CD Reviews: May 1998
Archived
The Bassholes
Long Way Blues/1996-1998
Matador
Just give me Matador all day and all night. The title song is about as far removed from the world of white, yuppie blues middle class Americans slurp up like a vegetarian pizza as Erik Clap On‘s current mush is from his days with John Mayall. White boys can play the blues and the scholars who claim the blues and hillbilly are totally separate genres are only scholars. The recording is not slick because the blues are not slick. Certain elements of the fabled garage enter the picture and lyrics such as “I’m passed out on my grass” remind me of a summer night spent snorting coke and drinking vodka. The title is “Knocked Out On My Lawn.” Electric boogies are combined with acoustic country and echo is a factor. The Bassholes are so steeped in the blues that they bring on a “fife” for “Joan Dark.” If there was a song with a banjo I’d probably wet myself. “Ass Welt Boogie” is a title to remember. For a second I thought Hound Dog Taylor had been resurrected to remind everyone about distortion. The CD cover exposes breasts, too.
The Revenants
Artists and Whores
!Epiphany!
The last thing !Epiphany! sent was Yoko Love. That was not a good disc. Before that it was the Beat Angels. All, or at least most, of the Beat Angels songs are about cheap drinks, cheap drugs, cheap whores and trailer park love. The girls are all tarts and the boys are all heavy alcohol abusers. Thus it comes as no surprise to find The Revenants on !Epiphany!. “That Girl’s Insane,” “Light At The End Of The End Of The Bottle,” “Every Single Minute With You Is Like A Minute Alone” and “Even Hookers Say Goodbye” are a few of the most interesting song titles. The final song, “Prodigal Son,” is a true tear jerker and the hidden track is a cover of Jody Reynolds‘ “Endless Sleep” all done up in Elvis fashion. Al Casey is the most famous of several guest artists sitting in with The Revenants for the recording. What we have here is classic honky tonk with classic country western cliched lyrics from a band that cannot be serious about it all. Instead of crying in the beer, laugh until the tears flow if it is possible to find a bar with Angels And Whores in the jukebox. Barflies of whatever sex can dance all night because the beat of The Revenants is perfect for swing or waltzing. Burt’s and Spanky’s both need to search for a copy.
Neko Case & Her Boyfriends
The Virginian
Bloodshot Records
What kind of band covers “Bowling Green” and titles a CD The Virginian? It’s one of them newfangled country rock bands. Neko Case has a pleasing voice with the ability to graze the sideburns with a near yodel and a full on hiccup. The voice is pretty cool and more than anything Case is reminiscent of Lara Jones. That could be one reason Bloodshot hasn’t snatched Atomic Deluxe out of Salt Lake City obscurity. The trick to the album is the songs, the songs are superbly written, but more than the songs are the boyfriends. Brian Connelly is the guitarist for every song. John Reischman is present on mandolin for five of the 12 songs and both step out with impressive solos. Connelly’s solo in the middle of “Jettison” is so vintage and echo drenched that it’s a wonder a digital format can handle the music. “High On Cruel” has Carolyn Mark on backing vocals, more of Connelly and Reischman doesn’t attempt to blow the house down with speed, he’s a restrained, man dolin cat. The cat in heat tune is “Karoline,” a honky tonk rather than rockabilly bit of whoopin’ and hollerin’. Reischm is back for the waltz, “Lonely Old Lies,” Matt Murphey joins up for the actual hiccuping number and once again don’t be misled, it isn’t rockabilly, the title says, “Honky Tonk Hiccups.” The Virginian is a country disc, but rather than dismiss it from the pages of SLUG due to bias from above, I’ll embrace it for the impeccable production, Case’s vocals, the strength of the songs and the talents of the backing boyfriends. Case promises her grandmother that she’ll do a George Jones song next time in the liner notes and that’s punk enough for me. Search this CD out!
