EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY ROD STEWART MERCURY SR Ml-609

It's hard for me to say how the latest Rod Stewart album is the same as or different from the first two, or what sets it apart from his efforts with the Faces; I do have some conclusions, though, and it may be that while explaining what they are their genesis will appear (sort of like a blood test, maybe), or perhaps even their significance.

There once was a single continent, and but one forest. All the creatures in the forest knew that they lived in the forest, but none of ,Jhem had ever travelled far enough to know that in fact there Was only .the forest that they lived in. The black squirrels were the most numerous and far-ranging of the forest dwellers. The trees, of the forest grew high, and close together, and the black squirrels would scamper across their topmost limb?, which grew together and intertwined to form a carpet of green that did not seem to end until it met with the sky.

Somehow, none of Stewart�s previous efforts, either with the Faces or on his own. have had a very complete feeling to them. The first album had a sort of sparse, loose-ends quality; you couldn�t exactly call it a rough an4 ready kind of record, but even the best cuts lacked that fullness that warms you, like nice wine —: it wasn�t exactly incomplete, but rather lacking in some of the unexpected but really satisfying subtleties. And the album, as an album, was kind of spotty.

Gasoline Alley was somewhat less so, and at the same time it was a better, fuller, more satisfying record than the contemporaneous Faces effort. (And it is mild. Sorry.) There were some fine moments on that album, some pieces that really touched you, carried you away into Stewart�s pathos-filled performing conciousness.

• Well, the whole of the new album is just like Gasoline Alley�s best moments.

The squirrels would travel for miles, darting across the treetops, stopping suddenly to sense the air, submerging themselves in the network of branches and leaves when an owl or hawk would appear, circling overhead. They had no 'notion of where the birds came from or flew off to, sometimes with a squirrel ascreech in their talons, but even though they could not conceive of any place besides the forest that they lived in, it never occurred to them that the birds could have come from such a place as they did.

It isn�t a Work, in the way that some of the High Beatles things were, where you�d have something really special to say about every cut, because every cut was so special and stood for a certain thing. (Maybe Fm just less compulsive nowadays, or less involved, or maybe it�s the difference between 1967-69 and 1971, or maybe it�s neither or maybe it�s both or maybe.) But it does have a wholeness about it, a completeness as an album and within every cut. Certain things stand out, of course, both about the album as a whole and about certain tunes.

In fact, the birds did live in the forest, but in parts of it into which the squirrels, by some deep, unanalyzed, subliroinally functioning instinct did not ever go. There were .squirrels all through the forest, constantly crossing paths with each other, each squirrel moving in felt but undefined patterns, but in this sea of squirrels were unexplored islands where the birds lived. The squirrels were not even aware that these islands were there, that there were parts of the forest where they, or others like them, did not go, but the boundaries would have been clear to anyone who could have looked down on the forest as a whole. The squirrels couldn�t, of course, and the birds didn�t think about things like that.

The tunes seem to swell up upon themselves - what is it, building to a fullness, whatever they say? I�m sure the feeling is Stewart�s but Ron Wood�s guitar has a lot to do with it. He has as much of a sense of pace as Keith Richard, although it�s of another sort. They play different textures, but they both chop at the time, and they both know that there are holes to fill and holes to be left unfilled. I like Pete Sears� piano, too, the way it�s used to build the patterns, and sometimes to add another layer of tension to the development of a cut. And while I�m at it: Mick Waller is another one of those great rock and roll drummers, English-style.

If the birds ever were to move their bases of operation, the boundaries would have changed Of course, but the squirrels would not have been conscious, of the changes, even though it would have been their patterns of movement that caused them. Their patterns of movement, and of course, the depredations of the birds. Actually, changes of this sort were going on all the time, but neither the birds nor the squirrels were aware of them. The reaches qf each animal�s territory were never so inflexible, and their modes of thought not so attuned, that they noticed the shifts in the patterns of their movements, or those of their brethren.

Stewart has revived the lost art of Dylan Tune-finding. �Only A Hobo�, which to my knowledge had never been recorded (officially) before, was one of the highlights of Gasoline Alley, and �Tomorrow Is A Long Thne�, which I think has been recorded only once before, by Ian and Sylvia a million years ago, is certainly one of the highlights of Every Picture Tells A Story. In both cases, I think it�s as much because of the song as anything, because I don�t find Stewart to be either one of the best Dylan-tune-singers, or at his best on Dylan tunes. He�s really good at squeezing a song out, and this is the kind of treatment he gives his Dylan material, but I don�t think that Dylan songs, written, as they are, overripe, really take to it. Dylan�s delivery, when he could still be taken seriously, was always clipped, and the contrast set Off the songs better than anyone else has ever been able to. The tunes were fine vehicles for Dylan�s talents as a performer, but they�re not really good vehicles for Stewart, even with all those Dylanesque overtones he always has in his voice.

In a way, viewed from the right perspective, the squirrels� patterns of movement, and the shifting of the boundaries of their habitation could be seen as the product of a (collective consciousness. None of the squirrels could define their own role in the working out of the overall pattern, but each, in succumbing to his own necessities, was carrying out a part, acting as a vehicle for the necessities of the population as a whole.

Miles Davis has this fantastic talent for finding musicians, and getting from them these incredible performances, which are just perfect in the context of Miles Davis, his genius and whatever hehappens to be doing at the moment. The Stones have this same talent, and so does Rod Stewart, if to a somewhat .lesser degree — lesser, for the most part, in that he hasn�t been doing it for so long, so consistently. What I�m thinking of at the moment is the jewel-like mandolin on �Maggie May�, which tune, by the way, is quintessential (and absolutely Prime) Stewart. .

The squirrels lived for the most part on the seeds of the trees, their fruits and nuts, and the birds for the most part lived on the squirrels. The squirrels lived in holes in the topmost parts of the trees, as did the owls, although in different trees, of course. The hawks built their nests in the branches, only slightly closer to the ground. At times both the squirrels and the birds would descend the trees to-the forest floor, usually to look for food, but they never went very far on the ground. Squirrel and bird never met on the floor of the forest.

