NEWBEATS

NEWBEATS

JANE SIBERRY, CANADIAN WOMAN

The guy’s about 45, a classic born-andbred New Yawk City street tough, and a publisher of music magazines more likely to feature Motley Crue than anyone like 30-year-old Canadian composer/performer Jane Siberry. But after Siberry’s “coming out” concert in Manhattan, all his usual swagger evaporates.

“Are you going back there to say hello to her?” His face and voice are vulnerable, anxious. “You just gotta tell her, you just gotta—she’s the most sensitive person I’ve ever seen. She’s...she’s...” Finally he can’t say any more. “She’s a mystery.”

Yes, Jane Siberry is a mystery. But there are clues.

Clue one: She grew up in the suburbs of Toronto. Formal piano lessons were ditched early; the real learning on piano and guitar was done by ear and instinct. And away from the instruments: “I wasn’t a cheerleader, but I wasn’t a bookworm, either. I guess I was a sort of normal cigarettes, drugs and boys type.”

Clue two: She laughs. A laughs that floats like chiffon, a grin that makes her slanted eyes almost disappear into her cheekbones.

Clue three: “I did a lot of living in my head during my adolescence. Yeah, I was lonely, but it was being lonely for myself.”

Clue four: She studied music for a while in college, but switched quickly to sciences. “Music is me, it’s my life force”—-but science, ah, science was this fabulous, weird knot of mysteries crammed with formulas and orders that would come together and make sparks and create a whole new set of mysteries. Jane got one degree in science and one in microbiology.

Clue five: “When I was studying physics,

I used to read Harlequin Romance books on the side.” A giggle. “Heroes? People I admire? Well, Einstein of course, but everyone loves Albert Einstein don’t they? And Monty Python, too. Albert Einstein and Monty Python.”

Clue six: After college, Jane didn’t get a science job. She worked the Canadian folkie circuit, waitressing to pay the bills. “I could never remember drink orders.” Waitressing money paid for her first album in 1981, a homegrown effort called Jane Siberry. Thousands of people make kitchen-sink albums every year, and mostly they vanish into the great vinyl abyss. Siberry’s record and growing reputation from live performances got her a Canadian record deal and the chance to make a weird and more-orless wonderful album in 1984 called No Borders Here.

Clue seven: Ants make anthills, journalists make comparisons. Siberry's like Laurie Anderson, they said. Lots of synthesizer, lots of talking mixed in with the singing, lots of droll, obtuse verbal riddles in the lyrics. Kate Bush, they said. Lots of gorgeous melodies and emotional riptides but too complicated for radio-land. Joni Mitchell, they said, because of vocal harmonies pretty enough to make a brick wall cry. And almost every article on Siberry calls her eccentric. If I read that word about you one more time, a reporter said to Jane, I’ll—

“—barf?” offered Jane with her chiffon laugh.

Clue eight: “I guess I believe everyone's eccentric.” Siberry says this sitting in the corporate offices of one of America’s biggest record labels, which has decided to throw its considerable weight behind Jane’s third LP, Speckless Sky. The woman couldn’t write a three-minute hit single at gunpoint, but, somewhere in the offices of the big guns, it’s been decided that doesn’t matter. There’s this mystery, this magic, and maybe it will break Siberry through to the fringes of hitsville. “Everyone is eccentric, really, and if you can spend some time with them, and find out what’s special and charming about them, you’ll see it. Maybe I am eccentric—I just try to walk a middle line.” A twinkle in the slanted eyes.

Clue nine: And when Siberry’s on a concert stage, her lines shoot out to each audience member from the very first song, and coil around them until the show ends two fascinating, confusing hours later. And unlike so many people who make complicated music, Siberry and her band spend most of the two hours smiling, laughing, looking as if they were kids who’d just been told that the big bad world was not going to squash their imaginations, ever. That’s the Siberry mystery: how did she get to 30 years old and not get squashed? “Just tell her for me,” the street-tough magazine publisher sighed, “—just tell her I love her.”

