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Rip It Up, Issue 212, 1 April 1995, Page 29

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PETER THOMSON

FAITH NO MORE King For A Day, Fool For A Lifetime (Festival)

Hiding beneath the exterior of these very likeable tunes, which range from the ferocious to the laid back, lie some very sick and yummy minds, especially that of the formerly bouncy and clean cut boy — now turned smooth operator (and he looks like a cross between ‘our Kev’ from Coro’ Street and Chico) — Mike Patton.

‘Get Out’ (where Mike worries that he may have lost some of his talent and is maybe a normal boy after all), sicky noise ditty ‘Cuckoo For Caca’ (Mike’s glorifying shit again: ‘Shit lives forever!’), the sordid sheets of ‘Ugly In the Morning’, and the enthralling ‘Digging the Grave’ all stay close to the style Faith No More have coined. Apart from the above mentioned, Faith No More move into a territory that was always on the tips of their tongues, but never consummated (maybe because of the now departed, unco-operative guitarist Jim Martin). As well as extracting brutal sounds from their instruments, they caress them to produce a smooth, macabre sound, coupled with musical and lyrical capability. ‘Evidence’ is Faith No More playing in Sade’s entrails. ‘Star AD’ is a rollicking number, that starts off sounding like what The Professionals theme tune might have sounded like if Faith No More had done it, with Mike Patton doing his best Tom Jones vocal impersonation, and ‘Caralho Voador’ is a little smoothy on which Mike rolls (probably) unsavoury Italian dialect of that naughty tongue

of his. ‘The Last To Know’ is sweepingly majestic, and the closing song ‘Just A Man’ is a baby rock opera, complete with a gospelish sounding choir, which spoils the gentleness of the otherwise best song on the album. Keeps all the dark places well filled. SHIRLEY CHARLES

VIOLENT .FEMMES Rock!!!!! (Liberation)

After the experimental feast and prophetic title of New Times, those who loved the Femmes for familiarity above musical skill may have been biting their fingernails. They need fear no more! The Violent Femmes have not shrugged off their adolescent ideals and penchant for catchy choruses. They've returned to them with a vengeance which could only be beaten by the sheer historical staying power of their old hits.

Take ‘Tonight’, for example: ‘Tonight, I wanna get high / Tonight, I wanna get high / Tonight I wanna get high! High! High! / I don’t care if I live or die.’ Get the point? Don’t ya just know a whole new generation of Femmes freaks are gonna be hollering that at the Town Hall come the year 2000? There’s a regular glut’ of that sort of thing here, including: ‘Living a Lie’, ‘Life is an Adventure’ and ‘She Went to

Germany’. The weird side has not been completely shelved, as the sometimes painful ‘Didgeriblues’ is testament to. Take a wild

guess at that song’s featured instrument, then imagine it being shoved down Brian Ritchie’s throat. The more balladic ‘I Wanna See You Again’ and the eerie ‘Bad Dream' are the true craft pieces of this pack. My penchant for rhymish balance is well appeased with the former’s: 'Bring your whips / Bring your chains / We can exchange names.’ There’s really no telling what these Rock!!!!! types get into these days. And you ought to see the cover! Men in frocks. Heavens to Murgatroyd! BRONWYN TRUDGEON

CHRIS KNOX Songs of You and Me (Flying Nun)

Yup — another solo record from the man who just doesn’t know when to stop reading his press kit. The newie is a double, Hanging Out For Time to Cure Birth is the ‘You’ side, while A Stranger’s Iron Shore is the ‘Me’ side. As usual, the lyric sheet will take you weeks to wade through, more words than your average Mike Leigh film. Knox tries to ‘make songs out of speeches’ (to paraphrase ‘Mirror, Mirror’). On Duck Shaped Pain he told us we should all read Faludi’s Backlash. On Croaker’s ‘Liberal Backlash Angst (thb Excuse)’ he told us off for being lazy bastards that won’t do anything for change. On Seizure he told us ‘Honesty is Not Enough’ for change. Knox never seems to tire of trying to convert us to his PC world view.

On Songs of You and Me his topics include suicide, being crippled and drugs, before he moves into his personal life, which seems to consist of being in love, being fucked up or fucking up relationships — something else he never tires of writing about, though I do wonder if his partner of 15 years is not yet fed up with it.

