Sweetbotton - Angels of the Deep

Sweetbottom – Angels of the Deep
Elektra Asylum Records 1978

Often, when I browse records, an album cover catches my eye and I just want the band in question to sound a certain way based purely upon their looks. Just look at both the Ramones and New York Dolls self-titled debuts; there is no way those guys do not sound awesome. No way. When I picked up Sweetbottom’s Angels of the Deep, I was conflicted. One on hand, the two members on the right look like the biggest nerds on Earth. According to the notes on the back of the album the members’ first names are Paul, Mark, Duane, and Martin. I think we’ve found our Duane and Martin. On the other hand, the two members on the left, presumably Paul “Vito” Wiegratz and Mark Torroll, have moustaches. I hope you can see why I was conflicted. If all four members were nerds, then we might be in for some pretty awesome new wave. If all four members had moustaches… well, the possibilities are endless; especially considering this album came out in 1978. However, all four members did have their shirts unbuttoned, so I should have been quite suspicious. After all, Cheap Trick is the only band allowed to pull off this type of dynamic.

Reading the song titles confused me even more. Songs like “Electro-Strut,” “Veena Deva,” “Her” and “Monique” all sound like they could be hit new wave singles. Though, titles like “Angels of the Deep,” “Amazon Ritual,” and “Shrapnel In My Ankle” all sound like they could be total shit… or worse, progressive rock. Oh no.

If there is one way to get my attention it has to be opening an album with six instrumentals. Good God. My fears were confirmed; this is progressive rock. The back of the album lists Duane Stuermer as the bass player and lead vocalist implying there would be some singing. Of the eight tracks here, only one, the aforementioned “Monique,” has any vocals, and let me tell you, after hearing this maybe the album should have had eight instrumentals. “But, Mon-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-que, well, I’ve tried to leave many times, you know, all these mistakes I’ve made…” I’m just gonna stop right there. This is terrible lounge music at best. We all very fortunate that “Shrapnel In My Ankle” doesn’t have any words.

As for the rest of the tracks, they sound like watered down prog-jazz jams, with tons of noodly keyboards, but not in the good way. You know, the way that would have been awesome if all four members were mathletes. The title-track even starts off with sounds of the ocean and gulls. Though, considering this is probably the only album in the history of the world to ever be recorded in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, that’s probably not the ocean, but the of sound of rich people’s money. Don’t get me wrong, these dudes are all talented musicians, but that doesn’t mean anything. The guy from Nitro can break wine glasses with his voice. Big whoop! Boring song after boring song. Did I mention this album has tons of reeds? Need I say more?

I understand prog rock has its place. I highly enjoy Rush (if you even consider that prog rock). What I don’t understand is how, in the 70s, bands like this could get signed to major labels. At this time Elektra had the Cars and would soon have bands like X and Motley Crue. Sweetbottom is completely forgettable, evidenced by the fact no one has ever heard of this group. Though, absent-from-this-recording, founding member Daryl Stuermer (brother of Duane) went on to play with Genesis and Phil Collins. He even has his own official website. I can just imagine the Stuermers’ annual holiday get together: “Hey, Duane, remember when I ditched you and that shitty band. Now I have my own website!” “Well, at least I didn’t have to play ‘Sussudio’ every night for two decades!”

Keel - The Right to Rock

Keel - The Right To Rock
Gold Mountain, LTD. 1985

I have to make a confession. Thanks to VH-1’s 40 Least Metal Moments, Keel is not a completely new entity in my world. You see, Ron Keel was supposedly a bad ass metal singer back in the day until he betrayed his metal roots and attempted to forge a solo career as a country crooner using the moniker Ronnie Lee Keel. This traitorous act earned him a place on VH-1’s list of “least metal” moments. Despite the fact that I knew about his turn to the dark side… er, or his turn away from the dark side, depending on how you look at it, I had never actually heard a note of Keel’s music. Well, there’s no time like the present.

Based purely on the facts that Keel’s second offering was produced by Gene Simmons (yes, that Gene Simmons) and that the record is titled The Right To Rock, one would think that this album should automatically be in contention for the title of the greatest album of all-time. Step aside Pet Sounds, Revolver, and Dark Side Of The Moon, Keel is here to rock. After all, it is their right.

By looking at the flipside of the album cover, one can deduce that they certainly look ready to rock. Red leather, belts with metal studs that are clearly not looped properly, handcuffs, white fingerless gloves, and, well, it’s hard to tell what kind of footwear they have on (probably boots of the leather variety) because they are standing in smoke. One sure way to tell that a band is serious about its image is if they credit their hairstylists and makeup artists on the album sleeve. I can safely say that Robert P. Richleigh did an admirable job on Keel’s hair, while Sanna’s makeup work is slightly underwhelming. Due to Ron Keel’s gray and ashen face I’m just going to have to guess that Sanna used an ultra-matte foundation, as opposed to an oil-based foundation that would have better matched Mr. Keel’s natural skin tone. Amateur.

