APRIL 13,1990 — THE DECREE — PAGE 3
Raging Slab is bizarre but satisfying
By MARK BRETT
There’s something curiously
satisfying about listening to Rag
ing Slab, but I’m not quite sure
what it is. Perhaps it’s their
sound. Imagine, if you will, a bi
zarre cross-breeding experiment
conducted on Lynyrd Skynrd and
Metallica, and the result would
be something resembling Raging
Slab.
Their combination of metal
crunch and southern rock
rhythms is intriguing to hear. If
only they had been able to cap
ture the flair for lyrics that both
their parents exhibit. Unfortu
nately, however. Raging Slab has
some of the worst lyrics since
Spinal Tap, and the Slab’s not
trying to be funny.
Their debut album, imagina
tively titled Raging Slab, opens
with “Don’t Dog Me,” which is
about pretty much what you’d
expect from a song with that title.
This song has lyrics of a sort,
most of which are on a level with
the following: “Bark that bark
when you walk that walk/Don’t
hand me the halo and hot coal
talk.” There seems to almost be
some potential there, but it’s
swallowed by sheer stupidity.
That sort of frustration becomes
maddening after a while, and
Raging Slab keeps it up for quite
some time.
The album continues with,
“Joy Ride,” a song that doesn’t
seem to be about much of any
thing. There’s some stuff about '
the Lord in a Ford (dig that rhyme
scheme!) and some other equally
weighty subject matter, but
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faculty’s responsibility is to for
mulate the topic and set the pro
gram.
There is no reason why inter
ested students shouldn’t partici
pate in this process. In fact, the
committee planning next year’s
symposium includes both stu
dents and faculty. I’m sure there
is room for more students. If
you’re interested, contact Dr.
Barbara Perry-Sheldon, Chair of
the Education Division.
Leverett T. Smith, Jr.
Coordinator,
Wesleyan Symposium
Goodbye to Wesleyan
Dear Wesleyan Community:
The time has come to say
Review
mostly this one just seems to be
an excuse to play loud.
Things don’t improve much
on the rest of the album. Next is
“Sorry’s All I Got,” which in
cludes the line “I finally done you
wrong right/Between your eyes I
must look a damn sight. Well, at
least it rhymes.
This work of genius is fol
lowed by “Waiting for the Po
tion,” which is probably about
sexual longing, but who can tell?
This one opens with the line, “My
heart’s tickin’ like a great, big
clock,” setting up a sort of time
motif that the rest of the song
tries valiently to follow. Again,
there seems to be some sort of
potential here, but it’s lost. It just
makes you want to scream.
Next is “Get Off My Jollies,”
where things finally get ridicu
lous. Check out the first verse:
“Just try and shave my wooly
bully/I’ll just use the fur as fuel
for folly/And make a flame so hot
and blondie (Hot and blondie?)/
That it’ll curl you straight thru
Sunday.” Not only does this
make no sense at all, but it
doesn’t even rhyme! The song
goes downhill from there.
From this point, things begin
to run together. “Shiny Mama”
seem to be about sexual organs,
and that’s all. “Geronimo,” I
think, tries hard to be about the
plight of the American Indian.
“Bent for Silver” uses a lot of
monetary terminology in what
“good-bye” to you. After a dec
ade of teaching at NCWC, a
change in employment for my
husband has necessitated a
change for me.
The future looms uncertain (as
it always does) for no new ad
dress had been established nor
has a new employer been deter
mined. However, come Septem
ber or sooner, I shall be in another
part of God’s bountiful country,
the country of Moore.
Best wishes for each of you as
you continue here or venture on
to new locations as I am doing. I
have enjoyed my tenure here and
will continue to have an interest
in Wesleyan College. God Bless.
Elaine Lytton
Assistant Prof. of Mathematics
appears to be a sort of cheap
come-on. A call for prostitution,
perhaps?
Next is the group’s obligatory
slow song, “Love Come Loose.”
