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Record Reviews
DECEMBER 8, 1997: THE LONESOME ORGANIST Collector of Cactus Echo Bags (Thrill Jockey)
A peaceful collection of church ballads and sweepingly dramatic should-have-been-made-into
television theme songs quickly end up a trainwrecked circus when the windy city's
Lonesome Organist jumps the tracks and his consortium of overdubbed guitars, synthesizers,
percussion, and vocals crash into a hillside. Entirely too busy for the little old
lady at your grandmother's church -- let alone the despondent Casio artist -- these
20 quick tracks blast you through an explosively locomotive and somewhat danceable
dreamworld of chaotic nightmares and real-life musical rip-offs. If the world needed
this album, God would have put Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, Combustible Edison, and
Bad Brains on carousel jukeboxes and the rides would go a hell of a lot faster, and
never, ever end.
FRIENDS OF DEAN MARTINEZ
CALEXICO
The sound of the southwest is as elusive as it is pervasive. Blowing down into
San Fernando Valley, across the deserts of Arizona and New Mexico, and up into the
West Texas plains, it's a lonesome cry best described by steel guitar and vibes --
best described by Santo & Johnny's "Sleep Walk." As captured on the
Friends of Dean Martinez's 1995 debut, The Shadow of Your Smile, it's a sound
both sad and wistful and dangerous -- very noir. Firing Retrograde
with a Santo & Johnny tune, "Rattler," steel player Bill Elm and guitarist
Woody Jackson once again steer their cherry red roadster down a lonely desert highway
with instrumentals that have fallen from the pages of a Raymond Chandler/Jim Thompson
novel. Joey Burns and John Convertino, meanwhile, the longstanding rhythm duo behind
Giant Sand -- and integral components of the first Friends' LP -- ditch their white
Ford pick-up in the grooves of some valley vineyard where they spend their days strumming
acoustics and playing their accordions 'til the sun sets. Marimbas, mandolins, vibes,
violins, cellos, and four tracks all inform the sleepy desert sounds of Spoke,
a Guided by Voices album for the iguana set (or fans of OP8, which featured Burns
and Convertino backing Lisa Germano). As with "Rattler" on Retrograde,
"Low Expectations," the lead song on Spoke, sums up the southwest
in a line: "No one said the time would come to finish what's begun/things get
done when they get done."
LULLABY FOR THE WORKING CLASS I Never Even Asked for a Light (Bar None)
Is it just coincidence that this album fell into my possession on the first miserably
cold day of winter? If so, it's an apt one. This record is bleak, perfectly
matching the dreary weather-induced malaise that comes with winter. Sounding like
the Bad Livers on codeine, this assemblage of Nebraskans centered around permanent
fixtures Ted Stevens and brothers Mike and A.J. Mogis pieces together an ornate but
understated acoustic patchwork that is simultaneously drab and beautiful. And, with
its sparsely layered arsenal of just about every stringed instrument known to man,
I Never Even Asked for a Light, the follow-up to their quietly exquisite debut
Blanket Warm, is both spontaneous and intelligent in maintaining a consistent
intensity. Even on a full-bodied dirge like "Hypnotist (Song for Daniel H.),"
LFTWC flexes its musical muscle in simple melodies and not the strength of the strum.
The band even manages to take the pretension out of "organic" by literally
making an organic album; the birds on the opening track are birds from the Mogis'
backyard and the sound of the ocean on closing track "The Man vs. the Tide"
is the ocean. The band recorded the song while actually standing in the Pacific.
Despite the cumbersome name and the cheerless aesthetics, Lullaby for the Working
Class has made a gem of a sophomore effort. Maybe the best thing out of Nebraska
isn't red and doesn't play football.
BROADCASTS VOL. 5 (107.1 KGSR/Radio Austin)
MARYANN PRICE Hot 'n' Cole
In her tribute to Cole Porter, Austin's Maryann Price recognizes a great deal
of the appeal of his music is simply the feeling you get from hearing those songs.
Price conveys the pleasant resolve of "It's Alright With Me" and the comfortable
longing of "So Nice to Come Home To" without flourish or flash, and that's
what makes the songs so effective. The spare trumpet work of Phil Richey and Martin
Banks, the steady guitar of Slim Richey, and the beautifully unobtrusive sax of Mark
Kazanoff all take similar roles to Price's vocals, producing a mildly stylized tribute
to Porter's genius. This style allows Price's Texas soul to shine through on "Don't
Fence Me In," the joy of freedom present in every note. There's a brief falter
on the eerily Electra-like "My Heart Belongs to Daddy," though it's not
severe enough to detract from the rest of the album. "Love for Sale," done
sweet and smooth, side-steps the pitfall of having the sex bubble up through the
lyrics as they so often do, tapering off instead into abstraction with the note of
the last "saaaaale." The time granted to non-Porter songs is not wasted,
the haunting blues of "Angel Eyes" being the best of these, but the moments
when Price and Porter connect are the point on Hot 'n' Cole, and the point
is well-made.
