Music Home

August 2007

Viva Las Vegas!

Elvis Viva Las Vegas! 3.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

“Viva Las Vegas” gyrates into stores just in time to celebrate the death of rock’s first true superstar. They didn’t call him The King (or “The Kang” as he pronounced it) just because he liked hamburgers. This guy sold more records than McDonald’s has served Big Macs. “Viva Las Vegas” celebrates The Kang’s uncanny ability to entertain high rollers as well as blue-haired nickel slot grandmas, and it’s produced so succinctly you’ll feel as if you’re close enough to catch one of Elvis’ sweaty towels.

Classic Elvis (four humma hummas)

A number of excellent songs on “Viva Las Vegas” could be inducted into Elvis’ packed canon of classic performances…

There’s no better place to start than with the theme setting studio recording of “Viva Las Vegas.” With its bossa nova beat, it’s an accelerated tour around the crap tables and bright lights, a snapshot of the adult playground populated by show girls and sleep-deprived gamblers. “How I wish that there were more than twenty-four hours in the day. Even if there was forty more I wouldn’t sleep a minute away.” The guitar is as hot as a pair of lucky sevens, the bongos bounce like loaded dice and Elvis sounds like he’s breaking the bank and on the verge of busting a corpuscle, but The Kang’s hectic performance hits the jackpot. “Viva Las Vegas” was lampooned by ZZ Top in 1992, and the Smith Brothers look alikes weaved in an Elvis imitator to give their version some amusing clout. See, The Kang is still everywhere, uh-huh.

“The Wonder of You” is the CD’s highlight, a towering vocal work out that shows Elvis was a true singer, despite the despite the gaudy skin tight sequined outfits and his wholly inadequate diet of fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Elvis is operatic, hitting a high note at the conclusion that sounds like Pavarotti on steroids. I defy any singer to hold a note for as long. During ace session guitarist James Burton’s guitar break, The Kang leads the chorus of singers rising to meet every note…”Play it, James.” The soap opera strings add to The King’s dramatic delivery, and he pounces on every word: “I guess I’ll never know, the reason why, I love you as I do. That’s the wonder…The wonder of you.” It’ll leave you wondering how such a superb singer could wind up a caricature of himself, dead on a toilet.

Other choice performances feed on The Kang’s ability to absorb current hits into his stage act, infusing them with his laconic grace. Elvis ties into Tony Joe White’s signature tune, “Polk Salad Annie,” with the same hip swinging wise-ass snarl as White. White, nicknamed “The Swamp Fox,” is best known for his bayou influenced tunes and his knack writing hits for other artists. Crooner Brook Benton was rescued from obscurity, scoring a #4 hit with White’s “Rainy Night in Georgia,” Dusty Springfield recorded “Willie Mae and Laura Jones,” and Christine McVie turned “I Want You” into a sultry blues stunner on her first solo album. Tina Turner was among White’s biggest benefactors, procuring four of White’s songs for her 1989 “Foreign Affair album, including “Undercover Agent For The Blues” and “Steamy Windows,” as well as signing White on to play, guitar, harmonica and appear in the song’s promotional videos. Recognizing a kindred spirit, Elvis called White up before the crack of dawn and convinced him to come to Las Vegas while he recorded his studio version of “Polk Salad Annie.” The Kang was so taken with The Swamp Fox he would go on to record White’s “I’ve Got A Thing About You Baby” and “For Ol’ Times Sake” placing both in the top five on the country charts. On his own, White scored a top ten hit with his own whomper-stomper version of “Polk Salad Annie,” and had modest success with “The Lady In My Life, “and “We Belong Together,” among others. White gained his biggest fame in France, where his 80s comeback albums were released on the Remark label. White is a superb, soulful, swampy talent, with a baritone as thick as warm molasses. You’d be doing yourself a favor if you pick up his CDs “Homemade Ice Cream,” “One Hot July,” “Tony Joe White,” “Closer To The Truth,” and “The Path Of A Decent Groove.”

In light of his fans exuberance, Elvis can’t keep a straight face during “Polk Salad Annie”’s spoken intro. Burton approximates White’s bayou blues fire, dealing out cheese grating licks. I’ve seen Elvis do this live, and this was one where he gyrated his hips suggestively like a cement mixer grinding up Jimmy Hoffa. Try to ignore the back up singer’s embarrassing “chicka-bum-chicka-bum-bum-bum,” (to which Elvis replies “ching-chang-a-ching-chang”) which makes Sammy Davis Jr.’s 60s hep cat scat rants sound like pure genius. The foray into Esperanto is a bit excessive on disc, but the attraction of Elvis’ version of “Polk Salad Annie” is that it was meant to be seen as well as heard. Give The Kang his due for picking a great tune and letting his own steamy southern roots sock a little polk salad to the audience.

One of pop’s more stunning ballads, “Let It Be Me” is tailor made for Elvis’ most sensual crooning. Elvis is particularly strong on the choruses, surrounded by a mountain of strings, Grand Ole Opry piano, over-the-top operatic pros, Statler Brother bass back ups and cascading horns, while Burton continues to deliver feather-like, classy solos on guitar.. The arrangement sounds a bit like “The Wonder of You,” and why not? It was excellent the first time, so why not recycle it?

Bill Medley’s bedroom baritone was the perfect heartbreaking element for the Righteous Brothers “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling.” Medley was born to sing it and so was Elvis. The Kang’s swaggering vocal mixes Tony Joe White swampy R & B style with Medley’s romantic Romeo rumble. Elvis also handles Bobby Hatfield’s impossibly high parts equally well, and vamps on the “Don’t!..Don’t!..Don’t! Let it slip away!” segment.
The song is done at a slow, sultry pace that suits Elvis’ deep timbre. The horn section blares with foggy menace and the back up singers exuberance fortifies Elvis’ performance. A perfect example of how Elvis could make a standard his own.

