The Guardian from London, Greater London, England • 28

28 REVIEWRECORDS THE GUARDIAN Thursday February 27 1992 Lost classic that's worth the wait Caroline Sullivan on how women are using music to cope with rape, abortion, drugs Rock's savage sorority Four vital titles available at Our Price Music HE CURRENT promi forced the group's singer Inger to see a. psychiatrist to iron out drug-related problems. She stopped attending after several sessions, and accordingly the label stopped recording their debut album. Lorre responded by attempting suicide. The company promptly committed her to a psychiatric hospital for a month.

It's hard to imagine Keith Richards suffering similar consequences. Siobhan Fahey of Shakespear's Sister should know about suppressed emotions. Her last job, head girl in Banan-arama, was apparently blighted by profound misery. As Banan-arama chalked up hit after hit, she was tacitly forbidden to voice her depression. "That's why I was a notorious drunk," she says.

She's letting it all out in her new incarnation of credible songwriter. Shakespear's Sister are a duo (Marcella Detroit is lead singer and general musical muscle) but their concerts centre on the gothic, wild-eyed oiobhan. It is difficult to equate this manic spectre with Banan-arama's amiable giggler. The THOUSAND YARD STARE 'Hands On' (Stifled Aardvark) Musical talent and a love of sport what more could you ask of a band? References to odd bye-laws, cricket scores and leg before all betray Thousand Yard Stare's deep sensitivity to the finer things in life. '0-0 a.e.t' ('No score after extra time', if you prefer) displays a regrettably baser interest in toeball, but the credit to Martin Bell for his contribution on the fiddle must surely refer to one of Britain's more successful downhill racers rather than anybody from The Wonder Stuff.

The Wonder Stuff, incidentally, may not be a bad reference point if you want to know 'who are they nor, indeed, Inspiral Carpets, but 'Thisness' does make you think of the La's with sharper teeth. 'Comeuppance' spends six minutes wondering whether to be an epic or not and finally settling on just being very, very good, and 'Buttermouth' is another highlight, But it's not just the excellence of the music that is so pleasing, it's little touches like offering listeners with reprogrammable CD players two alternative track orders. It's that kind of attention to detail that makes fans feel truly cared for; the kind of attention to detail that guarantees a huge, loyal following for many years to come. A smash. who favours the directness of everyday speech to deliver his social and political commentary.

Now he has decided to blend his words with music, using the township mix of live, kwela and jazz. Poetry and music can be an uneasy mix, but Mbuli makes it sound as if the two were written together, despite the clash of exuberant instrumentals that give way to often angry, thoughtful lyrics. He slips in and out of Zulu and English as easily as he slips from a deep, Mahlathini-like croon to a jazz ballad like Stalwarts, the lengthy and sturdy praise song to anti-apartheid heroes. But times are changing, and Mbuli is looking forward as well as back. One of the strongest songs is a warning to future black leaders those who died when you are welcome in big city and he even throws in.

unexpected humour. Lusaka, a song about the ANC's former headquarters, switches suddenly from the serious to the surreal. There's optimism here as well as anger. Ismaal Loi Ismael Lo (Mango CIDM1093) YET ANOTHER great singer from Senegal (the land of.Yous-sou N'Dour and Baaba Maal), Ismael Lo has had a switchback career. He started out as an artist, turned to music, and had some success as a one-man band, armed with guitar and harmonica like an African answer to the early Bob Dylan.

