The Hitmen

The Hitmen dropped two albums into the inky well of obscurity before being swallowed up by consumer and label apathy. Their first (Aim for the Feet) is a pretty pedestrian affair (get it? feet? pedestrian?) – okay songs, terrible production – but their second, Torn Together, produced by veteran Rhett Davies (Roxy Music, Icehouse, Talking Heads (okay, he was “just” an engineer for them, but he did work on Remain in Light!)), is a masterpiece. It is one of my top 10 vinyl albums that were never rereleased on CD (along with other such wrongfully ignored treats as the wonderful Trees album Sleep Convention and Tom Tom Club’s mysteriously deleted second album, Close to the Bone). Bates Motel is the lead-off track, and sets the mood for the album perfectly. A little rain, the echo of a siren, a spooky horrorshow organ creeping up your spine, and then the band kicks in. Vocalist Ben Watkins drags out a somewhat dated, croaky David Bowie voice for the atmospheric lyrics which blur the line between fantasy, reality, obsession and the filmed portrayal of both

After the explosion, the song settles down and drifts away, still menacing, like a thunderhead that’s passed overhead and is off to terrorize another town. It’s a stunningly sophisticated piece of music, with many layers of meaning, both lyrical and musical, and a wondrous arrangement that mixes raw walls of murky noise with delicate touches of metal frosting. An absolute knockout. And written by the drummer (for whatever that’s worth).

Bates Motel is hands down the best thing on Torn Together, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the album sucks. Far from it. Side one, in particular, is very strong all the way through, including standouts like Picking Up the Pulse and Score It Blue. Side two starts off strong with the one-two punch of Hard Heartbeat and Don’t Speak With the Enemy, but then peters out until it finally collapses under the ornate weight and overproduction of the lugubrious Comfort Me.

Of course, my love of the Hitmen was received with the same kind of lukewarm response among my friends that my musical passions always received. A vague, “oh, yeah, um, interesting” as they smiled patronizingly in that “don’t-make-any-sudden-moves” way and turned back to their Eagles or Kris Kristofferson or Grease soundtrack. And, as usual, I was the weirdo, because apparently nobody else thought they were at all interesting and they have drifted completely off the map.

But, there is a happy ending of sorts for them. After The Hitmen disappeared into the murky waters of obscurity, one of their founding members, Ben Watkins, retooled himself for the new music scene and came out with a bushel of enticing dance tracks under the rubric Juno Reactor (which has to rank as one of the more remarkable musical reinventions in recent history, in fact, so different are their sounds that I was ready to assume that it was a different Ben Watkins, until I noticed former Hitmen guitarist Pete Glenister making a guest appearance on one of their albums). Juno Reactor is my kind of dance outfit. The tracks are lushly produced and have a vague science friction to them that gives them a futuristic edge – so much so that they were tapped to provide some of the music for a couple of the Matrix films . They embrace that which most dance outfits avoid – emotional drama. Their melodramatic soundtracks may be a bit over the top at times, but you can’t fault them for being too cool and detached. This is sweaty, fiery rave music to whip the savage id into a foamy frenzy.

But, I digress.

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