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April 2007

There's a Riot Goin On

There's a Riot Goin On Sly and the Family Stone> 4.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

“There’s A Riot Goin’ On” marked Sylvester Stewart (a/k/a “Sly Stone”)’s decent into a drug-fueled darkness. Like many artists on the brink of mental and physical collapse, Sly used his inner turmoil to create his best recording.

Originally titled “Africa Talks to You,” Sly felt the new title not only summed up his feelings for his band, but served as a response to the social consciousness of Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” LP.

Most of Sly’s vocal performances sound as if he’s doing a junkie nod after a motherlode of smack. But Sly’s slurring, drained mumbling is a perfect fit for the album’s end-of-the-funky-world attitude. (Sly actually recorded most of his vocals while lying on a cot in the studio. Now that’s getting in character.) He also recorded many of the songs solo, a marked departure from the Family’s previous albums, bringing in sax player Jerry Martini and trumpeter Cynthia Robinson whenever he needed a toot (on the horns!), or summoning ostracized bassist Larry Graham to lay down a finger popping bedrock rhythm. The band’s classic vocal trade-offs between Sly, Graham, Sly’s brother Freddie and his sister Rosetta are missing, replaced by a heavy dose of drum machines, muted horns, watery electric pianos and Sly’s coked out, disillusioned musings. It’s a recipe for a riot that turned into an album the critics and the public hailed as a troubled triumph.

Sly wasn’t always alone in the studio. Fellow party animals Ike Turner (sans Tina) and Bobby Womack contributed on guitar while “Fifth Beatle” Billy Preston lent his incomparable skills on electric piano. The vocal group “Little Sister,” consisting of Vet Stone, Mary McCreary, and Elva Mouton added their sassy back ups to several tracks. Headed by Sly’s youngest sister, Vet, Little Sister had appeared on several of the group’s singles, most notably “Everyday People,” and Sly had produced their singles “Somebody’s Watching You” and “You’re the One.” “Somebody’s Watching You,” a cover of a Sly song from the “Stand!” album, was the first hit record to make use of a drum machine. The malleable time keeping device piqued Sly’s interest and he made liberal use of it on “Riot.”

At this point in the group’s existence, Larry Graham, whose deep baritone and thumping bass were highlights of the Family’s act, was way too popular with audiences and the press for Sly’s taste. (Sly supposed paid a hit man to meet Graham at a hotel to convince him to leave the group. Graham later said the only thing that saved his life was his tardiness. He took the hint and soon left the group anyway.) Drummer Greg Errico felt similarly slighted and was leery of Sly’s insatiable drug use – he quit midway through the album, replaced by a drum machine, and later, Gerry Gibson. Johnny “Guitar” Watson, (who would borrow Sly’s act for his superb album “A Real Mother For Ya”) and Herbie Hancock also hung around to watch the original Dr. Funkenstein slather the new record with overdubs.

“Just Like a Baby” locks itself into a Sorrowful Jones beat and stays there, with Sly and the gang chanting wearily. The three tier harmonies are just wobbly enough to make Sly sound like a he’s contentedly nodding off on a street corner. It may not sound too appealing on paper, but it’s one of the CDs finest tracks; a warm rush for your ear.

The hit single “Family Affair” was anything but. Rosetta Stone shares the vocal with Sly, and is the only other member of the original band to make an appearance. Sly sings in a somber, dry tone throughout, as if trying to impart the wisdom of his experience: “One child grows up to be a child that just loves to learn, and another child grows up to be somebody you’d just love to burn…” Rose’s steady vocal and the rump-bumping bass help sustain the loafing beat. A mini-opera lamenting growing up and growing apart (certainly something Rose and Freddie could empathize with), “Family Affair” was Sly’s last #1 single.

“Africa Talks to You ‘The Asphalt Jungle’” is introduced by a rare bluesy guitar lead and coupled with another lesson in slap bass playing. “Africa” struts its stuff for an elongated period (8:45) and boasts a telling lyric: “Tim…ber! All fall down!” which may have either been inspired by the riots in Detroit or Sly’s horizontal position in the studio. Either way, the opening guitar and bass solos are a funk clinic; after that…Timber, it falls down.

“(You Caught Me) Smilin’” is more like “you caught me leerin.’” As with everything Sly wrote during the period he was studying to be rock’s version of Howard Hughes, Sly takes what should be a happy song and infuses it with a sense of foreboding. The horns blow like pursuing cop cars and Sly hollers as if he’s been wounded. But is he happy he’s making us squirm? Oh yeah, that’s why he’s smilin’.

“Time” drips out of the speakers like a drop of dirty H2O from a faucet, slowly dissipating into a sonic void. Sparsely adorned with Sly on measured wah-wah guitar, “Time” is another song of prideful regret from a drowning man: “Time, they say it is the answer, but I don’t believe it.”

Despite the gleeful tone of “Runnin’ Away,” Sly was still dancing in the shadows: “Runnin’ away, to get away, ha, ha, ha, ha, you’re wearin’ out your shoes. Look at you foolin’ you.” The guitars jangle smartly, the bass pops like a fat rubber band and the horns blare as if they were coming from an approaching low rider. A radio friendly duet with Rose that clocks in at a slight 2:42, “Runnin’ Away” inexplicably only made it to #23 on the charts.

If you doubt accounts claiming Sly supported a small South American country with his drug habit during this period, listen to the demented “Spaced Cowboy.” With “Spaced Cowboy,” Sly created a whole new genre – hillbilly funk. It’s twisted pig sloppin’ music with Sly yodeling like Slim Whitman against a drum track supported by Graham’s decidedly inner city bass. Sly blows out a trippy harp solo and rambles like a wino with the DTs, which would be a deterrent on any other album, but fits Sly’s narcotic vision of the world.

“Riot” and the follow up “Fresh” inspired George Clinton to funkify his group’s sound by taking R & B into outer space with his group, The Parliament Funkadelic. The Ohio Players, Earth Wind and Fire, and Rick James also took note, worshipping Sly’s pompatus of funk. “Riot” is Sly’s finest hour, a socially conscious, brutally honest pre-cursor to his musical and social melt down.

More Riotin’ Goin On – The Bonus Tracks
The remastered “Riot” has four bonus tracks, the single version of “Runnin’ Away,” shortened even more for A.M. radio and three previously unreleased instrumentals, “My Gorilla Is My Butler,” “Do You Know What ?” and “That’s Pretty Clear,” that catch Sly experimenting in the studio with themes and effects he’d incorporate into the finished product.

Fresh 3 out of 5 stars

“Fresh” may have been more of a state of mind than a description of the music contained in Sly Stone’s 1973 follow up to “There’s A Riot Goin’ On.” Larry Graham, who was persona non grata with Sly, makes only two appearances, on “Que Sera, Sera” and more noticeably on “If It Were Left Up To Me.” Rusty Allen, who would eventually join Robin Trower as his bassist, lent his slick skills to “In Time,” “Keep On Dancin’,” “If You Want Me To Stay,” and “Let Me Have It All,” while Sly approximated Graham’s distinct slap treatment on the rest of the songs. Studio vet Andy Newmark tries his hand at replacing Greg Errico and succeeds through number of hits per second rather than skill.

