Musically speaking, sometimes I believe the ‘80s were terrible on a national level but vital on a local one. While hair-malfunctioning bands like Visage and the Thompson Twins doled out dance clichés, the very concept of “local scene” was being invented by the scruffy scientists of suburban garage.
Take Webster Groves, a bedroom community with a few kitchens (restaurants) mixed in; as well as mom-and-pop shops, a quaint, almost historic downtown and a popular university. This was fertile ground for band formation.
I won’t be redundant and recount the story of the Painkillers, mainly because the tale is perfectly told by local writer and culture savant Thomas Crone in a booklet that comes with the retrospective Painkillers. And what happens in Webster Groves stays in Webster Groves. The beautifully packaged CD was released on a label owned by Euclid Records, that corner shop for music connoisseurs. (My vision is for the iconic business to someday change its name to Webster Grooves—but that’s beside the point.)
I still own my Painkillers cassette, which at some point turned into hiss on a ribbon. At least the magnetism missing from the tape was intact in the combo’s live show. What set them apart from the so-called DIY movement was their musical finesse and set-list dexterity. Not many punk bands could play cover songs.
Not that the Painkillers were punk. In fact, they were perhaps the quintessential fusion of power-pop and new wave. Years after the band broke up, songwriter and singer Jeff Barbush killed himself—and it was a tragedy on so many levels. I’d been a fan of this talented guy for quite a while, and at one point I published a fanzine that reviewed a tape by his newest project, The Deadbeats.
I once ran into Barbush at Vintage Vinyl, introduced myself, and he mentioned that my short review had garnered him some fan mail from Europe. He seemed amazed—and I was floored by the rewarding sight of a humble man beaming. He seemed overwhelmed, yet somehow reticent to take due credit for being a talented tunesmith.
Painkillers is a perfect testament to the talents of Barbush, Carl Pandolfi, Mike Martin and Jack Petracek. Released in a lush package worthy of the Numero label and comprising all the stuff that died on the vine of my cassette—and so much more—it’s a masterpiece painted with local color.
