Short Takes

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=110 BGCOLOR="#000000" TEXT="#F7F7FF" bgproperties="fixed" background="04900840dvldtc.gif"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFFFFF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>The First Church of Holy Rock and Roll</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="6" COLOR="#FFFFCC" FACE="Tempus Sans ITC" ><B> </B></FONT><B>    |     </B><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The First Church of Holy Rock and Roll"><U><B>home</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id28.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Commandments"><U>The Commandments</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id21.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Sermon"><U>The Sermon</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id19.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="New Reviews"><U>New Reviews</U></A>   |   <B>Short Takes</B>   |   <A HREF="id20.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Blasts from the Past"><U>Blasts from the Past</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id41.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Interviews"><U>Interviews</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id55.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Books That Rock!"><U>Books That Rock!</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id47.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Movies That Rock!"><U>Movies That Rock!</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id49.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="On the Front Line: Shimamoto Reports"><U>On the Front Line: Shimamoto Reports</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id53.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Dimitri Monroe: Letters from a BurntOut "><U>Dimitri Monroe: Letters from a Burnt-Out Recluse</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id59.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Josh Slates on Cinema"><U>Josh Slates on Cinema</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id56.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cravens RockORama"><U>Cravens' Rock-O-Rama</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id40.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Holy Mix Tape"><U>Holy Mix Tape</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id62.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="KCOUs Shake Em On Down! 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Hailing from Kent, Ohio, they were on the periphery of the great Cleveland punk scene (David Thomas produced ‘em in ‘79), and still play most weekends there. A hard r&b groove, a three-man sax section on the verge of free-k out, and a canny singer with a sharp guitar--nothing like it today, that’s for sure, and nothing like it at the time of this ‘75 show at the Agora. In the liner notes, Thomas himself calls the title song “one of the great moments in our culture,” and he ain’t far wrong.</div> <div> (order: <FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#336633" FACE="Times New Roman" ><A HREF="http://www.projex.demon.co.uk/hearpen.html" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://www.projex.demon.co.uk/hearpen.ht"><U><B>www.projex.demon.co.uk/hearpen.html</B></U></A></FONT> ; band info:<FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#336666" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B> </B><A HREF="http://www.numbersband.com" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://www.numbersband.com"><U><B>www.numbersband.com</B></U></A></FONT>)</div> <div> <B><U>Tyler Keith and the Preacher's Kids: </U></B><I><B><U>Romeo Hood </U></B></I><B><U>(Black Dog/Louisiana Red Hot)</U></B><B> </B><B> <A NAME="tylerkeith"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></div> <div> The Neckbones demonstrated with casual shit-smearing ease how the musical vision of the early Rolling Stones and the attitude of Johnny Thunders could be adapted for a jaded rock and roll world--no mean feat, folks--then, after making two wonderfully sloppy, loud, biting, and funny records for Fat Possum (see our <FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#0000FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><A HREF="id50_neckbones.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Songs and Albums You Gotta Hear"><U><B>Songs and Albums You Gotta Hear</B></U></A></FONT>), they broke up. Based on the evidence of this record, Tyler Keith was the guts of the operation. While it doesn't seem to be as frequently on that exhilarating verge of flying apart as the Neckbones records were, his solo excursion has more than its share of gloriously dirty-sounding moments. Keith's genius--yep, sometimes I think that's what it is--is elevating his garage rockers from mere genre exercises to utterly convincing and personal expressions of his exquisitely fucked-up soul and lifestyle [try to "White Boy Blues," or "Romeo Hood," or "Livin' the High Life (With My Low Life Friends)" to test my theory, if you wish]. This accomplishment involves the singing and writing as well as the music, which makes it even more admirable. <I>Romeo Hood</I> falters a bit when Keith slows it down (though "Youth is Wasted on the Young" gets by on its hilariously naked desperation), but if it's the <I>real </I>grimy rock roots you're looking for, there's no better recent release through which to sample 'em.