Ian Hunter Retrospective; the Hangdogs' Beware of Dog; Nirvana DVD; Electric Frankenstein

Once Bitten Twice Shy Ian Hunter (Columbia/ Legacy) Ian Hunter, who had the best hairstyle in all of rock, apparently had a solo career that went on and on long after this writer had stopped paying attention. You're talking about someone who's never heard any Lou Reed album after The Blue Mask and not a whole side of Bowie post-Scary Monsters. Ian Hunter? Sure, the old Mott stuff is among the holy tablets?particularly albums four through six?but Ian on his own is admittedly a manifestation I skipped. Judging by the title, this album is playing off Hunter's last real glimpse of fame and, I'm sure, at that time, a well-needed money-boost: "Once Bitten Twice Shy," the first cut on the first-ever Ian Hunter solo LP ('75), which later became a big hit for a bunch of turds named Great White. Ian's version, which opens the disc called "Rockers," is one of the great rock 'n' roll road songs.

Other okay stuff: "Who Do You Love," not to be confused with the Bo Diddley song, although it's a blues shuffle all right, complete with harmonica. Total sneering rock-star arrogance in Hunter's voice, for the era second only to Alice Cooper. John Cale plays keyboards on this one. On "Colwater High" Ian does weird things with his voice on an almost Russ Mael/Sparks level. Then he sounds like Meatloaf on "One Fine Day." He's in Lou Reed territory on "All American Alien Boy" with some percolating white-funk jive a la Lou's mid-70s, as well as some honking saxophone, streetwise lyrics and a troupe of black girls singing "doo doo doo doo." Good goddamn track.

"Justice of the Peace" has that Lou Reed/Bowie RCA vibe. "Bastard," meanwhile, is Cale's "Gun" only less "eeeh" and more "Oi." Kids loved it back in the day, because it was yet another song that slipped a dirty word on the air and justifiably went uncensored. "Gun Control" proves that in 1981, when it was recorded, not only Bruce Springsteen, but also faux-reggae, was in. With its robotic vocals and sinewy synth, "Speechless" could almost be the Tubes, and I mean that as a compliment. Def Leppard, who, judging by the video from "Rockit" back in '88, consider old glam-hags like Hunter to be their spiritual godfathers, join Ian here for a rendition of "All The Young Dudes," recorded in 1996, and it's actually all reet.

Disc two's where we get into trouble. It's entitled "Ballads," so this is the more subdued side of Ian. He wrote some damn good rock "ballads" like "I Wish I Was Your Mother" and "Ballad of Mott the Hoople," but by the time of stuff like "Boy" and "Shallow Crystals" he was copping an almost Elton/Neil Diamond style of E-Z listening snoozedom. Still, there's a kind of gently rocking respectable getting-old-before-my-time grace to the best of this stuff that entitles Ian to the title of best grandfatherly Brit balladeer this side of Ray Davies. Ian always surrounded himself with ample session men (think Steely Dan) and the list of contributors on this collection is like a veritable who's who of bona fide 70s (and 80s) session hacks. On "(God) Advice to a Friend" he does his best Bob Dylan, which makes sense to anyone who's ever heard the first Mott the Hoople album. "Standing in My Light" is a kiss-off to a greedy manager, but it ain't as good as "Memo to Marty" by the Dim Stars.

I never knew Ian Hunter had this autumnal phase as a "mature" crooner, but at this point I'm just glad he's still alive. Yet it's a long way down from rock 'n' roll and it's a long way from "Moon Upstairs" and "Violence" to this maudlin sub-Rod Stewart swill.

Joe S.Harrington

Beware of Dog The Hangdogs (Shanachie) I never understood or much cared for the alt.country designation. It always had too much of that smug hipster stink to it when, at heart, all it really seemed to mean is that you had a group of youngsters who were trying hard to sound more like the Eagles than, say, Buck Owens. Nevertheless, I listen to, even enjoy, most of these bands?like your Son Volts and your BR5-49s. But these Hangdogs are something else. I may have a problem with the personal hygiene and social skills of most of the Hangdog boys, but I could listen to their musical records forever, this third one no less than the first two. Like Steve Earle, they can swing and roll and stumble drunkenly through any style they please, from slow waltzes to screamers, and remain unmistakably Hangdoggy through them all. Sure, most all their songs are about women who hang out in bars, the men who eat at truck stops and pine after them, unhappy marriages, lonely drunks, sad drunks, disillusioned and angry drunks, drunks young and old. But they're a country band, so what do you expect? The thing that makes the Hangdogs different is that, being from New York, they often blend, and easily, a c&w mentality with urban settings, and pull it off in tunes that are bitter, cynical, funny and?above all?smart.