The horn section in “I Just Can’t Help Believin’” passes through the speakers like an 18-wheeler on a slick road, buttressing the delicate strings. Elvis’ manager, Colonel Tom Parker, spared no expense in hiring the back up orchestra, which accurately recreates the slick adult contemporary sound of B.J. Thomas’ original while adding The Kang’s stylish grandeur. After a quick chuckle with the audience, an understated Elvis gets a little help on the verses, (“Sang the song, baby”). This is another primo performance that’ll leave you believin’ in the power of The Kang. Thank yew vurry much.

Near Classic Elvis (three humma hummas)

Half a dozen performances on “Viva Las Vegas” are a bad note or an inadvertent chuckle away from being great performances. Elvis always liked to have fun onstage and his snickers, cartwheels (don’t forget he knew karate) and his off the cuff commentary sometimes seemed beneath The Kang. The most notable example is a notorious live performance of “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” that was bootlegged even while The Kang was still squeezing into his rhinestone pants suits. Elvis brought himself to the point of hysteria when he changed the line “Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?” to “Do you gaze at your mirror and wish you had hair?” There’s nothing as zany on “Viva Las Vegas,” but some songs are addled by cockeyed arrangements or regrettable flubs. In other words, “Viva Las Vegas” is genuinely live.

Like his swamp-influenced counterpart Tony Joe White, singer/songwriter Joe South was a prolific composer. For a brief period, roughly 1968 to 1971, Georgia native South had a stranglehold on both AM and FM radio. He wrote “Hush,” Deep Purple’s biggest hit, the Grammy-award winning “I Never Promised You A Rose Garden,” taken to #1 by country songbird Lynn Anderson, “Yo Yo” covered by the Osmond Brothers, and “Birds of A Feather,” which charted for Paul Revere and the Raiders. South also wrote an entire album of material for popster Billy Joe Royal, churning out his biggest hit, “Down in the Boondocks,” as well as “I Knew You When.” Like White, South was an accomplished guitarist, serving as a session man for Bob Dylan‘s bland “Blonde on Blonde,” and providing the electric guitar for Simon and Garfunkle’s “Sounds of Silence.” South’s soulful guitar intro is also the first instrument you hear on Aretha Franklin’s “Chain of Fools.” Unlike Tony Joe White, South achieved his biggest success in the U.S. and charted several socially relevant songs under his own name, including the “The Games People Play” (which was awarded two Grammy’s in 1968 for Song of the Year and Best Contemporary Song),”Children,” “Don’t It Make You Wanna Go Home,” and “Walk A Mile in My Shoes.” The pressures of performing and his brother’s suicide drove South out of music in the mid-70s. But thanks to artists like Anderson, Bryan Ferry and Elvis, South continued to get a regular royalty check, and after a 30-year hiatus he’s recording new material.

Elvis’ cover of South’s “Walk A Mile In My Shoes” loses some of its social consciousness thanks to the glossy Vegas treatment. The glockenspiel and bouncy horns make Elvis sound as if he’s leading the Macy’s parade. South’s original version beats the soles of this version of “Shoes,” but it’s cool that Elvis was hip enough to recognize its existence in the first place.

“C.C. Rider” boogies like a freshly tuned Harley rumbling down Route 66. Assayed best by steel-lunged R & B shouter Mitch Ryder, The Kang’s version features some of the most frenzied, atrocious background singing you’ll ever hear, At first grimace, Elvis sounds as if he’s got the cheerleading squad from Mulkeytown, Illinois backing him up (or the tone deaf strutters from any small town with a limited gene pool you can name). Burton gets to rev up a high octane solo against the smoking horns. Elvis rides in the pocket, then pulls back the accelerator, allowing the audience (and himself, remember those tight white jump suits?) to take a breath before one last rump shakin’ charge across the finish line. If not for the Edith Bunker background chorus this would be one for the repeat button.

When Elvis was uninvolved in a song, it showed. “Release Me,” a hit for walking pompadoured square Englebert Humperdink, is such a song. The Kang has to amp himself up, mocking his own loquacious style, regulating his voice to keep himself interested. When the back up singers join in, harnessing the song’s Gay 90s arrangement, Elvis releases his ample vocal power, turning schlock into sock.

“Patch It Up” has more energy than most of the other songs on the CD, but this repetitive cross between “Burning Love” and Tina Turner’s version of “Proud Mary” has too many holes, despite Elvis’ good natured give and take with the band. “We got to patch it up baby, with a whole lotta love” gets repeated until you’re ready get a trough of quick dry cement, seal the King up in his dressing room and get his background singers some Ritalin.

“You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me” is another one of those made for the Elvis treatment ballads. Elvis is a little late in the arrangement at times and his voice quivers as he tries to catch up to the unnecessarily rapid arrangement. The Kang sounds as gassed as an Edsel and under rehearsed. A much better version of this song was culled from another one of Elvis’ appearances in Sin City and charted at #11

Elvis’ buttery voice nearly matches Cory Wells’ sly delivery in Three Dog Night’s “Never Been To Spain.” He takes the first verse off (must have been vacationing in Barcelona), before cranking it up and sounding more involved during the choruses. The drummer matches Three Dog drummer Floyd Sneed’s muscular percussion, and it finishes up as a take that would make any dog wag his tail

Fat Elvis (Thank yew vurry much and goodnight)

There’s a quartet of astonishingly bad choices undoubtedly done to cater to the geriatric sect. If Elvis had to do it all over again and he wasn’t high on fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, he might not have recorded every piece of dreck Colonel Parker could license or steal, and these four disasters would be at the head of the pack.

If you laid all of the albums containing versions of “Bridge Over Troubled Water” end to end, you’d be able to cross from Brooklyn to The Bronx (trust me that’s a long way). If you took a count of how many good versions of the song there are, well there’d be just one. No one, and I mean no one, can outdo Art Garfunkle’s heartfelt vocal, and that’s essentially the problem with Elvis’ attempt. Elvis undoubtedly did this song because it was a popular song at the time, and he was trying to entertain the dinner crowd. But The Kang tries to act rather than sing and flounders. Remember what I said about Elvis occasionally sounding disinterested? He gets to the bridge, but sings as if he’s forgotten why he wants to cross it.

