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February 2008

Randy Jackson's Music Club

Randy Jackson's Music Club Volume 1 3 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Dawg! Randy Jackson, the nice (and coherent) “American Idol” judge has gathered together semi-successful alumni from the show along with established artists and produced “Music Club Vol. 1,” the debut collection in what promises to be a series of eclectic showcases to come.

Paula Abdul, Randy’s often confused cohort on the show, is electrifying in “Dance Like There’s No Tomorrow.” Paula’s voice has been processed -- no problem, she’s been accused of this her entire career. She’s less chipmunky than in her million-selling heyday, which makes for a refreshing listen. Her vocal is mechanical, staccato, and the heavy footed bass drum dominates, but it’s all a calculated fit. Welcome back to the hit factory, Paula. “All I wanna do is stay right here on the floor get lost in the night and dance like there’s no tomorrow.”

Michael says: I like it Paula, I like it a lot.

British soul singer Joss Stone has been nominated for four Grammy Awards and has sung with the likes of Stevie Wonder, the Stones and the late James Brown. She shows she’s got a grasp of da funk in “Just Walk On By.” The keyboards take on the role of a horn section and there’s programmed syncopated clapping to inspire the feet. Despite her yute (she’s 19), Stone’s throaty voice has a healthy dose of Mariah Carey’s sexy come on with attitude. This borrows part of “Walk on By,” made famous by Dionne Warwick -- is that legal? Guess it is, as long as composers Burt Bacharach and Hal David get paid.

Michael says: Joss is gutsy and sounds confident and seasoned. I like it Joss, I like it very much.

“What Am I So Afraid Of,” featuring one hit wonder Trisha Covington (“Why You Wanna Play Me Out?”), Keke Wyatt and Kiley Dean is part hip hop country with percussion straight from a bug zapper. Wyatt and Dean have made more headlines away from the mike than singing into it. “Soul Sista” Wyatt once tried to fillet her husband, and Dean has more cancelled albums on her resume than actual releases. That doesn’t bode well for this collaboration. Just when you’ve gotten used to the supercharged hillbilly hokum, you get a flourish of heavy-footed drums and a blast of Heavy metal guitar from the Winger school of obnoxious avalanche guitar. The singers may have R & B roots, but can’t navigate this forced mating of styles.

Michael says: Be very afraid, because this is very, very wrong.

The Crunk Squad (featuring Ghostface Killah!) raps out “Like A.” Good God ya’ll, I just found out who Peter Frampton sold his talk box to. “Like AAAAAAA…Like AAAAA…” The talk box is a widespread guitar gizmo used by everyone from Jeff Beck to Foghat, but why mimic a voice when you can supposedly rap? And let’s get a ghost buster for Mr. Face, who speaks like he’s got a mouth full of Jello Pudding pops. I don’t expect a rapper to actually say something that makes sense, and Ghostface keeps the streak alive: “Yo’s a greedy chick…Now you out doin’ your thing, youse a greasy witch…I’m Ritchie Rich, I keep mad dollars runnin’ around.”

Michael says: I know now what the “A” stands for – asinine.

Kelli Love is a modern day torch singer. If you want to know what Trish Covington could have sounded like if she had the right material, Love’s “Who’s Gonna Love You Now” is it (and I’m sure the title is pure coincidence). Kelli doesn’t do much to distinguish herself from the thousands of current pop singers that warble theme songs for CW Television. “Who’s Gonna Love You Now” is pleasant and non descript, but in Kelli’s defense, she doesn’t reach for vocal heights she can’t attain and he keeps the Mariah Carey-isms at a minimum.

Michael says: Can the forced grunts Kelli, and I’ll give you more love.

“We’re gonna do this the Louisiana way,” Sam Moore (of Sam & Dave fame) proclaims in “Wang Dang Doodle,” a take on the old blues chestnut he sings with Keb Mo’ and Angie Stone. Keb Mo’ whips out his slide and cuts his guitar into melodic ribbons. Sly Sam still has the chops of a bedroom boogeyman and Angie Stone’s pleasingly soulful. When Keb gets his turn at the mike, his vocal is meaty and on point; he’s obviously the most at home of the trio and his modern blues packs a punch. Except for the strangled back up singers, this is a smooth, slick version as polished as simonized glass.

Michael says: You can’t go wrong with Uncle Sam. Stick with the pros.

Van Hunt, John McLaughlin and Jason Mraz team up for “Something To Believe In.”
This ain’t Patrick Moraz (too bad) or John McLaughlin (thank the Gods of music). This does, however, have a wall of guitars that nearly drowns out the singers during the chorus. Mraz has a warm set of pipes, although the cornball material doesn’t do it justice. This is Bryan Adams for the 21st Century, extravagant boy toy pop. Get out the syrup for these flapjacks.

Michael says: One slick teen idol would have been enough. I want something to believe in, but it ain’t you guys.

“Home,” by John Rich & Anthony Hamilton is modern country pop that gets strong support from an acoustic back up and regressed pedal steel. Rich, half of the country duo Big and Rich (get it?) has Kenny Loggins’ sweeping range mixed with the quaint delivery of Dan Fogelberg. Neo soul slinger Anthony Hamilton, who made a splash in 2003 with “Comin’ Where I’m From,” comes on waaaay to strong, not loud, just dramatic. Sorry bro,’ you’re out of your element. “Rich: Another winter day has come and gone away, even in Paris and Rome. I wanna go home. Let me go home. Hamilton: And I’m surrounded by a million people I still feel alone, and I wanna go home. Oh, I miss you, you know.” A bit contrived (aren’t all songs about loneliness?), but Rich’s ease with redneck romance is tolerable.

Michael says: Send Anthony “home” John and re-do this solo.

A product of studio engineering, Barbi Esco’s “My R &B” is awash with whispered processed vocals that sound as if they’re emanating from a vacuum cleaner hose. This is chipmunk hip hop. Disguise the fact Barbi sings like a Barbie Doll, add in a phony backing track and you may have a hit. But there isn’t anything genuine about this…The guy who growls “R & B” sounds like a pirate “…Aaargh and B…” Did Barbi just say “Can we get like Scooby?” Is she singing a love song to a cartoon dog?

Michael says: Nice beat, but a real dawg.

“Real Love” by former “Idol” contestants Katharine McPhee and Elliott Yamin has plenty of bounce. Although McPhee’s been singing since she was 2, she also has about as much soul as Doris Day. Her less than limber style is a reflection of her cabaret/theater background. McPhee, an “Idol” finalist, was dropped by RCA after one album. Can’t say they were totally wrong. She’s too Broadway for this, but “Real Love” is one of those tunes that’s crammed with irresistible hooks and is impossible to wreck; it’s pop Teflon. Elliot Yamin is a dead sound-a-like for bip bopping guitar player/singer Jonathan Butler, which makes him tolerable, not memorable. I should cut Yamin some slack because he’s a serious diabetic and is 90% deaf in one ear; but I can’t resist saying he sings like he’s deaf in both. Despite Yamin’s yammering; the back ups give the chorus a gospel feel that locks in with beat. There’s a looping of the chorus at the end that makes you realize “Real Love” is real light on verses.

Michael says: Lose one half of the team (yammerin’ Yamin), and you’ve got a hit.

“Willing To Try” force feeds us the unlikely trio of Richie Sambora, Travis Tritt and Lucy Woodward. Who proposed this preposterous unholy triad? Richie must’ve still been on the sauce to agree to this. He has a full voice that’s deeper an infinitely more enjoyable than the nail-through-your-head bleating of his boss, Jon Bon Jovi, but this is still stilted country/pop. Travis is much more comfortable in the bloated proud to be an American arrangement: “When push comes to shove and you’ve had enough and you’re giving up on love, I’m willing to try.” As for Woodward, she has a heavy jazz background -- which doesn’t excuse her singing all over the map like a schizophrenic on a coffee enema. Woodward’s a singing blast furnace. At one point her voice climbs until it hits every exposed nerve in your body, then drops and goes sandy like Bonnie Tyler’s. That’s too long a trip to ask anyone to endure.

Michael says: Travis: trite. Richie: Have another. Lucy: You can’t be in the show.

The closer is “I Understand” by Kim Burrell, Rance Allen, Bebe Winans, Mariah Carey & Hezekiah Walker’s love Fellowship Tabernacle Church Choir. I’m tired reading the credits and I haven’t even heard the song yet. Praise the Lord and pass the bedpan. There’s some holy Hammond work as part of the intro, but Bebe does a lot of vocal spinning and going nowhere. This is gospel pop, the type of well sung, well prepared, uninspired pap you see on cable where one minute they’re lip-synching and the next they’re fleecing the flock. I know Bebe and the like are respected in their field, but I’d like to take them out to that field and well…I won’t be any more blasphemous than I’ve been. But there are entire church services that take less time than this, which wastes 7:01. Just when you think its over, Bebe starts prognosticating and Amen-ing. And aside from a few Minnie Ripperton glass-shattering notes, Mariah just lent her name to this and cashed the check.

Michael says: Kim Burrell influenced Jessica Simpson’s singing style. That’s really all you need to know.

Anyone who can give us back the bubbly MTV Paula Abdul pre-Prozac, can’t be all bad. If you like a range of music as wide as the disparity in age between Tony Curtis and his wife, you’ll love the variety “Music Club” offers. Nothing strays too far from formula – you just have to swallow a lot of pabulum and hope you don’t gag. But listen up, you might find something to idolize.

Posted February 28, 2008 Permalink

Honeydripper

Honeydripper Soundtrack 3.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Director John Sayles’ latest film, “Honeydripper,” is set in an imaginary Alabama roadhouse in the early 50s, when rock n’ roll was taking root and the electric guitar became a dominating instrument. The songs in “Honeydripper” are Hollywood blues — Instead of Charlie Patton or Big Bill Broozy, most of the music is made by actors playing musicians (Danny Glover) or musicians pretending to be actors (Mabel John). But Sayles didn’t get to be a successful director by cutting corners, so he also wisely enlisted current artists who can exist in the moment (Keb Mo, the New Beginnings Ministry), while mixing in legends who recorded in or around that period (Memphis Slim, Hank Williams). The result is another winner in the Rhino Records catalogue.

“Honeydripper” comes out swingin’ with “Honeydripper Lounge” by the Aces of Spade. It’s barely over a minute long, but sets a high standard for what follows. It borrows the jump blues energy of Big Joe Turner’s “Honey Hush” with low-lying, guttural sax, tinkling piano, and has a punchy sax duel between Billy Novick and Gordon Beadle. A second instrumental, “Tall Cotton,” dwells in the realm of down home southern roots music. Mike Turk’s mournful blues harp blows slow and easy, like a sharecropper laboring on a hundred degree day. Turk picks up the pace, and the bare feet start stompin’ on the porch. Turk’s playing takes on shades of harpists yet to come — Magic Dick, Paul Butterfield, Brownie McGee and Little Walter. And how about Tim Jackson on jug for percussion?

