Jean Beauvoir is the proverbial multi-talented “jack-of-all-trades,” an item all too rare in these days of somnolent superstars, jaded lipstick-stung video vixen, and millionaire session men. Beauvoir swapped licks fast and furious with the nastiest of metalheads, punks, and rockers as guitarist/bassist for Plasmatics and Little Steven’s Disciples of Soul. His production credits include board work done for the Ramones and Lords of the New Church and, with the release of Drums Along the Mohawk, he showcases his considerable skills as a performer.
With all of the material written, produced, and performed by Beauvoir, Drums Along the Mohawk is a beguiling debut disc; at first listen, seemingly no more than your typical AOR cannon fodder, a couple of rockin’ numbers followed by the obligatory ballad. Drums is much more than this, though…it is instead a deceptively complex cycle of songs with many layers of instrumentation underscoring Beauvoir’s unique and distinct vocal style (which, not surprisingly, resembles a strong hybrid of mentor Steve Van Zandt’s nasal twang and Prince’s earthy funkiness).
The songs are interesting, self-contained vignettes, ranging in style from the rocking “Feal the Heat” (used as a theme for Sylvester Stallone’s summer film Cobra) to the reggaeish, rollicking “Rockin’ In the Street” to the beautiful, emotion-evoking “Sorry I Missed Your Wedding Day.” The result is that while certainly not a trend-setting album, Drums Along the Mohawk delivers a solid, enjoyable 40 minutes of music…what more could one ask for? (Columbia Records, released June 1986)
Review originally published by Nashville’s The Metro magazine...
It’s a music lover’s dream come true, the best damn pop band in the whole freakin’ world recording an album with the globe’s top pop producer. If you don’t’ believe me, the proof is in the grooves, chuckles! The Smithereens’ Especially For You, producer by music-meister Don Dixon (R.E.M., Guadalcanal Diary, etc) is THE disc of the year!
“Well, well,” I hear you shaking your collective heads and sighing, “that fruitcake Gordon has finally sunk his ship off the pier on this one…who the hell are the Smithereens and why should I listen to them” That screwball is always making grandiose claims of greatness on behalf of some obscure bar band or another...I just don’t know!”
Fret no more, oh skeptical one, for I shall lay aside all doubts with a handful of reasons as to why you should discover the Smithereens: 1) The Smithereens write and sing melodic, engaging little ditties that resemble and recall all those songs you love from the swingin’ ‘60s; 2) Especially For You is the album that every one of those “nuevo wave-o” pretenders tried to make during the years 1977 to 1982 with their skinny ties and all, the Smithereens deliver it in 1986; 3) How about a band that combines Beatlesque harmonies with fab instrumental gymnastics like the Who and sound like the entire British Invasion’? That’s the Smithereens; 4) Don Dixon’s pop sensibilities and immense production skills are tailor-made for a band such as this and it shows in the results; 5) The Smithereens hail from New Jersey, that mythical rock ‘n’ roll badlands that has produced such musical stalwarts as Bruce Springsteen, Southside Johnny, and Little Steven; and 6) I highly recommend Especially For You as a tonic for your blues, a quick pick-me-upper, a miracle cure for boredom, a way to get a date on Saturday night, a rock ‘n’ roll elixir and besides, have I ever steered you wrong?
The Smithereens…either you pick up on ‘em now or feel humiliated and shunned down the road when you hear ‘em all over your radio and you have to borrow a copy of this classic LP from that smarmy, pimple-faced wanker that lives next door. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you… (Enigma Records, released July 1986)
Review originally published by Nashville’s The Metro magazine...
Zappa fanboys have always been a cultish/fetishistic lot, rabidly scarfing up any and all product even remotely connected to F.Z., from multi-record box sets, books, and video compilations to imprinted towels, posters, and munchkin lunchboxes. This obsession is understandable, though, and thoroughly justified: in over two decades of performing, Zappa has proved himself a master showman, a vastly underrated guitarist, an inspired and fierce bandleader, and perhaps rock music’s greatest social satirist. It is for these aforementioned fans, who have kept Frank employed though some mighty dark years, that the massive documentary You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore series is intended.
Frank Zappa’s You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore, Volume 2
When completed, the series will contain more than 13 hours of playing time culled from almost 20 years of live material performed by Zappa and various incarnations of the Mothers of Invention. The series will be released on six double-CD set; for those without a compact disc player, multi-record box sets will be released. Recorded in every medium imaginable, from two-track analog to 24-track digital, the series will be an honest, no-dubs documentation of one of the most powerful creative artists in the field of rock music.
