RECORDS

RECORDS

CINDERELLA Long Cold Winter

(Mercury)

On paper, the basic concept of hardrock/heavy metal looks just dandy: everything you always liked about rock ’n’ roll, only more of it. That’s the ideal anyway. The cruel reality, as you may have noticed, is something else entirely.

Because the genre’s natural audience is teenage kids (a demographic group to which you, the reader, may well belong) who supposedly don’t know any better, it’s all too easy for the music industry’s powers-that-be to channel hard-rock’s more threatening—i.e., too nasty or too serious—impulses into easilymarketable packages that do little to threaten the musical or social status quo, and, as such, are hardly recognizable as the spiritual descendents of, say, Jerry Lee Lewis and the Stooges. In short, such—nay, most—of today’s mainstream rock fodder has about as much in common with actual rock ’n’ roll as a ballpark hot dog has with real food.

'What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t hold particularly high hopes for Cinderella’s sophomore outing Long Cold Winter. After all, followups to platinum debut LPs rarely turn out to be anything more than less-focused Xeroxes of their predecessors—and Cinderella’s first album, Night Songs, was pretty lame to begin with. By rights, Long Cold Winter should have been exactly the sort of spineless career move that we critics love to hate. Instead, the album’s vital, tuneful and packed with pleasant surprises. In other words, Long Cold Winter is the closest thing to a real rock ’n’ roll album that the commercial hard-rock establishment has produced this year.

From' the acoustic delta-blues strains that open the leadoff track “Bad Seamstress Blues” to the buttkicking remorse of the album-closing “Take Me Back,” it’s hard to believe that 1988’s Cinderella is the same band as the one that made the derivative, uninspired Night Songs. It’s the same four guys, and the sound hasn’t changed dramatically, but somehow, in the process of becoming rock stars, Cinderella stumbled across their forgotten roots and discovered the point at which AC/DC and Howlin’ Wolf intersect. And by tapping (not necessarily consciously) into hard rock’s heritage, Cinderella make music that’s both melodically compelling and emotionally resonant.

Though the songs by frontman Tom Keifer (who co-produced the LP with Andy Johns and bassist Eric Brittingham) too often rely on cliched lyrics rather than deep insight, the band’s surprisingly authoritative playing (supplemented by keyboards, occasional pedal steel and session drummers Cozy Powell and Denny Carmassi, who supplant band member Fred Coury on several tracks) more than compensates. The slow, bluesy title track conjures up fond memories of vintage Led Zep. “The Last Mile” and the hit “Gypsy Road” are both tough and catchy. And “If You Don’t Like It” is one of the most convincing evocations of petulant teen rebellion in recent memory. Through it all, Keifer sings in a voice which, like those of Steve Marriott and Bon Scott before him, is barely recognizable as human—i.e. the meta-tongue that Richard Meltzer wrote about in The Aesthetics Of Rock. Is Long Cold Winter a great record or what?

And what’s next, huh? White Light, White Heat by Bon Jovi? Ratt’s Forever Changes? The Freewheelin’ Sammy Hagar?

Harold DeMuir

DEATH ANGEL Frolic Through the Park

(Enigma)

Here’s a record that I’d been psyched about for a long time. Now that moment has arrived. Yeaaaah!!!! Just in time, too. I was getting sick of listening to all those new “generic” thrash bands. I wanted some real thrash. And that’s what Death Angel gives you with their new album. This is the kind of thrash I love. It’s original, that it kicks major ass!

Frolic Through the Park is quite a progression from the band’s debut, The Ultra-Violence. Now it’s more technical (it’s hard to imagine that) and tons heavier. This is the kind of stuff that will crush all the posers (you know who you are) into submission. Death Angel have finally found their own identity with this one. I dare anyone to find another band that sounds like this one. Anyone willing to try? That’s what I thought.

Now why does this album kick ass? Is it because of Gus Pepa and Rob Cavestany’s crunchy guitars that very often hit the speed-of-light! The relentlessly pounding bass of Dennis Pepa? The ferocious drum beats of Andy Galeon? The killer vocals and screams of Mark Osegueda? No? Then how about the great songs themselves? The catchy riffs? The memorable choruses? Need I go on?

Frolic Through the Park contains ten killer songs. These songs are good because the band’s musical proficiency has massively increased. Mark’s vocals are noticeably better now; he can control his voice better'and shows quite a range. The only thing that disappointed me was that he only does his famous scream a couple of times. Rob and Gus now play somewhat well-constructed leads and they don’t rely on effects to make them sound good. Dennis also demonstrates his improved technique by throwing in bass solos everywhere.

