George Starostin's Reviews

ODDS and SODS

(reviews of P - Z bands/artists)

Here's a complete list of P - Z artists and records reviewed on the Odds and Sods page. Click on a link and it will take you directly to the album:

ALBUM REVIEWS (bands/artists P - Z)
THE PRETTY THINGS
(released by: THE PRETTY THINGS)

Year Of Release: 1965
Overall rating = 10

Generic R'n'B, although somewhat more daring than anything around. See, it was released before "My Generation".
Best song: gee, hard to say, everything sounds so similar...

As usual, the Pretties' British/American discography is one hell of a nightmare; however, the CD re-issue of their debut LP is pretty nice, as it includes every single track from both the British and the US variant plus some contemporary singles thrown in for good measure. I'm not going to give any more specific details on these songs' chronological features - this stuff might easily be looked up in different Web sources - but the re-issue is produced in a clever and thoughtful way, and certainly makes a good buy for "rational buyers".
The problem is - is this album really worth buying? The Pretty Things were certainly an entertaining and recommendable band at every stage of their career, but at every stage of their career they also managed to drag behind the Beatles and the Stones, always trying to catch up but hardly even making number three in the race (only S. F. Sorrow might be truly considered an innovative record). And nowhere does this gruesome "second-handness" show more than on their debut LP. Consisting entirely of R'n'B covers and R'n'B "originals" that are in fact disguised covers as well, the record is nothing more than a vain attempt to outstone the Stones in their brand of 'ugly rhythm-and-bluesmaking' to scare the shit out of some mothers and attract their children. Well, the Stones' connection is not at all amazing, considering that the band's guitarist, Dick Taylor, originally played bass in an early version of the Stones, before being replaced by Bill Wyman; but it's also obvious that these guys don't hold a candle to the Stones or to the Animals.
First of all, there ain't a lot of imagination or inventiveness displayed on here. It seems that at this time the Pretties had only mastered three styles of playing: the generic Chuck Berry boogie, the generic Bo Diddley beat, and the generic Muddy Waters blues shuffle. Practically all the eighteen tracks on here fit into one of these three categories, and this makes up for a really monotonous record (in comparison, the Stones' debut was at least thrice as diverse). The instrumentation is extremely poor - no keyboards at all, and just the usual guitar/harmonica business all over the place. Dick Taylor is a competent guitarist with a tasteful approach to his playing, but nowhere near as masterful as Keith Richards: he obviously hadn't done his Chuck Berry homework as diligently as the Riffmeister. The rhythm section is competent as well, and at least they never mess up the rhythm, but they're not able to keep up a firm, steady, never-wavering groove like the Stones' rhythm section could in those early days. And one really irritating factor on here is the lead singer. Phil May tries to ape Jagger's approach to the material, with wild screams, 'evil' intonations and gloomy vocal overtones everywhere, but his voice, unlike Jagger's, isn't really suitable for such things, and he ends up overemoting and producing a really bad effect. I mean - 'yeah, just another white boy trying to sound like a bluesman'. So it's apparent that the R'n'B material wasn't so submissive and tame in the hands of the Pretties: at least, it certainly didn't yield to them all that much on record. Their live shows at the time established the band's reputation as "dirtier and scarier than the Stones", but you really couldn't guess that by this album.
That said, I find their approach to the material and the resulting listening experience far more endurable and tolerable than, say, the Kinks' approach. While the record hardly displays a lot of professionalism or a lot of authenticity, it at least displays some true sincerity. It's quite easy to give in to the material, stomp your feet and clamp your feet along - these guys mean what they're playing, while the Kinks and certain lesser bands were obviously just playing their R'n'B because, well, they didn't have anything better to do at the time. Whether engaging in the standard chaotic guitar noisemaking on 'Roadrunner', playing up a storm on the fast boogie version of Chuck Berry's 'Oh Baby Doll', or playing pretty tasty harmonica on the slow blues version of Chuck Berry's 'Don't Lie To Me' (which the Stones did more efficiently anyway, in a much faster tempo version preserved on Metamorphosis), the Pretty Things show that this is their true meaning of life. They're not yet fully competent, but they're going to be fully competent anyway. And so, I eagerly give them their 'credit of faith' and quietly groove along.
Hard to define the higlights, even - for me, these are probably their take on 'Got Love If You Want It' (shamefully renamed '13, Chester Street' and credited to the Things themselves - heh!), faster rave-ups like 'Oh Baby Doll' and 'Big Boss Man', and their "band anthem" - an adaptation of Bo Diddley's 'Pretty Thing' that makes its point over a glorious one minute and thirty-eight seconds. Oh, the single 'Don't Bring Me Down' is pretty energetic, too, and it's one of the few songs when May's voice doesn't crack me up at all. But in general, the record is pretty even: picking out favourites here is like picking out your favourite fly on the wall. The Pretties would certainly go on to better and more "timeless" things, but if you're a fan of all these British Invasion bands like I am, you really can't go wrong here. Just make sure you get the new CD re-issue with eighteen tracks.

Don't lie to me, mail what you really think

GET THE PICTURE?
(released by: THE PRETTY THINGS)

Year Of Release: 1965
Overall rating = 11

Some more generic R'n'B, but these guys are really trying to sharpen their punkish attitude. More hooks as well, and a good hook never hurt anyone.
Best song: BUZZ THE JERK

A major improvement, as the Pretties (a) gain more confidence as songwriters and most notably (b) refine their own personal sound so that they no longer sound like pale imitators of the Stones. Well, actually "personal sound" might be a little exaggeration - everything is still way too sloppy and poorly thought-out, and the instrumentation and production suffer big time. But one thing's for certain: the Pretties were going in a "rougher" direction, eager to beat out the Stones in every way possible. It's curious that this album, certainly one of the wildest of its epoch, came at about the same time as the Who's My Generation: this shows a particular 'roughening' of the popular spirit by the end of '65, definitely the most blazingly angry year of the decade, before the rock-angst gave way to pop-artsiness a year later due to the Beatles' and others' experimentation.
So Get The Picture is an essential document of its epoch, and quite enjoyable today as well, if not really in the same class with My Generation. Furious, feedbacky, exciting punk-rockers like 'Buzz The Jerk', the title track, and 'Get A Buzz' indeed kick more ass than the Stones ever could hope for in that epoch (not that ass-kicking was the Stones' main attraction, but we all have our ups and downs, don't we?). Taylor's screeching guitar is getting better and better, and a new power is John Stax's emerging bass: fat and grumbley, with some excellent melodic lines thrown in now and then, it is certainly the heaviest use of the instrument the world had seen by that point. 'Get The Buzz', in fact, ranges on pure heavy metal (well, at least, as far as the epoch allowed it), and the whole album is just great to headbang to.
That's not to say it's flawless: the generic R'n'B stylistics still finds its way into the boys' hearts way too often, and stuff like Jimmy Witherspoon's 'I Had A Dream' is completely and absolutely forgettable. No sooner do they get around to doing a hardcore blues or soul number as the dreadful "Stones connection" sets in, and with worse production, worse chops and a less idiosyncratic singer they can't help but lose. Typical example - their version of 'Cry To Me', also recorded by the Stones the same year; where the Stones' version was passionate and tense, with masterful vocal mini-climaxes and brilliant splatterings of stinging guitar to render the experience unforgettable, the Pretties just treat it as... well, just as anybody would treat anything. It flows smoothly, but that's about it. And I really can't stand May's imitation of Jagger on 'Rainin' In My Heart'. For Chrissake, Phil, if you don't have that distinctive and sharp a voice, don't overemote like Mick, use it in a different way. And a couple similar tracks in other places spoil the overall effect even further.
So the real consolation is only to be found on punkish, energetic rockers, and thankfully, Get The Picture really offers us quite a lot of those. I have already mentioned the most prominent ones, but 'We'll Play House' and 'You'll Never Do It Baby' also qualify. I'm also not too sure about the original structure of the album: my CD edition has eighteen tracks, just like the previous one, but it adds in singles, B-sides and previously unreleased demo versions, some of which form a really exciting conclusion to the album: the fury of 'Midnight To Six Man', 'Me Needing You', 'Come See Me', and "L.S.D.' that close the album was certainly unmatched at the time. Particularly 'Come See Me' - now that's one hell of a tune. The bass threatens the life of any mastodont in sight, the piano rolls like, well, a good rock'n'rollin' piano is supposed to be a-rollin', and the feedback, wow, that feedback. Chaotic and melodic at the same time: not Hendrix, but still... And oh, whoever would actually come out with a song straightforwardly titled 'L.S.D.' at the tail end of 1965, with the chorus going something like 'yes I need, LSD, yes I need, LSD'? The song was never released at the time, of course, but that doesn't mean it has never been written.
Perhaps the Pretties' biggest problem, which, unfortunately, would pursue them even later, is that all of their instruments never really gelled all that tight. On this and the previous album, it often seems as if all the members are playing against each other - the bass and drum lines are different, the guitars come in and out at an almost random rate and the singer just screams his head off without paying too much attention to what's going around. Curiously, this doesn't actually spoil the immediate overall effect - the guys are so powerful that the fury and excitement overcome you. But it isn't all that helpful in the way of memorability: a mess is only good as long as you hear it, but it'll hardly remain in your head afterwards. Which is, as far as I can see, the main defect that doesn't allow me to class the band in the same "golden league" as the Stones and the Who. Even when the Stones and the Who were in their derivative R'n'B period, they were able to lock themselves in such a tight, united, compact groove that this fact alone was enough to guarantee instant memorability. The Pretties just went overboard - of course, if your ticket is wild, unrestrained music, you'll probably love them more than anybody else.
And speaking about wild and unrestrained, the new CD release of Get The Picture? is CD-ROM compatible - it comes with a video clip of an excerpt from a Pretties' live performance in some London club. Unfortunately, the damn CD I have wasn't able to read the .mov file and so I can't actually tell you if the video is worthwhile or not. I sure can tell you, though, that I enjoyed the album a lot, even if some more discipline from the band would be appreciated. Ah, well, maybe that was just their schtick and we'll have to take it as such.

Can't stand the pain if you don't mail your ideas

S. F. SORROW
(released by: THE PRETTY THINGS)

Year Of Release: 1968
Overall rating = 12

The first rock opera ever. Hope the 13th Floor Elevators or somebody didn't beat them to it, or I'll really be flunked.
Best song: TRUST

I'm not getting into the discussion over whether S. F. Sorrow kicks the shit out of Tommy or whether Tommy bashes the chitlins out of S. F. Sorrow. It's clear that, since S. F. Sorrow came out first, Townshend was heavily influenced by the storyline and the concept in general; however, if you hear misguided rants about how S. F. Sorrow has no pretentions and no bombast as opposed to Pete's overbloated project, don't you go around believing it - this is an equally mystical and convoluted tale, with a plot that's even harder to guess, especially if you haven't read the story it is supposed to accompany, and while the subject matter of Sorrow is a wee bit more grounded (after all, the protagonist does have to deal with a lot of ordinary life problems before having his magical dream about Baron Saturday), the overall message is even less clear than that of Tommy. And that's all I'm gonna say. Draw your conclusions yourself after you've heard this.
But one thing's for certain - hear this you must, as it's undoubtedly the Great Lost Psychedelic album of the Sixties. The Pretties are really one unjustly forgotten band: having achieved no success with their gritty blend of R'n'B and having effectively reinvented themselves as one of swinging London's coolest psycho outfits, they achieved even less success. R'n'B fans naturally thought they were betrayed, and as for the new breed of hippies and loony Tolkienists, they didn't want no aliens, being perfectly happy when entertained by the likes of Barrett's Pink Floyd, Marc Bolan and the Soft Machine. As a result, S. F. Sorrow bypassed the public eye completely, and it's a shame.
It's not even that the album has a great load of melodies. It doesn't; none of the band members were perfect songwriters, and there ain't a single instantly memorable riff or a single absolutely smashing vocal melody on the record. It's the incredible, exciting atmosphere that one just has to soak in. To a certain extent, S. F. Sorrow takes a little bit of everything Britain was living on at the time: pop, psychedelia, hard rock, magic and mystery, illusions and naiveness, beauty and ugliness, whatever. In these songs I can feel everything that the Pretties were raised on - Beatlesque harmonies, Rolling Stones grittiness, Kinks humbleness, Hendrix guitars, and early Pink Floyd schizophrenia, and, what's more, lots of things that would follow on. Seems like the Who weren't the only band who got their clue from this record. Listen to the flute rhythms in 'Private Sorrow' and tell me this doesn't sound like vintage Jethro Tull. Listen to the aethereal chantings in 'Trust' and tell me Peter Gabriel didn't rip this off for a section in 'Supper's Ready'. Listen to 'Balloon Is Burning' and tell me this doesn't predict the chaotic jams of Yes. Listen to the 'love love love' chants on 'Bracelets Of Fingers' and tell me this doesn't render Freddie Mercury superfluous. Come on, you tell me all this and I'll just reply that you're not able to build up a solid historic perspective. :)
Anyway, in case you're just an unexperienced reader who doesn't know what the hell I'm talking about, here's the rub. S. F. Sorrow is a rock opera (concept album, whatever - one can make some nitpicks and say that since there are no clear differentiations between singer parties it ain't no opera, but well, that's just a nitpick), based on a short story by some author whose name I have forgotten. It tells about a guy named S. F. Sorrow who is very lonely all his life, has an unhappy romance, joins the army, ends up in America, gets disillusioned in life and then dreams of a certain Baron Saturday who leads him away to the Moon, which he used to dream of when he was a child, and shows him his true self. It all ends up rather sadly, with S. F. Sorrow just getting further disillusioned and spending the last days of his life in isolation and misery. In other words, Ray Davies (the 'little man' line) meets Pete Townshend (the 'mystery' line).
But to hell with the story. Like I said, it's just great fun to take this as a whole without bothering too much about the concept. A couple of the tracks are nothing more than dated psychedelic collages ('Well Of Destiny'), and a couple are rather primitive pop songs with rudimentary melodies ('She Says Good Mornings'), but every now and then the band falls upon a deep and rich psychedelic gold mine which, combined with their existent pop instincts, provides you with everything that, for instance, Syd Barrett could never provide you with. 'Bracelets Of Fingers', where S. F. Sorrow dreams of the moon, starts with some breathtaking accappella lines and goes from a heavenly chant to a wah-wah-driven rocker to a sitar-embellished mantra. 'Private Sorrow', as I already said, predicts Jethro Tull: the main melody, represented by a war march accompanied by a Celtic-sounding flute, is perhaps the most memorable moment on the album, and it brings such images to my mind as Tull rarely can - armies marching high up in the cold mountains, under a gray sky... wow, sorry for the lyrics. 'Death' is gloomy, dreary and sends shivers down your back. 'I See You' could threaten to conquer the world in its pomposity, if only 'hallucinogenous' didn't squeeze out from all of its openings. And 'Trust' is gorgeous beyond words, simply gorgeous beyond words. It's songs like that that really give 'psychedelic' a good name, apart from all the Beatles stuff, of course. Are you listening? Notice how the echo reprises everything Phil May chants out in that calm, awesome voice of his, too.
To diversify the picture, the band rocks out in a couple of places, notably on the shrill, frantic 'Baron Saturday' and the grizzly 'Old Man Going', and they certainly haven't lost any of the roughness of the early R'n'B days. But it's not the rocking out that really makes the record, no. If you want to summarize the Pretty Things at that stage of their career with just one phrase, it would be something like this: "The Pretty Things weren't the only band to go psychedelic after the Beatles showed the way, but they were the only band that were able to expand the theme of 'Tomorrow Never Knows' over the length of an entire album and get away with it'. 'Nuff said.
And don't forget to grab the re-issue, too: it adds four excellent bonus tracks, taken off the Pretties' psychedelic singles. 'Defecting Grey' in particular is a classic, one of the definining singles of its era: a multi-part psychedelic 'mini-suite' glued together from many pieces ranging from lightweight shuffles to backward sitar gimmicks to astral collages to heavy guitar freakouts. The others are no slouch, either.

