A Taste Of Honey (1978)
Now remembered scornfully for the Best New Artist Grammy they won in 1979, this dance/funk foursome was better than most of the disco they've been lumped with. Lead singer/bassist Janice Marie
Johnson and lead singer/guitarist Hazel P. Payne got most of the attention, and they're both fine instrumentalists: Payne stretches from funk scratches to jazzy solos ("World Spin") to
distorted rock leads; Johnson plays tastefully, unlike most of the slap-and-pop funkateers, but she does innovate with swooping glissandi on the low-key, funky "Distant," and her lush,
throaty vocals arouse interest. Drummer Donald Johnson keeps
a solid groove; keyboardist Perry Kibble doesn't play much but did cowrite the #1 hit single "Boogie Oogie Oogie" (with Janice, whose pumping bass line made the record). Packed with clever
arranging details and tossed-off licks; not as lowdown as the
decade's best funk, or as gorgeous as the decade's best pop, but an outstanding combination of the two.
On the down side, the record's a bit impersonal, with no horns, lead synths or anything else to add variety, and there are some
horrendous tunes (the mindless "Disco Dancin'," the mawkish "This Love Of Ours" by Janice Johnson and Payne). Produced by Fonce Mizell and Larry Mizell.
The group did manage another Top Ten hit in 1981 with a cover of Kyu Sakamoto's "Sukiyaki," but soon broke up; Johnson released a 1984 solo LP, One Taste Of Honey, which I'd be curious to hear.
(DBW)
Aerosmith, Toys In The Attic (1975)
What can you say about this thing? That it's a multiple platinum album stuffed with radio favorites? That it's the epitome of soulless, by-the-numbers 70s heavy rock, completely derivative and so testosterone-ridden that it makes Zeppelin sound cultured? That it's more or less the loudest, riffiest, catchiest damn rock record of the whole decade? Uh, I guess so.
You probably already have your mind made up about this kind of proto-grunge hedonism anyway, so it doesn't really matter what I say. The details: their third record but first real breakthrough; powered by Steven Tyler's screeching, vaguely Robert Plant-like vocals and Joe Perry's blustery, overcharged guitar riffs; written mostly by Tyler working either with Perry or bassist Tom Hamilton; and featuring three classic tunes: the head-banging, triple-time title track, the swaggering "Walk This Way," and the fevery, slithering "Sweet Emotion." Despite the obvious debt to Zep (guitarist Brad Whitford's pounding "Round And Round") and the Stones, though, the band has its own ideas on the misfires: the-blues-meets-the-Beach Boys ("Uncle Salty"); big band jazz crossed with juvenile, smutty R & B ("Big Ten Inch Record"); orchestrated bathos a la Elton John ("You See Me Crying"); and plenty of chugging boogie-woogie ("Adam's Apple"; "No More No More"). Awesome, dude. (JA)
The B-52's (1979)
Like Blondie, another New Wave band with 50's roots, but from Athens, Georgia, instead of New York, and with a more highly developed sense of camp. Instrumentally there's not much going on besides Ricky Wilson's laser-sharp rhythm guitar riffs and Kate Pierson's jokey organ; the lyrics are incredibly silly ("Planet Claire," "Dance This Mess Around"); the contrast between Fred Schneider's deadpan rants and Cindy Wilson & Kate's wild belting is amusing; and there is the one classic riff tune, "Rock Lobster." On individual tracks, the schtick works, but overall the sameness of the approach starts to get to you.
After this the band climbed to its high point with the single "Private Idaho" from Wild Planet, then permanently lost their edge after the death of Ricky Wilson. (DBW)
Umar Bin Hassan, Be Bop Or Be Dead (1993)
Former Last Poet Bin Hassan (note different spelling) gets the Bill Laswell Resurrection Treatment, with one-size-fits-all
funk/World Beat backing courtesy of Bernie Worrell, Amina Claudine Myers, Bootsy Collins,
Laswell, Buddy Miles, and percussionists Foday Musa Suso, Aiyb Dieng, Guilherme Franco and Anton Fier.
Vocal group Asante and former Last Poet Oyerwole also pop up here and there. Too many tracks have the usual Laswell problem of oppressively
boring and repetitive programmed drums; one exception is the live-sounding, organ-led jazz number "Love."
Bin Hassan remakes two of his early Last Poets songs ("This Is Madness," present in two versions; "Niggers Are Scared Of Revolution") - wouldn't you
think after two decades he'd have enough new material for one record? Anyway, the remake of "Niggers" is 5:23, about as long as the original,
but while it was easily the longest cut on the earlier record, now it's one of the shortest, and the unchanging musical backdrops and
Bin Hassan's rising and falling cadences become incredibly boring. All this would be regrettable but forgivable if Bin Hassan's words were
as biting and bracing as his early work, but they aren't: he visits the same touchstones again and again (referencing John
Coltrane and Miles Davis, for example); many of his images aren't evocative ("Hip hop cadres laughing at
Jesus slam dancing" - uh, okay); and his visions both of grim reality and of prospects for a better world lack their former intensity and conviction.
(DBW)
The Blues... A Real Summit Meeting (1973)
Recorded live at Newport on June 29, 1973, this two-CD set brings together performances by both big names - B.B. King,
Muddy Waters - and lesser knowns (Lloyd Glenn, who serves up honky tonk piano like "Pine Tops Boogie Woogie").
Everyone gets about twelve minutes to do their thing, except for Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup and King, who are limited to one song each
("That's Alright Now Mama" and "Outside Help" respectively).
The surprise star is Eddie "Cleanhead" Vinson, who captivates the house with tongue-in-cheek verbal boasts ("They Call Me Mr. Cleanhead")
and athletic alto sax solos ("Kidney Stew"). Also captured at her best is Big Mama Thornton,
who delivers crusty but vulnerable readings of the old standby "Little Red Rooster" and her signature song,
"Ball And Chain." None of the performers are young, but it's not strictly a nostalgia set; Gatemouth
Brown's "Please Mr. Nixon" demonstrates that the performers are grounded not just in the timeless, but in the here and now (more precisely, the
there and then). The band is terrific: Jay McShann adds classy piano backing, while wildman violinist Claude Williams takes some jawdropping
extended solos ("Smooth Sailing").
You could certainly argue that this set reaches too hard for variety at the expense of coherence (Crudup's unaccompanied country blues
segue into Glenn's super-cool piano stylings), but there's not much else to quibble with: it showcases an impressive array of talents playing their
favorite material, with no condescension or pretension.
(DBW)
Brainstorm, Funky Entertainment (1979)
There's a fine line between covering a lot of ground, and just throwing different styles at the wall to see what sticks.
The third album by this Detroit R&B band was produced by Jerry Peters, and it's a promising but ultimately incoherent
smorgasboard of funk, disco and ballads. But there are some magnificent, unjustly forgotten tunes here: the opening "Hot For You" marries
a terrific funky verse to a high-energy disco chorus, but doesn't stop there, throwing in percussion breaks, uncounted bridges, and even a
salsa piano montuno. The title track is a messy masterpiece of funk horns and rock guitar; the relentless "Popcorn" is a goldmine of melodic
snippets with delirious, infectious vocals. The one love song isn't much ("You Put A Charge In My Life"), but even that's carefully rendered,
with polyrhythmic backing vocals and Thom Bell-style descending sitar and bells.
At this point the lineup was Chuck Overton (sax), Belita Woods (lead vocals, far less nasal than in her later work with the
P-Funk All-Stars), Trenita Womack (vocals, flute, piano),
Renel Gonsalves (drums), and Larry Sims (horns). The group wrote most of the tunes here,
though Sam Dees was responsible for giving us "A Case Of The Boogie." Their last album, as far as I
can tell. (DBW)
Brick (1977)
I guess you'd have to call this Atlanta five-piece a third-rate funk band, but they're fun. Rather than relying on synth, strings
or unchanging disco rhythms, they focused on small-combo arrangements that often sound unrehearsed, funk and ballads alike -
like a nicer Ohio Players, or like Earth Wind & Fire without the production touches.
They're set apart by prominent flute work by Jimmy Brown (who also played sax); the rest of the band is Regi Hargis
(guitar), Ray Ransom (bass), Eddie Irons (keyboards) and Donald Nevins (drums), with everyone contributing lead vocals.
Their 1976 debut (Good High) had produced the hit "Dazz," so they continued the lyrical theme with "Dusic" - their
second and last Top Forty hit, with a great group falsetto vocal.
("Ain't Gonna Hurt Nobody" was also successful on the R&B chart.)
Produced by Phil Benton with the band.
I have their 1976 debut and I'll try to review it soon; Brick kept releasing LPs through 1982, with "Sweat (Till You're Wet)" hitting the R&B charts in 1981.
(DBW)
Meg Christian, Face The Music (1977)
You know, it's easy to mock earnest 70s lesbian folksingers - until you actually sit down and listen to some of their records.
The first artist to record for "women's music" label Olivia, Christian has a strong, confident, Laura Nyro-ish voice, command of a wide range of folk guitar
styles - Appalachian picking ("Nipper," the best cat song this side of Shonen Knife) to jazzy pop ("The Rock Will
Wear Away") - and a sense of humor ("Leaping Lesbians"). She wrote about half the material (the Carly Simon-sounding
anthem "Where Do We Go From Here," which brilliantly blends an upbeat, singalong chorus with stark verses), with the rest coming from folks
like labelmate Holly Near ("Mountain Song").
The arrangements are sparse, with occasional violin, no horns and little or no electric guitar.
