Paul McCartney 11: Back To The Egg

It was a new label for Paul in the States—is that why there was no poster or lyrics?—and two new Wings joined up just in time to help out. In the days when punk was still a fresh news item, Back To The Egg was designed for progressive FM radio, with an emphasis on the Rock, and an edge that had seemed to be missing from his sillier love songs. (Despite the success of the disco-flavored single “Goodnight Tonight”, it wasn’t included.)

The opening track, “Reception”, is bound to bewilder American ears that aren’t familiar with all the sounds from the different countries fading in and out of British radio. But the bass line is funky, and those keyboards are pretty sci-fi as well. “Getting Closer” continues the rock feel, and like most of his recent heavy singles, sank on the charts. “We’re Open Tonight” repeats the same theme over and over, but is done soon enough. (If you’ve been listening exceptionally closely, you may discern a theme to the album: that of getting back to basics and back on the road. It’s not obvious.) “Spin It On” is Paul’s salute to speed metal. Good luck trying to understand the words. “Again And Again And Again” is Denny’s, while it could have been Paul writing for all we knew. “Old Siam, Sir” is also impenetrable, but has enough attitude to make it good, especially those breaks. (Also released as a single, it too tanked.) “Arrow Through Me” has a smooth funk sheen to nicely end the side.

“Rockestra Theme” is performed en masse by two dozen all-star invitees set up around the studio like an orchestra. It was a good idea, and the tunes he wrote fit like a glove, even if you couldn’t pick out anyone’s particular style. “To You” gets major demerits for these lyrics: “What if it happened to you/Get it out of my shoes/You’re stepping on my toes/Get it out of my nose”. But it does rock, particular the synthed-up guitar solo. A couple more ‘look! It’s a medley!’s follow. “After The Ball” is half-finished, while “Million Miles” has us standing at the side of a fjord with a concertina. “Winter Rose” has you checking your needle, as his voice sounds so scratchy. It’s nice by itself, but when added to “Love Awake” it gets lifted. There’s even a “snow” reference to hearken back too. Very nice. “The Broadcast” is a lovely classical melody that’s about as repetitive as “We’re Open Tonight”, only with poems on top of it, apropos of nothing. (Has the “theme” revealed itself yet? Don’t worry, it won’t.) “So Glad To See You Here” has the Rockestra again, with yet another reference to “We’re Open Tonight”. “Baby’s Request” is another music hall saloon song, and while it doesn’t Rock, ends it all neatly and as a nice add-on as the big show’s encore.

Back To The Egg got lambasted at the time. America’s record-buying market had long succumbed to the idea that singles promote albums, so the public didn’t know what to expect. Columbia didn’t know what to do with it either, and they didn’t promote it further than they had to. (One nasty review even says the cover depicts Paulie staring glumly at his career having fallen through a hole in the floor into the vacuum of outer space.) While it should have appeased those of his ready-made consumers who said he’d been getting soft, it just confused the public as a whole. What some call diversity, others call bandwagon jumping. It’s held up just fine for those willing to give it a chance. (The CD adds the excellent B-side “Daytime Nightime Suffering”, plus both sides of the most annoying Xmas single in music history: the execrable “Wonderful Christmastime” and the instrumental “Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reggae”.)

Wings Back To The Egg (1979)—3½
1989 CD reissue: same as 1979, plus 3 extra tracks

George Harrison 8: George Harrison

Don’t be alarmed by his poodle perm on the cover, disturbing as it is. George Harrison surfaced what seemed like ages after his last album, in an era when only Paul seemed to be worthy of our wallets. It turned out George was worth our time and money this go-round.

The opening notes of “Love Comes To Everyone” are encouraging, and the rest of the song is just as good. There’s lots of guitars, and he found a decent synth sound in Steve Winwood’s Oberheim. A fantastic start. “Not Guilty” is a softer, nearly note-for-note version of one of the more famous Beatles outtakes. Its slow fade at the end sets us up for another rewrite, the slightly successful “Here Comes The Moon”. While nowhere near as universal as its predecessor, it uses a sinuous electric piano bed to support the upside-down acoustic guitar line. On its own, it’s right on target. “Soft-Hearted Hana” starts with the atmosphere of his favorite local pub before leading us on a lysergic trip visa Maui through vaudeville, complete with fluctuating tape speed towards the end of the song. The side closes with the charming “Blow Away”, proving he could really write a hit single when he wanted to. It’s also a very happy song for a change.

A racing car revs up in the left channel and zooms over to the right to start “Faster”, a tribute to his new buddies at Brands Hatch. “Dark Sweet Lady” is a fairly overt song for his new wife, with Hawaiian undercurrents aplenty. “Your Love Is Forever” is just gorgeous all over: an open tuning that doesn’t drone, with melodies and harmonies just packed with real emotion. George has always layered his own backing vocals on his albums, and always in such an unobtrusive manner that they’re often ignored. This is another one of his love songs that could apply to any object you wish. “Soft Touch” may not necessarily be about his young son, but it’s still catchy. The album ends on a strong, upbeat level with “If You Believe”, co-written with Dream Weaver and longtime Harrison session rat Gary Wright.

On its own, it’s not much, but coming after the last few, it has endured. From start to finish George Harrison is an enjoyable listen, and doesn’t embarrass even in the slightest. At the time it didn’t get any respect—it was a really bad hairdo—but it’s certainly aged the best out of any of his mid-to-late ‘70s albums. Overall, it’s a genuinely enjoyable listen, since he seems so content with his current situation. Coming from Paul, this mood would have started to grate. Coming from George, it was a welcome sensation. (25 years later, the only bonus on the expanded CD was an acoustic demo of “Here Comes The Moon”, but it’s lovely.)

George Harrison George Harrison (1979)—3½
2004 Dark Horse Years reissue: same as 1979, plus 1 extra track

Paul McCartney 10: Wings Greatest

Since he was about to jump ship to Columbia for a lot of money, EMI put out a Wings hits album. Even though not all of the tracks are technically Wings songs, Wings Greatest proves Paul’s point that he’d moved on from his previous band. And with otherwise unalbumized singles adding up to nearly an hour of music, it was a worthy purchase for its time.

One of those singles kicks off the set. “Another Day” was originally a teaser from the Ram sessions, a portrait of Eleanor Rigby as a modern lonely secretary. It may not have been that exciting on the first listen, but hasn’t grown too annoying in the meantime. “Live And Let Die” was a big deal both as a movie theme when James Bond films were really big deals, and also as Paul’s first collaboration with George Martin in over three years. It’s another case of Paul writing a song quickly without worrying about the words. (“And in this ever-changing world in which we’re livin’”? Yeesh.) “Junior’s Farm” is a great rocker about a card game or something; all those guitars, that ending—another of his more underrated tracks. This was Jimmy McCulloch’s first appearance on a Wings record, and listening to it now just shows off what a great guitarist he was. “Hi Hi Hi” was an early attempt of Paul’s trying to come off as a rebel, and it worked, suggestive lyrics and all. “Mull Of Kintyre” did nothing in the States, but managed to break the record for the most copies sold in the UK. (The previous champion? “She Loves You”. Paul’s record would stand until “Do They Know It’s Christmas?”, which features his voice on its B-side.) It’s a nice three-chord pub singalong, complete with bagpipes. As for the rest, not all of the hits are here, but the ones that do appear in their longer album tracks. And while there were no lyrics in the package, he did include yet another two-sided poster.

For telling the story up to this point, Wings Greatest succeeds. It’s since been surpassed by other compilations, but it’s still a nice artifact from the days before McCartney could be accused of shilling empty “product”.

Wings Wings Greatest (1978)—4

Beatles 21: Christmas Album

Every Christmas from 1963 to 1969, the official Beatles Fan Club sent its members a specially recorded flexi-disc, consisting of dialogue, comedy, and exclusive music from the boys. Ranging from four to eight minutes, they were always a nice holiday surprise for the fans every year, along with the hit single and new album they hoped to find underneath their trees. In 1970, after the group had splintered for good, members received an actual LP, consisting of all those flexi-discs, with a clever retrospective cover to boot.

In addition to being a lot of fun, The Beatles’ Christmas Album provides a fairly descriptive arc of their career. 1963’s message is excited and fresh, with the boys breathlessly thanking their fans for making them famous. 1964’s greeting is similar, but with a bit more wry humor sneaking in between the songs and speeches. By 1965, they’re just as exhausted as they are restless to do something new, making the humor even more pointed (doubtlessly helped by all the pot they were smoking). The turning point arrives in 1966, where the straight talk is replaced with a collection of short skits, bookended by the original “Everywhere It’s Christmas” and featuring the unique performance of “Please Don’t Bring Your Banjo Back”.

