RECORDS

RECORDS

CHIP 'N' COVERDALE

WHITESNAKE

(Geffen)

Lotsa questions and confusion about this baby; it’s become the who’s-on-first? of metal, ’87. And all because David Coverdale unveils a new band on the new album. And a different new band on the new video.

Well, not just because of that. I mean really, how much time did you spend between, say, 1979 and 1986 worrying about who was in Whitesnake? Their success was primarily overseas, as all manner of European femmes fell for Coverdale’s I’m-more-man-than-you’ll-everneed-but-l’m-a-fool-for-your-love-baby schtick, but over here, their grandoise Bad Co. offerings fell on fewer ears.

Until this album. The opening track, “Crying In The Rain,” stomps all over anything recorded under the name Whitesnake before, as do several other cuts, and the LP is easily their biggest U.S. success. Dave’s second-generation Paul Rodgerisms are in fine form but he deserves more credit just for putting together this band.

Y’see, for years, Jon Lord was an integral part of Whitesnake and when he left to help reform the pre-Coverdale version of Deep Purple, Dave went for a different approach. Because he’s an old fashioned type, he went for the music over image and chose Aynsley Dunbar (exJourney/Starship drummer who sounds like he’s needed a band like this for years) and John Sykes (the guitarist who helped make Thin Lizzy’s Thunder And Lightning such a pleasant surprise) to join bassist Neil Murray and himself. They became a team—Coverdale and Sykes co-wrote seven of the nine tunes—and one of the most musical bands in metal.

One eye-opener is how they actually find ways to make some pop-metal moves work. “Straight For The Heart” is arranged as a series of hooks—which usually rip the guts out of the music, of course—but even here, Sykes finds a way to raunch and roar.

Most of the heavy damage is found in the first three cuts on side one, though. This instantly-authoritative rhythm section and Sykes’s dexterity and imagination shook me good the first time through “Crying In The Rain”; the song does not falter. The energy is sustained through “Bad Boys,” into the six-and-a-half minute Zeppelin tribute, “Still Of The Night.” These guys take the black dog to Kashmir and back, so you have plenty of time to play Name That Zeptune if you wanna. The band’s individual sonic resemblances are really quite amazing; Dunbar, in particular, pulls off his Bonham with just the right amount of crash and swing.

So what happened? Well, as I understand it, after the backing tracks were completed, Coverdale’s voice went out on him and by the time he got it back to peak form, eight months had gone by and the band’s enthusiasm had dissipated. Too bad. Coulda been contenders, y’know. If Campbell, Sarzo and Aldridge are indeed the new Whitesnake (as reported), they’ve got a lot of work ahead of them, although they all have proven abilities as well. But even if they never reach these heights, I’m sure Coverdale is proud to have made a record that easily surpasses either recent Deep Purple release.

Michael Davis

THE CULT

Electric

(Sire)

OK, now let me get this straight. We’ve got an album here by a one-time, postpunk, neo-psychedelic band, produced by the guy highly responsible for the popularity of rap music, and aimed at a mainstream heavy metal audience. Whew! Now if that isn’t a lot to swallow, I don’t know what is. But hey, we metalheads are open-minded, right? Right!

Here’s the story: the Cult are a quartet from London that evidently has been misunderstood. According to the boys in the band, they’ve been miscast by the music establishment, and judging from this album, I’d have to agree with the blokes. Previous Cult albums have been classified in the category of gothic gloom-rock, which is adored by the mohawk-haired, nose-ringed crowd. But, evidently, all these boys needed was the guidance of producer Rick Rubin (the guiding light behind the Beastie Boys and Run-DMC) to define their music in a way the Cult says they intended to sound all along. That is, music which prides itself on the return of the roots of heavy metal! Why they needed a rap music specialist to help find this definition, I’ll never know. But hey, it worked.

The Cult’s Electric, quite honestly, blew me away. I guess the element of surprise had a lot to do with it, but these boys get downright rowdy. There is no mistaking their direction now. It’s all-out hell-raisin’ from start to finish. It does get repetitious, but if you want pedal-to-the-metal, you’ve got it.

And Electric solidifies a belief I have about British music. Trends in one direction automatically create a trend in the opposite direction. Therefore, punk and post-punk have given way to traditional, bare-boned heavy metal, which is epitomized by the Cult’s (now firm) metal stance.

