CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

CHRISTGAU CONSUMER GUIDE

ROBERT CHRISTGAU

BY

ABC: “Beauty Stab” (Mercury):: I don’t get these complaints that Martin Fry has abandoned his shallow but ingratiating popcraft for a brave/pretentious but/and illadvised stab at social significance. Except for “The Look Of Love,” a supercatchy fluke that apparently confused people, instant hooks weren’t how the first album worked either, and his shallowness was always more apparent than real. As with the debut, give this one five spins and you’ll remember every track, with “She’s vegetarian except when it comes to sex” your first but not last aha. Whether you’ll enjoy it all as much is another matter—there’s a slight loss of verve. But that was then and this is now.AGEORGE CLINTON: “You Shouldn’tNuf Bit, Fish” (Capitol):: This isn’t as smart as Computer Games, or as soulful either—success will always go to George’s head. So be thankful the head is a capacious one, and connected to his rump. Side one leads off with his version of The African King and quickly proves his most irresistible since Motor-Booty Affair, with “Quickie” a riff/groove that gleams like “Flash Light” and “Last Dance” a big fat fart in David Bowie’s face. Even the talkover filler on the title track is worth listening to, and Philippe Wynne’s lowdown oinks make “Stingy” a worthy heir to none other than the Coasters’ “I’m A Hog For You.” A

THE ROBERT CRAY BAND: “Bad Influence” (Hightone):: Side one is as engaging a 17:04 of new blues as I’ve heard this decade: moving from down-and-out aab to lounge-tinged soul cry on the first two tunes, the songwriting had me caring less about Cray’s vocals, especially given his funky chop-and-roll guitar. But whenever the material fails to provide its own highs, Cray’s inability to reach for extra power or sweetness makes a difference. Address: Box 8064, Emeryville, California 94662. B + CLINT EASTWOOD & GENERAL SAINT: “Stop That Train” (Greensleeves):: If this album’s enjoyably jokey yarns and stoned satire seem to come from backstage while the debut’s came from outer space, it’s not just because the surprise factor is gone. It’s also the settings, devised by Kingston’s most dubwise studio astronauts on the first album but assigned here to rude Inity Rockers with ska accents and musichall tempos. B +

EEK-A-MOUSE: “The Mouse And The Man” (Greensleeves):: Neither of this JA original’s previous albums evinced much poetry, but the material here is as eccentric, matter-of-fact, and casually associative as his dub-minimalist music and calmly wacko vocal mannerisms. Beginning with an account of Hitler—“This is history and remember this ain’t no joke”—and moving

on to mix lesser horrors (death occurs in three of the remaining nine songs) with happier reflections, he comes across deeply compassionate, deeply bemused, and perhaps not as modest as you’d first think. Inspirational Verse: “Some of them may call you a turkey/Some look on you and say you flakey.” A-

THE GO-BETWEENS: “Before Hollywood” (Rough Trade import):: “I’ve got a feeling, sounds like a fact/It’s been around as long as that,” goes my favorite hook of the past few months, which is something of an aberration: in the great tradition of postmodern pop these folky-arty Aussies abjure melody much of the time, and though the second side does begin to sing after a few plays, and after much longer the textures on the first assume a mnemonic aura as well. A little static for rock ’n’ roll, but as poetry reading goes, quite kinetic. B +

HUSHER DU: “Metal Circus” (SST):: While Bob Mould isn’t quite Ian MacKaye’s equal as a front man or Greg Ginn’s as a guitarist, Husker Du’s reenactments of hardcore’s hyperdrive ritual have always matched Minor Threat’s and Black Flag’s on sheer collective enthusiasm, and this EP translates their heart into song. With Mould molding molten metal into whopper hooks and drummer Grant Hart contributing emotional vocals on two key cuts, they take Minor Threat’s trust-yourselves-not-us message seriously. And while I’m a little uneasy with the high-powered fatalism of “Real World” and “Deadly Skies,” somehow it doesn’t seem final with a band that cares this much.

