Mirage [Warner Bros., 1982]
This is the safe follow-up Rumours wasn't, and I find myself alternately charmed by its craft and offended by its banality. After seven years, you'd think they'd weary of romantic tension-and-release. But despite the occasional I'm-scareds and can't-go-backs, you'd never know how much passion they've already put behind them--they write about infatuation and its aftermaths like twenty-year-olds. This is obviously a commercial advantage, and I wouldn't want to be immune to its truth. But pop music offers endless variations on that truth, and since only the most graceful are worth pondering I have to say that there isn't another "Hold Me" here. B+
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David Bowie: Hours. . . [Virgin, 1999] *dud*
Main Course [RSO, 1975]
Their most, in fact only listenable album in five years is marred by the sneaking suspicion that they're not doing it because they need to tell me this stuff but because it's the only way they can sell records in 1975. And I'm not sure I buy it, either. Best song: "All This Makin' Love", a frantic, Baroque simulation of compulsive sex. C
Their most, in fact only listenable album in five years is marred by the sneaking suspicion that they're not doing it because they need to tell me this stuff but because it's the only way they can sell records in 1975. And I'm not sure I buy it, either. Best song: "All This Makin' Love", a frantic, Baroque simulation of compulsive sex. C
The Essential Ride '63-'67 [Columbia/Legacy, 1995]
Organized by a Mennonite conscientious objector and fronted by an omniverous pop showman, this was the one American garage band whose recorded output justified the ensuing mythos. Where here-and-gone hitmakers like the Standells and the Count Five were never as good as their best songs, and wild Northwest rivals like the Sonics and the Wailers never even had best songs, these guys sunk their chops into professional smashes ("Hungry," "Kicks") until they figured out how to write them ("Ups and Downs," "Him or Me--What's It Gonna Be"). And long before that, they figured out how to rock out, beating the Kingsmen to "Louie Louie" and daring the previously unreleasable frat-orgy classic "Crisco Party/Walking the Dog." Eventually, they also figured out how to wimp out. But unlike their vinyl best-of, this CD is programmed to cut out first. A-
Organized by a Mennonite conscientious objector and fronted by an omniverous pop showman, this was the one American garage band whose recorded output justified the ensuing mythos. Where here-and-gone hitmakers like the Standells and the Count Five were never as good as their best songs, and wild Northwest rivals like the Sonics and the Wailers never even had best songs, these guys sunk their chops into professional smashes ("Hungry," "Kicks") until they figured out how to write them ("Ups and Downs," "Him or Me--What's It Gonna Be"). And long before that, they figured out how to rock out, beating the Kingsmen to "Louie Louie" and daring the previously unreleasable frat-orgy classic "Crisco Party/Walking the Dog." Eventually, they also figured out how to wimp out. But unlike their vinyl best-of, this CD is programmed to cut out first. A-
Actually, I have nothing to say about this album. Have a nice day. *no grade*
Lemonade [Columbia, 2016]
So we know this would-be soundtrack functions musically as an art-soul concept album, right? Groove, flow, funk, that stuff? Present, sure, but only as part of ye olde aesthetic whole, and not the fundamental part. Nor, for that matter, are songs the fundamental part, because they're all also dramas, performances, LP-á-clef puzzle pieces. In fact, with the artist injecting a thought-through quantum of pained, proud, gritty, airy, furious, nostalgic, or conciliatory "feeling" into each line, the songwriting per se can seem like a stitched-together afterthought. So it's to Beyoncé's credit that only in the pivotal big ballad, which really is called "Sandcastles," plus maybe the loving midtempo de facto finale "All Night," does all this overstatement become too much for a Billie Holiday fan like me. Less to her credit is that said fan spent a solid week reaching this conclusion. He doesn't deny it was worth it. But Beyoncé itself he got quicker and will always prefer. A-
So we know this would-be soundtrack functions musically as an art-soul concept album, right? Groove, flow, funk, that stuff? Present, sure, but only as part of ye olde aesthetic whole, and not the fundamental part. Nor, for that matter, are songs the fundamental part, because they're all also dramas, performances, LP-á-clef puzzle pieces. In fact, with the artist injecting a thought-through quantum of pained, proud, gritty, airy, furious, nostalgic, or conciliatory "feeling" into each line, the songwriting per se can seem like a stitched-together afterthought. So it's to Beyoncé's credit that only in the pivotal big ballad, which really is called "Sandcastles," plus maybe the loving midtempo de facto finale "All Night," does all this overstatement become too much for a Billie Holiday fan like me. Less to her credit is that said fan spent a solid week reaching this conclusion. He doesn't deny it was worth it. But Beyoncé itself he got quicker and will always prefer. A-
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers [MCA, 1976]
Addicts of updated nostalgia and rock and roll readymades should find this a sly and authentic commentary on the evolving dilemma of Harold Teen. The songs are cute, the riffs executed with more dynamism than usual, and the singing attractively phlegmy. And like they say at the end of other cartoons, that's all, folks. B+
Addicts of updated nostalgia and rock and roll readymades should find this a sly and authentic commentary on the evolving dilemma of Harold Teen. The songs are cute, the riffs executed with more dynamism than usual, and the singing attractively phlegmy. And like they say at the end of other cartoons, that's all, folks. B+
Bonnie Raitt: Sweet Forgiveness [Warner Bros., 1977]
Although Paul Rothchild edited Bonnie's road band as painstakingly as he did the El Lay pros of Home Plate, this came out sounding unfashionably raw, almost live, because instead of punching in the perfect note and the clean tone he went for the most intense moment available from months of takes. I don't like "Runaway," which is flat and plodding and wrong for her, and I wish there were a stunner like "Good Enough" or "Sweet and Shiny Eyes" here. But Bonnie is singing rougher than ever before. Anyone who can induce me to dance to Eric Kaz has got to be doing some kind of job. A-
Although Paul Rothchild edited Bonnie's road band as painstakingly as he did the El Lay pros of Home Plate, this came out sounding unfashionably raw, almost live, because instead of punching in the perfect note and the clean tone he went for the most intense moment available from months of takes. I don't like "Runaway," which is flat and plodding and wrong for her, and I wish there were a stunner like "Good Enough" or "Sweet and Shiny Eyes" here. But Bonnie is singing rougher than ever before. Anyone who can induce me to dance to Eric Kaz has got to be doing some kind of job. A-