“In Time” has a touch of Latin funk, with scratchy guitar and punchy horns. Sly picks up James Browns’ staccato singing style, Newmark snaps at his high hat, emulating AWB’s Steve Ferrone, and new band member Pat Rizzo is given some room to levitate the groove on sax. There are plenty of lyrics, but few of them are readily clear. Oddly, the line “Two words, get it straight” are pushed forward in the mix, a message Sylvester Stewart was sending to alter ego Sly Stone that went unheeded.

Rustee Allen shows himself to be an able replacement for Larry Graham’s magic hands, slapping out a memorable intro on bass for “If You Want Me to Stay.” In addition to dealing with the façade that The Family Stone was still a band, Sly was embroiled in a tempestuous relationship with model Kathy Silva, one of the inspirations for the song: “If you what me to stay, I’ll be around today, to be available for you to see. I’m about to go and then you’ll know, for me to stay here, I’ve got to be me.” Sly takes a deep breath after the first verse and later screams as if he’s snorted Comet. Ah, suffering for one’s art.

Only Sly Stone could be egotistical enough to declare “Let Me Have it All.” Newmark is given the back end of the song to do some impressive cymbal crashing, but Sly spends too much time catching the spirit of the funk in the same personal way a Baptist feels the Lord. He can absorb the music, he can sense the groove, but it’s hard to translate that cathartic feeling for the audience, so Sly settles for an arsenal of grunts, screams, and howls that squash any intelligible lyrics. Ditto for “Keep Dancin’” which rips off a few lines from Sly’s early mega-hit “Dance To The Music.” But if you sit through this without bopping your head, you’re dead. You just have to be able to translate dead languages to figure out what Sly’s getting at. “Babies Makin’ Babies” has the quotable line, “Babies makin’ babies from the womb, to the tomb,” but it also suffers Sly letting the groove run the asylum.

One listen to “Frisky” confirms where Prince culled his pinched vocal delivery. The bass and drums roll together like choreographed WWF wrestlers as the horn section tops off the arrangement. Robinson, Rizzo and Martini may sound like a law firm, but they’re all business in when it comes to managing a groove.

“Thankful and Thoughtful” is a full step slower than the album’s other tunes, gospel funk with Sly unashamed he’s still alive after all his misdeeds. The horn section is the reason “Skin I’m In” exists. Instead of their usual short sweet, sharp blips, the horns rip with authority. The bass rolls and pops as the lead instrument, but when the law firm of Robison, Rizzo and Martini blows, Sly’s funk wagon rolls.

“Que Sera Sera” is Sly’s take on Doris Day’s signature tune. Sly and Day met when he showed up at her house to buy one of her son’s classic cars. (Her son was record producer Terry Melcher.) The pair chatted amicably and Sly wound up playing the song on piano while Day sang it for him. Rumors circulated that Day and Sly were Hollywood’s newest couple, which Sly never denied. (Day had already been rumored to have had an affair with Maury Wills, the Dodger’s shortstop in the mid-sixties, which would be no big deal now, but back then could have been a career-wrecker. When rumors of her and Sly surfaced, Doris’ management made sure she didn’t see the light of day for a while.) Sly’s version of “Que Sera Sera” removes the original’s sing-a-long joy with old time gospel as Rose plays the role of a ghetto Doris Day. While Day’s plucky vocal offered hope and posies, Rose’s doomed rendering is steeped in hopelessness and the stink of week old trash. When Sly growls in on the chorus singing, “Que sera, sera, whatever will be will be, the future’s not ours to see. Que sera, sera,” you know there’s no future for the song’s narrators. Depressing, yes. But it’s a welcome change from songs that lock into a similar groove and don’t let go.

“If It Were Left Up To Me” is one of the albums few blatant stabs at pop, with Little Sister at the mike while Sly tosses vocal jabs in the background. Graham’s bass bounces, shakes and pops lifting the album’s malaise for its 2:00 duration. It’s so upbeat it even draws a mischievous “cha cha cha” from Sly at the conclusion.

“Fresh” is an enjoyable listen if you don’t get too hung up on what Sly may actually be saying. It does suffer a bit from the Al Green syndrome. Green’s drummer, the very late Al Jackson (who was also the drummer for Booker T & The M.G.s) had a purposeful, built in classic R & B beat that he used on virtually every Green song. If you’re going to lock into a groove, make it a good one, and Jackson certainly did. With the exception of “Que Sera Sera,” “If You Want Me to Stay,” and “If It Were Left Up To Me,’ the rest of the songs on “Fresh” sound a great deal alike. But they do have a great groove, especially when the horns contribute.

Unlike the songs on “Riot,” few of the tunes on “Fresh” exceed four minutes and the entire original recording clocked in at less than forty minutes. “Fresh” isn’t as philosophical as “There’s A Riot Goin’ On,” but it is historic – it’s Sly’s last notable album after a prolific six-year run.

Five Fresh Bonuses
The remastered, enhanced version of “Fresh” adds four unreleased mixes from Sly’s original stab at the album. Sly’s vocal on “Let Me Have It All” is more vital and direct, and there are no back ups – Little Sister hadn’t been called into the studio yet. The other tracks, early mixes of “Frisky,” “Skin I’m In,” “Keep On Dancin’” and “Babies Makin’ Babies” differ from their finished versions in that Sly had yet to layer his vocals with overdubs. Without the extra wah-wahs, echos or back ups, the songs sound clean, but lack the finished products more overt anger.

Dance to the Music…The Rest of the Family’s Reissues

Sony/Legacy Recordings will take you higher with the remastered Sly and the Family Stone catalogue. All the CDs are blessed with copious bonus tracks and previously unseen photos. The reissues include the group’s first album, “A Whole New Thing,” recorded in 1967; “Dance to the Music,” with liner notes by Al Gee and Sly Stone; and 1968’s “Life” with the popular FM tunes “Fun” and “M’Lady.” The four star “Stand” contains many of Sly’s best known tunes: the R & B anthem “I Want To Take You Higher,” the original version of “Somebody’s Watching You,” “Sing A Simple Song,” with frenzied cheerleading from Cynthia Robinson, the syncopated “You Can Make It If You Try,” and the 13-minute talking-guitar instrumental, “Sex Machine.” The series of reissues also includes 1974’s laid-back “Small Town Talk” with “Time For Livin,’” one of Sly most overlooked late career hits.

Outside of occasional drug busts, the reclusive Sly made his most public appearance at the 2006 Grammy Awards. Sporting a bizarre blonde Mohawk and looking more like George Clinton than himself, Sly managed to get through a few verses of “I Want To Take You Higher” before bumming out. …

But how’s this for timing? With his 7 best known albums refurbished and headed into stores, Sly accepted a gig. Renowned throughout his career as a no-show, Sly played a well-publicized concert at the Flamingo in Las Vegas on March 31. George Wallace (no, not that George Wallace, the comedian) organized it, staking his reputation on his new client showing up. Bookies were giving 45-1 odds that the funkmeister would succumb to his paranoia and stay home. Sly showed and managed to play for 30 minutes before shutting it down. Could it be the beginning of “a whole new thing?” Maybe. If not, I’m sure Sly will say “Thank you for letting me be myself again.”

