Elton John 25: Leather Jackets

In the interest of full disclosure, we never knowingly heard a note of this album before writing this review. We remember seeing it in stores, but it wasn’t all over the radio like everything else he did before or since, and which we heard in real time. In our defense, Elton himself doesn’t remember much about it either.

Leather Jackets follows the template of his previous album, arriving almost exactly a year later. He and Bernie Taupin wrote most of the songs, Gus Dudgeon produced, and most of the two dozen musicians returned, with only Davey Johnston representing the classic Elton John Band. Yet that recipe created his most generic sounding album since Victim Of Love.

It’s a lot like Ice On Fire, which is good if you liked it, but there isn’t anything approaching something you’d want to hear again. The title track is dopey enough without the cringey back cover, which was probably an attempt to be funny. At least “Hoop Of Fire” changes the mood quickly, and could be a lot better with a more straight arrangement, but it still sounds like he’s singing about a “football fire”, whatever that is. “Don’t Trust That Woman” was written with Cher, of all people, and we’d love to know who decided the first line should be “she’s a real ballbuster”. As much as it sounds like a soundtrack refugee, “Go It Alone” is even more processed. Even though “Gypsy Heart” is slow and not slathered like everything else, it’s still something of a retread of the far superior “Blue Eyes”.

“Slow Rivers” is notable for being a duet with Cliff Richard, and not much else. “Heartache All Over The World” was the single—again, not that we recall hearing it anywhere, ever—and attempts to update the rhythm of “Philadelphia Freedom” with too many bad synthesizers. According to the credits, “Angeline” features John Deacon and Roger Taylor of Queen—not that you’d notice, given the “whoa-whoa” hook and car effects—suggesting it was left over from the last album. “Memory Of Love” tries to be a sensitive ballad, but for the fake harmonica all over the place. The acrobatic chord changes throughout “Paris” actually make the song interesting, but “I Fall Apart” sounds too much like it to stand out.

Throughout Leather Jackets he sounds like he’s trying to sound soulful and dramatic but coming off more hammy. The raspiness in his voice is more noticeable without his other mid-‘80s hits to provide context, and ultimately, it’s all a waste. Unlike most of his catalog, it has never been expanded.

Elton John Leather Jackets (1986)—2

Mike McGear: McGear

Paul McCartney’s brother Michael should be commended for never capitalizing on his brother’s fame. Even before Beatlemania was in full swing he was already seeking his own path, but more on the musical comedy side with the Scaffold, in the example of their beloved Goons. To further distance himself, he chose to use the surname McGear for the better part of two decades, by which time everybody knew who he was anyway.

After the Scaffold disbanded, Mike put out an album called Woman that sported a photo of the boys’ mum on the cover and didn’t sell. Paul offered to help him record a single, which led to a full album recorded at 10cc’s studio with Wings in between drummers and newcomer Jimmy McCulloch as the backing band, which is likely why Warner Bros. (via longtime Beatle insider Derek Taylor) put McGear out worldwide.

Oddly, the first track is a cover of “Sea Breezes”, one of the quirkier tracks on the first Roxy Music album, and Mike actually sounds more like Bryan Ferry than his brother. That vocal timber helps keep him his own man, though the patented McCartney touch is evident if not blatant from here on. That may be him playing all the instruments on “What Do We Really Know?” while Mike chirps and Linda harmonizes. There’s even a fake ending that seems to be an excuse for Paul to chant the title. “Norton” is even goofier but just as spare, following the title character from school to the army, complete with a skit in the middle. “Leave It” was the single that spawned the project, a tuneful little number with lots of honking sax and another fake ending. “Have You Got Problems?” is just as catchy and sax-heavy, with a couple of detours into more of a ‘50s feel. It ends with the occasional Macca tendency toward in-studio applause.

“The Casket” is a somber trip to the seaside, with Paddy Moloney on uilleann pipes and poetic lyrics by Scaffold cohort Roger McGough. “Rainbow Lady” is a very breezy candidate for being mistaken for his brother, and quite radio-friendly too. By the same token, “Simply Love You” is very much a silly love song, short on words but nicely constructed and arranged. Speaking of imitations, “Giving Grease A Ride” is a very clever pastiche of T.Rex, both in the automotive subject matter and the mildly Bolanesque delivery. (Elsewhere on the album he almost resembles John Cale.) It probably didn’t need to run for over five minutes, but “The Man Who Found God On The Moon” is even longer, and even more inscrutable. (What’s with the Hare Krishna mantra after the first verse?) Still, those extra minutes allow for more Paul on piano and lush Wings harmonies.

While it’s not quite a lost Wings album, and hardly a masterpiece, McGear remains a vanity project in the McCartney story, and people are still justifiably fascinated by it. Rykodisc put out the first CD version, with the standalone single “Dance The Do” added as a bonus track. Around the time of its 45th birthday, a deluxe box set also added the B-side “Sweet Baby”, plus a second disc of outtakes, B-sides, and such oddities as three minutes of Paddy Moloney practicing the pipes and others that predate and postdate the album sessions. The package also included two posters, booklet, and a DVD with interviews and video for the McGear fan who has to have everything.

Mike McGear McGear (1974)—3
1990 Rykodisc: same as 1974, plus 1 extra track
2019 expanded remaster: same as 1990, plus 20 extra tracks (and DVD)

Jellyfish 2: Spilt Milk

The Bellybutton album and videos certainly created a buzz for Jellyfish boys Andy Sturmer and Roger Manning. They got a chance to write some songs for the first Ringo Starr album in ten years, and were even courted briefly by Brian Wilson’s team. Certainly their label wanted the band to keep going, except that they weren’t really a band anymore. Chris Manning never wanted to be a bass player anyway, and Jason Falkner realized the other two weren’t going to let him do anything but play guitar at their direction, so he bolted.

Undaunted, the dynamic duo hunkered down in the studio in their Scooby Doo-inspired wardrobe with the guys who produced the debut, tapping Lyle Workman and the soon-to-be ubiquitous Jon Brion for the lead guitars and T-Bone Wolk to handle the better bass parts. The result was Spilt Milk, which doubled down on their quirky touches and daddy issues in the lyrics by piling on religious commentary and ceaseless references to cake frosting and other sugars, delivering a tour de force in album production. Some have suggested there is a rock opera in there, which may or may not be true; perhaps the song titles written in Alpha-Bits cereal in, yes, spilt milk on the back cover were intended to deflate any pomposity.

Whatever the real intention, we do seem to be dealing with a series of dreams. “Hush” perversely starts us off with a lullaby, the layered vocals an overt homage to Queen. The orchestral touches are misleading, as “Joining A Fan Club” jolts everyone awake with straightahead rock, the snide lyrics alluding to both pop stars and televangelists. Roger gets to open “Sebrina, Paste And Plato” (the latter word likely used to avoid paying the Play-Doh manufacturer any royalties), one of the most elaborate songs ever to depict grade school at its most garish, kinda like “Getting Better” filtered through the Muppets. The silliness abates with the sublime “New Mistake”, another master production that pulls out all the stops, complete with key change for the bridge and Harrisonian guitar solo, all the while relating a playlet about a surprise pregnancy that spans generations. “The Glutton Of Sympathy” most resembles the songs on Bellybutton, loaded as it is with haunting melodic phrases, and so does “The Ghost At Number One”. The heaviest track the Beach Boys never recorded, complete with a nod to “Cabin Essence” over the fade, it had a truly dark video to match, and predicted even more dead rock stars. While it was written back before the first album, “Bye, Bye, Bye” melds Oktoberfest with “Those Were The Days” by way of Supertramp. The best parts of the song are still the vocal motif used as the intro and after the instrumental break.

It’s back to loud angry rock (and more Queen references) with “All Is Forgiven”, its dense sound burying some very delicate musical lines, escalating into a wash of echo that abruptly cuts off with the next mood switch into “Russian Hill”. Based around a dreamy approach derived from Nick Drake, it occupies a similar palate-cleansing mood-changer slot as “Bedspring Kiss” on the last album, but it’s a much better song and arrangement, the pedal steel guitar the perfect touch. Then it’s off to Nilsson territory with “He’s My Best Friend”, a not-too-subtle ode to onanism with an even more overt steal in the title. It’s a joke that wears thin, but the majestic kiss-off “Too Much, Too Little, Too Late” redeems it. (This is a good place to remind the listener that what sounds like a big band—anywhere on the album—was actually pieced together instrument by instrument and expertly mixed.) Another Harrisonian solo bookends the tune, to the point that we don’t always realize “Brighter Day” has started. The “Cabin Essence” banjo returns, in between carousel sounds and circus effects used to illustrate more of the horror than fun of life in the big top. Andy goosesteps toward the increasingly plodding denouement, and another Hollywood flourish brings us right back to where we came in on track one.