It's Your Thing: The Story of the Isley Brothers [Epic/Legacy/T-Neck, 1999]
Not counting them Beefheart digs, this triple is the single-artist box of the year by acclamation, and why not? It does an honorable job on a significant band whose catalog cries out for landscaping. And compared to the completist monoliths on the Isleys from UA and RCA, it distinguishes hills from dales pretty nice. But folks, this is only the Isley Brothers. They gave us "Twist and Shout" and "It's Your Thing" and, um, "That Lady," they hired Jimi Hendrix young and learned a few things, they formed their own label and held on like heroes. They have a great single disc in them. But who's up for canonization next? Frankie Beverly and Maze? A-
Not counting them Beefheart digs, this triple is the single-artist box of the year by acclamation, and why not? It does an honorable job on a significant band whose catalog cries out for landscaping. And compared to the completist monoliths on the Isleys from UA and RCA, it distinguishes hills from dales pretty nice. But folks, this is only the Isley Brothers. They gave us "Twist and Shout" and "It's Your Thing" and, um, "That Lady," they hired Jimi Hendrix young and learned a few things, they formed their own label and held on like heroes. They have a great single disc in them. But who's up for canonization next? Frankie Beverly and Maze? A-
Perfect Machine [Columbia, 1988]
Like Kraftwerk's, definitely a reference and a rip, Bootsy and Laswell's beats bite but not so as to tear anybody limb from limb. Sometimes vocalist Sugarfoot should stick with the Ohio Players. As for Herbie's contributions, I know fusion when I hear it and so does he. Guess he actually likes the stuff. C
Like Kraftwerk's, definitely a reference and a rip, Bootsy and Laswell's beats bite but not so as to tear anybody limb from limb. Sometimes vocalist Sugarfoot should stick with the Ohio Players. As for Herbie's contributions, I know fusion when I hear it and so does he. Guess he actually likes the stuff. C
>Back in the mythic '60s, the Byrds got rich off Bob Dylan and made him richer in the bargain: "Mr Tambourine Man" was their first hit and his second, after Peter, Paul & Mary's "Blowin' in the Wind." The Byrds's world-turning folk-rock chime added trippy texture to "All I Really Want to Do" and "My Back Pages," and on 1968's Sweetheart of the Rodeo they deadpanned a definitive "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere." But no one has any need for Roger McGuinn's dull interpretations of "Just Like a Woman" and "Lay Lady Lay." Not for nothing is this man now plying the folk circuit. You want great Dylan covers, remember this title: Lo and Behold!, by forgotten folk-rockers Coulson, Dean, McGuinness, Flint, from the less mythic '70s.
Couldn't Stand the Weather [Epic, 1984]
The problem with guitar virtuosos is that most of them wouldn't know a good musical concept if they tripped over it, which happens just often enough to keep everyone confused. The exception that proves not a damn thing is Jimi Hendrix, the finest guitarist in any idiom ever. Though he comes close sometimes, this Texan ain't Hendrix. But between earned Jimi cover and lyric refreshment, album two is almost everything a reasonable person might hope from him: a roadhouse album with gargantuan sonic imagination. B+
The problem with guitar virtuosos is that most of them wouldn't know a good musical concept if they tripped over it, which happens just often enough to keep everyone confused. The exception that proves not a damn thing is Jimi Hendrix, the finest guitarist in any idiom ever. Though he comes close sometimes, this Texan ain't Hendrix. But between earned Jimi cover and lyric refreshment, album two is almost everything a reasonable person might hope from him: a roadhouse album with gargantuan sonic imagination. B+
Surrealistic Pillow [RCA Victor, 1967]
I dismissed this as "amplified Peter, Paul & Mary" in the first piece of rock criticism I ever wrote; later, under the influence of "Somebody to Love," a few powerful Jorma Kaukonen riffs, my ex-folkie girlfriend, and the prevalent cultural vibes, I recanted--in print, yet. Now I think I was closer the first time. There's good stuff here, but Spencer Dryden plays the drums as if trying out for the Riders of the Purple Sage, the sarcasm is as vapid as the optimism, and the folk-pretty melodies simply do not carry lyrics like "When I see a girl like that/It brightens up my day." B+
I dismissed this as "amplified Peter, Paul & Mary" in the first piece of rock criticism I ever wrote; later, under the influence of "Somebody to Love," a few powerful Jorma Kaukonen riffs, my ex-folkie girlfriend, and the prevalent cultural vibes, I recanted--in print, yet. Now I think I was closer the first time. There's good stuff here, but Spencer Dryden plays the drums as if trying out for the Riders of the Purple Sage, the sarcasm is as vapid as the optimism, and the folk-pretty melodies simply do not carry lyrics like "When I see a girl like that/It brightens up my day." B+
[Q] Ever since you turned 80 I've had a question in mind for you, and I'm finally asking it before you turn 81! What musicians in whatever genre have continued producing worthwhile work at 80 or so -- David Allen, Claremont, California
[A] I can think of a few. My 84-year-old friend Peter Stampfel contracted a vocal disorder called dysphonia in 2017 at 78, 17 or so years after he'd conceived and begun his oft-delayed 100-song Peter Stampfel's 20th Century in 100 Songs and maybe three-four years after he'd started work on it again. Basically, he couldn't really sing anymore. Yet he could whisper and whistle and sometimes simulate singing and he somehow finished the thing. Chuck Berry's excellent farewell Chuck, released shortly after he died at 90 in 2017, was recorded well after he turned 80. The New Orleans trumpeter Doc Cheatham recorded 1992's The Eighty-Seven Years of Doc Cheatham, when he was pushing that age. He also backed classic blueswoman Alberta Hunter, who enjoyed a circa-1980 three-album revival when she was around 85. Barbara Dane, who in 1973 put out an album called I Hate the Capitalist System, released the much sexier Throw It Away in 2016, when she was 88. Tony Bennett is not only in his nineties but has Alzheimer's yet has his timing and knows the words on his two Lady Gaga collabs. And of course there's the miraculous Willie Nelson, now 90, who by my count has released some dozen-plus albums in the past decade, some of them--December Day and A Beautiful Time are my picks--among his best ever. Paul McCartney will be 81 in June and I doubt he's stopped. Ditto I hope for Randy Newman, who'll be 80 in November. And Paul Simon, now 81, just released an ambitious album I've yet to get my teeth into that certainly has something to say. I probably could come up with more possibilities, but that should do for now.
