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Don't be confused by near-homonyms: This is Giovanni, not that mustachioed Greek deity who gets geeked over Linda Evans. (Their melodramatic modus operandi are strikingly similar, but no one rivals my beloved Yanni.) Regardless, I'm in ecstasy right now. I mean, don't you just go insane with joy over lush string orchestrations, plush piano tinklings and the inkling of sublimity that only great musical overstatement can provide? I'm aroused just thinking about how, after work, I'm gonna brew some herbal tea, spark some vanilla-scented candles and cream my jeans over the obscene beauty of it all. "Children of Sarajevo," with its cascading chimes and heart-inflating histrionics, makes such a genuine, moving statement about human plight, I'm certain the Slavic kids are weeping with gratitude. I truly sense a heavenly presence in the arpeggios of "Angels in Flight." I feel with all my soul the windy isolation of "The Lonely Piper." And I get really funky to the synthetic samba of "Summer Wind." I know you'll want to come on this voyage with me. We can fly into the clouds, circling the heavens on wings made from the gossamer tapestry that is--and could only be--Giovanni. Oh, rapture. John Graham
The Olivia Tremor Control's sophomore effort can be best described by these lyrics from "Sleepy Company": "Things come rushing in, things come rushing out like when you're in a dream." Black Foliage is a cascading assemblage of '60s pop melody, frenetic instrumentation and disjointed noises and sounds. The noisier bits, "combinations" or "black foliage" (what differentiates the two is anyone's guess), pop up every five minutes or so throughout the album, nestling the sweet melodies among brambles. On their own, OTC's songs sparkle with Beatle-esque hooks and Beach Boy harmonizing, but pitted against these noisy barbs, they glisten even more brightly. Divided into four parts--a format that seems more affectation than
anything of real purpose--the album runs amok in the third section.
In fact, Black Foliage may have benefited had this section been
left out entirely. "The Bark and Below It" is more than eight minutes
of keyboard blips and burps. Nevertheless, the album contains more than
enough pop craftsmanship to make up for its shortcomings. Stephen
Slaybaugh
At the low point of Spinal Tap's career, the band finds itself opening for a puppet show at an outdoor festival. Tap's irascible, Ren-Fairey singer, David St. Hubbins, insists, "I'm not about to perform a free-form jazz odyssey in front of a festival crowd." Cut to the band doing exactly that. In real life, a festival is precisely the place to cut loose. To wit, this new live compilation, recorded in 1997 at the Olympia, Wash., Capitol Theater, rocks so ebulliently that even notoriously business-like performers Sleater-Kinney seem to be having a good time. SK lead singer Corin Tucker does her best James Brown imitation, taking advantage of a frolicking, if-it-feels-good-do-it version of "Dance Song '97" to introduce the band: "All right, Janet Weiss on drums...give it up," she wails almost, gulp, joyously. The 22 tracks--made during the five days of the "un-annual" festival--bring together some of the finest players of the true-alt and neo-punk scenes, many of whom either still live on the West Coast or only recently moved away. All the kids' faves are here: Seattle honeys Modest Mouse, Built to Spill, Oly's Dub Narcotic Sound System and everyone's favorite Elliott since ET, Mr. Smith. Portland's the Feelings contribute one of the more successfully inventive songs (on a collection that especially heralds volume and invention) with their witty, reeling "Eedleeedleeedle," which sounds like a motorboat being repaired at a garage run by fleas. Hell, if that ain't a good time, what is? Mac Montandon - - - - - - - - - - - -
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