Deja Vu [Atlantic, 1970]
Of the five (or seven, I forget) memorable tunes here, N's "Our House" is a charming but cloying evocation of puppy domesticity, while both N's sanctimonious "Teach Your Children" and C's tragicomic "Almost Cut My Hair" document how the hippie movement has corrupted our young people. S half scores twice and in-law M provides the climax. Which leaves Y's "Helpless" as the group's one unequivocal success this time out. It's also Y's guitar--with help from S and hired hands T and R--that make the music work, not those blessed harmonies. And Y wasn't even supposed to be in on this. B-

There's The Rub [MCA, 1975]
The great English blues-cum-heavy band of which it has been said: "When they get up onstage and wield their guitars, it is as if they are brandishing swords" until they start digging in and you realize it's more like shovels. D+

Blue Moves [MCA, 1976]
None of the few rockers on this impossibly weepy, impossibly excessive four-sided set match any on Yellow Brick Road or Rock of the Westies. Or as my wife, in total innocence of who was on, exclaimed: "What is this tripe?" C-

Thrust [Columbia, 1974]
Switched-on Herbie jazzes it up one more time for all the Con Edison fans. C+

From The Choirgirl Hotel [Atlantic, 1998] *bomb*

Infidels [Columbia, 1983]
This album displays all the wonted care Dylan has put into it, "License to Kill" being the only dud, musically speaking. Lyrically his disdain for the daughters of Satan has reached new peaks of exquisite detail--displaying neither hatred nor pity nor contempt, he approaches women with a solicitousness that's almost chilling, as if he knows what a self-serving scumbag he's being, if only subliminally. Nevertheless, this man has turned into a hateful crackpot between equating Jews with Zionism with the Likud, the muddled disquisition on international labor, and the ital al-Hassidim that inspires no less than three (!) superstitious attacks on space exploration. God only knows (and I use that phrase advisedly here) just how far he'll go if John Glenn becomes president. C

Physical Graffiti [Swan Song, 1975]
I suppose a group whose specialty is excess should be proud to emerge from a double-LP in one piece. But except on side two--comprising three-only-three Zep classics: "Houses of the Holy," "Trampled Under Foot," and the exotic "Kashmir"--they do disperse quite a bit, not into filler and throwaway ("Boogie with Stu" and "Black Country Woman" on side four are fab prefabs) but into wide tracks, misconceived opi, and so forth. Jimmy Page cuts it throughout, but after a while Robert Plant begins to grate--and I like him. B+

In God We Trust, Inc. [Faulty Products EP, 1981]
"Moral Majority," which proceeds directly from the Mickey Mouse club theme to a rousing verse prominently featuring the words "Blow it out your ass," and the long-awaited "Nazi Punks Fuck Off" ("you'll be the first to go") are their best songs or whatever since they attacked California and Cambodia. Both are available on a single. Forgo the documentary value of "Kepone Factory"'s false start ("Itstooslow") and the intensely appropriate "Hyperactive Child." Think small. B-

Done With Mirrors [Geffen, 1985]
Their knack for the small song and small use for guitar hero costume drama has always made them a hard rock band worthy of the name, not to mention being American. But after years of substance abuse and bad albums it was a hard road back. And against all odds the old farts light one up. If you can stand the crunch, side one has more get-up-and-go than any one of a dozen neogarage EPs. B

Just Push Play [Columbia, 2001]
"Jaded" *choice cuts*

Ecstasy [Mercury, 1974]
A/k/a Shoogidy-Boogity. B

David Allan Coe

Distinctions Not Cost-Effective [1970s]: Has never killed me.

One Man Dog [Warner Bros., 1972]
James Taylor with panache. C+

Master of Reality [Warner Bros., 1971]
As an increasingly regretful spearhead of the great Grand Funk Railroad switch two years ago, in which the critics defined Grand Funk as a good ol' white boy blues band, even though I knew of no critics, myself included, who played the records, I feel obliged to put this one in its place. Grand Funk are American--dull. Black Sabbath are English--dull and decadent. I don't care how many rebels and incipient groovers are buying, I don't even care if the band actually believes their own Christian/liberal/satanist much--this is a dimwitted, amoral exploitation. D+

Rio [Capitol, 1982]
With music drily electronic enough to pass for new wave and pop moistly textural enough to go over as pop, lyrics that rearrange received language from several levels of discourse into a noncommital private doggerel, and a limitless supply of Bowie clones to handle the vocal chores, this is Anglodisco at its most solemnly expedient. It lacks even the forced cheerfulness of (whatever happened to?) Haircut 100 (wait, I don't really want to know), as if it had as many hooks as A Flock of Seagulls (not bloody likely) it still wouldn't be silly enough to be any fun. C-

Best of Bee Gees Vol. 3 [RSO, 1980]
Not that I don't think "Jive Talkin'" and "Stayin' Alive" aren't "great." But I would never trust any pop group that leaves out of its own canon such masterpieces of monumental schlock as "Lonely Days" and "How Can You Mend This Broken Heart?" This collection features twenty late '70s hits, B-sides, and rarities. But I remember. B

The Runaways [Mercury, 1976]
Don't let misguided notions of feminism, creative convolutions, or the idea that punk rock should transcend ordinary musical ideas suck you in--this is Kim Fowley's project, which means it is tuneless and wooden as well as exploitative. How on Earth the man can hang around El Lay this long without copping a lick or two defies comprehension. The answer must lie in sheer perversity, which in of itself makes for the one truly perverse thing about the man. C-