.lim Byers ponders his wheels of steel. Or something.

Glasgow‘s Ceneva sound very Smiths and very Suede which is more reference point than criticism. Their debut single ‘No One Speaks‘ (Nude) is hammy and arse-spanking in all the right places. What it lacks in a Mozzer or a Brett it more than makes up for in spirited guitar flourishes and rousing drumming. One criticism though. the aching glam vocals are fine but by the second track Geneva’s frontman errs a little too close to Aled Jones territory.

Aberdeen’s Coast’s ‘Do It Now‘ (Sugar) is three minutes and sixteen seconds of harmless guitar indie pop that suffers from having a chorus that sounds like it was based on The Monkees‘ ‘I’m Not Your Stepping Stone‘. It’s standard verse-chorus- verse stuff that rarely sticks its head above the parapet. Probably kicks live though.

Dave Angel's newie ‘Timeless’ (Fourth & Broadway) pulled from last year's album Titles 0/ The Unexpected has undergone remix work by Angel himself. He's gone for his usual ultra-smooth. jazzy Detroit style. this time adding more funk in the form of some lazy breakbeats. The hi-hats are crisp as ever and the kick drums pump away insistently amid washes of floating vocal samples and synth action. For Detroit techno purists only.

God knows what's going on inside Irish techno nutter David Iiolmes‘s head; his new release ‘My Mate Paul‘ (00 Discs) is a confusing mix of 90s Northern Soul. acid lines. tambourine noises and what sounds like speeded up trip hop drum sounds. Suffice to say it’s not strictly speaking a club track. It does grow on you though. Patrick Pulsinger's mix manages to make some sense out of the chaos.

The Delta llouse 0i Punk’s new EP ‘No Pressure‘ (Go Discs) features four slices of funky. laidback soul. Best track is ‘No Pressure‘. a slo-mo trip through 90s soul with an excellent male vocal.

Then there's David Bowie and A Guy Called Gerald’s collaboration called 'Telling Lies' (RCA) with Bowie attempting another of his ill-fated trips into clubland. Gerald’s mix is way too hectic but luckily Adam F weighs in with a more accessible drum 'n' bass mix.


Box Set (flykodisc)

I told someone I was reviewing Calaxie 500’s box set. History’s getting made pretty quickly these days was the bemused reply. It’s true but then I never thought they had much to do with conventional timescales, their whole career encapsulated in the blink of a sleepy eye.

Calaxie 500, 1987-1991: it sounds almost pompous and maybe they were; proud at least. The name was perfect, conjuring up an air of intrepid sci-fi hopefulness that seems almost 1950s. But Calaxie weren’t exactly naive,

: having stolen the name from a classic ( ll.S. automobile. So, in an age of borrowed sounds and found words, there they were, timeless and of their time.

flow when I listen to them, which is often, I realise how much a part of my life their music is. A four CD set somehow justifies my faith in them and my choice of friends on the basis of whether or not they ‘got’ Calaxie 500: the repetitiveness, the rhythm, the ride. Dismiss them as scales- based and I’d never talk to you again. So was Coltrane!

From the first heraldic chord of ‘Flowers’ to the end, it’s all here: some of the saddest most uplifting

music ever. I insist. (Stephen Pastel)

Dar Button Cloth (T AC)



Drugs, kids. Let’s not deny it, we’ve all heard great - nay, astounding - records made with the benefits of chemical intervention, but the aftermath is not a pleasant sight at all. As evidence, we have Car Button Cloth, the fruits of Evan Dando’s long- term substance abuse and a diary of his ongoing struggle with coherence. Even the most sparkling jangle would fail to cover up its cumulative bleakness, something he’s clearly aware of himself.

There are a few sunny Lemonheads gems in here, but all but two of those are collaborations, with Eugene Kelly

and Epic Soundtracks, or written entirely by other people: ‘The Outdoor Type’, the sweetest gem of all, is credited entirely to one Tom Morgan. Left to his own devices, Dando tells terrifying and obviously close-to-home tales like ‘Losing Your Mind’ and ‘Something’s Missing’ and, at his worst, can muster up songs consisting of only a few lines, usually snatched from the depths of some tortured nightmare.

If ‘Losing Your Mind’ is an accurate reflection of the current state of Evan Dando’s head (and one recent, disturbing NME interview strongly suggested that it was), we’re looking at a man who seriously fears that he may end up as this generation’s answer to Syd Barrett. Sobering. (Alastair Mabbott)

onnsrrs COLEMAN

Sound Museum: Hidden Man; Sound

Museum: Three Women (liarmolodic/


When Verve elected to not only sign

Drnette Coleman, but to give him his

own label, they must have expected

some surprises. Whether that included

two simultaneously released discs in

which the same compositions are

I played in different versions is

I anybody’s guess, although he did something similar on his In All Languages album in 1987, so it’s not entirely without precedent.

Where he used two different groups

l for that album, however, the Sound

; Museum Clis both feature the same

band, with his alto sax, trumpet and violin joined by Cerf Allen (piano), Charnett Moffett (bass), and Denardo Coleman (drums), plus two singers on “Don’t You Know By flow’ on Three Women (the subtitles relate to his paintings reproduced in the CD

: booklets).

Drnette’s singular ilannolodic

concept remains as distinctive and

-' opaque as ever, but this is the most striking music he has recorded in some time. Unusually for him, he has resurrected some older tunes to re- work, while the alternate treatments will provide fascinating study for students of his unique sound-world. If you are already a convert, buy with confidence; newcomers might do better to start with his classic early 60s material, and work round to these sets. (Kenny Mathieson)



Dance Ilall At Scouse Point (Island) 16 gThe fact that Harvey is credited as Polly Jean, rather than the N that we all know and love, underlines the fact that this is a joint effort with the percussionist and drummer from her solo project. Parish provides the music and llarvey has brought along the lyrics.

The album was engineered by Head who also worked on Harvey’s first album, Dry. This fusion of influences from the Yeovil songwriter’s past and present has produced a many headed hybrid beast that lies somewhere between the maelstrom of vitriol that

was Dry and the lush, swamp blues] goth crossover of last year’s liid at Me.

Harvey’s voice is in characteristic fine form, switching effortlessly between a tear-stained whisper and a banshee’s death scream as she recounts tale after tale of betrayal and the destruction of hope. Parish’s contribution is equally volatile: softly strummed guitars merging with the occasional country inflection, gospel- tainted organs swirling softly and swelling cacophanies squealing like a cat fighting a snake on a hot tin roof while lightning tears open the earth. llo, really.

This won’t make a huge dent in the mainstream charts but more often than not that’s a surefire guarantee of quality. (Jonathan Trew)

40 The List 4-l7 Oct I996