Review: Rancid - …Honor is All We Know
By Marc Blanc, Contributor
[Hellcat; 2014]
Rating: 7.5/10
Key tracks: “Back Where I Belong,” “Honor Is All We Know,” “Raise Your Fist”
The punk scene isn’t hurting. With such spry youngsters as The Menzingers, Masked Intruder and Cerebral Ballzy, does an album from punk pro tempore Rancid even have a substantial market?
A chain of classic records that begins and ends in the ‘90s established Berkeley’s biggest independent band as, in A.V. Club writer Jonah Bayer’s words, an “institution to be occasionally revisited” rather than a continually relevant punk group.
Even so, Rancid has lost no energy. Evoking the breakthrough ...And Out Come the Wolves not only in name but in speedy ferocity, ...Honor Is All We Know is the quickest, angriest half hour punk’s seen in a while. If distracted by another window while streaming it, one is liable to miss the flawless opener, “Back Where I Belong.”
Drummer Branden Steineckert is like a Duke of Hazard, driving the quasi cow-punk at a reckless tempo with the control that only comes from drumming for Rancid and The Used. Four chords that are thinly disguised variants of the beginning to “Ruby Soho” announce the song, which is more than fine.
On the other hand, Rancid can be seen as the nega-Weezer. Frontman Tim Armstrong’s voice will never change and neither will his pop song structures or devotion to aggressive three-chord punk. Instrumental arrangements on this new effort are predictable: Armstrong won’t wait longer than twenty seconds to shout an infectious refrain; guitarist Lars Frederiksen might scream some verses; Matt Freeman will amaze with a couple noodling basslines, then everything will collapse for all the guys to shout the refrain some more.
Are they stubborn curmudgeons unwilling to discard their habits? Unlikely, considering the variation in Armstrong and Frederiksen’s side projects. Fundamental as it is, the Rancid outline works and the cultish fanbase (along with gold and platinum records) is prepared to prove it.
...Honor does not offer a new sound, but it is executed with as much spirit as any of its highly influential predecessors. Frederiksen’s solo on the title track, for instance, could be found on countless Fat Wreck Chords releases over the past two decades, but it authoritatively reminds younger listeners where Masked Intruder and Mixtapes got their dopamine-releasing guitar licks.
Along with its instrumentals, Rancid’s lyrics remain astonishingly vibrant, managing to complain about the government without sounding like the musings of an old, jaded, libertarian uncle. While remarkable the band didn’t already have a song called “Raise Your Fist,” the second track is a populist anthem that transcends political atmosphere.
“Raise your fist / Against the power / The power that exists.”
Some lines are more astute, even vaguely Marxist, as in the anti-corporate “Grave Digger:” “You prey on the weak just trying to survive / You jump on the backbone that’s keeping you alive.”
Perhaps Rancid will never reach the divine status of Armstrong and Freeman’s previous band, Operation Ivy (Rancid’s often hypermasculine lyrics, flaunted on ...Honor, may be a reason), but it ages gracefully while the popularity and respect of peers withers away. Characteristic of men that age, the band is settled in and quite content to stay put, but ...Honor is special because it shows the quartet’s passion completely unwrinkled. Pissed off punk rock is the fountain of youth.