Occasionally she bites off more than she can chew ("Rosalind," a tuneless, talky examination of
racism and homophobia), but on the whole the record's thoughtful and lively - a breath of fresh air in today's calculated, hyperironic music climate.
The main backing unit is Diane Lindsay (bass) and Mary Watkins (piano); backing vocalists include Near, Teresa Trull and Sweet Honey In The Rock.
(DBW)
The Dells, Give Your Baby A Standing Ovation (1973)
Chicago vocal quintet The Dells racked up their first hit back in 1955 with the doo-wop classic "Oh, What A Night," then hit a decade-long
dry spell. By the time they resurfaced, they were on Chess Records working with producer Charles Stephney,
who reincarnated them as a smooth soul outfit somewhere between the Impressions (who recorded a fair amount of uptempo
material and stuck to simple chord progressions) and the Delfonics (who didn't). The Dells put eight
singles in the Top Forty between 1968 and 1973, ending with the title track of this album. I can't tell whether these guys were
running out of steam, or just not that great to begin with: Stephney follows the basic conventions - lush
orchestrations (French horns abound), romantic themes ("The Glory Of Love"), a vague social conscience number ("Stand Up And Show The World")
- but doesn't have a flair for melody: there's not a tune here that sticks in your head aside from the title track (produced by Don Davis),
and even that's overblown. Johnny Carter's falsetto is as high as the Stylistics' Russell Thompkins, but more
grating - rather like Frankie Valli - while baritone Marvin Junior also takes his share of leads. Pleasant enough if you're heavy into
Chicago or Philly Soul, but not a classic of the genre by any means.
(DBW)
Disco Spectacular Inspired By The Film "Hair" (1979)
It seems absurd, but unheralded NY producer Warren Schatz turns what should have been Grade D hack work into an intense, wide-ranging
musical whirlwind, with a great deal of help from guest vocalists Evelyn "Champagne" King and unrestrained disco chanteuse Vicki Sue Robinson ("Turn The Beat Around"), who
had appeared in Hair on Broadway. The minimal Chicesque
arrangements and soulful vocals actually deliver the American Tribal Love-Rock Musical's message of utopian hedonism better than the
original's Broadway-aping-psychedelia ("Aquarius/Let The Sunshine In"). Schatz gives the familiar material unforgettable new hooks
(the keyboard/guitar vamp anchoring "Good Morning Starshine," which features either The Brothers or Revelation, two male vocal groups
who are on this record somewhere), and rarely falls back on arranging clichés. The guitar solo in "Where Do I Go?" - which spotlights
the New York Community Choir - is a hilarious parody of late 70s Santana, though I doubt it was intended
that way. And King brings guts and heft to her feature, "Easy To Be Hard."
Backing by the famed Warren Schatz Orchestra, all unknown to me except for bassist Francisco Centeno,
who adds lively, unpredictable runs throughout.
(DBW)
Carl Douglas, Kung Fu Fighting And Other Great Love Songs (1974)
I'm always skeptical of claims that an enormous hit derailed someone's career, but here's a case where that argument might be valid.
The title song, a #1 novelty hit, came to define Douglas's career, but actually he was a decent exponent of Philly/Chicago Soul, with classy orchestral arrangements ("Dance The Kung Fu" - yes, really),
and a strikingly Marvin Gaye-like voice ("Never Had This Dream Before," the fine ballad "I Want To Give You Everything"). Because of the timing, "Kung Fu Fighting" has
been remembered as a disco tune, but really it's smooth R&B with pseudo-Asian affectations. "Blue Eyed Soul" is a pounding instrumental in the best Isaac Hayes tradition.
Douglas wrote half the songs, with most of the rest by his producer Biddu. But by playing up the single's camp value in the album title and cover art, Douglas made it impossible for anyone to take
him seriously. (Actually, a reader tells me Douglas pulled a gun on Biddu during a contract negotiation, which may be a better
explanation for his rapid disappearance.) Arranged by Gerry Shurry and Pip Williams; musicians aren't listed.
(DBW)
Lamont Dozier, Inside Seduction (1991)
I guess being a living legend isn't enough for some people. Dozier could've been content with
his legacy as part of Motown's Holland-Dozier-Holland hit machine,
but instead he had to tarnish his reputation with this brutally boring collection of prefab,
mechanical pop/soul. From the opening "Feeling Each Other Out," each track is made up of noisy
programmed drums, harsh synth lines (virtually no guitar or bass guitar at all), and Dozier's pleasantly
gruff, but unexceptional vocals. He's only one of many 60s artists to make unlistenable noise
trying to stay current, but that's no excuse for "Pure Heaven," a sappy ballad with incongruous
hip hop drums. Well, forget the production - what about the tunes? More bad news, as neither the
ballads ("Love In The Rain") nor the dance numbers ("The Vibe") have any memorable melodies.
The only tune that sounds close to Dozier's hit 60s sound (except for the irritating production)
is "The Quiet's Too Loud," co-written by (eegads!) Phil Collins, who also added drumming on the
record. Otherwise, it's real hard to find high points: Eric Clapton adds
a solo to "That Ain't Me," but it's generic rock/blues playing that could've been done by
anybody; Bridgette Bryant does contribute a lovely, Diana Ross-like
duet vocal on "When We're Together." Produced and almost all written by Dozier; I can't believe
he's completely lost his talent, so I'm considering this an unsuccessful experiment.
(DBW)
Brian Eno, Here Come The Warm Jets (1973)
With glam rock about to crest, Roxy Music mastermind Brian Eno bailed out on the group and embarked on a solo career.
After cutting a duet album of inscrutable instrumentals with Robert Fripp, he rounded up a dozen musicians and recorded an elaborately produced LP that has to rank as one of glam rock's most creative efforts.
Eno's tenor is thin and neurotic ("Driving Me Backwards"), and his arrangements tend to build up walls of sound from individual parts that are remarkably simplistic.
But it's first-rate: he harmonizes with himself well enough to carry an elaborate, Beach Boys-style ballad ("Some Of Them Are Old," which trails off with a lulling slide guitar plus harmonica-like saxophone segment); there's some fine, straightforward rock (the VU-like "Needles In The Camel's Eye"); several memorable mid-tempo numbers sound exactly like David Bowie ("The Paw Paw Negro Blowtorch"; the doo-woppish "Cindy Tells Me"; "Dead Finks Don't Talk," with a fascinating harmony arrangement); and he includes some tense, ominous experiments that are crammed with unpredictable electronic noisemaking ("Baby's On Fire").
And surprisingly, the only two instrumentals are respectable (the piano-based "On Some Faraway Beach"; the chugging title track, with a rudimentary, but unforgettable guitar riff).
Several of the more tuneful numbers feature Roxy Music guitarist Phil Manzanera; Fripp takes a blazing solo on the noisy, out-of-control "Blank Frank" and plays on two other tracks.
Additional players include Chris Spedding and King Crimson bassist John Wetton. (JA)
Peter Gabriel (1978)
Gabriel's second of three consecutive eponymous solo albums (he'd scored a substantial U.K. hit with "Solsbury Hill" the year before). I really can't stand his sneering, repetitive, mid-80s art-rock anthems. But this time around he's lucky enough to have King Crimson mastermind Robert Fripp produce.
It's mostly written by Gabriel, but "Exposure" was co-written by Fripp and reappeared as the title track of his solo record the next year.
Indeed, Fripp relies on that record's same core backing band: Sid McGinnis (guitar), Tony Levin (bass), and Jerry Marotta (drums).
They do come up with a memorable radio hit, the super-cool, Bowie-ish dance number "D.I.Y."; Gabriel's colorful lyrics are focused and even funny ("Home Sweet Home"); Fripp's palette of synth, piano, slide guitar, and Frippertronics creates a unique, understated atmosphere; and several other tunes have entertainment value: Levin and Fripp create a funky proto-80s Crimson vibe on the aimless, ominous "Exposure"; "On The Air" sounds like something off of "Who Are You"; and "A Wonderful Day In A One-Way World" nicely blends Genesis-like synth, reggae-y bass, country pedal steel, etc.
But the sound is often tepid and spacey ("Mother Of Violence"; "Indigo"), a couple livelier numbers are anonymous 70s rock ("Animal Magic"; the thumping, 50s-flavored "Perspective"), and Fripp's creepy guitar solos are sadly infrequent (the stately ballad "White Shadow").
Distinctively produced and far less offensively boring than his earlier, otherwise-similar Genesis discs, it's still only sporadically ear-catching.
Bowie/Springsteen backing pianist Roy Bittan is one of several keyboard players. (JA)
Gloria Gaynor, Never Can Say Goodbye (1975)
Motown definitely doesn't get the credit it deserves in the development of disco (though whether anyone wants
that credit is an open question). Gaynor's debut was a disco milestone, with side one featuring three lengthy orchestrated tunes that blend
into each other in a danceable suite, and all three songs are Motown-derived: "Reach Out I'll Be There"
and the title track are covers, while "Honey Bee" (arranged by Norman Harris)
borrows the title, vibes, and feel from mid-60s Detroit. Anyway, the title track - arranged by Harold
Wheeler and City Life - is classic early disco, marked by the relentless high hat, galloping beat, agile strings, lengthy instrumental passages,
over-the-top diva vocals, and irresistable melody. "Reach Out" uses the same approach, but with Gaynor's smooth pipes replacing Levi Stubbs's grit, the
song has all the depth of a Christmas card.
The second side was arranged by Meco Mondardo (best known for a disco version of "The Empire Strikes Back") and produced by Monardo,
Tony Bongiovi and Jay Ellis; it's depressingly banal, cut-rate pop-soul ("We Belong Together," definitely not the Rickie
Lee Jones tune) with the exception of Gaynor's own "Real Good People,"
a belted showstopper that has the sincere emotion missing from the other songs on the side.
