Reviews of three new releases   Barbarella 69 Select Records Of Related Interest: Flock of Seagulls, Bright Lights, Big City, Free Willy Since Newport isn't exactly known as a hotbed of Northwest rock, it's hard to say if Barbarella is an anomaly or the toast of the town. The four B'rella lads are entrenched in Casio-inspired drumbeats and echoey guitar not heard at this volume since those who surfed the post-punk shores of New Wave spiked their bleached hair with egg whites. The methodical bass rumble and rubber-band guitar that open "Follow (Can't Slow Down)" summon ancient folk memories of dancing under strobe lights in rooms befouled by clove smoke. This album revisits those days of yore, when memorizing the middle names of the boys in Duran Duran was considered an acceptable pastime. Can you face it? Barbarella clearly can, and we can only surmise that they went New Wave on purpose. The lyrics are along the lines of "You got me hot/ I don't want to stop." Not the most earnest expression, but who needs depth when you've got so much style? Alyssa Isenstein     Andrew Hill Dusk Palmetto Records Of Related Interest: Randy Weston, Don Ellis, Franz Koglmann   This new disc from a pianist and composer who once lived in Portland stokes plenty of excitement. Hill, a former jazz instructor at PSU who studied with both Earl "Fatha" Hines and Paul Hindemith, was one of the composers of the '60s, cutting some classic sides on the iconic Blue Note label. His tunes crossbreed quirky harmonic complexities with hard-bop bite and the new "free" structures of avant-garde jazz. But such genre borders are arbitrary for a musician who--like his contemporary Randy Weston and forebear Charles Mingus--never really played by any rules but his own. The unorthodoxy that simultaneously makes him exciting and leaves him in commercial darkness is on display in the title track. Two minutes in, Hill crushes the quiet triple-horn theme with a jagged, off-key piano cluster, infusing the piece with vinegar intensity. Soon after, the tune swings into a spicy Cuban groove. Hill's playing is strong and squat throughout, choppy thinking-man's piano that keeps you guessing and cues the horn arsenal of Ron Horton, Greg Tardy and Marty Ehrlich. There's much to fawn over: the Monk channeling of "Ball Square"; the ferocious thrashing of drummer Billy Drummond on the blazing "Sept"; the labyrinthine horns braiding over everything. It's a disc every bit the equal of Hill's best work, with razor-sharp soul and a rare compositional clarity. Bill Smith     Pink Floyd The Wall Live 1980-81: Is Anybody Out There? Columbia Of Related Interest: Paranoid-psychotic episodes touched off by booze, drugs and rock stardom. Twenty years ago, Roger Waters' semi-autobiographical concept masterpiece The Wall short-circuited my young head. I remember hours spent absorbing my big brother's copy, drilling into the lyrics, gradually grasping the story and discovering that an album could be much, much more than a mere collection of individual songs. Much was lost on me; strangely enough, though, the idea of being "Comfortably Numb" made quite a bit of sense even then. Above all, grasping the general plot seemed like a fairly substantial intellectual achievement. Two decades later, the still-fascinating album holds its own musically, but I've always wondered if the Floyd could pull off its sonic sorcery on stage. (I never got the chance to check out the live show back when I was obsessed; the folks never would've gone for that.) This double-disc set sates that old curiosity. Though not quite as slick as the studio version, all the characters and their many nuances are present, as are the all-important sound effects. The instrumentation is superb, and Waters' harsher live vocals fit the tougher material quite well. Only "What Shall We Do Now?" appears in a form that's barely recognizable. Two booklets accompany this double disc, packed with photos from the shows as well as candid liner notes from the band and members of the tech crew. Scott D. Lewis   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Willamette Week | originally published May 10, 2000