THE GHOST RIDER OF MEMPHIS RAMBLES ON

THE GHOST RIDER OF MEMPHIS RAMBLES ON

ALEX CHILTON Like Flies on Sherbert (Aura import)

by Jeff Nesin

Some records require a leap of faith. Sometimes abusing restricted substances and sometimes—one likes to think—reviews help. But whatever it takes to get you to the nearest import record shop and past the first few, “These guys can’t be serious!” is fine with me because Alex Chilton’s Like Flies On Sherbert is a rare and wonderful record and it deserves to be heard.

I’m generally suspicious of imports, given what the Japanese auto industry has done to CREEM’s home town, but in the music business, where it’s axiomatic that prophets (and even certified saints) are without honor in their own country, you have to take your American music wherever you can find it. The complete Buddy Holly (a six record set) is available only from England and the complete Hank Williams (an 11 record set) is available only from Japan. So there’s probably some divine logic behind the fact that Alex Chilton’s music— Memphis born, bred, and recorded —is available only on reverse lendlease from Britain. Or perhaps it’s corporate economics.

Chilton, you may recall (1 hope you do), was first the teen voice of the Box Tops and then a founder of Big Star, a band much beloved of critics but known to precious few consumers. In 1972 Big Star seemed to invent power pop (to be fair, the Raspberries were there, too) and then simply abandon it as Alex pushed on toward more compelling and much more idiosyncratic material. Big Star released two albums during its brief (72-75) turbulent existence (now available—surprise— only as imports). A third LP, made as they were disbanding, appeared ona domestic independent label three years later. Since Big Star Alex has squeezed out an indepen-. dent EP and 45, a Japanese import live LP recorded in New York (which includes the EP), and now Like Flies On Sherbert—out of Memphis by Concorde from London.

I repeat this bleak business history because the future of rock ’n’ roll, a concept which keeps the corporate twerps on their toes, is really the future of commerce. Alex Chilton and his new album represent the future of commerce. Aiex Chilton and his new album represent the spirit of rock ’n’ roll, a far more important and elusive achievement, often without substantial recognition or reward. But when the last Outlaws or Buggies record is carted off to the Goodwill (and the profits invested in South African cable TV or the Blues Bros, remake of Seven Brides For Seven Bros.) people with ears and hearts will still be cherishing their copies of Like Flies On Sherbert.

It is just the sort of record that I was sure could no longer be made in modern recording studios: raw, intuitive, weird, and loose. Alex used Memphis legend Jim Dickinson and his band, known professionally as Mud Boy and the Neutrons, for fast takes on five originals and five covers. From the opening “Boogie Shoes”, which sounds like K.C. and the Sunshine Band after swallowing 20 or 30 packets of morning glory seeds, to the final title cut, which sounds like Brian Wilson chasing Phil Spector around the studio with an axe handle, absolutely nothing about Like Flies is predictable. The music has an unforced intimacy, and immediacy that corporate entities—the Eagles, for example—couldn’t duplicate if. their coke depended on it. If you can imagine the Velvet Underground as Southerners recording White Light/White Heat in Memphis, you’re getting warmer.

Right now my favorites include “Hey! Little Child”, a song about the peculiar attractions of that classic of eroticism—a young girl walking home from parochial school: “Plaid skirt, flannel vest/silly nubiles are the best/now you look so forlorn/passin’ by in your uniform,” and “Hook or Crook”, a Big Star Radio City era rocker. Chilton’s run through “Waltz Across Texas,” Ernest Tubb’s honky tonk classic is as moving as it is strange and the version of “I’ve Had It” (that’s right—the Belltones from Bellmore, L.I.) takes nasal drone to new heights and ends with a great 15 second guitar solo.

I refuse to round up the usual suspects: Art, Eccentric Genius, Hard, Gem-like Flame, etc. Suffice to say that on Like Flies On Sherbert Alex Chilton hacks away fat and meat alike to gnaw on the bare bones of American music. Bon appetit!