I had a personal audience with Snoop Doggy Dogg scheduled once, but he canceled it at the last second because he and his entourage had just taken backstage delivery of several hundred dollars’ worth of Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Snoop, who was due on stage in about 40 minutes, doesn’t…
Snoop Doggy Dogg Tha Doggfather (Death Row) Snoop Doggy Dogg raps the way Clint Eastwood acts–dryly but deeply. Snoop’s a bit more talkative, but his mostly impassive overtones–punctuated by spasms of spontaneous combustion–are pure Dirty Harry. The essence of Snoop’s message is almost subliminal, derived as much from the stomach-turning…
Tricky Pre-Millennium Tension (Island) From as early in life as I can remember until age 7, I had a recurring nightmare. Down the hall from my room, I could hear an ominous, gentle-but-steady drumming. Though I couldn’t see him, I knew the source of the rhythm was a little man,…
The recent jailing of Death Row Records chief Marion “Suge” Knight couldn’t have come at a more crucial time for rap music’s most successful and controversial label. In the aftermath of Dr. Dre’s defection and Tupac Shakur’s murder, and in the midst of a breaking influence and bribery scandal that…
Gene Autry Blues Singer 1929-1931 (Columbia) Aside from containing Gene Autry’s best recorded work–that is, those songs cut long before the Tioga Springs, Texas, country boy kicked his dirt-farm past to become the sort of sterile singing cowboy only Hollywood could create–Blues Singer 1929-1931 (subtitled Booger Rooger Saturday Nite!) also…
Susanna Hoffs Susanna Hoffs (London) Bad pop songs never die, they just get banished to remote parts of the world where people’s tastes are less developed. Thus it was on a recent rip to Finland when I heard the Bangles’ appallingly bad 1988 hit “Eternal Flame” no fewer than three…
Charlie Hunter calls his music “antacid jazz,” a jab at the legion of critics who’ve tagged his new-school stylings “acid,” which in critic speak has come to mean “jazz by young people in tee shirts.” Hunter certainly fits the profile–he’s sworn never to wear a suit onstage. In that respect,…
Henry Rollins Electric Ballroom November 16, 1996 Damn. I wanted to rip into Henry Rollins so bad I could taste a bloody scrap of his black Gap tee shirt on my tongue. Power Book ad-posing, 7-Eleven coffee-chugging, “Baretta” guy in better days, stunt-double-looking, Charles Bukowski rip-off bad haiku writing, underground…
“Supergroup” is one of the lamest, most cliched labels a music critic can slap on a band. The term conjures the image of conceited, balding, fallen guitar gods posed riding the cash cow on a reunion tour. Doubtless, Berkeley, California’s the Peechees will get the superdupe treatment by plenty of…
Various artists Shots in the Dark (Delphonic Sound) Oranj Symphonette Oranj Symphonette Plays Mancini (Gramavision) Inspector Clouseau may still be the anti-Bond, but the man who wrote his theme song has become the very epitome of stereophonic savoir-faire. Henry Mancini, the posthumous commander in chief of cocktail nation, won 20…
Karen Carpenter Karen Carpenter (A&M) Both A&M honchos (Herb Alpert and Jerry Moss) thought the solo album Karen Carpenter spent much of 1979 making was a bomb, and wanted it diffused without a public hearing. So did brother Richard Carpenter, but for more personal reasons. The chief architect of the…
High on the Vibe Saturday, November 9 Sixth Avenue and Jackson I am god. At least, that’s what Sunshine told me and 1,427 of my fellow deities near the climax of Dubtribe Sound System’s two-hour live house-music performance at High on the Vibe, a large rave in downtown Phoenix. Actually,…
In 1982, when up-and-coming video stars were trying to look like supermen of suave, Detroit-born singer Marshall Crenshaw came on like a mild-mannered Clark Kent, albeit one with a secret weapon–an encyclopedic knowledge of pop music past and present, which he readily applied to his own work. Shortly after his…
“We like fractured, broken sounds,” says Los Lobos sax man Steve Berlin. “We’re looking for that broken AM-radio sound, a certain poignancy that is more soulful, especially in this 32-bit digital world.” For Colossal Head, its first album of new material in four years, Los Lobos used an analog eight-track…
Wesley Willis Fabian Road Warrior (American) That thud you’re hearing is the sound of thousands of hardworking songwriters smashing their heads against a wall. Why? Because Wesley Willis–a tone-deaf, schizophrenic singer whose songwriting consists of a solitary, built-in Casio keyboard played ad infinitum–is being courted by a cavalcade of major…
Angry young men? Billboard’s overrun with ’em. Angry old men? Congress has cornered the market. But angry middle-aged men? Not a big draw. At 45, Graham Parker finds himself between a rocker and a hard sell, despite his protests that he’s “as mellow as a train wreck.” On his current…
The music we’ve come to know as techno, at least to some degree, has gone the way of earlier “underground” musics such as punk, heavy metal and hip-hop: It’s been commercialized. Granted, the techno one hears behind TV sneaker and beer commercials is a polished, homogenized version of what is…
Gary Allan Used Heart for Sale (Decca) Dolly Parton Treasures (Rising Tide/Blue Eye) The modern-day male country singer is a pop star now, a pretty boy in a store-fitted Stetson and pressed Wranglers. He’s more prefab than passion–his look copped from George Strait, his voice on loan from Garth Brooks,…
Chuck D Autobiography of Mistachuck (Mercury) He’s still the toughest-talking man in hip-hop, the self-proclaimed “Prophet of Rage” taking on the profits of rage that would dismiss him as the forgotten fossil–which, of course, he is when measured in hip-hop years. After all these years–after the rise and fall and…
Ska came first. Not reggae. But Rasputin died easier than the misconception that it’s the other way around. As the popularity of ska continues to swell–both for traditional ska acts like Hepcat and the Pie Tasters and ska-flavored pop tarts like No Doubt and Goldfinger–so does the myth that the…
Strange, how it feels, thinking you would-be Tony Montanas may be gunning for me. Strange, and not much fun. What I notice most is the thirst. It started last Wednesday afternoon, about four hours after the first of several local promoters, musicians and gang members I know called to warn…
Here was the future of rock ‘n’ roll. Here was the fabulous C.C. DeVille–would-be guitar hero, flat on his stomach and platinum hair askew–dreaming rock-star dreams on the nearly bare floor of Poison headquarters, circa 1985. Just a quiet moment for the self-proclaimed Glam Slam Kings of Noise, four young…
