Green

Jeff Lescher, a singer-songwriter from Chicago, formed the band Green. Their self-titled EP (for Gang Green), released in 1984—and in particular the choruses of Gotta Getta Record Out and Better Way—led them to be considered among the many “clones” of Merseybeat and garage rock.

Their first album, Green (Gang Green, 1986), came out only two years later: the sound had lost none of its beat freshness; in fact, it had absorbed the vocal harmonies of the Hollies (She's Not A Little Girl), the instrumental bacchanals of the Rolling Stones (I Play The Records), Buddy Holly’s fluttering charm (Baby Why), ska touches (If You Love Me), and soul accents (I Don't Wanna Say No). Ranging across a vast musical landscape—from the sparkling rhythm of Technology to the desperate drive of Better Way, from the hushed serenade of For You to the twisted garage-rock of Hurt You, up to the breathless rock and roll of Big In Japan—the Green offered a hyperbolic and spectacular revival, but never self-congratulatory.
The centrality of the lyrics, intimately integrated with the music, controlled and exorcised the latent barbarity in the sound, channeling it into gestures of moving and devastating engagement with the stories of their community of the cursed and the survivors, in a manner similar to what Paul Westerberg was doing with the Replacements. What stands out in Lescher is the extraordinary compositional maturity, which already allowed him to rival the most celebrated songwriters of the 1950s and ’60s.

Lescher matured as an arranger on the next album, Elaine MacKenzie (Pravda, 1987). On tracks like Up All Night, a boogie sung in a lascivious falsetto, or My Love's On Fire, a frenzied gospel shouted like a Sioux on a warpath, the influence of Black music is significant. But the most epic numbers are dominated by the old garage civilization, inspiring a fervent anthem like Youth In Asia and a anguished lament like Can't Seem To Get It Thru My Head. Vocal harmonies, guitar jangles, and the playful cadences of the ’60s animate She's An Addiction and Fingerprints. Teenage vignettes like Saturday Afternoon borrow musical gestures from the Kinks and the Hollies, and Radio Caroline even echoes the Beach Boys. Lescher wins over the hearts of his fans with the tender She Was My Girl and the heartfelt whisper of I Know I Know, crowning these tiptoe confessions in an album that is moving from start to finish.
In addition to writing textbook songs, Lescher proves himself a masterful singer, one of the great virtuosos of male vocals, capable of bending his voice to extreme tones—from the rough screams of garage rock to the tender baritone of serenades. By his side, the contribution of bassist Ken Kurson is not negligible.

The next album, White Soul (Megadisc, 1989) (Widely Distributed, 1991), is a themed record that leverages the group’s ultimate maturity by focusing on a single format: the “serenade.” The result is a spectacular parade of romantic songs employing vigorous power-pop harmonies and unrestrained Tom Petty-style solos (She's Heaven), when not biting rock and roll (My Sister Jane) or brash boogie (I Don't Even Need Her), perhaps reaching an emotional peak with Give Me Your Hands, propelled to garage frenzy. In some tracks, the group imitates the sly Beatles (Monique, Monique); in others, it rivals the most lascivious Stones (I'm In Love With You); and while some recall the most intricate and baroque Prince (I Know), others display an entirely original and imaginative acoustic style (I Love Her). The songwriting is as touching as it is compelling: rarely has sentimental melody been able to compress such strong emotions into a chorus.

After further refining their productions on the six-song EP Bittersweet (Megadisc, 1991), especially in the intricate soul of the title track, the Green (without Kurson, who had joined the Lilacs) recorded Pop Tarts (Futurist, 1992), continuing the metamorphosis with some of their best melodies, particularly Hear What You Want To Hear (the most carefree Merseybeat) and Skirt Chaser (the most naive pop). Dominating, however, is a strange hard rock, sung in deliberately “wrong” registers: Long Distance Telephone is a demonic falsetto wail (over filthy New York Dolls-style rock and roll), Hot Lava Love is screamed at the top of the lungs (over a no less fierce rave-up), BITCH is a crude “Rocky Horror” choral (over a Meat Loaf-style boogie), and the worst chaos, Tough Cram Judy, is a tangle of awkward screams (over a Sabbath-like cadence). These frenzied and perverse rituals seemed to herald a new career for the Green. The EP Pathetique (Widely Distributed, 1994), however, marked the end of one of the most underrated bands of all time.

Lescher teamed up with Janet Bean (Eleventh Dream Day and Freakwater) to record the enchanting Jesus Built A Ship To Sing A Song To (Kokopop, 1994), an album as simple as it is brilliant in its simplicity. The duo touches on gospel in the heartfelt Brand New Heartache and Return Of The Grevious Angel, while in duets like Sin City, Love Hurts, and Hearts On Fire, it feels as if one is listening to the X in a country format.

Lescher was sometimes considered an American “clone” of Ray Davies, due to the (never denied) similarities between many Green songs and the Kinks’ repertoire; but in reality, Lescher promised to become the white Prince, capable of the boldest rock references, zany choruses, and nonsense arrangements. In any case, he belongs to the glorious tradition that, from Tom Petty to Dave Pirner (Soul Asylum), has vigorously revitalized the pop ballad with rock energy.

5 (1998) is a very minor collection of half-baked and derivative songs like the power-pop ditty Tuesday the Led Zeppelin imitation Seize The Means Of Production and the languid Pink Floyd-ish ballad Lying In The Grass.

There is little to salvage also on Eau De Vie (2001), which is mostly invaded by yawn-inspiring pop ballads. The power-pop number du jour, One And Only, searches in vain for the anthemic riff and the catchy hook The hysterically shouted soul-rock of When All The Leaves Are Green, the Beatles-ian march-tempo ditty Don't Be Sad and the crunchy southern boogie of Motorcycle are so derivative that one is left with the impression of a cover band performing in a small-town saloon.

Green returned after a long hiatus with The Planets (2009). I Just Can't Remember Your Face is a tender rigmarole in the vein of the Byrds, Tom Petty and the country-fied Bob Dylan of the 1970s. Then Tonight applies the lightweight post-psychedelic arrangements of latter-day Pink Floyd to a poignant ballad. The styles of the first two songs are fused in the sunny refrain of Be That As It May. I Wouldn't Wait Too Long adds the punkish tone of Elvis Costello to the exuberant shuffle of Bob Dylan's Blonde on Blonde. The piano-driven majestic hymn of I'm Waiting for the Sun introduces a quasi religious element. The album also explores rougher terrain, and perhaps excels precisely there: Honey Hold the Rail is a seven-minute rhythm'n'blues jam in the vein of the Rolling Stones' Sympathy for the Devil. That "wild" thread continues with Rockinville Road. It is odd that this memorable band of the 1980s would sound so "Sixties" in the 2000s.