David Crosby 10: For Free

Only the Covid pandemic could slow David Crosby’s determination to keep performing. Not able to tour, he recorded another album as fast as he could—his fifth since 2014. But rather than the experimentalism of his work with the so-called Lighthouse Band, For Free is more relaxed adult contemporary, typical of his collaboration with James Raymond. That means there’s also lots of piano, which is fine.

“River Rise” sets the tone immediately, being a co-write with Michael McDonald, who harmonizes on the choruses. We keep thinking we hear Stephen Stills singing on “I Think I”, but it turns out to be one Steve Postell, who’s been busy lately in the Immediate Family Band with such Croz veterans as Danny Kortchmar, Lee Sklar, and Russ Kunkel. “The Other Side Of Midnight” is one of three songs contributed solely by Raymond, with layered voices interwoven between the programmed guitar sounds. “Rodriguez For A Night” is a collaboration with Donald Fagen that basically sounds like Crosby singing on a Steely Dan record. That makes the mystery of “Secret Dancer” all the more alluring.

“Ships In The Night” is kinda generic, and we can’t get past how he pronounces “irrevocably”, but the title track is his second cover of this particular Joni Mitchell perennial, sung here as a lovely, intricate duet with Sarah Jarosz. From there it’s a leap to the present with “Boxes”, in which he seems to acknowledge his mortality as well as the choices that drove people away from him. That sets the tone continued on “Shot At Me”, a conversation with a young combat veteran. The finest moments come in “I Won’t Stay For Long”, a moving benediction set up by a count-in by Brian Wilson, who doesn’t seem to have anything else to do with the album.

Coming after such a strong run, especially for someone of his age and legacy, For Free isn’t as immediately surprising, or frankly as satisfying, as the four albums he’d made in the past decade. Unless there’s a pile of recordings waiting to be unleashed, this will have to stand as his final statement, as it was the last album he would complete in his amazingly long life.

David Crosby For Free (2021)—3

Kinks 30: Think Visual

1986 wasn’t the best year for bands like the Kinks, and whatever commercial clout they had built up thus far in the decade was scuppered once they signed to MCA (in the U.S.; London got them in the U.K.), a label that simply didn’t know how to promote artists, new or vintage. Which was too bad, since Think Visual, their first album under the new deals, wasn’t awful.

Of course, Ray Davies was still Ray Davies, and he opens the album with “Working At The Factory”, a blatant complaint about what the music biz has done to him. Subject matter aside, it’s still a decent track. So is “Lost And Found”, which is literally about getting through a hurricane, but works on metaphorical levels as well. (Even if it does evoke both “It’s The Same Old Song” and “The Boy With The Thorn In His Side”.) Too much of “Repetition” lives up to its title, but there are some clever inversions of the three-chord pattern, and a killer bridge. Similarly, “Welcome To Sleazy Town” has an arrangement to match, a slow bluesy stroll with a canned-sounding harmonica, while “The Video Shop” is left over from when Ray wanted to write a concept album about the guy from the “Come Dancing” video selling pirated tapes.

Dave Davies gets to bookend side two, and not very well. “Rock ‘N Roll Cities” is a not very original idea, shouting out names of places in a very pandering way looking for easy applause when they’d get around to playing it on stage. While it tends to drag over the same two chords, Ray redeems himself with “How Are You”, something of a sadder follow-up to “Do You Remember Walter”. The title track is more commentary on marketing, spouting what we now call buzzwords over an edgy backing, whereas “Natural Gift” takes a more human approach to the idea of substance over style. “Killing Time” is another one of those songs he could write in his sleep, and it’s a shame this wasn’t a single. But Dave leaves us with the synth-heavy “When You Were A Child”; there’s nothing wrong with it, except that it doesn’t belong on this album.

We said Think Visual wasn’t awful, mostly because it could have been a lot worse. There are enough decent songs throughout the album, but we get the feeling they were going through the motions.

