THE BEAT GOES ON

THE BEAT GOES ON

DEPARTMENTS

John Cale’s Last Dance

CHAPEL HILL, N.C.— What a placp to end a tour, here in this bastion of “southeastern liberal,” i.e., “aging hippie” thought, here in the Mad Hatter bar with its circular staircase worn smooth from years of staggering and stumbling from table to stool, here where the air is damp and cool and if you’re sober you’re pegged a fool. Here is John “Guts” Cale making a sound check: BBRRRRAAANNG Chucka chuck-a BBLLLAAANNG Chuck-a BLAM-BLAM! (Cpuld it be the voice of i God?) t

Here is your usually intrepid reporter sucking up to a bottle of stout, summoning up enough whiskey courage to try to confront the eminent musician with a couple of questions, knowing full well it will be like Cub Coda trying to interview Mozart. One mistake in the approach could prove fatal—don’t be fooled by the LP covers of Vintage Violence, Fear, Helen Of Troy, et at.; in the flesh M. Cale radiates the potential force of a seething volcano, a mile wide tornado. In short he is a massive, hirsute (albeit gentlemanly) brute.

Here is the group Secret Service ripping out a set to warm up the near-meltdown crowd. Clean tight-as-adrumhead British/American rock, pulled off in high style. Objective observation imagines them to be established NYC pros but in fact they are a local band paying heavy dues behind the Man. Rock and Roll in its natural habitat. Meanwhile, in a detached clear-headed adrenalinbased display of valor, your reporter ascends to the dressing room to ask THE QUESTION.

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WARNING: NICK LOWE MAY BE HAZARDOUS TO YOUR HEALTH

As Rockpllo moves inexorably across the country supporting Blondie, American workers are wasting no time protecting their natural resources. And still,In auditoriums across a shocked nation, the criminal Lowe takes the‘ stage every night with sidekicks Bremner and Edmunds, bragging "I love the sound of breaking glassand playing havoc with the tender auditory canals of impressionable youth. NEXT TIME you feel yourself beinlg drawn into a Sleazy rock ’n' roll dive by the sound of drunken English sickos twanging on guitars, ask yourself this: is one minute of their masturbatory howling worth the price? Think about It...

“Uh, hi, uh, John, ah, could I, uh, that is, uh, would you mind, well, ah, ARE YOU AND LOU GONNA DO A RECORD!?!”

He looks up over a copy of Guns and Ammo with the slightly amused smile one would give to a mildly rjetarded child and saysT “I’d really like to talk to you you know, but as you can see I’m reading.” Fin de I’interview.

Ten minutes later he’s onstage whipping everyone into a Dionysian frenzy the likes of which haven’t been seen since Nero cooked while Rome sizzled. For nearly two-and^a-half hours we hear the collected works, dancing our brains out thru* time immemorial back to the primordial swamp where the first sea slug crawled out on terra firma and said, “I GOT THE FEAR!”;

And what rough beast sloughs off toward New York City to be born?

Scott (lewd and dissolute conduct in a public place) Savage

CREEM’s LastTip For Budding Rock Crits

NEW YORK—In yet another move designed to keep rock writers from going overboard in their criticism of various artists, Scripps -, Howard Newspapers have compiled a list of eighty-nine “redflag” words that, “used innocently or truthfully, can lead to a libel suit.”

For example, if one were to refer to Cafly Simon as a PROFITEERING STOOL PIGEON, Peter Frampton as a FASCIST MONEY GOUGER, Roy Thomas Baker as an INCOMPETENT ADULTERQR OF PRODUCTS or Clive Davis as a SCANDALMONGERING, PRICE CUTTING, ATHEISTIC KEEPER OF A DISORDERLY HOUSE, you could not only be sued for libel, but they’ll take away your black/red/ yellow typewriter ribbon as well...

However, if ypu simply refer to these people as STUPID ASSHOLES, you’re in the clear!

Rick Johnson

We Knew It All Along

HOLLYWOOD-On TVThailand, you really have to spell things out.

Laverne & Shirley producer Garry Marshall reports that his show—which has been f 1 in Jhe States ever since the national reading scores dropped below the level of instant mashed potatoes—is now racing up the charts in scenic Thailand as well.

Except for one small problem . “Thais don’t like women who are fresh,” says Marshall. So before each episode, a disclaimer appears on the screen that reads: “These two women are from an insane asyjum.”

It all Thais in.

Rick Johnson

Bat Do You Think They Really Listen?

MAGOMB, IL—I was just standing around, trading blab at The Victrola here in the Corn Zone one day recently when the telephone interrupted a heated discussion ofv whether Van der Graaf Generator had any chance of copping the National League flag.

