Records

Rip It Up, Issue 98, 1 September 1985, Page 24

Records

R.E.M. Fables of the Reconstruction (or Reconstruction of the Fables) Epic It is the third album, and by now R.E.M’s idiosyncracies have begun to solidify into characteristic ways of approaching songs. Various whoops and hollers from Michael Stipe, guitar licks from Peter Buck and near-melodic touches from rhythm section Bill Berry and Mike Mills have their counterparts on the band’s previous two long players. But another trademark is that each album sounds rather like the last until you give it a few listens, by which time differences become clear. And Fables ... is different. It's R.E.M.'s most open album yet, with clearer, crisper instrumentation and production. The element of mystery is carried through mainly in Stipe’s warm, blustery voice the effect is rather like fingerpainting on etchings. The roles of each player are clearer here; the bass supporting the melody while Buck restlessly always plays something, rather than simply playing. He sounds like someone with an

intuitive idea of what sounds good, as opposed to someone with an intuitive feel for playing guitar. The album’s first three songs are R.E.M. gems; ’Feeling Gravity's Puli' prowls along on a lean, nervous riff with dreamlike effect before rolling into a string climax. ‘Maps and Legends’ has a certain strength and a great chorus, getting along in easy strides on its bass line and ‘Driver 8' has a real sense of the distance Stipe sings about. Perhaps the most interesting song is 'Cant Get There From Here; a soul stomp that actually works, with Stipe going low and throaty for the verses and managing a godhonest soul scream go-

ing into each chorus. The stylistic experiment succeeds because the band doesn’t have to leave its ground to get there. All the stylistic variations here are bound with an essence means every song sounds like R.E.M. it’s a strength that perhaps could become a weakness in the future. Perhaps. Of the others, the intense ’Auctioneer’ is the most obvious example of the apparent commentary on the 20th Century American legend (hence the title) and 'Good Advices’ is judgement day stuff: “Who are you going to call for? What do you have to say?" 'Wendell Gee' is the album’s beautiful ballad, but it’s quite different from Perfect Circle’ or 'Camera', reflecting the more trad country feel that’s present. R.E.M. probably aren't a “new wave" band any more, whatever that means.

There are flatter songs here too, like 'Green Grow the Rushes’ and 'Old Man Kensey’, but there’s not really anything wrong with them, they just dont stand out. Given the quality of the strong songs, they’re eminently forgiveable ably even ending up liking them as much. R.E.M. spring quiet surprises, not loud ones, and make another great record. Russell Brown

Dukes Of Stratosphear 25 O’clock Virgin 1985, it was a big night for Sir John Johns and his band, the Dukes Of Stratosphear, leaders of a psychedelic revival destined to sweep Swindon. For years (ever since 1968 in fact) Sir John’s Swami, Pinut Buttaja, had been prophesying the return of flower power.

Earlier that day Sir John had scoured the boutiques of Swindon for the right paisley jacket to complement his exploding technicolour long johns. Mission accomplished, he admired his botanical presence in shop windows on his way to the Imploding Banana.

The club was packed and the air heavy with Peruvian mango weed as the Dukes took the stage. Immediately they soared into '25 O'Clock’, a homage to the laxative powers of the Electric Prunes starring the stunning mellotron of Lord

Cornelius Plum. The ghost of Syd Barrett’s Pink Floyd was activated by the jolly ‘Bike Ride To the Moon) and the delightful 'Mole From the Ministry’ rekindled memories of the Beatles’ 1 Am the Walrus’.

As they band launched into their encore, ‘What In the World’, a man in the crowd, some said he used to lead a band called XTC, nodded with approval and wondered why he hadn't thought of a psychedelic revival. George Kay

Hoodoo Gurus Mars Needs Guitars Bigtime Scenario One: As the Hoodoo Gurus trek between the campuses and small bars of the USA, Dave Faulkner calls a halt in any noaccount town big enough to have a used record store or even a junk shop and excitedly leafs through battered, scratched records, plucking out on spec anything that might be a forgotten gem. He sorts them out later. Scenario Two: The Hoodoo Gurus take a bunch of Dave Faulkner’s songs into Sydney’s Trafalgar Studios, have them produced by Charles Fisher and mixed at Studio 301 and call it Mars Needs Guitars.

