ARTICLE ABOUT Lone Star FROM Sounds, February 12, 1977

Never a band to reach the highest level of fame, they should still be noted for having two members among them that would later join Uriah Heep (Sloman) and UFO (Chapman) respectively. Unfortunately, this band would split up just a year after this concert and would just release two albums in the 70s until a unreleased album came to light in 1999.
Read on!

Lone Star
Hampstead

Concert review by Geoff Barton

AFTER A couple of false starts, Lone Star’s headlining tour of Britain finally got under way last Friday, at Hampstead’s scruffy little Westfield College. And, in general, the band proved that the faith put in them by various factions of the music business last year — John Peel, Alan Freeman, yea, even SOUNDS itself — was not misplaced.
Even taking into consideration a power cut mid-way through the band’s set, Lone Star presented a smoothly organised, ultra competent performance. Their new vocalist, one Paul Sloman, has been with them for three weeks, but the expected rough spots did not occur, indeed he carried himself remarkably well throughout.
Lone Star opened with ‘A Million Stars’, one of the most hard-hitting numbers from their debut Epic album. The front men – Sloman, together with guitarists Tony Smith and Paul Chapman — came across as a supremely confident trio (perhaps overly so). Sloman, with his Scott Gorham looks, has a strong voice and phrases his words well, although his range may not be as great as his predecessor’s, Kenny Driscoll. Smith and Chapman exchange licks and solo neatly, both proving themselves to be exceptionally fluid players.
The remainder of the band — Rick Worsnop (keyboards), Peter Hurley (bass) and Dixie Lee (drums) — was just as impressive, especially the rhythm section, both empathic and Hurley’s bass work nicely dominant.
‘Lone Soldier’ was undoubtedly the most outstanding number of the evening, bettering even the immaculate She Said’. It probably had a lot to do with the over-the-top stage effects show, something bound to win this particular writer over regardless (almost).
During the song’s ‘battle sequence’ strobe lights flashed and synthesised bomb whistles and explosions made their way from one side of the PA to the other. Then, for the ‘aftermath’, tons of dry ice smoke billowed around, creating an eerie fog-bound amosphere.
I have a few criticisms, however. At the moment, the Lone Star set appears to be rather too consciously rehearsed, the lip pouting, grimacing, bare-chested macho moves seemingly coming from the mind of a choreographer than from natural spontaneity and want to.
Also, I’d hoped that Roy Thomas Baker’s frilly musical production edges would have disappeared in concert performance. Well, some of them have, but most of them haven’t. Many of Lone Star’s numbers are too structured for my liking. A new funk-orientated song in particular incorporated so many time changes that in the end I lost count — less clever dick musicianship and more straight ahead heavy rock ‘n’ roll is the order of the day, in my opinion.
Still, despite these niggling reservations, Lone Star remain an exceptionally fine new British band. It’s early days yet and I’m willing to bet that by the end of the year the group will be able to confidently take on their hyper-professional American counter parts at their own game — and win hands down.

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ARTICLE ABOUT Jethro Tull FROM Sounds, February 12, 1977

They seemed to have a good time up in the northern part of England when Ian Anderson & co came for a visit.
Read on!

