Steve Winwood 4: Back In The High Life

In 1986, something happened for the first time in his career: Steve Winwood became a multi-million-dollar pop star, and under his own name. He was certainly an established artist after two decades of mostly solid work in bands and on sessions, but now he was accepted by people who may have found Peter Gabriel too quirky, or Phil Collins too short. Back In The High Life followed on from his last two solo albums, with the key difference that while he played lots of the instruments himself, ringers were brought in, so it became something of a star-studded affair.

He always opened his albums with the single, and “Higher Love” was this one’s. Once again working with lyricist Will Jennings, the sound has much less emphasis on traditional keyboards or even synthesizers, more on canned horns and a mix of live and programmed percussion, but most of all, those horns, which also turn out to be programmed. It was mildly danceable, and sported Chaka Khan on harmonies and in the video, which helped take it to #1 on the charts. Real horns and an organ drive “Take It As It Comes”, which now sounds like a prototype for “Roll With It” two years later. The best part is the guitar solo, which he plays himself, and we always forget how good he is on that instrument. “Freedom Overspill” got play on the more album-oriented radio stations, something of a rock-funk groove that stays on one chord except for that pre-chorus part and the bridge. We still suspect it was inspired by Richie Havens’ “Freedom” improv at Woodstock, but we can’t prove it. He reverts to near-one-man-band territory with “Back In The High Life Again”, a clear winner with its prominent mandolin, harmonies by James Taylor, and upbeat message.

That positivity pervades “The Finer Things”, which brings back the trusty Oberheim that drove his hits earlier in the decade. This time the backup singers include Dan Hartman and James Ingram. Despite its mystic Eastern intro and interlude, “Wake Me Up On Judgement Day” is fairly generic pop driven a lot of Nile Rodgers guitar. Joe Walsh contributes his own distinctive guitar and co-writing skills to “Split Decision”, the only real rocker on the album, and a welcome one. That would have been a terrific closer, but he chose instead to end with the low-key “My Love’s Leavin’”, co-written with old collaborator Vivian Stanshall, and apparently a personal preference, as the artiste was going through a divorce throughout the making of the album.

Those of us who treasured our Blind Faith and Traffic albums quickly tired of the ubiquitous singles off Back In The High Life, particularly with those oh-so-‘80s horn stabs dominating the radio for a full year. But there’s no denying the album’s appeal, and he deserved the accolades.

Steve Winwood Back In The High Life (1986)—3

Mike Campbell 3: External Combustion

Reinvigorated by leading his own band, Mike Campbell kept going with the Dirty Knobs, and had another album in the can before long. External Combustion continued to deliver on the established brand, though he did take the step of including his name along with the band to improve recognition.

The guy can write riffs all day long, and they drive the better songs, beginning with “Wicked Mind”. Unfortunately he’s got big shoes to fill in the lyrical department, as his old boss likely would have polished “Brigitte Bardot” better. “Cheap Talk” goes unexpected places with its nightmare strings and coos from Margo Price—some backwards—under its main riff. Speaking of which, the title track has a spidery one that always seems like it’s playing with tempo, and pays off on the coda where it just spirals around everywhere. Ian Hunter guests on “Dirty Job”, both on piano and raspy vocals, and Margo more clearly duets on “State Of Mind”, and while there are strings again, the Memphis-style horns take it to a better place.

Benmont Tench smacks the ivories on the mostly routine “Lightning Boogie”, but the changes in the chorus are unexpected. We’re assuming that’s other guitarist Jason Sinay singing a verse on “Rat City”, and again on “It Is Written”; frankly, he should sing more. Both songs seem to be social commentary, but get derailed into grateful love lyrics, yet still catchy. In between, “In This Lifetime” is built around quiet harmonics, the likes of which we haven’t heard from Campbell since the mid-‘80s, and is a welcome change of pace. Because he had years to learn how to sequence albums, “Electric Gypsy” ends the program as strong as it started.

In the end, External Combustion is simply a fun album with lots of guitars. It isn’t a masterpiece, and isn’t supposed to be. We’re just glad he’s playing.

Mike Campbell & The Dirty Knobs External Combustion (2022)—3

Frank Zappa 59: Mystery Disc

Back in the mid-‘80s, when Frank Zappa retained the rights to his old masters, over a period of two and half years he began reissuing his first 20 albums (save 200 Motels, which he didn’t have) in a series of three multi-LP boxes called, yes, The Old Masters. Each set included reproduced cover art and booklets with photos and such, plus a T-shirt with the slogan “I Bought The Box”. The first set gained notoriety because this is where We’re Only In It For The Money and Cruising With Ruben & The Jets had new drums and bass overdubbed, and not in a subtle way. But the first two boxes also each had an extra bonus Mystery Disc of unreleased recordings from the vaults. While the first volume included explanatory liner notes, the second was more of a mystery, as there wasn’t a lot of information past the song titles and an occasional location credit.

