Coffeerooms on Music

Listening to: the Neville Brothers "Yellow Moon". Summer!

2009-07-03T17:20:11Z

If ever a song contained the essence of a summer night, this is it. What a gorgeous, mind-swirling concoction this "Yellow Moon" is.

There is no part of this track that isn't delicious; from the perfect combinations (plural) of timbres and intertwining rhythms to the luxuriously spacious production.

This is the second track on an album of the same name. I'm reaching all the way back to 1989 for this, but there is no part of Yellow Moon, song or full album, that isn't fresh and exquisite.

If you don't have this one in your stash: you can sample the track or download the album here. or order the CD here.

Listening to "Rough Guide ... Music of Madagascar"

2009-06-27T21:52:59Z

Listening to "The Rough Guide to the Music of Madagascar".

Rich and delicious; an entire meal for the ears and the spirit. Fortunately the music slips into the ear easier than that dried-out title.

This actually is an academic overview of music found across the island -- a volume in the "Rough Guide" series. But, don't be thinking that the music is dry and academic. Oh, no.

The music is undoubtedly African and you will be tapping on everything that is handy, but this anthology is full of widely and even wildly different flavors. Some light and feathery, some as intricate and patterned as Chopin or Joplin and some as haunting as a solo fiddle on an Appalachian porch.

Thoroughly delightful and worth a listen.

Listening to Ana Vidovic, Classical Guitar

2009-06-19T14:51:10Z

Classical guitar music is a constant and always reliable music choice for me. There's always a ton of it on my iPod. This week I've been playing the newest addition to my stash: Ana Vidovic "Guitar Recital" and "Moreno-Torroba: Guitar Music, Vol. 1".

The latter features the mind-wandering series of musical paintings, "Castillos de Espana". These usually can put you into a daydream anytime, anywhere. The same is true listening to them here but the Vidovic style is so different from what I'm used to hearing -- both in performance and record production -- that it took a couple of listenings before the old effect kicked in. I was being forced to actively listen first, then I could flow with it again.

The differences in performance style and in recording techniqe stand out even more on the "Recital" album. Full of familiars of the guitar repertoire, there are no standard presentations here. At first there was a stick-in-the-mud reaction to the old friends being made so unfamiliar. Sometimes there is a reactionary struggle to figure out what the differences are or where they come from. Is it mature artistic style or youthful misunderstanding? Is it different equipment or a difference in the cultural ear, if you will, that creates that far away sound -- like the Segovia recordings of the 1950s?

But it doesn't take long at all to get over that reactionary silliness and just start enjoying the beautiful music. Purely enjoying.

Along with the albums on my iPod (available for download above, by album [a bargain] or by the track); there is a complete 2004 concert available for on-demand streaming from the Lincoln Center Millenium Stage archive. Find it, delightfully, here: http://tinyurl.com/mmgrro

Dusty in Memphis

2009-06-18T14:42:05Z

Dusty In Memphis
Original recording remastered
4.5 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

In the 60s and early 70s there were a number of striking female vocalists who didn't make great L.P.s but piled up the hits on 45s, including the effervescent Petula Clark, sassy Nancy Sinatra, wholesome Karen Carpenter, hippie queen Melanie, and "Lady Soul," Aretha Franklin. My favs were Christine McVie (of Fleetwood Mac), Bobbie Gentry, Julie Driscoll, and Mary O'Brien, aka Dusty Springfield, the English songbird with the beehive hair, raccoon eye make up and glittering evening gowns.

McVie's whisper was a warm refuge for romantics; Gentry had a suggestive southern sensuality, a husky hum of a voice that could charm a hoodoo; and despite her detached demeanor and mod model looks, Driscoll was sheer power and soul, England's version of Aretha. Then there was Dusty Springfield - classy and hypnotic with an effortless smoldering sigh that made men's loins melt. (Yeah, I know. In later years Dusty confessed she liked girls more than boys. Just because you don't have a shot, that doesn't stop you from being attracted to someone!)

Dusty began her career as a member of The Springfields with her brother, Tom. The folk combo scored a hit with "Silver Threads and Golden Needles" in 1962 before Dusty struck out on her own, scoring hits with "I Only Want to be With You" (1963), "Wishin' and Hopin' (1964), "You Don't Have to Say You Love Me" (1966) and "The Look of Love" (1967). Dusty's albums, however, mirrored the era - they were an uneven combination of hits, covers, embarrassing show tunes and smaltzy standards. Thanks to the emergence of FM radio (and primarily the popularity of The Beatles) the sales of long playing records became as important as single recordings, giving artists a 10-12 song platform for their personal thoughts. By 1969, it had been two years since Dusty's last transatlantic hit. Her career needed a boost, and she was yearning to make an album that reflected her love of rhythm and blues.

Atlantic Records sent Dusty to Memphis to record with their crack production team of Jerry Wexler, Arif Mardin, and Tom Dowd. The Memphis Cats, who'd backed Elvis, Wilson Pickett, and King Curtis on their records (guitarist Reggie Young, keyboard player Bobby Emmons, drummer Gene Chrisman, and bassist Tommy Cogbill), made up her well versed back up band.

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Perhaps the fact that Dusty had previously produced her own records was a factor in her apprehension. (Self production was an unheard notion for "girl" singers back then. Dusty refused recognition for her talents as a producer, saying it was in bad taste to toot her own horn.) Dusty wasn't used to being directed, yet was too shy to speak her mind. Years later, Wexler revealed he thought Dusty was nervous about intruding into an area she felt belonged exclusively to Aretha Franklin, and she was also intimidated to be working with The Memphis Cats. She was so panic-stricken by her surroundings that she froze at the mike. So Wexler pulled Dusty out of Memphis in the hope she wouldn't be haunted by the ghosts of Otis and the other immortal Atlantic and Stax artists. Despite the album's title, Dusty actually wound up recording her vocals in New York to a pre-recorded rhythm track, which caused another problem - she was used to recording live. Even after the album was dubbed a classic, Dusty remained humble about its critical success. Encountering Aretha in an elevator, she received an endorsing "Girllll!" from Lady Soul. But Dusty still felt Aretha's remake of "Son of a Preacher Man" was better than hers and used Aretha's arrangement in concert in stead of her own.

As I said, Dusty's head was in Memphis, but her body was in New York, but given the opening surge of strings in "Just A Little Lovin'" and Dusty's passionate entrance, you'd never know it. The orchestral accompaniment bounces along playfully with a touch of soul to remind you "Just a Little Lovin'" is supposed to be R & B. Drummer Gene Chrisman has that tight Roger Hawkins rap on his snare drumming that helps give the horn charts an energetic snap. Dusty's vocal is a tempting tease. Her phasing is unforced, polished, and the back up singers, The Sweet Inspirations, provide a melodious backdrop. (Time out for trivia: The Sweet Inspirations featured a singer named Cissy Houston -- yes, the mother of Whitney. The group backed up Elvis and Aretha, among others. They propped up Barbara Streisand on her only listenable tune, "Stoney End," and had a top twenty hit of their own with the hand-clapping "Sweet Inspiration" (what else?) in 1968.)

The album's second cut, "So Much Love" is more spiritual, a mix of gospel flirting with soul. Dusty tests her range with some sugary, heartbreaking high notes. When she sings, "I'm gonna love you for the rest of your days," it's the equivalent of watching the skies part and witnessing the sun burst through.

When you mention Dusty Springfield, the first song that comes to mind is "Son of a Preacher Man," a steamy, gritty slice of soul that would melt Lucifer's loveless heart. It's the penultimate example of Dusty's suggestive phrasing: "Billy Ray was a preacher's son, and when his daddy would visit he'd come along. When they gathered 'round and started talkin', that's when Billy would take me walkin'. Back through the back yard we'd go walkin', then he'd look into my eyes, lord knows to my surprise..." Backed by The Sweet Inspiration's self-assured testifying, Bobby Emmons' sweaty electric piano, Dowd/Mardin's swampy horn entries and Chrisman's pinpoint percussion, "Son of a Preacher Man" is a wanton, drool-inspiring come hither earful of erotica that'll bring any horndog to his knees.

Dusty's favorite song on the album was "I Don't Want to Hear it Anymore," by the then unknown Randy Newman. (It's mine too.) Like "Son of a Preacher Man" this is Bobby Gentry territory, a song about growing up barefoot, brokenhearted, and irresistible to the opposite sex. Bathed in Dusty's sultry smoked hickory range, the heart-on-my-sleeve imagery is an adult panorama about love gone bad : "Ain't it sad, said the woman down the hall, that when a nice girl falls in love...Ain't it too bad that she had to fall for someone who doesn't care for her at all." The forlorn reed and string arrangement brings to mind the loneliness of Tony Joe White's "Watching the Trains Go By" or his anthemic "Rainy Night in Georgia." Dusty liked "I Don't Want to Hear it Anymore" so much she took a flier on one of Newman's other hard luck hummer, "Just One Smile."

"Just One Smile" begins with Young softly stroking his acoustic and Dusty singing in such a fragile, breathy tone that it sounds as if her voice - and her heart - are about to give way. Then she lets loose with a compelling, heady chorus "Just one smile, pain's forgiven, just one kiss, now the hurt's all gone. Just one smile, to make my life worth living, a little dream to build my world upon."

With Tommy Cogbill nudging his bass and guitarist Reggie Young slipping in licks like a happy hummingbird, "Don't Forget About Me" is upbeat. The Sweet Inspirations push Dusty during the chorus and Chrisman continues to tap on his snare as if he's rapping out a message of love. Young's light touch on guitar also matches Dusty's cry-on-my-shoulder vibrato in "Breakfast in Bed," a languid ballad with tantalizing horns.

Dusty's choked up tone remains its own unique instrument. She repeats the about-to-crack trick with her voice in "In the Land of Make Believe." Working against a Ravel-inspired string arrangement, she whispers impossibly delicate and deceptively lengthy notes while managing to sound as lustful as she did for her version of Bacharach and David's "The Look of Love." Young adds an exotic sitar solo as melodic and mysterious as the instrumental break in The Boxtops "Cry Like a Baby."

Dusty may have a fragile delivery, but she uses it like a home run hitter - she never gets cheated when she takes a swing. Witness "No Easy Way Down," in which she effortlessly enunciates nearly every syllable as her voice descends and rises. In "I Can't Make it Alone," she fills her lungs with ache, regret and desperation creating one of the album's most affecting songs. Hard to believe, given Dusty's level of anguish, but "I Can't Make it Alone" was recorded with the heartache level turned up to eleven by the Vanilla Fudge. Lead singer and organist Mark Stein had a mammoth capacity for wringing every ounce of emotion out of a song, and his group's rendition is every bit as tear-stained as Dusty's.

Wexler convinced Dusty to record Michel Legrand's "Windmills of Your Mind," the type of stilted, overwrought movie theme style filler she'd used as filler in the past. The tip off that it was a stiff should have been the Hungarian dulcimer in the arrangement. "Windmills" sticks out from the rest of the album like an oozing sore and is as much an R&B tune as "Helter Skelter" is a ballad. Dusty was hesitant to record it. She should have stuck by her intuition and told Wexler he was out of his mind.

Rhino re-issued "Dusty in Memphis" on CD in 1992 with three bonus tracks: "What Do You Love," an outtake from the "Dusty in Memphis" sessions, Goffin/King's "That Old Sweet Roll (Hi-De-Ho)," which was retitled in reverse and became a big hit for Blood, Sweat & Tears, and Tony Joe White's "Willie & Laura Mae Jones." White's autobiographical tale of his poor black neighbors in Louisiana was tailor made for Dusty's velvety delivery and was a hearty follow up to "Son of a Preacher Man." In 1999 Rhino re-released the CD in a deluxe edition with 14 bonus tracks including songs produced by Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff, purveyors of the "Philadelphia Sound," as well as unissued songs helmed by Jeff Barry, a pop producer with the Midas touch who had guided Neil Diamond, The Monkees, The Archies, and Andy Kim. (The '99 version of the album is the one most readily available through the standard channels, including Amazon and CD Universe.)

Timing is everything. Dusty released her masterpiece amidst the height of hippydom, when art rockers like Yes, Traffic and Emerson, Lake and Palmer dominated the airwaves. "Dusty in Memphis" only reached # 99 in America and didn't even chart in her native England. But she could take consolation that "Son of a Preacher Man" - which had been turned down by Aretha Franklin - hit #10 on the singles charts.

Dusty's life after "Memphis" was a bit star crossed. She battled alcoholism, the decent of disco, sagging sales and her own sexuality. Her cameo on The Pet Shop Boy's "What am I Gonna Do?" (a #2 hit in 1987), reminded listeners of her vocal charms and earned her some long overdue recognition. Springfield went from Dusty to dust on March 2, 1999, succumbing to cancer ten days before she was scheduled to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. But "Dusty in Memphis" is a vivid reminder of her talent. Girllll!

Crosby, Stills and Nash - Demos

2009-06-17T17:06:17Z

Crosby, Stills and Nash
Demos
4 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Listening to Crosby, Stills and Nash's "Demos" is the equivalent of hanging out with the Wright Brothers when Wilbur looked up at bird and said, "Hey Orville, I've got an idea," or when Booker T. Washington complained, "Now what am I gonna do with all these peanuts? It's history, kids, a musical blueprint for a generation.

Nash has been the group's diplomatic driving force since the 80s. Whenever there's been a reunion of the combative trio, Nash has been the catalyst, the peacemaker. (Getting Stalin, Churchill and Roosevelt to play nice was an easier task.) Nash is also the group's archivist; he put together "Reflections (3.5 out of 5 stars)," his own 3 CD career retrospective, earlier this year, and co-produced "Demos." It may be his pet project, but Nash remains a team player - he and Stills are well represented and even the elephant in the room (Neil Young) makes a cameo appearance.

"Demos" could just as easily been called "Demos unplugged." Each member produced his own songs, and in most cases they accompanied themselves on acoustic guitar. The 12 cuts are a mixture of songs destined to appear on the first CSN album in 1969, the 1970 follow-up, "Deja Vu," or on one of the trio's early solo efforts. For folks who need something new, there's Stills' uncovered gem, "My Love Is a Gentle Thing."

Most of the demos are only a tweak or a time change away from the final version. Others, particularly Crosby's cuts, are noble embryonic efforts that ended up miles away from the original concept. The two cuts that ended up being most radically altered are Crosby's demos for "Almost Cut My Hair" and "Long Time Gone." "Almost Cut My Hair" still has Crosby's angry, kill the pigs rhetoric, but Crosby, all alone on acoustic, infuses the song with the same numbing, rambling jazz-folk shuffle beat that's hampered much of his solo work and makes his songs, however planned, sound as if they were conceived amidst a peyote induced revelation. (Crosby was influenced at an early age by jazz junkies Chet Baker and Gerry Mulligan. Unfortunately their detritus is reflected in his musings.) "Almost Cut My Hair" is the only poor performance, but the bare acoustic backing manages to show off Crosby's stunning vocal range. "Long Time Gone" is an example of Stills in his role as "Captain Many Hands." He plays guitar, bass and, surprise...drums! Stills doesn't have the subtlety of CSN's first percussionist, Dallas Taylor, but he's not a lifeless metronome either. Bashing the cymbals or double-smacking the snare, Stills lays the groundwork for the finished version's funky middle-finger attitude. Another interesting aside is the original second verse, which was rightfully deemed less compelling than the others and exorcised: "You can smell something burning, but you don't know who lit the fire. You can smell pavement getting hotter, you can see flames rise high."
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His voice full with the youthful soul of a Southern rebel, Stills is represented by early versions of "You Don't Have to Cry," "My Love is a Gentle Thing," "Singing Call," and "Love the One Your With." In its finished state on the first CSN album, "You Don't Have to Cry" was a powerful testament to the trio's tight harmonies. In its earliest stage it's missing a verse, but it's still a tour-de-force for Stills' matchless picking and syrupy delivery. The rare cut "My Love is a Gentle Thing" is moody, personal; and with Stills impassioned singing, it's a great reason to buy the CD.