Tull: never too old – yet

Jethro Tull
Newcastle

Concert review by Phil Sutcliffe

YOU KNOW how supergroups are supposed to open the show with the 1812 Overture complete with real facsimile nineteenth-century Muscovite cannon and a battalion of the Green Howards rented for the day to pose as Napoleon’s army (all marching on their stomachs for authenticity)?
Or if that’s felt to be a little tasteless perhaps just a Ben-Hur chariot race round the aisles?
Well, the lights came up on the City Hall stage and Ian Anderson strode on alone with no special effects, no scenery bar the amps and drumkit, stared 2,500 people in the eye (for his gaze is always directed at you like the bottoms in Cezanne’s nude ‘Baigneuses’) with the roguish glint which hints at Fagin, Captain Hook and the Lincolnshire Poacher, and unleashed an earthquake of applause that would have done credit to the San Andreas fault.
Anderson was magnificent. I can’t remember when I last saw such crowd rapport generated. They whistled, shouted (“Where’s your codpiece?”) and roared (“Ah that new Indian restaurant? Yes, I sympathise,” said Anderson), sang all the words in the quiet verses of old favourites, and were vibrant with reaction to every move — particularly the first time he took up the flute and perched on one leg, left foot against right knee. His chat was as dazzling and dirty as ever.
And I’ve hardly mentioned the music till now because it really was a secondary pleasure. But it was about as good as Tull music can be on stage. His classics `Aqualung’ and ‘Thick As A Brick’ (the fourth number and a standing ovation) really threw the switch. They are so nakedly heavy between the more delicate flute and acoustic passages. Four ‘Songs From The Wood’ made it past the oldies and it seemed to perk up the band to be playing them though Anderson gave some credence to the Tull-go-Steeleye-Span lobby by describing ‘Jack-In-The-Green’, about a spite-like protector of England’s verdant pastures, as “typical folkie bullshit”.
Anyway, the title track won over the doubters of this country cuteness with a lovely acapella vocal erupting into get-down rock that even outweighed ‘Brick’. My own favourites from ‘War Child’ were interesting: ‘Skating Away’ was all light and airy beauty but ‘Back Door Angels’ suffered from Anderson’s razzmatazz and was pretty but not touching as on the record.
All round, that was entertainment and proved that Anderson isn’t too old to rock ‘n’ roll — but you have to add ‘yet’ and he knows it. The olde Englishe stuff seems to be a pleasant diversion rather than a whole new direction and he’s got to find one some time. The rather stereotyped pattern of all Tull’s work was wearing thin after nearly two hours.
So try this on for size. I see him as a kind of rock Lennie Bruce, talking more, playing less, getting more serious and more funny both, bouncing off hecklers, insulting them, hitting the audience where they live on subjects like sex and politics which he already flirts with. Between raps the music would be more wild, the lyrics more pointed. He’s committed to entertainment and it’s great to receive that, but I’m sure that a pyrotechnic mind like his has even more to offer.

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ARTICLE ABOUT Todd Rundgren FROM Sounds, February 12, 1977

It is 2024 and Mr. Rundgren is still touring the US at the age of 75. That is truly dedication to his music and to the fans. Go see this musical genius and legendary producer if you can.
Read on!

Hooooo Ra!

