We'll kick off by hitching a ride down to the Deep South with Primal Scream and ‘(l’m Gonna) Cry MyselfBlind' (Creation) which comes complete with a picture of a suitably morose-looking Gillespie huddled on stage. It's a laid-back. melancholy-steeped boogie of a track. but just not in the same pant- wetting league as the live version of ‘Rocks‘ which you also get for your money. Sticking with the retro thang we move on up to the lusted-after Stone Roses’ 'Love Spreads’ (Geffen). Excellent slide guitar intro and blinding Led Zep influences make it okay. but not exactly the Second Coming which was promised. That'll take another five years I suppose. Much closer to home. Kirkcaldy-based guitar combo Supernova havejust put out the cassette-single ‘Discotheque‘ (Roofrack). featuring ‘Birthday' and ‘Song At The Edge Of The World'. The former screams along at a manic pace which shouldn‘t be tuneful but. magically. it is. The latter is a slower. more atmospheric piece with real tension and sombre mood.

Schtum’s ‘Corrupt Cop' (Big River). with a sleeve depicting a slice of frying bacon (geddit?). contains competent guitar and drum work but fails to either stick in the mind or incite a wigout. The sum of the parts don't make an adequate whole. nor do the disparate elements merit much individually. The shrink-wrap is fiendisth difficult to get off as well. Pausing only to inhale deeply, Total Devastation’s 'Wonderful World Of Skins‘ (Arista) comes from the same smoking dens as Cypress Hill hip hop beats. rumbling basslines and lyrics extolling the delights of weed but the overall effect is too blunted to really catch a buzz from. Single of the Fortnight. if we ran such an item. would go to Glasgow-based Plnk Kross for their ‘Punk Or Die‘ EP (Bouvier). Messy. shouty songs about drag star racm‘ queens. reminiscent of the garage punk of The Ramones. get my vote. (Jonathan Trew)

i The Soma Compilation (Soma)

1 Dance compilations: ten a penny, and i relevant for all of two weeks. Soma

? compilations: there’s only one. and it’s ' Reiuvination’s glorious ‘Requiem’. a chance to revel in symphonies that


LONDON lSDN (Virgin)

Less of the inchoate, surround-sound soundscape of an alien jungle vibe (that was ‘lifefonns’). More of a drum and . . . cripes, call the ster police - can that be guitars in there? Future Sound Of London’s second album of the second half of the year is the result of a ‘live’ transmission in September. The boys are sat in their studio in North London, busy being enigmatic botfins. They switch on their mini-Cape Canaveral, phone up Radio Reefer (or something) in Amsterdam, play them some stuff down the phone, and got this


don’t know.

phantasmagorical record out of it. It’s good to talk, especially if you speak the international argot of the ambient

The titles speak for themselves - they’ll have to, because the advance cassette makes allocation of individual track names nigh impossible, what with the seamless web of cosmic vibes a-floating .hrough the ether. So here’s the best ones: ‘Eyes-Pop-Skin-Explodes- Everybody-Dead’. ‘Far Out Son Of lung And The Ramblings Of A Madman’, released sneakily in October, is (definitely maybe) the one with the crunch of drums and the lope of grooves, though.

What does ‘ISDN’ stand for? I still

(Craig McLean)

_ lew ORDER

(the best of) New Order (london) That’s the trouble with the best ‘Best 1 of’s they send you off into

paroxysms of indulgent reminiscences. Soooo . . . ‘Bizarre Love Triangle’ is the sound of teenage I crushes, ‘The Perfect Kiss’ is thinking i you had the most avant garde trendy

' music taste ever, ‘Thieves Like Us’ is

; staring out the classroom window on . i an overcast day and thinking of a

i better place, ‘Fine Time’ is burning

rubber (soles) on the dancefloor. They l are also four of the greatest songs

I New Order ever wrote, therefore, ever , written by anybody ever.

Now for the ‘analytical perspective

1 of their career to date’ bit. Despite the

fact that their influences were mostly Eurodisco, that their lyrics were mostly tosh (notable exception: ‘World In Motion”s sheer poetry), that they sagged a bit in the 905, New Order, more than any other band (and that includes The Smiths) reflected the urban British adolescent experience and environment in their electro-pop anthems.

And finally, the ‘doesn’t corporate rock suck’ bit. There doesn’t seem to be any massively pressing reason for this compilation to exist (though Christmas is coming), the ’94 remixes add nought to the originals and it’s not as good as the ‘Substance’ compilation from the late 80s. But it’s still maximum pop rapture. (Fiona Shepherd)


l when the mood was one of dripping

sexual fantasy. Then the harder beats I goosestep in: 67’s ‘Sudubbed’ is sober ; * t' and forbidding, while Otaku’s . ‘Percussion Obsession’ goes off in


; Strangely, things stop making sense:

;_ search of a boogie wonderland and l 3 finds it. Climax arrives with i

;_ have been overturing for the last three Richie Nawtin’s mix of Slam’s ‘Positive -

1 years. Seventeen singles in, there is nothing that can be dubbed the sound 9 beats sounding like the display i of Soma. Its strength lies in the fact

i represented here.

1 Education’ is now just a collection of

, l module from a dodgy synth. Leibezeit’s ;

'. that it is the least parochial of all the 5 ‘Something Wonderful’ isn’t. The rest

dance labels in Scotland. Its brilliance ; of tho a|bom "total toxic Overload',

is in its eclecticlsm, which is well ‘scoraig ’93’, ‘Alive’ - all demand addiction for appreciation. Now you The opening tracks create a rhythmic know why this label is named after

state of undress. The starting point

was Slanl’s insplred ‘Etema’ from ’91,

mankind’s first narcotic. (Philip


& Reiuvination


Vitalogy (Epic) Despite their every effort, Pearl Jam just can’t stay close to the punk alternative, can’t help but be rock godheads. They are notoriously ambivalent about singles and videos. They didn’t tour the States last summer, refusing to play stadia and protesting at exorbitant ticket prices in theatres. Now comes ‘Vitalogy’, flying the flag for vinyl, spouting a lo- fl creed, and oozing a trashy, scattershot, airwave-unfriendy racket. All of which just makes them bigger and bigger and, kind of, better.

Vedder is no Cobain, and has no intention of becoming one. To wit, has no wish to fall prey to biz leeches and fatal fame. ‘I never sucked Satan’s dick,’ he sings on ‘Satan’s Bed’. ‘I got bugs,’ he frets on the wheezing weirdness of ‘Bugs’, his own version of Kafka’s ‘Metamorphosis’ and every iunkie’s waking nightmares. Not for Vedder the ‘Last Exit’ of the thrashy opening track. This indulgence-as- sanctuary schtick infuriates as much as it intrigues, and for that ‘Vitalogy’ is their best yet. But with oases of rock might still prevalent - ‘Better Man’, ‘Not For You’, ‘lmmortality’ - the corporate dogs will still sniff them out. Nae luck, Eddie. (Craig McLean)

44 The List 2—15 December 1994