CD Reviews: October 1996

Nirvana
From the Muddy Banks of the Wishkah
DGC 

I saw Nirvana a long time ago in San Diego. Everyone left the show saying how it was the coolest show and Nirvana was the best of the bands that night. I was silent, so as to avoid an argument. That is because they sucked. Lo and behold the very show I saw is on this record. December 1991 at the DelMar Fairgrounds with Pearl Jam and Red Hot Chili Peppers. Now don’t get me wrong, I loved “Nevermind,” but this was not a good band live. Sloppy, out of time, shitty vocals. This record proves it. Regardless of what the idiot es bass player thinks of the “ultimate allure” of Nirvana. —Sean 

DEVO
DEVO Presents Music From Adventures Of The Smart Patrol 

According to the insert, this is a soundtrack to a CD rom thing, kind of resident-esque. The music is classic DEVO. Eclectic and funny, but unresistable in its own accord. Now since I’m not a huge DEVO fan as I know I should be I can’t give you any sort of comparison to older works, although “Whip It” is on here. God, I was a D&D-playing idiot when that came out. The record is fun but not great by any stretch but hey maybe it works better with the game. —Sausage King 

The Chubbies
Play Me
Sympathy For The Record Industry 

Okay, so I have been given a ton of crap for cutting girl groups a lot of slack in comparison to my often heavy judgment of the masses of male bands. Who cares, really? There are so few female-only bands anyway, so I enjoy them more in just the plain fact that they’re more unique. Is that wrong? Hell, no! The Chubbies are a fun R&R girl band that puts out music with plenty of excitement and fun energy that is cool to listen to. Nothing new, but still very fresh sounding. A touch of similarity to crusty GO-GO’s, but with more of a Ramones edge that gives it the extra drive. Coming out of garages with instruments bought with their weekly allowances, the Chubbies give it their freshman best with an old sound in a new way that can be heard often, but never enough. Open the garage door and let the sounds be heard, damnit! —Billy Fish 

Crown Of Thorns
Mentally Vexed
Another Planet 

Oh my goodness. I think someone is pissed off. I believe Crown Of Thorns have listened to a little bit of Godspine. Make the sign of the devil as the shaven head bangs. Do the East Coast mosh and kill your bros. Checking out a few lyrics, I found “God or Government” two songs in. The song concerns the virus committing genocide. Was the virus created by God or did the government do the evil deed? I’ll take the government side. Next up is another interesting one. “The scars on my body aren’t as deep as the one in my heart.” I’m assuming the scars on the body come from too many mosh pits and the one in the heart is from an evil woman. As things continue, the songs address the usual topics. The remaining lyrics are pretty typical for a crash and burn band. What has society become, what has society done to me, when does the world actually end, that type of thing. The music is well played thrash metal for bedroom boomboxes of suburban youth. It’s probably best to leave it at home because the freeway is not the proper place for anger. Turn it up as loud as the parents or significant other will allow and pound the fists in the air. Now, doesn’t that feel better? All tension is removed from the body. Turn the TV on and get pissed off because your life is so pathetic. Okay turn Crown of Thorns back on. Pound your fists in the air… —Ziggy Tah 

Spin Doctors
You’ve Got To Believe In Something
Epic Records 

While walking the streets of Park CIty I was approached by some guy in dingy cut-up shorts, no shirt, holding a long stick in his hands. He came right up next to me and pleaded for a couple of dollars. He played some noise from his “didjeridoo,” because he needed money to make it to a Spin Doctors concert in his hometown Denver. Between his bullshit and bad breath I thought one thing: why the hell would you be concerned with missing a Spin Doctor concert? Their latest album, You Got To Believe In Something, confirmed this feeling. Their music is edging towards some hippie delirium which is lagged down dually by the poor musicianship and unimaginative lyrics which embody the Shit Doctors, leading to guitar solos likened to the rehearsed creativity of Bon Jovi. Likewise, their pulled-from-radio-pop lyrics are found in songs like “She Used To Be Mine,” and “You’ve Got To Believe In Something,” the latter sounding like a cover of Mariah Carey’s number one hit. As professed by the doctors themselves in House, “This is my house if you don’t like it just get out.” Don’t even ring the doorbell of this horrible hodgepodge or typical pseudo pop music that leaves you unfulfilled and completely decimates any satisfaction you might have had with the bands previous efforts. In fact, if you wish, please feel free to throw a big bag of shit on the front porch. —Mad Reverend 

Hula Hoop
The Loveliest Ring Of Saturn
Silver Girl Records 

College rock sucks. I know I was a college rock pusher not too long ago. So this band is college rock and all that poppiness and all that catchy angst that goes along with it. This band also has one other thing working against it and only in a small way. It seems that every band from Louisville will inevitably get referenced with Slint. One that sticks out is Rodan, who although not a bad band is terribly moody and artsy snotty. They were also a heavy metal Slint. The problem with Hula Hoop is they seem to be fighting that Louisville sound and although they have managed to avoid being a Slint rip-off, they have not been able to kill that Slintesque movement to their songs. This is not a bad record. I’m just not as into it as I was your little sister last night. —Sausage King 

