CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

by Robert Christgau

ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL: "Served Live" (Capitol):: Side one is playable, although "God Bless The Child" was born under a bad sign and the hot live performances don't suit the living room as weD as the more delicate studio versions available on three out of five songs. Side two, however, sounds terribly forced. Not only does John Nicholas' overstated, bloozey original make it clear that Leroy Preston's songwriting is goingto be missed, but his duet with Chris O'Connell is too close to Peggy Scott and Jo-Jo Benson to remain so far away. And "Will The Circle Be Unbroken" might just as well be "Saints," or "Send In The Clowns." C +

"THE B-52'a" (Warner Bros.):: Fond as I am of the pop junk they recycle—with love and panache, like the closet ecologists they are— there's something parochially suburban about turning it into the language of a world-view. So I'm more delighted with their rhythms, which show off their Georgia roots by adapting the innovations of early funk (a decade late, just like the Stones and Chicago blues) to a forcebeat format. Also delightful is their commitment to sexual integration—Cindy Wilson is singing more than ever, although her voice occasionally gives out before her ambitions do. Major worry: Only one ot the copyright 1979 songs—my favorite track on the album, "Dance This Mess Around"— is as amazing as the 1978 stuff. A-

"THE CARS" (Elektra):: Hooks are mechanical by nature, but the affectlessness deserves special mention; only listeners who consider "alienation is the craze" a great insight will find much meaning here. On the other hand, only listeners who demand meaning in all things will find this useless. Cold and thin, shiny and hypnotic, it's what they do best—rock and roll that is definitively pop without a hint of cuteness. Which means that for them "alienation is the craze" may be a meaningful statement after all. B +

"THE CLASH" (Epic):: Cut for cut, this might be the greatest rock and roll album (plus bonus single) ever manufactured in the U.S. If offers 10 of the 14 titles on the band's British debut (unchanged except for sirens and alarm bells on White Riot) as well as seven of the 13 available only on 45s. The lyric sheet does not (repeat: not) self-destruct when you disobey its warning and read along. And the sequencing is anything but haphazard; the eight songs on side one divide into self-contained pairs that function as extended oxymorons on "Careerism," "Corporate Power," "Race," and "Anomie" respectively. Yet the package deal is somehow misbegotten. The U.K. version of The Clash is the greatest rock and roll album ever manufactured anywhere in some small part because its innocence is of a piece—it never stops snarling, it's always threatening to blow up in your face. So while I can imagine buying this for the lyrics alone, I'm still mad the real thing wasn't released two years ago, and I know for certain (I made a tape) that the singles would have made a dandy album themselves. Nevertheless, a great introduction and a hell of a bargain. A

RY COODER: "Bop TUI You Drop" (Warner Bros.):: In which selected 60's r&b— obscure, but not totally: Howard Tate, Arthur Alexander, Ike & Tina, Fontella & Bobby— enters the folkie canon. Along with an obscure Elvis Presley song, selected older obscurities, and an original about Hollywood obvious enough for Elvin Bishop. With Ry singing as loud as he can, Bobby King chiming over him from the background, and Chaka Khan pitching in on two tracks, it even cuts a respectable groove. But drop you it won't. B +

CORY DAYE: "Cory And Me" (New York International):: This doesn't reach like Mr. Buzzard, but it's an impressive showcase for Daye, who proves herself a much more engaging —not to mention hip—all-purpose songstress than Natalie Cole and her ilk. Sandy Linzer's material is coarser commercially than August Darnell's—the disco furbishing tackier, the nostalgia more automatic—but they flesh out a persona that's sexy and even a little wasted without trafficking in escapist hedonism or pomy impersonality. And the music really romps. A* ROBERT FRIPP: "Exposure" (Polydor):: Fripp has always been a bit of a jerk, but over the years he's figured out what, to do with the talent that goes along with his affliction. This concept album earns its conceit, orchestrating bits and pieces of art-rock wisdom—from punk to Frippertronics, from King Crimson to singersongwriter—into a fluent whole. Maybe soon he'll get smart enough to forget about J.G. Ballard. "It is impossible to achieve the aim without suffering" isn't exactly big news, and old Crimson fans will swallow side two without the caveat. B +

JOHN HIATT: "Slug Line" (MCA):: This hard-working young pro may yet turn into an all-American Elvis C. He's focused his changeable voice up around the high end and straightened his always impressive melodies, but he has a weakness for the shallow (if sincere) putdown. E.P.: "Now that you're finally an adult in America/You're too dumb to have a choice." Personal to Lene Lovich: cover "You're My Love Interest." B+

THE KNACK: "Get The Knack" (Capitol):: Cognoscenti I know tend to couch their belief that this is the Anticlash in purely technical terms— harmonies treacly, production punched up, like that. Bullshit. I too find them unattractive; if they felt this way about girls when they were unknowns, I shudder to think how they're reacting to groupies. But if they're less engaging musically than, say, the Scruffs, they have a lot more pop and power going for them than, say, the Real Kids. In other words, "My Sharona" is pretty good radio fare and let s hope "She's So Selfish" isn't the next single. Face it, this is a nasty time, and if the Stranglers are (or were, I hope) Sgt. Barry Sadler, these guys are only Freddie and the Dreamers. Docked a notch for clothes sense. B-

