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Recorded
Music
Reviews of new releases from Threscher,
Mocket, and Joey McIntyre.
Listen up, girlfriends: Joey McIntyre is "Little Joey" from
New Kids on the Block. Thassright, our boy has grown up nice!
Don't we all recall the blushing young days of our early teens
when we would meet after cheerleading practice, talk about
who was wearing what size bra, listen to Hangin' Tough
and dream of our sexy pubescent heroes? I remember my girlfriend
Melanie used to moon over Jordan Knight, while Steffi got
all horny thinking of Donnie Wahlberg doin' his macho b-boy
thang all over her. Being shyer than crazy Steff, I dug Little
Joey; he just seemed so sweet, y'know? And he still is. Sure,
his voice grew deep and he probably has to shave those adorable
cheekbones now, but he's still the same romantic fool he always
was. Check out the piano ballad, "I Cried," where he weeps
and says he "doesn't care who knows it." I mean, why can't
more men be like that? I also dig the ass-moving urban-disco
beat in "We Can Get Down" (it's like the Bee Gees without
those totally tacky beards), and the album-closing
"Without Your Love" is a huge musical hug. Sigh. Joey, I still
* you! And guess what, Steff? Donnie co-wrote a quarter of
the album's songs! Whoo-hoo! Jenn Graham
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Pro
Forma
Mocket
(Kill Rock Stars)
http://www.killrockstars.com/
Of related interest: Ruby, Devo, United States Marine
Band
Mocket,
The Bangs, The Thrones, Larry Yes
LaLuna 215
SE 9th Ave., 241-5862
9 pm Wednesday, April 21
$6 |
The undercurrent of Mocket's latest release is the terse staccato
of a drum corps driving the enlisted to war. To that, add
a touch of New Wave synth flourishes and singer Audrey Marrs'
turn as Belinda Carlisle on a particularly bitchy day. What
you end up with is the perfect soundtrack for an imaginary
future film: 2010, Punk Rock Kids Fight Back! Mocket
is from Olympia, Wash., a sonic epicenter more closely tied
to the chord 'n' howl school of punk that Evergreen State
College appeared to offer as a major in the early '90s than
to freaky electronica escapades. But lately the little town
that would seems to be embracing steps forward in experimentation
(i.e., the torrid-guitar-meets-theremin of icu and the heavy-metal-meets-white-trash
of the Need). The swish of synths, crawl of guitar and stabs
of distorted back-up vocals on most tracks serve to create
a jarring otherworldliness. When Matt Steinke, the other half
of the group, steps up to the mic, his vaguely British sneer
brings you back to the future. It all makes you dizzy. In
a good way. Caryn B. Brooks
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Collide
Threscher
(Last Match)
Of related interest: The Cure, Grötus, Tool
Threscher, Blister, Ganesha Column
Ohm, 31 NW 1st Ave., 223-9919
9 pm Saturday, April 24
Cover |
It's nice to know that at least one rock band in this retro
town understands what decade we're actually living in. While
'50s rockabilly, '60s pop, '70s punk and '80s wave are all
swell, Threscher scores major credit for knowing how to read
a calendar and releasing Collide, a record with enough
pre-millennium tension to mark it a definite product of the
late '90s. Not just a forward-looking album, it's also an
insightful advance for the band's sound. On Threscher's '97
debut, Poor Little You (Cravedog), the music's art-metal
edge was undeniably sharp. But Collide pours unsettling
synthesizers into the bottom of the mix and bends the previously
harsh vocals into a melodic curve, broadening the overall
emotional effect. This helps color the group's black airs
a more Gothic shade: Not only is Keith Brown's voice reminiscent
of Robert Smith's meowing yowl, but he even allows himself
a guilty-pleasure rendition of the Cure's "Let's Go to Bed."
Collide isn't flawless, though. Where Poor Little
You showed a band with a confident, focused aim, this
album's attempt to hit a greater number of musical targets
means some shots miss the bull's-eye. No one said expanding
one's scope was easy, of course. Stagnancy is simple; growing
up is hard. Hopefully, Threscher will keep taking steps
like these in the right direction. John Graham
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Willamette Week | originally
published April 21,
1999 |