For the Split Milk tour, they drafted bass player Tim Smith to wear a hideous green corduroy suit with odd lapels and matching Prince Valiant haircut, while young Eric Dover was brought in to shred on guitar and leer at the girls in the front row. The stage was decked out with tinsel streamers like a high school dance and a working Lite-Brite displaying the band’s logo. Roger would occasionally come out from behind his rig to bash a guitar, particularly on their cover of Badfinger’s “No Matter What”. (Sadly, this was not included among the demos and live recordings added to the album’s eventual expansion.)

But it wasn’t enough to keep the band together, and rather attempt to make an even better record, Jellyfish dried up on the sand. Andy Sturmer was clearly happier making music than promoting it, and went on to a successful career working with Japanese musicians and scoring animated television, giving absolutely zero interviews in the time since. Roger Manning tried continuing as Imperial Drag with Eric Dover (who’d just finished a stint with Slash’s Snakepit) and eventually ended up in Beck’s touring band. While there he crossed paths with Jason Falkner, who was in the brief supergroup The Grays with Jon Brion before embarking on a prolific solo career of his own in between sessions (including one Paul McCartney album). Most recently, Manning, Dover, and Smith put out a series of three four-song EPs as The Lickerish Quartet, all released during Covid, and eventually compiled onto a CD in Japan, after which the project ended.

In the absence of a highly unlikely band reunion, Jellyfish endures as one of those bands who knew how to fill up both sides of a Maxell 90 with melodies that will stick in your brain. Some bands can barely fill one. (Those seeking even more from the band’s brief arc will want to look out for 2002’s mega-rare Fan Club box set, which includes much of the Omnivore bonuses and then some, the Radio Jellyfish compilation and Live At Bogart’s set, and the double-disc Stack-a-Tracks, which took the lead yet again from the Beach Boys by presenting predominantly instrumental mixes of both studio albums.)

Jellyfish Spilt Milk (1993)—3½
2015 Omnivore reissue: same as 1993, plus 25 extra tracks

Jellyfish 1: Bellybutton

Nostalgia for the Summer of Love was barely over when kids too young to remember it started forming bands and making albums. These people came of age at a time when their biggest musical influences were the Partridge Family and the Banana Splits, and embraced as much day-glo plaid and corduroy they could find at thrift shops. For a couple years at the start of the ‘90s this scene was dominated by Jellyfish, four photogenic guys who probably wished they could’ve tried out for 1987’s New Monkees failure of a TV show. They could easily have been found guilty of completely ripping off Redd Kross if more people knew that band, and if their own music wasn’t so good.

Most of the music came from the collaboration of Andy Sturmer, standing drummer and lead vocalist with cheekbones, and Roger Manning, who mostly stuck to electric pianos onstage and shrugged his dreadlocks out of the way. Guitarist Jason Falkner played some of the bass on the band’s Bellybutton debut; the rest was handled by jazz boy John Patitucci or Steve MacDonald of the aforementioned Redd Kross. Once they started touring, Roger’s brother Chris took the bass gig in true Johnny Bravo fashion. All four went on the promo trail, and were interviewed wearing floppy hats while blowing soap bubbles and licking giant carnival lollipops.

Their image was a shoebox out of which the album spilled. After a MacGuffin of a churchy organ, the dark tale in “The Man I Used To Be” shuffles in all angry and tense. This is not power pop by the numbers, and neither is the harmonica solo from the guy who played on the Sanford And Son and Rockford Files themes—as well as “Good Vibrations”—but maybe that’s why they chose him. The hook-laden “That Is Why” is similarly edgy, but breaks free during the choruses for a better pop song. “The King Is Half-Undressed” is where most people would have heard them first, via a striking video that depicted the band members among pinwheels, hula hoops, and bubble gum, when objects weren’t flying in or out of the top of a magician’s hat. Even without that, the tune kicks, with lots of little touches, even if it does meander in the middle. “I Wanna Stay Home” veers on adult contemporary, but it still fits with everything else here. Footsteps lead into a room where a sumptuous piano ballad is getting support from a Hammond organ for a track we’d love to hear the rest of someday. Instead, it shifts abruptly to the swampy suburban horror of “She Still Loves Him”, wherein Jason gets to stretch. (His touches are terrific throughout the album.)

A lot of these songs were certainly made with the intention of sounding great on a stereo, but things heat up on side two. The frenetic “All I Want Is Everything” was made for the stage, complete with big crashing ending. It’s a fine Cheap Trick-style rocker, despite the keyboard trumpet lines. It segues quickly into the Beatlesque “Now She Knows She’s Wrong” (via harpsichord, bass, harmonies, and firebell right out of “Penny Lane”, but the resemblance stops there), which is also short enough to be a hit single but wasn’t. “Bedspring Kiss” is the furthest departure, incorporating bossa nova beats and strings, a Coral sitar, that harmonica again, and a cocktail interlude for five long minutes. Besides being super-catchy, “Baby’s Coming Back” is also notable for its video, wherein the boys briefly got to be their own Saturday morning cartoon. And if you still don’t hear the Partridge Family influence, check out the harpsichord tag over the coda. “Calling Sarah” pulls in lots of influences, particularly the Beach Boys and the Zombies in the choruses, for a strong finale. They display some wonderful detours and dynamics here, and just when it starts getting good, the album ends.

Bellybutton remains a unique grab-bag of toe-tapping pop-rock. In addition to the songwriting, much credit should go to co-producers Albhy Galuten, who’d gotten gold records with the Bee Gees, and Jack Joseph Puig, who would get lots of work throughout the ‘90s and beyond. And despite its obvious retro touches, it doesn’t sound dated. For the most part. (We’ve stated how visual image was a big part of their brand. The album’s cover built on a landscape most recently used by Prince, while the longbox—remember those?—went for a more literal approach. This last touch was not carried over when the album was expanded some 25 years later by adding live recordings plus a second disc full of fully fleshed-out demos.)

Jellyfish Bellybutton (1990)—3½
2015 Omnivore reissue: same as 1990, plus 26 extra tracks

Queen 10: Flash Gordon

Most major bands were excited when they were tapped to provide a full soundtrack for a film, and Queen got their chance with the mega-budget cult classic Flash Gordon. They even took time out while making The Game to work on it.

When the soundtrack album came out, fans may have been disappointed to find it was just that: music for the background of the movie, used as counterpoints to the onscreen action, and not meant to swamp the dialogue. And this album has lots and lots of dialogue. While each band member gets credit for the tracks they spearheaded, and worked on individually, the orchestral touches were not provided by any of the band, and don’t sound like them anyway.

The album is bookended by the two closest things to actual songs, being that they have distinct sets of lyrics, sung by Freddie Mercury. “Flash’s Theme” was the basis for the single, and probably the one piece most people have heard from the album. The chorus is fairly obvious, but unfortunately the slower “just a man” section isn’t exploited more throughout the rest. “The Hero” is the closing piece, loaded with guitars and drums, which of course goes back to repeat most of “Flash’s Theme” before ending with, yes, an explosion.

But in between, there is just music that would probably resonate more with those who’ve seen the movie more than once. Timbales and space effects abound, and the band certainly got over their earlier stated disdain for synthesizers. Most of these tracks are fleeting, less than two minutes apiece, and run seamlessly together with few noticeable gaps. There are a few standouts, like the very new-wavey “Football Fight”, which accompanies the scene in which our hero picks off the enemy’s minions with his gridiron skills (not really much of a stretch, as Flash was a polo player in the original comic strip). “Execution Of Flash” is a brief guitar theme, played not by Brian May but John Deacon, yet there’s no mistaking Brian’s touch on his arrangement of Wagner’s well-known “Wedding March”. “The Kiss” is very much a movie theme, with impossibly high vocals from Freddie. “Flash To The Rescue” and “Marriage Of Dale And Ming” recycle the familiar parts of “Flash’s Theme”, as does the reprise, of course, while “Battle Theme” is a precursor to “The Hero”. (Halfway through that, we hear a character intone, “Who wants to live forever?”—which would become another movie song one day.)