Stewart has a feeling for this certain kind of mood, and a firmer grasp of it, as a performer, than just about anyone else I�ve heard re&ntly. It�s a mood which I find wholly relatable and never dulling. It�s the same kind of feeling I get from the work of Andrew Wyeth, (I don�t want to stretch the point by attempting to point up structural similarities xtoo, although I think valid ones probably' exist). Wyeth paintings, or fall afternoons. Anyway, the point is, of course, this is one good record.

By the way, the other narrative — which has just been interrupted by my knocking over (and breaking) my glass of wine — is not an allegory. Sorry.

Deday LaRene

LINK WRAY POLYDOR 24-4064

�It�s a shame people have to buy records,� Peter said as he picked up the new Link Wray album jacket and scrutinized the picture of the 3 Track Shack and Link�s mama. And, of course, he was right, because there are too many records that get lost in the meat rack of new releases each month. Too many record buyers out in the vast Ten Years Wasteland expect too many things from the records they buy, and perhaps the strangest notion of all is that the particular album they pick up at the Crystal Ship or whatever better be worth it, something to lean on or can stop the wind. Or, at least, be worth the three fifty they forked over. At least worth that, with lots of flash and filagree, pee for free, a penny a poop stuff. Get it oh already. Proven winners with monster guitars and whiplash antics. That stuff comes in everyday. It�sthe Shotgun Ltd. Syndrome (Stand back, kids, cause here comes another ballbhster group doing their own ��On Top of You.�) Heavy sounds for heavy • demands in these heavy times. Forward, into the past. But if everybody could listen to all those numbers at home for free, for two months, those demands on the music would cease, or at least, surely change, and they�d find that those seventy Shotgun Ltd. s that come crawling and growling out of their envelopes' each month aren�t really worth the Big Taste that sneaked out of Maryland and Link Wray�s place last month. That �Rumble� man himself is back,, is together, and on the turntable again.

Taste is the essence of the album.It�s simple, full of *50�s energy, and a naivete of lyrics that verge (in these times of great and complicated changes at all suicidal levels) at times on being just corny.

You wear your hair long Like lesus did They�ll crucify you If you�re not part of the es-stab-lish-ment. Ice people You�re just made of ice You don�t treat your fellow man Very nice.

That corniness, however, in conjunction with the back woods sound of Link�s single line guitar and Billy Hodges plunky piano, will tears to your eyes. Real tears! I mean, this album is really together. Really! I don�t know what Link�s been up to for these last, what, thirteen years? Fourteen? since �Rumble� first jumped on American Bandstands Top Ten Board, but his sound has changed. Not the essence mind you, just the sound. It�s mellowed out considerably. The irony, however, is that today, in 1971, with so many Heavy Sounds having followed in the wake of Link�s �Rumble�, the first truly heavy number (Dum dum DUMMMMM) of Rockdom, Link�s new one* may not be enough for these heavily inundated days of giant sounds.. . if that�s what people want; If, on the other hand, you want some southern fried home cookin� in low key concentration, then Link�s got an album for you..

No need for any long MendelsOhnian dissertation. Link�s just a man of simple tastes who thought he�d pass along his electric pleasures. It�s straight and to the point, no whips or self flagellation or any of that Big City Stuff. Just good ol� homegrown. His voice (that�s right, he really sings, and on each track) has that same raw �50�s quality that Lonnie Mack had on the Wham of the Memphis Man along with undertones of the Velvet�s JLou. Reed singing some Hank Williams. And you learn to loVe it. It�s real, some dude singing his song for you, rather than some sfar spangled pop rouge playing on bored images of himself for his Own bizarro pleasures while he minces and steps on little girls fingers at the front of the stage, sending her home without any splints, without any mind. That�s not Link�s style. He�s always singing to you, not at you. Tty �Crowbar� (�Wey, I�m a crowbar, baby, gonna pry you loose�) with some knockout slide guitar out on the mossy backporch at dusk. Stiff, but very easy. No big bang here. Keen, and. some loving shifts on the old blue striped matress in the wood shed back as Link works on �Juke Box Moma� from the white frame house behind the gladiolas and the garden fence. That�s where it�s 'at. As mean as you want to get in the country. Lots of old fashion love and green cow pastures'. And no messin�, man. It�s all there, right out of Wray�s Shack Three Track. So, don�t wait for the bargain bin on this one. Don�t waste your time waitin� because you�ve got to; have Three Dog Biscuit�s new one. Take a chance away from the 4 Way Street, and learn to love the Wray Man.

J.R. Young

SONGS FOR BEGINNERS GRAHAM NASH ATLANTIC SD7304

Last, but not least, the immigrant Englishman brings us his own album. He crosses the finish line ahead by a stretch over Steve Stills and Dave Crosby, and surprisingly, only* a few lengths behind Neil Young�s Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere '(his best)-second best out of nine. That ain�t bad for a Briton in a % Yankee organization. As a matter of fact, that�s damn good, stylistically similar to Young�s first LP, and it�s even good Nash. Arid that�s good. Also rare these day.

Nash hasn�t made a decent record since he left the Hollies. They have; their sound didn�t change noticeably, but their songwriting and arranging have slipped a bit. This record is Graham�s best since the split, and Mp-hip-hooray for that.

This record, I think, proves conclusively that Nash should never have joined that supergroup, the Who�s Who of Rock. His move to America, although it split up that powerful songwriting team (Clarke-Hicks-Nash, also known as L. Ransford), wasn�t so bad after all, because now he�s enjoying the success and respect he never gpt when he was a Hollie. And maybe the Hollies were stifling his creativity a bit.

Songs for Beginners really represents Graham Nash as an artist. Unlike, so many records these days, this one feels like a true representation of Graham�s artistry. Most of the material takes the form of Nash questioning the values of our society and the older generations. The songs sound like they could be a letter from Graham Nash to someone, to the listener I guess. There are a couple of overtly political songs on the LP, which I find interesting. The first is about how . he remembers World War Two because he was born during it, and how a similar military madness threatens the country he has now moved to; war is a universal evil is the message. That�s the first tune on the LP; the last is �Chicago�. Bobby Seale is bound and gagged in the first two lines and the song closes with a repetition of �We can change the world�. When Nash realizes that people�s war will change the world, then he�ll be far out. But he�s just a beginner, as the title notes.

