THE BEAT GOES ON

THE BEAT GOES ON

Sin, Guilt, Redemption, Etc.

NEW YORK—I had already dismissed Catholic Girls as well meaning but not very inspired musicians by the time my niece Hyam picked them as her pet band. Hyam is all of nine and has become something of a populist barometer to me—she loved Asia after one viewing of their video. So I gave her my copy of Catholic Girls’ first album and for the next few weeks couldn’t hide from the damn thing.

No, I didn’t grow to enjoy more than one-and-a-half tracks, but it wasn’t ah entire loss. I began to realize that at least part of my distaste was just plain snobbery. Catholic Girls go on stage dressed in private school uniforms, they sing cloyingly romantic songs about breaking-up with boyfriends to a quasi-modern rock-pop music, they frankly admit to going weeks without picking up a newspaper, their ideas are facile rather than forgivably innocent, and, for better or worse, implicitly conservative—which might have been alright three or four years ago, but is definably leaving the sinking ship with the rats in these recession rock hard times.

Which is not to deny what my niece empathized with. A simple view of romance, the smoothness of their hooks, lead singer/songwriter Gail Petersen’s saucy vocals, all promise at dawn* In a way, listening to Catholic Girls is the rock equivalent to reading a Harlequin Romance, timid escapism. Which I don’t mention to Gailor her best friend/bass player Joanne Holland when we meet at MCA’s offices. To my immense disappointment they’re dressed in civvies. I wonder why the costumes? “It was just a way of drawing attention to ourselves,” announces Gail. “We had been playing for three years around New Jersey, around the clubs, at first as a cover band and then later doing my songs, but nobody noticed us. So when we were booked to play Max’s Kansas City we decided to dress up.”

“I don’t feel we’re exploiting ourselves,” Joanne relies to my suggestion. “I think it’s far more suggestive to go on stage in Spandex tights.” Gail and Joanne became friends in Catholic High School after going to different Catholic preparatory schools. Although it was sexually segregated, they have affection for their old alma mater; the education was simply better than what the state had to offer. At that time Gail wanted to be a novelist spending her time writing short stories, but on a visit to CBGB’s, she became inflamed by “New Wave.” They both went to college, Joanne dropping out after two years and Gail getting a degree in English Lit. But by then Catholic Girls were playing, and with degrees or otherwise Gail and Joanne were stuck nine-to-fiving as secretaries. “We were on the phone constantly to each other,” Joanne remembers, “discussing song arrangements—it was the only thing we could think about.”

At the time, Gail’s songs were much more eclectic and arty, she claims. “It was a conscious decision to write in a popular vein. What’s the use of singing if nobody can understand what you mean?

“Our fans include all age groups. We have 40-year-old women coming up to us and saying ‘yes, I’ve been through situations like that.’

“The press have been very kind, we haven’t had one bad review yet. I did like 20 telephone interviews with college papers yesterday, and everybody was great. The most constant comparison was with Talking Heads.” Can’t see it myself. “Neither can I” Joanne laughs.

The album has all but disappeared without a trace by now, which isn’t to say that it couldn’t resurface with the right video. Or that Catholic Girls are entirely without merit—in this day and age sincerity does count for something. “When is the article coming out?” inquires Joanne, A couple of months. “Oh good, that’ll give us some time before we have to be mad at CREEM!” I don’t mean to be mean much

anymore.

Iman Lababedi

Bare Hotdogs On Display

ST. LOUIS, MO—Weiners are back in the news here in Cardinal turf, USA.

A shocked Debbie Ragan called police to her home after discovering a naked man with a shaved head sitting at her kitchen table munching on a hotdog. When she asked What he was doing, he replied, “Just leaving!”

The bald-on-top joker then ran back to the Ragan’s swimming pool, produced a soap dish—from . “nowhere”—and proceeded to take a quick bath. Using Daytime Soap?

With no respect for cleanliness, a comically irate Mr. Ragan appeared and chased the man into a wooded area nearby, where police later nabbed him.

The charge: use of a weiner in the commission of a felony.

Rick Johnson

MUTE NOSTRIL ECSTASY!