Posted April 21, 2007 Permalink

A Whole Lotta Plant

Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

What to make of Robert Plant? Look up the definition of “front man” in any rock and roll history book and you’re bound to see a photo of a bare-chested Dionysian Plant, his features slightly hidden beneath his curly shoulder-length hair. Since Led Zeppelin crashed in 1980, Plant has tried to distance himself from Zep’s revered Norse God legacy by carving out a diverse solo career. Plant would occasionally access his past on selected tunes, shrieking with the discomfort of 300 Spartans getting prostate exams. Through eight solo albums Plant has proven to be a chameleon, changing bands and approaches as quickly as John “Bonzo” Bonham chugged shots. Rhino Records has remastered Plant’s solo efforts in their inimitable style, filling them out with live performances, demos and remixes.

Pictures at Eleven (1982) 4 out of 5 stars

For his first solo effort, Plant set out to create something other than a Led Zep redux and succeeded. Unknown Robbie Blunt was Page’s worthy successor. (Listen to Page’s distinctly out of place hammering in his big name group project The Firm with Free/Bad Company vocalist Paul Rogers, and you’ll quickly realize that Page should have been taking notes from Blunt.) With the exception of the drummers, Plant was charging into the next phase of his career with a group of no-names: Blunt, bassist Paul Martinez, and Jezz Woodroffe on keyboards and synthesizers. The drummers were world-class, and in the end, the difference makers – Phil Collins, who was on virtually every album in the early 80s, played on the majority of the tunes, with former Jeff Beck Group/Rainbow stickman Cozy Powell pitching in on two songs. Coercing Collins and Powell’s participation was a stroke of brilliance. No one could point a finger and say, “See, he got another Bonzo,” yet Plant knew he needed to find someone who could put the responsibility of carrying the tune and put it on his back the same way Atlas carried the weight of the world.

“Burning Down One Side” is Plant’s best solo track. It’s rare musical nirvana -- a home run on the first pitch. (But like any sensational beginning its lofty success can’t be equaled.) It comes at you with an attack of guitars keyed in by Blunt, with Woodroffe’s swelling synths, Plant’s scatological singing and Collins’ hefty beat. The lyrics are completely unintelligible, but like many of Zeppelin’s best songs it doesn’t matter what Plant is saying so much as the way he says it. “There’s three cars skiddin’ in the same lane, but that don’t help me no, no.” Guitarist Blunt is less flashy and incendiary than Jimmy Page, but every bit as credible.

“Moonlight in Samora” is unapologetically romantic, and Plant lowers his voice to a sensible and mature level, with no illusions about sounding like the international screech machine he was in Zep. As relaxed and exotic as its title suggests, “Moonlight in Samora” has tasteful touches of flamenco guitar and orchestral synthesizer soundscapes by Woodroffe that create a soothing setting.

“Pledge Pin” throws the hired hands into trickier territory with Collins mastering jumpy Zeppelinish time signatures. “Pledge Pin” puts Plant back up on his screech for the skies pulpit, surrounded by flamenco-flavored rock. With the exception of a fat lipped sax solo from Raphael Ravenscroft, (the blower on Gerry Rafferty’s “Baker Street.”) and Collins’ ability to adapt, “Pledge Pin” is full of holes.

There’s no disguising that “Slow Dancer” is a first cousin of “Kashmir” as Cozy Powell (a more studied drummer than John Bonham) double-kicks the bass drum, Blunt approximates Jimmy Page’s hot-as-the-desert sun licks, and Woodroffe reinvents John Paul Jones’ measured synths. There’s a menacing Bedouin chant by Plant at the end of the song that would be great for any sequel to “The Mummy.” Plant is back in alley cat in heat mode, conjuring up visions of mysterious civilizations: “When the sun slips from the day and the coolness brings relief, there’s no torment ‘neath the stars in the stillness of the night, when the swirling has to cease behind the safety of the veil.” Rip off “Kashmir” or not, it’s a good song, despite Plant’s occasional vocal Jihads.

Collins needs to be given credit for promoting the strutting beat that carries “Worse Than Detroit” which is lot better than anything that ever come out of Michigan (except maybe The Tigers and Motown). It loses a little of its motor city grit midway when it turns into rambling blues and Blunt flounders before finding his blues muse, although it’s nice to hear Plant can still approximate the sound of the 5:15 out of Altoona on harp.

Blunt asserts himself more successfully on “Like I’ve Never Been Gone,” demonstrating welcome self-discipline during his solos. When Cozy Powell comes in drums, the ballad takes on a more desperate tone. There’s emotion afoot here, as Plant’s vocal is touching and tinged with remorse. “Like I’ve Never Been Gone” bears the lyrical stamp of the brilliant Led Zep weeper “The Rain Song” and has the phrasing of “Since I’ve Been Loving You” producing a new avenue of memorable heartache: “I wake to find you smiling with the dawn, just reminders of the time. I feel your breath, I look around, but you’re gone. I see the place where you were lying. I caught a taste of springtime on your lips; I see the sunlight in your eyes.”

“Mystery Title” mixes Blunt’s country slide with an abrasive arrangement similar to Led Zeppelin’s faulty “Celebration Day.” Collins is a bit intrusive here, beating Plant’s just reaching puberty vocal into the background. (He may be doing his friend a favor by trying to pound him out.) The big mystery here is where is this going? Blount chokes out some obnoxious riffs and Collins can’t seem to decide on a time signature. It’s no secret why “Mystery Title” is such a mess –“Celebration Day” was no picnic either.

Bonus Pictures
“Pictures at Eleven” is buttressed by a pair of bonus cuts. “Far Post” is a self-assured mover that was popular on FM radio at the time of the album’s release. Woodroffe gets to show he can do something other than lay across the synthesizer by handling a solo. Blunt is Pagey, Plant is very intelligible and Martinez is present and locked in. A live version of “Like I’ve Never Been Gone” is an even better version than the studio cut because Plant sounds even more involved, more at the center of the song’s intended emotional torment.

Shaken N’ Stirred (1985) - 1 out of 5 stars

Plant’s third solo album has aged about as well as Joan Rivers. Plant has described “Shaken N’ Stirred” as “An adventure of the music and technology of the time.” Well, adventures can be dangerous and deadly, just ask Amelia Earhart.

Plant could hardly blame his band for this debacle. The only change was Phil Collins and Cozy Powell’s expected absence. Ritchie Hayward of Little Feat (normally a righteous timekeeper) took over on drums and shaken, not stirred by all the studio effects and World Music that swamped his percussion.

The album begins with “Hip To Hoo,” a bizarre, childish song with back up singer Toni Halliday admonishing Plant with “Cheat! Cheat! Cheat!” She’s right --this song will cheat you out of four minutes of your life. Hayward’s got one of those buzz killing clear plastic drum sets that were popular during the Reagan years, and Woodroffe has succumbed to a Casio cheese piano. What’s most distressing is that “Hip To Hoo” was a group effort. And what the heck is a “Hip To Hoo?” Is that Esperanto for “Skip to My Lou?” When Plant sings, “You’re breakin’ my heart,” you’ll agree.