Time: 19:57. Address: 731 Pontiac Place, Mendota Heights, Minnesota 55120. A WINSTON HUSSEY: ‘The Girl I Adore” (Live & Learn):: This is the kind of reggae most Americans dismiss as impossibly monotonous: the melodies are simple and often repetitive, the singing plaintive and crude, the words barely literate. I’m not claiming any of these qualities are virtues in themselves, but they can be. Working a shameless variation on Gregory Isaacs, Hussey projects intense innocence of a sort increasingly rare in English-language music; replete with homey references to liniment and parlors and pajamas, his sexual musings and militant pacifism must seem a little uncool even in Kingston. And for those with ears to hear, he’s backed by the Roots Radies, who are far from succumbing to the subtler monotony that eventually afflicts great studio bands. Address: 3903 Georgia Avenue, Washington, D.C. 20011. A“THE KINSHA SOUND” (Original Music):: Much more than his Kenyan and Swahili anthologies, this John Storm Roberts collection makes immediate impact on American ears, first of all because its quarter century of Zairean singles carry a heavy Cuban influence. I prefer the modestly melodic Lingala vocals to their romanticvirtuosic salsa counterparts, and am more than content to follow the music’s rhythmic journey across the Atlantic and back again as re-Africanization takes hold in the ’70s. But I suspect the main reason I keep listening is that every one of these 13 cuts began life as a pop dance hit. Address: 123 Congress Street, Brooklyn, New York 11210.ALATIMORE: “I’ll Do Anything For You” (Malaco):: As T.K. was folding in 1980, this after-the-fact soul hero resorted to L.A. session men to define his seriousness, which proved no less schlocky than most pop seriousness. But his 1982 return to his roots on Malaco was only slightly less schlocky, because at least temporarily the man has lost his knack as a composer. Here the title tune and the first three cuts on side one are the hottest soul tracks of a year that saw as many new soul albums as the previous three or four put together, but it isn’t just the Mississippi rhythm section that’s catapulted him back into the action. It’s also the Memphis songwriting stable. Say thank you to George Jackson and Denise LaSalle. B +

“MADONNA” (Sire):: A disco dolly this shamelessly ersatz had better bat close to a thousand if she wants to get past second base, and I figure the average here at .500. Hottest hits: “Burning Up”/“Physical Attraction,” available back-to-back on one maxisingle. You know what to do. B SUGAR MINOTT: “Sufferer’s Choice” (Heartbeat):: Play this back-toback with Minott’s 1979 Black Roots and then tell me reggae never changes. The progress is subtle, but 1 promise you’ll hear it plenty clear enough. It begins as usual in the rhythms, which Sly & Robbie take over from lesser lights, but that doesn’t explain why Minott, a creamy lovers rocker of no special distinction, not only keeps up but adds fillips of his own, fillips that would have been buried in the 1979 recording even if he’d been capable of them then. Sure the songwriting’s improved too, but in this kind of music meaning inheres in responsive inter-

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action. If formalism it must be, Lord, let it be formalism of the body. B +

P-FUNK ALL-STARS: “Urban Dancefloor Guerillas” (Uncle Jam/CBS Associated):: Though side one shows off songs so tuneful and witty they’d have me doing handstands from Cameo or the Gap Band, their raggedy-ass elan doesn’t quite suit the spritz they generate. Anyway, songs aren’t George Clinton’s gift to the world. You pump up and down, you pump up and down, you pump up and down, and then you break it down. A-

PAUL SIMON: “Hearts And Bones” (Warner Bros.):: In his deliberately slight way, this fellow could be a comer. Rarely have the quiddities of pushing 40 with more brain than heart or bone (or muscle) been explored with such obsessive attention to detail—acute musical touches match involuted lyrics small surprise for small surprise. B +

