CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

DEPARTMENTS

by

Robert Christgau

“THE A’s” (Arista):: People say they take after the Dolls, but I hear the Boomtown Rats. At its best, their burlesque on a “teenage jerk off’ (a title) who still gets “grounded” (another) is funny and a little too nasty. At its worst it’s boring and a little too nasty. In between it’s got verve and you’ve heard it before. B

CHUCK BERRY: “Rocldt" (Atco):: Well I’ll be. The inventor of rock ’n’ roll hasn’t made an album this listenable in 15 years—no great new songs, but he’s never written better throwaways (or covered “Ozymandias” either). Both Berry and Johnny Johnson—the piano half of this sound for a quarter of a.century—have tricked up their styles without vitiating or cheapening them, and the result is a groove for all decades. Minor for sure, but what a surprise. B +

DEVO: “Duty Now For Th« Future” (Warner Bros.):: Side one, with its not-funnyenough instrumentals and evasive satire, was dire enough to make me suspect they’d made their arena-rock move before there was an arena in the world that would have them. But “The Day My Baby Gave Me A Surprize” and “Secret Agent Man” are as bright as anything on die debut, and the arrangements offer their share of surprizes. Bet they never make the arenas, though. Br

BOB DYLAN: “Slow Train Coming” (Columbia):: The lyrics are indifferently crafted, and while their one-dimensionality is winningly perverse at a time when his old fans will take any ambiguity they can get, it does serve to flaunt their theological wrongheadedness and occasional jingoism. Nevertheless, this is his best album since Blood On The Tracks. The singing is passionate and detailed, find the pros behind him—especially Mark Knopfler, who has a studio career in store—play so sharply that his anger gathers general relevance at its most vindictive. And so what if he’s taken up with the God of Wrath? Since when have you been so crazy about the God of Love? B+

“FLASH & THE PAN” (Epic):: In which Australian power-pop producers Harry Vanda and George Young choose a nom de studio and turn into an instant cult item. Since the singing makes Rex Harrison sound like Mario Lanza, it’s tuneful in only the most abstract sense. (Already the fan mags are paying attention.) Withbut the usual vocal surges it’s also quite static. (Veddy interesting.) What hooks there are inhere in the chord changes. (Sounds more like art all the time.) And V&Y’s ruminations on socio-political realities are worthy of a second-rate caper movie. (Bingo.) B-

PHILIP GLASS/ROBERT WILSON: “Einstein On The Beach” (Tomato):: I’d skip the Rolling Stones to witness this five-hour maximalization of minimalism again, but on record—condensed to four discs running about three hours—I find that its operatic conceit justifies itself all too well. This is “great,” all right; but without Wilson’s spectacular visuals it’s also, to these pop-happy ears, tedious and sometimes even pompous. In short, I’m glad to own it, but it didn’t cost me 25 bucks, and I don’t know when I’ll find time to play it again now that I’ve done so twice. B +

RICK JANES: “Bastin’ Out Of L Sevan” (Gordy):: Funky, sure—hf2S fairly funky, although not on the slow ones. But if this’s delic, so was the Strawberry Alarm Clock. R-

GARLAND JEFFREYS: “American Boy and Girl” (A&M):: Jeffreys has never shown much knack for love songs, and he’s not getting any better with melodies either, which means that half of this encouraging comeback gets by on his acumen as a singer and bandleader, But as you might expect from somebody who rhymes “you know what it’s like” with “Wilhelm Reich,” he retains his feeling for cafe society and his sense of the street, which synthesize into Ns eternal theme of making it. And while you might suspect Nm of sentimentalizing the street kids on the cover, he doesn’t—he just cares about them, that’s all. B+ DAVID JOHANSEN: “In Style" (Blue ^ Sky):: Johansen is equal to his more soulish musical concept—no “disco,” just slower tempos, sqbtle be-yoo-ty, and some reggae—but he doesn’t have the chops to get on top of it, and while this is solid stuff, the best of it tends to thin out a little. Although the problem isn’t how often you think “that’s bad” but how often you don’t think “thlat’s great,” the record is summed up for me by “Big City,” the most banal lyric he’s ever written. Until now, you see, he’d never written any banal lyrics at all. Now he’s got three or four. B +

B.B. KING: ?Takc It Home” (MCA):: The Crusaders’ songwriting doesn’t peak the way it did on B.B.’s 1978 collaboration with the L.A. topcats, but that’s okay because it doesn’t dip either. The Crusaders jam, B.B. jives and raps, and the result—give or take some background vocals and a few over-worked horn Charts— is the topcat equivalent of the kind of wonderful blues-bar album Bruce Iglauer of Alligator has been getting out of less accomplished musicians throughout the 70’s. A small delight. B +