Scratched out on acoustic guitar, "Love the One You're With" is still a naughty musical aphrodisiac, close in its free wheeling execution to CSNY's live version on "Four Way Street." "Singing Call," which finally got the call when it showed up on Stills' second solo album, finds Stephen still messing with his cowboy imagery and phrasing, but nevertheless, it's a riveting tune and should inspire you to give the emotional final version a spin. If you pick up "Stephen Stills 2," listen closely for Dallas Taylor's rim shots and Crosby and Nash's soaring back ups.

Nash steps up with "Marrakesh Express," "Sleep Song," "Be Yourself," and "Chicago." "Marrakesh Express" arrives almost fully formed, minus Stills' crisp electric guitar, and Hammond carpet backing. (Stills is still present on bass.) Despite missing Dallas Taylor's shuffling beat, the song chugs along pleasurably, propelled by Nash's acoustic. Crosby's on hand to provide harmonic support. "Sleep Song" and "Be Yourself" and "Chicago" would turn up on Nash's excellent first solo record, 1971's "Songs for Beginners."

"Sleep Song" is hushed perfection, ideal for a single guitar. "Be Yourself" has some interesting first take lyrics and shows Nash was wise to add a roomful of singers to the final version in order to fill out the rather repetitive chorus. The altered piano figure during the last verse in "Chicago" will give you an idea what Nash was trying to pull off live on "Four Way Street." (He wound up hitting a few bad notes. No bad notes on the demo!)

Thankfully, Neil Young only appears on one cut, "Music is Love," which eventually found its way to Crosby's first solo album, "If I Could Only Remember My Name." It's not that I don't respect Neil, I think he's a decent solo act, but as a member of CSNY I cringe whenever I hear his ferret-like harmonies or his axe murdering on electric guitar. Besides, Neil has his own ten CD/DVD demo/live/unreleased collection out - talk about overkill!

The only collaboration between Crosby, Nash and Young (Stills was working his own solo album at the time), "Music is Love" is a hippie anthem for San Francisco free love and peace contingent. The demo yields a few surprises. The trio sings the first verse together; the finished version had Crosby out front on his own. All three are singing high harmonies; since nobody's handling the bottom part it's not CNY's best moment, and you can thank Mr. Ferret for the initial shaky beginning, but Nash and Crosby soon bring the vocals back to an even keel. A few other factors were tightened up in the final version - Nash and Young stole the tape from Crosby and added watery vibes and congas to give the message of the song a transcendental feel. (Crosby later recalled: "They gave it back to me and told me 'It's going to be on your next album, don't give us any sh**.' I learned a long time ago not to argue with Nash and Neil.") The demo extends the guitar fade out against Nash's enthusiastic hand percussion (okay he just claps). It's a very nice nearly there version that was tightened up on Crosby's album.

So heed CSN's singin' call; hop on the Marrakesh Express and get "Demos." You don't have to cry; it'll stir up pleasant memories that are a long time gone and give you a fulfilling sense of deja vu. "Demo's" proves CSN's music is love.

Listening to the Stax 50 -- R E S P E C T !

2009-06-16T14:00:55Z

The sky was a dreary this morning. Needed something to kick it into gear. Turn it up. Bring on the Summer!

Oh man; this is it. A huge stash of finger popping, foot moving hits from Stax records. It's just glorious. Just glorius.

Otis Redding: Respect; Sam and Dave: Soul Man; Carla Thomas: Gee Whiz; Booker T & the MGs: Green Onions; Jean Knight: Mr. Big Stuff.

All songs that make you smile when they come on the radio.

If your day has turned cloudy, reach for this one.

It's a good deal too: two discs with 50 tracks is $14.99 at Amazon for either the CD Stax 50th Anniversary Celebration or downloadable complete album. It's also available as downloadable MP3 singles, but the album is the deal. The singles at $.99 each or the entire 50 track downloadable or CD for $14.99. Take the album and dance.

Listening to "Carolina Chocolate Drops"

2009-06-15T15:50:25Z

It's a pretty day here and perfect for listening to the ol' timey banjo and fiddle of the "Carolina Chocolate Drops".

I have to pick and choose among the cuts as, to me, it seems like there's only about half an album here. But when you find the cuts you like, its a sunny, fun delight.

The first 5 cuts are almost identical in sound and feel, so just pick the one you like. There's a twist or two in there, so don't skip over them just because of my moaning. For the fun of it catch the "Them Changes" riff, as a banjo-&-fiddle two-step pulled out of "Little Sadie".

Once you get past the first five -- and pick out one of those that you like -- you come to some different stuff. A capella "Little Margaret" is sweet and plaintive and pulls on you like soft summer humidity.

On the album it's a strange but happy seque that brings an instrumental version of "Dixie" that sounds like John Hartford may be ahaunting here. That's worth a play anytime.

The rest of the album has a couple more hits and a couple more repeats of the earlier frailing, stomping dance-round-the-fire thing that the band loves so much. But, pick your favorites from the bunch for download from Amazon or iTunes and you're gonna have a nice time.

Playing For Change: Songs From Around the World

2009-05-09T23:42:31Z

Playing For Change
Various Artists
3 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

"Playing for Change" is a multi-media movement created to inspire, connect and bring peace to the world through music. A heady notion to be sure, but the world music created by the more than 100 participants will indeed rock your world. Producer and Executive Director Mark Johnson enlisted the help of musicians from the U.S., South Africa, Europe and Asia to construct the 10 track CD, and filmed many of the principal players live, recording them on street corners, in parks, and even on fire escapes.

The eclectic collection of world rhythms opens with the umpteenth version of Ben E. King's "Stand By Me." King's barking, melodramatic original was given the royal treatment with arcing (or was it aching?) strings. Frankly, I've never stood on the same emotional path that King's devotees have, so I've been at a loss to understand the song's attraction. John Lennon was my favorite Beatle, but I found his version hollow; he was just parroting Benny. Well, I've finally found a take that speaks to me on an emotional level. Since "Stand By Me" is an American pop classic, this rendition centers around a couple of street musicians based in the U.S. Roger Ridley's spoken intro let's you know his words come from his heart: "This song says no matter who you are, no matter where you go in your life, at some point in your life you're gonna need somebody to stand by you." Ridley, a bear of a man, sings the opening verse with the same gritty growl as Howlin' Wolf. As the second verse rolls around, New Orleans based bluesman Grandpa Elliot takes over. Elliot's delivery is a throwback to his peers from the Delta, circa Huddy Ledbetter. When Ridley and Elliot join together, it's like listening to a living chapter in the story of the blues; their styles may differ, but they blend together as if they've been sharing the same stage since birth. Give Mark Johnson a hand for a seamless editing job. The singers were thousands of miles apart when they were recorded.

Clarence Bekker of the Netherlands takes on the third verse. Bekker is a shouter, a modern day Wilson Pickett without the police blotter baggage with an abundance of oomph. "Stand By Me" begins to stagger a bit when the noticeable thunder of The Twin Eagle Drum Group sounds in the background. This is soul, guys, not a night at the sweat lodge. Other third world elements seem shoehorned in order for Johnson to justify his international roster. Dimitri Dolganov is certainly an accomplished cellist, but South African singer Vusi Mahlasela's brief tuneless cameo and the speaking in tongues contribution made by the Sinamuva singing group are incongruous and unnecessary. Ridley's performance stands alone, and "Stand By Me" rises of the strength of his stirring vocal.
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Oh no, is that Bono singing along with the crowd in "War/Trouble No More?" For the sake of world peace, I wish it wasn't so. What a surprise -- he sounds overblown and out of place. A fiddle slides in for a solo and it has the same affect of listening to Papa John Creach play with Hot Tuna. You'll initially think, "Jeez, this doesn't fit," but it's the type of gutsy move that you'll come to appreciate. The bubbling bass and hopping percussion hold the beat, and despite Bono's self-important ego stroking, "War/Trouble No More" is an impressive blend of styles and cultures.

Peter Gabriel's original version of "Biko" had more power than the one assembled for "Playing For Change" and thus, more effect, but suffered from Gabriel's heavy-handed anxiousness to hammer home his point. The new take sounds more genuine, but is a bit more wishy washy, drained of its riot inciting intent. If Steven Biko had been forced to rely on this message to spring him from incarceration, he would have pinned a new calendar on his wall.

"Don't Worry" is a jaunty, off the cuff street sing-a-long that combines New Orleans, Reggae and African rhythms. (Phew! Don't worry. It's not that stupid "Don't Worry, Be Happy" song done by Bobby McFerrin). Israeli artist Tula, who solos without shame, has a voice that's more painful than Novocain-free root canal. If Mark Johnson had cut Tula and the wailing women of Sinamuva, "Don't Worry" would have been inspirational.

Tracey Chapman's protest folk "Talkin' 'Bout a Revolution" gets a South African make over by Afro Fiesta fattened by waves of congas and a cumbersome translation into native tongue. It's got a heavy dose of Shaka Zulu traditionalism that keeps it from being completely listener friendly. Still it's more tuneful and hopeful than Tracey's dirge-like original, which was downright riveting.

Keb Mo' is a younger version of Taj Mahal, a roots bluesman with a large dose of soul who's a natural on the guitar. His spotlight tune, "Better Man," struts with confidence and a memorable ear worm chorus. "I'm make my world a better place, I'm gonna keep that smile on my face, gonna teach how to understand, gonna make myself to be a better man." It's so catchy you'll forgive the banjo solo.

One of the best songs is followed up by one of the worst. "Chanda Mama" is an accordion driven Third World wreck that sounds like carnival time in Brazil one moment and the soundtrack to a badly dubbed Japanese sci fi flick the next. It's a multi-cultural mess.

Listening to pre-pubescent urchins praising the Lord in song can be as much fun as canasta night with the nuns of St. Mary's. Try and paddle your way through the first verse of "Love Rescue Me" by Ireland's Omagh Community Youth Choir without reaching for the rye. It's sung by a high-pitched leprechaun with a sonic shillelagh to grind - fortunately the entire chorus quickly joins in to rescue the performance. The kids start to swing a bit more but still seem to be holding back, settling for a Catholic School choral gathering rather than the goodtime gospel feeling they were heading toward. Nice job, but feel free to kick it up a notch next time, kids.

Written by Sam Cooke, "A Change Is Gonna Come" became a rallying cry for the civil rights movement in the early 60s. The gospel/pop pioneer didn't live long enough to see the promise his song talks about. Cooke died a senseless, seamy death in 1964. (He was shot in his underwear at a hotel in the midst of a tryst). Although Cooke sang it with passion (the lyrics reflecting his own encounters with prejudice), subsequent covers have either been heavy-handed (The Neville Brothers) or maudlin (The Band). In other words, it packs an important message, but isn't a particularly good song.

The latest rendering of Cooke's classic by the Playing For Change Band features the thunderous vocal of Clarence Bekker, who puts the same energetic charge into the song that Otis Redding did. The next verse is taken by old school singer Grandpa Elliot who nearly holds his own with his shaky, Moms Mabley delivery. The song would have been more effective with Bekker singing it solo. I still don't like the song very much, but Bekker's conviction is impressive and it makes an effective capper to the CD.

Stand By the DVD...

The CD/DVD package features spontaneous performances of five songs plus the documentary "The Playing For Change Foundation" and the "Peace Through Music" film trailer.

If the Foundation wants to promote its program, they need look no further than the video for "Stand By Me." Watching husky Roger Ridley rip into his acoustic guitar in front of an enthusiastic gathering in California, witnessing blind Grandpa Elliot bob and weave, and watching the chords on Clarence Bekker's neck stand out as he emotes enhances the trio's performances; you can see the music coursing through them as they sing. (But please, somebody get Grandpa Elliot an upper plate!). The video for "Stand By Me" is dare I say it? Uplifting. Mission accomplished.

"One Love" is set up by an Indian musician (I didn't catch his name, my bad): "Through music we get enlightenment." Vusi Mahlasela proves to be a big man with a gentle heart, a light voice and the ability to make his voice click like he's got peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth. Guitarist Roberto Luti looks like a rock star and plays like one.
Tula is Israel's answer to Alanis Morisette. Unfortunately the question is "Who bays like Alanis Morisette?" But she does have a very forgiving visual presence that will distract you from her Tarzan-like delivery.

The other videos continue the routine of filming the participants as they record their parts. David Broza's rapid fire acoustic intro for "War/No More Trouble" is best appreciated when it's seen as well as heard - no, they didn't speed up the film! Unfortunately, too much is made of Bono's appearance. Lurching, swaying and screaming as if he's standing in the unforgettable fire, Bono's pompous intrusion is plenty trouble for "War/No More Trouble." Bono's countrymen, the members of the Irish Youth Community Choir, easily outperform him, and they do so without posing like a plastic rock god who's waiting to be praised.

Clarence Bekker's worrisome collapse from impressive soloist in "Stand By Me" to out of touch and out of tune screecher in "Don't Worry" is captured on film as well. But if ever there was a case of being seen and not heard it's Tula. Tula is an international ingénue, but her gasping, gaseous, gaping groans dismantle both "Don't Worry" and "Chandra Mare." And talk about being willing to sacrifice for your art - check out a smiling Junior Abata playing a full drum kit on a fire escape the size of a shoe box.

"Playing for Change" will help alter the way you look at world music. You'll wanna say toodle-de-do whenever Tula airs it out, but watching and listening to the other players as they immerse themselves in the music is really what the program is all about, and little of their emotional intent is lost in the translation. As Roger Ridley might say, you can stand by "Playing for Change."

Genius! The Ultimate Ray Charles Collection

2009-05-09T23:19:24Z

Ray Charles
Genius! The Ultimate Ray Charles Collection
4.5 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Genius is a designation that shouldn't be thrown around lightly. The Beatles? No doubt. The Rolling Stones? Debatable. Johnny Rotten and Elvis Costello would like you to think they're geniuses, but the fact that they keep talking about themselves in that vein casts serious doubt. The word has cropped up when talking about Traffic, The Moody Blues, Tony Joe White, Gordon Lightfoot and The Band. (I know because I've used it to describe their music!)

There's another legendary artist - Ray Charles - who was so respected by his peers that one of his albums was actually titled, "The Genius of..." The late Brother Ray didn't write many songs, in fact his best known material was hand picked, but he was a masterful singer in the same manner that Eric Clapton is considered a god on guitar or Steve Winwood is referred to as the King of the Keyboards.

The 21-cut remastered "Ultimate" CD is the most comprehensive collection of Charles' music ever assembled. The overall sound is thinner (many previous compilations were very bass heavy), but it's cleaner. The nuances in Ray's voice come across better than before whether he's being suggestive, soulful or sorrowful. The back up singers, particularly the full court choral caucuses in "Georgia on My Mind" and "You Don't Love Me" are more distinctive and less mushy than in the past.

What may surprise listeners is the plethora of country songs. One of Ray's biggest albums was 1962's "Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music." There aren't many black artists who've successfully mixed together such extreme genres as country, blues and R & B. One guy who comes to mind is Hootie (whose wimpy bombast I hate anyway). Charlie Pride leans way south of country, and Muddy, B.B. and Taj Mahal stirred their blues with soul. Ray was versatile, so much so that he could take patriotic pap like "America the Beautiful" and make anarchists stand up and salute; so making country sound good was as easy for him as sucking the meat out of a crawdad.

