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ROCKET FROM THE CRYPT
RFTC
(Interscope)
SAN DIEGO'S MOST solid tourist attraction this side of the seaquarium
has delivered the goods in the past, but this one goes over the
top. Like the cover art depicting a howling primate breaking loose
from its shackles, Rocket From the Crypt is unleashed in terms
of attitude, velocity and sheer tuneage. Right at the git-go the
band delivers a one-two punch that k.o.'s the competition well
before the third round: "Eye On You," a steamy R&B
raveup on amphetamines featuring a sassy vocal duet between Speedo
and Miss Holly Golightly (there's also a nifty Wayne Cochrane/MC5
tip o' the hat tossed in--speaking of attitude!); and "Break
It Up," a wall-of-sound glammy stomper that crosses Gary
Glitter, the Ramones and the Beatles' "Revolution."
Incredibly, RFTC ups the ante several times later during the record,
including the maniacally anthemic "Made For You," the
rumble-inna-jungle Stones funk of "You Gotta Move" and
the punk-garage slammer "When In Rome."
--Fred Mills
Dirtbombs
Horndog Fest
(In The Red)
THE DIRTBOMBS' combination of squealing feedback-driven guitar,
dual drumming and walloping bass guitar attack gives this reverb-heavy,
R&B-splashed punk combo a sludge thick wall-of-noise presence
rivaling that of the Velvet Underground. Imagine the Velvets,
Gories and Oblivians battling to the death inside a tuna fish
can, their raw and ultra crude instrumentation blazing away with
hell-bent fury. Led by Mick Collins (who spent time fronting the
Gories and the rockabilly grunge outfit Blacktop), the Dirtbomb's
distinctive Motown howl and wicked axe slingin' escapades shred
like one of Dolemite's rapid-fire, X-rated monologues. "I
Can't Stop Thinking About It" is one of the best sex-crazed
dance tracks of 1998--a dynamite, punk-fueled R&B groove wrapped
around Collins' raw voice and sinister guitar leads. The lively
Annette Funicello-inspired "She Blinded Me With Playtex"
sounds as if the band began trashing their instruments in the
middle of the L.A. freeway at rush hour, with 75 primal seconds
of sensory meltdown presented live in glorious boozeramic sinemascope.
"Pheremone Smile" croaks eerily like Arthur Lee of Love
backed by defunct garage punk nutjobs, the Mummies. Collins executes
some snarling, self-professed "cyclone" guitar riffs
underneath the stomping, mummified mayhem. These Detroit cavemen
have found their place in a fuzz-drenched, garage band sound reminiscent
of Question Mark and the Mysterians fused with the sonic annihilation
of the Stooges.
--Ron Bally
Everlast
Whitey Ford Sings the Blues
(Tommy Boy)
THIS ALBUM WOULD'VE been easy to dismiss at first glance. Rapper
Everlast long ago spent his 15 minutes as leader of the Irish
rappers House of Pain. And the CD's title and cheesy opener ("The
White Boy is Back") suggest he was stuck in a long-expired
age when the existence of Caucasian hip-hop was news. But then
Whitey Ford throws a killer change-up. With the cautionary tale
"Ends," Everlast reveals maturity and lyrical skill.
Better yet, under the cosmetics of a hip-hop beat and scratches,
Everlast strums chords on acoustic guitar and rasps a convincing
melody. Confounding the odds, Everlast rejuvenates himself from
rap's scrap heap and fashions a new musical identity: the b-boy
singer-songwriter.
Ford alternates straight hip-hop with guitar-based folk-soul,
mixing in unlikely concoctions such as the Nine Inch Zeppelin
riffing on "Hot to Death," and the New Orleans piano
rolls of "7 Years." The mix of city-kid rhymer and peckerwood
poet is far too earthy to be called trip-hop. Rather, it's a style
found at the crossroads of Johnny Cash and Grandmaster Flash.
Everlast, indeed.
--Roni Sarig
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