THE BEAT GOES ON

THE BEAT GOES ON

DEPARTMENTS

Do You Know Where Your Kilowatts Are Tonight?

CINCINNATI-"New England" is one of those positively-inevitable rockband names that just as inevitably comes along 10 years too late to give the karmic wheel more than a slight nudge. Just suppose, the Beau Brummels had been wholly upfront about their homegrown-British Invasion ambitions back in '65, and had sprung themselves on us eager teens as "The New Englands!" (Surely they would've used the plural form in those blessedly pluralistic days.) Then they might've survived a bit longer than 1969-era cutout bins, eh what?

As it happened, of course, nobody even thought of the simple pun of "New England" until the rnid-70's, when Wishbone Ash (who were more-orless authentic Britons as it was, with no aching need for the pun) employed it as an album title. It took four or five more years befofe we ' came up with as actual band calling themselves "New England," by which time a rather depressing phenomenon of bands named for American geographic sites (always expressed in the monolithic singular) had set in with a vengeance. Not that these groups' names weren't clever—"Chicago," "Kansas," "Boston," "Oregon," "Missouri," etc., all sounded fine on paper—but somehow each of these place-name steamrollers went forth & multiplied upon the land via consistently pompous & boring mutations of the basic rock impulse. v

Thus, when the late Infinity Records sent me the debut album of an actual "New England" in *1979, I feared the worst, and the virtuosos in N.E. came through with flying colors: heavily metallic/melodic, chorded-in-stone stuff that made New England sound like their map-puzzle namesakers Kansas, cut with a little more Kansas on the side ^ 4

Even so, two things about this weekend in New England fascinated rhe: 1) Their hit of the moment, "Don't Ever Want to Lose You," featured a machometal protagonist who actually let his woman drive his car (in traditional H/M songs, women hadn't ever been mistresses of their own gearshifts; whether they were frightened/impressed shotgun-seat bystanders to their beloved stud's reckless careenings, as in Deep Purple's "Highway Star 4 or they were mere hitskip statistics, as in Alice Cooper's "Under My Wheels"); and 2) New England drummer Hirsh Gardner, whose hairdo was a strange, stiff pyramid of black curls, looked just like a standard (i.e., big motherfugger) poodle my sister-in-law used to have. She had jiirned too .vicious, and we .never heard of him again, so he could've gptten into rock...

But mostly 1 didn't think of New Epgland at all, until they shewed, up in Cincinnati last month; second-billed to John Cougar (of all the musically-incompatible acts out there in the r V? universe) at Bogart's, The Teresa and I shuddered as we watched the New England roadies erect a veritable Sears Tower of Marshall amps on Bogart's postage-stamp stage. "If it gets too overbearing," I promised her, "We can sneak on up to The Coug's dressing room."

Rock Musics Now Available In Roll-On

DALLAS, OREGON-Here's an item you might want to clip and pass along to Mom, Dad, Florence Henderson or anybody who thinks that rock V roll stinks.

When local wiseass old-timer Slim Payne, 75, and his wife Helen ("Throbbing" to her friends) returned home from a grueling bingo showdown one night, they yvere welcomed by an unmistakable aroma. Sanka? English Leather? Wet Ayatollah?

No such lyck. It was the mischievous scent of skunk. And not just one—an entire Skunk Family Robinson has taken up residence beneath the floorboards.

After several courageous attempts to rout the snouts had failed, Slim got an idea.

"As much as I hate this so-called new music that's played on the radio these days," mused the aging critic, "maybe that skunk would hateittoo."

Before he could be swarmed by A&R men from several major record companies, Payne tuned in "the rock-music station that plays the worst music, the loudest, 24 hours a day." That's funny—who would've thought , you could pick up Radio Australia in Oregon?

Three days later, the Paynes awoke to a tasteless, odorless, silent home and Slim found signs of a "hasty exit path" outside. Right by a little pile of earplugs.

Just another demonstration of the power of rock 'n' roll to outstink any competition.

Rick Johnson

"TAXI" SEQUEL THOROUGHLY EXPLAINED !!

