albums

Rip It Up, Issue 232, 1 December 1996, Page 27

albums

PRINCE Emancipation (NPG/EMI) If you have to name reasons for the collapse of Prince’s relationship with his former label Warner Bros, the primary reason was probably the failure of ’ Prince’s , Paisley Park label. Commonly known by the term ‘vanity label’, an artist’s label is usually considered as a mere indulgence by a major corporation. In its time Paisley Park released cool flops by Sheila E, Madhouse, Jill Jones, George Clinton, Mavis Staples, and Mazerati. The accumulated Paisley Park losses were reportedly in the tens of millions and probably Prince found he had to pay. the bill from his own artist royalties. No wonder he tried a bullshit name change. The distance between the corporate world and Prince’s world proved too great for him to continue his relationship with the' Warner Bros label. With Emancipation Prince still remains securely distant from both the corporate world and reality as we know it. Some consumers will value a three hour baptism in his reality but many would prefer a less challenging listening experience. What happened to the days when R&B records had two sides, 15 minutes each — one labelled Dancin’ and one labelled Romancirr’. Times were simpler then (You may have only had to keep one side of the record clean). With Emancipation, Prince mixes Dancin’ and Romancin' up while achieving new career highs in both grooves. You’d need a multi-disc player to achieve the ultimate funk-over-load programming of these discs, but Disc 2 has a clear, probably purposeful Romancin’ bias.

Best of the fast or funky numbers are ‘Jam of the Year’, ‘Get Yo Groove On', and 'We Gets Up’, from Disc 1, and a bit of a screamer ‘Joint 2 Joint’

right smack in the middle of Disc 2, and from Disc 3, ‘New World’, ‘The Human Body’, ‘Face Down (Dead Like Elvis)’, ‘Sleep Around’, and appropriately ‘Emancipation’ cooks. The Romancin'groove is best represented on Disc 2 by ‘One Kiss at a Time’, ‘Soul Sanctuary’, ‘Curious Child’, ‘Dreamin’ About U’, and the beauty of ‘The Holy River’, ‘Let’s Have a Baby’, and ‘Saviour’. On Emancipation there are several nods to the past — Sly Stone on ‘Sex in the Summer’, blaxploitation film themes on ‘Style’, a big band groove on ‘Courtin’ Time’, and the Enio Morricone vibe of ‘The Plan’, and vintage sweet soul vocal style is acknowledged with covers of two songs originally recorded by the Stylistics and the Delfonics.

Three discs means prolific to me, and prolific means Prince is one of the few contenders in modern music for embalming in the category ‘genius’. But that’s a silly word to throw around due to its association with dead people. Here we get a very big dose of Prince’s insular take on reality. There’s plenty for all groovers here, too much plenty, maybe. And remember, like bogan rock albums, Prince moves you best if you play loud! MURRAY CAM MICK DIRTY THREE Horse Stories (Anchor & Hope) It’s one of life’s cruel hiccups that often the most beautifully gifted artists exhibit the extremes of loser behaviour. Last month, while the Dirty Three were on tour in the USA, Warren Ellis OD’d before being revived, thus in one foul action, almost depriving this world of future servings from one of the most crucial rock groups of the 90s.

Horse Stories is the Melbourne instrumental trio’s third album, a collection of remarkable tunes that sees them come across with the energy and swagger of a garage band, and the grace and power of a fully decked-out orchestra. Ellis on violin, against a backdrop of drummer Jim White’s characteristically inhuman tempos and rhythms, and guitarist Mick Turner’s sympathetic distorted guitar, works quiet, folkish melodies into crescendodrenched, sonic improvisations that stretch and strain to the point of trauma. The overall mood is one of melancholy and demented angst, laced with the occasional moment of sweetness, as heard to particular effect on ‘Sue's Last Ride’, and the tortured beauty of Horse Stories' most affecting song, ‘Hope’. Where Dirty Three truly excel is in their ability to express a range of moods within one sprawling composition. ‘I Remember a Time When You Once Used to Love Me’ explores the absolute limits of despair, elation, and fear, while the mourning and despondency pouring from the album’s closer, ‘I Knew it Would Gome to This’, makes it painful to hear. With Horse Stories, Dirty Three effortlessly drag you, with or without your permission, right into the centre of their moody existence. And once there, no one could doubt their unmistakable majesty. JOHN RUSSELL THE MUTTON BIRDS Envy of Angels (Virgin) It’s only taken the Mutton Birds three albums to become an institution. Come to think of it, it only took them one really, but they never rested in the warm antipodean haze formed around ‘Nature’ and ‘Dominion Rd’, and with

Envy of Angels they have added more dimension to their entity. The joy of Don McGlashan’s writing is in his ability to take a single image, reference, or thought and turn it into a more encompassing creation; as in the case of the single ‘She’s Been Talking’, situations might only be a single pin prick of memory, yet he manages to force them into everybody's here and now. ‘Trouble With You’ and ‘Ten Feet Tall’ both get inside the listener, as if offering an insight we shouldn’t be privy to — and it is relished, but we feel ashamed.

Musically, the Mutton Birds are forever solid, purring like the engine of your Triumph. Forever within the comfort zone — but never too close to take it for granted. JESSE GARON

JOHNNY CASH Unchained (American) You don’t even have to listen to this (but you’re a sad fool if you don’t) to know Johnny’s gone the second-to-last step towards conquering the tastes and claiming the hearts of everyone with a soul on the face of this earth. With covers ranging from Soundgarden’s ‘Rusty Cage’, like you ain’t never heard it played before — featuring one of those dirty tempo changes that makes you damn near poo your pants, and sounding like it was written with Cash in mind when you can actually make out the lyrics — to standards like ‘l’ve Been Everywhere’ and ‘Memories are Made of This’, I’m loathe to mention a standout. However, I will say, one track is never gonna be enough when an album opens with the kind of slow burning, soul-searing take on Beck’s

