Brian Eno 32: Lateral, Luminal, Liminal

Clearly not slowing down when he could simply enjoy the pensioner’s life, Brian Eno’s next collaborator was one Beatie Wolfe, a conceptual artist who’d done a lot of work fusing music and technology, and specifically exploring its therapeutic capabilities. Something sparked between the two, to the extent that they managed to release three albums in less than six months’ time.

Lateral consists of a single ambient track, “Big Empty Country”, split into “Day” and “Night” halves on the abridged vinyl and eight eight-minute segments in the digital files. Described by the pair as “space music”, not a lot happens over the course of it, making it not that different from Thursday Afternoon or Neroli. The same hum and triad are established for the first twenty minutes, then a few gentle guitar notes appear in the same rhythm, and other harmonics begin to emerge. Towards the last ten minutes or so, the atmosphere seems to spread wider, and eventually fades. So basically, it’s pretty and easy to get lost in as well as ignore, so it works.

Released the same day, Luminal presented “dream music”, which in this case means actual songs. Wolfe has a pleasant alto voice that melds well with her guitar and the background, as on “Milky Sleep”. “Hopelessly At Ease” is unique in the Eno catalog for being an actual love song; “Suddenly” could almost count as one, but it’s more suited to somebody in recovery. (Both of these recall Daniel Lanois’ work on the Sling Blade soundtrack thirty years earlier.) “My Lovely Days” picks up the tempo and a little jangle, but “Play On” is a little too robotic, and definitely too long. “Shhh” is an improvement, as his voice isn’t manipulated on it. “A Ceiling And A Lifeboat” ups the eeriness, and while “And Live Again” hints at more hope, “Breath March” and “Never Was It Now” are full of foreboding. At least the ticking rhythm of “What We Are” suggests that the bad dream has subsided.

Four months later, Liminal appeared, this time presenting “dark matter music”, which to them means a mix of songs and shorter, not necessarily ambient pieces. After the very slow “Part Of Us”, “Ringing Ocean” sets a slowly spiraling, tense mood, continued in the two-word phrases of “The Last To Know” before resolving on a major chord. “Procession” could well be a descriptive placeholder for this particular idea, while “Little Boy” is a lullaby over textures right out of Apollo. “Flower Women” isn’t much more than a looped two-chord phrase, the few words mixed so low as to be inaudible until the midway break. “Shallow Form” uses his favorite chord changes, as heard in “Spinning Away” and “The Big Ship”, then “Before Life” sends us off into the solar system again. “Laundry Room” is an existential crisis wrapped in a monologue a la Laurie Anderson, and “Corona” gives us more spacey music before culminating in the eerie carnival of “Shudder Like Crows”.

All of these are fine on their own, and are therefore recommended for individual use. But given the simple, uniform designs of each, one wonders if they couldn’t have simply created one really good album instead of three.

Brian Eno & Beatie Wolfe Lateral (2025)—3
Beatie Wolfe & Brian Eno Luminal (2025)—2½
Brian Eno & Beatie Wolfe Liminal (2025)—2½

Talking Heads 13: Tentative Decisions

A good half-century after they were formed, Talking Heads continued to be appreciated, and not just by people who liked them in the first place. David Byrne had continued to find interesting ways to apply performance art to his catalog, and interactions with his former bandmates had become much less strained, even cordial.

The band’s catalog had also become subject to deluxe editions on top of earlier expansions, as well as live recordings issued for various Record Store Days. Tentative Decisions: Demos & Live was one such release, but what was first a single LP plus a bonus 45 was expanded by a degree of three.

The first disc, which replicates the vinyl release, consists mostly of demos recorded by their sound guy, and offers early versions of songs that would go on to populate their first two albums. The tracks on the second disc were recorded as an audition for Columbia Records, who didn’t sign them, and features a lot of the same songs again. They were only a trio at this point, but already Tina Weymouth has learned how to maneuver through Byrne’s angular, non-standard riffing and chording. His voice is almost there, but sounds more, well, tentative than the eventual brand. There’s even two songs by the Artistics, the first version of the band before Chris Frantz got his girlfriend to learn the bass.