" LIVING CHICAGO BLUES VOLUME I" (Alligator):: A problem with the fhree-artists-perdisc, four-cuts-per-artist format of this estimable series is that it splits one artist per disc betweeri two sides, requiring him to meld, with both of the others. Fortunately, the great dirty mean ofEddie Shaw seems made for such journeywork, linking the gutbucket soul of Jimmy Johnson, certainly the most exciting singer of the nine, and Left-Hand Frank's right-hand-in-the-Delta primitivism. Which suggests that the distance between Johnson's pop ambitions (Bette Midler beat him to one of these songs) and Frank's rural idiosyncracy isn't as great as might appear, because both are irreducibly sexual and Southern. An advantage of the format is that you can buy one clisc at a time. Get my drift? A-

"LIVING CHICAGO BLUES VOLUME II* (Alligator):: Sad to say, the music that gets split up here is the sharp spillover guitar and tonguetwisted projection of double threat Magic Slim. Carey Bell may be a fine harp player (with harp players, I find it difficult to care), but vocally he's even more undistinguished than his mentor, Little Walter. And none of the rowdy hyperactivity of Big Moose Walker's piano carries over to his singing. B

"LIVING CHICAGO BLUES VOLUME HI" (Alligator):: Since Alligator has just released a whole album of Lonnie Brooks, I'm sure the volumes aren't supposed to be numbered in order of quality. But they might as well be. Brooks does a lot less for Texas-Louisiana than Jimmy Johnson does for Memphis, Pinetop Perkins is a Muddy Waters sideman for good reason, and despite "Berlin Wall," I'll wait a year or two on the Sons of the Blues. B-

LENE LOVICH: "Stateless" (Stiff/Epic):: It took me half a year to get through my head what an original Lovich is. Women who say when, while not unheard of in rock, tend to come on macho—tough mamas with hearts (and heads) as soft as Papa Hemingway's. But Lovieh's goofy energy doesn't distract her from her feelings or damage hef sex appeal or conceal a mawkish underside. And although it took an outsider to define her in a ditty ("Say When," which isn't on the import), Lovich does provide her own love song, which has integers in it. A-

"MACHINE" (RCA Victor):: "There But For The Grace Of God Go I," with lyric entirely by August Darnell, is irresistable musically—still the disco disc of the year. The two tracks with lyrics partly by August Darnell are mildly arresting musically. And the other four are ordinary if eclectic Isleys-influenced black pop/funk/ rock. B-

MARY McCASUN: "Sunny California" (Mercury):: I could warn ya that Linda and Nicolette's prior claim on all early Sixties revivals is established conclusively by their lacklustre arrangements on "Cupid" and "Save The Last Dance For Me." But would Linda or Nicolette risk putting five of their own songs on a major-label debut? They don't even have five of their own songs. B-

MARY McCASUN A JIM RINGER: "The Bramble And The Roee" (Philo):: On record as much as live, two folkies whose solo work runs. from pleasant (Ringer) to special-if-flawed (Me Caslin) make up a whole equal to the sum of its parts, which is quite enough—her precise, slightly astringent soprano is the other half of his offhand baritone. In addition to the only version of "Geronimo's Cadillac" you need own, this revives traditional mountain songs so matter-offact and out-of-this-world that you can understand why folklorists devote their lives to the stuff. And on thefinale, "HitTheRoad, Jack," the dry, intelligent humor they share—hers mock-prim, his nice-gruff—finally reaches the surface. A-

THE PERSUASIONS: "Cornin' At Ya" (Flying Fish):: The least "contemporary" record they've ever essayed—except for "Love Me Like A Rock," all the material dates back to when their acapella style was a genuine urban folk response to what was on the radio—is their most uniformly listenable. It's also their first for this bluegrasscentered Chicago label, and thanks—this is what folkiesarefor. B +

ANITA WARD: "Songs Of Love" (Juana) :: You didn't really think she wanted to be the Supremes (much less the Toys or the Chiffons), did you? Nah—she wants to be Diana Ross, albeit without Showtunes. Buy the single. C 4*

MUDDY WATERS: "Mnddy 'Mississippi' Waters Live" (Blue Sky):: Speaking of living Chicago blues, age cannot wither nor Johnny Winter whelm the elan of this boyish man. It may not last forever, though—he really seems to mean "Deep Down In Florida." Sun shines every day, you can play in the sand with your wife, and maybe work on a slow one called "Condominium Blues" in your spare time. B +

HANK WILLIAMS, JR.: "Family Tradition" (Elektra):: Since "To Love Somebody" isn't exactly Hank's kind of song, I guess he wasn't kid4ing when he disavowed the Ray Ruffproduced side of this. On the other hand, "Family Tradition" (guess who that's about) leads off the other side, and it is exactly Hank's kind of song. Exactly. That ain't so great either. C

Reprint courtesy The Village Voice.