Album Review: Last Stop Crappy Town, full edition, by Reggie and the Full Effect
On March 22nd, James Dewees of Reggie and the Full Effect released a complete version of the 2008 album, Last Stop: Crappy Town. It includes three tracks that were recorded then, but not released.
This seemed like a good opportunity to take another look at Crappy Town, which has not been my favorite.
The first time I listened, it felt like it was all this angry growl-shouting, which I shall hereafter refer to as "screamo" (probably not the perfect term, but bear with me), and which has never been my thing.
Later, I listened again, and realized it was in fact more complex than that. I suspect one reason it feels like so much is that a lot of the songs have a screamo section, even though they have other things. So where with other albums there will be a song or two that does it, there is probably more total time spent on the screamo, as well as a higher frequency interval.
Having already gained a greater appreciation for the album, the next time I listened I found myself thinking, "This is really a journey." That was quickly followed by, "You mean like a journey on the Brooklyn train system, literally? Good catch!"
The release of the additional tracks seemed like a good opportunity to dive in again.
Here's one thing about that journey: tracks are not delineated in the download. I can tell you where the additional tracks are, but not what they are named. I assume the unreleased "86th Street" is there; I can confirm the B-side "Shit Sandwich" is not there.
It is interesting in that on many other Reggie albums (less true with 41), the connection between songs and their titles is often tenuous. Maybe at a concert you learn the origin of a title phrase, but without the context of why it goes with that song. You still remember - maybe with more effort than from some artists - what each song is called.
That is much harder on Crappy Town.
It also makes sense. The train journey is linear, and probably monotonous. There may be monotony on the recovery journey, but it is much more chaotic. Maybe it is hard to tell if the changes that you feel are even changes, and whether those changes are progress. The music reflects that.
There are concepts that come up over and over again, including betrayal and inadequacy and doubt and suffocation. Sometimes that comes out angrily (probably with the greatest frequency), but it also comes out in dread, or adrenaline, or a depression so overpowering that the words can barely come out.
Is there a pattern? I don't know. I have never been through rehab or ridden New York transit, and I cannot rule out that there is greater - or at least different meaning - for people who have.
It did make me think of two things, coming from my more recent psychology reading. One is that while people tend to oversimplify and define overly broadly Elisabeth Kübler-Ross's theory of the five stages of grief, it is not linear. Going through one stage doesn't guarantee that you are done with it, or that it is done with you.
Also, in Complex PTSD, Pete Walker referenced a theory that all addiction is rooted in abandonment. That feels like it could be an oversimplification too, but it really feels like there is truth in it.
New tracks occur between "F" and "E". I think it is the one that fits in best with the other tracks, like I don't understand why it wasn't released. It is quieter, but thematically, it is important with a plea for help that is barely a question. There is not trust in getting an answer.
It is interesting that the official release with a video, "J", is sandwiched between the other two deleted cuts.
The final addition is great. It has kind of an "Eleanor Rigby" feel, with lots of strings and wistfulness in its alienation.
What comes before "J" is really uncomfortable.
I haven't been able to identify exactly why. It grapples with faith and questions of meaning; I guess I like to see those questions receive a positive answer. This feels again like there is not hope for any answer, and what does it mean if there is no meaning or greater value to all of it? It must feel like that a lot.
I want to point out one more thing about structure, using the more familiar tracks.
"R" is musically one of my favorite tracks, taking on a heroic, adventurous feel. Lyrically, in the midst of those assurances that we can make it together, there is always an "if" that doesn't sound too hopeful. What are the chances of no mistakes, given all the mistakes that have come before?
So I think it makes a lot of sense that it is followed by "36th Street" where you are still trying to save children and addressing a "sister", but there is a much more oppressive tone. That then goes into "N", and the closing question, "Are you scared?"
So it is clearly a journey, but it's not concluded, or even certain of successful completion. That is honest for addiction. You have to hope that it often feels more possible, and more optimistic, but it doesn't always.
That makes this a good release for this time.
I don't know how much that influenced Dewees to release it now, but this is a time filled with fear and doubt and uncertain outcomes. It helps to have music that knows how you feel.
In the Instagram post he credits producer Sean Beavan, drummer Billy Johnson, and Slipknot bass player Paul Gray. Two of them are gone now, along with other losses that make that sense of abandonment more real.
There is music for that.