Trust me and mail your ideas

Your worthy comments:

Fredrik Tydal <f_tydal@hotmail.com> (14.04.2000)

<Ogdensgoneflake@aol.com> (13.12.2000)

QUICKSILVER MESSENGER SERVICE
(released by: QUICKSILVER MESSENGER SERVICE)

Year Of Release: 1968
Overall rating = 10

The Grand San Francisco hip-guitar sound in all its glory, and sometimes, it can be addictive.
Best song: PRIDE OF MAN

The debut album by Quicksilver Messenger Service, I suppose, didn't exactly prove the world that there really was a necessity for such a band on our planet in the light of the existence of bands like the Byrds and, of course, Jefferson Airplane. They seemed to play typical hippie-dippie music, but with no distinguishable edge. So it was 'dark'. So what? The Airplane were 'darker'. So it was emotionally resonant and kinda pretentious. So what? The Byrds were more emotionally resonant and even more pretentious when it came to heralding the hopes of the generation.
In other words: find me an excuse to buy a QMS album, and I'll go buy one. Well... if there is a unique formula for this record, it goes somewhat like this: take a slightly more lightweight, folksier mark of the Airplane, throw out all the fuzz-and-buzz and, more important, Throw Out The Acid - this is by no means an acid rock masterpiece or anything. If anything, QMS lyrics and QMS spirit could rather be classified on the 'progressive' rack - they were certainly quite pretentious, at least if compared to the other bands on the Frisco scene. Just check out the lyrics on 'The Fool'! 'Can you hear it in the morning, it sings the golden song, I saw his moving ever on the run, from and to the sound of one'. Doesn't it remind you of one Jon Anderson? Nevertheless, most of the lyrics are devoted to rather simple love thematics - but no acid for miles around. Not that they weren't on acid, of course - to be in a Frisco band at the time and not be on acid was probably the equal of appearing in the White House without wearing a tie - but you couldn't tell judging by the music.
In any case, there are some really prime compositions on here. Not that the band members wrote much of them. The best song, without a doubt, is the one that opens the album ('Pride Of Man')- it's a soulful, emotional masterpiece that's very Airplane-like (I can almost imagine how it could be sung by Grace Slick). It's a cover of a tune that was probably originally a gospel number, judging by the powerful apocalyptic lyrics, and they do it complete justice; the band's patented two-guitar attack works perfectly well, and Gary Duncan's vocals (if it's Duncan who sings the song) are tense, emotional and deeply moving. Taken in the context of the hippie movement, the song works perfectly: if the refrain doesn't stick in your head immediately, you're one tonedeaf dude.
The other three shorter compositions on here are also all recommendable. The guitar duet sounds fresh and inviting, as Duncan and John Cipollina churn out sloppy, but lively riffage and the band goes harmonizing on cute little hippie pop songs - Dino Valenti's 'Dino's Song', for instance (Valenti was the band's main collaborator and song provider at the moment), or somebody else's 'It's Been Too Long', which has a totally fascinating, unpredictable vocal melody. Less intriguing is the band's own 'Light Your Windows', but that's maybe because of the extreme sloppiness of the melody. All of this doesn't bother me that much, though, because it's a very interesting kind of sloppiness. It ain't your average unprofessional sloppiness, and it sure ain't the drunken sloppiness typical of macho braggard bands like the Faces. It's that charming 'hippie sloppiness' which so often characterizes bands that had all these self-taught guitar virtuosos who had their own unique, 'untamed' style and didn't know shit about how to gel their sound together, not to mention carefully producing it in the studio. Remember that it was San Francisco - nobody gave a damn about giving these guys' sound a glossy polish, and so much for the better; the music ends up sounding completely fresh and not a tiny bit artificial or 'dated' today. Some of today's bands, in fact, could kill for such an 'anti-production', but it's too late: this pure, unadulterated guitar sound is simply impossible to recreate any more. Take it like a fact.
So, if the album was just a little EP consisting of these four songs, it would have easily gotten the highest rating possible - yeah, yeah, that's right. Unfortunately, they had to go ahead and spoil all the fun with two lengthy, deadly dull jams: the seven-minute long 'Gold And Silver' and the twelve-minute long 'The Fool'. The first tune is completely forgettable: the band just limps along slowly, sticking around one primitive jamming theme and never knowing when to stop or even where to go. As for 'The Fool', it starts out even duller, and I'd personally cut the throats of the band's guitarists for putting us to such an embarrassing slow torture. However, it is kinda saved in the middle - after about four and a half minutes of interminable noodling, the band suddenly finds something interesting, a weird, oddball psychedelic jam which I could only describe as a 'hallucinogenous reinterpretation of Ravel's 'Bolero''. It's indeed very bolero-like, although the direct inspiration might come not from Ravel, but from somebody else (I doubt it, though, as the composition was among the most eagerly imitated by the hippie and the avantgarde scene at the time). Anyway, they choose a super-distorted, ragged wah-wah guitar tone for the main theme, which nearly freaked me out the first time I heard it. Heh. And then the vocals finally come in, singing the lyrics I typed in above, but that's just more relative crap. Dig that guitar tone.
I wasn't surprised, of course - nah, not me. Why should I be surprised? Hippies always have their flaws, and if you wish to enjoy all the advantages of hippie music, you have to tolerate its excesses, as well. So I eagerly give this record a 10, just for all the good, pleasant stuff contained therein. No, QMS could never hope to beat the Airplane with that stuff; problem is, by 1968 the Airplane were no longer on a creative peak themselves, so the competition was quite justified. In the long run, QMS lost, of course, which is a pity... but which is also predictable. Hell, everything on this planet is predictable.

It's been too long since I last received your ideas!

Your worthy comments:

<Groverbuhr@aol.com> (20.05.2000)

<Justinekrnz@aol.com> (16.08.2000)

HAPPY TRAILS
(released by: QUICKSILVER MESSENGER SERVICE)

Year Of Release: 1969
Overall rating = 7

The quintessential 'stupid hippie crap' album - and a great find for studiosos interested in the San Francisco scene.
Best song: HAPPY TRAILS (yeah, it's a joke)

Well, here I am reviewing yet another record by our infamous gang of San Francisco parasites... wish me luck.
This album here is one of the several major points of controversy among the American public. Basically, in 1969, John Cipollina, Gary Duncan, Greg Elmore and David Freiberg took counsel to decide what really constituted the essence of 'free' hippie music. Their decision was Happy Trails. An album that defies - but it doesn't defy good taste. It defies common sense.
Most of these recordings are live, most of them having been played at the Fillmore West and East; however, they are never presented as disjointed tracks, but rather like two lengthy jams, each of which occupies an entire side of the album. On both of these, Quicksilver show themselves to be terrific and reverential fans of the venerable Bo Diddley (yeah, that's the guy who only wrote one melody in his entire life, setting all his songs to it, but what a melody it was! Perfect! Like a good old blues pattern!), since Side A is all built around 'Who Do You Love', and Side B starts with a cover of 'Mona' before venturing off into non-related jammy ideas. Trying to sit through these jams and pay attention to them is, however, a totally useless idea - and it only makes matters worse. If you have, for some unexplainable reason, purchased this album, never make the mistake of paying attention to it. Put on the record and go play a computer game, or just do your maths in the corner of the room. This is the only way for the record to make an impression on you.
The funny thing is, many people actually appreciate this kind of stuff, and the record itself has acquired an almost 'classic' status. While browsing through the QMS site, I read a contemporary review by Greil Marcus', raving and ranting all about how this recording of 'Who Do You Love' was so ecstatic and wild and quintessential for rock. I always thought Greil Marcus was a smart guy, but his phrase about this jam being 'some of the hardest rock' he's ever seen puts him in the range of mindless, obsolete idiots in one stroke. Remember, this wasn't the year 1962! This was the beginning of the year 1969! Hendrix and the Who were crushing the world with their music; Led Zeppelin had released their mastodontic debut; and geez, even the Beatles already did 'Helter Skelter'. Compared to these outstanding efforts, the timid wankings of John Cipollina just don't go anywhere. This only shows how much the American press was obsolete and narrow-minded (and chauvinistic, too) at the time, if cretins like Greil Marcus were willing to embrace third-rate hippie stuff like QMS above the Who.
Now, let's be honest. While QMS were indeed third-rate hippie stuff, this does not implicitly mean that they were crap (not for me, at least: I never buy stuff about 'hippie crap', and never fall into the easy trap of identifying the first word with the second). In fact, the band does show elements of skill and, sometimes, even excitement. Cipollina and Duncan are both quite professional live guitarists, and they have mastered the 'San Franciscan guitar sound' as pioneered by Jorma Kaukonen (with trippy wah-wahs, spaced-out tremolo effects, etc.) quite fine. In fact, 'Who Do You Love' starts out rather impressively, with good drumwork and moody vocals. Later on, though, it starts branching out - first into a lengthy guitar solo ('When You Love'), next, into a bunch of noisemaking with audience participation as the 'main point' ('Where You Love'), then into another guitar solo ('How You Love'), then into a bass solo ('Which Do You Love'), and finally reverts back to the original. All the expressions in parentheses are actually 'song sub-titles' thought of by the band members. (Further suggestions: 'Why You Love', 'Inasmuch As What You Love', 'Wherefore Whenever Whichever You Love', and 'What The F*** Makes You Think You're So Clever And Funny?')
As background listening, all these parts are fun, except for the audience participation bit which is really a pain-in-the-ass for me. At least, they rarely lose the beat, and you can tap your foot and everything, and you can learn how to play guitar, too. All very nice. The problem is, they are no Cream. Another problem is that you turn the album over to the second side hoping to get a bit of fresh air and find out that you're gonna get more of the old crap, only worse. They start off with 'Mona'. 'Mona', in case you don't know it, is a) another Bo Diddley song; b) another Bo Diddley song with the same beat; c) another Bo Diddley song with the same beat done by QMS in the same style as the previous one; d) lastly, I only acknowledge the song when the Rolling Stones do it. So it's crappy. Even worse is the ensuing jam session ('Cavalry') that goes on for thirteen minutes in an unknown direction. And when the record ends with a painfully short, tongue-in-cheek 'cowboy song' (title track), it sounds so terribly out of place that... wait. The album cover has a cowboy painting on it, now doesn't it? Which actually means that it's not the title track that sounds out of place, it's everything else. Now that I've thought of it, I thought Greil Marcus compared the whole show with an exciting cowboy trip... Through some waterless Arizona desert, I'd bet.
You can get this if you wish, of course (who am I to dissuade you?), but don't waste your time on this one unless you're a big fan of, say, the Airplane. Unfortunately, this album manages to, indeed, epitomize all the worst excesses of American hippie music, and never concentrate on the best. Stick to the debut instead, at least it has some good songs on it, to put it short, plain and simple.

Happy trails to you, and mail your ideas

Your worthy comments:

<Justinekrnz@aol.com> (24.08.2000)

MEET THE RESIDENTS
(released by: THE RESIDENTS)

Year Of Release: 1973
Overall rating = 11

Deconstructive madness in full flight. Very much recommended for those that can't stand music.
Best song: N-ER-GEE (CRISIS BLUES)

If you thought Pink Floyd was weird, you have to listen to Frank Zappa. If you thought Frank Zappa was really weird, you have to listen to Captain Beefheart. If you thought nothing in the world could be weirder than that, well then your next (and arguably last, because, frankly speaking, my mind is limited enough to be able to tell what comes next) stop is the Residents. The Residents have always been an underground band, since their having formed in the late Sixties in North Louisiana or somewhere. More than that, they have always been anonymous - nobody knows what their names are, and nobody will probably know. More than that, they have always been tremendous mystificators: every single fact you'll encounter about them on the Net or elsewhere bears the 'allegedly' tag, and you have to take every bit of information about them, whether it looks credible or not on the surface, with a bag of salt.
More than that, the Residents aren't actually a music band. Well - to a certain extent they are, as long as you share the global conception that equals music to every 'unusual sonic experience' ever created. But the Residents often billed themselves as an 'anti-music band', and that definition fit them far more than, say, the Sex Pistols. Their main principle is musical deconstruction: believing (sincerely or not - that's up to you to decide) that pop music in general is a cunning plot to substitute true artistic rebellion for an easily accessible, 'lulling', becalming surrogate, the Residents spent their entire career ridiculizing the very essence of pop music in all its forms and subgenres. Thus, they are the artists that could define the very term of 'alternative' - and yet I wouldn't call them that, because if the Residents are 'alternative', then nobody else is. Nobody. Frankly speaking, I should have left most of their albums unrated, because this is so much different from your usual (or unusual) musical experience that I'm almost at a loss. And yet, the Residents' music is neither true avantgarde (because it is deeply rooted in traditional forms of music) nor average noise-making (there sure IS a lot of noise on these records, but it's not crucial for understanding them). Rather it is a projection of pop music onto a very twisted and ironic state of mind - pop music driven to absurd and relative cacophony by emphasizing those sides of it that are the silliest, the most embarrassing and... you know the rest.
Meet The Residents is a clear spoof of Meet The Beatles (the Fab Four's first American LP), and the four pictures on the album cover confirm that hint even further. Actually, the cover was one of the reasons why the record never sold that much - either the Residents were sued for it or the record was just pulled off the shelves almost immediately, I don't remember which. (It also spawned a rumour that the Residents are the Beatles! Hah hah!). In any case, legend has it that the record only sold 40 copies in its first year of release. I can certainly believe that. Later on, the record was re-released with another picture, that of the four Beatles standing in their regular suits but with fishheads replacing the usual moptops, while the band members are identified as 'Paul McCrawfish, John Crawfish, George Crawfish, and Ringo Starfish'! The CD re-issue actually combines both covers, so everybody's gonna be happy.
The liner notes tell us a happy story about how the Residents teamed up with their favourite guitarist Snakefinger and 'The Mysterious N. Senada who had developed a complex musical system based upon phonetics' and took their cue from these guys. 'Listen closely to the album', the liner notes tell. 'Let the strangeness wear off through a couple of plays. Soon you too will whistle the merry tunes and wonder along with the Residents who that old man N. Senada really was'.
Well, to tell you the truth, none of these tunes are whistlable even after half a dozen listens, and if the strangeness of this "music" wears off of you, you're in big psychologic trouble. No, the Residents haven't yet hit their creative peak on this thing, but this is definitely one mind-boggling album. You are first greeted with a series of rapidly changing 'jingles', all linked together and none exceeding two minutes. Dissonance and craziness abounds, but remember, this is not avantgarde: this is spooky deconstruction. Yes, it begins with a snippet of Nancy Sinatra's 'Boots'. But what is that snippet? A strange organ/brass hum, a guy who cycles through the lyrics in a wheezy, whiny tone, and stupid 'pa-bam pa-bam' vocal harmonies out of nowhere. And to make matters worse, the vocal melody just starts looping around in a couple of seconds.
Then it goes away, replaced by a music-hall melody that's seemingly played on out of tune electric pianos with abnormal fuzz levels. 'Guylum Bardot' is hilarious - your ears will bleed as somebody plays that trombone, because it's drastically out of tune, and what about those exaggerated nasal twangs in the vocals? See, the guys are playing and singing melodies - the only thing is, they twist these melodies so much that they turn to complete absurd. Perhaps the funniest of these little snippets, though, is the pseudo-psychedelic send-up 'Smelly Tongues', which first encodes Latin rhythms and then moves into an ominous sound loop while the Residents chant 'Smelly tongues looked just as they felt' in a prime Jim Morrison intonation for a dozen times. Okay, maybe not Jim Morrison, but substitute your favourite 'serious' rock hero from the Sixties here and you'll get the same impression.
Later on, though, the 'songs' become longer - the one-minute snippets gradually fade away, making way for the lengthier experiences, and these are in some ways even more enjoyable. 'Rest Aria' sounds like a cross between an extract from some Chopin suite and a grim dirge; it is arguably the most 'listenable' of the numbers on here, because the piano rhythms are stable and rather normal, yet even so, all the extra instrumentation still gives the passage a bizarre feel. 'Spotted Pinto Bean' spoofs Broadway or something, I'm not exactly sure. 'Infant Tango' I could take as a parody on the Residents' immediate predecessor - Captain Beefheart, with a hoarse, ragged vocal like the Captain's, and a series of jerky, paranoid 'funky' rhythms that the Magic Band was so capable of. 'Seasoned Greetings' is absolutely hilarious - a perfect choice for putting on at Christmas if you feel the guests are overstaying their welcome. It rocks pretty hard, with huge emphasis on unlistenable fuzz amounts again, and culminates in a very ominous Christmas greetings from the band, until it smoothly flows into the album's climax - 'N-ER-GEE (Crisis Blues)'. You should really hear the Residents going 'no no no no no' as they launch into a great echoey boogie performance, and then, as they go 'nobody can do the shake like I do, nobody can do the boogie-woogie like...', the record loops and they repeat 'boogie-woogie... boogie-woogie... boogie-woogie...' for ages, with all kinds of hellish astral noises descending down and the whole thing finally crashing down like the Empire State Building, right on the listeners' heads. You ain't never heard anything like it, that's for sure. You ain't never heard anything like the 'We got the en-er-gy crisis blues' line stomped out by somebody from the band, either. Simply put, if you haven't heard this record, you can't even imagine what it actually sounds like. You may not like it at all, but you just gotta hear it. Man!
Like I already said, this is not the Residents at their best, though. While most of the five-minute compositions are pretty good, I also feel they have no particular reason to go on for five minutes - few of them say anything more than the rest of the numbers could say in just one minute. And not all the grooves are really all that involving; plus, when the novelty factor (but not the strangeness, of course) wears off and you kinda get used to the overall sound, it's... ehh... well, not all of it is as funny as it was on first listen. Still, 'N-ER-GEE', 'Guylum Bardot', 'Seasoned Greetings', 'Smelly Tongues', these are all classics, and the album rates pretty high in my book anyway. I love a good amount of spoof and irony. Don't you?

