'Another Night' The Hollies

Reviewing a new Hollies album verges on being an exercise in futility; you scarcely need listen first. The Hollies have stayed around the top of the pop charts for over 12 years—remember 'I'm Alive' and 'Look Through My Window'?—getting old aintcha.

Their trademarks remain the same; polished harmonies, crisp instrumentals, and catchy melodies. The boys have written all songs but one, '4th of July Asbury Park (Sandy)' from the pen of Bruce Springsteen, another Jewish poet/muso. They treat him better than they did Dylan.

If you like the Hollies, you can't lose. Was futile, wasn't it?

Playing Possum: Carly Simon

Elecktra 7E-1033

First Impressions: Olivia Newton-John

Interfusion L 35375

Reviewed by Patrick O'Dea

Of recent years 'rock' has become an extremely convenient term for us to use about music we like. But try to pin it down to styles or influences and it becomes very elusive. I suspect that what distinguishes rock musicians from your straightforward pop singer lies further back than the kind of thing they play, and it's something to do with their attitude towards their music and audience, their rejection of standard ideas about entertainment. For example, in a recent review about Bad Company's 'Straight-shooter', a writer wrote that rock music could provide a good milieu for getting laid—only to have it mutilated by some moral sub-editor to 'meeting girls'. I realise that the glossy advertising sheet he writes for considers it has some sort of duty towards the uptight natives, but why can't he write 'Fuck' if he wants to, especially as such an idea is integral to the rock ethos.

Another thing about this type of entertainment is that it must never suprise the audience, but reinforce the prevailing ideas about melody, 'good singing', love and the roles of man and woman. Carly Simon has a song on her new album with a promising story line: first verse dinner at a table for two, second verse breakfast ditto. And the moral punch line contained in the first song up, 'After the Storm', isn't even some Jim Reeves masochism about being punished for extra-marital sex by separation. Instead, it's a more up to date line—

'You're tossing me around
You come on like a hurricane
I'm settleing like a weather vane
After the storm
And your body feels so warm
After the storm'—

for Carly Simon's persona is that of the nice girl who finds fulfillment through her man—none of that woman's liberation nonsense. She could have come straight from the pages of Vogue. That impression is strengthened by the grainy black and white cover which shows her in a preparatory state for???, and further reinforced by Slave, a cute ditty guaranteed to make the strongest willed male chauvanist buckle at the knees.

But love comic readers don't buy anyone as supposedly hip as Carly Simon, even if her claim to integrity has been somewhat compromised by the rapid shift in attitude evinced between 'Hotcakes' and 'Playing Possum,'. They are more likely to settle for Olivia Newton-John, the Australian protege of Hank, Bruce and Cliff. Her thing on this 'Great Hits' ellpee is to some fine, gentle songs by such as Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Don McLean and John Denver and package them for people who watch television at 8pm on Saturdays. To do so all the rough edges and finer tones of the originals have to go and in the Denver case it's homogenized beyond homogeneity. The point about this type of music is that the satisfactions it provides for its audience don't really have anything to do with rock music, much less make a statement that could be interpreted as meaningful. The soothing feeling generated by Olivia's own brand of bland pop puree could just as easily have come from a magazine story, so I would suggest that the above mentioned 'sub' editor take one copy of his sheet, one copy of 'First Impressions', roll them into a tube and ...

(Thanks to Colin Morris on the Terrace for supplying a review copy of 'Playing Possum'—discounts of 10% for students, and there is the occasional bargain as well.)

'Sneaking Sally Through the Alley' Robert Palmer Island/Festival

Reviewed by Kerry Doole

Robert Palmer (who?) used to be cosinger with Elkie Brooks (who?) in Vinegar Joe (who?), a very under-rated British band.

You're little the wiser, are you? Here's some more name-dropping. This album was recorded in New Orleans under the direction of Allen Toussaint. Along with people like the ubiquitous Dr. John, Toussaint has succeeded in establishing a distinctive New Orleans sound that now ranks with that of places like Nashville and Macon, Georgia in being right to the forefront of contemporary music. Toussaint has had songs recorded by Johnie Winter, Maria Muldaur, Bonnie Raitt and Little Feat, to name a few. Rumour has it one Rod Stewart wants to record with him. He has written two of the songs here, including the title-track—evocative phrase, isn't it?

