Record Reviews
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The Raincoats
Looking in the Shadows
DGC
Never heard of ‘em. Famous post-punk pioneers, idols of the Cobain-Gordon-Jet Set, etc. They reissued a bunch of stuff and in doing so sparked an interest in a new album, and thus we have Looking in the Shadows. Never having heard the originals, I must say this is some pretty enjoyable stuff. Very sweetly melodic at the same time as they retain a somewhat experimental edge. They remind me of Trio in not only a musical style but also singing style as well. For some reason, it’s reminiscent of Idio-Savant music (Shaggs), which makes it very endearing. Maybe they just learned how to play these instruments yesterday, and they stayed up all night writing these songs, and they did it because they love you. It’s certainly a refreshing feminist change from the feminism currently exemplified by Jewel (an amazingly bad album) and Alanis (an amazingly bad album); even No Doubt doesn’t have much beyond the one song. The girls fill an album with wide-eyed joy and musical childhood. Maybe you’re sitting there thinking, ‘Where I was when they first came around?’ (I was nine), but I’m just as happy to discover them now, as it gives me something to go search out and get. —Capt. America
Various Artists
Twister Soundtrack
Warner Bros
First of all, this movie sucked, and there’s no way of getting around that fact while you listen to this album, especially because one of the characters goes around blasting this god-awful Van Halen song that starts the album, “Humans Being,” at the tornadoes in a plot device stolen from Apocalypse Now. There’s a number of midwestern songs to go with the motif, k.d. lang (shitty), Rusted Root (they start strong and don’t go anywhere) and Mark Knopfler (Jesus, he sucks). Of course, my cousins who live in the Midwest listen to nothing but Ozzy. Alison Krauss does a pretty good job at her entry, managing to capture the Shawn Colvin/Mary Chapin Carpenter mood. Tori Amos is swell, but that’s my opinion always. Soul Asylum, you’ve heard already. Belly is pretty mediocre, keeping with their usual quality in my opinion. Lisa Loeb is alright. Red Hot Chili Peppers are about as good as the plot of the film, which I don’t recall if I’ve said, SUCKED SHIT. It was truly a horrifying piece of work. The Goo Goo Dolls stand out as being pretty good, but that’s like Mark Eaton standing out amongst the munchkins (p.s. as I write this, the Jazz just fucked up another year). The final song is credited to Edward & Alex Van Halen (isn’t that Van Halen, for chrissake?) called “Respect the Wind.” I mean, really… fuck you, Eddie. It’s a new age instrumental, and it’s not even bad, but…”Respect the Wind”? Give me a break. —Capt. America
Super Junky Monkey
A-I-E-T-O-H
Sony
This is hardcore from Japan. Of course, the rumor has it that in Japan, a thrifty perv has within his means the ability to purchase school-girls’ panties from vending machines. The manufacturer made so much money he was thinking about branching out to include tampons and bottled urine – from, as I’ve said, vending machines. So it goes without saying that hardcore in the land of the Rising Sun takes on a little different meaning. I don’t know who the hell these guys are (they made it to Sony, so they’ve got some following somewhere), but they know how to fuck with you. They play super fast and hard, lots of screaming (sometimes in Japanese) and crazy shit. The last song sounds like Slayer crossed with Frank Zappa crossed with Tricky. It’s either that or a locomotive carrying a stunt guitar-crazed Steve Vai running over your head. Like a soundtrack to Tetsuo Iron Man, I gotta give ‘em balls for effort if nothing else, and they don’t get back down once. They back up everything they give you, and that’s more than you can say for most of the groups that attempt this kind of thing. This is an EP not labelled for store sale, so I don’t know if you’re going to be able to find it. My guess is it’s a precursor to an album which should prove worthwhile, so you might want to ferret it out. —Capt. America
Warrant
The Best Of Warrant
Legacy
Bandwagons. Fuck, I guess we should all be used to this by now. Political bandwagons, fashionable awareness shit, retro eighties – it’s all hype, but hell, I fall for it too. Frankie Goes to Hollywood or Men Without Hats? Fuck yeah, turn the radio up. I went to this chick’s dorm room once, did tequila shots with her hippie roommate, got so drunk I walked into a wall and passed out on the sidewalk for a couple hours. The best thing of the night? The eighties collection tape with Naked Eyes, Culture Club, and Tom Tom Club. All that cheese music flooding the stereo from my teenage years, can’t get enough of it: that fluff pop with the new wave taste, but now.. .this. Everybody wants to release that Great EIGHTIES Band collection piece. What the hell is this? The other side of the eighties, the metal, the hair metal, the power ballad. Warrant! Jeez, what’s next, Poison or Stryper? Why not just shoot me? Why couldn’t it have been Anthrax or Venom? Anything else would have been a valiant attempt, but Warrant? What the hell did they ever do? Oh yeah, “Cherry Pie.” Not the song, fuck that. Who needs another power chord? I’m talking the album cover. Oh come on, you remember the chick on the cover. Of course, we wouldn’t let anyone know we were male pigs. We’d buy the good shit from Sam Goody (remember mall days?) and, when no one was looking, we’d check out the ‘W’ bin, oh yeah, I’d do that. But the music? No way! So I got to listen to this to review, okay I’ll be objective… naw, still sucks. Pretty boys with poof poof hair, high-pitched sappy vocals and lyrics from a horny idiot-savant, more idiot than savant. —JAND
