Record reviews 8/2/96
Fri., Aug. 2, 1996
ELVIS COSTELLO & THE ATTRACTIONS
All This Useless Beauty (Warner Bros)
Like a married couple well into their second decade, Elvis Costello & the
Attractions bring with them a lot of baggage. Ruminating from their collective
armchairs, they squabble like champions, finish each other's musical sentences,
and make, on occasion, superlative music; they still seem an uncanny match.
Costello's career has been almost as notable for its failures as its successes.
An incessant dabbler, his last five albums alone have featured brass bands,
string quartets, Shakespeare, and an entire record of cover songs, all with
widely varied results. Yet occasionally, it all still works beautifully. All
This Useless Beauty is, happily, one of those occasions. Helmed by Geoff
Emerick, the one-time Beatles engineer who worked magic on Imperial Bedroom,
Beauty sparkles with dioramas of sexual intrigue, failed relationships,
murder, royalty, and wraps with a glorious kiss-off of a production number,
"It's Time" (But if you do have to leave me/Who will I have left to hate?). The
Attractions dig in with versatile and subtle(!) accompaniment, and song after
song grabs hold of you and doesn't let go. This isn't Armed Forces --
Costello's not that angry anymore -- but sometimes the best things happen when
it seems you have nothing left to prove.
3 1/2 stars -- Jeff McCord
EVERYTHING BUT THE GIRL
Walking Wounded (Atlantic)
Saddle up and hit the road, Smashing Pumpkins, because Walking Wounded
is the real Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness. Or exquisite sadness,
since heartbreak this blissful exists only in song. This record is a gray city
of backlit, rainy streets where buses splash huge puddles of rainwater on your
best suit, making the rest of you feel like your heart already did. It's
lonely, overcast, and seems like there's always a chill wind blowing. Singer
Tracey Thorn's languid vocals mix with programmer Ben Watt's techno jungle
beats to paint a perfect picture of the outcast heart: ice-cold and
Novocaine-numb on the surface, but pulsing with all sorts of random emotions,
pleas for reconciliation, and cries for help underneath. It's not a pretty
place to be, watching as your heart is ripped out and shattered, and then still
having to walk to the bus stop with the depths of your despair on display for
all to see. By capturing these moments so precisely, EBTG have crafted the
perfect companion to such dark moments. Sweet misery, wash me in the river of
sorrow, so that I may one day be clean.
4 stars -- Christopher Gray
DEAD CAN DANCE
Spiritchaser (4AD)
For those odd moments when we want to light candles, turn out the lights, and
let the music carry us away, do we really want a different Dead Can Dance
record? Can't we be satisfied with Aion, 1990's soulful trip back to
Medieval days and surely the first record to pave the way for the upstart
Benedictine Monks? Even fans of Brendan Perry and Lisa Gerrard may think twice
before buying a sixth disc, given the familiar liturgical feeling running
through each of DCD's six offerings. But this duo's come a long way since their
danceable but oh-so-Gothic 1985 debut, and 11 years later, DCD act as
ethnomusicologists for the masses. On Spiritchaser, they've brought
together polished musicians to produce a sexy, though slightly disjointed,
collection of ethereal "world beat" -- including a blending of Algonquin Indian
prayers and Haitian chants. And chasing those spirits is Gerrard's haunting,
soaring voice. With Spiritchaser, there's finally a sense that Perry
& Gerrard have transcended their fixation on ambience without sacrificing
one iota of their trademark trance-inducing magic.
3 1/2 stars -- Melissa Rawlins
ORBITAL
In Sides (Internal/Full Frequency)
The only real competition The Orb has ever had (or Moby, for that matter) is
Orbital, whose third full-length is a lush collection of sonic landscapes that
drops the patronizing experimentalism of 1994's Snivilisation in favor
of a more pulsing groove that flows in and out of your subconscious like the
sinewy little mindbomb that it is. Seven tracks, all lengthy, careen from
trippy, near-ambient dub to semi-cohesive strings of blips, beeps, and Roland
shockwaves. It's no Orbital 2, sure, but it's a lot closer to the groove
than their last outing. What with the dearth of raves in town these days, or at
least a dropoff in frequency, here's a chance to drag out the Koss headphones,
slip in some truly original funky beats, and trip out without benefit of
unreliable ecstasy. One track, "The Girl With the Sun in Her Head," was even
recorded using Cyrus, Greenpeace's mobile solar generator. Ever at the
forefront of environmental causes, Orbital takes a stand against those annoying
fossil fuels this time out. Hard to argue with music like this.
