Jill, Brad Jones, Richard Barone, Robin Eaton, Susy Davis, Kenny Malone, Jill╒s Mom, Sam Bacco, Buddy Emmons, Al Perkins, Byron House, Kirby Shelstad, Pet Bergeson, Eric Moon, Jerry Dale McFadden, Chris Carmichael, Mac Gayden, Viktor Krauss, J.D. Blair, Ross Rice, Jim Wizniewski, Wayne Kramer.
If Jill Sobule were a Broadway musical, she would be Les Miserables: Great songs, tragedy and comedy, strong characters, and a happy yet realistic ending. Speaking with her, you get the sense that the concept of a musical is not only an undercurrent in her music, but an important part of who she is.
╥If I had my fantasy, I would like to write a musical,╙ Sobule mused during a too-brief chat in an Atlantic Records conference room. ╥You can already tell with ╘Margaret.╒ It╒s storytelling.╙ Just as musicals are about creating characters and telling stories using songs, Jill Sobule, on her recent self-titled album, has used her songs to give us very clear images of her characters.
The subjects of Sobule╒s songs are real people, with slices of fantasy typically thrown in. ╥I actually did work with Karen Burnett at a shoe store on Madison Avenue,╙ she says. ╥She was the boss. But I made her out [in the song ╘Karen By Night╒] to be an exciting kind of outlaw character, when she was just a pathetic alcoholic.╙ Songs in Jill's personal musicals are ironic, humorous, but rarely depressing; in her words, she tends to write songs that ╥sound innocent but underneath are kind of perverse.╙
And of course, the two women who do a little sexual experimenting in ╥I Kissed A Girl╙ have become the stars of this album. ╥I'm writing this goofy song about the next door neighbors getting it on. And it╒s funny,╙ she explains, ╥because I never meant to be a lesbian poster child.╙ But the characters in this song have come to life, through the power of radio and MTV--with results both good and bad.
Sobule mentions a recent live show in Phoenix where the younger audience members sang along during her performance of ╥I Kissed A Girl.╙ ╥I felt like a good role model. I╒m sure everyone has had a crush on someone when they were in junior high--someone of the same sex--and they were kind of ashamed by it. And I thought, ╘God, if there was a song like that when I was a kid, that would have been OK.╒╙
On the bad side, a radio station in Tennessee recently began airing a warning message before playing the song, advising parents to cover their children╒s ears. Sobule, who describes the song as a ╥total lark,╙ was stunned. ╥I╒m not talking about blowing up somebody. It╒s just first base,╙ she says with irony, a sheepish smile on her face. After all, who can take ╥I Kissed A Girl╙ that seriously when its video includes a supporting role by Fabio?
Talking with Sobule about her songs, you get the impression they sprang from some of her own dreams--dreams maybe dreamt while going through a rough part of her own life. From ╥a smile as big as Montana╙ in ╥Good Person Inside╙ to the lyrical, cinematic nature of ╥Trains,╙ you would never know that the songwriter in question was someone who ended up ╥destitute╙ after being dropped by her first record label, MCA. ╥I think this record was kind of a recovery record,╙ she says candidly. ╥It was such a tough couple of years--and my sense of humor was the only thing which saved me.╙
Sobule mostly skirts around this dark period with humor: she jokes about how easy it was to make this record because she thought she had nothing to lose. Her positive state of mind is disturbed only by the topic of politics--or, rather, the lack of political songs on her album. ╥I feel kind of ashamed,╙ she explains. ╥I think a lot of these songs were written before the Contract With America--before people were calling up to get ╘I Kissed A Girl╒ off the airwaves.╙ She promises future songs will take a more political bent; Newt has spurred her to become more active, she claims.
Sitting in the conference room, she grins and then sings an acapella verse from a new song that makes her point: "Oh, our Lord loves the family/Our Lord loves the saved/Our Lord loves the unborn babies and the NRA." The Randy Newman/gospelish mix will likely win smiles and smirks on both sides of the political aisle.
Still, Jill's stories-in-a-song will always be her calling card. She dreams of collaborating with songwriting great Burt Bacharach, she says, and of maybe writing her own musical someday. Will ╥I Kissed A Girl╙ ever have its day in the sun on the Great White Way? Who knows? But here╒s hoping that it╒s Fabio-less.
NAUGHTY BY NATURE PERSONNEL
Treach
Kay Gee
Vinnie
NAUGHTY BY NATURE DISCOGRAPHY
ALBUMS:
Poverty╒s Paradise (Tommy Boy, 1995)
19 Naughty III (Tommy Boy, 1993)
Naughty By Nature (Tommy Boy, 1991)
12-INCH SINGLES:
Craziest (Tommy Boy, 1995)
Feel Me Flow (Tommy Boy, 1995)
Hip Hop Hooray (Tommy Boy, 1993)
Written On Ya Kitten (Tommy Boy, 1993)
It╒s On (Tommy Boy, 1993)
Uptown Anthem (Tommy Boy, 1992)
Everything╒s Gonna Be Alright (Tommy Boy, 1991)
OPP (Tommy Boy, 1991)
Some samples you╒ll hear on POVERTY╒S PARADISE:
╥Poverty╒s Paradise╙ (D. O╒Warren) performed by 24 Carat Black
╥Eric B. Is President╙ (E. Barrier, W. Griffin) performed by Eric B. & Rakim
╥I Thank You╙ (D. Porter, I. Hayes) performed by Sam & Dave
╥The Bones Fly From Spoons Hand╙ performed by The Last Poets
╥Just Hanging Out╙ (K. McKenzie, S. McKenzie, W. Mitchell) performed by the Main Source
╥Hang Out & Hustle╙ (J. Brown, C. Sherell) performed by the JB╒s
╥Find Yourself╙ performed by the Meters
╥That╒s All That Matters, Baby╙ (C. Wright) performed by Charles Wright
╥Everybody Loves The Sunshine╙ (R. Ayers) performed by Roy Ayers
╥King Of Rock╙ (L. Smith, J. Simmons, D. McDaniels) performed by Run-D.M.C.
╥Off & On╙ (Gaye, Nyx, Perren, Mizell, Gordy, Fordham, Jones, Perry, Richards) performed by Trends Of Culture
╥People Make The World Go Round╙ (T. Bell, I. Creed) performed by Michael Jackson
╥What You Do To Me╙ performed by Tony Williams
╥Our Love Has Died╙ performed by the Ohio Players
╥The What╙ (O. Harvey, C. Wallace, S. Combs, Method Man) performed by the Notorious B.I.G.
It╒s the summer of 1995, and Naughty By Nature (Treach, Vinnie and Kay Gee) have just released their third CD, Poverty╒s Paradise. The East Orange, New Jersey trio is gearing up to A)tour, B)make videos, and C)answer questions about selling out, catering to white kids, and in general not being hard enough. Know what, girls and boyeees? Naughty ain╒t having it. Oh no. Not for NBN the slings and arrows of having to pay the price for selling truckloads of product that, oh I╒m so sorry, happens to also appeal to honkies and honkettes.