George Jones
It Don’t Get Any Better Than This
MCA Nashville
Call it an amazing coincidence or a tragic trick of fate that George Jones’ latest album was released the same day Tammy Wynette died. The disc opens with “Wild Irish Rose,” a song about a Vietnam Veteran with, you guessed it, a half empty bottle of Wild Irish Rose. The opening number is so honky tonk and tragic that I cracked open a cheap pint myself before continuing. Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Bobby Bare, Hargus “Pig” Robbins, Wayne Toups and Pete Wade are all over the CD. The presence of The Nashville String Machine can not detract from the hard-core country nature of the disc. Those among us who hate country music have never listened to George Jones. “It Don’t Get Any Better Than This” can’t compete with “White Lightning” or “The Race ls On,” but I’ll take it over any platinum selling song out there. Get your own pint of cheap whiskey and some lines of crystal meth. Turn on Cops with the sound off, this CD playing and get all fucked up just like George Jones was back in the ’60s. George knows what’s up because he closes with the gospel.
Snuka
Snuka Bloody Snuka
Double Deuce Records
Snuka played in Provo and supposedly the vocalist, Chloe Sweeny, shoved a microphone right up her ass. The city fathers are worried about pasties and G-strings and right down the street a female shoves a microphone up her ass! How come we don’t get these shows in Salt Lake City? The CD is minimalist garage punk. Play Chuck Berry really fast, mix it up with a few metal cliches, some posing, a whole host of buzz-saw riffs, add a drummer with more energy than technique, teach the bassist the rudiments and feature the female on vocals. Sing about Dill’s, lack of food, not being able to pay the rent and don’t ever forget that in this society the female is the only one capable of earning sufficient wages. The males are all out looking for another woman, a woman with a better paying job. That’s life. Find a stripper who can sing, shove microphones up her ass and start a band. Snuka is that band and they’re good for a big, fat, living-room-destroying, eviction notice mess. You’re fucking up again and again and again and again. If fucking up again and again is a description of your sordid life then Snuka Bloody Snuka is the soundtrack to view the self-produced video by. “Fuck, fuck is what I want to do.”
Jimmy Page and Robert Plant
Walking Into Clarksdale
Atlantic
They don’t sound like Led Zeppelin anymore.
Moonshine Willy
Bastard Child
Bloodshot Records
With the third album, Moonshine Willy has fully evolved into a folk/bluegrass band. The rough edges that made Pecadores and Bold Displays of Imperfection such lovable recordings are gone. Mike Luke sticks to bass and background vocals. Bastard Child features only one duet. George Goehl’s mandolin and Rachael Ferro’s violin are high in the mix, but the instruments never interfere with Moonshine Willy’s main instrument — Kim Doctor’s voice. Luke, Chris Ganey (drums) and Chuck Uchida (lead guitar) maintain the bounce. Uchida’s electric guitar figures prominently throughout and he has the ability to mimic some trademark Luthor Perkins and weep like a pedal steel, but Doctor and her acoustic backing musicians are the obvious stars. Doctor wrote 11 of the 13 songs and she sings them all. The band covers the Human League and Black Oak Arkansas. Past Moonshine Willy albums, Pecadores and Bold Displays of Imperfection, flew by at a frenetic pace.
The band has deep roots in punk rock and the music was a joyful experience of punk rock bluegrass. Bastard Child lacks the pace and the band risks alienating long-time fans who loved the wild nature of a Moonshine Willy song, but listen again and listen again and listen again. Doctor’s new songs are more insightful on the subjects of love and life without an urban “white trash” anthem. There isn’t a “You’re The Reason Our Kids Are Ugly” anywhere on the disc. From the opening “Burn In Hell” through “The Learning Song,” and all the way to “Always,” Moonshine Willy plays lovely folk music with the emphasis fully on the lyrics and the acoustic instruments. Just when it seems that the band is determined to become the Nanci Griffith or Shawn Colvin of the “insurgent country” set “Nobody Wants To Die” arrives. An obscure number from Black Oak Arkansas’ Street Party LP hardly seems appropriate for Moonshine Willy, but they drop the “Everybody Wants To See Heaven” and go with the parentheses “(Nobody Wants To Die)” to make the song their own. “Passing Affair” is a splendid display of how smooth the band is at present. The closer is Human League‘s “Don‘t You Want Me” dressed in a square dance outfit. Luke finally does the call and response with Doctor using heavily treated vocals and the band kicks into high gear.
Bastard Child is a magnificent, genre spanning recording. The band will play live at Spanky’s on May 9 and once again the acoustic music community is invited to change out of their stuffed shirts and view one of the tightest acoustic ensembles on the planet which also happens to feature an electric guitar and drums.
