THE CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

THE CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

by

Robert Christgau

Blue Oyster Cult: “Tyranny and Mutation” (Columbia). Bizarro critic R. Meltzer says: “This is really hard rock comedy.” Which isn’t just a laugh — in eight songs, Long Island’s only underground band manages to run through nearly every heavy music cliche with a finely-honed guitar neck. But like all the best rock, this works as what it takes off from, or anyway, as something almost indistinguishable. A plus cut: “CKD.’d on Life Itself.” A minus.

Roy Brown: “Hard Times” (BluesWay). I have been hearing about Brown for years, yet when I finally got hold of King Record’s “Hard Luck Blues,” which contains most of the seminal hits he recorded for DeLuxe between 1948 and 1954, I noted it dutifully and shelved it. It took these six-year-old sessions, a good portion of what he has recorded since semi-retiring in 1956, to turn me on to the master of the falsetto shriek, progenitor of both B.B. King and Little Richard. Most pre-rock bluesmen flounder through soul-styled uptempo arrangements, but Brown is so fluid he rolls right along on top. A find — as is “Hard Luck Blues,” if you can find it. A minus.

Cold Blood: “Thriller!” (Reprise). Not a very good record, but at least Lydia Pense no longer sounds as if she?s inspired by a cattle prod, which is a moan in the right direction. C plus.

“Cross Country” (Atco). Move over, Arthur, Hurley & Gottlieb — these guys make Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young sound like Crosby & Young. Key line: “I’m just a choir boy doing what I can.” D.

Dr. John: “Right Place, Wrong Time” (Atco). The title hit is definitely autobiographical. Fifteen years ago, sweetand-dirty New Orleans jive wasn’t very lucrative, but it conveyed the same wry rebelliousness that the weird nighttripping of New Orleans grad Dr. John did 10 years later. But that didn’t work out, so the reconstituted Dr. John purveys 15-year-old New Orleans jive. He’s so professional I can’t just put him down >*• I love “Such a Night,” which transcends its own anachronism, and Allen Toussaint’s “Life” — but on the whole this record sounds like more oldies whimsy to me. B plus.

Eagles: “Desperado’’ (Asylum). Can the soundtrack to an imaginary Sam Peckinpah movie have a hit single in it? Take it easy, guys — “Tequila Sunrise” is more David Clayton-Thomas’s speed. C.

“Faith” (Brown Bag). I was curious enough to play the first side of this record the day I got it. It took me almost two months to get to side two. E.

The J. Geils Band: “Bloodshot” (Atlantic). Never has the mass audience blunted a group’s fine points so quickly. Tight arrangements? They boogie endlessly through riffs they were playing three years ago. Low-profile funk? Peter Wolf now shows off every emotional inadequacy of his phony growl. Resourceful material? The borrowed songs are almost as bad 'as the originals. Humor? Their idea of a funny is to rhyme “shiny” and “heinie.” I hope they know where to shine this one. C plus.

A1 Green: “Call Me” (Hi). Q: Will people buy this just so they don’t have to get up and turn over “I’m Still in Love with You”? A: If they can’t think of a better reason. B plus.

Iggy and the Stooges: “Raw Power” (Columbia). “Search and Destroy” is the premier agresso-rock statement, but the Ig still hasn’t convinced me that he didn’t decide to become a rock star after reading a lot of punko record reviews. B plus.

Elton John: “Don’t Shoot Me, I’m Only the Piano Player” (Uni). After one fine album, Elton has gone back to where he once belonged. How about an overdose of calcium cyclamate? C plus.

Denise LaSalle: “On the Loose” (Westbound). I never played her first LP once I put it away, so when this one sounded nondescript I figured it was nondescript. Actually, it’s just deceptive. I wish she was composing more, and I miss Willie Mitchell’s arrangements, but this is pretty nice. Tour de force: a listenable “Lean on Me.” B.

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band: “Get Your Rocks Off’ (Polydor). In which my own personal underground band returns to the mordant good sense of their first album. I’m afraid it will prove too esoteric, but I love it. Highlights: “Buddah,” the devotional song of the year, and John Prine’s “Pretty Good.” A minus.

Esther Marrow: “Sister Woman” (Fantasy). A big, lanky-voiced singer (exDuke Ellington) who people ought to know about, and who never comes up with the kind of music — just one great song — that would help her stand as tall as she deserves. B.

Anny Murray: “Danny’s Song” (Capitol). Murray’s kind of pop straightforwardness must flirt with blandness if it is to be seductive at all, and this time she Goes Too Far. Most of these songs have sounded more interesting elsewhere, even by her. C plus.

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The O’Jays: “In Philadelphia” (Philadelphia International). Would you buy a used album from these men? Informed sources indicate that this is not new material, and so does the aural evidence — definitely Gamble-Huff retreads. Now if only they’d say so on the cover or somewhere. Can it mean anything that Philadelphia International is a Columbia subsidiary? Nah. C plus.

Jimmy Reed: “I Ain’t from Chicago” (Bluesway). At his best — on Vee-Jay in the 50’s — Reed sang with the languid self-assurance of a man who never ran for the bus because he wanted to spend the fare on a glass of wine, and the unindustrious shuffle rhythms of the Vee-Jay band ambled right along behind. Great stuff. Evidence: “The Ultimate Jimmy Reed,” a new Bluesway collection of his best Vee-Jay performances that sounds crisper than the similar Buddah LP of several years ago. This more recent material, however, is busied up with Motown basslines and soul drumming obviously provided by upstarts who believed they could do better than back this codger. A few cuts avoid the problem, but the material is spotty anyway. Buy “Ultimate.” C plus, plus.

Doug Sahm: “Rough Edges” (Mercury). I feel like a fool. When Doug Sahm was taken in by the Atlantic genius factory, I dutifully prepared myself for the corporate miracle — brighter production, stellar sidemen, even a new Dylan song — that would transform the alltime ready-steady-go B-grade Tex-Mex rocker into a 70’s folk genius, and blamed myself when the result sounded bleh, awarding it a pusillanimous B minus too high. In the ensuing publicity, Mercury has put together this hash of reject cuts, and you know what — it’s as roughhewn and sloppy and wonderful as all the rest of his Mercury stuff, which means it deserves a plus in reparations. B plus.

“The Incredible Simon Stokes and the Black Whip Thrill Band” (Spindizzy). In which Kim Sutch tries to pass off a sleazoid cover as self-parody. Only a masochist would listen to this automatic studio rock. Can it mean anything that Spindizzy is a Columbia subsidiary? Nah. E plus.

Tom Waits: “Closing Time” (Asylum). A jazz-influenced, piano-playing singersongwriter whose drawling delivery is reminiscent of Randy Newman. But where Newman feigns feelings for the purpose of mocking them, Waits is dominated by honest sentimentality, which he undercuts just enough to be credible. B plus.

Reprinted from Newsday, Long Island, 1973.