ROCK • A • RAMA

ROCK •A• RAMA

This month’s Rock-a-ramas were written by Michael Davis, Billy Altman, and Richard Riegel.

IRAKERE—Chekere Son (Milestone):: This is the first U.S. release of an album recorded in Havana, then mixed and originally released in Tokyo (?). Irakere were the big noise out of Cuba a couple of years back and the first cuts on each side of this record demonstrate why. “Chekere Son” shows where Santana might have gone if they’d follow Miles Davis’s lead a little more closely, while “La Comparsa” is Latin fusion at its finest: strong themes, hot rhythms and hotter soloists, particularly guitarist Carlos Emilio Morales who could teach that other Carlos a thing or two about getting around a fretboard. Unfortunately, the other tunes are vocal-based Cuban pop: not bad, just not my cup of beans. Still, that’s one half of a hell of.. .or is that one hell of a half of an album. Something like that. M.D.

ALAN VEGA—Collision Drive (Celluloid/ Ze):: While Vega’s mentally-left-wing-physically-right-wing-religious-cowboy-outlaw stance remains one humongous philosophical stampede on this, his second album, there’s no denying that the combination of deranged Durango Kid yodelling over minimalistic rockabilly cactus juice instrumentation sure makes for fascinating listening. We have here, among other chuck wagon delights, the first good cover I’ve ever heard of “Be Bop A Lula,” as Vega mangles the melody line while the band negotiates an unholy merger between the themes from Peter Gunn and Batman, and a re-make of the old Suicide staple, “Ghost Rider,” good enough to base an episode of Night Stalker on. I must admit, though, that I still have a hard time with Vega’s penchant for extended coyote moans of existential angst—“Viet Vet” is everything you’d hope it wouldn’t be, and more...namely, “Frankie (more of the night he came home) Teardrop II.” B.A.

NOEL AND THE RED WEDGE-Peer Pressure (Scotti Bros.):: What hath Pat Benatar wrought, but more and more of these strong, strident type lady vocalists, popping up on every label under the red sun? Bio promises Noel’s a native Cajun, but I bet Gov. Huey Long claimed that when he was trying to crack the hit parade, too. Lotsa pig-squeal synthesizers, somebody’s seen to the requisite beats-per-minute, and Noel’s vocals are as pointy as her chin. Could get real tired of this if the radio programmers give it the go-ahead, but for now it’s bearable novelty gizmo whatzis filler rock. Plus the provocotrashy-arty cover graphics of the month, worth a second glance alone in the bargain bins someday. R.R.

SUSAN LYNCH-Big Reward (Johnston):: Wanna know just how desperate the record company judges of the Pat Benatar Soundalike Sweepstakes are getting? Ms. Lynch’s debut album (her major pre-contract credit seems to be that she ran away from home at age 15) has exactly one halfway decent song which, interestingly enough, sounds totally of a different lifeform than the rest of the LP. “That Love” has Spectorian production, an okay on/off switch relationship plotline, and a neat 12 string Rickenbacker. Everything else smacks of “I’m short, dark and cute and can sing good, wanna have sex?”, object-ivity, best expressed in the Lynch original “Drive Me,” which states (and I quote verbatim): “With my rack and pinions baby, I won’t steer you wrong...Shift my gears and maybe you can sit inside.” Sit? Oh, well, just remember what Iggy had to say about trucks and things on Metallic K. O. B.A.

VARIOUS ARTISTS—Punk And Disorderly (Posh Boy):: Even little regional/stylisticprice independent labels get Phil Walden-megalomaniac urges to become full-spectrum record companies every now and again, and L.A.’s spunky Posh Boy, home of much of that city’s amazingly complex underground hardcore scene, is no exception. Posh Boy’s leased this compilation of (English but of course they’re all) punk bands.from the U.K.’s Abstract Records, as a hedge against future changes of xenophobia. ’Course there is a token Yank track, the Dead Kennedys slowed down so much you may not even recognize our God’s-Country lingo, but mostly this one belongs to the Limeys. Good cracked-mood, economic-depression mood music, every song (even the ones where you can’t understand the lyrics) protesting another injustice or two. Gimme more of the Vice Squad, they sound here like a transsexualized Clash (wotta concept!). R.R.

CLARKE, COREA, HENDERSON, HUBBARD, WHITE-The Griffith Park Collection (Elektra/Musician):: The personnel here may include 3/4 of Return To Forever but this is anything but a fusion reunion. Basically, it’s a return to the spontaneous blowing dates of the 60’s, when well-grounded musicians, including Henderson and Hubbard, explored the potentially treacherous ground between the hard bop mainstream and the avant-garde. As expected, the hornsmen sound comfortable and occasionally inspired but the rhythm section stumbles occasionally; Lenny White sounds a lot stronger emulating Tony Williams on “Guernica” than he does playing brushes on the previous track. Corea’s concentration on acoustic piano of late yields fine results—he seems to be consciously re-investigating his roots these days. In short, although this may not be the “classic” producer White claims, it’s highly listenable and, given the decreasing availability of 60’s Blue Notes, it’s valuable as well. M.D.

JIMMY HALL—Cadillac Tracks (Epic):: Ex-Wet Willie vocalist Hall goes for a more diversified approach on his second solo disc, and comes up with a more uneven album than his Touch You debut. Hall has a subtle taut crisp R&B voice, and he delivers excellent Southern soul goods when he applies it to the worthiest material. The Hall co-penned title track here is great, almost Van Morrisonish in its moony jazzy urgency, and so is his reading of Joe Tex’s “I Want To (Do Everything For You),” but elsewhere there are far too brazen attempts to cash in stock DOR chips, as by covering Leo Sayer songs. (Leo Sayer! Jeez, Jimmy, twits may or may not bring you groceries, but you were Bama-born knowing more than he ever will. Keep on smilin’ in yer own language.) R.R.

GORDON LIGHTFOOT-Shadows (Warner Bros.):: Look, the gang at SCTV has been doing more than its fair share to keep good ole Gordo’s star shining bright (all together now— “Billy, ma Billy boyyyyyy...”), but we’ve gotta start picking up our end of the deal. I mean, his own darned record company doesn’t seem to care anymore. Just look at that cover! Gorderoo’s face is all blurry on the front, and on the back he’s merely an insert, and a paunchy one at that. Now, is that fair, especially for one neat guy who still writes great lyrics like “All I’m after is to be the flame in your tattoo” and “a tuna fish turned to a mermaid in bed and said, ‘there goes another sandbar’ ”? You bet it ain’t. So go out RIGHT NOW and buy this album. And if you can’t find it, then buy any one of his forty-seven others instead, since they all sound just like this one anyway. Testify to your faith in the power of Gordie who will, after all, Someday be the Slim Whitman of his time. B.A.

CHARLIE MIDNIGHT-Innocent Bystander (Columbia/Decent):: Mr. Midnight’s biceps are worthy of John Cougar, and sometimes his pumped-iron vocals aren’t real far off, either. Or maybe he sounds more like if Bob Seger’d been reared in the doowop reaches of Queens, and had been sticking pasta-engorged spikes into his veins from early adolescence. Either way Midnight’s reputedly a survivor of gang wars, now he’s a precociously aware, reformed-hood musclebound hunk (quotes Jerzy Kosinski when cornered), and his album features the usual macho-rock lyrics, redeemed somewhat by Midnight’s manly vocals. (Nobody asked so I won’t mention that Charlie’s signed to Billy Joel’s wife’s label & that he never once removes his deep dark shades, neither on jacket nor liner.) R.R.