Wandering eye

A jones for big fat beats

by Bob Gulla

Beat Synthetic

Up from the depths comes the latest in a cavalcade of quality area tuneage, with enough diversity, lunacy, and originality to find its way on to any commercially available compact disc player. Even yours. Buy local.

The Fat City Band: Crank It Up (Iguanadon CD)

One would think that given their reputation for roof-rattling live gigs, a CD release for the Fat City Band would be something of an afterthought, a souvenir trinket for folks to take home after working up a stinky sweat at the club. But that's not the case. Laid down at Courtlen Recording in the beltway burg of Hanson, Massachusetts, Crank It Up finds the Fat City Band unleashing a sustained, quality attack of blues-flavored R&B, roots rock, and good time swing.

Throughout the album's 15 tracks, singer/songwriter Paul Redmond's in excellent voice, especially on the original (and cheeky) barrelhouse shuffle "Where Did All My Money Go?" and the early Memphis pop of "Just Pretend." The band's in fine form behind him as well, with pianist Joe Micarelli and sax stud Jim Baker adding technicolor to already vibrantly hued material. FCB inserts a few covers for spice, including Oscar Brown's classic "Somebody Buy Me a Drink" and Little Milton's Chess nut, "Lonely No More." Of course, being the blues historians they are, there's nothing here that screams "original!" But then, FCB never purported to reinvent the wheel. They just want to make it roll a little faster.

Fat City will be at the Call on Friday, June 25.

Alula: Borealis (Self-released CD)

Much of the music given birth in dormitory rooms these days smells like the marijuana haze that gave it inspiration in the first place. The guitars chicka-chicka in Bob Weir-inspired faux funks; the jams feel like they could wheedle on through the night under the kaleidoscopic colors of batik ceiling tapestries, while the musicians themselves feel, by the light of a nearby lava lamp, like true rock pioneers.

URI's Alula may or may not fit that description in reality, but their debut recording, Borealis, sure feels like it puts them in a similar time and place. The band's low-key, jam-born pop has some excellent fabric holding it together courtesy of Tim Libby and John Fulton's guitars. Together they create sweet, intersecting melodies with just enough bite, while Jim Farrell's bass fits nicely into the rhythmic pocket formed by the percussion team of Jason Gregory and Jay Hartley. Alula's material walks the line between modern collegiate pop like the Dave Matthews Band and Phish, with frequent jazzy and danceable interludes, most effective on songs like the chugging funk of "Two Faced Man" and the smokin' "Tatjana." The band would be better served with a little more power behind their energetic arrangements, a few decibels to jar listeners from their mellow-headed bright-lights bliss, and the production, while homegrown, could use some greater definition. Regardless, though, the organic spark that has lit Alula's way has grown into a sizable flame. Now they have something substantial, other than their blossoming fanbase, to show for it.

Big Bad Bollocks: Night On the Tiles (Monolyth Record Group CD)

In the recent Guinness-drenched wake of Irish-American madness called the Fleadh, another sudsy band of Anglo-Americans raises up its collective glass for a pint refill. Big Bad Bollocks out of Boston captures that Black 47/Pogues/Pistols brand of high energy UK rock, though with less of a pop sheen and more of a ball-busting punk rock audacity.

To illuminate that audacity, the fourth track on the band's new record is an ode to the aforementioned dark and frothiest of beverages, Guinness: "Some people say drinking's bad for you/Some people say it makes you fat/But I just want a fuckin' pint, so piss off you stupid twat!" On down the track listing you'll find "Pubs of Liverpool," "Drunker Than I Was," "Thirteen Pints," and the classic drunken Irish-Bostonian plea, "Drinkup Yabastards." Of course, music of this nature doesn't demand quite the same serious analytical verve you'd apply to the new Townes Van Zandt, but then getting into a serious musical discussion with lead singer/pub rocker Johnny Alien doesn't seem like it happens much anyway. Let's just leave it there. But if you're looking for a little nachtmusik to accompany the act of hoisting your steins to the gods of beer you'd probably have a hard time finding a better soundtrack than Night On the Tiles.

Big Bad Bollocks will perform at the Green Room on Friday, June 25.

JP Jones: Broken Open (Vision Company Records CD)

If you can't do it right the first time, wait five years and take another crack at it. That's what Wakefield-born songwriter JP Jones did with Broken Open, an album originally recorded in 1994. He took the original, musty eight-track analog recordings and brightened them up, using "modern" technology and five years of experience to re-examine and refurbish a body of work that deserved a second look.

Having not heard the original work, I can't with any certainty say he succeeded. But after spending some time with Jones' new release, it's safe to say it listens like a solid, contemporary singer/songwriter recording. Tonally and stylistically, Jones follows kindred lights like T-Bone Burnett, Richard Thompson, and Greg Brown with some diligence. From the quiet spirituality of "Hymn" and the majestic "In the Kingdom," to the rootsy "Down In the Bunker" to the droll, bluesy "Poodles From Hell," Jones also proves to be pretty skilled at genre-surfing and arranging concise, richly textured tunes. On the other hand, just because an artist can write in a certain genre, doesn't mean he should, and some of the tunes here veer a little too far outside Jones' strengths. The man is a folksinger at heart and his best stuff, "Folk To Me" and the tender "My Old Home Town," for example, lend credence to that theory.

Beat Synthetic: Stop Chasing the Bitter Carrot (Major Label Recordings CD EP)

Not much to go on in terms of information regarding this rather cryptic duo release out of Providence. Band dudes C. Derek Martin and Clyde Rourke jammed this EP out at Reptile Sound downtown and nabbed a pretty interesting dark, spare '80s vibe. "Apparent Suicide (of the motivational speaker)" mines a middle ground between Swans-style ghoulishness and dub reggae, with some cool guitar noise and boss bass lines; "Stand Down Again," on the other hand, has a needling synth noise (a significant trademark for Beat Synthetic) with a Wire-ish angularity. Strangely enough, a lot of the noise here possesses the eery austerity and vacant soul-lessness of early new wave. When they do insert something resembling an emotion, it's merely in the deeply set vocals, a distant croon that has an oh-so-slight quiver of vulnerability. Impressive stuff in terms of original niche-finding but admittedly (and admirably) nowhere near what anyone else is listening to these days.