Vari-lites. Steadicams. Logo branding right down to the guitars and mic stands. And an unexpected Christian-themed opening. What’s this, you ask. Why, it’s Chickenfoot’s live DVD Get Your Buzz On.

Supergroups have a patchy track record of success. True, that term is sometimes misapplied to groups that make it big, but proper use of the term applies only to groups made up of artists who’ve already established names for themselves. Or, at a minimum, people who were at least in a previous band that made a name for itself. So while Blind Faith and GTR were supergroups, Duran Duran wasn’t, no matter how many units they shifted.

Supergroups tend to be a marketer’s wet dream: they arrive — or so goes the theory — with a built-in fan base, or even multiple fan bases. So they’re something approaching a sure bet in a marketplace that has few such things. Artistically, historical examples have provided mixed results.

Chickenfoot has two refugees from Van Halen (or Van Hagar if you’re a smartass): vocalist Sammy Hagar, who took David Lee Roth’s place for awhile — and bassist Michael Anthony. Hagar, of course, has an estimable career as a purveyor of a particular sort of rock, and said career goes way back before Van Hagar or Van Halen. Never much of a VH fan myself, I used to have a laugh at Anthony’s expense, watching him play the most rudimentary of basslines under Eddie’s show-offy guitar wankery. But he’s improved since the cover of the Kinks‘ “You Really Got Me,” I guess.

Drummer Chad Smith (Red Hot Chili Peppers) is on board as well, a veteran of yet another band that — though their musicianship is impressive — never did a thing for this listener. But the star of the show — and the only reason I was interested in this DVD to begin with — is shredding axeman Joe Satriani. His guitar wizardry is beyond compare, so if you’re into that thing (and you don’t mind some vocals fighting for attention), then Chickenfoot might just be your thing.

On lead vocals, Food Network personality Guy Fieri (Diners, Drive-ins and Dives) makes an appearance…no, wait: that’s Sammy Hagar! Honest mistake. And taking a page from the “Jazz Odyssey” period of Spinal Tap, the Chickenfoot DVD set opens — after that backstage prayer session — with a song (”Avenida Revolution”) that features a bass solo. No, I’m not kidding. Why, I cannot tell you.

“Sexy Little Thing” will appeal to fans of Mötley Crüe’s “Girls Girls Girls” for at least two reasons: it covers the same subject matter, and, well, it’s nearly the same song. And “Soap on a Rope” kicks off with lyrics cribbed from Deep Purple’s “Highway Star.”

Point is — to the extent that there is a point — this is pretty standard, derivative stuff. Taken as songs, well, there’s not really all that much on offer here; certainly little new. The playing is ace, and from the looks of the audience, they do pack in the house, but Chickenfoot isn’t breaking any new ground in terms of songcraft. Most of the songs are credited to Hagar and Satriani, but they’re not full of very interesting ideas beyond Satch’s solos.

Taken as performances, what Chickenfoot serves up is pretty standard 80s/90s styled arena rock, with all of the swagger and posing that suggests. But the presence of Satriani helps: his dizzying prowess on the guitar, his constantly inventive approach to the instrument, adds a level of interest that would otherwise not exist. Simply put, without Satch, there would be little to recommend Chickenfoot beyond its appeal as a second-string Van Halen retread.

Flo and Eddie used to have a radio show in which they’d deejay a bunch of songs. They’d routinely pull the needle (so to speak) off a record after a few seconds, arguing that by that point in the song, you’d already heard everything it had to offer. Using that methodology — and again, not considering the solos — one could blast through the Chickenfoot catalog in a few minutes.

It’s not terrible, not at all. But if hearing Sammy Hagar sing lyrics like “broken heart, broken rules” doesn’t fulfill your need for some interesting lyrical ideas, then you might not find Get Your Buzz On to be all that, well, buzzworthy. As the saying goes, there’s plenty to like for people who like this sort of thing. Otherwise, you might find a G3 live set more involving.

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DISCLOSURE OF MATERIAL CONNECTION:

In honor of the Martin Luther King National Holiday — (as a close friend wrote to me last night, “Remember to honor Dr. King. What he did, he did for all.”) — here’s a review from a year ago.

