Random Record Review: Alien - Cosmic Fantasy (1983)

No rhyme, no reason. This is the first of what I hope will be many reviews of records selected randomly from my collection.

In the days before anyone had thought to give this stuff its own condescendingly dismissive category (Hair Metal), the brand of music made by bands like Alien, Quiet Riot, WASP, Madame X and their ilk was just Heavy Metal with an eye-catching image. I hate these revisionist tags that get appended to bands years after the event. All of a sudden, after years of being Heavy Metal, prior to which they were a Hard Rock band, Black Sabbath are Stoner Rock. What bollocks! Like stoners restrict their listening habits to Sabbath and their thousands of (pale) imitators! I can just hear the music police now: "Sorry son, I'm going to have to confiscate your jazz cigarette until you finish listening to that Creedence Clearwater Revival album." Wait a minute, jazz cigarette? You don't mean to say that men with saxophones partake too? Surely not!

So, we're clear then, Alien aren't Hair Metal! Having said that, if the rear cover photo is anything to go by, someone close to the band had ready access to a sewing machine and a pair of hair tongs. No, they absolutely, probably aren't Hair Metal and if more evidence is required, just look at how the band has broken the unwritten law of Hair Metal (that it's a boys only club) by - whisper it -  having a girl in the band. Good luck spotting which one she is. I'll give you a clue, she's not the one called Brian.

Okay, so what about the record? It starts with a china boy cymbal crash and a smorgasbord of spacey sounds. I can just picture Alien stumbling through the dry ice onto their Bacofoil and tinsel-festooned stage with this as their intro tape. A few spooky backwards masked spoken vocals, which I shan't translate for you as I value my stylus too much, add to the bargain basement atmospherics. Any misapprehension that we're listening to a Hawkwind outtake quickly evaporates with the decidedly meat and potatoes, NWOBHM-style riff and sub-Vince Neil yelp that heralds the arrival of Cosmic Fantasy, a track that is more earthbound than celestial, but dumb fun aplenty nevertheless. The riff sounds like a variation on one that's been used to good effect by both Bad News (Warriors of Genghis Khan) and Scorpions (Crazy World). Some convincing twin kick drums drive the song along. Sonically, we're in Raven and Tygers of Pan Tang territory here.

Star Lover features vocals that soar to almost waist height, weighed down by lyrics that undoubtedly benefit from being largely unintelligible. The guitar solo sounds like a couple of stray cats rutting in an alleyway.

Headbangin' features lyrical gems like "we're a hard rockin' band, we're  playin' as loud as we can, just trying to get what I need, headbanging in the street" and one of those 'momma always told me...'-type lyrics that are the bread and butter of third-tier Metal bands. What is it with Heavy Metal bands in the 1980s wanting to share the mundane advice their mothers gave them? It's either that or we have men who haven't seen the inside of a classroom for a decade or more, telling us that they're too cool for school or that they don't give a damn what their teachers tell them. Roxann Harlow's kick-arse twin kick assault provides an unfaltering rhythmic foundation on which Alien's two guitarists trade solos, but there's nothing much to distinguish them from one another - same tone, same style - serviceable, but nothing that would have had Tipton and Downing looking nervously over their shoulders. I can confirm that this song is indeed suitable for headbanging and is vaguely reminiscent of early Mötley Crüe.

Side two's opening gambit, Don't Say Goodbye,  sounds like a stab at writing something radio-friendly. It features an uncredited female on co-lead vocals (presumably drummer Roxann Harlow). On this evidence, Alien might have wanted to get her out front more regularly. A choppy rhythm guitar combines with a sensitively picked chorus-effected guitar with pleasing results.

Final track Cosmic Fantasy shares more than just its title with its namesake on side one, as it is, as far as I can be arsed to ascertain, exactly the same track. What's the point of that then? To its credit, I had no overwhelming urge to take the record off before it had finished, so I guess the song ain't so bad. A bit more backwards mumbo jumbo and some cheap and cheerful sound effects give the impression that Alien have returned to whatever planet they came from. A mini-LP, short and sweet.

As is often the case, the stories that attach themselves to a band after they call it a day help us to contextualise and evaluate their music and its ranking in the rock 'n' roll footnote hierarchy. Singer Frank Starr found his true home when he resurfaced in the early Nineties in the decidedly un-cosmic, back to basics, and rather marvellous biker-boogie band, The Four Horsemen, resolutely shaking off any lingering whiff of that Glam / Hair stigma.

Bass player Damien 'The Beast' Bardot (AKA Michael Bruno) died of cancer after 25 years on death row in Florida for the murder of a man (Lionel Merlano) at whose apartment he'd been drinking. The victim was bludgeoned with a crowbar before being shot in the head twice at point blank range. Bardot is said to have returned to Merlano's apartment numerous times to steal the victim's stereo equipment and other electronics before the body was discovered three days later. Bardot / Bruno continued to proclaim his innocence throughout his incarceration.

