CD Reviews: January 1997

Los Ass-Draggers
Abbey Road Kill
Crypt

Abbey Road Kill is one of those CDs that — if it was a record — couldn’t hold a needle in the grooves. As my velvet Elvis melts with the heat generated by Los Ass-Draggers, I can’t help but laugh. See, this is where it is at, by gosh and by golly. Rock and roll is by definition a celebration of the animal. Los Ass-Draggers are animals. Their intellectual abilities are limited to wrestling on TV, hating The Beatles (or anything British), The Grateful Dead, pretentious college boys… even as they praise cars, road-kills, Martians and the lack of technical proficiency with a musical instrument. Los Ass-Draggers play as fast as they possibly can — let me amend that — faster than they possibly can and they come off sounding like cacophony. There is nothing like a good “world beat” (Spanish in this case) punk rock record to demonstrate just how self important the entire world of music has become. — Wa

Warm Wires
Severe Comfort
Sugar Fix Recordings

Let’s face it, friends; geeks make some great music! Elvis Costello, Ween and Camper Van Beethoven all play tunes from the point of the outsider and weirdo, touching a nerve in all of us who at some point might have felt left out of love and life too. Warm Wires are a group of gifted musicians who play from the bruised heart about insecurity and angst, but from an optimistic vein that is refreshing and uplifting. Hell, Joy Division and the Velvet Underground have been done to death (literally!), with few really getting it right or straight at all. Despite the sad storyline in most of the songs, the Wires have a positive outlook that screams, “Who cares? I still love life, ya fucks!” Experimenting with a number of instruments and guests on the record, the final cut is as diverse as the nerd section in the high school lunchroom. Don’t turn your back on them, missing out on the fun. Sit down and feel the geek love that runs rampant on the various tracks of this light-hearted gift box. It’s sure to please and tease your sorry ass sense of humor in the end. —Billy Fish

Kula Shaker
K
Columbia

Here ya go, Ms. Kramer, how about we have a listen to what kinda “product” you’re pushing? Two songs in, I found “Knight On The Town,” which is about as derivative of prog rock, stadium-filling music as I could possibly imagine. The number ten song is titled “Grateful When You’re Dead/Jerry Was There.” The good news is that Kula Shaker didn’t go into the studio to record a “hit” single, although they are close to achieving one. Nope, they made an album. Actually if one purchases the “product” immediately, “one” will discover a “bonus” disc included. Dispose with all the nonsense to find Oasis in about two years. They have discovered “world” music and the intricacies of both their instruments and their brains. What if Kula Shaker were actually Klaatu disguised as Oasis? Kula Shaker is 70s rock all spruced up with rhythms of the earth. It doesn’t hurt that a famous person’s offspring fronts the band either. Sony UK has done a lot worse in the past. If you insist on buying British, think about Kula Shaker. Place K in the keep stack. —Q Typ

Sissy Bar
Statutory Grape
Sugar Fix Recordings

When I heard the comparison of The B-52’s meeting Yoko Ono and The Halo Benders, I knew I had to check these kids out. Described as cuddle-core, I found their sound more of a cool mix between The Faith Healers and Go Sailor, both mainly because of their sultry female vocals and smooth guitar work that goes from easy strumming to cement chords that rip out eardrums. A very happy band to say the least. Songs center around feeling good about anything from personal freedom to magic bunnies…hmm? Well in any case, the music is simple and poppy, playing around with a cool V/U-style that tickles the tender side of the pop spectrum. I just about fell out of my desk chair, catching their !tee-hee! version Snoop Dog’s “Gin and Juice,” replacing smoking indios … with smoking menthols, sipping on gin and juice. Too damn funny! The beautiful noise these three girls and three boys make is soft and very sexy. As memorable as a wet romp through the park at night with your favorite lover, take this slice of smiles home to keep all to yourself. —Billy Fish

