CD Reviews: April 1997
Archived
Machine Head
The More Things Change…
Roadrunner
Machine Head, just like several thousand other bands, repeatedly call for revolution in the lyrics of the 10 songs presented. The “man” is to blame and “we,” the Machine Head fan club, are not to bow down to his pressure. As I learned by reading the lyrics to “Bay Of Pigs,” “a pig a pig, that’s all you’ll ever be / REFUSE TO COWER TO THE SWINE / I’m sick of it, at the end of my wits / The next time you fuck with me / I’m gonna snap like I never have before.” This tune appears to be directed toward the police force that protects each and every one of us from criminals. These moral and dedicated public servants are nothing but “pigs” to the members of Machine Head. The next time an enforcer of the laws of our land shakes down Robb Flynn, Machine Head’s lyric creator and vocalist, well, that is when he’ll snap.
Young, impressionable males will purchase the disc and pore over the lyrics in their bedrooms. They will emerge with their hearing damaged by the unrelenting power of the heavy metal music and their attitudes changed forever. They will sass authority figures in the homes, schools and churches of our great nation. Oh God how I fear the future. Teenagers, like women, should be seen and not heard. They should sit quietly, do as they are instructed and allow the indoctrination process to proceed without interference. The uncompromised beauty of The More Things Change… must be banned. Do not be fooled by the cartoon antics of Marilyn Manson. He is a pawn, a diversion tactic used by the evil hordes to draw media attention away from the true danger to our society as it exists today. Heed these words or face the consequences. —Reverend Johnson
Tribhanga
Soul Freak
Global Underground Records
Often I luck out and receive wacked-out tunes in the mail from reps at labels I’ve talked to in the past, who know that I’m easily amused by the weird and original, sending some examples my way. Not very often do I really care for it too much in particular, but usually I enjoy the chance to step into realms of new style and sound. My buddy at NRA decided to test my palate with this group, which I expected to be death metal (which it wasn’t), and ended up having another thing coming! Mixing metal guitars with heavy funk bass, the female vocals scream about the environment and growing hemp to save the world. Imagine a Lydia Lunch/Joan Baez-combined freak singing with Slayer and the Peppers (Red Hot Chili) together…fucked up, huh? I’m still whirling in amazement and surprise! Easily my pick for the freshest sound of the month, if not the year! I would recommend this only to the truly curious and open-minded. Give it a spin to see if it might sink in! —Billy Fish
The Dwarves
The Dwarves Are Young and Good Looking
Theologian Records
Is a review of The Dwarves’ history necessary? Hewhocannotbenamed is not dead. His death was a very successful hoax, a publicity stunt that resulted in SubPop eliminating The Dwarves from their roster. The Dwarves address the issue with a letter from Greedy Records‘ publicist Jill Germsteen reproduced on the back cover of their CD booklet. I’ll leave the steaming shit pile at that because insiders can glean sufficient information to understand the sarcastic punk rock attitude thus revealed.
Yes, the music is punk rock. Since The Dwarves have been around since 1986, they play the music with astounding expertise. Their songs are short, sweet and to the point. The only attempt at commercial success is “Everybody’s Girl,” a melodic, verse-chorus-verse, radio-friendly analysis of television females which is also available as a single.
Topics such as God, blood, the Nazarene and sexual desire almost sums up the rest. “Demonica” has a 13-year-old temptress, “Throw That World Away” is a dare to push the button and “Pimp” describes wanting to be one. Creatively selected soundbites introduce several songs. Blag Jesus is in rare form as he expresses the Dwarves philosophy in song. Hewhocannotbenamed rips through one guitar part after another as the likes of Spike, Vadge Moore, Wholley Smokkes, Mr. Everything and Saltpeter bash and batter their instruments of choice into unconsciousness. Due to the misguided nature of their publicity stunt, the Dwarves are surely relegated to a life of obscurity and that is sad because The Dwarves Are Young And Good Looking is a hell of a good album. —Wink
Dinosaur Jr.
