Back in the early '70s, when the Indians stunk and the Cuyahoga smoldered, Cleveland was home to one of America's most important rock scenes, though you won't find mention of it amid the backstage bric-a-brac at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Existential boogie-men Pere Ubu usually get all the props. But the era's most radical act were the Electric Eels, Beefheartdamaged high-school misfits who chewed up volatile Stooges-seasoned guitars and cacophonous free jazz and spit out exhilaratingly experimental hunks of punk.     

Not bad for a group that never saw the inside of a proper studio and played just a handful of gigs between 1972 and 1975, each marked by violent confrontations with the police, the audience, or among the band members themselves. Whether reving lawn mowers onstage or obnoxiously festooning their concert flyers with swastikas, the Eels calculated their every move to shock and antagonize as many people as possible—an M.O. Eels guitarist John Morton has dubbed "practical nihilism." But for a band that had little use for pop formalities like melody, musicianship, and production values, it's remarkable how focused the Eels sound. On 1975's "Agitated"—omitted from the Hall's "500 Songs That Shaped Rock and Roll" list, go figure—singer Dave E. McManus howls, "I think the whole world stinks / I don't need no shrink / I just hate it" like the angst in his pants is about to bust his inseam. Pushing amateurism towards abstraction, the Eels discovered the liberating exaltation of horrible noise.

    Equally legendary and no less incendiary were the Eels' crosstown contemporaries
Rocket From the Tombs. Known primarily for their distinguished alumni—members
went on to form Pere Ubu and the Dead Boys—they existed for just over a year and left little official legacy until this compilation, culled from live performances and circa-'75 rehearsal tapes. Burning with amphetamine intensity, the band delivers brutal renditions of future Ubu classics like "30 Seconds Over Tokyo" and "Final Solution" and the Dead Boys’ “Sonic Reducer." The Rocket's desperate death-trip vibe is no pose. When Peter Laughner spit out, "Ain't it fun when you know you're gonna die young," he meant it, man—he succumbed to rock-lifestyle excess two years later, at 24. This is garage rock with the car left running, filling the air with lethal fumes.
MIKE RUBIN