THE CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

THE CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

DEPARTMENTS

by Robert Christgau

KING SUNNY ADE AND HIS AFRICAN BEATS: "Juju Music" (Mango):: The Message, the unavailable-in-the-U.S. Nigerian LP that preceded this made-forexport overview conceptually, actually comes closer to pop—it's brighter, edgier, more tuneful. The music here is all flowing undulation; even the experimental synthesizer interjections, while recalling the startling syndrums of great disco, seem somehow rubberized, springing suddenly outward and then receding back into the slipstream. It's almost as if Chris Blackwell, aware that it was absurd to think AOR, aimed instead for a kind of ambient folk music that would unite amateur ethnomusicologists, Byrne-Eno new wavers, reggae fans, and hip dentists, just for starters. But never fear—not only do these confident, magical, surpassingly gentle polyrhythms obviate the organic and the electronic, the local and the universal, they also make hash of distinctions between background and foreground. I can imagine somebody not loving Sunny Ade; I can't imagine somebody disliking him. A +

PAUL CARRACK: "Suburban Voodoo" (Epic):: These songs are catchy and apt ("Don't want no washed-up dishes soft-soaping me," eh?), and unlike his pop mentors in Squeeze (he was on board for East Side Story) and Noise To Go (bandmate Nick Lowe produced and helped compose), Carrack seems to Mean It—he's soulful in the manner of somebody like Allan Clarke (of the Hollies, how could you forget?). In fact, I bet his sincerity is the envy of his compulsively ironic coworkers. Unfortunately, it leaves me wondering whether he's a con man or just a little simple-minded—musically and every other way he's too straight-forward to cover all the angles. B

JOE COCKER: "Sheffield Steel" (Island):: No, his voice isn't shot, though it's certainly lost a lot of soft edges and warm crannies—a lot of phlegm. Doesn't matter because the decline of El Lay means there are more good songs lying around than at any time since Cocker and Three Dog Night invented interpretive rock way back when. And Sly & Robbie's loud, fast Memphisbeat is the toughest backup of his life. B +

ELVIS COSTELLO AND THE ATTRACTIONS: "Imperial Bedroom" (Columbia):: I admit it—I love the lyric sheet. Helps me pay attention, though not always, and persuades me absolutely that "The Long Honeymoon" and "Kid About It" are as great as songwriting ever gets. But it also shores up my impression that he can be precious. lyrically, vocally, and musically and gnomic for no reason at all— in short, pretentious. And while I'm glad he's got soul, too often he invests emotion in turns of phrase he should play cool. B + THE CURE: "Pornography" (A&M):: "In books/And films/And in life/And in heaven/The sound of slaughter/As your body turns..."—no, I can't go on. I mean, why so glum, chum? Cheer up; look on the bright side. You got your contract, right? And your synthesizers, bet you'll have fun with them. Believe me, kid, it will pass. C +

ARETHA FRANKLIN: "Jump To It" (Arista):: Luther Vandross is a great singer, and he's gotten a great singer's album out of Aretha. But he's not a great songwriter, and great singers do their greatest work with great songs. Sometimes great singers don't even know what a great song is, which is why we get to hear Aretha performing artificial respiration on Sam Dee's "If She Don't Want Your Lovin'" and the Isleys' hoary "It's Your Thing." And sometimes great singers are also great songwriters, which is why Aretha and Luther thank their stars for Smokey's "Just My Daydream. " B +

"GENIUS OF RAP" (Island import):: Even granting Sugarhill's unavailability, this compilation of six minor hits (plus bonus do-it-yourself 12-inch) could be badder. Why T-Ski Valley rather than Count Coolout or Love Bug Star-Ski? Why no Brother D.? Why the hell no Treacherous Three? Indeed, I filed three of these selections away unremarked simply because they weren't worth four bucks. That said, it's my pleasure to add that two of them—Afrika Bambaataa's "Jazzy Sensation" and Bon Rock & the Rhythem Rebellion's "Searching Rap"—are definitely Flash's "Superappin'," an absolutely classic James Brown rip that more than makes up for Lenny White's "Twennynine (The Rap)" (why no Mel Brooks?). The Sugarhill best-ofs are still where to catch up. But once you're hooked you'll want this too. B +

GO-GO'S: "Vacation" (I.R.S.):: Bizzers will no . doubt rend their overpriced garments when this fails to follow Beauty And The Beat into Platinum City, but all its failure will prove is that you can't build a wall of sound (much less an empire) out of tissue paper. The uniform thinness of the non-Kathy Valentine songs here does clear up the mystery of why virtual nonwriter Belinda Carlisle gets to play front-woman —her voice fits the image. B-

AL GREEN "Precious Lord" (Hi/ Myrrh):: Couldn't figure out why I found myself basically unmoved by this exquisitely sung collection of hymns, four of them familiar to me since my days in the First Presbyterian Church of Flushing. Then I realized that the Memphis groove of Al's first two Myrrh albums had somehow turned into rote tent-gospel timekeeping. Then I read the back of the album and learned that it was cut in Nashville, with all that implies. Which may also be why I know the material from First Pres. Going "Sacred" on us, Al? Crossing over on the other side? How great who art? B

