When Lenny Kravitz sprang onto the tabloid scene in the late '80s with Cosby kid Lisa Bonet holding his hand and vintage bell-bottoms hugging his hips, he hardly seemed like a candidate for rock-and-roll longevity. A pair of platinum albums, several high-profile producing and songwriting credits (Madonna, Brandy) later, Kravitz is thanking God for his lucky rising star.
Perhaps a bit too earnestly. On his fourth album, the hippie-dippy Kravitz who emerges on mawkish tunes like "God" and "The Resurrection" sounds more sappy than spiritual. Circus fares better when Kravitz leaves Him alone and just sticks to his old retro-rocker tricks. The album-opening "Rock 'N Roll Is Dead" snappishly bites the genre that feeds him and features his voice all edgy over a faux-Zeppelin guitar groove. The psychedelic trappings of the wry title tune create a heavenly, hallucinogenic effect as Kravitz portrays everyday life as a sort of Ringling Bros, festival from hell. But the real ear-grabber here is "Don't Go and Put a Bullet in Your Head," a song that Kravitz wrote for a late friend. Lyrically it's as simple-minded as its title but, thanks to Kravitz's hushed delivery, far sexier than you would ever expect a song discouraging suicide to be. (Virgin)
Shampoo
This is British girl pop by two self-styled "trash nymphets" from the East End named Carrie Askew, 18, and Jacqui Blake, 20. In one recent interview, Carrie, asked to articulate the duo's message, answered, "Drink lots of vodka and party." Shampoo's music, which stomps along with the unsophisticated clunkiness of a pair of platform shoes, has a knowingly coarse verve to it, but the overriding sensibility is bored, sullen anger. The girls bray—they don't sing, much—slangy lyrics about the consequences of staying out late ("Trouble"), alcohol-induced motion sickness ("Shiny Black Taxi Cab") and their own garish notion of self-actualization ("Viva la Megababes"). A little of Shampoo goes, oh, quite a long way. About half the album is awful. And yet the world can always use a band like this, if only to serve as a counterbalance to the decent, thoughtful singers such as Natalie Merchant. If, like the saints of old, Merchant went off into the wilderness to pray, Shampoo would be the demons who came and tempted her. (I.R.S.)
Dishwalla
On their debut disc this Santa Barbara band slyly draws on many influences (U2, the Seattle sound) to create waves of high-decibel, buzzing guitars that build to powerful crescendos. "Pretty Babies" typifies their sound, a slightly menacing, minor-key tune full of turbo-thrusting guitars. The young band's only glaring weakness is their unmemorable lyrics—on "Haze," for example, singer J.R. Richards wails about a woman who "pours herself some self-respect."
Dishwalla will undoubtedly be one of those opening-act bands that many concertgoers tune out until the main draw hits the stage. Don't make that mistake. If you catch them live, save the trip to the concession stand for intermission. (A&M)
Billy Joe Shaver
Grizzled and gruff-voiced, Billy Joe Shaver for years has been one of those you-gotta-be-there acts, a renowned country honky-tonker and songwriter who kills live but sometimes dies on disc. Not this time. Thanks to coproducer Brendan O'Brien, who has previously captured the rawness of Pearl Jam and Matthew Sweet, you listen to this live album mentally ducking flying beer bottles. Elvis, the All-man Brothers and Waylon Jennings, among others, have found Shaver's songs compelling enough to record, and on this album—recorded in Atlanta last January—the 54-year-old Texan shows that papa still knows best how to put them over. Raucous and raunchy, the songs bubble with the blues, tales of desire and enough raspy guitar heroics to burn down any lumber-pile roadhouse. Shaver's secret weapon here is his son Eddy, 33, whose maniacal energy makes Unshaven almost as good as being there—maybe better, since you're less likely to get into a fistfight or slip in a puddle of beer. (Praxis/Zoo Entertainment)
Pebbles
Pebbles, who released her last album five years ago, is trying to convince old fans that she has been worth the wait. The bubbly pop singer has reinvented herself as an elegant cocktail-lounge diva, but who expects classy from an artist who calls herself Pebbles? (Her real name is Perri McKissack.) Despite her highbrow aspirations, she remains an indistinct performer who fares best when she's being irrepressibly sexy and coy. It worked on "Mercedes Boy," her 1988 No. 2 hit, and she pulls it off again here with "I Can't Help It" and "Soul Replacement." Otherwise, however, Pebbles' get-up-and-go seems to have run off with her spunk; her idea of soulful singing is a slight tremolo or a breathy coo. Straight From My Heart does perk up with a few other pulse-quickeners—the percussive swing of "One More Try" brings a fresh breeze to the album's stuffy soul, and "Happy," with its minor-key organ fills, is one excellent tune—but the best stuff happens in the background: The flamenco-tinted acoustic guitar licks on "Angel" have the reassuring rhythm of rain gently falling, while "Club Laid Back (Intro)" offers cool-cat stage patter between the "club's" emcees and barely any Pebbles at all. (MCA)
>Lenny Kravitz
THE SONG REMAINS THE SAME
Lenny Kravitz, who used to be best known as the son of actress Roxie Roker (TV's The Jeffersons) and as the husband of actress Lisa Bonet, is still reeling from the public's initial misperception of him as a hanger-on. "I married a woman that I love, and she was a public figure, so our lives were invaded," says Kravitz, 30, who divorced Bonet in 1991 after nearly four years of marriage and one child, Zoe, now 6, "but I was always a musician."
How is this record different from your three previous efforts?
I wanted to make a record that would be good to perform live. A lot of energy. A lot of electricity. It's drums, bass and guitars, basically, and vocals. I just wanted to break it down.
Does it bother you that critics accuse you of living in the musical past?
That's nonsense. With rock, people are always putting time limits and categorizing. Because I don't choose to make records the modern digital way [he eschews computerized instruments and sound effects], they say, "Oh, you're doing it old." If somebody sits down and plays guitar and sings the blues or a spiritual, you wouldn't say that was old. It's just how you express yourself that's new. A song is a song. That's how I see it.
- Contributors:
- Jeremy Helligar,
- Tom Gliatto,
- Andrew Abrahams,
- Eric Levin.
Saved by the Bell Reunion
The hookups, the meltdowns, the memoires
The case reveals what was really going on what they think of each other now!