Smelly tongues looked just like your ideas!

THE THIRD REICH'N'ROLL
(released by: THE RESIDENTS)

Year Of Release: 1975
Overall rating = 12

One thing I can swear - you have never heard the Fifties/Sixties guys covered like that, and you hardly will again.
Best song: I really don't wanna be kiddin' ya...

The Residents' masterpiece? Very probably so, yet one must also hold in my mind that the things they were doing here weren't that complicated or revolutionary. The basic idea behind the two lengthy 'suites' is that rock'n'roll, as such, is just a Nazi plot (metaphorically speaking, of course) to mellow out the brains of the younger generation and to make money, and so the cover faithfully pictures Dick Clark in a Nazi uniform holding a carrot to tempt the younger generation with. All the swastikas on the sleeve naturally cost the Residents some trouble, up to the album being completely banned in Germany, but then again, the Residents were probably used to causing and be caused trouble, weren't they?
The suites themselves are all consistent. They contain brief snippets of several dozen pop/rock songs - the first side concentrates more on doo-wop, rockabilly and surf standards, while the second tackles garage rock and some true Sixties' classics, but they're interspersed nevertheless - all ground through that perverse, formally unlistenable grinder that is the wicked mind of the Residents. Now the very idea of destroying 'classic' material might not be that new (it was already put to use by Frank Zappa several times before), but the manner of doing that is, of course, pure Residents, and it's killer. The only problem is that unless you really spent your childhood in the Sixties listening to the radio all the time, the actual humour and irony of these 'performances' will only get to you partially; me, for instance, I'm more often just sitting around, impatiently waiting for them to get to mutilating 'Light My Fire' or 'In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida' or at least 'Land Of A Thousand Dances' and not paying close attention to all the rest, because I've never heard the originals. In short, this is an album where the listener (not to mention the reviewer - shame on poor little me) should really have done his homework before putting it on.
Since a full description and 'review' of all the snippets would require a book, I'll just give a sample by telling you how it all begins. It all begins with a sample of Chubby Checker's 'Let's Twist Again' sung in German (true to the album's title and concept); in fifteen seconds, though, the sample cuts away and is replaced by creepy whooshing synth sounds and a wild echoey percussion beat against which the Residents start singing the famous 'na-na-na-na' of 'Land Of A Thousand Dances', after which a hoarse, exaggerated voice shouts out the actual lyrics accompanied by 'pseudo-brass' which sounds like a cross between a sax and a train whistle. Then everything bar the echoey percussion beats dies away, and they launch into the old standard 'Hanky Panky' with distorted electric piano, evil distorted vocals and schizophrenic drumming. Did that make sense? Probably not, or if it did, all you'd be thinking by now is that this is just silly self-indulgence. Nadah. It sounds so darn funny that the only question is: why did nobody think of something like that before 1975?
Perhaps the main brilliancy of this album lies in its subtle grotesque. I'll try to explain: what the Residents are actually doing, not always, but much of the time, is finding out the weak, or potentially weak spots within the actual songs and exaggerating them to an absurd state. For instance, when they take on 'Pushin' Too Hard' by the Seeds, supposedly a garage classic I've never heard, they pick out the 'pushin' pushin' pushin' too hard' refrain and repeat it for a couple dozen times, making it even more stupid than it actually seemed like in the first place (actually, it may never have sounded stupid, according to the common music philosophy, but that's not what the Residents think). When they take on 'In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida', they pick out Doug Ingle's booming voice and parodize it to the point of insanity - it almost seems as if Juppiter has had one too many and is sexually harassing Juno. And, of course, the classic moment arrives when they extrapolate the riff of 'In A Gadda-Da-Vida' onto 'Sunshine Of Your Love', after which they brilliantly combine 'Hey Jude' with the woo-woohs of 'Sympathy For The Devil', making a hint at the uniformity and routineness of pop music as we know it. Hilarious! And to a certain extent - pretty damn true.
That said, I'm still not able to rate this higher than a 12, for one simple reason: The Third Reich'n'Roll is, before all, just a gimmick, a pseudo-musical joke that's more valuable than just any joke, of course, because it raises some pretty serious and solid questions in itself; but a joke is a joke, and you can't get away from it. For one, I can't imagine anybody want to listen to this album more than once or twice, apart from occasions when you'd want to freak somebody out with the record, of course. If you want to hear the Residents play 'music', pick up Meet The Residents, or Duck Stab, or Commercial Album if you're that paranoid. This is a great, grandiose and meaningful joke. But I suppose that next time I pick this up from the shelf and actually use it in its proper way will only be after I've procured myself some of these originals the record parodizes. Just to compare.
Oh, and one more thing! Don't forget to listen to this one in headphones. The number of tricks the guys play with the channels nearly exceeds the number of tricks they play with the instruments.

Hitler was a vegetarian, but that hardly prevents you from mailing your ideas

KUSCHTY RYE
(released by: RONNIE LANE)

Year Of Release: 1997
Overall rating = 12

A lovely, tasteful and humble collection of very nice roots-rock tunes. Not much more... but for some, there just might not be anything more.
Best song: HOW COME

Note: this is a temporary review. Since this is a collection of singles, I feel free to rate it; however, most of these singles, with just a few exceptions, were culled off from three of Lane's LPs, and I would certainly be interested in tracking them down, sooner or later. When I do, this review will be restructured.
I feel somewhat awkward about these songs. I have always thought that Ronnie Lane, while certainly being absolutely unjustly forgotten over the years, still wasn't such a great songwriting talent as some depict him. Especially if we judge by his work with the Faces, that is. But it turns out that Ronnie's image in the Faces has been almost totally overshadowed by the rest of the members, mainly Ronnie Wood and, of course, Rod the Mod. Ronnie was always the 'quieter' guy, with a tendency to play unpretentious, cozy folk ballads and countryish rockers, whereas Stewart and Co. presented the Faces as a loud, brawny, boozy & bloozy band. Therefore, if you skip to Kuschty Rye from the Faces, you'll get a surprise, pleasant or unpleasant, depending on your tastes.
After quitting the Faces in 1973, Ronnie went on to form a roots-rock combo called Slim Chance and went on to record several LPs with them; later on, he engaged in some collaborations with Ronnie Wood (Mahoney's Last Stand, 1976) and Pete Townshend (Rough Mix, 1977) and had a couple more solo records before suffering a terrible fate: in the early Eighties he ended up with multiple sclerosis, which tormented him for twenty years, gradually making him unable to play (although he was still able to sing at several Faces' reunions) and finally driving him to an untimely death in 1997. Kuschty Rye, thus, appears as a gracious posthumous tribute to the man; and although most of the songs recorded here have nothing to do with Ronnie's illness, you just can't get rid of the 'testament' feeling. And when some beautiful ballad comes on, like 'Roll On Babe' or 'Anymore For Anymore', I can't even hold back a tear or two...
Because these singles really deserve it. Let me tell you this. First of all, Ronnie really can sing. As it turns out, he just couldn't sing while being in the Faces, because the styles and the moods didn't fit him, or maybe he was just so shy and weak in the presence of Rod Stewart. But now that he's on his own, he displays a gorgeous warm singing tone, with not an ounce of power that Stewart has but with tons more personality - I can easily identify with most of these songs, whereas even in his best days Rod's singing was somewhat 'outside'. Second, the other guys in Slim Chance really can play: the country and folk arrangements are lush, filled to the brink with instruments that seem to live and breathe. Pianos, guitars, saxes, mandolins, cellos... even the weakest tunes are enjoyable if only because they're performed with so much love and authenticity. The later solo material is a bit weaker in that respect, but still good.
Third and most important - these tunes are all incredibly personal. It really seems like Ronnie is singing all this stuff to you, in your private bedroom or living room, not in a sweaty stadium, like Rod. If you're a guitar player, you will most certainly be tempted to pick up your six-string and follow Mr Lane wherever he leads you. He's completely unpretentious, sharing the psychology of 'oh me? well I'm just playing this here song to myself, don't take it too serious, man'; he's cheerful, slightly optimistic even within the saddest numbers (all too ironic and creepy considering his fate); and he performs all this stuff with real conviction, singing his very heart out. I mean, if ever you got irritated by the highly-held nose of Mr Neil Young, Ronnie is the perfect cure...
Undoubtedly, the best stuff on this album are the first seven songs, originally placed on singles taken from Slim Chance's first album, Anymore For Anymore. They certainly sound a lot like Ronnie's stuff off the latest Faces' records, but that stuff usually passed unnoticed when put next to Roderick's mastodontic brawn. In fact, Ronnie even re-records 'Tell Everyone' from Long Player, and I'm left gaping open-mouthed at how this version is actually better than the Faces' one. The Faces treated the song as a generic soul number, leaving in the surface but leaving out the real essence; Ronnie probably sings this song with less power than Rod, but he renders it emotionally valid, in a Dylan-ish kind of way (except that his voice will never put off anybody like Dylan's voice sometimes can).
By far the best song on here, though, is the exciting country rocker 'How Come' - upbeat, lovely, and catchy as hell. Hilarious, too - on no other track Ronnie sounds so giggly and tongue-in-cheek and manages to get away with it. And that's not all; what about the frail, delicate beauty of 'The Poacher', an orchestrated folk ballad with one of the most stunning arrangements for a folk ballad I've ever heard? Man, it was a stroke of genius to combine that pipe, that organ, and the strings. 'Bye And Bye (Gonna See The King)' diversifies the standard country pattern by throwing in a piano background; and, like I already mentioned, 'Roll On Babe' and 'Anymore For Anymore' are beautiful, melancholic ballads which I can hardly tolerate because they so vividly associate in my mind with Ronnie's passing away. I mean, many great rockers are already dead and gone, but this I gotta tell you - these ballads have gotta be the most emotionally powerful 'self-lamentations' along with some of Lennon's songs on Double Fantasy. (I suppose that after Dylan is dead, I will treat 'I Shall Be Released' likewise; even if I sincerely hope the guy still has enough strength in himself to outlive me).
Don't know why I started all these scary conversations, though. Anyway, these first seven songs are the strongest, and the record never quite lives up to them. But I hold a soft spot in my heart for the cover of the jazz ditty 'Brother Can You Spare A Dime' (Ronnie performed this for a movie soundtrack in 1976) and the pretty rag-time of 'Ain't No Lady'. As for the later numbers - four songs taken off his 1979 See Me album - they're okay. I still can't understand if that's a synthesized or a real accordeon they're playing on 'Kuschty Rye', but whatever be, it's a very nice mid-tempo folk-pop song demonstrating that, while Ronnie might have lost some of the arrangement skills over the years, he was still as authentic and sincere as ever. 'One Step' is darn catchy, too; and the epic 'Lad's Got Money', disguised as an anthemic ballad ('come here children I'll sing you a so-o-o-o-o-ong', that kind of style), clearly, and forever, establishes Ronnie's place as King of Personalized Folk Rock, more so than any other British folk rocker I know.
As an encore, the record features two live numbers from a Slim Chance concert in 1975: 'Stone' is very good, and it rocks a bit harder than anything else here, but I'm not too sure about the Stones' 'Sweet Virginia'. After all, nobody can beat the masters at their game - and I love the original so much I cannot yet distance myself from it. But maybe I should; I'm not saying that this performance is bad, it's just very different from the Stones' 'country-crunch'.
If you find this record - buy it. If only as a respectful tribute to an undoubtful rock hero who lived a tragic life full of disappointments, relative obscurity and illnesses, and was still able to record material of such high quality, wearing his heart on his sleeve so much he'd almost rubbed it away... Rest in peace, Ronnie, and may you never be forgotten.

How come I still don't have any ideas from you?