Like all Graham Nash songs, dating back deep into his Hollies era, the lyrics are never trite or sophoihoric or pretentious. They may not be earth-shakingly meaningful, but at least they don�t offend the ears and mind of the listener like so many others.

Nash�s voice is proof of his background in British Invasion rock and roll: clean, crisp and letter-perfect all the tirrie. It soars during the rock numbers when it has to, and it lilts perfectly during the ballads. Always in key, alway a pleasure to hear.

Instrumentally, everything fits nicely. The arrangements work well. Not too many stars here; Jerry Garcia and Doriari Rudnytsky (whose Julliard cello is not used pretentiously) appear twice; Phil Lesh once, and Chris Ethridge is there three tunes but they never get in the way like they have a tendency to do. And Clydie, Sherry, Rita, and all the girls are there doing the back-up vocals, and even they don�t intrude as much as they usually do. That�s because Graham Nash really knew what he was doing when he did this album, his production job shows a true understanding of his own talents and limitations, and the talents and limitations of all the guests.

I always knew Nash was a talent. His songwriting in CSNY has always been good, but overshadowed by Young. His performances have been wretched on record but blame rests, I believe, with �group consciousness� and egos in Los Angeles. Graham Nash doesn�t, belong in CSNY, Neil Young doesn�t belong in CSNY, CSNY doesn�t belong on the planet. With this recording, Nash should land happily where he belongs: on top.

Toby B. Mamis

IF I WERE YOUR WOMAN GLADYS KNIGHT AND THE PIPS SOUL SS731

This album edged Aretha Franklin off my record player. I love it. It doesn�t make any pretentions to greatness (just dig the r&b trash cover: Gladys lying across the bottom in a purple/yellow/rose/red nightgown above her bodylooking kinda dreamy while three images float in blurry bubbles above her body; in each of these daydream pictures, Gladys is shown with a different member of her sharp back-up group, the Pips, perhaps imagining if she were his woman, don�t ask me) - it�s just sweet and funky, almost classic, urban rhythm and blues. �Classic,� that ft, in the sense that Gladys* early week — �Giving Up,� �Letter Full of Tears� — ft classic: restrained but so tough, rooted deep in emotional experience.

Gladys� recent work under producer Norman Whitfield had departed from this style in favor of a series of stunning upbeat numbers beginning with �I Heard It Through The Grapevine� and including �Friendship Train� and �The Nitty Gritty.� Whitfield carried the group to incredible heights but his production work with thembegan to seem more and more an incidental development of a style he was busy creating for the Temptations. The production on If I Were Your Women is credited to a team — Clay McMurray, Johnny Bristol & Joe Hinton -who also share composing credits on many of the. songs. Their work ft stylish in the prevailing Motown mode — strings, backing vocals as precise as the drumming, every instrument in its place and a place for every instrument — while avoiding overly dense or psychedelic symphony touches. Mainly, it�s low-key and straightforward, leaving the drama to the vocals. The Pips are perfection: tight and strong, always there at tile right moment to high-light Gladys� lead. On �If { Were Your Woman,� listen to the way they sweep in after �You�re like a diamond� to add the word �shining� in the beat before the line continues (�but she treats you like glass�); they make the word shimmer. But Gladys is the soul and inspiration of tikis drama and the album re-establishes her as one of the queens of heartbreak r&b. Edged with roughness, combining a gutsy texture with sweet substance, Gladys� voice pleads, sigms, dies and swells with feeling enough to carry auy song.

With the exception of a few unremarkable remakes (�Let It Be,� �Feeling Alright,� �Everybody Is A Star�), the material is well-suited to Gladys and the group. Again, jt*s unpretentious but superb. Not since the early days have 1 heard so many peat sad love songs on a Motown album, these are the best: �Signed Gladys,� which begins with the line, �My eyes are dark and wet as the ink from my fountain pen,� is a letter full of tears from the other woman to Her man ending the �three-way tragedy;� Gladys tears at the lyrics like she�s fighting back sobs, the key hue hi �Is There a Place (In His Heart for Me)� is �Promises at night are so easily made

but they can disappear at the light of day� «* a variation on the theme of �Will You Love Me Tomorrow� with every lyric and vocal turn a beauty. �If I Were Your Woman,� one of (he best singles rids year, remains impressive here: a terrific bass line, steady-building vocals and Gladys at her most convincing. The new single, �I Don�t Want to Do Wrong,� isn�t quite as strong but it grows on you. Carried away by her emotions % �I don�t wanna do wrong/ but it�s been so long/ I just can�t help myself* — Gladys pulls it together in a particularly nice short ending. �One Step Away� has Gladys tom between expressions of quiet understanding and hurt incomprehension (�It�s strange how you defend your wrongs with more fire than you do your rights**) — a totally moving combination.

I could go oh quoting lyrics for columns but that ain�t the point - it�s Gladys (and the dudes). Sing it, girl.

Vince Aletti

DESPITE IT ALL. BRINSLEY SCHWARZ CAPITOL ST-744

The title apparently refers to the incredible hype this poup received when they first played Fillmore East and their management blew $120,000 to fly over the whole British press corps, with predictably disastrous results. And an appropriate title it is, for refreshing music literally bursts out of fliis album.

I hesitate to try putting Brinsley Setrwam into a familiar category, because ft just ain�t that simple. The�re probably classified by many at a soft rock group specializing in vocal harmonies, because that�s what their base is, as a song like �Ebury Down� readily testifies. But that�s just what ft ft—a base-and they cover a lot of pound from there.

For example, �Old J arrow� really lutes as it rocks along, and proives that Brinsley Schwarz does rock in a way that indisputably separates them from similar poups. There�s plenty of room on this LP for foot-stomping and side-slapping. �Slow One� and �Funk Angel� will probably remind you of Van Morrison, just as �Piece of Home� ft reminiscent of the Band. In fact, this whole album has the kind of feeling that I (as one who�s never been there) associate with Woodstock, the town. But it�s not at all like someone said, �Hey, let�s write ourselves a Van Morrison tune,� because Brinsley Schwarz is too much their own band for that.

