(100) Days of Soundtrack: #24 – Matthew Good Band – Last of the Ghetto Astronauts

Matthew Good is a surprising friend for a musician that I was left cold on at first exposure. “Hello Time Bomb,” which now evokes just the perfect moment of about-to-snap, felt sloppy the first time I heard it. Perhaps it still is, and I just understand better. In passing years, that changed. I bought Beautiful Midnight, maybe on a whim, maybe because “Hello Time Bomb” kept lingering. I had one acquaintance, a chat buddy from a lyric guessing room, who was obsessed with Good, which kept me sharp. I started seeing a bit too much of myself in Good’s psychoses and wavering, fragile vocals. I don’t want to be overdramatic, but it’s probable that having Matt Good in my life has eased the pain and kept me around and healthy. But it probably all started with “Radio Bomb.”

I was young and stupid and thought I was in love, and maybe I was, but regardless “Radio Bomb” has always been a love song to me because she was the one who introduced me. It appealed to a youthful rebellion in both of us, the epitome of true partner in crime. “You can be the sleeping cure, and I’ll memorize subversive literature” could still be the definition of my ideal romance. I still can hear her singing about who’ll be Starsky and who’ll be… Hutch. Every damn time. So I suppose it’s entirely possible I heard Last of the Ghetto Astronauts lying sleepily in bed with her, alongside Stars’ Nightsongs, which went from irritatingly twee to irresistible after a week in her small San Francisco apartment. I just don’t remember it at all, just her voice alongside those lyrics. That I come back to hear the album proper now has little to do with these memories, but they’re unavoidable.

Even here, on this first full length, we start off with maybe a more straightforward, urgent bassline than the average Good song, but that voice, those dark explorations of the times when the night comes into our lives, is right at the head of “Alabama Motel Room.” Sure, the music here doesn’t flesh out that paranoia the way it does on Beautiful Midnight, but that’s an unfair comparison… one can absolutely backtrack from those later albums and see the same aspects that make his best work so good. When “Haven’t Slept in Years” insists its title at us, it speaks of one nerve frayed almost to snapping… the chorus brings up the isolation, the insistence of “it’s killing you” speaks to the internal demons. It’s probably best to be approaching the album so late, because it allows me to listen with the rest of the catalog in mind. It’s all here if you look back.

What is harder is imagining a young Canuck in 1995 picking up Last of the Ghetto Astronauts and expecting the potential that came from later work. It’s not remotely obvious that this is a band which would evolve to be a singular voice, but instead it sounds like a good-of-type mid-90s rock band, one that might do another album or two under the radar before quietly splitting without anyone being too worried. As different as “Radio Bomb” feels from other songs in the catalog, tracks like “Native Son” sound like logical co-conspirators. Then there’s “Every Name Is My Name,” which is particularly odd in this context, a calm, almost dreamy spoken word piece. It feels more like new-wave filler than the dark and frantic mood Good is synonymous with. Nothing is bad, but also, nothing shines like those later songs. It’s impressive that this led to those moments. Again, though, the glimmers are more obvious as we move ever forward and look ever deeper. “Vermillion” perhaps bridges the gap to some degree, and “She’s Got a New Disguise,” with better production, feels classic, although it might fit better on a solo album than other “band” albums. This, unfortunately, leaves the album feeling more like an important archive piece than vital listening for the non-fan. In other words, this was totally worth my while, but it is likely not the place for you yourself to start your travels.

One particularly nice part, though? The lengthy “The War is Over” which goes through nearly 8 minutes of movements, back and forth, fast and slow, and yet understands it’s pace entirely. It’s heartening to see a younger Good push that envelope successfully. Even greater is the uncomplicated “Omissions of the Omen,” a “secret” track tacked on about a minute after “War” ends. The real secret isn’t the track itself, though… it’s the sound. “Omissions” is almost an intentional preview of what would come next. It’s moodier, sparser, unreliant on a standard backing band. Secret tracks of this era ranged across the spectrum. Some were goofy humor pieces or vamps of weirdness. Some were brief soundbytes, others over-long and unlistenable drones. Last of the Ghetto Astronauts includes one of the rarest sorts: the serious extra song. Given what I know now, it seems nothing less than revelatory. Early albums can teach us a lot about our where our favorite bands came from. Very few include the codex.