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Drilling
Deeper
Wire
Read
& Burn (pinkflag)
Since Wire’s inception in 1976, members Colin Newman, Bruce
Gilbert, Graham Lewis and Robert “Gotobed” Grey have spent
far more time on hiatus, or pursuing solo projects, than they
have working together as an active musical concern. The quartet’s
initial four-year-long creative collaborative burst produced
the smart punk of Pink Flag (1977), the fractured pop
of Chairs Missing (1978), and the art assault of 154
(1979), three of the most important and impressive albums
of their era. Wire’s second phase was best defined by the
“monophonic monorhythmic repetition” (their words) of the
group’s signature ’80s song, “Drill,” which debuted on 1986’s
stunning Snakedrill EP, and which appeared 10 times
on the deliciously obsessive, era-ending 1991 album aptly
titled The Drill.
Newman, Gilbert, Lewis and Grey are back in the racks with
their first new studio recordings together in over a decade.
Like Snakedrill before it, at the dawn of Phase Two,
Read & Burn is a short (six songs, 17 minutes)
and savage reintroduction to Wire of almost unbearable intensity,
its brevity driven by the palpable fury and energy that went
into its creation. Which isn’t to say that Read & Burn
is some sort of toss-off sampler or trial disc: It’s a fully
realized, stand-alone recording, but it does leave the listener
fully and eagerly primed for what this new phase of Wire’s
evolution may bring.
So what can one expect in the future, given the evidence on
this disc? A harder, faster, louder Wire, for starters, since
Read & Burn rockets along at tempos and timbres
far outstripping anything on any of their prior records, the
high octane Pink Flag included. And a deeply rhythmic
Wire, too, with Grey’s metronomic ticky-tick drums and Lewis’
steroid rage bass bits anchoring Wire’s signature “dugga dugga
dugga” cadences, creating a crystal-pure beat combo attack
that stands, awesome, at the middle of the maelstrom of bees
created by Gilbert’s and Newman’s buzzing, grinding guitars.
Toss some intense, distorted lead vocals by Newman (five tracks)
and Lewis (on “The Agfers of Kodack,” the angriest sounding
song of them all) into the mix, and you’ve got a record that
grabs you and shakes you in all the ways that great rock &
roll records are supposed to. Even if they don’t ever release
another record, Wire (Phase Three) will have been a success,
based strictly on the 17-minute stab of genius that is Read
& Burn.
—J.
Eric Smith
 Bryan
Ferry
Frantic
(Virgin)
Bryan Ferry, the paradigm of rock & roll freeze-frame,
would never be so disheveled as to be frantic. But he can
be urgent and persuasive, qualities that dominate this album,
his best in a good 10 years. Paced by a propulsive, infectious
cover of Dylan’s “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue,” the public
image of Roxy Music has delivered a cohesive, hard-rocking
disc. Unlike As Time Goes By, Ferry’s appropriately
languorous nod to Cole Porter, Frantic has more dimension,
name-checking blues, cinema and country icons, and it even
incorporates the medieval. “Goddess of Love” tips a snap-brim
hat to Marilyn Monroe, a Cajun-flavored “Goodnight, Irene”
salutes Leadbelly, Don Nix’s “Goin’ Down” is pretty damn bluesy,
and the courtly “Ja Nun Hons Pris” is by Richard the Lionhearted
(the king, not the rock group). There’s always been a rueful
undercurrent to Ferry’s music, and you could by no means call
him optimistic here. The haunting “Fool for Love,” wide-screen
“San Simeon” and oddly bouncy “Nobody Hurts Me” reveal the
self-pity and narcissism that Ferry somehow manages to make
appealing. The other reasons this album connects are Rhett
Davies’ production, Chris Spedding’s guitar, Paul Thompson’s
drums. Even Brian Eno guests on “I Thought.” Ultimately, of
course, it’s the style, which Frantic has to burn.
—Carlo
Wolff
Mark
Eitzel
Music
For Courage & Confidence (New West)
When artists known for their own writing bring forth an album
of cover material it can be either an indulgence (made all
the more peculiar by the diminished earnings that result from
setting aside their own publishing monies) or an illumination.
Mark Eitzel’s new set is thankfully the latter.
He strolls through 40 years of songs with a casual ease that
belies a deeply emotional core in both his choices and delivery.
Anne Murray’s “Snowbird” opens up the set, and it is sung
without a hint of irony. In fact that’s one of the strengths
of this album: Eitzel’s ability to honestly imbue such familiar
fare as “Ain’t No Sunshine,” “I’ll Be Seeing You,” and “Gently
on My Mind” with such conviction that we appreciate both his
performance as well as the resilience of the songwriting.
The spare and supple arrangements buoy the underlying melancholy,
adding a sense of hope and vitality.
—David
Greenberger
 Joe
Lovano
Viva
Caruso (Blue Note)
Tenor saxophonist Joe Lovano pays homage to great tenor singer
and paisan Enrico Caruso in this engaging reprise of
tunes Caruso either made famous or knew from his Naples childhood.
Like Lovano’s mid-’90s albums Celebrating Sinatra and
Rush Hour, Viva Caruso is melodic, romantic
and wide-screen. Like them, it aims to mainstream material
too long confined to a particular market. The tunes span the
operatic “Vesti La Giubba ‘I Pagliacci’,” the ribald “Tarantella
Sincera,” and “Il Carnivale di Pulcinella,” a three-part suite
encompassing a punchy, far-out “Wild Tarantella.” Lovano is,
as usual, warmhearted and engaging. His tone continues to
deepen, along with his instinct for popular song. Byron Olson’s
orchestrations at times evoke Eddie Sauter and Gil Evans,
and that’s a compliment. Besides their wind and string configurations,
the songs feature Lovano’s wife, Judi Silvano, on voice, which
gives them an otherworldly feel while simultaneously aligning
them with their vocal source. Other tracks are sparser and
more intimate, and the sequencing pops with surprise. “Viva
Caruso” is accessible and loving, a tribute that puts its
stamp on the past by looking forward.
—C.W.
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