POP MUSIC : Reality Check. Reality Check. : Eight years after the movie, Spinal Tap is back--not for film fiction, but for an album and a reunion tour

It’s all Nigel Tufnel and Derek Smalls can do to keep their duck ravioli and espresso down when that topic is broached.

Not that the food is bad. The time-addled, road-tested lead guitarist and bass player for the legendary English group Spinal Tap are lunching high on the hog--not to be confused, of course, with their former record company head, Sir Dennis Eaton-Hogg--at tony West Hollywood eatery Le Dome.

With a long-awaited reunion album just out, their choosing to be seen at this industry hotbed is a sign of their renewed viability, not to mention the fact that their credit cards are being accepted again.

But sour memories of a downturn in their career have brought a momentary distaste to the otherwise upbeat conversation. The sensitive subject: “This Is Spinal Tap,” the 1984 “rockumentary” film that made the accident-prone band the laughingstock of all of rock.

Coming off as derivative and self-important in equal measure, the veteran crew was caught in what then seemed to be its waning years, and the film itself contributed in no small measure to an eight-year layoff that has ended only recently.

Across the country, rockers young and old would rent the video and glory in the idea that there could be an outfit cursed with worse luck and more pomposity than themselves. The cry for “more Spinal Tap” was sent up as skeet shooters might demand more plates.

But, despite the requests, Smalls, Tufnel and third bandmate David St. Hubbins have absolutely no intention of complying with a movie sequel.

“Nope,” Smalls says firmly. “Find another band of suckers. . . . (Director) Marty deBergi shouldn’t be in the Directors Guild, he should be in the butchers union, let’s put it that way.”

“A hatchet job,” agrees the oft-sullen Tufnel. “Of all the things that happened, he chooses to use the buffoonish sort of stuff. And the one time . . . well, one of the few times that Derek gets trapped in the pod, they show that. They don’t show the times he gets out. They don’t show us finding the stage.”

Still, the movie did serve at least to humanize the band, if nothing else.

“If you’re saying that it took us down a peg from being rock gods to rock buffoons. . . .” snaps Smalls.

“Godlets,” offers Tufnel.

”. . . Gobules (sic),” continues Smalls, “yeah, I guess so.”

Smalls vows to acknowledge and fight past the tarnished image the movie created, a kind of hearty Bill Clinton resoluteness-in-adversity brightening the crevices of his bearded face.

“Different people come up to us all the time and say, ‘Oh, are you gonna get out of the pod tonight? You gonna find the stage tonight?’ and think they’re smart. But what we think is, right, come to the show expecting to see blithering idiots on stage who can’t keep their pants up, and be prepared to be surprised.”

With an international reunion tour in the offing, including a probable June stop at the Universal Amphitheatre, the time will soon arrive when the Tapsters can hang their heads high once more and sing out with pride: Tonight we’re gonna rock you tonight.

“I ordered a Chardonnay,” Smalls calls out to the passing waiter, still a little snippy. “Earlier in this lifetime.”

R eality check.

When “This Is Spinal Tap”--actually directed by Rob Reiner “as” Marty DeBergi--came out in 1984, the bumbling, bloated title group existed only as filmic fiction, albeit a convincing one, save for a few personal appearances in character and a little-noticed soundtrack album.

This time, though, actor-musicians Michael McKean (St. Hubbins), Harry Shearer (Smalls) and Christopher Guest (Tufnel) have taken their satirical creation off the silver screen and very much into the real milieu the fiction was set in.

There’ll be no movie sequel. Instead, after a real-life bidding war between several major record labels, the “band” signed a recording contract with MCA Records and has just released a highly polished, perfectly deadpan new album, “Break Like the Wind,” that’s getting the kind of promotional hoopla less fictional bands can only dream of. (See review on Page 80.) It features a “power ballad” duet with Cher, with guest guitar appearances by Jeff Beck, Guns N’ Roses’ Slash and Joe Satriani.

Moreover, the band will perform live at the internationally televised Freddie Mercury tribute at Wembley Stadium on April 20 and on MTV’s spring break special from Florida, in addition to taping an acoustic set for “MTV Unplugged.”

Cover stories include a 30-page spread in the latest Guitar World magazine, which includes note-for-note transcriptions of Tufnel’s solos for “Big Bottom” and “Tonight I’m Gonna Rock You Tonight.” Trade magazine Billboard is devoting a special tongue-in-cheek section to the not-a-real-group, “25 Years of Spinal Tap,” in its April 1 (of course) edition.

