ROCK • A • RAMA

ROCK-A-RAMA

This month’s Rock-A-Ramas were written by Richard Riegel, Jon Young, Bill Holdship, Michael Davis, Chuck Eddy, Steve Appleford and Roy Trakin

THE CULT

Electric

(Sire)

These guys used to be lost in the postNew Romantic ozone, but in a move worthy of Dylan himself, they’ve abruptly recreated themselves as feedback grunge masters, a hitherto under-represented faction among the psychedelic revivalists. This whole album is a virtual parody of early Led Zeppelin, but much more economically so: fat chords but short songs, with absolutely no acoustic-guitar let’s-go-cornhole-thebutterflies interludes. Zep as it always shoulda been, all chug riffs and dumb fun. Ian Astbury’s Native American fetish may be huger than Eric Burdon’s and more power to him. This entire Cult package is more sincerely cheap and trashy than I believed the Britons capable of anymore. Don’t miss this one! R.R.

THE BLOW MONKEYS

She Was Only A Grocer’s Daughter

(RCA)

if pale, nerdy British boys want to emulate classic American soul music, let ’em try. After all, Boy George had some shining moments, although Simply Red seems hopeless. The Blow Monkeys may turn out to be the best of the bunch, thanks to frontman Dr. Robert, who’s already got his attitude nailed. Suave and sweaty at once, he plays the impassioned crooner to perfection, spitting out tortured phrases like his life depended on it. Of course, that also means he’s incredibly mannered, so anyone who values spontaneity (or the illusion of same) should listen elsewhere. Typically for retro pursuits, the material is the weak link. "It Doesn’t Have To Be That Way” may be a snazzy toe-tapper, but recycles their hit "Digging Your Scene,” while “Man At The End Of His Tether” promises a Spinnersstyle romp, then fails to deliver, etc. Still, don’t be surprised if Robert comes up with the perfect tune one of these days. Lord knows he wants to bad enough. J.Y.

OINQO BOINGO

Boi-ngo

(MCA)

Oingo Boingo’s odd and frantic big band sound has never been much of a critical favorite, but at least it was a musical style somewhat unique to the band. Since about the time of their hit “Weird Science,” leader Danny Elfman and the band have been watering down that quirky sound, apparently chasing after the record-buying public’s current craving for lousy dance music. Consequently, they’ve smothered themselves under the BIG BEAT and lost any semblance of a personal identity. The record does have its moments of fine musicianship, as with the slicing and jangling guitar JiM work of Steve Bartek in songs like "New Generation,” reminding listeners of what a tight outfit this is. But with such cuts as the pathetically monotonous album closers "Outrageous” (which isn’t) and “Pain” (which is), it makes you wonder why you ever cared in the first place,S.A.

HUNTERS AND COLLECTORS

Living Daylight EP

(IRS)

The days of being an Aussie Gang Of Eight (or more), all howly and percussive and wired to a thunk-funk bass line, aren’t buried in the distant past for H + C; to be more exact, they’re right over their left shoulders. So the inevitable popward movement isn’t a tragic downhill gallop; as their name suggests, these guys prefer to spread out and explore the terrain. Side one contains three new tunes, two well-focused, hard-edged shouts of defiance and an actual ballad, wherein Mark Seymour sounds strangely like John Wetton, strange because Wetton sings for Asia, of course, not Australia. Side two features remixes of two of the stronger tunes from ’84’s The Jaws Of Life LP which, if you missed it (most people did), makes this EP a good introduction to a worthy band that really hasn’t made it yet, but certainly hasn’t blown it either. M.D.

MEAT PUPPETS

Mirage

(SST)

The Meat Puppets have never quite matched the back-country brilliance of their second album, yet their records since then have continued their moody chronicle of the American Southwest with intricate ballads and songs of high energy. Mirage is simply the more polished of the bunch. This barren territory has been explored by such earlier songwriters as Neil Young, but the Puppets add their own state of desert delirium to the proceedings, giving their often strangely calm music an undefinable Western weirdness. Smooth and thoughtful ballads are often interrupted by Curt Kirkwood’s fuzzy psychedelic guitar in songs like "Leaves.” And Kirkwood brings the whole thing to a crash on "Liquified,” ending the album with his whining guitar trailing off wildly, perhaps echoing back to the drylands these guys came from. S.A.

R.E.M.

Dead Letter Office

(IRS)

A hodge-podge of B-sides and other marginalia, Dead Letter Office is, in its own kooky way, the coolest R.E.M album yet. Freed from the pressure to make the standard heavy LP, mumblin’ Michael Stipe and pals prove they’re a versatile, get-down, even fun (!) rock ’n’ roll band. For proof, skip the usual mood pieces and go directly to the fringe stuff: twangy instrumentals, no less than three Velvet Underground songs, a searing Aerosmith cover ( Toys In The Attic”), an endearingly messy “King Of The Road,” and the guttural “Burning Hell.” Plus, amusing liner notes by guitarist Peter Buck. Yeah! J.Y.

