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June 2007

The Re-genesis of Genesis

Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

1976 marked the rebirth of art rock epic songsters Genesis as a more cohesive, more commercially viable unit. The metamorphosis occurred when lead singer Peter Gabriel packed up his circus outfits, Adams Family make up and rolled up the parchments of his 20-minute songs, opting for a solo career. On the hook for a new singer and a less theatrical mage, the group auditioned vocalists as they prepared for their first post-Peter album.

Phil Collins temporarily manned the mike stand during rehearsals, content to remain the group’s drummer. The other members, Steve Hackett (guitar), Mike Rutherford (bass, guitar) and Tony Banks (keyboards), figured Collins could handle the quieter material. When Collins wrapped his near-virgin lungs around the challenging “Squonk” the group realized their new singer had in their midst all along. Genesis was reborn…

Rhino has reissued a spate of the Phil Collins helmed Genesis albums in an enjoyable two CD/DVD format. The first CD is a remastered version of the original recording, immaculately reproduced. Now you can hear the bass and guitar patterns that acted as the foundation for Tony Banks’ soloing. The second disc contains a 5.1 digital recording of the album (the better to hear what a good drummer Phil Collins is), plus interviews, promotional videos and rare concert footage.

A Trick of the Tail (3.5 out of 5 stars)
“A Trick of the Tail” is tricky indeed, magical in parts, promising sleight of hand in other sections, and at its worse, pure flim-flam.

The album begins with “Dance on a Volcano,” one of those worrisome speed freak progressive rock jams that never pulls itself together. Beginning with a massive drum roll, blanketing synths and Steve Hackett’s studied guitar, it balances its rep on the remnants of the old Genesis; the verses are herky-jerky, packed with tongue twisting lyrics, with Collins squawking intensely. Hackett manages to sound like he knows what he wants to do despite the chaotic arrangement, favoring billowy chords on his guitar. There are a lot of good ideas being tossed about, but there’s no need to hear them all in the space of thirty seconds. The song spins haphazardly toward an end, as if to show the group could even out-weird Peter Gabriel. They can, but that doesn’t make it good.

“Entangled” is twinkly, olde English and a memorable step for the new Genesis, a song worth getting wrapped up in. A ghostly madrigal, Banks plays a spooky synth solo that blends beautifully with Hackett’s acoustic thrumming and the distant moan of a choir.

“Well, if we can help you we will. Soon as you're tired and ill. With your consent I can experiment further still. Well, thanks to our kindness and skill you’ll have no trouble until. You catch your breath and the nurse will present you the bill.”

In “Squonk,” Collins’ barbaric anvil drumming beats down like a tired blacksmith with a schedule to keep. Mellotrons and synths surround the beat, which is also supported by Rutherford’s countering bass. There’s no lack of confidence from Collins at the mike either, as he rips his voice ragged. "Squonk” runs the musical kharmic wheel from progressive rock to a Catholic mass fade out, and yet manages to sound like a cohesive composition instead of a hodge-podge of ideas.

The mellow, majestic piano that begins “Mad Man Moan” builds like a yellow moon slowly rising on a starless night. The middle section is busy, with an interlude that could be the pre-precursor to “Paperlate,” then proceeds to transform itself into a full blown orchestral drama on par with the lavishness of a philharmonic orchestra. The song hits its “mad man” stride picking up uncontrollable steam (another bow to the Gabriel era) threatening to careen out of control before somehow steering itself back toward a very pleasant ending.

In “Squonk,” Collins’ barbaric anvil drumming beats down like a tired blacksmith with a schedule to keep. Mellotrons and synths surround the beat, which is also supported by Rutherford’s countering bass. There’s no lack of confidence from Collins at the mike either, as he rips his voice ragged. "Squonk” runs the musical kharmic wheel from progressive rock to a Catholic mass fade out, and yet manages to sound like a cohesive composition instead of a hodge-podge of ideas.

The mellow, majestic piano that begins “Mad Man Moan” builds like a yellow moon slowly rising on a starless night. The middle section is busy, with an interlude that could be the pre-precursor to “Paperlate,” then proceeds to transform itself into a full blown orchestral drama on par with the lavishness of a philharmonic orchestra. The song hits its “mad man” stride picking up uncontrollable steam (another bow to the Gabriel era) threatening to careen out of control before somehow steering itself back toward a very pleasant ending.

A cheeky English street urchin tale, “Robbery, Assault and Battery” is the Artful Dodger goes prog, with Collins calling on his skills as a child actor, adopting a cockney accent. He sets a difficult pace on percussion, and the group lets him lead the way, a mistake, because they scatter about in different directions as if they were pickpockets being chased down by Bobbies. Collins bangs away in every time signature imaginable, assaulting his kit and robbing a potentially amusing tale of its humor. This is battery in the first degree, punishable by never being spun again.

“Ripples,” written by Tony Banks and Mike Rutherford, is Genesis at its most romantic and grandiose, an enchanting masterpiece about growing old that alludes to the folly of Narcissus falling in love with his own reflection, and Helen of Troy waking up one morning to find out she’s no longer the most sought after girl on the matrimonial battlefield: “The face that launched a thousand ships is sinking fast, that happens you know. The water gets below. Seems not very long ago, lovelier she was than any I ever know.” Hackett’s backwards guitar work floats alongside of Banks’ sensitive strides on piano. The effect is awe inspiring. This is what prog should sound like whenever a musician’s skills match his highbrow intentions.

“A Trick of the Tail” is very Gabriel-esque in its use of word play, telling the tale of a shunned beast that no one can stomach or understand: “They got no horns and they got no tail, they don’t even know of our existence.” Unlike “Robbery, Assault” etc... this is Elizabethan rock with brains.

The CD ends with “Los Endos,”an instrumental where Mike Rutherford gets to leave an impression, rolling the bass strings Jack Bruce style, and Tony Banks slips in a section he would later iron out as the beginning of “Turn it On Again.” “Los Endos” is mostly a workout for Banks with Collins in Billy Cobham jazz-speed overdrive. It’s filler, but its interesting filler and occasionally returns to a basic theme, when it could have easily gone off into incoherent jam-land.

Extra Tails
Disc 2 is a DVD which includes interviews, “A Trick of the Tail” 5.1 stereo, and videos for “Robbery, Assault and Battery,” “Ripples” and “A Trick of the Tail.”

"Robbery, Assault and Battery" casts Collins as a thief. He kills a man who stumbles across him robbing a safe (check out Mike Rutherford’s hammy death scene) and is chased down pursued by Bobbies (Banks, Hackett and Rutherford).You get to see a lot of Collins’ facial expressions in ”Ripples, ” and witness when he looked more like an Apostle than a rock star, with a beard and a full head of hair (!) You also get to see Rutherford in late 70s rock gear – a Minnesota North Stars Jersey, and what the band looks like dowsed in a blue tint. Not much goes on, but its still a beautiful song. “A Trick of the Tail” is another performance video where the boys stand around the piano (the Monkees did this a lot too). Since it’s an odd ball song, the band felt obligated to stick in a few amusing touches, such Hackett playing guitar with a monster claw or shrinking Collins down to about three inches in height. Collins would later say “Trick of the Tail” was the most embarrassing video of his career, (yes, it is), but it’s nice to see the boys having fun.

“Trick of the Tail” ‘s extras include a 2006 interview about the album. With hindsight as their educator, the group candidly discusses Peter Gabriel’s departure and the circle the wagons approach Rutherford, Collins, Banks and Hackett took in making the album. Banks comes across as erudite and stuffy as his playing, Collins remains cherubic, Hackett is conflicted, and Rutherford’s dry wit and honesty is refreshing and informative. Rutherford also sounds exactly like horror film veteran Christopher Lee, and is possesed of a rich educated baritone, which makes you wonder why he’s not doing voice overs.

“Genesis: In Concert” features generous helpings of the new band with a mike hugging Phil Collins still adjusting to center stage. Former Yes stick man Bill Bruford is on board to help out on drums, and although he’s a highly regarded top gun, he doesn’t latch onto the nuances of the numbers the way future Genesis tour drummer Chester Thompson would later on. The concert starts out with a song identified with Peter Gabriel, the amusing “I Know What I Like,” played over a visual of the stage being set up. Collins has Gabriel’s delivery down pat and draws appaluse from the crowd when he adlibs a nimble dance routine. “The Carpet Crawlers,” also from the Gabriel days, is performed expertly with Banks leading the band through the complicated arrangement. “The Cinema Show” is supported by footage from an unidentified silent movie that helps break up the length of the performance as does the drum showdown between Bruford and Collins.

“A Trick of the Tail” is a credible leap forward by a group that could have easily tossed in their codpieces. “Ripple” is worth the price of the CD alone, but the new remix gives the material an elegent gloss its lacked in the past. Peter who?

Wind and Wuthering (3 out of 5 stars)
Here’s your last chance to hear Steve Hackett as a member of the band. Hackett quit after the “Wind and Wuthering” tour, frustrated that his ideas were being ignored. Given that Hackett had put out his first solo album “Voyage of the Acolyte,” before “A Trick of the Tail” and admittedly had no finshed material to give to Genesis, you figure Steve might cut the band some slack.

There’s a lot of wind on the album and equal amounts of wuthering, whatever that is. (Okay, wise guy, when was the last time you wuthered?) The album takes its title and theme from “Wuthuring Heights,”one of the all time stuffed shirt English parlor dramas. And this platter has plenty of theatrics, from the opening trilling intro by Hackett, who swoops in behind Banks full range of keyboards. “The Eleventh Earl of Mar,” a group written tune, is another scattershot attempt to capture six zillion time signatures in one song. Like its predecessor, “Dance on the Volcano,” the Earl shows Genesis can play, particularly Banks, who floods the scenery with mellotron and gentle piano. Much better than “Dance on the Volcano”(because there’s a melody here, although it’s a very loose one), the “Earl” still needs to give up his title. At 7:45, Banks’ yeoman keyboard work can’t hide that this Earl is marred.

“One For the Vine” written by Banks, has the soft touch of his previous compositions. At 10:00 it’s also a bit bloated, but Banks’horn-like keys and waltzing accompanyment will keep you from dozing off. When the arrangement picks up speed, it’s a less rickety transition than it was on “The Earl” because Banks leads the way (rather than the smack-happy Collins), making the shift from soft-psych to pop to boderline disco less jarring. And despite his complaints, Hackett gets to play a little too.

“Your Own Special Way” is one Mike Rutherford’s career-making compositions. Banks supports the chivalrous arrangement with a quiet wave of keyboards, Rutherford and Hackett strum elegantly, and Collins handles the high notes without ruining the mood or a lung. It’s interesting that the background music stops when Banks takes a solo; it’s more noticable here because the song is subdued to begin with. A composition Genesis could be proudly perform in their golden years (which would be now), “Your Own Special Way” combines many of the groups strengths, a clutch Collins vocal, scads of atmosphere from Banks, and a gauzey, high class melody.

The instrumental “Wot Gorilla” is credited to Banks and Collins. Banks does some adventurous razzle-dazzle on the synths, a bit of a surprise, given his usually calm soloing even in the most flipped out pieces. Banks’ sudden jolt of juice may have a lot to do with Collins’ simian-like pounding on his kit, pressuring Banks to let go. “Wot Gorilla” is a bit inconsequential, but its not offensive, and at 3:20, it’s the right length.

