New York City’s Ana Vana describe themselves as a rock / reggae band,
and they’ve scored high in several songwriting competitions with their
material; provided that they can turn that into sales figures, the band could
put Zip Records in a very nice place, financially.
Anyone looking for something Marley-esque because of the word
“reggae” as a descriptor, however, will be sorely disappointed. The best point of musical reference is No Doubt, though
vocalist Annastasia Victory sounds less like Gwen Stefani at times than she does
Tracey Thorn of Everything But The Girl. Songs
like “Bow Your Head” and “Just Wanted To Love You” sound instantly
singleworthy, but the real keeper of the album is “One Good Reason,” a
catchy number that doesn’t rely strictly on a reggae beat for its hook and
stands out as a result. Too much of
the album comes and goes without leaving much of an impression, unfortunately.
But, hey, No Doubt took awhile to hit their stride; perhaps Ana Vana
should be given the benefit of the doubt that they’re working their way up to
a really strong record. (originally written for Amplifier
Magazine)
Resolution
Zoe / Rounder
The BoDeans came rocking out of Waukesha, Wisconsin...which, most would agree, is a somewhat unlikely place for any group to come rocking out of...in the early ‘80s and, via Slash Records, released one of the great debut albums of that era: Love & Hope & Sex & Dreams. Produced by T-Bone Burnett, the record was defined as “roots rock” in its day, but, nowadays, no one would have problem filing it under “Americana.” Powered by the songwriting pairing of Sammy Llanas and Kurt Neumann, the BoDeans weren’t entirely unlikely anyone else playing music at the time (artists like the Rainmakers and the Silos could easily be seen as their peers), but they had the chops and the hooks to make an impression on the college charts, and their energetic live shows were the stuff of legend among those in attendance. When they released their Jerry Harrison-produced follow-up, Outside Looking In, not only did Rolling Stone gush that they were the “Best New Band,” U2 selected them to open on their Joshua Tree tour.
That’s when things started getting a little odd for the BoDeans.
Their 1989 release Home was, stylistically speaking, all over the freakin’ map, with guitar work indicating that Llanas and Neumann had knelt at the altar of the Edge while touring with U2; the intent might have been to expand their musical palate, but the end result confused fans. And ‘91’s Black and White, produced by David Z (one of Prince’s boys), found them farther away from their original sound than ever. Thank heavens, then, that 1993’s Go Slow Down turned out to be the band’s best work since their debut, a return to a more acoustic sound. It also resulted in their biggest hit to date, albeit one that occurred two years after the album’s release: “Closer To Free,” a.k.a. the theme to the Fox Network’s melodrama, “Party of Five.”
Since then, there’s been a live album in 1995 (Joe Dirt Car) and another solid studio album in 1996 (Blend), but, for the most part, the BoDeans have been keeping mighty quiet since the mid-‘90s. Llanas produced an extremely cathartic album under the guise of Absinthe, with lyrics tackling the suicide of his brother, Neumann put out a solo album in 2000 (Shy Dog), but that’s about it, aside from the occasional BoDeans tour, probably to keep the coffers filled. Oh, yeah, and a best-of collection, courtesy of the fine folks at Rhino.
At last, the band has deigned to return to the studio and produce a new studio album, Resolution...but, unfortunately, it’s one that begs the question, “Did I misread the album cover and buy the new Bon Jovi album instead?” A scary thought, perhaps, but the vocal interplay between Llanas and Neumann these days sounds for all the world like Jon Bon Jovi. If you don’t believe me, I submit track 8, “Said ‘HELLO’,” as Exhibit A.
It doesn’t help matters any that several of the songs have been produced within an inch of their lives. Many of the songs, like opener “If It Makes You” and follow-up “Marianne,” are extremely keyboard-heavy during their choruses. The dance-floor beats at the beginning of “Two Souls” may well give fans heart attacks if they don’t stay tuned for a few seconds to hear the song quickly turn into a mellow, accordion-led number. It isn’t until the final three songs (“All Better Days,” “Slipping Into You,” and “Once In Awhile”) that the band truly manages to sound like the BoDeans of yore, production-wise.
That having been said, Resolution is far from a bad album. The songs are all consistently strong and undeniably catchy, proving that the guys haven’t just been bumming around and scoring paychecks by playing the old songs over and over; they actually spent some time songwriting. But somewhere over the course of the past eight years, the BoDeans apparently transitioned from “roots rock” into plain old “pop/rock.” It seems odd that, in a musical climate where Ryan Adams and the Old ‘97s are shifting decent units, the BoDeans would choose to take a step away from the music that they’ve proven they can do so well opt to release a record with such a mainstream sound.
In the meantime, just enjoy Resolution for what it is...a collection of solid BoDeans songs buried under overproduction...and keep your fingers crossed that the album’s last three tracks are a harbinger of what the next disc will sound like. (originally written for PopMatters.com)
Koch Records
The All Music Guide really nailed it when they said, “Once listeners
accept that Chumbawamba got lucky and will never, ever have another
‘Tubthumping’ in them, the better off they'll all be.”
True, that. Since Tubthumper,
the band have released a pair of albums (What
You See Is What You Get and Readymades),
both of which were full of catchy tunes and, occasionally, stinging lyrics.
It should come as no surprise, then, that Un
is more of the same. It’s been an
unfortunate hallmark of Chumbawamba’s albums that they tend to be artifacts of
their time, so, while selecting a song called “On Ebay” as the first single
might work in the short term, it’s likely to end up tossed in the novelty bin
sooner than later. Better they
should have gone with “The Wizard of Menlo Park,” instead; the resemblance
to their biggest (okay, only) hit couldn’t have hurt it any.
Come to think of it, that’s probably why it leads off the album.
(originally written for Amplifier Magazine)
Superfecta
http://www.concreteblondeofficialwebsite.com/
Mainstream audiences may only remember Concrete Blonde for their lone chart hit, “Joey” (which, it has been theorized, may have only been successful because it sounded so much like Heart), but they existed for two albums prior to their commercial triumph with Bloodletting and had been stars on the L.A. scene for a fair while before that.
Me, I’ll always remember them because they were part of the first promo package I ever received in the mail.
In 1987, the year of the album’s release, I was a senior in high school. I had attended a journalism conference in New York City and, while there, I sat in on a seminar about writing reviews for your school’s paper. The moderator went on and on about how all you had to do was write letters to labels with the latest issue of your rag, and the labels would send you free records. This sounded almost too good to be true, but, perhaps inevitably, the first thing I did when I returned home from the conference was to write a letter to I.R.S. Records, at the time known by all the cool kids in my class as R.E.M.’s label. I even sent the letter with the return address as my high school, for added credibility. You can well imagine that, when I arrived one day to find a package from I.R.S. Records sitting on my desk, I was the star of my journalism class. The contents of the envelope consisted of vinyl copies of and press releases for the soundtrack to the documentary, Athens, GA: Inside / Out, featuring tracks from R.E.M., Pylon, Love Tractor, and the Flat Duo Jets...and, you guessed it, the self-titled debut from Concrete Blonde.
From that day forward, I never looked back, for I knew it was my destiny to receive free copies of albums from record companies for the rest of my life...more often than not, in lieu of actual cash payment from the publications to which I’d contribute my reviews of said albums.
But I digress. Let’s get back to Concrete Blonde.
