Chicapah After the strange decade known as the 80s finally came to its inevitable end hopes ran high that a return to the adventuresome, “anything goes” spirit of the 70s was in the cards for music in general. For me, one of the bands that had a golden opportunity to take the lead in that endeavor was the revitalized Little Feat. They’d engineered an impressive comeback in ’88 (after 9 years of divorce) with their energetic, invigorating “Let It Roll” album that showed they still had a whole lotta spunk left in them so I figured they might be on the brink of introducing an inspiring movement to a naïve generation that would successfully marry jazz, funk and rock in new and intriguing ways. Alas, ‘twas not to be. While “Representing the Mambo” contains stellar musicianship, strong vocals through and through and has a sound that’s crisp and clean it fails to break any ground that hasn’t been plowed into a thousand springs before. Little Feat chose to present songs they thought their audience would approve of instead of boldly taking them along on a horizon-expanding journey. I have no doubt they gave it their all but chalk it up as an average album that could’ve been spectacular if they’d just rolled the dice.

By opening with “Texas Twister” the group picks up where they left off on the “Let It Roll” LP by charging from the gate aboard a rockin’ locomotive of a song characterized by a plethora of hot guitars courtesy of Paul Barrere and Fred Tackett. I’m always in favor of bands starting things off with a loud bang so the fact that it has little to do with jazz and a lot to do with aggressively kickin’ out the jams isn’t a detrimental tact for them to have employed. “Daily Grind” is next and its loping, funky groove is inviting but after a minute or so you find yourself waiting for that moment to arrive when the tune elevates itself into something special but it never comes. The individual performances are up to snuff yet they’re all cooped up in a mediocre composition that keeps them hemmed in like frustrated cattle. “Representing the Mambo” follows and the lively Latin influences are entertaining but, while their motives are admirable, the number meanders through various phases without ever finding a purposeful focus and the whole thing comes off as satisfying as a dry rice cake. “Woman in Love” is a throwback to the Lowell George era, nostalgic in a good way, and though it’s no classic by any means it’s an improvement over the previous two cuts.

On “Bad Gumbo” they capture an authentic atmosphere to wrap this Cajun ditty in and, for some reason I’ve never fathomed, I possess a deep-running affection for this genre that’s pleased as punch when it’s done right and it’s done right here. “Hoo, boy!” as they say in Louisiana. “Teenage Warrior” is next and Richie Hayward’s drums punch the speakers hard all during this riff-driven rocker but the song falls into the same trap as many of the others in that there’s nothing to grab onto that makes it something to be remembered half an hour later. At this juncture it appears that they used up all of their A-1 material on “Let It Roll” two years earlier and this is what was left. With “That’s Her, She’s Mine” the vintage Little Feat vibe arises to tantalize, tease and remind us fans of what a gifted songwriter and formidable presence the late Lowell George was in his heyday as the Feat frontman but it doesn’t wield the same magic. I know it’s not fair for me to compare every other track with their fabulous “Feats Don’t Fail Me Now” period but I can’t help myself. It’s close but no cigar every time. “Feelin’s All Gone” is a song penned by vocalist Craig Fuller that sounds fine and all but it’s like a submarine sandwich that’s all bread and no meat.

By including “Those Feat’ll Steer Ya Wrong Sometimes” they hit rock bottom by deliberately descending into the dangerous pit of C&W where things rarely turn out well. This pitiful number does absolutely nothing for me and indicates that they were stupidly toying with the thought of appeasing the beer-swillin’ rednecks in their audience. Avoid this track as you would the plague. Oddly, as if they were being shy about it, they stick the two jazziest pieces on the tail end of the album. “The Ingénue” is a positive move in the right direction that helps greatly to wash the putrid taste out of one’s mouth put there by the dopey cut that preceded it. Bill Payne’s keyboard work is exemplary and guest Michael Brecker’s saxophone solo and subsequent riffs are delightfully refreshing to hear. If the band had zeroed in on this brand of shenanigans from the get-go this disc might’ve been a head-snapping dazzler that made big, game-changing waves. While not as good, “Silver Screen” still manages to close the record with class as it displays more of the jazz-tinted creativity I wish would’ve taken precedence over their “let’s play it safe” mentality that so dominates this album. Unfortunately, by the time this duo of tunes arrives it’s like the cavalry showing up a day late and there’s not a body to be found with its scalp intact.

This is where I parted company with Little Feat. For all I know the albums they recorded afterward and throughout the next two decades were fantastic but it seemed to me that they had nothing of consequence left to say. From what I’ve read Warner Brothers let them go after “Representing the Mambo” didn’t turn much of a profit for them and the label lamely blamed it on it being too jazz-oriented. Oh, really? I beg to differ because the jazz ingredient is next to negligible as far as I can decipher and that’s what attracted me to them in the first place. As of this record Little Feat without Lowell George had become just another competent rock & roll outfit that could sell out small venues and fairgrounds, providing the members with a decent living by being consistent crowd-pleasers. While there’s nothing wrong with that (it’s honest work if you can find it) I realized that my music budget would be better allocated elsewhere going forward.