The first of the above paragraphs is sheer speculation; the second is the facts. Together they kind of fit this album. As it was with the Gurus’ live sound here last year, there’s a certain Orztralian indelicacy about the production here the “bottom end" features prominently and guitars growl where sometimes they should chime. That said, it’s a very sophisticated production, but perhaps that’s a part of the problem. Faulkner and the Gurus are taking a non-naive approach to music that has naivete at its core. Which would matter not a bit if this album were full of devastating songs, but it’s not. As a parade through some classic riffs, melodies and styles it’s impressive but it doesn't really reach out. The glowing exception is the lovely ‘Death Defying; which incoporates an apparently heartfelt philosophy on death and dying with some corn and a scoop of romance. Every second line in the verses is “Ooh wee" wow! The tendency in our household has been to play

that and the one which follows it and closes Side One, 'Like Wow Wipeout’, which kicks off with the great lines: I kiss the ground on which you walk I kiss the lips through which you talk I kissed the city of New York The day that I met you Elsewhere, the single, ‘Bittersweet’ has a lovely melody and a great simple riff but loses the impact it could have had through a pretty distanced production. ‘Show Some Emotion’ has a really neat bubblegum hookline, but again suffers from the production blues. Mars Needs Guitars!' starts off sounding like the Cramps with day jobs and gets psychedelic okay, but not mean. A lot of the rest is a bit ordinary. This might make a great party album and it’s not really bad in its own right, but maybe the Hoodoo Gurus' real problem is that they don’t often take Faulkner’s melodic aptitude anywhere very startling. Again, ‘Death Defying' is the major exception. That joins ‘My Girl’ and ‘I Want You Back’ as the great songs the Gurus have popped up. Maybe Dave should've grown up in Brockville ... Russell Brown

The Armoury Show Waiting For the Floods EMI Legendary old punks never die. They just become actors and poets, then get homesick for sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll so go and find others of their ilk to form new super-bands. Richard Jobson, once of the Skids, once poet, once actor, joins with old Skids bassist Russell Webb, Magazine drummer John Doyle and John McGeoch, a legendary figure of Magazine and Banshees fame (legendary guitar in one hand, bottle of scotch in the other). The Armoury Show pedigree, huh? Together less than a year, the old guys blast out Waiting For the Floods in monumental style. Given volume, McGeoch’s guitar engulfs you and Jobson’s poetry wails fullforce, creating an engaging slab of powerpop. At times it veers towards Simple Minds or Echo and the Bunnymen (even the Banshees in 'Jungle Of Cities’), but the album’s first track and single, ‘Cas-

ties In Spain’, is loaded with power that could only have been mustered up by such unique talents as these. The rest of the album doesn't quite reach the heights of that first song, though it’s all hot too far behind, especially ’Avalanche! And if it sounds a couple of years behind the play to your ears, pass that off as the time lag for their sojourn away from the forefront of English music. They’ve all made better records in the past (ie: great ones), but Waiting For the Floods is a noisy launchpad for the Armoury Show, and these nouveaux geriatrics will endure and advance. Paul McKessar

The Kane Gang The Bad and Lowdown World of the Kane Gang Polydor With Kevin Rowland the apparent victim of terminal arrogance the question arises: is there any new British band with T soul? t Cur-‘ rent contenders (or pretenders) include Roy Joy, Working Week, Fine Young : Cannibals and the Kane Gang. The last-mentioned comprise the Newcastle trio of Martin Brammer, Paul Woods and David Brewis. 1 They've already managed a respectable hit with ‘Closest Thing To Heaven’, r as sweet a ballad as you’ll hear, and a song I’ll be sing- | ing to welcome in the spring. The ILP. could best be described as a J journey through their respective | record Collections^PpiW Thus 'Gun Law’, is a stab at the Norman Whitfield ‘sound, 'How 1 Much Longer’ is somewhere near i Philadelphia, * and ‘Small Town ~ Creed’ nods '■ towards Sly Stone. The one cover version, the Staple 3 Singers’ ‘Respect Yourself; is competently saved by the backing vo f cate of the great PR Arnold. To their credit, the Kane Gang can write an excellent song. ‘Losersville’ and ‘Printer’s Devil’ are both bitter reflections on the plight of Britain’s unemployed, especially in I the ? industrial | North, which Thatcherism seems determined to reduce to a desert. It’s the production and singing that are the] letdowns. The backing sags where it should skip, while Brammer and Woods could hardly be called outstanding vocalists. A hard R&B-gospel wailer like Take This Train’ needs a voice like Joe Cocker (hint). The wild I card .in this pack is 'Crease In His Hat; a nostalgic and enigmatic song, with images of departed friends/A T distinct overtone of death, but far from maudlin. It’s captivating, and suggests that the Kane Gang definitely have more to offer. Duncan Campbell

