albums

Rip It Up, Issue 179, 1 June 1992, Page 22

albums

SHONA LAING New On Earth (Sony) The tribulations and frustrations which have dogged Shona Laing's career are well documented. And considering what bad deals fate has handed her since she became a New Zealand household name in her teens, it seems almost unpatriotic not to like her music. At the very least politically incorrect. Me, I've always been ambivalent. While I found her last album South generally overrated, I'd nonetheless champion its track 'Soviet Snow' as one of the best local singles of the 80s. So it comes with some relief to be able to unqualifiedly recommend New On Earth. Well, two thirds of it anyway. For instance I'm still not sure about the single Walk Away'. At times its sonic grandeur veers uncomfortably close to pomposity. Ah, but the best stuff here is a knockout. Melodic hooks that latch on and won't let go. A whole variety of rhythms and moods to make you boost the volume and itch to hearthem performed live. Lyrics which are passionate about more than sexual politics. The subject of 'Fear of Falling' may originate with the Lockerbie air disaster, but it works as an apt metaphor too. And the way that the band kicks it all along is thrilling. The next track, 'Hey', is equally marvellous, but in different ways. It's as open and airy as the other was tight and driving. Where South often sounded cluttered the arrangements for New On Earth have room to breathe. Shona's strong voice adapts beautifully to each new song. Never has her phrasing sounded so assured. : ' • - Space prevents discussion of all the album's highlights, but one other song must be mentioned. 'Just Before It's Too Late'is addressed to Jenny Shipley and, while that may induce dour forboding, the tracks is actually vibrant, melodically infectious and lyrically hopeful. One can almost imagine the minister humming it as she enters the caucus to propose redressing the welfare cuts. Oh yeah! Well here's a more likely scenario. Given that, with this album she has finally fulfilled the promise first shown 20 years ago, New On Earth will bring Shona Laing the international success she now assuredly deserves. PETER THOMSON THE 800 RADLEYS Everything's Alright Forever (Creation / Flying In) Shackled by the commercial failure of Rough Trade, Liverpool band the 800 Radleys only managed to release three EPs in their two years on the label. Last year Rough Trade managed to front up for the recording of Everything's Alright Forever but

couldn't afford to release or promote it so along came Creation who knew a

bargain when they heard it. Comparisons with My Bloody Valentine have both benefitted and plagued the band but the 800 Radleys prefer to produce their surprises within conventional song structures of verse, chorus with writer/ guitarist Martin Carr editing, adding or subverting to avoid predictability. So a Morricone trumpet flourish is grafted onto 'Spaniard', 'Paradise' glides out on flugel horn, booming and tortured guitars on Towards the Light' and 'Skyscraper' make way for Sice's little-boy-lost vocals and those same vocals lead into the glorious, whirling 'Sparrow' and almost get buried in the great melodic maelstrom of 'Firesky'. Linked by samples and snatches of uneasy sound effects, the multitude of ideas, contrasts and challenges that make up Everything's Alright Forever guarantee it as a brilliant debut and easily the best album I've heard all year. GEORGE KAY THE NEVILLE BROTHERS Family Groove (A&M) The Neville Brothers and their earlier incarnations such as the Meters, have made the family synonymous with New Orleans music — a city that grows in stature annually as a musical meeting place and melting pot for various music styles and cultures. Overthe years the Nevilles have reflected a swampy "Louisiana funk", a traditional brew they served so excellently last year at their Auckland show. For their new album, Family Groove, the brew is different. On their prior recordings with Daniel Lanois, he took a curious musicologist's role, like a high-tech "field" recording, he captured the Nevilles in their natural New Orleans environment, with a highly palatable smooth groove with high appeal to the white record buying public. This time the brew is more "Urban", harder hitting drums (drum machines sometimes), giving the album an edge, that some fans will not welcome. Family Groove is not the distinctive "Louisiana

