ALBUMS

Rip It Up, Issue 237, 1 May 1997, Page 27

ALBUMS

CHEMICAL BROTHERS Dig Your Own Hole (Virgin) The Chemical Brothers are to dance music what Quentin Tarantino is (or maybe was) to cinema. And I’ll tell you why. Before achieving success in their respective fields, they were obsessive fans of what came before them, the result of which is a finely tuned instinct • for what works. So, by the time either of these entities got around to producing their own works, the results were. distinct, potent, and, frankly, kicked a whole lot of ass. . Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons connect foot with booty all the way through their second album. Sub-bass. ‘boom’ pervades everything, the drums sound like they’re being pounded by over-muscled steroid abusers, accompanying noises are wired straight from a computer-generated black hole — and some of these are made by guitars . (albeit heavily treated). Dance purists can piss off. Collaborations come in the form of Noel Gallagher (‘Setting Sun’), a sampled Schooly D (on ‘Block Rockin’ Beats’), Exit Planet Dust vocal guest Beth Orton returns for 'Where Do I Begin’, and US rock weirdos Mercury Rev throw in their two cents-worth as well. The Chemicals are being touted as front runners in a possible British dance invasion of the States; but if half the press you read about them is true, they couldn’t care less, so long as they can keep making music they dig. How amusing it is to think they could be the rock - stars of tomorrow. JUSTIN REDDING J .eno ■;■■■. ; . . ■ . ! ■ : DINOSAUR JR. Hand it Over (Blanco Y Negro) Ouch! This one hurts my ears, but, likin’ it tough, I managed to part the curtains woven by those by-now-trad DJ gats, and cop a load of some seriously weird shit happening behind them. The sound of J Mascis going insane ('l’m Insane’), for instance, is created by Donna Gauger’s gaily trilling trumpet, making the number sound like a stoner’s nightmare-turned-dream about

being an unwilling member of a Muttonbirds audience, when suddenly < Dinosaur Jr. storm the stage and steal the instruments. Mriiighfi OK, as if. Does anyone else picture the J Man recording all his guitar parts while lying in bed, bowled off his bonce? Check the epic ‘Alone’, and tell me he ain't just fiddling ’cause it feels good, and his eyes are too bleary for reading, and he ain’t got no baby to love, and the only reason to get up would be those nagging hunger pains, and surely the phone by the bed can take care of them — maybe the pizza guy could bring the delivery to the window. How could a guy like that get it together to hijack a Muttonbirds gig? The limited edition of the album comes with a free ’Take a Run at the Sun’ single. - BRONWYN TRUDGEON . * GREG JOHNSON Chinese Whispers (EMI) Greg Johnson’s previous album, the excellent Vine Street Stories, washed over the listener like a warm wave, but Chinese Whispers approaches from a different tangent altogether. Two years on, Johnson has adopted a far more ambitious sonic palette to colour his musical vision. While his trademark. . piano balladry and big 12-string strum. have not disappeared, here they’re supplemented by lush strings, edgy Wurlitzer keyboards, wiry guitars, and dense, polyrhythmic percussion — all married to some of the best songs Johnson's ever committed to tape. Exemplifying this approach, ‘Only Thunderstorms' mixes a South Seas ukulele flavour with dramatic string section flourishes. It’s got no right to work, but work it does — to stunning effect. This sense of adventure and musical risk-taking permeates every nook and cranny of Chinese Whispers, Johnson using the album as an opportunity to point his muse wherever he pleases. Of course, when you're throwing caution to the wind, not everything’s going to work. The Sonic Youth-style guitar histrionics of 'Comet Song' are not

entirely convincing, and the album’s eclectic nature means that a straightahead pop-rocker in the traditional Greg Johnson mould, like ‘Climb Back Up’, struggles to stand out. While Chinese Whispers finds Johnson broadening his musical horizons, his lyrics are focused on typical concerns — wine, women and song. He’s no Shane MacGowan, but a couplet like, ‘My ship is sitting low /1 got loaded about an hour ago’, encapsulates the Greg Johnson world-view perfectly. And on Chinese Whispers, that view has never looked, or sounded, more remarkable. MARTIN BELL SUPERGRASS In It For the Money (Parlophone) One of the working titles for this record was Second Album Trauma—a reflection of the mind-block and hesitancy that hit a lot of bands who’ve used all their good ideas on the first album. Supergrass’ I Should Coco was such an invigorating blast of youthful pop, it was always gonna be a hard act to follow, never mind surpass. Fears abounded through mediocre live shows that Supergrass had lost their way, that their new songs lacked the band’s vital exuberance. Put those reservations aside, because In It For the Money is as close to a pop masterpiece as you’ll hear this year. The triple opening assault of the title

track, ‘Richard lII' and ‘Tonight’, and later, the soaring ‘Sun Hits the Sky’, confirm the fact Supergrass’ customary spirit is well and truly intact. They’ve also added to their armoury the ability to write evocative and moving slower songs, like ‘Late In the Day' and 'lt’s Not Me’.