[A] I can think of a few. My 84-year-old friend Peter Stampfel contracted a vocal disorder called dysphonia in 2017 at 78, 17 or so years after he'd conceived and begun his oft-delayed 100-song Peter Stampfel's 20th Century in 100 Songs and maybe three-four years after he'd started work on it again. Basically, he couldn't really sing anymore. Yet he could whisper and whistle and sometimes simulate singing and he somehow finished the thing. Chuck Berry's excellent farewell Chuck, released shortly after he died at 90 in 2017, was recorded well after he turned 80. The New Orleans trumpeter Doc Cheatham recorded 1992's The Eighty-Seven Years of Doc Cheatham, when he was pushing that age. He also backed classic blueswoman Alberta Hunter, who enjoyed a circa-1980 three-album revival when she was around 85. Barbara Dane, who in 1973 put out an album called I Hate the Capitalist System, released the much sexier Throw It Away in 2016, when she was 88. Tony Bennett is not only in his nineties but has Alzheimer's yet has his timing and knows the words on his two Lady Gaga collabs. And of course there's the miraculous Willie Nelson, now 90, who by my count has released some dozen-plus albums in the past decade, some of them--December Day and A Beautiful Time are my picks--among his best ever. Paul McCartney will be 81 in June and I doubt he's stopped. Ditto I hope for Randy Newman, who'll be 80 in November. And Paul Simon, now 81, just released an ambitious album I've yet to get my teeth into that certainly has something to say. I probably could come up with more possibilities, but that should do for now.
Debut [Elektra, 1993] :(
The Singles: 1969-73 [A&M, 1974]
The combination of Karen's dispassionate dulcet contralo and Richard's meticulous studio technique is about as musical as the clattering of silverware in a cafeteria, but it's also just as impervious to criticism. I will say that I very much enjoy "Rainy Days and Mondays" and very much detest "We've Only Just Begun" but those aren't so much aesthetic judgements as they are points on a graph. C
The combination of Karen's dispassionate dulcet contralo and Richard's meticulous studio technique is about as musical as the clattering of silverware in a cafeteria, but it's also just as impervious to criticism. I will say that I very much enjoy "Rainy Days and Mondays" and very much detest "We've Only Just Begun" but those aren't so much aesthetic judgements as they are points on a graph. C
Shark Sandwich [Polymer Records, 1980] Shit sandwich. *bomb*
Wish [Fiction/Elektra, 1992]
Maybe they're SoundScan scammers like Vince Gill and Skid Row, reaping unwarranted cred from a revamped accounting system. Or maybe they're cool alternatives like Nirvana and Pearl Jam, poised to prove the sales appeal of self-dramatizing pessimism. Maybe they're even riding the actual-hit "Friday I'm in Love," which actually sounds cheerful, though by Sunday it's over, actually. In any case, let it be noted that these new wave survivors, a specialized taste of undiscriminating undergraduates for years, have just now scored their biggest album ever, a redolent 13 years after they didn't actually kill that Arab. I ask you, where were the Moody Blues after 13 years? (Riding their second--and final--No. 1 album, since you didn't know.) C+
Maybe they're SoundScan scammers like Vince Gill and Skid Row, reaping unwarranted cred from a revamped accounting system. Or maybe they're cool alternatives like Nirvana and Pearl Jam, poised to prove the sales appeal of self-dramatizing pessimism. Maybe they're even riding the actual-hit "Friday I'm in Love," which actually sounds cheerful, though by Sunday it's over, actually. In any case, let it be noted that these new wave survivors, a specialized taste of undiscriminating undergraduates for years, have just now scored their biggest album ever, a redolent 13 years after they didn't actually kill that Arab. I ask you, where were the Moody Blues after 13 years? (Riding their second--and final--No. 1 album, since you didn't know.) C+
Surfacing [Arista, 1997]
Fearing serial tsunamis of subcosmic truism and womanist gush, I'd always kept away from the edge of this Canadian, such as it was. But between her Lilith Fair counterpalooza and "Building a Mystery" bonanza, I had to dive in, and got less than I'd bargained for. McLachlan isn't a mystic, a sister, even a NewAger--merely a singer-songwriter of monumental banality. Now ensconced in the mature satisfactions that come eventually to many unhappy young women, most of whom don't possess a clear multioctave voice or modest tune sense, she's proud to encase her homilies of succor and self-acceptance in settings that don't call undue attention to her compositional ambitions. Renormalized pop at its most unnecessary. C-
