Album: House of Pain, House of Pain (Fine Malt Lyrics), 1992
Best Track: "Jump Around"
Lasting Memory: Before yesterday, the last time I listened to House of Pain's debut album was in the winter of 1994. I very vividly recall having this in the in-dash cassette player of my 1984 Suburu hatchback while driving home from my swing shift (3 pm to midnight) at the paper factory in Radford. Interstate 81 -- fairly mountainous in the stretch between Radford and Blacksburg -- was starting to ice over because even though the air temperature was something like minus-4 Fahrenheit, it was raining. Instead of thinking, "How am I going to get off this highway alive?" all I could think was "Why did I steal this tape from brother?! This suuuuucks!!!"
Fourteen years of perspective later, and from a safe and temperate perch in my home office, I can confirm that House of Pain (Fine Malt Lyrics) is a truly terrible album. I can also disclose that I took the tape from James without asking because I really, really liked the song "Jump Around." I still like it, and I make no apologies.
How I did manage to get home without incident that one night, I'll never know.
Even back when the band was new, it should have been easy to tell that House of Pain would be less than good because their whole act was a lame gimmick from the words "Erin go bragh." Any hope that the gimmick of an Irish American rap group would pay off died with the release of the second single from House of Pain, "Top O' The Morning To Ya'"
She won't come, just when you want it
Ya see, I'm Irish, but I'm not a leprechaun
You wanna fight, then step up and we'll get it on
You gotta right to the grill, I'm white and I ill
A descendant of Dublin with titanic skill
I ducked and I swing, next thing your jaw's broken
Punk I ain't jokin', you can bet you'll be chokin'
On a fist full a nothin', meanwhile I'll be puffin'
On a fat blunt, run punk, you don't know the half
Tryin' to talk shit, man, please don't make me laugh
These Irish eyes are smilin', I'm buckwildin'
The House Of Pain is pumpin', start jumpin'
Freak it, funk it, back seat junk it
If you can't get with it, you'll wind up sweatin' it
Then you'll get a beatin' just like an egg
It's so hard to run when you've got a broken leg
But we can have a run off, the House Of Pain'll come off
We got the cake that you're tryin' to get a crumb off
The Irish stylee, the Celtic jazz
No one has it, just us that's it
If you try to take it, I got a big shillelagh
I don't have dreads cause I shave my head daily
You call me a skin head, I call you a pin head
Yo, where you been man, just like the tin man
You got no heart, here comes the good part
I pick 'em, buck 'em, cut 'em up, and buck them down
No fuckin' around
Home boy ya get clown like Krusty, trust me
You shouldn't play, and by the way
Top o' the mornin' to ya
[Chorus]
(What's the hassle man?) Top o' the mornin' to ya [2x]
(Hey, are you givin' us a hassle man?)
And then it gets stupid.
If you're going to do shtick in addition to playing and singing, you either have have to be damned good at it, or so committed that the irony could be missed while the product is enjoyed. House of Pain was neither, although lead MC Everlast managed to rehabilitate himself somewhat by changing genres.
I suppose that what I'm getting at is that just about everybody enjoys a good novelty song every now and then, but the act gets stale very quickly.
Up Next: Hüsker Dü, The Living End, 1994
No comments:
Post a Comment