Vinyl Reissues of The Damned's 'Machine Gun Etiquette' and 'The Black Album'

In 1977, The Damned released one of the greatest and most archetypal punk debuts, but even the greatest and most archetypal punks were doomed to extinction if they didn’t evolve (The Ramones being the exception that proves the rule, of course).  Their typically punk, inspiration-barren follow-up, Music for Pleasure, suggested The Damned might croak with the other dinosaurs, and the group quickly started peeling apart with Rat Scabies scurrying from the ship and Brian James following close on his tail. It looked like an ignominious end to one of the key British punk acts, especially in light of the premature death of The Sex Pistols in early 1978. But a miraculous thing happened: the band that punk’s many critics hated the most reformed (with Scabies, but not James), signed to a new label, and proved that they could evolve with the best of them. In 1979, The Damned released Machine Gun Etiquette, the greatest punk album ever made because it made good on the genre’s rapid-fire aesthetic while constantly approaching the quintessential punk sound with immense creativity and intelligence. Whether they were trafficking in parody (“Love Song”), comic-book fantasy (“Plan 9 Channel 7”), rabble rousing (“Noise, Noise, Noise”), or cultural comment (“Anti-Pope”), whether they were layering a variety of keyboards or percussion over the standard guitars and drums, whether they were coloring their tunes with psychedelia, sixties garage rock, or the purest sparkling pop, The Damned were making music that was and is unmistakably punk (the one exception may be “These Hands”, a fairground sing-along about a killer clown… which is actually pretty fucking punk).

Review: 'The Damned: Don’t You Wish We Were Dead'

Mentioning that The Damned never had nearly as much commercial or critical success as those other two British punk cornerstones is always a convenient way to introduce any discussion of the band. For Captain Sensible, Dave Vanian, and Rat Scabies, it’s serious business. Money issues dug the rifts between these guys that still gape today. They are often marginalized in or completely left out of the conversation about the history of punk they did so much to write. There isn’t even a single decent biography about the band that—here we go again—released the first UK punk LP and 45 and personally delivered British punk to the States, almost singlehandedly jumpstarting the LA punk scene. As far as I’m concerned, they’re also responsible for the single best punk album and the single best song and album of the eighties.

If The Damned are touchy about their lack of “success,” they really have every right to be. And if we fans sometimes get defensive about them the way some crew-cut asshole gets defensive about some football team, it’s because we recognize their underdog status and believe the band deserves more than their lot. I love The Clash, but I wouldn’t feel like smashing a pint glass over the head of anyone who says The Sex Pistols were better. If someone made a similar comparison with The Damned in place of The Clash, however, he’d better protect his fucking skull.

So, Wes Orshoski’s The Damned: Don’t You Wish We Were Dead isn’t just another worshipful rock doc; it’s a bloody necessity. Fortunately, it serves both functions, telling the tale of The Damned in satisfying manner, and letting the band members air their grievances in their own manners. Mr. Vanian is caught in a candid moment griping about how many of his punk peers are raking in the filthy lucre by licensing their music when no similar offers are in the offing for his band (please forgive the anti-semitic tinge to his diatribe). Mr. Scabies rants about how much he doesn’t care about the band’s loser status, making how much he really cares perfectly clear.

Filling in the rest of the narrative, Nick Mason shows up to give a short account of the Music for Pleasure sessions and Paul Gray and the recently departed Bryn Merrick share cancer war stories. There are testimonials from Mick Jones, Billy Idol, Chrissie Hynde, Clem Burke, Chris Stein, TV Smith, Gaye Advert, Jello Biafra, Lemmy Kilmister, and many others. There’s even an extended focus on that greatest song of the eighties, “Curtain Call” (though, I exercise my right as a fan to be disappointed that the greatest album of the eighties, Strawberries, is left out of the discussion entirely). The elusive Dave Vanian sits out much of this before receiving an unusually enlightening profile late in the film.