1967’s message takes the idea further, combining a Monty Python-esque sendup of BBC programming with the slightly psychedelic group original “Christmas Time Is Here Again!” interspersed in and out, along with such other jingles as “Plenty Of Jam Jars” and “Get Wonderlust For Your Trousers”. It was the last of the collaborative fan greetings; 1968’s disc—complete with an appearance by Tiny Tim—was recorded by each Beatle separately and edited together after the fact, as was the John-and-Yoko-heavy 1969 message. Even so, their personalities are consistent: Paul is musical; Ringo is a clown; George thanks their closest friends for sticking with them; and John is consumed with his public personal life.

Since EMI has the rights to holiday-themed songs by John, Paul, and George, logic would suggest that an official Beatles Christmas CD, expanded or not, would be a perennial holiday best seller. These seven tracks, a continuously entertaining 45 minutes of speech, skits, and song, led the short list of Beatle recordings fans would like to see officially released, and their continual non-appearance remained a mystery. Except for a three-minute montage based around “Christmas Time Is Here Again!” included on a mid-‘90s CD single, a severe edit of the 1963 message that snuck out on iTunes in 2010, and two further minutes buried on Spotify five years after that, none of these messages had been in print or distributed since 1970. In 2017 they were finally reissued—as a box set of seven replica vinyl discs retailing for about eighty bucks, with no CD, digital, or even streaming equivalent. Meanwhile, its continual absence from legitimate shelves meant The Beatles’ Christmas Album was endlessly counterfeited and pirated over the years. Some of the better-packaged bootlegs contain all of the messages in pristine sound, with various relevant outtakes to fill up the disc. With just a little digging around cyberspace, these can be heard and enjoyed all year long.

(Footnote: even if the Fabs didn’t have much use for each other in the new decade, they retained fond memories of these little gestures for the fans. John and Yoko prepared a segment for a possible 1970 message just in case, followed a year later by the original “Happy Xmas (War Is Over)”, which is probably being played on a radio station somewhere at this very moment. Also doubtlessly saturating the airwaves today is “Wonderful Christmastime”, Paul’s contribution to the genre, which has been wearing out its welcome since 1979. George’s “Ding Dong, Ding Dong” was a 1974 single, and Ringo recorded a whole album of rock ‘n roll holiday tunes in 1999.)

The Beatles The Beatles’ Christmas Album (1970)—4
Current CD equivalent: none

Paul McCartney 9: London Town

Just when we were getting used to this new lineup of Wings, Paul and Linda didn’t make it through the sessions before being pared back to three. Denny Laine had been the only constant thus far, and they kindly rewarded him by including his picture on the cover and letting him sing and write more.

Much of London Town was recorded on a boat in the Caribbean where they could presumably smoke pot in peace, yet the bulk of the music still has a more continental flair to it. The title track has been described as the lost song from a Broadway show. It’s not unpleasant. One would think this has the other two guys on it, since the drums and screaming lead guitars sound too, well, polished. “Café On The Left Bank” takes us to Paris for some more foreign intrigue. “I’m Carrying” is too sweet for its own damn good. “Backwards Traveller” doesn’t do anything, and neither does the “Cuff Link” that’s about as clever as its title. “Children Children” is a nice kids’ song, but sits too close to the Michael Jackson homage “Girlfriend”. Paul wrote it for him, let him use it and began an acquaintance that would bite him in the ass in ten short years. The midsection with its nasty guitar solo salvages the tune. “I’ve Had Enough” is the first rocker here that would have worked onstage; it’s pretty pointless, but welcome.

“With A Little Luck” is too long, despite the creative use of the synthesizers. This was classic McCartney tailor-made for AM radio, except for his insistence on including the word “damn”. At the same time, “Famous Groupies” went right over most kids’ heads. It seems odd that Paul would sing about groupies at this stage in his career, not having seen one in over a decade; maybe the roadies had good stories. “Deliver Your Children” was a mild radio hit, another folk departure for Denny. “Name And Address” has a Sun rockabilly flavor to it, and though it was recorded before the death of Elvis Presley, it’s a fitting tribute. It also winds down to a halt right when it should and after the album has already worn thin. “Don’t Let It Bring You Down” does just that, sadly, and “Morse Moose And The Grey Goose” is his most pointless song since “Loup”. The first minute or so is good in a “Beware My Love” kind of way, but it just leaves the listener stranded in the middle of the sea.

With its poster, lyrics and custom labels, fans were getting spoiled with the packaging. Too bad the album doesn’t stand up to repeated listening. London Town was his longest album yet, so we get a lot of music packed into the grooves, but the recipe doesn’t seem prepared correctly. Not enough salt? The good moments were starting to become farther between, if not necessarily fewer. (The CD includes the rocking and risqué “Girls’ School”, a contemporary B-side. We will discuss the A-side shortly.)

Wings London Town (1978)—2½
1989 CD reissue: same as 1978, plus 1 extra track

Ringo Starr 7: Ringo The 4th

The regal title was supposed to be punny—this was Ringo’s fourth album of modern material, suggesting that Sentimental Journey and Beaucoups Of Blues (and of course, Blast From Your Past) didn’t count. But Ringo The 4th was actually a departure, as he eschewed the all-star (read: ex-Beatle or related) help and let producer Arif Mardin run the proceedings. There are still tons of top-line session players, though he did play the drums, augmented by Steve Gadd. He even co-wrote six of the songs with buddy Vini Poncia. But it was 1977, and that’s how we got a disco album.

“Drowning In The Sea Of Love”, a six-year-old hit for Joe Simon, gets the Philly soul approach, with the backing vocalists mixed as high as Ringo. They also dominate “Tango All Night”, which was actually released as a single in Argentina; when he intones “I-yi-yi,” you’ll be inclined to agree with the sentiment. “Wings” is one of the originals, and while it kinda rocks, we wonder whether Paul McCartney’s band had any influence on the title. His mopey delivery is just too much for “Gave It All Up”, a litany of life’s disappointments that somehow still has a happy ending. The line about sitting “with a couple of beers” is unfortunately believable, and the coda sports a motif stolen from a Bee Gees song from the year before. “Out On The Streets” manages to pick up the pace, but it’s still faceless, up until the very odd closing rap.

He gives his all for “Can She Do It Like She Dances”, but it’s still embarrassing to endure. While “Sneaking Sally Through The Alley” has nothing on Robert Palmer’s version, it actually fits Ringo okay, again, until he starts extemporizing over the fade. “It’s No Secret” is an inoffensive slice of yacht rock, and “Gypsies In Flight” is an even slower variation on the same melody. Finally, “Simple Love Song” wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t sound so much like “Philadelphia Freedom”.

Truly, if Ringo was his best album, Ringo The 4th is barely 25% as good, or as successful. It’s a faceless album, with none of his personality, and that used to go a long way. His cachet was sinking fast, and the label didn’t pick up his option. And to think only three years before he was the hottest ex-Beatle on the charts.

Ringo Starr Ringo The 4th (1977)—2

Beatles 20: Hollywood Bowl

It had been common knowledge for years that the boys’ concerts at the Hollywood Bowl were professionally recorded, yet had sat in the can due to the equivalent sound levels of Beatle vocals (when the mikes worked), instruments and several thousand fans. By 1977, great strides had been made in sound separation, so George Martin sat down with tapes from one 1964 show and two 1965 shows, and managed to combine them into a fairly cohesive unit just over half an hour. Although the result of the combination was something of a compromise, thanks of the quality of the recording compared to audience tapes of other shows, The Beatles At The Hollywood Bowl has endured as a definitive document of a time long past.

Of course, there were plenty of other live performances captured for posterity, at the very least visually. The 1965 Shea Stadium concert and a few 1966 Tokyo concerts were expertly filmed and broadcast, and most of their final show from Candlestick Park in 1966 has been circulating for years. But for reasons known only to Apple, none of these have been cleared for official release, either on audio or video. (There is another entity of live recordings that have managed to sneak into the racks of legitimate record dealers. The 1962 Hamburg tapes began their interminable saturation around the same time as the Hollywood Bowl set. The first release on the Lingasong label usually gets mentioned in the official discographies; the music itself is nothing special, while it has its moments, again, as a historical artifact.)

