Creem SEPTEMBER 1973 - by Robot A. Hull


Ever since the advent of rock'n'roll there's always been a few tweety performers who would insist upon re-directing the primitive rhythmic spirit of pop music onto a more avant-garde, esoteric plane. This pattern, opften triggered by a need to be too creative, gave early rock listeners such gaga treasures like Walter Wart The Freak Frog by the Thorndike Pickledish Choir or Snoot Hoot by the KKK. Then those dumbshit arty progressive creeps stumbled onto the trick and forced gunky operative vaseline down yer throat with the likes of Soft Machine and who knows how many cultured European groups. Pink Floyd is space music, my ass!!!

Then along lopes this group from some School of Design with an honest attempt to cash in on the glam-rock but. Nobody knows nuttin' about 'em. Lead singer didn't come from Blue Cheer, or the bass player didn't hail from Cream. They just come outa the blue like real schmoes, and the peons at the top promote 'em, but still nobody couls give a shit. Which is a pure shame cuz the truth of the matter is that this is the very first avant-garde combo worth listening to. They're good mainly cuz they try too hard.

By that I mean that even tho they ain't girls they still look pretty enuf to goose. They're so glamorous and straight from Hollywood that they make ya swoon for sure. It's as gruff as anything put out by Beefheart or Family, and it's perfect for when you feel like doin' the robot. This record is great for parties and may even put Roxy Music right up there with The Rivingtons.

Nevertheless, the problem with these pretty boys is that they ain't got enuf grip for a national top ten chart-whopper. What they really need is a move on a TV show to set 'em on top. Like, Soul Train sets the fashion trends and pukes up War and stuff, but there ain't one goddamn trend setting show for whites since Shindig, Where The Action Is, and The Monkees kicked the bucket. (American Bandstand never did really ever count cuz it was always just a Mouseketeer Club for teens.) So Roxy Music could start one and call it Sleek Goo Go-Go and you could bet it would have klass. There'd then be Roxy Music hair styles and suede shoes and jump-suits and lollipops, and someone would put out a cheapo line of synthsizers that would sound like a muted Farfisa, and a whole new generation of chumps would once again mature like puppets on a string.

But it'll never happen. These guys are much too hot for all that. They got an ample supply of too much of nothing going for 'em. Give this album two months, and I betcha you'll be able to find it for ninety-nine cents at your local K-Mart.