New release roundup + Sleater-Kinney + Meat Puppets + Lone Justice + Lisa Germano + The Jimmy Rogers All-Stars   A L S O_.T O D A Y Blue Glow Hank Hill's day of the dolphin; how to tell if a commercial is "gay-vague"   Let barnesandnoble.com entertain you -- find hot titles on film, TV and more Search by:  Keyword Title Author     Y E S T E R D A Y Working stiffs By Joyce Millman Why are "Dilbert" and "Sports Night" like a day at the office? Because watching them is a grind (02/22/99)   R E C E N T_. M U S I C Neighborhood girl By David Bowman Suzanne Vega talks about folk music, coveting a cruel streak and her new book, "The Passionate Eye" (02/17/99) Sharps & Flats Reviews of new CDs by Beth Orton, the Del McCoury Band, the Damnations TX and Bad Livers (02/17/99) From Bauhaus to tract house By Sarah Vowell Architect Michael Graves turns his folly to the mass market (02/10/99) Sharps & Flats Reviews of new CDs by Sparklehorse, Adrian Belew and Dolly Parton/Emmylou Harris/Linda Ronstadt, plus the "Rushmore" soundtrack (02/09/99) A major label in a minor key By Jeff Stark Built to Spill hasn't abandoned their indie-rock origins -- or their guitar god-worshipping sound (02/09/99)   BROWSE THE MUSIC ARCHIVES COLUMNS FEATURES REVIEWS INTERVIEWS

SHARPS & FLATS | PAGE 1, 2 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Meat Puppets LIVE IN MONTANA | RYKODISC BY BRETT ANDERSON | In their prime, Phoenix's Meat Puppets were perhaps the corniest band to ever flirt with transcendence. Fronted by Beavis and Butt-head prototypes Chris and Curt Kirkwood, the Puppets brimmed with ideas -- especially Curt, a kind of Santana-on-glue guitarist who wrote country-hardcore tributes to his stream of consciousness. Like most of the great mid-'80s post-punkers, the Puppets were more influential than successful, although they were one of the few trailblazers to cash in on "alternative" rock; their '94 album "Too High to Die" went gold, and Chris and Curt's "Unplugged" appearance with Nirvana was sweet retribution for years of obscurity. But by the time Kurt Cobain got around to lionizing his idols, the Puppets' major accomplishments were behind them. The band captured on "Live in Montana" were not yet an oldies act. The never-before-released recording from '88 finds the Puppets at the height of their road-warrior stage -- loose canons who, unlike kindred-spirits the Replacements, were still devoted to delivering their fans an actual show. The set list comprised mostly tracks from the band's seminal, desert-mystic period, beginning with "Meat Puppets II" from 1984 and leveling off with '89's "Monster," and the band plays it straight until the alcohol kicks in and covers take over. The trio doesn't stray from the script in its renditions of "Plateau" and "Lake of Fire," which seems wise; as far as whimsical looks at the apocalypse go, both are flawless. Curt is the band's power source, and he provides the real meat of the show when he lets his famously anti-punk hair down. His solos in "Liquified" are fierce and jagged, proof that you can find room for virtuosity in a punk song. In "Touchdown King," Curt uses his guitar to cut through time signatures like a blade through grass, searching for (and finding) intelligent life where few people had ever thought to look -- ragged glory, indeed. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Lone Justice THIS WORLD IS NOT MY HOME | GEFFEN BY DAVID BOWMAN | Before O.J. Simpson killed Nicole in '94, before the Rodney King riots in '92, before the Northridge, Landers and Whittier Narrows earthquakes of '94, '92 and '87, Los Angeles was rocked by Lone Justice, the cowpunk band led by the honey-on-gravel voice of Marie McKee. In those long-ago days, Lone Justice would play the Whisky, and the line would snake around the block. Pop folk god Bob Dylan once wrote a song for McKee. Bono of U2 even jumped onstage with her for a duet of that old Lou Reed chestnut, "Sweet Jane." The group was produced by big shots like Bob Clearmountain and Jimmy Iovine. Unfortunately the rest of the country never flipped over Lone Justice. Wake up, Milwaukee! What's wrong, Miami Beach? Get wise, New York! It falls on your collective shoulders that Lone Justice only popped out two albums in the mid-'80s before disbanding in the face of national lack of interest. Now, 15 years later, a set of 17 Lone Justice cuts, consisting of 10 outtakes and unreleased tracks (including the Dylan and Bono numbers), has just been released. Rather than vindicate Lone Justice, the record reveals the group to be a great bar band whose L.A. energy never translated to wax. Musically, bass player Marvin Etzioni, keyboardist Benmont Tench, guitarist Don Hedgecock and drummer Ryan Heffington sound like X without rough edges. McKee is another matter. She possesses formidable pipes -- she's no fake "pop diva" who is unable to truly belt out a song. McKee's problem is she never lets a listener forget how hard she is working. The voice of Janis Joplin, as you may recall, screamed forth effortlessly. McKee sounds like she's trying to cram her voice down your throat. This is why neither the world -- nor in the end even L.A. -- was ever to be Lone Justice's home. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Lisa Germano ON THE WAY DOWN FROM THE MOON PALACE | KOCH INTERNATIONAL BY ANDREW HAMLIN | Lisa Germano's 1991 solo debut, released originally on her own Major Bill label (named for the major bill of pressing and distribution), shows her facetiously surrounded by gold records (possibly borrowed from John Mellencamp or her other famous friends) on the cover, and a cornucopia of talents firmly in place; she plays almost all the instruments here (although "real drum God" Kenny Aronoff drops in a couple-three times), and ethereal passages of ringing and plucking, arranged against the keen of her trademark violin, act as intermezzos between songs. The stark and pulsing terror that pushed later albums "Geek the Girl" and "Excerpts From a Love Circus" to the scalpel-edged limit of emotional endurance hasn't fully bloomed, though "Riding My Bike" gives an apprehensive sketch, transplanted into a childhood memory, of the stalker who would poison her life for much of the '80s/'90s cusp ("He followed me home/He knows where I live/He knows my name"). Most of her melancholy stems from more ordinary relationships, though; "Cry Baby" follows, gently as with a fingertip, the contour of something that didn't quite work out ("Could it be your laugh/Could it be your smile/Something isn't right inside of you") and swells into its accordion-bolstered chorus of "I can't save you/I can't save you" and later, on further reflection, "You can't save me." "Let it go, let it go," she'll sing on the next cut, "Bye Bye Little Doggie," and with that dulcet simplicity slipping between her whistling and a resiliently jaunty catgut scratch, she strides bravely on, Little Red Riding Hood staring down those glowing eyes feasting on her from up around the bend in the road. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The Jimmy Rogers All-Stars BLUES BLUES BLUES | ATLANTIC BY JOHN MILWARD | Jimmy Rogers flourished in the sweet spot of Chicago blues, Chess Records in the 1950s, where he played guitar in Muddy Waters' seminal band alongside harmonica master Little Walter. Rogers also recorded as a band leader -- his "Chicago Bound" album is considered a classic of urban blues -- and played sessions with such other Chess stars as Howlin' Wolf and Sonny Boy Williamson. The Chess style of hard-edged blues is a touchstone of modern rock, and was especially influential among such English bands as the Rolling Stones, Cream and Led Zeppelin. So it's only appropriate that Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Eric Clapton, Jimmy Page and Robert Plant joined Stephen Stills, Taj Majal and Jeff Healey to help Rogers record "Blues Blues Blues." There's a history of veteran bluesmen cutting records with blues-oriented rockers, including late-'60s London sessions that found Waters and Howlin' Wolf recording with some of these same players. Listening to Clapton on the Wolf disc, you hear a young lion full of chops but short of the subtlety born of maturity. Hearing him bend strings while trading vocals with Rogers on "That's All Right" and "Blues All Day Long," you appreciate the fruits of 30 more years of experience. But it's Jagger and Richards who really have a ball rocking out atop a rumbling rhythm section spiced by Johnnie Johnson's rollicking piano and honking harmonicas played by Kim Wilson and Carey Bell. Liberated from competing with their own past, the two Stones rip into "Don't Start Me Talking," "Goin' Away Baby," and "Worried Life Blues," with the kind of propulsive moxie that characterized their best work. Page and Plant also bring an especially saucy stomp to "Gonna Shoot You Right Down (Boom Boom)." Rogers is the magnanimous host of the party, trading vocals and supporting the soloists with his groove-oriented rhythm guitar, and while I'd be loath to recommend this disc over any number of terrific compilations of vintage Chess blues, it's a sweet slab of Chicago blues that also suggests that dinosaur rockers are never too old to play the blues. The sad news is that Jimmy Rogers died just as "Blues Blues Blues" was completed. The good news is that he's in heaven gigging with Muddy. SALON | Feb. 23, 1999