Thorazine
Vicious Cycle
Hell Yeah
“In the beginning there was ROCK …then it got boring and stale. Then PUNK ROCK …kinda shook things up a bit. In time, punk rock also became stale and boring. But thankfully, just when you think all is lost, there will come a group of leather-clad thugs pounding out three chords on dimestore instruments proving you don’t need to be Emerson, Lake or Palmer to play wild rebellious PUNK rock and roll! Case in point — THORAZINE!” That’s the press release. Jo-Ann Rogan is the lead vocalist and just like Snuka, Thorazine is a garage punk band. If a female singing “See you moving, muscles pumpin’ / Grind it baby, just can’t take it / Brain on fire, dirty nasty sex,” complete with wet slurping sounds attractive then it is and that’s only the chorus. Other charming numbers such as “Dis Town,” “Slice The Vein” and “Jacob” fly by before Thorazine does punk rock doo-wop, the tune is “Food.” Songs about bikes and sex are mixed with the typical takes on disenchantment. Thorazine doesn’t plow any new ground. Vicious Cycle is a simple album of old fashioned punk rock. The attraction is how well the band does it and of course the female vocals. It’s a mighty album and the band will offer it all up live and in person at Spanky’s on May 14. The show ranks right up there with Zeke and The Donnas in the punk rock sweepstakes of 1998. Spanky’s is the place for the garage punk nation. It’s too bad the repression of Utah society bans the under 21 from Spanky’s because one dose of this and the skate rats would forget all about pop punk.
The Humpers
Euphoria, Confusion, Anger and Remorse
Epitaph
Epitaph released five garage punk CDs during the month of April. At most indie stores, purchasing one or more of the discs entitles the buyer to a free copy of the Roadkill sampler. This Humpers CD came out on April 21. Just like every garage punk CD I’ve reviewed in this marathon session, the magic doesn’t stop for one single second. The Humpers have a more tuneful take on the format than some others and Scott Drake is a singer, not a screamer, but the Humpers don’t play that sugary sing-along shit. Amazingly enough, two of Epitaph’s employees are guesting on the album. Gina Scalise sings background, most obviously on “Fucking Secretaries.” This particular number is the Humpers in their New York Dolls mode. Andy Kaulkin is another famous Epitaph employee I’m sure others around the country know well. He contributes piano and organ. Scalise screams and moans in the background of “Devil’s Magic Pants” and then by God damn Jeff Turmes hauls out the saxophone for “Peggy Sue Got Married.” Kaulkin’s pounding the 88s, Turmes is squawking away and the Humpers have entered a garage rock heaven inhabited by the likes of Hi Fi And The Roadburners. Then by God, the Humpers bring on the synthesized Gene Vincent clappers for “Ghetto In the Sky.” Most “critics” believe that Elvis had the clappers, but it was really Gene and anyone believing in Elvis clappers “must be high.” They must be building “ghettos in the sky.” “Ten Inches High” is the story of my life. Toss roots rock, the Stooges, the New York Dolls, the Gene Vincent clappers, Jerry Lee Lewis, The Sex Pistols and Joe Houston into a big vat and discover the Humpers grade A+ rock and roll.
Yo La Tengo
Little Honda
Matador
Yo La Tengo covers six songs in around 25 minutes and for a bargain price. If The Velvet Underground had ever covered “Little Honda,” it might have sounded similar to Yo La Tengo’s version. The version is so good that it deserves to be a hit all over again, but we all know about the state of the nation and the general public’s taste in music. “Be Thankful For What You Got” is spy-movie-lounge, “No Return” is Mary Hopkins’ in a lounge, “Black Hole” has folk-rock harmonizing with pure Yo La Tengo guitar. “How Much I’ve Lied” is weepy, country complete with AI Perkins on pedal steel and “By the Time It Gets Dark” combines the folk-rock of “Black Hole” with the lounge of “Be Thankful For What You Got” and “No Return.” There are certainly worse ways to spend the few dollars Little Honda costs and I can’t think of many better uses for the money. One hidden track is “Little Honda” again, and again, the tune would sound great in a little Honda tuned to corporate radio. Fuzzed out, freaky, psychedelic guitars to make any drive pleasant. Things come to a close with a live version of “We Are the Champions” in a lounge.
