CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

by

Robert Christgau

“JACK TEMPCHIN” (Arista):: In which the successful L.A. songwriter, and former (putative) Funky King becomes a Schmeagle for our time—in the course of four terrific songs he loses his keys, misplaces his car, doesn’t get laid, and spends 15 days under the hood. That’s the trick, Jack—tell * enough jokes on yourself and your self-pity becomes tolerable. B

SHOES: “Black Vinyl Shoes” (PVC):: Recorded by elves on a Teac four-track in a living room in Zion, Illinois, this offers 15 hooky, bittersweet reflections on sexual strategy among the under-25s. Clever melodic contours plus vocals faded and echoed so far back they take on the mystery of synthesized guitars equal a natural for pop Obsessives. A-

GIL SCOTT-HERON AND BRIAN JACKSON: “Secrets” (Arista):: Scott-Heron stokes the protest-music flame more generously than any son of Woody, and in sheer agitprop terms “Angel Dust,” one of those black-radio hits that somehow .never crossed over, is his triumph—haunting music, of genuine political usefulness. Of course, it 'would be hard to imagine the Arista promo team busting its butt to get “Third World Revolution” on the air as a follow-up, even if it had a hook, but I’ll settle for a tribulations-of-stardom song with an educational refrain: “Do you really want to be in show bizness?”

B+

SAD CAFE: “Misplaced Ideals” (A&M):: In which the decade’s most paradoxical, characteristic, and disgusting pop-music synthesis—combining hard rock’s compulsive riff energy with MOR’s smooth determination to displease no one—is achieved without recourse to jazzy rhythms or semi-classical decoration. Misplaced ideals my ass—they threw them down the deepest hole they could find.1 C-

LOU REED: “Take No Prisoners” (Arista):: Partly because your humble servant is attacked by name (along with John Rockwell) on what is essentially a comedy record—by calling me a “toe freak” does Lou mean to imply that he himself is too (shall we say) uptight to enjoy sucking toe?—a few colleagues have rushed in with Don Rickies analogies, but that’s not fair. Lenny Bruce is the obvious influence. Only I don’t play my greatest comedy albums, not even the real Lenrry Bruce ones, as much as I do Rock W Roll Animal. I’ve heard Lou do two very different concerts during his Arista period that I’d like to check out again—Palladium November ’76 and Bottom Line May ’77. I’m sorry this isn’t either, although I find “Street'Hassle” morp convincing here than in its studio version. And I thank Lou for pronouncing my name right. C +

PARLIAMENT: “Motor-Booty Affair” (Casablanca):: In which George Clinton & Co. make a kiddie record that features the return of the Chipmunks as “three slithering idiots” doing ^ their thing underwater. Irresistible at its most inspired—aqua-deejay \Vigglps the Worm is my favorite Clinton fantasy ever—and danceable at its most pro forma. A-

“NO NEW YORK” (Antilles):: Especially with Adple Berteix on organ, the Contortions can be a gfeat band, extending Ornette Coleman’s Dancing In Your Head into real rock ’n’ roll territory, and it’s exciting to be able to hear them minus James Chance’s stupid stage schtick. (Maybe they’ll become a studio group, like Steely * Dan.) But the rest of this'four-band compMlation has the taint of marginal avant-gardism: interesting in occasional doses, but not as significant as it pretends to be. Arto Lindsay’s hysterical blooze singing holds DNA together —wish they were on side one with the Contortions. I like the relentless music of Mars’ “Helen Fordsdale” (the words are incomprehensible even with a lyric sheet) and the paranoid poetry of “Puerto Rican Ghost.” And although in the wake of Chance’s theme song, “I Can’t Stand Myself,” I’ve begun to tolerate Lydia Lunch droning “the leaves are always dead',” etc., she credits herself with too much maturity by publishing as Infantunes. Abortunes would be more like it. B

BONNIE KOLOC: “Wild and Recluse” (Epic):: I like Koloc’s individualism-anybody who can sing Willie Dixon’s H‘I Need More” like a B-movie schoolmarm who becomes sexy when she takes off her glasses is jake with me. But despite her ear for songs and her willingness to experiment (a wino provides running commentary oh side two), she does get a little boripg. Maybe she should try contact lenses. B-

JEBADIAH: “Rock V Soul” (Epic):: At last, a record designed to end those party-pooping disputes over whether to dance to disco or the Stones. Yes, record-buyers, Michael Zager has discofied six Stones classics, and I beg him to check with Santa Esmeralda (or hire the Hollyridge Strings) before trying anything like it again. Advice to partygivers: Settle those arguments with the “Miss You” disco disc. Personal to Ralph Abernathy: Boycott “Brown Sugar.” E

THE GRATEFUL DEAD: “Shakedown Street” (Arista):: “I Need a Miracle” is the first anthem any of these rabble-rousing necromancers has written in years. On the title tune, however, Jerry once again warns against “too much too fast,” and this album definitely ain’t the miracle they need. C

FUNKADELIC: “One Nation Under A Groove** (Warner Bros.):: I can’t figure out why some Funkqteers profess therpselves unmoved by this one. The 12-incher does come up a little short on guitar, but a generous ' Hendrix fix is thoughtfully provided on a 17-minute, seven-inch third side, and the title cut is as tough and intricate as goodfooting ever gets. Plus: “Who Says A Funk Band Can’t Play Rock?” and “Into You,” two manifestoes that s bite close to the bone, and “The Doo Doo Chasers,” a scatalogical call-’ and-response cum responsive-reading ^vhose shameless obviousness doesn’t detract from fun or funk. Fried ice cream is a reality! Or: Think! It ain’t illegal yet! A