The Flash Gordon film failed to launch a franchise, so this relatively short album remains part of that failure. The 1991 CD added just a modern hip-hop dance remix of “Flash’s Theme” that was pretty stupid, but the bonus disc in the expansion twenty years later at least tried to put the emphasis back onto the music. The single version of “Flash” is shorter than the album track but includes dialogue not on the album, yet still manages to encapsulate the whole thing. The “revisited” mix of “The Hero” puts more emphasis on the vocal and instrumental parts, and while there are still some sound effects, it’s a better track overall. The early version of “The Kiss” is simply wordless vocal and piano, followed by a piano-driven “Football Fight”. Live performances of “Flash” and “The Hero” from the following year are good, and should sate anyone who really needs to hear the songs again.

Queen Flash Gordon (1980)—2
1991 Hollywood reissue: same as 1980, plus 1 extra track
2011 remaster: same as 1980, plus 6 extra tracks

Richard Wright 2: Broken China

One of the best things to come out of the post-Roger version of Pink Floyd was the re-emergence of Rick (as he was going by now) Wright, in the band onstage as well as in the studio, adding those iconic keyboard touches everywhere. “Wearing The Inside Out” was nobody’s favorite track on The Division Bell, but it sure was nice to hear his voice again after being silent for so long. Therefore the idea of a solo album coming so soon after the Pulse live album was certainly appealing.

At least it was until the album came out. Broken China is a dour collection of tracks, half of which have vocals, few of which are upbeat, even the ones with dance rhythms. And for good reason. It was originally intended to be entirely instrumental, but as the overall inspiration was that of a “friend”—later to be revealed as Wright’s wife—being treated for clinical depression, he felt words and vocals would be needed. The musicians are top-notch, of course, with Floyd auxiliaries Anthony Moore (who wrote most of the lyrics, and it turns out the wife’s therapist did some too) and Tim Renwick, plus Dominic Miller, Pino Palladino, Manu Katché, Kate St. John, and a special vocalist on two tracks. When he himself sings, he predicts the 21st century timber of Brian Eno’s voice.

The album is presented in four parts, the first representing childhood, illustrated by a teddy bear with its head nearly torn off. “Breaking Water” is a mostly ambient track used as an introduction, much like the last two Floyd albums. There’s a startling switch to the “Humpty Dance”-style backing track for “Night Of A Thousand Furry Toys”. Moore literally phones in a vocal, and somehow a music box tinkles its way into the mix at the end. The very somber “Hidden Fear” moves into the mechanized sound of “Runaway”, composed solely by Moore, who apparently did the programming.

We move to adolescence, supposedly, which is mostly instrumental. “Unfair Ground” is another ambient transition, but we don’t need that fairground sample (already heard in “Poles Apart”) inserted for some reason. “Satellite” is a lengthy showcase for Tim Renwick, which seems to get edgier and edgier until Rick comes into sing “Woman Of Custom”. The chorus redeems the song, with subliminal harmonies from Pino’s wife, who used to back up Paul Young. “Interlude” is a slow piano piece, and welcome.

Part three apparently involves depression directly, as hinted at by the pointedly eerie “Black Cloud”, and “Far From The Harbour Wall” piles on the sadness with frank lyrics and minimal metaphors. The mostly ambient “Drowning” intensifies it, but Sinéad O’Connor gives voice to “Reaching For The Rail”, sung in first person, with Rick providing sympathetic counterpoint in his own verse and in the last.

The final segment addresses resolution, and there is indeed some relief here. “Blue Room In Venice” is more of an interlude than the verses would suggest, but he’s started to let his voice reach higher notes. “Sweet July” is mildly majestic, with Gilmour-style guitar (no, still not him) and rolling cymbals matching the cavorting dolphin in the booklet. The energy of “Along The Shoreline” can’t help but recall “Run Like Hell”, and we’d like to say it represents a “Breakthrough”, but that’s the title and theme of the final track, a more contemplative but still powerful statement sung by Sinéad. (Six years later, Rick would sing this onstage with Gilmour.) And with that, the album ends.

We haven’t found any documentation as to whether Broken China actually helped anyone suffering from depression, but that’s none of our business. It’s not a Pink Floyd album, so its appeal outside the fanbase is fleeting and limited. We have found its charms; proceed with caution.

Rick Wright Broken China (1996)—3

Neil Young 71: Early Daze

Way back in 2017, when the Neil Young Archives launched as an interactive streaming website, the timeline feature included virtual Post-It notes as placeholders for various projects that would, we would presume, be someday released. One of those notes read simply Early Daze, which we knew from his 2012 memoir Waging Heavy Peace was a collection of recordings made with Crazy Horse in 1969. This is basically what Neil was up to after Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere came out, and right around the time Ahmet Ertegun suggested that Crosby, Stills & Nash add him as a second guitarist, which was only one reason why the project changed. And it only took him twelve years to get it out of the pipeline and into the world.

All of these songs have been heard before, but not all in these versions. For starters, “Dance Dance Dance” was already on the first Archives box, as was “Everybody’s Alone”, said to be an alternate mix, but that’s negligible. “Come On Baby Let’s Go Downtown” doesn’t quite have the bite of the live version, just as “Winterlong” would be improved onstage as well as in a later recording. Both still sound excellent here. Yet another stab at “Wonderin’” was likely left aside because Neil botched the lyrics. “Cinnamon Girl” is the mono single mix, which favors Danny Whitten’s vocal, but has the familiar guitar coda tagged on.

The biggest surprise is Danny’s “Look At All The Things”, with Neil harmonizing and not quite at the level of the perfect take on the first Crazy Horse album two years later. It turns out “Helpless” was tried first with the Horse before CSNY got it, and has a slightly faster but still laid-back lope. “Birds” is the same take as the alternate B-side version, but here includes the second verse skipped on the 45. Then it’s back to the beginning of the year for the first take of “Down By The River”, this time with supposedly the original scratch vocal.

The music on Early Daze is not incendiary; there are a lot of acoustic guitars, some country influence, and Jack Nitzsche on electric piano. While everything has been freshly mixed—as opposed to done and dusted in 1969—there’s a rehearsal vibe to a lot of it, as opposed to sounding like polished album tracks. But if you take these songs, and replace “Down By The River” and “Cinnamon Girl” with “Oh Lonesome Me” and “I Believe In You”, you’d have a pretty decent second Neil Young and Crazy Horse album. (You can even leave the studio chatter in.) But then we wouldn’t have Déjà Vu and After The Gold Rush as we know them. Of course if Danny had lived, things would have been completely different. This album is a testament to him, as he sings with Neil on nearly every track.

Neil Young With Crazy Horse Early Daze (2024)—3½

Grateful Dead 20: Built To Last

In the late ‘80s the Dead were arguably bigger than they’d ever been, and largely hadn’t changed much of their business plan in the decades thus far. So when they decided to record a follow-up to their smash hit of two years before, they didn’t dip into the well that had built up over the previous gap between studio projects. Built To Last consisted of songs that had been written since that last album and, in keeping with tradition, were subject to questionable mixing that didn’t do them any favors. Part of the problem was the embracing of MIDI technology, which combined with synthesizers for a very cold, non-organic sound. Also, for the first time Brent Mydland’s songs outnumbered both Bob Weir’s and Jerry Garcia’s, and one of our favorites, “Don’t Need Love”, wasn’t among them.

Confusing things quite a bit, the cassette and CD versions of the album had an extra track not on the LP, and all three running orders were different. Now that the CD has become standard, that’s the sequence we’re going to explore here, and frankly, it’s the one that works best.

“Foolish Heart” was the first single, and more enjoyable than the production would suggest. Even with that, it sets a low bar the rest of the album doesn’t always meet. To wit: Brent’s “Just A Little Light” is just a little too adult contemporary, not helped by a vocal that resembles that of Dan Hill. A raspy Jerry sings the title track, something of a continuation of the theme of “Touch Of Grey”, but it works. “Blow Away” is a better Brent song, with a cool hook on the keyboards and guitars that complement the vocal well. Bob finally turns up with “Victim Or The Crime”, written with the guy probably best known for playing Beef in Phantom Of The Paradise. This one is tough to unpack, as the last half is slathered with effects too cliché for an album released on Halloween, but there’s a good song in there somewhere.

“We Can Run” was left off the vinyl version, which is mind-boggling because it’s not only one of the better songs here, and it’s one of Brent’s. Jerry (with Robert Hunter) goes three-for-three with “Standing On The Moon”, an affecting meditation on humanity, history, and legacy. While it only follows on the CD, the placement of “Picasso Moon”—another challenging Bob construction—is odd. Interestingly, both of Bob’s songs here seem patterned on his winning pair on the last album, and pale in comparison. And while “I Will Take You Home” is a lovely sentimental lullaby, the windup music box theme and fake strings jar with the rest of the album. It does not belong here.