Raging Slab
Sing Monkey Sing
American 

Black Oak Arkansas, Foghat and Humble Pie had to start someplace. It could have been in Raging Slab’s home studio, but they came before. What we have here is a big greasy slab of boogie music. Steve Marriott has not emerged to front a new band, but George Strzempka has worked as an understudy. While Raging Slab have taken the big ’70s blues-rock boogie as their inspiration, they are fucking around with the form. “Nobodies” and “Lay Down” contain enough discordant guitar to create an upheaval of the stomach contents. It is important to remember that American is the label responsible for reissuing the James Chance, Suicide, and Alan Vega catalogs. With that thought in mind I’m thinking that Raging Slab spent some time with no wave and Vega’s more experimental work. A disc of no wave blues-rock boogie to spend some time with if Jon Spencer’s even more fucked-up work becomes too annoying. —Oil Can Boil 

Eels
Beautiful Freak
Dreamworks

Oh, boy! It’s the amazing buzz-clip from MTV that never took off! That’s too damn bad! I had a bad taste in my mouth the first time I heard this all-too-smooth cheese plate combo  and still haven’t recovered from the initial meeting. Sure, it makes me ill that David Geffen (evil corporate music leader/fascist) is behind the label and marketing schemes of things, but there’s more to it than that. These guys are just too over-produced, it’s that simple. I love live music, and having its sound on wax is even better, almost guaranteeing that the band made their own noise. Sure, there will be exceptions (Beasties and Beck), but the music has to make up for the lack of ability to produce it live, which the Eels don’t. The sickly-sweet tunes are completely forgettable, and I will not subject myself or anyone else to their blandness. Keep the white Wonder bread for sandwiches, boys. There just isn’t any reason for it to be so damn plain, except for the occasional bagel, then you always end up putting something else on it to cover it up, won’t you? I thought so! —Billy Fish 

Raging Slab
Sing Monkey Sing
American 

I can’t tell you what I thought about the title and cover on this record. I wanted to be totally in love with this band for having the balls to do something like this. I should probably describe the cover for you. It’s got either a black man or a guy in black face, I can’t tell, sticking his tongue out. An etching of a dog’s hind legs stretches to the back of the CD. And a horn is a few inches above the head of the picture. So what we have here is the title Sing Monkey Sing and this picture on the front. So I thought I was in for a band that wasn’t afraid to say anything. You know repercussions be damned the music stands alone so fuck you for paying attention to the title kinda stuff. Mistake. This record is fucking crap, southern rock meets bad fucking glam metal with a sprinkle of Pussy Galore to make it seem valid. This record is the real reason kids who listen to Ozzy commit suicide, it’s a bunch of crap that won’t stop blowing shit in your face no matter how long it sticks around. This record will make you dumber. —Sausage King 

Weezer
Pinkerton
DGC Records 

’Member when all major label idiots were idiots trying to wax philosophical? Yeah well, we’ve gone to intelligent guys trying to come off like morons. Weezer can write a good song and this album isn’t too bad compared to what I thought it would be. This record sounds a little bit angrier (again, in that forced idiot way) than the first. But what the fuck am I bitchin about, right? I mean, Weezer never claimed to be anything but a good time band. Yeah well, eat me, I see real potential in this band and it’s alright for me to expect more from them. Alright, so the good point is that it’s not really short or really long. There was a hidden map on the backside of the back panel of what looked to be Vietnam and New Guinea. Maybe that’s where Jim Morrison really is hiding. The bad point is this record kind of just hangs there like a corpse that twitches occasionally but never really comes back to life. —Sausage King 

Funkin’ DoMe
Anonymous 

Funkin’ DoMe was considerate enough to provide a radio version of their song “Everything,” if they ever thought any of this shit would get on the radio they can just funkin’ do me! But Funkin’ DoMe might have a point in trying to copy everyone else’s style in hopes something will work. Nothing does, which is displayed brilliantly on Anonymous. What is that sound? A mishmash of bad guitar drowning out simple drum clangs. What you really wish the guitar would drown out is Danny Lynch who provided his vocal talents to this musical experience, or lack thereof on both accounts. Lynch’s mewl voice, when not screaming in the background, sounds like a backup singer for the Cure. The band bares its true artistic fangs with lyrical gems such as “I can be vicious because your blood is delicious. You taste so warm I love to watch you perform.” The only thing these vampires do well is SUCK! The whole Funkin’ DoMe unexperience was an education in how many things a band can do horribly. I was dragged through this hell so you don’t have to be. —Mad Reverend 

Failure
Fantastic Planet
Slash / Warner Bros. 

