Reviews

The best way to get over a dangerous curve is to enjoy the ride, say those who know what the drive is.

Long-separated URIAH HEEP soul brothers jam their act together just to be separated on the record. Here is the closest you get to Ken Hensley solo gig.

Intrepid bass leads to the other world for the third time.

It's all in the family - Sammy Hagar's cousin comes out with a wake-up call.

With too many either guitar or vocals-biased records in the last years, someone had to level the situation, and that's what Ken Tamplin does here. A solid effort features some of the best players around, yet it's a showcase of Ken's talents as a writer and a singer. The writing is exemplary, there's a highly melodic way with a difficult subjects of "We've Jihad Enough" and "Cell Phone Freaks" where Ritchie Kotzen guests, vocals are strong too, "The Story Of Love" seeing Tamplin bold enough to invite Jeff Scott Soto for an impassioned duet, which leaves overt Paul Rodgers imitations on tracks like "Every Day Is Precious" or "Hare Kristians" unexplained. Even more so, when a "God In Heaven" breezy blues unfurls dramatically, but some emotions get lost due to the album's length, as a few of eighteen songs could have easily been omitted. Still, it's big and it rocks good - especially "Freedom" - for a call to be heed.

***1/3

A fire still burns, and a metal master is back to claim his fame.

Jack Starr, whose first success lay with VIRGIN STEEL, kept quite a low profile since mid-'80s, yet his legend loomed larger and larger with every passing year. Now, given a chance by Cult Metal to cut another album, he called old friends, bassist Ned Meloni and drummer Joe Hasselvander having played in his BURNING STARR, to arms, so the return is glorious. What may seem bombast, as signalled by the choir lead-off, turns out clever and dynamic, with no needless compression to spoil an attack and shoot down Shmoulik Avigal's vocal flight. Don't go no further than the title track: stylistically speaking, there's nothing new to this classic heavy metal, yet who needs novelty with melodies so poignant in the opening "The Flame Never Dies" and magnificient in Gary Moore-ish instrumental "Anthem For The Nations" and energy oozing out of every guitar note? Scorching.

***3/4

What an appalling cover! Fortunately, the music belies that death mask. Well, almost.

What's been a talk of some years gains a flesh now, when the Eireland’s finest guitar’s long silent, and this posthumous collection feels as an exquisite testament of a great talent. Perhaps, too exquisite: while acoustic tracks spiced many of Rory’s albums, there always was a life-affirming energy in them, cowboys and bandits rocking hard in “Out On The Western Plains” or blues calling with “Calling Card”, thus reflecting a real soul of the man. “Wheels Within Wheels”, though, has a different ring to it, a sort of chamber one, and if Gallagher was keen on doing a folk programme some day, this offering is hardly the record he’d come up with. The task was left to his brother Donal, a former manager, who – having a little choice against sheer responsibility – carried the torch gracefully.

The cuts gathered here are of varied provenance and sound quality, some being sketches and some occasional collaborations, yet whatever optimistic tone a title track, a sprawling blues, sets, a poignancy pervades all of them. There are slabs or that intense Rory everybody loved, too, skiffley “Goin’ To My Hometown” sharing the spotlight with Lonnie Donegan, and a studio version “As The Crow Flies”, a highlight of acclaimed “Irish Tour ‘74” album. Sitting rather comfortably alongside them, “Bratacha Dubha” and “Ann Cran Ull”, featuring respectively Martin Carthy and Bert Jansch, see the other side of the artist – this of a minstrel treading the roads of a country he adored – to put “Lonesome Highway” understated groove or “Flight To Paradise” flamenco, a duet with Juan Martin, to the backyard.

All of this doesn’t mean there’s no fun in the fare, Gallagher could be as melancholic as reckless. Troubled spirit may show in “The Cuckoo” moving tune, where the voice soothes and rages wrapped in his and Roland Van Campenhour’s strum, yet humor fills up “Barley & Grape Rag” that the guitarist revisited in THE DUBLINERS’ company, and “Blue Moon Of Kentucky” which Rory and Bela Fleck’s banjo took back to the bluegrass soil right after dipping the Delta mud with the hushed take on “The Walkin’ Blues” the Irishman started doing when still a part of TASTE. His heart doesn’t beat anymore, but roaring – Rory-ing? – and rolling, these wheels keep on turning.

