The Beat Goes On

The Beat Goes On

ACCEPT: THE INEVITABLE

DETROIT—I first heard of Accept by way of Rock-a-Rama— which is a page way in the back of CREEM, originally established to review records that might otherwise be overlooked, now existing to keep Richard Riegel out of debt to the Greater Cincinnati Power & Light Co. Mr. Riegel somewhat light-heartedly described their American debut album, Balls To The Wall (CBS/Protrait), as “gaymetal.” I couldn’t imagine what Mr. Riegel was talking about until I saw the cover of the album and listened to (for instance) “Love Child,” featuring truly oblique lyrics like “Feeling the power of lust when the guy’s passing by.” At which point I realized why Mr. Riegel is a veritable magician of analysis.

Who are these people that Mr. Riegel and I would devote our hard-earned insight to? A fivesome of German people, that’s who they are. From Cologne, on our side of the Wall. A band founded some seven years ago by their melodically-named singer, Udo Dirkschneider. A band called “the finest heavy metal export from Germany since the Scorpions” by the German publication Pop/Rocky (just in case you thought CREEM was a stupid name).

I talked with guitarist Wolf Hoffman and drummer Stefan Kaufmann before their show in Detroit, swilling their dank German brew and asking the questions that demand answers. “How do you say ‘Accept’ in German?” I fired.

“ ‘Accept’,” said Hoffman.

The next, uh, query had to do with the obvious aura of homosexuality surrounding Balls To The Wall. (You know, if this thing gets out of hand, pretty soon boys will be dressing like girls. That would be a real drag.)

“Why?” Stefan wondered. “It’s a leg of a man (the cover). Why should it be homosexual? Women love it also; not only the boys. And if the boys love it, why not? It’s aggressive, this cover— it’s got power in it—and everybody looks at it and everybody thinks about it. And this is what we wanted.”

Yes, it makes incredible sense. Why should the leg of a man in cut-to-the-crotch leather have homosexual overtones? What was I thinking of? What was Mr. Riegel thinking of? Anyway, the guys assured me that they’re not homosexuals; I was thinking about assuring them I was widely regarded as presidential timber, but what the hell, they can’t even vote.

Well, patient readers are (perhaps) applauding how long I’ve been able to keep this story on album covers and homosexuality. I know I feel pretty good about it myself. But we’re obliged to talk about Accept’s music for reasons tremendously obscure. I ventured that their album was a mighty serious album, from their point of view, and I wondered if that was the shrewdest route, given what will probably be the lyrics of the next Romantics’ single.

“We don’t want to reform— we just want to make people think about the lyrics,” Wolf said. “At first, people should just listen to the music and they should like it. And I think they do like it. After that, they listen to the lyrics or they read the lyrics on the inner sleeve. And maybe they say, ‘Yeah, that’s exactly what I wanted to say.’ Or maybe they disagree. But if they think about it, this is the aim that we have, y’know? If they started thinking, it doesn’t matter in which direction.”

Doesn’t.. .matter.. .in... which...direction? Oh yeah, I’m done with that part of the story.

J. Kordosh

GREEN ON RED AND THE AMERICAN WAY

ANN ARBOR-It was a hell of a way to finish the evening. Green On Red had finished their set and a pair of encores at Joe’s Star Lounge and were soaking in the afterglow and a few cold slugs of Stroh’s. Suddenly the joint gets raided by two very wide Ann Arbor cops, who nab Green On Red’s keyboardist Chris Cacavas for drinking afterhours and toss the affable barowner Joe in the hoosegow for the night for “failure to return rental property.”

Surely it’s not the kind of evening that would precipitate a strong feeling of patriotism, right? Not by me, it doesn’t, but at an after-after-hours house party (after bail attempts fail), Green On Red’s bassist Jack Waterson put things into perspective:

“America, right now in this time and place, is very special.

I don’t know if people realize what’s going on with American music. It’s always been one of the greatest communities of music in the world. It’s a tradition and it will always remain that way. I don t care what kind of dribble floats across the ocean, that’s the way it is.

“At this time I think it’s important because I think there’s been enough degeneration and regeneration in American music and the level of bands around right now is exceptional. I hope Americans realize what they’ve got in their own backyard. I put a tremendous amount of faith and respect in for American music and I see a lot of integrity in it. We don’t take that for granted. You have a certain thing here called freedom. It’s a free land and I think the quality of the music reflects that.

“I don’t want to rant and rave about Americanism, but to me, it’s one of the most glorious things in the world, to have your freedom.”

Somewhere in the nearby pokey, Joe glumly concurred.

