Beach Boys 1: Surfin’ Safari

The legend of the Beach Boys began modestly, with a novelty song about surfing that few could have dreamed would kick off careers that would last decades. Equally unlikely was the band’s name, almost arbitrarily concocted to help sell the one record. Naturally, any follow-ups would have be along the same theme, right?

The Beach Boys were a family affair, led by middle-class musical genius Brian Wilson, with his younger brothers in the band, their cousin Mike Love singing most of the lead vocals, and a friend helping out on guitar. They played basic rock ‘n roll, but with the added bonus of multipart harmonies influenced by doo-wop and the Four Freshmen. Something else to consider was just how young these kids were. Brian had just turned 20; Mike was 21 (and already losing his hair). Lead guitarist Carl Wilson was not yet 16, drummer Dennis Wilson not yet 18, and rhythm guitarist David Marks had just turned 14. And they made a pretty rockin’ little combo.

Despite the strides made by Frank Sinatra and Johnny Mathis in the evolution of the long-playing record, in 1962 albums basically collected hit singles, their B-sides, and whatever else hurriedly recorded to fill up two sides. The dozen tracks on Surfin’ Safari filled that requirement, but as Brian was determined to make great records that would endure as art, he tried harder than most people under the thumb of a manager—who was also his and his brothers’ father, as well as the singer’s uncle—and the producers more concerned with simple commerce than whether the album was any good. Brian cared about the kids who would buy and listen to his records, because he was one of them.

While Brian wrote and arranged all the music, he had help in the lyrical department, mostly from Mike, and also from one Gary Usher, an aspiring musician who would one day become a producer of note. For now, he would help Brian concoct the vignettes that would support the cover photo of wholesome suburban white boys in search of the next wave, or maybe a beach bunny or five to keep them company on the shore.

The title track is a catchy call to arms, loaded with all the right lingo and namechecks, as good an advertisement for the surfing industry as any. “County Fair” describes a different kind of summer fun, the verses broken up by a carnival barker and a sweet lovely begging her fella to win her a prize. However, “Ten Little Indians” has not aged well, being a nursery rhyme dotted with further racist references, and “Chug-A-Lug” is an ode to the pleasures of drinking root beer. Dennis takes the dreamy lead vocal on a cover of “Little Girl (You’re My Miss America)”, and a hint to their depth of subject matter is “409”, a song about a car with actual engine-revving sound effects.

The indie single that led to their Capitol contract, “Surfin’”, starts off the second side, and it’s clear that Brian had already progressed, just as “Heads You Win, Tails I Lose” shows he hadn’t yet figured out how to write about romance. “Cuckoo Clock” is even squirmier, a lament about the wall adornment that interrupts woo-pitching attempts. Their cover of “Summertime Blues” is very close to the Eddie Cochran original, and “Moon Dawg” was a surf instrumental from a few years earlier, livened up by some Beach Boys dog-barking. Finally, “The Shift” attempts a novelty song about a dress.

Seeing as most of the early Beach Boys albums were less than a half-hour long, their first release on CD had them wisely packaged as “two-fers”, offering two consecutive titles in stereo (when available) with bonus tracks and liner notes. This certainly provided value for one’s dollar when the albums couldn’t always stand alone. Of the extras added from the Surfin’ Safari sessions, “Land Ahoy” would be reworked a year later as “Cherry, Cherry Couple”, and “Cindy Oh Cindy” begins with their overbearing (to say the least) father Murry barking, “Knock it off.”

The Beach Boys Surfin’ Safari (1962)—2½
1990 CD reissue: same as 1962, plus Surfin’ U.S.A. album and 3 extra tracks

Jane’s Addiction 3: Ritual de lo Habitual

Coming off the heels of their major-label debut, and with a nutty outspoken frontman out there, the pump was primed for Jane’s Addiction next album. Ritual de lo Habitual was provocative out of the gate, starting with the cover art. Once again a sculpture designed by Perry Farrell and his partner, it depicted, well, a threesome, complete with pubic hair. (To make the album available in stores that wouldn’t stock that cover, a more stark version with the misattributed First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was prepared.) The music is full of the Jane’s trademarks we’d expect, but in a wider spectrum that inspires positive comparison to Led Zeppelin’s more epic mid-‘70s work.