The Stuff of Genius...

"Hit the Road Jack" is one Ray's penultimate and most beloved romps. Written by ill-fated blues singer Percy Mayfield, the two-minute stomper hit #1 in 1961 and earned Ray a Grammy for Best R&B recording. The Route 66 horn section wastes no time in amping up a free wheeling beat, as Charles' back up singers, The Raelettes, particularly sassy soloist Margie Hendricks, forcefully suggest that Ray take a one way hike. The call and response between Ray and the girls is a heavyweight bout, with the Raelettes landing low blows and Ray screaming in rebuttal like a cat caught in a fan belt.
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The horn section blasts a bedraggled beat in "Busted," with Ray's bemoaning vocal capturing the narrator's cashed out state of mind. I've got the flat busted blues baby, but it sure sounds good.

"I Can't Stop Loving You" is another one of Ray's signature tunes. The irony is he's backed by one of the most vanilla (maybe "square" is a better term) choral groups you'll ever hear. (Time out for Trivia: Despite popular belief, the choral group backing up Ray was not called "The Ray Charles Singers." They were assembled by another Ray Charles,(who was not necessarily a genius). The other Ray was a conductor whose aggregation of studio singers backed up the likes of Perry Como and had a hit of their own with "Love Me With All Your Heart" in 1964.)

I've never figured out how a singer so immersed in soul and R & B could so seamlessly meld his style with country music, but Ray did. "I Can't Stop Loving You" was another #1 and a Grammy winner. The butterfly-wing strings in the background are as inviting as a warm summer wind, and there's a new twist to the call and response routine when the chorus takes the lead, easing into the lyrics, with Ray responding to them ("Sing the song, children").

"Sticks and Stones" may be more familiar to listeners through Joe Cocker, who recorded a version for his "Mad Dogs and Englishman" album. No surprise - Joe was a huge fan of Ray's, and both he and Spooky Tooth's belter Mike Harrison can seemingly channel Ray's spirit at will. "Sticks and Stones" tells the story of a man who's been battered and abused, and Ray's punchy tone tells the listener he's ready to fight back. You may break a leg trying to dance to the bustling beat, but Ray's performance is rock solid.

Ray does some blues wailing in the gospel influenced "Drown In My Own Tears." It's not a well known song in his catalogue, but it should be. The horns punctuate every downbeat and Ray rips his throat to pieces during the verses. He's not just drowning in his tears, he's completely engulfed in his sorrow. Feigning singers like Chris Cornell and Scott Weiland should be force fed "Drown In My Own Tears" before being allowed to step in front of a mike again.

Ray does Ricky Ricardo in "Unchain My Heart," which mixes samba with soul. And guess who does a version that more than holds its own to Ray's? No, not John Belushi. Joe Cocker. David "Fathead" Newman does a credible restrained sax solo and the Raelettes are on board to put plenty of tease in the background. "Fathead," who got his nickname from his high school music teacher because he couldn't read music, died this past January. He was an original member of Ray's band and played with him for a dozen years, rising to the position of star tenor sax soloist.

If there's one song that's identified with Ray Charles, it's "Georgia On My Mind."
"Georgia" was co-written by Indiana native Hoagy Carmichael (who also composed "Stardust" and "Up A Lazy River"). Even if you've never been south of Jersey City, the way the strings gently sweep in will capture your heart, as will Ray's vocal, which builds to a yearning wail. There have been dozens of credible follow ups, including a moving version by Steve Winwood when he was all of 15 and a member of the Spencer Davis Group, and a version cut by The Band with Richard Manuel on vocals that's heartbreaking for all the wrong reasons. (Manuel's voice had been ruined by alcohol by the time The Band cut the song in 1976. Manuel admitted he over sang it, and said he would've done the song justice if they'd recorded it earlier in the group's career.) I have to admit a personal attachment to "Georgia" because it was one of my father's favorites and it reminds me of him: "Other arms reach out to me, other eyes smile tenderly. Still in peaceful dreams I see, the road leads back to you. Georgia, Georgia, no peace I find. Just and old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind." How good is "Georgia On My Mind?" It's Georgia's state song (even though lyricist Stuart Gorell was writing about Hoagy Carmichael's sister). Sit back and immerse yourself in "Georgia's" melancholy cocoon.

Ray copped a writing credit for "I've Got A Woman," a jump beat mumbler which he co-wrote with trumper player Renald Richard. It opens with a preacher's call by Ray before launching into a jazz propelled middle section.

The country cud classic "You Are My Sunshine" gets one of the more startling makeovers. Instead of a sappy, homespun version the likes of which might be found at the Ohio State Fair, Ray saturates this version was hard-hitting soul, letting one of the Raelettes belt out the second verse, and her heart contribution is hotter than July.

Castinets, war-drum tom-tom work and an easy going vocal separates "Hide Nor Hair" from "Unchain My Heart" but just barely. The pace is a bit slower, but there's no mistaking the two tunes are very similar in structure. Hank Crawford bursts out of the boiling brass background with a solo on alto sax, and the lyrics are more biting and cynical than Ray's typical fare.

One of the first hits for Ashford and Simpson was Ray's version of "Let's Go Get Stoned." The irony here is that Charles recorded the song after conquering his heroin addiction. (Okay, back then getting stoned meant getting drunk, but we're still promoting a form of self abuse here.) By the way, Ray's singing diciple from Sheffield England, (yeah Joe Cocker) does a sloppy good version of this one too on "Mad Dogs and Englishmen." "Ain't no harm to have a little taste, but don't lose your cool and start messing up the man's place. Ain't no harm to take a little nip, but don't you fall down and bust your lip."

"You Don't Know Me" was a haunting ballad penned and originally sung by Eddy Arnold, the clean cut country crooner who passed away last year. Ray's version once again demonstrates his natural talent for blending his emotional style with elements of easy listening and country. Atmospheric credit must be given to the swaying strings and the Not-That-Ray-Charles Singers, whose willowy background vocals produce a heavenly spectrum of sound.

An unexpected gift on "Genius" is a live recording of "Hallelujah I Just Love Her So." A reworked gospel hymn, the live version features a jazzy solo by Don Wilkerson. The rest of the horn section is bit more "Tonight Show" slick than gritty, but every note crackles with electricity. The studio version is better, but there's a loose limbed love in Ray's delivery and he sings with jovial ease. A gruff, game version was recorded live by...Joe Cocker? No, Humble Pie, for their breakthrough album "Live At the Fillmore." Their version featured bassist Greg Ridley taking the lead vocal instead of broken-glass-in-the-throat vocalist Steve Marriott. (Ridley was formerly the bassist for Spooky Tooth and played with Mike Harrison, who as I said, idolized Ray Charles. See how this all fits together?)

You can fit all the country artists I like on the prong of a pitchfork. One of the hayseeds to sneak through would be Buck Owens, well, at least the half dozen songs I've heard him do. If you're familiar with Buck's dejected version of "Crying Time," then Ray's take on it will depress the hell out of you too. Don't know who the singer is doubling up with Ray on the lead, but she knows how to cry the country blues. "Here We Go Again" similarly mixes gospel with country. Raelette Alex Brown backs Ray on the vocal as a throaty Hammond organ sweeps across the speakers, mixing with Ray's dancing piano fills.

The only instrumental on the CD is the succulent "One Mint Julep." Ray leans into the organ, and the horns, charted by Quincy Jones, are as aggressive as the blasts of brass in "Peter Gun" or the horn charts of a baudy James Bond sound track. You can hear bits of Jimmy Smith and a hint of where Booker T. may have developed his style of playing in Ray's lighthearted solo.

Hit the Road Jack...Even Geniuses Make Mistakes

If an artist sticks around long enough, they go through a fallow period when they can't write, or success and excess makes them think everything they record is sacred. By the time Ray recorded "America the Beautiful" in 1972, his hit making days were well behind him, but he'd attained his legendary status through his live performances. At the risk of sounding unpatriotic, but I've always felt Ray's version of "America the Beautiful" was excessive and was praised just because it was Ray doing it. Guess I'm one of those folks who believes rockers and R & B singers should shy away from anything concerning the stars and stripes. Leave that stuff to John Wayne and The Boston Pops. I remember being impressed with Joe Feliciano's Latinoized version of "The Star Spangled Banner," not because it was particularly good, but because he had the stones to do it live on TV and it spoke to the young people in a nation then galvanized by the Vietnam War. When Rosanne Barr did her crotch-grabbing, salvia spurting version, even the anarchist in me was not amused. Ray's version leans more toward Jose's direction. It's designed to inspire appreciation and pride, rather than jingoism and world dominance. There's no doubt Ray's vocal is filled with passion, I just think there's just a bit too much show biz glitz in it.

When one genius takes on two, the results are seldom in the individual's favor. The theory applies to Ray's version of "Yesterday," credited to John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Ray taps into his strengths -- his immaculate sense of cadence, as well as his soulful delivery. Unfortunately, his pounding, forceful version cleaves the memory of Paul McCartney's teary-eyed string-laden original so cleanly away that all the sentiment is lost. Ray's tries too hard and sounds more like a Borscht Belt comedian doing an imitation of him than the real thing. Ray's version of Eleanor Rigby? Now that's interesting, but I've never heard a wholly bad version of the song. Rare Earth, The Ides of March and Aretha Franklin have all spun credible and incredible renditions of their own. But when it comes to "Yesterday," you can't top The Beatles, so don't try so hard. I believe in yesterday, Ray, and I think you should have left it alone.

"Take These Chains From My Heart" is a minor league "I Can't Stop Loving You." It doesn't work because Ray is pushing the format; he sounds like a soul singer imitating a country singer instead of a performer trying to carve his own niche. The soul/country mix is a bit wrong too, it's 75% country, 25% soul rather than an even split. It's not unlistenable, but not too good either, weighed down by yee haw mush.

So hit the road, Jack and go find a copy of the Ray Charles Ultimate Collection.One spin and you'll say Hallejuah I just love it so.

Symphonic Yes

2009-05-09T22:51:52Z

Yes
Symphonic Yes
4 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Art rock automatically lends itself to orchestration. The Moody Blues first recorded with an orchestra in 1967 creating "Days of Future Past," which yielded their timeless signature tune, "Knights in White Satin." When the group hit a creative lull in the late 90s, they went back out on the road playing with local symphonies, re-imaging and reshaping their hits.

Continuing with the theory that playing with an orchestra can work.... Procol Harum had one of their biggest hits in 1972 with "Conquistador," which was taken from the album "Live With the Edmonton Orchestra." Sometimes incorporating an orchestra doesn't work... Emerson, Lake and Palmer's music was already bloated enough when they added a 70-piece orchestra to their act. Feeding, housing and transporting the lot nearly bankrupted the three millionaires.

If there was ever a group whose music was made for the orchestral treatment, it's Yes. The group experimented with an orchestra as early as 1969, recording their second album "Time and a Word" (released in 1970) with students from The Royal College of Music. Thirty years later, and with a much fatter catalogue behind them, they explore the idea again with "Symphonic Yes," a 14-cut, 2-CD orchestral extravaganza recorded in 2001 that proves rock and classical music can indeed inhabit the same space.

The question is does the orchestra embellish the songs enough to warrant the added payroll? The European Festival Orchestra turns the group's mystical ballads into poetic landscapes, so "Yes," adding 60 or so musicians to the band's epic compositions can help!

"Symphonic Live" begins with the swirling, sprawling "Overture," an excerpt from "I Give Love" (from the group's then current effort, "Magnification") that's played by the orchestra. Unlike the Moody Blues, who used pieces from their songs to create their orchestral overture, Yes' sign in piece is entirely original, and just as affecting.

As Yes steps from the shadows, you can hear the chirping crickets, burping frogs and shimmering synths that signify the start of "Close to the Edge." Most bands warm up with "Louie Louie;" Yes primes the engine with a twenty minute classic. The horns punctuate parts of the song that previously glided by, and having a more simpatico (and simply better) drummer in Alan White, rather than Bill Bruford's off-tempo belting, gives the arrangement life. Vocalist Jon Anderson is wired into the energized tempo, singing as well as he did when the band recorded the original version of the song in 1972. The hypnotic "I Get Up, I Get Down" section of the song still hypnotizes, as Anderson, Squire and Howe show that thirty plus years later they can still harmonize and sing counterpoint. Keyboard player for hire Tom Brislin is no Patrick Moraz or Rick Wakeman, but he effectively hits his fills when called upon.

A stylish string-washed intro that sounds as if it could have been part of "Gone With the Wind's" soundtrack is tacked onto the beginning of "Long Distance Runaround." It's too theatrical thematically and doesn't fit, despite its remarkable musicianship. This is one of the few instances where the orchestra and the band fight for space. But when the main body of the song hits Squire rips into his bass, flying up and down his instrument's neck, and Howe rings out stinging notes on guitar that prove this buoyant workout from "Fragile" still can go the distance.
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"The Gates of Delirium" has always been one of Yes' most controversial songs. You either like it or hate it, and there's certainly enough music to decide - twenty three minutes plus. I've come to appreciate this violent, snarling Norse-themed song of Armageddon because it was one of Patrick Moraz's few recordings with the band, even though the middle section was chaotic and coarse. With Patrick a distant memory, the orchestra steps in his place with thunderous brio. "Delirium" is supposed to sound like an ancient conflict, and with the strings stabbing and lancing against Howe's sharp riffs, Squire's neck-wringing bass and Brislin's nightmarish "Lord of the Rings" runs, the song retains its tension. The coda, "Soon" is as breathtaking as the rest of is violent, with Howe's darting slide, Anderson strumming prophetically on acoustic and the orchestra providing a soaring, heavenly background, highlighted by the harpist's angelic plucking.

One of Steve Howe's conditions for staying with Yes was getting his own solo spot. His acoustic guitar solo that ends the first CD is a grab bag of Victorian, classical and folk music, much like his composition "Mood for a Day," which appeared on the "Fragile" album. It's appropriate that he gives the appreciative audience a taste of "Mood" in his medley of Indy 500-paced playing.

The second CD contains the bulk of what you might expect to hear at a Yes concert. "Starship Trooper" retains Howe's glistening leads, with the added attraction of White's forceful time keeping. Yes seldom deviates from the script - you can't "jam" on an intricate piece because the players are likely to get lost - but the band amuses their muses by taking a few liberties with Squire fattening his bass lines and Howe funking up his playing.

The title track from "Magnification" is another ready made symphonic treat. It's one of the few instances where the orchestra is a lead component rather than a backing element. Squire's bass is more prominent in "And You and I," than in the original studio cut, and Howe donates one of his solo sections so the orchestra can soften and sweeten the package, which they do admirably.

"Ritual" (a/k/a "Nu Sommes Du Soliel") is the CD's masterpiece, twenty eight, yes, twenty eight minutes! It's worth every intricate second. Yes has always aspired to write performance pieces along the lines of the great classical composers, which often last as long as half an hour. Trust me, I worked for an orchestra and some of the compositions they played were so long I felt I needed a shift change. Not so with "Ritual." Like many of Yes' marathon masterpieces, "Ritual" is broken up into movements. There's a quiet intro followed by a section that charges through the speakers like a thoroughbred, plus several Howe-led rapier solos, Squire backed keyboard moments and a somber ending. "Ritual" is notable for its percussion army manned by White, Brislin, Anderson and Squire (more on that later). Squire's fleet-fingered bass solo gets the crowd whistling and clapping. When a sedate Yes audience roars with approval, you know something monumental is happening.

