One of the biggest problems with being a critic is that people are always expecting you to have opinions about everything. Now I readily admit that, at least as far as this particular outpost of rock criticdom is concerned, the specific things that I’m often called upon to express my opinions about are often those that, in the course of a perhaps more “normal” existence, I probably wouldn’t bother with even a moment’s thought over, let alone the hour upon hour of serious brainwork that goes into formulating actual, serviceably dispensable opinions.

Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Most of the time, I don’t mind having to sit around trying to solve such deep mysteries as exactly what on earth actor/comedian Dick Shawn is doing in the latest Ratt video (Milton Berle couldn’t make the shoot this time? The bass player is a big fan of The producers?) or why there’s a new Rod Stewart video every month (at least it sure seems like it), while, say, Gordon Lightfoot never appears to make any (maybe Gordo’s being censored! Free Canada now!). And if it’s up to me to point out such fascinating items as the fact that Vinnie Vincent looks more like a girl without any makeup on than he ever did when his whole face was smothered with it, or that World Party’s Karl Wallinger bears enough of a resemblance to Dave DiMartino to finally explain why D.D. always harbored a special spot in his big heart for Wallinger’s old band, the Waterboys, well, I knew this job was dangerous when I took it.

Of course, sometimes I find that I have opinions that perhaps I'd be better off keeping to myself. Like on the subject of Madonna. In general, I’ve pretty much enjoyed Madonna’s records but have been unimpressed by her videos. Now I used to think that this could be explained by the simple fact that I, personally, do not find her very attractive. And, to tell you the truth, that’s probably the main reason why I haven’t written about her videos very much; all I’d wind up talking about was the fact her “sex appeal” act didn’t work on me, and once I’d said it, there’d be little point in rehashing the point over and over.

And I wouldn’t, were it not for the fact that her latest video, “Open Your Heart,” actually annoyed me enough to want to write about it. In it, Madonna plays a peep show performer who dances around lewdly in a semi-bondage outfit to the varying degrees of delight of a host of males sitting in private quarter-per-minute viewing booths, while outside, a young boy who wants to get in is turned away by the sleazy box-office proprietor. Eventually, the show ends (comple with shots of the men doing such suggestively post-masturbatory things as towelling off and copping a smoke), and Madonna comes out, greets the little boy waiting for her with a loving kiss, and the two traipse off merrily into the sunset.

This video smacks suspiciously of “statement” to me. It seems to be suggesting that we should not look upon Madonna as merely a sex object: that beneath the pulchritude there beats the heart of a caring, feeling human being. And that’s exactly what annoys me about it, and, in turn, about Madonna herself. It’s one thing to be sexy; it’s quite another to simply be a salesperson whose product is sex. Throughout her brief career, Madonna has simply been one suggestive pose after another; all surface and gloss. She may fancy herself a male fantasy, but there is no mystery to her—which is why she is perceived (rightfully, I think) as purely a “boy toy” and nothing else. If and when she dares to reveal some emotions, and not merely just more skin, perhaps my opinion will change. I’m not holding my breath.

SNAP SHOTS

Who Says You Can’t Have Pinstripes And Rock ’n’ Roll? Huey Lewis and The News, “Hip To Be Square”—You might recall that last month we devoted almost our entire column space to a discussion of the fashionable new concept of dull as hip. With the arrival of this song in the Top 10, then, we probably could be excused if we wanted to spend a few selfaggrandizing moments tooting our little horn and boasting about what a good job we’re doing analyzing the music video scene. Which we certainly would be doing right now if we weren’t so busy feeling nauseous. Really —between the sentiments expressed in “Stuck With You” and the attitudes reflected in “Hip To Be Square,” it may be necessary to circulate a petition to have all Huey Lewis vinyl up through the Sports album simply stricken from the record. Remember, it’s Michelob light— for the winners...

Don’t Look Now, But They’re Multiplying! Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark, “(Forever) Live And Die”— Funny how before they got a hit they were just a duo and now they’ve swelled to at least three times that number. Does this mean that the next time we see Timbuk 3, they’ll have sprouted multiple beatboxes?...

Finally, I wish to report that, after developing an allergic reaction brought on by exposure to Toto’s “I’ll Be Over You,” have received a note from my physician excusing me from having to watch any more clips featuring guest appearances by Michael MacDonald. I realize that this may prevent me from reviewing half of all the videos now being made, but doctor’s orders are doctor’s orders.

HEP CATS CUT LOOSE

JOHN COLTRANE The Coltrane Legacy (Bravo)

MILES DAVIS Miles Ahead (PBS)

by Richard C. Walls

This month, vid fans, we’re offering a little change of pace—instead of the usual lighthearted but meaningful look at a tape or two currently available for your home consumption, we’re going to scan two vids that ought to be available but, as far as our armchair research has revealed, are not. As yet. But they should be, both because of their general excellence and the fact that they deal in an area that is a long way from vid saturation— jazz.