Judge Nothing
Riveter
Thick Records

I can’t remember where I came by this recording, but the names of the producers should ring a few bells in the brains of locals. Right there on the back cover it says, “Produced by Bill Stevenson and Stephen Egerton.” The CD was recorded at the Blasting Room in Ft. Collins, CO. Where have I heard those names and places before? Judge Nothing are involved with pop music except it doesn’t register at all. There are guitars and shit. There are harmonies and hooks in abundance but it doesn’t stray off into the land of ska, surf and power pop. As an artifact of the modern age the recording holds the interest because it doesn’t fit into any narrow niche that has blistered my ears countless times in the past. Can it be that the band has entered the realm of Heatmiser or some other unheard of recording? Can there be rock music without a cliche or a reference point? When music becomes actual art, there is a certain amount of emotion. Yeah, verily I say there could be some actual creativity involved and juices flowing. “Score Uneven” is one such. Deal with that pain or loss, but don’t you dare think about abuse and rape as the next tune, “No!” reveals. Admittedly, the names of the production team caught my eye before the music caught my ears. As the disc spun away and the time slipped by, these guys captured my attention. Sure, they are just another local band who managed to hook up with some “big” names but their disc gave me no small amount of pleasure. —Wa

Screeching Weasel
Bark Like A Dog
Fat Wreck Chords

After ten years of hard road miles and playing good time punk, the evil weasel is back with their seventh(?) album of reputable R&R. Playing the same pop punk that they’re known and loved for, these four fellows have a nice little platter of semi-old school punk from the avenues of the California style. Happy-go-lucky tunes abound on this disc, skipping through the fields of smooth and sassy tunes that will have little kids dancing in their cribs and gramps dumping another load in his britches. The longer these guys stay together and go through bassists like rubbers at a frat house, the more fans they seem to pick up from their records and constant touring. Incorporating a few cheesy keyboards alongside the same fat feel of old Kinks on one or two cuts, the new is added to the old Ramones-esque style SW has always played. I dig this release better than any of the other crap I was issued this month by far. Let the weasel take a bite into your ear and see if you catch the same fever too that this kid did. —Billy Fish 

JB3
Close Grind
NovaMute

The record label finally sent a copy of the disc with a cover, not that it helps any. Joey Beltram is responsible for creating all the sounds. The sounds are all the basic computer generated noises available to those owning computers, keyboards etc. Joey does a nice job of combining all the sounds into an ear pleasing mix of rhythmic noise, and while his creations are enjoyable to some degree, the hand-held battery-operated grinder on the cover is a mistake. Nothing actually grinds. I guess if one were to take the platter into a dance club and mix a bit of this sound with a bit of that sound while adding a few orgasmic moans, groans and screams to the end-product, some grinding could take place. As a disc for the home environment, the sounds might be useful for cleaning the house, polishing the car, operating the Christmas Healthrider or even providing the background noise for that homemade love making video. If “electronic” music without vocals is indeed the future, then Joey Beltram is poised for stardom…if he can manage to include a bit of life in his next recordings. Close Grind is pleasant enough, but I like my “electronic” music with more of an edge. —DJ Billy Ben

Pulley
Esteem Driven Engine
Epitaph

Hey kids, do you like bands like Ten Foot Pole, Strung Out, and No Use For A Name? Sure you do, ya punk-ass motherscrubbers! Sporting members from the above-mentioned groups, this punk rock supergroup is all a young punk-lover needs in his or her diet to ensure good listening. All members being old friends, the ratty band of hooligans got together outside of their respective bands and spent six months in and out of the studio to piece a nice collection of songs that fits right in with any Epitaph punk selection. Opening up a few times for kicking bands like Lagwagon and NOFX, these guys tested their supermelodic tuneage on the California crowds that evidently went bloody nuts! Combining sounds from all the sources of band members, Pulley is pure power fun, southern Cali-style! If your taste runs along the same lines as the aforementioned groups, this disc is for you, my friend! —Billy Fish