‘Rowboat’ this one does. And when a supporting cast includes Flea, half of Fleetwood Mac, Tom Petty and a bunch of his Heartbreakers, and Sylvia Massey engineering, you just know the teenagers are gonna be kneeling at this altar alongside their parents and grandparents. He may .be no saint, but wouldn’t you rather your kids worshipped the Man in Black than the Red Wiggly One, mums and dads? Face it, if he’s still penning songs about everlasting love the likes of ‘Meet Me in Heaven’, he can’t be so bad (even if he is bad, in a gettin’ real gone kinda way on plenty of other tracks here, kids). All I wanna know is when they’re gonna start teaching these tunes in primary schools, so Cash can truly conquer the generation gap, and ensure himself a spot in the consciousness of generations to come. BRONWYN TRUDGEON TOOL Aenima' ■ (Zoo) In 1993, Tool dragged progressive rock into the alternative arena with their album Undertow. Their tonally dynamic epics, infused with dispassionate precision and obtuse intellectual mysticism, dealt a wounding blow to a genre rapidly collapsing under the weight of ham-fisted recyc-riffs and second-hand Seattleisms. Although they’ve lost a bass player somewhere along the way, 1996 sees the rebirth of Tool — sound and attitude intact — with the sprawling opus of Aenima, which will undoubtedly inflict as much collateral damage on the bland alternative landscape as its predecessor did. All the ingredients that made the last album so intense are here, though this time round it’s more fluid and orchestrated, and very long — there’s even an intermission half way through (perhaps the comparative brevity of cuts like ‘Stinkfist’ — not ‘Skinfist’ as Max TV have, decided — indicate intended singles, so just wait tor the fun when Max have to rename ‘Hooker With a Penis’). '■ Of course, this is not an easy listening experience. The negative charge of Aenima creates an atmosphere so stifling and claustrophobic, the pockets of breathing space given by the breakdown sections are a welcome respite from the overall air of nervous tension. Still, the uncomfortably sinister vibe remains throughout — it’s as if they’ve scored a residency as the'in-house band somewhere in Hell. . The only problem may be the future

— how far can Tool take their dark brand of prog rock, before it disappears up the same passage 70s prog went? TROY FERGUSON STRAWPEOPLE Vicarious (Sony) Yes, it’s easy to say it’s not the same since Tierney left, but to be honest, there isn’t much change here. Early 90s, adult-oriented, electronic fruit punch is what they excel in, and that’s exactly what we get. Not so much easy listening as easy to listen too. Fiona McDonald’s vocals glisten as usual — blah, blah, blah. And with Casserly striding through media ligs like a drunken Colossus, it’s hardly surprising he's picked up a few late night listening trends. ‘Spoiler’ has a very lounge ‘ba-be-da-be-dup’ chorus, and ‘Somebody Else’ has a rather ugly attempt at a drum and bass loop. True to its name, Vicarious is packed full of knowledge, but lacking in actual experiences. There’s a sickly sophisticated comfiness, that longs for Cognac and Cubans and maintaining the lifestyle to which it has become accustomed. New Zealand’s Pet Shop Boys have become New Zealand’s Pet Shop Boy and Girl With Too Much Mascara — which unfortunately, doesn’t sound nearly as catchy. JOHN TAITE GEORGE CLINTON Greatest Funkin’ Hits (Capitol) George Clinton has a habit of changing names (more successfully than Prince) to weasel out of record contracts — to Warners he was Funkadelic, to Polygram he was Parliament, and to Capitol he was George Clinton. Somehow George has got tracks owned by most of the above record companies, recorded under most of the above names, and given them the once-over lightly remix treatment, and sold it to one of the above record labels. Clever, considering he also sold a new album to Sony this year, and gave Prince’s Paisley Park two lemons earlier this decade. But Greatest Funkin’ Hits is a winner all the way, with Parliament grooves ‘Flashlight’ (guests Q-Tip, Busta Rhymes) and ‘Mothership Connection’ sounding better than ever. ‘Bop Gun’ with Ice Cube is here and George’s great solo stuff from the ‘Atomic Dog’ period gets reshuffled. -

Who else could walk out of McDonalds inspired by the phrase, ‘Do Fries Go With That Shake’, and then sell it to the world? George should be appreciated (or arrested) for creating yet another PFunk indulgence that the addicted have to own. And this collection is also a good intro to the mind of the master trickster of funk. MURRAY CAMMICK KORN Life is Peachy (Epic) Korn, eh? Bunch of adults still trying to come to terms with their schoolyard tormentors; recommend some Axl Rose style therapy. Could get some songwriting mileage out of those hypnotherapy sessions. No? Oh, well. Seems a bit strange to claim to be ‘underground’ when your last album went Gold-going-on-Platinum, and that’s in the States alone! Although Korn’s heinously detuned sound is now claimed as inspiration by acts such as Sepultura (who even went so far as to use Korn producer Ross Robinson), the lyrics all concentrate on some ambiguous, overblown ‘bad experience’ buried in the past. Perhaps some people just aren’t able to get over those humiliations and move on. I mean, Tool dwell on some pretty negative topics, but at least there’s some redemption there, some light to escape the dark. But with Korn it’s all about wallowing in the sick, depraved world, without the ability to see the good. Musically, it’s superb: meaty riffs so far down the guitars don’t sound like guitars, and the rhythms are spot on. Even the vocals are cool, if you ignore the content. Sure, it’s mighty aggro and in yer face, but in an ugly, antagonistic, misguided way — like some nutter gatecrashing your twenty-first and killing all your friends. Know wot I mean? GAVIN BERTRAM MAKAVELI the don illuminati the 7 day theory (Death Row) Tupac’s alter ego Makaveli is loosely based around the Italian political theorist Niccolo Machiavelli, who believed in the theory of governing determinedly, and indifferently to moral considerations. Think about that for a while and you can see how it might start to relate to the hip-hop gangsta’s mind-set. The album starts with an intro claiming several New York rappers (BIG, Nas, Mobb Deep) are involved in a conspiracy to assassi-

