CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

by

Robert Christgau

THE BOOMTOWN RATS (Mercury):: As the clash of punk guitars battled the swelling Springsteen-cumLizzy pseudo-climaxes, I began to suspect a fix, especially since bizzers have been heard to murmur fondly about the "musical" skill of these upand-coming Irish nasties. But throughout a first side that often shifts mood but never quits, this is the real stuff, banging home the survival of a brain unclogged by useless feelings. Unfortunately, side two bogs down in evocations of misogyny, boredom, and the plight of the young, all surrounding an apparent throwaway called "Close As You'll Ever Be" that ought to be a single. Inspirational Verse: "There's no romance, no romance/For Joey in the city."

B +

CHEAP TRICK: "In Color" (Epic):: Nowadays, punk makes it possible to resist hard rock so slickly textured, but with these guys, why bother? They don't waste a cut, and permit none of the stupidity or showiness or sentimentality of post-heavy and/or boogie professionalism, either. In fact, if they seemed interested in their well-crafted say-nothing lyrics, I'd rate this even higher.

B +

ELVIS COSTELLO: "My Aim Is True" (Columbia):: I like the way this guy comes on, I'm fascinated by his lyrics, and I approve of his rock and roll orientation; in fact, I got quite obsessive about his two cuts on A Bunch of Stiff Records. Yet odd as it may seem, I find that he suffers from Jackson Browne's syndrome—that is, he's a little boring. Often this malady results from overconcentration on lyrics and can be cured by a healthy relationship with a band. Since whenever I manage to attend to a Costello song all the way through, I prefer it to "The Pretender", I hope he recovers soon.

B +

ALVIN CROW AND THE PLEASANT VALLEY BOYS: "High Riding" (Polydor):: The cutting nasality of Crow's vocals transcends revivalism, but the songs don't, even though (like all of Bob Wills' eclectic children) he borrows anything he likes—Jesse Winchester, the Cleftones. Recommended, but only to Western swingers.

B

BLIND JOHN DAVIS: "Stomping On A Saturday Night" (Alligator):: In which a 63-year-old professional celebrates the ties of boogie-woogie blues with more broad-based styles of entertainment music, making you wish the fat-assed purveyors of such styles were as aware as he is that the difference between refreshment and escape has to do with honesty. (Available frbm Disconnection, Box 563, NYC 10013.)

>B +

EDDIE AND THE HOT RODS: "Life On The Line" (Island):: I'm not inclined to get judgmental here. It's true that Eddie's sunlamp tan and health-club bod make him the logical successor to Shaun Cassidy, quite a bizarre achievement for the leader of a "new wave" (not to mention "punk") band. True too that the teenJmilitant lyrics are strictly rote, an aural remake of Wild In The Streets, and that their hooks hardly compare with Mann & Weil's. Still, this is quite a bit solider than any album Paul Revere and the Raiders or the Dave Clark Five ever made—not counting greatest hits collections, of course.

B-

JEFFREY FREDERICK & THE CLAMTONES: "Spiders In The Moonlight" (Rounder):: Since I conM sider Frederick the secret hero of my s beloved Have Moicy!, why did it take | me three months to conclude that his " solo album was more than hippie cute? Answer: received music. Nevertheless, it is also insanely funny. (Available from Disconnection, Box 563, NYC 10013.)

B +

IGGY AND THE STOOGES: "Metallic K.O." (Import):: Marginal cultists will no doubt be pleased to learn that this cult item has achieved American release. Rock fans, however, should bear in mind that the sound is beer-can flimsy and the performance level more desperate than energetic. If someone were to tape David Berkowitz's conversations with his literary executor, a lot of people would buy the album. But how often would they play it?

C +

INTI-ILLIMANI: Viva Chilel" (Monitor):: My socialist respect for Chilean new song doesn't dispel my Nortamericano discomfort with the floridness of so much Hispanic music, which is why I prefer this Andean /Indian group to Quilapayun and Victor Jara, both of whom also have American-release LPs on this label. Even when the lyrics on the crib sheet are heavy with rhetoric, the mystical intensity of the music conveys pure conviction. (Address: 156 Fifth Avenue, NYC 10010.)