Anything that follows "Ritual" takes a chance at being anti-climatic, but Yes tears into three of their best known songs, "I've Seen All Good People," "Owner of a Lonely Heart," and "Roundabout," with the orchestra freshening the arrangements. "I've Seen All Good People" remains a stomping crowd pleaser, although Anderson sounds a little out of breath at the end. Given Howe's hatred of Yes during the Trevor Rabin on guitar period (after all, he wasn't there), its surprising the group could coax him into playing "Owner of a Lonely Heart." "Owner" retains the 80's shock sound effects (which sound pre-recorded), but the beat is a little more relaxed making it sound less gimmicky, and Howe gets to add one of his rapid-fire signature solos at the end. Take that, Trevor. "Roundabout" is Brislin and Howe's showpiece, and the former infuses his Hammond with high energy acrobatics.

One of my few carps is the sound of White's drums. They tend to run flat. In my opinion, White is ten times the percussionist original drummer Bill Bruford was. It's too bad his kit sometimes muffles his muscle.

Timing is everything. When Yes planned to tour this year without Jon Anderson in celebration of 40 years in the biz, ardent fans were appalled. The band got away with touring without Anderson once before, promoting the surprisingly cogent, high quality "Drama" album, replacing Anderson with former Buggles singer Trevor Horn. This time around they planned to put Benoit David, a veritable karaoke singer behind the mike. Benoit was plucked from the Yes tribute band "Close to the Edge." The rock gods must have been annoyed, because Chris Squire was suddenly sidelined indefinitely with leg problems. (Must be from all of those years of pivoting and pirouetting on stage.) The celebration has been delayed, making the release of "Symphonic Yes" all the more important for fans. "Symphonic Yes" is likely to be the closest fans will get to hearing the band live until late this summer.

Symphonic Yes for the Eyes...

What's better than "Symphonic Yes" on CD? The DVD! With "Symphonic Yes" on DVD (4.5 out of 5 stars) you can not only hear a great concert, you'll see one as well. The two disc set contains the entire two-and-a-half hour show, plus "Dreamtime," a 30-minute documentary that's a tribute to the band's legacy and their fans; the bonus video for "Don't Go," and hidden bonus bits you can access during the numbers.

You'll get to see and appreciate what a ham Chris Squire is. Unlike the rest of the group, who are a bit staid on stage, Chris mugs for the audience, trades licks enthusiastically with White and Brislin, and becomes a blur of complex chords and sweeping leg kicks. (Watch those King Fu moves, Chris!) One of the many jaw-dropping moments on the DVD occurs during "Ritual" when the stage crew wheels out an assortment of percussion and the band members attack them with glee and precision. Hearing the percussion army on CD is impressive - seeing the members of the band playing in unison on instruments that foreign to them and succeeding so brilliantly is one of those once in a lifetime concert experiences.

You'll also get to see how Alan White, yes, a drummer, served as musical liaison between the band and orchestra. The dead giveaway is how everyone on stage hangs on White's kill shots for the intro to "Ritual." If you think playing epics is easy, watch White. The 60-year old looks and plays like a man half his age. If you played drums for 22 minutes straight - on one song alone - you'd probably look as good as Alan too, or wheeze and cease up like an Edsel.

Not all classical musicians are snobs. The members of The European Festival Orchestra seem to enjoy playing with the band and watching them perform. Keep your eye out for the flute and oboe players frequently captured on camera. Whenever these two young ladies aren't playing, they sway, smile, and clap to the music, just like the fans.

Much of the DVD centers on the recording of "Magnification" and the subsequent promotional tour. Alan White and Chris Squire come across as the most accessible members; Anderson is as cosmic and indecipherable as ever: "I'm amazed we're still going. I'm amazed that we have a career. I'm amazed we have so many fans. I'm amazed that I'm a true believer. I'm just amazed." Well, Jon, after a statement like that, I wouldn't be amazed if someone told me your recent forced convalescence didn't have something to do with your mind instead of your lungs.

Alan White (who also seems truly amazed at the band's long run) humbly discusses the complexity of the group's music, and Howe continues to be less than gracious about "previous guitarists." In a candid segment you'll get to see Howe at a sound check, meticulously tuning and practicing. White figures prominently in an interview with two fans. The couple explains that they owe their relationship to White. One sold the other a copy of White's hard-to-find solo album "Ramshackled." The two started e-mailing one another, met at a Yes concert and married soon after. Talk about music bringing people together.

Squire remains the group's most entertaining interview as he laughingly recalls Yes' first attempt to play with an orchestra: "Last time Yes played with an orchestra was 1969 for 'Time and a Word.' We used coat hangers to set up the mikes behind the orchestra." Check out Squire's comments during the end credits -- among other things he forgets the name of one of the band's songs! Yes have long been accused of being too high brow or unapproachable; Squire and White's comments demonstrate they're just like you and me.

It's been 40 years since the last Yes album with an orchestra, but it's been well worth the wait. Hopefully we won't have to wait 40 more years for the next one, but I'm willing to bet Alan White will still be behind the drums and Chris Squire will be pirouetting on stage in his wheelchair.

Beth Orton - Trailer Park

2009-04-01T13:52:57Z

Beth Orton
Trailer Park
4 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Beth Orton gives me hope that the most meaningful music didn't end with the 70s. The gangly indie folk artist's 1996 solo debut, "Trailer Park," which mixed eletronica with introspective ballads that cut to the bone, has been re-released with a second CD that gathers up material released on EPs, B-sides, and soundtracks. This is one trailer park you'll want to visit time and time again.

Born in Norfolk, England, Orton entered music almost on a whim after meeting dance producer William Obit in a London night club. Obit and Orton formed Spill, recording a version of John Martyn's "Don't Wanna Know About Evil," which became the first track off of the duet's album, "SuperPinkyMandy." The one-off project, more influenced by Obit's muse than Orton's, was released only in Japan. She continued to work with Obit, co-writing and singing the track "Water From a Vine Leaf" on his 1993 album, "Strange Cargo 3." Orton then formed a band of her own, comprised of guitarist Ted Barnes, drummer Will Blanchard, keyboard player Lee Spencer, and double bassist Ali Friend. Her first proper release, "Trailer Park," with collaborative compositions by the trio of Orton/Barnes/Friend, blended samples and tri-hop beats together with acoustic guitars and passionate observations.

Orton's woeful delivery and downcast lyrics were influenced by early 70s folk casualty Nick Drake. Whereas Drake's depression ruled him, ultimately contributing to his premature demise, Orton used her personal disappointments to inspire her. "She Cries Your Name," commences with slippery, electronic strings and Orton's Drake-like chording. Orton's percussive guitar blends with Blanchard's rat-a-tat drumming and Spencer's sneaky bits of sonar-like synths updating Drake's look-into-my-soul sound.

"Tangent" is ominous, foggy electronica with a bomping double bass beat, tensioned-horror film strings and a marvelously defeated vocal by Orton. Blanchard's jazzy drumming provides a whipping and rolling backdrop to Keith Teniswood's ray gun synth strikes and assorted threatening violins and violas. (Oh my gawd, focused jazz drumming!) ]]> "We only hurt the ones we love, and we don't need a reason. You're gonna get all you deserve, and all that you believe in." The lush strings bathe Orton's melancholy mumbling and provide instrumental icing; without them the song would plod along interminably.

The bouncy optimism of "Live Your Dream" interrupts Orton's emotional confessions. It's surprisingly lightweight, very poppy - and very bad. Stick with the manic depressive material, Beth, it's much more revealing, and memorable. Without it, you might as well be Mary Hopkin, talented - but a pub folkie.

Orton employs the quiet pop of a conga to accent Blanchard's near-calypso style drumming in "Sugar Boy." The chorus is a flourish of hand claps and sweeping organ supplied by David Boulter, with Orton pointing a lyrical finger at the dude who done her wrong: "Well I told you I loved you, now what more can I do? Told you I loved you, you beat my heart black and blue. I told you I loved you, now what more can I do? Do you want me to lay down and die for you? Do you want me to lay down and die?"

Orton turns beat poet with "Touch Me With Your Love." She recites her opening lines to a repetitive warm up bass line against percussion that sounds like someone dropping a quarter on the street. Although she acted earlier in her career and spent time touring Great Britain, Russia and the Ukraine, Orton processes a thick cockney accent. (Some things you can't de-program.) You may need to follow along with the lyrics to figure out what she says. Its touch and go until Orton slurs her way through the verses like her heroine, Bobbie Gentry, tapping into the soft shuffle beat as Friend plucks out an impressive solo on double bass.

"Whenever" gives the listener a break from the thick electronica, casting Orton back in her Nick Drake cloak, which she wears very well. Dancing acoustic guitars, happy double-tracked "do-do-do-da-days" give "Whenever" an extended "Pink Moon" feel.

"How Far" is another stab at cutie pie pop. There's clean electric guitar work from guest Andrew Hackett and a snappy, 60s girl group arrangement with syncopated clapping, shaking tambourines and a double-tracked Beth. It's all very pleasant, but not essential.

A now blissful Beth makes it three pop tunes in a row with "Someone's Daughter," which benefits from Blanchard's tripping snare, Orton's unabashed wailing and Barnes's dynamic mandolin and guitar work. The Duchess of despair can be proud that she's finally nailed a happy song.

Orton then covers The Ronettes' "I Wish I Never Saw Sunshine." It's introspective, with Orton wearing her pain on the end of her guitar strings and in her wraith-like cries. It puts Beth back where she belongs, singing a tune that reaches out and grabs your heart.

With the epic ten minute closer, "Galaxy of Emptiness" Orton returns to bubbling, sputtering space electronica, special effects, and undulating upright bass. It's the most experimental and least accessible track on the album, clocking in at ten swirling, psychotic minutes, but there's nothing empty about it!

Disc 2...Another Trip To The Park...

Fans of Orton will recognize some of the material from her "Best Bit" EP that featured Orton's mentor, folk-jazz singer, Terry Callier. For those of you who've never heard any of "Best Bit," or have been searching in vain for any of the four songs featured on the EP, they're all gathered on Disc two.

Callier voices Fred Neil's "Dolphins" with Orton, displaying a rich, made-for-folk tone. Callier is also on board for a version for "Lean on Me" (not Bill Withers' song, but one with that same title he wrote). Both duets feature some nifty mood setting vibes, and the inspirational "Lean on Me" shows how well the mentor and student work together. The other songs from "Best Bit," include the title track (you also get an early version, so you get two bits), plus "Skimming Stone."

Orton also capably covers "It's Not the Spotlight" written by keyboardist Barry Goldberg of Electric Flag and KGB fame. The short "Safety" with a melody modeled after CSN'S "You Don't Have to Cry," finds Orton confident as a solo acoustic player and in clear voice, with little trace of her usual cockney delivery.

What Orton does with the live version of "Galaxy of Emptiness" will leave you checking the CD cover to see if it's the same tune. The song's spaceyness has been sucked out. The chirping, gurgling synths have been replaced by cellos and a bossa nova beat has supplanted the previous harder edged atmosphere. Not sure I like the more homogenized version, but talk about re-inventing a song!

"Pedestal" is an overly long, rambling acoustic piece with a nice faint church organ that sneaks in toward the conclusion. In contrast, it's followed by an instrumental version of "Touch Me With Your Love" that's a steady stream of drum machines, harmonium, and distant vocalizations all dressed up in electronica. It's an opportunity to appreciate Ali Friend's slick acoustic bass playing, but it does go on a bit.

"It's This I Am I Find" not only has a strange title, it trips along on a semi-reggae "Lively Up Yourself" beat matched against unruly keyboards that seem to have an option to resemble a glockenspiel. The synth/rhythm conflict is never resolved, making "It's This I Am I Find" an uneven, difficult listen. "Bullet" is more of a straight shooter, and has a nice honky tonk piano solo and some diligent dobro, but the "Too Much Monkey Business" pacing will leave you with the indelible impression it's an unfinished piece.

The real surprise on the second CD is the final song, "I Love How You Love Me." For those of us with really sharp memories, yes, it's a cover of a song associated with crooner Bobby Vinton. "The Polish Prince" was one of the most uncool singers in the 60s, a throwback to Al Martino and other obsolete lounge singers. Vinton did have a string of hits, notably "Mr. Lonely," "Blue Velvet" (given a perverse appreciation when it was used as the title track of the movie of the same name), "Sealed With a Kiss" and the aforementioned track, which reached #9 on the singles charts. Orton reinvents the song in a glitzy, but more hip Dusty Springfield vein.

And Make Your Reservation for Beth's Second Album...

Released in 1999, Orton's sophomore effort, "Central Reservation" (3 out of 5 stars), was a continuation of the folk and electronica themes of her first album with Beth continuing to tap into her reservoir of wounded memories. "Reservation's" haunting highlights included "The Sweetest Decline," a withering waltz with weeping violins, the "Outer Limits" opulence of "Stars That Seem to Weep," and the free flowing funk of "Love Like Laughter." Orton seemed on her way to fulfilling her promise as her generation's Nick Drake.

That promise took a precipitous nosedive with her eclectic third release, 2002's "Daybreaker" (2 out of 5 stars). When Orton played to her strengths, such as the chugging muted-horn funk of "Anywhere," and the computerized melancholy of "Thinking About Tomorrow," "Daybreaker" matched the techno splendor of the previous two albums. Orton was at her best when her pained, world-weary voice was masked by synthesizers, expressive strings or third world beats. She stripped some of her songs down on "Daybreaker," and without the fuller sound her occasionally indecipherable accent was more exposed, and songs that could have been interesting now came across as bores. Orton also collaborated with the never exciting Ryan Adams on the pedestrian travelogue "Concrete Sky." Adams also wrecked "This One's Gonna Bruise" and "Carmella" with his vanilla alt country influence, and Emmylou "Hear's a Who" Harris condemned "God's Song" with her foggy mental breakdown back up singing.

"The Other Side of Daybreak," a ten track alternate version of the album followed in 2003. (I'd love to hear what the track "Bobby Gentry" sounds like.) "Pass in Time," a 2- CD "greatest hits" package was released the same year. Her fourth album, 2006's "Comfort of Strangers" (2 out of 5 stars) was recorded in two weeks. Unfortunately, it sounded like it. This time there were no horns or keyboards, only guitar, piano and drums. The minimalist approach further served to expose, rather than enhance Orton's fragile vocal range. Orton wanted a spontaneous, organic feel, and many of the songs were recorded in one or two takes. She cut down on the length of her songs, and the radio-friendly "Conceived" was playful pathos. Much to my delight, Orton covered Tony Joe White's "Did Somebody Make a Fool Out of You" on the bonus import disc, which showed that although she was no longer capable of making good music, she was at least listening to some.

What's admirable about Orton's Legacy edition of "Trailer Park" is the second disk of extra material. Too many Legacy editions rely on outtakes, live renditions, or demos of songs that wound up on the original release, so sometimes you wind up hearing a variation of the same song three times. Bravo, Beth, for offering something different.

Orton's career may have taken on a more mundane folksy sound of late, but her first and best album successfully presented songs so personal you'll feel as if Orton's peaked into your soul.

Park yourself in front of the biggest hi-fi (do they still make those?) and hitch up to Beth Orton's "Trailer Park."

Deep Purple - Stormbringer

2009-04-01T13:32:55Z

Deep Purple
Stormbringer
3.5 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

No, I'm not obsessed with Ritchie Blackmore, it just seems that way. There's been some overhauling of Blackmore's Night and Deep Purple's catalogues of late, and it just so happens Ritchie's the guy plucking the stings on most of the albums.