Todd Rundgren
New Victoria

Concert review by Pete Makowski

THE FIRST night. I stumbled into the New Victoria, “Willie” Wilcox was halfway through his drum solo in the ‘Glass Guitar’ extravaganza, the audience looked well warmed up but I couldn’t really get into it until the encore, then it took off. I was bouncing on my Doc Martin’s like an epileptic yo-yo along with the Runt during ‘Boogies (Hamburger Hell)’.
Next night I got there 7.30 pm sharpish, following people’s advice and about 8 pm the show began with a series of films, commencing with an audio visual rendition of ‘Magic Dragon’ which looked like a Roger Corman interpretation of Fellini. Mondo cheapo but tasteful in a bizarre sort of way. This was followed with a film contribution from the cast of Utopia culminating with something a friend described as “The Magic Roundabout meets mescaline”.
Then — “wham bam thankyou Ra” — on they came amidst a generous blast of dry ice, straight into ‘Communion With The Sun’ with Rundgren looking more like a cosmically inclined macrobiotic rabbit zipping around the stage. The rest of the band — Wilcox, Roger Powell (keyboards/vocals) and Kasim (bass/vocals) — were placed strategically across the stage for maximum visual impact, their own patch to roam. Todd’s presence just seemed to exude from every corner of the domain wielding his spectacular custom-made six string machine, eyes popping out along with his teeth as his soloing reached a new peak.
To prove the democracy laid out in this Utopia everyone got their musical end in. Wilcox with ‘Jealousy’, Kasim in ‘Windows’ and Powell with the by now infamous ‘Emergency Splashdown’ a piece of purposefully hammed up theatrics with some exceptional doodling on the synthesised Aunt Jemima.
A mixture of music and theatrics amalgamated in the second half (there was a short intermission) with ‘Hiroshima’, a powerful piece that can be appreciated on many levels and the tale of ‘The Glass Guitar’, featuring solos executed in a painless, enjoyable, in fact entertaining fashion. Strangely enough I felt Wilcox came out the best, he looked the most comfortable when confronted with the task of entertaining the audience on his own, while the rest of the band including Todd looked a bit self-conscious during the process.
A two page documentation of the gig wouldn’t truly convey a particle of the excitement generated on the night. At the end the audience just filed down to the front of the venue as if they were almost in some kind of hypnotic ecstasy and the group returned for three encores. By now the tension and timing of the performance had been alleviated and now Rundgren had some free time to go into some of his favourite rockstar fantasies, with more than the occasional Pete Townshend knees up and a futuristic interpretation of Chuck Berry’s duckwalk complete with machine gun geetar.
Basically Utopia’s aims seems to be to entertain on every level, a kind of musical compromise, they really look as if they’re having a good time and so are the audience. Rundgren still retains a slight tongue in cheek “take it or leave it” attitude on how deeply the audience take to the importance of his work, although understandably the repertoire is leaning towards a Utopian bias. This did seem to put off a handful of the ‘I Saw The Light/Hello It’s Me’ brigade who obviously weren’t particularly enamoured by the more technical pieces. But generally, and judging by the sales of ‘Ra’, the majority seemed to accept Todd in his multi-directional role.

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ARTICLE ABOUT Fleetwood Mac FROM Sounds, February 12, 1977

For an album that has sold in excess of 40 million physical albums worldwide, been a number 1 album in both the UK and the US and been given a top score rating among most music magazines, it is safe to say that Mr. Lott wasn`t exactly overwhelmed at the time. He liked a lot of it, but found enough to criticise to give it only a 4 out of 5 rating. Quite refreshing, Mr. Lott! No need to go overboard.
Read on!

Hack backs Mac

Fleetwood Mac: “Rumours” (Warner 56344) ****

Album Review by Tim Lott

THIS is Mac’s eighth album for Warners. In the US they’re big stuff — a chirrupy press release informs the wide-eyed reader that their last album went triple platinum and featured no less than three hit singles. In Britain, a comparitive trickle. ‘Rumours’ is billed as the album to break them here.
And it might do at that. I wouldn’t call it a work of genuis, but every cut is genuinely enjoyable, stretching from the gentle balladeering of Christine Mc Vie through the slightly more vigorous approach of Stevie Nicks and Lindsay Buckingham.
The sound is really built round superlative vocal (solo/harmony) and a clean, solidly rhythmic guitar bases. The album isn’t as mellow as might be expected with numbers like ‘The Chain’, ‘Go Your Own Way’ and ‘Gold Dust Woman’ establishing a flair for highly charged sophisto rock ‘n’ roll.
Each cut is a song that adheres to the memory banks swiftly and positively. After only two listens, hook lines and melodic catches begin drifting around some back-of-the-brain compartment, ready to be regurgitated as out-of-tune humming at a moments notice.
Stevie Nicks’ ‘Dreams’ would probably have made a good opening track rather than Lindsey Buckingham’s ‘Second Hand News’ which takes a little getting used to. ‘Dreams’ is a melodic revelation, flyaway guitar and creamy vocals merging over those gentle, upbeat LA rhythms.
Chrsitine Mc Vie’s voice isn’t dissimilar to Nicks’, perhaps a shade more nasal, but basically working on the same range and level. Her songwriting abilities are also just as equally developed – `Oh Daddy’ is warmly beautiful (if a bit lyrically limited) and ‘You Make Loving Fun’ is boppy without being in the slightest bit crass, chugging along on the synthesiser rhythm line.
If any overall criticism could be made at ‘Rumours’ it would be directed at the simplistic word content, mostly uninspiring lovey schtik. But ‘Rumours’ isn’t really concerned with profundities on anything but a musical level and in that, it succeeds, one hundred and one per cent.
The atmosphere is worthwhile pop, something along the lines of what Heart might develop into one day soon. It’s not quite singalong, because its not that uncomplicated — in fact the essence of the album is that it possesses enough underlying complexity to make it last and last, way past a few cursory listens.
Every number could, if given the right promotion, make it as a single (in Britain and America). Personally I’d like to see The Chain’ released as a 45.
Curiosity note: some fascinating things going on cover-wise. The front of the sleeve shows Mick Fleetwood leggily entwined (Horizontally) with Stevie Nicks. Then on the back Steve is seen going into an embrace with Christine McVie while her ex-husband John clasps Lindsey Buckingham (Stevie’s ex) to his affectionate breast. And poor old Mick stands apart looking cheesed off.
(Incidentally, in case you’re getting confused Stevie is a lady and Lindsey is man).
Now that’s the stuff rumours are made of.