Laura Fissinger

INTERVIEW TO THE EDIT

The Art of Noise seemed weird enough to get me to OK Ed.’s idea of an interview. I wanted to know what it means—all of it. Every beat-box trick, every last video image. Not that it makes a diff, though, since the AoN lay down a groove that you can dance to some and it’s fun stuff, so why probe, you know? Well, because this question zinged its way through my mind: What do the AoN have to do with Petula Clark? (Not in the “do they have to keep her locked up?” sense.) You’ve just got to deal with questions like that; they won’t go away. In other words: the moody atmospherics, the stuck-in-thegroove repetition, the soundtrack bits, the distorted vocals, the oh-so-meaningful phrases, the studio effects, the occasional melodic lines—IS IT MUSIC (whatever that means) or IS IT STUDIO MASTURBATION (no criticism intended, you understand)??? Critic Brian Chin opined, “It’s a record.”

The AoN didn’t actually answer some of my questions; actually, some I didn’t ask; and also actually, only Anne Dudley and J.J. (Jonathan) Jeczalik came Stateside to push their new LP, In Visible Silence. Third member Gary Langan was home in England, I suspect, closer to the edit or something. Anyhow, the group’s official bio states “from a clever publicity conceit to a flesh-and-blood pop music force.” And we all know about the “from” part of that phrase—Trevor Horn, Paul Morley, ZTT Records, the “Close To The Edit” video with the punk kid and all that destruction (which, in a rotten mood, suits me fine; otherwise, I’m appalled), the fact that until now—the three-song Tube video and the upcoming tour with instruments and singers and everything—we the public didn’t have a chance to find out whether the AoN have the heartbreak of psoriasis. No, they don’t, I discovered, sitting with two-thirds of the flesh-and-blood. What they do have is an adorable yellow sundress with black dots (Anne), an appetite (“Lunch is all right”— J.J.), and the charm and/or manners to cope with my friendly bemusement.

So what’s with the bags-on-their-heads philosophy and whither it goest? “We didn’t want to have any publicity photos because we wouldn’t be part of the fashion scene,” said Anne, “but we don’t want the nonimage to become a gimmick.” (I.e., Hefties may be among the tour expenses or maybe not.) Added J.J., “It’s a very fluid situation.” Next question: Why on Earth did the group split from ZTT and Mr. Wonderful himself, Trevor Horn? (Info break: the AoN now record in the U.K. for the fairly indy China Records and are licensed in the U.S. by Chrysalis.) Answers: “Credit was going elsewhere”—J J. (readers who guess who elsewhere is don’t win a prize; it’s too easy); “ZTT was right behind us—about five miles behind”—Anne (one of their 12-incherswas released at the wrong speed, for example); “they also forgot to renew our option”— Anne again.

Now, about the music. Anne delved, sort of: “The musical impetus always comes first. We begin with the beat...the titles and concepts come later...They (read: they) don’t know where to put us—classical one minute, R&B the next...We’re breaking down barriers...It forces us to explore different structures and instrumental ideas...anything can happen.” J.J. summed up: “And usually does.” The AoN, not so by the way, have loads of impressive musical credits. Some: Anne—London’s Royal Academy of Music; keyboards and string arrangements on records by ABC, Malcolm McLaren, Frankie Goes To Hollywood; keyboards for Paul McCartney and Wham!; songs, including “Hide And Seek,” which was recorded by both (can you imagine) New Edition and Five Star— the latter her fave group, natch. J.J.— “Expert Fairlight programmer/player” (thanks, bio), has recorded Frankie, Kate Bush, Nik Kershaw, etc., etc., and Pet Shop Boys—the last his fave group. Gary Langan—Super-duper engineer, has worked with the Buggies, McCartney, Divinyls, Billy Idol and and and—who’s to say who his fave is?

As for the videos, the AoN didn’t have any input, but now they do, and Anne understood why, at times, the “Close To The Edit” video really works my nerves. And howzabout their cover of “Peter Gunn,” complete with Duane Eddy? Anne: “We all knew Duane Eddy from our childhoods.” J.J.: “Pre-.” Anne: “His name sounds like his sound—he created his own sound. Our name sounds like our sound—we created our own sound.” (Or something like that, if I read my dashes right.) J.J.: “We liked the song’s bass riff. It was a very advanced piece of writing for its time.”