“You Gave Me A Mountain” is an avalanche of bad taste, a souped up country ballad about the narrator losing his family. I’m all for songs country designed to be uplifting and inspiring, but why in heck aren’t any of them any good?

Another hard to fathom offender is “The Impossible Dream,” an impossibly bad song no matter who ruins it, and proof that Elvis’ quality control team was asleep on top of the edit button. It was over boiled and overblown nightmares like this that cost Elvis some serious credibility with the under thirty crowd. He must have been mesmerized by Vegas’ twinkling lights, a Chuck Cheese Deluxe, or his desire to be as cool as Dean Martin. Impossible to get through, it’s a blight on The Kang’s sizable resume.

The most heinous song on the CD is “An American Trilogy.” It’s the kind of material you’d find at the bottom of your shoe after walking through a field of loose-bowled Guernsey’s. It begins with “Dixie Land” then slides into a jingoistic version of “Glory Glory Hallelujah.” The bluster is taken down a notch during the flute solo for the reprise of “Dixie Land,” but the entire orchestra gets to march on to the truth with a cinematic ending that would make George Wallace sit up in his wheel chair and salute. The whole grandiose spectacle makes Elvis sound like a flag wavin’ fool.

If you can’t get enough Elvis, “Viva Las Vegas” is also available by import as a 2CD set. The expanded edition adds live versions of many of his signature songs, including, “All Shook Up,” “Heartbreak Hotel,” “Suspicious Minds,” “Love Me Tender,” “In the Get…Toe,” and “Can’t Help Falling In Love” (imagine the sighs for that one!).

The Kang may have gone to his porcelain throne, but this tidy set buoys Elvis’ reputation as an entertainer, and the man with the syrupy smooth lungs that could perform something for everyone. Although he was only a few years away from rigor mortis, this is hardly a stiff performance. Viva! Let’s all bow to The Kang. Uh-huh.

Posted August 30, 2007 Permalink

The Great Lost Performance

Johnny Cash The Great Lost Performance 3 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

When a legend dies, the flood of post-mortem releases spew out faster than spittle from Sylvester the Cat’s lips. Compared to the Grateful Dead, who are up to volume 80,000,054 of “Dick’s Picks” as recorded by Thomas Edison on wax cylinders, Johnny Cash’s legacy has yet to be marred by inferior release better left buried. Recorded in 1990 at The Paramount Theatre in Asbury Park, New Jersey, “The Lost Performance” teeters on the edge of bargain basement blathering by relying too heavily on homespun obscurities, but the Man in Black saves the show by mixing in some good ole classics that never fail to satisfy.

During his nearly 50-year career, Cash employed a number of musicians who locked into his rootsy country sound. Guitarist Bob Wootton was an able interpreter for almost 30 years, and anytime Carl “Blue Suede Shoes” Perkins slipped on a guitar strap, the music gained a lively rockabilly edge. Guitarist Kerry Marx is sometimes as exciting as Karl Marx on guitar, but he’s serviceable. The band on “Lost Performance,” which includes Cash’s son John Carter Cash on guitar, lopes at times, but they know how to play follow the leader.

The band does more of a country take on the normally incendiary “Ring Of Fire.” There should be enough wear and tear on Cash’s voice from singing this song for 30 years, but his voice is still strong, and the Carter Sisters provide a pleasant stand by your man back up. This has plenty of country hop to it, courtesy of Cash’s long-time drummer W.S. Holland stepping up the beat. Cash’s baritone rumbles, the piano plinks politely and the girls whooooo with country maiden poise.

Cash calls “Life’s Railway to Heaven,” one of his favorite country gospel songs. But its typical backwoods praise the Lord stuff blessed with a chirpy piano stride solo and a twangy guitar passage. The frequent problem with gospel is trying to navigate its tongue-fattening lyrics, and “Railway” is no exception: “There’ll be no disembarkation ‘till we reach paradise.” In the words of Jessie Jackson, save my disembarkation for another situation.

Cash relates singing “A Wonderful Time Up There” when his voice dropped at age 17 and his momma said “Don’t you stop. The Lord’s got his hand on you.” Well the bearded one upstairs may have been pulling Cash’s leg instead by steering him toward this quirky tune, which is unlike anything he’s done before or since. Cash calls it “Boogie woogie gospel,” but its country doo-wop -- “Get A Job” as interpreted by the Beverly Hillbillies. Cash rolls the words off his lips like an auctioneer hawking bids for Elsie the Cow. It’s interesting, a bit of a car wreck (and haven’t we all slowed to gawk at a fender bender every once in while) although it’s not really Cash’s forte. Despite the unlikely casting of the Man in Black as a doo-wop auctioneer, you’ll have a wonderful time with the results.

If the audience didn’t know who he was by now, four songs in our master of ceremonies announces, “Hello, I’m Johnny Cash,” then launches lickety split into “Folsom Prison Blues.” It’s almost too happy to be totally effective. Lead guitarist Kerry Marx plays a more elementary solo than six-string legend Carl Perkins, who’s sadly missed. Cash’s voice gets a little gravelly (even for Cash) during the second verse, but gets paroled for a rousing third stanza. “Folsom Prison” is one of those signature tunes that remained a crowd pleaser for Cash, fast or slow.

With this thoughtful observation, “Singin' these words reflectin’ back where I’ve been is important for me to do sometime, because I don’t want to lose track of where I’m tryin’ to go,” Cash backs his admiration for Kris Kristofferson by performing “Sunday Morning Coming Down.” Here’s a case of one roughshod singer covering another, and I’ll take Cash anytime. It’s an episodic path to a chorus, but when it finally comes around, the song begins to take on a listenable form. It’s the type of Bowery bum with a strong moral center tale that Cash and his fans relate to. Too bad it’s simply not that compelling. Add to it Earl Pool Ball’s cheerily out of place piano asides and it’s more like Sunday morning falling down.

