THE BEAT GOES ON

THE BEAT GOES ON

DEPARTMENTS

The Coming Of Clemma Rock: ' Mutants Go Geek

DETROIT—They are a deep bunch. A collection of thieves, bikers, French students, teenyboppers, magazine editors, record label personnel. They gather together, all over Detroit, to see the Mutants. (These Mutants are not to be confused with San Franciscos. Sniffs John "Toto" Amore: "I dont want to be associated with people called Joey Mutant and Susie Mutant. I mean, its a stupid name, but its ours...its been ours for ten years!") This eccentric fanaticism began in the early 70s and continues now into the new decade, the following stronger —and more diverse—than ever.

They are a loyal bunch. The Mutants have picked them up at virtually every concert venue Detroit has to offer; and by now theyve nearly played them all. Since 1975, the Mutants have supported* Ritchie Blackmore, Patti Smith, the As, have headlined countless area clubs (including Bookies), and singer Art Lyzak has booked the group at his mothers club, Lilis, where the Mutants are afforded a natural residency.

And wherever the Mutants have gone, so have their pack. It is a fascinating attraction. People who understand each other. Or try. A story of undeniable warmth.

By now, the Mutants myth has been diffused and distorted beyond recognizability. On a superficial level, the group is comedy in electric, heirs to the absurdist pop music throne vacated by the Mqnkees in the mid-60s; grown men playing daddy to teenaged girls and boys—and in truth, the Mutants aim to be taken at this level, with old fans likening the live experience to ~a trip through a funhouse.

And it is a funny ride, should your taste in humor run a bit on the dark side, with subject matter that includes "Coffee With My Fellow Employees," "I Like Pizza," and "Whatever Happened To Quaaludes?" to strike your fancy.

To take the Mutants purely on surface extract would be to miss the boat, however. Think of the Yardbirds if they had gone wrong, lost control of their apocalyptic vision, and you come to a better appreciation of the Mutants. Add the danceability and dirty energy of the early Rolling Stones and youre getting hot. The Kinks—especially the amazing lyrical hooks of the youthful Ray Davies—fill out the depth of Mutants influence.

They could not help it. The Mutants fell victims to their own modem excesses; they fried to invent a style of their oyvn. And have gone completely mad in the attempt.

Without obscuring the matter any further, the Mutants are Detroits most efficient rock n roll Jband. Theyve explored style well beyond any of their contemporaries. "Jesus Was A Hard Working Man" is country/ western a la Patsy Cline; "Nuclear Nights" combines cha cha and reggae; and "Make A Date," which approaches the slyly decadent tone of Brechts "Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)" as done by the Doors, is a cabaret styled love/death pact set on a bridge in Paris.

The Mutants style familiar to most is shown on their singles on the FTM label, "So American"/ "Piece O Shit", and their most recent, "Cafe Au Lait"/I Say Yeah" (available by Writing to FTM Records/P.O. Box 368, Plymouth, MI 48170). The records are dominated by the hard, clear riffing of guitarists Tom Morwatts and Pasadena and the vocal charm of Lyzak who, with progressive development, would appear ready for the Las Vegas circuit.

"Piece O Shit," in particular, is a Mutants favorite, historically the most loved of all the bands songs. Lyrically, it parallels the Mutants infantile persona:

I make a thousand bucks a year

And I spend it on cocaine

Im just a rock n roller

With a little fellas brain

Rock n rollin vegetable

Thats just what I am....*

But it also encapsulates the myth of rock music glamour in a concentrated few lines and makes brilliant satire of it. It is Mutants at their best; attacking, laughing, swinging wildly in all directions—a crazy, insulated world of their own. Fighting the invisible enemy.

Insanity demonstrated. On a recent interview/live-in-studio broadcast over Detroits public radio station, WDET, the DJ suggested to the stations listeners that "new wave, just like rock n roll, is here to stay."

"I wouldnt want to listen to it all the time," shot back bassist John "He knows the Pope" Amore, "it would get tedious, dont you think?"

A more pressing problem. "Do you think Superman could b,eat up the Beatles?" asked Anthony Quinn lookalike Amore. Now total loss of control.

"Wed like to hear from you listeners out there," said Lyzak, "do we sound like manure over the radio, or what?"

Yes, and those fans out there. Theyve seen the Mutants shift personnel, though the present line-up (drummer Steve Sortor and die aforementioned Amore, Lyzak, Pasadena and Morwatts) has been together for nearly three years. Theyve stood by as record companies (who must have the lowest signing rate out of Detroit) have had a listen to the Mutants, and passed on them. And the numbers of weirdos continues to grow. In the Mutants they have found one of their own kind. Silly love for the 80s.