Side One opens with “3rd Floor,” a turbulent storm of thrashing riffs and pounding drums. Play it loud enough and your mother might think the world is ending. The touring anthem “Road Mutants” roars from your speakers next, blitzkrieging you with more blazing guitar work led by one of Dennis’ bass solos.

“Why You Do This” cranks from beginning (with a riff that sounds too much like GBH) to end, switching tempos more times than I can count. It’s cool but sometimes it sounds like they are losing control of their instruments. You’ll trip out when you hear it.

Next comes a song I particularly don’t like, “Bored.” The title is exactly how I feel when I listen to this song. This is where the band tries to humor us, but the attempt falls flat on its face. Oh, well, nobody’s perfect.

“Confused,” a heavy, grinding song, follows, conjuring up images of yourself slowly sinking into the earth. Scary, huh? Suddenly, after minutes of slowly being crushed ... Aargghhh!!! They burst into a fit of total thrash that rivals even (old) Slayer in speed. When the song is finally finished you’re exhausted and feel like you’ve just survived your worst nightmare.

Side Two opens up with yet another speed song, “Guilty of Innocene. I noticed that this song has a bit of hardcore added to it. Another GBH riff rears its ugly head here and ... Wait! Was that a solo? Guys, when you have a long song like this, you should have a solo longer than four seconds.

“Open up” is about closed-minded people. I don’t know why the band did this song. The whole thing is nothing but jazz and blues. And the way Mark sings is ridiculous! No. Wait! I hear a thrash riff. MOSH! There’s another one! Thanks, guys, for not totally screwing up.

Now here’s the best song on the LP, “Shores of Sin.” This is a fantasy-type story that a lot of other bands like to play. I think they need to do more like this because it’s awesome. It starts off with an eerie intro that leads into some very heavy stuff. This really shows off their talent.

Here’s another disappointing (well, not too much) song. A cover of Kiss’ “Cold Gin.” C’mon—Kiss'? I hate how every band is doing a cover song now. I’d rather listen to an original tune than a song I can hear somewhere else. But Death Angel does a pretty good job with this one.

Finally we reach the end with “Mind Rape.” This one’s about Charles Manson. Somebody had to write about him sooner or later. This is a fun song to slam to because it really jams.

Okay, so Death Angel is not the greatest band around (that honor goes to Testament and Metallica), but they are good. I must admit, this album isn’t on a par with The Ultra-Violence or even close. I don’t think they’ll ever be able to recapture the energy and power of that album. But should they want to? They play what they want, and I can’t condemn them for that. But don’t get me wrong. This album is worth every penny. You’d be crazy go pass this by.

Clay Menzik

LESLIE WEST Theme

(Passport)

I really like this record, but I’m not quite sure why I do. It might well be because it’s good, but I want to explore the other possibilities first.

It could be nostalgia, a longing for the days when Mountain ruled with great tunes like “Mississipp Queen,” “Nantucket Sleighride,” “Never In My Life,” and “Theme for an Imaginary Western.” This album recalls those days, to the point of including a new version of “Theme for an Imaginery Western.”

In fact, the best tunes on the album are three old chestnuts from the good old days, the aforementioned “Theme,” as well as Hendrix’s “Red House” (done as a straight twelve-bar blues) and Cream’s “Spoonful” (actually, it’s Willie Dixon’s “Spoonful,” but Leslie plays Cream’s arrangement pretty faithfully, even if it is a much shorter version, so we’ll just say that it’s Cream’s “Spoonful”).

Another reason I might like this album so much is that the band includes another of my old heroes, Jack Bruce (formerly of the ultra-cool, ultra legendary Cream, for all you youngsters) on bass and vocals. In fact, ol’ Jack even sings lead /on “Theme,” which he wrote (it first appeared on his post-Cream solo LP, Songs fora Tailor) and “Spoonful.” Unfortunately, he doesn’t wail on bass as much as he used to in Cream, but that could be because he realises that it’s Leslie’s record.

I was hoping that this record was the beginning of a great reunion (Jack and Leslie first played together in the very underrated West, Bruce and Laing, back in the early ’seventies), but it seems that Jack Bruce won’t be touring, so Leslie’s gotten another old timer, Tim Bogert (of Beck Boget and Appice/Vanilla Fudge fame) to fill in on bass for the tour.

Wow, this review is really turning into nostalgia city. I guess I should spend more time at describing what this record actually sounds like. Well, it sounds like early ’70s white-boy boogie (which ain’t a bad thing; in fact it’s one of my favorite things) with ’80s production. West, Bruce and drummer Joe Franco are all great players, so this means that this album is riff-rock at its finest. The only flaw is that the new songs—with the exception of the stellar “Love is Forever,” opens Side Two—all seem like filler for the old songs. Good, listenable filler, but filler all the same ...

