Punk as a relevant social movement is as dead as Sid Vicious, but the music�s adherents and fashion advocates remain to raise a finger to anyone who will bother to look or listen. The roaches survived the apocalypse.
Scurrying out of the woodwork of Epitaph, a label that has weathered the years by specializing in punk, hard core and like fare, is �Punk-O-Rama,� an assemblage of 28 mohawked tunes by as many bands.
Actually, a lot of the music on the disc is not what I would call �punk.� Today, with hybrids of punk, metal, rap, thrash, techno, and even pop blurring the lines of what�s really what, it�s the reviewer�s conundrum to pigeonhole a particular sound (or coin a name for a new genre). Here, Epitaph has used �punk� as a convenient umbrella term to describe the music of diverse groups. This is fine -- just don�t expect old-school punk like a �Never Mind the Bollocks� or a �Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables.�
Some of the names on the disc are instantly identifiable: NOFX, Rancid, Pennywise, Voodoo Glow Skulls, Agnostic Front. Others, in keeping with the time-honored underground, obscure, death-to-major-labels element of the genre, are more like the cockroaches -- mostly unseen and unheard. They include 98 Mute, New Bomb Turks, Refused and Madball.
But punk isn�t about being famous; It�s about being loud and obnoxious. And perhaps marginally talented. On all three counts, the bands deliver, though in varying degrees. �Riot, Riot Upstart� by Agnostic Front, for example, is an aural affront executed in the band�s typically brash yet tight style; Voodoo Glow Skulls deliver on �Stranded in the Jungle,� proving that some punks know more than three chords and where the volume knob is on their amps.
More traditional punk comes from Rancid on �Poison� and �Panic� by Osker. From their simple, low-budget album covers, which are featured in the CD�s liner notes, to the one-take sound of their recordings, these bands struck me as the most similar to their progenitors.
�Punk-O-Rama� is a compilation with different interpretations of punk. And priced under Y1,000, perhaps a clever nod by Epitaph to the low-cost, homemade image of punk recordings, the disc is a safe bet for anyone who wants to run with the roaches.
�Val Kilmer will die but you will live forever.� So says one graffito at Jim Morrison�s grave in Paris. Enough people concur with this sentiment that it�s unlikely that Morrison, the so-called Poet Laureate of Rock, and The Doors will ever fade from the popular consciousness. Oliver Stone, eat your heart out.
�Essential Rarities,� more proof that the enigmatic vault of rock and roll is more than mere Ali Baba fantasy, must be one of the most aptly named CDs of recent years. About half of the 13 tracks were recorded live or were taken from TV performances, including Jim�s spontaneous �Hello to the Cities� from �The Ed Sullivan Show.� The other half comes from sessions at Elektra and World Pacific Studios. Practically all of the recordings were made in 1969 or 1970, eerily close to Morrison�s death in 1971.
There are plenty of Doors standards -- �Break On Through,� �Hello, I Love You,� �Roadhouse Blues,� �The End� -- but they�re recordings from places like The Isle of Wight Festival and Madison Square Garden, making them something new and different. When Morrison barks � ... you can petition The Lord with prayer� at the beginning of �The Soft Parade,� you can almost see the beads of sweat forming of the brows of the execs at PBS television in New York, where the performance was recorded.
The main appeal of �Essential Rarities,� however, lies in the real rarities. �Hyacinth House,� a demo made in 1965 at guitarist Robby Krieger�s home studio, �Who Scared You� and �Orange County Suite� will make any Doors fan salivate. Hearing the band doing these and other songs in a �clean� studio setting is a genuine treat, and we can only hope that the surviving Doors -- Krieger, Ray Manzarek (keyboards) and John Densmore (drums) -- will continue mining and releasing more weird scenes from inside their goldmine.
If you read the rest of this month�s column, you�ll see that I�m a staunch believer word economy. When two titans like B.B. King and Eric Clapton come together to do a blues album, there is really very little to be said. Yeah, as if the collaboration is going to suck ...
King, with trademark guitar Lucille, and Clapton, with his Fender Stratocaster strapped on, blaze through a dozen tracks with the ferocity of a wildfire. Sharing vocals, solos and intra-verse licks, the two simply ooze the blues. As you listen to the title track, the disc�s opener, and through sizzlers like �Three O�clock Blues,� �Worried Life Blues,� �Hold On I�m Coming� and �Marry You,� you�ll find yourself shaking your head, not only as an innate reaction to the music, but also out of astonishment at the soul-wrenching emotion King and Clapton wring from their guitars. Really, at times it�s almost painful.
At press time, �Riding With the King� was number one on HMV�s international charts. For once, something makes sense in the world.
Shark sandwich.
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