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Boston Phoenix CD Reviews
SEPTEMBER 28, 1998:
*** Varnaline
SWEET LIFE
(Zero Hour)
Yes, it is possible to be
musically schizoid and yet focused all at once. Over the course of three albums
and an EP (all released inside two years), this sometimes one-man/sometimes
three-man NYC unit has bled a range of styles -- brooding slowcore, searing
post-punk, and hazy, hungover indie rock that nods to old masters like the
Grifters and even older ones like Crazy Horse. Sweet Life finds
singer/guitarist Anders Parker (who's joined here by his bass-playing brother
John and drummer Jud Ehrbar) writing somber laments about dreary desolation,
love that's irretrievably out of reach, and other downer themes. It's hard to
imagine a more devastatingly pretty song than "Mare Imbrium," or a more
fearsomely angry one than "Now You're Dirt." And that's really what this album
and this band are about: the perfection of extremes.
**** The Jimi Hendrix Experience
BBC SESSIONS
(Experience Hendrix/MCA)
This 30-track, two-disc set, which for the first time collects all of
Hendrix's live-in-the-studio recordings for the BBC (Rykodisc issued an
abbreviated, 17-track compilation in '88), is nearly as essential as Jimi's
three studio albums proper. It's a vibrant, vivid portrait, not just of Hendrix
the artist and musician but of Hendrix the young man, conquering the pop world
on his own limitless terms -- and having a blast doing it.
You can hear Jimi's laughter on his lovably inane Valentine to the BBC ("Radio
One"); you can feel his insatiable desire to plug into all music with
his playful covers of the Beatles' "Day Tripper," Elvis's "Hound Dog," and
Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love." Stevie Wonder even drops by to lend a hand on
drums on a pair of tracks ("Jammin' " and Wonder's own "I Was Made To Love
Her"). Although none of the band's live readings of their own compositions
usurp the studio versions, Hendrix's personality, which lives and breathes
through these songs, makes this an indispensable document of a moment in time
when he sounded at once invincible -- and never more human.
-- Jonathan Perry
***1/2 Otis Rush
ANY PLACE I'M GOING
(House of Blues)
Good as it was
to hear Rush's major-label comeback two years ago, it's better to hear him
reapproach his classic form. He's ditched Stratocasters to return to his
fat-toned Gibson semi-hollowbodies. And right from the done-me-wrong opener,
"You Fired Yourself," he's singing with soul power, reaching way down in his
belly for fire. His guitar leads travel in unpredictable spirals, like mad
vines linking the twisted emotions his lyrics extol. They ring with vibrato and
rest on notes well off the roots. And his wild fills range from quavering whole
chords to one-note jabs.
Classic Memphis-sound producer Willie Mitchell has given Rush the kind of
spare framework he enjoyed on his earliest sessions for Cobra Records, allowing
this pioneer of gritty Chicago-ghetto blues to thrive. That's surprising, since
Mitchell's production on Otis Clay's last CD was full of cloying keyboards.
This studio date, plus the gigs I've seen this year, indicates that Rush's
years of erratic performances may be behind him -- at least for a spell.
***
LOS DE ABAJO
(Luaka Bop)
For all that they're seven Mexico City
twentysomethings, Los de Abajo bring with them with a lot of history. They take
their name from Mariano Azuela's classic literary rebel yell of the Mexican
Revolution. Their neo-rocanrolero attitude has roots in the '68 massacre
of student protesters in Tlateloco. And their sound flashes back to 1949, when
Cuban mambo king Pérez Prado left Havana to set up shop in Mexico
City.
Don't come looking for some kitschy Latin-craze redo, though. Los de Abajo
have insurgency on the brain -- federales and free-traders beware. On their
first full-scale release outside Mexico, they unleash a tropicalized, agit-rock
hurricane of big-city salsa descargas and blue-beat skankathons that pick up a
few punky polka trances, bolero interludes, merengue throwdowns, and conjunto
scribbles along the way. Sure, once in a while they sound too much like a
Maldita Vecindad tribute band, and, sure, Liber Terán's voice isn't
always malleable enough to handle the quick-cut montunos and sidestepping
stylistic shifts thrown his way. But Los de Abajo pull off one of the best
tricks of revolutionary activism: they build a party platform you can party to.
Comfortable shoes are a must. A Subcomandante Marcos ski mask wouldn't hurt
either.
-- Josh Kun
**1/2 Everlast
WHITEY FORD SINGS THE BLUES
(Tommy Boy)
From the start,
Whitey Ford Sings the Blues has a lot going against it. Creator Erik
Schrody (a/k/a Everlast) used up his 15 minutes of fame -- as leader of the
gimmicky Irish rappers House of Pain -- a long time ago. Then there's the CD's
title and cheesy opening track ("The White Boy Is Back"), both suggesting that
he's terminally stuck in a bygone era where white people don't do hip-hop.
