Record Reviews: September 1995

Desperado
The Soundtrack
Epic Records 

I’m sure everyone has been wondering about Los Lobos, Dire Straits, The Latin Playboys and Tito & Tarantula. First off, I always believed that “Sultans of Swing” was the best thing Dire Straits ever did. They haven’t touched that song since, at least not until they recorded “Six Blade Knife” which appears on this soundtrack. If Knopfler has more of this inside him, I might buy another Dire Straits album. 

Los Lobos stick to their emphasis on the traditional musical form, but the Latin Playboys, who are at least partly Los Lobos, give things a new twist. Especially take note of the “lounge” style of “Forever Night Shade Mary,” which combines a slow bass groove with understated electric guitar (I’d say a hollow body) a little organ and some brush work from the drummer. Swing and sway to this one. Roger & The Gypsies check in with the Booker T & The MG’s influence as played by Los Bravos with a slight Ritchie Valens influence. 

Tito & Tarantula? Does the name Alejandro Escovedo ring a bell with anyone? He was a member of the Los Angeles punk band the Plugz and he’s gone on to make a name for himself down in Austin. Now comes another former member of the band in the person of Tito Larriva, who also played with Cruzados, and he is intent on following in Escovedo’s footsteps. Let’s hope Tito & Tarantula have an entire album of the instrumental madness and big beat blues inside themselves. A name to watch for on club stages and in CD bins of the future. Carlos Santana? Well, he’s Carlos Santana. 

Closing out the soundtrack are some more tunes from Tito & Tarantula. They do everything from the Dire Straits guitars to blues to what approaches punk rock by way of the Austin of Escovedo. There is good music all over the soundtrack–the reason to buy it is Tito & Tarantula and of course one song from Link Wray & His Ray Men–”Jack The Ripper”–bow down the guy is still alive. –Diablo Colorado

Eat Static
Epsylon
Planet Dog 

Where’s the guitar rock, I’m sick of the shit. Eat Static are a “dance” band. They are located in England and the members used to be in Ozric Tentacles, a hippie band. Epsylon is the first American release by a band that is the current darling of the British music press. We all know what that means. The music is “electronic.” It’s not the return of synth pop nor do they sound anything like New Order. This is that techno stuff that usually requires a handful of mind altering pills before it even approaches an enjoyable home listening experience.

The opener is far too many minutes of pulsing beats and burps played at a speed only a computer can generate. The disc starts to get interesting on the second piece, “Dionysiac.” There is something about “world rhythms” reproduced by electronic means that never fails to attract. Add the slightly spaced out elements and of course the female choruses (they leave out the orgasmic moans) for an enjoyable “song.” “Peeow!” has an industrial feel. Remember when musical groups went into factories and recorded the whack of metal on metal? Eat Static use a “light” form of the technique to flesh out the more common pulsating rhythms. More Outer Limits space sounds are included to engage the listener in their vision. It seems that Eat Static are enamored of extra terrestrial landscapes. Have a look at the CD cover. 

For club play they’ve included “Undulaticce (Uforic Remix)” with a swollen genital throb underlying the Middle Eastern melody line. That groin grabbing action should coax a few thrusters onto a polished floor. The best piece on the disc is “Lost In Time.” The fully engorged throbbing of the previous selection continues, but this time Eat Static incorporate soundbites and found sounds into a composition that moves and breathes without chemical enhancement. Epsylon is 70-minutes long. If that seems like a long time to sit and listen to computer generated music it isn’t. Think of those who listen to the entire Kansas box set in one sitting and laugh. –Captain Nemo 

 

The Freddy Jones Band
North Avenue Wake Up Call
Capricorn Records 

The Freddy Jones Band are deeply loved by many Salt Lake City residents. For the full report on this, their brand new CD, you will have to look elsewhere. It seems that the first track on my copy is totally fucked. My disc player won’t read the pits. Maybe it’s one of those tracks you play on your computer? Due to the lack of sufficient monetary compensation I can’t afford the luxury of a CD ROM so…I will never know. 

On the the second track. The Freddy Jones Band are another hippie band. No wonder they are popular in Salt Lake. With gritted teeth continued listening. Every artist deserves a fair chance–even Bobby Lynn Estes. My advance CD doesn’t have a cover so I’ll improvise on the instruments. They have a guy playing an acoustic guitar and I believe I hear a banjo and a mandolin in there someplace. 

This band is constantly on the road. A hard working band deserves some credit for all the days traveling America’s highways and bi-ways–just look at Hootie and the Blowfish. Well, I am truly sorry. Hootie and the Blowfish aren’t my style, neither is the Freddy Jones Band. Go join the Horde Tour or something. North Avenue Wake Up Call is a good CD. I don’t like it. I guess I grew out of this music sometime around 1970. –Alan Wilson 

 

Heather Nova
Oyster
Sony Music 

Heather Nova is the latest breaking sensation. This is the female singer you will soon pay thirty or more dollars to see. If she happens by on a club tour don’t miss it. The big buzz is her voice and her beauty. She also has a charming way with a song. She reminds me of a young Marianne Faithful, before the whiskey huskiness set in. The first song of the disc explores the sexual theme in a blatant engaging fashion. At first it seems non-gender specific, until one line reaches out. “And I see you in the garden, and I feel you plant the seed.” 

“Walk This World” is the sexy love song, “Island” is the song for when the love goes bad. Heather Nova puts the experience of abuse into the same lyrical poetry she does for early love. As the last echoes of guitar and voice fade away the CD pauses for thought before “Throwing Fire At The Sun” is a curiosity. She is intent on making peace with someone, is that someone male or female? The blood metaphors and the line, “And you’re the one who showed me how to touch myself” raise the specter of sexuality once again. As the music progresses from song to song the realization dawns that every song is about sex and love. The girl is obsessed. 

I guess if you feel the need to write an entire album’s worth of songs about sex you could do it with a lot less talent than Heather Nova has. The backing music is for the most part light rock that will bring this girl to the attention of Adult Album Alternative. “Sugar,” the abortion/miscarriage song, does have some pretty heavy backing music. Not enough to turn anyone hooked on the Eagles off. Nova has all the tools to surpass Sheryl Crow or Melissa Etheridge as the darling of a fading middle class. Enjoy her now and hate her after you’ve heard her songs 1000 too many times on the radio. –Pete Wheatstraw 

 

John Starling
Waitin’ On A Southern Train
Sugarhill Records 

All over the United States there is increasing interest in western beat music. Here in Salt Lake City the closest we get to hearing any is Wilco on formerly “alternative” radio and when they arrive in town. John Starling is a practitioner of the western beat form. There is one slight problem. This album was originally released in 1982 as a record. Sugarhill is making their attempt to cash in on a form of music before it reaches this valley by reissuing the album on a CD. 

