records

Rip It Up, Issue 122, 1 September 1987, Page 26

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The Replacements Pleased to Meet Me Sire It hardly needs to be said that Husker Du have put Minneapolis on the map with their brand of English punk refined through the years and through the evolving idiosyncracies of Mould and Hart. They deserve their omnipotence but on the other side of the city, but not the coin, lurks the Replacements with Paul Westerburg worshipping in the church of Alex Chilton. The Replacements have arrived at their essence through a distillation of mid-American love for rock and roll circa 70s punk leanness, and an individual and special obsession on Westerburg’s part for the outsider kings like Alex Chilton. These influences have meant that the Replacements have been rustling around over five albums for a nose focussed and complete enough to replace the sum parts. Let It Be came close, but funny punky throwaways and Kiss kovers may have entered into the spirit of rock ’n’ roll families, but on the cold black reality of vinyl the first side barely took off. A problem of consistency similarly affected Tim, so much so that even more rosecoloured glasses were zoomed on Let It Be as confirmation that it was the Replacements’ zenith. Stick the shades, here’s Pleased to Meet Me, 11 songs that bring together all the strands of past Westerburg genius into album totality. If you white boys wanna kick ass with some heavy guitar, man, then 'IOU,' ‘Shooting Dirty Pool’ and ‘Red Red Wine’ justify years of Aerosmith abuse. ‘Alex Chilton’ is a self-evident toast to that god, and it has a hook that Chilton would pay for, but it’s on ‘Skyway’with its precious honesty linked to Radio City's Tm in Love With a Girl’ that Westerburg really shows his descendence from Big Star. And all this small talk ignores the best: ‘The Ledge’ — “I’m the boy they can’t ignore” — meshes epic guitars with suicidal tendencies, one way of getting attention; ‘Never Mind’ builds from an intro reminiscent of ‘Answering Machine’ leaving ‘Can’t Hardly Wait’ to end the album with Westerburg’s vocal hovering over an unbelievably irresistable horn riff.

The album title’s an understatement, believe me the pleasure here is all yours. George Kay Jennifer Warnes Famous Blue Raincoat RCA I used to have a flatmate who when he felt depressed would play his Leonard Cohen records. An hour later he’d feel suicidal. Consequently I’m more than willing to regard Cohen the performer as a health hazard. Cohen the writer is a different story. I've often wished someone with taste and talent would re-record his work, adding flesh to those skeletal melodies. Now someone has. Not surprisingly it's Jennifer Warnes, considering she's been singing Cohen’s backup for some time now. Such experience has given Warnes the insight to avoid simply prettifying his songs (the way, say, Joan Baez might once have). Although the beauty of Warnes’ singing cannot help but enrich the melodies, her sure phrasing and the, by and large, highly appropriate arrangements help maintain the old croaker’s emotional ambivalence. Listen, for example, to her working with the lapsteel guitar on ‘Coming Back to You’ or the strings on the title track. Even

‘Bird on a Wire,’ the album’s hitherto most well-known number, is rendered afresh by employing that brooding funk from the Commodores’ ‘Nightshift’ hit of a couple of years ago. Only one track fails. The self-pitying lyrics to ‘A Singer Must Die’ gets an arty choral arrangement that merely renders the enterprise pretentiously silly. Still, that means we’re left with eight-ninths of a superb album. And that’s certainly nothing to get depressed about. Peter Thomson Elvis Costello and the Attractions Blood and Chocolate Imp/Festival This was the other half of last year’s Elvis Costello revival that began with King of America. A revival because his last album, 1984’s Goodbye Cruel World failed to move mountains with its reliance on craftsmanship and typical Costello cynicism-without-a-cause. Seen in its true light King of America was a solo album, a charming dissection of hearts and neuroses with a backing that belied the expose. Back with the Attractions, Blood and Chocolate can be seen as the true successor to Goodbye Cruel World,

and as if to compensate for the latter’s lack of vitality he’s got Nick Lowe to produce a suitably jagged, sparse, gruelling live feel for most of the songs.