If you can imagine what a band would sound like if they had one of the greatest metal singers on Earth, a relentless twin guitar attack, and a bass player who is more than capable of writing a good song, then you’d be imagining Iron Maiden. Unfortunately, Keel does not possess any of these skills. Instead, they come across as a mix of a watered-down AC/DC and a Sebastian Bach-less Skid Row, as evidenced by the title track, “The Right To Rock.” Apparently, being in a rock band in 1985 meant that you were “Fighting for justice and the American way.” Terrorists be damned! Keel then takes their American pride one step further by purposely butchering the Stones classic, “Let’s Spend The Night Together.” Take that, England! At least I hope that was on purpose.

Not surprisingly, Keel only lasted a few albums before Ronnie Lee Keel made his debut as country singer. Sadly, his stints in Keel, and as a country musician, were artistic masterpieces compared to his first go-around in the music biz: vocalist for Yngwie J. Malmsteen’s Steeler. Yikes. Keel’s The Right to Rock would normally get one star, but I had to deduct a half star because they use Peavey amps.

Quarterflash - Quarterflash

Fall of 2006. Tipp-C.

Quarterflash – Quarterflash
Geffen Records 1981

Rock music trivia is the one kind of knowledge that I seem to retain very easily. For some reason obscure facts about music seem to stick with me. For example, did you know that, before his death in 1970, Jimi Hendrix was interested in, and rumored to be joining, prog rock goliaths Emerson, Lake, and Palmer? They were even set to be called HELP (Hendrix, Emerson, Lake, and Palmer). At this point in my life I would have severe trouble trying to do long division by hand, but I will forever know that in the late 1970s and early 1980s Diamond David Lee Roth and the rest of the Van Halen boys would have had a heart attack if they found brown M&M’s in their backstage M&M’s bowl. So, when I found out that this month’s random pick had actually made a decent-sized splash in the music world in the early 80s, I was surprised.

“Have you ever heard of Quarterflash,” I asked a fellow co-worker, who is also very knowledgeable in all things music, only a day after I had purchased the album.

Without hesitation, he replied, “Yes, ‘Harden My Heart.’”

Sure enough, Quarterflash’s 1981 self-titled debut album is platinum and contains two Top Forty Hits, the aforementioned “Harden My Heart” and “Find Another Fool.” Who knew? Well, my co-worker did.

The Quarterflash cover features four identical images of a glowing man standing in a field. This is probably some kind of political statement relating to nuclear war, or more than likely just a play on their name, but the very first thing that I thought was, “Cool, these guys look like the mail-away Spirit Of Obi-Wan Kenobi action figure that Frito-Lay gave out in the late 1990’s.” That was a pretty sweet deal for only two UPC symbols and $1.99.

This is actually above average turn-of-the-decade pop music. Quarterflash isn’t on the level of Rick Springfield or the Cars, but they are decent none the less. I can understand why the hits were hits and why the album moved a few copies. “Valerie” (not a misspelled Monkees cover) is a great pop song. Heavy on the guitars and light on the keys. Even though the song “Cruisin’ With The Deuce” conjures up images of a cross country trip in an RV with a broken toilet, it’s quite the catchy ditty.

Sorry to say, but saxophone is my least favorite instrument. I can’t explain quite why, but I do not necessarily enjoy when it invades my auditory canals. It ranks just behind hearing a horrific car wreck and listening to a Jay Leno monologue. Okay, I’m not a total saxophobe, but 90% of the time that I hear sax in a pop song it bores me to tears. This is Quarterflash’s downfall: lots of long, drawn out sax solos courtesy of singer Rindy Ross. While the band is tight in a musical sense, as guitarists Marv Ross and Jack Charles work well with drummer Brian David Willis and bassist Rich Gooch (no relation the “The Gooch” of Diff’rent Strokes fame), the stale sax is just too tedious.

“At least I am going to get a spiffy official Geffen logo-imprinted dust sleeve for my Appetite For Destruction vinyl,” is what I first thought when I picked up Quarterflash and slid the record out of the cardboard sleeve for inspection. What I got was a pleasant experience, save the sax, and another band to put in my memory bank. If “Harden My Heart” ever pops up during a game of Trivial Pursuit, I’m gonna be all over that one. Not bad for an album that is “dedicated to all the Seafood lovers in the Northwest.”

Michael W. Smith - 2

Summer of 2006 again...