</div> <bR> <div> <B><U>The Coup: </U></B><I><B><U>Party Music </U></B></I><B><U>(75 Ark/Tommy Boy)</U></B><B> </B><B> <A NAME="coup"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></div> <div> A truly amazing concept record. The title cuts two ways: communist (Black Panther, if you like) and hedonist. The lyrics carry the former, the stripped-down music (Pam the Funkstress on perfect hide-and-seek turntables, main man Boots Riley on drum programs) the latter. Imagine the Gap Band drunk on Malcolm X and you have it. In an America still predicated on freedom and rugged individualism, this'd be merely agit-prop, but as the days get darker Riley's words seem more like hard realism. If you happen to see capitalism as a wild virus already burrowed deep into the country's hard drive, you're gonna have this on repeat play--and you may drift from the considerably seductive lyrical flow, 'cause this flat-out <I>jams</I>! "Wear Clean Draws" is the stunner, a hard and tender line of advice to a young daughter that makes Eminem look fucking idiotic. But the others keep exploding in your ear:  "Nowalaters," a painful, detailed, funny teen sex-into-teen parenthood reminiscence, "Heven Tonight," an indictment of the church that urges us to "make heaven right here/just in case they wrong," "Everythang," "Ghetto Manifesto," and "Get Up" on-the-one pre-riot rallying cries, and "Ride the Fence" one helluva an argument for getting off it. OK, maybe the fact that Riley can make a record like this without hassle (not counting his quite understandably having to change the original cover art) is a sign that shit ain't that bad. Forgive me, but the fact that he hasn't become a Thomas Paine for the new millennium is a sign that it is. Special note to those who haven't listened to a hip-hop album in years: time to get outta your comfort zone. (Click on <FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#3366CC" FACE="Times New Roman" ><A HREF="http://www.africana.com/DailyArticles/index_20011025_1.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://www.africana.com/DailyArticles/in"><U><B>this link</B></U></A></FONT> to read an interview with Boots Riley on africana.com).</div> <bR> <div> <B><U>Tizzy: </U></B><I><B><U>“Scary in Adulthood” </U></B></I><B><U>(Vital Cog)</U></B><B> </B><B> <A NAME="tizzy"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></div> <div> A slept-on '99 release. Tizzy sounds like Sleater-Kinney East, but actually I <I>prefer</I> them to their apparent model. For one, Jen Stavely’s chattery vocals don’t hector me into turning the music off. For another, the songs are filled with the closely observed details of a lived life, rather than being carefully constructed dogmatic scenarios, and I’ve been waiting to hear several of them (“Bumper Sticker Town,” “A Hand Grenade in a Hair Salon,” “I Hate Football,” “The Underground Eats Its Own”) since I first realized rock and roll songs could be about <I>anything</I>. Finally, the music, punky but unafraid of dynamics, has a strange, muted quality reminiscent of the Feelies (it’s been awhile since I’ve heard <I>quiet</I> fuzz). The Leeds, MA trio has a newer album than this out that I’ll definitely have to check into; visit<FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#BF00BF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B> </B><A HREF="http://www.vitalcog.com" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://www.vitalcog.com"><U><B>www.vitalcog.com</B></U></A><B> </B></FONT>for ordering info.</div> <bR> <div> <B><U>The Stone Coyotes: </U></B><I><B><U>Born to Howl </U></B></I><B><U>(Red Cat)</U></B><B> </B><B> <A NAME="coyotes"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></div> <div> Barbara Keith’s a tough woman who sings with soul, anger, and commitment and slings a noisy guitar; if you’re a real rocker, your heart’s gonna soar when you hear her ask for “a BC Rich, maybe a Warlock, maybe a Bitch” for her birthday in “The First Lady of Rock.” She even bravely tempts disaster by being the second artist in the recent past to take on Dolly Parton’s eternal “Jolene,” and doesn’t emerge <I>completely </I>battered and bruised (which is more than I can say, though I’m in the minority, about the White Stripes’ version). The music--foursquare rock with some acoustic changes of pace--isn’t always as <I>there </I>as it needs to be to carry her when she blands out or gets a bit corny, which she does occasionally, but anyone who likes both Joan Jett and Bonnie Raitt is gonna dig this. You have to root for someone who scoffs at “new boys” needing “three days to get the drum sound right” while she scans the horizon in vain for a Jerry Lee or Joey Ramone! To check Keith and her band out, visit <FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#BF00BF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><A HREF="http://www.stonecoyotes.com" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://www.stonecoyotes.com"><U><B>www.stonecoyotes.com</B></U></A></FONT>.