Perennial in a way few albums are, Spirit Caravan‘s Jug Fulla Sun was first issued by Tolotta Records in 1999. The same label, owned by Fugazi‘s Joe Lally, had released the debut 7″ from Shine in 1997, which was the band that would become Spirit Caravan — guitarist/vocalist Scott “Wino” Weinrich, bassist Dave Sherman and drummer Gary Isom. Shine came together after Weinrich‘s time in The Obsessed ended following 1994’s The Church Within, and while of course there were carryover elements in tone and songwriting approach, Jug Fulla Sun retains an identity of its own because of the players involved and because of the spirit of the material itself.

Did ever a Maryland doom rhythm section sound so sleek as Isom and Sherman on do here on “Cosmic Artifact?” And “Powertime,” just a couple tracks later, is the quintessential MD doom riff, with the kind of crunch one could hear not only from The Obsessed, but also in acts like Iron Man, Unorthodox, Internal Void, and so on. 22 years after the fact, there are still bands doing that thing. What continues to separate Spirit Caravan from the bunch is the worship-worthy tone captured in the recording by Chris Kozlowski and the warmth of the album overall.

Someone asks you the difference between doom and heavy rock. You could put on The Obsessed and Spirit Caravan to illustrate it. There are times where the line is fine, but even in “Courage” or the biker-rock-chugging “Chaw,” there’s a bounce to Spirit Caravan‘s groove that is, for me at least, pivotal in making Jug Fulla Sun the classic it is. And even the title is a positive image. A jug full of sun. Well, there are storms on the sun sometimes and yes, it’s a giant ball of turbulent atomic reaction that one day will swell to such a size as to obliterate the earth, but it’s also the reason there’s any life in this planetary system at all. And the jug is full. It’s not half-full, or half-empty. It’s a spirit of positivity, and even “Melancholy Grey” picks up its tempo in its second half to get on board.

There are examples more through the earlier tracks than later, perhaps, but in looking to the lyrics for an example of Jug Fulla Sun‘s overarching point of view and what makes it so special, the title-cut might say it best:

Say, hey! How you feelin’ now?
Have you come alive?
The golden rays of day will be clearin’ out
All your poison jive
It won’t be long before we’re all put to the test
To praise with song
Creation’s life we’re blessed

It’s not about blinding yourself to reality, but being willing to change the shape of the reality you see. “Dead Love/Jug Fulla Sun,” at eight minutes, is the longest inclusion on Spirit Caravan‘s first LP, with a mellower unfolding in its initial stretch that leads to dead-on roll in the verses and the opening to that chorus above, singularly memorable as it is, and it’s followed by “Fang,” the chug and howl of which is immediately more severe, and which brings Sherman to the fore on vocals. “Prince of evil — that’s right” atop pure Sabbath lumbering, loyal to that first chug and plodding despite an ultimately middling pace.

“Fang” is the centerpiece of the CD, with six songs on either side, and a standout in marking a turning point to the second half of the record, with “Chaw” picking up instrumentally as a kind of intro to the rest of what follows, quick at just two minutes long, but “Melancholy Grey” answers with a moodier first half and it’s not until the solo section near the end that it seems to come out of it. That’s still in time for “Sea Legs” to answer the bikerism of “Chaw” in its lyrics — that is to say, in actually be about riding; “I’ve got a two-wheeled sled of molten chrome/A well done iguana and a real heavy gnome,” etc., the iguana and gnome being references by Wino to Isom and Sherman, respectively — and for the punker blast of “Kill Ugly Naked,” originally by The Obsessed.

That song dates back at least to The Obsessed‘s 1985 demo, but is a fit nonetheless with what surrounds owing to the richness of its tonality. By the time it gives way to the penultimate “Lost Sun Dance,” that richness becomes lush and methodically grooved, a highlight buried down near the end of the 13-track progression, but welcome just the same ahead of the acoustic intro to “No Hope Goat Farm,” which continues to flesh out layered in among the familiar fuzz in the otherwise unassuming, leave-’em-wanting-more finish, backed by a few seconds of silence not unlike those that preceded the entry of “Healing Tongue” back at the outset.

At 54 minutes, it’s fair to call Jug Fulla Sun a relic of the CD era. When Exile on Mainstream did a 15th anniversary vinyl issue in 2014, it was three-sided, so yeah. But, in light of the fact that this, the subsequent 1999 Dreamwheel EP (discussed here), 2001’s Elusive Truth and the 2002 So Mortal Be single were all the band put out in their time — MeteorCity‘s 2003 compilation, The Last Embrace, put it all together nicely — I’m more inclined to be grateful that the disc is packed than I am to think of it as a slog. The quality of the material helps there too.

Spirit Caravan were briefly revived in the middle of the last decade and I was fortunate enough to see them in 2015. That lineup, with Weinrich, Sherman and drummer Brian Costantino, would rebrand as The Obsessed for a time before bringing in bassist Reid Raley in place of Sherman, who by then was fronting Weed is Weed in addition to Earthride and who last year made a right on debut with Galactic Cross‘ self-titled LP (review here). The Obsessed, meanwhile, released Sacred (review here) on Relapse in 2017, and have continued to tour regularly, up to and including the co-headlining dates with The Skull that were announced yesterday. How’s that for timing?