Your worthy comments:

<Ogdensgoneflake@aol.com> (15.12.2000)

SLIDE ON THIS
(released by: RON WOOD)

Year Of Release: 1992
Overall rating = 12

This life ain't good, but it IS rock'n'roll! Some of the best Nineties' rock'n'roll, in fact.
Best song: TESTIFY

While Ronnie did have a more or less independent solo career, unlike Keith Richards or Mick Jagger whose solo careers were rather, er, rudimentary and always reeked of the true Stones' spirit, it wasn't until Slide On This that he fully demonstrated all his possibilities: he grew up, oldened and wisened, burned out and came back, and delivered a set of songs which should definitely rank among his best. In fact, while I haven't yet heard any previous albums of his, I'd be amazed if any of them turned out to be better.
On a normal, 'technical' level, there ain't really nothing special about Slide On This. What Ronnie does is basically write up a series of simplistic R'n'B melodies and cover some older standards, and that's about it. There's nothing groundbreaking or particularly interesting about this kind of music in 1992, unless, of course, you want to count such gimmicks as string arrangements sometimes overdubbed over plain rock'n'roll numbers innovative. And thus, when I first listened to the record, I couldn't help but feel bored: after all, why not put on Voodoo Lounge instead?
Nay, friends and countrymen. I was wrong. Remember, always remember that Ronnie Wood is not just a second-rate Rolling Stone; Ronnie is just as well a first-rate Face. And the Faces always had that magical power to charm you with their restless energy, booze and grittiness even when the actual melodies were non-existent. Well, now that Ronnie Lane is gone and Rod Stewart is mutated, Ronnie Wood carries on the legacy. And thus, when I listened to the record for the second time, I couldn't help but feel totally enthralled. To hell with Voodoo Lounge; in places, the ferocious rock'n'roll of Slide On This makes the Nineties' Stones sound like pathetic wimps, much like Rod Stewart himself.
Only in places, though. I do hold a couple of grudges against Ronnie. First of all, he's a nearly worthless balladeer. Okay, I know fans will flame me for this, just like they would flame me for my disliking Keith Richards' ballads. But what's to be done? I simply don't like sloppy, overlong stream-of-conscience ballads with a primitive structure, sung in a shaky, 'passionate' voice. I know they're heartfelt, sincere, from the very soul blah blah blah and so on and so forth, but, after all, we all have hearts and souls and sincerity. Gimme some musical ideas in addition, and then we'll start talking. Until then, I'll openly state that I don't give a damn about the ballads on here. 'Always Wanted More' passes me by like a fly with a muffler, in particular, and "Thinkin'", while a bit more powerful and hard-hittin', is still not among the highlights. And 'Breathe On Me', the track that closes the album just annoys me: the melody is simple as a doornail, and Ronnie's duet with Bernard Fowler is unimpressive. For some reason, I also detest the lyrics in the chorus - 'Open your mouth and breathe on me/I need your Sen Siti Vity'. There's no question, of course, that the song would make a great anthem for DUI-checking cops, but as a passionate ballad, it doesn't exactly fit in. And it gets so repetitive near the end that I can hardly wait for it to end.
Fortunately, Ronnie seemed to realize it himself. Out of the thirteen album tracks, there are but the above-mentioned three that are ballads. A fourth one is a short sympathetic country instrumental ('Ragtime Annie'), and all the rest are rockers. And this is where the fun begins. Ronnie's harsh, hoarse, but finally well-trained voice is put to perfect use, as it's less pretentious and a bit more 'user-friendly' than Jagger's: when you hear it, you know you're in for a good rock'n'roll party time. His guitar plaing is unparalleled: he lets loose with such a tremendous force that it really gives the impression he'd always been muffled by Keith as a Stone. All kinds of guitar sounds are on here, from wah-wah to slide, and they're awesomely produced: virtually no traces of the dratted Nineties' computer-ish sound at all. The instrumentation, in fact, is the major advantage of the album: even if you don't like some of the melodies (which is easy to do, as many of them sound alike), just dig in to that guitar sound! It ain't innovative, right, but it sounds a million times more fresh, clear and crisp than all that electronic crap we're so used to nowadays. Sometimes Ronnie is joined by guests, too, notably The Edge of U2 fame, and together they make hell freeze over with the unbelievable guitar poliphony on 'Like It'. Basically, the fury of that number is due to a very simple trick: overdubbing of four or five lead guitars soloing like mad, but has anybody really thought of it before? Well, I have never heard anything like that. Pity they didn't extend that jam at the end, I thought I was going to rock'n'roll heaven.
Other wonders on here include a flabbergastingly wonderful cover of Parliament's 'Testify' - never has a simple R'n'B number been so magically effective on your brains. Sure it's monotonous as hell, too (everything on here is monotonous, with refrains being repeated over and over a hundred times - it's simply a part of Ronnie's whole schtick), but I could care less, what with that beautiful ringin' guitar sound in my right speaker and the endless squeak-squeak-squeak of more guitars taking turns to come out of both speakers. 'I wanna testify what your love has done to me'. I'd like to testify, too. Then there's 'Ain't Rock And Roll', a surprisingly gloomy rocker where Ronnie complains about how 'this life is good, but it ain't rock'n'roll', with spooky wah-wahs poking out at you from every corner. 'Josephine' is so straightforward and dumb, it can't be anything but genius, and 'Knock Yer Teeth Out' is surprisingly aggressive: I sometimes feel uncomfortable while listening to it, since hearing the refrain 'I'm gonna knock your teeth out I'm gonna knock your teeth out I'm gonna knock your teeth out one by one' gives me a toothache. Needless to say, the song is great, just like every other rocker on this record.
I suppose I also have to mention the rhythm section - Doug Wimbish plays some impressive bass lines, and the drums are for the most part handled by Charlie Watts who also highly contributes to the addictiveness of the sound with his trademark steady, unerring, minimalistic beat. By gum, the old chap is getting better and better with every year, like fine wine.
I also suppose I should stop this review here and now, as there's really little else to say about these songs except they're all oh so exciting bar the ballads. So far, it's my best bet for a 'pure rock'n'roll' record to come out of the Nineties; the Stones' Voodoo Lounge comes close, of course, but Slide On This is tons more sincere and, above all, it ain't product, unlike the kind of stuff the Stones are currently putting out. It's fun to know somebody's actually still doing some good old rock'n'roll on this planet and not giving a damn about anything else.

Knock yer teeth out if ye don't mail yer ideas

SLIDE ON LIVE
(released by: RON WOOD)

Year Of Release: 1993
Overall rating = 10

Hope you'll just have a lot of good clean boogie-woogie fun with this duffer...
Best song: SLIDE INST.

Don't just go around treating Ron Wood as another second-rate guitar player with nothing to show to real music lovers, simply judging by the fact that he joined the Stones fifteen years after the band had begun. More experienced listeners will certainly acknowledge the fact that Ronnie was the main musical soul behind the Faces and the best phase of Rod Stewart's solo career, with his totally unique brand of sloppy, messy, but devastatingly charming slide, acoustic and electric playing. His talents never shone through to their full extent within the Stones, as he was just content with playing the role of Keith Richards' shadow; but when left alone to his solo devices, he was quite good. If you ever cared about the stoned-out, boozy, drunken, and friendly sound of the Faces, you'd be happy to know that Ronnie had always continued this line on his solo albums - most of which were practically impossible to get around here in Russia for a decent price until late 1999. So in desperation, I picked up the only thing I could find - this 1993 live album. And boy, is it good! On to the review now; I'll write a more respectable intro when I get around to making a Ronnie Wood page. He sure deserves one.
This live album sports the ironic subtitle Plugged In And Standing - as opposed to Rod Stewart's Unplugged And Seated, that came out a year before and featured Ronnie backing Rod on guitar. I wonder if it is indeed designed to be a pun on poor Rodney or no; after all, while both dudes were great once, the distance between them has grown to enormous proportions over the year, with Rod steadily going down and Ronnie steadily standing on the same spot he ascended in the early Seventies. Never 'progressing', of course - but who needs 'progressing' when you're so damn good at it already? And good old Woody does everything to prove he is, using the live album as a pretext for creating a touching retrospective of all his career - from the very first album and earlier. On the way, he plays tracks from Slide On This, previous albums, the Faces, Rod Stewart, and even the Stones - there's a flamin' version of 'Pretty Beat Up' here that easily tramples the original. As a matter of fact, 'trampling' is quite a good word to describe the whole album.
Sure, this is no Faces; but it's as close to the atmosphere as can be. Practically none of the songs here have a lot of things to say, melodically or stylistically: it's just your average band plodding its way through some potentially uninspiring R'n'B, soul and boogie-woogie numbers. If melody, hooks and a tight, compact sound you're after, leave now. Me, I just can't distinguish one song from another (quite often), but I don't care in any case. It all sounds so sincere, inviting, pretty and, well, fresh - yes, fresh is perhaps the best word, as opposed to the slick, lifeless overall production tones of the Nineties - that it sometimes causes tears on my eyes. Ronnie sings better than he used to do before, but that ain't saying much: his voice is something of a cross between Keith Richards' and Bob Dylan's, and it's a real hoot. On the Faces tracks, however, he does not attempt to imitate Stewart, and so backing vocalist Bernard Fowler takes the spot (he's the dude that sings backing vocals for the Stones since the Steel Wheels tour). Oh, and did I mention that he's also backed by Ian McLagan on keyboards - no wonder the Faces' associations are so incredibly strong throughout.
The best advice for listening to this throwawayish, but exciting live record is to turn it up loud and just give yourself in to the general groove. Don't be shy! Play some air guitar along with the repetitive, but catchy 'Josephine' and the boogie 'Show Me'! Sing along with Dylan's 'Seven Days' and the introductory 'Testify'! Dance to the unstoppable beat of these old Faces classics - 'Silicone Grown' and 'Stay With Me'! And enjoy Fowler's splendid delivery on the ballad 'Flying', too: the man has a good, if not thoroughly spectacular, voice. For comparison, you'll never find such an inviting atmosphere on any Stones' live record, as the guys have a nasty habit of sucking a large part of the energy and fun out of it by means of post-gig doctorings; not to mention that stadium gigs do not usually tend to have 'inviting' atmospheres. In fact, I say my profound thanks to Ron - he proves that there still exists such a thing as exciting, raw, soulful, tasteful live 'delivery' in the Nineties.
I don't think I really need to go over the tracks one by one, but one thing I'll still point out - the breathtaking jam called 'Slide Inst.', where Ronnie, indeed, straps on a slide and goes through different parts of entirely different songs, including a snippet of Stewart's 'Gasoline Alley', a touch of 'Amazing Grace' and a trifle of 'Prodigal Son'. If there ever was a reason to doubt his efficiency on guitar, this jam proves quite the opposite: this is undoubtedly the playing of a Slide Master: not the fastest player on earth, but a delicate, sensitive artist who manages to make one chord sound more meaningful and sensitive than a hundred others by a different guitarist. So who cares if these songs are clumsy and erratic and lack hooks? And who cares if the band sounds drunk and stoned? In case you're not informed, this was the Faces' old trick - play as loos-ey and as booz-ey as possible and pray that no one collapses onstage. This here album sounds likewise. But it's fun anyway.
Note: I have a special edition of the record - the one that comes with two bonus tracks, apparently recorded in the studio; these, however, don't sound interesting at all to me, as it's just two old Motown classics, one of which ('I Don't Know What You've Got') is sung by Fowler, and the other, the Beatles-made-famous 'You Really Got A Hold On Me', by Ronnie. Since I'm no big Motown fan, they simply don't cut the mustard for me - and the lack of a totally fresh 'live' atmosphere kills both off even further. Ronnie's hilarious whining on the latter, though, is well worth checking out.

Stay with me and mail your ideas

SPIRIT
(released by: SPIRIT)

Year Of Release: 1968
Overall rating = 12

Magnificent and professional American psychedelia, even if it lacks inspiration in a couple of places.
Best song: MECHANICAL WORLD

Wow! Why doesn't anybody ever remember THESE guys? They have almost vanished without a trace off this planet, and they were good. Spirit were one of these rare Sixties' American bands who wanted not just to be psychedelic: they wanted to churn out intelligent psychedelia, with a professional, laid back and restrained approach, carefully combining pop, rock and jazz elements to form a vehicle that might not always have been genial, but that was certainly always interesting, to say the least. Not to mention that Spirit are the only rock band I know of to have combined members of different generations: the band featured both ace guitarist Randy California and his stepfather - drummer Ed Cassidy. Can you think of something more cool? I can't.
Their debut album is said not to have been their best, but if it ain't, I'm seriously baffled - by all means, it doesn't deserve anything less than a 12, and if they really did better, wow... anyway, I'm all for it, and I'll write more about these guys when I get around to acquiring more of their catalog. And believe me, it's really worth hunting for. Now on to the long-awaited review.
Spirit released their self-titled debut record in 1968, when the LA psycho/acid scene was already in full blossom (and it would already come to its decline a year later); maybe that is why it's so often overlooked. But in many ways, it blows all competition away, and for a short while the band managed to really make it big due to their accomplishments. Compared to the Beatles, Spirit is definitely not ear-shattering; but compared to contemporary Jefferson Airplane and Quicksilver Messenger Service (not to mention, ooh, the Grateful Dead), this record's a marvel. It is diverse, going from moody acoustic shuffles to psycho chants to fusion jams to straightforward pop ditties. It is vastly professional: Randy California's guitar chops (which he learned straight from Hendrix, by the way) are just about the best guitar sound you could hear from an LA band at the time, Ed Cassidy's jazz-trained drumming style is flawless, and bassist Mark Andes throws out astute lines that put him at least in the same league as Jack Casady, if not higher. And finally, these guys do know how to write their material, especially lead vocalist Jay Ferguson: the hooks are not immediately obvious, but after a couple listens almost every song on the album stands out on its own, and its brilliant eclecticism is completely adequate with its catchiness and melodicity.
And, of course, there's 'Taurus'. All of you certainly know this song even if you have never heard it before. How? Simple. After a brief, gentle strings and Mellotron introduction, Randy California picks up his acoustic and plays a melody that was... yeah, sit up straight: almost perfectly, note-by-note nicked off by Jimmy Page for the main acoustic riff of 'Stairway To Heaven'. Okay, so he changed a couple of chords to make it impossible for Randy to sue him, but that doesn't change the essence - and since it is historically documented that Led Zeppelin once used to open the show for Spirit and Page took a particular interest in 'Taurus', the fact may be considered proved. Now do you understand why I only gave Led Zeppelin a band rating of three? Not that 'Taurus' is really better than 'Stairway To Heaven' - but it's just different, a short, moody instrumental, with none of 'Stairway's epic magnificence, but also with none of its banal pretentions.
Out of the individual songs, it's hard to pick a favourite - they are all professional, memorable tunes. Currently, I'm mostly impressed by the grim pessimistic monotonousness of 'Mechanical World': in an attempt to mimic the Doors, the band actually delivers something in a slightly different style - an anthemic, angry rave-up with a two-chord sequence being endlessly repeated and Jay Ferguson wailing in the background: 'Death fall so heavy on my soul... Death falls so heavy makes me moan... Somebody tell my father that I died... Somebody tell my mother that I cried...', until he is being replaced by California's impressive Hendrix impersonation. The pessimistic notes are reprised for 'Grammophone Man', which is, however, more Kinks than the Doors: it's 'light', 'non-depressive' melancholia and a 'character song' so typical for Ray Davies. The main vocal melody is tear-inducing, and the irony (the song's about the downs of record industry, of course) is quite acute. Not to mention the great jazzy instrumental break, of course.
Then there's pure groovy psychedelia. 'Fresh Garbage' is one of their best-known numbers, a stage favourite that's said not to be as energetic and revealing in the studio version; well, maybe, I still like it very much. Isn't it fun to hear Ferguson chant 'freeeeeeeEEEESH GARBAGE' in a 'fresh papers!' intonation?
And then there are all those poppy ditties, so derivative yet so original. 'Uncle Jack'? Love it, maybe not as much as the Who's 'Happy Jack', but with all the Britpop harmonies, double-tracked guitar solos and funny lyrics, it comes very close. 'Girl In Your Eye'? Here they bring on a sitar which sounds very appropriate, too, although the song itself is more in the folkish vein; plus Randy changes his guitar tone to this stingy poisonous rattle which is vastly at odds with the gently sounding melody and provides a great counterpoint. And on 'Water Woman' the guys actually go country, with stupid water bubbles all around and a giddy, highly amusing atmosphere of its own.
Maybe a couple short tunes are weaker than the others, but that doesn't really get in my eye. What does get in my eye is the only serious misstep - the lengthy ten-minute fusion suite 'Elijah' (by pianist John Locke). The main riff is very good, and some of the solos are good, too, but the composition is definitely overlong; I could easily live without the lengthy guitar, organ, and drum drones going on and on and on with not much poignancy to them. Even so, the jam is definitely tons more involving than, say, some Quicksilver Messenger Service compositions I could name.
Don't bother about the CD re-issue, though: the bonus tracks include two rather lacklustre instrumentals, one pretty lame Randy composition called 'If I Had A Woman' (apparently, as a pop composer, Ferguson was the band's main star), and an alternate take on 'Elijah', all ten minutes of it. But I'm pretty much worn out by the first version already, so it's hard for me to notice the differences.
Please take the time to find the record, still. It's very important in that it has vastly changed my conception of American Sixties' rock: contrary to what I thought before, there were professional, eclectic bands on the West Coast that could have made good competition to the British ones. It's all the more frustrating to realize that pretty few people really know who these guys were.

Fresh garbage! Now what about your ideas?

