Southside Johnny: BISEXUAL ARTICHOKE?

Southside Johnny: BISEXUAL ARTICHOKE?

New Trends In Art Rock From New Jersey

by

Robert Duncan

I've got a pile of records here by the desk that I mean to listen to. From top to bottom the pile includes: Kevin Ayers, Jean Ritchie, Hank Thompson, Pink Floyd, the Persuasions, Steve Hunter, John Cale, Bryan Ferry, Dickey Betts, Starz, Asleep at the Wheel, Kraftwerk, the Band, Bad Company, Marty Robbins, Cheap Trick, and Jimmy Page's new production/concoction Detective. Which is some pretty serious eclecticism at work. Which also has to do with the fact that all of these records arrived free in the U.S. Mail, and, had they not arrived free, I'm certain they would still be back wherever they came from and I would be listening to 12X5. Which, although it is one of the all-time great recordings, is rather slim fodder for a career in rock writing—even if that career encompasses little more than Kiss when supplied with all the free records in the world. In other words: If there's a pile of good intentions on the floor, then what's on the record player? v Southside Johnny's new album, natch. Because it has none of the reach of Kevin Ayers, none of the authenticity of Jean Ritchie, none of the unique perfection of the Persuasions, and lacks the range of Asleep at the Wheel, the minimalism of Kraftwerk, the historical nuance of the Band, the guitar power of Bad Company, and the androgyne flash of Detective. This Time It's For Real is not all those wonderful things and more: you can listen to it when you're sleepy and dance to it when you're brushing your teeth. It requires no thought and no change of makeup, a great rock 'n' roll album by definition.

So what gives?

What gives, in case you don't know by now, you negligent rock fan, is that Southside Johnny Lyon and company, on the recommendation of Asbury Park town-mates Super Nova Bruce Springsteen and partner Miami Steve Van Zandt, as well as on the basis of— believe me—a very strong live performance, were signed to Epic Records and recorded a first album called I Don't Want To Go Home. That album, though it contained one of the great self-pity hits (the title song, authored by Van Zandt) of the past ten years, sold only pretty good—that figure being somewhere around 100,000 units, 93,000 more than the first Dictators album on the same label (watch for the second on Asylum—it's a motherfucker with award-winning cover art to boot). Partial reason for it not scoring much-deserved gold status was the fact that tne band's touring was cancelled for several months when the lead singer came down with a baroque vocal cord ailment which rendered him speechless. Eventually—too late, perhaps— the band did tour to, as they say, enthusiastic crowds. That was last year. So much for history.

If you don't think a guy can bounce back from such damned rotten luck as having his touring schedule chopped in half, then you don't know Mr. Southside. As I aforementioned he, with the assistance of Sugar Miami Steve (nee Miami Steve), has pulled another hot one out of the rock 'n' roll fire. This Time It's For Real, which it is, is as authentic as the first album. But, as Johnny points out from his slouch outside the door to Columbia Studio Number Two (wherein Steve is mixing "When You Dance"), "These songs sound a lot more modern to me. Maybe I'm getting modernized." And in a sleight-of-tongue that goes unnoticed by this «alert reporter until he is transcribing that half of the tape which was hot destroyed by faulty batteries, Johnny adds: "On the first album I tried to redo a lot of songs that hadn't been done before, but on this album it's mostly original material."

