albums

Rip It Up, Issue 173, 1 December 1991, Page 26

albums

PRIMAL SCREAM Screamadelica > 5 (Creation) Bobby Gillespie is one strange animal. Having drummed on the Jesus and Mary Chain’s Psychocandy, explored pastoral pop and biker rock and finally dance music, he’s become simultaneously obsessed with two styles, the discourses surrounding which are diametrically opposed. On one hand he lambasts 80s rock in interviews and records, things like ‘Moving On Up’ and ‘Damaged’ (produced by Rolling Stones collaborator Jimmy Miller), painstakingly faithful recreations of 60s/70s luddite country blues, or blustering soul-dance tracks like ‘Loaded’ and ‘Come Together'. Yet on the same album he includes three versions of the stunning electro-dub dreamscape single ‘Higher Than The Sun’, surely the single of the year, a bizarre but seductive post-post-modern Asiatic dance thing called ‘Slip Inside This House’ and two exquisite, totally artificial pop holograms (‘lnner Flight’ and ‘Shine

Like Stars’). Even more astonishingly, on two occasions he successfully merges the two sets of influences. On ‘Don’t Fight It, Feel I, the soul-wails that dominated the single version are de-contextualised by mutant electro-samples, while ‘'m Comin’ Down’ surrounds Gillespie’s appallingly plaintive vocals and a sobbing saxophone with space age aural hallucinations, and is breathtakingly effective. Listeners who, like me, can't help seeing “authentic” ; blues/rock/soul/nostalgia values as a 'hegemony to be reacted against will find large parts of this album unpalatable, but they’d be fools not to ‘put up with those bits because the rest is utterly addictive. MATTHEW HYLAND - THE BREATHING CAGE : Misericord ; (Tall Poppy) The late Rheineck Rock Award looks in retrospect a little like a poisoned chalice — the hoopla-had a habit of turning into hassle. This album took over a year fo record (after the award was won in 1989), went over budget, got handed from one label to another and generally turned into the kind of headache you get from drinking the

sponsor’s product. But Misericordis less a can of beer than an expensive, meficulously vinted sauvignon blanc — smoky, sombre and complex, with a hint of sweetness. It sounds like a record that went over-budget — you can hear the work. Greg Malcolm-Boelee’s guitar cuts gracefully across Jay Clarkson’s own - hanging chords. Gary Sullivan’s drums and Michael Kime’s bass have been refined to perfection.

But if anyone thought they were going to get, in Clarkson, one of those marketable singer-songwriter gals, they’re going to be disappointed. Her focus is a little too claustrophobic for suburban living rooms. There's not much of a right-on singalong in the tight, third-person observations of ‘Cheeky Wings' or ‘Artful Dodger’ — or, for that matter, in Clarkson’s trademark phrasing. But ‘Lucille’ is rendered with

beautiful fluidity. Graeme Humphreys’ piano weaving perfectly into the arrangement, and on the oldie ‘The Man With No Desire’ those slow-motion chords ring even longer and the band sweeps away with the song in a manner which the Expendables never had the time or money to perfect. : It may have been recorded in Auckland, but Misericordis at heart classic Christchurch melancholy, captured, for a change, in full bloom rather than small room. It stands alone — but for Gods sake, don't play it at a party. : RUSSELL BROWN : SECOND CHILD - Magnet (Wildside) Capturing on record music which was created to rattle PA systems and pin people to the back walls of pubs is no easy matter, its not simply a matter of setfing up and lefting rip — there’s a bit of work involved in recreating the desired effect. : If Magnet doesn't quite capture Second Child’s live power, then SPUD’s Matthew Heine hasn’t made a bad job of it — Barbara Morgan’s bass groans and rumbles under fizzing, snarling guitar and when the whole band tips into an instrumental rave ('Rejoice’) this is major noise indeed. Damien Binder’s lyrics — the odd adolescent poet glitch included — are a kind of integral libretto to the whole noise; youth, desperation and unfixable strangeness in the head. If he sometimes can’t muster the ‘ authority the words and the noise demand, then at other times (‘A Song/) he’sspoton. ' Magnetis heavy, no bloody heavy — but there's a bit more going on - besides that. So ... . how big are your - speakers? RUSSELL BROWN NEIL YOUNG AND CRAZY HORSE Weld (Reprise) : The rebirth of Neil Young has been great to witness. After causing huge headaches for Geffen by recording some amazingly horrible albums, Neil hooked up with Crazy Horse again and made Ragged Glory, the opus of weird tunings, feedback and eight minute riff-outs that the very hip : American alternative bands have been trying to make for years. Then to prove it wasn't all a fluke, he set out on tour with support acts like Sonic Youth and Social Distortion and has compiled this double live offering. (Triple if you can find the Arc/Weld version which features an extra disc of feedback.) . - Not suprisingly Weld continues that line of what is basically punk rock, drawing heavily on material from Ragged Glory. There are superb versions of ‘Love and Only Love’ and ‘Fuckin’ Up’ which, like most of the album, really suit the head-down, eyes-closed, grind-'em-out freatment. Some older Neil Young classics are also reworked in the Ragged Glory manner; ‘Powderfinger’ sounds like pure aural anger while ‘Like A Hurricane’ turns from annoying 70s anthem to a savage 13 and a half minute journey that will hopefully ruin the lives of hundreds of aging musical revisionists. _ : Aside from the fact that it's downright enjoyable to listen to, Weld is basically a very noisy but reassuring record. It proves that despite his advancing years, Neil Young is still quite capable of distilling his anger and passion into some very powerful sounds. Where so many of his contemporaries have lapsed into MOR rehab rock or become parodies of themselves, Neil is still able to sound ridiculously vital. KIRK GEE . WILD THINGS Wild Kiwi Garage Vol.l (Flying Nun) : So what-the-fug's sowrong with living in the past anyway, when the present’s nuthin’ but a crock of shitand the future’s further up a creak of same .

