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TARWATER
Rabbit Moon Revisited
Capstack
I'M HAVING A Trio moment at the record store. Some tattooed love-boy
came in yesterday looking for that record with "Da Da Da"
on it, because his pop "really thinks that VW commercial
is funny." Now, Herr Father is trading the disc in, saying
it's "moronic and unlistenable." What, I mused to myself,
would have happened if Volkswagen had tagged a group of current
German artists for ad-shilling chores instead of a moldy oldie?
Would the analog burp-and-groan motifs of Tarwater now play nightly
on our TV? Bastard offspring of Robert Moog, Tarwater can be minimalist
and trance-like; Tar Revisited sounds like Kraftwerk joined by
an electric bassist and a reciting poet. The duo can also be abrasive
and vertiginous; "Rabbit Moon" is a melange of tumbling
drums, scratchy vinyl samples, and the buzzing of electronic bugs.
In between those extremes lies a wealth of intriguing sounds,
from gurgling, funky electronica and sleek 'n' cheeky Prog hearkening
back to mid-'70s Krautrock, to just plain experimental soundscapes.
"Hey dude, you got any Kriedler or To Rococo Rot here?"
Shaken from my reverie by yet another young ambassador from the
Pierced Generation, I smile and reply brightly, "Glad you
asked, kid." Right over here--and we stock another German
experimental group too, Tarwater. Did I mention that all three
groups have members in common?
--Fred Mills
Question Mark and the Mysterians
Do You Feel It Baby?
Norton
MOST ROCK-AND-roll connoisseurs can instantaneously recognize
the simple, repetitive two-note organ-pounding introduction to
"96 Tears," the greatest garage punk anthem ever recorded.
Well, Question Mark and the Mysterians, who unleashed that epic,
Vox-driven garage nugget, back in 1966, have reunited 30 years
later fully intact to unleash Do You Feel It Baby? on today's
pseudo-hip alternative audience. These five basement-born Michigan
cave dwellers begot a thousand faceless garage bands with the
million-selling "96 Tears," forever fuel-injecting the
scene with greasy, hip-grinding, organ-drenched fervor. Recorded
last October at the Cave Stomp Fest in New York City, the sunglasses
bespectacled Question Mark demonstrates he's one of the most charismatic
and mysterious figures in the annals of rock 'n' roll. This enthralling
live document is a twisted mixture of cockiness, lust and frustration,
and the nasal vocals and hypnotic two-chord organ vamps that made
Question Mark a punk progenitor. At times, they sound like a
cross between the Doors and Texas Tornados. A melding of '60s
psychedelic rock-grooves and a festive Tex-Mex dancehall party
bubble to the surface, especially on the romping "Can't Get
Enough Of You Baby," and the psycho lovesick-tearjerker "Do
Something To Me."
--Ron Bally
BEASTIE BOYS
Hello Nasty
Capitol
SO I'M DRIVING my sports utility vehicle down a near-northside
boulevard, earring and fast-graying ponytail shining in the morning
sun, feeling too old and pure to be a yuppie despite my general
affect and material surroundings, then feeling, well, just a little
bit glum about the whole matter, when a couplet rises from the
crisp mix of Hello Nasty, piercing into my consciousness
like a diamond bullet: "I don't mean to brag, I don't mean
to boast/but I'm intercontinental when I eat French toast."
Aha, I think, feeling clued in at last, Zeitgeist-wise: so that's
what the kids mean when they talk about World Beat. I mean, here
are these three nice Jewish boys from Scarsdale by way of the
East Village, orating as if they'd gone to school in Compton,
backing their tracks with Afro-Cuban polyrhythms and Jamaican
dub and Latino pop stylings--and if there were any doubt of their
global credentials, well, they've worked international cuisine
into the formula, to boot. Very cosmopolitan, that, and very funky,
and commercially shrewd; there's an IHOP ad in these hip-hoppers'
future. Now, the liner copy doesn't say a word about this World
Beat stuff; instead, it makes mention of "heavy rock."
Chalk that up to the trio's youth, I grumble, nosing said SUV
into the parking lot of a fashionable café where rap music
is definitely not well represented on the jukebox. Let the kids
hear Blue Cheer's Vincebus Eruptum; then they'll know heavy
rock for what it is. But I'm not inclined to fuss over small-scale
semantics, now that my superannuated cochlea have feasted on "Super
Disco Breakin'," "Body Movin'," "The Grasshopper
Unit," "The Negotiation Limerick File," and 20-odd
other tunes on this massively wonderful disc. These beasties can
rock. And rhyme, too.
--Gregory McNamee
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