EMI has reissued 1974's "Stormbringer," the last album to feature Blackmore as a purple people eater for nearly ten years. (Blackmore reenlisted in a reconstituted version of Deep Purple Mark II featuring his nemesis, singer Ian Gillan, in 1984. His unresolved power struggle with Gillan caused Blackmore to leave the group permanently in 1993.) "Stormbinger" was a significant step forward for the band, which began to dance away from Blackmore's heavy metal mantle toward an R&B flavored sound favored by the group's frontmen, David Coverdale and Glenn Hughes.

Wait a minute...Did he just say David Coverdale? Yes, there was a time Coverdale's bluesy vocals could actually move people, a time when he wasn't considered a wavy-maned screeching narcissist beating his chest in some of the cheesiest MTV videos ever screened. Yes, before Coverdale went Spinal Tap, he was Deep Purple's salvation.

Coverdale and bassist/singer Glenn Hughes joined the band in 1973, following the "resignation" (ouster) of bassist Roger Glover and shrieking vocalist Ian Gillan. Ironically, Glover and Gillan had joined the band in 1969 as replacements for lead singer Rod Evans and bassist Nicky Simper. Evans and Simper had just completed work on Deep Purple's self-titled third album when they were pink slipped by the band's management -- unaware that the rest of the group had secretly been rehearsing with Glover and Gillan. After four tumultuous albums with the self-centered Gillan, Blackmore gave the band an "it's him or me" ultimatum. By this time, founding members Ian Paice (drums) and Jon Lord (keyboards) weren't exactly enamored of the posturing Gillan either, so they voted to jettison him and tossed Glover on the wood pile for good measure.]]>
Given Coverdale's anonymity and Hughes' amateur status, "Burn" (3 ½ out of 5 stars) was a commendable first step, as menacing as Spooky Tooth's material -- and Purple was blessed with a better guitar player. "You Fool No One" sported an incendiary, inspired riff by Blackmore, a whip-snap arrangement and frenzied dueting by Coverdale and Hughes; Blackmore's jabbing riff and Coverdale and Hughes' desperate leads carried "Sail Away," and John Lord's Hammond blanketed "Might Just Take Your Life" with heavy metal soul.

But there were thunderclouds on the horizon when the band convened for "Stormbringer"... Giddy and supremely confident from "Burn's" success, Coverdale and Hughes let it be known they wanted to filtrate Deep Purple's music with funk. Blackmore protested mightily, but with the fallout from his nasty public feud with Ian Gillan still fresh in the public eye, Ritchie pouted instead, although he did tell the press he didn't want to play "shoeshine music." Blackmore's comment was as PC as the New York Post depicting President Obama as a chimp. Hughes in particular was deeply hurt by Blackmore's brusqueness because he was close friends with many black musicians, including Stevie Wonder, Luther Vandross and Herbie Hancock. One album in, and he and Blackmore were already on the outs.

"Stormbringer" does have its share of dark clouds. Out of the nine original cuts, three, the title track, "Lady Double Dealer" and "High Ball Shooter" harken back to the speed freak days of Gillan. It's no coincidence that Blackmore's playing is more self assured on the three metal mistakes, but Coverdale and Hughes sound as if they're spouting every trick from the book of rock singing 101. The title track contains Blackmore's best solo on the album. He's knife-like, inspired. Hughes' middle eight triple-tracked vocal in "Lady Double Dealer" is notable, but Coverdale has yet to master the fast-talkin' heavy metal frontman approach - he sounds out of breath, and who ever suggested the reverb on his vocal should have been dealt out of the proceedings. "High Ball Shooter" is the most derivative of the three weakest songs. Jon Lord (who laid down one of the classic keyboard solos of all time on the group's biggest hit, "Hush") pushes his Hammond to a frenzied pace, but the worn-out approach shows that Coverdale and Hughes were right in dropping the metal persona in favor of R & B; they were sometimes as uncomfortable pushing straightforward rock as Blackmore was at trying his hand at being the guitarist for the Funk Brothers.

The rest of the tunes on "Stormbringer" are a collection of sweet slammin' soul and brawny ballads. Coverdale coos and slithers his way through "LoveDon't Mean a Thing" as if he was Mae West asking a sailor to come up and see her some time: "If I work hard everyday for my money, and if I work my fingers down to the bone, that ain't funny. Now if I see something I can't buy, I put a dollar down, then try, try, try to get my money." Hughes takes the middle part, his voice shooting into the vocal stratosphere usually occupied by his mentor, Steve Wonder.

"Holy Man" is solo Hughes hitting vocal nirvana. He makes his tonsils vibrate with passion, reaching notes that by all rights should have punctured producer Martin Birch's ear drums. With Blackmore a reluctant participant, Lord takes the first solo on synthesizer, cutting a wide swatch of resonance before Blackmore's short burst that slides alongside of the melody.

"Hold On" was Blackmore's backbreaker. Okay, he officially quit the group because of ideological differences: the fact is Ritchie had no soul. I'm not talking about his prickly public personality. The man simply had no sense of R &B. His attempted solo is forced, amateurish, and has as much soul as whitefish, but the rest of the band is very much into what sounds like a tribute to Motown. Hughes controls the tempo with a muddy beat, Lord lays down a Brian Auger-ish hep cat electric piano passage, and Coverdale roars, hoots and hollers like there's no holding him back.

"You Can't Do It Right (With the One You Love)" is Purple at its funkiest. Blackmore manages to imitate a scratch guitar riff, Lord wafts out a cool cat synth swipe, and drummer Ian Paice is all over his hi-hat, generating a dance pace that would test the Temptations. But it's the groove twins, Coverdale and Hughes, who generate the vocal highlights tussling lines back and forth like Sam and Dave fighting for the mike. This may not be Deep Purple in its truest sense, but its right... and I bet you'll love it.

The last two cuts find Blackmore more at ease. "Gypsy" is a throwback to the heavier rock/R & B style of the songs on "Burn," and "Soldier of Fortune" backtracks to the emotive style of the group's first and best lead singer, Rod Evans. Coverdale and Hughes share the vocal on "Gypsy," their voices straining with desperation and sincerity; Blackmore lays down a languid slide guitar lick as Hughes bass gurgles underneath and Paice doubles and triples up on his runs across the tom-toms.

"Soldier of Fortune" is the type of song unheard of in the Purple canon since the days of Deep Purple Mark I, when the group experimented with covers of "Kentucky Woman," "River Deep, Mountain High" and "Help." (It would have in fact, been perfect for Rod Evans' deep, dramatic timbre.) Coverdale, who wrote the tune with Blackmore, sings this one solo with emotion and conviction, his voice cresting against Lord's Mellotron: "But I feel I'm growing older, and the songs that I have sung, echo in the distance, like the sound of a windmill going round. I guess I'll always be...a soldier of fortune." Play this alongside Spirit's war-weary "Soldier" (from "Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicous") and you'll hear shells whistling through the air and the report of guns in the background as you absorb the claustrophobic lifestyle of troops languishing on the battlefield. If Blackmore's name wasn't going to appear on a Deep Purple album again for nearly a decade, "Soldier of Fortune" was a surprising and memorable coda.

Following the release of "Stormbirnger," Ritchie Blackmore packed up his guitar case and formed Rainbow, which specialized in heinous heavy metal hackery for which he alone was accountable. Deep Purple recruited renegade guitarist Tommy Bolin, who'd replaced Joe Walsh in the James Gang and had earned his rep for his futuristic fretboard acrobatics on Billy Cobham's "Spectrum" album. Deep Purple Mark IV was born.

If Blackmore was lightning quick, then Bolin was an SST who could play rings around his predecessor. The problem was Bolin was also a severe heroin addict who was mentally unprepared to step into glaring footlights of superstardom. When he could play, Bolin attacked his guitar with confidence, as evidenced by his work on his lone Deep Purple studio album, "Come Taste the Band," (3 out of 5 stars), which returned the group to its heavier roots while nurturing its funky side. The closing number, "You Keep On Moving" was a sinister, lurking track with Coverdale and Hughes lung-busting like poltergeists spitting into a gale on the deck of the Flying Dutchman. Hughes' bony run down his bass strings at the song's end was as chilling as watching a condemned man drop through the trap door of a gallows. Get the picture? "You Keep On Moving" was a dark jolt of fear, Mark IV's finest moment. "I Need Love" jerked and boogied like a Sly Stone track, with Bolin frantically fighting his strings. "Lady Luck" was its bouncing twin, with Paice smashing his high hat and Bolin coaxing his strings until they sang. In "Love Child" Bolin administered a thick, plodding set of catchy chords reminiscent of Chicago's "South California Purples" while Coverdale's voice reached thunderous proportions. Another highlight is the Hughes driven "This Time Around." Hughes' vocal is misty, vacuum sealed, surrounded by Jon Lord's dizzying keyboards. The piece dovetails into the instrumental "Owed to G,' a muscular showcase for Bolin's piercing, flashy riffs and Paice's stop on a dime drumming.

Mark IV toured behind "Come Taste the Band," but as Paice observed: "Tommy could be an absolute genius, but that happened one show in twenty. If Tommy got his hit and it was good, and he slept well and the sound was right, and his equipment didn't break and the audience was nice, and the sun shone between 1pm and 2 pm, then yeah, he could be great. But chances of that happening on a regular basis were very remote. It could go from the sublime to the absolute worst end of ridiculous." (Want proof? Tap into YouTube and type in "You Keep On Movin'" by Deep Purple. You'll see Hughes and Coverdale preening like spoiled rock gods, while a shy Bolin loiters in the background. The only thing that's worse is Hughes' singing. By now he was partying too much with Bolin. Heroin and high notes definitely don't mix!)

After the Storm...Bonus Tracks

"Stormbringer's" second CD, produced with the cooperation of Glenn Hughes, features remixes of "Holy Man," "You Can't Do It Right (With the One You Love)," "Love Don't Mean A Thing," and "Hold On," plus an instrumental version of "High Ball Shooter." With "High Ball Shooter's" knuckleheaded lyrics removed, the track stomps along. The second disc also contains the quadraphonic 4.1 mixed used when the album was released in the U.S. in 1975. Vocals came at you from all directions, and on this album at least, that's not a bad thing.

"Stormbringer" may not have Rod Evans at the mike or be a stone metal classic like "Machine Head," but it delivers with its own well balanced blend of rock and soul. This is one storm you'll like being in.

Boney James - Send One Your Love

2009-04-01T13:17:25Z

Boney James
Send One Your Love
1/2 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Boney James...playing in an elevator near you.

Maybe I should cut Boney some slack because he was smart enough to change his name from the very non-catchy James Oppenheim to his current nom de plume and he spent his youth in New Rochelle, a stone's throw from my own home town. NAH. He got his nickname because constant touring with the likes of Morris Day (the scene stealer in Prince's "Purple Rain"), and Bobby Caldwell left him looking like a starving musician. Based on his playing, they may have decided not to pay him. An admirer of Grover Washington Jr., James has boned up on Washington's brand of smooth jazz since his mentor's passing. In fact, he seems to have stolen Washington's entire sleep-inducing act. Boney's somehow managed to record a dozen previous albums, including "Boney's Funky Christmas." You're kidding me with that one, right James?

Boney's playing has a lot of melody, but no meat to it. He plays effortless, breathy tenor sax in the opener, "Wanna Show U Somethin'," which shows us nothing. He's flawless, but unexciting, a steady hum with all the brevity of a test of the National Emergency System. If his sax was hooked up to a heart monitor it would flat line. Boney borrows the samba beat from Steely Dan's "Rikki Don't Lose That Number" (which was stolen to begin with) and has Sue Ann Carwell on board to provide chirpy chicky vocals. That should tell you somethin'.

"Send One Your Love" is one of Stevie Wonder's better off forgotten hits from the mystifying "Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants" album. The mostly instrumental effort made Stevie sound as if he was smoking his plants. He should have shared a toke with Boney - it might have at least made him an innovator instead of a tacky telegrapher delivering a note for note rendition minus the best part - Stevie. Boney's soprano sax playing is made saxier by layered strings and Tim Carmon's caramelized soft electric piano asides. But do we really need the oohing and aahing trio of Kim Brewer, Lynne Fiddmont and Kenya Hathaway? Nothing's brewing thanks to embarrassing cooing - and ace session guitarist Dean Parks (Crosby and Nash, Steely Dan) sounds asleep at the pick. It's music for the boudoir - providing you're Billy Dee Williams or Barry White.
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A primary offender is Boney's take on James Taylor's "Don't Let Me Be Lonely Tonight." It's the only lead vocal on the album, which marks the introduction of "Quinn,"
who pretends to have the same vocal dexterity as Teddy Pendergrass. He's certainly not the Mighty Quinn. He's more like Anthony Quinn, a great actor, but a lousy singer. Boney's meatless blowing is more effective than usual because he only has to slide in during the musical break, but Quinn's sham singing makes this take on Taylor's classic as cheesy as Velveeta on Filet Mignon.

It would stand to reason that one of Barry White's bedroom ballads would be appropriate fodder for Boney's lothario licks. "I'm Gonna Love You Just a Little More Baby" has a darker, sexier undertone than the previous tunes. James wisely cuts down his breathy technique during the verses ...AHA! Variety at last. You might actually want to hear James jam on this one again.

The chimes in the background let you know you've entered the cool section of town in "City of Light." It'd make a decent film noir soundtrack for a Grade B Robert Ryan flick, but doesn't make for stimulating listening, despite the hollow vibraphone vibrations of Stefon Harris. Step on, Stefon.

"Butter" is smooth, but so is suet and I don't like pig slop. The closer, a take on the Brothers Johnson's "I'll Be Good to You," ends the tenor sax terror with the same sensual but sleepy delivery Boney's been bringing since the opening cue. It also marks the return of Brewer, Fiddmont, and Hathaway. This time they've brought along an accomplice, Lamont Van Hook. In vaudeville, they used to yank the bad acts off the stage with a long, crooked hook. Exit stage left, Lamont. The Brothers can't need a payday so badly that they'd condone the pasteurization of their funk.

Boney is bad to the bone. He rates ½ a star for being savvy enough to try and record "Don't Let Me Be Lonely Tonight" and "I'll Be Good To You." However, he should have his sax melted down for turning them into jazzy junk. "Send One Your Love" is so mellow it has no backbone. Its seduction music for those who think they're suave; background noise for the fireplace and wine sect. Next time you light up, instead of tossing another log on the fire -- throw in "Send One Your Love."

Raul Malo Lucky One

2009-03-27T17:25:05Z

Raul Malo
Lucky One
1 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Is this the guy who sang the ultra cool Santana sound-alike hit "Suavacito?" We should be so lucky. No, "Suavacito" was honchoed by Jorge Santana, brother of Carlos. Raul Malo was a member of The Mavericks, a group of musical minor leaguers who released half a dozen snoozey country western albums in 80s and 90s. Since the corralling of the Mavericks in 2000, Raul Malo has pursued a solo career, releasing half a dozen albums incorporating Tejano, rockabilly, honky tonk and Cuban music alongside his inexplicable devotion to country and western. He was also a driving force behind the Latin supergroup "Los Super Seven," which was bolstered by the far superior talents of Cesar Rosas and David Hidalgo of Los Lobos. A few years ago he battled cancer and won. Stands to reason he'd call his seventh album "Lucky One," since he wasn't supposed to be around to record it. He's lucky, but anyone who gives it a listen won't be.

"Lucky One" marks the first time Malo has composed songs for one of his solo works since his first effort, "Today" in 2001. (His other albums feature cover tunes written the likes of Kris Kristofferson and Roger Miller.) Malo is known for his blustery, operatic delivery that sounds like Enrico Caruso with a tarantula in his pants. Therein lies the problem. You ever notice how Bono can't get through a song without raising his voice to gut-busting proportions? Malo has the same vocal ambitiousness; he'll occasionally showcase his velvety pipes in breathtaking fashion, then in the next second he sounds like a five alarm fire siren stuck on overload. He's got good pipes, but he also wants everyone on the other side of the globe to know it.