Kevin Knapp

JASON AND THE SCORCHERS BOIL

NEW YORK—Some relevant quotes:

To live outside the -law you must be honest—Bob Dylan, 1966

If you ever come down to Nashville, I’ll get you the best $25 hooker that money can buy — Jason Ringenberg, 1982

Yes, each generation has its poet—that one individual who can articulate the hopes and dreams of the nation’s youth. Bob Dylan was one and Jason Rfngenberg is certain to be another. The Dylan quote comes, of course, from his epic Blonde On Blonde album. The Jason quote comes not from an album at all, but from a letter he once sent me. (I assumed he wasn’t serious, but my failure to scrounge up enough cash for bus fare left the point unresolved.) And in the same spirit that Jason made his gracious offer to me, he makes another gracious offer to all of you. What Jason offers you is blistering, guitar-heavy rock ’n’ roll with a sense of Americana that’s as all-pervasive as barbecue smoke on the Fourth of July.

In the spring of 1982, a foursong seven-inch EP served as the debut release for Jason And The Nashville Scorchers, who, aside from Jason, consisted of Warner Hodges on lead guitar, Jeff Johnson on bass and Perry Baggs on drums. Reaction to their Reckless Country Soul EP was generally positive despite patchy distribution. Under the steady helm of manager Jack Emerson, Jason and the gang re-entered the studio to record the Fervor EP.

“Fervor was a good thing,” Jason told me. “We got so much mileage out of it, it’s unbelievable. It’s a good record so it’s got naturally many miles to it. It’s not a Toyota, it’s a Cadillac.” It must have seemed infinitely drivable to EMI/America Records, who signed the boys and re-released Fervor with the addition of their house-rocking cover of “Absolutely Sweet Marie.” And with perhaps a thought or two about whether just plain Ernie Ford would have ever become very popular, the “Nashville” was dropped out of the Nashville Scorchers. The periodic MTVing of th6 “Marie” video is a potent snippet of Jason’s raucous ■ show. “We don’t really have to hide anything on video because we’re live players,” Jason said, “Let’s face it, the Scorchers are live players.”

When Jason and Company first ventured to New York, half of their set was comprised of revved-up versions of country classics and half of similarly punchy original material. Ignoring those who saw Jason’s music as a Ramones-meet-Hank Williams formula, I heard a chord that runs clean through to the core of their music. It shows its head during the frenzied riffing that’s a fanfare to “Hot Nights In Georgia” or the simple yet stirring harmonies in the chorus of “Harvest Moon.” What does Jason think makes the Scorchers good? “I don’t think we should answer that question,” he grins, then rising to the task: “The Scorchers is a real broad-based band. It’s not a country-punk band, maybe it started out being a country-punk band. I think it’s evolved into something that’s kind of representative of what’s going down in American rock ’n’ roll in the past 30 years.”

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised when the Scorchers covered a song by Bob Dylan, an oddball Jewish kid from Minnesota who ended up as the quintessential American. Jason sees it like this: “We’re drawing on 30 years of rock ’n’ roll here and a century of American folk and country music...‘Absolutely Sweet Marie’ is part of that tradition. It’s an American rock ’n’ roll song—an American rock ’n’ roll classic—I thought that very few people appreciated... We actually wanted to make it better than the Blonde On Blonde version, which I think we did.”

Despite the seeming incompatability of rock ’n’ roll with religious consciousness, Jason feels a kinship between the two: “Rock ’n’ roll can be a religion. It can also be a damnation.. .The kind of power you have when you’re really making true, great, rock ’n’ roll music. The power you feel is phenomenal. Sometimes it walks such a.fine line of going into a good sort of feeling and going into a real overconfident, proud, haughty feeling. That’s the whole danger, because the proud, haughty feeling is a very satanic feeling.”

And while the Scorchers tangle with the angels and demons of rock ’n’ roll, remember that they’ve come a long way from the recklessness of their beginnings—they’ve honed their scattershot energy down to a well-directed fervor.

Drew Wheeler

THE CREEK CHRONICLE: Where were you five years ago?

"I'm So Glad I'm Livin' In The U S.A..."

Chuck Berry’s gonna have to pay the piper (and his name is Uncle Sam) since he pleaded guilty to charges of income tax evasion. The original rock ’n’ roller was sentenced to four months at a prison farm, and will have to give 1,000 hours of benefit concerts to make amends.

THE THE'S NORMAL GUY

NEW YORK-Soft-spoken Englishman Matt Johnson, a.k.a. The The, complains, “The press likes to stereotype me as a depressive. It’s due to my confessional style of writing, I suppose, but I’m no more depressed than anyone else is. I mean, everybody gets depressed.”

Maybe. Still, there aren’t many folks who write lines like, “You’re cutting chunks from your heart/And rubbing the meat into your eyes.” Intrigued? There’s plenty more where that came from on Johnson’s first The The LP, Soul Mining. While the subtle, sophisticated music mixes everything from unorthodox synths to fiddles to tribal percussion, it’s only a backdrop for Johnson’s sweaty-palm vocals and aggressively desperate lyrics. Don’t get the wrong idea—Soul Mining is a lot of fun, especially if you enjoy the sight of someone standing on the ledge of a tall building.