“Kallalou Kallalou” continues Plant’s attempt to establish his own linguistic code. Another spastic song about Plant getting his heart busted, “Kallalou Kallalou” is better than “Hip Ho Hoo” but the repetition of the “Please don’t you go breaking my heart again” is a tell take sign of a lack of lyrics to match the music, as is the unnecessary inclusion of Halliday.. And what’s happened to Blunt’s guitar playing? Did the guitar-god-in-making title bestowed upon him following the release of “Pictures At Eleven” make him too high strung? No, his guitar is synthesized, more like sanitized.

“Too Loud” continues Plant’s transformation into a computerized caricature of himself. At one point Halliday chants “Hut-hut-hut-hut” like a sadistic drill sergeant. Didn’t realize this was a recruitment ad. There’s a lot of gimmicky synths and Talking Heads spastic vocalizing, as well as a recitation by a French waiter, or at least somebody named Victor. When Plant says, “Talk to me, Victor,” Vic thankfully goes Marcel Marceau and shuts up. “Too Loud” makes it three stinkers in a row, Robbie, waz up?

“Trouble Your Money” has a machine gun Ska-like beat. It rambles a bit lyrically, but is the closest Plant’s come to defogging long enough to produce a coherent composition. “Every night it’s the same, ah!” No, Robbie, every note is the same.

“Pink and Black” starts off with Hayward’s “My Sharona” beat. Plant’s oohing and hiccupping here. Doesn’t matter what he’s saying although it should, he’s the focal point. Martinez and Hayward at least move things along, although the flatness of Hayward’s kit makes him sound as if he’s playing in hardening cement.

“Little By Little” is the first passable song on the album. When Plant sings “I can breathe again” the line makes sense – after five extremely lame experiments, “Little By Little” is a real performance, a song with purpose and meaning. Hayward has a real kit and although Woodroffe’s keyboard sounds like it belongs in a low-budget Kung Fu movie, it fits the song’s air of danger. And Plant’s voice is clean, no hiccups, garbled lyrics or hazy production.

“Doo Doo A Do Do” throws you back into the realm of garbage can drums and lyrics that go nowhere. “Shoop Shoop La La La La” sings Halliday. There’s too much going on here and it’s all wrong -- Blunt’s attempt to play straight ahead rock amidst the chaos, Halliday’s doo wop background vocal, Hayward’s Excedrin headache beat and Martinez’s didgeridoo bass equal a lot of doo a doo doo.

“Please don’t you do it to me no more,” Plant pleads at the beginning of “Early Lead,” and I couldn’t agree more. Even taking into account the instrumentation of the time, Plant’s coochy coochy vocal dampens one of the album’s few interesting backing tracks. At least I know now where Dell got the chords for the noise that pops up on the computer when a program craps out.

“Sites and Sevens” a group written effort, returns Plant to Arabia, 80s style. A bow to the East for Richie Hayward for returning to a real drum set and providing backing the band can sink its collective teeth in. Woodroffe provides a seascape of sound and while Plant goes Esperanto again, it doesn’t ruin the mood of the piece.

The bonus track is a remixed, extended version of “Little By Little,” the album’s only salvageable track, which automatically puts its credibility in jeopardy. Plant’s vocal is at times treated to a bad acid echo and somebody switched Hayward’s drums to the less effective Acme brand. Now when Plant says “I can breathe again” you feel sorry for the respirator.

“Shaken N’ Stirred” is an experiment that reeks of Plant stepping out of the lab too soon with his creation. Instead of a beautiful swan, Plant has delivered a bloated spruce goose that can’t get off the ground. No matter how you shake it, stir it or grind it up, “Shaken N’ Stirred” is little by little.

Now and Zen (1988) 3.5 out of 5 stars

When Plant released “Now and Zen” his most successful album, he went from being “the former lead singer of Led Zeppelin” to being a respected solo artist. He did it in a crafty way – by inviting Jimmy Page to sit in, thus acknowledging his past. Just as crucial to the album’s success was the addition of keyboard player Phil Johnstone, who would become Plant’s new collaborator. Johnstone’s keyboards would replace the departed Robbie Blunt’s guitar as the focal point in Plant’s band. Joining Plant were guitarist Doug Boyle, bassist Phil Scragg, Johnstone, drummer Chris Blackwell (no, not the guy who owned Island Records) and back up singers Kirsty MacColl, Marie Pierre, and a returning Toni Halliday.

“Now and Zen” starts off strong with one of Plant’s best songs, the intimidating, exotic “Heaven Knows” which features two of his best lines: “You were pumping iron as I was pumping irony” and “See the whites of their eyes and shoot, with all the romance of the Tonton Macoutes,” which sent a lot of people to the library to find out what the Macoutes were. Guitarist Jimmy Page returns, but there’s no attempt to recreate the cringing, hard chords Pagey doled out in Zep, which was eight years down the road. Page is restrained and tuneful, mindful that this is Plant’s gig, not his.

“Dance On My Own” has a bopping, almost playful rhythm track, courtesy of Mr. Blackwell (no, not that Blackwell). Nothing too monumental here, but guitarist Doug Boyle is given some latitude to display his considerable economic Santana-like phrasing. Blunt may be history, but Boyle, when given a chance, doesn’t melt under the pressure.

“Tall Cool One” with its “Train-Kept-A-Rollin’” beat and Zeppelin-esque guitar (well, that is Pagey providing that affect) is catchy and classic. “You stroll you jump you hop and you tease, cause I’m the tall cool one an I’m ready to please.” Bits and pieces of “Whole Lotta Love,” “Black Dog” and “Custard Pie” emanate from Page’s still capable fingers, but it’s drummer Blackwell and keyboardist Johnston who drive the train. A bizarre but entirely satisfying trip down memory lane with a lot of modern twists and turns, “Tall Cool One” instantly takes root as one of Plant’s essentials.

Blackwell displays percussive muscle on “The Way I Feel,” keeping the track on track as Plant goes off on a mystical narrative. Scragg bows his bass like crazy-fingered jazzman Jaco Pastorious, and guitarist Boyle adds to his resume with a serviceable solo.

“Helen of Troy” takes Plant back to his mythical musings. One would expect a song about the world’s most beautiful woman would be a dreamy ballad, but “Helen of Troy” is a slide guitar driven rocker that makes Helen sound like a rock and roll tramp. Plant is quirky-voiced; the music works, but lyrically he’s back in Esperanto-land, twittering away clumsily.

“Billy’s Revenge” has a nostalgic Stray Cats feel and Boyle does a dead-on Brian Setzer solo. (Somebody in the band was listening to the Cat’s sinister “Rumble in Brighton.”) “Revenge” is also Blackwell’s platform as he controls the tempo, providing Plant’s off-center vocal with a reliable launching pad.

Plant wisely follows one of the albums more bizarre cuts with the delicate “Ship of Fools,” a wizened, moody ballad. The ship rolls along on the tail end of a tranquil but troubled breeze. The lyrics hint at the journey of a man at a crossroads: “You claim that no man is an island, while I land up in jeopardy, more distant from you by degrees. I walk this shore in isolation, and at my feet eternity lays sweeter plans for me.”

