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February 2007

The Very Best of The Doobie Brothers

The Very Best of The Doobie Brothers 4 stars out of 5 Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Ask anyone. The only thing better than one Doobie is two. Before you call the police (no, not Sting), I’m talking about the two CDs that comprise Rhino’s “The Very Best of the Doobie Brothers,” the definitive compilation that includes nearly every radio hit the Brothers had and then some.

With two distinct leaders steeped in juxtaposed approaches to making music, the group was a contradiction in styles. Tom Johnston’s specialized in hook-laden southern boogie biker music, while Michael McDonald showed his worth as an adult cotemporary crooner. But whether it was Johnston or McDonald at the helm, The Doobie Brothers always managed to bring home the gold.

The Doobies were formed in 1969 by vocalist/guitarist Johnston and drummer John Hartmann. A year later they recruited guitarist Pat Simmons, an accomplished guitarist whose country-styled finger picking meshed with Johnston’s R & B boogie. By 1972’s groundbreaking “Toulouse Street” (featuring the hits “Listen to the Music,” “Rocking Down the Highway” and “Jesus is Just Alight”) original bassist Dave Shogren had been jettisoned in favor of Tiran Porter, and a second drummer, Michael Hossack, had been added. In 1974, former Steely Dan guitarist joined as third lead guitarist. Their fame seemed destined to go up in smoke in 1976 when Johnston departed, but the addition of Michael McDonald put the Doobies high on the charts again.

“Listen to the Music” starts out the Brothers saga on a mellow and upbeat note. One of Johnston early classics, it has a smooth hook that’s easy to remember (“Whoa listen to the music…all time…”) and a novel middle eight that makes Johnston sound like he’s singing in a wind tunnel. “Rockin’ Down the Highway” is another of Johnston’s contagious road anthems. The lyrics are dispensable, but the catchy beat chugs along like a finely tune convertible on Route 66.

The band seldom strayed outside of singing about bad love, bad women and the open road, but they took a chance at derailing their hit parade by declaring “Jesus Is Just Alright.” He may be, but he seldom is as the subject as a rock song –except in this case. Johnston fashioned another ear worm with his habit-forming harmonies and simple lyrics. With plenty of revival meeting percussion, (heavy on the tambourine and congas), “Jesus” is a companion piece to Norman Greenbaum’s anthem to God, “Spirit In The Sky,” and the Allman Brother’s sing-along “Revival.”

A scratchy guitar riff introduces “Long Train Runnin,’” with its Illinois Central and Southern Central freight train beat: “Know I saw Miss Lucy down along the tracks, she lost her home and her family and she won’t be comin’ back. Without love, where you be now?” Johnston asks. With “Long Train Runnin’” Johnston continued to show an uncanny talent for creating riffs that would inspire a generation of air guitarists. Combine chunky guitar licks with a whistle-blowing harp solo, brisk congas at an express-train pace and you’ve got an instantly recognizable classic that’s still staple of radio programming.

“South City Midnight Lady” offered a hint of the softening the Doobie’s sound would undergo when Michael McDonald joined. Pat Simmons lacked Tom Johnston’s bite as a composer. Simmons was a B league writer whose songs were often trite, but were puffed up by his non-threatening vocals. He was much more a of a country boy than Johnston, who seemed to draw his inspiration from Motown or the swampy sounds of Tony Joe White. “South Side Midnight Lady” wraps Simmons sentiment around a bevy of strings and skilled guitar work, although the pedal steel background yucks things up a bit.

“Another Park Another Sunday” is one of Johnston’s most incomparable songs, a mid-tempo acoustic approach with a sad, soaring chorus. The tough Johnston had begun to show a few cracks on and off-stage, complaining of the group’s album-tour-album cycle. His frustration is reflected in one of his few soul-searching compositions: “I’m sitting in my room staring out the window, and I wonder where you’ve gone. Thinking back on the happy hours just before the dawn. Out side the wind is blowing, it seems to call your name again. Where have you gone?” “Another Park Another Sunday” was one of Johnston’s last original hits -- a despondent cry for help with a beat.

“Black Water” was a #1 record and Simmons’ finest moment as a Doobie. Taking a page from Johnston’s ability to harness the bayou’s mysterious charm, Simmons created a good-time, toe tapping call and response anthem. Novi’s sweet Cajun fiddle solo gave the song added authenticity and the band really gets rolling at the end, bouncing vocals off each other like lubricated fisherman celebrating a record breaking haul.

By the time the group’s fifth platter (“Stampede”) was scheduled, Johnston’s stash of songs was depleted and he was badly in need of a break. But Johnston’s love for Motown came in handy as the group hit #11 with a cover of “Take Me In Your Arms (Rock Me),” an inspired performance topped off with blazing horns and a flock of girl singers that would make the Supremes take notice.

“Sweet Maxine,” a Johnston-Simmons collaboration, is an upbeat, updated “China Grove.” “She was born with it in her soul, but she knows how to rock and roll.” (Well, it’s catchier when somebody sings it.) New guitarist Jeff “Skunk” Baxter, a former Steely Dan sideman, is still finding his footing here – he can play, but every time he solos, the band has to slow things down to suit his style.

“I Cheat the Hangman” takes the Doobies in a direction that a lot of 70s west coast bands eventually explored – the image of the rock demigod as a desperado. Although Simmons was the group’s second tier songwriter, he was never shy about experimenting with the group’s sound. Chilling background vocals and excellent sustained strings give “I Cheat the Hangman” an ambiance that would add drama to any western, but Simmons should have quit after the first fade out. Instead he brings the orchestra back for nightmarish, frantic ending that almost derails the spooky mood took great pains to set.