You see, Naughty By Nature may clock mad units and make sick cash and all that, but at the end of the day, they remain remarkably true to their game. And in this industry--big bucks/big stakes hip-hop, for those who just tuned in--keeping true reigns supreme, because a rap fan can suss out a fake a city block away. In hip-hop, critical acclaim means nada; it╒s the kids who matter.
╥Yeah, exactly,╙ concurs Treach, Naughty╒s lead rapper, certifiable love god and sometimes consort to the equally bodacious Pepa. ╥It╒s like we know the lifestyle. We continue to see it on a daily basis. So if you can╒t see what╒s in front of your face, and make it conceptually out of something that you╒ve been doing all the time, then you╒ve lost touch and you don╒t deserve all that respect. In hip-hop, you╒re only as good as your last stuff--and a lot of people, they get out here and they see the money, the fame, the fortune, and they lose touch. They don╒t stay true to themselves. Our whole definition of keeping it real is staying true to ourselves. Our thing is that we╒ve got our own sound, we╒ve got our own vibe. Naughty By Nature╒s a totally different kind of hip-hop and we stay to that. We don╒t listen to, say, Snoop, who comes out, and we don╒t say, ╘Damn, Snoop blew up offa this, let╒s rhyme like Snoop.╒ We stick to our own sound, our mainframe, ╒cause it stands out.╙
Sticking to one╒s stylistic guns is a noble endeavor to be sure--but it╒s also risky financially, because hip-hop is perhaps the most fickle of art forms. Kids who bob their heads to that wacky hip-hop beat can make or break you; today╒s Biggie Smalls is tomorrow╒s Big Daddy Kane. So if a style is perceived as being played out, then it╒s ╥would you like fries with that burger╙ for some hapless microphone bandit. Naughty By Nature╒s gift is that over the course of three albums, they have kept to their game, created ridiculously catchy anthems (╥OPP,╙ ╥Hip-Hop Hooray,╙ the current hum-along ╥Craziest╙), all the while maintaining a real sense of what real hip-hop should be. In a genre known for hype singles, NBN make hype albums: ones with thematic continuity, layers and layers of lyrical brilliance, and enough hooks to fill a freaking fishing boat.
Yet the temptation must be there, lurking in the wings for NBN: the urge to make a record that has the guaranteed hit-making flavor of the week. ╥You can╒t really do that without being on some kind of bandwagon,╙ offers Vinnie, who steps up to the mic more than ever on Poverty╒s Paradise. ╥We know that our music is basically party-oriented, and when we make records, we mainly think of how people react onstage with us. We take it from an entertainment point of view, you know? How will we be able to rock the crowd? We don╒t want the crowd to just sit there and bob their heads to us.╙
Entertainment is perhaps Naughty╒s secret weapon. Yes, there may be better rappers (although Treach is truly a fiend on the mic, taking LL╒s tripled-up style to the next logical level), and yes, there may be better producers (although Kay Gee--now head of his own Illtown Records and the man behind Zhane, among others--is nothing to sneeze at), and yes, there may be a lot of other guys doing it. But only Naughty consistently puts all the elements together and remembers it╒s called show business for a reason. Any kid can play junior-A&R dude listening to a Naughty record, it╒s that easy to figure out the hits. But these guys don╒t stop.
╥Yeah, it comes from different angles,╙ says Treach. ╥We might come up with a hook, and then Kay might come up with beat. Then we have list of different concepts, and Kay will have his tracks, and we have different rhymes, and it╒s like a puzzle. We just put all the pieces together.╙
╥We╒ve already got stuff cataloged for the next album,╙ Vinnie chimes in. ╥But it╒s like that, it╒s an everyday process for us. We always conceptualize, we╒re always taking from whatever.╙ For example, ╥Clap Yo Hands╙ came from a routine the group would do onstage. ╥Craziest╙ was a chant they heard at a celebrity basketball game. Naughty╒s anthems are so deceptively simple, so why-didn╒t-I-think-of-that, that it╒s hard to imagine nobody did. As great as ╥Hip-hop Hooray╙ was, it╒s amazing, considering the music's history, that it took so long for a group to come up with the chant.
╥Yeah, well a lot of people are so caught up in showing you how real they are, how rugged they are, how much weed they smoke, or how many people they shoot. They lose the whole entertainment thing,╙ says Vinnie.
╥After we came out, we was like, ╘damn!╒╙ Treach laughs. ╥We done created a monster, ╒cause people were just creating hooks. Wu Tang is a perfect example. When they came out they had some hooks, they had some shit that was rocking, and Tupac...the list goes on.╙
OK. So NBN make great party records that pack a wallop, they look good, rhyme better, and are nice guys who give back to the community and raise consciousness. So how come some folks still have a beef with them? Oh yeah, it╒s the old sell-out thing, the you-make-hip-hop-for-MTV thing.
╥Kay Gee said it best,╙ Treach declares. ╥There are all these different pop radio stations that play all this rap. You don╒t see nobody going up to them and saying, ╘This is a pop radio station--don╒t play my record, ╒cause I╒m keeping it real. I╒m on some underground shit. Don╒t pay me. How many white little kids gonna buy my record? Don╒t buy my shit, this just for projects.╒ There ain╒t that many projects gonna get you gold and platinum. Everybody is after that mark, but then say you sold out.╙
Treach leans into the tape recorder. ╥Well, thank you. I╒ll be the biggest sell-out out there. I don╒t care. Everybody who╒s buying my records, continue to buy ╒em--and all the pop radio stations, continue to play ╒em. ╒Cause we love it, and we support it. Thank you!╙
SOUL ASYLUM: Let Your Dim Light Shine (Columbia)
By Bill Holdship
You still just can╒t help thinking ╥Replacements.╙
Dave Pirner always kind of struck me as Paul Westerberg╒s little brother. The irony was that while the Replacements successfully captured their essence on at least three albums, Soul Asylum have never translated their always awesome live performances onto vinyl or CD.
An even bigger irony, however, was that after Nirvana made the world safe for the sound the ╒Mats pioneered, Soul Asylum broke through not with a grunge anthem but with a modern folk-rock (now-) classic that wouldn╒t have sounded out of place coming from John Mellencamp or Tom Petty. Shame was that while Grave Dancer╒s Union was a powerhouse onstage, on disc, it was a tad...well, boring.
Things change. By employing producer Butch Vig to turn the knobs here and beefing up the rhythm section with a new drummer, Soul Asylum have finally captured it on vinyl. And the great thing is that Let Your Dim Light Shine will disappoint neither fans of ╥Runaway Train╙ or those who still want their Soul Asylum hard. ╥Misery╙--which with its chorus of ╥Frustrated Incorporated╙ could become an anthem for disenfranchised youngsters as well as unsatisfied oldsters--successfully merges both elements on the kickoff track, and the folkish ╥To My Own Devices╙ and rocking ╥Bittersweetheart╙ intermingle throughout the next 45 minutes-plus.
