Records

  Higher Than High. Gordy City Of Angels,Tamia

    Since it left Detroit, the source and substance of its genius, the Motown Record Corp. has been a company in artistic and financial decline, the latest word, though, is that one arm is returning and that Motown will shortly be setting up a couple of studios in town. If  it's true, it'll be just in the nick of time, that is the Miracles' latest album is any indication of the effects of the Southern California scene on native Detroit muscle.

    City Of Angels is totally unredeemable Hollywood mind-rot. It's loosely structured on a concept album, a pop opera of sorts about a young songwriter who follows his ex-lover, to no avail, into Hollywood. Every cliche you've ever heard about the City of Dreams is trotted out and fitted into the most mawkish, tired musical setting imaginable. Producer Freddie Perrin is directly responsible for this trash and should be jailed for crimes against the culture.

    Meanwhile. Norman Whitfield, who's been Motown't major source of musical direction since  Holland-Dozier-Holland left, has given the Undisputed Truth and us a hell of a good album. It begins. as an album should, with a tune. Higher Than High, that comes out looking to flatten you. It's hard-sell spaciness on the order of the Temptations Psychedelic Shack and a lot of fun. It's followed by one of the most outrageous tunes ever recorded, Poontang, the refrain of which is "I used to hate it till I ale it."

    Whitfield, or Mr. Extra Texture as he should be known, is able to layer horns, vocals, synthesizers, police whistles, and a dangerous rhythm section to stunning effect on Boogie Bump Boogie and l'm In the Red Zone in addition to the tunes mentioned above. I count 5 or 6 out of 9 tunes that really make it.