Bardot on death row

Unsubstantiated internet reports suggest that Roxann Harlow is now a successful business owner. She also rescues animals, and counsels troubled young women. Thank god for that ray of sunshine! Another blast of Star Lover should cheer me up!

R.I.P. Dick Wagner

 

I was sad to hear that guitar hero Dick Wagner died today aged 71 after battling ill health for a number of years. Everyone who dies after an illness is described as having battled ill health, but in Wagner's case it is no lazy cliché as he fought to overcome a stroke-induced paralysis of his left arm and relearnt how to play guitar. Fans of Kiss, Lou Reed and Alice Cooper will no doubt be aware of his contribution to some of those artists' finer moments. It was my love for Wagner's own band, The Frost, and their Through The Eyes Of Love album that lead me to discover that he had spent much of his career writing and playing on many of the records that I grew up on: Destroyer, School's Out, Peter Gabriel's solo debut and so on. Check out Wagner's official website and prepare to be amazed (yes, he really did play guitar on Aerosmith's Get Your Wings album!) Sometimes he was uncredited, all too often he remained unheralded. By all accounts he was a self-effacing, consummate professional. All I know is that he was a shit-hot guitar player who wrote some killer tunes! R.I.P.

Speakerhenge

Speakers keep falling into my lap. It's not as painful as it sounds: I just seem to have the knack of acquiring speakers for very little money. I need four pairs for the various amp / CD player / turntable combinations in use around the house, but if I cart home anything beyond that I get one of those looks from the trouble and strife. You know, one of those looks. The full-on Medusa treatment. At last count there were eight pairs of speakers doing a lousy job of going unnoticed in various parts of the Shelf-Stacker abode, and that doesn't take into account the pair of B&W's in the loft being kept for spare parts. At one point there were three pairs of speakers in the mancave alone. Wifey's comment that "it's starting to resemble Stonehenge in here" prompted a spot of rationalisation and reorganisation. A dust-gathering pair of Kef Concord MkIVs soon fell prey to eBay and a pair of mystery floorstanding speakers (anyone heard of Promenade Prom 3 speakers?) that Freecycled their way into my life, albeit briefly, have found a loving home with friends in Somerset. Incidentally, I'd love some info on the Promenades if anyone out there knows something, anything, about them.

 L-R: Celestion Ditton 44, Promenade Prom 3, B&W DM14

Promenade Prom 3 with Celestion UL8 behind

Celestion UL8s - underrated and affordable

It's tough getting rid of speakers as they all have something different to offer. Yes, they sometimes have glaring deficiences, but then so do I and, so far, I've not found myself left out for the bin men. The Kefs had a thuggish dependability and, like a death row killer reciting poetry, they could surprise you with their sensitivity. But sweet Jesus, they were ugly! A word of advice, if you want to stand any chance of getting your better half to tolerate yet another set of speakers, make sure they complement the decor. A recent early morning jaunt to a car boot sale yielded just three LPs - my wife's relief when I carried my modest spoils through the door without the aid of a forklift truck was palpable. Imagine her delight when she discovered a hefty pair of beaten up old Wharfedales (sporting a poorly executed, DIY paint job) deposited in the hallway. It's like all her Christmases had come at once.

Wharfedale Dovedale 3 with marriage-wrecking paint job

In these situations, speed is of the essence. You can't leave your treasures sitting around advertising your fecklessness. Your wife doesn't give a rat's arse that they are a three-way design with a 12" woofer, or even that they only cost a tenner (she'd happily pay someone twice that to take them away), no, she just wants ugly shit kept out of her house. Within two hours of bringing these strays home I had sanded the cabinets to remove the offending, scuffed, matte black emulsion paint and massaged them with bees wax to bring out their hidden beauty.

Transformation in progress

Actually, I beautified just one of them on that first day, partly because it was hot and filthy work, but mainly because I wanted the missus to see the contrast between the two speakers. I do recall an expression of surprise and words along the lines of "job well done!" What I don't recall is hearing her begging me to keep them, but I've bought myself a little time - time that I'm thoroughly enjoying! I'm listening to Roger Water's Radio K.A.O.S. LP as I write this, and it sounds so rich and involving through the Wharfedales. If you have the chance to buy a pair of Wharfedale Dovedale 3s, particularly for a ten pound note, and it's analogue warmth that you want, don't hesitate to snap them up.

Wharfedale Dovedale 3 - sanded, waxed and polished

Wife-friendly Wharfedales

Temporarily usurping the Celestion Ditton 44s in the mancave

Right Place, Wrong Time?