His lyrics are intelligent (he admits his ignorance), intensely personal and usually avoid the cliched and banal. What more could you

want from him?

Musically, he’s the Chris Knox we know and love, delicate ballads in ‘Brave’ and ‘Open’, the cool pop of ‘Mirror, Mirror’, which should have been the single, and the fuzz of ‘Chemicals AreOur Friends’. He may not know when to stop, but it doesn’t matter — it’s not time to. DARREN HAWKES

RADIOHEAD The Bends (Parlophone)

With ‘Creep’, Radiohead fashioned one of post-indie’s torch songs. Its explosive selfloathing struck the right chord with a disillusioned teenage public, anxious to find an alternative to the awful, endless dance fodder of the Top Of the Pops culture. The success of ‘Creep’ led to their patchy debut album, Pablo Honey, shipping over a million and suddenly the band were confronting a mental block of a second album. Initially, in the studio, the Bends was approaching a Stone Roses level of procrastination, so they wiped the sessions, went on the road, then went back in and recorded the album in two weeks.

Ironically, the album has benefited from the fact that the band were sick and exhausted from their tour, because there’s a compression, intensity and unity on The Bends that Pablo Honey scarcely hinted at. The playing and singing has a desperation and on-the-edge feeling — right from the melodic power of openers ‘Planet Telex’ and the title track, through to haunted, down-beat ballads like ‘Nice Dream’ and ‘Fake Plastic Trees’. So The Bends has assurance, depth and menace, from a band that were starting to look like one-hit wonders.

BELLY King (Flying In)

GEORGE KAY

When you listen to King you can easily imagine Belly coming third in a Belly sound-alike competition. Perhaps, after the supernova that was Star, we expected too much. It’s not that the album is bad. It’s very good. ‘Silverfish’ is -a delicate wee thing, akin to ‘White Belly’s’ best butterfly stomach moments. ‘Puberty’ attacks like Tanya Donnelly pretending to be her half sister, Kristin Hersh. The title track is sonically structured like running away from a relationship and finding another and then running away from that one and so on. The single, ‘Now They’ll Sleep’, though initially disappointing, is a grower. And Gail Greenwood has settled into her new

recording role on bass as well as she did her live one. But King is by no means great. The rest of the tracks burble along like a bunch of B-sides. Star was the built up frustration of being in Kristin’s creative shadow for years (and then Kim Deal’s in the Breeders). It had to be brilliant to prove them wrong, and it was. King feels without form. The pop joy that permeated their songs in the past sounds laboured this round. Sometimes it’s just absent. Here’s hoping King is just a stumbling block. JOHN TAITE

WEEZER Weezer (Geffen)

Weezer are four boys who make music that's as catchy as the clap, and has plenty of sing along, ooh-ee-oh bits you can grinningly chant with your pals. Try it! It’s fun. The vocals often work in shouty, three part harmonies, .which is rather endearing. Guitars? Yep! Plenty — even the odd solo, if you please. And anybody who’s been within eyeshot of a telly during the past few months will be able to vouch for the drumming, thanks to way cool drummer Patrick Wilson, whose unusual dance moves are the focal point of the ’Undone — the Sweater Song’ video. ' Apart from sweaters, subject matter covers girls, the garage, workers, Ace Frehley, surfing... basically all the stuff that counts to your

everyday young dude in the 90s. Oh, and Buddy Holly. Lead singer Rivers Cuomo (with a name like that, this guy should go into the cabaret business) has got a cool voice too. It comes on all cheery and benign, but don’t OD on the cheese, ‘cause before you know it he’s rockin’ out and riddled with angst. Spin it lots and you’ll see what I mean. BRONWYN TRUDGEON

VARIOUS ARTISTS Louder - A bFM Compilation (Festival)

There’s more to making a great album than bundling together a number of strong tracks from a disparate bunch of performers. That’s always been the problem with compilation packages, such as this offering from Auckland’s student radio station, bFM. But if they tend to lack something in coherence, they at least serve as a useful taster for those artists included. And, unless your ears happen to be painted on, few introductions should be needed for Louder's assembled roster.