A huge album for a young band, Fantastic Planet goes through many highs and lows before it dips one final time to land with a bang. Past efforts by Failure have been noticed by fans and critics for heavy sounds and tough guitar rhythms, but the new approach is more ominous and further leans towards the sounds of pure danger. Creeping up slowly, the stomping of hard drums and bass are backed up by crunchy six-string that seems to explode upon impact. Strangely combined with smooth and delicate vocals, one might see a similarity to Weezer or low-key Quicksand. But neither really compares to the loose and loaded style of Failure, who will seemingly be on the straight path of catchy tuneage and then literally go off at the drop of a dime. Hard to predict but easy to enjoy throughout the entire disc, Fantastic Planet is chuck-full of a ton of tunes that break concrete with delicate ease. Produced by the band, the new album is a monster of many shapes and forms, all pleasing to the ear of a lover of strong, guitar-dominated crunch. Left in the outfield to shag fans for the last few years, the latest should guarantee a few more people coming into their dugout to follow the lineup for heavy harmony and aggressive rock  and roll. —Billy Fish 

Ocean Blue
See The Ocean Blue
Mercury 

After listening to the CD, the only ocean I wanted to see was one with the red plague. The music is shit. I’ve checked my feces regularly since the CD came into my possession in a futile attempt to discover blood in my stool. If I was a “member” stuck up Ocean Blue’s ass I’m sure I’d see blood. Why don’t you guys learn to write some lyrics going beyond nonsense syllables. Why don’t you ask the girls of xx to fuck you? Why don’t you beg the hard guys of Oasis to fuck you? Why don’t you OD on Red Rum and never appear in my system again? Why don’t you fuckers move to London where you belong and leave the coal miner’s daughters knocked up and in search of Bob Dole’s federal orphanage home? —Bill Tah 

Sheila Chandra
ABoneCroneDrone
Real World 

Six songs with the same title and an average length of about 7 ½ minutes. More music to expand the mind of the average slug. The music is accompanied by an essay Sheila Chandra wrote with the obvious intention of explaining her music. The CD is the final one of a trilogy. The crone is the creator. As the title should suggest, all the pieces are drones. As Chandra explains; when she hears a drone she sometimes hears fully formed melodies in the drone. Furthermore she states from the outset that most people listen to music hear only the familiar, the listener concentrates on what is understood from the past, they hang onto what is known. As she says, “with this album that hanging on is not possible.” 

As a rule, I love the unfamiliar. I can’t say that drones are unfamiliar because I’ve listened many times to similar music. I guess I’m hanging onto the familiar. I found the album wholly relaxing and while the embellishments Chandra added to reel in the common folk (guitar harmonies, didgeridoo and bagpipes) are welcomed they really aren’t necessary. Place the CD lovingly in the tray and have a listen to a work of art. After the day is complete, the mindless masses have been satisfied that they are indeed just like their neighbors and the meaningless words on shit or genius have found their way into the bytes of magnetic storage devices. It is music such as this that gives me the impetus to rise again and face another day attempting to earn enough money to sustain life and acquire more material possessions. —Bananarama Dole 

Orbit
La Mano
Lunch Records 

A five song EP, so a little CD. It’s got a few moments or so where it would get intriguing. But the record has no release. It’s all build. Even what they consider the climax is really just the start of the erection. This band is a little more college rock with just a tad of off-key punk rock. Look, when I’m jerking off I don’t keep building up myself to the point where I’ve got a full on and then fucking stop. It’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to my sausage roll. So quit toying with me and do something Orbit don’t just string me along on a cheap date. You’ve got the talent, use it. —Sausage King 

Saturn’s Flea Collar
Monosyllabic
Alternative Records 

You know, I really, really hate rich rock stars. I think all the punks should beat them up; put them in the hospital or something. Once upon a time, there was this rich rock star. He offended many, many of the people in the land and was sued more than a few times over his attempts to exercise his First Amendment rights. After spending untold thousands of dollars defending his rights, he suddenly became an overnight rich rock star. One evening he attempted to commune with the spawn of his music and they hated him for being the rich rock star that he was even as they displayed his logo on their leathers. They beat him nearly to death because the Dead Kennedys never sounded like Green Day. In their wildest dreams, the current generation could never touch the sarcasm. The rich rock star never bowed to their antics; he simply moved beyond. 

Saturn’s Flea Collar is an Alternative Tentacles band. They aren’t playing power pop punk. Much like the entire host of Alternative Tentacles bands, they are engaged in creating “difficult” music. The reason for the difficulty belongs to a couple of Spanish folk musicians. Any music is difficult after doing the Macarena mindlessly night after night. I’m waiting for the porno version. xxx rises from her grave to do the Macarena with six well-hung studs. Bedroom such as that has never appeared as home theater; download the shareware version to the 30 gigabyte hard drive and gather the family around the 25 inch monitor. The band has a bunch of stupid song titles and they write stupid lyrics to sing. The guitarist uses effects pedals to the extreme and it looks like this is what happens to punk rockers when they become old. Two of the guys used to be in Victims Family. The drums kind of sound like punk rock, but that guitar has to go. Monosyllabic is an album of circus music played by carnival ride operators and shills. Alternative Tentacles has entered the mature phase of its life cycle by releasing increasingly more experimental works which have virtually no chance of succeeding in the American market of the present. The point of the preceding bullshit arrives at the bottom line. The CD is excellent. The band will appear at Spanky’s on October 17. —Tuna Fish 