Here, finally, we actually get an
interesting line: “When love
comes loose it don’t make a
sound/And hearts just break
when they hit the ground.” Okay,
so it’s not Shakespeare but at
least it’s clever.
The next song, “Dig a Hole,”
actually says something interest
ing (a novel concept, I realize,
but bear with me.) It deals with
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to mark out an area to clear,
thinking, “Well, this isn’t going
to be so bad.”
Suddenly an electric shock
surged through my shovel, pierc
ing my foot, shooting up my leg,
spreading into knee and hip,
paralyzing hand an elbow, and
finally snapping my neck. I
thumped, I shuddered, I shook, I
screamed. Yes, I had hit my first
pine tree root of the day.
First you hope you can cut it
with the shovel’s sharp edge.
You aim and savagely chop.
Many will break this way and the
chop joins the rhythm of the cut
ting and sinking. But some gran-
daddy roots takes axes, chain
saws, dynamite, divine interven
tion.
You begin to dread sticking
the shovel into the ground for
fear of hitting another root. And
of course most of them travel ex
actly the same path you need to
follow in order to finish your
day’s work. Your body begins to
feel as if a giant hand were
smacking it. The day doesn’t
seem so cool; the music changes
to a mocking rendition of “It’s a
Beautiful Day.”
A friend wandered by and
found me lying in last year’s plot.
I was hiding in the wild flowers,
looking up through the pine
branches, wondering why I
hadn’t gone out to campus and let
the students dunk me for Spring
Fling.
“What are you doing there?”
my friend asked. I looked over at
the pitifully small area I had
cleared and the expanse of grass
still growing and matting and
intertwining with pine roots.
life in the modem world, where
we carelessly rush headlong into
our graves. Here, the lyrics and
the music finally mesh, as the
song’s driving beat echoes the
desperate tone of the song and
lead singer Gregory Strzempka
urges the listener to “Dig a hole
that fits you.” Admittedly, most
of the lyrics are of questionable
quality, but they do succeed in
making the point.
Though frustrating in most
places. Raging Slab comes to
gether in the end (well, actually
the album ends with another re-
“I’m getting in touch with na
ture,” I sighed.
Hours later I had made pain
fully slow progress, after halving
my estimated day’s clearing.
Then I met my match. This root
smugly pulsated with health and
strength. And it was exactly in
the spot where I wanted to plant a
hosta lily. I felt around with the
shovel, probing for a free spot.
Could this be an underground
concrete monolith? Where did it
end? I smashed, I chopped, I
jumped up and down in frustra
tion.
I figured wildly. Papers to
grade? Classes to prepare for? A
Dr. Steve column to write? What
could I possibly have thought I
was doing? At least mowing had
an end. But, wait, wouldn’t that
hosta look as good over there;
couldn’t I take a hint and dig else
where? I plunged my shovel into
ally rotton song called “San
Loco,” but after “Dig a Hole” I
can forgive that one.) There
seemed to be something interest
ing happening in many places,
but the lyrics were just too weak
and contrived to get the point
across. And, of course, the instru
mental aspect of the album is
quite good.
If you want to shut your mind
off for a while and just enjoy a
good groove, then Raging Slab is
the group to do it with. And if you
do want to think, they’re good for
a few laughs.
the softest, blackest earth I could
find and planted my lily.
I unceremoniously dumped
my tools back into the garage,
ignoring my carefully established
proper places for each tool. I
soaked in a tub of steaming wa
ter. I rubbed my back. I ate sup
per. I walked into the back yard
and dreamed of the many days of
lessened mowing and heightened
aesthetic appeal. I began plan
ning my next assault on, to para
phrase T.S. Elliot, the roots that
clutch, the branches that grow out
of this stony rubbish.
I noticed a dark blue colum
bine blossom and reminded my
self that a garden connects my to
my father and grandparents and
all those before me who believed
in working a plot of land, not to
control it, but to let it define and
reflect and celebrate the gar
dener’s dreams.
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Campus arts slighted
Gardening provides more fun
in the abstract than in reality