“All In A Mouse’s Night” another Banks solo writing credit, briefly gets into some nice Yes-like syncopation during the choruses, but during the verses its one of those disjointed searching for a beat nightmares with a lot of cymbal abuse. At one point, as Collins is talking about “a ten foot tall monster mouse,” Banks launches into a Chiller Theater theme fit for The Phantom of the Opera, further adding to the songs kitchen sink approach. Where’s my mouse trap?.

Hackett gets to introduce “Blood on the Rooftops” with a dash of fanciful acoustic fingering. Couple Hackett’s flameco flourishes with the rest of the group’s decidedly Elizabethian mood and you’ve got an intriguing clash of styles. The instrumental “Unquiet Slumbers for the Sleepers” mixes eerie thermin sounding synths and trailing acoustic guitar, making it a great soundtrack for a ghost story or a remake of….“Wuthering Heights!” “In That Quiet Earth,” which quickly follows, is neither quiet or earthy, a landslide of musical conflict. Collins sets a wicked pace, Hackett buffets the ears, and Banks is back in his prog-soaked soloing routine. So much for Hackett’s ideas being ignored; he’s all over this too, trying to figure out what to play. “Afterglow” picks up the album’s credibility again. It’s a gallant, proud ballad by Banks with a chorus of saintly backing vocals and a pleading lead from Collins.

More Wuthering…The Extras
The second CD/DVD for “Wind and the Wuthering” contains the continuation of a 2006 band interview focusing on the album. Rutherford admits he felt the album was one of their weaker efforts, mainly because it was dense, with complicated instrumetal passages dominated by Banks’ keyboards. Banks agrees: “Virtually every track requires a bit of listening to.” Hackett, on the verge of quitting the band, relates he felt intimidated by Banks and Rutherford’s talent as songwriters.

The lip-synched footage from “The Mike Douglas Show” is grainy and Collins doesn’t get to the mike before the records starts, but it does show that the seemingly square Douglas had a way with the rock and roll acts that played on his show. (Douglas once managed to get John Lennon to co-host the show for a week. Too bad he brought Yoko with him.)

“Wind and Wuthering” is rife with all the pretentious noodling that gives progressive rock a bad rep. When the band tackles the faster-paced lengthy material such as “The Eleventh Earl of Mar” and “All in a Mouse’s Night” the hither and yon desire of the boys to try and fit every riff they know into one song causes the album to lose its direction. It’s the calmer pieces that make gell, have a sense of melody and keep Phil Collins from having to sing like a Vienna Choir boy on his third latte at Starbucks. Stick to the quiet stuff and you’ll find your own special way with plenty of happy wuthering.

And Then There Were Three (3 out of 5 stars)
Talk about a literal title. After Steve Hackett’s departure, the group continued as a trio. They had wuthered original guitarist Anthony Phillips departure and Peter Gabriel’s abandonment, so who’d miss a guitarist that seldom soloed? Since Collins wasn’t a full-time writer, the weight of composing the material fell to Banks and Rutherford, who could have rehashed bits of “Wind and Wuthering.” But “…And There Were Three” is infused with….melody!

“Down and Out” continues the Genesis trade mark of starting off with a fast-paced opener that spurts and stutters more than Mel Tills delivering a commencement address. “Undertow” has Banks’ trademark bits of romanticism, the grand piano figures, sweeping mellotron and grandiose drumming from Collins. It flows and flourishes because it’s a song – no crazed detours, just verse, chorus, verse, chorus.

The group-written “Ballad of Big” throws the band back into pick-a-rthymn mode. It begins as a percussive cousin of The Beatles “Old Brown Shoe,” turns into an organ based march, and it’s back to “Old Brown Shoe.” You get the picture, the two sections don’t mesh. Big mistake.

“Snowbound” drifts in on a brief icy chill on mellotron from Banks before Collins begins to quietly emote. An avalanche of sound will set you back in your chair as Collins pleads, “Pray for the snowman, oh, what a snowman. They say a snow year’s a good year, filled with the love of all who lie so deep.” There’s a touch of “Ripples” in the wintry mix, but since “Ripples” was a classic Genesis track, “Snowbound” at least stands a snowball’s chance of warming your musical cockels. Banks pushing the arrangement skyward on the keys higher than a skier going airborne off a 50 foot jump will give you chills.

Banks’ “Burning Rope” begins with his usual dramatic flourish that earmarked him for a future scoring films. “Burning Rope” also has a wintry feel as Rutherford steps forward to give a fitting, not flashy, series of solos. On “Many Too Many” Banks breaks out the grand piano balancing it against Collins’ pleading vocal and weepy synths. Rutherford sneaks in another competant solo that doesn’t stray to far from the melody as the song fades out.

Nonsensical lyrics about the bad things children envision during our dreams inhabit “Scenes From A Night’s Dream.” The flood of clumsy imagery conjured up by “poor little Nemo” trashes the overall enjoyment of the song, but the boys are playing like a band with a more steady cadence, instead of their usual car-wreck beat. “Little Nemo rubbed his eyes and got out of bed, trying hard to piece together a broken dream. His visions lifelike and full of imagination, It’s strange to think they came from such a tiny head.” And it’s scary this nightmare came from three grown men.

“Say It’s Alright Joe” drifts like a sad drunk leaning over a bar, its identity dependant Banks’ whispy piano. The band returns to mixing a soft melody and with a Sonny-Liston sized chorus as Collins’ voice slams against Banks’ wall of sound. Genesis would learn by their next album not to mix incongruent styles…But for now, say it ain’t so, Phil.

They didn’t learn fast enough, because the good wood on bass from Rutherford and a lazer-like solo from Banks are sacrificed as filler for “The Lady Lies.” “Lady” is dragged down by the band’s insistance at grafting several styles together to make a song as attractive as Harvey Fierstein in drag. This lady not only lies, she ain’t no lady.

With a resounding “Where the hell did this come from?” “Follow You, Follow Me” politely bounces in. Collins doesn’t overpower, Banks’ solo doesn’t drift, and there are lyrics you can follow (or you can follow me). This group-written ballad, their biggest hit to date, signaled more accessible material – and worldwide acceptance – was just an album away.

And Then There Were Extras
The band interviews for the album address Hackett’s departure and the bonding of the remaining members as a trio. Collins gives an amusing perspective on Hackett’s flight, laughing about being the last one to learn Hackett was leaving, even though he had just given the unsually mute guitarist a ride to the studio. Rutherford still seems surprised at how easy it was to write “Follow You, Follow Me,” (“We were getting better at writing short songs”), while Collins, a charter jazz drummer, feels vindicated that the members of Weather Report loved the song, playing it on their tour bus. (Weather Report’s drummer, Chester Thompson would later serve as Genesis’ tour drummer.)

There’s a warning about the quality of degraded picture for “Three Dates With Genesis” a BBC documentary shot in 1978, but it does improve the further along it gets – either that or my eyes need Lasix surgery. The lengthy documentary gives you the genesis of Genesis, including shots of actor Phil Collins as the Artful Dodger at age 14. Mostly it focuses on the background personnel, the stage crew, managers and seemingly faceless minions that put together the group’s tours.

A pensive Collins shows he’s learned how to milk the mike in the promotional video for “Many Too Many,” while “Follow You, Follow Me” turns the camera on a tacturn Banks, who stares straight ahead like a squinting U-Boat Captain eyeing his prey, his hands seemingly in the same position they’ve always been in all the videos. The performance vidoes don’t have a lot of movement, but will be interesting artifacts for devout fans.

“And Then There Were Three” is an improvement over the occassional pretentiousness of “Wind and the Wuthering,” with the band edging toward shorter songs and Collins lessening his banshee vocals. Call it a transition album with some very pleasant “undertows.”

Duke (3.5 out of 5 stars)
The band comes in with it’s practiced introductory fanfare for “Behind The Lines,” as Banks unfurls a blanket of synthsizers, Rutherford sneaks in with a short competant guitar passages and Collins shows why he was one of the 80s most in demand drummers, his touch commanding and lyrical. Unlike on past albums, this opening tune is worth revisting. Phil Collins had recorded a version of the song with an R & B feel with the Earth, Wind and Fire horns for “Face Value,” his hugely successful 1981 solo album. Minus the horns, this version doesn’t have Phil’s R & B kick, but this is Genesis we’re talking about, kids, not Soul Train, so if your toes even hint at any movement that’s a big deal.

With a slight bow to third world music (via a drum machine), “Dutchess” sneaks on a simple conga beat that sustains in the background throughout the song, which features variations on the refrain, “Soon all she had to do was step into the light, for everyone to roar. And all the people cried, you’re the one we’ve been waiting for.” An overlooked gem, “Dutchess” received its due in concert, with Collins once again manning the drum machine.

Dutchess segues into “Guide Vocal,” which is short on time (1:35!), but long on bitterness. “Man of Our Times” is one of those screamers the boys always muck up with too many chord changes. Given a sturdy platform by Banks whipping keyboards and Collins’ submachine gun drumming, it falls victim to Collins’ over-reaching screams, which are buried in the mix, but still manages to inject unspeakable pain during the verses. It’s not as unlistenable as past failures, but I’m sure you’d rather do time than listen to“Man of Our Times’ again.

“Misundertstanding,” a Collins track intended for his first solo effort, wound up being one of the most popular cuts on the album. The saga of a break up (if rock stars didn’t get divorced after every tour what would they write about?), it belies the nasty feelings between Collins and his spouse by couching the theme in a cheerful shuffle. The new mix gives you an opportunity to hear there were indeed bass lines in Genesis’ material.

It’s back to rambling in “Heathaze.” Given his immenent divorce, Collins should have been able to tap into the song’s intended sadness, instead he sounds as if he’s not only in a haze, he’s in a saliva dripping coma.

“Turn it On Again,”another popular FM radio tune, hit #8 in Britain. Collins drives the song on drums and dominates with susinct vocal, and cha-cha back ups capturing the narrator’s paranoia. Rutherford’s harp-like guitar cues Collins wanting vocal for “Alone Again Tonight.” A slight tune lyrically, it takes it weight from the thudding sadness of Collins’ drumming and Banks distant, crying keyboards. “Cul de Sac” is the tale of a doomed regiment -- the English soldier as martyr. There are elements of the battlefield in the music. Collins throws in a brief march, and Banks assaults his keyboards like a prickly Keith Emerson being told he has to report to the draft board. It’s an energetic, forgettable waste.

“Please Don’t Ask” is one of those rare Genesis songs that someone in the group lived – in this case, it’s Collins again, relaying the disbelief that his marriage is an irretrevable mess. Genesis would occasionally bury or obscure their lyrics behind Collins strong-armed drumming or banks of Banks’ keyboards. In “Please Don’t Ask” the lyrics are the very reason the song exists; it’s classic case of using personal tragedy to create unforgettable art: “Please don’t ask me hwo I feel, I feel fine. Oh I cry a bit, I don’t sleep too good, but I’m fine. When can I see you? When can I touch you?”

“Duke’s Travels” is a gadget filled marathon instrumental lead by Banks (who else was going to solo?), and totals over eight plus minutes, at least eight of which are unecessary, before giving way to “Duke’s End,” a variation on the opening strains for “Behind the Lines” – aha, the music’s gone full circle.

