ROCK • A • RAMA

ROCK 'A' RAMA

This month’s Rock-A-Ramas were written by Craig Zeller, Jon Young, Michael Davis, Richard C. Walls and Dave Segal.

THE CARS

The Cars Greatest Hits

(Elektra)

Except for their debut, these boys have always been pretty hit-and-miss on albums. There’s not a miss to be had on this superbly selected collection which showcases the finest efforts of Ric “I’m in the driver’s seat” Ocasek. Includes the bonus hit “Tonight She Comes” and all the right choices from “My Best Friend’s Girl” through “Touch And Go” (rescued from Panorama obscurity) and on up to “Magic.” Suffice to say, this is strictly Overdrive City all the way. C.Z.

MASON RUFFNER

(CBS Associated)

If Mason Ruffner’s sweet ’n’ greasy debut seems like Dire Straits without the pretense, it’s not his fault. Make no mistake: this is the real Louisiana hot sauce, boy, not that imitation limey slop. A veteran of the New Orleans scene, Ruffner sings in a dry, laconic voice and reels off some of the coolest deep-fried guitar licks around. Heck, most everything you need for a party is here, from the rolling roadhouse boogie of “Lady Moon” to the bluesy “Gamblin’ Fever,” with a sizzlin’ solo Hendrix would’ve admired, to “Serenata,” a dreamy, south of the border instrumental worthy of Ry Cooder. A must for John Fogerty and J.J. Cale fans, plus anyone else who likes to cook the oldfashioned way. J.Y.

TOM PETTY AND THE HEARTBREAKERS

Pack Up The Plantation—Live!

(MCA)

Typical lousy live album: carelessly thrown together, lotsa off-night performances, pointlessly drawn-out renditions, weak covers and plenty of filler—-and they’ve got the brass balls to make it a double! If the Heartbreakers wanna slop up their own stuff, that’s their problem, but why give the shaft to the Byrds, the Searchers, the Animals, the Isleys and the Everlys? Don’t do ’em like that, Tom. And while you’re at it, dump the horns, upgrade your songs, and stop draggin’ your whine around. C.Z.

ACCEPT

Kaizoku-Ban

(Portrait)

Don’t know that putting out a budgetpriced live EP at the end of the year is such a good marketing move but, musically, Accept get away with it because they are one hot band at the moment. Setting a course between Priest and Malmsteen, they pound, and shriek with the best of ’em; Udo’s wounded wolverine yowl isn’t softened by harmonies or synthetic strings, so this is a band that separates the men from the boys or is that the men from the girls? Only thing is, four of these six tunes were on Metal Heart, so it’s not really necessary as such, though I guess it functioned okay as a stocking stuffer for those who couldn’t afford the Scorpions and Iron Maiden double livers. M.D.

THE GOLDEN PALOMINOS

Vissions of Excess

(Celluloid)

Drummer Anton Fier and ubiquitous bassist Bill Laswell function as kind of a white man’s answer to Sly & Robbie here, inviting along some of their favorite Golden Pals to fill up the tracks in various combinations. The dedication, “for Jim Gordon and Bonzo,” tips us off to its pop orientation; the main connection to the fractured funk of their previous LP is “Only One Party,” where Arto Lindsay once again conjures up a sound not unlike catching David Byrne and Adrian Belew in the meatgrinder at the same time. Great stuff. Jack Bruce and John Lydon are also effective in their cameos, but what most people are interested in are the three tracks featuring R.E.M. vocalist Michael Stipe; yes, the able remake of the Moby Grape classic “Omaha” is included, but it’s the least interesting of the three. The teaming of Stipe with evocative guitar wizard Richard Thompson on “Boy (Go)” is as magical as expected, but the quality doesn’t slip when former Funkadelicman Mike Hampton takes over on lead for “Clustering Train.” In short, Visions is a must for R.E.M. fanatics, but a lot of other people will dig it too. M.D.

TONY WILLIAMS

Foreign Intrigue

(Blue Note)

Williams is one of the greatest jazz drummers of all time, as his work with Miles Davis (and many others) attests, but on his own he’s just a fool for the Zeitgeist, making avant-garde records in the ’60s, fusion in the 70s, and making his first record as a leader in six years as an ’80s neo-classicist (you can tell by a Williams record what musicians think is currently hip, even as critics mumble amongst themselves offstage). Fortunately the drummer brings to his latest kick seven very attractive original compositions and such no-nonsense mainstreamers as alto saxist Donald Harrison, pianist Mulgrew Miller, and vibist Bobby Hutcherson, who’s gone through the fashion mills himself. This is pleasant enough stuff, but if you want to hear Williams and Hutcherson when they were young and fearless (as opposed to middle-aged and competent), check out the recent Blue Note reissues of Grachan Moncur’s Evolution and Eric Dolphy’s Out To Lunch. R.C.W.