Lyrically, Pirner still captures those Minneapolis working-class blooze and that post-teen angst in the same way his ╥older bro╙ used to do. And like Westerberg, Pirner writes sensitively about women in a way that explains why so many women are infatuated with both dudes: ╥Eyes Of A Child╙ deals poignantly with a prostitute, and ╥To My Own Devices╙ a waitress (who claims ╥she waited on Elvis╙). ╥Just Like Anyone,╙ meanwhile, is about a woman who╒s thinking when she╒s peeing. Weird!
But be it folk or rock, it╒s pop music the way we unsatisfied oldsters have always loved it. The great thing about ╥Runaway Train╙ is that it immediately sounded like something you╒d heard and loved before, and like Westerberg (hell, like Lennon and Wilson for that matter), Pirner╒s hooks have frequently been nicked from the best. After several listens to ╥Dim Light Shine,╙ I can recall and identify hooks that remind me of the Sweet, Tom Petty, ZZ Top (!?), the Who, the Byrds, George Strait (!?), Exile-era Stones, the Clash, Steve Forbert, both psychedelic and mop-top Beatles, and, oh yeah, the Replacements. Always the Replacements.
And in the process, Soul Asylum have created a wonderful slab of pop╒n╒roll here. Looks like Dave Pirner has finally grown up.
BUSH: Sixteen Stone (Trauma/Interscope)
By Richard C. Walls
British band Bush have gotten some grief for coming across as ersatz grunge, posers who have mastered the contours of the genre without touching its greasy heart. And there is some evidence on their debut disc for this cruel assessment--not just that ╥Little Things╙ bears a huge if circumstantial resemblance to the flannel anthem ╥Teen Spirit,╙ but in the strategy that the band╒s singer/songwriter/guitarist Gavin Rossdale uses to collect his thoughts: a string of private jokes passed off as poetry with a few catchy near-aphorisms per song (e.g. ╥Everything Zen╙╒s ╥there╒s no sex in your violence╙). The grunge move then would be to put an obliterating guitar layer over the cubist lyrics, giving the song a hot coherent sheen.
Which is pretty much what Rossdale and his co-guitarist (and the band╒s baldie sex symbol) Nigel Pulsford do, except that--and here╒s the rub which makes or breaks the band for most folk--these guys are proficient musicians and so, inevitably, their approach to au courant simplicity sounds a little...worked at. The cut ╥Comedown╙ is a good example of the non-ostentatious busy-ness that runs through the disc--they╒re using pauses, counter-textures, coloring effects; just the sort of filigree you╒d expect from musicians once removed from the original spark (they╒ve heard the Seattle sound, and now they have to do something with it).
But second wave need not mean second rate, and even though the more dedicated devourers of mod guitar angst may be put off by Bush╒s brew of good, clean despair, if you like a well-attended-to guitar directness (always preferable to a dummy virtuosity) and tend to cut rock lyrics the slack they deserve, then Bush oughta suit you just fine.
OUR LADY PEACE: Naveed (Relativity)
By Ron Givens
Who needs classic rock when there's Our Lady Peace? In just one album--and a debut at that--you get the power-riffing that made the Who famous, the endless hooks that sent Cheap Trick to the top of the charts, the slow start/fast middle/slow finish style that put the Led into Zeppelin, the poetic mysticism that made Jim Morrison's Paris grave a shrine. And that's not all. You also get all the dysfunction and confusion that made Seattle our nation's capital of rock, not to mention a few vocals with the kind of quiver that Eddie Vedder could only master after years of psychic pain. And that's not all. You get all of this delivered with such discipline and musicianship that it makes very little difference how derivative the whole deal can be. Our Lady Peace, a quartet out of Toronto, puts more music in, so you get more music out.
Take, for example, "Starseed," the song that introduced the band to the States earlier this year. The tune shifts musical gears four times--from folky noodling to acid-rock soaring to full-bore pounding--before the lead singer even comes in. Some bands don't deliver this much energy in an entire album.
And, amazingly enough, these whippersnappers (Raine Maida, vocals and lyrics; Mike Turner, guitar; Chris Eacrett, bass; Jeremy Taggart, drums) know how to work the dynamics of a song like veterans, building great tension in the title tune, for instance, by going from a white-hot chorus to a cool, delicate bridge and then back again.
Too many of these songs have somewhat vague or completely murky lyrics--"We're under zenith again, it's healthy, if not for long"--but the music is so strong that it doesn't matter much if you ever solve the riddles. You don't have to think to appreciate the power of Our Lady Peace.
BETTER THAN EZRA: Deluxe (Elektra)
By Chuck Crisafulli
It╒s difficult, at best, and probably pointless, to try to define what exactly ╥alternative╙ music is supposed to sound like at this point. But it╒s not so hard to hear that the music made by Louisiana-bred trio Better Than Ezra is an alternative to ╥alternative╙--their major label debut is packed with the kind of straightforward hard-pop songcraft that seems to stay in style no matter who╒s headlining Lollapalooza.
Knowing that the band crafted its sound while working its way through the Baton Rouge club circuit, one might expect to hear something full of swampy, stinky, delta vibes. But Better Than Ezra keep their music clean and clear. The swirling guitars are tasty, the beats are straight and true, and vocalist Kevin Griffin belts out his songs of heartache with unflinching earnestness. With that pop recipe in effect, the band covers quite a bit of sonic territory, and they╒re helped along by producer Dan Rothchild, who proves that a sure hand in the studio may have some basis in genetics (his father Paul produced the Doors).
╥In the Blood╙ is a high-spirited jangler, prime for blasting out of car radios, while ╥Southern Girl╙ and ╥Cry In The Sun╙ ride deeper, more melancholy grooves. Thumping bass and harder-edged guitars keep ╥Good╙ and ╥Summerhouse╙ bright and lively, and ╥Heaven╙ has the band shooting for tender balladry. There╒s a seriousness of purpose to most of BTE╒s material, but a bonus track loudly celebrating the wonders of pork, beans, and sauerkraut demonstrates that the fellows have a sense of humor too.
Deluxe isn╒t a stunner, but it is an album of convincing craft and gentle pleasures--and that╒s always an attractive alternative when the world starts to get too noisy.
MONSTER MAGNET: Dopes To Infinity (A&M)
By Chris Morris
Deadpan burlesque artistes or rawk knucklehaids? It's really hard to tell which category Monster Magnet falls into, but that may be a large component of the charm of this neo-psychedelic posse, who serve up another side of slammin' lysergic sprawl on their second A&M album.
Like the band's previous efforts, Dopes To Infinity purees all manner of '60s-derived aural mucous into a noisy heap of mind-altering clatter. The overlord and auteur of the Magnetic morass is vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Dave Wyndorf; a reveler in sonic unrestraint, he woofs such declamations as ╥I am Tarzan, King of Mars╙ without betraying a hint of post-modern irony. Behind him, guitarist Ed Mundell, bassist Joe Calandra, and drummer Jon Kleiman stir an authentically hallucinatory cacophony that will tickle anyone whose LP collection was scarred during long-ago acid parties.