“What Is A Man?” makes its stage debut and it’s instantly clear why it was left to gather dust. Its reeeaaal country and reeeal bad. The light piano intro gives the impression Minnie Pearl will be sayin’ “Howwwwwdy!” in a few verses. The Carter Sisters pass the plate with their misty-eyed vocals and virginal Lucy Clark has a clear Sunday school teacher voice, but this is a sluggish, heavy-handed bible thumper. “And you crown him with glory and honor, gave him dominion over land and sea and air” is more proof that the lyrics to inspirational songs can be more baffling than a Mandarin thesaurus. How many of your favorite songs have the word “dominion” in it?

“Forty Shades of Green” was written by Cash during a cross country trip in Ireland. He admits to the audience he created the song by opening up a map, picking out a few towns and making the lyrics rhyme. There’s some descriptive imagery even if Cash didn’t visit the places he names. With lute-ish mandolin and the Carter Sisters sashaying through the vocal charts “Forty Shades of Green” is a musical pot of gold.

Cash embarks on a four song Americana travelogue about the not-so-great Depression era that’ll make you wanna mow down his music stand with The Orange Blossom Special. Originally recorded in 1960, “Come Along and Ride This Train” is a chooglin’ sketch rather than a song. It holds your interest because Holland can imitate a passing train (and that’s an elementary trick any percussionist worth his union card can do). It staggers to a halt when Cash fumbles his way through a monologue about his harsh childhood living in what sounds like an outhouse Tobacco Road. “Five Feet High and Rising” follows, centering around a busted levee that destroyed his daddy’s humble farm. The song is reminiscent of “Muleskinner Blues” because Cash repeatedly asks the question “How high’s the water, momma?” but it’s nowhere near as memorable. It gets awful deep during “Five Feet High and Rising” and by its conclusion you’ll be convinced you smell something a lot stinkier than a cornfield full of swamp water. “Pickin’ Time” is the pick of the four-song litter, a cheery song about working yourself to death in the fields pickin’ cotton and pickin’ vegetables. It also contains one of the CD’s best lines: “Late Sunday morning when they passed the hat. It was almost empty back where I sat. But the preacher smiled and said that’s fine, the Lord will wait until pickin’ time.” The final vignette, “A Beautiful Life” is a depressing little number about field hands thanking God for working your fingers to the bone. It’s masochistic and thankfully short. Ah the Depression, what a hoot.

“Hey Porter” is one of the few concert tunes that outstrips the original. Holland deserves a tip for his open throttle percussion. Marx continues to be a slow handed but sure picker, and Cash deftly handles a suitcase full of lyrics, sounding convincing in the process.

“I appreciate your right to burn the flag if you want to, I also appreciate the right to shoot you if you burn mine.” So says Johnny the redneck patriot during his preamble to “Ragged Old Flag,” the story of the proud, tattered symbol of our country he noticed during his travels. When Cash asked a nearby homey why the tattered flag was still in use he got a history lesson. Naturally, Johnny turned the lesson into a song, a hayseed rap that follows the flag’s proud military saga from the Revolutionary War to the present. (Of course it’s impossible for the same flag to have seen service throughout every single skirmish, but it adds credence to all the chest beating.) At the risk of sounding like an anarchist, its Ugly American hubris like this that can serve as a theme song for Jihad.

“Tennessee Flat Top Box” is given the Marty Robbins “El Paso” treatment, and is another example of Cash’s back catalogue serving him well in concert. There’s some nice south of the border acoustic picking on the “Flat top box” by Marx as he shows why he was picked to succeed Wootton and Perkins.

“Ghost Riders In the Sky” is another familiar tune that the old cowpokes in Cash’s revue handle easier than a drover guiding a dairy cow. These riders don’t ride hard so much as they saunter through the sky. Holland’s lightning bolt beat (love the work on the high hat) and the Carter Sisters ghostly wailing give the song plenty of spirit. Yippee-I-o-Yippee-Ay-yay!

June Carter Cash joins her husband for an energetic and slightly haphazard pass at their country smash, “Jackson.” June still had plenty of growl in 1990 and her usual sass which helps juice Cash up. It may take Cash and his soul mate a little longer to get to Jackson, but they still know how to strut their stuff once they’re in sight of the city limits. Somewhere recently deceased composer Lee Hazelwood (who did the definitive version with Nancy Sinatra) is smiling smugly.

Cash closes with an obligatory “I Walk The Line” (Sorry, no “Boy Named Sue.”) The band vamps up the ending to almost Vegas proportions, finishing with a flurry as Marx leans into an exiting solo.

In between homespun homilies and spiritual epiphanies, The Man in Black was still first and foremost a charismatic entertainer. Is this really the great lost performance? No. More like the pretty good lost performance

Posted August 30, 2007 Permalink

Emmy Rossum

Emmy Rossum Inside/Out 3.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Every five minutes another post-adolescent actress takes a stab at being pop idol princess. Unlike her twenty-something contemporaries who make more headlines in handcuffs than in the studio, Emmy Rossum has the training and the pedigree to be a legit chart topper. What she may need more of in the long run is more meaningful material to help broaden her appeal.

As an actress, Rossum is best known for her roles in Clint Eastwood’s “Mystic River,” and the disaster films “The Day After Tomorrow” and “Poseidon,” (the ill-fated remake of “The Poseidon Adventure” that capsized under the weight of bad press). Not many people know the soon to be twenty-one year-old began her career as a singer. At the age of seven she auditioned at The Metropolitan Opera at Lincoln Center, singing “Happy Birthday” in an astounding twelve keys. Within five years, Rossum was a veteran opera singer who could sing in six languages and had polished her voice in stage productions of “La Boheme,” “Carmen,” and “A Mid Summer Night’s Dream,” while performing with opera legends Luciano Pavarotti and Placido Domingo. Her performance in the movie version of “The Phantom of the Opera” earned her a Golden Globe nomination.

So Rossum has the props, but does she have the power? If the three-song preview of her upcoming album is any indication, Rossum should easily make the jump from opera child to pop diva.