The Humble Gods
No Heroes
Hollywood

These boys were supposed to appear out at the Utah State Fairgrounds with The Deftones, Orange 9mm and Downset. As anyone who attended the show knows, The Deftones and Downset were the only two to show. The Humble Gods wrecked their van and who knows what happened to Chaka and company. It is really too bad the Humble Gods didn’t make it because they are punk rock of the old school. I know this punk rock thing will soon give way to drum and bass or hip hop. Actually, according to some of the more informed critics around, rock and roll will soon cease to exist at all. While we are waiting for this astounding development, we can all revel in our love for raw rock such as the Humble Gods. Some of these Humble Gods have done time with the likes of Descendents, Pennywise, Doggy Style and Dag Nasty. They like to say “fuck” a lot, they have some sing-a-long anthems and they critique the state of the union in a more realistic fashion than any politician, but they don’t sound American. Brad X, vocals, does the Sex Pistols better than John Lydon — at least at times.

The band is not averse to playing a little old fashioned West Coast thrash when the feeling strikes them either. Take for instance “No Heroes.” Since the band is made-up of old timers, their memories go back to the days when Tom Petty wasn’t loved by the baby boomers. Those fuckers had never heard of Tom Petty when he recorded “American Girl” and that pretty much sums the entire recording up. Those who believe that Nirvana was the last great punk rock band haven’t been listening. While power-pap-punk and skapunk are the latest fads to hit the malls, the most exciting punk rock around today is made by those bands who are returning to the roots and attitudes of the time when the music was fresh. “You good for nothing low life motherfucker,” “Oh bondage up yours.” —Sadie Messakis

Hayden
Everything I Long For
Outpost Recordings

Hayden was supposed to be one of the great white hopes for replacing Bob Dylan and Neil Young, or some darn thing like that. He was kicked in the pants by Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, Alanis Morrisette, Jewel, Poe, Amanda Marshall, Fiona Apple and more female singers with problems in their lives. His album sounds like Nirvana if they were recorded semi-plugged in, a semi-rocking singer-songwriter kind of guy. But Hayden is in touch with the “real world.” How about a song about both a boy and a girl calling in sick to work so they can spend the day in bed fucking? Is there anyone reading this ridiculous paper who hasn’t done something similar? Of course he’s Canadian and his vocals recall Neil, Bob and Kurt — at least he’s not trying to be all sensuous and sound like Brian Adams in bed with a fifteen-year-old Alanis. So why didn’t the record make it in 1996? Well, although the sensitive pony-tailed guy might enjoy it if they ever had the chance to listen and the frat boy would embrace some of the subjects if Hayden rocked harder than hooters and blue fish, for the most part the CD is one for listening to in a room lit only by candles and one of the clitoris-pierced in the bed. Incorrect for the correct and if he signs on Ronnie Hawkin‘s Hawks or Crazy Horse for the next release, the rye-dyed crowd might find a totally jamming experience. Hayden sings of male pain without any reference whatsoever to the male bonding, pud-pulling contest in the woods around a campfire fueled by burning drums. A 90s type of guy who would receive more attention if he lived in a “crash pad” dating back 20 years. Soft rock with a straight-edge-razor-blade-willow-switch, not his cock in his hand. —Larry Beel

Undertow
Alone In The Crowd
Domination Records

Why does this record make me feel like I’ve entered Ogden’s Egyptian Theater back in about 1976? There they stand on the stage, some youngsters holding their electric guitars and stomping about in their tawdry stage clothes. In later years we moved beyond to the “pop” metal phase, but Undertow are paying tribute to metal as metal deserves to be played. Deep Purple crossed with Black Sabbath and a touch of Dio anyone? What bunker have these fuckers been living in? They are indeed alone in a crowd — a crowd that faded away many, many years ago. Oh, yeah, I forgot, the 70s are back. Undertow aren’t crunching many bones, I do believe a food grinder was used to make mush — for some reason their “heaviness” is severely lacking. They are missing the Led in the Zeppelin/the Iron in the Butterfly and the Motör in the Head. If metal is indeed planning to make a stadium-filling comeback, I would say that Undertow have disappeared beneath the waters of the River Jordan. While a dip in the river is viewed as dangerous because of the floating shit and dead bodies, the true danger lies with the legendary undertow. This band has been sucked under. Look for their CD floating in Utah Lake. —James Madison Hoffa