The rhythm section is the Hendrix-tarnishing crew of Jeff Mironov (guitar), Alan Schwartzberg (drums)
and Bob Babbitt (bass).
(DBW)
Gloria Gaynor, Love Tracks (1979)
After struggling for a few years, Gaynor managed another huge hit, the classic testimonial "I Will Survive," and it's the centerpiece here - the lengthy groove, fluttering strings and diva vocals
epitomize late disco. But there's plenty of variety: "You Can Exit" is fun, starting with a funk hook then shifting to the dreamy territory of Aretha Franklin tunes
like "Daydreaming," with Gaynor's voice at its most Rossified; "Anybody Wanna Party?" is a hot funk number. Even the dull cuts visit various genres: disco ("Stoplight"),
ballads ("Please Be There"), faux reggae ("Substitute"). Most everything was written and produced by Dino Fekaris and Freddie
Perren; the one cover is an overly rapid dance take on Little Anthony's "Goin' Out Of My Head," done better by everyone from the Zombies
to La India - Gaynor doesn't have time to lavish attention on each syllable, and they fly by so fast it sounds like she's reciting.
The musicians include big names like James Gadson, Scott Edwards, Wah Wah
Watson, and - in a rare sideman appearance - Paulinho Da Costa.
Gaynor soon became a casualty of disco's precipitous decline; I believe she's now on the oldies circuit.
(DBW)
Generation X, Live At The Paris Theatre '78 & '81
A 17-track BBC disc that contrasts two complete shows recorded at opposite ends of the band's career.
1978 sees them as unreconstructed, Sex Pistols/Clash/the Jam-influenced punks, barely able to run through their contemporary, self-titled debut album (they add a primitive take on the Bo Diddley-influenced "King Rocker," the key tune from their Ian Hunter-produced 1979 followup Valley Of The Dolls).
Idol snarls recklessly through his booming vocals, guitarist Bob Andrews bashes away with furious power chords, and the rhythm section practically stumbles over itself trying to keep up a breakneck pace (Tony James, bass - he cowrote almost everything with Idol; Mark Laff, drums).
Their stomping, sloppy single "Your Generation," blazing singalong "One Hundred Punks Rule," and ragged, overdriven cover of Johnny Kidd's "Shakin' All Over" all emphasize their debt to the Who's Next-era the Who ("Invisible Man").
Oddly, though, the best track here is a practically wholesome power ballad ("Kiss Me Deadly").
By 1981 they've matured into a slick, refurbished hard rock act, with Idol and James joined by original Clash drummer Terry Chimes and freshly minted guitarist James Stevenson (who never appeared on the band's records).
Stevenson's much more facile than Andrews, and by now Idol's on-key and over-the-top on every tune.
So they end up dangerously close to Idol's vain, shallow, ragin' Elvis 80s solo sound ("Heaven's Inside"; "Untouchables" edges on pure pop), most notably on their aggravating, but unforgettable flop single "Dancing With Myself."
They draw mostly on their third and last LP Kiss Me Deadly, winding up with their early single "Ready Steady Go," with its incongruous Merseybeat sound, and another take on "King Rocker"; there's also a solid, entertaining version of David Bowie's classic "Andy Warhol."
It's all okay, and at least the sound is still recognizably punk ("Poison").
More than enough here for anyone with a casual interest in the band, and diehards will want it for the three otherwise unavailable tunes ("Shakin' All Over"; "Andy Warhol"; "Rock On," apparently an original). (JA)
Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five, The Message (1982)
Put together after a few successful singles - "Freedom," "Superappin'" - the debut by this Bronx combo is amazingly varied, with nearly every track in a different genre. Most successful are
"She's Fresh," party funk driven by master bassist Doug Wimbish, and "Dreamin'," a catchy love song about the band's (possibly tongue-in-cheek) desire to meet Stevie Wonder(!) Most annoying are "Scorpio," tuneless electrofunk with Scorpio's voice processed to sound like Darth Vader with a head cold.
"It's A Shame" and "It's Nasty" (based on "Genius Of Love") are lively early hip hop, with Flash showing off his turntable expertise while the Furious Five
trade lines about everything from world peace to having fun. Most of the music
was written and produced by Sugarhill Records mogul Sylvia Robinson, famed for her proto-Donna Summer gasps of pleasure on 1973's "Pillow Talk."
Oh, I almost forgot: the title track established rap as more than a novelty, with devastating slice-of-ghetto-life rhymes from Melle Mel, and a simple but haunting keyboard/drums backing track.
Historical concerns aside, the record's audacious and rewarding - well worth tracking down. (DBW)
Richard Hell & The Voidoids, Blank Generation (1977)
Hell was a seminal figure on the downtown NYC scene that produced Television and Blondie, but it's hard to see now what his contribution really was. He can't sing, but there's been a long tradition of that in rock and roll; he's not much of a bass player, but a lot better than the Brit punks who reveled in their incompetence; his lyrics often sound like the scribbling of a heartsick teenager on his first bender ("Love Comes In Spurts," "Betrayal Takes Two"). Maybe that's the appeal, I don't know. His naive shallowness, which comes across best on the endless rant "Another World" and the bonus track "All The Way" (a dead-serious reading of the Sinatra vehicle), set him apart from anyone else in the New Wave or punk scenes, that's for sure.
The only musical interest here is in the twin guitar interplay by Robert Quine and Ivan Julian - it's occasionally amusing ("Who Says (It's Good To Be Alive)?"), though it was nothing that hadn't been done better years before by R&B acts from James Brown to Parliament, and concurrently by Television. This record has its devoted fans, but it sure isn't for everyone. (DBW)
High Inergy, Turnin' On (1977)
Contrary to what you may have been told, Motown didn't give up on elaborate full-orchestra productions and clever
cookie-cutter pop/R&B tunes - the label persevered long into the disco era with quality records like this one, the debut of
Pasadena vocal quartet High Inergy.
Lead singer Vernessa Mitchell has a great voice: smooth like Syreeta, but stronger and
more soulful; the other singers were Barbara Mitchell (Vernessa's sister), Linda Howard, and Michelle Martin.
Production is split between Kent Washburn and the team of Al Willis and Dee Ervin, but both use elegant R&B arrangements
reminiscent of Valerie Simpson, with a disco-influenced rhythm section softened by warm midrange strings, keyboards and occasional guitars.
Pam Sawyer and Marilyn McLeod's "You Can't Turn Me Off (In The Middle Of Turning Me On)" was the hit single, but many of the other tunes are just as catchy, including Clay
Drayton's "Love Is All You Need" and "Ain't No Love Left (In My Heart For You)." The only real loser is the contrived
"High School," written and produced by Jimmy Holiday.
Vernessa Mitchell soon left for a gospel career, and Barbara took over as lead vocalist, but the reconstituted group didn't
generate any hits before breaking up in 1983.
(DBW)
Holland-Dozier-Holland, The Picture Never Changes (rec. 1972, rel. 1992)
This is one weird story. Brian Holland, Lamont Dozier and Eddie Holland were among the most successful songwriters of the 1960s, writing countless hits for Motown acts like the Supremes and Four Tops. But they wanted to manage artists and run their own label, so after a messy divorce from Motown, they founded Invictus and Hot Wax records. They had some hits, though nothing like Motown's numbers, but while setting up the labels they took a vacation from songwriting. In the early 70s, when they returned to writing, they took advantage of their freedom to put out several singles under their own names (they had
each sung on singles in their early days, though nothing had made much of an impact).
None of these tracks were hits either, since the trio focused their promotion dollars on the artists they'd invested in, and the songs were never released on an album until the early 1990s.
The CD still didn't sell, and the sides are in danger of slipping into obscurity again. But you, lucky reader, are about to be let in on the secret: this is a fantastic record. Their core melodic and lyrical talents are every bit as good as in the mid-60s, and the stripped-down production and unmannered vocal deliveries only make it that much easier to appreciate the compositions themselves. Nearly every track is a classic, with the exceptions being the overlong soul-rocker "Hijackin'" and the duet version of the ballad "Where Did We Go Wrong" (there's also a solo version included that comes across much better) - it's hard to pick out a couple of highlights when everything's so good. The production is fairly conventional early 70s soul, with minimal orchestration and plenty of greasy guitar licks and thumping piano.
If HDH's Motown compositions are part of your life, you owe it to yourself to check out this collection - you can probably even find a cheap cutout copy. (DBW)
The Brothers Johnson, Look Out For #1 (1976)
Bass virtuoso Louis Johnson headed into Quincy Jones' stable
shortly after he and his guitar-playing brother George appeared on
the scene in the mid-70s, and Jones produced several solo albums
for the twosome, including this one, their debut. Though they're
usually thought of as a funk band, the hit single "I'll Be Good To
You" is pure pop, and they also come up with a lovely fusion
instrumental, "Tomorrow." There is some heavy grooving, including
"Get The Funk Out Ma Face" and "Thunder Thumbs And Lightnin'
Licks," but it's not as much fun as a deceptively mellow tune like
"The Devil" - too often, Jones' DeMille-like arrangements flunk
the funk. The Johnsons are nothing special as singers or lyricists
either, and their cover of the
Beatles' "Come Together" is a waste of time, but this is still
a very listenable 70s R&B/pop record.
(DBW)
KC And The Sunshine Band (1975)
Look, I'm not happy about it either, but the fact is that Miami-based writer/producers Harry Casey and Richard Finch had a terrific formula: big booming percussion, horns blaring simple riffs, pop keyboards
and guitar, and singalong chants, with nobody stealing the spotlight.