The album’s first single, “Slow Me Down,” is a vocal landscape that immediately brings to mind the multi-layered new age elegance of a computerized Enya. Rossum managed to weave more than 150 vocal parts into the song, which unravels like an ornate Persian rug. The surprise is Rossum doesn’t blow out her voice at the ear-shattering level you’ve come to expect from a performer steeped in opera – her voice is a hushed, almost understated whisper. Multiplied a hundred and fifty times, it’s soothing, mesmerizing, and highly angelic, like a hundred hummingbirds dallying at a flower. She’s not pneumatic like Britney, squeaky like Gwen Stefani, or reassessing Marlene Dietrich like Madonna. When she whispers, you listen: “Slow me down, don’t let love pass me by. Just show me how, ‘cause I’m ready to fall. Slow me down, don’t let me live a lie. Before my life flies by, I need you to slow me down.”

Rossum continues to stride into Enyaville with “Stay,” another sweeping expanse of vocal over-dubbing. “Stay” works in portions of the saintly organ sound conjured up by Matthew Fisher in Procol Harum’s “Whiter Shade of Pale” amidst waves of vocal symmetry and pounding Celtic rhythms. “Stay for tonight. The sound of your heart racing faster for me is what will save me.”

The multi-textured vocal approach loses edge and its appeal in “Falling,” as Rossum gets more poppy and less ethereal. The music, which had previously flowed in a dream-like state, picks up a would-be Top 40 beat. At times, Rossum’s reverbed multi-tracked voice sounds as if it was recorded in the bowels of a Lear Jet as it darts in and out of the cracker box beat. You’ll also notice the lyrics lack depth. When Rossum looses her sensual layered whisper and she’s alone in the vocal spotlight, her gleeful, vacuum-sealed teenybopper tone sounds like a practiced, but not yet perfected put on. It’s not unlistenable, but in light of the maturity displayed in the previous pieces, “Falling” collapses amidst its own sugary pabulum, turning Rossum from a respectable Enya-clone into a G-rated version of Madonna (and what good is that?).

Despite her years on stage, Rossum seems to have a limited range. But she also knows her limitations, and in “Slow Me Down” and “Stay” she successfully disguises any vocal warts through third world ambiance and high tech overdubs. When Rossum pours on the production, the results are laid-back, pleasing sonic displays that will satisfy adults and enlightened Pop/New Age fans alike who appreciate the likes of Enya and Annie Lennox. When she tries to appeal to Clearasil crowd by dumbing down her lyrics, Rossum’s layered approach works against her, making her sound like a rookie recording artist in over her head.

Move over Lindsay Lohan, J Lo, Jennifer Love Hewitt and Paris Hilton. There’s a new singing celebrity sheriff in town who’s actually worth her 15 minutes of fame. Emmy won’t win a Grammy, but I’m willing to bet her first CD gets much better reviews than “Poseidon.”

Posted August 30, 2007 Permalink

Just Roll Tape

Just Roll Tape: April 26th, 1968 Stephen Stills 4 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

“Just Roll Tape” was recorded on April 26, 1968, after Stills has split from the rest of the herd in Buffalo Springfield, when he was attached to folk singer “Sweet Judy Blue Eyes” Collins like a German Shepherd in heat, and nearly a year before he linked up with David Crosby and Graham Nash to change the face of music. “Just Roll Tape” is a musical Mapquest, a travelogue of Stills’ classics in their infancy, inspired snippets and long-buried treasures.

After playing guitar for Collins, Stills slipped engineer John Haney a few hundred dollars for an impromptu session of his own. Once he hooked up with Nash and Crosby, and the tapes languished in Atlantic’s vaults for nearly 40 years before their rediscovery. Newly restored and dusted clean of any tell tale signs of Medicare eligibility, “Just Roll Tape” is Stills’ best solo effort since 1975’s “Stills,” a must for any product-hungry disciple of CSN. A spartan recording, “Just Roll Tape” is Stills by his lonesome in the studio with his acoustic, with nary a sign of Crosby, Nash or Sweet Judy.

“All I Know Is What You Tell Me” has influences of delta blues, Woody Guthrie and Stills easy-goin’ Texas twang. It’s a very short tune, little over a minute and change, but it’s sung with as much care and sincerity as his finished epics. “And So Begins the Task” would resurface on “Manassas.” This version is a step higher and a beat or two faster than the superb final version, which was filled out by Chris Hillman, Stills and Al Perkins’ back up vocals and percussion from Joe Lala and Dallas Taylor that rolled along like a happy hay wagon. On this unplugged version, Stills vocal is crisp, part country, part folk, and his fingers roll energetically and arthritis free across the strings. This guy was and is an impressive picker.

“Change Partners” would be revisited on “Stephen Stills 2.” Like “And So Begins the Task” it’s partially realized, with the same southern charm as the waltzy cotillion version. It would take half a dozen musicians to pull off the final version. Here Stills does it all by himself, his hands banging out the chords (a little too hard perhaps, there’s a bit of distortion on the tape). He pushes his voice a step higher than he should, but this is a young, vibrant Stills, with the vocal power of a charging bull taking charge of the streets of Pamplona.

“Know You’ve Got To Run,” also later revamped for “Stephen Stills 2,” is radically different from the sanctioned release. In its final form it was yet another variant of “Bluebird,” which made Stills devotees (like me) wonder if the prolific Captain Many Hands was finally running out of ideas. This version is in the country-folk vein of “Change Partners,” delivered in the wordy style of an angry 60s Greenwich Village troubadour freshly injected with Maxwell House. Familiar lines in other songs appear, indicating the song was used for spare parts. (For example, “You expect for me to love you, when you hate yourself my friend,” would show up in 1970s “Everybody I Love You” on Déjà vu. The same can be said for the dobro-doused “Bumblebee (Do You Need A Place To Hide).” The lines “Everybody lookin’ at my girl, everybody thinkin’ about my girl” would serves as a jump point for the superb “Love Gangster” on “Manassas.”)

