CD Reviews: April 1998

The Suicide Machines
Battle Hymns
Hollywood

The Suicide Machines took a look at the Soundscan numbers and said, “hey, look at what those Mighty Mighty Bosstones have done with hard ska.” The band dispensed with the pop punk formula and went with metal ska. There are two problems. Dicky Barrett isn’t in the Suicide Machines and the Machines don’t have the horns to tone things down now and again. The title pretty much says it all because a live rendition of the songs would fill a pit (Yes, in Utah pits still exist) with battling teenagers faster than a popped zit becomes one. Lighter touches are present on occasion and the band still has a way with the lilt of ska, but the fluffier breaks are inserted as rest periods. No one can race this fast through 22 songs without slowing down occasionally. The closest thing to The Suicide Machines’ Battle Hymns is The Gadjits and that band is docile in comparison. If it has to be ska punk at least make it crazed. Battle Hymns is moth­erfucking crazed. —T-Square

Spoon
A Series of Sneaks
Elektra

Spoon has an interesting time ahead of them. These days the major labels are dropping bands nearly as fast as they sign them. Royal Trux is back with Drag City. The Melvins are with AmRep. Swervedriver put out an amazing disc on Zero Hour, Sky Cries Mary are back with World Domination and here we have Elektra picking up Spoon from Matador. A Series Of Sneaks ranks right up there with the forthcoming Girls Against Boys release on Geffen. Spoon continues playing the kinky, skewed pop music they were known for during their Matador tenure. It almost sounds like typical pop music, but the use of repetitive chords and barely deconstructed guitar tunings causes wonder over Elektra’s choice. The press sheet proclaims “Car Radio” as the single and how they plan to market a 90-second song to the narrowly formatted radio of the ’90s escapes me. Sure the tune is catchy and in the short time frame Spoon manages to steal from both Van Morrison (“Gloria”) and the Modern Lovers (“Roadrunner “), but it’s over almost before it begins. I realize that the attention spans of the sheep are short, but come on! The catch to the entire process is college radio. College radio bare­ly exists in Utah. The plan is to promote Spoon through college radio. “Metal Dektor” follows “Car Radio” and it is even more catchy. By the time the disc has spun to “June’s Foreign Spell,” Spoon has captured any listener in the room. That’s the problem. The only listener in the room is me. The mass of humanity only purchases what is “Spoon fed” to them. Package the disc with a free Third Eye Blind single and pray. —Elrod Hummer

Skulpey
The Chopper
Pedigree

Skulpey packaged their release so beautifully that at least a cursory listen is required. It’s all paper and fabric. None of that polystyrene for them. The band currently resides in New York City which is about as far from Utah as the imagination can stand. How Skulpey found SLUG is something beyond my comprehension. Skulpey, as is the case with many bands found in the pages of SLUG, plays guitar pop that can’t find a spot on the popularity chart. How does one put the mark of the beast (bar code) on a handmade paper enclosure anyway? Heather Mount is the vocalist and for a change she plays guitar not bass. Matthew Covey joins his voice with Mount’s on occasion and he’s the bass guy. Palo Chalpuka rounds out the trio on the drums. Mount is adept with the effects pedals and the feedback. Skulpey could hardly play DIY pop if a guitarist with talent was lacking. Now that my ears have received a thrilling experience with Skulpey it is time to emit a one liner for the band’s next “press kit.” The press kit, the bio and all other required information are included in a package suitable for USPS mailing — Skulpey’s tal­ents aren’t limited to music. “Sweet Jane entered recovery and became an all-grown-up girl who could make her guitar sound like a cello. When boyfriend discovered her talent he burst into song. She joined him and the harmonies brought forth a bongo man on the traps. From the gutter they picked a dress all sparkly and as midnight blue as the night sky. From the waste bin they plucked a child’s school folder. Cutting and past­ing and singing the whole time they made a pleasing CD.” Where the reader will find it is beyond me, but search the Internet for Skulpey@AOL.COM and have a credit card ready for purchase. —The Gingerbread Man