It's a hoot to play ╥spot the theft╙ with this record. Note, for example, the straight-faced cop from ╥Tales of Brave Ulysses╙ on the adeptly-titled ╥Negasonic Teenage Warhead,╙ thrill to the Pink Floyd purloining on ╥All Friends and Kingdom Come,╙ or bang your noggin to the Funhouse-era Stooges lift ╥I Control, I Fly.╙ The Magnets are shameless pirates, and that makes their music all the more entertaining for veteran tripmasters.
Some listeners may be irked by the seemingly dead-serious oh-wowism of Dopes To Infinity. But, taken in the proper spirit, Monster Magnet's throwback dopefest is definitely worthy of a cosmic giggle or two. Light an incense stick, toss a tie-dyed scarf over the lamp, taste the windowpane, and get into it, man.
TRICKY: Maxinquaye (Island)
By Greg Sandow
ON FIRST HEARING: I adored this record. I like music that sounds as if the clock reads 4 A.M. This is nocturnal and queasy, partly muttered and partly sung, with sampled beats you can╒t call ╥ambient,╙ because they don╒t cohere enough. They sound like an old house creaking late at night.
BUT THEN I...read the record company╒s publicity stuff. Besides factual data--Tricky, a rapper and producer, is one of those insanely creative British dance guys (he worked with Massive Attack), with a subterranean streak all his own--I learned how twisted the artist thinks this record is. Gonna have to listen harder, I said.
SO I PLAYED THE CD ABOUT 15 TIMES. Lyrics hover in the fog: ╥You feed me when I╒m hungry, drink me till I╒m dry.╙ Tender, in a noir kind of way. But I╒m distracted. A singer billed only as Martine sounds so intimate I╒d swear I can taste her tongue.
AND NOW...I don╒t want to write this review because I don╒t want to stop listening. The beats are genius, arresting and at the same time almost random, as if Tricky had mixed in murmurs stolen from disconnected dreams. There╒s a ballad, ╥Pumpkin╙ (from sampled Smashing Pumpkin drums), with a smoky melody, affecting even though it only comes in wisps. But most of all I loved the vocals, most of them duets, Martine (or other women) singing, while Tricky speaks. Damned if they don╒t convey the most amazing bond, between two people tied together even while they move on separate tracks. If that╒s not love--in these dark days--I don╒t know what is.
M PEOPLE: Bizarre Fruit (Epic)
By Tom Lanham
Folk came back. Punk came back. And now, as if on cue, disco music is stomping back onto the airwaves in glittery platform heels. Not that this is any great secret--the Pet Shop Boys have always understood the campy beauty of a good dancefloor remix--but UK hi-NRG trio M People give the sound enough of a unique spin that it comes off new and invigorating. Like something special you've never heard before. The group's sophomore Bizarre Fruit disc states its case bluntly with the opening "Sight For Sore Eyes"--a faux gospel beginning, courtesy of bluesy belter Heather Small, bounces lithely over piano notes for a minute, then plunges headlong into a throbbing disco pulse. And Small's got one of those muscular Aretha-school voices that can not only keep pace with the frantic synthesizer beats, but actually clobber 'em senseless to the ground. Which she does, song after hip-shaking song.
As in the halcyon days of Casablanca Records--when Kiss fans sneered at Donna Summer albums--it's all too easy for today's alternative types to point fingers at groups like M People, Yaki Da, and Ace Of Base as mindless, mechanized modulations. But they're truly missing this music's inherent genius. Listen to the way the champagne-bubbly keyboards at the beginning of "Open Your Heart" bleed into a full-tilt hook that's almost Euro-pop, ABBA-esque in its complexity, and as moving as anything off Summer's classic Once Upon A Time set (which exemplified all the greatest attributes of the disco movement). DJ/group mastermind Michael Pickering isn't fooling around here--he knows his sources (and readily nicks a trick or two from them, when necessary) and understands their ear-candy possibilities. "Walk Away" features casual fingersnaps for percussion, Small's voice coiling around the socially-conscious words like an anaconda, and a robotic, gotta-move chorus that literally pounces on the listener, unsuspected. It's a succulent slice of sound that transcends tags like ╥pop╙ or ╥disco╙ and transcends national borders as well. Go ahead. Move to M People's manipulative rhythms. There's nothing to be ashamed of.
JAMIROQUAI: The Return Of The Space Cowboy (Work)
By Amy Linden
Jamiroquai burst upon the musical scene with enough hype to...well, forgive the child, he is from the U.K. Signed to a multi-album deal, and armed with a marketing plan that combined eco-friendly politics with club-kid attitude, Jamiroquai (AKA Jason Kay) made a noble attempt to stake his claim as acid jazz╒s first pin-up-boy, American division. His debut Emergency On Planet Earth did nicely (it was massive in Europe), but Jason Kay╒s impassioned but rambling defense of indigenous peoples, endangered species, and new age activism overpowered what was essentially a pretty funky little effort.
On Return Of The Space Cowboy, Jason and the gang have tuned the polemics down a notch or two and opted to let the music do the talking. Jason Kay has a fluid, playful tenor that at best suggests a lifetime spent listening to Stevie Wonder, at worst a lifetime dreaming he was Stevie Wonder. Granted he wouldn╒t be the first boy (white, black or otherwise) to aim for the stars, but the flattery can grow tiresome. So too can Jamiroquai╒s somewhat aimless method of songwriting.
Obviously influenced by Roy Ayers, Donald Byrd, Wonder, and any number of ╘70s R&B/lite jazz masters, Jamiroquai & co. are able to pull a delicious groove out of their collective trick bag with ease. Where they falter is their inability to construct songs, rather than extended riffs held together by random thoughts. One notable exception is the soulful ╥Half A Man,╙ which pulsates, captivates, and follows a linear progression. The first single ╥Space Cowboy╙ is a percolating love song to Jason╒s drug of choice, the ever-so-trendy Mary Jane. The band flits in and out of the beat, as Jason croons cheeba cheeba, but something╒s missing. There╒s not enough anchor, not enough bottom. By the end of ╥Return Of The Space Cowboy╙ you realize that the noise Jason & co. serves up tastes kinda great, it╒s just not all that filling--and you╒re hungry for more.
BUSHWICK BILL: Phantom Of The Rapra (Rap-A-Lot/Noo Trybe)
By Rob O╒Connor
If one had to justify why one liked an album by Bushwick Bill--or his previous band, Geto Boys--one wouldn╒t be able to. Oh, one could try to pawn off the excessive, gratuitous violence as merely comic book/ horror film escapism, but let╒s face it, the idea of a one-eyed midget hoarsely yelling isn╒t really escapism. The category, I believe, is voyeurism. And, hey, if a one-eyed midget wants to make a mint relaying stories of the ╥hood,╙ well, what the hell, they don╒t call it capitalism for nothing.