Maximum Penalty
Independent
IJT Records

When you order a sandwich at the deli, do you have it on white bread? Me either! It’s not that it necessarily tastes bad, it’s just too damn plain, that is all. This is a group like that, basically meaning well, but really not breaking any new ground or particular sound. The singer is classic, trying hard to hit the high notes and harmonies, but coming off very flat and winded. Backed up by a fairly strong band though, they bust through a quick set loaded with superficial politics and social insight that borders on the obvious. Kids in beater Camaros and El Caminos might get a kick out of this crunchy and manly music, but it falls short of anything interesting or eye opening. Recorded at a live show at CBGB’s, you can almost hear the loneliness of being in the same bar with the few people that showed up for this midweek opening act. I hope these kids haven’t quit their daytime jobs at Sizzler, so that they can always have a paycheck to count on. I don’t want to be too harsh, but a good reality check might be in order for these middle-of-the-readers, and soon! —Billy Fish

The Tubes
Genius of America
Popular

Formed in San Francisco in 1972, The Tubes quickly established a reputation for outrageous live performances which combined sex, music, theatre and camp aesthetics to good effect. I guess they’re still better live because this CD is sad. Sad because there isn’t anything close to “White Punks On Dope,” “Don’t Touch Me There” or “She’s A Beauty.” As proof that The Tubes have seen better days is “How Can You Live With Yourself,” a tune Fee Waybill co-wrote with one Richard Marx, who produced the song for the CD and contributes acoustic guitar, synth bass, strings and piano. This lyric from the song sums things up, “The call of fame doesn’t sound so loud above the vacant crowd.” The disc sounds as old as the band. I was hoping for something better because nearly all of the original members are present and accounted for, but call it a perfect example of why sometimes it is better to go out in flames than to simply fade away. —Kneel Yung

Instant Girl
Post-Coital
Allied Recordings

When I first heard this jumble combo of Riot Grrrl rustlings, I wasn’t too impressed at all. I dug the drumming and thought that the guitar was even mildly interesting, but the vocals grated me in the most private of parts! I had to say, no thanks, ladies. But once l opened up the linear notes and got a good read of the lyrics, my appreciation level rose considerably. The political/social statement these girls are trying to make is straightforward and HUGE! Basically it is this: girls, women, females … quit fighting each other with the petty mind games and backstabbing, and love and support each other, ya twits! Female hardcore with a message, it’s rough to hear but easy to understand and appreciate. Maybe more young females in this state could give this disc a whirl and open their minds, as well as their ears, in the process. Who knows?!? —Billy Fish

The Mod Fun
Past … Forward
Get Hip

I do believe it is time to have a bit of fun. Now that there are “critics” praising the absolutely and totally ridiculous posturing that is passed off as completely new and relevant to our world — Pulp and that Cocker fellow — I happened upon this recording from 1983. Now I know Pulp has tried for many a year to break into the American market with their fey British pop. However, I do believe they’ve stolen their sound from those who came before, just like Oasis. As the CD spins around and around at dizzying speeds, I began to laugh. I couldn’t stop laughing. I was laughing and laughing. I laughed so hard that I vomited. The best of ’96 was actually recorded between 1983 and 1987 and it was recorded in England. Oh, you British elitists.

Now, The Mod Fun have a mite more psychedelic aspects to their music than what has been passed off on American shores as the latest British invasion, but I’ll be damned if that genuinely enticing way with a pop song wasn’t revealed way back when the Smiths and the Pet Shop Boys were all the rage. Remove the echo from the vocals and insert slightly less psych into the guitars—what is the discovery? Pulp, God dammit. It’s fucking Pulp from over a decade ago. Oh God, I can’t stop laughing. I might die from laughing and inhaling vomit, but there is nothing like the sound of Rickenbacker. These Brits do have that dry sense of humor don’t they? —Mr. Baggins

