Page 10
Tuesday, February 10, 1987
Daily Nebraskan
" Fabulous Ttonderbirds soar;
Jason and the Scorchers plod
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Andrea HoyDaily Nebraskan
Kim Wilson of the Fabulous Thunderbirds sings for scream
ing fans Sunday night in the union. The band played its hits
and a variety of blues numbers.
By Stew Magnuson
Senior Reporter
Usually opening bands aren't
mentioned until the last paragraphs
in concert reviews. But I want to get
the unpleasantries out of the way
first.
Jason and the Scorchers, opening
up for the Fabulous Thunderbirds
Sunday night in the union, were at
their worst. The band has lost its
scorch, sold out to a more commer
cial heavy metal sound. Warner
Hodges, the once-great guitarist who
used to play in torn blue jeans and
Jeff Beck T-shirts, now shows up on
MTV with Motley Crue hair and a
long, sequined purple coat.
The Scorchers have thrown their
energy into an image. Warner thought
he looked cool with a cigarette,
though he was wild whipping around
the stage with a wireless guitar and
thought black leather jackets made
people seem tough.
Their new music is as ridiculous
as their new image. How ironic that
the band that opened for Jason a
few months ago, the Georgia Satel
lites, are making a quick climb up
the charts playing basic, fun rock 'n'
roll, just like Jason used to do. Now
they are opening, sent back down to
the minor leagues, left to rationalize
it as some kind of career move in
newspaper interviews.
Warner's guitar was distorted and
plodding. The band came out doing
"Lost Highway" like Ozzy or Twisted
Sister.
They played for an hour and
announced they would be at The
Drumstick the next night. They
Concert Review
would play all requests (in other
words, all their old, good stuff), and
heck, it would only be another five
bucks.
The Fabulous T-Birds came out
playing smoother and clean and left
their image to the two MTV videos.
Jimmie Vaughn's fingers provided
all the image the T-Birds needed. He
stood hunched over his guitar,
staring intently into the audience,
never needing to look down at the
chords he played. The T-Birds rock-and-rolled,
boogied Texas-style, for
the sell-out crowd of 1,000.
But it was just too loud for this
kind of music. This concert was the
first time I wanted to get as far away
from the stage as I could instead of
as close to it as I could. The bass
threatened to coverup all the other
music and cause signiliant structural
damage to the union. I figured that
wishing I could see this band where
it belonged (in a nice, intimate hole
in the wall) would be a waste of
time.
"It's blues time!" Kim Wilson
announced, then whipped out his
harmonica and got down and dirty,
kicking out some sad yet joyous
blues.
They ripped through "Little Red
Rooster," then sent the audience
into a gorgeous instrumental tribute
to Lonnie Mack, one of Vaughn's
guitar idols.
On "The Crawl," he stuck the
guitar behind his head and let
loose. Played in bars by a dozen
bands, "The Crawl" didn't sound so
bad in a concert hall. It made me
forget where I was for a moment.
The T-Birds played two encores and
left the audience in good spirits,
which; believe it or not, is what a
good blues band should do.
No one races
cancer alone.
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Cultural insanity under the palms
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TOURIST from Page 9
semble is a stairstep toward Keyes'
comprehension of the hysterical insan
ity that surrounds him. Eventually the
apparently random series of kidnap
pings and murders of tourists, retirees
and PR officials responsible for draw-,
ing those folks to Miami begins to
make a terrible kind of sense. But it is
the kind of sense one makes of looking
into an abyss, not the kind that comes
from solving a murder and seeing the
culprits get what's coming to them.
