Austin’s Hacienda drops their second album Big Red & Barbacoa (produced once again by the Black Keys’ Dan Auerbach) on April 6th. As a teaser they’ve released this superb mid-period Beach Boys styled original. A full album review is coming in a couple of weeks, but in the meantime, enjoy this great track!
MP3 | I Keep Waiting
Souvenir compilation from Rubinoos’ 2009 tour of Spain
This collection was issued for the Rubinoos 2009 tour of Spain and pulls tracks of recent vintage, including selections from 2006’s Twist Pop Sin and 2007’s Japan-only One Two That’s It. A trio of cover outtakes from 2003’s Crimes Against Music (Bacharach & David’s “Little Red Book,” Tommy Roe’s “Dizzy” and The Monkees’ “Valleri”) make their domestic debut, and a quartet of outtakes from 1998’s Kevin Gilbert-produced Paleophonic are issued for the first time. These latter four are real treats, highlighted by the broken hearted “Everybody’s Got Somebody But Me” and the Everly’s-styled ballad “Home to You” (which was previously recorded by the Rubin-less Vox Pop in 1998). Additional gems include a cover of the Hollies’ “Bus Stop” that opens with Jon Rubin accompanied nearly a cappella by lush harmonies, hand drums and a triangle, and a gutsy production of the Raspberries’ “Cruisin’ Music” that one-ups the original’s thin sound. The 1984 basement production of “Two of Us” has a fetching DIY quality that captures the Rubinoos channeling the Paley Brothers. If you missed the group’s recent records, this is a good sampler, and if you’re a Rubinoos fanatic, the outtakes are must-haves. [©2010 hyperbolium dot com] 
Alice Cooper’s last album for Warner Brothers
By 1983 Alice Cooper had fallen back off the wagon and was recording albums that he’d later claim he couldn’t remember. 1981’s Special Forces had brought him back to a stripped-down rock ‘n’ roll sound that recalled his earlier peaks, and 1982’s Zipper Catches Skin retained the same direction while sounding more labored. 1983’s DaDa, his last album for Warner Brothers (and his last album before a three-year hiatus) reunited him with Bob Ezrin, who’d produced Cooper in his glory years. The album opens promisingly with the menacing “Da,” a looming synthesizer instrumental punctured by thumps of percussion and a spooky doll’s voice. The spoken word lyrics sound as if they’re snippets of confessional dialog lifted from a 1940s psychological thriller.
The doll’s eerie “da-da” vocalizations point to the album’s family themes, with a teenage son calling out his abusive father on “Enough’s Enough,” and the family’s dark human secret essayed in “Former Lee Warmer.” There’s a not-quite-heartwarming story of a shopping mall Santa, the Devo-esque dizziness of “Dyslexia,” and the over-the-top patriotism of “I Love America.” Whatever else Alice Cooper was doing (or drinking) his sense of humor never left him. On the darker theatrical side are the dominatrix sister duo and middle-eastern flourishes of “Scarlet and Sheba,” the vampire horror of “Fresh Blood,” and the alcoholic nightmare “Pass the Gun Around” that closes a chapter in Cooper’s career. Collectors’ Choice’s domestic reissue includes a four-panel booklet that features new liner notes by Gene Sculatti, but no bonus tracks. [©2010 hyperbolium dot com]
Alice Cooper sounding a bit labored in 1982
A year after the stripped-down attack of Special Forces, Alice Cooper produced another album in the same vein; though this time with added theatrical flair and the return of guitarist Dick Wagner. Cooper continued to assume new identities, such as the famed swordsman of “Zorro’s Ascent” and the put-upon son of “Make That Money (Scrooge’s Song).” Some of the performances seem labored, and Wagner’s distinctive guitar riffs feel as if they were grafted onto the songs to add flash. The stagey ballad “I Am the Future” might have worked well as a production number, but with Cooper descending back into alcohol addiction there was no tour. What works well is Cooper’s humor on “No Baloney Homosapiens,” “I Like Girls” and “Remarkably Insincere.” And on “Tag, You’re It” he indulges his longtime love of cheesy cinema with a song full of slasher-film clichés. If there was no 1970s legacy with which to compare this, one might stumble upon this and think it’s a long-lost power-pop album from a surprisingly talented lyricist. It’s all quite listenable, and even fun as it passes by, but it’s not nearly as memorable as his earlier (and some of his later) works. Collectors’ Choice’s domestic reissue adds the UK-only 1982 single “For Britain Only,” and its four-panel booklet includes new liner notes by Gene Sculatti. [©2010 hyperbolium dot com]
Alice Cooper stripped of his late-70s bombast
Nearly a decade after the original Alice Cooper band broke through with School’s Out, and five years after the solo Alice Cooper re-emerged with Welcome to My Nightmare and Alice Cooper Goes to Hell some retooling was in order. Cooper’s albums of the late 70s had become bombastic, and his 1980 release Flush the Fashion mistakenly embraced a modern-rock sound that failed him. By 1981 he was ready to recapture his earlier glory. Gone were the new wave synthesizers brought by Roy Thomas Baker and back were guitar, bass and drums to give punch to Cooper’s tough singing. What synths remain were slithering and insinuating, or in the case of those which introduce “Seven and Seven Is,” quickly pushed aside by slashing rhythm guitars. Covering this Love song was a canny tip of the hat to punk-rock’s mid-60s garage-rock roots.