Former Ray Charles Raylette Mabel John bellows out the CD’s first vocal, “No Matter How She Done It.” Mabel’s laconic, casual, as if she’s curled up on a wicker chair performing for a few friends around the cracker barrel. Mabel’s not a great warbler, but she can talk trash, and Sonny Leland’s got his Jelly Roll Morton juke joint chops in order. The lyrics are rhyme for the sake of rhyme, but there’s enough good-natured mayhem to keep you pleasantly occupied: “I know a girl by the name of Mary Lou, she shook so much she had the German Flu…” “You women don’t have to worry ‘bout your life, she made Jack the Ripper throw away his knife.”

The New Beginnings Ministry, a current gospel group, provides the soundtrack’s moral center. In the 50s and even today, blacks looked to God for an answer to life’s inequities (psst…big guy, we’re still waiting). “Standing By The Highway” is down by the riverside gospel, affecting, dedicated, the real deal. These folks believe the answer to everything lies in their faith. They’ve found the Holy Spirit, (you can tell by all the Amens), and the more the Maker affects the singers, the tighter their performance gets. The subject matter may not move you, but the way the Ministry’s voices interlock to form a wall of righteous sound will.

The New Beginnings Ministry steps up to the pulpit a second time with the hand-clapping “You Got To Choose.” You gotta love the underpinning of the bass vocal against the chorus. My mother played piano in a gospel group in the 60s that rehearsed in the living room at our house. They had such energy, presence and harmonics that the walls shook. We’re talking about people who were teachers, house wives, security guards and maintenance men by day, not pros. My Uncle Albert and Mrs. Overstreet were the bass singers. Whenever Mrs. O. took over I listened in earnest, and I briefly understood that some people really could communicate with a higher being – especially if they believed he/she came from within.

While its true a lot of black artists listened to and even played “country” (for Hee Haw’s sake, why?), none would have been allowed to share the stage with Hank Williams at the Grand Ole Opry in 1947 for a verse of “Move It On Over,” so it’s inclusion is curious at best. Nevertheless, scratch it on over, tote it on over, slide it over, sweep it on over, this is great country swing in its original form, eons before George Thorogood barroom-ized it. Hank may have had sobriety issues, but he knew how to write a hayseed hip swinger.

Billie Holiday must’ve listened to Lillian Lil’ Green because she sounds just like her with just a skitch less helium. Green’s 12-bar blues, “Why Don’t You Do It Right,” was recorded in 1941 and would later be a hit for another legend, Peggy Lee. Lil’ Green only lived a lil’ while (she died of pneumonia at age 34) but is still considered a female blues pioneer. She’s got some mileage on her nodes, which might grate on you after a few bars, but her band cloaks any long-term affects. The acoustic strumming is effectual against the quick fills of piano. Now I know where Leon Redbone got the idea for his guitar playing.

“Stack O Lee” was recorded live by Keb Mo’ and is given a more traditional reading than Lloyd Price’s sanitized pop hit, the Clash’s Ska vignette, or the Grateful Dead’s rambling mugging. The storyline tracks a disagreement between two pals that turned fatal. Mo’ summons smoke from his National guitar and sounds like a young Taj Mahal (who coincidently recorded his own version of the song). Keb’s also a competent blower on the harp and gives this a ghostly touch of a bluesman who’s sold his soul to the devil. He’s no Taj on vocals, but his playing will hit you like the shot that felled ole Stack O Lee.

Tyron “Pine Top” Purvis, owner of the Honeydripper Lounge (played by actor Danny Glover in the film), makes a courtesy appearance in the recording booth with “Goin’ Down Slow.” Actors who don’t normally sing just shouldn’t. You can tell its Glover right away and he’s probably never sung a blues song in his life. He enunciates every syllable – just like an actor would. It’s like having the late prim and proper thespian Raymond St. Jacques read “Beetle Bailey.” Danny’s not awful, just out of his comfort zone, and at times he sings with a lisp like Sylvester the Cat. You’ll be saying, “Sufferin’ succotash!” Sonny Leland’s piano rolls are worth listening to, though.

When you put together a movie soundtrack the genuine article will ultimately outshine the pretenders, no matter how commendable they are. Such is the case with Memphis Slim’s “Bertha May.” What’s this? A doorbell as accompaniment? No it’s a Celeste. The idea of substituting a Celeste for the guitar part in what would otherwise be a standard blues riff is genius. With the exception of some distant piano, the Celeste is the only instrument you hear: “Early this mornin’ I heard the lonesome church bell tone. Early this mornin’ I heard the low down church bell tone. They brought me the sad news, my Bertha May was dead and gone. Never miss my baby, I never missed her till she left my door. Never miss my baby, until she left my door. Breaks my heart to think I’ll never see her face no more.” This is what the blues is all about, genuine misery! John Sayles thought so too. When he heard “Bertha May,” it inspired the funeral scene in the movie. “Drive slow, Mr. Undertaker, please drive slow. You know I never miss my Bertha, until she left my door.” Despite the cheery effect of Celeste, you can tell Slim is shattered. He took Bertha May for granted and now it’s too late to tell her how much he loves her, something I can certainly identify with. You’ve got to hear this to believe it. The first time I listened to “Bertha May” I had to replay it three times in order to absorb all the hurt. If you start thinking about your own Bertha May (or Bert) then you know a song’s hit you in the jugular.

Gary Clark, Jr. (who plays Sonny in the film), has been compared to Texas guitar legend Stevie Ray Vaughn. I can’t vouch for Gary’s helicopter crash survival skills, but he ain’t no Stevie Ray. Jimmy Vaughn, perhaps, but he’s no where near as electrifying as SRV. In the first of three spotlight songs, Clark tears into “Good Rockin’ Tonight,” gospelized by Wynonie Harris in 1948, and popularized in rockabilly form by Elvis in 1954. Clark’s got more wattage than you’d expect from a bluesman. I’m not totally buying the lively Jackie Wilson pop voice and the Chuck Berry riffs mixed together with the blues either. It’s a bit of a train wreck because drummer James Cruce’s modified shuffle seems to be something no one else can get a handle on.

Clark takes his second shot at stardom with “China Doll,” which was co-written by director Sayles. If you don’t like Clark’s showy histrionics (and I’m afraid I don’t) two songs in a row may not help, despite Eddie Shaw’s raw sax. Harp player Arthur Lee Williams also seems to have found his voice, and piano player Sonny Leland goes Jerry Lee Lewis at the end. Clark plays a Hound Dog Taylor run as part of the rhythm instead of assaulting the listener with a full Alvin Lee catch-me-if-you-can speed riff. This time he works more within the context of the band when he solos. Still, he sounds as if he’s Xeroxing the music of the era instead of feeling it.

Giving Gary three songs in a row is a real momentum killer, especially since “Blue Light Boogie” is a dance that only induces a trance: “They did the boogie real slow with the blue lights way down low.” They sure did. Shut them lights off, Gary. “Blue Light Boogie” is a showstopper for all the wrong reasons.

Piano player Tom West lays down a boogie woogie intro reminiscent of Pinetop Perkins and keeps the fills comin’ in “Music Keeps Rollin’”. Duke Levine can bend the strings with the aplomb of Albert Lee. (Duke Levine? How’s that for a cool name for a bluesman. No, I don’t think so either.) But it’s all for naught whenever Barrence Whitfield opens his trap. This guy sings like Elvin Bishop with out any of the naughty fun ol’ Elvin had. He sounds like he’s gargled with quick dry cement and he’s only got there seconds left before it hardens. Great music to keep rollin’ by, but good luck blocking out Whitfield’s Tom Waits on battery acid vocal.

The muted trumpet, drunken clarinet and dribbling piano provide an excellent backdrop to Ruth Brown’s otherwise forgettable “Things About Coming My Way.” Ruth has sounded better, and no wonder, it was the last song she recorded before passing away in 2006. “Things” has a bit of a New Orleans funeral march feel too it as well, celebratory and sad at the same time. But Ruth sounds too worn out; you may love her Dramamine vocal, but nothing exciting came my way.

I’ve often claimed to be a stickler for authenticity. Artists who play the blues should sound like they’ve lived the blues. Memphis Slim, Keb Mo, Mabel John and Lil’ Green certainly qualify. Hank Williams and the New Beginnings Ministry may not fall under the category of the blues, but expertly represent other types of music from a bygone era. In an effort to meld today’s rock with the music of its infancy Gary Clark misses the mark, which is a shame, given his prominence on the soundtrack. (Maybe he’s a better actor). But don’t let a sour bee ruin your good time, honey. Listen to your inner blues chile and dip into the soundtrack to “Honeydripper.”

Posted February 28, 2008 Permalink

Yes (on DVD)

YES Classic Artists: Their Definitive Fully Authorized Story 5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

The music and legacy of Yes spans forty creative, tumultuous and triumphant years. Now there’s a 2-DVD artist profile that’s as grandiose, entertaining and exhilarating as their music. You want to know which member of the group came up with the name Yes? The answer’s here, as is a detailed account of Jon Anderson’s first meeting with Chris Squire, how Tony Kaye and Steve Howe got along as roommates, and which album the band shuns like a leper in a Speedo.

The first disc alone is 204 minutes, but thanks to Chris Squire and Rick Wakeman’s glib tales and Yes historian Chris Welch’s informative comments, the interviews take less time to get through than all four sides of “Tales From Topographic Oceans.” Narrator Russ Williams, who sounds like Robin Leach’s younger brother, provides the element of upper crusty class one associates with the band’s music.

The group’s veteran members rightfully get the majority of face time. Long-limbed bassist Chris Squire comes off as one the less stuffy Yes men. Singer Jon Anderson’s head is as high in the clouds as his voice -- yet he lords over the group’s sound! Drummer Alan White is gracious and grateful for the thirty year gig, while original guitarist Peter Banks, ousted prior to the group’s most successful album, is still huffy, angry and bitter, sometimes all in the same sentence. Foppish Bill Bruford, the band’s original drummer, is a politely unpleasant know-it-all who justifies jumping ship at the height of the group’s career “for the sake of his art.” (It’s the same shallow excuse all musicians use when they’ve missed the gravy boat.) Keyboardist Rick Wakeman may have been ostentatious on stage, but he’s the most approachable and down to earth Yes man, and deserves all the compliments he gets for his sense of humor. Trevor Rabin, who guided the group for ten years, masterminding one of Yes’ biggest selling albums (“90125”) is seen in an old interview, but is otherwise censured. (Rick Wakeman admits “If it (90125) hadn’t happened you wouldn’t have a Yes today. It saved Yes’ life.”) Influential Swiss Keyboardist Patrick Moraz, who gave the group one year/one album/one tour with the harder edged jazz/fusion sound of “Relayer” is also curiously absent, although he spent nearly 15 years with the Moody Blues and isn’t on their documentary either. The general opinion of Pat is that he was infinitely more talented than Wakeman, but was wound tighter than a Swiss watch. And there are obviously a lot of members who’s still have it in for original keyboardist Tony Kaye, who is barely mentioned or pictured.

