albums

Rip It Up, Issue 216, 1 August 1995, Page 30

albums

FOO FIGHTERS Foo Fighters (Roswell/Capitol)

It’s too wicked to even consider the circumstances which made Dave Grohl a superstar drummer, before hurling him the opportunity to truly come into his own, so we mustn’t. Besides, Foo Fighters must be allowed to stand on its own mighty merits, and this ain’t difficult.

Track one is the single, ‘This is a Call’, and if you’re not smiling by the end of it, you must have had your mouth removed. You’d be forgiven for believing this song is all poprock ever needed to be, but you’d also be wrong. Then there’s the not small matter of punk revival, which has been so poorly addressed by so many until now (Green Day, my ass), for Grohl is a true originator after the fact. If he wanders into Nirvana territory occasionally, we can only thank him, for it’s his turf and he knows how to stake it.

Foo Fighters chief strength is the way it binds all of the above, with a tightness that’s pulled off as breezily as the proverbial falling off a. log. Check the meldoy meets madness of ‘l’ll Stick Around’, with its spat out and irony riddled chorus line: ‘I don’t owe you anything.’ That’s followed by the Lemonheads-lovely ‘Big Me’. ‘Alone + Easy Target’ crosses so many boundaries you’d need a passport to physically keep up with it. As for the speed of ‘Good Grief’, you can

practically hear the sirens’ screams fading in its wake. ‘Weenie Beenie’ is the mutant monster of the piece (with megaphone distorted vocals), but its riffs still manage to be catchy enough to require serious protection from. There’s even a country twang (although not for long) on the groovy ‘For All the Cows’. Contrary to popular belief, and the sleeve’s band photos, Grohl is the sole man responsible for all the playing (and writing) on this album (save Afghan Whig Greg Dulli’s guitar on ‘X-Static’). The rest of the band will mean very little to us as Foo Fighters until they get the hell over here. I, personally, will be pulling nose hairs until that day comes. BRONWYN TRUDGEON

THERAPY? Infernal Love (Polydor)

The third album from Ireland’s finest, and they’re torn between the high velocity, melodic punch of Troublegum and a more expansive, ambitious bout of doubt and depression. The only problem is, they only do a half decent job of both styles, with only ‘Bad Mother’ being a convincing blend of the grandiose and the kinetic. Infernal Love is a pretty average album that paves the way for gothic, Joy Divisionstyle slabs of pain like ‘A Moment of Clarity’ and ‘Bowels of Love’. Not bad, but they’re

hardly classic pieces of melancholy, and this album’s answers to ‘Screamager’ and ‘Nowhere’, namely ‘Stories’, ‘Misery’ and ‘Loose’, don’t have their counterparts’ breathtaking pace or melodic might. All up, Infernal Love is only a passable album from a band that have temporarily lost the opportunity to build on Troublegum, and so become the planet’s foremost practitioners of manic, melodic rockin' out.

GEORGE KAY

FILTER Short Bus (Reprise) In Cleveland Ohio, the Short Buses transport ‘challenged’ kids to school. On record, Filter’s debut is a three quarter hour ride through rush hour traffic, with Otto, man, at the wheel. Cool! Formerly with Nine Inch Nails, Richard Patrick (with Brian Liesegang) steadfastly continues that band’s loud/soft industrial approach to song crafting. This type of ‘music’ is not recommended for those of a sensitive, non-violent proclivity (‘I hate it when you preach your case / It makes me want to stick my fist through your face.’). If, however, you have been waiting for a worthy successor to NlN’s Pretty Hate Machine, look no further.

MARK DONOVAN

SOUL ASYLUM Let Your Dim Light Shine (Columbia)

Slacker extraordinare he may be, but Soul Asylum’s singer and songwriter Dave Pirner is writing at the top of his talent on Let Your Dim Light Shine. His tales of prostitutes, losers, workers, boozers and plain girls locate him firmly in the grand tradition of Bukowski and Reed, although he falls from grace as often as he hits the vein.

