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Happy birthda- y Sipple Wallace with Bonnie Raitt Michigan Theatre 8 p.m. Friday, December 3 By Susan Makuch S IPPIE SINGS! So what, you may, say-who's Sippie, anyway? Well, Sippie Wallace just happens to be one of the oldest and most successful blues-belters around. She'll strut her jazzy stuff in the Michigan Theatre tonight, at 8 p.m. Joining her will be a few of her friends-Bonnie Raitt, Dr. John, and Jim Dapogny & the Chicago Blues Band. Sippie Wallace, "shouter" extraor- dinaire, began her career some 77 years ago when she sang her first hymn at a Baptist church in Houston. Sippie once said that anybody who is able to sing gospel can sing the blues, as she has proven over and over throughout her professional career. She feels that the only real difference between the two types of music is in the words and beat. A reverend once told her that "blues is a confession. When you get the blues, when a person done you wrong, you're gonna tell him about it." Sippie lets everyone know about her blues. After an unsuccessful attempt at marriage (she was only 15 years old at the time), Sippie hooked up with her piano-playing brother in 1923. Both of them were emotionally tied to jazz and blues, and it showed. They began touring with some of the era's biggest names, people like Louis Armstrong, Clarence Williams, and Sippie's favorite, Fats Waller. Her first recor- ding (a demo, actually) was "Up the Country" in 1923. She received $50 a side, which Sippie saw as being a whole lot of money. The fact that the release sold more than 100,000 copies in its first month was an added bonus. The 1920s proved Sippie's most popular era, being an extremely good time for blues and jazz in general. She ended up recording over 50 discs during the decade, an electrifying achievement for any artist, especially a female black singer. She was well on her way to becoming a legend when she and her new husband relocated per- manently in Detroit. This move took Sippie out of the blues mainstream and she faded into the mass of "former" musical giants. In 1966 a jazz producer from Detroit heard a rumor that the "Texas Nightingale" was living in the area. Ron Harwood took a chance-one in a million-and looked in the phone book for "Beulah Wallace." Much to his amazement, he found her. It didn't take much for Harwood to coax Sippie back into the limelight. An album followed, and so did the touring. One of the many fans of Sippie Wallace was a young blues novice named Bonnie Raitt. Influenced by old and new Sippie recordings, Bonnie became engrossed not only in the older woman's style, but in her story as well. After Bonnie hit the big time (actually remaking a few of Sippie's old-time hits), she wanted to meet her idol. Her dream came true a few years ago and the two have since become almost in- separable. If Sippie is not helping Bon- nie with background vocals on her albums, Bonnie is helping Sippie with the backups on hers. Professionally, they go together like bees in a hive- they are at home with one another. , Sippie, who has concentrated on live performances, cut her first album in over 10 years recently. Of course, Bon- nie was there, but so were many other blues greats, including Ann Arbor's own Jim Dapogny and his Chicago Blues Band. They all recorded the LP in two 12-hour marathon sessions, the way Sippie used to do it. The result is simply Sippie. Critics have called it a "spon- P 0 Piincley hype By Philip Lawes Prince 1999 Prince Warner Bros. I N THE LATEST issue of Rolling Stone, Michael Hill states: "Prince himself does more than merely get down and talk dirty. Benarth all his kinky propositions resides a tantalizing utopian philosophy of humanism through hedonism that suggests once you have broken all the rules, you'll find some real values. All you've got to do is act naturally." Maybe Mr. Hill is forced to make comments like that in order to make enough money to meet his monthly payments on the Brooklyn Bridge. If one buys the idea the Prince's lyrics constitute significant social commen- tary, one will buy anything. I make mention of hill's review to point up an aspect of Prince's method and career which I find to be at once repulsive and ingenious: his under- unhesi- tating willingness and proven ability to promote himself in the most outrageous ways. With Prince, the whole deal is for sale, the whole persona is developed to improve the record sales. His gim- micks are innumerable. His overt, outrageous androgny: it was simply amazing to me to see the degree of ac- ceptance even street thugs in Detroit gave to the music of the little man in trenchcoat and G-string, who would have a life expectancy of about three minutes in their company. Of course, little schoolgirls took to him im- mediately, partially due to their discovery that the Prince image, in itself, was enough to make Mommy and