Search:antihéroes

We are thrilled to present the historical rescue of the only existing recording of Antihéroes, yet another mystery of the Argentine musical underground scene of the 80s, now available on vinyl for the first time. This obscure post punk band show their harshness and darkness in these only two songs they recorded, back in 1985, and which were distributed on a cassette that has today achieved cult status. This release is the result of the collaborative work between Twistin' Bones (Costa Rica) and Munster Records

The 24 songs on this double album are in some ways a completion. Together with Young Man Songs here are nearly all the songs Kerry Lee Crabbe and Daryl Runswick wrote (and Daryl sang) which are good enough to be issued. The subject matter here is wider ranging than on Young Man Songs:love songs, but also family, heroes and antiheroes, zen, celebration, nostalgia, philosophy, life and death.

Daryl Runswick writes: "I first set Kerry Lee Crabbe's words to music in 1967; for the last time in 2010. Our most prolific period was 1970-1980 during which time we had considerable success as a songwriting team, though we didn't have big hits. The pinnacle for us was when Cleo Laine recorded a whole album of our songs (One More Day: well worth looking out for on vinyl or CD). There are a number of reasons for our lack of hits: songwriting was for neither of us our main job - not 'the principal source of his revenue' as Paul Simon put it (One Trick Pony) - we did it in our spare time. Also, neither of us had any interest in being an entrepreneur, nor did we employ a manager to push the songs; also, perhaps we were snobs who disdained moneygrubbing; but perhaps the main reason was that these are art songs: art songs in the style of pop music, yes, but not aimed (other than tangentially) at the commercial market.

We'd have loved to have hits but that's not why we did it and we didn't bother overmuch flogging our wares around. Kerry and I were introduced to one another as undergraduates at Cambridge University. Kerry had written the book and lyrics for a musical (Someone is Squeaking) and I was instructed by Clive James, then President of the Footlights Club where I was Musical Director, to compose the songs. It was put on at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in 1967 with Julie Covington in the lead role. Kerry directed and I was musical director, playing piano in the accompanying trio. After that summer I went down to London to be a jazz bass player while Kerry had a further year at Trinity College, Cambridge. After he came down, we got together again and continued making songs."

On Now Where Were We, The Exbats hit the ground running like
a dystopian garage rock version of the Shangri-Las, or like
a message to the future from the pre-Velvet Underground doowop
wannabe Lou Reed. The album rings bright, like a beacon
in the wilderness: eminently, effortlessly catchy, and loaded
with buoyant choruses that rank alongside the best chart-toppers
launched by the Brill Building or Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound.
Kenny McClain and his daughter, vocalist and drummer
Inez McClain, formed the nucleus of the Exbats over a decade
ago, when Inez was just 10 years old; today, Bobby Carlson
rounds out the group on bass. Despite their remote location in
Bisbee, Arizona, just eleven miles north of the U.S.-Mexican
border, the group quickly racked up accolades citing a wealth of
influences that run from cartoon quintet the Archies to punk rock
originators the Avengers, and from the so-sweet-it-hurts 1910
Fruitgum Company to Los Angeles antiheroes the Weirdos.
Truthfully, The Exbats embrace a wider swath of musical styles,
incorporating blue-eyed soul, tongue-in-cheek country, Brit
pop, psych, and R&B into their sound.
The McClains describe this album as “more ambitious” than
its predecessors. They tooled ninety minutes northeast to Tucson
to record, per usual, with Matt Rendon at Midtown Island Studios.
Months later, the Exbats emerged with an album imbued
with harmoniously cautious optimism—the musical equivalent
but psychological antithesis to the Brian Wilson-Tony Asher
masterpiece “I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times.” While Wilson
was looking for “a place to fit in,” The Exbats have found
sanctuary via the brilliant “Ghost In The Record Store,” which
is “for all of us who need the joy of a little bit of plastic making
lots of noise.” Like the best records to croon along with, Now
Where Were We is captivatingly simple, yet hardly simplistic.
The Exbats are singing from their hearts—and they aren’t afraid
to bare their souls.