AUSTIN LOUNGE LIZARDS
Small Minds (Watermelon)
As David St. Hubbins once said, “There’s a fine line between
stupid and
clever.” A comedy/novelty band making a concept album would seem to
fall into
the former category. However, such a band managing to pull it off would
have to
be moved to the latter. Small Minds is indeed clever, even if
calling it
a concept album is a bit of a stretch. Humor-oriented music, especially
of the
type descending from the Kingston Trio school of semi-political folk,
has
always found stupid people to be excellent song-fodder. So a whole set
of tunes
touching on the various aspects of ignorance isn’t beyond the
cleverness of a
band like the Austin Lounge Lizards. From the simple (the cheap
numerical jokes
of “Half a Man” and the neo-Gumpism of “Life Is Hard, But Life Is
Harder When
You’re Dumb”) to the sublime (“Bonfire of the Inanities”‘ ponderance on
the
insignificance of mankind), and off into the savage socio-political
swipes of
“Gingrich the Newt,” they all continue to pack the right amount
of jokes
and musical surprises into their songs, along with the catchy
mandolin/banjo/steel guitar fun they’ve provided through years of gigs
and
dozens of changing members. Good stuff. Unless you’re a Republican.
And/or
dumb.
3.5 stars – Ken Lieck
JESSE DAYTON
Raisin’ Cain (Justice)
Maybe the list of players (Doug Sahm, Floyd Domino, Johnny
Gimble,
Flaco Jimenez, etc.) set my expectations too high. Maybe the repeated
misspelling of Jimmie Rodgers’ name on the lyric sheet to “Train of
Dreams”
just got my goat. Either way, this album seems to me to live up to its
name too
well; it raises Cain (a nice, acceptable family euphemism) when it
oughtta be
raisin’ hell. Dayton’s voice doesn’t sink, but neither does it sail on
this
all-original set. Dayton’s country-meets-rock-meets-honky-tonk tunes
aren’t to
blame; they manage to sound current without being plastic and “country
radio
ready,” and while there’s no new ground broken here lyrically, there’s
good,
playful handling of clich�, as in “If fools really tread where
angels
fear/Then what’s an angel like you doing here?” (from “Angel Like
You.”) The
playing is fine, too, and there are occasional treats from the various
band
members, but on the whole, Raisin’ Cain never quite rises above
just
Abel.
2.5 stars –Ken Lieck
POTTER’S FIELD
Live at the Outhouse
It’s always a good idea to record your band’s last gig before
you break
up. It’s a better idea yet when the band is still in good form at the
time. And
if you can get a release-quality recording out of it, then it’s a
really
good idea. A review of the band, included in the liner notes, uses
the
phrase “Dylan meets Sugar.” That may be a bit of a stretch, but on a
knee-jerk
level at least, it’s fairly apt. There’s a bit of a Bob Mould edge to
the
production on this tape, as well as an electric-folk tinge to the
band’s sound,
though it falls much easier into the rock category, and certainly
belongs more
in the modern world than in Dylan’s decade. Potter’s Field’s music is
upbeat,
though without mindless optimism in the lyrics. Despite the finality of
the
tape’s concept (if a band’s breakup can ever be considered “final”
anymore),
this is hardly a mope-fest either. The title of the set’s opening song,
in
fact, best sums up what PF offers in its music: “Pockets of Hope.”
3.0 stars –Ken Lieck
SIXTEEN DELUXE
Backfeed Magnetbabe (Trance Syndicate)
Whither the buzz? It can either catapult you to
super-duper-megastardom
a la Live or slice your hand off quicker than you can say
“Weezer.” No
band can survive without a buzz, but to invoke Janet Jackson, it all
comes down
to “What Have You Done for Me Lately?” Sixteen Deluxe has to answer
that
question every time they play. The young Trance band, best described as
Ed
Hall’s kid sister, have had their asses kissed by the buzz-creators,
and while
it’s still too early to tell if they’re deserving of the lipstick,
Backfeed
Magnetbabe is a sizable step in the right direction. Underneath all
the
hype, Sixteen Deluxe is a very competent rock band. On their debut, the
songs
still tend toward the tripped-out jams of their live shows, but they
are seldom
flat-out boring. Live staples “Fetus,” “Baby Headrush,” and “Now”
benefit from
clean production (it’s amazing what a nice voice singer Carrie Clark
has, when
you can hear it) without losing that propulsive Trance throb, and
“Idea” is one
of those perfect singles every band should be so lucky to write. The
record
ends with a 15-minute, feedback-drenched version of Alex Chilton’s
“Kangaroo,”
but apparently record-closing long distortion jams are mandatory for
Trance
releases these days. If Backfeed Magnetbabe weren’t so solid and
full of
potential, Sixteen Deluxe would be gone. But this is a band that still
has its
best record ahead of it, and if they can stay together long enough,
maybe they
can show all us frustrated musicians in the press a thing or two about
the
buzz. And really, what do we know, anyway?