Fastball
Make Your Mama Proud
Hollywood Records
The definition of what gets you into rotation these days is of course laughable. It’s almost gotta be pop-punk three-minute songs with hooks. Of course, Nirvana fit that label just fine, and they managed to not only get airplay and for that matter rich and famous, but they weren’t half bad at that. Fastball never strays from the field of the three-minute song. Of course, if your aim is to jump in with both feet, fuck it all up a little and get the hell out in under three minutes, you’re going to want to leave something to remember you by. Thus the theory behind the hook, a thoroughly detestable term that unfortunately for all of us I use anyway. Fastball works because you always wish the song had perhaps gone on just a little longer. Not a bad feeling to have. They’re smart lyricists, they play within their abilities and they’re enjoyable. In a world full of liquid shit, Fastball not only floats but they smell cinnamony fresh. —Capt. America
Nancy Boy
Deepsleepmotel
Elektra
Recently on MTV news, a quick little piece ran of a notable designer showing off his more flashy wardrobes. Nancy Boy volunteered? hired? what-have-you as the living mannequin and performed a show in his shiny 60s retro suits. Bad idea? Even the Sex Pistols early on doubled as advertisement for McLaren’s bondage clothing. So who knows. The music? Well, first off, it’s fun. I want to hate it, I try hard to hate this stuff, say to myself it’s irrelevant pop and not provoking. They remind me a bit of Space Hog and I even end up telling my roommate, ‘I know it’s not supposed to be, but… not bad.’ Damn it. The three-piece sample opens up with a moody whale-song dose (much like the intro to the soundtrack of Wim Wenders’ Until the End of the World) and then bursts into a full and heavy guitar pop. Even the so-obvious-should-be-a-cliche line, “check me in before you check me out” from the title track is forgivable. They reach an almost perfect balance between guitar exploration, pop catchiness and energy that just… well, it just fuckin’ works. Even the vocals come off as slightly influenced by the early works of Bowie (“London Bye Ta-Ta,” “Black Country Rock,” “Panic in Detroit” kinda thing). I think the second track “Johnny Chrome and Silver” should’ve been the song to push. Oh yeah, the third track is a very well done remake of the Gary Numan classic “Are ‘Friends’ Electric?” I look forward to the full-length album release (as of now to be called simply Nancy Boy). —JAND
The Verve Pipe
Villains
RCA
The first thing to stand up and take notice of is the immediate play between the thick and heavy guitar attack against the smooth vocals. Not so much heavy in the sense of metal derivative but along the lines of Smashing Pumpkins or (doubt this will help) Garden Variety. Not that they sound like them stylistically – you’re not going to think they’re a rip-off band – they’re just strong and loud with the guitar. Another good play is that the second track romps about, some delirious constant fit-shake, but is entitled “Drive You Mild.” The band seems to let the music become the central point of the record, vocals just loud enough to be heard, but don’t think it’s to hide bad lyrics. I won’t say they’re the best lines I’ve heard, just that there’s nothing that would bring shame to the band. Both “Villains” and “Reverend Girl” fool you a bit, starting off as lilting arpeggioed guitar picking, but then lapsing into noise-drenched chops. The keyboards do pop up most notably on “Cup of Tea,” but even there it’s quite evident that the guitars are the strong points of the band. In some strange fancy, it comes off reminiscent of some later Police piece (along with ominous man that has a tendency to sound a bit like Sound Garden at times). Otherwise, quite a distinctive band. Halfway through, we finally get to slow down and relax, as the “Freshman” sums up a sexual maturation during college years (another nice play). It’s followed by “Photograph,” the song that should be looked out for to be popping up on the airwaves, rather that stop-start approach to song writing. Unfortunately, if I was pressed to say it, the band does come off as what one would expect to hear on an alternative pop college station, but they are well worth checking out. —JAND