The slow, obsessive, parasitic confessions of ‘I Want You’ ar a case in point where the emotion is reinforced by a raw guitar line and a feel of almost total resignation. Blood continues to flow on ‘Uncomplicated’ and ‘Tokyo Storm Warning’ (some dislocated tour observations) and the band just pumps it up, while on ‘Battered Old Bird’ Costello utters a restrained and almost compassionate plea on behalf of a few victims. And with ‘I Hope You’re Happy Now’ and ‘Next Time Round’ he registers another two classic Costello set pieces, which, like ‘Clubland’ and the rest, dutifully avoid their commercial potential through Costello’s brilliantly sneering delivery and the band’s intense clatter.

As an album this is no easy trip, there are too many ugly characters with the stained sheets, pathetic weaknesses and bad consciences crawling through these songs to prevent Blood and Chocolate being as easily digestible as King of America. And that’s good: just don’t expect too much confectionary from Costello, despite the promise of the title. George Kay

The Go-Betweens Tallulah True Tone So what’s the news? Yes, the new Go-Betweens album is a bit MOR, but is it good? Er, I’d almost like to pass on that one. The lineup's extended to included new permanent multiinstrumentalist An anda Brown and guest musicians on cello, flamenco guitar and backing vocals; the wistful words are still there, but like I say ... Tallulah has a nice production job courtesy of Richard Preston and Craig Leon, but at times that seems to be the only thing propping up an indifferent set of songs. The tightness and emphasis on string arrangements and embellishments does bring out the best in those songs; however a uniformity of production appears to be the Go-Betweens’ primary concern, resulting in a lack of real dynamics. The songs themselves don’t consitute nearly as strong a collection as their last and best, Liberty Belle and the Black Diamond Express. There’s no ‘Apology Accepted,’ but ‘Cut it Out’ deserves to be a hit—the second part is very clever and the whole song

clicks: a half-cecent disco remix would see it into the Top 10, easily. ‘Right Here’ has a strong verse structure let down by a limp chorus, and only the inane literary allusion spoils the Triffidsy ‘House that Jack Kerouac Built.' Of the rest, I’d soon leave most of side two, and complacent drivel like “So I went and asked my friend the doctor I What is it I’ve got this time? I He said, ‘Apart from that albatross I Around your neck, the tests are I Negative, you really are quite fine” makes me wonder what happened to incisiveness in Grant McLennan’s lyrics. I’d almost call Tallulah tired. I could be wrong, but the Go-Betweens seem to need a healthy dose of rock ’n’ roll and dirt. They’re okay, but if Liberty Belle was the Go-Betweens’ maturing, 1987's middle-aged band is no longer my cup of tea. And that’s a shame. PaulMcKessar Echo and the Bunnymen WEA It’s been three years since Ocean Rain, the last Echo and the Bunnymen album proper, and although rock ’n’ roll hasn’t exactly been pining for their return, their absence had left a hole in that pocket between pop consumerism and the spotty idealism of a British indie scene scrambling for direction. Over the last couple of years Britain has been dogged by fashionable instant promises like the Shop Assistants, Half Man Half Biscuit, Mighty Lemon Drops, Soup Dragons et al, whose reputations have been carried on the smell of a mere EP or single. The art of sustaining or developing initial potential has proved beyond them and it’s into this environment that lan McCulloch and the Bunnymen have dropped their best album since Crocodiles as a timely reminder of long distance endurance. The new album, untitled — surely an indication that this is a fresh start—is a rejection of the orchestral overlay of Ocean Rain and a consequent move back to less indulgent basics. Quite simply this is an album of songs produced by Gil Norton to capture an integrated band feel that’s tighter and lighter than Heaven Up Here or Porcupine. And McCulloch’s songs carry no excess baggage on a platform supplied by Pattinson, Sergeant and De Freitas that veers from the solidity of riffs that dominate ‘The Game,’ ‘Over You,’ and ‘Lips Like Sugar’ to the psycho-babble of ‘Bedbugs and Ballyhoo.’