Most bands can deliver competent bursts of rock ’n’ roll interspersed with reasonable ballads, and in the mid-pace range have problems, but that’s where Supergrass again excell — especially on the price-of-fame refrain of 'You Can See Me' and the lurching ‘G-Song’. Whereas / Should Coco tended to die towards the end, In It For the Money closes on the reflective loping charm of ‘Hollow Little Reign’, and they hurdygurdy keyboard finale of 'Sometimes I Make You Seed’. A complete pop triumph. GEORGE KAY THE VELVET UNDERGROUND Loaded/Fully Loaded Edition (Rhino) Loaded was the Velvet Underground’s fourth and final studio album. Revised here as a double CD, disc one collects the original album (although ‘Sweet Jane’, ‘Rock ’n’ Roll' and ‘New Age’ are the extended versions first aired on 1995’s box set, Peel Slowly and See), and adds a half-dozen bonus tracks. Disc two contains previously unissued alternate versions of the

Loaded tracks, as well as a further seven Loaded-era recordings. Fully Loaded indeed. Any more tracks and the album would collapse under Rs own weight and form a black hole. .. So, are all the extended, demo and alternative versions dredged up for this release worth the price of admission? Well, grumpy old uncle Lou Reed has been bleating about the track sequencing and editing on Loaded for the best part of the last 25 years, and here, once and for all, is the irrefutable proof. He's wrong. Without fail, each of the original Loaded tracks are better than their Fully Loaded counterparts. Sure, the anorak-clad, Velvets obsessives (oops, that’s me) will find plenty to chew over. There’s a previously unheard demo version of ‘Rock ’n’ Roll’, a stonking early run-through of ‘Lonesome Cowboy Bill’, a surprising, countrified . version of ‘I Found a Reason’, a wonderfully gothic ‘Ocean’.. But most of the rest fall into the 'historic value only’ category, and are of little more than passing interest. Fully Loaded it may be, but the sound of some of these tracks is the sound of the bottom of the barrel being

well and truly scraped. Purchase only if you’re a paid up member of the Velvet Underground Appreciation Society — otherwise head straight for the original version. . MARTIN BELL MUCKHOLE Kooza (Felix) The elusive X-factor that separates great rock ’n’ roll from the mediocre is sort of like the Force in Star Wars—you can’t adequately describe it, but can recognise its presence instantly. On their first full-length album, local punksters Muckhole demonstrate they have it, and in doing so, prove themselves worthy successors to the legacy of Shore punk legends Bygone Era. Retaining all the energy of Muckhole’s live shows, Kooza accentuates what you may have missed in the live setting: the strength of the songwriting, and the calibre of the individual performances that make up their powerhouse delivery. With some of the finest hardcore drumming you’re likely to hear anywhere, and production by Chris Van De Geer that is no less than world class, this album steers clear of

the obvious and derivative; and wher- . ever you stand on the 'state of the punk nation’, it should be clear these guys have made a wicked album. However, it’s a shame the entire ‘Cool Guy’ single is included because, no doubt, some will feel short-changed they unnecessarily forked out ten bucks for six minutes that are here anyway. To stretch an analogy ad nauseum, if the North Shore was Tatooine and Bygone Era Ben Kenobi — Muckhole are Luke Skywalker. And, yep, the force is strong in this one... TROY FERGUSON ' THE VERLAINES Over the Moon (Sony) “The Verlaines... uuhh, didn’t they . break Well, you wouldn’t be the only one under that misapprehension. It was last year when I began regularly seeing Verlaines main man Graeme Downes — he of the cowboy hat and pipe cleaner legs — chowing down on noodles in an inner city Auckland food hall. Unless they were commuting one hell of a long way for band practices, I took that as a signal the Dunedin-based band were no more. But looks can be deceiving — after a four-year gap between albums, the band return with Over the Moon. The album contains a decent-sized handful of bona fide Verlaines classics — 'Hanging By Strands’, ‘Jailhouse 4.OOAM’ and ‘Writing on the Wall’ would be included in any retrospective Verlaines ‘best of’. And while ‘Bonfire’, Feather Fell’, ‘Reasons for Leaving’ and ‘Coming Back to You' may not be the largest or brightest of diamonds, they are nonetheless worthy gems in the Verlaines crown. Over the Moon proves Graeme Downes remains a brilliant and innovative songwriter. But perhaps the passing years have worn smooth a few of his more angular edges. The baroque flourishes, the other-worldly sense of space, the key and tempo changes which could snap your head sideways — those qualities which made the Verlaines music so uniquely, well, Verlaines-ish — seem somewhat diluted on the remaining, tracks. For every highlight there’s another track which concedes too much to the lowest common denominator of generic, indie-guitar rock. On balance, the brilliant does outweigh the bland, but Over the Moon perhaps hints at more than it is able to deliver. MARTIN BELL VARIOUS ARTISTS Kerouac — kicks joy darkness (Rykodisc) There isn’t enough room in one album review for me to adequately sing the praises of the late, great Jack Kerouac. On one album, however, an eclectic mix of artists from his day and

ours manage to do so amply, paying tribute mainly by speaking his words (some previously unpublished), and delivering inspired sonic collaborations. Morphine’s original piece, ‘Kerouac’, well justifies being in the big-ask opening slot. Dana Colley also backs associate producer Lee Ranaldo (whose vocals with Sonic Youth have long proved his beat credentials) — and together they make the kind of sound I hear when reading Kerouac wax lyrical about late-night jazz clubs. Lydia Lunch and Maggie Estep & the Splitters' do the dirtiest stuff, showing why Kerouac wasn’t taught at my high school. Matt Dylan and Johnny Depp make good bids at the lead roles in the long-mooted On the Road movie. Of course Allen Ginsberg (just in time), William Burroughs (straddler of time), and Kerouac himself (documenter of time past), are captured for posterity. I’ve never heard any kid accuse Jack Kerouac of being some boring old poet (any visual/prose snapshot of the guy tells you what a hep cat he was — dog runner over, as Hunter S Thompson would have it, or not), but I’ve seen plenty of their eyes glaze over in nonrecognition on hearing his name (curiously, that’s the same look my parents give me when I start talking about him). Selections from this could turn either set on, and answer the old ‘who am I?’ question on more than Kerouac’s account. BRONWYN TRUDGEON THE NOTOTRIOUS 8.1. G. Life After Death (Arista) Biggie Smalls, who prior to his musical career was a teenage crack dealer in New York, was clearly not a man who anticipated a long and fruitful life - his debut album was called Born to Die, and the follow-up, completed just before his death earlier this year, pictures him standing beside a hearse with ‘BIG’ on the license plate. An undercurrent of death runs right through this double album — the cinematic opening intro flows into an account of a retaliation hit on the mean streets, and the closing track is chillingly entitled ‘You’re Nobody (Until Somebody Kills You)’. Amidst all the doom and gloom, there’s some surprisingly up beat material here, with an innovative array of different