My recommendation? Well, I would suggest that Leslie ought to let Jack Bruce sing and write more on the next one, because Leslie still sings and writes like a white kid from the suburbs trying to sound like Johnny Winter—which is, I guess, pretty much what he is. Not that he misses by much, though ... My second recommendation is that you, the reader, go out and buy this record, or the CD if you’ve got a CD player. And pick up a few old Mountain records while you’re in the store.

Paul “Doctor X” Nanna

READER REVIEW

JUDAS PRIEST Ram It Down

(Columbia)

The most memorable thing about Ram It Down, Judas Priest’s return to hard-driving heavy metal, is the cover. It’s a good piece of art work.

As for the album itself, I listened to it four times and I can’t remember most of it. The songs are the kind that fly out of your head as soon as the needle leaves the record. There’s no humming a catchy tune all day after listening to this.

The sad part is that Ram It Down should have had what it takes. Rob Halford’s voice sounds as great as always, the rest of the band are in fine form, and their decision to return to power chords is commendable. The problem here is that the songwri*ing leaves much to be desired. Most of the songs are a boring mishmash of sophomoric sentiment that can usually be heard coming out of the pre-teen band that practices in your neighbor’s garage. The lyrics are lame, forgettable, and beneath the talents of the men who put together such grab-youby-the-guts songs as “Heading Out to the Highway” and “You’ve Got Another Thing Cornin’ ”.

Side One is by far the worst album side Priest has ever put together in their entire history. I like this band so much that I even considered listening to it another four times but quickly realized that I still wouldn’t remember any of it.

Side Two has the outstanding moment of the album—a cover “Johnny B. Goode.” This track is exceptional because Rob Halford and company have remade the Chuck Berry in their own brazen style and came up with a lively version that’s their best cover since they showed Joan Baez the right way to do “Diamonds and Rust.” But that’s about it for Side Two. The songs sound better than Side One’s while you’re listening to them, but they too sink into the quicksand area of the brain where mediocre music is banished. The only possibly exceptions here are “Blood Red Skies” and “Monsters of Rock.”

Judas Priest is one of the premiere metal bands of all time. They have a long history of great albums under their belt. Unfortunately, Ram It Down isn’t one of them.

Alyx B. Andersson Laurence Harbor, NJ

SEPULTURA Morbid Visions

(New Renaissance)

There’s quite a bit of humor present in the “metal” records which I receive in the mail; not because the acts are genuinely clever and funny, but because the stupidest things come out of their mouths when they’re allowed to flap for the attendant publicity pieces. Take for instance death-metal band Gothic Slam who recently proclaimed their TOP influences to be Yes and the Beatles. I can definitely hear them—made me go back and REALLY listen to the Fab Four’s Death Album and Yes’ Closer to the Edge of the Tomb. Fine metal albums those were and you see what I mean about the “humor” dontcha?

That’s why Sepultura are so cool. No specious pub came with their record so I’m free to make up all the stories I want about ’em. And one of these tales (although this one happens to be true ... trust me) is that Morbid Visions is the first bona-fide Latin hard rock LP to get a Stateside release since Carmen’s Fandangos in Space, which I won in a college radio giveaway. (Baron Rojo don’t count since they were import only but I had to mention them ’cuz their Volumen Brutal is one of the niftiest album titles of all time!)

Sepultura are from Brazil and although they share a common language with Carmen no one except me’d ever think to link the two. That’s because the inhuman noise on this record is a peep-hole into a world which most of us have little inkling of. Imagine a land where the kids groove to a thrashing garbage-pail din away beyond Venom’s Welcome to Hell. Im; agine a band whose singer confines himself to animal gruntings and screams totally indecipherable as any ¶ human language and comparable only to that first king-size burp which Ig-1 gy Stooge levelled at the audience in > the intro to “Raw Power.” Imagine a nation where the top metal band has a drummer who works completely independent of his compadres. Imagine a whole record of this drainage ditch savagery striking a chord similar to MX-80 Sound’s Out of the Tunnel no matter how accidental! Imagine visiting Sepultura’s hometown, Estercolero, on a future vacation! Don’t forget to take your machine gun.

George “Metal” Smith

(Roadracer)

Got a stupid idea for the King’s next road show. THE DIAMOND TOUR. I can see it now, Neil Diamond, King Diamond and avant-garde opera singer Diamanda Galas. Imagine them all croonin’ at once? How about the stageshow?