</div> <bR> <div> <B><U>Frank Lenz: </U></B><I><B><U>The Hot Stuff </U></B></I><B><U>(Northern)</U></B><B> </B><B> <A NAME="lenz"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></div> <div>      I got off on the wrong foot with Frank Lenz. Maybe it was the allusions in his promo kit to Steely Dan and, uh, fusion. Unlike a lot of my muso buds, I DIDN'T do backflips when I heard Steely Dan were getting back together a coupla years ago. Sure, I listened to their stuff back in the mid-seventies, but then again, I was doing lotsa coke back then; I mean, I even liked LITTLE FEAT for a minute there, for chrissakes (although I drew the line at the Doobie Brothers, which makes me COOLER THAN JOHN CALE, who supposedly lapped up ALL that swill). As for fusion - which Lester Bangs once memorably referred to in a Creem review of Jeff Beck (whose "Blow By Blow" album caused me to think that I needed to learn how to play GOOD, poor misguided fool that I was) as "Mahaherbiehancockorea" - well, if you happened to be at the State University of New York at Albany when Larry Coryell's Eleventh House played there back in '74, I was the drunk asshole who kept telling people on line to fuck off and spent the whole show yelling "FUUUUUCK YOU!!! ROCK AND ROLL!!!" every time there was a break in the music. I'm not proud of it, just trying to illustrate a point.</div> <div>      Well, I'm happy to report that "The Hot Stuff" doesn't sound much like either Steely Dan OR fusion, although Mr. Lenz (doncha just love that formal Noo Yawk Times style? If they write about Bo Diddley, they have to call him "Mr. Diddley." HAHAHA!) DID sample the bassline from Billy Cobham's "Stratus," if my shaky memory serves, for "Take the Wheel," a track with lyrics about letting Jesus take the wheel (sounds suspiciously like Sam Kinison's last words, but I could be wrong again here). True, it has lotsa bleep-blorp synths (seventies, not eighties variety - lesser of two evils), Fender Rhodes and Hammond (employed KINDA like Miles did on "In a Silent Way"), Latin percussion, bits of skronky guitar, more samples. It's kinda dance-trancey. ATMOSPHERIC. Slick uptown R&B, but spacey. Lotsa heavy ambience and groove. My initial association was with "What's Going On" or its albino not-really precursor, Edgar Winter's "Entrance" (I swear the SHAPE of those albums is similar, if not the substance), but that's not right either. Lenz is a lot more MODERN. Maybe a better comparison would be with something like that Geggy Tah album on Luaka Bop from a few years back. (Hey, I was moonlighting in a record store - I didn't have to PAY for it.)</div> <div>      Lenz can't sing, but he's not in the same category of non-singer as you or me or Johnny Thunders (or that fuckin' twerp from Matchbox 20, who makes more money from not singing than you or I or Johnny Thunders ever did)...more like mellow "jazzy" non-singer Michael Franks (Remember him? The [slightly] less commercial version of fellow Warner Bros. employee Christopher Cross...gawd, I can't believe I'm admitting I remember all these people!), whom I always liked to think of as an emasculated Mose Allison ("Lessee, if I mention Coltrane and Miles in a song, people will think it's JAZZ, even if I can't scat like that Al Jarreau colored guy..."). But, he comes up with some beguiling grooves and melodies ("Tricyle" actually sounds late Beatle-depressive, while "Line Dancer" reminds me of something Mick Jones might have essayed in his Big Audio Dynamite daze, if somebody had forced him to listen to Marvin Gaye records on acid instead of hip-hop) and I have to admit that I've been popping this on late at night a lot more often than I usually do a promo freebie, and not just 'cos his promo chick keeps writing me and asking, "What'd ya think?"  </div> <bR> <div> <B><U>Variac: </U></B><I><B><U>Hard Starward</U></B></I><B><U> (Rustbelt Records, 118 East Seventh St., Royal Oak, MI 48067)</U></B><B><U> <A NAME="hardstar"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></U></B></div> <div>      Its provenance notwithstanding, this is NOT an album of the kind of MC5/Stooges- esque high-energy Dee-troit jams I love so much. Rather, it's RADIO-READY ART- ROCK a la U2 or Radiohead, or WOULD be, if it were possible for rekkids on small indie labels to get airplay in this country today.</div> <div>      What you get here is layers of effect-laden guitars and keyboards; voxxx that are "soulful" and "passionate" in the same for-the-cameras way as, uh, Bono's are; a penchant for Indian-sounding scales reminiscent of Kula Shakur's (remember the Britpop band fronted by Hayley Mills of "Pollyanna" fame's son, who did a somewhat adequate cover of Deep Purple's "Hush" a coupla years back?); an aura of arena-rock power and majesty (I can actually imagine these guys listening to playbacks in the studio, telling each other, "Jeez, do we ever sound powerful and majestic or what? Pass me another beer or a joint or whatever"); a preponderance of moderate tempos (Mick Farren pointed out, in a <I>Village Voice</I> piece about the Who playing Shea Stadium back in '82, how rock tempos slowed down when bands moved from ballrooms and clubs to arenas, the better to emphasize the Grand Gesture); lotsa "classic rock" references (the descending bassline from, uh, Led Zep's version of "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You," which is the same one, uh, Chicago used in "25 or 6 to 4," inexplicably shows up on "Twelveight," f'rinstance) from guys who weren't even thought of at the time the Beatles broke up.  </div> <div>      Christ, I'm really dating myself here...but then again, these guys pull the same trick themselves with a song titled "Sherilyn Fenn-Phen." And why shouldn't they?</div> <div>      Finally, deduct points for the confusing-ass allusions in the band name (techno?), album title (nautical? Star Trek?), and cover image (unmanned drone aircraft?) and the "arty" band shots (second guy from the left look like Man-Child Cusack in "High Fidelity?" YOU decide!!!).