ROCK • A • RAMA

FINGERPRINTZ-Distinguishing Marks (Virgin):: This talented outfit had the misfortune to release their second album just after the Records blew the whistle on Virgin for lack of company support and just before the label came out with their big 'We support all our artists as long as they're XTC' blurb in the trades. Too bad this excellent disc got lost in the blooey, as if s crammed with highly addictive tunes ideal for turning your stereo into a dance machine or a soundtrack for cod stomping. R.J.

This month s Rock-A-Ramas were ibritten by Ranger Rick Johnson, Richard C. Walls, Richard Riegel and Lincoln D. Kirk.

GROVER WASHINGTON JR.—Winelight (Elektra):: The only news here is that Washington hasn't gotten any worse—he remains one of the most palatable of the jazz lightweights, unabashedly commercial and tastefully funky. Superior mood music, if you can abide that sort of thing. R.C.W.

STEVE GIBBONS BAND-Street Parade (Polydor):: Who knows what 'pub rock' means, when the sun hardly shines its ass on 'punk' any longer? But maybe 'pub rock' is as close as we can get to grabbing hold of the persistently different music of the Steve. Gibbons Band, pop crafted with a devil-take-the-hindquarters electicism as intelligent as the Clash's. Steve Gibbons was making what he now wryly calls 'British Rock 'n' Roll,' before the Beatles came, but two decades later he still hasn't made enough payments into fame's coffers to qualify for the enshrined-has been pensioner status of so many of his U. K. contemporaries (and juniors). Gibbons' roots have undoubtedly been gnawing away at him all these years, and he gives them their due in Street Parade, a semi-concept album about late-50's British rockabilly life, a scene as promising as it musf ve been bleak. The music here includes bits of skiffle, R&B, hard rock, calypso, jazz, whatever feels right (and nearly every second does), with Gibbons himself in fine form, the perpetually crotchety leer of his vocals undiminished, his gift for those hugely inevitable lyric moments no one else seems to discover—'He had a steerifig column down his trousers'—as provocative as ever. R.R. ARCHIE SHEPP-The Dedication Series /Vol. XVIII Farther Fire Music (Impulse) :: This re-issue first appeared in '78 but I recently picked it up for $2.48 at a particularly scuzzy grocery store run by inscrutable Iraqui immigrants (it's always nice, and a little strange, to find avant-garde jazz records next to the Bic pen and Bubble Yum displays). Anyway, a lot of the Impulse Dedication Series is popping up now in the bargain bins and this one is an especial buy—a two-jrecord set of '65 sides culled from the Impulse albums Fire Music, New Thing At Newport, and On This Night. And altho the brilliance of Shepp the arranger is missing (and missed) on these trio and quartet cuts, the fluency and power of his improvs, ranging from fiery tour-de-forces to an almost surreal romanticism, make this a riveting sampler of one of the most cogently dramatic of modem players. R.C.W.

CLIFF RICHARDS-I'm No Hero (EMIAmerica):: Your friends and neighbors will giggle and point you out on the street if they find out you like this record. But hey—this is some real good pop poop with melodies that suddenly appear in your brain at unpredictable times, like say 3:15 a.m. Do like me and just don't tell anybody. R.J. VARIOUS ARTISTS-The Trombone Album (Savoy):: This is the latest in Savoy's series of re-issues devoted to particular instruments and possibly the last—now that executive producer Steve Backer had left the Arista fold, the future of the label's two jazz outlets, Savoy and Arista Novus, are in jeopardy. Dark days indeed. Meanwhile, this album, like the previous piano, trumpet, and tenor sax collections, isn't really definitive but it is enlightening (thanks to John Litweiler's artfully erudite liner notes) and entertaining. Highlights: A messenger-ish sextet led notes) and entertaining. Highlights: A messenger-ish sextet led by Curtis Fuller (from '60) with Yusef Lateef and Lee Morgan in ace form, four wildman cuts from '52 featuring the late Frank Rosolino and four from '57 spotlighting Bill Harris' expansive playfulness. R.C.W.