Save the occasions where they simply played—Workingman’s Dead, American Beauty, even In The Dark—the band clearly never learned how to work in the studio. Certainly from the ‘70s on, “production” just didn’t work for them. But that didn’t matter. They promoted Built To Last by going on tour like they always did, where the songs breathed and sounded better. There was, however, a unique promotion in the form of Dead In A Deck, which packaged your choice of the album on CD or cassette with official Dead-branded playing cards. And as it turned out, this was the last studio album they would complete. (Rather than provide a peek into the recording sessions, the bonuses on the later expanded CD were all live tracks: twelve-minute takes on “Blow Away” with an extended rap and an off-pitch “Foolish Heart”, and a cover of Rodney Crowell’s “California Earthquake”.)

Grateful Dead Built To Last (1989)—3
1989 CD: same as 1989, plus 1 extra track
2006 expanded CD: same as 1989 CD, plus 3 extra tracks

Peter Gabriel 14: Rated PG and Flotsam And Jetsam

Nearly two decades into the 21st century, Peter Gabriel was still touring occasionally, and releasing the occasional one-off track, but there was no sign of new album. And for someone who was always on the cutting edge of technology and interaction, he was one of the longest holdouts among musicians of his stature to allow his music on streaming services, specifically Spotify. (Money does talk, after all.) When he did finally relent, the floodgates opened, kind of.

By this time he’d racked up more than an album’s worth of songs that had been featured on movie soundtracks, so Rated PG was a very inspired compilation, with a clever title and hilarious artwork to match. It was first released as a picture disc for a Record Store Day, but eventually made it to streaming and CD. It doesn’t include every song he wrote or supplied for a soundtrack, but it does collect some worthwhile rarities.

In the time since Up he had become a father again, but his contribution to a Babe sequel predated that. “That’ll Do” was written by Randy Newman but thankfully sung by Peter with instrumental help from Paddy Maloney of the Chieftains and the Black Dyke Mills (brass) Band. Ten years later, the more upbeat “Down To Earth” was a collaboration with composer Thomas Newman for WALL-E. Then there’s the more archetypal “This Is Party Man”, an alternate version of a track used in Virtuosity, credited as a co-write with Tori Amos, but we’re not sure exactly how. “The Book Of Love” of course was a springboard for the Scratch My Back project, and it’s still lovely, but it’s followed by “Taboo”, written with and sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan from the Natural Born Killers soundtrack.

“Everybird” was the most recent track here, a sweetly melancholy track for an obscure animated film, then it’s all the way back to 1984 for “Walk Through The Fire”, which was overshadowed on the Against All Odds soundtrack by the title track, which was a smash hit by Phil Collins. (Then again, nobody paid attention to the song Mike Rutherford contributed.) “Speak (Bol)” is from a more recent political thriller, and has some anthemic qualities, as well as vocals in Urdu sung by Atif Aslam, while “Nocturnal” is from an even more obscure French film. It’s a moody, not necessarily dark track, though the lyrics suggest otherwise. Perhaps as a sop to those who want something familiar, “In Your Eyes” closes the set in an alternate mix—not the same one from the Say Anything soundtrack, but incorporating elements from other versions.

Despite being all over the place genre-wise, Rated PG holds together well, though it certainly could have been more comprehensive. This was addressed in a big way in late 2019 by Flotsam And Jetsam, a digital-only compilation running nearly six hours. Despite not being a physical release, it was separated into three “discs”, the first of which would fit on a single CD if they sold one. It begins with his cover of “Strawberry Fields Forever” from a very strange film, then continues through B-sides mostly presenting intriguing alternate versions of tracks from his first four solo albums, as well as such rarities as “Teddy Bear”, “Soft Dog”, “Across The River”, and “Here Comes The Flood” in German.

Each of the other “discs” exceeds two hours. The second covers the period bookended by So and Us; most of these tracks are remixes, which can get repetitive and tedious, but then there are highlights like “Quiet Steam”, “Don’t Break This Rhythm”, and “Curtains”. The last segment covers a 22-year period, dominated at first by tribute album appearances and other soundtrack contributions, then by remixes from Up. Yet it closes with new material of sorts: two completed mixes of the So-era work in progress “Courage”; the standalone single “I’m Amazing”, inspired by Muhammed Ali and released in tribute after the man’s death; and “The Veil”, written for Oliver Stone’s biopic of Edward Snowden.

There were still some missing pieces, like his songs from the Gremlins and Philadelphia soundtracks, but at least everything sounded good. Despite the demand, it likely wouldn’t have been the most lucrative set, so people can skip around when streaming, or cherrypick to their hearts’ content via Bandcamp.

Peter Gabriel Rated PG (2019)—3
Peter Gabriel Flotsam And Jetsam (2019)—2½
Current CD availability: none; streaming only

Yardbirds 3: Over Under Sideways Down

Having racked up enough hit singles in the UK, somebody decided the Yardbirds were ready to record a full studio album. By this time impresario Giorgio Gomelsky was no longer in charge, so production was shared by bassist Paul Samwell-Smith and new manager Simon Napier-Bell in a feat of hyphenation. The band even wrote all the songs themselves, or at least they were credited that way.

Over there the album’s title was simply Yardbirds, but because the cover had a drawing captioned Roger The Engineer, that became how it was known among those who bought it. In America, where it was the band’s third album, two songs were off, and the set was called Over Under Sideways Down in honor of the hit single it was pushing, with wacky cover art to match.

It’s a good start with “Lost Women”, which follows a fairly standard riff and takes a cool extended “I’m A Man”-style raveup detour that nicely pairs Keith Relf’s harmonica and Jeff Beck’s guitar. The title song is another classic, pinned by everyone shouting “HEY!” and a raga-styled hook from Beck. “I Can’t Make Your Way” is surprisingly toe-tapping pop, with the harmonica and guitar nicely balanced under the verse (Relf seemingly harmonizing with himself) and another well-constructed Beck solo. The nursery rhyme piano of the brief “Farewell” is odd enough, but then there’s the nutty chanting and wobble board in “Hot House Of Omagararshid”, and yes, the guitar solo should have come in much earlier.

That’s not the complaint with “Jeff’s Boogie”, another derivative piece that’s a showcase for his style. He’s got a good fuzz tone on the mildly menacing “He’s Always There”, one of the better paranoid lyrics of the period. “Turn Into Earth” has a similar Gregorian approach from “Still I’m Sad”, wordless vocals once again dominating over simple piano bass notes and distant guitar. But “What Do You Want” is a Bo Diddley-style rave-up that takes two chords to make its point. “Ever Since The World Began” is more doom-laden philosophizing about the evils of money in another exploration of near-Gregorian style, then switches to a boogie halfway through, and stops.

While it’s a strange little album, it hangs together very well. As time went on, and the band’s stature increased with their legend, fans would have sought out British pressings, if only for the two extra songs on side one that shifted “Hot House” up to the start of side two. “The Nazz Are Blue” featured Jeff Beck singing, kind of, and had already inspired the name of Todd Rundgren’s first band, while “Rack My Mind” was another average boogie.

For some reason, Epic reissued the album in 1983 on LP and cassette as The Yardbirds, using the original British cover and lineup, but with the added bonus of the single “Happenings Ten Years Time Ago” at the top of side one and its B-side, “Psycho Daisies”, ending side two. (These tracks are notable for being the only appearance of Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page together on Yardbirds recordings.) It didn’t make it to an American CD until 1997 when Warner Archives of all labels issued it as Roger The Engineer with the same 14 tracks, but sticking “Happenings” at the end after “Psycho Daisies”. Since then smaller labels have taken over, usually pairing the mono and stereo mixes and adding the single, and rotating bonus tracks like Keith Relf solo singles, “Stroll On” from the movie Blow-Up, the occasional alternate take, and their Great Shakes commercials. So it’s out there; Spotify alone currently has three different editions of the album available for streaming.

The Yardbirds Over Under Sideways Down (1966)—3½
1983 The Yardbirds reissue: same as 1966, plus 4 extra tracks

Paul McCartney 38: One Hand Clapping

In 1974, it was safe to say that Paul McCartney had recaptured the stature that had been lost since he announced he was leaving the Beatles. His fifth album was a smash hit, and he was able to replenish the Wings lineup with lead guitarist Jimmy McCulloch and drummer Geoff Britton with an eye on getting back on the road. Having just recorded the soon-to-be hit single “Junior’s Farm”, and not quite ready to start on the next album, the band went into Abbey Road Studios for a few days to be filmed, in conversation and performing songs destined for their live shows, for a TV special to be titled One Hand Clapping. And like similar projects Paul started in the ‘70s, it was completed and promptly shelved. (For one reason, Geoff Britton barely lasted past the end of the year, given personal conflicts with members not surnamed McCartney.)