Your worthy comments:

Fox Simon <Simon.Fox2@homeoffice.gsi.gov.uk> (13.06.2000)

Fredrik Tydal <f_tydal@hotmail.com> (05.07.2000)

THE FAMILY THAT PLAYS TOGETHER
(released by: SPIRIT)

Year Of Release: 1968
Overall rating = 10

The band is coasting on here - refining some sides of their sound and dumping lots of others.
Best song: I GOT A LINE ON YOU

A serious disappointment. While for me Spirit's debut album was a wonderful mix of styles, fresh, innovative and diverse, the band obviously regarded it as a careful treading of water - and on their second album, only a minor handful of these styles remained. Instead of running all over the place (which makes that debut album such an arrow-target for the 'regular' critics and such an attractive target for me), The Family That Plays Together picks out one main groove - the slow, jazzy, relaxated one, and builds up more than half of the album's material according to that pattern. This might not be such a serious complaint, of course, had the band really worked out the hooks on these songs; unfortunately, the sound is uniform and smooth, and goes for atmosphere rather than distinct melody. True to the album's name, the band really plays together - in the bad sense of this expression, because the instruments simply gel into a monolithic mass and drown themselves out. I simply can't get wooed over the instrumentation on any of these songs, not to mention that the instrumentation is actually less diverse. Where are those hicky sitars, for instance? GIMME THE HICKY SITARS RIGHT NOW!
The album has also been sometimes called 'more hard-rocking' than the previous one, which makes me firmly believe that most Spirit critics have never bothered to truly listen to the albums. On the contrary, Randy California's guitar is horribly understated on the album - including even the songs which Randy wrote himself (and he emerges as the band's second, if not first, most important songwriter on here). Apart from a couple energetic guitar solos, he mostly sticks to the 'playing together' principle and that's it. Hard-rocking album? Man! Jazzy, yes; atmospheric, definitely; but in terms of hardness, this is an extremely mellow record. Heck, it has, like, three rockers out of eleven songs. Gee.
That said, the lead-in number is excellent - 'I Got A Line On You' just gotta be one of Spirit's most efficient pop-rockers, with a powerhouse piano riff carrying the song forward and incredible harmony arrangements, and it fully deserved a hit status, which it actually achieved. But it's also one of the most deceptive lead-ins, ever: the following five songs are all soft, slow, jazzy shuffles that have none of that energy whatsoever. Not that they are really bad or anything; apart from 'Drunkard', which is little more than a mushy over-orchestrated mess, any of these songs could have stood up on their own merits. But taken together, it's like a prime lullaby for dreamy hipsters, one of those rare cases when the total is actually less valuable than the sum of its parts. I mean, I love the way the dreamy, melancholic harmonies weave around the main organ theme in 'It Shall Be'; and I appreciate the way the 'woman tone' of California's guitar makes its dreamy, melancholic way into the mid-section of 'Poor Richard'; and I'm quite fond of the way that the dreamy, melancholic parts of 'Silky Sam' build up to a series of mini-climaxes (even if the song is essentially just a more complex version of 'It Shall Be'); and I'm particularly well-disposed towards the funny shakey vocal lines of the pretty ballad 'Darlin' If', which finally shakes off the comatose, drugged-out world of the previous four songs and diversifies the atmosphere a little with some clean, unadulterated folkish fun. But all this happens only if I listen to the songs separately, and even so, none of them are worthy of the highest level of praise. And listening to this stuff in a row clearly presents some problems - you have to be a particular fan of this brand of 'acid jazz' to fully get the groove.
Things get a little bit more upbeat with 'It's All The Same', a song that's painfully mediocre but it at least rocks out, with excellent Cream-inspired 'guitar solo symphonies' which then segue into... a drum solo. Oh boy. Even Ed Cassidy's age, which supposes wisdom and experience, didn't stop him from falling into the regular trap of a drum solo. Okay, so he already did a drum solo on 'Elijah', but that was different, because it was just a polygon for all the band members to display their skills. Meanwhile, Randy's 'Jewish' is nothing more than a stupid joke, and then we have to sit through two more of Ferguson's drones (luckily, they are a bit louder and they don't lull you to sleep, but they also don't have much in the way of memorable melodies) before getting to the album closer - which, ironically, happens to be the second best song. 'Aren't You Glad' has something that most of the other songs on here don't: a small amount of epic grandiosity, provided by Ferguson's high-spirited vocal delivery and majestic, soaring guitar lines from Randy. Oh, and actually, the last seconds of the song feature Randy playing his heart out on the most 'heavy' guitar solo on the entire record - which leads me to the conclusion that reverend critical people just listened to the lead-in and the lead-out numbers on the record before pronouncing their 'hard-rocking' verdict on it.
The fortunate thing is that in the future, Spirit would get better again, as the 'acid jazz' groove really didn't fit in well with them, and after all, the hippy era was already on its way out. The truth is, the band had way, way more potential than is displayed on this album, and they just failed to use it properly. Nevertheless, like I said, the songs are mostly good, or "okay" at the least. And you know what "okay" means, doncha?

Aren't you glad to mail your ideas?

TWELVE DREAMS OF DR SARDONICUS
(released by: SPIRIT)

Year Of Release: 1970
Overall rating = 11

Tends to wear me out - much too samey-sounding, with melodies somewhat diluted. A minor classic nevertheless.
Best song: MR SKIN

I don't quite get the deep hidden secret of this record. It is widely regarded as Spirit's finest hour before their dissolution, given excellent marks by all the critics and even more, this record was the only testimony to Spirit's spirit that could be found in print in the US for a long time. Actually, I'm beginning to wonder if it was that factor that implicated Sardonicus being hailed as the band's masterpiece, and not vice versa - people only could get a grasp at Spirit through that one release, and the rest of their career was subconsciously treated as a footnote.
Well then again, maybe not. There is one major advantage to this album: the guys sound completely mature and self-assured, with a special, unique sound that they have finally developed instead of running all over the place. There is one major flaw to this album, as well: the guys sound way too mature and self-assured, with a special, unique sound that replaces the diversity of old and makes most of these songs sound the same. No Britpop - jazz - folk - country - blues - psychedelia distinctions any more, just a special little brew of their own: mid-tempo jazz structures with moderately distorted virtuoso guitar and complicated rhythm textures, at times spiced with various psycho effects and gimmicks.
Randy California is now obviously at the forefront, pushing all the other players away, and he now also dominates the songwriting, contributing seven of the twelve numbers; Ferguson throws in another four, and Locke gets to 'shine' with a random psychedelic collage ('Space Child') that I don't particularly find very engaging. And not coincidentally, Ferguson's numbers are once again by far the most effective: 'Animal Zoo' is hilarious, a refreshing stab at country-pop that's one of the very few pieces of 'diversification' on the record. Just one note: the lyrics on the record suck throughout, with the band going for a 'profound' conceptual kind of message but failing - well, I suppose they were just pretending. Occasionally they find some pretty simple hippie mini-concept for a song, but much too often they're just unintelligible. I don't blame them, though - they were clearly going after the music rather than the words.
Okay, so 'Animal Zoo' is a highlight, but Ferguson's main claim for fame on here is doubtlessly 'Mr Skin', one of the band's best rockers - listen to it begin quite innocently, with quiet organ/guitar interplay and the band's sly soulful harmonies, but then they go for a rip-roarin' funk groove with a wonderful call-and-answer vocal arrangement and a brass section that would kick the bottom out of old Sly. Ferguson also contributes 'Street Worm', one of the hardest numbers on the album that to me, however, sounds more like a launchpad for these finger-flashing guitar solos from Randy than an actual song.
Randy himself, however, is in a relatively quiet mood: his songs are generally softer and moodier than Ferguson's, and that's including 'Nature's Way', the album's main minor hit single and the best known song from here in general. 'Moody' is the best description for the song; its instrumental melody is way too simplistic and repetitive to put it on a pedestal, but it gives a chance for the band to brew up some really powerful, mournful harmonies as they sing about... about... well, about 'nature's way of telling you something's wrong'. Quite emotional, if you ask me.
Other highlights are 'Life Has Just Begun', a gorgeous acoustic ballad with some more beautiful harmonies with the band, and especially the upbeat rocker 'Morning Will Come': the two songs form a magnificent 'optimistic anti-dote' to some of the more gloomy overtones on the record's first half. But I really can't say anything else about any other song, because, frankly, I don't know what to say. I don't see too many hooks in these songs: I admire the mastery and the perfectionism, and, of course, no California band in 1970 ever sounded like this, but I'd like the songs to have just a wee bit more edge to match the band's nearly-immaculate debut record. The four or five classics I have mentioned are all classics, no doubt about that, but the rest of the album is just a bit too sludgey, with instruments buried under each other and rather pedestrian vocal harmonies that don't seem to go anywhere - and I couldn't remember how the main melody of 'Soldier' or 'When I Touch You' goes upon the five hundredth listen. Missing the hooks and the diversity, I can't but give Sardonicus a wee bit lower rating than Spirit; I seriously think that looking at the band's output without a bias must lead to the same conclusion from everybody.
Oh, and by the way, this isn't actually even COMPLEX stuff. At least, it's by no means more 'complex' than their first records, unless 'boring' means 'complex', of course. It's far from ordinary and generic, of course, but so was Spirit. And the conceptual elements - the album title, the pretentious lyrics, vocal and instrumental links between the songs, etc. - just don't make the record any more special than it already is; after all, it's no Sgt Pepper, even if it's obvious that the band seriously intended for the record to become one.
That said, the album is still very good - and an easy eleven on the overall rating scale. Consequent listens bring out several interesting musical ideas initially buried down in the depths of sound, and at least half of the songs are extremely well-written, whatever that might actually mean.
Bonus tracks on the recent CD re-issue include a couple alternate mixes, a weak rocker ('Rough Road') and a hilarious piece of goofiness in 'Red Light Roll On', perhaps the most campy track ever recorded by Spirit - of course, they take that dumb approach completely tongue-in-cheek, and it guarantees you a good healthy laugh to conclude the listening process to. Because, to tell you the truth, a good healthy laugh is what the original release of the album seriously lacked.

Morning will come together with your ideas

Your worthy comments:

<Justinekrnz@aol.com> (16.08.2000)

PLEASE TO SEE THE KING
(released by: STEELEYE SPAN)

Year Of Release: 1971
Overall rating = 11

Electric Celtic/Anglo-Saxon folk, by guys (and gals) who truly understand what they're doing. The only problem is, it kinda grates after a while...
Best song: FALSE KNIGHT ON THE ROAD

Yeah, just don't confuse them with Steely Dan - I know the band names are, as awkward as it is, structured quite alike, but the two hardly have anything in common. Anyway, the Steeleyes were quite huge in the Seventies, having scored several massive hits in Britain and always ranking as the equals, or, at least, second best to Fairport Convention as the nation's greatest folk-rock and Celtic-rock band, and Fairport Convention were no slouches themselves. The big difference was that Steeleye Span went for a much more 'authentic' program - for a large part of their career, none of the band's members actually wrote any songs. Instead, they preferred to scoop up genuine folk songs and medieval-tinged ballads and make their own arrangements. On the other hand, they relied far more on electric instruments than Fairport Convention ever did; that's not to say that Span's folk rock is really any more 'rocking' than Convention's, but at least that's a unique style of playing, and this, in turn, makes Steeleye Span a fairly impressive band well worth a page of its own. And I'll probably get around to building that page as soon as I get more albums. I promise. Now, on to the review.
1971 caught the band in a state of turbulence - actually, that's a bit of an excessive expression, since Steeleye's lineup was even less stable than that of Jethro Tull, and that's truly saying something. However, it was that year that also brought them their style: traditional ballads based on ringing, slightly distorted electric guitars, screeching violins and a complete lack of drums (yeah... well, they do have some kinky percussion, anyway). This time around, the lineup for their second album stabilized around Ashley Hutchings on the Boom Boom Bass, Maddy Prior on Awesome Astonishing Vocals, Tim Hart on Sweet Sweet Dulcimer, and two new members to replace the departing Terry and Gay Woods: Peter Knight on Screechy Screechy Violin and Martin Carthy on Slap Slap That Guitar (well, he also sings quite a lot).
Before I go any further, though, I must warn you: even if most of these songs are rather simple in structure and quite accessible, a whole album like that is not so easy to take. After all, traditional Anglo-Saxon ballads, good or bad, are mostly based on a limited number of chord progressions, rhythms and moods; and if you don't have an inborn passion for that style, Steeleye's 'classic period' albums will be even harder to chew than Fairport Convention. I say this because even me, who always goes crazy about medieval European stylizations, well, even me begins to feel somewhat fidgety near the middle of the record. Not to mention that, after all, this is Steeleye's first try in the genre, and they didn't yet know how to make the individual songs stand out from each other. I mean, is there any significant difference between 'The Blacksmith' and 'The Lark In The Morning', for instance, or 'Prince Charlie Stuart' and 'Female Drummer'? Okay, so there is a lot of difference between both pairs, but not enough to create specific, individualistic images of each song in my head. The first pair is just a couple of lovely slow ballads, and the second pair is just a couple of funny war songs. And that's how it is gonna stay, despite my being quite fond of all four numbers.
Of course, I do omit the factor of length and monotonousness; when you deal with British folk-rock, you have to close your eyes on that or you won't really go far with British folk-rock. You have to take it with teeth and fists clenched and steam coming out of the nosdrils, but maybe you'll get used in the end.
So let's just take it like that: the overall style of the record is beautiful, and when taken individually, each song is beautiful on its own merits, but there's also the... the AC/DC factor, you know what I mean. Then again, I can't really blame the band like I could blame the Young brothers, since they weren't really composing, but instead gathering 'popular beauties' from all corners of the land.
And let me concentrate on what I consider the best numbers on the record. Particularly beautiful on here is the closing track, 'Lovely On The Water', with some really breathtaking chord changes in Maddy Prior's vocal melody and the most distinguished guitar parts on the album. The guys don't really care that much for soloing, but 'Lovely On The Water' comes closer than anything else to a guitar solo, with a wonderful interplay between the ringing rhythm guitar and the 'vibrating' solo guitar, while Ashley keeps pounding away on the ominous bass. It's so drastically depressing you almost want to die... until the fascinating vocals come back again and kinda salvage you.
But my favourite song is still the hilarious 'False Knight On The Road', with Hart and Carthy taking turns to sing these enthralling lines representing a dialogue between the devil-temptator (False Knight) and the innocent boy: "'As I wish you were in younder tree,'' says the false knight on the road 'A ladder under me,' says the wee boy and still he stood 'The ladder it'll break,' says the false knight on the road 'And you will surely fall,' says the wee boy and still he stood". "Still he stood", by the way, means that the boy gives all the correct answers to the False Knight's questions and is thus able to save his soul. Beautiful - lightweight, for sure, but that only makes the song stand out more in the general context of the album.
All the other songs have their moments, too: 'Cold, Haily, Windy Night' has more of that amazing guitar interplay, the 'Jigs' part is captivating with its authentic energy, 'Boys Of Bedlam' is just as creepy as its title would suggest (oh yeah, it's the real Bedlam that we deal with), and 'Female Drummer', well, forget what I said about that one not being distinctive. It almost rocks - the rhythm guitar bashes out a real power-chord rhythm, at least, before the vocals come in and things become a bit more generic. Never mind, though. The song's still good.
And did I mention that Maddy Prior has one of rock's best female vocals yet? Probably yes, but I'll just say it again. Not quite up there with Annie Haslam, since she doesn't have such a mighty range; but sure up there with Sandy Denny and maybe even better. Perhaps the main problem on this record is that they don't let her take lead vocals as often as I'd wish to, only on about half of the album. She is certainly able to make even the most dull song come alive.

