Thursday, June 3, at DiverseWorks, 1117 East Freeway, 713-223-8346.
Weapons of Mic Destruction
Still holding out hope they'll find those pesky WMDs? While Saddam's hoard may never be discovered, you'll uncover plenty here at this local showcase of East Coast hip-hop legends. The Mash Out Posse (Lil' Fame and Billy Danze) of Brooklyn's infamous Brownsville section bring their sarin-tipped ghetto rhymes and experimental rap-rock warheads. ("We the first to really get that shit right since Aerosmith and Run-DMC," MOP producer Laze E. Laze recently boasted, and MOP will be doing a set each of hip-hop and metal with a full band.) DJ Scratch, beatmaker/producer/vocalist with EPMD, Busta Rhymes, DMX, the Roots and LL Cool J, will truck in his battlefield nukes. Former Organized Konfusion MC Pharoahe Monch will envelop you in a cloud of toxic intelligence. And local "blue-collar MC" VG Skillz opens with a good old-fashioned H-town chemical spill. Bring your gas mask, Geiger counter and body armor, and gird yourself for apocalyptic combat. -- John Nova Lomax
Saturday, June 5, at the Engine Room, 1515 Pease, 713-654-7846.
Aerosmith and Cheap Trick
Honkin' on Bobo, Aerosmith's down-and-dirtiest album since God knows when, is a collection dominated by blues, gospel and vintage R&B standards originated by the likes of Bo Diddley, Sonny Boy Williamson and Mississippi Fred McDowell. While it seems merely obnoxious and redundant at first -- Aerosmith needs the blues much more than the blues needs them, and does anybody need another cover, ferocious or not, of "Baby Please Don't Go" -- it does grow on you some. Bassist Tom Hamilton says the album was recorded somewhat haphazardly, at least by megaband standards. There was little overdubbing, as the band mostly recorded together. Then there was the rapid-fire pace of the sessions.
"We would pick a song in the morning and cut it in the afternoon," says Hamilton. "It was a real where-the-rubber-meets-the-road kind of record. Looking back, I listen and think, 'Wow, I could have played better on that cut,' but I at least think I got the feel of the music down."
And making a blues record is not a bad idea for a band as venerable as Aerosmith, a group that is teetering on the brink of fan indifference to new material. Sure, it's one of the few classic-rock-era bands with fans that don't always head for the beer line when they play new stuff, but they're close. And what would you rather hear from them when they take a break from "Walk This Way" and "Sweet Emotion" -- another pallid, radio-friendly, Diane Warren-penned sour ballad along the lines of "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing," or a balls-out rendition of a Willie Dixon tune? Which do you think they'd rather play? They still have a heart, so my money's on the latter.
Cheap Trick's another Arrow-friendly band with a pulse, and while the band's concerts are still ripe with hits, they aren't afraid to go out on tour supporting someone else, and the spirit of their early years is still kinda there. That said, the oddest thing about their new album, Special One, is how little it resembles anything in the Cheap Trick canon. There are songs on the record that sound a little like their old stuff, but there are also songs that can be directly compared to those of their peers. "Pop Drone" sounds like a Zeppelin outtake, "Scent of a Woman," with its roaring vocals and windmill guitar movements, sounds like a mid-'70s cut by the Who, and the title track echoes George Harrison's haunting "Blue Jay Way" in no uncertain terms. For whatever reason, though, it works for them, and the title track is especially a winner.
Given all that, there are plenty of weak points on the album. The ballads are inexcusable, both lyrically and musically, even if the standard elements of Cheap Trick remain in place. Robin Zander's voice still sounds great, Rick Nielsen's guitars are still wanky and thin, and Bun E. Carlos is still surpassed only by AC/DC's Phil Rudd as the most inert drummer in rock. It is also difficult to avoid mention of the fact that Steve Albini worked on two of the tracks, including the overly weird "Low Life in High Heels," a funk-romp with a series of flattened-out vocal tracks that suffer from rampant effects abuse.
Cheap Trick can never outrun the records they made in the '70s, but with this album they have effectively trumped the more pedestrian releases that came after that, when the band sank into a decades-long slump of kitschy appearances on Dick Clark-type TV shows and spring break beach parties, mocking their own past rather than expounding on it. Cheap Trick still writes songs fit for movie soundtracks. The only thing is, they don't make movies like they used to. -- John Nova Lomax and Lance Walker
