Toronto Music Scene -- 09.22

[eye WEEKLY]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
eye WEEKLY September 22 1994
Toronto's arts newspaper .....free every Thursday
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
MUSIC MUSIC

Items in this post:

preview -- SLOAN /w Superfriends, Hip Club Groove
sidebar -- Talkin' About My Generalization
jazzola -- SON, HOW'D YOU LIKE TO DRUM ON DADDY'S
RECORD? -- Through the crypts with
Ornette Coleman and Don Cherry
hi & outside -- SUCKERPUNCH'S MARCH TO THE SEA
indie eye -- HOW NOT TO PLAY -- The Ombudsmen learn
to crawl
quick fixes -- INDIE BAND NEWS
read much? -- NO ONE'S CAREER GETS OUT ALIVE -- Rock
scribe Nick Kent trashes himself
global groove -- BOYS AND GIRLS FROM BRAZIL
pop eye -- SPELENG IS FUR SUKKERZ -- Rock versus
the English language
concerts -- JUST ANNOUNCED

Note: Usenetters using rn newsreaders
can hit ^g to skip from item to item.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Subject: PREVIEW PREVIEW :Subject

SLOAN
with Superfriends, Hip Club Groove
Friday, Sept. 23. The Opera House, 735 Queen St.E. Sold out.

by
GREG BOYD

Like most any other band, Sloan were late for their interview.
Fortunately, the lobby of the no-budget downtown hotel where we
were to meet offered a diversion in the form of consultations
between the inn's biker look-alike house security and two ambulance
attendants. It seems a guest had trashed his room, breaking every
light fixture, and was now asleep in the dark, in the shower,
wrapped in a towel. He wished to be left alone.

And folks wonder why Sloan still call themselves a Halifax band.

Sloan are the kids who got tagged early on as standard bearers of the
Halifax Grunge Explosion (though there was little grunge and less
explosion). They've elected, for the most part, to stay there, on the
relative periphery of the Canadian music scene. Although the oldest
member, 26-year-old drummer Andrew Scott, now lives in an
apartment on Queen West, bassist Chris Murphy (25) and guitarists
Jay Ferguson (25) and Patrick Pentland (24) remain in Halifax, where
the foursome gathered last fall to write, rehearse and do rough
recordings of their latest and second album, Twice Removed.

Twice removed is what they are. "I still think of us as a Halifax or
Nova Scotia band," says Jay Ferguson. "I hesitate to call ourselves a
Canadian band. There are some aspects of the Canadian music
industry which I have no affinity with, just because a lot of
Canadian music industry types never paid attention to Nova Scotia,
while Americans did."

If the centre of the pop music world is Los Angeles (home to DGC,
the label that two years ago added Sloan to a roster including
Nirvana and, ulp, Counting Crows), then the Toronto offices of the
Canadian recording industry are at one remove from the nexus --
Halifax, doubly so.

This distance obviously helps knit Sloan tightly together. They all
sing. They all write their own songs, for which the potentially
lucrative publishing credit is assigned to the band as a whole. And
they spread the wealth among other bands by running their own
record company. As a leather-clad poet once said, "Out here on the
periphery, we are stoned ... immaculate."

Comparatively isolated from such recent industry-driven fads as
studio grunge rock and faux-jazz/pop, Halifax has raised an unruly
brood of important bands in just a few years. The latest to sign on
with American record companies was Hardship Post, who a week ago
joined jale and Eric's Trip on the Sub Pop label. Other bands breaking
out of the Maritimes include Al Tuck & No Action and Thrush Hermit,
who are with the publishing arm of the American branch of the
Bertelsmann Music Group. And if all these bands seem to be Friends
of Sloan ... maybe it's because they're nice guys.

TWICE IMPROVED

You don't need the video for the first single, "Coax Me," to spot the
influences on Twice Removed, but it helps. Its faithful reproduction
of what Sloan would have looked like on The Smothers Brothers show
manages, like the album, to play with the past without turning
kitsch. Songs like "Coax Me," "Snowsuit Sound" and "Penpals" ring
with classic pop harmonies, a snapping rhythm section and fuzzy,
friendly, weaving guitars, all anchored to a simple and irresistable
rock beat.

Part of the credit for Twice Removed's sound goes to co-producer
and engineer Jim Rondinelli, whose affinity for guitar-driven pop
can be heard on two of last year's best records, Columbia, the Big
Star live reunion disc, and Eleventh Dream Day's El Moodio. Credit is
also due to the vintage, musician friendly recording gear at
Waterfront Studio in Hoboken, N.J. (the choice of retro sound meister
Lenny Kravitz) where most of the tracks were recorded.

Smoother production sets Twice Removed apart from Sloan's
previous album, Smeared, which was filed under Grunge perhaps as a
result of both the cheap recording quality and the young group's
notoriously wild early performances. But while Smeared hinted at a
young band with impressive songwriting sense, Twice Removed
positively revels in it.