Hand It Over
Reprise Records
Dinosaur Jr. is back with another dollop of self-abusing vomitorious garbage. While all along I have believed that Mascis is a great guitar player, he has all the context of a drowning sewer rat you know used to be vicious and now just looks pitiful as it dies. Some would say this record reflects a more mature and therefore crafty J. But this is just a big pile of pinch loaf pushed out seemingly a “matured” pimply ass. The songs haven’t changed since “Where you been?” So if you want the same old falsetto voice singing over guitars and sounding more and more like Tiny Tim. —Sausage King
Los Terribles
Napalm Records America
It had been a long time since I had sat down to a full serving of full-on speed metal, and this was quite the treat going in rusty to the genre. “Wow” and “ouch” were my first impressions, having my skull caved inward at the points between the ears. Besides the traditional demon growls on vocals, the guitars and drumming were earth-shattering, probably sending the levels in the studio far over the edge with redline fever. Their drum kit sounds like a tinny pawn shop special, kicking out beats faster than an AK-47 drops patrons at the local McDee’s…bloody hardcore, my man! Some of the guitar effects remind me of old Sleep and Neurosis, squealing and chopping up chords as fast as humanly possible on any electric axe. What kind of person listens to this stuff on a regular basis? Insane! This is not the shit needed by snot-nosed posers with radio stickers on their cute Hondas. You have to be living this life to truly appreciate the (lower) level of brutality pushed out on this album. Core listeners …buy it! Wienies and knuckleheads…beware! —Billy Fish
OMC
How Bizarre
Mercury
Expect to hear OMC on the radio soon, if you haven’t already. OMC is a one man band comprised of Pauly Fuemana and 17 other musicians helping out on one track or another. He has already achieved success of monster proportions in his native land of New Zealand. Now he has set his sights on an American market tired of “alternative.” OMC is certainly alternative to that. How Bizarre is a dance disc filled with hip hop and contrary-to-the-norm acoustic instruments that are used to create much of the flavor. The female backing vocals of the title track and most others are too syrupy for my taste, but when live cello, acoustic guitar, violin, trumpet, accordion, saxophone, pedal steel or dobro intrudes on the programmed drum and bass beats… music of uncommon variety is the result. Folk-dub-disco from New Zealand is surely more pleasing on the ears than more overhyped Brit-pop or electronica. —Squealing Dan
Killing Spree
Terror From Beyond Space
Napalm Records America
The San Diego Cult members may not have been the only members looking to the skies to have aliens take them away. Consider the members of Killing Spree, who have an unearthly sound that may be beckoning visitors from beyond, with their spacey blend of metal and industrial, that truly is something not of this world. The drumming is the driving force, like a spacecraft’s stellar engine, kicking out beats that are too well timed to come from the hands and feet of any mere mortal human. The screaming guitars sound like a rocket battalion blasting off to points unknown in the distant skies. The vocals are the only thing that sounds partially human, but even with the words in English you feel as if a pod may be behind this hatching, belting out the stories of cosmic invasion that will supposedly be coming soon … yeah, right! But, in any case, the music is real enough – spraying hardcore electronic metal across the audio spectrum that is guaranteed to land home every time. If you love Ministry and H.G. Wells, look no further, earthlings! —Billy Fish
Redd Kross
Show World
Mercury
Are those Richard Blade and “Just Can’t Get Enough” compilations beginning to sound a bit tired? Does the resurgent interest in Cheap Trick hold the mind captive? Well, New-Wavers and ’80s worshippers, Redd Kross and the McDonald brothers have a new disc worthy of your attention. Don’t be fooled by their humble beginnings in the SoCal punk scene. Punk rock is dead — just ask Christian Arial — and Redd Kross was never a punk rock band anyway. How long did Ron Reyes and Greg Hetson stay with the McDonalds — about a year? Show World is another glowing example of power pop. Harmonies, songwriting, hooks galore, only a dash of sugar and a light sprinkling of the wackiness the McDonalds are known for. It’s the Beatles, Bad Finger, Cheap Trick and Huey Lewis recording together and sitting like a dud in a chain store near you. Go find it, you wavers. Remember when skinny ties were in, remember the first Elvis Costello record, remember his alter-ego Joe Jackson and remember when the perfect pop songs of Graham Parker weren’t played on the radio — just like now. What a gorgeous disc. When is Matthew Sweet going to do one like this? —Beano
Matthew Sweet
Blue Sky On Mars
Zoo
Don’t let the presence of Roger Dean on the cover and some less-than-favorable reviews in the glossy press create fear in the breast. “Come To California” is another near-perfect pop song. That song opens Matthew Sweet’s latest offering. I happen to side with the other critics when the subject is Robert Quine and Richard Lloyd. Their absence is felt, but their absence doesn’t ruin the album. Sweet himself plays the bass and guitar parts. I’m not sure who does it live because I skipped the performance in Austin, I guess we’ll just hope Sweet brings the music to Salt Lake City again. Anyway “Hollow” is a fine example of Sweet in a dark mood, “Until You Break” is the ballad and as Sweet informs he is “Over It.” He is downright ecstatic when the beam strikes “Heaven and Earth.” Guitar sweeps and swoons compete for the attention with muscled drums and bass rumble while Sweet creates the moods with his voice. Admittedly commercial gratuities such as this are not exactly my bent, but several sessions with Blue Sky On Mars didn’t inspire a salacious desire to purchase Wild Orchid or the Spice Girls in search of more sweetness than substance. —The Edgeman
One Hit Wonder
Outfall
Nitro Records
