Newspaper Page Text
David Johansen, Mississippi Sights,
St. Louis, Missouri
Not ,i note had lieen sounded, hut it was al-
i each dear th.it tlu* energx < mis was not to
he David Johansen's problem. Along the
north wall he raced with his voung, max-
< araed band, crying "rock and roll" as soon
.is he hounded onto the low, darkened
stage. Then, a white-blazered b.uk to the
audience — right arm up —left arm
down — and as the lights flashed on, he
spun around and cut loose with “Cool
Metro," from his hist album.
\ow he had a problem. Apparently
hoarse to begin w ith. Johansen was
shouting, not singing his lyriis as he does
on his smooth, new In Shir l.P
The.itrically, he was faring a bit (letter.
Johauser's resemblance to Mick Jagger
(w ho. tc o, has been yelling his lyrics of late)
is a strong one, especially the Hst-on-hip
swagger. It is also true that Johansen re
mains the more sympathetic performer of
the two — a clown whose control veers
askew of automatic and whose* stare is not
Jaggeresque steely-blue devilry, but rather
more that of a friendly but slightly dis
turbed cocker spaniel.
Johansen did have his serious moments,
however, and because they emphasized
How over drive, they became the night's
best. Building from the sixth song, the
formidable "Flamingo Road," he arrived,
five steadily-improving entries later, at his
masterpiece, "Frenchette."
“Is anybody here suffering from intel
lectual starvation?" he asked, dubbing the
Ampersand
many who responded in the affirmative,
“mv people." “This song is especiallv dedi
cated to you and anyone else w ho's on a
dirt
Indeed, “Frenchette” was as meaty as
one could w ish, developing from an
acoustic opening that, like all of the set's
bettei pieces, included Johansen on guitar,
into a gorgeous tapestry of tortuous trills
and turns that featured the tandem efforts
of guitarists Thomas Trask and Fred G.
(Giardinello), and ending in a tooled-
down. talking-bluesy coda. “Frenchette”
imparts a new sense of direction to the
realm of extended rock music.
Unfortunately. Johansen soon lost his
honing instinct in a rah-rah version of The
Four lops* eternal crowd-mover, “Reach
Out, I’ll Be There," coincidentally in the
current "live" set of another former
'glam" rocker, Tim Gurry. Johansen lit
erally lifted the song to the rafters, trek
king out into the audience and scaling a
roof support; but comparing this exhibi
tion to Gurry's heady vocals and over
whelmingly sexy presence — and Johan
sen's band, who couldn't stay together once
their leader had left the stage, to the sea
soned Gurry crew — the Johansen rendi
tion finished a sophomoric second.
Patti Dewing
Madeline Murray O'Hair, Social
Sciences A uditorium, Vniversity of
Arizona
Nbu haven't lieheld the quintessence of dry
sarcasm til you’ve seen Atheist Woman
F.xtraordinaire Madeline Murray O'llair
recite a prayer. A big. dowdy grandmother,
she hardly changed expression whether
lecturing or acknowledging applause.
But when O'llair got to the meat and
gravy, tax-funded religious practices, or
the self deception of prayer, she was glee
ful. animated, merry.
And her summary of the ridiculous ir
relevance of prayer was undeniable. From
war victory prayers to football victory
prayers — (»od stops in his cosmic duties to
enter the locker room and pick a winnah.
But Murray O'llair gets mired in fol
lowing her print iples completely: no more
carols in schools, no more decorations on
city-maintained streets, no religious music
for state university orchestras.
No Ghristmas? That’s going toooo far.
David Hancock
Jane Fonda, Hotel Roosevelt, Neu<
York City
Jan Fonda strode into the ballroom of the
Hotel Roosevelt to a standing ovation of
5(H) w ildly applauding women. The occa
sion, Fonda's support of Women Office
Workers (WOW), was part of a nationwide
tour the actress and husband Tom Hayden
had constructed as spokespersons for
their political organization. Gampaign for
Fconomic Democracy.
With nods of recognition and periodic
applause in the ballroom, Fonda re
counted what she had learned while
speaking to women office workers across
the country. "Ybur lives are so dreary, so
serious. You arrive at the office first and
you are the last to leave. You face every
thing from sexual harassment to watching
the young kid you trained get promoted
over you." Her new film, aptly titled 9 to 5.
would Ik* an attempt to dot ument these
traumas. " The only way I can tell youi
story." she said, "is to do it as a comedy. I
think it will bring out howls of recogni
tion."
Fonda urged a coalition of women to ban
together and fight for their well-deserved
pay increases, job security and promo
tions. “It won't Ik* easy and it won't happen
overnight," she reminded. "But I've been
called everything from a lesbian to a com
munist for speaking out for what 1 believe
in and you w ill lx* called names too." And
then, with what seemed like an after
thought. Fonda declared, “In time, history
will prove you right."
Bob Weinberger
Triumph, Rtml Oak Theater,
Detroit
Heavy metal music doesn't want to die.
even if detractors say it sounds that way.
The bone-crunching rock of Van Halcn
has been one of the most successf ul of re
cent rock & roll mutations, a lieacon for
new groups wanting to make it on the rock
circuit.