Then he went back to his painting and moved to Spain, before returning to Senegal to join Super Diamono, the band that provided the main opposition to N'Dour's Super Etoile. All of this is reflected in Lo's varied, often delightful solo set. He's at his best, and most original, when he goes back to the acoustic guitar and wailing harmonica, as on the opening Taja-bone, a charming mellow ballad that shows off his cool vocals. Elsewhere he mixes a Spanish influence into songs so relaxed they almost count as classy African easy listening. Then he switches to a reminder of his Diamono days with full band and brass section tackling a fusion of jazz-funk and mbalax (the style made famous by N'Dour, based on the rhythms of Senegal's Wolof musicians).

nence of the issue of sexual harassment and date rape is creat ing ripples in rock's social fabric. The past year has seen the emergence of a dozen female-led bands with a common ethos: the expression of the unexpressible. The Zeitgeist confrontation and holding men to account is epitomised in rock music by groups such as Hole, the Nymphs, and Daisy Chainsaw. They are using rock therapeutically, to cope with the aftershocks: rape, abortion, and drug addiction. If their music sounds enraged and paranoid, it's intentional.

This is an attitude whose time seems to have come. It turns into record sales: the main labels have begun queue-ing to sign their own angry young women. MCA grabbed the Nymphs; Madonna is courting Hole for her new label; London has the glam-but-disturbed Shakespear's Sister. The industry has traditionally dealt with female negativity by fitting the protagonists into a few disabling categories. There's the pathetic victim, classically embodied by Marianne Faithfull.

There are harm less eccentrics like Nina Hagen and Lena Lovich. Patti Smith and LycUa Lunch were arty weirdos. And female punks were punks. This is the tirst time the busi ness has accepted the idea of undiluted female pain. Undoubtedly such acceptance is partially attributable to the vogue, for political correctness.

Less nebulously, the Tyson and Clarence Thomas cases have raised collective consciousness about women's issues. If Sinead O'Connor came along now, her torrent of neuroses would be more likely to engender sympathy than the ferocious condemnation of 1989. The harridan, the virago, the purely unhinged: they are overdue to take their rightful places in rock iconography. Trauma, the fulcrum of pop music, de serves better, than to be reduced to vacuous love songs. The angst-ridden male rock star has always got away with it Unstable men (eg, Iggy.

Pop, Nick Cave) are seen as romantic, heroic, even. Foibles that would increase a man's glamour-quotient land women in mental wards. The American label of the Los Angeles hand, the Nymphs, Oh brother! Marcella Detroit and Siobhan Fahey of the glam- but-disturbed Shakespear sister BETSY COOK 'The Girt Who Ate Herself (east west) Somebody at east west deserves a huge pay rise. Not content with signing and releasing the sensational Tori Amos, they've only gone and done the same with Betsy Cook, one of the country's most prolific songwriters and session players. As we've said before, the phrase female singersongwriter' often has an unfortunate effect on the public; the east west stable should end that prejudice once and for all.

As you'd expect of someone with her pedigree, Betsy Cook's arrangements are sumptuous yet so vibrant, so alive. "Wonderland', a 1986 hit for Paul Young, has been returned to its creator and benefits from it. 'Hold me Tight' rather dismissively referred to by another reviewer as 'the obligatory' reggae -flavoured. track' has a delicious lope and some edible guitar from Nko Ramsden. 'Love Is The Groove', the title says, and if you listen to it, well, the groove is unmissable and if Betsy says it's love, who are we to argue? 'Hand on my-Shoulder' and 'How Can I act as further evidence of a major talent at last free to express itself.

Probably Betsy's only regret will be the album's tide which is bound to prompt endless questions of a physically improbable nature. The answer's no, by the way, but the album's triffic. new Siobhan induces an aston ished double-take, and the ques- tion of who has been tippling tne shandy: she or you. In conversation, however, it quickly becomes obvious that this is no fashionable pose. "I don't hold anything back on stage," she says in a newsreader accent that contrasts dizzyingly with her consumptive-white make-up.

"I went through a terrible time when I was younger because I was an oddball; it's almost like, 'Screw you, I am like and, 'Here I am, and not in a mental She says that she has been battling depression all her life. "Depression is the result of a very repressed nature. I'm English so I don't go to a psychiatrist because I don't believe in them, so I tried escapism instead. I buried my real self so deep. I was so ashamed that I hid in Bananarama.

