How is it I’ve never heard Tonio K.? Honest answer: based solely on the name I ignorantly assumed that Tonio K. was a scantily clad female Prince protégé, or a defector from Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam. Turns out his given name is Steve Krikorian and he’s an LA irony-monger whose 1978 debut, Life in the Foodchain, is really something special.
Featuring a supporting cast of Earl Slick, Garth Hudson, Dick Dale, and Albert Lee, Life in the Foodchain won Tonio K.—who borrowed his Name from both Thomas Mann and Joseph Kafka—comparisons to England’s Angry Young Men and led music critic Steve Simels to dub it “the greatest album ever recorded.” I suspect that Simels was in the midst of a manic episode, but I do know that both Tonio K.’s melodies and lyrics are great, and that this is one top-notch New Wave LP.
The title cut is ironic; the “good life” in the food chain is “dog eat dog,” and while the guitars play a hard groove Tonio K. sings, “Because everybody’s hungry/And there isn’t quite enough.” Great guitar solo, one mean melody, and we’re in Warren Zevon territory here, just as we are on “The Funky Western Civilization,” one bitter diatribe centered on a new dance sensation called “the Funky Western Civilization.”
The guitar sears and a horn section throws in while Tonio K. sings, “There’s a baby every minute bein’ born without a chance/Now don’t that make you want to jump right up and start to dance.” And not only that, but it comes complete with both a guitar doing a chicken imitation and a French chick who tosses in a quick monologue before saying in French, “You can bullshit the baker and get the buns/You can back out of every deal except one.”
“Willie and the Pigman” is the story of a mobster who messes with the wrong people, leading Tonio K. to quip, “All that Willie lacked, in fact, was a shovel/Then he could have dug himself his own grave/And saved everybody some time.” So Willie goes to the Pigman, a mover and shaker who can be found at “Rosie’s Cantina/No, not the one where Marty shot that kid/This place was kinda like a train wreck/’Cept it was cleaner.” And presto, problem solved. “The Ballad of the Night the Clocks All Quit (and the Government Failed)” is a funky number and almost impossible to summarize; needless to say it’s another Zevon school tune, only more surreal. “The Seventh Fleet they was cruisin’ the center of town,” Hitler makes an appearance as Attila the Hun’s “Austrian son,” and the song is pure propulsion until it slows to a Country-western strut, only to kick back into gear. And forget the Zevon connection, because this one is pure 1965-7 Dylan, a sheer outpouring of amphetamine paranoia and absurdity, complete with vicious guitar and speed freak acceleration.
“American Love Affair” is all power chords and zooming guitars, and it’s another bitter number, what with the chorus ending, “”But if you wake up with your mind on fire/Too frightened even to scream/It’s just an American love affair/Just an American dream.” He calls New York City “a filthy concrete bitch without a soul,” and goes from there to the “How Come I Can’t See You in My Mirror,” a hard-rocking novelty tune about a fellow who has certain, er, suspicions about his girlfriend and wants to ask her some questions, involving such issues as why she smells like a basement, always looks so pale, and is always staring at his neck. A great Halloween tune, this one, and I plan to crank it up at my next party, except I never throw parties. Too many of my friends are vampires.
“Better Late Than Never” is downright moving, the tale of a love affair gone wrong set to a beautiful and touching melody. The chorus says it all: “Put up the flag and lay down your weapon/This perpetual battle royal here/Is a long way from Heaven/Call it a mistake or call it whatever/Let’s just call if off/Better late than never.” This one’s a lost classic that should be playing on every radio in the land, and I can feel Garth Hudson’s keyboard fingerprints all over it. “A Lover’s Plea” is loud, features some great guitar, and threatens physical violence, which is a bit touchy when it comes down to it, but I love the part at the beginning where he sings, “Baby don’t leave me here alone/Don’t break our happy home up/Think of the children/I know we haven’t got no kids/But think of it if we did.” Classic.
But not as classic as the furious broken-hearted screed that is “H-A-T-R-E-D.” It opens with Tonio K. singing a mournful tune before counting to four in German and off goes the band, like a punk Blitzkrieg. He sings a mile a minute, spells out virtually every other word, admits he’s acting like a child as he spits out bile and vitriol, and comes up with the insensitive guy’s inspirational lyric of this or any age: “Yes I wish I was as mellow/As for instance Jackson Browne/But `Fountain of Sorrow’ my ass motherfucker/I hope you wind up in the ground.” Personally, I think anybody capable of coming up with a line that good deserves to be President, and if I don’t cast my usual write-in vote for the Baader-Meinhof Gang it’s going to Tonio K., for sure.
Since Life in the Foodchain, Tonio K. has released a few more albums ending (the later ones pop treacle) in 1999. He gave up touring, found God, and has more or less made a prominent name for himself writing songs for other artists, from Charlie Sexton to Bonnie Raitt (“You”) and Burt Bacharach (Tonio K. wrote the lyrics; Burt the music). And the list goes on and on. Me, I preferred his bile to his schlock, and I may be assuming too much here, but I suspect Jesus told him to tone it down a little, and Tonio K. said okay. ‘Tis a pity. “H-A-T-R-E-D” is a great song, and the world needs all the great songs he can get. I tried to listen to 1986’s Romeo Unchained and threw up in my mouth. Another great one fallen. Pour a beer on Life in the Foodchain, people; pay it its props. But avoid his later work; you’ll H-A-T-E it.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