nate Makaveli. Tupac then mocks their challenge before several shotgun blasts open the album. Hence, subsequent events sound like one of the more sickening cases of life imitating art, and succinctly demonstrate the stupidity at the core of gangsta rap. For all its political pretensions, the seven day theory is not a particularly engrossing album. The beats are fairly standard G-funk grooves, admittedly containing more drama and tension than most West Coast head nodders. Tupac was a talented young man with too much to prove and to much to live up to. Thug life will get you in the end. ANDY PICKERING NIRVANA From the Muddy Banks . of the Wishkah \ ’ (Geffen) ' Nirvana only played New Zealand once, by all accounts failing to prove the often bandied about ‘greatest live band in the world’ kinda rumours. Consequently, anyone who shelled out their hard-earned to witness that performance will be pleased to learn this album digs up those rumours and refiles them as facts. It features performances of a veritable ‘Best Of’ spanning Nirvana’s brief but brilliant existence, played like they knew there was no tomorrow. The ‘lntro’ kicks things off in prophetic style, when some band mumblings are blown to bits by the kind of scream usually saved for the point where a person goes off the deep end (I’ve heard the likes before, usually around the time people start running around with their pants down, or just as they do a swan dive from a mezzanine balcony at a gig). The smooth style changing of ‘Aneurysm’ makes it almost ass-kickingly close to everything a song ever needs to be, taking you round the world metaphorically (or literally, if you’ve seen the aptly patched together video version). All that’s missing is the tender side of Kurt’s vocals, for which you can turn to ‘Heart-Shaped Box’. - Nirvana won’t be touring this album, but consolations don’t come much mightier than this. To all you kids who keep writing to us bemoaning Kurt’s passing, write this in your letter to Santa and have a go at enjoying what Nirvana did leave you. ’ .BRONWYN TRUDGEON MARILYN MANSON Antichrist Superstar (Interscope) • Antichrist Superstar represents the third coming of Mr Marilyn Manson and, his partners in crime, this time with a concept album of sorts, designed to “bring about the apoca-. lypse”. While such an ambitious' undertaking is almost certainly doomed to failure — surely the conservatives whose sensibilities they delight in offending are a lot closer to ushering in the end of the world than . Marilyn Manson are ever likely to be — there’s some good nasty fun along the way with a band who are to industrial what Mickey and Mallory are to serial killing. ' * Songs are divided into an unholy trinity of vaguely thematic ‘cycles’, and range from full-on industrial assaults to insipid new wave synth-pop. It’s the straight ahead bilious hate fests that work best — ‘1996’, ‘lrresponsible Hate Anthem’, ‘Mr Superstar’ — while the tracks with lower BPMs are often infected with a posey Bauhaus/Soft

Cell-type lethargy (don’t miss the special guest appearance from the Devil on the hidden track, though). Co-producer and godfather Trent Reznor gives the Nine Inch Nails treatment (aided by collaborations and contributions of various personnel from the NIN crew) to the rather patchy material, and with good results. But strip away this cool production, and what’s left is standard B-grade metal riffery, twisted 80s dance beats, and hilariously facile lyrics. Nothing new or challenging here — but in this universe it’s stance, not substance, that counts. TROY FERGUSON JON SPENCER BLUES EXPLOSION Now I Got Worry (Augogo) Just the other day a rad new disc came down the line to me. It was the new one from the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, Now I Got Worry, and boy, is it a smash. Those guys make me feel like a youngster again; a youngster who forgets about study and decides to get a rock ’n’ roll band together for the purpose of playing them gun-loud, and gettin’ them girls and drivin’ them cars. In fact ‘ldentify’ has all the hallmarks of those perfect three seconds of speed before you and the guys send Daddy’s car into a lamp post. (This is not advocating dangerous driving, it’s just reminding the kids how fun it is). Don’t fret, kids, listening to Rufus Thomas wailin’ through ‘Chicken Dog’ will send enough hormones through you to get you past puberty in three minutes flat. And ‘Can’t Stop’ (Booker T on morphine?) is sure to have you struttin’ right. Yes, a fine disk indeed, one that should have all the grown-ups scratching their heads wondering where the kids have gone. The answer? Down to the practice room to sniff some bad stuff and treat a 10mile radius to their Stooges impressions. JESSE GARON SUBLIME Sublime (MCA) SUBLIME Robbin’ the Hood (Liberation) Drug overdoses sell records, it’s a well known — if slightly depressing — fact of life. Going by that, Californian ska-punks Sublime should be rolling in it by now. All except their lead singer Brad Nowell, that is, who died of a heroin overdose in a hotel room last May. Nowell was the driving force behind this hard drinking, good time band. The tracks which make up the posthumous release Sublime were layed down just prior to Nowell’s death, so there’s a slightly creepy feel to it all. To the punk set, this album may sound pretty lightweight, especially compared to the more full on ska-punk outfits. With Sublime it’s a case of much more ska than punk, and on some songs they even introduce doses of hip-hop to their sound. Most of this album you could play to your mum without her reaching for the volume control, and it’s not until about the seventh song that Sublime actually get noisy. It’s the sort of album which could sound schizophrenic, but instead comes together nicely. Slightly more suspect is the rerelease of their debut album, 1994’s Robbin’ the Hood. It’s actually a better album than Sublime, with a great mix

•of crazy turntable action, outrageous samples, dub-inspired basslines and power riffs. It’s wonderful that this album will now be available to a wider audience, but you still have to question the motives behind it’s re-release. I’d think twice before playing this one to you mum, but that in itself hints at something good. DOMINIC WAGHORN WEEZER Pinkerton (Geffen) - Don’t be frightened off by the swag of Madam Butterfly references that infiltrate this album from literally cover to cover; if this is a concept album, it’s disguising it well. Weezer have not lost the penchant for infectiously catchy choruses that made their debut album so barber-shoppable, but have covered them in a lather of Brian Bell’s bonafide R-O-C-K rock guitar, that’s slammed into place by Pat Wilson’s literally smashing drumming. It’s a move they wear well enough to make themselves seem musically inspid in the fragile ballad department — consisting of ‘Across the Sea’ and ‘Butterfly’ — although Rivers Cuomo’s lyrics manage to save the day even here. Seriously loony first single ‘EI Scorcho’ is the kind of anthem that can make a drunkenly retarded group’s night (only to break it fist-bitingly in the morning after’s replay). The irony of ‘The Good Life’ ensures its gripes will fit as easily into the life of any disgruntled nine-to-f as any rock ’n’ roll-all-nighter. ‘Falling for You’ is what happens when the geek you once made the (for him) heartbreaking mistake of brushing past in the hallway drinks too much beer and blahs out his deepest feelings to you in a very public place, before hurling his guts on your shoes. If you’re sensing an overriding theme here, it’s party rockin’ good times for all — particularly the fashionably challenged. BRONWYN TRUDGEON VARIOUS Sampler: A Fine Assortment of Christchurch Bands (RDU) VARIOUS Harder, Faster Baby! (RDU) 2 There was a time not too long ago when friends would joke about everybody in Christchurch being in a band. Every week it seemed there was a new compilation coming out of Nightshift' studios or Rob Mayes’ Failsafe label showcasing another 20 new ‘acts’. Often these were composed of a core of like-minded musicians goofing off to tape; Of late, small compilations have become a rarity around the country. No longer is there a sense on community that drags relative unknowns together to combine forces (and finances) and release a product for interested punters (and believe me, they do exist). RDU, with their Sheep Technique show, have been doing just that for a while now this being their fifth and sixth efforts to expose the next Pumkinhead/Loves Ugly Children for nationwide consumption. Sampler sets down the pop/noise end, while Harder, Faster Baby! (obviously) gives us the punk/metal perspective. While neither compilation is going to set your world on fire, there are moments of interest. On Sampler these come in the shape of the Feelers’ pounding guitar rhythms, the aural noise assaults of Barnard’s Star, the