People are such bastards. I keep telling myself, 'Don't love them, but I do The new Shakespear's Sister album is aptly titled Hormon-ally Yours. The name is a wry comment on both women's pregnancies and the effects oh the LP's recording sessions (tempestuous, by all accounts). Both Sisters recently had sons. "My hormones are back to nor-' products, including their Compact Jazz series.

But if you pick up the brochure, you stand a (miniscule) chance of winning the whole set in a competition. AT THE OTHER end of the generation game, guitarist Ronny Jordan has his debut album released this week, after seeing his first single, a dancefloor remake of Miles Davis's So What, reach No. 32 in the pop charts. Jordan failed to get on Top of the Pops a couple of weeks ago only because Mad Mikey Jackson's video went on for ever. Can it really be that Dave Brubeck's quartet pieces (Take Five and Raggy Waltz) and British traddie Kenny Ball's Midnight In Moscow and Sukiyaki, all hits about 30 years ago, were the last occasions that an instrumental jazz record made the hit parade? mal," says Siobhan.

"I don't think mine are," says Marcella drily. "There is plenty on the record to ensure that the current No. 1 single, Stay, is not a fluke. Some of the material comes dangerously close to rocking out, west coast-horror style, but other tracks exude the brooding ambivalence of the single. Shakespear's Sister's glossy patina is a far cry from the grimy vulnerability of indie rockers Daisy Chainsaw.

Their vocalist, Katie-Jane Garside, performs covered in dirt, and rips at her skin until she bleeds. Her chest is welted with long, impressive scars. Panic attacks often confine her to her room. She claims to have been a diagnosed schizophrenic. "I just said that," she says, "be cause i teei an amtuty tor them.

And I get angry at people being classified by the medical establishment" In clinical terms, Garside is RANDY WESTON has been one of the world's great jazz pianists for plenty of decades he won Downbeat's New Star award in 1955 but since he has mostly gone bis own way, courted little publicity, and spent a substantial part of his career in north Africa, the news hasn't travelled as far as it should have. For confirmation, however, Weston's unaccompanied presence this week at Hoxton's Tenor Clef presents all the evidence long before the end of his first medley. Oddly enough, there are more young pianists of Weston's scope around today Marcus Roberts is an obvious example than when he emerged in the first decade of bebop, but his work only serves to emphasise how inadequately the technical skills of post-modern jazz eclecticism meets the emotional standards established Where the MPs go marchin' in Robin Denselow ShpuMeM Khw the Music Power front Okinawa (Qtobo-style CDORBD0729) 'IllT' ELL, here it is at last, Wand if you weren aware that this is a set you've been waiting for, vou're forgiven. Shoukichi Kina is not exactly a household name, unless your household happens to be in Okinawa, south of the Japanese mainland, but he's a world musi cians' musician. David Byrne is a fan, so is Ry Cooder (who played with him), and so was Bob Marley (who wanted to).

It goes without saying that Kina is not exactly obsessed with the idea of international fame. He started out playing in rock bands (a local speciality after the lengthy US occupation ot Okinawa after the second world war), but came to the fore in the seventies as a Japanese folk-rocker, playing the traditional three-stringed san-shin, and adding a solid rhythmic backing to the unique local songs. He then went off to start a meditation centre, but now he's recording again. This set, recorded back in 1977, is rightly regarded as the great lost Kina classic, and it sounds utterly contemporary today. The sanshin plonks away like a ukelele there's a quavering oriental girl chorus somewhere in the background but the songs romp along with a rock-steady beat ana echoes of cajun, reggae, and even Ireland.

