murder city devils

r.i.p.

‘A live album: either a fitting final farewell/tribute to a great band or a self-serving final shot from self-important people.

Murder City Devils have blurred these lines of distinction with the release of “R.I.P.,” a live recording from their final show as a band at Seattle’s Showbox Theater.

Singer Spencer Moody howls, maybe with the intent of sounding like an animal, like a devil even, but it comes off more like Steve Buscemi in “The Wedding Singer.” That’s all that needs to be said about that matter.

Okay, that’s a low blow. MCD was a good band with an incredible stage presence that lives on through a dark and disparaging legacy reincarnated in the form of Derek Fudesco’s bass work in Pretty Girls Make Graves, the band that is said to have put the final nail in the coffin. As a sidebar, PGMG’s lead singer Andrea Zollo was originally in a short-lived band with Fudesco and Moody, and other MCD members called The Hookers.

After the breakup of the Devils, Moody and Co. went on to form Dead Low Tide. Less than a year later, the plug was pulled on that venture. The pleasant aesthetic themes and imagery just keep reoccurring, don’t they?

That’s enough of a history lesson for now, though. Gather around boys and girls, it’s personal story time.

I was fortunate enough to see the Murder City Devils on what would be one of their last tours. They played with At the Drive-In, who was also on the verge of breakup. Not knowing both of these seminal bands were soon to meet their demise, I showed up late to Philadelphia’s Theater of the Living Arts. As I walked up to the door, a fight was being broken up that involved an indistinguishable and Afroed member of At the Drive-In (either Cedric or Omar) and a bouncer. Apparently, the bouncer refused to let the puffy-haired musician through the door and he called him a derogative term in reference to what the bouncer believed to be this person’s sexual preference. Then he nailed him square in the face. Intense, to say the least.

About twenty minutes later, MCD took the stage and Mr. Moody spent most of the time on stage lecturing against stereotyping, homophobia, and hate speech. While this was well intentioned, every word that came out of his mouth, both spoken and sung, was slurred beyond recognition. It was hard to distinguish one syllable from the next, let alone what was being said.

The point of this is that Spencer Moody slurs. He doesn’t sing necessarily. Rather, he drones listlessly from song to song, repeating melody upon melody. Granted, on the recording of the final MCD show, he is noticeably more sober and the words are distinguishable, but the vocal parts at points seem downright lazy.

The band is artsy, they are gory, they are talented and show off their skills. It might as well be the “Rocky Horror Picture Show” live and without Meatloaf. It’s good and, despite any personal reservations about the Devils, it holds its own.

It’s a shame that the shelf life of bands is so short and the attention spans of fans constantly dwindling. After five years and two albums, the band was finally able to swim with ease and not just tread water. Drowned and gone, the only thing they have that’s new to prove they existed and left their mark is a tape of their last shows.

“R.I.P.” is a good novelty item to keep around, just like the countless other final live show record releases from various bands. Although on the edge of having self-indulgent motives, this album is still a good tribute to another band gone but not forgotten.