power pop of Xuxu Pedals, and the Celtic pop strains of Page. Harder Faster Baby! is unfortunately (depending on your taste) pretty one-dimen-sional boy bands with singers who grunt like Rottweilers with laryngitis about masturbating to survive. Thankfully there is some humour buried in there, honest! But the admission is rewarded by Snort lending a female perspective with ‘Yo Father Fucker’, and Blast Off doing ‘Rangiora Über Alles’. Good on RDU. If they playlist any of this stuff they certainly don’t play the safe media-student radio format which is infesting the airways up north, but where are Christchurch’s Lo-tech stars Oglala? Write RDU C/- UCSA, Private Bag, Christchurch. MAC HODGE WEEN 12 Golden Country Greats (Elektra) Why do I get the terrible feeling the people who should be reading my Johnny Cash review will be reading this one instead? It’s that Generation X thing, I guess, where ‘The Kids' reckon a song can’t work unless it’s tongue’s jammed firmly in its cheek. Like, irony, man — or how to drown in a very shallow pool. The reason for my jaded musings is the event of an actual country album

from those wackiest jokers in the pack, Ween. While the added bonus of some real live country greats as band guests takes the edge of this gag, providing some truly faithful genre entries (‘Japanese Cowboy’ most notably) musically, at least, song titles such as ‘Help Me Scrape the Mucus Off My Brain’ and ‘Piss Up a Rope’ give you a big idea of what to expect lyrically. The latter’s Dr Hook-ish appeal will only work for it so long — by all means savour it while it does, but don’t build it up too loftily before playing it to friends.

‘Fluffy’ is a love paean to a dog that goes nowhere — well, nowhere past the front path — very slowly, and ends the album on the kinda warped territory that’s managed to take Ween beyond parody in the past, even if it doesn’t everywhere else on this album. BRONWYN TRUDGEON LUSCIOUS JACKSON Fever In, Fever Out (Grand Royal) They’ve still got it. New York’s Luscious Jackson have returned with a new collection of songs which prove undoubtedly their brilliant debut, Natural Ingredients, was no fluke. Their unique style of wigged-out funk blended with sampled sounds of urban America just seems to sound better and better as LJ’s main writers,

Gabrielle Glaser and Jill Cunniff, mature in their craft.— — -- Fever In, Fever Out begins with killer track ‘Naked Eye’. It’s the sort of song you’ll find yourself humming along to hours after the first listen — that is, unless you’re humming another of the album’s instantly catchy tunes (listen to ‘Mood Swing’ or ‘Electric’ for overwhelming evidence of this). Most of Fever 1n... has the same kind of hookability which made much of the band’s first album sound so inviting. The only difference is, the songs appear to have been worked a little harder by the band. This deeper, more intricate sound could have something to do with the skills of big-name producer Daniel Lanois. The production is slick, but’also open to the organic vibe Luscious Jackson like to go for. There are also some nice cameos in there as well: the one and only Emmylou Harris lends her voice to a couple of tracks, while N’Dea Davenport (Brand New Heavies) also turns up on one song.' . Keep ’em coming.DOMINIC WAGHORN JAMIROQUAI .. Travelling Without Moving (Sony) • . • ; London’s new age soulster and genuine all round 90s answer to Stevie Wonder, Jamiroquai is gradually getting his shit together in the long playing format. Travelling Without Moving is about travelling back in time to the •Wonder-ful sleek and funky, fidgety grooves and tunes of ‘Virtual Insanity’ and ‘Use the Force’. . ' On ‘Cosmic Girl’ he works a Saturday Night Fever-era. disco treat with a synthesiser bassline to match, and even indulges in some convincing Steel Pulse Anglo-reggae on ‘Drifting Along’. The latter half of the album loses some impetus through its didgeridoodlibgs, but the eight-minute organic band funk of the fourteenth track, ‘We’re Going to a Funk Down’ suggests Jamiroquai is in the right groove. And improving. GEORGE KAY THE LEMONHEADS Car Button Cloth (TAG) , Or should that read the Latest Lemonheads? Yep, it’s a complete turnover in band members here, save the one we all know will be there, no matter what’s happened to him in the interim (check ‘Losing Your Mind’ and

I won’t have to tell you that’s been plenty). From the ■ outset (‘lt’s All True’), Evan Dando assures us he hasn’t fallen down since he learned to walk, then goes on to prove no matter what the gutter press say about him (whether his antics are feeding them or not), he can still pull together a band that help him come on like man-child most likely to be cuddled in the. rock and pop year book. ‘Hospital’ and ‘C’mon Daddy’ — a song surely told from Liv Tyler’s point of view — are typical of half the album, in that they come on like a snuggle when you need one most (and it seems Evan’s been in need of more than a few of late), while the other half go down like a spoonful of sugar, leaving your heart leaping and your mouth doing the old ear-to-ear: There’s a sweet-ened-up version of 'The Outdoor Type’, which Evan previously sang on Sharon Stoned’s License to Confuse, while the Lemony twist on the traditional ‘Knoxville Girl’ leaves it sounding almost folk-danceable. And who but our Ev could deliver a line like ‘and I’m givin’ the dog a bone’ (‘lf I Could Talk I’d Tell You), and have it sound everything less than sleazy and possibly even (gasp!) literal? Follow the lead of ‘One More Time’ and get this whole album looping through your summer super smartly. BRONWYN TRUDGEON VARIOUS Info City Overground: A Wellington Sonic Sampler (Engine) A few months back I stumbled into Bar Bodega in Wellington after one of those free booze type parties feeling nicely sozzled, to check out local talents Cattle and Jawload. Big guitar, big drum sound, with an acceptable freakish display of vocal talent out front, impressed me for the first few songs. Whether it was the alcohol or reading too many articles designed to convince our generation we have an attention deficiency disorder (probably the former), I stumbled back into the night looking for another tourist thrill. Then recently, to my delight, I received this here compilation to assist my search for short-term memory recovery. Including Cattle and Jawload there are eight Capital sensations, some already known to the country by their piggybacking Head Like A Hole and Shihad such as the Letterbox Lambs, Weta and the aforementioned.

