ROCK • A • RAMA

ROCK-A-RAMA

This month's Rock-a-ramas were written by Michael Davis, Joe Fernbacher and Richard Riegel.

SHAKTI WITH JOHN McLAUGHLIN— Natural Elements (Columbia)::I'm not quite sure why this spiritually slanted music slips through my cynicism but it does. Maybe it's "cause Shakti don't need banks of amps to get energized or maybe it's "cause the lack of a spotlight lately has allowed McLaughlin's gifts to grow rather than stagnate like they did with the Mahavishnu Orchestra. Anyway, this time around, the band moves westward from its Indian improv base, inserting Cr$am riffs here, timbales and Spanish-tinged melodies there, while tying the tunes down to airplayable lengths. And if "Get Down And Sruti" ain't cosmic boogie music at its best, I wanna know what is. M.D.

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS—Originaf Soundtrack (Arista)::Being a child of the 60's, I'm also a child of paranoia. It's okay because we've all come to grips with it, some of us actually getting some kind of perverse pleasure in it, so when Close Encounters hit the (big) screen in a cinematic pool of silverbacked image the first thing that struck this kid's indented and indentured brainpan was PARANOIA. After the fifth drink you really start to believe that the government paid Steven Spielberg 20 million bucks to make a movie that'd condition the populace to the fact that we've already had third encounters and Kissinger's been handling shuttle diplomacy to the galaxies for sometime now. Like I said, PARANOIA. As far as the music goes I like the Parliaments Live better because shit, man, niggers in space—wow!!!!

J.F.

THE KINKS—Father Christmas/Prince Of The Punks (Arista single): featuring the indomitable Ray Davies letting go with a doublebarreled blast of misanthropy at all those ingrate new-waved buggery scurrying around his legendary feet. Father Christmas is disillusioned when the kids want to rob his take of contributions rather than gratefully accept "those silly toys," while the experienced pop-observer of the flipside castigates that "Well-worn groover/ Rock'n"roll user" who's trying to cash in on the punk fad to escape his own dotage ("He's much too old at 28..."). Those wry details of existence, as only Ray Davies can catalogue them, delivered with real punch from bro" Dave's guitar. But don't spend too much time regretting that generation gap, Ray, Erma Borribeck is only a kiss away! R.R.

SPARKS—Introducing (Columbia)::"You're not my type but you can stay/That's long enough, now go away," two telling lines from this album, probably expresses the sentiments most rock fans feel for Sparks. The post-glitter backlash and their inability to keep a band together have cost the Maels much of their U.S. cult audience, although their recordings haven't gone downhill appreciably. This one's a little lighter than usual and contains several stylistic bows to the Beach Boys but the meat of the matter is still the material which continues to grow out of a Disney-fried worldview of West L.A. upper middle class absurdia. It works, as usual, but not everybody likes to go to Fantasyland and end up in the House of Mirrors.M.D.

BLOODROCK—Live (Capitol)::Here "tis, all you dried delicious metallic charlatans —THE h&m LP of ALL times, ALL histories, and ALL persuasions. First off, this long neglected group of Texas maniacs was responsible for THE hit of the close encounters of the Third generation syndrome of a few years back, yup, these guys out Blacked the Sabbaths and out Funked the Grands with their monolithic vision of the future called, "D.O.A." This song is essential, and if ya remember the studio edition, then this here "Live" LP gives ya a "live" version of inside the human decomposition trip lookin" out. Like they say—"Viva la muerte..." J.F.

EARL SCRUGGS REVUE—Live! From Austin City Limits (Columbia)::Earl and his kinfolk achieved such an effortless fusion of rock and bluegrass a few years back that everyone acknowledged "em and then forgot about "em. But they're still pluckin" away and sound best live when that pickin" fever shifts into overdrive. M.D.

JOHNNY RIVERS-Outside Help (Big Tree)::In which the eternal self-effacer continues to...uh...efface himself handily, apologizing profusely in the liner notes to Jack Tempchin for having such a monster smash with Tempchin's "Slow Dancin"," thereby obliterating the Funky Kings" original version. Rivers, who may be rock's true Renaissance Man for his 15-year transcendence of every pop style that's popped up, continues to rely on the outside help of others" tunes for his signature songs, almost as though he's motivated by some ideal of redistributing the wealth of the royalties. Whatever, this is mellow good stuff indeed, even if the liner claims that "Elvis lives!" Nope, but you do, Johnny, so let's get on with it. R.R.

METRO—(Sire)::Strange that the same company that sells us the Ramones and Richard Hell should be the purveyor of the cool collages of Metro. These are sophisticated Britons, yearning for the dead dreams of Europe instead of the joting jackhammers of urban America. Hiding twixt silken sheets of stolen wealth, they spin tales of faultless fluidity, embracing unease and unspoken guilt, whispering secrets only they know and care about. M.D.