While rap╒s detractors will tell you all rap is just yelling, well, they╒re half-right. When rap works, it is yelling--but to succeed, it also needs grooves that ensure toe-tapping and ass-slapping alike. Bushwick may begin the album with some dull explanation of how rap is like street opera (╥Phantom╒s Theme╙), but he╒s quick to quit the homily and get down with ominous grooves and paranoiac ranting. While ╥Wha Cha Gonna Do?╙ and ╥X-Girls╙ are unrepentant and full-force rap braggadocio, ╥Only God Knows╙ openly admits that underneath all the boasting reside men who confront their mortality every day of their lives. By side two, Bushwick╒s sound echoes that of Dr. Dre and Ice Cube╒s ╥Natural Born Killaz,╙ where swooping radar tones suggest every man is marked.
While I╒m sure over time certain lines will bear out Bushwick╒s sick sense of humor, what is most surprising about Rapra is the way it never successfully conceals the real emotions behind the put-on. In effect, Bushwick has made a compelling album by accident. But compelling it is, nonetheless.
NATALIE MERCHANT: Tigerlily (Elektra)
By Jon Young
At the risk of sounding offensively shallow, it must be noted that Natalie Merchant's first solo album is no fun. Anyone familiar with the elegant folk-rock she made in 10,000 Maniacs will not approach Tigerlily expecting updates of ╥Louie, Louie,╙ of course, but this is ridiculous. The band╒s gravest efforts were downright playful compared to these somber reflections on mortality and betrayal, which find Merchant adrift in a gloomy haze, confusing listlessness and subtlety. Somebody get this woman a cup of coffee and tell her a joke!
Regardless, the melodies are often lustrous, delivered with chamber-music tastefulness by pianist Merchant and her quiet crew, which includes guitarist Jennifer Turner, drummer Peter Yanowitz and bassist Barrie Maguire. The mellow ╥San Andreas Fault╙ and the almost perky ╥Wonder╙ underscore humanity╒s inadequacy in the face of greater natural forces, while ╥Beloved Wife╙ and ╥River,╙ an ode to River Phoenix, contemplate the finality of death, offering solace to morbid romantics. Despite her characteristically lovely vocals, Merchant seems emotionally drained, a state she acknowledges to the wan strains of ╥I May Know the Word,╙ murmuring, ╥I╒d be praying for deliverance/From the night into the day/But it╒s all gray here.╙
Offering a clue to the source of her dispirited bearing, the closing track could have been the starting point for a considerably more interesting album. Making explicit the anger implied elsewhere, ╥Seven Years╙ simmers with rage and bitterness underneath its polite surface, as Merchant curses a deceitful lover, vowing never to forgive--a primal scream would╒ve been appropriate, though she╒s hardly prone to such vulgarity. Still, Tigerlily may have provided Merchant the catharsis she needs to get up off the floor and squeeze out a few sparks next time.
SUDDENLY, TAMMY!: (We Get There When We Do.) (Warner Bros.)
By J. Kordosh
Well, this should be one heck of a typographical treat. Please try to stay with me and my sentence structure as I discuss Suddenly, Tammy!╒s major label debut, (We Get There When We Do.). I will work ellipses in here somewhere (by cracky)...
The odd...er, oddest...thing about this trio from Lancaster, PA, I guess, is that none of them plays guitar. No, sir. Beth Sorrentino sings and plays piano, bro Jay is their drummer, and Ken Heitmueller╒s their bassist. See: no guitars. Now this doesn╒t hurt on ╥Hard Lesson,╙ with its catchy piano riffing--click on to that button over there that says ╥Hard Lesson╙ and I╒m sure you'll agree--but it does tend to wear you down after a while. The last band I heard that depended on their rhythm section this much was the Rolling Stones and they, after all, were the Rolling Stones.
A further consequence of their bare bones line-up is that Ms. Sorrentino╒s voice is everywhere. Sometimes, as on ╥Not That Dumb,╙ this works well, in a poppish way. Elsewhere, Beth (who really would seem happier as a folksinger than she would fronting this mutant jazz combo) can get sort of cloying. Go ahead, click another button over there. Any button.
The reason for this, in great part, is that almost none of the Tammys╒ lyrics make any sense whatsoever. I╒ll grant there╒s a certain charm in the concept, but 13 songs of it goes beyond even high concept. Beyond, perhaps, even Himalayan concept. I dunno about you, but when I hear a lyric like ╥Waving my heavy arms back and forth/Floating with schools of tropical fish,╙ I start looking for the chum bucket.
(We Get There When We Do.) is almost more a collection of moods than songs. At its best it╒s subtly melodic; at its not-so-best it╒s rambling ambience. Which is, I suppose, what you╒d expect from a parenthetical album.
THE APARTMENTS: A Life Full Of Farewells (Hot/Restless)
By Michael Lipton
If the first half of the year is any indication, 1995 may be the most influential year for Australian music since the heyday of Midnight Oil. With U.S. releases by Grant McLennan, Ed Kuepper, Simon Bonney and the Cruel Sea, the Aussie crop has been a varied and bountiful one. But of all the above discs, the U.S. debut from Australia╒s Apartments stands out as the most timeless.
Be forewarned: Farewells doesn╒t bowl you over with tape-saturated production (Cruel Sea), woo you with contemporary pop gems (McLennan), or seduce you with haunting soundscapes (Bonney). Quite simply, ex-Go-Between/Laughing Clown Peter Walsh takes songwriting to its most fragile and elegant level--a quality that becomes more apparent with each listening.
Framed in a string quartet passage, ╥Thank You for Making Me Beg╙ recalls the cabaret folk of Space Oddity-era Bowie before turning into a moving anthem: ╥I get tired of living or maybe I╒m just tired of who I am/Failure left its mark on last year╒s man.╙ ╥The Failure Of Love Is A Brick Wall╙ pairs a Nick Drake-styled acoustic guitar, cello, and trumpet with a melody line that brings to mind Orange Juice╒s Edwyn Collins. Thanks in part to Tommy Grasso╒s absolutely beautiful pedal steel work, ╥You Became My Big Excuse╙ is not only accessible, but a tune that could easily be co-opted into a country ballad.
These days, recordings are meant for immediate consumption. But if you have the time to be caressed by some heavy spirits--the trumpet lines of Love╒s Forever Changes or the eerie solitude of Moby Grape's Bob Mosley, for instance--A Life Full Of Farewells will be a rare treat.