The original music paper this article came from (pictured at the top) is for sale!
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ARTICLE ABOUT The Babys FROM Sounds, February 12, 1977

This was a fairly forgettable debut album and that is quite surprising when you have John Waite on vocals and a world-leading producer like Bob Ezrin at the helm. Something must have gone terribly wrong when they made this one. They would come back much stronger at a later point in time, though.
Read on!

Nappy dread

The Babys (Chrysalis CHR1129) **

Album review by Geoff Barton

THE BABYS are the Chrysalis label’s great hopes for ’77. Already the band have had a maxi single made available and have been treated to extensive poster promotion all over London’s Underground. Indeed, it’s alleged that they were signed up after only the briefest of demonstrations of their talents (ie: after the screening of a single promo film).
All of which would seem to suggest that the Babys are something extra special.
Which they aren’t. At least, if this debut album is anything like an accurate representation of their talents.
A four man outift (the backgrounds of the members being less than illustrious, even though drummer Tony Brock did once play with Strider and Spontaneous Combustion), the Babys have come up with a curiously fragmented platter. Bob Ezrin produced, its sound is surprisingly muggy and ill-defined, far removed indeed from the dynamic Alice Cooper and Kiss albums that the man has worked on in the past. Mind you, it’s not as if the material would inspire any producer to do particularly great things at the boards.
Strictly routine stuff, overall. Although the LP starts off fairly promisingly with the endearingly mindless `Lookin’ For A Love’ — lots of brash guitar solos, thudding bass work, echoed vocals and simplistic lyrics like ‘Up in the sky, deep in the sea, I’m looking for love, where can it be?’ — and ‘If You’ve Got The Time’ — riotous enough, together with a sub-`Jean Genie’ guitar riff — matters soon go rapidly downhill.
The remaining three tracks out of the five on side one — ‘I Believe In Love’, ‘Wild Man’ and ‘Laura’ — are ballads, dull and plodding to an extreme, totally running against the band’s ‘uncompromising and raunchy’ image.
Side two falls flat on its face almost immediately with a dumb, Fifties’ tongue-in-cheek crooner called ‘I Love How Much You Love Me’, and through ‘Rodeo’, ‘Over And Over’ (another tedious slow number), ‘Read My Stars’ and ‘Dying Man’ (jauntily funky, quite dramatic and arguably the best track on the album, but coming much too late in the day to save face) never manages to pick itself more than a few inches up off the ground.
Of course, live performance may lend a whole new perspective to the band’s music, but somehow I doubt it. As far as I’m concerned, the Babys are still in their infancy. They need time to develop, to successfully combine their melodic/heavy rock leanings and write some truly memorable songs. A lot of time.

The original music paper this article came from (pictured at the top) is for sale!
Send me an e-mail if you are interested. Send it to: geirmykl@gmail.com
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