Floyd Dixon
Wake Up and Live
Alligator Records and Artists 

You can live, or you can live in a state that allows you to step away into a faction of jump blues. Allowing yourself to sway to music in your state of depression is that which correlates to Dixon’s Wake Up and Live. From the first track, you gain a feeling of old time swingin’ in some funky joint created by the words of Kerouac. Dixon’s buried voice doesn’t have any trouble saturating into the background saxes and trombone. The album switches quickly from jumping arrangements to full voiced philosophy bellowed by Dixon. The whole album is a nod to this transition; from songs about dreams of Brooke Shields, Oprah Winfrey and his 450 Pound Women, to his classic “Hey Bartender.” Style and poise surrounded Dixon and his blend of music is expected. If anything, we hear about his bad taste in women. Oprah Winfrey? Jesus, that must be some sort of fetish. But that shouldn’t take away from this solid mix of jumpin’ blues and traditional sway blues that proves Dixon’s timelines and talent. —Mad Reverend 

Sticky
Gagwagon
Flatline Records

This is a local label, so support it to keep it around for the good bands that pop up in SLC. Gianni handed this to me on the second night of Sabbathon, the night when there was some really good bands and nobody to see them (to all four of the audience members there…kudos.) Well, I was excited because I thought maybe all the bands here don’t suck and hey what’s this a label maybe it’s got something good from SLC. Nope, not one record by a Salt Lake Band. 

Sticky is from North Carolina and they sound it. It’s feel-good and breezy. I don’t take it too seriously but I don’t brush it off either. I’d buy it and that’s what counts most. —Sausage King 

Gregory Isaacs
Gregory In Dub
Hollywood

You know, Hollywood can send me as much of this stuff as they release because I love it. It’s all so retro. It has me believing that bell bottoms, disco, platform shoes and polyester are all the rage. They are? Holy Batman Adam West, we’re back in fashion. If I was writing for a real magazine we could waste page after page investigating the history of Dub. Since this is SLUG, the basic explanation consists of removing most of the vocals and cranking up the rhythm section. It is interesting to note that Gregory Isaacs has made his entire reputation on the basis of his vocals. Since they are for the most part removed or heavily echoed, it can’t actually be a Gregory Isaacs CD. Dread Flimstone did the remixes and a fine job they did indeed. Since the disc was released on the Hollywood sub-labels Acid Jazz and Roots does this mean I have to move my entire Mad Professor collection over to the Acid Jazz section? —Honky Tah 

Godplow
Soft Formal Static
Grass Records 

Where most young bands are led by either a distinctive guitar or vocal sound/style, Godplow takes another approach from just a different angle. Why not let the percussion take the lead? Still sporting plenty of distortion and angst to fill a high school yearbook, the drums tend to dominate the scene and majority of the tracks on Soft Formal Static, explaining the fast-paced attack that makes it a true rock slammer. Far from pretty and brutal at best, the songs range from angry to pure neurotic ranting. I was reminded of bands like Seaweed and Sunny Day Real Estate from the Northwest, but these boys are pure Minneapolis, proving the huge breeding ground there for new and exciting bands to constantly be emerging. The leads on most tracks are edgy and unnerving, sliding down your spine like a rusty razor. I like the energy and speed, but felt uneasy most of the time while listening to the CD. Very strong and coming off as fully Brazen, Godplow is a band to be reckoned with, and allowed to get behind you when your back is turned. Watch out! —Billy Fish 

Reel Big Fish
Turn The Radio Off
Mojo Records 

This review should have appeared last month, but being the slacker that I am, it never made it. I’m sure the other more talented, real cognizant writers for this rag would have never let such a thing happen. That’s the way it goes and with apologies to Plain Jane, here is your review. Once again, an album’s title expresses my sentiments. Turn that mother fucking radio off and while you’re at it turn off the TV. The first song reprises a topic we’ve been over before. A job in the service sector is the American way of life. The Sunday paper explained how the government sent the middle class way of life off shore. The music is more of the same. Power-pop-ska-punk. 

“There’s so many bands and we all look the same.” Isn’t that the truth? Rather than cover the same old topic over and over again Reel Big Fish address the lesbian issue. “She Has a Girlfriend Now” takes on an appropriate ‘90s topic. At least the females can make a decent living as secretaries, receptionists, or publicists, what do they need a man for? A breadwinner? Hah, hah, hah! For a penis? Hah, hah, hah! Well a few of them do still enjoy a penis now and again. The next song is “Snoop Dog, Baby,” then there’s “Beer.” For “241,” Reel Big Fish once again demonstrate that they are not trapped by their chosen genre. The horns display distinct Latin influence and an instrumental of all things. Flip the tape over to discover more Latin ska. Reel Big Fish have a self-deprecating attitude. They went over it on side one and they opened side two. “Everything Sucks,” including us. We’re just another faceless band playing ska/punk to a gymnasium full of green mohawks. Circle ‘em up boys and have a skankin’ pit. But wait, the surprises aren’t finished. How about jungle ska? They finally won me over on the basis of the horn section. The horns make the record. Add the wit of the lyrics to the formidable brass section and Reel Big Fish are a band deserving the attention they’ve received in “industry” papers of late. The only way for a band such as this to make an impression, a living and a name for themselves is to tour constantly. Watch for them soon in Salt Lake City. —Raskafari 