According to the liner notes in Superfecta Recordings’ re-release of Concrete Blonde, prior to meeting each other at Leon Russell’s studio in Burbank, CA, the band’s frontwoman, Johnette Napolitano was working as a receptionist at A&M Records, and guitarist/bassist Jim Mankey was on the staff of Casey Kasem’s “American Top 40.” Once they finally hooked up with each other, it took them forever to find a drummer who’d stick with their artistic vision; the band started as the Dreamers, then became Dream 6, then, after signing to I.R.S. Records, finally changed their name to Concrete Blonde after a request from label owner Miles Copeland and a suggestion from new labelmate Michael Stipe.
Concrete Blonde shows a band with a dark lyrical and musical direction, if not actually gothic. If anything, they’re closer to punk; Napolitano was composing odes to her city of residence, most of them seething, showing a woman on the verge of packing her shit and getting the hell out. The album opens with the lines, “Well, when I’ve had enough / I’ll get a pick-up truck / And I’ll drive away / I’ll take my last 10 bucks / Just as far as it will go.” Three songs later, during the chorus of “Still In Hollywood,” she cries, “Oh, wow, thought I’d be outta here by now.” By the time the album ends with a semi-reprise of the song, this time tellingly entitled “It’ll Chew You Up And Spit You Out,” she’s changing her phrase on occasion to ask, “Oh, why would I be out of here by now?” That the band also covers George Harrison’s “Beware of Darkness” only serves to expand on Napolitano’s cynical view of life in California. “True,” “Dance Along The Edge,” and “Still In Hollywood” all saw release as singles (though not “Over Your Shoulder,” sadly, which seemed like it would’ve been a natural choice), but momentum wouldn’t truly begin to build until the band’s sophomore effort.
When Free made it to stores two years later, the addition of second guitarist Alan Block to the line-up strengthened the band’s sound. Napolitano still wasn’t happy with the City of Angels, as evidenced by this and, more specifically, “Roses Grow.” (The irony is that, after touring the country with the likes of Journey, Cyndi Lauper, and Eddie Money, the “hometown” they’d so often disparaged in their lyrics welcomed them back with a warm embrace.) The Superfecta reissue of Free adds the album’s title track, heretofore only available as a B-side, and a cover of Jimi Hendrix’s “Little Wing,” originally the flip of “God Is A Bullet.” Speaking of “Bullet,” it became a college rock smash, scoring airtime on MTV’s seminal late-night video program “120 Minutes.” The jangly “Happy Birthday,” another single, is deceptively upbeat, featuring a singalong chorus even as it throws out lines like, “I’m laying out on the floor / Drunk and poor,” the narrator able to escape the strife of L.A. only with chemical assistance.
There’s a quote in Free’s liner notes from Napolitano where she declares that “music is the most important thing. There is no other reason. One hundred years from now, I’m not going to be here, you’re not going to be here, we’re not going to be here, but people are going to listen to that music, and it better be fucking good.” Though 1990’s Bloodletting is inevitably going to be Concrete Blonde’s best-remembered work, that self-titled debut and Free show how the band evolved to reach that commercial plateau on their own terms.
And, frankly, they’re pretty fucking good themselves. (originally appeared on PopMatters.com)
Blue Hat / Koch
“I’m a Southern boy / Southern born and bred / I got ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ buzzing all around in my head / I’m right at home in Georgia / Or down in Caroline / Yeah, I’d be happy anywhere below that Mason-Dixon line.” – The Charlie Daniels Band, “Southern Boy”
My God, Charlie Daniels is quite the redneck, isn’t he?
Please understand that, as a resident of the South, I use that descriptor with all due respect. I come from a family that, while not exclusively full of rednecks, certainly contains its fair share, and, for the most part, I think they’d concede to being somewhat proud of it at times. Being a redneck doesn’t (or shouldn’t) instantly imply ignorance. According to the good-humored RedneckWorld.com, it just means you love fried food, barbecues, cold beer, gravies, and sweet tea, you enjoy outdoor events such as hunting, fishing, auto racing, and fairs, you’re hard working and independent, God fearing and patriotic, and “won’t take no guff from no-one.”
What they don’t mention, however, is that, in the South, even if you don’t actively listen to country music, they still try to get you by force-feeding you country-rock on AOR. If you’re anything like me, you eventually rebel against it and explore any possible alternative to the Marshall Tucker Band and Molly Hatchet that you can find. Eventually, though, you realize that a lot of music you’ve tried so hard to get away from still remains the soundtrack to your youth, which means that, dammit, you really don’t mind hearing it some of it once in awhile.
Anyone who came of age in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s remembers when “The Devil Went Down To Georgia” was a top-five hit...and, for a lot of them, it was probably the first time they heard the expression “son of a bitch” in a song. (It was for me.) “Devil” was Daniels’ signature song, but he and his band scored five other top-40 hits: “Uneasy Rider,” “The South’s Gonna Do It,” “In America,” “The Legend of Wooley Swamp,” and “Still in Saigon.” Often unheralded is the fact that, prior to scoring his own success, Daniels toured with Leonard Cohen, produced the Youngbloods, played on four Bob Dylan albums (Nashville Skyline, Self Portrait, New Morning, and Dylan), and even fiddled on Ringo Starr’s Beaucoups of Blues.
Aficionados of Southern rock should certainly have a Charlie Daniels Band greatest-hits disc in their collection. Essential Super Hits, however, is not the way to go, athough a quick scan of its track listing would have you believe that it is, as all of the above titles can be found. What you need to pay great attention to, friends, is this phrase at the bottom of the back cover:
“All selections are new studio recordings, except selection
marked (*), which is an original recording.”
That’s
right, ol’ Charlie went back into the studio and knocked out brand-new
versions of all the classic hits, plus one new track:
“The Intimidator.” One
strike against these re-recordings is Daniels’ attempt at historical
revisionism, adjusting some lyrics to remove lyrical references to drugs and
alcohol (he’s more Christian now than he used to be), and, perhaps worst of
all, the new version of “The Devil Went Down To Georgia” finds Johnny, the
song’s narrator, only saying “son of a gun” now.
Additionally, the performances are, while far from bad, just not up to
the standards set by the originals; some of the tracks are so familiar that even
the slightest change in lyric or arrangement is jarring.
And though it’s been a staple of his concerts for some time, Daniels’
studio recording of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Freebird” comes across as just so
much filler.
To speak of his lyrics for a moment, Daniels has never been afraid to wear his patriotism on his sleeve. Cynics may be tempted to accuse him of getting all jingoistic to take advantage of the post-9/11 pro-America mindset, but there’s ample evidence to prove that Daniels has been a proud American for a long damned time. Still, it must be said that the song “This Ain’t No Rag, It’s A Flag” is so over the top that it’s simply ridiculous. It’s not a matter of questioning his beliefs; it’s just that in what other way can you describe a song that includes a section where Daniels and his band chanting “USA!” over the sounds of a little girl reciting the Pledge of Allegiance?
With a title like Essential Super Hits and a track listing like this one, it’s clear that the goal was to let people believe that these were the original recordings; there’s no sticker on the front advertising that these are new interpretations of classic songs, and the earlier-reference line of type is in pretty small letters on the back. I hesitate to say outright that the label’s plan was to blatantly trick fans into buying this album, but when you consider that Sony/Legacy released the similarly-titled (and far superior) Essential Charlie Daniels last year, which did include the original recordings of twelve of Super Hits’ fifteen newly-recorded tracks...?