Triumph, a relatively young Toronto-
based trio, proved to a packed audience in
hard-rock Detroit that they're contenders
for a slice of the |H*rsistent metal market.
Triumph's focus, both musically and
visually, is lead guitarist and vocalist Kik
Ktnmett. Dazzling the mostly high school-
age crowd with his lightning speed and
impressive versatility during an extended
solo, F.mmett showed a style that merits the
term "attack." trekking repeatedly from
one end of the tonal spectrum to the other.
Whatever F.mmett chose to do set the
mood of the evening, whether it was
strumming a southing ballad on an acous-
tic guitar alone on stage w ith Ijghts
dimmed, or assaulting his electric Gil mod.
Triumph also trotted out some spec
tacular. blinding special effects. The ap
preciative crowd was treated to everything
from flash pots, flames and explosions to
dry ice smoke and the kind's name in bold,
towering letters at the hack of the stage.
Overw helming theaudienc e is the name of
the heavy metal game, and Triumph goes
at it with the energy of a neophyte band
and the professionalism of a seasoned en
semble.
Tim Yagle
Anthony Braxton, Kingston Coffee
Shop, Portland, Oregon
At lies! an unaccompanied solo-musical
performance is a parlous endeavor; at
worst it involves a musician playing com
pletely for himself, stark, cold and private.
Saxophonist Anthony Braxton's recent
sets in Portland illustrated those risks,
pointing up the dangers that dog all sol
oists, but Braxton in particular. Braxton
says his aim is to establish a "spiritual and
composite vibrationary affinity-arena of
world culture," hut his playing is all too
often detached, impersonal and ab
stracted As an instrumentalist and an im
proviser. Braxton descends from Col-
trane, Dolphy, Ayler and Goleman, but
while their playing had strong melodic
underpinnings — Goltrane's fervent lyri
cism, Coleman's roots in the blues, even
Ayler’s passion for folk forms. gospcTaiid
l)f<ember, 1979
marches — Braxton's marie is more au
stere and keeps its antecedents more con- •
cealed. The result is that Braxton plaxs a
jazz in whic h the soloing is a monologue
while his predecessors engaged in
dialogue's with their accompanists and the •
received tradition.
Most of Braxton's compositions are
identified bv symbolic mobiles, compli
cated looking designs full of geometric *
shapes, numbers and swooping ara!>-
esques, rather than song titles. They are
disconcerting, an Apollonian reserve and
introspection in a Dionysian landscape,
but they're also appropriate; Braxton's
preoccupation is with experimental in
quiries into the struc tural possihilities and
textures of his w riling rather than w ith
melody, rhy thm or mood. Much of his
playing was based on displacements of
rhythm and silence, dissonance and #
counterpoint.
Braxton is capable of warmth and
emotion; his formalism is a matter of
i hoice and conviction. Braxton strives to ^
combine the improviser and the composer,
to reconcile f reedom and form. His sets at
the Kingston could have used a lot more
anarchic intensity and less constraint. •
Peter Sistrom
Van Morrison, SIU Arena, .
Carhondale, II,
His tuhhv appearance in The Last Waltz
should convince the public th.it Van Mor- *»
rison is challenging Paul Simon for the
“musical artist most likely to In* mistaken
for an insurance salesman” award. One
honest listen to "Garavan." Morrison's con- *
trihution to the Band's swan song, should
likewise convince them of the accuracy of
German film director Wim Wenders as
sessment of his music: "I know of'no music *
that is more lucid, fcclable, hearable, see-
able, tout liable, no music you c an expe
rience more intensely than this."
How then does one explain the fac t that 4
there were several empty seals in this
lO.(MM) seat arena? That question nagged
me right up to the moment Morrison #
be gan "Kingdom Hall," that most perfect
of opening songs. As he sang "So glad to
see you. so glad you’re here..." the ques
tion gave way to abject pity for those not ,
present. Backed by the hand from his
latest WB release,Into the Music, Morrison
fired off a ninetv minute reaffirmation of
his ahilil\ to arrange horns, write tunes „
with more than three or four chunks
c holds, and dclivei vocals w ith the kind of
"soul" that makes the word seem ludicrous
in any other context. •
I he set inc luded six songs from the new
album, from the uptempo, infectious
"Blight Side of the Road” to the haunting
" Troubadours." But the crowd was most *
attuned (and what crowd isn't) to the songs
they had lived with for years, and when
liackup vocalist Katie Kissooti took a verse
of "Moondance" or Pee Wee Ellis and *•
Mark lshain leaned into the horn rill on
"Into the Mystic" one sensed the apprecia
tion before the applause lx*gan.
"Wavelength” faded into " Tupelo
Honey" to officially close the show, and
then the transcendent moments of the
evening began: encores of "Brown-eyed ^
Girl,” "Wild Night," and 1965's “Gloria.” As
the crowd jammed the stage chanting
G-L-O-R-l-A and keyboardist Hrte Wing-
Held did an impromptu jig on his Steinway. #
I noticed a mid-thirtyish professorial type
in a state of devotion-cum-ecstasy doing
what could only have been the frug. It was
that kind of night. •
Terry GJoe