It works on the #1 hits "Get Down Tonight" - with a sped-up staccato guitar sound that later turned up on "Erotic City" -
and "That's The Way (I Like It)," with its unforgettable female backing chorus. It really works on the opening "Let It Go, Part 1" - with a killer rhythm guitar line and stop/start drums,
it's my favorite cut on this LP, their second. I'm not crazy about "Boogie Shoes," a more laconic number built on blues changes, though that was also a big hit.
Casey's voice is pleasant in an Everyman way; he also plays keyboards and Finch handles bass.
Casey and Finch don't follow many of the disco
conventions - no strings, strong syncopation in the drums, no breakdowns - It's actually much closer to the pop-funk sound of mid-60s
Sly Stone - think of "Get Down Tonight" as the "Dance To The Music" of its time - and Motown: "I'm So Crazy ('Bout You)" features the telltale
vibes-doubling-the-lead-vocals, and the ballad "Ain't Nothin' Wrong" wouldn't sound out of place on a Marvin & Tammi record. And there's not a weak track to be found; another
medium-slow number, "I Get Lifted," has an interlocking guitar/organ groove to die for. The followup, Part 3, was also huge, with "Shake Your Booty," "Keep It Coming Love" and "I'm Your Boogie Man";
after that, they rapidly ran out of steam, scoring one more smash with the sappy "Please Don't Go" in 1979.
See the unofficial home page for more details.
(DBW)
KISS, Alive II (1977)
By the time this double-CD live set was recorded, KISS had gone
from NYC bar band to heavily made-up, leather-clad rock superheros.
Flashy, deliriously macho, totally unpretentious (their name means
"Keep it simple, stupid"), they were a sorely needed antidote to a
decade's worth of Serious Artists and Deep Meaning. What's often
forgotten is that they also wrote a pile of catchy heavy rockers:
"Love Gun," "God Of Thunder," "Detroit Rock City," "Makin' Love."
Almost all of them are on this album (their hit single "I Wanna
Rock and Roll All Night" is on Alive I), and the high-energy
performance makes this a better bet than any of the studio records
of the period. Not many self-indulgent jams or extended solos here,
the focus is on tight, snappy arrangements. Ace Frehley shows
occasional flashes of competence on lead guitar ("Christine
Sixteen"), Peter Criss is solid if unexceptional on drums, and
bassist Gene Simmons is surprisingly facile and even musical. Paul
Stanley delivers most of the lead vocals, and he takes some pains
to show off his respectable range; Simmons brings no technique but
substantial amusement value to his vocal features ("Calling Dr.
Love"). Ace muddles through his one shot at the mike ("Shock Me"),
and Criss contributes the hilarious ballad "Beth." (You'll want to
break out your lighter for that one.) There are five studio tracks
thrown on, and they're not too interesting (particularly the cover
of "Any Way You Want It"), but if you're in the right frame of mind
you'll get a lot out of this. Co-produced by Eddie Kramer. If you like the record, the band's current live show is still about the same, as you'll see in our concert review. (DBW)
Lakeside, Your Wish Is My Command (1981)
The previous year, this pop/funk group of Midwest-to-LA transplants had scaled the charts with "Fantastic Voyage." This followup is one of the best-sounding records I've ever heard: warm yet biting
rhythm guitar, burbling but not overbearing synth, heavy bass, solid drums and percussion, lead and backing vocals all balanced perfectly in a subtly funky mix that's as soothing as it is
danceable. Alas, the compositions themselves aren't so great,
but the grooves are so tight you're liable to get swept away anyway: though the title track is a high-energy delight, and "Special" seems like a well-designed attempt to appeal to Kool
& The Gang's pop audience. They also switch between fast and slow numbers adeptly so the record never drags.
The single, a ballad version of "I Want To Hold Your Hand," is actually one of the weakest cuts.
Produced by the band. I don't know why these guys were never more popular - they're not innovative or particularly distinctive, to be sure,
but neither were Midnight Star, who were considerably more famous at the time. If you're looking for unjustly forgotten funk acts, Lakeside should be on your list.
(DBW)
The Last Poets (1970)
The missing link between Beat poets and Public Enemy, the three Last Poets -
Abiodun Oyewole, Alafia Pudim, and Omar Ben Hassan - take turns reciting tales of inner city life,
often with a radical political message ("When The Revolution Comes") and not-even-thinking-about-airplay vocabulary ("Wake Up, Niggers"),
while the other two chant each track's title and Nilaja keeps time on a variety of percussion.
Each poet gets four or five tracks to make their points, and each has a specialty: Oyewole has the most devastating one-liners,
Bin Hassan puts together the best extended puns ("Niggers Are Scared Of Revolution"), and Pudim has the most oratorial style and the best
use of rhyme. Occasionally the change in perspective sets up a dialogue, as where Ben Hassan's paean to black women ("Black Thighs") is
followed by Oyewole's blunt accusation that black women are preventing The Revolution ("Gashman").
But stylistically and thematically they're much more similar than different, frequently touching
on drug addiction (Oyerwole's "Jones Comin' Down") and Black Power (Ben Hassan's "Just Because"),
each mixing cold-eyed observation (Oyerwole's "Two Little Boys") with optimism (Pudim's "Surprises").
Though I hate most declaimed poetry - I've been known to flee the Nuyorican Poet's Cafe in horror - the images are acidly etched and the wild
mix of emotions ("New York, New York") is bracing. Hyped as a direct ancestor of rap, which it isn't (there's much less emphasis
on rhyme and meter, and no concern with entertaining an audience), but it is a unique, honest, often searing listen.
Produced by East Wind Associates; Alan Douglas is listed as a creative consultant; the same year he coaxed an
instrumental track out of Jimi Hendrix for a similar project he produced for Lightnin' Rod.
Though Oyewole soon went up the river on a robbery charge, a shifting lineup of Poets kept releasing albums through the decade, and were later reunited
on 1994's Holy Terror, which I think I have lying around somewhere.
(DBW)
Cheryl Lynn (1978)
The huge disco hit "Got To Be Real" is Cheryl Lynn's finest hour, with its loping good-time groove and unforgettable
opening and closing riff, but there's much more to like on this enjoyable debut album.
The production by David Paich and father Marty is just as derivative as you'd expect from
stuck-in-the-studio session cats, but it's all so well done it's hard to resist (the blues-based, horn-backed "Nothing You Say").
Lynn, who started as a gospel singer in her native L.A., has a smooth, comfortable voice - even when she's belting
or leaping into Minnie Riperton territory, it's somehow soothing.
"All My Lovin'" carefully imitates the Chic sound, and also lifts the main riff from the Rufus hit "You Got The Love," but her soaring vocals sell it anyway.
"Star Love," on the other hand, is eminently resistable: a weak imitation of Donna Summer's
ballad-shifting-to-disco formula - on the heels of "Real," the single still managed to crack Top Twenty R&B.
Lynn wrote or co-wrote most of the songs; there's also a calypso-influenced take
on "Come In From The Rain," and the closing "Daybreak (Storybook Children)" is
by Pomeranz and Proffer. Don't look to this for innovation, but it's very solid late 70s pop.
My cut-rate CD doesn't include any musician credits - the bass player is exceptional, busy yet tasteful.
(DBW)
Cheryl Lynn, In Love (1979)
Produced by Barry Blue and arranged by Blue and Lynn, this followup is more focused than Lynn's debut, largely sticking to the elegant pop/R&B vein of Arif Mardin
and Ashford & Simpson: spirited funky rhythm sections lightened by slow-moving strings. It's a sturdy formula, but they
ride it too hard, skimping on breadth and only occasionally hitting on striking melodies ("I've Got Just What You Need" is one) - the result is diverting but easily forgotten.
There's also too much bass slapping for my taste ("I've Got Faith In You"), and the title ballad wears out its welcome with a painfully protracted denouement. All that said, it's well crafted,
and Lynn's exuberant vocals, without any self-aggrandizing diva attitude, are a treat ("Keep It Hot") - she holds such high notes so long she sounds like she haunts houses in her spare time,
not unlike Lázaro Morúa. Lynn wrote only two songs, including "Chances"; curiously, "Hide It Away" was written by all four members of Wonderlove, then
Stevie Wonder's backup band. There's a huge cast of session musicians: Chuck Rainey, Bernard Purdie, Cornell Dupree,
Paul Jackson Jr., Greg Phillinganes, David Foster, Michael Brecker, Bobbye Hall, and so on.
Lynn scored a smattering of minor hits through the 80s, including "Shake It Up Tonight," a remake of "If This World Were Mine"
(a duet with Luther Vandross), and "Encore."
(DBW)
The Main Ingredient, Afrodisiac (1973)
This pop/soul trio was based in Manhattan, but their lush, string-backed sound derives from Philly Soul - very little guitar, horns used for sweetening, never even remotely funky.
Tony Silveste, Luther Simmons Jr. and lead singer Cuba Gooding Sr. weren't songwriters, and didn't even try to be: the album's
ten tracks include three Stevie Wonder covers
("Superwoman," "Where Were You When I Needed You," "Girl Blue")
and three otherwise unrecorded Wonder originals ("I Am Yours," "Something 'Bout Love,"
"Something Lovely," all written with Syreeta Wright).
There's also a cover of the Isley Brothers's "Work To Do."
But since the instrumentation and singing are so resolutely faceless, the new versions do nothing to shed light on the
compositions - it's like soul Muzak ("Where Were You When I Needed You").
("Girl Blue" does have an oddly angular brass-led instrumental coda.)