You make the call. (originally written for PopMatters.com)
Keep
Going
Fullfill
/ Psychobaby
http://www.thelilactime.com
In a 500+ review of any album by Stephen Duffy, it’s virtually inevitable that at least five of those words will be “former member of Duran Duran,” so let’s get them out of the way up front.
Yes, Stephen Duffy really was a member of Duran Duran, but he left the fold in ’79, thinking they were too commercial. It wasn’t long before he tasted success himself with his single, “Kiss Me,” but that’s really about as commercial as Duffy’s gotten over the years. His work with the Lilac Time, which began in 1987, has never gone out its way to compete with the trends of the day. It’s folky, it’s peaceful, but it’s never screamed, “This is what’s hot!” It’s just the sort of music that Duffy likes to play, and, thanks to his passion, he plays it well.
Perhaps that’s why the Lilac Time has continued to produce such wonderful work throughout their career. And, yes, that comment should be taken to mean that Keep Going, the band’s seventh full-length album, is as fine as the albums that have preceded it.
Keep Going is, however, a bit more quiet and reflective than previous efforts. But perhaps that’s to be expected, given that it’s Duffy’s first album since September 11th, 2001.
That might sound like a handy excuse to explain away the melancholy feel of much of the album, and possibly a half-assed one, given that Duffy’s decidedly British...but, as it happens, he was actually in New York when the shit went down, having arrived in the city only the day before to promote the Lilac Time’s last album, Lilac6. In an interview with Amplifier Magazine not long after the event, he observed that “you come (to New York) with one idea of what you’re doing and what’s going on with your life, then you wake up, and your whole perspective on life has changed.”
Clearly, Duffy’s been thinking about life quite a lot since then.
In addition to a photograph which shows smoke from the World Trade Center billowing down a New York street, there are also photos taken from various locations around the world, some war-torn, some peaceful, some poverty-stricken, some exquisitely beautiful. Scattered amongst those images are shots of Duffy himself in various poses: holding a book on Roman Polanski, lost in thought whilst looking out a window, playing guitar onstage.
Seems like Duffy’s no longer sure about this world in which we live.
Take, for example, the lyrics to “Oh, God.”
And
at the time, I was a young, young boy
Barely
42
I
didn’t know only love could break your heart
I
didn’t know what love could do
So
when the phone went dead in the living room
In the sunshine over Gramercy
And
when the tears fell and the sky went dark
And
on the peace march, we wrote poetry
Give
me something to believe in
Oh,
God, something to believe in
Oh, God, give me something to believe in
The song “So Far Away” also refers to when Duffy was young, “back in the twentieth century,” observing that “nostalgia isn’t what it used to be” and bidding farewell to icons of the past like Johnny Rotten, Brian Jones, Jackson Pollock, Chairman Mao, and Allen Ginsberg.
The album’s song titles alone clearly show a man adjusting to the changes in his world over the past few years: “Home,” “Nothing Can Last,” “I Wasn’t Scared Of Flying,” “We Used To Be So,” “Keep Going,” “The Silence,” and “Already Gone.”
Musically, the songs are arranged quite sparsely compared to past albums. Acoustic and pedal steel guitar rule the day (“The Silence” really needs to be recorded by a country artist, if only to hook Duffy up with the royalties...because it’d surely be a number one), with mournful harmonica popping up on a few tracks for optimal emotional effect, particularly on the aforementioned “So Far Away.”
Stephen Duffy could have gone for a woe-is-me-my-world-has-changed, but, instead, the title says it all: he’s decided to just keep going As a result, the discerning music fan now has thirteen wonderful new songs to help them do the same. (originally written for PopMatters.com)
Rhino Handmade
http://www.bluecricket.com/freaks/freaks.html
If there’s one place where hyperbole is guaranteed to run rampant, it’s in the liner notes to a CD reissue.
No matter how good or bad an album may be, it’s generally a labor of love when someone goes out of their way to keep it in print, and, as a result, the text within the CD booklet is usually going to go a bit over the top when describing the quality and importance of the disc’s contents. In the case of House of Freaks, most of the praise is warranted, but one has to question if every two-person group that’s come into existence since Bryan Harvey and Johnny Hott first emerged on the scene...the Flat Duo Jets, the Chickasaw Mud Puppies, the Raveonettes, even the White Stripes...truly owe them a debt, as Chris Morris of Billboard suggests in his essay.
Don’t get me wrong, House of Freaks are great. I’m just not confident that they’re namechecked by every duo in the music business as being an inspiration.
House of Freaks’ debut album, Monkey On A Chain Gang, was originally released by Rhino Records in 1987, at a time when the label was still best known for novelty releases and ‘60s reissues; they were still struggling to achieve a foothold in the new music market, so they had high hopes for Harvey and Hott. They even financed a video for the first single, “40 Years,” which managed at least one showing on “120 Minutes.” (I still have it on tape.) Now that Rhino has developed a side label to reissue lost classics from earlier decades, it’s no surprise that they retain enough of a fondness for House of Freaks to put their first two albums back into print.
House of Freaks came from Richmond, VA, to Los Angeles, CA, in the mid-‘80s, quickly building a following with their unique drums-and-guitar sound (which sounded for all the world like a full band) and Harvey’s historically-inspired lyrics. They were often described as having “Southern gothic,” probably by out-of-work history and literature majors attending their concerts; still, the description is accurate, particularly given lyrics like those in “Bottom of the Ocean.”
A slaver bound for the eastern shore
The lightning crashed and thunder roared
Threw his cargo overboard
Down at the bottom of the ocean
Down at the bottom of the sea
All the screaming left behind
He sailed into the open sky
But washed ashore by the ocean tide
Were the bones of men thrown in the ocean
Down at the bottom of the sea
“Long Black Train” follows the longstanding Southern tradition of train songs, and the bluesy result could’ve been recorded by Johnny Cash with no trouble, offering as it does such mournful lines as, “I see her standing off on that distant shore / Won’t you carry me back to Virginia’s door / The rabbit run and the dove it moans / Long black train gonna take me home.” In fact, the title of one of the bonus tracks on this reissue, “Ten More Minutes To Live,” seems directly inspired by the Cash classic (and Shel Silverstein-composed) “25 Minutes To Go.” Some of the album’s lyrics have dated a bit, such as “My Backyard”’s reference to “looking for the gospel on MTV,” but even that song manages to sneak in a reference to Stonewall Jackson.
Tantilla, the band’s 1989 follow-up, showed the band’s vision more cohesive; as a result, it’s arguably the definitive House of Freaks record. Although keyboardist Marty McCavitt appears on the disc to flesh out some of the songs, the heart of the band unquestionably remains the duo of Harvey and Hott. Harvey’s lyrics this time around are almost exclusively devoted to the South; his anger of the slavery condoned by his ancestors is as strong as ever, as evidenced on “White Folk’s Blood.”
Dusting off their father’s guns
Words like worms crawl through their brains
Sermons fly from the preacher’s mouth
But the auction block still remains
Gagged and tied to a tree trunk
After a fox hunt chase with dogs and chains
In a field of white in the broad daylight
The earth was black, black with blood
These Handmade reissues are undeniably fabulous; they offer not only everything the band released on Rhino Records (including the All My Friends EP) but also a plethora of live performances, demos, and heretofore-unreleased material as well. Monkey on a Chain Gang has thirteen bonus tracks; Tantilla tacks on the six songs from the aforementioned All My Friends, then still throws on seven more offerings.