And most of those country sock groups that don�t sing no songs �cept to make you happy etc. etc. don�t make me very happy, because they don�t play aft that great, and thus come off pretty pretentious. But when �Country Girl� or �Starship� comes swirling out of the speakers, it makes me jubilant. Even if the lyrics are kinda sad-

This, too, is typical of Brinsley Schwarz. Their lyrics are full of idyllic seenarious, which are often ironic, like the country girl who stays alone in a house by rite waterfall living herself to death. They have a knack for putting sad lyrics to such happy music. Sometimes the lyrics make no sense at aft; I thought from rite music that �G®d Jarrow� was their ode to the American Indian, until I picked up on the thoroughly puzzling words. But no matter, no matter at all, because ftte music ft so great and rite vocals are extra fine, too—especially when they all sing together.

Brinsley Schwarz offers lots of talent, depth, surprises, and spirit. Despite It Alt is the proverbial breath of fresh air, except this time the phrase really applies.

John Morthland

LOVE LETTERS FROM ELVIS ELVIS PRESLEY RCA LSP4630

Every couple months you can sit back and ponder what Elvis� next album will be. It could be a soundtrack—no he did one of those recently-maybe an anthology-but there�s too much good stuff on the last one, or maybe another country album like Elvis Country, That�d be pretty nice.

Or a live record off the tour? Yeah, his concert in Detroit, despite its Tony Bennett readymades, was enjoyable; a lot of noise, and the Sweet Inspirations and he did some neat stuff.

♦ So then it' comes, and surprise! You remember why you liked Elvis all along, without missin� a beat, in the first place:

BECAUSE HE�S A REAL CLOWN THAT�S WHY!

Dave Marsh

WHO'S NEXT THE WHO TRACK

Who�s Next is to the Who what the White Album must�ve been tb the Beatles. After Tommy, which was a concept-rock summit, not, as commonly supposed, an introduction tb a new genre, they were forced by their audiences to,come back with another concept album, Live At Leeds which was mostly old stuff (substitute Sergeant Pepper and Magical Mystery Tour and you�ve got it).

Now this. A fine fine record, one you can shake your ass to and think about both, one that does everything the Who can do in legend (which is a lot, just like the White Album was a lot).

There are cuts here that aren�t particularly impressive: �Blue Eyes,� �Goin� Mobile�, Entwhistle�s �My Wife� which is a long way from �Heaven and Hell�. But there are also cuts here that are as good as anything the Who have done.

�Baba O�Reilly� is a great starter, maybe about Meher Baba, maybe about rock�n�roll — �Teenage wasteland, it�s all a teenage wasteland� (Daltrey shout: �We�re ALL wasted�). It�s weakened only by a fiddle interlude that I must confess I don�t understand. It�s not offensive, just sort of pointless.

Townshend playp a lot of synthesizer here; he�s basically the best we�ve got at it. He both demonstrates how to use it with taste and exemplifies its limitations. On �Baba O�Reilly�, the synthesizer is kept in the background, which is where it belongs for a whole lot of reasons, mainly because it just can�t compete with Townshend�s guitar work, always so powerful it eclipses everything around him. (Except maybe Keith Moon�s drumming.)

Proof of that is given on �Bargain�. The use of synthesizer is that otherwise fine song's downfall. Had the song been shortened, with the moog portion excised, it would be really fine.

�Love Ain�t For Keeping� suffers from a similar problem: here, rather than the music forcing Daltrey to strain over it (as on �tBaba O�Reilly� and �Bargain�), Daltrey - against acoustic guitar, bass and drums — sounds merely strained. Even grating. When they work together and when each does what he is quintessentially best at, the Who bear no comparison to any other rock and roll group around. But when a tune falls short, it generally falls flat as well.

Happily, there are two songs here that work precisely the way the Who work best. �Gettin� In Tune� sounds like an especially well-proportioned number from Tommy. Listen to the way that Roger�s vocal works off Townshend�s call �I�m in tune/And I�m gonna tune/Right in on you (right in on you)/Right in oft you (right in on you)� until it�s almost a round. This is pretty heady stuff for the Who, but it works. Nicky Hopkins� piano has something to do with it, because it�s kept behind Townshend�s guitar playing. It isn�t in �Song Is Over�, and that is that tune�s downfall. Here, the effect becomes one of non-plastic beauty, and it�s sheer fun (6 listen to it do its job.

�We Won�t Get Fooled Again� is the Who alone, with Town'shend adding organ and a VCS3 synthesizer. Unlike the single, �Won�t Get Fooled Again� i is spread over eight minutes here. It is the most rockin� cut the Who have done in ages. You�d have to go all the way back to �Pinball Wizard,� or maybe even �Magic Bus*� to find a song that was, in essence, so much what this group is about. It�s the perfect; choice for a single, but the album version really works much much better, because here the way in which the music is structured supplies the other half of the story the lyric seems to tell.

In that respect, this tune is mich like �Revolution� (which was on the Beatles� White Album, of course): while Townsend�s basic idea is cynical, the music belies it all, and seems to set up a rhythm for some scenario of �violent revolution�,

I tip my hat to the new prostitution I take a vow for the new revolution I ain�t free but there�s change all around me Pick up my guitar and play Just like yesterday f Then I�U get on my knees and pray WE WON�T GET FOOLED AGAIN!

Townsjhend knows what side he�s on; he�s also sensitive to the way a' lot of us feel about the manner in which the �political� end of this movement is being handled. In a lot of ways, it�s as bitterly disillusioned as anything anyone has ever written about the youth movement, but that�s acceptable, because the song comes to us on our own terms. The music — the crashing guitar chords that are Townsend�s doomy signature — is as exciting as I said, but the key part is the instrumental break: guitar synthesizer and organ (which is.to say Townsend alone), ominously bespeaking the fact that no matter what we think about this conflict, it is happening.

