albums

Rip It Up, Issue 224, 1 April 1996, Page 30

albums

MARTIN PHILLIPPS & THE CHILLS Sunburnt J (Flying Nun) Sunburnt marks the long-awaited return to the recorded world for one of New Zealand music’s prodigal sons. Now out-front from the Chills in both name and persona, Sunburnt is Phillipps first album since the Chills anti-climactic Soft Bomb in 92. The trials and tribulations of that last ill-fated line-up and Phillipps’ subsequent return.to Dunedin for much soul searching and wound licking have been well documented. But if Phillipps feels that the Chills’ career stalled because Soft Bomb was out of synch with the prevailing grungey musical fashion of its day, then Sunburnt may find him even wider of the mark. The pastoral, key-board-heavy settings on this album are more Laura Ashley than Vivienne Westwood, moving Phillipps even farther from the alternative mainstream. . So, maybe Phillipps isn’t writing for ‘the kids’, but then I doubt he ever really was. Phillipps’ agenda has always been to follow his own musical vision (a fact countless ex-Chills can no doubt testify too). In that respect, Phillipps is taking his lead from the musical heroes he name-checked on Soft Bomb’s ‘Song For Randy Newman’ — the likes of Newman, Brian Wilson, Nick Drake and Syd Barrett. That’s a rarefied atmosphere to be operating in, and occasionally on Sunburnt it sounds moredike a vacuum. As he sings on the title track: ‘I reached for the sun and the sun burnt my hand’. .. The album 1 opens with ‘As Far as I Can See’ — a wonderful tune meshed with Phillipps’ powerfully emotive vocals — classic Chills in the.truest sense and probably the album’s best cut. ‘Premonition’ and ‘Surrounded’, while not quite to the same heady level, more than justify their existence, and the contagious positivism of single ‘Come Home’ should endear itself to all but the most hardened cynic. So far, so good, but the quality control regulator seems to have gone out the window over Sunburnt's remaining nine tracks. Amongst the rest 'The Big Assessment’, is a twee low point, although the rousing ‘Dreams are Free’ helps kick out the mid-album blues. ‘Swimming in the Rain', with its nagging guitar riff, and ‘New Millennium”s catchy chorus hook promise plenty, but both are left to meander inconclusively. ‘Secret Garden’ closes the album in the reflective style of .‘Submarine Bells’ or ‘Water Wolves'. Potentially it’s the equal of these two songs, yet the instrumentation and treatment it . receives here don’t allow it to realise its potential. Phillipps’ reputation and genius, as well as his own lofty ideals, are such that anything less than brilliance amounts to a failure — and there’s the rub with Sunburnt. Sure, there’s enough that’s . worthwhile here to commend it, but rightly or wrongly expectations for any release bearing Phillipps’ name are set very (perhaps unreasonably) high. And with Phillipps’ recent recording hiatus, the anticipation level amongst the waiting faithful (myself included) has probably been cranked up a further notch. Acutely aware of this, Phillipps has attempted .to slip in quietly through the back door to raise the Chills banner once more. r Problem is, despite a smattering of classic Chills moments, the album as a whole seems to lack the depth and resonance of previous Chills releases. Sadly then, Sunburnt finds the Chills flag a little threadbare and barely raised above halfmast.

MARTIN BELL

Sparklehorse

SPARKLEHORSE Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot (White) My blue moon certainly turned gold again the day the Sparklehorse rode into my room, with one Mark Linkous lolling in the saddle. I loved this from the first whisper of: ‘A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse,’ and you should too, if you know what’s good for you. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say, I don’t think I could ever love anyone who didn’t love this album. . . Lyrically, Sparklehorse mix ripped off dialogue (‘lt’s a sad and beautiful world’ — ‘Sad and Beautiful World’),, bent humour and touchingly naiive sentiments

(‘You are the car / You are the hospital’ — ‘Saturday’) with the sincerest of heartbreak and poignant imagery, to make poetry so quotable it makes you wonder how you ever managed to stop people falling asleep in your presence before you started quoting it. Vocally, this should please anyone who’s in love with Flaming Lips’ front man Wayne Coyne, but has secretly wondered if maybe a Vicks stick would help clear those stuffy nasal passages he has, or anyone who’s ever wondered if King Missile’s John S Hall had to use a distortion unit to acheive his unique tone. Musically, you’ll find home fried guitars served over distorted vocals, fireside acoustics warming sleepy croons, and a veritable pop-sick-le parade of yellable toons. PS: Sparklehorse wins band name of the year and I don’t care what else anyone comes up with.

