RECORDS

Rip It Up, Issue 3, 1 August 1977, Page 10

RECORDS

Ry Cooder Live Suoerb!

Al DiMeola Elegant Gypsy CBS You can understand a lot about this record by examining its cover. Consider the photo. A swarthy bearded dude in black waistcoat stares coolly at you, his arms confidently folded over his black electric Gibson. Behind him a dark, immaculately-coiffed woman swirls her expensive black gown and glances over her shoulder at our guitarist. He has his back to her but seems well aware of her presence. His demeanour is almost arrogant, indicating that he chooses to disregard her. This sense of cool assurance also pervades the music. DiMeola is a gifted young musician who confidently commands a number of modern guitar styles. He is not yet 22, yet this is his second album as a leader, after three as a member of the highly esteemed unit, Chick Corea's Return To Forever. All the music here is set in more or less Spanish-influenced styles in attempt to provide a thematic unity to the album, however DiMeola, much in thft way he snubs the gypsy in the photo, will sometimes ignore his context and launch into improvisations that focus the music elsewhere. Consider the photo again. On closer inspection the woman seems not so much a gypsy as some Fifth Avenue model holding a pose. Is this what the music is really doing Well, yes and no. In the sense that it is really North American jazz affecting Latin American styles, we can concede the point, but it is not true in the sense that the music could be accused of dishonesty. We have only to turn the record sleeve over and read the track titles to realise that DiMeola is quite candid about his object. The pieces are so aptly named as to give one .the sense that they were composed subsequent to the conception of the titles. It is up to us as listeners (readers?) to decide whether we want what he openly offers. “Flight Over Rio" is about as close to indigenous South American culture as the tune gets. It has the hectic pace and volume of today’s commercial Western lifestyle. Sound appealing? “Midnight Tango’’ is just that. Do you want the soundtrack to an after-hours deserted dancehall? Ponder on this one: “Race with Devil on Spanish Highway”. You may remember a sixties, fuzzed guitar rave-up entitled “Race with the Devil" by a group called Gun. Update that little monster by a decade, give it to some highly proficient young jazz honchos, toss in a soupcon of Latin flavouring and let it cook. Interested? On two numbers DiMeola plays acoustic guitar. “Mediterranean Sundance’’ is a duet that exudes vibrant warmth. "Lady ol Rome, Sister of Brazil" offers a short, gentle meditation on the shared culture of the old world and the new.

“Elegant Gypsy Suite" seems intended as the focal point of the album, being both the] longest track and j supplying the cover motif. Fittingly, it also summarises the strengths and weaknesses of the music as a whole. Surely an elegant gypsy is virtually a contradiction in terms: someone of dark and brooding passions which are capable of erupting into fiery] abandon, yet who, at , the] same time, is always graceful and refined. Therein lies my reservation [about] this record. The playing is very fine indeed and beautifully polished just take a note 'of the musicians involved and the pieces all | move attractively. However, with the possible exception of “Mediterranean Sundance", when it ]sj a 111 rjt here} Via* sense that j someth i was | held in check' when it might have been released. In an effort to remain well-groomed the music foregoes risking any great passion, and risks ' are what makes improvised music so exciting. Like the girl in the photo who can't quite pass as a gypsy, this music needs to let its hair down for a little more sex and violence. Peter Thomson

Ry Cooder Showtime Warner Brothers A real treat from W.E.A. this time with Ry Cooder's new album, this is Showtime, a dazzler of a live album which may be one of the best records of the year. Cooder's albums usually are. A session guitarist par excellence (with Captain Beefheart, Randy Newman, the Stones and other big ones), Cooder has now released six albums. All feature his instrumental virtuosity in a variety of styles, as well as his idiosyncratic choice of material, from fairly traditional blues through Woody Guthrie to Burt Bacharach and Jim Reeves. There is often a wry touch of humour in such strange stylistic juxtapositions as his Tex-Mex version of the country-and-western “He’ll Have to Go." To the songs. The opening song, “School is Out," a companion piece to Berry’s "Schooldays", is done with the same gusto as Cooder’s Guthrie songs. This means it has more drive and guts thap forty thousand disco songs. A fadeout to this particular track indicates perhaps that it was not a live song. Other treats on Side One are the gospel-

