Yes 11: Tormato

We will admit to having approached Tormato with some trepidation, as its reputation preceded it. For one, that cover—rendered so realistically we always want to grab a sponge and paper towels. The title didn’t help either; puns that lame seemed beneath Yes. (The inner sleeve depicts a topographical map centered on Yes Tor, an actual outcrop in the southwest of England, but that wouldn’t have been a much better title either.) The band seemed to have wanted to forget it too, as it wasn’t made available on CD in the U.S. or Europe until the ‘90s.

Back then, they had managed to keep the lineup the same, but they were still producing themselves, without Eddie Offord. Musically they’re also keeping up the energy generated on the last album, beginning with the utopian vision of “Future Times”, which is coupled with the separate but similar-sounding “Rejoice”. The suite, and the album as a whole, succeeds when the instrumentalists play with instead of against each other. “Don’t Kill The Whale” is a nice sentiment, of course, but Jon Anderson doesn’t quite have the earnest quality of, say, Graham Nash to pull it off. Plus, the backing borders on disco, especially Chris Squire’s bass effect, which doesn’t suit them. Much better is “Madrigal”, based around a classical-sounding harpsichord with acoustic guitar touches, and much more like their classic sound. “Release, Release” is a call for revolution of sorts, in terms free of metaphor; indeed, the lyrics throughout this album are their most literal yet. A roaring crowd is heard during the drum solo, which seems more than a tad gratuitous, and it only increases once Steve Howe joins in.

Speaking of literal, “Arriving UFO” describes exactly that, and if you’ve seen the movie, it’s basically a recap of Close Encounters Of The Third Kind; thankfully they don’t use the five-note motif from the film, but they come dangerously close once the ship lands. “Circus Of Heaven” might be close to metaphorical, except that he’s talking about a circus he’d really like to see, with unicorns, centaurs, fairies, and the like. But did he really need to have his young son do commentary at the end? Just as on the first side, “Onward” provides a dreamier interlude in a song of devotion, to a woman, to a higher being, who knows, and it’s quite moving. This and the last track sound most like the Yes people came to hear. “On The Silent Wings Of Freedom” begins with two minutes of that jamming we mentioned, everyone adding flourishes and what sounds like yet another quote of the “Close To The Edge” riff from Steve. But once the vocals kick in everyone starts playing over each other, and there’s just too much going on, until it whips itself into a frenzy and stops.

So Tormato isn’t terrible, just a little full of itself. In addition to the sound supposedly improving, once the album was recognized again as part of the pantheon, it too received expansion the second time the catalog was remastered. Following the B-side “Abilene” and the previously released silly outtake “Money” (rendered unlistenable by Rick Wakeman’s narration) were eight unfinished tracks, some of which would turn up on future Anderson or Howe solo projects. (“Everybody’s Song” would reappear as “Does It Really Happen?” on the next album, but we’re not there yet.) The unlisted “orchestral version” of “Onward” is lovely, but oddly not included was “Richard”, which had been a hidden track on certain cassette and 8-track releases back in the day.

Yes Tormato (1978)—3
2004 remastered CD: same as 1978, plus 10 extra tracks

Kinks 32: UK Jive

The ‘80s didn’t end as well as they began for Ray Davies, and by extension the Kinks. Their albums had stopped selling, and the band—still down to two original members—weren’t exactly a unit. But Ray still felt compelled to write about his vision for the future, first for a short-lived musical based on Around The World In Eighty Days, and then for UK Jive, which was the next Kinks album. However, Americans weren’t concerned at all with the future of the British Empire, and those Brits who were vested weren’t looking to Ray for answers.

A writer of his caliber shouldn’t have to go out of his way to make the backing track of a song called “Aggravation” be so literal, so it’s a shame that he did. It’s especially disappointing because the first thirty seconds or so are very inviting, but we actually don’t mind the little funky breaks. But “How Do I Get Close” works on a romantic level as well as an existential one, even if it’s a little boomy. The title track buries political commentary in a throwback to an earlier era, and the nod to “My Generation” is odd. “Now And Then” may be a tongue-in-cheek distillation of humanity’s progress, but it works as a slow ballad, even when it recalls “Summer Nights” from Grease. “What Are We Doing” opens with a solid arpeggiated riff, but becomes rock-by-numbers when the band kicks in, serving the lyrics poorly.

