MUSIC RECORD REVIEWS
Cavin inglis mulls over the new releases.
Well, there go WAS! as Blackie Lawless becomes the latest metal frontman to head off and discover himself through a solo career. The send-off single ‘Sunset And Babylon’ (Capitol) perhaps supports his move, being competent but uninspired. CD format has the curiosity of original demos for some classic tracks. Very much alive, however, are Parallax, who fire off another explosive salvo of heavy scary dance with ‘Bullet- Proof Zero' (Mute). having built it from chopped-up punky guitar, hyperactive drums and a good wodge of annoyance at their drummer being deported to Poland. The A-Team were never this nasty. Keep it away from your mum in case she gets hurt.
A uick mention for Old N’s ‘Breakdown’ mixes (Boy’s Own). The ‘light’ mix is superior trance-inducing pulse ambient stuff, the ‘dark’ more insistent and less remarkable. Singalong with Bill“ on ‘Sunday Sunday' (Food), a bouncy anthem which feels throughout like it’s going to break into an outright trumpet solo. if you get carried away, you might check out the ‘p0pular community song' CD single with covers of some old music hall classics.
The lost Soul Band are definitely getting better at that cowboy-style unflinching stare. ‘You Can’t Win Them All Mum' (Silvertone) is a focused and moody piece of acoustic soulfulness. Blues and country creep in more on the B-sides. Among all these ground- breaking new bands, it’s good to trip over old- fashioned undemanding pop from time to time. Oiml’s ‘Man Alive’ (ParIOphone) won’t outlast The Beatles or anything, but he won’t force you to think about the real world, thank goodness. A perfect migraine preventer.
Now who put the idea into liniord Christie’s head of releasing a single? ‘Keep On Running’ (Victory) doesn't even have the excuse of being for charity. its utterly missable chart pap is only given credibility by the even worse B-side on which Linford only says
‘Alright’ every now andthen.
Finally, do you get tired in the eyenings? ln'sh newcomers Blifl's ‘Going To Nepal' (Abbey) is just what you need for that elusive energy injection. Compulsive danciness with vague mystic overtones. Oooh, it’s fab.
'HAMISH MOORE & DICK LEE
Farewell To liecorum (Creentrax)
is it iolk? Is it jazz? Or is it something else again? The answer is yes. To all those questions. Saxophonist llick Lee and piper iiamish Moore launch out on another colourful and highly inventive venture into uncharted territory, merrily binning boundaries and mixing modes with a line disregard ior limitations oi genre, style, and things which instruments are supposed to be able to do. Their music has acquired a marked assurance as they have developed playing techniques to cope with their unusual voicings, but has
the process.
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not yet settled into predictability in
Variety is again the watchword on this second album, which builds on the sonic and musical directions explored in “The Bees Knees’. The pair’s various pipes and reed instruments lie at the heart oi the music, but they surround them with all manner oi diversions, irom producer Michael Marra’s voice to leonard Friedman’s violin. For the most part, though, it’s the collision between pipe and horn which gives the music its essential, idiosyncratic, but iuriously pumping heartbeat. Cecidedly diiierent, but only it you don’t know their work already - ior them, it’s very much business as usual. (Kenny
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_ THE IEMCNHEADS
Come On Feel Tire Lemonheads (Atlantic)
ile’s a genial genius and, appositely, ‘Come (in Feel The lemonheads’ has a tactile warmth about it. Snuggle up, get down. Give it about, oh, two listens and you’ll be smitten. Three, and you’ll be gripped. Four, and you’ll begin to wonder how something so EASY sounding could be so liie-aiiinningly IiililSPEiiSABlE. Forget all the diversionary illm-iiam about hippy dippiness and drug use and abuse. ‘Come (in Feel The lemonheads’ has its own cool, its own narcotic addiction.
