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6 • The Red and Black • Thursday, July 20. 1989
SOUND
Go see "UHF." I dare you.
Otherwise. Rob Reiner's "When Harry Met Sally ..." Is probably
the closest you'll come to a sure thing, sight unseen. You could
just save your money to see "The Abyss" In a couple of weeks.
Love and Rockets takes flight, Faith No More loses faith
Love and Rockets: Exploring new territory with “Love and Rockets"
Love and Rockets: "Love and
Rockets" (Bigtime/Beggnrs Ban
quet)
Ladies and gentlemen, pre
senting the band that only gets
better with age, Love and Rockets.
The band’s fourth album
(counting “Seventh Dream of
Teenage Heaven") is its most ac
cessible yet. Although this would
mean the kiss of death for most
157 College Ave
353-3158
RECORD REVIEWS
bands, such is not the case here.
Daniel Ash, David J and Kevin
Haskins have been steadily tight
ening and defining their sound
since the hazy psychedelia of "Sev
enth Dream, and this is another
step in that ladder, with ten songs
that are much more focused than
even their last album, "Earth, Sun,
Moon."
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ers for news, entertainment and sports. If you n
drooling at the chance to work for us, stop by our
offices at 123 N. Jackson St. above Kinko's and ask
for Jennifer Rampey, our editor for new writers.
The Red & Black
They even explore a wide variety
of different musical forms along
the way.
There’s the album opener, a
Guns & Roses-ish number, bor
dering on thrash, called
“••••(Jungle Law)” The band
breezes on through the first side
with the hit “Motorcycle" and an
ethereal, almost impressionistic
flashback into psychedelia, ‘The
Purest Blue ”
The second side is even bettor. It
includes a raucous neo-heavy-
blues song (complete with har
monica) called "Bound for Hell”
1 the pop radio hit "So Alive,” as
well as tne more sedate “No Words
No More" and "The Teardrop Col
lector," examples of Love and
Rnckets-ized Swing.
Despite the accessibility, despite
the pop radio success, despite the
band’s branching out to new mu
sical styles, this is still pure Love
and Rockets. And it’s Love and
Rockets at its best.
— Kevan Ward
Faith No More: 'The Real Thing”
Slnsh)
© ©
When the guys from Faith No
More stayed with me three years
ago, they were touring the U.S. for
the first time in a borrowed pickup
truck, with a U-Haul trailer for
their equipment.
They were unknowns from San
Francisco with one album out from
Mordam Records, a small Los An
geles record label.
When their truck broke down, I
took them to Otis’s Garage, a small
brick garage in Macon right beside
Otis’s house. The mechanics were
pleasantly suprised when four
scruffy white guys, two of them
with dreadlocks, two of them with
long hair, and one tall skinny black
guy with a dreadlock mohawk
scrambled out of the truck. Once
their truck was fixed they headed
on and haven’t looked back since.
They signed a deal with Slash
records and Released “Introduce
Yourself’ their first miyor label
album, the next year. That album
resulted in a huge college radio hit
with the song "We Care A I»t "
The song was a funky anthem of
fun, but no one seemed to play any
of the other songs on the album, a
scorching blitzkrieg of funk/metal
akin to the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
With The Real Thing,’’ the
band’s third album (second on
Slash), Faith No More has taken a
giant misstep For some reason old
singer Chuck Mosley is no longer
present, and they’ve replaced him
with a lad named Michael Patton.
Whoever this Patton guy is, he
needs to go back where he came
from His voice, believe it or not,
sounds like the lead singer from
Loverbov. F ugh!!
The band’s approach on this
album leans towards its metal ten
dencies and abandons the funky in
fluences The sound is also
sickeningly slick. No grunge here.
These elements combine to
mnke it unlistenable. The band
can’t seem to decide what it wants
to do — metal or funk. The song
"Surprise! You’re Dead!” sounds
very much like the speed metal
band Anthrax, only Anthrax han
dles that sound much better than
Faith No More.
Those who er\joyed "Introduce
Yourself’ will be very disappointed
in The Real Thing ” Don’t bother
buying it, you can probably pick up
my used copy somewhere if you
reallv want to hear it for yourself
What happened guys? Where’s
Chuck? Ana who are these people
listed on the liner notes as “Career
Direction?"
each song, we can still hear
Johnston get up and walk across
the room to turn off the recorder.
It features one guy singing (or
talking, according to the particular
song) and banging around on a
piano, synthesizer, or guitar.