As would often happen, the audio and visuals were widely bootlegged over the years. It wasn’t until the second decade of this century that Paul officially released any of it, with some songs parceled out to bonus discs in various Archive Collection reissues, and the full film in grainy quality on the DVD in the 2010 edition of Band On The Run. Fourteen years later, that album was expanded for the umpteenth time for its 50th anniversary with a rough mix of the album in an alternate sequence without orchestrations. Then a few months after that, One Hand Clapping was finally released as an official album, remastered from the original multitracks, without the dialogue that was alternately pompous, drunk, or tedious.

The title track—or theme song, if you will—isn’t much more than a simple jam, but from there, the band goes through some very good selections from the catalog, some of which would soon be making their onstage debuts. “Jet” is always terrific, and “Soily” is very close to how it would sound in 1976. After the strange medley of “C Moon” and “Little Woman Love”, “Maybe I’m Amazed” isn’t there yet, but would always sound better on a grand piano than the electric piano used here. The film only had a snippet of “My Love”; here we get the full take, with orchestra added, Jimmy almost copping his almost-namesake Henry McCullough’s solo. “Bluebird” is slightly more electric, and Howie Casey comes in to play his sax part.

One segment of the film showed Paul in tie and tails playing solo at the (grand) piano; these included brief renditions of “Let’s Love”, which he wrote for Peggy Lee, the otherwise unreleased “All Of You”, and even “I’ll Give You A Ring”, which would emerge as a B-side in 1982. Both “Band On The Run” and “Live And Let Die” get a boost from the overdubbed orchestra, and we should mention somewhere that Linda knows her keyboard parts well. “Nineteen Hundred And Eighty Five” [sic] would not make it to a live setlist until well after that year, but this partially karaoke’d version over the album track is still pretty cool. McCartney favorite “Baby Face”, from the piano segment and with horns added in New Orleans, accompanies what would be the credits if you were watching instead of listening.

Of course there were plenty of other songs recorded during the course of the project, and the second disc of the set includes a pile of those, including some that hadn’t been bootlegged. “Let Me Roll It” would go on to be played on nearly every McCartney tour going forward to this day. “Blue Moon Of Kentucky” was in the Wings set before they had enough of their own songs, and here gives Denny Laine a chance to shine on harmonica. (He also gets to do “Go Now” towards the end of the disc.) “Junior’s Farm” and “Hi, Hi, Hi” each pack a wallop, but “Wild Life” would be thankfully retired.

More bits from Paul’s solo segment include “Power Cut” (of all things) on organ, upcoming B-side “Sally G” on acoustic, the seemingly impromptu “Love My Baby” on celeste, “Let It Be” on harmonium, and a verse each of “The Long And Winding Road” and “Lady Madonna” on piano. Most striking perhaps is a slow, torchy run through “Tomorrow”.

Another portion of the filming had Paul playing acoustic in the garden behind the studio, for a featurette titled The Backyard. This too had been bootlegged, but in the end eleven minutes of the performance were included only on a 7-inch shipped with the vinyl version of the album ordered direct from his official online store. Especially irritating is that there was plenty of room for it—and then some—on the second CD. At any rate, he plays the inscrutable “Blackpool”, “Blackbird”, “Country Dreamer”, and three covers: “Twenty Flight Rock”, and Buddy Holly’s “Peggy Sue” and “I’m Gonna Love You Too”. (This portion was made available for streaming about a month after the album’s release.)

Still, One Hand Clapping is a fascinating look at a brief stage of McCartney’s career. Given the prolonged, inexplicable absence of two later Wings albums from expansion, it makes for a nice tribute to Denny, who died in December 2023. (The album was also dedicated to the memories of Linda, Jimmy, and engineer Geoff Emerick.)

Paul McCartney & Wings One Hand Clapping (2024)—3½

Jane’s Addiction 1: Jane’s Addiction

Straddling the hair metal and grunge scenes as the ‘80s turned into the ‘90s, Jane’s Addiction was one of the more striking bands of the era. Dominated as they were by banshee-voiced and self-styled artist slash poet Perry Farrell, it was easy to forget that the other three members were musicians as tight and inventive as their competition.

But before they went platinum they had to start somewhere, and their self-titled debut on a tiny L.A. label has never gone out of print. Co-produced by the guy who would go on to bring the Beach Boys catalog into the digital age, it was mostly recorded live at the Roxy, and copiously overdubbed.

With a drum break already patented by Pete Thomas, “Trip Away” explodes into being, providing a steady barrage of funk until an unexpected detour into a moodier middle section that leads right back into the main riff. Guitarist Dave Navarro makes his mark here. The bass intro by Eric Avery on “Whores” provides another band template of sorts, both in structure and profanity. The tempo seems a little wonky at the start of “Pigs In Zen”—not something we would expect of Stephen Perkins—but it finds its way and its dynamics, at least until Perry starts shouting his favorite four-letter word. “1%” is a protest song, not that you could tell from the buried lyrics, and the onslaught subsides for the overly romantic “I Would For You”.

Even in those days, the band played acoustic sets as well as electric ones, and “My Time” provides a catchy transition to side two. It’s even got a harmonica. “Jane Says” manages to stay interesting despite having only two chords, but this is far from the song’s best rendition. Any young band has to play covers, and their take on Lou Reed’s “Rock & Roll” is both reverent and fresh, segueing seamlessly into “Sympathy” (as in “For The Devil”). “Chip Away” provides a bookend of sorts, but consists mostly of jungle drumming and vocal effects.

Chances are most owners of this album came to it well after the fact, and considering their limited catalog, it would be cherished. But the band weren’t there yet, though it wouldn’t be long.

Jane’s Addiction Jane’s Addiction (1987)—3

Dwight Twilley 4: Scuba Divers

Speaking of Phil Seymour, he managed to get a solo deal with Boardwalk Records, the new label found by Neil Bogart after he had Casablanca taken away from him. Phil made two albums in succession, each with striking striped motifs (and the cover of Phil Seymour 2 was clever in its own way). The first had help from Bill Pitcock IV, and mixed originals, including the mild hit “Precious To Me”, with covers and contributions from Dwight Twilley and future Go-Go Kathy Valentine, while the second sported the first official release of Tom Petty’s “Surrender” and a remake of “Looking For The Magic”. Unfortunately, he just wasn’t a frontman.

But for those who loved the two Dwight Twilley Band albums, they had to tide them over while Dwight waited out his own label woes. When Scuba Divers finally appeared after a two-year delay, his original intentions had been reworked, shuffled, and sometimes left out. Four other producers besides himself were credited. He’d only slightly updated his sound to meet new wave standards, yet the secret weapon was the harmonic gift of none other than Susan Cowsill. (Her brother John played drums too.)

In fact, “I’m Back Again” could allude to his enforced absence, but overall it’s another catchy chorus with Petty-reminiscent touches. “Somebody To Love” had been a teaser single three years earlier; here it’s been remixed and a verse was added, but it’s still terrific. A title like “10,000 American Scuba Divers Dancin’” doesn’t always bode well, but there’s a fun summertime vibe to the tune. “Touchin’ The Wind” has a relatively quiet beginning, but once those handclaps start, they don’t let up. The menacing riff of “Later That Night” just screams girl-group car crash homage, like a less wordy Jim Steinman.

But for the production and the cowbell, “I Think It’s That Girl” could almost be Beatlesque, and we really gotta call out Susan Cowsill again for what she adds to these songs. While it has a rolling piano out of Fleetwood Mac’s “Say You Love Me”, “Dion Baby” is a sneaky tribute to his newborn daughter. Moreover, the mix completely obscures the lyrics of “Cryin’ Over Me”, which sounds like a cousin to “Feeling In The Dark”, and “I Found The Magic” is something of a sequel to the superior “Looking For The Magic”. “Falling In Love Again” has a mild ‘50s sheen, taking to the next level by Steve Douglas’s blaring sax solo.

Despite the single and some MTV exposure, Scuba Divers didn’t blow up the charts. Perhaps people were already busy with Marshall Crenshaw. But he kept at it anyway. There’s a lot here to enjoy.

