Spacehog
The Hogyssey
Artemis Records
Displaced Leeds natives Spacehog were off to a trashily-good start. In 1993, drummer Jonny Cragg was holding down a steady job killing rats in the basement of a New York cafe when he befriended guitarist and fellow-Brit Antony Langdon, a relationship built upon the pair's penchant for frequenting topless bars. When not skin-scouting, the two would jam together, eventually recruiting Langdon's brother and bassist/vocalist Royston and guitarist Richard Steel. The neo-glam swine collective Spacehog was born.
In 1996, their debut Resident Alien LP launched the quartet onto airwaves worldwide with its infuriatingly catchy single 'In the Meantime.' Two years later, the group released the less accessible yet still excellent The Chinese Album to a shamefully and undeservedly minimal amount of critical acclaim.
Last year saw album time rear its head again, except this time, expectations were heightened. A record company shift, a market unfit for the likes of flashy kitsch, and the grandiose proposal of 2001: a Space Hogyssey put significant pressure upon the band to deliver a tarty art extravaganza.
Unfortunately, how the campy hath fallen. The Hogyssey sees Spacehog sounding like a fishbat-flogged, deflated version of the sensational band they once were. Granted, outstanding end-off track 'The Horror' does brandish a bit of their glittery old extravagance, perhaps only because the track dates from 1996 and was probably dug up for lack of filler on a hopelessly empty album. Keeping with sad, shameless re-hashing, 'And It Is' is T-Rex's 'Bang a Gong (Get It On)' and 'Perpetual Drag is 'Rebel Rebel' (which is strange, given Antony's penchant for vicious Bowie-bashing). There is even an unspeakably abominable funk-rock rendition of Richard Strauss' 'Also Sprach Zarathustra' that is enough to send astronaut Frank Poole spinning off into orbit, arms flailing and his oxygen supply mysteriously cut.
To make matters much worse, chief songsmith Royston is madly in love with some farmer's daughter named Liv Tyler and this dominates his songwriting. He greatly exceeds the 'one hideous love song' limit of the two previous releases, carelessly drags the tone of the entire album from trash to sap, and then leaves it there to drown. Even the stretched-out-neck-sweater-wearing and occasional tune-crafter Antony does not make much of an effort to liven things up, with just one song, 'At Least I Got Laid,' hitting his hedonist mark.
The Hogyssey is a plain, soulless album, laden with cheese and stinking much worse. Given the band's almost apologetically limited tour date schedule and half-arsed publicity campaign, it seems that even they knew this piglet would not fly.
-Leah K. Nchama
Craig Cardiff
Happy
SOCAN
One fine night, Nick Drake and Dave Mathews ran into each other on an irrelevant Montreal street corner.
NICK (humming): Pink, pink, pink…
DAVE (strumming guitar): Hey, Nick, how's it going?
NICK: Well, I'm getting low on my Quaaludes, and my doctor isn't responding to my calls: I'm getting kind of antsy.
DAVE: That's cause you're—TOO MUCH!—sorry. I mean, that's cuz your dead, dude.
NICK: You know, I preferred the 'too much' actually… "pink, pink, pink-moon…"
DAVE: So how do you like your new posthumous fame?
NICK: My precious 'Pink Moon' song plugging a Volkswagon? If I wasn't so dead, I'd say I felt like I was being sodomized with a hot-iron poker and told to jump on a pogo stick.
DAVE: Well, if you're looking for Quaaludes, I hear dealers on the streets of downtown Montreal can pretty much get you anything!
NICK: Thanks, I'll keep that in mind. But I have a better idea.
DAVE: Yeah? What's that?
All of a sudden, Nick Drake opens his mouth, boa-constrictor-like, and swallows Dave Mathews whole!
DAVE (echoing from the depths of Nick's stomach): Talk about running into me.
Nick belches.
Craig Cardiff, lone singer/songwriter and his guitar from Guelph: high on vitamin-Dave Mathews, low on Nick Drake-manic-depression.
-Eric Warwaruk