Pirner and the band’s weakenesses have always been for fast, riff-driven rants, which more discriminating bands would’ve left for encores or B-sides. The silly ‘Hopes Up’, ‘Shut Down’ and ‘Caged Rat’ show it’s a habit they haven’t broken. Still, in a way, it makes the best songs here sound more

remarkable. ‘To My Own Devices’, ‘I Did My Best’, the single ‘Misery’ (I was worried they took themselves seriously till I saw the video) and the superb ‘Eyes of a Child’ possess a humility and subtlety that was only hinted at on their previous breakthrough LP, Grave Dancers Union. And just to show Soul Asylum aren’t just a bunch of sweaty faces, guitarist Dan Murphy turns in the lovely ‘Promises Broken’, which Pirner himself suggests is the best song on the record. It’s not — ‘Eyes of a Child’ is — but maybe you should make your own mind up about that. GREG FLEMING

GUIDED BY VOICES Alien Lanes (Matador/Flying In)

In an industry where pampered mega-stars seem to release albums only when their contracts oblige them to, the anti-industry and unusually prolific Guided By Voices first release for 95 is all you would expect and more. Now signed to highly regarded indie label Matador, the Australasian release of Alien Lanes comes with a bonus CD of tracks from the boxed set of Guided By Voices’ first five LPs, entitled Box (abridged). In tandem with Alien Lanes, that means a total of 52 tracks — a bountiful, if somewhat daunting, harvest. Luckily (although, really, there’s no luck involved) both Alien Lanes and Box (abridged) are suffused with Guided By Voices’ customary maverick genius. Echoes of the Beatles, the Byrds, Syd Barrett, Eno, Bowie, the Soft Boys and countless others resonate through these albums. A list of stand-out tracks would fill a whole column, but suffice to say that while not every song will make your toes curl, more hit the X-spot than the laws of probability would rightfully seem to allow. For all that, however, there remains a sense that Alien Lanes alludes to a greatness that continues to elude Guided By Voices. Superlative song writing or not, Alien Lanes sounds as if it’s been recorded on a tape machine spooled with damp string, rather than the usual magnetic tape. I’m not saying they should be going for that big

Aerosmith sound, but really, the sound quality is frustratingly poor in places. Yeah, yeah — I know about the low-fi aesthetic and all that, but we’re talking sub-fi in places here. Kindred spirit Chris Knox’s recent homerecorded Songs Of You And Me was a fine example of the sort of clarity and balance that can be achieved by a no compromise/no budget recording. Perhaps he should produce Guided By Voices’ next album.

As much as the band may crave anonymity in their music making, if they’re only making music for themselves, then why bother to release it at all? Surely the main reason is to get that music out to like-minded souls beyond the band’s own garage/hometown/country/planet/whatever, and having to wade through Alien Lanes’ low-fi shambles won’t help that cause. In spite of this, there’s no denying the powerful rough-diamond appeal of Alien

Lanes and Box (abridged). Spanning eight years, these two CDs stand as a remarkably consistent and vital document of the frustrating genius that is Guided By Voices. MARTIN BELL

THE CHEMICAL BROTHERS

Exit Planet Dust (Virgin)

It’s not surprising though, is it? No matter how sincere the flattery, if you pinch someone's else’s name and release records with it, there’s gonna be trouble. So the Dust Brothers became the Chemical Brothers this year, after their American counterparts threatened to kick 17 different shades of shit out of them in court. And here they are, serving up soundscapes to get shitfaced to, sweat inducing groove monsters, and anything that’ll help you party for your right to smarty and stuff. Sabres of Paradise and Bomb the Bass are

*K 4 •£ S 00-RMI 1a f the points of reference you need to suss the Chemical Brothers. Booming beats with scratched up samples, sirens and synths. Most of the song titles are mood indicators more than anything: ‘Fuck Up Beats’, ‘Chemical Beats’ and ‘Chico’s Groove’. But the crusty beats with the ray-gun squeal and the Tin Man-on-a-torturing-rack within ‘Playground For the Wedgeless Fan’, and the digitised funk kicker ‘Leave Home’ are the hookers that’ll lead you to lewd behaviour. The rest will fill in those late night hours you always seem to lose track of. Hip-hopped house with truck loads of nouse.

JOHN TAITE

BUFFALO TOM Sleepy Eyed (Beggars Banquet)

Deep in the throes of Winter as we are, ‘Summer’ is breakin’ my slacker tieart. You can sail on its gentle waves of wibbly-wobbly guitars, then thrash it out at the chorus, waving your hanky nostalgically all the while. What more can you ask for? Well, there’s plenty more where that came from on Sleepy Eyed.

