Michael Draine's Twisted Vista
Mission of Burma
Snapshot
(iTunes)
In Not a Photograph, a documentary on
Mission of Burma’s unpredictable 2002
resurrection, guitarist Roger Miller firmly
asserts, “I’m not a nostalgic person.”
Anyone in need of verification need look no
further than the download-exclusive Snapshot
EP, a 40m., eight-song set from August 2002.
Far from the repertory act the MC5 put on
the road, Mission of Burma continues to push
definitions and boundaries with the same
passion and defiance that marked their
1980-83 incarnation.
Mission of Burma distinguished themselves
from thrash bands with their creative
restlessness, a depthless musical invention
which kept them from playing any song the
same way twice. This staggering inspiration
and synergy drew me to six Burma shows back
in the day. Like many, on first exposure I was
taken aback by their frantic din, but felt
sufficiently provoked to pick up the		Music Review Index
“Academy Fight Song”/“Max Ernst” 45 the
week it hit the racks.  I became a convert
the second time I saw Mission of Burma,
opening for the Psychedelic Furs at the		Twisted Cinema
Bradford Ballroom. As on Snapshot, Burma
opened with the instrumental “Tremolo,” its
eerie notes reverberating from the
blackened stage, like signals from the void.
Snapshot’s “Tremelo” begins reticently, as
Miller searches for the magic combination of
settings to set loose its seething, strobo-
scopic pulse. This version is slower, more
exploratory than the only other recorded
version, on the live Horrible Truth LP.
Lurching into higher gear on the classic
“Mica,” Burma attacks the Wipers’ “Youth of
America” with such conviction you’d think
they wrote it the same day. Miller supplants
the original’s tape-collage bridge with a
metallic acid punk maelstrom, while
Clint Conley throws in the bassline from
Pere Ubu’s “Heart of Darkness.” Burma
accelerates Greg Sage’s ten-minute studio
epic into an exhilarating six. “Max Ernst”
sounds faster, meaner, and leaner than it did
as the B-side to “Academy Fight Song.”
The band rips into Conley’s “That’s How I
Escaped My Certain Fate,” the only song
which sounds much like the studio version.
A solitary selection from the reunion album
onOffon, Peter Prescott’s “Absent Mind”
is extended to open a space for Prescott’s
Beat/punk word-jazz improv.
Loop guru Bob Weston reaches beyond
recreating Martin Swope’s aural alchemy (such
as frightening voices-in-the-head swarm on
“Mica”), developing his own slightly Enoic treat-
ment style. The MP3 compression manifests
itself in a lack of room ambience, though the
sound is suitably raw, rough, and immediate.
While I'm still waiting for the definitive 21st
century Mission of Burma live album, Snapshot
captures the band continuing not only to defy,
but actually surpass expectation.
Michael Draine
www.iTunes.com