BACK BEAT

Rip It Up, Issue 241, 1 September 1997, Page 32

BACK BEAT

After the return of polyester flares and platform shoes, it had to happen — concept albums are back. But why should prog rock have the concept cosmos to itself? This month offers concept folk, concept Velvets, concept roots, concept Latin and even concept gospel. The most accomplished is Mahinarangi Tocker’s Te Ripo (Columbia), which displays her songwriting artistry and her extraordinary, captivating voice. The album is a musical autobiography that pays tribute to Tocker’s multicultural ancestry: Maori, Jewish, Scottish. It opens with the moving title track, like a contemporary karanga listing her whakapapa. The breadth of Tocker’s songs includes the Carole King-like pop of ‘Tell Me’ and many confessional art-songs. Shona Laing has produced, giving the album a simple and sympathetic backing lead by Gary Verberne’s guitar. Roadworks, also on Columbia, showcases Shona Laing as troubadour. It’s an all-acoustic rendering of her songs which are live favourites. The material spans her career, including staunch responses to Thatcher written in early-80s London, and the perennial novelty ‘I Love My Feet'. The lack of keyboard extras gives the songs vigour, as if the melodies get a bracing jolt of fresh air (‘Welcome to the Whirlwind’, ‘Should Have Been For You’, ‘Mercy of Love’). Staying acoustic, Blue Mountain are string-twangers from Oxford, Mississippi, who share ancestry with Wilco and melodies with REM. But

Homegrown (Roadrunner/Border) is more cheerful and humble than their Southern cousins; unpretentious roots-rock which mixes blues and country without sounding like either. In contrast, Boz Scaggs has crafted a purist’s tribute to black R&B, particularly the smooth, big sounds of Bobby ‘Blue’ Bland. Come On Home (Virgin) shows that Boz’s ‘94 comeback Some Change was no fluke. Beautifully done, with a truly great band, it’s a loving re-creation of his R&B influences which has a deep soul all its own. He chose songs he loves singing, and it shows.

Buick Mac Kane is one more vehicle for singer/guitarist Alejandro Escovedo. Uncompromising and spirited, The Pawn-Shop Years (Rykodisc) sounds as though it was knocked off in a sweaty bar; its raw guitar thrash is roots music with attitude. This Buick has done many years on gravel roads. Resisting any temptation to turn back the clock is Tijuana Brass maestro Herb Alpert. Passion Dance (Almo) is cocktail Latin for the 90s, for those who like to cha-cha-cha with a Vodkatini highball. Sadly, these Santana . rhythms are homogenised for hair salons; salsa without sweat. Missing is the Tijuanas’ inimitable barping silliness. A man with epic visions — like those of Quincy Jones or Branford Marsalis' — is Kirk Franklin. Nu Nation is his group,' but they’re a choir; their album is God's Property (B-Rite). This is gospel for the 90s, its high-tech eclecticism borrowing from hip-hop and new jack swing.

But there are no gangstas here, it’s more like a room full of Cosbys. Although the choir weighs it down, the resulting power makes a change from all the wimpoid fare dominating the R&B charts. Maybe it's time for Afro-American music to go back to church to discover the devil again. Updating the Velvet Underground is a concept many have tried, but few as successfully as Yo La Tengo. / Can Hear the Heart Beating as One (Matador), at least their eighth album in a decade-long career, is like a showreel of black jersey favourites, all played on Quaaludes. Apart from the Velvets, it mostly resembles the Jesus & Mary Chain (ie, the Beach Boys, done either as a thrash or a languid crawl). Simply done, it’s full of musical ideas without showing off; they wouldn’t want to intimidate their peers. A standout is the charming, low-fi ‘lpanema’ rewrite ‘Center of Gravity’, whereas ‘Spec Bebop’ reveals ‘Tomorrow Never Knows’ is big in Hoboken, too. Leader Ira Kaplan is an ex-rock critic — it shows.

Maura O’Connell , has also returned to her roots on Wandering Home (Hannibal/Festival). Her cut-glass alto makes Irish music for Mum’s lounge rather than the public bar, with delicate backings which ' are ageless, ethereal and evocative. Richard Thompson’s ‘Down Where the Drunkards Roll’ is at home among companions which includes traditional a capella, even a Seamus Heaney recitation. This has a heartbeat, though you can’t dance to it. .

CHRIS BOURKE