Other less familiar, but equally important names in the Yes circle are given the opportunity to comment about their own place in the group’s history. Producer/engineer Eddie Offord, a chief architect of the group’s sound, is still admittedly shell-shocked from piecing together hours of tape to create “Close to the Edge” and “Tales From Topographic Oceans;” Trevor Horn, who replaced Jon Anderson for the better than expected “Drama” album, realized his place was in the producer’s chair rather than at the mike after the group’s subsequent sold out tour, while bandmate Geoff Downs still relishes the experience. Stage Director Mike Tait has swallowed the same callow pill as Peter Banks for anything he wasn’t involved in, and later day hirsute manager John Brewer, who looks like he spouted from elf land in “Lord of the Rings,” comes across as a Brit version of Jerry McGuire…Show me the money. It’s Chris Welch who puts the group’s history in perspective and keeps the story on track throughout.

And what a story it is…There are way too many amusing anecdotes to mention (besides I have to leave you something to watch), but here are a few…

Squire and Anderson receive the most camera time, and it’s surprising to see how different the two longest-serving Yes men are. Squire is still a gregarious frat boy and Anderson is as unrealistically cosmic as ever. Squire obviously has no recollection of Yes’ first club date (August 5, 1968!) but fakes his way through an answer. It’s also a little distracting for both the viewer and Squire that the second half of his interview (on disc two) takes place while he’s driving. What, you couldn’t pull over? Squire is also frank when talking about the last Trevor Rabin led album, the technically manipulated “Talk”: “It went on and on and on. I played the bass and two years later I wasn’t sure if it was me anymore. It had high aspirations musically and lyrically. It worked, but it took forever to make.” He’s less than candid, but more comical, in discussing Rabin’s rumored dismissal from the group. “No he wasn’t fired. No one gets fired from Yes. People just get fed up with me!”

Still riding a wave of optimism toward his spiritual nirvana, Anderson tries to justify recording “Tales From Topographic Oceans,” Yes’ bloated double album that contained only four songs – one per side. I still don’t understand how Anderson expected his organically altered audience to grasp the connection between man and earth’s landscape, and apparently neither did Rick Wakeman, who quit the group after the tour – which consisted of only 6-7 songs per show – all of “Topographic Oceans” and most of “Close to the Edge.” (Wakeman amusingly recalls eating a curry on stage during part of “Topographic Oceans.”). Anderson admits, “It was like pushing a stone monolith up a mountain,” but he’s pleased the group has been able to resurrect “Ritual (a/k/a Nu Sommes Du Soleil)” more recently in concert. Commenting on the album and tour, Mike Tait rolls his eyes, saying, “I thought they’d all gone mad. I thought the mushrooms had gotten to them.” Wakeman puts a sobering spin on the notion that Yes was disappearing up its own backside. “There were some musical moments. We had too much for a single album, not enough for a double, so we padded it.”

Let it not be said that the man who studied Herman Hesse harder than John studied Yoko has no sense of humor. Anderson relates a funny tale of what happened when the tapes for “Topographic Oceans” were sent to Radio Luxembourg for an exclusive airing. Sighing, he says, “That’s when I knew it was not meant to be.”

Anderson may have the stature of an elf, but he has the stones of Iron Man when it comes to molding Yes’ direction. Commenting on Tony Kaye’s departure, Anderson sounds like a mini-Don Corelone: “It’s not personal. I liked Tony. Always have. But it just wasn’t going to work out.” Tait’s assessment of Anderson underscores the singer’s cut throat attitude: “There was a lot of frustration with (guitarist) Peter Banks. Jon had a vision. If you weren’t living up to that vision, your days were numbered.”

Anderson is more true to his patchouli sniffing space guru image when commenting on Alan White replacing Bill Bruford: “He played with John Lennon! He played on ‘Imagine!’ We felt he had the right swing. He had more soul than Bill and the audiences enjoyed his playing more.”

“Magnification,” the first album the group recorded with an orchestra, remains one of Alan White’s favorite projects: “Members of the orchestra would come up to us and say, “I can’t believe I’m playing with Yes!’” He also discusses his harmony with Chris Squire with the type of reverence old married couples have for each other: “We’ve been playing together for thirty-three years. I know what he’s going to do before he does it. He brings out the best in my playing, but it’s still a good push and pull situation.”

Bill Bruford, the group’s first drummer, has the type of smug, off-putting personality that’ll make you stretch for the remote, but at least he’s articulate. His memory for recall fills in the gaps in the group’s early history. He relates some amusing – and chilling – tales of life on and off the road with the band when they were careening around the countryside in a fully loaded van on marginal amounts of sleep and sobriety. (Bruford stopped traveling with the group after Fairport Convention’s 19 year-old drummer Martin Lambert was killed when he fell asleep at the wheel.) More of a free flow jazz musician than an art rocker, the band’s glacial recording method’s obviously irked Bruford: “’Close to the Edge’ was hard to record, because everybody had input… My idea, your idea, my idea. You’d see pieces of tape all over. It was a climb up Mount bloody Everest. Eddie Offord tends to agree. “Anderson was always saying, Hmmm…we’ll put that in the background, let’s put that in the background. Finally Rick Wakeman said, ‘Why don’t we put the whole damned record in the background and be done with it?’”

Looking a little less like the Crypt Keeper, but still in need of a sandwich, Steve Howe brags about Asia’s success and tries to say indirectly that the 1980s version of Yes headed by guitar rival Trevor Rabin copied Asia’s success. “I wondered if ‘Owner of A Lonely Heart’ was chasing Asia.” (The opening chords to Asia’s “Heat of the Moment” and Yes’ “Owner Of A Lonely Heart” are oddly similar.) Get over it Steve, Rabin was talented, and once John Wetton bolted, Asia sank faster than Omar Kayam’s Rubiyat (much faster in fact). Howe also admits he’s worried about Yes’ future because some members want to tour less, which may explain why Howe has been a member of Asia for the past three years.

You want bitter? You want gossip? Look no further than Peter Banks, the group’s original guitarist. Banks still snarls with hurt when he relates his well publicized snub during the group’s “Union” tour. Virtually every member of Yes (except keyboardists Moraz and Downes and singer Trevor Horn) was invited to play, meaning there were enough members of the group for two versions of Yes at virtually every performance. It made for some very touchy moments, especially between guitarists Rabin and Howe. Howe basically told Rabin he could only play on the songs he’d recorded and they wouldn’t be sharing the stage. Banks recalls being invited and then "dis-invited" to participate by Tony Kaye because Howe didn’t want to share the spotlight with him either. The venom that spews from Banks about the incident is worth sitting through some of the other more diplomatic interviews. (“One guy gets to say I can’t sit in with a band I used to play in!). Suffice to say that Steve Howe needs to watch his back if he’s in the same room with Peter Banks.

Wakeman tells an amusing pre-Yes story about being so completely green he didn’t know what “cans” were, and how he successfully figured out they were headphones without being discovered. Wakeman’s description of the group’s dynamic when he first joined is also amusing: “Bill and Chris were always at loggerheads. I thought to myself, ‘I just joined this band and they’re gonna break up!’”

You’d think with their track record of success the band could do no wrong. Almost to a man, the members of the group say that the “Union” album was a travesty. (I agree. There’s only one listenable tune on it, Trevor Rabin’s “Saving My Heart.”) The album joined together “Yes West” (Rabin, Squire, Kaye and White) with Europe Yes (Anderson, Bruford, Wakeman and Howe) “Everyone hated the album, but loved the tour,” Rick Wakeman says of the experience. “I only played it (the album) once. It played it again while driving to confirm I hated it and wound up tossing it out of the window.”

The second DVD contains extended interviews from 11 present and former band members, business associates and friends. The two short interviews with impresario Jerry Greenberg and keyboardist Keith Emerson are superfluous. Greenberg, a Dee Snider look alike with the same nasal honk as Paul Shaffer, talks about his love and admiration for Ahmet Ertegun for most of his interview without even trying to relate any of his stories to Yes. When he finally makes a Yes connection, it’s about his attempt to play drums for the group. Having done a few successful gigs with Foreigner, he thought he could hang onstage with Yes. To no one’s surprise, he quickly realized he couldn’t play the group’s intricate music. To top it off, his mucking about cost the group time and money – the band was recording a live album and couldn’t use Greenberg’s clumsy clobbering.

Emerson is as conceited as ever as he remembers how he asked Steve Howe, then with Tomorrow, to join his group, The Nice, after the departure of guitarist Dave O’List. He later approached Chris Squire about forming a trio with Carl Palmer, but Squire declined because he didn’t want to sing lead. You can still tell Emerson is miffed at being turned down, yet he’s the one who’s upset that Yes manager Brian Lane called him at 11:30 at night asking him if he’s like to join Yes. Emerson, Lake and Palmer were in their prime, so Emerson was flabbergasted by Lane’s request. Someone needed to ask Keith how ELP has fared since (not so good).

Disc two also features three career spanning videos, “Wondrous Stories,” from “Going For the One,” “Tempus Fugit,” from “Drama” with Trevor Horn on vocals, and “Owner of the Lonely Heart,” lensed during their 80s comeback. “Wondrous Stories” is a well filmed lip sync, with Jon Anderson strumming acoustic guitar between Howe and Squire. Wakeman gets an occasional spotlight, but Alan White is virtually invisible. Lots of smiles and 80’s big hair abound.

“Tempus Fugit” is also lip-synched, with vocalist Trevor Horn a bit slack at times, but Howe and Squire fake it with such Oscar worthy prowess you’d swear it was live. Sporting a headband, White looks as if he stepped out of a Jane Fonda exercise video. He snaps at his drums, the veins in his neck popping. With his oversized, ill-fitting glasses, Horn looks even less like a front man than Jon Anderson – more closely resembling a techno Carol Channing. But “Tempus Fugit” is a killer tune and everyone looks like they’re enjoying themselves, especially Squire, who’s virtually unrecognizable with a shortened do.

