thursday, january 29, 1976
daily nebraskan
page 7
hot
licks
Nilsson-no, Kottke-yes, Elvis, yes-may be
Nilsson tfanimaw, RCA.
This is a tragic waste of an enormous talent who has
been wallowing in an artistic quagmire for quite some
time.
Nilsson's decline began rapidly after he abandoned the
Schmilsson person that served him ably through three
i&nms-Nilsson Schmilsson, Son of Schmilsson and
A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night AD the
qualities that made the Schmilsson albums so engaging are
gone. Instead of cleverness, we have overbearing attempts
at cuteness of the pubescent lockerroom variety. Instead
of dramatic flair, we have superficial gloss. Gone is his
childlike innocence and good-humored playfulness.
Fortunately, Nilsson's most salable quality-his
inimitable voice-still is Intact. His voice, pretty without
being cloy, handles romantic ballads better than anyone
this side of Sinatra. He has tremendous range-both
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Photo eourtwy of RCA ncorda
Singer-iongwriter Harry Nilsson shows the good
humored playfulness that reflected the mood of his
three "Schmlsson" albums.
emotionally and dynamically. He is equally at ease with
the rockers as with the ballads. But the sweetest of roses
cannot hide the stench of a compost heap.
"The Flying Saucer Song" is undoubtedly the most
senseless thing Nilsson has yet recorded a long, jivey
conversation between two drunks and a bartender which
is punctuated by banshee screams from Joe Cocker in the
background.
A social register of pop stardom appears on this album:
among, them, Klaus Voorman, Van Dyke Parks, Leon
Russell, Danny Kootch, Bobby Keyes, Ringo Starr and
Joe Cocker.
Elvis Presleyiffrii.: Legendary Performer, Vol II, RCA.
No matter what others may claim, Elvis is The King
of rock V roll. After his first hit-"Heartbreak Hotel"
in 1956, Elvis became the symbol of rock music and
teenage rebellion. Not only was he the first rock hero,
he inspired later artists, from Bob Dylan to Bruce
Springsteen both had consuming life ambitions to
become bigger than Elvis.
RCA Records has its own ambitions at heart. It has set
out to milk more bucks from the Presley legend by issuing
a series of heretofore unreleased material, primarily
inferior versions of Presley standards.
The album should have little worth except for the most
fanatical Presley scholar. There are muff-ups and retakes
on two cuts-a testament, I suppose, that even the
greatest fail. There are excerpts from a press conference
and an interview when Elvis was 21.
But there are many great Presley hits here: "Blue
Suede Shoes" (this is a poor, live version, by the way),
"Blue Christmas", "Jailhouse Rock", "Blue Hawaii" and
"How Great Thou Art."
But I still feel like someone's trying to dupe me. Even
the packaging reeks of a souvenir. There is a picture
enclosed, "suitable for framing," according to the album
notes. There is a 14-page booklet that does nothing to
broaden anyone's knowledge of Elvis, except for an
interior picture of his gold Cadillac.
True students of Elvis would be better off buying the
original versions of these songs. Recommended albums
from the 40 that Elvis has recorded are: Elvis (contains
early material" that Presley recorded at Sun Records),
Rock V Rott No. 2, G.L Blues and Elvis's Golden
Records, Vols. I, II and III.
Leo Kottke: Chewing Pine, Capitol.
It only takes about two tracks to convince you-thia
is going to be a good album. Kottke doesn't disappoint
this premonition.
Side One is proficient enough-there are two vocal
tracks and the other three are instrumental recorded with
backup musicians. But it seems almost pedestrian
compared to Side Two.
Here Kottke distinguishes himself. It's just he and his
12-string acoustic guitar, which he transforms into an
orchestra of meshing melodic lines. Kottke uses licks from
classical, country and jazz idioms and blends them with
enviable ease.
He plays the lyric tunes with a poet's heart, showing
a remarkable sense for phrasing and melodic nuance.
And, what's even more fun, he plays with wit. "Monkey,
Monkey" and "Can't Quite Put It Into Words" are
infectious, driven by a rhythmic pulse that is all the more
amazing because it comes only from his guitar.
Wolfe offers beginning modern
art with a graduate course in satire
By Bill Roberts
The Painted Word, by Tom Wolfe Farm, Straus and
Giroux.New York, $5.95 . ,
The Painted Word, by Tom Wolfe, takes the reader tot?
the museums and salons of Modern Art. After Wolle s
guided tour, we may think that some rooms have been
conveniently skipped over, some personages introduced
too glibly. But this long essay is satisfying because Woiie
once again has given us satire at its finest. ....