ALL TOGETHER NOW

The way Sloan write their songs is part of what glues them together.
Each member is responsible for different songs on the albums
(generally, the lead singer wrote the song), but all songs are
officially credited to Sloan as a whole.

"I find it weird that bands can operate with one or two people
writing everything, while the others are just hired guns," says
Ferguson. "I can't see how you can really have a band unless
everything is split evenly -- that way, everybody's at the same
level. I read once that's the way R.E.M. do things, and they've been
together for ever."

For Sloan, togetherness includes an extended family of Halifax
groups who have issued recordings on Sloan's record label,
Murderecords. Now supported by the band's collective songwriting
royalties, the out-of-the-bedroom operation was orginally formed to
put out their first EP, Peppermint, when no one else would. The
Murderecords catalog now includes EPs and albums by Eric's Trip,
Hardship Post, Thrush Hermit, Al Tuck & No Action, Superfriends, Hip
Club Groove, Stinkin' Rich and a vinyl-only issue of the Twice
Removed album. The tiny label is operated entirely by the band, with
friends pitching in when they go on tour, as well as a single
employee, Colin "McGyver" Mackenzie, manager of jale and famed
thoughout Nova Scotia for his ability to make a helicopter out of a
toothpick.

To its credit, MCA Records of Canada, which distributes DGC, agreed
to include a small mail-order form/catalog for Murderecords in the
Canadian release of Twice Removed. "It's really paid off," says
Ferguson. "A week and a half after the release, we went up to about
10 orders a day. Most are from smaller towns all over Canada.
There's a lot of kids out there who could probably buy our record at a
big chain store in a mall, but that store might not order Smart Bomb
[Thrush Hermit] or Hack [Hardship Post]. This way they can do a mail
order and get it right away. It really helps Murderecords."

Record tycoons in the making? Unlikely. Methinks Sloan lack the
egos. "We don't play shows and then all high-five afterwards, yelling
'Man, we were WICKED tonite!' I think we're all pretty insecure,"
says Andrew Scott. "Anybody who could play a show and know they
were so good and be surprised that no one liked them -- they're an
idiot. I wouldn't like them either. I don't think I'm as good as I could
be. And I don't think I'll ever come up to my own standards."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Subject: SIDEBAR SIDEBAR :Subject

TALKIN' ABOUT MY GENERALIZATION

by
GREG BOYD

Let's get one thing perfectly clear: Jay Ferguson does not hate his
generation. Yes, that is the name of a song on the new Sloan record,
and he did write the words, but one shouldn't take pop lyrics at face
value.

The object of Jay's catchy putdown in "I Hate My Generation" isn't
his fellow twentysomethings, but the media and their habit of
lumping together masses of people who happen to be the same age in
vast, typecast blocs. Whether it be boomer or X-er, it is, after all,
just marketing speak.

"I guess I should really call the song 'I Hate My Generalization,'"
says Ferguson. "I didn't want it to be mistaken for some kind of X-
dom anthem."

But in this era of generational generalization, journalists are
trained to repackage entertainments as generational definitions,
whether it be the Rolling Stones (us old folks can rock too),
Woodstock II (the '60s were better) or Cobain (you kids sure are
tragic).

"There was an article with an interview with me in a Vancouver
newspaper last week," says Ferguson. "The headline said Jay
Ferguson Hates His Generation."

He sighs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Subject: JAZZOLA JAZZOLA :Subject

SON, HOW'D YOU LIKE TO DRUM ON DADDY'S RECORD?
Through the crypts with Ornette Coleman and Don Cherry

by
TIM POWIS

Regarding alto saxophonist Ornette Coleman's revolutionary music of
the late '50s and early '60s, it's become a clich‚ in jazz circles that
nowadays it's hard to hear what outraged people so much at the
time. Context is everything; in the wake of the '60s New Thing,
which Ornette was largely (if inadvertently) responsible for bringing
about, and after the volatile abstractions of the AACM and various
denizens of New York's '70s loft jazz scene, Ornette's early
recordings are indeed pretty easy on the ear.

Still, not everyone can put them in context. Having given me
Coleman's Atlantic-years boxed set, Beauty Is A Rare Thing, for
Christmas, my sister asked to hear some of it. Before too long, Sis
allowed as how she'd heard enough; it sounded too much like Ornette
and his cronies were "warming up," she said politely. (My brother
didn't much like it either.)

God knows what she'd make of The Empty Foxhole, a long-
unobtainable Ornette album from 1966 -- it was his first studio
recording in four years -- which has just been reissued by Blue
Note/EMI as one of the initial 12 releases in the so-called
Connoisseur Series. (Buy any 10 titles and get a free Blue Note
watch!)

