[The New Classics is a reoccurring segment in which we examine our favorite indie releases that are bound to replace our parent’s “classic rock” stash hidden in the attic or the basement. These aren’t reviews, these are uneditied testimonies and opinions about why we love what we love. Can we get a witness?]

Artist: Boris
Album:Pink
Released: 2005
Label: K Records

Words by Rick Moslen

I normally wouldn’t bombard Draw Us Lines readers with stoner metal inspired sludge bands. OK, OK, I’ll admit, I may be that road trip friend who tortures travel companions with a few minutes of doom metal from my ole’ pod (in fairness, I’ll gladly throw in some surprise Beyonce too). No worries—Pink isn’t of the “sludge” type (not that there’s anything wrong with that). It’s everything dangerous about almost every incarnation of loud American rock n’ roll the past thirty years adorned in a pretty pink package. Yes…the color pink…let’s start there.

Boris / Farewell
Boris / Electric
Boris / Pseudo-Bread
Boris / My Machine

The color Pink

Japanese cherry blossoms in full bloom, old-lady Flamingo lawn decorations, the thousands of lights illuminating Hong Kong’s seedy red light district, and the color of McDonalds Happy Meal toys for girls all have one thing in common: well, they’re all pink! It’s the loudest, (occasionally) most annoying, yet oddly attractive color in the spectrum. The color also holds several dark connotations: Nazi shitheads donned pink triangles on accused homosexuals before gassing them; thousands of Americans greet unemployment with something called a pink slip; and dudes sometimes spot crazy pink elephants after chugging some Delirium…ok, that one doesn’t sound too bad. My point is that pink, the loudest color in the spectrum, remains a perfectly diverse shade to represent one of the loudest bands in the world: Boris.

The band Boris

Not to change the subject, but isn’t it appropriate to think of musicians as engineers? Think about it: musicians hone in on a specific skill by acquiring knowledge. They then apply said knowledge to fulfill a specific task; they design the product (the song—often with friends…I mean…colleagues…in a leaky, piss-smelling basement…I mean…laboratory), and complete the product with hopes of improving the lives of others, if only for a few minutes. If this analogy rains even remotely true, then Boris mimics that nauseatingly brilliant 4.0 PhD student who succeeds at everything and still has time to screw that hot girl or dude you brought to the bar. With over fifteen full-lengths released (I dare you to find them all), this thunderous Tokyo-based three piece know their shit. Every Boris release satisfies a different musical craving—especially the band’s most accessible: Pink.

The album Pink

Pink fucks with almost every spectrum of rock n’ roll. There’s metal (“Pink”), punk rock (“Woman on the Screen”), sludgy psychedelia (“Blackout”), Zepplinesque jams (“Electric”), Cocteau Twins-inspired atmospherics (“My Machine”), melodic noise (“Pseudo-Bread”), and album opener, “Farewell,” which sounds like a Japanese Mudhoney playing a Sigur Ros song with My Bloody Valentine’s music gear. “Just Abandoned Myself” mixes pretty much all of these styles into eighteen minutes of ear-bleeding intensity. Call it their “American album”—everyone else did. Funny though…as Pink only reminds me of Japan.

The country of Japan

I was lucky enough to venture through Japan in 2007. It was a perfect week: karaoke rooms substituting as hotel rooms, manga cafes substituting as hotel rooms, temple exploring, baseball games, soccer games, Gozilla statues, bullet trains, geisha-hunting with friends; not to mention dozens of music stores and the interacting with the friendliest people ever—holy shit, do I miss traveling! Tons of music, and more importantly, tons of humbling memories left Japan with me.

The dread of returning to a country where the top news story was Paris Hilton’s possible jail sentence weighed me down, but luckily, a copy of Pink bought at a small record store in Tokyo accompanied my trip home. Sure I knew the CD was readily available in the US, and sure it cost a hefty $30 (everything’s wicked expensive in Tokyo…everything), but I dug the hot-pink Japanese album cover more than the softened-pink American version, so cost justified! It became the soundtrack to my sad return home—and I owe Boris for that.

The conclusion

To bring my series of random thoughts to a close, after watching weeks of nightmarish footage concerning tsunamis, earthquakes, rising death tolls, radioactive evacuations, and innocent people suffering, I can’t help but listen to this album and fall further in love with the country. Music means different things to different people; musicians—ahem—engineers understand this, so even though Pink acts as Boris’ gift to American rock n’ roll, I really can’t identify, as I’m more than grateful for the personal memories it stirs within. Tear-jerking sentimentality towards an album that sounds like the music’s trying to beat the shit out of you as you listen may sound ridiculous to some, but remember what I said earlier about the color pink…yes…it’s a ridiculous color.

If that Mayan calendar holds any merit, be sure you’re jamming this album in your basement as the world comes to an end next year.

Filed under: New Classics, Not Blake, Jim, or Brendan