While listening to the Wonder donations, I was trying to imagine what Stevie's
original demos sounded like, and that can't be a good sign.
Produced by the group; arranged by Motown vet Bert DeCoteaux.
This release came a year after their breakthrough hit, "Everybody Plays The Fool" - they charted two more
singles, "Just Don't Want To Be Lonely" and "Happiness Is Just Around The Bend" a year later, split up in the late 70s and have
occasionally reunited since.
(DBW)
Bob Marley & The Wailers, Rastaman Vibration (1976)
The great international exponent of reggae and arguably one of the most important pop musicians ever, Bob Marley burst onto the international scene with 1973's breakthrough LP Catch A Fire.
Band co-leaders Bunny Wailer and Peter Tosh quit after the quickly released followup Burnin', but Marley's production values and songwriting just got more consistent and accessible on records like Natty Dread (1975: it included his breakthrough UK hit "No Woman No Cry").
His next effort is another blast of joyful, danceable, and message-laden fun - just the first two tracks are the instantly recognizeable "Positive Vibration" and "Roots, Rock, Reggae."
Like usual, his vocals and lyrics here are outstanding: just listen to his crazy scat-singing on "Crazy Baldhead," a universal protest number like many of the other tracks.
Backing singers the I-Threes and the rest of the band are also in great form, and there are plenty of other high points such as the African unity number "War" and the hypnotic "Rat Race."
It's a little hard for me to imagine anyone not liking Bob Marley, and if you do like him, you'll certainly want this disc.
At this point Marley often was crediting songs to friends and band members for legal reasons, so it's not really clear how much of the record he wrote; I've gotten a series of conflicting e-mails on this topic. (JA)
Bob Marley & The Wailers, Exodus (1977)
Another excellent effort, with tracks that range from outstanding (mostly) to pretty damn good (occasionally) to just okay (rarely).
On the outstanding side there's the joyous, marvelously melodic "Jamming"; the gorgeous love song "Waiting In Vain"; the classic reggae tune "Three Little Birds," with its soothing refrain "don't worry 'bout a thing/'cause every little thing gonna be alright"; the swaying feel-good hybrid anthem "One Love/People Get Ready"; and the seven-minute space-jam title track, with its rousing refrain, mesmerizing groove, and creative variations.
On the pretty good side, Marley delivers burbling beats and engaging refrains ("So Much Things To Say"); intense, propulsive rhythms ("The Heathen," with some quirky synth); and mellow Caribbean vibes (the pleasant "Turn Your Lights Down Low," which borders on soft rock).
And on the just okay side Marley's either diffuse ("Natural Mystic") or just not very original ("Guiltiness").
Apart from some synth lines and other production touches there's hardly any progression or variation in Marley's formula here, but the staggering songwriting more than makes up for that.
Not surprisingly, the record rocked the UK charts with three hit singles ("Exodus"; "Waiting In Vain"; "Jamming/Punky Reggae Party").
Self-produced and entirely written by Marley, apart from Curtis Mayfield's "People Get Ready."
The usual band again: Aston "Familyman" Barrett (bass), Carlton Barrett (drums), Tyrone Downie (keyboards), Alvin "Seeco" Patterson (percussion), Julian (Junior) Marvin (lead guitar), the I Threes (Rita Marley, Marcia Griffiths, Judy Mowatt: vocals), an uncredited horn section. (JA)
Bob Marley & The Wailers, Kaya (1978)
Here Marley decided to downshift to a slightly more mellow pace - but without really modifying his approach.
There's a trumpets-plus-sax horn section on most tunes - they're quite sharp at times ("Misty Morning") - and suddenly he's playing games like dribbling on Latin percussion and electric piano ("Satisfy My Soul," where the I-Threes really shine) or even burbling synth (the feel-good title track).
The songwriting isn't really consistent this time, with frequently abstract or skeletal lyrics ("Misty Morning") and sketchy tunes (the shuffling, aimless "Running Away" and formulaic mid-tempo love song "She's Gone").
But his uplifting sense of melody and the subtle, soothing production touches are still always engaging ("Time Will Tell," with synth and chorusey guitars).
And he still manages a clutch of tunes that are effortlessly danceable (title track; "Easy Skanking"), several of which are classics: the oddly menacing, reverb-drenched "Sun Is Shining"; the hook-laden one-size-fits-all anthem "Crisis"; and most importantly, the ecstatic, unforgettable "Is This Love," a major UK hit ("Satisfy My Soul" also sold strongly, although it's a bit rote).
Marley produces and takes all the songwriting credits this time.
His usual band is still intact here, but this time the horn section is listed: Vin Gordon, sax; Glen Da Costa and David Madden, trumpet.
Marley released two more LPs before dying of cancer in 1980. (JA)
Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes, Wake Up Everybody (1975)
One of the more successful Philly Soul acts, Melvin and the Blue Notes had been singing in the Philadelphia area for more than a decade before they hooked up with songwriters/producers
Kenneth Gamble and Leon Huff. Gamble and Huff fed the Blue Notes a steady diet of elegantly orchestrated love songs - without the Temptations
psychedelic influences present in their O'Jays work. With most leads handled by Teddy Pendergrass, they ran up a bunch of successful singles including the much-covered "If You Don't Know Me By Now."
Nothing on this disc rises to that level, partly because the arrangements have shifted into unimaginative disco territory, with the usual conga-fortified unchanging rhythm,
string swirls, and that unrelenting high hat.
The title track, a platitudinous "save the world number," was an R&B #1, but it's not particularly memorable, and drags on for seven and a half minutes with no instrumental variety.
The other single was "Tell The World How I Feel About You Baby," but the key track is really the disco tune "Don't Leave Me This Way," which became an influential hit when covered by Thelma
Houston. This was Pendergrass's last outing with the group, and Sharon Paige's first - she sings lead on "I'm Searching For A Love" and duets with Pendergrass on the slow disco "You Know
How To Make Me Feel So Good." Four songs were written by the team of McFadden, Whitehead and Carstarphen, including the title track; as usual, instruments were played by Gamble and Huff's
MFSB cabal. I suspect the early Blue Notes records were better, and I'll keep looking for them. (DBW)
Musique, Keep On Jumpin' (1978)
Disco was unfairly stigmatized for motivating albums that contained one good song and a bunch of trash, but this album lives down to the
stereotype: it's a hell of a 12" single, but not much of an LP.
The club hit "In The Bush" is an eight-minute adrenaline rush of bass/horn riffs, breathy vocal chants and insidious rhythm guitar, and
"Summer Love" is a complex mood piece, contrasting uplifting strings with earthy clavinet under a soothing melody. But that's it: a
flat reuse of "Bush"'s zippy polyrhythms (title track) and an instrumental mix of "Summer Love" fill out the stingy 31-minute running
time. It's still worth picking up cheap: the single's better than you remember, and "Summer Love" is hard to find elsewhere.
The vocalists are Jocelyn Brown, Christine
Wiltshire, Angela Howell and Gina Tharps - Brown later became the darling of NYC cutups Masters At Work.
Like many disco acts, there's no real band, just studio musicians assembled by producer Patrick Adams, who also produced Carol Douglas
and others, later engineering seminal rap records like Salt-N-Pepa's Hot, Cool & Vicious.
I have the followup, Musique II, which I hope to review soon.
(DBW)
New York Dolls (1973)
The quintessential proto-punk rock record by the infamous cross-dressing Lower Manhattan band, stuffed with songwriting gems, lifted by ferocious energy, and serving as an audible link between 60s garage rockers like the MC5 and the Velvet Underground, contemporary glam rock a la Mott the Hoople, and first-generation punk bands like the Sex Pistols (who were called into being by Malcolm McLaren, who'd managed the Dolls during their 1975 collapse).
Fans of late 70s punk will find it bizarre: the Chuck Berry-based rhythm guitars ("Looking For A Kiss") and Buddy Holly-like falsetto backing vocals ("Trash") point to an unabashed 50s rock 'n' roll influence; the grinding tempos are often sluggish (the incongruous rock ballad "Subway Train"); David Johansen's vocals are gravelly, breathy, menacing, and entirely idiosyncratic; his sci-fi and urban lowlife lyrical imagery come straight out of Lou Reed ("Frankenstein"); the band's palpable sense of humor is surprising ("Looking For A Kiss"; the blazing cover of Bo Diddley's "Pills," complete with Johansen's honking harmonica); and guitarists Johnny Thunders and Syl Sylvain spew out frenetic, noisily distorted pentatonic solos that are quintessentially 70s.
It adds up to an arrestingly innovative sound - the Stooges' ear-busting Raw Power is much louder and less self-conscious, and although the Dolls are close to blues-based heavy metal ("Bad Girl"), they're much less predictable.
Johansen's songwriting (often co-credited to Thunders, and twice to Sylvain) doesn't always hit the mark ("Vietnamese Baby").
But the record has so many wacked-out classics like "Looking For A Kiss," "Frankenstein," "Trash," the head-banging "Jet Boy," and the raving "Personality Crisis" that it can't be denied.
Producer Todd Rundgren adds some keyboard parts ("Private World"), brings in Buddy Bowser for a sax solo on Johansen's dippy, off-kilter acoustic ballad "Lonely Planet Boy," and creates a professional sheen ("Jet Boy," which is practically AOR).
After this, the band cut just one follow-up (Too Much Too Soon) before Thunders and drummer Jerry Nolan quit and formed the Heartbreakers with Richard Hell, while Johansen (backed by Sylvain) began a solo career. (JA)
Maggie & Terre Roche, Seductive Reasoning (1975)
Released four years before Maggie and Terre Roche hooked up with their younger sister Suzzy and cut their neo-folk masterpiece The Roches, this obscure flop record is odder but far less innovative than their later work.