Daddy simply shit. The homosexual image worked big for him, bigger than it ever did for the Dynamic Superiors, Sylvester, or even Little Richard. In addition, Prince rediscovered sex. Not just the simple, mundane, missionary-position, hetersexual sex that got us where we are today, but sex to make parents of all races lose all colour from their faces: sex with men. Sex with one's sister. Oral sex. Sex with a bride-to-be in the back seat of a cab on the way to her wedding. That sort of sex. Prince, it seemed only drew the lines at sex with small appliances, but that policy could change at any minute. Sex sells things, as any sharp business student will attest. Somewhat in the same manner that G.M. uses sex to sell Camaros, Prince used it to start, continue, and sustain his career. When the elements mentioned before were in any danger of losing their ef- fectiveness, the artist cleverly found other ways to offend, and thus remain visible. He violated religion, intoning the Twenty-third Psalm over typically outrageous lyric concepts. Piss off the faithful, sell a few records. While I am proud of my success in not being offended by his obvious attempts to offend-I was rather amused by the whole thing-I must admit to being angered, outraged, and so forth, by his "political" stances. Roger (that's Prince's real name) shows the most mercenary, self- serving attitude to serious issues. War is bad. Thermonuclear holocaust is rather unattractive. Lots of people think so. Why not toss anti-war slogans into a few songs, and sell a few more discs? Hence we get an anti-war pro sex manifesto which can be summarized, "War/society is Icky/constricting, so lets party/screw." The stance is not simply silly, its cheap and hypocritical. The little doctrines are superficial, safe and unoriginal . . . yet some find meaning in them. I would suggest that they listen more closely. The "You're gonna have to fight your own damn war, Cause we don't wanna fight no more," couplet in "Partyup," for example, is not an eloquent pacifist statement. Rather, it is the cynical use of an emotional issue by a lazy songwriter. In 1999, Prince states, If you didn't come to party don't bother knocking on my door Igot a lion in my pocket And baby he's ready to roar To paraphrase: "I'm partying (in defiance of impending doom, as a protect against mass death) and if you bother me with dissent, I'll kill you." Brilliant, no? Who in hell can possibly take this stuff seriously? Let's face fac- ts: while the tune is catchy and the lyrics occasionally clever, this is not the new disarmament anthem. Once one gets past trying to find serious content in "Prince 1999," one can get down to enjoying the good poin- ts of the album-and accepting it for it's pure entertainment value. You might as well have a good time. Prince sure does. On the whole, the album is a great deal of fun, as long as one doesn't listen too closely to the lyrics, trying to determine the exact psycho-sexual connotations and what effect they will have on the future of humanity. Prince does have a great deal of talent, especially in cooking up infec- tious, danceable hooks. Even the most mechanical tunes here have some value as dance numbers, and tend to grow on you with repeated listening. At the same time, with fw arguable excep- tions, this album never reaches musical peaks of previous works. The songs here don't have the overdubbed com- plexity or visceral immediacy of "Par- tyup" or "Private Joy." Stylistically, Prince displays a newfound munimalism on most of these cuts, exhibiting greater expertise in the studio most prominently on a num- ber of intricately overdubbed vocal arrangements. Musically, he seems to have been drained somewhat by the demands of hi proteges, Vanit their best cuts ' appropriated s impact, while Prince 1999 sou the "What Tim ce's "D.M.S.R. Romance.), for bassline which deal to The Timi Prince 1999 featuring only there is still a lo "All The Criti York," and "Au should have be pointless, repeti The good stuff "Let's Preten easily the best t in concept and bed harmony, F Tiny Tim falset Whitmanesque time, over a driv thesized bass ai thesizer embelli Prince is inh Out posture, bu gets it across in Take the voic delivering "My don't care at al C'mon honey, delivers the firs Tim, but abrupt ding, macho ras Adding to the Prince tosses in chorus, "Ooh we All the hippies works beautiful Jacksons/Osmu Tres fun. Unfortunately terrorist feels Toward the end into a rap whic the line, "I sinc taste out of your Gosh. Lady Cab Dri minute study in strongest dance beat? Great, e rock solidrback trusive synthesi flourishes on s the whole thing hectic peak by th The lyrics? heavilly influ Forum and som dbook. You kno driver is as lo seduce her, ban out for the mete hell out of her. interprets the groans and wha her. "This is for my brother han is for politiciar believe in war. judge. Don't try "Delirious," rockabilly takec .Buddy Holly go interesting is " rather typical somewhat lite focused, yet rat "1999," the ti troduction, wha its been gettin bitious song musically and i ter. Complexly vocal tracks cor propriately mud work. The ly: cliched, cleve meaningless. If any other mess dance, dance," y Bonnie Raitt: Surprise party taneous musical joy." Since thes'e artists are going to be at the Michigan Theatre along with Sippie this evening, it should be another musical joy. The pretext for the meeting of so many talented musicians is Sippie's 84th birthday celebration. Not bad for an octogenarian, huh? Roach show Roaches Power Center 8 p.m. Wednesday, December 8 By Larry Dean I ENTERED the dark, claustrophobic confines of the local record store, curious as to what the latest releases were. The employee, a friend of mine named Neil, greeted me with his usual level of enthusiasm and held up a record jacket for my scrutiny. "What's this?" I asked. "The Roches," Neil said. "So who are the Roches?" Neil vanished beneath the counter, where the in-store turntable resided, put the tonearm down on side one, track one of The Roches. "We" came lilting out of the speakers, just bouncy acoustic guitar and three harmonious voices. While I was half-listening to the music, my eyes scanned the record jacket until-BAM! The name of the producer: Robert Fripp. Robert Fripp? Of "Larks Tongues in Aspic," "Red," and "21st Century Schizoid Man" fame? Whose solo album, Exposure, is creating an ever-widening void between me and the neighbors because I'm playing it night and day and it's causing their hair to fall out? Robert Fripp of King Crim- son? The association between this pioneer of nerve-shattering guitar-the man who played the solo on Eno's "Baby's On Fire," for God's sake-and these three folk singers seemed too absurd to be true. "Is this for real?" I asked, the con- fusion evident in my eyes. Neil look pleased. "Yup. Keep listening." Well, I did keep listening, and I know it's a terribly trite thing for one to say, but I'm very glad I did. The Roches is one of the most endearing and heartfelt debuts I'd ever heard, and Fripp's "audio verite" production helped give the three Roche sisters' voices an in- nocent urgency that another producer would have most likely slicked over with studio technique. Fripp's contribution to the music, too, helped make The Roches a rare treat, as his haunting guitar lines wafted in and out of the Roches' vocals, em- bellishing them. A marriage made in heaven,Ithought. After The Roches, Maggie and Terre Roche went into hiding. This was not a new tactic; after their 1975 debut album as a duo, Seductive Reasoning, failed to make an impression with the general public and elicited only mild critical response, they vanished to the wilds of their New Jersey homestead to think things through. Only in the case-of The Roches, it wasn't failure that lead them back there-it was the overwhelming success, nurtured by the critics that were listening this time, and the various other mes who kept listening. As a result of Maggie and Terre's ex- cursion, much of the work on the Roches' second album, Nurds, was handled by Suzzy, the third sister. Un- fortunately, the lack of unified effort showed, and the album as a whole was weak at the seams, at times cloying and too cute, and at others, almost living up to the ideal of the first. It passed by like many second albums do, unheralded, but excused, because follow-ups are always tough. The good news these days is that the Roches have a new album out and that soon they will be bringing their breezy harmonies to Ann Arbor's Power Cen- ter. Fripp returns to his role as producer and honorary "fourth Roche" on Keep On Doing, the music is gorgeous and the voices-they ring more beautifully than ever before. Terre captivates on "I Fell In Love," giving more vocal exuberation than even on "Exposure," from Fripp's album of the same name. The styling between the two songs is worlds apart, but the energy and enthusiasm in her voice surges forth from a central sour- ce, complementing the two com- positions in their own individual man- ners.. "Losing True" is a wonderful ballad, with Maggie at the forefront, singing with diffidence and heart. But those are only two examples, the rest of Keep On Doing satisfies, satisfies like the first Roches album and beyond it: Maggie, Terre and Suzzy are more than those fantastic voices, they are a natural resource and should be preserved and admonished by every available ear. Keep On Doing keeps on doing, all right, and pretty soon the Power Center will be alight with the Roches' musical rarity. Try and make it to what promises to be an evening of ethereal, earnest music. And, above all-keep listening. 6g Prince: Deep meaning nn3 - .. W~I -4- 9R#- Q _I JANNqEL _ .-.--.--.~.- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -.. .. ~ ... .... . 3W ke I