John Starling was formerly a member of the Seldom Scene, a blue-grass band of some renown. Hints of bluegrass are present throughout the CD–for example listen to the lonesome harmonies on “Those Memories Of You”–but the music is for the most part “country.” There aren’t a bunch of longhairs playing electric guitars. There is a dobro, played by Mike Auldridge, a fiddle played by Blaine Sprouse on most cuts and by Sam Bush on two, a piano, played by Tony Brown, who is now president of MCA Records, and a bunch of other instruments played by other prominent musicians few reading this magazine have ever heard of. 

Starling sings in a rich baritone throughout the ten songs. Barry “Byrd” Burton formerly of the Amazing Rhythm Aces (Don’t go looking for their CDs, there aren’t any.) picks out the electric and acoustic leads that along with Starling’s voice virtually make the album. The blending of acoustic with electric instruments is perfection to listen to. It swings in all the right places, there are a couple of honky tonk tunes included and the touch of bluegrass complements the country style. Scoot your stool up to the bar and order up that bottle before settling in for “Hey Bottle Of Whiskey” or any other song on the album. It’s not dated at all, it’s more like music made years ago that time has finally caught up with. –Buck Clark 

 

Leon Redbone
Red To Blue
Sugarhill Records 

Red To blue was originally released in 1985 on Leon Redbone’s own August Records. I’d venture to guess that this reissue is targeted to reach the ears of aging boomers tuning in to triple A radio. Making guest appearances are The Roches, David Bromberg, Dr John and Eric Weissberg–names familiar to any self-respecting boomer. 

Leon Redbone could be considered a historian or an archivist. His music seems to come from a bygone era, a time before categorization separated blues, jazz and country into different sections of the record store. Hank Jr. adds some dialogue showing him to be more than the knuckle head familiar to millions of Monday night football fans.

A highlight of any Leon Redbone album is the clarinet. The instrument is so seldom heard today that when someone includes the sound in their music it seems alien and highly pleasing at the same time. Rather than the familiar trumpets and saxophones Redbone’s band uses tuba, trombone, the previously mentioned clarinet and a coronet. Add the ragtime piano stylings of Rebennack and Terry Waldo, who shares the stoll with the good Dr, some strings, minimal drums, pedal steel and an upright bass for an eclectic recording that doesn’t rock at all. Sometimes it’s good to leave the rock arena for a change of pace and a little ragtime/country/blues/jazz from a too seldom recognized performer. I know the “suits” read SLUG, (I’ve seen them sneaking it out of record shops under their jackets) they know about Leon Redbone already. Maybe it’s time all the skaters in big pants found him. –Benny Goldberg 

 

Mortal Kombat
Motion Picture Soundtrack
TVT Records 

How low have we sunk? This is the soundtrack to a movie based on a violent, bloody video game. My copy is another advance cassette which I’m sure will find new life as a demo tape from some local band after I’ve dumped it in the Deseret Industries  bin. Opening the tape is another remix of KMFDM’s hit record “Juke Joint Jezebel.” I’m sure all remember KMFDM as the band that killed “alternative” music in Salt Lake City. I can see all the 10-year-old, carpal-tunnel-syndrome sufferers waving their wrist braces in the air at the Cineplex Odeon as this song opens the movie of their dreams. I can’t wait to see the Jezebel in all her celluloid glory on the big screen. 

The beats are so strong on the soundtrack that I had a flashback from a sexual experience on a gravestone in Lindsey Gardens. “Fuck me harder, fuck me harder, fuck me harder” she screamed until the groundskeeper interrupted with a flashlight to my head that was longer and fatter than my dick. This soundtrack is all about sex and violence. Tell that to the censors all over town who won’t let you see the nipple of a female breast while they endorse the return of the most violent sport there is, (next to rugby, whatever that shit you have to pay to watch is called and boxing) ice hockey. –E. Macaroni Burroughs 

 

The Mother Hips
Part-timer Goes Full
American 

What is it about this month? This is the third motherfucking hippie band I’ve reviewed this month. It is not the third I’ve listened to. These fucking hippies are everywhere today. My life is beginning to resemble one long flashback to the late ‘60s early ‘70s. Could we have a network television series titled Easy Rider as a demonstration of what to do with hippies? It is about time all the ‘90s hippies learned what it was actually like. If you see a hippie on the street pull over the imported car and beat the shit out of them. Anyone with a Grateful Dead sticker on their car is a target for violence. Don’t kill them, just beat the fuckers up. Beat the fucking piss out of anyone wearing tie-die and long hair. If they are carrying a drum make them wear it. Show them what the Marines are all about. 

Out of all the hippie bands of the month I will shamelessly crown The Mother Hips the best. Can you guys stop jamming long enough to smoke a doobie? (Holy shit there’s another can of worms opened. When is that reunion tour booked at the arena?) They don’t feel the serious need to relive a decade remembered fondly by a bunch of bald-headed men with big pot bellies. At least they inject a few uncommon influences into their pot-head music. 

Here is my theory on why this music is so popular. When your boss is one of the bald-headed men with a pot (munchies) belly and you are forced to listen to the Arrow all day long with only short segments of Triple A entering your Mac-job world at infrequent intervals the music begins to seep into your pores. The boomer professors have educated you to a life of PC beliefs and after that experience you don’t have a choice. Drop out, turn on and tune in was the slogan of the ‘60s. In the ‘90s a choice of lifestyle is not an option. The next thing you know the Birkenstocks, tie-dye and high-fat granola (all that fiber does give you a decent shit in the morning) have become your life. A bag of weed and a bong compliment the black lite and futon of your home. The fabric (hemp) bag accompanies you to the supermarket and you pay outrageous fees to recycle glass and plastic that only piles up unsold at the recycling center–the ‘90s version of the city dump. Most of you can’t grow a decent head of hair anyway so you walk around with scraggly attempts to emulate Moby Grape or Jerry Rubin. 

Why don’t all of you go shop the DI looking for the scratchy vinyl version of the Mother Hips instead of paying $15 for a CD of the same shit the thrift stores offer for 25c–if you know what to look for. Too difficult? Then buy the Mother Hips and watch your backs. –Timothy McFeo 

 

Mung
Vow Of Poverty
Big Rig 

Impact Unit
Boston Hardcore
Big Rig 

Coming to us straight out of Boston are these two CDs on the Mighty Mighty Bosstones label. It isn’t ska nor, as the label name might imply, is it truck driving music. Both bands are playing hardcore. First Mung. 

This is a classic example of old style hardcore played in modern times. The Ramones guitars, the bashing drums and the vocalist with a sore throat. All the tried and true elements defining hardcore are displayed by Mung. They include a lyric sheet which yet again contains the poetry of the disenchanted. There was no future in 1984; the world was supposed to end then. Eleven years later the youth brigade continues “singing” about lack of understanding from parents, beatings at school based on appearance, a dim future, revolution and etc. Mung do it well. A nice addition to any hardcore collection now surpassing five digits. 