The volume in question here, a three-LP recording of the Mothers’ 1974 appearance in Helsinki, Finland is a 17-song, nearly two-hour collection of typically mesmerizing Zappa compositions, featuring what many consider to be one of the best Mothers line-ups (an argument that, of course, extends itself to nearly any Mothers line-up among the hardcore faithful), including keyboard wiz George Duke and saxophonist Napolean Murphy Brock. The early ‘70s were Zappa’s commercial zenith, and the material here, taken mostly from the successful Roxy & Elsewhere and Apostrophe albums, showcase Zappa’s trademark six-string pyrotechnics; complex, extended instrumental interludes; and wry, often scatological humor.
The Reverend’s Bottom Line
You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore, Volume 2 is an excellent collection, a must-have for the “I’ve already bought it” fan; for the uninitiated, it is a fascinating glimpse into the genius of one of rock’s most daring and influential elder statesmen. (Barking Pumpkin Records, released October 25th, 1988)
Review originally published by Nashville’s The Metro magazine...
Austin, Texas has been the breeding ground of instrumental outlaws and various cosmic cowboys for nigh onto a decade now, ever since the city’s identification as a musical mecca in the early ‘70s. The current class of artists reaching for that ever-elusive brass ring includes such talents as Zeitgeist and True Believers, a band whose self-titled vinyl bow is sure to create unparalleled aural excitement in the uninitiated.
True Believers offers up an energetic blend of roadhouse blues, country-honk, and guitar band histrionics (the Believers featuring not one, not two, but THREE competent axemen!). There’s not a dull moment to be found within these grooves, with this writer’s personal faves, the melodic cover of “Rebel Kind” and the lyrically-haunting original “The Rain Won’t Help You When It’s Over” representative of the depth of talent to be found in True Believers. The band’s sincerity, the intensity of their music, and their sense of roots proves that rock ‘n’ roll lives outside of London or Los Angeles. (EMI America, released 1986) Review originally published by Nashville’s The Metro magazine...
The founder and guitarist of Shockabilly, a demented C&W influenced outfit that had several albums released by England’s Rough Trade label, Eugene Chadbourne is one of America’s greatest natural resources, a one-eyed man among a nation of the blind. Eugene is a social and political satirist with the tact of a sledgehammer, his original songs showing reverence for no holy cows, calling a spade a spade, and hurling pointed barbs at targets as diverse as North Carolina Senator Jesse Helms (a politician once described as standing so far to the right that he makes Reagan look like a communist), President Reagan, Jerry Falwell, ‘Women Against Pornography’ and the Ku Klux Klan.
It's all done with a sense of absurdity in a musical style that can only be described as cacophonic and unpredictable, a strange blend of rock ‘n’ roll, county, and folk influences with a dose of metal-edged guitar and sheer noisy industrial instrumentation. Chadbourne’s The President, He Is Insane is a studio-quality presentation of some of Eugene’s best material. Side one features several of his…ah, shall we say…somewhat “structured” songs, including such fan favorites as “America Stands Tall,” “10 Most Wanted List,” and “Women Against Pornography.”
Eugene Chadbourne
Side two is strictly improvisational, mixing Eugene’s guitarwork with scrap vocals from late-night movies and early morning cartoons along with background instrumentation provided by Chadbourne’s infamous electric rake and, apparently, whatever noise he can drum up with various kitchen utensils and appliances. Not for everyone, to be sure, but nevertheless interesting and unique.
Eugene is, in the American tradition, somewhat of a capitalist, offering both his solo albums and older Shockabilly material for sale from his home. He also has a catalog of some 30+ original tapes, recorded at live shows and in his home, spotlighting and documenting a truly deranged genius, raw and totally uncommercial. (Iridescence Records, released 1984)
Review originally published by Nashville’s The Metro magazine...
With the release of Frenzy, Mojo Nixon insures his place among the pantheon of great rock eccentrics, among such strange stalwarts as Frank Zapa, Lord Buckley, and Captain Beefheart. Mojo and his sideman Skid Roper can best be described as musical minimalists, mutant madmen who swap washboard licks with demented guitar riffs and a little wild mouth harp now and then as Mojo runs amok through a musical menu that includes inspired covers of Alice Cooper’s “Be My Lover” and an amazing one-and-a-half-minute version of Iron Butterfly’s psychedelic classic, “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.”