Rancid? Pennywise? No it’s the fellas from the band One Hit Wonder! But it doesn’t really matter, since they sound so much like a wacked-out combo of these two groups, with vocals from the first and back-up band like the second, that unless you’re completely sober you might get nostalgic to hear these other veteran outfits. I’m not being insulting, because we all know how damn hard it is these days to sound even remotely original, especially in the swollen waters of the punk river of life. No sweat, just kick it out and enjoy the show, which is what these kids are out to do for you. Zipping through a quick set of ‘90s speed punk, skaters and flatheads will surely dig this mainstream punk platter that hits all the high points needed to sell a few indie CDs and make a living out of a van, doing the $5 shows in most major cities for the enjoyment of most American kids. Grab your board and pack a few greenbacks in the back of your pack to purchase this number. Your friends will think you’re hip to the scene and you’ll help feed and clothe another hard-working punk band in the process. Cheers! —Billy Fish
Hotel X
Routes Music
SST Records
Hotel X is a great band that plays some good music – They throw one hell of a party too. This record is not much of a change for the band. It’s got swing and it’s got a good groove. The musicianship on this album has improved from the last record. Check out the epic “Routes,” clocking in at seven minutes, it moves pretty smoothly and has a good amount of variations on a central theme. At points this record drifts into an almost Morphine-like trance mode. This is not their best work but it’s working towards their best. —Sausage King
dEUS
In A Bar Under The Sea
Island
Any Belgian band opening their disc with sampled country blues deserves a slight amount of attention. Any Belgian band coaxing individuals employed by Girls Against Boys and Morphine respectively to contribute to their music deserves more than a slight amount of attention. In A Bar Under The Sea is another of those discs that sits like a lump in the bin at the mall awaiting the flush of the next return authorization. dEUS doesn’t fit any narrow categorization. They engage in rapping over discordant guitars, they make effective use of samples, they skip lightly by territories marked by Rage Against The Machine and 311 while never accomplishing more than pissing on the graffiti border. And what about that Morphine guy? “Theme From Turnpike” competes with the latest, greatest free jazz sensation as it obliterates feeble attempts by the Rainbow Tribes at tribal tempos. The next thing you know dEUS fights an undertow by ba-pa-pa-daing their way through the prettiness of “Little Arithmetic,” but don’t be fooled because they finalize the activity with noise. “Gimme the Heat” is Nirvana unplugged sitting in with Morphine for heaven’s sake. Sebadoh and Neil Young are other navigational constellations. If that grouping seems impossible maybe it is time to trot the bellbottoms and clogs down to the mall and investigate Belgium’s dEUS. —Captain Tony
Orb
Orblivion
Oh shit. Here’s the future of music. All guitar players had better pay attention. The hype surrounding this genre of music has me pulling out old Brian Eno and Tangerine Dream records and trying to mix them with the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever. I visited the pretend Cosmic Aeroplane and purchased a drum, I visited Wizards and Dreams for some incense and the local pot broker for some smoke. With hair in braids, jasmine essence in the air and a mind as confused as an old Vietnam war veteran, the disc slipped easily into the willing tray. Hands at the ready I prepared to add my drum beating to electronic atmospherics. What the fuck is new and original about this music? Didn’t Lori Mehan play about two hours of the shit every Saturday night on KRCL? That was back before the boomers took over and the creators used tape splices and antique synthesizers not computers, but damn didn’t it sound nearly the same? Keeping those thoughts in mind, and as stoned as a motherfucker, I dispensed with the drum and investigated the interior of my empty skill. Yeah, electronic music has always held a certain attraction. The Orb’s new one is more exciting than anything Kitaro or Detour have released in the last 15 years. When making a purchase keep the wits about you, because I’d hate to encounter you dressed in black with brand new Nikes on your feet the next time the flying saucer people kidnap me. —Steverino Halblainpern
Wayne Kramer
Citizen Wayne
Epitaph
Like any big fan of the Blank Generation sound/noise, I love Kramer as much as anyone. This would account for the pain I feel every time I see one of his solo albums in the discount bin of the used section at the local indie music stores. What’s up with that? Doesn’t anyone get it? Apparently not, because if they did, they would hold on to his few precious releases as a torch light against the darkness of the boring music industry we see surrounding us every damn day. That may seem melodramatic, but in all honesty Kramer is one of the few artists today that can both play and produce music that can reflect the cutting edge of today’s indie scene, yet still stand the test of time like all of his earlier projects. With a little help from friend/producer Don Was, Kramer puts together a heavy guitar record that reflects his past with the MC5, and tests the new waters of his current work that is a molding of strong lyrics and master guitar licks – That is the foundation of his music craft. One of the few musicians today that can put down a legitimate solo and not remove attention from the lyrical statement of his songs, more people need to get turned on to this top veteran from the Motor City, who still keeps his sound fresh and changing without isolating those who love his past offerings. Please, open that moldy cerebrum of yours and let Dr. Kramer in to have a look, and even better…a listen. —Billy Fish
Red Red Meat
There’s A Star Above The Manger Tonight
Sub Pop
The packaging is to die for, “She Said,” a song that isn’t covered by Red Red Meat. Based on the enormous overproduction of saliva the opening chords of There’s A Star Above The Manger Tonight (caused my glands to manufacture), Red Red Meat is surely aware of the song and its creator. I’ll leave the creator as a topic for readers to research and discuss folk music, blues and the impact these topics have on our modern day lives. Blues musicians are mostly white men with guitars today, folk musicians are mostly white men or women with acoustic guitars. Seldom is heard music created by white men with electric guitars and a singer/songwriter sensibility deeply rooted in folk blues that causes the bowls to move. Red Red Meat makes the bowls move. Keep a bottle of Pepto-Bismol handy because a session with these boys might require guzzling the pink liquid. Stop flowing bowels, you motherfuckers.