31/2 stars -- Marc Savlov
NAS
It Was Written (Columbia)
A lot's going to be made of Nas' sheer verbal flow, but this New Yorker's
sophomore release deserves more credit for its own flow -- a firm,
track-to-track packaging of narrative tales and graphic nonfiction. And while
the wordplay is fairly straight, Nas' knack for imagery and offbeat fantasy is
far deeper; from the life-as-a-gun personification of "I Gave You Power" to the
Eurythmic influenced "Street Dreams." But even with the East-meets-West dream
team of Nas and Dr. Dre ("Nas Is Coming") and the equally undistracting use of
production heavies like Mobb Deep's Havoc, DJ Premier, and Trackmasters, Nas'
best import is the Fugees' Lauryn Hill, who adds the retro-soul backdrop to a
stunning rewrite of Kurtis Blow's "If I Ruled the World (Imagine That)." It's
the undeniable hit, and even if it is the last song on the album, this song's
virtually guaranteed to be heard on each listen, because records this solidly
crafted tend to spin straight through.
4 stars -- Andy Langer
BECK
Odelay (DGC)
If Beck ever gets bored with this recording gig, he can always hit the
sideshow circuit as the Human Sampling Machine. Beck treats the recording
studio as a bowl to catch whatever it is he vomits up from the bowels of the
pop culture, and as such Odelay is an apothecary's warehouse of
subreferences that finally lands somewhere between Jon Spencer and "Jingle
Bells." The words "media saturation" obviously don't faze this fair-haired boy
in the slightest; Odelay boasts everything from video game noises to
this Dali-house moment of half Death Row gangsta funk, half pre-programmed
Casio ditty. The nonsequitur factor here is totally off the chart, and it's an
absolutely sublime, beautiful thing. Who but Beck would splice KISS-style
guitar breaks into an inspired updating of "Dead Flowers" called "Lord Only
Knows," or recruit jazz bassist extraordinaire Charlie Haden to lay down a
groove on the mellow space ballad "Ramshackle?" Nobody. He's where it's at, and
that's why we love him. Forget trying to explain him.
4 stars -- Christopher Gray
HAYDEN
Everything I Long For (Outpost)
If Beck and Alice In Chains appreciated Neil Young just a little more, they'd
be a louder version of Hayden, a quiet Canadian with big folk songs of
frustrated American youth. And "folk" is the key word here -- as in meticulous,
breathy, and lyrical. In fact, Hayden' folk rings truest when he's dealing with
the mundane, as he searches for his "Skates," life beyond his "Bunkbed," and
living/recording at "My Parent's House." But from his back-of-the-throat wails
to his front-of-the-mix bass plucking on the droopy rockers "Bad As They Seem,"
"In September," and the instrumental "Assignment in Space With Rip Foster,"
it's evident that everything Hayden's got on Everything I Long For is
still far more than similarly `lost souls' like Vedder, Weiland, and Corrigan
may ever find.
31/2 stars -- Andy Langer
THE*ROCK*A*TEENS
(Daemon)
At some point in life, everyone has to undertake a self-reflective, critical
reexamination of their Wonder Years, and the minimalist pop combo is a swell
medium for such an endeavor. The*Rock*A*Teens' bread and butter is the timeless
allure of faraway surf guitar reverberation mixed with the attitude and energy
of Midwestern basement party rock. This deceptively easy genre is full of bands
that quit learning how to play after not getting booed off the stage at their
first gig, but the*Rock*A*Teens have a knack for can't-miss structures and an
endless goody bag full of gimmickry. The not-too-cute-to-be-cute lyrics are
spewed forth with plaintive adolescent innocence by Christopher Verene, and
highlights here include a earnest yet twisted cover of "I'm Your Puppet," and
the oh-so dramatics of "Arm in Arm, In the Golden Twilite, We Loitered On..."
(which would be a winner on title alone). The album is full of good songs you
want to hear again, but they have all the charm of something your next door
neighbors recorded in their garage.
3 stars -- Greg Beets
JAMES HALL
Pleasure Club (Geffen)
If the Walls of Jericho were in the Louisiana Bayou, this blast could knock
them right down. The bleat seems to come from -- what is that? -- a harmonica?
No, man. That's James Hall's throat: "uh Laaaaah-ve huh-huh/uh Laaaaah-ve
huh-huh". It sounds like he's saying "love." It sounds like Lucifer rising.
Pleasure Club rips open the gullet of Southern Rock and Southern Goth
with a grace not seen since James White or Brown, and doncha know, those crafty
marketeers at Geffen are pitching a lone single, "Illingness," as the hit. This
brilliant marketing con will lure KGSR-types into believing that Hall is a
tame, radio-ready Southern gentleman as easy on the ears and palatable to the
kids as the pablum of shake-your-money
-maker poseurs like the Black Crowes
or some such shill. Heh-heh heh. Just wait 'til they step inside that deadly
Trojan Horse and the grizzled grit of Screaming Jay Hawkins, Janis Joplin,
Richard Hell, the Gun Club, and the Divine Horsemen darkens their hearts.
31/2 stars -- Kate X Messer