Mid-90s Chicks Return: Elastica, Veruca Salt, Nina Gordon; Dirty Beatniks; Stephin Merritt's Future Bible Heroes
In the case of Elastica, this lack of faith is justified. They never were much, just a Brit aggregation with a cunt-tease attitude who romanticized the artier class of late-70s bands (Wire, etc.). But now they're even less. The album starts with some digi-spin techno-beat on "Maddog Goddam" and Frischmann doing her best Chrissie Hynde impression. Nothing's changed, in other words, but it's not 1994 anymore. They're still using the same hypnotic organ riff they used on "Connection," a song that was basically a ripoff of Wire's "Three Girl Rhumba." Later, they pillage Wire again, this time with the riff from "Lowdown" making up the basis of "Human." "Nothing Stays the Same" is a pleasant enough ditty that actually conjures Reagan-era MTV wank, but like all their songs, it's static: despite their kinky pretenses, this is a band with no "variations."
The same can't be said for Veruca Salt. Subscribing to Liz Phair's credo, "I'll show them just how far I can bend," Veruca was like a writhing personification of snarling white-cat heat. American Thighs was the album I'd been waiting to hear all my life: ultra-ultra-ultra exaggerated super-rock riffs underneath ethereal female vocals. Veruca were the rare female-led aggregation who weren't ball-cutting man-haters. They rather liked men, as a matter of fact, but apparently Louise Post and Nina Gordon didn't like each other too much. Hence a nasty breakup.
Now, two years later, Gordon's struck out on her own as a chanteuse and Post has retained the Veruca name with a whole new lineup. Both of these albums contain fuck-off songs a la Lennon's "How Do You Sleep?" or John Lydon's "Lowlife." Gordon's toast-off is called "Number One Blind" and it takes up right where Veruca left off with its anthemic Cheap Trick quality. The fact that it makes direct reference to Veruca (remember "Number One Camera"?) makes the intent even more obvious. "I could peel you like a pear and God would call it justice," Gordon sings, which may refer to Post's physical dimensions, considering that all that decadent rockstar living has apparently caused her to balloon a bit. Gordon, on the other hand, still has her fashion-model looks, but this is the kind of album one might expect from a fashion model: overproduced, saccharine ballads filled with greeting-card sentiment. It's a shame, too, because Gordon wrote most of the good stuff for Veruca.
The good news is, Louise Post seems to have inherited a lot of Gordon's craft and at least half of the new Veruca album is true to its namesake. The black leather pants may have gotten tighter, but so have songs like "Officially Dead" and "Hellraiser." "Yeah Man" is just great bubblegum hard rock a la Suzy Quatro. And Post's fuck-off song, "Only You Know," trumps Gordon's by coming right out and saying "you're a hopeless liar and a hypocrite."
Where's Jerry Springer when you need him?
Joe S.Harrington
Dirty Beatniks may not be as old, but they sound it. (In other words: contemporary, cutting edge.) Feedback is one long, heady, sludge-fuck of a record full of dance beats first patented by New Order almost 20 years ago and updated by Primal Scream with alarming regularity. The titles could have come directly from an early 70s Curtis Mayfield record?"Whores, Freaks, Saints And Angels"; "Any Flavour But Vanilla"; "Kris Kristofferson." The music is what is commonly called "a blistering fusion of break beats and dirty rock 'n' roll" (The Guardian) or "disco carnage" (everyone else). In reality, this means a Shaun Ryder-esque voice half-speaking, half-chanting over rock samples and a wah-wah guitar, frequently backed up with an elastic female harmony.
Dirty Beatniks' new singer Mau boasts impeccable credentials (he was formerly in the sci-fi, jazz-influenced triphop band Earthling), but his modus operandi doesn't veer too much from the blueprint set down by better-known acts like Lo-Fidelity Allstars and (of course) Sly Stone. Words of menace, free-associated over dub-heavy special grooves. ("Low Rock" is Happy Mondays' "WFL" given a cursory fresh lick of bass; the masochistic and otherwise interesting "Let Me Be Your Ashtray" is as well.) This isn't a bad album?in fact, it's remarkably accomplished and will round off an evening spent watching the Trainspotting video nicely.
Everett True
On this new EP, Gonson only takes lead vocals on two of the six tracks, and one of those is a lame remix of the debut's "Hopeless." Give Ewen credit for trying a different strategy with the music this time. He ups most of the tempos to disco 4/4, and messies up the sounds a bit. But it still doesn't add up to much, and Merritt's delivery is not suited to clubland paces. Even worse, his tunes don't stick to your brain the way they usually do, and he dumps the weakest new track on Gonson. In short, I'm Lonely is filler tossed off while Merritt figures out what to do with the clout he gained from last year's acclaimed Magnetic Fields opus, 69 Love Songs. Next up from Merritt is a disc from his other project, The 6th's, which features vocals from a variety of established indie hipsters. If only he would devote an entire record to Gonson, which would be a distraction worth getting excited about.
Justin Hartung
But... This music is so anonymous, so obviously there to fill space and do little else, it's almost impossible to feel passionate about it one way or another.
Everett True
Which is where Gluecifer comes in, rocking the house as if the house were the Grande Ballroom and the assembled multitudes were revolution-fueled zealots about to bomb the nearest post office. "The General Says Hell Yeah" is a perfect example of MC5-type street-rock, exploding right out of the gate with an incendiary riff and Rob Tyner-style vocals waxing sentiments like "You can live your life on a common ground/Or you can strut your stuff to the idiot sound." Guitars squeal in that same shrapnel-flying way evoked most pithily by James Williamson on Raw Power. "Red Noses, Shit Poses" is a completely manic assault with boat-rocking dynamics that crackle with man-overboard intensity courtesy of some maddening drum rolls and one of those riffs that weaves through several sections of heightening frenzy. Just when you think it peaks, it goes a little further, and that's the mark of all great rock, from the Beatles to Veruca Salt. Singer Biff Malibu owes a little something to Blue Cheer's Dickie Peterson as well as to Tyner and Bon Scott of AC/DC. Speaking of which, Highway to Hell dynamics figure into "Rip-Off Strasse." "Exit at Gate Zero" is a manifesto of top order that proves these dingoes can compete toe to toe with their brethren, the Copters, for the title of best current rock band in the world.
Also on Sub Pop are the Yo Yos. They hail from England, so they're a great deal ginchier than Gluecifer, but in their own way no less effective. While the former evoke the grit of classic 70s punk and metal, the Yo Yos are more new wave. "Home From Home" throbs with Cars "Magic"-style dynamics and the kind of anthemic propensity and totally loaded production values of classic Cheap Trick. If American radio programmers weren't such total pussies, this could actually be a hit. Gleefully embracing the cursing-down-the-motorway spirit of late-70s pop-punkers like the Buzzcocks, as well as the irreverent tradition of everyone from the Move to the Mekons, the Yo Yos are as symptomatic of a return to basics as Gluecifer. Summer's here and the time is right.
Joe S. Harrington