LIVE FROM 6A: CONAN O'BRIEN
LIVE ON LETTERMAN: MUSIC FROM THE LATE SHOW
Although a Politically Incorrect collection of punditry from Sammy Hagar,
Gibby Haynes, and Ted Nugent still looks like a good idea on paper, Bill Maher may
be the smartest talk show host on television simply for staying out of this CD derby
for late shift souvenirs. Apparently, only he and Jay Leno realize they run chat
rooms, not music halls -- which is why both of these sets fail: Not only were all
the performances on both discs taped at 5 in the afternoon, one song doesn't allow
much time to find a groove. Only because Live on Letterman casts more veterans
does his collection seem more lively; Patti Smith's ultra-loose turn on "Who
Do You Love" and Aretha Franklin's blitzkrieg version of "Think" are
legitimate thrills, while Lou Reed's "Sweet Jane" and the Lyle Lovett/Al
Green pairing for "Funny How TimemSlips Away" are actually fresh enough
to transcend televised stiffness. On the other hand, only a deadhead could love the
graceless Garcia/Grisman reading of "Friend of the Devil," and only a television
junkie without a radio could find anything redeeming about the dry delivery of over-played
singles from Sheryl Crow, Dave Matthews, R.E.M, Lenny Kravitz, and Jewel.
THE REPLACEMENTS All for Nothing/Nothing for All (Sire)
FINLEY QUAYE Maverick A Strike (Sony 550/Epic)
RONI SIZE/REPRAZENT New Forms (Talkin' Loud/Mercury)
Roni Size has been a fixture on the U.K. drum and bass scene since roughly 1992
when his grooves caused more confusion with dance-floor dwellers than expressions
of delight. This year has seen the opposite reaction with New Forms catapulting
him into the limelight; Size and crew received England's Mercury Music Prize a mere
week after this 2-CD set was released in that country. His ascent may seem fleeting,
but his constructions of drum and bass are concrete manifestations of a musical genre
that can be quite disposable at times. Helping cement the sound is Reprazent, a hand-picked
crew of junglist technicians and musicians that includes DJ Krust, DJ Die, DJ Suv,
Onalee (vocals), MC Dynamite (vocals), Si John (double bass), and Clive Deamer (drums,
also of Portishead). The first disc is the stronger of the two (23 tracks all told)
containing the single "Brown Paper Bag," a syncopated, double-bass fueled
number, the frantic rimshots of "Let's Get It On," and the hyperactive
"Matter of Fact." The only real shortcoming of the album is that MC Dynamite's
rap talents are showcased on only one tune, "Railing." A luxurious production
masterpiece, New Forms showcases a vibrant and dynamic form of music that's
been lurking on the horizon for years, just waiting for a visionary like Roni Size
to make it rise above.
LOS FABULOSOS CADILLACS Fabulosos Calavera (BMG)
More than anything, the Clash embodied the rich musical crossroads that were London
in the mid-to-late Seventies, when English rock & roll was usurped by pissed-off
punks under the influence of the herbal reggaeisms wafting in from Jamaica. Los Fabulosos
Cadillacs, Argentina's longtime rude boys now on their 12th album, might sound more
spiritually akin to the excitingly schizophrenic Spanish/French/Arabic mulch of Mano
Negra, but their confident, no-holds-barred lurching from style to style is Sandinista-era
Clash all the way. Every song introduces something different to the mix: from the
Santana-gets-sideways "El Muerto" and horn-driven Chicago-isms of "Surfer
Calavera," to the Sepultura death vocals of "El Carnicero de Giles/sueno,"
Dixieland piano of "Howen," Parisian jazz stylings of "A Amigo JV,"
and old-world reggaeisms of "Calaveras y Diablitos" ("Niño Diamante"
is pure Police). The thread connecting all this is Los Cadillacs' frequent and unannounced
punk rock spasms and their love of Latin death culture -- lots of calaveras y
diablitos (skeletons and devils) rising from your local graveyard. Fabulosos
Calavera isn't the radio-friendly, second-line punch of "El Matador"
(from the Grosse Point Blank soundtrack), but like a South American street
party, give into its rum punch and voodoo, and that bursting piñata will be
a musical explosion you're not soon to forget.