Inexplicably, they're produced by Muscle Shoals vets David Hood (bass) and Jimmy Johnson (guitar), who drag in cronies like Pete Carr (guitar), Barry Beckett (keyboards), and Roger Hawkins (drums).
So much of the material veers toward country-western, which only makes a joke of Maggie's songwriting - whether intentionally (the grating hillbilly parody "Wigglin' Man") or not ("The Mountain People").
Only the arch "Underneath The Moon" is any fun, with the band almost rocking out as the sisters spoof country clichés.
Elsewhere they go with upbeat, glossy, slightly countrified pop, indistinct and unsuited to their talents ("Down The Dream"; "Telephone Bill"; "Burden Of Proof").
Bad enough, but Paul Samwell-Smith makes things downright chaotic by producing a pair of sorry, sluggish, string-slickened piano ballads (the bombastic "West Virginia"; "Jill Of All Trades"), and dumbing down the sweet acoustic folk tune "Malachy's" with a sappy mandolin.
And things get even worse when fellow New Yorker Paul Simon shows up to produce an embarassing cowboy sendup, complete with reverby guitar, Simon's own plodding 2/4 bass, and Jordanaires-like backing vocals by the Oak Ridge Boys ("If You Empty Out All Your Pockets You Could Not Make Change").
A waste, because the key elements are all here: sharp, sophisticated, and sadly underused harmonies; Maggie's extraordinary range - as low on the low end as a baritone; and eggheaded lyrics that range from cutting to goofy. (JA)
The Roches, Keep On Doing (1982)
In a bizarre turn of events, the group's third album was produced by electric guitar genius Robert Fripp.
Surprisingly, the record is short on personality and not all that interesting instrumentally.
Their usual snotty humor and acrobatic vocal arrangements are almost absent, although they really pull that off on Terre's catchy "The Largest Elizabeth In The World" and Suzzy and Terre's "Want Not Want Not," with its irresistable choo-choo train rhythm.
There's also the sarcastic "I Fell In Love," with some cool melodic tricks.
But most of the time you get stuff like a sparkling a capella rendition of Handel's "The Hallelujah Chorus" that seems designed only to show off the group's technical ability.
Incredibly, they waste time with two donated songs (George Gerdes' slightly goofy character sketch "Steady With The Maestro"; David Massengill's dull, deadly serious folk song "On The Road To Fairfax County").
They're even flat-out dreary on Maggie's "The Scorpion Lament."
Frustratingly, three-quarters of King Crimson (Fripp, Tony Levin, and Bill Bruford) are somewhere in the studio, but you can barely hear them outside of Fripp's spacey sci-fi lead on "Keep On Doing What You Do/Jerks On The Loose" and his wiggy solo on the wistful, well-executed acoustic love song "Losing True" (unless that's him soloing amateurishly on Terre's not-quite-instrumental "Sex Is For Children").
Otherwise it's mostly vocals-plus-acoustic guitars with some keyboards.
Competent, but nothing more. (JA)
The S.O.S. Band, S.O.S. (1979)
A pop/funk act in the same general mold as the Gap Band: combined live and synth bass, live and programmed drums,
funky horns and synth solos, riffs that are visceral without being obvious ("S.O.S."). All this and a powerful lead vocalist, Mary Davis.
The big payoff is the unforgettable hit single "Take Your Time (Do It Right)," a masterpiece of layering simple but exquisite instrumental
parts. The arrangements aren't predictable: the midtempo love song "Open Letter" sports loud lead guitar and zig-zagging strings;
the funky "Take Love Where You Find It" features a flute solo.
But the songwriting's not always up to the task: the dance track "Love Won't Wait For Love" is overly peppy, and the slow duet
"What's Wrong With Our Love Affair?" is a bore.
Bandmembers include Jason Bryant (keyboards), Billy Ellis (sax), James Earl Jones III (drums), Sonny Killebrew (winds), Bruno Speight (guitar)
and John Alexander Simpson (bass); other musicians include the Horny Horns.
After this, the group languished for a few years before Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis put them back on the charts with
the wonderful electrofunk ballad "Just Be Good To Me."
(DBW)
Saturday Night Fever (1977)
As time passes and memories fade, this once-reviled 2-LP set is getting a posthumous reputation as disco's finest hour. Don't buy it.
The 25 million-selling movie soundtrack is 25% new songs by the Bee Gees, 25% orchestrated disco
instrumentals by David Shires, and 50% recycled hits, from the Bee Gees ("Jive Talkin'," the incandescent
brilliantly arranged "You Should Be Dancing") and a host of others: Kool & The Gang's "Open Sesame," the Trammps'
"Disco Inferno," Walter Murphy's insufferable kitsch "A Fifth Of Beethoven." Shires' contributions are abominable ("Night On Disco Mountain,"
poaching on Murphy's preserves, is the best of a sorry lot). So the record really boils down to five Gibb compositions: "Night Fever" and
"Stayin' Alive" are ordinary dance tracks plastered with irritating falsetto vocals ("Stayin'" also lifts its middle from Carole King's "I Feel The Earth Move"). The ballad "How Deep Is Your Love" is similarly submental, but not
danceable. "If I Can't Have You" (sung by Yvonne Elliman) is the sort of tacky pop Barry Gibb would soon inflict on Dionne Warwick; "More Than A Woman" (in two versions, by the Bee Gees and Taveras respectively) is
similar but catchier.
Okay, you may say, it's not a great record but it's emblematic of the era - a Cliff's Notes to disco, as it were. But how can you understand
a genre without listening to any of its best artists? None of the important disco acts - Gloria Gaynor, Chic,
Donna Summer - are represented here. The Bee Gees were successful trend-riding hacks, nothing more, and this sales
phenomenon is no more significant than Hootie and the Blowfish's Cracked Rear View.
(DBW)
Telly Savalas, Who Loves Ya Baby (1976)
A shamelessly tacky mix of nightclub patter ("Time"), cheap sentimentality ("The Men In My Little Girl's Life"), and hammy boisterousness
(Jim Croce's "A Good Time Man Like Me Ain't Got No Business Singing The Blues"). In other words, this fucking rocks!
Why do I celebrate these qualities in Savalas when I excoriate Diana Ross for the same behavior?
Partly because Ross is capable of so much more, and partly because there's a difference between a ham
and someone who's truly self-deluded: Savalas is the latter.
And it's enjoyably perverse to hear how much creative thought and energy went into the arrangements (by Bill Byers except for the title track,
the disco strings and cooing backup singers of which were arranged by Motown vet Gene Page). They're not authentic - Savalas's salute to
country-western, "Gentle On My Mind," is only recognizable as such because of an out-of-control harmonica - but the swelling and shrinking
orchestrations give you something to listen to when you need a break from Telly's Vegasisms.
Produced by Marvin Laird, who also wrote the title track and "Love Is Just A Word."
(DBW)
Leo Sayer, Endless Flight (1976)
Okay, I got what I deserved this time. This album went platinum on the strength of two #1 singles, the Albert Hammond/Carole Sager weepfest "When I Need You," and the disco/pop "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing," with a sky-high falsetto part that's catchy or nauseating depending on your perspective. Sayer cowrote that one with Vini Poncia, and there's so much other high-powered talent on hand here (Mann & Weill, producer Richard Perry, Chuck Rainey, Willie Weeks, Steve Gadd, Richard Tee, Bobbye Hall Porter, etc.)
I figured there'd be something else of value to be found.
Nope: there are no other memorable melodies (except possibly Sayer's "How Much Love") and Sayer doesn't even use the falsetto elsewhere, instead going for Rod Stewart-style white soul grit and failing miserably (the cover of the Supremes' "Reflections" is perhaps the low point). The arrangements are tasteful, dull and derivative: the title track is an unabashed imitation of an Elton John ballad, aided and abetted by a Paul Buckmaster string arrangement and Nigel Olsson on drums. After this, Sayer cranked out one more smash single ("More Than I Can Say") and shortly afterwards was reincarnated as Richard Simmons. (DBW)
Sesame Street 2 (1970)
I had this LP as a kid, which is just one reason it's my favorite children's album. The writing is split between the show's musical director Joe Raposo, and the show's head writer Jeffrey Moss,
and they consistently pull off the difficult trick of crafting words and music that captivates children without boring the hell out of adults ("High, Middle, Low"). Similarly, the arrangements
are simple but not condescendingly so - the closing theme on the final track has the first wah-wah guitar I ever heard - making healthy use of woodwinds and bells.
Generally Raposo delivers the harmonically complex pop ("Sesame Street," the Bacharachian "Picture A World")
and Morris brings blues-based rock (the 50's throwback "Mad," "The Grouch Song"), but it's not that cut and dried: Raposo wrote the protogrunge environmentalist "The Garden,"
while Moss came up with the gorgeous, introspective "What Do I Do When I'm Alone."
Though children's choruses on albums are usually out of tune for some reason (see Earth Wind & Fire), "Sing" is rendered flawlessly.
Using the Muppets to sing most of the songs detracts from the material a bit, though: I'd love to hear a real torch singer tackle "What Do I Do When I'm Alone" rather than Grover, and I'd rather
hear anyone sing "Everyone Makes Mistakes" than Big Bird. Meanwhile, Marty invents emo-core on "Has Anybody Seen My Dog?," breaking down sobbing in mid-song.
The LP loses steam on side 2 with a run of undistinguished cuts ("Stop!," "I'm Pretty") but finishes strong with the starry-eyed anthem "Someday, Little Children" sung by Susan, whose strong alto
is clearly the best of the adults'. Musicians aren't listed - I assume it's a crew of NYC studio pros.
