albums

Rip It Up, Issue 225, 1 May 1996, Page 30

albums

CHANTS R&B Stage Door Witchdoctors (Zero Records) LA DE DAS LA DE DAS, 1965 TO 1967 (Zero Records) VARIOUS ARTISTS Wild Things Volume 2 (Zero Records) When the Chants R&B and the La De Das were the hottest music thing in Christchurch and Auckland respectively, they were taken very seriously indeed. They were fresh and on fire, and to those of their audience similarly infected by the blues/soul bug, they represented a conduit to more of that ‘real thing’. These releases are valuable, historical, thought provoking, occasionally overwhelming evidence of the power of New Zealand rock. The full impact of live performance is left to the recollection of those who might have been there, but the recordings here are, at their best, high-water marks for New Zealand popular music. The La De Das became very popular indeed, and few who have heard the Chants’ shredding of the John Mayall-Eric Clapton Tm Your Witchdoctor’ have', been left untouched by its sheer assault; . few records anywhere have such life-hanging-by-a-thread rush. ■. ; :' Both collections open with early tries that didn’t make a dent, but both groups were soon to score: the Chants with a respectful and respectable take on Otis Redding’s ‘l’ve Been Loving You Too Long’, and the La De Das with the fuzz-riff driven ‘How Is The Air Up There?’. Both, of course, are included. - • ,

The chants left behind less of a recorded legacy, but ‘Stage Door

Witchdoctors’ does include a couple of 1966 interview tapes made on the eve of the big move to Melbourne, where singer-guitarist-harpist Mike Rudd still practises music. The one with vocally rounded radio announcer (Radio Hauraki had yet to put to sea; ‘disc jockeys’ were years away) Murray Forgie is pretty priceless, and it is notable that in mentioning their ‘new record’, that the Chants acknowledge the sources of John Mayall and Graham Bond. The Jimmy Page practice of songwriting had yet to emerge in its full greedy unglory. In the area of songwriting, the flip of ‘Loving You Too Long’, ‘I Want Her’, by Rudd and drummersinger Trevor Courtney, while owing something to the ‘jazz poetry’ riffing of Van Morrison in Them days, rivals ‘Witchdoctor’ in its deranged edge. Previously unissued studio cuts show strong performances of songs by Van Morrison, the Pretty Things and a prison farm chorus; although the original field recording may have been filtered through Britishers like the Graham Bond Organisation, who were trying to mould similar material in their quest for that soul core. Aged tapes and dusty acetates make for some disconcerting sound blips here and there, but no undue tolerance is required, and this opens ears (mine included) to another great band burning bright, stranded in paradise (as John Dix so nicely put it). That these lost recordings see the light of day is a blessing. Things verge on the ‘no-fi’ for 12 tracks of live recordings at Christchurch’s Stage Door Club, home to the Chants, in 1966. Direct to one-track domestic tape recorder, states the liner note, so in the circumstances it’s a pretty good account

of what sounds like a good night. The mix of covers represents a cross section of the repertoire of those long-hairs actually taking ‘rhythm ’n’ blues’, as this cocktail of blues, soul and tough pop song was known, to the New Zealand audience. Songs come via the Yardbirds, John Mayall, the Pretty Things, Wilson Pickett, James Brown, John Lee Hooker and Larry Williams, all cranked out at an exhilarating pace (Too fast? It was live). While having no live tracks and no studio left-behinds, the La De Das CD has much of the band’s stage repertoire, mostly American soul songs, although some had already been touched by the British experience. The bass accents of ‘I Take What I Want’ derive from London’s Artwoods, rather than Sam and Dave, for instance; and 'I Put a Spell on You’ is filtered via Manfredd Mann, and is strong aural evidence of the influence on Kevin Borich of Paul Jones, just as Steve Winwood’s Ray Charles-isms were bedrock for Phil Key, the La De Das’ featured singer, but only one of four capable of taking a lead vocal. The stage stuff is a mix of Stax material, Small Faces, Otis Redding, Rufus Thomas, Young Rascals, Solomon Burke and so on, but the band was also writing for record. These originals started in the soul bag (the second single, the stopstart ‘Don’t Stand in My Way’, deserved a better hearing than it got), but became increasingly, even feyly, quasi-psychedel-ic (‘Rosalie’, ‘All Purpose Low’). Soon the La De Das would leave for Australia, and a new musical phase. What stands up best are the hits, the makeover of John Mayall’s ‘On Top of the World’, and, especially, ‘How is the Air Up There?’ — a New Zealand record to rival the Who’s ‘My Generation’ or the Rolling Stones’ ‘l9th Nervous Breakdown’. Wild Things Volume 2 is subtitled ’l6 monaural.blasts ofwyld kiwi garage pop, 1966-1968’. Silly spelling (‘sine of the tymes’, perhaps) aside, this is a bit of a stretch, including as it does such established, even hit-making acts as Ray Columbus, the Chicks, Larry’s Rebels, the Gremlins and the Pleazers. However, a case can be made that at this time most any New Zealand act with rock aspirations was likely to end up sounding as if they. had recorded in a grease pit. Aurally, this' stuff J sits well with the American .‘Nuggets’/’Pebbles’ collections — much fuzzed guitar, an edging towards the wilder end of the spectrum and, most encouragingly, a high proportion of original, if derivative, songs. Perhaps the biggest surprise for me was just how good Jay Epae’s ‘The Creep’ sounded — an insinuating stroll with soul; pretty cool, but mid-66 was getting a bit late for a ‘manufactured’ dance record. .

