By Jacob Katel
By Laurie Charles
By Nate "Igor" Smith
By Abel Folgar
By Kat Bein
By Jacob Katel
Boudet won't go into any details, but elaboration on the sour affair isn't really necessary. Enjoy the Cancer, released on Boudet's Threshold label, is a letter-bomb Valentine from a burned and bitter soul -- an angry, anguished, and explicit shout conjured from the same corner of desolation as Roy Orbison's "Running Scared" and Derek and the Dominos' "Layla," but with the added venom of Bob Dylan's great rants "Like a Rolling Stone" and "Positively 4th Street." Boudet recorded the album himself at Tapeworm, playing nearly every note on the dense, half-hour set. (Swivel Stick's Carl Ferrari plays bass on the EP, and Jamey Crawford A on loan from Fuselage -- provides some haunting viola accompaniment on "Victim.")
Cancer opens with "Stain," introed with the martial strains of a drum machine thumping out a beat not unlike the dramatic kickoff of the Ronettes' "Be My Baby." Not 30 seconds into the song, Boudet announces his rage: "Leave me with these thoughts of killing you," he sings over pitter-pat percussion and acoustic guitar, "or filling you with all the hatred I contain." The song soon erupts in a burst of vigorously strummed guitars, droning feedback, and harmony vocals, with Boudet's aching tenor wailing over fuzzed-out power chords.
"Stain" sets the pattern for all of Enjoy the Cancer, which recalls everything from White Album Beatles to the mopey alt-rock efforts of Lou Barlow and Sebadoh. Throughout, acoustic guitars are attacked with fury, then stroked delicately; electric guitars blend into an effects-laden wall of noise, penetrated by Boudet's acidic lyrics, which find him sorting through the rubble of his crumbled romance and trying to cope with the confusion and turmoil of its aftermath. "I find myself slipping into evil that I didn't know I had," he admits in "Tease," a lush, loping, baroque rocker accented by some chicken-scratch guitar and the siren call of shrieking feedback. The disc is remarkable -- daring within an established, alternapop context, yet with twice the intensity of your average pity-punk schmo, thanks to the heart that's bleeding all over Boudet's shirt sleeve. "I've always written kind of dark music," Boudet reflects with considerable understatement. "Usually something terrible happens and I have to go write a song. I've never been able to write a happy song. I've tried, but I've never been able to. I like the sound of darker chords, darker notes."
The Miami native grew up listening to what he calls "crap" -- Eighties hits, mostly, by Michael Jackson, Rick Springfield, and others -- but soon gravitated to the moody pop missives of Michael Penn, Sarah McLachlan, and nine inch nails. (You can hear the influence of NIN guru Trent Reznor on Cancer's untitled hidden track, cut 27 on the disc, a tape-looped jumble over which Boudet screams and mutters for four minutes.) He played in several local bands, most notably Blind Prophet, a duo/drum machine project he formed with Jules Gondar (an engineer on Cancer). When that group dissolved in the early Nineties, Boudet and 52 Diesel guitarist Jeremy duBois began cutting demos for area bands on a four-track in a spare bedroom in his Coral Gables home. The operation soon blossomed into Tapeworm, the studio of choice for numerous local and regional acts, from Swivel Stick and Holy Terrors to the Stun Guns and Ed Matus' Struggle. Prior to developing the studio, however, Boudet took a two-year break from songwriting and devoted his time instead to learning the business side of the music business.
"It was like a training time for me," he reflects. "I wasn't in any bands, I wasn't writing any music. I went to Berkeley, California, for the summer and went to a lot of music seminars there. I learned a lot about the music business and other things I didn't know about, like promotion and getting your music out there. You have to really work at this. It's not just going out and playing a show at Churchill's. It's about promoting, doing everything you can. There's a warped mentality in the music scene here. Everybody thinks they're going to get discovered but nobody's doing a damn thing. They think they're so hot shit that they don't have to do anything. Miami is so isolated from the rest of the country that if a band gets popular here and they get a couple hundred kids coming to their shows, they think they're the shit. They don't realize that if they step outside of Florida, nobody's going to know who the hell they are. Nobody's going to care."