But Everlast has a few worthwhile tricks up his sleeve. After he and Sadat X
(of Brand Nubian) rap capably about getting paid on "Money (Dollar Bill)," he
turns around and offers an argument against obsessing over cash on "Ends,"
which reveals maturity and lyrical skill. Beneath the song's hip-hop surface of
scratches, and samples, he strums an acoustic guitar and rasps a melody,
fashioning a new identity as b-boy singer/songwriter.
The rest of Whitey Ford alternates between straight hip-hop and
guitar-based folk reminiscence, with the occasional Nine Inch/Zeppelin metal
riffing ("Hot to Death") and some New Orleans piano rolls on "7 Years." In the
end, it's an intriguing trip on backroads not often taken by the MC -- even the
pale-skinned, shit-kicking kind.
**** Charlie Feathers
GET WITH IT: ESSENTIAL RECORDINGS, 1954-'69
(Revenant)
Among other things, Charlie Feathers -- who died last month at
the age of 66 -- claimed (against evidence to the contrary) to have come up
with Elvis's arrangements, taught Jerry Lee how to pound the piano, and
invented rockabilly. "You know the secret to the sound of Sun records?" he asks
Peter Guralnick in a 1976 profile reprised in the liner notes of Get with
It. "Slapback!" Feathers may have imagined himself a keeper of secrets, but
in practice he was not a very good one -- every time he opened his mouth to
sing, the truth leapt out. Irrespective of his Forrest Gump-like assertions
later in life, Sun was held aloft on the backs of characters like Charlie
Feathers -- a man of enormous and largely unrewarded talent whose emotional
radiance illuminated the big truths of small things.
The tracks he released on Meteor, King, and Sun -- compiled here -- remain the
genre's zenith. When Feathers's lithe, sinewy, rail-solid wail bursts into
ecstatic hiccups, it's like ball lightning. His finest hillbilly lament,
"Defrost Your Heart," is the best evidence that he might've had a career in
country if he'd wanted it. He often recorded novelty songs, but even on such
disparate attempts as "Tongue-Tied Jill" and "We're Getting Closer To Being
Apart," he absorbed the absurdity into the revelation of the song -- nonsense
becomes a plea to be understood, distance evaporates.
Get with It also includes unissued takes and delves into Feathers's
tape library; most notable are two tracks he recorded with the late Junior
Kimbrough, who taught him to play guitar. Kimbrough's hill-country strangling
and Feathers's percolating bluegrass add a new step to an ancient dance, each
man testing the depths of the other's chaos, suggesting that there were other,
stranger ways rock and roll might have evolved. "Rockabilly is the beginning
and the end of music," Feathers once declared to Robert Gordon. "Lord, I'll
never live that sound down in my ears. It will die with me, boy."
-- Carly Carioli
**1/2 Archers of Loaf
WHITE TRASH HEROES
(Alias)
This Chapel
Hill-based indie quartet get more ambitious with each release. Their fourth
album adds proggy post-rock to their regular menu of noise-pop aggression.
Although the twin-guitar attack of Eric Bachmann and Eric Johnson remains
prominent, the Archers bring analog synths and scattered sampling to a mix that
seems apt in the post-OK Computer era. The result is a schizoid,
developmental disc that lurches from deconstructed roots rock (the dirgy "Slick
Tricks and Bright Lights," the unhinged, insistent "Banging on a Dead Drum") to
synth-charged retro ("One Slight Wrong Move," "Dead Red Eyes") to throwaway
instrumentals like the Pixies-inspired "Smokers in Love Laugh" to the
surprisingly Depeche Modal hues of the title track. Bachmann does deliver an
inspired tale of the downtrodden with "After the Last." The song -- a blend of
angular guitar dissonance, synths, and an a cappella chorus -- showcases
him at his best, chronicling the poetics of misery, and of the down and out.
*** Angelique Kidjo
OREMI
(Island)
African singer Angelique Kidjo has
left behind arguments about roots versus international pop: she may think of
herself as a bridge between the two, but she's pretty much crossed the bridge,
becoming an international R&B artist who happens to sing in African
languages. When she includes African elements -- the background chant on her
sly reworking of Hendrix's "Voodoo Child," or the Zulu-like chorus at the end
of a funk number called "Babalao" -- they sound like borrowed spice in a
familiar stew.
For a lesser artist, this would amount to a sellout, but Kidjo proves good
enough to pull it off. Whether she's trading choruses with Cassandra Wilson or
Kelly Price or mixing it up with Branford Marsalis on the Weather Report-esque
funk of "Itche Koutche," she meets her collaborators on equal ground. Even at
its loungiest, the music here has authenticity and grit. And even in the most
calculating moments, Kidjo's personality shines through. If she hasn't yet
alienated Afropop diehards, Oremi should do the trick. But for the
mainstream audience who've dismissed African singers as too exotic, scary, or
amateurish in their appropriations of Western pop, Kidjo has emerged as a real
contender, perhaps the first.

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