Tonic
Lemon Parade
Polydor records 

The opening song of Lemon Parade, “Open Up Your Eyes,” grabs at you, and you want the whole CD to follow suit. The ride is driven in Tonic’s voice, Emerson Hart, which is not whiny, but nonetheless haunting. This keeps you listening to lyrics which are propped up in front of fastidious music. It has been done successfully due to the fact that the music never takes hold or interrupts, but moves its way around his voice. Tonic deserves a listen if you enjoy an alternative to the whiney-voiced bands which make that their calling. There are similarities in the subtle guitar behind a passive voice that is never pushed out with Pearl Jam, though comparison is not in order. A few tasteless, creamy filling of songs (“Soldiers Daughter,” “Mountain”) make up the required low point which is exemplified in Lemon Parade, a ditty as lame as David Hasselhoff. And like the Knight Rider’s fans; nice people, but dickheads nonetheless, so goes a little plunge in the CD with songs like this. But my hopes were uplifted as the noise of “Mountain” faded and Hart’s voice dropped in, like God’s sunshine drips on this land. Truly pure salvation. —Mad Reverend 

Loop Guru
Amrita
World Domination 

I live for this. As SLUG sees a drop in readership due to loss of more and more infamous names intent on climbing the corporate ladder at other more refined publications, I listen to disc after disc while blowing crack smoke into the laser printer and praying for salvation from a life of drudgery as a SLUG hack. It is time once again to enter the world of actual music, not something promoted as “alternative” by large corporations to the Big Assed X-96ers and MTV nation.

Loop Guru were here in town with Meat Beat Manifesto and DJ Spooky several days ago. Meat Beat Manifesto and DJ Spooky have been addressed in these pages previously. Loop Guru has not. Their stage performance impressed enough individuals that I believe Amrita is currently sold out at every shop in town. It is a disc of world beat and “techno” that is the envy of both Peter Gabriel and David Byrne. Of course the two of them helped pioneer such music through their respective groups and solo recordings, but they lost their way someplace among millions of dollars they acquired. The disc is both spooky and danceable with a rhythm that cannot and will not quit. Glossy magazines and trade journals are heavily engaged in an attempt to make music such as this the next “big thing.” This tactic was tried in the past with reggae and it never came to pass. Something about cancer due to ganja overdose removed the largest talent from the scene. I refuse to jump on the latest trend of any sort because they’ve all passed through before, but Loop Guru is an enjoyable way to spend a Sunday afternoon watching sports with the sound off. Jungle, dub, ethereal voices from exotic females and the drums, oh those drums. I’m headed off to the pseudo Cosmic Aeroplane to spend my paycheck on a drum, a didgeridoo and a life imitating a god damned motherfucking hippie. —Hippie Tah 

Cake
Fashion Nugget
Capricorn 

The first news is that Cake will appear at the Zephyr on October 15. The second information is that a band member has relatives in Salt Lake City. No way I would disrespect Cake. I’m guessing that two things will happen with the CD. The radio station monopolies could pull one song off (I have no idea which one that would be at this point.) and the band could have a huge record or the record might be too damn weird for the radio. There are three songs devoted to cars: “The Distance,” “Race Car Ya-Ya” and “Stickshifts and Safety Belts.” What does this mean? Actually what do they call this music? It certainly isn’t “alternative”…or maybe it is. Maybe the presence of trumpet, organ and pedal steel (one song only) make Cake an actual “alternative” band. An “alternative” to the “alternative.” 

Things would be much easier if the year were 1968 and the band was from San Francisco. They’d be another bunch of drug addled hippies in love with jazz, country and folk music. Since all the hippie bands of the present don’t have much interest in Jim Kweskin and Cake doesn’t engage in one single jam, I’m at a loss. No one provided a press kit, but I’ll hazard a guess that Cake’s Fashion Nugget is actually an anti-fashion statement. It’s a good record and the live performance should be interesting to say the least. Again, they’re at the Zephyr on October 15. —Angel Food

Guzzard
The Alienation Index Survey
Amphetamine Reptile 

Man, I dig a good grove! Lay down a tough riff and follow up behind it with some strong bass / drum rhythms and I’m one happy schoolboy! That’s what Guzzard does, but with a powerhouse feel that makes the foot on the tapping need a big boot around it to be truly doing a proper job. Playing just a little too loose to be perfect, the feel of the CD is a group of wildmen jamming a touch beyond their means, but not stopping for anyone or anything until the set’s done. Hell, why play it safe anyhow?!? Bend it over and kick it in the ass while you got the chance, I say! A band that needs to be heard live (like most AmRep acts!) the disc still is a sweet ride that is raw and pure to the belief in “rocking out with your cock out,” baby! And that is just what they do, letting the dice roll with all of it on the line, every time. Cool grooves with plenty of strength, Guzzard has a fast-paced sound that will have your bootie scooting to keep alongside the quick steps it takes with each track they lay down. —Billy Fish 

