M.O.T.O Redux
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The song bursts out of the speakers. Unapologetically Ramones-styled guitars rumble; the singing–the lilt in the singer’s voice on “take a sip,” the wild wail on “tastes just like a milkshake”–is perfect; the production, rudimentary even in this lo-fi age, is coarse but thrilling. The performance is vintage Paul Caporino, aka M.O.T.O., the unchallenged master of the ineffable pop song about almost anything below the waist. “It Tastes Just Like a Milkshake” is the star track on M.O.T.O.’s new release, a 45 entitled, with time-honored Caporino sophomoricism, Jacuzzi for the Dead. The record–which includes “Milkshake,” “In and Around the Neighborhood,” “Schmuck Factor,” and a keening ballad called “Around Every Corner”–is just one of many indications that the fabled M.O.T.O., silent for years, is coming back to life. A newly configured live operation–including drummer Art Kubin and bassist Dennis Spaag–has been playing out (the band opens for the Mekons Saturday at Lounge Ax). And finally, the first-ever release of Hoboken’s Haircut Records, helmed by Chicago expatriate David Rothblatt, will be a M.O.T.O. retrospective titled Golden Hour that should be the band’s first nationally dis-tributed release in CD form.
But then M.O.T.O. dropped out of sight: Caporino got canned from his job in the mailroom of the Sears Tower (the reason being “attendance,” he says); both he and Dudley got married. She’s now studying architecture at UIC; he works unenthusiastically in a copy shop in the IBM building, though he notes that it does allow him sufficient songwriting time in the bathroom. His recording technique remains assertively imperfect: for his latest tape release, E Pluribus M.O.T.O., he recorded his few instruments–vocals, pounding guitar, drum machine, and piercing organ–directly into a home four-track. While Caporino is capable of penning the (relatively) sincere love song, his most audacious and tuneful work tends to come when he finds more inspiring subject matter–such as things scatological, sexual, or genital, as in “Fate Takes a Stool,” “Infected,” “Cancer in My Dick,” and “Knee to the Groin.” He insists that he writes about a wide variety of subjects–the vulgar stuff, he says, “is just a garnish”–and notes that it could be worse. “I mean, they’re not songs about people playing with their feces,” he says. Opening for the Coctails at the Bop Shop two weeks ago, he charmed a packed house with hits old and new, and should do the same Saturday.