The common thread throughout the compilation is guitars, lots of ’em, and the louder the better. Personally, aside from Jawload’s ‘Gimp’, ‘Thaw’ by Cattle, and Weta’s ‘Dedication’, I was hoping for more variation between the bands and their songs, and the attention disorder thing came back (I wasn’t drunk either time I listened to it!). But remember, personality comes into music every time you put the needle down, so judge for yourself by writing to PO Box 11855, Manners Street, Wellington. MAC HODGE CHUCK D Autobiography of Mistachuck (Mercury) .Chuck D is back with a solo album, and he’s not letting up. Every track is a hard hitting verbal assault on everything from the music industry (‘Free Big Willie’) and talk show fools (‘Talk Show Created the Fool’), to sample ownership (‘Paid’).' Musically, Mistachuck is a strong diverse album. It never hits you with the force a Public Enemy album once did, but then, those halcyon, revolutionary days when a new PE album inspired mass hysteria are over — hip-hop has become mainstream, and Mistachuck (to its credit) reminds you of nothing, if not the Bomb Squad sound. . It’s just a little more restrained, and on tracks like ‘Mistachuck’, there’s innovation in the form of dynamic, sweeping synths' you’d usually expect to hear in a trance set. The album ends with a secret track where Chuck outlines his ten biggest resentments against the music industry, his voice is put through a barrage of constantly changing effects, and he sounds like the lovechild of Darth Vader and Alvin and the Chipmunks. The success of this album hinges on how many people are prepared to put up with Chuck’s relentless lecturing, maybe the traditional ‘white kids in the suburbs’ demographic will lap it up, but the black kids in the projects will skip this in favour of some East vs. West, Tupac shit. ANDY PICKERING HOUSE OF PAIN Truth Crushed to the Earth Shall Rise Again (Liberation) ; ‘You make me sick like strawberry Quik.’ Ugh. Up until hearing Truth Crushed... this was the biggest

impression House of Pain had made upon me. Needless to say I had dismissed them as easily marketed, MTVfriendly, white-boy, hip-hop pulp — something that’s impossible to do with this album. HOP seem to have gone in search of something with more substance than the standard posturing and rap-along singles, and have enough sense to get some help. First single ‘Heart Full of Sorrow’ stands out as the album’s highlight. The angry and muscled Everlast shares rapping duties with Sadat X, and this, along with the kind of bassline that will incite the youth to sit on their decks in summer and smoke skunk, makes for a muderously smooth piece of hiphop. Guru’s also in there on the remix of second single ‘Fed Up’. But the biggest outside contribution comes from Divine Styler and Cockni 0 Dire, the original Scheme Team, whose association with House of Pain goes back almost 10 years. Their presence on several tracks gives the recording a depth (and probably a credibility) the group couldn’t possibly hope to achieve otherwise.

I suppose it was too much to ask that there be no tracks starting with ‘this one’s for all them dirty bitches out there’. (‘What’s That Smell’), and I could do without hearing about Everlast’s sexual prowess (‘Shut the Door’), but if you ignore some of the lyrical shite you’ll find some slammin’ beats for your jeep or gangsta lowride... or customised Jap import (big shout out to all my homeboys in Remuera). DAVID HOLMES COUNTING CROWS Recovering the Satellites . • (Geffen) Anyone who’s heard this album’s first single, ‘Angels of the Silences’, will already know Counting Crows have picked up their pace and dug their heels into rock ’n’ roll’s dirtier soils for their second album, but it hasn’t helped Adam Duritz’s heartachin’ none. Things are as painfully confessional as ever, and at double-vinyl (single CD) length, this means Satellites provides plenty of relief from the battering anyone with half a trampled heart left will have been giving its predecessor, August and Everything After, for the past two years. . Ironically, it’s when the focus swings all the way to someone else, as it does on the lilting ‘Another

Horsedreamer’s Blues’, that things take a step beyond being mostly melancholy for shut-the-blinds days, and invite you to think of someone else. Musically, it’s joined on the prettier side of things by the likes of the delicate lonesome lullaby.‘Goodnight Elisabeth’, and the shimmeringly sparse ‘Miller’s Angels’.' Still, it’s the most ,untamed angsty tunes — in the shape of opening track ‘Catapult’, and the highly strung and stringed epic of Tm Not Sleeping’ — that stand out the farthest. Duritz has talked of people feeding off the pain of the tortured artist before, and of course he’s absolutely right. Hence, when he ends the aformentioned ‘Sleeping’ by asserting, ‘l’m goin’ out that door,' the lonesome ■ who’ve found solace in his solitude are sure to be hoping he doesn’t stay gone too long. • BRONWYN TRUDGEON JOHN PARISH AND POLLY JEAN HARVEY Dance Hall at Louse Point (Island) On which a former ‘collaborator’ gets credit well due from the decade’s gutsiest diva. Parish makes the music while Polly writes the words and some-glorious-how gets them out her throat without choking on the splintery bits. John Parish likes to jangle, sometimes in an ambling, I got all day to accomodate these vocals, kinda way (‘Girl’), and other times (‘Dancehall at Louse Point’) in that gorgeously messy way that makes you start throwing the cuttlery draw around the kitchen in a vain attempt to achieve the same exhilirating effect. : ’ While the extraodinarinally stretching vocals on ‘City of No Sun’ are probably not the best introduction to

the uninitiated, there is plenty more here sure to hook a new clutch of devotees, and have even the most hardened Harvey fans feel like falling for her all over again. She’s heartbreakingly Joni-ish when singing, ‘Was she a pretty girl? I Does she have pretty hair?,’ on ‘That Was My Veil’. Her unmasked take on ‘ls That All There Is?’, with broken fairground organ by Mick Harvey, will hit you right where Peggy Lee’s did — giving the impression its narrator has just walked into the room and laid her life at your feet. The exhilirating new wavey wind-up of ‘Urn With Dead Flowers in a Drained Pool’ and the truly threatening ‘Taut’ (‘Jesus, save me”s right, Peej!) are a pair worth paying the cover price twice for. By the time she’s demanding to be taken one more time at album’s end ('Lost Fun Zone’), the choice has long been taken out of your hands, and it’s all your finger can do to hit play again BRONWYN TRUDGEON MAZZY STAR Among My Swan (Capitol) Well there’s no ‘Fade Into You’, but then, it was unlikely we’d hear another majestic beauty like that in this lifetime. No real departure from their previous albums, still a very stoned Dinosaur Jr., with vocal goddess Hope Sandoval providing her world weary female J Mascis drawl — only it’s not a drawl so much as a sigh that’s caught some vocal chords on the way out. When Bertolucci used ‘Rhymes of an Hour’ for Liv Tyler’s love scene in Stealing Beauty, he couldn’t have got it any more right — momentarily sensual power but eventually another forgotten milestone. The album’s similarity does breed