It took nearly four full decades for the Hollywood Bowl album to be re-released, and then as a tie-in with a major motion picture helmed by Opie Cunningham. Decent-sounding bootlegs had demonstrated the occasional sloppy performance, repetition and equipment malfunction throughout each of the performances, though only the most naïve of Beatlemaniacs would expect Apple to issue a complete show from either year, at any price. Instead, the 1977 album was reissued in its original hodgepodge sequence, remixed from better quality tapes to bring out more of the music, with four extra songs tacked on at the end (one of which had already appeared on a CD single in the Anthology era). Even the original cover, with its understated charm, was changed to hype the movie.

Nitpicking aside, the music is great, right from the abbreviated blast through “Twist And Shout”. Six of the songs are covers, songs they’d been playing for years. We can already hear waning enthusiasm on the parts of John and George, but their attitude didn’t dilute their strumming capabilities. George’s 12-string Rickenbacker dominates the 1964 tracks, and boy, does it shimmer. John always seemed to screw up the lyrics to “Help!”, but listen to Paul’s bass while he’s singing “All My Loving”, and marvel at the power of “Things We Said Today”. To this day we don’t know why, of all the songs they could’ve chosen, “Baby’s In Black” was a staple of their set, but there it is and there the new album ends—much too quickly, just like their concerts.

The Beatles The Beatles At The Hollywood Bowl (1977)—3½
2016 Live At The Hollywood Bowl: same as 1977, plus 4 extra tracks

Paul McCartney 8: Wings Over America

By now Paul had truly emerged as the champion, to the point where younger fans might not have been aware he was in a band before Wings. Just in time for Christmas, Wings Over America contained a blemish-free version of every song performed on Paul’s first American visit in ten years. And the crowds went wild. (Supposedly there was some studio tinkering between the recording and mixing stages, but this has not been authenticated.) It’s a good package, even if most of the songs sound identical to the album versions. The original six sides are neatly divided, with piano sections, acoustic sections, Beatle detours and “our new album”.

Appropriately the “Venus And Mars/Rock Show” medley starts it all, going directly into “Jet” when we least expect it. It’s a good rocking start to the set. Side two starts with the version of “Maybe I’m Amazed” that was released as a single, complete with extended ending. It was the best choice. “Lady Madonna” and “The Long And Winding Road” excite the crowds, before the pyrotechnics of “Live And Let Die”.

Side three is acoustic. “Picasso’s Last Words” is started, going into Simon and Garfunkel’s “Richard Cory” sung by Denny for some reason. A few more Beatle hits round out the side. Denny also gets to sing his Moody Blues hit “Go Now”, amidst some more piano songs on side four.

Side five is devoted to the new album, with four strong choices for the crowd: the hits “Let ‘Em In” and “Silly Love Songs”, Denny’s “Time To Hide” and a blistering “Beware My Love”. Side six is back to the rocking encores. “Hi Hi Hi” makes its first album appearance, as does “Soily”, a Wings live staple for years, never included on any other album.

The packaging of Wings Over America was quite complex, with custom sleeves, labels and posters, and the album as a whole is a good souvenir of a good night out. One truly gets a sense of the excitement of seeing one of the biggest bands of the Seventies that also happened to feature a Beatle. And the official Wings horn section doesn’t get in the way at all.

Its popularity among fans probably had something to do with why it was unveiled as part of the ongoing Paul McCartney Archive Collection in 2013. This time there was only a standard two-CD package with no extras, unless you bought it from Best Buy, where you got a third disc with eight slightly shaky songs recorded on the tour at the Cow Palace. That was also an extra in the Deluxe Edition box, which also added the Wings Over The World TV special on a DVD, three thick books and other ephemera. (Meanwhile, the Rockshow feature film was concurrently issued as a separate DVD.) Interestingly, after all that effort to establish Wings as an entity unto itself, the spine for the CD now plainly lists the artist as Paul McCartney and Wings.

Wings Wings Over America (1976)—3½
2013 Archive Collection: same as 1976 (Deluxe Edition adds 8 extra tracks and DVD)

George Harrison 7: Best Of and Thirty-Three & ⅓

Capitol had just begun the repackaging campaign, plus George was on his way to Warner Bros. by way of A&M. So they decided to seize the moment and exploit George’s continuing commercial status. In their minds, The Best Of George Harrison would include Beatles songs so they put seven of them on side one, none of them rare, some already repackaged. Side two includes all of his solo A-sides save “Ding Dong”, though it did include the studio version of “Bangla Desh”. Even Ringo got a full (albeit short) two sides to himself, but he’d actually had more hits. This was obviously just a quick holiday cash-in to compete with his next “real” album.

Originally intended to coincide with his 33⅓rd birthday, Thirty-Three & ⅓ was trumpeted at the time as his best album since his first. Today, it’s hard to see why. Granted, the songs are back to a tempo that gets your toes tapping, but several years on it has dated badly, just as Paul’s contemporary disco arrangements have.

“Woman Don’t You Cry For Me” may have been started in 1969, but the recording is all 1976 thump. “Dear One” is a more pleasant hymn, but the synthesizer torpedoes it. “Beautiful Girl” was intended for All Things Must Pass, and gives support for the idea that he really ought to consider the other songs he never finished for that album. “This Song” is one of his best, a fantastic defense of his writing process that, at the time, had been costing him money and leaving him in litigation. Here again is the humor that had been so lacking of late. “See Yourself” also dates from the Maharishi era, but stumbles around too much to be appreciated.

“It’s What You Value” is filled with hooks and a very enthusiastic vocal, but goes nowhere. “True Love” is soaked in what had become George’s trademark sound, but is actually a Cole Porter tune. (In all seriousness, George should be commended for exposing his listeners to all kinds of music they’d otherwise ignore.) “Pure Smokey” is a retread of the last album’s “Ooh Baby”, literally thanking God for Smokey Robinson. “Crackerbox Palace” is the other hit, and a catchy one; the arrangement for once actually enhances the song. (Notice the reference to Young Frankenstein at the end of the chorus before the third verse.) “Learning How To Love You” closes us out, and he finally gets the sound he wanted on the last album right. The jazz chords fit the vocal, and the guitar solo is virtuosic without showboating. But do you really feel like hearing the whole album again?

Besides producing others and helping out friends, George stayed busy for most of the ‘70s, and had let the public hear quite a bit of music. But the promise he seemed to exude when finally allowed to shine on his own six short years earlier seemed to dim. Despite his continued success, his laissez-faire attitude towards the pop business was about to take serious root. (The eventual expanded CD included an extra track in “Tears Of The World”, which was not only written but recorded for—and subsequently rejected from—an album four years in the future. Why it’s here and not on the expansion of that album is anyone’s guess.)

George Harrison The Best Of George Harrison (1976)—4
Current CD availability: none
George Harrison Thirty-Three & ⅓ (1976)—2½
2004 Dark Horse Years reissue: same as 1976, plus 1 extra track

Ringo Starr 6: Ringo’s Rotogravure

The end of the Apple label didn’t keep Ringo out of the studio for long. Taking a hint from George, he launched the Ring O’ Records imprint, which even featured a clever logo, to wean and promote new talent. But he himself preferred to sign new deals with majors instead—Atlantic in America and Polydor everywhere else—and recorded Ringo’s Rotogravure with his all-star buddies in a matter of weeks.

After a promisingly raucous blast of energy, “A Dose Of Rock ‘N Roll” limps into place with a lot of Peter Frampton wah-wah. There’s a clever quote of Bruce Channel’s “Hey Baby” at the end, but then the next track is a full-fledged cover of the tune. By now Paul McCartney was a hot ticket again, yet “Pure Gold” is hardly one of his hidden treasures. He and Linda add superfluous backing vocals, but the highlight of the track is Klaus Voormann’s bass playing. A song that does work is Ringo’s own “Cryin’”, written naturally with Vini Poncia, and sounding like an excellent distillation of Beaucoups Of Blues. (Sneaky Pete Kleinow also makes his second appearance on a solo Beatle album.) Producer Arif Mardin’s touch is most obvious on the slightly disco-fied “You Don’t Know Me At All”.

“Cookin’ (In The Kitchen Of Love)” is notable for being the only new Lennon composition (and performance) released in the second half of the ‘70s, and it’s positively flimsy. Still, we like hearing his “two thee fo” before the coda. George was represented by “I’ll Still Love You”, a slightly syrupy but still pretty ballad that dated from 1970. (He was apparently not happy with either the mix or Lon Von Eaton’s guitar solos, and added another lawsuit to the intra-Beatle pile.) Meanwhile, Eric Clapton donated the leftover “This Be Called A Song” as well as his noodling throughout, fighting for space in the mix with steel drums. As if that exotic sound wasn’t enough, a mariachi band features on “Las Brisas”, which Ringo wrote with then-paramour Nancy Andrews. “Lady Gaye” is curious, being co-written with one Clifford T. Ward, who’d had a mild hit somewhere with an unrelated song called “Gaye” and had another song called “Birmingham”, which was the musical inspiration for this. All in all, a lot of work for a piece of fluff. For no apparent reason other than to stretch the album further past a half-hour, a closing 90-second ramble called “Spooky Weirdness” isn’t exactly false advertising, but it’s also unnecessary.