Cold, haily, windy night and still no ideas

BELOW THE SALT
(released by: STEELEYE SPAN)

Year Of Release: 1972
Overall rating = 12

A Celtic masterpiece, displaying all the subtleties of the genre without overreaching.
Best song: ROYAL FORESTER

Steeleye Span Mark III falls in place on here - both Ashley Hutchings and Martin Carthy are gone, replaced by Rick Kemp on bass and Bob Johnson on guitar. Now this certainly affects the band's sound in many ways, but the most important result is that much of the music now sounds less deep and does not pound on your brains so relentlessly. After all, remember that the earlier music was very much based on Ashley's grim, pounding basslines, and McCarthy's thick electric jangle; this provided a lush 'wall-of-sound' effect that was quite unique and unprecedented, but it was also a bit hard to take when applied to a whole row of songs, one after another. Took a lot of time to get used to - imagine that, when you could have spent all that time reading some Hustler!
Hey, I'm not lamenting; I'm just finding an excuse for getting away with two of the band's most vital members. Anyway, their replacements are quite solid as well, if not as remarkable on their instruments. As a result, Below The Salt relies far more heavily on acoustic than its predecessors, but it's still a 'folk-rock', not pure 'folk' album: the electric lines in 'Spotted Cow', 'Royal Forester' and 'King Henry' are unforgettable no matter what.
Maddy Prior and Tim Hart now mostly take the reins in their hands; Maddy is featured ever more prominently on the record, and that's a good thing; even more interesting, the album spawned their first minor hit in 'Gaudete', and oh what a hit it was. Probably the only song by a 'rock' band on Earth that's sung completely and entirely in Latin; a hymn taken from the Piae Cantiones, it's not exactly beautiful - well, at least, it's not any more beautiful than just about any solid religious hymn ever written. But you gotta remember that these dudes aren't really church singers, and the way they pull off that accapella singing is stunning. And they managed to put this in the charts? A Latin carol? Not even under the 'gospel' section? This is at least amusing, even if you hate that kind of music.
But it's not 'Gaudete' that makes me rate the album so high. And it's not 'Sheepcrook And Blackdog', and not the traditional pair of jigs, and not even the pretty, but inessential version of 'John Barleycorn'. These are all good songs, but they don't really qualify. There are four absolute Celtic rock masterpieces on the album, and each of them adds at least one point to the rating. So 'scuse me, I'll just rant a lil' bit. In order of personal preference.
'Spotted Cow' is not particularly amazing in any, well, in any particular sense, but I adore how all the little bits come in so flawlessly. The vocal melody - so catchy, so fluent, so pretty and with that heart-wrecking chord change on the fourth line of each verse. The duet between Maddy and Tim. The nice acoustic. The ominous distorted electric notes heralding the beginning of each verse. And the naive romantic lyrics about... well, essentially it's about screwing, but you know they used to sing about it nicely those days. And no, don't worry, it's not about screwing cows.
'Saucy Sailor', as far as I know, is one of Maddy's favourites - I would have probably missed the song's charm if I hadn't read about it and hadn't returned back to the song in order to appreciate it some more. It's the album closing number, and, just like 'Lovely On The Water' off Please To See The King, it's dedicated to the subject of sea, sailors and the eternal 'love vs. money' subject. A perfect choice to lead us out of the enchanted Steeleye world, it's not even the main melody of the song itself that's so beautiful, but the extended coda featuring Peter Knight on some funny keyboard device (hey, it's not a vibrophone, isn't it?) and some obscure chanting done by Tim.
'King Henry', then, is Steeleye Span's magnum opus. At seven minutes, it's one of their longest tracks, and while I do feel that extending the tune reeks a little of artificialness, they do it masterfully. The song itself is marvelous, about King Henry's relations with a 'grisly ghost' that I still can't quite understand: he feeds it with his horses and hawks, he lays it in his bed, yet he refuses to sleep with it, and in the morning he finds out that the ghost has transformed into a beautiful lady. Reward? Whatever. The song shuffles on thoughtfully, alternating vocal sections with an electric guitar solo, a violin solo and yet one more electric guitar solo towards the end. It's all energetic and powerful, and keeps the listener intrigued - if you ain't read the lyrics sheet beforehand, you'll be fascinated.
And now for the grand prize... my favourite number. 'Royal Forester'. Screwing again, damn those obscene Scots. But what about that melody? They play fast and tight, with screeching fiddles and violins in the background while Rick Kemp pumps out a steady bassline. In fact, it's gripping me right now and right away as I put it on... hell, essentially it's just a jig, only with vocals overdubbed this time. But it's not a friendly lightweight jig, it's a disturbing jig with nasty-sounding violins and stuff, and a vocal melody that's supposed to eulogize the royal forester, but instead puts an aura of fear and suspicion around him. Well, serve him well; he should have known better than to rape a mysterious lady (the track is subtitled "the aboriculturist meets superwoman". Makes you wanna grin, doesn't it?)
As all Steeleye Span albums are supposed to, chances are that Below The Salt will grow on you and not vice versa. Diehard folk lovers will scream about the immense profundity and deep hidden sense of these songs; screw 'em, there's none (remember the liner notes to Bob Dylan's World Gone Wrong where he tried to unsuccessfully market himself as a philologist working on ethnic material? A big put-on, that's what it was). But in the end, that's what makes them all the more fascinating: these are living songs about living people (and just a few undead ones), and Steeleye Span do a terrific job in making them work in a semi-rocking arrangement. I mean, folk music will hardly ever move me to tears - that's what experienced singer-songwriters are for; but the 'authentic feel' on here is so omnipresent that I have no choice but to take off my hat.
Except that I don't have a hat, but I don't think that'll really interest anyone. What the hell, go buy Below The Salt instead of listening to me and my insane rants. This is, without a doubt, the way our friends the Scots and our friends the Middle Englishmen would have performed these songs had they access to the electric guitar somewhere around the 16th century. Unfortunately, stocks were kinda low in those times...

Gaudete gaudete, ideasque mittite

KATY LIED
(released by: STEELY DAN)

Year Of Release: 1975
Overall rating = 10

A dangerous, yet strangely peaceful record - then again, be warned, as 'peaceful' often alternates with 'boring'.
Best song: BLACK FRIDAY

Katy Lied is often hailed as a turning point in Steely Dan's career, a moment when the band decided it finally had enough with 'rock' (not that the band was very much 'rock' in the first place) and veered off in the direction of a more jazz-poppy audience-friendly sound. It's also the first record where 'Steely Dan' as such finally became an undisputable duo: just Donald Fagen and Walter Becker working together in the studio with tons of other session musicians, some of them past full-fledged band members, some not. They also weren't touring at all at this point, and it's easy to see why: this sort of music is not really fit for live playing. I'm not such a great fan of the notorious 'trademark Dan arrangements' as many people seem to be: I consider all of these songs very tastefully arranged, but there's hardly anything outstanding here. If anything, one should emphasize exactly this fact: Katy Lied is a very 'non-outstanding' record (though certainly more 'outstanding' than, say, Aja, which runs along so smoothly I feel like skating on polished ice), yet it is also not pretentious and totally adequate.
Despite all the taste and smoothness, though, I don't feel like loving all of this record. The funny thing is, out of ten songs on here, I quite enjoy the first five.. and quite despise the last five. Well, not 'despise'. They're simply unmemorable. And mind you, I do not buy into all that 'look at those lyrics' crap. I'll be the first one to admit Steely Dan lyrics are a very essential component of their creativity, but when I want to praise my artist for creative and hard-hitting poetry, I'll stick to Lord Byron. Thus, I'm quite shocked (in the artistically-correct sense of the word) by the subject matter of 'Everyone's Gone To The Movies', where a pervert waits for a child's parents to go away and then proceeds to feed him with porno flicks; but as far as my limited musical competence is concerned, the song has no melody at all, and the stupid, vibes-driven refrain sounds like some demented dated doo-wop chanting. Likewise, I suppose that many a broken-hearted intelligent person will happily identify himself with the protagonist in 'Any World (I'm Welcome To)', a song that has what might be passed for the most pessimistic refrain of all time; but the melody is routine, undistinguished lounge jazz - unmemorable, diluted piano chords with hardly any structure or serious rhythmic pattern. Now this is the kind of stuff you'll never meet on a Bob Dylan record...
Mind you - none of these songs are nasty. After a couple hundred listens, one even starts to appreciate cute little snatches like the gentle-but-perverse refrain of 'Throw Back The Little Ones' or the relaxed organ of 'Chain Lightning' (possibly the best number on the second side, but still too soapy for me because the melody is way too primitive and the harmonies are way too unimpressive... and unexpressive, too). But I haven't yet had a couple hundred listens, and I really don't want to listen to it a couple hundred times before reviewing it... of all things, I could be listening to W. A. Mozart right now!!! Why shouldn't I?
And yet don't go away, because now I'm gonna blabber a bit about the first five songs. The best composition on here is the one that opens the album, and it's a good thing, because this was my first Steely Dan record and you know how much depends on your first impression... 'Black Friday' is the hardest song on the album: a ferocious (well, 'ferocious' in the SD sense - no Jimi Hendrix poking around, that's understood) blues workout, where the usually hard-hitting lyrics are ideally complemented by a brilliant guitar part and a wonderful vocal arrangement - the echoey effect on Mr Fagen's voice was a brilliant idea, and it makes the song all the more spooky-spooky. Not that I really understand what the hell the dude is singing about; in any case, lines like "When Black Friday comes/I'll stand down by the door/And catch the grey men when they/Dive from the fourteenth floor" sound much better when they're echoed around the room, don't they?
Then there's the humbly gorgeous 'Bad Sneakers', a steady, solid piano ballad with... hey, you will not believe it - with a real hook. Yeah, I mean that little tricky time signature change when they sing 'bad sneakers and a Pina Colada my friend' - it drew my attention immediately and made me realize what a great song this is in its entirety. Good work. The guitar solos are nice, too, and Donald sounds uncannily like Dylan. Quite catchy. He also sounds very Dylanish on 'Rose Darling', a weird, but charming ballad where the protagonist invites his... err.... partner to... err... well. Apparently, his wife which he lovingly calls 'snake Mary' is in another town and moreover she's gone to bed, so there's really nothing to worry about. But again, it's not the lyrics that attract me, it might be those fully convincing vocals and the fluent guitar lines and the powerful piano chords in the refrain and... mmm, it's very hard to discuss Steely Dan songs, they're all so alike and yet all so different you have to choose your words very carefully.
Although it's not too difficult to discuss the stunning blues 'Daddy Don't Live In That New York City No More'. The song's built on an addictive guitar riff, and, again, the vocals sound so powerful and desperate you can't help singing along. And then, of course, there's 'Doctor Wu'. This works as the magnum opus of the album, almost like a mini-conceptual-rock-opera in its own rights, and while I don't find the melody as powerful as on the previous four songs, I simply won't say anything bad about it. For trivia, there's a very nice sax solo by Phil Woods on it which is well worth hearing.
In all, I fully agree with those who rate Katy Lied as a 'transitional' album: it's almost as if they started out as a 'rock band' ('Black Friday'), metamorphosed into a jazz band halfway through the album ('Doctor Wu') and fuzzed out into a mellow jazz-pop combo towards the end. The process is not a very pleasant one, at least, in my humble opinion; then again, the mellowed-out dudes might wanna reverse my judgements in exactly the opposite order. All the world is made of freaks, after all: it's just that there are quite a few ways of freaking out.

Throw back the little ones! Just mail the big ones!

Your worthy comments:

Mike DeFabio <defab4@earthlink.net> (31.01.2000)

Richard C. Dickison <rdick@mag.com> (01.02.2000)

Ben Greenstein <bgreenstein@nctimes.net> (03.02.2000)

Glenn Wiener <Glenn.Wiener@Entex.com> (04.02.2000)

Rich Bunnell <taosterman@yahoo.com> (29.08.2000)

<RichardMelchior@aol.com> (24.09.2000)

THE ROYAL SCAM
(released by: STEELY DAN)

Year Of Release: 1976
Overall rating = 8

Slumpy. The old sound's been lost, and a new one hadn't yet been found. Slumpy and stupid.
Best song: THE CAVES OF ALTAMIRA

I find it very hard to like this one. Very hard. On Royal Scam, Steely Dan shifts their musical paradigm further - one more step, and they're completely in jazz-pop land with Aja. Likewise, here they veer away from any signs of folk or traditional rock beat. These ditties are mostly bouncy, jingly-jangly and very danceable - whether you'd want to dance to a tune entitled 'Don't Take Me Alive' is another matter, of course, but for the most part this is DANCE POP. And quite forgettable, uninspired dance pop, too. It's obvious that the 'new' Steely Dan sound was not quite worked out yet: the instruments are way too blatant and prominent here, with generic MOR guitars slashin' in and out, cheesy, conventional synth lines added at every juncture, and not even a tiny sound of emotional roughness which was so suitable on songs like 'Black Friday' and would be suitable on 'Josie' a year later.
It all comes down to culminate in 'The Fez' - one of the most atrocious musical pieces ever set to tape by a decent band. Take this away and I'll clench my teeth and give the album a nine; as it is, an eight seems to be a forced compromise. Yes, I understand that the utmost stupidity of the song was probably intentional: the guys have only bothered to write two lines repeated over and over again - 'Ain't never gonna do it without a fez on; that's what I am, please understand, I wanna be your holy man'. If this is some kind of anti-Muslim provocation, I'm not too interested; what I am interested in is skipping the song whenever and wherever it appears on my CD player. The main synth riff that drives it, to me, personifies everything I could ever hate about mainstream braindead pop: for some reason, about a good third of the worst Russian pop music seems to have been based on endlessly recycling it. There are tons more ways of applying 'provocative stupidity' - just look at T. Rex's 'New York City', for instance! Okay, okay, I've vented my frustration enough, so it's time to talk about the rest.
Nothing on here except for 'Fez' really irritates me that much, but nothing is that attractive, either. I count one great song - 'The Caves Of Altamira', a tune about naive, romantic childish fantasies whose relaxed flow, with nicely ebbling saxes and keyboards and a driving, non-disco beat, perfectly suits the lyrics. The vocal melody is the greatest hook on here - 'before the fall when they wrote it on the wall...' That's what I call a terrific resolution of the vocals-flowing problem. The song really belongs somewhere else - it would make a fine addition to Katy Lied and definitely improved its rating one point. Hey, woncha do that for me? After all, one great number still won't save The Royal Scam of sinking to the very bottom!
Most of the other songs combine the formula 'cynical, unconventional lyrics' with the formula 'bland, forgettable melody'... hmm, wasn't that the case of the second half of Katy Lied? Oh, I forgot, it's about the same band. I can easily tolerate the spooky 'Don't Take Me Alive' - a cheerful ditty about such an innocent, ordinary subject as a bookkeeper's son who's not gonna give up and even has a case of dynamite to defend his case. The guitarwork on there is at least a little bit impressive, and the chorus is catchy. But I can hardly tolerate mediocre dreck like 'Sign In Stranger' or 'Green Earrings', not to mention the endless, droning title track telling the saga of two unfortunate drug dealers. I don't even know how to start describing these songs - 'jazzy' is too diluted a word. Completely lifeless they are, lifeless, cold and vague - but not the kind of shiver-sending 'coldness' you'd meet on a contemporary David Bowie record. Just dull, energy-less coldness. No hooks, either.
'Haitian Divorce' is at least entertaining because it's all built on a cool synth-processed guitar - they achieve the sound that would be taken over by Pink Floyd a year later and used on 'Pigs (Three Different Ones)'. But that's where the comparison ends: on 'Pigs', the sound was ideally suited to the very idea of the song - the synth treatment imitated the pigs grunting; on 'Haitian Divorce', the tone only dissettles the reggaeish groove the band is trying to establish.
And, while the lyrical matters of 'Everything You Did' are absolutely shocking, even more so than 'Everyone's Gone To The Movies' (a husband accuses his wife of adultery, then proceeds to force her to show all the dirty things they did), after five listens the song still doesn't strike a bell on me. I guess it's all a matter of desperation. The melody is way too stupid and diluted.
Let's sum up. One great song. Two decent ones (I haven't yet mentioned 'Kid Charlemagne' - an energetic enough, menacing enough opening dance number with some obscure personal critique I've forgotten all about already). Two so-so ones, with a few interesting elements. Three completely forgettable ones. One atrocious, friggin' worthless piece o' crap. You do your little mathematics if you want to waste your time, but on my wasted intuitive level that more or less equals a weak eight. Which means I'll hardly get the urge to listen to this tomorrow. You gotta give me my due - I have patiently listened and listened to this, hoping that the magic would finally show up. It didn't. I'm not surprised.

