ROCK • A • RAMA

ROCK . A . RAMA

This month’s Rock-a-Ramas were written by Jon Young, Thomas Anderson, Chuck Eddy, Michael Davis and Karen Schoemer.

THE BYRDS Never Before (Re-Flyte)

Wow! Previously unheard stuff from the original Byrds? Pinch me, I must be dreaming! Although there’s nothing here that’ll compel scholars to rewrite history, every note of this amazing 10-track package is swell. Among the highlights are an anxious version of “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” cut before “Turn! Turn! Turn!,” Gene Clark’s majestic title track, and a breathtaking stereo mix of “Lady Friend” that puts the cramped mono original to shame. Plus, a raggedy alternate take of “Eight Miles High,” David Crosby’s notorious “Triad,” and more, as they say. Compiler Bob Hyde should get a medal, (c/o Outlet Book Co., 225 Park Ave. South, NY 10003.) J.Y.

FAIRPORT CONVENTION

Heyday

(Hannibal)

These 1968-69 radio sessions feature the classic Fairport Convention line-up (with Sandy Denny, Ian Matthews and Richard Thompson), in their “British Jefferson Airplane” days, covering coffee-house hits like Richard Farina’s “Reno, Nevada,” Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne,” and an exquisitely-sung version of Dylan’s “Percy’s Song.” The arrangements are intriguing and usually successful (though let’s hope this is as close as we ever get to a heavy metal “Suzanne”), the playing is beautiful and the sound quality is decent. You also get a couple of rare originals, including the hilarious “If It Feels Good, You Know It Can’t Be Wrong,” with Thompson and Denny trading verses, crockery smashing, kazoos and more. They called it folk rock, friends. This is probably as fine an example as you’ll find in the rack in 1988.T.A;

THE ZOMBIES Odyssey And Oracle (Rhino)

Talk about suffusion in dread; the Zombies made gorgeous tunes that froze in your brainbox faster than ice-cold ice, and by the Summer of Love—when this just-reissued landmark was recorded—these British invaders had summoned forth every sliver of life’s sadness that everybody from the Doors to Boston to Sonic Youth would later attempt (and fail) to summon. The constants are Rod Argent’s cheesily stately organ and Colin

Blunstone’s sepulchral croon; the hooks ease you into a little gazebo on some deserted rural hilltop, then high-mass harmonies pile up ornate and glistening and pure as steeples headed toward the heavens. The songs have showtune antecedents, but they’re not corny. “Time Of The Season,” probably the most ominous double-platinum single ever, is the coda; like Lee Hazlewood in “Some Velvet Morning” or Patti Smith in “Gloria,” Argent and Blunstone reveal their true identities as malicious geniuses of lust, and the gasps at the beginning tell you it’s already too late to turn back. C.E.

HOUSE MARTI IMS The People Who Grinned Themselves To Death (Elektra)

It’s becoming apparent that some of the strongest pop songwriting in Great Britain is coming from these guys. Tuneful, clever and socially aware, the Housemartins could be stuck in between Billy Bragg and the Smiths if you need a niche for ’em, although fans of Squeeze and XTC will probably dig ’em too. Only thing is, at this point, the sound of the records isn’t nearly up to the quality of their songs. Somebody get ’em a real producer and stand back. M.D.

GAME THEORY Lolita Nation (Enigma)

Pop poindexter Scott Miller leads Game Theory’s cranial attack on Lolita Nation, a double-disc odyssey which crypts musical and literary allusions and puzzles into chunky rock ’n’ roll rondeles on iron hooks. Miller hits on producer Mitch Easter for some of the more serendipitous effects:

household appliances (“Vacuum Genesis”), AM radio (“Kenneth—What’s The Frequency?”), and backwards blips (“Turn Me On Dead Man”), the overall result being something like a cross between The White Album and James Joyce’s Ulysses. Miller’s insinuating, Chiltonesque vocals are exquisitely draped over gunnery riffs and a solid, punchy rhythm section in scabrous observances like “The Real Sheila,” “The Waist And The Knees,” and “Chardonnay.” For the more mathematically inclined there’s “Watch Who You’re Calling Space Garbage Meteor Mouth Pretty Green Card Shark.” K.S.

MICHAEL GREGORY What To Where (Novus)

Five years ago, he released a cool LP produced by Nile Rodgers that (naturally) showed a bit of Chic influence. This time, Michael Gregory’s producing himself and inviting comparisons to Prince. Less flamboyant than the purple flash, Mr. G serves up a similar brew of tasty black and white styles, combining upscale pop melodies and sweet soulful vocals. (The fine falsetto wail of “Jubilee” sure is sexy!) He’s a versatile dude, too, suggesting a less obnoxious Sting on “Heart Of Happiness,” then uncorking razzle-dazzle guitar licks for the sizzlin’ instrumental “Fan The Flame.” Sure hope it isn’t half a decade ’til the next one, ’cause Gregory is boss. J.Y.