Fearing serial tsunamis of subcosmic truism and womanist gush, I'd always kept away from the edge of this Canadian, such as it was. But between her Lilith Fair counterpalooza and "Building a Mystery" bonanza, I had to dive in, and got less than I'd bargained for. McLachlan isn't a mystic, a sister, even a NewAger--merely a singer-songwriter of monumental banality. Now ensconced in the mature satisfactions that come eventually to many unhappy young women, most of whom don't possess a clear multioctave voice or modest tune sense, she's proud to encase her homilies of succor and self-acceptance in settings that don't call undue attention to her compositional ambitions. Renormalized pop at its most unnecessary. C-
Homogenic [Elektra, 1997]
she organizes freedom--how Scandinavian of her ("Joga," "Bachelorette") *
she organizes freedom--how Scandinavian of her ("Joga," "Bachelorette") *
Friends [ABC, 1974]
If Dave Crawford really wants to turn B.B. into a major "contemporary" soul singer, he shouldn't make him sing Dave Crawford's songs. Best cut: the instrumental. C
If Dave Crawford really wants to turn B.B. into a major "contemporary" soul singer, he shouldn't make him sing Dave Crawford's songs. Best cut: the instrumental. C
Wisconsin Death Trip [Warner Bros., 1999]
horrorshow in stereo--they mean it, man ("Wisconsin Death Trip", "I'm With Stupid") *
horrorshow in stereo--they mean it, man ("Wisconsin Death Trip", "I'm With Stupid") *
Electric Youth [Atlantic, 1989]
Casting about for a clue to this cipher, I found a gem in the bio: "My mom and dad took me to literally thousands of auditions, lessons, and performances." Making her a showbiz kid manque who immersed her perfect pitch and competitive Chopin in disco and Billy Joel, with every pop dream supported by doting parents who didn't want to raise a rebel and got their wish--so far. Unable to fall back on even an alienated childhood for inspiration, her music is synthesis without thesis or antithesis. A mimic and nothing more, she emits banalities about relationships and life choices that are no doubt deeper than anything she's actually experienced--so far. C+
Casting about for a clue to this cipher, I found a gem in the bio: "My mom and dad took me to literally thousands of auditions, lessons, and performances." Making her a showbiz kid manque who immersed her perfect pitch and competitive Chopin in disco and Billy Joel, with every pop dream supported by doting parents who didn't want to raise a rebel and got their wish--so far. Unable to fall back on even an alienated childhood for inspiration, her music is synthesis without thesis or antithesis. A mimic and nothing more, she emits banalities about relationships and life choices that are no doubt deeper than anything she's actually experienced--so far. C+
Waylon Jennings
Distinctions Not Cost-Effective [1980s]: Once you either loved or hated him. No more.
Distinctions Not Cost-Effective [1980s]: Once you either loved or hated him. No more.
Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows: The Best of Lesley Gore [Rhino Legacy, 1998]
depressingly boy-identified for a proto-feminist icon ("She's a Fool", "Judy's Turn To Cry") *
depressingly boy-identified for a proto-feminist icon ("She's a Fool", "Judy's Turn To Cry") *
Imagination [Giant, 1998]
Brian Wilson's genius has never been as indelible as worshippers believe. Cambered by Van Dyke Parks or stripped by Don Was, he was magical, generating visions of eternal sunshine or crackpot solipsism or both. Yoked to adult contemporary tyro Joe Thomas, however, he's just one more pro who's glad he's no longer crazy and knows even less about the world than when he was. C
Brian Wilson's genius has never been as indelible as worshippers believe. Cambered by Van Dyke Parks or stripped by Don Was, he was magical, generating visions of eternal sunshine or crackpot solipsism or both. Yoked to adult contemporary tyro Joe Thomas, however, he's just one more pro who's glad he's no longer crazy and knows even less about the world than when he was. C
I Can't Slow Down [Asylum, 1982]
Makes sense that Don Henley's candid self-involvement should provide more intrinsic interest than Glenn Frey's covert self-pity but nobody capable of making the distinction would have thought it could get this interesting. If there was anything to actually like about the guy his complaints and revelations might even prove moving. As it is, we'll just call them "strong", like the smell of primo tequila or an old jockstrap. B-
Makes sense that Don Henley's candid self-involvement should provide more intrinsic interest than Glenn Frey's covert self-pity but nobody capable of making the distinction would have thought it could get this interesting. If there was anything to actually like about the guy his complaints and revelations might even prove moving. As it is, we'll just call them "strong", like the smell of primo tequila or an old jockstrap. B-
Terry Reid
Distinctions Not Cost-Effective [1970s]: Persistence beyond the call of talent.
Distinctions Not Cost-Effective [1970s]: Persistence beyond the call of talent.
