Like A Cloud

"These thoughts I have seem to pass me by, like a cloud" goes the opening cut, "Sadness," of Porno For Pyros self-titled 1993 release.

These songs by Perry Farrell and company seem to do the same at times.

I like Perry, and after 10 years or so, since the dawn of Jane's, Smashing Pumpkins and Cobain, I seem to have a new appreciation of his avant-garde persona and best work with the guys in Addiction. Some of those old videos occasionally glimpsed on the other MTV cable channel - the one that shows rock videos - are pretty mind-blowing in their intensity and freakiness.

I picked up Porno For Pyros at some flea market for a few bucks and have scarcely listened to it. The band that I recall Flea praising, just doesn't beckon to me very strongly. Maybe it's the dumb name.

Not that there aren't some decent tracks here, but some of it blurs together unmemorably. "Cursed Female" got some airplay; it sounds like classic Jane's Addiction, a rolling aural assault that approaches rape in its dangerous tone.

The complimentary piece, "Cursed Male," is less impressive, with silly but slight lyrics. The instrumental take off at about 2 minutes in is cool, though.

The other single, that I never really cared for, "Pets," is also included on this disc. The idea, which sounds like something my 9 year old came up with, is that we could be taken over by Martians, and made into great pets.

There's a title track to this title release by the same-titled group, again a sort of goof, if you read the lyrics - the idea that the narrator gets off on fire, and seeing some news coverage, even "came four times." Okay, well, maybe funny in '93, but aren't Howard Stern's ratings in decline now?

If you can get past the lyrics, the music is mostly good and interestingly original, albeit not always unforgettable like the Muzak at Food Lion. Besides Farrell, the band is:
Peter DiStefano: guitars
Martyn Le Noble: bass
Stephen Perkins: drums, percussion

Sound additives: Skatemaster Tate and Matt Hyde

I don't know what "sound additives" are exactly, but there is an occasional accent tossed in that reminds me of the old "Rumble Fish" soundtrack that Police-man Stewart Copeland did.

After a while, Farrell's voice grows tiresome, that revved-up, over-amped Rod Stewart rasp. A funny voice, actually, which does not always match Perry's mild-mannered face.

"Black Girlfriend" is a slower track, which reminds me of Mick Jagger's frequent fascination with black culture ("Brown Sugar," "Some Girls," and other ones, I'm sure). It, too, features a freak-out instrumental break, and intimate lyrics laced with a touch of humor.

"Blood Rag" (beautiful title) thuds like Primus, and the CD ends with "Orga#m," some sexual braggadocio from the James Spader school of weirdness.

I might give this one another listen, but I can't strongly recommend you spend your hard-earned Epinions money for your own copy. Better to check out those old Jane's videos, and hope for a good new Perry project down the road.