Even drummer Shelly Manne, who'd played seven years earlier on
Ornette's Tomorrow Is The Question and had been one of the few
mainstream jazzers to say anything positive about the saxophonist,
harshly opined that The Empty Foxhole was "unadulterated shit."
What offended him most was the unschooled, ramshackle drumming
of Ornette's son, Denardo, who was all of 10 years old when he
recorded Foxhole with his dad and bassist Charlie Haden.

Furthermore, Manne likely wasn't bowled over by Ornette's wilfully
rudimentary command of the violin, an instrument he took up as a
part-time diversion in the '60s. And, for that matter, neither am I.
On Foxhole, he saws sourly away at his fiddle in the seven-minute-
long "Sound Gravitation," which isn't exactly awful, but neither is it
exactly not awful.

Around the same time, Ornette also took up the trumpet, which is
featured on two Foxhole tracks. He's a far better trumpeter than
violinist, sounding sometimes not unlike his once and (occasionally)
future trumpet player Don Cherry.

"The Empty Foxhole" is a sort of mock-martial, after-the-carnage
dirge in which Ornette the trumpeter sticks to a simple but
chillingly effective theme while Denardo beats out a shell-shocked
single snare-stroke on each beat (or thereabouts), now and again
breaking into a spastic clatter of toms and cymbals. Haden's
waltzing bassline provides the ballast here; in fact, all through the
album, to compensate for the erratic impressionism of Denardo's
drumming, it falls on Haden to serve as the primary timekeeper -- a
task he performs remarkably well.

Nonetheless, Foxhole's three alto-sax pieces make it an essential
acquisition for Ornette-o-philes. "Good Old Days," the opener, has a
sing-song blues theme with a wildly teeter-tottering turnaround,
although the shape of Ornette's solo is determined not by the chord
changes -- discarding those, after all, is what assured his place in
jazz history -- but by his own fertile, free-ranging melodic
imagination. Falling back here and there on the kind of propulsive,
riff-like figures he presumably perfected early on as a honking, bar-
walking R&B tenor player, he summons forth the spirit of the blues
without adhering to its structural dictates. Listening to this track,
as well, I can't help thinking that Shelly Manne was a little hard on
Denardo. Granted, the kid evidently knew diddley about paradiddles
back then (judging from his more recent performances with
Coleman's electric Prime Time band, he hasn't learned a lot about
them in the meantime), but he's definitely listening and responding
to his father.

CHERRY ON TOP

Five years ago, as part of an eight-concert tribute to Charlie Haden,
Ed Blackwell (Ornette's longtime, on-again-off-again drummer),
fellow Coleman Quartet alumnus Don Cherry and a wide-ranging
array of other musicians played in a trio with the bassist at the
Montreal jazz festival. Verve/PolyGram has just released a CD of
that concert entitled The Montreal Tapes (with further instalments
to follow).

If Ornette Coleman was the Charlie Parker of free jazz, then Don
Cherry was its Dizzy Gillespie. Not in terms of his approach to the
trumpet -- if Cherry sounds like any other trumpeter, it's Miles
Davis -- but by virtue of his position in the scheme of things. By
applying Coleman's saxophonic innovations to the trumpet and
mixing in his own, more established influences, Cherry developed a
distinctive voice -- one that's been heard alongside the likes of
Sonny Rollins, John Coltrane and Albert Ayler, as well as Coleman.
Cherry's intonation is often imprecise or just plain sloppy and he
tends to sound mumbly when he plays rapid-fire runs of notes, but,
as with Coleman, his melodic ingenuity is pretty much indisputable.

Two tracks on The Montreal Tapes were written by Cherry. (In one of
them, "Mopti," Cherry does some scat-singing and plays a bit of
Jew's harp and kazoo.) The other six are Coleman compositions
culled from various phases of the latter's pre-Prime Time career.
"The Sphinx" was on Coleman's first album, Something Else (1958).
It has a boppish theme whose changes are discreetly set aside here
once the improvising starts. (Conversely, in a version of the equally
boppish "The Blessing," also from Something Else, the changes are
retained.)

My only gripe -- and it's not a huge one -- is with the rendition of
"Lonely Woman," a wondrous drone-based dirge that's arguably
Ornette's greatest composition. Cherry's muted trumpet doesn't
come anywhere near the despairing cry of Ornette's alto in the
original, and after the tempo doubles during Haden's otherwise
exquisite solo, the bassist launches into an extended quote from his
famous solo in Ornette's "Ramblin' " (the one that provided the
melody of Ian Dury's "Sex And Drugs And Rock 'n' Roll"). This has
become a bit of a schtick for Haden, and here it needlessly disrupts
the song's sublime forlornness. But that could be a reflection of the
evening's overall mood -- these three are clearly delighted to be in
each other's company. It's sad to think that it'll never happen again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Subject: HI & OUTSIDE HI & OUTSIDE :Subject