Put Up Your Dukes…The Extras
In the band interviews the ever-candid Rutherford confesses if “Duke” hadn’t been a success the band might not have continued. (He and Banks had recorded solo albums while Collins was sorting out his marital problems before recording his first solo album.) Rutherford points out that collaborating produced a more cohesive radio-friendly sound. Banks and Rutherford note that Collins was a better singer and song writer by now and had begin taking charge of the band’s sound. Collins, always glib and informative reveals that “Misunderstanding” was based on The Beach Boy’s “Sail On Sailor” and Toto’s “Hold The Line,” and is proud he nicked such good tunes.

The promotional videos situate the band back at the piano again, or driving aimlessly. If not for Collins’ facial expressions, there would be little to look at. Even the Ricky Ricardo classic car he drives in “Misunderstanding” could use a little more sprucing up.

The concert footage shot at The Lyceum in London in 1980, includes "Behind the Lines", "Duchess", "Guide Vocal", "In the Cage", "Afterglow", "Dance on a Volcano" and "Los Endos.” With the addition of guitarist Darryl Streumer and long-time concert drummer Chester Thomson, the band’s confident and tight. Thompson and Collins have a drum war and make a much more in synch duo than the wan pairings of The Allman’s Jai Johnny Johansen/Butch Trucks or The Dead’s Mickey Hart/Bill Kreutzman.

There could be no misunderstanding. With “Duke” Genesis was continuing to peel away the remaining heathaze of their bloated Phillips/Gabriel/Hackett days. Take the Duke behind the lines and give it a good listen. You’ll turn it on again.

Abacab (3.5 out of 5 stars)
“Abacab” marks the completion of the group’s transformation into FM darlings and concert area champs. As the band streamlined its sound, Collins refined the tone in his drums, using reverb, compression and noise gates to create a hollow and authoritative percussive effect. When Phil played, fans listened.

Give Mike Rutherford and Phil Collins credit for sustaining the title track’s foundation. Rutherford could have easily laid down a long winded guitar solo, but oustide of a short, willowy burst, he leaves the heavy lifting to the more accomplished Banks. Collins’ compressed percussion bangs like garbage men mangling trash cans, but stays within the song’s framework. And Banks comes through with one of his more engaging techno gone wild passages, imitating seagull calls and electric current.

“No Reply At All” is given a soulful goosing by the Earth, Wind and Fire horns, Collins’ aid de camp on his solo efforts. Genesis cool? Yes, they can pull off having a sense of rythmn every so often. The horns really fill this out, punching through the arrangement like Muhammed Ali’s world-class jab. In the remixed version, you can now hear the hand claps that were muffled in the past, and the James Jamerson bass that takes a prominent role in this tip of the beret to Motown.

“Me and Sarah Jane” is slow and as creepy as a dirty old man in a trenchcoat rubbing his nose on his sleeve. Initiated by a drum machine, it has more off-kilter Peter Gabriel Genesis influences, particularly the bad acid trip atmosphere that goes too far off course to make the pertinent. Once again Genesis shows how to make a long , showy piece unattractive. Keep it simple, guys.

“Keep It Dark” is a keeper – with robotic keyboards from Banks that cooly match Collins deliberate thumping and jangly junkyard percussion that works well against the automated back track.

The boys went out on a limb with “Dodo/Lurker,” a tribute to an extinct prehestoric bird (a metaphor for one of the writers perhaps?). The beat is ponderous and preditory, with Banks’ keys carrying the threatening weight of villiany against Collins’ mechanical vocal and lurking percussion. Collins gives a lesson in backfilling empty spaces, whacking and thwacking at his kit as if trying to either summon the ancient creature to life or beat it into a fossil. “Lurker,” the second part of the medley, would have been better off if it had carried on with “Dodo”’s ominous theme. “Lurker” trips over Banks’ goofball keyboards and a short tour guide rap by Collins. If the two titles had been reversed this Pee Wee Herman funhouse reject might have made more sense. It should have been called “The Shirker” because it really doesn’t really lurk so much spaz its way through the speakers, jeopardizing the credible ground work laid down by “Dodo.”

The question concerning “Who Dunnit?” should be “Why’d they do it?” This is another arty piece gone complety astray, and is quite possibly the worst song Genesis ever committed to vinyl. The lines “Was it you or was it me” and “I didn’t do it” are repeated until you’ll scream “You did it and you should be $#!!*!! ashamed!” Hard to fathom that it took all three members to write this pouting waste of space that’s more annoying than a diarrhea-filled baby on a 13-hour plane ride.

“Man on the Corner” restores “Abacab”’s direction. There’s more use of a drum machine against Banks’ subdued keyboards and Collins’ pensive lyrics about a loner. It’s time to give Collins credit for writing some of the group’s more accessible material.

“Like It Or Not” is a more animated extension of “Man On A Corner.” The theme is the same..loss. It has a plesant but forgettable plodding beat, and serves as an excuse for writer Mike Rutherford to take a brief solo. Collins vamps well on vocals, giving it his throat- tearing best, but the song is still pointless. You may like it or not, but chances are you’ll be in the or not category.

On “Put Another Record On” Collins slaps at his high hat and initiates a multi-tracked beat that excels during the chorus. It’s an atypical beat that employees an atypical harmonium back up by Banks. Mixed together, battling Bamks and clobbering Collins resemble a prog version of the White Stripes. “Record” has stones that a lot of their later material lacked and is more rock their usual spacey material.

“Abacab” is the album where the trio distilled the formula that would set the chart ablaze. Old school Genesis fantatics were less than pleased by the addition of horns, the sound of Collins’ booming drums, and the more commercial compositions, but the fact was Genesis had trimmed away the fat and was all the more successful for it.

Extra Tracks CD (3 out of 5 stars)
With all the time Genesis spent in the studio between 1976 and 1991, there were a lot of tracks left off of albums and a brace of singles that had no collective home…until now.

“Paperlate” continued the group’s string of hits with Collins at the helm and the Earth Wind and Fire Horms juicing up the groove. Given its R& B roots, it’s a very un-Genesis track. Although its credited to all three members, it has a decidedly Collins influence, with Banks and Rutherford serving as sidemen. Leave it to Collins to create his own lexicon and turn it into a hit (he is after all only talking about his newspaper not being on time). It was Collins who made the world wonder what the heck “Sussudio” was, and while we were dancing to it, Phil was cashing hefty royality checks.

A delicate sweeping ballad that should have found a home on one of the regular releases, “Evidence of Autmn” wound up as the B-side for “Misunderstanding.” The group composed “Pigeons” is Tin Pan alley material remincicent of Collins’ chirpy “I’m Not Moving” from his first solo album “Face Value.” Collins’ vo-do-de-oh-do megaphone vocal and the happy feel belie it being another tale of paranoia.

“You Might Recall” lives off of Collins’ r & b paced vocal: “Everyday seemed like summertime, when the river flowed like wine.” One lover questions another whether he made the right choices. Life imitating art again? It’s a song about marital discomfort, but the boys play it smart by giving “You Might Recall” a carefree, inviting arrangement.
“Naminanu” sounds as if it was named after a whale, but it’s the title of an instrumetal with third world influences, attempted jazzy bits on guitar. It won’t do much to disway the notion that the band’s instrumentals were throwawys.

“Inside and Out” isn’t the same energetic “Inside Out” from Collins’ second solo album “No Jacket Required.” This has a folkie introspective veil, which lifts when Collins enters during he second verse on drums, taking the onus off of Rutherford’s gossamer guitar work. It goes completely starkers for Banks’ mad solo and Rutherford’s sharp Steve Howe-like solo. Oh boy, more mixing and matching of two distinctly different styles.

“Me and Virgil” is the obligatory Englishman interpreting frontier America, a Brit take on “The Weight.” Choppin’ wood, Ma, the big bad world, and Pa. “Pa you broke her heart.” And this’ll break yours too. Stumbling, clumsy and at least two verses too long, the boys realize this is going nowhere and change the theme, coming perilously close to the outro of “Eight Miles High.” This is one the boys will look back on and say “What were we thinking?”

Wintry chording, broad strokes on the keys and an ocillating backdrop highlight “It’s Yourself,” an optomistic, piece of nostalgia that would be at home at a skating rink.

With a bouncy rhytmn track similar to 10CCs “Dreadlock Holiday,”Collins puts the bongos up front in the calypso pop of “Match of the Day,” which describes various ways to spend your Saturdays.

The other tunes are what you might expect from the later dau Genesis, slick, radio-ready and occassionally memborable. There’s even a vocal from Ray Major. the group’s third vocalist, (yes and then there really were three), who had the unenviable task of replacing Collins for 1997’s “Calling All Stations,” the group’s death knell.

Extra’s Extras
The extra features on the last disc are a bit threadbare, but then again after all the special features, videos and commentary and remixes, what’s left to say? You get the lip-synched video for “Paperlate” with a jovial Collins on drums, Rutherford bouncing around on guitar and three pasty blokes standing in on horns in place of Earth, Wind and Fire. They’re probably roadies and they’re actually playing brass instruments that didn’t appear on the song, but what the hell, the guy in the middle is really into his trombone faking, and worth watching all by himself. Air trombone anyone? And yes, Tony Banks still hasn’t learned how to smile on camera.

The extra extras also include brief interviews with Hackett, Collins, Rutherford and Banks explaining and raving over the sound of the reissues, which they certainly have the right to crow about.

Genesis would continue as a trio for three more highly successful albums: “Genesis” (3 ½ stars, featuring tear inducers “It’s Gonna Get Better” and “Taking It All Too Hard”); their apex, “Invisible Touch” (4 stars, with the moody imagery of “In The Glow of The Night” and the scathing politics of “In the Land of Confusion”); and their Collins swan song, “We Can’t Dance” (1 star with the amusing title track the only listenable song). These three platters will undoubtedly get the deluxe treatment in the future. And who knows? Now that the group has reformed for the summer and is filling arenas, can a reunion DVD/CD be far behind? And maybe Tony Banks will finally manage to smile.

Posted June 25, 2007 Permalink

The Pretenders- Get Close (Remastered)

The Pretenders Get Close (Remastered) 2 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

The Pretenders previous LP “Learning To Crawl” re-established the group as a polished act. Original members Chrissie Hynde and Martin Chambers, abetted by the supremely talented guitarist Robbie McIntosh and invisible bassist Malcolm Foster, crafted a pleasantly adult album minus the original group’s posturing punk – turning out a Pretenders coming of age milestone. It looked like the group had the right personnel in place to produce best selling albums for years to come.

So what happened? Success bred contempt. The second edition of The Pretenders imploded almost as quickly as it had been assembled. Rather than build on her band’s comeback success, Hynde decided to treat The Pretenders like Tobacco Road – blow it up and start all over again. The restless Hynde thought a more R & B sound was in order. Why a rebellious punk matron from the mid-west thought she could pull this sort of unwelcome change is another matter. The upgrade meant the tempo challenged team of Chambers and Foster either had to hit the rhythmic pocket or hit the road. Foster opted for another gig and Chambers, still reeling from the OD’s of original guitarist James Honeyman-Scott and bassist Pete Farndon, made it easy on Hynde by taking a much needed sabbatical, leaving Hynde as the great Pretender.

Answering Hynde’s call to funkytown were veteran keyboardist Bernie Worrell (Jack Bruce Band, Parliament Funkadelic and The Talking Heads), cross-genre hopping bassist T.M Stevens (James Brown, Miles Davis and The Mahavishnu Orchestra) and sledge- hammering drummer Blair Cunningham (didn’t he play for the New York Jets? No, but his older brother played drums for Otis Redding and died with him when Redding’s plane crashed.) Guest musicians who lent a hand to the group’s new sound included David Bowie’s guitarist Carlos Alomar, Paul McCartney keyboard wiz Wix, and experienced stick men Mel Gaynor and Simon Phillips.

