When Pavement broke up, it was immediately clear that lead singer and songwriter Stephen Malkmus was about to embark on a journey that was as much pedagogical as it was creative. Long viewed as something of a prophet to indie rock’s faithful, it came as no surprise that as he fell into the Anglo-American garage, psych, folk and prog mix that those meanderings would reach a curious, deferential audience. Soon bands like Mellow Candle, Fairport Convention and J.K. & Co. were counted among Malkmus’ many references made less obscure, and thanks to labels like Sundazed, once out of print discs were available again.
Given Malkmus’ track record for Moore-ian crate digging, it wouldn’t surprise me if George Brigman’s recently reissued Jungle Rot hadn’t inspired “Pencil Rot” from his most recent album Face the Truth. You see, Malkmus appreciates the vague elegance of Jeffersonian idylls and Emersonian self-made men, like imagining Rousseau’s noble savage with an M.F.A. and a drinking problem, so to speak.
Fortunately, this article will disabuse you of any romantic notions you may hold. You can save those for Ozymandias, but Brigman’s influence on Malkmus is undeniable. Unlike Malkmus’s solo records, Brigman’s work is less self-conscious and feels more natural — but before I slip into the same whiggish, state-of-nature trap I laid for Malkmus — Jungle Rot comes from an amateur’s heart, the sort of purist rock nostalgia that makes Little Steven twitch.
Like Malkmus, Brigman found inspiration in Tony McPhee’s work with The Groundhogs, the oft-referenced, rarely listened to U.K. prog/classic rock group. The simple, straightforward lyrics convey a great deal more emotion than most of Malkmus’ catalogue — the lonesome, wailing harmonica on working-class drug anthem “DMT” embodies the strife of urban living in factory corridors all the way up the coast from the mid-Atlantic to New England.
Brigman combines the disparate elements of psych, surf and garage and blooze very capably. “Don’t Bother Me” sounds like a misanthropic surf rock tune played on a mid-winter beach in the stinging cold. “I Feel Alright” has a bubbling bassline that gurgles like phlegm-choked lungs, making it the track that best captures the frenzy Brigman hoped to imitate.
Capricious and precocious, yet wise beyond his years, Brigman’s Jungle Rot ought to have been the sort of record that defined the disillusionment of the new day dawning in America, as Vietnam veterans returned home to find themselves abandoned by their government and out of touch with their friends and family. Alienated and left to face the enemy within alone, Brigman’s Jungle Rot makes up for lost time with his anxious introspection and odes to self-medication with hazy tunes right out of America’s post-war coma.
George Brigman — “Jungle Rot”
Stephen Malkmus — “Pencil Rot”