BRONWYN TRUDGEON

LOU REED Set the Twilight Reeling (Warners) At 54, Lou Reed has delivered possibly his finest solo album, proof that you can’t judge the man by his former band (I’m gonna go the full distance without mentioning their name), or his last bad haircut. Self-produced and recorded live in Reed’s rooftop studio, Set the Twilight Reeling was mixed using some newfangled 20-bit converter thingumajig. I don’t know what’s in that box of tricks, but Set the Twilight Reeling manages to transport the listener to Reed’s studio. Not to the control booth, mind, but slap-bang into the actual room where it was recorded. Here Reed and his band surround you, laying down killer track after killer track, live, in front of your very ears. No shit. Do yourself a favour and play this real loud through a giant motherfucker of a stereo. Anything less would be doing the album an injustice (although the utilitarian Reed professes to have completed the final mix on six different sets of monitors, to ensure the album sounded good played back on anything). But enough of the train-spotting, anorak-clad audiophile pretensions. Are the songs any good? Damn straight. Honourable intentions aside, the prolix lyrics and lack of melody on his last studio effort, 1992’s Magic and Loss, made for some pretty tough listening. If Reed’s pre-occupation then was death, Set the Twilight Reeling marks something of a rebirth. It’s simple, it’s direct... and it rocks. Over the last 30 years Reed has used the same three chords more times than a convention of blues legends, but rarely have these chords sounded as fresh, invigorated and vital as they do here. Lyrically, Reed is right on target as well, fully justifying his self-bestowed ‘Poet Laureate of rock’ mantle. Even when his lyrical subject matter is banal, as on

the opening ‘Egg Cream’, Reed renders the detail of his storytelling so vividly, he’ll have you convinced it’s a Shakespearean sonnet. Only Lou Reed would have the audacity to write a song about egg cream. Only Lou Reed would have the skill to pull it off. Even the hokum of first single ‘Hooky Wooky' will have you grinning from ear to ear, as uncle Lou rediscovers love (but with the requisite juxtaposed violent imagery — you hit me with a flower, indeed). Lou Reed’s vision for songwriting excellence and purity of sound, tone and rock ’n’ roll heart has never been more fully realised than on this masterful release. This is a landmark album in Reed’s career and a landmark album for any year. Set the Twilight Reeling reaches the parts other albums simply can’t reach.

MARTIN BELL

THE BEATLES Anthology 2 (Apple) Here we go again. Once agin this double set leads off with a well dodgy 95 Beatles track, and 'Real Love’, another Lennon demo and found in its much superior demo form on the Imagine soundtrack, is no less gruesome than ‘Free As a Bird’. No wonder George Martin wanted nothing to do with it. But from then on its uphill in spectacular fashion. ■ _• - ' Volume one, as much as I enjoyed it, was more of an historical document, and I really can’t imagine most of the six-mil-lion people round the world who bought it played it more than once or twice, hardened Fab-fans excepted. This time we're looking at the 65-68 period, definitely the band’s most creative, and the timespan in which they defined popular culture in the form that it continues today. Volume two stands up as an album on its own merits, no dodgy comedy skits and no interviews this time, just music — and some of the stuff here, from the first real track, the demo of John’s Miracles pastiche, the wonderful ‘Yes It Is’, where the vocal is this coraky, desperate thing the likes of which I’ve not heard from him before, is quite astounding. The demo of Strawberry Fields is also here, along with various progressions in its development, and it’s these raw. versions of tracks like that and much of ‘Pepper’ that make this album that much more essential than volume one. Even if parts of it are reverse engineered and put together by Geoff Emerick from the component parts in 95, it all works rather well.