What Rubin did, presumably at the band’s insistance, was get rid of the heavy-handed 1980s production values and get back to the raw meat of heavy metal. Out went synthesizers and overwhelming production and in came the aggressive, guitar-dominated style of the bands the Cult happily points to as their influences (as if they have to tell us).

The Cult overtly borrows from the archives of the immortal metal bands of the late ’60s and early ’70s. Aiming to be the reinventors of progressive rock, they acknowledge a mixture of the relentless head-bouncing drive of AC/DC, the slightly more melodious style of Aerosmith (lead singer Ian Astbury even looks like Steven Tyler; fat, pouting lips and all), and the anthemic warbles of Robert Plant and Led Zeppelin in their music. The first and best single from Electric, “Love Removal Machine,” has Astbury whining “Bay-be, Bay-be, Bay-be, Bay-be/l fell from the sky”—and with this you’d swear Mr. Plant himself was making a cameo. The Cult aren’t making rock ’n’ roll history here, only revelling in the best of rock’s past. And, like all the best progressive rock bands, the heart of their sound beats in the guitar—in this case, Billy Duffy’s guitar. A rush infiltrates the body when Duffy squeals out one of his many searing riffs. The problem is that even though this is a guitar-dominated group, Duffy is so good you want him to dominate even more. His jams are like the rest of the band’s sound, Aerosmithesque and AC/DCed. But they are welcome reminders of the energy and intrigue those bands bequethed to us mere mortals.

As you will find obvious, the Cult’s music is no revelation, and the songs offer the usual quests for good times and sex, but the Cult’s lyrical approach is unique. A sample line from ‘‘Memphis Hip Shake”: ‘‘Cool operator with a rattlesnake kiss/Angelic poses that never miss/ Reverberation shuffle to the bone/Shake the world to the ground/Memphis hip swing to the guitar sound.” God only knows what they’re trying to say here, but it is kinda catchy, wouldintcha say?

This is what it comes right down to: Electric is not a classic rock ’n’ roll album, but it is one that really makes you think. It’s an album that makes you proud to be a headbanger because it recalls the rawboned heavy metal era, and offers a sound that tries to unify post-punk London influences with heavy metal roots— not an easy task. And, as Mr. Rubin hopes, when you think of the high energy sound of the AC/DC and Aerosmith, maybe you will also think of the Cult. Maybe.

Dan Fox

VOIVOD

Killing Technology

(Noise/Combat)

This is Voivod’s third album and it’s really bitchin’ power metal, dudes and dudesses. The sound is just right; it’s -clear enough to hear the individual instruments, while being just muddy enough to prevent the diehard from yellin’ that it’s “overproduced” or somethin’. Venom should sound just this good. The sound would be just right for them, y’know what I mean? (Harris Johns was twirlin’ the knobs, Cronos. . .just in case ya wanted to know.. .)

Urn, what’s next? Oh yeah. . . this one continues the story of the Voivod warrior, who—as you should recall—found himself evolved into this totally gnarly cyborg, Korgull the Exterminator, on the last record, which was RRRRRROARRH (I hope that’s enough Rs, but I don’t think so.) In the first song on this one (the title track), Voivod says that, “this sphere is a bad place to live.” So he finds a way to get up to the satellite and hook his computer cyborg brain into its computer.

Actually, at this point, I think that it’s just as well to drop the fake teenage California jargon and get serious. Voivod, like most metal bands, takes a bad rap for just having a “concept,” especially one that seems, at first glance, a mere sci-fi one.

A lot of rock fans seem to have this idea that a band has to sing about something along the order of the terrible social injustices of modern society if they want to have any "meaning” in their songs. A lot of the same people have walls lined with science-fiction books and stay up really late to watch Star Trek reruns, even if they have to get up early for work the next day. Yet a band must either write sensitive love songs or else restrict themselves to out-and-out preaching about "social injustice,” with not even the slightest subtleties allowed, in order to please these jerks. Spiro Agnew, may he burn in heck forever, had a term that he used to refer to this sort of person: "effete intellectual snobs.”

There are two things wrong with this sort of thinking, and Voivod is living proof of them both. First and simplest: if you don’t mind "escapist" movies or literature, why do you insist on expecting more from a rock ’n’ roll band? I mean, who’s more boring that Springsteen?

Second, and more important, is that a lot of sci-fi deals with heavier issues under the guise of being mere escapist entertainment. Star Trek certainly qualifies, and so does Voivod. We just mentioned the title track being about a cyborg escaping earth and interfacing with the onboard computer of an SDI satellite. This is the chorus...