Skeleton Key
Motel Records

Good luck finding this little gem around town. It comes from the same people who put together the VAMPYROS LESBOS project, but Skeleton Key aren’t doing a soundtrack for erotic horror. I’d say they’d spent too much time on the playground with The Delta 72, Jon Spencer and Railroad Jerk, to name a few. Although the blues aspect of their music is hardly presented, their talents with noise are readily apparent. “You Might Drown” firms up their spot among an entire history of indie label bands who come and go with alarming regularity, yet they never seem to make a dent in the mainstream consciousness. The tune is the only ballad of the disc. Lo-fi whispered vocals and minimalism are in attendance. For the most part the remainder of the six songs presented are of the fucked-up variety. Chord progressions that don’t make much sense to “alternative” accustomed ears, clanging-banging, Rawhead Rex vocals — somehow I doubt that “Hoboerotica” is going to make skater punks, ravers, homeboys or twelve-year olds visit the mall. I don’t believe the dizzy spell of “The Spreading Stain” will catch the attention of a program director near you because this is Salt Lake City, a town without college radio. However, don’t give up hope. This is Skeleton Key’s first release. I just heard Railroad Jerk on the radio the other day. Just think in about six years with five full-lengths to their credit — some PD might discover Skeleton Key. Your assignment, if you choose to accept it, is to search out a copy of Skeleton Key’s CD and listen to it in its entirety. The experience could sway your thoughts away from the upcoming U2 dance disco. —Winston Carigiola

The Hi-Fives
A Whole Lotta You
Lookout!

All the power of old rock and roll with the energy of today is punk movement are what the Hi-Fives are all about. Pushing out of the same vein as early Kinks and the newer sounds of Thee Headcoats, the first impulse that hits you is to dance baby, dance! Where a lot of bands have simply forgotten how to have fun, these guys take three basic chords and wrap them around a tasty chorus and go off, Buddy Holly-style! Simple and nonthreatening, the happy schoolboy sounds of a big hollowbody, thumping drums, and a fuzzy-warm organ make any day of listening a Saturday walk through the park. It is hard to beat this sophomore offering, smooth and creamy like a veteran 50s release by the Kingsmen. Throw on your short sleeve button up sweater and tie your wing tips, bet in your 1954 Chevy and hightail it down to the local platter shop to give this vinyl a spin. It’s the best on stacks to the best on wax, kiddies! —Billy Fish

Pig
Sinsation
Nothing/Interscope

Here’s one Formula PR sent me. As anyone in touch with their NINees realizes, Formula is the firm responsible for promoting anything with Trent involvement. For some strange reason, Marilyn Manson was dropped from their contract and now the Evil Interscope Records empire must be accessed for info on those maniacs. These Pig fuckers released their CD to little interest and even lesser sales figures during the later part of 1996. C. Delores Tucker and her ilk didn’t catch on to the band because they failed to print a lyric sheet. God forbid anyone ever listens to the actual music they criticize. Just read the lyric sheet. Pig are more of the same, same, same, for all I know the band could be an all-star assembly of NIN, Filter and Marilyn Manson. The CD features all the tried and true aspects of the “industrial” tool pouch. Imagine walking down a dark alley with weird surround sounds or dancing a liqueured up storm on “industrial” night at DV8? Hey, I’ve got it! Let’s sample a preacher and a gospel choir! The “I can’t get hard/wet unless I’m abused, branded, tattooed and pierced beforehand” is pretty exciting and as I hid under my bed due to the fear the disc brought on, I discovered that it had put me to sleep. Only the final crash brought full wakefulness after dreaming that Pig had acquired mad cow disease from eating NINee flesh. —Big Jake LaMancha

Various Artists
Heide sez … Lookout!
Lookout!