THE SPEEDBOYS: “Look What Love’s Done To Me Now” (I Like Mike):: I don’t often wonder what the world is coming to because a band can’t get a record contract—after all, life is unfair—but here I’m tempted. A sharp, witty bar-bandblues LP like the first is one thing, but the midtempo stuff on this entry could fit in right next to Tom Petty and Bob Seger if only some hotshot producer would oil Robert Bobby’s voice up a little. That’s no advantage as far as I’m concerned, but uncommercial it ain’t. What could be the problem? Surely not the antinuke overtones of “Hearts Like Atoms Split.” Maybe somebody noticed the chorus of “Anna”: “Anna, anabolic steroid/Oh Anna, you made a man outta me.” Address: R.D. 2, Box 941, Holtwood, Pennsylvania 17532. B +

“S WIN GRASS ’83” (Antilles):: “Progressive” folk/country/bluegrass guys and gals are always watering down Western swing that could use some beefing up, and from there their jazzy moves go downhill to various unswinging mood enhancers and cocktails for carrot-juicers. But here supereclectic jazz bassist Buell Neidlinger mixes with fiddler Richard Greene and mandolin whiz Andy Statman, both of whom do astute work whenever they’re given the chance, and together they play three of the sprightliest Ellington tunes you’ll ever hear, as well as three of the drollest Monks. Drummer Peter Erskine is too heavy-handed for the gig, but at least he’s a jazzman of sorts, and though tenor player Marty Krystall’s solo space impinges on the mood a little, he’s got the spirit too. Even Peter Ivers’s slightly klutzy harmonica fits in. Left-field instrumental of the year. A-

TRIO: “Trio And Error” (Mercury):: Though their wit is rather dry, it doesn’t lack warmth or fun, and their idiot melodies have real charm. But if the joke is economy of means, do they ever tell it deadpan: more than any rock ’n’ roller, der Sanger’s middleaged monotone recalls Leonard Cohen. Jokes this subtle have to hit dead on if they’re to be enjoyable at all. B +

V-EFFECT: “Stop Those Songs” (Rift import):: Either Ann Rupel’s vocals and David Zonzinsky’s vocals and sax got squashed in the machinery somewhere or else their cheerful onstage chutzpah concealed chronic difficulties with breath production. Too bad—few bands anywhere make better rock ’n’ roll on the edge of artistic and political struggle. This may be because, as Zorizinsky likes to say, they’re “leftist” rather than “political”: their clarity of purpose helps them avoid the ingrown cacophony that their supposed comrades consider art improvement on programmatic oversimplification. B +

JOE WALSH: “You Bought It-You Name It” (Warner Bros.):: Joe Walsh’s Comedy Album—Finally. Featuring one pop standard gone studio-reggae, the ultimate (last?) videogame song, a cross between “Boobs A Lot” and “Dolly Parton’s Hits,” “Class of ’65” for bathetic relief, and a song called “I Can Play That Rock & Roll” that isn’t stupid (though it comes close) .B + WAS (NOT WAS): “Bum To Laugh At Tornadoes” (Geffen):: “Nietzsche died a lonely madman—Jerry Lewis has his own telethon,” concludes the back-cover “prologue.” Not that their displacements achieve the depth of either artist, or course—that’s the point, and the self-deflation is a relief after the hyperconscious waking nightmares of the debut. Won’t get them a telethon, but it’s worth five minutes on David Letterman, and they no longer sound as if they regard displacement as their own tiutty-professorturned-Ubermensch joke on the world.B + WOMACK & WOMACK: “Love Wars” (Elektra):: Though they’re more purely soul music than either, this professional couple places closer to Ashford & Simpson than to Delaney & Bonnie on an urban-to-downhome axis, which may be why their soul music avoids not only nostalgia but conservatism: A1 Jackson would have turned in this union card before permitting a drum floomph so loosely contemporary. Ace singers and songwriters (as opposed to singer-songwriters), their lyrics about loss and conflict are sharper than the ones about love and happiness. But “Express Myself” makes a passable “Is It Still Good To Ya?,” and their lyrics about loss and conflict—especially “Love Wars” and “A.P.B.”—clearly come from lovers who wish they weren’t fighters.