Congratulations and commendations to Zero Records and John Baker for making this music available again (and, in some cases, for the first time). Bring on the history of the Underdogs, but you’re probably working on that right now. Let’s hope. KEN WILLIAMS IGGY POP Naughty Little Doggie (Virgin) . The Iggster Jays down the guarantees for this album in the lyrics of the first song,' ‘I Wanna Live’, and what a . checklist it is (‘l’m better than a Pepsi I I’m cooler than MTV,’ and a stack more equally earned and bombastic boasts). He lives up to them ceaselessly, kicking ass in a way that proves his future will be far from ‘shuffling’. The Mighty White lays down the licks in a stinkily stellar fashion here, while elsewhere the guitar is handled occasionally by Iggy, and usually by his Fuckups band member Eric Mesmerise. Things soon get swingin’ for the album’s second and best track, the instantly classic ‘Pussy Walk’. Tempo and sentiment go throughvarying takes on the ‘up’ word from here — whether its the nostalgia tripping naivety in 'lnnocent World’, the angry ‘Knucklehead’, the longing which springs, from the gentle beginnings of ‘To Belong’, : and the chick mirage fantasy of ‘Keep on Believing’. Tying up this part of the package are ‘Outta My Head’ and ‘Heart is Saved' — the kind of song that makes you want to head for the nearest beer barn for a celebratory knees up with about 600 of your closest friends. Just a couple of songs start pretty and stay, that way, like the acoustic ‘Shoeshine Girl’, which is supplemented with the gently judged keyboards of Mr Wonderful. The wistful and reflective ‘Look Away’ is the perfect closer to an album by a guy who shouldn’t need to prove his place rock 'n' roll, even though he just again. BRONWYN TRUDGEON NOCTURAL PROJECTIONS Nerve Ends In Power Lines (Flying Nun) • In 1981 brothers Peter and Graeme Jefferies formed Nocturnal Projections in Stratford, Taranaki. At that time it’s doubtful either of them could have dreamt they would transcend their small rural town borders internationally through the music they made together, in the seminal This Kind of Punishment, and apart, through the Cake Kitchen, Cyclops ; and Plagal Grind, etc. What’s most surprising (not) is that a label from the other side of the planet, Raffmond (Germany),

would pick up the threads to a generally unknown chapter of NZ music history. Nocturnal Projections heralded Peter Jefferies' lyrical mastery and their broth-ers-grim version of optimistic pessimism, as witnessed on the sole love song(?) of this album, ‘Difficult Days’. This joins other top-of-the-class tracks including the bleak ‘You’ll Never Know’, and the doubting paranoia of ‘Could it be Increased?’ . / Musically, at worst, some tracks have dated, being heavily influenced as an alternative nation at the time by Joy Division, Wire etc.; while elsewhere Nocturnal Projections take the (first) post-punk sound, and breathe Taranaki frost into what at the time was the freshest carcass available in an otherwise disease ridden world of bovine rock. Of the previously unreleased songs (one cassette, one single and two EPs was the complete discography), ‘People Who Told Me’ and ‘No Problems Here’ ■ are both more indicative of Beard of Bees period TKOP, and ‘Restoration’ is pure completism. The biggest disappointment, however, is what's missing: the recorded conversation between two very estranged friends in ‘lsn’t That Strange?’, and the total mystery of ‘Out of My Hands’ (both from the first EP Another Year}, and two thirds of the final EP, Understanding Another Year in Darkness. However, as you’d pay well over SSO for the first single, I suggest this is a good starting point if you lack the vinyl, ’cause, as the title song says: ‘lt’s a long story — filled with glory.’ MAC HODGE OCEAN COLOUR SCENE Moseley Shoals (MCA) The debate over the virtues of originality versus imitation/retrogression has never been more sharply focused than in the last couple of years with the rise of Britpop, and in particular, Oasis. With Beatles worship emblazoned on their sleeves and saturating their songs, they’ve knocked down stylistic barriers to notch up universal appeal. So, what price originality? The Gallaghers favourite band is Ocean Colour Scene, and that’s no coincidence. Like Oasis, DCS haven’t borrowed from the awful 80s, or punk, they’ve reached right back to borrow from the. best, be it in guitarist Steve Cradock’s Hendrix licks on ‘You’ve Got it Bad', or on the full blooded, Redding inspired vocals of Simon Fowler on ‘The Riverboat Song’. Elsewhere '4O Past Midnight' recalls the ‘ knockabout confederate’ R&B of the Stones or the Faces,. as does the slow Southern drawl of ballads like ‘The Downstream’ or the smoulder-cum-holler