Pump Up the Jam: The Album [SBK, 1989]
Fitting that true house's first true smash should prove a fountainhead of formal innovation, albumizing the genre's natural configuration, the 12-inch, with followups that suggest remixes--alternate versions of Ya Kid K's unjustly maligned punk-house songtalk and the technogroove underpinning the smash. There's also a male rapper who rhymes "posse" and "bossy" (ho!). If you love the single as much as you should, the album will keep you going. And if you're in thrall to moribund aesthetics, there are other songs on it. A-
Fitting that true house's first true smash should prove a fountainhead of formal innovation, albumizing the genre's natural configuration, the 12-inch, with followups that suggest remixes--alternate versions of Ya Kid K's unjustly maligned punk-house songtalk and the technogroove underpinning the smash. There's also a male rapper who rhymes "posse" and "bossy" (ho!). If you love the single as much as you should, the album will keep you going. And if you're in thrall to moribund aesthetics, there are other songs on it. A-
Jeannie Seely's Greatest Hits [Monument, 1972]
In 1966, Seely's "Don't Touch Me" took country women's sexuality from the honky-tonk into the bedroom even though it didn't end up there, and the on-again off-again ache in her voice retained its savor afterwards. But never again did she find a song at once so moral and so febrile. B
In 1966, Seely's "Don't Touch Me" took country women's sexuality from the honky-tonk into the bedroom even though it didn't end up there, and the on-again off-again ache in her voice retained its savor afterwards. But never again did she find a song at once so moral and so febrile. B
5 [Virgin, 1998]
His convoluted racial formalism have long since come clean as a total absence of original ideas, he grabs the brass ring from behind a tacked-on Guess Who cover best heard on the far more imaginative Austin Powers soundtrack. Lenny, your work on Earth is done. We have Derek Jeter now. C-
His convoluted racial formalism have long since come clean as a total absence of original ideas, he grabs the brass ring from behind a tacked-on Guess Who cover best heard on the far more imaginative Austin Powers soundtrack. Lenny, your work on Earth is done. We have Derek Jeter now. C-
>be Cuckgau
>spend most of 70s-80s ranting about prog and metal
>act like a Midwestern housewife who heard Highway to Hell once and thought she uncovered a Satanic conspiracy
>was however somewhat ok with Led Zeppelin, ZZ Top, and that one Danzig album because they talked about being influenced by old bluesmen
Apparently all you had to do to get good press from him was cite at least one black person as a creative influence. Maybe Sabbath should have mentioned Lightnin' Hopkins in their liner notes somewhere and they've get a B plus lol.
>spend most of 70s-80s ranting about prog and metal
>act like a Midwestern housewife who heard Highway to Hell once and thought she uncovered a Satanic conspiracy
>was however somewhat ok with Led Zeppelin, ZZ Top, and that one Danzig album because they talked about being influenced by old bluesmen
Apparently all you had to do to get good press from him was cite at least one black person as a creative influence. Maybe Sabbath should have mentioned Lightnin' Hopkins in their liner notes somewhere and they've get a B plus lol.
Party [Arista, 1981]
Although the music's "tight," and sometimes kinda hip rhythmically too, I guarantee it took him longer to get the Uptown Horns on the telephone than to write these lyrics. Iggy: "Ivan, what rhymes with `touches my feet'?" Ivan: "How about something with `creep'--about how you're not a creep, you know?" "But Ivan, I am a creep." "No one will ever know." C+
Although the music's "tight," and sometimes kinda hip rhythmically too, I guarantee it took him longer to get the Uptown Horns on the telephone than to write these lyrics. Iggy: "Ivan, what rhymes with `touches my feet'?" Ivan: "How about something with `creep'--about how you're not a creep, you know?" "But Ivan, I am a creep." "No one will ever know." C+
>"There was never a performer who crossed so many lines as Harry," says Dylan of this Harlem lefty turned matinee idol. "He appealed to everybody, whether they were steelworkers or symphony patrons or bobby-soxers." Though this artist-selected double CD bypasses the hit 1957 studio versions of both "Day-O" and "Mama Look at Bubu" for show-band arrangements, it's pretty impressive once you learn to listen through his compromises with conspicuous respectability. He deploys Caribbean percussion as subtly as folk melody, jokes around about sex roles without getting sexist about it, ends a ban-the-bomb verse "Back to back and belly to belly," and keeps the musical-comedy exoticism to a tolerable modicum. Though "Jamaica Farewell" isn't quite "Chances Are," he was one of the decade's prettier balladeers. Born poor, he made himself a folk hero.