Please allow me the freedom to utter a cliche common to the pages of SLUG, a cliche so common that the two words comprising it are constantly in the minds and on the tongues of the entire nation: this music is “fucked up” …man. I’m fucked up, the country is fucked up, my job is fucked up, my girlfriend is fucked up, every goddamned thing is fucked up. Red Red Meat made my bowls all fucked up and There’s A Star Above The Manger Tonight immediately entered my top 10 for the year as I celebrated the resurrection on Easter Sunday. This event occurred two days before April Fool’s and three days after the death of 39. Add 10 to two to three and 39 to find 54, two numbers which when added together equal nine, a number repeated over and over by the Beatles shortly before they predicted the “Helter Skelter” of Charles Manson. This is a cosmic new age type of moment brought to you courtesy of Sub Pop and Red Red Meat. Now go eat some, and don’t miss the “hidden” ear drum shattering track because it is really, really fucked up. —Larry Mullegan
Helmet
Aftertaste
Interscope Records
Page and co. are back to the main line drive they started up with. Page Hamilton has given us some of the more vital musical forces of this “alternative” generation. So, after the wildly comical yet imaginative Betty, we return to a lean, mean, rivet-stomping machine. It’s not a radical change from Meantime but it is a change. Check out “Renovation” and “Exactly What You Wanted.” This is visceral energy with a lot less self-hilarity than the over inflated Rollins. The record was produced by Dave Sardy of Barkmarket, another one of this decade’s best innovators. Sardy is a perfectionist and it shows he has taken the time to make sure Helmet strapped it on and got things right. So until a vital new musical force arrives, enjoy this piece of work. —Sausage King
Dinosaur Jr.
Hand It Over
Warner Bro.
What can I say about J. Mascis that hasn’t already been said. The man is a genius with both lyrics and words, keeping rock music constantly changing with his undeniable style and originality. One of the few musicians out there in the off-mainstream world that can solo as well as chop a chord. His guitar work can still send chills down the spine. His latest record with Dinosaur Jr. is a giant of sound, splashing through a ton of different styles and moods. Listening to it will reassure all in the belief that Mascis is far from over in creating music that can continually evolve, but keep the same heavy feel that has captured so many avid fans. Teaming up with his favorite sidekick Mike Johnson on bass, as well as Belinda and Shields from my bloody valentine on a number of tracks, the old crunch of angst is still there, but now with an even larger wall of sound/distortion to sink in. Mascis has always been the whiny sad boy you have to love, and the pain is still there to experience with him, if you wish (masochist!). Is this guy ever going to be happy? He might not, but you will be after listening to this disc and knowing you have a new version of all the reasons why you love Dinosaur Jr. in the first place. Crunchy guitar, heart-ripping solos, nerd love lyrics…the whole nine yards. Dino is back and ready to let you feel the pain (again!). —Billy Fish
Roger McGuinn
Live From Mars
Hollywood Records
Some ’60s nostalgia, as if we needed anymore of it. If you don’t know, and I’m sure you don’t, McGuinn was in the band The Byrds with David Crosby. On his solo album McGuinn treats us to his personal musical history from his rendition of “Heartbreak Hotel,” yet another beautiful Pete Seeger song that was raped by the ’60s, Turn, Turn, Turn. I suppose Seeger raped the lyrics from the Bible; it’s in Psalms. Anyway I know all the hardcore Byrds fans out there who still get a little dewy eyed on the anniversary of The Byrds break up this is the album for you. I’m glad SLUG is man enough to do CD reviews for ex ’60s stars. —Mad Reverend
Sheep On Drugs
One For The Money
Invisible
Amy at Invisible saw fit to send an advance copy of this Sheep On Drugs disc and I thank her. It is one of those “white label” dealy-wackers that customarily fall into the hands of DJ folk. The shaved and goateed usually encountered during my travels on the earth have taken hardcore as a form of guitar rock. Sheep On Drugs is another vein of hardcore. Hardcore techno is their forte and this new slice of plastic with an aluminum plated exterior is sure to have the dance club patrons in a frenzy. After dos originals, they decide that Lou Reed is too slow. Name the junkie that can keep their head off their chest while listening to “Waiting For The Man,” let alone dance on the “shit.” In the biodome of Sheep On Drugs, heroin is meth and their version is a seduction. Heroin is so hip that you can smoke it now. The next tune, the title of which is unavailable, takes the pusher to task, “you’re on needle street,” while the unrelenting velocity of the techno keeps the mach 10 G’s at the speed of a bullet shot from a 9. Honesty is always the best policy and I found the creations of Sheep On Drugs tepid disco at best in the recent past. With the knowledge of One For The Money firmly implanted in my permanent memory, the duo has finally achieved the status the hype surrounding them foretold. Fucking punk disco, what say ye punter? My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult and the Lords Of Acid can only shake and shimmy in awe. —Joey Revolting