</div> <bR> <div> <I><B><U>Tenacious D</U></B></I><B><U> (Epic)</U></B><B><U> <A NAME="tenacious"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></U></B></div> <div> Tenacious Dumbasses, rather. The humor’s sub-sixth grade, the "heavy" parody having been rendered much more subtly and hilariously by the Spinal Tap braintrust--not to mention the Dictators, who I bet these guys have never heard or heard of--almost twenty years ago (think of what a statement <I>that </I>is). The performances overstay their welcome even at less than 3 minutes per, among the worst offenders most of the ten that clock in under two. The chatter is so precious and pleased with itself you wanna projectile vomit. As far as improv goes, there’s a drunk guy at every kegger in middle America who can make you laugh harder. No wonder they were an indie phenom before landing in the bigs:  their “attitude” is snide Malkmusian elitism stripped of crypto-bullshit. Another sign of how desperate we are for kicks, and here’s hoping the guys from Monster Magnet or Slayer kick their fat asses into next year (make that last year).</div> <bR> <div> <B><U>Merle Haggard: </U></B><I><B><U>Roots, Volume 1 </U></B></I><B><U>(Anti)</U></B>  <A NAME="hag_roots"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></div> <div> Nobody loves his roots more deeply, or revisits them with more passion, than Merle Haggard: check out <I>Best of Country Blues </I>(Bob Wills, Delmore Brothers, Jimmie Rodgers), <I>A Tribute to the Best Damn Fiddle Player in the World </I>(all Wills), <I>Same Train, Different Time </I>(all Rodgers), and <I>The Way I Am </I>(Ernest Tubb and Floyd Tillman). And, in a return nearly as inspiring as Bob Dylan's, Hag is <I>rolling</I>; if you haven't yet heard <I>If I Could Only Fly </I>(<FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#9966FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><A HREF="id25_hag.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U><B>click to read our review</B></U></A></FONT>), do so now. This marvelous disc, recorded with no overdubs in the man's living room, documents his near 60-year love affair with the music of Lefty Frizzell. He and the Strangers, augmented by the guitar of Lefty's old sideman Norm Stephens, don't mess much with the arrangements, but their performance has the intensity of a lonely old bachelor remembering the one that got away. Hag's vocal "imitations" are always gently funny, full of love (I used that word again, but <I>that's the word</I>), and more Hag than the object of his interp. Don't forget, too: as a master hillbilly soul singer, only George and Willie can compete with him, and they're falling behind as of this record. Hanks Thompson and Williams also get the treatment, and all three of the new compositions stand up to the company. And I gotta say it again: NO OVERDUBS. This is naked grace, real as the day is long. Nashville...go fuck yourself: the ghosts are spinning in their graves.</div> <bR> <div> <I><B><U>The Tarbox Ramblers </U></B></I><B><U>(Rounder)</U></B>  <A NAME="tarbox"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></div> <div> I'm a bit slow on this 2000 release, but better late than never. I'd rank this ramblin', rockin', reverberatin' record just below Dylan's <I>World Gone Wrong</I> and squarely above Maria Muldaur's <I>Richland Woman </I>and David Jo's <I>Harry Smiths</I> record in the "Reclaiming <I>The Anthology of American Folk Music</I>" sweepstakes, and that isn't faint praise. The material (excepting one nice original) is all pretty much '20s vintage, but, for a bunch of guys from Cambridge, Mass on America's premier folk/roots label, they're not interested in killing the songs with reverence, purity, and "authenticity"; shaking out their dust with some loose fiddle, sharp slide, and rough, passionate vocals, they make 'em...what was that word?...ROCK! Though I'd have been afraid of "The Cuckoo" or "Oh Death" myself (kinda like covering Howlin' Wolf, or Jerry Lee), they survive the experience (with honors on the latter), but a few of these have been overexposed lately. No matter. If they come to your town, follow 'em, folks.</div> <bR> <div> <B><U>Unitas: </U></B><I><B><U>Porch Life </U></B></I><B><U>(No Idea)</U></B>  <A NAME="unitas"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></div> <div> Since the First Church opened its doors a little over a year ago, I've been waiting for a band like this, and a front man willing to take the bull by the horns. Even (and especially) if he's not always sure who or what the bull is, and if he sometimes suspects it's himself. Jason Rockhill declaims his unsettled, hard-won wisdom like "the great communicator" he's looking for in "The Young Idea vs. The Fuzzy Math" (my pick for Song of the Year), over a band that's nothing special other than in its <I>very </I>game passion. And that's a rare distinction. Whether he's railing against deluded anger, growing older just watching another shitty indie band, mourning the passing of summer, setting fire to the local newspaper, racing his comrades out of Gainesville, staring into that deep dark truthful mirror, wallowing in his friends' malaise, searching for a leader, or throwing a tough ol' rope to a drowning woman, the man's fucking <I>alive and awake</I>. It should go without saying that, if I can reel off such a clear series of scenarios, we're not talking about your standard belly-button gazing scenester cryptologist whose fortress of clever moves protects an empty heart and an empty mind. Recalling the Adverts' <I>Crossing the Red Sea </I>in its dramatic reality-rooted desperation and Minor Threat's <I>Out of Step</I> in its determination to shout out unpopular truths, <I>Porch Life</I> moves past both records by virtue of its willingness to fuck around (abandoning the punk assault to croon ala referenced heroes Tweedy and Stipe--not a good sign, but Rockhill's so smart he pulls it off) and turn the scalpel on itself. In addition, outside of <I>Love and Theft</I>, there's not been a better set of lyrics written this year. Here's hoping he comes to the conclusion that the hero he's looking for is Jason Rockhill. Band name = band dream, seems to me.