The Fine Young Cannibals did not exactly come out of nowhere, but in 1989 they went from a name in the business to a headlining one, selling multi-platinum amounts of their second album and scoring two #1 U.S. chart hits. It was one of the very few albums of that year which was both critically and commercially rewarded, and apparently, the critical reputation has grown over the years. Practically the entire album graced a radio playlist somewhere at some time, not just "She Drives Me Crazy" and "Good Thing". At best, it's a clever, quirky blend of soul, rock, and synth pop, accentuated by Roland Gift's vocals, but there are times where Gift is not exactly God's gift in that department, either. "Good Thing", for example, usually strikes as a brute-force copy of the real thing. But the differing styles heard throughout makes things interesting. Overall, just a steady, decent, well-executed record worth your time.

The second album is not as consistent as the debut but still has many highlights. The second side is far more interesting than the first, though. "Had Me A Real Good Time" is the clear, raucous stand out, but also of note is the lo-fi grumble of "On The Beach". There are a couple of live tracks, including Paul McCartney's "Maybe I'm Amazed", to accentuate the happy drunk vibe.

The final studio album and the beginning of the end, as Ronnie Lane departed right after it was released. Many of the tracks were Lane creations and therefore, the record has more of a pastoral, contemplative vibe, which is refreshing next to the previous three records.

The follow-up to the rather apocalyptic-sounding debut album reflects more of a carnival-type sound, even though in quite a few places the creepy, droning feel is still present. “Damn Fool” is definitely on the humorous side of the fence, set to a rollicking junkanoo beat, while the man himself serenades the listener with a tale of an unfortunate soul who married what he thought was a woman, but turned into a “a big, black bird”. Another track, “Paul Simon Nontooth”, is more like a running dialogue and has barely anything to do with structured music. And the doomsayers still rear their ugly heads, on tracks like “Baal”, and the heavily ironic “A Place Called Earth”. But a funny thing happens later in the album – McKay’s pop instincts make an appearance. Take the hardcore island rhythms out of “We Got to Go”, “African Rhythm”, and “Zandoo”, and you might have some music that could make a Top 40 station or two. Well, OK…maybe not, but you can tell the man was not adverse to good pop craft. So, in the end, maybe a slight drop-off is in the cards, but worth hearing the entire way through, because he gives us a moderately different take on the debut.

Before they gained notoriety as John Lennon and Yoko Ono's backing band during their radical political phase in New York City, Elephant's Memory was a rough-and-tumble street outfit in Greenwich Village, honing their craft in strip clubs and biker bars. Which makes it all the more surprising that their debut was: 1) released on a label known for its bubblegum content (Buddah Records), and 2) the content of the album in no way matched up with their reputation. There are songs about yogurt, hot dogs, some San Francisco-like pop grooves ("Band of Love", "Crossroads of the Stepping Stones"), and overriding all of this, a very jaunty, rough-house take on the jazz-rock that was emerging onto radio stations back then. The group was essentially Stan Bronstein, Rick Frank, and a revolving cast of characters who carried over to the next record. As far as this one goes, it's really just an odd curio from an era that had more than it's fair share of them.