July 12–19, 2001

cd reviews|rock/pop

The 1910 Fruitgum Company/The Lemon Pipers/The Ohio Express

Simon Says/Green Tambourine/Yummy, Yummy, Yummy

(Buddah)

Boys will be boys will be boy bands. From Ivy League crooners and scrubbed doo-woppers of the ’40s and ’50s to squeaky New Editions and New Kids of the ’80s, boy bands stand for a unity of cleanliness and dignity: safe pop with an occasionally soulful/musically insightful turn. Yet between the current spree of boytoys and its roots, there was one glimmering moment at the end of streaming ’60s psychedelia when boy-pop was interesting — or at the least amusingly creative. This was "bubblegum" — a gooey reduction from the acid-fried clamor of psych-rock and garage raunch — with tweedly studio twists and major chords creating a sound less harmful than a Monkees record but just as catchy.

Launching these records from the Buddah label’s studio, songwriting producers Jerry Kasenetz and Jeff Katz (K&K) created an interchangeable, anonymous sound popping fresh from the heartland of Ohio. The 1910 Fruitgum Co.’s high-pitched Hammond organ sound was slightly heavier than its Mansfield counterpart The Ohio Express. Across five albums (in two years), 1910 unleashed an eerie-lite sound indebted to the looking-glass noir of the Zombies. The halting "Simon Says" and nearly soul-struck "Dee-Licious" seem on the precipice of a freak-out. That was the point. To never go too far. What made them so oscillatingly oxygenated were vocalists Mark Gutkowski and Joey Levine, who also sang in the chirpier Ohio Express. With most of their hits (four albums, two years) directly referencing to their saccharine nature — "Yummy," "Chewy Chewy," "Sweeter Than Sugar" — one did need not look far to figure the fluff level. Darker, swirlier stuff was left to Ohioans The Lemon Pipers.

Unlike studio-made K&K acts, Lemon Pipers were a band who played loudly and just happened to have pop tendencies. Like a cross between the Byrds and Moby Grape, the progression from the spinning-wheel swoosh of "Green Tambourine" to the bubbling slow grotesque of "Rice Is Nice" seems to seethe a bit. By the time they got to their second of three albums, you could hear them bursting — albeit in real cornball fashion — with sun-showery psych-flavor and hints of poppy seediness on "Jelly Jungle of Orange Marmalade." They were even capable of mild funk which may be why they evolved into the white-skronk R&B of Ram Jam. With a marketplace looking for safety in numbers, this level of daring in boy-pop will never be seen again.

—A.D. Amorosi