(DBW)
Patti Smith, Horses (1975)
It's no coincidence that punk rockers in general, and Patti Smith in particular, were critical favorites: the original scene started out in New York and wasn't merely nourished by the New York rock establishment, but actually involved professional writers such as Smith and Richard Hell.
A quarter-century later, all the boosterism seems uncalled for.
Smith's debut record is thin and even wimpy sounding, despite all the heavy-weight help - production by John Cale, cover photos by Robert Mapplethorpe, a competent guitar/piano/bass/drums backing band, some haunting slide guitar by Blue Oyster Cult member Allen Lanier ("Elegie," the record's only ballad), and a great guest guitar solo by the still-unsigned Tom Verlaine ("Break It Up," an effective rock anthem).
Her vocals are excruciatingly off-key, and her pretentious, off-the-cuff poetry is a notch above Jim Morrison in imagination, but a notch below in entertainment value. Rather than taking the lead of true proto-punkers like the Stooges or the New York Dolls, the band camps it up with calypso ("Redondo Beach") and barely gets into the red zone: their loudest stuff is merely the famous cover of "Gloria"; a polite, repetitive, nine-minute rave-up that makes "The End" sound like a work of brilliance ("Land:"); and some mid-tempo, Bruce Springsteen-like rockers ("Free Money").
It is avant garde: they deliver a listless, swaying, nine minute poetry rant ("Birdland," like Beefheart lite), and Smith is relentless in her disdain for song structure and melody.
And most of the tunes do have an enjoyable basis in pop music ("Kimberly").
So despite everything, I still would recommend this album to anyone who wants to understand the New York punk explosion that followed within a year or two of its release. (JA)
Patti Smith, Radio Ethiopia (1976)
Produced by Jack Douglas, this is another erratic and not so terribly original rock record.
It does sport a couple of solid, New York Dolls-like hard rock numbers ("Ask The Angels," which is downright commercial; the orgasm ode "Pumping (My Heart)").
But elsewhere the group flails about trying on musical hats: the lurching "Ain't It Strange" has a really strong reggae influence;
the down-tempo, electric piano-driven jazz/blues hybrid "Poppies" sounds practically like Joni Mitchell, although it's interrupted by a stilted poetry reading;
and "Pissing In A River" is an overly dramatic rock epic.
The only really intriguing effort is "Distant Fingers," with chorus-soaked, Television-like guitars and a druggy, smiley-faced calypso beat that recalls Blondie.
None of this is truly memorable, and the band just doesn't have enough solid song ideas to fuel a whole record, so side 2 devolves into an exhausting 12-minute jam (title track).
And Smith's marginally entertaining lyrics, with a lot of word play and shock value but few striking images or ideas, don't make up for her more professional, but still painful vocalizing.
Like all four of Smith's early albums, this one features Lenny Kaye and Ivan Kral on guitar, Richard Sohl on keyboards, and Jay Dee Daugherty on drums.
After this Smith cut two more albums, scoring a major hit single in 1978 ("Because The Night," written with Bruce Springsteen and sounding exactly like him), and working with Todd Rundgren on 1979's Wave.
She then abruptly retired to a life of domestric tranquility with MC5 guitarist Fred "Sonic" Smith, and in 1988 cut the first of many comeback albums. (JA)
The Spinners, Mighty Love (1974)
The Spinners originally came from Detroit, and racked up a couple of Stevie Wonder-produced hits ("It's A Shame," "We'll Have It Made") in 1970, with G.C. Cameron singing
lead. But they really broke through when they replaced Cameron with Phillipe Wynne, hooked up with producer Thom Bell and became a Philly Soul act, making heavy use of
strings, slow tempos, and celebratory love themes. Bell's first album for the group, Spinners, had produced "I'll Be Around" and "Could It Be I'm Falling In Love,"
and this followup also has some fine tunes: the title track is a powerful anthem; "Since I Been
Gone" makes good use of fluttering strings; side two has some uptempo numbers that are funky but still carefully arranged and melodic ("Love Has Gone Away"). In several cases, though, the tunes
and arrangements are so bland they don't capture your attention ("Ain't No Price On Happiness"). Wynne has a pure high tenor that suits the gentle numbers better than the faster, more rhythmic
material: when he starts singing "gotta, gotta, gotta," he sounds like Otis Redding on helium.
Bell and Linda Creed only wrote one song here ("I'm Coming Home"), with most written by the team of Jefferson and Simmons; the players include Philly vets Norman Harris
and Vince Montana.
The Spinners cranked out some more hits over the next few years ("Rubberband Man"); Wynne eventually released a solo
album with George Clinton's Funk Mob.
(DBW)
The Staple Singers, Be Altitude: Respect Yourself (1972)
Not just another family of gospel singers-turned-soulsters. Okay, maybe they were, but they were good:
lead singer Mavis Staples has a huge voice, lots of presence, and engaging mannerisms; producer Al Bell assembles
a bunch of excellent tunes with social and/or religious overtones, and even wrote the album's classic #1 single
"I'll Take You There" himself; the Muscle Shoals rhythm section is in fine form, sticking with meat-and-potatoes
R&B rather than the more fanciful material Aretha was recording in this period.
In fact, it sounds very much like a classic-era Franklin album, only less personal, and with a few early
70s trappings like mellow lead guitar licks. If you go for soul music at all, and aren't put off by all the
Christianity, you'll probably be playing this one over and over. (DBW)
The Stylistics (1971)
The high point of Philly Soul, which Thom Bell had launched in 1968 with the Delfonics' "La La Means I Love You."
Bell produced and (with Linda Creed) wrote this debut,
and his obvious inspiration was to bring Platters-style smooth vocalizing together with sophisticated compositions and
orchestrations, a la Burt Bacharach's work with Dionne Warwick: guitars are restricted to
rhythmic chicks, horns are kept in a supporting role (no solos), and there's not a single uptempo tune.
Lead singer Russell Thompkins, Jr. even sounds like Warwick, though his falsetto vocals are a bit higher pitched.
With the market overloaded with psychedelic soul and funk, the Stylistics' slow-dance love songs
were a breath of fresh air, and no less than four singles hit the Top Forty:
the stunningly Bacharach-esque "People Make The World Go Round," "Stop, Look, Listen (To Your Heart)" (covered by Diana Ross and Marvin Gaye and Kool & The Gang),
"You Are Everything" (Ross and Gaye again, Rod Stewart), and "Betcha By Golly, Wow" (Prince,
Stanley Jordan, Smokey Robinson & The
Miracles and Warwick).
The album tracks are equally memorable ("Ebony Eyes"); the disc also collects an earlier single, "You're A Big Girl Now," written and produced by Marty Bryant and
Bill Perry, that has the same retro-tearjerker appeal but a cheesy organ-led arrangement.
The large cast of musicians includes Norman Harris on guitar and Vince
Montana on percussion.
(DBW)
The Stylistics, Round 2 (1972)
More huge hits in the same sophisticated soul style, including the ballad "I'm Stone In Love With You" and the gently
syncopated "Break Up To Make Up."
And once again, the album tracks are up to the standard of the singles (the joyous, bouncy "If You Don't Watch Out";
the rolling, Motown-like "You And Me"). Bell even stretches the sound a bit on the uptempo
"Pieces," with a funky bass line and fuzzed-out keyboards.
But Bell and Creed's inkwell wasn't bottomless, as they found room for two covers: Carole
King's "It's Too Late" and Bacharach/David's "You'll Never Get To Heaven (If You
Break My Heart)" - both are sung beautifully by Thompkins. Again the musicians are the usual Philly vets.
(DBW)
The Stylistics, Let's Put It All Together (1974)
For whatever reason, Bell and Creed stopped working with the band by this fourth release (I'm missing Rockin' Roll Baby),
and they're only represented by "You Make Me Feel Brand New," the album's big single. Everything else was produced by
Hugo and Luigi, mostly written by them with George David Weiss, and arranged by Van McCoy. But keeping smooth elegance from slipping into mawkish tackiness is too difficult
for this crew most of the time ("We Can Make It Happen Again") - the dismal "Love Is The Answer" also comes in a
discofied instrumental. The one hidden gem is "I Take It Out On You," and the smooth title track was a hit. The album started a
commercial slide the Stylistics never broke out of, but they stuck around, and three of the original five members are
still touring today.
(DBW)
Thank God It's Friday (1978)
Casablanca Records' answer to Saturday Night Fever, this 2-LPs-and-bonus-EP
movie soundtrack is the place to go if you want to know a) how disco got so big, or b) why everyone got sick of it so fast.
The best material here is wonderful - Donna Summer's tempo-shifting, cleverly orchestrated
"Last Dance," D.C. LaRue's slow funk "Do You Want The Real Thing,"
Love And Kisses's typically lush "You're The Most Precious Thing In My Life" -
but the overreliance on mechanical drum kicks and unimaginative string arrangements (Paul Jabara's "Disco Queen") and
bad taste (Santa Esmeralda's
"Sevilla Nights") will have you begging for mercy. Part of the problem is that Casablanca used the package to promote
artists who were less than destined for greatness - Pattie Brooks, Marathon - but there's also subpar work from their
best artists: Love And Kisses's silly title track; Summer's repetitive "With Your Love" - she also wrote Sunshine's "Take It To
The Zoo" and contributed heavy breathing to a mostly instrumental 16-minute cover of Serge Gainbourg's "Je T'Aime."
A joint venture with Motown, which provided a couple of cuts: The Commodores'
"Too Hot Ta Trot," one of the only previously released songs; Diana Ross's forgettable
"Lovin', Livin' And Givin'."
