Rock · a · Rama

Rock a Rama

DOUG SNYDER & BOB THOMPSONDaily Dance (New Frontiers)::This one’s been out a while, but I’ve put off plugging it for fear of arousing charges of nepotism; seems as though Bob and Doug just happen to be two of your reviewer’s true soul brethren from a shared 1960’s adolescence in Fayette County, Ohio. However, repeated listenings to Daily Dance have convinced me that it’s just plain good, better than maybe 90% of the aboveground LPs I hear, so what the hell. Doug plays mean distorto-chop guitar inspired by James Williamson, while Bob smashes out the cascading, enveloping melodies on his drums; Daily Dance lies somewhere between rock and jazz, in a place you’ve never been before (no “fusion” licks in evidence). Abstract, but terribly immediate music, plus class song titles like “Teenage Emergency”. Highly recommended, only $5.50 postpaid from Jazz Composers Orchestra Assn./New Music Distribution Service, 6 W. 95th St., New York, NY 10025. . R.R.

OHIO PLAYERS—Angel (Mercury)::What, no S&M concept jacket this time around? You mean all those cockring teasers & funky pleasers were leading up to this capitulation to that scourge of young black males, the worship of the eternal mammy-fetish (“Lord, send me down an angel, someone that I can love.”)?!? The great black hope bites the dust in order to compete more effectively with run-of-the-mill sambos like Tavares? Say it ain’t so, bruz. I’ll give ’em a 90 anyway, for being from O-H-l O (cradle of civilization, y’know). R.R.

THE LAST POETS—Delights of the Garden (Douglas)::No wonder this is the first album these guys have made since 1970—they’re still living in that pivotal year, smugly ensconced amid the sustaining hysterias of Cambodia and Kent State. So you get all your latest turn-of-thedecade radical sentiments, from“HoChiMinh” to “Blessed Are Those Who Struggle” to the obligatory attack on the racist plot of “The Pill”. Hey, ain’t you cats kept up with Rev. Jesse Jackson and Bro. Eldridge Cleaver? Doncha know it’s time to put your souls on ice and work to consolidate your bourgeois foothold? Poetics strictly from hunger (or maybe from Black Oak Ark.: “Yes, I trip to escape/The environmental rape.”); still and all, it’s got a good beat—I’ll give it a 70. R.R.

THE YARDBIRDS-Great Hits (Epic)::lt’s a bloody disgrace is wot this album is. Really, This month’s Rock-a-ramas were written by Richard Riegel, The Mad Peck and Billy Altman.

twenty-six and three-quarter minutes, could you spare it, Epic? The only thing more disgusting than this album that I know of is subburbari space cadets who pay big bux for The Yardbirds Greatest Hits that Epic released ten years ago. That collection was slightly worse than this one ’cause back then Epic was very defensive about the group’s personnel changes so the back of the album said nothing. Nice of you to include “The Train Kept A Rollin’ ” and “I Wish You Would,” but what happened to “Over Under Sideways Down” and “Happenings Ten Years Time Ago”? Sheesh! The Yardbirds were great. They deserve better than this. They gave us Clapton, Beck, and Page, and Punk and Heavy Metal and feedback and Hendrix and Cream and Led Zep and Aerosmith and BTO and “Almost Anything Goes”. I’z regusted.

T.M.P.

THE FLAMIN’ GROOVIES-Still Shakin (Buddah)::You hadda be there. Ask Richard Meltzer or John Zacherly (the original “cool ghoul”), they were there. Randy Newman & Lillian Roxon dropped by too, also Dr. Ross (the harmonica boss) and Lenny Kaye. Maybe they were all just in town to see Pink Flamingoes, which was being sneaked nightly at the Elgin. I’m pretty sure though that these guys had something then, but now Roy Loney’s left the group and it just ain’t the same. Side one relives those glory days and side two is unreleased live recordings. You could do a lot worse. Chickaboom, chicka-boom. T.M.P.

ROUGH DIAMOND, DIAMOND REO, MIGHTY DIAMONDS, ANGEL, DIRTY ANGELS, DIRTY TRICK, CHEAP TRICK (Assorted labels)::Welcome to today’s feature —Robert Quine, Chris Stein, Chriss Copping, Chris Spedding, Noel Redding, Helen Reddy, Reddy Teddy, and Art, the wonder arp, in Ya Can’t Tell the Players from the Spectators Without a Scorecard. But first, friends, having problems with your amps? Well, come to Tube City... B.A.

RAMONES—Sheena is a Punk Rocker/I Don’t Care (Sire 45)::My god, an AM anthem. Here I was, siftin’ my brainpan for the reason the Ramones ain’t really levelled the universe yet and, just when I’s reached the conclusion that their real market was the tots, this thing showed up. Backup vocals, tambourines, great production, da woiks. A crystal perfect, happy song about the genre itself. And the flip, spiritual offspring of Alice’s“School’s Out” (Joey shrugging “I don’t care about that girl/I don’t care about these words/I don’t care...”) is one minute and thirty-eight seconds of bliss. Buy it, and help change the course of history. B.A.

AMERICAN TEARS—Powerhouse (Columbia):: Their third album? Never heard the first two, but any band that sounds like American Band Grand Funk crossed with Vanilla Fudge (early Fudge at that these vibrato falsetto harmonies smack of Long Island on Romilar, 1968) will hold my ever-shrinking attention span for a few songs. “Slow Train” is the best Foghat song that band has never done (“In the blue caboose, we turned our love loose”). Score one for progressive regressives. B.A.

PAUL JABARA—Shut Out (Casablanca):: The title cut, “Shut Out/Heaven is a Disco” is a longish medley with a non seq. plot about going to a disco without yer l.D. and being barred from entry. Paul’s seven friends cannot control their dancin’ feet, so they go in and he goes home. “To get off my bummer/I played Donna Summer,” recounts Jabara, and suddenly Donna Summer shows up singing “Oh, Paul,” to the tune of “Love To Love You, Baby.” After Paul and Donna duet a bit, some girl shows up with a questionnaire and Jabara answers all questions with lines from the songs on side two (Dickey Goodman meets Neil Bogart) and then we all end up in disco heaven: “Heaven is a disco/God is the D.J./The angels are the waiters/And there’s nothing to pay.” I swear I haven’t made this up. B.A.