Looks like somethin's "up" for that nutty twosome of stage and scream, Grace Slick and Todd Rundgren. Up the nose, that is, and we don't mean controlled substances either. Seems that Todd, on another one of his psychic missions, discovered how to actually honk exactly like a certain popular tweetybird native to Canada and ports ...around. All you do is stuff a thin, cylindrical object like a pen, straw or chopstick, up your right nostril and then try to pronounce the word "haunch." Naturally, he called up racy Grade, who's been a Close Friend of his ever since Jefferson Starship covered the Runt's famous "In And Out Of The Chakras We Go." Or was It "Drunken Blue Rooster?" Anyway, they revealed the technique at a recent Rock Against Waterfowl conference in Bearsville, NY., and hope to market the idea soon I They'll probably call it—what else?—The Honkie!

5 Years Ago

No More Mr. Nice Guy

Members of Elvis Costello’s goon squad chose the night of the All/Spinks fight to stomp a young photog, as they often did. Then. “Elvis just gave the signal,” CREEM observed, “and the road crew did the rest.” Said the King afterward: “I would’ve hit him too, but I had to go back onstage!”

The Big Bangles Theory

LOS ANGELES-You think it’s easy being another all-female band from L.A ? Forget it, Jack. Just about every group of female rock ’n’ rollers in this city runs the awful risk of being called a cheap Go-Go’s knock-off —even if its set consists entirely of Lou Reed, Brian Eno or, hell, Kraftwerk cover tunes. It’s just a sad fact of life, like next month’s rent check. Go ahead and ask Annette Zilinskas of the Bangles. “A girl came up to me in the bathroom of this club a few weeks ago,” says Annette, “and told me she loved the band. Then she added, ‘Oh, my sister thinks you’re a GoGo’s rip-off.’ ” Fow! “It really hurt.”

The Bangles, you should know upfront, are hardly a lowrent Go-Go’s. These four native California girls who range in age from 19 to 24—Vicki Peterson, lead guitar; Susanna Hoffs, guitar; Debbi Peterson, drums; and Annette, bass— proudly exist in their own territory, as their punchy live shows and new 5-song EP on Faulty Products bear out. Simply check, out their ammo: jumpy garage rock rhythms which lovingly recall the Standells and Paul Revere & the Raiders; jangly guitar lines which summon up the folk-rock psychedelia of the Byrds and Love; and lush harmonies sometimes reminiscent of the Mamas and the Papas. What? No shades of the Shangri-las? The Ronettes? ,Or the Dixie Cups?

“Our main inspiration from the ’60s is the male groups,” Vicki points out. “We never identified with the girl groups. They were someone else’s creation. That has nothing to do with us at all. We met through the Recycler (a local classified newspaper), not some man with a cigar. But we’re all fond of the female solo artists from that era.” Susanna immediately pipes in: “Dusty Springfield! Dionne Warwick! Petula Clark!”

Jumping around wildly onstage in their kitschy geometric cut-out dresses and vinyl miniskirts, the Bangles are definitely indebted to. the Swinging ’60s. They may have been too young to drop acid and dance to the Seeds and Love at Pandora’s Box on the Sunset Strip, but the girls kept their ears glued to the almighty transistor radio and faithfully watched TV shows like Where The Action Is and Hullabaloo. “Actually, we don’t set out to play a song in the ’60s style,” says Vicki. “It’s accidental. What’ll happen in rehearsal, for instance, is that Sue will come up with a guitar part that will sound really Standells. But she’ll do something to change it—and all of a sudden it becomes more like us.”

The Bangles’ creative recycling had its beginnings nearly two years ago when sisters Vicki and Debbi began rehearsing in a West L.A. garage with Susanna and Annette. Armed with a batch of original songs which featured the alternating lead vocals of Vicki, Susanna and Debbi, the group (then known as the Colors) gigged “at all the dives and biker clubs in the L.A. suburbs,” recalls Debbi with a laugh. “At first we got the usual comments. ‘Oh; they’re not bad for chicks.’ But you learn to just ignore those remarks.” Changing its name to the Bangs and temporarily losing Annette as a member, the trio cut a single, “Getting Out of Hand,” and pressed 500 copies for $800. Veteran L.A. tastemaker Rodney Bingenheimer began.spinning the song on his radio show, helping the girls to line up key Hollywood gigs.