“My Baby” starts off with a chirpy acoustic guitar. Mid-tempo and safe, with Worrell streaking across the arrangement like a sunspot on synthesizer and providing a percussive piano, Hynde doesn’t push her vocal. The often annoying quiver in her voice is gone, replaced by a breathy, deeper vocal that fits her range. Sadly, Simple Minds’ drummer Mel Gaynor, the powerhouse behind “Alive and Kicking,” plods along, but “My Baby” is an admirable radio-ready rocker.

“When I Change My Life” was assayed with a brain dead tempo as a bonus track on “Learning to Crawl.” Propped up by Phillips’ quasi-reggae beat, Wix’s sunny keyboards and a more involved vocal by Hynde, it’s transformed from a mopey ballad to positive pop. Wix’s addition of an ARP synth is a little out of date, but does provide a pleasant background.

“Light of the Moon” is lit up by Stevens’ finger-bending bass and the first brief signs of life from guitarist Robbie McIntosh, who donates a quick outta space lick. Cunningham plays like a drill press in need of an oiling, but is covered by Stevens’ bass and Worrell’s expansive keys.

The rhythm designed to get your feet moving in “Dance” is provided by McIntosh’s wocca-wocca guitar work and a Bo Diddley rumble by Stevens and second bassist Chucho Merchan. (Wait a minute. It takes two bassists to sound like one?) Devoid of any meaningful lyrical content, it’s up to McIntosh to slash away at the jungle beat supplied by the two-headed bassist. “Dance like a chimpanzee…bow wow…dance in the land of the free.” Even ignoring that chimps don’t bark, this is an out-of-touch mess. McIntosh is motivated, but the rest of the band is stuck in boogaloo boredom.

“Tradition of Love” is a Middle Eastern transcendental opus, with an echoed Hynde wailing like an Egyptian princess about to be sealed in her tomb. Guest drummer Simon Phillips at least knows how to double up on the beat. McIntosh gets a little Jimmy Pagey, bending out long chords in response to guest violinist Shankar’s stratospheric musings. It’s a change of pace that bucks The Pretenders traditional bad-girl image.

The chugging single “Don’t Get Me Wrong” just barely squeezed into the U.S. top ten. Drummer Steve Jordan paces and races the beat, with the duo of Merchan and Stevens one-note thumping on their respective basses. McIntosh’s unadorned guitar is a bit of a yawn, but this is all about Hynde, who is guarded in her optimism: “Don’t get me wrong, if I come and go like fashion. I might be great tomorrow, but hopeless yesterday.”

Bernie Worrell’s keyboards supply “I Remember You” with Stax appeal, alternating between Booker T’s Memphis Hammond-infused sound and upbeat, wafting synths.
It’s one of those short, simplistic songs that’s likely to leave an actual impression with repeated listenings.

Hynde puts herself in a James Brown jam in “How Much Did You Get For Your Soul.” Stevens pumps, Cunningham hacks as woodenly as the departed Chambers and Worrell taps at his keys. “Soul” draws on Worrell’s Funkadelic experience and it’s a clamoring bust. Hynde ain’t James Brown and has as much soul as James Polk. McIntosh is left with the particularly embarrassing task of fabricating a rhythm even Prince would reject. It’s obvious someone didn’t pay these guys enough to buy their souls – or “soul.”

“Chill Factor” is another stab at R & B with hints of Percy Sledge’s “When A Man Needs a Woman.” Hynde tries to testify, but is done in by Cunningham, who freezes at the mid-point, jerking about as if he’s having a stroke. If he was lucky, he was. This chill could have heated up if the band had rehearsed it more before turning on the record button.

In “Hymn To Her” Hynde finally abandons her urge to be Martha Reeves and sets her sights on a more sensible and suitable target. Her voice loses its nasal menace, projecting a steadier tone Hynde should use more often. McIntosh is more comfortable in this soft rock element, and Phillips ability to provide a multi-layered backtrack gives the song a welcome bounce as it progresses. After two hatchet-job stabs at R & B, “Hymn to Her” sounds like one of the best recordings Hynde has ever made. It’s not, but it’s still a highlight on what’s proving to be an album full of bold departures – and failures.

Hynde has long been death to covers, and she continues her streak unabated by ruining Jimi Hendrix’s “Room Full of Mirrors.” The attraction in the song was never the vocals, so Hynde is forced to throw in so many yeah, yeah, yeahs you’ll think the CDs defective, and in this particular case it is. A pre-sabbaticaled Martin Chambers falls behind, leaving guest keyboard Robert Black a lot of room to lie across the black and whites. A travesty, “Room Full of Mirrors” is worth a cursory pass only for McIntosh’s exceptional and high-flying guitar work.

Get Closer to the Bonus Tracks

Unlike the tracks on the original album, McIntosh is allowed to roam free on “Hold A Candle Like This,” playing both hard and melodic within a few bars. Hynde is back in a wiseacre punk princess zone and Cunningham puts some zip in his sticks. “Bring on the ecstasy and the bliss,” says Hynde, and the band follows blithely, sounding less pressured and eager to impress than on the rest of the album. Light this candle a few times and listen to a band enjoying each other’s company.

“World Within Worlds” sounds a bit too much like the previous track, only with a more flattened, muddy production. Abrupt time signature changes have become atypical to Hynde’s later compositions and they don’t help. There’s also a swirling, spiraling guitar effect by McIntosh that is so out of place it’s laughable, and will give you that same squirrelly feeling you get in the pit of your gut just before you chuck chow. McIntosh also throws in an effect that sounds like a formula one racer stuck in fourth gear as it speeds by. This crazy world can’t come to a crashing end soon enough.

The remix of “Tradition of Love” allows you to make out Hynde’s Vishnu vocal more easily, and Shankar’s dervish violin is more detectable, but the guts of the song, the bass and the drums, are thinner. The first take of “Dance” has more cujones than the final mix and is more in line with Hynde’s tough-girl image, more rock than the frivolous mutation of R & B and disco that it became. They should have gone with take numero uno, which is highlighted by Hynde’s brief lung-clearing harp. I hated this before and it’s still too long, but this one sounds like The Pretenders rather than a pretender.

The reissue includes a live recording of “Don’t Get Me Wrong” recorded in Austin Texas. Because there’s little for Worrell to do except plunk at the same chords while McIntosh is stuck riffing, Cunningham’s repetitive beat gets to be a real migraine inducer. Hynde handles the vocal well though with more passion than the original, and McIntosh fires off a savvy song saving solo.

Since she was “Deep in the heart of Texas,” when it was recorded, Hynde dusts off “Thumbelina,” her tribute to rockabilly/country western. The live version is a vast improvement over the turgid studio version thanks to McIntosh’s revving up his guitar like a runaway branded steer, but it’s still all thumbs, a clumsy interpretation of a genre that Hynde can never hope to master (ditto for her dip into R &B).

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Chrissie refused to mine the group’s more sedate (and more adult) sound, opting instead to “get close” to her to her fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants punk past. She whiffed big time. Even the more memorable songs on “Get Close,” “My Baby,” “Tradition of Love,” “Hymn To Her,” and “Don’t Get Me Wrong,” are only marginally good. Robbie McIntosh, a formidable player, is stifled and all the impressive pedigrees of the other players can’t hide – or Hynde—that Chrissie’s decision to hop on board the soul train derailed the band’s momentum, sending them on the fast track to the oldies circuit. Don’t get me wrong – The Pretenders have created some classic material, but none of its on this CD, so get as far away from “Get Close” as you can. Learn how to crawl instead.

Posted June 25, 2007 Permalink

The Pretenders - Learning to Crawl (Remastered)

The Pretenders Learning to Crawl (Remastered) 3.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

The title of The Pretender’s 1984 release refers to state of mind of the remnants of the band, vocalist/guitarist Chrissie Hynde and drummer Martin Chambers, who tried to “regroup” after the sacking and subsequent heroin overdose of former bassist Pete Farndon and the OD of flame-spewing guitarist James Honeyman Scott. (Ironically, Honeyman-Scott OD’ed two days after Fardon was dismissed from the band.) Taking a page from groups who’d lost key members and sojourned on (Traffic, The Grateful Dead, The Who, Fleetwood Mac), Hynde used her friend’s deaths to inspire her. Drafting two top-flight musicians, bassist Tony Butler from Big Country, and Rockpile guitarist Billy Bremner, Hynde toweled on the black mascara and recorded the single “Back On The Chain Gang” backed with “My City Was Gone.” The Pretenders were back on their feet again…

Rhino Records, keepers of the flame for all things reissued, elevates “Learning How To Crawl” by upgrading its sound, adding bonus tracks that are actual songs rather than demos or single versions of the album tracks (a nasty habit practiced on too many reissues) and lacing the package with generous liner notes and photos.

“Middle of the Road” starts of with a haphazard but head-turning blast from Chambers, who remains an uptight, plodding enigma throughout, but like a good soldier never completely embarrasses himself or the band. Robbie McIntosh is a much more controlled soloist than Honeyman-Scott, but he can also toss off a nasty-enough solo and shows more of a knack for rhythm than his predecessor. The group cops the melody from Steve Miller’s “Living In The U.S.A.” as a holding pattern before the third verse, with Hynde displaying a previously hidden talent for dirty respirator blues harp.

With a background vocal borrowed from a prison work detail and thick bass from Butler (who pushes Chambers into producing a cognizant beat), “Back On The Chain Gang” projects a slicker, more professional version of The Pretenders. Hynde is less bitchy and loosens up her nasal whine, while Bremner sets down a series of tastefully laid back guitar breaks.

“Time The Avenger” starts off as a faster-paced version of “Chain Gang” meets “Workin’ in A Coal Mine.” The repetitiveness of the rhythm track serves to accentuate Hynde’s snarky vocal, and it’s a positive revelation because she doesn’t sound rushed or harassed like she was in the days of Farndon/Honeyman-Scott: “Nobody’s perfect, not even a perfect gent. When your property took the A train, I wonder where your manners went. You were standing at the station, in your briefcase was your aftershave and your underwear. Can you hear the whistle blow? Sound like time the avenger.” McIntosh layers his guitar, taking his leads with subtle know-how that Honeyman-Scott never had. Scott was a flashy tiger on guitar, a six-string dynamo who loved taking chances but occasionally sounded ridiculously out of touch with what was going on around him. McIntosh builds his solos rather than attacks them, and has a better sense of where the song is headed.

“Watching the Clothes Go Round” is an idiotic trip to the laundromat. “There go the whites getting whiter, there go the colors getting brighter. There go the delicates through the final rinse. There goes my Saturday night, out cold without a fight.” We should be so lucky. This sophomoric idea sports all the gnarly “Let’s party, dude” wisdom of Huey Lewis. Great rockabilly guitar work by McIntosh goes down the rinse cycle. Some folks clean up real good, but Chrissie don’t, at least not here. Set this on burn and walk away.

“Show Me” puts the album back in an ambulatory position. Despite an abrupt hit-the-wall ending to each verse, McIntosh’s jangley guitars massage the tune, and the previously invisible Malcolm Foster shows up to provide a head-bopping foundation. Yes, the Pretenders can now show the music world they’re more than just pseudo punks with black eyeliner and a thousand dollar an hour habit.