From the eastern mystique of African Headcharge’s opening track, ‘Heading To Glory’, through the obvious indie reference points of perennial fav’s Dinosaur Jr. and Sugar, to a healthy dollop of local fare, Louder sounds like a bFM broadcast, without the deejays. (It’s interesting to note the absence of any English offerings of the indie persuasion — is that John Taite I hear wailing and gnashing

his teeth?). Of course an album that covers so much stylistic ground can’t be all things to all people. Personally I find The Puddle as wet as their name would suggest, and the inclusion of Thorazine Shuffle’s ‘Clutter’ is perhaps best viewed as an act of charity by a benevolent godparent. On the plus side is the inclusion of Breast Secreting Cake’s simply wonderful and otherwise unavailable 'All The Cars’. Overall there’s a lot to like on Louder, although the vintage of some of the tracks means it would have sounded that much more essential in 1994, rather than 1995. Not so much instant karma as instant nostalgia. MARTIN BELL

SLASH’S SNAKEPIT It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere (Geffen)

Having added a few noteworthy contributions to other people’s albums (Lenny Kravitz,

Michael Jackson, Bob Dylan etc.) we would expect Slash’s solo record to be a bit different to Guns N’ Roses, and interesting mainly for that reason. Unfortunately this isn’t really the case, as almost all of G N' R are playing on here anyway, so it does sway the bias in that direction. Slash is also having a go at the old electrified southern rock thing, which seems to be quite popular with lead guitarists lately, but doesn’t work with this group. For instance, when singer Eric Dover isn’t doing Axl replacement, he ends up sounding like a dead ringer for Jon Bon Jovi. That’s probably why the best track is an instrumental (‘Jizz Da Pitt’, co-writ-ten by Ozzy and Alice In Chains bassist Mike Inez). But even that doesn’t break up the 70 minutes of rock same-ness. It could possibly be five O’clock in Japan, but then again maybe Slash needs to check his watch. GEOFF DUNN

MORRISSEY World of Morrissey (EMI)

The new Mozz compilation is a haphazard dog's breakfast if ever there was one: ‘Boxers’ and its two B-sides, three live tracks from Beethoven Was Deaf, two tracks from Your Arsenal, two tracks from Vauxhall and that old chestnut ‘Last of the Famous International Playboys’. It’s worth getting for the cover of ‘Moon River’, all 10 minutes of it, which really is spec-

tacular. The original version of ‘The Loop’ is a good ole bit of rockabilly, and ‘My Lovelife’, which was a blueprint for a lot of Vauxhall (but got lost when he went off with his Arsenal) is finally available. Not so much the World of Morrissey, or even the best of. It’s a Christmas biscuit sampler with a couple of digestives and a couple of TimTams from his latest albums. JOHN TAITE

YOU AM I Hi Fi Way (Warners)

Fuck Oasis. They say Oasis are the ‘new Beatles'. How can this be when You Am I are two trillion times better. Liam or Noel what’s-his-name try to do what Tim Rogers does so well — write simple, emphatic lyrics that work and don’t look silly. Unlike Oasis, Tim Rogers can pull off a finely crafted pop song around the words: ‘I wasn’t thinkin’ / Over boiled beans and chicken’ (‘Minor Byrd’). Recorded in New York, with Sonic Youth’s Lee Ranaldo producing, Hi Fi Way is a myriad of finely tuned, meticulous pop songs, with many a hook to get under yer skin. It’s stung with lyrics reeking of suburbia and all that it holds: girls, food, dayjobs, beer, a bit more beer and some drinking too (‘Pizza Guy', ‘She Digs Her’), interspersed with ballads that make your heart sore (‘Handwasher’, ‘Purple Sneakers’), and of course there’s the ‘punky’ and ‘rocky’ numbers (‘Punkarella’, ‘Ken’, the Mother Nature’s Son’, ‘The Applecross Wing Commander’), to snap you from your daydream, and remind you what rock ’n’ roll is for... (insert your own reason). Flawless — hold it tight to your chest.