I can live without the strings only 'Eleanor Rigby’, the instrumental 'Within You, Without You’, the heavily bootlegged ‘lf You’ve Got Trouble’, ‘Yesterday’ in any form, and a couple of the rough live recordings, but that aside, this is one very cool and listenable album.

And the Apple machine rolls on, volume three (1968-1970) follows later in the year, followed next year by the live 69 Apple rooftop gig.

SIMON GRIGG

THE AUTEURS After Murder Park (Hut) The Auteurs’ Luke Haines is resigned to the fact his music is too idiosyncratically crafted to catch the current Britpop tram. This acceptance that his band is scarcely going to outsell Oasis has allowed Haines to follow his own muse "without compromise, a stance that makes this third album an impressively haunted landscape of vindictive lovers, spies, lowlifes and, yup, murderers.

Written while he was convalescing in a wheelchair after jumping off a wall in the Spanish leg (sic) of the band's European tour, the album caused consternation in certain quarters when it was heard hardcore meister Steve Albini was to produce it. These worries prove unfounded, as Albini is the ideal medium for Haines’ vivid, cinematic images, giving them an edginess that reinforces the songs. Starting with ‘Light Aircraft on Fire’, which is an obvious and largely successful attempt at regaining the classic rock ’n’ roll adrenaline of ‘Lenny Valentino’, the album’s best songs generally lie in the slower, atmospheric fare. It’s impossible not to be moved by the quietly disturbing images and melodies of ‘The Child Brides’ and ‘Dead Sea Navigators’, and there's a welcome Beatle-ish feel in the tragically true ‘Unsolved Child Murder’, with the title track viewing the murder from the point of view of a medium. That’s the imagination and art of Luke Haines; the songwriter as author and a man at the top of his craft on After Murder Park. GEORGE KAY

ERIC MATTHEWS It’s Heavy in Here (Sub Pop) Eric Matthews was one half of Cardinal, whose debut album of last year clearly marked out an intriguingly nostalgic musical perspective. For Cardinal and Matthews it was if the last 25 years of rock ’n‘ roll had simply never happened, their music having been freeze-dried circa 1970. Ultimately Cardinal came over as a refreshing idea that was a little halfbaked, but It’s Heavy in Here is a stronger proposition altogether. Matthews’ solo debut is not so much a slavish imitation as a sparkling homage to that era, constructed from the fertile building blocks of pop’s golden years. As such, It’s Heavy in Here casts Matthews as a young outsider amongst the noise merchants of both his Sub Pop label mates and today’s music scene in general. One gets the sense Matthews’ creative urges have been allowed full rein over the album’s 14 tracks. From the exultant ‘Penny Lane’-ish guitar-pop of ‘Fanfare’, to the intricate stringed orchestration of ‘Poisons Will Pass Me' and the many folkish signposts in between, the scope of It’s Heavy in Here is wide ranging indeed. It’s clearly the work of a quite singular talent — in fact Matthews is responsible for the writing, arrangements, singing, production and a hefty slab of the instrumentation on this album. Occasionally It’s Heavy in Here is more admirable than enjoyable, and the album’s veneer is perhaps buffed a little smoothly — the touch of ‘soul’ a few rough edges could provide wouldn’t have gone amiss. But regardless of that, the album marks Eric Matthews out as a name to watch and hints at greater things to come. In the meantime, anyone with a penchant for Nick Drake, the baroque leanings of the Beatles, or even the scored arrangements of Burt Bacharach, will find Eric Matthews’ time capsule well worth opening.

MARTIN BELL

ROCKET FROM THE CRYPT Scream, Dracula, Scream (Interscope) Apparently these guys are the USA’s current hot new sound in Europe, and although I personally prefer the heavy, jammed-out rockfests of their alter-ego act, Drive Like Jehu, it’s easy to see how Scream, Dracula, Scream is finding its mark. The bottom line is flat out energy. Rocket From the Crypt leap in and tear through songs like total madmen, tempering the traditional SoCal punk assault with a definite taste of 50s rockabilly sensibilities. With a horn section and some James Brown-like rock precision, they can really nail a song when they get going. The first half of the album, especially tracks like ‘Born in 69’ and ‘Young Livers’, is just power chord heaven. Later on things start to drift a little, as songs get a touch directionless, but you could never accuse these boys of dragging their feet. RFTC keep it all clean, and loaded

with the sort of musical horsepower you need if you’re going to do this sort of thing well.