Not everything that gets reissued on CD deserves the expanded treatment, but listening to these two House of Freaks albums, it’s evident that these guys never got the proper respect they deserved. There’s no reason to believe that they would’ve scored more attention or higher sales figures had they been on a larger label, given the musical climate in the late ‘80s. Besides, how do you market a band that’s definitively Southern yet doesn’t sound even remotely country? This material is of such strength, however, both musically and lyrically, that it warrants reevaluation and reinvestigation.
House of Freaks might not have inspired every duo that’s emerged since 1987, but it’s hard to imagine that a handful of the folks who picked up Monkey on a Chain Gangand Tantilla didn’t find themselves inspired to tell their own stories. (originally appeared on PopMatters.com)
Jericho
Retrospective 1995-98
Popboomerang
Jericho existed completely and totally underneath the radar of American
music fans, but, in their native Australia, their constant touring helped build
them a reputation as one of the strongest power pop bands down under in the
mid-‘90s. Lead singer/songwriter
Danny McDonald has gone on to release albums under the psuedonym P76, as well as
under his own name, which is undoubtedly what led the Popboomerang label to
issue this retrospective of Jericho’s best moments.
Fans of the Hoodoo Gurus and the DM3, the Dom Mariani-led band that set
the bar for the Aussie power pop community, will be very interested to see what
they missed by not being aware of this band while they were still in existence.
Hooks are all over the place (personal fave:
“Back Where We Began”), and if McDonald’s harmonizing with fellow
guitarist Leigh Thomas is sometimes ragged, like on “Washed Out,” it’s in
a good way, kinda like the Replacements. In
his liner notes, McDonald seems aware of the band’s “lost” status, but he
declares, “It does me proud to think that we laughed in the face of fashion,
and wrote good music simply for the sake of writing good music.”
So, basically, if you like good power pop minus the studio gloss but with
the confidence that hundreds of successful live shows provides, the Jericho
Retrospective is right up your alley. (originally written for PopMatters.com)
Live:
Bursting Out / Stormwatch / A
Chrysalis / Capitol
Jethro Tull is, to some extent, the Rodney Dangerfield of classic rock.
They never seem to get any respect.
Basically, it’s all been downhill since they won the Grammy in 1988 for
Best Hard Rock/Metal Performance with Crest of a Knave, beating out Metallica’s “One.”
It wasn’t their fault the National Academy of Recording Arts and
Sciences was full of a bunch of yokels who didn’t know heavy metal from either
their ass or a hole in the ground.
There was a time, however,
when they were not only absolutely friggin’ huge but also critically acclaimed
as well.
No less an authority than
Lester Bangs himself once said of the group, “Make no mistake:
in terms of sheer professionalism, Jethro Tull are without peer.
They stand out by never failing to deliver a fullscale show, complete
with everything they know any kid would gladly pay his money to see:
music, volume, costumes, theatrics, flashy solos, long sets, two encores.
Jethro Tull are slick and disciplined; they work hard and they
deliver.”
Now, I’m not saying that
you have to believe me...but, c’mon, Lester Bangs?
You know you can trust the opinion of the man who wrote the
immortal article, “Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung.”
So when Tull released their first live album, Bursting Out, in 1978, it’s easy to imagine that expectations were running high. Would the band be able to capture the Jethro Tull live experience within the grooves of a 2-record set?
Musically, the album is certainly a success.
The track listing is mildly heavy on the band’s two most recent albums
at that time (Heavy Horses and Songs From The Wood), but,
otherwise, Ian Anderson and company knew how to play to their strengths,
alternating between greatest hits and album tracks, keeping the hardcore fans
ecstatic without losing those who only knew the songs being played on the radio.
Unfortunately, the Tull live experience involves watching Anderson
perched and playing his flute, seeing the aforementioned costumes and theatrics,
and basking in the enthusiasm of the musicians.
The sound quality is fine, and the performance is strong, but, sadly, Bursting
Out is never going to convince the uninitiated that Jethro Tull were a force
to be reckoned with on the concert circuit in the ‘70s.
Tull returned the following
year with their next studio album, Stormwatch, a record which splits a
lot of the group’s fans squarely down the middle.
Is it the last of the so-called “classic” Tull albums?
(It’s the last album to feature bassist John Glasscock, who died not
long after its release, organist/pianists John Evan and David Palmer, and
drummer Barrie Barlow.) Some say
the wheat ended with Heavy Horses and the chaff kicked in with Stormwatch,
but perhaps it’s merely the fact that the two albums are so stylistically
dissimilar. Taken by itself, Stormwatch
seems to have aged quite well. Opener
“North Sea Oil” is classic Tull from the get-go, the two instrumentals,
“Warm Sporan” and closer “Elegy,” are wonderful, and “Home” is a
regal, romantic ballad (“And though I’ve been away / Left you alone this way
/ Why don’t you come awake / And let your first smile take me home”).
The four bonus track added to this reissue are all consistently enjoyable
as well, particularly the jaunty “Kelpy” and “A Stitch In Time.”
If fans found the
dissimilarity between Heavy Horses and Stormwatch jarring,
however, then, when A came out the following year, it’s a wonder they
didn’t rise up en masse, find where Ian Anderson lived, and go punch him right
in the kisser.
It’s to be expected that,
with such a dramatic change in personnel (i.e. almost a completely new band),
Jethro Tull wasn’t going to put out an album that sounded quite the same as
its last. A, however,
managed to alienate longtime fans even as it failed to particularly bring in any
new ones. (Nice one.)
Originally slated to be an Ian Anderson solo album (the “A” is for
Anderson), Chrysalis reported liked it so much that they pleaded with him to go
ahead and let them release it under the Tull name.
Given that there wasn’t much left of Tull but a skeleton following the
mass exodus of the rest of the band following the recording of Stormwatch,
anyway, Anderson agreed.
It stands to reason that flute remains prominent on this album, but synthesizers and electric violin enter the picture as primary instruments, with acoustic guitar nowhere to be heard. Not your father’s Jethro Tull, in other words. Listening to it with the benefit of hindsight, however, A sounds almost like a template for Crest of a Knave; the two albums sound very similar, aside from the slightly dated early ‘80s production at times on the former. (The keyboards on “Black Sunday” sound like they might’ve inspired Europe to write “The Final Coundown.”) Fans who came to know and love songs like “Farm On The Freeway” and “Steel Monkey” would do well to reinvestigate A with an open ear; they might be pleasantly surprised at what they find. (originally written for PopMatters)
Spirit House
When Joe Pernice and Frank Padellaro sat side by side in the Scud Mountain Boys, playing their modern interpretation of country music, no-one suspected that Pernice would go on to write a book based around Meat Is Murder and produce melancholy pop music equally inspired by Burt Bacharach and early ‘80s British indie pop (the Smiths, New Order, Echo and the Bunnymen). With all Pernice’s critical success, somehow, it’s escaped a lot of folks that his former bandmate, Padellaro, has been traversing a similar path with King Radio. After the diverse debut, 1998’s Mr. K Is Dead, Go Home, the band put out the power-poppy Mission Orange EP on Not Lame Records in 2002. In 2003, Padellaro and company completed Are You The Sick Passenger? , but, temporarily between labels, they made it informally available in a brown-bag edition for anxious fans. The disc now gets a formal release courtesy of Spirit House Records. Eschewing the power in favor of soft-pop stylings, King Radio have brought in Mitch Easter to mix the album; with string arrangements by bandmember David Trenholm, this is definitely the strongest item in the band’s catalog to date. Padellaro’s vocals are smooth throughout, particularly on a completely straight cover of “Am I The Same Girl?” Songs like “You Are The One” and “Famous Umbrellas” are the bachelor pad soundtrack, equal parts McCartney, Wilson, Webb, and Williams, hip without coming across as insincere or schmaltzy. Watch out, Joe; Frank’s on your tail and, creatively speaking, he’s gaining fast. (originally appeared on PopMatters.com)
Lit
DRT
/ Nitrus
This review of the new Lit album could start off like the trailer for
virtually every summer blockbuster ever released.
