The history of post-punk has been written in many different ways, but in most versions, the question of where Mission of Burma fits in is a puzzler. Which is as it should be, because their music, a singular mix of complexity and immediacy, deserves its own notch on any post-punk measuring stick. Though popular in their hometown of Boston, they weren't really part of a scene. And though their early 1980s music overlapped with the bass-driven post-punk of Joy Division and PiL, the heroic hardcore of Black Flag and Hüsker Dü, and even the contrarianism of New York No Wave, it mostly sounded like nothing else. Twenty-five years later, Mission of Burma's fusion of brainy experiments and anthemic rock remains unique.
That's due in part to how unique the recordings actually were. Where most indie bands at the time recorded in less-than-ideal circumstances, Mission of Burma were supported by Boston label Ace of Hearts, whose owner Rick Harte produced them with meticulous precision. For these three Matador reissues, Harte himself re-mastered the original analog tapes. The resulting clarity adds power to songs that have reverberated loudly through alternative rock for three decades, influencing everyone from R.E.M. to Fugazi to Nirvana. Ironically, these recordings were somewhat misrepresentative, as Harte's production cleaned up the band's brutally-loud live sound. But that's why "Academy Fight Song" and "That's When I Reach For My Revolver" were instant post-punk classics. As guitarist Roger Miller explains in his notes, "Revolver" came out "much milder than we thought it should be...[and] that probably helped it become as big of a 'hit' as it was."
Burma formed in the late 70s after Miller and bassist Clint Conley left Boston group Moving Parts, recruiting Peter Prescott to play drums and Martin Swope to add tape loops. Miller and Swope had backgrounds in avant-garde music, but the band was equally interested in rocking out (Conley and Miller bonded initially over a love of the Ramones). This dichotomy is encapsulated by "Max Ernst", the B-side to their first release, the "Academy Fight Song" 7". The band swerves seamlessly from chugging beat and jangly guitar to off-key chords and off-kilter rhythms, ending with a chant of "Dada!" that's both goofily artsy and seriously infectious. That 7" opens Matador's reissue of the band's second release, the Signals, Calls, and Marches EP. From the spine-stiffening "This is Not a Photograph" to the post-rock-presaging "All World Cowboy Romance", this CD is impeccable. Even two new cuts, instrumental tracks from 1981 to which the band added vocals and guitars last year, are forcefully memorable. Add a DVD of two stunning shows (the black and white multi-camera shoot from a 1980 set at Boston's Underground is almost too good to be true), and this is probably the best Mission of Burma release ever.
The two other Matador reissues are nearly as essential. Vs., the band's sole full-length, sees them stretching their sound without overreaching. There are more anthemic gems, like the Modern Lovers-in-a-blender "Ballad of Johnny Burma" and the frantic "That's How I Escaped My Certain Fate". But there is also a moody Joy Division-ish exploration ("Train"), chiming meditations ("Dead Pool", "Einstein's Day"), and a dissonant stomp ("New Nails") that predicts Sonic Youth's marriage of Glenn Branca and the Ramones. The Horrible Truth About Burma was a posthumous live release, its title a reference to the group's unruly concert sound. Live, Swope often recorded the band and looped them back through the PA, so that the musicians didn't know exactly what the audience was hearing. This album has been faulted for its sonic clutter, but its raw energy is fascinating, especially in covers of the Stooges' "1970" and Pere Ubu's "Heart of Darkness", as well as a version of "Peking Spring", an early fan favorite Burma never recorded for Ace of Hearts because they had already tired of it by the time of their debut single.
Both Vs. and Horrible Truth include bonus material, most of which has been released in some form before. So, aside from excellent re-mastering, their main attractions are their companion DVDs, offering two sets from the band's final Boston show in 1983 (originally available as an abridged VHS on Atavistic). Though not as visually enticing as the Signals DVD, the footage is still invaluable, if only as a document of Burma's enthusiastic hometown following. Conley, Prescott, and Miller (clad in ear-protecting headgear due to a case of tinnitus that would ultimately cause the band's demise) perform in workmanlike fashion, unfazed by the ecstatic bodies that flail past them. It's an apt visual metaphor for their place in history: As trends have flown by, Mission of Burma's music has held firm, unaffected by fashion, unsullied by imitation, and undiminished by the passage of time.