approaches that complement the low key and understated vocals of BIG well. Gang Starr’s DJ Premier produces a smokin’ track that utilises a Screaming Jay Hawkins sample (recalling a time in hip-hop when beats weren’t just the punctuation of gunfire); and a jokey duet with Lil Kim features some charmingly off key vocals from the Big man. WuTang main man RZA and DMC lend their weight elsewhere, and while the really crucial stuff is spread a little thinly over two discs (like many current hip-hop

albums, there’s a modern R&B vocal component that becomes a little tiresome with repeated exposure), this is a fitting final testament of a man who made his impact felt in a relatively short period of time. TROY FERGUSON BEN FOLDS FIVE Whatever and Ever Amen (Sony) Ben Folds is one pissed-off geek, with an axe to grind as big as his grand piano. His North Carolina three-piece are back with their second album, and a suite of songs which suggests if the band had their way, the geeks would indeed inherit the earth. ‘One Angry

Dwarf and Two Hundred Solemn Faces’ is a vitriolic attack on childhood tormentors (a revenge song as funny as it is nasty), while ‘Song For the Dumped’ is even more direct (with Folds slamming his ex in the chorus, 'Give me my money back, you bitch!’).

Of course, Ben Folds is not one to drown his angst in waves of tortured guitar feedback. For a start, Ben Folds Five don’t have a guitarist, preferring to subvert the power-trio format by substituting the traditional guitar for Ben Folds’ madcap, barrel-house piano.

While in quieter moments the music has a touch of the Supertramps about it, at its most manic it sounds as if Ben Folds is thrashing his piano to within an inch of its life. The sheer exuberance of such performances, coupled with the disarming honesty of the lyrics, means Ben Folds Five come on like a breath of fresh air. No, wait — make that a gangly, nerdy, and rather annoyed blast of wind. ' . ' . MARTIN BELL PROPELLER Propeller (Chronic) When they’re bad, they’re... really bad; when they’re good, they’re not bad. So, from the ashes of Semi Lemon Kola come Propeller, with a batch of, . new songs and a few golden reprises. Unfortunately, the entire album feels formulaic, planned and patterned. After a few songs, the listener can predict each change and transpose them between songs: when the bass lead will come, when the vocals will change... Familiarity is one thing, but this band feel like they’re crying out for individuality — which they’re not finding. Tosh Graham’s vocals are, as always, competent, and best when he’s leaning back and not bearing his teeth in faux angst (as in the clear, crisp beginning to ‘Play Dumb’ — that is, before he starts howling again, with dire consequences). Nevertheless, there are good songs from Propeller — ‘Otherwise’ and 'Henry XXL’ both have that ‘driving in mommy’s car, a touch of make-up and a stolen bottle of chartreuse’ quality about them. So, who cares? They’re young an’ fast an’ free — who gives a good goddamn what the critics say? JESSE GARON SPACE Spiders (Gut) MANSUN Attack of the Grey Lantern (EMI) ” With Blur at the crossroads, and Oasis still recovering from family feuds, the way’s been clear for other British wannabes to catch the eyes and ears of the fickle English music press, and convince them that here is the future of rock ’n’ roll. Over the last few months, Space and Mansun have offered eccentric alternatives to the guitar-driven conservative lyricism of the Britpop hype. Tommy Scott, vocalist and lyricist with Liverpool’s Space, gets most of his lyrics from his obsession with videos; they provide the fodder and inspiration for the characters in the Specials/Madness reggae of ‘ln the Neighbourhood’, and the neurotic,

twitchy ‘Mr Psycho’. Space were camped in the indie charts last year with ‘Female of the Species’ — a great song with a torch singer’s chorus, and worth the price of the album alone. ‘Honey’ is worth singling out for its ingratiating tune and vaudeville feel; and even

