The Real 100 Greatest Rock Albums of All Time, No. 20:
New American Shame- S/T (1999, Will/Atlantic)

I should preface all this by mentioning that I was in rehab for the entire duration of New American Shame’s career. Of course, they were really only around for about a year (which, in retrospect, seems like an inordinate amount of time to be in rehab, but I guess I was a hard nut to crack), so if you blinked at all in 1999, you might have missed them completely. Me,  I actually thought about breaking out of the abandoned mental institution-cum-detox casuality warehouse I was holed up in, in the wilds of Tewksbury, Massachusetts*  to catch them on their summer tour with the (briefly) reunited Cult, but then I sobered up (ahem) to the sad and painful facts that

A. Guys in rehab don’t have $35 for rock shows, and
B. The only bus out of there went to Lowell, which isn’t anywhere near Boston.

By the time I was back home and mingling freely amongst the citizens again, addiction-free and ready to rock (“Back from the grave, just when they were sure I was dead”), New American Shame had already broken up. I’m actually unsure just why they fizzled out so quickly, because they seemed to be on a remarkably well-fueled rocket to the top- or at least to somewhere around the middle- of the rock biz heap, and then in a blink of an eye, they were gone. Fuckin’ quitters.

But, you know, the only statistic of any importance in rock and roll is this: 10 out or 10 bands break up. It’s true, man. Yours will too, someday. Rock and roll is full of freaks and misfits and cannibals and cheats, and the idea of 4 or 5 of ya sticking together through thin and thinner is just impossible. Well, unless you’ve got zillions of dollars, maybe, but even that’s tenuous (Hello, GN'R). Most of the time, it’s for the best. After all, you’ve got your whole life to write your first record, and about a year to write your second- lots of bands blow their collective creative wads the first time around, and are just milking a weakened weapon after that. Sometimes, though, a band comes out of nowhere and drops the Rock like a fuckin’ hammer, recruiting a legion of hearts and minds and fists and furies, and then just disappears in a puff of acrid smoke, leaving fans blinking in the murk like a succubus victim- drained, dazed, and wondering what the hell just happened.

That’s exactly how I felt a year later, when it became apparent that there would be no 2nd New American Shame record, that, in fact, the band was no more. Son of a bitch. See, I had completely bought the bill o’ goods New American Shame were selling- the broken bones and hard luck and the seeing-of-things-I-wish-I-never-saw and the ultimate, last minute redemption by rock n’ roll - they were speaking directly to me, the shaky, bent-but-not-broken rock and roll burnout on his 8th out of 9 lives, and I was ready and willing to take it all the way with these fuckers. And believe me, I hadn’t felt that way about a goddamn band in half a dozen years.

It was 1999, and along with Buckcherry and, uh…well ok, just Buckcherry, New American Shame were riding a major label rawk resurgence wave that threatened, albeit briefly, to bring that most holy of rock genres, Sleaze Metal, back to prominence. It all fell apart rather quickly, of course, and the nu-metal hordes were soon making a mockery of all that had come before it, but it sure did feel good to rally there for a few minutes. N.A.S. got good press- CMJ nailed their sound as “Burly, blues-based hard rock riffage” and said they sounded “more like AC/DC than AC/DC has in years!” Locally, in the Boston Phoenix, Matt Ashare (or was it Carly Carioli? One of ‘em, anyway) aptly called their self-titled debut “The best AC/DC album of the year”, and even though those are pretty snarky descriptions, they’re true. Sorta. The rock American Shame played was the kind of stuff label reps would call “unabashed”, mainstream mags like Rolling Stone would call “No frills” or “Meat and Potatoes”, detractors would call “Shameless” and “tacky”, and cats like you and I would call real, and true, and ass kicking.

Although they did pound their riffs right into the ground like Angus and the boys do, The New American Shame didn’t even sound all that much like AC/DC, but critics loved comparing them to the Aussie ballbreakers, because they were “Big, Dumb” rock. At least they were to condescending, over-educated rock writers, who have always smirked over the simple, headbanging bliss of blue collar heavy metal. Musically, they were more like Guns N’ Roses meets the Almighty- bad ass biker metal with a little cock rock swagger to keep things moving. Their sound was not necessarily ground-breaking or innovative- fuck, even they were readily admitting that at the time- but so what? The important thing is that it was effective, that it worked, that it was rock and roll the way you remembered it- loud, proud and meaner than a sack fulla rattlers. And most importantly, New American Shame really meant it, man.

The band was formed in Seattle, in 1997, by axe slinger Jimmy Paulson and singer Johnny (just Johnny, thanks), both refugees from flash metal holdouts Tramp Alley**. Filled out by Terry Bratsch on second guitar, Kelley Wheeler on bass (both member's of bitchin’-and defunct- shitkicker metal band Redneck Girlfriend) and Geoff Reading (ex-Green Apple Quick Step) on drums, the Shame had a pretty simple plan for achieving world domination. As Reading told Dynamite Metal in ’99, “Jimmy had this idea. He said ‘Fuck it- we’re gonna start rocking again’.”