Townshend, like many of us, feels that the best he can hope for is to �pull myself and my family aside/if. we happen to be left alive� and not be fooled again. The most important realization, of course, is that the time to stop being fooled, by anyone, is right now. That�s what the music says, over and over.

What the break says is that when the real thing finally conies, it�s going to be ecstatic and exciting. The guitar chords suddenly end, the synthesizer beginning a mad tonal run of ominous dimension. Then several sets of Moon drum rolls, then everything out as Daltrey releases the best scream he�s ever done on record: YEEEEAAAHHH! And finally, �To. me the new boss/The same as the old boss�, more guitar crashes, with the drums and bass working in perfect Who symmetry, and suddenly, it�s over.

And what�p next, if the record companies aren�t kidding me, just; might be the very famous, but hitherto nonexistant, The Who's Greatest Flops.

Stay tuned, because it can�t come any too soon.

Dave Marsh

MUSIC TO EAT HAMPTON GREASE BAND COLUMBIA

The music of Atlanta�s Hampton Grease Band, music to eat, is something like a Rock & Roll equivalent of Warhol�s Campbell Soup can. An even more accurate metaphor would be an image from one of die most exciting �songs� on their new Columbia album: Spray paint — these contents are under cataclysmic pressure. The feel of the Grease Band�s music is a blend ©f some heavy romanticism and lyricism, present mostly in sections of instrumental blowing and a tense, paranoiac, uptight sound and fury that reminds me more than anything else of the moods evoked by 50*s horror movies with their stark black and white photography mid their heavy load of psychic repression. Something about the music of the Grease Band evokes the surfaces and superficialities of the 50�s decade - the plastic, the technological paranoia, the anti-communism, -Madison Ave., Eisenhower, the military-industrial complex, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, bee-hive hairdos, the birth of Rock & Roll, higher education, all black and white and grey, the contents of Amerika under pressure. Something about their music seems perpetually caught in an impasse of this 50�s repression of life, as if they never made it through that period but were traumatized to continually relive and replay its forms and symbols. Despite the heavy changes that have come down since the Eisenhower era, -the Grease Band still has both feet planted firmly in the Pentagon. Their Rear-View Mirror Rock says: if we can�t have what we want, we can at least (choke) try to want what we (gasp) have...

If sources and influences will help you to turn on to a group you�ve never heard before, then the fiampton Grease Band definitely plays out of a stream of complex music, the best of which is produced by Captain Beefheart and the Mothers of Invention: the marriage is between elements of 50�s Rock & Roll, especially the campy R&B and flipped out Little Richard, and elements of contemporary Black Liberation music. With the Grease Band, it�s the Ventures and" Bill Haley plus electric Pharoah Sanders. This recording focuses on the music played by two lead guitars, bass, drums, plus vocals, with occasional horn additions — the basic form ©f~ a blowing band that has played mostly in and around Atlanta, Georgia for almost five years. To audiences that were, and are, half freaked out, one fourth repulsed and one-fourth spellbound.

Part of the aesthetic of the Hampton Grease Band grows out of the half-hostile, half-delighted response they have elicited from audiences. Most people either love them or hate them. A look at anything on this album will show you why. �Halifax� takes up one whole side and is a brilliant, challenging piece of word and sound. The lyrics seem lifted verbatim from some encyclopedia entry on the Nova Scotia city. �We wish you would come to Halifax,� Bruce Hampton repeats, along with such persuasive attractions as �six thousand and six/hundred and thirty-eight/miles of graded road/ And a lot of gravel, top.� Who could resist? The music played by guitarists Harold Kelling and Glenn Phillips, however, is stunning — intricate webs of electric guitar set in Mike Holbrook�s solid, pulsing baSs and drummer Jerry Field�s mixed rhythms. No way to describe it further, just listen to the whole thing a couple of times and see if you dig it. The hard part will be Hampton�s crude vocals, yelps, shouts, and hysterical laughter.

It is the lyrics, and Hampton�s presentation of them, that give most people the most trouble when it comes to the Grease Band�s music. Jerry Fieldsings a song occasionally, fairly straight (�Maria� on Music To Eat), the others add their voices on a few selections, but mostly it�s Bruce Hampton, never �singing� but doing something else with vocals so well that Zappa and Beefheart in comparison sound like Lennon and McCartney. Madness is the goal. Most songs contain lyrics so straight and characterless that they are exasperating: �Spray paint keep away from flame�; �avoid breathing of vapor�; keep out of reach of children�; �contents Under pressure�. All of �Halifax.� Others sound straight but sing Weird: �Look at Jim Evans/Look at, his head/ He�s got a compass, and a rollaway bed!� In addition, there is a whole Hampton Grease Band language in which new, unheard of verbs and nouns, are tossed off casually, unknown planets are referred tb, and an entire antimythology becomes more and more obviously the source of allusion and meaning. Thus, from �Six�, almost a personal statement (or anti-statement) of how the Grease Band looks at itself, �In the year Oted,� when �krebe became krobe�, �we were bom of the fixed oil sign,� arriving �early� in order to perform a �key nutritional experiment�. Sometimes, this language almost evolves into a vocalese in which Hampton parodies the yodelling techniques of Leon Thomas. Here the primitive, magical use of language itself is in play, where the sound words serve to evoke, rather than to �mean�. The Hampton Grease Band has always been obsessed with certain words which they shout during performances and space throughout their music. Listen to �Evans�, �Major Bones�, �Six�, and �Spray paint,� for examples.

Because of the difficultness of their music, and the often discouraging experiences the Hampton Grease Band has had during the years they have played together in the South (with an occasional tour), they have almost become enraptured by the idea of repulsing audiences; they point With pride to the time, not too long ago, when they received one of their biggest fees to date, by mi employer at an exhibit in Atlanta called Aquarius *70, NOT to play at all. But, listening to sections of this new album, remembering incredible performances by the band (they axe essentially a live Rock group), I often wonder if they just might not transcend the trauma that hangs over them, and move from parody of Black Liberation music to a deep understanding of the lifeforms from Which it flows. Going from Karma to Music to Eat is to move from the sublime to the ridiculous.