This isn’t a full one-eighty from Flush the Fashion, but in the punk rock movement Cooper had clearly found kindred confrontational spirits. His then-current preoccupation with military and police matters provides the album’s major lyrical strand, though it’s set to the sort of clever wordplay that had made his earlier hits and stage show so alluring. The accoutrements of power and forces – guns, ammo, holsters – are dressed-up in suggestive sexual double-entendres that leave their meaning to the listener’s imagination. Cooper revisits “Generation Landslide” (from 1973’s Billion Dollar Babies) without the finesse of the original, and at times, such as on “Don’t Talk Old to Me,” Cooper sounds like a ranting alcoholic, which was apparently a real-life role into which he was about to lapse. Cooper’s secondary fascination with horror films is highlighted in the ornate “Skeletons in the Closet,” on which trades the raw rock ‘n’ roll for synthesizers and spooky imagery.
None of this content generated a social shock or commercial reaction in 1981, but either did it sound out of time. The staccato rhythm of “You’re a Movie” may be tied to the new wave sounds of early MTV, but there’s enough muscle in the band’s playing to keep this from being completely dated. Collectors’ Choice’s domestic CD reissue adds “Look at You Over There, Ripping the Sawdust From My Teddybear,” a song Cooper trimmed from the original vinyl release. Its electric piano and funky rhythm do indeed sound out of context, but it fits lyrically and fans will be happy to get this extra period track. The disc is delivered in a standard jewel case with a four panel insert that includes new liner notes by Gene Sculatti. This isn’t Alice Cooper at his pinnacle, but neither is it the sound of a one-time enfant terrible simply hanging on. [©2010 hyperbolium dot com]
Superb accounting of Big Star and their second album
While the title suggests this book focuses directly on Big Star’s second album, and though most of its pages do, author Bruce Eaton also provides context with a compelling look at the band and its members. Most importantly, his fresh interview with Alex Chilton provides flavor from one of the band’s visionary singer-songwriters, which is something that eluded Rob Jovanovic in Big Star: The Short Life, Painful Death, and Unexpected Resurrection of the Kings of Power Pop. Eaton recounts familiar elements of the Big Star story, but couched in their studio work, they reveal new angles. His research into the recording sessions for Radio City turns up new detail on the monophonic sound of “Oh My Soul,” and offers a clear explanation of the Dolby Fuckers sessions that resulted in “Mod Lang” and “She’s a Mover.”
By the time you’re finished reading, you’ll be surprised with how holistic and organic Radio City sounds, in light of the ad hoc circumstances under which much of it was recorded. Eaton’s song-by-song notes are best read with the album playing, the better to hear the many subtleties he highlights. Ideally you should have the original album, the 2-CD Thank You Friends and the box set Keep an Eye on the Sky to cover all of the versions Eaton discusses. The book’s only real disappointment is the paucity of lyrical analysis – though there are a few enlightening revelations. No doubt Chilton’s dismissal of the words, which in his mind were slapped together without a great deal of craft, left Eaton without a living source of comment.
