Pitchfork

Bands that thrive on innovation, pushing boundaries, and continually updating their sound-- these are the ones that become legendary. For each of these bands, though, there will always be several lesser bands who catch the whiff greatness as it passes them by, and they will follow. If enough bands catch on and begin mimicking, someone will invariably call it a "movement," validate the lot of them, and move onto the next wave.

That's the preamble to one of the oldest clichés in the book, and if I may, I'd like to paraphrase the well-worn slogan itself for you now: "The Bad Brains were more than just a hardcore band." It's been said countless times about countless less worthy candidates, but where the Brains are concerned, that doesn't make it any less truthful. As one of the single most important pillars of American hardcore, and the keystone of D.C.'s particularly sharp-tongued variation on the theme, listening to the Brains at their legendary peak makes me want to lapse into all sorts of glib pronouncements about the failing rut of the current scene they helped to pioneer back in the early 80s. But I won't-- it's a disservice to the band, and if ever such a tired cliché was so apt, it's here; by the time they released their artistic milestone, I Against I, and reggae influences had spread deeper and deeper into their sound, the Bad Brains had already forgotten more about hardcore than most of their successors would ever learn.

They've been compiled several times before, but the crucial evolution of their classic rasta-punk hybridization over three magnificent albums was more than any one disc could bear. Banned in D.C. is the first to finally get it right; Anthony Countey, the group's manager, has compiled what truly amounts to the definitive single-disc statement on the scope and the fury of the Bad Brains' revolutionary hardcore. From the unforgettable opening riff of "Pay to Cum", their famously anthemic, idealistic tirade against systems of control and the prevention of free expression, to the darkly relaxed reggae of "Love Prophets", the full range of their development probably couldn't have been managed more succinctly. H.R.'s alternately soul-deep or bile-encrusted wailing, spitting, and sneering, Dr. Know's lacerating speed-metal riffs, and the kaleidoscopic shifting of Earl Hudson's and Daryl Jenifer's lightning-quick punk-dub rhythms are flawlessly represented on every track.

There's brilliance in Countey's track sequencing; forsaking chronology is almost always retarded (and that's being kind about it), and for a band that grew so steadily as musicians, it ought to be fatal, but he escapes his certain fate. Instead, tracks are pulled mainly from the creative zenith of the Brains' earliest, most relevant material, with only enough later work included to represent the band's later development, seamlessly progressing from the anarchic, rage-fueled blitz exemplified on the now-legendary Bad Brains cassette into the relatively calmer waters of later recordings (but mercifully not much further than 1989's Quickness). The focus is on providing smooth passage across their history, and by concentrating on flow over time, this becomes a truly great whole-album experience-- something the Brains were only able to achieve on I Against I.

There are issues to be taken with this comp, too, however slight: I'm a little miffed that I Against I is almost criminally under-represented. Quickness gets far more than an equitable amount of time for my liking (on paper, anyway). Two previously vinyl-only versions of album tracks and a totally forgettable unreleased instrumental ("Riot Squad") offer little beyond that warm feeling that strange, anal-retentive completists must feel deep-down knowing that they have every everything released by their pet artists (though in all fairness, the included live video of "I Against I" is incredible-- it made me wish I was forty so I could've been there). Of course, anyone with a deep fondness for the Bad Brains can put together a list of personal omissions, but in the end, the amazing cohesion of Banned in D.C. will probably put to rest any real objection. If most comps can only offer snapshots of a band's history, this is a movie, and a great one at that.