JIM HALL Panorama (Telarc)
Taken as a group, the four CDs Jim Hall has cut for Telarc, his current label,
may be his best recorded work, which, considering his stature, means it's some of
the finest jazz guitar done by anyone. Panorama features Hall with bassist
Scott Colley, drummer Terry Clarke, and appearing on two selections apiece, pianists
Kenny Barron and Geoff Keezer, trombonist Slide Hampton, and alto saxman Greg Osby.
Flugelhornist Art Farmer plays on one. Hall wrote all nine compositions, and the
care and thoughtfulness with which he invests in his work is contagious. Barron sounds
great, displaying prodigious technique here without grandstanding. "Entre Nous"
finds Hampton at the top of his game, performing lyrically and with great instrumental
control, while Osby's inventive, fiery, and unpredictable improvising on "Painted
Pig" is among Panorama's highlights. Hall not only exhibits his usual
virtues, soloing with impeccable taste and considerable imagination, he also demonstrates
that he's still growing and seeking to expand his vocabulary. Telarc producers deserve
a pat on the back for the success of the Hall albums. They've supported his ambitious
ideas and he's brought them off.
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It's pretty easy to glance at the 39 names listed on the back of this 2-CD collection
and get fairly excited about the latest volume of KGSR's Broadcasts yearbook.
With local notables such as the Asylum Street Spankers, Wayne Hancock, Abra Moore,
and Trish Murphy interspersed between the likes of Paul Westerberg, Iris DeMent,
and John Prine, disc one is worth the price of admission alone. Disc two's slate
of national artists, which includes Widespread Panic, 
When it comes to the 'Mats, music mogul Seymour Stein spent a little bit too much
time wiping his feet at the door. When the band signed to his Sire label, their last
album for Twin Tone, the perfectly imperfect masterpiece Let It Be was freshly
behind them, leaving All for Nothing to pull only from the nearly-great Tim,
Pleased to Meet Me, and the succession of descents into plodding Westerbergerian
Über Alles sameness. As such, this "Best of" compilation is a no-win
proposition. Not only doesn't Sire have the rights to some of the band's songs, the
ones they do own, "Hanging Party" or "Waitress in the Sky," let's
say, are mysteriously absent. As I see it, All for Nothing would've fared
better if they'd opted to fill the first disc exclusively with the better cuts from
those final albums (there were around three or four goodies apiece). Disc two, Nothing
for All, the accompanying collection of b-sides and lost tracks, is the very
definition of "mixed bag." Rabid fans will be left with the dilemma of
needing everything on this disc, half of which they probably invested a lot of money
and time in acquiring. For the less obsessed, there are some true delights here,
from potential classics like "Birthday Gal," which was abandoned because
of a few flubbed notes (yes, I am still talking about the Replacements here), to
cool novelties like Chris Mars' "All He Wants to Do Is Fish." Be prepared
for plenty of cover tunes, though, from the nifty "Cruella DeVille" to
the wretched Dylan walk-through of "Like a Rolling Pin." Sadly, what Nothing
for All proves more than anything is how much more fun those last albums would
have been with the addition of just one or two of these little romps. 
Stop the presses! Hold your 1997 Top 10 Lists! Finley Quaye's Maverick A Strike
may be the single holiday release most deserving of year-end consideration. And never
mind that it's an album clearly rooted in Marley and the Maytals, because relegating
this find on your reggae list is missing the point; Quaye so effortlessly shifts
between dub, rock, dancehall, and electronica, this is indeed the rare debut that
transcends categorization. At just 23, Quaye's ambition seems dazzling and his talent
raw, but it's an approach indicative of his bohemian English upbringing -- whereas
being Tricky's uncle made it easy to appreciate Lee Ranaldo and Lee Perry or Paul's
Boutique and The Lion & The Cobra equally. Not only does Maverick's
production package Quaye's egalitarian innocence in an easily digestible pop format,
it also showcases his raw musical talent -- a multi-instrumentalist with a classic
reggae voice; the songwriting is mostly as classical as well, working its way through
a catchy trio of singles ("Sunday Shining" "Even After All,"
and "It's Great When We're Together"), hypnotic instrumentals ("Red
Rolled And Seen"), and challenging, postmodern skank ("Ride On and Turn
the People On"). It's a massive attack that's driven by rhythm, powered by soul,
and winds up pulling reggae into the Nineties kicking and screaming. Top 10 for sure...
