Record round-up

Why he loves it, loves it not

by John O'Neill

The holidays are approaching, which means one thing from the third cubical down on the right side of the Phoenix HQ: time to dig through the top draw for the rest of the stuff we've been meaning to get to before '99 blows by. The best way to handle the backlog from the ol' company mail satchel is, of course, the album review. It's a chance to kill a few birds with one stone (and maybe an aspiring career, but them be the breaks of this particular gamble), to provide a little light reading for the general public, and to give the opportunity for yours truly to self-medicate the evening away. Sort of like a cross between a good night out at the clubs and a visit to a fat-fingered proctologist, a round of album reviews provides its own pleasure and pain. As always, the viewpoint provided is mine. These ramblings don't represent the views of the Worcester Phoenix, which, while responsible for giving said reviewer the platform on which to toss his thunderbolts of judgment, is generally just as embarrassed as my mom is. So, let us commence. All mail, both friendly and hostile, may be sent c/o the name at the top of the page.

Jack & Present Company, Triple

(Nine-song CD; Chicago Kid Prod.)

Local guy Jack Shanahan, the chief mover and shaker behind this acoustic-rooted trio, has certainly been studying the alt-adult playbook of Dave Matthews and of Sting. The resulting album will appeal equally to post-college knuckleheads who miss those drunken, late-night sing-alongs with the gang at the kegger, and to bitter, middle-age critics who still listen to their copy of Moondance. Which is to say Triple is well played, somewhat poetic, reasonably intelligent, smooth as a goose's backside, and rendered in a groovy-yet-folkie style. It also means that it's often sluggish, occasionally overwrought, and generally a paint-by-numbers affair that strains to mine the same tepid pop hole dug by bands like Counting Crows. Shanahan's singing is a dead ringer for both Matthews's (pitch and phrasing) and Adam Duritz's (annoying "soulful" inflections). And the material is just as guilty. It's no wonder they've signed on with a Los Angeles-based company set on propping them up for mass consumption. The songs on Triple are professional, safe, middle-of-the-road clichés born and bred for the currently miserable state of rock radio. Jack and Present Company could be a big thing -- but do you really need it?

Fatwall Jack, Girl Next Door

(12-song CD; Sheerness)

A fixture on the Worcester/Framingham blues circuit, the four-piece Fatwall Jack get in on the swing craze, hire the Cadillac Horns to hit the studio with them, and come out the other side with a jump blues album that swings with the best of them. No riotous zoot suits, no mention of martinis, and no half-assed attempts to rip off Louie Prima. Girl Next Door is the real deal -- smart, sexy, classy, and a mile above any of the retro drivel heard on commercial radio or on MTV's 120 Minutes. Featuring the smooth-but-gritty vocals of Erica Rodney (who can cop a lick somewhere between Michelle Willson and Etta James), Fatwall rip through seven well-chosen covers and five boffo Chicago-style originals penned by guitar whiz Pete Henderson, who, not counting the extras provided by horn and organ, is the album's low-key hero. Highlights include a foot-stomping run through Lil' Ed Williams's "Chicken, Gravy, and Biscuits," the soulful "Hey Jay," and Henderson's one vocal turn through Buster Brown's stellar "Fannie Mae." The reason this album works so well is the band are smart enough to stick to what they know, and that's good blues music. They don't attempt to innovate or replicate. The formula is very simple: you can't fake passion. With Fatwall Jack there are no trend to jump and no marketing plan to learn. They play music for sheer pleasure.

Slant 6 & the Jumpstarts,

Look Out Above

(13-song CD; Loopy)

It's the return of those wacky Grafton-based Dr. Demento chart toppers Slant 6 & the Jumpstarts. Good thing for Dr. D 'cuz these tards are an absolute waste of time for the rest of the world that actually has girlfriends. A quick sampling: there's "Paranoid Hillbilly," which matches the guitar riff from Sabbath's "Paranoid" to the lyrics from the Beverly Hillbillies. Get it!? Well, don't stop there because you'll get your Zep-erific fill with the hilarious send-up "Livin' Lovin' Food." But wait, there's much more. There's "General Gow's Kitchen" (sung in a phony Charlie Chan voice), which deals with -- can you believe it! -- substituting cat and pigeon for chicken and pork. And the yuks just keep on coming. "Stuck Behind a School Bus" is about being stuck behind a school bus, "Cow Burps" is about a cow's burps, "Bomb Saddam" is a very topical number on that guy from Iraq whom we all forgot about six years ago. Now don't get it wrong, we're big fans of sophomoric junk that goes nowhere (check out our Mojo Nixon collection sometime) but doing a number on the MIR space station and including the drunk-on-vodka angle is just way too obvious. Fans of Ray Stevens and Barnes and Barnes may dig this a bit, or maybe your 12-year-old nephew could relate to some of it. Otherwise steer clear, these guys make Weird Al come off like Leonard Cohen.

OutCats, Livin' in Sin

(12-song CD; self-produced)

Recorded live at a dive -- namely, the homey Blue Plate in Holden -- the OutCats' first foray into the world of recorded music is a warts-and-all jump into the water of individuality. Featuring a New Orleans-bred and zydeco-influenced accordion player named R.C. Chenevert and a flat-out music maverick in guitarist Bob Jordan, the band hump along through the evening to the delight of few. But if you take in the crowd reaction, it's obvious these guys are too way-out for the bar's audience, which is unfortunate because the disc is a ton of fun. Pin-ponging between originals that Chenevert sings with a deep, from-the-toes wail, and all-over-the-map covers that Jordan handles with a nasal twang, the Cats deliver some of the more interesting stuff being done locally. Their take on Sam Cooke's "Bring It on Home," borders on a two-step, the Lieber-Stoller gem "What about Us" gets a Tex-Mex workout, and Chenevert's "In the Mood" rolls with Little Richard-style glee. Quirky as all hell, these guys are an acquired taste, for sure, but one well-worth developing. Livin' In Sin is a hoot.

All Else Fails,

From the Ground Up

(11-song CD; self-produced)

What is it about that hardcore scene? Why do these guys need so many reminders on why they're doing what they do? Listening to a disc these days is like sitting through something between an AA meeting and a self-help video. Wormtown's own "keepin' it real" guys are no exception. They deliver 11 quick, muscular, and pissed-off sonic missives that take on the usual cast of suspects: the government ("Sense of Urgency"), sellouts ("Cold Hard Truth"), poseurs ("Concrete Mattress"), former girlfriends ("Relationshit"), and commercial radio ("Abrasive"). Driven by the rasp-scream vocals of Stephen Millonis and the metal riffing of guitarist Brian Salmon, the disc would sound completely at home on Victory Records, but the song content is pretty much the same old story. Staying true this, I will rise that, strength in numbers, blah blah, blah. By the time you get halfway through the disc, you feel like you've listened to a recruitment drive for angry adolescent boys. "We're much stronger and we're always backed with a crew/Now we're much older and we still haven't changed." Whatever. The last line is exactly what's wrong with hardcore. It won't change, and the playing field is too small for any type of movement -- musically. If you're cool with that, AEF will rock your narrow world.