During the “Stampede’ tour a stressed out, exhausted Tom Johnston was finally felled by a stomach ulcer that would ultimately sideline him for years. With their tour in disarray, the Doobies brought in Jeff Baxter’s former bandmate Michael McDonald. The dynamic “Takin' It To The Streets” (from the 1976 L.P. of the same name), marks McDonald’s first entry on the “Very Best of” CD and it’s an impressive how-do-you-do. Possessed of a wooly, instantly recognizable voice, McDonald’s addition gave the group a more sophisticated, keyboard based sound.

With the episodic “Wheel of Fortune” Simmons seemed to be following MacDonald’s lead toward an R & B/Rock/Jazz format. “Wheel of Fortune” sports a broader sound, fully realizing the idea that the group’s two drummers can work independently of one another. With Johnston, the group tended to follow his lead. Now they were playing more like an ensemble -- more like brothers.

The remix of “It Keeps You Runnin’” help the song’s bouncy beat sound contented and brings out the soul in MacDonald’s robust vocal: “I know what it means to hide your heart from a long time ago. It keeps you running, yeah, it keeps you running.”

McDonald knew his vocal boundaries. He actually has limited range, but benefits from starting out in a lower register than Johnston or Simmons, so even when he raises his voice it can sound like he’s on the verge of screaming, when in reality his voice still has a few more octaves left in the tank before it cracks. One commonality Johnston and McDonald shared was a love for Motown R & B and Marvin Gaye’s material in particular. Johnston’s voice may have been more suited for Motown, but on “Little Darlin’ (I Need You)” McDonald showed he also had an affinity for blue-eyed soul. The highly touted Baxter finally finds an idiom that suits his talents, tearing off a snappy, confident solo. “Little Darlin’” and “Echoes of Love” kept 1977’s “Living on the Fault Line” L.P. afloat. “Echoes of Love” is another Simmons B list song with Simmons, MacDonald and Porter displaying admirable teamwork on the three part harmonies, and McDonald’s chirpy synthesizer work moving the group’s sound further into an adult contemporary bag. Although Johnston was listed in the credits and pictured with the group, he didn’t contribute any material or sing any leads. Fully recovered by the time the band began recording “Minute By Minute” a year later, Johnston felt as welcome as a narc at a Cheech and Chong festival and opted for a solo career. The shift from guitar-oriented rock and roll to keyboard based soul was complete and McDonald was now the official voice of the band.

The timing was right for “Minute by Minute.” Art rock, R & B, and folk were being supplanted by disco and punk, leaving adults who were growing into older adults searching for something less harsh to listen to. The polished, breezy sound of the Doobies fit the bill. “Minute by Minute” lit up the charts, becoming a #1 album and winning 4 Grammy awards. “What A Fool Believes,” co-written by MacDonald and Kenny Loggins, got the nod for Record of the Year. The title track, with its bobbing synthesizers and pervasive percussion, earned a Grammy for Top Vocal Performance by a Group, and the L.P. received the Album of the Year Award. “Minute by Minute” and “What A Fool Believes take their rightful place on “The Very Best of” alongside “Dependin’ On You.” Written by MacDonald and Simmons, “Dependin’ On You” bears Simmons’ “B” player trademark. It’s pumped up by perky percussion and stylish horns and MacDonald’s entrance on background vocals, but it’s got Simmons’ listless style all over it.

The success of “Minute By Minute” meant more touring, and inevitably the loss of a few members who’d grown tired of the grind. Founding drummer Hartman and Baxter exited –enter former roadie-turned percussionist Bobbie LaKind, sax player Cornelius Bumphus, drummer Chet McCracken, and guitarist John McFee -- for the recording of 1980’s “One Step Closer.” MacDonald’s vocals remained rich, but he was starting to get mush-mouthed and obvious, as evidenced by the competent “Real Love,” which continued the group’s string of slick easy listening hits. The group finally burnt out in 1982 when Simmons resigned. He’d been stuck in Johnston’s shadow, and now McDonald was bogarting the spotlight, making Simmons nothing more than his sideman.

Seven years later a familiar sound invaded the airways – Tom Johnston’s voice. The original Doobies were back with the album “Cycles” and the top ten hit “The Doctor.” “The Doctor’s” chord progression will time warp you back to their early hit, “China Grove.” (And there were rumors that Johnston planned it that way.) The hooks are more forced, and Johnston doesn’t have the same energy or drive in his voice, but the music does. “The Doctor” got most of the airplay, but it was “South of the Border” that clicked, returning the group to their old biker boogie roots. The ghostly background vocals show that the Brothers hadn’t lost their talent for harmonies.

“Need a Little Taste of Love” revives “Eyes of Silver”’s head-bobbing beat. It’s got plenty of spirit and profits from having the late Bobby LaKind on percussion, mixing things up, pushing Porter and the drummers out of their comfortable rhythmic pocket. The autobiographical “Rollin’ On” finds a mellower Johnston looking back on life, realizing that despite all the heartaches, it was a pretty good ride. It’s a celebratory song with a warm chorus that shows Johnston hadn’t lost his ability to fashion a hook: “That old river just keeps rolling on, even when our love is just song, and like that old river we just keep rolling along.”

Since there are two CD’s there’s bound to be a few missteps, most of which were recorded during MacDonald’s reign. 1981’s “Wyknen Blynken and Nod” was the group’s contribution to a Sesame Street compilation, so it gets a pass for good intent, but it’s got no business being on a very best of anything someone over the age of five is listening to.
“Keep This Train A-Rollin’” is frisky, but suffers from the sameness of the group’s material during the period MacDonald was at the helm. “Nobody” an early acoustic Johnston tune with a spaghetti western motif, may have failed because of the rushed chorus: “Nobody…Nobodygonnatakeyourloveawayfromme.” There’s a harsh, loud solo in mid-frame that suggests either the Doobies were living up to their name during the recording session or the engineer was still learning what all the buttons on the control panel were used for. “Dangerous,” recorded after the group had reformed, has a hazardous beat, one that proves too fast to be attractive. Figures. It’s a Simmons song, another ham and egger. Nice touches of dobro and a wailing outro on electric guitar make it worth a listen, but it’s hardly worth including here. “Ordinary Man” catches Simmons’ in a reflective mood, and it should work because Simmons didn’t write it. But it harkens back to the slick as margarine sound of the MacDonald period -- music for Delilah /John Tesh touchy feely crowd that bores and snores.