“Entertainment” is a contender for the best song on the album; unfortunately the track was eight years old, having been left off Give The People What They Want. “War Is Over” is upbeat, tuneful, and charming, despite the canned trumpets, and it’s a shame Ray insisted on harmonizing with himself. Speaking of canned sounds, “Down All The Days (Till 1992)” opens with those familiar tolling bells from “Big Black Smoke” and is somewhat hopeful, being a look ahead to Britain joining what we now know as the European Union. Somehow he works in a lost-love angle in between the linguistic references, and it’s too bad he couldn’t have chosen a better synth patch. The title of “Loony Balloon” suggests it might have been left over from his musical, but the metaphors suggest otherwise. The folky nautical backing and intricate time signatures make the track stand out. He lets brother Dave get the last word with the bluntly pointed “Dear Margaret”, which fits thematically. (The CD version of the album not only had extended versions of three songs, but had two extra tracks, both by Dave, who was miffed that they weren’t on the album proper. “Bright Lights” is a pretty straight rocker, and “Perfect Strangers” is a little more sludgy, so maybe Ray was right.)

Their contemporaries did a little better in 1989—not by much, but just enough to sell records. For a band about to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, they were sounding more like has-beens than still-coulds.

The Kinks UK Jive (1989)—2½

Billy Joel 1: The Hassles and Attila

Billy Joel causes arguments like few other musicians of his or any generation. For some he’s a pompous hack, while others hail him as a terrific songwriter and live performer. For those of us who grew up near New York City, he seemed almost as ubiquitous on the radio as Springsteen, even though it took him a while to become a household name. And even though his last album of songs came out decades ago, an all-star benefit at Madison Square Garden isn’t complete unless he comes out to play songs loaded with local references.

As he’d say, he was a classically trained pianist who loved rock ‘n roll, and many of his melodies started out as instrumental pieces grounded solidly in classical piano. That’s one reason why his attempts to rock aren’t as convincing as when he emulates pieces by 18th-century longhairs. With the benefit of hindsight, we consider him a guilty pleasure, with all the meaning both of those words suggest.

But everyone’s gotta start somewhere, and in his case it was the Hassles, a Long Island combo equally influenced by tristate heroes the Rascals and Vanilla Fudge, to the point where they tried to meld soul with psychedelia. Their first album is dominated by radical, not always successful covers, and more Hammond organ than would be heard throughout his solo career. There are some originals, like the decent “Every Step I Take (Every Move I Make)” and the Sam & Dave-style “I Can Tell”, both of which showcase his voice better than the soul shouting he tries elsewhere.

The Hassles was expanded on CD in time for its 25th anniversary (with bonus tracks in the form of earlier studio recordings), but that was not the case for their second album, since lost to time and YouTube. Billy took over the songwriting for Hour Of The Wolf, still very much of its time. “Country Boy” turns into a Dead-type jam that fades very quickly, and several tracks try to be twee and poetic, but the 12-minute title track is just plain laughable. The lyrics are bad enough, but the drum solo is preceded by the band making the wolf sound effects themselves. At least his piano solo hints at future efforts, despite its pomposity and the maniacal laughter that follows and drowns out the guitar solo. The band is certainly competent, and somebody took the time to orchestrate arrangements, but the material just isn’t there.

That was it for the Hassles, but not for their singer and drummer. Attila saw Billy going all-out on the Hammond organ, sending it through amps and wah-wah pedals to make it sound like Led Zeppelin, accompanied only by drummer Jon Small in an imitation of what Lee Michaels was doing with Frosty in those days. The band name was bad enough, but they went all out by wearing furs like actual Huns, and were photographed inside a meat locker for their only album cover.

Billy is and was never Robert Plant, so his mewling throughout the albums is just plain embarrassing. “Wonder Woman”, “Rollin’ Home”, and “Holy Moses” may well have inspired Wolfmother, while “Tear This Castle Down” sounds like bad Deep Purple. “California Flash” is an attempt at ironic humor in its portrait of a gimmicky singer, and “Revenge Is Sweet” predicts his petulant attitude once he actually did make it. He gives his throat a break with the mostly jazzy instrumentals closing each side: the “Godzilla” segment of “Amplifier Fire” gets points for the name seven years before Blue Öyster Cult got around to writing their song about the same subject, which are lost with “March Of The Huns”, and “Brain Invasion” is more of the same.

