ROCK•A•RAMA

ROCK•A•RAMA

This month’s Rock-A-Ramas were written by Harold DeMuir, Richard Riegel, Michael Davis, Craig Zeller, Jon Young and John Neilson.

THE FLESHTONES Fleshtones Vs. Reality (Emergo)

These goofballs can’t be relied on to keep their interview appointments and they’re no good with record-company politics, so it’s probably all for the best that I.R.S. has given up on them. Left to their own devices, however, the ’Tones have come up with a swingin’ slab that comes closer to capturing their party-hearty essence than anything else in their catalog. Though it lacks the mock-conceptual cohesiveness of 1981’s fabbo Roman Gods, Fleshtones Vs. Reality features more consistent songwriting and includes just about everything you could possibly want to hear on a Fleshtones record: lotsa horns, organ and harmonica, frat-gang vocals, a kitsch Top 40 cover (the Cornefius Bros.’ “Treat Her Like A Lady”), etc. Singer/MTV star Peter Zaremba is his usual wacky self (except when he waxes sensitive on “Too Late To Run”), guitarist Keith Streng steps out front credibly on “Way Down South” (reprised from the Full Time Men EP), and the band sounds as if it’s actually getting the hang of this recording stuff. (225 Lafayette St., New York, NY 10012.) H.D.

We’ve Got A Fuzzbox And We’re Gonna Use It (Geffen)

FUZZBOX

Like the Runaways, these young ladies are acting, but anyhow they’re acting smarter than yesterday. Did I say that Fuzzbox are British? Well of course they are, so as novice rock ’n’ rollers these lasses approach the subject as if it were trash culture (it is) rather than the 3001st excuse to strut yer plumbing. These goddaughters of Tracey Ullman have already mastered a hiply crude sound that approximates Jesus & Mary Chain manfully struggling to fuzz out the entire Go-Go’s songbook. I hope (& believe) that Fuzzbox played their own drums, because this softcore thump is a pedophiliac attack on yer Cadillac, Jack. R.R.

MASON RUFFNER Gypsy Blood (CBS)

Putting Dave Edmunds together with roadhouse roughneck Ruffner sure sounds like a good idea, and when "Gypsy Blood” comes at ya, all clean and lean, who’s ready to argue? But then the strings show up on the next track and you’re reminded that producer Edmunds is a fan of ELO—and when was the last time you thought of ELO and roadhouse in the same brainfull? Midway through side two, things get back on track, but too much of what’s in between comes off like a more polite Dire Straits. M.D.

NATHALIE ARCHANGEL Nathalie Archangel (Columbia)

Gees, on the front she’s luxuriously stretched out in layers of like-a-virgin fabric and showing a hint of stiff nips. On the back, she’s glancing demurely downward and looking like Olivia Newton-John’s little sister. Wonder which look she’s gonna try and cash in on? Ms. Archangel’s got gossamer wings—she sounds much too precious and frail amidst all those big bad overwrought arrangments. Her mechanical delivery is in perfect synch with her android material. However, “Mr. Perfect For Me” is good, trashy pop with some sass on the side. Otherwise, it’s strictly for insomniacs. C.Z.

EMOTION

Babble

(Polygram)

THAT PETROL

A hot second album (their first in the U.S.) from an underrated bunch of ex-Undertones who can cover Pere Ubu and Beefheart one minute, and pay homage to Paul McCartney the next. Their excellent debut Manic Pop Thrill showed off both sides of the band, and while I was worried that the pop would win out over the manic on the follow-up, I can rest easy now, “Big Decision” will be massive if there’s any justice at all, with its huge guitar hook hoisting the band’s political rap aloft, and the rest of the material is—if anything—harder than ever. Don’t pass this up! J.N.