I may be spouting what a fool believes, but listen to the music…”The Very Best of The Doobie Brothers” will keep you runnin’ and rockin' down the highway.

Posted February 27, 2007 Permalink

James Morrison – “Undiscovered”

James Morrison Undiscovered 3.5 stars out of 5 Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

There have been many burnt out 60s San Francisco hippies who insist that Jim Morrison is still alive…Wait a minute, this is James Morrison, the newly minted British singer/songwriter, not the portly, bearded frontman for The Doors who O.D.’ed in a bathtub in France. James Morrison is already a household name in England, but if he wants to make it in the states, he should consider a name change, because his music is more in line with today’s crop of balladeers than Jim Morrison’s classic rock. Just ask Ryan Adams how many people still yell out “Summer of ‘69” or “Cuts Like A Knife” at his concerts – song titles that were written by Bryan Adams. There are kids out there who were born twenty years after Jim Morrison who know who he is, so James Morrison is going to have his work cut out for him in the tug of war over his name. But one listen to the 22 year-old British singer-songwriter’s music should help make the distinction between the living Morrison and the legend.

According to his bio, Morrison’s sandy voice comes from a childhood bout of whooping cough. Actually, Morrison’s voice isn’t as gruff as his press clippings would lead you to believe. His voice certainly doesn’t have the two-pack a day gruffness of Mike Harrison or Joe Cocker, two unique singers who sound like they’ve been gargling with shards of glass. Morrison is part Rod Stewart, part Frankie Miller, and part Mick Hucknall (Simply Red’s flamboyant frontman) and incorporates his childhood influences into his music – which also means his musical identity also consists of equal parts of Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye, Van Morrison, and Stevie Wonder. Morrison’s closest contemporaries would be Ray Lamontagne (who tends to over sing) and Amos Lee (who doesn’t). What Morrison has that will be apparent to all is a set of powerful lungs and an old pro’s control of his range. He comes perilously close to being too showy at times, but that’s the style of the singer’s in today’s adult contemporary market, so he’s adhering to a precedent rather than setting one.

Unlike many of today’s ready made “American Idol” celebrity singers, Morrison eschews fame and really is in the game for the music. He’s already turned down a lucrative offer for one of his songs (“The Pieces Don’t Fit”) to be used in a film – then turned down a role in the film as well, which was offered to him based on his good looks. It’s too early to tell whether Morrison will regret those moves in his golden years, but it speaks volumes about his commitment to his music.

“Under the Influence” begins with an attention grabbing drum roll and a Paul Weller-ish arrangement -- pumping horns, ringing keyboards and a danceable beat. There’s a lot of Terence Trent D’Arby’s swagger with an effective use of strings, which wrap themselves around Morrison’s scratchy vocal. “Once you’ve had a taste of it, there’s no going back,” Morrison challenges. Truer words were never rasped. “Under the Influence” is a truly captivating song, the best performance on the CD and an impressive beginning.

There’s no way Morrison can equal the intensity of “Under the Influence,” so he smartly goes in the opposite direction with “You Give Me Something,” a lavish ballad with expressive mood-setting strings. Morrison has studied his R & B and knows how to use his phrasing to wrap his songs up like sensual candy. When “You Give Me Something” threatens to get into “American Idol” self parody territory, the horns give the arrangement an extra kick, and Morrison notches up the vocal heat. You can tell Morrison believes whole-heartedly in what he’s singing and it makes all the difference.

“Wonderful World” is a mid-tempo ballad that affirms Morrison knows his way around a mike, while “The Pieces Don’t Fit Anymore” features a subtly hummed background vocal that becomes more appealing with each listening. “One Last Chance” has a sly, breezy appeal. “Some people say I’m not worth it. Made my mistakes but nobody’s perfect.” In the midst of all this style, Morrison sustains a note that leaves his uvula shaking like an apple in the wind. What’s becoming apparent though is the need for musicianship that can match Morrison’s hearty vocals. The strings are a welcome change from all the showy guitar-driven bands flooding the charts, but someone needs to take a solo once in a while, otherwise Morrison’s songs risk becoming too predictable.

Morrison dampens his desire to over project in the title track, a piano/organ based romp with a choppy beat and a Bob Seger influence. Morrison gets some help at the back end of the song from a vigorous group of female singers who help push “Undiscovered” into gospel territory.

Too bad “The Letter” it isn’t The Boxtops/Joe Cocker tune, which Morrison could easily lay claim to as well. But brief rushes of organ, unchained percussion and Stevie Wonder-like harp make the song a sonic satisfaction.

“Call The Police” has a harder edge than any of the other songs on the CD, but it’s the musical equivalent of having so much muscle you can’t bend down to tie your shoes. The guitar work sounds like a cheese grater -- and a cheap one at that. It’s a good idea to vary Morrison’s approach, but this type of confusion isn’t the answer. This is heavy metal meets soul, and it’s a train wreck. “Call the police because I’ve lost control!” Morrison screams. Yes, you have James. This one shows that even singers with great pipes have their limits if there’s too much noise cluttering the mix.

“This Boy,” another mid-tempo ballad, returns Morrison to earth and more familiar territory. It’s nothing special, but has a nice compact arrangement reminiscent of Frankie Miller’s sing-a-long Scottish pub rock.