of ‘Get Away’. Techno/ambient/jungle/hip-hop and Tricky aside, it’s virtually impossible to discuss rock ,’n’ roll these days without referring to a lengthening and pervasive past that must influence most contemporary bands to varying degrees. It’s sufficient to say Ocean Colour Scene make the most of some of the most durable aspects of rock, to come up with a fine 90s brew that might even taste new to the current generation. GEORGE KAY STEVE EARLE I Feel Alright (Warners) It may sound like an over confident boast, but Earle's rock album ‘comeback’ is good enough to vilify its title. One of the finest and most underrated American songwriters of recent times (he was massive in Canada, less so in the States, as it turns out), Earle has unfortunately also insisted on enjoying the perennial trappings of the rock and roll star. Hence, his several busts for heroin and time in jail, but despite the stauch, look-you-in-the-eye swagger of the title track, much, of this album deals with Earle’s troubles with his addiction, the love of the woman who stood by him (Lou-Anne, to whom he dedicates / Feel Alright), whilst still stubbornly perfecting his hard living/o’utlaw image (check the self-explanatory ‘Hard-Core Troubadour’). At times things do get a little selfindulgent (does the world really need another song CCKMP about heroin?), but ‘More Than I Can Do’, 'Feel Alright’ and ‘You’re Still Standin’ There’ (sung with that other great lost talent, Lucinda Williams) are superb. Yet the finest track here is no doubt ‘Valentine’s' Day’ — a bad-boy-comes-clean love letter which would be a massive hit if sung by a smoother crooner, as Earle’s voice still sounds like gravel rattling round a tin. Fans should also check out Earle’s contribution to the Dead Man Walking soundtrack, on which he (by his own reckoning) contributes the best song he’s ever penned. GREG FLEMING STONE TEMPLE PILOTS Tiny Music... (Atlantic) Stone Temple Pilots’ ‘difficult third album’ (well, isn’t every album difficult?) sees them tread futher down the path they began charting with Purple, hence coming out an amazingly long distance from their debut, Core. From the eerily Doors-like instrumental intro of ‘Press Play’ (advice for stoners), to the beautiful Beach Boys vibe of ‘And So I Know’ (alright, I’m through with the comparisons, already), this is the journey of a band who have managed to mature in the face of very misguided media adversity and overkill record company marketing — don’t even get me started on-the stupid ‘grunge’ ping-pong ball that bounces between these two factions. Along the way Tiny Music... travels through much bittersweetness ('Adhesive Love’, 'Lady Picture Show’) and frustrated bar banter (‘Art School Girl’), some killer pop rock (‘Big Bang Baby’, ‘Trippin’ on a Hole in a Paper Heart’), and the kind of perfectly executed epics that know how to take you there, and bring you back again (‘Ride the Cliche’). If you handled the radical leap from Core to Purple happily, you’ll find this one sidling up to you with no worries whatsoever. This is a band whose albums only know how to peak. The only disappointment is that Tiny Music... is not coming out in our summer, so we could enjoy it in the spirit I am sure it was intended for. BRONWYN TRUDGEON MIKE JOHNSON Year Of Mondays (Tag) Mike Johnson’s second solo LP finds the Dinosaur Jr. bass player and urban golfer extraordinaire stepping out from the formidable shadow cast by Dino frontman, J Mascis. In fact, in a neat touch of role reversal, J assumes sideman duties here, playing drums and occasional bass, while Johnson does the singing and six-strang-thang. . So, what does a Jr. Dinosaur sound like when he's not at his day job? Well, not at all like Dinosaur Jr, that’s for damn sure. Johnson’s world-weary, melancholy baritone is more reminiscent of Leonard Cohen or Nick Drake than the keening

slacker drawl of J Mascis. Likewise, the sedate musical pace and folk hued instrumentation (with violin and acoustic guitar prominent), has little in common with the shambling freneticism and sheer volume of prime Dinosaur. Indeed, it’s not until the closing passage of the album’s third track that an electric guitar is used in anger. However Year of Mondays is not all moody, minor-key musings. ‘Circle’, with its nagging guitar riffery, rocks along nicely, while 'Eclipse' is a slow burning epic in the Neil Young mould. . MARTIN BELL VARIOUS ARTISTS Songs in the Key of X (Warner Bros.) Free actual X-File hidden in the copyright notes on the back! 'This compact disc does not fully conform with Phillips’ ‘Red Book’ specifications in that the ‘pregap’ may not play on all CD players.’ Where’s a technical advisor when you need one? Here I am, actually. By fiddling with your back tracking button right at the beginning of track one, you will break on through to the other side. Take it back to just over the nine-minute mark, and you’ll be mightily rewarded with the secret ‘o’ track by Nick Cave and the indescribably awesome Dirty Three, and another, which I’m guessing is the Dirty Three, doing far better things to the X-Files theme than the tragic closing PM Dawn remix does. Seeing this bunch of specially recorded toons is a complement to the coolest TV programme since Twin Peaks, it’s only fair that it features the coolest remake since Sonic Youth’s deconstruction of the Carpenters’ ‘Superstar’, by the coolest band since its frontman’s previous band, in Foo Fighters’ Gary Numan tribute ‘Down in the Park’. Nick turns up again with ‘Red Right Hand’, in some ways the catylyst for this whole album. Filter turn in the time warp sampling ‘Thanks Bro’. The man who could be the subject of an X-Files episode on the living dead, William Burroughs, does the vocals for REM’s 'Star Me Kitten’. That Frank Black is included should go without saying. So are the Meat Puppets, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, Danzig, Soul Coughing, Elvis Costello, Rob Zombie and Alice Cooper, and — aw, shit — Sheryl Crow. Now that really is incredibly strange, Scully. BRONWYN TRUDGEON FLYING SAUCER ATTACK Chorus (Domino) In the right state of mind (or with the right combination of drugs), you could truly believe Bristol’s Flying Saucer Attack are onto something special. Then again, you could think it was all a bunch of selfindulgent old toss. In reality (or, at least, FSA’s version of it), both viewpoints are equally valid. That's the problem with creating music from rolling, elliptical beds of fuzzed-out, wah-wahed, reverbed guitar, the occasional mumbled vocal, and even more occasional drumming. When you’re operating in that twilight zone between ambient and indie, using noise and incidental melody to create sonic sculpture as art, the conventions of most ‘popular’ music cease to be. a relevant reference point. And if that sounds like a bunch of pretentious critical twaddle, I can’t imagine FSA being so precious about it. On Chorus, a compilation of tracks from a John Peel session, and various other singles and obscurities, they’re just doing what comes naturally. For. the Saucers, that means creating music'from a unique perspective where many of the usual cues we listen for in music have been turned on their heads. Example: on most tracks the rhythm and melody are derived from the seemingly random collision of oscillating feedback and tone. The pulsing, reverbed delay, if not exactly a driving rhythmic force, at least provide some sort of framework from which FSA can cajole and harangue their noise into ‘songs’. Think the Jesus and Mary Chain heard through ears wrapped in layers of silk stockings. Think Dimmer at half speed with a pastoral west country accent. Think My Bloody Valentine with the speakers facing the wall and the listener in the room next door. Think ‘White Light/White Heat’ at the moment all the fuses blow. You're getting close. Now do you understand where the Saucers are coming from? The only question left to answer is whether you want to go along for the ride. MARTIN BELL

