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With the release of Zunga, their debut CD, Bleu Velveta becomes the Big Cheese of Atlanta's art rock subculture. Colored bright with delightfully odd and experimental arrangements, their music is nevertheless instantly accessible and lacks the distancing dissonance that dogs many Cabbagetown creations. Bleu Velveta's Mark Baker and Wanda Baker may well be another Chris Stein and Debbie Harry, as "Ledge" and "Lovely Love Affair" prove perfect pop in the style of early Blondie singles, although Wanda's voice exudes a stronger character and her French pronunciations are more convincing. "L'Etat C'est Moi," a stunning piece of production with multilayered vocals and stereo effects, has an exotic Euro feel that extends well beyond its title and trilingual verses. On the disc's hidden track, Wanda even sings the Edith Piaf classic "La Foule" entirely in a foreign tongue, backed by the John Cale-esque strings of a very polished Velveta underground. Long a concert favorite, "Dead Man's Tie" was originally inspired by Jerry Garcia's line of arty neckwear, but in the wake of the musician's passage it becomes a wrenching rumination on death and remembrance, replete with catchy guitar licks and an eerie melody that quotes movingly from Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart." The strongest track on Zunga is "Money Like Dirt," a powerhouse anthemic rocker through which Wanda's voice smolders with accusatory rage ("When is beauty like pain? / ... Money and dirty dollars!"). But with "Picture" she shows she can hit an eerie, airy high -- and hold a dramatic quivering note -- to match any world-class chanteuse. "Blue Magic," penned by Jack Pendarvis, also appears on Kelly Hogan's new CD. Working with the same studio and producer, Bleu Velveta discards the odd percussion of Hogan's version in favor of more confident instrumentation and a slower, smoother reading of the lyrics. Reinvented as an awesome Julee Cruise soundscape, Zunga's "Blue Magic" becomes Bleu magic. -- Gregory Nicoll
Bleu Velveta's CD release party is at The Point on Thursday, May 30.
Despite his own half-dozen solo records and growing reputation as a producer, San Francisco-based blues artist Roy Rogers is still relatively unknown in the Southeast. Part of the reason may be his rare appearances in our neck of the woods, and part may be that -- with the exception of two records on Blind Pig several years back -- his most recent efforts on the non-blues Liberty label received little promotion and were seldom heard on blues stations. This debut on Pointblank should awaken bluesheads to Rogers' talent as a consummate slide guitarist and insightful, punchy songwriter. The 14-cut record features only two covers: a chugging, fairly unexceptional take of Willie Dixon's "Built for Comfort," and a slick 'n' chilly go at Mose Allison's jazzy putdown piece, "Your Mind Is on Vacation." But his own compositions are the stars. With extensive experience playing clubs since his early teens and later as a sideman for John Lee Hooker (Rogers also produced four of The Hook's albums, including 1989's Grammy-winning The Healer), Rogers blends a piercing, deliberate playing style with sophisticated, melodic lyric work. Whetting the ax-maniac's appetite with a full-bore power groove reminiscent of John Mooney's freehanded style, "Down at Vida's Place," and a companion blues-rocker, "My Heart's Desire," Rogers then opens up his bag to reveal far deeper pockets. There's a bit of Caribbean/spiritual feeling on "Call on Me," and that seaside flavor reemerges on the Buffett-esque "Proud Man." The latter also demonstrates a deft songwriting touch, incorporating insight with non-schmaltzy social consciousness. That same awareness shouts through "Shakin' Hands with the Devil," whose thundering percussion and sharp slide accents drive a clarion, semi-spoken indictment of mindless bombers masquerading as patriots and the bigotry still filling hidden killing grounds in Eastern Europe and elsewhere. If it sounds ponderous, it isn't -- this may even be the "suggested for airplay" crossover that makes it onto AOR playlists. Harmonica virtuoso Charlie Musslewhite sits in, long-honking on "My Heart's Desire" and expertly layering into the complex percussion and Latin-jazz flavor of the instrumental "Blues for Brazil." Rogers supplements his own, somewhat thin vocals with those of Maria Muldaur on "For the Love of a Woman," a classically simple country waltz also featuring Dave Grisman's mandolin trilling behind ringing acoustic accents. Throwing in New Orleans swamp rock, raw electric blues and the dreamy instrumental wrapup, "Remembering You," Rogers manages to encompass a sweeping selection of styles, all set off by his characteristically clean slide technique. An extremely able effort. -- Greg Nicoll
Roy Rogers appears at Blind Willie's Wednesday, May 22.