The voiceover begins, “IN A WORLD...where pop-punk bands were a dime a
dozen…they stood out from the pack.” Then
we see a shot of the band in all their tattooed glory, over which we hear,
“They were barely a blip on the mainstream’s radar until the Goo Goo Dolls
hit it big with Dizzy Up The Girl.”
We cut to a shot of a bunch of major label fat cats examining a copy of
the Goo’s album like it’s some ancient artifact, then nodding knowingly at
each other and giving each other the thumbs-up sign, patting each other on the
back. “After that,” continues
the voiceover, “the major label suits were looking to sign anyone and everyone
with an even vaguely similar sound.”
Over
clips of the band in action, we hear, “RCA signed them, and they burst onto
the major label scene with crunchy hooks and a video starring Pamela Anderson.
The world was their oyster. But
then, it all went horribly wrong.” The
last clip is of the band posing for a promo photo; a flashbulb goes off, the
screen goes write for a moment, and you see a hand holding the just-taken
photo…which is promptly crumpled up and thrown into a wastepaper basket.
Okay, that’s enough trailer talk; my throat’s getting hoarse from
doing the announcer voice. But it
sets the stage a little bit, at least.
What happened, in case you’re wondering, is that the band’s sophomore
effort on RCA, Atomic, just didn’t
shift the massive units. Their
sound was going out of commercial vogue, and, if memory serves, RCA didn’t put
nearly as much of a promotional push on Atomic
as they had with the previous album, A
Place In The Sun, which may be why first single, “Lipstick and Bruises,”
didn’t take off.
In other words, before long, the members of Lit found themselves re-investigating the world of independent labels.
Surprisingly,
however, the departure was of the band’s own volition, according to comments
that bassist Kevin Baldes recently made to web site RockNWorld.com. “When we
signed with RCA, there was this complete family like atmosphere and everyone was
behind us and promoting our CDs,” he told the site.
“As new people came in and took over, we just felt the love wasn’t
there anymore in terms of the label seeing the same vision as us. So many of the
bands were being dropped (by the label) that it just didn’t feel right.”
Thankfully,
DRT / Nitrus Records shared the band’s enthusiasm, which has led to the
band’s self-titled return to record store racks in 2004.
“Too Fast For A U-Turn,” the song that leads off the new album, would
have you believe that the band has gone for a darker, greasier sound that
doesn’t seem terribly interested in catchy hooks; it’s straight-ahead hard
rock, and it may well scare off a few people.
It’s an exception rather than the rule, thankfully; the follow-up,
“Looks Like They Were Right,” is a bouncy number right along the lines of
the group’s previous work, and the album settles into a nice groove from
there. Songs like “Hard To
Find,” “Throwaway” and “Forever Begins Right Now” are perfect nuggets
of power pop.
Lord knows there’s nothing wrong with that.
Lit
have never been ashamed to admit that their music is a combination of the stuff
they listened to during their formative years: heavy metal and pop music. That being the case, they will no doubt appreciate the
compliment when they read that there are many similarities to more recent Def
Leppard albums, particularly on the songs “Times Like This” and
“Moonshine.” Additionally,
closer “Bulletproof” ends with the band singing, “We’re all alright,”
leaving little question that they sleep with the first three Cheap Trick albums
under their pillow.
While it’s unquestionable that Lit has pulled off a successful cover of
the Cure’s “Pictures of You,” there’s something about its arrival so
soon after 311’s version of “Love Song” that smacks of a blatant attempt
to score a hit. Still, it’s such
a solid rendition, blending the melancholy feel of the original with the
band’s own sound, that it deserves to be a hit; it’s a shame it couldn’t
have made the cut for the 50 First Dates
soundtrack, which propelled 311’s cover to its lofty chart heights.
Lit might not have the indie cool factor of groups like Yellowcard, New Found Glory, or Saves the Day, but their music has easily as many hooks and just as much enthusiasm propelling it. Here’s hoping the kids give it a chance. (originally appeared on PopMatters.com)
Lee
Michaels
Hello: The Very Best of Lee
Michaels
Shout! Factory
The ‘70s were littered with critically acclaimed artists who failed to make much in the way of commercial success, and, despite one really big hit (“Do You Know What I Mean”), Lee Michaels was unfortunately pretty much one of them. Hailing from Southern California but sounding like Steve Winwood’s half-brother, Michaels blended psychedelia with rhythm and blues, often with mixed results, but the results generally tended to at least be interesting. There have been two compilations of his work, but, with both now out of print, Shout! Factory has stepped in to fill the void. Hello: The Very Best of Lee Michaels begins with the song that inspired its title. “Hello” is a fiery, organ-driven rocker that kicks things into gear, followed by “Carnival of Life,” which has moments of almost prog-rock pomposity; “If I Lose You” is a great horn-driven pop song that, oddly (and unfortunately), wasn’t a hit. “Do You Know What I Mean,” the song by which most people identify Michaels, raised his commercial stature, but, aside from a cover of “Can I Get A Witness” cracking the top 40, he never scored another chart hit. Overall, much of Michaels’ music comes across as more of an artifact of its era rather than falling into the “timeless” category, but Hello will hopefully at least secure him more of the recognition he deserves. (originally written for Amplifier Magazine)
Attack
There’s been scads of publicity surrounding the former Smiths
frontman’s first solo album in seven years, with the reviews wildly mixed. Is it “the most entertaining and lushly melodic work of
Morrissey’s solo career, as per Pitchfork Media”? Or has Mozzer produced “an album that sounds incredibly
dated,” as per the Guardian? Speaking
as a recovering Morrissey apologist, let it be said that, while You Are The Quarry is indeed a fine album, it’s not one that
breaks a great deal of new ground, nor is it not likely to bring in new fans by
the truckload. Singles such as
“Irish Blood, English Heart” and “The First Of The Gang To Die” are
exemplary additions to Morrissey’s catalog, aided immeasurably by Jerry
Finn’s sparkling production. Titles
like “I Have Forgiven Jesus” and “All The Lazy Dykes,” however, seem
designed simply to cause controversy, and much of the lyrical ground of the
album has been trodden by Mozzer more profoundly in the past.
