The Three Johns

Doomy politics, detached declamations, Leeds connection--they're the Gang of Three, obviously, and if they're not as smart, so be it. No funk crossovers for them--the drums are sure to pick up pattern and accent, but their genius is for basic (and unnostalgic) rock and roll of a purity rarely heard outside punk, if indeed that's where its located. This time the songs are there, even though the analysis isn't terribly smart either. (That ain't America, lads, it's Capital.) And, considering how much good smarts did the Go4, maybe we should be grateful it's rancor and sarcasm that make them go. (Grade: A-)