The Mekons Issue #33

Natural (Quarterstick)

By Joel Cusumano
Published: September 1st, 2007 | 12:00am

Despite a 30-years-and-counting existence, an age that eclipses nearly all of its class-of-’77 peers, the Mekons would probably shrug off a moniker like ‘elder punk statespersons’ if only for the fact that the band abandoned punk in all but stance in the early ’80s for its own singular brand of outlaw Americana. Much like Gram Parsons’s and Kris Kristofferson’s decade-prior union of hippie free-spirit and country journeyman, the Mekons’ fusion of early punk rebellion/experimentation with country music (anathema to more narrow-minded punkers) set the tenor for the majority of the band’s career, starting with 1985’s critically lauded Fear and Whiskey.

Natural continues the humble trajectory of one of the past quarter-century’s most intriguing and dedicated groups. Apocalyptic undertones and gallows humor sprawl across the band’s 16th (or so) album; after three decades of exploring alienation and despair over grinding guitars and whining fiddles, these rag-tag anarchists feel like they’ve finally grown into their world-weary disposition. Unofficial band leader Jon Langford was a twenty-something when he surveyed the nuclear landscape and declared it was “hard to be human again;” now in his middle ages, his caustic voice more closely approximates the Lear’s fool he portrays in songs such as “Dark, Dark, Dark” and “Burning in the Desert Burning.”

As a title, Natural makes sense for the band’s return to form after 2004’s revisit of their pre-golden period, Punk Rock, though the record might feel a bit underwhelming because of its thematic similarity to the Mekons’ more accomplished albums. Nonetheless, fans will surely welcome it as another sturdy example of the group’s seemingly boundless invention and output. As the Mekons’ contemporaries, most notably Gang of Four, witness a visible resurgence with trendier tastemakers, it’s reassuring to see the group still rowdily pursuing music of a more peculiar breed, more inviolate and timeless, like a band of screeching Sibyls, as Langford sings, “under the zoom of jet fighters rehearsing for Armageddon.”