What follows is an argument as to why, based on their eighth and latest album, Emperor Tomato Ketchup, Stereolab is pound for pound the greatest groop currently operating on this polluted, overpopulated planet: You want retro? Get a load of this equipment, from vintage Farfisa and Vox organs to the ever-lovable Moog synthesizers. You want futurist? Put together, it's the sound of not-so-well-oiled machinery, churning and sputtering into space-age bachelor pad heaven and post-industrial hell. You want pure pop? Dig how they mine mod sounds of the '60s, from Burt Bacharach ("Emperor Tomato Ketchup") to Francoise Hardy ("Slow Fast Hazel"), and pull melodies straight out of a bubblegum wrapper. You want avant garde? Check the blatant liftings from '70s krautrockers Neu! and Can, plus their appropriations of Philip Glass's disjointed wordplay ("Motoroller Scalatron") and Ornette Coleman's jagged alto sax ("Percolator"). You want meaning? These are songs loaded with optimism, progressivism, humanism and dashes of Marxism ("Originally set up to serve society / Now the roles have been reversed that want society to serve the institutions"). You want nonsense? There's plenty of "la-la-la"s to lead us into oblivion, and anyway, head vocalist Laetitia Sadier sings in French half the time. You want a groove band? Tracks like "Metronomic Underground" and "Les Yper-Sound" cast a funk trance heavier than voodoo and at least as danceable as any neo-hippie tripe. You want a band that rocks? Try "The Noise of Carpet" for its rug-burning guitar and acceleration drum whacks. Yesterday, tomorrow, now: Stereolab's the one. -- Roni Sarig
Stereolab plays the Cotton Club on Thursday, May 23.
Change My Life indeed. For those (criminally few) folks who have been exposed to Epic Soundtracks through his two previous albums of shadowy, piano-based melancholia, the brash, rollicking tone to be found here may come as a bit of a shock. Whereas Rise Above and Sleeping Star were somewhat dour and introspective displays of his consummate craftsmanship, Change My Life is Epic spreading his rock 'n' roll wings. Fully embraced by the classicism of rock's better moments, Change My Life could well be either the great album John Lennon would have made in the mid-'70s were he not so distracted, the Big Star album that would have been made had they not been so nihilistic or, better yet, The Slider, were Marc Bolan not convinced he were an alien priest. High praise to be sure. But given Soundtracks' background as both punk progenitor in Swell Maps as well as a sort of post-punk Harry Nilsson on his other two solo outings, it seems that he's incapable of little, and the broad hem of rock that is woven on this album bears that out. There's the gritty, Nick Cave-like grunt of "Landslide," the infectious provocation of "You Can Be My Baby" and the swooning, string-laden melodrama of "Ring The Bells"; there's the contemplation of "The Wishing Well," the bouncy swing on "The Rain Came Down" and a drunken, lo-fi medley of Big Star's "Nighttime" and "Thirteen" that somehow captures the falling-apart beauty of the originals. There's a lot here, but Soundtracks' passionate delivery and delicate mastery of his muse makes it a worthwhile journey. After all, since when was rock about stagnation? -- Jason Ferguson
Epic Soundtracks plays The Point on Tuesday, May 28.