The video for “Owner of a Lonely Heart” is one of the worst ever created. The song starts out in the studio with a group performance, then stops abruptly with Anderson saying pensively, “Maybe there’s another way to be.” Boom. The video shifts to a man on the street, Mr. Businessman, packed into a crowd. He’s accosted by the men in black, interrogated, beaten, taken before Big Brother and questioned. Meanwhile the Yes men have all taken on new identities – Jon Anderson becomes a raven; Chris Squire turns into a snake; Steve Howe a salamander (or some tongue spewing reptile) and Alan White turns into a black cat. You try and figure it out. And while you’re at it, try and figure out where Tony Kaye was that day.

Devout fans will drool over archival footage of the band rehearsing “Roundabout,” “Long Distance Runaround,” “America,” “I’ve Seen All Good People,” and a reprise of “Roundabout.” Anderson spends most of his time with his back to the camera, directing traffic. With the exception of Wakeman and occasionally Howe, they don’t need it. The picture’s a tad dark and Squire’s bass rattles the speakers a bit, but even for a rehearsal, the band is good shape. Nice to see they’re human – Squire coughs a bit stretching for the high notes in “Roundabout,” Wakeman does a goofy dance behind his keyboards, and Anderson signals thumbs up at the end.

As if the footage and interviews weren’t enough, Chris Welch’s accompanying 22-page booklet is well researched and beautifully photographed. Disc 2 is also filled out with concert stills, behind the scenes shots and memorabilia (concert tickets, programs, a Yes comic, contracts and even a photo of a man with a Yes tattoo!)

The only downside to this collection will be if you’re expecting hours of actual concert footage. Save an early, rare performance of “No Opportunity Necessary, No Experience Needed” (with Banks) and snippets of “Owner of the Lonely Heart” and “Leaving,” there isn’t much music on the first DVD. If you want an outstanding, visually stunning performance by the group in concert, pick up a copy of “Yes Symphonic Live” (5 out of 5 stars). The 2-DVD performance was recorded in 2001 with the European Festival Orchestra, the same bunch White said was thrilled to be playing with Yes (and it shows). Despite Steve Howe and Peter Banks’ long-standing objection to playing with an orchestra, the symphonic treatment adds a regal dimension to Yes’ music that hadn’t been explored for nearly 40 years. You’ll actually enjoy the twenty-plus minutes you’ll have to dedicate to “Ritual,” which is energized by the drum section in which every member of the group bangs away furiously on some form of percussion. Chris Squire gets to ham it up on other songs, playing leads on his bass, and Tom Brislin (who?) is the new fast gun in the keyboard cat bird seat. It’s also rewarding to see the orchestra follow Alan White’s every move. He directs the music, and gives an exultant performance.

I’m not giving you a long distance runaround. This Yes artist profile will take all you starship troopers to the gates of delirium. If you believe in the power of progressive music, say Yes!

Posted February 17, 2008 Permalink

Angie Stone

Angie Stone The Art of Love and War 3 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Angie (no relation to Sly and the Family) Stone has the Stax Record label, one of the bedrocks of soul music, behind her. These are the guys who came up with Sam and Dave, Booker T. & The M.G.s, Otis Redding and Isaac Hayes, to name a few. The execs at Stax are usually pretty good judges of talent. They should be able to pay a few bills with Angie Stone’s fourth album of fresh material, “The Art Of Love And War.”

Stone started out as a gospel singer, and she has the low register and control in her voice found in performers who started out in the pulpit. She began her mainstream career as a member of Sequence, a hip hop female trio, and was then a part of Verticle Hold, which had a hit with “Seems You’re Much Too Busy.” She’s worked with D’angelo, providing background vocals as part of his touring band (and producing a son with him as well). Stone’s been in demand as a back up singer for a wide range of acts such as Lenny Kravitz, Terry Ellis and Buckwheat Zydeco, and worked with Stevie Wonder on a remake of “Signed, Sealed and Delivered” for his tribute album. A sampler, (okay, a borderline plagiarist), Stone’s has nicked the O’Jay’s “Back Stabbers” and Gladys Knight and the Pips “Neither One Of Us (Wants To Be The First To Say Goodbye)” for her backing tracks. But her most visible claim to fame may be her 2006 appearance on VH 1’s “Celebrity Fat Club.” Stone’s recognition factor may change if “Baby,” he Grammy nominated single, snags an award.

Love…

The impressive opening cut, “Take Everything In,” begins with reflective piano that gives way to hip hop drums. Gotta admit Angie’s got a deep, full bodied voice to go along with her full body. (Okay, no more “Celebrity Fit” jokes). Angie comes across as the Toni Braxton of the neo-soul generation, and she can raise the roof (or at least shake it) with her voice. “Take Everything In” is a pleasant swirling dance tune with a thwacking beat and heavily layered syrupy vocals. It’s a thumper, a leg humper. Great start, Angie.

“Baby” is the Grammy nominated duo with mischievous veteran Betty Wright. “If I was your baby, baby, baby, baby and you need huggin,’ If I was your baby, baby, baby and you needed lovin’. If I was your baby, baby, baby and you needed stokin’, If I was your baby, baby, baby, baby and you needed strokin’.” No deep meaning in this baby, but this has an infectious beat and Betty and Angie work together seamlessly. Angie takes the first verse and tough Betty hoarses her way through the second. Alex Al’s snaking bass wraps around the confident beat, serving as the lead that Michael Butler’s flicking wah-wah guitar and Rex Rideout’s Fender Rhode’s follow.

The hip hop train slows a bit with “Here We Go Again.” This is more like Toni Braxton’s smoldering soul, and Stone has the bellows to pull it off. Stone’s back up chorus girls
(Juanita Wynn, Thomas Seabrooks, Shannon Crawford and Stone) prop her up and actually become the focal point of the song as Angie coos without actually forming any words. “Here We Go Again” is a passable modern version of a quiet storm ballad, but is more flat and pat than the first two songs.

“Go Back To Your Life” is a short acapella excursion designed to show Angie is a pro. To some degree, it works. Angie sounds a bit sped up and the back ups are way too hyper with a lot of aaah-ha-has. Still, Angie’s got her eye on variety, rather than popularity, and with “Go Back To my Life,” she demonstrates she’d rather be an artist than a hip hop cash machine.

The sturdy arrangement for “There Are Reasons” has a serious tone that most of the previous material has lacked. Greg Phillinganes provides the shivering strings, and there are occasional shakes from the percussion section that sound like a swamp witch waving a ju-ju bag. “Reasons” has real attitude and benefits from it. It could use a little air in the back up voices which are overdubbed 18 million times (falls under the category of too much of a good thing), but this ballad with malice works. Angie doesn’t have much range, but she starts low and picks up a few octaves along the way, which helps set the predatory mood.

“Sit Down” is a whispered choral piece with the back up voices wrapping themselves around a sedate Stone, who’s flanked by a warm bedrock of synthesizers. Angie really has to bring it down to match the songs quietude (if guest singer Chino can use “conversate” in a song, I can use “quietude,” but my words not slang…na…na…na…na). It’s the back up singers (this time its Stone, Jaunita Wynn and Thomas Seabrooks) that make “Sit Down” a stand up tune, because they’re all over this and they sing the chorus while Angie oohs, aahs and gyrates. The formula works here, although Stone really needs to give the freakin’ chimes a rest.

“Play wit it, might get it, you don’t wanna mess with me,” Stone says on the commercialized hip hop of “Play Wit It.” Accelerated vocals may not be your thing, Angie, but I’ll hire your back up singers anytime. Somewhere in the mix is Patrice Rushen’s “Hang It Up,” so listen closely to see how Stone plays wit it.

Angie is back in the bedroom in “Pop Pop,” trying to sound sexy. Angie sings in a higher range that forces her to imitate Nikka Costa’s kewpie doll delivery. Aha, add in the talking synthesizer trick and we have all the elements of a crash and burn. But it doesn’t! Despite the vocal challenges Angie faces, the crackling instrumentation works; it’s sensual and as usual, the girls in the background, the real stars, hold your attention. “Pop, pop, pop, let your body rock.” You’d be well advised to shake your body vigorously.

And Hate…

“Make It Last” falls in the category mid-tempo off/beat romantic hip hop. The piano dominates like drops of rain, much in the way PM Dawn was able to draw emotion out of even the slightest of melodies. Angie doesn’t have that capacity. The chorus girls are still the glue that gives the song its emotional skin, but Angie sounds uncomfortable, especially when she utters, “I wish I had the time to get my sh** together,” as part of the chorus. I wish you did too, Angie.

Wind chimes again? Is this hip hop Disney? No, it’s “Sometimes.” I guess Toni Braxton must have put her chimes on E-bay and Stone scapped them up. Once is enough; continual use of the fantasy inducing props makes this mid-tempo finger-snapper sound like hip-hop on ice. “Sometime I wanna love you, sometimes I wanna hate you.” This would be one of those times, Angie.

Beware of singers named after pants. Chino chimes in on “Half A Chance” with a run of the mill Boys to Men voice (that’s why he usually a back up singer). The street cred and attitude in Angie’s voice missing in the past few cuts returns, as do her legions of back up singers, (this time its just Angie and Chino overdubbed to the max). The back ups do a bit of a head on collision before Chino returns with the wind chimes swearing his undying love while Greg Phillinganes turns up the syn strings. You’ve heard this kind of overblown urban ballad a thousand times before on “Showtime At The Apollo.” It’s the type of dramatic potboiler that’s better to watch live than listen to because you get to see the begging and pleading expressions on the singer’s faces. Listening to Chino say “conversate” is worth hearing, but only once.

Anything with James Ingram in the mix has potential, but “My People” is a fist in the air, flag waving farce. It starts off with a preacher pontificating to the masses: “My people, the foundation of the United States rests on my people…Every enemy of the United States has to meet my people on the front lines…” Whoa. A political stance. It’s great to have a sense of pride in one’s heritage, but will someone please write a good song for the brothers and sisters? One problem Angie has is she isn’t always clear when she sings, as if she’s been taking lessons in Esperanto from Macy Gray or borrowing a few pages from Amy Winehouse’s prescription pad. It’s more apparent when a singer like Ingram, who can still blast out ever syllable, takes the second verse. In case you miss the obvious (and you’d have to be in a coma),”My People” is Black History Month wrapped (actually rapped) up in the course of four plus minutes. A line up of school kids starts reciting the names of noted black figures in history, followed by a pair of rigid adults, who add their own list. The roster ends with Stone uttering… “Bill Clinton… That’s right I said it….Ya’ll know that he was the first black man in the white house.” Make of that what you will.