Underworld
Pearl’s Girl
TVT
Wasn’t “Doot Doot” just the coolest thing ever to perk up the pointed ears in the ’80s? Didn’t all the blood and vomit of Trainspotting bring back a memory of “Doot Doot”? Underworld can thank the Trainspotting soundtrack for reviving their careers because no one except the loyal cult fan base really cared much about Second Toughest in the Infants or any of their previous releases before the soundtrack hit the shelves. Much like a needle stuck in a vinyl scratch I will once again take the hype of electronica, the savior of the industry, to task. These guys have been around forever. Their genre of choice is and always has been disco. Technological developments added to the arsenal over the years and Karl Hyde and Rick Smith have embraced the machines to the joy of all employed by TVT and dance floor patrons worldwide. Supposedly major record labels are currently camped out on their doorsteps with checkbooks in hand. Shades of Mr. Reznor, how can TVT allow this to happen? Pearl’s Girl concentrates more on the hard core techno aspects of the group’s current incarnation and less on spaced out trip fulfilling ambiance of previous releases. My advice is to skip the rapid BPMs and delve deeper into the Underworld. My copy lacks song titles etc. but as the beam follows the 1’s and 0’s into the abyss of the black hole a non-drug inspired trance results. Trance kicks dance ass as far as I’m concerned and with total disregard for “Doot Doot,” I discovered blue sky and clouds in the microscopic bumps and pits of Pearl’s Girl.
Dave Hole
Ticket To Chicago
Alligator Records
I am still amazed by the grace of guitar, and this Aussie exemplifies it with his slide work. Hole’s vocals are a blend of smooth confessionals, but that doesn’t matter because Hole jumps ship entirely and just goes off. And if he doesn’t somebody else will, usually Tony Z (John Popper look-alike) the pianist, who has a mind of his own the whole album. I was amazed with the fluidity that Hole performed; on “My Bird Won’t Sing” the slide guitar sounds exactly how you’d think a slide guitar sounds and then a song or two later the guitar is shrieking like an Anthrax stadium anthem. “Wheeler Dealer” sounds as if it’s coming straight off hits of the ’70s with a prevalent bass and funky accompaniment. Song after song floats in and out with solos that kick your ass so bad you don’t know where you end up. —Mad Reverend
Billyclub
(It’s Better To Be) Pissed Off
Idol Records
Finally! A punk record that reassures everyone that punk still has some credibility in the music world, other than as a fashion statement for middle class kids with nothing better to do than wear fat pants and get a tattoo. Somewhat of an old school supergroup from the ’70s and ’80s, Billyclub features members from both the UK Subs and Exploited, so you know they’ve got some experience with the real thing. But instead of a regurgitated copy of their old shit, this is the influenced sound of the ’90s with the power of past punk that keeps new and old fans digging it likewise. Ragged guitar and shithouse drums are still there, but far superior vocals and distortion effects are added to take advantage of today’s better recording abilities, even in the lowest basement studio (which is where this might have been recorded!). In your face and hard as a rock, this is the best punk record a kid or an adult can buy with their money right this minute, without doing any back catalog orders to the old school. The lyrics are fierce and political, not wasting any time beating the bush before going right to the bone of the problem. Guitar…well, watch your ass, cause it’s hyper-garage, tearing through chords and solos like a running chainsaw in a hurricane. I loved this record so much, I don’t think I will be listening to much more in the way of punk until someone can man up to the huge balls level of these lads. Don’t waste time reading about it…buy it! —Billy Fish
Trance Psyberdelic
Moonshine Music
I do believe it is time to haul out the trusty Webster’s and define trance. Definition number four applies. “An unconscious, cataleptic or hypnotic condition” is the definition. How these fuckers at Moonshine translate hypnotic to their world of high speed repetitive electronic bleeps and blips escapes me. Dub is trance, the guitar of Junior Kimbrough is trance, the ambient recordings Brian Eno made in the early ’80s are trance, this disco shit is about as far from the definition of trance as the mind can fathom. Admittedly the fact that most of these “musicians” “create” their music while under the influence of heavy mind-altering chemicals doesn’t translate their creations to the land of “trance.” Flipping and flopping about on a dance floor in an imitation of a strobe light induced epileptic seizure or a trout on a sandy bank does not encompass the definition of “trance.” Call the shit what it is — hardcore bump and grind of the present and leave the “trance” to the likes of Planet Dub, Axiom Dub and Black Uhuru.