“Thumbelina” is a palatable rockabilly tune with great rapid-patter from stiff stick man Chambers, who often plays as if he’s got a board strapped to his bum. McIntosh tastefully works the fret board like a disciple of Carl Perkins. Hynde’s shaky vocal and irreverent lyrics nearly cause Thumbelina to stop dancing, but McIntosh is the CD’s MVP, continuing to rescue substandard stuff like this with his creativity.

Tony Butler’s Motown meets punk bass sets the tone for “My City Was Gone,” the story of Hynde going back to Ohio only to discover her favorite hangouts are now parking lots. “A-o, way to go, Ohio.” Way to go, Chrissie, this one’s a winner. Although Bremner’s style differs noticeably from McIntosh, (he’s not nearly as loud, and is more of a picker than an outright soloist), he’s even more accomplished. Too bad Hynde couldn’t steal Butler and his lead bass from Big Country; he fills the holes left by Chambers leadened drumming with enough swing to make Ohio (birthplace of William Henry Harrison and hi grandson, Benjamin) sound cool.

Hynde has horrendous taste in covers (“Stop Your Sobbing,” her mangling of “Louie Louie”) and keeps her score at a perfect zero with a wobbly reading of “A Thin Line Between Love and Hate.” The closest Hynde comes to the soulful effect of the original is in name only – the original was recorded by The Persuaders. Hynde barely keeps her nodes from slipping into a yodel, and displays as much understanding for soul as “American Idol” reject William Hung.

“I Hurt You” is a myriad of echoes and haunted atmospheres. You get the sneaking suspicion Hynde purposely hid her lyrics in an impenetrable haze of bootstrapping beats because she had nothing to say. McIntosh pulls this one out of the gutter with a thick as sludge solo that hammers home Hynde’s nasty intent, although his second appearance in the spotlight is Mark Knopfler-like and too clean fir the song’s exotic haze. This is music for bohemians who like to masquerade as part of the black leather crowd, naughty and nice despite some stylistic slip ups.

Hynde’s wet-noodle vocal and the snowblind soundscape of “2000 Miles” make this quasi-holiday song hard to like. You’ll want to par-rum-pum-pum-pummel your CD player as Hynde attempts to play the role of Tiny Tim the holiday sprite, but there’s too much coal dust in her delivery. Stick with what you know, raccoon eyes.

Bonus Baby Steps

“Fast or Slow (The Law’s the Law) is a delightful change of pace written and sung by Chambers (!), who sounds as if he took singing lessons from Nick Lowe and Ian Gomm. It’s good timey, irreverent English pub band music that might have been a hit if Chambers had put it out under his own name. It’s nice to know Chambers may not be able to keep an interesting beat, but he can at least write a decent pop tune.

“Tequila” is another sip of Hynde sampling her American county western roots a half-hearted stopover in El Paso. The choppy middle section and faux pedal steel will make you want to eat the worm in the hope of developing a distracting hallucination. “You make me suffer and you just don’t know. I’m a burrocho down in New Mexico.” Get on your burro and get out of town, Chrissie.

A second take on “I Hurt You” loses the echo and makes Hynde voice carry the song’s bad intent. There was a time Hynde enough of an edge to make you believe she really could hurt you. She’s more of a breeze than a hurricane now – although the death of the bands two rebels was bound to take the Mabel out of her Maybelline (that’s another mascara joke for those of you who are scratching your heads). McIntosh sounds as if he’s plugged directly into Indian Point II, tearing up a highly charged solo, and with Chamber’s impotent on percussion, Foster gets a chance to fill up the background with bass gurgling bass that suggests he was a fan of Thin Lizzy’s Phil Lynott.

The opening chords of “When I Change My Life” are so close to “A Thin Line Between Love and Hate” that it must have inspired Hynde to record the later as compensation, less she get sued. The rest of the song may have birthed the equally comatose “2000 Miles.” A ballad with Hynde in full caterwall, “When I Change My Life” has plenty of sentimental intent (“When I change my life and the idiot in me and leave this town forever”) but verse after moldy verse drains it of any pertinence. Even McIntosh gives up trying to rescue this after a few slovenly bars.

“Ramblin’ Bob” is an easy-going jam written by McIntosh with sunny chording and the type of melodic soloing Danny Kirwan used to provide Fleetwood Mac. There’s something missing, though…lyrics! The usually adroit McIntosh is economical with his solos, giving the impression this was either a throwaway riff the band got caught up in between recordings or McIntosh intended to add some words at a latter date.

“My City Was Gone” gets a live treatment and Chambers gets the hammer-against-spike beat right. Foster doesn’t have Butler’s flexibility on bass and bumps when he should be running wild, but he foots the bill. McIntosh’s hot guitar re-energizes Hynde who sings with conviction.

The CD ends with a cover of Barrett Strong’s “Money,” which was so ably covered by the Beatles it makes you wonder why other bands even bother to try and top it -- although the Flying Lizard’s Eva Gabor version was so bad it was good. Hynde holds her own, but the rest of the band sounds unrehearsed bouncing off of one another demolition derby style. Devout fans will enjoy the risk taking that harkens back to the Honeyman-Scott/Farndon chaos, but I want more cohesiveness for my coin. “Money” keeps Hynde’s streak of counterfeit covers alive.

“Time the Avenger,” “My City Was Gone,” “Middle of the Road” “Back On The Chain Gang,” “I Hurt You” and the bonus song “Fast or Slow” show that “Learn How to Crawl” has legs. If you believe (as I did) that the sum total of The Pretenders music emanated from their first two records then you need to give this a spin. A-o, way to go, Pretenders.

Posted June 25, 2007 Permalink

Herb Alpert - Rise

Herb Alpert Rise 4.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

This isn’t your daddy’s Herb Alpert. “Rise” is high flying jazz/funk from a trumpeter previously known as the leader of the Tijuana Brass, an instrumental group in the 60s that scored with mariachi based versions of “A Taste of Honey,” “The Lonely Bull,” and “The Mexican Shuffle,” (an early example of a song used in a commercial. Retitled “The Teaburry Shuffle” it was used in an ad for gum). Alpert was one of those musicians who always seemed to have one of his 45s in the top ten, yet one of his albums, “Whipped Cream and Other Delights” was better known for its provocative cover than the music that was inside. The group’s only #1 hit, “This Guy’s In Love With You,” was a departure, featuring a suave vocal by Herb himself. The band broke up a year later, reforming periodically to rake in the nostalgia cash. Alpert branched out, taking on the roles of producer and talent scout for A & M records. He discovered acts such as Chris Montez (“Call Me,” “The More I See You.”) Sergio Mendes and Brazil ’66 (featuring his future wife, Lani Hall), The We Five (“You Were On My Mind”) and The Carpenters (listen to “Close To You” and you’ll hear Alpert’s trademark trumpet). Alpert continued to make solo recordings, most notably, 1979s Grammy award-winning album “Rise.” “Rise” has been resurrected and remastered with a sound so clear you’d swear Herb was puckering up only a few feet away from your speakers.

“Rise” arose when Alpert and his nephew, Randy “Badazz” Alpert, set about the task of re-recording “The Lonely Bull” and “A Taste of Honey” as dance tracks. Herb wisely pulled the plug on the project after listening to the desecrated disco versions, but thought his nephew’s composition, “Rise,” might work if the tempo was slowed down. It did, reaching #1 and making Alpert the only artist to have a chart topping vocal and instrumental hit. The single’s success spawned an equally successful album.

“1980” sounds like the intro to a Super Bowl documentary or a Roman Gladiator death match -- mariachi meets “Spartacus.” (It was in fact, written for the 1960 Olympics held in Mexico City.)With reverbed trumpet and gurgling keyboard, the emphatic nature of the song serves notice that the Alpert sound was up to date and in step with the in-your-face 80s.

The big comeback hit “Rise” has skating Billy Preston-ish piano by Michael Colombier, chillin’ guitar and classy, swaying trumpet from Herb. The bass line supplied by Abe Laboriel resembles Kool and the Gang’s “Too Hot,” bopping and dipping behind the noise of a crowd of partying participants. “Rise” is very urban and very cool, especially when Alpert double and triple tracks his trumpet to sound like a platoon of hip hop Herbs. The slight inclusion of a marimba may be a nod to the Tijuana brass, but this is one classy groove that gives rise to Alpert’s new direction.

“Behind the Rain,” penned by Alpert for saxophonist Gato Barbieri, begins with a faraway cry on trumpet. As the tempo picks up, it doesn’t take long to reach the eye of the storm. The strings clash dramatically against the thrashing drums, whipping around the arrangement like a bad intentioned rainstorm battering the roof. Taking a queue from Deodato, Alpert’s solo gives way to a fiery, funky guitar passage. (Deodato used the creative skills of guitarist John Tropea to break up his string and piano solo). Alpert works his trumpet like a greased drain pipe, sliding up and down the scale with sustained brilliance. The only annoyance is the band slipping into a flavor of the day disco beat.

“Rotation” is a title that fits the song’s slow burning circular keyboard groove. Alpert’s trumpet starts out low gear, and just when you think you’ve heard his riff before (you have, in “Behind the Rain”), he picks up the pace enough to hold your interest or drops out of the mix altogether, letting the pulsating synthesizers and barking ditty-bopping Brazilian percussion carry the load. “Rotation” spins with goodtime glee, like dancing with your partner at a late night festival in Rio.

“Aranjues (Mon Amour)” puts Alpert’s trumpet back in a Mexicali meets disco format, anchored by bass lines from borrowed from “Flashdance.” There’s a daring and intriguing Middle eastern-Mexicali break, (a hybrid of the type of music Robert Plant and Jimmy Page would experiment with their “No Quarter” album), where the band breaks out the castanets, which clack dramatically against the friction created by the strings. This is the perfect soundtrack for one of those 80s TV action movies, a bit dated, thanks to Harvey Mason squashing his stick against the high hat to create that dreaded disco beat, and there’s a lot of shift changes, but it still hops.

As a vocalist, I’m loathed to admit there are several instrumental albums that have captured my attention (most notably Jeff Beck’s “Blow by Blow” and “Wired” and the aforementioned Deodato’s “Deodato 2”.). You can include “Rise” with an asterisk. Keeping that in mind he scored his biggest success as a vocalist, Alpert includes Bill Withers’ “Love Is,” backing himself up with short blasts on horn as bass player Louis Johnson goes thumb whacking wild. Like a lot of the cuts its sounds like there’s a party going on in the background, and why not? This is an uplifting, happy tune. The lyrics are a little repetitive, and Alpert’s thin voice is better suited for ballads, but his joyous soloing, the crackling bass and junkyard percussion are contagious.

Alpert takes more of the center stage in “Angelina,” playing the melody to a song originally sung by Gary Brooker (of Procol Harum fame) on his debut solo album “No More Fear of Flying.” Brooker’s version was a drowsy siesta-like ballad. Alpert’s gives “Angelina” some sass with scratchy guitar and pervasive percussion, controlling the tune’s barometric pressure without breaking a sweat.