Attila is far from the worst album ever made, but we’ll guess that this album is what got the Hammond organ out of his system for good. His ongoing discomfort about this being out there is well founded, yet there’s no denying he had chops.

The Hassles The Hassles (1967)—2½
1992 expanded reissue: same as 1967, plus 8 extra tracks
The Hassles Hour Of The Wolf (1969)—2
Current availability: none
Attila Attila (1970)—2
Current availability: none

Todd Rundgren 33: [re]Production

This curious album apparently arose from Todd Rundgren’s residency in the music department at Indiana University, and came to fruition during a record-making fantasy camp. The concept of [re]Production is intriguing, in that it finds Todd covering songs from his various production gigs over the decades. However, his quest to do something contemporary meant that the results were hi-NRG ‘90s style dance versions.

His voice is unmistakable—even when AutoTuned—and the digital instruments he uses are familiar from most of the one-man band albums he’d been putting out all century. Somebody might have had hits with these arrangements of Patti Smith’s “Dancing Barefoot”, Meat Loaf’s “Two Out Of Three Ain’t Bad”, or Psychedelic Furs’ “Love My Way”, but coming from Todd they sound like parody. It’s more successful on songs we don’t know, like “Chasing Your Ghost” by a band that would eventually evolve into Red Hot Chili Peppers, and on the gastronomic reconstruction of “Personality Crisis”. It is daring to put a banjo on “Tell Me Your Dreams” from Jill Sobule’s little-heard first album, and at least he doesn’t mess with Badfinger’s “Take It All” too much. Cheap Trick’s “I Can’t Take It” is just a little synthed-up, but we can’t hear XTC’s “Dear God” without the taint of his and Andy Partridge’s mutual rancor.

Todd himself acknowledges the callback to his earlier cover project Faithful in the liner notes, which was frankly more ambitious and successful. [re]Production is a novelty, and nothing more.

Todd Rundgren [re]Production (2011)—2

Steely Dan 10: Two Against Nature

Maybe it wasn’t inevitable, but after Steely Dan started touring regularly in the ‘90s, fans wondered whether a new album would happen. Indeed, Two Against Nature arrived nearly 20 years after Gaucho, and went on to win four Grammy® awards, including Album of the Year. But since the Grammys had been racking up several instances of questionable decisions, one must approach this album with skepticism. Given the Dan’s brand, it’s the natural response. They don’t exactly pick up where they left off, but with the loping rhythms, electric piano, different guitarist, horns, and drummers on every track, and Donald Fagen’s trademark sneer in the lyrics, there’s no mistaking said brand.

“Gaslighting Abbie” is generic CD101 jazz, a little too snappy for the crime elliptically described in the lyric. The story in “What A Shame About Me” is a little better—maybe because it’s a musical rewrite of “Josie”—wherein the narrator both shows his age and his wisdom in life choices. The title track is already a welcome departure, with the free jazz horn at the top and the non-standard meter covering up the gobbledygook of the lyrics. If the come-on in “Janie Runaway” is any indication, the dirty old man of “Hey Nineteen” hasn’t grown up any, and the leering seems to continue in “Almost Gothic”, which is more musically interesting, mostly because it’s based on “Deacon Blues”.

We hear echoes of “The Royal Scam” and “The Caves Of Altamira” in “Jack Of Speed”, another cautionary tale about drugs with a memorable hook in the title. But the catchiest song on the album is also the most cringey; “Cousin Dupree” is an aging slacker living on his aunt’s couch skeeving on a younger relative. At least the object of his desire has the sense to rebuff him. We’re not sure that can be said about “Negative Girl”, and by this time on the album we’re wondering whether the boys should be subject to court-ordered therapy for their proclivities. At least the vibes solo fits in with the more dreamy vibe. A sharp snare drives “West Of Hollywood”, which helps keep up interest even through the lengthy solos over the coda.