(DBW)
Tonto's Expanding Head Band, Zero Time (1971)
Perhaps the first electronic music album that's worth a damn, the "band" here is a Series III Moog, produced, programmed, modified and endlessly multitracked by Robert Margouleff and Malcolm Cecil,
with all selections written by them to take advantage of the instrument's unprecedented capabilities. The duo entered into a tremendously rewarding partnership with Stevie
Wonder immediately after this release, and you can hear many of their signatures - the voice bag effect ("Riversong," where the treated voice seems to be imitating a sitar), the buzzing
bass ("Timewhys"), high squiggly background lines ("CyberNaut") - but the difference is that here they're unconstrained by any pop considerations: if they want a whole track to sound like echoey
rockets landing, they do it ("Aurora"). No vocals or live instruments;
the song material doesn't compare to the Wonder years, of course, but the programming's even more imaginative, and despite dull repetitive stretches
("Jetsex"), the record is still challenging and compelling to today's ears, not just a curio.
(DBW)
Van Halen (1978)
Even if you don't like singer David Lee Roth's sex god schtick or guitarist Eddie Van Halen's hyperactive hammering - and I don't - it's impossible not to rock out to the California quartet's debut.
For one thing, the sound is marvelous: producer Ted Templeman balances massive guitars with a thundering rhythm section (drummer Alex Van Halen and bassist Michael Anthony), light but effective use of studio tricks (delay on "On Fire"),
and performances that are precise without being clinical.
And the hooks are huge ("Runnin' With The Devil," "I'm The One") - Eddie redeems the whiny "Jamie's Cryin'" with clever dual lead riffs.
The hit version of the Kinks' "You Really Got Me" was the first and probably best of a long line of Van Halen covers.
The only parts I dislike are Eddie's solo piece "Eruption" - more showoffmanship than showmanship - and the Zep-style minstrel blues opening of "Ice Cream Man," but even that eventually kicks into satisfying arena rock.
Van Halen cranked out a few more albums with the same approach, then added synths and jumped into the sales stratosphere with 1984, fired Roth, hired Sammy Hagar, and grew ever more smarmy through the early 90s, eventually
replacing Hagar with Gary Cherone and abruptly losing their audience. I'm not interested in the Hagar stuff at all, but I will probably review more of the early albums as I come across them.
(DBW)
Wire, Pink Flag (1977)
Groundbreaking British New Wave minimalists Wire split after three influential late 70s studio albums, then reformed in 1986 and stuck it out for another decade.
Their original stuff matches artsy, super-stripped down noisemaking with a mechanical rhythm section that's as funky as hell, and it influenced all sorts of acts from the Gang of Four on down.
At this point they're very strongly influenced by the Sex Pistols ("Mr. Suit") and the Clash, but they've already got a menacing, militaristic, avant garde sound that completely sets them apart.
The focus is Colin Newman's enigmatic punk vocals and Bruce Gilbert's churning, distorted rhythm guitar ("106 Beats That") - the group normally eschews solos.
But the contrast between Gilbert and the rhythm section of nimble bassist Graham Lewis (the bonus track "Options R") and restrained, precise drummer Robert Gotobed also is striking.
They're already fascinated with repetition ("Reuters") and their playing is taut and even funky ("Three Girl Rhumba").
The big surprise here is that most of the tracks are carefully composed, sub-two minute fragments, and they never add up to much even when they're intriguing ("It's So Obvious").
But most of the finished songs except the leaden, aimless title track are marvelous: the Clash-influenced "Ex Lion Tamer";
"Lowdown," built on a robotic, tension-building riff;
the uncharacteristically upbeat, New York Dolls-like rock 'n' roller "Mannequin";
and best of all "Strange," with its addictive, grinding, tick-tock beat and anthemic, paranoid lyrics.
The record's bizarre lyrics and disdain for song structure and melody mark an artistic breakthrough, but it just isn't solid enough to have broad appeal.
Produced by Mike Thorne, who doesn't have them do much other than add a few handclaps ("Champs"), backing vocals, and weird guitar noises. (JA)
Wire, 154 (1979)
A sharp turn toward New Wave in its most avant garde sense, laced with creepy industrial noises, cryptic high-brow lyrics, and an oppressive atmosphere.
They band's still dishing out creeped-out punk ("Once Is Enough") with irresistably mechanical beats ("Two People In A Room"), and sometimes it's brilliant ("On Returning").
But now there's an unmistakable and welcome Eno/Bowie influence (the ominous, slow-burning, seven-minute "A Touching Display"), complete with groovy Euro-disco beats (Gilbert's funky vocal spotlight "Blessed State") and soaring synths by producer Mike Thorne (the even more disco-y "The 15th"; "I Should Have Known Better"; Gilbert's clever, minimalistic "40 Versions").
It's particularly obvious on the best song ("Map Ref. 41°N 93°W").
Sure, they still toss off underdeveloped two minute riff tunes ("Single K.O.") and aimless longer numbers ("A Mutual Friend," which wastes a great hook).
But they only really get into trouble with some pretentious experimentation (Lewis' haunted house "The Other Window"; "Indirect Enquiries").
So the record isn't the next Heroes, but it's even more daring.
This time they bring in a bunch of low-impact bit players on instruments like flute and viola.
The songwriting is split by Lewis, Newman, and Gilbert, or by various combinations of the three; Lewis adds measured, slightly threatening baritone voiceovers to several of his tunes.
The CD includes five highly experimental bonus tracks, two of which are seriously danceable (Gotobed's instrumental "Song 1"; "Go Ahead"). (JA)
Wire, Manscape (1990)
Wire's late, post-reunion period is mostly a drag, full of depressing, repetitive electronic collages - 1991's instrumental experiment Drill is unlistenable - and insincere New Order-style dance-pop.
This disc is a good example.
Newman is smoother than ever, but his dry, half-spoken phrasing and unresolved melodies are extra-drab; Gilbert and Lewis bury their own heavily distorted tracks with loads of high-flying sequenced synths, soft, fuzzy mid-range synths, crashing electronic percussion, and throbbing tape loops; and its hard to tell what's programmed and what's actually Gotobed's live drums.
When they're not irritatingly pompous and gloomy ("What Do You See?") or maddeningly aimless ("You Have Hung Your Lights In the Trees/A Craftsman's Touch" runs in circles for ten minutes), they're often just dull ("Other Moments"; "Where's The Deputation?"; the lulling, computerized "Sixth Sense") or spaced out ("Children Of Groceries").
Lyrically, they're mostly just plain cryptic, but they do occasionally match the creepy, absurdist free-association imagery of their early period ("Small Black Reptile"), and fans might find their familiar harshness admirable ("Torch It!").
And they do come up with a clutch of ear-grabbing groove tunes: "Life In The Manscape," whose silly chorus verges on New Order-style electronic polka; "Morning Bell," which crosses a lush New Romantic sound with fractured, threatening lyrics; and the understated "Goodbye Ploy," which is about as much fun as 80s British synth-funk ever got.
Still, though, by now the band had polished away the anarchic creativity that made their early stuff so great. (JA)
Bill Withers, Just As I Am (1971)
You don't hear much about this West Virginian soul singer/songwriter anymore, but in the early 70s Bill Withers racked up a bunch of hits
that were promptly covered by other top soul acts: "Use Me" (Isaac Hayes), "Cold Bologna" (Isley Brothers), and especially "Ain't No Sunshine (When She's Gone)" (Hayes again), a country blues
number that's one of the highlights of this debut album.
His strong points are a weathered, plaintive voice, intimate arrangements and charmingly simple songwriting - sort of a soul Jim Croce.
Produced by Booker T. Jones with backing from Duck Dunn and Al Jackson, but don't expect a Stax sound: most of
the tracks are just acoustic guitar, soft bass and congas (courtesy of Bobbye Hall Porter). A cover of
the Beatles' "Let It Be" exemplifies his approach: it's simultaneously sped up and quieted down,
with an offhand delivery as if he were singing on his porch.
"Grandma's Hands" (another single) is the great song about the grandparent-grandchild bond, with blues guitar from
Stephen Stills; "Sweet Wanomi" is a sweetly rolling love song.
The few full band numbers aren't as effective: the proto-Steely Dan faux jazz "Do It Good," the string-swept but directionless "Harlem."
You might wish Withers weren't quite so mellow, but he does get more mileage out of his unvarnished, low-key approach than you'd think possible.
Withers's followup, Still Bill, had two more monster hits, "Use Me" and "Lean On Me"; after that he occasionally charted hit singles
(most recently singing Grover Washington Jr.'s "Just The Two Of Us" in 1981) but his influence gradually faded.
(DBW)
Warren Zevon, Excitable Boy (1978)
A Jackson Browne discovery, Zevon wears his twistedness on his sleeve: the title track is about a rapist/murderer, the purportedly humorous hit "Werewolves Of London" contrasts clichés of staid Brits with man's true animal nature. Yawn. There are also a couple of allusive, Dylan-esque love songs ("Accidentally Like A Martyr"). Double yawn. Zevon does better with the ambiguous political numbers "Veracruz" (set during the Mexican Revolution), "Lawyers, Guns And Money," and "Roland The Headless Thompson Gunner" - he can be an effective storyteller when he's not trying too hard. Musically, it's a slick take on country rock (except for the tongue-in-cheek disco "Nighttime In The Switching Yard"), with familiar-sounding melodies and backing supplied by LA hotshots Bob Glaub, Russ Kunkel, Danny Kortchmar, Waddy Wachtel, etc. Produced by Browne and Wachtel. (DBW)