Roger Miller with Larry Dersch
The Binary System Live at the Idea Room
SST

The disc comes from three nights of recording at Long Beach’s IDEA room coffee house. Roger Miller is probably best known for his work with Mission of Burma. Since those days he’s released a number of recordings on the New Alliance and SST labels. For this recording he and drummer Larry Dersch played a set of “structured compositions.” The duo then took a break and Miller “prepared” the piano by attaching bolts and alligator clips to the guts. The “piano” is a grand piano and the recording is the “best” of Miller and Dersch’s three night stand of drums and grand piano. If Ben Folds Five brought the grand piano to the attention of the “alternative nation” Miller has tossed a ”brick” right through the televi­sion tube the “alternative nation” requires for musical inspiration. The “structured compositions” are exercises in mania. Miller covers Sun Ra‘s “Moon Dance” fer heck sakes. Forget Ben Folds, Miller would scare the entire Gina Bachauer competitive class of the last ten years with one song. He’d scare McCoy Tyner. Chopin would scratch his head in disbelief. That’s the “struc­tured” work. When the disc reaches the improvisational pieces the average jazz and clas­sical connoisseur would run screaming from the room. It’s all rhythm and noise. The music is powerful to the point of baffling the brain’s capacity to under­stand. That is the charm. The more difficult the better as far as I’m concerned.

—Sergio

Nightcaps
Split
Rendezvous Records

The Nightcaps came to town in March. I learned from SLUG that the band was jazz. I learned through their booking agent that they were lounges. I learned at the show that they were a combination of both. They played two sets because the other band booked, The Recliners, had an emergency and couldn’t make the Salt Lake City date. The Nightcaps first set was so laid back and lounge-jazzy that the Zephyr hardly seemed like the correct night spot for the show. Too bright and not smoky enough. The second set jumped more and it brought a few dancers onto the floor. Overall the live experience was some­thing not commonly viewed around Salt Lake City and it was most enjoyable, if more laid back than I’m accustomed to.

The Nightcaps CD — which the band gave me since I was the only member of the local entertainment press present in the club again with the excep­tion of Martin Renzhofer, who

lasted less than 30 minutes — is smooth. The press materials the booking agent faxed had led me to believe the music was more raucous. The very mention of The Sonics, one of the greatest garage bands to ever emerge from the Pacific Northwest, in the band bio had me expecting something totally different. That is until The Recliners reach “You Lied.” The band actually does play garage­ punk-lounge music. The playing is understated-rough. Theresa Hannam, the Nightcaps vocalist, is oozing anger even as she remains calm on the surface. The magic of the reading is in the barely perceptible clenched teeth. If “You Lied” is the discovery song, “Split” is the “get out” song and “Thrillsville” describes what happens after that damn liar is out of the picture. The three songs form a mini concept album. The overall impression left by Split is one of seduction. Hannam has the voice of a seductress. The band backing her obviously has a wide range of experience. They move freely from full lounge to jazz to swing to R&B, to blues and they have that trace of garage punk. Locally there are who knows how many females attempting to create that wholly refreshing “sound.” Believe it or not some of them are out in the suburbs creating “vanity” pressings of music just barely outside the realm of the Nightcaps. The dif­ference between all of the local females and the Nightcaps is originality. I know of one local female vocalist who could slip into Hannam’s cocktail gown as easily as she does flannel and jeans, but there is only one. The rest are either too concerned with cheese to originate or they are trying too hard to funk up the rock to use their voices to their full potential. Pick up the Nightcaps and discover what has been moving the rest of the country for at least the last six or seven years and still hasn’t made much of an impact in Salt Lake City. It’s a lounge and it’s jazz, it’s mostly acoustic and it hardly rocks. —Gus Lout

Modest Mouse
The Lonesome Crowded House
Up

Modest Mouse deserved a write-up months ago, but the disc became lost. I understand why record labels send out CDs in cardboard sleeves and in jewel cases without covers. The “critic” can’t sell the disc for hot dog money. It’s the same as the prob­lem encountered with advanced cassettes. The CD in the card­ board jacket winds up in a stack with other CDs in cardboard jackets. In my filing system all CDs in cardboard jackets go in one pile, all CDs in jewel cases without covers go in another pile and as a general rule they are the last ones I listen to. As stated previously, Modest Mouse deserved better.