3.5 stars – Chris Gray
DAH-VEED
Blind Hips In Motion (Wide Open)
David Garza has always been too nice of a guy to deserve his
status as
press whipping-boy, but not saintly enough to merit overlooking the
unfocused
pop crap he seemed to release as often as the wind changed direction.
Now, in a
stripped-down trio format, Garza has learned both the merits of pop’s
simplicity and how to swing complicated phrases around complicated
rhythms. At
his best – the opening one-two punch of “Core” and “Grab” – Garza
juggles both
facets superbly. And even when he only concentrates on one lesson, he’s
a
smooth enough balladeer and quirky enough rocker to pull off a
genre-jumper
that might not be entirely cohesive, but is something far more – part
and
parcel of his first consistently challenging record.
3.0 stars – Andy Langer
DEEP BLUE SOMETHING
Home (Interscope)
Able to make Jackopierce look punk in a single acoustic strum,
Deep
Blue Something’s approach is to embrace that which their hometown of
Denton
rebelled against with its noise scene – Deep Ellum fluff. Does that
make them
alternative? No, just lame. This reissue of their independent
Home only
supports the theory that their regional hit single “Breakfast at
Tiffany’s” is
not cute after all, just safely stupid. And sadly, after signing The
Reverend
Horton Heat, The Toadies, and Brutal Juice, Interscope’s release of
Home mark’s the label’s first Dallas misstep: waist-deep into shit.
(no stars) – Andy Langer
THE FLYING SAUCERS
(Propeller)
Here are five seamlessly executed pieces of cavernous, droning
space
rock that exude an ever-so-slight hint of Eighties Southern pop a
la Reivers. For better or worse, the Flying Saucers refuse to challenge
the
sedentary listener; their songs simply flow. “Fitting (Come in
for a)”
leads off with a trace of engagement, but the remaining songs show that
the
band’s propensity for pop hooks is in need of further development. This
music
works as esoteric background noise, which certainly has its time and
place, but
it’s unlikely to make you step back and invoke superlatives of anger or
joy.
2.0 stars – Greg Beets
LOST GONZO BAND
Hands of Time (Vireo)
SHAKIN’ APOSTLES
Tucson (ESD)
The Gonzos have always made a big deal about genre-mixing, but
is that
a virtue in and of itself? Hands of Time is a typical Gonzo
scattershot,
a little of this and that, but ultimately being less than the sum of
the talent
on hand (this version of the Gonzos is John Inmon, Bob Livingston,
Lloyd
Maines, Riley Osbourn, Tomas Ramirez, and Paul Pearcy). There are
certainly
flashes of brilliance – Inmon blasts some typically hot guitar solos,
Livingston’s explorations of Indian music are peppered throughout, and
the
lyrics of Livingston and Reade Wood’s title track come off like a Gonzo
version
of the Talking Heads’ “Nothing but Flowers.” I certainly commend
covering “Big
Ol’ White Boys,” Terry Allen’s blistering critique of European
imperialism, but
some songs, frankly, are just boring, and it never comes together as a
cohesive
whole, and ends up sounding like a spare-time project from these
musicians’
money gigs, which, of course, it is. Other Gonzo activities come from
the
Shakin’ Apostles, featuring Inmon and longtime Jerry Jeff Walker
drummer Freddy
“Steady” Krc. Tucson certainly doesn’t lack focus, as it’s a
concept
album telling the story of an Arizona cowboy whose love for a woman
results in
the murder of her father and a life on the run. It’s a respectable
effort from
Krc, but not really spectacular. As far as country/rock concept albums
go, it
certainly doesn’t compare with Willie Nelson’s ventures into the field,
or even
Alvin Crow’s never-released Free at Last (A White Trash Opera).