The Sugarplastic
Bang, The Earth Is Round
Geffen
The open track, “Another Myself” comes on. During subtle moments of the chorus it reeks of The Beatles’ “Nowhere Man”; at others, it’s funky! But the biggest bit of connection is some quirky instance to some innate dedication to silliness. Do we really need some return to They Might Be Giants? Answer: Fuck No! Second track — have we fallen back to some cheesy musical dialogue score from Grease Two? Somebody get the backup vocalist off of helium. Somebody slap me, pull me out of this mind numbness — let me find the eject button, push, a swish as the drawer opens, the sound of annoyance stops, thank god, silence. —JAND
Furry Things
The Big Saturday Illusion
Trance
Aim. Lock. Phasers! Just kidding. Just had to lighten up after the reviewing of The Sugarplastic. Starts off with a bit of spacy effects and drifts into a dreamy trance, a bit like Medicine or my bloody valentine. It opens with “Introism,” predominantly sound ramblings that let you basically just groove. A good piece to listen to alone, as background gathering music or for those special quiet times with… well, with someone or something important. And hell, that phasing in and out of feedback volumes at the end just fuckin’ makes crazy in a “what? whoa” way. The second piece really shows off that valentine feel with dragging the tape, distorting your perception (is that the player fuckin’ up, am I fucked up, or is that the band) – good stuff. Thumbs up so far in the first five minutes. Third piece — no disappointment yet, oh my, that recording time just slipped to really down speed, gotta hear for yourself to understand. They have really taken that valentine experiment to extremes and still pull it off. Really worth the trip if you get off on the new acid work. —JAND
Burnin Groove
In The Gallows
Incubator
I was at the SLUG office because, well, I don’t even remember why, but I was bitchin’ that I had no ride home from work at some ungodly hour in the morning. Someone there offered to chauffeur me if, and what a big if, I reviewed this CD. I needed the ride, so I agreed. Put it in, listen, FUCK — now I know why it was passed off. It’s one of those shitty CDs to review. It’s not like they have absolutely no skill. They’re full of energy, and they know how to play what they’re doing. The problem, and it is a really big problem, can be summed up with, yeah, so fuckin’ what? Every town has them, a band that does the local band scene — tough enough without saying anything, that true guarantee that they’ll get laid by some ditz. The music? Hard rock with no imagination whatsoever, but still executed with ability. What does that add up to? Remember the freak painter? It’s a happy accident. Skill with no feeling. Another lame landscape to hang in the bathroom. Connection to the band? You got it. A bar band that does rock by the numbers. Forget this one. —JAND
Beat Angels
Unhappy Hour With
Epiphany
So they’re produced by Gilby Clarke? So fuckin’ what? Even Albini gets the occasional band of no interest to work with. I suppose it’s a fuckin job, much like reviewing shit. So-and-so! reviewed by so-and-so!, who really gives a fuck? Like Burnin Groove, just another by-the-numbers band. This time it’s about that early eighties crossover California pop punk effort. They do pull off a good line once in awhile like “we’d never be friends / if we never took to drinking,” but all in all, we’re still trying to get over rip-off punk groups in the form of Green Day and Rancid. If you haven’t had your fill yet, fine, I got a copy that goes for cheap. Oh, real quick, like this means anything (probably as much as their music), but the female singer has the uncanny ability to look like a homely shag cut pre-adolescent boy in half the photos. —JAND
The Groovie Ghoulies
World Contact Day
Lookout Records
This dorky CD starts off with creatures from outer space visiting Earth to complain about the quality of music they’ve been forced to listen to that we’ve created. They go on to give the Earth 28 minutes to give them a reason not to kill us all. The album begins. Deliberately banal progressions stop purposefully ridiculous lyrics; the whole thing is a steaming heap. It could be the Ramones, it could be dogshit. The target audience seems to be second graders, perhaps in an effort to begin kids on punk early. The best way of course is to beat them. If a living postpunk family were to listen to this shit, they would most likely join the church. Truly bad. Bop your head to the crazy beat! Pogo til your ankles bleed to the non-stop fun! Shove this CD next to “The Monster Mash,” and try and forget that music like this exists. I should say that the format is not the worst, it simply only works when the lyricist is a William S. Burroughs, someone who can turn your heart to a cinder block and make you laugh your ass off at the same time. When it’s simply insipid and totally lacking in humor (to wit: the space aliens proclaim at the end, “The Groovie Ghoulies have saved thee!”), it’s just sad. —Capt. America