A few weeks back I visited a selection of my usual West London charity shop haunts in, what turned out to be, the wrong order. After picking up nothing but a copy of an, admittedly useful, reference book (Jazz: The Rough Guide) in an otherwise treasure-free shop, I sauntered into the next store to see a young, pony-tailed guy hunched over a rapidly emptying crate with a pile of some two dozen LPs by his side. How could this be happening? This shop never has anything apart from the usual dust-gathering James Last LPs. I couldn't help it, painful though it was, I had to see what I'd missed out on. After a quick chat, during which I discovered that my nemesis was actually a nice fella who'd just got into vinyl and was trying to build up a collection, I took the plunge and looked through his finds. He had some choice items, but thankfully, most of them I already have, so I'm happy for him - he's got his collection off to a great start. The only album I was tempted to do a runner with, and it was the one I saw him studying when I first walked in, was a mono, first pressing of Dylan's Blonde On Blonde. Bugger! Fortunately, either his taste or his budget didn't stretch to the entire crate as he left me a decent original copy of Quicksilver Messenger Service's Happy Trails and a London Records first pressing of ZZ Top's Tres Hombres for £1.50 each, plus an armful of 7" singles on the Two-Tone label. Not a bad haul, but I'm still gutted about that Dylan LP!

 

More recently though, I was the one in the right place at the right time. I was digging through an uninspiring and all too familiar crate-full of vinyl cast-offs in another of my local charity shops when some bloke began quizzing me about my taste in music. Now, I love to talk about music almost as much as I enjoy listening to it, but not when I'm in the zone. Give me a plump sofa, a spinning disc and a bottle of red and you have my undivided attention. When my head's in a box of vinyl I'm in my own little world - keep out, trespassers will be shot! Maybe I should learn to be less of a dick, particularly as, it transpires, this guy was getting around to asking if perhaps I might like his ex-girlfriend's record collection which was languishing in the back of his wardrobe - free of charge. Despite his assertion that "it's all crap", numbers were exchanged and, to cut to the chase, I am now the proud owner of said collection of over 50 LPs consisting almost entirely of Bowie's and Bolan's back catalogues. Jesus, did this guy's girlfriend have a thing for Marc Bolan! Some of the LPs are so trashed that I'm considering a sideline in vinyl craft tat, but most of them cleaned up sufficiently well to be worthy of their place in my collection. I have the feeling that offloading the ex-girlfriend's record collection was a therapeutic experience for my benefactor, so we're both happy.

A selection from the Bolan / Bowie haul

You don't half get a glimpse into someone else's head when you dig through their record collection, especially one as focussed and time capsule-like as this one! It's almost as revealing as a sneaky peak at their diary. Much as the former-owner of these LPs had no idea how to treat her records, it's obvious that she loved the music contained in the grooves and every word and image on the sleeves. Posters that would have originally been with the LPs have long since disappeared, no doubt frayed and faded beyond repair after years of being pinned to a bedroom wall. Some of the early Tyrannosaurus Rex LPs had been purchased as two-for-one double album reissues, which obviously didn't sit well with her as she took it upon herself to hack up the gatefolds to create two single LP sleeves to give the illusion that they had been bought as separate albums. Who was she trying to kid, especially as she had used a combination of parcel tape and electrical insulation tape to join the constituent parts together? There is something quite charming about the naive, teenaged fan-ness of her efforts though.

TOOFA becomes one

Tyrannosaurus Wrecked!

A couple of the LPs don't have their original sleeves. Whether this is because they were stuck on a bedroom wall, lost at a party or bought sleeveless from a bargain bin way back when, who knows! Undeterred, the Bolan / Bowie fan created her own customised replacements in a Spinal Tap pre-dating, plain black design, by painting various godawful 1970s easy listening sleeves with thick, black emulsion paint. I wonder if her parents knew the fate of their Klaus Wunderlich LPs?

T. Rex. None more black

I thought I'd stumbled upon a rarity with this gatefold sleeved UK pressing of Bowie's Pin Ups, but no, it's a single sleeved album that has been turned into a Frankenstein's monster of a gatefold with donor parts from another dismembered easy listening sleeve, the Pin Ups album insert and the sleeve from a Bowie maxi single. Creative yes, but what a horrible mess!

Pin Ups gatefold 'rarity'

Inside the custom-built gatefold sleeve

The easy listening innards

And check out this subtle repair job!

Despite some of the horrors described and shown here, I count myself fortunate to have found enough quality items to fill most of the gaps in my less-than-comprehensive Bowie collection (where has the brilliant Station To Station been all my life?) and I now own more T. Rex albums than you could bang a gong at. Random accidents of geography and timing like the one that brought these LPs to me are what make record collecting such a buzz.