S The first, The Coltrane Legacy, has recently appeared on the Bravo station as part of their History of Jazz Series. Right away we’re dealing with an anomaly, because after watching Bravo for about two years I Can tell you that their idea of the History of Jazz ends, in terms of innovations in the music (unless you count Fusion, which you don’t have to) around 1960. This station, which features the occasional avant-garde movie, avantgarde opera, and avant-garde dance piece (fer Chrissake) has offered nary a peep of avantgarde jazz in two years (except for about 90 seconds of The Art Ensemble of Chicago during a show called The Trumpet Kings). So, The Coltrane Legacy is something of a breakthrough for those of us who patiently monitor cable for signs that the modern world is a happening concern.

At any rate, Legacy is actually more of a performance tape than a full-fledged documentary —approximately 45 of its 60 minutes are uninterrupted performances by two different Coltrane groups; a 1961 quintet filmed for German TV (Trane, tenor sax; Eric Dolphy, alto sax, flute; McCoy Tyner, piano; Reggie Workman, bass; and Elvin Jones, drums) and a 1963 quartet gig (same personnel minus Dolphy, and with Jimmy Garrison replacing Workman) filmed for the old Ralph Gleason PBS-syndicated jazz show. Now, uninterrupted Coltrane tapes (the Gleason show’s “Impressions” runs about 13 minutes) are a godsend and one hesitates to make even minor complaints, but as a critic I Can’t Help Myself, so here’s two. First, the title is misleading. Coltrane’s period of influence starts in the mid-’50s and goes till his death in ’67 (and beyond, natch), and like any career artist of Major Significance, be it Joyce, Picasso, or Bobby Dylan, his art went through what are (especially in retrospect) distinctly separate phases, with each phase managing to be both an extension and something of a repudiation of the phase immediately preceding it. The narrow focus of this tape hardly begins to explain Trane’s “Legacy”—it’s like putting together a program called The Lennon Legacy and then zeroing in on his career from, say, Beatles ’65 to Rubber Soul. The second minor complaint is that the tape quality is only fair to good and the sound is variable. But despite its slightly faded picture, the German presentation, with its shadowy, expressionistic set (more like a big erector set) has a not unattractive noir-ish quality, with the fun-loving Krauts keeping the cornball arty shots down to a minimum. The Gleason set is brighter, clearer but the sound is a little muddied—the bass and drums aren’t always there.

Which barely matters, since the music is fantastic. On both the German and Gleason “Impressions,” Trane unravels a seemingly unbroken ribbon of soul, and watching it, I was surprised to see that the great modernist was a toe-tapper (literally)—if anyone doubts the rhythmic imperatives of the music even at this advanced stage, just watch that Florsheim bop! The rhythm section defines the word “roiling”—polyrhythmic, fierce, and earthy (how could music that grooves this hard once have been labeled anti-jazz?). Dolphy’s brief appearances are exciting, too—on the German “My Favorite Things,” where Trane had tempered the song’s cuteness by anchoring it to a cool vamp, Dolphy takes things even further, using dissonance to resist the sentimental remnants of the melody; his flute solo is terse, dry, alienated. It’s the early ’60s and pointed dissent looms in the air. Maybe someday Bravo will tell us the rest of the stor^ Meanwhile, this episode ends with Coltrane’s “Alabama,” written, we are told, shortly after the infamous church bombing that killed four black children; it’s a prayer, a sigh, a civilized cry jof protest. If this doesn’t move you, then the chances are you caij’t be moved.

Miles Ahead, shown on PE|S this past fall, has a different approach—it attempts to be (a full career biography (limited, of course, by a dearth of available film). As another Major Significance artist, Miles has been phasing for about 40 years now, and this documentary attempts to touch on them all. Still photos and reminiscences take us through the bop and immediate post-bop eras—it isn’t till we get to Miles’ late-’50s collaboration with Gil Evans that we go to the performance tape. So much ground is covered here that I’ll mention just a few highlights: the way Miles comes across in his interview, not in the menacing manner of recent album covers but as an essentially shy, likeable, and (dare I say it?) vulnerable sort of guy; a great six-minute black & white clip of the ’67 quintet playing Wayne Shorter’s “Footprints,” impressionism combined with the sound of surprise; and Miles’ extraordinary present-day assessment of his ’60s style: “that age is gone...it doesn’t do anything... it’s flat...it was great at the time...if I had to go back and play like that I’d have a heart attacks... to have a microphone you have to walk to every number...that's some boring shit even to watch, and it’s worse if you do it...it looks funny...when you get through playing, people applaud, and you say ‘thank you’... that shit is old, it’s an old concept and it’s still there. I can’t stand doing it.” Yo, the Major Artist is a cruel taskmaster, self-employed. Anyway, both these documentaries are great.