"All these years," Wolfe begins, "I had assumed that in
art, if nowhere eke, seeing is believing." Not so, he
realizes, alter reading a bit oi an cnuusm hi vw
a certain painting for its lack of a "persuasive theory.
"M t. u.v.mvtno vnu ninnv. but believing is
seeing'," Wolfe says as the scales drop from his eyes.
"Modern Art has become completely literary: the paint;
ings and other works exist only to illustrate the text.
This is all quite strange, Wolfe explains, because since
Modern Art began, about 1900, "literary" is precisely
what art is not supposed to be. Wolfe then calls to order
his class, History of Modern Art 101 -cross-listed as the
graduate level ur?c in Satire.
Turn to the critics
First came the Cubists, the Dadaists and the Surreal
ists. People who wondered what their works depicted
were not always given civil or sensible answers. Of course,
if the artists were cryptic, there were critics to turn to.
"Even an explanation of why one couldn t accept
something," Wolfe writes, "was explanation enough to ac
cept it." ,
When Wolfe considers the goings-on of the past twenty
years, the interplay between art theory and art produc
tion becomes as furious as a tennis volley. Abstract Ex
pressionism is answered by Pop Art, to which Op Art re
plies asking to be called Perceptual Abstraction. Con
ceptualism, Minimalism and Post-Painterly Abstraction
likewise make grand entrances and hasty exits.
Poor Bohemian
Throughout The Painted Word are Wolfe's gleeful com.
ments on the socioeconomic side of the Art World.
From the beginning, the modern artist has been obliged
to be a poor and proud Bohemian. To outrage the bour
geoisie is the sworn duty of these garret-dwellers. ,
So it would seem that the patrons of Modern Art, who
are wealthy enough to buy the works, would be the
natural social enemies of the artists. But of course the
Art world has to be populated, and delicate strategems are
fUWh'en Wolfe describes the "art mating rituals" of
these two groups he is at his best.
He quotes Andy Warhol, an offspring of the odd
union' "Nothing is more bourgeois than to be afraid to
look bourgeois.3 Warhol, Wolfe explains, "goes about in
button-down shirts, striped ties, and ill-cut tweed jackets,
like a 1952 Holy Cross pre-med students."
Wolfe's purpose is not to thumb his nose at all of
Modern Art. He is no FluSstina.
Like his drawings that illustrate the book, his argu
ments exaggerate and distort his subject's subtle absurd
ities to make them more apparent. The art of satire is
what he's practicing, and The Painted Word is a fine and
funny work.
Aspiring guitarist should buy this album immediately.
It's the folk guitar in one of its finest hours.-
Deb Gray
Chris Squire : Fish Out of Water, Atlantic
Chris Squire's first solo venture never gets off the
ground. But it's not because the Yes bass player doesn't
use a wide variety of musical sounds.
Yes at their height Fragile, Close to the Edge) were
expert sound painters, and Squire, in that tradition,
brings together a virtual philhanrwrdc-everything from
oboes to trumpets-to heap together a multi-textured
sound. Unfortunately, the effect often verges on disaster.
Separate instrumental parts are neither fresh nor crisp.
They melt together into a tapioca muddle.
Yes once could turn electronic wizardry into breath
taking musical moments, but Squire cannot make his
ballast rise above gimmickry.
Most of Squire's cuts follow the Yes pattern, opening
first with a sound effect fade-in (which usually consists
of sounds reminiscent of bells, birds or rain), followed by
a long introductory instrumental section before the
principal theme is introduced.
Here Squire needs lead guitarist Steve Howe, who
always took the lead in establishing and developing Yes's
themes. Without his presence, the music falls flat.
Then, there's the lyrics. And, granted, Yes's lyrics
were pretty inaccessible sometimes. They talked of other
worldly things usually man's relationship to nature. But
coupled with their music, the effect made you feel
somehow exalted; made you believe in cosmic forces
greater than yourself.
Squire's lyrics are, well too common. They deal with
personal relationships the same most songwriters write
about. But his sentiments sound uncomfortable puerile
in this gargantuan orchestral setting.
"You By My Side" is a straightforward love song, with
a beautiful lilting line. But Squire destroys the intimate
modd of the cut by bringing in his artillery of trumpets
and strings, camouflaging any hint of honest emotion.
Deb Gray
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Author Tom Wolfe's drawing of Andy Warhol
(p. 74) from Ms latest book, The Painted Word.