That’s always my big idea, too. And it always works.

The following year, they got signed to Will Records (also home, before it imploded, to Nash Kato’s solo album), and released New American Shame for the first time. Then they went to South by Southwest, burned Austin to the fuckin’ ground, and got scooped up by Atlantic- home to AC/DC, which everybody thought they sounded like, and the Cult, who they actually did sound like, and with whom they’d be touring a few months later. Meanwhile, they had recorded a new 4 song EP, but Atlantic chose to just re-release the album, with the 4 EP tracks added on. Got all that? Good, cuz that’s all there is to the story, really. They did the Cult tour in summer 1999, and pretty much the last scrap of evidence I can even find about their existence was a planned Yahoo! Webcast in March of 2000. Reading’s a drummer, so you know he’s got work, Bratsch and Wheeler have their post-Redneck Girlfriend projects to keep ‘em busy, but I dunno where founders Paulson and Johnny are. However, as Mike Monroe once brilliantly pointed out, for cats like us, its either dead, jail, or rock and roll, so let’s hope for the latter. And even if the boys are tits up, at least they left one motherfucker of a rock record behind.

Although the music cracks skulls- otherwise we wouldn’t even be here- the best part of New American Shame is, without a doubt, the lyrics. The songs are all credited to Paulson and Johnny, so I’m guessing the frontman wrote his own words, and if so, I gotta hang out with this guy one of the days. We’ve obviously got a lot in common. All the songs are about bad luck, bad times, and busted noses, and when it’s all punctuated with swaggering guitar solos, thundering drums, and ripping Super Rock riffs, it just makes all the fuckin’ sense in the world. This is the kind of record you would not, in a million years, wanna base your lifestyle on, but hell, if you’re already living it- why not celebrate your own downfall?

Opener “Under it All”, along with their self-titled theme song, was the demo track that got New American Shame signed, and it’s no wonder. With a hard, catchy, Chuck Berry-meets Angus Young boogie metal riff running through it like choppy waters, “Under” is prime rock anthem stuff, complete with a blistering, Slash-like solo and Us vs. Them lyrics that sound more like the precursor to a street fight than anything else: “If I hear you talkin’ shit again, I’ll wash your face of that smile, crocodile”. What better way to open up a rock record, than with a punch in the face, both musically and literally?

The brawling continues with the monstrous “Broken Bones”, which borrows a riff from Green River, and beats you half to death with it. With it’s rousing chorus and it’s classic signature line- “Ass deep in rock and roll again”- this was absolutely New American Shame’s finest hour, a bloody, bruised, sock to the guts that never fails to rouse the animal within. I have never been in the position where I could use a line like “Fuck with the man, you’ll find a wrecking machine”, but believe me, I’m waiting for one.

“What’s it to You” shows the slinkier side of the Shame. It’s a slow-burning bump n’ grinder of sleaze metal track that sounds like a tougher Junkyard with a Robert Conrad-sized chip on their shoulder. You know, “Sometimes I get so mean, and I apologize, but that’s as good as it gets”. That kinda vibe.

“American Shame” is the band’s definitive statement of intent, and of course, it rocks like crazy. Riding on razor-sharp 80’s metal riffs and a punk snarl, “American Shame” sounds like some kinda supersized grunge, if grunge knew how to fight. It’s got a chorus that could split mountains, and an attitude that you’d cross the street to avoid, and memorable lines like “I’d tie my shoes, if I had someone to lean on”. Honestly, it’s one of my all-time favorite rock and roll songs, and when I finally croak, I hope you play this one at the funeral. And, when people ask you, I also hope you tell them that, “On an average day, in every way, I was America’s shame.” Because I am, we all are, and this song is such a rousing declaration of such, such a brilliantly scripted acceptance speech from hell, that it almost makes ya feel proud to be a sleazebag. If you’ve ever bled in public, baby, this one's for you.

“Down in the Valley” is one of the tracks originally slated for the EP, and it sounds like the kinda thing you’d write in the back of the van somewhere out on the endless road. It’s a dirty, crunchy rock and roll song that smells of sweat and asphalt. It’s about banging groupies named Sadie, far as I can tell. Is there any woman still alive named Sadie? “Rather Be Rich” is another EP track, and it’s one of their best. It absolutely oozes sleaze, comes off like a smoky Backyard Babies/Cult hybrid, and just tells it like it fuckin’ is, baby. In a Cracktorch-like flurry of call and response venom, the Shame lays it on the line: “I’d rather be rich/Shower me in money/Ain’t nothing wrong with stackin’ them up/ A million Benjamin’s might be enough”. Makes ya wonder why they didn’t stick around to collect.