Impact Unit are heavier. They are also a true old school band. Their six songs were recorded in 1983. This must be a reissue of an old record. “Nightstalker” is one of those heavy, slow songs that emphasizes the sore throat and the lyrics before climaxing in speed. “Complain” is about one minute of pure thrash. They continue on what must have been the original flipside with hymns titles, “My Friends & The Pit,” “I’d Eat Your Shit,” “Dead Meat” and “Regular Boys Haircut.” In less than 15 minutes the disc is complete. For an exceptionally raw example of what was going on in Boston during the early ‘80s look for it. A major label wouldn’t dare release anything so fundamental today. Skip it if the polish of pop is your idea of punk. –Cheetah Blitz 

 

Radar Bros.
Fingerpaint Records

The Radar Bros. are based in Los Angeles and this is an advance cassette of their forthcoming EP. They don’t rock at all. As the short press release informed me they are a mood-core, space-rock–heavy-mellow band. They should be playing the Cinema Bar shortly because this is just the type of thing that bar loves to showcase.

Somehow I’d expect some female involvement in the band, all that testosterone usually keeps the male population from playing anything this slow for this long. There isn’t a girl in the bunch. The music has electric and acoustic guitars, bass and drums all played at a pedestrian pace and some pleasing singing with vocal harmonies. Overall, I’d say it was something like The Velvet Underground meeting Neil Young when all of them were junked out and in a folk mood. You could say Engine Kid, but the Radar Bros. aren’t anywhere near as experimental or as noisy. 

Some might want to give them a swift kick in the pants to get things moving–I find this EP quite enjoyable. I will await their expected visit with some anticipation and the hope that I have beer money and a day off when they arrive. –Joan Zekada 

 

The Bogmen
Life Begins At 40 Million
Arista Records 

This Bogmen advance came with a press release and I have it here someplace. I just can’t find it. Somewhere in the stacks of vinyl, 8×10’s, advance cassettes, CDs and paper piled to the height of a tree that once was–in this place I call my office–is the Bogmen press release. It didn’t take long to figure out what the Bogmen are up to even with a missing press release. 

The second song is titles, “What’s Behind Your Coat?” and there was something about the drums in the song that brought me to full consciousness. They are another hippie band! God damn it. I’m sick of these fucking hippie bands! What are we going to do now? Jerry is dead, what will happen to his kids? I guess they’ll just have to pack up the buses and follow the other hippie bands and follow the other hippie bands around the country. Sooner or later, without the guidance of the main hippie band, they will all splinter off into cults and begin to have wars. It’s Armageddon—the day of the Road Warrior is upon us. 

Rather than slag the Bogmen off because of their category how about listening to the music? I know most SLUG readers aren’t Rusted Root, but I liked their records and the Bogmen kind of remind me of them That world beat stuff is buried in the background; it is never-the-less present. The jamming is also present; the Bogman can get a groove going if they so desire. The vocals are at times pretentious and slightly irritating, but I kind of “dig” them. The phone message preceding “Suddenly” is pretty cool. “Have a nice life baby.” It seems that male of the species has lost his job and the female has one so she dumps the bum. Welcome to 1995.

At this point it’s time to reveal myself as a closet “Deadhead.” I have a soundboard tape from the 1967 concert at the Union Ballroom. My dad gave it to me. How much do you bid for a copy? I’ll rate the Bogmen above Blues Traveler, who I’m sure are their close friends, at least until the “Deadhead” wars begin. There isn’t a fat guy playing harmonica and they don’t have a stupid name like Phish. It’s “background” music for your little drumming, ingesting, pretending party. Girls put on the coveralls without a top or a bra, or better yet a long peasant dress forgetting bra and panties. Boys just wear the coveralls with nothing else and some knee high moccasins. When the spin dancing stops lift the dress, unbuckle the coveralls and find out what it’s like to fuck with your moccasins on in a wet meadows left? Blame it on James Hanson and for God’s sake forget the ‘60s. Some guy at Billboard Magazine loves the Bogmen and you should too. –Tim O’Thee Leary 

 

The Young Gods
Only Heaven
Interscope 

This new release comes from the controversial label that Time Warner will spin off before a bill in Congress forces them out of business. Interscope is part of a huge multinational, but for some reason the folks at Interscope have never figured out that politeness and censorship are required at multinationals. “We wouldn’t want to offend any customers.” 

The Young Gods play rock music without guitars. I guess their “style” is industrial–kind of like Nine Inch Nails. The sticker so common to most Interscope “product” is sadly missing. What this means is that mummies and daddies can safely purchase the disc without asking some poor idiot record store clerk if the music will twist little minds into the deprogrammed openness they fear. There is a major problem. The Young Gods aren’t singing songs about fucking and killing. Portions of the disc are exceptionally hard, but the trio also has an interest in “mood” music. After a hard day at the office, school, factory or fast food outlet it is important to come home and listen to “relaxing” sounds–sounds that will “heal” your frazzled nerves and your “corporate” brain. “Donnez Les Esprits” is just the ticket. Don’t listen to the rest or you could grow fangs, paint your face with clown white and dress all in black. The “goth” element rears it’s blood-stained teeth when the disc spins to “Moon Revolutions.” “Lontaine” is another tribute to Tangerine Dream with vocals. The rest of the album alternates between frightening and hard rockin’. The vocals are mostly done in the low key whispery voice of a smoker/drinker–the Young gods are German, they don’t have Utah moral attitudes. Rate Only Heaven high. An album with plenty of variety and enough of the hard edge to please the “industrial/goth” bunnies while at the same time incorporating some artful relaxation techniques to totally confound everyone. –Chris Cosey 

 

Stone Edge
Columbia Records
Songs From The Cold Seas
Directed By Hector Zazou
Columbia Records 

Caspar Brotzmann Massakar
Home
Thirsty Ear 

The Last Poets
Holy Terror
Rykodisc

How about we do a whole bunch of “trance,” “ambient,” or experimental CDs in one sitting? The first one, Stone Edge, appears to have been recorded in France. One person, Sauf Titre, is responsible for the entire recording. At least that is what I gather from the booklet. There are female vocals and possibly some live humans playing actual instruments. If they are credited I can’t make it out. Most of the information in the booklet isn’t written in English and I’m sure as hell not a linguist. The only foreign language I understand is Spanish profanities. The disc has all the synthesizer “washes” that are so deeply loved by dentists and crystal worshippers worldwide. It is saved by several things. Titre is smitten with world music. He programmed bagpipes into his machines and he has a love for Celtic music. There are other “world” music’s represented but the Celtic element is the strongest. He combines the synths and the programmed Celtic with heavy beats, (some approaching rap status) other worldly female vocals, acoustic guitars and found sounds from nature. 