THE THE Hanky Panky (Epic) -

SHIRLEY CHARLES

Hanky Panky is the first in an occasional series of albums The The intend to release in celebration of the great singer/songwriters. Hank Williams is affection target number one. After the disappointment that was Solitude (wherein The The may have got the tribute ball rolling prematurely by reinterpreting their own works, to rather ill effect) this short, but bitter sweet recording is’a triumphant return to form. An added bonus to bear in mind is that it is

sure to send a whole new chapter of the curious in search of the Hank Williams catalogue. ‘There are few songwriters this century who have expressed the deep ache of loneliness and the longing for l.ove as darkly and sweetly as Hank Williams,’ Matt Johnson writes in the liner notes. I wonder if this notorious depressive realises he is a member of this very same heartbreak hotel, making him the perfect helmsman for a project such as this. Although the songs are covers, they bear all the trademarks of The The classics. The lyrics, however, and Williams’ impeccable sense of rhyme (‘There’s a tear in my beer, ‘cause I’m crying for you dear,’ being my favourite) remain authentic. No wonder The The picked ‘I Saw The Light’ over ‘l’m So Lonesome I Could Cry’, for they certainly have seen it with this album. BRONWYN TRUDGEON

ECHOBELLY Everybody’s Got One (Rhythm King)

Raves overseas, stupid name, the usual. Who the hell are Echobelly then? A star-stud-ded pedigree, with Curve’s live guitarist (Debbie Smith) and PJ Harvey’s old drummer (Andy Henderson), sure. An English band full of rock-pop, not obsessed with the past, yeah. But Echobelly is Sonya — Sonya Aurora Madan,

a water nymph with cast iron guts and bionic vocals. She’s the strength of PJ Harvey one moment and the softness of Harriet Wheeler (the Sundays) the next. They’ve been rightly compared to plenty of bands. ‘Cold Feet Warm Heart’ has a ‘Back To the Old House’, Smithsesque mandolin. ‘Close... but’ has a definite rockabilly feel, a la solo Mozz, and ‘Taste of You’ has more than just an echo of Tanya Donnelly’s Belly to it. That’s not even mentioning the vocal similarities to Bjork, amongst others. But the tunes are there and, if you're not some purist that whinges on about bands sounding similar to their influences, there’s plenty of reasons to give EGO a go. JOHN TAITE

NEW YORK DOLLS Rock and Roll (Polygram)

At present The Rocky Horror Picture Show is touring New Zealand. To some, all that woofterism and cross dressing may be a bloody good laugh, but not me. To me that hanky panky’s downright unnatural. What’s worse is decent Kiwis are going out and lapping it up. I doubt they’d find it all so funny if they knew the sort of degenerates who inspired it all. Rest assured cobbers, I’m gonna expose everything (not myself ya dirty rotters). Back in 72, a bunch of jokers in New York (hence name) thought it’d be pretty outrageous to dress up like sheilas. Well, they were right. It was outrageous, not to mention disgusting. Now, your average punters at the time, recognising degeneracy when they saw it, steered well clear of the Dolls and their music. Hence, only two albums were ever released; the self titled debut and Too Much Too Soon. Now these two platters that mattered have been compiled onto one itty bitty disk, with three never before heard tracks. To be fair, there’s nuthin’ much wrong with the music, heaps of it sounds like the Stones (straight up blokes). The singer fella, David Johansen, even looks like Mick Jagger, and the guitarist chappie, Johnny Thunders (RIP), was a figure of inspiration to many young punkers. Mr Thunders was a great enough guitarist not to bother wanking off like the poxy prog rockers around at the time, instead content to keep it nice and simple, apart from a couple of scorching solos. To add some spice the Dolls would put in killer harmonica lines, played by Mr Johansen, or maybe have a piano thumping away (Jerry Lee Lewis style, not Dick Clayderman). Whining away over the top of all this primitive rock and

roll would be Mr Johansen, with his tales about ‘Trash’, ‘Pills’ and ‘Babylon’ — the lyrics paying homage to the sordid lifestyles of these rouged rotters. So far this lifestyle has managed to account for three of the original band. Here’s hoping the royalties from this compilation will buy enough nose candy to see a New York Dolls reunion. In Hell. KEVIN LIST

CARTER USM Worry Bomb (EMI)

Sometimes I don’t know why I bother about Carter — preaching to the converted and all that. There’s a handful of fans out there, you know the ones, still wearing their ‘3O- - T-shirts to the mosh pits. The truth is old Jim Bob and Fruit Bat are an awfully English acquired taste. But their cunning sex (sells) machine has certainly got ‘Let’s Get Tattoos’ in the music channels.