True, if I do say so. Where "The Fever" or "Broke Down Piece of Man" on the first album, both new songs, sounded like old songs being redone, "When You Dance" or "This Time It's for Real" on the new one, while being certainly in the same vein and of similar structure, sound like they were cut in 1977. For sure, there are intangibles that contribute to the "modern" feel of the latest record, but what's not intangible is the confidence at work here. It shows in the looseness, the abandon of the cuts. Where on the first album Steve and the band may have fallen back on rigid, almost traditional structures and arrangements, on this one guitars wail through choruses—in fact, there is more emphasis on guitars— and the vocals reach and claw at notes they sometimes dpn't make—and don't need to, 'cause the feel is there. Where the first album was almost a formal affair—and some say, therefore came off as little more than a tribute to great bygone eras of rock 'n' roll (I didn't say it, I swear)—this one's a straight rave-up. And I'm not ignoring the fact that this record has the Drifters, the Five Satins, and the Coasters on it; they are just a means to the end, which is not musical archaeology but fine rockin' and rollin'. Sure, I won't kid you, the record has its mellow moments and, despite what some of us have said in the past about Kiss, despite the fact that we kicked and screamed when they put out "Beth," mellow is cool. Listen to the drums, the tension in the production of "Love on the Wrong Side of Town." That's a mellow raveup, that's all.

OK, so I really like this record, I jump around when it goes on and when it gets sexy I slow dance with my girl roommate (doesn't mean anything, actually). With the exception of "Check Mr. Popeye," which is cute, but...hey! come on guys, it gets old—I think it is as close to unflawed as anything since Hotter Than Hell. But is this a record review? Is this the Village Voice? No, that's right. So let's hear what Johnny has to say for himself.

What about the unfortunate vocal affliction that laid low last year's tour? "My aunt says it was because they landed on the moon. Actually, it was a throat virus that went to my vocal cords because I'd been working very hard and they were worn down. For a week I couldn't talk at all and my wife and I communicated by sign language." Once the show did hit the road, how did he take to touring? "I liked it, saw a lot of neat cities. I actually enjoy driving on the bus for fourteen hours. I wrote and listened to my tapes on the cheap earphones. I put on the cheap earphones, and I don't hear any of the noise of the bus. The only thing I missed being out there was the pinball machines." Here, he waxes emphatic. "The lousiest pinball machines are all over this country; no question: the pinball machines in Asbury Park, New Jersey are the best." He pauses to consider his damning statement and adds: "There is this truck stop on Route 80 in Ohio and they have two good machines out of four. But those were the only good ones we hit."

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Sexual deviations aside, I asked Johnny ,-who is an old hand at bar gigs, having spent over a year as house band at Asbury's Stone Pony club, how he felt about concerts versus bars. (I might add that those who say the Jukes are a consummate bar band, perhaps the only one left in this age of poet-rock and disco, are right.) He was evenhanded, though, in my heart, I think that in his heart he prefers saloons. "There's an actual physical distance in a concert. You're ten feet up and twenty feet away from an audience. But people pay big bucks to go to a concert, and the thing is they're going to have a good time regardless. And there's that whole community feel in a concert, too. I think you need to do both clubs and concerts to keep in touch." Did it take him long to get used to the bigger concert stages? "Nah, I never get used to anything. I never got used to the Stone Pony. But that's all right. I think that every time you go out there it should be new and a challenge." So he's nervous out there? "I just don't get nervous about the size of a place, or get intimidated by the prestige of a gig or who's in the audience or any of that. I never got nervous going onstage except that first time I did which was at a fraternity house beer blast and wasn't a stage at all. I had been hired as a singer in this band just the week before—the main reason I was hired was because I knew all the lyrics to the songs they were doing—and I was nervous for the first ten minutes. Then I realized the audience were all drunk out of their minds."

Then I asked him a delicate question. Did bad press notices (of which there were very few) bother him? "Well," he answers promptly, "if I didn't get bugged at you* I don't get bugged at anybody. [My earlier story for another, less self-respecting, less aesthetically concerned rag'was titled "Homosexual Turnip Says: 'Aerosmith is One of Those Bands...' " A joke, you see.] What if you had said that to somebody who was dead serious about the whole thing?" And isn't Johnny serious? "I think that if people can't have fun with rock 'n' roll, they can't have fun."

At this pointy Sugar Miami Steve (you remember plain ol' Miami Steve?) bounds out through the studio doors, espies myself and Johnny sitting on the couch, and informs: "I'm through with prostituting myself! Next album I do Kiss!"

OK.