Tribal Buzz, Dulcet Doo-Wop

The remixer’s job sometimes goes beyond the usual final blending of an artist’s record. Sometimes he or she is called in to breathe new life into a dying single by giving it a techno or house spin and then sending it out to the dance clubs. The results, as some selections below illustrate, are mixed. A few tunes are enhanced by finding their dancing feet, but the most successful dance compositions are those that begin with a steady-slamming foundation and then build with imagination from there. Case in point: the tribal buzz dance from aboriginal rockers Yothu Yindi.

JAM OF THE MONTH Yothu Yindi, “Treaty” (Hollywood). This mostly aboriginal Australian band’s frenetic mix of the traditional (electric guitars) and the exotic (tribal chanting and the didgeridoo , a long, flutelike instrument) takes off like a dingo across the outback and keeps on going.

DANCE FLOOR HEAT Lidell Townsell, “Nu Nu” (Mercury). All six mixes build from a wicked bass line that bubbles up hot and sticky. Percussive male vocals temper hypnotic tribal rapping with dulcet doo-wop--the perfect match for the primitive resonance of that drumlike bass. Cool without being detached, and free of faddishness (see accompanying interview).

Kris Kross, “Jump” (Ruffhouse/Columbia). Besides being cuter than they’d probably like to be, these two 12- and 13-year-old tough guys from Atlanta fling style better than most big boy rappers, especially on flashy stretches of Jamaican speed-toasting. A superb fe fi fo fum bass line, a brawny male chorus and a shrill Middle Eastern drone borrowed from the Ohio Players’ “Funky Worm” make for a rhythm track tasty and spare enough to showcase the youths’ considerable verbal agility.

Middle Finger, “Raving Madd” (Crap). A luridly cinematic clubland nightmare produced (not surprisingly) by an imaginative Hollywood independent label and designed to give your psychic hobgoblins a workout along with your body. Creates the delirious but not unpleasant sensation of being trapped for the night in a computer game and hunted down by an army of Pac-Men while a soundtrack of percussive melodies, spooky metallic rattles and scary synthesizer chords crashes around you.

Curve, “Fait Accompli” (Anxious/Charisma). Who says guitar thrashing and disco fever can’t make dance music together? A rock ‘n’ roll grunge blizzard blows hard through dark, siren vocals reminiscent of Chrissie Hynde. Savage breaks rip through the metronomic disco beat, keeping matters on a properly anarchic keel.

Bas Noir, “Superficial” (Atlantic). A welcome touch of funk in the wah-wah guitar, a lush chorus of ladies who can sing disco on key and the refreshing switch to a hip-hop beat instead of the dreaded 2/4 lend dance potential to this new offering from an already-proven group.

DANCE IF YOU MUST Shawn Christopher, “Don’t Lose the Magic” (Arista). Despite its No. 1 position on the dance chart, there’s no real magic here but for Christopher’s voluptuous vocals, which sail with confident ease through a predictable track weighed down somewhat with ponderous beats and mounds of string and organ confection. One lovely mixing board touch, though: Christopher’s warbled high notes echoing and reverberating over the breaks.

Seal, “Killer” (Sire/Warner Bros.). Why take an artist whose greatest gift is emotional intensity and integrity and put him in a tinny, mechanical disco format? Because the oil-and-water mix has shot to No. 11 on the club-play charts. Seems almost sacrilegious, though.

Kathy Sledge, “Take Me Back to Love Again” (Epic). As redundant as its title, this track defies expectations, as a usually fine singer struggles to create excitement from a tuneless melody and electronic noise. The liberal sprinkling of breaks, a man yelling “take me back” and other fillers don’t help. Terrific keyboard action in one mix almost does.

STAY IN YOUR SEATS Right Said Fred, “Don’t Talk Just Kiss” (Charisma). Lightning does not strike twice for the buffed brothers from Britain, who wisely pumped all they could from their tongue-in-cheek smash hit “I’m Too Sexy.” Appealingly quirky in the latter, Mr. Sexy’s vocals are horrific in this latest effort, putting one in mind of an aging dramatic actor speak-singing his way through a summer stock musical. Assistance from a cloying soprano chantootsie and boring instrumentals only compound the error.