by Brian Krasman
California sludge masters 16 have had their share of problems. Substance abuse, rehab, revolving lineups, jail, dissolution. It’s metal. Not exactly an easy, or altogether healthy, lifestyle. Nonetheless, after a several-year dormant period, the fellows reunited in 2007, signed with Relapse, and produced 2009’s gristly and awesome “Bridges to Burn.”
So now that 16 breathes again, it seems only fitting to revisit the work that established 16’s stellar reputation, namely their first two albums “Curves That Kick” and “Drop Out,” both of which have been reissued with new cover art and digitally remastered sound. It was never easy getting one’s hands on these things, so with Relapse’s help, no one has to go through dusty bins in your local record shop anymore (well, unless they haven’t toweled off the “new release” shelf in a while).
“Curves That Kick” followed a couple of introductory EPs and was released on artist Pushead’s label Bacteria Sour in 1993. It’s an odd album, and very reminiscent of that early ’90s roughed-edge rock sound that was perfectly crafted for more metal-centric college radio playlists. There’s equal amount tongue-in-cheek humor (“Grandpa’s Chair” is kind of gross and will make anyone rethink any upcoming grilling plans, while “Mr. Mouse” and “Joe the Cat” are just weird) as well as bruising seriousness (the title track is punchy, yet gazey, with frontman Cris Jerue sounding a bit like an unglued Page Hamilton, and “Hate” packs stoner vibes into the sludge). It’s a very promising start for 16 that had to have folks at the time wondering what these guys would dream up next.
Turns out that would be “Drop Out,” released in 1996 on Theologian after sitting around for a couple of years, which showed a very serious, almost unsettling emotional downward spiral. Jerue barks simple one-word phrases in many places, the riffing grows thrashier and smokier, and the content is far less easygoing than their debut. “Trigger Happy” needs no explanation, and the attitude of self-destruction floods from there on “Fucked for Life,” a shorter, more hardcore-laced track where Jerue spits, “Jesus doesn’t save anybody,” and eerie, teetering-on-the-verge-of-collapse “16,” where the words are mumbled, threatening and hopeless, ending with the realization that “black tarry substance,” “cannabis, the devil’s weed” and even copious amount of drink “never helps.” It would be even sadder if the 16 story didn’t have a happy continuation.
Of course, it goes without saying the sound on both albums is far more crisp, though the production never cuts out the purposely muddier moments or the emotional torment. It feels like its era, which is a compliment, but will sound far better when converting it to your iPod or various MP3 machines. If anything, it lets a new generation of fans in on a band that faced its battles head on, didn’t always win, but came out no worse for the wear years later.