WANNA BUY A BAGHDAD?

New Iranian disco kings, the Fake Beards, smile for this publicity shot in front of Executioner's Wall in sunny Shiraz to celebrate their latest single,' "Tehran Run Run," entering the charts at #1 with a bullet. Led by ex-Bee Gee Maurice Gibb and former M*A*$*H star Jamie Farr (center and above), the Beards' last six 45's have shipped Black Gold as veil* chops all over Iran snake their Bampursto such danceable tunes as "Iraq Me Baby," "Khomeini Let's Go" and "I'm On The Lamb, But I Ain't No Sheik." Asked whether the Ayatollah's ban on all music has made it difficult to receive airplay in their adopted home, Mohammed Maurice replied, "Not in the leastl The Ayatollah, in his splendid wisdom, does not consider disco to be music I"

Cross your thumbs, you clowns, record labels are hunting the Mutants down again. They could never have done it without you.

Walter Wacasz

5 YEARSAGO

Heavy Metal S.O.S.

While on tour in Atlanta, Elton John was conked on the noggin by a heavy metal pipe thrown from the audience. Undaunted, he wiped the blood from his forehead & feather boa and charged back with the song he was playing all the time: "Saturday Nights All Right For Fighting. " Message received...

CRIME IN THE CITY, PART IV

"I'm ruined I" cried an anguished Paul Simenon after being treated ft released from a London hospital. Poor Paulie was yet another victim of Tony the Maa Tattooist, a former rock (ournalist who went berserk six months after trying to conduct an interview witn Bob Geldof. The criminal reportedly falls upon music trendies with a cry of, "You wanted ink—you GOT itl 11" He then proceeds to inject his victims witn ink, creating a nifty revolver tattoo, a not-sosubtle warning to musicians to stop shooting off their mouths. The doctor assured Paul, "The injections will leave no side effects. Ask Keith."

America Wimps Out

BRIGHTON, MI-You say you gave up drinking the "hard stuff because your boss thought you were having an epileptic seizure one beautiful morning after winning the "Golden Lampshade" award the previous night? Or was it because you woke up One Saturday with a boy whose mouth was shaped like a Hoover, wearing a lovely red dress and shaved legs? Or was it because your mouth felt like the inside of a chauffeurs glove and you presently are trying to get rid of a hangover from a bout w/scotch two Christmases ago, never mind the two years in between? If you are, join the'rest of the sissies in America.

Impact, a national wine and liquor industry newsletter, says that we Americans are losing our taste for hard liqudr—only 27 billion 1 ounce shots consumed in the first six months of 1979. And that, my friend, is 6.5 percent less than the first six months of 1978. But still, 27 billion shots averages out to 122 shots for every man, woman and child in this country.

One hundred twenty-two shots of hard liquor for every man, woman and child...bet you didht know those little buggers could drink so much. Bet yoq didnt know you drank that much.

In any event, we at CREEM are not going to try to stop you from ruining your life any further them it already is, because

WHYDOTHEYDRINK?

a) You wont listen anyway

b) You enjoy waking up in the morning with your head feeling like Mt. Rushmore, and we wouldnt ruin anyones fun

c) You believe you are indestructable, and becoming a highway death statistic only happens to other people, and besides,

d) WE DONT CARE.

What we will offer you, though, is a list of excuses for having'a drink or ten, to help alleviate the obvious alcohol intake recession our fair country is suffering from. Bottoms Up!

1. Drink because you cant remember what you did the night before. Ever wake up with that nagging guilt/anxiety block one experiences after the office party? Something is definitely wrong, you know it, and you just want to know where your shoes are, but are afraid to ask.

2. Drink because your girlfriend/boyfriend left you, or because you are leaving them. Always a good Excuse for drinking til youre tits up in the bushes, but if' youre more urban, find an alley or apartment building foyer for appropriate accomodations.

3. Drink to relax. Definitely an all purpose excuse, used by everyone. I dont know why it is, but some people get so relaxed that they jump out of speeding cars and tear ligaments in their knees, arent able ,to play their instruments at important shows, or just do something funny, I think.

4. Drink to rebel against your parents/your wife/husband, the system, etc., et al. Show whoever you are rebelling against that you can be stupider than them. Works wonders.

5. Drink to celebrate anything. Stop and consider what there is to celebrate—birthdays, weddings, graduations, births, deaths, promotions, raises, Patti Srqiths left tit, Jim Morrisons right testicle, you name it, you can celebrate it. You can even drink to celebrate an album. I should have bought stock in Canadian Club when RCA released Lou Reeds Berlin...

