THE KING VALENTINE OCTET The King Valentine Octet KVO TAKE A NEW Orleans brass band, at once funereal and joyful, stir in a little Miles Davis and maybe a little Prince Buster, add vocals that refer to Cab Calloway and Tom Waits alike, and you get something like the King Valentine Octet, an Austin-based group of young players who, in the manner of good postmodernists, wear their influences proudly. This homemade EP, which clocks in at just under fifteen minutes, showcases some solid playing. However, it doesn't add up to much more than nicely atmospheric after-hours music. --Gregory McNamee SAM BUTERA AND THE WILDEST On Stage! Get Hip 2 and 1/2 stars VEGAS. HOME OF entertainment heavyweights--Dino, Sammy, Wayne and Louis. Louis who? Louis Prima, of course. Prima owned the Strip during the fabulous '50s and '60s, with his wildly entertaining and swinging hipster-cool stage act. In the '90s, Sin City belongs to Sam Butera, Prima's boyhood pal, band leader and saxophonist-extraordinaire for nearly 40 years. Although Prima is dead 20 years now, Butera and The Wildest keep alive Prima's high-energy, horny gigolo lounge-shtick. Prima standards like "I Ain't Got Nobody" and "Just A Gigolo" never sounded more bouncy and lascivious. Only the bland, syrupy "Love Is In The Air" oozes cheese like toothy John Davidson crooning the theme to "Love American Style." Bleaah! --Ron Bally ENIGMA Enigma 3 Charisma 0 stars THINGS ARE CHANGING/But nothing changes/ And still there are changes..." So goes the latest sub-pseudo-intellectual brainthrob of electronic composer Michael Cretu, who seems to fancy himself some sort of latter-day Alan Parsons. Parsons, of course, brought a new dimension to sub-pseudo-intellectual claptrap back in his day with his tepid (but at the time, unique) conceptual albums that fused prog- and hard-rock with commercial acumen. In 1996, though, the bloated, pompous Enigma sound is so utterly without character or depth--given the current wealth of visionary artists who sculpt post-rock, electronica and ethno-techno--that it becomes unintentionally laughable in less than a single listen. There's weak, atmospheric Sting ("Why"); a bad Dark Side Of The Moon rip-off ("Shadows In Silence"); gothic Gregorian garbage ("Morphing Through Time"); that kind of Deep Forest, exotic-tribal pap you hear gurgling softly at art galleries ("Almost Full Moon"); plus the obligatory dance track headed-for-the-remix that'll pique the interest of exotic dancers everywhere, tantalizingly titled "T.N.T. For The Brain." Ah, make that Michael Cretin. -- Fred Mills

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