With both feet in the repressed '*50�s, and only a couple of toes in jail with Angela Davis, the cry of liberation of the music of Ornette Coleman, Sanders; Coltrane and others, often degenerates into the frustrated shrieks and shouts of a child of the SB�s When the Hampton Grease Band draws on it for inspiration.. But the dues are being paid by these musicians, the glow of their accomplishments, while dimmed, are certainly real, and if the aerosol paint can were ignited by a flame somewhere, and the contents Under pressure were to explode, Who can tell just what kind of music will come out of that experience?

Miller Francis

CHASE CHASE EPIC

One day these Las Vegas lounge musicians were sitting around chewing the fat and wondering how much longer they could hold their jobs, what with all the new-styled acts coming into town. �I mean,� said one of them, �how can we really compete with Ike and Tina Turner?� �Yeah, and I�d like to get outa Vegas every now and then� said another. �Hey, what about them big-band rock groups?� asked yet another, �They have charts at least as lame as the ones we play, and they make lotsa bread and get lotsa pussy.� �Yeah, but there�s so many of �em. We�d hafta have, a gimmick.� �Wow! What about a four-man lead trumpet section! Hey* Bill,, can you still do that lame-ass Maynard Ferguspn imitation, you used to crack us up with in rehearsal?� �Sure, but you can�t be serious... or could you?� He looked up to see the other eight guys With shit-eating grins on their faces looking at him. For half a second he was taken aback, but then a grin swept across his face, too, �Think it�ll work?� �Sure.� �Well, then; what�re-we sitting herefor? We got work to do.� And laughing' heartily, they went to pick up their instruments.

A band is born. Chase. How many of the men in the picture on the back cover are wearing long-hair wigs?

Ed Ward

THE REAL THING TAJ MAHAL COLUMBIA G 30619

The Real Thing, a double album of live music recorded (of course) at Fillmore East, is as flawless as the most carefully made studio recording. Taj is complemented here by a large horn section: trumpet, tubas, flugelhorn, baritone saxophone, trombone, yet without much of the pretense, that so often accompanies large horn sections.

In a bid for mass popularity, Leadbelly once recorded a truly bizarre album with the Hollywood Strings; but Leadbelly�s mistake is a perfect foil for Taj�s success. With an aggregation of instruments that goes beyond all those horns, the result is still simple, basic and personal. There aren�t any extras.

After the solo �Fishin� Blues�', he declares �We gonna have a real good time,� and then goes into �Ain�t Gwine to Whistle Dixie (Any Mo�}� which plays perfectly off the integral humor of the four tubas. The song becomes a statement of the certainty of his self-awareness, a self-awareness that is political to its core because it has the strength of integrity.

Taj isn�t whistling Dixie for anyone, understand, not even for us. He has only recently returned from a lengthy trip to' Spain,,, where he fished and sat on his ass for six months. He also managed to work out, most of the material here during that period. In some ways it was a good move, even a necessary one; he has rejected the trappings of stardom without rejecting stardom, or perhaps, has just merely re-defined stardom on his own terms.

The point is that he has given us good music, and this is The Real Thing. Even if it is merely thoughtful entertainment, it is more than we generally receive from super-stars who try to include their souls in the deal.

Archie Anderson

GRIN GRIN SPINDIZZY Z30321

It�s a little early to predict accurately, but it appears the era of the rock and roll commune is upon us. So far we�ve got Leon Russell and his Shelter People (who only a year ago were Delaney and Bonnie�s Friends), the Jefferson Starship (and factions thereof), and 'the Neil Young Tribe, which includes Neil, Crazy Horse and other associates. More are certain to follow.

The Young Tribe isn�t as easily identifiable as the others. The distinguishing characteristics are David Briggs as producer, Crazy Horse as assorted backing musicians and a kid named Nils Lofgren. Lofgren� plays guitar on Crazy Horse as well as composing a pair of tones (�I�ll Get By� and �Beggar�s Day�), sings lead vocal on one of them, and playing piano on After the Gold Rush. Not bad for a 19 year old.

In early 1969, Nils formed his own group, Grin, with schoolmates Bob Gordon and Bob' Berberich. Living in Maryland, they made periodic jaunts to Washington, DC, where. Young first heard them.

They now. have their own album, imaginatively, titled Grin, which sounds, initially, just like Crazy Horse. That�s true to a point; • but Lofgren�s lyric structure is simpler, and his songs seem to be optimistic as opposed to Crazy Horse�s generally pessimistic world view.

Again, Crazy Horse tend to work their .melodic changes within a wall of sound, much of the singing being harmony; Grin relies on a drums bass foundation,on which Nils builds with his considerable virtuosity. Vocals are generally solo, harmony on / the choruses — post-Beatles white-rock.

Nils is aiso interested in the textures possible in guitar/piano interplay, which is something of a handicap in concert, where he sticks to guitar. Live, indeed, they stay within the structures they learned in school and deliver loud, foot-stomping rock and roll that sounds like a cross between a river at flood level and a jet. All very intense - Nils with chunky chords that are definitely pre-psychedelic Berberich thunka thunka, ala Ringo and Gordon playing bass as though Phil Lesh and Jack Bruce never existed-

Nils will now almost certainly become a Co oder/Russell level superstar but what happens to the band remains to be seen. They will probably evolve more intricate vocals, and add a piano (a must if Nils is to exploit the guitar/piano interrelationship he�s working towards). It would be interesting to see Young join, of course, he and Lofgren could trade instruments as their songs demanded, but that would depend largely upon how well Neil can suppress his popstar designs.

Most interesting of all, of course, should be how well and how far Grin progresses within the commune, and whether they leave to expand their horizons elsewhere. It could be quite an exciting wait.

John Ingham

BRAVE BELT BRAVE BELT WARNER BROS.

Brave Bel marks a new first in the ever-expanding Canadian music industry. They are Canada�s first splinter group, gaining recognition not from the music they play, but merely on the strength of the members of the band. In this case, the members .are Randy Bachmann, ex-guitar-magician of the Guess-Who, and Chad Allen, the guy who used to be lead singer of the G-W when they were still known as Guess Who? — Chad Alien and the Expressions. (Remember their version of �Shakin� All Over�?)