"Moonlight Kiss" is the one salvageable track of the album. It begins like a 60s Vegas show tune, with a gathering of chorus boys playing give and take with Malo's sly vocal. There's a swaggering trumpet solo by Jamerson Sevits straight out of Mexicali, but the campy arrangement works. Why? No megawatt assault by Malo, who keeps his uvula from wagging like a dinner bell.
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McTigue is back to phoning in a drum beat and Malo's voice quivers like Roy Orbison after a three day bender in "Something Tells Me." Steve Berlin provides a calming carpet on the B3 and Malo whips out a competent Duane Eddy accompaniment on guitar, but this is retro wretch: "Something tells me you don't ever know, what I'm feeling somehow doesn't show. Maybe when you're lying next to me, maybe you are just too close to me." Yes, Raul, I don't like being this close to you at all.

"Hello Again" is a prime example of Malo gone fire siren. His el explosivo voice hits you between the ears like a rampant 2 x 4 flying off the back of a lumber truck. He starts a few octaves higher than he has a right to, and then punishes the listener by reaching levels that will have the inhabitants of the local kennel begging for euthanasia.

Grab your girl (or guy), clutch them closely and sway your way across the dance floor. "Ready For My Lovin'" is a seamy, slow dance, and a nearly passable track. When Malo's voice stays in a lower register, his airy full lungs bring to mind the sexy suave tones of Chris Isaak. He inevitably breaks your heart as he struggles with the high notes, the air issuing from his lungs like deadly dioxide from a whoopee cushion. But he's pretty nifty at bending the strings in a twangy James Burton manner.

In "Crying For You" Malo puts his emotion in his voice, rather than his lungs, although he sings with the stability of a bowl of Jell-O balancing on a three legged table. It's the sincerity of his performance, the echoey sadness of his guitar that makes this one listenable for more than thirty seconds. That and it's slight resemblance to "Take My Hand," one of Los Lobos' stand out ballads.

"You Always Win" is country western schmaltz that should have been buried with Hank Williams sequined jump suit, a shoo-be-doobey, good timey shuffle with Graves on campfire harmonica and Malo aping Patsy Cline. You can follow the bouncing meadow muffin and sing along if you like. In aiming for the charts, Malo has removed any sense of self or significance from his lyrics: "I know before we begin and all the results are in, baby you always win." Geez, bland poetry too, as if singing like a convict strapped to an electric chair set on fry wasn't enough. No, Raul, nobody wins.

You can't get through a Tex Mex album without someone reconstituting the late Doug Sahm's country western circus music and smacking it around like a piñata. Hey, Raul, I was influenced by Mike Harrison, but you won't hear me trying to imitate his intimidating growl. Having a one octave range, I'd sound ridiculous. Hope you get the message. "Lonely Hearts" has a touch of Sahm's "She's A Mover's" arrangement melded with Malo imitating Buck Owens. Unfortunately, the two styles mix like manure and lit gasoline. I will continue to compliment Malo on his playful, retro twang guitar playing, however. It's time for that instrumental album, Raul.

"One More Angel" finds Malo singing like one side of his mouth is sewn shut and he's trying to break the stitching. He hangs onto every note until it hurts. McTigue has finally come to life - too bad his garbage can drumming has little to do with the rest of the song. His bashing is abusive, but at least it keeps Malo from launching his nodes into the higher reaches like an angry V-2 rocket. There's an awful lot of strumming, chiming guitar, clomping cowbell, splashing cymbals and vibrating vocals going on here. This overcrowded mess will leave your guardian angel checking for his reservation in hell.

"Rosalie" begins with a thoughtful guitar/melodica background. The quiet lament goes well until Malo goes acrobatic. The throbbing in your skull will abate when Dane Bryant's melodica calms the atmosphere, but the unpleasant memory will always be there! Musically, this is a sad masterpiece. Vocally, it's just sad.

The Stray Cats go country western in "Haunting Me." You'll need a ghost buster after the first nostalgic, crooning verse. Now Malo has the temerity to double-track his torturous yapping, and for once, his usually tasty guitar lacks spirit.

Malo holds back for the first few lines of "So Beautiful," then he's back to raising his voice like Tarzan getting a hotfoot. Given the songs stark arrangement - piano, guitar and strings - it's never wise to hold a note for more than ten seconds if your voice can induce a cerebral hemorrhage. The only beautiful thing about this song is that it's the last one on a very bad album.

I might actually like Raul Malo if could modulate his vocal gear-switching to the point where I didn't get a headache. But after a dozen showy numbers with more vocal gymnastics than the Vienna Choir Boys in a blender, I was hoping I'd get lucky by being able to go back in time and reclaim the hour Raul Malo ripped from my life. No such luck.

The Moody Blues

2009-02-23T14:41:06Z

Octave
3.5 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Long Distance Voyager
3.5 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Breathe deep in the gathering gloom,
watch lights fade from every room.
Bed-sitter people look back and lament,
another day's useless energy's spent.
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one,
lonely man cries for love and has none,
New mother picks up and suckles her son,
senior citizens wish they were young.
Cold-hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colors from our sight,
Red is gray and yellow white,
but we decide which is right...And which is an illusion?
("Late Lament" from "Knights In White Satin" by The Moody Blues)

Prophets, poets, and masters of symphonic rock, The Moody Blues' music enlightens, entertains and educates.

Two of the Moody Blues' lesser known but gratifying albums have been remastered and re-released for your astral traveling pleasure: 1978's "Octave," the last album featuring founding member Mike Pinder, and 1981's "Long Distance Voyager," which marked the first appearance of keyboardist Patrick Moraz.

Unlike their progressive rock contemporaries such as Genesis, Flash, or Yes, the Moodies had not one, but four singers capable of taking a lead vocal: matinee idol handsome guitarist Justin Hayward; deep-thinker and revolutionary keyboardist Mike Pinder; upper crusty flautist Ray Thomas, and bassist John Lodge, possessor of a deafening and occasionally flat falsetto. Hayward and Lodge had joined the band after the departure of guitarist/vocalist Denny Laine and bassist Clint Warwick in late 1966. Laine had voiced the group's #1 U.K. single, "Go Now," back when the "Blues" in the group's name accurately described the type of music they played. The band was unable to come up with a follow-up hit, and Laine, feeling the urge to go now, departed. (He was recruited into Ginger Baker's Airforce and eventually partnered with Paul McCartney to form Wings.) Warwick, a family man, retired to raise a family. Hayward and Lodge came on board when the group's fortunes were at an ebb and the band was playing small clubs to make ends meet. ]]>
Justin Hayward not only looked like a star, he also sang with a polite elegance and calming charm. As the group's guitarist, he was center stage and gradually assumed the role of de facto leader after the departures of Pinder and Thomas.

An accomplished musician often accused of taking himself too seriously, keyboard player Mike Pinder had an authoritative, distinguished vocal delivery that was a major part of the group's cosmic veneer. (It's Pinder who recites the ominous "Breathe deep the gathering gloom..." passage at the end of "Knights In White Satin"...) Pinder co-founded the group with Ray Thomas in 1964; his departure in 1979 left a vocal hole in the group's sound that has never been filled. It was Pinder who incorporated the Mellotron into the Moodies' tapestry of sound. He also introduced The Beatles to the instrument, which John Lennon put to use in "Strawberry Fields." Hayward may have been the group's most identifiable voice, but if there was one person most responsible for the group's sound, it was Pinder.

Ray Thomas was the Moodies' Sir Galahad. His songs spoke of chivalry, love, and other romantic notions. Like Traffic's flautist Chris Wood, it was Thomas who provided the icing on the group's sound. Thomas sang in a clipped, proper English manner. His voice would occasionally waver like an embarrassed Elmer Fudd but never cracked, and he knew how to use his fanciful, gentlemanly manner to his advantage. When Thomas was on, he was the King of Canterbury tales.

John Lodge, the group's fourth vocalist and bassist, had an even shakier delivery than Thomas, which didn't mix well with the rockers he penned, but could be hidden through group participation. Lodge owned the upper registers on the group's headier compositions and eventually developed into a serviceable writer after Pinder's departure.

Drummer and non-singer Graeme Edge didn't have the flashy presence of a Ginger Baker or the proficiency of Jim Gordon (or Jim Capaldi for that matter), but he never got in the way, and when called upon, kept a steady beat. Edge was the group's Shakespeare, and he often passed his poetic passages onto Pinder, whose commanding tone made Edge's words sound like sacred scriptures.

After Taking Five, The Band Reforms For "Octave"

The Moody Blues released an astounding seven albums between 1967-72, following each release with an exhausting world-wide tour. Eight solo albums and five years later, the group reconvened, hoping to reassert their claim as kings of symphonic rock. It would take another full year of arguments and an abrupt departure for the reunion album to surface.

Providing the touches of orchestral bliss once again was Pinder. Pinder was present in body, but wasn't fully there in spirit. He'd fallen in love while recording in the U.S. and wanted to make his home in California. To placate Pinder, the group pulled up stakes and tried to record in Pinder's adopted home, but Pinder still found himself at odds with his band mates. Early in the recording process Edge made the mistake of interrupting Pinder in the midst of an ardent disagreement with Hayward. Pinder tore into Edge, belittling him for being "just a drummer" who knew nothing about music. Although Pinder regretted the outburst and has lived with the guilt of his regrettable act for decades, the outburst convinced him it was time to leave. He departed in the middle of the sessions and officially quit the Moody Blues in 1979.

Producer Tony Clarke, the "sixth Moody" - as valuable to the group's sound as George Martin was to The Beatles - had to leave the session and head back to England in order to save his marriage. That left Hayward, Lodge, Thomas and Edge virtually on their own, and even after their studio caught fire (a sure sign fate was against them), the quartet remained convinced they should stay together. The result was "Octave," their eighth effort. The cover showed four of the five members walking through a doorway toward a divine light (fifth member Pinder is obscured, so much so that it may not be him but a stand in). For a group that lived and sang about symbolism and hidden meanings, walking toward a light didn't necessarily mean the Moodies were headed toward their death - it signified the band was heading in a new direction.

The Moodies decided to modernize their sound and asked Pinder to ditch his Mellotron and Chamberlain in favor of a synthesizer (another factor that likely hastened his departure). As Pinder contributed less and finally not at all, Hayward and Lodge, who'd conscripted real strings for their "Blue Jays" album, hired an orchestra. The strings were employed on Ray Thomas' songs ("Under Moonshine" and "I'm Your Man") and one of Lodge tunes ("Survival").

Nearly all the members (save Thomas) have been given the opportunity to start an album with one of their songs. For "Octave" the honor fell to Lodge, who provided "Steppin' In The Slide Zone," an up-tempo borderline disco stomper dominated by Hayward's meaty riffs and - gasp - Pinder's synthesizer, which revs up like a souped up muscle car before taking off. Lodge loses his normally shaky delivery in favor of a lower register, and he's joined in his journey by Haywood, Pinder, and Thomas. With the exception of the hearty string section, Lodge's other entry, "Survival," is unspectacular.

Thomas is back in stride, wistful, but mindful of structure and hooks. Thomas is confident, yet thoughtful during "Under Moonshine," which begins as Pinder's synths whistle "Steppin' In A Slide Zone" to a close. "Under Moonshine" ends with a blissful solo by Hayward that flirts with the hired string section. "I'm Your Man" takes advantage of the strings, which rise and dip during the verses and vigorously crest during the chorus while Thomas proudly proclaims: "Life keeps changing key, I'll look to you, please turn and look at me. See I'm changing every day, reaching out for happy days. I'm just a man, that's all I am. I just man, I'm yours. I'm simply yours."

Hayward is in solid form for "Octave," picking up Pinder's slack by placing four songs. The tranquil ballad "Had To Fall In Love," is highlighted by Thomas' camp fire harmonica and the group's substantial aahing choral back up. The equally laid back "Driftwood" floats along on guest musician R.A. Martin's foggy sax and Haywood's tender vocal. "Top Rank Suite" enlists an overdubbed Martin forming a bank of dynamic saxes that give what should have been a ballad a quasi jazz feel that's incongruous with the group's cosmic style. Call it an experiment that nearly works, but it's also hindered by Hayward's sophomoric lyrics about "a great gold record in the sky." Hayward's fourth song, "The Day We Meet Again" finishes the album in the Moodies' magical style with Pinder roving off into the clouds as he kneads the keys of his synthesizer.

Leave it to Graeme Edge to add the curry that expands the group's sound. Edge's songs were generally upbeat, and the bouncy "I'll Be Level With You" is one of his most cohesive rockers, with the four vocalists singing earnestly. Sadly, Pinder sings only one song, "One Step Into The Light," his all time worst contribution. Unlike Thomas, who curbed the excesses that hindered his solo work, Pinder gets even more obtuse, pontificating like the Maharishi finding the meaning of life in a Bazooka Joe comic. "One Step" is listless, lifeless and endless, a step into cosmic ka-ka. It's a sorry way for Pinder to exit, kind of like watching Muhammad Ali, once "The Greatest," being unable to defend himself against the likes of Trevor Berbick. (Yeah, I know, Trevor who? That's my point. "One Step" is utterly regrettable.) Ironically, when Pinder formed his own recording company, he called it One Step Records.

The remastered "Octave" sounds so different from the original CD released 20 years ago that it plays like a different album. Sounds and effects buried in the original mix, such as Lodge's falsetto, Edge's windshield wiper beat, or Hayward's whispery intonations jump out. You can now pick out who's singing in the background, whereas before the back ups were mushy. The speed of the album now sounds right. It's slower, so the boys sound less like Alvin and the Chipmunks.

The revamped "Octave" contains an informative 16-page booklet with an essay by Mark Powell. The CD has also been enhanced with live versions of some of the album's songs recorded at The Coliseum in Seattle in 1979 and at The Summit in Seattle in1978. The tracks feature Patrick Moraz, who replaced Pinder. A supreme talent, Moraz had formed Refugee with the remnants of The Nice, and then took over for Rick Wakeman in Yes, recording and touring behind the group's "Relayer" album. Because of his thick Swiss accent, Moraz couldn't stand in for Pinder on vocals, but he was a virtuoso who could play a number of keyboards Pinder couldn't, which helped open up the Moodies live sound. He stayed with the group from 1978-1991, longer than Pinder.

Given it was the disco era the album performed well (#13 in the U.S., #6 in the U.K.). It was helped by a promotional film for "Steppin' In The Slide Zone" (minus Pinder) that showcased the band literally stepping out of a fog and into the present.

Long Distance Voyage Without Mike

With "Long Distance Voyager" the Moodies set out to dumb down the thinking man's music associated with the Pinder era, openly courting the Top Forty market. The album featured one of the Moody's more striking sleeves, a painting from the Arts Union in Glasgow depicting a Victorian street carnival.

Haywood and Lodge's partnership, forged during their "Blue Jays" project, produced "Gemini Dream," the album's best known track. The two front men trade lines as Moraz fires up the synths in the background. Hayward continued to cement his creative hold on the group with three other entries that pointed the Moodies in a more radio-friendly direction. Two of Hayward's songs that employed a more simplified approach are less effective. "Meanwhile" is a well intentioned bore, and "The Voice" chugs along at a faster than usual Moody's pace behind Moraz approximating a horn section. But Hayward was still capable of creating a gem, and for "Long Distance Voyager," the relaxed "In My World," with its heavenly choral background, is one of the album's brightest spots. With the remastered sound, you can marvel at the hallowed, layered background vocals and Hayward's towering exit solo.