Every time the music strays off into Yanni territory it is brought back to earth by a weird twist. It could be the vocals, it could be the vocals, it could me some heavy metal guitar, rapping in a foreign language or maybe someone playing a wooden flute, fiddle or lute. The flute etc. sound real, I don’t think it is keyboard trickery. Most of the disc is a little too far out there for your average suburban couple. I’m sure the Breeze can find some boring track to play. When their listeners buy a copy and take it home they are in for a shock. That could be good. The next thing you know they’ll be back looking for some true Celtic, African or even techno. If they have any taste at all they might discover some of Bill Laswell’s work sooner or later. From there…who knows—John Zorn or Mr. Bungle—they already think Kraftwerk’s TransEurope Express is a “new age” disc. 

Don’t be confused Songs From The Cold Seas is an entirely different CD. It fits the same profile as the Stone Edge thing except this time the instruments are mostly played by humans. This baby is a complete work of genius! Everyone from Harold Budd and John Cale to Bjork, Siouxie, and Lone Kent make a guest appearance someplace on the disc. It would take a page to list all the guests. When shopping for it God only knows where you’ll find it filed. Avant-garde is not a musical category in the ‘90s. As the title suggests the music is not actually avant-garde or even experimental. The songs all have story somehow related to the disc’s theme–the cold waters, land and people of the Arctic. An exceptionally trippy recording, one to frighten away all involved in channeling, Rolfing, inner introspection and drum beating. Head for Blockbuster and ask for a free listen. I wouldn’t pay their prices, but take advantage of their marketing and see if I’m wrong about it. 

From the same label that brought you Sarah Mac-something and Skinny Puppy comes this bizarre work. The Grassy Knoll doesn’t quite fit an “industrial” tag nor is the BPM count high enough to fall into a “techno” classification. With drums, saxophones, trumpet, alto & bass clarinets along with tablas listed as the instruments it could be a jazz recording except there’s a DJ scratching away and a nut with a sequencer in the band. Oh. I get it. It’s “acid jazz.” Imagine a sax cat squawking away while the clarinet dude is ethereal and the two drummers keep the beats flowing as the DJ inserts all kinds of staticy noise and the bass rumbles. Forget “acid jazz”, I know what this is–it’s “trip-hop,” yeah, that’s it “trip-hop.” Fuck me raw, let’s categorize everything into its own little compartment. Remember that plastic thing your dad has in the garage with all those little cubicles for different nuts and screws? Does it remind you of a modern office or a record store? Take about ten hits of watered down ‘90s hallucinogenics or find a Texas cowpie and ingest some organically grown mushrooms. Place this disc in the player, punch repeat and trip to your small brain’s delight. 

Okay so Caspar Brotzmann doesn’t fit the “trance” theme. He is so far out there in never never land that I’ve decided to include him with the rest of the “experimental” music. The average length of a Brotzman song is around nine or ten minutes. He’s a guitarist and vocalist and he is joined by a bassist and a drummer. I had a press release once upon a time but I lost it. The cat has been profiled in a couple of magazines recently but I threw them away. What now? Last month saw some “noise” bands at the Cinema Bar. My reviews of their music were scratched from the pages due to the overwhelming popularity of Jeb Branin’s mindless jabbering. (This guy is a professor? Avoid his “courses” at all costs to life and pocketbook. That’s right Jeb, fuck you! I’m out to start a war. Meet me in the parking lot behind Bar X and take the glasses off–punk. If I walked into a “course” you were teachin’ and I heard your punk ass shit from the podium boy, I’d ask for a refund. You can’t write shit. How in the fuck can you expect to gain tenure. Professor Punk Rock, kiss my white ass.) Sarcasm? Not in SLUG. I’m simply trying to stir up the natives–subscriptions, advertising and readership are down. 

If Hammerhead and Love 666 do noise then what exactly do you call this mess? I’d have to venture back in my time machine to investigate the Ralph Records catalogue. Who remembers that label? (Send letters, it’s okay, honest, Gianni has no idea what the fuck I’m writing about at this point anyway, he’s simply worried that the hate mail and Jeb will overwhelm the rag.) Once upon a time kiddies there was a band called MX-80 Sound. If you take that band and mix it with a little Chrome–that would be Helios Creed–then throw in some latter day Greg Ginn and stir it well with your Frippertronics spoon then enter back into modern times you have some idea. This is some jamming shit and it is highly recommended for offending all the musically closed minds in your neighborhood.

In closing I’d like to take this opportunity to totally fuck your minds. The Last Poets were rapping in the ‘60s. Hello. These are some old timers whose music was never given the respect it deserved when they were young. Three of the four came together to record a new album under the watchful eye of Bill Laswell, a man who never sleeps and who is the unproclaimed king of “trance,” or today I guess it’s called “ambient” music. Rap music is pretty much dismissed in the pages of SLUG because all writers are white males and the utterances of the Public Enemy have been sadly absent recently. Mr. Public Enemy has come on back, the SLUG needs your views. 

I love rap music. The recent “gangsta” style lost me, I’m sorry but how many times can you listen to the gats, nines, bitches, and ho’s cliche over and over again. The shit’s boring and I don’t care how good the rhythms are. The Last Poets have some messages in their lyrics and the beats are trippin. Trippin’? Yeah, here’s your trip hop from some old dudes. These cats were down with the blunts, bitches and guns before it was oh so fashionable. It’s all rooted in jazz, the blues and scat singing anyway. So toss Bone Thugs and Notorious BIG. For once in your life dump the trend and catch up with history. Take a bong hit to this shit. Peace, I’m outta here. (No irony there.) –Chick Marin 

 

Starflyer 59
Starflyer 59
Tooth & Nail Records 

The CD player that goes with my system was broken in my move to NY, so I was forced to listen to this on the portable, with my headphones, which is unfortunate in this case because it’s meant to be played out loud. The band appears to be religious: there’s a selection from Psalms on the inside cover of the booklet, and in a place of high visibility says, “All Praise and Glory to Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior”. Now I’ve been to the odd wardhouse now and then over the course of my meanderings, and these guys surely haven’t been taking the same communion of Wonder Bread and Tang as the good ol brethren of the 21st Ward. I’ve never actually inserted a needle’s worth of heroin into my vein, but were I to take the plunge this music would fit the trip. A high-cholesterol diet of big beefy guitar underlies most of the tunes here, droning on and on like you’re sitting in a pool full of mercury staring at your shoes. Starflyer 69 consists of two guys with a lot of overdubs, nevertheless they’re apparently on the road a lot. I can’t imagine this kind of thing working live: it’s too personal, it’s too slow, it’s too heavy, man…besides, can you dance to a song called “Stop Wasting Your Whole Life?” Especially one that actually makes you wonder whether you’re wasting your whole life. Perhaps they’re trying to convert me. (By the way, despite the religion in the flyer, it doesn’t show up in the music at all. Don’t let that talk you out of it.) The only bad thing one could say about it is that is doesn’t vary much is speed, but that can also be a positive. Push the substance in and flow. –Capt. America 