Never start off a record with phone sex if your speaking voice is as rough as an inmate doing life at Bedford Correctional, a mistake in vanity Stone makes on “Wait For Me.” Talking about edible underwear if you mutter like Rocky Balboa after the fiftieth overhand right to the chops ain’t sexy. Fortunately, Angie’s not nearly as scary when she sings. But this musical booty call still owes too much to Toni Braxton and never takes off.

Pauletta Washington, Denzel’s wife, is reportedly singing back up on the Stevie Wonderish “Happy Being Me.” Pauletta’s invisible, Angie, so you solicited the wrong Washington. Maybe there are still a few names Denzel can rattle off for “My People.”

Stone isn’t that unique unless she sings in a lower register, which she doesn’t do often enough, but the CD will sell on the merits of the rich arrangements and thickly layered vocals. Since Stone co-produced the album, she can take pride in ready made for BET performances of multi-instrumentalist Jonathan Richmond, guitarist Erick Walls, bassist Adam Blackstone and string synth master Greg Phillinganes. But there would be no love, only hate, if it wasn’t for the back up work of Portia Griffin, Chino, Jaunita Wynn, Thomas Seabrooks and Shamora Crawford (and Stone too). Next time out Angie, pay more attention to what’s going on in front of the mike. Sometimes Stone basks in the beauty of the background vocals too much and counts on them to bail her out – which they do expertly. But you come away knowing more about the vocal prowess of Wynn, Seabrooks, etc… than you do about Stone, who needs to decide if she wants to be Toni Braxton or Angie Stone. And please leave the chimes hanging off the porch next time, Angie. Overall though, Stone’s “Art of Love And War” will make peace with your CD player.

Posted February 17, 2008 Permalink

Al Jarreau

Al Jarreau Love Songs 2.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Now that Bobby Short has gone to that great piano bar in the sky and Johnny Mathis is content to live out his life on the golf course, we need an easy listening jazz/pop replacement.

Al Jarreau has won seven Grammy’s, and is the only vocalist to win the coveted award in three separate categories: jazz, pop and R & B. If that Al Jarreau, the who sings in the first half of the album was still performing I’d recommend him for another statue; but I’d like to slam the piano lid down on the vocal chords of the Al Jarreau who bee-bops, scats and gurgles his way through the second half of this set. Luckily, the theme song from “Moonlighting” is missing, but so are most of the Grammy award winning songs. It may be a blessing. I haven’t heard a lot of the award winners (“Look to the Rainbow,” Fly Home,” etc…) so they’re probably some insidious form of jazz. No love lost there. I certainly will stay waaaaay clear of Al’s version of “God Bless The Child,” a song I’ve permanently banned from my play list under penalty of human sacrifice. I don’t care if John Lennon, Jim Capaldi, Richard Manuel, Rick Grech, and Jim Morrison all rise from the dead and offer to play it in my living room with Chris Wood flying in on gossamer wings to share the horn section with Marilyn Monroe – I ain’t havin’ it.

Al’s “Love Songs” get off to a loverly start with “We’re In This Love Together,” from 1981’s “Breakin’ Away,” his most successful album. I have to admit I’d forgotten about this one, or should I say I’d tried to put it out of my mind when I first heard it. I was into prog rock at the time and this kind of feel good, chippy Toto stuff seemed silly and syrupy. With age (mine, not the song’s), comes acceptance and understanding of the intended sentiment. “We’re in this love together; we got the kind that last forever. We’re in this love together. Like berries on the vine, it gets sweeter all the time...” And I guess it does!

My father used to play Nancy Wilson’s version of “Teach Me Tonight” almost on a nightly basis. I can still hear him in the basement, sawing away at his latest home improvement project as the song played. I always listened for the moment when the record would skip, but I also loved Nancy’s school of hard knocks approach. Al’s got this down too but in a different manner, with a relaxed delivery, dance floor strings and mellow beeps on sax. The instrumentation is a little archaic, particularly the Fairlight, but his performance isn’t. Al knows when to amp or vamp up his voice. It’s a little scary that I made reference to Johnny Mathis before – in this case he really does remind me of the old duffer with the processed hair.

“So Good,” a #2 on the R &B charts in 1988, is delightful because Al’s phrasing is soooo good. Once again, the arrangement has early 80s all over it with George Duke’s Fairlight and saliva spewing sax solos straight from a Tim Curry send up. Ignore that and listen to the way Al modulates his voice. When the back up singers hook up with the piping sax, all they’re singing is “so good, so good, so good,” yet the ensemble blossoms with good intent and its apparent these folks are enjoying themselves.

“After All” is another forgotten radio favorite from 1984 that Al had a hand in writing with David Foster, who for better or worse salvaged Chicago’s career with a lot of really insipid ballads sung by Peter Cetera, (and when Pete left to count his millions, Jason Scheff hit the mike). Hate the plastic drum heads, but Al’s smooth vocal has a lot of class, and he’s singing this like he’s got a particular lady he wants to remember. If you like Boz Scaggs later day ballads (such as “Sierra”), you’ll like this.

“Wait For the Magic” has a slight Europe by way of Spain flair. The twinkling keyboards are a bit much; there’s gotta be a less cheesy way to indicate magic (how about a real harp?). But that aspect is a product of the time, and it’s live, so that’s a hell of a cost to incur for limited use of a delicate instrument. Gentle, romantic and entrancing, “Wait For The Magic” is a dance floor number, the kind that melts hearts. You play this at a wedding and even a stone hedonist like me would dance with your bucktoothed sister. Al knows how to draw a breath before, during and after he sings, the number one rule in the singer’s handbook – a text that guys like Mick Jagger, Steven Tyler and Brian Johnson apparently never read.

It’s interesting to see how Al fits his laid-back style into a well known standard like Elton John’s “Your Song.” The results are in Al, it’s still Elton’s song, not yours. Al over sings it. He’s too aware he has to change things up, so he tries more vocal tricks than usual, elongating and cannibalizing lines, tossing in some stream of consciousness scatting from the Spike Jones school of vocal sound effects, and getting just a bit too soulful: “This here song’s for you…” Huh? Where are we, Dodge City?

“Heaven and Earth” received a Grammy for best Male R & B Vocal Performance in 1993 – proof the judges have tin ears. “Heaven and Earth” is a honking signpost in the road where Al took the wrong turn and wound up on a street called overkill. Michael Narada Walden’s participation explains it all – he completely wrecked Steve Winwood’s album “Junction Seven” with his string synths and plastic production. I can’t listen to “Junction Seven” anymore because it sounds disingenuous and obsolete. Walden’s cocktail disco touch turns “Heaven and Earth” into a hellish ride.

With “Through It All” Al proves we’ve indeed entered Al’s pseudo jazz period.
A far less engaging version of “After the Love Is Gone,” “Through It All” leaves Al further buried in the mix of a lackluster piano bar bore.

Al and George Benson collaborated several times in the past, and for “Let It Rain” they enlisted Patti Austin’s name but not her talent. There’s a popping electric bass, tooting coronet and brief, distant fills by Benson furnishing Jarreau and co. with an expressive backdrop. But Austin’s nothing special and Al sounds lecherous, and both sound well past their primes. Sometimes whispered vocals are just not enough to provide intimacy. Benson doesn’t take a solo, so we don’t know if he’s got anything left either.

Al channels Edith Piaf in “Not Like This,” a musical funeral procession. This is why I run from jazz like Wesley Snipes from the I.R.S. You get a turtle-paced verse followed by a stumbling, sledgehammer section with rushed lyrics before the melody downshifts back to its original stagnant pace. I do “Not Like This.”

“Brite N’ Sunny Babe” was written by Jarreau, so if anybody should know Al’s strengths and weaknesses, it should be Al himself. He lets the drummer loose on the high hat and adds some buoying percussion, then feels the spirit. Indulgent, but better his later material.

When you tune into those Jazz lite radio stations, “Secrets of Love” will invariably be one of the songs they’ll play. It’s soothing, Sealy Posturpedic vocalizing without a hint of emotion. There’s nothing wrong with it technically, but it’s too slick, too layered, (and I tend to love overproduced stuff). It’s no secret what’s missing is the intimacy and the one-to-one connection between the artist and his audience. What you get sounds pretty, but it’s also snooze inducing.

You listening Bobby Short? “My Foolish Heart” is your brand of safe cocktail lounge music, with a dusting of piano, flamenco guitar, a loosely plucked upright and a little samba percussion. As for the scatting – Al’s flying blind, sounding as if he blowing bubbles in the bathtub through a straw just after the horse tranquilizers have kicked in. “My Foolish Heart” is okay if you get dinner by candlelight, a nice view of the Hudson and valet parking, but otherwise it’s faceless – and endless. You’ll dose off and wake up in your Fettuccini.

Young Al is to be appreciated, he’s more focused before the success went to his voice, before he decided to show off and try and tackle as many vocal challenges per song as possible. Age and over confidence marred his later work. It’s commendable that this collection spans Al’s career, but it doesn’t necessarily do him justice. The weak backend of his material from the 90’s on makes listening to the second half of the CD laborious, but there’s a lot to savor in the first half.

Posted February 17, 2008 Permalink

Jack Bruce and Robin Trower

Jack Bruce and Robin Trower Seven Moons 3.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

When is a super group not a super group? A) When there’s only two notable guys in it and more importantly, B) when they’ve played together before.

Axe god Robin Trower has made good on his initial Hendrixian influence, taking Jimi’s sound the next level, first as the underutilized guitarist for Procol Harum (they were, after all, a keyboard orientated band) then as a successful solo artist with a career spanning more than 20 albums. Anyone who still thinks Trower sounds like Jimi Hendrix never got beyond his second album, “Bridge of Sighs.”

As great a guitarist as Trower is (and I believe him to be in the top five), he’s cursed with a wan, worrisome set of pipes. (Mick Ralphs of Mott the Hoople and Bad Company has a similar girly man voice.) Trower attempted to bluff his way through 1997’s “Someday Blues” as a singer and shouldn’t have been surprised when the album flopped. Previously, he’d been blessed by his long and successful working relationship with James Dewar, a Scottish singer so soulful he sounded as if he was the love child of Ray Charles and Steve Winwood. The duo made eight albums together before Dewar’s propensity for high octane hooch got the better of him. (Trower then moved his axe over to Bruce.) Trower and Dewar reunited for 1983’s “Back It Up,” but were prevented from further collaborations when Dewar suffered a severe stroke. They’ll never work together again either, because Dewar passed away in May of 2002. After a period of vocal uncertainty, Trower recruited Davey Pattison, the former singer for guitarist Ronnie Montrose’s over bearing band, Gamma. Also born in Scotland, Pattison’s higher pitched nodes bring to mind Steve Perry without the self-pity. He’s played with Trower on and off since 1987, and is the closest Trower’s had to an identifying voice for his music since Dewar’s departure.