The
storyline has potential, but the execution just isn’t as compelling as
it could
be. Once again, however, there are some solid guitar parts, I assume
from
Inmon, but possibly from Danny Thorpe.
2.5 stars (both) – Lee Nichols
RICK TREVINO
Looking for the Light (Columbia)
As far as overproduced Nashville albums go, this Round Rock
native’s
second effort is not too bad. But that’s not saying much, is it? Just
like his
debut album last year, Trevino alternates some decent country twangers,
heavily
imitative of George Strait, with those godawful, Eagles-influenced
ballads that
heavily pollute so-called “country” radio. Trevino’s art would be
enhanced if
he spent some time hanging out at Jovita’s listening to Don Walser, but
obviously, his bank account wouldn’t, so I imagine he’ll stay on the
Nashville
path. He at least covers Merle Haggard, so there’s some hope for him,
but he
certainly won’t find the light with those major labels.
2.0 stars – Lee Nichols
BANANA BLENDER SURPRISE
No Shower Week (Secret Ingredient)
This album is far better than it should be. Considering that
it’s the
result of endless hours at the House of Groove (Black Cat to you
commoners),
it’s a tremendous feat that each of these catchy little ditties lasts
no longer
than three or four minutes (though the repeat and fade choruses hint at
how the
agony is probably prolonged for the swilling, swirling meat market).
Though
they kick off the CD sounding a bit like Jimmy Buffet, the band quickly
show
that it’s a little bit country and a little bit rock & roll – circa
early
Carl Perkins. Actually, they zip all over the place with a ZZ Top
sound-alike,
a Doors-ish freak-out, and a whistled mess that could be the theme to
some
Seventies TV drama starring Bill Bixby. The forays into doofy groove
(replete
with dueling harmonica and guitar) are forgivable and not all that bad
since
they don’t seem to take themselves too seriously. True to their name,
they’ve
whipped up quite a mishmash of music here. Some swallows go down
smooth, others
are a bit chunky.
3.0 stars – Mindy
LaBernz
KIRT KEMPTER
Strange Things (Zanman)
Hey, who let the adults in the control room? It actually
sounds like a
grown-up wrote and produced these songs. Why, it seems like he’s
actually
developed a coherent musical vision here. But, is it a good vision?
Well, he
understands it, believes it, and presents it convincingly. While the
New-Agey
CD cover does his enchanting song-driven sound a disservice, it does
convey the
overall peaceful aura it emanates. With a voice that is more ironic
than the
songs’ contents (much talk of coyotes and the Rio Grande) and chord
progressions that are more subtle and complex than your average country
song,
he evades traditional genre placement. Actually, he drops squarely into
AAA
radio; this must be getting mucho KGSR airtime. With less stranger
things going
on here than the title track would suggest, he’d probably do better to
rename
it “Soundtracks for Sunsets” and put Pe�a art on the cover.
3.0 stars – Mindy LaBernz
TISH HINOJOSA
Frontejas (Rounder)
All the Spanish I know I learned on Sesame Street, and
at
G�ero’s. Yet it doesn’t matter when I listen to this record. After
a
blatant attempt at commercialism with last year’s predominantly English
Destiny’s Gate, Hinojosa returns to her roots for the almost
all-Spanish
Frontejas. She’s always had a pure and beautiful voice, but
sometimes
the passion has been lacking. Not here. She joyously romps through the
traditional “Pajarillo Barranqueno (Little Riverside Bird),” and her
own
drinking song “Otro Vasito (Another Little Glass)” with Santiago
Jimenez, Jr.,
and Eva Ybarra, respectively, on scintillating accordions. Then there’s
her
achingly gorgeous ballads, such as “Dejame Llorar (Let Me Weep),” which
can
make you cry in any language. Of course the Vegas-meets-Mexico showtune
“Polka
Fronterrestrial” – a duet with Ray Benson – also deserves a mention.
It’s a
playful celebration that mixes a bunch of different genres yet somehow
manages
to work. It’s a theme that Hinojosa would like us to transfer to people
as
well, and her message comes across clearly, sensually, joyously, and
beautifully, no matter what your lingual or musical preferences may
be.
3.5 stars – Al Kaufman
PLUM
Neptune’s Daughters
A pop band comprised of ex-Berklee students – yeccch.