 

WHALE
We Care
Virgin

The last song these Swedish radio guys hit the radio with was “Hobo Humpin’ Slobo Babe,” which I don’t remember hearing the first time around, but they included it on this album. It’s not that good, for reasons that I’ll get into in a minute. The first song here is destined to be heard sooner or later: “Kickin’”. I would swear that I’ve heard it before, but covered by somebody else. It’s a nice little ditty, rapping marimba type of catchiness that won’t get out of your head. Then along comes “That’s Where It’s At” a mix of hard rock screaming and female talk-rap trancey bone bumping funky noises borrowing from the best of industrial hip-hop noise, that works when it’s the talk-rap and sucks when it’s the group of screaming men, This is unfortunately a formula that they fall into on too many goddamn songs. “Eurodog”, “Electricity”, “Hobo Humpin’ Slobo Babe”–they’ve got a great base from which they work, and then they throw it into the toilet when all these men come in screaming heavy metal. Too bad. A lot of their songs are pretty in your face sex, which always has a draw when it’s an on the edge Eurogirl at the helm, but it just doesn’t make up for it. The music does have funny moments: One song’s called “Young Dumb n’ Full of Cum” “Lolly lolly lolly…I wanna slap my titties across your face…lolly lolly lolly…I’ll ride on your big log” (this from “I’ll do ya” which is another great song that wants to raise the album out of the shithouse and give unto it the breathe of life, but I tell ya half the bands running around seem to really have no idea what the hell…they’ll have great things interspersed with pure shit, like they can’t even tell the difference. It should be noted that even “I’ll Do ya” has a heavy metal chorus-at-a-soccer-game-in-Bolivia chant, but the song, in this instance, rises above it. There are some songs, in the the second half of the album, that don’t have the same problem, but the melody doesn’t hold the same promise. Too bad the same cannot be said for the majority of the album. –Capt. America

 

Rusty
Fluke
Tag Recordings

The last guy I met from Canada was in Amsterdam, in the hour we talked he smoked an eighth, I swear to god, like it was cigarettes, and he went on and on about how cool Canada was because they weren’t the U.S. and they didn’t care. He said, “We’re second best and that’s fine with us. By being second best, you get a lot more done.” (Little did he know he was talking to Capt. America.) He was such a slow-witted bore that I assumed he was wrong, but if this band is any indication, perhaps the old stoney told the truth. Basically a punk band, the first single is “Wake Me”, which is pretty damn good. The song “kd lang” starting out screaming “Eat meat, you dyke”, which was apparently spray painted on a billboard in her hometown up north. The song is pro k.d lang, so it ain’t bigoted of ‘em, don’t you know, and it’s a great song. The music has a raw edge to it gained by not overmixing, no reverb or any technical magic to help it along, which is just fine. Typical garage band punk downtown Portland Oregon style, but without the self-awareness that permeates so much punk these days. Could it be because they’re from Canada and therefore have distance from the attitude that their historically inflated ego neighbors to the south are famous for? I don’t personally care, I’d rather just press play again. –Capt. America

 

Doughnuts
The Age of the Circle
Victory Records

This album is currently the loudest most obnoxiously hardcore young puck CD in my house. All I can think of when I listen to this album is a bunch of thrash skaters lying in bed playing with their weenies ‘cause they found this band. A) It’s HARDCORE. B) They’re ALL WOMEN. C) The lead singer is SEVENTEEN. Go nuts, boys, they’re all yours. –Capt. America

 

Blue Mountain
Dog Days
Roadrunner Records

A band out of the deep south, Oxford Mississippi, this records shows it right off the bat with a shitty country and western song called Mountain Girl. Strike one. The second song tries, but doesn’t quite make it, but we’ll call it Ball One for the effort. Song number three is a big old Flatts and Scruggs Strike Two. number four is a hit, but unfortunately we’re going to have have to call it a foul on account of the accent of the singer. Song five is “Wink”, which is pretty good, but that’s largely due to the fingerpicking expertly executed. Base hit. “Slow Suicide,” the next song, is quite a good rock song with an almost psychedelic bent. Definitely gets a hit for that one. “A Band Called Bud,” despite the sophomoric obvious reference and the singer’s accent yet again, is another hit. That loads the bases up. Enough of that. The band never completely strikes out, although the lead singer constantly hitting a hard “r” while he’s singing is enough to almost keep me from listening to it entirely (it’s a personal dislike). It does, however, walk a fine line though it’s entirety. I think the band would like to avoid being thought of as a southern rock band, but they fall so squarely into the territory that it’s hard to avoid. They’ve got a couple of nice things, but it’s too uneven, overall. Unless southern rock is your thing, in which case what the fuck are you doing reading this magazine, you probably don’t want to part with the cash. –Capt. America 

 

311
311
Capricorn

Metal based rap from Omaha, Nebraska. Well, that certainly doesn’t sound like a winning combination, so it was quite surprising to me when I really enjoyed the hell out of this album. It’s probably more succinct to say that it’s metal based hip-hop, because I don’t want to invoke images of N.W.A. or something. The actual raps aren’t heavy at all. In fact part of the beauty is how they work against the grain of the tone of the music, they’re light and slide against the flow of the guitar. It’s a nice effect which they utilize to the fullest in the almost raspiness in the lead singer’s voice. Good stuff. I’ve heard a lot of bands try and do this style and fail, it’s much to these guys credit that they pull it off. They seem very much like they know what they want, and they know how to get there. You’ve probably heard “All Mixed Up” on the radio. Although I think it’s good, I don’t think it’s the best representative of the rest of the album, so don’t necessarily judge them soley by that song. –Capt. America

 

Capt. America
The Capt. Sings the Grateful Dead Hits LIVE
Overdose Recordings

On November 11th, 1986, I lost my virginity to the strains of “Truckin’” and “Sugar Magnolia”. I has met this girl I was trying to impress, sweet 16 I was, I went out and bought “What A Long Strange Trip It’s Been”, the Grateful Dead’s greatest hits compilation. Heard she liked the band. Didn’t know ‘em myself. So we go to my room, I put on the album, she makes her move. Meanwhile this fucking record is playing. I’ve hated the band ever since. Recently she became the only person I’ve slept with who is dead. I’ve no idea whether she’s grateful. 

Earlier tonight, August 23rd, 1995, a man was stabbed to death in front of my Manhattan apartment (that’s right, I’ve moved to NY, look for my NY correspondence article starting next month prob’ly). He was completely fucked up at the time on something or other, as was the person who stabbed him. This guy was a bum, wandered around most of the time avoiding work, and died basically because of this drug habit. Sound familiar? Unfortunately, no one will be gathering in Central Park this weekend to eulogize this poor schlomo. So it goes, kids. Time to wake up out of the deadhead haze and take a shower. –Capt. America 

 

Waterdog
Waterdog
Atlantic

The punk-pop fad is not down for the count! Here they come, Rhode Island’s Waterdog with their self-titled debut. What’s it sound like you wonder? It’s upbeat, resembling Greenday (but better) and The Clash-vocals are super and they really are a mixture of Joe Strummer and Billy Joe! 

