CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

Robert Christgau

KARLA BONOFF (Columbia):: I like this woman, who strikes me as sexy and Sensible and almost as wise as she wants to be. But there's something self-pitying and slightly sheeplike in her voice that turns me off. And even though I've been humming "I Can't Hold On" for three days and enjoying the rest of side one when it comes on (forget side two—Lady Wimp), I suspect I'll be going to Fleetwood Mac when I want that sort of buzz in the future. B-

DOLLAR BRAND: "Cape Town Fringe0 (Chiaroscuro):: Horns and piano lope through the 13-minute title cut and side A, a relaxed, sexy, con versational melody-with - variation s -and-polyrhythms that is as charming and listenable as any African pop music I've yet come across. Side B begins as a fetchingly forthright Spanish-style piano piece but develops into a flute meander that doesn't justify an overall length of 13:36. Nevertheless, a find. B BLONDIE CHAPLIN (Asylum):: The trick with this very attractive record—already hard to find, si nee Chaplin has quit Asylum for Epic in the wake of its Commercial failure—is to approach it as an intense and knowing exploration of the conventions of modern rock and roll. That way you can immerse yourself in its raceless melisma, raving overdubs, and produced grooves as if engaging in a meaningful activity. But it is customary in projects of this kind to distinguish between exploration and exploitation, ready-made and cliche", aujral depth and aural surface by means of a few hints in the lyrics (cf. Dave Edmunds or Dwight Twilley). Chaplin doesn't— can't bear to tamper with the purity of his vision, I suppose. B

DON CHERRY (Horizon):: A cle&reyed charity animates Cherry's three recent albums: Eternal Now (Antilles), dominated by Asian and African folk instruments; Hear & Now (Atlantic), produced with standard electric jazz instrumentation by Narada Michael Walden; and this Eastward-looking acoustic jazz LP. Rather than transporting him into kitschy esoterica or providing an excuse for profitable oneworlder populism, Cherry's religious leanings seem to inspire a gut respect for the uses of musical ritual, whether in a Chinese temple or a movie theatreturned-rock palace, so that he can recycle what is fresh about the folk roots and popular branches of the free-jazz idiom without betraying his own commitment to it. Not that his work isn't marred by rambling passages and received riffs; even this album, featuring musicians like Charlie Haden and Billy Higgins, has its share of sappy moments. But I can't think of a fusion hustler or black Buddhist who couldn't learn something from his sweetness and acuity. B +

CLOVER (Mercury):: These California eclecticists are callow enough to achieve wimp naturally and soulless enough to attempt funk without the chops. In other words, they're worse than Firefall (whom see) and Pablo Cruise (whom see) simultaneously. Nip 'em in the bud. C-

KEVIN COYNE: "In Living Black and White" (Virgin):: Unless he gets washed in on the new wave—and who knows what wondrous flotsam the storm from England will bring us—this may be your last chance at this gravelgutted dwarf with his weirdo proclivities. It's also your best—the live recording is a little loose,' as usual, but the voice is less panic-stricken than on his two studio LPs, and the material at a peak. B +

15-60-75 THE NUMBERS BAND: "Jimmy Bell's Still In Town" (Water Bros.):: What is this I hear? Some kind of weird cross between the Grateful Dead and the Velvet Underground making its own record in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio? No, that's not what I hear, but the description will have to do until the group comes up with another album—which I hope will feature more public lyrics and a drummer who can propagate the polyrhythms. (Address: 408 East Main Street, Kent, OH 44240.) B-

FIREFALL: "Luna Sea" (Atlantic):: In which Rick Roberts allows as how he's "gonna quit that crazy runaround" —cross your heart, Rick?—and the whole band muses: "What if nothin's changed for the better/But never got no worse." As if such adult, professional, unremittingly unoriginal countryrock permitted the illusion. Alternate title: Compa Tents. C

FIRESIGN THEATRE: "Just Folks...A Firesign Chat° (Butterfly):: It's a good year when the grand old men of head comedy release two albums (including Forward Into The Past, a skillfully re-edited twofer best-of on Columbia) and Cheech & Chong release none (yet, and let's hope). This LP concentrates on what Firesign does best—turning tolerant radio chitchat into a horrow show. But the edge is off their discovery-the details change but the perception itself seems stagnant. For followers only. B-

CAROLE KING: "Simple Things" (Capitol/Avatar):: Inspirational Verse: "Maybe it's not for me to understand/ Maybe destruction is part of the plan." Maybe? Worth millions and she can't fry an egg: C-