Don't take me alive! Just mail your ideas!

Your worthy comments:

<TylerDurden900@aol.com> (09.02.2000)

Glenn Wiener <Glenn.Wiener@Entex.com> (09.02.2000)

<DWARFNEBULA@aol.com> (24.02.2000)

Ben Greenstein <bgreenstein@nctimes.net> (17.08.2000)

<RichardMelchior@aol.com> (24.09.2000)

AJA
(released by: STEELY DAN)

Year Of Release: 1977
Overall rating = 11

A subtle and, sometimes, enigmatic collection of jazzy tunes - it's just that you never realize when boredom metamorphoses into enlightenment.
Best song: BLACK COW

Wow... now here's one album that takes a loooong time to appreciate - but in the long run, it's worth the wait; Aja succeeds where Royal Scam could never hope to. And why, would you ask me? Because history put it so that there are several different levels of its apperception. Initially, one might think of Aja as a nice, pleasant jazz-pop record that makes up for some good background music when you're not too keen on paying attention - without any obvious banalities or excesses of overtly commercial pop bands. These tunes are quite danceable, and this time around, the Dan dudes come up with lyrics that are hardly offensive: they still tackle unordinary subjects, but, apart from occasional lines like 'you were very high', you'd hardly find anything to sue them about.
The second level is absolute disgust - like I mentioned previously in the review for Katy Lied, this album is way, way too smooth and polished to generate any true rock'n'roll excitement, hell, any excitement. It's stuff to be played in the car! On a long long trip - preferrably in the mountains, when you shouldn't be disturbed by anything while you're driving! What a travesty. And this, of course, explains the immense radio popularity of the material from Aja. Which, in turn, irritates music lovers: not only is this stuff boring, it's also overplayed. Double travesty. Even worse is the fact that you cannot really accuse the songs of anything. This is NOT CHEESE: the guys really did work hard on the album, hiring top-notch players, working on the lyrics, smoothing out all the edges, diversifying the arrangements, coming up with simple, but not cliched melodies... no wonder Aja has often been called one of the best-cared-for records of the Seventies. Triple travesty - you can't even criticize it on a serious level.
So, how to get away with it? Now you might just as well take my advice, since, as expected, I skipped right over the first level of apperception and landed straight on to the second. In other words, my first listens left me completely unmoved - I was prepared to give this an eight, a seven, whatever. BUT - repeated listenings do manage to bring out the best in this stuff. However, in order to do so, you must be initially good-willed. If you do not want this album to turn out good (and want it with a flame and a stern will), it will never turn out good. If you feel like throwing this stuff away, better do so at once - better still, shove it under the bed, and one day you might find yourself wanting to give it one more try. Unless, of course, you hear 'Deacon Blues' every day on the radio, in which case there's hardly anything to be done at all.
And thus an ounce of good will and half a dozen careful listens have slowly convinced me that this is a really good album. Now I must say a large percent of the songs still leaves me unsatisfied. The spirit of the album, as far as I'm concerned, resides in (a) its moodiness, (b) its slight, subtle menace. Therefore, tracks that are neither (a) nor (b) can go to hell for all I care. I absolutely despise 'Peg' - it's actually nothing but a stupid, bland Phil Collins-style popster, and no intelligent lyrics about an (un)successful model can save it. Yeah, I know there were no Phil Collins-style popsters back in 1977; in which case they have wisely predicted a Phil Collins-style popster. And both 'Home At Last' and 'I Got The News' don't really do much for me, either: they stick out too much with unsuitable arrangements - way too pompous for the former and way too dance-jazz-oriented for the latter, not to mention that they're kinda generic and have no atmosphere.
The other four songs rule, though - definitely, and since they're mostly longer than the others, this means that the great stuff really prevails over the shitty one. What I really enjoy about the first side of the album is how moody and enthralling it is - 'Black Cow', 'Aja' and 'Deacon Blues' are all able to send shivers down your back without sounding too dangerous. 'Black Cow', a story about a cheating wife (heh heh), features an incredibly heartwarming and comforting refrain, and even if I'm usually anxious about generic female backup vocals, here they sound just about right. And towards the end of the song, what's that they're chanting? 'So outrageous'? Ever heard somebody chant 'so outrageous' in a jazz-pop song?
The title track took the longest time to get used to - but in the long run, the odd aura of the song, with Eastern-influenced vocals, mystical twangs of the bass, wonderful twirls of the keyboards, and short, but interesting solo bursts from numerous guest players, have got me under control. My favourite moment in the whole song, though, is the wonderful synthesizer riff that comes in at somewhere around 2:35 into the song - maybe because it's the only passage on the whole album that could be called a 'riff', but maybe because there's someone oddly curious and defying about it. Don't know what, though. But the track really takes me places.
And then, of course, there's 'Deacon Blues' - the number about an unlucky saxophone player who's gonna make his name anyway. Again, a wonderful refrain and beautiful harmonies, although I prefer to concentrate on the subtle guitarwork: some of the licks in the verses are magnificent and bring me to tears sooner than the refrain itself. This might have been overplayed to death... but take me, I'm your 'expanding man' - I never heard it on the radio. They wouldn't play this on Russian radio anyway, because no-one in this country really knows who Steely Dan are. (Have I unknowingly caused masses of American immigration to my country? Hope not.) Without radio overplay, this comes out as a terrific number, anyway.
But, so as to demonstrate us that they're really the same Steely Dan that did all that murky stuff before, they finish the record off with 'Josie', the only more or less moderate 'rocker' on the whole record - a song about a gal who's, well, er, 'the pride of the neighbourhood'. Whether she satisfies everybody voluntarily or the song is indeed about gang rape, I don't know, but it's obvious this is no innocent matter of 'Deacon Blues'. Sneering guitars, menacing synths and echoey vocals - everything is back, and if you've been bored to death by the previous three songs (like I was), this is a great compensation at the end.
In all, this is much, much, much more than just your typical radio fodder. You just have to get over the smoothness of the record and realize that smoothness is this band's incarnation's main schtick, like it or not. Smooth - atmospheric - intelligent - professional. After all, there are hundreds of other records to put on when you need real excitement. Be diverse. Get a life. Aja can be a satisfying atmospheric travel through the mind of the 'common thinking man', if you ever want to give it a chance.

Home at last? First things first - mail your ideas!

Your worthy comments:

Glenn Wiener <Glenn.Wiener@Entex.com> (04.02.2000)

Richard C. Dickison <randomkill@earthlink.net> (06.02.2000)

Ben Greenstein <bgreenstein@nctimes.net> (10.04.2000)

Rich Bunnell <taosterman@yahoo.com> (24.07.2000)

Bob Josef <Trfesok@aol.com> (07.09.2000)

Rich Bunnell <taosterman@yahoo.com> (10.09.2000)

Joel Larsson <joel.larsson@privat.utfors.se> (14.09.2000)

Jonathan D Hutzley <johutz7r@gwis2.circ.gwu.edu> (15.12.2000)

FUN HOUSE
(released by: THE STOOGES)

Year Of Release: 1970
Overall rating = 11

One of the greatest underground documents of all time, and I'm not even a punk fan!
Best song: T.V. EYE

The Stooges weren't exactly a punk band as we're used to using the term in these post-1977 days. Sure enough, their music, at least, in the wild and gleeful raw days of 1969-70, was built on the main ingredients of punk: Wild, Primal, and Unprofessional. One could argue even with these points, though. It's a hugely debatable point - whether the Stooges could really play their instruments or not; judging by the only Stooges record I own, they sure could, and used them cleverly and appropriately. Not to mention that Iggy Pop's singing was anything but unprofessional - one can only envy the richness and power of his voice, which never really puts you off, even when he's getting plain nasty.
On the other hand, the Stooges missed another primary feature that highlights the punk movement in general - their material was rarely socially or politically oriented. No 'London Burning' or 'Anarchy In The U.S.' (or 'Panic In Detroit', for that matter - the band originated from Michigan) in the Stooges' catalogue. In that respect, the Stooges were far more closer to the Velvet Underground; actually, I like to think of them as the VU taken to a logical extreme. So one could even speak of the Stooges as an art-rock band - yeah, I know the very idea should sound preposterous and controversial to some, but hey, it's true. When Iggy Pop was leaping out on stage shot full of heroin and proceeded to smear himself in peanut butter and cut himself with a knife, he wasn't really doing this out of social protest or anything - you can take it as a demonstration of freedom of art, a special gimmick, anything you like, but definitely not as a call to arms. The Stooges' lyrics further verify this claim, as there's nary a political/social declaration in sight - just your standard, primary 'gonna-get-me-some-pussy' stuff and suchlike, sometimes more thoughtful, sometimes less.
Fun House is the band's second record, the one where their rowdy, primal potential was milked to the extreme. It's not punk, though. Mark Prindle called it 'an insane blues-rock masterpiece', and, while the very idea of this record is probably leagues away from everybody's standard conception of 'blues-rock', I suppose that ultimately I'll just have to agree with Prindle the Master of Short Verdict. The record itself consists of seven tracks, ranging from three-and-a-half to seven minutes (not punk), most of them played either slow or in mid-tempo (not punk again), and based upon more or less generic bluesy riffage (not punk! not punk! not punk!) Now remember what I said when I doubted these guys' unprofessionalism? At first sight, you don't really notice the melodies that guitarist Ron Asheton is playing: there's so much noise and distortion that they're lost somewhere in the background. On second listen, however, something clicks, and the insane, yet fully controlled riffage suddenly appears before your ears in all its solid glory: the guy can sure keep a groove, and he keeps it steady. And when it comes to soloing, watch out - sometimes it seems to me that all of his life Ron was mostly practising variations on the famous Dave Davies one-string solo from 'You Really Got Me'. One important point, though: the record should be played loud, otherwise the solos won't really produce that ecstatic effect. But I guess that goes without saying, now doesn't it?
From the other side, drummer Scott Asheton isn't even as wild and insane as you'd suppose him to be: he's no Keith Moon, and together with Dave Alexander he mostly concentrates on providing a solid 'anchor' for the wild pair of Iggy/Ron to take off. Unprofessional? Hardly. Outstanding? Definitely not, but they do their job well, and none of them ever tries convincing the public that he just, like, can't play at all, as it's not the main point. So in general, the band at this stage really reminds me of the Who at their live peak: chaotic, unrestrainted and furious, but steady, self-assured and in complete musical control of themselves. Of course, the level of energy and fury displayed on Fun House makes the Who look rather like the Monkees in comparison; the problem is whether it's a good thing or not. I'd still take Live At Leeds over Fun House any time of day, as it's ultimately more diverse and engaging; but if you're in desperate need of charging your adrenaline holders, the Stooges are perhaps a better bet.
The main point of Iggy and company, of course, is to make the record sound as raw and visceral as possible. The first three tracks on here are, in brief, unforgettable. 'Down On The Street' begins the record on a relatively low, yet menacing note, as Ron bashes out his stubborn, primitive riff and Iggy relates of his deeds on the street... until the chorus, of course, where the guitars soar and Iggy roars, in the grand wheeez! tradition of Jimi Hendrix (keep it quiet, then rip it up as suddenly as possible). 'Loose' and 'T.V. Eye' are essentially the same song, and if not for the blood-curdling scream of 'LOOOOORD!' that Iggy emits at the very beginning of the second song, it'd be rather hard to distinguish one from the other, especially since 'T. V. Eye' consists of a main section and a reprise that comes after a short pause. But let that not worry you: they may be built on the same riff, but what a riff it is: memorable, steady, disturbing and, of course, distorted to the point of ear-shattering. Add to this the dumb, repetitive lyrics ('she got a TV eye on me, she got a TV eye', or, 'I'll stick it deep inside, I'll stick it deep inside, cause it's love I do believe'), all rip-roared in Iggy's sneering, energized intonation, and the shocking aboriginal screams that abound on every corner, and you got yourself a great soundtrack to vent all your frustration to. And you don't have to complain of political connotations, either, or of fakery or something like that. Because, ultimately, the Stooges' greatest advantage over all the later 'punk' bands might have been their uttermost sincerity and boldness. Remember, this music was being made in 1970, not in 1977, when all the so-called 'punks' had the media and the critical attention to themselves. The Stooges sounded out of time, and were out of time. Just imagine what courage it really took to unleash such a record in 1970, when everybody around was calling the Stooges the worst rock'n'roll band in the world and, hell, nobody ever even thought of inviting them to the Isle Of Wight Music Festival, heh, heh. All of these things really add to the intensity and raw, sincere, heartfelt attraction of this record.
But I guess I started digressing again. Well, I just might skip it and go on discussing the songs. The problem is, apart from these three tracks, none of the rest manage to strike such a deep chord in my mind. '1970' is the only other relatively 'fast' song on here, and it's rather annoying. The main melody is ripped off of Chuck Berry's 'You Can't Catch Me', and if you don't believe me, just compare: 'Out of my mind on Saturday Night/1970 rollin' in sight/Radio burnin' up above/ Beautiful baby, feed my love' (Stooges) - 'Flyin' with my baby last Saturday night/Wasn't no gray cloud floatin' in sight/Big full moon shinin' up above/Cuddle up honey be my love' (Berry). Hardly a coincidence, right? I guess I'm not the first one who noticed this... Anyway, the song's a mess, and every verse climaxes with Iggy spurtin' out his 'I feel alright' refrain a million times until I sure don't. And no sneering here either, just a nasty hangover. Not for me.
'Dirt' and 'Fun House', on the other hand, are quite different. Both are seven minutes long and slow - one might actually call them 'ballads', even if it does take a lot of nerve to call a song where Iggy screams 'do you feel it when you CUT me' (if I'm not mistaken) a 'ballad'. In any case, 'Dirt' is a good one, with a gruff, bluesy melody, and it's full of dreamy, strange wah-wah guitars that plunge you into a specific lethargy, as if in a bad drug-induced dream. The Stooges' 'Sister Morphine', in other words. The title track, now, that one I dislikes with all my might, and I don't even notice that the bass line represents a slight modification of 'In-A-Gadda Da-Vida'; this is the only song on record that could and should openly be called a 'jam', and jamming is what should be always prohibited to the Stooges. Special guest sax player Steven Mackay (supposedly no relation to Roxy Music's Andy Mackay) tries to add some 'artsiness' to the jam by puffing and panting without stopping, but he doesn't achieve much. If anything, this is just seven minutes of space filling.
Not to mention the album closer 'L. A. Blues', which is five more minutes of space filling. Of course, there are people who regard this clunker as an underrated masterpiece, but I guess there are people who like smelling dog's faeces, too (no offense intended). The only thing about these five minutes that's at least vaguely impressive is Iggy's primal screaming - Tarzan or, hell, even Tyrannosaurus Rex couldn't have it better. Otherwise, it's just a bunch of insane feedback and dissonant sax playing. This stuff would probably be impressive at the tail end of a Who concert, climaxing with Townshend crashing his guitar, but luckily, the Who guys were wise enough to not have it inserted onto their studio albums, something the Stooges couldn't really refrain from. I don't really punish the album that much for the track: once again, if taken from a historical perspective, the move is understandable and probably even laudable. It's just that nobody in his or her right senses could call this stuff 'art', whereas all the previous six tracks could - some more and some less, but to a certain extent, they were all unique and peculiar in their own way. Feedback, on the other hand, could be produced by just about anybody in the business.
Still, one or two rotten apples don't really spoil the pie all that much. I do happen to think that Fun House is more interesting from a historical point of view - at least, as a proof that whatever the Sex Pistols or the Clash were doing in 1977 was pretty tame and slick and smooth as compared to the real raw power of the Stooges in their prime - but at times its first four tracks make up for some entertaining listening as well. If you ever wondered whatever it felt like to be a Neanderthal, please proceed to the nearest store and ask the clerk for Fun House. Then put on your mammoth skin, prepare the tom-tom and join the gang in their raunchy celebration of primal values. Good luck!