These guys are tight with a punch that’ll shock you. Their music is constructed of stunning harmonies (melodic at that), biting guitars, and raw energy that makes your skin stand on end. Waterdog is the kind of band with the potential to sell a lot of records, maybe even become huge success in just a few months-granted that they get radio/MTV support. 

If they ride the road to fame, these songs are going to be their fuel; “My Life,” with it’s furious vocals and guitar hooks, “Instead of,” having more of a pop drive with melodic vocals and good harmonies,” “Youngsten Turmoil,” more of a ska-Mighty-Mighty Bosstones feel, and “Good-bye Good-bye,” reserved guitars leading to a frenetic bash and angst-ridden vocals in the chorus. Don’t miss your chance to have listen to these Rhode Islanders, they’re the best thing to happen to that state since the Talking Heads! –Gary Savelson 

 

The Rugburns
Mommy I’m Sorry
Bizarre/Planet Records 

I hate this CD with every fiber of my being. It is joke music. Like weird Al Yankmeoff, except not funny. They try to say ‘fuck’ and other swear words and tell stupid stories to make up for their obvious lack of talent. I am actually urging you to go buy this record cause it will piss you off so bad, the guy who sold it to you in the CD store will turn and run when he sees you coming back for a refund. –Mr. Pink 

 

Five Storyfall
Puppethead Records

The end of all things worthwhile begins with a woman screaming, or so it would seem, Of course this assumes that life is worthwhile, and that my mother screamed when I was born. Neither of which things I know for sure. But as far as Charlotte Webb Swenson’s screaming is concerned, worthwhile is not the word to describe, at least in the circumstances of Five Story Fall, her masculine rant. 

Five Story Fall is a thrash/hard-core/(moderately) industrial band from Ohio. Charlotte is the Charlotte who lent her name to Charlotte’s Web, the interesting band she fronted before this newest effort. In that venture she showed an inventive knack that is altogether missing here.

It is not of a lack of talent, but lack of dynamics, and a lack of tension, and a lack of invention that makes this disk so dull. I think that this band could be as interesting as Helmet, or Wurm, or Dead Kennedys, if only they had real finesse, real complaints, and some amount of wit. But rants declaiming the alarming cruelty of South Philadelphia cops against skaters just doesn’t win my sympathy. And it might be that I like variation, though I love the second Public Image Limited album, and Flowers of Romance, but it seems Charlotte follows a very narrow (nearly overgrown) path in her singing. And it must be said that she very nearly never falls off that path onto, say another note, or volume of whinny

I’m saving this album for my children. Knowing how kids hate their parents music, they ought to love this. –S. Feltcher 

Pere Ubu
Ray Gun Suitcase
Tim Kerr Records 

Don’t Expect Art 

“We printed lyrics in 1982 because we couldn’t think of anything to put on the back cover of Song of the Bailing Man.Then compact discs happened and it seemed like you had to fill up those booklets. We allowed ourselves to become confused. We drifted with the herd. No more. To print lyrics is a bad thing.”

Pere Ubu’s band members could possibly be insane. In fact, that may be a prerequisite for joining this pack of loons. Their sound is pretty damn original in a dizzy matter-of-fact-way. <br>

“Ubu music exists in Ubu space, a sort of musical parallel universe where anything can happen.” 

This is Pere Ubu’s first album in almost three years. Singer David Thomas (not the same one that does the Wendy’s commercials … I think) and guitar player Jim Jones, have added newcomers Michele Temple on bass, Robert Wheeler on synthesizers and drummer Scott Benedict. Original drummer Scott Krauss and cellist Garo Yellin are also on the new record. 

Nothing is quite the way it seems with Ray Gun Suitcase. It plays like the soundtrack to “James Bond meets Pulp Fiction.” They flow through many tunes on sheer (what’s that word that means smart-ass?) … satire. The rest of the record is just Pure Ubu (get it? pure not pere?) and that can only mean a fine CD full of non-committal, unable to generalize, crossover songs from what I consider to be a wonderful bunch of lunatics. –Mr. Pink 

 

EVE’S PLUM
Cherry Alive
Sony/550

Well, well, well, what do we have here, another power pop release? Cherry Alive, the latest from Eve’s Plum, identifies with loud guitars and brilliant vocals. Vocalist, Colleen Fitzpatrick, leads you into a field of melodic and raging guitar riffs with her brilliant singing-backed by mediocre rhythm more or less. The record sets a tone that may please Throwing Muses lovers or, if I may go so far, the rockers of the Joan Jett generation.

Without Fitzpatrick, the band would be lost within the mass fog of power pop that has rolled in the last few years. Although she fires up moments of passionate vocals (“Jesus Loves You” and “Want You Bad”), she manages to compromise her angst on most of the Songs to solicit a friendlier reception (especially “Loved By You”). The title track, “Cherry Alive,” is one of the better cuts with a beat to dance to, sonic guitar and a feeling of being on the border of techno and melodic pop. If you’re one that has a disposition for light punk flip to “Lipstuck” or if you just want common pop packaged for this generation, listen to “Fairy Princess” or “Dog in My Heart”—indulge yourself in hooks, harmonies, and any other “H” words that are descriptive of these songs.

Final verdict: Eve’s Plum has not reached its prime in its musical efforts. They are still in grade school and therefore receive a report card with all checks between the satisfactory/need improvement columns! –Gary Savelson 

 

Seaweed
Spanaway
Hollywood Records

Will punk ever really cross-over into the mainstream? Forget about Green Day, Offspring, and Rancid (Clash revived) all bubble-gum power pop. Even Nirvana retained some composure writing melodic anthems, hurling them into the spotlight.

Tacoma, Washington’s Seaweed has released Spanaway, a punk/hardrock record produced in a manner that truly captures the rawness of this breed of music. Spanaway has heavy guitars, big drums and big bass and the ranting vocals of Aaron Stauffer. Seaweed, one of many bands from the now-forgotten Seattle scene, is the definition of “alternative rock” today rejuvenating the spirit of indie noise and energy with a twist of punk!

With more accessible tunes like “Defender,” with its propelling drums, “Crush Us All,” (nice guitar riff), and “Start With,” Seaweed, at the least is heading to climb the alternative charts in sales and radio. The important question is whether or not the masses are ready to swallow the genuine nature of Seaweed and accept the band for what it really is, harsh and loud. One more thing, the 54-second hard-core cut “Punchy (the clown)” cute guys, real cute! –Gary Savelson 

 

Pony Ride
Pony Ride
Primitech Releases

Pony Ride is everything really fresh and charismatic about the anti-techno music revolution of the early nineties slowed down, drugged, and morose. I don’t have any idea what their songs are about. Why should I care?