(Well, that ain�t really true. There was a notable splinter group before Brave Belt came along. It was made up of a bunch of lonely but talented lumbeijacks from Inuvik who decided to form1 a rock and roll band. They called themselves Kickeurs de Merde and cut a couple of records. But because of the rather limited numbers of desireable and willing female companionship, in the area, they were forced to do it with the local trees, thus becoming Canada�s first ever splinter group. The band broke up, incidently, when two of the members contracted Dutch Elm Disease, and had to.go to the Big City for penicillin.)

At any rate, don�t expect a warmed-over version of the Guess Who in Brave, Belt�s music. They play a brand of music that might best be described as country-rock, (which it isn�t really, but we seem to be rather short of good labels these days, and the group does feature pedal steel guitar, which automatically makes it country rock, don�t it? Or don�t it?) The overly alert critic who plays the album once and then junks it will write it off as an effort too influenced by Buffalo Springfield and, in particular, Neil Young, He will also say that the vocals are so incredibly weak that it�s ludicrous. But the diligent listener will find, after an extra listen or two, that Brave Belt�s style is very much their own, that they perform some really tuneful and credible soft rock, and that the vocals are so incredibly weak that it�s ludicrous.

But it is, nevertheless, a fine first effort that grows on you the more you listen to it. If you got any dollars left after buying Sticky Fingers and you want some slightly easier and placating music, (an alternative to Sweet Baby Whatsisname, perhaps), then I heartily recommend Brave Belt.

Alan J. Niester

HIS BAND AND STREET CHOIR VAN MORRISON WARNER BROS.

There�s a secret to every Van Morrison album, and even this one, which too many of us wrote off too long ago, has it.

The key here is summer.

It began with 98� superhumid in the summer shade. Fred, Ric, Judy, Charlie, and Turk all plopped in the living room, looking desperately for an ice-cold solution. The Hamms had helped, at least putting up a barrier of oblivion between the lukewarm icecream — in which the chocolate chips' floated like so many, insects, scaring the shit out of me when I removed it from the freezer — and tire lack of any threat of rain in the sky, (and therefore the lack of any promise of cool before nighttime.)

Charlie went into the kitchen to pop the last of the Cola and I said, �Youknow, what we probably all need is summer rock�n�roll.� They all nodded their heads in Useless agreement; yes, summer rock and roll* I. knew liiere was sucn a thing but wasn�t sure what device was proper, in extremis as it were. But it was cooler in ray bedroom and I could think a little, at least.

�What cools it down?� Then a FLASH. I leaned down to the M part ot the collection, moved past the great Moondance and Astral Weeks albums and dove into' the coverless copy of His Band And Street Choir. �I bets this�ll work, I bet.��

A new copy, almost brand new — coverless because someone split with the cover and Janie had the old one — but I�d remembered it from when I�d gone and got it, played it a time or two and set it aside. *�Gypsy Queen� and the singles, �Blue Money� and �Domino� stayed in my mind, as usual, and I�d decided that I liked the Broadway �Call Me Up In Dreamland�, considering it a prototypical Judy Garland number for the seventies in fact.

�You know,� I muttered, slapping.it down on the player and walking away, �I bet this works, this record may just do ft.� Not that I was that confident but at that parched point I was ready to try nearly anything.

�Blue Monday� literally lept out of the speakers and I felt better, the whole room sort of lightened up. Rie came in, with Judy, and I looked at him (his favorite album�s Moondance) and said, �You know, I guess they just released this at the wrong time of year.� And he looked at me, and �Virgo Clowns� popped out of the speakers and then he sort of grinned and said, �Yeah, I know what you mean� and went back to reading Monopoly Capital. (Another good indication of how hot it was.)

After a minute or three, �Gypsy Queen� came on, and I was going, damn it�s a shame Lester never got that review together back then but maybe it was because he thought then (and may think now), that it was 1970s Broadway show music. (He actually said that, one day on the phone.)

And after that side finished, fairly unremarkable — �His Band and.Street Choir� almost sacchrine pretty and �Sweet Jannie� which is too dose for comfort, for me anyhow — but still very summer, we listened to Them for awhile, �Mystic Eyes� and �Gloria� and �I -Can Onlyjf Give You Everything� and � Baby Blue� and �Could You Would You�. (Them Again, as I�ve been thinking, being the epitome of what the first MC5 album would�ve sounded like if they�d done it in 1966 instead of �68.)

Finally, we switched it over to the first side of His Band And and _ the lovely �Domino� and �Call Me Up in Dreamland� and the rest of the Fats Domino/Curtis Mayfield antecedents came roaring up at us all, and we were sort of laid out and wondering. And I decided, well, I don�t think anybody ever thought to write this • down before, even though a lot of people might already know it, it�s pretty, hot now, has been fcr awhile and someone else must�ve discovered the secret. But there�s no point in keeping it a secret, there must be at least 25,000 unused copies of this record laying around, gathering dust and V^n Morrison is such Solace anyway, when he�s on, that people NEED him.

So I decided to write this review. But all I could really think to say about it Was that if �Gypsy Queen� were to. be a single this summer some time, I bet that you�d be humming it on your way to the beach and maybe even ON the beach, which is the real test. And that �Virgo Clowns�� is exceeded only by the Impressions� �Gypsy Woman� and Dylan�s �I Don�t Believe You� (acoustic) as fine rock�n�roll gypsy music. Not to mention, it has fine lines (�Let your laughter fill the room� being instructions for summer day madness.) andWould be an ace B side. But Warper Bros, probably won�t take me up on it; which is a shame.

Jn the end, he cheered me right up though, I could even finish typing this up after seeing Escape From. Planet of; the Apes on a double-bill at the drive-in with Von Ryan�s Express. It�s that kind of peculiar relationship with late 20th century Americana that gives me real faithin Van Morrison. Which'I have in almost no one else, right now.

Dance on. You know it�s all right.

Dave Marsh

JOHNNY ADAMS. HEART AND SOUL. SSS INTERNATIONAL 5,

EDDIE FLOYD. DOWN TO EARTH. STAX 2041.