“Why” is Robert Plant meets The Buggles, one of those artsy 80s songs that makes you cringe whenever you hear it. “We don’t know…we don’t know…we don’t know… why.” We don’t know why this was included, Robbie. It belongs on the hopeless “Shaken N’ Stirred” album where all its anachronistic gadgetry can be better appreciated.

“White, Clean and Neat” is another out-of-place and time anomaly. There’s a bit of the “When You’re A Jet” sequence from “West Side Story” inhabiting the arrangement that’s as comfortable as Fonzie at a Grateful Dead concert. You can see practically Plant trying to snap his fingers while flashing a rusty butter knife. Jerry Wayne’s Radio-Free Europe voice-over breaks the boredom, but there’s no shaking that this 50s meets 80s amalgam doesn’t work, no matter how much you try to disguise it with tape loops or finger-popping hoods.

“Walking Towards Paradise” picks up the floundering CD with its bubbly consistency. Boyle chords thickly, Scragg’s bass has the same commanding rumble of Chris Squire, and the gimmickry of a phased back up vocal helps rather than hurts the proceedings.

Bonus Cuts – All Live, Before, Now and Zen
“Billy’s Revenge” is rendered faithfully with its Stray Cats influence brazenly evident. Boyle rips an adrenalin rush solo and Schragg’s threatening bass recaptures the rumbling intro to the “Courageous Cat” TV show. Plant needs to lay off the echo machine though. It makes him sound too much like an escapee from the land of the ice and snow where the cold winds blow. “Ship of Fools” picks up a spacey reverbed guitar intro from Doyle. Johnstone takes a bigger role on this version, providing a more dramatic sound. The band plays a bit with the original arrangement, giving the instrumental passages more space, but it’s to the point where you know these guys were looking around the stage cueing each other like flagmen on an aircraft carrier in an attempt to end it. A classic example of if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Only “Tall Cool One” works as a live piece because the band bears down to nail it. Plant adds in a piece from “The Ocean” as yet another reminder of his halcyon days with Zep and sings out a section of “Custard Pie” to boot.

Fate Of Nations (1993) 4 out of 5 stars

By 1993, Plant had blown through a United Nations worth of musicians, many of whom made themselves available for his sixth solo effort. New recruits included guitarist Kevin Scott MacMichael, who played with AM favorites The Cutting Crew (“I Died in Your Arms” and “Everything But My Pride”), guitarist Oliver Jones, and bassist Charlie Jones. Thumpers Pete Thompson, Chris Hughes and Michael Lee shared the drum seat.

Pete Thompson is clearly one of Plant’s more powerful drummers, less inhibited and synthesized than Ritchie Hayward, and less apt to be scrutinized because of his resume than Phil Collins. “Calling to You” champions Plant’s environmental angst with a heavy metal Middle Eastern backdrop. Bassist Charlie Jones settles in behind the head-knocking beat while Nigel Kennedy provides the latest “Kashmir” revisitation with manic swipes on violin. Guitarist Kevin Scott MacMichael is leaden (no pun intended) like Scheherazade with an AK-47, his playing beautiful, but deadly.

“Down to the Sea” is also ingrained with the atypical musical influences Plant has absorbed through the years, blending tablas with Ullean pipes that conjure up images of caravans in Ireland. “Life is a big tambourine the more you shake it the better it seems. This is my wisdom - these are just words from the sea.” The imagery may be obtuse, but the music is inventive and less pensive than Plant’s philosophical look at the world.

Ex-Fairport Convention guitarist Richard Thompson lends distinctive, traditional style to “Come Unto My Life,” a tasteful English folk/rocker. Frances Dunnery and K.S. MacMichael produce some modern Pagey chords and trade notes effectively with Thompson. Nice asides include Maire Brennan of Clannad providing the voice of a siren and Nigel Eaton grinding a hurdy gurdy.

“I Believe” is as commercial, yet as personal a song as Plant has ever written. No surprise – it’s another ode written in remembrance of his late son, Karac. “Tears, tears at the water’s edge, hey little sister there’s laughter instead. Tears for the teacher, from the eyes from the soul, this restless spirit takes a long way back home. Like the wind you are free, just a whisper, I hear you, so talk to me.” Plant ignores the urge to wail, while MacMichael, Steve French and Julian Taylor have discovered three part harmony. MacMichael plays clean, shimmering U2-ish guitar then provides a grinding solo. “I Believe” this is very un-Plant-like material and excellent, and worth the price of the CD alone.

“I Believe” is followed by the equally excellent, relaxed, “29 Palms”: “Twenty-nine palms, I feel the heat of your desert heart that leads me back down the road that leads back to you.” It’s sentimental warm without the tension that can make some of Plant’s material unnecessarily hard to sit through. MacMichael must’ve taken some lessons from Richard Thompson because his soloing bears Thompson’s traditional/Celtic trademark (and there’s nothing wrong with that).

“Memory Song (Hello Hello)” sports processed vocals, a bee’s nest of guitars from MacMichael and Oliver Jones and a steady, creeping bass from Charlie Jones. Drummer Michael Lee probably grew up listening to Led Zeppelin because he’s mastered John Bonham’s double bass Judo kick. Plant falls a little too much in love with filling spaces with screams and hoots, but the rhythm section shines, making this a pleasant memory.

Plant tackles the “If I Were A Carpenter,” The Tim Hardin chestnut made famous by Bobby Darin. (Plant played the song a lot with his first band, The Band of Joy, which included John Bonham.) You would think Plant’s high register was ill-suited for this, but Plant wisely drops his voice a few notches, which helps him sustain the song’s doleful mood, and Lyton Mariff’s generous string arrangement covers any other vocal warts.

The heavy metal delta blues of “Promised Land” jolts you back into the reality that Plant still mistakenly fancies himself a rocker. Plant takes a rare turn at playing in his own band, sneaking in some harp borrowed from “When the Levee Breaks” and also joining Frances Dunnery and K.S. MacMichael on guitars The twin-Chris war drums of Chris Hughes and Chris Blackwell provide a dynamic back drop, but there’s too many musicians trying to reach the promised land, and Plant’s vocal is forced. Sometimes you really are too old to rock and roll, Robbie.

“The Greatest Gift” further shows that Plant’s body may want to rock, but his vocal chords are more at home with slower material. The slower pace allows him to get more involved vocally (or at least sound like he is). MacMichael puts down a tidy solo alongside the bluesy, sliding strings. “This is the greatest gift that I can bring to you,” Plant intones, and the honesty in his voice doesn’t lie.

Phil Johnstone helps Plant on the chanting background vocal for “Great Spirit” (“Great spirit come”) that may indeed conjure up some ancient wizard. But don’t worry -- this is a benevolent spirit, a sun god who apparently inspires and enlightens Plant.

The double drum attack of Michael Lee and Chris Hughes slams home Plant’s apocalyptic vision of the earth destroying itself over oil in “Network News.” The guitars of Boyle and MacMichael break out in “Heartbreaker” fashion. Couple clobbering rock with angry Arabian riffs and you’ve got a lively coda to one of Plant’s best solo efforts.