*****

When the metal opera gets ambient and turns into a teenage one.

Arjen Lukassen made a name as a creator of concept albums, yet this concept was completely different from the onset: while sculpting an instrumental record from the bits and pieces of AYREON, his main project, Arjen heard a 14-year old Astrid van der Veen and stopped in (reconstructing) his tracks. A little one’s melodies and lyrics suited the material - Lukassen’s tightly woven guitars and keyboards - like a glove to have lent it a wholly new drift which took more fresh infusion, a couple of voiceless pieces, as grandiose “Fate”, still retained.

“Estranged” may depict how a usual listener feels about that, but flutes here or pipes in a wonderful, acoustically-tinctured, “Lost Message” stir a stunning atmosphere, so there’s no need to be guessing the origins of a certain part. Wakeman-esque or Oldfield-like elsewhere, “Surreal” sounds exactly so, transparent strumming pervading thick synth and guitar layers. With ambient throbbing and real drumming, it’s heavy and ethereal in one instance, as light a pastoral as murky a gothic, mostly cold but undeniably emotive, like “High”. That’s where the album takes the one who dreams a dream.

*****

Can something be more American than the blues? Roll on in circles, then.

Whatever images the band's name - and the album's title - may conjure up, they're not of the blistering blues tailored by the TASTE blueprint. While his vocal vibrato sometimes feels a tad detached from the raw emotions of music, Janusz Bartolik's catchy riffing 'n' ripping owes much to Rory Gallagher, and such a flair is quite telling to ensure the grooviness herein. And the music is groovy, indeed, power trio giving it all in Hammond-underlined "Childhood River" and playful "Bad Penny Boogie" without shying away from sentimentality that "Happy" is shot through with - a brave and candid thing. Less harrowing come the seeming results of long jams, like "Hope Is Good For The Soul", yet they can't take away from heavy if folky "Seeing Is Believing" and ebullient "Can Your Read My Mind". "Wrong Side Of Town" dedicated to Brian Jones, the Stone one, feels an oddity though.

***4/5

Getting imperial doesn’t mean getting heavy – but solidly proud.

No matter what the title suggest, there's no hint of agoraphobia.

It comes as a surprise: with all the classic rock popularity in USSR, Russian bands are still rare in the field. Yet when they emerge, they do rock - witness ROMISLOKUS. Bubbly guitar melody of "Cool", the opener of this album, their second, is able to find a way to both the prog lovers and the MTV eaters. But while clever English lyrics and various effect add up to the tastiness, not everything here bristles with immediacy, 'L'Amour" and "Persici" (sung in French and Italian respectively) taking an alt course to ram it all home with piano-driven melancholy of "If" and space rock of spacious "Freedom". The coldness of those may come as an explanation for the title, yet there's a warm shot in a form of '60s-styled "Name", which points towards greater things - are they out of the doors yet?

***1/2

Coming from the Sixties and rocking in his sixtieth, Paul's still at it.

The avatar of classic rock gets it together and brings out the best.

There's something peculiar about this album that's hard to define at first: for ten years since John emerged as a fully-fledged solo performer he's been shaping a serious pop music and seemed to have dismissed his much respected past which lay in other realms. Now, fifty years of the artist's life caught up with him on both personal - the way his music grows on - and creative levels to make Wetton feel the need to reassert his sensitivity, no matter what style it may bring on. Hence, the title and some old friends appearing here alongside new ones, the peculiarity being the wholeness of the record's diversity.

Raw but ready - a rough sketch for the greatest live album of all time.

This might be a tad confusing: PURPLE had two things called "Scandinavian Nights", one a live LP recorded in 1970 in Stockholm, the other a video taped in 1972 in Copenhagen. What we have here is that latter performance, the source of this album aimed strictly at fans as it's coming dangerously close to the band's definitive stage set of only five months later, immortalized on grandiose "Made In Japan".