"Use the Killing Technology How can I destroy the enemy? Security plans not easy to find That’s my generation,

The nonsense time.”

That’s as good a description of the SDI program as this particular Doctor has ever heard. Pretty subtle, too, eh?

I recently spent a good hour talking with Away, the drummer and "visionary” of Voivod. This man is one of the most talented and intelligent people that I’ve ever met. Although the vocalist, Snake, writes the lyrics, including the few songs that don’t actually deal with the unfolding saga of the Voivod ("Ripping Headaches,” for example), those lyrics are the end result of Away "telling stories” (as he put it) to Snake.

Snake himself, whom I’ve never spoken with, must also be fairly intelligent, because these lyrics are really good without even taking into account that English is Snake’s second language.

I mean, as deep as most of these lyrics are, he can’t be that much more fluent in French, can he? Unfortunately, his "singing” style, which sounds a lot like that of Tom Araya of Slayer, makes a lyric sheet necessary.

The tunes, which are the responsibility of guitarist Piggy, are even better than the words, which is saying a lot. There ain’t no dead weight here, ma’am; besides which, there might be faster bands, but there ain’t no heavier bands in all of metal. Away says that Voivod’s early influences were Motorhead, Venom and the Sex Pistols (!?!), and this here cowboy thinks that they’ve outdone at least one, and maybe more, of their heroes.

This record is starting to sell too. It might not be Voivod’s Master Of Puppets, but it sure will be their Ride The Lightning, if you catch my meaning. This is a band who’s time has come, so check ’em out!

Paul "Doctor X” Nanna

GARY MOORE

Wild Frontier

(Virgin)

I’ve gotta confess, I didn’t know a whole lot about Gary Moore before I heard this album and its bullet single "Over The Hills And Far Away.” About the only thing I knew was that he was a veteran rocker who had played, at one time, with Thin Lizzy. But the way I look at it, that works in my favor: I have no preconceptions or delusions to taint my opinion of this platter. Of course, some delusions might have helped.

I’m a little confused about Wild Frontier, and the more I think about it, the more I think Mr. Moore might have been a bit confused himself. Moore seems to be torn between his artistic morals (ingenuity and inventiveness) and a career crossroads decision (time to get commercial and make some money). The result is some interesting writing and singing mixed with a lot of insignificant dabbling that seems out of place.

Now, as best as I can surmise, Gary Moore is an Irish chap who wants to take an introspective look at his homeland. Sample of the title track: “I remember the old country/They call the Emerald Land/ And I remember my hometown/Before the wars began.” For this I can be sympathetic. I can even forgive him for stealing the shamrocky, Scottish bagpipe/guitar sound that made Big Country a novelty, and for injecting it with a little more electricity on ‘‘Over The Hills And Far Away” (gee, that title sounds familiar), the album’s commercial hit. But to do a bad cover version of a ’60s schlock song like “Friday On My Mind” makes me wonder. And to take a classic Irish lullaby (“Oh Danny Boy”), change the name (“Johnny Boy”) and try to pass it off on a mainstream metal audience... why, good Irishmen have been castrated for less.

I will go so far as to say that Wild Frontier might have made a good movie soundtrack for some epic Gaelic adventure (is there such a thing?), but I haven’t heard any rumors from Tinseltown about one so we can rule this idea out. Next I might suggest a Gary Moore/Big Country tour, but it might incite new Scottish/ Irish wars, so that’s out. What’s left? Well, an album from a guy who can obviously play a mean guitar when he wants to, but who has sold his soul to the ol’ Lucifer of music (commercialized, over-produced schlockdom).

Gary, Gary, Gary. For shame. Is a little commercial success worth being accused of schlockism? I mean, what good did it do Cheap Trick and April Wine (besides make them rich?), huh? Ya know something, not even Rick Springfield had the gall to change the title of my favorite lullaby. I know that’s a low blow, but come on: my mom used to sing “Oh Danny (not Johnny) Boy” to me when I was a young lad.

All is not lost, however. You did cop a pretty interesting black and white photo for the back of your album (although Ingmar Bergman might not approve), and “Over The Hills And Far Away” will probably sell a few copies to Led Zep freaks who might think it’s a cover of their gods’ song. But Gary, please don’t mess with lullabyes anymore, OK?

Dan Fox

GREAT WHITE

Once Bitten...