Pony Ride is a trio out of San Francisco, which is something you might overlook, because they sound straight out of the midwest. This is about the highest compliment I can think of in American pop-music. The highest being, of course, “he could have played with Zappa.” There is one other compliment dealing with Jimi Hendrix, but it is never applicable because no one is that good. So kiddies, it’s a beautiful sad noise. I bet Ian Curtis would have liked Pony Ride. He might even have envied them. –S. Feltcher

 

Bo Bud Greene
Whatever
Backyard/Scotti Bros. Records

Well, I hope that Bo Bud Greene has something up their sleeve besides their silly bio. Don’t get me wrong, your average bio sucks, and this one is different, so that’s good. It’s supposedly written by the bass player in what is passed off to be 3rd or 4th grade handwriting, however the idea fails miserably. Luckily for the members of Bo Bud Greene, they do have an ace in the hole. Good guitars + hooky off-beat melodies = cool record. If I had to criticize this band (and I will) I would say that they reek of Chapel Hill and marijuana-based songwriting, and much overuse of the word “dude.” (Just a hunch.) It’s pretty obvious from the song titles and some of the lyrics. Song, Flaw, Remind, Slide, and Elliptical are some titles which have nothing to do with anything. Get the picture? Still the band is good and most of the songs are pretty cool, even when the singer starts sounding too much like Perry Farrell. –Mr. Pink 

 

Dead Hot Workshop
1001
Tag Recordings 

If this band came out before the Counting Crows, there would be one chubby white hippie with dreadlocks out of a job. Sad girly melodies and twangsville grooves aside, this band has some really good songwriters. Better by far than the aforementioned “Band of 1994.” There are a couple of true winners here like “Lead Thoughts” and “Jesus Revisited.” I was really pissed off to see that track 12 is called “F-censored-NO.” C’mon guys, that’s even more stupid than having “fuck” in the title. Anyway if you are into the sound of all the bands in this genre, then Dead Hot Workshop will please you, cause they are the best of the bunch. –Maxx 

 

Fugazi
Red Medicine
Dischord 

You’ll not find a Fugazi review here, nor will you ever. You see we were told we “Couldn’t get a review copy” from the woman at Dischord. She was a real bitch too. Maybe SLUG pissed them off in the past. They should get over it. Oh well, I’d like to tell you how shitty this record is, but I can’t. –BOB 

 

Grither
All Smiles
MCA

If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.

This sentence appears on the inside of the CD case. I think it appropriately describes this band, because they choose no particular path, and thusly create their own great one. 

Grither is a Kansas City based trio who sounds like The Replacements on L.S.D: (big heavy distorted guitar) They roll through their five-song EP, All Smiles with their five-song EP, All Smiles with raging anthems, unapologetic feedback, grinding rhythms and schizophrenic pop melodies. Grither stole their name from the monster on Tales From the Darkside, the one that ate children. This band eats small helpless things too, namely all other bands trying to cop this band’s sound. I thought this CD kicked ass from the word go. The only complaint I have it the same one my girlfriend always has. “I just wish it was longer.”

Expect a full length LP from Grither in early ‘96 as well as several 7” singles to be released during late ‘95. But between now and then, catch Grither on the road. This is a very cool band. Dig? –Mr. Pink 

 

Nyack
11 Track Player
Echo

Dimestore Hoods
Smile Now (Cry Another Day)
Dimestore Hoods 

This won’t take long. Nyack’s 11 Track Player was supposedly a CD Plus (audio CD + interactive CD-ROM). Not only did it fail to work in my computer, the damn things nearly crashed my whole system. Unfortunately, the audio portion plays just fine. Echo records blew a lot of green packaging this floater like some indie/college/garage pop Buzz Bin blip–plastic 8-track cover, little logo takeoffs on Atari and Burger King: the whole flavor-of-the-minute American retro trip. The fact that Echo and Nyack are located in England only emphasizes how fabricated this is. As for the music, my buddy Rich summed it up best when listening to an unlabeled tape copy of 11 Track Player: “What the hell happened? This is the worst thing Matthew Sweet has ever done!” If it were any more generic, you’d have to slap a UPC code on their limey asses. 

The Dimestore Hoods three-song cassette is so wildly generic (even by Nyack standard) that I swore they had to be locals, but the 310 (Beverly Hills) area code just proves that shit is universal. No info included, so I can only insult them based on their music—that would mean maybe listening to it again. I think I’d rather play with my new home nipple piercing kit from QVC… –Helen Wolf 

 

The Bogmen
Life Begins at 40 million
Arista 

The adjectives zany, silly and insightful can be used to illustrate the mood Life Begins at 40 Million puts across, the major label debut by New York City’s, The Bogmen. The record was produced by ex-Talking Heads member Jerry Harrison whose recent credits include mega-stars, Live, and the Crash Test Dummies. The record is somewhat of a frivolous musical expedition drawing from folk, calypso, funk, power pop and unbridled howls with traces of social criticism (at times nonsensical) hammered into the lyrics. Dare I draw a comparison to fellow contemporaries of The Bogmen; how about Phish because of their witty foolishness and the Hothouse Flowers because of the similarities in rhythm and passionately, fluctuating vocals between the two bands. 

Life Begins at 40 Million bombards you with an eclectic sound and it definitely takes some time to adjust to Bill Campion’s (vocalist) exalting wails. The songs of The Bogmen cleverly glaze our societal dilemmas and self-destructive behavior with facetiousness, cynicism, and enthusiasm. “What’s Behind Your Coat?,” an upbeat textbook pop arrangement explores deception, corruption, and conspiracy among us making reference to a “suppression plan—did I mention this record is not politically neutral? In “The Doubter’s Glass Is All Filled Up,” led by a country guitar riff and steadfast rhythm, Campion cites, “I have not yet been bitten by the flies of pessimism,” trying to grasp the issue of hope and an optimistic future. The Bogmen’s single, “Big Bum,” akin to the musical style of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers, indicates the band’s environmental consciousness when Campion raps, “We had a pig roast with the earth.” 

