Daily Staff Writer

Secret Samadhi

Live

The boys from York, Penn. are back with their third disc, Secret Samadhi, and back as well are the intense, hard-driven lyrics by front man Ed Kowalczyk.

The first single, for which the video can be seen on MTV between episodes of “Singled Out,” is “Lakini’s Juice.” Now, I have no idea what the hell Lakini’s Juice is, nor do I get the meaning behind a lot of songs on this disc (“this puke stinks like beer and everybody’s here”), but it doesn’t even matter.

Kowalczyk’s voice is mesmerizing, and guitarist Chad Taylor picks up the pace in the same Live style as that found on Mental Jewelry and Throwing Copper, which is one of lulling the listener into believing they are in for a ballad, then letting all hell break loose.

There don’t appear to be any clear-cut frontrunners on the 12- track disc. The almost romantic “Turn My Head” is about as close to a love song as these guys get. Soft and floaty, it is backed by the same string section as “Lukini’s Juice,” while “Freaks” is dark and haunting.

It seems even fame and fortune haven’t lightened up these guys. But, no matter how introspective and serious the subject matter of the songs, one thing remains — Live rocks. It does seem that Live has been defused of some of the rage from the last album and perhaps mellowed out—a little.

3 1/2 stars

— Kris Fettkether

Eight Arms To Hold You

Veruca Salt

The Chicago quartet’s long-awaited follow-up to American Thighs is just that. The record continues where American Thighs left off in more ways than one, which can be good and bad.

Eight Arms To Hold You has all the great Veruca ingredients we fell in love with in ’94: new-wave guitars, lustful pop harmonies, hand-clap interludes and, of course, one or two completely radio-friendly tunes.

The record also includes some of the band’s more annoying attributes: dumb power-ballads and cheesy lyrics, to name a couple. The worst continuation of American Thighs, without a doubt, is the rip-off of “Seether” in Eight Arms’ first single, “Volcano Girls.”

Both songs are great, so it’s hard to complain, but originality just seems to be lacking in a major way.

Some high points on the disc are “Venus Man Trap” and “With David Bowie,” both packed with change-ups and tempo variations. “Loneliness Is Worse” takes the cake for most depressing, a variation in itself from the normal happy-go-lucky Veruca.

With the break-up of Katrina and the Waves, and with the Breeders still without any new material, Veruca Salt remains one of the top contenders for female pop/grunge bands. If American Thighs is still a favorite, Eight Arms To Hold You won’t be disappointing.

3 stars

— Corey Moss

Spiders

Space

Space’s new release, Spiders, is an experiment in techno-based rock ‘n’ roll. Its music is designed to rattle windows and doors but fails to provide a danceable beat. The majority of the disc features this sometimes tepid mixture, but a few exceptions prove quite interesting.

The vocals (it isn’t clearly distinguished who sang on the disc) leave something to be desired.

They are sung with a Czechoslovakian accent, which becomes really annoying after two or three songs. The music itself also becomes really monotonous because Space frequently relies on the same rhythms and sounds.

“Major Pager” attempts to break this mold by starting out with a blatant Led Zeppelin chord rip-off. “Female of the Species” begins with a xylophone, laid over techno beats, creating a nice, ambient feel. But these songs don’t really attempt anything musically innovative, nor do they stray far from Space’s signature sound.

The most innovative part of the music is the lyrics. “Major Pager” boasts the chorus, “Mr. Major’s got a pager because he sells E’s/to the Russians who crush and snort them, but they never seem to sneeze.”

Likewise, “Charlie M.” intentionally slams Madonna (“I can see Madonna staring at a shotgun/now she doesn’t feel so sexy/now she wants to be a nun”). This song is supposedly about serial killer Charles Manson, but unfortunately, he is only spoken of in two brief lines.

There is one really good song on the disc, an untitled secret song that isn’t listed anywhere. This song is reminiscent of the Beatles’ more psychedelic works and is the only song on the disc in which the vocals aren’t completely cumbersome.

It comes complete with delicate guitars that punctuate soulful lyrics, a great chorus and a keyboard orchestra. But this one decent song isn’t enough to salvage an incredibly horrible disc.

1 1/2 stars

— Ben Jones

All ratings are based on a scale of zero to five stars, with five being sleep and zero being work.