TED HAWKINS: "Watch Your Step" (Rounder):: Cut 10 years ago by a street musician and jailbird who sings like Sam Cooke and strums acoustic guitar like Bob Dylan, these 14 songs—especially the four backed by Phillip Walker's humdrum blues band—wouldn't have seemed so remarkable had they been released back then, in the late soul era. But they are remarkable, because Hawkins is a true folkie hero, by which I mean that his lyrics are his own. These little dramas of passion, tenderness, *and betrayal are stamped unmistakably with the felt sin-and-redemption of a lived life. And if the musical conception is excessively elementary, the singing is distinctive—derivative or*not, the voice is expressive and earned. A-

BONNIE HAYES WITH THE WILD COMBO: "Good Clean Fan" (Slash):: "They got a word for girls like me," she begins, and don't go guessing "pop-tart" just because she never lets on what it is. Though she hides her "penchant for the printed" page behind arrangements that are "dum fun" and a guitarist who digs Larry Carlton, she comes off smarter, surer, and more sisterly than just about any new rock 'n' roll woman I can think of. After all, a girl who can seduce Larry Carlton into dum fun is working on a lotta levels. A-

"BILLY IDOL" (Chrysalis):: Even in punk's heyday he obviously wanted to be a teen idol, but back then he couldn't very well admit that his hero was Elton John. Yet here he is with Kiss's manager and an album that rocks as hard as the first side of Caribou—for three cuts, including a hit single and "White Wedding," a call to innocence regained as desperate and persuasive as "Start Me Up." If he could keep it going I'd be happy to buy my pop from a phony, but neither Burundi beats nor overzealous voice practice do anything but accentuate the jaded professionalism that takes over. B

GREGORY ISAACS: MMr. Isaacs" (Shanachie):: From "Sacrifice," in which spirituality and even beauty itself follow inevitably from the comprehension of oppression, to "Slavemaster," in which revolt follows inevitably from the comprehension of oppression, side one establishes the subtle power and grace of Isaacs' rather urban reggae, not least because it stops off at Billy Vera & Judy Clay's "Storybook Children." Side two establishes his willingness to settle for product, not least because it leads off with Smokey Robinson's "Get Ready." B +

GREGORY ISAACS: "Night Nurse" (Mango):: Cumulatively, Isaac's resourcefulness is very impressive—he almost always manages to vary his sad, soothing mid-tempo formula not just ridimically but with enduring bits of melody and observation. But because the formula is sometimes too soothing he needs more than bits to go over the top. Rastafarian marginal differentiation fans will love this record. B + THE ITALS: "Brutal Out Deh" (Nighthawk):: Took this for yet another of JA's hookless wonders until Bob Palmer advised me to concentrate on the singing, at which point I realized that the precise harmonies framing Keith Porter's Marleyesque tenor were fine gospel music. Except for a perfunctory nod to lovers rock and a "thou shalt not steal" for ganja pirates, every one of these dauntless outcries of tribulation and deliverance could be sung comfortably (with a few modifications of terminology) by African Methodists on a Sunday morning, and in a few cases I bet they'd know the tunes. A-

PERE UBU: "Song Of The Bailing Man" (Rough Trade):: In his Jehovah's Witness phase—which will probably last the rest of his life—David Thomas is just like any other eccentric "progressive." With Mayo Thompson and Anton Fier replacing Ubu's two committed rockers on guitar and drums, the group can't carry him along on populist pulse anymore, which means that although Thomas's compositional ideas may be "original" and "interesting"—and unlike most art-rock, this music deserves both adjectives—how compelling you find the gestalt depends on the power of Thomas's private obsessions. Once again the man outdoes himself— some of these lyrics actually read as poetry. But it's minor poetry for sure—his musings on the ineluctable wonder of the natural order go deeper than, say, Peter Hammill's damn fool doomsaying, but they're long on whimsy and short on tension. As Christian rock goes, it's smart stuff, but as Christian art goes I'll take Graham Greene. B +

"WILLIE PHOENIX" (A&M):: Phoenix knocked me out on sheer pizazz fronting-a raw, Beatley band called Romantic Noise at Max's three or four years ago; here he surfaces as a Springsteen convert and almost does it again, although after a dozen plays I wonder whether Romantic Noise's songs matched its pizazz. God knows Phoenix doesn't go for ersatz John Cougar epics—his tribute is all musical style, which since his voice outrings Springsteen's can be pretty impressive until the drama calls your attention to the words. B

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PROFESSOR LONGHAIR: "The Last Mardi Gras" (Atlantic/Deluxe):: Recorded live in two nights in 1978 by the odious Albert Goldman, this full-price double-album has a look of crass classhow many "Tipitina"s does the world need? And indeed, a few of the new tunes are genre exercises and many of Fess's vocal deviations fail to qualify as the jazzy fantasies Goldman palms them off as. Nevertheless, his Longhair is better performed (as well as much better recorded) than Nighthawk's Mardi Gras In New Orleans oldies and a lot steadier than Harvest's Live On The Queen Mary. And though the hard, punchy drive of Alligator's Crawfish Fiesta makes for a more consistently exciting record, the lazy insouciance of the tempos and horn parts here sure feels like New Orleans to me. ATOM ROBINSON: "North By Northwest" (I.R.S.):: Robinson's bonhomie is rarely seductive—he picks such stiff, strident, perhaps even rigid drummers that his records require effort or at least concentration. But this is where I stop wondering whether he's a fluke. Just about every one of these songs synthesizes his protest-oriented TRB phase with the more cryptic and personal musicality of Sector 27. Richard Mazda isn't the collaborator Stevie B. was—TR has definitely surrendered some hookiness. But after five plays or so nearly every track sinks in deep.