Most of this material would have come out on that multi-disc anthology he’d been threatening since 1970, and over time some of that material was farmed out to such later compilations as You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore and The Lost Episodes. But it was a nice move for the estate to release the contents of both Mystery Disc volumes on their own CD. In order for it all to fit on one disc, “Why Don’tcha Do Me Right?” and “Big Leg Emma” had to be left out, but they had already become standard on the Absolutely Free CD anyway.

This music is truly for completists, as the tracks range from early live field recordings to atonal improvisations. There are a few actual songs, but tend to be alternate versions. For instance, “Original Duke Of Prunes” is that familiar melody heard as part of a movie soundtrack Frank scored in 1964, and “Plastic People” is more overtly based on “Louie Louie”. Despite what the liner notes say, “Theme From Run Home Slow” is not the same take as on The Lost Episodes. We get glimpses into the R&B band that preceded the Mothers, and general experimenting (read: goofing around) once he had his own studio. Another example of Captain Beefheart singing the words from comic books over a groove is included as well.

One side of the second Mystery Disc LP was devoted to the “dramatic portion” of the Royal Festival Hall show documented further on Ahead Of Our Time; close listeners will hear things not on that album, and vice versa. A studio attempt at “Agency Man” is included for comparison, but from there, outside of repeats of “Wedding Dress Song” and “Handsome Cabin Boy”, from Lost Episodes, and the Lowell George-led “Chucha”, the remainder of the program is less than stellar. “Skweezit Skweezit Skweezit” is another version of “Right There” from the fifth You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore volume, just as “Black Beauty” is an alternate mix of “Underground Freak-Out Music” from same. The interview with the groupies telling “The Story Of Willie The Pimp” isn’t exactly enlightening, nor are the three spoken minutes from a Mothers radio appearance.

At least with this album the estate (and Rykodisc) were succeeding at making sure the majority of Frank’s previously released work was made available digitally. But that doesn’t mean it all had to be released in the first place. (Mystery Disc was reissued in 2012 with a cover that more accurately replicated the artwork from the original boxes. Although the booklet had fewer pages and photos, and truncated notes, all the music was intact.)

Frank Zappa Mystery Disc (1998)—2½

Elton John 32: The One

Now decked out in a brand new wig, Elton John surged forward into the ‘90s with the first of several albums determined to prove he wasn’t leaving the top of the charts anytime soon. The One arrived with the usual promotional push, with ornate Gianni Versace-designed cover art to match his new suits. All lyrics were credited to simply “Taupin”, and Elton played a digital piano, but the music was your basic adult contemporary.

Despite the ubiquitous synthesized harmonica that everybody his age seemed to be using then, “Simple Life” is inoffensive pop that could be read as a statement of newly sober and clean purpose. The title track has enough echoes of earlier Elton songs (most notably “Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me”) to feel comfortable yet not too derivative, but we could do without the seagulls. It was a justifiable hit. “Sweat It Out” has a nice moody opening, then the programmed drums kick in like somebody smacking a two-by-four against a refrigerator for six minutes. Unfortunately, the stream-of-conscious-style lyrics and delivery don’t fit, and the melodic chorus deserves better. “Runaway Train” got a double push from being a duet with the also-newly-sober Eric Clapton as well as being featured in the new Lethal Weapon movie. Gospel-style backing vocals on the choruses and organ solos dueling with the lead guitar keep it ordinary. In case you hadn’t noticed, Bernie Taupin was fascinated with the American South, and “Whitewash County” would have been a lot better with a different arrangement—maybe using real fiddles instead of fake ones, and turning up the mandolins.

Of course, it’s followed by “The North”, which we’re taking to be a not very fond reminiscence of life in that part of England. And while Elton was here, queer, and we got used to it, Bernie wasn’t, so he kept supplying lyrics like “When A Woman Doesn’t Want You”. It’s about time there was something with a slower tempo for the drums, and the song is still good advice for those aspiring to be sensitive men, assuming they were listening. “Emily” would appear to be a portrait of an Eleanor Rigby type who wanders through cemeteries talking to herself, but despite that cool chord change over the coda, the jaunty music doesn’t fit at all, making us wonder if Elton read the lyrics. Similarly, the “Philadelphia Freedom” approach to the unhappily married couple living “On Dark Street” doesn’t pull any heartstrings, especially with Nigel Olsson and Kiki Dee singing along. “Understanding Women” had already been released on the British version of his box set; the only enticement here is David Gilmour on lead guitar for a few bars. But what ultimately redeems the album is the aptly titled “The Last Song”. While not overt, the lyrics are sung from the perspective of a man dying from AIDS complications finally being accepted by his father. Partially inspired by the recent death of Freddie Mercury, the sentiment is universal and extremely touching.