Now with real drummer Wez, they’ve lost a lot of their plinkity plonkity feel (thank fuck!), and the rather serious, pop-less misery which even alienated student radio (Post Historic Monsters), is now well behind them. The two singles alone (‘Tattoos’ and ‘Young Offender’s Mum’) proved that. Lyrically, their little word plays are still bobbing about (“You say Karl / I say Harpo / I’m politically incorrectable”), but musically they’ve changed. Someone must have given them some guitar lessons because ‘Cease Fire’ and ‘God, St. • Peter and the Guardian Angle’ are almost like proper rock songs. ‘Defeatist Attitude' is Carter unplugged. True! As for the rest, it’s a huge leap for Carterkind. The machine’s back on track. JOHN TAITE

SICK OF IT ALL Scratch the Surface (Eastwest)

Yes, I am sick of it all. I’m sick of monotonous bands who play million-mile-an-hour music, filled with standard metal/rock progressions, and call it hardcore just because some guy is bellowing something very boring over the top of it at a constant pitch for about an hour. There are no dynamics, there are no peaks, there is no emotion, this is bog standard. In fact, about 10 years ago this could have been remarkable — but it wouldn’t have been because there were thousands of bands who sounded like this 10 years ago.. And there are baking vocals, which always sound anthemic and phoney in hardcore — like football chants. That macho team mentality

again. The guitarist plays your standard issue US hardcore guitar — a Gibson SG of course. He doesn’t do much exciting with it however. Too much speed, not enough power. To quote Sick Of It All: ‘lf the substance lacks it’s plain for all to see.’ So true. Waffle, waffle, blah, blah... even this review is boring. But here comes an interesting part... The first person to send an abusive letter to Rip It Up about this review will get this CD sent to them free'. Send your entries on the back of an envelope or on a postcard to: Sick Of Your Crap Reviews, Rip It Up, PO Box 5689, Wellesley St, Auckland. JEREMY CHUNN

THE WEDDING PRESENT Watusi (Island)

JULIAN COPE Autogeddon (Liberation)

Two acts superficially incompatible, but they share a maverick vision and it’s sorta ironic to have Cope in the same column as Wedding Present’s Island label — the company that dumped Cope for not shifting too many units. Not that David Gedge and the Wedding Present have been feverishly popular. With their hardcore, Albini phase well behind them, their 12 singles in a year campaign sharpened their sensibilities for Watusi — a celebration of the gawkiness, immediacy and splendour of pop. The portable hair drier and record player on the sleeve indicate where Gedge's head is at present, and this is borne out in the instantly digestible, retro-pop of ‘Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah’, ‘Swimming Pools’, ‘Movie Stars’ and ‘Hot Pants’. Watusi revels in the disposability of 60s culture. Enjoy it. By comparison, Cope’s angle is futuristic. Forget Armageddon, here’s Autogedden, his final epistle in a trilogy on the ailing planet earth that began with Peggy Suicide. As on the previous two, Cope’s visions and eccentricities are given full reign, but his indulgences are far from tedious or inaccessible.

He slips from the unclassifiable rock and country idiosyncrasies of ‘Paranormal’, to the original, plaintive views of ‘Armageddon Blues’ and the brilliantly structured, stratospheric eight minute guitar solo of ‘Starcar’. Just a selection from an album that again proves Cope’s integrity and imagination are untouchable.

GEORGE KAY

DIRTY THREE Torn and Frayed (Shock/Flying In)

I was in a wonderful place when I started listening to this. I was sitting on a sun drenched chair, in a house on top of a hill, that looked out onto a blue sea and was surrounded by wild hills and lush greenery. I was alone and this music was playing loudly, and it all made sense, and I thought: ‘I like life today.’ Deep eh? Anyways, this music reminds me of that — this music is that.' It’s lush, wonderful and it smells good. This isn’t no normal rock ’n’ roll band, this is a feeling. The music consists of violin, piano accordion, harmonica, kalimba, guitar, drums and various percussion that twists and hisses, floats and swirls, with ever present heartbreaking violin accompaniment. There is no vocal, music of this sort would just be cluttered if it had one. Pure essence. SHIRLEY CHARLES

STILTSKIN The Mind’s Eye (Warners)