Maybe their unsustainability is part of what makes Spirit Caravan so special, among the Wino oeuvre and otherwise. It’s a hard universe to live in and hard not to feel beaten down by it, but every now and again, the jug feels full.

This is must-have summer listening for me. As always, I hope you enjoy.

Thanks for reading.

—

I was done with this week by Tuesday. Not in terms of productivity — it’s Friday morning and I’m still writing — but emotionally, existentially done. The rest of it has been little more than slog through mediocre Crock Pot chicken leftovers and do-what-you-can parenting. We got two afternoon naps this week, which was something, though it only emphasized how much The Pecan is still healing. Still mostly in the boot. The orthopedist said on Monday to ween him off over the course of this week, so that’s what we’ve been doing. Still on for school, speech, etc.

Stress. The Patient Mrs. bought some THC gummies. They have sugar in them so I won’t have any, but I do feel like I’m missing out in that. Xanax instead isn’t exactly slumming it, when I feel the need. Yesterday, for example.

Laundry to do.

I don’t know what’s up for this weekend. I’m keeping it in the back of my head to maybe go to Connecticut tomorrow to see The Patient Mrs.’ family and come back in the afternoon to be here for Sunday morning, but honestly I’m so beat that all I really want to do is go to bed. Doing that won’t eat up the day in the same way, and it’ll never happen, but ideally I’d be in bed for like a week or 10 and then at some point emerge a new person. Probably with atrophied legs, but all the spirit in the world.

The Patient Mrs. and I were on the couch the other day and I had a good eating disorder joke. The Pecan was holding in his poop, had been for days, because he doesn’t want to go in his diaper but is still to scared to drop it in the toilet (we’ll get there, but we’re not there yet). Of course he was wailing about it, because that kind of thing gets uncomfortable after a while — like five minutes — and I said to her, “I never would’ve thought that bulimia wouldn’t be the most dramatic thing about shit in my life.” She laughed. It was probably my best line of the week.

He had a decent morning this morning before we sent him off to school. Hopefully he gives them an easy time there as well. Everyone’s tired.

Raising a kid is easily the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I worked hard at jobs, from retail through magazines through corporate. But this is a different level of investment in purpose. It’s everything. It’s up, it’s down, it’s all around in between, and you feel all of it. There’s no way to disconnect, to shut down the computer and go home. Work/life balance? Fuck you. Most days I get about 45 minutes a day watching Star Trek and even after that I usually run the dishwasher before going to bed so I can empty it in the morning. And the kid is not easy. He’s just not. This morning was like a gift. He’s been fighting me on everything. As soon as The Patient Mrs. comes in the room, he’s up her ass and any attempt to get him to do anything is countered by “mommy do it” or “daddy leave.” He won’t even sit on the toilet for me. I’m in the next room telling him good job while the two of them are in there sharing M&Ms. My experience as a father in a nutshell, or at very least a candy one that, contrary to marketing, indeed melts in your hands.

It’s been a rough few weeks. Months. I don’t see it getting easier anytime soon. I look at my nephews, who are 13, 10 and nine, and I know it’s only going to be harder. To think there will come a time when I’ll look back on his fractured skull and his broken leg and be like, “Ah, simpler days.” And at the end of it, what? Me dead? I don’t get it.

Absolute best case scenario for me as a parent is that I’m still the source of his emotional baggage for his entire life. That’s just a result of my own infertility, let alone anything I might actually have control over, like teaching him how to cope with or express emotions, which, frankly, he might as well go live in the woods and try to learn from the squirrels. More likely, I’m someone’s asshole dad. He’ll go and tell stories about his crazy shithead father and blow me off and that’ll be my life and that’s what I get because somewhere in me is some trauma and self-loathing that I’ve never gotten past and I’m accordingly a broken wreck of a person. Failure is the best I can do.

Then I do this shit on top of that, and for what exactly?

So yes, if you’d like to invest in my sugar-free cannabis edibles company, hit me up.

Maybe I could make weed-infused nut-butter while I’m at it.

On the other side of things, I heard four records this week — Delving, Lammping, Judas Knife and one I can’t talk about yet — that will be on my year-end list, and since “does music still sound good?” is my metric for life being worthwhile, I guess it must still be.

And I’m going to review the Colour Haze Los Sounds de Krauts reissue on Monday as an act of self-care. Sometimes you need that.

New Gimme show today at 5PM. Takk for listening if you do. https://gimmemetal.com

You go ahead and have yourself a great and safe weekend. Thanks for letting me rant. Have fun, watch your head, hydrate, enjoy the weather if it’s nice.

And thanks too if you’ve bought or are planning to buy Obelisk merch. That shit helps me keep my head up, for real. Validation beyond the couple bucks per item. So thanks.

FRM.

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Tags: Hankenstein Records, Maryland doom, Spirit Caravan, Spirit Caravan Jug Fulla Sun, Tolotta Records

This entry was posted on Friday, June 11th, 2021 at 10:54 am and is filed under Bootleg Theater. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.