The Kinks Think Visual (1986)—2½

Roger McGuinn 2: Peace On You

Whatever charms his first solo album had didn’t translate to sales, so his label dictated that Roger McGuinn submit to someone else producing his follow-up, and probably bring in some ringers too. In addition to Al Kooper, Dan Fogelberg—who contributed a song apiece—and Flo & Eddie (the latter’s last name spelt wrong), the musicians on Peace On You included Paul Harris and Al Perkins (most recently found in Manassas), Donnie Dacus (who’d soon be found around Stephen Stills himself), and the rhythm section of Russ Kunkel and Lee Sklar (next stop: Crosby & Nash), with the whole proceedings helmed by Bill Halverson (who’d already been associated with CSN). Even the back cover included hype-style liner notes reminding the consumer who he was and what he did, basically saying his name wasn’t enough anymore.

The joke in Charlie Rich’s “Peace On You” gets lost in its arrangement, and more so because it’s the title track. The lonesome “Without You” puts a drag on the proceedings, even with Donnie Dacus soloing constantly. Dacus himself contributed “Going To The Country”, which has promise in its picking, but he didn’t bother to write a chorus. Al Kooper’s “(Please Not) One More Time” is slathered in adult contemporary pop touches, but “Same Old Sound” is mostly notable because we finally hear the trademark 12-string play a solo.

“Do What You Want To Do” is a slightly better Allman Brothers homage from Dacus, but “Together” is more lovelorn moping that seesaws between downbeat picking and ill-advised double-time choruses. “Better Change” is the Fogelberg contribution, and a lot tougher than we expected it would be. “Gate Of Horn” is a tribute to the storied Chicago folk club where he fell in love with the genre, sadly shackled to a vaudeville-style arrangement that speeds up and slows down at various points. “The Lady” finally sounds like classic McGuinn, and about time as it’s the last track.

The problem with loading the deck with all-star talent is that they swamp the tracks, so that if not for his trademark nasal twang—which does become tiresome after a while—one might not know Peace On You was a Roger McGuinn album, even on the songs he did write, usually with Jacques Levy. Instead, it resembles Stephen Stills once he started to run out of gas, and maybe the same players had something to do with it. (The eventual Sundazed reissue added a bonus track in an earlier version of “Rock & Roll Time”, which would be redone two albums later.)

Roger McGuinn Peace On You (1974)—2
2004 Sundazed reissue: same as 1974, plus 1 extra track

Kiss 15: Creatures Of The Night

Somehow Kiss still had a recording contract, and since they didn’t know how to do anything else, they recorded another album. But while Ace Frehley was still depicted on the cover of Creatures Of The Night, and would appear in the first video, he didn’t play a note on the album. Among the ringers they brought in—including such odd choices as Robben Ford and Jimmy Haslip—was one Vincent Cusano, who was credited with co-writing three of the songs. He’d make his mark in an even more visible way soon enough.

For the first time in five years the band did what they did best, which was to rock out. And that they do, beginning with the title track, sneered by Paul Stanley. We hear a touch of keyboard, but not in a dated way. It’s a good thing lyrics were included on the inner sleeve, as we can barely understand what Gene Simmons is singing about on “Saint And Sinner”, and Paul has the same problem on “Keep Me Comin’”, but at least that has a catchy chorus despite the suggestion. “Rock And Roll Hell” is another collaboration with Bryan Adams and Jim Vallance—a joke that almost writes itself. “Danger” is a retread of the high-speed shuffle that drove “Love Gun”, and actually sounds like something that could have been on one of their older albums.

If anything would have sold the album, it was “I Love It Loud”, another statement of purpose for a band that already had several. From Eric Carr’s “Kashmir”-style drums to the chant, the simple chorus to Gene’s interjections, they managed to create another classic, complete with false fade and return. Only then can they insert the requisite ballad, this time in the form of “I Still Love You”, which Paul asserts for six minutes. The fast riffing and misogynistic lyrics of “Killer” reinstate their badassery, and “War Machine” is more mercenary posing from Gene.

While Creatures Of The Night wasn’t the return to commercial form they’d hoped it would be, the album still holds up. Once the band’s catalog started selling again, the Mercury label reissued it with a new cover that still didn’t accurately represent who played on it, while remixing and shifting a few tracks; the original cover was reinstated a decade later when the catalog was remastered.