</div> <bR> <div> <B><U>Garbage: </U></B><I><B><U>beautifulgarbage </U></B></I><B><U>(Almo/Interscope)</U></B>  <A NAME="garbage"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></div> <div> Some may consider Shirley Manson the Pat Benatar of the post-Nirvana age, but, me, I think she's an inspired thief with no illusions. She cuts the Diamanda Galas out of her Polly Harvey, adds meanness and hard consequences to her Madonna, shoots humor through her Chrissie Hynde, just improves on Shelby Lynne (try "Can't Cry These Tears Anymore"), and doesn't truck much with Patti Smith at all (maybe she knows <I>sui generis</I> is hard to absorb). And she remembers the Shangri-Las. I'll go anywhere she wants to take me. This isn't as full of cheap pop thrills as <I>Version 2.0</I>, but neither is 2001. I like the band, too; yep, there's sampling galore, but I like how Butch Vig has taken the lessons Kurt Cobain learned from the Pixies--stop, and explode--and applied them to computer music. As always, this bunch knows what it's name's all about. </div> <bR> <div> <B><U>The Goddamn Gentlemn: </U></B><I><B><U>Sex-Caliber Horsepower </U></B></I><B><U>(Upper Cut Records)</U></B><B> </B><B> <A NAME="g_d_gentlem"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></div> <div> From the label that brought you the Bellrays' Olympian <I>Grand Fury</I> comes a Portland quintet that knocks down all the pins with a spinning, breakneck punk rawk bowling ball of a record. Faster, funnier, and less reflective than their local kin, they're just the thing for a borderline cold, rainy weekend: think the Devil Dogs' "Big Fucking Party" sustained for a full record. And when they slow down a bit, they don't fall flat. </div> <bR> <div> <B><U>George Jones: </U></B><I><B><U>The Rock--Stone Cold Country 2001 </U></B></I><B><U>(BMG/Bandit/BNA)</U></B><B> </B><B> <A NAME="jones"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></div> <div> This doesn't live up to its title--how could it with Jones still chained to the grey, featureless monolith of the Nashville song factory (that's not "The Rock" they mean)?--but it's his best in awhile. Amazingly, after over 60 years of smoke, whiskey, cocaine backwash, surgery, and, of course, constant singing, The Voice just keeps getting better; maybe it's best to approach this record as if Jones were an old tenor saxophonist luxuriating in everything he's learned, and pretend the words are nothing but sounds that can be stretched, smeared, moaned, whispered, cooked up and poured out, chewed up and spat out. It's not that the songs are horrible; except for the ballads, most of which need no apology, they're just fucking boring. I guess we should be happy that, at 70, the Possum still likes a peppy pace, but surely he can dig up something funnier than "Beer Run" (a Garth duet that underwhelms), truer than "The Man He Was" (about a straight-arrow father that bears little resemblance to George's, who'd yank him outta bed when he came home drunk and threaten him with a beating if he didn't sing on the spot), and better observed than "Around Here." Are there reasons to buy this, though? As with even the worst Jones albums, <I>yes</I> (and has the man ever made an indisputably great record anyway?). One of the fast ones actually works ("I Got Everything"), there's a mournful vet song he nails ("50,000 Names"), three of the heartache songs that are his meat and potatos are positioned intelligently throughout ("The Rock," "Half Over You," and "What I Didn't Do"), and the album's capped by a brilliant version of Billy Joe Shaver's "Tramp On Your Street," which, since it's a humble prayer of gratitude offered up to Hank Williams, could have been written to order. <I>There's the ticket</I>: one good fast 'un, <I>just a dash</I> of social conscience, a core of simple, burnished weepers, and let's say 2-3 covers of <I>real </I>songwriters like Shaver, Nelson, Haggard, or even a Bobby Braddock or Dallas Frazier or Whitey Shafer. Fat chance it'll happen...but a man can dream. The fact is, on the evidence, he's still the greatest singer alive.