Just as Goodnight Vienna wasn’t as good as Ringo, so does Ringo’s Rotogravure suffer from the Xeroxing. It wasn’t enough for Ringo to get by on his personality, and without decent songs he was lost, no matter how many of his famous friends contributed their talents.

Ringo Starr Ringo’s Rotogravure (1976)—2½

Beatles 19: Rock ‘N’ Roll Music and Love Songs

While the Beatles’ individual recording contracts expired in 1976, EMI retained the rights to the band’s recordings, and so began the next wave of sporadic catalog raidings. But now they had the added marketing challenge of getting fans to buy songs they had already. So each of the original singles—which had never been deleted—got a shiny new picture sleeve, and the Rock ‘N’ Roll Music collection came out with “Got To Get You Into My Life” backed with “Helter Skelter” as a single, just in time to cash in on a TV movie about the Manson trials.

In a year where Paul was defending his tendency toward silly love songs all the way to #1, here was a two-record set designed to prove that the boys could rock. Funnily enough, the bulk of the songs come from 1963 and 1964, when they were considered a “pop combo”, with a handful of much “heavier” songs on side four coming from the later years. Moreover, many of the songs were covers. For collectors, only a few songs were repeated from the Red and Blue albums, plus this was the very first LP appearance of “I’m Down”; British fans might have appreciated the inclusion of the entire Long Tall Sally EP. Purists cried foul at the contemporary mix by George Martin, but the real crime was the artwork, which leaned too close to ‘50s Happy Days nostalgia. John had supposedly offered to do a cover, yet Capitol declined, which is a shame. (The album was later split up into two budget LPs with new but nearly identical covers, and sold pretty well in the wake of John’s murder.)

Another two-record rehash appeared in 1977, and just in time for Christmas too. Love Songs was to serve as the other side to the rock ‘n roll, but the novelty was starting to wane. Eight out of 25 tracks were on the Red or Blue albums; for the Brits, “Yes It Is” and “This Boy” were making their LP debuts. The selection was incredibly random-seeming, and come to think of it, picking out specific Beatle tunes as examples of love songs is about as logical as picking rock ‘n roll songs. The packaging had a faux-leather motif, and a thick book with all the lyrics in calligraphy added to the candy bar/photo album idea that had been beaten into the ground already by Chicago. The famous Richard Avedon photo on the emblem, gatefold and poster was retouched so Paul’s head is bigger than the others (he being the only Beatle still signed to EMI in 1977).

Both albums garner a satisfactory rating solely on the basis of the music within. Neither of these collections has been retooled for CD, though each could fit onto a single disc, and probably never will be. Nor should they be.

The Beatles Rock ‘N’ Roll Music (1976)—3
Current CD equivalent: none
The Beatles Love Songs (1977)—3
Current CD equivalent: none

Paul McCartney 7: Wings At The Speed Of Sound

Somehow Paul managed to throw together another album in between touring various countries around the world. The packaging on Wings At The Speed Of Sound wasn’t as lavish as on its predecessors, except for the custom labels, and he gave half the space on the rest of the album to the other band members. He’d been trying to prove to the world that Wings was a band for five years, and now he had the clout to do it.

“Let ‘Em In” is an awfully tedious song that managed to be a hit anyway, and we’re still not sure why it works. Most of the people mentioned are McCartney family members. Denny Laine sings “The Note You Never Wrote”, a spooky tale that is interesting despite itself. The jaunty “She’s My Baby” follows, and it’s also grown over the years. “Beware My Love” fades up from this, with an early acoustic vocal section as a diversion, then wham! This one was made for the stage. It’s got a relentless, driving power to it, and the band sounds great. “Wino Junko” is Jimmy McCulloch’s second, and ultimately, last writing contribution to Wings. Both songs warned against drug abuse; considering he would die of an overdose within two years it’s odd he didn’t take his own advice.

“Silly Love Songs” has 1976 slathered all over it, and is one of those songs you can’t help liking. The bass line pulls you right along, and all the sections weave nicely at the end. This is Paul sticking his tongue out at the critics, and getting a blockbuster #1 hit in the process. Linda sings “Cook Of The House” to nobody’s pleasure but Paul’s, followed by Denny’s own “Time To Hide”, which would also work well on stage; another stomper with heavy wah-wah guitar. Joe English gets to sing “Must Do Something About It”; he’s about as unique a singer as he is a drummer. (It’s interesting to see which songs Paul kept for himself, isn’t it?) “San Ferry Anne” is insignificant, and simply refuses. But “Warm And Beautiful” is another sneaky underrated one, extending the “Maybe I’m Amazed” theme both musically and lyrically. An elegant if anticlimactic end to a schizophrenic album.

A world tour was underway when this hit the stores, and the setlist leaned heavily on this and Venus And Mars. The best songs on stage were also used well as hit singles. Wings At The Speed Of Sound was a monster hit, but was also an obvious rush job, and has not improved with age as a whole. Paul had started to follow trends instead of setting them, so that increasingly his albums didn’t transcend eras or genres as they depended so much on contemporary production styles.

The first CD version of the album included three anachronistic bonuses: the B-side “Sally G” and both sides of the Country Hams single, all recorded in Nashville in 1974 and originally released the same year. These have since been appended to Venus And Mars, so the bonus audio on 2014’s Speed Of Sound Archive Collection is entirely previously unreleased. At 21 minutes, it’s also too short, but we get piano demos of four songs, Paul’s guide vocal for “Must Do Something About It” and, most interestingly, a take of “Beware My Love” with John Bonham on drums. At first he seems restrained, but once that foot starts going you know it’s him.

Wings Wings At The Speed Of Sound (1976)—3
1989 CD reissue: same as 1976, plus 3 extra tracks
2014 Archive Collection: same as 1976, plus 7 extra tracks (Deluxe Edition adds DVD)

Ringo Starr 5: Blast From Your Past

Just as John saw out his Apple contract with a hits collection, so did Ringo. After all, he had a lot of hits, and some hadn’t even been on albums—yet.

Blast From Your Past is pretty solid, starting with “You’re Sixteen” and “No No Song”. “It Don’t Come Easy” sports a terrific George Harrison production, and if you listen closely you can hear the backup singers chant “Hare Krishna” under the guitar solo. “Photograph” is the perfect follow-up, right before the noisy, goofy, and still impenetrable “Back Off Boogaloo”, which may or may not be about Paul.

Side two starts oddly, with “Only You”, a song we never remember hearing on the radio ever despite it hitting #6 on the charts. “Beaucoups Of Blues” was an American single as well, and the best song from that album. “Oh My My” was indeed all over the radio in those days, and somebody did the right thing by including “Early 1970”, the B-side to “It Don’t Comes Easy” which presents a fairly accurate State of the Beatles address that year. Finally, “I’m The Greatest” should have been a hit, or at least a single, and works just as well as a closer as it did an opener on Ringo.

If you really couldn’t live without any Ringo albums in your collection, Blast From Your Past would do just fine, though it was just over half an hour long to begin with. Even the packaging stood out, with a bright red apple on both labels and full lyrics on the inner sleeve. However, the originally standalone singles have since been added as bonus tracks to two of the albums when they were released on CD, making this less worth the dough or effort. But everything on this album was eventually included in 2007’s more expansive Photograph, which purported to be “The Very Best Of Ringo Starr”, bolstered by “Snookeroo” and “Goodnight Vienna” from that album and a further handful of tracks from three decades’ worth of his post-Apple albums. Liner notes attempted to provide info about who played what, along with Ringo’s commentary on each track, whether he remembered anything about them or not. (It was also released in a set with a DVD containing promo videos of six songs, and one rare commercial.) Only collectors need grab 2014’s Icon collection, part of Universal Music’s ongoing series of generally unnecessary compilations.

