Heard Here

Elton John

The Road to El Dorado

As one of the most gifted and prolific songwriting teams of the 20th century, Elton John and Bernie Taupin are rarely given the credit they deserve. Sure, they've enjoyed plenty of commercial success, having sold over 100 million records during their 27 years together, and their work has always been received warmly by critics in every corner of the globe. But John and Taupin have spent their careers lurking in the shadows cast by their legendary peers, whether those peers happened to be John Lennon and Paul McCartney, Mick Jaggar and Keith Richards or even Jimmy Page and Robert Plant.

That's too bad, because the songwriting duo responsible for albums like Honky Chateau and Goodbye Yellow Brick Road deserves better. During a post-Beatles era that witnessed the birth of progressive rock and the regrettable rise of bands like Rush, Boston and Grand Funk Railroad, John and Taupin wrote music that was as strikingly beautiful as it was unhip. In the recording studio, they mined little pieces of pop gold, from the epic ballad "Tiny Dancer" to the bittersweet "Rocket Man." On stage, John combined the passion of Jerry Lee Lewis with the showmanship of the Thin White Duke, turning every performance into a theatrical celebration of excess. In short, Elton John and Bernie Taupin were a breath of fresh air during a time when mainstream music had grown stale and predictable.

Unfortunately, it's been five years since John collaborated with his longtime songwriting partner, and it's been over a decade since he released his last respectable album, 1989's Sleeping With the Past. These days, he's a Serious Artist, having fallen victim to the same mysterious disease that most recently transformed guitar legend Eric Clapton into a second-rate clone of Phil Collins. So forget about Elton John and Bernie Taupin, the enterprising duo that once produced hit singles like "Your Song" and "Bennie and the Jets." Instead, make way for the combination of Sir Elton John and lyricist Tim Rice, the showtune guru responsible for Jesus Christ Superstar and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

Their latest collaboration, The Road to El Dorado, is bland, unimaginative trash that will be lost in the adult contemporary section of the local record store before winding up in the cutout bin next to the new releases Kenny Loggins and Winger. To be fair, it sounds just like the soundtracks to recent animated blockbusters like The Prince of Egypt and Beauty and the Beast, and it even features cameo appearances by the Backstreet Boys and Randy Newman. For that matter, John and Rice will surely clean house at next year's Academy Awards ceremony, where aging rock stars go to see their most embarrassing work celebrated by a bunch of clueless old men. But all the awards in the world cannot hide the creative bankruptcy at the heart of El Dorado, which has plenty of pomp but no heart. (Ironically, the highlight of the album is "Perfect Love," a catchy little single available only on a limited edition bonus disc; those unlucky enough to purchase the standard version of El Dorado will have to make due with the Velveeta-soaked "Someday Out of the Blue.")

Perhaps Sir Elton should pick up the phone and call his old buddy Bernie Taupin for some much-needed inspiration. Or perhaps he should pick up a copy of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road and think back to a time when his music was still vital. Whatever the case, he needs to do something before he drowns in a bottomless sea of his own cheese.

- Rossiter Drake

Machine Gun

Machine Gun

Any band that samples Army of Darkness, Hard Boiled and Full Metal Jacket on their first E.P. is, well, daring. Yet Oberlin's own Machine Gun somehow manages to pull off that feat on their self-titled debut, a paean to the true values of metal-core.

Their first track, "Y6B," deals with the specter of world over-population at the turn of the millennium, and as the band puts it, "this song suggests one way in which this problem can be solved." As the scrambled guitar work and electronically-formatted bass beat carry the song along, alternating deep basso profundo and high-pitched shrieking lay down the lyrics. Sadly, Machine Gun really doesn't break into any new lyrical territory. It's all pretty standard stuff for death metal: "Babies, children, women: No one is spared/Flesh will rip, flesh will tear/Open wounds, infected limbs:/Something to fear." Frankly, you'd expect more from Oberlin students, especially with the forced non-rhyme of "tear" and "fear." Granted, you really can't tell what the hell they're saying, but still, it's the principle of the thing.

But the album's second track, "Dare to be Different," tackles a rather unexpected topic for a metal-core song: the unavailability of Zubaz pants. No, really, that's what the song is about: it ends with the line "Give me Zubaz or give me death!" Patrick Henry would be damn proud, I'm quite sure. All kidding aside, "Dare to be Different" is probably the album's best offering, with some competent guitar work and a reasonably catchy beat. I'm not saying you could dance to it, but that qualification never made good music out of Puff Daddy.

The last track, "Skull-Crushing Bullets," comes off as just that, and it's obvious that the Machine Gunners were just trying too hard here. "We will teach you the true meaning of evil," they tell us, but really, didn't Barry Manilow already do that? The song is like recycled Cannibal Corpse, though it sorely lacks the intensity and immediacy of "Entrails from a Virgin's Cunt" or "I Cum Blood" (both off Corpse's classic 1992 album, Tomb of the Mutilated).

