CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

DEPARTMENTS

by

Robert Christgau

BERLIN: "Pleasure Victim" (Geffen):: Although my tastes in porn don’t run to designer whips, Terri Nunn’s sex-object impersonation on the cunningly entitled “Sex (I’m a...)” generates a mild buzz. But that’s the only good part—the rest is flimsy synthpop sans even a flash of pink, unless songs about the Metro make you wet your pants. C +

KATE BUSH: The Dreaming" (EMI America):: The most impressive Fripp/Gabriel-style art-rock album of the postpunk refluence makes lines like “I love life” and “Some say knowledge is something that you never have” say something. Part of the reason is that Bush is flaky enough to seek the higher plane in “a hired plane,” although as you might expect the resulting analysis often crumbles under scrutiny. It also helps that the emotional range of her singing sometimes approaches its physical range, although when it doesn’t you’d best duck. But the revelation is the dense, demanding music, which gets the folk exoticism of current art-rock fashion out of mandolins and uillean pipes and digeridus rather than clumsy polyrhythms, and goes for pop outreach with hooks rather than clumsy polyrhythms. B +

EARTH, WIND & FIRE: "Powerlight" (Columbia):: Since classic EW & F succeeds in spite of Maurice White’s universalist hoohah, the paucity of inspirational numbers is a blessing. The one that celebrates voting is gratifyingly practical, the one that celebrates children’s eyes one too many, and otherwise we’re free to gape at this band’s spectacular popcraft. Their sonic affluence and showtime groove encompass whispering strings no less perfect than their JB guitarbeats, Funkafunnies harmonies no less schmaltzy than their Lionel Richie homages, and when the synthesis is this catchy it’s the best argument for universalism they’ll ever make. A-

MERLE HAGGARD/WILLIE NELSON: "Poncho and Lefty" (Epic):: Haggard hasn’t sung with so much care in years, which is obviously Nelson’s doing---the difference between this “Half A Man” and the one on Going Where The Lonely Go is the difference between a husband who doesn’t deserve to be cut down and a shit who does. But if Waylon brings out Willie’s selfrighteousness, Merle brings out his selfpity—Leona Williams doesn’t want you to know it, but both of these boys have had more soft places to fall than any good man needs. B +

BUDDY HOLLY: "For The First Time Anywhere" (RCA):: If like me you were crying, waiting, hoping, or just wishing for new songs, dream on—other versions of the five originals and five "covers are already familiar to owners of the six-disc Complete Buddy Hotly import, most of whom bought this the week it was released. Those who’ve settled for 20 Golden Greats will greatly enjoy meeting the originals, especially since they sound much stronger in these recordings. And now here’s wishing I could say the same for the covers—Holly rejected “That’s My Desire” because it was a dog, and if the new “Brown-Eyed Handsome Man” is competitive with the one you ought to own, the new “Bo Diddley” isn’t. B +

KRIS KRISTOFFERSON, WILLIE NELSON, DOLLY PARTON, BRENDA LEE: "The Winning Hand” (Monument):: This 20-song mix-and-match isn’t even monumental in theory, because two of these “kings .and queens of country music” haven’t earned the crowns—BL is a rock ’n’ roll princess who never really graduated, KK a frog ditto. But BL is also a pleasing, bedroom-voiced journeywoman who turns in half of a surprisingly definitive “You’re Gonna Love Yourself In The Morning.” The other half comes from WN, who’s on nine cuts and sounds like he’s thinking even when he also sounds like he’s asleep. DP teams with WN on a surprisingly definitive “Everything’s Beautiful In Its Own Way,” but sounds more at home on the album’s two utter unlistenables—“Ping Pong,” in which DP at her cutesiest is outdone by KK at his klutziest, and “Put It Off Until Tomorrow,” in which DP kisses KK’s warty little head and he croaks back. B-

LENE LOVICH: "No-Man’s Land" (Stiff/Epic):: Lovich hasn’t so much gone Anglodisco as vice versa: she was swooping through postpunk well before the coming of the synthesizers, and she’s no less goofy today. Nevertheless, she does sound less goofy, because she’s surrounded by swoopers. Which doesn’t make her secret privatism any easier to get to. B

NICK LOWE: "The Abominable Showman" (Columbia):: Pretends he only goes for bad puns, yeti trails “Time Wounds All Heels” with “(For Every Woman Who Ever Made A Foal Of A Man There’s A Woman Who Made A) Man Of A Fool.” No tour de force, just unlabored love songs, and my best to the Lowe-Carters.B +

MINUTEMEN: "What Makes A Man Start Fires?” (SST):: The lyrics are richer, bleaker, and smarter than the hardcore rant that softened things up for this art band in disguise, but I prefer their music. The more you listen the less fragmentary these 18 tense little guess-you-have-to-call-them tunes sound—each transforms its own riff into an identity that meshes ineluctably with the album’s guess-you-have-to-call-it gestalt. Since they’re not purist (or unpop) enough to resist putting the strongest material first, their steady-state kineticism does lose a notch or two of stress as each side proceeds, but that’s the only way they could work it— any kind of climax would be too romantic for these guys. A-

WILLIE NELSON: ‘Tougher Than Leather" (Columbia):: In the end 1 don’t know what the fuck this supposed concept album is trying to say, and if Nelson does he should continue to keep it to himself— something about murder and honor arid other romantic cliches. But since he felt duty-bound to write the thing, it does of necessity include a number of those modern rarities, new Willie Neson songs! Including two that somebody else might actually want to cover: the throwaway coda “Nobody Slides, My Friend” and the new-cowboy advisory “Little Old Fashioned Karma.” Plus, for (symbolic) life, a rousing new version of “Beer Barrel Polka”! C +