Simply put, you’ll enjoy listening to You Are The Quarry if you already know Morrissey…but you’ll also
know that he can do better. (originally written for Amplifier
Magazine)
Sugar Hill
http://www.sugarhillrecords.com
Mutual Admiration Society, a band name that you’d think would’ve been used long ago for a collaborative project, consists of Glen Phillips, late of Toad the Wet Sprocket, and members of Nickel Creek (Sara Watkins, Sean Watkins, and Chris Thile). Though the advance copy trumpets that the album was “rehearsed, recorded, and mixed in just six days with producer Ethan Johns,” there’s no mention that those six days occurred way back in 2000; the material has been held from release by contract negotiations and record company wrangling.
So, let’s see: what’s happened since then?
· Phillips has released his solo debut (Abulum), a concert album (Live at Largo), and done a reunion tour with Toad the Wet Sprocket.
· Thile put his third solo album in 2001 (Not All Who Wander Are Lost).
· Sean Watkins released two solo albums: his debut, Let It Fall, and the 2003 follow-up, 26 Miles.
· Perhaps most importantly, however, is that Nickel Creek scored their commercial breakthrough courtesy of 2002’s This Side, a fine disc that succeeded in bringing a modern take on bluegrass to the masses.
In other words, the potential market for the Mutual Admiration Society album suddenly jumped up by more than a few units, which is probably the main reason there was so much negotiating involved to finally get it on shelves.
It’s regrettable that Sugar Hill’s publicity department has gone with the choice of phrase that “the release features songs written and sung by Phillips.” What’s more important is what they’re not saying: the songs aren’t all new (which is fine, given that even the old songs are presented in a new setting), but, perhaps more importantly, given that no songwriting credits are provided on the advance, the songs aren’t all written by Phillips.
There’s a co-write by Phillips and pop god Jon Brion on the second track, the darkly rollicking “Sake of the World”; it’s the most successful incorporation of Nickel Creek’s sound into Phillips’ usual vocal style and, as a result, it’s arguably the best track on the disc. MAS also cover Brion’s “Trouble,” which remains as melancholy here as in Brion’s original version. The group takes on Toad the Wet Sprocket’s “Windmills,” as well as “La Lune,” written by Sean Kennedy of Toad’s peers, the Woodburning Project. The album closes with Harry Nilsson’s “Think About Your Troubles,” most famously covered by Jellyfish for the Nilsson tribute album several years back.
Of Phillips’ new songs, the best are “Be Careful” and “Somewhere Out There,” but, for the most part, Nickel Creek don’t really feel as though they have much of a presence on these tracks; instrumentally, they come across as just another backing band, and, vocally, Phillips’ voice is consistently front and center. Reportedly, the Mutual Admiration Society’s live performances spotlight some phenomenal harmonies (Sara Watkins’ voice does manage to shine through beautifully in this capacity on the aforementioned “La Lune”); if those reports are true, then producer Johns should be ashamed of himself for not incorporating those into the album more effectively.
With Nickel Creek’s rise into public awareness over the past year or two, one hopes that they’ll have the pull to get any future collaborations with Phillips into stores far more rapidly than it took this one to see the light of day. Despite its production faults, it’s still a lovely album that begs for a follow-up sooner than later. (originally written for PopMatters)
Snakebite:
Blacktop Ballads and Fugitive Songs
redFLY
Records
Even if he isn’t remembered as one of the greatest musical storytellers
of his generation (though there’s little question that he will be), Stan
Ridgway will still forever rank high in the field of Most Distinctive Voice.
That nasal delivery of his has been instantly identifiable ever since
Wall of Voodoo had their commercial breakthrough in 1982 with, you know, that
song.
Ridgway’s never really been afraid to follow his
muse wherever it takes him, as evidenced by such minor masterpieces as The
Big Heat and Mosquitoes. Since
leaving the constraints of the major label lifestyle in the early ‘90s,
however (not long after the release of 1991’s Partyball), he’s really
gone hog wild with the creativity. One
minute, he’s giving you the musical equivalent of film noir, then you turn
around and find him doing a two-disc set of big band standards and Broadway show
tunes, and performing them completely straight, no less.
Snakebite:
Blacktop Ballads & Fugitive Songs,
however, finds Ridgway close to the sound of his Geffen-era work (1989-1991).
Divided into three acts, Snakebite is full of the sort of lyrical
darkness that’s been a hallmark of Ridgway’s material since the get-go.
In Act One, “Wake Up
Sally (the cops are here)” is narrated by a several-time loser on the verge of
getting arrested for having robbed a bus. Total
haul: $12.00.
Nice one. “Now, didja gas
up the truck like I told you to?” he asks.
“No, we can’t take the dog, he’s gonna bark.” A few songs later, in “King For A Day,” another poor
bastard...or is it the same sad soul?...is on the run, smoking crack and
bragging to someone (Sally, perhaps?) on his cell phone that, “Hey, I’m doin’
110 now / Can you still hear me on your phone? / I got a hundred cops behind me
/ And overhead I hear the choppers groan / Oh, I’m headed for the wall, now /
Gotta hang up now, thanks for the loan.”
In Act Two of Snakebite, it becomes evident that Ridgway is a man out of time. (If he wasn’t, would he really be making lyrical references to Stubby Kaye?) Each song here could be a movie in and of itself, but every one of them would’ve been made before 1950. “Runnin’ With The Carnival” would’ve been directed by Tod Browning, “God Sleeps In A Caboose” would have to have starred Henry Fonda, and there’s little question in my mind that “Crow Hollow Blues” would’ve won Bogart an Oscar.
The third act of the album contains some of the most personal songs Ridgway’s ever written, including “My Own Universe” and “Classic Hollywood Ending,” where he bemoans the way things were left between himself and someone from his past, using film as a metaphor.
Now
I never knew how your curtain came down
Or
what was backstage in your mind
We
never played that lost reel we found
The
lights went up, and we’d run out of time
And
it’s only when the curtain’s down
That
the ending’s understood
Like an old time movie, like a film from Hollywood
At the fifteenth of Snakebite’s sixteen songs, it becomes evident that Stan may well be a fugitive himself, having spent much of his life running away from his own past. Despite carving a unique musical niche for himself, there’s been an albatross around poor Stan’s neck for over two decades, and it’s apparently gotten too heavy to ignore any further.
The “albatross,” of course, is the aforementioned
Wall of Voodoo...or, more specifically, that goddamned “Mexican Radio.”
Though hardly the first ‘80s band to have the one-hit wonder tag slapped on
them, Wall of Voodoo had it worse than others; when the ears of middle America
hear a song called “Mexican Radio” and lyrics about “eating barbequed
iguana,” son, what you’ve got yourself there is a bonafide novelty hit.
Never mind that Ridgway was waxing lyrical about American tourists
visiting our Southwestern neighbors; for most folks hearing the song, it might
as well have been “The Curly Shuffle.”
And, let’s face it, Stan’s face popping out of a bowl
of beans during the video probably didn’t help things any, either.
Twenty years later, Ridgway has finally tackled those
Voodoo days in song. “Talkin’
Wall of Voodoo Blues, Pt. 1” appears near the tail end of Snakebite;
reminiscent of Cockeyed Ghost’s “Burning Me Out (Of The Record Store),”
where Adam Marsland details his band’s pissed-up departure from Big Deal
Records, Ridgway painstakingly relates the rise and fall of the Wall.