It’s a shame that Chris Bell didn’t survive to participate in this book, or to be the centerpiece of a companion volume on #1 Record. It’s clear from Eaton’s account that Bell’s vision for the band, which Chilton didn’t fully dismantle until Big Star Third, had significant impact even after his departure. The small form of the 33-1/3 books is cute, but the copy needs better editing and the photos need to be reproduced larger and more clearly. These complaints are minor points though, given the quality of Eaton’s research and writing. His recounting of playing with Chilton is a nice personal touch and caps a terrific read for Big Star fans. [©2010 hyperbolium dot com]
Expanded reissue of Big Star founder’s posthumous solo album
Big Star founder Chris Bell, like his band, is an enigma whose mystery has endured even as his details have been dispensed in retrospective bits and pieces. At the time of his greatest achievement, Big Star’s #1 Record, he and his band’s fame extended only to the rock literati. By the time the Big Star cult began to build, stoked by the reissue of their first two albums in the summer of 1978, Bell was only months away from death, at the age of 27, in a single vehicle car crash. At the time few had sought out his artistic details or inspirations, and musical archaeologists piecing together the strands of Big Star originally had to work from scant materials: the iconic Big Star album, a solo single of “I Am the Cosmos” b/w “You and Your Sister,” a few fanzine articles, and reminiscences of his friends and family.
Interest in Big Star continued to grow, but with Alex Chilton avoiding the press and Bell no longer living, details had to be divined from bits and pieces added retrospectively to the group’s legacy. Chilton released an EP, Singer Not the Song, in 1977, the long-delayed release of Big Star Third came in 1978, along with Bell’s single, and Chilton then released a string of solo albums that diverged further and further from his work with Big Star. It would be another eight years until the first two Big Star albums would appear on CD in 1986, and another six years until additional archival material was made available. In 1992 the floodgates opened with Ryko’s release of Big Star’s vintage radio performance, Live, and Chris Bell’s mid-70s solo album I Am the Cosmos.
The genesis of Bell’s solo recordings lay in the same aftermath from which Chilton bred Big Star Third. Bell had departed Big Star after the failure of #1 Record in 1972. From all reports, including Rob Jovanovic’s Big Star: The Short Life, Painful Death, and Unexpected Resurrection of the Kings of Power Pop, Bruce Eaton’s Radio City 33-1/3, and Bob Mehr’s lengthy essay in this deluxe reissue, Bell took the failure of #1 Record harder than anyone else, and by the sound of his solo recordings, he didn’t seem to have ever fully recovered. Recording in Memphis, France and England in 1974, and continuing to tinker with the recordings at Ardent for several more years, the results aren’t as anarchic as Chilton’s post-Big Star sessions, but they’re often as edgy. Most of the adolescence and winsomeness of Big Star had been rubbed out of both singer-songwriters by this point.
Several of Bell’s post-Big Star performances sound stressed, as if he’s striving to find meaning among ruined expectations for #1 Record and a mental state that wasn’t always sunny. The recordings can fatigue listeners’ ears with the high-end of Bell’s voice and the piercing splash of cymbals, but there are moments of musical art that match anything he’d achieved before. The album’s title track, presented in both its finished form and a slower version that extends over five minutes (two minutes longer than Ryko’s 1992 edit), can be read simply as a plea to a departed lover, a reassessment of the musician’s attachment to his former musical mates, or as a metaphysical song to Bell’s own youth. It’s a powerful song whose interpretations deepen with time.
Another of the album’s aces is the ballad “You and Your Sister,” featuring Alex Chilton on backing vocal. Here the yearning in Bell’s lyric and voice, framed by a pair of delicately fingerpicked acoustic guitars, underlined by deep bass and filigreed by a string quartet will stop you in your tracks. Two alternate versions, both present on Ryko’s 1992 edition, show how the song developed. An earlier take from 1974 is busier, with double-tracked vocals and a mellotron in place of the strings; a demo, also from 1974, lays out the song’s emotion in a stark acoustic performance that’s equally as effective as the final production. The inward searching and outward seeking heard here, along with a general restlessness and sense of despair echoes throughout the album.