Jack Bruce has carved out a 40-year career as an operatic singer and master of the bass with the Graham Bond Organization and Manfred Mann (post pop hits), then as the voice for rock/blues giants Cream, and finally as a solo artist, recording 15 diverse albums. With his lyricist, Pete Brown, Bruce fashioned numerous FM radio staples, including “White Room,” “Politician,” and “Theme From An Imaginary Western.” He’d occasionally work in an ensemble, first teaming up with mosquito-paced percussionist Tony Williams and melody-challenged guitarist John McLaughlin to form the jazz impaired Lifetime, thus killing the momentum of his solo career, which would take, yes, a lifetime to rekindle. Shifting back to rock, he partnered with mountainous guitarist Leslie West and dexterous drummer Corky Laing to form the extremely loud – and horrible – power trio of West, Bruce and Laing (imagine calling themselves that). In 1994, after reuniting with ex-Cream nemesis Ginger Baker at his 50th birthday concert without benefit of house arrest, Baker and Bruce joined up with screech-athon guitarist Gary Moore for the one-off BBM (guess what the initials stood for). In 2005, Bruce, Baker and Eric Clapton reformed Cream for a lucrative series of packed houses that undoubtedly paid for Jack’s new liver.

(I was at Madison Square Garden for Cream’s last concert. The group played as one entity, but it was obvious from the lack of contact that they were still three very distinct players. Baker was controlled fury, a much better player than in the 60s and 70s when he was so wired he had to have his drumsticks taped to his hands; Clapton was flawless, but completely dispassionate, never making eye contact with his mates or bothering to look up at the audience. Like I said, he was good, but he mailed it in. If someone had told me it was a Clapton cardboard cutout playing, I’d have believed them. But Bruce was magical. His voice could still rattle the walls and he played his bass like he was getting paid per note.)

Of all of Bruce’s short-lived collaborations, there’s one that makes sense – as well as enthralling music, and that’s his partnership with Trower. The duo recorded a pair of albums, 1981’s “BLT” with former Sly & The Family Stone Drummer Bill Lordan (there’s that initial stuff again) and 1982’s “Truce” with Trower alumni Reg Isidore on drums (“Tr” for Trower, “ruce” for Bruce, nah, that can’t be it).

For “Seven Moons,” their third effort, Bruce and Trower collaborated on every song, something they hadn’t done for their previous efforts.

Trower’s instantly recognizable thick chording starts off the moderate tempo of the title track. Bruce’s voice is a bit shakier than usual, making him sound at times like Bert Lahr (the Cowardly lion in “The Wizard of Oz”), but that’s because they recorded the majority of this live, and let’s face it, Jack’s 64 and working on his second liver. “Seven Moons” is a slower, more cohesive version of West, Bruce and Laing’s ham-fisted and operatic “Out Into The Fields.” It’s an exotic postcard from “the land of the seven moons” with Trower’s liquid licks a welcome relief compared to Leslie West’s maximus volumeous playing.

“Lives of Clay,” the album’s highlight, is up second. Drummer Gary Husband plays like he’s stuck in the mud for much of the rest of the album, but for “Lives of Clay” he finds a funkafied groove, double timing his snare. One of Trower’s major talents is providing a rhythmic base for his soloing. For “Lives of Clay” he builds the tension using a threatening repetitive rhythmic structure similar to Chicago’s “South California Purples.” It’s the kind of riff you’ll find yourself humming later on. “Don’t have time to worry, Ain’t got time to waste. Keep thinkin’ ‘bout the future, while he’s standing at the gate. A change of heart, he let it slip away. He used a very precious thing, building lives of clay.” Add “Hands Of Clay” to Trower’s list of core classics such as “Daydream,” “Too Rolling Stoned,” “Victims of the Fury,” and “The Ring.”

Is “Distant Places of the Heart” a nod to Bruce/Brown’s “Deserted Cities of the Heart?”
In terms of its title, perhaps, musically, no. Bruce drags his vocal like a Bedouin slithering across the desert in the searing sun, while Trower’s solos hang heavy on the weight of his whammy bar. “Distant Places of the Heart” has merit, but I can see where Bruce’s syllable by syllable reading could make you want put some distance between your ears and this song. My guess is after a few sit downs, you’ll take it to heart.

Wisely, the trio kicks things back into gear with “She’s Not The One,” a four-speed, gritty assessment of a lady love. Husband has trouble finding a beat that matches Bruce’s regimented delivery and remains all over the place throughout. But Bruce’s vocal and Trower’s fiery blanketing riff’s cover Husband’s ineptitude and keep this from not being the one.

Trower remains in the forefront of “So Far to Yesterday” which struts with a hint of George Benson’s interpretation of “On Broadway.” Husband’s drumming style is still more intrusive than helpful, but Bruce’s thumping bass keeps the melody in order.

The off-key chorus in “Just Another Day” smacks of Bruce dipping his vocal chords in his dissonant jazz roots. Take your toe outta there, Jack. I don’t know where Trower keeps coming up with all these amenable, creative solos, but he seldom pulls the same trick twice. Trower yanks “Just Another Day” out of the stratosphere with a trippy 60’s solo that will leave you wishing you still owned a water pipe so you could reach the same transcendental plane he’s on.

Trower infuses “Perfect Place” with an impeccable dance floor rhythm, and the mistake prone Husband can at least concentrate long enough to lay down a soulful chop-block beat. Another highlight, the shoulder shaking beat of “Perfect Place,” helps ease Bruce into a daddy cool persona, his voice rising and falling like a rock and roll Barry White. A very natural, unforced performance. Perfect.

“The Last Door” is more of a straight forward rocker. Husband’s in his element, bashing out a driving beat, and Trower is economical, sharper with his solos with less hang time. You can almost hear him slicing the strings with his pick.

If you’re playing with Jack Bruce, you know you’re going to play at least one blues based tribute. “Bad Case Celebrity” is one of those heavy-lidded late night closers you’d hear in a six drink minimum, smoke filled loser’s lounge. “A bad case of celebrity. But how would I feel if this was happening to me?” It’s nothing new lyrically, but Trower quietly stretches out the limits of this basic blues tune with his pinpoint solos and fills.

Bruce’s voice quavers deeply in “Come to Me.” His disquieting tone and Trower’s channeling of Albert Collins says baby, do what I say, or I’ll make it hurt all the way back to your kinfolk. Bruce flavors his bass with a hint of Cream’s “Spoonful” as Trower rips into a fully loaded solo. It’s a troubling but remarkable performance.

“I’m Home” begins with a half-spoken Bruce vocal that indicates the narrator is frayed and feels fortunate to have made it to the sanctity of his hideout. It’s interesting that Trower juxtaposes Bruce’s neurotic vocal with a warm solo. A moody, depressing snapshot of solitary existence, “I’m Home” is just too creepy for its own good.

Overall, “Seven Moons” is the most consistent of the Bruce/Trower triumvirate. “BLT” and “Truce” have more memorable songs, but when a song doesn’t work, there’s no place for your offended ears to bail. On “Seven Moons” even weaker tunes like “Just Another Day,” “Bad Case of Celebrity” and “I’m Home” either have an expressive Bruce vocal or a memorable wah-wah wail by Trower.

The artwork is tres cheesy -- just a stretched out picture of the moon that looks as if it was pilfered from a first grader’s screen saver. The only thing that would have been more literal is if there were seven moons on the cover (I counted six). I know Jack Bruce looks like a skeletal husk of his former self, and Robin resembles a graying basket hound, but how about a picture of the band? This is the third Trower/Bruce release and what have we gotten? A bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich for “BLT” (and Canadian Bacon at that), a quartet of gnarled hands joining together in a gesture of peace for “Truce,” and now a telescope image of the Moon. Marketing, fellas, marketing.

Gary Husband (Level 42, Andy Summers, Gary Moore) is the weakest drummer of the trilogy. Reg Isidore loved his foot pedal and his funk, but was adaptable because he’d played with Trower before. Husband’s played with Bruce before, but apparently not enough to develop a musical language with him. He’s also played with John McLaughlin, which may explain why he occasionally play likes he’s in a search mode – you try keeping time to a guitarist who sounds like he’s testing a live transformer with a dentist drill.

Previously…

1981’s “BLT” (3 out of 5 stars) benefited from having the two best songs Trower and Bruce recorded, “What It Is,” and “Won’t Let You Down,” fall in order on the disc. “What It Is” is a slice of crunchy funk with Trower siphoning out a jerky rhythm. Bill Lordan taps into his Sly Stone experience and Bruce does some rock n’ roll popcorn on bass. (One huge advantage Bruce had over Dewar was his supreme bass playing. Dewar was at best functional, and at one point hung up the bass altogether in favor of Sly Stone alumni Rustee Allen. If you’ve ever seen any of Dewar in concert with Trower on Youtube, you’ll note he actually stops playing when he sings.)

Bruce’s vocal for “What It Is” is snarky and sassy: “I could have gone behind you, I always took your side. I would not break or bind you, you’re never satisfied.” Trower’s guitar glistens with windswept beauty on “Won’t let You Down,” with Bruce’s voice gracefully rising, diving and floating. “BLT” harbors a few other serviceable tunes, including the lustful and longing “Carmen” and the vigorous “Once The Bird Has Flown.” But there are also a number of abrasive attempts (the opener, “Into Money,” “No Island Lost,” and the final cut, the conveniently named “End Cut”) which leave Trower trying to maintain his instrumental voice as well as trying to leave Bruce enough room to make his own mark. Trower wrote the majority of the songs with lyricist Keith Reid, (Tower’s confidant from his days as Procol Harum’s guitarist) with Bruce chipping in late with one forgettable song, the tetchy “Life on Earth.”

1982’s “Truce” (3 ½ out of 5 stars) quickly followed on the heels of “BLT.” With Reg Isidore transfusing some serious soul on drums, “Truce” was a more listenable endeavor. The only glitch lay in the obvious differences in Trower and Bruce’s songwriting styles. At this point, Bruce was still collaborating with long-time lyricist Pete Brown. Bruce’s contributions (“Thin Ice,” “Fat Gut,” and “Shadows Touching”) were dense, jazz-influenced paradoxes that didn’t blend with Trower’s more melodious style of playing. In other words, they were bargain basement Bruce. But the Trower/Reid writing team hit its stride with the clipped “Gonna Shut You Down,” the sock on the jaw power of “Gone Too Far” and the fat chording in “Little Boy Lost.” Bruce’s ominous growl, Trower’s long lean on his wah-wah pedal and the addition of a fright-night Hammond turned “Take Good Of Yourself” into a successful blend of the two legend’s styles.

