By Kat Bein
By Laurie Charles
By Shea Serrano
By Jeff Weinberger
By Kat Bein
By Shea Serrano
By S. Pajot
By Terrence McCoy
Since the Seventies, the children of flamenco masters have adopted the rhythms of their gypsy ancestors to create their own genre of contemporary Spanish music A flamenco-rock, -pop, and -jazz hybrids that nonpurists classify as "new flamenco." The daughter of renowned Andalusian folklorist and Fifties movie star Lola Flores (who died in May at age 72) and flamenco guitarist "El Pescailla," Rosario Flores has the pedigree to join groups such as Ketama and Pata Negra as a leader of this younger generation. She also has the voice. On her first album, 1992's De ley, Rosario huskily keened her tough-love lyrics in the spirit of canto hondo, and the tracks' flamenco rhythms were accented with gritty rock riffs. The singer's raw emotional power and sexy, modern gypsy style -- as seen in her videos -- quickly put her on the charts in Spain and Latin America.
On her new release, Siento, Rosario experiments with more elaborate arrangements A with varied success. The opening track, "Estoy aqui," is a well-orchestrated mix, an upbeat, jazzy pop tune that highlights the singer's throaty sensuality and the sounds of electric guitar and brass. But on "Puede ser" Rosario struggles in vain to spice up a tepid jazz arrangement. Things improve on "Sus fantasias," on which Rosario's vocals are rendered as a more contemporary, broadly defined take on traditional flamenco, with crisp accompaniment from Spanish guitar, conga, caj centsn, and clapping hands. "Era un garaje" -- an homage to the flamenco jams the singer attended as a child -- follows this pattern, while "Ay que calor" adds a tropical touch with rumba flamenca and calypso rhythms. "Leccion de amistad" has a Top 40 pop-ballad feel, a waste of Rosario's talents, which are showcased to much better effect on the title track. A riskier ballad rich with flamenco guitar and acoustic percussion underscoring the singer's aggressive vocals, "Siento" combines an accessible pop sensibility with the seduction of southern Spanish song.
By Judy Cantor
"Yes, I have a sense of humor! Don't you sense my sense of humor?" contends Fugazi singer-songwriter-guitarist Ian MacKaye midway through the D.C.-based underground kings' latest album. Unless the title of Red Medicine puns on the group's leftist concerns, though, there are no out-and-out ha-ha's to be found here. Those listeners sick of the outcry from both sides of the current generational divide may find Fugazi's sentiments both amusing and rousing. "By You" lambastes boomers' insistence upon their own cultural superiority, while "Target" decries "a thousand grudging young millionaires" and "the sound of guitars." Fortunately, Fugazi doesn't take that last blast too seriously, powering their thoughtful attacks with avant-punk that goes its own way while remembering the Minutemen, as well as PiL's Second Edition. And there are nods to outright poppiness on "Forensic Scene" (a song about sexuality the band might think about pitching to ex-new waver Madonna) and the gut-level existentialist "Fell, Destroyed." It's enough to make you glad Fugazi started slapping bar-code stickers on their albums to allow them to chart.
In the aftermath of band breakups, the listening rule is usually simple: Follow the leader. Sometimes this works (ex-Policeman Sting), misfires (the Talking Head-less David Byrne), or crashes and bursts into flames (David Lee who?). And while it might be too soon to tell, you can add Natalie Merchant's name to the list of failed solo wanna-be's. The former lead singer of 10,000 Maniacs makes her debut on the single scene with Tigerlily, proving there's a lot more to be said for her 9999 former bandmates than anyone ever gave them credit for.
Solely written and produced by Merchant (she dumped Maniacs' producer Paul Fox, as she has said, "to preserve my vision"), the album lacks the snap and luster of her old band's six LPs. There's nothing as catchy as "What's the Matter Here"; instead, the album is dark and lumbering, with Merchant's willowy coo wafting over themes of death ("River," an anomalous tribute to dead actor Phoenix) and despair (practically every other song here). Wholly uninspired, Merchant adopts the age-old formula of telling a story through the eyes of a soul searcher, striving to overcome some inner conflict as if she's the lost love child of Helen Reddy and Richard Simmons ("I am woman, hear me deal a meal").
While her vocals are passionate, it's unfortunate that her songs leave her little to cheer about. Merchant forges no new ground here, and yet she also seems to forget where she came from. Only "Wander" finds her back in familiar waters (and for that matter, in a familiar time signature), as she sings "laughed as she came to my cradle/know this child will be able/...with love, with patience, and with faith/she'll make her way." Let's all wish the same for Merchant on future outings.
Having finally exorcised all the little records from his system -- we're going with little, though shitty might be a better word -- the man who put the jam in the Jam has emerged from creative Siberia with a big, fat, shake-that-ass-and-kick-another-back album. Stanley Road should go a fair distance toward re-establishing Weller as one of his generation's preeminent song stylists, a man capable of melding the emotive wallop of R&B with the tuneful lyricism of pop.