Melvins - 2013 - A Tribute to the Kinks

 

Amphetamine Reptile Records – Scale 138

The Melvins’ tribute to The Kinks begins with “Attitude,” a late-period Ray Davies song that already sounds irritated enough to belong in Buzz Osborne’s hands. The original appeared on Low Budget in 1979, when The Kinks had moved far from the brittle English pop of their earliest records and into louder, heavier American arena rock. The Melvins do not need to excavate a hidden metal song from beneath delicate production. “Attitude” arrives carrying its own clenched jaw.

Buzz strips away Ray Davies’ theatrical social observation and makes the complaint feel more physical. The central riff becomes broader and uglier, with Jared Warren’s bass pushing beneath it while Dale Crover and Coady Willis add the massive rhythmic footprint associated with the Big Business-era Melvins. Clem Burke’s presence adds another unexpected connection to late-1970s rock, linking The Kinks’ arena period, Blondie’s precision, and the Melvins’ habit of turning respectable songcraft into damaged machinery.

The lyric’s repeated accusation survives because Buzz has spent his entire career sounding suspicious of anybody whose posture exceeds their usefulness. “Attitude” becomes less a character sketch than a blunt confrontation. The Melvins do not polish the sarcasm. They repeat it until the word itself starts feeling like something heavy being dropped down a stairwell.

“Victoria” reaches much deeper into The Kinks’ history. Originally released in 1969, it opens Arthur (Or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire), Ray Davies’ ambitious examination of imperial nostalgia, suburban life, war, migration, and the strange comfort people take in national mythology.

The original song sounds jubilant while quietly undermining the empire it appears to celebrate. Its bright guitar, charging rhythm, and shouted name create the feeling of patriotic excitement, but Davies fills the verses with conquest, class, and geographical possession. The anthem keeps smiling while its teeth become visible.

The Melvins are perfectly suited to that contradiction. They preserve the song’s forward drive but replace its crisp British rock attack with fuzz and percussion dense enough to make the empire sound physically unstable. Buzz does not imitate Davies’ clipped delivery. He sings like somebody reading an official proclamation after discovering termites inside the podium.

The enlarged rhythm section turns “Victoria” into a parade whose participants have lost control of the route. Drums pound beneath the familiar melody while Warren’s bass gives the chorus a heavy, rolling foundation. The song remains catchy, but its triumph now carries the sound of masonry beginning to crack.

Pairing “Attitude” and “Victoria” gives the single a useful historical spread. One comes from The Kinks’ muscular late-1970s phase, the other from the elaborate conceptual songwriting of their late-1960s peak. The Melvins flatten neither period into generic fuzz rock. They recognize the riffs, hooks, humor, and concealed hostility already present in Davies’ writing.

The clown artwork and splattered-vinyl format prevent the tribute from behaving like heritage-rock worship. The Kinks have been canonized as clever English observers, but the Melvins return the songs to the garage, where sarcasm, repetition, and one rude guitar sound can still do most of the work.

Victoria keeps ruling. The attitude remains terrible. The empire now has three drummers hammering on its foundations.