Self Release – 29 April 2022
Catharsis through creativity between calm and calamity!
There’s a solid musical history in the lineup of Philadelphia’s Five Hundred Bucks (Bella Vista Social Club, Captain We’re Sinking et. al.) including their debut album’s architect Jeff Riddle. It’s not exactly hard to place my finger on the origins of the arrangements on $500 and it doesn’t take long to realize there’s two sides to this record and possibly Riddle himself. Loosely lumped into a couple categories, there’s the sad and soulful sort, the singer-songwriter singing songs about the struggles inside himself with an americana-esque approach, and then there’s the angry and angst riddled (see what I did there?) antithesis, the one most might recognize from The Holy Mess. In terms of intensity, there’s tons of peaks and valleys but, within the ups and downs, there’s interplay between opposing sides allowing some cohesion and continuity in the contrast. It’s like a boxing match between two opponents, one of which lacks the brute force of the other but makes up for it with ingenuity and precision, it certainly makes for a fascinating fight.
On one hand, there’s the faster, familiar, good old fashioned punk side and the dirty introduction to the darkness contained within the opening track, “Animal,” seems a fitting start to an emotionally charged and varied track list. It’s poetic imagery would play out perfectly for the soundtrack of Pet Sematary and as the author draws similarities between his psyche and the symptoms of of a “cornered animal,” the menacing sounds that accompany are equally as frightening combining the Nostalgic sounds of Nirvana with with a nudge toward None More Black. “This Welcome Mat Is A Landmine” is another track with the more pronounced version of Riddle’s unique vocal cadence and becomes more apparent as the song continues to it’s conclusion, stretching out only a handful of words into multiple lines of prose. I’m getting a touch of Timeshares. “Too High To Cry (Too Rare To Care)” is another simplistic mix of major and minor chords combined with relatable lyrics reminiscent of Billy Joe Armstrong with a nasally snear and more of the affected accentuation of single words with even more of the same in “Spinal” where power chords and downbeats create the foundation but it still retains the same blues inspired influences found scattered across the record. It could be I’m noticing resemblances to Riddle’s past work though part of me feels he just listened to Kerplunk on repeat as a kid.
Then, on the opposite end of the sonic spectrum there’s the softer side, a sip of folk and laced with americana. The organ and keys in “Standy” reminds me of Two Cow Garage with it’s cow punk style composition. The first line of the chorus “you’re the taste of six week old rotten milk” feels awkward and jarring but with each listen it becomes apparent that that’s exactly the point. The intention really drives it home. When something leaves a bad taste in your mouth, it’s not easily forgotten. Sour love and salty sentiments. “Take It Back,” in a similar vain is another piano laden blues rock ballad, juxtaposed between creshendo and decreshendo finishing as softly as it started, a little like American Aquarium with a more mellow linguistic approach. Singing softly with a slight drawl, snare rolls and tickled ivories guide the song to it’s conclusion. With strong Jon Snodgrass vibes, “Follicles” is introduced by a simple plucking pattern and continues with more alt-country chords and an array of keys clearly not uncommon across the album. In a final act of contrast, contrary to the aggressive opening, “Velvet Arms” slowly signals the battle’s end with an affected and distant guitar lead almost calling to an answering solo until all that’s left is the drone of an organ.
My favorite finds happened to be polar opposites as well. “I Wanna Die Young,” a song with a sense of urgency. While it’s upbeat and overdriven and the vocal melody is mesmerizing and warm in delivery, in depth it leans more on despair. Hot Water Music comes to mind and if you don’t know the words, you will before long. “Shit Shape Heart” on the other hand is quintessential folk punk and the prelude is an acoustic focused avenue to an austere anthem where the narrator wonders aloud where to find the will to continue to wander (there’s starting to be a noticeable a trend) before being joined by the rest of the band, continuing to add additional elements as the song builds. The chorus lines “Let it go… Let me go…” are repeated, clearly a cue to singalong, and seem to lie somewhere between proverbial wisdom and pleading to listen. 2nd Verse, same as the first.
There seems to be an ebb and flow to the album, pushing the intensity and pulling it back. It’s easy to tell some of these tunes started life in an unplugged and simplistic manner but a richness and intensified character is brought forth with the additional instrumentation while others could only bleed out of the feedback of an amp. From grungy gain to pop laced punk or an acoustic carol with a tremelo tinged twang and a sprinkle of spring reverb there’s a variety flavors presented but, either way, there’s surely a country boy deep inside this angry old punk from Philly and it’s as if he’s simultaneously commiserating with his inner child’s tantrums and quietly trying to comfort him. Or maybe I’m reading to much into it and it’s just a really well written and artfully executed record.
$500 is a broken and battered batch of bummer jams and while some of the songs leave you bruised and begging for a reprieve, much of it brings you to a place where you can begin to rebuild. Soul bearingly sweet and excruciatingly savory.
Who knew being sad could sounded so satisfying?
Jerred Lazar is a make believe musician and wannabe writer attempting to survive in Washington DC
