Retrospective Reviews: D.O.A.'s "Hardcore '81"

Thirty-three years ago today, D.O.A.’s sophomore full-length Hardcore ’81 became the namesake for its own genre. D.O.A. didn’t invent hardcore punk—that was California’s The Middle Class — and they weren’t the most influential (Black Flag) or the soberest (SS Decontrol) or the most bat-shit bananas (Flipper) or my favourite (Negative Approach). They were the most Canadian, and the fact some goofy stoners from Vancouver quasi-officially christened the genre should be a humongous B.C. Bud grow-op-sized point of hardcore hoser pride. To this day, plaid-happy Nardwuar can’t go an interview or radio show without slipping in a D.O.A. reference and singer Joey “Shithead” Keithley remains a persisting dirty blonde-haired blink on the B.C. politics radar.

Not sure whether beginning an album with a song named after the name of your own band is cocky or corny, but I hope it becomes more popular again, and it totally works as an intro track on Hardcore ‘81. Drummer Chuck Biscuits’ rapid-fire, military-crisp snare popping on “D.O.A.” dispels anyone typecasting them as another shitty punk band that could hardly play their instruments. Shithead and second guitarist Dave Gregg—who sadly passed away of a heart attack two weeks ago—aren’t a pair of Van Halens, and bassist Randy Rampage is no Les Claypool, but, as per hardcore, that’s not at all important. They’re exactly where you want and expect them: straightforward buzz-saw guitar riffs with obedient bass-lines chugging along underneath, complemented by modest Thin Lizzy-style high string solo-bends poured on top like maple syrup.

Stand-outs like “Slumlord” and “I Don’t Give A Shit” have less-than-lofty lyrical subject matter, like, “Slumlord, my overlord,” my favourite three words off the entire album. Members of D.O.A. and friends spent a lot of time back in thee olde days living in the slum-kingdom of Vancouver’s downtown east-end. And slumlords are lording over Canadian punks to this day, with the best current example being the PCP-and-rat-saturated Fattal lofts complex, which is west-end Montreal’s answer to the Mount Carmel Center in Waco, Texas.

More tedious than scuzzy landlords, though, are uneducated west coast hosers spouting left-wing political mantras. That’s why the mostly politics-free Hardcore ’81 is a friggin’ beaut, bud—especially compared to later albums like War On 45 and onward, when they began layering it on thick with explicit talk aboot [sic] sticking it to the Man and the like. Joey Shithead’s solo acoustic sets at Canadian Occupy protests a few years ago bordered on Juicy Fruit commercial guitar-smash territory.

Shithead’s lingering in the public eye is counterbalanced by Chuck Biscuits’ bizarre reclusiveness in recent years. In 2009, he allegedly created a death hoax about himself dying of throat cancer. However insane his behaviour has gotten, he’ll always gets infinity free passes for having gone on to play with Black Flag, the Circle Jerks, Danzig, Social Distortion, as well as providing drum tracks for Run-D.M.C.’s Tougher Than Leather. One common thread between hip hop and hardcore, by the way: shitty dads. “My Old Man’s A Bum” appears toward the end of the album, where Shithead seems to borrow heavily from the sustained velvety growl of Darby Crash. They played shows together so it’s possible the influence was mutual.

The only song over two minutes long features a non-traditional (as far as hardcore goes) piano and has the now too-traditional hardcore title, “Untitled.” Something about an “industry scam” and “being on the cover of TV Week,” not sure what it’s about exactly. But who needs a transparent message when what’s crystal clear is the fact that riffs are what truly matter?

While sewing their own special square on the patchwork quilt comprising early-80s hardcore. D.O.A. managed to not take themselves too seriously. The tribal monkey-grunting “Musical Interlude” and the Irish-drinking “The Kenny Blister Song” are ridiculously short joke songs—about 15-20 seconds—before the ridiculously short joke song trope had been used up and played out.

The "No Stairway To Heaven" rule in guitar stores generally follows into the punk world, with exceptions from various punk-asses like the Dickies, Gang Green, and 7 Seconds. You know a cover is really good when it makes the original sound itself like a shitty cover, as does D.O.A.’s rendition of “Communication Breakdown,” whose underwater-tremolo vocal effects sound like acid and Molly kicking in simultaneously.

“M.C.T.F.D.” (Middle Class Television Family Daughter) is a catchy banger, but if you don’t pay attention to the lyrics, you might not realize that it’s about dads diddling their daughters: “Better watch your ass/ Your father’s makin’ a pass.” Catchy “banger” might be an inappropriate descriptor. Gross.

One potentially heretical question is: if D.O.A. wasn’t Canadian, would anyone really give a shit? If they were from, say, Boston, would their drunken Canuck dorkitude even be audible above too-serious, ultra-violent straight-edge bands like Negative FX and DYS? Sometimes when bands become iconic, their flaws are glossed over to myopically maintain, in D.O.A.’s case, a Canadian national progenitor-hero illusion. But maintain no delusions, my quick-witted friends—D.O.A. were a buncha dummies. I mean, their slogan was the embarrassingly pseudo-profound, Talk - Action = 0. Remember the term “douche chills”? That’s what that formula equals for me personally. Here’s one that’s equally intelligent: *fart noise* x 1,000,000,000 = 69 ÷ 420.

Hardcore ‘81 is still a good album and overall, D.O.A was a great Canadian band. I say “was” hesitantly, as they’ve broken up only to get back together again. Like a co-dependent love affair, D.O.A.’s farewell and reunion shows over the years achieve a yo-yoing analog to make-up sex intensity. Baby, why did we ever fight?

But unlike most REALLY co-dependent relationships, Hardcore ‘81 lacks a large and crucial amount of compelling anger and riot-inciting dissonance that American hardcore—sorry, Canada—was generally much, much better at creating. In other words, if I was throwing an eviction party, there’s no way this album would make the playlist because it doesn’t coerce me into breaking and burning things.

Greg Pike is on twitter - @GGRPike