Although the phone conversation was inaudible over whichever Standells album . they were playing that week, the more-stunned-than-normal ^expression of the proprietor indicated a goodie. His sneakers actually hummed with suppressed laughter as he hung up.

“That was the Funeral Home,” he.squeaked:

‘‘You got an appointment or what?”

“Ha ha. the lady says she’s sending somebody over to pick up some funeral music.”

‘‘Funeral music?”

“Yeah, you know. Like they play Melissa Manchester and stuff at weddings nowadays; so she wants her services to be more mod. Here, lookit this.”

He handed over a list of LPs she’d requested: Andrew Gold/Heaven Too, Barry Manilow/Tryin’ and anything by Kansas.

“Lady sure knows her tunes, huh?”

“Yeah, too bad we’re all out of Mott The Hoople cutouts.”

Later that afternoon, a suit-and-tie type reeking of hymns strolled in to pick up the records. He examined each disc lovingly, with that smile usually reserved for dealing with the bereaved relatives of troublesome assholes. We both rolled on our individual mental floors..

“Will that be all?” the Boss managed to ask.

“Certainly,” the man in black replied with a slight sniff. He paid quickly, somewhat annoyed that no one realty wanted to touch his motaey.

As he headed for the door, 1 had to ask, “Are you really aonna play those at funerals, like with dead people and everything?”

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“Of course,” he shot back with sniff #2. “Did you think it was for our personal enjoyment?”

Neither of u,s had a snappy comeback, but then we didn’t need one. He hadn’t noticed the Dead Boys LP we’d slipped in his bag at the last) minute.

Rick Johnson

VETS DEMAND EQUAL TIME

A petition signed by members of the Veterans of Stupid Accidents League demanding equal time on the Jerry lewfs Tefemon was upheld by the New York Supreme Court recently. "Dorks, klutzes and idiots like me never get a break I” drooled Elmer Skavucci, president of theleague. Despite1 Lewis' contention that "ons stupid asshole up here Is enough ,'rElmer got his 15 seconds of fame...and then some. The sponsors were so token with Skavucci's "naturalness,” they dropped Lewis in favor of a lifetime contract with the befuddled cheese whiz.

Cluck Once If You Can Read The Top Line

MqDONALD’S FARM, MA —After years of such daily dallying as scratching for worms, pecking at passersby and living in quarters that smell like last week’s moldy bacon, life is now a bit rosier for the chicken of your choice, thanks to Randall Wise, president of Vision Control, Inc., who has developed contact lenses for the Foghorn Leghorns of the world. ,

According to Zodiac News, the rose-tinted contacts, which will be marketed by Wise’s, firm, were designed to sfop chickens from pecking at each other, a tendency which accounts for an average death rate of two percent among our feathered friends. Since the lenses make it appear as if a rooster’s close intimate friends have suddenly turned into angry rose-colored cluckers, the bird slinks about with head bowed rather than strutting hither and yon looking for a barnyard brouhaha.

Which is all well and good, but who puts them in?

Cathy Gisi

Creem Hack Flees Skylab

AUSTRALIA—CREEM regular; Jeffrey Morgan recently escaped death or (least for him, anyway) more serious injury when he found himself directly in the glide path of a 15-ton chunk of Skylab as the falling space station passed directly over the writer’s hotel suite.

“I’ll admit things looked pretty hairy for a moment,” said Morgan, who was Down Under on assignment from CREEM‘s Tasmanian office. “There I was, polishing off a couple of Rock-A-Ramas, when I looked ,up and saw this burning hunk of space junk coming straight at me, clocking in at well over 300 miles a minute.”

Luckily, Morgan’s training as a CREEM journalist came in handy. “I had only seconds to react so I quickly slapped a copy of Aerosmith’s Rocks on the Dual. Then, opening the windows, I aimed both JBLs in the direction of the flaming debris and literally blew it back into orbit before it had a chance to connect.”

Morgan later referred to the encounter as classic case of Heavy Metal meeting Heavy Metal. My only regret is that I didn’t have a copy of Led Zeppelin II with me— otherwise I would’ve melted the goddamned thing.”

NASA officials were unavailable for comment.

Machine Rock

Take This Job And Smell It

CHAMPAIGN - That old joke that goes “if it smells like shit and feels like shit . . .” has come true tyere in central Illinois.

Student volunteers are currently being paid to smell jars of MSD (Malodorous Swine Droppings) in order to help develop a pig poop deodorant. Nobody’s sure why, but it could be for oink breeders with delicate nostrils.

Although each student only gets a dollar per session, they’re only forced to take nine sniffs a day. This restriction of sniffing is to prevent their expert noses from getting desensitized to the odor, in case they find themselves blindfolded in a pigpen someday.

In case you at home want to earn spme spare cash, volunteers are now being accepted for a new experiment with a pig manure flavor enhancer.

Rick Johnson