Dangerously is the right word, the group sound much more raw here, with their finest moment, "Machine Head", still awaiting its release, and the five trying to hit the stride and not realizing still what a smash lay dormant in "Smoke On The Water", to be brought on-stage later in the year. The best example of that tryout can be "Strange Kind Of Woman", a revelation of how well-rehearsed was the vocal / guitar interplay which would always pass off as an extemporization. Those magical improvisations are abound though, not only when Ritchie Blackmore and Jon Lord let it rip but also because of Ian Gillan rhythm-and-bluesy hollering all the way through that makes up for him missing some high notes - not in "Child In Time" spliced with a good dose of moral preaching - and Roger Glover running over the fret in the Ian Paice's drumming showcase, "The Mule".

So maybe this set is even livelier - warts and all - than the other one, and while many will undoubtedly greet the first official appearance of "Fireball" concert version by the Mk II, the vast majority should be assured to stick to their copy of that Japanese album.

***** - for collectors only

Jack Of All Trades soars in the Latino-colored blues.

There are many sides to the veteran artist, yet they rarely come together in one package like this, arguably Bruce's best since his 1969's debut, from which a couple of songs made it to here. Jack's been several times revisiting his own past to get a new shine to gems that, alongside fresh material, seem fit with another play of his. This time it's in a Latin key, shifting lazily into the view with a ghostly "Out Into The Fields", awashed in Vernon Reid's guitar instead of Leslie West's of the original, and funky "52nd Street" so remindful of lava blues a certain trio Bruce was in used to be brewing.

He, indeed, revives two CREAM smashes, "White Room" and "Sunshine Of Your Love", and one would be forgiven to think it's Santana weaving his strands in but no - that's the very same player who shaped them in the first place, Eric Clapton, has a mighty ball. Still, there could be no mistake as to whose axe's cutting it in a majestic ballads "Heart Quake" and "Dark Heart" - Gary Moore does wear no disguise now. Jack himself doesn't either, as it's just different angles that highlight jazz of "Boston Ball Game 1967" or "This Anger's A Liar" boogie, voodoo'ed up by Dr. John's piano, while the voice is as pure and deep as ever.

And musicianship, too - as it's Bruce's own dramatic piano that ebbs in plaintive, heartbreaking "Milonga" and powerful bass that throbs "Dancing On Air" through before dissolving into acoustic breezing of this oldie, "He The Richmond". He the master, yes, a chaser of shadows, and this record is a masterclass of the trade.

*****

Not the return of Govinda yet there's much to rejoice at.

That was a big loss when Chrispian Mills made the world bid farewell to the delicious KULA SHAKER that perfectly recaptured the late '60s spirit. Rumours of him go solo proved false when the news broke of a new enterprise. THE JEEVAS are a nitty-gritty rock 'n' roll band with the same nerve - "jiva" meaning "indestructlible life-force" - but more garagey sound. "Virginia" sets the quite uncompromising mood, and there can't be other in a three-piece of Mills on guitar, Dan McKinna on guitar and Randy Nixon on drums picking up where THE TROGGS left off. A gutsy stuff, former psychedelia surfaces in spades in "Silver Apples" only. "Scary Parents" providing a missing link between Mills' past and present, the playfulness of "Once Upon A Time In America" or the energy of "You Get My Number" riffage come hard to resist, though melodies are less adventurous this time. Cowboy theme might be a good find, but it doesn't justify the album's brevity. Thirty-six minutes of an imaginary radio programme feel a teaser: 1-2-3-4 and it's all over.

****1/3

The concert that brought the European audience to the late youngster's feet.