A spoken piece in Spanish introduces the band, and “Stop!” crashes through the gate with everyone firing on all cylinders. For the second album in a row Perry opens with a hearty “here we go”; the half-time bridge is very effective, as is the a cappella break. They don’t let up on “No One’s Leaving”, a slice of funk that soon turns to an all-out assault, except for when it pauses after each verse. Following a mildly atmospheric interlude underscoring defiance, “Ain’t No Right” drives the tempo back to full more of the same. “Obvious” fades in, with an incessant piano under the groove, deftly riding the wave through the bursts of accents between the dense vocals and wailing guitars. It all coasts to a close after six mesmerizing minutes, then it’s the audio-verité and barking dog opening the goofy “Been Caught Stealing”, helped along by its equally goofy video.

In an excellent demonstration of how to program albums as distinct sides, the second half is practically an entity to itself. The half-hour opens with “Three Days”, which basically fills in the details around the snapshot of the cover. One of the participants was no longer with us when the album came out, having died of an overdose and the album dedicated to her, but the fact she was likely a minor when she knew Perry likely added to his excitement. The recited prose in two speakers doesn’t help, but it’s much more interesting to hear what the band does with the music dynamically. “Then She Did…” is on a similar theme of remembrance, winding its way through trippy riffing and complementary drums for several minutes to establish a groove, with a few Big Moments, punctuated by strings and cymbals. The last such Big Moment concludes with a verse that illuminates Perry’s raison d’être: his mother’s suicide. The childhood reflection continues on “Of Course”, a gypsy stomp dominated by the Klezmer-style violin of Charlie Bisharat, recently of Shadowfax and shortly to accompany both Yanni and John Tesh. It’s a little too long—not unlike slapping yourself in the face—but the shimmering “Classic Girl” is a simple love song that ends the journey in tranquility and acceptance. He even wishes us a good night at the end.

Along with Nothing’s Shocking, Ritual de lo Habitual made the ideal side B on the Maxell tape that was their oeuvre (though you needed a 100-minute cassette to fit it all). And that would be it for a while, as the band, already fractured between the sober members and Perry’s dominance, disbanded at the close of the lengthy tour promoting the album, which included the first Lollapalooza Festival as part of its North American leg.

Jane’s Addiction Ritual de lo Habitual (1990)—4

Tears For Fears 9: Songs For A Nervous Planet

The promotional success of The Tipping Point saw Tears For Fears touring behind it over two consecutive summers, and a show from near the end of the second leg was the basis of the double live album Songs For A Nervous Planet, as well as a matching film. Stuff from the new album is mixed with the expected hits and older favorites, all impeccably performed to replicate the records, with little variation (such as the blatant quote from “Hello Goodbye” at the end of “Sowing The Seeds Of Love”). There’s a wonderful shift when Lauren Adams sings a stripped-back “Suffer The Children”, followed by the duets of “Woman In Chains” and “Badman’s Song”. We do find it interesting to hear “Break It Down Again”, the only song in the set from an album Curt Smith wasn’t on. “Shout” is the closing number, of course; you can just barely hear the crowd singing it before the first verse.

Perhaps to give the consumer a little more, the first disc begins with four new studio tracks. “Say Goodbye To Mum And Dad” mixes somber messaging with a jaunty whistled tune, while “The Girl I Call Home” starts out techno and ends anthemic. “Emily Said” is downright cheery, and blatantly personal, given the titular character speaks Roland Orzabal’s first name, and is also the name of his new bride. The children’s choir overdoes the sugar, however, and the false ending with a different coda suggests there’s another version of it somewhere in a vault. But the opposite emotion is “Astronaut”, another wish to hide from the world. (Target stores got an exclusive track in “Landlocked”.) In some ways the live portion seems like a bonus to an EP.

Tears For Fears Songs For A Nervous Planet (2024)—3

Van Morrison 51: What’s It Gonna Take?

Clearly still miffed about Covid, Van Morrison followed up the two-hour diatribe that was Latest Record Project with another 80 minutes of biased ranting from the Irish equivalent of a MAGA nut. It should be telling that the only positive review of What’s It Gonna Take? by a major news source came from the National Review.

“Dangerous” seesaws over two chords for over seven minutes, livened up only by a fiddle solo. The title track is catchy, but for the angry lyrics, and “Fighting Back Is The New Normal” makes its point over a cheesy organ. “Fodder For The Masses” is well arranged, down to the middle eight and the backing vocals, but doesn’t understand the irony of calling out “fake news”. The more meditative “Can’t Go On This Way” could easily be tweaked to be more about general heartbreak than all the ways he’s been inconvenienced, but “Sometimes It’s Just Blah Blah Blah” is just plain insulting, especially when he tries to drown out the doo-wop vocalist over the end. “Money From America” (as in no more) doesn’t even bother to find a melody.