APE MANAGEMENT Simply the Beast (Zero) . Christchurch’s self-confessed 'exponents of scuzz rock’ have strapped on their pseudonymns and sucked down a couple of kegs to record ah album of fission powered, swampy blues funk and hard-nosed rawk ’n’ roll. All the essentials are delivered here — driving riffs, plenty of humour, buckets of lager lout vocal attitude from front-ape Rock Hardman, and primate-power-pounding from drummer Ken E Bear (who, if I'm not mistaken, used to beat banana skins for legendary Auckland rock monsters Supercar). Personal favourites are ‘You Really Lose Me’, and the dub version of ‘Groovier Than the 59th St Bridge Song’ included in the album’s six bonus tracks. Just the ticket if you’re a Frisbee groupee and only feel subhuman after the eighth can. DAVID HOLMES CRACKER The Golden Age (Virgin) . Whilst never a huge Cracker fan, I couldn’t help but be swayed by lyrics like: ‘What the world needs now is another folk singer I Like I need a hole in the head.’ Cracker’s (really main man David Lowery’s) was a tuneful cynicism — one not as powerful as, say, Greg Dulli’s from

the great Afghan Whigs, but then there weren’t too many records around where a belly-laugh might be an appropriate reaction. Cracker's third album, Kerosene Hat, sold a million copies, with the help of the acerbic (and bloody catchy) ‘Low’, and The Golden Age hopes to follow the example with ‘I Hate My Generation', which is lazy cynicism in anyone’s books. Nevertheless, things improve markedly on the country tinged ballad ‘Big Dipper’, which is just plain beautiful, as is the title track, which should be released immediately as a single. ‘Useless Stuff is a drunken autobiography that works, and the seven-minute epic ‘Dixie Babylon’ possesses a filmic sweep, . perfectly poised. Highly recommended. GREG FLEMING LUSH Lovelife (Cortex) Lush: ethereal vocals, loads of reverb, heavenly guitar, lightweight lyrics. Wrong! Forget the past. With Lovelife, Lush are reborn. It’s an album about two passionate and powerful women bashing out great guitar pop. Then it’s an album about the same women using their beauty and charm to full effect. Then it’s the two of them wallowing in glorious, inevitable pain. Because Lush is the lives of ,Miki Berenyi and Emma Anderson. And

Lovelife sounds like one (er, a love life, that is). It opens with the snarling single ‘Ladykillers', about sleazoids in Camden, which is a step on from Split s ‘Hypocrite’ — it’s even got an ‘I Love Rock ’n’ Roll’ handclap! Then ‘Heavenly Nobodies’ is like the best moments off Spooky rolled into one. There’s a duet with Pulp’s man of the moment, Jarvis Cocker. ‘Tralala’ is a sad, sexy little track, singing about wanting ‘all the people to know just who I am’. And then ‘Last Night’ is this evil, gluttonous smoothie, with slow acoustic guitar and violins; Lush at the height of their feminine powers. There are the typical moments of imperfection, ‘Runaway’ is dull, 'soo' is twee, and ‘The Childcatcher’ is a bit, urgh, folky. But where they used to be limp and lifeless, now they’re al dente and flavoursome. I never thought a Lush album would sound this good in 96. JOHN TAITE CHINA DRUM Goosefair (Mantra/Beggars Banquet) Quite fond of the geese are China Drum; a whole gaggle dons the front cover of their new album Goosefair, while a couple of pretty funky looking chicks make up the back cover. As for the music, we 11... it’s hard to tell

