The Make-Up: Save Yourself

Make-Up try preaching to the unconverted

The gospel according to Ian

When I saw the Make-Up one sweltering summer evening in a neighbor's living room, the show climaxed well before the first note was played. Frontman Ian Svenonius chanted nonsense and deep-throated his microphone like Jenna Jameson on John Holmes. He kissed crowd members like JFK kissed babies. And finally, he led the Washington D.C. quartet in a rendition of "Wade in the Water" that would have had Mahalia Jackson stirring in the choir loft. I was so charmed by the band members' mod hairdos, however, that I almost forgot to listen to the rest of the set. To a frustrating degree, pomp commandeered and silenced a very apparent talent. I walked away from the show wowed, but determined never to buy a Make-Up album.

My experience, I would later discover, was not unique. The Make-Up has served hard time as one of indie rock's most heralded concert bands, their potential for entertainment allegedly much greater than their actual musicianship. Save Yourself, the Make-Up's new album, challenges the legitimacy of this claim. With nine potent tracks, it retraces and retracts the steps that the band took to earn their notorious reputation.

This is not to say that the band shirks its long-standing commitment to performance. Svenonius still soulfully delivers each song like a Sunday sermon. When he croons lines such as "I lost my feelings in my lips/I lost the feelings in my finger tips/and baby if you've got any feelings/hold me in your child-bearing hips," you cannot help but double-check your hymnals. Unlike previous efforts, however, on Save Yourself, the band buttresses Svenonius' playfully preachy vocal style with a tighter, more inwardly-driven sound. They approach each individual performance/song with a tuneful conviction and competency to match Sven-onius' swagger. The sort of independence that the band declares from Svenonius fuels the success of Save Yourself.

Evidence of this independence is the degree to which the album eludes genre: a cross-section reveals a strange combination of '60s bubblegum pop, '70s psychedelic rock, and quirky dance beats a la labelmates Dub Narcotic Sound System. Although bizarre, the swirling acoustic guitars of "Call Me Mommy" nonetheless give way to the throbbing piano/bass line of "The Prophet" as if there have never been two more obvious bedfellows. The band is never servant to Svenonius' charm, a tendency that beleaguered previous Make-Up endeavors. Band and singer blaze their own trails, only reconvening at the point when dysfunction seems most probable.

The album is certainly not without the novelty and camp that has become synonymous with the Make-Up. When, for example, on "I Am Pentagon," Svenonius reels off a list of his favorite polygons, the song falls flat without the accompanying image of bassist Michelle Mae in her kitschy-cool mohair suit. For the most part, though, the band's newfound authority elicits a level of creativity and versatility that al-lows Save Yourself to succeed without visual aids.

Many rock critics have become grotesquely fixated on categorizing the Make-Up's music. Save Yourself only makes this task more futile. "Ya-Ya Gospel" and "Gospel-Punk" don't even begin to describe the diversity of sounds with which the new album bombards the listener. Save Yourself is simply a performance unto itself. But I have a feeling that it still adapts quite nicely to the stage. (K)

—Thomas Kane

Back to A&E...