KIRK GEE

POE Hello (Atlantic) New York singer/songwriter Poe’s debut album Hello is equally on a par with Dummy or Maxinquaye as a soulful, sophisticated slice of 90s dance/pop (fuck off with yer ‘trip hop’), but unleashed without the right connections and remix credits, Poe has already disappeared without raising eyebrows in her native US. It’s almost certain the’ eclectic nature of Hello is responsible for its failure, but that diversity is crucial to its brilliance and beauty. Hello glides from the sexy grooves of ‘Hello’, 'Angry Johnny’, and ‘Another World’ — all enveloped in sensuous, beats reminiscent of Soul II Soul's Club Classics vibe — to the bratty, almost bozo-rock trip-outs of ‘Trigger Happy Jack’ and ‘Choking the Cherry’. Poe’s

earthy vocals shimmer most effectively when the slow burning ‘That Day’ hits its stride, and when the ballads ‘Beautiful Girl’ and ‘Fly Away’ reach melting point. And she delves further into her style bag on the sly, jazz heavy tracks ‘Fingertips' and ‘Junkie’.

' For all its elements of change, Hello is weirdly cohesive, an album of constant variables if that makes sense. Every song feels seductively surreal, and -lyrically points to an author who is more than slightly unhinged (‘There's nothing more sadistic than an infant I Waving his pistol in my face I He wants me right down on my knees I Crumbling in disgrace’). Essentially though, Hello is an album of good songs and grooves, and there’s certainly no artistic reason why Poe should be spared the commercial and critical accolades of her UK counterparts.

JOHN RUSSELL

THE CAKE KITCHEN The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (Raffmond) Roving New Zealander abroad Graeme Jeffries sends another postcard home in the form of a new Cake Kitchen album. The last recording to feature French drummer Jean-Yves Dovet (the line-up that toured New Zealand last year), The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea is a fine fol-low-up to Stompin’ Through, the Boneyard. Opening track ‘Old Grey Coast’ is, worth the price of admission alone. After a few minutes of wiry fretboard and violin scratches, the song breaks into waves of quite exquisite melody and trance-like beauty. None of the rest can match the intoxicating effects of this cut, but your attention remains riveted throughout by Jeffries’ trademark doubletracked vocals. Swooping out of the depths of the mix from subterranean levels, their smoothly menacing power is like Maltexo laced with arsenic — cloying and deadly. Along with Jeffries’ guitar heroics it all makes for superb headphone masturbation, but then, the Cake Kitchen have always been a selfish pleasure. Recorded over a two year period in New Zealand, France, England and America, it’s perhaps not surprising The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea lacks a little coherence. Still, such is Jeffries’ talent, he could probably record in a broom closet on a reel-to-reel spooled with damp string, and achieve that wonderful and unique Cake Kitchen sound.

MARTIN BELL

THE AFGHAN WHIGS Black Love ' (Elektra) ...or, more confessions of a man at the mercy of his maleness. ducer/singer/songwriter/multi-instrumen-talist Greg Dulli does the deeds and then tears himself apart over them. When he asks: ‘Do you think I’m beautiful? I Do you think I’m evil?,’ in the opening ‘Crime Scene," Part One’, or ‘Am I vain? Have I shame? I Are my thoughts of a man who can call himself sane?,’ in the quietly

majestic ‘Night by Candlight’, it’s easy to answer ‘yes' to all of the above. Now you’ve fallen into the trap that’s solely justified by its stunning sound. Strong whifs of funk often lurk just beneath the surface. The most notable examples of this are in ‘Blame, Etc.’, where the ‘Crime Scene, Part One’ motif of: ‘A lie, the truth I Which one shall I use?’ recurs, and ‘Going to Town'. The latter is the closest Dulli gets to writing an affectionate love song, and even that’s an invitation to a date on which arson is the main attraction, with Dulli admitting he’s actually in league with Satan. I knew it, the silver-tongued devil! Barbara Hunter is again responsible for the cellos, and Harold Chichester the piano and organ, which often distinguish this stuff beyond the strength of its chopping guitars. Team them up with the soul destroyed vocals of Dulli, and the results are as intoxicating as they are intelligently arranged.