though their best moments dry up here,

there’s enough Happy Mondays shuffle and lyrical humour to set Space above the general mediocrity of English pop. The same can be said for Mansun, although for different reasons. With Space, they share the same distaste for cliched songs about relationships. Vocalist/songwriter Paul Draper revolves his songs around bizarre characters like ‘Stripper Vicar’, ‘Dark Mavis’, and ‘Egg . Shaped Fred’. Musically, the band’s antecedents tend to lie in the 80s, and although their hit ‘Wide Open Space’ and ‘Disgusting’ are too close to that decade’s Tears for Fears for comfort, there are saving graces. The sweeping meoldies and orchestral arrangements of ‘The Chad Who Loved Me’ and ‘Dark Mavis’ recall Echo and the Bunny (pen’s more ambitious designs, and the wryly titled ‘Mansun’s Only Love Song’ and ‘She Makes My Nose Bleed’ cop a few guitar ideas from the Edge. The upshot is, Mansun dare to be different at a time when it pays to go with the flow. Attack of the Grey Lantern isn’t an unequivocal success, but its unconventional and imaginative approach is well worth confronting. GEORGE KAY VARIOUS ARTISTS Slaves of Nevermind / Opus Locus Kompilation No. 4 (Opus Locus) Mistaking the packaging for postal protection is the first sign this CD is going to be a ride into the unknown. Sure, it’ll be bumpy at times, but always eventful. On repeated listenings (and using the reccommended ‘shuffle’ technique), the album takes on a smorgasboard quality. All these local, mainly industrial flavours have their good and bad, have their stories to tell; sometimes the songs stand alone as whole entities, other times they’re merely flashes of inspiration like a • colour splash across a page. Take, for example, Alan Holt’s ‘Old Answering Machine Message’ — an ode to the , . ", obvious until it breaks into a ‘death by misadventure’ version of ‘Baby, It’s \ . You’... Jeez, is this the death of rock ’n’ roll? And are we lovin’ it? The Mars surf of the Gore Gore Girls, and the music for the mind of Colourblind, do offer a tangible song for the listener to hang off of; while Fluffy . Bunny Kill remind us it's still okay to be pissed off. For those jaded souls on the verge of Saturday morning TV: highly recommended. - ' JESSE GARON CYNDILAUPER Sisters of Avalon (epic) I couldn’t get all the way through this one first listen. The initial assault of 'Sisters of Avalon’ set my teeth on edge, and I just couldn’t seem to ungrit them. My punishment? Finding said song . cycling around my head for a whole, morning a week later. I had to give the album another shot. - The rockin’ out 'I Love to Hate You’ reminds me this was the track that broke, my back initially. If I’d let the album keep playing I would have had my faith in Cyndi restored by the lovely melancholia of 'Hot Gets a Little Cold', and the shuffled musing of ‘Unhook the Stars’ (although it’s midway through the latter the cracks in Cyndi’s trademarked upper register show — it simply gets shrill in spots). More even vocal performances can be'found in the ballad-with-beats ‘Searching’, the stylishly mixed ‘Say a Prayer’, or the spine-tingling ‘Fearless’. The vocal on ‘Ballad of Cleo and Joe’ is certainly one out of the bag in the devel-' opment stakes; as is, musically, the Cajun-flavoured skank of ‘Brimstone and Fire’ — which deserves to be highstepped both to and in, and trod into the' bedrooms of she bop girls the world over. ' BRONWYN TRUDGEON DEPECHE MODE Ultra (Mute) Seems you can’t pick up a magazine these days without confronting a drug confessional from Mode front man Dave Gahan. Strange band, Depeche Mode — though wildly popular in America, it . seemed Gahan suddenly wanted to take a seat in rock ’n’ roll’s corporate box around the time of 1993's hopelessly addled Songs of Faith and Devotion. They seemed increasingly uncomfortable with their position as the arena-filling proponents of electro-pop. ; Ultra sees Mode stripping things back to the bare minimum (good idea), but these skeletal, plangent songs are forever over-reaching themselves — ‘The Love Thieves’, ‘Sister of Might’ and ‘Barrel of a Gun’ are as banal as their titles suggest. It all sounds distressingly like Ultravox. They even have the nerve to include a ’secret’ instrumental finale,

which suggests there’s no end to their sense of self-importance. Ultra is far from a redemptive comeback, despite Tim (Bomb the Bass) Simenon’s fine production duties. GREG FLEMING CICADA Soup Sonic (Mr Banger) Jangly rock bands don’t seem to be in vogue these days — or maybe it’s just the phrase. Whatever the case, Auckland four-piece Cicada show guitar-based pop can always work, whatever the current trends. And like a good soup (come with me on this metaphor), some of the taste sensations arrive with that first sip, while other, often more satisfying flavours take more time, more digestion. The initial spoonfuls (still with me?) of Cicada's sound bring out the sweet, zingy flavours — pure pop gems like ‘Future Folds’ and ‘Joiners Dog’. By midway through the broth, you may discover the taste sensations which come with the Slint-esque slowburner ‘Styro’, and the golden-glazed guitar sounds of ‘Get Up’. Personally, I was on my third bowl before I was finally taken by the wonderfully dark, Superette-ish ‘Backstab’. Thankfully (like those guys’ in the porridge story), the Cicada pot is always full, and you’ll keep coming back for more time and time again. A sonic soup indeed (burp). DOMINIC WAGORN CHRIS WHITLEY Terra Incognita (Sony) Terra Incognita continues pretty much where 1995’s Din of Ecstasy left off. Gone, thankfully, are the gratuitous junkie in-jokes; and musically, Incognita's more colourful and rewarding than its predecessor — with Whitley often playing all instruments, bar drums, himelf. I hear bits of Hendrix, Nirvana (indeed, the closest comparison to Incognita is In Utero), Beefheart, Lou Reed and Can, in a mix which is as mesmerising and evocative as anyone could wish. ‘0 God, my heart is ready,’ sang Whitley on Ecstasy —this time round, though, it is no idle boast. This is music as beautiful and compelling as any of the star-crossed blues men Whitley idolised as a teenager. From the power-pop cool of ‘Automatic’ (which houses the lovely lines, ‘I got no blood to waste / On foreplay’), through the sparse romanticism of ‘Cool Wooden Crosses’ and ‘Weightless’, to the strange tunings and instrumentations of ‘One Long Day’ and ‘Still Point’, Whitley shows he possesses the talent and poise of a master. Three albums, in he’s singing the truest, hardest blues around. GREG FLEMING MACHINEHEAD The More Things Change... (Roadrunner) The term ‘heavy metal’ has so many ridiculous connotations — you know, Manowar’s loincloth ’n’ armour medievelism; or the cosmetic-wearing, peroxided 80s hair-farmers in spandex — it’s no wonder bands playing heavyduty material attempt to distance themselves from all that, with descriptions like ‘aggressive rock’, or ‘hard music’. Machinehead don’t need to bother with revisionist terminology, as their skull-crushing density speaks volumes about where they are — at the vanguard of mid-90s, down-tuned metal. Despite the retro Deep Purplish connotations of the band name, Machinehead’s style is as current and valid as all the industrial or cyber-metal you could wave a pitch-shifter at, and there’s not a sample to be heard. And though it may not have the same marketable hard-man appeal, this album possesses enough gut-wrenching riffs and dynamic power to send Pantera scurrying back to their desert hideout. Still, as suggested by the title The More Things Change.. ., the more they stay the same, and nothing here is vastly dissimilar to the 1994 debut Burn My