“Not Seeking Approval” wastes its Motown beat by rhyming the title with “business as usual”, and “Damage And Recovery” rehashes all his beefs from the title track, livened only by his saxophone solos. “Nervous Breakdown” is just plain odd, as he introduces all the instruments one by one in a cartoony voice, then equates his condition with having “some kind of breakthrough”. It makes the piety and plea for unity in “Absolutely Positively The Most” all the more incongruous. We’d like to believe him when he insists “I Ain’t No Celebrity”, and he bemoans his own fame in “Stage Name”, and then “Fear And Self-Loathing In Las Vegas” finds him muttering to himself while killing time between gigs. While it’s a little repetitive, “Pretending” is by far the best song here, and the most universal.

Everyone is allowed their own opinions, of course, but until the end of the album, What’s It Gonna Take? doesn’t vary from the chosen theme enough to strengthen his arguments. We don’t want to listen to Neil Young yell about electric cars or Monsanto for the length of an album either. It’s just tedious.

Van Morrison What’s It Gonna Take? (2022)—2

Van Morrison 1: Them

As a youth in Belfast, Van Morrison was obsessed with jazz and rhythm & blues, but by the time bands like his were getting noticed, record companies were looking to jump on the British Invasion bandwagon. So over the two years and two dozen players who passed through their ranks, Them were tasked with making hit singles out of their brand of British R&B—kinda like the Animals. Producer and songwriter Bert Berns came over from New York to cash in, sometimes using one Jimmy Page to bolster the studio sound.

Somehow the Van-penned B-side of “Baby Please Don’t Go” became a huge hit (and garage band staple) on both sides of the pond, and since America was all about hits, “Gloria” was emblazoned on the cover and among three single sides added to the distillation of the excellently titled British album The Angry Young Them. It was placed at the end of side one, which began with Berns’ “Here Comes The Night”, another hit with a distinct Sam Cooke influence in the vocal. Berns also foisted “Go On Home Baby”, which features rare harmonies from another band member, on them. John Lee Hooker’s “Don’t Look Back” is a cool ballad with tasty piano, and the prominent organ of “I’m Gonna Dress In Black” makes it very much an Animals soundalike. “(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66” had already been claimed—and nailed—by the Stones.

Of Van’s own songs, “Mystic Eyes” is the standout, basically a two-chord jam with a seemingly extemporaneous recital that’s a forerunner to his later, longer ruminations. (“Little Girl” isn’t as successful, and “One Two Brown Eyes” is more notable for its slide guitar effects.) “One More Time” and “If You And I Could Be As Two” are attempts at seduction, stuck between belting and speaking, and “I Like It Like That” mostly meanders.

Less than a year later, Them Again shaved the British version down to twelve tracks, still split between Van originals and covers. Of these, their moody take on Dylan’s “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” is the clear winner. Chris Kenner’s “Something You Got” has a sax solo that might be Van, and these days it’s interesting to hear “Turn On Your Love Light” and consider that Them’s version could be what inspired the Dead to do it. “I Can Only Give You Everything” is a trashy variation on the usual garage riff, and “Out Of Sight” is the closest they got to being James Brown. Tommy Scott was now their producer, so four of his songs made the album. “Call My Name” and “How Long Baby” are rather ordinary, but “I Can Only Give You Everything” has a cool snotty riff, and the flute and piano on “Don’t You Know” predict “Moondance”.

Van himself was limited to four songwriting credits. “Could You, Would You” with its powerful drum fills opened the album, and the double acoustic guitar on “My Lonely Sad Eyes” almost makes it folk-rock. “Bad Or Good” is nice and soulful, just as “Bring ‘Em On In” is defiant.

Management issues and general disinterest led to the band splitting into factions on tour, and ultimately Van went off to be a solo artist of merit, which meant that various repackages of Them material popped up throughout the ‘70s. The first, 1972’s Them… Featuring Van Morrison, excerpted ten songs from each of the American albums but in reverse order, with dense liner notes by Lester Bangs in phone book-size type across the inner gatefold. Two years later, Backtrackin’ helpfully offered up ten tracks that weren’t on either of the American albums, including such singles as “Baby Please Don’t Go” and their cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s “Richard Cory”, as well as “Hey Girl” (another flute-laden precursor to “Cyprus Avenue”) and the previously unreleased “Mighty Like A Rose”. Three years after that, The Story Of Them offered nine more of the same, mostly blues covers but also the rare title track, a rambling memoir in changing keys originally split over two sides of a single but here continuous, the early EP track “Philosophy”, and the lovely late single “Friday’s Child”.