As word spread of their energetic live shows, the group fagain including Annette) was soon approached by big shot Miles Copeland, who heads up I.R.S Records and Faulty Products and manages the Police. A few weeks later he signed the group to the Faulty label and his co-owned management company, L.A.P.D. “At first we though, ‘Oh no!’ ” says Susanna. “We thought he just wanted a baby girl group to do all the stuff that the Go-Go’s (who record for I.R.S.) were too big to take. But he was amazing wh^n we talked to him. He didn’t want to put us on I.R.S. and hype us up. He wanted us to be us.”

The girls promptly advanced their profile with more important Hollywood gigs, becoming part of a new L.A. clique of psychedelic/garage-rock bands which includes the Dream Syndicate, the Three-O’Clock and Rain Parade. Though some of the trendies unfairly saddled them with the Go-Go’s comparison, the girls began attracting big audiences and earned critical raves left and right in the local newspapers. During September they recorded their EP —produced by Craig Leon, who twirled the knobs for the Ramones’ classic debut album —and were forced to change their name because of a New Jersey group with prior claim to the “Bangs.”

Quitting their day jobs, the Bangles went out on a six-week U.S. tour with the English Beat. “All of this is kind of scary and not that glamourous,” admits Susanna. “But right now we’re young enough and naive eriough to just be excited.”

Though the EP is at times limited by some weak dynamics, it’s easy to be charmed by the group’s bursts of energy and songs about the ups and downs of love and growing up. The best tune isthe emotionally charged “Mary Street,” which is about rising up against all the creeps who intimidate you in high school—“the teachers, the cool people, all the boys who will reject you,” says Susanna —and asserting yourself. “I’ve had plenty of rejections,” adds Susanna; “because I don’t look like the all-American girl. When I wrote ‘Mary Street’ and knew I was in a good rock ’n’ roll band, I ’ realized, ‘Wow! I could do whatever I want. I can be who I want to be.”’

“Oh, come on, Sue,” snaps Vicki. “This is beginning to sound like a Tampax commercial!”

Mitchell Schneider

NEW FROM THE QUEEN OF COMEDY!

Joan Jett and the Blackhearts are a pretty funny group! First, it was the side-splitting video for “I Love Rock 'N‘ Roll." Very funny. Almost laughable, some say.' Then along came their deadpan version of "The Little Drummer Boy," surely one of their more outrageous pranks! And today? Well, see for yourself! J.J, and the band had a really big, heavy-type music biz meeting and decided they needed something to "punch up" their somewhat ...pedestrian image. So—get ready for this one— they've decided they're all going to comb their hair different I And until they think up some real kooky hair-dos, they're going to stand in back of this sign they found in a real alleyl Isn’t that just like ’em?! Oh, Joan I Please don’t tickle me there I

An Old Raincoat Will Never Let You Down

NEW YORK-After the interview is over, Ana da Silva gives me a crash course on Portugese politics. Portugal is her homeland and she retains the charmingly arch inflections when she speaks, telling of the Raincoats’ tour there in February 1982— introducing her friends to her, family, her family to her band, and her country to the eclectic charms of a first rate band. To compound the unusual with the confusing, Portugal’s musical youth weren’t used to women leaders: in the holiday resorts the showbands might well have a female singer, but those are the nomadic, ex-beauty contestants from Birmingham or Marseilles who always seem to end up mixing love for tender. Not three ordinary, intelligent, obsessed musicians who consider the U.K. and America ' sexist societies, let alone the once Arab colony of Portugal.

At la.m. the same evening, I’m at a small party the Raincoats are giving to celebrate their equally small tour of America coming to an end. I am well-oiled by then, and sit, nearly comatose, minding my own business. Except for Richard Dudanski (ex-PiL, current Raincoats drummer), I’m the only guy there. I impolitely listen to Gina Birch and Vicky Aspinall discussing the group’s finances with manager Shirley O’Loughlin. No swank hotels or cocaine breakfasts for these women; they talk of going back to London, where they can sleep on a bed instead of floors and matresses, of hard' work and how the ends might be held together. The Raincoats were formed in 1977 and they’ve kept the best dictates of those naive days: musical integrity and adventure, culture as community, self-respect, change. It really doesn’t boil down to dollars and (non)cents. “That,” said Vicky earlier, “is not the point. If we wanted success we could have gone many ways.”

