It's not easy to get a bead on Mallwalkers. After seeing them live and listening to their new record a few times, I'd say they're an eleven-piece funk outfit that grew up on seven-inch records, back patches, and Don Covay. Or: imagine the horn section of Rocket from the Crypt joined U.K. Subs, hopped onto a papier mache flying saucer, and did their best P-Funk impression for Byron Brown.
If you've got a better one, I'd like to hear it. The comment section is wide open.
This much I do know: Mallwalkers' first full-length, Shake the Rust Off, released on Peterwalkee Records, is the standard bearer for funk 'n' punk rock, Superfund beach parties, and dancing like you just don't give a damn. The hopping, twisting partybeast that is Mallwalkers is tied down - barely - by sking-y guitars, distorted, sometimes driving, sometimes funky (sometimes both) bass lines, beat-for-beat percussion, and a party bus of horns, fronted by the sing-song shriek and sunglasses-inside cool of co-frontpeople Jamie Rowitsch and Dan Carosa.
I say "barely" because there's no way a hunk of vinyl can contain a beast of this magnitude. There's a party going on here, and it's as much a rock "record," in the traditional sense, as it is a record of a zeitgeist, a vitals chart of the living, breathing thing called Mallwalkers, in Buffalo, right now, today. It likes to party. Some jerk fed it after midnight. And now it's coming for your children.
To get the full effect, you've got to see these cats live. I always admire bands who can kill it on stage while still managing to put out decent records. Go to any Mallwalkers show and you're as likely to see a guitarist in go-go boots stomping on a cardboard Buffalo while Godzilla spews condoms and candy on your drunk ass as you are to find yourself surrounded by inscrutable, thrashing picket signs protesting (or calling for?) senior-aged Tex-Mex and baby Triassic flying lizards.
None of that finds its way on the record, of course, so, in some sense, you're getting the short end by listening to these guys in stereo. But while you're having a good - if weird - time at a live show, you're probably too busy dodging prophylactics and ducking the Funk Police to soak in the subtlety of the whole affair.
Don't get me wrong, there's plenty of fun to be had on this record. "Get You Back" is a tongue-in-cheek, off-key doo-wop about breaking up, for better, for worse, or for meh. "Baby Pterodactyl (I Don't Wanna Be A)" is about as straightforward as they come, and includes a laughing solo by "Cackles" Rowitsch. "Funk Police" rounds it all out with a party jam that dares you not to jiggle those cheeks, despite the inbound dancefloor beatdown.
But underneath the party is something else. Beneath the strata of oddness, under the mountain of sound, and beyond the bedrock of attitude lies something extra.
Listen to "Future Shock." The tune starts off with a burning fuse of a bass line and lyrics like, "we are the future...you are the past...we're gonna break it all down, we're gonna turn it around," promising a brand new sound for whoever's listening and warning everyone else to get out of the way. The bomb really goes off on "Going Downtown." Carosa testifies: "older folks have been sayin' that that's the way it's gotta be. They're sayin' that in this town you can never, ever be free."
I can't tell you how many times I've been taken aside for an avuncular piece of advice, something like "I used to be like you - I used to want Buffalo to be something. Then I grew up." Or how many times I've been at a party where some doofus from Cheektowaga or a Tonawanda hears I live on the West Side and tells me "you've got to get out of there as soon as you can" because a parent or an aunt or someone or other was robbed or beaten up or had to deal with an inordinate amount of black or brown people.
Then it blows up: "don't let them drag you down," shouts Carosa, "'cause when they try to pull you in, you got to stomp them to the ground.
"We're goin' downtown to shake the rust off the door. It's from the East Side to the Niagara shore, we're gonna show you how we really break it down. So get your feet on the floor and dance your mess around."
I feel you, brother; I hear you, sister.
Tunes like this make me want to strap a PA to the roof of my car and head out to the suburbs. I want to crank this record while swinging around every cul-de-sac in Amherst; I want to blast it in the sidestreets of Hamburg and Cheektowaga; I want to rattle the Tonawandas to their swampy core. I want to scare the shit out of every white flight slug who left the city to die.
Get scared, Orchard Park. Start shaking, Williamsville. Buffalo's coming back. Your real estate's about to tank. Your sweet little Cape Cod is sinking. Buffalo is rising.
It's ours now, baby. And if you're not dancing, get the hell off the floor.
Mallwalkers are just the beginning.
Pick up your copy of Shake the Rust Off from Peterwalkee Records here.
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