Reviews

--Martin Johnson

L7
Live -- Omaha to Osaka
(Man's Ruin)

Considering L7 outlived grunge and out-grrred riot grrrl, perhaps it's time to consider the band on its own terms, rather than as part of those movements. Mixed up in the early '90s grunge whirlwind, L7's sheer rock monstrosity seemed too heavy, too metal, and too plodding. Sure, the 1992 debut Bricks Are Heavy scored alternative hits with "Pretend We're Dead" and "Shitlist," but unlike some former Sub Pop labelmates, L7 couldn't quite break into the pop mainstream.

Instead, the group was lumped into the then-burgeoning neo-feminist riot grrrl garage-punk movement, and the L.A. foursome was expected to share the artistic minimalism and politically charged gestures of groups like Bikini Kill and Bratmobile. But L7 was too polished, too individualistic, and too much fun. The band didn't write manifestoes -- it made shitlists.

L7's focus has always been the riff. Like Motsrhead, AC/DC, and the Runaways, Suzi Gardner's and Donita Sparks' guitars chug, while the behemoth rhythm section of Jennifer Finch and Dee Plakas forms a punk rock juggernaut. With Gail Greenwood replacing Finch in 1996, this live album captures performances from Omaha, Neb., and Osaka, Japan. The disc's 16 tracks rely on the newer -- and heavier -- side of L7's oeuvre, sounding as murky and powerful as Nirvana's ode to the detuned guitar, Bleach.

The John Marshall High School Marching Band opens the Omaha set by blurting out a perky medley of L7 favorites before the ladies storm the stage, growling about their urge for trouble with the driving anthem "Bad Things." "Must Have More" drops the pace to a silken slur with the guitars tuned down to something like L; the verse subsists on Gardner's guitar girth, while vocalist/guitarist Sparks' repetitive, zombie-vocal hook breaks the mudfest. "Drama" continues the slothful ruction, featuring a wildly squealing hair-metal guitar solo played on an electronic toy guitar with button-preset string bends, scale climbs, and arpeggio freakouts.

The five songs from the Osaka show are even wilder, with enthusiastic crowd scream- and sing-alongs. Gardner's and Sparks' guitars are heavier, and Plakas continues to stomp out her mechanical 4/4 beat throughout. The crowd microphones are cranked up to capture the group's pugilistic thud reverberating from the stage, so heavier songs like "Fast and Frightening" sound massive and distant.

"How many of you here in Omaha like to ... 'party'?" mocks Sparks in between guitar lashings. She obliterates the macho rock posturing and seemingly obligatory audience-pandering chatter of most hard rock live albums without a hint of indie rock's sociopolitical diatribe. Tough and revolutionary, sure, but not riot grrrls.

-- Dave Clifford

Bobby Shew
Salsa Caliente
(Mama)

Given the controlled exuberance of the playing on this ravishing disc of Latin jazz, Salsa Caliente could well have been named after its second number, Harold Ousley's "Elation." The ever-enthusiastic trumpeter Bobby Shew sounds similarly elated in the stories in his liner notes to the album, in which he tells of growing up in New Mexico, playing Latin dances in his teens, listening to the Riverside Orchestra of Havana, and later working with the legendary Cuban bassist Cachao. As Shew puts it, "Man, what a buzz!"

Of course, Shew isn't best known for salsa, and he wants us to know he takes the assignment seriously. A veteran trumpeter whose sweet tone and daunting facility have been heard in the Toshiko Akiyoshi Band, with Art Pepper, and on his own bebop records, Shew's a thorough professional who worked for years playing behind singers and stage shows in Los Angeles. Somehow he's maintained his fire, and across Salsa Caliente one can hear the joy -- as well as the professionalism.

With every strand distinct and carefully balanced, the album features the arrangements of pianist Mark Levine as well as one of the best rhythm sections in jazz salsa. They're precise and inventive, shifting their textures with the music seamlessly; as saxophonist Justo Almario solos on the opening "Cubano Chant," we hear the gradual building of intensity, as the cowbells and cymbals come into play, and timbale player Ricardo Pasillas uses his stick on what sounds like the side of his drum. Almost instantly as Levine's piano solo starts, the metal instruments drop out, the heaviest accents melt away, and we are left with the intimate sound of Michito Sanchez's congas and Jose Rodriguez's bongos.

Shew himself plays elegantly and dramatically throughout. His solos have the logic of great jazz and his own special lyricism. His trumpet tone is offset by Arturo Velasco's braying trombone steeped in salsa tradition, and by the hoarse tenor saxophone of Almario. But as with all great salsa sessions, the rhythm players are the heroes on Salsa Caliente. What a buzz.

-- Michael Ullman