We are not whole

We're pinheads all

Jocko homo

Casale shouts out "Are we not men?" like the enraged leader of a fanatical sect; the band answers with voices that are indescribable--but if de-evolution does exist, this is what it must sound like. The song moves through a section that sounds like a patriotic anthem, then builds into a frenzied repetition of question-and-response, Casale varying his emphasis in every possible way--"Are WE not MEN?" "ARE we not MEN?" "Are we NOT men?" The chorus mirrors his emphasis each time.

The whole thing would be laughable if Devo didn't sound so sincere. In their psychotic way, they do, unlike so many of the already-stereotyped razor-and-chain punks. But the system that governs the way popular music gets distributed in America has already latched onto the most unpleasant, alienated side of Devo in a futile and self-defeating shot at record sales through novelty. The band's appearance on NBC's Saturday Night Live only gave the folks in Peoria a superficial look at Devo, and probably left them shaking their heads at the decadence of today's wasted youth.

IT'S TO BE expected that the hype should focus on the strangest, most saleable aspects of a group like Devo. Unfortunately, in this case the result exaggerates Devo's worst side--the monotony and formulization that creeps into some of their songs that are less inspired than "Jocko Homo."

In particular, FM stations seem to have decided that the best cut from Are We Not Men? is the group's sterile rendition of "Satisfaction." What was a fevered shout of desperate frustration in the hands of Mick Jagger et al becomes a mechanical exercise under Devo's influence. The song itself de-evolves--it loses the anger and humanity of the lead vocals, the power of the rhythm guitar, the pulse of the heavy drum beat; it becomes lobotomized. Devo probably intended all this when they recorded "Satisfaction" this way--but that doesn't make the track any less dull. Alas, this sterile, tuneless shell will be many radio listerners' only acquaintance with Devo, and they will understandably avoid the group like the plague.

In the process, they'll be missing a lot of music that's powerful and unique. Aside from the infectious "Jocko Homo," Devo's album includes one song, "Mongoloid," that's a fine punk-influenced rocker, and another, "Space Junk," that's in the grand David Bowie tradition of futuristic disaster songs.

Devo's critics will try to dismiss the group by attacking the ridiculousness of the de-evolutionary theory on a literal level, or by deriding the simplistic dreariness of the less exciting songs, or by laughing at the group's goggles and goofiness. They'll be the losers, because Devo is a step up, not down, the evolutionary scale--at least as far as rock music is concerned.