</div> <bR> <div> <B><U>Stinking Lizaveta: </U></B><I><B><U>III </U></B></I><B><U>(Tolotta)</U></B><B> (review by Ken Shimamoto) </B><B> <A NAME="stinking"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></div> <div> Most interesting listen of the month: this full-length from an instrumental trio out of Philly, a pair of Greek brothers from D.C. (Yanni and Alexi Papadopoulos) on guitar and electric stand-up bass and a female classical pianist-turned-metalloid drummer (Cheshire Agusta), on a label run by Fugazi bassplayer Joe Lally. Their promo kit namechecks Sonny Sharrock, Robert Fripp, and Greg Ginn. I hear some of Sharrock's sprawl and Fripp's pointillism; never heard Ginn's Gone excursions myself, so I'll have to take that one on faith. The Papadopoulos brothers look like Czechoslovakian freedom fighters or guys who didn't make the cut for Captain Beefheart's Magic Band, but they light up the strings acceptably, while Agusta claims Ravel, Scriabin, and the Butthole Surfers as influences, but kicks the traps in the patented "driving-nails-in-a-coffin" style that Black Sabbath's Bill Ward (himself an avocational jazz drummer) perfected and a godzillion metal drummers continue to mimic. Hard to classify, more metal than jazz, and more groove-focused and less improvisatory than they supposedly get in concert (they're supposed to be at Rubber Gloves Rehearsal Studio in Denton next month, wowing all the cognoscenti from the UNT music school who can actually recognize 5/8 and 7/8 time when they hear 'em, so maybe I'll go check 'em out). Some of it's balls-out and wired, some of it's reflective and acoustic; they're augmented by a violin on a coupla cuts and a synth on some others, but it's always thought-provoking stuff, a good soundtrack for a cloudy autumn afternoon. Terrible band name, but still worth hearing. Cop from www.tolotta.com. (This from Tolotta's website: "ATTENTION!!! WHEN ORDERING ONLINE, SELECT 'JUG FULLA SUN' BUT WRITE 'ELUSIVE TRUTH' IN THE COMMENTS FIELD. It will take some time to be entered into the system, but the CD and LP are there!" Convoluted? YOU decide!!!)</div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <IMG SRC="26d00140.jpg" border=0 width="256" height="276" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> <B><U>James Blood Ulmer: </U></B><I><B><U>Memphis Blood--The Sun Sessions </U></B></I><B><U>(Label M)</U></B><B> </B><B> <A NAME="ulmer"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B>Weird. Ulmer, a jazz (if you wanna call it that--he plays it like Sun Ra meeting Son House) innovator whose previous blues records have fallen flat, goes to Memphis with Vernon Reid, and his Odyssey band’s secret weapon, violinist Charles Burnham, to record a set of 14 blues warhorses, most of which were originally recorded in Chicago and only one of which (“I Asked for Water”) hails from Memphis. Though Blood too seldom reimagines arrangements for these songs, when Reid pushes his ass and Burnham lays into his fiddle (he’s not on every cut--and he shoulda been), this is blues like it’s never been heard: avant garde Mississippi Shieks. Here’s hoping he goes for a sequel, digs deeper for covers, and give the record over to Burnham.</div> <div> <B><U>The Takers: </U></B><I><B><U>never get out of these blues alive </U></B></I><B><U>(Rubric Records)</U></B><B> </B><B> <A NAME="takers"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></div> <div> This <I>nasty</I>, intense little EP from Boston took a chunk outta my tail the other day. I put it on as background music for some work and it made me <I>pay</I> for the notion. Mike Carreiro's surly vocals (he sounds like a much less schticky Lee Ving) are catapulted into your grill by a spot-on rhythm section and Mike Hibarger's relentless licks: this is <I>rock and roll with an attitude problem</I>, and you know that feels good. Promo pack compares 'em to NYC's Strokes, but this 5-songer knocked their 3-songer out of my mental jukebox. Excellent omen: they're finishing up their first full-length LP in Memphis at Easley Studios. For more info, visit the label's website at <FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#990066" FACE="Times New Roman" ><A HREF="http://www.rubricrecords.com" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://www.rubricrecords.com"><U><B>www.rubricrecords.com</B></U></A></FONT></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <IMG SRC="26e8ffd0.jpg" border=0 width="399" height="253" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> <B><U>Von Freeman: </U></B><I><B><U>Live at the Dakota </U></B></I>(<B><U>Premonition)</U></B>  <A NAME="freeman"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></div> <div> This release serves a serious purpose: before it, due to various strains of corporate and audience neglect, you had to dig in vinyl bins to find a recording representative of Freeman’s prodigious talents, and, even then, you’d be lucky if the record was consistent. This 1996 recording captures the Chicago legend, then a spry 74, at the top of his game, backed by a surprisingly tough local unit. He steams, blats, and croaks through “Bye Bye Blackbird” and a trio of Ellington chestnuts (his unaccompanied intro to “Caravan” is a tour de force) before bringing your world to a stop with a scintillating interpretation of Wayne Shorter’s strangely atavistic “Footprints,” a jazz equivalent to Bob Dylan’s “High Water (for Charley Patton),” complete with a Leon Thomas imitation! “You have to be an old man to understand this,” Von advises, and, though I don’t agree, I know what he means. </div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <IMG SRC="24fc8ff0.jpg" border=0 width="200" height="255" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> <B>Ike and Tina Turner: </B><I><B>The Ike and Tina Turner Show--Live! </B></I><B>(One Way)</B><B> <A NAME="iketina"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></div> <div> Recorded in 1965, this show, spanning two short CDs (but it's cheap!), isn't just funkier than a moskeeter's tweeter--it's tighter, with a deep and nasty sting. With Ike compin' deadlier than a rattler in the background, various Ikettes pushing the front woman, and a lowdown saxophonist making his presence felt, it's one of the best documents of chitlin' circuit soul to yet breathe air. It's light on Ike & Tina classics and heavy on covers, but it's doubtful you've ever heard any of 'em performed with this kind of grit. "You Are My Sunshine" and "Early in the Morning," to name just two, would pass for soul chestnuts if you didn't know their origins. Nothing like it today--unless you count the Bellrays, who wouldn't touch a chestnut with a 50-foot pole.