ERIC DOLPHY: “The Berlin Concerts” (Inner City):: Two astonishing sides and two more-than-adequate ones, all recorded in 1961. “Hi-Fly” is a feature for flute; an instrument not even Dolphy can induce me to get passionate about, and “When Lights Are Low” is playful to the point, of waggishness. But the 19-minute version of Tadd Damercjn’s “Hot House,” with Dolphy on alto and Benny Bailey on trumpet, is a fluent, unself-conscious synthesis of bebop and “free jazz” that sounds entirely up-to-theminute in 1979, And thp bravura exchanges on “I’ll Remember April,” will make your favorite guitar hero seem a slowhand indeed: A

DR. HOOK: “Pleasure and Pain” (Capitol):: A roguish willingness to stoop to any piece of hitbound schlock has always been part of this band’s charm. But that doesn’t make an album of schlock charming. C

“DIRE STRAITS” (Warner Bros):: Despite initial misgivings, I’ve found this thoughtful, sexy, and ultimately irresistible. The decisive touch is how Mark Knopfler counterpoints his own vocals on guitar—only a musician with a real structural knack could sound like two people that way. But there’s a streak of philistine ideology here that speaks for too many whitfe r&b players in 1979—most of them can’t be bothered articulating it, that’s all. In “In The Gallery,” an honest sculptor has his bareback rider, coal miner, and skating ballerina rejected by the* “trendy boys,” “phonies,” and “fakes” who (literally) conspire together and “decide who gets the breaks.” Those who find this .rather simplistic should now ask themselves whether Knopfler’s beloved Sultans of Swing—not; to mention Dire Straits—have more in common with that sculptor than he suspects,. B +

ALBERT COLLINS: “Ice Pickin’ ” (Alligator):: Like Otis Rush, Collins.has always been one of those well-respected bluesmen whose records (I remember—barely—LPs on Imperial and Blue Thumb) t left agnostics unconvinced. But this is the most exciting blues album of 1979, a year that also offered notable new work by Son Seals, Koko Taylor, Johnny Shines, Rpbert Jr. Lockwood, McKinley Mitchell, Clifton Chenier, Walter Horton, Robert Nighthawk, John Lee Hooker, and Rush himself. (You guessed it— the form is dead as a doornail.) (Collins’ guitar is clean, percussive, vehement, breaking into unlikely rivulets on the trademark shuffle climaxes, and while his voice is thin, his delivery is savvy and humorous. So are his words— unlike most of his colleagues, he seems to know a lot more about sharing life with another person than “Honey Hush.”' A-

JOE “KING” CARRA$CO AND EL MOLINO: ’“Tex-Mex RockRoll” (Lisa):: Like the western swing it rocks and rolls, Tex-Mex is an acquired taste—often a little lightweight, but say that in the wrong bar in Austin and things might get heavy. Anyway, this is the real stuff, more striking than anything on Augie Meyers’ dependable Texas Rfe-Cord Company label , (Box 19, Bulverde, TX 78163) mostly because Carrasco writes songs of no special significance that might just as well have originated on the Rio Grande 100 years ago. Favorite titles: “Jalapeno con Big Red” and ‘*Rock Esta Noche.” ($4.98 from Box 12233, Austin, TX 78704.) B +

JERRY BUTLER: “Nothing Says I Love You Like I Love You” (Philadelphia International):: This is indeed1 the Ice Man’s best LP since he last recorded with Gamble-Huff in 1970— seductive, substantial, felt. But only the dance cut, “Cooling Out,” with Leon Huff heating up on piano towards the close, is really worth playing for people you dqn’tcare about going to bed with. It was released in October as a disco single, and is definitely worth the search. B

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CONSUMER GUIDE

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DAVID BOWIE: “Stage” (RCA Victor):: If James Brown is the only rock *n’ roller who deserves more than one concert album, then the Bowie to ban is David Liive, which caught the artiste at his voiceless nadir, mired in bullshit pessimism and arena-rock pandering. This kicks off with some wellchosen oldies before moving into refreshingly one-dimensional versions of his best song since 1975, including the key Eno collaborations, which were! often over-subtle to begin with. For fans only, of course. I’m one. B +

BLUES BROTHERS: “Briefcase Full Of Blues” (Atlantic)::, The studio-superstar backup band isn’t exactly lqng on personality, but it rocks, and the range and choice of songs, almost every one an under-recorded classic, proves how well Belushi and Aykroyd know arid love black music. Belushi goes out of his way—earnestly, even awkwardly—to identify the original artists, which cancels out the Rasta jokes on “Groove Me.” However, If Belushi told those jokes to supply his fans with theiri ration of dope humor, then shame on him. Byt if he was just nervous about treading inthe voiceprints of Junior Wells and King Floyd, well, he had reason—he’s not as convincing as most white blues singers, much less Junior Wells or King Floyd. Is this a top 10 album because people actually want to listen to it? Inspirational Patter: “I’d suggest you buy as many blues albums as you can.” C +

CHARLIE AINLEY: “Bang Your Door” (Nemporer):: The title cut is the raunchiest fuck-me song in years, and the funniest: when Charlie bellows, “I don’t want you to fix my bed,” the Misdemeanors chirp back, “I’m not.” It just doesn’t quit, and nothing else here comes up to it. But the overall level of rancor, humor, and gerire experiment is gratifyingly high for wh^t is basically an English r&b album. Bang on. B + Reprint courtesy of the Village Voice.