Seasons irrespective, Chris Colbourn’s plaintive vocals on ‘Twenty Points’ (subtitled ‘The Ballad of Sexual Dependency’) will have you sucking your thumb and wiping your nose on the nearest snuggle rug. That’s exactly the kind of bolt from the not entirely blue this familiar-in-a-nice-way album sets you up so perfectly for. Likewise, at the

opposite end of the scale, is the riff-o-matic ‘Your Stripes’. Bill Janovitz’s second chance (after ‘Summer’) to shine like he can in the vocal department comes on ‘Sparklers’, which he takes and runs. That’s the thing with Buffalo Tom: they won’t shove their prowess in your face, but you can’t help but love them for it anyway. BRONWYN TRUDGEON

THE VERVE A Northern Soul (Hut)

Listening to the Verve used to be about enveloping escapism, like they’d encased the world in a glass bubble and you could watch the slow-motion madness from the outside. You know, they were a band reviewers loved to poetically toss off about. Well, there’s still plenty of opportunity for that, but if A Storm In Heaven was driving around nuclear reactors in the fog, A Northern Soul is a tour bus that’s broken down outside a coffee and cigarettes diner. Yup, it seems that America has hit the Verve in the rock ’n’ roll way and, if anything, it’s given them a more distinct bunch of songs. The single, ‘This is Music’, suggested they’d snapped out of their coma, and ‘A New Decade’ and the title track are both LDOPA awakenings. ‘On Your Own’ takes its lead from Bobby Gillespie, with the acoustic, the hand claps and: ‘All I want is someone who will fill the hole in the life I’ve known.’ ‘History’ takes a string section and fakes an

orgasm — not the best song in the world, but at least they’re experimenting. And there’s ‘Brainstorm Interlude’, which reveals Nick McCabe’s libidinous guitar handling and, erm, Ashcroft’s desire to be transported via satellite... or something. There’s ‘So It Goes’ and ‘Drive You Home’, for the fans of the old style, and ‘Stormy Clouds’, with its reprise amounting to 12 minutes of their floaty jam feel. A Northern Soul is exciting because it points to where they can go. Onwards and upwards. No glass bubbles required. JOHN TAITE

JOAN JETT AND THE BLACKHEARTS Pure and Simple (Liberation)

It was some 13 years ago that Joan Jett first proclaimed that she did indeed love rock ’n’ roll, from the stage of CBGB’s, and that collision of 70s metal and 60s pop which was her best and biggest hit was proof in itself. Her historical importance too is unquestionable — the first riot grrrl, godmother of punk rock, what you will — but whatever it is Joan loves in 1995, it isn’t rock ’n’ roll. Sure, the tunes on Pure and Simple sound like rock ’n’ roll, but the spirit

just ain’t there, and things hit an all time low when Joan goes over all worried about the state of the nation in ‘Wonderin’’ and the execrable ‘Brighter Day’. ‘Go Home’ and the bitchy ‘Spinster’ show there’s still plenty of bite to her voice, but the punk-by-numbers playing of the Blackhearts make even these sound leaden. I’m still wondering what the six producers credited here actually did for their money. GREG FLEMING

WHALE We Care (Hut)

You’ve gotta hand it to a bad girl who looks good crawling around in a see-through white, stretch fabric dress with large white underwear underneath. Chutzpah, is the word you’ve gotta hand her. Likewise with a band who scratch Vitalogy in the same video (‘Pay For Me’). Okay, Whale are Swedish, but let’s not typecast. Anyway, where ABBA smacked of matching outfits, Whale reek of something a lot less chaste — sex. The album’s first lyric is: ‘I wanna give birth to your baby, baby,’ and the salaciously psychopathic Cia Berg sings about the acts that might make this

possible for damn near the entirety of this album.

This broad’ll do it any way (what do you think ‘Hobo Humping Slobo Babe’ —with its football chant of: ‘Get it off, get off, get off my face’ — is about?). She’s found the perfect partner in crime in Tricky, who produces/lends vocals to three tracks. For technique, check ‘Tryzasnice’, which is a take on Tricky’s ‘Abbaon Fat Tracks’ that takes it off the streets and into the nearest cubicle. Sex aside, this is one strange mix of triphop (and not all the credit goes to Tricky here), grinding guitars, and the strangest vocal interplay since the Sugarcubes. There’s something for everyone here. Just how long you can take it all at once, only time will tell.

v BRONWYN TRUDGEON

BON JOVI These Days (Polygram)