If the listener can get past that,
and the album’s oddball making-it-
up-as-I-go-along feel, this is quite
an enjoyable slab of vinyl. Cer
tainly unlike any other recent re
lease.
Although his singing (?) is less
than spectacular, it’s clearly not
the point, anyway. Neither is the
less thnn-minimalistic music.
Rather, songwriting is the point,
and it’s in that aspect that
Johnston shines.
The lyrics, at times harder to un
derstand than Michael Stipe on
acid, at times childishly straight
forward, are always intriguing.
The songs sometimes seem more
like poetry than music, and at
other times seem more like a guy
sitting in his living room talking to
himself And yet, the songs nre al
ways undeniably music.
The sheer straightforward un-
pretentiousness of this album sets
it apart from everything else on the
market. It comes across as trillions
of times more sincere than the pre
fabricated rhythms nnd regurgi
tated lyrics of other performers —
Athens’ musical deities RFM in
cluded.
'Hi, How Are You” is like
nothing so much ns n raw glimpse
into one man’s soul. Consider the
lyrics I'm never getting married.
the more likely the mental institu-|
tion idea seems).
Johnston’s record company, H
Homestead Records, deserves a f™
standing ovation for having the
courage to release an album this • * ;
unusual, especially at a time when
slick production technique is actu
ally becoming more important than
the music itself (for examples
listen at any given time to any
given Nouveau-Disco Top 40 sta
tion: New Kids On the Block,
Bobby Brown, Bon Jovi, Dino, etc.,
etc., etc.).
The boundaries of music have
just been stretched n little further.
Thank you, Daniel Johnston.
— Kevan
The Men They Couldn't Hang: "Sib
vertown” (Silvertone/RCA)
©
Faith No More: Not keeping the faith
If you really want to save that
career, fire those guys, get Chuck
back and forget metal. Go back to
doing the funky music you do best.
— Jeff Rutherford
Daniel Johnston: “Hi, How Are You /
Keep Punching Joe (The Unfi
nished Album)" (Homestead)
This is strange. I warn you now,
this is strange
Forget production values. It was
originally recorded on cassette
with a portable tape player. After
Nobody wants to kiss you when
you’re dead. I'm never getting mar
ried. No one will lie in bed with you
when your flesh is rotting.
After pointing out he’s the But-
thole Surfers’ favorite performer,
the publicity says this guy from
Austin, Texas, is now in a mental
institution.
That may or may not be true
(after all, it wouldn’t be the first
time a record company fabricated
facts for dramatic effect on a press
release), hut it is true that he, or at
least his music, is different (and
the more one listens to the album,
It’s been a long while since The
Men They Couldn’t Hang’s first
album, "Night of a Thousand Can
dles” But little has changed.
On "Silvertown,” their first
American release, England's
lending folk monsters still sound
like a more sober Pogues. But sub
stitute singer Cush’s perfect chop
pers for Shane McPogue’s dental
disaster area, and you essentially
have the same hand.
To the band’s credit, they do pull
off a good Irish folk sound for a
bunch of guys from the far reaches
of England, especially on the first
side of the Lr. Aside from that,
however, “Silvertown” still sounds
like a bunch of high-school kids
who got their hands on “Rum So
domy and the Lash” and decided to
form (get ready for this one!) a Po
gues cover band (all together now
- EFFEK!)
Cush, of The Men, doesn’t sound
half as sozzled as the Pogues’
Shane MacGowan, but the LP*s
complex folk stylings and Joycean
themes — life/love/sex/death — are
too Pogues-like to ignore.
“Silvertown" even ends with a
traditional Mexican air, "El Va-
quero,” that’s quite similar to
“Fiesta" on That Other Band’s "If I
Should Fall from Grace with God ”
The album does have one killer
track, though — the British single
“Rain, Stenm and Speed," which
rails nnd pounds with all the power
the Mens acoustic arsenal can
muster. Even within the confines
of the folk genre, it’s a classic pop
single, with one of those choruses
that makes people dance funny in
the mirror when noone’H looking.
(Or maybe that’s just me.)
Sadly enough, apart from
l “Rain," "Silvertown” suffers from a
lack of originality and a major Po
gues fixation. The Men shouldn’t
be hung, but only their next effort
can decide whether they deserve to
have bad puns made on their
name.
— Donna Brown
Various Artists: “Live at the Knit
ting Factory, volume one" (A&M)
©
An interesting mix, showcasing
some of the artists who played at
The Knitting Factory, the revolu
tionary New York club, cafe and
huven for experimental music, be-
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