by David Wilikofsky
Michael Azerrad’s seminal book Our Band Could Be Your Life profiled thirteen underground rock bands from the eighties and early nineties. Although some of the bands included eventually found mainstream success, most uncompromisingly pursued their artistic vision but toiled in relative obscurity during their lifetime. If a similar book were written about the last decade, it’s easy to imagine Buck Gooter finding their way into it. The duo of Terry Turtle and Billy Brett came together in 2005, when Turtle asked Brett to join his rock band. In the fifteen years since that fateful day they released fourteen full length albums and played over seven hundred shows, building an underground following the old fashioned way. Each release was a blast of self described “primal industrial blues”, all of them displaying an unwavering dedication to Buck Gooter’s musical language and vision.
Which brings us to their latest album, Head In A Bird Cage. It feels nearly impossible to even begin discussing the music on their latest album without talking about the conditions under which it was made. In mid 2019, Turtle injured his shoulder doing a one armed pushup. Multiple doctor’s appointments later, it was revealed that Turtle’s neck had been broken by a malignant tumor that had eaten away at his vertebrae; Turtle was dead less than three months later, hospitalized for almost all of the remainder of his life.
It’s hard not to let this backstory color your perception of the album. Buck Gooter have always had a visceral sound, but this time around they’ve matched that energy with lyrics obsessed with corporeality. They talk about wounds that don’t heal, blood coming out of their eyes, and imminent moments of collision and disaster. Even on a track like “What We Do Is Pathological”, a so-called manifesto for the band, the use of the word pathological (and it’s medical connotations) feels deliberate. The musical accompaniment pulses and throbs more than previous records, largely driven by electronic beats. Perhaps this was by necessity (because Turtle was in no condition to play guitar, many of his contributions to the album were sampled from old recordings and performances), but it works perfectly with the viscerality of the lyrics. Even the title of the album is tied to this story, referring to the neck brace Turtle was forced to wear until his death.
As much as Head In A Bird Cage feels mired in the brutality of Turtle’s medical ordeals, I still find it to be uplifting music. Turtle never sold out, unflinchingly following his artistic passions where they took him, and this album feels like a celebration of that ethos. Despite his medical ordeals, Turtle remained interested in finishing the album. We hear snippets of his voice recorded from his hospital bed (at Turtle’s insistence) on multiple tracks. Most songs end with a wild, joyous Terry Turtle guitar solo; at the very least he’s sampled on every track. It’s as much a celebration of the shared musical legacy Brett and Turtle created as an elegy.
Will this be the final word we hear from Buck Gooter? Who’s to say. Brett promised Turtle that he’d continue to play their music live, and there are still plenty of unfinished or unreleased songs Turtle worked on during his lifetime that could appear on a future album. But one thing is for certain: if this is their swan song, they’ve gone out on a high note.