style "Jesus on the Mainline" (remember Muldaur's "As an Eagle Stirreth in Her Nest?’’) and Blind Willie Johnson's "Dark End of the Street." “Street" is sung by the backing vocalists (Eldridge Cleaver, Terry Evans and Bobby King) and Cooder contributes a brilliant bottleneck solo in the middle of the song. The second side opens with a rip-roaring polka-version of Guthrie’s “Do-Re-Mi" in which Flaco Jimenez s accordian shows its colours. How appropriate Guthrie’s Depression-laments now seem to the spirit of our times, and the same mood runs through Alfred Reed’s “How Can a Poor Man Stand Such Times and Live". Those who know Cooder’s first album with its fairly raunchy reading of this song will be surprised by the quiet restraint of this version. How cunningly Cooder inserts a quick chorus of “He'll Have to Go" in to the song. Even though superlatives put off as many people as they convince, I think this is a superb album. Two grizzles: firstly, the cover is a bit messy by Cooder s usually high standard, and secondly why wasn't it a double album, using some of the other highlights on his overseas concerts'?

William Dart

Deaf School Don’t Stop the World Warner Bros Last year's debut album from Deaf School, Second Honeymoon, established them as among the leaders of the new wave of British art school rock groups which followed the demise of Roxy Music. Of these groups, among which were Be-bop Deluxe, City Boy, Sailor and Nasty Pop, Deaf School looked the most promising and, like Sailor, they were on occasion able to approximate the stylistic nuances of Bryan Ferry’s vocal, so increasing their chance of acceptance. But Deaf School wholly embrace the romantic vision rather than adopt the cynical detachment which Ferry exhibits. And although this means they are occasionally self-conscious in image and verse, they have quickly proved their musical sophistication.

Don't Stop the World unfortunately covers no more than the same ground their debut left well-trodden. But there is a greater sense of urgency here at the expense of simplicity and clarity, although any band starting out with a personnel of nine will have problems when it comes to sharing out the solo spots, even if they've lost a guitarist between albums. Cliff Langer is the band's guitarist and the main songwriter, writing his songs with either Phil Allen or Eric Shark, one of the three vocalists. Together they have the band image clearly tagged; the title track could also be an epitaph fortheir audience, an accordion setting a romantic atmosphere before the vocalist launches in: Don’t stop the world! I'm staying on You'll be sorry when it's gone Give me money, don’t forget

I haven’t seen the whole world yet. “Darling", a Beatles-like track written by bassist Steve Lindsey, is followed by "Everything for the Dancer": She looked, she moved Then once or twice She smiled a bit To break the ice I laughed as if to answer Everything for the dancer . . . Bette Bright, the group's female vocalist deserves more lead vocal spots and on the one track where she does sing lead, "Operator", she shows herself as a very stylised and controlled vocalist in what is evidently a live studio recording. It is, of course, possible that Deaf School may be just a little bit too clever. "Rock Ferry" includes a rhyme which matches "ferry" with "beret and “Taxi" includes a neat little play on words "while the nameless pass us by (passers by)". And ‘ Capaldi's Cafe" is punctuated with a chorus of the McCoys' "Hang On Sloopy": Heard the news, took some pulls Put on me shoes, turned off the radio Out I go lookin' for thrills Might take some spills but that's all right. Yes indeed. And you know sometimes just being alive can be really terrific.

Jeremy Templer

Peter Frampton I’m In You A& M To call Peter Frampton a phenomenon would ibe something of an understatement. Overnight, the man turned into a veritable) industry. In one year he sold 11 million records and 2 million concert tickets and what's more, his name generated [a] total of I fifty million dollars worth of sales of various products records, T shirts, posters and J other Frampton ephemera. And all this on the | strength of one album, Frampton Comes Alive! , as until that time he'd sold a mere 750,000 albums in the States. So, it's not surprising that the man with the golden grin is worried. As he told Rolling Stone, "I do know this the next album better be bloody good." Well, the album's out and bloody good it ain't. But I would call it a partial success. Its most disturbing feature is a certain slackness, both in conception and execution. Too many of.the songs here seem reminiscent of 1 past work both his own and others. “I'm In You" : sounds like a Todd Rundgren outtake in the days when Todd aused to write songs, while "St Thomas (Don't You Know How 1 I Feel)" has a chorus very reminiscent of Fram 7 s’ own “Baby, I Love Your Way”, featured on Comes Alive!

Similarly, in tackling two well-known Tamla Motown songs, Frampton comes away with mixed results. Junior Walkers "Road Runner" he attacks enthusiastically, but it goe.* in messy guitar phrases. Signed, Sealed and Delivered" fares much better. Sure, Frampton can’t sing like Stevie Wonder, but he does a creditable job of matching the energy and snappy rhythms that Tamla achieved on the original.