Eyes. Although, considering that album sold more than labelmates Sepultura ever did, Machinehead probably felt no need to venture into indigenous anthropology a la Roots, or to stretcMheir horizons beyond the full-throttle roarfest of disenfranchised, angry metal energy. TROY FERGUSON SOLID DOCTOR How About Some Ether? (Pork) SOLID DOCTOR Beats Means Highs (Pork) Sunday morning and you’re waking up? Can’t even focus on a coffee cup? Don’t even know whose bed you're in? Well, call for the Solid Doctor, ’cause he’s been there, maaan. The doc is a side project of Fila Brazillia’s Steve * Cobby; the sound of distilled genius going it alone. • . How About Some Ether? is a collection of his work from 93-95 — a cramming session to get you up to date with his mind. And his mind is filled with mid-tempo groovy soul massaging machines, that ease the pain of those nocturnal choons that won’t leave . your brain. It’s full of funk, jazz and ambi glistenings that defy categories, but define the Pork label. And it has to be said that ‘Lights on ther Vibe’ is one of

the most evocative mood transmogrifiers you’ll hear, with all these tones that descend into a pool of blood and ambrosia. The latest album, Beats Means Highs, is a more potent mixture, full of more, recognisable strands of style. There’s definite dub on ‘Our Sorrow’, funk on ‘lntranauts', with jazz at the heart of 'ln the Offing’ and ‘Faustian Bargain’ (the latter of which has this great ranting sample about the drawbacks of technological overload; which is the idea at the core of Solid Doctors futurist, minimalist ear pleasures). The only criticism about Beats Means Highs is, it sounds almost too similar to Cobby’s Fila Brazillia. But . that’s not much of a criticism at all, j really. Puuuuuuurfect. JOHN TAITE THE PIN GROUP Retrospective (Siltbreeze) ; \ Complete with salivating librarian . liner notes, this retrospective restores hope for those without understanding bank managers, to possess the complete discography of Flying Nun’s first ‘signing’. Yes, before ‘Tally Ho’ rallied the deep south to attack the north and ' beyond, came the Pin Group’s ‘Ambivalence’ single. Although a poorlyproduced cousin to the later version on their Pin Group Go to Town EP, it will never lose it’s place in Nun history as • FNOOI, scratched on the seven-inch’s black label in black pen. The Pin Group were definitely a \ . sombre lot, but where today this aft lie-

tion is a marketing ploy, the Pin Group were the real McCoy. Placed firmly in VU reverence and aspirations (often attained), the Pin Group began the craftlike careers (not to mention all those inspired by them) of Roy Montgomery, Ross Humphries and Peter Stapleton, who would go on to various outfits like ’ the Victor Dimisich Band and The Terminals. I thank Siltbreeze and all - those involved for ensuring the availability of a catalogue that is deserving of old and new audiences. • MAC HODGE SCARFACE The Untouchable (Virgin) Bearing in mind the Geto Boys lost their way some time ago, and that 1996’s The Resurrection was a disap-, pointing exhumation that (perhaps); signalled final interment, it’s something of a relief Scarface's newest album is a closer relative of his previous solo efforts — and will stand or fall on those terms rather than be held up (favourably or otherwise) to that once mighty Texan crew (or to the solo output of his fellow Geto Boys, Bushwick Bill and Willie D). The smooth G-funk embrace that encircled the gritty, urban gangsta rap of 1994’s The Diary returns here, with laidback rolling beats, and a soulful 70s

flow that underpins the vocal styles of Scarface and his guests. Though Scarface may be too damn staunch to be truly convincing in any stance but threatening — after all this is Scarface, not Bunnyrabbitface — the raps are diverse enough to remain interesting throughout; and along with a distinguished production that avoids the samey slush trap, The Untouchable shows how the G-funk idiom can be stretched beyond memorable (ie annoying) R&B chorus hooks and lazy arrangements. Guests this time include Tupac Shakur (who has posthumously shown how prolific the last year of his life was), on a track that has been rewritten as a tribute; and Ice Cube (who previously collaborated on the minor hit ‘Hand of a Dead Body’) appears in his vengeful Westside Connection persona, along with Dr Dre and Too Short. Be sure that hip-hop is not ruled exclusively by the Wu-Tang Clan and their imitators — at least, not yet. TROY FERGUSON NUYORICAN SOUL Nuyorican Soul (Mercury) There’s some clever marketing going on here. The cover, for a start, looks like a cigar box. Ahhh. And there’s a special way to say the name; I’m pretty sure it’s

like Noe Yory-caan Soul (clever, filter out the masses). Even though they’re American, they’re signed to Talking Loud, which’ll give you an instantly recognisable idea of their sound: Incognito, Jazzamatazz, Young Disciples. And you know what territory we’re treading: Acid Jazz with capital letters.

And it's bloody good at that: all kind of mad, flipped-out, Latino Mardi Gras kind of instrumentation one minute, and late night, dingy club the next. And it sounds more real than all the English stuff we've become used to (sheesh, that was hard to admit). There are all sorts of stars, like Roy Ayers and (don’t laugh) George Benson, making all sorts of smooth warm grooves here. Some people will treat this like a burst of sunshine to brighten up the winter; the rest will grumble it's too cold for this type of carry-on. JOHN TAITE VARIOUS ARTISTS Hi Fibre (RDU 98.3 FM) Hot on the heels of the recent Sheep Technique tape compilations comes Hi Fibre, which is obviously the real shit. Whereas, the earlier compilations were patchy affairs showcasing mostly new bands in need of exposure, most of the ‘acts’ herein don’t need any introduction. Alec Bathgate provides three tracks, but only ‘Smile’ is not on Gold Lame. There are two Stereo Bus tracks from the recent album; Dave Mulcahy proves he’s NZ’s answer to the overt sexuality of Unrest; The Bats’ Paul Kean and Kaye Woodward combine for Kaye to do a Mo Tucker over Xpressway sounds, and Mr Kean does three great Resident Commercial out-takes, sans vox. The newer ‘kids' on the block have their moments too, and they’re what make this compilation all the more enjoyable. Hawaii Five-0 are a band of exciting possibilities; Fry has that wonderful throbbing, Christchurch organ-grinding a’la El Borado; and Hawaii Five-O’s ‘Speed Of Weed’ had me salivating for a Sebadoh dope fest. Squirm came to my attention recently by default through the Mike Hex album, Johnny Horse. While the track from Johnny is one of it’s more tame fillies, Squirm come up with the noisy treats in ‘Big House’ (a Dave Saunders, heavy metal masterpiece), while for ‘She’s

