Every now and then, I get nostalgic for the early 2000s, in a time before even Myspace, when music used to be very different. Oh sure, there’s still a loud and angry sound out there. Some of them even get on the radio still, but it isn’t like it was when I’d tune into KROQ 106.7 as a kid and notice another loud guitar kicking up. It was an edgy station then, playing music that genuinely wasn’t going to be played elsewhere. Nowadays with the recent shift in management, I feel bad that I don’t stand as much of a risk to find something as aggressive and strange. I may be older and likely to resent it, but I love the idea of knowing the difference between KROQ and Star 98.7, which is honestly very difficult in 2020.
One of those examples can be found in me revisiting The Distillers, who for a brief window looked to be one of the greatest punk bands of their generation. For starters, they had a charismatic lead singer named Brody Dalle/Armstrong, whose towering liberty spikes was only outdone by a voice that sounded like it was scratching its way out of her throat. As an Australian import, they were a singular force that had more urgency than most bands stateside. And, thanks to their brief partnership with Rancid singer/guitarist Tim Armstrong, they had a platform that would pay off nicely. There’s a reason that they went from Hellcat Records to a major label very quickly.
It could be seen as a novelty, but Dalle’s tough girl spirit remains one of the greatest aspects of punk music from that time. She never conformed to any standards. She always sounded like she was drawling through lyrics before yelling with a strange clearness. As a teenage boy who had a few friends in the punk music game, there was an attraction to her that few radio staples of similar build gained at that time. She was dangerous, but most of all she was capable of singing some pretty damn catchy tunes.
Probably the most noteworthy is the first song that made it stateside: “City of Angels.” Because of their Rancid association, they were often compared to them, and… it wasn’t that far off. They seemed strangely perfect for each other, forming a rare tabloid-worthy romance in the punk music genre that even resulted in a scandal when she dumped Armstrong for Queens of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme (Rolling Stone photoshoot and all). She would mature and explore a different sound after this, but for a few years, she was the scrappy young upstart who probably had a switchblade in her leather vest and a flask in her back pocket.
What may be the most incredible part of this story is that The Distillers were a minor phenomenon stateside because of this song about Los Angeles. Much like X, however, they weren’t exactly singing its praise. They were more critical. If you watch the music video, you’ll find that it’s about detectives at a crime scene, trying to understand who murdered an angel. It ends with a chalk outline of an angel, wings and all. Yes, this was a song rich with nihilism and criticism about a city that could easily make or break The Distillers.
Then again, that’s the punk ethos in a nutshell. Your whole job is to push buttons to see how much you can get away with. Given that they were from Australia, there was no need to be overly sentimental. Through some good marketing, they managed to ride that song to success. They were fierce and exactly what the zeitgeist needed at that moment. Though, considering that the traces of rap-rock and nu-metal were still fighting for radio play, it wasn’t THAT surprising that an angry young band could become a minor sensation.
With all due respect, I technically don’t remember much about seeing them live. I was there and they definitely played loud and fast. I guess it was an issue with where I was in the crowd: a significant distance that I’d have to squint to make out the whole stage. As a visual person, a live performance is sometimes lost if I can’t make out faces. The only thing that I do remember about the second show I saw them at, the short-lived Holiday Havoc, was that there were people doing backflips on motorbikes and most of the bands noted that they were performing by a freeway. Also, Finch started their set by having the guitarist drop his guitar angrily.
Still, Dalle was more than The Distillers. She had this rude girl coolness that made their style pop with personality. At the time I was listening to a lot more punk, collecting Punk-O-Rama compilations annually, so that style impressed me more then. With that said, I was more drawn to her interviews, of this person immigrating to America and finding her place quickly in the scene. Much like how you listen to Taylor Swift’s “Folklore” and know what songs were about her exes, you listened to Rancid records and knew exactly which songs were about her (see: “Tropical London”).
To be fair, she wasn’t the trainwreck that you’d expect her to be based on that. She may have had the energy, but she was able to navigate her career with impressive charisma. She could be sarcastic, but deep down she was able to hold her own in the industry. She could play those Los Angeles clubs and liven up a crowd without getting arrested. True many nowadays can achieve that, but the L.A. punk scene of yesteryear left behind a terrible shadow for the genre (see: The Decline of Western Civilization (1988)).
