Whereabouts Unknown (Ripe & Ready)
Geez, ya gotta cut USA Today a little slack for
mistakenly
printing Nixon’s picture as Roky Erickson: Ol’ Mojey-Wojey is, after
all, doing
his best Roky on the cover of his latest, Whereabouts Unknown.
And
although the sign on the back cover of the CD has the
indigent-appearing Nixon
holding a “I Say Bad Words on My Record” sign, no one reading titles
like
“Don’t Ask Me Why I Drink,” “Girlfriend in a Coma,” and “Tie My Pecker
to My
Leg” (co-written with head Beat Farmer Country Dick Montana) is going
to be
surprised at the testosterone-laden, locker-room mentality displayed
within.
I’m a big fan of stupid, and this is not to say that Nixon’s
catchy-as-all-hell, well orchestrated songs don’t create huge laughs;
they just
don’t create very memorable music.
2 1/2 stars – Margaret Moser
DON PULLEN & THE AFRICAN BRAZILIAN CONNECTION
Live at Montreux (Blue Note)
Five guys, five tunes, 73 minutes in the outdoor air of the
hallowed
Montreux Jazz festival. The opening riff sets the melody and from
there, it’s
one 10-15-minute roam after another through the Brazilian jungle by way
of the
African Desert – thanks to tight tropical rhythms and percussionist Mor
Thiam.
Pullen, the 53-year-old Mingus sideman who died last month, passes the
solo
torch back and forth with Carlos Ward (Cotrane, Don Cherry), whose alto
sax
soars serenely sweet, and gives this seamless album such an airy feel –
which
is not to leave out Pullen, who pumps the languid, often upbeat pulse
of this
affair with his easy yet energetic pianistics. Thiam’s mantra chants on
the
closing two numbers “Kele Mou Bana,” and the tropical Sonny Rollins
dance
groove of “Aseeko! (Get Up and Dance!)” bring your invigorating
afternoon at
the Swiss music fest to a close, leaving you with a longing for next
year’s
pilgrimage to the jazz outpost.
3 1/2 stars – Raoul Hernandez
NEW BOMB TURKS
Information Highway Revisted (Crypt)
Taking their name from a character in the late-night cable
staple of
teen flicks Hollywood Knights, the Turks’ Information
Highway is
a welcome addition to many record collections worldwide. Recorded in
Austin
almost a year ago, and packed with 15 songs of raw, unbridled punk
energy,
Ohio’s Turks combine three-chord changes matched with some serious,
crooning
vocals instead of the requisite rawk-bark. Lyrically speaking, it’s
nice to see
subjects that diversify themselves from something other than drinking,
fighting, and fucking (try “Brother Orson Welles”). Although this album
steamrolls out of your speakers, pausing now and again to shimmy on top
of the
wreckage, the main difference between the Turks and other punk bands is
you’re
left with something more substantial than an anthem in your head once
the
concussion clears. (New Bomb Turks play Emo’s Friday 12.)
4 stars – Kelly M. Petrash
CAKE
Motorcade of Generosity (Capricorn)
Before the Beatles changed their worlds, frat boys washed
dishes back
at the house, singing along with clean-cut folkies like the Brothers
Four.
Though Cake fits the modern definition of neither frat nor folk music,
it
wouldn’t be at all surprising for them to launch into “Samakamwaki
Brown, ” the
Brothers Four at their most bizarre. While they’ve been known to
straightface
Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” live, their album is cover-free, and,
since
we’re on the subject, genre-free. A quartet made five by a trumpet
player, Cake
carry themselves with the snittiness of technically proficient,
lyrically aware
music lovers, who are almost anachronistically untrendy and brazenly
proud of
it. Check their first single “Rock `n’ Roll Lifestyle,” a talk-sing
rant that
pisses on the very kiddies they should be courting as fans. Their
guitars are
too clean and their lyrics too clear for the alterno-populace, probably
leaving
them at the hands of, well, folkies and frat folk. Sorry, guys.
2 stars – Mindy LaBernz
BUSH
Sixteen Stone (Interscope)
The British tabloids usually make a great fuss over their next
big
thing, which generally changes weekly. Bush hasn’t made the cover of
Melody
Maker, but that may be a blessing in an American market. Where
recent
British invaders have not exactly failed but moved sluggishly, Bush may
very
well succeed. They’re simply more American than the likes of Suede,
Oasis, and
Blur. Vocally and lyrically somber, sexual and intense as our Seattle
boys
Eddie, Kurt, and Chris, they’re driven by the immediacy of Gavin
Rosedale’s
grainy purr and the surge of Nigel Pulsford’s guitar. Not guilty of the
typical
British pomposity, their only sin is the gravity with which they assail
each
song. Ah, but Gavin’s a lovely bloke, and since the album has been
produced
properly, all they need is a bit of good old American marketing, and
they’ll
show Oasis the real meaning of huge.
3 1/2 stars – Mindy LaBernz
TOMAS RAMIREZ
Tejazz (Vireo)
It has always been my contention that had it been released
in NYC or
L.A., Tomas’ debut of a dozen years ago Jazzmanian Devil would
have been
a commercial jazz success. During this same period, I fondly remember
the night
Ramirez more than held his own on stage with the late firebreathing
saxman Joe
Farrell and trumpet ace Luis Gasca. It’s this balance of explorative
vision and
commercial sensibility that characterizes Tejazz, the
long-awaited
second release from Austin’s perennially popular and mercurial
saxophonist.
Highlighting this set are two extended, high-powered pieces, “Nothing
Yet” and
“La Puta,” both long-time staples of the band’s frequent Elephant Room
gigs.
Ramirez is joined by the ever-tasteful Doug Hall on keyboards and Mitch
Watkins
on blistering guitar as all three musicians are given plenty of room to
stretch
out and create. I just wish more of the local jazz scene were this
adventurous.
The rest of this collection is filled with decidedly lighter fare, from
the
funky to the sublime. The lovely voices of the Tejana Dames, with whom
Ramirez
plays regularly, grace the Delmore Bros.’ “Blues Stay Away From Me.” A
pair of
short sax interludes open and close the set, providing fitting bookends
to this
strong return to the fore. Denos Mas, Tomas.
3 1/2 stars – Jay Trachtenberg
CHRIS MARS
Tenterhooks (Bar None)
Someone get Chris Mars a producer. Sure, I love the former
Replacements
drummer’s wry sense of humor, his Ray Davies-like tune crafting
ability, and
yes, his twisted artwork that has adorned the covers of all three of
his solo
releases, but does he have to do everything himself? The credits
of
Tenterhooks let us know in no uncertain terms that the album was
“Written, produced, performed, engineered, mixed, arranged, whacked,
bruised,
beaten, eaten… helped and ruined by Chris Mars.” So what’s wrong with
this
slab of DIY? Well, for one thing, Mars’ vocals continue to be
overreverbed to
the point that they reek of a guy who’s not confident of his voice. For
another, the whole disc sounds tinny, like one that’s only been run
through two
ears. Mars is a long way from running out of great subjects/targets for
his
anger and frustrations; here he hits mall music (“White Patty Rap”),
Rush
Limbaugh (“E.I.B. Negative”), and in “Brother Song” takes on the sad
life and
death of Bob Stinson (“Sleep fast/Sleep well/Let all the monsters go
back to
hell”). He even does some neat turns with disco (“Water Biscuits”). In
fact, if
this album sucked, the sound wouldn’t bug me. But as it is, what
Tenterhooks most sounds like is a demo. A good demo, but I’d
rather have
waited for the album.
2 1/2 stars
This article appears in May 12 • 1995 and May 12 • 1995 (Cover).