familiarity very quickly. Electric guitars that have travelled down many desert roads. Wax-covered acoustic guitars, gently reminding of the candle-lit loneliness when the power was cut off. It’s all very romantic and I guess if you’re not in the right red wine frame of mind (and my notes are drenched), you might not get into it. But if you have to listen to beautiful American, heartbroken, existential angst, then you oould do a whole lot worse than 'Among My Swan’ (whatever that means.) JOHN TAITE THE REVEREND HORTON HEAT It’s Martini Time (Interscope) I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, some album’s should definitely last a day. Don’t ask me how they should manage it, this is drunk logic after all, just take a swig of this concoction to see what I mean.-The neccessarily swingin’ title track is the sort of excuse that can write a day off from the dawn end up if you play it too early, and if you can’t handle the repercussions of that, you got no business listening to the Heat in the first place. Songs that put the rock back into rockabilly, most literally in the case of ‘Rock This Joint’, will pad out the day’s package. And, mercifully, the perfect song to end such a day is also here, in the shape of ‘Crooked Cigarette’. ‘Generation Why’ is proof these guys aren’t entirely lost in the times when getting fucked-up in a bar was rightly seen as a class act, not just a poor show, as they throw down the gauntlet to every angst-ridden black Tshirt wearer you ever jostled clear of a juke box. Opening track ‘Big Red Rocket of Love’ is sure to be endearing to the ladies, if the band’s stylin’ threads on the back cover aren’t enough. In case the pace leaves them a little giddy and breathless and wondering if they really should be doing this, the slinking grind of ‘Slow’ is up next to prove revving lust isn't the only thing on offer here. And just to prove you don’t have to be Betty Page to inspire head Rev Jimbo Heath (just so long as you know it helps), an accidental trip to a gay bar has given rise to a fine country crooner about ‘interracial cowboy, homo kinda love’ (‘Cowboy Love’). You’d have to be beyond anal to pass this album up. BRONWYN TRUDGEON KULA SHAKER K (Columbia) Pop’s association with the mystical East goes about as far back as the Beatles’ and Beach Boys’ sojourns to meet that old faker, the Maharishi. Since then the odd sitar and George Harrison’s genuine involvement in things Indian have been the. main points of contact between the two twains. But now there’s Kula Shaker. Revolving around guru Crispian Mills, son of Haley, the band's karma

trappings look like another Britpop attempt at finding something novel from the already over plundered 60s. Epauletted shirts, Manfred Mann (Paul Jones) haircuts, and a Carnaby Streetstyled montage for a record sleeve, all look like a 30-year-old past being redressed for a fresh generation. Of course, all this is about as important as a sacred cow’s butt if the music these four young middle class Englishmen are playing kicks a thousand shades out of the nearest mantra. And it doesn’t.

Positive vibes first, and ‘Tattva’ could be renamed ‘Jimmy’ and it still be a damned fine psychedelica wigout. ‘Hey Dude’ and ‘Knight on the Town’ give the album a double whammy entrance of real rock ’n’ roll purpose, while ‘Smart Dogs’ reflects that they can shrewdly recycle Stone Roses influences. But the rest is merely pleasant, diverting, easily assimilated rock ’n’ roll, with an Indian ambience and an aptitude for life affirming choruses. Latest single ‘Govinda’ is a nadir of post-hippie wetness and the Hendrix riffery and corny wordplay of ‘Grateful When You’re Dead’ are too obvious signposts as to where they are coming from. The fact K went to Number 1 in the British charts like a joss-stick on a rocket is a testament to the undeniable charm of ‘Tattva’, and to the press’s influence on a public too susceptible to anything new. Incense and peppermints, indeed. GEORGE KAY BABY BIRD Ugly Beautiful (Festival) If Ugly Beautiful was a film, it’d star Steve Buscimi and have concerned mothers up in arms. It’s be a bit weird, a bit experimental, but it would ooze a kind of unintentional cool that you only find in newcomers. But I guess the Stephen Jones story is too way out to ever get funding. Over a couple of years he recorded 400 tunes on his four track (sounds very Knoxian so far) as a cure for boredom and dole queue blues. Then last year he thought he’d start up his own record label and put out five albums in a year, each time growing in knowledge and developing in style. And now this, a studio album, with a real band — a debut of sorts, which sounds so refined and stylised you would’ve thought we’d been praising him for 10 years. There’s the sexy growl of Pulp’s Jarvis Cocker, the melodic waverings of lan McCulloch, and the smoothness of that geezer out of the Blue Nile (listen to ‘Dead Bird Sings’ and ‘You and Me’!), all kind of bubbling away in a molten scream, like the demise of the shape-shifter baddie at the end of Terminator 2.

He sings of corner shops, and turns out a trippy, Doorsy dialogue about record company chart manipulation on the 10-minute ‘King Bing’ (and let’s

hope they do for this). There song titles like ‘Too Handsome to be Homeless’, and mad larks like ‘Atomic Soda’ — which takes the Butthole Surfers’ ‘Hurdy Gurdy Man’ gurgles and mixes them with wails from a Middle Eastern temple. And the out-and-out pop of the singles ‘Goodnight’ and ‘You’re Georgous’, and the ‘C-O-C-A C-O-L-A’ chorus of '45 and Fat', are the twisted flip-sides to Jones’ manic depressive genius. Phew, exceptional, eclectic stuff from the Twilight Parking Zone. JOHN TAITE LES CLAYPOOL AND THE HOLY MACKEREL Les Claypool and the Holy Mackerel presents Highball With the Devil (Prawn Song) Woah, Les, you’re one weird puppy. People used to say I was weird, but I ain’t got nothing compared to you, ya freak. Still, I liked ya Primus stuff, except I never listened to it (hey, you try and find the right time to listen to Primus — not drugs, not booze, not happy, not sad, not lonely, not with pals). This is more of the same, but Les gets to indulge himself a bit more in his role as the greenest hoick to never come out of the mouth of American culture — but there’s a lot to like in a hoick, just look at one under a microscope. Okay, Lessy babe, watcha doing with a John Lennon thing going with ‘Running the Gauntlet’? Or the 70s LA cruise of ‘Holy Mackerel’? Ya wanna be Dick Dale with ‘Hendershot’? Ya wanna be a bit more careful playing with Henry Rollins on ‘Delicate Tendrils’. Yep, Les gets about, but he’s always carrying that trusty bass, making those funny twangy noises I thought were only there for novelty value for the first three albums. But this time he also plays a few other things (which he ain’t as good at), and gets to do a bit of jazz stuff (they all end up doing that — it’s kinda like benefit gigs and rehab). Whether this is a good or bad album is