Compared to today’s pop music, The Bogmen are eccentric and tastefully non-conformist for the most part, and for that, they do indeed deserve a chance to boast a little pride. –Gary Savelson 

 

Nine Spine
Stickleback
Prospector 

As always, let me be honest with you. Utah has a lot of local bands. There are a limited handful that happen to be very, very good, and most are real shitty and need to get day jobs. I know, I’ve heard the rumors too, “Salt Lake could be the next Seattle,” “Salt Lake is the next Austin, as far as music goes,” and on and on and on. But do you know what I’m finding? The really good bands from the Wasatch Front probably are nameless and faceless to the most of you, like Nine Spine Stickleback. Enter SLUG, no bio, no info, just a disc. Nine Spine Stickleback, Prospector. Liner notes say they have an address in Kaysville. X-96 claims that their X-Mart carries all sorts of local music by local bands. I call them about the current release, Prospector by Nine Spine Stickleback. No they don’t have it, no they don’t carry it. Now, I think that X-96 does a pretty good job of playing local artist original music. Sometimes I think they could diversify a bit and really push the limits of local music, you know, beyond Clover and The Obvious. But, after my phone inquiry, I can’t help but to think I smell the slight stench of a corporate whore … but any who, all you need to be concerned with is this: Nine Spine Stickleback is a killer local band and it’s time that you take notice. Their CD, Prospector, is really, really good. I can’t figure out where to tell you to buy this, so write to them, P.O Box 374, Kaysville, UT 84037. Or E-mail them at: NineSpine@Aol.com. And if they are playing around town and SLUG doesn’t have the information call em and tell me so we can check them out together, SLUG HQ 487-9221 –RDJ 

 

Alice Donut
Pure Acid Park
Alternative Tentacles

For those of you who don’t know, this is the seventh release from Alice Donut. And for those of you who do know, this is an Alice Donut with a slightly different line up. The main core is still present, with a few minor changes from the last album. Alice Donut now is Tomas Antona, vocals, Stephen Moses, drums and trombone, Michael Jung, guitar/keyboards and vocals, Richard Mather Marshall IV, ???, David Giffen, Guitar & Vocals and Sissy Schulmeister, bass/banjo and vocals. Pure Acid Park is pure genius on the edge of insanity. Alice Donut has a very strange, eclectic approach to music. Which is a good thing in this stagnate, cookie-cutter, rip-off world in which we all live. They are truly an original band that includes various horns, washboards and other household items as instruments on their new album. Listening to Alice Donut is always an adventure because you never quite know what you’re going to get. They deliver the goods with intelligent song composition and biting humor. Let your CD transport find these songs and I’m sure you won’t be disappointed: Lost in Place, Mummenschantz Pachinko, Freaks in Love and Big Cars & Blow Jobs. –RDJ

 

NOFX
I Heard They Suck Live
Fat Wreck Chords 

If you like NOFX, this is them, only live. If you don’t, why the hell would you buy their live album? I think the best review I can give it, is to reprint the inside of the CD jacket.

Hello, welcome to our live album. Yeah, it’s kinda cheesy to do a live album, something Aerosmith would do, but the reason we did it is cause there’s about 7 live bootleg CD’s all over Europe, Japan, and the US and they all sound like shit. Like someone recorded it from inside a garbage can. Not only that but the fuckers are making shitloads of money while making us sound shitty. So we brought a fucking expensive (3000 bucks a day) mobile studio into a small Hollywood club which remains nameless because they wanted a bunch of money to use their  name and recorded 3 shows in a row. The first really sucked cause we were too drunk, but the next two were pretty good. This recording is a compilation of those two nights, Jan 8 and 9th 1995. We would like to thank a bunch of people, but I’m kinda busy right now, so forget it. 

Well, there you go. –Mr. Pink

 

Jughead’s Revenge
Elimination
BYO Records 

I’ve got no idea why BYO Records sent us this CD. As far as I can tell it was released another, more current long playing CD called 13 Kiddie Favorites. But, here at SLUG HQ I’ve learned the hard way. Mine is not to ask WHY, Mine is but to Do…or Die! Jughead’s revenge formed in 1989 in that cesspool we all know as Lost Angels, I mean Los Angeles. These guys were spoon fed the early ’80s, L.A. Punk scene with with heaping doses of Black Flag, The Germs and The Adolescents. It’s because of that steady diet that Jughead’s Revenge comes off as loud and harsh. Their influences shine through. The CD is packed full of pure punk rock ditties that get right to the point and cut to the done. These guys have got a good size following in L.A. and they’ve paid their dues. They’ve toured the U.S. and Europe three times each, and every time their audience is expanding. Radio wouldn’t touch these guys with a 10-foot pole. They are much too abrasive. I don’t know about you, but for for that’s green light. Check out C-Biscuit, Red and Eliminator … Hard Core at it’s best in ’95…(and ’94!) –RDJ 

 

Super Deluxe
Famous
Tim Kerr Records 

Famous is the debut CD from Super Deluxe and guess what else, kids? … Super Deluxe is from the great Northwest. Now, now, now don’t let that bum you out, stick with me on this one. Super Deluxe is a great band and I know that if you gave them half a chance, you’d love ’em. Sure these guys lean a little bit toward pop, but hey, it’s noisy, fuzzy, dense, melodic Pop, my favorite. And if you listen real close, you will hear influences from the British Invasion bands and ’60s California bands. My favorite tune on the whole disc is Famous. It’s strong with a great tap along melody and feel. In all reality folks, when I listen to this CD I get the feeling these guys would be a riot to see live. They come across as a great band with a killer sense of humor. Also, check out, Johnny’s Gone Fishing’, Smile and Sunshine For Now. –RDJ 

 

Whale
We Care
Virgin 

The last song these Swedish radio guys hit the radio with was “Hobo Humpin’ Slobo Babe,” which I don’t remember hearing the first time around, but they included it on this album. It’s not that good, for reasons that I’ll get into in a minute. The first song here is destined to be heard sooner or later: “Kickin’.” I would swear that I’ve heard it before, but covered by somebody else. It’s a nice little ditty, rapping marimba type of catchiness that won’t get out of your head. Then along comes “That’s Where It’s At” a mix of hard rock screaming and female talk-rap trancey done bumping funky noises borrowing from the best of industrial hip-hop noise, that works when it’s the talk-rap and sucks when it’s the group of  screaming men. This is unfortunately a formula that they fall into on too many goddamn songs. “Eurodog,” “Electricity,” “Hobo Humpin’ Slobo Babe”—they’ve got a great base from which they work, and then they throw it into the toilet when all these men come in screaming heavy metal. Too bad. A lot of their songs are pretty in-your-face sex, which always has a draw when it’s an on-the-edge Eurogirl at the helm, but it just doesn’t make up for it. The music does have funny moments: One song’s called “Young Dumb n’ Full of Cum” “Lolly lolly lolly … I wanna slap my titties across your face … lolly lolly lolly … I’ll ride on your big log” (this from “I’ll do ya” which is another great song that wants to raise the album out of the shithouse and give unto it the breathe of life, but I tell ya half the bands running around seem to really have no idea what the hell … they’ll have great things interspersed with pure shit, like they can’t even tell the difference. It should be noted that even “I’ll Do Ya” has a heavy metal chorus-at-a-soccer-game-in-Bolivia chant, but the song, in this instance, rises above it. There are some songs, in the second half of the album, that don’t have the same problem, but the melody doesn’t hold the same promise. Too bad the same cannot be said for the majority of the album). –Capt. America

 

Read more from the SLUG archives here: 
Record Reviews: April 1993
Record Reviews: March 1993