Ringo Starr Blast From Your Past (1975)—3½
Ringo Starr Photograph: The Very Best Of Ringo Starr (2007)—3

John Lennon 8: Shaved Fish

John had made some mutterings about a new album in 1975, but never got around to recording anything. Instead, he stayed home and let his contract finish with a hits collection. Shaved Fish was the first gap-filling Lennon compilation, and the one that is still the model for all the others that have come since. What we have here is a very well-rounded look at John’s solo career, which at the time of original release was only six years long. (Each of the songs had been singles, although “Stand By Me” was not included.)

The idea of bookending the album with short, different excerpts of “Give Peace A Chance” is interesting, but most of us would prefer to have the complete single version. After an almost pastoral opening, it’s jarring to have “Cold Turkey” blast through one’s head. John was irritated that the Beatles didn’t want this to be their single—and can you blame them?—but it’s still a key document of his autobiography in song. “Instant Karma!”, distorted as it is, is still a joyful number, and a strong candidate for anyone’s fantasy late-1970 Beatle album. “Power To The People” always seemed out of place, though it’s intriguing to hear him change his mind about revolution yet again. Side one ends with the single edits of “Mother” and “Woman Is The…”, while side two is all album tracks with the exception of “Happy Xmas (War Is Over)”. Since 1980 this, like “Imagine”, has come close to wearing out its welcome every December, but it’s still such a nice song with such a neat production (listen for the stings playing “Silent Night” over the second chorus). Several folks have recorded their own carbon copy versions, but there’s no beating the original. The fade here is smothered by a cacophonous segment of “Give Peace A Chance” from the 1972 One-to-One concerts. (And if you’re keeping score, “Whatever Gets You Thru The Night” appears in a slightly shorter single edit.)

In 1975 we had no idea this would be his last release for five years, nor would we imagine it would be the second to last release in John’s lifetime, which only adds to its stature. It is very convenient to have these singles here, for they add to the flow of the running order. Other compilations since released are more complete, but this still was the first. (It fits comfortably on one side of a 90-minute blank tape too, which is also convenient.)

John Lennon Shaved Fish (1975)—4

George Harrison 6: Extra Texture

Arriving barely ten months after the Dark Horse album and tour, it was almost a shock to hear from George so soon. Extra Texture came complete with two grinning photos (one of which was knowingly captioned “OHNOTHIMAGEN”) and a cover designed to resemble the feel of a basketball, suggesting that he was enjoying this cockamamie business after all. However, that’s not the impression one gets listening to the actual album.

Easily, the best track is “You”, left over from the same Ronnie Spector sessions that had spawned “Try Some Buy Some”. This is an incredibly simple song, but it’s so pretty and such a great production it’s a success. (And he knew this too, which is why he added another thirty seconds of it at the start of side two.) From there, it’s straight downhill, hitting tree trunks and rocks along the way. “The Answer’s At The End” is another Frankie Crisp-inspired plea for understanding that is buried, like the rest of the album, underneath a plodding arrangement. “This Guitar (Can’t Keep From Crying)” is the first of his occasional rewrites. It’s very similar to the far superior “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”, but pales in its shadow, being much more forced with a burping Moog bass part borrowed from “Jive Talkin’”. “Ooh Baby (You Know That I Love You)” is an inaudible salute to Smokey Robinson, and while “World Of Stone” aspires to emulate the Spectorisms of All Things Must Pass, it misses widely.

The aforementioned “A Bit More Of You” fades into “Can’t Stop Thinking About You”. Perhaps he was so consumed by the one of whom he was thinking that he couldn’t write better lyrics. “Tired Of Midnight Blue” is a step in the right direction, but its arrangement sounds so much like the rest of the clinkers here that it’s too late. “Grey Cloudy Lies” also can’t get us out of the driveway, so we’re stuck with the in-joke of “His Name Is Legs (Ladies & Gentlemen)”. The protagonist—and guest vocalist—is supposed to be one hilarious fellow, but this does nothing to illustrate it, taking six minutes to boot.

Most of the songs on Extra Texture are upbeat in a smooth soul manner, with a lot of romance on his mind. But outside of “You”, there is little of any lasting value on this collection. He neatly finished off his obligation to Apple, and said goodbye with an eaten-away logo. Despite its occasional subtitle (“Read All About It”), the album doesn’t inspire much interest today. When the Harrison estate finally got around to reissuing it in the next century, the only value-add even they could find was an unreleased re-recording of “This Guitar (Can’t Keep From Crying) produced by the poor man’s Jeff Lynne, Dave Stewart.

George Harrison Extra Texture (1975)—2
2014 Apple Years reissue: same as 1975, plus 1 extra track

Paul McCartney 6: Venus And Mars

His confidence restored (and Capitol’s too, as they re-signed him with a pile of cash they didn’t offer the Other Three after Apple folded), Paul picked up a lead guitarist with a similar name to the last one and two drummers in rapid succession. Venus And Mars is more of a rock album, and had a little more input from the new members. (He also reverted the band name to just Wings and racked up a pile of 45-only tracks that would be welcome in an album context.)

The proceedings start like his concerts would, with the almost pastoral title track colliding into the stomping “Rock Show”. Can you name any other song that mentions Jimmy Page? The “oi” section, silly as it is, still brings a smile and the piano part at the end almost makes up for the voiceover. “Love In Song” sneaks up on you, and it’s achingly gorgeous. It’s one of those underrated classics that he manages to put on every album. “You Gave Me The Answer” fits in with his music hall tunes from ‘67 and ‘68, and is real sweet. From there we go to the Marvel Comics world of “Magneto And Titanium Man”, and one of his best album sides ends with the FM rock of “Letting Go” (there’s that Rickenbacker bass).

Side two isn’t nearly as strong. “Venus And Mars (Reprise)” puts us in space with the “Spirits Of Ancient Egypt”. Denny Laine sings this one, and it makes absolutely no sense, but it was designed to Rock so that will have to do. Jimmy McCulloch sings his own “Medicine Jar” (more on that topic later), a very heavy tune. “Call Me Back Again” tries in vain to recapture the “Oh! Darling” sound; the production makes up for it. If he wrote it just to play it on stage, that makes sense, since he was doing all he could to avoid the Beatles songs as much as he could. After an interminable fadeout, what sounds like a Wolfman Jack impression but probably isn’t goes from speaker to speaker right into “Listen To What The Man Said”. This is another classic McCartney song, though to this day we still don’t know who the man is or what he’s telling us. The saxophone is a lot of fun, and coming from someone who hates saxophones and Tom Scott as a rule, that means something. The panoramic ending takes us right into “Treat Her Gently/Lonely Old People”, yet another example of Paul fitting two unrelated songs together because he can. The joke at the end of this album is the theme to the British soap opera “Crossroads”, which sounds like it might as well be a McCartney melody. “And that’s basically it.”

Venus And Mars set out to Rock, so it succeeds on that score. Putting all the pieces together it makes mathematical sense, but doesn’t seem to inspire many listens these days. Paul now had enough tunes and a heavy-hitting band to take on the road for the sole purpose of ruling the coliseums for the next 18 months. Also, following the lead of Band On The Run, this one upped the ante with two posters, stickers, gatefold and lyrics; the CD didn’t have those but added some later B-sides recorded around the same time.

The Archive Collection filled in a lot of the extra work and music that led up to the eventual album, starting with the excellent “Junior’s Farm”/“Sally G” single. Both had been recorded in Nashville, along with an instrumental single released under the moniker The Country Hams. Other B-sides and single mixes are mingled with demos of “Let’s Love” and “4th Of July”, both given away to other singers, and a rocking take of “Soily”.

Wings Venus And Mars (1975)—3½
1988 CD reissue: same as 1975, plus 3 extra tracks
2014 Archive Collection: same as 1975, plus 13 extra tracks (Deluxe Edition adds DVD)

John Lennon 7: Rock ‘N’ Roll

The existence of this album necessitates some background. By the time Mind Games had come out, John was already in LA drinking heavily and trying to record his favorite moldy oldies with Phil Spector. After that went badly, he wrote the songs that became Walls And Bridges and moved back to New York. The oldies project was more or less in limbo, and this album probably wouldn’t have come out when it did if not for some further odd turns of events. But once he’d decided to finish it for good, the remainder of the recordings went relatively quickly. The result was a surprisingly cohesive mix of the LA debacle and the NY fix-it job.