The third disc is all live, split between a show at Max’s Kansas City recorded from the audience, and another in much better fidelity a few months later and hours away in Syracuse. By this time they’d gotten their record deal, and have beaten the tunes into shape. Jerry Harrison still hadn’t joined, but “Take Me To The River” is already in their set, along with Jonathan Richman’s “Pablo Picasso” and “1, 2, 3 Red Light” by the 1910 Fruitgum Company.

Tentative Decisions comes in a handsome book-bound package, with hype incorporated into the artwork, and should fit comfortably on the shelf alongside its siblings. Historically it’s very interesting, showing both how formed the band was at this stage, and demonstrating just how much Jerry would bring to the dynamic.

Talking Heads Tentative Decisions: Demos & Live (2026)—3

Frank Zappa 57: The Lost Episodes

Another project Frank was working on his final years was a further attempt to present the pre-history and evolution of his music and obsessions. The You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore series only scratched the surface of what he’d been sitting on, and outside of a few stray tracks, didn’t even begin to encompass studio work. The Lost Episodes was the first of several “audio documentaries” that would emerge over the coming decades, distilled from some of the multidisc retrospectives he’d threatened since the late ‘60s. (Sequels were promised and forgotten at the turn of the century, but the vault-digging continues to this day.)

Being mostly chronological, it’s designed to tell a story, starting from the oldest recordings in his vault. After a brief intro about one of his early bands, it begins at the beginning with “Lost In A Whirlpool”, sung by the future Captain Beefheart. Kenny and Ronnie of “Let’s Make The Water Turn Black” fame provide context for that song, and then we seesaw between his early attempts at classical and film scoring, and his earliest recording studio projects. Highlights include takes of Mothers music later heard on Freak Out and Ruben & The Jets, the Captain singing lines from a comic book over a blues riff for “Tiger Roach”, and the one-man doo-wop parody “Charva”. Engineer Dick Kunc sets up a series of recordings of the Mothers in New York City, including arrangements of the sea chanties “Wedding Dress Song” and “Handsome Cabin Boy”, excerpts from a visit by the police that almost made it to Uncle Meat, and the soundtrack for a cough drop commercial. Beefheart returns for a couple of humorous monologues and another original collaboration in “Alley Cat”, then it’s right into the ‘70s for some familiar songs. Ricky Lancelotti shrieks his way through “Wonderful Wino”, and we hear the first versions of “RDNZL” and “Inca Roads”, the latter without lyrics yet. We go back to the Hot Rats sessions for “Lil’ Clanton Shuffle” with Sugarcane Harris, leap ahead for the 1980 single version of “I Don’t Wanna Get Drafted”, and end with a glorious 12-minute alternate take of “Sharleena” that surpasses the original, with Sugarcane and Frank trading solos and Ian Underwood being amazing.

The Lost Episodes is a very listenable disc overall, particularly as it provides context for that elusive conceptual continuity before the internet made it easy to explain all the references. While the earlier field recordings are of historical interest only, the music stands out, and the humor even lands most of the time.

Frank Zappa The Lost Episodes (1996)—3½

Roger Daltrey 11: Going Back Home

What was left of the Who had been touring somewhat steadily with the idea that they’d keep showing up as long as tickets were sold, but they weren’t playing hundreds of dates a year. While Pete Townshend would occasionally mention some long-gestating project he was working on, Roger Daltrey had learned long before that he couldn’t just sit and wait for Pete to give him something to sing.

Still, once he got to his 70s and was all too aware that his voice might not last forever, Roger embraced the “if not now, when?” mentality common to rockers his age and got to work. A chance meeting with pub-rocker guitarist Wilko Johnson, who started out in Dr. Feelgood and had a brief stint with Ian Dury’s Blockheads, led to Going Back Home, Roger’s first solo album in twenty years, and first full-length non-Who collaboration ever.