All of his short life Jeff was averse to any comparisons to his great father, yet when Buckley Jr. walked on the Olympia stage the discipline and sensuality of Tim's got through his son's American skin. The rawness of the official bootleg recording serve equally well to both the "Kick Out The Jams" sonic attack and the nerves' exposure in the brief falsetto, Tiny Tim-style, take on "Kashmir". Those covers, Cohen's "Hallelujah" aside, a needless extra, the singer's emotional state is explicable as he was giving his love to Edith Piaf back to Paris in desperate "Dream Brother", having enveloped everybody in deep tones of "Lover, You Should've Come Over". The problem is, nervousness became too overwhelming to darken the show from "Eternal Life" on, "Grace" standing out even here, which in the light of the artist's destiny looks rather appropriate.

***1/2

Gracious grave dancing for the children of today, but dirty Oz isn't.

There's a notable moment in the bridge of "Facing Hell" when the melodic figure gets close to that of SABBATH's "Megalomania". Hardly a coincidence with Ozzy thrown onto the MTV altar to admit here he's not "the Antichrist or the Iron Man". His metal still rocks though, and the opening "Gets Me Through" belongs to the golden canon Osbourne set thirty years earlier, but most of this album takes of that depository rather than add to it. The artwork feels reflective, showing the singer fade to the bones, and getting thin he is, remaining fashionable while stretching his talent too much to fall into many a cliche as in "Black Illusion" and turn "Dreamer" into an AEROSMITH-like lush ballad. More typical of Ozzy's own romanticism "You Know...", awashed with acoustic guitars, and piano-splashed "Running Out Of Time" may please the long-time fan and a new devotee alike. Yet - with him confessing, "I feel like a living dead" - it's hard to not notice something grave in Prince Of Darkness' getting to earth.

***4/5

Five years down the line since "Mezzanine" shook the world, the ATTACK is on again, warm and beautiful.

That's optimistic, a title meaning a way to get to the inner feelings and a record to hit the nerve, not too edgy and not too comfortable. "Future Proof" - 3D's soft voice, insistent beat and anxious guitar buzz, all awashed in electronica - comes close to capturing today's concern, in sync so complete it's hard not to wrap oneself in a piece. The dub's caressing but keeping awake, vibrant "What Your Soul Sings" and "Special Cases" delivered by Sinead O'Connor's spectral voice gets under the skin for music to become even more spooky with Horace Andy appearance on echoing, lachrymose "Everywhen". At this point the drift takes a very unsettling, dark course, Arabian strings of "Butterfly Caught" and "Antistar" adding to it until melodicism wans into a silky web of "Small Time Shot Away". A way in found, an urge for a way out arise.

****

A long way from their previous work, Israeli paragons of progressive show how relaxing a mooch could be.

When there's a five-year between the albums, a new one can turn out a killer, and the opening "Yerah" feels a full-blown teaser - slow-burning organ, crawling guitars, orchestral swaths, soft harmonies - which sets a promise, sadly not resolved as it might have been. The band pull on a mood too melancholic to convince it's a completed work, not a collection of elaborate demos with an odd glimpse of solid theatricality, like in echo-laden, forlorn "Holot", hitting the rock bottom of desperation, or artsy, puppety title track that somehow reflects in dramatic "Hayim". As a whole, though, the album feels a grower, if you happen to get in the groove - and sooner or later, you do. And when you did, an answer to the question in the title - Where everybody goes to suddenly? - may finally dawn on you. The road in question leads to Truth.

***

Strange brew, if you don't watch out it'll stick to you. Classic were bloody right - yet why watch out?

The band might be very young but the promise is profound in what even if you don't know where you are in their world, you like it nevertheless. Stitching cuts proper with short interludes, the Boston quartet's second outing packs a punch straight in the opening "Toxic Candies", a delicious mish-mash of pastoral prog and heavy metal riffage, catchy and deep. Keyboards permutate from Mellotron subtlety to Hammond beefiness to a great effect - quirky and tasty, the only drawback being unimpressive effect-laden vocals, compensated for by "TFM", an instrumental continuation on the same theme dipped in dub of which humorously emerges "Beelzebub Blues", best described as baroque reggae. Here's an explanation to the album's title: get your feeling out to not tangle them in a crazy knot that can't be loosened. But that's tight and that's good, as "Lonesome Heatwave" beats on. Quite groovy.

***4/5