The album’s 40th anniversary was a cause for celebration in some quarters, and the band delivered again. The Deluxe Edition added a smattering of demos, outtakes, and live tracks to the original mix. But true Kiss Army enlistees would have wanted the Super Deluxe five-CD box, which boasted two full discs of demos and outtakes (including the four new songs released everywhere but the U.S. on Killers) and two full discs of live recordings from the tour, culminating in nine minutes of assorted and indexed sound effects. The requisite Blu-ray had the Atmos and surround mixes of the album, which could be enjoyed while thumbing through the book and ephemera.

Kiss Creatures Of The Night (1982)—3
2022 40th Anniversary Deluxe Edition: same as 1982, plus 16 extra tracks (Super Deluxe Edition adds another 51 tracks plus Blu-ray)

Walter Becker 1: 11 Tracks Of Whack

Even more surprising than Donald Fagen re-emerging as a solo artist after a decade and promoting by touring with a reunited Steely Dan was Walter Becker releasing his first solo album. After all those years content to be the other guy in the band, 11 Tracks Of Whack—which perversely consists of 12 tracks—presents him as the vocalist for the first time. While he doesn’t have the distinct sneer his partner perfected, his voice is passable and not grating.

“Down In The Bottom” has a groove a lot like Big Audio Dynamite’s “Medicine Show”, and we mean that in a good way. “Junkie Girl” is a little slower, with a dark lyric and an expletive-laden chorus that belies its lazy lilt. “Surf And/Or Die” is even more elusive, with dense imagery in a barely sung litany. The keyboards and sax on “Book Of Liars” sound the most like Fagen should be singing, though he doesn’t, while “Lucky Henry” teeters on smooth jazz but for the busy meter and wailing, dueling guitar solos. And while “Hard Up Case” throws in some unexpected turns, it’s not much more than a prop for the hook in the chorus.

A marriage turned sour is approached with wry humor in “Cringemaker”, while “Girlfriend” is a complaint from a sad sack whining alone in front of his television. “My Waterloo” has something of a reggae feel, but the sameness of the content is starting to drag. Luckily “This Moody Bastard” is a better example of finger-pointing. The nuttiest tune by far is “Hat Too Flat”, sung by a visiting alien (presumably) from outer space, but maybe it’s an allegory) trying to fit in among ordinary English-speaking humans. “Little Kawai” is a sweet reprimand to a misbehaving imp that’s musically very close to John Cale’s “The Man Who Couldn’t Afford To Orgy”.

With co-production by Fagen, along with some keyboards and arrangements, and contributions from guitarist Dean Parks, 11 Tracks Of Whack is close enough to Steely Dan to appeal to fans. If they can just get past his voice.

Walter Becker 11 Tracks Of Whack (1994)—3

Joni Mitchell 29: Further Asylum Years

With excellent regularity, the Joni Mitchell Archive series stayed on a mostly consistent schedule, with the fourth box of unreleased material arriving roughly a year after the third (and a few months after a remastered set of the albums that mostly correspond to what’s covered here). Interestingly—or perversely—while the title says it encompasses the years 1976 through 1980, the music begins in November 1975 and ends in September 1979.

A good deal of the contents consists of live recordings, beginning with her tagging along on Bob Dylan’s Rolling Thunder Revue, then continuing on her own tour to promote The Hissing Of Summer Lawns. She tries out some new material, including “Coyote”, on its own and in a medley with what would become the title track of Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter. (Rather than the now-familiar clip of her playing it at Gordon Lightfoot’s house, or even at The Last Waltz, she pulls out “Woman Of Heart And Mind”.) Most of a Boston show with the L.A. Express takes up the second disc, continued from the first, and it’s most interesting when she plays on her own. Nearly unplugged arrangements of “Shadows And Light” and “Harry’s House” are very nice, as are early performances of “Hejira” and “Talk To Me”. (Apparently the chicken noises were entrenched from the beginning.)

Fans of Hejira will drool over disc three, which begins with acoustic demos of seven of the album’s songs (Chaka Khan helps out on “Black Crow”) and three that would end up on the next. It goes on to include an intro and two songs from a stop on the second leg of the Rolling Thunder Revue, and ends with two rough mixes from the album sessions: “Refuge Of The Roads” with more horns (and without Jaco Pastorius) and “Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter”.