Mike Ireland & Holler
Learning How To Live
Sub Pop
Learning How To Live could well be the best CD Sub Pop releases in 1998. As the story goes, Mike Ireland was in the Starkweathers, a band prepared for break-out status, when Ireland discovered that the Starkweathers’ lead singer was having an affair with his wife. The songs on the album are the result of Ireland losing his home, his wife, his band and his best friend all at the same time. “House Of Secrets” begins the tale and the title needs no explanation. Actually, once the story is known, the album’s title needs no explanation. The Revenants are a band playing the music and singing the drinking songs with a sense of humor. Ireland doesn’t find his experience amusing. The songs describe one man’s heartbreak and his struggle to continue living, the music is the sweetest damn country anyone could ever dream of hearing. If Ireland was only a back-up singer in the Starkweathers I’d really like to hear that other guy because Ireland’s voice wears the songs like old shrink-to-fits. The band backs Ireland as if they’d played a thousand dates in blood-buckets with chicken wire surrounding the stage. I cannot believe that Ireland cover’s Johnny Ray‘s “Cry.” The best way to sum the listening experience up is simple — don’t allow the ears of anyone attempting sobriety while enduring the pain of a broken relationship to hear one song. They’ll fall off the wagon and attempt suicide in the morning. I finally found something to equal The Derailers and Wayne Hancock.
Mike Morgan and the Crawl
The Road
Black top
Mr. Morgan and his band the Crawl open with a boogie so tight that I thought I’d tuned into TNN for retro night. Too bad Wynonna can’t make her buddy Kenny Wayne Shepherd boogie so hard. The Road is more than a boogie. It’s the Crawl’s seventh album for Black Top and Lee McBee is back! Lee who? He’s the singer and the harp cat, Morgan is the guitarist with the licks. “No More Clouds” is all Blues Brothers’ soul featuring a horn section and back-up singers, “You’re Gonna Miss Me” is a Morgan original with a hook as deep as the Stax/Volt box-set and “Born To Boogie” is a piano pumpin’, guitar humpin’, harp blowin’ bar room jam only veterans can produce. “Wino Jam II” is blue beat poetry and “I’m Blue” finds the band back on TNN to teach the fat butts in Wranglers and funny shirts all about shakin’ their hinnies. It seems weird to compare a “blues” album to TNN’s line dancers, but most country music today is nothing but half-assed tributes to Elvis, Chuck Berry and the Eagles. The proof is in the final two numbers. Waylon Jennings and Chuck Berry receive a Morgan and the Crawl interpretation. “Cold Wind” is the only slow burner of the album.
Junior Kimbrough and the Soul Blues Boys
Do The Rump
HMG/High Water
David “Junior” Kimbrough is dead, may God see fit to allow him through the gates of heaven despite his evil ways. The CD of interest contains a reissue of Kimbrough’s second ever 45 rpm release and a live session recorded at the Rust College Recording studio. I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Kimbrough in a small, smoke-filled, beer stinking room on the University of Utah campus a couple of years ago. I had the distinct pleasure of viewing Kimbrough play his hypnotic “Cottenpatch blues” in an auditorium on the same campus and I watched at least half of the audience rise up and leave because Kimbrough’s blues were so real that their small, university educated minds could not grasp the intense nature of the music. Kimbrough sings about fucking. His guitar playing mimics the rhythm of fucking and his rhythm section has the grind. Every song on this album and every song on every other Junior Kimbrough recording in existence is about fucking. What in the God damned hell does the title refer to? University professors recorded the damn music and they wrote the liner notes. I don’t know why these individuals fail to grasp Kimbrough’s emphasis. “Junior sings in a relaxed and soothing style over catchy mid-tempo dancing rhythms.” Say what? “Hey now baby, let’s do the rump… let’s do it all over again…the rump, the rump, until broad daylight again.” Mid-tempo dancing rhythms? The man sired 39 children with 17 different women for Christ’s sakes. What in the hell do you think he was doing when he wasn’t playing his guitar? He was either eating, drinking, playing the guitar or fucking. The end, period. “I done got old, I can’t do the things I used to do.” I don’t need a degree to tell me what he can’t do any more. If fucking all night sounds like a good idea place Do The Rump in the “system,” press repeat and git after it.