China Drum are a three-piece from

Northumberland who put a new spin on the easy listening format. It’s easy listening in the sense of being forgettable, devoid of any uniqueness or outstanding character. By the end of the 14 songs you’re neither excited nor annoyed by the sound of China Drum, purely because you haven’t even noticed you've been listening to it. If, like me, you make yourself listen, you may pick up signs of a. serious rock/indie nature. You may be reminded briefly of lesser moments of a Therapy? record. If you’re still concentrating you might... nope, sorry, my mind drifted towards the paint drying on the house next door. Nice geese though. DOMINIC WAGHORN CAST All Change (Polygram) Well, I’ve got no idea what Noel Gallagher sees in them. John Power used to be in the Las, only he didn’t sing. Cast is John’s new band, and he sings in this annoying nasally whine that just gets on my tits. And it’s not that the songs are all that bad — for 1974 — but this is the type of banal English guitar pop that gave English guitar pop a bad name. So, forget Cast, they don’t even deserve the rest of this review. Try the Bluetones, they’re the real band of the moment. Yeah, I know Learning to Fly

was reviewed last month, but these are great songs we’re talking about here, they deserve every mention they get. Love and revenge surrounded by the best melodic songcraft since Oasis (oh, and while we’re, on Oasis, ’Whatever’ has finally been released here — hope we get the video, ha, ha). The irony is that everybody complains about England’s hype machine, but when an album as strong and as brilliant as Learning to Fly arrives without the hoopla, it's overlooked. The Bluetones are it. Buy the album, you won’t be disap-. pointed. As for Cast, well, lets hope the Las reform and John Power keeps away from microphones. ■ ■ JOHN TAITE HUNK . Hunk (Geffen) Good Lord, we sure do have something quite terrible here. This is the debut album from New York four-piece Hunk, who obviously see the age of 70s prog- , rock as in need of a stonking good revival. In the accompanying bio they name-check bands like Led Zep and Queen as having major influence on each of them. Sure enough, the 11 songs on this album all either nod in the direction of these ‘classics’, or, more often, sound like discarded B-sides of the bands themselves.. The guitar solos and melodramatic emotion of their idols comes through in Hunk’s songs, but that isn’t really enough. Queen had campness to burn, : and Led Zep... well, Led Zep had Led, Zep. Hunk have a collection of cliched rock songs that wouldn’t sound out of place in a rock musical piss-take. The knob twiddling, led by Gumball singer Don Fleming, merely exaggerates the ridiculousness of it all. , Barge-pole material. ■ DOMINIC WAGHORN ALL YOU CAN EAT Manga/On Ouef (One Foot Records) ’ San Francisco punk band All You Can Eat follow-up their 1995 kd lang tour of New Zealand with the somewhat belated * release of both their albums on CD. If you * saw any of their 94 or 95 shows, you’ll have a fair idea of what to expect — up tempo West Coast punk, with huge does of humour, personal politics and, most . importantly, songs about AYCE’s favourite topic, food. , , The first disc, Manga (featuring an ever changing rhythm section), is more like a compilation of singles than a consistent album. Loaded with 20 tracks, it

definitely offers not only value for money, but also manages to show how diverse AYCE’s sound can be. From straightahead Californian punk, to the wonderfully melodic 'This Die Cast Metal Has Life’, they stay catchy without sounding poppy, and manage to tackle current social problems without reducing their argument to an 'Us vs. Them’ mentality. AYCE toured the world, then got down and recorded album two. On Ouef is a more coherent affair, sounding a lot tighter and more focused. The lyrical content takes on a slightly more serious note, although an abundance of humour still shines through. I really was amazed at just how much energy AYCE have managed to capture on these two releases, and they’ve managed to do it without the aid of a producer. Grab yourself a copy,' and don't be scared if you’re possessed with the desire to climb the walls, stand on your head, or just bust a move with the College Hill Crew. I’m sure AYCE won’t mind providing the soundtrack. • > . ’ ’ ‘ BRENDAN ROSS CLAIRE’S UN NATURAL TWIN Crackpot (Yellow Bike) A mix of live to air bowel catharthis and fuck-you-we-record-on-four-track material from former angry Lung man Dave White and Froit Head vocalist Claire Pannell. Sounds like they had a real ball making this here rekkid, and there are certainly a few smiles to be had as the listener wanders through their rough hewn aural outhouse. But do I want to hear about young Claire’s monthly genital blood expeirence? Nah. I may insert morphine suppositories in the anus of my neighbour’s beagle every four weeks, but it’s not the kind of detail I would immortalise on plastic. Sounds like under nourished Fatal Jelly Space. In its defence, Crackpot does have some material that stands up to a second listen. ‘Learning to Live With Napalm’, ‘Scrossics’, and especially ‘Bits of My Speech’,- all work. It’s just a shame , about the other' stillborn numbers that should never have left the practice womb. * DAVID HOLMES THE GARDENING ANGELS Inflorscence (Hair Shirt Music) There is a pivotal moment in the song ‘False Start’ where the narration describes ‘catching a . raindrop on your tongue’. Now, for those unfortunate enough not to have a millimetre of romanticism within their nature, this may appear a throwaway line. But to these earholes, those few sim-

pie words came like petals on bare skin on an early summer morn’. Sorry to get all Jane Austen on ya, but the Gardening Angels have released an album to melt even the hardest gun fighter. Sweetly compelling and inviting, watch your stereo turn into a fireplace at the touch of ‘play’.

