Jeffrey Morgan – Review of the album Tiles from the Amber Room

SIZZLING ROCK PLATTER OF THE WEEK: Desmond Grundy – Tiles From The Amber Room (Mouthful Of Records) :: In case you weren’t paying attention the first time around and don’t remember what I said about DG’s first self released album Oddly Enough way back in MB278, I’ll reiterate for ya:

“So I’m spinnin’ the first song and suddenly thinking that, no, the absolute last thing I wanna do is say that Desmond is the new Lou Reed ’cause he seems to be way too normal to be saddled with that kind of calamitous tag. But every time I hear the gnarly destorto guitar grinding up behind him, I get flummoxed into thinking that I’m listening to some kinda vintage Velvet Underground gradation. And suddenly I’m thinking, yes, that’s cool because nobody sounds like Unca Lou anymore—not even the old reprobate himself ’cause he’s way too normal these days to be saddled with that kind of calamitous tag.”

In other words, I didn’t need to have the wisdom of Solomon to know that this here Grundy had what we in the rock writin’ biz call potential. But the big question on every seasoned tout’s mind the second time around is: can Desmond deck ya again? Well, as my old pal the Kingfish would say: “He sho’ nuff can!”

First of all, the album title is straight outta spooky Lynch City where the busses never run on time—if ever. Even better, he plays all of the instruments by himself in the best Todd Rundgren studio-spazz tradition. Finally, his voice—which vacillates between Loaded romance and Tonight’s The Night dissipation—is buried beneath a swirling miasma of destorto fuzzed up beach blanket bohemia that makes Exile On Aladdin Sane St. sound like like Wish You Were Here.

I just hope that his next album sucks ’cause I’m getting tired of sounding like a palooka from Payolaville.’