Mojo’s original material is not for the weak of heart, showcasing his fervor and passion on such songs as “The Amazing Bigfoot Diet,” a good-natured swipe at those tabloids found in supermarket check-out lines; “Stuffin’ Martha’s Muffin,” a scatological anti-MTV protest song which reveals Mojo’s hidden lust for veejay Martha Quinn; and the hero worship of “The Ballad of Wendell Scott.” All totaled, Frenzy delivers over a dozen of Mojo’s finest creations, a musical blend of talking blues, roots-rock, and incredible insanity, counting among his influences artists as diverse as Howlin’ Wolf, John Lee Hooker, Lou Reed, and Iggy Pop. Mojo Nixon is a true social iconoclast.
For those of you who can’t get enough of the right Reverend Mojo Nixon and his ‘Screamin’ Church of the Epileptic Jesus, his first LP – Free, Drunk & Horny – features such classic tunes as “Jesus At McDonald’s,” “Moanin’ With Yer Mama,” and “I’m In Love With Your Girlfriend” and is also available from Enigma Records. (Enigma Records, released 1986)
Review originally published by Nashville’s The Metro magazine...
It’s an unfortunate reality that rock ‘n’ roll, the corporate entity, is by its very exclusive nature, inherent racism, and bureaucratic unintelligence, pretty much a white man’s game. Oft times, all the hype, hoopla, and promotion is spent on the wrong artists or product, and musicians who fail, by reason of birth, to make the cut, are doomed to obscurity or, worse yet, an audience limited by racial demographics.
It’s a damn shame, too, for sheer, potent rock ‘n’ roll is not an exclusively lily-white art form. Case in point – Rick James can, and regularly does, out-rock any one of a number of lesser-talented AOR staples, doing it with energy, intelligence, and a measure of ballsy braggadocio.
Still, when was the last time you heard a Rick James song on your local “rock radio?” For every Prince or Michael Jackson who achieve multi-Platinum™ success in spite of the limitations of programing and promotion, there are dozens of talented artists and bands who suffer the commercial degradation of racial inequality. This editorializing is an attempt, however successful, to let you know what you may have been missing. There’s a whole world of talented musicians out there who aren’t represented on the charts, programed on the radio, or viewed on MTV. Los Lobos is one such band.
Roaring out of the Spanish-speaking slums of East Los Angeles, Los Lobos are a damn fine rock ‘n’ roll outfit of Mexican-American origin, carrying on a tradition that began some two decades ago with the crooning of Ritchie Valens and the garage-rock of Thee Midniters and continuing in an almost unbroken line through such contemporaries as Ruben & the Jets, Con Safos, and the Plugz (who would become the Cruzados). Unlike many artists of non-Anglo heritage who attempt to hide or downplay their ethnic origins, Los Lobos are proud of who they are and where they come from.
By the Light of the Moon is Los Lobos’ second album and follows much the same footsteps as 1985’s critically-acclaimed How Will the Wolf Survive? A blend of soulful, R&B, American-styled guitar-rock, and melodic, haunting traditional Mexican folk music, Los Lobos and By the Light of the Moon present a stylistic offering that is fresh, original, and at once both like and unlike much of what you may have heard before (strains of Doug Sahmn’s Tex-Mex musings reach my ears, as does brooding blues music not unlike Stevie Ray Vaughan). Lyrically, Los Lobos tend to sing of romance, pride, and wisdom.
The result is an all-too-brief glimpse into a culture that parallels that of the predominantly-white Anglo record-buying public. It would be a shame to allow such intelligent and thoughtful art drop into obscurity needlessly. Artists such as Los Lobos have too much to offer to be ignored for reasons of race, demographics, or ethnic prejudice…and if this does occur, we are all the much poorer for it.
As Zeitgeist, they delivered one of 1985’s best albums, the indie label triumph Translate Slowly, an engaging collection of tough, acoustic-based traditionalist numbers that included inspired original material alongside excellent covers (such as Willie Nelson’s “Blue Eyes Crying In the Rain”). In their present incarnation as the Reivers (glomming their moniker, appropriately enough, from William Faulkner’s final novel), this Austin, Texas-based quartet offer up Saturday, a great batch of tunes that make the wait of over two years well worth it.
