THE SUGARCUBES: A WORLD OF THEIR OWN
BOSTON GLOBE (BG) - THURSDAY September 15, 1988
By: Jim Sullivan, Globe Staff
Edition: THIRD  Section: ARTS AND FILM  Page: 67
Word Count: 624

MEMO:
MUSIC REVIEW

      THE SUGARCUBES -- In concert with the Pixies and Railway

      Children at Citi, Tuesday night.

TEXT:
One thing you have to admire about the Sugarcubes, the rock 'n' roll rookie
sensation  from  Iceland:  The  group  exists  in  its  own  private world,
oblivious  to  the  dull  norms of standard-issue rock 'n' roll. They blend
ferocity  and frivolity, art-rock and punk rock, exotica and intrigue. They
sing  in  English  and Icelandic and, musically speaking, in a language all
their own.
  One thing that has to frustrate you about the Sugarcubes: It's not always
as  fascinating  a world as they seem to think it is. There's a point where
creative  chaos  is  overtaken  by smugness, and arrogance; there's a point
where  the  songcraft  runs  aground; and the Sugarcubes found those points
more  than  a  few  times Tuesday night before a full house at Citi, former
site of the Metro. It was their second visit to Boston -- and the last date
on  their  US tour -- and while the sound was better than their August Axis
gig, the concert itself wasn't.

  As  with their previous show, things started slow and coasted -- with the
exception  of  the  galloping  "Motorcrash"  -- until midset. (Their lyrics
remain a mystery.) Finally, singers Bjork and Einer caught fire, enacting a
demented  Steve & Eydie show. Bjork wore an album jacket on her head; Einer
stuffed  the  album inside his shirt. Bjork "threw" Einer to the floor; she
then  played  his  leg  as  if it were a guitar, taking power chord swipes.
Another  band member appeared in a tutu; a rubber guitar was introduced and
heralded.  At  times,  songs  hurtled  along hairpin curves, with the jolts
coming  from  the  electric guitar. And Bjork was, as before, an enchanting
frontperson  --  playful,  pouty,  intense,  sexy.  Or  as  one Citi worker
described her appeal: "Spank me, I've been a really bad girl."

  And,  then,  there were the awkward moments. Failed humor, for one. Einer
knocked  the  Red  Sox,  playing across the street, and amused no one, save
Bjork.  Einer ordered one fan to "the toilet" for angering him in some way.
Einer  and  Bjork  harangued  the  crowd  for  not  joining in on a foolish
hand-wiggling  gesture and launched into a parody of American rock-and-roll
fans.  (Yet,  if  we'd  bit and replicated the gesture, they'd have had the
last  laugh: See, we made the silly Yanks behave like imbeciles!) And while
we're  no  knee-jerk  defender  of  all  things  American,  the Sugarcubes'
implicit anti-Americanism began to grate: Right, come over, take our money,
laugh  at  how  stupid  we  are  and fly home to Iceland. When that thought
permeates the concert, as it did, it can't help but mute the giddy, jarring
pleasures of which the Sugarcubes are so capable.

  Boston's  Pixies scored with a Sugarcubes-ish set (sans bad attitude), by
playing  terse,  edgy rhythms off eminently catchy melodies, all punctuated
by  singer  Black Francis' banshee wails. England's Railway Children opened
with a pleasant set of moody, melancholic pop that had its subtle delights,
but, on the whole, seemed more like decorative wallpaper.

  As  to  Citi: a smaller dance floor, a bigger stage, an imposing circular
soundboard area, an arched ceiling that gave the club a majestic, cavernous
feeling,  impressive  lighting,  great  acoustics,  fine  sound (though the
house's   state-of-the-art   system   is  not  yet  installed)  and  better
sightlines,  owing  to  several  floor  levels.  Still, a crowded club is a
crowded  club,  and  finding  (and keeping) a good spot took some work. The
rear,  200-capacity  balcony wasn't open; Citi's Jon Rosbrook said the club
was  85  percent  complete. Things should be 100 percent for the next show,
and as nothing's booked now, that's at least a month away.
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