On Bono and Bomb

By Don Baird

San Francisco Bay Times, January 22, 1998

…..Speaking of dead popstars, a very famous one was overheard at Club Cocoderie last Saturday night as the final band on the night's roster was setting up their equipment onstage. It was the greatest hits of The Carpenters, Karen's sweet unforgettable voice posthumously purring out of the P.A. speakers; and the vocalist of the band, Michael Dean, preparing to play, saw me anxiously waiting at the front of the stage and leaned forward to proudly state that the tape playing was definitely his. As demonic/angelic as ever, Michael was laying down the set lists for all the band members and the lyrics for a new song front and center. On each side of him were semi-circles of as many as 10 separate pedals or guitar effects and treatments laid out, hooked up and ready for guitarists Jay Crawford and Doug Hilsinger. The drums were set up and ready for the inimitable pounding of Tony Fag, returning to S.F. for a visit from Seattle, where he now resides.

The assembled crowd was an amazingly broad spectrum of ages and types, many faces I haven't seen since the last time the band played, but all faces aglow and grinning in anticipation of seeing a band they've remained loyal to even after their breakup. The band is Bomb; and after the reunion set they played that night, the aforementioned loyalty comes as no surprise, as were the number of people who saw Bomb for the first time that night and were completely won over. This was a show of shows. The response went beyond just a reflection of allegiance between band and longtime fans. People walked away saying, "Better that ever," of "Tightest set I've seen by Bomb," or Goddamn…fucking A," or, "Can you believe they rehearsed only two times for this show?" or "Rock and Roll doesn't get any better," of MADNESS," or "That was the best rock show I think I've ever seen," of "After a show like that I'm totally energized," or "I think Bomb is the best Rock and Roll band there is," or "I'm speechless," or more than anything else, "Why the fuck are they not together? It's a crime!" It's a shame!" Then there was the ever optimistic, "After a show like that, how could they not reunite?" Good question.

I can't quite recall exactly why Bomb broke up in the first place. I'm sure there were many different reasons,-- some probably not open to discussion or of a highly personal nature, and others more obvious, like the unfortunate turn of events after the release of Hate Fed Love. This was the band's third LP, produced by Bill Laswell, who heard Bomb and sought them out as his next production project. At long last, major label interest was stirred up over Bomb, and they signed a deal with Warner Brothers. It finally seemed Bomb was getting the attention they so richly deserved; but lack of proper promotion, little of no effort in marketing strategy by the label at all, and Bomb not really fitting easily or obviously into any flavor-of-the-month indie/alternative/retro/grunge category, and the record didn't sell well enough and Warner Bros. Dropped the band. This all happened pretty quickly and must have been a huge disappointment for the band, finally hitting the major label realm after all those years, only to be neglected, then dropped completely. That may have had a lot to do with the band's split. Sadly, Bomb's loyal fan-base had to accept the demise of San Francisco's finest, crazed, proficient-yet-unhinged, and sometimes scariest, renegade band of rockers.

Individually, the members have not remained dormant at all, creating a number of new and varied projects, bands and bartending shifts South of Market. Michael Dean's post-Bomb band Slish put out a really good demo tape a while back, but I'm unsure if they're still together. Doug Hilsinger has a currently ongoing band that's gaining recognition called Waycross, and Jay has a band called Bite. However, the ecstatic anticipation charging the room like a battery, and the jubilance playing upon the many faces in the crowd at last Saturday's show was all about Bomb, pure and simple, and this crowd couldn't wait.

ALL MY REFERENCES ARE DEAD

The band finally sauntered onstage, strapped on their instruments, Michael did his warm-up stretches and they gently slipped into the soft swelling of "All My References are Dead." With just the first beat of the drum I remembered suddenly the magnificent force that Tony Fag employs in his drumming. The first beat feels like it was joined in-progress, having already gained lots of momentum and strength, and then you tuned in, like clicking channels and running into a Cowboy and Indian war in progress. He's a hell of a drummer, giving the band a certain visceral, gut-tingling aggression, nothing benign or in the background about Tony Fag's trademark style. He's amazing. I wonder if he's playing drums in Seattle.