Opening with the instrumental ‘Silverfish’, a tune which showcases surf and pop, ending with a drunk blues fall/finale, it sets off a pattern the rest of the album follows. Although first and foremost a pop album, the grandfather genre is country. There are tinges on ‘Perennial One’ and ‘Kimberly’, but all the sweet pop, Saturday afternoon sentiments are blown out the window by Angel Song' a crazed romp through bayou and across plain in search of a meaningful good time. ‘False Start' and 'Shoes’ are not dictionary-definition country tunes, but they convey exactly the, same feeling as a great honky-tonk outburst. . Inflorescence forces you into a ‘thrash to death’ mode, but it will stick, and it will grow. r .. DONALD REID GOLDEN SMOG Down By the Old Mainstream (Festival) A ’roots supergroup’, if you will, Golden Smog consists of members of Soul Asylum, the Jayhawks, Uncle Tupelo, Run Westy Run and Honeydogs — all members complete with pseudonyms to avoid the wrath of their respective record companies. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, right? Well, Down By the Old Mainstream isn’t. It’s a winsome, light-hearted and sometimes great (check the version of the Faces’ ‘Glad and Sorry’) album, that brings to mind all those record stores stacked full of tatty, torn, vinyl copies of Grievous Angel, Harvest and Eight Miles High. And not only lawyers should note that songs like -Nowhere Bound’ (sung by someone sounding very suspiciously like Dave Pirner) and .‘V’ possess more chart troubling potential than many tracks on the ' members’ last ‘real’ albums. GREG FLEMING SHARON STONED License to Confuse' (Enemy Records) Lovely stuff for Lemonheads fans... but don’t be fooled into thinking this is Evan Dando’s band, despite the fact his name is ostentatiously listed under ‘featuring’ on the back cover (along with Lou Barlow and Sylvia Juncosa’s), and that it looks suspiciously like his gorgeous mug adorning the acuta! disc (even though it’s

a little hard to make a positive ID when he’s got a hole in his motherfucking head). This is not to imply these guests are a poor selection, as they prove worth their weight in Bolivian Marching Powder (check Lou’s resignation replete vocals on ‘Some’ as Exhibit A for the defense), albeit to an entirely different effect. The core of Sharon Stoned actually consists of old Speednigs Mark Kowarsch and ‘Krite’-Uhe, and I think you’d have to have a real heart of darkness not to be down with them. I just get that warm fuzzy-cum-give me my duvet and let me suck my thumb feeling the Lemons used to give me off this album. The one exception to this rule is the final listed track (incidentally, there’s also a secret one that gives Ev’ another go on the mic’ to reprise his lovely - ‘Special Plan’), ‘Johanna’ — which I hope is the deepest sound of a man suffering I’ll ever have the heart shredding opportunity to bear witness too, but I need it just the same. BRONWYNTRUDGEON DEADSTAR Deadstar * (White) If you’re one of the lucky few who managed to acquaint themselves with the dangerously divine sounds of the Plums before they discorporated, you’ll be pleased as punch to discover their, singer/songwriter, Caroline Kennedy, is back on her trail of temptation terrorism with Deadstar. Hunter and Collector Barry .Palmer, and his old Harem Scarem/Crown of Thorns bandmate/current Crowded Houser Peter Jones wrote the core of these tracks, and Caroline put her singularly special stamp to the proceedings with the lyrics and vocals. . The result is as gorgeous as the Plums’ Gun, if somewhat less dark in the atmospherics department. The music veers between blistering pop and some weir judged, less-is-more grinders. The brooding ‘Sister’ and ‘Apologie’ are the finest examples of the latter, while in the former case, ‘Valentine’s Day’ is one of the dandiest. examples of the threeminute, wonder you could ever wish to hear. It bursts from nowhere, laying down great lines like: ‘I think you’re great ’cause everybody knows you I All the girls in high school want to blow you,’ takes in a fleeting new tempo teaser that makes you want to rip your heart out like a starstruck teenybopper, then buggers off at the 2.59 mark, leaving you wondering if it really could’ve happened. And that’s only the finest example of an album which is truly worth crawling across hot coals for. Sure, that’ll hurt,' but then you’ll have the perfect music to lick your wounds by .— and it’ll feel real good, in a sadistic kinda way. BRONWYN TRUDGEON

