MEDIA BLACKOUT #634.276!
Alyssa Reid – The Game (Wax) :: “I didn’t see that
coming” says a stock-sampled voice at the end of the first track, and it sure knows whereof it speaks because this one
starts out with a plaintive solo piano paean in the sensitive style of Tori Amos only to shift into a brief church choir vamp
that hints at a potential future as an art rock practitioner. Then everything belly-flops into a generic mung of breathy squeaky-voiced
girl power angst-ridden ballads and mandatory guest star macho raps, all of which come straight outta Xerox Studios complete
with embarrassing cringe-inducing lyrics like this one: “I feel like Spider-Man, you got me flyin’ offa the wall.”
Calling Doc Ock!
Ramones – “Spider-Man” (Sire) :: Julie Taymor should’ve hired these
guys instead. So what if they’re all dead? They’d still do a better job.
– Phantoms (Modern Outsider) :: And so would these guys ’cause they crank out a power pop pulse
that has absolutely everything you want to hear as the summer winds down and the winter winds up—and that includes a
surfeit of jing-jangly guitars; chirpy-chick vocals; and skin-slammin’ beats to keep your ten toes aligned and tappin’
in time. Even better, they’re not adverse to shifting gears and submerging into an echoing ethereal environment of evocative
emotion. You know, kinda like a midnight meeting of the minds between Portishead and Sandii & The Sunsetz.
PLATTER OF THE WEEK: The Doobie Brothers – Live At The Greek Theatre: 1982 (Eagle) :: Brothers and
sisters, I’m ashamed to admit it now but, back in the day, I had no time for these guys—which only goes to show
what kind of a snooty stuck-up snob I was. Maybe if they’d called themselves the Coke Brothers instead, I might’ve
been interested. And you can bet your bottom dollar that an old Glam Rock adherent like myself would’ve been there in
a Jobriath heartbeat had they gone the blown tranny route and called themselves the Smack Sisters. Heck, even an inner city
moniker like the Crack Cousins could’ve caught my attention but, c’mon, the Doobie Brothers? Oh, pshaw;
it is to laugh.
Well, better late if ever I always say—and that’s why I’m man enough to ’fess
up and admit that I was as wrong as wrong can be when I lifted my leg on these guys ’cause this is one of the hottest
and downright funkiest live albums I’ve ever had the pleasure of playing. Shucks, even the smooth-as-silk make
out ballads have enough pudenda-pounding potential to make you wanna conduct your own baton-brandishing bedspring
symphony, if you catch my drift. But whatever you do, don’t make the same mistake that I did. Go out
and buy this raucous rip-roarin’ record now, while there’s still time to save your musical soul.
I guess I should’ve
listened to Frampton Comes Alive and Saturday Night Fever when they came out, too, huh?
Be seeing you!