CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

Robert Christgau

“JOHN ANDERSON” (Warner Bros.):: Maybe this isn’t the best country album of 1980, but I’ll take it over Willie Nelson’s supersessions, George Jones’s refurbished macho, and even Merle Haggard’s inspired revivalism. The songs fade on side two, but not since Hank Williams Jr. fell off his mountain and Gary Stewart fell off his barstool has anybody put so much vocal muscle into unadorned hard stuff. Convincer: Buddy Spicher’s fiddle break on the definitive “She Just Started Liking Cheatin’Songs.” B +

T-BONE BURNETT: “Truth Decay” (Takoma):: What does it mean when the best Christian record of 1980 is also the best rockabilly since Sam Phillips talked Jerry Lee Lewis into defaming the Pentecost. Burnett is equally comfortable with the (divine) “power of love” and a (fleshy) “love thafs hot,” so maybe something has happened to Christianity, too. But don’t take Pascal’s wager quite yet—not unless you believe that to be “in search of an historic Jesus” is to throw “a wooden nickel in a wishing well.” ACHANGE: “The Glow of Love” (Warner Bros./RFC):: “New and true and gay,” this gold album confirms disco’s continuing autonomy as a market and as a style. From the Rodgers-&-Edwards rip of “A Lover’s Holiday” to the good ole Giorgio Moroder of “The End,” here’s the complete bag of tricks. Luther Vandross’s best Teddy Pendergrass impressioft doesn’t redeem the militahtly escapist lyrics and probably isn’t meant to. But “It’s A Girl’s Affair,” sung by Jocelyn Shaw, is a soft-core treat—and spell that “Girls’” on your next printing please. B +

CHIC:“RealPeople” (Atlantic):: As on Sister Sledge’s follow-up, Rodgers & Edwards have run out of sure shots—no “Good Times” here. But Risque was more than “Good Times,” and this beats Risque. Jumpy, scintillating rhythms fuse .with elegantly abrasive textures for a funk that’s not light but sharp. Plus post-chic lyrics that go with the attention-grabbing heat and invention of Nile Rodger’s post-rock guitar. AER1C CLAPTON: “Just One Night” (RSO) :: Who needs another jive double? A master whose studio albums have been cited for unfair competition by the makers of Sominex, that’s who. All your AM and FM faves plus, served hot, raw, or both. B +

ALBERT COLLINS: “Frostbite” (Alligator) :: In it’s way, this is .as formulaic as a Linda Ronstadt album—pick good tunes, gather good musicians, identify good takes. But in blues the Good is simpler, more satisfying, and harder to come by than it is in superpop, and while I wouldn’t say Albert plays better than Linda sings, 1 wouldn’t argue if you did. Albert sings okay, too. B +

DEVO: “Freedom of Choice” (Warner Bros.):: Hey now, don’t blame me—1 insulted them every chance I got back when your roommate still thought they might be Important. But now that that’s taken care of itself we can all afford to giggle. Robot satire indeed—if they ever teach a rhythm box to get funky, a Mothersbaugh will be there to plug it in. B +

JOE ELY: “Live Shots” (MCA import):: Ely’s not the first American whose live album went unreleased here—about a' thousand jazz and blues guys beat him to it. But With Ely (as with the Ramones) the tarriff is doubly annoying, because even prime material acutely performed sounds a little redundant in an artist whose fundamental is songs. Still, this really is prime and acute, and let’s hope he rides the Clash’s tailwind right into downtown Lubbock. B +

MERLE HAGGARD: “The Way I Am” (MCA) ::'4‘Wake Up,” a devastating final-night plea that*s one of Haggard’s few great love songs, is the only original that transcends his usual poses, with “Sky-Bo”—“That’s a new kind of hobo for planes”—the most cloying offender. But Haggard’s chief value has been vocal since “Okie From Muskogee” saddled him with as image, and here his resonant, reflective baritone transforms three Ernest Tubb tunes from standards into timeless pieces of Americana. If Willie Nelson is Bing Crosby, Haggard’s Sinatra. B +

JIM1 HENDRIX: “Nine to the Universe” (Reprise):: With posthumous Hendrix it*s always best to concentrate on the improvisations as if he were a jazz musician, and these relaxed jams are his jazziest contexts to date. Unfortunately, at least in theory, the only jazz player on hand is organist Larry Young, who got pretty far out with Miles and McLaughlin but sounds like Jimmy Smith over the Billy Cox-Mitch Mitchell beat. So the greatest electric guitarist in the world stretches out in a style where the compression of structure might force him to think harder and faster. Bracing progressive R&B, but no more. B +

