ROCK-A-RAMA
EVE MOON (Capitol):: Capitol may have signed her off the streets of New York but Moon�s years in the clubs probably had a bigger part in forming her heard-it-all-before rock style. She�s better at it than many, belting out healthy, hearty hard stuff like she means it (and she probably does), but there�s really nothing here to write home about...so I won�t.
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ROCK-A-RAMA
This month�s Rock-a Ramas were written by Richard Riegel, Michael Davis and Billy Altman.
EVE MOON (Capitol):: Capitol may have signed her off the streets of New York but Moon�s years in the clubs probably had a bigger part in forming her heard-it-all-before rock style. She�s better at it than many, belting out healthy, hearty hard stuff like she means it (and she probably does), but there�s really nothing here to write home about...so I won�t. M.D.
PLASTICS (Island) ::This record is so fantastic, lovers, I can barely talk about it, which is not surprising, as the Japanese hepcats who made it seem to speak better English than I do, as is. The Plastics are a brilliantly reconstituted sonic sizzlean of prime cuts from the B-52�s, James White, Iggy, Abba, etc., chopped fine & stir-fried up as per yer fave Jap steakhouse. Wildyslanteyed lyrics, in post-idiomatic American (as noted), sorta like the best rejects from Lou Reed�s wastebasket slashed up and reassembled by a yellqw-period Brion Gysin, plus functional one-word song titles (where applicable). File these rhythmic Hondamatics under �Worlddisco� if you gotta go (go now!) R.R.
THE DREGS—Unsung Heroes (Arista); SKY—Sky 3 (Arista):: Both these aggregations tend to consider themselves well above mere rock �n� roll, with the predictable result that their efforts fall far short of the real potentialities r�n�r contains. The Dregs, though sometimes fiddleheavy, are really not too bad (no better nor worse than most of the fusion that pays jazz�s bills these days), but Sky are another cup of pomposity. Classically-trained studio musicians whose concept of rock �n� roll seems to lie well to the right of Jethro Tull, Sky�s floppy classicisms are so terminally cutesy-poo (the guy with the tuba is beneath John Denver) that they probably get Hummel figures as groupies. You should definitely be wearing at least one item of Izod Lacoste while listening to either of these albums. R.R.
GOOD RATS—Great American Music (Great American); MODOT Wish I Could Dance Like Fred Astaire� (Deli Platters):: Fifteen years on in the Long Island Italorock Millenium, and the founding godfathers have come �round to doing unadulterated DOR?!? Sure, these discs sound super, the Good Rats are still the consciousness-raising bar band to end all bar bands, but I miss Peppie Marchello�s songs of wry Rastafarian anger and precocious rockworld envy, from back in his Ratcity In Blue period. Great American Music has too many tunes about how wonderful the constant tourgrind/ performance r�n�r lifestyle is—just because Greater New York City won�t let you guys outgrow your Favorite-Hometown-Band status, don�t go getting grateful on us, Peppi. I know that in your prima-salsa heart of hearts, you�re convinced that Grammified Christopher Cross sucks wimpturds, yeh? (Oh yeah, Modo are really �F. Vinci� and �D. Danelli,� late of the truncated-trilogy Fotomaker, & Danelli of course pounded the skins for the immortal Young Rascals in an even-more-previous lifetime. I.E., real Eye-talians, in spite of the sleeve pix of pomade-skulled Mr. Astaire.) R.R.
THE MIX—American Glue (Word of Mouth Records):: Stu Daye, Corky Laing and Felix Pappalardi go punk? Well, not quite, but this is just about the best power pop I�ve heard by any 70�s mainliners striving to be modem. A glittering update of Van Morrison�s �Glad Tidings� kicks off the album and all of Side One features neat, chiming guitars, hot stuff harmonies and hooksville choruses, especially �Forever� «nd �Love Gram� (the only thing missing on that one is Don Wilson picking up the phone to call Western Union). Side Two finds the band running out of ideas and hightailing it back to stomping grounds of yore, but hey, half of something is better than all of nothing. B.A.
MAX ROACH—M�Boom (Columbia):: Gee, all of a sudden it�s Back To Africa time and RHYTHM RULES. So it�s really neat that this album shows up now �cause it�s one of the most amazing mega-beat records ever. Roach here has organized a percussion ensemble that mixes twinkle tinkles with crash bashes in just the right proportions. The textural subtleties are exquisite and the rhythmic flow is irresistable but be forewarned: this record can spoil you. After prolonged exposure to M�Boom, I may never be able to listen to Steve Reich with a straight face again. M.D.
GET WET (Boardwalk):: Duo zanies promise instant crossover action on strength of their boffo update of Steve & Eydie marriage-encounter hijinx for the postdisco fuzzface 80�s. Except even better & more improved, �cause Get Wet�s �Sherri Beachfront� (F) does all the lead vocals, just as Ms. Gorme always believed in, thru all her years of upstaging wotzizkumquat. No problem for Ms. Beachfront, as her partner, �Zecca� (M), looks to be just another boyish Leo Sayer puppetwipe curlytop & twice as malleable. Shrill & trashy Levittown pop (yes!), sort of Laverne & Shirley Sing The Best Of Blondie, if you insist. Note to collectors: Liner gives thanks to one �Lou Reed.� R.R.
LEE CLAYTON—The Dream Goes On (Capitol):: A man in a white suit with a guitar, set in an alien dreamscape: the cover pictures Clayton as a perfect Cowboy Cliche. Which is weird because this is one down-to-earth dude, and a pissed-off one at that. His music as a hard-edged country-rock hybrid and the songs themselves are filled with angry remembrances and blunt details, cautions and challenges. Clayton wrote <lLadies Love Outlaws� in �72 so evidently he�s been around for awhile; it�s great to hear somebody whom age hasn�t mellowed a bit. M.D.