“Be-Bop-A-Lula” kicks us off fairly simply. (It also happens to be one of the songs John was singing the day he met Paul.) “Stand By Me” follows; it’s this version of that has become the pop standard most people know and love. His trademark reggae-strumming style (see “A Day In The Life”) sets the pace, and he turns in one of his greatest vocals ever, cementing his as one of the best voices in rock. “Ain’t That A Shame” and “Slippin’ And Slidin’” are fantastic, and the two medleys are effective yet faithful juxtapositions, but it’s the other twisty ones that still raise eyebrows. Most, but not all, of these tracks can be blamed on Spector, who thought it would be a good idea to slow down these tunes to dirge tempo. The percussion effects, like the cowbells and that thudding sound straight out of “Rock On” by David Essex, may have worked in the ‘70s, but only annoy ears today. “Do You Want To Dance” sounds like Bette Midler, and that’s not meant kindly. “Bony Moronie” just doesn’t work at anything less than top speed. “Just Because” was Phil’s idea (John hadn’t heard it before the first sessions), but John finished it at the New York sessions, effectively saying goodbye to that crazy show business.

Rock ‘N’ Roll doesn’t get as much play as his others, mostly because it’s so disjointed and partly because it’s not insightful lyrically. But his heart is in every note, which makes it above average. He probably could have recorded five more albums’ worth of his favorite songs from his youth, but again, this didn’t turn out like he’d envisioned it, and was essentially released to combat a marginally legal bootleg. (The 2004 CD reissue boasts improved sound, a handful of photos, nothing more in the way of liner notes, and dubious extra tracks: three songs from side one of the 1986 compilation Menlove Ave. and a faded-in reprise of “Just Because” seemingly included for name-checking the Other Three.)

John Lennon Rock ‘N’ Roll (1975)—3
2004 remaster: same as 1975, plus 4 extra tracks

Neil Young 17: Trans

Obviously needing some kind of inspiration, Neil signed a new contract with onetime associate David Geffen, and went off to Hawaii to start a tropical-flavored album, supposedly to be called Island In The Sun. Halfway through he changed tack and revived work he did with synthesizers and Crazy Horse, ending up with a hodgepodge of a mess supported by players cherry-picked from previous bands. The resulting Trans suffers from contemporary sheen that sounded dated as soon as a year later, as well as Stephen Stills percussionist Joe Lala way high in the mix of the songs he’s on.

“Little Thing Called Love” is a congenial stab at a Neil Young song that shouldn’t work—though a little acoustic riff that would be the basis for “Harvest Moon” appears at the end of each chorus—but it’s put here to prepare us for what comes next. “Computer Age” has some cool chords amidst the techno effects, but the Vocodered vocals fail it. “Transformer Man” is the highlight of the album, with operatic vocals that actually enhance the melody, but it’s stuck between the laughably bad “We R In Control” and “Computer Cowboy (AKA Syscrusher)”, which at least has decent guitar.

While pleasant, “Hold On To Your Love” is too close in title and feel to the first song (as well as to “If You Got Love”, which made the first album jackets but jettisoned at the last moment) and doesn’t inspire any need to hear the rest of the abandoned Island project. “Sample And Hold” makes its point early—it’s literally about computer dating—then beats it senseless for five minutes. The remake of “Mr. Soul” sounds like a demo to see if his new equipment worked. “Like An Inca” takes back the original tropical idea and mixes it with his Aztec infatuation, this time riding a riff for eight minutes with too much conga.

To appreciate where he was coming from with the whole computer idea, we must consider that the album was a reaction to living with a child who couldn’t communicate in the traditional fashion. But that wasn’t made plain at time, nor does it make Trans any easier to enjoy today. Fans were perplexed, critics were nasty, and his new record company was already getting nervous.

Neil Young Trans (1982)—2

Neil Young 16: Re-ac-tor

Nobody outside his immediate circle knew it, but music wasn’t at the forefront of Neil’s mind in the early ‘80s. He and his wife were busy trying to raise a non-communicative palsy-stricken child. The desperation they felt on a daily basis was reflected in the odd albums that surfaced periodically.

Re-ac-tor has a lot going for it; Crazy Horse, for one. It’s a rock album all the way through, but for the most part it just doesn’t do anything. “Opera Star” uses the F-word for the first time on a Neil album, and “Surfer Joe And Moe The Sleaze” is apparently about two label executives. But “T-Bone” is an awfully nasty trick. It’s the same riff over and over, with the same seven words repeated on top of it for nine minutes. What’s worse, the track starts mid-progress, so you know they’d been playing it a while. “Get Back On It” has a piano, which breaks up the monotony a bit, but it’s still a 12-bar blues, which repeats lyrics. That’s the first side.

“Southern Pacific” offers a little more variety, and as a train song, would work slightly better a few years down the road in the Farm Aid context. “Motor City” revives the jingoism of the last album, but with a little more humor. “Rapid Transit” uses a cool riff and stammering effects so it’s more memorable. But the closing “Shots” is also loaded with effects for a complete assault that is the polar opposite to the acoustic version first heard in the Rust Never Sleeps era. It’s not exactly pleasant.

Another one of the “Missing 6”, Re-ac-tor was allowed to get dusty before finally appearing on CD in the new century. It didn’t help much, and remains one of the least of the Horse’s efforts.

Neil Young & Crazy Horse Re-ac-tor (1981)—2½

Pete Townshend 2: Rough Mix

This exceptionally likable album is an underappreciated gem in the Who-related canon. Recorded between their last great album and Keith Moon’s last gasp, Rough Mix is a joint effort coming out of a favor from Pete for Ronnie Lane, and provides a pleasant distraction from the heavier subjects Pete had come to tackle. A lot of that influence came from Ronnie, who’d been indulging his gypsy musician longings since the demise of the Faces. Only two songs here appear to be true collaborations: the instrumental title track which serves as a base for a smoking Eric Clapton solo; and the closing cover of “Till The Rivers All Run Dry”, a tribute of sorts to Meher Baba, their personal guru. However, their individual contributions sit comfortably together, giving the proceedings the air of a pleasant afternoon pub conversation between friends.

Of Pete’s songs, the orchestrated “Street In The City” hasn’t aged well, but the rest rank with his best: the rocking “My Baby Gives It Away”, featuring Charlie Watts on drums; the searching “Keep Me Turning”; the self-deflating “Misunderstood”; and the sinewy “Heart To Hang Onto”, wherein he trades verses with Ronnie, giving the album a needed boost towards the end. Who fans will love Pete’s songs, of course, but for the newcomer, Ronnie’s tracks will be a nice surprise, from the jaunty “Nowhere To Run” and “Catmelody” to the sweet and pretty “Annie”.

Rough Mix is a minor yet pleasant album that consistently rewards future listens. Pete’s own affection for the album showed with the deluxe treatment it got upon its remastering in 2006, which includes a DVD layer with a mini-documentary, tons of photos from the sessions and a SACD audio mix of the tracks, complete with a full ending for “Annie” with jokey in-studio comments about the last chord. Of the bonus tracks, two are Ronnie’s and another, “Good Question”, is a full band version of the instrumental previously known as “Brrr”, which fanatics knew from Scoop.

Pete Townshend & Ronnie Lane Rough Mix (1977)—4
2006 DualDisc reissue: same as 1977, plus 3 extra tracks

Roger Daltrey 3: One Of The Boys

Once again the Who were in a lull, having spent much of 1976 on tour. Pete Townshend was off recording with Ronnie Lane, while Keith Moon was trying to stay sober while still hoping to become a movie star. John Entwistle kept busy with shopping sprees to fill up his new mansion, but still found time to play some of the bass parts on Roger Daltrey’s third solo album.

One Of The Boys continued Roger’s interest in interpreting songs by writers other than Pete Townshend. Philip Goodhand-Tait got more publishing royalties sent his way, and his “Parade” and “Leon” bookend side one, both songs about the dark side of stardom. Colin Blunstone, once of the Zombies, offered up the countrified “Single Man’s Dilemma”, but a real surprise came in the excellent cover of Andy Pratt’s “Avenging Annie”, which had been a mild hit for its writer only a few years before. Roger himself helped write “The Prisoner”, which would be less symbolic a lyric in a few years when its source was revealed as the inspiration for a film and matching soundrack, which we’ll discuss eventually.

The rowdy title track came from Steve Gibbons, whose eponymous band was coincidentally in the Who’s management stable. One disappointment is “Giddy”, contributed by one Paul McCartney. This song had its genesis in a jam during the Ram sessions, but the arrangement was now split into two opposing tempos, putting a little drama into the “I don’t feel sick” hook but undercutting the “rode all night” part with disco, and going on far too long. However, Murray Head’s “Say It Ain’t So Joe” was another earlier hit redone well by Roger, though the wimpier “Satin And Lace” and “Doing It All Again”, both of which he wrote with his producers, more than suggested he was better off singing other people’s words.

