Released July 28, 2005,
on Warner Music.
Let’s get one thing straight: the problem with Buck 65 was never his move towards rock. Truth be told, even back when he proudly claimed his hip-hop roots and named his label after the four elements of hip-hop, his music appealed mainly to white North American kids who had grown up on indie pop as much as rap. Hip-hop purists, those idiots, tended to look down their noses at the Canadian – on the rare occasions they’d even heard of him.
No, the real problem with Buck 65 was that he’d botched his transition to rock. Talkin’ Honky Blues, the album that brought him into the spotlight, was a misfire rather than a crowning achievement. And this year, the release of This Right Here Is only reinforced the feeling that he’d run out of steam. A compilation after eighteen months of silence is never a good sign. And when the tracks chosen aren’t even the most outstanding ones, and the gloriously filthy lyrics of “The Centaur” have been replaced by more politically correct alternatives (when, frankly, that cult classic owes far more to its words than to its bombastic music), there’s enough to make you despair.
But then, this summer, Secret House Against The World came out.
And Secret House Against The World is magnificent.
On this album, Buck 65 doesn’t turn his back on his rock direction. Instead, he builds on it, refines it and takes it to its logical conclusion, sweeping away the ugliness that marred its predecessor in the process. There’s a wealth of instrumentation here, but the pointless excesses of Talkin’ Honky Blues – the clumsy harpsichord flourishes, the guitar solos – are gone. The same goes for Buck 65’s flow: less tedious and monotonous, no longer so awkwardly at odds with the richness of the arrangements. Taking his approach to its logical extreme, the Canadian even goes so far as to sing (“Devil’s Eyes” appears in both English and French versions), while twice indulging in some gloriously heavy-handed rock ’n’ roll (“Kennedy Killed The Hat”, “Blanc-Bec”). As for the lyrics, they once again showcase his gifts as a storyteller and a master at conjuring atmosphere.
Buck 65 is more rock than ever. But this time, the transition is complete, the transformation accomplished, and the music is superb. With help from the right people – namely Tortoise’s John McEntire, John Herndon and Douglas McCombs, along with his fellow Canadian Gonzales – he has finally mastered the form. Traces of hip-hop remain: there are scratches, courtesy of none other than the great D-Styles. But now they fit seamlessly into something older, more timeless, almost elemental.
Secret House Against The World is the culmination we’d been hoping for – and then some. More comfortable than ever in his role as a brilliantly inventive jack-of-all-trades, Buck 65 can turn his hand to country (“Rough House Blues”) or embark on a bilingual French-English freak-out driven by Captain Beefheart-style percussion (“Le 65isme”). Just as easily, he can move you with the beautiful “Devil’s Eyes”, the strings-and-scratches of “Surrender To Strangeness”, “Corrugated Tin Façade”, “Blood Of A Young Wolf”, or “The Suffering Machine”. In an intimate, confessional register, the Canadian finds just the right instruments – acoustic guitar, pedal steel, sometimes strings – to accompany his tales of men adrift. And let’s not forget “The Floor”, a tribute to a battered mother, set to Erik Satie-like piano music, with a banjo joining Serge Gainsbourg-inspired strings towards the end.
You have to listen to all this to realise that, damn it, he’s finally pulled it off. It’s almost too good to be true. I could practically cry: I’ve got my Buck 65 back. He’s come home – even if that home is secret and set against the world – wearing a new set of clothes, but with his talent intact. This new record belongs right alongside everything the Canadian released before Talkin’ Honky Blues: among the best albums of the year.