WILLIE NELSON & ROGER MILLER: "014 Friends" (Columbia):: As a staunch admirer of “You Can’t Roller Skate In A Buffalo Herd” who’s had less than no use for Miller since he got serious, I’m almost persuaded by this tribute-to-thecomposer cum duo quickie. In fact, one more standout like “Old Friends” (including Ray Price), “Sorry Willie” (didn’t know you though she was your darlin’), and “When A House Is Not A Home” (one of Nelson’s patented dry-eyed weepers) would make the difference. But when this doesn’t stand out it’s just the limp Nashville jazz either will stoop to when no one’s looking. B

WILLIE NELSON & WEBB PIERCE: “In The Jailhouse Now" (Columbia):: The strained nasality of Pierce’s endless string of ’50s honky-tonk hits hasn’t aged especially well, but his voice sure has—any suggestion of the callow or awkward is long since gone, which means that for somebody who wasn’t there (like me and probably you), some of these remakes sound tougher and more vibrant than the originals. And the originals are honky-tonk standards for a reason. A-

THE NITECAPS: “Go To The Line” (Sire):: Things get gritty like clockwork on this little bit of soul, which John Xavier signifies.—rather inappropriately, I feel—by gargling. The Uptown Horns keep themselves busy up top. C

RAMONES: “Subterranean Jungle” (Sire):: “I’m just a guy who likes to get drunk/I’m just a guy who likes to dress punk,” Joey chants as side one fades away, incisively and affectionately locating the real audience he’s brought into being after all these years of mythos and stabs in the dark. And despite one hopeless lyric (Dee Dee on Disneyland) and one dubious cover (token pure pop to balance off double-O-soul remembrances of the Chambers Brothers and the subsequent Music Explosion), this is more worthy of an audience than anything they’ve done in the ’80s. Not a mass audience, certainly not a great audience, maybe not even a cool one—just guys who have finally discovered a taste for the raw roar the Ramones invented (bigger now but no less tuneful) and are smart enough to know that when Joey goofs his way through the five syllables of “psy-che-del-i-cized” he’s some singer. A-

SMOKEY ROBINSON: “Touch The Sky” (Tamla):: Since his tum-of-the-decade renaissance with Where There’s Smoke...and Warm Thoughts, Smokey’s been slipping back among the marginalia, where qualitative distinctions (better than Yes It’s You Lady but not Being With You) get fine if not strictly personal. This one’s recommended especially to cheating-song fans—“Gimme What You Want” is defiant enough for Millie Jackson, “All My Life’s A Lie” defeated enough for George Jones— though I’ll admit that what pushed me Over the line was the way the positivity of the title cut faces out on a pleading “touch it, touch it” that I’d swear aims lower than the sky. B +

NILE RODGERS: “Adventures In The Land Of The Good Groove” (Mirage):: Because the basic bass parts are Nile’s and not Bernard’s and the basic drum patterns Nile’s and not Tony’s and the basic vocals Nile’s and not Alfa’s, this groove is stiffer, sharper, tougher, weirder, and less pleasant than Chic’s. It’s also good if not better, colored with Rodgers’s trenchant, volu: ble guitar talk and rendered meaningful by his willingmess to experience lust as an unsentimental need . that can turn into unsentimental love. A-

KEVIN ROWLAND AND DEW’S MIDNIGHT RUNNERS: “Too-Rye-Ay” (Mercury):: Rowland’s arrangements are impossibly busy and his vocals impossibly mannered, but on this record he does the impossible—makes me believe he’s found some young soul rebels. The unison horn voicings and post-Stax fiddles impart an underlying simplicity that’ll pass for Cetlic, and if Rowland swoops and swerves where a real soul singer would just emote, his earnestness prevails anyway. B +

TRU FAX AND THE INSANIACS: “Mental Decay” (Wasp):: So many indie LPs are as useless as the slimiest megacorp product that this near-miss from D.C. is worth remembering. Diana Quinn’s fey feminism and David Wells’s broken buzzsaw ride the flat garage rhythms as far as they’ll go, which means their half-absurdist ditties work best when they’re purely satirical: “Up in the Air” is the funniest (and archest) anti-Reagan song to date and “Washington” hits suburbia where it lives (for once). Address: 821 North Taylor Street, Arlington, Virginia 22203. B

ULTRA VOX: “Quartet” (Chrysalis):: Artschool posers, working-class climbers, ’umble tunesmiths, or whatever—in a world where the eternal artistic truths of pop and disco are probably known to Maggie Thatcher herself by now, Midge Ure and associates can’t hide behind catchy synthbeats. Ure sings from the top of his larynx like some sixth-form opera parody and acts as if humorless cliches gain demotic significance when you string them together, as in: “Give me an inch, and I’ll make the best of it.” Take that as a warning. C

LOUDON WAINWRIGHT III: “Fame And Wealth” (Rounder):: Loudon’s most confident album since he split with CBS in 1975 is also his least ambitious, done folkiestyle with two penetrating embellishments from Richard Thompson and two band cutsr. For a while he walks his old tightrope, wild and nasty enough to make his chronic egoism sgem of general interest. But the jokes and feelings are getting thinner, and soon I found myself wishing he’d grow up, shut up, or both. B