“The Doctor Will See You Now” is beautifully sung, with a smidgen of the arrangement Stills would further develop for “Wooden Ships.” It goes off on diarrhea-of-the-mouth tangents that only a multiple personality could follow: “You tell me your soul is leaking and it needs fixing.” Well, so did this idea, Stephen. Back to the vault for this one.

He who lives by the blues sings the blues, so Stills recorded numerous versions of “Black Queen,” including one for his first solo album and the reissue of CSNY’s “4 Way Street.” Captain Many Hands plucks a mean delta guitar, but this is a hushed and rushed version of the song, without the grit of the other two versions. Does it still merit a listen? You bet. Stills quietly let’s loose with a barrage of strings midway that Muddy himself would admire – and lest we forget, Stills’ best days as a guitarist were still ahead of him, so his work here serves as a preview of Stills’ six string gunslinging yet to come.

Didn’t every young poet or musician write about his heartbreaking girlfriend? Stills was no exception, and like every smitten young fool probably cringes these days at his unabashed puppy love for Judy Collins. Lines like “I’ll do anything to please you, will you let me try,” and “Judy when you’re floating, where do you go? Would you like to tell me, ‘cause I’d like to know,” smack of a boy so blindly in love he doesn’t realize how silly he sounds. No wonder “Judy” remained hermetically sealed for so many decades. It’s juvenile, but once again Stills’ guitar work is unequivocally brilliant.

Stills was battling his anger/jealousy issues as far back as ’68, and “Dreaming of Snakes” has a dark spin to it. This is torment in ¾ time, much more bleak than “4 & 20,”entirely captivating, and at 1:40, one of the short gems on the CD. Here are the lyrics in their entirety: “When the morning breaks, chasin’ away the snakes, is it my fate? To dream of snakes. Darkness is my boon, paradise is blue. Thinking room, loneliness too. In my bed I curl, despair around me swirls. I whirl and find a girl...” The lyrics may seem slight on paper, but couple them with Stills mahogany delivery and depth of his abandonment become abundantly clear.

Stills ode to Collins, “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes,” is presented as a work in progress. The verses are tighter and Stills sings with more verve, using his strings like percussive baseball bat, whacking at them until they sting. The later part of the song later picked up by Crosby and Nash (“Friday evening…Sunday in the afternoon…”) is sung in a near-falsetto that indicates Stills may have been hanging out with Joni Mitchell as much as Judy.

“Helplessly Hoping” misses CSN’s three-part harmony, but Stills’ fills the spaces with melodic guitar and a vocal that rises and falls like a lonesome cowpoke longing for his home on the range. A Reader’s Digest (condensed) version of “Wooden Ships” follows, with Stills launching into the lyrics, his expressive voice taking over in spots that would later be filled in by keyboards and bass on the first CSN album.

The only forgettable cut is “Treetop Flyer,” the “bonus” track that ends the album. Aside from Stills expert picking, (he overdubbed this one with guitar and dobro) – this is bombs away. Vocally it’s a parody of the blues, with Stills grunting and growling about smuggling something illegal in on a plane. He’s a virtuoso of the back porch Dobro, but his creative fills are grounded by the inane subject matter. “There’s things I am, there’s things I’m not. I could get caught and I could get shot.” You mean shot down, dontcha, Bubba?

Stills revived the idea of recording a solo acoustic record with 1991’s stillborn “Stills Alone.” “Treetop Flyer” and “The Ballad of Hollis Brown” were cited as the album’s standout cuts, but Stills is mush-mouthed throughout, and the rest of the material takes longer to get through than Lindsay Lohan’s rap sheet. “Just Roll Tape” got the concept right decades ago. It’s a shame it wasn’t released when the material and its performer were fresher. There’s no denying that the fully realized versions of songs are better than the ones on “Just Roll Tape,” but the CD offers a unique opportunity to hear Stills rising toward the top of his game, before his hugely successful partnership with Crosby and Nash, Crosby’s drug-fueled implosion, his own boozy blackouts and the group’s years of being wasted on the way. To quote Stills: “These songs feel like great friends when they were really young.” Want to sip from the fountain of youth? Then just roll tape.

Posted August 16, 2007 Permalink

Stephen Stills

Stephen Stills Self Titled First Album 4.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

After playing virtually every instrument on Crosby, Stills & Nash’s harmonious debut, spending nearly 700 hours producing its more corporately aligned follow-up, “Déjà vu,” then going out on tour with his combative band of brothers, one would think Stephen Stills would take a well deserved rest. Instead, Stills cashed in his chits, assembling an All-Star extravaganza for his self-titled solo debut, which illustrated he was much more than just the volatile middle child in one of rock’s super groups.

Stills scored his biggest hit with the album’s opener, “Love the One You’re With,” a top ten calypso smash that served as a mantra for the post-Woodstock generation: “If you can’t be with the one you love honey, love the one you’re with.” Stills proves adept at handling the steel drums and pounces on the Hammond organ for a high grade solo as thick and soulful as Felix Cavaliere’s hopped up R & B romps for the Rascals. Jeff Whitaker (later a part of Peter Green’s 80s return from rock and roll obscurity) completes the percussive circle on congas, and a celebrity chorus comprised of Graham Nash, David Crosby, Pricilla Jones (wife of Booker T), Joe Cocker back up singer Rita Coolidge and Lovin’ Spoonful leader John Sebastian help to enrich the tune’s festive intent. The sensual soul version cut by the Isley Brothers in 1971 shimmied its way to #18 on the charts. Other artists, including The Jackson Five and Aretha Franklin later waxed their own versions, but Stills’ definitive original is the lone survivor on the airwaves nearly 40 years later.

“Do For the Others” was originally written with the angelic harmonies of Crosby, Stills and Nash in mind, and it bears their mellow stamp, with Stills triple tracking his back ups against gently massaged acoustic guitars. Stills assumes his role as “Captain Many Hands;” mixing the guitars, bass and percussion together with emotive, layered background singing, creating an acoustic heaven.

