ROCK • A • RAMA

ROCK-A-RAMA

This month’s Rock-A-Ramas were written by Richard C. Walls, Richard Riegel, J. Kordosh and Rob Patterson.

THELONIUS MONK—April In Paris (Milestone):: This live two-fer recorded in Paris in April ’61, has the weirdest format...after a solid first side consisting of long and short pieces by quartet and solo piano, each of the three remaining sides features two Monk standards clocking in at circa 10 minutes apiece, all six cuts having the identical solo line up—tenor saxist Charlie Rouse, Monk, and walking bass solo by John Ore, a longish one on the traps by Frankie Dunlop. The monotony produced by this approach makes the album difficult to listen to in one sitting—and why the Parisian audience didn’t riot, or at least mumble ominously (“Mon Dieu, Francois, again he walks the bass!”), is a mystery. Too bad too, because this group, with Rouse’s pragmatic post-bop style and Dunlop’s whimsical accompanying accents, was Monk’s finest (Check out “Monk’s Dream” and “CrissCross,” still available on Columbia...) R.C.W.

THE CROWD-A World Apart (PoshBoy) ::Like Gene Sculatti told, you last month, only New York really believes punk is dead; the critter continues to rage unabated in every other corner of the States, including urban hip-renewal (must have something to do with the States, revival) L A. The Crowd hail from there, and they combine punk energy with strident brains in a way the tarnished Devo could’ve,! if they’d really believed in art as much as they thought they did. But no keyboards in this lonely Crowd, just scads of aggressively sour guitars & youwanna-make-nothin’-of-it? lyrics, music that’s manic arid droning simultaneously. The Music Machine’s L.A.-anthemic “Talk Talk” updated into the Crowd’s “Can’t (can’t) Talk (talk)”, 15 yrs. bn. Plus real 60’s cover art: vibrant colors; candid white sox, found industrial waste. The Crowd are nervous clatter stars for yer 80’s!R.R. ROGER WHITTAKER—The Last Fare* well And Other Hits (RCA):: A truly honest greatest hits package—10 whole songs, each one practically different—this LP is almost as indispensible as Marty Robbins’ Gunfighter Songs And Other Trail Ballads. I said almost. WHAT other hits, Rog?? J.K.

JACK DEJOHNETTE’S SPECIAL EDITION—Tin Can Alley (ECM):: This isn’t quite as wonderful as last year’s edition—Arthur Blythe and David Murray are out, Chico Freeman and John Purcell are in, and though they are both fine musicians (Purcell is a real find on baritone sax) neither of them has the striking persohality of a Blythe or a Murray. Also, the variety .of compositional approaches utilized seems too calculated to be convincing while the ultra-clean production values are somewhat distancing. Aside from that there’s a seamless proficiency on display here, very impressive, and “Pastel Rhapsody” is as attractive’ as “I Know,” which sounds like a sfripper’s band decompressing after a hard night of “Night Train”-ing, is silly. Overall, slick, but often sincere. Which is a recommendation. R.C.W.

SOCIAL CLIMBERS (Gulcher):: You figure this out. The Social Climbers’ set is a true record album as> these things went back in the 40’s: three individual EP discs which add up to nine songs total. Problem is that the respective platters, though they’re seven-inchers with big hfeles, play at 33V3 rpm. Or do they? Labels don’t say, and with this arty drone-modal stuff, you can never be too sure. 1 was all set to like the Social Climbers, as their figurehead’s the selfsame Mark Bingham who1 produced all those fine MX-80 Sound discs, and 1 think I’m beginning to warm up to these toons (plenty of organ burble and obscuro lyrics—“Those Star Trek eyes beaming down on Tne”—1 got that much outta “That’s Why”), but the technological hassles of cueing' up this set have already exhausted your 15 minutes of Rama fame, Climbers. R.R.

HAL GALPER—Ivory Forest (Inner City):: Galper is an exceptionally fine modern jazz pianist and composer, which may not be recommendation enough for some, but consider also the presence here of the unjustly neglected guitarist John Scofield—at the time when flashy fusionists are still being perceived as baaaad guitarists by many, Scofield’s status as a musician only a critic could love seems especially unfair. After bearing him unravel his own heartfelt fusion of jazz, blues, and unexpected rock on the Galper originals “My Dog Spot” and “Rapunzel’s Luncheonette” how could you. ever be satisfied again with yet another technically adept but emotionally hollow display of chops? A1 DiMeola, eat your fretboard... R.C.W.