funk" formula of old and for that reason the album is a welcome breakout from a stylistic straightjacket, a decisive move away from the MOR territory explored by brother Aaron. For some the "funk" style of Family Groove may be a 70s thing, but try telling Prince that. Funk is alive and well here on Family Groove on 'One More Day' (yes it's a bit like a classic Whispers/ Solar label recording), 'Day to Day Thing', 'Line of Fire' and 'lt Takes More'. Some of the vocals by Cyril and Art (I think) are fabulous soul. There's still some Louisiana feel on 'Family Groove' and Carribbean moves on 'Other Side of Paradise', but there's a welcome edge to 'Let My People Go', not a retro-civil rights I nostalgia thing, but strong voice that would be welcome on USA Black Radio, a media more familiar with "shake your butt and drink Pepsi" sentiments of popular music. It's ironic that after decades of white dude musicologists roaming the South of the USA with mics, capturing unique indigenous sounds, the Nevilles' did the same on their visit to NZ last year, capturing on DAT part of the Maori welcome (and Moana's son howling) and committing it to digital bliss on Family Groove. Doctor's warnihg: Family Groove is a "turn it up" record, following an album for playing politely at 30-something parties. But the aged could choose to be adventurous and have louder parties and get Family Groove fit before the Nevilles tour here next year. MURRAY CAMMICK THE JAM Extras (Polydor) Liner notes by Jam biographer Paolo Hewitt immediately signifies that this twenty-six pack is a good cut above the customary compilations-for-cash. Extras focuses on those very good Jam B-sides that deserved more recognition, demo versions of single and album standards and a mixed bag of previously unavailable covers and originals. The best B-sides like The Dreams of Children' and The Butterfly Collector 7

should already be familiar to serious Jam fans but right alongside those should be Weller's instinctive covers of the Chi-Lites 'Stoned Out Of My Mind' and Mayfield's 'Move On Up' — both from the transitional Beat Surrender double EP. But it's the demoes and unreleased all-sorts that make Extras compulsory. As a writer Weller never attempted to disguise his sources — namely the Who, Beatles, Kinks and selected soul artists. From punk he got the drive and from Ray Davies the lens on English life. In their raw, Weller and guitar only form 'Burning Sky', Thick As Thieves' and 'Eton Rifles' reflect Weller's wielding of the Davies scalpel. Taut and unreleased band versions of the Beatles' 'And Your Bird Can Sing' and James Brown's 'I Got You (I Feel Good)' are further acknowledgements of his origins and unreleased originals 'No One In The World', 'Hey Mister' and We've Only Started' could easily have been included on All Mod Cons or Setting Sons without lessening the impact of either album. Extras is a valuable insight into Weller's influence and how he managed to apply them in his role as one of the few great post-punk English writers. GEORGE KAY ; T ' CARTER THE UNSTOPPABLE SEX MACHINE 1992 The Love Album (EMI) They transcend contemporary music barriers. They combine the venom and anger of the Sex Pistols with the sophistication of Petshop Boys. They're Jim "Bob'' Morrisson and Les "Fruitbat" Carter, aka Carter USM — a punk-synth hybrid based in musical contradiction — and in a climate that stifles innovation, their musical 'sex substitute' is truly unstoppable. The Love Album, with the EEC flag on its cover, is their third in as many years. Though Thirty Something seemed like it couldn't be topped, Carter have once again conjured up some magic. The simple homlines have evolved into climactic string

symphonies, lush electronic soundscapes marrying perfectly the cutting Cockney vocals and screaming guitars. Lyrically they've reached an even higher plateau of dark, subtle sarcasm. In fact the album is littered with warped poetry about the down and out, wasted and unwanted. 'Suppose you gave a funeral and nobody came' is a great tune about the relative popularity of politicians ("Go ahead you fuckin sadist, pucker up and kiss some babies"). 'Do Re Me So Far So Good' is a catchy, sweet commentary on ageing. 'Skywest and Crooked' is a moody, anti-defeatist little number, full of grand piano and sorrowful organ, carrying the far from sympathetic cry of "So your whole life has been a catastrophe. Don't kill yourself stupid, this ain't no Dead Poet's society." There's even a glorious version (not a pisstake) of The Impossible Dream' to end the album. All uplifting and heroic in a way only they could get away with. Carter aren't just another Brit band with a stupid name and nothing to say. If you want to test your musical inhibitions start here. Unstoppable. JOHN TAITE HALLELUJAH PICASSOS Hateman In Love (Wildside) It's a messed up, mangled world that the Picassos inhabit. The sound they are making is not without its charms, a bastardized mush of hardcore, dub, pop and reggae. The highlights are many, hell, even getting an album out is a highlight in any struggling band's career. 'Black Spade Picasso Core' has sorta become an anthem around these parts and it's gnarled guitar sounds, 'Nutbush' samples and angry vocals is preferable to the more sedate reggae moments on this album. Don't get me wrong — reggae rips, and the Picassos do it great live, but the transfer of this sound to vinyl has not been as

successful as I had anticipated. Don't fear though. 'Sister Stacy' and 'No More' are both reggae at its sweetest. Elsewhere, 'Spinning Top' is happiness