Preacher Stills leads the congregation for “Church (Part of Someone),” and by the time the open throttle organ is through climbing a righteous path to heaven, Stills and his sanctified back up singers sound like they’re ready to be fitted their wings: “You know it’s my thing to be part of someone, as a true friend is part of me.” Instead of the hippie chorus headed by Crosby & Nash, Stills goes for the full gospel effect, employing Judith Powell, Liza Strike, Larry Steele and Tony Wilson to back him up. You’ll say amen.

Had Stephen Stills’ manager passed on a note from Jimi Hendrix asking him to be the bassist for The Experience, who knows how much better their albums would have sounded? Stills and Hendrix reportedly jammed together for hours while this album was being recorded, and “Old Times Good Times” is the result -- the last recording Hendrix ever made. From his standpoint it’s a push. If Hendrix’s name wasn’t listed in the credits you wouldn’t know he was working the fret board. His guitar is turned down to a barely audible level, and his solo just manages to keep up with Stills overdubbed “I’m A Man” arrangement propelled by drummer Conrad Isador (misidentified as “Isedor”) and Stills Winwood-ish swipes on organ. Hendrix may be adrift in the mix, but the rest of “Old Times, God Times” cooks with a double-timed combination of rock and gospel.

Every musician remotely interested in the guitar should listen to “Go Back Home.” It’s what a synthesis of and rock and blues should sound like; grizzly bear mean, with the effect of a steamroller flattening a 98-pound weakling. It starts out with Stills choking out sharp B.B. King licks on guitar. Calvin Samuels creeps in, prodding out a fat bottomed beat on bass as drummer Johnny Barbata chops at his kit. Barbata, Stills and Samuels were spympatico from playing many a gig with Crosby, Nash and Young. It takes only a few notes for the trio to lock in as Stills spits out dirty a vocal in a growl that would make Howlin’ Wolf cower, while he turning out solos that slash the air like lightning in a summer storm. And it gets better…As the song gathers steam, Stills drops out as the lead guitarist and Eric Clapton takes over. I’ve always thought Eric’s more “creative” (read endless) solos were a bit overrated, but as you may have guessed by now, I’m hard on them gee-tar players anyway. This is by far my favorite Clapton solo – he’s concise, a fire-breathing rapid-fire whirlwind, an inspiration to a generation of air guitarists. Recorded during his I-can’t-have-Patti-Harrison-so-I’ll-do-heroin phase, “Slowhand” generates more giddy up than his career defining solo on “Let It Rain.”

“Sit Yourself Down” reassembles Stills rock gospel chorus of Coolidge, Nash, Crosby Sebastian and Jones, tacking on Joe Cocker back up singer Claudia Lanier and pre-ham sandwich victim Mama Cass Elliot. (Just kidding. Choking on a ham sandwich didn’t kill Mama Cass, although the dreaded snack was on a table beside the bed. Its better that Cass is remembered for her work with the Mamas & Papas as well as being the person who introduced Nash to Crosby and Stills.) The addition of Lanier and Elliot’s meaty vocals (aha, another cruel fat joke) and Stills’ carnivorous solos assures you won’t be able to sit still (or Stills).

Arguably Stills most beautiful ballad (he didn’t do a lot of them), “To A Flame” features a warm, tear-producing string section blended with flickering, moody vibes. “Richie” (Ringo Starr) is a pleasant surprise drumming with creative sensitivity. Away from The Beatles, Starr displays his distinct, yet seemingly simplistic style that helped make their sound the best ever committed to record. In a recent interview, Starr gave away his secret, saying, “I always played to the singer.” (Most drummers follow or overwhelm the bass or another instrument.) Starr shadows Stills’ bereaved vocal, rattling the traps like a tympani player, his touch proving that less is indeed more. By 1970 Stills had been burned by many of the women in his life (the worse was yet to come), including Judy Collins and Rita Coolidge, who was spirited away from Stills by Graham Nash, instituting a period of acrimony between the two singers that would last for nearly half a dozen years. “To A Flame” shows that even the outwardly hostile Stills armor of invincibility could be penetrated: “Drawn to a flame, she is far away, out of reach. Will she burn her wings, I can only watch, out of touch, out of my mind.”

It’s a bit of an injustice that the most beautiful song on the album is followed by its ugly stepsister. “Black Queen” is the reason “Stills 1” gets 4 ½ stars instead of 5. I have to admit when I first heard it I was unimpressed, it seemed like Stills was coping John Lee Hooker’s act but wound up sounding more like Blind Lemon Chitlin’, a parody of a bluesman. Stills’ respect for and strict adherence to Delta blues has worn me down a bit over the years; I still don’t like “Black Queen,” but his high end acoustic picking and the gritty timbre in Stills’ voice deserve the same kind of respect you give a stubborn boxer whose skills have eroded but who refuses to quit – maybe he wins the fight on sheer tenacity. Stills supposedly recorded “Black Queen” after downing a bottle of Tequila; it doesn’t add to the quality of his performance, just its authenticity. He’s trotted “Black Queen” out on at least three occasions; here, on the just released “Just Roll Tape” (see the review), and as a bonus track when “4 Way Street” was remastered. “4 Way Street”’s version gets the nod. It’s live, Stills explains the songs origin, then gets pissed off at someone in the audience who chuckles as he grunts and growls his way through the first few notes. He uses his anger to propel his performance, howling like a hoodoo being stripped of its flesh, and if that ain’t the blues, nothin’ is.

“Cherokee” boasts a jazzy powerhouse horn hoard that blares with the hair-blowing authority of Maynard Ferguson’s brass-section-as-a-village sound. Sidney George provides the whispery flute solos and blows proudly on Alto sax. Stills tames his guitar into sounding like a sitar as long-time substance abuse buddy (and former CSN drummer), Dallas Taylor electrifies the beat.

“Richie” (Ringo Starr) returns for “We Are Not Helpless,” providing the revelation beat to a song that served as an answer to Neil Young’s “Helpless.” Not only do you get the “Sit Yourself Down” celebrity back up singers, but Booker T. Jones and the Shirley Matthews chorus ride the rhythmic wave as well, busting out good gospel grace.