Down on the street, I'm still waiting for your ideas

Your worthy comments:

Michael Francisco <Orion5182@aol.com> (03.03.2000)

jpcs <jpcs@xtra.co.nz> (09.06.2000)

<Justinekrnz@aol.com> (16.08.2000)

SOMETHING/ANYTHING?
(released by: TODD RUNDGREN)

Year Of Release: 1972
Overall rating = 11

A fine exercise in one-man pop scholastics, but certainly it places the emphasis on 'compendium' rather than 'inspiration'.
Best song: I SAW THE LIGHT and IT WOULDN'T HAVE MADE ANY DIFFERENCE run a tie for me here. Funny how they're both at the beginning, innit?

This release was Todd Rundgren's third one, and up to this day it remains his most well-known and popular among the critics. Now seeing as it's currently my one and only Rundgren album, I wouldn't want to draw any conclusions about the man in general; I'll wait up on that until I assemble a somewhat more representative collection. But overall, I tend to agree with the 'new generation' of critics like Brian Burks and Dave Weigel who, in turn, tend to be rather sceptical about the record really being Todd's masterpiece.
It has some good reasons to be overrated, though - undeniably solid reasons, too. Over the running process of these two records, Todd seems inclined to finally do the trick that so many other persons have tried, but mostly failed: draw a diverse and all-including encyclopaedia of pop music. In other words, make his own White Album - only on a somewhat more sophisticated level, both musically and lyrically. (In retrospect, 'sophistication' turns out to be in fact just a mask for the lack of truly brilliant ideas, but hey, we'll leave that for now). These songs are everything - soft pop, 'power' pop, gospel, R'n'B, blues, hard rock, psychedelia, weirdass experimentation, and even a mock-rock-operetta at the end: a true paradise for the lover of diversity, so it seems. What with the constantly increasing 'specification' and 'separation' of genres by the early Seventies, when remaking the same song over and over again was starting to be a completely normal thing even among talented bands, such an approach was almost 'retro-revolutionary', and, of course, the critics were all over themselves.
Even more, Todd makes a giant leap forward by showing the world the real possibility of the one-man band: three out of four sides on the album are recorded by Mr Rundgren alone, playing all the keyboards, guitars, drums and what-not, and he does it in a way that Paul McCartney could only dream of. Practically none of the songs ever gives the impression of a 'home recording': overdubs abound, but they're mixed in and produced so carefully that you never even start noticing the seams. In fact, when Todd's band finally steps out on the fourth side, I can hardly feel any difference at all - I hardly remember Todd blowing the saxophone, but apart from that, no dice, buddy.
These things alone should at least cause a lot of genuine respect towards such an album - and I do say that I am positively awed at the guy's abilities. But, unfortunately, there's an enormous downside as well. The problem is, with all these technical efforts and widespread ambitions, I can hardly feel the very artist on here. If anything, the record gives the impression of a brilliant scholar doing his trusty homework, a collection of 'musical compositions on the theme of so and so'. From a strictly formal point, the album is impeccable: all the genre requirements are always met, and I would definitely lie if I said that these songs lack hooks - only a relatively small portion of them is really not memorable at all. What they definitely lack is soul: all through the album, I can hardly get rid of the feeling that he's just approaching the music with a cold scientific approach, studying and imitating the technical characteristics of all these genres rather than trying to get to their essence and treat their elaborate structures as a base for his own artistic and creative impulses, not as a value unto itself. In brief - mannerism, that's what the record is suffering from. Who needs such kinds of flawless imitations if the artist hasn't really impressed his own identity into them? And Todd certainly doesn't leave much of a personal trace in your heart with Something/Anything?; there's practically nothing original or shocking or surprising in any of the songs.
Needless to say, these complaints do not refer to all of the album - otherwise I wouldn't have given it the extremely high rating of 11 (I wanted to give it a 10 originally, but I raised the rating one point just for the 'one-man band' factor which certainly should be taken into major consideration). The first two tracks are absolute classics - the Carole King tribute 'I Saw The Light', while not very deep or original musically, is filled with hooks and tasty slide guitars and gentle, touching love lyrics; and 'It Wouldn't Have Made Any Difference' sounds like a particularly deep and/or moving ballad very much in the Neil Young style, with a steady, pulsating rhythm, a slight, but very emotive piano line and beautiful vocal harmonies. After such an inspiring start, though, things start to move in the hit-and-miss direction - a success here, an embarrassment there, and, while it all lies mostly in the sphere of personal taste, there can hardly be any arguments about the fact that Todd doesn't particularly care about his melodies being memorable - he's more concerned about making them different.
My preferences? I would extract a couple more pretty ballads from the Something part of the album, like the xylophone-driven (sic!) 'Marlene' and the countryish 'Cold Morning Light' which is still marred by (a) partially sounding like an inferior re-write of '...Any Difference'; (b) strange time signature alternations which spoil the song's groove as soon as it really starts going. Boo. I also easily tolerate the crunchy blues-rock of 'Wolfman Jack' (a song that sounds a bit overproduced to me - yeah, I realise it sounds ridiculous when we speak of a one-man band, but this will only help you appreciate the real talents of Todd as a multi-instrumentalist), and 'Song Of The Viking' is kinda catchy, even if its funny bip-boppin' piano rhythm is hardly compatible with a true viking atmosphere (as portrayed in Led Zep's 'No Quarter' and Jethro Tull's 'Broadsword', for instance).
From the second disc, it would be easy to extract the power pop masterpiece 'Couldn't I Just Tell You' (no, I'm not as madly in love with it as most other reviewers are, but I still admit it's one hell of an impressive song - with emphasis on 'power', 'power', 'POWEEER!'), and I'm also less critically inclined towards that little mock-opera that finishes the album. It's often condemned for ridiculous lyrical subjects, ranging from infectious sexual diseases to loss of control over bodily functions, but musically the side is certainly more interesting than, well, at least the previous two. The musical styles on that one go further back - it's jazz-pop and lounge music, played with verve and (almost) conviction, and it ranges from pleasant, occasionally almost tear-inducing balladeering ('Dust In The Wind'; 'Hello It's Me') to trashy, but naive and funny throwaways. Lighten up on 'Piss Aaron', people - it's not as offensive as it may seem, just a collection of obscene schoolday reminiscences. Not to mention that it's a parody on the 'schooldays were the best days of your life' eternal topic. 'Some Folks Is Even Whiter Than Me' rocks far harder than the bland Hendrix stylization 'Little Red Lights'; and 'Slut' is hardly self-humiliating - I'd say it's just a self-conscious ridiculization of the insane cock rock values of the early Seventies. In short, if one takes the 'mock opera' for what it is - a parody, it's all right.
A pity that the rest of the album is not (a parody, that is). Many of Todd's stylizations just don't work - 'Black Maria', with its Santanaesque guitar twirls, goes nowhere; the psychedelic 'I Went To The Mirror' drags on forever over a rudimentary piano background, and I could care less for Todd's little mystical gimmicks; the 'electronic' excourse on 'Breathless' might slightly predict the electronic glam of Eno, but it has neither the hooks nor the inspiration of the latter; the gospel of 'Torch Song' is plain laughable; and I don't even like 'It Takes Two To Tango', though I realize I'm probably alone on that one. In other words, the amount of filler is simply insupportable: on a conceptual level, that is, in order to uphold the album's status as a 'genre compendium', these songs are probably indispensable, but that doesn't mean I'll always be happy to put them on. To conclude this rather lengthy review, I'll just state that Something/Anything? certainly confirms Todd's reputation as a 'master', but does nothing to support Todd's reputation for being a 'genius'. A highly intellectual scholar, that's all.
P.S. And note that I'm not saying that this is a bad record - if I really slammed it, it's only because I feel it's been gruesomely overrated by all the paid critics on the planet (no, no, don't get me wrong, I'm not implying they were paid by Todd). It's a very good record, although I'm still not too sure if it's really worth the full double price which you have to pay because it doesn't fit onto one CD. But if you find it cheap - man, now we're talking!

Couldn't I just tell you to mail your ideas?

Your worthy comments:

<BENTLEY769@aol.com> (03.03.2000)

<Jndiller@aol.com> (05.03.2000)

<Justinekrnz@aol.com> (17.08.2000)

Anders Nilsson <e97an@efd.lth.se> (12.10.2000)

THE EP COLLECTION
(released by: THE ZOMBIES)

Year Of Release: 1992
Overall rating = 13

A bit wearying at first, and it's probably not the best place to start with 'em Zombies. Still, a lot of groovy pop classics here.
Best song: real hard to tell

As is so usual with pretty much every British Invasion band of any serious merit, the Zombies have an awful heck of a discography (I surmise British Invasion bands of no serious merit whatsoever don't even have an actual discography any more). Apart from Odessey & Oracle, their overlooked 1968 LP now considered a timeless pop classic, their main 'wealth' lay in singles and occasional 'outside' tracks. These have been carefully collected and pressed into about ten thousand various collections, ninety-nine and a half percent of which are shameless rip-offs. The most recommendable so far seems to be The Singles A's & B's, but it's also extremely hard to get; you may be sure you'll have to face miriads of these rip-offs before you encounter the real thing. So far, my best bet seems to have been this cute little collection, and I'll warily review it here since it's a shame to have a site devoted mainly to Sixties' artists and not have anything by the Zombies at all: I hope to lay my hands on Odessey on a lucky day, but for now, I'll have to content myself (and you) with this.
This compilation is basically what it proclaims itself to be: a collection of pretty much everything that the Zombies ever released in EP format. On one hand, this means that I can easily rate this record as it is not a 'hits' or 'best-of' package; on the other hand, it's still not at all systematic, and much too often, reeks dangerously of a 'best-of' (not that these songs are all that good, mind you). I have specially checked all Zombies discographies I could get, and the results show that some of these tracks come from singles (duplicating A's & B's to a large extent), some come from albums (duplicating their first album, Begin Here, to a large extent), and some come from unidentified sources (US-only releases? soundtrack albums? 'various artists' crap? who can tell?). To cut the crap, I'll just list all the tracks in chronological order.
From 1964 (singles): 'She's Not There', 'Leave Me Be', 'Woman', 'What More Can I Do', 'Tell Her No', 'You Make Me Feel Good'.
From 1965 (singles and Begin Here): 'Nothing's Changed', 'Summertime', 'Sometimes', 'It's Alright With Me', 'She's Coming Home', 'Just Out Of Reach', 'Whenever You're Ready', 'I Must Move', 'Remember You', 'I Love You', 'I Want You Back Again'.
From 1966 (single): 'Is This The Dream'.
From 1968 (Odessey & Oracle and singles): 'Time Of The Season', 'Brief Candles', 'I'll Call You Mine'.
Unidentified (any feedback on these ones would be useful): 'I'm Goin' Home', 'Kind Of Girl', 'It's Alright', 'She Loves The Way They Love Her'.
Well... so what? One thing I'll tell right here and now: from glancing at the chronological arrangement I presented here (the songs are quite mixed up on the actual disc), it's hard even to imagine that the Zombies were subject to any progressive (or regressive) development during all the three or four years of their existence; only the Odessey tracks sound a bit out of place on here. I've heard that the band did some pretty lame R'n'B covers in their early days, but you couldn't tell by the track listing. Most of the songs display the Zombies in their trademark style: untrivial, but rewarding and ultimately catchy pop melodies, Colin Blunstone's squeaky, slightly 'naughty' lead vocal and the band's impressive vocal harmonies, gorgeous guitar arpeggios, and, of course, Rod Argent's dominating keyboard sound. On most of this pre-Odessey material Rod rarely exploits his beloved organ; at least, it's not any more prominent than is his electric piano playing; and Paul Atkinson is given enough chances to shine as well.
As a result, there's even now a bit too much monotonousness and 'sameness' about these songs for me to easily endure the record in its entirety (remember that twenty-six tracks are usually harder to sit through in one listen than, say, a standard fourteen). But that's about the only complaint I can load the album with, and I admit it's artificial AND subjective. What the heck, I'll probably get over this in a month or two. Meanwhile, I'll just cut the crap and state the obvious: the Zombies' early pop was certainly unique, and, while they obviously owe a lot to the Beatles (everyone does), these songs go far beyond flawless imitations of the Fab Four a la early Hollies. Ever heard 'She's Not There' or 'Tell Her No', their flashy 1964 hit singles, the first and last ones they ever had? Their melodies will be sure to stick with you, if not on first, then on second listen, and they're far from obvious, especially on the pleading, harmony-drenched 'Tell Her No' with its twisted, tricky refrain that was obviously far more complex than anything even the Beatles were thinking of at the time.
It's obvious that reviewing all of these songs will be a pointless and annoying task, so I'll content myself with listing a handful of other highlights which stick in my head a bit 'firmier' than everything else. 'It's Alright With Me' has the best guitar riff on here, and it's maybe the best way to start copping off the band if you're a beginning guitarist (watch out for these time signatures, though - they change every few seconds!). 'I'm Going Home' is their most entertaining try at straightforward R'n'B on here, with Blunstone elevating his voice to a real state of rock'n'roll excitement (if that sounds like nonsense to you, keep in mind that there's not a ton of rock'n'roll excitement on this record). 'What More Can I Do' is a desperate, gloomy pop epic with Colin spilling out his venomous lyrics in a flurry before going off into a set of screams and turning the stage over to Rod's wailing organ solo. 'Whenever You're Ready' is simply beautiful, the kind of excited teenage pop vocal harmony beauty (gee, have I missed any epithets?) we mostly know from the Beatles, on occasion - from the Beach Boys. And 'Is This The Dream' is definitely a trillion times better than all the generic Motown dreck put together in one heap. Why? Well, because it's the Zombies, dang it! Man, there's five of them, and two of them wear spectacles! Even John Lennon never dared to wear spectacles in public, not before the Beatles quit touring, at least. Maybe that's because the Beatles are popular and the Zombies are forgotten...
Oh yeah, I think I already mentioned that the record ends with two tracks off of Odessey & Oracle, their last hit 'Time Of The Season' which everybody adores but I don't really see why it should be far superior to the tracks I've listed above, and the truly gorgeous 'Brief Candles', written by bassist Chris White. There's also a pretty, melancholic (yeah, there is meant to be a comma in between these two adjectives) ditty called 'I'll Call You Mine' that was originally the B-side to 'Time Of The Season'. These three songs are a bit different in style, somewhat more 'classically' oriented than the previous stuff that was still mostly rooted in R'n'B and generic Britpop, and so do not really fit in, but that doesn't mean they aren't worthy or anything. And hey, does anybody know anything about 'She Loves The Way They Love Her'? That's a GREAT song! When was it recorded? I simply adore everything about it, from the muddy opening guitar lines to the incredible vocal harmonies, with that sly falsetto and the delicious 'aah - aah - aah's on the choruses.
In brief, here's what the Surgeon General has to say: a collection like this can easily make any unconverted fan a total addict. No, I won't fall into the general anti-hype trap and say that the Zombies are almost as great as the Beatles or anything like that; the Zombies never transgress the borders of POP like the Beatles did, and their almost total lack of any will for experimentation or stepping away from their 'formula' is able to annoy, at times. In the end, this certainly contributed to their lack of success, together with the spectacles and excessive musical knowledge (back in the Sixties, it actually helped when you did not know how to read musical notation). But why complain? We still have all the old groovy records! Do the intellectual wimps a favour and go buy this, hell, go and spill your money on any shitty rip-off if there's nothing better. The Zombies are worth your being ripped-off. Believe me.

What more can I do except to ask you mail your ideas?

Your worthy comments:

Eugene Bentley <BENTLEY769@aol.com> (09.01.2000)

Scott Kohler <skohler@accesswave.ca> (22.10.2000)

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