</div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id25.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U><B>C</B></U></A><A HREF="id25.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U><B>lick here to visit our Review Archive</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <B>INDEX:</B></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_john.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>John Anderson: Nobody's Got It All</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_spankers.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Asylum Street Spankers: Spanker Madness</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_atdi.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>At the Drive In: Relationship of Command</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_bicycle.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>The Bicycle Thief: You Come and Go Like a Pop Song</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_the_kolloquial_king.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Charlie Burton: One Man's Trash</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_carter.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>James Carter: Chasin' the Gypsy, Layin' in the Cut, and more!</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_cheet_rev.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Cheetah Chrome: Dead Boy Live in Detroit</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_importclash.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>The Clash (import version CD reissue)</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_liveclash.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>The Clash: From Here to Eternity</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_goners.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Ray Condo & the Hardrock Goners: Condo Country and Hillbilly Holiday</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_condo.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Ray Condo & the Ricochets: High & Wild</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_coup.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>The Coup: Steal This Album</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_crust.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>The Crust Brothers: Marquee Mark</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_cobras.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Detroit Cobras: Mink, Rabbit or Rat</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_ditchdiggers.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Ditchdiggers: Light & Salvation</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_donners.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Donner Party: Complete Recordings</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_dramarama.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Dramarama (mournful career overview)</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_earle.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Steve Earle: Transcendental Blues</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_wm3.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Free the West Memphis Three</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_great_plains.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Great Plains: Length of Growth</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_choochtown.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Hamell on Trial: Choochtown</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_handsome.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Handsome Boy Modeling School: So...How's Your Girl?</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_rahsaancage.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Rahsaan Roland Kirk & John Cage: Sound??!! (VHS review)</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_talib.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Talib Kweli & Hi-Tek: Reflections Eternal</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_lambchop.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Lambchop: Nixon</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_lizards.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Lazy Cowgirls: Broken Hearted on Valentine's Day</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_lizards.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Lounge Lizards: Queen of All Ears/Fishing with John soundtrack</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_lunadays.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Luna: The Days of Our Nights</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_luna.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Luna: Live</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_paul.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Paul McCartney: Run Devil Run</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_family.