Beware of Dog opens with "The Gun Song," one of the aforementioned screamers, a country ballad about love gone horribly, horribly wrong nailed to a slash-and-burn guitar line. "Cupid don't shoot arrows from the barrel of a gun," Banger sings in his sharp, nasal twang, "And love don't make the 10 o'clock news." After that, things slow down a touch, for some drivin'-and-cryin' songs ("Out There"), love-and-loss weepers ("Angelita Turns"), an angry, cast-of-thousands historical epic ("Anacostia") and a couple takes on the Hangdogs' specialty, the good old-fashioned hate song. ("Meet Me at Tommy's," my favorite of the latter, opens with, "Well I hear you're livin' with some pasty post-punk Brit/And every martini bar in Soho thinks you're the shit." I do like that song a lot.)

And in the middle of it all is the weirdie. "Other People's Houses" isn't a country song, or a rock 'n' roll song. It's closer to, say, a pop song from the 30s, or a Broadway show tune. It's the only song (on any Hangdogs record that I'm aware of) written and sung by the drummer, my pal Kevin. Just a bouncy little, well, "ditty" I guess you'd call it, about one man's sociopathic tendencies, the vocals backed by simple piano and guitar. What makes it weird is not so much that it isn't a country song, but that it's an unexpected experiment that works. Works so well, in fact, that it's the one song off Beware of Dog that got stuck in my head, spinning around and around endlessly, until I started making plans to track this Kevin down and hurt him in some way.

When "Other People's Houses" is over, the album returns to business as usual, with a few more songs about crazy drunks and disillusionment?which is as it should be. With a handful of guest musicians playing along with your basic four, and a mix of instruments you wouldn't expect on a country album, the Hangdogs have taken what can be a very tired genre and spit some whiskey fire in its face. In the end, with Beware of Dog, the 'Dogs prove once again that they're the best goddamned roadhouse band in New York.

Jim Knipfel

Teen Spirit: The Tribute to Kurt Cobain (Wienerworld DVD) This is not a good DVD. First, check the cover. There's a quote on it from a magazine that actively ignored Nirvana when they were around (until after they achieved fame, natch)?Seattle's own Rocket. In the quote, there's a spelling mistake: "Nirvana were the band who told America how unhappy it's children were." Maybe someone with a sense of humor designed the cover, realizing what a cheap, shoddy cash-in this "tribute" DVD (originally a video rushed out to capitalize on Cobain's death) is, and thinking that the quote matched. They're right. The quote is perfect. Ask anyone who was living in Seattle between 1988 and 1991 as to how much support The Rocket and its publisher Charlie Cross (currently writing a Nirvana book) gave the town's homegrown bands. Zero. (And this, in a purportedly "local" publication.) It wasn't until the English music press started hyping the Seattle music "scene" that The Rocket joined in. Whatever. This is not a good DVD. Nirvana's management company refused to cooperate in any way with this documentary, or allow any of their nest egg's music to be used. Instead, we have versions of the Leadbelly that Nirvana covered, "Where Did You Sleep Last Night," and "Release" performed by Mono. Whoever they are. Obviously, this leaves an imbalance in the soundtrack that is not rectified even slightly by the inclusion of English punks S*M*A*S*H or Shocking Blue. The management's reluctance to be part of anything that had Nirvana's name on it without the coveted royalties also means that none of the band or the band's relatives?or indeed their closest friends?feature in this 75-minute documentary. There's virtually no mention of Olympia or K Records, which played such a hugely influential role in Cobain's life, either.

Instead, we are treated to four main interviews. The first is with photographer Charles Peterson, both a personal friend of Kurt and the man who created the Seattle "look" through his skillful use of blurred live photos and ready access. The segments with him are tasteful and restrained; his quiet enthusiasm and pride at being associated with Nirvana and Cobain come shining through. Likewise the interview segments with former Sub Pop publicist Nils Bernstein. Both went into the project in good faith, and it shows. The interview with the former editor of The Rocket, Grant Alden, is much more suspect (for the reasons partly listed above), as is the one with the Times' Ann Powers, formerly of the Village Voice. Still, Peterson's and Bernstein's involvement give this tribute a classiness it barely deserves.