For one thing there’s “I’ll Be it Anyway’, wherein Belinda Carlisle redeems herseii. I’ll “Big Scary Animal’ ye. ‘i’ll no It Anyway’ is the
high-school hop, “American Craiiiti’, sheer teen bravado, the king and queen oi rock ’n’ roll poperarna. “Being Around’ is its ilip-side, mushy insecurity taken to its lllogically paranoid conclusion. Evan liando as booger, iridge, lawn, and all ior his gal. Evan as empathetic dreamer, managing the hitherto unheard oi teat oi marrying pedal steel and gay awareness in “Big Cay ileart’. Then, whap, In rushes ‘Style’, knockabout teeter madness, particularly when Rick James pops in tor a spaced-out, stoner jazz reprise later on.
Seasoned ’iieads watchers will have heard nearly hall oi these songs beiore. That leaves another eight or so newies, all bristling with that country- lsh bun and that liando-esque aiiability. iieally, it’s all too much. Sheer, unfettered, unquestioning, unequalled, undeniable CLASS. I like it. (Craig McLean)
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_ g THE WONDER srurr
f Construction For The Modern Idiot
g (Polydor)
i it starts In typically scorching iashlon,
I this iourth Wonder Stuii aibrnn.
i “Change Every light Bulb’ is a tumult
} oi emery, ya-boo-sucks, up yours-isms
. irom Miles ilunt. We are
i The Wonder Stuii and we will carouse
g and we will sneer and we’ll do it as
j robustly and iiddle-punky as we
: please.
3 So, “Combustion For The Modern
5 idiot’ is as iinn and sturdy as ever.
i Martin Cllks takes his perennial role
as octopus time-beater In the bowels
oi the Stuiiles’ Ben IIur galley. The Wonder Stuii are slaves to the rhythm
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has the launty skip of “Size Ci A Cow’ l l but seethes with trapped menace. ‘ilot i love iiow!’ is positively exotic by i E Stuiiies standards, what with its , ' brass, strings and harmony chorus. : ¢ , This “iolllty’ is briei. construction . . l ' ' .’ is built on paranoia (“Cabin Fever’, ; " “Sing The Absurd’), bile (‘lt’s tor the : MBLA [a paedophile organisation in I San Francisco] I wish them cancerous ' decay’ - “I Wish Them All iiead’) and Miles’s all-or-nothlng dogmatlsm ; (‘well there’s hate where my liver sits’ i he croaks on “A Great lirinker'). 3 “Construction For The Modern ldiot’ , iierce and scathing and 1 convincingly bullish. As ever. Stuii and ' I sense. (Craig McLean)
' oi striie, driven by this pounding beat % and that acerbic tongue. “Cabin Fever’ !
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llOYO COLE
Bad Vibes (Fontana) Beatles vibes, more like. From the guitar intro and stirring chorus to “My Way To You’, the cliched tripping eiiects on “Wild Mushrooms’ (Talking lleads’ “Crugs’ meets “Something Wild’), the cello and piano on “love YouSoWhat’ . . .alithewaytothe“lio you believe war is over? Yeah, Yeah Yeah!’ on (the rather limp) “Seen The Future’, Cole pays iulsome tribute to Abbey Road’s most iarnous clients. lie even claims that he wrote the track ‘Fall Together’ since The Beatles themselves weren’t around to witness the 80s.
All the same, these respectiul little
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touches shouldn’t be mistaken ior wholesale pillaging. Between them, Cole and producer Adam Peters have stuiied up the cracks with tunes, making a record that’s around 50 per cent rather spitting. For every “Wild Mushrooms’ (which has ‘throwaway’ stencllled on it in large military letters) or the overlong “Can’t Bet Arrested’ which rounds the album oii, there are superior pop tracks like ‘love You So What’ and “My Way To You’ to hold their heads high.
ile still sounds a bit weird being the nasty instead oi the observer or the lover, but “it you could tree my inner child, I could iree your inhibitions, baby’ sends rather more oi a chill down the spine than that rotted old chestnut about iionnan Mailer. (Alastair Mabbott)
34 The List 8—21 October 1993