BACK BEAT

Rip It Up, Issue 224, 1 April 1996, Page 29

BACK BEAT

Some fashion victims would say keeping traditions alive is an irrelevancy in popular music, but how do you tell that to a musician who can’t get his teeth fixed? Willie De Ville is one legend who's still looking sharp. On Loup Garou (eastwest) he quickly hits his stride, strutting down Bourbon whistling ‘Da Do Ron Ron'. He now lives in the Big Easy, not the Big Apple; unlike his recent outings however, this album of originals takes nothing from New Orleans other than attitude and spicy variety. Here Spanish Johnny hangs out in Irish bars to fight over white trash girls, while Phil Spector rules the jukebox. In Q’s Jook Joint (Qwest), Quincy Jones opens his astounding address book to invite us to an state-of-the art celebration of black music with an unlimited budget. In this cast of thousands — even Marlon Brando takes a part — the biggest star is Q’s ego, and with his CV, can we complain? The couplings are smart (Ray Charles with Chaka Khan, Nancy Wilson with Queen Latifah) but it sinks on its own slickness — and due to gatecrashers like Phil Collins and Bono. Hey boys, you’re in the wrong part of town. Welcome on both sides of the tracks, though, are New Orleans roots-rockers the Subdudes. Until Primitive Streak (High Street/BMG), though, their Caddy looked like stalling. Here they stay true to their minimalist template — impassioned, spontaneous harmonies, and a tambourine for a drum kit — but invite some guests for variety (violins, horns, Bonnie Raitt on slide). Their country soul ballads echo the mellow moments of John Hiatt and Los Lobos. Bonnie Raitt has more right than most to call her live album Roadtested (Capitol), but did she have to invite all her friends? Duets with Bryan Adams and Jackson Browne are marketing, not music. Yes, that was a fine late-career trilogy from Bonnie, but do we need a dou-ble-CD note-perfect replay? This brings back the 70s and... ELP’s Welcome, My Friends, to the Show that Never Ends. Ray Charles is like a guest on his own record in Strong Love Affair (Qwest). The voice is still there, but I think he sent it in by fax. The backings were recorded in that mecca of soul, Paris. The slick craftsmanship is like aural comfort food, soothing (ie, inoffensive), familiar (ie, cliched). The only standout is the gospel duet Ray produced himself: T Need a Good Woman Bad' (okay, the lyrics aren’t gospel). On Heart & Soul (Qwest) gospel Grammy monopolists the Winans are like a choir of Stevie Wonders. But before you invite them to a party, be warned they’ll bring their Bibles. Apart from the occasional torchy ballad (‘Yeah Yeah Yeah’, ‘I

Need You’), it’s like being, smothered by | harmony Cunning Texan bluesman Ligtitnin’ Hopkins made a lot of records, asking for payment in cash after every song. He was popular and prolific, and he spent everything he earned. But that gave him plenty of tragicomic stories to tell, with a guitar that could seduce or boogie down. Occasionally a mere journeyman, often a genius, on Country Blues and Autobiography in . Blues (Tradition/Rykodisc) you can see the link with contemporary Texan country songsmiths such as Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt and Jimmie Dale' Gilmore. These immaculately remastered late-50s recordings are a worthy introduction. ' i Buddy Holly was another Texan master of song, revered by the Beatles and all the participants in Not Fade Away (MCA), yet another tribute album. The performers are . intelligently chosen (Wayion Jennings, who missed the fatal plane; the Band; the Mavericks; Mary Chapin Carpenter; Steve Earle) but they all reek with reverence. (Except for the “Free As a Bird”-style “new duet” between the Hollies and the ghost of Buddy, which is not just slick, but sick — the great thing about necrophilia is the victim can’t sue.) Now that St Patrick’s Day is lasting a week in New Zealand, the timing couldn't be better for another reissue on Tradition, The Lark in the Morning, which features Irish folk legends Liam Clancy, Tommy Makem and friends. Taped by folklorists in living rooms and saloons throughout Eire in the 50s, the variety and purity of these solo performances is spellbinding, like hearing the Muddy Waters plantation tapes, except you’re witnessing the birth of country music. Having not written a song in four years, bombastic tunesmith Neil Diamond travelled to Nashville for inspiration. On Tennessee Moon (Columbia) he collaborates with the town’s equivalent of his Brill Building days, ie, songwriters to order. Yes it’s portentous, corny and hammy (sounds like a good jburger)" that’s what our aunts love about Neil. But at least he's hired good players and, unlike Ray, sounds like he’s aware of what’s happening. 3 Mr Holland’s Opus (Polydor) is another feel-good soundtrack aimed ( at baby boomers who only hear Classic Hits. Being (I guess) the story of a music teacher who wasn’t listening .to Rubber Sou/in 1965, it coughs up some surprises (‘One, Two, Three’ and ‘A Lover’s Concerto’ were nameless songs way back in my sub-conscious). But, unlike the intelligently selected Casino or Dead Presidents, this grab-bag has no concept other than exploitation of emotions. (I mean, ‘lmagine’?!? And surelv ’Beautiful Boy’ is below the belt!);

JAMES BOOKER