ANGEL CORPUS CHRISTI: White Courtesy Phone (Almo Sounds)
By Richard Riegel
As an actual participant in that infinite bicentennial moment of Bloomington, Indiana pop sensibility that thrust John Cougar Mellencamp upon a hungry-for-chili-dogs universe, Angel Corpus Christi knows that pink houses aren╒t built in a day. Back when it looked like the inchoate Johnny Cougar might not have a prayer, Ms. Corpus Christi was already crafting bohemian lyrics to the unique post-consumer metal manifestoes of spouse Rich Stim╒s band, the legendary MX-80 Sound. As fate would have it, the multiplatinum-arteried Mellencamp was hit with a heart attack before any permutation of the (relocated-to-San Francisco) MX-80/Angel Corpus Christi salon-for-life got a record deal from a major American label.
Not late but just in time, White Courtesy Phone is everything (and more) we wanted all those years we knew someday Angel would be queen, as the gloss and punch of Craig Leon╒s big-league production only serve to showcase the inevitable pop truth of Angel╒s supposed eccentricities. Yes, that IS a different keyboard you hear in the r╒n╒r flux on there, as odd as the late Nico╒s late harmonium, but not so anti-social; Angel Corpus Christi has always been the life of any pop-music third party with her strolling ACCORDION. Ms. Corpus Christi╒s instrument-of-choice is a perfect symbol of her musical vision, which likewise lies somewhere between the rive gauche and North Dakota, and is made up of songs so smoothly dry & true that they╒re positively radical.
Just reality-check the Desert Storm-despaired opener, ╥Big Black Cloud,╙ or the mellow but edgy ╥Threw It Away╙--when Angel Corpus Christi croons, it╒s always 3 P.M. in the muggy Bloomington afternoon of your soul, time to write more songs while your laundry turns in the dryer. In ╥John Cassavetes,╙ Angel admits that she cried when the terminally black & white actor/director died, and what could be more real? Rich Stim╒s and Craig Leon╒s guitars provide all the rave punctuation Angel╒s tales-as-dealt demand.
In ╥Candy╙ and ╥Lazy,╙ Angel C.C.╒s a 4-paw-declawed sex kitten, ready to cuddle up to and to squeeze all your boxes, to take the edge off the usual angst suspects one more time. Label boss Herb Alpert adds his own velveeta-underbrowned trumpet to the lusciously sensual ╥Lazy,╙ which reminds the listener that the nifty ╥Dim The Lights╙ sounds like Lou Reed╒s old group, if they╒d only included Branson, Missouri, on their reunion tour. And ╥Been There Done That╙ is an even more brilliant exposition of Ms. Corpus Christi╒s melodic as-drunk-by-the-astronauts Twang.
After all, when the only new land west of S.F. is ╥Going underground/Next to your next-of-kin,╙ as Angel Corpus Christi╒s ╥Down╙ has it, who wouldn╒t want to hear an accomplished accordionist tickle a ╥96 Tears╙ subtext out of her synthetic ivories? I know I would.
MARCUS PRINTUP: Song For The Beautiful Woman (Blue Note)
By Josef Woodard
Considering that the youthful age arc and widespread emulation of bygone eras still hold the jazz scene in check, a solid--if hardly original--mainstream outing like Marcus Printup╒s Song For The Beautiful Woman seems to be right in the lap of fashion. Of course, it may be a point of tired irony by now to mention that it would have also sounded fashionable 10--or, more to the point, 30--years ago.
At age 28, Printup is a certifiable young trumpet wizard. His fleet facility, clever palette of nuances, easy grasp of the horn╒s tonal range, and a willingness to blow suggest the early recordings of Wynton Marsalis, minus Marsalis╒ deposits of inveterate invention. As dazzling as the playing is, Printup sometimes runs up against a facile predictability that keeps his improvisations from either soaring with feeling or digging deep into soulfulness.
Here, Printup╒s quintet outing surveys the familiar straightahead/hard bop terrain that Marsalis retooled from Art Blakey╒s paradigm and repopularized in the early ╒80s. Complemented by a band featuring pianist Eric Reed, Printup touches on the requisite varieties of mood and texture, including deftly-handled standards-fare of ╥I'll Remember April╙ and ╥Speak Low,╙ the musky balladry of the title track, and the brisk, angular blowfest of the aptly-named ╥Trauma.╙ Variations on the minor blues form are represented by ╥Minor Ordeal.╙ Printup picks up a mute and a twilight attitude, as drummer Brian Blade picks up brushes, to bask in the blue light of ╥Lonely Heart.╙ Conscientiously designed and well-balanced, it has everything you want from a neo-Blue Note album...and a little bit less.
As with other young traditionalists with abiding respect for their musical elders and the legacy of such an iconic label as Blue Note, Printup gives the term ╥company man╙ a new validity. This is a proficient, true-to-form example of modern, backward-glancing jazz: more professional than confessional, with nary an existential qualm or stylistic deviation in the house. Judging from Printup╒s ample musicality, deeper progress reports can be expected in the future.
RACHELLE FERRELL: First Instrument (Blue Note)
By Chip Stern
Over the past year, whenever the topic of deserving R&B vocalists arose, I╒d ante up Joi╒s Pendulum Vibe to my friends. Those who╒d heard it would inevitably raise the stakes by drawing the names Dionne Farris and Rachelle Ferrell from the bottom of the deck.
These emerging divas share a deep feeling for the Afro-American vocal tradition, and a willingness to stretch out and try something fresh and personal. And after a listen or two to Ferrell╒s First Instrument, you╒ll find it hard to believe that these tapes have been bouncing around since 1990-╨because only once every generation or so does a voice like Rachelle Ferrell╒s emerge.
On ╥Don╒t Waste Your Time╙ she opens with percussive accents over a shifting Afro-Cuban/swing pulse--sounding for all the world like a cuica and a talking drum--before descending into her rich lower register, where she metaphorically disengages from a suitor╒s designs. She returns after the piano solo with elaborate horn-like arpeggios, first descending, then ascending, shading her notes with expressive horn-like colorations and Coltrane-ish harmonic modulations, before leaping into her altissimo register for an unearthly whistling tone that must have every dog on the eastern seaboard taking a cold shower.
Ferrell╒s stylings suggest Sarah Vaughan╒s limitless top-to-bottom range (╥Extensions╙) and Ella Fitzgerald╒s rhythmic virtuosity (╥Bye Bye Blackbird╙)╨-although no way does she swing like Ella. And like these great stylists, Ferrell often seems less concerned with the song╒s storyline than with its possibilities as a jumping off point for her phenomenal melodic and harmonic variations (Cole Porter╒s famous blowing changes to ╥What Is This Thing Called Love?╙ are treated to an exploratory slam-dunking). But on ╥You Send Me╙ and a remarkable ╥My Funny Valentine,╙ she fuses her dramatic and melodic approaches in the service of the song, suggesting why First Instrument may just be a shot across the bow of the popular song.
HERBIE HANCOCK: Dis Is Da Drum (Mercury)
By Thom Jurek
For over 30 years, jazz pianist and fusion pioneer Herbie Hancock has kept a keen ear to the ground for the latest developments in popular music--more specifically, black popular music. With Dis Is Da Drum, Hancock reveals that he╒s been listening to Acid Jazz lately. The album is a funkier-than-funky exercise in beat consciousness done club-style-╨street-tough, yet elegant. The biggest surprise is that Hancock used primarily jazz musicians to make it.