"So tell us Harry," said amiable host Merv. "who in their right mind even wants a sequel to that dopey song you wrote 10 years ago?" "1 dunno, Merv," Harry laughed, "but there must be someone out there who keeps buying this stuff I Ya got me I" "Hey, waff," chirped concerned third party Joyce Sisters, famed TV psychoanalyst. "I think IVe figured it out!" "Don't keep us In suspense!" said Merv. "Tell us I" begged Harry. "Well," said TV's favorite shrink, "ft's because—oh, no, wait, that can't be it—nah, forget it." "Ha ha,"laughed Merv. "We thought sol" ''Yeah," added Harry, "it really doesn't make any sense I"

"I know it's going to be overbearing," she told me, as the New England guys filed past us toward the stage, "They're all wearing tights!" Within minutes New England verified that they knew their , way around your average synthesizer pomp & arrogance as well as your average Kerry Livgren or Tom Scholz (not to mention the potency of those big-10-foot Marshalls!), but the emotional^ monotone of their armored musicisouronlybusiness music had me nodding. Midway through the set, drummer Hirsh Gardner (the one with the obedienceschodlgraduate hairdo, you'll recall) treated us to a major tub solo in the darkened club, as tiny white lights zipped around the rims of his drum kit. All very Christmasy-seasonal, of course, but then the lights came back up, and Gardner left his drums, strode frontstage, and began a little speech about being a native of "Toronto, Ontario..

Now I don't at all share my Detroit CREEMates' institutional racism toward all things Canadian, but sometimes enough is just too much. We bolted for John Cougar's dressing room (from the window of which, mysterious Wheat-Thin projectiles were already issuing), and his out there, soothed by theZone's pick-up instrumental "Search and Destroy," on their baby practice amps, far from New England's sturjm und gong.

Later, when we returned to the dressing room after John Cougar & the Zone's own, somewouldsay electrifying (and they'd be right) set, we were greeted with the bizarre news that New England (en masse) had just exited the Cougar sanctum, after our mutual friend Mr. Gardner had reportedly sucker-punched Zone bassist Ferd Frank, for allegedly doing a sacreligious parody of New England mentor Gene Simmons (as in KISS) up on stage. Relations between the two bands were patched up quickly, without further violence, but it was scary there for a minute, as a member of the Cougar party told us:' -'That New England guy had a good 30-40 lbs. on Ferd, in his hair alone!"

Which is probably as good a moral as any to leave you with, ih this sobering tale of North American geography. Only thing more I'll is that anybody who wants to start a rock group called "Ohio" has gotta clear it first with me, Cheetah Chrome, and Neil Young, in that order.

Richard Riegel

Madame Arnie Passes More Guess

MACOMB, ILL—The great Madame Arnie, renowned rock 'n' roll psychic and To Tefl The Truth imposter, has firially released her predictions for 1981. The slaphappy medium claims she was delayed this time by "the usual astral muck, you know, like always happens-to those weird people in the BGO section."

While everyone's favorite unclear-voyant missed on a few of her picks last year (Charlie Watts kidnapped by flying saucer, Heavy Metal revival reaches Killer Bee line, nobody will be ableio tell if Rick Wakeman is in Yes or not) she was right on target in foreseeing the release of more than one Earl Klugh album and "Devo will wear stupid hats."

These are Madame Arnie's Boil Orders for'81:

'The recording industry will courageously hold the line at $8.98 list by substituting flash cards for albums.

'The Buggies will leave Yes and be replaced by the Korgis.

5 YEARS AGO

Variety reports that the former Cher Bono Allman, Mrs. Cher Bono Allman Allman, the future Miss Cher Bono Allman, who is teaming up again this month with the former Mr. Sonny Bono, the ex, on another TV show this month, is ex pecting a baby in the spring. And is Sonny expecting Gregg or vice versa?

obsolete to this decade and be forced to remain in 1972 forever.

* Lips will remain in fashion. 'The Rolling Stones and the Grateful Dead actually will exchange names. "It was inevitable," sez spokesman.

*A crazed Alaskan will shoot ex-Hermit guitarist Lek. "I just never could stand the guy's name," claims killer.

'The Korgis will leave Yes and be replaced by a reformed Fink Lady.

* Fad of the yearsquatting on Ronco inside-the-egg-scramblers.

'CREEM cover stories of '81 will include Can The Now-Dead Heavy Metal Revival Be Revived?, Deader Than Dead: Revived Interest In The Twice-Dead Heavy Metal Revival and Dead, Dead, Dead, Heavy, Hpavy

Not To Touch The Bucks

LOS ANGELES—This month's necessarily brief interviewee is a propaganda stooge for Elektra records.

CREEM: Where ^does all the money from Jim Morrison's record and publishing royalties go?

STOOGE: Would you believe a high school principal and a retired admiral?

CREEM: Sure! I'd even believe a car repossesser and a female Harmonicat! A carpet installer and—

STOOGE(interrupts): Every

thing is split four ways between Jim's and his late wife's parents. CREEM: —a laundromat attendant! A professional bowler and—

STOOGE: Hey, Freddie, drag this dummy outta here, will ya? CREEM: —a Culligan Man! A love slave and an aluminum siding salesman! The inventor of electrolysis...