As had become standard practice, most songs have elongated endings encouraged by the longer CD capacity; most tracks exceed five minutes, some get close to that, and two go past six. A little editing would have made the album a lot tighter, just as the boomy sound and programmed drums on nearly every track make the album title a little too literal. It’s too bad, because the good songs are really good. (In 1998 the album was reissued, along with several others, with two contemporary B-sides as bonus tracks: “Suit Of Wolves” and the hideous “Fat Boys And Ugly Girls”.)

Elton John The One (1992)—2½
1998 CD reissue: same as 1992, plus 2 extra tracks

Paul Simon 21: The Quiet Celebration Concert

Just as we’d never know whether he’d put out another album again, the idea of Paul Simon touring could not be predicted. But with the burst of inspiration that spawned Seven Psalms—and the subsequent acclaim—he gathered a band to perform a few dates. These went so well that the Seattle performance of The Quiet Celebration Concert appeared first as a film on streaming platforms, then as an a full-length album.

The show begins with a few words of thanks and explanation of the program before going straight into the Seven Psalms suite in its entirety. Either the audience was that reverent or they were carefully mixed out, but they don’t intrude on the performance at all, but cheer heartedly at the close. His and Edie Brickell’s voices sound fragile, but that works for the context.

The second part is devoted to “a bunch of hits” and a few lesser-traveled songs, beginning with “Graceland”. In keeping with the theme of the show, the selections and arrangements are predominantly low-key and easy on his throat, though he does attempt some high notes, and even hits them. He tells a few stories to introduce songs, such as “The Late Great Johnny Ace”, which includes the Philip Glass coda from the album version. More recent songs, like “Rewrite” and “Father And Daughter” are well-received, while “Spirit Voices” and “Cool, Cool River” are adapted from The Rhythm Of The Saints, the latter being the loudest song in the set. Steve Gadd gets a shout-out before “50 Ways To Leave Your Lover”, then “The Boxer” and “The Sound Of Silence” bring the well-spent evening to a close.

Paul Simon The Quiet Celebration Concert (2026)—3

Jimi Hendrix 21: Dagger Records

Once the so-called family took over the Jimi Hendrix catalog, more archival releases started appearing, garnering both excitement over things becoming available as well as frustration over some of the editorial choices. They even set up Dagger Records, a side label distributed via mail order that mostly released official bootlegs of live shows of interest.

Of course, any time Jimi wasn’t on stage he was usually in the studio, playing to his heart’s content as he searched for his next inspiration. The vault peeks of the ‘70s demonstrated this, and so do the four albums of studio jams and home demos Dagger released after two albums of live Experience. It was a smart move to put these out as a sideline, as they’re for the most dedicated scholars only, but there are some fun moments.

Morning Symphony Ideas begins with “Keep On Groovin’”, a 28-minute exploration of riffs with Buddy Miles keeping up, followed by nine minutes of “Jungle”, which begins slowly before he picks up the tempo and gets funky again. “Room Full Of Mirrors” is another run-through with just Buddy, but after singing a couple of verses he finds his way to other chords and riffs including “Message To Love”. Billy Cox joins to play bass along with “Strato Strut”, which is welcome after 37 minutes without it. The rest of the program is Jimi alone, first exploring “Scorpio Woman” for several minutes on his electric on Maui during the Rainbow Bridge filming. He tries different vocal approaches before looking for other songs, including “Midnight Lightning”, and has to stop the tape every time the phone rings. As tedious as that gets, the closing “Acoustic Demo” is barely over a minute long.

The Baggy’s Rehearsal Sessions was more unified, being excerpted from the trio’s rehearsals over two days for the Band of Gypsys shows later in the month. They already know the songs, as demonstrated by the precision on the complicated structure of “Burning Desire”, even adding harmonies. “Hoochie Coochie Man” begins tentatively but picks up, Buddy yodeling along as he did. Along with some of the familiar songs from the shows, “Ezy Rider” and “Earth Blues” are routined, “Lover Man” was already a live staple, and the disc closes with another stab at “Burning Desire”. They’re clearly having fun. (Also recorded at this facility but not included was the seasonal medley of “Little Drummer Boy”, “Silent Night”, and “Auld Lang Syne”—with a detour through “Taps”—that was first released as a promo single in 1974, then officially 25 years later on an EP in two mixes with “Three Little Bears” in between.)