The major blunder however is “Won t You Be My Friend" which is inspired by, and dedicated to Frampton s favourite group, Little Feat. All it goes to prove is how far from the precise and funky style of that band Frampton s unit really is. What’s more, at eight minutes, it's about six minutes too long. But I'm In You does have its good moments. On “You Don't Have To Worry", Frampton combines an extremely attractive melody with some nicely tuneful guitar soloing. “Tried To Love" finds him creating a catchy little rocker, which really takes off when Mick Jagger's drawling vocals beef up the choruses. While "Putting My Head On the Line" is a nicely conceived song in the pop-rock mould, it's marred somewhat by a back-up chorus of mouth-bag singers (sounding like a choir of Daleks, in fact). In the end Frampton s saving grace is his lack of pretention. He's trying only to give us an elpee worth of toons and here he achieves some successes and some failures. But the most unhappy aspect of this album is that it marks his first excursion into the studio in over two and a half years, so you might have supposed that he'd be bursting with good songs to commit to vinyl. Not so. If I was Peter Frampton, I d still be worried.

Alastair Dougal

Isitzo Cat Stevens Island Last year at the Basing Street studios, I was playing table-hockey with Eddie Kilbride (a drummer doing some work with Chris Stainton), when we heard from the studio next door a tape start playing with the distinctive voice of Cat Stevens at the helm. Mr Kilbride informed me that Mr Stevens was in the throes of putting an album together after a couple of years of “finding his head and that although the music was put together better than his earlier works, the songs, particularly the lyrics, were not as good. It is now a year later (one must assume that Mr Stevens' head was not quite totally found at the time), and Mr Kilbride s comments stand as firm as his hairy legs. The lyrics, although relatively better than those on many current albums, are not up to the standard he set in the early seventies.

I'm crazy ’bout you, baby, my, my, my Your love just drives me cuckoo, Heaven knows why. The musicians behind Mr Stevens play very well and there is excellent use of percussion on the record. New Zealander Bruce Lynch plays some fine bass and other musicians Jean Roussel, Andy Newmark and Dave Mortimer, with guests Chick Corea and Rob Mawdslay, all contribute to some very precise playing. However, it is the arrangements of the songs that are the strong point for me, and I will mention, again, the excellent use of an often neglected section of the orchestra (except of course by Noelata Crumble of Shplayed Oinds) percussion. In fact in a recent survey by an American market research firm, Tell It Like It is Vibrations Ltd, Mr Stevens was rated in the top five of the

“Most Grooviest Use of Percussions” section. The winner was, of course, The Salt Lake City Morman Percussion Ensemble. The percussion magazine from Rio de Janerio, "Pig Skin", said of the use of percussion by Mr Stevens, “Hey . . . that cat is Isome cat . . Haile Selassie and assorted happiness .. . who? . . Of course such accolades don't just come from privileged countries. A rock weekly from the capital of the New Arab State, London, said of Mr Stevens album: “The gentility and colorific intensity of this divertisement, exemplified by the palpable employment of the plexor, nurtures a truly toothful coalescence . . As Donny and Marie so aptly put it: "That’s why we re leavin' it all up to you."

Mike Chunn.

Al Green Greatest Hits V 01.2 Hi / London

As well as tracks from his last five albums, Greatest Hits V 01.2 contains Green's recent single "Love and Happiness" and "For the Good Times" (a Kris Kristofferson song) from an early album. All the tracks were not great hits, but they are some of Green's finest recordings, and his two biggest chart successes "L-O-V-E (Love) ar d "Sha La La (Make Me Happy)" are on the album.

Al Green has worked with the same musicians and producer (Willie Mitchell) throughout his career. Green's distinctive Memphis' sound has been described as a restrictive format by reviewers who mistakenly equate obvious change with musical achievement.

Al Green s recordings stand out beside current black music where often the allpowerful producer records the backing in one city and the vocals in another. The musicians Green works with are aware of the lyric and are not distant from his vocal performance.

On his recent recordings this expressive relationship between lyrics, vocals and backing is still important, whether on the slow "Love and Happiness' or the faster paced "Keep Me Cryin ." What's more, the Memphis Horns are heard at their best on Al Green's albums. The horns play a more integral role in Green's ballads than they do playing behind the rock n roll of Rod Stewart or the Doobie Brothers.

If you want to find out that Al Green is making fine music and that the "Memphis sound' must still be taken seriously, then pick up Greatest Hits V 01.2 or any recent Al Green album. He makes consistently good records and that is pretty rare these days.