.. easy for me to say, fsure, but jeez. .. take this country back in the 1960%, you had just about 2 million people in all of this beeyoodifull wide open space with as high a standard of living as anyplace in the free capitalist world, you had a decent social welfare system so's a young man could walk straight outta school age 15 and never have to work a stroke the rest of his fuggin’ life, you could buy paregoric over any chemist counter . . . (several hundred pages of prematurely senile rambling deleted — ed). But, uh, anyway, getting straight to the program here — the poop we got on this platter is some real nineteen-sixty-something punk rock - from outta this subtropical island paradise, steaming fresh as the day it ~ was laid, our very own Nuggefsor - Peb’s Vol lif you will, and the La-De-Da’s ‘How Is The Air Up There' is but the tip o’ the iceberg. Yeah, y'all already know that one (already comprehensively anthologised, and still even played on classic hits-type stations to this day), but how’s ‘bout their lesser known 2nd seengle ‘Don't Stand In My Way’, track number one on this comp and as effortless a definition of the style as any contemporaneous US or Orstralian losers . .. other sides yr already familiar with if yr not a complete jerk are the Bluestars’ cheese-cutting ‘Social End Product’, the Pleazers ‘Hurtin’ All Over’ and two out of the three tracks by Christchurch’s boss Chants R&B . . . the remaining Chants cut is ‘I Want Her’, the only orig comp they ever reledsed and worth twice what | paid for the whole album in its own right, ‘cept | didn’t pay nuthin for the album, so, uh, paint my wagon - already. Also how 'bout Sandy Edmonds’ versh of the Pretty Things’ ‘Come See Me’, an anomaly in the career of a gal better known for albums fulla inept e-listening cover versions where she always sang out-of-tune and got words wrong but they just didn't care, they just rushed those suckers on out there and who's any the wiser today (“She couldn't sing a bloody note” said proud daddy manager Phil Warren). Yeah, goddam if this don't spell QUALITY, mac, and I'd tell you more about stuff like how Tom Thumb effortlessly pull off something that eluded a whole long and tedious album full of modern losers ie.a -~ half-decent Roky Erickson cover) or whatever, but how ‘bout you do down to a record shop and read the liner notes for yourself. Gotta propose a raising of glasses to Mr John Psycho Baker and if it's the only decent thing he achieves in his entire miserable life that's still one more than most of you, am | rightor what. DUANE ZARAKOV THE ANGELS = Red Back Fever : (Mushroom) : In general | don't belive Australian rock is something that should really be encouraged, | mean, would you wish another Johnny Diesel on the world? There are times however when it's not all as bad as it seems, and the latest Angels album barely makes that distinction. Don’t get me wrong though, if you're a fan of this stuff then you'll be in hog heaven with this puppy, if's the Angels sound stripped back and turned up, plenty of BIG riffs, gravelly vocals and so rock and roll that you just wanna buy some leather pants. What gets me is the lack of any real edge, these guys sound loud and tough but they don't seem too upset by anything, ifs kind of rebellion by numbers, we're wild, dangerous and driven, I'm just not sure by what. Still, that's just a stylistic quibble and | go listen fo Iggy Pop or the Butthole Surfers or someone whereas the rest of you have got a well played, R&B edged, no frills gem with Red Back Fever. From lan Hunter covers to the obligatory rock ballad, this one is pretty much on the money and to use a fine old cliche, it sounds great loud.

KIRK GEE