SUCKERPUNCH'S MARCH TO THE SEA

by
DAVE BOOKMAN

While Sloan entertain the troops in these parts, the scene they
helped develop back home in Halifax is gearing up for the second
Halifax Pop Explosion. The five-day Mardi Gras (Sept. 28-Oct. 2) will
feature acts from both inside and outside Canada, with international
flavor provided by Stereolab, The Spinanes, Sunny Day Real Estate,
Scarce and The Dambuilders. Our Dominion is supplying the sonic
sounds of Maritime staples jale, Hardship Post, Thrush Hermit and Al
Tuck & No Action, while our town sends a solid convoy of Change Of
Heart, treble charger and Tristan Psionic.

The Meat Puppets, scheduled to headline the last night's finale, have
pulled out for reasons unknown. Line-up juggling has opened the door
for Toronto's Suckerpunch to head east and play the last day's all-
ages matinee.The gig should find the band in fine form, coming off a
pair of shows with very loud American band New Bomb Turks (who
play Sneaky's Oct.1). Suckerpunch is in the process of completing a
new album with producer Daryl Smith at Chemical Sound. The tracks
finally capture on tape the eternal rock spirit and attitoode that
have made Suckerpunch one of this city's best live bands. Sample it
for yourself at their video release party Monday (Sept. 26) at the
Silver Dollar.

TURNING ON THE HEAT

It's been three years since Ottawa's Furnace Face shook up the
Canadian rock scene with Just Buy It. The time between has seen the
band weigh and reject major-label offers and ponder their next
steps. The results have been worth the wait. This Will Make You
Happy (Cargo/MCA) takes the same witty, left-field view of life as
its predecessor while showing the maturity and confidence that
comes with success. As fiercely self-sufficient as a band can get,
Furnace Face remain intent on rewriting the rule book to their own
specifications. The band brings their carnival of sorts to the
Horseshoe Oct. 6-7 for a two-night release party.

HELP IS ON THE WAY

While thieves and no-goodniks continue to rob and pillage musical
equipment, they can't take away the community's spirit to assist
those who've been burnt. Latest victims are the chameleon-like
Artichokes, who recently had over $10,000 worth of stuff pilfered
from their practice space. Among the items taken was a $3,000
portable 8-track recorder the band had on rental from Long and
McQuade. To help ease the burden,a benefit has been organized for
this Tuesday (Sept. 27) at Ultrasound. While the band appreciates any
cash donations,the group encourages everyone to bring a non-
perishable food item for Toronto's Second Harvest Food Bank.
Members of King Apparatus,Uncle Chaos, One, Soulfish, Dig Circus
and Fall Down Go Boom will be among those lending a musical hand.
Showtime is 9 p.m.

THIS IS A GOOD READ

This Magazine a Canadian publication that explores culture and
politics, issues and ideas, is holding a launch party for its biggest
issue to date tonight (Sept. 22) at the BamBoo. Saluting the Back-
To-School double issue will be Random Order, Hayden, Kurt
Swinghammer and James Jones. The MC will be dub poet Clifton
Joseph. Also lending a hand will be various members of the Bourbon
Tabernacle Choir, who have completed recording on their next
record, to be titled Shy Folk. The album will be released in early '95,
as the band are in the process of setting up their own label and
distribution network. Tix for tonight are a $10 sliding scale and that
includes a copy of the magazine.

ALSO HAPPENING

If you're going to NRBQ tonight at the El Mo make sure to buy the
load-in crew a drink. Getting piano man Terry Adams' grand piano up
the creaky backstairs of the club is no picnic! Anything for rock 'n'
roll!

Jughead have a new video and a weekend engagement at Clinton's.
The Queen Jasmine also has a busy time of it, with By Divine Right
on Friday (Sept. 24) and A Peter Tosh Tribute Saturday (Sept. 25).
And on Wednesday (Sept. 28), the Rivoli host another Chart Action
Man! night with Chixdiggit, Crawl and Buzz Aldrin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Subject: INDIE EYE INDIE EYE :Subject

HOW NOT TO PLAY
The Ombudsmen learn to crawl

by
CHRIS O'CONNOR

Manhattan (circa 1955) -- Renowned jazzbo Cecil Taylor squints
past a floorful of berets and smoke to see who has dared interrupt
his solo with shouts of "Hey, man! Yeah, over here! Lemme talk to
ya."

Philistine in question turns out to be a guy with a bashed-to-shit
bass, a glaze nicely fermenting on his eyeballs and one urgent need -
- to play a gig with the great Cecil Taylor. Cece relents, and through
the course of the set, discovers two things (that the cat was plumb
crazy was a given): first, the guy had no formal training on bass,
didn't know how to hold it properly, had probably picked it up the day
-- hell, the hour -- before. And second, had he pursued his crazed
noodlings and odd inner imperatives to the end, he would've become
one of the first great free-jazz bassists.