HOLGER CZUKAY

Rome Remains Rome

(Virgin import)

Under Czukay’s leadership, the Can clan are back (or at least three of the core four, with help from Jah Wobble and a couple of other crazies), and they’ve come up with their strongest LP since Czukay’s Movies, the record often credited as the primary inspiration for Byrne-Eno’s Bush Of Ghosts. Drummer Jaki Liebezeit has long excelled at varying extended grooves which Czukay then reassembles in his own unique manner. He plays several instruments but he’s a magician at the mixing board, creating fearless cornucopias of cultural extracts. Describing the music isn’t easy but “Perfect World” is the kind of a rap tango that gently mocks Kraftwerk in the choruses while “Sudetenland” combines African and European elements into something else entirely. And what kind of bluesy dive is “His Holyness Popestar Wojtyla” conducting his Easter ceremonies in? if you wanna travel well beyond Malcolm McLauren or Art Noise, you gotta hear this stuff. M.D.

THE CULT

Electric

(Sire)

This is so weird. Everyone I talk to either loves or hates this band—and there appears to be no in-betweens. Must mean something when a band can elicit such strong responses. Based on their last LP and the MTV videos (the singer really does look like Jim Morrision with a smashed-in face), I was prepared to hate it. Well, guess again ’cause— with the exception of a misguided “Born To Be Wild” cover—this is a great album. The biggest plus is these guys are really funny, just the way rock ’n’ roll’s supposed to be. At least I don’t think they’re serious. Geez, with those lyrics (Robert Johnson for retards?) I hope they’re not serious. You’re not serious, right, guys? B.H.

ANDY TAYLOR

Thunder

(MCA)

For this he left Duran Duran? There’s just no accounting for those wacky rock stars. Anyway, Andy’s solo shot expands on some of the “ideas” he previously explored in the dreaded Power Station, punctuating bigbeat pop with semi-metal guitars. (Ex-Pistol Steve Jones guests on second axe, by the way.) Sadly, all the multi-tracking in the world can’t hide the fact that Taylor’s got one of the dullest voices in creation, so Thunder doesn’t even qualify as good trash. There is, however, one accidental moment of idiot brilliance, when the poor slob howls, “Life goes on/Goes on and on/On and on.” Profound! J.Y.

ALEX DE GRASSI

Altlplano

(Novus/RCA)

The New Age Jimmy Page, de Grassi’s got all the right credentials. Born in Japan, raised in Palo Alto, his cousin Will Ackerman even put out the guitarist’s first few discs on Windham Hill. That said, this yuppie elevator muzak does indeed reward close listening, if you can concentrate that long. There’s a iot going on here, as idioms like blues, jazz, classical and folk are leaped in several bounds. How do you describe a babbling brook or a fleeting cloud? With music as ephemeral as this... R.T.

THE GOLDEN PALOMINOS

Blast Of Silence

(Celluloid)

As the Golden Pals move a few steps closer to being a “real” group, they’re exhibiting unusual strains and strengths. For an album bracketed by Lowell George songs and led by drummer Anton Fier, it’s strange that the only tune that approaches Little Feat’s rhythmic vitality is the Don Dixon-fronted “Faithless Heart.” The impact of each number varies considerably depending on who’s in the saddle, making the Pals sound sorta like an ’80s Stoneground; Matthew Sweet is no Michael Stipe and every time Syd Straw takes the reins, the tempos slow down to a professional plod. On the positive side, the Fier-Blegvad bunch is turning out some first-rate tunes, like the (Blood On The Tracks-era) Dylanesque "Strong, Simple Silences” for T-Bone Burnette and the churning, Cream-like “(Something Else Is) Working Harder” for Jack Bruce. Hmmm. I guess that means that Bruce and Ginger Baker are recording for the same company again... M.D.

AFRICAN HEAD CHARGE

Off The Beaten Track

(On-U Sound import)

Adrian Sherwood productions are as deep-in-the-pocket as reggae or funk or Afropop (all of which the British dubmeister fuses) get in the age of James Brown succumbing to Dan Hartman, and African Head Charge is the project wherein Sherwood makes his most extreme plunges into the dense jungle of heavy rhythm. With three drummers, three bassists, Doctor Pablo on keys, an overdubbed semanticist, a percusssionist named Bonjo lyanghi Noah, and Sherwood manipulating the board, Off The Beaten Track swings so hard, so slow, so far down, with such incredibly curdled thickness-of-brickness-of-boat that it’s bound to strike innocent novices as impenetrable. I’d consider that a challenge if I were you—me, I’m man enough to just dance to the sucker. C.E.