(Capitol)

After Alexandra Staunton-James slagged Great White’s last album in these pages, the quartet sent her a dildo, care of me.

It might be hard to believe, but it was the first time I’d ever opened a box with a dildo in it. So many things to do, so little time to do them.

In any case, GW don’t have to go the dildo route this issue: perhaps a manly box of cigars, or tickets to an upcoming Angels game... because this new album, Once Bitten..., is really good. I’m not saying this to make up for that last review, either. It’s really a good album.

I commend to your attention the playing of guitarist Mark Kendall: he kicks off no less than four of the nine tracks here with an acoustic, which is nothing short of a wonderful idea. Hard rock bands should take my good advice and follow suit—it adds that whole 'nother needed dimension. Right now, Kendall’s doing it as well as anyone.

His playing is particularly scathing on the blues-ish “Rock Me,” which also features some nifty harp work, “Mistreater,” where the segues between electric and acoustic work in a big way, and—a song I consider the album’s best, and one that deserves airplay aplenty—“Fast Road.” The latter features Kendall on electric guitar, blitzing through leads that should leave you smiling in appreciation, as the rhythm section works double-time. It’s a heckuva jam.

As for the rhythm section—bassist Lorne Black and drummer Audie Desbrow— they’re no slouches either. The overall percussion sound (it ain’t all just drums) on this record is great: this is one disc with high production qualities, indeed.

Which leaves Jack Russell, the singer. Russell’s got his Robert Plant down a little too well for my taste, but on some of the slower stuff (“Rock Me,” “Save Your Love”) his singing’s distinctive and not overly derivative. What it boils down to is the guy has a good voice.

Now, speaking of Plant, as I just was, there’s no question the Great Ones are sounding about as Zeppish as a band might wanna sound—this includes Russell’s high range, Kendall’s acoustic work and so on. And it’s not that bad an idea: their songs are more coherent than a lot of stuff coming out these days. "I’m an exile from the 70s,” Russell says in a press release I’ve got—and I believe him. Would that more were.

If I’ve got any problem with Once Bitten. . .it’s (sorry, guys) the lyrics, which mostly revolve around women who are either gonna rock ’em or do ’em wrong. Actually, they’re pretty dreadful, but nothing you haven’t heard too much of before.

But you can cheerfully ignore the words and enjoy everything else about this record. Truth to be told, I wasn’t even going to review this until I heard it. Upon doing so, I enjoyed it so much I thought I’d share my happy experience with you. So pick up on Once Bitten... It could be a breakout disc for a mighty good-sounding band.

J. Kordosh

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DAG NASTY

Wig Out At Denko’s

(Dischord)

Dag Nasty apply lessons of hardcore’s past to the current day—minus the formularic constraints that have managed to ; siphon away the form’s initial honesty and intensity. While last year’s excellent debut LP, Can I Say, burst foith with melodically tinged sonic exhiliration, Wig Out At Danko’s strikes a lot more subtley, possessing a “sneak-up-behind-you” charm. While chording and tempos have slowed down, managing to add an increasingly melodic flavor to the outfit, Dag Nasty retain every bit of the musical and lyrical prowess that sets them far ahead of the pack.

Ex-Minor Threat/Meatmen axeman Brian Baker shines brightest, his riffage dripping with a soulful, Cult-inspired clamor. His subtle chordings on “Crucial Three” focus and evoke mood, while “Simple Minds” reminisces the last album’s “One To Two” in its straight thrash harangue.

Baker, along with newfound playmates Doug Carrion (ex of L.A.’s Descendents) and Peter Cortner, on bass and vocals respectively—along with drummer Colin Sears (since replaced by ex-Samhain skin-pounder London May)—prove to be adept songwriters. Each cut smashes smartly, never focusing on a simple verse/chorus progression but instead teasing the listener and all at once punching the point ferociously.

Taking over from previous vocalist Dave Smalley (ex-of Boston’s DYS and soon to perform in a band comprised of ex-Descendents members calling themselves ALL), Peter Cortner lends a youthful voice drenched with the depression of innocence lost, and unable to come to grips with adulthood. “The Godfather” shines as Cortner expresses self-doubt and inner torment over his longing for inner fulfillment.

Baker and company’s musical education comes to fruition with Dag Nasty’s latest. While others dish out crescendo after crescendo of atonal belchings, the Dag-crew prove intensity doesn’t have to hurt.

Mike Gitter