I'd like to say something like, "Machine Gun delivers a uniquely Oberlin-influenced brand of metal-core, opening new boundaries in the sonic realm," but really, they don't. They're just two kids messing around with a guitar, a drum machine and a four-track, burning the discs themselves, making labels, covers, a website with downloadable MP3s (www.mp3.com/machinegun) - which, come to think of it, is a lot more than your crappy band has ever thought about doing. So take your condescending postmodern butt and get to the recording studio if you want to even think about criticizing these guys. And even if you try to bring the heat on them, remember what Machine Gun says: "Do not fuck with us!"

- Jacob Kramer-Duffield

The Jayhawks

Smile

With more than 15 years of rock and roll under their belt without a major break, it seems that the Jayhawks would have very little to smile about. In fact, after numerous personnel changes and ill-timed problems with a handful of record labels, the group that basically fathered the alt-country movement in the mid-'80s has seen their share of troubles. And though their down-but-not-out perseverance has earned them a strong underground following, the hard luck of the band itself has become part of the group's signature sound. When Jayhawks decided to name their latest release Smile, most Jayhawks fans probably expected a smile of chagrin instead of one of happiness. But most Jayhawks fans would have been wrong.

In the 13 tracks of Smile, the Jayhawks seem to have embraced a newfound positive orientation to the world around them. From the first strains of the title track, the changes in the band's direction are clear, and led by the seamless melodies of Gary Louris, Smile displays an incredible amount of pop maturity that makes it the most radio-ready collection in the band's catalogue.

But all too often when a band is said to me showing "maturity," it is a gentle way of saying that they are just getting better at all the old stuff. In the case of the Jayhawks, the old stuff is what earned their 1992 release Hollywood Town Hall a spot on Rolling Stone's list of the top rock records of the '90s, but it would be wrong to say that Smile is nothing more than an improvement on an old formula. With Smile, the Jayhawks embrace the use of sampled drum loops and synthesizers about as tastefully as any roots-rock band could, and though the combination of sampled beats and "ba ba ba's" on "Somewhere in Ohio" might have alt-country die-hards wincing, the changes are made with a good deal of success.

By far, the best tracks on the record are "What Led Me To This Town" and "A Break In The Clouds," both of which employ enough heartbreakingly beautiful harmonies and straight forward hooks to make them would-be alternative country classics. In short, the band's latest puts a new chapter in the annals of Americana roots-rock, and will give their fans something to smile about.

- Nate Cavalieri

Ween

White Pepper

Sixteen years ago, in the dark basements of their parents' houses in New Hope, Pennsylvania, Mickey Melchiondo and Aaron Freeman embarked on the creation of a mind-altering substance that would attempt at forever changing the consciousness of underground culture. More addictive than any drug, their creation of schizophrenic songs with subjects that ran the gamut from smoking pot and ordering take-out to the adoration of corpses spread through America's youth like wildfire.

With a four-track recorder, a big bag of dope and a dream, these two teenage freaks were determined to achieve world domination. All they needed was a loyal fan base and a name.

Before long, they had their name and a small but rabid group of fans who never missed an opportunity to check out their favorite band on the road. And though this description of Ween's followers might sound more like a religous cult than a church, much of Ween's success is due to the fact that the word on the street spread pretty fast about these two kids from Pennsylvania who wrote some of the strangest low-fi pop songs since Frank Zappa. The buzz about their basement band's first two records of quirk-pop, God Ween Satan: The Oneness and Pod, landed Ween on Elektra Records. Counting White Pepper, Ween released eight records during their long relationship with Elektra, all of which have the kind of unexpected turns in style from one song to the next that the cultish Ween fans have come to expect, and none of which have the highly marketable sound that is associated with most major label bands.

And with the release of White Pepper, Ween proves that their 16 years together have taught them about more than just how to exert self-control with drugs. White Pepper is unquestionably Ween's most melodic album to date and has brief glimmers of the band's former efforts. The steel guitar licks of "Falling Out" might remind one of something from the band's famous nod to Nashville, 12 Golden Country Greats, and pseudo punk "Stoker Ace" is highly reminiscent of earlier material from God Ween Satan.

However, the overwhelming orientation of White Pepper is that of fairly mellow Brit-pop that falls in the territory of mid-'80s Nick Hayward and Paul McCartney's Wings. Like the many other masks that the band has worn over the years, their ability to morph into a hook heavy Brit-pop band is uncanny, and this is perhaps best seen with "The Grobe" and "Exactly Where I'm At." The album finishes with the best track, however, the simply beautiful "She's Your Baby," which builds from its somewhat stripped down beginnings into a dreamy, spacious Beach Boys-esque close.

Though White Pepper may not be strange enough to satisfy the old-school fans, there is no doubt that it will appeal to a much wider audience, and for people who find their reputation for weirdness more than a little daunting, it will be a great way to ease into one of the biggest bands in the underground.

- Nate Cavalieri