Roger Miret and the Disasaters
By Eric Myers
It carves out your eyes with a scalpel and penetrates your ear drums with a pitchfork. Why? Because the world is so f-cked up, to hell with it all. I'm not fine. It's not a nice day. Don't ask me How's the weather? Ever. Again.
When punk cleans itself up, it branches out, spreading its spiked wings, and soars over broad shores. It ventures out, past our gritting teeth and angry rain dances to people, normal people, who don't grind their teeth, hiding their pain behind fifty-dollar smiles and twenty dollar (hair) styles. A little "punk rock" hurts good, hits that empty spot, feels and fills something. Not something insane, let's keep things under control. Beat it on the stereo or rock it in the car, but that's all.
Roger Miret and the Disasters falls somewhere between these two camps, teetering on the edge of punk with hard, odd-ass vocals yet so god damn well produced they nearly fall into the hands of any old American idiot.
Coming out on Hellcat Records, their image is punk, roughneck rockers playing "Loud Fast Street Rock n' Roll," the slogan in the cover emblazoned above a belt buckle holding the linear notes, Black White and Red all. Hard ass shit.
Until you hear the music.
1984 is a lost Rancid album from the 90's, with Tim f-king around on the vocals. Miret's a cross between Armstrong and the Dead Kennedy's, and by far the most interesting thing about the music, otherwise overproduced, slowed-down Rancid songs with set structure and well timed backup vocals. Well timed backup vocals? What the hell is right.
Listening to this album pisses me off, not because it's good punk, but because it's not. It's somewhere in-between. Obviously Miret has talent, and maybe you just gotta see him and the Disasters live to appreciate it. Yeah, these boots are made for walking, so walk your ass over to the Rancid isle and get some louder faster and more street rock 'n roll for your buck.