With the exception of a surprising cover of Dylan’s “Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window”, the album consists mostly of rerecorded Johnson originals, taken from all eras of his career. (The photos throughout the packaging come from all eras too.) This is straight guitar-based rock ‘n roll, with no effects or pedals. The songs are all pretty tough, chock full of defiant lyrics over standard changes, though the regretful “Turned 21” is sung almost sweetly. The band includes two former Blockheads as well as Mick Talbot, once of the Style Council, on piano and organ. Sadly, it’s not Roger blowing harmonica at all, but he struts and growls his way through the tunes like he must’ve back in 1964. Meanwhile, Wilko plays guitar like he’s hitting the strings with a brick, and never misses a note.

At just under 35 minutes, Going Back Home gets the job done. Besides giving Roger some songs worthy of his voice, the album also raised Wilko’s profile at a time when he needed a boost, having been diagnosed with inoperable cancer. As it turned out, he would outlive the original terminal diagnosis by almost ten years. (About six months after its initial release, a Deluxe Edition offered an extra disc filled up with one session outtake that should have made the album, one radio edit, three songs from the album sung by Wilko and not Roger, six live tracks without Roger, and six tracks with.)

Wilko Johnson/Roger Daltrey Going Back Home (2014)—3

Warren Zevon 3: Excitable Boy

Jackpot. If Warren Zevon was ever typecast, it would be because of this album. Excitable Boy is full of unique imagery, sardonic humor, and sociopolitical commentary, sometimes in the same song. And it’s damn catchy, too.

To wit, “Johnny Strikes Up The Band” is fairly tame, a simple paean to the redemptive power of music. It’s probably just as well, as “Roland The Headless Thompson Gunner” is one of the nuttiest fables ever to be set to plastic. We especially like how the first verse is missing a certain word, as the plot point hadn’t happened yet. (We also wonder what Patty Hearst thinks of this song.) The title track is even cheerier, though many radio programmers probably balked at the third and fourth verses describing the junior prom, even with Linda Ronstadt and Jennifer Warnes cooing the song title and Jim Horn’s best Coasters sax. But everybody’s heard “Werewolves Of London”, all three chords of it, and not just on Halloween. (Another fun fact, that’s the Fleetwood Mac rhythm section.) Lest you think he’s all about laughs, “Accidentally Like A Martyr” is another one of his patented heartbreakers, and that’s how you finish a perfect album side.

Back when vinyl was the way to go, a sense of calm could pervade until you moved the needle. On CD and streaming, unfortunately, the disco thump of “Nighttime In The Switching Yard” wrecks it, with a groove co-opted later that year by the Grateful Dead. If there’s symbolism here, we can’t find it. It makes “Veracruz” all the more poignant, as he sings of the American occupation of that Mexican city while the rest of the world was at war, complete with authentic instruments backing him. After that, “Tenderness On The Block” (co-written with co-producer Jackson Browne) is almost uplifting, the exact opposite of a cautionary tale about a girl coming of age. And where else can we go but the international intrigue of “Lawyers, Guns And Money”? This masterpiece of comedy and economy features not one but two classic punchlines to the request in the title.

While Excitable Boy comes in at just over a half-hour, it doesn’t seem short at all, particularly when the songs and performances are so stellar. The expanded CD three decades later didn’t add much timewise. The alternate take of “Werewolves” isn’t much more than an early sketch, and “I Need A Truck” is only two short verses sung a cappella. But “Tule’s Blues” is a lovely remake of a song from his first album, and “Frozen Notes”, another early song, is cast with a lovely string arrangement.

Warren Zevon Excitable Boy (1978)—4½
2007 remaster: same as 1978, plus 4 extra tracks

Van Morrison 53: Beyond Words

With the exception of a few expanded reissues and The Philosopher’s Stone way back in 1998, Van Morrison has been very resistant to vault-digging. So it was very surprising when he announced the first release on his very own (initially mail-order) record label would be Beyond Words, a collection of instrumentals recorded over the decades from the ‘70s to the ‘00s. (There was one hilarious bump in this road: the label was announced as Esoteric, despite being the name of an established company. After a slight delay, the new name was Orangefield, which had already been a song title and lyrical reference, and the school he attended as a boy.)