Based on his shaky voice and even shakier track record of success, who would have predicted that John Lodge would come up with the best song on the album? (Guess every Moodie has his day!). Lodge paints a masterpiece with "Talking Out Of Turn," a grandiose composition that weighs in at 7:19. Lodge seems to have finally figured out what to do with his voice - sing it slow and easy, John! Moraz creates a surging, bubbling synth orchestra and Hayward pops in with two melodic solos, and the whole production is held together by Edge's loping beat.

Edge curbs his poetic profundities for "22,000 Days" (the approximate time we're on earth), tapping into the album's more commercial vibe. He anchors the tune's slave ship beat as the singers use an all vocalists on deck approach.

Thomas is given the closing spot as compensation for being relegated to the group's B list alongside Edge. He doesn't disappoint. Placing his pen firmly in his cheek, Thomas delivers a trilogy of retrospective tunes: "Painted Smile," which casts his life in the guise of a circus, "Reflective Smile," a poem recited by long-time Moody Blues' supporter and BBC DJ David Symonds, and "The Veteran Cosmic Rocker," a nod to what was now the group's bygone psychedelic era. Incorporating a whirling dervish Bo Diddley beat led by Thomas' flute and harp, the group chips in with bits of sitar, orchestrated synths and wraps up the lampoon by exiting with a backward vocal. It's a fitting opening chapter in the next phase of the Moodies' career.

The Magnificent Seven (Well, Six Out Of Seven Anyway...)

I've always been one of the loudest naysayers when it comes to what most consumers view as the Moodies' penultimate album, "Days Of Future Past" (2 out of 5 stars). The integration of rock songs and orchestral music works on a functional level, creating a work that follows a day in the life from dawn to dusk. Everything sounds grandiose and as moving as it's intended to be - but many of the songs were out of date minutes after the Moody Blues recorded them. Only Pinder's orient meets England passage, "The Sunset," Hayward's peaceful "Tuesday Afternoon" and his timeless "Nights In White Satin" remain listenable. The other songs are beautifully arranged and played, but their futures are well past.

Encouraged by the enthusiastic reception "Days Of Future Past" received, the Moodies set out to record an album on their own terms in 1968. In their determination to be more self-reliant, they scraped the idea of recording their next album, "In Search Of The Lost Chord" (3 ½ out of 5 stars) with an orchestra. Instead they adopted a new instrument Mike Pinder had discovered called a Mellotron, a temperamental, lush sounding keyboard that utilized tapes to approximate the sound of a string section. The group didn't completely abandon the orchestra however, using oboes, French horns, and cellos. Championing the lysergic sound of the day, the Moodies sprinkled their material with a Middle Eastern influence through the use of sitars and tamboura. The group also began the practice of blending the album's cuts together, making the songs sound like one continuous piece.

"In Search Of The Lost Chord" takes off with "Departure," a demented spoken piece by Graeme Edge. One of John Lodge's personal favorites, "Ride My See Saw" follows. It's the type of semi-rocker he became known for that gives Hayward a chance to show his capable form on the axe. As you've already surmised, Lodge is my least favorite
Moodie - even Edge writes better tunes when he chooses to write songs instead of poems. Lodge's upbeat stuff clashes with the others more scholarly material, and when he writes a ballad it's usually torpedoed by a childish arrangement or lazy lyrics. "Ride My See Saw" falls into the category of not really meshing with the rest of the album's incense and peppermints mentality, but it remains a concert favorite to this day.

Pinder's horror movie Mellotron sneaks in, signaling the opening of Lodge's "House Of Four Doors (Pt.1)." One the album's most ambitious pieces, there's also a second part that opens with a creaking door following Ray Thomas' "Legend Of A Mind." Talk about a metaphor, "The House Of Four Doors" symbolizes, well, I'm not sure. I think it's about taking your mind to different planes and going through various barriers in order to reach nirvana. (I told you...These guys are deep.) My explanation may be off base, but the song isn't. It's a time capsule for those of us who enjoy naval gazing, populated by bits of harpsichord, tamboura, keyboards and flute. And Lodge's wobbly voice acts like a monk tour guide leading the listener through a monastery of sounds and senses.

Ray Thomas follows with two of his early classics, the bouncy safari adventure "Dr. Livingstone, I Presume" and "Legend Of A Mind" (which is often misidentified as "Timothy Leary's Dead"). "Legend" takes up the cause of LSD as a mind-expanding experience (although Thomas was mostly a wine drinker), and promotes Dr. Timothy Leary as the spokesperson for the burgeoning hippie lifestyle. Thomas performed "Legend" in concert up until he retired - long after the real Timothy Leary has indeed died. The song is highlighted by Thomas' flute solo and Pinder's bad acid trip Mellotron. "Dr. Livingstone, I Presume" presumes to tell the story of explorer Stanley Livingstone, who got lost wandering around the jungles of Africa. He was found by fellow explorer Henry Morton Stanley, who supposedly said upon meeting him, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume." Thomas invokes other explorers, including Scott and Columbus. It's one of the few instances where the Moodies didn't take themselves seriously, and it's a buoyant delight.

Thomas and Hayward collaborated on one of the more tranquil pieces, the Indian-influenced "Visions of Paradise,' with Hayward plucking a sitar and Thomas floating out notes like smoke from a hookah. Hayward steps out on his own with "Voices In The Sky," a slight, but pretty ballad softened by Thomas' butterfly flute, and "The Actor," a short story about a self-centered thespian. Thomas blows effectively in "The Actor" as well, sounding like he's playing Pan Pipes in the background.

Pinder provides the most thought evoking material (for 1968 anyway) in a pair of songs, "The Best Way To Travel" and "Om." "The Best Way To Travel" abounds with sound effects produced by Hayward (!) on the Mellotron that alternately sound like sonar, a passing car, and a reverberating heartbeat. (See what magic you can create when you futz around with something?) Pinder, who takes Hayward's place on acoustic guitar, serves as our guide to the astral plane, proclaiming: "And you can fly, high as a kite if you want to, faster than light if you want to. Speeding through the universe, thinking is the best way to travel."

The meditative "Om" with Pinder and Thomas trading vocals and Hayward's Beatle-esque sitar segment will make you cross your legs and bow to the East. Pinder devised the Buddhist chant-driven album ender, which makes the boys sound as if they've achieved oneness with Vishnu herself:

Pinder: The rain is on the roof,
Thomas: Hurry high, butterfly.
Pinder: As clouds roll by my head,
Thomas: I know why the skies all cry...
All: Om...Om...Heaven.

The re-release of "In Search Of The Lost Chord" has a second disc with 15 alternate and instrumental versions of album tracks, plus a mini-concert - three live cuts performed for John Peel's "Top Gear" radio show and a live rendition of "Tuesday Afternoon" recorded live for the BBC's "Afternoon Pop Show." The biggest finds are "A Simple Game" and "King and Queen" two early songs penned by Justin Hayward.

The group's third album "On The Threshold Of A Dream" (3 ½ out of 5 stars) plays out like a celestial concept album. The centerpiece, or pieces, is Pinder's "Have You Heard," which is presented in three connecting parts. The album's cornerstone concerto is introduced by Edge's poem, "The Dream," which is given a typically ominous Vincent Price reading by Pinder, who by now specialized in such things:

When the white eagle of the North is flying overhead,
the browns, read and golds of autumn lie in the gutter, dead.
Remember then that summer birds with wings of fire flaying,
came to witness spring's new hope, born of leaves decaying.
Just as new life will come from death, love will come at leisure,
love of love, love of life and giving without measure,
give in return a wondrous yearn of a promise almost seen.
Live hand-in-hand and together we'll stand on the threshold of a dream...

Pinder's ghostly Mellotron spirals into "Have You Heard (Pt. 1)" transforming itself into a wizened cello against Hayward's temperate acoustic. Building on his role as the group's shaman, Pinder's voice drifts, as if floating through space: "Now you know that you are real, show your friends that you and me belong to the same world, are turned on by the same word. Have you heard..." With Pinder's Mellotron creating an astral environment that shivers, dives, then rises majestically, the second section, the instrumental "The Voyage" sounds as if it was meant to be part of the soundtrack for the movie "2001: A Space Odyssey." The Mellotron creaks, bringing the listener back to Pinder's Himalayan retreat as he imparts his karmic wisdom in "Have You Heard (Pt. 2)" before the album signs off with starry sound effects. It's one of Pinder's headier classics that leaves the listener feeling as if they've been afforded a moment of clarity regarding mankind's place in the universe.

Pinder loosened up his studious image with "So Deep Within You," a fast-paced declaration of love featuring Thomas' trilling flute and Edge adding a dramatic edge on tympani.

Hayward, who seldom missed in the early days, misfires with "Lovely To See You Again," a congenial but mundane mid-rocker with herniated Lodge back ups. He'd do better with the same format a few years later when he came up with the similar sounding "The Story In Your Eyes" for the "Every Good Boy Deserves Favour" album. Hayward's second contribution, the introspective "Never Comes The Day," features warm harmonies, Pinder's cascading Mellotron runs and Thomas' harmonica, but it never takes off. Hayward's best effort on the album was collaboration with Thomas, the chivalrous "Are You Sitting Comfortably?" It put the band in an ideal setting, amongst magicians, ladies of the court and kings. Thomas' flute and Hayward's poetic lyrics stir up visions of knights (in armor, not in white satin), and the legend of King Arthur: "Ride along the winds of time, and see where you have been, the golden age of Camelot, when Guinevere was Queen. It all unfolds before your eyes, let Merlin cast his spell."

Pinder and Thomas carried the album, with Thomas adding "Lazy Day," a biting condemnation of boring English Sundays, and "Dear Diary," an equally acerbic commentary on how insensitive we'd become as a culture. It's noteworthy for Thomas' willowy flute solo, Lodge plucking away on upright bass, and Thomas' echoed vocal and parting line ("Somebody exploded an H-Bomb today, but it wasn't anybody I knew.")

The only drawbacks are two sub par Lodge compositions, the sing-songy "Send Me No Wine" and "To Share Your Love" which nearly makes it out of the gate because of Pinder's desperate lead vocal.

The remastered "On The Threshold Of A Dream" bristles with five alternate takes and four live bonus tracks, two each recorded for John Peel's "Top Gear" program in February 18, 1969 and "The Tony Brandon Show" on April 2, 1969.

The Moodies' fourth album "To Our Children's Children's Children" (4 out of 5 stars) further mined Pinder's interest in the cosmos, and as the title suggests, the group also addressed thoughts of mortality and what he world might be like for their offspring. The album began in typical profound fashion with Edge's near hysterical instrumental/recitation "Higher and Higher" with the chorus bursting through the speakers, rising like a V-2 rocket trying to break the sound barrier. It's a mess and a scary one at that. One of John Lodge's better compositions, "The Eyes Of The Child (Pt. 1)" is an ethereal space walk. Lodge's voice hovers above an airy filament supplied by chimes and Pinder's angelic chords. Who knew that a man whose voice so often teetered on the verge of collapse could sing such a soothing song? Of course John doesn't know when to leave well enough alone, so "Eyes Of A Child (Pt. 2)" is delivered at the speed of a steeplechase, leaving Lodge scrambling vocally.

With the exception of Edge's unnecessary instrumental ("Beyond"), the rest of the album presents some of the group's more complex and rewarding material. Ray Thomas continued to ride along on a high plane of creativity, chiming in with "Floating," a light- hearted look at space travel. Thomas had an affinity for coming up with compositions that looked at life through the eyes of a child, and "Floating" bounced along like an untethered balloon. Thomas also wrote "Eternity Road," which utilized a frantic Chris Wood-like solo, with Edge making his presence known and an uncharacteristically macho solo from Hayward.

Pinder continued to be the group's bedrock. When he wasn't providing spooky orchestral passages or joining the others in harmony, Pinder was singing lead on his songs, "Sun Is Still Shining" and "Out And In." Pinder's Mellotron careens around "Sun Is Still Shining," an optimistic journey through the universe with a swirling mystical influence: "Sun is still shining, look at the view. Moon is still dining, with me and you. Now that we're out here, open your heart, to the universe, of which we're a part." "Out and In" sounds like the title to an X-rated flick, but this is the Moodies were talking about, so Brother Pinder takes us on another journey across the cosmos using our minds instead of our bodies.

Hayward's presence isn't as strong on the album, although he seems to be occupying his time by playing a bit more electric guitar. The short (1:05) acoustic ballad "I Never Thought I'd Live To Be A Hundred" imparts the narrator's regrets, as does it's even more brief sequel (33 seconds!) "I Never Thought I'd Live To Be A Million." You'd think if someone lived that long he'd need a lot more time to sing about his mistakes. The two songs come off as polite filler, leaving "Gypsy" as Hayward's lone solo composition with any substance. Building on the album's space travel theme, "Gypsy" follows a lonely traveler "aching for the warmth of a burning sun, freezing in the emptiness where he'd come from." More intense than most of the group's tunes, it hinges on Pinder's ray gun keyboards. Thomas blows through with one of his more fiery, bird-like stabs on flute.

Lodge had faltered badly on the previous album, "On The Threshold Of A Dream," but along with "Eyes Of A Child" delivered the mystical "Candle Of Life." Wobbly-voiced John wisely asked Hayward to sing lead, and Justin's vocal is as entrancing as a burning flame. Hayward's shining moment is the album's closer, "Watching and Waiting," co-written with Thomas. It melts through your speakers, carried along on Pinder's thick-as-a Persian-carpet soloing.

There are previously unreleased children on the deluxe version's second disk, which includes live versions of "Gypsy," "The Sunset," "Never Comes the Day," "Are You Sitting Comfortably?" "Have You Heard?" "Nights In White Satin," and "Legend Of A Mind."

The band had been searching for a perfect balance between their philosophical image and catchy radio-friendly songs. With their fifth effort, 1970's "Question Of Balance" (4 ½ out of 5 stars), they achieved it.

Hayward hit his stride as a composer on the album, registering 3 ½ songs. The album opens with his flamenco-influenced classic, "Question," a nail-snapping acoustic attack with dramatic orchestral flourishes by Pinder and eddying bass by Lodge. Edge punctuates Hayward's passionate vocal with kicks on his bass drum: "Why do we never get an answer, when we're knocking at the door. There's a thousand million questions, about hate and death and war. When we stop and look around us, there is nothing that we need, in a world of persecution that is drowning in its greed." The first two verses charge in like an angry tidal wave, then the rush recedes as Hayward sings a serene middle eight against Pinder's noble accompaniment. Hayward's voice rises like a burning sunrise as the music picks up steam again, exiting in bursts from Pinder's Mellotron and Edge's active kit.

On first listen, Hayward's two other offerings, "It's Up To You," and "Dawning Is The Day" appear to be simple folk rockers. But "It's Up To You" is blanketed with tight, layered, rising harmonies reinforced by Hayward's humming guitar. Hayward's nuanced vocal is the main attraction of "Dawning Is The Day" which gains steam via Thomas' whispery flute solo and Pinder deeking in and out of the arrangement with cha-cha riffs.

Pinder put forth two of his strongest pieces for the album, "How Is It (We Are Here)," and "Melancholy Man." Pinder dons an apocalyptic tone for "How Is It (We Are Here)" chastising the world for its greed and ignorance of the plight of the poor: "How is it we are here on this path we walk? In this world of pointless fear, filled with empty talk. Descending from the apes, the scientist priests all think. Will they save us in the end, we're trembling on the brink. Men's mighty mining machines, digging in the ground, stealing rare minerals where they can be found. Concrete caves with iron doors, bury it again. While a starving frightened world fills the sea with grain." The music bed is as eerie as the lyrics, exhibiting an American Indian on peyote influence.