Stay safe and stay alive.
https://www.instagram.com/yourbuddyreggie/
https://www.instagram.com/p/B-DQErnFrRm/
This seemed like a good opportunity to take another look at Crappy Town, which has not been my favorite.
The first time I listened, it felt like it was all this angry growl-shouting, which I shall hereafter refer to as "screamo" (probably not the perfect term, but bear with me), and which has never been my thing.
Later, I listened again, and realized it was in fact more complex than that. I suspect one reason it feels like so much is that a lot of the songs have a screamo section, even though they have other things. So where with other albums there will be a song or two that does it, there is probably more total time spent on the screamo, as well as a higher frequency interval.
Having already gained a greater appreciation for the album, the next time I listened I found myself thinking, "This is really a journey." That was quickly followed by, "You mean like a journey on the Brooklyn train system, literally? Good catch!"
The release of the additional tracks seemed like a good opportunity to dive in again.
Here's one thing about that journey: tracks are not delineated in the download. I can tell you where the additional tracks are, but not what they are named. I assume the unreleased "86th Street" is there; I can confirm the B-side "Shit Sandwich" is not there.
It is interesting in that on many other Reggie albums (less true with 41), the connection between songs and their titles is often tenuous. Maybe at a concert you learn the origin of a title phrase, but without the context of why it goes with that song. You still remember - maybe with more effort than from some artists - what each song is called.
That is much harder on Crappy Town.
It also makes sense. The train journey is linear, and probably monotonous. There may be monotony on the recovery journey, but it is much more chaotic. Maybe it is hard to tell if the changes that you feel are even changes, and whether those changes are progress. The music reflects that.
There are concepts that come up over and over again, including betrayal and inadequacy and doubt and suffocation. Sometimes that comes out angrily (probably with the greatest frequency), but it also comes out in dread, or adrenaline, or a depression so overpowering that the words can barely come out.
Is there a pattern? I don't know. I have never been through rehab or ridden New York transit, and I cannot rule out that there is greater - or at least different meaning - for people who have.
It did make me think of two things, coming from my more recent psychology reading. One is that while people tend to oversimplify and define overly broadly Elisabeth Kübler-Ross's theory of the five stages of grief, it is not linear. Going through one stage doesn't guarantee that you are done with it, or that it is done with you.
Also, in Complex PTSD, Pete Walker referenced a theory that all addiction is rooted in abandonment. That feels like it could be an oversimplification too, but it really feels like there is truth in it.
New tracks occur between "F" and "E". I think it is the one that fits in best with the other tracks, like I don't understand why it wasn't released. It is quieter, but thematically, it is important with a plea for help that is barely a question. There is not trust in getting an answer.
It is interesting that the official release with a video, "J", is sandwiched between the other two deleted cuts.
The final addition is great. It has kind of an "Eleanor Rigby" feel, with lots of strings and wistfulness in its alienation.
What comes before "J" is really uncomfortable.
I haven't been able to identify exactly why. It grapples with faith and questions of meaning; I guess I like to see those questions receive a positive answer. This feels again like there is not hope for any answer, and what does it mean if there is no meaning or greater value to all of it? It must feel like that a lot.
I want to point out one more thing about structure, using the more familiar tracks.
"R" is musically one of my favorite tracks, taking on a heroic, adventurous feel. Lyrically, in the midst of those assurances that we can make it together, there is always an "if" that doesn't sound too hopeful. What are the chances of no mistakes, given all the mistakes that have come before?
So I think it makes a lot of sense that it is followed by "36th Street" where you are still trying to save children and addressing a "sister", but there is a much more oppressive tone. That then goes into "N", and the closing question, "Are you scared?"
So it is clearly a journey, but it's not concluded, or even certain of successful completion. That is honest for addiction. You have to hope that it often feels more possible, and more optimistic, but it doesn't always.
That makes this a good release for this time.
I don't know how much that influenced Dewees to release it now, but this is a time filled with fear and doubt and uncertain outcomes. It helps to have music that knows how you feel.
In the Instagram post he credits producer Sean Beavan, drummer Billy Johnson, and Slipknot bass player Paul Gray. Two of them are gone now, along with other losses that make that sense of abandonment more real.
There is music for that.
Stay safe and stay alive.
https://www.instagram.com/yourbuddyreggie/
https://www.instagram.com/p/B-DQErnFrRm/
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