Lollipop
Dog Piss On Dog
AmRep 

The band name hardly brings garage punk to mind, but that is what Lollipop are engaged in. Coop gives his endorsement by contributing to the cover and while on the subject of covers, Lollipop covers Love with “7 and 7 Is.” You thought I didn’t know what I was writing about again didn’t you? Now that every kid on the block thinks it’s cool to have a mohawk and a collection of Bad Religion/Ramones/Descendents CDs and now that the Descendents have reformed to show them what it’s all about there is a growing interest in Pebbles, not to mention Bam Bam…sorry I got carried away for a second. Take a battered copy of Nuggets, the first of the batch and make a tape. Take the tape to the nearest power-pop punk hangout. Tie the bands up and force them to listen for about 72 hours straight. Turn them loose and ask them to play. The result is still punk, but all the pop has left the building. Melodies, harmonies, sing-a-long anthems and the test are replaced by abrasion, feedback and Sky Saxon sound-a-like vocals. Each and every song sounds exactly like a variation on “Psycho” except “7 and 7 Is.” Lollipop goes in the keep stack. —Gagging Hoppy Tah 

Hoodoo Gurus
Blue Cave
Zoo 

Boy, Dave Faulkner is a bad lyricist. The lyrics on this album are so, so bad…it’s shamefully painful. And painfully shameful. You thought Alanis Morrisette took a page out of her junior high homeroom notebook and set it to music and that was about as bad as it could get, The Hoodoo Gurus make her look like Nina Simone. Well, David Faulkner anyway. It’s really amazingly stinky. “I was feeling great like Alexander.” Isn’t that inside a Laffy Taffy wrapper? Oh, god I can’t quit any more. The music is fine, but this guy would’ve done better to string non-sequiters together out of a rhyming dictionary. —Capt. America 

The James Taylor Quartet
Mission Impossible
Hollywood Records 

Ooops. I’m already in enough trouble with Hollywood Records so I better be kind to the James Taylor Quartet. Some guy over at grid did a piece or sucked a piece or gave up a piece to the band already, but methinks he missed the entire Booker T and Hammond aspect. Wasn’t “Blow Up” a movie featuring a Jimmy Page-less Yardbirds? How come a band billed as “acid jazz” sounds just like some bizarre remix of “Walk Don’t Run” and “Green Onions”? Maybe I haven’t ingested enough acid or listened to enough jazz but I’m thinking that the James Taylor Quartet are more retro than retro. Come on guys, where did you find that keyboard? Did you steal it from Los Bravos or was it Sam the Sham & the Pharaohs? Well I guess “Mission Impossible” done up without anyone from U2 participating is good for a dance-club filling experience. Who is on the guitar, Jimi Hendrix from his days in England? 

For the lounge cats. The James Taylor Quartet are right up your Acker Bilk alleycat. Stick this baby with Esquivel, Les Baxter, Arthur Lyman and whatever your little polyester garbed body desires. Surf guitar combined with Stax/Volt organ and the “hip” lounge sound gets me all excited. Except I’m not sure what all the fuss is about. I can buy shit this good at the DI for a quarter and it’s a record not some digitally impaired CD. —Gigging Tah 

Doghead
Cavity Search 

Not too far from a Bill Laswell/Axiom recording without having had anything to do with Laswell at all. It’s got a lot of ambient noises with a heaping helping of assorted funky found sounds and seems to be designed to trip out on. The difference is Laswell has a better handle on keeping it music and these guys stray a little too far into the territory of something that’s interesting but not necessarily listenable or enjoyable. It doesn’t really keep a steady enough beat to dance to, you certainly can’t sing along (no lyrics) and there’s no emotional base from which to expunge or celebrate, unless you happen to be a schizophrenic. A fine musical experiment, were it to have been performed twenty years ago. Otherwise it gets annoying really quickly. —Capt. America 

Germs Tribute
A Small Circle Of Friends
Grass Records 

Here’s another one Gianni gave me and I said “Sure G, I’ll write a review.” That was two months ago. The band paying tribute are a mix of famous, not so famous and unknown. Take for example the Melvins ripping through “Lexicon Devil.” A highlight perhaps? Well, it certainly can’t be difficult to top Matthew Sweet doing “Dragon Lady,” or how about Flea covering “Media Blitz.” I know G will hate the next and that’s why I’m writing it. The Holez turn in another highlight with their version of “Circle One.” How about those vocals from SLUG whipping girl Courtney Love? How about those drums from Patty Schemel and my God, how about the guitar from Pat Smear? Wasn’t he in some band like the Germs or something? 

I’ll be damned if I don’t actually like the D-Generation’s take on “No God” before encountering Mike Watt and J. Mascis and another cover “What We Do Is Secret.” What the fuck! All of these songs are covers? Oh yeah it’s a tribute. A few more favorites before I say, “buy it.” The Meatpuppets are rich, everyone should hate those sarcastic Kirkwood boys. They don’t turn “Not All Right” into a country stomp, be thankful. It looks like Jennifer Finch won’t be with L7 when they arrive on November 2, but she is here for “Lion’s Share.” Fuck the Posies. Who do they think they are – Herman’s Hermits? Well I guess every compilation deserves a few losers. What was Darby? Buy it. —Baggy Tah 

