingly emotional resonance.
