ROCK • A • RAMA

ROCK •A• RAMA

DEPARTMENTS

This month’s Rock-a-Ramas were written by Craig Zeller, Harold DeMuir, Michael Davis, Jon Young, Richard Riegel and Karen Schoemer.

ALEX CHILTON High Priest (Big Time)

His recording career spans three decades, he’s had big hits, thrown away several opportunities for more of the same, and been immortalized by the Replacements in a song that should’ve been a big hit itself. Who is he? Why, none other than Alex Chilton, friend of the Cramps, originator of at least one pop masterpiece (“September Gurls”) and one of rock’s favorite lost causes. High Priest, his first LP in a mere seven years, is heavy on covers, short on polish and long on freewheeling, knockabout savoir fare. All those rough edges only add to the fun, including heavy breathing sex stuff (“Take It Off”), a wonderful Goffin-King obscurity (“Let Me Get Close To You”), a priceless wedding-band version of “Volare” (in the original Italian) and a real urgent love song (“Thing For You”) that deserves to be a hit and won’t (even if it does run soul deep).

C.Z.

CINDY LEE BERRYHILL Who’s Gonna Save The World? (Rhino)

Don’t know about saving the world, but Berryhill at least provides an antidote to the formality of so many neo-folkies. She’s sort of a taunting West Coast Dylanette, probably too humorous and unpolished to be the next Joni or Rickie Lee, but more than a little talented in her own right. Her outlook is young but her eye and ear for detail are impressive. The songs themselves are stronger than their accompaniment at this point, but that’s always better than the other way around.

M.D.

JAMES BROWN CD Of JB II (Cold Sweat and Other Soul Classics) (Polydor)

Delighted grunts and howls are the most appropriate response to this bad, bad batch of prime Godfather. In more conventional terms, we’ve got ourselves an indispensable collection of seminal funk here, the kind of stuff that explains where the rest of the universe got their ideas. The hottest moments include such deranged workouts as “I Can’t Stand Myself (When You Touch Me)” and a seven-minute “Cold Sweat,” in which Brown’s state of agitation approaches the surreal. Add “Night Train” and “I Don’t Want Nobody To Give Me Nothing (Open Up The Door, I’ll Get It Myself),” plenty of divine saxophone by the immortal Maceo Parker, and you’re on the good foot for sure. If CD II doesn’t quite match its predecessor, it’s because post-’70 cuts like ‘‘Make It Funky” substitute self-assured muscle for wild-eyed inspiration. But there’s no denying the primal bass lines surging through every track of this exemplary CD mix. Now ’scuse me while I boogaloo.

J.Y.

ALARMING TRENDS You Make Me Live In A Trailer (Scorched Earth)

The first thing you must understand about this record is that neither the group’s name nor the label’s name has anything at all to do with the music therein. These people are art-school kiddos, from Denver (!) no less, and there’s nothing particularly alarming nor scorching about their rock. The album’s name is right on target, though, as the music is so underproduced that it suggests the architectural vacancy of even the best-managed mobile home village. Problem could be the usual artschool failing: these folks thought of the album cover and the posters and the videos and all the visual imagery first, and then cooked up the music as an aftermarket justification for their deficit spending for camcorders and magic markers. No problem though, as Alarming Trends evidently had so little dough left for studio production that their essay at cocktaillounge-bohemian-passion-in-the-dark whozis comes out as rough and clunky as certain varieties of punk-plunk, and bears up to repeated listening for just that reason. Lead singer’s a woman.

R.R.

TOMMY SHAW Ambition (Atlantic)

Those who pay attention to such things tell me that this, former Styx heartthrob Shaw’s third solo outing, is rockier and less wimpy than the singer’s prior efforts. I dunno, maybe that’s because this time Shaw and co-producer Terry Thomas (anybody remember Charlie9 didn’t think so) get a tougher drum sound and Shaw evinces a mildly irritating Lou Grammesque shriek, even on the ballads. The result is that Ambition sounds a lot more like a solo album by a former member of the Eagles than a solo album by a former member of Styx. That’s progress for ya. P.S.: In the credits, Shaw thanks “The Father, The Son And The Holy Spirit”—they do management now or something?

H.D.