On ‘All in Your Mind’ McCulloch comes close to social comment in a delivery nudging close to The The’s Matt Johnson's asperity, while on the other hand he claims “I’m looking fora new direction” (‘New Direction’) and confesses “All my life revolves around laughter and crying on the naked cross” of ‘All My Live.’ Fab, but the two best have to be Bomber’s Bay,’ a song of great poise ad phrasing, and ‘Blue Blue Ocean,’ with McCulloch back to his ocean imagery and a piano tune and a guitarkeyboard interchange in the face that’s at least transcendental. All this and heaven too, the smartass asked. God, who expected them to even bother again, never mind the possibility of creating an LP that could be positive and significant without the flag cliches of U2. Without doubt, one of 1987’s treasures. George Kay Jenny Morris Body and Soul WEA After disbanding QED in 1985 Jenny Morris signed on for a year with INXS as backing vocalist. It is this connection, along with her being one of the Sydney-based expatriates, that provide this album’s creative context. The 10 songs are a mix of her originals and contributions from colleagues. The production, despite the variety of musical personnel, is dominated by that familiar Ocker hardrock rhythm sound, the one that cracks concrete at 50 paces. In compensation one requires not only Morris’s fine voice but strong songs as well. Unfortunately Body and Soul only provides three that are strong enough—Tim Finn's contribution being a near miss — and they’ve all been released as singles. One is her self-written title track (which also fetures tasty backing vocals from Dave Dobbyn and Mark Williams). There’s also Neil Finn’s lovely ‘You I Know,'her current single, and ‘You’re Gonna Get Hurt,’ a storming rocker written and produced by INXS’s Andrew Farriss, with instrumental backing from others in the band. I still think that Jenny Morris is better as a pop singer than all-out rocker, but if she’s going to opt for the latter, then fronting INXS sounds like a good idea.

Peter Thomson

Terence Trent D’Arby Introducing the Hardline According t 0... CBS There was no lack of hype when USA-born D’Arby released his first single. He had the perfect breeding for a soulman — ex-serviceman, son of a preacher, former boxer — sort of Gordy, Gaye, Jackie Wilson and a bit of Elvis wrapped into a spiffy dancin’ package. For NME he was suitably sullen, outspoken and ratty enough to score a front cover for his first 45, while for teen mag Just 17 he was wellmannered and confessed to admiring Duran Duran, earning pin-up status. ‘lf You Let Me to Stay' was thequestion he asked the UK record buyers and immigration. They replied yes, and his LP went to No 1 first week of release. The stuff legends are made of — true — but how genuine is this

legend and why did he go to the UK?

Well, first of all, this LP could not be made in the USA cos it differs from the prevailing post-funk synth tide and self-styled individuals don’t get a look in (producers do the styling in the USA). Maybe Trent D’Arby s career wasn’t that calculated — he just found himself in London after quitting he German army posting and realised how undermotivated his London peers were and saw a chance to make a killing. The good aspect of London is that anything can happen. Tina Turner went there to be revived and D’Arby found a collaborator in Martyn Ware (Heaven 17). But this LP has none of the pseudo-modern feels of Heaven 17 — this is a back-to-basics LP reminiscent of 60s R&B —even at times derivative of British R&B. In fact D’Arby has made a very British record — check out the Beatle-ish Til Never Turn My Back on You, ’ or ‘Seven More Days,’ like an old Dusty Springfield song. The weakest point on the LP is the very English sea shanty As Yet Untitled,’ performed in serious artist persona. Besides the obvious strong