The Fate of the Bonus Tracks
Multi-instrumentalist Martin Allcock is Mr. Everything in “Colours Of A Shade,” manning guitar, bass, mandolin, and violin. “Colours” is a gentler “Battle For Evermore”-- olde traditional English folk that Plant still has an affinity for. “Great Spirit” (Acoustic Mix) is another low-key guitar vehicle for Rainer Ptacek. Apparently Ptacek sees the Great Spirit as coming from the South, because he interprets the tune as delta blues. It’s a complete reversal of form and an effectively eerie spin on the original. “Rollercoaster” should have been included on the album in place of “Promised Land.” It’s out of character funk with purpose from Plant, whose hypnotic pontificating benefits from production trickery that smoke screens his voice. “8:05” is a 60s tune from the catalogue of Moby Grape, one of the first group’s swallowed up by their own hype. (In a blatant display of greed, the group’s record company released all the songs on their first album as singles, making the purchase of the L.P. a moot point.) “8.05” is one of group’s surviving legacies. Plant and MacMichael have reshaped the tune as sappy country western folk. It doesn’t work, no matter what time of the day it is. You get another taste of what the album would have sounded like with Rainer Ptacek at the helm with “Dark Moon.” It would have been a real dark mood indeed, an emotional eclipse. Ptacek spins more delta blues, but this time it drones on without shape or format. Get thee to the dark side of Pluto, Rainer.

There are a few slip ups (the counterproductive “Dark Moon,” the unnecessary “8:05” and the badlands of “Promised Land”), but this is a good balance of Plant the poet and Plant the performer. The fate of this CD should be that it winds up in your collection alongside your favorite recordings.

Mighty Rearranger (2005) - 2.5 stars out of 5

The Band that backs up Plant on his most recent CD is called the Strange Sensation. Strange – yes. Sensational? Well, no. The not-so-mighty rearrangers included John Baggott on keyboards and Moog bass, Clive Deamer (drums), Billy Fuller (bass), and Justin Adams and Skin Tyson (guitars, bass).

Plant seems out to prove that his music’s still got bite. It bites alright. When “Mighty Arranger” succeeds, it’s on the back of less vocally challenging material, such as “Another Tribe” and “Dancing in Heaven.”

“Another Tribe” effectively takes the beat from Eddie Cochran’s “Summertime Blues,” grafting it alongside Baggott’s colorful strings. And Plant raises the vocal stakes without sounding like a pale imitation of a tribute band. See Robbie, you can sing a song without sounding like you’re being neutered.

“Shine It All Around” mixes a deliberate kitchen sink beat (as in “When the Levee Breaks”) with psychedelic fades. Plant occasionally sings like he’s in the midst of a revelation. He just needs to tell the rest of us what he’s revelatin’ about.

“Freedom Fries” plays with sonic deception. You’ll check your CD player as instruments start, stop, and then disappear altogether, but it’s designed that way. Drummer Deamer borrows the wrist-snapping cadence from Led Zep’s “Poor Tom,” which is a poor choice. “Freedom Fries” is disorganized, and as the title suggest, crass.

“Tin Pan Valley” a sci-fi keyboard based nutter, works in its quieter moments, but not when it gets frenzied. It explodes with apocalyptic power then eases back into Plant proselytizing like a paranoid tree hugger at a logger’s convention.

One of Plant’s more reflective songs, “All The King’s Horses” is another lullaby written for his late son. (Pressure him into writing about his son and Plant always seems to come up big. Led Zeppelin’s “All of My Love” was also written for Karac.) A little Duane Eddy vibe in the electric guitar solo adds to the song’s ability to tug at the tear ducts: “Glad to be falling for the beauty within.”

Not so much enchanting as interesting, “The Enchanter” has a sloth-like beat and Indian music on acid feel. “Takamba”’s tempo is fast, slow, up, down and it’s all over the map musically. Maybe this should have been called “Timbuktu” because it’s as hard to find as the fabled city.

With a bass line borrowed from The Beatles’ “Taxman,” the spiritual “Dancing In Heaven” has cozy multi-tracked vocal by Plant. Influences from Zep’s “Over the Hills and Far Away” and the gull-like guitar in “All of My Love” perk up the arrangement. The spacey groove proves that when sings within his abilities and not to his legend, Plant can be quite effective.

Anytime you have a song where somebody other than Muddy Waters is kicking in your stall, proceed with caution. “Somebody Knocking” has Plant mixing his love of delta blues with raga, putting it in Led Zep’s “Friends’ and “Bron-y-Aur” territory. Relax, Muddy, the stall is in good hands this time around.

There’s Gene Vincent rebellion and danger in the threatening guitar in “Let the Four Winds Blow.” Justin Adam’s guitar trails Plant’s vocal nicely, and the bass brings to mind Golden Earring’s “Radar Love,” providing a foot-tapping foundation.

The John Lee Hookerish title track features a cameo on harp by Plant, exemplary work on the high end of the keyboards by John Baggott and bluesy, rim shot percussion by Deamer. The music is mighty, but Plant’s lyrics are superfluous.

“Brother Ray” had better not be about Ray Charles because it sounds more like a fifth grade piano recital. There are no words just Plant whoa-ing along to what sounds like someone bouncing on a trampoline. Hit the road, “Brother Ray.”

Bonus Arrangements
“Red, White and Blue” is a new version of “Casey Jones” that moves along like a freight train on a back rail -, quickly, but not entirely smoothly. Lines like “In the land of the free with his banjo on his knee” don’t help. “Al the Money In the World” (Girls remix) offers a wobbly Pagey guitar that at times sounds like a perverted re-evaluation of The Yardbirds’ “Over, Under, Sideways Down.” It’s a pedestrian, forgettable tune.

“Shine It All Around” (Girls remix) simmers with synths that build into splashing cymbals, nervous percussion and Plant singing like a Cylon, his vocal a metallic distortion. This has the ear marks of something Eno or Kraftwork would do. One of the few lines is the title, so Plant is counting on it being hypnotic. The “Yeah….yeah…yeah” repetition is as appealing as the dentist using a Black and Decker on your teeth. Plant’s vocal is the most annoying and useless element of the song, which could have been a revelation as an instrumental. “Tin Pan Alley” (Girls remix) Who are these girls and why are they remixing everything? “Alley” also gets the Brian Eno outer space treatment, which doesn’t work in comparison to the finished version. This is for beat poets, whispered, cool man, then like all hyper tensed. Can’t imagine who’d listen to this industrial version more than once. This alley is condemned. “The Enchanter” (Unkle Reconstruction) gets a Hawaiian percussion treatment, sounds like half a dozen men hitting logs.

The Rest of the Plant Nation
Nearly all of Plant’s back catalogue has been remastered, including his critically-acclaimed second album, “Principle of Moments,” (with the superbly mellow “In the Mood” and a live version of “Lively Up Yourself”), the Zep sound alike “Manic Nirvana” and the blues-based “Dreamland.”

Led Zep rock and roll may leave you merrily trampled underfoot, but Heaven knows you’ll be dancing in heaven if you listen to Robbie’s CDs now and zen.