More names. Two other songs were written by Lowell George of Little Feat, a truly amazing band whose cult following here is spreading rapidly. And Lowell took advantage of Feat's short-lived split last year to help Palmer with the album.

This attempt to examine the musical milieu of the album may be boring, but it took some hard work. The cover-notes fail to credit either location or backing musicians.

While hardly creating a storm, 'Sneaking Sally Through the Alley' did receive some critical recognition. 'New Musical Express' placed it no. 54 on its list of 60 top albums for 1974—just ahead of Randy Newman and Sparks, they're not dregs. But in the same magazine, however, Charles Shaar Murray talks scathingly of Palmer's 'paledout, blue-eyed soul approach'. We'll come back to that later.

The album's vivid title is suitably complemented by the cover. A sleazy green-tinged shot of our Robert leading an alluring semi-masked lady through what could pass as the Mt. Vic. tunnel. On the back he appears suitably satisfied with his exploits. Island do well with their covers—eg. Sparks, Traffic and Roxy Music.

Enough of the idle chat. What of the music? A good hint comes from the cover—a sensual, earthy feeling is all-pervading.

Side 1 kicks off with a fine version of Feat's classic 'Sailing Shoes', the soul backing (puns unintended) and Lowell George's slide imparting the required bite. It fades all too soon into the funky bass and clapping intro of 'Hey Julia'.

'You're a temptation to a man

I could not resist you

And I won't if I can

You're a danger, just like giving sweets to strangers'

No respite, this runs into the crisp bass, slide opening of 'Sneaking Sally.' The culprit for the fine harp-playing is unknown.

The tempo slackens to a sleazy shuffle for Palmer's own 'Get Outside' and picks up again to the tight horn sound of George's 'Blackmail'.

The door burst open

I was caught in the raw'

Side 2 opens with Palmer's 'How Much Fun'. It doesn't take too much imagination to find out his idea of fun:

'C'mon baby, let's pull back the covers

Do our best to help one another

Find out how much fun we can get into life.'

The backing vocals sound suitably amorous. But at we all know, frivolity can give way to melancholy, and here we move onto Toussaint's haunting 'From a Whisper to a Scream'. Palmer's soulful phrasings are given full reign on a fine number. The final and longest track is 'Through it All There's You'. A pleasing melody, but perhaps a little skimpy in its development to justify its 12 minutes. In parts here Robert sound a little like Jim Morrison and that's fine with me.

So, can Murray's jibe of 'paled-out, blue-eyed soul' be sustained? True, Palmer may look pale and have blue eyes, but to label his music accordingly is grossly unfair. I couldn't care if the man has violet skin and orange eyes as long as he can sing, and this alley-cat can. One would hope that the amazing success of the anything but average Average White Band finally crushes the old bogey of 'you must be black to be soulful.'

An enjoyable, often exciting album.

Sneak a listen.

Fire On The Mountain: The Charlie Daniels Band

Kama Sutra KSBS 2603

Reviewed by Nanker Phelse

The Charlie Daniels Band is the outfit formed by the legendary sessionman, veteran of three Dylan albums among countless others. Funnily enough, and despite their New-York-based label, they emanate from the Deep South and record at the Capricorn studios in Macon, Georgia. Like the Allman Brothers and Wet Willie they display a healthy approach to their craft that produces head and heart warming music. However, unlike those bands, they don't share their hard-edged approach and instead work in a mellower country style more reminiscent of Marshall Tucker.

They are most endearing for their casualness, whether on up-tempo pieces or down-to-earth ballads. The album—with the exception of the live segment that occupies most of side two. 'No Place To Go' and 'Orange Blossom Special'—is equally divided between the two. The former material works best. 'Long Haired Country Boy' has a good-timey feel and an exuberance that is the mark of musicians enjoying their work.

Like their studio mates—and a whole helping of other Capricorn music that, through label distribution problems, hasn't yet been released in New Zealand—Fire On The Mountain suffers from a certain sameness in the material. Its very eveness tends towards the soporific by the time 'No Place To Go' arrives. But they generally manage to avoid tedium through a judiciously-placed piano solo here, or fiddle jam there.