Looper Who's Afraid Of Y2K? (Jeepster) * * *‘k
In which Stuart David does the impossible and writes a song about the Millennium, presently the last refuge of the inspirationally bankrupt, and conjures up a thing of bliss and wonder. Synths burble like new-born babes, David sighs like vintage Bobby G, and beats skitter like raindrops on window panes. A sad little record; a gentle voice of reason amid a sea of phoney millennium hysteria. (PW)
Ben Harper And The Innocent Criminals Return to Shine (Virgin) *1: Corn-swaggling country-rock that chugs ’n' frugs like The Stones at a Tijuana hoedown, goes for a moonlight spin in Vic Chesnutt’s wheel-chair and collapses in a heap in ZZ Top's porta-cabin with a spittoon on its head. That it still manages to be marginally less engaging than a docu- soap about Polish key-cutters is actually quite impressive. It takes a lot to cock up a bar-room boOgie, as Nietszche once said. (PW)
Cay
Nature Creates Freaks (eastwest) *‘k‘k
Some music biz genius decides that marrying the yodelling patchouli-pop of forgotten 80$ warbler Edie Brickell with the scary alterno-rock of Hole would be a winning formula. Ergo Cay. Unfortunately Hole themselves have already achieved this with Celebrity Skin. Still, it’s not unpleasant and beSpectacled teenage boys in long black raincoats will probably love it, which must count for something. (PW)
Hefner
lTook Her Love For Granted (Too Pure) **
Being a real gone twee-pop apostle, I thought I'd adore Hefner's knock- kneed geek-pop. But I could never adore anything this drab. The singer yelps like a man being goosed with a sawn-off lamp post, seemingly under the impression that this makes him sound endearineg kooky. Instead, it makes him sound like Claire Grogan giving birth to a conga line of midgets. Still, I'd love 'em to prove me wrong. (PW)
Mariah Carey Heartbreaker (Columbia) *
Judging by the cover of her latest effort, Ms Carey seems to have acquired a set of Himalayan breasts. Perhaps, having realised her R&B throne is in danger of being stolen by the glut of faceless girl-groups currently horning up the charts, she plans to form a dynamite soul trio with her own mammary glands. Just a thought. The song? Instantly forgettable schwing-beat bilge, of course. (PW)
Wyclef Jean featuring
Bono
New Day (Sony) * The year is 2099. The world lies in ruins, its surface rendered
uninhabitable by a century long thermo-nuclear war. An underground- dwelling resistance leader travels back to 1999 in an attempt to prevent the cause of this devastation: the release of a single by pop stars Wyclef Jean & Bono. A cloying plea for 'understanding', it will, ironically, result in the mass extinction of the human race. Gone ’til November my
arse. (PW)
astrid . Redground (Fantastic Plastic) *t-k
Only the most slop-hearted misanthrope could actually hate astrid. Hopelessly derivative though they are, there's something unarguably likeable about them. Maybe it's ‘cos they seem to derive so much pleasure from making ’Ooh-Wee-Ooh' noises. Maybe it’s their winning smiles and lovely centre-partings. This fleeting trifle sounds, somewhat bizarrely, like the Longpigs. Worrying. (PW)
Johnson Skin and Gold (Play Records) ***~k
Another compulsive, propulsive offering from Glasgow's Johnson. Presided over by singer Peter Rose's whip-cracking croon, this is a deliriously manic garage-punk grave- raver. Think Julian Cope hurtling backwards down a flaming helter- skelter or the soundtrack to some cheapo AIP 60s drive-in flick — The Standells Meet The Zombie. Monstrously fine. (PW)
Chemical Brothers
Lose Control (Mercury) **** Never noted for their originality, the Chemies (or whatever they're known as) are nonetheless experts at timing. This is Donna Summer’s ‘I Feel Love' with everybody’s favourite mumbling Manc, New Order’s Barney Sumner, havering over the top in his own inimitible style. Perfect for those end of the century shakedowns which we will all no doubt be attending on December 3lst. (MR)
The Herbaliser
8 Point Agenda (Ninja Tune) *****
San Francisco rap duo Latyrix flex their rhyming muscles on the lead track, playing lyrical tag over a throbbing double bass swerve and electro-funk break. If this wasn't enough it's backed by ’Who's The Reallist?’ - a curmudgeonly rumble topped off with the inimitable vocal skills of UK rap veteran Blade. Herbaliser's return to form is now well and truly confirmed. (MR)
Planet Perfecto
Bullet In The Gun (Perfecto) **
This may be Paul Oakenfold's tune of the year (he told us himself), but it is sadly, well, duff. The three mixes of this Euro trancey number get progressively better, directly relative to the amount of vocals (read: less is far, far more). It’s all been done before and much better. 'Not Over Yet' this ain't. (SB)
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