CACTUS: RESTRICTIONS (1971)
1) Restrictions; 2) Token
Chokin'; 3) Guiltless Glider; 4) Evil; 5) Alaska; 6) Sweet Sixteen; 7) Bag
Drag; 8) Mean Night In Cleveland.
If the idea of the album title is that Cactus
really knows no restrictions, I am sorry to say that they do, and that they are
the exact same restrictions that made their first two albums look idiotic even
in their most listenable moments. There are no attempts to change the formula
here: we are presented with a third platter of stiff, lumpy, leaden hard rock
where thickness of guitar tone, ferociousness of percussion attacks, and
loudness of lead vocalist matter much more than memorable melodies or, God help
us, spiritual depth.
When the experience is over, you will probably
want to ask yourself two questions: "Whatever made them rearrange Howlin'
Wolf's ʽEvilʼ as a Led Zeppelin II-style
rocker with a time signature that makes a confused mess out of the
vocals?", and "Is the idea of setting the lyrics of ʽSweet Little
Sixteenʼ to the melody of ʽRollin' And Tumblin'ʼ supposed to mean something, or
were they just randomly pulling out song titles out of a hat for a fortuitous
mash-up?" Not that it's important to know the answers, of course: ever
since the days of Vanilla Fudge, Bogert and Appice were the indisputable
champions of the «50,000 Ways To Ruin A Good Song» game, so why should Restrictions be an exception?
As for the original songs, there is not a
single one here that would be too memorable. The title track and the
never-ending ʽGuiltless Gliderʼ, taking up most of Side A, are the obvious candidates
for top pick, but ʽRestrictionsʼ refuses to come up with a decent riff, and
ʽGliderʼ is just too busy riding one rhythm chord for most of its duration
(interrupted by a drum solo, which is hardly a consolation). ʽAlaskaʼ quiets
down a bit for a jazzier take on the blues, some harmonica solos, and lyrics
like "I hear six months a year you get night time all day / I had to
practice my harp to keep the polar bears away", and it still sounds silly
rather than funny; and the final two minutes, called ʽMean Night In Clevelandʼ,
are just slow, simple acoustic blues.
The only thing that could redeem the whole
experience is the overall sound: the Bogert/Appice rhythm section is
impeccable, so much so that I would probably enjoy this record much more if all
the guitars and especially the vocals
were deleted. Truly, this is one of those moments when you start lamenting over the absence of corporate
songwriting — where the hell was Desmond Child when these guys needed him so
much? He probably could have helped them out even while still in high school. Thumbs down.
They follow the same arrangement as Howlin' Wolf's 1968 version, which sounded great -- Rusty Day is just a shit singer.
ReplyDeleteSay what you want about the early era Grand Funk. They at least had a unique sound and personality that didn't depend on deliberately misshapen blues and 50's rock covers. I'd have to place Cactus at or near the very bottom of the American boogie barrel, even though I hate Bloodrock almost as much. But, again, Bloodrock did at least have an original sound going for them, lumpy as it was.
ReplyDeleteI do admit that I'll be curious to see whether George feels they improved after kicking out Rusty Day and hiring Pete French, formerly of Atomic Rooster and the vastly underrated Leafhound.