From one angle, you could view Chicago's Red Red Meat as 1990s also-rans. When the alternative nation was in full swing, they toured with mega-popular grunge bands and they were acquainted with flannel shirts and threadbare jeans. They were on the cusp of a breakthrough, but it never quite worked out. Instead, Red Red Meat got weirder as they went, experimenting with production and structure until they became more or less a cult act, and then they disintegrated. They're remembered now for being a predecessor to Califone, the rootsier outfit started by frontman Tim Rutili, which would eventually include contributions from everyone in the final incarnation of RRM. But maybe that'll change. Sub Pop has reissued the 1995 album Bunny Gets Paid, arguably the band's high-water mark, in a deluxe edition with a bonus disc, and 14 years on, it's aged beautifully.
Like many of their contemporaries, Red Red Meat took the foundations of 60s and 70s rock-- blues, heavy guitars, an unapologetic focus on riffs-- and re-shaped them for a more self-aware post-punk context. Their self-titled 1992 debut was speedy and abrasive blues-punk, the kind of stuff that was slotted with the art-damaged classic rockisms of Royal Trux and Pussy Galore. 1994's Jimmywine Majestic, their first full-length for Sub Pop, was more refined; its songs were slowed enough to let the groove seep through and recorded clearly enough to allow the melodies to catch some light. It was around the time of Jimmywine that RRM became an emerging figure on the grunge landscape, when they hit the road with hometown pals Smashing Pumpkins during the latter's Siamese Dream tour. But Bunny Gets Paid took them in a direction that left the possibility of mainstream recognition behind.
With Bunny, all of a sudden Red Red Meat seemed artier, more hidden and inscrutable. Rutili has always spoken in riddles, content to braid together phrases or even single words that sound pleasing to the ear, but here the fragmentation became more extreme. Somehow, when the syllables pile up and the flow of vowels and consonants rides the arc of the music, the effect could be sublime. "Mink-eyed, marble-eyed/ In the gauze, in the weeds/ By the drain, red on pale/ There's a nail by the vent," goes the chorus of "Gauze", Bunny Gets Paid's stone classic and a contender for the best song Rutili has written. Who knows what it means. But if you can picture a scrubby patch of weeds and in it a clump of gauze, possibly soiled, twitching in the breeze, and the disconnected image of decay stirs something in you, you're on your way to falling in love with Red Red Meat.
But make no mistake: You don't need to know what Rutili is singing about to enjoy Bunny Gets Paid, an album you feel as much as listen to. The vocals are buried and the lyrics enigmatic, but the songs still communicate in a direct and visceral way. Much of the record swings between two poles that seem different on the surface but are closely related the more you listen. On one side is weary resignation, the sense of feeling beaten down and bombed-out and hollow while still managing to take in the surreal stream of images happening around you. Here there's lots of space, acoustic instruments, thudding drums beaten slowly with mallets. The opening "Carpet of Horses" is perhaps the most Califone-like song here, with its buzzing acoustic guitar being stabbed with a slide, someone coughing in the background, and a gurgle of electronic noises suggesting a wounded machine on its last legs. And then the mood changes.
"Carpet of Horses" is like a heavy door creaking open and you can't quite make out what's behind it, but "Chain Chain Chain" follows and reveals Bunny's other extreme. It's the explosion of energy after a week in bed, a rocker with a chunky riff and the kind of elegantly simple blues-inflected hook that the Stones would have been thrilled to write at any point between 1968 and 1972. It swaggers, even dances a bit, confident in the leveling power of its heavy stomp, but even here everything is delivered with a slight twist. Rutili still hangs back, his voice obscured as he sings quietly and close to the mic, unaware or unwilling to acknowledge that this should by all rights by the band's breakout single. And then "Rosewood, Wax, Voltz + Glitter" is just as catchy, but louder, meaner, more chaotic, with shrieking, trebly guitars and the sound of glass being smashed in the background. Another swing, and wasted ballad "Buttered" drops us back to where we started, alone in a dark room somewhere.
That smashing glass on "Rosewood" reinforces how much the odd little production touches throughout contribute to the album's feel. Most of Bunny was recorded and mixed by Brad Wood, with Casey Rice, Keith Cleversly, and band member Brian Deck contributing. Deck would go on to join Rutili in Califone and would also become a producer of note in this decade, and Bunny Gets Paid is the album at the root of his organic, rusted-out junk-shop orchestra aesthetic. It's a busy mix of sounds that can be dense and loud or open and airy, depending on the needs of the song. The throb of electronics mixes easily with the slackly-tuned acoustic guitars, managing to sound both old and futuristic and the same time, while the constant use of distortion and feedback as coloring drapes the whole album in a hazy, narcotic light.
The bonus disc is useful mostly for seeing how songs developed and production techniques evolved. We get Rutili's 4-track acoustic demo of "Chain Chain Chain", which is dark and spare with only hints at the cathartic song it would become. A few songs are heard in different configurations, like "Idiot Son", in a mellower earlier take that was released as a 7", and "Carpet of Horses", given a grittier rock arrangement. "Mouse-ish (Dub Mix)" is notable for making explicit what had always seemed obvious-- the influence of dub production techniques on Red Red Meat's sound (which would continue in earnest on the first couple of Califone EPs). It's interesting stuff for people who have the original record memorized-- the bonus disc as study guide-- but less than essential for everyone else.
For all its mystery and ambiguity, the long strings of cracked images and dream-like sonic mist that linger in the air, Bunny Gets Paid ends with the most direct statement of Red Red Meat's existence. The closing song is a downcast but still hopeful cover of "There's Always Tomorrow", the love theme from the stop-motion animated "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" TV special, and after what's come before, the folksy rainbow-chasing sentiment feels earned. It eases you back into the real world and drives home something essential about the record you just heard, which you realized on some level but hadn't quite put a finger on: It's got a huge heart.
