CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

by

Robert Christgau

BEE GEES: "Spirits Having Flown" (RSO) :: I admire the perverse riskiness of this music, which neglects disco bounce in favor of demented falsetto abstraction, less love-man than newborn-kitten. And I'm genuinely fond of many small moments of madness here, like the way the three separate multi-tracked voices echo the phrase "living together." But obsessive ornamentation can't transform a curiosity into inhabitable music, and there's not one spng here that equals any on the first side of Saturday Night Fever. B-

JAMES BROWN: "The Original Disco Man" (Folydor):: Brown hasn't just been turning out dreck lately—last year's Jam/1980's cut a. classic groove. But this album is an exciting retrenchment. The giveaway is that Brown has relnquished the profit-taking ego gratification of writing and producing everything himself. Those credits go to Brad Shapiro, Millie Jackson's helpmate, who, thank God, is no disco map himself. Sure he likes disco tricks—synthesized sound effects, hooky female chorus, bass drum pulse—but he loves what made JB, well, the original disco man: hard-driving, slightly Latinized funk pattern against the rough rap power of that amazing voice, which may have lost expressiveness but definitely retains its natural sense of rhythm. Plus: the single of the year, "It's' Too Funky In Here." And a renunciation of "It's A Man's, Man's, Man's World." A

BRIAN ENO: 'marie For Airport*" (Ambient/PVC)a Although I'm no frequenter of airports, I've found these four swatches of modestly "ambient" minimalism have real charms as general-purpose calmatives. But I must also report that they've fared unevenly against specific backgrounds: sex (neutral to arid), baseball (pleasant, otiose), dinner at my parents (conversation piece), abstract writing (useful but less analgesic than Discreet Music or my David Behrman record). Also, I'm still waiting for "1/1" to resolve the "Three Blind Mice" theme. B+

BRIAN ENO: "Music For Films" (Antilles):: A lot of these 18 cuts seem more fragments than pieces, and although most of them provide subtle melodic or (especially) textural dynamics, the overall effect is a touch too willful in its impressionism for my tastes. Another Green World tending toward stasis, which is a funny thing for movie music to do. Or maybe ECM with hindsight, a/k/a a tape splicer. RE-

GENERATION X: "Valley Of The Dolls" (Chrysalis):: Since the music itself doesn't compel close listening, a simple improvement might be a lyric sheet permitting leisurely analysis of what's transformed their beDigerence into despond and slid their punky penchant for poprock amenities into the murk. C +

IAN HUNTER: "You're Never Alone With A Schizophrenic" (Chrysalis):: Six winners out of nine on this mini-comeback, and he doesn't seem to be straining, either. But maybe that's not entirely a blessing—the musical territory is conventionally good-rockin', and only on the gnomic "Life After Death" and the second verse of "When The Morning Comes" does he reconnoiter lyrically. And fire titles of the bad songs—"Bastard," "The Outsider," and "Ships" (in the guess what)—are warning enough. B

SYL JOHNSON: "Uptown Shakedown" (Hi):: Some worthy soul veterans turn disco into commercial or even artistic regeneration. Others don't. For Johnson, who went'after a rough, bluesy intensity on his last and best album in 1976, disco means compromised semi-contemporaneity. "Mystery Lady" (she wears a mask) and "Let's Dance For Love" affect post-hustle hipness but don't achieve it, lyrically or musically, which may be why the Otis Redding medley and the Brenton Wood cover sound so half-assed. C

"McKINLEY MITCHELL" (Chimney ville):: A small miracle: Bobby Bland meets Brook Benton in the timeless realm of the not-quite-folkloric, where soul and blues sound precisely contemporary and strings voice old horn rifts with no suggestion of sellout. Mitchell's seven tunes don't measure up to the other three—"Dream Lover," "You're So Fine," and a new classic blues called "Open House At My House." But it doesn't matter, because this is one of those groove records on which ordinary songwriting is transmuted by impeccable pacing and unshakable stylistic conviction. A-

999: "High Energy Plan" (PVC):: A more ideologically suggestive title than the British Separates for a bands that kicks oft a very listenable (or jumpable) side by declaring "I believe in homijeide" and ends it by warning "crime don't pay." In other words, all but hard-and-fast punk loyalists are liable to find this a bit thin. Clue: thd substitution of two new tracks, no doubt to induce collectors to buy both the import and the domestic, has no effect on overall quality. B

ANN PEEBLES: "The Handwriting Is On The Wall" (Hi):: More tough talk about sex and love (and sex)—unfalteringly funky, consistently credible, and mildly enjoyable.'Great one: "Old Man With Young Ideas." B-