“Street Life,” written by The Crusader’s Joe Sample (who also appears on piano), is a more sensual version of “Rise,” with Alpert at muted best. The bass pops and is as much of a focal point as Alpert’s trumpet, registering a few bars upfront to help carry the tune. The original was as disco duck as it gets. This one sways with a great deal of class and allure. Alpert uncharacteristically lets go with a few blasts of spittle near the end that cap the song’s celebratory mood. “Street Life” is a hand-clapping, rump-shaking triumphant piece that you’ll want to immediately play again when it’s over.

All “Rise” for the Bonus Tracks

The remastered version of “Rise” is supplemented by two different takes on tracks from the album. “Rotation (Alternate version)” gets a bit more synthesized treatment. The synths are those Thomas Dolby/Flock of Seagulls keyboards that sound as if you landed in the middle of a lava light. Gloopy, bubbly, lazer-like. As a result, this version’s a little bit more far out, with Alpert occasionally sounding as if he in another studio. “Aranjuuez (Mon Amour)” get a 2007 remix, yet surprisingly retains its wood-chopping disco beat.

What makes Alpert infinitely listenable is he doesn’t blast his trumpet and make your ears bleed. He’s crafted a complete recording and his trumpet playing happens to be part of it. Granted, his style is a bit predictable, but if you’re in the mood for jazzy instrumental funk, Alpert’s comeback opus will make your spirits rise.

Posted June 15, 2007 Permalink

Captivating CeU

CeU Self-titled Debut 3.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Who is Ceu? A Brazilian newcomer with the voice, poise and material to sound like a seasoned pro. At times her smooth chops bring to mind a more centered Flora Purim backed by the airy jazz/adult pop influences of Zero Seven. Her playfulness poppyness matches that of Nikka Costa, and she can employ the sensual, breathy style of Brazil ‘66’s Lani Hall, or the bankable urban middle-finger swagger of Mary J. Blige without the butt-kicking coarseness. Her music is rooted in samba, but also employs elements of bossa nova, jazz, hip hop, reggae, Afro-pop and electronica. Her debut, now available in the U.S., was nominated for a Latin Grammy in 2006 for Best New Artist and one listen affirms it was a righteous candidate. Ceu has since become the first international artist picked to be part of Starbucks Hear Music Debut series, which should broaden her profile amongst the caffeinated adult listening circle.

Her heavy given moniker is Maria do Ceu Whitaker Popas. Depending on who’s doing the interpreting, her stage name means either “sky” or “heaven.” Either description fits her clean, exuberant pipes. Her father, Edgard Pocas, a revered maestro, introduced Ceu to a wide variety of music as a pre-teen. By 15, she was performing samba and dance music with her own band. She briefly relocated to New York City, where she serendipitously ran into Brazilian musician Antonio Pinto, (who she later learned was her distant cousin), the first of her performing confidants. She eventually formed a band of young Brazilian musicians, including percussionist multi-instrumentalist Beto Villares, guitarist and bassist Lucas Martins, and scratch artist DJMarco.

The CD begins with the short, percussion heavy instrumental “Vinhela Quelbrante” which peels off into reverbed piano leading into “Lenda” (soul). Sung in Portuguese with a modern pop approach, it shifts from samba to reggae to a crunching tropical beat. DJMarco adds the unlikely effect of turntable scratching, giving “Lenda” a languid, catchy groove. With its bitty-bop beat and airy backdrop, “Lenda” has the type of generous production found in the production wizardry of Zero Seven and Goldfrapp.

The samba/reggae piece “Malemolencia” (beauty meets malice), features pinpoint acoustic guitar work from Alec Halat, suppressed horns and a chorus that’s as soulful as anything you’ll find on “American Idol” or in the To 40. There’s one unnecessary and dampening effect – Ceu’s vocal at the end is muffled so much she sounds like someone’s suffocating her with a pillow.

“Roda” has a reggae-like bass beat mixed with a Motown lick on guitar provided by the busy Beto Villares. DJMarco is back at his turntable, summoning a sandpapery beat. Laid back with lyrical phrasing and a bass line thick as hardening rubber cement, “Roda” picks up a far eastern feel on the vocal fade.

The percussion assault in “Rainha” shakes and bakes like a sack full of rattlesnakes. Processed bass rolls follow the layered, pumping horns enveloping the jazzy Afro-beat. Pepe Cisneros lays out gymnastic percussion on congas, maraca and snare against the horns. Cisneros also provides the electronic bass, which explains why it’s so closely linked to the percussion.

“Contados” brings Ceu’s sound back to a Zero Seven/Nikka Costa feel with acoustic guitar blending with gurgling keyboards resting on a subdued shuffle beat. Ceu drops her voice to the floor, then sings with rapturous glee, jousting with the sonar-like keyboards.

“Viheta Dorival” has an acoustic conquistador intro with a touch of Superfly soul and barking, whooping percussion by Beto Villoes. “Mais Um Lamento” is jazzier with snappy conga playing and recessed horns. Ceu is hung out to dry to fill in as a sensual chanteuse, which she does passably, but being a torch singer is really not her style.

One of the more intriguing songs on the CD is Bob Marley’s “Concrete Jungle,” where Ceu takes on her only English language song. Propped up by Wes Montgomery-inspired guitar from Villares, there’s a heavy resemblance in Ceu’s delivery to Diana Krall’s mannish style, and she’s provocative without sounding slutty. Still, Ceu sounds stiff, out of her comfort zone, as if she’s singing the lyrics phonetically without knowledge of their meaning, leaving the minor Marley tune sounding more like concrete mumble.

“Veu da Noite” is the CD’s first outright sonic killing field. It has all the bas elements of jazz that makes folks disparage the genre; over active drums, directionless music and a vocal that’s more showy than enjoyable, plus it never seems to end.

“Ave Cruz” puts Ceu back on a funky trail. Lucas Martins embellishes the song at all the right times on bass, and Antonio Pinto dubbed a studio full of instruments into the leg-shaking score, including snatches of keyboards, percussion, and 7-string acoustic guitar. “Ave Cruz” is Ceu wearing her urban soul hat – and it fits comfortably.

More sonar effects work their way into a multi-tracked vocal on “A Ronco da Cuica.” With as a base of tropical bird percussion provided by Pupillo and Villares that carries Ceu’s warbling voice, “Aronio da Cuica” is loyal to her Brazilian roots.

“Bobogem” is purposely stark, caressed by native Brazilian instruments and acoustic guitar, but submerging Ceu’s voice in a wind tunnel effects defeats the purpose of giving her a mike in the first place.

Ceu goes out with a samba on “Samba Na Solas.” Its carnival time baby, as three percussionists work in tandem to provide a pleasantly danceable beat. The only complaint is that it ends when the jam really gets rolling. This would be a real treat to listen to live because you know the band would extend it.

Music is a language unto itself. And you don’t necessarily speak the same language as the singer to enjoy their art. Ceu is a case in point. Don’t let the fact that there’s only one song in half-baked English scare you away. Bob Dylan’s been singing in Esperanto for forty years and nobody’s called him out about it yet, and Carlos Santana’s Spanish language songs have only served to attract fans rather than alienate them. When she’s not hidden in the mix, Ceu’s voice captivates. Whether she’s reaching for the sky or getting down low in urban funk, Ceu’s voice is indeed heaven. Hope to Ceu buying this CD soon.

Posted June 15, 2007 Permalink

So Real: Songs From Jeff Buckley

Jeff Buckley So Real: Songs from Jeff Buckley 3.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Prior to listening to this CD, I revisited Tim Buckley’s song “Blue Melody” – call it priming the pump. “Blue Melody” is a superlative performance by a talented artist who struggled his entire career to find a style that could match his formidable vocal splendor.

Jeff Buckley’s life had many harsh similarities with that of his father, a man he met only once at the age of 8 and later admitted was a stranger to him. Both died young, Tim at age 28 in 1975 from an overdose; Jeff at age 30 in 1997 when he drowned. Both were blessed with angelic voices with stupefying ranges -- Tim had a 5 octave range; Jeff 3 ½. Tim experimented with mutilating his archangel tone, morphing it into tortured screams and suggestive moans that made him sound more possessed than a compulsive shopper with unlimited credit at Tiffany’s. Jeff also purposely wrecked his voice, screaming like Robert Plant with his vitals caught in a bear trap. But Jeff had one advantage over his father…Tim bounced from folk to rock to jazz to avant garde, his career an artistic attention deficit disorder; Jeff, rumored to be manic depressive, narrowed his sights, and despite releasing only 1 album to his father’s 9, seemed to have a better idea where he wanted his music to take him.

“So Real” wastes no time in showing what made Jeff Buckley a post-mortem musical deity. Braced by a breezing intro and firm drumming by Matt Johnson, Buckley’s wraps a breathy vocal around the first verse of “Last Goodbye.” When he hits the chorus, his voice sails, drops and wails all in one breath with ease. There’s no straining, no forced or fake emoting. Jeff’s voice doesn’t have his father’s deep tone, but his falsetto’s in the same lofty stratosphere as Tim’s and that’s a rare feat. He also has Tim’s tendency to treat words as sounds rather than as lyrics. (Steve Winwood was also a master at this trick, turning Jim Capaldi’s affecting lyrics into a garbled language that sat you up in your chair and made you listen more closely.)

The organ in “Lover You Should’ve Come Over” threatens to turn it into a sea shanty, but when Jeff comes in the arrangement goes folky with a touch of forlorn soul. One thing both Buckley’s could do was create a mood with the swaying rhythm of their voices, and when Jeff’s hurt pours out in a series of soulful moans he sounds as if he’s going through the type of personal cathartic experience we can witness but can never hope to understand.

“Forget Her” is a slow-paced heartbreak. Every breath and note has a baleful nuance. Matt Johnson keeps the atmosphere from sinking completely into suicide-watch mode with a speaker-kicking beat, and Buckley displays a classy touch during his first solo. His second solo is more roughly hewn and amps up the pace -- Johnson hits his kit as if he’s just been jilted, while Buckley, who overdubbed the organ, leans into it Booker T. Style while biting into his vocal with relish (no pun intended).

“Eternal Life (Road Version)” is as glaring a mistake as either Buckley could ever make. Tim recorded “Lorca” and “Starsailor,” two albums of padded cell rambling with puzzling lyrics that made his fans to wonder about his sanity. Jeff follows his father’s crooked road into eternity. Why would a man with such a beautiful voice record a song with screaming, feedback, nasty, vindictive lyrics and drumming that only a methamphetamine user could follow? The only reason is to prove he could rock out. This is eternal torture, the type of mistake that can tarnish a short and brilliant career.

“Dream Brother (Alternate Take),” is a slower-paced, mysterious hybrid of folk and rock that takes full advantage of Jeff’s vocal versatility. The original “Dream Brother,” played more heavily off of its Raga influence, but this version shows Jeff’s back up musicians were good at pockets of interest on their own.

“The Sky Is A Landfill” starts out somber and orderly, then Jeff gets a bug in his fedora about mother earth and politics and you’ll need boots to get through it, because things start getting deep down in the landfill. As the song gains a vicious edge, your brain will get filled up like a garbage dump the day after Christmas as Jeff goes incoherent amidst heavy chording and dirty-bomb drumming. Take this one out to the trash and make sure your downwind when you slam the lid down.

“Everybody Here Wants You” puts Jeff in a rarified soul setting, and man does it work. Drummer Parker Kindred knows how to lay down an R&B pace that bassist Mick Grondahl can lean against with a Larry Graham fatback beat. If Buckley had headed in this direction, he might have had a lot more commercial success than he would have bargained for (although he was as allergic to the idea of being a pop idol as his dad).