Speaking of sticking around, if they did, maybe “Skin Up”, the title of the next track, would have made it into the cultural lexicon. Of course, they’d have to explain what it means- I think they’re either asking for drugs or money on this very GNR-esque raunch n’ roller, but who knows? “Are you like me?/ Let’s see/Get me/Skin up”. Well, alright, I’ll try. It’s fun to say, at any rate.***

“Something Right” is another EP track, and another invitation for a one-way trip to knuckle city. Sounding every bit as much as Guns and AC/DC as it surely wants to, it’s a brawling, drawling ode to all things bad ass, with a good news/bad news message: “You’re cooler than you seem to be/but you ain’t as cool or tough as me.” You know, just in case you were wondering. But don’t worry, because Johnny’s gonna set you straight two songs over. First, though, there’s “Sex Teen”. I think it’s about jerking off, and if you can imagine Sub Pop signing a cock rock band, that’s what it sounds like. Oh, and the opening line goes, “Major dog, major dog/Don’t lose your look”, and although it really has nothing to do with the rest of the song, and probably doesn’t really mean anything, it still strikes me a as very cool thing to say. As soon as “Sex Teen” is over, Johnny shows you how it’s done with the last EP track, “Lesson in Cool”. With a grungy pop metal riff that sounds like Weezer-as-a-biker-gang, New American Shame “take you back to school” with this bitchin’ arena rocker. Ok, so it’s more like they’re pointing their fingers at you, threatening to teach you a lesson in cool, but still. Anyway, just listening to it will ultimately make you cooler, so maybe that’s the lesson. At any rate, the song rocks, and the line “That last confession/just won’t disappear” is so fuckin’ true, I can hardly stand it.

“Auburn” is the Shame’s ode to the suburban communities they were brought up in, and if you’ve ever heard the similarly themed “Sweet Home Suburbia” by Hanoi Rocks, you’ll recognize the message: the suburbs are cold, both emotionally and temperature wise, but they’re good for beer, and forming rock and roll bands. I suppose if you’re from the suburbs yourself, you probably already know this. Personally, I'm from the city, but I have gotten drunk in the woods with teenage metal dirtbags in the suburbs a few times in my younger days, and I’m pretty sure I would’ve blown my head off if I had to stay. Or maybe I would’ve put together a rock n roll band. One or the other. Anyway, it sounds kinda like the Screaming Trees battling it out W.A.S.P, if you can imagine such a thing.

“Doghouse” closes the New American Shame supersonic storybook with Southern riff n’ roll and- sure- AC/DC crunch, and treads similar waters as D.A.D.’s “Rim of Hell”, in that it’s about a rock club that kills people. The guitars squeal in a shuddering climax, Johnny screams “You say you won’t, but you’ll keep coming back!”-which is entirely true- and a rock legend is made. Right the fuck on. All I can say is, if you’re not ready to get dangerous after this one, then you just ain’t got no danger in you.

Like I mentioned before, this one still gets written off as an AC/DC rehash, but it’s more than that, believe me. My first nail-biting, post-rehab year was a soul-burning bitch, and I listened to New American Shame for almost every hyper-intense day of it. When I started writing again- on the backs of paper placemats in a homeless shelter, dead center in a Boston ghetto,**** this record was blasting in my closely guarded walkmans. I would walk for miles and miles to save on bus fare just so I could buy batteries, and keep my sanity through songs like “Broken Bones” and “Under it All”. ‘Big, Dumb’ rock and roll records can save your fuckin’ life, man. This one sure saved mine.

New American Shame is still readily available everywhere. Hell, it was only 4 years ago. Pick it up and start a fight. Or maybe end one.

* Cab Transitions, 365 East St, Tewskbury, Massachusetts. I caught pneumonia while I was there, and was coughing up hunks of bloody phlegm for 6 days before they let me go to the hospital. There was one TV for 300 ‘patients’, and a total of two video tapes- one was a porn flick that had a scene where a chick shot a boiled egg out of her ass, and one was a three hour compilation of hockey fights. Once I saw a guy lapse into an epileptic seizure in the cafeteria (which was a ¼ mile away; they made us march there), and instead of helping him, the people sitting at his table divied up his food while he thrashed away on the floor. Don’t go there.

** Paulson was also in The Lemons and the under-rated, Dramarama-esque Best Kissers in the World, but it sounds cooler to just say he was in Tramp Alley, right?

***According to the UK Dictionary of Slang, “Skin Up” means “To roll or build a Cannabis/Marijuana cigarette”, which just goes to prove, if you don’t know what it means, then it’s probably about drugs.

**** Pilgrim Congregational Church, 540 Columbia Road, Dorchester, Massachusetts. While I was there, I sold my urine to junkies for $5.00 a cup during drug-testings, slept on a flea-bitten cot next to a corpse at least once (he didn’t start out that way), and once watched a guy vomit right into his plate of macaroni salad, and then continue to eat it. Don’t go there. Unless you really, really have to.

-Sleazegrinder