DAVID SYLVIAN Secrets Of The Beehive (Virgin America)

The joke about Sylvian was always that he couldn’t make up his mind whether to be Bryan Ferry or Brian Eno, so he tried to be both. Then Japan broke up and, bizarrely enough, he achieved his goal (!?) with a series of exquisitely-textured albums which are finally being released in this country. On this latest, he’s assisted by the likes of Mark Isham and Riuichi Sakamoto in weaving slowly-moving tapestries of sound, where subdued colors are more evident than the hints of rhythm. No way is this rock ’n’ roll, but if austere, post-ambient pop’s your bag, you’ll probably enjoy David’s world-weary sighs. M.D.

DEFENESTRATION Dali Does Windows (Relativity)

Crash landing like the Wicked Witch and a flock of Steve Tylers, Oklahoma’s Defenestration present Dali Does Windows, a burglarization of metal, trash horror flicks, Dylan Thomas and “Me And Bobby McGee.” Lead singer Tyson Meade’s aural frightwig injects these 4/4 crunchers with Technicolor angst and livid romanticism whether it’s in lines like “Helen, oh Helen, what’s inside that dress?” (from “Tripping Drag Queens”) or “Do you wanna take me for a ride?” (from “D.Y. Wanna”). Producer Randy Burns (Megadeth) dishes out drums by the dozen and ladles on guitars by the megastrata; the effect’s a bit claustrophobic by side two, but the songs are too good to care, especially the dazed ballad “Bedlam Revisited” and “Moneywagon” (you thought Wall Street was timely). Only the second offering from these four youngsters (a self-released EP came out in ’86), Dali Does Windows does a whole lot more. K.S.

SONNY ROLLINS G-Man (Milestone)

Robert Christgau calls this soundtrack “jazz for rock ’n’ rollers to cut their teeth on,” so I’m gonna try: first side has saxvet Rollins sustaining eternally elongated giggles and shrieks like some bully’s holding his head under water, and he likes it; letting out some surprisingly diaphragm-ripping flatulence and showing off his impressive ingenuity and momentum. But he’s way too much in control (“melodically,” I guess) to ever approach the danger that makes Albert Ayler feel like great thrash metal, and I can’t figure out why the rest of his band’s there The group makes more rhythmic sense on (the nonetheless more negligible) second side, which starts with a charming ditty wherein Rollins’s tone reminds me of Louis Armstrong’s singing, and ends with a Caribbean dance piece wherein Rollins honks nattily atop Smitty Smith’s timbale-beat. So I like G-Man fine, but I ain’t exactly catharsisized; suppose it all depends on what kind of “rock ’n’ roller” you are, hey Bob? C.E.

RANDY ERWIN Cowboy Rhythm (Four Dots)

Remember yodeling cowboy Randy Erwin in Talking Heads’ True Stories? Well, he’s back with a 12-song yodel-fest of his own. And to sweeten the deal, Cowboy Rhythm

also features famed nuclear polka band Brave Combo on half the songs. That’s right, genre fans—it’s “polka-yodel-rock”! The octave-hopping Erwin covers classics here by Patsy Montana, Hank Williams and Jimmie Rodgers; but he shines brightest on the haunting “Cowboy Night Herd Song,” from the pen.of the mighty Roy Rogers. A better bovine lullaby you’re unlikely to find anywhere. Other faves include the R-rated “The Alpine Milkman,” and a Tex-Mex choogler called “El Rancho Grande” (“Be careful,” as they say in Mexican restaurants, “the plate is very hot”). It’s demented, it’s warped, it’s. . . it’s yodeling. (Four Dots, Box 233, Denton, TX 76001.) T.A.

BIRELI LEGRENE Inferno (Blue Note)

Guitarist Legrene started gaining Kid Django raves when he was barely into his teens, and some people wondered where (and how) he was going to grow. Well, he’s 21, features mostly electric and he’s been growing. He plays cleanly with amazing agility and grace, easing bits of flamenco and blues into his Reinhardt roots. Some of the tunes here resemble conventional fusion, but what Bireli plays on top of ’em is something else again. Don’t know if he’ll move closer to rock as he gets older or not, but with his chops (and cheekbones) Lagrene is going to make an impact. M.D.