The disc opens with ╥Call It ╒95,╙ a track full of break beats, drum loops, and Hancock╒s gorgeous acoustic piano playing. As the loops set a pace, and Hancock shimmies in with his lines (which echo his own ╥Watermelon Man╙ from the ╒60s), trumpeter Wallace Roney and reed player Bennie Maupin solo over and through the mix like shamen. Sequencers, synthesizers, and African percussion fill in the space and carry it over into the stratosphere.
On the title track, Hancock plays the Acid Jazz card for all it╒s worth. Sampled voices, synth bass, and clavinets build the track from the rhythm up, shooting a gorgeous, mysterious African chant straight through the mix like an arrow. As mixologist Will ╥Roc╙ Griffin╒s samples and drum loops weave together with Kenny Strong╒s trap kit, the track╒s dimensions extend, warp, blur, and even breathe-╨leaving only the almighty funk to guide the listener through to its finish.
Make no mistake, this record is dance music first and jazz second, meant to be played over a booming sound system in a sweatbox club rather than in a concert hall--though I have no doubt it would sound fine there as well. Rather than just indulging his restless nature for experimentation and appropriation, Hancock has, with Dis Is Da Drum, taken elemental notions of all the musics he plays and given us something new, earthy, gorgeous, soulful, and gritty. I hope he sells a million of ╒em.
JIMMY SMITH: Damn! (Verve)
By Mark Rowland
Jimmy Smith came from a place where jazz fans danced, coffee meant joe, and lounge music sizzled. The guy all but invented the Hammond B-3 organ as a weapon, and with it a genre that worshipped the greasy groove along with bop╒s sophisticated harmonies. No surprise it turned out to be jazz╒s last grasp at pop music back in the ╒50s, when Smith fried the funk with guitar gods like Wes Montgomery and Kenny Burrell. And perhaps no surprise that Smith, at age 70, has become hip again in the ╒90s, generously sampled by Acid Jazzers and Starbucks cappuccino sippers alike. Or that Verve, the jazz label that markets the old masters before they die, has pulled out all the, uh, stops to give 10 of the fleetest fingers in showbizness the forum they deserve.
On Damn!, Smith╒s first major label outing in many, many moons, his supporting cast comprises the cream of today╒s hot young turks--Nicholas Payton, Roy Hargrove, Christian McBride, Mark Whitfield, etc.--and you can practically hear them wheezing for breath as Smith torches his way through Blue Notey classics like Herbie Hancock╒s ╥Watermelon Man,╙ Horace Silver╒s ╥Sister Sadie,╙ and ╥This Here,╙ by fellow Philadelphian Bobby Timmons. Still spry enough to lay waste to Charlie Parker╒s changes on ╥Scrapple From The Apple,╙ he can also spin gold off the barest of hooks; I once heard him kill for 10 minutes on ╥Sugar Sugar╙ by the Archies, I swear. Vamp vehicles here include the considerably cooler ╥Papa╒s Got A Brand New Bag,╙ showing up Smith╒s flair for melodic improvisation at warp speed, and Curtis Fuller╒s ╥A La Mode,╙ featuring a saxophone menage a trois and the last recording session of the late great drummer Art Taylor, who propels tempo with his trademark swing and savvy. Here╒s hoping Damn! inspires a new generation of Jimmy Smith fans and sets off a Hammond B-3 revival in the process. Knock on wood?
KENNY GARRETT: Triology (Warner Bros.)
By Tom Moon
Ever since tenor saxophonist Sonny Rollins╒ 1957 classic Live At The Village Vanguard (Blue Note), the horn/bass/drums setting has been one of those hurdles the serious jazz improviser is expected to eventually clear. It╒s almost a rite of passage: Any half-decent button-pusher can squeeze by when a pianist is supplying the harmonic outline; covering the full harmony with single notes is a whole other challenge.
Kenny Garrett obviously thinks he╒s up to the task. His Triology takes the knotty phrases and breezy tone of Rollins╒ work, adds a bit of Maceo Parker╒s battery-acid soul, then factors in spirited, ongoing crosstalk with drummer Brian Blade to concoct an animated statement unlike anything else available in the current jazz market. Dedicating the disk to Rollins and Joe Henderson, both masters of the trio setting, alto saxophonist Garrett, 34, was aiming high; he knew he couldn╒t simply serve the warmed-over bebop associated with the neo-traditionalist movement. He also knew that few in his peer group have showcased themselves in such open, under-the-microscope surroundings.
So Garrett starts out with something to prove. He plays hard. His phrases, often jarringly off-kilter, suggest new ways to perceive rhythm. He╒s trimmed away the obvious tried-and-true licks--what a pitching coach would call his ╥junk╙ pitches--and sought out genuine melodies instead. Applying this approach to both standards and jazz warhorses, he╒s uncovering new combinations, using the open air of the trio format to blow through years of stuffy convention.
While the ballad moments (particularly ╥A Time For Love╙) demonstrate that Garrett has evolved considerably since his diffuse 1992 effort Black Hope, it is his treatment of John Coltrane╒s ╥Giant Steps╙ that provides conclusive proof of his new priorities. Most saxophonists handle the tricky harmonic sequence with automatic arpeggiation, but Garrett begins with simple quarter notes, and from such humble beginnings, builds a terse, exciting, incredibly precise solo that glances at Coltrane and Rollins and Henderson, but never stoops to showboating.
BLIND MELON: Soup (Capitol)
By Janiss Garza
On their sophomore album, Blind Melon soundly stomp on the ╥hippie rock╙ tag that followed them in the wake of their debut╒s multi-platinum success. This quintet is no mere group of dreamy tripsters--they╒re sophisticated musicians capable of taking complex ideas and molding them into catchy tunes.
Soup is a smorgasbord of moods that changes from track to track, often in mid-song. The urban-esque ╥Dumptruck╙ subtly lays touches of freeform jazz over a heavy rock rhythm, while the easygoing ╥St. Andrew╒s Fall╙ contains melancholic cello and a frenzied storm within its calm. ╥Galaxie╙ (Soup╒s first single) dynamically sandwiches a charming, kickabout melody between hard-hitting riffs.
Blind Melon also know when to let simplicity shine through: The sonorous ╥Walk╙ and pensive ╥Mouthful Of Cavities╙ find their strength within acoustic renditions. The group also adds some levity to the brew--the countrified ╥Skinned╙ (which the band also performs live in this issue of LAUNCH) is a wickedly humorous take on mass murderer Ed Gein, and vocalist Shannon Hoon screams like a lunatic through the twisted turns of ╥Lemonade.╙ Additionally, the album opens and closes with a Dixieland jazz band, an apparent tribute to New Orleans, where the disc was recorded.