MISTER ROGERS-Won’t You Be My Neighbor? (Mr. Pickwick):: Possibly the only LP in all of LP-dom that actually lists psychological consultants in the liner notes, no collection is complete with this slice of the Fred Rogers Experience. You don’t believe me? Straight from the same liner: “Very young children sometimes hear older brothers and sisters singing complicated songs which they just can learn yet.” Not coincidentally, none of the songs were written by anyone in 1980, Although the song titles might get Ray Davies drooling (“Everybody’s Fancy,” “Some Things I Don’t Understand,” “Sometimes People Are Good”), only Fred could talk his way through this one! Incredible bonus: engineered by Glen Campbell!! Buy, buy, buy!! J.K.

VARIOUS ARTISTS-5 Birds And A Monk (Galaxy):: The premise here is that six saxophonists pick a favorite bebop tune (five chose a Charlie Parker composition, one a Monk) and, singly, record it with the current Galaxy house trio—Stanley Cowell,; piano; Cecil McBee, or John Heard, bass; Roy Haynes, drums. Predictably the results are mixed; but as a sampler of modern saxophone styles it’s pretty , good. Highlights; John Klemmer doing a berserk dissection of Monk’s‘“Round Midnight,” * venting some of that frustration he no doubt built up while making all those lame mood albums for ABC and Elektra; and Joe Henderson ripping thru a version of “Relaxin’ At Camarillo” that’s anything but. Relaxin’ that is. Also starring Johnny Griffith, Joe Farrell, Art Pepper, and Harold Land. R.C.W.

RENALDO AND THE LOAF-Songs For Swinging Larvae (Ralph):: “Bouzouki, Flocdrum, Glockenspiel, Bamboo, Prepared Guitar, Hacksaw Blade” is n partial list of the axes employed in recording this album, and I believe that I coulda gotten more actual music (whatever that is) out of driving a U-Haul truck through a hardware store window. At least that would’ve had some progression & purpose to it. I’m All for bringing.in odd sounds, but the music’? drive has to be priority. Instead, these jazzbos just want to show off how many weird instruments they learned how to pluck while waiting for their rich folks’ bequests to get ’em off the streets for good. Remember what I told your noxious label-mates the Residents, Renaldo; Cuteness is1 its own reward. R.R.

THE CROSSFIRES-Out off Control (Rhi no):: Compared to most of the sludge that gets dredged up from a famous band’s history, this collection of pre-Turtles material is like manna from heaven. Usually prehistoric tapes reveal barely nascent style, but the Crossfires had almost too many styles, and were odd as hell to boot. Among a number of live and studio surf instrumentals that unearth the Turtles’ roots and budding weirdness, there’s flat-out old rock ’n’ roll (“That’ll Be The Day” and “Justine”), fullblown Volman and Kaylan insanity (“Livin’ Doll,” a demented-by-television-consciousness Christmas song), and a taste of what would become the commercial Turtles sound, both bad (“One Potato Two Potato” is such a pitiful attempt at the “game song” theme that you die laughing) and quite good (“Stay Around”), it makes you wish that these guys’ strange proclivities weren’t so glossed over during the Turtles’ successful years, although it’s rumored that Flo and Eddie are also rehearsing hotel-room tapes of “The Rhythm Butchers” from their golden age of schizophrenia. Alright now, everybody sing: “I’m Chief Kamanawanalea...” R.P.

JOHN CLARK-Faces (ECM):: The idea of an album featuring french horn, particularly one on ECM, may not seem too promising—one can readily imagine the instrument’s soporific sonorities being sucked thru Manfred Eicher’s patented black hole and emerging as so much Norwegian ice—but it ain’t quite that way. Clark’s wholly competent improvs and interesting compositions, combined with the instrumentation of f. horn, vibes or marimba, cello, and drums makes for a unique sounding album—gracefully swinging, at times surprisingly affecting, and only occasionally dainty. R.C.W.