With acoustic runs out of Zeppelin III, Jeff gets to set his voice against an open canvas in “So Real.” Recorded live with sparse backing, there are plenty of open spaces in the music for him to hold onto notes, or let out an apocalyptic Robert Plant-sized scream. Yeah, Jeff, you were real alright.

Jeff’s voice is still (for the most part) an amazing and captivating instrument on the live version of “Mojo Pin,” so much so you barely realize it’s just his guts, his throat and a guitar. His guitar playing is a bit brusque at times and he hits a few vocal walls, (once gasping until he’s out of air). Some folks will admire his performance for its raw, exposed emotion. I think I’d rather have my mojo removed with a pin than listen to this again. Another pin-headed choice is “Vancouver, with a poppy intro that gets an injection of sandpaper grit midway through from Michael Tighe’s roughneck guitar. It’s quick, rowdy, and all wrong for Jeff’s fallen angel voice.

Tim Buckley once recorded a playful French ditty called “Moulin Rouge” for his “Starsailor” album (and despite being sung partially in French it was one of the few coherent tracks). Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in Jeff’s version of “Je N’en Connais Pas La Fin” It’s either a very unlikely coincidence that Jeff accidentally developed a liking for French cabaret on his own, or more likely he may have listened to his father’s music and developed a love for all things Paree through osmosis. “Je N’en Connais Pas La Fin” is Jeff’s “Moulin Rouge.” It’s just him alone on guitar, painting images of cafes and Edith Piaf.

There couldn’t be a Jeff Buckley anthology without “Grace” the thrashing, percussive title track of the only album released during his lifetime. Awash with strings that lay in perfectly in wait for Jeff’s vocal turns, “Grace” is a whirlwind of singing styles -- wise, angry, troubled, and worried -- just like the man himself.

“Hallelujah” is Jeff Buckley’s “Blue Melody,” a performance so meant for his voice no one else should ever bother to sing it again (especially its frog-voiced author, Leonard Cohen). Jeff lays off utilizing all 3 ½ octaves in his arsenal, relying on raw emotion and the built-in sanctimony of the song itself. Put this side by side with Tim’s “Blue Melody” and you’ll know that despite being strangers there can indeed be a musical bond between a father and son.

A live version of The Smith’s “I Know It’s Over” caps off the CD. Jeff lends his own subdued style to the piece. It’s nice to hear a previously unreleased song from Jeff – he really wasn’t around long enough to leave a massive body of work behind, but this is an oblique, disinteresting piece to begin with. Jeff’s manages to squeeze some life out of the last verse and it’s a brave performance, but its musical cotton candy, sweet and beautiful on the outside, but ultimately airy and empty.

Voices as all consuming as Jeff Buckley’s rarely come along twice in a lifetime, and we were lucky to have heard both Tim and Jeff within 20 years of each other. For that blessing we should say (are you ready?)… “Hallelujah.” Jeff’s overall output may have been microscopic, but his impact was not, and “So Real” shows its quality, not quantity that makes a legend. Enjoy Jeff’s Last Goodbye.

Posted June 3, 2007 Permalink

The Beach Boys - The Warmth of the Sun

The Beach Boys The Warmth of the Sun 3.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

The Beach Boys’ “Warmth of the Sun” takes on the daunting task of encapsulating a 45- year career in 28 songs. There may be a few chronological gaps here and there, but “Warmth of the Sun” is meant to be a companion piece to 2004’s “Sounds of Summer: The Very Best of the Beach Boys” which had the built in advantage of being able to cherry-pick most of the Boys best-known songs, so ya gotta have both. “Warmth of the Sun” focuses on many of the group’s almost hits from the surfin’ 60s and a selection of strong, album cuts from their albums in the 70s that show The Beach Boys were much more than Brian Wilson’s puppets. All of the tracks are remixed and are as crisp as a 30 foot wave off of Oahu.

In the Beach Boys vast ocean of work there are two albums that stand the test of time – and one of them isn’t “Smile” – the Brian Wilson’s legendary aborted answer to the Beatles “Sgt. Pepper” album. Not “Pet Sounds” either, which offers the trio of hits “God Only Knows,” “Sloop John B.,” and “Caroline, No” and little else. No, the only two Beach Boys albums you can play start to finish without stumbling over obvious filler, ill-advised covers or outdate surf lingo are “Surf’s Up” and “Holland.” Fortunately, both albums are represented on “Warmth of the Sun.”

“Surf’s Up” was the album where the Beach Boys finally spit out their bubble gum imagery and became adults. The lyrics were much more socially conscious and there was less emphasis on girls like Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba Barbara Ann, little deuce coupes and less fun, fun, fun. The transformation from boys to men didn’t take place overnight and it wasn’t without growing pains. With the advent of flower power, the group had cautiously tried to slip more relevant songs onto their albums. Mike Love, Bruce Johnston and Alan Jardine wanted the group to continue along a more commercial path; The Wilson brothers: Dennis, Carl and Brian, were ready to craft their albums more carefully and evolve into a more contemporary group. Their new manager, Jack Rieley, wisely followed the Wilson brother’s vision. Only now Brian was a shell of the “genius” who’d guided the group’s early hits; he’d fallen in love with hallucinogens and would spend the 70s playing piano in a sandbox in his living room. Dennis was functional, but equally prone to substance abuse and nonproductive bouts of playing up to his playboy image. Rieley wisely put the group in Carl Wilson’s hands for the critically-lauded “Surf’s Up,” and upped the ante for the follow ups “Carl and the Passions” and “Holland” by bringing in singer/guitarist Blondie Chaplin and drummer Ricky Fataar.

A master stroke begun by Van Dyke Parks and Brian Wilson, “Surf’s Up” was first attempted in 1966 (it was seen as a work in progress on a TV special and was praised by Leonard Bernstein). A mini-opera that took years to iron out, the song was finally completed in 1971 by Carl Wilson. A lament to surfer dudes getting old and worse -- realizing it, “Surf’s Up” was the perfect troubled end cut for the album that bore its name: “Surf’s up, all aboard a tidal wave. Come about hard and join the young and often spring you gave.” If the Beach Boys had done material like this all along, there’d be no arguing over their importance. This is the Beach Boys realizing that life isn’t all hot cars and bikinis, and its pure alchemy.

“Feel Flows” is a lysergic masterpiece, murky psychedelia, with a foggy, omnipotent vocal from Carl, who wrote the piece. A mystical chant backed up by twittering flute pitted against a fuzzed out guitar and keyboards eddying in time with the drums, “Feel Flows” couches Carl in the wizened role of the group’s Dali Lama. Given their clean cut uncool image, it was hard to believe the Beach Boys would reinvent themselves as hippies, but they were very into meditation and E.S.T (especially Mike Love) and LSD (especially Brian Wilson). The Airplane, Steve Miller, Quicksilver Messenger Service and everyone else on the west coast were experimenting with the sounds of summer, so why not the group that typified the season?

“Disney Girls (1957)” is a creative slice of nostalgia sung by charter Beach Boy Bruce Johnston, chock-full of 50s imagery…Rick and Dave, (referring to Dave and Rick Nelson), singer Patti Page, Tootsie Rolls…There are mentions of activities that no longer exist, (lemonade stands, local girls, bingo and pillow fights), that earmark the 50s as an era of innocence. That innocence is reflected in the purity of the vocals and the pep-rally arrangement. “Disney Girls” is the good side of being a square and all American: “Love…Hi Rick and Dave, hi pop, well good morning mom. Love…Get up, guess what I’m in love with a girl I’ve found. She’s really swell, ‘cause she likes church, bingo chances and old time dances.”

A short lament equating the death of nature to a man’s lifespan, “Till I Die,” is a sensitive and reflective ballad surrounded by vibes, organ and tight harmonies. When the boys sing “I’m a leaf on a windy day, pretty soon I’ll be blown away,” the background vocals combine with the keyboards to imitate a rustling wind. Brian Wilson wrote “Till I Die” after staring out at the ocean, feeling like an insignificant part of a vast universe: “I’m a cork on the ocean, floating over the raging sea. How deep is the ocean? I’ve lost my way.” The song was initially rejected outright by Mike Love who felt it was too depressing. (Has this guy ever been right?). Alan Jardine and Carl Wilson agreed, but the group was strapped for material for “Surf’s Up” and had to include it. Talk about being forced into doing the right thing.

“Don’t Go Near The Water” is the last selection taken from “Surf’s Up” and the most irreverent choice. (The gospel flavored “Long Promised Road,” one of the group’s most uplifting tunes, would have been a better choice, but it doesn’t really fit into the warmth of the sun theme.) “Don’t Go Near The Water” nearly drowns in its own cuteness, but it shows The Beach Boys went green long before it was fashionable. Now instead of surfing, The Beach Boys were warning us that our money-grubbing ways were polluting the water. The problem with the boys being accepted as spokesmen for the ecology was the same as their conversion to transcendentalism. Mike Love was showing signs of being a sleaze bag even a con man wouldn’t associate with -- he was already moaning about the band’s direction and complaining about not getting credit for songs he didn’t write. (Dennis Wilson got so mad at Love he dated his daughter out of spite.) If anyone else in the group had spearheaded the boys attempt to stop abusing the earth their movement would have had more credibility, but every note Mike Love ever sang or every disguise he ever took on always had a cash register attached to it, so listeners were skeptical about the boy’s ecological enlightenment. Love and Jardine attempted to get on board the group’s shift toward more socially conscious material with this and “Take A Load Off Your Feet,” but both songs were light weight and interrupted the more serious tone of the rest of “Surf’s Up.”

“Warmth of the Sun” plucks “Sail On Sailor,” one of “Holland”’s best tunes, for inclusion as well as “California Saga (On My Way To Sunny Californ-i-a),”one of the worst. “California Saga” was originally in four parts, and the loping “Sunny Californ-i-a” refrain references the 49ers (the settlers not the football team), Monterey and John Steinbeck. At least they included the best section of the song’s four pieces.

The Beach Boys go soul (or at least get some soul) thanks to Blondie Chaplin’s lead vocal on “Sail on Sailor”. Blondie who? He and fellow South African musician Ricky Fataar were briefly drafted to be Beach Boys and Blondie was tabbed to sing the lead track from the “Holland” album. A last minute addition, “Sail On Sailor” saved the “Holland” album. When Warner Brothers heard the final version, they were distressed at the lack of singles. Carl Wilson’s “Trader” glided beautifully, but was an unwieldy five minutes long, Chaplin’s “Leaving This Town” seemed even longer and had an extended moog synthesizer solo, and although “Only With You” and “Steamboat” were exceptional ballads, they were deemed too complicated for record buying teens addicted to buying 45s. Originally penned by Brian Wilson and Van Dyke Parks, “Sail On Sailor” was resurrected as a possible single. Tandyn Almer, composer of the Association’s “Along Comes Mary,” manager Jack Rieley and future KGB super-lunged singer Ray Kennedy contributed to the revised version. It shows how good the oohing and aahing Beach Boys could as back up singers for someone other than themselves, launching an entirely new career for them.(They would begin parlaying their talent as back ups by singing on Chicago’s “Wishing You Were Here” on “Chicago 7”.) One of their best songs from the 70s, “Sail On Sailor” is so catchy you can visualize the boys, beer steins in hand, swaying to the seafaring beat as they sing.

