ugen By HOWARD WITT I think I can safely say I am one of the few people on this earth who ttended both President Shapiro's Inaugural Ball and Ted Nugent's powerful gall I know I am the only human being i'ho liked both. Now that's not to say I adored the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra at Thursday night's cotillion, or relished the Wango Tango Band at Friday night's orgy. Rather, I liked both spectacles and enjoyed watching the participants. And I even liked some of the music. To say the two audiences were different is to say Shapiro will never catch Cat Scratch Fever-both are understatements. Where the "student leaders" who dominated the ball fastidiously suppressed their baser natures under business suits and ball gowns, the Motor City misfits revelled in feral, primordial ecstasy, their large-handled plastic combs protruding from the right rear pockets of their jeans. I BEGAN TO suspect that Nugent's audience was not the tea-for-two type as I was walking down Hoover toward Crisler Arena and souped-up Camaros roared past in regal procession. My suspicions were confirmed as I took my seat on the main floor and firecrackers started exploding around me. The society-types at the Inaugural Ball would probably describe Nugent's audience as "ruffian." I might go a little further. High school boys, most of whom are probably on the six-year graduation plan, predominated, and a peppering of assorted hoodlums spiced things up. Everyone seemed to have a bong or pipe in the left hand and a bic lighter in the right. As I adjusted my wax earplugs (an absolute necessity when you are sitting ,I25 yards from 100 megawatts of speakers), the warm-up band started. The only thing really memorable about the group'-"Road Master"-was the lead singer's propensity for tossing various mementoes to the screaming throngs in . front of him. A towel drenched with sweat from his face and chest (bared to the navel but without even three hairs) and a tambourine were the hottest items for which the crowd scrambled. The Michigan Daily-Sunday, April 20, 1980--Page 7 it: A survivor's saga roq -CINEMA II- PRESENTS p ~BELLE DE JOUR / (LUIS BUNUEL, 1968) The luminous CATHERINE DENEUVE plays Severine, the sexually unfulfilled wife of a gentle doctor in this elegant drama of erotic obsession by a master of the genre, Luis Bunuel. Severine finds diversion and a certain satisfaction working afternoons as "Belle de Jour," a prostitute in a brothel. When she refuses to run away with one of her clients, he shoots and paralyzes her husband, revealingsome chilling implications about the source of Severine's pleasures. (100 min.) French with subtitles. ANGELL HALL 7&9 $1.50 r ,i w .r . After the warm-up group left and before the Wangos tangoed onstage, a virtual Star Wars broke out in the arena. Frisbees, hurtled with vicious delight, crashed into frenzied rowdies. It was like a war zone in more ways than one-most of the hurtlers will be registering for the draft in a fewweeks. AND THEN, THE moment for which we had all been waiting arrived. Clad only in a loin-cloth (incidentally, he doesn't have any chest hairs, either), the Tarzan king of Gonzo swung onstage from a rope suspended from the rafters: There he was, in all his leering, demonic glory-Ted Nigent. "Are you ready to rock tonight?" he screeched into the microphone, to the orgasmic delight of the writhing delinquents below him. Nugent's speaking voice is high, almost whiny; he talks only at the end of every exhalation. "I am the official Michigan representative of rock and roll," he rasped with joy. "Me and my roadies would go over to Iran and turn it into a parking lot in a couple of minutes," he squealed, touching a patriotic chord in the all- American audience. Of course, the masses did not come to hear Nugent's inspired rhetoric. They came for the heavy metal rock of "Motor City Madhouse," "Get Ready," "Wango Tango," and "Cat Scratch Fever." And I guess you could say Nugent delivered. The only problem was, I couldn't tell one song from the next. There comes a musical threshold when the strumming of a few guitars and the beating of a few drums, cranked up to deafening levels, sounds like one pounding mess. Two hours of that without earplugs must be excruciating. With earplugs, it's just plain tedious. BUT THE AUDIENCE liked it. In fact, the sea of blue denim swayed and strummed imaginary guitars along with its Messiah. In all honesty, however, the idolatry seemed quite unreflecting and uncreative. From the moment Nugent swung onstage to the moment he pranced off, the floor audience stood on chairs. At times you could feel the hesitation and expectancy in the air as a few fans sat down and others considered doing the same. But then Nugent would groan and send a stream of saliva across the stage, and everyone would jump up again. It's hard to show growing excitement when you've been standing on your chair with your fist thrust in the air since the first song. I first heard of Ted Nugent two years ago, when I read an article about him in Rolling Stone. About the only detail that stuck in my mind from that story was Nugent's obsession with guns and bows and arrows. Nugent is a hunter. He teases his audience like he teases his prey. NUGENT, THE ROCK journals tell us,, does not use drugs or drink alcohol. Consequently, one might think he could be an ideal role model for the doped-out 'teens teetering in front of him. Until he starts to talk. "Fuck" is his standard