As it was, he probably ended serenading the Light-Beings of
Arcturus from a padded cell, but it's still a nifty story.

Which I impose on you partially to establish context, partially
because I'm a music journalist and therefore an arch-paranoid. I
know what you're thinking about four guys moonlighting from
established bands (Chris Watson & Fred Bruss‚ from Screamcone,
Terry W„chter from Everything, Dave from Missing Link), all playing
instruments they're totally unfamiliar with. Especially when they're
called The Ombudsmen. I know what cynicisms percolate beneath
that skater cap, hipkid --"Arty," "Pretentious," "Can't Play"...

"It's that infamous story of people who don't know what the fuck
they're doing coming up with stuff that amazes trained musicians,"
says Dave, once singer, now guitarist. "In Missing Link, I'd be fucking
around on guitar all the time and would immediately be told, 'Hey,
play that again!' by our actual guitar player. Basically, it's what it's
like to be a kid and in the band for the first time again -- it's very
rejuvenating."

Cos in an idiom that sets old age at 25, maybe the answer is to deny
the imposed decrepitude -- to turn instrumental when everyone's
screaming, to improvise when the riff rules and to float in
atmosphere when all else is obsessed with purging down to a dull,
hard core. To distill a sound from bits of Can, '70s psychedelia and
20th-century minimalism. And, naturally, to do it by your own
definitions.

"We're not a jazz band, and we're not atonal or random," says Terry,
bassist-gone-keyboardist. "And as heavy as it is, it's distinctly
atmospheric -- there's a huge element of musique concr te in there.
I mean, we try to create a mood and not just to be loud for the sake
of loudness. For instance, the actual songs we've established are
named after emotions. Our main song is 'Proud,' and we have another
one named 'Sad,' and that's not to be punk and cheeky and Sub Pop
with having cool one-word titles. We can't help feeling emotions
within the sounds we're creating."

Sure, but you're gonna be accused of pretense ...

"There are no pretensions," he counters quietly. "That's why we're
playing here [That Stoopid Bookstore, a coffee house in Kensington
Market] -- we're completely unprepared to play, therefore we must
play. Because 'everyone' knows how to get a rehearsal space and a
gig, how to make a set list, how to write songs, and if going in the
opposite direction is a stupid way of rejuvenation, well, at least we
tried."

The Ombudsmen are the house band at the recently opened Stoopid
Bookstore, 258 Augusta Ave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Subject: QUICK FIXES QUICK FIXES :Subject

REIGN OF THE UNDERDOGS

by
CHRIS O'CONNOR

Sing along if you know the tune, kids: Landlord say your rent is late/
He may have to litigate/ Don't worry/ At least you're not chained
inside a 2x2 kennel with electrodes stuck to your tongue.

ANIMAL MAGNETISM '94: Some scientists, having been responsible
for such boons to the species as Teflon, Peach Snapple and the
staggering array of Nerf products, can be considered Good. Some,
however, are unequivocally Bad. Maybe mom and dad didn't show
them enough attention back in the Mr. Wizard days, or perhaps
dropped them from a great height, or maybe held their jaws in a vise
while dripping Borax into their eyes. Whatever, now they take it out
on helpless animals.

Animal Magnetism '94 is a benefit concert and celebrity auction
presented by Animal Alliance of Canada. Five bucks not only gets you
into the El Mo this Friday (Sept. 23), a bill featuring Malhavoc,
Plague Dogs, September Child, Anyhowtown and Hot D.A.M. and the
chance to bid on such celebrity artifacts as a stage mask once worn
by Ogre of Skinny Puppy, but also the rare sight of MC Jack Layton in
a ceremonial bunny suit!

Probably.

CANSA FESTIVAL: Or if you'd rather keep it within the species,
there's this festival, which (consults press release) "celebrates the
return of South Africa to the international community of nations." A
week-long affair whose complete listing would run off the page and
into your coffee mug, it kicks off at 2 p.m. this Saturday (Sept. 24)
at Metro Square with Brownberry Jam. This features Vusi Mahlasela
and his band, with guest spots from (to name a few) Lorraine Segato,
Devon, Richard Underhill, Molly Johnson, Hugh Marsh and one Graeme
Kirkland -- who's promised to keep his pants on this time. You know,
serious occasion and all ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Subject: READ MUCH? READ MUCH? :Subject

NO ONE'S CAREER GETS OUT ALIVE
Rock scribe Nick Kent trashes himself

by
JASON ANDERSON

Nick Kent so loved rock 'n' roll that he put junk in his arms and
stopped combing his hair. Nick Kent so loved rock 'n' roll that he
made it through the lowest moments of the '70s only to be swatted
with a chain by a pre-Pistols Sid Vicious. Nick Kent so loved rock 'n'
roll that he swallowed each of its myths whole, even when it was
clear that he abhorred them.