It’s sad that the tale begins with observation that, of the band’s
original line-up, “two are gone to heaven” (drummer Joe Nanini suffered a
fatal blood clot in his brain in 2000; guitarist Marc Moreland died in 2002 from
liver failure), ends with the admission that the band disintegrated as a result
of the fact that “we were all just big assholes,” and, in the middle,
includes these lines:
One
weekend, Marc’s song fell out, the single they still talk about
We
made a video with Frank Delia behind the lens; Labor Day Mexico, lots of beans
and drugs and friends
But
all was gonna bust; how were chumps like us to know?
We
took off on that tour so long and played and sang our radio song, oh-woah
Now,
it seemed like that old voodoo dog we had was payin’ for its fleas
We
lost control of our own band to the record company
It isn’t all anger and regrets...although a hell of a lot of it clearly
is. But Ridgway makes a point of
acknowledging both up front and in the song’s finale that “we had some
punk-rock fun”...and he’s obviously still proud that “we practiced music
night and day” and, as a result, eventually played the Whiskey-A-Go-Go “with
Miss Ivy and Mister Lux” (the Cramps). After
keeping it pent up for so many years, one can only hope that it’s been
cathartic for Ridgway to get some of this stuff off his chest, though some may
wonder why it took long for him to get around to doing it.
I guess it just goes to show that, while master storytellers may know how to weave a yarn that draws the listener in and keep them rapt ‘til the very end, they oft have the most trouble just telling their own tales. (originally written for PopMatters.com)
Rockfour
Nationwide
Rainbow Quartz
There's something about starting a review of a new Rockfour album by making a point of referencing their country of origin (Israel) that feels. well, a little too obvious.
I mean, I'm doing it, anyway. But I do feel kind of guilty about it, if that's any consolation.
And, besides, to my way of thinking, it's an understandable reference to make. Personally, I find it legitimately fascinating that they're an Israeli band with music tastes steeped in '60s psychedelia from the US and UK. Maybe it's just the naïve American in me, but it seems like an odd combination, which in turns piques my interest.
Just for the record, though, there have been other rock bands from Israel, though most of the others seem to have been progressive rock in nature, taking their cues from the likes of Gentle Giant, Van Der Graff Generator, King Crimson, and early Genesis. (Take a bow, Zingale, Lord Flimnap, and the Ashqelon Quilt.)
The thing is, though, if you didn't know the Rockfour were from Israel, you couldn't tell it from listening to the album; the group sings in English. Or, at least, they do now. (They recorded three albums in Hebrew during the ‘90s.)
Rockfour are, to offer a comparison that readers who shop at Not Lame Records will undoubtedly appreciate, like the Posies driving into the Paisley Underground while grooving to the Byrds on the car radio. They’ve played at International Pop Overthrow (no surprise there), but also at South By Southwest and the CMJ conference...and, perhaps more importantly to their US career, they opened for the Dave Matthews Band. Surely that sold them a few copies of their records.
Nationwide, the band’s fourth English album (there’s also a collection called For Fans Only), finds the band continuing in strong form, with Rickenbacker guitar mixing it up alongside fuzz bass (it’s no coincidence that one song is called “Fuzzy White”) and harmonies verging on the immaculate (particularly on “I Can Read You Know,” where the band channels the Beatles’ “Because”). Producer Jim Diamond (the White Stripes, Electric Six) goes for a less crisp, more raw sound for the album, and the result works well, as one might expect it would for a band that adores its garage rock.
The songs, while still mostly decidedly pop, don’t necessarily hit you over the head with fun and sun; there’s an inherent darkness in “To The End,” for instance, that’s reminiscent of “Eight Miles High” without actually being derivative of it. The Posies aforementioned similarity can particularly be heard on “You Said,” which sounds like the missing link between Failure and Frosting on the Beater.
“Moving Fast” might be the album’s single best track, and, truth be told, would serve as a better closer than the delicately plucked “Much More To Offer,” which, despite its Brian Wilson-inspired harmonies, finds the proceedings ending with something closer to a whimper than a bang. It’s also a bit ironic, given that, indeed, Nationwide has so much more to offer.
Post-script: Regarding the popularity of prog rock in Israel, I recently traded E-mails with Issar Tennenbaum, drummer for Rockfour on the topic. “No,” he admitted, “I guess we too did not escape the ‘curse’ of progressive rock. It is still very popular here in Israel. As we’re all basically a ‘70s generation, we could not help growing up on everything from heavy metal to prog rock to Beatles, even though most of these styles we discovered only in the ‘80s as a result of the frustration we suffered as beginner musicians with all the synthesized music going on at the time. Actually, if you listen to our first 2 albums in English – Supermarket and One Fantastic Day – you will hear many more of the above influences and how Nationwide came to sound the way it did as a result (and a continuation) of those two albums.” (originally written for PopMatters.com
Equal Vision
http://www.snakecrosscrown.com
To lump The Snake The Cross The Crown into the emo movement is to damn them with faint praise; unlike most artists who cover themselves in the blanket of that genre that no-one seems able to properly define, these guys don’t fall back on the easily-mastered punk-pop sound. Sure, there are hints of the usual suspects like Weezer and Jimmy Eat World at times, but The Snake The Cross The Crown add keyboards to the mix, as well as a little bit of prog-rock pomposity to their arrangements. (Given a song title like “The Gates of Dis,” a reference to “Dante’s Inferno,” this shouldn’t be surprising.) But, then, a heavy title like “On The Threshold of Eternity” turns out to be a bouncy little number powered by acoustic guitar, so the band keeps you guessing from song to song. Equal Vision, the band’s label, is home to a lot of hard-edged bands, such as Fear Before The March of Flames; I’m sure they’re a fine label, but, hopefully, The Snake The Cross The Crown will be picked up by a record company where they don’t sound quite so out of place. (originally written for Amplifier Magazine)
Barsuk
Preceding the release of their tenth album, They Might Be Giants have opted to offer up this five-song EP. The lead track, “Am I Awake,” is probably already known to some as the theme song to the TLC show, Resident Life, but it’s nice to have it commercially available. “Ant,” however, has been released twice before already, so it’s rather unnecessary to have it here. “Memo To Human Resources” and “Au Contraire,” however, will both appear on the upcoming full-length, The Spine, proving that the band’s still up to their same old tricks. The latter manages to mention David Bowie, FDR, Jodie Foster, Bach, and Gandhi in its lyrics, and the former is another slice of the jangly pop the band does so well. But, arguably, the highlight of the EP is a cover of Brian Wilson’s “Caroline, No.” If you’ve shrugged off the band because they just seem like a pair of zany goofballs, take two minutes and six seconds out of your day to listen to this track. Hopefully, it’ll remind you that, first and foremost, They Might Be Giants enjoy a good pop song…and, after that, you might as well check out some of theirs. (originally written for Amplifier Magazine)
Rounder/Zoe
Coming
only a short time after the teaser EP, Indestructible
Object, They Might Be Giants’ tenth proper album (if you count Long Tall Weekend in that number) is a bit of a disappointment.
The band’s last disc, No!,
was a foray into children’s music that produced an album easily enjoyed by all
ages, and, immediately prior to that, Mink
Car was arguably the best band of the band’s career, blending the best
bits of everything they’d ever done. So
why the step backward to the more rock-oriented sound of an album like John
Henry? Things start strong with “Experimental Film,” and tracks like
“Bastard Wants To Hit Me” and “It’s Kickin’ In” are fun.