verb, noun, and adjective. "You're a motherfucker," he whines. "Stupid fucker," he grunts. Indeed, he is wonderfully colloquial. Picking up the feline imagery from "Cat Scratch Fever," he mock-sobs, "My heart started to break when I realized I couldn't eat all that sweet Michigan pussy out there." The audience cheers. "But I'm sure gonna try," headds. One youngboy standing next to me noticed my notebook. I told him I was reviewing the concert. "I hope you're not going to write anything bad in there," he smiled. "How could I?" I answered. l. i I 1 Friday: PLANET OF THE APES plus BEDTIME FOR BONZO (with Ronald Reagan) aturda : FROM HERE TO ETERNITY auwuyir omri msmm lT I J.B. Robinson Jewelers congratulates all 1980 graduates with a 20% (twenty percent) savings on merchandise at the Briarwood Mall, Ann Arbor' store and the Twelve Oaks Mall Novi store, upon presentation of this coupon and your student ID. Present layaways, sale merchandise and repairs excluded. Offer expires May 4, 1980. Congratulations and Sincere Best Wishes, Larry J.B. Robinson Jb ROBINSON JEWELERS Daily Photo by JOHN HAGEN THE EXUBERANT TED NUGENT swung into Crisler Arena Friday night with a host of Detroit-area fans following closely behind. His alluring loin- cloth displayed his hairless, winter-white skin to full advantage. Linda's new wave a punk pose By ERIC ZORN The "new" Linda Ronstadt, who really isn't so new, was equal to the job of performing in Detroit's Joe Louis Despite a pesky cold, Ronstadt sang with her characteristically penetrating voice and was often able to make herself understood, though each note echoed off acres of bare concrete and steel, running into the following note and then the next. Jaded Ann Arborites complain about poor acoustics at Crisler Arena, but the Joe Louis Arena rivals only Pontiac's Silverdome as the most wretched performing hall in the area. ALAS, WHEN we're talking big name -recording stars, we're talking about economics and not necessarily art. All the high-powered loud speakers pointed in every which direction cannot disguise the fact that most rock concerts are played in canaverous chambers better suited for this year's yodeling championship than music. Aart from the aesthetic drawbacks of these concert conditions, the garbled quality of much of the sound makes it all but impossible to appreciate new material and new artists. Unknown lyrics are absolutely unintelligible, and instrumental virtuoisty is often lost in the audio jumble. Ronstadt, for all the clarity and power of her voice, still sounded at Ftimes as if she were singing into, a wastepaper basket. Fortunately she sprinkled a generous serving of familiar favorites into her 25-song, 2- hour performance, and even slowed the tempo of some of the cuts from Mad RESUMES Love, her latest album, so that sharp listeners might understand the songs without having previously had the lyrics etched into their brains. Since Ronstadt has moved further and further into rock and away from country-western lately, some of the throwback songs ("Silver Threads And Golden Needles," "I Can't Help It If I'm Still In Love With You") seemed out of place indeed. Her new punky pose and sassy, roaring approach to music calls fora ferocious stage presence that becomes exciting through its sheer relentless energy. But only at the very close of the concert did she come anywhere close to shifting into high gear, sweeping through a prolonged "You're No Good," and rip-snorting versions of "Living in the USA" and her current hit, "How DoI Make You." OTHERWISE, HER appearance belied her performance, Ronstadt, shorn hair and trendy outfit wholly unflattering, simply couldn't pull off the new-wavey female rocker role. She has traded on her image as a rock sex- symbol in the past, but now she's renounced that and put something not half as convincing there in its place. When she strut-dances back and forth across the stage, it looks forced (even from a distance), and only seldom does she convery through her physical presence any indication that she's really excited about singing. Even the notoriously raucous Detroit rock-and- roll crowd didn't get very excited, which is a ,shame, because excitement is the sort of reaction Ronstadt OUGHT to get if she's not going to go for the lovesick yelps. Overall, there is something not quite right about Ronstadt's recent punkiness. Her music is still great, and her voice unmatched by other female vocalists, but the new pose just isn't justified. She's rocking more, crooning less, and taking great advantage of both the range and energy in her voice; but she just doesn't have it in her to become a true rock and roller. IN THE FIRST place, as a singer of other people's songs, she lacks the proper artistic spirit. In the second place, her strengths and appeal lie in entirely different musical areas., She's not a fake (Rolling Stone magazine critics say that each cut on Mad Love sounds like the thirtieth take, but that's a malicious and unfounded remark, as Ronstadt's band proved on Friday night), but she is kind of a misguided fool. Therefore, her concert wasn't bad, it was just peculiar. The music, sharp and strong, almost transcended the inherent acoustical flaws of Joe Louis Gymnasium, but the "show," that is to say the entire feel of the performance, left a lot to be desired. + he is preserved on The Michigan Daily 420 Maynard Street AND Graduate Library Ann Arbor Civic ballet Silver Anniversary Precents "j7%:. d ~ I ft ..