There were two real stars at the NME in the '70s, the glory era of
the Brit pop press in terms of ingenuity and influence -- the affable
Charles Shaar Murray and the fuck-up Nick Kent. Murray has now
published three books and lives in North London. Kent has now
published his first book, The Dark Stuff (Penguin, $14.99 paper), a
compilation of 18 revised pieces, and lives in Paris. The former has
remained productive and the latter couldn't be bothered.

It's no surprise that Kent has no intention of celebrating the good,
cleanly-lived life -- the subjects here, save Elvis Costello, Roy
Orbison and Neil Young, are the sorts of artists he emulated. Here are
the insane (Brian Wilson, Jerry Lee Lewis, Iggy Pop, Syd Barrett,
Roky Erickson), the addicts (Miles Davis, Shane McGowan), the
knuckleheads (Guns N' Roses, Happy Mondays, Sid Vicious), the
beautiful losers (Brian Jones, the New York Dolls and, by extension
cord, Morrissey). So what interests Kent at the age of 43 is a heap of
corpses and shoulda-been-corpses.

And rightly so, not only because he himself is a shoulda-been, but
because he's at the top of his game when mucking around in the dark
stuff. The longest piece here, "The Last Beach Movie Revisited: The
Life Of Brian Wilson," is his masterpiece (he never did get around to
writing his Beach Boys book, though). Kent's strengths are much in
evidence in articles like "Twilight In Babylon: The Rolling Stones
After The Sixties" -- an excellent interviewer, what he lacked in a
sense of humor, he made up for in style. And he could see clear
through the decadence to what was truly golden in rock 'n' roll -- his
downfall was in being seduced by the darkness and his own vanity
(though he doesn't quite admit to becoming a junkie for Keith
Richards).

The Dark Stuff goes awry because of Kent's unfortunate compulsion
to revise the pieces, causing an aggravation that mounts when the
book is read cover-to-cover. Several articles are collapsed into one
with no indication of what starts where or when. Tough writing
dwindles into vague the-way-we-were's. For example, the New York
Dolls article is unfolding all fine and dandy and 1973-like until one
spies the word "yuppie." Is the vernacular of the time so
incomprehensible to the contemporary reader? He's denied these
writings any sense of closure, all sacrificed for hindsight-enriched
biographical material that doesn't even reveal how this auteur feels
about how things turned out. His refusal to state anything about now
corrupts the way these articles speak of then.

Consequently, The Dark Stuff documents a vast disillusionment with
rock and rock writing. And again, rightly so. There were no
successors to Kent, Lester Bangs or Nik Cohn -- intelligent writers
shrivel up at the notion of Izzy Stradlin in the World's Most
Dangerous Band. Like Iggy Pop writes in the foreword, how could
anyone care about "music journalism" any more? A writer like Kent
doesn't have a place in today's Consumer Reports-style music press.
He wrote about rock's power to change life, not lifestyle.

None of which excuses the mess he's made with The Dark Stuff.
Coming from a writer so obviously artful and insightful (who else
wrote so compellingly about Wilson or Barrett or Keef or Iggy?), The
Dark Stuff is Nick Kent pissing on his canvases. Dumb prick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Subject: GLOBAL GROOVE GLOBAL GROOVE :Subject

BOYS AND GIRLS FROM BRAZIL

by
NICHOLAS JENNINGS

Imagine an army of 110 percussionists drumming through the
streets, as buildings all around rumble in its wake.

No stiff military band this: its members sport feather headdresses
and bright body paint, and their music boasts a swinging, African-
style syncopation.

The group is Timbalada, a hip tribe of timbaleiros (drummers) from
the Brazilian region of Bahia, and their rhythms hit with the force of
a tidal wave. Led by talented singer-composer Carlinhos Brown --
whose contributions made both Bill Laswell's experimental Bahia
Black and Sergio Mendes' Grammy Award-winning Brasileiro
essential recordings -- Timbalada has conquered Brazil's Carnival
for the past two years with its sound, an intoxicating mix of funk,
rap and such Afro-Brazilian styles as fricote, samba-reggae and
xote.

Like Olodum (heard on Paul Simon's Rhythm Of The Saints),
Timbalada is a bloco afro, a Carnival band based in the Bahian
capital of Salvador. But where Olodum is serious and folkloric,
Timbalada is fun-loving and contemporary (they use guitars,
keyboards and horns as well as a mind-boggling assortment of
percussion instruments). And it's easy to imagine how the group,
with its joyous cacophony, could fuel a Carnival all on its own.