Which brings me back to “City of Angels.” Strangely, the best songs about this city aren’t the positive ones. Most of those who are critical end up having any longstanding resonance. I don’t know what that says about a city that’s on the outskirts of Hollywood and features an eclectic mix of personalities and industries, all collaborating for a spot on that freeway of life. Some romanticize it, but mostly it’s depicted as a cesspool more likely to burn down when corporate greed gets the best of mankind.
It makes sense then why The Distillers took this approach. If anything, “City of Angels” would be a hilarious song about how they went there, made fun of the city, and returned home with their tail between their legs. As the amplifiers start up, the guitars play those opening chords and you feel the drive of someone who’s had it with fighting for a place in the music scene. Dalle is eager to do things her way, and she’s taking this city down with her. When she sings “It’s warmer in hell, so down we go” it’s clear that it comes from years of rejection and bad crowds at her shows. Her voice has a blasé quality to it that sounds like a verbal eye roll. Even the way her voice doesn’t always have a clearness shows how much care she’s lost for compromise.
As she would go on to sing:
So here we are Los Angeles
No angels singing in your valley of unease
I watch the sun roll down the pacific
Over hooked sunset strip
It’s a song packed to the gills with violent images, finding The Distillers fighting their way through this town of animosity. Then again, that’s not the best part of the song. It comes when it finds a way to tie into the chorus, which proudly declares “All I see is dead wings.” For years I thought it was “All I see is dairy,” which works if you ignore most of the other lyrics. Then again, you can’t understand the rudeness anyways, so it kind of works?
Los Angeles, Spanish for “The Angels” is something that’s popped back up recently in the Showtime series Penny Dreadful: City of Angels. Basically, it’s a song that suggests that while this place has a spiritual quality to it, even that is corrupt and cursed. Much like their music video, the dead don’t die and go to heaven. They’re just angels who keep dying over and over in this town. Given that James Dean is rumored to be starring in a movie soon despite being dead for over 60 years, it’s an apt point whose sarcasm couldn’t predict how true it would be.
What makes the song probably greater is that, unlike most smaller punk bands, there was a genuine effort put into the instrumental craft. There were bridges and breakdowns. It was a pop sung peppered with anger. It’s not necessarily pop-punk, but the hooks could mistake you. Underneath any perceived upbeat nature is an anger, a feeling that this land of success wasn’t going to live up to the promises that they read about back home. It’s a sarcastic kiss-off that works so perfectly as a form of nonconformity. And, best of all, the harmonies in the back half are unintentionally beautiful in their layering.
Though, if I’m being honest, it’s just a really good song. I may have never fallen in love with its album (“Sing Sing Death House”), but The Distillers were always a special band. Their other big song from this time, “The Young Crazed Peeling,” was a more sincere ode to Dalle’s youth that is actually kind of sweet. It only added endearing textures to their style and add in that they have a song called “Seneca Falls” about the recently pardoned Susan B. Anthony and you understand how caring deep down Dalle was (another fun fact: this feminist song was on the Tony Hawk Pro Skater 4 game, so I heard it a lot).
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| The Distillers during their reunion in 2018 |
They would have one more album in them, “Coral Fang” in 2003, and I’ve heard again that it’s a great album. Much like before, its single “Drain the Blood” has the perfect level of slurred lyrics that are difficult to interpret without a lyrics sheet. It was more mature, more polished, and yet it still had that anger.
That’s what was great about their brief run. Even if they feel like a footnote while Rancid continues to produce music (so I’ve heard), it’s amazing how much those records exist in my memory, serving as these strange pieces of nostalgia. Even when they were criticizing the county that I grew up in, I couldn’t help but sing along because they had the quality to back up their sentiment. I can’t help but get into it every time the song starts up. In a different world, they would have a half-dozen hit records. Instead, Dalle moved onto other projects including Spinnerette. To that, I say: good for her.
For me, it’s strange to call The Distillers obscure because I’m aware of what obscure technically means. Obscure is bands like The Falling Idols whose albums aren’t in circulation or have much name recognition. The Distillers at least have memorable photoshoots and stories. They’ve played big concerts. I know. I’ve been there. They were on the radio. And yet, in a time where the sound has shifted to more of a folk-rock aesthetic, it feels bizarre that they ever were “radio-friendly.” They were never the radio’s friends. They just got lucky.
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