Eventually, The Best Of Van Morrison included “Gloria”, “Baby Please Don’t Go”, and “Here Comes The Night”; Volume Two offered “Don’t Look Back” and “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” amidst songs from the ‘80s simply because Polydor still had the rights to them. Another attempt to tell The Story Of Them Featuring Van Morrison on two CDs had to navigate mono mixes and stereo remixes, and still seemed to be somewhat random in its sequencing. It wasn’t until the band’s 50th anniversary (and Van’s partnership with Sony Legacy) that The Complete Them 1964-1967 presented a full chronological overview, with all of the singles and album tracks in context on two discs, and a third devoted to previously unreleased demos and select alternate takes and BBC sessions. Van even wrote the liner notes. Getting to hear the singles in release order doesn’t take away the haphazard construction of the albums, even in the British sequences, but we do hear his voice and songwriting improve.

Them Them (1965)—3
Them Them Again (1966)—3
Them Backtrackin’ (1974)—2½
Them The Story Of Them (1977)—2½
Them The Complete Them 1964-1967 (2015)—3

Neil Young 74: Talkin To The Trees

The latest State of the Neil arrived a year after a Crazy Horse tour that had to be cut short due to “health issues”. Once he had a new batch of songs, he went back to Shangri-La Studio with three young guys from Promise Of The Real, plus Spooner Oldham, who’s older than Neil. He dubbed his new band the Chrome Hearts—must be a C.H. thing—and three documented days of recording resulted in Talkin To The Trees. The co-producer was the legendary Lou Adler, who also happened to be his brother-in-law, and that may be one reason for a smoother sound overall, on the loud as well as quieter songs.

“Family Life” starts out nice, though his cranky old man voice doesn’t bother to find the tempo of the backing. It’s also the first of two songs that overtly discusses an apparent estrangement from his daughter and grandchildren; the heavier “Dark Mirage” doesn’t name names but is even more pointed while repeating the same woes, and frankly, it’s uncomfortable to sit through. “First Fire Of Winter” provides some relief from the hurt, even though it sounds like “Helpless” without a chorus, and about as loping as “Roger And Out”. Micah Nelson does add some nice atmospherics in the absence of Ben Keith. Seemingly a tribute to his tour bus, the acoustic “Silver Eagle” uses the melody from “This Land Is Your Land”, and so does “Lets Roll Again”, an electric stomp exhorting the American auto industry and indirectly calling out Elon Musk.

“Big Change” is a lot of yelling over loud chords; he’s done this a lot lately, but somehow it works this time. The title track is another melodic rewrite of “Western Hero” (or “Train Of Love”)—it even references “Prime Of Life”—and we don’t know if the Bob mentioned is Dylan or his own brother. “Movin Ahead” (clearly we’re dealing with an aversion to apostrophes) is a ramshackle thrash that sounds like a first take, or left over from Peace Trail; our favorite part is when the mix drops everything out but the tack piano. But with “Bottle Of Love” we finally get a bonafide classic with all the hallmarks he used to provide: switching meters and unorthodox changes played on piano and vibes with a haunting vocal melody. It leads well into “Thankful”, a cousin but not a copy of “Harvest Moon”, ending a compact album with an autumnal feel.

While a consistent release regimen keeps his message fresh, he doesn’t craft albums anymore; gone are the days when he would be able to pick and choose from several sessions over sometimes a few years. But the good definitely outweighs the bad on Talkin To The Trees, and we do hope he’s got more left in the tank. We also hope he can patch things up with his family, but that’s really none of our business.

Neil Young and the Chrome Hearts Talkin To The Trees (2025)—3

Brian Eno 30: Secret Life

By the time he was 75 years old, Brian Eno had more than a couple generations of musicians who’d been influenced by his work. One such person was Fred Gibson, also known as Fred again.. (with two periods), a DJ and producer who worked with Eno on his collaborations with Karl Hyde. While keeping eyes and ears on each other since, the Covid pandemic gave them a chance to collaborate fully and at their own pace.

Secret Life is mostly an ambient album, in that it has little to no tempo and relies mostly on muted electric pianos and other keyboards. But Fred does provide vocals, equally inspired by those of his older partner. His other trick is to interpolate other people’s songs—as he does on “Secret”, from a Leonard Cohen song, and John Prine on two others—and sample vocals from a variety of sources. Those contributors are acknowledged in the same list as the other engineers and producers.

For the most part the album floats along, but “Enough” and “Trying” have more prominent vocals and energetic backing melodies that refuse to stay in the background, particularly when the static is mixed up. What little percussion the album has comes from the sampled voices. There’s so much Fred here it’s not clear what Eno brought to the table, but that was probably the point.

Fred again.. Brian Eno Secret Life (2023)—3