Murray Cammick

Crosby, Stills and Nash CS&N Atlantic It's a funny old typewriter that I've got, and some of the keys are in the wrong place. Up where the ampersand (that's one of these sign (viz. the title of this record I struck it by mistake. Thus the record was rendered as CSSN; I was awfully tempted to leave it that way. This record, more than any other that I have heard in recent times, seems to me to typify the great record company word product. Faced with declining sales for a steadily-accelerating output of Stephen Stills albums, less than capacity houses for a Crosby and Nash tour, and a Neil Young who was quite happy to make a living rather than a killing out of his music, what else could three hippies do but make a reunion record? In fact, with the Byrds reunion record, this makes two turkeys in a row for David Crosby. We can only hope that Stills never gets Buffalo Springfield together, and that Nash has no influence on the current Hollies. For, even after the invective has cleared, it still comes down to a question of songs, and this record just doesn't have them. I was never one to write off Renaissance Fare or Deja Vu as rubbish in fact they came as a real blessing after Led Zeppelin 11, and they are still sitting somewhere at the back of my stack of records. Whatever the gripes some had about the lack of vigour in those records, and there were plenty, they had strong songs,with triumphantly memorable melodies. CSN is more like a free ticket to the performers' therapy sessions, conducted against a distant background of tasteful instrumental tapes by Los Angeles' finest. But much as I am prepared to defend those earlier gems, there is no chance that l would lay my tarnished reputation on the line for such an irredeemably crass record as this. When Stephen Stills comes right out and says. And I don't know the answer Does it even matter?

I am awfully tempted to say “No", and take the blasted thing off. Nonetheless, there is a certain fascination about hearing those familiar voices, taking off in quite

remarkable close harmony, twining themselves around nonsense like: Hey would you dig to be alone? And tell me when will you be back home? And why did you leave me all alone? You blew my mind. And all the time, the likes of George Perry, Craig Doerge (who wrote the only memorable melody on the album), Joe Vitale, and Russ Kunkel (naturally), are pouring out seamless backings. Of the three, Crosby comes off best, at least demonstrating some modesty in his arrangements, and some self-deprecating humour in his lyrics. Graham Nash, refusing to stay within his well-known limitations, embarks on a magnum opus in “Cathedral", which unfolds the gripping story of an acid trip in Winchester Cathedral, man. Stephen Stills is just plain embarrassing like one of those recently divorced drunks who accost you at parties and tell you how they realise it was all their fault. There is an inner sleeve with a lyric sheet(l), a genius-is-pain picture of the boys recording on the back, and a genius-is-wealth picture of them living it up on Crosby s yacht on the front, Perhaps they needed the money.

Francis Stark

Dickey Betts and Great Southern Arista I have a problem of perspective with this record: I feel I ought to regard Great Southern as a new group and approach its music free from preconceptions, however I can t avoid viewing it in the light of The Allman Brothers Band. Indeed, this album seems almost to beg for comparison. If Betts had not gained fame with the Allmans would he have given his name such prominence with this group? Is it just a coincidence' that both bands share the same line-up of two guitars, organ, bass and two drummers? Is Great Southern's keyboard work minimised due to deliberate musical policy or because, like Gregg Allman, the organist simply hasn't the ability to share the spotlight with the guitarist? (Like the Allman Brothers' Band, Great Southern is heavily guitar-oriented; the

organ role usually limited to filling out the overall sound.) Is Betts here calculatedly using some of the distinctive guitar phrases and voicings he employed with the Allmans, or are they simply a normal part of his musical stock? And am I imagining things or are his vocals sounding increasingly like Gregg Allman's, emulating that plaintive drawl? It is questions such as these that cause my slight ambivalence to Great Southern. Despite similarities, they are certainly not the band the Allmans were and I guess I am a • l ittle disappointed. If I wasn't quite expecting another "Jessica", I did hope Betts might write something developing from, say, "Ramblin' Man" or "Southbound". No such luck. This is not to say there aren't any good tracks on this album there are only that none of them quite measure up to Betts best work in the past. "Sweet Virginia", for example, is a fine ballad and a worthy addition to his repertoire, as is "The Way Love Goes", yet both lack that little extra-somthing to make them truly memorable.