Stiltskin took the offered short-cut to riches by supplying ‘lnside’ to Levis’ TV and movie commercial. Here was an early 70s, hard rock

riff orgy, syphoned through a trendy touch of grunge. The album takes its cue from this formula, with throaty vocalist Ray Wilson leading a tour through obvious licks that make up songs like ‘Scared of Ghosts’ and ‘Footsteps’. Yet there's something endearingly oafish and reasonably dynamic in these post-grunge, Big Country-ish bouts of passion, and they even manage the odd touching ballad and an attempt at ambience. So there’s some life after adverts. GEORGE KAY

CREAM The Very Best Of (Polydor)

There’s a simplistic theory that this trio was to blame for heavy metal — that Cream slowed down turned into Led Zeppelin, which in turn slowed down and became Black Sabbath. And while the grinding plod of such tracks as ‘Politician’ may seem to support the argument, this Very Best Of contains vastly more evidence to the contrary. Admittedly, only one of the 20 tracks here is live — their brisk take on Robert Johnson’s ‘Crossroads’ — whereas it is often the onstage duelling egos of Clapton, Bruce and Baker that gets cited as evidence of protometal.

Cream’s reputation may rest primarily on its perceived importance as a vehicle for three virtuosos who liberated rock for extensive blues and jazz inflected improvisation. Ironically, however, the tracks that have lasted best are a collection of three-to-five minute hit songs — ‘I Feel Free’, ‘Strange Brew’, ‘Sunshine of Your Love’, ‘White Room', ‘Badge’ and the like — that most make this collection worth owning. Shopper’s warning: This album is not a re-issue of Strange Brew: The Very Best of Cream, the one where the CD cover and liner notes were shrunk down from the original LP and were consequently impossible to read. This Very Best of Cream has a decent and informative booklet, as well as six extra tracks (which may well be a couple more than you need). The album also boasts that ‘all 20 tracks have been remastered using the unique Apogee UV22 process’, which might-just as well be a sunscreen for all the difference I can hear.

EXCEL Seeking Refuge (Malicious Vinyl)

Well, the re-emergence of a classic happens here. These guys were last heard of back in the days of the Venice scene — halcyon days of skateboarding and bands that were as much punk as metal. It was a happy time, before the music became neutered by jarheads, slackers and the pop aesthetic, before any kind of success prompted massive diatribes of selling out. Music was physical and fun and that’s it. Now, Excel have reappeared with a nice mix of old and new. Seeking Refuge still has the adrenaline guitars and choppy thrash stylings, but there’s room to stretch now. The riffs are coupled with blowout choruses and songs don’t trip over themselves trying to be fastest. It’s a solid album, even when the pace lets up for the ‘we're all one in punkness’ moments, but these get enlivened by the appearance of Bad Brains’ HR helping out. Maybe not an album that will make you sing hosannas over the future of rock, but certainly nothing to be ashamed of owning. Seeking Refuge is quite simply honest, enjoyable and downright/ockin’. KIRK GEE

VARIOUS This Is Fort Apache (Fort Apache/MCA)

Rock writing has often relied on labels to describe a vibe, sound, or feel. We’ve had Liverpool’s Mersey beat sound, the Dunedin sound, the Seattle sound and countless others, so wny not the Fort Apache sound? In truth, such labels are generally despised by those bands that are tagged with them — and fair enough too — but at least they can indicate a common inspiration point. For Boston bands of the late 80s and 90s, that point has been the Fort Apache recording studio. This one-time 16-track budget studio in Boston’s Roxbury ghetto has grown to be one of America’s preeminent recording studios. Now, a recently struck production deal with MCA records sees them launching themselves as a recording label in their own right. This Is Fort Apache, then, is at once a beginning and an end — the first airing of the new label’s first signing Cold Water Flat (who provide the excellent opening track ‘Magnetic North Pole’), and an acknowledgment of what has gone before. And what has gone before is pretty special: seminal tracks from the likes of Dinosaur Jr, Belly, The Lemonheads, Buffalo Tom, Throwing Muses and Sebadoh, amongst others. The Brits even get a look in with Radiohead’s ‘Anyone Can Play Guitar’ and Fort Apache co-owner Billy Bragg’s ‘Sulk’. The killingest cut of all, however, is the final track ‘Off To One Side’, by the relatively unheralded Come. I think songs like this used to be called

epic. While This Is Fort Apache serves its purpose well as a worthwhile and interesting curio, there’s no doubt, from this assembled evidence, that Fort Apache the studio has served as something far greater.