Most of the songs on Two Against Nature are in the same tempo, with little variation in dynamics, and very few hooks really leap out. Even after several listens it’s not easy to tell one track from another—or as they put it themselves in “Negative Girl”, “the original classic thing, more of the same”. If anything, this will send listeners back to the old albums.

Steely Dan Two Against Nature (2000)—2

Rickie Lee Jones 7: Traffic From Paradise

Having gone through pop jazz and adult contemporary, Rickie Lee Jones chose a unique path for Traffic From Paradise. Though recorded in several places with several people—anchored by Leo Kottke, Jim Keltner, old buddy Sal Bernardi, and John Leftwich on bass and cello—there’s a spontaneous, live-in-the-room feeling, dominated by acoustic instruments. Throughout, her lyrics provoke wonder, just as her voice continually veers between happy toddler and stoned chanteuse.

“Pink Flamingos” is typical, in that it rumbles into place, finally settling on a basic riff with references to Las Vegas and other kitsch. A disturbing image of a monk opens “Altar Boy”, which soon turns into a Leonard Cohen homage. The simple folk picking of “Stewart’s Coat” is a wonderful contrast, even in its wistful longing for a past love, or so it seems. But for David Hidalgo’s south-of-the-border touch, Bernardi’s “Beat Angels” could have come from any of her earlier albums. Two of the guys from the Blue Nile are thanked for inspiration on the surreal “Tigers”, which improves with that knowledge.

The stripped-back cover of “Rebel Rebel” is unnecessary, though it did likely bring Brian Setzer some cash in the days before he rode the swing revival. “Jolie Jolie” is a sweet little number with Cajun influence, leading into the love song within the Kottke-cowritten “Running From Mercy”, featuring harmonies from Lyle Lovett. There seems to be another scary tale driving “A Stranger’s Car”, though the touch of strings (which we assume comes from a keyboard) adds to the landscape. David Baerwald—whom some might remember from David + David and “Welcome To The Boomtown”—duets on “The Albatross”, a seafaring benediction.

Traffic From Paradise wasn’t much heralded then, and hasn’t seemed to have surfaced in any retrospective appreciation. Geffen didn’t do much except release the album, since most of their money was going to Aerosmith, Nirvana, and Guns N’ Roses that year anyway. But it’s another good choice for quiet evenings or early mornings.

Rickie Lee Jones Traffic From Paradise (1993)—3

Bill Wyman 1: Monkey Grip

As frustrated as Brian Jones was when Mick and Keith took over the songwriting and subsequent benefits in the Rolling Stones, Bill Wyman remained more so. Only one of his songs made it to an actual album, and while it was also released as a single, that was as far as he got. So with the strength of the Rolling Stones Records label behind him, Bill took advantage of the opportunity to make solo albums—the only Stone to do so for another ten years.

Monkey Grip was recorded with the help of some famous friends—mostly Danny Kortchmar—plus members of Manassas, Lowell George, and Dr. John. The latter two certainly helped give a New Orleans vibe to the proceedings, despite being recorded mostly in California with assistance by engineers usually based in Florida. The other Stones were conspicuous in their absence.

The nicest thing we can say about Bill’s voice is that at least it was better than Ron Wood’s, but on “I Wanna Get Me A Gun” he sounds a little like John Cale, while the lyrical content could be connected to John Entwistle. “Crazy Woman” isn’t as developed, but basically covers the same theme from another angle. A Nitty Gritty Dirt Band banjo drives “Pussy”, a bluegrass rewrite of a nursery rhyme with horns, and while he seems to have his lady troubles figured out on “Mighty Fine”, “Monkey Grip Glue” is a too-long extened advertising jingle for a product that will stick to mean mistreaters.

He puts on his creepy Cale voice again for “What A Blow”, which meanders to a fake fade and back again. “White Lightnin’” is an ode to moonshine, which suitably Appalachian touches. “I’ll Pull You Thro’” has enough stank in the music and suggestions in the lyrics to almost be a Stones contender; it’s the only track here we can hear Mick possibly singing. “It’s A Wonder” lopes around for five minutes, and now we hear a vocal resemblance to Joey Molland.