Dwight Twilley Scuba Divers (1982)—3

David Bowie 44: Brilliant Live Adventures

Perhaps killing more time while fans waited for the next box set in the chronology, the Bowie estate spent part of 2000 tidying up the aisle in the vaults dedicated to the ‘90s. First came two odd mini-albums. Is It Any Wonder? consisted of three Earthling outtakes—remakes of the Tin Machine tracks “Baby Universal” and “I Can’t Read”, and the quasi-instrumental “Nuts”—plus a new arrangement of “Stay”, the rarity “Fun” (both from the tour rehearsals), and an Eno remix of a re-recording of “The Man Who Sold The World” from the Outside sessions that had snuck out as a B-side. The more straightforward Changesnowbowie offered predominantly acoustic-based arrangements of mostly early ’70s songs—the outliers being “Shopping For Girls” and “Repetition”—recorded specifically for the BBC to celebrate his 50th birthday.

These were mere precursors to a curious program entailing the release of six live albums that would be made available individually, on CD and vinyl, for the purpose of being collected in a slipcase labeled Brilliant Live Adventures (1995-1999). These releases basically offered two glimpses each from three tours, supporting the Outside, Earthling, and ‘hours…’ albums in turn. “Glimpses” is the key word here, as one is a compilation from various shows, and two of the concerts are abridged, perhaps to fit on one disc. It was an ambitious program, to be sure, considering that the release schedule was sporadic and the quantities were limited, plus the general chaos resulting from the worldwide COVID pandemic threw even more wrenches into the works. But each title was uniquely packaged and designed, and looked as good as they sounded.

Along with such stellar players as Reeves Gabrels, Carlos Alomar, a fully reinstated Mike Garson, Zach Alford on drums, and the, frankly, brilliant addition of Gail Ann Dorsey on bass and vocals, the Outside tour was supported by Nine Inch Nails, their set melding into Bowie’s. However, none of their onstage collaborations appear on either Ouvrez Le Chien or No Trendy Réchauffé. Yet along with new arrangements of deep cuts, the songs from the album he was supporting translated much better to the stage. (The latter disc, recorded two months after the former—which adds two songs from the latter as bonus tracks for some reason—was a shorter set from a festival environment, with some different songs as well, including a strong “Jump They Say” and two performances of “Hallo Spaceboy”.)

The Earthling tour was stripped back to just Gabrels, Garson, Alford, and Dorsey, yet the keyboards and sequencers made everything sound big and full, if processed and programmed, and a little too close—rather, identical to the album. LiveAndWell.com was originally given away to website subscribers in 1999 and compiled from a handful of shows, concentrating on material from Outside and Earthling. Some editions included a bonus disc of remixes; this incarnation got new artwork and added the radical reinterpretations of “Pallas Athena” and “V-2 Schneider”, credited to “Tao Jones Index” when first released. By contrast, Look At The Moon! presented a full show on two discs (or three LPs). As with its brother, some of the rearrangements are repeated from the previous tour, but there are some new surprises, such as “Fame”, “Fashion”, and even a cover of Laurie Anderson’s “O Superman” sung by Gail Ann. Also, “The Jean Genie” starts acoustically, and is prefaced with a snippet of “Driftin’ Blues” for some reason.

1999’s much shorter tour—exactly nine shows, if you count the VH1 Storytellers appearance—was notable for Helmet’s Page Hamilton on lead guitar, following the abrupt departure of Reeves Gabrels. Sterling Campbell was also swapped in on drums, Mark Plati played guitars, and two women added breathy backing vocals. As befit the album he was promoting, the approach to the set was less frenetic and mostly softer, yet still energetic. The shows here are similar but not exactly identical; selections from Something In The Air had already been B-sides, while At The Kit Kat Klub was a small exclusive show recorded a month later and simultaneously webcast, which was spanking new and generally bug-prone technology at the time.

Taken all together, it’s six hours of music with a lot of repeats. Even with that, he was both busy and unpredictable throughout the latter half of the ‘90s. Collectors have to have them all, but luckily it’s possible to pick and choose. (Look At The Moon! gets a slight edge for length and variety.)

David Bowie Is It Any Wonder? (2020)—2½
David Bowie Changesnowbowie (2020)—3
David Bowie Ouvrez Le Chien (Live Dallas 95) (2020)—3
David Bowie No Trendy Réchauffé (Live Birmingham 95) (2020)—3
David Bowie LiveAndWell.com (2021)—3
David Bowie Look At The Moon! (Live Phoenix Festival 97) (2021)—3
David Bowie Something In The Air (Live Paris 99) (2021)—3
David Bowie David Bowie At The Kit Kat Klub (Live New York 99) (2021)—3

Fairport Convention 2: What We Did On Our Holidays

Bands had to work fast in the late ‘60s, often juggling gigs with studio work and revolving members. By the time their first album weas out, Fairport Convention had already shed singer Judy Dyble, replacing her with one Alexandra Denny, and that made all the difference. Known forever as Sandy, she’d already written a song that was covered by Judy Collins, which we’ll get to soon enough. Ian Matthews was still in the band, but it’s Sandy’s presence, via her rich voice, that drove the sound of What We Did On Our Holidays. (This was the first Fairport album released in the U.S., using the cover shown but no title outside the band’s name. For simplicity, we’re using the British title, since that’s how everybody knows it now.)

She makes her mark right off the bat with “Fotheringay”, an original that sounds like it’s been around for centuries. This haunting portrait of Mary, Queen of Scots imprisoned in a castle is sideswiped by the 12-bar blues of “Mr. Lacey”. (The titular character was an eccentric artist, occasional actor, and inventor, whose robots can be heard taking a solo of their own after the guitar break.) Something of happy medium is achieved in the melancholy “Book Song”, which incorporates swirling harmonies, electric guitar, and even sitar. Sandy’s alone with Richard Thompson’s slide guitar somewhere in a field to hum “The Lord Is In This Place… How Dreadful Is This Place”, a lengthy interlude before Ian’s more rocking take on “No Man’s Land”, on which Richard pounds an accordion. Everything truly comes together on Dylan’s “I’ll Keep It With Mine”, which they probably learned from the Judy Collins version, but wonderfully harmonized.

Doing an obscure Joni Mitchell song was a coup, as her own version of “Eastern Rain” wouldn’t emerge for half a century, and those were from her coffeehouse days. Fairport’s arrangement is meteorologically evocative, with sped-up guitars darting in and out of the mix. “Nottamun Town” reclaims the melody Dylan borrowed for “Masters Of War” and gives it a near-raga arrangement for guitar with harmonies. For contrast, there’s the tinkling harpsichord throughout “Tale In Hard Time”, another strong original from Richard. It’s back to the traditional with Sandy’s wonderful reading of “She Moved Through The Fair”, which is a wonderful setup for Richard’s immortal “Meet On The Ledge”. Still sung today at the close of innumerable folk festivals, this contemplation on lost friends, childhood, and the future never fails to stir. It makes Simon Nicol’s closing “End Of A Holiday” instrumental that much more effecting.

While it’s still all over the place, What We Did On Our Holidays is quite the leap from the band’s first album. Things were starting to coalesce, and they were barely out of the gate. (The later expanded CD issued overseas included three bonus tracks: the bluesy B-side “Throwaway Street Puzzle”, Muddy Waters’ “You’re Gonna Need My Help” from a BBC session, and the outtake “Some Sweet Day”.)

Fairport Convention What We Did On Our Holidays (1969)—3½

Thomas Dolby 4: Astronauts & Heretics

The ‘80s were already a distant memory by the time hair metal gave way to grunge, so where did that leave an innovator such as Thomas Dolby? Most recently he had made a cameo as the schoolmaster in Roger Waters’ all-star staging of The Wall in Berlin, which he actually pulled off. Meanwhile, on Astronauts & Heretics he continued concocting accessible, quirky pop colored by synthesizers but not dominated by them.

“I Love You Goodbye” takes us to the bayou—literally, with not only Cajun legends Michael Doucet and Wayne Toups on the track, but swampy percussion and sound effects. It’s a wonderful musical blend that unfortunately doesn’t permeate the album, but it’s a terrific way to start, and at least it doesn’t wear out its welcome. Two fairly short songs follow; “Cruel”, basically a duet with Eddi Reader, is a much softer change of pace, then Michael Doucet’s fiddle (and some of that percussion) returns to color the jaunty “Silk Pyjamas”. “I Live In A Suitcase” sounds most like his Flat Earth period, if a little more contemporary-sounding.

As long as we’re looking back, the clattery “Eastern Bloc” is pointedly designated as “Sequel To Europa And The Pirate Twins, 1981”, which is obvious in the second verse. It’s a throwback, but not a retread, particularly with Eddie Van Halen on lead guitar. Eddie also plays on “Close But No Cigar”, but we wonder how much the overt Beatle sample cost to procure. It relies a little too much on the title for the lyrical content, but it leads in well to the slightly retro “That’s Why People Fall In Love”, this one featuring harmonies from Ofra Haza. The mood turns way down for “Neon Sisters”, prefaced by a dramatic dedication, and featuring a few members of Siouxsie’s Banshees. Given the times, it’s not clear whether the subject of the song succumbed to AIDS or addiction, but it’s haunting nonetheless. We’ve had a lot of pop so far, and then “Beauty Of A Dream” provides a timeless conclusion, with the added pleasure of both Bob Weir and Jerry Garcia on the track.

