CHRISIGAU CONSUMES GUIDE

CHRISIGAU CONSUMES GUIDE

BY ROBERT CHRISTGAU

ATTITUDE: "Pump The Nation" (Atlantic):: Produced by the System, a/k/a Mic Murphy and David Frank, they got the juice—all three of these young people possess more mellifluous voices than Murphy, and more singing technique as well. But they don't have as much personality- Murphy's synth-compatible vocaj style is far more idiosyncratic and engaging than their post-soulfulness. And in the great artistproducer tradition, Murphy & Frank give up a couple of great conceits—the two singles, "Pump The Nation" and "We Got The Juice"—and save the rest for themselves.B AZTEC CAMERA: "High Land, Hard Rain" (Sire):: At first I did the obvious thing and pigeonholed this as high-grade popricher and truer than Ffaircut 100 or even the dB's or the Bongos and ultimately feckless anyhow. Now I thjnk it's more like U2 with songs (which is all U2 needs). For sheer composition—not just good tunes, but good tunes that swoop and chime and give you goosebumps—Roddy Frame's only current competition is Marshall Crenshaw, and unlike Crenshaw he never makes you smell retro. His wordcraft is worthy of someone who admires Keats, his wordplay worthy of someone admired by Elvis C.; he sings and arranges with a rousing lyricism that melds militance and love of life. These are songs in which sweet retreat can't be permanent, in which idealism is buffeted but unbowed—songs of that rare kind of innocence that has survived hard experience. So far, anyway—Frame is still very young. How unusual it is these days for youth to add resonance to what used to be teen music. A

BIG COUNTRY: "The Crossing" (Mer cury):: With its bagpipe guitars and Celtic blues lines, Stuart Adamson's Skids-U2 hybrid avoids any hint of rock purism. Although "Chance" is the only fully realized song here, the rest sound good from a distance. But I wish Adamson didn't like Colonel Byran Bowie and, even worse, wrote like Bishop Kahlil Masefield. Regaled with martial rhythms, I always feel safer knowing exactly what the war's about. B KURTIS BLOW: "Party Time?" (Mer cury):: If Kurtis's strongest album has a problem, it's Kurtis, who despite his quick lips and habit of command doesn't sound entirely at home with all this lovingly streetified social-awareness-you-can-dance-to. But who ever said rap was about words? The muscular funk that powered the sound systems when Kurtis was coming up combines with the digitalia that shakes the Bboxes now and some well-placed hook riffs to get him through the hyperconscious patches. Time: 27:35. List: $5.98. ACHAMPAIGN: "Modem Heart" (Col umbia):: This clean, middle-American popfunk's commitment to quality is so modest that its "concept" may well be not to stand out. So it takes forever to penetrate. But where most merely professional tunesmiths get irritating with prolonged exposure, Champaign start to glow—modestly, of course. B +

BERNARD EDWARDS: "Glad To Be Here" (Atlantic):: Edward's career training as a bass player doesn't suit him for lead roles, which means that what is basically a rather subtle Chic album may never sneak up on you the way it did on this fan. For what it's worth, the two Chic-est grooves on the album feature Nard as vocalist but not bassist, leaving that role to synth whiz Ray Chew. Could this be magic? B +

BRIAN ENO: "Apollo: Atmospheres & Soundtracks" (Editions EG):: Designed to help a moonshot documentary "present a set of moods," this is ambient Eno at its most accessible—often very pretty, and not without guitar. Still, I expect mood music to sustain a mood, and while as you might expect none of this is unlistenable, some of it is very nearly inaudible, which can be almost as annoying. Left to itself, "Drift" does just that, and "Stars" and "Under Stars" sound like sleep sequences. B + AL GREEN: 'Til Rise Again" (Myrrh):: This isn't great Al—it doesn't come through with the spiritual charge of a Call Me (secular) or Higher Plane (religious). But it is good Al, and after much soul-searching I've stopped worying about what kind of gospel music it might be. If Green wants to attribute his positivity to Jesus, well, I never took him literally when he attributed his positivity to romantic bliss, either, though I did find it easier to suspend disbelief. And while Christ and Eros are both more rewarding objects of faith than music, my guess is that at this point music is Al's bottom line—his personal road to religious and secular glory glory. A-

HERBIE HANCOCK: "Future Shock" (Columbia):: As a guy who likes his funk obvious, I think those who esteem "Rockit" as highly as Head Hunters are too kind to Head Hunters. Small thanks to Herbie, lots to Material and Grand Mixer D.St., it's the best novelty instrumental in years and the best pop of Hancock's life. Elsewhere various bright ideas, such as Pete Cosey, are obscured by the usual aura of set-piece dink—jumpy enough and often fun, but fusoid nevertheless. B +

JONZUN CREW: "Lost In Space" (Tommy Boy):: I love "Space Cowboy," in which hooks from Tom Tom Club and Clint Eastwood converge on the ghost of Gary Numan. Elsewhere, however, Numan's shade has all too much space to him/itself. Sure the cross-rhythms are niftier, and I know Bambaataa has given this kind of silliness his blessing. But not everybody can be blessed—or silly. C +