Tribe

(RCA)

BERNIE TAUPIN

Any record with a song called "Billy Fury” can’t be all bad, sez me. The man was one of Britain’s great rock ’n' rollers, even if he never clicked in the States. And Taupin’s jumpy salute strikes a nicely enthusiastic note, though its breezy pop couldn’t be farther from Fury’s gut-wrenching melodramas. But I disgress. To no great surprise, Tribe sounds an awful lot like Bernie’s longtime songwriting buddy, Elton John. Whether the fare is sappy ballads (“I Still Can’t Believe That You’re Gone”) or housebroken rockers (“Friend Of The Flag”), you’d swear this was the little guy himself, except the copycat vocals fall way short. This ordinary opus leaves the bored listener wondering why Taupin bothered. Too much free time, perhaps? J.Y.

THE GOLOURFIELD Deception (Chrysalis)

With a minimum of hoopla, ex-Specials/Fun Boy Three singer Terry Hall has remained interested in his latest band for nearly as long as the combined lifespan of his two prior groups, and Deception demonstrates that Hall’s faith in the Colourfield is not misplaced. With American producer Richard Gottehrer at the board this time, Hall and partner Toby Lyons trade the vaguely folkish pop of last year’s Virgin’s And Philistines for a seamless, updated sound that tastefully employs synths and drum machines to create a variety of settings, from the deceptively straight melodies of "Badlands” and “Confession,” to the proto-samba of “From Dawn To Distraction” to the Weillish opera of “Goodbye Sun Valley.” Hall and Lyons’s writing collaboration has proven fortuitous, producing some of the most articulate songs of Hall’s career; the material deftly balances Hall’s traditional dour cynicism and a growing romanticism. Stateside radio programmers probably won’t appeciate the unflattering images of America which crop up in several tracks, but the Colourfield’s versions of Sly Stone’s “Running Away” and the Monkees’ “She” ought to be hits. H.D.

FIRE TOWN

In The Heart Of The Heart Country (Atlantic)

Wisconsin’s Fire Town play a kind of music we’ve heard far too much of already, specializing in the down-to-earth folk-rock of Petty, R.E.M., and a zillion others. But the lads are thoroughly appealing anyway, thanks to a nervous edge and the believably raggedy vocals of guitarists Doug Erikson and Phil Davis. Unlike the wellmeaning yet ineffectual Long Ryders, these fellas seem to be inspired by passion rather than a record collection. Which is not to imply they’re just a bunch of apple-cheeked, hopped-up hayseeds—bracing tunes such as “Rain On You” and “Favorite Song” reveal a keen sense of songcraft, being calculated for maximum radio exposure. Good for them. Shine on brightly! «I.Y.

THE MEKONS

Honky Tonkin'

(Twin Tone)

When first sighted nearly a decade ago, Britain’s Mekons were angry young punks brandishing impatient guitars. Somehow, after umpteen personnel changes, they’ve evolved into one of the oddest, most endearing bands on the face of the earth. Part English folk, part American country, and part Dada absurdity, these ragtag rascals stumble, stagger and lurch through such titled gems as “Hole In The Ground” and “Prince Of Darkness” with impressive drunken intensity. And the desperate rendition of the country standard “Sleepless Nights” will make your hair stand on end. All the idiosyncracies may suggest the Mekons are a novelty act, but it ain’t true a’tall. Like the early Band, they’ve tapped into a source of primal, crazy power that’s so strong it’s almost scary. J.Y.

ROYAL CRESCENT MOB Omerta

(Moving Target)

As ’70s revivals go, funk is one we all should lend our ears and booties to. Royal Crescent Mob are doing a national lean from a Columbus, Ohio driver’s seat, so they’re more than familiar with the classic funk moves of their fellow Buckeyes in Dayton’s (and the Universe’s) late Ohio Players. Funk, funk, funk (yer funked), but these guys are modern enough to have made the acquaintance of newer attitudes like thrash, hiphop, and house music too. “House” music? Yep, get outta the house and get on the bus, you busters, this stuff is so hot and free-rock amongst its funk discipline that it’ll scorch all your glands twice over. Special bonus to all us Ohioans: lyrical ipsider refs to cities like Xenia. “Xenia???” Yep, same place I wrote these words. R.R.