HITMEN—Aim For The Feet (Columbia):: Quintet's debut album is uneven, but not enough that it should be considered spotty. Clutch Hitman £ete Glenister demonstrates that he's way ahead of the pack in the composing dept., a genuine could-be major songwriter. Lead singer can be irritating, as material is far stronger than his vocals. Pete, why don't you just dissolve this project and go be a star like Tom Petersson did! R. J. HIROSHIMA—Odori (Arista):: Hiroshima walks a fine line between MOR disco and exotic pop, occasionally slipping over entirely to one side or the other.. .the ethnic touches, and appreciated but basically this is a slick band of pros making blandly pretty pop. So sorry. R.C.W. HUMAN SEXUAL RESPONSE-Figure 14 (Passport):: Behind the intriguing name and suitable-for-framing cover lies a sorry coven of inept dumdums trying hard to be a dognik dance band. Terrible performance gels neatly with shoddy, Nervous Eaters-level material. May have trash appeal to an extreme minority of feebs. R.J.

CHARLIE PARKER-One Night In Chicago (Savoy):: The recording quality is abysmal on this live '50 date (except for Parker who comes across as fierce and brilliant as ever) with the rhythm section almost totally burried under the niosy nightclub sounds, the whole thing having been filtered thru a cheap stone-age tape recorder. Rabid Bird completists should dig it, as well as jaded collector types, but the curious and the innocent are referred to Bird/The Savoy Recordings (Master Takes). R.C.W.

THE JOHNNY AVERAGE BAND-Some People (Bearsville):: Us mortals have always wondered what that groovy Grossman gang did to pass those long winter nights up in Bearsville (besides organizing next summer's archaeological digs beneath Dylan's old cave floors), but evidently they've spent their recent months thinking up the Johnny Average Band. Mr. Average, you see, claims to be a native-born Limey, but his Upstate-New Yorker-crawling-to-the-U.K. approach to pop shows how deeply he's fallen into the customs of the new world. Country rock (immigrant Johnny took Bearsville's dogma for that) lurks beneath everything his band does, but he manfully reclaims most of his birthright by synthesizing the dread c/r with ska and (vaguely) 'new wave'. And the post-D. Harry vocal come-ons of John'§ lady Nikki Wills don't hurt a bit. Worthwhile-enough moderne pop for discerning adults who wouldn't be caught dead admiring the 'sophomorics' of the Clash. The name says it all.

R.R.

STEVE KHANs-Evidence (Arista Novus):: This is a change of pace set for fusion guitarist Khan, a solo acoustic feature with one side of post-Bird semi-standards (and Randy Brecker original) and one side of Monk music. The semistandard side is pleasant and Khan's choice of songs (including Lee Morgan's 'Melancholee' and Horace Silver's 'Peace') is hip but the real interest lies with the 9-tuned Monk medley—the pianist's rhythmic archness doesn't always survive these solo guitar interpretations but 'Pannonica' is actually enhanced by a reflective treatment and Khan's various approaches to the melodies are, if not inspired, consistently clever.

R.C.W.

THE CLAP-Catch The Clap (Kleen Kut):: For Chrissake! These unregenerate heathens have the gall to insult Our Sweet Lord with a sacrilegious hymn entitled 'Disco Jesus.' They'll most likely sweat it out for eternity for depicting the Savior in skin-tight bulging slacks. A few centuries in purgatory is too good for anyone who'd write a line like 'Ya oughta see Him do the hustle! Up on that funky cross.' Zounds! (Look up the derivation of that word sometime.) Not only that 'dance, dance Disco Jesus' the ultimate in contemporary blasphemy, it's a note-perfect sendup of Gregorian dance-music—'Kyrie (thump, thump) /Kyrie Elei-ei-ei-ei-ei-son (thump, thump, thump).' Too bad the other four cuts on this 7-incher (including an effective harmonic alteration of 'All Day And All Of The Night,' apparently the Clap don't find Ray Davies anywhere near as inspiring as ol' J.C.) are so ho-hum. I guess they blew all their creative energy and what little talent they have on one masterpiece, then tossed the rest together in a hurry. So what? It's worth donating your title to Kleen Kut Records, P.O. Box 253, Teaneck, NJ 07666 for 'Disco Jesus' alone. Check out the last three numbers of that zip code, o ye seekers of symbolism.

L.D.K.