Real’ and ‘Finigan’s Grave’, they find their own distinct sound — a more musically dense Live Dead Clean. MAC HODGE THEO RAY This is Not Your Dream (:ambush) The startling filmic nature of much of Theo Ray’s material has been apparent since her debut EP, Bang, Bang, You’re Dead, came out last year. That release's title song literalises this penchant, as the newcomer can observe in the remixed version included here. Ray’s vocal style has a sublimely effected spoken-word style, which veers between tremulous (‘Colour it Red’, ‘3, 4, New York’) and sultry (‘Linoleum’), but remains at all times three steps past the part of the door where the hinges oughta be and ain’t. Musically, the album’s driven by the sort of loops that

make you feel like you’re stuck in one of those sci-fi fabled/hallucinatory stasis time warps, where you can’t stop opening the door on a scene you know you oughta be walkin’ away from, 'cause it looks so goddamn weird and you think you like it. Contextualising'this could only be done by placing it alongside anyone else who has beaten a path unique only to themselves (fill in your faves here), and this album reaffirms one’s belief in both how brave, important and rarely appreciated enough such a quality is. BRONWYN TRUDGEON FLUF Waikiki (Universal) Originating from the San Diego punk rock scene that also hatched the mighty rock ’n’ roll energy of Rocket From the

Crypt, Fluf — the power trio formed by esteemed 80s skate photographer, exOlivelawn member and, er, lunchbox collector 0 — have developed a sound that is equal parts reminiscent of 60s Detroit, 80s Washington State and 90s California. Now up to their fourth album (there's a slew of 10- and seven-inches out there too, trainspotters), more pop hooks and listener-friendly melodies have found their way into the recipe, but o’s gruff vocal style and dirty guitar playing (with a pumping rhythm section) ensure the band still pack a bigger punch than your average poprock combo, with tunes arriving with the delicacy and politeness of a bus hitting you in the face. From the frantic edginess of ‘Of the Bo' and 'Skip Beat’, to the infectious exuberance of ‘Chocolate’ and ‘Pushin’ Back Days’, this is the sound of a band

who do exactly what they want to please nobody but themselves — and fair play to them. Maybe in places (‘Pipe Bomb’ and ‘Got Everything’, for example), they get a little close to sounding like this decade’s most famous three-piece, but Fluf pull it off with real style and turn things inside out, making any comparisons redundant. Like their logo used to read, this is 'hawd koa rock ’n’ roll’, pure and simple. TROY FERGUSON JAMES Whiplash (Fontana) Quite frankly, I’d forgotten all about James. They could well have given up music and become dustmen for all I knew. But no, the greying UK popsters are still chugging along, 12 years after they first got together. Then again, their

output has hardly been prolific; this is their first album in four years, and we all know how much changes in the UK music scene in four years — Oasis, for a start. ~ So, should anyone care about a new James album? Well, probably not. James are doing the same things now they always have: big, serious rock songs, laden with meaningless rants from singer Tim Booth. Back in the late 80s, James 'discovered' electronic music about the same time as bands like Happy Mondays and the Charlatans. But that seems to have been where the learning curve ground to a halt. This record could have been made two, five, 10 years ago — take your pick. They’d make fine dustmen though. , DOMINIC WAGORN MAKEUP Sound Verite (K) MAKEUP Afterdark (Dischord) Those already familiar with last year’s Destination Love album will no doubt be converts to Makeup. Not just an exploration in sound, but a whole new feeling in purity and honesty — yes, the true source of rock and roll enlightenment hails from Washington DC. There’s . absolutely no doubting the integrity and passion contained within these two discs, as these four impeccably dressed disciples (previously three parts of seminal rockers the Nation of Ulysses) deliver with conviction a rock and roll seminary. Just as George Clinton is the . high priest of the P-Funk ‘movement’, Makeup are the Messiahs of their own movement, which could best be ■. described as F-Punk — the rock and roll religion for punks (as in attitude not fashion) who like to groove. For ' instance, Sound Verite's opening track, ■ ‘lf They Come in the Morning’, is a raw out-take version of the Beastie Boys’ 'ln Sound From Way Out’, with the offspring of James Brown and John Spencer wailing over the top. Afterdark is their second live album, complete with crowd participation. Check out ‘We Can’t Be Contained’, where you’ll swear you can hear James Brown whispering to you... ‘Can I take it to the bridge?’ Like lan Svenonius preaches, we’re all struggling against a vacuous society, and music is the only instrument left in the fight, and... ‘You’re trying to build sonic architecture, baby!’ Makeup prove there may be some use left in that tool yet. MAC HODGE