After a well earned break, giving the various members of ‘the Jovi’ time to procreate and marry lovely TV stars, the boys are well and truly back in town with These Days. Bon Jovi’s latest could perhaps act as the definitive Joviesque, hard rock, dirty white trash album of all time. These Days covers nearly every base. If you want mournful, Stonesesque ballads, the Jovis are willing to deliver. If you want epic, hanky-drenching power ballads, just check out the latest single ‘This Ain’t a Love Song’. Of course, the classic fist in yer face, good time rockin’ Bon Jovi is apparent on every second song. However, there are two minor quibbles. Firstly, why does Billy Duffy not get the credit for ‘Hey God’? Surely the entire guitar line is lifted straight from ‘Fire Woman’. Secondly, no matter how much emotion you’re feeling at the time, there can never be an excuse for writing the lyrics: ‘I send this song to you, whoever you are / As my guitar lies bleeding in my arms.’ KEVIN LIST

VARIOUS ARTISTS The Deseo Remixes (WH Records)

VARIOUS ARTISTS Creative, Innovative, Uncompromising (Nation Records)

I must admit, I’ve never heard of the Deseo project. Probably just as well, seeing as Jon Anderson (lead singer in boring rock dinosaurs Yes) was behind it. Phew, him and some Latin American musos — can you imagine the worthy bollocks that would produce? Anyway, they were remixed by Future Sound Of London, Global Communication and two groups definitely not renowned for their re-mixing (Transglobal Underground and Deep ‘Froggy’ Forest). Dull, dull, dull, dull. The best track of the album is FSOL’s ‘Deseo Reconstruction’, because it strips the original of everything it had (one would assume) and does the ambi thing all over the place. Everyone else just worked with what they were given: toe jam. On the other hand, Creative Innovative Uncompromising is just that — nearly. If you’re a fan of the Eastern/Western sound mix, the UK versions of world hip-house like Transglobal Underground and Fun-Da-Mental (both included here), this will make you drool: 12 tracks that straddle the ethnicity/musical borders. Mostly instrumental, these tracks don’t rely on the cliched weird sounds with wailing vocal samples; there’s a new wave of fusion between old world instrumentals and dance floor grind happening here. The throbbing, pumping, dusty grooves provided by Heliopolis and Tribal Drift add to the groups you’re more familiar with. As far as ethno goes, this is just what the witch doctor ordered.

JOHN TAITE

CUL DE SAC I Don’t Want to Go to Bed (Flying Nun)

The expansion of Flying Nun to overseas bands is proving an interesting proposition. After the unquestionably famous Ween, Boston's Cui de Sac may seem terribly obscure (and they are), but their first album, Ecim, was unanimously loved by the critics — though that’s not necessarily a recommendation. Cui de Sac is heavily influenced by the 70s Kraut rock of bands like Neu, Faust and Can. But Cui de Sac add their own influences: American folk-singers, Middle Eastern music, and the addition of guitarist Glenn Jones’ ‘Contraption’, which is a lap-steel guitar, wedged with implements, tuned at rahdom and played through effects boxes. This totally instrumental album is recorded on two-tracks of a barely functioning, bottom of the line, four-track recorder. Sound grim? Well, sometimes. The sound is based on locking into a hypnotic groove through various organic sounds and instruments. To achieve this, the songs all last forever. In the case of ‘Doldrums’, the incredible rhythm found keeps the track fascinating for it’s whole 10 minutes. But other songs, like ‘Graveyard for Robots’, become a flat, dull, and yes, irritating experience. I Don't Want to Go to Bed reveals its live jam origins and can be an uninspired, plodding, ugly beast. At other times, Cui de Sac slip into the groove and a psychedelic panorama emerges. Disquieting, disconcerting, discordant and occasionally beautiful. DARREN MITCHELL HAWKES

EVERCLEAR Sparkle and Fade Capitol Records

Everclear are three decent, honest American boys whose decent, honest lives have unfortunately got tangled up in the murky, sordid world of wild rock and roll. Well, maybe they were dishonest, indecent American boys, but they’ve definitely got themselves tangled up with rock and roll. Although, come to think of it, their particular brand isn’t too wild. Once upon a time, Everclear may, in fact, have been wild and raucous, but now one’s a dad and they’ve got a record deal after years of scungy foot and mouth living. This album seems to be their coming of age effort.