The acoustic “Better Man” works the steamy southern charm approach that has become Ray Lamontagne’s trademark. As Morrison starts to cut loose like Otis Redding in bark-till-you-sweat style, he turns “Better Man” from a run-of –the-mill lament into a case study for the broken hearted.

“The Last Goodbye” has all the earmarks of something different for Morrison. The strings are back up front, threatening, like the prelude to a thunderstorm. “I don’t believe you and I never will. I can’t live by your side with the lies you tried to instill.” He’s more understated than usual, which shows Morrison doesn’t have to use all the tricks in his arsenal to be arresting.

What makes this CD worth listening to is Morrison’s commanding vocal presence. There’s nothing particularly earth-shattering about his lyrics – this isn’t mind expanding stuff, just a great talent who can wow you with the power of his performance. Morrison needs to find a way to make his songs more distinctive, to vary his sound. After 11 songs you’re more impressed with Morrison’s Herculean voice than his songs, which are polished, expertly produced, but ultimately a little too predictable. Since its Morrison’s first album -- and a promising one at that -- he bears watching. With some airplay and a tour of the U.S., there’s no doubt he won’t be “Undiscovered” for much longer.

Posted February 27, 2007 Permalink

Earth Wind & Fire

Earth Wind & Fire Beautiful Ballads 4.5 stars out of 5 Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Earth, Wind & Fire’s “Beautiful Ballads” will take you back to a period in music when songs were jammed with a parade of horns, vocalists had insane range, and a congregation of backup singers warmed every performance. And for that I say Amen, brother.

EWF were an electric version of The Temptations, with Maurice White taking on the role of David Ruffin and Phillip Bailey serving as his Eddie Kendricks, his high-pitched vocals an effective counter balance to White’s bedroom baritone. The group was White’s lovechild, combining R &B, Latin, Jazz, Funk and Rock in a grandiose style that employed a dozen players or more. Besides White and Bailey, other standout musicians in the band included White’s brothers, Verdine (bass and vocals) and Fred (drums) and EWF’s signature Phoenix horn players, Don Myrick (sax), Louis Satterfield (trombone), Michael Harris (trumpet) and Rahmelee Davis (trumpet). As the group’s popularity crested in the 80s, The Phoenix Horns were in constant demand, particularly by Phil Collins, who utilized them on “Sussudio” and “I Missed Again,” and enlisted them to work with Genesis on “No Reply at All” and “Paperlate.”

“Beautiful Ballads” gathers many of the EWF’s best-selling songs, alongside a number of “shoulda been a contender” tracks. The CD wastes no time in stirring the soul, leading off with the quintessential EWF ensemble ballad “That’s the Way of the World.” It’s classic and classy R & B, beginning with easygoing electric piano, muted horns and a finger-popping beat. In this remastered edition, voices come at you from all directions, rejoicing, harmonizing, stacking up in layers like an angelic gospel chorus. Very few vocalists can hit notes as crystalline as Bailey and the boys. And White somehow manages to make an adlibbed expression (“Yow!”) sound like a romantic come on. “Can’t Hide Love” is another signature tune that capitalizes on EWF’s strong vocal teamwork and meticulous musicianship. The drums snap and the horns jab their way in and out of the verses with the swift precision of Muhammad Ali carving up an opponent. “Can’t Hide Love” is a glimpse of White at his most sexual and coy: “Well, bless your soul you can fool a few, I know the truth and so do you.” Bailey does great work on the high vocal parts as he teams up with Verdine and Maurice in a sustained overture that’s cathartic and shows you don’t always need lyrics, to make magic. (Time out for trivia: Hummingbird with Bob Tench also did a great version. If you can find a copy of their “Diamond Nights” album it’s worth a listen.)

The gospel-tinged “Devotion” will leave you swaying in your pew. “True devotion, blessed are the children.” “Devotion” gains its strength from the swirling vocals of Maurice White, Phillip Bailey and Verden White, who plays a pace setting bass against a foot-tapping drum beat. Bailey’s delivery is very Kendricks-like, but this is Eddie Kendricks without sin.

“I’ll Write A Song For You” puts Bailey up front again, awash in trilling strings. There’s nary a horn in sight until the second verse, and the early acoustic part of the song sports an atypical modest pop arrangement that puts EWF in the soft ballad territory mined by The Stylistics. As the band picks up the beat, Bailey gets into some vocal gymnastics. His wailing goes a bit overboard near the fade, sounding like a very uncomfortable prostate exam: “We write a song, baby, ow! Ow! Ooooow!” Nevertheless, it’s a beautiful song.

“Wait” has a classy, high-stepping Ellington arrangement with a piano underlay that sounds like Chicago’s “Saturday In The Park.” Listening to it you begin to understand why the two groups tour together playing each other’s songs. “Wait” focuses on infatuation, rather than love, making it an anomaly in the group’s canon. It’s a cute diversion from a group that was joyful, rather than whimsical, and it’s a welcome change, as playful as a couple of adolescents skipping through the park holding hands.

With its middle-eastern feel, the percussion-driven “Fantasy” turns the spotlight back on Bailey. The Phoenix horns snake in and out of the arrangement like a proud cobra, snapping and biting at the heels of the vocals. It’s a magnificent performance that the Pharaohs would be proud of. Another huge hit, “After The Love Is Gone,” allows Andrew Woolfolk to step forward with a polished sax solo. “After the love is gone, what used to be right is wrong, can love that’s lost be found?”

“Reasons” is a career performance by Bailey. He doesn’t waste anytime stretching out his voice. The strings and horns reverse roles with the strings taking the low parts and the horns top off the arrangement. The rhythm section carries the load in “Imagination,” an appropriate closer. Bailey believes every word of what he’s singing and proves it by shredding his normally controlled falsetto. Bailey finds yet another way to convey a beautiful vocal with sounds and tone, rather than words.

