(TV) twango profundo

["stephen wilson" <esde2xu@hotmail.com>]

(from the Village Voice, Dec -- , '92) Television Personalitiesby John
Piccarella A dozen years ago in these pages I wrote that the first Tom
Verlaine album wasn't much different than the next Television record
would have been. Now - with that whole Reagan-Bush thing seeming like a
bad dream - the new Television (Capitol) isn't much different than
another Tom Verlaine. Except the next Tom Verlaine, recently arrived,
Warm and Cool (Rykodisc) is a complete departure from anything either TV
has produced. As that all-instrumental solo project makes clear (could
have been called something like Electric Guitar Studies Volume 1 -
timbral investigations and tube-amp sonorities of the '50s and '60s),
Verlaine is a changed guitarist. What makes Television Television is of
course Richard Lloyd, whose second guitar picks up where Verlaine never
left him, jacked-to-the-ceiling intense and bound by the composer's spare
intricacies.     There are some who never forgave Verlaine for tossing
Richard Hell. Sure we thrilled to the discovery of Robert Quine and Ivan
Julian as TV front-line equals, and were giddy with the rival
achievements of Marquee Moon and Blank Generation in 1977. But
Television's austere elegance and the Voidoids' loose angles could have
used each other. Just for the record, and just in time to qualify as
competition, Hell has teamed up with Quine and Sonic Youth's Thurston
Moore in a studio aggregate dubbed Dim Stars. Neither Lloyd on Television
nor Quine on Dim Stars (Caroline) are showcased as effectively as they
both are on Matthew Sweet's Girlfriend. Television is more re-      
~(sorry this small section missing, nibbled by rats)~          Lloyd's
circular scalar out-chorus to "Call Mr. Lee" suggesting the band's stage
power. Anyone who's waited 15 years for this band to record anything like
their epic solo jams still looks to some James Carville of the music
industry to hang an "It's the Guitar, Stupid!" sign on the studio door.    
Yet Television is a guitar band, and Television is a guitar album - every
bell tone or watery organ swell created without synthesizers or digital
technology. From the twango profundo of "Shane, she wrote this" to the
theremin-like reverb and wah-wah of "No Glamour For Willi", Verlaine
draws from the moody palette of string resonances developed on Warm and
Cool to create the distinct tenor of Television. On the solo record
Verlaine frequently called up that deep reverberant hollow-body twang now
heard everywhere from the Tim Buckley-meets-Duane Eddy of Chris Isaak, to
the New Age-meets-fake jazz of Angelo Badalamenti's themes for David
Lynch. Three of Warm and Cool's guitar-trio pieces, all titled "Depot",
suggest the guitarscapes used by Miles Davis on "In A Silent Way" or "He
Loved Him Madly". Elsewhere, Verlaine could be Chet Atkins, as in the
country waltz "Boulevard", Les Paul to his own Mary Ford, or Wes
Montgomery, as in the ringing octaves of "Little Dance". Only on the
duets with Television drummer Billy Ficca, "Ore" and "Lore", does he
essay distortion and density.     Three of Television's 10 tracks are
similar sonic exercises with vocals seemingly attached as an
afterthought. "Rhyme", where Verlaine plays a sailor on shore leave in
the red-light district ("Lonely man in a lonely town...overseas
factor...heavy duty...love ya' baby"), is an evocative recitation over
gorgeous guitar melodies and chiming phrases. In "The Rocket" the band
locks into a static juggernaut of rhythm while Verlaine throws up phrases
that suggest a launching that the music never fulfills. Finally, in the
album's closer, "Mars", the eerie mood of "Rhyme" and the B-movie
clowning of "The Rocket" combine in a play of the funny and horrific
that, when Verlaine suggests a cup of coffee, sounds like an audio
snippet of Twin Peaks.     The singular peaks of the live show all came
from Lloyd, whose solos still spin off his fingers like sparks of blood
from the whizzing some bionic dynamo. Onstage at the Academy Friday
night, Lloyd waited distractedly, sipping his drink while Verlaine
extemporized new lyrics to "Rhyme", transforming the record's
sinister/sexy atmosphere into goofy/lewd comedy. Then Lloyd zoomed in
like an arrow to a sunburst of electric melody, and just as suddenly
receded into his own lovely lead theme. As if finally muscling past
Verlaine's more fluid virtuosity, Lloyd now turns his solo spotlight into
a stage-stealing, show-stopping climax at will. But it's also as if in
winning a 15-year cutting contest he arrives to find Verlaine's simply
sidestepped the challenge. Always playing every string a tightrope, every
note a footfall closer to safety or danger, Verlaine now suggests a
Kaleidoscopic high-wire choreography - dramatic slips and slides, spins,
leaps, tip-toed passages, and wobbly plunges where balance and gravity no
longer seem to apply.     Neither Verlaine nor Lloyd has released a
domestic collection of songs in five years, and nothing from either's
solo catalogue was included live. In fact, only one song, "Glory", from
Adventure, and one cover, an obscure Chocolate Watchband tune, weren't
from Marquee Moon or Television. In linking classic material from their
debut - a perfect "Venus", a newly fragmented "Marquee Moon", and an
over-the-top-as-punk-era "See No Evil" - with most of the new album,
Television emphasizes its hopes for an enduring second season. 

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