Shona Laing Genre Pagan Where were you in 72? The NZBC had a programme called New Faces, its annual talent quest, remember? The winner that year was Steve Gilpin (still frontman with Mi-Sex) and second place went to Shona Laing, performing ’1905’.

Five singles (three Gold), two albums (one Gold) and many awards later, Shona left NZ for distant shores, landing in London in 1975. If you want to know more about her stay in London, the time spent working with Manfred Mann and her fourth album, Tied To the Tracks (EMI, ’81), check out Omnibus Press's New Women In Rock. What it doestn’t tell you about is the long-lost third album, her performance with Cliff Richard on his TV show and her appearance at the Bulgarian Song Festival in 1981 (representing Great Britain!). Since returning to this country, Shona has spent her time working towards this, her fifth album. And the wait has been worthwhile. What we have is 12 tracks ranging from the highly political ’America’ (with solo supreme from master guitarist Martin Winch), rightly chosen as the first single, to the classically topped ‘(Glad I’m) Not A Kennedy! From The Migrant and the Refugee! with its 6/8 time piano intro (courtesy Geoff Castle) and fine sax lines (Brian Smith), to the bouncy Side Two opener, ’One In A Million'(Geoff Castle on keyboards again!). From the obvious radio song ’Neat and Tidy’ to the 75 meets 'BS album closer, The Sally Gap! Special mention must go to Bruce Lynch for his excellent production and everything else (arrangements, keyboards basses, drumulator). Is this the Musician Messiah weVe all been waiting for? (Or is he just a naughty boy?) Seriously though, this is a fine album and congratulations to all who were involved in it. Finally, on behalf of everyone, welcome home Shona.

Simon Elton

Skeptics Ponds Ulp Records Exploring their own little edge of musical form in Palmerston North and Wellington, the Skeptics do not make nice records. In fact, I doubt if you’d hear many NZ records in 1985 that are as “not nice" as Ponds. But then again, a lot of those “nice" records aint so hot anyhow... This one positively lurches at you from the speakers. Rhythms strike and melodies disappear and reappear in most unusual directions. Some of it comes across as deviant as Psychic TV (especially the first track, ‘Hurrah’) while other songs like 'Bubba Clutha’ on side two contain taut bones of melodies. None of the eight songs flow at all you’re forced into listening as they ebb away or break off suddenly to start in a new vein. One black mark though, for the unnecessary Mark E.isms of the title track, but a hundred marks of the darkest hues imaginable for the rest of the dank-smelling project. And so what if the vocals sound like they were recorded at the bottom of a muddy pond squeaky clean production wouldn’t be part of the mood would it? Initially I thought it all sounded a bit dodgy, but Ponds sorta grow inside you, like a disease, ’til you actually like the unlikeable ... honest' Paul McKessar

Jacqui Fitzgerald The Masquerade Is Over Tartar Most New Zealanders have heard her sing though few have heard her name To them she’s just the voice that launched a thousand TV commercials. To a few others however, she’s also the best female jazz singer currently working here. But then the handful of afficionados who’d turn up to listen to Jacqui Fitzgerald in a corner bar on Friday evenings doesn’t really measure against the masses out there in TV land hearing her extoll the virtues of floor wax. The ZM Allnighter network got it about right when they recently featured Fitzgerald as an “Unsung Hero”. Hopefully things are about to change. This then, is her first LP and it’s everything the afficionados were hoping for. It’s also going to knock the socks off anyone who hasn’t heard Jacqui the jazz singer. The material is drawn from her usual repetoire of astutely chosen classics plus one or two of recent vintage. (Joni Mitchell’s work is favoured here.) What makes this selection so intelligent is not just the beauty of each and every song but its acceptability to audiences of both conventionally popular and jazz persuasions. Standards such as the title number or 'I Got It Bad (And That Ain’t Good)’, or even Miles Davis' 'Seven Steps To Heaven’, find favour with most everyone.