On the band's self-titled debut, Timbalada takes an exuberant
approach to both spiritual and romantic themes (formerly available
only as an import, the album will be released domestically by
PolyGram DATE, with less curvaceous cover art). Highlights include
"Beija-Flor" ("Hummingbird"), a spirited love song with sweet call-
and-response vocals, and Brown's "Canto Pro Mar" ("Song To The
Sea"), full of riotous rhythms and a rowdy chorus, all praising the
beauty of the natural world. The group's lone female singer, Patricia
Gomes, has a beguiling voice reminiscent of Margareth Menezes, the
Brazilian vocalist famous for upstaging David Byrne on his Rei Momo
tour.

A fiery performer with enough high-voltage energy to rival Tina
Turner, Menezes has her own album out on PolyGram. Titled Luz
Dourada (Golden Light), it continues in the sensuous samba-reggae
vein of her Mango releases, Eligibo and Kindala.

Bahian-born Menezes shares with Timbalada an affinity for sinewy,
African-based rhythms. And some of her songs, like the stirring
"Ra‡a Negra" ("Black Race"), are glorious celebrations of the
African orishas (gods) that are worshipped in Brazil's candombl‚
religion.

Unfortunately, Menezes also has a tendency toward glitzy pop, a
trait that sometimes marred her previous albums. It resurfaces
again on Luz Dourada's title track, a song dedicated "to all brothers
on the road to unity," which suffers from smug synth-strings and
heavy-handed horns.

Menezes, however, wisely includes one Carlinhos Brown composition
("Club do Brown Benjor") and closes the album with a stark
rendition of Caetano Veloso's moving ballad "Chegar … Bahia" ("To
Arrive in Bahia"), which features a berimbau played with Hendrix-
style wah-wah.

A Hendrix number ("Wait Until Tomorrow") is just one of the many
highlights of Tropic lia 2 (Elektra/Warner), the wildly eclectic
collaboration by Veloso and Gilberto Gil, old Bahian buddies both. Of
course, calling Veloso and Gil eclectic is like describing Carmen
Miranda's headdress as fruity. The two leaders of Brazil's MPB
(mŁsica popular brasileira) movement have long experimented and
promoted an iconoclastic approach to music, releasing the ground-
breaking Tropic lia in 1968.

But the pair's second instalment offers surprises too many to
mention -- apart, that is, from the suave American funk of "As
Coisas" and the European new wave of "Nossa Gente." Then there's
"Rap Popcreto," a strange sound collage built on samples of the word
"Quem?" ("Who?") that would do recent eye cover boy John Oswald
proud.

Naturally, there's plenty of soulful samba and a tasty bossa nova
tune ("Baiao Atemporal") that bears a strong resemblance to that
old Brazilian chestnut "The Girl from Ipanema." And, just to prove
that he's the Bahian man-of-the-moment, Carlinhos Brown lends his
percussive talents -- playing everything from timbales to toilet
seat (!?) -- to four of the album's 12 tracks.

THE REAL SLACK

Mention Hawaiian music to most people and they wince at the
thought of their parents' touristy Don Ho records.

Time to shatter those old stereotypes (and records). A quick
immersion into the real thing begins with the music of slack-key
guitar great Gabby Pahinui, who graced Ry Cooder's 1976 classic
Chicken Skin Music and who released several superb but hard-to-find
recordings of his own.

To lovers of entrancing, finger-picked guitar, the slack-key style
may be the closest thing to music from heaven. Its characteristics
include lower tunings, a steady, hypnotic rhythm (perfect
accompaniment for the hula dance) and chiming harmonics with an
exquisite, bell-like quality.

Slack-key has now become more widely available with the launch of
"Hawaiian Slack Key Guitar Masters Series" on Dancing Cat Records,
a company run by pianist George Winston, best known for his
recordings on the new-age Windham Hill label.

The first two releases, distributed in Canada by BMG, are Ray Kane's
Punahele and Sonny Chillingworth's Sonny Solo. Both contain more
soul and warmth than all of Windham Hill's recordings put together.
If slack-key guitar music is the new new age, this represents real
progress.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Subject: POP EYE POP EYE :Subject

SPELENG IS FUR SUKKERZ
Rock versus the English language

by
CINDY McGLYNN

Rock musicians can't spell. You just have to take a look at the
bazillions of I-failed-grade-three band names out there to know that
Dan Quayle wasn't the only guy who thinks potato is better spelled
with an E. He was just the wrong guy at the wrong gig. He should be a
rock musician.

Because rock musicians can't spell but nobody cares. In fact, they
celebrate it.

Led Zeppelin is just one famous misspelling. Dead Who drummer
Keith Moon coined the phrase, but the Zep guys mutilated it.

Lynyrd Skynyrd used to be called My Backyard but changed their name
to immortalize a hated high-school gym teacher, Leonard Skinner.
Why did they hate him? Kicked off the football team for flunking
spelling, maybe?

Split Enz were once called Split Ends and Def Leppard used to be
called Deaf Leopard.

