Why is this? The lingering residue of former indie darling backlash? Sure, they weren’t exactly world beaters, but I like(d) Cub. They were sort of our own good natured version of riot-grrl fed through a Beat Happening filter — unpretentious, charmingly amateur pop-punk that recalled both early Ramones and the sweetness inherent to slightly off-kilter girl group harmonies. Sometimes noisy, sometimes jangly, but always catchy.
They’re easily as good as Eric’s Trip…and I’m a Maritimer — a New Brunswicker even (but not a Monctonian, although Eric’s Trip are pretty much the only officially noteworthy N.B band…ever) — so you know I’m serious; I don’t give those smugly alienated western types no freebies.
Despite this, Cub just weren’t cool with the cool kids.
I recall a girl I worked with circa 1996 being dismissive of Cub. She was a dog-collar wearing Fugazi devotee — but in a good way — and always rolled her eyes at the mention of Cub’s charms, including a tale oft told by a friend of mine who was allegedly hit-upon by the drummer (not sure which one) following their show at an abandoned laundomat in the South End of Saint John; don’t let those sweet smiles fool you, Cub knew how to get theirs.
But they’re cool with me, if just for”New York City” — a slice of lo-fi pop perfection if ever I’ve heard one and I’m not given to gushing over genuinely saccharine poptones. I just can’t help but smile when I hear good ole “NYC”; it takes me away to my oft elusive happy place like a club sandwich on fresh homemade bread with the bacon done just right — not too flimsy, but not burnt to a crisp.
A breath of fresh air.
People should revisit Cub — they were alot better than you might remember, good enough for a reunion even. Eric’s Trip keep doing it, so why shouldn’t Cub? Robyn Iwata now plays the keys for I Am Spoonbender and Lisa Marr went on to form Buck (who’ve since broke up), but I don’t know what ever happened to Lisa G. or Valeria. Regardless, I’m sure they all could benefit from a bit of rose-hued nineties nostalgia tripping.
Satan sucks, but you’re the best — Holy smokes, you pass the test.