Bonus bits: Pushed to the conference table, Anne said that Diana Ross’s “Touch Me In The Morning” had an influence on her. What kind of influence, she didn’t explain. And the bio mentions that “Moments In Love” was the Penns’ wedding theme. As for Petula Clark, well, she’s next month’s cover story.

Jim Feldman

LISA AND THE CULT: SO NICE, YOU WANNA RAP IT TWICE

The marriage proposals in the mail and the army of blushing guys lining up for autographs still shocks Lisa-Lisa, because, after all, she’s ohly 18. And though, as a Manhattanite raised in the tough neighborhood of Hell’s Kitchen, Lisa quickly learned how to handle life’s little curve balls, falling-down-adulation didn’t come with that territory.

Gracefully deflecting any such overtures with a foxy smile, Lisa then steps aside and allows the eight guys with whom she performs—the six man Full Force and her two Cult Jam partners—to handle any further negotiations. Unwelcome visitors soon learn that Lisa’s breathily intoned come-on, “I Wonder If I Take You Home” definitely doesn’t include them.

Dressed in a frilly blouse and jeans, wearing an elaborate array of earrings and bracelets, Lisa-Lisa seems so much a typical pretty teenager that she’s become a role model out on the streets. ‘‘I like that,” Lisa acknowleges of her unexpected influence, thanks to the international successes of ‘‘I Wonder” and its rhythmic, rapemphatic follow—up, ‘‘Can You Feel The Beat.” “I want (girls) to be able to sit down and think about what they’re going to do before they jump into a situation and not be able to get out of it.

‘‘You should be able to go out and see that there’s a whole lot more than just sex. I know a lot of things happen because of peer pressure. There’s so much more out there for you,” she says strongly, “than just getting yourself knocked up.”

While never intending to be placed on a platform as advice giver, Lisa started cutting her own path as the youngest of 10 children, raised by her mother, who recognized the perils of street life, and urged her daughter to be different. Thanks to her own strong will and religious convictions, Lisa refused to go along with the local drug-oriented crowd, even when they labeled her an outsider. She laughs, “They always thought I was weird and mysterious because they didn’t know what I did on my own time. If they knew what I was doing, like going to church...”

Meanwhile, Full Force was being consolidated in Brooklyn by three brothers and their three cousins. Explains the flamboyant, jovial Bow-legged Lou (who is resplendent in a white suit and huge metallic name plate necklace), the brothers began their professional career braving amateur nights at the Apollo Theater, when Lou was in the fourth grade. The world’s toughest audience named them winners four times running, which earned them a lot on bills with stars such as Joe Tex.

Numerous rejections followed their attempts at securing a record deal, first as the three-man Amplifiers, later as the six-person Full Force. Refusing to give up, the group and Lou’s parents took on Steve Salem as Full Force’s co-manager, and he suggested they try producing other artists. “We decided to produce a rap record by three guys in our neighborhood, UTFO. That record, ‘Roxanne, Roxanne,’ was one of the biggest records in rap history because it had 23 answer records to it: ‘Roxanne’s Grandmother,’ ‘Roxanne’s Pregnant,’ ‘Roxanne Goes To Mars,’ or whatever,” jokes Lou. “That was a phenomenon, and from there, we already had the song, ‘I Wonder If I Take You Home’ written and we were looking for a female singer.”

Influenced by women from Patti LaBelle and Teena Marie to Bette Midler, Janis Joplin and even Barbra Streisand, Lisa, who had been singing in church, became a professional performer soon after she enrolled in Julia Richman High School. “I was in a traveling group sponsored by a major department store. We did doo-wop shows, off-Broadway plays, anything possible,” she explains. Wondering where she’d go next, Lisa was selling sweaters after school when Mike Hughes, a Full Force crew member about to become Cult Jammer, took her across the river to audition for his friends. As Lou recalls, “We were looking for a young lady with innocence—I’m not saying Lisa’s innocent (she gives him a shove). She was singing some other songs written by Mike, and I was in the back laughing. Tears were streaming down my face because the songs weren’t so hot, and because they weren’t so hot they sounded really messed up. We were ready to give her the boot, but we asked her to sing something else and she sang ‘For Your Eyes Only’ and that clinched it. Thank God for ‘For Your Eyes Only’!”