JULUKA: "Scatterlings" (Warner Bros.):: The musical and political strengths and weaknesses of apartheid-fighters Johnny Clegg and Sipho Mchuna are best understood if you think of them as folkies. Beginning ae a bi-racial guitar-and-voice duo committed to Zulu traditionalism, which many apartheid-fighters consider objectively counter-revolutionary, they've become a rock band out of commercial happenstance. Like most folkies, they're often corny— "Simple things are all we have left to trust" and so forth. But being a folkie in South Africa takes a lot more guts than it does in liberal societies, and that's audible all over this album—as are the melodic resources of the Zulu tradition, which happens to be vocal rather than percussive. B +

MOFUNGO: "Out Of Line" (Zoar):: Where hardcore kids rail against empty leisure and media images, these working bohemians ground an analysis in the dismal daily grind. Their politics more or less match music that is dissonant but not quite amelodic, industrial but not at all mechanical. The match isn't exact because their lyrics are sometimes so simplistic they deserve a single, dumb folkie guitar, while the music gets thin in a more unavoidable way, reflecting their blocked access to the means of production. And though I doubt anything would render their "We're gonna change the world" literal, my analysis is that a few extra tunes wouldn't hurt. Address: 29 Park Row, NYC 10038. B

NEW EDITION: MCandy Girl" (Street wise):: In which amassed svengalis manage an album that won't leave those captivated by the big hit feeling ripped off—the rap is cute, the recitative is cute, and "Popcorn Love" is a neat kiddiephile conceit. But the kiddies don't sing that good. And they're not even related. B

GRAHAM PARKER: "The Real Macaw" (Arista):: In which Parker finally justifies his abandonment of rock 'n' roll outcry for self-referential studiocraft by more or less acknowledging the private sources of his bitterest protests. The male chauvinism he mocks in the opener is almost certainly his own, and the love he can't take for granted right afterwards is probably his wife's, which in the end proves more durable than he's afraid it will. That's why he's glad to have a glass jaw, why he's advised to ignore everything that sounds like chains, and why except for one misplaced complaint side two is a happy-to-ironic-to-credibly-sappy paean to a marriage that has lasted^—talk about your miracles a minute—one whole year.AQUEEN IDA & BON TEMPS ZYDECO BAND: "On Tour" (GNP Crescendo):: Since these Grammy winners have begged a rep on the folk circuit, where drumming is still regarded as one of the arcane arts, I feel obliged to point out that their exploration of groove is pro forma, their singing uninspired, their material trite, and their bonhomie strictly show business. Even Clifton Chenier has never made great records, and when this battle is over, it won't be Queen Ida wearing his crown. C + BOB SEGER & THE SILVER BULLET BAND: "The Distance" (Capitol):: I had filed this as unlistenable until the amazing tune-out power of "Roll Me Away" piqued me into determining why. The songs aren't half bad—adequate and with moments of good writing. But Seger's romantic individualism is a little simple-minded, more late outlaw than Bruce, and it's suffocated by overstatement. Almost any country singer could show him how to approach a cliche kinda easy like. In fact, with his connections Seger could probably get lessons from Willie himself. But with his taste he'd probably choose Waylon instead. C + TALKING HEADS: "Speaking In Tongues" (Sire):: With Eno departed, the polyrhythms no longer seem so portentous—this funk is quirkily comfortable, like the Byrne-produced B-52's or the three-piece of Byrne's earlier primitivist period. Unfortunately, the polyrhythms no longer seem so meaningful, either. Though God knows there's no rock 'n' roll rule that says playfulness can't signify all by itself, the disjoint opacity of the lyrics fails to conceal Byrne's confusion about what it all means. Yet side two lights me up nevertheless, sandwiching the purest anti-capitalist song he's ever written and the purest pro-love song he's ever written around two pieces of typically ironic-optimistic futurism. A-

STEVIE RAY VAUGHAN AND DOUBLE TROUBLE: "Texas Flood" (Epic):: People who think white guitarists with the blues are the essence of rock 'n' roll compare this Texan to Jimi Hendrix. He sounds more like Alvin Lee to me. I think rock 'n' roll's essence inheres in song form, and find my attention wandering after the kickoff originals "Love Struck Baby" and "Pride And Joy." B

NEIL YOUNG: "Neil Young And The Shocking Pinks / Everybody's Rockin' (Geffen):: If Ronnie and Nancy are the only everybodys rockin' by name on the less than rousing title finale, then maybe what Neil means to say is that basic rockabilly isn't worth too much all by its lonesome. I agree, but expect the argument would be more convincing if Neil plus Ben Keith could match Brian Setzer chop for chop. The covers are redundant or worse, as are all but two of the originals. I hope Robert Gordon or somebody rescues "Kinda Fonda Wanda." And 1 hope Neil realizes that for all the horrible truth of "Payola Blues," nobody's three thou's gonna get this on top 40. Time: 24:36. List: $8.98, C +

ZZ TOP: "Eliminator" (Warner Bros.):: Arena-rockers who never forgot that heavy metal was briefly called white blues, they took a long vacation and resurfaced as a damn fine white blues band. Their third piece of product since then shows them devolving back into metal, albeit with a sharper groove and a guitarist who sounds like himself. B-