This might be the first time I’ve written about an album I haven’t fully absorbed yet, but I figure that’s the point of this particular subset to my writing. An album of the week can achieve that status for multiple reasons, not least of which is you intend to finally have the time to take the album in.
Cards on the table, I miss living in San Francisco and the multitude of little things, little happenings that make living in a city like this such an amazing experience. Following a few nights of shows between The City and Oakland, I saw a blurb about the upcoming record release and listening party for Queens of the Stone Age’s newest release, Perfecth, at Amoeba. I truly miss these sort of events and I was very pleased to see I’d be in town and, amidst our extremely busy concert-going, trick-or-treating extravaganza, I asked K if we could carve out some time for this.
The event itself was a little more low-key than I’ve experienced in the past but still a blast. Truly, I blame the times on this; record release parties are, at least as near as I can tell, a dying thing. I missed nabbing one of the limited-edition picture discs when I handed it to the woman behind me — she was clearly here for that and audibly gasped when I picked up the last copy. Her advice to go check out 1-2-3-4 Go! Records in Oakland more than fair trade. Truthfully that wasn’t really on my radar (I don’t really dig picture discs); the limited-edition clear vinyl was, so I grabbed that. I’d already checked out the album via Apple Music and was intrigued by the approach taken by the Queens — more subdued, a focus on the dark and the grooves.
Here’s the thing about Queens of the Stone Age — going on three decades in, Homme has never once made the same record twice. From the desert brawn of the early stuff, through the robot-groove swagger of the middle years, to the raw, beautiful wreckage of ...Like Clockwork, the only throughline is that there isn’t one. So when the early word on a QOTSA record leans on words like “understated” and “introspective,” that reads to me as an invitation. This is a band that earned the right to go quiet a long time ago, and the last time Homme really let the melancholy off its leash — Clockwork, made in the aftermath of a surgery that went badly wrong and left him bedridden for months — he turned out what I’d argue is their finest hour. A Queens record that majors in the dark and the groove is exactly the kind of thing I want to spend real time with, not half-hear over the kitchen speakers while I’m doing the dishes.
Here’s how Kerrang described it in a recent write-up:
“Given QOTSA spent the summer rocking stadiums with System Of A Down and Foo Fighters, you might expect big, beefy anthems, but Perfecth is an understated, introspective record that majors in everything from Nirvana MTV Unplugged angst (It’s Only Love) to Rolling Stones’ Miss You-style funk jam (Insignificant Other). And that’s just the first two songs.”
And that, really, is why this one’s here. Standing in Amoeba on a gray San Francisco afternoon, thumbing through the bins while a brand-new record plays over the shop speakers to a room full of people who drove across town just to be there — that’s a thing you cannot stream. There’s no algorithm for the guy next to you nodding along, for the low hum of a couple dozen strangers all leaning the same direction because the music pulled them there. I’ve been chasing that feeling my whole life, and cities like this still hand it out for the price of showing up. The clear vinyl came home with me — a physical, held thing, waiting on the shelf for the night I finally give it the attention it’s owed.
There’s a postscript to that picture disc, though. After the event I wandered the store a while, taking in Amoeba’s vast wall of concert posters — a thing I’ve always loved to just stand and admire. And there, sitting on a bookshelf, was a copy of the very disc I’d handed off. I picked it up. Held it. Considered it for a real moment — felt that collector’s itch flicker to life, the pull of the rare and the limited. And then I put it back and went to check out. Because when it comes down to it, I’m not a vinyl collector so much as I’m a guy who needs to have the music. The clear vinyl in my bag was something I was going to play. The picture disc was something to own, and that’s never quite been who I am.
Which is the whole premise of putting it here before I’ve truly lived with it. An Album of the Week can earn its slot a dozen ways, and “I cannot wait to sink into this” is as good a reason as any I’ve got. There’s a particular pleasure in a record you haven’t cracked yet — the clear vinyl sitting there, the couple of passes on Apple Music that told me just enough to know there’s something worth slowing down for. So I’m going to resist the urge to rush it. I’ll let Perfecth unspool the way the good ones ask to be heard — in the dark, start to finish, no skipping.
So, breaking tradition or starting a new one, I’ll report back in a bit with my thoughts on this album with the oddly spelled title. But for now, it earns a spot on this particular channel just for being so intriguing, and for serving as a reminder of what, for me, makes places like San Francisco so damn special.