The most striking aspect of Soup is its pure liveliness. The guys in Blind Melon are still young enough to revel in the wonder of making music, and they use the studio as their playground. The result is uplifting rock ╒n╒ roll for the most jaded of palates.
CATHERINE WHEEL: Happy Days (Mercury/Fontana)
By Ken Micallef
The journey from creating a droning shoegazer╒s glaze to the emancipation of gorgeous metal-pop melodies is a strange one for any band, and Catherine Wheel produce its full, frothy results on their third album, Happy Days. Leaving the gauzy texture of ╒93╒s Chrome behind, this English quartet now revel in threatening drums, majestic melodies and the expressiveness of Rob Dickinson╒s choirboy-meets-arena-rock vocals.
Cloaking varied themes (tongue-teasing body parts to Metallica parodies) in abrasive guitars and Dickinson╒s near-Shakespearean delivery, Catherine Wheel shine in capturing moments of reflection (lovely vocals and gospel organ on ╥Heal╙), fear (the boisterous, ringing rock of ╥God Inside My Head╙) and humor (╥Little Muscle╙). Their songs capture an unusual balance between dreamy romanticism and the terror of some unseen, inner torment. The album╒s two most beautiful tracks are ╥Eat My Dust You Insensitive Fuck,╙ a funny line sung with all the gentleness of a goodnight kiss while the music simmers and swirls, and ╥Judy Staring At The Sun,╙ a duet with Belly╒s Tanya Donelly, whose tortured topic, a starstruck fan's demented love, almost detracts from the charming Mamas and Papas nursery rhyme of a hook.
Catherine Wheel╒s new rock-hard veneer thinly covers their romantic bent and grand musical ambitions. What initially sounds like a sarcastic album title becomes an apt comment of satisfaction. Happy Days, indeed.
GENE: Olympian (Atlas/Polydor)
By Craig Rosen
Let╒s get one thing out of the way from the start: Gene is a knockoff, and the London-based band makes no effort to hide this fact. From the retro-styled album cover photography, to singer Martin Rossiter╒s Morrissey-like vocal phrasing and lyrics, to Steve Mason╒s Johnny Marr-esque melodious guitar riffs, Gene may as well be the second coming of the Smiths. The band even named itself after one of the Smiths╒ least-known but best songs--╥Jeane,╙ the B-side of ╥This Charming Man╙--but at least they changed the spelling.
Gene╒s obvious Smiths influences might seem reason enough to write them off immediately, but that would be a mistake. Olympian, dare I say it, is more consistently enjoyable than any of Morrissey╒s solo efforts. And these days, if a young band is looking for someone to model themselves after, better the Smiths than Pearl Jam, who╒ve been endlessly cloned by the likes of the Stone Temple Pilots and Bush.
There isn╒t a clunker to be heard in the 13 tracks here. True, on some of the best songs (╥Haunted By You,╙ ╥London, Can You Wait,╙ ╥To The City,╙ and ╥Olympian╙) Gene indeed sounds incredibly Smiths-like. But there are other moments (╥Left-Handed╙ and ╥A Car That Sped╙) when the group shows a glimmer of originality and rocks harder than Morrissey and company ever did. And in the opening of ╥A Car That Sped,╙ Rossiter even sounds a bit like the late Freddie Mercury.
In all, Olympian earns Gene a silver medal. But keep your eye on these four lads, because if they╒re able to forge their Smiths inspiration into their own unique vision, they╒ll be contenders for the gold next time out--and they'll leave Morrissey to drown in his own tears.
EDNASWAP: Ednaswap (East West)
By Sandy Masuo
If you didn╒t know better, you╒d think Ednaswap frontwoman Annie Preven had been separated at birth from Perry Farrell. All the distinctive vocal features are there--the gritty, off-kilter wail, the raspy crooning, the skewed lilting elocution. She even shoots the same manic leer at the camera on the back cover of their debut CD. But the similarities don╒t stop there.
Ednaswap╒s music works for all the same reasons that Jane╒s Addiction╒s did. Paul Bushnell╒s winding basslines bind Carla Azar╒s dynamic percussion/drumming to the fiery, temperamental guitar work of Rusty Anderson and Scott Cutler. There are also uncanny likenesses in the songwriting sector. The clattering quirkiness that made ╥Been Caught Stealing╙ so compelling is what fires up ╥Clown Show.╙ The gay wedding vignette that plays out in ╥Ted & Joe╙ could be the Ednaswap sequel to Jane╒s ╥Ted Just Admit It╙--though the sprawling ╥Minor Crap╙ sounds more like it.
But the years of virtual separation haven╒t passed without certain divergent effects. Though Ednaswap careen and caper with all the volatile energy of their rival sibling, they do so without Jane╒s ethereal touch. So the more down to earth passages (╥Torn,╙ ╥Blown Away╙) have a churning, yearning emotional sharpness and immediacy that never really gelled in the oblique, narcotic dreaminess of the Jane╒s oeuvre. It╒s these moments that seem to hold the most promise for Ednaswap╒s potential self-discovery.
Ultimately only time will tell if their Addiction-prone sound is a congenital character trait or simply a phase they╒ll outgrow.
HEALTH AND HAPPINESS SHOW: Instant Living (Bar/None)
By Ken Barnes
I recall being distinctly underwhelmed by the Health And Happiness Show╒s first album, Tonic, in 1993. It sounded pleasant enough, but I expected more from a band descended from underrated New Jersey popsters the Bongos.
That underwhelmed feeling survived about 13 seconds into H&HS╒s second album, Instant Living--as soon as the ╥Lo-Fi Intro╙ that opens proceedings gave way to the real first cut, ╥To Be Free,╙ which immediately served notice that this record intended to rock.
Further underscoring this resolve is the presence of Richard Lloyd, the Televisionary riffmeister and erstwhile hub of Matthew Sweet╒s guitar axis, on two tracks--╥You Is Fine╙ and ╥Tossed Like A Stone,╙ the latter featuring an arrestingly loud Lloyd lead interlude. The enigmatically titled ╥Johnboat,╙ ╥Don╒t Have Far To Fall,╙ and ╥I╒ll Be Your Train╙ (whose intro invades Zep territory) add further high-octane rock content.
The country and folk strains that dominated the earlier album have not been abandoned by lead singer James Mastro (the ex-Bongo whose vocal warmth is one of the Show╒s prime attributes) and crew. But buttressed by a more aggressive approach, the country/folk material hits home much harder. Cases in point: the mystical ╥On Your Way╙ (based on an Apache birth song), whose howling guitar line sparks chills, and the minor-key lament ╥Portrait Of Disaster,╙ devastated by a dirty guitar flashfire.
Add in ╥Many Kindnesses,╙ an appealing R.E.M.-country number, and ╥Sugar In Your Eyes,╙ which sounds like the sequel to Lloyd Cole╒s ╥Perfect Skin,╙ and you╒ve got a knockout album. Now I╒d better go back to that first record and see if I snap-judged it into undeserved oblivion....