MALLARD: "In A Different Climate" (Virgin):: In case you ever wonder what happened to Captain Beefheart's Magic Band, a few of them joined up here, playing an electric music that recalls country blues (not to mention the Captain himself) in both the guttural density of its sound and the downhome surrealism of-its lyrics. Hard to tell it's them only because Beefheart, that lovable eccentric, retains legal rights to their lovable stage names, thus compelling musicians he once induced to remain anonymous to revert to their unknown monikers. B STEVE MARTIN: "Let's Get Small" (Warner Bros.):: Martin's style of tastelessness is refreshing—you know he'd do a blue routine or a moron joke if he could come up with one that was funny. But it's not true that he's unsullied by topicality; his definitively post-hip humor is as bound to time and place as Mort Sahl's, less "pure" than Bill Cosby's or Jerry Lewis' (not to mention Buster Keaton's). And having listened to this record shortly after having made his acquaintance in concert, I find that much of it doesn't wear especially well. Pardon me. B HIRTH MARTINEZ: "Big Bright Street" (Warner Bros.):: I like a man whose dream of utopia goes "And they never grew old/And they never caught a cold," and I lik^this record. Hirth has learned to use his wizened voice more forcefully without relinquishing any of the amateurism which is his special charm, and since John Simon is a relatively reticent and eccentric producer, the funky gloss that so often accrues to El Lay favorites never turns to glitz. B+

MAC McANALLY (Ariola America):: Although it does often sound pat, as folk stoicism will in a post-folk context, the first side comes across pretty outspoken for a Mississippi singer-songwriter with royalties in the bank—the heroine of pne song is a rape victim who murders both assailant and judge after the latter lets off the former. Side two is Joe South. B-

THE ORIGINAL ANIMALS: "Before We Were So Rudely Interrupted" (United Artists/Jet):: Not bad for a reunion LP—a lot more authentic sounding than the Byrds', or Moby Grape's. But then, the Animals weren't as good as the Byrds or Moby Grape. And the only time Eric Burdon really recaptures that old white magic is on "Many Rivers To Cross," such an extended cliche by now that only a singer as crude as Eric, with his desperate key changes and random enthusiasm, can bring it to life. Me, I still prefer "Sky Pitot." B-

PABLO CRUISE: "A Place In The Sun" (A&M):: This mainstream synthesis is not without a certain agreeable tension—vocally and instrumentally, these boys do have their licks down. But it's also a demonstration of how today's pop exploits the rhythmic and dramatic cliches of yesterday's black music. Lyrics, too—Cory Lerios and Dave Jenkins are credited as the sole composers of "Raging Fire" even though it includes the following Inspirational Verse: "Your love has lifted me higher/Than I've ever been before." C IGGY POP: "Lust For Life" (RCA):: The line on Iggy is that his creative power has dissipated; of the two comeback albums with Bowie and friends, this one is given an edge because it's faster and more assertive, but nostalgia for the good ole Stooges prevails. I say bullshit. The Stooges never made first-rate albums (including the collectors-only live 'semi-bootleg, Metallic K. O.). They recorded prophetic music, but only some of it was great; because Iggy's skill at working out his musical concept didn't match his energy and inspiration, the attempted dirges fell flat and some of the rockers never blasted off as intended. In contrast, the new records work as records, due of course to Bowie, who revealed his (trance-prone) affinity for the slow rocker on Station To Station and his (apollonian) affinity for the dionysiac artist on All The Young Dudes. The mode is nihilistic satire, counteracted as always by the forward movement of the rock and roll form itself. By now, Iggy barbs his lyrics with a survivor's irony, which suits Bowie's music just fine, and in retrospect it will appear that this was his only alternative to autodestruct. Not true, perhaps, but retrospect favors artifacts, and so do I. Lust For Life is less Bowiesque and will . appeal more to orthodox rock and rollers, but I value The Idiot just as much. Hooray. A-

JAMES TALLEY: "Ain't It Somethin' " (Capitol):: The country populism on Talley's previous album was vague enough to suit Johnny Cash or Charley Pride (not to mention Jimmy Carter) and went with maWkish love songs and some dubious B.B. King guitar. This one is as tough politically as Tryin' Like The Devil, as tender romantically/domestically as Got No Milk, and puts in some James Brown funk where it belongs. Welcome back.

LIBBY TITUS (Columbia):: I don't like this woman, Who strikes me as a cutesy-pie snob with starfucker tendencies. But there's something sultry and smart in her voice that turns me on. And although there are too many Carly Simon compositions on side two (now I know—it's the singer and the song), I suspect I'll be playing side one again some time, no doubt when I'm in the mood for a sharp cutie-pie who might conceivably mistake me for,a star. B DWIGHT TWILLEY BAND: "Twilley Don't Mind" (Arista):: Aurally, Twilley's padded cells of sound are presaged only by the Flamin' Groovies' Supersnazz (now reissued as an Epic import). And as with the Flamin' Groovies, the sound creates a^ distance between Twilley and all those Southern-flavored British pop-rock hooks. But even though I can imagine a yen for this after my weary work is through, and even though I can make up neat theories about how Twilley evokes a comparable distance in the lyric, I find it off-putting. And I certainly prefer Supersnazz. B +