Gather 'round the campfire kiddies, the Danish demon’s back with yet another tale of spookiness and woe. Greek tragedy, Hammer horror flicks and old, EC comic books are common ingredients to the King’s bubbling cauldron of tales. This time, King spins a yarn of his misbegotten youth recounting the time Grandmother came home from the asylum.

What was Granny doing in the asylum anyway? Well, it seems that a few years back, Grandpa’s head was mysteriously severed from his neck with Grandmama as the most likely culprit. Kind of wacky, don’t you think? Well, they carted the old bird off where she hung out in a padded cell and carried on lengthy conversations with the ominpresent “THEM.” She’s back and so are her “imaginary” pals from the loony bin, ready to take over the house, bogue the MTV and hang out with the young King and family. Supposedly, a semi-true story, King Diamond won’t repute or refute the accuracy of various points.

By now, most have already made up their minds on King Diamond but stacked against the classic Fatal Portrait and last year’s Abigail, Them stands on its own as one of the King’s stronger outings. Similar to previous efforts, there isn’t a heck of a lot here in terms of potential hits but that isn’t the reason to listen to a King Diamond record anyway. If you ever rented any kind of Tales From The Crypt-type film from the 7-11 you’ll understand.

Fronted by trademark screech-togrowl vocalizations over a solid, traditional attack, Them’s musicianship aims to create a mood rather than wallow in metallic excess. Especially noticeable is the trade-off lead work of guitarists Andy LaRoque and Pete Black whose combined dexterity illuminates the King's vocal “action scenes.”

Will Grandma still be able to collect social security after dabbling in the spirit world? What does it mean for the Diamond family? New makeup tips for the King? What’s up for next time, a cover of Bowie’s “Diamond Dogs” or maybe “Diamonds Are Forever”?

Mike Gitter

STRYPER (Enigma)

'Fraid we have kind of a sad story here, but one which we all can learn from. Seems there was this hot little band on the early ’80s LA Metal club scene called Roxx Regime. After signing their first recording contract, they went through a “spiritual transition they re-christened themselves Stryper, bought new outfits, and changed the lyrics of the songs to reflect a growing Sunday School consciousness. They began heaving bibles to their audience, in clever contrast to WASP’s new raw-meat approach at the time, and they began creating controversy/publicity with their openly Christian rock. The Yellow And Black Attack seemed to confirm the matter: they were Christian and they were rockin’ like a farm-club Dokken, a respectableenough pop metal role model (assuming such a thing exists).

But as Stryper’s success grew, they began hanging out with, dare I say it, the Wrong Crowd. I don’t mean Jesus; whether or not JC was the son of God,

I always thought he was a pretty ballsy individual who went through a lot of shit while he was on the planet. The thing is, his memory has attracted some pretty bizarre camp followers over the years and some of ’em have taken to the yellow and black like sharks to the blood of the Lamb.

Just check the “Special Thanks” line-up on their previous To Hell With The Devil LP While the Bakkers are far down the list, look who’s just three names below Jesus: Pat Boone. Back in the ’50s, Boone was essentially the anti-Elvis: the man with the sociallyacceptable pelvis, the man who whitewashed hits for an audience too ashamed to publicly admit it had hips. Why him, guys?

But that was nothing. In God We Trust was co-produced by Boone devotee Michael Lloyd, who sitteth on the right hand of Mike Curb and who loves to surround himself with all things white and colorless. Lloyd’s previous production successes have included such heavy metal stalwarts as Belinda Carlisle and Shaun Cassidy. And, while some of his past clients have been nearly as funny as Spinal Tap, it’s clear that Lloyd’s ear is for pop, not metal.

In God We Trust, Lloyd and Stryper have exiled the rock ’n’ roll to the end of each side and filled up the remaining space with the gorgeous vocal harmonies of the Sweet bros and the gorgeous guitar harmonies of Michael Sweet and Oz Fox. Serving the King by cloning Queen is a concept deserving of a chuckle or two, admittedly, but these guys can’t even pull that off. Fox’s guitar lines sound like an arthritic Brian May attempting to bow down to Tom Scholz, every keyboard idea echoes Styx and Michael Sweet’s lead singing has incorporated several of Steve Perry’s mannerisms. These guys have taken on the characteristics of every mega-crap-rock band of the mid-'70s; Lord help us!

Of course given Boston’s successful comeback', Stryper may be pulling hits off this baby til doomsday. Let ’em. All the success in the world won’t help ’em clean the bubblegum off their guitars when they try to get into rock ’n’ roll heaven.

Michael Davis