CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

by

Robert Christgau

CAPTAIN BEEFHEART AND THE MAGIC BAND: “Shiny Beast (Bat Chain Puller)" (Warner Bros.) :: Inspired by the Captain’s untoward comeback, I’ve dug out all his old albums and discovered that as far as I’m concerned this is better than any of them—more daring than Safe as Milk, fuller than Trout Mask Replica, more consistent than Lick My Decals Off, Baby. Without any loss of angularity or thickness, Beefheart’s compositions achieve a flow worthy of Weill or Monk or Robert Johnson, and his lyrics aren’t as willful as they used to be. Bruce Fowler’s trombone is especially thaumaturgic, adding an appropriately natural color to the electric atonality of the world’s funniest ecology crank.

A

THE CLASH: “Give ’Em Enough Rope" (Epic):: Like a lot of Clash fans, I found this disappointing at first, but disappointment is relative. Compared to The Clash, one of the greatest rock LPs ever, or a cassette of their singles, it does seem overworked. Increasingly, the band’s strategy has been to cram their dense, hard Sound so full of growls and licks and offhand remarks that it never stops exploding, but this record has a few duds and at times sounds stuffed—“English Civil War” is deadened by its “Johnny Comes Marching Home” intro, for instance. An even bigger problem for Americans is the band’s pervasive pessimism over the breakdown of the English punk movement into backbiting and violence. The Clash was a fundamentally cheerful record, and for all its seething localism the band’s assertive class anger was easy to relate to from a distance; the recording quality here may be more accessible, as sound savants insist, but the overarching mood is less so. Nevertheless, six or eight of these 10 songs are as effective melodically as anything on The Clash, and even the band’s ruminations on the star as culture hero become more resonant as you hear them over and over again. This isn’t among the greatest rock albums ever, but it is amongjhe finest of the year.

A

JIMMY CLIFF: “Give Thankx" (Warner Bros.):: Cliff hasn’t evinced this much interest in years, and his female backup sounds'as sisterly as Bob Marley’s. But any artist whose most specific songs concern spiritual deliverance—talkin’ ’bout “Bongo Man” and, yep, “Universal Love”^isn’t out of the ether yet.

B-

“ERUPTION” (Ariola America):: From Frank Farian, creator of Boney M.: sharp disco interpretations of “I Can’t Stand the Rain” and “I’ll Take You There” on a danceable/listenable first side, a version of “The Way We Were” that would turn Rasputin into a Barbra Streisand fan, and “Party, Party,” the poopiest song ever on that time-honored theme.

C +

“STEVE FORBERT” (Nemporer):: I thought this kid’s folk songs were promising the first time I saw him— which was before I knew he was destined to share management with the Ramones—and I still do.

B

AL GREEN: “Truth n’ Time" (Hi):: Reports that Green was no longer writing all his own material worried some supporters, but in fact composition has counted for very little in Green’s recent work and is generally improved here. This is his most careful and concise music since Livin’for You; in fact, it’s too damn concise, clocking in at 26:39 for eight cuts, although the sustaining 6:07-minute disco disc version of “Wait Here” would have put it over half an hour. None of the originals are quite up to “Belle” or “I Feel Good,” but they’re all solid, and two audacious covers, of songs heretofore recorded exclusively by women, are his best in five years. The intensity of the 2:12-minute “I Say a Little Prayer” (dig that male chorus) is precious in a time of dance-length cuts, and although I know Green devotes “To Sir with Love” to his dad, I’m glad Proposition 6 was defeated before its release.

A-

EDDIE HINTON: ‘Very Extremely Dangerous" (Capricorn):: Hinton’s Otis Redding tribute goes far beyond anything ever attempted by Frankie Miller or Toots Hibbert—it’s almost like one of those Elvis recreations. The Muscle Shoals boys put out on backup, Hinton’s songs are pretty good, and the man has the phrasing and the guttural inflections down pat. So what’s missing is instructive: first, the richness of timbre that made Otis sound soft even at his raspiest, and second, good will so enormous that it overflowed naturally into a humor that hurt no one. Damn, the man is worth a recreation.

B-

GLADYS KNIGHT: “Miss Gladys Knight" (Buddah):: Even the most inconsistent of Gladys’s albums with the Pips offered frequent glimmers of the soul in the middle of the road, but this solo shot is dreary. Not only is it markedly duller than The One and Only . . ., supposedly her farewell to the Pips, but it’s also less interesting than Callin’, the second album by the Pips alone together. I assume producer Gary Klein arranged the switch from New York soul session guys, who have their moments, to El Lay schlock-pop session guys, who don’t. So he and second-stringer Tony Macaulay (why he have three songs on this album? why he produce them?) will do as scaper goats. But was it their fault she says “little one” instead of “little wog” on a version of “Sail Away” in which the slave trader’s gently humorous persona recalls the narrator of “Try To Remember”? And was it their decision that forced her to the Jim Gilstrap Singers, soon to change their name to the Paps? Even her summer TV show was more fun than this.

C-

CHARLES MINGUS: “Cumbia and Jazz Fusion” (Atlantic):: I know I’m not supposed to say this; but I’ve never bought Mingus as Great Jazz Genius—Important Jazz Eccentric is more like it, I’d say, especially in his more ambitious compositions. The 27-minute title fantasia is rich, lively, irreverent, and enjoyable, but it’s marred by overly atmospheric Hollywood-at-the-carnival moments, while the kitschy assumed seriousness of “Music for ‘Todo Modo’ ” almost ruins its fresh big-band colors.

