Last Band Standing

Melvins Aug. 13, Music Hall of Williamsburg, 66 N. Sixth St. (betw. Wythe & Kent Aves., Brooklyn), 718-486-5400; 8, $25. Also, August 14 at Bowery Ballroom.

Looking back, the runaway-train success of Seattle’s heavy rock bands in the 1990s seems like a tragic turn of events. Despite being able to stay creatively vital for a time (not to mention buck the public’s perception of what commercial viability means), the most popular acts from that region suddenly found themselves thrust into acceptance on such a massive scale that they clearly suffered for it. Worse, that scene continues to provide a vehicle for the overly simplistic re-telling of history perpetuated by the likes of VH-1. Meanwhile, gurgling in the muck all along like a kind of ugly truth that won’t go away, the never-popular-yet-legendary Melvins remains, if nothing else, true to its game.

Appearing at two area shows on the heels of Nude with Boots, its 25th album (depending how you count), the Melvins has managed to survive perhaps because mass appeal has always eluded them. And though the influence of the band’s slow, sludgy sound has had an immeasurable impact on heavy music, the Melvins’ ongoing streak of experimentation has helped the band maintain its edge and nullifies any accusations of one-trick-ponyism. The band’s releases on Mike Patton’s Ipecac label in particular, which begin with 1999’s The Maggot, even veer into the all-out avant-garde noise.

“When we started playing,” explained bandleader Buzz Osborne, “we were inspired by all the punk rock bands. I had this idea that we should do something that had that kind of mentality. But, to me, that was more of an attitude than anything else. I drew from everything from Flipper to Public Image Limited to the Sex Pistols, Black Flag, Swans, all that stuff.”

In keeping with the band’s penchant for constant exploration, Boots also marks the second installment from the Melvins after the band’s re-invention as a four-piece. In addition to mainstays Osborne and drummer Dale Crover, the lineup now includes bassist Jared Warren and drummer Coady Willis, both of Seattle duo Big Business, which has itself recently expanded into a trio.

The move to incorporate Big Business came when the band found itself ready for a dramatic change after dismissing bassist Kevin Rutmanis.

“We came out of the Kevin Rutmanis era as very discouraged fellows,” Osborne recalled. “I knew that, in order for me to pull myself out of that, I wasn’t going to be able to just move on to the next Johnny Bravo on bass. I needed something that was going to energize the whole situation again.”

Though having two drummers adds heft to the band’s already hefty sound, Osborne insisted that the new format requires a keen sense of discipline and space from Crover and Willis.

“Most bands couldn’t handle two drummers,” he said. “It’s harder than you think. In order to play with another drummer, you have to be on it all the time. Now, it sounds totally normal to me, but you get this strange flamming going on that I think is totally cool.” 

Like the Allman Brothers? 

“Well, if I had to be compared to somebody,” Osborne answered, “I guess that’s OK.”

Since Warren is an alum of the Melvins-influenced group Karp, the addition of Big Business makes sense. Unsurprisingly, its newest record, Here Come the Waterworks, doesn’t stray too far from vintage Melvins. As soon as the album opens, the influence of Osborne’s vocal style jumps out at you, but it’s also easy to see why Osborne thought Willis and Warren would bring something fresh to the table—and the two have had plenty of input into the Melvins’ sound.

“I’ve always done that with everybody we’ve ever played with,” he said. “I’ve never tried to make them do one thing or another. I’ve let them own the music in their own way, which tends to work out better. I’m not really that precious with it. These are songs. Songs can be interpreted, and that’s the best part of it. A lot of times, I’ll realize that I was wrong about certain things, that what I needed to do, in hindsight, was change something and make it better. And I’m not against that at all.” 

As for Nude with Boots, Osborne set out to take more liberties with the expanded lineup after they’d gotten acquainted from recording and touring behind 2006’s (A) Senile Animal.

“I wanted to make a weirder record,” he said, although the band’s entire career could be seen as one long, sustained stab at weirdness. But, as the album begins with “The Kicking Machine,” a tongue-in-cheek inversion of Zeppelin’s “Out on the Tiles,” it’s the consistency within that weirdness—the familiar dirge and Hotter Than Hell–era Kiss guitar tones—that really stands out.

“In the world of rock music,” offered Osborne, “we’re very eclectic. I mean, I don’t know if we could do tight covers of King Crimson songs.” But then: “We probably could, but I don’t know that I would want to.”