“I do tend to write about things in a negative way,” Johnson admits. “Maybe I should try to look at the good side, but I don’t think I could capture the same power.”

For such an intense boy, 22-year-old Johnson had a pretty normal upbringing. The son of a London publican (pub-keeper, that is), he grew up in a happy household with three brothers and learned the hits of the ’60s from the jukebox in the bar. In 1977, Johnson went to work in a small London studio. “That’s when I started listening to stuff like Throbbing Gristle and the Velvet Underground, and discovered multi-tracking,” he remembers. “I borrowed a rhythm box and began making little cassette albums, which I gave out to people.”

Henceforth, the theme of The Matt Johnson Story is “Don’t tread on me!” He formed a bona fide band called The The in 1979, but went through musicians like Kleenex and finally scrapped the group concept entirely in 1982. Explains Johnson, “I got tired of other people trying to grab the credit when I was doing it all.”

Johnson issued Burning Blue Soul, on which he played everything, under his own name, but reverted to The The when he recorded the “Uncertain Smile” single with producer Mike Thorne. That was another unhappy experience, by the way. “Thorne was a nice guy, but I couldn’t stand being told what to do.”

So when the Soul Mining sessions rolled around, Johnson made sure he was in total control, enlisting the services of class guys like Jools Holland and Zeke Manyika only because he’d written parts that he couldn’t play himself. “I saw these other musicians as instruments,” he comments.

Why continue calling yourself The The, when it’s a one-man show? “I’d like to remain unknown so I could lead a normal life and not be hassled at the supermarket. Wanting to be a pop star is a cry for attention that stems from insecurity. I want people to appreciate what I’m doing, but I hate all that horrible superfluous backslapping.”

That’s Matt Johnson, by his own admission “really tensed up all the time” and dangerous when provoked. Glad he’s not a depressive, too!

Jon Young

SISTERS OF MERCY KILLING 'EM

NEW YORK-Andrew Eldritch goes to great pains to divorce the Sisters Of Mercy from British trends like the Boy and the Batcave scene. “We go ’round to radio stations and they say to us, ‘OK guys, what do you want to play.’ And we say, ‘How about a bit of Led Zeppelin?’ And they go ‘What?! Don’t you listen to Specimen?’ And we say ‘Don’t make me laugh. Of course we don’t.’ ” When reminded that the Sisters’ music—loud, dark, haunting,* somber, broodingfits in nicely with the Batcave boys, he says, “I can see all that and however much it bothers me I have to acknowlege it. But I find those people embarrassing.”

The Sisters Of Mercy hail from Leeds, “the dead, industrial, northern heartland” of England. Behind Eldritch are Gary Marx on guitar, Craig Adams on bass, and novitiate Sister Wayne Hussey (who recently fled Dead Or Alive) on guitar. A Roland 808 provides the beat. Says Eldritch, “A lot of people— mostly out-of-work drummers— say, ‘Why do you use a drum machine? It just doesn’t do what a drummer can.’ The fact is that the Oberheims and the Linns do. It’s a bit more restrictive using a drum machine but it’s a very useful discipline.”

The Sisters have released three 12-inch EPs in America on the Brain Eater label. The best are the current Temple Of Love and the earlier Alice. The trademarks of the band are the disquieting and moody songs, the barely restrained hysteria of Eldritch’s deep vocals, the clanging guitars, punch-bottom bass and the relentless and truly menacing beat—all of which marks originals like “Temple of Love,” “Heartland,” “Alice,” and “Floorshow,” as well as the covers they choose—the Stones' “Gimme Shelter,” the Stooges’ “1969” and Hot Chocolate’s “Emma.”

The band has been dogged by comparisions to the Doors, the Psychedelic Furs, Bowie, and Bauhaus among others. “That’s OK,” feels Eldritch, about the Jim Morrison comparison. “I quite encourage it at the moment. If they’ve got to compare me to someone, I’d rather it be to someone I like.” The others rankle him a bit. “People tell us, ‘You’re a New Music band.’ And we say, ‘Like hell we are.’ And they tell us we have a lot in common with our contemporaries but it’s only because we share the same references in many cases. We certainly don’t listen to our contemporaries. We like anything that’s really stupid or really tuneful or really insane or real violent.” So they must like heavy metal then. Yes? “No. We don’t bother with new heavy metal, apart from the most •stupid ends of American hardcore. That’s OK. Motorhead went down the drain a year and a half ago.”

But the Sisters Of Mercy do have a very favorite time and place in rock ’n’ roll history— Detroit, late ’60s early 70s—and they were anxious to get there. “We listen to the Stooges, the MC5 and a lot of Motown stuff,” says Eldritch. “Detroit has a lot to answer for in my life. I can’t wait to see the place—40 square miles of urban wasteland. That’s great! That’s an achievement.”

Richard Fantina