Model Rockets
Snatch It Back And Hold It
C/Z Records 

Why aren’t these guys on Lookout! Records? It sounds like Easy Bay to me, but maybe a touch too slick for that punk label to push. Anyhow, I like their sound a tremendous amount! Very poppy, combining catchy harmonies with dominating lead and rhythm guitars, Model Rockets drop into the vein of a punky Squeeze or early Replacements with smoother vocals. Alex Chilton/Big Star would be so proud! It’s a damn shame that more bands don’t apply their limited talents to their vocal/lyrical work like Model Rockets, instead of the usual plug it in and crank it to ten mentality that creates more noise than music. This CD could run the board on satisfying the masses from straight pop lovers to old American punk in the style of Jonathan Richman and The Modern Lovers to even MC5. The 11 songs on this disc go quick, and before you know it, you’re pressing “play” again to repeat the whole procedure one more time. That’s understandable, and should be expected with such a slamming sound! An all around strong release with plenty to offer to everyone, snatch it yourself and enjoy some cross-over punk again and again. —Billy Fish 

Galaxie 500
Rykodisc 

As much as I would love to sit through four discs of Galaxie 500 revisited, it isn’t happening this month. The box contains three albums and the usual rarities disc. Kramer remastered the recordings for Rykodisc. What I have is a one-disc sampler. It runs about an hour and it is probably available at the local used CD outlet. Those involved in the “business” are notoriously underpaid and they will pick up a spare buck wherever. Few of the “business” people will care to listen to an hour of Galaxie 500 for you see it is lo-fi psychedelic music or some such nonsense. Trip out and get spaced with a space band on drugs. The box is unavailable at the big box shops. Adventurous souls are invited to visit one of the fine independent stores advertising in these pages. —Peggy Tah 

The Wrong Century
Pages
Modern Day Recordings 

In the very press release for this album, the lead singer is described as having a painfully superficial voice. They’re not kidding. I guess enough people have told him that he sounds like shit that he already knows it, and figures maybe he’ll turn it into an advantage by trying it as a selling point. Not this reviewer, fellas. He sounds like he’s singing with his head in the toilet bowel. Perhaps he’d just heard the album. —Capt. America 

Face To Face
A&M 

According to my advance concert calendar, Face To Face will arrive in Salt Lake City sometime around November 17 to play the album live. I haven’t researched their entire output for this review but I have listened to a substantial portion of it. After more than a few albums and a major label deal they have finally convinced the big label that they are worthy of an investment. None of that tax write-off bull for the new one sold at an incredibly low price at every single computer warehouse that doesn’t abide by MAP guidelines. 

The phone rings and it’s an industry tip sheet checking up on the status of Face To Face. “How many copies do you have presently?” “Only one.” “Are you planning to purchase more to fill the endcap?” “Ah, no.” “Are you playing the CD at all?” “Well, yes I am, I’m listening right now.” “Would you like another free copy to play?” “No, one is satisfactory.” “If I sent you a check for $25 would you call X-96 and request ‘I won’t lie down’?” “I sure would send the check!” The disc is a blistering example of modern punk rock. It’s a little light on the pop and a little heavy on the power. I don’t believe there is a-sing-along anthem presented, but I’m a little tired of sing-a-longs by now. By the minus track version and a lyric sheet. Swear words are absent. What this means is that unless a local parent discovers that the band is preaching the gospel Face To Face is the perfect disc to give to the eight-year-old who just received a new CD player and some discs from the Primary teacher. Don’t worry, he’s only eight. He won’t want to fuck a girl for at least four more years and by then your husband will have introduced both of them to cock. —Jack “Off” Tah 

Ruth Ruth
The Little Death
Epitaph 

An EP whose marketing is based on the original softcover Catcher in the Rye by Salinger. Six songs, 18 minutes. Pretty good trio. Basic guitar bass drum setup but with intelligence and a lead singer with a throat and a cool voice, well played instruments if noninventive in the college alternative format, they bring heart and talent to it in an industry where one usually means none of the other. Smart lyrics and snappy playing. What have you got to lose? It’s an EP, go out and get it. —Capt. America 

Placebo
Caroline 

With the overflow of so many bands these days, you’re bound to find some that neither bug nor rock your world. Placebo is one of these bands, with a sound that doesn’t really create either tension nor admiration. The vocals were a tad annoying, very high-pitched (schoolboy / Billy Corgan-ish), but the low and fuzzy tones created by the guitarist were cool to follow. The sluggish bass was basic at best, yet the drumming was pretty quick to slap things up a bi,t if only it was produced with better sound quality. I listened to the disc three times, and I still couldn’t distinguish which songs were standouts, if there were any. The funny thing about bands like this is that there are going to be some people stroking tip to it, and other grinding it up in their blenders. I stand completely in the middle, letting others decide how to stand on the subject. Neither hot or cold, Placebo left me perplexed in the end. You’ll have to decide on your own, since I have far too many other CDs to wade through before the end of this deadline! —Billy Fish 

Karen Carpenter
A&M Records 

I’m certainly no Carpenters expert, although I am a fan, so I have to admit that without any promo material I’m unclear as to the purpose of this compilation. Is it stuff that they just pulled out of a vault somewhere? Is it the greatest hits of Karen without the help of her brother? What’s the deal? I don’t pretend to know, I don’t know any of the songs, except a couple of the original artists. There’s nothing here as catchy as the Carpenter’s greatest hits, but it’s all music covered in that wonderful airy cotton candy worldview that surely anorexia is borne from. It gets a little funked out, maybe this is Karen doing Parliament. God knows. It’s quite wonderful however, so who needs to question a good thing. How it came into SLUG’s hands one can only guess. Spend an afternoon in Carpenterland. Everything is beautiful, and yes…you can fly.  —Capt. America 

Robyn Hitchcock
Moss Elixir
Warner Bros. 