With band members making all appearances completely in character--much to the occasional puzzlement of innocent passersby--the results can only be described as pure theater, of the “living” sort. Interviewing them is basically a process of trying to provide good set-up lines for their remarkably smooth improv, playing the interrogative George Burns to their shaggy-headed, slightly synapse-damaged Gracie.

The three core members of Tap (the drummer slot rotates, because of a high mortality rate) are several of today’s top comic actors: McKean was Lenny, of Lenny and Squiggy fame, and currently stars in and occasionally directs the popular HBO series “Dream On.”

Guest is a veteran of the National Lampoon’s memorable ‘70s multimedia ventures, and directed the industry-spoofing feature “The Big Picture.” Shearer is a brilliant, versatile satirist with a weekly public radio showcase, “Le Show,” and single-handedly provides the bulk of the supporting male character voices on “The Simpsons.” The latter two were also Not Ready for Prime Time Players on “Saturday Night Live.”

The three friends, collaborating with first-time director Reiner, together came up with the concept and actually sold Embassy Pictures on the bizarre idea of an unscripted mock-documentary about a historically unsuccessful rock band. There was no screenplay whatsoever--just a written treatment outlining certain scenes, an extensive back history the cast members invented for themselves and a whole lot of improv with the cameras rolling.

In a rare interview out of character shortly after the movie’s 1984 release, McKean said: “We’ve all played in bands for many years, so it wasn’t as if we just decided we’d do this out of nowhere. When you play and know people that play, you hang around a lot backstage, and it’s not something you have to make up. The incidents came from our actual situations. When I was playing with Lenny & the Squigtones, a lot of the things that happened on the road (we used for) the movie.”

Added Shearer in the same interview, “As far as longevity goes, we thought of ‘em as being sort of like Uriah Heep or Wishbone Ash--groups that never quite break up or break through.”

According to Tap’s manager, Harriet Sternberg, the 1984 film was a high point in all their careers but “didn’t get the full shot it deserved then.” Barely noticed in its brief theatrical run, “This Is Spinal Tap” has been an increasingly popular home video title over the years, renting an estimated 1.4 million times between 1987-91.

“Every pilot season I would get calls saying, ‘We want to do a Spinal Tap TV series,’ ” says Sternberg. “The guys always came back and said it’s not creatively exciting to do a sequel. The money to do another film or a series would have been tremendous--much greater than the money in doing a record--but it didn’t stimulate them.”

Hence, the decision to leave behind the realm of playing a band to get more into the nether world of somehow becoming that group.

MCA Records seems pretty excited about that transformation.

“I know one thing,” says a smiling St. Hubbins, on the verge of breaking character in a separate interview. “They love to have their pictures taken with us. I think they’re trying to convince people that they’re slightly less serious than, say, your average Geffen executive. . . . This is one of those things where life overtakes satire at times.”

Says MCA Records President Richard Palmese, “I think it mirrors what we (in the music industry) live day in and day out with some chuckles, which is refreshing in these tough times.”

Not everyone thinks it’s funny.

In a recent article in the British metal magazine Kerrang, an unamused Ian Astbury of the Cult was quoted as saying the Tap phenomenon was “probably one of the worst things that could have happened to contemporary music. It’s so weird when you get a piece of parody or satire that’s so far-reaching that it nearly destroys an entire art form.”

Astbury may have reason to be so sensitive: More than any other band this side of Deep Purple, the Cult is often cited by critics as the band that out-Taps Spinal Tap.

B ack to Spinal Tap twilight zone.

David St. Hubbins--the fictional singer--says he now lives in Pomona with his ex-manager wife Jeanine, and the former wild man is tamed down, as the sedate country cottage-styled brunch spot in Studio City he’s chosen for his interview would suggest. But he doesn’t necessarily always act his fortysomething age; he did trip over the cobblestone out front, a bit disoriented by the Cap’n Crunch 3-D glasses he was using for makeshift shades.

Moviegoers will remember that Jeanine, who insinuated herself into the band’s managerial slot, came between St. Hubbins and his childhood buddy Tufnel, leading to Spinal Tap’s ’83 breakup. But St. Hubbins pooh-poohs the suggestion that continuing tension in the group is the reason for him to be meeting with a reporter here at Mary’s Lamb rather than with bandmates at Le Dome.