EWF were to say the least, excessive in every way. They didn’t have just one horn player, they had three; three singers and two rhythm-minded guitarists, yet the army of musicians never tripped over one another. Occasionally their subject matter did. One of their more verbose interests was spiritualism. It wasn’t the fact that they were spiritual people that was confusing; it’s the way they conveyed it in their songs. With its sitar-like lead in, “Keep You Head in the Sky” is a prime example. It sounds like an ode to a lover, but it gives props to the creator. A bit heavy handed lyrically, it has an effective acapella ending with Bailey’s vocal soaring somewhere in the clouds. “He gave me ways to be free, but forced us to live in reality. “All About Love” is sappy, dated, and as result a bit embarrassing. “We never spend time talking to you, so we let you know how you feel about love,” drones Maurice. A dance floor number, it’s very much in keeping with the “quiet storm” style of R & B popularized in the 80s and 90. Maurice raps his way through the third verse with a few passé “right ons” and “you dig” s thrown in. He goes off on mysticism, partying, and ego tripping. “If there ain’t no beauty you gotta make some beauty.” You might want to put this one in the closet with your dashiki, Maurice. “Spirit” focuses on Phil Bailey and his usually effortless reach for the sky vocal prowess. But this is Bailey at his most agitating with too many high notes. The flat arrangement gets better, but it’s sporadic and gets short circuited by over ambitious lyrics: “Every time you smile you blessed child, our spirits perpetuate. Our spirits meditate love and faith.” Huh? Phil Bailey won’t you please come home.

Earth, Wind and Fire’s “Beautiful Ballads” is intimate make out music you’ll want to play for that special someone when the lights are low and the wine has begun to take effect. As the song says, you will find peace of mind.

Posted February 20, 2007 Permalink

Catch & Release Soundtrack

Catch & Release Soundtrack - Various Artists 1.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

No, this isn’t the soundtrack for a movie about fishing. Good thing, because if it was, the music could best be described as hook, line and stinker. There are 17 cuts, some from established acts like The Lemonheads, Foo Fighters and Death Cab For Cutie, and most are well played, but any enjoyment is usually dashed whenever the respective lead singers open their mouths to yawn their way through unintelligible lyrics. Granted, this is the soundtrack to a movie about a traumatic, unexpected death, so the music should be a little depressing, but the vast majority of these artists sound as if they’re on a Darvon diet.

There are a few saving graces, beginning with Peter MacLaggan’s “Leaving the Ground.” A relative unknown, MacLaggan has a pleasant, seasoned, delivery. More importantly, there’s a degree of conviction in his voice, and he doesn’t sound like the other mail-it-in singers on the CD. Peter set out to make a song, rather than an impression. Congrats, Peter, you’re a winner. No dependence on gimmicks, legible lyrics, moody guitar and a drummer that knows his way around the kit. Another new act, Alaska! contributes “Resistance.” Harmonies! A steady beat! A folky, catchy arrangement! These guys get breathy, but they can play, and you can understand what they’re saying! But why’d they put an exclamation point after their name! Blinker the Star’s “A Nest For Two” has some hyperactivity to it and a competent, steady beat, with well-placed fuzz guitar and layered vocals. Haven’t got a clue what they’re singing about though. The double-tracked guitar solo near the coda does a lot of creative heavy lifting without dominating the sound.

The remainder of “Catch and Release” leaves a distinct odor on par with a fishing trawler that’s been at sea for a week. The fabled Foo Fighters cut is the dull “Razor,” a slasher love song with lyrics that would make Hannibal Lecter blanch: “Sweet and divine razor of mine. Sweet and divine, razor blade shine.” There’s some nimble-fingered acoustic picking that goes tragically haywire at the end. The Lemonheads 1992 cut “My Drug Buddy” loses points for Evan Dando’s sleepy vocal, but the light flourishes of Hammond organ are precise, sensitive and attractive. Arthur Lee’s back up band for his comeback could have used Arthur on vocals though, as Evan is hardly dandy and the drummer sounds as if he’s keeping time for slaves on a Greek galley. The Magic Numbers show some moxie with “Mornings at Eleven,” but there’s nothing magic about this quirky, poo-poop-pee-do yodeling. This is modern day bubble gum, and the favor is rhubarb. It has a lot of complicated parts which fit together like Joseph Stalin and democracy. There are a few lines from a pubescent sounding female vocalist, a pause in the out of control clown-car arrangement, a dose of Tiny Tim cabaret dippyness and then the arrangement races even faster. And just when it seems over, there’s another unwelcome change in tempo – okay everybody, Riverdance!

Gary Jules’ “Pills” is very much like Lindsey Buckingham’s “Never Going Back Again,” both vocally and in terms of its arrangement, which is hardly a compliment. Gary’s a little bit more reserved than Lindsey in the vocal department, whispering in a wobbly voice. The man sounds like he’s shivering instead of singing. If you’re going to swipe something from Fleetwood Mac, Gary, try Peter Green or Christine McVie next time. The title of Steve Durand’s “Electrified and Ripe” says it all. It will make you learn for the balmy goofiness of Blind Melon’s “No Rain,” which never failed to inspire the search for another radio station.

With a guitar-dominant arrangement that’s as relentless as a brain freeze (at least a brain freeze lasts only a few seconds) – the New Radiant Storm King’s chaotic “The Winding Staircase” is power pop at an abrasive level with occasional attempts at finding a melody. The guitar riff at the song’s beginning has the same effect of a root canal without the novacaine – it’s incessant and painful. And so you don’t forget what it sounds like, the storm troopers revisit the six string torture in the last verse. Didn’t these guys notice their pets were hiding under the couch whenever they played this? This is one staircase that leads you straight into a wall. A strong case for a band going acoustic.