Posted April 11, 2007 Permalink

Nine Lives - Robert Plant

Nine Lives Robert Plant 3.5 stars out of 5 Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

As Led Zeppelin’s sex symbol, lead wailer, and songwriting visionary, Robert Plant co-wrote a zillion rock anthems we all recognize and play air guitar to. Fortunately, the trademark scream he unleashed in way too many Zep tunes – a glass-cracking, piercing wail that sounded like a farm animal being violated – is missing in his solo work. Rhino, the company that gives artists their props by giving listeners extensive CD sets, has released “Nine Lives,” an all encompassing 9 CD/ 1 DVD tribute to Plant’s considerable solo musings. The set covers the lion-trussed singer’s solo career since Led Zeppelin crashed in 1980 and includes a 60-page book with rare photos, artwork and 20 music videos. The DVD also includes a 60-minute documentary focusing on his solo career with Plant commenting on each of his solo endeavors, interspersed with interviews with Phil Collins, Roger Daltrey, Roy Harper, Lenny Kravitz (huh?), Tori Amos (double huh?) and John McEnroe (which goes beyond double huh into the realm of you’ve got to be kidding). John Paul Jones’ absence is no surprise, since his relationship with Plant has always been prickly, but no Page? Must have been playing with David Coverdale that day.

As part of their promotional onslaught, Rhino has released a 14 track sampler with songs highlighting each of Plant’s solo albums. The sampler includes several unreleased songs that will blow you away and several that will make you realize that unsupervised hippies in a studio can make for very painful listening.

“Burning Down One Side,” the first song on Plant’s first solo work (1982’s “Pictures at Eleven”) is arguably Plant’s best song, despite an unintelligible first verse. (Hey, nobody knows what the first few lines of “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” are either.) Dominated by Jezz Woodroffe’s escalating synthesizer and Robbie Blunt’s jagged guitar runs, Plant bumps up the quality quotient by letting Phil Collins dominate the sound with his controlled, explosive drumming. Blunt’s serene soloing infuses “Big Log” with an exotic, Middle Eastern texture. Shades of the orient abound in the mysterious, keyboard dominated “Little by Little” from 1985’s “Shaken N’ Stirred,” while the similarly veined “Ship of Fools” (from 1988’s “Now and Zen”), bobs lazily like a lifeboat on a calm sea. Just when the boat threatens to flounder, the drums kick in, inspiring guitarist Doug Boyle to pluck a lofty sitar-like solo. The lush “29 Palms” is a folky relaxed trip through the desert: “Twenty-nine palms, I feel the heat of your desert heart, leading me down the road that leads back to you.” With that laid back approach to love, you know old lion hair is going to get the girl and live happily ever after, and so will you each time you sit back, close your eyes and follow Plant’s down the highway.

Brian Setzer has since mastered the art of combining rock with big band swing, but in 1984 Plant’s foray into 50s Chicago style jazz, “The Honeydrippers Vol. 1” was a quirky surprise. Plant’s putrid rendition of “Sea of Love” somehow became his best-selling single, proving sometimes it’s the song, not the singer. Fortunately, the sampler includes the livelier “Rockin’ at Midnight” with its finger-shaking big band arrangement. Plant is seriously out of his element here and not at all in touch with his inner hep cat. His delivery is pure karaoke and the arrangement is suited for a belter like Joe Turner – but the band knows how to cover Plant’s awkwardness and still generate enough heat to make the dance floor shake.

The title “The Dye in the Highway” doesn’t make sense until you realize Plant is a hippy at heart and he’s taking about tie dye. Clips from Woodstock, (the ultimate hippy experience) abound, beginning with a very hoarse Chip Monck declaring, “What we have in mind is breakfast for 400,000.” An offbeat, grating performance similar to Zeppelin’s “Friends,” the busy “Highway” has nothing to do with the peace and love generation. Plant’s voice no longer has the range to carry hard-edged material and phasing it doesn’t hide it or help. Throw in a plodding, way too deliberate beat, more bad acid musings from Mr. Monck, and you have an overproduced assault on your nervous system.

While the sampler is representative of much of Plant’s best know solo work, it’s not without its surprises, which come in the form of three B-sides and two previously unreleased cuts. Score it 2 to 1 for the unreleased material. Both “Turnaround” and “Rollercoaster” are funky out of the ordinary gems that should have been part of Plant’s canon long ago. A slimier version of Zep’s “Custard Pie,” “Turn Around” has the type of skillful slide guitar runs one would expect from Fleetwood Mac’s Jeremy Spencer or Wishbone Ash axeman Andy Powell. Strutting, funky and confident, “Turnaround” has a bluesy feel that’s unlike Plant’s more rock based tunes. “Rollercoaster” dips further into the blues/funk along the lines of Sly Stone or Bootsy Collins. Plant’s voice is recessed in the mix so as not to get in the way of head bopping beat and the vaporous synthesizer. Hypnotic yet hard hitting, “Rollercoaster” is one of those cuts that takes on modern technology and is the better for it. On the other hand the three B sides offered up are a trio of diminishing returns, going from passable, to pass it by, to like passing a kidney stone, only this time you’re passing it through your ear. The herky jerky “Far Post” dates back to the 80s and is notable for putting the bass and honky tonk piano upfront, a practice seldom employed by Led Zeppelin. Nearly everything in “Oompa (Watery Blint)” compounds its kitchen sink approach, from the fun house horns to the misplaced swing clarinet, to Plant’s death knell scream. When Plant babbles, “There’s something…something wrong with you…” you’ll undoubtedly say “Yes there is, Robert. It’s the stench coming from my CD player,” and you’ll hit the fast forward button. All the money in the world can’t save the hackneyed “All the money in the World.” (Sometimes these guys make it too easy to give an opinion.) This rip off of “John Henry” is delta blues at its most annoying -- talky, rushed and rambling.

“All the King’s Horses” from 2005’s “Mighty Rearranger” finishes the sampler on a strong note. The tranquil acoustic arrangement offers a rare glimpse into Plant’s spiritual side: “I give myself a brand new start, glad to be following the beauty within. All the king’s horses, all the king’s men, are on the outside looking in.” There’s a personal emotional investment in the song that’s missing in much of Plant’s solo work. He cements the tune’s melancholia with a restrained, heartrending vocal as sincere and affecting as his performances on Led Zeppelin’s “The Rain Song” and “Tangerine.”

What’s missing from the sampler? The hypnotic “In the Mood;” “Tall Cool One,” with its “Train Kept A Rollin’” beat, and “Heaven Knows,” with one of the all time “say what” rhymes that would make Steve Miller blush: “See the whites of their eyes and shoot, with all the romance of the Tonton Macoutes!”(The chorus is a gem too: “You were pumping iron, while I was pumping irony.”) Both “Heaven Knows” and “Tall Cool One” appeared on “Now and Zen” and could have replaced the pleasant but less memorable “Ship of Fools.” But a sampler is not meant to be all things to all people, and the three songs are bound to turn up somewhere on the 9 CDs.

If you can’t have Led Zeppelin – and as long as John Bonham remains dead you won’t – then give Robert Plant’s “Nine Lives” a chance. Get ready for the pun… Plant’s music will grow on you…

Posted April 10, 2007 Permalink

Rocket Man: Number Ones

Elton John Rocket Man: Number Ones 2.5 out of 5 stars for the CD 3.5 out of 5 stars for the CD and DVD Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Elton John recently celebrated his 60th birthday with a record 60th concert at Madison Square Garden, but he also released a greatest hits collection “Rocket Man – Number Ones.”