6. Drink because you have a watershed fetish. For those of you who dont read Penthouse's Forum, a watershed fetishist is someone who gets a stiff one over the act of urinating, or watching the act of urinating, or being urinated upon. Ask Peter Frampton.

There you have it, boys and girls, enough excuses for the next 365 days and then some. Looking at you, though, I know you dont need an excuse.. just an alibi.

I recently asked Jerry Vile of Detroits Boners, the foremost exponent of Drunk Rock, why he did indeed drink. Said the Vile One, "I drink to rebel against my parents [divorced] and because it makes me feel ten feet tall." I posed the same question to his mother, and Mrs. Vile said, "To blot that jerk out of my memory." Its the 80s— do you care where your children are?

Mark J. Norton

POD-ON ME, BUT ISNT THAT A SLIMEORITE?

ITS SLIMY, ALL RIGHT

Pod Update!

FRISCO, TEXAS—It may not be a pod, but its definitely lifeless.

Thats the word from officials at the U .S. Space Agency on the mysterious blob—some say glob—that landed on the lawn of Sybil Christian, as reported earlier in these pages. ("Pod Fear Sweeps Nuthouse," Sept. 79.)

NASA chemists say that the glob or blob, which Ms. Christian described as "chocolate pudding with B.B.s in it," was actually a caustic solution used for cleaning industrial batteries. While officials have ruled out the possibility that the frankly disgusting substance was a slimeorite from outer space, they admit that they have no idea how it got on Sybils lawn.

Well, maybe a huge industrial Japanese transistor radio (colorfully painted in the official colors of the Houston Astros) was hovering over Frisco, TX, and, you know, it leaked!

Rick Johnson

When In Doubt, Whip It Out

DETROIT—Its 1980 now, and pulling your cock out onstage is no big deal. Iggy did it in Detroit. He pulled his pants down and showed his ass, too. A friend got some great pictures of this, said all the other photographers missed it as Iggy went into a rap and they failed to pay attention.

. Of course one must take this spectacle in the proper context; it was the inspiration for Travis Bickle up there, after all, Jesus Christ. Where Iggy walks it is likely no one wul walk again. Nor grass grow. Life stops is as close as I can bring the analogy to human understanding.

Further, Iggy does not give art to his audience, he offers eternity. Believe me. His presence alters the climate. Soon will be the high tide.

When Iggy and Detroit get together.. .well, its like old times. Everybody brings a bottle, a lunch, other picnic paraphernalia, and a disdainful glare in a pair of glassy eyes. What you do with this stuff is completely up to you. This is the wilderness and we are savages—a long way from the Berlin Wall. We do not know any better.

I was horrified, nonetheless, at something I heard in the toilet.

"I came to the show tonight," the fool said, "because my girlfriend has never seen Iggy and I wanted her to see the show."

A non-believer. To go to an Iggy Pop concert you must not have a girlfriend. Or at the very least, break up with her before the show. 'Thus you will be spiritually in need and Iggy will be there to comfort you. Cleansed, brother.

One more thing: Iggys band. Good fellows. We met them during the show: Iggy introduced us:

"This is Glen Matlock. Glen, this is Detroit.

"Brian James on guitar. Brian, these are animals.

"Klaus Kruger on drums. Klaus, this is scum.

"Ivan Krai." (Iggy went no further since we know Ivan pretty well by now.)

Iggy wouldnt have done it if he knew Lux Interior whipped his out only three weeks earlier.

Johnny Angel

But Please Dont Pick Frampton

PHILADELPHIA—If you want to know if your song is going to be a hit, theres now an almost fool-proof method for finding out: just ask the computer.

Programming ace Charles Trois of Tenel Industries has punched the melodies to more th^n 22,000 chartbusters into a computer, creating a system to rate a songs hit potential. It works like this: genius writes song, brings it to Tjrois. He feeds it into the machine and a few minutes later, it prints out a numerical rating of one to ten, with one being a bomb and ten being a classic like "Honey" or possibly even "You Better Sit Down, Kids."

Tenel claim that their system has an 82% success rate at picking the hits, but admit to one flaw. Punk rock, heavy metal and even the Knack do not compute due to the "linearity" of the melodies.

Inventor Trois is now feverishly engaged in the development of a computer dumb enough to handle the lucrative Judas Priest account.

Rick Johnson

IGGY POP UNLEASHES NEW SOUND! I

Ever-the-trendsetter, Ig the Pig's new "Anals of Rock" concert series takes intestinal fortitude out of the bathroom and returns it to the stage —right where It belongs I Forget Raw Power, Ig said he wanted to be your dog and he wasn't kidding I That's one way to get Bowie to produce your next album, Ig, but what'll we tell your mom?I