The opening tracks are like charming, melodic, rollicking Asian jigs; his attack on overcrowded Tokyo is a cynical romping rocker; and his political song about ex-president Tanaka and the. Lockheed scandal has a driving melody line strangely similar to Springsteen's Cadillac. Then there are the more personal, soulful songs of praise for his island. It's been worth the wait Biggie Tembo: Out Of Africa (Cooking Vinyl COOK030) AS LEAD SINGER with the Bhundu Boys, Biggie Tembo played a big role in bringing African music to Britain. Other bands flew in for the occasional concert but the Bhundus stayed on, slogging up and down the country, building an enthusiastic following for their lively, rapid-fire guitar-based "jit" dance style.

Then they be came victims of their success. They signed to a main label, with disastrous results: their records were over-produced, their energy and originality watered down. By the time the band moved back to the indie scene, Biggie Tembo had quit. His solo album, recorded back home in Zimbabwe, may contain titles like Harare Jit but he's moving away from the Bhundus' dance approach. He writes some wonderfully strong melodies but the pleasant, rolling, up-tempo pieces don't have the edge and verve of the early Bhundus.

Tembo is now at his best with chanting ballads like the sturdy out Ot-Atrica, a song of confused cultural identity, or the lilting Ngerra, backed just byacoustic guitar. Mzwakhe Mbulh Resistance Is Defence (Earthworks CDBWV2B) 7ft tall with a ripen declamatory speaking voice and an easv rolline croon. Mbuli is a south African poet I MmtiskaCtriBute to itflllf II PHOTOGRAPH: FRANK BARON probably no loopier than Belinda Carlisle, but her fizzing nervousness imparts a sense of great fragility, and her candour is almost embarrassing: "I layer myself in dirt because I want to be a child; I want to screami Sometimes I'm unhappy with myself, so I want to look aesthetically unpleasing. At the end of tours I feel completely beaten and destroyed. I kick and scream and destroy myself.

I cuf myself my legs are cut to shreds and my chest. I get up and I shout I truly feel it's like Love Your Money, their recent hit-ish 45, was too poppy an item really to convey the Garside essence. Live viewings are a better bet. Daisy Chainsaw, Hole, the Nymphs, and a score of others are on their way to a chart near you. They could be the future of rock 'n' roll.

At the very least, they will change its texture and the way people hear it by such a powerful communicator. Weston devoted his opening set on Monday night to a confection of Ellington and Monk works those two percussive pianists and lateral-thinking composers are among his biggest influences plus a series of variations on bis own classic composition High Fly, and an occasional infusion of the stomping two-handed style of Earl Hines. But Weston's hypnotic appeal stems not simply from the taste, fluency and structural consistency with which he joins several piano styles; nor the sheer size and grandeur of his approach to improvising; nor even the richness of his melodic imagination. He is also a master manipulator of the tonal resources of the acoustic piano, his playing a constant celebration of the qualities of the steel and timber from which it was built. reify CATHERINE WHEEL 'Ferment' (Fontana) Legend had it that a Samurai warrior's blade was so keen and his accuracy so precise that one lightening slice across an opponent's neck would leave no trace.

Until the opponent shook his head, that is, because that's when it tended to fall off. Some bands bludgeon you into submission, some lull you into it, but Catherine Wheel, oozing confidence thanks to Tim Friese- Greene's outstanding production, succeed here in very neatly, cleanly and unexpectedly decapitating you. There's far too much time wasted trying to pigeonhole people as shoe-gazers, white-noise rockers or Softie Walters. The fact is, Catherine Wheel have a lot of guitars and they know how to use them. 'Black Metallic', a single from last year is a tour de force you'd love to hear live.

'Indigo is Blue' and 'She's My Friend' leave internal bruising to the spleen and kidneys respectively. 'Salt' and 'Flower to Hide' make any reviewer throw away his list of different ways of saying 'understated'. But there is a subtlety to the whole collection which makes it very, very moreish. You suspect they'd be great on stage, this album is proof they're great in the studio. Just don't shake your head suddenly.

