CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

BOSTON: "Don't Look Back" (Epic):: Debut pomposities having been excised, a pure exploration of corporate rock remains. Pretty streamlined. Not only are the guitars perfectly received, but the lyrical cliches seem specially selected to make the band as credible in the arena as they are in the studio, and Brad Delp's tenor, too thin for nasty cock-rock distractions, leaves us free to contemplate unsullied form. The only thing that makes me wonder is that sometimes I catch myself enjoying it, which means some corruption is still at work here. True formalists, from MaHarme to bluegrass, leave me absolutely cold. B-

"THECARS" (Elektra):: Rick Ocasek writes catchy, hardheaded-to-coldhearted songs eased by wryly rhapsodic touches, the playing is tight and tough, and it all sounds wonderful on the radio. But, though on a cut-by-cut basis Roy Thomas Baker's production adds as much as it distracts, here's hoping the records get rawer. That accentuated detachment may feel like a Roxy Music Move in the first flush of studio infatuation, but schlock it up a little and this band could turn into an American Queen. B +

PAUL DAVIS: linger Of Songs —Teller Of Tales" (Bang):: Local labels surely do a worthy work in this era of conglomerate rock. If it weren't for Atlanta-based Bang, Atlanta-based Davis might never have discovered that there's a modestly profitable audience for humorless singer/songwriters all across this land of ours. D +

THE DEAD BOYS: "We Have Come For Your Children" (Sire):: Because they're lovable little scumbags deep down, and sincere to boot, Hilly's punk purists have dropped the heavy misogyny and recorded five cuts that laid end to end would make a listenable side. But not even the rousing "3rd Generation Nation" has the power of sexist spew like "I Need Lunch" and "Caught With The Meat In Your Mouth." Makes you wonder what 3rd Generation nihilists believe deep down. B-

THE DICTATORS: "Bloodbrothera" (Asylum):: Because they're nice Jewish boys deep down, and sincere to

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boot, they offer good-humored satiric putdowns of kinky sex and teenage alienation, encouragement for R. Meltzer, and a patriotic anthem that might be scary if they were capable of sustaining the mood without cracking up. All of which is grounded, unfortunately, not in the great common store of stoopid-rock readymades but in the grade-C Blue Oyster Cult moves that their gradual accumulation of instrumental competence has earned them. B-

"PETER GABRIEL" (Atlantic):: This is one of those records that is diminished by the printed lyrics which are its reason for being. Musically, Gabriel combines with producer Robert Fripp for alert art rock that gets down around atonality rather than jumping into the astral-noodle soup, with Roy Bittan adding romantic flourishes on piano. But even though this is the kind of stuff that makes you sit up when it comes on the radio, it's basically program music, designed to support words as elitist (and programmatic) as the social commentary Gabriel used to essay in his Genesis days. Remember the immortal words of Chuck Berry: Beware of middlebrows bearing electric guitars. B-

STEVE GIBBONS BAND: "Down In The Bunker'* (Polydor):: Transvestite to Mickey: "What's it really take to turn you on?" Mickey: "It takes all sorts . . ." Well now, I've been hearing

tales of Gibbons's plainspoken working-class wit for years, but that's the first time he ever zinged me good. And not the last. This postpub retrenchment is strewn with colloquial turns; the words are knowing and compassionate, the arrangements rock 'n' roll, understood as a mature language. Of course, the problem with colloquialism is that when invention flags even slightly it sounds ordinary, and that happens here, but ■5 on the whole this is an extraordinarily > inventive step forward. A-

% KRAFTWERK: "The Man-Mas chine" (Capitol):: Only a curmudgeon ° could reject a group that synthesizes the innovations of Environments and David Seville & the Chipmunks, not to mention that it's better make-out music. B +

L.T.D.: "Togetherness" (A&M):: One thing you can figure about a funk band that gets jiggling up and down to a song called "It's Time To Be Real": They must be real funky. Another thing you figure is that their slow ones are unlikely to bring a tear to the eye or a chuckle to the lips. B-

MICHAEL MANTLER: "Movies" (Watt):: The title is exactly right. This is the ultimate soundtrack demo, utilizing the chops and sound of Larry Coryell, Tony Williams, Steve Swallow, and icy Carla Bley on bracing (if rather detached) compositions that unite the conventions of jazz-group writing with those of 20th century European music. Sticks to the ribs. (Available from JCCA, 6 West 95th Street, NYC 10025.) A-