There are only two outtakes from the Don Juan sessions: a rough mix of “Otis And Marlena” and a 12-minute piano improvisation titled “Save Magic” that would form the basis of “Paprika Plains”. Then she was off to work with Charles Mingus, and we finally get to hear some lost sessions with such jazz legends as Tony Williams, Gerry Mulligan, Stanley Clarke, and John McLaughlin. One version of “Sweet Sucker Dance” is just drums and her layered vocals, while “A Good Suit And A Good Haircut” incorporates more of the man’s “raps”, and “Sue And The Holy River” is a lovely piano exploration. We also get to hear excerpts from a festival show where she played some of her new Mingus-infused compositions and collaborations in the occasional company of Herbie Hancock on grand as opposed to electric piano. “The Dry Cleaner From Des Moines” is a cappella and wonderful, and she encourages the audience to provide wolf noises to “The Wolf That Lives In Lindsay” while she tunes her guitar mid-performance, and they howl along with the tape too. (A session outtake provides a mix without the wolves.)

Most of the last two discs are devoted to a Forest Hills show in 1979, augmented by other appearances from the same tour, presenting something of an alternate Shadows And Light, but with a few songs that weren’t on that album. (“Jaco’s Solo” was one of those, probably because took a cacophonous, effects laden trip to Hendrix’s “Third Stone From The Sun”.)

This was Joni’s most challenging era yet for fans, certainly compared to the previous eight years of her public career, and the music within this set reflects that, as well as her descending range. Still, for those willing to dive further in, there are indeed gems to be found, as well as takes on more familiar material (two versions each of “Free Man In Paris” and “Help Me”, but three of “Big Yellow Taxi”). It’s fascinating to hear her create.

Joni Mitchell Archives—Volume 4: The Asylum Years (1976-1980) (2024)—3

John Cale 7: Helen Of Troy

The cover of Helen Of Troy depicts John Cale in a straightjacket, over a pair of leather pants and stylish shoes with clashing socks. It’s a good setup for the music within, mostly right in line with his last two albums, with contributions from Chris Spedding and Brian Eno. String and choral arrangements by Robert Kirby, now best known for his work with Nick Drake, add color.

One adjective that applies to this album is menacing, right from the opening “My Maria”. Between the keyboards, guitar, and choir, the arrangement recalls Lou Reed’s “Lady Day”, but it’s even more impressionistic and impenetrable yet haunting somehow. The title track is punctuated by mincing, campy commentary from one Alan Courtney, synth blasts that sound very much like Roxy Music saxes but aren’t, and Enossification resembling an outer-space bowling alley. The much sunnier “China Sea” is as jaunty as anything on Paris 1919, complete with Beach Boy harmonies and other Wilsonian touches. A compact portrait of insanity, “Engine” begins with just piano and his voice, which gets increasingly unhinged after the band kicks in. Soon he’s pounding keys with his fists and shrieking until everything just stops. “Save Us” seems to be a prayer for salvation, and he manages to keep things in check despite the desperate tone. Following the template set on “Fear Is A Man’s Best Friend”, his voice goes from weary to histrionic within the space of a verse and chorus throughout this album, and certainly on “Cable Hogue”, presumably inspired by the recent Sam Peckinpah film.

But he could also be tender, as demonstrated on the positively torchy “I Keep A Close Watch”, the loveliest thing he’s ever written, and a love song to boot worthy of Sinatra. The sentimental mood doesn’t last for “Pablo Picasso”, the Jonathan Richman classic originally produced by Cale but unreleased at the time of this cover. “Leaving It Up To You” is mostly straightforward, but he gets very worked up in the middle, going to far as to reference Sharon Tate, which caused the song to be pulled from some pressings. (The much more placid “Coral Moon” was the replacement.) Jimmy Reed’s “Baby, What You Want Me To Do” is also played straight rock as opposed to blues, though without the shuffle it tends to drag. So it is that “Sudden Death” fits the same slot as “Ghost Story” and other “nightmare” songs, but in this context it’s no more scary than anything else, just morbid.

Cale maintains that Helen Of Troy was unfinished, and rushed out by the label before he had time to perfect it. Considering how ornate the tracks are, it’s hard to imagine what was missing; could be he didn’t intend there to be so much reverb anywhere. Even so, it wasn’t officially released in the U.S. for decades, which he may or may not have appreciated.

John Cale Helen Of Troy (1975)—3