ROCK•A•RAMA

ROCK•A•RAMA

This month’s Rock-A-Rama’s were written by Richard Riegel, Richard C. Walls, Mitch Cohen and Michael Davis

GIRL—Sheer Greed (Jet):: Per their publicity, Girl are real hot numbers in the heavy-metal revival sweeping through British rock, but other U.K. sources have indicated that H/M hardly dominates their fair land; it’s simply one more minority style within a richly fragmented contemporary scene. Either way, you probably already heard a lot of the metallic stuff on here from a variety of Limeys, Yanks, Canucks, Krauts, you name it, back in the mid-70’s. But I congratulate these guys anyway, for actually carrying out one of my personal 1975 fantasies: covering a Kiss song (“Do You Love Me,” not a particularly worthy choice, I’d have gone with “Strutter,” but the thought counts.) What an insult that coulda been to the taste of the times, a smirk more offensive to hip piety than a whole gross of Dictators!

R.R.

McCOY TYNER—Horizon (Milestone):: Pianist Tyner seems permanently locked into his baroque style and by now you either want to hear it or you don’t. Fortunately, he continues to experiment with the instrumentation of his various recording groups and offer up intriguing original compositions. This time it’s a septet and the inclusion of violin and congas, as well as reedmen George Adams and Joe Ford, should make one curious enough to hear Tyner’s two-fisted lattice works at least one more time.

R.C.W.

THE BLUES BROTHERS-Original Soundtrack (Atlantic):: On which Jake and Elwood bid for credibility-by-association by interspersing their minstrel routine with turns by Ray Charles (okay), James Brown (buried), Aretha Franklin (redundant) and Cab Calloway, whose “Minnie The Moocher” has the old boop-de-boop jive. Slandered this time are white boys Stevie Winwood, Elvis Presley (Belushi’s “Jailhouse Rock” is as much as flub as in Old Boyfriends) and Clint Eastwood, proving that ineptitude is color-blind.

M.C.

KROKUS—Metal Rendez-Vous (Ariola):: Since these guys just now tobagganed down out of the Swiss Alps, you’ve got to give them some credit for not having heard about the death of heavy metal before now. Anyway, for any other manjack who spent the 70’s stranded on a glacier, Krokus have preserved and recycled all those longhaired, barechested, thumpingly lyrical platitudes you missed learning at Bobby Plant’s knee. Or let Krokus tell it like it is, in their own inimitable style: “Fire, fire, iS what you need/We got it for you until you bleed.” Put that in your secret Swiss bank accounts and smoke it, you Zep freaks!

R.R.

RUSS BALLARD—Barnet Dogs (Epic):: Ever since he Ijeft Argent in the mid-70’s, long after that once-promising group had peaked, Ballard’s been hanging out, getting a pop tune covered here and there, and releasing a string of albums that just about defined competent mediocrity. But finally, he’s decided to rock ’n’ roll again and he’s come up with an album of basics that makes it. Song ajfter song of the hard stuff—I didn’t think Russ had it in him anymore. A nice surprise, though I doubt he’ll now get off his ass and try to make a career of it.

M.D.

SURF PUNKS-My Beach (Epic):: I’m probably going to have to take gas for this later, but I think this is a pretty nifty record. “Surf Punks”.the name says it all, sums up a fusion so inevitable we didn’t get it in 1977, except for little dabs like the Ramones’ “California Sun.” Surfer muzik, synthesizer-sequenced, lyrics a tad less reverent toward the sport than, those holy archetypes Brian Wilson used the pluck from the heavenly Malibu sky. Plus these hodaddies do seem to be authentic Californians somewhere beneath their baggies, I do believe this “Dennis Dragon” character has been tanned by enough noons at the beach to pass as the Captain & Tennille’s eldest son. Your move, Gene Sculatti, gimme the real dope on these bozos now.

R.R.

MAX WEBSTER - Live Magnetic Air (Capitol):: These Canadian crazies have fought long and hard to find their niche in rock’s hierarchy and now that they’ve achieved it, I’m not sure what it is. They’ve been around too long to appeal to new wave underdog lovers; at the same time, they’re too intelligent to be lumped with the heavy metal macho machines and too strange to go along with the mainstream “progressives.” Nonetheless, they’re too good to be ignored. Guess I’ll just file ’em away alphabetically and worry about the classification later. Now let's see, will that be under “M” or “W”?.

M.D.