Primal Scream's Rhythmic Prowess Has A Power Fueled By The '70S

Primal Scream, Off Ramp, 109 Eastlake Ave. E., Wednesday, 9:30 p.m. $13.50. 628-0232. --------------------------------------------------------------- Letting loose with a Primal Scream no longer requires the intense psychotherapy pioneered by Arthur Janov in the late '60s. Slightly faddish and now quite unfashionable, primal scream therapy became popular in part because of its most famous adherent, John Lennon.

Fact is, Lennon would probably approve of the new Primal Scream, appearing Wednesday at the Off Ramp. Thoroughly steeped in the most vibrant and exciting aspects of '60s rock, Primal Scream takes an unabashed delight in its power to shake the spine, open the mind and lift the spirit.

"I don't like much contemporary rock today," says Bobby Gillespie, 28, in his thick Scottish brogue. "It's music that just doesn't do anything for me. I'd really rather listen to dance records, you know."

Gillespie, along with keyboardist Andrew Innes and guitarist Robert Young, is at the center of the multi-piece Primal Scream, and his statement is a little surprising given his origins as drummer for the seminal mid-'80s group Jesus and Mary Chain.

The Jesus and Mary Chain did look back to the '60s, but, like many influential contemporary rock groups, they focused on the relatively unheralded Velvet Underground, fashioning a resilient, noisy beauty from a now almost cliche doom-obsessed romantic sensibility.

Gillespie's Primal Scream goes to the other extreme altogether. "The healing power of music is vastly underestimated," he told one interviewer. "Music is a way to people, an example of how good we all can be. It's a form of liberation and where there's freedom, there's hope. Our hope is to make strange and beautiful records that take the process one step further."

The natural impulse is to let loose with a horse laugh. But there is no denying the affecting power of their U.S. debut, "Screamadelica" (Sire).

From the opening "Movin' On Up," with its rhythmic acoustic guitar and congas reminiscent of the Rolling Stones circa "Beggar's Banquet" - no surprise given producer Jimmy Miller's presence here - to the pure gospel fervor of "Come Together" which clocks in at 8:06, it's an album with mysteries and surprises every step of the way.

In many ways, the true sources of Primal Scream are more accurately found in the early '70s, that peculiar cultural twilight of the '60s. It's not just that Van Morrison released "Moondance" and John Lennon released "Plastic Ono Band," his primal scream album, in 1970 - though they do figure in.

More relevant, in the wake of Sly & the Family Stone, 1971 and 1972 saw the release of Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On," the Undisputed Truth's "Smiling Faces Sometimes (Tell Lies)," the Staple Singers' "Respect Yourself," Curtis Mayfield's "Freddie's Dead," and more. What they started, George Clinton continued throughout the '70s with Parliament and Funkadelic.

As a boy, Gillespie listened to this music pouring from the stereo of his hippie - or, at least, hip - parents. "Those records made me feel good in a way that most people can't," Gillespie says, remembering the first time he heard the O'Jays. "I think a lot of rock groups today don't listen to black music. They used to, but not any more, so it's not rhythmically interesting like it was once."

But the best part is that there is nothing at all retro or nostalgic about Primal Scream. They can cover a classic garage-rock tune ("Slip Inside This House" by the 13th Floor Elevators) and update it so naturally that it sounds as if it must always have belonged in an acid-house dance club setting.

In fact, Gillespie's aversion to modern rock is such that he's insisted the band, on its first U.S. tour, be booked only into dance clubs. No band opens for them, but hand-picked DJs spin discs before and after their appearance. Reports claim that the dancing frenzy is at such a pitch all night that crowds hardly stop to notice the arrival and departure of the group.

In other words, Primal Scream seems to be promoting a shared ecstasy rather than adoring worship, a concept as utterly fresh as it is vastly overdue. Have we ever seen anything like it?

"People say we're breaking down barriers," Gillespie told one interviewer. "We don't see any barriers."