“Johnny Too Bad” says that the entire bunch of you are incapable of dealing with the world surrounding you and actual interaction with the human species, your reaction is a retreat to the bedroom and intercourse with machines that cannot damage your fragile emotional state of being. Go fuck the quarterback’s main squeeze, have laser surgery on your nearsighted eyes, and log off the “net” for the first time before the “gangstas” in the neighborhood pull off a “home invasion” and fuck you in the mouth and anus at the same time. I don’t see many females diddling themselves with a Microsoft Mouse. Maybe you lonely “techno” princes should find yourselves a “new age” princess and become a “boy toy.” Her ability to put you into an actual “trance” goes without saying. —Yawning
Birdbrain
Let’s Be Nice
TVT
What can one make of a band with a song titled “Youth Of America” which features a chorus of “You’re all dead, wasted.” The band must be a reality based outfit. The photographs of a pill-filled palm and a shadowy figure throwing down a “sign” do little to dispel the notion. Due to my amazing inability at picking the next hit to click I have selected the ballad of the disc, “(She’s Always) Glowing,” as the next “alternative rock” sensation. It sounds like x with x on the vocals and x contributing to the overall feeling of a classic x song. Place your own band names wherever an x appears — It’s a game. TVT is recognized as an independent label with the astounding ability to compete head to head with the majors and beat them at their own game. They’ve made millions on the Nine Inch Nails back catalog and their stable includes the likes of Sister Machine Gun and Gravity Kills. Sadly, Birdbrain’s new one didn’t create the lump. With the exception of “Youth Of America” and “(She’s Always) Glowing” their CD comes off as more of the same, same, same. It’s catchy, it just isn’t different and different is a requirement when there is a stack of several thousand piled up and competing. —Jade-Ed
Richard Buckner
Devotion And Doubt
MCA Records
Buckner, I believe, would fit in well in a shady little bar where everyone is hooked on “The Juice.” He walks the tightrope between all out depression and a stabbed heart that sings in its own remorse. Buckner has been called a soulman like Neil Young, he really sounds like Steve Earl before he went to prison for being on “The Juice.” “Pull” is the most potent in terms of lyric contemplation and the rest of the CD is troubadour stylings that reverberates country music with his slack voice and occasional fiddle back up. You can’t escape the country in the extremely powerful lyrics, “I woke up late and kissed you away. As you packed up your load there was one last look and the U-Haul broke free. Now the back roads are flooded over this stretch of 99 from Lil Wallet Picture.” I can get past it though because he is so powerful in his performance of his songs, there is so much devotion in his songs that you are forced to look past those elements, maybe because he sounds like he’s on “The Juice.” —Mad Reverend
Treehouse
Nobody’s Monkey
Atlantic
Watch for the band to change their name to the London Treehouse in the very near future. There is already a band claiming the Treehouse moniker. That band is of the hippie variety and they reside in Aspen, Colorado. This Treehouse is from Liverpool and they are the very first band signed to Darius and company’s brand new label Breaking Records. Without the tremendous influence of a certain publicist I would have tossed the advance CD into the trash without a listen. As it stands, listening to the disc brought a few thoughts to mind. The first has to do with their lack of a British sound. How they do that is a question brought on by too many Pulp, Menswear, Longpigs etc. discs. A second thought is directly related to the British tendency of copycatting America. Treehouse had better change their name and quickly, lest the American hippie version discovers the British hippie band. It isn’t that they exhibit the jam on philosophy nor are there an abundance of Buffalo Springfield/Byrds wanna be country rock elements presented. The British Treehouse is actually more closely aligned with the frat boy rock of their label owners and the entire Southern coastline of the United States of America than hippie or Brit-pop. I’m sure my feeble attempts at “critical review” have raised the question of radio airplay in concerned consumer minds. If the “Mountain” hadn’t gone as soft as worm droppings, that would be the perfect outlet. Treehouse fits right in there with John Hiatt, John Prine and John Mellencamp. The next best choice is still broadcasting on the edge, sorry, the end. When searching out the more staid versions of alternative rock, The End kicks it, don’t you think? Treehouse will fit side by side with the Counting Crows, Collective Soul, Hootie & the Blowfish, Dave Matthews, Freddy Johnson, the Gin Blossoms, Dishwalla and Mexico 70. Don’t leave out Jewel or Edwin McCain. As much as the general public loves those bands, I have no idea what any of them sound like because I don’t listen to the stupid radio. Good luck Treehouse, at least you broke the mold, you aren’t trying to sound like that other Liverpool band — what was their name, the Oasis Beagles? —Jack Pierce
Paul K. and The Weathermen
Love Is A Gas
Alias
If I wrote for Grid, I’d have written a label profile on Alias a long time ago. Back when I was just starting out, the label was kind enough to send me copies of their brilliant pop recordings. Once I’d made my mark the mailings ceased until just recently. Since these words highlight the return of Alias to the pages of SLUG, at least under my byline, Paul K is the perfect place to begin. His path to success was hampered by drug addiction and crime. The man did some jail time in the ’70s. Curiously enough I find Paul K’s work similar to that of another individual returning from the darkness. Jerry Joseph wasted a few years of his life on drugs. Paul K’s confessional songwriting style is similar to Joseph’s and while the Weathermen ably back him on this recording, I can’t help but think of the similarities between Joseph and K. in an acoustic setting. As previously mentioned, my previous encounters with Alias have been of the pop variety. Love Is A Gas doesn’t fit that simple categorization. The album was produced by Mo Tucker and K.’s streetwise songs don’t accept the tag. Call it singer/songwriter in a rock setting featuring songs to haunt, songs for smiles and songs of life on the street. Given the references and the longevity of the artist in question, not to mention the band name, is it any wonder that elements of hippie enter into the sound? The Joseph comparison is relevant once again because both artists transcend the hippie cliche and bring art masquerading as music to the home system. —Skip Spencer
Matt Keating
Killjoy
Alias
Matt Keating, like Paul K., is a singer/songwriter plying his trade on the rock ‘n’ roll circuit. If these guys had been born about 30 years earlier, they’d be as famous as Billy Joel, Elton John, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young and the rest of the “classic rock” songwriting crew. Today their music is relegated to the realm of critical praise and lackluster sales. Most sales are generated in cities with a strong college radio and Triple A presence. In towns such as Salt Lake City, the baby boomers are locked into the past, the college crowd is wearing their ball caps and Dave Matthews T-shirts and the other tribes are split into warring camps of ravers, butt rockers, skater punks, gangstas or what have you.
