K mart is trying to spiff up its image, but it’s still the last place you’d expect to run into a rock star–unless, of course, that rock star is Bono. When U2 recently announced its new blue-light special at the Greenwich Village K mart, Bono graciously fielded questions and stopped…
Van Morrison The Healing Game (Polydor) When you’ve put out 27 studio albums, as Belfast’s finest has, your audience checks out every new release to gauge the subtle differences with past work. Here’s how The Healing Game stacks up to Morrison’s past triumphs: 1. Anyone who counted how many times…
David Bowie Earthling (Virgin) One of several striking, almost iconic images that adorn the self-designed cover of David Bowie’s new album, Earthling, is a “Kirlian photo” of a crucifix taken by Bowie in 1974. The Kirlian Camera is the infamous “aura camera” (featured recently on–where else–an X-Files episode) which purportedly…
Mountain-Vu Trailer Court. Apache Junction, Arizona. 2:30 a.m. I had the Clash going. Loud. The trailer was pumping. Pabst Blue Ribbon flowed freely through my veins, and the moon and stars shone with a vengeance. Everything made sense for a change. Until I heard Meth-Head Red, my illiterate, white-power neighbor,…
Once again, the Valley music scene took it on the chin from the showcase selection committee of the South by Southwest Music and Media Conference. No point in going off about it at length, ’cause it’s the same tired story, year after year. There’s one new twist for ’97–this time…
Beck Celebrity Theatre February 20, 1997 Beck’s not himself these days. The stage-frightened, rain-soaked, coffee-house kitten has turned into a blow-dried lion in white polyester. The muttering beatnik is now a rock star. This is the new Beck. Hear him roar. “Owwwww! Y’all lookin’ sexy!” Beck was half right. About…
Let the drums roll out, let the trumpet call while the people shout –strike up the band. –Ira Gershwin Gershwin probably had no idea that, 65 years later, the drums would still be rolling, the trumpets calling and the people–from KISS fans to stage-diving skaters–still shouting. Manning the vanguard of…
The red, white and blue Plymouth Reliant rolled off a Chrysler assembly line in 1982. Now, in the beer garden behind Boston’s, the family-size station wagon is meeting a most ignoble end. Several dozen fans and members of the modern-rock combo Jesus Chrysler Supercar rain blows on the highway titan…
Sleepy LaBeef is a rockabilly from Smackover, Arkansas. Think about it: Sleepy. LaBeef. Smackover. You probably won’t see a stranger, more evocative combination of words in a music story anytime soon, but in this case, it’s fitting. Among tightly slotted contemporary artists, LaBeef–who possesses one of the deepest voices in…
Aphex Twin Richard B. James (Sire/Elektra) Moby–who just yesterday was the poster boy for the ensuing techno revolution–is going mortal while everyone else goes dancing. Turning his back on techno, Moby now embraces Mission of Burma and speed metal and Public Image Ltd. as though he knew them all along…
1. Mae West–Way Out West! (Tower) 1966 Mae still had an hourglass figure, but the sands of time were quickly running out, if her manglings of beat favorites like “Day Tripper,” “Twist and Shout” and “You Turn Me On” are any indicator. This curio is like kissing Grandma and getting…
Pat Boone Pat Boone in a Metal Mood: No More Mr. Nice Guy (Hip-O/MCA) Pat Boone is back in black, and God help us all. When a recording that’s so wrong in so many ways returns Pat Boone–Pat Boone–to the pop charts after 34 years in celebrity-golf-tournament exile, it’s time…
Critters Buggin Guest Host (LooseGroove) Shake the hand of fate for pushing Pearl Jam into the Pantheon. Because if Pearl Jam had never gotten huge, guitarist Stone Gossard wouldn’t have gotten rich. And if Stone Gossard had never gotten rich, he wouldn’t have started his own record label. And if…
Waco Brothers Cowboy in Flames (Bloodshot) The problem with most new country music is that it’s too damned polite. It’s hard to imagine Garth Brooks or George Strait on a bender, and if LeAnn Rimes raises hell, I don’t want to know about it. Of course, Nashville has always had…
On a one to 10, with half points, here’s how the gala debut of Utopia–the first real attempt to translate underground dance culture into a legal, nightclub setting in the Valley–scored in the following critical areas: Music: 9.0 Resident DJ R.C. Lair started spinning around 10 and, intelligently, cast a…
Despite her success, Tina Turner has done her best to obscure the fact that she’s a great singer. It doesn’t help that she just launched her latest solo album, Wildest Dreams, at the same time one of her most incendiary early-’70s performances is available for the first time on CD…
Magnus Sveningsson says the Cardigans aren’t as happy, happy, joy, joy as they sound. “I hope we fool listeners to think we only play happy songs,” says the bass player and chief lyricist for the fluffy pop band from Sweden. “I hope people like the chorus, but the third or…
Vanessa Daou Slow to Burn (MCA) Virgin Island jazz-pop/dance diva Vanessa Daou and her producer/instrumentalist husband Peter Daou earned the favorable notice of dance-club feminists in 1994 with Zipless, an album that set the poetry and occasionally the voice of Erica Jong to music (the Fear of Flying author is…
For a company president, Superchunk front man Mac McCaughan starts work late. It’s 11 a.m. in North Carolina by the time he slides into the Chapel Hill offices of his label, Merge, for an interview. McCaughan sounds relaxed and amiable on the phone, and with good reason. Besides recently releasing…
“Welcome to the Nappy Jungle.” Black Moon Graffiti vocalist Napoleon “Leo” Powell divides the air with his hand, magician style, and whisks open the door to his Tucson home. From the emerald abundance of plant life inside, it’s clear where the “jungle” comes from, but what’s up with “nappy”? Powell…
“Once you pose naked on a stage, you can do anything in front of a crowd,” says blues mama and ex-porn queen Candye Kane. “Every night I hit the bandstand, I do my show from the perspective of a disenfranchised, fat, X-rated star in a skinny world where sex is…
Up from the ceaselessly rumbling, garbage-truck-choked avenues of Brooklyn, New York; spawned in the midnight blackness of iron-latticed parkscapes in the ultimate gothic city; falling sonically somewhere between Sisters of Mercy, Black Sabbath and the Cocteau Twins, comes Type O Negative. Garbage trucks? Hold that thought. Over its four-album career,…