The album’s bookends make Astronauts & Heretics a pleasant surprise. It’s pretty catchy, with his past wackiness completely toned down. One gets the idea that he was more concerned in making an album he wanted to make, stocked with his wish list of collaborators. He then pointedly stayed away from courting the pop charts to further explore to possibilities of music in the computer industry. Which made perfect sense.

Thomas Dolby Astronauts & Heretics (1992)—3

Todd Rundgren 30: New Cars and Arena

One of the stranger—and certainly unexpected—detours of Todd Rundgren’s career was his brief stint fronting The New Cars. This star-studded tribute band included original Cars Greg Hawkes and Elliot Easton (fresh off a decade with Creedence Clearwater Revisited) plus Rundgren regulars Kasim Sulton and Prairie Prince. Todd did a decent job copping the vocal stylings of both Ric Ocasek and Ben Orr, as heard on It’s Alive. This live album delivered the familiar Cars hits, plus “I Saw The Light” and “Open My Eyes”, but they blew the chance to play “You’re All I’ve Got Tonight”, “Bye Bye Love”, and “Moving In Stereo” in order. They did come up with three new songs; nobody’s going to mistake “Warm”, “More”, or “Not Tonight” for Ocasek originals (that last one in either its live or studio version).

Still, Todd sounded engaged throughout, but when the tour was over, he went back to Hawaii and recorded his next album completely by himself, again, on his laptop. The resulting Arena has an apt title, as the songs are guitar-driven, alternately rocking and brooding, but all designed to keep crowds on their collective feet and pumping fists.

In keeping with the last album, one-word song titles are the norm. The intricate acoustic picking on “Mad” soon gives way to power chords and pounding drums with a yelled chorus. “Afraid” harkens back to Pink Floyd’s “Learning To Fly”, but this an arguably better song overall. We start to enter a theme, first on the angry monologue in “Mercenary” and then on the blatant parody in “Gun”. “Courage” is more along the lines of an ‘80s feel-good anthem, and while “Weakness” sports sludgy riffing to suggest another attack, the chorus gives away the sensitivity. Similarly, “Strike” sounds familiar, until you hit the chorus, which could almost be mistaken for AC/DC.

“Pissin” takes down a boor at a party, but it’s mixed in such a way that the music is the focus, not the action. Synths frame the arrangement of “Today”, but “Bardo” returns to the mysticism of his mid-‘70s lyrical endeavors. Lest people think it’s getting too deep, the swaggering “Mountaintop” has a buried fable. “Panic” ramps up the tension even while telling us not to, and “Manup” is a more direct call to action.

He’s consistently made solo albums that are completely solo, but his fascination with technology and speed in the digital age have often come off cold. Not so with Arena—even the drums, which are programmed, sound real. The album may sound big and stupid at points, but it’s worth it.

The New Cars It’s Alive (2006)—3
Todd Rundgren Arena (2008)—3

Dire Straits 10: Live 1978-1992

Despite million-dollar offers and the continued longevity of most of the players, Dire Straits has never reformed since the On The Night tour ended in 1993. Since then various members have played together in schizoid tribute bands, and Guy Fletcher has worked regularly with Mark Knopfler, but the auteur was a no-show at their induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

The decades since had seen a handful of compilations, but no expanded remasters. Even when the box set The Studio Albums 1978-1991 repackaged the vinyl in 2013, it didn’t include the Twisting By The Pool EP or anything else from the handful of non-album B-sides sitting all alone. The outcry that followed didn’t change the contents of the set any seven years later when the same title was released as a CD set. (Each album was in a simple replica sleeve, each with an insert approximating the inner sleeve with lyrics where applicable.)

Still, the studio albums only told part of the story, so the people in charge of these things had a chance to throw the fans a bone with Live 1978-1992, which collected—and, in some cases, expanded—the band’s official live albums, bolstered by a show from the vault. (The packaging was a little more elaborate than the studio box, with sturdier gatefold replica sleeves and a booklet with photos and a fawning essay.) Alchemy, which was already longer on CD than the cassette and LP, gained three songs to fill nearly two hours. (They did chop a minute of the “Going Home” intro, which was a shame.) On The Night was expanded by an hour to spread across two discs with the addition of seven tracks. The British Encores EP was also included in the box, unnecessarily repeating “Your Latest Trick” and not folding the other three songs into the On The Night discs, where they could have fit.

Live At The BBC was the same as ever—though it did gain about a minute to accommodate a DJ’s introduction of the band members—but the big draw was the first-ever release of Live At The Rainbow, recorded at the legendary London theater at the end of the Communiqué tour. It’s a bigger show than what’s heard on the BBC—not the members, just the size of the room and the ambience—and they seem a little tired, but still engaged.

Luckily, they improve as the set goes on. They play most of the first album and half of the second, and still close to the album arrangements at this juncture; having yet to hire a keyboard player, “Portobello Belle” hasn’t been tarted up yet. Oddly, despite the presence of “Lady Writer” in the set, they’re still playing “What’s The Matter Baby?” The crowd does get to hear early versions of “Les Boys” (prefaced by an almost apologetic intro), “Solid Rock” (not yet there), and most surprisingly and satisfyingly, “Twisting By The Pool” three years early. That last one sets up an encore of four oldies, where they’re joined by Thin Lizzy’s Phil Lynott and Tony de Meur of The Fabulous Poodles.

Dire Straits Live 1978-1992 (2024)—3

Frank Zappa 52: Playground Psychotics

After preparing and releasing twelve hours of music collated from his entire career, Frank’s next big project was dedicated to the Flo & Eddie era of the band. Playground Psychotics combined field recordings with concert excerpts to provide a widescreen portrait of what he called “A Typical Day On The Road”.

Each disc starts with several minutes of indexed dialogue captured by his trusty portable tape recorder, capturing the band and roadies in conversation on planes, in hotels, and backstage. One segment is an interview with the manager of the hotel where the infamous “mud shark incident” took place. “Diptheria Blues” is a dressing room jam featuring Aynsley Dunbar on whiskey bottle. Much of the humor, onstage and off, is clearly visual, so lovers of in-jokes and bathroom humor will be in heaven. Things get truly nutty when we get to hear tape recordings featuring playbacks of recording captured on other band members’ tape recorders, culminating in the closing segment on disc two. Some of this was excerpted from the videotape The True Story Of 200 Motels, briefly documenting the cause and result of Jeff Simmons quitting the band, not wanting to be fodder for Frank’s thesis at the expense of his musicianship.

The musical excerpts are far more interesting, with further songs from the Rainbow Theater show that ended with Frank being knocked off stage, which we don’t get to hear here. While the Pauley Pavilion is listed as another source, the only music heard from that show is a short “Divan” segment of what would become “Sofa”. Instead, much of the music comes from the Fillmore stint, including older songs and a thirty-minute “Billy The Mountain” (cobbled together from two shows) that’s actually listenable. One of the key selling points of this album outside the Zappa faithful is an alternate mix (and edit) of what Beatle fans knew as side four of John & Yoko’s Some Time In New York City, documenting their guest appearance with the Mothers. Despite being given such new song titles as “Aaawk” and “A Small Eternity With Yoko Ono”, “Well” is still the only segment of true musical appeal.

Because of the anthropological approach, Playground Psychotics will be mostly of interest to fanatics who can stomach Flo & Eddie. While cramming several months of material into two CDs is no small feat, a larger context was certainly needed. Sure enough, the band’s two sets at Carnegie Hall in October 1971 were released in a four-CD package forty years later, in decent-sounding mono and including a performance by the doo-wop combo and support act The Persuasions. (Carnegie Hall was reissued a little over eight years later as a three-disc set that omitted the Persuasions segment.) Hearing the transitions and dynamics as played shows just how hot the band was, but you also have to endure the vocalists’ attempts at humor. “Magdalena” is even more repulsive here, and 15 minutes are devoted to “The Mud Shark”. There’s a more complete “Divan” suite (including “Stick It Out”, eight years before Joe’s Garage) with lots of four-letter words in English and German. Beyond that, “King Kong” runs a half an hour to accommodate solos—though it abandons the 3/8 meter after the first minute or so—and “Billy The Mountain” is now up to 47 minutes.