VARIOUS ARTISTS Sally’s Photographic Memory (Volume) Sometimes exceptional packaging, nice as it looks, is just a pain in the ass. Inside this giant cardboard box is a photographic portfolio, a good cause, and some great sounds — but where to put the damn thing? Story. Sally Harding was a young freelance photographer who worked with Orbital, Spooky, Primal Scream and the likes in the early 90s, and turned out some great pics that captured the time. Then she died. This is a tribute album in her memory. The double CD is reasonably strong with Orbital, Meat Beat Manifesto and an interesting dance version of Mazzy Starr’s ‘Fade Into You’. But the majority is filled with unsigned unknowns who sound, well, alright I guess. You can’t really turn tracks down when it’s a charity gig. That’s how that Little Stevie geezer got to do ‘Ain’t Gonna Play Sun City’, even though no-

one had heard of him. Anyway, before I digress into more tangential bollocks, this album has some interesting listening, but it’s hard to recommend. JOHN TAITE 59 TIMES THE PAIN Twenty Percent of My Hand (Burning Heart) Sweden — a country known for light, catchy pop with a touch of glamour — is also home to two well-known

punk acts: Millencolin, and No Fun at AH. These two bands, of course, also • play a type of catchy pop, except it’s sped up, there are no synthesisers, and they don't look like whatsername from the Cardigans. Now, 59 Times the Pain may share their nationality and a practice room with No Fun at All, but they sound like they’ve never heard a pop record in their lives — and if they didn’t have names like Magnus and Nacke, and list a contact address in Fagersta, Sweden, you’d be forgiven ; for assuming they were from New York City. ... This is the sort of frenzied hard stuff Gorilla Biscuits and the Cro-Mags played (Sick of it All still do), and 59 have the smarts to take the NYHC < sound and inject enough originality and verve into it to come out sounding like they’ve just invented it. As fresh and . biting as the Swedish climate (probably) is, and entirely unjaded and free of cynicism, this album defiantly flips the middle finger without coming off like a

two-dimensional caricature — surely a stamp of authenticity if there ever was one. *. ' v TROY FERGUSON VARIOUS ARTISTS „ The Valve Radio Experiment (Yellow Bike) VARIOUS ARTISTS ’ . 10Hz of White Piss (Yellow Bike) ■ One thing never ceases to amaze and confound me. If people have so

many bad mushroom trips, why do . they think they should palm their misery off on the rest of us? Case in point: most music out of Taranaki/Manawatu, and lately, Nelson and Wellington. The Exhibits? The above-named compilations. The first traces the genesis of mushy music . through Palmerston North for the last 10 years, starting with a Skeptics track from Sensible Shoes. A little further on in the disc we get a not-too-sloppy stab at AK79 from Harry Death, but - from here things go way down Mushy • Lane for another 23 tracks; from the /, bad Jesus Lizard of Rake, to various . combos trying to reincarnate the . Skeptics (Damask, Lung, and Meat Market). Then there’s the few who do SPUD, lots of industro-noise/goth whatever, bad HM, or just plain suicide music. Not too much humour or pop in the old flat lands. 10Hz 0f... marks out much the ■ same territory, but throws it’s mushy . net to fresh fields in mostly surrounding provinces. The added genres here are: the Motor City madness of Motorsheep and Sowpuss; feedback for feedback’s sake from Store and the Longshoremen; and Speed metal from Inebriation. Down in Dunedin, Dissident pummel bloody Sabbath, while Birchvilfe Cat Motel have let the little furry buggers loose with • shrooms, sequencers, and a car stuck . in furst (sic) gear. Notable exceptions to my fungal theory here were: Cattle, who slowly build layering noise on • ? Cold; Alpha Plan, who get points for sampling Duckman and have better . stuff in the pipeline; and finally Kitsch, whose BYO/Youth Brigade style punk-. ings thrashed close to my heart? .. -• ■ In summary: drugs are bad, kids... don’t do them unless you can get the Amex for the designer ones! . MAC HODGE ■ ■.. , ■■ ■ • . ■ - ; ; ' ' THE KAWEKAS ’ ' Sugarloaf (Self-released) ? Everything is flawless: the . , country/folk/rock feel and the clean ■ voice that never fails (or even ? % i ' ~' attempts) to take an ill-timed breath. Yet, in itself, its flawlessness is its -. mistake. Because, like anything too polished, it is impossible to keep a , • hold of for very long. ' . .. - As I listened to this collection of tunes from the heartland, I began to ’ . feel the sense of-isolation and rat race regret were merely fabrications, beefed-up imaginings, so the songs might appeal to a certain sector — rather than the true life storeis they are so earnestly painted as being. ~ ' . All of us south of Mangere can identify with the sentiments in 'City of Sails’, but the Kawekas sound like a . Queen Street boardroom version of . this resentment. That said, the album. is (almost) redeemed by ‘Shelter Me: From the Pouring Rain’, which is

bound to have any Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris fan weeping over the steering wheel. JESSE GARON JOSEPH ARTHUR Big City Secrets (Real World) . Joseph Arthur comes via WOMAUs : Real World label. The material ranges from the Daniel Lariois-like ‘Mercedes’, ,to the sparse electronics of ‘Birthday : Card’, though Arthur's melodic ear and penchnat for drama distinguishes it from like-minded competitors. Indeed, the involvement of Brian Eno and Peter Gabriel (both are hauled in to contribute backing vocals) gives an idea of Big City Secrets’ millieu. ‘Daddy’s on Prozac’, despite its ' ; promising title, is anything but a little light relief, and seems to be Arthur’s stab at a ‘Luka’. Indeed, Arthur suffers throughout from taking himself a little too seriously, and unfortunately continues that annoying habit of the artist insisting upone drawing his own. cover art. Proceed with caution. . . GREG FLEMING VARIOUS ARTISTS Metallurgy 3 (Volume) Here’s another compilation from those nice folks at Volume, who along with having a thing about putting fish on the covers of their releases, supply an informative 192-page booklet with a CD of (mainly) unreleased material. Metallurgy’s 1 and 2 showed real promise for a great series: rare stuff from Kyuss, Fu Manchu and Young Gods; as well as gems from lesser knowns such as Above All, Manhole . and Cubanate. Perhaps they’ve run out of steam for this edition, as there’s little to get excited over, either from the big names present or the smattering of unknowns. (And oh, boy, the depths have really been plumbed to - scrape up some of the hopeless second-raters here).' - Even so, a reasonably comprehensive array of styles is on show — the new sounds of Sweden from. Lost.. Souls (with a Motorhead cover) and Misery Loves Co (a technologyfriendly remix); CJ Ramone’s gutsy new booze combo, Los Gusanos; retro-depresso metal courtesy of . Neurosis and Floodgate; reggae " crossover from the excellent Dub War (with a diamond-in-the-rough demo of '• ‘Million Dollar Love’); and two punk rawk Australian acts — Downtime, and Nitocris. The very capable Biohazard disappoint with bad hard- . core, and the rest of the rubbish on offer here doesn’t even warrant a mention. At least the fish on the cover kicks ass: a shark/stingray crossbreed with chrome exhaust pipes — awesome. TROY FERGUSON

