Sunday, October 21, 2012
JEFFREY MORGANíS MEDIA BLACKOUT #338
Sun, October 21, 2012 | link
WE’LL HAVE A GAY OLD JEFFREY
MORGAN’S MEDIA BLACKOUT #338!
– Ruido En Al Sistems (Caracol) :: Isolationist unilingual clod that I am, the only foreign language records
I’ve ever owned are David Lee Roth’s Sonrisa Salvaje and Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music—which
explains why I thought that Ruido En Al Sistems meant “Al’s Sister Is Rude” until I saw the added
album cover translation which said: “Static In The System.” So I have absolutely no idea what Alex is
singing about on these fourteen tracks; heck, he could be going on about cubaña be migrant farm workers or
cubaña bop Juan Valdez for all I know.
But what I do know is that he’s got a pleasing
enough voice that certainly knows its way around a catchy melody. Sure it’s mostly easy listening music, but since that’s
what the whole history of pop music is pretty much predicated on, it’s no hangin’ matter—and it certainly
ain’t no capitol crime neither given that Ruido En Al Sistems has more than enough up tempo toe-tappers to
keep your ears perked and prevent you from nodding off into an unscheduled zzzzzzzzziesta.
SIZZLING VIDEO OF THE WEEK: Freddie Mercury – The Great Pretender (Eagle
Vision) :: Sometimes when I’m under deep regression hypnosis, I can still dimly recall the fateful childhood day when
I was forever lured away. It occurred one afternoon in the early ’60s. I was in the kitchen using an acetylene blowtorch
to melt away the plastic face of one of my G.I. Joes and turn him into Christopher Lee in The Curse Of Frankenstein
when I glanced into the living room at the black and white television just in time to see Mike Douglas introduce Liberace,
who proceeded to jauntily introduce his first song at the candelabraed piano by cracking one of his trademarked mink-lined
megawatt smiles and slyly saying: “Here’s a little ditty I picked up in Chicago...”
Well, after that forced exposure, it didn’t take long before my entire life became
one long lurid lavender descent into a nocturnal Nether Nether Land of Andy Warhol movies; After Dark magazines;
and, yes, Freddie Mercury solo albums.
You literally had to be there or be square
but, if you weren’t, then this brand spanking new feature-length Eagle Vision biography about rock ’n’ roll’s
Crown Prince Of Mince will have to suffice as a suitably sordid substitute for those golden glory hole years of glorious wretched
Of course it’s no secret that clean-shaven long-haired Freddie
was a notoriously stingy interviewee, which is why the extensive extended television footage of hirsute chain-smoking Freddie
being interviewed about his Mr. Bad Guy and Barcelona recording projects are a fascinating rare visual treat
to behold—but not nearly as fascinating as watching how many times Freddie compulsively licks his Chiclet choppers after
uttering each and every breathless sentence. I lost count after 537 but maybe you’ll do better.
Anyway, splice in some contemporary interviews by ye olde Queen crew and you’ve got an essential addition
to any mauve maven’s alternative lifestyle library. Bonus points for including candid footage of Freddie smooching one
of his mustachioed Mustafa boyfriends in a crowded psychedelic discothèque—now that’s entertainment!
Queen – “Let Me Entertain You”
(Elektra) :: Exactly!
Be seeing you!
Sunday, October 14, 2012
JEFFREY MORGANíS MEDIA BLACKOUT #337
Sun, October 14, 2012 | link
PLAN 9 FROM JEFFREY MORGAN’S
MEDIA BLACKOUT #337!
The Tragically Hip
– Now For Plan A (ZOË) :: From the Foxx-less Ultravox! and the Scott-less AC/DC
to the Hague-less Van Halen and the Gabe-less Genesis, rock ’n’ roll has been riddled with reams of bands who
bravely tried to carry on with other voices after their lead singer did the mung fade, including the Hunter-less Mott The
Hoople (Carry On) and the Jimbo-less Doors (Other Voices).
Well, now you can add the Hip to that replacement roll call. And while it’s a shock to hear a new
singer replace old what’s-his-name, it only takes a few tracks before the new pipes settle in for a comfortable fit
with nary an auditory leak to snag your attention. Which means that the Hip now have a heretofore unrealized expressive new
heft that actually manages to transcend the basic rock template and—
What’s that you say? They didn’t change their lead singer? It’s still
the same guy who wailed away on such classics as “Fifty Mission Cap” and “At The Hundredth Meridian”?
Well, whaddya know? I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks after all!
Van Morrison – No Plan B (Blue Note) :: Exactly!
SIZZLING PLATTER OF THE WEEK: Andre Williams –
Life (Alive) :: Now I know that this is supposed to be a cuss word free, family-friendly column—especially
for alla you impressionable young fillies—and I know that golden rule got reamed when I reviewed Howard Chaykin’s
iconoclastic art anthology a while back. But I also know that when a suave and storied bluesman opens his new album
by drawlin’ to the nit-pickin’ studio technos: “Can’t be happy on every fucking thing,”
I just has to quote the man ’cause that there’s an axiom worth remembering—and you’ll
be remembering Mr. Williams ’cause he’s whipped out the best authoritative album I’ve heard this year since
T-Model Ford’s Taledragger came flying off the flivver assembly line.
Even better, Life is the blowsy blooze album that Iggy Pop has always wanted
to record and dang near came close to waxing on several occasions—and don’t laugh: just like the Igg at his elucidatory
educatin’ best, Mr. Williams’ lyrics dispense minimal jewels of wisdom and are backed up with a slow-drippin’
vocal delivery that’s as thick as molasses and is guaranteed to stick to the roof of your brain twice as long before
it comes loose.
And speaking of loose comers, Mr.
Williams is backed by a buncha soul-stealin’ Delta-dealin’ young snots who don’t take no sonic shee-it from
nobody ’ceptin’ of course Mr. Williams who could kick each one of their collective heinies into the middle
of next week without even scuffing the toe of one of his patent-leather shoes.
Then again, what else would
you expect from a man who’s got the brass sassafras to rhyme “wanna” with “Obama”? Why, not
since George Harrison dared to rhyme “visas” with “Jesus” and Bob Dylan dared to rhyme “stir”
with “triple mur-der” have I heard such unrivalled poetry!
Be seeing you!