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Don’t be put off by the Time Life logo on the new box set Let Freedom Sing: The Music of the Civil Rights Movement. If you do, you’ll miss an excellent thematic compilation. The sepia-tinted 3CD package is a (more or less) chronological survey of music relevant to the civil rights struggles in the USA. The set spans the period 1939 to present-day (because, y’know, it’s not as if the civil rights movement has seen its goals accomplished; there’s been progress, but we’ve a distance yet to go).

From the still-unsettling strains of Billie Holiday’s “Strange Fruit” to five cuts dating to the current decade, Let Freedom Sing offers a useful soundtrack to any civil rights retrospective. Which is, in one sense, what it is: in observance of Black History Month 2009, a related PBS documentary will air. [that set on DVD is reviewed here – ed.]

The excellent and detailed liner notes place each track in its sociological and musical context, and though the compilers are careful not to position the set as definitive, it’s pretty close. Or as close as you could get with three audio discs. While music consumers might expect a package with the Time Life imprint to be a haphazard, thrown-together affair, with selections determined primarily by what’s available for licensing, this set suggests that the label deserves a good bit more credit.

As a rock music aficionado–even one with a collection numbering in the several-thousands–I must admit that very little of this music was in my collection. This collection is a small step in the right direction. Some amazing and revelatory pieces are included, including Josh White’s “Uncle Sam Says”, Gil Scot-Heron’s classic “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised (arguably the first rap song, unless you count The Monkees‘ “Zilch”–ha) and Oscar Brown Jr.’s “Forty Acres and a Mule”.

Only a few white artists make the set (The Weavers, Dylan, Phil Ochs), but their inclusion makes it clear that this is neither a folk-protest comp nor a survey of African American artists. The mix makes the overall set even stronger.

One subtext of the liner notes deserves special mention. The compilers don’t shy away from an important historical fact, one that’s been swept under the rug: many of the early supporters of civil rights for all Americans were…wait for it…communists. Yes, those people who were so categorically painted as enemies of the state in the McCarthy era were in fact among the most ardent, vocal and active supports of overthrowing the racial injustices of American society. Kudos to the compilers of Let Freedom Sing for including this fact in the liner notes.

It’s worth mentioning that this set makes just plain good listening, even if the listener isn’t up for a history lesson. Artists both celebrated and obscure are represented; big hits and unreleased tracks sit side by side. Nearly sixty tracks run the emotional gamut, from hysterically funny (Ray Scott’s “The Prayer”) to chilling, from despairing to hopeful (Lee Dorsey’s “Yes, We Can, Part 1″, the track that lent its phrase to the groundbreaking, inspiring and successful campaign of our new president). It’s genre-spanning, with gospel, blues (electric and acoustic), rock, funk, soul, jazz, folk, hip-hop and more. Listeners will find Aretha, James, Mahalia, Sly, Marvin, Otis, and more. Original or early versions of songs destined to be rock hits are here, including John Lee Hooker’s “The Motor City is Burning” (later covered by the Motor City Five [aka MC5]) and Smokey Robinson and the Miracles‘ “Abraham, Martin and John.” And again: more. Lots more.

Let Freedom Sing: The Music of the Civil Rights Movement is recommended in the strongest terms.

Disclosure of Material Connection:

Generally accepted to have as its genesis the mid-60s singles by The Who (for example “I Can See for Miles”), powerpop has enjoyed a few brief moments in the limelight. The early 70s saw the triumvirate of powerpop groups: Badfinger (Northern England/Wales), Big Star (Memphis) and the Raspberries (Cleveland). The first and third of these enjoyed significant chart success, and all three have gained critical plaudits (if belatedly).

But by ‘75 or so, it was all over. Rock’s reign over the pop charts had begun to splinter in the early 70s (thanks in no small part to the popularity of singer/songwriters, themselves arguably a shell-shocked reaction to the late 60s), and with the rise of disco, the charts would never be the same again. Powerpop continued to bubble under, especially in England. A variant now known as pub rock had been going strong there. With its concentration of song craft, hooks and other traditional forms, pub rock was something that even the punk and new wave fans could appreciate to a degree. Nick Lowe, Wreckless Eric…these artists and others made some commercial inroads in the early days of what was dubbed “new wave,” but in the end they were fairly traditional artists (though in the case of Lowe and his cohorts, supremely gifted ones).