The fact that The Damned are often painted as punk-golden-age also rans is a complete drag, but it is also what makes we fans feel so strongly about them (well, that and the incredible music), and Orshoski makes plenty of time for us too, whether it’s an original Damned maniac who went up the creak for murdering a guy with a pick axe or comedian Fred Armisen. I’m sure those guys and everyone else like them has shoved a copy of Damned Damned Damned or Machine Gun Etiquette at some in-the-dark friend in an attempt to make a conversion. With its historically significant story, incredible music, outrageous humor (Cap’n’s tale about an exceptionally resilient turd will stimulate your laugh reflexes and your gag reflexes), and real emotion, Don’t You Wish We Were Dead will hopefully also get shoved at a few Damned virgins now that it’s out on DVD and blu-ray. MVD supplements the feature with 45 minutes of extras, including a sweet meeting between Captain and Armsien that finds the latter giving Strawberries the attention it didn’t get in the movie and both guys busking “Smash It Up” in LA, Captain giving a hilarious guided tour of Croydon (some of this material is also shuffled into the film), an extended segments about The Doomed (The Damned plus Lemmy) and The Anarchy Tour that brought together UK punk’s three cornerstones before tearing them apart, and a live performance of “Smash It Up” from Captain’s 60^th birthday gig.

Rat Scabies’s Ten Greatest Beats

Laughed off as inept as soon as they first shambled onstage in 1976, The Damned had the last laugh by being one of the most enduring and versatile of the first wave of U.K. punks. And who could listen to even their earliest recordings today without hearing the already incredible musicianship at work? This is especially true of Mr. Christopher Millar. He may have taken himself with such a complete lack of seriousness that he gladly accepted the moniker Rat Scabies (earned by an unfortunate skin condition and a furry gate crasher that scurried across the floor during his audition), but he always thrashed the drums with the seriousness of a student who practiced his paradiddles every night and a looner who had no qualms about commanding the spotlight from behind his kit. Rat Scabies is the cursed offspring of Phil Collins (whom he once accosted in an airport to profess his love) and Keith Moon. He’s also punk’s greatest drummer, and as of today, 55 years old. In honor of Rat’s birthday, here’s a listen to ten of his wildest feats.

1. “New Rose” (1976)

It was the U.K.’s very first punk single, and after Dave Vanian’s brief tribute to The Shangri-Las, the first thing we hear is the primal pound of Rat’s toms. Deep, echoing, and a bit slack, this could be the intro to Chris Montez’s “Let’s Dance”. Then with Dave’s groin yelp, Rat squeezes the rhythm tighter than a crawlspace, abusing his hi-hat in double time, scattering Moony fills effortlessly at top speed. Dave’s breathless croon is the sound of a jogger trying to keep up with a formula one racer.

2. “I Fall” (1977)

As he was on “New Rose”, Rat Scabies is almost solely responsible for the blood boiling angst of “I Fall”. Dave, Captain Sensible, and Brian James often sound like they’re ripping their hamstrings to keep up with Rat on Damned, Damned, Damned, just barely keeping pace with the melodiousness that makes their debut such a thrilling sweet and sour dish. Rat bashes the beat so fast it’s almost impossible to hear exactly where the stick makes contact with the snare. Then with a craftsman’s flourish, he gives the listeners—and the rest of his band—a moment to catch their collective breath with an expansive, but very quick, run across the toms.

3. “Stab Your Back” (1977)

The one original track on Damned, Damned, Damned to break Brian James’s songwriting monopoly is Rat’s “Stab Your Back”. This nasty item is an instantaneous drumming showcase, both in terms of how quickly the track shows off the instrument (a spacey phased fill zooms through the intro) and its brevity. But in that one minute, “Stab Your Back” flashes Rat’s extreme stamina perhaps better than any other track. Listen to how he never lets up on that bass drum!

4. “Fish” (1977)