 by Tom Hallet
The Kid ambled nonchalantly into the shop, hands jammed deep into the front pockets of his tattered jeans, long, dirty blond hair hanging in his eyes. Though he was moving slowly, he seemed to know exactly where he was going and what he was looking for. Behind the counter, Johnny glanced up from the day-old newspaper he had been perusing, sussed that The Kid posed no threat, and cranked the volume up a notch on the Dead Boys album he’d been listening to. The Kid slipped past him silently, as if afraid to disturb the soundwaves, and headed towards the used vinyl section near the back of the store. He started at “A” and began expertly flipping through the alphabetically arranged stacks of wax with all the practice and patience of a file clerk or a librarian.
 QUOTE OF THE WEEK: “If anyone asks you what kind of music you play, tell him 'pop.' Don't tell him 'rock n' roll' or they won't even let you in the hotel.” — Buddy Holly
SONG OF THE WEEK: “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey” — The Beatles
When he hit “R,” a small grunt of pleasure escaped his lips. He
deftly plucked an album from the center of the pile, turned it over in his hands
several times, then held it up to his face. A reflection from the record’s
cover caught a glimmer of late-afternoon sun and flashed in Johnny’s eyes,
causing him to peek over the edge of his paper at The Kid. As he watched, the
boy applied gentle, equal pressure to both sides of the square paper record
jacket and promptly stuck his entire nose inside of it. He took a long, deep,
satisfying whiff, held it for a moment as if it were the last hit of the most
precious bud he’d ever smoked, then let his lungs deflate with another
satisfied grunt.
Johnny watched him gently place the album back into the bin, smooth out the
stacks he’d gone through, and casually stroll back outside. As the door
closed behind The Kid, the tiny bells hanging from the window gave a shrill,
gleeful jingle, a sweet, fresh breeze wafted under his nose, and Johnny allowed
himself a small, secret grin. Fucking vinyl junkies, he thought, then turned
back to the sports section ...
And now back to our regularly scheduled CD and DVD reviews, gang ...
Charley Dush
Highwood Hills
2005
CFD
 Local
boy Charley Dush has
never been shy about his Beatles/Byrds/Badfinger/Kinks influences and on Highwood
Hills, his second album proper, he continues in the pop-a-riffic, hook-heavy
vein he began following on his self-titled 2001 debut. Kicking off with the
grim, acoustic-driven tale “Veil Of Plastic Tears (Version 1),”
though, Highwood Hills immediately sets itself apart from its predecessor
as Charley explores some of the darker corners of his soul. With able assistance
from longtime pal/guitarist Dan Vorderbruggen, vocalist Brian McGuire and beat-perfect
skinman Noah Levy (The Honeydogs), Dush showcases both the lyric- and music-writing
growth he’s experienced over the past few years.
“No One To Blame” is an eerie, piano-laden dirge that recalls both
the pop sensibilities of Brian Wilson and the damaged, melancholy lyrical bent
of Syd Barrett or Eliot Smith. “Out Of The Blue” finds this loose
collective of kindred musical spirits picking up the pace; impossibly catchy,
driving lead guitar work and cracking snare effortlessly bolster Dush’s
urgent, careening vocals. “Love You Tonight,” the strongest track
on the album, finds him dissecting an ailing relationship over a tasty country-rock
groove and to-die-for backing vocals.
With his innate knack for penning infectious, memorable power-pop, a stunning
command of both six- and twelve-string guitar, and friends like the ones backing
him here, Highwood Hills should be the album that makes local critics
and fans of honest, from-the-heart rock ‘n’ roll sit up and take
notice of this talented young artist. But frankly, from the tone and depth of
his two releases, I don’t think it will matter to Dush one way or the
other—he’s doing what he loves and it shines through. Great local
music from a great local musician.
 “The
Committee”
DVD
2005
MVD
Here’s a little piece of rock n’ roll history that was nearly lost
to the ages—a concept film from the late ‘60s featuring the acting
talents of Paul Jones (Manfred Mann), a rare live performance from Arthur (as
in “The Crazy World Of ...”) Brown, and a musical score written
and performed by The (barely post-Syd Barrett) Pink Floyd. While those are some
mighty heavy hitters to have going into a concept film (no matter what era you’re
talking about), the film itself is fantastic on its own.
Directed by Peter Sykes, “The Committee” takes on the eternal battle
between authority and bureaucracy and individual freedom and personal responsibility
with tenacious determination. Written around a bizarre murder (featuring what
Sykes says in the interview section of the DVD is the film world’s very
first decapitation by car hood), the story flips, twists and turns in on itself
innumerable times. There are no heroes here, only shadowy villains and dehumanized
victims. And while the film never does give any concrete answers, it does raise
countless questions and concerns, as any good book or script will. That someone
had the balls to raise this long-dead project from its historical grave and
re-release it (it was shown in theaters for a very brief time) proves that all
of the issues it explores are still relevant—maybe now more than ever.
Just as thought-provoking and soul-expanding as the film itself is, the musical
performance from Arthur Brown (not a proper “gig,” but a “happening”)
where Brown runs into a lavishly decorated room full of carousing ‘60s
freaks with a fire built into his hat, shrieking and leaping and gesturing to
everyone and no one at all simultaneously. The Floyd’s score (the band
was experiencing serious inner conflict at the time, having just decided to
sack lead singer/songwriter Syd Barrett for his bizarre, drug-related behavior)
reflects both the constant tension in the film as well as in the group itself,
and is the perfect soundtrack to a film that, in the end, is as much of an enigma
as The Floyd themselves were. Tons of extras here, as well, including a fascinating
interview with Peter Sykes and writer/producer Max Steuer and a free music CD
featuring performances by Paul Jones and The Homemade Orchestra. A must-have
for Floyd completists as well as fans of thought-provoking, authority-questioning
filmmaking. Available at MVD.com.
That’s all the room we’ve got this time out, ya mashers. Tune in
again, same time, same spot, for more. Until we meet again—make yer own
damn news.
If you have local music news/gigs/events/CDs you’d like to see mentioned
in this column, or you’d just like to form your own committee, send replies
to: Tmygunn777@peoplepc.com. ||
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