Any unease the Who might have felt from Roger’s solo work would have been tempered by what he did without them, and One Of The Boys, while competent, was no sales threat. Given its art-rock approach, as produced by David Courtney and Shadows drummer Tony Meehan, it probably resembles a Who album more than Roger’s first two, and doesn’t reflect the punk scene then sweeping England in the slightest.

The eventual CD expansion had some of its work cut out for it, as “Say It Ain’t So Joe” had been replaced on the LP by “Written On The Wind” in some countries; both were now included. In addition, “You Put Something Better Inside Me” was a B-side from Gerry Rafferty and the other guy in Stealer’s Wheel, while “Martyrs And Madmen” and “Treachery” were later tracks stuck here anachronistically, and will be discussed in time as well.

Roger Daltrey One Of The Boys (1977)—3
2006 reissue: same as 1977, plus 4 extra tracks

Who 11: By Numbers

As the seventies rolled on, Pete slaved over the Tommy soundtrack, began losing his hair and—gasp!—turned 30. These were all pretty traumatic events, so he was pretty pissed off. He wrote a pile of songs that clearly illustrated his frustration with his station in life. The Who took the best of them and turned what could have been a Townshend solo album into their last good album, The Who By Numbers.

“Slip Kid” is apparently a Lifehouse demo with lyrics that sound like Quadrophenia’s Jimmy is still wandering the railway platform. “Squeeze Box” was a joke that, to Pete’s horror, the band took as their own and the public made a hit. “However Much I Booze” is an overt statement of pointlessness from its author, while “Dreaming From The Waist” takes the same basic structure but has a bit more going for it to get the frustration across. “Imagine A Man” works on several levels—apocalyptic, personal, pleading. What it actually means is vague, but Roger puts just enough into it to make it compelling.

John starts side two with “Success Story”, another sardonic look at the pitfalls of fame that fits perfectly with the themes of the rest of the album. This goes into the pretty-on-the-surface “They Are All In Love”; when you dig in you find a nasty song about said pitfalls. “Blue Red And Grey” takes Pete out on the terraces with his ukulele before wondering “How Many Friends” he’s really got. “In A Hand Or A Face” takes a riff heard earlier on the idiotic B-side “Wasp Man” and takes us down and down the drain.

It may be hard to relate to a good deal of The Who By Numbers if you can’t figure what’s made Pete so mad. But it’s a grower, with fantastic performances all around, not to mention excellent, timeless production by Glyn Johns and good old Nicky Hopkins on piano. Plus, it’s got that great cover art. After all that came later, this was a pinnacle the band has never been able to scale again. (Apparently there were no studio outtakes, so the reissued CD adds some live tracks from the era. The band still had their moments, but with Keith’s decline they couldn’t maintain the grandeur they’d enjoyed years before.)

The Who The Who By Numbers (1975)—4
1996 remaster: same as 1975, plus 3 extra tracks

Roger Daltrey 2: Ride A Rock Horse

Thanks to his star turn in Ken Russell’s film adaptation of Tommy, Roger Daltrey was more of a household name outside the confines of The Who. With more time off from the band, he took the starring role in the same director’s even more outrageous Lisztomania. Rick Wakeman provided the soundtrack, which featured a few vocal turns by Roger, singing lyrics given to rocked-up arrangements of Franz Liszt melodies.

While all that was going on, Roger took the opportunity to record his second solo album. As before, Ride A Rock Horse served to spotlight working songwriters, including producer Russ Ballard, Philip Goodhand-Tait, and Paul Korda. And also as before, the style of the album as a whole was different from that of The Who, this time leaning towards horn-based R&B and mainstream AOR. (He even gamely filmed a few promos to help the album along. His newly acquired acting chops are well shown by his miming of guitar and even piano, which he doesn’t play in real life.)

“Come And Get Your Love” is a snappy, mildly discofied opener, with hearty female backing vocals that seem to predict Bob Dylan’s born-again phase. “Heart-s Right” (no, we don’t know why it’s spelled that way) and “Proud” deliver similar arrangements, bracketing “Oceans Away” which arrives just in time for a big ballad, featuring a piano solo right out of the Elton John playbook. Speaking of which, “World Over” has some nice “Philadelphia Freedom”-style guitars.

“Near To Surrender” is one of those “chin up, buddy” tunes designed to inspire, and it actually works without being overly saccharine, but “Feeling” returns us to the generic muscle soul from side one. The only real misstep is the oh-so-funky cover of Rufus Thomas’ “Walking The Dog”, followed by the campy Cockney of “Milk Train”, itself prefaced by fake applause. Somehow the closing “I Was Born To Sing Your Song” makes a fitting conclusion, perhaps because it resembles a slicker version of the songs on the first.

While not as consistently pleasing as Daltrey, Ride A Rock Horse underscores Roger’s ability as a singer and performer, and not just as Pete Townshend’s mouthpiece. Best of all, the band needn’t have worried that he’d abandon them anytime soon. Though they probably took great glee in ribbing him over the album cover. (The eventual expanded CD added the later B-side “Dear John” and an alternate version of “Oceans Away”.)

Roger Daltrey Ride A Rock Horse (1975)—3
2006 reissue: same as 1975, plus 2 extra tracks

Elvis Costello 22: North

Despite a career spent dabbling in countless musical styles, whenever Elvis put out an album that didn’t include another clone of “Pump It Up”, it got slammed. North had the honor of being named on lists for both the best and the worst albums of 2003 in Entertainment Weekly. The key complaint raised there, and all over the Internet, is that the album doesn’t have any melodies, which is horse-hockey. North is full of melodies, and gorgeous ones too, with arrangements are closer to such classic torch song collections as Frank Sinatra Sings For Only The Lonely. That’s where people object, but consider that the songs were all composed on the piano by someone who considers himself an amateur keyboard player at best. (A guitar appears on only one song, albeit mixed so low as to be inaudible.)

Though he was quick to say otherwise, the album was written and recorded in the wake of his separation and subsequent divorce from his (second) wife of 17 years, followed by his romance with Diana Krall, a respected singer/pianist known for her reverent versions of jazz standards—not unlike the contents of this album. Whatever the inspiration, it’s still a haunting song cycle examining the arc from love lost to love found.

After a swirl of strings that functions as a prelude, “You Left Me In The Dark” is a fairly straightforward statement of melancholy solitude. “Someone Took The Words Away” goes even deeper, and it’s not often you hear someone as verbose as EC admitting to being left speechless. The extended sax solo that brings to mind Tom Waits’ beatnik era. “When Did I Stop Dreaming?” breaks out of the startled mood with an arrangement worthy of Tony Bennett, followed by the brief but effective “You Turned To Me”. “Fallen”, the album’s best song, evokes the images of leaves falling from trees, with a plea for “someone to shake me loose” out of despair.

“When It Sings” is loaded with clever rhymes and oblique wordplay, accompanied by punctuating strings, and lead track “Still” is a rare display of tenderness from a guy known for songs about jealousy. Lest we feel we’re eavesdropping, he chooses to hold his joy close to his chest in “Let Me Tell You About Her”, featuring rhymes straight out of Cole Porter. It closes with an extended flugelhorn solo, accompanied by EC’s own piano playing. (The majority of the piano performances on North come from the dexterous hands of Steve Nieve.) “Can You Be True?” goes back to Sinatra territory, and “When Green Eyes Turn Blue” has all the hallmarks of a Big Finish, from its grand arrangement and dramatic strings to the perfect ending. But the last word goes to “I’m In The Mood Again”, in which the narrator slings his coat over his shoulder, his hat at a jaunty angle, and wanders among the lampposts out of Manhattan, happy again. (There was a title track of sorts, only available via a download ticket. It’s just as well; the song—like two others included as bonus tracks overseas—is more of an afterthought or B-side that really doesn’t fit with the rest of the album. )

North is a successful experiment, and fine accompaniment for dusky autumn evenings with a bottle of red wine. This was not the first time he’d put so many low-key ballads together; every album from his first (remember “Alison”?) has had its share. Its closest relative in the canon would be Painted From Memory, another album that pissed off many in his fan base. Those who gave it a chance—and to this day it still divides the faithful—were happy to have it, moreso than his last release, the over-hyped When I Was Cruel, which featured distracting drum machines, dissonant free jazz, a lot of ranting, and precious little melody. (So there.)

Elvis Costello North (2003)—4

Elvis Costello 21: When I Was Cruel

Outside of a few songs written for soundtracks, Elvis’s biggest project at the close of the century was producing an album for opera singer Anna Sofie von Otter, which nobody but Costello fans bought. There were a few new Costello compositions on there, but they’re rendered by a renowned soprano instead of the snarl we’d grown to love.