Of course the danger then becomes that because the tunes are in such public domain the singer will be unable to find anything fresh to say with them. Have no fear. Even though she often sticks closely to recognised interpretations (for example Davis’ version of 'Round Midnight’ or Keith Jarrett’s of ’God Bless the Child’), Fitzgerald’s assured, personal phrasing and lovely smoke-cured voice make the songs her own. In her live gigs Fitzgerald is accompanied by a piano trio. Here it’s enlarged to a quintet with the

addition of Brian Smith (saxes) and Martin Winch (guitar). Both take several solos that amply demonstrate why each is New Zealand’s foremost exponent of his instrument, as does Andy Brown on ’Fake! Drummer Frank Gibson and pianist Mike Walker complete the stellar backing crew. So there you have it: great songs, first class interpretations, superb musicianship. What else do you want? Well, it would be nice if this album made Jacqui Fitzgerald’s name and talent as widely exposed as those TV commercials. It deserves no less.

Peter Thomson

Hugh Masekela Techno-Bush Jive Afrika Hugh Masekela was born in South Africa, but hasn’t lived there since the 1961 Sharpeville massacre. Educated at the Manhattan School of Music, this gifted horn player has now settled in Botswana, where he has his own recording studio and helps foster popular and progressive African music. This LR recorded in Botswana and mixed in London, tends towards the popular vein, incorporating traditional Afro rhythms. It’s an amiable mix, aimed at the dancefloor, which won’t cut much

ice in this country. Afro-Beat has never caught on in our discos. That having been said, Masekela’s music is rich and vibrant and above all, happy. The sort of music that should have had a spot on Live Aid, to prove that Africa isn’t all misery. Listen to 'Getting Fat In Africa’ and the joyous end-of-the-drought song ‘Motlalepula! Some will find The Seven Riffs Of Africa’ monotonous, probably through lack of familiarity with African styles. This is where the riffs started, the tribal chants being translated into slave work songs, then into blues, finishing up as heavy metal. See what happens with too much in-breeding? I don’t suppose this album will sell bundles, but if one person buys it out of curiousity, likes and tells someone else, then maybe one of the earth’s most populous regions will finally become known for something other than apartheid, famine and corruption. Duncan Campbell

The Tin Syndrome No Ordinary Sickness Jayrem The Spines’ The Moon, Jayrem’s other release in the “Wellington white boys on funk" genre this year, leaves No Ordinary Sickness for dead. Or, rather, leaves it for

third division Spines. It’s not that No Ordinary Sickness is bad some of it is very good, particularly the first song, ’Nothing’s New In 1985’ and the musical side of American Blessing! It’s just rather ordinary.

Natty percussion (smashing and scraping things and cowbells in the background) is a necessary tool in their type of dancefloor sound, but the Tin Syndrome have cluttered their album with it. Space is a necessary tool that they have neglected check out the Spines to see it utilised we 11... Mark Austin has his lyrical barbs out for capitalists and Wellington’s hip-people (does anyone ever sing nice things about our fair capital city?). But he spoils American Blessing’ with one of the worst American accents I’ve ever heard.

No Ordinary Sickness is a long record, fitting over 50 minutes into the grooves, and by that time some of side two sounded distinctly fillerish (eg: the instrumental ’Bob’). As the man says: “Who knows? In the years to come your fire may run out of logs” I suppose you could always sacrifice their natty cardboard cover for warmth, cos I don’t think even 50 minutes of the ol’ black vinyl would keep you too warm. It just melts, ordinarily.

Paul McKessar