Shake Keanei Roal Keen. Reggae Into Jazz (LKJ Records LKJOOI) LINTON Kwesi Johnson's new label kicks off with just the brand of reggae fusion that you'd expect. Shake Keane is best known here for his work with the Joe Harriott Quintet back in the sixties, but in the Caribbean and New York (where he now lives) he's known outside the jazz scene for his poetry and enthusiastic promotion of soca and calypso. LKJ sparring partner, tne dub-master Dennis Bovell, was responsible for producing the set and its bass, drum machines and keyboards that spark the lively reggae backing. Keane may now be on his mid-sixties but he's never swamped by the insistent energy behind him; he's still capable of getting his flugel horn to produce unexpected effects, from growling to wild flurries to lyrical ballads.

Most of the songs have political titles, but Keane is allowed only one burst of poetry and reggae, on Credentials. Elsewhere, Bovell varies his reggae style to bring social and African guitar influences to Tiananmen Square, and gives Yankie Invasion a backing that would have inspired Marley. Hutfyendary $frfvaforZaM fir me, the most important artist titter, SAyttvlkss 'adkirattoiiand '(avifortfkman and His art ted to $tdmfor, Hie mtprimerettegatk, ffikangirwdis tajffi: vifitn. it jfuitea-ium. IKjuyaHng the swim's i standards tc fie John Fordham WHEN British Telecom dusted off its collapsible jazz club scenery in the old res taurant platform of the Tele com Tower in London, pia nist Dave Lee, former boss of Jazz FM, cut loose in front of it to celebrate an even more unlikely phenomenon than a jazz club 500ft up in the air.

It was tne oiticial launch oi the all-party Commons jazz committee, prominent founder members of which are Kenneth Clarke (absent on the election trail, but a hard bop fan); John Pr escort (a Marian Montgomery fan); and Stuart Randall (tastes unknown). The group, with more than 30 members, in tends to raise the level of lobbying for jazz in the corri dors of power, including efforts to change the licensing arrangements at pubs and clubs to encourage live music. The launch evening was a raucous affair, a bit like a cross between a hunt ball and Question Time, but a guest from the Lords', Tony Colwyn, made a creditable stab at a Lytteltonesque trumpet foray. To friendly barracking irom tne shadow minister of transport, the Labour MP Tom Penary (he and the Tory, William Cash, were the principal speakers) said: "There's a bedrock of support for jazz in Parliament, and we want to proclaim from the rooftops the qualities of jazz, and give a boost to one of this country's most under-recognised industries." IN A JAZZ promotion. ending on March 9, selected Our Price branches are offering 52 jazz and blues CDs at 9.99 each.

The colour brochure says: "You've been listening to your Sting albums and wondering whether you could cope with some serious jazz You like the sound of Omar and the Young Disciples, and fancy listening to what they've been listening to." Rather than a truly rep resentative jazz primer, the list looks much more likely to have been influenced by items overstocked by Our race ana tne other big record companies. There's no Lester Young, for instance; Louis Armstrong is represented by the What A Wonderful World CD; and there's a predominance of Polygram xto tin tern ef iMpmrccnw HHttUMA EDDI READER 'Mil-mama' (BMG) Whatever happened to Eddi Reader, the voice of Fairground Attraction who had that huge hit in 1988 with 'Per-er-er-er-er-er-fect'? Well; on the.evidence of this album, she and the Patron Saints of Imperfection have been up to something quite magical. From the amazingly mellow shuffle of 'Honeychild' he doesn't get a credit, but surely Cale's in there somewhere! to the witty Jekyll and Hyde amble through 'That's Fair', from Ron Dodd's slappy brushwork on 'Dolphins' (has Eddi ever considered duetting with John Martyn?) to Loudon Wainwright Ill's typically quirky 'The Swimming Song', 'Mirmama' has an irrepressibly good-natured aura about it. Confident and positive, there's nothing brittle about Eddi Reader's voice, and the spare, unfussy arrangements hit just the right mood. The Patron Saints of Imperfection are obviously in the wrong job; 'Perfect' this album ain't, but just about perfect it most certainty is.

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