MARTIN BELL

JAMES REYNE The Whiff of Bedlam (Warners)

DIESEL Solid. State Rhyme (EMI)

Two Australian artists whose new albums attempt to mark a coming of age. Both have pasts they would clearly now rather forget — Diesel as frontman of stolid R&B outfit the Injectors, Reyne as Aussie pub-rocker par excellence.

Recorded in LA with producer Stewart Levine, The Whiff of Bedlam is Reyne’s first solo LP in three years. As befitting the title, it is dense, literary and ruminative — to the point that a song like ‘Goin’ Fishin’ actually works better on the page than as a song: ‘The days down in the tap-room / Blinking in the butter-light / The bridges hanging / With river mist and birthright.’ Arthur Miller, Evelyn Waugh, even Patty Hearst turn up here, as do locations as far flung as Boston and Kathmandu. Yet it isn’t until the last track, ‘Day in the Sun’, that Reyne’s pop sensibilities match those of his pen, creating a sort of Aussie version of ‘The Boys of Summer’, and reminding us he is Australia’s most critically underrated songwriter.

Solid State Rhyme is, in comparison, easy going. Diesel’s songs often remind you of other, greater ones, and the titles here confirm it — ‘Still Thinking About Your Love’, ‘Make It Right’, ‘Get It On’, ‘All Come Together’. Diesel is, of course; a good singer, a greater guitar player and, on ‘ls Feet Of Snow’, a decent songwriter. It's simply that the songs hold little real emotional pull and, if you’re attempting anything resembling soul, that’s a drawback that all the production and promotion in the world can’t hide.

GREG FLEMING

DADAMAH This is Not A Dream (Kranky)

Mr Cleverguy here. I brought this simply because Kranky's first release (the Labradford CD) was so damn good. Not great critical technique, but it worked cause this is pretty fine too. It’s apparently the total collected works of some NZers from the Port Chalmers vicinity, and although it's solidly 10-fi, This Is Not A Dream is interesting enough. As you’d imagine, there’s a noisy vibe here, but they never fall prey to the ‘noise for noise sake trap’. The idea

seems to be deconstruct a rock song, but work with the same dynamics that a ‘real’ song uses. Thus you get sweet songs that almost collapse into buzz, and those fun tortured electronics noises that retain some delicate melody throughout. Crank ‘Too Hot Too Dry’ up a ways and you’ll get the drift, a band who are as reliant on emptiness as they are on sound, and when it all comes off alright they can create some pretty satisfying moments. KIRK GEE IHOOTIE AND THE BLOWFISH Cracked Rear View (Atlantic) With a name that reads like some kinda injoke, this South Carolina four piece have gone some ways to restoring the Springsteen/Southside belief in full blooded, ‘conventional’ rock ’n’ roll. Hootie is the big gospel voice of Darvis Rucker, whose leadership has already made the incredibly anthemic ‘Hold My Hand’ one of the reasons this album was voted one of the Rolling Stone magazine’s best of last year. ‘Time’ and ‘Running From An Angel’ are great emotional rockers, and if the odd ballad drags the chain, there’s enough gusto and naturally assimilated rootsiness to make you forget that rock ’n’ roll has seen better days. GEORGE KAY I QUICKSAND Manic Compression (Island)

Quicksand is brown sticky stuff. Quicksand’s album is neither brown or sticky. Quicksand doesn’t make much noise other than the occassional whimpering of a small furry animal choking to death. Quicksand the band make plenty of noise, in between the quiet bits that is. There are plenty of quiet bits on Manic Compression. There are also plenty of loud bits. Sometimes they occur in the same song. In the quiet bits the singer croons, a la Perry Farrell, until an angry guitar comes in and spoils the serenity. The guitars are probably angry because they really want to rock out and get stuck into a good grunty riff, but are continually being reined in. Quicksand are a bit serious looking for any really hedonistic head banging riff-o-ramas. The lyrics are mood evoking (melancholic), rather than being readily decipherable, and match the angst of the expressionistic album art. Quicksand should be investigated by all those serious music fans traumatised by Helmet’s last album — just don’t get too stuck in. KEVIN LIST