BRONWYN TRUDGEON

DRILL Drill (Flying Nun) Value for money is how Flying Nun are marketing this extensive collection of work from Auckland three-piece Drill. With 19 songs at mid-price, it’s hard to disagree with them, especially when the quality of the noise is so good. None of it is particularly groundbreaking. Left-field, melodic, blah, blah, feedback, distortion, blah, blah; all the usual terms are relevant. But what propels Drill towards the front of the bunch is their rollicking sense of humor and timing. To celebrate their record label’s 15 years in the business, Drill rework a classic Nun track, the Chills’ ‘Pink Frost’, giving it a new sound and a new title — ‘Pink Thrust’. It would have been disappointing had this collection of Drill songs from the past few years not made it onto an album. It’s as good as most and better than some of the more high profile releases that have come from the Nun stable in recent times. DOMINIC WAGHORN THE GRIFTERS Ain’t My Lookout (Sub Pop) If Pavement were tightrope artists, they would be ones that would delight in their lack of skill and celebrate their spectacular falls. On the other hand, the Grifters seem like seasoned pros that want to be the amateurs, they deliberately leap, their amatuerism timed to the splitsecond.

The Grifters, from Memphis, Tennessee, release their fourth album since forming in 1989. But they’re feeling anxious leaving four-track bedroom recordings behind on this, their first Sub Pop release — in the album inlay they ask: ‘Bands don’t really catch that much shit for selling out anymore. Do they?’

The word 10-fi and their tour associations with the legendary Guided by Voices can be filed away under ‘the past’ — Ain't My Lookout is full steam ahead in production values, and not even a vague snippet of slacker musicianship exists. The single, 'Last Man Alive’, is the their furthermost Pavement adventure. On the rest they do an original Grifters mix of styles — three songwriters and singers make sure of that. A few bass led tunes, a bit of jammy Memphis blues, a touch of political punk, but most of all pop tunes you can whistle. No, you don't get shit for selling out nowadays — you get it for being shit. And they’re not. Ain’t My Lookout is as deep as Billy Corgan thinks he is and as

eternal as a good shag.

MITCHELL HAWKES

COMBUSTIBLE EDISON I, Swinger (Sub Pop) VARIOUS ARTISTS Four Rooms Soundtrack (Elektra) Here’s betting the Four Rooms Soundtrackw't\\ go the same way as those of Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, bringing culture to the masses in the kind of way that could make you mighty sick of it if you’re fond of cafes. Seeing I’m not, I’ll just enjoy it in the privacy of my own home and pretend like lounge is still the special fetish of myself and any stylin’ individuals I may have around for cocktails. The way swingin’ Combustible Edison (a band as dedicated to lounging as your parents were back in the days when every respectable cocktail cabinet had a bottle of yellow advocat in it, and who make their debut with I, Swingei) are resonsible for the majority of the tracks on the Four Rooms soundtrack, Esquivel contributes two for authenticity’s sake, and the theme from Bewitched pops up too. Although both these albums are largely instrumental, they do share a highlight in the brilliant ‘The Millionaire’s Holiday’ (with its succinct lyrics containing era defining invitations from vocalist Miss Lily Banquette like: 'Be a swinger if you dare,’ and: ‘A glass and a shaker I Your host is a real scene-maker’). Best title of

the two has to go to 1,-Swinger's ‘Theme From “The Tiki Wonder Hour’”, and competition is seriosuly stiff enough to warrant this mention.

If you're serious about your cheese — as Combustible Edison certainly are (I’ll bet Esquivel is blissfully unaware of the fact he'd even be considered in such a category by the great unwashed — that is, if any of them knew who he was) — you won’t find better nibbling than these two. Either would make a dandy soundtrack to your next stylin’ crossword party or apdrtif afternoon.