Along with maturity comes wisdom and grumpiness, and this grumpiness is brought out in Everclear’s songs dealing with boredom, frustration and living in crumby towns (no doubt bringing on boredom and frustration). Although never likely to shift bulk commodity, oldsters like Everclear will keep on churning out albums of quality guitar angst, fuelled by the bitterness of seeing bands like Greenday succeed. Only you, the public, can stop this cruel cycle. KEVIN LIST

EDWYN COLLINS Gorgeous George (Setanta)

Singer-songwriters are back. It’s unofficial, but this one is almost good enough to erase memories of the genre that encouraged the likes of James Taylor, Carly Simon, et al. Ex-Orange, Juice Edwyn Collins is deservedly in the throes of commercial

rebirth, with the classic pop, jukebox perfection of the swinging ‘A Girl Like You’. The brilliantly titled Gorgeous George is actually a re-issue from last year, a move no doubt calculated to cash-in on the single’s British success. It’s a fine album, but don’t expect a succession of catchy dance-hall quiffs. At heart, Collins is a droll, understated pop commentator, whose included ‘Campaign for Real Rock’ totally destroys the prefabricated rock-by-numbers fashion that’s currently killing rock ’n’ roll. Don’t miss George this time out. GEORGE KAY

BATMAN FOREVER SOUNDTRACK Various Artists (Atlantic)

Yeah, yeah. You’re thinking: ‘Urghhh, the Batman soundtrack.’ You're wondering why RipltUp would touch it. You’re perversely curious at the atrocities within. That’s natur-

al enough. I mean, the last two were appalling. But apart from U2’s grandstanding ‘Kill Me, Eat Me, Excrete Me’ and Michael Hutchenson’s abortive version of ‘The Passenger’, there is a whole bunch of cool indie stuff on this one.

PJ Harvey kicks off the strong line-up of alternative rock. There’s some hard-out bizzo from the Offspring, seedy swathes of bluesy goth from Nick Cave, and the lugubrious country of Mazzy Star. On the dance side of things, Massive Attack contribute a sultry and haunting version of the Smokey Robinson penned ‘The Hunter Gets Captured By the Game’, using Tracy Thorn’s mouthwatering vocals, once again. Wu Tang Clan’s Method Man gruffs and tuffs all over ‘The Riddler’, and there’s even a spot of Seal and Brandy for the more MOR types out there. Riddle me this, riddle me that... JOHN TAITE

KING BISCUIT Sun Hits the Moon (Hark)

Hamilton’s King Biscuit are a genus unto themselves. Few bands would ever attempt to augment the traditional guitar/bass/drums with saxophone, harmonica, violin, mandolin, trumpet and congas. Yet the results are, mostly successful, and nothing if not intriguing. By turns funky (the opening ‘Sun Hits the Moon’, ‘Goin’ Home’), reggae (‘Time Makes it So’), and Irish folk (James K Baxter’s ‘Flanagan’, ‘Anzac Day’), it comes as no surprise that audience reactions have tended to be mixed (especially at cowboy theme bars). It is to the band’s credit they have maintained such an exhaustive touring schedule over their five year history — small wonder their repertoire has become so well honed. The problem they faced was to transfer the dynamism of their live shows to a studio environment. They needn’t have worried. Sun Hits the Moon is one of the best produced local releases of the year and, in Mark Kington, they possess a vocalist of rare quality.

MARK DONOVAN

THE MAD SCENE Sealight (Summershine/Flying In)

Like Bailterspace, the Mad Scene call New York City their home. But the Rotten Apple’s future urban alienation atmosphere, that so suited Bailterspace, has not found a home in the Mad Scene’s sound. Instead, they’ve set a mesh of jangly Dunedin sound up against the sparse, 60s pop sound of Oz/UK/NYC band the Moles. Not coincidentally, Hamish Kilgour (also in the obscure Clean band) helped out on the final Moles album, and it shows on the less jangly songs like ‘Gotta Get Back’ and ‘Black Flye’, which include horns and are stripped back to just the essential notes. The other singer/writer, Lisa Seagul, has that undeveloped, innocent singing style that is so very popular with the Flying Nun female gang — a lethargic, halfway to caring voice.

The words reflect her slacker passion: ‘I hope you call me up today / I want to hear that you’re OK,’ and ‘Then I heard you say something / Really nice to me.’