NILS LOFGREN: “Nils” (A&M):: If Lofgren’s early mini-Westem, “Rusty Gun,” was the modestly laconic offering of an up-and-comer who remembers, then “No Mercy,” the boxing melodrama now getting airplay, is the rodomontade of a shoulda-been-a-contender. I bet co-composer Lou Reed Wrote the best line, but Nils sings it with indubitable bitterness: “I thought you were being ironic when you ripped your jeans.” C +

JONI MITCHELL: “Mingus” (Asylum):: Okay, okay, a brave experiment, but lots of times experiments fail. There’s more spontenafety, wisdom, and humor in the 2:25 of Mingus “raps” that Mitchell includes than in all her hand-tooled lyrics, and her voice isn’t rich or graceful enough to flesh out music that gains no swing from a backing band a/k/a Weather Report. C +

VAN MORRISON: “Into The Music” (Warner Bros.):: The rockers are a little lightweight, the final cut drags halfway through, and that’s all that’s wrong with this record, > including its tributes to “the Lord.” You might get religion yourself if all of your old powers returned after years of failed experiments, half-assed compromises, and onstage crack-ups. Like that other godfearing singer-songwriter, Morrison has abandoned metaphorical pretensions, but only because he loves the world. His straight-forward celebrations of town and country are colored and deepenedby his musicians— especially the sprightly violinist Toni Marcus—(Feh on Scarlet Rivera)—and by his own excursions into a vocalise that has never been more various or apt. The only great song on this record is “It’s All In The Game,” written by Calvin Coolidge’s past vice-president in 1912. But I suspect it’s Van’s best album since Moondance. . .. A

MUTINY: “Mutiny On The Mameehip” (Columbia):: In which former P-Funk drummer Clarence Bailey—a/k/a Him Bad, Bigfoot— leads a noisy revolt against “George Penatentiory,” who stands accused of faking the funk. The chaige isn’t fair, but Bradley proves he’s no clone (and earns his sobriquets), with a boomingly bottom-heavy LP that’s more powerful than anything the muthashippas have ever tried to do. And if his lovey-dovey moves are received— unlike George, Bailey never led a great harmony group—his horn and guitar part are far out indeed. Hope there’s an answer record. A-

TEDDY PENDERGRASS: “Teddy” (Philadelphia International):: Whether he’s flexing his chest at Madison Square/Garden or inviting the (presumably female) listener into his shower, Teddy has a self-deprecating sense of humor that his obsessive male posturing tends to obscure. Call him butch rather than macho and be thankful for small favors. B

“THE RECORDS” (Virgin):: “Starry Eyes” is a great single, but it’s all hook, and hooks like that don’t grow on albums. Which is why only two of the songs that fill in the blanks, “Teenarama” and “Insomnia,” transcend pop professionalism. Really, it takes more than obeisance to the Byrds —the foreboding cool of the Cars, the grabby propulsion of the Knack, anything. j BTHE RUMOUR: “Frogs Sprouts Clogs And Krauts” (Arista) ::If it’s true they wannabe the Band, then what’s with the Donald Fagen imitations? (Bob Andrews sings!) And who’s doing Walter Becker? (My guess: Brinsley Schwarz.) Expert, quirky, and arresting at first. Then expert and quirky. And do I tell you what comes next? B-

TALKING HEADS: wFear Of Music” (Sire) ::DavicT Byrne’s celebration of paranoia is a little obsessive, but like they say, that doesn’t mean somebody isn’t trying to get him. I just wish material as relatively expansive as “Found A Job” or “The Big Country” were available to open up thecpntext a little; thatway, a plausible prophecy like “Life During Wartime” might come off as cautionary realism instead of ending up the nutball comer with self-referential fantasies like “Paper'’ and “Memories Can’t Wait.” ' And although I’m impressed with the gritty weirdness of the music, it is narrow—a little sweetening might help as well. A-

DWIGHT TWILLEY: “TwOley” (Arista):: Twilley’s first two albums were marginally fascinating because of how obsessively he synthesized the Southern and British pop-rock traditions—like a cool Alex Chilton, or (only we don’t know this yet) a Nick Lowe who worked too hard—and because so few bands were bothering with the kind of catchy 60’s AM songs thatTwilley turned out by the half dozen. Well, scratch the catchy part—both the Records and the Knack, to stick to the lightweights, have songs on the radio that cut anything on Since rely, which is a lot catchier than this. And while you’re at it, scratch Phil Seymour, Twilley’s former rhythm section and hartnony group! And add Jimmy Haskell doing Paul Buckmaster imitations. And think dark thoughts about the Raspberries and Eric Carmen. C +

“TOM VERLAINE” (Elektra):: In which he deploys backup choruses and alien'instruments, the kind of stuff that bogs down all solo debuts, with modest grace and wit. And continues to play guitar like Captain Marvel. Neater than Television, as you might expect, but almost as visionary anyway, and a lot more confident and droll. Inspirational Verse: “My head was spinning/My oh my.” A-

Reprint courtesy Village Voice. ' W