Finally, after the better part of four years, news of a new album emerged, with the promise of something loud and a tour with two-thirds of the Attractions, now dubbed the Imposters. Yet somehow something was missing. Or was there simply not enough variety? The over-hyped When I Was Cruel features distracting drum machines, dissonant free jazz, a lot of ranting and precious little melody.

There are highlights to be found: the rocking autobiography “45”; “Tear Off Your Own Head (It’s A Doll Revolution)”, apparently written for a proposed TV show about a female pop group that solves crimes; the biting “Alibi”, which recalled Elvis at his angry best; and the impenetrable but snappy “My Little Blue Window”. Those, however, were balanced badly by such masterworks as “Spooky Girlfriend” (which would have been better left to No Doubt), the twin litanies of the title track and “Episode Of Blonde”, two similar yet different stabs at a song called “Dust” and other songs that prove it wasn’t enough for Elvis to be loud; he had to be good, too.

The album got varying reviews, from praises to pans, and the bonus of the Cruel Smile curio by year’s end didn’t help. A collection of contemporary B-sides—mostly odd remixes—and live tracks, it was nearly redeemed by the inclusion of the original When I Was Cruel title track that had been scratched in favor of the plodding rewrite, along with “Oh Well”, which had already been issued in some countries. (Also, Rhino had started their re-release program, with similar bonus discs added to the albums proper, so there was plenty of other Elvis in 2002 to enjoy if this didn’t float your boat.) But at least he was working again.

Elvis Costello When I Was Cruel (2002)—2½
Elvis Costello & The Imposters Cruel Smile (2002)—2

Keith Moon: Two Sides Of The Moon

Having finally driven away his wife and daughter, and bored out of his skull when the Who weren’t recording or touring, Keith Moon went off to LA to drink with Ringo Starr, Harry Nilsson, John Lennon, and anyone else who dared to keep up with them. And since everyone else was doing it, he recorded a solo album. The general consensus is that he shouldn’t have, really.

Every song on Two Sides Of The Moon is impeccably arranged to the quality control standards of the time, as would be expected from the same people who played on sessions for Ringo, Harry, and John. Familiar names like Jesse Ed Davis, Jim Keltner, Klaus Voormann, and Flo & Eddie are joined by Joe Walsh, John Sebastian, Dick Dale, and Suzi Quatro’s sister, who brought other members of the band Fanny.

But as much of his spotlight on “Bell Boy” would suggest, Keith couldn’t carry a tune no matter what brandy bottle he’d brought it in. The styles run from ‘50s and country to glam and schmaltz; depending on his mood, he either yells through the tracks or attempts to croon them. While the upbeat numbers may have some comedy value, the damage he inflicts on “Don’t Worry Baby”, “In My Life”, and even “The Kids Are Alright”—which sports the only thing resembling one of his inimitable drum breaks—is absolutely horrifying. Along with Ringo’s audible drunken encouragement throughout, Beatle fans might’ve been interested in “Move Over Ms. L” (recorded for Walls And Bridges but saved for a B-side) had not Keith’s delivery rendered the lyrics even more garbled than John’s.

The one saving grace of Two Sides Of The Moon is that it’s only half an hour long. It isn’t funny enough for a comedy album, and knowing what we do now about his personal life and demons, listening feels uncomfortably voyeuristic. The cleverest aspect of the package is the expensive cover art, based around a die-cut sleeve that takes the title literally.

The inevitable CD reissue added a couple of outtakes, the even more hideous falsetto single version of “Don’t Worry Baby”, and three songs intended for his next album, produced a year later by Steve Cropper, which was mercifully never completed. Amazingly, a double CD celebrating his 60th birthday filled the program with further outtakes from the sessions, such as a terrible version of the Knickerbockers’ “Lies”, a worse plow through “My Generation”, a thankfully shelved Christmas single, and even more examples of Keith and Ringo’s inebriated schtick. (It must be stated, however, that John Sebastian’s guide vocal for “Don’t Worry Baby” is almost as bad as Keith’s.)

Keith Moon Two Sides Of The Moon (1975)—1
1997 CD reissue: same as 1975, plus 8 extra tracks
2006 Deluxe Edition: same as 1997, plus 32 extra tracks

John Entwistle 4: Mad Dog

While Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey remained occupied with the Tommy film, John Entwistle gathered most of the band known as Rigor Mortis, renamed them John Entwistle’s Ox, and recorded another album, this time with the intention of touring behind it. Mad Dog has its moments, but falls back on the parodic ‘50s influence from the last album, and the jokes, albeit clever, don’t bear up to repetition. If you like horn sections, buckle in, because there’s plenty of them.

The album starts mostly strong with “I Fall To Pieces”, while “Cell Number Seven” is an amusing recount of the night the Who and their entire road crew were arrested in the wake of damage Pete and Keith Moon had done to a hapless hotel room in Montreal. “You Could Be So Mean” is a little too literal in terms of the power of sticks and stones, and succeeds only because it comes before “Lady Killer” and its unrestrained bullfight trumpet. Just to mix things up, “Who In The Hell?” is delivered in a jokey hoedown arrangement with Eddie Jobson’s violins taking the place of the horns.

The title track is possibly the most daring, its Spector-girl group sound topped off by the vocals, delivered in their entirety by the female backup singers, for a result that predicts Bananarama crossed with Tracey Ullman. A mildly Shaft-style instrumental with clavinet and strings is titled “Jungle Bunny”, and we really hope that wasn’t meant to be a joke. “I’m So Scared” and “Drowning” repeat the formula of the other twisted love songs on side one, but at least the latter has an excellent melody.

Obviously John had plenty to offer, so the novelty of hearing him perform music not written by Pete Townshend was enough to get some people to listen. But when it came down to it, as long as the Who were still around and Pete was still creating, audiences didn’t pay as much attention to his solo work. Mad Dog was a mild improvement, but didn’t help his case any. (The eventual upgraded CD added two extras in the form of single mixes of the title track and “Cell Number Seven”.)

John Entwistle’s Ox Mad Dog (1975)—2½
2006 Sanctuary reissue: same as 1975, plus 2 extra tracks

Who 10: Odds & Sods

Their last two album releases were literal and figurative looks back, and while Pete and Roger were busy scoring and starring in the Tommy film, John compiled Odds & Sods, an album that served to clear up the rarities closet. It didn’t scratch the surface, of course, but at least it brought some of the better unreleased tracks out that had previously been sentenced to obscurity.

“Postcard” is a weary snapshot from the road, based on John’s usual chromatic riffs. By the end of the song you can’t imagine why anyone would want to be in a band. “Now I’m A Farmer” is an oddity that started in the pre-Tommy period, but it doesn’t seem to be about anything but growing weed. “Put The Money Down” is a tough leftover from the post-Lifehouse sessions, and would have been a good single from the 1972 album that wasn’t finished. “Little Billy” comes from the post-Sell Out period wherein they started writing singles too long for advertisements. “Too Much Of Anything” was a key part of the Lifehouse story, whereas “Glow Girl” manages to bridge “Rael” (from Sell Out) and Tommy.

“Pure And Easy” is the Who’s version of the song heard on Pete’s solo album, and the best song left off of Who’s Next; in this context it’s just another song. “Faith In Something Bigger” is from 1968, just before Pete found Baba. “I’m The Face” deflates this search, as it was the band’s first single (as the High Numbers). “Naked Eye” developed out of the lengthy “My Generation” jams, the like of which had been captured on Live At Leeds; this studio recording isn’t as good as the versions that arose out of those jams. And the classic “Long Live Rock”, a hilarious distillation of their early days, drags it all home.

Odds & Sods was a sprawling yet satisfying album, made even more so when it was resequenced chronologically for the 1990s reissue series, complete with more leftovers. However, the compilers had already shot themselves in the feet for allowing some of the original Odds & Sods tracks to be included on reissues of other albums, so the potential for the ultimate mop-up CD missed the mark. (They also chose some sloppy alternates to versions that would have been more welcome.) Still, we got rarities from their entire career up to 1974, including an early audition acetate, two Eddie Cochran covers recorded for Sell Out, and interesting rejects from Tommy, Who’s Next, and Quadrophenia adding up to 75 minutes of fun, with liner notes. It could have been better, had some of the tracks not doubled up already (notably on Sell Out). But then again, nobody owed the fans anything.

The Who Odds & Sods (1974)—3½
1996 remaster: same as 1974, plus 12 extra tracks