THESE IMMORTAL SOULS Get Lost (Don’t Lie!) (SST)

Welcome to Roland S. Howard’s purgatory cabaret. The former guitarist for the Birthday Party and Crime .& The City Solution (currently doubling in Nikki Sudden’s Jacobites) leads this troop of fellow gothrockers into side excursions of blues, soul and piano bench balladry. Liberal doses of Howard’s screech-o-doom feedback and drummer Epic Soundtracks’ tidal bath of crashing cymbals and percussives insure a lethal noise quotient, but melodically the Souls are held intact by pianist Genevieve McGuckin, whose delicate arabesques strike a dynamic balance. It’s kind of like Liberace backed by the Sonic Youth Orchestra. “Marry Me; (Lie Lie!)” has a cascading chorus more breathless than a tumble down castle steps; “These Immortal Souls” is a languid lounge number, with feedback filling the cracks like construction in the back of the theater. And the Souls’ take on Alex Chilton’s carefree “Hey Little Child” sparks like cataclysm off a Playskool record.

K.S.

CHUCK BERRY Hail! Hail! Rock ’N’ Roll (MCA)

The best Chuck Berry album of the last two decades also happens to be the soundtrack to a damned good film that reveals more about the man and his strange ways than anything in his hide-and-seek autobiography. Nothing but the classic past accounted for here (you were expecting maybe new material?), but these chestnuts get roasted pretty good thanks to the fire bandleader Keith Richards lights under Chuck. Of course things go slack when Julian Lennon and Linda Ronstadt briefly butt in (not to mention Eric Clapton’s boring blues turn—predictable!), but otherwise it’s full steam ahead. And it sure is nice to hear an old master rejuvenated, if only for one night Biggest disappointment: Chuck doesn’t slug Keith once during the whole thing.

C.Z.

THE OBVIOUS Home (I Wanna EP)

Nice littje teen-dissension band outta Dayton, Ohio, here, and as two of these guys put together come out younger than your reporter, who better to speak for teens and their angst? “Suicidal Anne," nostalgia for “ ’77” punk, the Obvious have tapped into all the obvious topics for think & prance songs. Only problem I have is that thrash riffs and flat, twangy voices do not go together well in my ear, but I’m cursed with just such a Buckeye flat-twang voice myself (hadda turn to a visual medium at an early age) so I know whereof they twang. Couldn’t be more authentic! I Wanna Records, POB 166, Wright Bros. Sta., Dayton, OH 45409.

R.R.

THE CREEPERS Rock ’n’ Roll Liquorice Flavour (Red Rhino/Fundamental)

Former Fall guy Mark Riley’s been prowling around with his Creepers for half a decade now and doing quite nicely, too, judging from this bracing batch o’ sparklers. Despite a hard-boiled stance, the boys sound almost quaint, with serrated guitars, sneering vocals, and overanxious tempos locating ’em firmly in the post-punk afterglow. Perspective counts for plenty, with allusions to everyone from John Lennon to the Stones to Tom Waits, not to mention “Derbyshire,” a hilarious parody of beat poetry (“Men masturbate in saloon cars full of dog ends,” etc.). Plus, a searing cover of the Pretty Things’ nasty “Rosalyn” (and guest axe by original Pretty Dick Taylor) reminds us even cool guys dig a dose of the old-fashioned boogie now and then. Worthy.

J.Y.

SONNY SHARROCK BAND Seize The Rainbow (Enemy)

Bill Laswell has been championing the comeback of freeform guitar pioneer Sharrock through Material, Last Exit and this new band, and if anyone deserves the support, it’s Sonny. A contemporary of Hendrix, he worked the jazz side of the fence in the late ’60s/early ’70s, livening up otherwise-uneventful Herbie Mann albums with his against-the-beat flurries, and contributing to obscurro underground masterworks by the likes of Don Cherry and Marzette Watts. His first step back as a leader finds him fronting a one bass/two drums attack and damned if some of this stuff doesn’t draw on (and expand upon) the Allman Brothers’ double drum approach. Sharrock himself is more tasteful these days, preferring to place his freakouts in more melodic contexts, giving the rhythm section more room to move— and they fill it up admirably. Besides, how can you resist an album with song titles like “Sheraserhead’s High-Top Sneakers”?

M.D.

FLESH FOR LULU Long Live The New Flesh (Capitol)

As I remember it, Flesh For Lulu used to be a forgettable goth-pomp outfit whose first U.S. label, PolyGram, was so utterly enchanted with the band’s music that it never bothered to release any of it. Apparently, the company’s momentous decision inspired the group to reassess their artistic direction—i.e., it made them realize that they’d probably become wealthy quicker if they played slick dance-pop. This musical change of heart wouldn’t have been such a bad thing if Flesh For Lulu didn’t make such a lame pop band. Too bad that the Lulus are so intent on purveying reptilian big beat, ’cause when they let their guard down and show some vulnerability on “Sooner Or Later,” the result is a gentle gem that wouldn’t be out of place on an Only Ones LP. And if that news whets your appetite, go out and get yourself an Only Ones LP.

H.D.