Momentum can both consume and propel (just ask the 2004 Boston Red Sox). Stills’ creativity was beginning to peak in 1970 – he had maybe half a dozen years left before his prolific songwriting skills would dry up. But with “Stephen Stills,” the middle child in CSN put his workaholic nature to good use, producing one of his finest albums.

Stills the One
An auspicious debut, “Stephen Stills” ushered in a prolific period of creativity for the tall Texan. Stephen Stills 2 (3 ½ out of 5 stars) followed; a good effort with five stunners out of six to start off (the restrained “Know You’ve Got To Run Is” is tolerable, but unnecessary). The rest of the album bogged down under the weight of Stills soap box criticisms (“Ecology Song” and “Word Game”) and the umpteenth version of “Bluebird” (he doesn’t even disguise it this time, calling it “Bluebird Revisited.” Not even a taxidermist could love this leadened turkey). You’ll have to wade through some sub-par stuff to get to the albums two best compositions, the misty mountain ballad “Singin’ Call,” and the fun falsetto rocker “Marianne.” Stills also indulges his love for southern R & B by drafting the Memphis horns for “Open Secret.” The bombastic brass sets up the plethora of percussion that follows as naturally as George Burns handing Gracie Allen a straight line. Other stand out cuts include “Sugar Babe” and “Change Partners,” both of which ooze with southern charm, and “Nothin’ To Do But Today,” a power-packed display of raging guitar work from Stills and down with it drums from Dallas Taylor.

Longing for more group interaction, Stills assembled “Manassas,” a seven man aggregation featuring former Byrd guitarist/vocalist Chris Hillman, Taylor, Fuzzy Samuels, keyboard player Al Harris, percussionist Joe Lala and steel guitar player Al Perkins. Although “Manassas” functioned as a group, their self-titled first effort (4 ½ out of 5 stars) was essentially a Stills-driven project. Labeled with four thematic sides, “The Raven,” “The Wilderness,” “Consider” and “Rock and Roll Is Here To Stay,” Manassas sported Stills’ strongest material to date and marked the apex of his solo career. Using “Singin’ Call” from Stephen Stills 2 as a base, Stills created three classic variations: the country-fied “Colorado” and “How Far” and the rock shuffle “Johnny’s Garden,” featuring Dallas Taylor’s karate chop beat alongside some of Stills’ more self-effacing lyrics about his newfound wealth: “There’s a place I can get to, where I’m safe from the city blues. And it’s green, and it’s quiet…Only trouble was I had to buy it.” The six tunes on side one (“The Raven”) flow into one another, beginning with the funky “Song of Love” and “Rock and Roll Crazies” sliding into the Latin-tinged “Cuban Bluegrass,” and the bluesy “Jet Set (Sigh).” The side ends with Stills sharing vocal chores on a pair of duets. He first squares off with a soulful Al Harris in “Anyway” before Chris Hillman steps up to sing “Both of Us (Bound to Lose),” which takes advantage of Hillman’s post-Byrds harmonic country style and Lala’s Latin pizzazz. “Consider,” or side three (which contains the superb “Johnny’s Garden”) is also blessed with the mellow “How Far,” “It Doesn’t Matter,” (which was rewritten by Firefall and turned into a top 20 hit), the chilling “Bound To Fall,” and “Move Around,” featuring Stills on an early version of a Moog that gives off an interstellar overdrive sound. The crunchy funk of “Love Gangster” finishes off “Consider,” as Stills utilizes the lyrics from the unused “Bumblebee,” updating the lyrics to “Everybody looking at my girl, everybody thinkin’ about my girl, everybody bird doggin’ my girl.” Side 4 (“Rock and Roll is Here To Stay”) features the album’s toughest, tightest jams, including the sarcastic sing along, “What To Do” and the eight-minute “Treasure,” which lives up to its name as the band gets to rock out with Stills and Hillman trading solos like two pirates slashing each other with cutlasses. “Blues Man,” a tribute to Jimi Hendrix, Allman Brothers slide master Duane Allman and Canned Heat founder Al “Blind Owl” Wilson, is a fitting end, with Stills alone in the studio, picking at his acoustic, bemoaning the fate of three major talents that have gone on before him, wondering if he’s next (he almost was). Only the country and western swing tunes on side 2’s “The Wilderness” disappoint – Stills had to give Perkins something to do besides sing background vocals and happy-handing a tambourine, so you get Al slathering the songs with putrid pedal steel. (Ironically, Perkins is best known for his dobro playing.) “Fallen Eagle” is hampered by a steeplechase beat and guest Byron Berline’s migraine-inducing fiddle playing, while “Jesus Gave Love Away For Free,” “Hide it So Deep,” and “Don’t Look At My Shadow,’ are the type of stick in the mud country western slag you’d expect to hear issuing from the maw of Porter Wagoner or Ferlin Husky (with a name like that he should have been a linebacker, not a singer). “Colorado” and the out of place swarming synthesizer gem “Move Around” were initially trapped on side 2 of the LP, but the single CD format now allows you to circumvent Manassas version of the Grand Ole’ Opry.

After “Manassas” Stills’ solo career would detonate like nitro glycerin at a fire eater’s convention. The second Manassas album, “Down The Road,” went down the tubes in a hurry, a slipshod affair recorded by a road-weary partied out band on the verge of breaking up. Stills would reconcile with Nash and Crosby rebuilding the franchise’s name with a second self-titled CSN album and “Daylight Again,” but with the exception of 1975’s “Stills,” (3 1/2 out of 5 stars) Captain Many Hands’ solo work was consistently awful. But few artists can claim the rush of creativity and deserved success that Stephen Stills had from 1968-76. Ready? So go back home, love the one you’re with, sit yourself down and listen to “Manassas,” “Stephen Stills,” and “Stephen Stills 2.” Stephen Stills’ music may be rooted in old times, but they were good times.

Posted August 16, 2007 Permalink