Staff Reports
Arizona Daily Wildcat
April 30, 1998

Music Meltdown

Bernard Butler

Not Alone

(Creation)

As one of Britain's most revered musicians, Bernard Butler has been awfully busy lately. From his week-long stint with the Verve to his Velvet Goldmine soundtrack sessions with Mike Stipe and Radiohead, the ex-Suede guitarist finally decided in the last year that he was going to put his genius, procrastinating ass back into the studio for himself. His lauded resume had already proven his worth as an accomplished musician/composer. Now came time to show everyone he can sing.

The album is a farewell departure to his alma matter, a self-portrait that required him to take the reigns over everything, and I mean everything. Not only does he sing and play all instruments on the album (bar percussion and strings), he flaunts his talent as a producer and arranger. Butler's trademark prolific, swanky guitar playing is still very much eminent on the record, along with his eloquent piano/keyboard work, all underlined by his astonishing grasp of melody.

Bernard's vocal style has already drawn comparisons to a young Neil Young. However the comprising tracks are indeed an eclectic draw of influences, such as the Stones' ridden swagger of "You Just Know," the Floydian "Autograph" and the foot-stomping Motown number "Not Alone." Bernard also manages a cool George Harrison on "You've Got What It Takes" and a very convincing rendition of his musical hero Nick Drake on "You Light The Fire." Bernard's opus is the sensuous mini-symphony "Stay," the opening acoustic strum, climaxing into string-laden sonic magnificence.

Bernard's highly frequent cues for melodrama are probable qualms one might have with the release, plus the meticulous over-production invested into it. Nevertheless, a splendid debut, solo effort from Bernie. You can take down the "Axeman for Hire" sign down now.

-James Casey

Various Artists

The Players Club Soundtrack

(Heavyweight Records)

Let me set the scene: A couple of months ago I was on a "business trip" in California and had an evening free. My co-workers and I sprayed on our best cologne and headed to a dance club in Hollywood. As I was grooving, sweating, and buzzing on the dance floor, the DJ put on "We Be Clubbin" by Ice Cube, the first track on The Players Club Soundtrack. The song was a perfect fit, as it expressed all the emotions and feelings I was experiencing in the club, something few songs can.

While "We Be Clubbin" can get any crowd jumping, and Jay-Z's "From Marcy to Hollywood" is an excellently told tale, the rest of the soundtrack falls a little flat. Kurupt offers up nothing special in "Under Pressure," and Mack 10 and Scarface combine for a bland track, "You Delinquent."

The R&B tracks do not help matters. Changing Faces' "Same Tempo" has little heart, and Brownstone's "Don't Play Me Wrong" does not grab the listener.

Thank goodness for Ice Cube, who saves the soundtrack from failure. Besides writing, directing, and starring in the movie, he also provides the best tracks on the album. Cube combines with Master P for the fun "You Know I'm A Ho," which works off the Whodini classic. Cube and Mr. Short Khop work together on two decent tracks, "Who Are You Lovin'" and "My Loved One." DMX continues to shine with the remix of "We Be Clubbin."

Ice Cube saves the day by transforming a mediocre soundtrack for his film into a strong one.

-Joel Flom

Tuscadero

My Way or the Highway

(Elektra)

Take Veruca Salt, transport them to 1965, and you have Tuscadero. Their story is something right out of those rock 'n' roll dreams of "being discovered" that the influx of dime-a-dozen indie labels has killed; a Teen Beat representative fell in love with them at their first show in 1994, and now they've put out two albums for Elektra.

Something must be special about this poppy four piece from D.C.

My Way or the Highway is pretty darn special; dual female vocals, crunchy guitars playing funky smooth verses, and choruses with an edge to the lyrics to make it all fuzz together (thanks to the modern technology of recording) into a blissfully fun sing-along.

Really, few things are as fun as music that's easy to sing along to. Take the song "Freak Magnet" and imagine the little ball bouncing on each word as it comes up in the song: "When I went out tonight I wasn't thinking right / and I forgot to turn off my freak light." You'll just have to listen to the album to get the tune.

"Paper Dolls" is a jazzy and soulful war cry against that insecurity that magazines and the fashion industry create with their influence. Sing along and feel empowered. Try this on for size: "I want to wrap you up / and take you home / well fuck the pedestal / I'll give you a throne," from "Queen for a Day."

"Tiny Shiny Boyfriend" has some good lines as well: "You came to me all the way from Taiwan / die cast baby, tchotchke factory spawn." This is rhyme power, this is lyric power, this is power pop, sisters (and brothers). I'll see you in your pink Cadillac cruisin' and blasting My Way or the Highway, face to the wind, singing at the top of your lungs.

-Annie Holub

Pulp

This is Hardcore

(Polygram)

Is this hardcore? Pulp's latest seems anything but. In fact, for all of its smutty lyricism, the music is way over-produced and sappy. It's this tension that is most troublesome. Think about it - if you came across the lines, "You are hardcore, you make me hard. You name the drama and I'll play the part. It seems I saw you in some teenage wet dream. I like your get up if you know what I mean," you'd think you were either in the over-18 section of Bookman's or in the "literature" section of the supermarket. You wouldn't guess you were listening to a band that gets considerable radio play.

The photo inserts in the compact disc's liner notes reveal a similarly disturbing side of Pulp; women frolicking in compromising positions while the sulky members of the band look on emotionless. The photos have been digitally altered to read as modern vignettes of a sex-saturated society. Maybe Pulp is trying to say something about the social degradation - their music the soundtrack narrating our lives with an austere indifference. Maybe Pulp is capitalizing on the fact that sex sells.

Pulp follows in a long line of British misanthropes - Pink Floyd, David Bowie, Morrisey - all of whom attempt a "big" sound to compensate for pretty corny and self-absorbed lyrics. But the sound, I must admit, is as catchy as an STD. Let me amend my earlier statement. What bothers me most about this album is not that I find the lyrics unacceptable, their mockery revolting, but that I can't help but sing along.

- Nate Byerley