There’s nothing really wrong with Monkey Grip, except that it’s not very exciting. For his sake it would have been nice if this meant he got the solo thing out of his system, but it didn’t. Meanwhile, the strength of his name didn’t give it much of a push, and it would only be revived in the digital era by budget and/or independent labels. (The bonus tracks on the eventual gushing reissue included three outtakes—two of which were little more than jams, though “It’s Just A Matter Of Time” is better than most of the album—plus four single mixes, and a song that would be rerecorded for his next outing.)

Bill Wyman Monkey Grip (1974)—2½
2006 Bill Wyman Solo Collection Edition: same as 1974, plus 8 extra tracks

Clash 9: From Here To Eternity and Shea Stadium

While the Clash’s recorded legacy had been preserved on their albums and a growing number of compilations, their prowess as a live band couldn’t be as easily experienced before YouTube. That finally changed with From Here To Eternity, an hour-long sampler cherrypicked from five years’ worth of professional recordings. (It also worked as a setup for the first grand remastering of the catalog the following year.)

The music moves chronologically through their history, but while the performances themselves are often from different years, the album has an excellent flow, even between drummers. Three of the tracks are alternate mixes (and allegedly overdubbed) of music already heard in the Rude Boy film, and three others come from their legendary 1981 residency at Bonds in New York City. The energy stays up, up, up from the beginning, letting up at the fade after “I Fought The Law”, setting up “London Calling” and “Armagideon Time”, the latter helped out by Mickey Gallagher and Mikey Dread. Paul and Joe swap instruments on “The Guns Of Brixton”, to enable the former to sing while the latter covers his bass part. By that time their music was more hit-oriented, and the audience reaction reflects that. The packaging also included quotes from appreciative fans, along with dubious recording data. If anything, the program should have been twice as long. The streaming version added two songs at the end, which wasn’t enough.

Just one song was included from Shea Stadium, during their stint on the Who’s first farewell tour, and it only took about a decade for their set to be further commemorated. (Even the Who themselves sat on their recordings until 2015.) Beginning with associate Kosmo Vinyl baiting the crowd, they plow into their set, and while there were reports of booing throughout the tour, and asides by Joe about people talking in the audience, the crowd sounds engaged throughout. The band holds themselves well in such a large venue, with no dead air, and only a few acts of defiance, like cutting into “The Magnificent Seven” for a detour through “Armagideon Time” (which sounds like it’s in a major key) then back into “The Magnificent Seven”. Songs are played from every album, but only two came from the one they were ostensibly promoting; “Rock The Casbah” manages to work without the piano, and “Should I Stay Or Should I Go” was used as the official video back then. The echo effects prevalent throughout the set are on full for “I Fought The Law”, and they leave the stage, never to play New York again. To date, this is the only CD containing a full set by the band, which is a crime, frankly.

The Clash From Here To Eternity Live (1999)—4
The Clash Live At Shea Stadium (2008)—3½

Prince 24: Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic

A new label deal brought TAFKAP under the purview of Arista, then currently raking in the bucks with Santana’s all-star collaboration album Supernatural. Not very surprisingly, special guests appeared on Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic too, which arrived mere months after The Vault. The album had a production credit for Prince, but all the vocals and instruments he played—mostly by himself, with only some help from other musicians—were credited to the symbol, so do your own math.

The title track had been around since the late ‘80s, when it would have been the anchor for an album that would have followed Lovesexy had the Batman soundtrack not happened. Musically it’s not much, but for lots of riffing and his screamy falsetto. “Undisputed” is an oddly timed statement of superiority, with “N! P! G!” chants and even a rap by Chuck D. “The Greatest Romance Ever Sold” was the single that preceded the album, and an odd choice, since it’s a mostly meandering slow groove with Eastern touches, and a little long. Following a four-second silent segue credited to Miles Davis, “Hot Wit U” is fairly generic but for a few lines, but at least Eve’s rap challenges his prowess. “Tangerine” is a quiet little trifle with some jazzy touches, then the more rockin’ “So Far, So Pleased” is a duet with Gwen Stefani. “The Sun, The Moon And Stars” is rather nondescript until the Jamaican-style rap toward the end.