“What if you could wish me away?” Joshua Radin croons in “What If You.” Believe me mumbles, if I had a wish, I wouldn’t waste it on you. This is one of those tepid, overripe TV theme songs that would fit “The Gilmore Girls” or “The O.C.” Credit Josh with using a string arrangement for effect, but when he’s not atonal, he’s whispering for the girls – see how emotional I can be girls? Please love me. You’ll probably fall asleep before this guy’s phoniness dawns on you.

Beware of groups named for characters from “The Adams Family.” Gomez may have titled their sacrificial contribution “These 3 Sins,” but this hyper-driven drivel breaks more than just three commandments. They may bear the name of the patriarch of the Adams Family, but they play like Cousin It -- fast and jittery. Someone told these guys to play as fast as they could, make the bass sound like a didgeridoo and collect their check at the door. While they’re not breaking the sound barrier Ramones-style, this would be a much better song with a slower tempo. As it is, it sounds like a goof, a throwaway from an established group that needs someone riding herd on quality control.

Paul Westerberg’s Canadian goose honk in “Let the Bad Times Roll” will leave you wishing someone had rolled Paul in a very dark alley and left him there. One of music’s most overrated musicians who just won’t go away, Westerberg whines his way through some uninspired Dylanesque power folk. And get those adenoids fixed, Paul.

The Swallows do their best to live up to the title of their contribution “Turning Blue.” I’m sorry, guys, did the engineer wake you? The vocalist is from the Jacob Dylan school of methadone nod out singing. Really, this guy sounds like he’s singing this from under the covers. If he had a pillow over his head at least the track would have ended sooner. “Turning Blue” is a terrible waste of a downright effective backwards guitar solo and unexpectedly professional accompaniment.

Andrew Rodriguez’s “What I Done” features some tight harmonies on the chorus, but Andy gets a little tongue-tied when he sings “Don’t let them push my head into the sand” half a dozen times. If I get the chance to push your head in the sand Andy, believe me, you won’t be coming up.

Death Cab For Cutie’s “Soul Meets Body” isn’t very cute and has all the attraction of a New York cab without air conditioning on a 102 degree day. The beat gets ahead of the rest of the arrangement -- should have kept the drummer in the room with you fellas. This slight idea for a song is crippled by a high pitched second lead vocal, making this sound like 80s Yes. Yeah admit it. You thought Trevor Rabin was cool. Well, when was the last time you listened to him?

The main problem with “Catch and Release” is you can take just about any of these singers and switch them around and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. They’ve got no personality, no energy, and frequently, nothing to say. Many passable arrangements are scuttled by wimpy or careless vocals. Infrequent harmonies are soiled by overcrowded arrangements or showy, loud solos. If most of these tracks were instrumentals it might be worth a second listen, but too many of the tracks are lackadaisical throwaways. “Catch and Release” is not unbearable, just uninteresting. The best thing you could do with this CD if it winds up in your hands is the same thing you would do with any puny or sickly fish -- throw it back.

Posted February 20, 2007 Permalink

Kurt Reifler - Debut CD

Kurt Reifler - Debut CD "Kurt Reifler" 3 stars out of 5 Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Kurt Reifler’s self-titled CD will be released by Red Glare Records on March 20. For more information about Kurt Reifler, contact deanwalker1 at gmail dot com or visit his website at www.kurtreifler.com, or www.myspace.com/kurtreifler.

Troubled musicians are often too self-absorbed to articulate their agony in an accessible manner. That’s not the case with Kurt Reifler, who let’s us peek at his personal demons while fashioning a musically mature debut effort. At times Reifler sounds like he might need a session or two on the psychiatrist’s couch. But his music appeals to that paranoid or frightened parsec in our mind that we struggle to keep suppressed.

Reifler’s bio describes him as being an “unconventional singer-songwriter, a daring vocalist with a raw delivery that is totally unapologetic”. A well-traveled singer-songwriter, he ditched his college studies for the dicey lifestyle of an itinerant musician, traveling through the United Kingdom, Eastern Europe and Italy. The self-doubt, fear, and me-against-the-world attitude such a solitary odyssey can inspire is reflected in his angst-laden compositions.

“Every Town” is not the way a new artist should start his career. It erupts from the speakers in a cacophony of thrashing guitars and unsettling, herky-jerky rhythms that will make you reach for the eject button. An angry Reifler sings in a voice that will remind
you of David Bowie during his “Aladdin Sane” period, mainly because “Every Town” seems to owe a bit to Bowie’s “Gene Genie”. This is music with an attitude, 21st century punk. It’s also not the most off-putting song on the album.

“A.M.” takes away the punk and brings on the funk. It’s short, to the point, with a scatting do-do-do-oh-oh chorus that’s catchy and cool without being commercial. There’s a bit of Lenny Kravitiz’s swagger in Reifler’s vocal and the choppy, cutting guitar riffs are an added plus. Reifler hasn’t forsaken his demons for happiness though: “If I got the will to live, I got the will to die”, he sings against the diddy boppin’ beat.

“Smile” puts the music back on a more challenging level with more unpredictable drumming and Kravitz-like singing, but Reifler handles his guitar like a wild mustang and now the bass is noticeable in the mix. This is sophisticated rock, especially the dirty Mick Ronson-like guitar solo. Although he’s no cookie cutter vocalist, “Smile” may leave you wondering what the heck Reifler’s singing about. The music shows a lot of promise, but “Smile” also underscores that Reifler’s voice and lyrics are best served in a quieter setting.