SNUFF J , . Demmamussabebonk (Fat Wreck Chords) And no, repeated listenings of this release from California punk-pop band Snuff hasn’t shed any light whatsoever on what that wacky album title means. It might mean: ‘A good bunch of punk tunes that are head and shoulders above other Cal-punk outfits.’ Or maybe it means: ‘We love the Buzzcocks so much we thought we’d release a bunch of fuzz infected three-minute anthems, just like they were doing 15-odd years ago.' Either definition would fit comfortably. Demmamusssabe - bonk is an impressive bag of tricks from a band who manage to rock their arses off, but still maintain some tunefulness throughout. From the frantic opener, ‘Vikings’, this album packs in song after song of noisy, pop excellence. Many of the tracks will pass as suitable sing-along anthems for the ' green-hair brigade, and the album could sit on the- shelf happily next to Green Day? Rancid et al. But there seems to be a little more substance with Snuff, and hopefully a little more durability. Whether that’s the case is yet to be seen, especially since Snuff seem likely candidates for a major label pick-up. Meanwhile, Demmamussabebonk will do nicely, ta. DOMINIC WAGHORN MEKONS AND KATHY ACKER . Pussy, King of the Pirates (Quarterstick) Not so much a spoken book as the musical interpretation of Ms Acker’s latest novel, the heart-warming post-mod-ern tale of a crew of lesbian pirates. The music is provided by the Mekons, and is suitably strange, veering from sea shantyesque through to a quite scary folk-disco thing, with samples and loops all over everything. In between all this is Kathy Acker reading chunks from the novel which bear some relation to the songs, and give the whole thing a tenuous sort of narrative? It all makes far more sense if you read the book (which, is well worth the effort), but it’s still a pretty interesting ride as an album, courtesy of the Mekons managing to sound as twisted and atmospheric as Kathy Acker’s prose, and there’s a great S Clay Wilson cover to top it all off. ' KIRK GEE DANCE HALL CRASHERS Lockjaw (BMG) . . No, it’s not a compilation of reggae tracks, as the title might suggest. Dance Hall Crashers are a North Californian fourboy, two-girl combo who sound like

they're doing a bunch of Shonen Knife songs — but, like, not at all . taking the piss, like. They say they just want to have fun, but this grumpy prick for one isn’t finding much to laugh at. Their album cover is full of goofy art and bright colours, and their bio talks about people needing to 'lighten the hell up’. So, how come I’m not smiling? Maybe it’s the song topics: ‘Queen for a Day’ is about creepy record executives, ‘We Owe’ about financial problems, and ‘Enough’ looks at tortured relationships. Hardly laugh-a-minute material. : . There's no denying the pedigree of DHC. Two members, Tim Armstrong and Matt Freeman, are in Rancid, and when DHC formed way back in 1989, they were both in influential ska/punk act Poison Ivy. Which makes it all the more discouraging to hear this bubblegum pop. The ska riffs are there, but because they’re hidden so deep below the saccharine sweet tunes and girlie-vocals, courtesy of Elyse Rogers and Karina Denike, there ain’t much to chew on. Disappointing. • - DOMINIC WAGHORN BAZOOKA Cigars, Oysters and Booze (SST) CONFRONT JAMES 111 Gotten Hatred (SST) Two albums that give you a pretty good idea of how one of USA punk rock’s most legendary labels. has made a successful progression into the 90s. First up, Bazooka, an instrumental trio who are what comes of punkers taking on free jazz. Cigars, Oysters and Booze is a live album that shows the band in their element, getting a vicious sound, but managing to stay fluid and stylish all the while. They’ll hap-, pily quote Coltrane one moment, then let ex-Saccharine Trust genius Jack Brewer bust out some very odd improv’ vocals the next, which makes for an interesting ride and keeps you guessing. It’s just a shame they didn’t include their live rendition of Edgar Winter’s ‘Frankenstein’. Confront James, however, is a whole different barrel of monkeys. This is the latest project for the very busy Mr Greg Ginn, and it’s a doozy. The sound is something like a very heavy Devo/Suicide electronic thing (the drums are electronic, with real percussion layered in over the top), while Ginn goes right ahead and proves why he’s one of the few exceptional guitarists to emerge from punk rock. The guy is downright ferocious, tossing out napalm guitar and making vocalist Richard Ray really work for his money. It’s dense and unrelenting but, like most of SST’s output ■ over the years, well worth the effort. ’ . KIRKGEE

BUTTERGLORY Are You Building a Temple in Heaven? (Merge) Variously hailed as the saviours of underground rock and the new messiahs of whispered cool, Butterglory appear from television stage left — that is to say, you won’t find them nestled next to your average punk-by-numbers or funk-by-cucumbers video on Lax TV. Very refreshing and I wonder how long it can last? To give you a little insight on why Lou Barlow rates them better than Pavement, this album of religious dedication to musical introversion crosses all the old railway tracks of elitist fringe rock — whether it’s the snappy weird pop of ‘Sit In The Car’, or the genuinely eerie piano chording of 'Boy Burning Down’, Butterglory nod gently to their heroes/peers throughout Are You Building a Temple in Heaven? More directly, you could surmise from ‘On Button On’ that the early Clean influenced their arrangement and (non-)pro-duction, and ‘Rivers’ takes a side swipe at the Velvets’ ‘Sister Ray’. They do the Chills better than Martin’s session musos to date in ‘The Halo Over Your Head (Turned Out to be Haunted Instead)',.a truly sublime effort. Despite the r ’n’ r copy book being severely dog-eared these days, a fresher approach would be hard to find. Do us all a favour and buy four copies so we can see their videos wedged into prime time. MAC HODGE CIBO MATTO Viva La Woman (Warners) Don’t ask, who? Just shut up and listen. Viva La Woman is the smoothest, slickest trip hop excursion since Tricky’s Maxinquaye. And it’s the coolest hip-hop album since the Beasties’ 111 Communication. And it’s the most dreamy, freaky, funky, cooley CD of the year so far. I’ll explain. Miko Hatori and Yuka Honda are two hot Japanese tamales who’ve spent the last decade soaking up New York’s eclectic and experimental musical madness. They've got an ear for what’s hot; a jet engine here, drunken trumpet solos there, bossa nova, beats that aren’t so much laidback as much as they’re sprawled all over the couch. And they rap in this Japanese spiced, broken English. Every listen takes you deeper into their world. The album opens with the appetiser, ’Apple’, incorporating the sounds of ancient Japan with 90s New York trash culture; chimes and a traditional vocal wash over this crazy backwards violin sample, gurgling tone and stoned guitar riff. Yes, very Bladerunner. ‘Beef Jerky’ screams out: ‘Who cares? 1 1 don't care I A horse’s ass is better than yours.' ‘Sugar