The band doesn’t sound that much like Built To Spill these days. Or maybe Modest Mouse sounds like early Built To Spill. The Lonesome Crowded House is more fucked up than a Built To Spill record. Isaac Brock can’t sing worth a shit. He can’t play the guitar either. That Hendrix reference surrounding “Shit Luck” vocals is purely acci­dental. Brock takes the lack of ability to heights unsurpassed by many a band. The music is all noise and quiet and abrasion and soft whispers. “Jesus Christ Was An Only Child” brings on the fiddle and the poetry. “Doin’ The Cockroach” twists around a melody and a “dance.” The gui­tar is taken kicking and scream­ing into a place of meditation and the dance becomes a trance inducing chant until Brock breaks the mood by changing up the tempo and the structure. A foreign flavor remains as “Doin’ The Cockroach” becomes “Cowboy Dan.” When Brock and his two friends get to jamming and bashing their instruments about waves of pleasure flood the brain. Why hasn’t anyone discovered them? Is it because they are skinny nerd boys and MM music only appeals to skin­ny nerd boys and the girls who love them? The answer is obvi­ous. There isn’t any other expla­nation for the critical praise sur­rounding MM and the corre­sponding lack of commercial suc­cess. As long as rock critics are nerds they’ll praise bands such as Modest Mouse. The rest of the world will ignore them until a fluke like Beck comes along. It’s all so sad, it’s so sad that it’s time to press repeat and listen again to “Out of Gas.”

Jason & The Scorchers
Midnight Roads & Stages Seen
Mammoth

Once again the double disc set is an advance. The set proves once and for all that the vast majority of No Depression bands are imitators. In 1982 they were called Jason and the Nashville Scorchers and along with Rank And File they defined cow-punk. Neither band achieved much commercial suc­cess, but without them both there wouldn’t be a “No Depression” scene. No wonder the magazine named after an Uncle Tupelo album has taken Alejandro Escovedo (Rank And File) and the reformed Jason and the Scorchers as their little darlings. Many in the “alt country” nation are new age hippies with mas­sive collections of Poco, New Riders of the Purple Sage, Roger McGuinn and Pure Prairie League reissues. Jason & The Scorchers are unashamedly hillbilly punks. Midnight Roads & Stages Seen is all live and the music is for bro­ken-hearted punks. Punks have bad relationships just like every­one else. A pint of whiskey and a broken heart require twang. Punks celebrate the pain. Jason & The Scorchers celebrate the pain for about two hours. If hippies were in attendance at the concert they were surely trampled beneath the feet of buck dancing, slam dancing, punk rock hillbil­lies. At one time Jason & The Scorchers were compared to Jerry Lee Lewis. One of the most legendary live recordings ever released was Jerry Lee Lewis’ Live At the Star Club. While placing Midnight Roads & Stages Seen alongside that album would be premature, there is little doubt that in “critical” cubicles Jason & The Scorchers live will receive more attention than any other live recording released in 1998. The presence of Mavericks and BR549 members can only help sell records in-spite of the deep Nashville ties. The highlight opens disc two. “Help! There’s a Fire” features Jason Ringenberg on slide guitar. His vocals are so close to The Cramps‘ Lux Interior that what goes around comes around is on full display. If “country” is a despicable term because of stereotypical music then one listen to Jason & The Scorchers is advised. True punks already realize that Hank Williams Sr. was a soul mate and most have no doubt experienced a Scorchers recording before. Head on down to the liquor store and purchase a pint of the cheap­est whiskey. Stop by an indepen­dent CD retailer, purchase the set and prepare for a good drink with good music. The rest can rely on MTV and the radio for the same, same, same old shit. —Elrod Hummer