11hir "r\ 0 f the trouble lies in the musical settings. Allman Band, with its solid but subtly complex rhythm section, provided the ideal ambience for Betts' fresh gentle melodies and mellifluous guitar work. (Nowhere was this better shown than on the classic "Blue Sky".) Great Southern's rhythm section is a lot more direct: both drums and bass play generally simpler, more straightforward lines. I confess I have long had doubts about the merits of two drummers. Whereas the Allmans' situation worked because their music flowed upon the light pattering beat, Betts new band sometimes seems to suffer. There are times on this album when the second drummer doesn't add anything except sheer weight. When, for example, the guitar is trying to soar in “Bougainvillea" the heavy drumming stubbornly keeps the tune earthbound. "Bougainvillea" begins as a gentle ballad, (again somewhat redolent of the Allmans.— “Melissa" from Eat A Peach,) builds steadily in the extended guitar outing, but instead of taking off, simply becomes boring and too long. The rhythm section is by no means always a liability however. It packs a mean punch on “Nothing You Can Do ", a straight-out boogie that struts and swaggers with the confidence of fine musicianship and offers some biting guitar lines. Bass and drums also kick hard on "California Blues”, providing the urgency to what is just another of those kitset-blues albumfillers. On the above-mentioned “Sweet Virginia” the drums display some of the old Allmans' subtlety, ably cushioning an attractive melody.

All in all, however, I remain somewhat disappointed. Although the guitar work is extremely competent, always controlled, never messy, it is certainly not extending anything. This is well-played music. It is often pleasant listening but it is seldom compelling, and at his best with the Allmans, Dickey Betts could be very compelling indeed. Qualification: If you read the above with no knowledge of the Allmans' music you will be unemcumbered by my critical bias, so don't let the carping put you off. Great Southern is a very proficient, unostentatious band with roots in Southern blues and country. It has the earthy appeal of these forms expanded to a rock synthesis which if somewhat predictable, can provide considerable enjoyment. There, I can’t be fairer than that now, car

I ? Peter Thomson Melanie Photograph

Neighbourhood Were I Melanie, apart from wearing mascara, to which I am not at all partial, I would be rather chagrined at the advertising for my Auckland concert. This "Melanie the Flower Child of the Sixties returns" stuff performs considerable disservice to the poor girl, for contrary to popular opinion, today's Melanie is a lass who has grown new teeth. I have reservations about Photograph, but whatever is to be said for and against this record, it sets Melanie up as a songwriter worth thinking about. Photograph is anything but recycled Hippiedom. The biggest change in her approach is the adoption of a laconic sense of humour, best evidenced in the wry, “Groundhog Day": “I've grown fat, I've grown a beard, I've grown alone . . . I’m out of luck, but I'm not done. Today is Groundhog Day." "Groundhog Day" is my pick from the album, but other songs treat similar themes of loneliness and loss with varying degrees of irony. Evan a song with as unprepossessing a title as “I'm So Blue" is remarkably objective. Mama told me this man would leave me eventually I couln't see the trees from the forest or How does that saying go? I’m so blue. Despite unevenness of the lyric quality, my one major objection is not to words, but to treatment. There are good tunes, firstrate session musicians, some good singing, but I should mention that Melanie still has that weakness for overdramatising her voice. It marred the early cover version of "Ruby Tuesday", and continues to mar

songs like "Save Me". Basically, she has a limited voice, and carried too far her vibrato takes over, like a mad oboe with palsy. If you think you can cope with that, by all means look this record up, if not, still think again before making disparaging comments to your friends about Ms Safka.

Bruce Belsham

Dragon Sunshine C.B.S. Back in the dim past, when such was the fashion, Dragon were a group of local lads who did their own material whilst despising audiences which wanted mindless boogie. Even when Dragon did boogie it was with the sardonic weight of Marc Hunter growling, "If you don’t play what the people want/then son you're out the door." Their disdain of the lowest common denominator even culminated in one concert where the audience were treated to a bald and pregnant stripper. Dragon were frustrated with a market that had reached saturation point for them, so there was no surprise in Auckland when the band trod the yellow brick and moved to Australia. Close to two years later, after little or no news, save that of the death of drummer Neil Storey, this album has been released and yes, it does signal an immense improvement on work recorded in Auckland. Whether undermined by smiling Aussie faces, or mellowing with age, Dragon have this time produced a sound that is accessible, well-paced, even straightforward. In their days of neo-psychedelia the band were a talented soul act if they wished it, but this is their first album to date to really show off those skills within a suitable framework. Where Universal Radio and Scented Gardens for the Blind suffered from a lack of form, Sunshine is a collection of short, tightly-played tracks, most of which exhibit tuneful content and convincing rhythm arrangements. Happily the best points of the old band have not receded. Todd Hunter's bass playing and Robert Taylor's guitar solos retain punch and melody, yet gain control. Marc Hunter's vocals, though not mixed up far enough, have filled out, and song writing with numbers like “Get that Jive", “This Time", “Same Old Blues ’, and “Sunshine”, has matured. A few might argue that Dragon, in adopting a more commercial format, have forsaken their Art: a few more may grumble about the weaker songs on side two, but I for one see their adoption of a tried and true style as good discipline. After all, as that old rocker T.S. Eliot said, the immature artist borrows, the mature artist steals.