In "Melancholy Man," Pinder ponders his place in the heavens (as he was apt to do): "I'm a melancholy man, that's what I am. All the world surrounds and my feet are on the ground. I'm a very lonely man, doing what I can. All the world astounds me and I think I understand, that we're going to keep growing, wait and see." Pinder's seemingly simple lyrics are bolstered by an array of bursting sound effects that resemble a rocket blasting off and transversing the universe. It's a very enlightening, "oh wow" type of song and one of Pinder's best.

With the help of Thomas, Edge worked up the album's closer, "The Balance," one of the group's finer efforts at mixing the spoken word with music. Sounding like a youthful John Hurt, Pinder relished his enlightened prophet routine - and check out John Lodge wailing like Maria Callas in background. "The Balance" exits on a cloud of soaring keyboards and a jubilant chant.

Thomas makes only one appearance as a lead vocalist, but his flute/percussion contributions are all over the record, sweetening the mix. His one song, "And The Tide Rushes In," is typical Ray - romantic, a bit over the top and invigorating.

Edge whispers his way through "Don't You Feel Small," one of his most creepy and claustrophobic tomes, with Thomas blowing with the reckless abandon of Ian Anderson. The only questionable contribution is Lodge's "Tortoise And The Hare," (surprise, surprise) which jerks along like a mechanical bunny with a bum leg. With the vocal support of Pinder, Thomas, and Haywood (sounds like it should be an Inc. following that doesn't it?), Pinder's sweeping Mellotron and Thomas' peek-a-boo flute, "Tortoise And The Hare" bolts out if the starting gate with promise. The arrangement blows a tire during the middle eight when Lodge goes it alone. Working against Edge's congas his voice goes noticeably slack and sour, and neither the tortoise of the hare reach the finish line.

Lodge recovers nicely with "Minstrel's Song," a choral assault propelled by Edge's marching band cadence. Lodge's songs work best when the others join in and sing along, and by double and triple tracking the singer's voices, the Moodies sound like a medieval army raising their beer steins and gleefully singing a victory song: "Listen to the one who sings of love; follow our friend, our wandering friend. Listen to the one who sings of love, everywhere love is around."

Six previously unreleased bonus tracks have been added to the remastered version of "Question of Balance," including the original mixes of "Minstrel's Song," "It's Up To You," "Don't You Feel Small," and "Dawning Is The Day." An alternate version of "Question" adds twenty seconds of dramatic indulgence. The newest find is "Mike's Number One," a meandering piece by Pinder recorded live in the studio.

Simple isn't always good...

Between their two best albums ("Question of Balance" and "Seventh Sojourn") the Moodies simplified their sound for "Every Good Boy Deserves Favour" (3 out of 5 stars). There's still an abundance of introspective messaging, and everyone save Lodge managed to come up with a winning cut, but there was also a paucity of flat, lackluster material. Only Thomas' "Our Guessing Game," Edge's "After You Came." Hayward's "You Can Never Go Home Anymore," and Pinder's "My Song" meet the Moodies high standards.

The album opens with "Procession," a 4:40 synopsis of the history of the world. Pinder's Mellotron sets down like a flying saucer coming to earth (it's the Moodie mothership!). Then the boys shout in unison "DESOLATION!" (which is followed by the sound of a howling wind), CREATION! (the sound of thunder and lightning), and "Communication..." (followed by the sound of native drums beating out a message, and the boys grunting like extras in a John Wayne western). The band runs through a head-spinning batch of snippets representing Indian, classical, baroque, folk, jazz and rock. It's all very ambitious but also very disjointed.

Hayward's "The Story In Your Eyes," the Moodie's last single featuring a Mellotron, is a dressed up rocker with pounding rhythm. It doesn't say much, but does show that Pinder, Haywood and Lodge could create some heat when they were locked in.

Hayward scores with the sad lament "You Can Never Go Home Anymore." His defeated vocal merges with Pinder's pulsating Mellotron accompaniment and the mournful choral backing: "I lie awake for hours, I'm just waiting for the sun, when the journey we are making has begun. Don't deny the feeling that is stealing through your heart, every happy ending needs to have a start."

Pinder offers only one song, but it's a Moodie monolith. "My Song" is a 6:20 marriage of classical music and art rock, with Pinder playing the piano as if he's channeling Beethoven after he's passed the bong to Michael Phelps.

Thomas offers the chirpy "Nice To Be Here" and hits home with "Our Guessing Game." "Nice To Be Here" is another example of the type of playful fantasy Thomas is an expert at creating. (Are you listening John Lodge?) It hops along energetically, feeding off of Thomas' "Alice in Wonderland" imagery and Hayward's bouncy guitar riffs. It's fun, but is closely reminiscent of "Floating" from "Our Children's Children's Children...," giving the listener a we've done this before feeling. Thomas' melodramatic vocal marks "Our Guessing Game" as a song of significance. Fortunately, with the assistance of Hayward's forceful guitar and Pinder's keyboard phrasing, "Our Guessing Game" delivers.

Leave it to Edge to come up with an irreverent but entertaining rocker. For "After You Came" he slips Pinder, Hayward and Lodge a line or two before they join together in the chorus. Because of the nature of the band's music, Edge seldom had his drums mixed in the forefront. "After You Came" affords him the opportunity to let his cymbals ring as he drives the tune.

Lodge's two tunes, "Emily's Song" and "One More Time To Live" are the album's primary disappointments. Dedicated to his daughter, "Emily's Song" is a dressed up nursery rhyme with sandman synthesizers and a twinkling glockenspiel solo. It's all very twee and sugary, a prime example of overindulgence for anyone critical of the Moodies' music. "One More Time To Live" picks up the chanting used in "Procession," which was bad enough the first time. There's no logical reason to repeat a failure, John.

The remastered import adds the extended single version of "The Story In Your Eyes," and the first take of the Hayward/Thomas composition "The Dreamer" an taut, focused mover that falls in the realm of the Yardbird's "Heart Full of Soul" with its acoustic backing and punchy American western atmosphere. It's a treat to hear Thomas sing with a harder edge. They should have put Johnny's puff pieces out to pasture and found a place for "The Dreamer" somewhere on the album.

When people ask me which Moody Blues album is my favorite, I'm inevitably torn between "Question Of Balance" and "Seventh Sojourn" (4 ½ out of 5 stars). "Question" has two more songs and flows more freely; the songs are by in large stronger, so it must be the personal connection I have with "Seventh Sojourn" that makes me rate it first.

I spent a Felliniesque weekend holed up in a friend's room in college with two girls, a revolving roster of guest loonies, ample pharmaceuticals and five, count 'em, five albums. I'd given my friend one of the albums, "Jack Bruce At His Best." Since Jack had only put out three albums at that point, it wasn't Jack Bruce anywhere near his best. The other albums were an eclectic collection of obscurities: "Fairyland," an extremely abrasive live album by jazz guitarist Larry Coryell; "Mark II," psychedelic blues by Steamhammer, an English group so obscure it took me four years to track down another copy of the album; and "The Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus" by Spirit, one of the most varied and scariest albums I've ever heard, an acid trip set to music. The fifth album was The Moody Blues' "Seventh Sojourn," an album that projected me so far out on the astral plane I never thought I'd come back, and I didn't want to.

Hayward's slow, silken overtly romantic "New Horizons" remains my favorite Moodies' track. Edge's drum fills give "New Horizon" the proper spectacle it needs, particularly his majestic ride across the tom-toms near the end. Pinder, who'd switched from the Mellotron to the more reliable Chamberlain, makes his new toy shimmer like a glowing sun, and Hayward's vocal is a tranquil, soothing balm: "Well I've got dreams enough for one, and I've got love enough for three. I've got my hopes to comfort me, I've got my new horizons out to sea." It's one of Hayward's more hopeful ballads that made me believe in the possibility of everlasting love. Any kind of love, everlasting or even brief, has proved to be as elusive as mercury over the years, but whenever I hear "New Horizons" for 5:10 I believe, brothers and sisters, I believe.

Several non-musical factors made "Seventh Sojourn" an incredible journey. With communication testy at best, it's ironic that "Seventh Sojourn" was the group's most peaceful and composed sounding project to date. It's also odd that the album's single, John Lodge's "I'm Just A Singer (In A Rock And Roll Band)" was a driving, up-tempo tune pushed by the rhythm section. It's an uncharacteristic speeding train that doesn't fit into the Moodies' mellow canon and ruins the rest of the album's transcendental mood. (Hence the 4 ½ star rating instead of 5). It's nice to hear Lodge and Edge work as a team, although the way the Moodies' music is set up, you sometimes forget the Moodies even have a drummer.

What sets "Seventh Sojourn" on a pedestal above the other albums is that Hayward, Pinder, Thomas and Lodge each came up with a signature tune. For Hayward, it was "New Horizons." Pinder composed the chilling opener "Lost In A Lost World," which damned greed and racial oppression: "I woke up today, I was crying, lost in a lost world. So many people are dying, lost in a lost world. Some of them are living an illusion, bounded by the darkness of their minds. In their eyes its nation against nation, with racial pride, sad hearts they hide, thinking only of themselves. They shun the light, they think they're right, living in their empty shells."

Pinder also unchained "When You're A Free Man." With the newfound freedom the Chamberlain afforded, Pinder was able to create a misty landscape of sound alongside Thomas' wraith-like flute. The clincher was his Dali Llama vocal, a reverberated murmur that said, "I've got some wisdom to impart, kids."

The writing partnership of Hayward and Thomas produced its last tune, the eager "You And Me" sung by the group. Hayward's "Land Of Make Believe" trod in Thomas' territory, spinning a child-like yarn against Pinder's avalanche of keyboards and Edge's edgy percussion.

Lodge wrote the hit single, but it was his 6:00 opus, "Isn't Life Strange" that showed he could lock into the same cosmic vibe as the rest of the group. Thomas furnished "My Lady," a warm Parisian love letter that became his most popular in-concert performance.

It's obvious the Moodies weren't wasting material by the time they got to "Seventh Sojourn" - there are only four extra tracks on the remastered edition - an instrumental demo of "Lost In A Lost World," the original version of "Isn't Life Strange" with an extended instrumental section that lengthens the song to 8:10, an early take of "You and Me" recorded at Mike Pinder's home with the host exploring the benefits of the Chamberlain, and "Island," a previously unreleased track written by Hayward intended for the next album.

As the group continued to evolve and video began figuring into the equation, Hayward and Lodge began to attract the most attention from fans as well as the group's management. They were younger and more photogenic than Thomas, whose case wasn't helped because his main instrument was the flute, so Hayward and Lodge's songs dominated the group's albums. Producer Tony Clarke went so far as to have Thomas' vocals wiped from the albums "The Other Side of Life" and "Sur Le Mer." For a time Thomas was able to feed his creative Jones in concert when he would step forward and sing crowd-pleasers like "My Lady" and "Legend Of A Mind." He also served as M.C., smacked a tambourine, and traded solos with Moraz. But now, instead of a meager two songs per album, Ray was reduced to one or none. Thomas eventually retired from the band in 2002, citing poor health, but he was probably too embarrassed or bored to death by then.

Solo Stuff...A Short Recess...For Five Years

Having recorded seven albums, driving the band to near-exhaustion and straining their relationships, the group decided to take a short rest in1972. The short recess became a five-year separation as each of the members released solo albums.

If there was any doubt about each member's role in the Moody Blues, their solo works made it more obvious: Mike the mystic, Ray the romantic, Justin the just, low level Lodge and gregarious Graeme.

Mike Pinder put out "The Promise" (3 out of 5 stars), which occasionally stumbled over its own overt spirituality. The celebratory "Free As A Dove," the stately "You'll Make It Through" and, in particular, the heartfelt ballad "I Only Want To Love You" made the album worth a listen, but as a Pinder fanatic I was a bit disappointed. "The Promise" suffered from a lack of separation between church and music, which in my opinion, should never mix.

Pinder had initially sought to record an album with Hayward, and the two began laying down tracks when conflicts in their schedules brought the project to a halt. Hayward turned to Lodge, and the two recorded the pristine "Blue Jays" (5 out of 5 stars). With Pinder and his Mellotron sidelined, the duo enlisted a string section. The human element added tension to the songs. Every track stands out either because of Hayward's silken voice, the pair's tight harmonies, or the string section's vibrant playing. The most notable songs are "Remember Me (My Friend)," "I Dreamed Last Night," as effecting and pained a ballad as Hayward ever penned; Lodge's lonely "Maybe," and Hayward's haunting "Who Are You Now," with its sad cello solo.

Hayward and Lodge went their separate ways, with Hayward releasing "Songwriter (3 ½ out of 5 stars). Uneven in spots, when it was bad it was atrocious (part two of the noisy title track would never have passed the quality control test for a Moodies album). When it was good, it was memorable, particularly "Stage door," the tale of an aspiring actress who leaves her friends and family behind, "Doin' Time," a threatening look at prison life, and "Nostradamus," which traced the 16th century figure's prognostications. The pleasant, infectious ballad "Raised On Love" had the added attraction of a chorus sung by elementary school kids, making it undeniably cute.

John Lodge released "Natural Avenue." Naturally, I didn't like the one song I heard, so I never bought he album. Therefore it's not fair that I rate it. But I will say this - it's never been released in the U.S., and even one of those Russian L.P. to CD knockoffs of the album is hard to find.

With his compositions increasingly squeezed out of the Moodies' albums, Ray Thomas had a surplus of material, so he put out two solo albums with guitarist Nicky James, 1975's "From the Mighty Oaks" (3 out of 5 stars) and 1976's "Hopes, Wishes and Dreams" (3 ½ out of 5 stars). Ray's songs on "Oaks" bordered on being pompous, the result of not having the others to reign him in, but knock wood, the country-influenced "Rock-A-Bye Baby Blues" and "Adam and I," a song about his relationship with his son, were solid as an oak. The improved "Hopes, Wishes and Dreams" was highlighted by the ebullient opener, "In Your Song," as well as the placid "Within Your Eyes," and "Didn't I," a dreamy ballad with a soaring vocal and an impressive conquistador coronet solo.

The most surprising entries came from Edge, who hitched his drum stool to the Gurvitz Brothers - guitarist Adrian and bassist Paul - two accomplished session men who'd helmed underground groups Gun and Three Man Army. Since Adrian or Paul handled the vocals and co-wrote the songs on the trio's three albums, they weren't really Edge solo works and were rightfully credited to "The Graeme Edge Band." "Bareback Rider," the brisk percussion dominated track that opened the trio's 1975 debut, "Kick Off Your Muddy Boots" (2 out of 5 stars) served notice that the trio has established a mainstream rock sound. Having Ginger Baker drum alongside Edge on the horn-blasted "Gew Jamma Woman" was a P.R. coup that increased the album's visibility. The follow-up, 1976's "Paradise Ballroom" (3 ½ out of 5 stars) was laden with hooks and soulful vocals by Adrian Gurvitz. Adrian Gurvitz powerful, tear-jerking performance energized "Human." He sounded devastated during "Down, Down, Down" and with Paul thumping on bass, swayed his way through "Everybody Needs Somebody," (which nipped the opening line from Dean Martin's "Everybody Loves Somebody"), making heartbreak almost sound like fun.

Hayward, Lodge and Edge are all that remain from rock's version of the philosopher's stone. They may not tour or record much anymore, but with their first seven solid albums the knights in white satin crossed new horizons and proved that thinking is the best way to travel. Get moody with The Moody Blues.