Godheadsilo
Share The Fantasy
Sub Pop

Remember when Sub Pop wasn’t cool anymore? Remember when Epitaph suf­fered the same fate? At this point in time both labels are releasing some of the best music around and most people probably still think they aren’t cool anymore. Godheadsilo has returned from wherever they’ve been hibernat­ing, still playing bass and drums. Their new release is incredible, it’s astounding, it is unbelievably atrocious, noise-filled and so dis­torted that a check of the home­ owner’s insurance policy is required before placing the disc in the “system.” As if anyone picking up Godheadsilo has homeowners insurance. Share The Fantasy isn’t for the neigh­borhood skate rat or trailer park dweller. Only those able to think past the latest Days Of the New tale of a difficult childhood will possess the musical knowledge to sit through the racket.

“It isn’t even music,” shouts the musically challenged chain store buyer as he/she turns down the Sub Pop representa­tive’s sales pitch. “No one will buy it, it’s all about the bottom line, I must move product units to keep my job. Don’t you have a new Nirvana?” It’s back to the Mom and Pop’s for Sub Pop and Godheadsilo. The Mom and Pop buyer, even the Tower Records buyer, says, “Fuck yeah, give it to me on CD and did you make any records? I’ll play the shit out of Godheadsilo in-store and move enough copies to turn a profit. When are they coming to town and can you get me on the ‘list’? Let them nambie pambies shop at CDs R Sam Goody.” The next time frat boy brings his col­lection over for a night of drink­ing and dope smoking, put on Share The Fantasy. Not only will you acquire some CDs to sell at the used shop, but frat boy will leave all of his beer and pot at your house. The music will fry his brain cells so badly that he won’t even remember coming over. Even I, the jaded “rock crit­ic,” burst into tears after hearing “Nap Attack.” —Mr. Wizard

Gastr Del Sol
Camoufleur
Drag City

Several years before Gastr Del Sol formed, I was already a fan of Jim O’Rourke. For one reason or another, an experimental label in Australia was mailing CDs to Salt Lake City and O’Rourke’s Tamper was one of them. Today O’Rourke is a household name and so is Gastr Del Sol. I wish. The tricky boys at Drag City typed the information about who plays on the disc backwards. I’ll skip the mirror process and turn in the short analysis on the instrumental prowess of Gastr Del Sol — O’Rourke, David Grubbs and Markus Popp with guests. Although several songs have vocals and there is something of a message, the CD remains attrac­tive for the instrumentally inclined. Guest musicians are present with a variety of instruments and Popp isn’t exactly a full-time member; he too is a guest. Grubbs and O’Rourke are known for their experimental nature and the music of Camoufleur isn’t going to change the minds of consumers chal­lenged by anything remotely approaching experimental. However, the music isn’t typical­ly experimental. It’s nice, pleas­ant, calming experimental music. One of the more adventurous “new age” stations in the land would do well to pick up on “Bauchredner” and introduce their audience to an entirely new universe of music. It seems a bit unusual to write of a Gastr Del Sol album as pretty, but that is indeed a description. Either that or my ears are accustomed to so much bashing that even the lat­est Tortoise album is tame. Then again, there is the title. Look it up in the dictionary. —Stephen R. Bevy