TOM ROBINSON BAND: "TUB 2"(Harvest):: A measure of how good Robinson is at writing his squarecut rock 'n' toll protest tunes is that you often don't remember them by title— almost every one jogs the memory with an additional catchphrase. Another is that though I know a white man is making it with a black man and I know it's more than all right, I still can't suss out the details of "Sweet Black Angel." A third is that I started singing "Sweet Black Angel" to myself the first time I played the record. And the capper is that since I saw him live, every other song here has been ringing in my head as well. A-

song ringing my as "ROCK 'N' ROLL HIGH SCHOOL" (Sire):: Two exceient new Ramones songs, plus a Richie Valens cover shared by the Ramopes and the Paley Brothers, plus a live medley of five familiar Ramones songs, plus P.J. Soles singing one of the new ones poorly. Plus high-quality new wavish stuff of varying relevance, most of it off albums that people who enjoy the samples would probably enjoy owning. Plus high school songs of varying quality not including the Beach Boys' "Be True To Your School" or (for shame, it was in the movie) the MC5's "High School." B

DEV AD IP CARLOS SANTANA: "Silver Dreams Golden Reality" (Columbia):: Frustrating, especially for an earthbound churl like myself—spiritual progratn music that mixes genuinely celestial rock withrihe usual goop. The "title" song (which for some arcane reason— scansion, probably—substitutes the word "Smiles" for "Reality") is an altogether revolting string-fed banality. It's followed by an instrumental on which the guitarist attains his soaring apogee, and a Sri Chinmoy (!) tune—arranged by Narada Michael Walden. (!!)—that achieves a natural impressionism Eno (!!!) couldn't hope for. See what I mean? B-

PATTI SMITH GROUP: "Wave" (Arista):: A lot of folks just don't like Patti any more, and so have taken fe/ complaining about the pop meiodicism ("AOR sellout") and shamanistic religiosity ("pretentious phony") she's always aspired toward. Me, I wish she'd forget she was such a bigshot, and I find "Seven Ways Of Going" and "Broken Flag" as unlistenable as (and less interesting than) "Radio Ethiopia." But this is an often inspired album, quirkier than the generally satisfying Easter—especially on the sexual mystery song "Dancing Barefoot," quite possibly her greatest track ever, and, yes, the reading for the dead pope that she goes out on. B +

THE STYLISTICS: "Love Spell" (Mercury) :: Their second album with Teddy Rendazzo is their most generally listenable since Round Two in 1972. Now someone should tell them—or better still, Teddy—that general listenability is not what producing a producer's group is about. It's about go-rillas, and Round Two had at least three of them. C +

SUPERTRAMP: "Breakfast In America" (A&M):: I like a hooky album as well as the next fellow, so when I found that this one elicited many random grunts of pleasure I looked forward to listening hard. But the lyrics turned out tote glib variations on the usual Star Romances trash, and in the absence of vocal personality (as opposed to accurate singing) and rhythmic thrust (as opposed to a beat) I'll wait until this material is covered by artists of emotional substance— Tavares, say, or the Doobie Brothers. C +

JAMES TAYLOR: "Flag" (Columbia):: What's wrong with most of these songs is that Taylor is singing them. He can sing, sure—the "Day Tripper" cover and "Is That The Way You Look" show off his amused, mildly funky selfinvolvement at its sharpest and sexiest. But too often the material reveals him at his sharpest and most small-minded; John Lennon might get away with "I Will Not Lie For You," but JT's whine undermines whatever honesty the sentiment may have. And though the man can get outside himself as a writer—with rare insight, sometimes—he can't escape that lazy drawl. Compare his "Millworker" to Robin Lamont's version on the Working album. Or ask Johnny Cash to cover "SleepCome Free Me." C +

THE TUBES: "Remote Control" (A&M):: Their knac& for songwriting always surprises me, because they deserve worse, and on this album they provide it, drenching their material in the grandiose harmonies and pomp-rock keyboard textures that thrive in the Midwest, where many .poor souls still regard these transparent cynics as avatars of the new wave. You think maybe Patti Smith wpuld do "No Mercy"? ■ C +

ULTRAVOX: "Systems Of Romance" (Antilles) :: This time these guys have mastered their concept. John Foxx'sdetached, creamy baritone works against the instrumentation's electronic cast for a streamlined rocksy music that suits titles like "Dislocation" and "Someone Else's Clothes." But unlike Bryan Ferry, Foxx talks as if he's detached clean through, unlike Brian Eno he's encumbered by delusions of existential significance, and unlike both, he evinces not a shred of humor. B +

WEATHER REPORT: "Mr. Gone" (Columbia/ ARC):: Short on rhythmic inspiration (four different drummers, no percussionists) and long on electric ivory, this is the best fusion band in the world at its most fusoid. Which in interesting, in its way— when I'm in the mood, I get off on its rich colors and compositional flow. When I'm not in the mood I think dark thoughts about Muzak and Yurrup. B

Reprint courtesy Village Voice