If anybody doubts that this is a poverty-stricken era for popular music, let him name a black solo male singer whose records he looks forward to with huge excitement.

For years, we�ve depended on black innovators (Chuck, Richard, Ray, Bobby, Sam, James, Otis) to lead the way, and depending on how much we knew and what we�d heard, we listened either to them or to those who imitated them.

But, temporarily I hope, singing doesn�t, really matter. People like Neil Young and Dr. John have established that an interesting character can come through Without an emphatic singing style, even with what might be called a �bad� style. And a lot of song-writers like James Taylor and Carole King rely almost entirely on the evocativeness of their material to carry their effects. In pop, arrangements and production, some good like the current MotoWn hits, others pretty corny like Dawn�s, are what count. In R & B, the most expressive records are by vocal groups whose lead singers affect the high, pure style that dates back through Smokey and the Miracles, and Sonny Til and the Qrioles, to Bill Kenney of the Ink Spots. It seems only in Las Vegas is there an audience still interested m interpretive singing. And out there, Tom Jones and Elvis for some reason get booked mere easily than Johnny Adams or Eddie Floyd.

Johnny Adams must have the best range and most accurate pitch of any man currently making records, plus a tone that can take on a country-style narrative, a New Orleans dance song, a soul ballad, and �Release Me� (whatever category that belongs in), with equal confidence and success. It�s just his bad luck; that nobody is interested in any of them; five�years ago, this record would surely have commanded more attention, and maybe as the cycle turns, Johnny�s time Will come.

He�s been waiting long enough. Mac Rebennack, currently recuperating from an illness, working as a session pfanist/guitarist in Miami, and completing his fourth album as. Dr. John, recalls that in the late fifties there were two New Orleans singers that local musicians were sure would make the big time: Joe Hinton and Johnny Adams. Joe Hinton did a spell with the gospel group, the Spirit of Memphis, and then went solo for the Houston Back Beat label, making the pop top ten in the mid41e of the 'Beatie era with �Funny (How Time Slips Away),� which ended with an extraordinary falsetto scream. But Joe died a couple of years ago, having never managed to repeat that one success.

So here�s Johnny Adams, still waiting to fulfil the hopes New Orleans had for him. Included on the album are two songs that Mac Hebennack co-authored,. both of which have different kinds of accompaniment from the rest of the record. �Lonely Man� has a rather mundane arrangement, badly recorded, with the drums much too prominent, but is still a great virtuoso performance by Johnny. �Losing Battle� hasJa much more interesting jazz/blues arrangement, similar to the best things Joe Scott did for Bobby Bland and Junior Parker, and ends with some really nice interweaving of improvised saxes and Johnny�s wailing voice.

All the other tracks seem to have been recorded more recently,, probably in Nashville, with the exception of �I Won�t Cry,� which was Written by Dorothy Labostrie of �Tutti Frutti� fame, and has Johnny adopting a fluid Sam Cooke sort of voice over a familiar Huey Smith-style New Orleans dance arrangement, honking saxes and steady piano chords.

The modern tracks all feature a prominent lead guitarist, who could * conceivably be the same guy who did that figure all the way through �Harper Valley P.T.A.,� playing here in an R & B style. But while he is generally interesting, the bass and drums are uninspired, and the overdubbed horn arrangements are all-too familiar. But, if the accompaniment can be blocked off some way, Johnny�s voice is amazing, and the songs are for once strong enough to bear repeated plays.

The best song is �In a Moment of Weakness;� or maybe' it�s just the one with the catchiest phrase in it - �What she . don�t know won�t hurt her, but the hurt is kilting me." Johnny matehes the slid* guitarist's slithers over a series of notes With his pwa swoops into falsetto. ' -v'. � 1

�Reconsider Me" and �Georgia Mountain Dew" are handled with the intensity and care they need, and of all the songs on the album, only �Release Me" is hard to accept, maybe because Johnny is so disconcertingly close to Englebert Humperdink�s tone. Now if Tom Jones would start campaigning for Johnny Adams the way Clapton and Blopjl$y4 spread the word on B.B. King, we cetild forgive him for his presumption.

It�s pretty obvious that the people who made (and packaged) Johnny Adams' album never expected you, an audience interested primarily in rock, to pay any attention io him,

Steve Cropper, who has produced Eddie Floyd's latest album, hopes very milch that ypu will give it some time, because he knows that Eddie�s old soiil fans won�t eare veiy much for it.

Theoretically, there does seem to be some potential for an album which puts a really assured singer in front of• f rook accompaniment Just think what Chicago or the Allman Brothers Band might have been, with good lead singers, tinfortungtely, the record never gets off the ground (did £tax know that, when they titled it Down to Eprth?). Three months ago, a single cam$ out by Eddie, •'♦Oh, How It Rained," that featured just Eddie, Steve Cropper on acoustic guitar, and. a thunderstorm. A sort of modern down-home blues, it was atmospheric,''and with air-play could definitely have beeit' a �novelty� hit. Nothing happened with Hvbpf an album of that kind of musip IjAye been a pleasure to listen to.

Instead, the album is a rag bag of sounds, effects, and instruments piled on top of each other, rhythms thrown away and lost, without even �Oh, How It Rained� to relieve the pain and escape the pretension. One track almost works, �Linda Sue Dixon�, with some very idiosyncratic piano-playing from a guy called J. Spell, who also double-tracks some equally intriguing violin on the same song. But the lyric is silly, and Eddie�s voice doesn't have the character to do anything with it.

But, since the whole record, was probably made for almost grown fans of Grand Funk who want to show their friends that they have ; moved on from listening to just noise, and can dig something that is down-home and complicated, maybe it'll find an audience.

Unless you belong in that category, you should look out 'for the Johnny Adams album, ignore its lurid cover, and get the shivers that only a really , good voice can provide. ��

Charlie Gillett

THE RAINBOW BAND THE RAINBOW BAND ELEKTRA

Reviewing this record would be like , shooting ducks in a barrel, so I won�t. Wonder how much Elekira�s gonna drop on thjs one,

Ed Ward