singles, the highpoint of the LP is D’Arby’s absolutely superb version of Smokey Robinson’s early song ‘Who’s Losing You.’ It’s breathtaking, here D’Arby shows his 60s roots, the foundation for a refreshing self-styled albu m. Don't be put off by the hype, he may be opinionated, self-obsessed and vain, but if that’s what it takes to create your own niche in pop music, that’s fine by me. Murray Cammick Warren Zevon Sentimental Hygiene Virgin Sentimental Hygiene is Warren Zevon’s first album in five years, excluding last year’s compilation, and arguably his most satisfying work since the self-titled debut album of 1976. When most of LA's singersongwriter fraternity opted for saccharin in their coffee, Zevon went for the top shelf. Seemingly out of step with the times, he achieved endless critical acclaim but little in the way of commercial recognition. This may well change with Sentimental Hygiene.

The album features the distinctive aspects of Zevon’s work. The ballads ‘Reconsider Me’ and ‘The Heartache’ emulate the rich melodies of such past classics as ‘Accidentally Like a Martyr’ and ‘The French Inhaler.’ The rock side is exemplified by the title track where a rejuvenated Neil Young lends some guitar muscle. Among other luminaries lending a hand are Bob Dylan, playing harmonica on ‘The Factory.’ Lyrically the honest of ‘Detox Mansion ’ contrasts with the sardonic‘Trouble Waiting to Happen. ’ The only weak point in an imposing lineup of songs is the single ‘Leave My Money Alone,' which sits awkwardly in this collection. Nevertheless, if it drags in the audience he so richly deserves, so be it. On reflection it seems Zevon fas never been away. The five years absence is like interval at the cinema. Maybe the stigma which has beset the singer-songwriter genre is on the wane, and the time has arrived for Zevon to claim his rightful place as one of the true originals in popular music. Get down to your local music shop and pick up a copy. Dave Perkins The Blow Monkeys She Was Only the Grocer’s Daughter RCA The Sex Pistols in have this great line in 'God Save the Queen’ — “There’s no future in England’s dream / No future no future no future for you.” Something that has become a truism, the English re-elect Thatcher just to make sure they really get the shit beaten out of them. So at the end of the dream, in En-

gland’s decline, popular musical culture reflects the crisis. Black musical forms abound in England, as if reaching back to the tradition of the blues, to help put things in context. From the bland soul funk of Level 42 and Curiosity Killed the Cat to the popularity of hard hip hop, black music is the king pin. Now the lastest Blow Monkeys has more black references and influences than a pit bull has teeth, and also the most direct political nature of any popular record for a long time. Combining the two on ‘Celebrate (the Day After You),’ a great anti-Thatcher song about the “eight long years in the wilderness,” with Curtis Mayfield adding creedence. Dr Robert uses the black music references to make his case stronger, as in the intro to the dream styled ‘Don’t Give Up,’ where the melody of Marvin Gay’s ‘What’s Going On’ makes you reflect on the meaning of the song, that even in periods of confusion, never give up. The ghosts of Philadelphia must haunt Dr Robert, with the album full of real horns, plenty of strings and a touch of wah wah guitar. Like the beginning of ‘How Long Can a Bad Thing Last,’ with the doctor scat singing like the O'Jays. Again a strong political comment: “A woman I know makes a living out of this / And the sad thing is that the victims don’t resist.” The theme of resistance occurs on the majority of tracks, not realy an aspect of white pop music, but certainly a vital part of black music. Another ghost walking the grooves is Marc Bolan, the guitar strums and vocals of ‘Cash’ is pure Bolan and ‘Rise Above,’ with the quick vocal phrasing. Of course there has to be

