I just finished reading Adele Bertei’s No New York, a memoir of her time in the No Wave scene in the late 70s and into the early 80s. She was a keyboardist for The Contortions, and though she left the band prior to the recording of their debut album Buy, she did perform on the band’s four tracks that appeared on the Brian-Eno-produced scene-documenting record No New York. No Wave continues to fascinate me – the more I read and hear, the deeper it pulls me in. Bartei gives us a great insider’s perspective on the period’s underground New York art scene as a whole. It’s not just music – there’s also art, writing, and film.
Which brings me to one of my favorite No Wave bands, Teenage Jesus And The Jerks. Right out of the gate, let’s all agree that the band’s name is preposterously awesome. Fronted by the iconic Lydia Lunch they burned hot and fast, breaking up in 1979 once Lunch, the titular “Teenage Jesus”, was no longer a teen. They left behind three singles (two 7″, one 12″), a self-titled compilation, and also appeared on the No New York compilation. “We were done with it,” Lunch said, “we had it recorded, it was finished. Next.”1 A quote which probably captures the essence of No Wave perfectly.
Originally released in 1979, Teenage Jesus And The Jerks has undergone a number of vinyl re-issues since 2016. My version is the 2024 repress from Italian label Radiation Reissues, which is a good option that can be had for maybe a third the price of an original. The A side is given over to the seven tracks from the original 12″, while the B side collects Teenage Jesus tracks from No New York and the 1977 EP Pre, so it’s more rightfully a compilation. Given how little original material exists, this version contains most if not all of the band’s non-concert material.
Right out of the gate we’re assaulted with the discordant instrumental “Freud In Flop”, a collection of assorted sounds and riffs that presages what is to come. Lydia joins the fray on the next track, “Race Mixing”, and we’re off and running, stilted music overlaid with vocals channeling anger and pain and general anomie. The songs are short, brief bursts of energy that burn themselves out quickly. Only two of the 14 tracks clock in at more than three minutes, and 10 of them come it at less that two. James Chance’s saxophone bores a hole through my brain on “Less Of Me” and “My Eyes” and the entire thing is like a dose of electro-convulsive therapy, the sonic shocks scrambling my brain and frying my synapses.
- Quote taken from Marc Masters’ seminal scene history No Wave (2007, p. 83). ↩︎