BRONWYN TRUDGEON

SKINNY PUPPY The Process (America n/BMG) During the recording of this album, Skinny Puppy member DR Goettel died at the age of 31. This event possibly accounts for the album’s black feel, but the industrial-techno pioneers always were that way inclined. Sampled riffs laid over electronic beats with menacing vocals, the results are cold and clinical. 'Hardset Head’ is taut and aggressive, while ‘Curcible’ welcomes you to electronic noise hell. Produced by David Ogilvie and Skinny Puppy, The Process is suitably bleak and sparse. Technology is viewed as a tool rather than a constraint, thus the vast array of electronic sounds, beats, and samples integral to the final result. Harsh, detached vocals communicating a dark futuristic vision, the masses controlled by the few, hell on earth and all that. Where peers KMFDM, Filter, Nine Inch Nails etc tend more towards metal, Skinny Puppy stick to the depersonalised technology tip, sculpting noise. The ultimate dismal post-modernist statement.

GAVIN BERTRAM

KNIGHTSHADE Knightshade x (Hark) Rembember when these guys toured the country constantly and even had singles in the charts? What a suprise when lovely, polite, Our World TV presenter Gale Ludlow rocked out with the boys! Now they’ve put 13 of their best known songs onto CD so they can stake their rightful place in New Zealand rock history. Unfortunately they couldn’t get the original master to their own back catalogue, due to corporate complications, so have had to re-record everything. ■ ‘Out for the Count’ doesn’t quite pack the same punch, and ‘Blood and Money' could never come across like it did at gigs, but overall, Knightshade have done well to recapture the spirit of the music they made in the 80s (‘The Physical You’ and the optimistic ‘Keep Trying’, for instance). They always had good guitarists, and on these versions main player Rik Bernard is joined by new member Simon Garlik. Paul Martin returns for one track, and appearing on backing vocals is (you guessed it) radio presenter Gael Ludlow.

GEOFF DUNN

NOFX Heavy Petting Zoo (Epitaph) They refuse to do interviews or release singles, and don’t make videos, yet Calipunks NOFX have sold over a million albums for Epitaph, combining with the Offspring and Rancid to make label owner (and Bad Religion guitarist) Brett Gurewitz a very wealthy man. On Heavy Petting Zoo, NOFX remain within the perimeters that defined their five previous Epitaph albums, and the

almost-hits ‘Beer Bong’ and 'Vegetarian Mumbo Jumbo’. Without a backward glance they ignore speed limits and the PC craze, to blast through a baker's dozen of sharp, pop-soaked punk tunes. NOFX go for that edgy, West Coast, post-hard-core feel — tight melody lines and punchy rhythms — but lead guy Fat Mike's bratty, childish voice, combined with a collective sense of humour based so firmly in the toilet, means they avoid being just another bunch of tight-ass Minor Threat wannabes. Musically this is all good rockin’ fun, real rough around the edges stuff, but every song is a story, and half are tales of woe that betray the invincible, anthemic vibe of the music. Sure, Fat Mike sings about sex with fat chicks, but he also covers alcohol as an escape, and soul destroying boredom, while the album’s top moment, ‘Drop The World', though fast and furious, deals with the heroin overdose of a friend.

Considering the flood of both good and bad punk records on the market right now, Heavy Petting Zoo boasts just the right blend of melody, pace, and sense, to ensure NOFX are at the peak of the pile.

JOHN RUSSELL

SUGGS i The Lone Ranger (Warners) Taking time out from Madness’ bloody 'Last Reunion Ever 1 concerts, lead singer Suggs has actually bothered to make an album this decade. (Un?)fortunately his cover of Supergrass’ ‘Alright’ is missing. And, hey, let me take a moment to turn into a slobbering, out of my head fanatic for a sec’, and say buy, buy, bu/Going Out’, make it Number 1! What a ba-loody great single from the Super Gs. Er, where was I? Oh, Suggs. Poppy? Most definitely, but then, so were