That was all well and good, but connoisseurs would be even more sated ten years after that by The Mothers 1971. This eight-CD set encompassed all four unedited Fillmore sets (including John & Yoko, unexpurgated) and the complete Rainbow show, with another sixteen songs from Scranton and Harrisburg in between to present a sort of virtual concert. With so many repeats of the material, “Billy The Mountain” emerges as a major if silly work, and we can almost start to appreciate the musicality of the “Shove It Right In” suite; it’s just too bad that the lyrics are so puerile. If you want to hear a ribald take on “My Boyfriend’s Back”, here’s your chance. Turns out Don Preston only played on the encores at the Fillmore, which certainly helped cool Frank’s otherwise petulant mood. Don’s fully on board at the Rainbow, leading the opening “Zanti Serenade”, extended for another ten minutes here. “Wonderful Wino” is still in the set, and the encore was “I Want To Hold Your Hand”, after which we can actually hear Frank hitting the concrete floor.

Frank Zappa/The Mothers Playground Psychotics (1992)—2
Frank Zappa & The Mothers Of Invention Carnegie Hall (2011)—2½
The Mothers The Mothers 1971 (2022)—2½

Nilsson 8: Nilsson Schmilsson

The world was finally ready for Harry Nilsson, and so was he. Hooked up with rising producer Richard Perry, who’d brought Barbra Streisand firmly into the present-day, they decamped to London and recruited such Beatle-centric aces as Jim Gordon, Jim Keltner, Klaus Voormann, and Gary Wright to create Nilsson Schmilsson. The blurry photo of a distinctly non-sexy photo of the bathrobe-clad artiste holding a hash pipe in front of an open refrigerator notwithstanding, this was the pinnacle of his pop journey.

Still, that cover photo nicely sets up the jaunty “Gotta Get Up”, complete with some in-context dreams, before canned car noises continue the story in “Driving Along”, which provides further chance for observation. Despite the optimistic sound of those tracks, a cover of “Early In The Morning”, accompanied by solely by a pawed organ, suggests our hero is stuck somehow. Suddenly it’s hours later and “The Moonbeam Song” has us pondering not only the skies but “bits of crap”. Horns weren’t a new thing on Nilsson albums thus far, but Jim Horn’s soulful arrangement on “Down” is firmly contemporary.

While side one is short, it’s a strong record so far, but side two is where everything goes into the stratosphere. It took Harry’s vision to turn Badfinger’s “Without You” from a middling album track to a soaring plaint, and the template for everyone thereafter. He follows it with the goofy “Coconut”, a song made for the Muppets if there ever was one. Following a sprightly take on Shirley & Lee’s “Let The Good Times Roll”, “Jump Into The Fire” doubles down on the one-chord challenge of “Coconut” for seven minutes, pounding the riff into submission over an audibly detuned bass while Henry Hill watches out for helicopters. The mildly mewling “I’ll Never Leave You” provides a mildly paranoid ending, but when you consider that it was left over from The Point!, it makes more sense.

If anything made Harry a household name, Nilsson Schmilsson was it. But then he had something to live up to, which was an impossible task. Still, he should have been proud of it. (The eventual expanded CD included some interesting bonuses: a “Without You” that’s even more overwrought in Spanish; “Lamaze”, a Smile-sounding track that dissolves into laughter after a recitation; a 1968 take of “Gotta Get Up” still in vaudeville mode; an alternate “Moonbeam”; and two songs that would be reworked on future albums.)

Nilsson Nilsson Schmilsson (1971)—3½
2004 CD reissue: same as 1971, plus 6 extra tracks

Guns N’ Roses 2: Lies

By the end of 1988, tapes (and CDs) of Geffen catalog number 24148 sold hourly. It seemed every kid and their older siblings had to have Appetite For Destruction—along with Metallica’s …And Justice For All—and the posters, pins, T-shirts, and stickers sold pretty well too. Soon enough, another Geffen catalog number (24198) was flying out of stores alongside its elder brother. GN’R Lies was something of a stopgap, a glorified EP and initially priced accordingly.

The “live” side ran only 13 minutes, and replicated the now-rare Live ?!*@ Like A Suicide EP from 1986, put out while the band was prepping Appetite. These were actually demos spiced up with canned audience noise, but most young listeners were fooled. “Reckless Life” is pretty snotty, as is the cover of Rose Tattoo’s “Nice Boys”. Somebody’s honking a sax on “Move To The City”, which swamps the swagger of this otherwise lame song, but Aerosmith’s “Mama Kin” is a fairly accurate demonstration of their roots. Axl’s profane intro proves he didn’t understand the song’s lyrics.

The second side of all new acoustic-based tracks put them well ahead of not only the Unplugged trend but the competition, proving they really were musically adept. “Patience” is the first surprise, since pretty much nobody was whistling on songs then, and Axl sang most of it straight, saving the yowl until the coda. “Used To Love Her” is a poorly landed joke, but it’s still catchy as heck, somewhat descended from the Stones’ “Dead Flowers”. The revamp of “You’re Crazy” is startling and very successful, slowed down and funky, but still edgy. “One In A Million” is the tune that pissed off everybody with a conscience, as it railed equally against law enforcement, foreigners, and minorities. It’s got more whistling and some fuzz guitar, and the portions of the song that don’t offend—like the backing track and about half of the lyrics—are actually pretty good. Instead, Axl was all about making statements, and the backlash was such that the song was pointedly left off the deluxe expansions of Appetite For Destruction three decades later, though the song remains available. Not for the last time would Axl torpedo any respect the band garnered.

Side two is what makes Lies worth keeping, though the mixed messages in the music as well as all over the tabloid-style cover prevented them from gaining more respect. Yet at this point they pretty much ruled the roost, so much so that every wannabe band made sure to include power ballads on their next albums.

Guns N’ Roses GN’R Lies (1988)—3½

David Crosby 9: Here If You Listen

Enjoying the continued collaboration with Michael League, David Crosby kept up his creative run to work with him again—plus two women who’d sung on one song on the Lighthouse album—for his fourth album in five years’ time. (Yes, he actually doubled his output.) He even went so far as to credit Becca Stevens, Michelle Willis, and League in that order on the cover of Here If You Listen, albeit under his much larger name, but still. Age did not affect the man’s gift.

The album truly is a collaboration, with everyone either contributing to the songwriting or providing it on their own. Voices blend everywhere, and while his is the most noticeable, the performers are serving the music, not Crosby. Just as he was able to prove in CPR, he does thrive when he’s in a band. With one exception, the quartet provides all the instrumentation, and none of those include percussion of any kind.

“Glory” showcases each vocalist in a lush but not overprocessed mix; indeed, the production is pristine throughout this album. “Vagrants Of Venice” sports a circular riff from Becca and collaborative, poetic lyrics. “1974” is one of two vintage demos newly amended here; wordless vocals from presumably that year scat over a trademark strum before the others join in to fill out the track. Snarky Puppy pianist Bill Laurance supplies the basis for “Your Own Ride”, wherein Crosby directly addresses his mortality inside a song for his youngest son. The lyrically minimalistic “Buddha On A Hill” is most notable for supplying the album title, which is frankly repeated way too many times, but the combination guitar and vocal solo is striking.

Becca set a Jane Tyson Clement poem to her own music for “I Am No Artist”, an eyebrow-raising claim considering Crosby’s history, but it’s not his song. “1967” is the other augmented vintage demo, his familiar “dun-dun” placeholders overlaid with three repeated lines of antiwar prose, fading on hammer-ons a la Michael Hedges. (And yes, we’d love to hear more demos like this.) Crosby alone supplied the lyrics for “Balanced On A Pin”, another subtle meditation on mortality and potential, while League takes the lead on the feminist “Other Half Rule”. Given all that’s come so far, Willis’s “Janet” is a jarring funk detour, and the cover of “Woodstock” is a vocal distillation of Joni’s original and the CSNY cover, but more along the lines of the former.

That sort of thing works better as a concert highlight than an album track. Sure enough, the combo played a short tour in support of the album, one night of which was commemorated on a CD and DVD four years later, and which ends with that very cover. The set is pulled mostly from the new one and Lighthouse, with an early detour to Stevens’ “Regina” from one of her solo albums, and a smattering of jazzier Croz classics. “What Are Their Names” is a minute-long a capella snippet, but “Déjà Vu” is stretched to ten minutes. Throughout the program he’s in excellent voice and having a great time, and it’s clear their natural-sounding blend was not a studio concoction.

David Crosby Here If You Listen (2018)—3
David Crosby & The Lighthouse Band Live At The Capitol Theater (2022)—3