“Speed of Sound” features lushly strummed acoustic guitars, accompanied by bass, volume-flanged electric guitar, and primitive moog behind a lyric of romantic defeat, disappointment and devastation. An alternate version recorded during the same sessions is sung deeper and more wounded than the master take, and without the moog the focus stays squarely on the vocalist’s pain. Bell reunited with his former Big Star rhythm section of Andy Hummel and Jody Stephens for “I Got Kinda Lost” and “There Was a Light,” the former a guitar-driven rocker, the latter a mid-tempo piano-and-guitar ballad. Bell’s growing relationship with Christianity is heard in “Better Save Yourself” and “Look Up,” and by 1976, his last known track “Though I Know She Lies” finds his voice is remarkably restrained; it’s hard to tell whether he’s comfortable or defeated.
Bell shopped the tapes around, but even with several top-notch singles and strong album material he was unable to get anyone to release his solo album. Chris Stamey issued “I am the Cosmos” b/w “You and Your Sister” as a single in 1978, but the rest of the material sat in the vault for another fourteen years. It wasn’t until Ryko issued a CD in 1992 that Bell’s post-Big Star voice was widely heard. Rhino Handmade’s 2-CD reissue includes all of the material on Ryko’s original CD and adds a dozen extras that include pre-Big Star tracks from Icewater (“Looking Forward” and “Sunshine”) and Rock City (“My Life is Right”), alternate recordings and mixes of album cuts, early demos, and Bell’s contribution to the Keith Sykes Band on “In My Darkest Hour.” The set closes with a moving acoustic instrumental, “Clacton Rag,” showing off the emotion of Bell’s guitar playing.
The discs are delivered in a six-panel digipack alongside a 32-page booklet featuring an extensive essay by Bob Mehr and track notes by Alec Palao. Casual fans will be satisfied with the original Ryko single disc, but anyone trying to build a more detailed picture of Chris Bell will want to listen to and study the extra tracks, historical notes and photos presented here. [©2010 hyperbolium dot com]
Guitar rock meets retro DIY in a UK garage by the beach
French Kissing is a London band that’s carving out retro garage and surf sounds echoing the twang and reverb of British Invasion instrumentalists like the Shadows, the DIY ethos of late ‘70s punk and new wave bands, the retro vibe of The Milkshakes and Barracudas, and the thick, pop noise of the Jesus and Mary Chain, et al. Their upcoming single rethinks the song “Oh Suzanne,” as originally released on their 2009 EP I Would Let You Know. The new version is more polished, with the bass and drums more evenly blended and the lead and harmony vocals more deftly balanced. The guitar solo that kicks in at 1’40 still suggests Dave Davies’ early work, though with modern tone in place of the raw studio sound of 1964. The new version is planned for a limited edition of 200 vinyl singles, and can be picked up from their label, or streamed below. The B-side, “Cairo,” remains vinyl-only. I’d also highly recommend picking up their previous EP for its evocation of garage punk (ala the Morlocks and Chesterfield Kings) on “I Would Let You Know” and “Please Please.” [©2010 hyperbolium dot com]
Three great tracks and some all-time clunkers
There are a number of commonly held misconceptions about Elvis Presley’s film career: Elvis couldn’t act, his movies were all throwaways, and the soundtracks were populated entirely with substandard material. But key films in the King’s catalog show that he could indeed act, if called upon, there are several high-quality dramatic and musical films in Elvis’ oeuvre, alongside many good lightweight romantic musical comedies, and his soundtracks are laced with hits and terrific albums sides. To measure the highpoints of Elvis’ soundtrack catalog by virtue of the low points (of which there are admittedly many) is to miss out on a valuable dimension of Presley’s musical career.
1967’s Clambake was Elvis’ twenty-fifth film and the third to co-star Shelley Fabares. Unlike the bulk of Elvis’ Hollywood-recorded soundtracks, this one was waxed in Nashville with a host of Music City A-listers, including drummer Buddy Harman, guitarist Charlie McCoy, pianist Floyd Cramer and steel guitarist Pete Drake. Also on hand were Elvis long-time associates, Scotty Moore and the Jordanaires. By this point the soundtrack songwriters were etched in stone, with contributions from Sid Wayne, Ben Weisman, Sid Tepper, Roy C. Bennett and Joy Byers. The soundtrack’s best cuts come from the few outside writers: Jerry Reed, credited as Jerry “Reed” Hubbard, contributed the super fine “Guitar Man,” Elvis struts his stuff on a cover of Jimmy Reed’s “Big Boss Man,” and Cindy Walker and Eddy Arnold’s “You Don’t Know Me” blows the regular soundtrack writers’ material out of the water.
