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Coming
in Waves
Kimberley
Rew
Great
Central Revisited •
(Bongobeat)
He
was a Soft Boy, then he was a Wave, and now he’s a Soft Boy
again. After the demise of the Soft Boys in the early ’80s,
Kimberley Rew’s first release under his own name was the 1982
EP Bible of Bop. He then enjoyed chart success with Katrina
and the Waves, playing guitar and penning some of their hits.
Rew returned to American shores at the end of the ’90s, accompanying
Robyn Hitchcock, which then led to a full-blown Soft Boys
reunion tour (timed to coincide with the 20th anniversary
of their classic Underwater Moonlight). In the midst of those
activities came his first full-length release, Tunnel Into
Summer. Now, two years later, we welcome Great Central
Revisited.
The disc is overflowing with gorgeous guitar parts, opening
with the chiming (there’s that overused adjective, but I assure
you that in this instance it is wholly apt) “Life Itself.”
While evoking the ’60s three Bs (Beatles, Byrds, Beach Boys),
the album stands squarely in the 21st century, with a healthy
dollop of the higher volume and tempo developments that followed
that earlier period. Winningly varied, “Adventures of the
Underclass” is an acoustic-guitar instrumental. A very British
affair, Rew chronicles the demise of Screaming Lord Sutch
and celebrates the enduring legacy of Eddie Cochran, an American
who was embraced in England more than at home, dying on the
highway en route to London’s Heathrow Airport in 1960. As
Rew sings in “EC Blues,” “His music still shines brighter
than the star he was.”
—David
Greenberger
Bryan
Thomas
Ones
and Zeroes • (WT3)
Bryan Thomas’ second disc avoids the dreaded sophomore slump
like gangbusters, building on the strengths so clearly exhibited
on 1999’s Radio Plastic Jennifer and in countless live performances
hereabouts, standing strong as one of the most thoughtful,
heart-tugging and hip-shaking records of the year. Ones
and Zeroes is a true solo work, with Thomas handling all
the singing and instrumentation admirably well, creating lush
sweeps of dark-pop decadence, and topping them all off with
vocals so rich in emotion that you can’t help but be drawn
into the songs on first listen—although it’ll then take a
few listens more before you appreciate the wealth of insightful
observation and rumination that define this collection’s best
songs.
Not to mention the exquisite ways in which Thomas documents
those ruminations and observations, as Ones and Zeroes
is filled with some of the smartest and most satisfying word
gymnastics and lyrical flights of fancy that you’re likely
to hear—or read—in this or any other year. You may not know
what he’s singing about on each and every song, but you’ll
love the way he sings about it anyway, as oblique spiritual
imagery crashes against bawdy earthy realism, sparks, blood
and honey flying with each concussion. Imagine a cross between
your favorite Joni Mitchell and Todd Rundgren albums, and
you’ll get a general sense of Ones and Zeroes, a near-perfect
depiction of that ethereal place where “pop” and “smart” aren’t
antonyms, and where the mind, soul and body can groove together
without stepping on each others’ toes, happy in the glow of
fine, fine artistry and deep, deep passion—both of which Bryan
Thomas displays like nobody’s business.
—J.
Eric Smith
Orange
Goblin
Coup
de Grace •
(The Music Cartel/Rise Above)
 Coup
de Grace is Orange Goblin’s fourth studio adventure, but
it is clear that the tunes are meant to be played live and
at unspeakable volumes. Unlike many of their American cohorts,
theirs is an unassuming, goofball take on the often somber
and acutely cerebral stoner brood. Think Danzig-era Misfits
in rehab with Kyuss, whose influence is made even more undeniable
with former bassist Scott Reeder handling production chores
and John Garcia’s unmistakable tonsils on the frothing “Jesus
Beater.” The material, certainly not groundbreaking or unique,
takes its place nonetheless near the top of the heavyweight
class, steadfastly hoisting a glass to the early blues and
doomers; even better, it proudly waves the bullet-riddled
banner of British Heavy Metal into the new decade.
Most OG topic matter joyously touts the unspeakable thrills
and ills of drugs, booze and hard living, which is, of course,
just fine. From the extra-filthy twin-guitar riffage of “Whiskey
Leech” to Ben Ward’s growling testimonial “Born With Big Hands,”
Coup is a powder keg of fury, a lumbering, gasoline-soaked
road communiqué designed to behead and bequeath. Their affinity
for interstellar psychedelia (check out “Graviton” or “Stinkin’
O Gin”) only serves to empower an already unflappable groove,
one that just makes you want to get in your car and drive
far, far away. If you can see them through the smoke, if you
ever told your 11th-grade English teacher that Blue Cheer’s
Dickie Peterson was, in fact, God, then this CD is for you.
Make no mistake, these dudes are heavier than a stampeding
herd of grief-stricken rhinoceroses, dirtier than John Walker
Lindh and drunker than Dean the Bum. They describe this phenomenon
as being “fully submersible.” I call it damn good, no-filler
rock & roll.
—Bill
Ketzer
 Mat
Maneri
Sustain
• (Thirsty Ear)
Sustain
is an “out” collabora- tion of deep empathy between fiddle
spaceman Maneri, McPhee, the redoubtable William Parker on
bass, accent-imaginative Gerald Cleaver on drums and coloristic
keyboardist Craig Taborn. Like other releases in the label’s
excellent Blue Series, Sustain is thoughtful, creative,
interiorized and interiorizing, and demanding. Like his father
Joe Maneri, the microtonal clarinetist, saxophonist and composer,
Mat Maneri doesn’t pitch his work toward easy listening. What
he’s playing isn’t immediately accessible; even the instruments
he works out on are no snap to identify.
What’s clear is the devotion that courses through this heartfelt
meditation about persisting through, and in the face of, loneliness.
A suite framed by different versions of a sonic space called
“Alone,” it’s mostly leisurely, occasionally enervating and
curiously beautiful. The players are simpatico beyond technique,
their approach simultaneously communal and free. Anarchy doesn’t
figure here so much as creativity, suggesting Maneri will
find an ever-broader market if he persists at recording and
finding such rich contexts.
—Carlo
Wolff
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