EINSTURZENDE NEUBAUTEN

Halber Mensch

(Some Bizzare)

Want to know how the Muzak of Armageddon sounds? These West Germans (alias Collapsing New Buildings) will demonstrate. “This was made to end all parties,” Blixa Bargeld screams, and who can doubt him? “Say goodbye to the nervous system,” he hisses, and we do. EN know about the beauty of destruction. Their, uh, music is a monument to destruction, decay and chaos. “What do EN sound like?” I hear fundamentalists ask. Does it help if I say they make the Birthday Party sound like the Monkees? We’re not talking beautiful melodies here. The bonegrinding rhythms, gnarled German vocals and kling-klanging of scrap metal strangle any melody that might threaten EN’s unholy racket. Highlights include “Halber Mensch”—an eerie monstrosity, featuring the massed automaton a cappella of kinder voices—and the hyperkinetic “Yu Gung (Feed My Ego).” A kind of Vonnegutian grim humor hangs over the debris. You may not like EN’s industrial death boogie, but you’ll never forget it. D.S.

BENNIE WALLACE Twilight Time (Blue Note)

The hook here is that tenor saxophonist Wallace, one of those complicated jazz guys, is going back to his musical roots— and in this case they’re found in New Orleans, not the Dixieland part, but the funky, r’n’b, Fats Domino part with roots in the brothels and bars and churches of bygone days. Dr. John on piano and Stevie Vaughan on guitar add verisimilitude to some of the cuts and Wallace, a modernist who likes to bounce his phrases off a low honking note, makes a convincing honkytonker for the most part; occasionally he sounds like he’s holding back for the sake of genre purity but then (as on his original, “Saint Expedito”) he’ll insinuate his personal tone and phrasing into the groove and whip out a hot one. Added attraction is guitarist John Scofield, who has much to do with the cool jazz appeal of “Tennessee Waltz” and the bluesy bop of “Fresh Out.” Not bad for an obvious commercial bid, and if this gets Wallace on the radio then good for him. R.C.W.

MALCOLM MCLAREN

Swamp Thing

(Island)

“Buffalo Gals,” a novelty thang from ’83, charmed me, but this is about as satisfying and substantial as a dinner consisting entirely of parsley. True, hating the ex-Sex Pistols and Bow Wow Wow manager is so very easy to do—and obvious. But I have no choice. Male can’t sing or write a lick— probably can’t dance, either. He does excel, though, at making nursery rhyme, quasi-hip-hop rhythm tracks suitable for The Richard Simmons Show. The best that can be said for McLaren is that he doesn’t take himself seriously. Nobody could. File Swamp Thing under water. D.S.

QUESTION MARK &

THE MYSTERIANS

The Dallas Reunion Tapes—

96 Tears Forever

(ROIR Cassette)

Here’s one ’60s reunion that catches fire instead of fizzling. Captured live, kicking out one hot jam after another, the Mysterians take you straight to Tex-Mex nirvana. Question Mark sounds like he’s been away for days instead of decades, and proves once and for all what a major influence he was on Joe “King” Carrasco (they even chatter alike). The band whips their way through a pulsating set highlighted by a tremendous rendition of that bubblegum obscurity “Do Something To Me” and an epic, majestical version of “96 Tears.” Question Mark’s unheralded comeback deserves an exclamation point. So there! (611 Broadway, Suite 725, New York, NY 10012.) C.Z.

BOGSHED

Let Them Eat Bogshed

(Vinyl Drip import)

Britain’s Bogshed, like Texas’ Butthole Surfers, can musically spit in your face and vomit in your lap and make you thank them for it. Bogshed create a madder brand of rock than most satiated consumers can endure. Your basic Bogshed song is fueled by a Vesuvius-like bass and hysterical insane ward vocals. The boisterous and spasmodic nature of Bogshed bespeaks of an adolescence spent listening to primal Beefheart, Pere Ubu and the Fall. Except with Bogshed, everything is more urgent and silly. Of the six rough gems on this platter, “Fat Lad Exam Failure” captures the band’s cathartic roguishness. Bogshed: a turbulent sound that’s hazardous to your boredom. D.S.