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- <text id=93TT1304>
- <title>
- Mar. 29, 1993: Music:Everyday Armageddons
- </title>
- <history>
- TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
- Mar. 29, 1993 Yeltsin's Last Stand
- </history>
- <article>
- <source>Time Magazine</source>
- <hdr>
- REVIEWS, Page 59
- MUSIC
- Everyday Armageddons
- </hdr>
- <body>
- <p>By JAY COCKS
- </p>
- <qt>
- <l>PERFORMER: David Baerwald</l>
- <l>ALBUM: Triage</l>
- <l>LABEL: A&M</l>
- </qt>
- <p> THE BOTTOM LINE: Rock noir: Baerwald's songs are pitch
- black as they spin toward pop apocalypse.
- </p>
- <p> Punk Jim Thompson? It's a nice suit, but it doesn't quite
- fit. Raymond Chandler on mescaline? A wild ride, but a little
- off the right route. Let's just say intriguing in inspiration
- and unique in application. We can start there.
- </p>
- <p> David Baerwald's Triage is a work of cold boldness and
- romantic despair, filled with cynical, fatalistic humor and a
- desperate, fading hope that the center, wherever the hell it is,
- will hold just until the dawn breaks. Tough music's not in short
- supply just now, thanks to rap's street attitude, street
- come-ons, street aggression. Baerwald's songs, flinty and
- rock-rooted, aim higher. They are full of rage, melancholy and
- regret for fates that get mixed up and mangled in the course of
- everyday Armageddons.
- </p>
- <p> Triage resonates with the kind of frustrated compassion
- that underlies film noir. Movies seem to be the deepest part of
- the long shadow it throws: the scary, night-crawling beauty of
- Taxi Driver crossed with the corrosive, explosive political
- parables of Oliver Stone. It is--in the best sense--a deadly
- combination.
- </p>
- <p> Baerwald's cast of misfits, misbegottens and woebegones
- are not merely marginal types. They live on both sides of the
- margin: under it, like bats clinging to the top of a cave, and
- above it, delineating it, marking off new limits for themselves
- to cross. Triage is inhabited by both the victims and the
- perpetrators of power--those whom it intoxicates, others whom
- it trashes. In order to remove any doubt about this, the record
- is dedicated to members of the diplomatic and espionage elite--Henry Kissinger, the Dulles brothers and James Baker, among
- others--"in the sincere hope that there is a God and that He
- is vengeful beyond all comprehension."
- </p>
- <p> The album kicks off with a track that never made it to
- Bedtime Stories, Baerwald's fine solo debut: A Secret Silken
- World, a chronicle of a Saturday-night pickup. Then it ricochets
- into The Got No Shotgun HydraHead Octopus Blues, which takes up--with pulsing drums and crunching guitar--the matter of
- reciprocal footsie between government and drug dealers. The
- record is not an editorial, however. Baerwald is not interested
- in pointing fingers; he wants to nail a mood of corruptive
- malaise and the autoeroticism of power. One of the record's
- spookiest and loveliest songs, The Postman, takes a central
- image straight from the pages of James M. Cain, then expands it
- with a melody like a carbolic lullaby and with voice samplings
- from Jim Jones and George Bush. As Triage closes, the focus
- narrows: to the shattered serenity of youth in China Lake and
- the tenuous promise of Born for Love, where a relationship can
- be, if not a redemption, then at least a reprieve from despair.
- </p>
- <p> Baerwald is assured and savvy enough to mock his own
- obsessions (notably in AIDS & Armageddon: "I dream
- assassination/ I hallucinate cash") and to give even his most
- dour lyric excursions a solid foundation of rhythm throughout.
- You might not be able to party down to Triage, but you sure can
- dance to it--right over the edge.
- </p>
-
- </body>
- </article>
- </text>
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