Girls Against Boys
“Park Avenue” (Single)
Geffen
This was certainly a long time coming. Breathy vocals over synthesizers and the edge is certainly going to break Girls Against Boys through to platinum success. For some reason “Park Avenue” doesn’t sound like a hit single from the biggest decade of the one hit wonders since the ’70s. It doesn’t sound like a hit at all. It sounds like Girls Against Boys and if this catches on with the airheads tuned into “modern” radio, then Airheads was a hit movie just like Titanic. As much as I love them I don’t believe their new release on a major label will change them from “cult” heroes to Smashmouth millionaires.
Sonic Youth
“Sunday” (Single)
Geffen
Now this is nice. Sonic Youth as Velvet Underground meeting Bob Mould’s pop craft while he was still in the closet and fronting Husker Du. It’s catchy as all hell, but just like Girls Against Boys, a career isn’t built around one single and the Butthole Surfers’ success was a fluke. Another 10,000 to 20,000 units moved should keep them in house, home and recording contract. Watch for the baby to kick something out as popular as Jacob if the world is still around.
Pitchshifter
www.pitchshifter.com
Geffen
So I’m like going, you know, like this Pitchshifter band is totally original. They record for Geffen and they sound like some kind of Roadrunner/Nothing/Korn type of band. It ain’t bad if that sort of music is of interest.
The Jesus Lizard
Blue
Capitol
Somehow The Jesus Lizard has managed to maintain both a major label contract and musical credibility. Everything moves along pretty smoothly until the Jesus Lizard arrives at “Eucalyptus.” The band, or more specifically the bassist and the drummer stand locked behind chain-link fencing and grooving as if the world stood still. David Yow completes the vocal portion as only he can and the guitarist is off in some never-never land of feedback. The captain orders all flight personnel to buckle up and passengers are forbidden from any movement. The oxygen masks drop down and the ride causes some to vomit. “A Tale Of Women” is hot and bothered and in need of “Cold Water,” “And Then The Rain.” My copy is an advance and the Jesus Lizard deserves a longer discussion after street date. —Wa
Dave Matthews Band
Before These Crowded Streets
RCA
Funny thing, they don’t look like hippies.The new release from the Dave Matthews Band is fine as long as Dave Matthews keeps his mouth shut. Leroi Moore gives up more saxophone skronk on “Pantal Naga Pampa” than Grover Washington Jr. has in his entire career. “Rapunzel” would be a cool, though insufferably drawn out, instrumental if Matthews wasn’t “singing” his nonsense words throughout. The band has plenty of talent, but the Matthews fellow has to go. As if the band weren’t good enough, Bela Fleck, Tim Reynolds, Greg Howard and the Kronos Quartet are invited guests. I’m sure many frat boys and hippies are swaying, tripping and watching their various black light posters, lava lamps and other entrapments of psychedelic culture as Matthews continues the third world meditation experience — “Don’t Drink the Water” can only have one meaning. ‘”Cause you’re all dead now, I live with my justice, I live with my greedy need, I live with no mercy, I live with my frenzied feeding, I live with my hatred, I live with my jealousy, I live with the notion that I don’t need anyone but me. Don’t drink the water. There’s blood in the water.” Too many bong hits does that to a person and that bong water tastes like shit, doesn’t it? “Stay (Wasting Time)” sounds like any week night at the Dead Goat, a weekend at the Zephyr or David McClellan slipping up in search of an audience at Spanky’s. White boy hippie funk complete with female background vocals. This music fills arenas and sells platinum? Shove a sock in Matthews’ mouth and turn his band into a karaoke act. My fucking God! There’s a reason the lyrics to “Halloween” aren’t included. Fuck the sock, just put the poor fucker out of his misery and don’t even attempt the Tony Bennett “lounge singer” shit. Bill Murray did that years ago, he did it better and he was funny. Matthews is as pathetic as “Crush.” Stick with the bong water, “Drink some wine until we get drunk” isn’t a very good lyric in a lounge let alone a stadium. I made it to “Pig” before boredom overtook me. Before These Crowded Streets is “product” for the masses and I don’t have time to waste listening to “product,” I need music. Bring on the millennium because there is no intelligent life left on earth. The Dave Matthews Band will play at the Delta Center on May 21. Taj Mahal is opening and I’m leaving after the opening act.
—Zippy the Pinprick
Wow! You made it this far back, read more from the archives:
Written in Blood: February 1997
Human Waste Project
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