Safari [4AD/Elektra, 1992]
Now posing as a major-label debut, Kim Deal and Tanya Donelly's 1990 Rough Trade one-off Pod still sounds like the art project it was, but although Donnelly is otherwise occupied, this 1992 EP sounds like a band. Postamateur Raincoats, say. They substitute the Who's "So Sad About Us" for the Kinks' "Lola" because they're less arch and less soft. But they're lovers not fighters nonetheless. A-
Now posing as a major-label debut, Kim Deal and Tanya Donelly's 1990 Rough Trade one-off Pod still sounds like the art project it was, but although Donnelly is otherwise occupied, this 1992 EP sounds like a band. Postamateur Raincoats, say. They substitute the Who's "So Sad About Us" for the Kinks' "Lola" because they're less arch and less soft. But they're lovers not fighters nonetheless. A-
Ladies Love Outlaws [RCA, 1972]
Waylon lets you know he has balls by singing like he's twisting them. C
Waylon lets you know he has balls by singing like he's twisting them. C
Southern Accents [MCA, 1985]
Tom Petty's problem isn't that he's dumb or even that people think he's dumb, although they certainly have reason to, it's the way he can't stop feeling sorry for himself. Defending the South made sense when Ronnie Van Zandt penned "Sweet Home Alabama" but in the Sun Belt era it's just pique. The neoconservative aura of side one is mitigated somewhat by producer Mike Campbell's modernizations. Side two is less consequential and therefore more significant. Do note however that its real show-stopper is "Spike," in which a couple of redneck--I mean good ol' boys prepare to whup a punk. It's satire. Yeah, sure. B-
Tom Petty's problem isn't that he's dumb or even that people think he's dumb, although they certainly have reason to, it's the way he can't stop feeling sorry for himself. Defending the South made sense when Ronnie Van Zandt penned "Sweet Home Alabama" but in the Sun Belt era it's just pique. The neoconservative aura of side one is mitigated somewhat by producer Mike Campbell's modernizations. Side two is less consequential and therefore more significant. Do note however that its real show-stopper is "Spike," in which a couple of redneck--I mean good ol' boys prepare to whup a punk. It's satire. Yeah, sure. B-
Living In The Material World [Apple, 1973]
If you call this living. George sings as if he's doing sitar impressions and four other people in the room, including a little man in my head I'd never noticed before, expressed intense gratitude when I turned the damned thing off during "Be Here Now." Inspirational verse: "The leaders of nations/Are acting like big girls." C
If you call this living. George sings as if he's doing sitar impressions and four other people in the room, including a little man in my head I'd never noticed before, expressed intense gratitude when I turned the damned thing off during "Be Here Now." Inspirational verse: "The leaders of nations/Are acting like big girls." C
Queens of Noise [Mercury, 1977]
I'll tell you what kind of street rock-and-roll these bimbos make--when the title cut came on I thought I was hearing Evita twice in a row, only I couldn't seem to figure out why the singer couldn't stay in key. C-
I'll tell you what kind of street rock-and-roll these bimbos make--when the title cut came on I thought I was hearing Evita twice in a row, only I couldn't seem to figure out why the singer couldn't stay in key. C-
History: America's Greatest Hits [Warner Bros., 1975]
Randy Newman once called "A Horse With No Name" "a song about this kid who thinks he's taken acid" and at least back then they were domesticating CSNY instead of CSN. If C, S, N, etc are the Limelighters of rock, and they are, then America are the '70s version of the Grass Roots or the Association and if only they could come up with a song half as lively as "Let's Live For Today" or "Windy." C+
Randy Newman once called "A Horse With No Name" "a song about this kid who thinks he's taken acid" and at least back then they were domesticating CSNY instead of CSN. If C, S, N, etc are the Limelighters of rock, and they are, then America are the '70s version of the Grass Roots or the Association and if only they could come up with a song half as lively as "Let's Live For Today" or "Windy." C+
The Best of New Order [Qwest/Warner Bros., 1995]
Marvel all you want over Ian Curtis's desperation--I dig the band on the matched Joy Division comp Permanent and prefer detached techie Bernard Albrecht here. Where 1987's Substance showcased the music's remixed, interwoven glory, this pushes Albrecht's mild-mannered vocals as far front as they'll go. Turns out he has normal feelings about love and rejection and such, dislikes war and guns without getting preachy--just super-unassumingly super-catchy, as befits Britannia's ranking pop group. I mean, could Blur or Oasis write a World Cup anthem so rousing, danceable, and informative? A
Marvel all you want over Ian Curtis's desperation--I dig the band on the matched Joy Division comp Permanent and prefer detached techie Bernard Albrecht here. Where 1987's Substance showcased the music's remixed, interwoven glory, this pushes Albrecht's mild-mannered vocals as far front as they'll go. Turns out he has normal feelings about love and rejection and such, dislikes war and guns without getting preachy--just super-unassumingly super-catchy, as befits Britannia's ranking pop group. I mean, could Blur or Oasis write a World Cup anthem so rousing, danceable, and informative? A
>Harlem-preacher's son turned pianist-organist and bar singer, Fats Waller defied the racial odds to become a pop star in the '30s. When he died at 39 in 1943, he'd scored more hits than fellow crossover virtuoso Louis Armstrong. But he's been poorly served by CD reissues until this three-disc collection. Legendary producer Orrin Keepnews avoids chronological mishmash by dividing Waller's immense output into originals, instrumentals and covers. A prolific tunesmith who wrote "Honeysuckle Rose" and "Ain't Misbehavin'" with the great black lyricist Andy Razaf, Waller got big by yakking up such supposed trivia as "Your Feet's Too Big" and "It's a Sin to Tell a Lie." And though his stride and swing were always muscular, he could tickle the ivories like the classical artist he yearned to be.