It’s another laidback, enjoyable album — the sort Kilgour and cohorts seem to be able to turn out in their sleep. If you want something to blow your mind, then try someplace else. Words like comfy, warm and mellow

are never far from reach. DARREN MITCHELL HAWKES

JOY DIVISION Permanent (Polydor)

May this year marked the fifteenth anniversary of the suicide of Joy Division’s singer lan Curtis. It is not total coincidence that this ‘best of’ is now being released. The thing is, Joy Division’s output was not that large: two proper albums (‘Unknown Pleasures’ and ‘Closer’) and two albums that had live and rare tracks (‘Still’ and ‘Substance’). I guess ‘best ofs’ have been released on bands with even smaller back catalogues. Permanent takes three songs from Unknown Pleasures and Still and four from Closer, plus the three singles and B-sides.

There’s a smattering from everything Joy Division did, but no over-riding theme. Nonetheless, Joy Division always stayed close to their synth/bass roots, so the compilation remains cohesive. The bonus track to force train spotters to buy it is the ‘Permanent Mix’ of ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’. Curtis’ widow apparently does not like nor approve of it, but only obsessives will be able to differentiate it from the original. For the youngsters, Joy Division were very popular a few years back because of their pop songs mixed with lan Curtis’ doom and

gloom, angsty lyrics. He killed himself and the band called themselves New Order. This album is an accessible entry into the works of Joy Division.

DARREN MITCHELL HAWKES

VARIOUS ARTISTS The Celtic Hearbeat Collection (Celtic Heartbeat)

ANUNA Anuna (Celtic Heartbeat)

BILL WHELAN Riverdance (Celtic Heartbeat)

FRANCES BLACK Talk to Me (Celtic Heartbeat)

ALEC FINN Blue Shamrock (Celtic Heartbeat)

PATRICK CASSIDY The Children of Lir (Celtic Hearbeat)

So, the Celtic revolution/renaissance starts here, with a gamut of releases on U2 manager Paul McGuinness’ Celtic Heartbeat label. The obvious place to start is with the Collection, which is a tasty representative glimpse of what the label has to offer. Liam O’Flynn’s ‘The Winter’s End’ and ex-Planxty Andy Irvine’s ‘Chetvorna’ alone justify the price of the Collection. To the individual albums, and surprisingly the pick of the bunch is Anuna. Surprisingly, because a 15 strong Celtic choir doesn’t sound like too electrifying a prospect, but

their pagan, monastic arrangments and moods are incredibly haunting. Journeyman Bill Whelan’s Riverdance has deservedly led to a hit stage show. It’s an ideal vehicle for displaying the variety of Celtic and other ethnic grouping’s instrumental styles. World music par excellence. Next up, Frances Black’s first solo album, Talk to Me, has already made it big in Ireland. Her rich country/folk vocals are a touch sentimental for my battered ears, but her talent and distinctiveness are undeniable.

Guitarist and bouzouki player Alec Finn contributes his first solo album, Blue Shamrock — a collection of delicate and evocative traditional instrumentals, particularly effective when Mary Bergin joins him on tin whistle. Finally, there’s Patrick Cassidy with the London Symphony Orchestra at his back, interpreting the Irish tale of The Children of Lir.

This collection is lush, and maybe a bit too cultured for my pagan instincts, but these are minor flaws of over refinement that McGuinness hopes to redress with the introduction of the more anarchic side of Celtic in his next batch of releases. For now, just enjoy the Gaelic pulse. GEORGE KAY

CATHERINE WHEEL Happy Days (Fontana)

Their first album back in 1992 had the appropriate title of Ferment - for that is exactly what it did. At the time it was inappropriately lumped into the English shoe-gaz-ing scene. They followed it with 93’s Chrome, which was total auto-pilot. Since then they’ve been touring the States, getting hard.

‘Take this huge expanse of sound,” instructs new single ‘Waydown’. Happy Days sees them continue their school of hard rock, much in the same vein as Therapy?, Swervedriver or Shihad. Even Iron Maiden’s Bruce Dickinson is a fan, or maybe it’s just that his cousin happens to be the lead singer.

Drummer Sims thumps away on a solid 4/4 beat through every song, and Rob

Dickinson has a steady, unyielding voice that leads the tune-filled riff-centric songs. There’s nothing remotely radical about their sound, it’s just so godamn rock solid — from the Neil Young styled ‘Heal’ to ‘Hole’, the obligatory Kurt Cobain song, to the poppy duet with Belly’s Tanya Donelly, ‘Judy Staring at the Sun’. While the cover screams out ‘Bargain Bin!’, and that is where their previous two albums ended, it deserves a home elsewhere, er... at your home, most definitely.