Musically
overeducated pop bands are a generally shady lot; they usually
overplay,
oversing, over-chorus, and generally overdo it. Our Plum ain’t half bad
for
bunch of Players, but they still lack the guileless wonderment of a
truly gear
pop band. XTC and Crowded House are unquestionably worthy heroes, but
the
former suffers from a delicious dementia and the latter suffers no lack
of
genius songwriting. Plum suffers from nothing but flatness. No wonder
they
inexplicably brought Steely Dan to mind.
2.0 stars – Mindy LaBernz
STRETFORD
Crossing the Line (Unclean)
Exactly what line is being crossed with Stretford’s debut
full-lengther
remains undefined. Is it the line that separates three-chord, fuck-you
rock
(which they never were, were they?) from full-grown songs of power and
emotion
which still never abandon punk rock roots? Hard to believe, listening
to
Crossing the Line, that Stretford once housed a trio of rank
amateurs
doing their best to undermine the imaginative post-Pete Shelley
songcrafting of
leader Carl Normal. Now, with only “Zerox Love” remaining from those
days,
Stretford trademarks a band of Who-like fire and skill, capable of not
only the
most nimble bashing, but immense drama and subtlety. The horn section’s
gone
from gimmick to a necessary color, a cello pops in for a visit on
“Silhouette”
(an unheard-of touch from the usually mindless local punk scene), and
Sephton’s
songwriting has developed from being a window of 1977 to a crafty
display of
bitter rage, melancholy, and regret. Gifts like these and an individual
vision
like this – as well as an unwavering devotion to protecting and seeing
that
vision through – could take Stretford on quite a journey.
4.0 stars – Tim Stegall
SANTIAGO JIM�NEZ, JR.
M�sica de Tiempos Pasados, del Presente, y Futuro
(Watermelon)
If ever there was an accordion dynasty, it would have to be
the
Jim�nez triumvirate founded by the late Santiago Jim�nez,
Sr.
Although no longer with us, he left two capable sons to carry on the
squeeze
box banner. The elder son, Leonardo “Flaco” Jim�nez, is already
a living
legend. Bearing his father’s name, the younger Jim�nez is
certainly less
high-profile but no less a legendary heir to the great Santiago
Jim�nez,
Sr. And it is with the sincere hope of preserving his father’s
yesteryear sound
while forging forward with a spirit that is inspired by the
timelessness of
music, that Santiago Jim�nez, Jr., offers his latest. Produced
by
conjunto junkie and Bad Livers bassist Mark Rubin, M�sica de
Tiempos
Pasados, del Presente, y Futuro takes traditional conjunto into
uncharted
territories. “Chief,” as he is often called by his friends, is in fine
form on
a record which includes Jes�s “Jesse” Castillo on bajo sexto,
Rubin on
tololoche, tuba, and valve trombone, Erik Hokkanen on violin,
and Abel
Rocha on the harp. The eclectic instrumentation alone makes the album a
curious
throwback with no recent base in the kind of popular conjunto that
evolved
through the Thirties, Forties, and Fifties. Instead, Santiago and his
friends
have created an endearing “chamber conjunto.” While the songs bear the
mark of
traditional styles, among them rancheras, corridos, and
boleros, there’s an unmistakable old-world charm running through
each
tune. Far from a crooner with honey pipes, Santiago is a spotty,
hard-working
vocalist whose voice reeks of sincerity and long hours spent learning
styles
that most conjunto musicians tend to stay away from such as the
redova,
the chottis, and even a German-style polka complete with tuba
and valve
trombone. While the spirit of the cantina can be faintly detected in
polkas
like “La Nopalera” and “El Satelite,” or a corrido such as “Gabino
Barrera,”
the songs hearken back to a time before the accordion was considered a
working-class expression. They are much more reminiscent of the
19th-Century
orquestas t�picas, small anteroom ensembles,
sal�n-era
entertainment provided for guests in the interest of musical taste and
good
breeding. Unsurprisingly, some of the best songs are purely
instrumental. Past,
present, future, or a clever synthesis of all three, this is a lovely
homage to
the truest beginnings of border music. The record is vibrant and warm,
a
splendid addition to any serious Tex-Mex musical collection.