up to you. If you like Les you like him, if you don’t you don’t; but don’t try and force yourself — it’ll drive you bonkers. JESSE GARON LITTLE AXE Slow Fuse (M&G) Little Axe: legendary guitarist Skip McDonald’s nickname, and also the name of his blues-inspired band, whose personnel include the equally revered rhythm section of Doug Wimbish and Keith Leßlanc and the production skills of On U Soundman' Adrian Sherwood. After the critically acclaimed debut The Wolf That House Built, it was reasonable to expect great things from Slow Fuse, but I must confess to having been a little disappointed. However, to fully appreciate this album you pretty much have to forget their previous effort and approach it with an open mind. There's nothing on Slow Fuse to match the peaks of Wolf — the pure sliding groove of ‘Ride On’ or the unfeasibly funked-up bassline on ‘Daytona’. It is obvious McDonald and co. have gone in search of an altogether different feel this time, in their quest to create “blues for the twenty-first century”. The mood is generally lighter, with vocals taking a more prominent role, sometimes sounding almost choral, as on the first single. ‘Storm is Rising’. Pick of the bunch is ‘Too Late’, which is both soothing and melancholic — perfect at about 6AM or after you’ve had a fight with the missus. As with all things On U, the production is smooth, although there’s no way co-producers Sherwood and McDonald are breaking any new creative ground for themselves in this department. Not bad as far as an easy listening album goes, but, given the considerable talents involved, I’d be alarmed if the music they make got any. easier. DAVID HOLMES

THE CARDIGANS First Band on the Moon (Polydor) Like the majority of you suckers, this was my first Cardies (as apparently the fans call them) experience. One of those important ‘do you remember the first time?’ things, like your first clumsy shag, or the first move out of home. You see, pop doesn’t really get any better than this. Like their other Swedish counterparts, the Wannadies, the (ahem) Cardies slither into your ears, make themselves a cup of tea, and then go completely mental for the hell of it. Oh, and it helps that lead singer/songwriter Nina Persson is everything you’ve dreamed of the Swedish: the looks of an icy seductress with the warm sadness and glistening joy of a summer romance. And First Band on the Moon is summer. Sure, it’s darker and more complex than Life (which I had to get after ravenously devouring this), but that gives it all the more staying power. The disco-away-the-heartache of ‘Lovefool’ hooks you at first, all hopeless and hopeful puppy love. The exhilarating melancholy of 'Step on Me’ attacks you next, with a chorus that’ll have you crying into your beer while your legs are swaying. The rest just blur into this deep pool of perfect!ves that becomes an adrenalising friend the more you listen. An eleven on the wahey scale. JOHN TAITE LEE SCRATCH PERRY Who Put the Voodoo 'Pon Reggae (Ariwa/Chant) Lee Scratch Perry put the voodoo ’pon reggae, no question. Although he at one stage tried to suggest it was the work of Island Records boss Chris Blackwell. And the drawing on the cover has Blackwell in one corner with a glass of what looks suspiciously like blood. But that’s Lee Perry for you, always pushing the mad genius angle. After some patchy work in recent years, Perry seems to have hit on a happy partnership with the Mad Professor. Who Put the Voodoo 'Pon Reggae has a slow, languorous feel, with Perry continuing his crazy wordplay over tight rhythms highlighted by some tasty guitar licks from Black Steel and references to Caribbean steel bands. And he might be in his 60s, but Perry

is obviously still fascinated by sex, getting explicit in ‘Go And Come Back’. There’s an accompanying dub CD, called Oub Take the Voodoo Out of Reggae, which features some atmopsheric mixing desk magic from the Mad Professor. MARK REVINGTON THE HEADS No Talking Just Head (MCA) The Heads, as their name explains, are Talking Heads without David Byrne (rumours suggest David ain’t too happy about this). They still stay in the background, but instead of their esteemed leader doing the singing they’ve got a bunch of other people to do it. I’m sure there’s a political analogy I could use, but I don’t know right now what it would be. Well, do they pull off this little stint against the cult of personality? Nope, not a chance. The album sounds like a soundtrack to an 80s teen movie starring Molly Ringwald, Rob Lowe, and that guy that keeps taking drugs. In fact, National Radio on Sunday night sounds more contemporary than this, and that’s usually off limits to anyone under the age of a million. The movie (80s, teen): from Jonette Napolitano’s against-their-parents-and-the-world-theme, to Debbie Harry's eyes-meet-across-the-cafeteria, to Malin Anneteg's doesn’t-understand-either-do-my-par-ents talky song thing — it’s all there and it’s all crap. No one on this record needs the cash, don’t give to anyone for Christmas (unless you hate them); lots of bad songs spawned from a boring idea. The Heads are like NZ First doing something without Winston. See, I told you there was a political analogy in there somewhere. JESSE GARON VARIOUS ARTISTS Offbeat: A Red Hot Compilation (TVT/Wax Trax) So, we’ve got red hot and trip-hop, jazz-hop, ambi and nouveau beat poetry all at once. And it’s experimental noise meandering of the most listenable kind. And its by far the best and most consistent compilation so far. But here’s a tip: delete track seven, the beat poet bollocks of Amiri Baraka, and the so-so Soul Coughing track 11, and the out of place jerkiness of

Spookey Ruben’s track 21, and you've got one hell of an anytime, any place, brain masseuse.

Skylab provide temptingly good, electronic mind expanders, with seven little interludes and the majestic twominute ‘Rain Rain/The Phone Call’. David ‘Talking Heads’ (you have to add that these days!) Byrne gives us his best track of the last 10 years, ‘lt Goes Back’, courtesy of some Jack Kerouac lyrics. My Bloody Valentine's ‘lncidental Peace’ is just what you’d thought had become of them — levitating somewhere up in ghostly guitar heaven. And for any drummers out there that actually took lessons, Emergency Broadcast Network’s ‘Characteristic Beat’ will bring tears of nostalgia to your eyes with its drum teacher samples of ‘right, right, left, left, right’ and ‘one-y and a two-y and a three-y and a four-y’. You got the right one baybee, uhhuh. JOHN TAITE ONE INCH PUNCH Tao of the One Inch Punch (Audio Ink/Virgin) Not the Australian punk rock guys, but the British One Inch Punch;. a genre-hopping duo on Tim Simenon’s Audio Ink label, who released the promising Secrets of the One Inch Punch EP earlier this year. Despite featuring the talents of sometime . Bomb the Bass collaborator Justin Warfield, you won’t find much Bug Powder Dust around this gaff —- the only nod to the Naked Lunch theme of BTB’s last effort is in applying Burroughs’ literary cutup method to musical style shifts. And, as with many stylistic experiments, the whole doesn’t quite equal the sum of its parts. At times they come on all trippy and Trickyed-out, then they move into East Coast hip-hop territory with some Wu-flavoured workouts, and suddenly it all switches to an angsty low-fi rumble (refer Sister-era Sonic Youth). All this makes for some confusing and rather unsatisfying listening, which is not to say there is not some grand purpose behind this whole affair — the dreaded ‘total artistic vision’ threatens a feature length video that includes every track. It seems such a waste — One Inch Punch have the ideas, the ability, and the connections to make things work, but unfortunately this album just doesn’t do the business. A disappointment. ’ TROY FERGUSON

