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Rick Froberg’s voice was the best mixture of snarl and shrill.
Among male punk vocalists, some had the back-of-the-throat resonance of a Joey Ramone or the guttural depth of quite a few hardcore bands.
But Froberg’s voice was unmistakable — not attempting to sound robust on function, it simply ended up that approach. The voice that one way or the other all the time appeared like a thin outdated man who smoked too many cigarettes and drank an excessive amount of whiskey.
Froberg died on Friday of pure causes, according to John Reis, his musical collaborator of greater than three many years. He was reportedly 55.
His first collaboration with Reis was the late ’80s San Diego post-hardcore band Pitchfork.
But it was a number of years later, with the ’90s band Drive Like Jehu, when Rick Froberg’s voice arguably first got here into full kind. The screams had been there. So had been the occasional melodic choruses. “Atom Jack,” on the band’s self-titled first album, showcased the disparity. On the band’s second album, Yank Crime, the 9-minute-plus dissonant epic “Luau” noticed Froberg shout in opposition to imperialism whereas breaking the discord with “Aloha, aloha. Suit up. Luau, luau. Luau, luau.”
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It was in Hot Snakes, nonetheless, the place Froberg’s vocals reached their zenith. It was Froberg and Reis’ third main collaboration.
Gone had been Reis’ lengthy, winding, guitar leads from Drive Like Jehu — songs had been shorter, sped up, extra garage-rock influenced, straight to the purpose. It was aggressive punk however smarter. Time signatures opted for the occasional skipped or further beat. The guitars interplayed with abrupt staccato leads and rhythms.
Froberg’s vocals — now harsher with the next pitch — had discovered the music to match.
It was evident on “If Credit’s What Matters I’ll Take Credit,” the opener on Hot Snakes’ first album, 2000’s Automatic Midnight.
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Hot Snakes launched two extra studio albums of their unique run within the early 2000s, a mellower Suicide Invoice adopted by an up-tempo Audit in Progress.
The band re-formed to launch their first album in about 14 years in 2018. NPR described Froberg’s voice as “high and serrated.” When it got here to his lyrics, reviewer Andrew Flanagan put it at the time: “Froberg’s lyrics aren’t comprehensible most of the time; they operate as a kind of expressionist splatter of spittle, a fragmentary philosophical rage, across the band’s relentless, bubbling-hot canvas.”
Aside from his bands with Reis, Froberg’s most notable music got here with Obits, a extra bluesy tackle punkish storage rock. His “vocals strain with bitterness,” NPR said, even because the music took on a extra subdued hue. The band launched three studio albums between 2009 and 2013.
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He performed guitar, too, in most of his bands. But that by no means appeared to be Froberg’s main focus. “I have news for the world, I’m not a good guitar player,” he mentioned in a recent interview.
Froberg was additionally a profitable artist, having created artwork for a lot of album covers and posters.
In remembering Froberg, Reis mentioned: “His art made life better. The only thing he loved more than art and rock n roll was his friends. He will forever be remembered for his creativity, vision and his ability to bring beauty into this world.”
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