Out in the tract homes of suburbia, the married-with-children couples are lost in the world of Celine Dion and Live even as Keating chronicles their lives in “You And Me And This T.V.” Petty fights, loveless sex, boring jobs, a stack of bills and a CD collection of 25 similar sounding musical spheres are the stuff of their existence. And aren’t the rest of us happy that we’ve never listened to Kenny Loggins and his Pooh CD? We have the dark world of Matt Keating’s wry outlook on life to keep us occupied. Another bar, another band, another drunk, and thank goodness I don’t live in Kearns with a wife and 2 1/2 kids. —Elliot Nester
Ann Rabson
Music Makini Mama
Alligator Records
Anne’s first solo album away from Saffire – The Uppity Blues Women, the all-older-women blues band she founded (with a CD named Hot Flash). She has an amazing deep voice that resonates behind her piano playing (she started when she was 35). Most of the songs are those that influenced her in youth, so the songs jump around from classic slow blues of “Later On” to fast paced almost jive compatible “Baby, Every Once In A While.” I even detected a distinct bluegrass sound on “Snatchin And Grabbin” and “Another You.” The harmonica of Phil Wiggins was right on the honey, it was the classic way to accompany “Givin It Away,” sounding just like Jack Cassidy’s. What else can I say, a great non-traditional blues player singing the music she loves. —Mad Reverend
Peace and Love
A Japanese Punk Rock Compilation
Allied Recordings
“You have your punk. I have mine,” is the Snuffy Smile motto. At least that is the motto printed on the Snuffy Smile t-shirt. Snuffy Smile is the Japanese label responsible for compiling 20 punk rock songs from 20 Japanese punk rock bands. For whatever reason, these bands have yet to discover the modern American version of punk music. There isn’t a single example of melodic power pop punk on the CD. All the bands except Dirty Is God sing in English, or some derivative of the same. The printed lyrics reveal a less than stellar grasp of English and that is just fine because the vocalization of the words is incomprehensible. These teenagers run through their hardcore and thrash songs the same as any American teenager. The common theme is disillusion. Modern society is in a state of decay in Japan. Although the bands do not address the subject, their words are a call for the New World Order of the WCW to take over the world. Tune in to Monday Nitro, turn down the sound and crank the CD. Violence and mayhem on the screen and violence and mayhem in the ears will relax the body and mind and create a feeling of Peace and Love. —Carp
Guitar Wolf
Missile Me
Matador Records
The band Guitar Wolf is quite obviously Japanese. Their disc is without question the most primeval example of trashy garage rock I have yet to experience. Forget production. There is so much hiss and static on the CD that it competes with a 78 rpm record so worn and gray that dust actually rises from the grooves when a needle weighted down with a Susan B. Anthony silver dollar attempts to track them. Teengenerate and Los Ass Draggers can’t touch this shit.