Stateside, we had The Knack. Yes, they were criminally over-hyped, but the music was pretty good. And their success did pave the way for some other groups to get their music heard (The Romantics, to name one). In subsequent years, powerpop has submerged to become a sub- sub-genre, though evangelists (sorry…), er, keepers of the flame like Jordan Oakes (curator of the wonderful Yellow Pills compilation series) and Bruce Brodeen (proprietor of NotLame Records) have each done their part to keep those interested aware of new powerpop releases.

But, anyway, if a group really wants to limit its appeal, it can head for an extra-narrow niche. Like, say, Christian rock. That music is mostly sold in “Christian” stores, as opposed to trational music outlets (or what remains thereof). Sort of preaching to the converted, to coin a phrase. The group could attempt something of a bait-and-switch: demo some standard and catchy rock tunes, get a contract, then slip the god-rock in on the LP.

At this late date it’s impossible to tell for certain, but a listen to the new CD of 1979’s  The Laughing Dogs / The Laughing Dogs Meet Their Makers (1980) suggests that’s what happened here. This pair of LPs by the NYC-based quartet contains some fine, fine powerpop — especially the first disc’s leadoff track “Get ‘Im Outa Town” that sports nifty close harmonies and catchy riffs chord changes. And as long as the Laughing Dogs stay in that territory, they’re fine, and the album’s an engaging listen. But when they make musical detours (like the harder-rocking “I Need a Million”), things go wrong. And when, as on several tracks, they head into Contemporary Christian mode, well, it’s a disaster. On what would have been Side 2 of the debut LP, the lyrics slip none-too-subtly into preachiness. And worse, they starting sounding like (ewwww) Pablo Cruise or Toto.

Some artists can pull off the art of writing a love song that could be directed at a person and/or a higher power (George Harrison was one of these), but lesser artists fall back on overused tropes. The Laughing Dogs give it a shot on the otherwise-good “Take My Chances” “Round and Round”, but those not predisposed to religious messages in their rock music might begin shifting uncomfortably in their chairs on this one. When a song starts out with the lyric “Did you know the story / of the kingdom and the glory” you know you’re in for a sermon. And when the singer intones, “I’d hate to see you be the one left behind,” you’ll either nod you head in agreement or roll your eyes (which of those you do is a surefire indicator of how you’ll feel about the second half of the disc — Meet their Makers — which is even more chock full of this stuff). And lazy, clichéd rhyming on the heavy-handedly titled “It’s Just the Truth” ruins a song that sonically invokes the spirit of Tom Evans (Badfinger).

Some high points do make the disc worth hearing. “Low Life” has that A Hard Day’s Night sound down pretty well. “No Lies” sports a vibe that seemingly draws inspiration from the Blondie Chaplin/Rikki Fataar era Beach Boys (”Sail On Sailor,” specifically) and it works well. And “Reason for Love” has a feel not far from another overlooked powerpop band, The Paley Bros.

But, but. A cover of the Animals’ “Don’t Bring Me Down” is good but pointless. David Johansen would do it way better on his Live it Up LP soon after this came out. “Zombies” — the leadoff track from Meet Their Makers — starts off sounding like a carbon copy of Ian Dury and the Blockheads‘ “Hit My With Your Rhythm Stick” but then goes someplace else, somewhere less interesting.

The playing and singing on these songs are top-notch, and more than half the songs have winning hooks. But sanctimonious pap and — forgive me here — god-awful lyrics on tracks like “Not What I Used to Be”, “Reach out for Me”, “Reason for Wanting You” and “Two Who Are Willing” force this set firmly into the special-interest category. Small wonder these records didn’t sell on original release.

Summary verdict: I’m sure the Laughing Dogs were a bunch of nice guys. But these albums — especially Meet Their Makers — are a flawed experiment, a failed bid, and full of wasted, misdirected effort. One suspects that the honchos at Epic Records were none too amused when the figured out the score. Reviews on Allmusic rate these long-rare albums pretty highly, but — unless you’re into what The Laughing Dogs were selling, there are much better examples of the powerpop genre out there, waiting to be discovered.