Despite its title, “Arrogance” is Reifler’s most subdued song yet. You can hear Jeff Buckley’s influence in Reifler’s vocal phrasing, but he has something the late Gen-x crooner had but didn’t exercise -- control. Unlike the first three tunes, “Arrogance” relies as much on Reifler’s vocal power as the music, and that’s huge plus. “Arrogance” also has lyrics that are dark, disturbing and thought provoking: "I haven’t communicated with another human being since the age of 14, when I could see something wasn’t right.”

“Dreams” owes more to Tim Buckley than his son Jeff, mirroring Buckley’s experimental, less accessible period. This has more of the multi-layered guitar attack found in “Every Town” but the drumming is more on target, which helps to convey Reifler’s anguish: ‘I used to be afraid of the darkness, but now I only fear the light”. It’s the type of bad acid trip that may improve with time, so give it a few listens.

There’s nothing graceful about “Graceful Exit” -- it’s a full-out sensory attack. The bass takes a predominant role in the mix, bubbling in and out of the off-kilter, dizzying arrangement. The line “And as death travels up my sleeve” gets repeated a lot. It’s an interesting metaphor, but sorry Kurt, there’s nothing up your sleeve with this one.

“Never Be Free” is one of the CD’s standout tracks with Reifler haunting your mind like a wailing ghost. There’s no forced showiness here, and Reifler uses the silence between the notes to his advantage. “Never Be Free” is mystical, frightening, and worth listening to again.

“The Horse’s Mouth” starts off calmly, then turns into a war. Reifler’s fondness for epileptic rhythms gets the better of him here. While the bass runs are attention-grabbing and Reifler creates spooky guitar soundscapes that rival Spirit’s Randy California, the smashing cymbals and reckless abandon arrangement run the song to ground. Better include a lyric sheet with this one because it suffers the same problem as Reifler’s other raw material – it’s too hard to hear his voice beneath all the strum and drang. As a result, he sounds like he’s rambling rather than singing. Too bad -- despite the muffled anguish, there’s something interesting here.

Sometimes titles really do reflect the atmosphere of a song. “More Sad Than Strange” is another standout track. It’s atmospheric, like “Never Be Free”, with wraithlike wails and hushed accompaniment. “More Sad Than Strange” is spiritual and spacey, a musical blend of Mahogany Rush and Jeff Buckley. It’s is a well produced piece that plays off of Reifler’s strengths, particularly the hurt in his psyche.

“Wake Up Dead” will probably slip a few people’s discs in the mosh pit. The drums go out as they came in (as in “Every Town”) powerful, thrashing and angry. This is schizophrenia in high gear. Take a singer, toss him in a washing machine and set it on high and this is what you’ll get. A lot of noise and you’ll still feel very dirty. Not a great song to exit on, but there are enough memorable tracks before this to excuse Reifler’s urge to go out with a shocking bang.

Reifler’s on to something when he emotes in a quieter mode. The chaotic kitchen-sink approach on the uptempo songs tends to send the music careening out of control, and the lack of cohesion buries his voice in the mix. There’s an unrelenting demon hanging over Reifler’s shoulder that can either inspire him to great heights (“Never Be Free” and “More Sad Than Strange”) or make him sound like a pissed of punk (“The Horses Mouth” and “Wake Up Dead”). You’ll be as much frightened for Kurt Reifler as you will for yourself when you listen to him. But I can guarantee you’ll listen to him again.

Kurt Reifler’s self-titled CD will be released by Red Glare Records on March 20.
For more information about Kurt Reifler, contact deanwalker1@gmail.com or visit his website at www.kurtreifler.com, or www.myspace.com/kurtreifler.

Posted February 3, 2007 Permalink

New Years Eve 1976

Live at the Cow Palace: New Years Eve 1976 The Grateful Dead 2.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Remember the old expression, “Until the cows come home?” Well, the cows have come home. And they’re dead. Very dead.

The Grateful Dead have been resurrected yet again with “Live at the Cow Palace”, a 3 CD set recorded New Year’s Eve in 1976. It’s superbly produced in HDCD, and when Jerry Garcia is in tune, credibly played. It’s also ruined by back up singer Donna “I’m so Godchaux Awful”, who wails like a cat mating with a skunk when she’s close to being on key, and sounds like a torture victim on the rack in the Marquis de Sade’s playroom when she’s not. Whenever she opens her maw, the harmonies collapse and The Dead sound like inexperienced losers at a battle of the bands competition. What the heck did Godchaux, and her invisible keyboard husband Keith, have on The Dead that would force them to give her a mike, and why didn’t anybody have the guts to turn it off? Other irritating problems abound – Garcia can’t sing play at the same time, (one marginal talent invariably throwing off the other); drummers Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzmann have been together so long they don’t even sound like one drummer let alone two; and Bob Weir growls a lot in the mistaken belief it gives the music character. Sorry Bob, it just makes you sound like Yosemite Sam.

The Dead are (or were) supposedly at home in a live setting, so on the rare occasions when Donna “I’m so Godchaux Awful" is gagged, “Live at the Cow Palace” can be an enjoyable, laid-back listen. Given the sound quality, 3 spotty CDs won’t be enough for Dead disciples, but for the casual Deadhead one slightly listenable CD would have sufficed.

The performance is M.C.’ed by Bill Graham, the very late impresario of the Fillmore East & West and The Dead’s manager. Ha! The dead introduces the Dead.

“Promised Land” the old Chuck Berry classic, is torn asunder by Garcia’s searching-for- stability guitar solos. Bob Weir is wired, the drummers snap and pop, and the usually undetectable Phil Lesh bends his strings with vigor. If Jerry was on the same wavelength with everyone else, this would be a gem. At least he harmonizes well.

