John Cale 8: Fragments Of A Rainy Season

While he didn’t quite have the career resurgence Lou Reed enjoyed in the ‘80s, renewed interest in the Velvet Underground raised John Cale’s profile significantly. Major label collaborations with Reed and then Brian Eno (who’d signed Cale to his own Opal label) helped too.

Only a few of his albums were still in print in the early ‘90s, which was the perfect occasion for Joe Boyd’s revived Hannibal label—at the time affiliated with Rykodisc—to finance the live Fragments Of A Rainy Season album. Recorded “unplugged”-style in Brussels with only piano and acoustic guitar, these stripped-down arrangements brought out the basic quality in each. “A Child’s Christmas In Wales” and “Paris 1919” get the biggest cheers—as does “Style It Takes”—though he dips deeper in the catalog in between. Even solo at the piano, “Guts” and “Fear” both escalate to screaming, the latter interrupted by a chaotic side trip. He moves to guitar for “Ship Of Fools”, “Leaving It Up To You”, “The Ballad Of Cable Hogue”, and a gentle “Thoughtless Kind”. Back on the piano, a trio of Dylan Thomas poems were originally set to music as part of “The Falklands Suite”, on his orchestrated Words For The Dying album; they’re just as effective without the ornamentation. “Heartbreak Hotel” is still harrowing solo as “(I Keep A) Close Watch” is lovely, and his closing rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” more than likely inspired Jeff Buckley’s beautiful version, and every other one since that. The album ends with the sound of pouring rain and thunder.

Nearly 25 years later the album was reissued and drastically resequenced to replicate the original performance order, which is astounding to us since the 1992 CD seemed to flow just fine. Now the program began with the Dylan Thomas trio, then shuffled everything from there, still ending with “Hallelujah” and the rain. A bonus disc added eight “outtakes” recorded on the subsequent tour. After a repeat of “Fear”, “Amsterdam” goes back to his first solo album, “Broken Hearts” previews his next collaboration (with Bob Neuwirth), and “I’m Waiting For The Man” is a Velvet surprise giving a frenzied reading on piano. Then four songs are accompanied by the Soldier String Quartet and B.J. Cole on pedal steel: another “Heartbreak Hotel”, which gets a lot of scraping; yet another “Fear”, suitably stately then frought; another “Paris 1919”; and a lovely “Antarctica Starts Here”. Whichever version of the album you find, it’s an excellent introduction to the man.

John Cale Fragments Of A Rainy Season (1992)—3½
2016 expanded reissue: same as 1992, plus 8 extra tracks

Van Morrison 56: New Arrangements And Duets

Not six weeks after one blast from Van Morrison’s recent past, New Arrangements And Duets presented just what the title said. This hodgepodge of big-band remakes, also done in 2014, and some all-star duets of more recent vintage was deemed important enough by his major label to give it a wider release. After all, it had been a decade since Duets: Re-working The Catalogue came out, and the selections here were likely contenders for that album.

The first two tracks are both new arrangements as well as duets, both with Kurt Elling, of the recent Van tunes “Ain’t Gonna Moan No More” and “Broken Record”, and they’re just fine until they start scatting at each other. Curtis Stigers does a nice job on “Close Enough For Jazz”, as does Joss Stone on “Someone Like You”. Willie Nelson adds his voice and “Trigger” guitar to “What’s Wrong With This Picture” and “Steal My Heart Away”, both firmly country where they belong.

Some of the new charts simply don’t work. “Avalon Of The Heart” was a lovely piano-based piece, and now it’s in a broken-leg meter that takes all the peace out. Similarly, the mild swing take on “I’ll Be Your Lover, Too” would be fine if the original wasn’t so good. “Only A Dream” is the same arrangement as heard on Versatile, away from the country strum it once was, just like “The Beauty Of The Days Gone By” and “Choppin’ Wood”. That leave a few that aren’t unlistenable; “So Quiet In Here” isn’t too radical, but not exactly quiet, and “So Complicated” is slowed down a hair. “The Master’s Eyes” is taken from gospel R&B to more folky jazz, and “You Gotta Make It Through The World” is more to the point.

While New Arrangements And Duets would appear to be designed for the enjoyment and consumption by Van scholars, chances are they wouldn’t be overly impressed. As with everything else he’s put out this century, you can pick and choose anything that appeals, and then move on.

Van Morrison New Arrangements And Duets (2024)—2½

Van Morrison 55: Live At Orangefield

Having his own label allowed Van to put out albums even faster than before, and one release was deemed important enough to make it to streaming services as well as CD and LP. Live At Orangefield (subtitled “Be Just And Fear Not” on the spine) documents a concert he gave in 2014 at the school that graduated him 55 years earlier. Clearly he was feeling nostalgic, with several songs explicitly referencing his youth—or at least life pre-fame—and not once complaining about show business.

A brief performance of the “Celtic Excavation” theme leads into a very gentle “Into The Mystic” before he kicks up the tempo for “Cleaning Windows”, which ends with an extended riff on “Be-Bop-A-Lula”. The smooth jazz combo is particularly effective on “Moondance”—and Van takes an alto sax solo—but we’re on the fence about the rearrangement of “Got To Go Back”. There are several deep cuts from all the decades, and he sings the little-known preamble to “That’s Life”, the set’s only cover save the occasional tags at the ends of songs, like how “Real Real Gone” turns into “You Send Me”. The credits don’t state which of the backing vocalists takes a verse on “Rough God Goes Riding” and “Sometimes We Cry”, but she’s a good match for him. He moves to piano for “Northern Muse”, and his “poetry corner” crack doesn’t dilute the wonder of “On Hyndford Street” at all over seven minutes, until the MC calls out his name. But “Ballerina” is nice, especially when he cracks up in the middle—maybe because curfew meant the show could not go on?—and the MC yells his name again. “In The Garden” has a little more oomph, though it fades at the end, most likely to fit on a single CD. It’s a nice album, if not exactly transcendent, but not the only archival release he had in the pipeline.

Van Morrison Live At Orangefield (2024)—3

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