B +

GRACE JONES: "Portfolio" (Inland):: This disco queen sings flat enough to make Andrea True sound like Linda Ronstadt and Tom Verlaine like Art Garfunkel, which is nice—very liberated, very punky. But it's somewhat less than ironic that a woman who demands an end to jealousy—that is, the same license to fuck around that male rock stars claim as their due— should (as a fashion model) occupy a similar power position. And while I prefer her version of "Send In The Clowns" to Judy Collins', I'd just as soon she cover "Pretty Vacant" or something. v

C +

JACKIE McCLEAN: "A Ghetto Lullaby** (Inner City):: Because I'm committed professionally to rock and related pop forms, I let a lot of good jazz records pass me by, rating only those of undeniable news value or irresistible listen ability. For the past six months or so, I've been trying to file away this LP, one of five recorded by the journeyman genius of post-Bird alto one week in Copenhagen in 1973. But I always find it impossible. Just one of those bopand-modal jam albums that happen to come together, sharp and fluent and full of beans.

A-

JUNIOR MURVIN: "Police and Thieves** (Mango):: Great rhythm tracks, better-than-average falsetto, and two compelling cuts leading into eight pleasant ones make this a more than passable and slightly less than recommended reggae LP.

B

GRAHAM PARKER: "Stick To Me** (Mercury):: This is indeed Parker's least successful album. The production is muddy, the female chorus an excrescence, and "The Heat In Harlem" both vapid and overblown. But it's not as depressing as the faithful believe. Sure, I'll probably put on Howlin' Wind or Heat Treatment when I feel like hearing Parker—unless I just have to hear one of these songs, most of which eventually implanted themselves in my subconscious just like all the others.

A-

ANDY PRATT: "Shiver In The Night** (Nemporer):: In which1 Leo Sayer goes berserk. Or is it Eric Justin Kaz? A repellent prospect in either case.

C

RAMONES: "Rocket To Russia** (Sire):: Having revealed how much you can take out and still have rock and roll, they now explore how much you can put back in and still have Ramones. Not that they've ^returned so very much—a few relatively obvious melodies, a few relatively obvious vocals. But that's enough. Yes, folks, there's something for everyone on this readymade punk-rock classic. Stupidity, both celebrated and satirized. Love (thwarted) and social protest (they would seem to oppose DDT). Inspired revivals (the Trashmen) and banal cover versions (Bette Midler and Cass Elliott beat them to "Do You Wanna Dance?"). And, for their record company and the ears of the world, an actual potential hit. If "Sheena Is A Punk Rocker" was the most significant number 84 record in history, what will "Rockaway Beach" do for number 20? (Did I hear 5?)

A

RUSH: "A Farewell To Kings** (Mercury):: The most obnoxious band currently making a killing on the zonked teen circuit. Not to be confused with Mahogany Rush, who at least spare us the reactionary gentility. More like Angel. Or Kansas. Or a power-trio Uriah Heep, with vocals revved up an octave. Or two.

D

THE SEX PISTOLS: "Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's The Sex Pistols** (Warner Bros.):: Get this straight: no matter what the chicmongers want to believe, to call this band dangerous is more than a suave existentialist compliment. They mean no good. It won't do to pass off Rotten's hatred and disgust as role-playing—the gusto of the performance is too convincing. Which is why this is such an impressive record. The forbidden ideas from which Rotten makes songs take on undeniable truth value, whether one is sympathetic ("Holidays In The Sun" is a hysterically frightening vision of global economics) or filled with loathing ("Bodies", an indictment from which Rotten doesn't altogether exclude himself, is effectively anti-abortion, anti-woman, and anti-sex). These ideas must be dealt with, and can be expected to affect the way fans think and behave. The chief limitation on their power is the music, which can get heavy occasionally, but the only real question is how many American kids might feel the way Rotten does, and where he and they will go next. I wonder—but I also worry.

A-

ROD STEWART: "Foot Loose & Fancy Free** (Warner Bros.):: Gosh, what a terrific idea—a concept album about a cocksure rock and roller who Cannot Love. How'd all those cliches get in there, I wonder. I mean, the first side works up a very nice groove, although it'll add nothing to Rod's reputation as a composer of a humanitarian. But side two opens with a Vanilla Fudge remake and doesn't recover 'til the confessional finale, itself festooned midway through with a "Whoo!" so pro forma you'd think Rod had rtin out of steam.

, B-

SUPERTRAMP: "Even In The Quietest Moments...** (A&M):: Most "progressive" rock is pretentious background schlock that's all too hard to ignore. This is modest background schlock that sounds good when it slips into the ear. I guess we should thank "Babaji", whichever one he is.

C +

JERRY JEFF WALKER: "A Man Must Carry On** (MCA):: Walker's Austin-based cult reputation has so much to do with looseness and charisma that it took a live double-LP featuring poetry readings and chicken imitations to convince me he deserved it. Definitive.

B +