The Reivers practice a sort of new wave of roots awareness, performing material that is a pleasant mixture of dreamy melodies, hook-ridden rhythmic pop, and guitar-based folk-rock harmony. Kim Longacre’s soaring, haunting vocals share the songs, lyrically, with John Croslin’s monotone, talking-blues styled delivery to create an effect that is at once both hypnotic and enchantingly ethereal. The instrumentation is tight, at times minimalistic, and serves as a counterpoint to the harmony and fluidity of the vocals.
To call the Reivers neo-traditionalists is, perhaps, a misnomer and a disservice; although they do, indeed, draw both musically and lyrically from the well of traditional music, they do so only with proper respect, incorporating such influences into their creations instead of merely mimicking those artists who passed before. The result is an entirely engaging work, artistic in scope though entertaining in execution. Saturday is a welcome return to the old friend with a new name…I just hope that the Reivers don’t wait so long before they grace our lives again with their song. (Capitol Records, released 1987)
Review originally published by The Metro (Nashville), 1987
Dear Susanna, Debbi, Vicki, and especially Michael:
I’ve been reading a lot of words ‘bout how y’all decided to write or co-write all of the songs on your new album, Everything, and how a lot of know-nothing, haven’t-listened-to-a-record-all-the-way-through-in-years critics have been insulting your considerable talents by dismissing the new disc as “too saccharine,” as “too much sweetness and light.” One friend of mine even waggishly suggested that each copy of the album come with a free lollipop (this was before I forcibly changed his mind…in a purely intellectual manner, of course).
Pay no attention to all that vitriolic critical crapola those clown-boys are spreading around like so much manure. I know that Everything is an entertaining and intelligent collection of tunes done up in the finest pop-rock tradition, replete with delicious melodies, hypnotizing harmony, trademark tight instrumentation, and songwriting that, while perhaps not the equal of former Bangles contributors Prince and Kimberly Rew, is mighty darn close (besides, does nobody else remember your 1984 breakthrough LP All Over the Place, of which nine of the album’s eleven songs were Bangles-written jewels?).
Maybe all of those self-righteous prigs are so damn busy listening to their gloomy Joy Division and Bauhaus records that they’ve forgotten that, first and foremost, rock ‘n’ roll was meant to be fun, Fun, FUN! Personally, I spell F-U-N with Susanna’s delicate, haunting vocals; Vicki’s jangling, Byrds-like guitar lines and tough vocals; Debbi’s tasteful, rhythmic drumbeats; and (especially) Michael’s throbbing, powerful bass lines. One spin of Everything proves that y’all deliver the unabashed rock ‘n’ roll goods…not just another bunch of pretty faces printed in 12x12 to try and sell records.
Love to all (especially Michael)...
Review originally published by The Metro (Nashville), 1988
The signs all indicate that spring is in the air: rising temperatures, falling motivations, random thunderstorms. Everybody’s got a snootful o’ pollen, and the songs on the radio are getting braver and bolder. And with a righteous jam like the Del-Lords’ “Judas Kiss” blastin’ across the airwaves, pumpin’ up the adrenalin – and those sneaky hormones – can summer be far behind?
Based On A True Story is the album for consumption this summer, kiddies, a nasty slab o’ PVC-byproduct so funky, so rockin’, so damn baaaaad that you can just forget about all those wimpy art-rockers, flaming dancefloor poof-boys, and wanna-be troglodyte spandex-clad foo-foos with their funny haircuts. As the great Foghorn Leghorn once said, “listen, I say listen to me boy, I’m talkin’ to ya!”
From the opening squeals and crashing chords of “Crawl In Bed,” the wonderful “Judas Kiss” (surely the tune of the summer, a hook-filled lament for a lost lover and a convincingly great anti-drug song), and the hauntingly ethereal “Poem of the River” (featuring sweet, soulful vocals from Pat Benetar) to the humorous “Whole Lotta Nothin’ Goin’ On” and the right Reverend Mojo Nixon’s fire and brimstone sermonette intro to “River of Justice,” and a half-dozen other scorching numbers, Based On A True Story is a hard-drivin’, King Hell rock ‘n’ roll delight.
This sucker cuts to the bone, chock full o’ sonic screaming guitars, Mephistophelean drum beats, and hot, sweaty throbbing rhythms that are guaranteed to induce frenzied, ritualistic movement of the limbs and pelvis. This disc will set ya to foot-shufflin’ and finger-snappin’! Perfect for the beach, the back yard, or cruisin’ to and fro in the car, it’s the perfect rock ‘n’ roll soundtrack for the summer of ’88…and ya know, summer’s not so far away! (Enigma Records, 1988)
Review originally published by The Metro (Nashville), 1988