BLONDE REDHEAD - Fake Can be Just as Good (Touch & Go) \\ Take twin Italians and a couple of. Japanese women, throw them together in New York for a few years to use - alternate tunings. Name the ensemble : after a song by DNA, and put a debut. album out on Steve Shelley’s label. You’d have a mix too ‘elitist’ to be true, right? Sure, there’s gonna be compar- . ■ isons to ‘that band’, especially if you exploit the mostly untouched ; . (compared to an abundance of three chord pukings) ‘genre’ of psychedelic detunings. But Blonde Redhead are not mere plagiarists, impressing with the thoughtfully melodious guitar twinings of Kazu Makino and Amedeo ; ! ‘ Pace, and the interplay of vocal stylings of the two guitarists. ‘Oh ’ James’ is an exceptional example of BR’s charms — layered dischordings over a Lucifer Sam-type number, while Kazu and Amedeo play vocal rollerball. ‘Pier Paolo’ is a heavenly mix of Salem 66 white noise and SY chimings, and ‘Symphony of Treble’ is very groovy. Totalling just eight tracks, from the opening back-tracked bells of‘Kazuality’, to the frenzied closing stanza of ‘Futurism vs. Passeism’, there’s no room for a single dog on this spotless album.' \ • , . MAC HODGE HELEN ERIKSEN Standards (Blue Note) If you’re standing in a record store and someone else is hovering over : this, rush in and snatch it.. If they're at the counter, kick them in the shin and . offer to up the price if you have to. -•/. Apparently there are only 200 copies - in the country, and once you posess it - you’ll pat yourself on the back . repeatedly. Eriksen is a 24-year-old part-.. Norwegian/part-English ‘;?. ; . singer/songwriter/sax player. Yawn,' • you say. Her voice is a sweet, sexy, lubricious gasp factory, that recalls Beth Orton or Roya from Archive. And we’re inundated with them, you say.' . ' Yeah, but of all the jazzy hip-hop 7 mixtures out there, her backing beats, ■■ smoky scratches and jazz textures sound so effortless and perfect they piss all over the try hards that’ve gone • ■ before. But you want more? ■ - Listen to the melancholic ‘Alone’, with it’s delicious vocal layering, or the almost acid jazz ‘Low Rain in Pain’, or the live jazzy interludes. There’s something special going on here. Blue Note records only took one listen to approve this being released on their. label. Eriksen is a new star sparkling in modern jazz’s pitch black night. JOHN TAITE

AJ BELL Ragwort Touch (Cow) -... Quite a few of these 'old Holdens and dusty roads’ New Zealand folk albums ■ have passed my way of late, but AJ Bell has really tapped the rich vein and come up with a champion. He’s found that blend of introvert and extrovert; of storyteller and dream weaver; or back porch charm and urbanised complextiy. Yes, he’s more than a down home folkie, sonofagun — he’s got his goddman PhD in the subject. With ‘The Jesus King’, he opens with a thick brew of nostalgia by prefixing with a sanguine church choir (heat, boredom, and ‘can’t wait for the cuppa’), before a juxtaposition of red-eyed cynicism (‘A meal for the homeless I Ah, they’re so easy to satisfy’), and complex, but not intimidating, welding of guitar strings. ‘Ragwort and Rust' almost falls apart into delicate pieces, but is swept up in the symmetrical corners of the song — it is pleasing in an almost mathematical way. But for sheer kiwi-ese, listen to the ‘Tai’s in ‘Taihape’ — vowels that ? sound as good as an HQ on an East Co JESSE GARON LICKS7's ...And the Band Played On (Onefoot) Why do so many of these US punk acts have such bad cover art? I mean, sure, having your buddy with a Mac design your CD goes perfectly with a DIY punk ethic, but don’t you think it kinda defeats the purpose if it looks pig ugly? Thank the Lord Lick 57’s music isn’t so ugly. The Pensacola, Florida four-piece don’t always strike up the right blend of pop and power, but they're pretty close with most of this record. On ‘Story of a Good 01’ Boy’ and ‘ln the AM’ they find . the perfect mix — classic punk rock. Lyrically, Lick 57’s are more serious and deeper than a lot of these bands choose to'be — there aren't any jokes about drinking too much and going skating in the nude, but they make up for this with. some cool samples between songs, including some weird dialogue from a fucked-up It's in the Bag-type game show. Good stuff. . < . . • DOMINIC WAGORN /. BRUCE COCKBURN . • The Charity of Night (Rykodisc) ’ Canadian singer/songwriter Bruce Cockburn's twenty-third album continues his mix of political pragmatism and spiritual quest. The odd acoustic . instrumental gives the album a cinematic feel, and these are often more : 5 1 compelling than Cockburn’s needlessly wordy lyrics. There’s a discouraging air of earnest appeal about Charity of the« Night displayed nakedly there in its very title — so somehow, despite the skill and craft involved (check out the lovely ‘The Whole Night Sky’ and ‘The Coming Rain’), it leaves this listener less moved and more skeptical than ever. For fans only. M -_

GREG FLEMING