Given that St. Hubbins seems so settled, so close to his wife, the continuing strain of randy misogyny on the new album might seem incongruous.

“What’s misogyny?”

Sexism, it’s explained, of the sort that’s embroiled the band since the infamous “Smell the Glove” imbroglio detailed in “This Is Spinal Tap.”

“You don’t mean ‘Bitch School’?” he said, referring to the new album’s leadoff track.

“I don’t really see it, frankly. We wanted to write a song about dog training, and everyone’s taking it the wrong way, of course. On the other hand, even if it is about women, it’s not negative. If you weren’t feeling positively toward women, you couldn’t very well be writing songs about them, could you?”

Earlier, Tufnel and Smalls had much the same reaction at Le Dome to the question of sexism.

“Where do you think the sex is?” asks Tufnel, beginning to take offense. An example is offered. “Wait. No. Please. This comes under the category of misinterpretation.” The spin control is again under way with full shovel. “ ‘Bitch School’ is about training dogs. We all love dogs. If you listen to the lyrics--such as ‘She’s so fetching when she’s down on all fours--what’s on all fours and fetches? Let me ask you that.”

A submissive woman in leather?

“No!” Now Tufnel is completely exasperated. “That’s your fantasy! Which is all right, because it’s a damn good one, just don’t put it on us. When the Beatles put out ‘Norwegian Wood,’ no one even thought twice about it. But with us, they twist it.”

So people read too much into things, then?

“Well, they shouldn’t read at all if they’re listening to rock ‘n’ roll, should they? With all due respect.”

M ore from Spinal Tap’s parallel universe.

Fans who didn’t follow the uneventful solo careers of the three during Tap’s eight-year layoff may be surprised to learn that Smalls actually joined up for some time with a Christian heavy-metal outfit, Lambsblood, playing sanctified events like the annual Monsters of Jesus festival and writing the “Sin-Bad Suite” during his tenure as a faux believer. This stint caused a problem later.

“The most enduring mark, I guess you’d say, for me was that to show my solidarity I got this fish insignia tattooed on my arm, just to say, ‘Right, I’m with you, lads--Christian rockers all.’ And then when (Spinal Tap) got back together again, it seemed a bit inappropriate. You can’t really erase tattoos. So I went over to a very artistic friend, and now I’ve got the devil’s head eating the fish. It’s the ying (sic) and the yang. The yang happens to be devouring the ying, but it works out.”

Smalls’ adaptability to the Christian metal genre would seem indicative to some critics of an all-too-easy adaptability that has characterized the band’s output over the last quarter-century--from its popish British Invasion roots to experiments with psychedelia, glam-rock and dance remixes, to its current status as a stolid hard-rock crew with something for Everyteen. Spinal Tap, it’s been charged, has in fact always seemed anywhere from two months to about five years behind any given rock trend’s critical mass.

“But that’s chicken and the egg, isn’t it?” asks Tufnel. A look of passing self-doubt crosses his face. “Or isn’t it?”

“It’s the fox and the hound, isn’t it?” suggests Smalls.

“It’s really hare and tortoise, though, in some ways,” Tufnel concludes decisively. “We’ve done our work, and then people have come out with things very much like it, so that’s a question of who you believe, really.

“The last gig we did in this country before we went to Japan and broke up, do you know where it was?” asks Tufnel. “Seattle. We played before 11,000 people at the Seattle Coliseum. And what happened eight years later when those groups grew up and started bands?

“Nirvana, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains. . . . It’s not an accident that you see that. Like that character you have here in America from fiction--maybe it’s true, I don’t know--Johnny Applehead. He’d go around and he’d throw the seeds. And that’s what we did in Seattle that day.”

“And it rains a lot in Seattle,” points out Smalls, “so. . . .”

Lest they not live to enjoy the fruits of their oft-imitated labors, the Tap has admittedly toned down its lifestyle--not just happily hitched St. Hubbins, but even bachelors Smalls and Tufnel.

“In the old days, it was sheer madness,” recalls the wistful guitarist, “up all night, dozens of women in your bed, literally, booze and all sorts of things. And now you get older and you slow down a bit. There’s still women, but you’ve got to protect yourself, don’t you?”

“Got to double-bag,” says Smalls.

“Paper and plastic,” agrees Tufnel, knowingly. “You’ve got to have great moderation in your excess these days.”

“Because we’re survivors,” announces Smalls, as if stumbling upon a slogan. “And we like it that way!”