DARREN MITCHELL HAWKES

VARIOUS Totally Wired 12 (Acid Jazz)

SNOWBOY AND THE LATIN SELECTION Best Of (Acid Jazz)

MENASSEH MEETS THE EQUALISER Dub the Millenium (Acid Jazz)

THE DREAD FLIMSTONE SOUND The Bionic Dread (Acid Jazz)

It’s one thing to listen to acid jazz, you know, the odd bit of Brit funk retro tumblings. But it’s another if you live for the stuff, buy the Jamaroquai hats, spend Sunday arvos jiving around to vinyl in day-glo suburban houses. Best stop reading if you’re the latter. If you thought acid jazz came and went in a month a couple of years ago (like the rest of the planet), Totally Wired 12 is proof it’s still kicking around, battling musical fashion by diversifying. The Brand New Heavies sit alongside Primal Scream (‘Funky Jam’ ha, ha). There’s Dub War, who rap over their funk rock, the Swinging Foot’s spoken word jazz and Simon Bartholomew, who sounds close to breaking into the CHiPs theme with his instrumental. There’s that sort of thing, anyway.

The Best Of Snowboy And The Latin Selection is one for those pining for the LA nightclub scene in the 40s and 50s. Congas, bongos, samba beats and all variety of Latino carry on. The compilation takes the best of Snowboy’s Ritmo Snowbo, Descargo Mambito and Something’s Coming, 10 years of Mark Cotgrove’s jazzy, percussive originals, and odd cover versions (‘The Flintstones’, sure, but ‘Anarchy in the UK’?!). Nice for a spicy change.

Acid Jazz doesn’t always fall on its feet though. Don’t rush out and buy the very pedestrian Dub the Millennium, just because it’s got the Acid Jazz label on it. Talk about spacious nothingness. And Dread Flimstone’s The Bionic Dread album is some cringeworthy reggae-meets-soul-to-have-a-drink-of-sugar-water-with-hip-hop. One of their few signings from the States, and hopefully one of their last. Acid jazz is still hanging around, but only just. JOHN TAITE FIGHT A Small Deadly Space (Epic) Judas Priest have not been heard of since vocalist Rob Halford left to form Fight. He obviously wanted to move on from their rather dated metal approach, into something more relevant to the 90s. A Small Deadly Space is the second Fight album, and it’s more akin to Pantera than Priest, although Halford’s trademark screampitched singing makes for ineveitable comparisons to ye olde studded leather attired ones. Best moments are the overloaded ‘Blowout in the Radio Room’ and ‘Mouthpiece’, which effectively starts with railway bells until the band plough through like a freight train. The guitarists concentrate more on heavy repetitive riffing, instead of lead breaks, which is certainly powerful, but gets a bit mind numbing by the time you get to the seven minute final track, ‘A World of. My Own Making’. Definitely one of the heaviest releases to come out so far this year.

THE MALCHICKS Mercury (Failsafe)

GEOFF DUNN

Auckland four-piece the Malchicks owe their name to a slang term from Anthony Burgess’ seminal novel A Clockwork Orange. But where Burgess was concerned with a

grim vision of a future Britain, the Malchicks prefer to stare earthwards and to the immediate English past for their musical cues. When . bassist Coralie Martin takes lead vocal duties on the album’s high point, ‘Milestone’, the band sound for all the world like an antipodean Lush — which is both a blessing and a curse.. For, while favourable comparisons with the English shoe-gazing school of Lush, Ride etc. are appropriate, the Malchicks fail to add anything new to the territory already staked out by their British classmates. Too often songs start promisingly enough — witness the pounding intro to ‘Stranded In Lost Time’ — but fail to kick on, despite some uniformly splendid guitar riffery from Matthew Dalzell and Simon Matthews. . What Mercury lacks is a sense of drama and urgency — individual tracks being left to meander inconclusively, without ever delivering that single crystalline moment that marks a song out as being more than merely ‘good’. Without that raison d’etre, ‘good’, unfortunately, is all that Mercury can aspire to be — something less than the sum of it’s often excellent parts. . < MARTIN BELL i

PAUL BRADY Spirits Colliding (Mercury)

