Survival Sickness

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The trailblazing American feminist Emma Goldman loved to say, "If I can't dance, I want no part in your revolution." Emma Goldman would love the International Noise Conspiracy. Combining radical anarchist politics and punk-mod-soul sounds, the International Noise Conspiracy's debut, Survival Sickness, reads like a manifesto but moves like a triple-bill featuring the Small Faces, Booker T and the MGs, and Fugazi. The revolution may not be televised, but at least now it has a soundtrack. --S. Duda

What do you do after issuing the definitive punk rock manifesto? Self-implode. It's what all self-respecting revolutionary punk bands do (just ask the Sex Pistols). Soon after releasing The Shape of Punk to Come (which included the warning shot "The Refused Are Fuckin' Dead"), Refused frontman and mastermind Dennis Lyxzén disbanded the group in mid-tour. But he didn't give up his mission. With the (International) Noise Conspiracy, Lyxzén continues to seek an incendiary mesh of art, revolution, and music. While the Refused deconstructed pop conventions with jazzy ferocity and hardcore pathos, the Conspiracy's radical politics are hidden in the guise of soulful '60s punk rock mayhem, recalling the high-octane garage thrash of the Makers and fellow Swedes the Nomads. Perhaps they figured the best way to change the system is to crash the party. If the Refused were a combination of Derrida and Fugazi, the Conspiracy are Debord and the Who. "Smash It Up" is less a rowdy's rebel yell than a subversive call to arms, inciting "the creative urge to destroy bourguise [sic] culture" over an organ- and bass-heavy rock steady beat. When Lautreamont sings "My heart still hurts from last night" during "Survival Sickness," he's not a spurned lover--he's sick of the state of the world, from "smart bombs" to "easy listening." How does one continue to exist in a society in which the twin evils of capitalism and totalitarianism strip the world of its resources and the people of their dignity? "Won't you forget about me when I'm gone?" he implores in "The Reproduction of Death," but again it has nothing to do with love--he's speaking about the body enslaved as commodity. The liner notes breezily name-check Lautr&ecute;amont, Fourier, Durutti, Warhol, and Marx. Heavy stuff, but lightened by the shake-ass groove Lyxzén's co-Conspirators kick up. This is revolution with a backbeat, and the (International) Noise Conspiracy are the MC5 of the 21st century. --Tod Nelson