B +

DOLLY PARTON “Heartbreaker” (RGA Victor):: The problem with Dolly’s crossover is her rich but rather tiny voice, a singular country treble that’s unsuited to rock, where littlegirlishness works only as an occasional novelty. As a result, the rock part of her move fails, relegating her to the mawkish pop banality that tempts almost every genius country singer. This she brings off, if you like mawkish pop banality; I prefer mawkish country banality, which is sparer.

C

QUEEN: “Jazz” (Elektra):: Despite the title—come back, Ry Cooder, all is forgiven—this isn’t completly disgusting. “Bicycle Race” is even funny. Put them down as lOcc with a spoke, or a pump, up their ass.

C +

FREDERIC RZEWSKI: “Coming Together”; “Attica”; “Montons de Pannrge” (Opus One):: Recorded and released in 1973—when Attica, the topic of two of these three pieces, was still a fresh memory—this is by no means new music any more. But when I first heard “Coming Together” a few months ago I could only wonder where I’d been for five years. Its design is simple, even minimal: Steve ben Israel reads and rereads one of Sam Melville’s letters from prison over a jazzy, repetitious yamp. Yet the result is political art as expressive and accessible as “Guernica.” In ben Israel’s interpretation, Melville’s prison years have made him both visionary and mad, and the torment of his incarceration is rendered more vivid by the nagging intensity of the music. The other side features a less inspiring political piece and a percussion composition, each likable but not compelling, but that’s a cavil. “Coming Together” is amazing. (Available from New Music Distribution Service, 6 West 95 Street, NYC 10024.)

A-

SEA LEVEL: “On the Edge” (Capricorn):: Instrumentality, these are Dixie dregs indeed. Ringing over the Allmans’ inexorable flow, Chuck Leavell’s Tyneresque piano chordings used to provide a satisfying simulation of spiritual uplift, but in a fusion jam I’ll take Lonnie Liston Smith (preferably with a pillar of salt). Nor is Randall Bramblett (even) an Eddie Henderson on the saxophone. Bramblett writes terrific songs, however. On album two, Cats on the Coast, his “That’s Your Secret” (followed by the Allmansish “It Hurts To Want You So Bad”) kicked, the whole first side into playability, and on this one, four even stronger Bramblett compositions are featured. But three of them can be heard in less arbitrary arrangements on Bramblett’s second solo album, Light of the Night, available in better cutout bins now.

C-

“SPITBALLS” (Beserkley):: I assume the title is a take off on Nuggets, and I approve of the concept—14 musicians playing all at once while trading lead vocals on beloved oldies bbth famed, and anonymous. I find mosf of the remakes amusing and one or two amazing. But inevitably, the music is ragged. Anyway, I’ve never been impressed with cover versions by Earth Quake or the Rubinoos before, and I miss the pure dumb inspiration of the originals.

B-

“A TASTE OF HONEY” (Capitol):: Those who cite “Boogie Oogie Oogie” as definitive disco dumbness should reread the lyrics of “Tutti Frutti” and think about the great tradition of the left-field girl-group novelty—“Mr. Lee,” “Iko Iko,” “Shame, Shame, Shame.” But though a couple of other songs here, notably “Distant,” indicate that their pan may flash again, late converts are advised to seek out the single and wish they could buy the disco disc.

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C +

PETER TOSH: “Bush Doctor” (Rolling Stones):: The musical surprises on Tosh’s second album established his gift for dublike production depth in a song format. The instant memorability of the tunes here does the same for his melodic gift. Mick and Keith add a few ingratiating touches. Nice.

B +

TANYA TUCKER: “TNT” (MCA):: The problem with Tanya’s crossover is her functional but rather tiny brain—if only she had some real idea of exactly what she wanted to become, her pipes would put it across. Despite the heavy hoopla, the rock move here comprises three of the 50’s classics that have always been her meat, and all that distinguishes this from earlier post-Billy Sherrill Tanya is that Jerry Goldstein, her new intellectual advisor, has contributed three unusually bad songs.C

+

UFO: “Obsession” (Chrysalis):: I’ve praised the forward motion and facile riffs of these heavy metaloids, so it’s my duty to report that they’ve degenerated into the usual exhibitionism. Theme

song: “Lookin’ Out for No. 1,” a turn of phrase that’s becoming as much of a watchword in late 70’s rock as “tget together” was in the late 60’s.

C-

VILLAGE PEOPLE: “Cruisin’ ” (Casablanca):: I give up—I’ve never been capable of resisting music this silly. At least this time they’re not singing the praises of “macho,” a term whose backlash resurgence is no laughing matter, and the gay stereotyping— right down to “The Women,” every one a camp heroine of screen or disc—is so cartoonish that I can’t imagine anyone taking it seriously. As for all the straights who think “Y.M.C.A.” is about playing basketball, well, that’s pretty funny too. But what happens when Victor Willis follows Teddy Pendergrass into sololand and reveals the wife and 2.4 kids in the closet?

B

JOHN PAUL YOUNG: “Love Is in the Air” (Scotti Brothers):: If the title sounds familiar it’s because you tuned it out along with “Kiss You All Over” a few months ago. The culprits are ex-Easybeats Harry Vanda and George “No Relation” Young, the power-pop production heroes whose first LP with this singer actually did offer much of the bright thrust claimed for the style—not to mention the triviality that goes along with it. It didn’t sell, though, and here V & Y prove their depth of aesthetic principle by mellowing and syncopating their boy into MOR AOR fodder* four leisurely tunes to the side.

C-

Reprint courtesy of the Village Voice.