Michael W. Smith – 2
Reunion Records 1984

In 1984 Van Halen, Bruce Springsteen, Prince, the Cars, Tina Turner, Run D.M.C., and Madonna were the kings and queens of rock as they all sold massive amounts of records and toured extensively. Overall, it was a pretty big year for music. People had money to burn in those days; happier times if you will. Okay, maybe the Reagan years weren’t exactly the happiest of times, but if Frankie Goes To Hollywood could move some units, it had to be a good year for artists, right? Not necessarily. If you don’t believe me, let’s have a look at this month’s atrocity.

When I found Michael W. Smith’s 2 in the bin at Goodwill it was resting soundly between a copy of The Sound Of Music and a Wanda Jackson album that I actually bought for myself. At first glance I was confused as Mr. Smith is actually climbing on a structure made to resemble the argyle pattern printed on his gray sweatshirt. Not an argyle sweater, mind you, but a gray sweatshirt with a black, pink, and white argyle pattern printed on it. I told you it was confusing. If circa 1984 Target had a cut-out bin full of sweatshirts then that would be my number one guess as to where he purchased such a dashing piece of cloth. Of course, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that if you turn the record over he’s going to be modeling his argyle socks. Sure enough, upon flipside inspection, that’s exactly what he’s doing. The front of this album makes Roadmaster’s Sweet Music cover look like a Da Vinci painting. After I was able to pull my eyes away from the argyle mess and look at the face on the cover, I thought it was pretty cool that Joey from My Two Dads had put out an album.

Upon first spin, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to let this one continue to play. Okay, when a scientist clones an animal, the cloned animal is inferior in every way to the original. Usually, the cloned animal is more prone to disease and has considerably less cognitive ability. If the same scientist decided to clone the clones, you can surely imagine the biological fiasco that would soon follow. Now, let’s say that this same scientist just happened to have both Rick Springfield and Billy Joel in his or her lab and decided to do some cloning experiments. If he or she cloned Rick Springfield approximately seven times and Billy Joel five times, forced the lesser of each set of clones to somehow mate and carry a child (I would let Rick carry the child since he seems more caring), and then made him sing about God, you would have Michael W. Smith.

This is generic Christian rock (and I use that term loosely) at its finest. After hearing this earsore I would gladly listen to an album by Greg Evigan. Hell, I’d even take a Paul Reiser album as long as he wasn’t doing comedy. Not even the use of a vocoder could save this album. I actually think that Michael Smith purchased an array of cheap Casio keyboards (from the same bin in which he fished out his sweatershirt, no doubt), hit the demo button, and then just started singing about God over the pre-programmed Casio ditties. In the most blatant move of musically-related laziness that I have ever witnessed, he actually titled one of the album’s two instrumentals “Musical Instruments.” Talk about effort. He could have at least called it “Frankenjesus” or “Godrophenia.” Thankfully he didn’t use this approach for the entire album, otherwise there would be two songs named “Musical Instruments” and eight songs titled “Musical Instruments With Vocals.”

Michael W. Smith’s 2 is not an album that I would actually recommend to any sane individual. In fact, I’m not even sure Jesus would like this record and he loves everyone and everything, including Loverboy. I would, however, recommend this album to a sixth power Daryl Hall clone.

Roadmaster - Sweet Music

Another from the summer of 2006 and Tipp-C.

Roadmaster – Sweet Music
Village Records 1978

When I was younger the cover of my mom’s copy of the Beach Boys compilation Endless Summer used to freak me out. Being only four or five years old at the time I was many years away from truly understanding the genius of Brian Wilson, but I was at the perfect age to be frightened by his caricature lurking in the brush. My mom also owned Black Sabbath’s Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, another album that really creeped me out, mainly due to the 666 that was carved into the headboard of a bed that was occupied by a few demons and a naked man with a snake wrapped around his neck. Not all of my mom’s albums were scary, though. I used to be fascinated by Link Wray’s 1971 self-titled offering because the picture of his head folded out from the rest of the album sleeve and it was in black and white on the flip side. I also thought Link Wray was a Native American since he was wearing a headband. Gimme a break, I was only four. Regardless of whether or not an album cover scarred my four year old mind, I grew to understand the importance of cover art and the impression it could make on a potential listener. Sabbath, Link Wray, and the Beach Boys are all musicians that I still listen to on a regular basis. In fact, I have those exact records in my current vinyl collection. Thanks, mom.

