Yikes. Wow. It’s been a month since I had the time to update. Here’s a stopgap post until I can get some new stuff together — a look back into the ECR archives, for sale to bring to light something I dug years ago that I recently re-heard.
In my ongoing discography jaunts, I just did the complete works of Unwound. I caught onto them rather late in the game, and only had the privilege to catch them live twice before they broke up at the beginning of the 21st century. Over the course of my Unwound listening, I was reminded that I had equally been, at the time, heavily jazzed on a local group called The Fauves, who only produced a single album in the brief time they were together in the ’99-’01(?) era.
The album, “Raw Heart Sound” is an incredible document; it has the earmarks of a rough-’n-tumble get-it-all-in-the-first-take debut, but it also shows signs of maturity that befits a veteran touring outfit’s fourth or fifth album at the same time. Remarkable.
Below is what I wrote about “Raw Heart Sound” about 5 years back, on my original MP3 blog Post-Punk Junk (which was then re-posted here on ECR a few years later.)
The Fauves rocked my fucking world, and it’s a terrible shame that few have known their sound. They were an unholy mixture of Unwound and Radiohead, and had they stayed together, they just might’ve taken over the world.
They were three teens from Glendora, a suburb of Pasadena, CA, and “Raw Heart Sound”, originally on Redwood Records (now defunct…?), was their only release I know of. I saw them play just once at The Smell, the long-standing all-ages Los Angeles club (where I took the above picture), and as their unusually long set morphed and twisted and turned — I swear, tears formed in my eyes. I was witnessing something huge and special, corny as that sounds, and little did I know that it’d end for The Fauves before it truly began.
They broke up, I assume, for the usual teenage reasons: college, or some silly fight, or disinterest. Who knows? After the gig of theirs I saw in December of 2000, I approached the drummer (whom I also had a huge crush on), and asked him if they’d recorded anything yet. He said he’d mail me a cassette of what they’d done up to that point, and weeks later, there it was sitting in my mailbox. I stuck it in my car and promptly forgot about it, until a solitary road trip from L.A. to Monterey to visit a friend months later. The tape of what was to become “Raw Heart Sound” inadvertently made it into the car stereo at the start of my drive back home — and managed to stay in, repeating from side A to B and back again in a 40-minute loop, for almost the entire five-hour ride. I was transfixed, locked into a harmonious nirvana with these three Glendorians. Funny enough, as soon as I grew into this massive never-ending appreciation for The Fauves, they all disappeared from the scene. They stopped playing shows, they stopped going to shows as spectators at The Smell and other points similar, and their album came out and passed through the world unnoticed. I never got the proper chance to thank them. Hopefully, one of them well eventually stumble across ECR and smile.