“Bertha” gets locked into a slower, shuffling, more manageable pace for a placid-sounding Garcia, who has begins to find himself as a soloist. “Mama Tried” the old Merle Haggard standard, is indeed haggard. It’s a stale redneck jailhouse ballad that’s a mistake for anybody to record. Weir tries to give it an energetic reading and is in good voice (no growl). Garcia gets with the program, throwing down his first solo of the evening that actually fits the arrangement, but it’s to no avail, this mama should be tried and fried.

“They Love Each Other” has an almost reggae feel, with Garcia showing some emotion and range on vocals. His first solo is a meandering mess, but at least he doesn’t stray too far from the basic melody. Weir hits a note so criminally incorrect in the first verse of “Looks Like Rain” you’ll swear your speakers have a rip in them. Donna “I’m so Godchaux Awful” is consistently half a measure behind Weir, wailing like Maria Muldaur still looking for that damned oasis. Too bad. The gentle accompaniment, especially by Garcia, (yes Jerry has found a groove), is subtle and effective. “Deal” is rendered happily; Hart and Kreutzmann percolate and Garcia rips, yes rips into a solo with nary a bad note. Way to go, Captain Trips.

A regrettable version of “Playing in the Band” ends CD #1. Weir attacks his vocal when it calls for subtlety, and there’s Donna “I’m so Godchaux Awful” once again playing the role of vocal insurgent, shrieking like Yoko Ono in labor. Captain Trips takes off on one of his interminable, buzz killing solos; Lesh follows, and when Garcia falters, gives the song what little form it has, but even Lesh can’t bear that cross for nearly 24 minutes.

Bill Graham counts down to the New Year and the Dead breaks into “Sugar Magnolia” opening CD #2. In a candid moment, Garcia is on beam with his first solo, but forgets to sing along with Weir, causing him to laugh. The song proceeds well until a protracted ending when Weir makes the mistake of trading vocals with you-know-who.

“Eyes of the World”, one of the Dead’s happy hippy songs gets a capable lead in from Garcia, and the band hits all the tricky signatures. Lesh is beginning to get a little bass happy, but he makes up for the lack of oomph from Kruetzmann and Hart who may have synergy, but very little presence. Congrats Jerry, a few more inspired solos like these, and I’ll owe you an apology.

“Eyes of the World” segues into “Warf Rat.” There’s plenty of rat in this song and it’s a fat, lazy rat to boot. This is unbelievably bad, featuring three part torture-rack “harmony” from Garcia, Weir and Donna “I’m so Godchaux Awful” that’s so far from harmonious it’ll make you wonder if the vocals were taken from separate shows. And Garcia’s at a loss to find a melody again during his long, and I do mean long solos. At 13:28, it’s 13:28 seconds too long.

I thought the Rascals should have sued the Dead when they ruined the memory of “Good Lovin” for generations to come with their saccharine, Sesame Street version. (They could have if they’d written the song.) Hard to believe, but this version is an improvement. The band has a new-found tightness and Weir doesn’t over-vamp the ending. “Sampson and Delilah” starts off with a guitar solo knicked from The Band’s “W.S.Walcott Medicine Show”, and after a little navel gazing, Garcia gets to the point. Weir’s dependence on growling like a bluesman finally serves him well here. “Sampson and Delilah” gains its strength from a slower, percussion based arrangement and Garcia’s thrives here by listening to what his band mates are doing and soloing accordingly.

Remove you- know-who-by-now from the background vocals and “Scarlet Begonias” bops along at a pleasant rate. Garcia mucks it up at the end, extending the piece with another directionless solo that even Lesh can’t follow.

Disc #3 opens with “Around and Around”, another Chuck Berry tune fumbled by Weir. Chuck Berry’s 80 and can play with more energy than this before he puts his teeth in for breakfast. Weir is weary and things don’t rev up until the end when Garcia finally kicks the song into a more Berry-like pace -- but now you’ve still got the hippy banshee to deal with. Everybody else is tired, why isn’t she?

With the exception of “Help is On the Way,” Disc #3 is dispensable. “Help on the Way” was a very credible song in the studio that translates well to the stage. The band’s approach is a bit tentative, but a historic moment occurs when Godchaux finally delivers a tolerable vocal, and the song is as close to flawless as the live Dead can ever hope to get.

A meandering waste in the studio, “Slipnot!” is another one of those pointless jams that sounds like six musicians playing six different songs. Garcia gets so lost in creating a mood no one can follow him and he winds experimenting on his own. “Slipnot!” slips into the unnecessary evil of “Drums” where Kruetzmann and Hart poke at the skins as if they’re at a soundcheck. There’s a plus -- it doesn’t last too long. “Drums” manages to morph into a sleepy version of “Not Fade Away” with the three vocalists searching in vain for each other. Does Garcia really have to take every solo? He’s so out of tune here it’s hard to believe he’s played this song hundreds of times. This is simply a musical pasture patty, a sloppy performance that should have never left the Palace.

“Morning Dew” continues the achingly slow pace of the previous two songs. It actually works to some degree, but it comes out of the speakers with the power of a dripping faucet. You might want to pack a lunch – it’s another long one, clocking in at fifteen minutes.

The group tip toes through “One More Saturday Night”. Weir tries to amp up the energy, but the band’s asleep. “Uncle John’s Band” is equally tired and Garcia hits some noticeable gaffes vocally and on the guitar. The singers sound like they’re being punished – and they should be. They’re disinterested and you will be too.

The guys couldn’t just say goodnight and be done with it. They hit us up with ”We Bid You Goodnight” in which Garcia shows some enthusiasm, while Weir and Donna “I’m So Godchaux Awful To The Last Note” melt their mikes with foul back ups. Coombaya it ain’t.

In India cows are sacred. Here we eat them. “Live at the Cow Palace” has its deified moments, but in the end there’s just too much gristle. Mooo-ve on.

Posted February 3, 2007 Permalink