After the success of “Do the Clam” (from the soundtrack of Girl Happy), the RCA brain trust must have thought releasing “Clambake” as a single would typecast their star as a seafood singer. That’s too bad, as it’s a catchy tune even if Elvis does have to sing “mama’s little baby loves clambake clambake.” Elvis rarely sounded less than professional on his soundtracks, even as he was dodging or hurrying through sessions, but you can always hear him engage a second gear for the better material. He doesn’t quite sleepwalk through the worst material, though a few vocals sound like first takes for which Elvis refused to soil himself with a second pass. Clambake features some of the most embarrassing lyrics Elvis was ever asked to sing (key evidence: “Hey Hey Hey”), and adding children on “Confidence” didn’t help.
This may be the most schizophrenic of Elvis’ soundtrack albums, featuring several highpoints that match the quality and artistry or his non-soundtrack singles. but intermingled with awful songs that could only have been contractual obligations. Just when “The Singing Tree” has robbed you of hope, Elvis closes with a superb, stone-country cover of Rex Griffin’s “Just Call Me Lonesome” that has him intertwined in Pete Drake’s steel guitar. Sony’s reissue features a four-panel booklet and no liner notes discussing the music or its making. The 30-minute running time suggests that Follow That Dream’s collector’s edition might be more compelling to Elvis diehards. Still, the budget price and remastered sound make this reissue attractive, especially if you pick out the hot tracks and skip the rest. [©2010 hyperbolium dot com]
Elvis is taken for a ride on a riverboat
There are a number of commonly held misconceptions about Elvis Presley’s film career: Elvis couldn’t act, his movies were all throwaways, and the soundtracks were populated entirely with substandard material. But key films in the King’s catalog show that he could indeed act, if called upon, there are several high-quality dramatic and musical films in Elvis’ oeuvre, alongside many good lightweight romantic musical comedies, and his soundtracks are laced with hits and terrific albums sides. To measure the highpoints of Elvis’ soundtrack catalog by virtue of the low points (of which there are admittedly many) is to miss out on a valuable dimension of Presley’s musical career.
1966’s Frankie and Johnny was Elvis’ twentieth film, and co-starred Donna Douglas who was then starring on television’s Beverly Hillbillies. The soundtrack was recorded in Hollywood with the usual mix of West Coast studio players (including guitarist Tiny Timbrell), and longtime Elvis associate Scotty Moore. The Jordanaires are replaced here by the Mello Men on background vocals, and a brass section (trumpet, trombone and tuba) was brought in to give a New Orleans edge to several of the songs. The songwriters included many of the usual crew, such as Sid Tepper, Roy C. Bennett, Ben Weisman, Sid Wayne, Doc Pomus & Mort Shuman, and the trio of Florence Kaye, Bernie Baum and Bill Giant.
Many of the album’s songs are meant to evoke the era of river boats and music calls, but they’re campy, faux-Dixieland theatricality doesn’t survive the transition from film to soundtrack album. Elvis sounds as if he’s being forced to march along to “Down by the Riverside,” though he loosens up for the second half of the medley with “Saints Go Marching In.” Pomus & Shuman’s “What Every Woman Lives For” would be a more appealing blues if the message wasn’t so retrospectively sexist (though, to be fair, it is Elvis singing, and it’s possible that every woman does live to give him their love). The revival “Shout it Out,” though lyrically light, gives Elvis a chance to rock it up, and the blues “Hard Luck” features Charlie McCoy on harmonica.
Several of the tracks feel under-arranged, as if producer Fred Karger was in a hurry to get these tracks finished. Perhaps when you have the film’s director Fred De Cordova (of Tonight Show fame) waiting on you and you’re asking Elvis to sing mediocre material, you get what you can get. Sony’s reissue features a four-panel booklet and no liner notes discussing the music or its making. The 27-minute running time suggests that the earlier import two-fer or Follow That Dream’s collector’s edition might be more compelling to Elvis diehards. Still, the budget price and remastered sound make this reissue attractive. [©2010 hyperbolium dot com]