Within months after their European club smash was released in the U.S., Cult Jam was sandwiching American Bandstand appearances, tour dates and video shoots while Full Force planned recording schedules for their mini-empire of UTFO and Roxanne, taking time to score their own hit tune, “Alice (I Want You Just For Me).” They’ve come a long way from the mean streets, but sometimes, Lou realizes, it’s a good thing the family can laugh at the very different environments they’re placed in for the first time. “On our concert rider, we ask for assortments of fruit, and in Denver, they gave us a lot of watermelon. What the hell,” he chuckles, “I love watermelon anyway. Lisa thought they might have had Goya beans for her. We laugh at things like that. Some people might not, but you can’t take life too seriously all the time.”

Lou hands over an essay he wrote to Full Force/Cult Jam fans. The title and last line sum it all up: “You’ve got to believe in yourself...Now go get ’em!”

Toby Goldstein

GREEN ON RED: OUT TO LUNCH IN AMERICA

“We call ourselves jet-setting bums,” says Green On Red mainman Dan Stuart, hung-over but still loquacious the morning after a beer-soaked night on the town in New York City. “I just turned 25, and I feel like I’m 60. We’ve all been through the wringer. I’ve seen human chaos firsthand: I’ve had a gun held to my head, and I think you change after that.”

Vocalist/guitarist Stuart, keyboardist Chris Cacavas and bassist Jack Waterson were considerably less worldly when they formed the Serfers in Tucson, Arizona in 1979. Over the next three years, they changed their name to Green On Red (after the title of a Serfers tune), moved to Los Angeles, added drummer Alex MacNicol and were befriended by the Dream Syndicate’s Steve Wynn, who released a cheaply-recorded seven-track Green On Red EP on his own Down There label. A subsequent stint with Slash produced the interestingly diffuse Gravity Talks LP.

1985’s Gas Food Lodging (on Enigma) introduced guitarist Chuck Prophet IV, and established Green On Red as something more than occasionally-inspired amateurs.

The band found its feet stylistically, leaving semi-psychedelic garage raunch behind for a more expansive country-folkish approach; and Stuart’s road-inspired lyrics took on new depth, examining the underside of Americana in sometimes-harrowing detail.

“The earlier stuff,” Dan explains, “was your normal 19-years-old, mad-at-the-world hallucinogenic stuff. As we went on, we got more into narrative and storytelling, as opposed to sonic jamming. You get a little older, and you want to do more than just play loud.”

The current Green On Red platter, the seven-song mini-album No Free Lunch, marks the band’s last vinyl appearance with MacNicol, who bailed out a few months back and has since been replaced by veteran L.A. drummer Keith Mitchell. The disc is also the first product of the band’s recent worldwide deal with Phonogram, an association made possible by Green On Red’s popularity in Europe.

Stuart is philosophical about his combo’s new corporate affiliation. “You can’t take the business personally,” he says. “There’s no way we’re gonna change anything for them, and there’s no way they’re gonna change anything for us, so we’ll just get together for a record and see what happens.

“We’re like Chairman Mao, we think longterm. The most precious thing we own is our reputation. We can’t fuck with our reputation, because it’s the only thing that’s gonna keep us out of the gutter five or ten years from now.”

OK Dan, but just what is this American Experience that Green On Red does such an exemplary job of illuminating? “I can’t say what it is, I don’t know,” answers the singer, who recently fled L.A. to take up residence in Austin, Texas. “To me, it’s just a violent kaleidoscope. I feel like I can’t really judge it, because I see so many of those contradictory things within myself. There’s no way you can convey America. You can only give little slices of it, little views, and then you have to leave it to others.

“I don’t have any answers. What it all comes down to is the old question—when you pass a bum on the street, do you give him a quarter or don’t you? I give him a quarter.”

Harold DeMuir