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One From The Grave: Easy Action

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 November 26 2008 at 09:12:01 PM



O’ Great Zappa… *Thunderclaps* Forget the flayed chickens, the quasi-psychedelic chintz of Pretties for You, the tanglewood tales of adolescent pubis and cream whipped to stiff peaks. When the mix includes such disparities as The Smothers Brothers, DDT, Lucky Luciano, harassment hyper-sexualis, and perseverant arachnids you know you’re far from tone-deaf Head Shop hubbub. Contrary to Mr. Christgau’s hoary indignation and Rolling Stone’s two-sentence smack down, Easy Action trumps its lone predecessor and acts as an able bridge over the woods to 1973’s Billion Dollar Babies, the de facto follow-up – three LPs later – replete with unabashed, extroverted profit lust and a tune ‘bout balling the dead.

Long gone is Pretties’ post-Syd Barrett era Floyd damage. Alice & Co. miraculously hew a haughty and libidinous music free of fairy-infected, Roger Zelazy’d lyrically lazy hoci-poci. The smoke machine’s cashed out; the sequins and body paint are snacked upon; the esoteric Eastern texts are culled from their corners only to be utilized for rolling the errant spliff. What a kickoff. High-steppin’ glamour-puss porn penned with an ur-lyrical genius. Tunes birthed from nocturnal emissions presented via sleep-brain smut as twisted as anything Ken Russell ever did thunk. To wit: “Mr. & Misdemeanor” chorus-lines the one-two-three to proportion disproportionate: stiletto-heels and a carapace of black patent leather – maybe a phalanx of thick lips costumed with a salve of pomegranate red, thickly smirking as every jaw drops subterranean. “I know a shoe salesman,” Cooper confesses, telling us about those “track marks,” and all he can see are freckles. Then he’s prefiguring – or predating – Ted Williams and his fat, frozen cabeza with “Refrigerator Heaven.” Packed in ice, hand-stashed, and running free of riffs, “Refrigerator Heaven” jumps upon a jazzy humus, Messrs. Buxton & Bruce – guitars circling as irate angus whose only recourse is to pound the muleta with the deep, long piss. Woolen guitar insects, slides, a few Theremin strokes, crafting form from stale air. A repetitive theme as minimalist as a merry-go-round, but with equii animated, threatening the glue-merchant with hard, heavy hooves. A colorless, odorless, insoluble, crystalline insecticide that’s often eyed in its acronym – DDT – is apparently – only a talking point for perfidiousness. Evil’s got a breaking point and listeners are reminded constantly. Most of the program is rife with the ol’ sinking ship vibe, trays of cocktails passed freely amongst those about to die. “Still No Air” is one variation on such a theme, and also manages to bury its leonine head in so much denial. “Who says the earth is crumbling?” Alice asks. “And no sky is falling through. (…) The world should be assembling, but just right out of view.” Hear shakers shaking, cutters cutting ends of their cigars. But Alice comes across as a more disaffected Bowie, less haircut and more homogenous sex bump. Lyrics laze a perforated line between narcotized Lautréamont and Cummings only when he’s cumming. Yet such screamingly NOTICE ME, MOTHERFUCKER jigs fail to fill the puzzle for those content with screaming along to “School’s Out” lyrics until they’re food for worms. Alice & Co. would never replicate – or improve upon – Easy Action’s princely air. This was an urgent, rocking music delivered almost indifferently, with all the nonchalance of an overly French waiter and his alabaster etiquette. Tempting sure, but rarely tasted. Bring us your finest power ballad, Q.E.D., etc.

Much like the “best” _______, Alice & Co. anticipate an audience. It’s worldly, prone to getting’ the gags and readin’ through the fine print of so many discursive winks, nudges, and hee-hawin’ backslaps. For all the caveats, there’s as much no-brainer bullshit. Forget a “learned” reception. Sure, it’s Rock & Roll. It’s vaudeville and quasi-dada, too. But how many art fags would end a record with seven minutes plus of cock rockin’ jam band bullshit? So when I tell you Easy Action is to be seen/heard as effortless eschatology – as Alice & Co. boasts ostensibly – one’s only recourse is to prefigure the preternatural. The übermensch isn’t the only Big I Infallible: as Alice himself sez: “Sometimes, I just . . . can’t . . . die”.

[Nuts & bolts of this piece appeared previously in slightly altered form upon The Drude’s Head Heritage site under a moniker that shall not be revealed.]

[Stewart Voegtlin]

Alice Cooper
Easy Action
Straight
1970
type: reviews    keywords: rock, one from the grave, lhp020,   

Comments (2)

  • 1 comment
    Comic Book Guy
    11:51 AM on Nov 27, 2008 // reply »
    worst writing ever.
  • 17 comments
    Helm
    2:39 PM on Nov 27, 2008 // reply »
    No, not by far.
 

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