Bruce Bel sham

Aretha Franklin Sweet Passion Atlantic Aretha Franklin's lengthy career has given us the definitive recordings in various musical styles —a) her early jazzinfluenced work for CBS, b) the fantastically energetic early Atlantic singles such as “I Never Loved a Man" or “Think", c) her stunning gospel styles on the Amazing Grace double album or d) that superlative ’art-soul’ album Young, Gifted and Black. Her 1975 album, You, seemed to be attempting a synthesis of soul, sensitive MOR and discreet disco. Her latest, Sweet Passion, is not as explorative as You and has its.disappointing aspects. There is a pervading blandness over much of the album, and this is not helped by rather undifferentiated arrangements. Aretha falls into old vocal tracks too readily and the content, lyrics-wise, is not outstanding, even by soul standards., When a song like "Meadows of Springtime” is given a rather lush spoken intro, are we meant to interpret this as Aretha being ironic? I just felt a little uncomfortable, as I did when Chuck Berry intoned the six minutes of “My Dream” from his San Francisco Dues album. There are some nice moments though. “What I Did for Love" (co-written by Marvin Hamlisch of Entertainer fame) is a pleasant ballad which benefits from Aretha’s smooth styling. I liked the neat little chorus of her own song, “A Tender Touch", and the closing minutes of her own “Sweet Passion" affirmed that her vocal powers are not diminished. In an age when Stevie Wonder is going from strength to strength, Aretha is not really showing enough faith in herself. It is significant that two of the most interesting numbers were self-penned. Did the fault lie with producer Lamont Dozier? You had Jerry Wexler co-producing with Franklin, and produced much happier results. My affection for this album is growing with repeated listening, but really it could have been a lot better.

William Dart

Geils Monkey Island WEA

I first heard the J. Geils Band at three am at a party in Herne Bay while the woman I was with was off screwing another man (record reviews the new soap opera). At two hundred and fifty decibels it was hard to tell, but they sounded to my damaged brain like the meanest, nastiest, black Rhythm ’n’ Blues band I’d heard (this was years ago, mind). I shoulda known better. No self-respecting black band would play with so little taste. But in the cold light of day, and over the influence, they lost a lot of their charm. Their high energy act sounded a bit out of place, in fact, quite lame. I more or less lost interest in them. They did make the odd classic I still love "Hard Driving Man" but as an anonymous Memphis musician said when they opened for the Stones there, “These guys should know better than to put on a second-rate blackface act in Memphis." Got the picture? What do you know? Things have changed. I listen to this new record of theirs, and I see the light. These guys aren't for real. They are a beautiful satire on fifties and sixties Rhythm n’ Blues, and even pop music. How else, but with your tongue in your cheek, could you sing; You're the only one or (how about this one?); Do I love you? Yes I do. Who else would start a song with the organist's rhythm maker playing an electronic rhumba pattern? The answer is nobody. They’re unique. They're original. They’re silly. They're also not bad musicians. They've always been competent but they ve never really flashed it. J is a sparse guitarist. The keyboard player was always playing organ chords. The rhythm section never stopped thunking. The only standout was Magic Dick on harmonica, but he seems to be featured less here, as the other players stand out a bit more. They've got a whole lot better. Listen to “I’m Not Rough”. They've got some great hired help also. Cissy Houston takes lead vocals on “Surrender" (can you guess what it’s about?), and Michael Brecker plays the odd tenor sax line. Here the musicianship shows through the satire to.the point where it's almost possible to take them seriously. Then they go and do a song like “Monkey Island", with the plot of a third rate horror movie, and I fall off my chair laughing. Rock and roll often falls into the trap of taking itself too seriously (as do rock critics). It takes people like T. Rex, and occasionally Bowie or lan Hunter, to remind us that rock and roll is good fun, lightweight stuff. J. Geils is only rock and roll, and they are awful, but I like it. Why not?

John Malloy