ballads, and if you find ‘Beautiful Child’ a bit twee, then there’s always the contemporary soul feel of ‘Out With Her.’ A lot of people have dismissed this album as some form of camp pop culture, and it certainly has its camp side. But to dismiss it as mere “pop” is to do a disservice to the Blow Monkeys and to popular culture in general, both of which are in tip top fighting condition. Kerry Buchanan Duane Eddy EMI It must be tough being a fad whose 15 minutes are up. Most know no other road and fade into merciful oblivion. Some (Bowie, Joe Jackson) step off to explore other directions. Only a few, like Jerry Lee, can do the only thing they know, and every time make it sound like the first time. Duane Eddy was just another hulahoop before a brief reappearance some years back with the numbingly limp ‘Play Me Like You Play that Old Guitar.’ Then after another lean spell he took up with last year’s fads the Art of Noise to guest on their ‘Peter Gunn Theme,’ and jolly G it was too. Duane has found a new approach to his music, and he continues it here by gathering some heavy friends around him. Musos include George Harrison and Steve Cropper, but his trump card is having Paul McCartney, Ry Cooder, Jeff Lynne and the Art of Noisettes write and produce eight of the 10 tracks. As there is often an inverse ratio between talented musos and interesting music, I was prepared to thoroughly dislike this album, but the first track ‘Kickin’ Asphalt’ kicks along in fine 12-bar style. So far so good. Next up is Paul McCartney’s bombastic ' Rockestra Theme, ’ which ain't no ‘Band on the Run,’ but Macca gets a powerhouse sound by pumping those limiters to breaking point. Unfortunately from here on the album tends to run out of ideas, with Lynne’s two vaguely western tracks-in-search-of-tunes and run-of-the-mill rockabilly romp. The Art of Noise numbers highlight just how bor-bor-boring and incompetent much of today’s “sampler” music is, and their track ‘Spies’ sounds like fourth form danceband stuff. Even Ry Cooder can’t sprinkle enough fairy dust to revive the album or this flagging listener. Nice try Duane, but there just aren’t enough tunes here, which for an instrumentalist is shaky ground indeed. Get out your yo-yos.

lan Morris

The Del Fuegos Standllp Slash The Del Fuegos make a beat record in the sense of Ginsberg and Kerouac, so it’s on the road with the Dels and it’s no easy ride. World weary and ready for the count, America’s sons view things through a glass darkly, hanging around as Ginsberg in Howl says, “listening to the terror through the wall.” American angst in full throttle on ‘Long Slide (for an out)” and getting the lowdown on life on ‘He Had a Lot to Drink Today.’ The music is real downtown Memphis, deep Southern rhythms with a touch of Willie Mitchell’s early 70s production sound. The lead track ‘Wear it Like a Cape’ has a nice church sound with the black backing chorus, and Mitchell Froom’s airy production. There’s no real rockers as such, except for ‘I Can’t Take this Place,’ which has, dare I say, a Springsteen feel. But the major comparison is with the Stones' Exile on Main Street if only in the way that after you’ve played it, you feel like you’ve been swimming in a swamp.

You may feel dirty but your soul has been cleansed. Kerry Buchanan Smokey Robinson One Heartbeat Motown One of the true geniuses of soul, not only possessed with a voice full of fragile beauty, but symbolic of a generation. Motown defined popular music in the 60s, slick black R&B that broke hearts and built bank balances. Smokey was Mr Motown. In the 80s Motown has lost the crown to younger contenders, but at times the magic returns. As in this album where the Robinson voice still amazes, hardly definable, more like an abstract sensation, that exists beyond any analysis. Songs like ‘Juust to See Her’ are like emotional bullets, right on target. It’s the way he floats the melody around the rhythm, like in ‘Why Do Happy Memories Hurt So Bad’ — smething that only a few can achieve with any success. Sad, but never depressing songs about love, lust and crazy love, as in ‘Keep Me’ —“You’re not a cell, oh no/ but a prisoner ami.” There’s a romanticism working here that strikes at the heart of emotion. As the ABC hit says, “When Smokey sings, I can hear violins. ” The