Hiaasen, along with several other
young American, European and Latin
American novelists, is 'in the process'
of transforming the detectivemystery
novel, using a blend of black comedy,
high camp, stylized (almost cinematic)
violence and absurdist exaggerations
of time and place. Occasionally these
new-wave noir novels strain the limits
of the genre, implementing plot twists
and reflexive self-parody that would
have average Agatha Christie or even
Elmore James readers gnashing their
teeth. "Tourist Season" does suffer
from problems of this sort. For instance,
once all the characters are introduced,
they are so colorful that it distracts
from the plot. Things become more of a
circus than a mystery novel. But Hiaas
en's eye for detail saves this novel, and
when he zooms in on the eccentricities
of a certain character or of Miami itself,
the effect is kinetic and original.
All in all, "Tourist Season" is a
sharp, hip display of humor and mor
bidity, and if there are no permanent
genre icons like Philip Marlowe or Sam
Spade in sight, the overall effect saves
"Tourist Season" from beingjust another
hack mystery novel for hobbyists and
insomniacs.
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'Lost City of Gold V a silly epic that doesn 't work
'Raiders' rip-off IS i clone
By Greg Neely
Staff Reviewer
Ever since "Raiders of the Lost
Ark" changed the essence and style
of the adventure thriller, Hollywood
just hasn't been the same. Adventure
thrillers have come and gone since
then, and most have paled next to
Movie Review
the thrills of ."Raiders." When
Hollywood has a hit movie, the mog
uls in charge seem to think that
recipe can work again.
"Alan Quatermain and the Lost
City of Gold" is a rip-off of the
"Raiders" formula: lots of thrills,
adventure and great dialogue. In
"Lost City" you get cheap thrills
and stunts and lots of extremely
corny dialogue. It almost works.
Notice I said almost.
We find the hero of this silly epic
in the heart of Africa, searching for
his lost brother. This gives our hero
an excuse for trekking into the
deep, dark jungle to find him. That
and the rumor of a city paved in gold
prompt the hero to recruit the ser
vices of a warrior friend (James Earl
Jones), his girlfriend (Sharon Stone),
Sworma the Swami (Robert Donner)
and a dozen timid natives.
Off t he happy wanderers go. They
tangle with the obligatory restless
natives. They take a thrilling ride on
an underground log flume. Sound
like "Raiders"? It should. Remember,
this is a cheap clone.
After they narrowly escape death
half a dozen times, they find the
fabled "Lost City." The city looks
like the producer's southern Cali
fornia desert home with the doors
spray-painted gold. What ajoke. The
natives are a peace-loving lot ruled
by two sisters (one is evil) and an
evil guy (Henry Silva) called Angor.
Quatermain liberates the enslaved
people and Angor gets killed. All
adventures should end this way,
with the evil guy getting it at the
end. The plot is just too predictable.
This movie is really hokey. The
acting is stiff and the stunts stale.
As the hero crashes through the sky
light you can see the safety wires
tied to his waist.
If you can look past these minor
faults and enjoy some tongue-in-cheek
action, go see "Lost City."
"Alan Quatermain and The
Lost City of Gold" is rated PG
and is showing at the Com
monwealth Theatres.
Photos included in Richards exhibit
Two exhibits, one featuring the
works of two sculptors and the other
focusing on recent work by four
photographers, are on display in the
Richards Hall Art Gallery.
Featured in Gallery A are.works by
Alison Helms of West Virginia and Terry
Slade of Oneonta, N.Y. Helms' work
includes large, abstract free-standing
sculptures and intricate wall reliefs
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that she fabricates out of wood. The
highly painted constructions frequently
use neon and metal screening as well.
Slade's small-scale sculptures consist
of bronze was tableaus which make
strong social statements.
In Gallery B are displayed photo
graphs by Leslie-Bell of Davenport,
Iowa; Gloria DeFillips Brush of Duluth,
Minn.; Erik Lauritzen of Northridge,
Calif.; and Sandy Croce Warner of
Columbus, Ohio. The photographers
were selected from more than 40 who
applied to the gallery for exhibitions
this year.
Both exhibits will be on display
through Feb. 19.
The Richards Hall Art Gallery is in
Richards Hall 1 01 and 102, immediately
south of Memorial Stadium. The gallery
is open from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday
through Thursday.
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