The weird and wonderful softboy from Britain is back with an exceptional album that only adds more magic to the huge catalog of fantastic music and his eccentric genius. Yes, I may be a bit subjective (being a big fan!), but Hitchcock has always been the off-key master of very bizarre and original sounds that have never seemed to hit anywhere near the mainstream of the alternative world. Pop in formula, but never in lyrics, the new array of songs dip into the subconscious with sticky-gooey catch phrases that are often quirky, and at times disturbing too. But Hitchcock has always had a taste for the strange and offbeat, creating images that fester in the mind long after hearing them alongside his colorful and strong guitar-dominated music. Very acoustic at many points, Moss Elixir is a multi-faceted experience, with huge Beatlesesque overtones that are legitimate to anyone who can appreciate influence that doesn’t diminish originality. Always inventive and continually satisfying to any underground music fan, the latest from Sir Robyn is a must for the old fan and new listener in need of a fresh aspect from the dark left of pop. —Billy Fish 

Servotron
No Room For Humans
Amphetamine Reptile Records 

This is one damn cool CD! I fell in love with this nugget seconds into the first song, loving the old feel of underground early eighties noise like Wall Of Voodoo, Bow Wow Wow, and The Fall. What it really sounds like (get this) is the hybrid of The B-52’s and DEVO, with just a touch of the male/female vocal styling of X. Keeping the guitar simple and low on distortion, the garage sound is combined with whack-out synthesizers that pop in and out like a bad memory. Raw and untamed, the gang in Servotron run along like drunk schoolchildren, having fun spouting off nutty lyrics and making tons of obnoxious noise. Hell, these guys should be opening up for DEVO! They’re perfect for the job! If robots ever had hard-ons and formed a band, this is exactly what the electronic perverts would sound like. Bumping and grinding like metallic sex, this is more refreshing than a nudist rally in temple square, which in either case you wouldn’t want to miss at all. Of what fun indeed! —Billy Fish 

SNFU
Fyulaba
Epitaph 

The summer was for this reviewer, stocking me with plenty of punk records to keep me warm going into the fall. This is the last one received in the dwindling days of August and by far the least. The older boys on the block who haven’t created an old school sound yet. Their latest is a perfect example of the thrashing and crunchy shit they still throw down all over the States on continual punky tour. It might even be noticed the speed is even quicker than a few of the earlier attempts, cranking through 14 songs in record speed. Made for those with boards, not mopeds or bikes, the skate sound is whipped up into a frothing frenzy on almost every track. I don’t know how many strings or snare heads they went through on this record, but I know most of the money on the road will be spent on replacing both. Basically a bunch of tough punk veterans, SNFU are back to kick what few asses they missed, and nail the others they caught the first time. Jump in line and get the treatment yourself! —Billy Fish 

Versus
Secret Swingers
Caroline 

Simple and direct, this is a lonely sound that sinks into the plush carpet of your mind like spilt coffee. Disturbing by its complete honesty about seeing life and love from the afflicted and ignored side of the spectrum, Versus gets under the skin from the very first injection of its music’s electric transfusion of emotions. The songs center around sadness and rejection, but with a surprisingly quick and upbeat sound that makes it hard to figure out if the band is crying the blues or simply laughing at their bad luck with it all. The only close comparison would be a split with Yo La Tengo and Pixies, but still standing out with their own legitimate sound that is truly quick to catch, if you don’t mind the pop melancholy it radiates. Outsiders with a dark edge to share, Versus will find their way through your stereo and ears to eventually find a place in the deep recesses of your sad little heart. A lot like the stray puppy that begs for a show of affection, take them home and find out why they need to be loved, cause lord knows they seem to need it. —Billy Fish 

Frosted
Cold
Geffen 

Jane Wiedlin’s new band. You may remember her as Joan of Arc in Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, with the face that launched a thousand loads. There’s also a bootleg video tape floating around of backstage Go-Go’s action in which Belinda Carlisle and Charlotte Caffey are high as horses on designer 80s drugs and Caffey is trying to get some poor groupie to jack off for the camera. He’s taken four quaaludes or something, as well as endless verbal abuse, and he’s totally unable to function, he passes out and they insert horrible things into his passed out cavities. Carlisle is revealed as believing female masturbation is a pathetic and gross thing. Wiedlin is nowhere to be seen. Good for her, she was always my favorite. The Go-Go’s were nothing if not bouncy and fun, and Wiedlin certainly lives up to both those bills on this album, though it’s nevertheless straight-forward nineties pop, that is with a twist of punk to give it that gen-x edge. Not a criticism mind you. Historically more interesting than a lot of female pop-punk standard bearers around today, although it could probably have a few more ‘hooks’. —Capt. America

Read more CD reviews of the 90s from the SLUG Archives:
CD Reviews: September 1996
Pile of Vinyl: August 1996

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