Fatso Jetson
Power Of Three
SST

Fatso Jetson interrupts the flow with insanely attractive improvisational jams. Mario Lalli sings a number while his cohorts continue the jam and then he bows his head once again to play guitar. All Fatso Jetsons are from the Coachella Valley desert in Southern California and there must be something about desert air because their creations are instantly recognizable as Meatpuppets-influenced — the Meatpuppets as a spaced-out jazz band. Just when the band has settled nicely into the comfortable round hole an addition is made, the band becomes a square peg and pops right out of the hole. Vince Meghrouni is known for his work with Bazooka. His first appearance on harmonica transforms Fatso Jetson into Jack ‘O Fire with Tenderloin tendencies. Mario Lalli does the vocals as Meghrouni blasts out the harp work while Larry Lalli and Tony Tornay rock the bottom. From Meatpuppets to Jack ‘O Fire and then it’s off on a romp through the desert. The desert in this case is Middle Eastern with a Spanish title and Meghrouni plays flute with the Lallis and Tornay. As previously stated the band loves to improvise and jam on. Rather than pull out some tired riff Molly Hatchet lifted from an Allman Bros. record, Fatso Jetson inhales space dust or PCP or a cactus button and trips complete­ly out. The instrumentals provide the disc’s most cherished moments, but when Mario Lalli decides to sing it’s like entering a black hole where the only vocal­ists mattering are Ernie Locke and Lalli. Call the instrumentals desert space surf and the vocals fucked-up cowboy blues. —Jeremy Sponge

Elmo Williams & Hezekiah Early
Takes One To Know One
Fat Possum

I met a cab driver recently who told me the entire history of Fat Possum Records in anecdotal form. When I called Fat Possum to inquire about this title, Amos, a Fat Possum employee I related the experience to, knew the same cab driver. The album title is prophetic because the music is too primitive for the civilized person to comprehend and the liner notes reveal the “fuck you” reason why. Elmo Williams is the guitarist. “For Elmo, learning riffs has always come easy, as having respect for others, their beliefs, values and personal property has always been difficult. The harder he tries to respect others the harder it gets.” It takes one to know one and Matthew Johnson, whatever personal problems he might have had or has presently, certainly doesn’t know one when he finds one. The cab driver knew one when he found one and that’s why he related his anecdotes to me. The blues Elmo Williams and Hezekiah Early create are those who know one when they find one. Hezekiah plays drums, harmonica and he sings. Elmo also sings.

Throughout the land there are many folks who believe in the blues. These folks can’t determine why Jonny Lang and Kenny Wayne Shepherd are so despised. The blues are the blues, aren’t they? Most certainly they are not and the bastard spawn of Vaughan/Hendrix play blues for the pony-tails. The blues of Williams/Early are blues for people who live the blues. There’s a pain in the mind, an inability to fit in, a hatred for authority and a belief that mediocrity always rises to the top. That sort of individual will enjoy the mess of blues WIlliams & Early dish out. Bash the drum set, beat the guitar to death and make a noise so beautiful that only Fat Possum would release it. —Spamburger

Crosseyed
It’s A Shame
Onivine

What is a Decauter, Georgia-based label doing signing a deal with New York City-based Roadrunner and promoting a CD released by a Seattle label from a Yakima, Washington-based band? I’ll be damned if I know, but Crosseyed isn’t exactly what I expected. Autonomous, the Georgia label, was founded by Jupiter Coyote members. The label released the first Sister Hazel disc. Crosseyed is one of those hard touring Northwest bands. Put that information together with the following blurb from the press kit and prepare for another “hippie” record: “Over time, Crosseyed evolved into a solid quartet, playing all original material that is an eclectic mix of many genres, including alternative blues, rock, jazz and folk.” That combination of genres always scares me because the result is usually “jam on.” Crosseyed actually does combine genres. The disc of current interest is an all-acoustic affair and while the music is low-key, the blues and jazz aspects shine through.

The best songs feature guest artists. “Forever Will It Last” has Michael Grey’s fiddle. The tune swings in a Leon Redbone style. “Closer To The End” has Hugh Sutton adding accordion to the gypsy folk. Paul Benoit is the vocalist with a voice like The Jackmormons’ Jerry Joseph and that isn’t where the comparisons end. Benoit shares singing, songwriting and guitar credits with Doug Schoolcraft and the songs the two write are phrased similarly to Joseph’s work. In other parts of the country, Triple A and Americana radio stations eat music such as this up and create regional stars. In Utah, listen for the band on KRCL. Watch for Crosseyed on local club calendars constantly this summer. The band has selected Salt Lake City as a place receptive to their style. Supposedly Crosseyed is quite a rockin’ affair live. As for the CD? It’s recommended to IAMA members, Leon Redbone fans, Sugarhill Records fans, Jackmormons fans, Donna Smith fans and hippies not locked into jam on. —Squirrely