Vinyl Craft Tat

I seem to be hooked on seeking out images of butchered vinyl. Like picking at a scab, studying the wannabe artistic endeavours of talentless hobby crafters gives me a grim, masochistic pleasure. After some consideration I've come to the conclusion that, ugly, mundane objects though they undoubtedly are, if these hideous vinyl crafts weren't being made, some delusional numpty would be selling the same scratched-to-buggery records on ebay, in their unmodified state, describing them as 'in excellent condition' - it happens all the time, believe me! Every laughably executed salad bowl is one more terminally ill record taken out of the vinyl gene pool. At the risk of flogging a dead horse, here are a selection of some of the worst examples of vinyl craft tat that I have stumbled across. Helpfully, I've provided captions detailing how the 'artist' describes his creation, just in case it's not immediately clear what the hell you're supposed to do with it.

Cake stand

Fruit & veg holder

Vinyl flowers

Record bowl...

...and a handy serving suggestion!

Flower pot holder

Vinyl wreath - Christmas or funeral? You decide

Scarily, the wreath image comes from a blog that encourages parents to let their children become apprentice craft tat-mongerers. Bad idea. Most kids wouldn't be able to tell you what a vinyl record is for, let alone be capable of assessing whether it is too scratched to play. Put the idea of record modification into their heads and you can kiss goodbye to your cherished vinyl collection, carefully and lovingly amassed over a lifetime. But at least you'll never be short of somewhere to keep your fruit and veg.

In the interests of even-handedness, and to show that for every rule there's an exception, I've found an example of vinyl craft by somebody whose artistic abilities are clearly in a different league to the competition. I love this!

Judie Tzuke Gets A 'Tache

There always seems to be someone trying to palm off their shoddy, misguided vinyl crafts on us record enthusiasts - usually a 'stunning' fruit bowl fashioned out of a melted Paul Young LP, or a set of 'beautiful' drinks coasters made from the hacked-out centre labels of a bunch of car boot sale finds that the desperate seller, not having the first idea of how to grade or describe records, failed to shift in their un-butchered state. Inevitably, these hobbyists' abominations are aimed at the well-meaning friends and relations of record collectors who, in a misguided attempt to buy the collector in their life a gift they might like, miss the mark by a country mile. I have friends who are cat lovers, but I have never deemed it appropriate on their birthdays to give them gift-wrapped, feline body parts in recognition of their moggy love. Leave our vinyl alone!

That said, I stumbled upon this on ebay today and couldn't help but laugh and, when I'd stopped laughing, I found myself actually wanting to own this item because it is so hilariously shit.

 

When the creator of this (inevitably 'stunning') clock was choosing a record sleeve to turn into a timepiece, did it not occur to him that the market for blonde, conflagrant, winged rabbits might be so niche as to be virtually non-existent. Judie Tzuke is an attractive woman, whose looks are definitely not enhanced by a Terry Thomas-style moustache, but damn it if I'm not tempted to make a purchase!

Tragedy - All Metal Tribute To The Bee Gees

If, like me, you've ever lain awake at night wondering what your favourite Bee Gees hits might sound like given the once over by a grotesque, foul-mouthed Heavy Metal band, you can now kiss your insomnia goodnight, because I have the answer: something like Tragedy, the world's number one (and possibly, only) 'All-Metal Tribute to the Bee Gees and Beyond.' During my trip to the States last year, I was simultaneously chuffed and gutted to stumble upon this poster only to find that the circus had long-since left town.

On Sunday evening Mrs Shelf-Stacker and I finally caught up with the band when they played at the Jazz Café (!) in Camden Town. The line-up has now expanded to a five-piece (plus onstage stooge), whilst their image has degenerated into that of a bunch of corpulent, homo-curious bikers let loose in Cher's wardrobe. I laughed 'til my jaw hurt!

Like Hayseed Dixie before them, the band has obviously wised up to the potentially limiting nature of covering just one band's songs and have broadened their repertoire to include any über-camp hit that can be given the Tragedy treatment. And so, we are treated to barking mad, flying V-enhanced versions of songs popularised by Donna Summer, John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John, Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers, KC and the Sunshine Band and Bonnie Tyler. Pick of the bunch though has to be their mash-up of Slayer's Raining Blood with The Weather Girl's It's Raining Men. If you can keep a straight face through their promo video you might want to check your pulse.

So Shelf-Stacker, where's the vinyl in this post then, you may ask? Well, it's a tenuous link at best, but Tragedy's support act, a genius one-man-band by the name of Corn Mo, who also happens to be the keyboard player in Tragedy using the pseudonym Disco Mountain Man (are you following this?) happens to be in another band called .357 Lover who have a new album out on vinyl. I did mention that the link is tenuous, didn't I? If the whole album features material as gloriously, ludicrously, uninhibitedly, pomptastic as the title track, The Purchase Of The North Pole, then my pole is definitely headed north!