DAVID MURRAY: "Live At The Lower Manhattan Ocean Club Volume I" (India Navigation):: Rarely do I find much use for jazz that hot only abandons theme but disdains melodic development, as both "Obe" (which runs 18 minutes) and (more modestly) "Nevada's Theme" do here. But Murray's saxophone and Lester Bowie's trumpet speak polymorphically enough to sustain simple interest, and to make up for the futuristic abstractions there's "Bechet's Bounce," a gently satiric, fiercely infectious Dixieland romp, (Available from Disconnection, Box 563. NYC 10013.) ANATIONAL LAMPOON: "That's Not Funny, That's Sick!" (Label 21):: Wisely, this takes off on specifically aural phenomena: radio above all, but also telephone tapes, other comedy records, and confession. If it were a little looser it would qualify as a 70's update of Firesign's Dear Friends. Highlights: Bill Murray seeks alms for WBAI, Les Skanx don't come, and the 2015-Year-Old Man throws in the toga. B

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THE ORIGINAL TEXAS PLAYBOYS: "Live And Kickin!" (Capitol):: This is a lot more than nostalgia, granted. But it just doesn't kick. B

TOM PETTY AND THE HEARTBREAKERS: "You're Gonna Get It!" (ABC/Shelter):: "This might sound strange/Might seem dumb," Tom warns at the outset, and unfortunately he only gets it right the second time: Despite his Southern roots and 60's pop-rock proclivities, he comes on like areal made-in-L.A. jerk. On stage, he acts like he wants to be Ted Nugent when he grows up, pulling out the cornball arena-rock moves as if they had something to do with the kind of music he makes; after all, one thing that made the Byrds and their contemporaries great was that they just got up there and played. Thank God you don't have to look at a record, or read its interviews. Tuneful, straight-ahead rock 'n' roll dominates the disc, and "I Need To Know," which kicks off side two, is as peachy-touch as power pop gets. There are even times when Tom's drawl has the impact of a soulful moan rather than a brainless whine. But you need a lot of hooks to get away with being full of shit, and Tom doesn't come up with them. B

"SGT. PEPPER'S LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND" (RSO):: At first I felt relatively positive about this project. I'm not a religious man, I liked the Aerosmith and Earth, Wind & Fire cuts on the radio, and I figured the Bee Gees qualified as Beatle clones if anyone did. Well, let's hope clones

aren't like this. From the song selection, you wouldn't even know the originals were once a rock 'n' roll band. Most of the arrangements are lifted whole without benefit of vocal presence (maybe Maurice should try hormones) or rhythmic integrity ("Can't we get a little of that disco feel in there, George?"). And what reinterpretations there are are unworthy of Mike Douglas. George Burns I can forgive, even Peter Frampton—but not Diane Steinberg, Sandy Farina, Frankie Howerd. I never thought Alice Cooper would stoop to a Paul Williams imitation. I never thought Steve Martin would do a Nerd imitation. Get back, all of you. Back I say. C-

"U.K. SQUEEZE" (A&M):: Musically, the instrumental is the only boring cut on the whole first side, but the record as a whole is a case study in excitingly adequate hard rock craftsmahship spoiled by trashy literature. When a band obviously influenced by Queen, Rock Scene, muscle mags, and boarding-school porn finishes off by advising their postpunk admirers to "get smart," it sounds like they want 'em to stop reading Hustler and start reading Chic. B

JOE WALSH: "But Seriously, Folks" (Asylum):: Walsh has a gift for tuneful guitar schlock, and I suspect there are more hits lurking here. But even the likable "Second Hand Store" falls far short of the irreverent shuckand-jive of "Life's Been Good," my nomination for Summer Song '78, and a lot more telling in its 4:35 single version than at its long-playing 8:04. C +

JESSE WINCHESTER: "A Touch On The Rainy Side" (Bearsville):: Winchester has made a couple of pretty good albums (the first and the fifth), three uneven ones (two, three, and four), and a real stinkeroo (say hello to number six). The only thing that might make the lyrical cliches here more annoying would be for the music to induce you to notice them, and the best song on the record was done a lot better eight years ago by Tony Orlando. CReprint courtesy of the Village Voice.