Wow! Six bucks for 25 songs by 20 different bands! Can you beat that, fool?!? I think not, sucker! Covering all the music styles and releases on Lookout! Record this last year, all bases are covered; including the Queers, Avail, The Mr. T Experience, Fifteen, Citizen Fish, Go Sailor (my personal fav!), and Pansy Division. The sounds are wide and varied along the punk spectrum, with hardcore to pop punk, garage to ska. If you are familiar with none, some, or all – This is the disc for you. Pull your head out of the toilet and catch some of the wild sounds coming from the heart of Berkeley’s exploding music scene. It’s the best deal for your bread, considering how little you must have after the shopping frenzy of X-Mas. A perfect addition to the snowfort of any border or treehouse of the SLC loser squad, This is an essential to add along with your fucked-up fat pants and designer flat top, bucktooth…buy it now! —Billy Fish

Oranj Symphonette
Plays Mancini
Gramavision

It isn’t another lounge disc. Oranj Symphonette is a band made-up of musicians with impressive jazz credentials. They interpret the Mancini catalog slightly differently than a lounge band and they tend to mess a bit with the arrangements while never losing sight of the theme. While the CD is recommended to anyone who has discovered the Del-Fi project, Shot In The Dark – Things here aren’t quite so easily digested. “A Shot In The Dark” opens the CD with a 78 rpm version. “The Inspector Clouseau Theme” is where the band lives up to both the Symphonette in their name and their jazz chops. It does become a bit free, but incredibly enough the tune is anchored by strings. The “symphonette” is fully in place for “Moon River.” They are far from finished because as things move smoothly along. “Moon River” becomes a cha-cha-cha. 

All the favorites are here: “The Pink Panther Theme,” “Experimente In Terror,” “The Days Of Wine And Roses” in more or less recognizable form. As the CD enters the closing minutes, Oranj Symphonette offers a trilogy: “March Of The Cue Balls” becomes “Baby Elephant Gun (Baby Elephant Walk and Peter Gunn).” The final impression is Mancini done up downtown style. I wonder what these guys would do to Les Baxter or Martin Gould? This is an essential to add along with your fucked-up fat pants and designer flattop, bucktooth. Buy it now! —Lawrence Denny

E.Coli
To Drool
Triple X Records

Mixing draining sonic guitar with moaning schoolboy whining, this is a supreme example of how Jesus and Mary Chain influenced more bands than people realize or give them credit for. This is straight from the sounds of The Jesus and Mary Chain Psychocandy sessions, being full to the hilt of noise and painful lyrics. First and foremost, the guitar is up and in front all the way, no holds barred. Braying like an electric donkey in heat, the sounds from this six-string attack remind me also of earlier Velvet Underground solos by Mr. Lou Reed, bleeding over until your ears start aching. The lyrics are self-indulgent and painful, centering around a loser with the “I’m cool, anyway,” attitude that sticks out like a sore thumb. Straying away from the mainstream, this is the goop you find under the rock of obscure indie music. Take a taste and see if it fits into your menu for appealing tunes. —Billy Fish

The Eels
Beautiful Freak
Dreamworks

I’m about as sick of the “Novocaine For The Soul” as I am “Stupid Girl,” but the radio doesn’t play the “real” version. As usual they are fucking with your head. The only reason I’m reviewing The Eels months after its release is because no one else has. Is the entire album as tiring as that stupid one hit wonder song? Do The Eels have the talent to succeed beyond the critically acclaimed E and actually survive the short attention span of the alternative nation and have a career as musical artists? Well, they do have the drum and bass thing down pretty damn good. Kind of trippy, kind of dub and lo-fi sounding. This could succeed, if the short attention spans are somehow trapped with the sound of ’96 in ’98 when the next record comes out. But wait a minute, this isn’t a “product” stamped out as a commodity for mass consumption like an Idaho potato — or is it? They say “fuck” a lot. I’m sorry ma’am, but this recording is not the best thing for your eight-year-old Cub Scout to listen to. He might begin to masturbate. The production is full with many strings and lovely orchestral arrangements interspersed between the “fuck” utterances. There are some tunes concerning not being right in the brain — these could be misconstrued as enticements for suicidal tendencies, but who in this chemically imbalanced world doesn’t have suicidal tendencies at times? It must be those drugs the evil pusher is selling, or maybe it could be The Catcher In The Rye. Oh well, I’ll take five blue Valiums and drive the kids to soccer practice in the sports utility vehicle. The tribute to Beck closes the CD and the Eels can’t touch that “Manchild.” —Jenny Curtis

Read more CD reviews from the archives:
CD Reviews: December 1996
CD Reviews: November 1996

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