“It was watching the Slits that made us decide to form a band,” Gina explains, before I dash to the bar for another round of Southern Comfort and Coke. In 1978, they had stolen the Slits drummer, Palmolive, and been joined by Vicky, who plays guitar and violin and sings. Concerts for rock against sexism and rock against racism, a healthy interest in local politics, and a burgeoning reputation led to a contract with Rough Trade. The first release was a three song single, including the splendid “Fairytale In The Supermarket.” Later that year came their eponymous debut album, and what impressed was not . just their musical knowledge but how they managed to dip so close, but never descend to proselytizing. Unlike, say, Lesley Woods, they never let their anger overwhelm their wit. It was a push, not a shove.

In 1980, they played New York City and wowed everybody that saw them. And despite a changing line-up (Palmolive had gone to Spain), the nucleus of Vicki, Ana, and bassist Gina were a collective genus. The next year brought Odyshape, totally different from everything that had come before for them; the previous success (at least in England) being dismissed for another music altogether. I’d hate to categorize Odyshape as jazz minimalism from an ambient point of view—it is that, but it’s more as well. That sounds too drab. The Raincoats often sang in a withering chorale, a sigh becoming a groan; impassioned and subdued. And though they were still upset with the abuse of women, the lyrics didn’t matter as such, the awareness approached through distinct moments of mood and contrary otherness.

Well, it did live up to its name. And it almost saw the end of the band. “Nothing was said but we were going back to day jobs and not rehearsing. It seemed pointless,” Vicky admits. “If it wasn’f for Shirley, that would’ve been the end. Manager Shirley has been with them from the beginning. The new result was “Running Away”/“No One’s Little Girl” a double A-sided single like nothing they’d attempted before. “Running Away” was an especially tricky proposition, “Though we’ve been playing it live for years.” If at first glance a song about the need to escape from daily presures, it comes from Sly Stone’s super There’s A Riot Going On, a pessimistic lost look at black America in the post-Martin Luther King-Black Panther-Utopia New era; the unsaid meaning being that for the black man there is no escape. If the Raincoats had tried something more grand, if they had hit harder, overplaying their women-are-the-niggers-of-the-world sub-text, it’d have been an embarrassment. But being the superior group they are, the Raincoats let in some air. The harmonies are light and triumphant, the trumpet and horn playing off in half fractures and the effect is subtle and moving. The flip is a reworking of “No, One’s Little Girl,” with funk promise, soul in the equipment and a lovely whispering intro: “I’m not going to be because I don’t want to be...”

It could be where the Raincoats are going. With these three women you can never tell. And if they can’t attract the mainstream, the cogniscenti, will cling to their knowledge. In that sense it doesn’t matterpeople grow at their own rates, and with every growth the Raincoats improve and are enhanced. Defiant, certain they are right, they are making wonderful music.

Iman Lababedi

The Gutter Claims Another

BOWLING ALLEY, USAMake room for the greatest three-year-old indoor athlete of our times!

Ronnie Signarowitz is the name and bowling’s his game. The 31-pound , pin blaster boasts a sparkling 32 average and is particularly proud of his career strike.

“He’s definitely a fanatic,” admits Mrs. S. “He bowls from the minute he gets up, after breakfast, after lunch, during lunch—” yes, we get the picture Mom.

The multi-talented alley ace can spot any bowling establishment from a moving vehicle and has his very own “Bowling Song,” which goes something like this: “Grbwllp fup shwarni cnath bapu masdrm pog kank feh.”

So the kid can bowl. But can he score?

Rick Johnson

No Nugent Need Go Hungry

CANTON, CHINA-Next time you’re in the Yeweixiang Restaurant here, you might wanna read the menu very carefully. In addition to Rice-A-Roni, the cooking commies also specialize in dishing up down-home favorites like cat, bear, and guinea pig. Not to mention Mrs. Paul’s Panda Sticks.

How do you say “more!” in Cantonese? By wrapping up that meal with the prized Monkey’s Face and Brains Soup. Running a mere $67-per-pot, this refreshing broth is—sadly— no longer prepared by scalping live monkeys right at your table, but is still the specialty of the house. Like Mao always said, soup is good food.

Of course, the only real question about the place is the contents of the Chef’s Surprise.

J. Kordosh