Outside of the detailed musician credits, it’s not clear what was recorded when, though it is possible to guess, and the program does move somewhat chronologically. The first three tracks feature him trading acoustic licks with an electric guitarist, which is fine except for the obnoxious gurgling and scatting that ruins the title track. There’s a shift with “Breadwinner”, rich with composed horn lines in harmony. “Cool For Cats” has him blowing and shouting through a harmonica over a furious tympani and muffled bass; the same musicians plus piano back up his sax on the jazzy “Parisian Walkabout”. British guitar legend Mick Green dirties up “So Complicated” and strums along on the traditional “Kerry Dancing”, rearranged as a sax duet.

Van takes over the electric piano on “All Saints Beneficial”, “Celtic Voices”, and “Mountains, Fields, Rivers & Streams”, and the appearance of a certain harpist would suggest they come from the No Guru, No Method, No Teacher sessions. Given the vocalists plus Pee Wee Ellis on “The Street”, as well as Mark Isham on this and the tracks that follow, these would date from the early ‘80s, though “Far North” is close cousin of “Scandinavia” from Beautiful Vision. “12 Bar Celtic” sounds enough like the instrumentals on Poetic Champions Compose, and “Greenwood Tree” includes contributions from two Chieftains.

While it doesn’t exactly hold together as an album, Beyond Words does provide something of a respite from Van’s soapbox ranting, and a trip back in time to when he let the music do his talking. We often forget what a decent sax player he is, with his own unique style.

Van Morrison Beyond Words: Instrumental (2023)—3

Elton John 29: Sleeping With The Past

Now that Elton John was “back”, he was as determined as ever to keep his God-given place on the charts. Sleeping With The Past was again written solely with Bernie Taupin, to whom he even dedicated the album. The idea was that he wanted to emulate soul giants of previous decades, but the production is all ‘80s, cold and lacking personality, dominated by his electronic piano.

With an intentionally pounding hammer of a beat, “Durban Deep” would appear to be a metaphor about a sad coal miner, or maybe it’s supposed to be taken literally. That said, he does sing the heck out of it. “Healing Hands” was the attempted uplifting first single, though the choir on the choruses are a bit much, and prove that the song would be better served by someone singing with actual soul. The slower pace of “Whispers” is welcome, but the mix is just too ornate for something of this sentiment. While “Club At The End Of The Street” is sufficient on the album, its richly comic book-style animated video nicely fills in the details the track couldn’t convey on its own. The title track has a trashy guitar riff and overly popped bass, with something of a “Philadelphia Freedom” feel, and a lyric that could almost be gender-fluid.

“Stone’s Throw From Hurtin’” glues another tale of romantic woe to a catchphrase and a track that sounds like a demo, despite the ten people listed as contributors. But with “Sacrifice” we finally get a song that’s worthy of repeat listening and the “classic” label. Even that recurrent synth chime can’t kill this one. The story Bernie tells in “I Never Knew Her Name”—a narrative about a man falling in love with another man’s bride—might be more effective if we knew why the guy was attending the wedding in the first place. The horns sound canned, because they are. “Amazes Me” is another soul number with somebody wailing in the background, that in hindsight predicts Chris Stapleton. The unabashed love declared in the song is in direct odds with “Blue Avenue”, which compares a relationship to an addiction over an understated arrangement that almost recalls his first albums.

The videos for the singles got lots of play on VH-1, but while the album eventually went platinum, Sleeping With The Past just doesn’t deliver any more than his worse ‘80s albums did. Yet he gamely promoted it, raised money for AIDS charities with the proceeds, and went into rehab after the tour was over. (The remastered reissue, only nine years later, added the B-sides “Dancing In The End Zone” and “Love Is A Cannibal”, the latter of which had appeared on the previous summers Ghostbusters II soundtrack.)

Elton John Sleeping With The Past (1989)—2½
1998 CD reissue: same as 1989, plus 2 extra tracks