Jack Bruce and Robin Trower Solo

I’ll review some these releases in more detail at a later date…maybe. I’m leaving out a few releases here and there, such as live albums, greatest hits and recordings I haven’t heard, so don’t shake your finger at me, especially that middle one…

If You Don’t Know Jack…

Jack These Up….
A Question of Time (1989) 4 out of 5 stars – Rock luminaries Ginger Baker (drums), Vernon Reid (guitar), Nicky Hopkins (piano) and Albert Collins (guitar) make guest appearances. This was produced by Joe Blaney (Hey, I went to high school with this guy! Joe’s handled the likes of The Clash, Keith Richards and Prince.) Highlights are the sonically pleasing ballads “Only Playing Games,” “Flying,” and “Let Me Be,” plus the quirky Third World beats of “Kwela.” If you need some Bruce juice, this is the one.

Out of the Storm (1974) 4 out of 5 stars – Jim Gordon, perhaps the greatest and most tragic rock drummer of all time, guest stars on “Timeslip,” which inches along to Jack’s fat bass before Gordo kicks the band into overdrive. Other notable tracks include the tearful “Golden Days,” the chirpy and reflective “Into the Storm,” and the thick bottomed blues/rocker “Keep It Down.”

How’s Tricks? (1977) 3 ½ out of 5 stars – Bruce put together a studio/touring band that included power drummer Simon Phillips and prolific songwriter/keyboardist Tony Hymas. To prove it was a democracy, Jack let big-haired guitarist Hughie Burns screech out “Baby Jane,” one of the most banal songs in his catalogue. “Without A Word,” with its outer space synthesizers and “Lost Inside A Song”’s soft piano compliment Bruce’s operatic vocals. “Something To Live For” is explosive and inspirational, and the haunted, bassy “How’s Trick’s?” features some of Brown’s more amusing imagery.

Automatic (1983) 3 ½ out of 5 stars – Released only in Germany on L.P., this is super hard to find but worth the hunt. This is Jack’s sinister techno album with the robotic “Make Love” and “A Boogie,’ and the soaring “Travelin’ Child.” Think Devo with a brain and better vocals.

Harmony Row (1971) 3 ½ out of 5 stars – A transition album in which Jack successfully blended his jazzy aspirations with folk, blues, and rock, (sometimes simultaneously) with Pete Brown’s cryptic lyrics. Key songs include the brief opener, “Can You Follow?” with Jack solo on piano; “Morning Story,” with a Hammond coda that sounds like a rocket speeding toward the sun, and the tender “Victoria Sage” (“Ten fallings in love for you, and for you only two. Take care not to love too much, you might like the touch”). The closer, “The Consul At Sunset,” approximates a lazy pre-siesta in Mexico so closely that Jack’s mouth dries out. (You can hear him take a swig of water at the end.)

I’ve Always Wanted To Do This (1980) 3 out of 5 stars – Features some high profile musicians -- guitarist Clem Clempson (Coliseum, Humble Pie) keyboardist David Sancious (Aretha Franklin, Peter Gabriel) and Billy Cobham (George Benson, Deodato). Memorable tracks include Cobham’s skipping, romantic ballad “Wind And The Sea,” and ‘Dancing On Air,” which does just that thanks to Sancious’s zippy synths and Bruce’s bubbly bass.

Something Els (1993) 3 out of 5 stars – Eric Clapton resurfaces on a couple of tunes, including the mellow opener, “Waiting On A Word,” although you’ll have to bend an ear to hear him. “Willpower” is a thudding, confident anthem Jack undoubtedly used to juice himself up. Bruce surprises with “Ships In the Night,” a slick duet with Maggie Reilly, and adds another classic cut to his catalogue with the dramatic “Close Enough For Love.”

Songs For A Tailor (1969) 3 out of 5 stars – Jack’s adventurous first solo effort after the fist fights in Cream had ended. Bound by his contract to Capitol/Apple George Harrison is forced to use an alias, appearing as L’Angelo Misterioso. An amalgam of jazz, rock and blues, with some of Brown’s most quizzical lyrics, it’s not an easy listen, but contains Bruce’s penultimate solo track, “Theme From An Imaginary Western,” and the astronomical “Rope Ladder To The Moon,” which was covered in extended form by Julie Tippetts and Brian Auger.

Jet Set Jewel (1978) 2 ½ out of 5 stars – The album that wasn’t. “Jet Set Jewel” was recorded in 1978 but rejected by Bruce’s label, PolyGram, likely because “Maybe It’s Dawn” and the reggae flavored “Head Into the Sun,” the two most radio friendly compositions (both written by Tony Hymas), had just appeared on the latest Hollies album. It finally surfaced in 2003 when Jack’s catalogue was remastered on CD.

Hit the Road, Jack…

Things We Like (1970) 0 out of 5 stars – Jack’s sophomore effort is self-indulgent very bad jazz, featuring John “am I in tune yet” McLaughlin playing his guitar like a cattle prod, and the strangled goose honk of sax player Dick Heckstall-Smith. “Hcch Blues” is an accurate description of the noise these two produce, which will endanger your sanity with repeated listenings. This should have been called (yeah, you got it) “Things We Don’t Like.”

Shadows In The Air (2001) 1 out of 5 stars – If it ain’t broke, Jack, don’t try to fix it. Bruce reworks “Dancing On Air,” “Sunshine of Your Love,” “He the Richmond,” and “White Room” with a Latin flair until they sound like Ricky Ricardo at the Copa Cabana Club. A dreadful waste of guest stars Eric Clapton, Dr. John, and Vernon Reid (who never seems to guest on any of Jack’s good songs).

More Jack Than God (2003) 1 ½ out of 5 stars – More tripe than a fish market. Two excellent new songs, the acoustic based “Kelly’s Blues,” and the controversial “So They Invented Race,” are help captive by Ricky Ricardo Meets Jack Pt.2. There are more original tunes here than on “Shadows In the Air,” but Jack sure misses collaborating with Pete Brown.

Power of Trower…

Victims Of The Fury (1980) – 4 ½ out of 5 stars – A laudable meeting of James Dewar’s R & B vocals and Trower’s expressive wah-wah magnum cum laude playing. The stately “Roads To Freedom,” “The Ring”’s crunching chords, “Ready For The Taking”’s sublime peace, the compelling title track, and “Fly Low” make this Trower and Dewar’s crowning achievement. Jimi who?

Caravan To Midnight (1978) – 4 out of 5 stars – Downright funky. Trower’s soulful strumming pumps up “It’s For You.” Other standouts include “Out To Get You,” with its slashing soulful riffs, the calming grandeur of “Sail On” (with Dewar sounding very cosmic) and “Lost In Love” with Trower’s guitar fluttering like a butterfly’s wings.

In City Dreams (1977) – 4 out of 5 stars – Dewar shows his range in the delicate “Bluebird,” his Dean Martin swagger in “Sweet Wine Of Love,” and gets Bobby Blue Bland-ish in “Further On Up The Road.” Trower continues to generate harmonic forays with the Sly Stone stamped “Somebody’s Calling,” and the electric bolero “In City Dreams.”

Living Out Of Time (2004) – 4 out of 5 stars – Trower takes back center stage with his concise riffs (and the production quality is aces). “Sweet Angel” stomps and the relaxed “Another Time, Another Place,” fits Davey Pattison’s sneaky good vocal skills like silk P.J.s. “The Past Untied” is Pattison’s best performance with Trower, an affecting, world-weary ballad.

Twice Removed From Yesterday (1973) – 4 out of 5 stars – Trower’s solo debut, and an auspicious one at that. The opener, “I Can’t Make It Much Longer” builds with layered guitars and Dewar’s rumbling vocal, the closer, “Ballerina,” dances lightly as if on the head of a pin, aided by producer Matthew Fisher’s faraway organ work. (Fisher was Trower’s bandmate in Procol Harum and the organist on the penultimate “A Whiter Shade of Pale”.) Trower, freed from Procul’s classical style, displays the agility that got him compared favorably (for the most part) to the late Jimi Hendrix. Highlights include the war drum inspired “Man Of The World,” the spell binding “Daydream” (with a superlative, fiery solo at the end), and the foot-stompin’-ist version of “Rock Me Baby” ever recorded.

Long Misty Days (1976) – 3 ½ out of 5 stars – Trower’s finding himself, courtesy of Dewar’s smokey pipes and his own talent for strumming out funky vibes. The title track is one of his last and best Hendrix attack of a 1,000 guitar inspired ballads, but tracks like “Messin’ The Blues” and “Pride” owe more to David Ruffin and War than Jimi.

Take What You Need (1988) – 3 ½ out of 5 stars – Trower’s guitar playing is recessed in favor of Pattison’s voice and the more radio friendly material, but Pattison is comfortable in the spotlight, his voice soaring in the heartbreaking “Over You,” and oozes mellow soul in the closer “Love Won’t Wait Forever.” Trower gets to flex his Fender in the power rockers “Shattered” and “Love Attack.”

Back It Up (1983) – 3 out of 5 stars – Dewar’s last album with Trower has its extreme highs in the bumpy funk of the title track and the regal, flowing “River,” but there are also some unexpected extreme lows, such as the flat “Benny The Bouncer,” in which Dewar rasps/raps for nearly eight minutes.

Bridge of Sighs (1974) – 3 out of 5 stars – Yeah, this is the album critics talk about when Trower’s name is mentioned. There’s no denying Jimi’s ghost was in the studio with Robin when he was putting this together. It wasn’t until “Long Misty Days” that Trower was able to shed the Hendrix-clone tag and find his own style. Dewar’s ghostly vocal saves the sleepy “About To Begin.” “Too Rolling Stoned” is an eight minute riff party and “The Fool and Me” is one of Trower’s more ferocious tunes – a concentrated tsunami of sound that’ll make you want to learn how to kick axe the way Robin does. Jimi was an innovator, but often seemed at war with his guitar; Trower has tamed his sound, creating full-bodied, controlled soundscapes.

Passion (1987) – 3 out of 5 stars – “If Forever” is one of Pattison’s more emotional and unabashedly romantic performances. “Caroline” and “Won’t Even Think About You” demonstrate he was incorporating Dewar’s soulful spirit into his own performances.

