Arab on Radar broke up a few weeks ago, and no one seemed to notice. Whether to your delight (DiCrescenzo) or your chagrin (a dude who likes them), the haywire Providence, RI quartet has called it quits after seven-plus years, dragging four full-lengths, four seven-inches, and four comp appearances in their wake. Misters Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Type A, Clinical Depression, and OCD are citing "irreconcilable differences" that have "compromised the creative process"-- and just when their name was becoming en vogue!
San Diego's Three One G has gladly seized the reigns of the band's back catalog, and plans to reissue their first two albums, Queen Hygiene II and Rough Day at the Orifice. But first, the label has shot out this bile-soaked treasury of Arab on Radar's out-of-print odds-and-ends, a rusted-out Voltron they call The Stolen Singles. The gritty, piercing noise-rock attack of the two-guitar/drum/vocal outfit that has warmed the hearts of lobotomy patients worldwide since '95 is well represented here. Arab on Radar's seven-inches highlighted the soiled brevity of the band's albums; stitching them into their own release creates a year-by-year format of intermittent song spurts that makes for a logical collection. Not at all throwaways, these tracks contain some of the band's strongest songwriting. Be forewarned, though: what sounds "strong" to a decently sized fanbase is just as easily found discordant, jarring, and strident to others.
Getting a rare glimpse of the group's beginnings, early cassette track "Inventor" is the most accessible the band has ever been. Seemingly a no-wave, android dance-party act, the tune features an addictive bassline the likes of which would never again be heard in their future efforts. The Horshack-meets-Mork vocals of Eric "Post-Traumatic Stress" Paul turn him into "the female defector," as he mindlessly chants about "placentas" and "ovulating." Think a sludgier, amelodic Devo, which works mainly on the power of sheer conviction.
The sound of this tune and the similar "Aisle 5" are short-lived, though, as Arab on Radar strangely seemed to de-evolve into aggressive, menacing noisemakers. "Pig Roast", a 1996 seven-inch track, contains a guitar that sounds like it's amped through a Casio plugged into someone's butthole. 1998 B-side "Samurai Fight Song" is, curiously, a straight-up attempt at stoner rock. More recent cut "Running for Asthma", from the Kid Commando split, sounds like dad's lawnmower trying to start after thirty years of abuse. Oh yeah, and as the tracks progress, Mr. Stress' voice ever increasingly seems to be coming out of his nose-- more so with each passing year. The man's lyrics, of course, are another story. Potty humor? Wit? Whatever-- titles like "Swimming with a Hard-On" and Yahweh or the Highway exude a certain charisma that I find a bit too rare these days.
Of course, the band's place on the bill of their final tour (referred to as Oops! The Tour) almost seems a better function of how they'll be remembered down the road. Whether it be an overall tiring of The Locust, Lightning Bolt's equipment being in tatters, or late-comers missing out on Hella, Arab on Radar managed to slide into the middle commanding the most attention. Hard to ignore, the group found themselves a notch in your eardrum between "annoyance" and "tolerance." Existing fans of the band needing to play catch-up-- as well as aficionados for any group mentioned above-- are advised to pick up this sendoff, but consider it a recommendation made with caution.