Rick Johnson

Metal, Re-revived, R.I.P., Redux.

* Still no Chiprpunks tour.

* Pink Lady will leave Yes and be replaced by Charo and Fred Travelena.

*Cher, Britt Ekland and Bebe Buell will be found dazed and confused, their heads having been thoroughly knocked together by an unseen force. President Baboon-Breath will declare a national day of googoo in their memory.

'The Osmonds and the McNichols will exchange teeth. 'And finally, Charo and Fred T. will leave Yes and be replaced by me and Dave DiMartino, who Will change the group's monicker to Lips Of The Dog.

Rick Johnson

JOHNSON "COMPLETE FAILURE" ASAMAN!

HI, my name is Lisa—and have I got a surprise for you I First of all, take a gander at the CREEM Reader Poll results! Then look under Rock Critic Of The Year! See a name? Right, Rick Johnson! I should know, 'cause I'm his only fan and I'm the one who bought 10,000 copies of the CREEM with the ballot in it and filled Rick's name In each categoryl Hey, Rick's the greatest, so when he invited me over to, uh, "share the glory," imagine how I felt when I found out the guy's only three feet tall 11 And UGLY!! So, ummm,anyway, I "took care of 'im," know what I mean? And he's In here I Bye!

All Power To The Winos!

SAN FRANCISCO—Whether it's psychedelic posters, those zany Zebra killers or just good ol' Blue Cheer, San Francisco has always been in the vanguard of American crawl. Now they're trying to do something for Our Great Nation's most misunderstood minority—winos.

With the full support of local businessmen and municipal authorities, a Methodist church group has established Wino Park near the city's scenic skid row area. Sporting attractive new features like wooden benches, bathroom facilities and galvanized iron sewer pipes for the colorful^gents to sleep in, the park is a big hit among the Bay Area's derelict set.

"This is the first time in years that most of us had anywhere we can call our own," says bum spokesman Weasel. "It doesn't look like muchbut it's home to us."

Along with all the modern conviences, the park also offers its guests a shiny new water fountain (that's never -been touched), all the dominoes they want and a bronze plaque honoring famous liver-picklers like W.C. Fields, Betty Ford and Janis Joplin. Exclusive company!

As for upkeep at the $100,000 project, the sots themselves have formed a bum's steering committee to keep the place neat 'n' tidy. Wouldn't you love to attend one of their meetings?

Rick Johnson

Shave It Or Leave It

LOS ANGELESWhen it comes to human anatomy, everybody's got their own favorite part. Many vote for the ass, some like chests, legs are always popular and me, well, I like the bottoms of toes. But there's one group that focuses all their attention on what's on top, or rather, what isn't.

Baldy freaks, in plain language. They think there's nothing sexier than a woman's head without a stitch of hair on it. Psychologists call them Tricophobics, but Bob Fitzgerald calls them subscribers.

Fitzgerald is the editor and founder of The Razor's Edge, a magazine devoted to the female scalp. After a shady birth as an eight-page pamphlet in 1977, the Edge is now a 56-page bimonthly featuring photos, drawings, stories, cartoons, poems and reviews of fuzzdome literature that sells for a cool $4.50.

Plain old Nair-nodes aren't enough for some of the readership. "I would like to see pictures of bald women well along in pregnancy," writes one fan. Others demand pix of B&D clippings, gang-shaves and the like. The most popular feature to date was a specail layout on the Manson girls (Hi Squeaky!) when they chopped off their locks as a protest.

"Some of our readers are sick," Bob understated. "Others simply admire the undeniable beauty of the shaved female head. " Either that, or they like to think of women's skulls as great, big kneecaps.

Rick Johnson

Hey There Little Insect

ST. LOUIS, MO—Scientists at the Sigma Chemical Corporation here claim that fireflies may provide mankind with the cheapest and most convenient method of detecting extraterrestial life.

According to the Sigma eggheads, fireflies are the earth's only source of two chemicals that light up in the presence of "ATP"—adenosine triphosphate, for all you recreational vehicle owners—which is a component of every living cell. They suggest letting a bunch of the critters loose on Mars, for example, and watching for that telltale glow .

Independent experiments on terra firma have so far seemed to verify the remarkable assertion in a negative sort of way. Hordes of healthy fireflies released during a Judas Priest recording session, a Bob Seger encore, and a public speech by Ronald Reagan failed to emit any light whatsoever. It is generally supposed that the likable insects will accompany Keith Richard on his next trip to Switzerland.

J.Kordosh