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The Mr. T. Experience
Love is Dead
Lookout!

I want to know who stomped over Dr. Frank's heart. You heartless slugs. You pathetic worms. Well, he's transferred all those forgotten words, psychotic thoughts and never-to-be-returned records into winning tracks like "I Fell for You," "Hangin' on to You" and "The Future Ain't What It Used to Be." A glint of light shines in "I Just Wanna Do It With You" and, according to Dr. Frank, "it's not just the Prozac talking." The songs on Love Is Dead are grooving punk pop--peppered with milliseconds of jumpy dead air--all too eager to display their lack of punk credentials. Rancid tattoos "punx" onto their knuckles; Mr. T. Experience proudly scrawls "geex" onto theirs with black Magic Marker. As Dr. Frank croons on "Dumb Little Band," their "friends are all busy with their own affairs becoming punk rock millionaires, they're taping their live album at the Hollywood Bowl, we're taping our fliers to the telephone pole." Mr. T. Experience is normal, maladjusted youth, the kind who shunned swim class for juggling in the quad. And with Love Is Dead, the revenge of the nerds prophecy comes to brilliant life. Being a clever, cynical, asthmatic smartypants does pay. (Todd S. Inoue)


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Various Artists
Ragga Mania Vols. 1 & 2
Ras

Though not exactly a household name here, producer Donovan "Peter Chemist" Thompson is quickly earning stature in Jamaica and the UK as a man who knows his product: dancehall reggae. Enlisting the services of some of JA's finest young musicians--keyboardist/ bassists Computer Paul and Steely Johnson, drummers Cleveland Brownie and Jazzward, as well as reggae vets like Sly Dunbar--Chemist and his comrade in arms Anthony Trought worked with a flotilla of singers over the past few years. Ragga Mania, Volumes 1 & 2 samples some of the best of his knob-twisting endeavors. Some of these singers are fairly well-known: Lieutenant Stitchie, Terror Fabulous and Tony Rebel all have devoted followings on the ragga scene; indeed, a couple of superstars check in as well (Dennis Brown, Garnett Silk). Judging from the songs flexed by the compilation's lesser-known vocalists, there are many more stars on the horizon. Musical quality is generally high albeit a little monotonous. Even the most interesting singers sometimes can't overcome samey arrangements. The keyboard-as-bass noodlings are particularly monotonous after a while. Still, when you're under the mirrorball skanking up a storm, you're not likely to care about such failings; all you wanna do is dance. And these volumes are designed just for that purpose. (Nicky Baxter)


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Bo Bud Greene
Whatever
Scotti Bros.

In the band's hand-scrawled bio, Bo Bud Greene's Marc Fort says his band plays rock. Not punk, alternarock, not metal or classic. Just rock. Well, he's right and wrong. There's something special about Bo Bud Greene's rock. What makes the group's debut, Whatever, such a joy to listen to is that it takes all of those genres, dumps 'em into a concrete mixer and out pours good ol' Bo. With the help of producer Jim Wilson (Sugar, Magna Pop), the quartet essays a catchy batch of bash and pop that bounces from the enigmatic soft/hard buzz of "Clear Yellow Button" to the quasi-metal stomp of "Overwelcome" without losing an iota of consistency. Vocalist/guitarist Andy Bracht's distinctive yowl is capable of lulling you into dreamland one moment and peeling back the skin on your face the next. He means what he sings, especially when he's raging against love's vicissitudes. Guitarists Bracht and Sean Mullens pull off little miracles of odd flavas. In the herky-jerky "Mira La Punk Rock Star" they snap and bite like a meaner, faster Aerosmith, while on "Elliptical" they wreck frets like stateside shoegazers still hooked on '70s leather and studs music. (NB)

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