>Blender, Nov. 2006
>Blender, Nov. 2006
Monster [Warner Bros., 1994]
Sick of dummies claiming they can't rock, the old Zepheads deliver the first power-riff album of their highly lyrical career. Peter Buck's sonic palette is rainbow grunge--variegated dirt and distortion as casual rhetoric--and he's so cranked even the slow ones seem born to be loud. As for Mr. Stipe, he's in the band, where he belongs. Message: guitars. Which after years of politics and sensitivity is well-timed. A-
Sick of dummies claiming they can't rock, the old Zepheads deliver the first power-riff album of their highly lyrical career. Peter Buck's sonic palette is rainbow grunge--variegated dirt and distortion as casual rhetoric--and he's so cranked even the slow ones seem born to be loud. As for Mr. Stipe, he's in the band, where he belongs. Message: guitars. Which after years of politics and sensitivity is well-timed. A-
Metropolis: The Chase Suite [Bad Boy, 2008] *bomb*
Arrival [Atlantic, 1977]
Since this is already the best-selling group in the universe, I finally have an answer when people ask me to name the Next Big Thing. What I wonder is how we can head them off at the airport. Plan A: Offer Bjorn and Benny the leads in Beatlemania (how could they resist the honor?) and replace them with John Phillips and Denny Doherty. Plan B: Appoint Bjorn head of the U.N. and Benny his pilot (or vice versa) and replace them with John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Plan C: Overexpose them in singing commercials. Plan D: Institute democratic socialism in their native land, so that their money lust will meet with the scorn of their fellow citizens. C
Since this is already the best-selling group in the universe, I finally have an answer when people ask me to name the Next Big Thing. What I wonder is how we can head them off at the airport. Plan A: Offer Bjorn and Benny the leads in Beatlemania (how could they resist the honor?) and replace them with John Phillips and Denny Doherty. Plan B: Appoint Bjorn head of the U.N. and Benny his pilot (or vice versa) and replace them with John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Plan C: Overexpose them in singing commercials. Plan D: Institute democratic socialism in their native land, so that their money lust will meet with the scorn of their fellow citizens. C
The Buddy Holly Collection [MCA, 1993]
Finally a compilation format suitable to a minor genius whose achievement seems permanently shrouded in myth: neither 20 astonishing hits nor every hiccup and fingerpick he ever committed to tape, just 50 songs running barely an hour and three-quarters. Even these tracks vary considerably in quality, held together like so much classic pop by the aural glue of an identifiable sound and style--the signature of a miniaturist who till the day he died was comfortable with a radio that preferred two-minute ditties to three-minute extravaganzas, and who found untold emotional and rhythmic nuance within the constriction. He was no nerd, but nerds loved him for a reason: he played by the rules without letting them stop him. A
Finally a compilation format suitable to a minor genius whose achievement seems permanently shrouded in myth: neither 20 astonishing hits nor every hiccup and fingerpick he ever committed to tape, just 50 songs running barely an hour and three-quarters. Even these tracks vary considerably in quality, held together like so much classic pop by the aural glue of an identifiable sound and style--the signature of a miniaturist who till the day he died was comfortable with a radio that preferred two-minute ditties to three-minute extravaganzas, and who found untold emotional and rhythmic nuance within the constriction. He was no nerd, but nerds loved him for a reason: he played by the rules without letting them stop him. A
Anne Murray: Love Song [Capitol, 1974]
I wonder whether Murray, always my second-favorite clean-cut female singer, is going to do a Helen Reddy and begin to remind me of Patti Page despite myself. Well, not yet. I still enjoy her fresh-air sincerity and the sexy catch in her voice. But I wish she had better taste in material--the only standouts here are two (great) rock and rollers from a decade or more ago. B
I wonder whether Murray, always my second-favorite clean-cut female singer, is going to do a Helen Reddy and begin to remind me of Patti Page despite myself. Well, not yet. I still enjoy her fresh-air sincerity and the sexy catch in her voice. But I wish she had better taste in material--the only standouts here are two (great) rock and rollers from a decade or more ago. B
The Spirit Room [Maverick, 2001]
Only in a biz discombobulated by teenpop could an 18-year-old with an acoustic guitar be plausibly promoted as "the anti-Britney." Don't you remember? Writing Your Own Songs means zip, zilch, nada. By now, literally millions of human beings WTOS, and while Branch may be among the top 5000 (and may not), note that her hit, like most of the front-loaded material, was co-composed by her producer. In this she precisely resembles arrant bimbo Willa Ford, who made her mark batting her plump lips at Nick Carter and Carson Daly and may yet prove the more interesting artist. Britney sure is. C
Only in a biz discombobulated by teenpop could an 18-year-old with an acoustic guitar be plausibly promoted as "the anti-Britney." Don't you remember? Writing Your Own Songs means zip, zilch, nada. By now, literally millions of human beings WTOS, and while Branch may be among the top 5000 (and may not), note that her hit, like most of the front-loaded material, was co-composed by her producer. In this she precisely resembles arrant bimbo Willa Ford, who made her mark batting her plump lips at Nick Carter and Carson Daly and may yet prove the more interesting artist. Britney sure is. C
On this beefed-up sprint to the major-label gold, their shallow attitude makes up for their skinny voices and vice versa. Getting laid can be a healthy character adjustment in singers who don't have the muscle to force themselves on anybody tougher than an a&r man who admires their songwriting. It's all been said before, but few penis carriers put it so consistently or succinctly. "Met a shy guy from Knoxville, Tennessee/High school yum yum give me some Hennessey." Or if that isn't legal enough for you, how about "Don't wanna be your friend/Don't try to take me home/This won't happen again/Just take me to the backseat"? A-
Normal as Blueberry Pie: A Tribute to Doris Day [Verve, 2009]
Though I wish I believed McKay would have discovered Day if the 87-year-old box office queen hadn't devoted half her adult life to animal rights, the spritz, groove, sweetness and delight of this project not only raise Day from the shallow grave of the camp canon but give McKay a chance to grow up without going all sententious or stodgy. If by some mischance she's contracted the writer's block that can afflict kids who've spent years unable to staunch the river of new songs within--the only original is one of the few forgettables--then McKay has a future as an interpreter. At first the jazzy lightness of her arrangements seems like a distortion. But when you compare Day's "Crazy Rhythm" or "Do Do Do"--even the radio transcription of "Sentimental Journey" or a "Wonderful Guy" so much less brassy than Mary Martin's--you remember that like every Cincinnati girl of her era Day grew up with swing and probably resented the orchestral overkill she was saddled with. McKay's covers are jazzier and kookier than anything Day would have dared, or wanted. But to borrow language she's used for Day, they're "uncluttered, sensual and free, driven by an irrepressible will to live." A