Who would have thought that one of the nation's most left-of-center labels would release an album so mellow and sublime? The Scud Mountain Boys are from Massachusetts but play as if they were born and raised in Flannery O'Connnor's gothic South. There is a profound sense of melancholy permeating almost every track, and it takes repeated listens to sort out the source of this emotion. At first, it's the pace of the songs, then it's the melodies. Finally you get to the lyrics, and yes, this is some painful goings-on. I have listened to this record more than anything else I have gotten in the last six months, and it still blows me away every time. There is a touch of early Cowboy Junkies (before Margo got married and became happy), and a definite Gram Parsons influence. The instrumentation is acoustic and simple, with just enough pedal steel to push you into a country mode. The juxtaposition of sweet 'n' easy with doom, sadness and desperation creates a strange feeling in the listener, simultaneously repelling but enticing. Even the song titles are unusual, and generally inconsistent with the sound ("A Ride," "Drunk," "Lift Me Up," "Grudge," etc.). As country as the band is and given how hard they try on this record to distance themselves from the label, the Scud Mountain Boys' Massachusetts comes off as something of an indictment of the current state of mainstream country music. As much as I love this album, I would suggest getting the phone number for your local suicide hotline before getting in it too deep. -- James Kelly
It was with great anticipation that I greeted the arrival of this new three-CD box set. I mean, wouldn't you, if you saw the names John Belushi, Chevy Chase, Richard Belzer, Joe Flaherty, Michael O'Donoghue, Doug Kinney, Bill Murray, the criminally underrated Christopher Guest, Gilda Radner and Billy Crystal listed among the participants? I sat down to listen with a big smile on my face and felt it turn into a grimace as the material -- over 40 segments per disc -- plodded on and on without a single laugh. A grin here, a chuckle there, but nothing resembling a chortle or a guffaw. Oh, there are a few sporadic moments of genuine humor -- among them, "The Hollywood Gay Alliance," a roundtable discussion among such renowned tinseltown queens as Clint Eastwood, "Chuck" Bronson and Lee Marvin; and Christopher Guest's oily record weasel Ron Fields and his attempts to sell "whaling songs" as the next big thing. But for the most part, the humor is sophomoric and dreadfully unfunny. And it's unfunny for the same reason that your old Cheech and Chong records aren't amusing anymore -- most of us have stopped taking drugs regularly. Stoned, this stuff was hilarious -- but remember, you also used to get off sitting in a closet and grooving on a mop. Listening to these routines straight is a chore and that's something comedy should never be. On the front of the set is a takeoff on the famous Lampoon magazine cover of a hand holding a gun to the head of a dog with the caption, "Buy this box or we'll shoot the dog." Let the pooch die. If it was forced to listen to this drivel, it would grab the gun and shoot itself. -- Rex Patton
This CD-ROM by Atlanta recording group Toy contains four different versions of "Everything Seems ...," which (for listeners without computers) offers more than a quarter hour of music in any normal CD player. The song is a passionate mid-tempo number in which multi-tracked female vocals chant in achingly human counterpoint to a wall of sound built of drum machines, industrial rumbling and mysterious gong-like imperial tones. Its intensely personal flesh-amid-machinery texture evokes Human League classics, an impression that continues through the instrumental mix, the airy "angel mix" and notably across the "Chinese angel mix," in which vocalist Alice (just Alice) sings in her native tongue. But put this disc into the proper computer equipment (instructions are included in the handsome gatefold package), and this Toy product becomes a fascinating plaything indeed. By clicking a mouse pointer on various symbols, you can call up complete lyrics and credits, with photographs of (and choice quotations from) each contributor to the project. The most engaging feature is a series of six "dreams," each one a haunting little QuickTime movie that documents some dramatic moment (a lovers' embrace, a photograph being smashed against bricks, etc.) and an accompanying poem spoken aloud over a blank black screen. ("The smell of hot sun reflecting off a white T-shirt / The taste of baguette and butter," begins one evocative sample.) Move the cursor during these segments and its image transforms into a tiny knife, symbolically cutting to the heart of these half-dozen urgent life experiences, which led to the composition of "Everything Seems ...." This Toy is for grownups. -- Gregory Nicoll
Copyright 1996 by Creative Loafing | Published May 25, 1996 | web@cln.com