The Daily Tar Heel from Chapel Hill, North Carolina • Page 15

DTH Omnibus Page 5 Thursday March 12, 1992 ONI gflg Cradle crowd left sweaty, pleased by Ice-T Layton Croft The good thingabout playing the Cat's Cradle is ya'll get the Ice-T nightclub lounge act." Nevertheless, thrashing bodies packed tight to see Ice-T last Sunday at the Cradle made his "lounge act" a swirling metallic, dope, discordant bucket of mayhem. Despite heightened security at the door (including extra police andmetal detectors), the double-bill rapheavy metal attack on stage translated to nothing near riotous behavior at the Cradle. Opening act The Hard Corps, a blistering biracial amalgam of rap, metal and hip-hop, took the crowd by storm. The Nashville-based sextet (two vocalistsM.C.'s, a D.J., guitarist, bassist, and drummer) cranked nearly an hour of crunched beat mic-blastin' Zep-tinged assault-music. Which made people move.

Featuring tunes off The Hard Corps' debut LP, Def By Dishonor (Interscope), the band's seemingly endless energy catapulted the dripping hundreds already gathered into a kinetic maelstrom of jump-thrash-screaming. Fun was had, there was no violence, and derivatives of the word "fuck" were uttered on stage more than 45 times. stage his truthful messages are just as recognizable as his philandering obscenities, et al. Sunday he pleased everyone in the house, rippin' dope tracks off all four of his albums, Power, Rhyme Pays, Iceberg and O.G. Original Gangster.

Super fly tunes such as "Ziplock," "Colors," "New Jack Hustler," "6 in the Morning" and "Let's Get Butt Naked and Fuck" brought the house down, everyone nodding, stomping, jumping or thrashing hysterically. The melee lasted an hour when announced the exit of vinyl and introduction of Body Count, the metal band from L.A. he fronts. He prefaced the second set with his history of rock-n-roll in America. Tinged with presumpt ions of a racist genre that's been desegregated, he and his four-piece Body Count served to slash all barriers and defy such "history." So be it.

Body Count seared ear-shattering for nearly an hour and rivalled My Bloody Valentine's un- earthly volume of two weeks ago in Memorial Hall. Songs "Body Count," off O.G., "Bowels of the Devil," "I Love a KKK Bitch" and "There Goes the Neighborhood" highlighted Ice-Ts metal fix. Fortunately, most fans bought the whole evening, even for 12 bucks. Ice-T shows the crowd at Rap, funk, hip-hop and heavy metal forged into one creature amidst two, no three, acts last Sunday. It was creative, sedentary yet viciously visceral.

I was thoroughly pleased. Ice-T deems rock 'n' rap a revolu Add Ice-T and his posse Rhyme Syndicate: The profanity rate doubles, a vulgarity variable becomes prevalent deterring any weak-of-ear listener, decibel levels soar and everyone gets sweatier. Ice-T rocks. Talkingdirty, preaching interracialmulticultural, rappin' fist-tight lyrically succinct, flashing shiny jewelry, backed up heavy by D.J. Evil Afrika Islam and crew wield ing automatic weapons on stage, ICE-T rocks.

"I don't come to party for you, but to party with you," said as a disclaimer to his near-two hour stint on stage. Slapping outstretched hands during every song and frequently talking with the crowd and telling jokes between songs, Ice-T truly cares about his fans, and his words of peace and racial harmony ring heartfelt. "I'm a gangster. You're gangsters. We're all motherfuckin' gangsters!" But don't take him too seriously.

Despite what could be inferred as incitement to violence and sexism, Ice-Ps stage persona is just that. An act. He's acted in three films, and on Layton Croft "Watch more TV" remained emblazoned in vivid neon after U2 ripped through "Zoo Station" and The Fly" to open the show. Eight more tunes off the band's newest and most adventurous LP.AcitwigBaH followed, leaving a deafening audience pushing for more. And push they did.

U2 lead singer Bono enticed the psychotic crowd throughout the show, often strolling out onto the 100-foot platform stage that extended out. Bono's master showmanship screamed, "You too." Six German cars hung from the U2 show bombards the senses and piques the mind gnbrance is piss. Everything you know is wrong. Enjoy the surface. Every artist is a cannibal.

Religion is a club. Art is manipulation. Make friends more often. Guilt is not of God. It's your world, you can change it." "Watch more TV." U2 says its name has nothing to do with U.S.

spy planes, but is simply the phonetic equivalent of "you too." It's a name meant to involve the fans and incorporate them into the Irish quartet's music. Tuesday, March 3, the involvement was electric. "Watch more TV" was the cynical clincher to the hundreds of subliminally flashing quasi-aphorisms televised on big and small it fit 1 y-i 1. 4 i ii OmnibusJotm Aldeson the Cradle that he's Sure tion, a musical and cultural breakthrough. It may be true, but it's some steely, hardcorpe, pimp, hustler, dope, boomin', bitch hustlin', skankin' rocket fuel to swallow.