“Memo To Human Resources” and “Au Contraire” have already
appeared on the earlier EP, but they’re strong enough to make revisiting them
a joy. But “Spine” and
“Spines,” two 30-second numbers, end just as they’re getting interesting,
and many of the other songs pleasantly motor about for a few minutes, but they
never really grab hold. Oh, well,
maybe next time; lord knows the Johns have enough songs in ‘em that they’ll
never run out of material. (originally written for Amplifier
Magazine)
Compass
When he was fronting Squeeze, Glenn Tilbrook had it easy; his partner in crime, Chris Difford, was by his side to collaborate with him, and they made songwriting seem as easy as riding a bike. Tilbrook’s solo debut, however, sounded (pun intended) incomplete, like a man still trying to find his way without having a band or co-conspirator behind him. With Transatlantic Ping-Pong, however, Tilbrook seems to have found whatever he needed for proper invigoration. Opener “Untouchable” tops virtually everything from his debut, hook-wise, and there are more where that came from. “Neptune,” “Hostage,” and “Reinventing The Wheel” all sound like they could’ve easily been taken from Squeeze albums, which is high praise, indeed. “Hot Shaved Asian Teens” rocks pretty hard, but it’s ultimately a throwaway written around a funny (if obscene) title. The most interesting track is “Where I Can Be Your Friend,” Tilbrook’s first collaboration with the aforementioned Difford since the dissolution of Squeeze; the music isn’t all that, but the lyrics (Difford’s contribution) make it sound like a Squeeze reunion may not be far off. But, if not, it’s alright; Tilbrook’s solo career has finally begun to soar. (originally written for Amplifier Magazine)
spinART
http://www.trashcansinatras.com
It may not be accurate to say that the world has been anxiously awaiting the release of the Trashcan Sinatras’ fourth album, but it’d be safe to say that the band’s incredibly dedicated fanbase is as giddy as a schoolgirl. Early ‘90s releases like Cake and I’ve Seen Everything may have only caught the ears of a select few, but the few they caught, they never, ever let go. 1996’s A Happy Pocket never saw stateside release, but, in 2004, the band made a triumphant US return via dates in L.A. and at SXSW; the result was a US record deal with spinART. Weightlifting may not show a tremendous amount of stylistic growth, but the Trashcans have definitely continued to hone their strengths. “All The Dark Horses” is this record’s “Only Tongue Can Tell,” destined to bring the band a new generation of fans, but there are another eleven songs here just as strong, with “Freetime,” “It’s a Miracle,” and the appropriately titled “Welcome Back” being just a few of the highlights. If even an eighth of the mainstream population who bought Coldplay’s last two albums picked up Weightlifting, the world would be a much more mellow, happy place. (originally written for Amplifier Magazine)
Columbia / Legacy
http://www.legacyrecordings.com
Surely, one of the greatest mysteries in the history of rock and roll, let alone the history of film, is how the soundtrack to Porky’s Revenge managed to contain such a staggeringly star-packed line-up of contributors.
Yes, you read that correctly: Porky’s Revenge. Not even the second Porky’s film, but, rather, the third in the “trilogy.”
More bizarrely, there’s nothing of note on record about the soundtracks to the two preceding films...but, wow, out of nowhere, here comes an album for number three, featuring work by Dave Edmunds (the soundtrack’s executive producer), Jeff Beck, George Harrison, the Fabulous Thunderbirds, Clarence Clemons, Willie Nelson, and the Crawling King Snakes, featuring Robert Plant on vocals and Phil Collins on drums.
Seriously, that’s just craziness. That’s like taking a film from Troma Studios and having Bruce Springsteen do the score. Why would you waste such talent on a film that’s never going to live up to the standards set by the soundtrack?
You have to give Edmunds credit, though. He took this assignment to heart, putting on his blinders, ignoring virtually everything about the film and the two chapters that preceded it, aside from the fact that it took place in the 1950’s.
First off, he contributes very credible covers of “Do You Want To Dance” and “Queen of the Hop”...but, then, what would you expect from the man who recorded the definitive cover of “I Hear You Knockin’”? His rollicking original track, “High School Nights,” which leads off the soundtrack, is self-produced, but it sounds like Edmunds learned a lot from his days of having Jeff Lynne behind the boards. (“Please Don’t Call Me Tonight,” from Edmunds’ own album, “Information,” is tacked on as a bonus track.)
The Fabulous Thunderbirds do an exuberant version of “Stagger Lee,” and Willie Nelson’s “Love Me Tender” is sublime, but the Crawling King Snakes’ rendition of Charlie Rich’s “Philadelphia Baby” is clearly just a bunch of rock stars having a ball...which is a good thing. The Carl Perkins tracks, “Blue Suede Shoes” and bonus track “Honey Don’t,” are ‘80s re-recordings rather than the original ‘50s performances, but the enthusiasm in Perkins’ voice (particularly when he hollers, “Let’s rock it! Go, cat!”) will nonetheless produce a grin a mile wide.
George Harrison’s appearance on the soundtrack was probably the biggest coup of all. When Porky’s Revenge came out, Harrison hadn’t released an album since 1982’s Gone Troppo, which, given the understandably tepid response to that record, was probably wise. His contribution was “I Don’t Want To Do It,” a Bob Dylan song which, as far as I know, continues to remain officially unreleased by its composer. It doesn’t necessarily sound like it’s from the ‘50s, but it’s the best thing he’d done since “All Those Years Ago,” and, in retrospect, it foretold Harrison’s return to form, which would fully present itself in 1987 with Cloud Nine.
On the instrumental side of things, Beck contributes a phenomenal version of Santo and Johnny’s “Sleepwalk,” Clemons turns in a fine “Peter Gunn Theme,” and Edmunds’ title track to the film...well, okay, if the album has a bum note, this would be it. It’s not awful, but it is rather plodding; it was definitely wise to save it for the end of the proceedings rather than starting things off with it.
When it comes right down to it, Porky’s Revenge has such a great soundtrack that, every time you put it on, you never cease to think, “Geez, maybe I should go back and rent the movie and see what I missed!”
Do not fall for this. It can only end badly.
Few films could ever live up to the expectations set by this soundtrack, and, trust me when I tell you this, Porky’s Revenge is not one of them. As it is, it’s never going to escape the stigma of the film with which it’s associated. If you opt to be one of the lucky few willing to take the risk and pick up this album, however, you won’t be sorry for a moment. (originally written for PopMatters)
Innerstate
Chris Von Sneidern made a name for himself before he ever began his solo career, playing bass for the Sneetches, guitar for Flying Color, and touring with Paul Collins. When Von Sneidern released his solo debut, Sight and Sound, in 1993, however, it became evident that this was a guy with sufficient talent that he needn’t hover in the background, and, with 1994’s Big White Lies, he became the talk of the power pop community, displaying a voice combining the best bits of Eric Carmen, Glenn Tilbrook, and Paul McCartney, with music to match. Headful of Words is a collection of the best bits from the aforementioned albums, as well as the pair which followed, Go! and Wood and Wire, with two or three rarities chucked into the mix. Big White Lies and Wood and Wire are both must-haves, but this compilation successfully hits the highlights of Von Sneidern’s early years and, as with all good best-of’s, inspires the listener to delve deeper into its subject’s back catalog. Von Sneidern himself notes that, by only covering his career through 1997 on this disc, “now we can have a Volume Two.” Can we get that sometime next month, please, Chris? (originally written for Amplifier Magazine)