The rest of the footage is obvious: a couple of bought-in television interviews with Nirvana, vox pops with random "fans," a camera panning slowly through Cobain's hometown of Aberdeen, any number of shots of Seattle's Capitol Hill and 1st Ave. nightclubs and bars. There's little else to say, really; could be of interest to fans, particularly fans of Charles Peterson's photographic work, but it doesn't really stand up otherwise.

Everett True

The Dawn of Electric Frankenstein Electric Frankenstein (Triple X) A compilation of sorts from these New York-area mofos, who basically till the same turf as the Lazy Cowgirls, Hellacopters, Gluecifer and other "rock revivalists" (pity it would have to come to that, huh?)?a lot of squealing high-powered guitars and writhing Iggy-esque vocals and lyrics that embrace a sense of total liberation and wreckless abandon. Although EF have always upheld the punk credo, what this album proves is that the bands that led to Electric Frankenstein weren't as hip. Nevertheless, the different styles evoked on this album present an interesting travelogue of the past 15 years of American hard rock. Hearing the goth stuff that ends this collection, recorded in '91 and featuring future Electric Frankie member Dan Canzonieri, one wonders what motivated the members of EF to eventually evolve into a less erudite unit. But they did, and it's here, first with a series of demo tracks recorded in the primordial daze of EF. For '93, an era better known for collegiate fret-dragging indie-rock than manic stuff like this, these tracks are pretty right-on. Vocalist Steve Miller does a pretty good Stiv and a damn good Iggy, and he's not a bad James Williamson either, playing lead guitar as well. His shrapnel-flying attack on "Lie to Me" is pretty impressive. The sound is raw and metallic and Miller evokes Iggy with inspirational verse like "Break my will/You never could/Break your face/I think I should." Songs like "Live for It All" and "Ruin You" are good antisocial rock as well.

Directly before Miller formed Electric Frankie with the brothers Canzonieri, Dan and Sal, he was in a band called the Crash Street Kids, but while he was still the lead guitarist, he wasn't the lead singer. Some dude named Shock was, and he's more into Stiv than even Steve is, but also Darby Crash, as evidenced on "Subway Suicide Boy," which has a kind of Aerosmith Rocks feel, which was their ultimate punk opus. Speaking of Stiv, "Nowhere" has an almost Lords of the New Church feel and when's the last time anyone evoked them? On the blistering "21 Dead," the venerable Lazy Cowgirls come to mind once again.

As we descend further back, we find the group's roots are perhaps more varied than we might've ever suspected. Guitarist Sal Canzonieri was in a sludge-o-phonic band in the mid-80s called the Thing, a transitional band trapped somewhere between the slowed-down hardcore of bands like Flipper and Kilslug and the grunge spew of Green River and Monster Magnet. There's still a lot of metal in the sound, but it's also postpunk weirdo-rock the way the tempo slows down and speeds up. The way one lone gonzo voice blurts the words "open the door" during a brief break in the jam is almost in the "experimental" vein of someone like MX-80 Sound. "How I Rose From the Dead" could almost be a Sonic Youth song, with its astral projections that sound like they're lifting right off the launch pad, not to mention the anarchistic ethos of lyrics like: "The only thing you're born with is the need and the flame that burns inside you/Hope is for the wretched/Choose what you want and take it."

You think that's overblown and melodramatic? Wait'll you hear Kathedral, brother Dan Canzonieri's pre-Electric Frankie outfit. You can tell it's the 80s/early 90s by the way they spell Kathedral like Krokus, Kyuss, etc. But, once again, they were a transitional band at a time when metal, industrial and goth were merging. Danno even called himself "Donato" at the time, so you know he took the goth stuff seriously. Most of this is typical goth/metal similar to the later incarnations of TSOL or the totally forgotten Ziglo 20. Forget about their cover of Alice Cooper's "Desperado," however?noone can touch the Coop, especially in his primo incarnation. Cooper's Western melodrama was about literally shooting and maiming innocent victims in cold blood; despite pronouncements about "sin and beauty" on "Descending Wish," these gothboys can't get the hang of such mayhem. It's hard to believe that such poserdom even in some small way led to the sonic barrage that is Electric Frankenstein.

Joe S.Harrington