Hear My Music went back towards the beginning of 1969 for a smorgasbord of jams with rotating musicians. In case anyone forgot he started with another bass player, Noel Redding is heard on “Slow Version” (which isn’t that slow), a medley of “Ezy Ryder” and “The Star-Spangled Banner”, “Blues Jam At Olympic”, and an unadulterated “Trash Man”, first heard on Midnight Lightning. Further reclaiming the legacy, the original fuller-length takes of “Jimi/Jimmy Jam” and “Drone Blues” are rescued from Nine To The Universe, while “Jam 292” is an alternate take of “Jelly 292” as heard on Blues. A lot of that noodling can be a bit much, so a few more examples of Jimi playing by himself are included, including a working version of “Message To Love”, a snippet of the otherwise unknown “Gypsy Blood”, which sounds like it wants to be “Angel”, and explorations on “Valleys Of Neptune”—first on guitar, then, tantalizingly, on piano.

Burning Desire jumps ahead to the end of 1969 and early 1970 with the Band of Gypsys lineup on all tracks, except for two without Billy: “Izabella”, which has an unidentified musician on piano and organ, and “Stepping Stone/Villanova Junction Blues”, which is more of the duo stuff that opened Morning Symphony Ideas. The elusive “Cherokee Mist” is abandoned for what would become “Astro Man”. “Ezy Ryder/MLK” is the complete 20-minute jam from which “Captain Coconut” was excerpted and overdubbed on Crash Landing. Oddly, three segments from another lengthy jam that same day are scattered out of order throughout the disc, which ends with an instrumental stab at the title track, also from the same day.

Clearly the producers tried to sequence these CDs to enhance listening, but we’d venture that most people who cared would prefer just a straight chronological program to track his progress better. Yet as we’ll see, Jimi’s four or so years of studio work would be cherry-picked and taken out of context again and again.

Jimi Hendrix Morning Symphony Ideas (2000)—2½
Jimi Hendrix The Baggy’s Rehearsal Sessions (2002)—3
Jimi Hendrix Hear My Music (2004)—2½
Jimi Hendrix Burning Desire (2006)—3

Guided By Voices 4: Self-Inflicted Aerial Nostalgia

Robert Pollard kept Guided By Voices alive as a studio band, releasing albums himself once he finalized a lineup and artwork. What we now call a lo-fi approach makes Self-Inflicted Aerial Nostalgia closest yet to the trademark GBV sound. And at 37 minutes, it was their longest album yet.

“The Future Is In Eggs” follows the usual Pollard method of having a droning root note while a guitar moves around on top of it. The reverberating drums are a nice touch, and his words are nearly unintelligible. “The Great Blake Street Canoe Race” has a familiar jangle and another crazy title, culminating in a guitar solo—a prototype of “Echos Myron”, if you will. Unfortunately things start to go sideways on “Slopes Of Big Ugly”, which sounds like it was cobbled together a note at a time for some sludgy noise. Thirty seconds of garage-style chords and drums switch abruptly to the lovely acoustic “Paper Girl”, with nice self-harmonies. The insistent riff of “Navigating Flood Regions” interrupts that, and soon develops into a cool rocker. “An Earful O’Wax” is in the same key, so he’s starting to repeat himself, but when it finds other chords for the chorus, it comes to life, and even changes tempo, showing his prog roots. It seems longer than its four minutes. “White Whale” seems like more of the same one-chord pounding, but again, there are clever changes in the choruses; if only we could discern the words.

“Trampoline” is another variation on the droning root formula with murky vocals, bested by the arpeggiated picking and catchy choruses on “Short On Posters”. The fade on the end sets up the hard metal approach to “Chief Barrel Berry”, wherein Pollard imagines he’s fronting a bunch of long-haired players on a stage with shooting flames and flashing lights. The only lyric we can get is “they say love is the one thing we needed in this world to be happy”, which is repeated, likely to pumping fists and much headbanging. Then on “Dying To Try This” he’s back to singing by himself over a barely tuned acoustic; “cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other” means it’s autobiographical. But it’s just an interlude as “The Qualifying Remainder” brings back the crunch, over a robotic drum beat that challenges whoever’s being forced to play it. (We’re assuming that’s Kevin Fennell, as he gets co-writing credit.) It’s mostly noise, until Pollard finds that one melody line towards the end that keeps it from getting too monotonous. The see-saw goes back for “Liar’s Tale”, with its tremolo guitar and solo reverbed vocal. This could be a power pop song if it only had a rhythm section; instead we get just a couple of snare hits during the brief guitar solo. Somehow “Radio Show (Trust The Wizard)” brings the best parts of the record together—chords, vocals, harmonies, tempo shifts, even backwards effects. It even has a coda that seems unrelated to anything else.

While they were still using professional-level techniques, the homemade approach on Self-Inflicted Aerial Nostalgia kept costs down, so it sounds like songs from all over, as opposed to a unified whole. And it works, most of the time.

Guided By Voices Self-Inflicted Aerial Nostalgia (1989)—3