It's easy to imagine rock musicians being too busy practising their
three chords and finding words to rhyme with "baby" to bother about
spelling.

Still, there could be more to it.

Brendan Canning from hHead was very nice to me and I want him to
know I was only kidding when I said I'd donate his band to the East
Coast to be annexed by the States. (Though given Sub Pop's tireless
interest there, my nasty little joke might just be on me.) hHead used
to be called Head until Canning checked out a discount tape bin and
found his wasn't the only Head around. Canning et al. responded
quickly and stuck an extra h in front "just to avoid any trauma."

LovecanaL singer Luisa Mastrobuono is doing a Ph.D, so I figure she
probably can spell. She assured me she spelled her band name
properly until she met a precocious 4-year-old who asked about her
band and later handed over an abstract painting flanked by the
newly-joined word.

"It came from the crayon of a child," Mastrobuono cooed down the
phone line.

Speaking of girls and spelling and school, when I was in school, girls
seemed to spell better than boys. This does not apply to rock music,
where girls rock as hard and spell equally badly. What about this
whole Riot Grrrl thing? What is that? Alison from Bratmobile, one of
those Olympia, Wash., bands, coined it originally. A clandestine local
source tells me that every last raging RRR is meant to be there as an
expression of anger. They're not of the original Olympia set, but
check out L7 (the proliferation of letter and number names is
another clue to bad spelling skills -- U2, XTC, AC/DC, INXS ...) and let
some of your own R's rage.

Now all this gets me thinking even more creatively about band
misspellings. Maybe they all follow George Bernard Shaw's thinking
that our language is screwed and everything ought to be spelled
phonetically.

Shaw wanted a new alphabet with 24 new consonants and 18 vowels
and he figured it might cause civil war, but said the waste of war is
"negligible in comparison to the daily waste of trying to
communicate with one another in English through an alphabet with
16 letters missing."

Jaymz Bee agrees. He used to be James until swept away with the
simplicity of phonetic spelling about 12 years ago when he became
Jaymz. ("Just Jaymz, like Cher," Bee says.) He added the Bee to show
his love for all things agricultural and, as self-fulfilling prophecy
would have it, now has a girlfriend with beehives and homemade
honey.

Prince was half with Shaw. He decided English wasn't big enough to
express his, uh, essence, so he made up that symbol thing. Since
PRINCE SYMBOL is the only one who knows how to pronounce PRINCE
SYMBOL, I figure he missed Shaw's point that a new alphabet was to
make people understand each other better. When asked what the Hank
was going on, PRINCE SYMBOL's publicist replied, simply: "This is
not a joke."

Perhaps we could better understand some of these names if we broke
them into their component parts. Take Fujahtive. "Fuj": phonetic
spelling of fudge, Shaw would approve. "Ah": a little sigh of pleasure
there in the middle; and "tive": giving 10 per cent of yer money to a
church. That works ok.

Still, I think most rock musicians can't spell. That's what record
company people are for. But even though someone carefully printed
"Toronto" on Jeffrey Gaines' and his band's equipment, it didn't
arrive from his home of Philadelphia until the third song of Gaines'
set last Thursday at Ultrasound. Virgin's Carol Macdonald scrounged
up equipment from Steve's Music Store and opened a tab downstairs
at X-Rays where a hundred or so industry types started on free
brewskies while awaiting the showcase, which started a half hour
late.

"When all else fails, give them free beer" Macdonald says.

hHead appears on the Elvis Monday compilation CD. Jaymz Bee hosts
Comedy Lounge, part of the People's Comedy Fest, Thursday, Sept. 29.
Fujahtive release their second CD tonight (Sept. 22) at the Phoenix.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Subject: CONCERTS CONCERTS :Subject

JUST ANNOUNCED

GRAVEDIGGAZS El Mocambo, Sept. 30.

RED PLASTIC BAG with John King, Serenader, many more. St.
Lawrence Market North Hall, Oct. 1.

GANDHARVAS Lee's Palace, Oct. 14.

LOVE SPIT LOVE with Gigolo Aunts. Lee's Palace, Oct. 15.

BECK with Doo Rag. Opera House, Oct. 21.

JONATHAN RICHMAN Horseshoe, Oct. 24.

LOWEST OF THE LOW Lee's Palace, Oct. 28-29.

TORI AMOS Massey Hall, Oct. 29; Centre In The Square, Kitchener,
Nov. 1; Hamilton Place, Nov. 5.

SHAWN COLVIN with Hemingway Corner. Music Hall, Oct. 31.

THE WEDDING PRESENT Lee's Palace, Nov. 1.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Retransmit freely in cyberspace Author holds standard copyright
Full issue of eye available in archive ==> gopher.io.org or ftp.io.org
Mailing list available http://www.io.org/eye
e...@io.org "Break the Gutenberg Lock..." 416-971-8421