in three chords (close to being the perfect pop song) and 'Shivers' piano acapella is Richard Clayderman on crack. These guys are getting popular and deservedly so. This is a top notch release with great packaging and a clean crisp recording, courtesy Mark Tierney. Any band that can pull 400 plus to their record release / stage diving extravaganza at DTM's must be doing something right. ANDREW MOORE POOH STICKS The Great White Wonder (BMG) For a while you could only read about this Welsh group in American 'zines like Your Flesh and maybe find their indie records like Formula One Generation in a sale bin in Truetone. Now justice has been done and they're getting distributed by a major. The Pooh Sticks reside in Swansea, but they're in love with the lexicon of rock. On the cartoon cover guitarist Paul (no last names) is drawn wearing an MCS T-shirt. Inside, Trudi (tambourine, Moog synth, piano) writes an essay about their idols and how there are direct references to bits of their music in all their songs. Jonathan Richman! Neil Young! James Taylor! Peter Frampton! Being young people who wanna rock they write songs about Young People' and 'Good Times' (the name of a Sonny and Cher film in the 60s). They squirt rank moog synth into 'Pandora's Box' and start 'Desperado' with a cheesy stadium rock cheer sample. The combination of girl/ boy pop vocals and basic rock guitar riffs is a good one. But the highlight of the album (and the reason there are only nine songs here) is 'l'm In You', which is about 20 beautiful minutes long. It builds with a slow-rocking tempo — boy/ girl vocals chanting the chorvs — to an incredible, sustained peak by way of lead guitar of Byzantine simplicity, ushered in by the haunting refrain "Never Learn Not To Love" (from the Charlie Manson song covered by the Beach Boys). I didn't think young people knew how to make music like this anymore.

The Pooh Sticks are three girls and two boys. Sometimes they sound happy and sometimes they sound sad. They're not nostalgia freaks, they just have a sense of history, a feel for insidious guitar riffs and honest vocals. What more do you want? DONNA YUZWALK SISTERS OF MERCY Some Girls Wander By Mistake (Warner Music) The Sisters are now famous as a cartoon about David Bowie with a script by Kafka,so this compilation,which goes back to the days when they were, as Paul McKessar wrote, the missing link '■; between Joy Division and Led - Zeppelin, should confuse a few J latecomers. The sound couldn't be further from their recent ■*' : ? Steinman-produced epics: these are eight-track recordings built around three note basslines and primitive drum programmes, burnt-out structures inhabited by Eldritch's mock heroic voice. More than once the mention of Suicide in the liner notes seems justified. Anyone who doesn't already know should buy it just to find out how good a one string riff can sound on The Temple Of Love'. And yet for all the apparent difference between the old and new Sisters the idea is the same: a simultaneous celebration and mockery of the magnificent rock gesture, a strange drama of simultaneous desire to laugh at and lament the necessary failure of everything Eldritch's heroes (Iggy Pop, TS Eliot and Klaus Kinski,

ultimately the whole damn Romantic I Modernist movement) stood for. It's all but spelled out on a cover af the Stooges' '1969' in which the muscular energy that belied the lyric's pessimism is replaced by a shuddering, faltering dirge. A beautiful, ridiculous noise for people who love rock music and hate it. MATTHEW HYLAND THE CLASH The Singles (Columbia) From punk to a jeans commercial, it's debatable whether the mighty have fallen or risen to new heights since Joe Strommer's pursuit of the popular mainstream energies of rockers like Elvis (Presley) and Bruce Springsteen makes one wonder if he'd enjoy his new double-stitched audience. While 1977 contemporaries like Elvis (Costello) crossed the Atlantic as part of the New Wave consignment (ie anything wearing a thin leather tie), the Clash hit America as Rock and wrote themselves a one-way ticket to Rolling Stone magazine I FM limbo. The point of the Rock world is you're safer dead and a singles collection will make a conservative burial for less classic memories of the band's driving force and skinny white aggression; Strummer stoned in his Travis Bickle mohican and Mick Jones as the

rhyming coat-hanger. The band that shook your fanny with White Riot' is now being measured up for a place next to porcelain busts of the King and the Jan Wenner songbook, company icons for old folks who miss yesterday

and the people who sang it.