ALBERTA HUNTER: “Amtrak Bines” (Columbia):: After the bland Remember My Name soundtrack, John Hammond’s gem is a blessing—it would have been tragic if the rebirth of this 84-year-old wonder of nature and history, easily the most authoritative classic blues singer alive' had been documented only in print. A hot rhythm section, anchored by pianist Gerald Cook and jazzed up by hornmen Vic Dickenson, Doc Cheatham, and Frank Wess, pitches in with undeniable verve on material from “The Darktown Strutters’ Ball” to “Always” to several worthy Hunter originals. Timing and intonation are as savvy as you’d figure, and though the voice isn’t quite as full as it must have been, it packs an amazing wallop—when Hunter gloats about getting her butter churned the memory sounds fresh, like maybe the dairy man poked his head in that morning. More good news—she’ll be back in the studio with Hammond soon.A

MICHAEL HURLEY: “Snockgrass” (Rounder):: More songs about dying and food— and rambling—from the old-timey existentialist, whose oblique wail recalls both Jerry Garcia and John Prine because all three are more obsessed with mountain vocal styles than most mountain vocal stylists. “Jole’ Blon,” “Tia Marie,” and a few others are more or less what you’d expect, but if you ever expected “You Gonna Look Like A Monkey” or “I Heard The Voice Of A Porkchop,”you’retwouponme. A-

THE JACKSONS: “Triumph” (Epic):: More cluttered than Off The Wall, partly because Michael’s brothers are butting in, partly because Quincy Jones isn’t. But most of the clutter is sheer, joyous muscle-flexing—hated the chorale that opens “Can You Feel If’ at first, but now I chuckle at their audacity every time it comes on. Anyway, you know about solo albums—the songs do improve when the group butts in. And you can dance to them. In short, their best.A “ROBIN LANE & THE CHARTBUSTERS” (Warner Bros.):: Formally, this is a reactionary, from Lane’s chesty melismas to the band’s fakebook licks, and the songs go on too long. But every one catches, and despite Lane’s lady-macho stage moves her lyrics seem felt in what I can only call a progressive way—autonomous but not anomic or selfish, compassionate but not infinitely long-suffering. B +

ANDY FAIRWEATHER LOW: “Mog«Shebang” (Warner Bros.):: When I heard the funky forcebeat of “Night Time DJuke-ing” I was delighted—sounded like the man had invented DOR all on his own, and in Wales yet. But as I perused the lyrics I began to suspect that his heart—a concept that in Low always includes the mind—wasn’t entirely committed. Good fun from an artist who’s capable of the best. B +

LPJE: “Live at the Montreux Jazz Festival 1980” (Latin Percussion Ventures, Inc.,)

:: Begin with Tito Puente on timbales and Patato Valdez on congas. Add three dedicated young improvisors, making sure that at least one is as snazzy as electric violinist Alfredo De La Fe. Let them play what they want. Presto—pure polyrhythm rules. Try it. Address: 160 Belmont Avenue, Garfield, Ne Jersey 07026. A-

THE SUBURBS: In Combo” (Twin/Tone)::

I know it’s endearing amateurism that makes middle America’s new wave tick, but these Minnesotans think clockwork is fun—their music is glibly witty, even decelerating into a mournful country-rock triad to make a joke. Their scattershot, nasty-to-nutball humor is oblique or tougue-in-cheek enough to convey an undercurrent of empathy most of the time. And when they’re comparing cows’ feet to those of sheep, not much empathy is required. Address: 445 Oliver Avenue South, Minneapolis, Minnesota 55405. A-

THE UNDERTONES: “Hypnotized” (Sire)

:; From the opening chorus—“Here’s more songs about chocolate and girls/It’s not so easy knowing they’ll be heard”—the good-kids-ofthe-year are as honest as power pop (remember power pop?) ever gets. They’re also as powerful, which I bet has something to do with why they’re so honest. The improved melodies have something to do with why it’s not so easy any more.A-

“WANNA BUY A BRIDGE?” (Rough Trade)

:: Rough Trade has become the biggest British post-punk indie by (or at least while) brooking no compromise politically or aesthetically. Politically this has led to idiot rant like the Pop Group’s “We Are All Prostitutes”; aesthetically it’s meant rapproachments with incorrigible art-rockers like Mayo Thompson and Robert Wyatt as well as the diddle-prone experiments of Young Marble Giants, the Raincoats, Essential Logic, and Cabaret Voltaire. But it’s also provided such classic punk protest as Spizz Energi’s “Soldier Soldier” and Stiff Little Fingers’ “Alternative Ulster,” and none of the above-named diddlers would have been taken aboard without a surefire tune or two in their packet. Hence this superb 14-single compilation, Rough Trade’s first U.S.

LP. Kleenex’s “Ain’t You” and Delta 5’s “Mind Your Own Business," two of the finest post-punk 45s, do help. As do Scritti Politti’s arty, political, hypnotic “Skank Bloc Bologna” and “At Last I Am Free,” by none other than Robert Wyatt. A