20th Century Blues (1994) – 3 out of 5 stars – A lot of this was recorded live, bringing out the raw energy of Trower’s playing. He plays with a determination and purpose missing in much of his 90s material. Trower sustains every note in the bluesy “Extermination Blues” until your speakers vibrate, and vigorously squeezes the strings, creating a guitar assault in “Prisoner Of Love.” Trower’s guitar honks and barks in “Step Into The Dark,” a danceable up-tempo rocker, and his tight chords turn “Precious Gift” into another memorable ballad. Unfortunately singer/bassist Livingston Brown sounds as if he’s got ten pounds of sand in his throat – I love gravel throated singers (Mike Harrison, Joe Cocker, Rod Stewart) but not sandy ones. (Yes, there’s a difference between sandy and gravelly. Sandy sounds fake and forced. Give a listen to Dave Mason these days.) If Livingston had cleared his throat a few times this would have rated four stars.

Unplug These…

In The Line Of Fire (1994) – 1 out of 5 stars – Contains one of Pattison’s patented passionate vocals in “All That I Want,” and there’s equal sensual promise in “If You Really Want To Find Love,” but the rest is lunkheaded boogie in the check-your-brain-at-the-door tradition of Foghat.

Someday Blues (1997) – 1 out of 5 stars – We were forewarned that Trower would be handling the vocals for the first time since his days with Procol Harum. His wimpy chops are unbearable enough, but Trower also muzzles his sound, playing muddled, unexciting blooze.

For Earth Below (1975) – 2 out of 5 stars – The title track is a necessary throwback to Trower’s early psych sound. The rest walks a shaky path between ersatz R& B and rock. Trower was stretching out his sound, but he still hadn’t found a suitable style yet.

Roosevelt and Churchill, Ali and Frazier, Milli and Vanilli (well, maybe not that pair)…When legends meet, creative sparks ensue…and “Seven Moons” shines brightly.

Posted February 17, 2008 Permalink

Linda Eder

Linda Eder Greatest Hits 0.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

In her liner notes for her “greatest hits” CD, Linda Eder says she’s been accused of being a Barbara Streisand wannabe. In “Don’t Rain On My Parade” she’s more like a Lorna Luft wannabe. Her pipes aren’t as husky as Streisand’s but she’s got a powder keg for a voice (which often blows up). Eder can hold a note for longer than Atlas has held up the world, as exemplified by the window-breaker she lets loose at the end of the parade, but she defeats the effect by charging through the verses. Eder displays a girlish voice for “Parade,” kind of like Rachel Sweet, but Rachel was 16 in her heyday, so for a teenager, Elder’s a helluva singer. Too bad she’s an adult. Hard to believe she was on “Star Search” for twelve straight weeks and didn’t get the hook. She must be better at manipulating (or is it mutilating?) an audience than she is at altering her voice. After Eder’s vocal detonations you’ll cancel the parade.

“I Want More” was written especially for Linda! It’s second-rate “Tonight Show” fodder, like back in the day when Tommy Newsome subbed for Doc Severenson. Its stage show material performed at a breakneck speed, wordy, lung busting horn blaring hokum. You won’t want more; you’ll just want Linda to stop bellowing.

Elder says she didn’t like “Unusual Way” (From the musical “Nine”) until she did it, which is a ringing endorsement. She should trust whoever recommended she tackle this type of material more often, because it not only reigns in her excesses, you can get through this in one sitting. In the “Yeah, right” realm, Elder claims Streisand heard her version and copped it! Eder has the infuriating habit of trying to hold a note like Streisand until it cleaves your coconut like a freshly-sharpened axe. Because she’s about nine million octaves higher than Streisand, Eder’s more showy and torturous. The best part of the song is when Eder imitates a siren (the mythical kind, not an emergency siren, although she often resembles the later). In her siren mode she wails without spawning the same migraine inducing effect her singing voice does. She should lose the Kenny G sax tagalong too.

“Man of La Mancha (I Don Quixote)” has too many syllables for Eder to negotiate and too many opportunities for Eder to drive the recording levels into the red. Seriously, she hasn’t figured out that the more blustery and ear-shattering she is, the more her voice acts like an interrogator at Abu Grabe? And I take back the compliment I gave her about that mythical siren effect. Here she does it until she sounds like a four alarm blaze at a dynamite factory. I didn’t have a headache before I put this on, but I’m sure working on an aneurism or worse now. She says in the liner notes that people get upset when she doesn’t perform this song. Must be the folks from the School of the Deaf.

Stand back, Shirley Bassey. Linda blows more air than a Graf Zeppelin in “What Kind Of Fool Am I?” (from the show “Stop The World I Want To Get Off”). Linda says it feels physically good to sing it. It doesn’t feel physically good to hear it. She rumbles through the arrangement like a 1928 Porter on a flat tire. Can’t she sing one song without revving it up? Does her larynx have a speedometer that explodes if she goes below 55? If so, give me a brake – and a break.

Eder complains that her director removed “Bring On The Men,” a bawdy borscht belt belter from “Jekyll and Hyde” and replaced it with another song. Make a note – Linda’s right! Because she sings this more naturally than in her usual Speed Racer mode, this is at least passable. Linda does need to growl a little less to show her grit. Just sing, Linda. The lyrics, sung by a woman of ill-repute, are a scream: “I like to have a man for breakfast each day, I'm very social and I like it that way. By late mid-morning I need something to munch, so I ask over two men for lunch. And men are mad about my afternoon tease, they're quite informal, I just do it to please. Those triple sandwiches are my favorite ones, I'm also very partial to buns.” Some one named Leslie wrote the misogynistic lyrics. But fear not ladies, it was a man, Leslie Bricusse, Anthony Newly’s writing partner who composed the words, so don’t hate Linda for being the messenger, but you can hate Leslie for the message (if you must). I know why “Bring On The Men” was dropped, it’s resemblance to Mary Hopkin’s “Those Were The Days” would bring on a lawsuit. “Bring On The Men” is the first song on the CD that justifies there being a CD.

“Anthem” (From “Chess”) follows. What, no “One Night in Bangkok?” Linda says: “I’m a big, loud belter when I’m belting, and I feel very comfortable doing that kind of music.” Too bad I don’t feel comfortable listening to it, Linda. “Anthem,” with its regal Russian soundtrack isn’t really a belter, although it has one of those hold that note for half an hour endings. Listenable, but no thanks Czarina Linda.

Judy Garland’s “Over The Rainbow” is part the fabric of millions of adult’s childhoods. We all remember her singing it in the “Wizard of Oz” just before the twister hits. It’s sanctified ground. I said to myself, if Linda screws this up, I’ll send her over the rainbow the hard way. The arrangement lacks form, just some rambling piano and Linda’s voice somewhere over the septic field. Less bombastic than her usual Def Con 3 approach (at first), Linda still hangs onto notes long enough to create shock waves that could knock the Wicked Witch off her broom. The sparseness of the arrangement drains it of all effectiveness, because all that’s left is Linda’s B-52 of a voice. Eder is proud she did this in one take. You should have tried again, Linda.

With “Havana” (From…drum roll please, the musical “Havana”) we get loud Linda with a Latin flair. Eder seems to know one gear --- Speedy Gonzales. Por favor, lose the wind up growl. The middle samba with the brief Herbie Mann-ish flute aside is a momentary respite in a song about as satisfying as Davey Crockett facing down Santa Ana at the Alamo and realizing the key to the ammo room is still in Houston. (If you’re saying, “Huh?” it’s really unpleasant, okay?)

Breathy is better than bombastic, and so what if Linda really does sound like Streisand in “A New Life” (From “Jekyll and Hyde”). She’s a much better performer at a low octane, slower speed, because she’s forced to eschew the hand drill effect of prolonged exposure to her faster gate. She manages to reach the danger zone as the song peaks. Linda’s personal aside about the song is unintentionally hilarious – she claims she’s “…Gotten letters from people who were on the verge of committing suicide and they heard this song.” Must be a typo. They came from people who were on the verge of suicide when they heard this song.

“Vienna” was written for Eder’s first album to recognize her dad’s Austrian heritage. It has a majestic “McArthur Park” score. The orchestra should have kept Frau Elder in the dungeon a while longer and just played it out. Linda continues to feed me great straight lines in her comments about “Vienna.” “…If there’s another person in the room then all I start hearing is what’s wrong with it. I’m very harsh on myself.” Linda, you can’t help but hear what’s wrong with this. It’s you, helium lungs. And please, be harder on yourself. But no more trips to “Vienna”. We’ve had a generation’s worth of peace with the Europeans, let’s not start another world war by letting you perform there.

Eder says “Someone Like You” (from “Jekyll and Hyde”) was about somebody wishing that a person they loved could love them. You can actually hear the longing in Eder’s voice for the first two verses, then she does her megaton blast for the next half hour and all the tenderness and genuine emotion is drowned out in a deafening rush of endless air. Three quarters of song does not entertain.

Get out your spinach, ‘cause you’ll need it finish “I Am What I Am” (From “La Cage Aux Folles”). I had no idea Popeye was in “La Cage Aux Folles.” (Wait minute, Robin Williams was in “Popeye” and “La Cage Aux Folles.” Six degrees of Robin Williams?)

I’ll admit it, Linda. I’ve given you more time than I’d have given any artist I obviously don’t like because I keep looking at your fetching photos from your previous albums, but also because your liner notes keep feeding my reviewer’s engine. She says of “I Am What I Am,” that it’s another leading part a woman will never get to play. “I never hear anyone sing it. I guess it takes some ‘balls’ to really pull it off.” Really, kids, she wrote this, not me. She’s nuts, no pun intended. I’ve heard of putting your foot in you mouth, but this is going too far. Please give Ms. Elder the sack.

Elder prefaces “Something To Believe In” by commenting, “I have a huge gay following, which is wonderful.” Yes, she really said this too. I bet after hearing this song Linda has a better chance of becoming a float in the gay pride parade than being mistress of ceremonies, because “Something to Believe In” is completely different from the rest of this Broadway schlock. It’s a credible shot at being mainstream instead of Auntie Mame (or in the case of the rest of the album, Auntie Maim). This is Linda Elder doing her imitation of Cher’s “Believe” minus the vocoder manipulated vocal. WHY THE HELL DIDN’T SHE DO THIS BEFORE? The disco beat is a bit old hat, but there’s no overt blast furnace notes that last for a glacial age. She’s actually subdued and sounds like a singer instead of the Queen Mary coming into New York harbor.

Imagine Shirley Bassey’s final ear piercing notes in “Goldfinger” and you’ve heard every trick in Eden’s tunes o’torture. Here’s a woman who doesn’t need mace or martial arts to defend herself. Just point her maw, cue the orchestra and turn her up to eleven. I hear the emergency sirens at the Indian Point nuclear plant are on the fritz again. I think we’ve found a replacement.

Posted February 11, 2008 Permalink