That brings us to this week’s random purchase: Roadmaster’s 1978 album, Sweet Music. Roadmaster is a band that obviously had no idea how important album covers were, since I didn’t even think this was an album when I was flipping through Goodwill’s plastic milk crate-o-vinyl. My first thought was Who in the hell would donate a calendar from a 1950’s diner to charity? Once I realized that is was indeed a record, my next thought was Who in the hell would make their album cover an out-of-focus neon sign with their band’s name on it? Apparently, Roadmaster would do such a thing. What sold me, though, was when I flipped it over and saw the band. Yikes, they’re wearing neon. Every single one of them. I’m not even making this up when I say that the album credits include a line that says Neon: Aurora Borealis. I didn’t even have to read the credits in order to know which one was the drummer, either. Curly hair, a sparkly dog collar, and a green neon outfit with a tie just below the nipple line screams drummer. Not to mention that his name is Bobby Johns. Bassist Toby Myers is the only one not wearing something exposing his hairy chest, as he opted to wear a bright yellow kimono for this photo session. Oh yeah, if you are in a real rock n’ roll band, your name should not be Toby. It should be something like Jimmy Axeslinger… or Bobby Johns.

Speaking of names, Roadmaster has to be the worst band name of all-time. How does one even go about mastering the road? Even though traffic safety is a positive message for the kids, it would have been more impressive if they had mastered something else with a higher degree of difficulty. They could have been Calculusmaster. Better yet, they could have been Kissingagirlwhoisleaningawayfromyoumaster.

If Styx had a premature baby brother who had to live his entire life hooked up to tubes in a hospital, he would have been named Roadmaster. These guys are pure AOR. Unfortunately, they are very weak compared to an outfit like Styx. The title track and the opening song “It Doesn’t Mean A Thing” are actually decent pomp rock songs and would fit nicely into the playlist of any current FM classic rock station, but that isn’t really enough to make them a good band. Despite some shining guitar riffs and impressive solos from Rick Benick, the album just falls flat. Paper thin production is what kills this album. The keyboards are way too trebly and the guitars lack punch. Though, to be honest, if Roy Thomas Baker had manned the boards on this one, I would probably have it in my collection. Great production can work wonders on anemic songs.

Despite their blatant disregard for the art of selecting an album cover, their idiotic band name, their use of neon, and their flaccid writing, Roadmaster actually had potential. They would have never been able to rival the songwriting and technical skill of bands like Bad Company or Journey, but they could have easily landed that sweet opening spot on the Aldo Nova tour.

Sweet Comfort - Sweet Comfort

I heard you missed me. I'm back. I've decided to start randomly reviewing records again. All fun, no profit. Basically, I go to a thrift store, buy a record I've never heard, or even seen before, and review it. To start off, I'm gonna repost some reviews from my original column. I'll do some new ones shortly, but until then this one comes from Tipp-C and the summer of 2006:

Sweet Comfort – Sweet Comfort
Maranatha! Music 1977

While flipping past the usual thrift store offerings of Shaun Cassidy and Neil Diamond, Sweet Comfort’s 1977 self-titled debut caught my eye. Why? Simply because they look like Boston and, as we all know, Boston rocks! The guy in the upper right hand corner even has an afro that rivals that of Sib Hashian’s from the back cover of Boston’s debut. Though, at the very same time that I was thinking that this might indeed be on par with the genius of Tom Scholz, I also had another chilling thought: Afros and moustaches of this magnitude could also mean that I was going to be in for a Doobie-like barrage and that is not good. As I flipped the album over, another dimension of fear emerged as I saw a quote printed in a mystic font across the back cover. A quote from Thessalonians. Could it be? Yes. Christian rock!

Despite the fact that the first track, “It’s So Fine (Soul Tune Boogie),” actually has the words, “More than just a feeling,” this is a far cry from Boston. Indeed, just as I suspected, these lads would make Michael McDonald proud as they emulate the smooth era of the Doobies. Horns aplenty. The musicianship is genuinely pretty tight and the penultimate song on side two, “Get Ready” even has a drum solo. Drums solos are always a plus, even if they suck. Singer Bryan Duncan’s voice is actually somewhat pleasant, but not jaw-dropping. It’s like driving down the road on a sunny day, taking a look to your right, and seeing a happy duck floating on a pond while also enjoying the sun. Yes, that’s is exactly what his voice is like. Trust me.

Sweet Comfort definitely doesn’t hide the love they have for two particular men, the Father and the Son. Nearly every song is about God or Jesus. He’s the Son of God, in case you are out of the loop. This is an admirable move, and unlike those heathens in Stryper, they don’t try to hide behind make-up, hairspray, and the ruse of spreading The Word through the devil’s music… and power ballads. Though, hearing a song like “Somebody Loves You” leaves little to the imagination, as one already knows it’s about Jesus and not about feeling up your high school sweetheart behind the Village Pantry. This also means that “When I’m Alone” isn’t a masturbation anthem.

If you are a fan of the smooth era of the Doobies, I would actually recommend this. Personally, I am not a fan of any era of the Doobies, but I do think that Jeff “Skunk” Baxter has a nice beret. So, as I look at the stamp on side one of Sweet Comfort that says From the Library of Mark McClennin, it makes me wonder if Jesus is still alright with Mark.