Bring some Turns. Ways" and "Desire" didn't sound very good. Edge surprisingly played a Rickenbacker on two tunes. Clayton shockingly played his bass with his fingers and without a pick for the first ten songs. Mullen's drums sounded terrible on "Who's Going to Ride Your Wild Horses?" Bono's voice gave out near the end of the show and he couldn't hit the high notes on "Pride," "Ultraviolet" and "With or Without You." Bono surprisingly played a lot of rhythm guitar, albeit open chords, which sounded good and fat.

Edge's guitar work was less solo-oriented and more geared toward fill ing a lot of space. He did it well, with the help of dozens of effects pedals. But the show was hot, and gone seems to be these Dubliners' shatterproof egos, Holier Than Thou rectitude and mountain-top preaching. Bono is an icon who has dropped his political robes and stripped down to his fun-loving, lead-singing, entertaining birthday suit, of sorts. The beloved Pixies made the evening stellar, despite horrid acoustics inevitable by coliseum standards.

The Boston-based quartet cranked out 12 songs in a tight 40-minute set. It took a few tunes until lead singer guitarist Black Francis lightened up and blasted heavy his trademark scream-singing. Bassist Kim Deal smiled the whole time and I want to marry her. Pixies' highlights included "Is She "Debaser," "UMass" and Jesus and Mary Chain's "Head On." Rockin' good news, peanut. I screens au over uis vnariotte ixm- lj seum stage.

form. He then moved the camera lens down to his crotch area. The fans roared. You too. U2's 20-song, 100-minute set included no songs from their first three albums (Boy, October, War).

The band played two tunes from The Unorget-tabie Fire and five songs form The JoshuaTree. They played "Desire" and "Angel of Harlem" off Rattle and Hum. Bono and guitarist Dave "Edge" Evans also played an acoustic rendition of "Satellite of Love." The band's live greatness comes from the ir passion for music. Between the ages of 30 and 32, Bono, Edge, bassist Adam Clayton and drummer Larry Mullen still dominate their concerts, despite a preponderance of multimedia effects which these days tends to distract and entertain concertgoers as much as the music. U2 moved all over the stage.

The band interacts with the audience: talking, smiling, kissing and waving. They play tight and together, like brothers. The Charlotte show was U2's th ird stop on their North American "Zoo TV" Tour. The performance was amazing, dazzling critics wary of the group's musicality, particularly their ability to justify the technical and sonic intricacies of AcJitung Baby. They rocked every person in the way sold-out arena on "One," "Pride (In the Name of Love)," "Where the Streets Have No Name," "Bullet the Blue Sky" and "Bad," which Bono ended by singing a capella the lyrics to "All I Want is You." Other songs, such as "Even Better Than the Real Thing," "Mysterious rafters, one painted with the words, "smell the flowers while you can." They added to the presumption and metallic grind of U2's performance.

It was concept art. Bono topped off the evening's undercurrent commentary on the sleek evils of technocratization with a all-black, plastic-looking outfit. He sung "Until the End of the World" wearing black shades, his hair slicked back and dyed black, and he strutted onto the ramp like Jim Morrison. But he was real to the people. He many hands, danced with some and occasionally looked around the giant arena awestruck, as if to wonder why he was so privileged.

He made out with the mobile camera that followed him across the plat- ably each record retreated into the dark, safe forest of skimpy love balladesque tunes right when they were getting the proverbial archer's grip-Assertive vocals, more involved songstructures and a blast-ass guitar rock sound on Fear has turned Toad The Wet Sprocket from a quality pop record-making group to an exceptional songwriting band that can and should integrate that vitality and maturity into a fine live performance. At five, maybe six bucks? What a bargain. Layton Croft a wet, wonderful show Prepare for Toad The Wet Sprocket with Mark Etzione Thursday, March 12 Cat's Cradle Tickets $5 In advance, $6 at door For information, 967-9053 heap fun. SC Tonight is straight out of the bargain bin for music fans lookin' for a worthy gig. California's zesty quar their lively guitar punch-pop to town with opener Mark Etzione, formerly of Lone Justice.

Touring on the hot heels of their third and most recent LP, Fear, Toad is likely to crank a bit louder than past shows and rock out dude. Characterized by floaty vocals and a rather stripped-down, one-guitar sound that settles smooth and never overbears, The Sprocket guys have forged better and found a real solid songcraft groove with Fear. Their independent debutBread and Circus and acclaimed follow-up Pole both revealed promising hints of greatdom but never clinched, lnvari- tet TOTdJHieWerrrtockerJbrir.