4.0 stars – Abel
Salas
STEPHEN BRUTON
Right On Time (dos/Antone’s)
Jack-of-all-trades Stephen Bruton is set on mastering one: his
career
as a solo artist. On his second solo effort, this producer (Sue Foley,
Jimmie
Dale Gilmore)/guitarist (Bonnie Raitt, Kris Kristofferson)/songwriter
(Willie
Nelson, The Highwaymen) certainly has his credentials in order; all
that’s
missing is the accolades for winners like “Bluebonnet Blue” and the
hip-grinding “Day Drinking” or a well-chosen Percy Mayfield cover such
as
“Please Send Me Someone to Love.” Bruton’s talents fall somewhere
between Tom
Petty’s facile grace and Joe Ely’s promise to deliver; with backing
musicians
that include his current touring band of bassist Chris Maresh and
drummer
Brannen Temple, Bruton has assembled a patchwork of well-crafted
material of
brash blues, barroom ballads, and pure-dee rockers that wraps you like
a warm
quilt on a cool Texas night. “Sometimes you get to watch when your
dreams go up
in smoke,” he sings on the title track. Yeah, but sometimes you get to
watch
them catch fire, too.
3.0 stars – Margaret Moser
IAN MOORE
Modernday Folklore (Capricorn)
This wouldn’t be the first record where the lead-off song is
also the
best – hell, the only song. There are fragments of others, a
verse here,
and melody there, but the record most certainly meanders through nearly
all its
55 minutes. And to its credit, it almost doesn’t matter. You
see, Ian
Moore wants to be an R&B singer, somewhere along the lines of Aaron
Neville
or Stevie Wonder, and frankly, he’s got the voice for it: His falsetto
is
beautiful and the croon is pure polished chrome. When he sings the
first verse
from “Society” or “Daggers,” suddenly the lights go mood, and candles
alight.
But that only lasts the length of a verse, or line. None of the many
mid-tempo
wanderings here hit their mark the way “Blue Sky” did on Moore’s debut.
Mostly,
it’s underwritten material, but there’s also no guitar pulling the
caboose.
Surprise! This record isn’t even trying to be a “guitar album.” Should
it be?
Only when your lead-off song “Muddy Jesus” is the best radio spot for
Texas
tourism since Stevie Ray Vaughan and ZZ Top. When Flaco Jimenez’
psychedelic
accordion clears the way for Moore’s delirious feedback intro, and he
hits the
tumbling riff, which later liquefies into a perfectly fluid funky solo
– all
the while singing of Jesus crossing the Rio Grande – there is only one
direction this record should have gone. Back to Texas for more SRV and
Billy
Gibbons. Bring the Neville wannabe, too, he’s pretty good.
2.0 stars – Raoul Hernandez
SHAVER
Unshaven: Live at Smithe’s Olde Bar (Zoo)
Either someone at Zoo knows what they’re doing or they struck
paydirt
the old-fashioned way: by sticking to formula. It’s here in the
handbook:
“Follow commercial breakthrough (and/or career rebirth) with live
album.
Include hits from last record.” Easy, right? Naw, most of those records
suck.
Not this one, though. Nope. Billy Joe Shaver is from Texas, boy, and if
you
cain’t cut it live there, you’re S.O.L., son. And after close to three
decades
of playing hot, smoky, character-building “dives” like, say, Antone’s
or the
Continental, Shaver can burn the house down, no problem. Which is
exactly what
he did over three nights this past January in Atlanta while Brendan
“The-Name-Alone-Sells” O’Brien rolled tape. Turn the fatten nobs a bit,
and
serve hot. Hot like Eddy Shaver, whose guitar cuts a swath through the
album
like David Grissom’s did on Ely’s Live at Liberty Lunch, which
is pretty
much what this record will be compared with. And rightly so.
4.0 stars – Raoul Hernandez
HAGFISH
Rocks Your Lame Ass (London)
Welcome to the umpteenth installment in the new wave of record
company
punk. In other words, welcome to punk rock stripped of threat, sweat,
and
aggression, manicured to order as a radio programmer’s wet dream. Like
every
other wish-we-were-the-Descendents band alive, Dallas’ Hagfish are long
on
adrenaline and pop, and short on the other necessary punk rock
ingredient:
rage. Not a bad loud & fast pop record, but it never lives up to
its title
– as great as it is. Which means, overall, we welcome you to punk rock
that
sounds like it was made by a band that wears suits. And remember
the
words of Wire: No more Mr. Suit!
1.0 stars –
Tim Stegall
This article appears in July 7 • 1995 and July 7 • 1995 (Cover).