whole album sure strums at the heart strings and that can’t be a bad thing. Kerry Buchanan Carmel The Falling London Carmel is primarily an English trio of bassist, percussionist and the eponymous female singer. On this album they are supplemented by at least another three, and at times up to nine, additional musicians. The nine tracks, nearly all self-written, have a distinctly British feeling for the revival of interest in traditional soul and jazzinfluenced cool. There’s not a guitar in earsot, the keyboards are either acoustic piano or Hammond organ, and the rhythm team consists of double bass, unprocessed drums and congas. The final cut, ‘Sally’ provides the best example of soulful barnstorming, however most tracks move at slow or medium pace, employing spacious arrangements with the three essential Carmelites to the fore. If the songs are sometimes repetitive they’re all at least melodic and beautifully executed. Bass and percussion get some pulsating patterns going; check ‘Sticks and Stones' for example. The boldest arrangement however belongs to their (solitary cover) version of Randy Newman’s ‘Mama Told

Me Not to Come.’ Almost totally dispensing with the refrain — itself the hook for Three Dog Night’s 1970 hit— Carmel restructure the piece as brooding voodoo and add the frisson of snake-charming saxophone. Such a willingness to not adopt established musical styles but to radically play around with them indicates that Carmel deserve more than to be merely the next Sade. Peter Thomson The Stems At First Sight/Violets are Blue White Label An Australian band from Perth, the Stems provide us with a sound full of 60s influences, from the pop psychedelia of the Byrds to the rock edges of the Buffalo Springfield. One gets the feeling that this band is flirting with the glory it could cover itself with — perhaps an EP would have been a more appropriate vehicle for this music. Standout tracks include ‘At First Sight,’ with its charming harmonies and guitar lines. With this song first up, I thought this album would be a winner. But no—the wallpaper music had to be sifted through to find the other highlights. ‘Mr Misery’ with its Stones feel is great, as is ‘For Always’ — a fine rolling song with its undercutting guitar and swaying organ. An-

other favourite would have to be ‘Can’t Forget that Girl, ’ although it is an unashamed copy of the Monkees’ ‘Daydream Believer.’ Apart from these tracks there is danceable music but little else. For me the 60s didn’t just stop at being upbeat, uptempo rock and roll riffs — they went a bit further than that. Tim Byrne Thin Red Line Lie of the Land Ode Thin Red Line are a band from Palmerston North. Their previous EPs have been an interesting mix of socially conscious music exploring community themes. Lie of the Land finds them continuing this role- — it’s an album with both unity and continuity. TRL have matured their sound and utilised the studio to better effect than previous offerings. All of the songs are political — love is the land, women are the balance and the treaty is a fraud. Musically it isn’t an album to drop acid to: some of it’s damned frightening but then again, so is it out there. This album dares to ask us about our collective fate; what is there to give our children, and yes, this is our history. ‘Trick or Treaty’ is a standout, with its stunny metallic intro into the soft lament of this land’s lie. ‘Newsprint’ explores themes familiar to many of us: the in-

justice of the court system, society’s white male dominance. The folkie strains of ‘ Potiki ’ offer audio relief from the wastelands but as soon as the “dollarman” appears it is strident, physical music. An album not for the fainthearted, nor for those who are, and will forever remain, right. Tim Byrne This Mortal Coil Filigree & Shadow (4AD) Simon Raymonde and company return with more of the surreal and luxurious stuff that put This Mortal Coil’s earlier ‘Song to the Siren’ single high in the UK independent charts for nearly a year. TMC’s Filigree & Shadow, a double album, first strkes you as incredibly consistent, and then, as repetitive. Its lush instrumentals (‘lnch Blue,' 'Tears’) are strong and touching but the lyrics are often ridiculously wet. Able covers reveal, ironically, that the TMC sound is a blanket style which can be applied to almost anything, although only the most cynical could ignore their superb version of David Byrne’s ‘Drugs’ or Van Morrison’s ‘Come Here My Love.' TMC are a worthy and adventurous collective of musicians and not to be underestimated (or overestimated; neither they nor the Cocteaus are the “voice of God”) — but it’s still too early in the game for a doublealbum. CT