Van Morrison: "The Healing Game" Exile/Polydor 537 101-2 (54 mins)
Dial-a-track code: 1201
Van's zillionth album in as many years is a somnambulant collection of soft, shuffling tunes, quite soothing but certainly not very healing. The Morrison formula for soul has become so familiar that The Man can no longer surprise us, and songs like Rough God Goes Riding, Waiting Game and If You Love Me replay most of Van's stock soul moves without offering any fresh insights or new inspiration. The band, featuring Georgie Fame on organ, Ronnie Johnson on guitar and Pee Wee Ellis on baritone sax, do their job with steely competence, like reservoir dogs of r'n'b on their way to work. Brian Kennedy once again plays Little Sir Echo to each of Van's gruff lines, a job he has long since outgrown, and Morrison's own harmonica playing just adds to the downbeat, somewhat dull vibe. Morrison's lyrics float between tributes to The Wind In the Willows (the dobro drenched Piper At The Gates OJ Dawn) and autobiographical accounts of the pressures of fame (This Weight), with lines like "In the neighbourhood people watching me/ Got to move to protect my sanity/ Anonymity is all I want you see/You may think it's mediocrity". Morrison is genetically incapable of making mediocre music, but lately he seems to be promising us strong soul medicine and giving us a weak placebo instead.
Aerosmith:"Nine Lives"
Columbia COL 485020 6 (66 mins)
Dial a track code: 1311
Since the Smith knocked the booze n drugs on the head, they've been rocking like amphetamine crazed junk monsters, and the latest offering from the oldest ass kickers in town is as wild and wired up as a cat on a hot electrified grid. The album opens with a flesh tearing feline yowl, and ends with the sweeping crash of Fallen Angels, going through the mock mystic rock of Taste Of India and the insane Oz fantasy of The Farm along the blood spattered brick road. There's plenty of riff roaring choons like Something's Gotta Give, Crash and the recent single, Falling In Love (Is Hard On The Knees). Liv Tyler must be pretty proud that her dad is still a live wire and not a deadbeat dude, and the manic rock thrills provided by Joe Perry, Brad Whitford, Joey Kramer and Tom Hamilton makes bands like Bon Jovi and Def Leppard sound old and tired.
Fountains Of Wayne: "Fountains Of Wayne"
Atlantic 7567-92725-2 (36 mins)
Dial-A-Track Code: 1421
This New York based band have been a well kept secret since, oh, last October, but soon the whole world will be drowning in Wayne's rather copious fountain of melodies, hooks and choruses. Not quite as wacky as Weezer nor as crazy as Cracker, Fountains of Wayne rely on simple, catchy songs like Sink To The Bottom, She's Got A Problem and Survival Car, letting the tunes sweep you away like a freak surf wave. The band's current, single, Radiation Vibe, opens this 36 minutes of quick fire pop fizz, and songs like Leave The Biker, You Curse At Girls and the sad, teen tragic Everything's Ruined will contaminate your brain like whimsical particles of nuclear guitar energy. Enjoy it while you can, because you might get sick of this champagne pop supernova pretty soon.
Ben Folds Five: "Whatever And Ever Amen"
Sony/550 Music 486698 2 (51 mins) Dial-a-track code: 1531
There's no one named Wayne in Fountains Of Wayne, but there is a Ben in this North Carolina band, although he doesn't actually fold anything, because Folds is his surname, hence Ben Folds Five. Except there's only three. Are you with me so far? BFF are pretty unique in US rock, because their music is based not around the usual grungy guitars, but on the frantic piano playing of Ben Folds, a sort of punk Billy Joel with a large Steinway on his shoulder. The songs are clever, ironic, sometimes sensitive, and sometimes with a malicious streak running through them. Song For The Dumped boasts the immortal line, "Gimme my money back, you bitch", Battle Of Who Could Care Less takes on the fashionably aloof, while One Angry Dwarf And Two Thindred Solemn Faces addresses the eternal relationship between audience and egomaniac.