Madness. Trading in on his past? Of course he is, but then, it is the 90s. Opens with not a bad version of Tm Only Sleeping’, which - piss me off despite plundering my favourite Beatles album. It’s the best track here, actually. ‘Camden Town’, the single, bobbles along about Doctor Martins and squillions of tourists in said markets. The John Barry (or more likely, Portishead) influenced ‘Green Eyes’ is a ghostly dock ballet. And apart from the awful ‘Cecilia’ cover, Suggs hasn’t done a bad job of creating a comeback worth a listen. Without a ‘proper’ band it does sound a bit sterile, but half of the album has been produced by Sly and Robbie so it’s got its heart in the right groove

JOHN TAITE

MACHINES OF LOVING GRACE Gilt (Festival) Gilt reminds me of the first time I heard the textured fury and structured hooks of Pretty Hate Machine. It reminds me of the first* time I was hit by the pounding drums and pummelling guitars of Psalm 69. But Machines of Loving Grace have moved beyond the Ministry and Nine Inch Nails comparisons. Gilt is a move to a more live sound for the Machines. Whereas before they’d create on computers and convert it all to instruments for their live shows, this time they went into the studio with Tool producer Sylvia Massy to try for some ‘band’ grunt. And they’ve got it. Tracks like ‘The Soft Collision’ sound like post-Shihad Killing Joke, but there are still elements of their industrial heritage on board. Waves of static still wash over the proceedings, tracks like ‘Sonic Temple’ flip to codas of

drum machine groove, and hellish samples are provided by Einsturzende Neubauten. If Jim Carroll’s Basketball Diaries was set in late 90s, Machines would offer a bleak, frustrated soundtrack. 'Richest Junkie Still Alive’, ‘Casual Users’, ‘Suicide King’ and lyrics like, 'lt takes the fear away from me’, in 'Last [fucking time]’, all seem to point to the obvious. But their painful poetry, like, ‘her beauty spilled out across the highway like a brilliant trail of venom and diamonds', makes their songs worth a closer listen than most.

JOHN.TAITE

BLISTER Busted (Shock) INSURGE Speculator (East West REGURGITATOR Regurgitator (East West Three Australian second division bands gnawing at the fringes produce some welcome unpleasant surprises. Blister are best. Dressed as though Seattle shorts and black sneakers could get them a bit part in Singles, they redeem themselves by blasting out a likeable volley of third generation 90s punk on the seven-track Busted. On 'Axe to Grind’ they’re pissed off with the government, while on 'Cowboys in Rubber Gloves' they warn of the dangers of ‘riding bareback'. Whatever could they mean? On the darker side they take on incest on 'Eddie Monster’, then follow that by setting fire to Elvis’ ‘Suspicious Minds’. Perceptively dumb fun. Insurge are aiming at a slightly different (stock) market. Speculator is an all out attack on the capitalist notion of corporatisation, market speculation, the fostering of the rich at the expense of the poor, and the illusion of freedom in the

age of the new right. In other words, this should have been done by a New Zealand band. -Vocalist/guitarist/writer Chris Dubrow is like a nine inch nail in the head of the business world in the rousing, rasping ‘Speculator’ and ‘Not So Free’. It's great to hear passion and anger aimed at the complacent materialism of the post-modern world. It would be too hopeful to think that Insurge have started a revolution.

Meanwhile, Regurgitator's subversiveness on their self-titled mini-album comes from a different angle, and is more general in it’s invective. Ther's a Beefheartian narrative before buzzsaw guitars bring ‘Like it Like That's sex-as-consumerism into a more othodox fold. And the controlled cacophony of .‘Nothing to Say' makes an overdue point that most bands and most songs are indeed vacuous. That particular point would’ve been better made by a band with more substance than Regurgitator, but all up, this band is making its mark.

GEORGE KAY

BAD RELIGION All Ages (Epitaph) LAGWAGON Hoss (Fat Wreck Chords) Like it or not, this latest wave of punk is the one that’s made that big crossover into the public consciousness, and it’s going to be the stuff that influences many pre-teens into unwise hair colour and clothing decisions. LA’s Epitaph label can be blamed for a lot of this, and Bad Religion are pretty much responsible for Epitaph existing. The band's history is traced tidily on All Ages, which is a compilation of stuff from their five independant albums, although it features nothing from Into the Unknown, the ill-advised prog-rock outing. I get the feeling they like to be reminded of this as much as Al