Water’, (the track Mike D is going to remix) has this female lounge warble like something out of the original Star Trek, and when the la, la, la chorus hits you and the acoustic guitar loop kicks in, well, it’s time to boldly float where no one has gone before. Punk, salsa, lounge, trip-hop, sci-fi big band. Welcome your ears to another world. Album of the month, without a doubt. Oh, and you pronounce their name ‘Chee-bo Motto’; it’s Italian for food crazy. JOHN TAITE THE FOLK IMPLOSION Take a Look Inside (Communion) The seriously prolific Lou Barlow, well into his second half of a century wicket of post-Dinosaur. Jr. releases, teams up musically here with partner John Davis, described by his record label as the epitome of ‘it takes a tough man to be sensitive’. Of course, aside from musical pedigree, this combo and its deluxe model will be' familiar to those who have beared witness to the paedophiliac celluloid masterpiece that is Kids. This slab contains 14 toons, eight of which are lifted from their first cassette release through the UK’s Chocolate Monk label. For the uninitiated, this is not a 'napalm noise terror death speed hard metal core’ extravaganza, but 22 minutes of doodles recorded in John’s room on Mondays and Tuesdays between 8.30 AM and 4PM, mixed at the infinitely cool Fort Apache. Briefly then, ‘Waltzing With Your Ego’ manages to come across as a nigh on epic (in two minutes and one second, flat!), in an early B-525, jagged guitar kinda way. There’s the usual assortment of Lou Barlow’s lyrical muscle, as on the title track where he speculates on judgement day... ‘On my knees before the angels cut me open and take a look inside,’ sung with an incredibly cheesy, 60s pop melody — clever bastard! The ‘Number 1 with a bullet’ track has to be the last song, aptly titled ‘Start Again’, and at this length you can get to hear that particular masterpiece three times during an episode of The X-files you boring bugger! MAC HODGE LOTION Nobody’s Cool (Cortex) Lotion are a couple of New Yorkers armed with guitars and brains. Imagine if J Mascis wasn’t so slack, and if the passion of Dinosaur Jr.’s guitars spilled over into the lyrics and vocals. Not that they sound like Dinosaur Jr. all that much (apart from the heart pounding pacer, ‘Dear Sir’), I’m just talking about the passion and the precision. To these guys, guitars are a moodswinging indicator of

how they get though the madness of reality, and the vocals are fire escapes to their souls. There are no band names on the album or the bio, so I'll just say that Mr Lotion’s vocals are a mixture of one part Michael Stipe, one part Evan Dando, and two parts Bob Mould. But then again, 'The Enormous Room’ is a nod to the Red House Painters. Er, I guess, I just mean they sound very American — but in a good way. There’s a definite sense of Bostonian songcraft to them, even though they’re from New York, and they sure know how to get you to listen. They’re striving to keep your ears open. Even a weaker track like ‘Blind For Now’ has five seconds of genius, where this church bell effect comes from out of nowhere and makes you listen some more. It’s like they’re saying: ‘Bear with us for a minute, give it a chance.’ They’re fiddling with the formulas and keeping themselves interested. Nobody’s cool, but Lotion are close. JOHN TAITE THE GLANDS OF EXTERNAL SECRETION Northern Exposure Will Be Right Back (Starlight Furniture Company) From the bowels of an extraterrestrial space craft, chameleon munching, mad scientist kidnapping, schizophrenic, three-eyed inter-galactic loonies bash out a cacophony of short wave radio transmissions, to amuse each other and the few earthlings capable of understanding what all the noise is about. Behind all the chaos there are moments of serenity, even beauty (after two minutes ‘Space Needle’ takes the form of the 3Ds, stops to chat about cement, then returns to the regular 3Ds program again). ‘Pat the Bunny’ is simultaneously soothing and discomforting, wherein you can thrill to the sounds of a percussive fur ball coughing cat called Little Kuck (talented little fucker!). My fave, though, is the high speed playback of the severely malfunctioning refrigerator. 5 To summarise: Piloted by the usually sedate Barbara Manning and Seymour Glass, crewed by the unique Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, as well as Vomit Launch, Wank et al, this ship is powered courtesy of various tape loops and layerings from 1979 to 1994. It contains 50 percent ‘Revolution Number 9’ bites, and 50 percent visceral ‘band’ things. Definitely for those of you who want to be physically and mentally challenged; and what the hey, as ‘Reality is Contraception’ says... 'We’re all going to die / It makes you happy, doesn’t it?’

MAC HODGE