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Del McCoury: The Family</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_mccoury.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Del McCoury and Family Live!</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_shane.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Shane McGowan & the Popes: Crock of Gold</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_tmge.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Thee Michelle Gun Elephant: Gear Blues</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_maria.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Maria Muldaur: Richland Woman Blues</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_willie.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Willie Nelson & the Offenders: Me and the Drummer</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_nuggets_2.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Nuggets II</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_old97.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Old 97s: Satellite Rides</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_oxford.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Vernon Oxford: Let Me Sing You a Song</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_dolly.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Dolly Parton: The Grass is Blue</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_penny.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Hank Penny: Hollywood Western Swing</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_pepper.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Art Pepper: Straight Life (book review)</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_ubu.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Pere Ubu: Apocalypse Now</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_marvin.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Marvin Pontiac: Greatest Hits</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_pristeens.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>The Prissteens: Scandal, Controversy and Romance</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_ramones.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Ramones: Leave Home (expanded edition)</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_razzels.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Razzels</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_deweycecilelvin.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Dewey Redman, Elvin Jones & Cecil Taylor: Momentum Space</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_ecstasy.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Lou Reed: Ecstasy</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_blue_mask.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Lou Reed: The Blue Mask (reissue)</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_revelators.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Revelators: ...we told you not to cross us!</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_schooley.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>John Schooley One Man Band: Rock and Roll Party with the One-Man Band</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_shaverii.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Shaver: The Earth Roll On</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_spector.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Ronnie Spector: She Talks to Rainbows</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_springsteen.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Bruce Springsteen: Boring Stories--Live in St. Louie </U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_springsteen.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>(concert review)</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_strokes.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>The Strokes: The Modern Age</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_gary.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Gary Stewart: Out of Hand/Yor Place or Mine</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_supersuckers.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Supersuckers: The Greatest Rock and Roll Band in the World</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_tricky_woo_.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Tricky Woo</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_otha_turner.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Otha Turner & the Afrossippi All-Stars</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_gino.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Gino Washington: Out of This World</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_white_stripes.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>White Stripes: White Blood Cells</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_live_stripes.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>White Stripes Live!</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_lucinda.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Lucinda Williams: Essence</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id25_zevon.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Review Archive"><U>Warren Zevon: Life'll Kill Ya</U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>