Though I wish I believed McKay would have discovered Day if the 87-year-old box office queen hadn't devoted half her adult life to animal rights, the spritz, groove, sweetness and delight of this project not only raise Day from the shallow grave of the camp canon but give McKay a chance to grow up without going all sententious or stodgy. If by some mischance she's contracted the writer's block that can afflict kids who've spent years unable to staunch the river of new songs within--the only original is one of the few forgettables--then McKay has a future as an interpreter. At first the jazzy lightness of her arrangements seems like a distortion. But when you compare Day's "Crazy Rhythm" or "Do Do Do"--even the radio transcription of "Sentimental Journey" or a "Wonderful Guy" so much less brassy than Mary Martin's--you remember that like every Cincinnati girl of her era Day grew up with swing and probably resented the orchestral overkill she was saddled with. McKay's covers are jazzier and kookier than anything Day would have dared, or wanted. But to borrow language she's used for Day, they're "uncluttered, sensual and free, driven by an irrepressible will to live." A
[Q] Obviously, you're a fan of great unique female voices. Dionne Warwick, Billie Holiday, and Ella Fitzgerald each have numerous albums on your website reviewed with high recommendations. So I'm curious why you've never reviewed any Peggy Lee or Dinah Washington albums. Surely there must be an album by each of them that you'd unequivocally recommend. Both crossed over from pop to jazz effortlessly and always sounded original and fabulous. My own favorites would be Peggy Lee's Black Coffee and Beauty and the Beat, and Dinah's Dinah Washington Sings the Fats Waller Songbook. You would love them all. -- Ted Ravern, Astoria, New York
[A] First of all, I don't put Warwick in Holiday's or Fitzgerald's class—take a look at my reviews and note that the Warwick picks are basically redundant greatest-hits albums I assume without doing the research were reviewed at different times. Second, I'd almost certainly add Dolly Parton to this short list, exactly how I won't figure out for free. Third, I was just mentioning Dinah Washington as a Subject for Further Research in a recent Xgau Sez and take this note as seconding that emotion. Fourth, checked my CD shelves and found a 2004 reissue of Black Coffee, the only Peggy Lee there though I bet a few are I've tucked away in my vinyl. Promise to play it at breakfast or dinner soon.
[A] First of all, I don't put Warwick in Holiday's or Fitzgerald's class—take a look at my reviews and note that the Warwick picks are basically redundant greatest-hits albums I assume without doing the research were reviewed at different times. Second, I'd almost certainly add Dolly Parton to this short list, exactly how I won't figure out for free. Third, I was just mentioning Dinah Washington as a Subject for Further Research in a recent Xgau Sez and take this note as seconding that emotion. Fourth, checked my CD shelves and found a 2004 reissue of Black Coffee, the only Peggy Lee there though I bet a few are I've tucked away in my vinyl. Promise to play it at breakfast or dinner soon.
This Is . . . Del Shannon [Music Club, 1997]
The first artist ever to chart Stateside with a Lennon-McCartney song, Shannon is suspended forever in that boy-becomes-man moment when teen-romance tropes unload their frightening burden of existential anxiety. He achieves release with his sole trick, in which minor-key verse gives way to major-key refrain topped by a brief escape into a falsetto that never hints at the feminine. This pop-rock apotheosis he achieved precisely 11 times, which here takes us from "Runaway" to "Stranger in Town." All are also on Rhino's slightly pricier 20-song comp. But where the Rhino filler is all carbon-copy follow-ups and failed experiments, the five bonuses here vary the formula without abandoning it, most memorably on--note title--"I Wish I Wasn't Me Tonight." Despite Nashville forays and a mysteriously forgotten 1968 concept album called The Further Adventures of Charles Westover, he never matured. When he shot himself in 1990 at 55, he was still claiming five years less, just as he had 30 years before. He left no note. Did he have to? A-
The first artist ever to chart Stateside with a Lennon-McCartney song, Shannon is suspended forever in that boy-becomes-man moment when teen-romance tropes unload their frightening burden of existential anxiety. He achieves release with his sole trick, in which minor-key verse gives way to major-key refrain topped by a brief escape into a falsetto that never hints at the feminine. This pop-rock apotheosis he achieved precisely 11 times, which here takes us from "Runaway" to "Stranger in Town." All are also on Rhino's slightly pricier 20-song comp. But where the Rhino filler is all carbon-copy follow-ups and failed experiments, the five bonuses here vary the formula without abandoning it, most memorably on--note title--"I Wish I Wasn't Me Tonight." Despite Nashville forays and a mysteriously forgotten 1968 concept album called The Further Adventures of Charles Westover, he never matured. When he shot himself in 1990 at 55, he was still claiming five years less, just as he had 30 years before. He left no note. Did he have to? A-
Funkentelechy Vs. the Placebo Syndrome [Casablanca, 1977]
This seems like your representative 'delicment LP at first, featuring one irresistible and quite eccentric dance cut, other dance cuts that are at moments even more eccentric (including one based on nursery rhymes), bits of inspired jive, bits of plain jive, and an anomalous slow one. But with familiarity the three rhythm hooks that anchor the album start sounding definitive. And never before has George Clinton dealt so coherently with his familiar message, in which the forces of life--autonomous intelligence, a childlike openness, sexual energy, and humor--defeat those of death: by seduction if possible, by force if necessary. A
This seems like your representative 'delicment LP at first, featuring one irresistible and quite eccentric dance cut, other dance cuts that are at moments even more eccentric (including one based on nursery rhymes), bits of inspired jive, bits of plain jive, and an anomalous slow one. But with familiarity the three rhythm hooks that anchor the album start sounding definitive. And never before has George Clinton dealt so coherently with his familiar message, in which the forces of life--autonomous intelligence, a childlike openness, sexual energy, and humor--defeat those of death: by seduction if possible, by force if necessary. A