Not all the gems from “Warmth of the Sun” are confined to “Surf’s Up” and “Holland.” “Forever” from “Sunflower” features a lead by Dennis Wilson, whose voice was deemed too gruff for the spotlight. (Dennis was further dissed in his role as the group’s drummer. He was often replaced on studio recordings by ubiquitous session drummer Hal Blaine. No wonder Dennis was so insecure.) Brother Brian once called “Forever” “A rock and roll prayer,” naming it as one of his favorite Beach Boy songs. Dennis was a better songwriter than he was given credit for, and wore his lyrics and his heart on his sleeve. There’s a smokey hurt in his vocal that gives the song credibility and substance: “If every word I say could make you laugh, I’d talk forever… If the song I sing to you could fill your heart with joy, I’d sing it forever…” Dennis knew he was a screw up. He also knew he’d make a lot more mistakes – although he probably didn’t know one of them would kill him. His songs were apologies for his past and future behavior and “Forever” is a love letter to his beleaguered wife.

“Break Away” has a faster pace than the boy’s later recordings: “Time will not wait for me, time is my destiny, why change the part of me that has to be free.” The vocals, with Carl Wilson and Alan Jardine in the forefront, seep out of every crevasse and the drumming has a harder rock foundation than you’d expect. Like the “Surf’s Up” and “Holland” material “Break Away” has a maturity and honesty to it that appealed to the truth-seeking Woodstock generation.

Carried by a catchy chorus and accompanied by sparse dancing piano, electric, and brushes on drums, “All This and That” from “Carl and the Passions” is a positive piece containing the phrase “Jai Guru Deva” – further evidence of the group’s search for inner peace - or external satisfaction through increased record sales.

Although much of their early material is lyrically naive, there are some songs from the band’s surfing days that leave a few Bigfoot-sized footprints in the sand. The title track has a warm range of humming, satisfied vocals and is very much like “In My Room,” displaying a sense of self-realization sensitivity that their surfing ditties usually didn’t have. And no wonder -- written and sung by Brian Wilson, “Warmth of the Sun” was composed the night President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, a time when we all felt that the sun would never shine again.

With its goofy coconut shell marimba, “All Summer Long” is as joyous as young love can be, recalling carefree images of miniature golf, T-shirts and cars with high performance engines jutting from their hoods. Even if your summer hangout is tar beach in the Bronx, the collaborative joy of “All Summer Long” can wisk you off to California’s clean white beaches: “Every now and then we here our song, we’ve been havin’ fun all summer long.”

“Catch A Wave,” an ode to surfing, is sung flatly by Love and in full Frankie-Valli tight undies style by Brian Wilson. The organ solo and click-clack guitar runs are now remixed and sound as crisp as high tide smacking against a breakwater. Ironically, the only Beach Boy who could surf was playboy Dennis, who drowned diving off a pier in 1983. Don’t drink and dive, kids.

“409,”sung by Mike Love, is yet another tribute to a teen’s affection for his car: “She’s real fine, my 409…Giddy up, giddy up 409.” Given that a 409 engine could even turn a Vega into a guided missile, there’s a surprisingly laid back beat that’s more akin to a granny driving down the street with her blinker on. It’s a guarded pace, but it gets you there. Easterners had a hard time understanding the surf craze (hang 10 on the Hudson, anyone?) but we understood cars and speed, so “409” resonated as loudly as a dragster with open headers crossing a finish line.

“You’re So Good To Me” (no, not the Humble Pie vocal opus), is an obscure off-kilter stomp, with the back up vocals venturing into doo-wop territory. Brian does a great job staying on key despite having to deal with the bouncing ball beat, and a guitar break that sounds like the beginning of Christie’s “Yellow River.” But it’s hard to go wrong when the boys break out the “La, las” one of rock’s game saving phrases. The Wilson’s and their cousins can make any song sound like a personal invite for some beach blanket bingo.

Mess with the lyric a little, change genders, and you’ve got a credible cover of the Phil Spector/Ellie Greenwich/Jeff Barry standard “Then He Kissed Me” (retitled “Then I Kissed Her.”) Alan Jardine sings first then hands off to the smoother Carl, who hands the lead back to Jardine, while the rest of the band hums and aahs in the background like satisfied Lotharios.

The warmth of the sun shines through on the majority of the tracks, but there are few that should be buried in the sand. “Cool, Cool Water” from “Carl and the Passions” has an oasis of vocal talent but is parched for a viable idea. By 1972 (when the album was recorded) the boys were creating a lot of tunes that were, in effect, chants or rounds, relying heavily on tight harmonies to make slight material like this tolerable. Listen to the rising and falling back up vocals, rather than Mike Love’s passé lyrics and you’ll feel more refreshed.

The remake of “Why Do Fools Fall In Love” is simply an ill-considered mistake. It’s not that great a song to begin with and it’s worn out, having been covered by Diana Ross, Joni Mitchell and even actress Gale “My Little Margie” Storm. This version has the wall of sound treatment of their early surf years with the horns storming in to beef up the beat. Carl Wilson tries to drag his falsetto all the way through, but it’s too high an arrangement even for him.

Another rehash, “California Dreamin’,” points out that singers blessed with perfect pitch and a gift for harmony get old. For starters the sound effect of the thunderstorm in the background at the beginning of the song should have been toned down, and the echo effect laid on the vocals smack of gimmickry. And is that John “Full House” Stamos lead footing it on drums? (He did a few tours with the boys in between takes with the Olson Twins. Whoever it is, he’ll make you wish for Dennis Wilson’s clumsy stick handling.) Something should have been done about this tinny, thudding arrangement, including the unnecessary piercing sax solo. It was a good idea for them to try this, but it came twenty years too late.

With a vault of material that rivals the Allman Brothers and occasional lapses in judgment resembling those of the Pointer Sisters, the Wilson brothers and cousins Al Jardine and Mike Love can still boast of being one of the most successful families in the music industry, and this compilation proves it. “The Warmth of the Sun” offers up a lot of good vibrations, so catch a wave. Surf’s up, dude.

Posted June 3, 2007 Permalink

Erasure - Light At The End Of The World

Erasure Light At The End Of The World 3 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

“Light At The End of the World” is a synth-dominated time capsule of 80’s industrial/dance music. If Erasure’s music sounds like Depeche Mode there’s a good reason -- keyboardist Vince Clarke was a founding member of the group. Clarke left the group in 1981 after their first album, forming Yaz (a/k/a Yazoo) with opera voiced Alison Moyet. Although the duo’s “Situation” and “Don’t Go” were in constant rotation in dance clubs, they split after two albums. Clarke bounced around, recording with vocalists Feargal Sharkey and Paul Quinn before discovering Andy Bell, whose vocal style has often been called a male doppelganger to Moyet’s. Their approach to club music was often criticized for being effete, a swipe at Bell who was openly gay, but it was also highly successful as the duo scored five #1 albums in England between 1988 and 1994.

Bell’s resonant vocal gets strained through a synthesizer in the opening notes of “Sunday Girl.” With firing synths and a programmed drum track, “Sunday Girl” seems to have all the attributes of the soundtrack to a low budget Japanese cartoon. You’ll have doubts, but let the song play out and you’ll be rewarded by Bell, whose golden timbre rivals Simply Red's Mick Hucknall for effect and range: “Don’t you mess your life up Sunday girl.” It may be hard for the duet to get airplay for this style of forgotten music. Do they still play this kind of stuff in clubs? Maybe only in the swirling disco ball in your memory banks. Hopefully, “Sunday Girl” will turn back the clock to when you dated that special girl with the Farrah Fawcett hairdo (okay, maybe not).

Bell’s voice gets deep and dramatic for “I Could fall In Love With You.” Bell sounds very comfortable in this range, which keeps Erasure’s creaky synthesizer-based sound from becoming frozen-in-time nostalgia. They could use a real set of drums to bump up the sound, though.

“Sucker For Your Love” has a hurried tempo and the slightly-stuffy privileged Euro vibe found in The Pet Shop Boys’ material. You can picture playing this while racing down the Autobahn in your Porsche. Bell’s vocals are a little too athletic and over-the-top, bordering on hilarious, and the lyrics read like a bad Jackie Collins novel: “Give me back my calling cards and vices, my dignity and romance novels too.” It shows promise when the synths drop out and its just Bell’s authoritative vocal, but Clarke’s bees nest keyboard attack is a bit to hyper. You’re a sucker if you play this one again.

“Storm In A Teacup” is dominated by Bell’s rich voice instead of the synths, which quietly whirl in the background. There’s enough echo in the vocal to make it a quiet storm instead of a threatening one.

For a change a change of pace the keyboards that intro “Fly Away” are programmed to sound like a guitar. The soaring vocals are strong, gospel-tinged and fully realized. Given his theatrical, yet pleasing delivery, it would be interesting to see how Bell’s Bryan Ferry delivery would fare in a contemporary setting.

Erasure wisely keeps varying the sound of the synths as the CD progresses. In “Golden Heart” they’re soft, with a moderate, subservient beat. As a result, you’ll listen to Bell rather than the expansive production around him.

“How My Eyes Adore You” adopts Cameo’s “Word Up” metronome in the hope of giving it some street credibility. It mixes pseudo funk with romance, a tough sell in itself. Ultimately it doesn’t work, because Bell’s voice is geared for more romantic fare, and the funk is forced. You’ll cover your eyes out of embarrassment for Bell. Just make sure you cover your ears as well.

“Darlene’ is also ill-advised Brit soul. The lyrics tell a biographical story that gets more tragically unbelievable with each line: “Skyline passion city streets that I adore, shadows by me grow rent collectors at my door. You got your religion, I got my addictions, we got dirty dishes in the sink.” This is a working class version of the ghetto storyline in The Supremes' “Love Child” without the groove. If you lived like this in real life, Darlene would tell you to switch to paper plates and give you the telephone number for the Moonies when she left. I’ve been waiting to say this – this song should be erased.

“When A lover Leaves You” takes the listener back to what the duo does best, semi-romantic, semi-industrial club music, with the keyboards swirling and bouncing around the Bell-toned vocals. What makes Bell a good vocalist is he’s found a comfortable pocket for suave delivery and never pushes his voice to the point of annoyance. He obviously learned what his range is a long time ago and doesn’t try to experiment at the cost of damaging Erasure’s sound. He may be stuck in a tight formula, but look no further than Al Green, Muddy Waters, or Bob Marley for proof that a limited style can provide listening pleasure.

“Glass Angel” is the most atmospheric, mystifying, and best song on the CD. The vocals penetrate the blanket of synths, mixing together with their sinister intent until the vocal and the music are practically one. “Glass Angel” also has some noticeable grounding bass and is highlighted by a great exit in which the keyboards take off like a spirit reaching for its place amongst the clouds.

Try not to be turned off by Clarke and Bell’s appearance. They’re look like Gollum refugees from “Lord of the Rings,” with ruddy skin, sunken cheeks, bad teeth, razor stubble and hair shaved down to the nub. And don’t let the horrendous diamond in a patch of purple puke cover sway you either. If you’re a fan of techno, this is a worth a listen. The running time is a bit skimpy too (about 45 minutes, but I wasn’t watching the clock).

You’ll probably want to forget some of the more dated material on “Light At the End Of The Road.” But once you hear Andy Bell’s melodious voice, you won’t be able to erase it from your mind. Go to the light.

Posted June 3, 2007 Permalink