ROBERT POLLARD Not in My Airforce (Matador) TOBIN SPROUT Carnival Boy (Matador) Messrs Pollard and Sprout may be better known to you as the two major creative forces that when combined form Guided By Voices. Pollard’s Not in My Airforce, not surprisingly, sounds like GBV, and most of the band feature in some form over both these records. The difference being Mr Pollard is obviously the more esoterically minded of the two, being less immediate or accessible. From hi-fi to 10-tech (remember, kids, 10-fi is now a dirty word), Not in My Airforce trips from the opening backtracking of ‘Maggie Turns to Flies’ and its speed riffery, to the REM-ish rock of ‘Psychic Pilot Checks Out’, and in between touches down for ‘One Clear Minute’ and ‘Flat Beauty’. Outside of those tracks ideas more than songs flex and twist through another 12 bursts of sound.

Where RP tips the scales on the Beatles’ weirder atmospheric moments (and scores top points for most interesting song titles), Tobin Sprout holds the monopoly on the Lennon/Mcartney (mainly Lennon) pop catalogue. GBV know how to use a hook and it’s obvious the straight pop barbs come from TS, as in the soaring chorus of ‘lt’s Like Soul Man’. On ‘E’s Navy Blue’ the big guitar is the trick, that while immediately disposable is also immediately convincing, and that’s not easy. That’s also what’s taken these guys from indie desert to the kind of worldwide name-dropping that may unfortunately also lead to their desertion. However, for the time being enjoy the psych-pop of ‘Marin’s Mounted Head’, and remember, indie pop never sounded so good. MAC HODGE VARIOUS ARTISTS Pay it All Back: Volume 6 (On U Sound) Ah, the Pay it All Back series. The seriously mind-bending grooves, always Dub Syndicate, the best of the On U label... and Mark Stewart. Volume 6 doesn’t let you down. Eleven of the 12 tracks are stunning. Then there’s ‘Scorpio’ by Mark Stewart. I suppose the astral name should be a dead giveaway. It travels on a massive beat but it sucks. 2

Bad Card set a tough pace by opening with pure heaven in ‘Pure Illusion'. The tablas are a taste of what’s to come, as half the On U crew mix Indian sounds through big echoing dubs. On U supremo Adrian Sherwood plays a big part, co-writing and co-pro-ducing most of the tracks, which also range from the sublime marriage of dancehall techno-beats and sweet roots vocals on Little Roy’s ‘All Day Long’, to Audio Active’s industrial gui-tar-shredded ‘Paint Your Face Red’, and the techno dub blues of Little Axe — like Tackhead after long immersion in the Mississippi. MARK REVINGTON DESCENDANTS Everything Sucks (Epitaph) It may not be the most predictable of career moves, but having now completed a PhD in biochemistry, Milo Aukerman is back, fronting the punk rock outfit he left nine years ago to attend college full time. In the decade he’s been away occupied with scientific matters, the melodic hardcore pioneered by the the Descendants has undergone a surge of mainstream popularity, boosted partly by the bands on the Epitaph roster. (Of course, the rest of the band haven’t slouched around during Aukerman’s absence — they formed ALL, touring and releasing eight albums, and scoring a deal with Warners for 1995’s Pummel.) It’s fitting that the Descendents return on the label that’s been carrying the torch for high energy pop punk in the 90s, and totally tear the place apart. Everything Sucks is a seriously important comeback, sounding fresh and contemprary, while being exactly the same thing the band always did — intelligent, uplifting and tuneful songs, played at a caffeine-fuelled, breakneck speed. Subject matter is classic Descendents: alienation by the American mainstream (‘This Place Sux’), dysfunctional families (‘Rotting Out’), an unfortunate lawnmower accident (‘Eunuch Boy’), and a heap of love songs that manage to steer clear of sappiness and self-pity with real insight and ass-kicking power. It’s all executed with goodnatured humour, though not enough to turn them into a disposable novelty act. So, if the current crop of SoCal punk is to LoCal for your tastes, don’t worry about dusting off

that old SST vinyl and reliving the good old days — Everything Sucks is just what the ‘doctor’ ordered. TROY FERGUSON VARIOUS ARTISTS Just Say Noel . (Geffen) ".-wQHH . Just Say Noel finds the strangest bedfellows rubbing shoulders on the most disparate collection of festive tracks you’re ever likely to hear. It’s a Christmas album, Jim, but not as we know it. Listen dumbstruck, as the stars of the Geffen Records roster variously destroy, pay homage to, vilify, send-up, shoot down, and mangle beyond recognition the humble Christmas carol. Beck begins the carnage, coming over all post-modern on the ‘The Little Drum Machine! Boy’. Great title, but Bing Crosby he ain’t — in fact, he sounds curiously like Frank Zappa in places. Next up, Aimee Mann and Michael Penn duet on the delightful ‘Christmastime’. This one’s the star on the tree, with no strings attached — a genuine yule-tide pearler. We all know Christmas means different things to different people, right? On ‘Christmas’ the Posies lament that, ‘Christmas means nothing to me,’ while the Roots’ festive message involves Millie pulling a pistol on Santa. So much angst. So much disillusionment. Is this what Christmas means to youth in the 90s? Most of the participants here seem to deliver their chosen ditty with a melancholy bordering on manic depression, but perhaps that’s the point. At least XTC get into the spirit of the occasion, harking back to a simpler time ,on the impossibly syrupy ‘Thanks For Christmas’. Wendy and Lisa's ‘Closing of the Year’ sounds like the theme tune to the Olympics (another useless event that costs a fortune and seems to drag on forever). Ted Hawkins, on the other hand, seems to have found something ~ worth tearing his tonsils out for on the genuinely emotive ‘Amazing Grace’. But the real. Christmas cracker (with crap joke and unfathomable piece of extruded plastic) is Sonic Youth’s hallucinatory ‘Santa Doesn’t Cop Out on Dope’. Play this at Aunt Edna’s on Christmas Day and watch the egg nog curdle while your religious relatives -attempt to exorcise the demon that has' possessed the stereo, It’s so wretchedly awful, the album is worth buying for this alone. '■

MARTIN BELL