It's hard to analyze or describe something that's burning white hot and bathing you in a sort of deep warmth that not only feels good but is necessary for your sustenance and also stands to remind you of a reason to be alive. As dramatic and overblown as that sounds, Rock and Roll in certain capacities has always given me clear, joyous indications that I'm put here, if anything, to feel the way I do when guitars, drums and bass hit levels of volume that can be excruciating, over-the-edge of acceptable, with a voice projecting truthful ideas, and imagery that resonates with emotions I've felt, or darkness and cynicism and humor acknowledged when many would rather not, or things you wish you had said yourself. Bomb hits all marks with flying colors, like no other band ever has. How lucky for me!

Back to the show. The first song led seamlessly into two of their oldest compositions, "I loved you then I Died," and "Madness." A quick glance around found countless fans lip-synching along word-for-word which amazed my roommate, a Bomb show virgin, that everyone knew all the words after so long. At the moment I was more in awe of the dual guitar assault of Hilsinger and Crawford, two talents so massive and musically instinctual it's a wonder that just one band can contain them successfully. They hit on levels of pure machinated, synchronized pummeling that traveled the road all the way from sonic chaos and mayhem into a controlled and linear onslaught, confirmed with an occasional knowing grin to each other, after a simultaneous push of a pedal effect that whooshed a huge soundscape to a concentrated point like the head of a pin. It was magic. Doug seemed squint-eyed and a bit out-of-body, while Jay looked particularly mischievous, and both of them provided some new and fun additional vocals, some of them quite complex and arranged, some changing the gender of a song's refrain, some even presented a cappella, punchy and rhythmic. I just kept shaking my head in disbelief and saying, "Goddamn…"

Michael Dean, as always, has an incredibly animated stage presence. The look in his eyes when he sings those words is all you need to see to confirm his skewed and original genius as a performer and songwriter. A few couplets of example lyrics would also help so I'm gonna list a few in no special order.

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"The girl that I miss is just me in a dress." "Eating the food that you find on the sidewalk/wearing the cloths you find on the street/when will you be free/to take a shot at me?" "Anna takes me in her mouth and spits me out in catholic guilt. She would like to show me all the pretty things inside her room, but I didn't wanna go in there 'cause all I see is MADNESS!" "You paid my rent. I fucked your friends. Walking 'round here with Band-Aids on your eyes." "What did I do today? I got some monkeys drunk in a zoo. Wrote a letter to my sister, gave a flower to a hooker, I beat off and I thought about you." "God made me for little girls." "We are the fire, on the candles, on the cake, at the party, for the end, for the end, of the world."

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These are just a few examples taken out of context, and all Bomb's lyrics are rich with bittersweet, psychotic, familiar, oddly philosophical and often frightening qualities that never stray from or forget the subversive qualities that are necessary, inherent and idyllic to the heart of Rock and Roll. If there's no subversion, there's no rebellion and if there's no rebellion, there just isn't Rock and Roll.

Bomb's set reeled through all the faves and hits, and even included two new songs that I'm happy to report were recorded a day or so later along with two more new ones, before Tony returned to Seattle. These four new cuts almost insure that Bomb will play together again at least once for the occasion of the record release party in the not-so-distant future, but that's the only word at this point regarding a full-on resurrection of this band, as shocking as that might seem for anyone who saw this astonishing show.

Later on I spoke to Doug Hilsinger about the show, and he said, "I think Bomb is the only band in the world that gets a crowd chanting "Be a Fag," over and over when they've left the stage. What a good thing." "Be a Fag" is a Bomb song with a chord progression of B-E-A-F-A-G, and that message is the only lyric. As I was strolling out of the club, my roommate, a very little girl, turned and started to catch up with me and felt someone grab her hair and pull it. She turned back and it was Michael Dean, the one God made for little girls. They both smiled and said nothing.

Watch for your next chance to witness the greatness that is Bomb; I'll try to keep you posted. And hunt for their records and CDs, which are getting harder and harder to find. See one, buy it; you won't be sorry. Hell, get a tattoo of a Bomb. I did. Send me messages.