The revival is here

Recipe For Hate; Atlantic Records

On 1981's "How Could Hell Be Any Worse?", Bad Religion's lead singer, Greg Graffin, proclaimed "some people they say I'm no good/ because I don't play the things that I should." The "some people" Graffin referred to may have been Meatloaf fans whose votes had the year before propelled an actor and a sycophant into the White House. More likely, however, "some people" was a reference to the punk rock community. Enamored of the mile-a-minute thrash of Jodie Foster's Army and Husker Dus's Land Speed Record, many early '80s punk rockers were hostile to Bad Religion simply because the band dared to cut melodious punk songs. And while the melody lines of early Bad Religion tunes were subsumed in chunky drum work, deliciously mediocre production and sheer velocity, the punk rock world complained that the band simply wasn't playing the things that it should.

Over the years, Bad Religion has converted many early detractors into fans. BR has developed a substantial cult following, started its own record label and even collaborated with Noam Chomskyon an anti-Gulf War single. The Bad Religion soundis built on the sort of outrageously fast,aggressive and repetitive drum work associatedwith the early '80s Washington DC hardcore scene.The music of Bad Religion also owes a substantialdebt to, of all things, Klezmer. Klezmer wasinvented in Eastern Europe and has been kept aliveby Yiddish radio programs, bands who play barmitzvahs, and increasingly, by avant-garde jazzperformers. At its best, Bad Religion seamlesslyintegrates the soaring melodies of Klezmer withthe tasty fury of hard-core.

Of course, Bad Religion followers enjoy theband's lyrics as much as they enjoy its music. Onprevious albums, BR's lyric sheet has been studdedwith words like "myoma" and "rectilinear." Theband has labelled the Middle East "the fertilecrescent," and has sarcastically referred toOperation Rescue as "the rectifying troop" whichalone can "stop the heinous wrongdoing and verifyour moral benevolence as a people." Of course,since Bad Religion's chief lyricist holds a Ph.D.in English literature from Cornell, a certainamount of long-winded pretentiousness is perhapsinevitable.

Lately, Bad Religion has been in a slump.Recent efforts such as Generator have beenof uneven quality, and the band has seemedlistless and uninspired in concert. For BR fansthen, Recipe For Hate has been awaited witha mix of anxiousness and trepidation.

Recipe for Hate rocks. It's just thatsimple. Recipe is a slam-dance soundtrackwell stocked with memorable hooks and defiantlyrics. At its best, the album is comparable toAgainst the Grain or No Control. Andwhile it is blighted by some real duds--theFugazi-inspired "All Good Soldiers" comes tomind--Recipe is chock full of terrifictunes. "Don't Pray on Me" is a lilting wail aboutthe L.A. Riots which manages to work in mentionsof Daryl Gates, South Vietnam, Moses and MarilynMonroe. "Skyscraper," a crowd favorite at lastmonth's show at Avalon, is a straight ahead rockerwhich colonized the ear with its soaring andsimple chorus.

Perhaps the best song on Recipe is"Kerosene." The song opens with a short burst ofopen throttle guitar noise which quickly gives wayto Bobby Schayer's relentlessly aggressive drumwork. From there, Graffin's raspy singing and Mr.Brett's sloppy guitar take over. The melody of"Kerosene" is understated but irrepressible anddoesn't reach its critical mass until the chorus,when it becomes downright anthemic in its sweepand drama. The lyrics of "kerosene" are adisarmingly blunt look at the world ofhomelessness, where men and women die fromexposure, where "shelter is the privilege of thesane and competent," and where burning kerosenekeeps people warm.

Recipe For Hate finds Bad Religion asnoisy, tuneful, and dangerous as it once was. Andwhile nothing may lure back the fans the band haslost over the last few years, Recipe is arich reward for those who have stuck it out.