Needless to say, the vocals are unintelligible. A Bo Diddley beat combined with Link Wray guitar distortion is barely audible over the prevailing static noise. While listening for the second time, I got up several times in a futile attempt to remove the dust bunnies from the laser beam. It was during the fourth session with the disc that I realized the future of music is not electronic. Trash like Guitar Wolf is the future, the past and the present. It is the music of an infected wound oozing pus. It is the hemorrhoid itch only a finger scratching the swollen glands can satisfy and it is Ex-Lax relief for the constipated. This is the music of the tawdry everyday human existence. The “man” providing the paycheck listens to Jim Brickman — you, the individual doing all the work, are listening to Guitar Wolf while building a pipe bomb in the basement and plotting the onset of anarchy in 2002. —Rosco
Jonny Lang
Lie To Me
A&M Recordings
/
Monster Mike Welch
Axe To Grind
Tone-Cool
I’d seen the ads and I was thinking, “Oh God, not another one.” Next I received the CD and a record label bio and I was thinking, “Oh God, not another one.” So I sat down and had a listen. Jonny Lang is a child prodigy of the blues — the same as Kenny Wayne Shepherd. Lang’s singing is reminiscent of Joe Cocker. Joe Cocker was never known as a bluesman, I do believe he is more of a white man interpreting R&B. But Lang isn’t renowned for his vocal talents; it’s supposed to be his guitar playing. Until the CD spins to “Matchbox,” the old Ike Turner song, the guitar is not prominent. The kid finally starts to cook with “Matchbox.” I’m thinking he can hardly equal any of Ike’s versions, but he certainly slays any of the Beatles covers. “Back For A Taste Of Your Love,” a Syl Johnson composition, only serves to prove an already stated point. Syl Johnson may have begun his career playing the blues, but he attained his greatest stardom singing soul. Blues guitar is hardly foreign to soul music and Lang does bang away as he sings in soulful style.
Maybe I’m confused here. Maybe I should go back and have a listen to my Luthor Allison, Jimmy Thackery and Tinsley Ellis recordings. The blues are sure enough present, but Lie To Me sounds like an old Joe Cocker album with an ace blues guitarist in the band — Clapton, for instance? I guess the kid can sing as good as he plays the guitar. For pure blues I’ll still take Monster Mike Welch over either Jonny Lang or Kenny Wayne Shepherd. Call me a purist if you will, but I think the target market for Lang is the 30 to 40-something who thinks they love the blues — not the true blues fan. A bit of marketing muscle from a major label certainly doesn’t hurt. Listen for this one on a Triple AAA station near you, if you can find one.
Just as I finished writing those words on Johnny Lang, the postman arrived with Monster Mike Welch’s new one. Jonny Lang is 15, (according to his bio, but check out the fashion spread in Seventeen Magazine, he’s on the cover.) Mike Welch is 17. Lang’s first was the regionally released independent Smokin’, Welch’s first was last year’s These Blues Are Mine for Tone-Cool. Lang co-wrote two of the 12 songs on his CD, Welch wrote or co-wrote 11 of the 12 on his. It could be the two-year age difference, it could be the producers, it could be the equipment or it could be talent, but Monster Mike Welch smokes Jonny Lang in the guitar department. Jon Ross is thanked by Welch in the liner notes for “all the vintage guitars and drums.” Welch is pictured holding a vintage Gibson hollow-body on the cover of Axe To Grind. The biggest difference is tone.
Richard Rosenblatt, the producer, took the Monster Mike Welch Band into the studio and recorded a blues CD that recalls the dirtiest of the dirty recordings from Hound Dog Taylor or Howlin’ Wolf. For pure dirty, nasty guitar tone, Axe To Grind is tough to beat. Welch also is a formidable young singer, but the kid is in love with his guitar. Two stand-out tracks are the Beatles sound-a-like “Palm Of Her Hand” and the instrumental “Elkmont Stomp.” Welch has been quoted in the past on his goal to never waste a note, and while the notes cascade like a white water raft trip from his axe not a single one is wasted. I’m sure Lang will receive more attention because of his record label, but Monster Mike Welch is the one to buy.
Two young prodigies of the blues guitar square off and Monster Mike Welch is the clear winner. Jonny Lang is a contender for the future as maturity catches up with his talent. —Blues Boy Billie
Hor
Slo ‘n’ Sleazy
SST Records
When I looked at it, this was possibly the worst record cover in decades. I thought, okay, I’m in for something really grand or a byte of techno crappie viral tribal Mexican radio friendly crash. So I looked at the playlist, and well, it’s kind of funny with song titles like “Modern Militia,” “Duobomber Manifesto,” and “Rub Up Against The Machine.” That’s comedy. So I put the disc in the player and hit the GO! button, Yep, definitely Greg Ginn on here. The guitar sounds like it cost five dollars and the solos sound like a cat dying. But it’s got some good moments to it. It just sounds like other stuff Ginn has done in quality only but it’s definitely a Ginn make and model. —Sausage King
Screw Radio
I’m a Generation X
SST Records
I just heard their last record like six months ago. I must stop here and bow my hat a little to Greg Ginn, he put out no less than six records this year in which he was the main player. But could it be that he owes money to lawyers for the negative land fiasco? U2 sucks. Anyways back to Screw Radio: it’s funny and it’s got lots of cool radio-like segments. I say radio-like cause at points I’m not sure if it’s shit they actually pulled off the radio or stuff they made up. Those clever bastards. I don’t know if this is as good as their last record, but you won’t be wiping your ass with its cover. And to Greg: for the love of God man, take some flippin’ time off and give my ears a rest. By the way, if you were wondering, Hor and Screw Radio are basically the same band except one lists a vocalist, you figure out why I like one more than the other. —Sausage King
Read more 90s CD reviews from the SLUG archives:
CD Reviews: March 1997
It’s Crap!
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