ZZ Top
XXX
RCA Records

CD Review by Andrew Hamlin

That leadfoot rhombi that recalls Bugs Bunny sashaying through the stands with his hot tamale box, the unapologetically synthetic rhythm track that crushes rhythm guitar into outright percussion, the judiciously-applied ice-rink organ, a stentorian voice (is that Ross Mitchell coming in one track early?) reminding us that "This…is art"—yes folks, this is the fruit of the night those ZZ Top fellows took too much off the side of the cactus and said, "Hey, we’ll do a They Might Be Giants Song!" "Dreadmonboogaloo" is the name and what the heck, with the real TMBG taking/having an off year (except for John Linnell’s exemplary solo album State Songs, released just few weeks back), I’m more than happy to strand this track in my onboard CD player unto the non-millennium. Bonus points for telling me where "Drop tha bass!" comes in.

Other new developments? A boogie devotee on ice since Deguello and the Carter administration is gonna lose his/her wig, but I’m follicly-inverted over how they’ve shrugged off the synth-driven hit-machine tack from golden MTV days and waded shoulder-deep in waters more brackish. Frank Beard, spotted growing an actual beard in a promo shot or two, is back to real drums with more jump-in-the-saddle ride cymbal and tom-tom bombardments; on the slow simmer "Made Into A Movie" he jumps behind the beat, climbs on top of it, then lets it run him over, a move to leave even Indiana Jones with skidmarks in the tighty-whities. Dusty Hill’s bass doesn’t boom so much as shake bone dust and armadillo shells. Against those two Billy Gibbons growls like a good-natured junkyard dog, whispers in falsetto like a eighty year-old remembering childhood hymns, and unleashes solos which underlie and confirm the song’s structure; think Pretzel Logic without Steely Dan’s cocaine and Eastern reserve. On the first of the four lives tracks they go so far as to sing an old song with new lyrics, which plays right into the hands of La Boheme backers but is also quite beside the point. So take it to your next party, punch up "Poke Chop Sandwich" and let your friends congratulate you on the unearthing of a spectacular 70’s Krautrock band. Then make’em break open the Jack Daniels. No green label neither.

Email Andrew Hamlin

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