Elton has such a rich catalogue that a quick glance of the song list will leave you wondering, where’s this song? What about that song? (Well, at least you’ll get “Your Song” as you’ll soon find out.) Here’s a list of songs that didn’t make the grade:

“Levon,” “The Border Song,” “Little Jeannie,” “Madman Across the Water” and “Take Me To The Pilot.”

Here are some that did:
“Sacrifice,” “Island Girl,” and “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.”

Hardly seems fair, but I dare say the second group can’t hold a candle in the wind to the first. Hard to believe some of the songs on this CD made it to number one, but we the people created this CD through our occasionally misguided record buying habits, so for better or worse we have to live with it.

Elton aficionados already have all these tracks on numerous CDs, so the attraction for them to buy “Number Ones” may have to come from the CD/DVD combo. It contains five bonus tracks recorded live at Caesar’s Palace (“Bennie and the Jets,” “Rocket Man,” “Candle in the Wind,” “Saturday Night’s Alright (For Fighting),” and “Your Song” – hey, there it is.) plus bonus videos for “Your Song” (there it is again), “I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Blues,” “I’m Still Standing,” “I Want Love” and “Tinderbox.” (Sorry folks, the copy I got for review didn’t have the DVD, but based on past Elton DVDs you can rest assured “Number Ones” will live up to your high standards.) Non-Eltonites will be thankful the producers thought about all the songs left off of “Number Ones” and added five other favorites that didn’t make it to the exalted top slot on the charts, including the romantic “Tiny Dancer” and, you guessed it, the original studio version of “Your Song.”

“Number Ones” contains a pair of underappreciated or frequently overlooked tunes, the heartfelt “Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word” from “Blue Moves,” and the catchy “Philadelphia Freedom.” “Freedom,” with its purposeful Indian war drum beat, was written in honor of Elton’s friend Billie Jean King in order to give her tennis team the Philadelphia Freedoms more exposure. Aided by a B-side featuring Elton and John Lennon singing “I Saw Here Standing There” live, “Philadelphia Freedom” earned its ace in April 1975. “Sorry Seems To Be the Hardest Word” is a rarity in Elton’s canon: not only did he write the bulk of the lyrics (90% of the time Bernie Taupin wrote the lyrics and Elton composed the music), but it’s a number one with substance. It’s a dark, gloomy commentary on an adult relationship gone sour, hardly the stuff of a chart topper: “What I gotta do to make you love me? What I gotta do to make you care? What do I do when lightening strikes me? And I wake to find that your not there… What I gotta do to make you want me? What I gotta do to be heard? What do I say when it’s all over, babe? When sorry seems to be the hardest word.”

The bulk of “Number Ones” is inhabited by indisputable classics, tired warhorses and compost that somehow made it to the top of the heap. Elton was dead set against releasing the fun 50s stomp “Bennie and the Jets,” because he felt the original recording was too simple and unadorned. Enter producer Gus Dudgeon, who gave it a live feel by adding whistles, off-beat hand claps and applause. “Benny” not only topped the rock charts, it also became Elton’s first number one on the R & B charts. The ballad “Your Song,” (yes, that song again) one of Elton’s earliest hits (1970) drifts along on a hint of classical-influenced piano and Paul Buckmaster’s soft string accompaniment. It contains some of Bernie Taupin’s most unabashedly quixotic and huggable lyrics: “If I was a sculptor, but then again, no, or a man who makes potions in a traveling show. I know it's not much but it's the best I can do, my gift is my song and this one's for you. And you can tell everybody this is your song. It may be quite simple but now that it's done, I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words…How wonderful life is while you're in the world.” It remains one of Elton’s most popular songs, one of his own personal favorites and a must-play at every concert he gives. With sweeping flashes of pedal steel, a reverent, medieval chorus and more vivid strings arranged by Buckmaster, “Tiny Dancer” is an equally memorable heartbreaker, inspired by Taupin’s love for a dancer on Elton’s concert tour.

“Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me” disappoints – instead of the original recorded with the sterling back up vocals of Beach Boys Carl Wilson and Bruce Johnston and Toni Tennille (of the Captain and…fame) we get the slick Hollywood version Elton recorded as a duet with George Michael. There’s that blasted #1 rule getting in the way of a good song again. Granted, Michael displays some impressive lung power, but this is the same guy who was in Wham! and shook his butt without remorse in his video “Faith” …And this is before he began lurking in men’s rooms, so credibility is an issue here. Recorded at a concert at Wembley Stadium in 1991, the second version charted higher than the original, catching the wave of Michael’s popularity. It’s a shame. Rarely will you ever hear back ups as immaculate as Wilson/Johnston/Tennille trio on the original.

Other popular chart toping ballads featured on the 17-song CD include the tepid “Daniel,” and “Candle In The Wind,” the embarrassing tribute to Marilyn Monroe. The song was resurrected and revamped by Bernie Taupin and Beatles producer George Martin in a tribute to Elton’s close friend Princess Diana of Wales. Elton’s magic touch didn’t fail him – the updated “Candle in the Wind” became the second biggest selling single worldwide in 1997. Two later day singles, the so-light-its insignificant “Sacrifice” and “Can You Feel The Love Tonight?” a love song for feline characters in “The Lion King,” pop up to dilute the credibility of “Number Ones.” Inexplicably, Elton’s namby pamby performance in “Can You Feel The Love Tonight” and Tim Rice’s flea-bitten lyrics not only earned an Academy Award and Golden Globe Award for Best Original Song, it landed Sir Elton a Grammy for Best Pop Vocal Performance. Must have been a slow year. The irreverent “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” a duet with “Where is she now?” partner Kiki Dee, was meant to be a tribute to singing Motown couples such as Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. Recorded during the sessions for “Blue Moves,” Elton thought so little of this slight ditty he didn’t include it on the album. If you can wade through more than one sugary verse you’ll understand why. The inevitable inclusion of “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” may inspire the Tin Man to come after Elton with his axe, and I sure wish “Daniel” would get to where ever the hell he’s going on that train and leave us alone. On the other hand, “Rocket Man (I Think It’s Gonna Be A Long, Long Time)” Elton’s answer to David Bowie’s “Space Oddity” is one of his most covered songs and still packs a sentimental wallop with its lofty chorus: “And I think it's gonna be a long long time, till touch down brings me round again to find, I'm not the man they think I am at home, oh no no no I'm a rocket man. Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone.”

“Yellow Brick Road” and “Daniel” may be necessary tired evils, but the addition of “Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds” and “Island Girl” could get the knighted Sir Elton exiled. His version of “Lucy” sucks the majestic production elements out of the Beatles’ original, turning a shiny gem into a lifeless, counterfeit lump of coal. And the syrupy “Island Girl” has about as much to do with Caribbean rhythm as Bob Marley did with the “Just Say No To Drugs” campaign.

By itself, the CD is nothing special. Having heard “Tinderbox” – one of Elton’s best songs in many, many years – I’d recommend springing for the CD/DVD combo – before they disappear like a candle in the wind.

Posted April 10, 2007 Permalink