It seems a shame that, for all of Ian Svenonius' creative endeavors and the lasting effect his bands have had on the face of indie rock (Hives, I'm looking in your direction), one can hardly find an article on the man that doesn't in some way mention his early 90s stint as Sassy magazine's "Sassiest Boy in America." Ironic as the title might have been, it has somehow followed him through the years and managed to undermine his sincerity, as if the hilarity of the award is more a commentary on his credibility than on that of the now-defunct teen magazine.
As if in reaction to Sassy's dubious distinction, or perhaps in an effort to heal his bruised cred, each of Svenonius' post-Nation of Ulysses efforts have been increasingly quirky in sound and approach. The Make-Up drew inspiration from 60s-era psych-rock and emerged complete with an anti-establishment ethos and manifesto; Scene Creamers drenched its whimsical pop simplicity in sex and politics; and Weird War, on their self-titled debut, funneled a mélange of influences-- from Motown to prog-rock to 60s garage-- into an intense, reverb-heavy stew.
Since that first Weird War record, original member Neil Michael Hagerty (ex-Royal Trux) decided to leave the band in pursuit of the ever-elusive solo career, and Svenonius' Scene Creamers came under fire for allegedly choosing the same name as a group of French graffiti artists. So with a founding member missing from one band and another bandname tied up in a legal dispute, what's a man to do? The solution was surprisingly simple, and in what amounted to independent music's answer to corporate restructuring, Scene Creamers became Weird War for the release of If You Can't Beat 'Em, Bite 'Em. And all was well.
But in spite of the band's convoluted pedigree, off-kilter image, and critic-ready, retro-garage-funk sound, the fact remains that If You Can't Beat 'Em, Bite 'Em is just not as interesting as it could be. For all its experimental bluster and lyrical imagery, the end result is paradoxically both unique and mediocre, like a band merely treading water when it should be filling the pool with gasoline.
Style reigns supreme over substance here, and the whole album is bathed in a coat of 70s garage funk, with distorted percussion and buzzing guitars. But while there's much to be said for a solid groove, something's just not right when a track goes flat before the two-minute mark: "Store Bought Pot" opens promisingly with a rhythm section straight out of any 70s sitcoms, but lacks variation and quickly beats itself into the ground under Svenonius' rap-like musings. Unfortunately, the song's underdeveloped, monotonous groove typifies the project's shortcomings, as many of its songs are half-baked and needlessly stretched out minutes beyond their prime.
But then there are tracks like "Grand Fraud", whose fuzzy, MC5-esque rhythm section underpins its energetic, staccato vocals. When the growling chorus kicks in here, the rhythm falls straight in line, stoking the fire as Svenonius snarls, "There was a village with a witch and they decided to burn that bitch." Even the spoken word psych freakout "One by One", and the socially critical honky rap and falsetto chorus of "AK-47" manage to keep just this side of ludicrous, lending more charm than dissonance or absurdity.
These are, however, exceptions to the rule, and sadly, If You Can't Beat 'Em's moments of retro-chic accessibility are grossly outweighed by its general repetitiveness. Most folks likely won't even make it past the lascivious intro, "Music for Masturbation". But then, perhaps that what Svenonius intended. Sassy, indeed.