Little known on this side of the world, Paul Brady has been a vital part of the Irish folk/rock scene for years, and was singled out by Dylan in the liner notes to the Biograph compilation as ‘a secret hero’. Spirits Colliding sees Brady working with other writers (John Prine among them), resulting in his strongest set of songs since 1981’s Hard Station. You get the sense that Bonnie Raitt is already lining up to cover the R&B tinged ‘Just in Time’, and the opener, ‘I Want You To Want Me’, wouldn’t be out of place on the more recent Van Morrison albums. (Spirits Colliding is mixed by Mick Glossop, who has worked on a number of Morrison projects.) Unfortunately, Brady also shares with Morrison the tendency to lapse into platitudes — cue ‘You’re the One’, ‘After the Party’s Over’ and ‘Love Made a Promise’ — where clcihes and not spirits are colliding. Throughout, of course, he sings like an angel, but Spirits Colliding will do little to

change the perception of Paul Brady as a songwriter’s songwriter. GREG FLEMING

ULTRASOUND Ultrasound (Mushroom)

Ultrasound are Deborah Conway, her partner and guitarist Willy Zygier, ex-Crowded House member Paul Hester on drums, and Bill McDonald on bass. A cynic might suggest it is Conway’s maternity album — it’s playful, light, and at times (‘Evil Homer’) funny. One senses here the input of Hester, whose mix of slapstick and humour enlivened many a Crowded House gig. A cover of ‘Anyone Who Had A Heart’ is perhaps the only cloying point, even the numerically named ‘One’, ‘Four’, ‘Six’, ‘Ten’, ‘Twelve’ and ‘Fifteen’ (all quirky soundscapes) rarely outstay their welcome. Quite whether anyone needs Ultrasound is another matter entirely. Still, never underestimate the power of old mates and lovers (Conway is/was involved with two out of three, says the press release) in the same room. GREG FLEMING

PROMETHEUS Prometheus (Deep Music)

Two of the players involved with Prometheus were members of Robert Fripp’s league of craft guitarists, and it shows. Local musician Nigel Gavin (Gitbox, Nexus, Aunties etc.) teamed up with American guitarists/songwriters Steve Ball and Sanford Ponder, to create some sonic, progressive guitar rock that is not that far removed from the music of Mr Fripp himself. Current King Crimson drummer Pat Mastelotto plays on the album. The mainly instrumental, metallic discipline of tracks like ‘Sardukar’ and ‘Angst’ are proof of Prometheus' proficiency. The 23 minute ‘Redemption’ leans more toward the ambient style of Eno, and is so quiet you may not even realise anything is happenging at all unless the volume is well cranked up. It’s a complete contrast to the other eight tracks, which have so much happening in them that one or two listens is not enought to take it all in. This is an interesting project, that lays the groundwork for Prometheus to futher devel-

op their songwriting and musical identity. GEOFF DUNN

FLAMINGOES Plastic Jewels (Festival)

A healthy scepticism is advised when perusing the English music press. Both Melody Maker and... News of the World have rated Flamingoes among the UK’s brightest hopes. Why? A little background information may be of interest. Formed in Hitchin, Enlgand (birthplace of yours truly... and Simon Leßon), they moved to Camden “to become stars”. A mutual passion for eyeliner (hmmm), the Jam’s All Mod Cons (yesssl), and pre-fame Adma Ant (doh!), resulted in their first single, ‘The Chosen Few’. An unimpressively derivitave song, it nevertheless paved the way for future successes. ‘Teenage Emergency’, their second UK single, is the business. Elastica sans chicks; Pulp if they were any good. Both are included on their debut, along with their third single, ‘Disappointed’, about disco alienation.

SCORPIONS Love Bites (Polygram)

Goodbye communism, g’day rock ’n’ roll. By the late 80s, the youth of Eastern Europe had had enuff of missing totally boffo bands like the Scorpions. The generic commie spoil-sports would stop the young grooving no more, for the winds of change were wafting from the McDonalds munching free West, sending the Berlin Wall tumbling like Jerichos in Antiquity. Finally the kids could rock, could groove, could hold lighters aloft with tears in their eyes. Now you too can share the magic of Mittel Europe’s finest, the Scorpians, live. Sing along with half the population of Russia, Poland, America etc, as Meine, Schenker and co. fill the stadiums the world over with good lovin’, good rockin’, and funny accents. Forget being hip. Slam this sucker on the stereo and you’ll be floating heavenwards carried by soaring licks and inspirational lyrics. Join the children of tommorrow dreaming of a glory night without poverty, crime, yacht racing and World Cup rugby.

KEVIN LIST