That's unfortunate because as a band the Clash were never that classic and nowhere near sombre enough to sit quietly in a Rock'n'Roll hall of fame. Train in Vain' is pure Beat-style pop and tracks like 'Bankrobber' and 'Rock the Casbah' are hooky and smart. 'Hitsville UK', 'Remote Control', 'London Calling' — the titles alone beg mythologising and you just know they'll get it in spades from every fat music magazine everywhere in the world. Live the Clash sang flat and their albums were patchy; it's unlikely the kiddies who lap up this collection will get as much joy from a 3-CD Sandinista album. The Clash were angry and stupid and a bit of a laugh and they should be enjoyed that way instead of being relegated to the lineage of classic rock — a limp, indifferent genre invented by people who stopped listening a long time ago. CHAD TAYLOR CHARLIE RICH Pictures and Paintings (Sire/Warners) 'You Don't Know Me', the second track on this album, would have been a more appropriate title for this wonderful record. For nearly 20 years the gigantic talents of Charlie Rich have been languishing in countrypolitan schlock. But this is the man who Sam Phillips regarded as his greatest discovery after Elvis. The man who can sing like Elvis, or Bobby Bland, or Frank Sinatra and play the piano as well as Ray Charles, or Erroll Gamer. The man whose great works in many

genres — rockabilly, country, jazz, r&b — reached few ears. The man who had a No. 1 hit back in 1973 with The Most Beautiful Girl' and said hello to TV talkshow-land Las Vegas and goodbye to his creativity. In the words of Little Richard, he'd got what he wanted, but lost what he had. So he sat, siltin' and thinkin' with his bottle of gin, swearing that one day he'd record again the way he wanted to. Well Charlie Rich has finally done it. Pictures and Paintings is the album of his career. All the potential shown by so many songs over dozens of albums (some so bad no budget bin will have 'em) is fulfilled here. After years of emasculation by schlockmeister Billy Sherrill — who, it must be said, helped Charlie achieve some great work early in his tenure at Epic — he is finally playing his own piano. Singing great songs, some of them standards, some of them new originals by Rich and his long-suffering wife Margaret Anne, some of them new interpretations of tunes he's already recorded. All sides of Charlie Rich are shown: his soulfulness, his creativity, his feel for jazz and gospel. The magnificent voice, propelled by his own piano and a discreet small combo. It's produced by three men with the greatest sensitivity for older musicians: writers Peter Guralnick (whose essays on Rich are masterly) and Joe McEwan, plus Rounder records man Scott Billington. No longer does Charlie have to sing 'I tried, I failed/ and I feel like going home', though a new, choral version of that classic song finishes the album. He's back, and at his best, and we can

wallow in the wonder that is Charlie Rich. (Back catalogue hint: everything he did before 1974 contains some hidden marvel.) CHRIS BOURKE XTC Nonsuch (Virgin) It's been at least ten yeas since XTC were a part of the vital strains of rock n'roll. Since that time Partridge and Moulding, impervious to the fluctuations of fashion from the seclusion of Swindon, have continued to observe the peculiarities of human behaviour and process them through their craft and English analogies: . ' Nonsuch, like their last release, 1989's underrated Oranges and Lemons is a double album but this time there's a medieval minstrel perspective unifying things. The cracking modern tale of martyrdom 'The Ballad of Peter Pompkinhead' opens Partridge's account and from there he movingly traces the death of a clown in 'Dear Madam Barnum' and the anger of a terminated relationship in 'Crocodile'. Moulding, whether as the foil or complement, is at his best on 'My Bird Performs', the clever dig at human progress The Smartest Monkeys' and the triviality of small dreams in 'Bungalow'. But although Nonsuch has more wit and imagination than most "contemporary" bands could muster, Partridge with songs like That Wave' and Wrapped in Grey' and The Ugly Underneath' allows the album to

become too overwrought, a weakness avoided by Skylarking and Oranges

and Lemons. Nonsuch has to settle for qualified success. GEORGE KAY MELISSA ETHERIDGE Never Enough (Island) This woman — like Joan Jett and a couple of others before her— has rendered the hitherto serviceable term 'journeyman rocker' gender-bound. Otherwise the category seems appropriate: a gutsy voice, strong guitar-based rhythms and only about three decent songs per album. For example Etheridge's 1988 debut album is most memorable for a couple of numbers seething with sexual jelousy. The hit single 'Bring Me Some Water' had the intensity of prime cut Rolling Stones. Never Enough doesn't include anything quite so hot although the opening track, 'Ain't It Heavy', comes close enough for satisfaction. What's more, its lyrical content is considerably cheerier. The album's two other highpoints are both ballads: 'Dance Without Sleeping' and The boy Feels Strange'. Elsewhere she tries a few new moves including a synthesized dance beat here and some industrial funk there. Nonetheless, it's the three tracks mentioned which prove that Melissa Etheridge has a better voice and can occasionally write smarter than the majority of her fellow — better make that 'compatriot' — journeyperson rockers. PETER THOMSON