Cat Music
HMG/ HighTone Records

My good Lord almighty. It’s been some days since a HighTone Records release appeared in SLUG Magazine. Admittedly I’m placing myself at risk of censorship by spending the time to write this review, but there is a SLUG-appropriate tune in amongst the “roots rock.” Let’s get that information out of the way immediately. One of the most salacious songs ever set to wax was written by Rockin’ Ronnie Weiser. Truth be known, I hadn’t realized it until this disc arrived in the mail. I’ve cher­ished my Teenaged Cruisers vinyl for many years, but I never checked the liner notes for song authorship. I always thought Alvis Wayne wrote it. What is “it”? Why you fools, it’s “I Wanna Eat Your Pudding.” Here’s what Rockin’ Ronnie wrote about the song in the liner notes: “Rollin’ Rock Production from 1974. I wrote it too! It was hormones back then. Enuff said already.” Song credits list R. WeiserIA. Wayne so maybe Alvis contributed something too? Whatever. Here for your reading enjoyment is a lyrical “snatch.” Actually here’s a transcript (as nearly as I can understand the lyrics) of the entire song. “I’m gonna eat that puddin’ when I come home / I wanna eat your puddin’ until you moan / Eat black puddin’ it tastes so sweet / I wanna eat jelly puddin’ that’s my kind of meat / Puddin’ pud­din’ twice a day / Puddin’ pud­din’ hey! hey! hey! Hey! / I’m gonna circle me a hand and have me some fun / Beef in the puddin’ until I cum / Baby stays together with some white meat ‘n’ cream and I’ll still be puddin’ that’ll make you scream / Puddin’ pud­din’ through the night / puddin’ puddin’ don’t you feel so tight / Gonna eat black puddin’ every day / Eat your puddin’ so don’t you go away / I’m gonna stick my finger in your cherry pie and go, go, go ’til I hear you cry / Puddin’ puddin tastes so good / Puddin’ puddin’ like I knew it would / I gotta eat that puddin’ every day / I gotta eat your puddin so won’t you go away / I wanna stick my fingers in your cherry pie and go, go, go, go ’til I hear you sigh / Puddin’ puddin’ tastes so good / Puddin’ puddin’ like I knew it would / Puddin’ puddin’ it tastes so good / Puddin’ puddin’ like I knew it would.” The rest of the disc is filled with obscurities. Rather than confuse the reader with more words, I’ll simply state that purchasing the disc for Alvis Wayne is worth more than $15. Consider the other “songs” a bonus. Girlfriends too can use Alvis as a seduction tool. —Hillbilly Jake

10 Speed
A&M

Tommy, can you see me? Tommy can you feel me? “I’m wired, wired, wired, wired, when I want you, I want you once, but I need you 27 times, aaaaaaah!” What the fuck? Is it the band name and the title of the first song, “Wired,” that brings to mind overindulgence in crystal meth? Has 10 Speed listened to Queen‘s Flash Gordon soundtrack, the Who’s Tommy album and participated as audience members at a few late night Rocky Horror Picture Show viewings. Throw in the Beatles‘ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Gary Glitter, T-Rex, Slade, some platform boots and David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust and then state the obvious; it had to happen sooner or later. 10 Speed is so glam that they go beyond glam.The vocals are operatic, the songs are begging for a movie and if the entire project weren’t so overblown it might actually be attractive, in a nostalgic kind of way. Lacking a press release and holding only a CD with a sticker for a cover it’s difficult to determine what is going on. Whatever it is, Freddy Mercury is attempt­ing to channel Hatch, the man responsible for writing the songs, from the grave in order to take over his body and perform 10 Speed material on an arena stage. Sadly, bands such as 10 Speed don’t attract arena sized audiences anymore and viewing the glam live in a club would bring the cheese right up front and personal. —Marc Bloan

Read more from April 1998:
Serial Killer of the Month: Judy Buenoano
Locals Only

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