His cover of Sheryl Crow’s “Everyday Is A Winding Road” takes an R&B slant on the tune, with a rap chant near the end; the woman herself sings inaudibly and blows harmonica somewhere on “Baby Knows”. In between, there’s a lovely orchestral segue before “Man‘O’War”, a falsetto slow jam full of sorrow. “Eye Love U, But Eye Don't Trust U Anymore” (Eye=I, of course) is a piano-based heartbreaker along the lines of “Nothing Compares To U” that sports acoustic guitar by indie folk queen Ani DiFranco. “Silly Game” continues the sad mood with more prominent orchestration, while “Strange But True” is rhythmically spoken over programmed beats, which almost turns into an actual song by the end. Something of a resigned farewell, “Wherever U Go, Whatever U Do” is the last listed song, but an advertisement for his websites precedes “Prettyman”, a dance number in the style of James Brown, complete with Maceo Parker on sax.

His promotion for the album consisted solely of a New Year’s Eve pay-per-view concert, wherein he partied like it was 1999, released a few months later on VHS and DVD as Rave Un2 The Year 2000. A year after that, a remix album of sorts called Rave In2 The Joy Fantastic appeared via his own website, with slightly different artwork to help identify it. In most cases the tracks were extended mixes; “The Greatest Romance Ever Sold” included a rap by Eve, “Hot Wit U” interpolated elements of “Nasty Girl”; “Tangerine” gained a whole 43 seconds, and “Baby Knows” has more Sheryl Crow in the mix. “Everyday Is A Winding Road” and “Strange But True” were not included, though an extended “Prettyman” without the website promo was still there yet unlisted. The one exclusive track was “Beautiful Strange”, which resembles some of Sly Stone’s druggier works.

Whether Un2 or In2, the music reminds us that he hadn’t been that innovative for a while. If you must, both albums were issued in 2019’s Ultimate Rave box set, which also included the Rave Un2 The Year 2000 DVD. Certainly it will all be reassessed as time goes on without him.

o|+> Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic (1999)—2½
o|+> Rave In2 The Joy Fantastic (2001)—2½

Frank Zappa 55: Civilization Phaze III

Everything Frank Zappa did, in his mind, was of great cultural significance, and the final project he completed before his death in 1993 was no different. Civilization Phaze III collected various compositions either realized on the Synclavier (because his road bands couldn’t tackle them) or performed by Ensemble Modern (because they really, really tried), interspersed with further dialogue recorded inside a piano in 1967 for the Lumpy Gravy album as well new dialogue recorded inside a different piano in 1991. He viewed the completed work as an opera or ballet, but based on the stage directions, it’s hard to imagine such a thing being staged, much less rehearsed or performed to satisfaction.

There will be those who will think the idea of connecting conversations that took place a quarter century apart is some kind of conceptual feat; we maintain that the snippets match up only because that’s how Frank edited them that day. There’s more discussion of pigs and ponies, from both eras, though most of the later dialogue only appears on the second disc. There, members of Ensemble Modern speak in languages other than English to add tension on the part of actor Michael Rapaport (who was dating Moon Zappa at the time of recording).

The music itself is very much in line with Frank’s orchestral tendencies, sometimes merely suggested by the dialogue that precedes or overlaps with it. Those can be entertaining, but things like “Reagan At Bitburg”, which commemorates that president’s visit to cemetery of Nazi criminals, suggest more significance. This one was realized on the Synclavier, and is able emulate an orchestra as well as what used to have to be played back sped up. (Clearly, he loved hearing his music without having to have actual people play it.) The spooky “Buffalo Voice” and “Get A Life” are very evocative of parts of Lumpy Gravy, or at least “The Chrome-Plated Megaphone Of Destiny”. “N-Lite”, divided into six unmarked parts, takes up the last eighteen minutes of the first disc. It sounds a lot like everything else, except for the occasional sample of gurgling or gargling, and a few areas where a piano is prominent. “A Pig With Wings” manages to cross the sound of a harp with piano strings being plucked for a feel somewhere between Japanese and flamenco. “Dio Fa” (itself the title of another unrealized Zappa masterwork) is dominated by samples of Tuvan throat singers (a feature of another interest Frank didn’t live to explore further). Fifteen of the last twenty minutes on disc two are taken up by “Beat The Reaper”—which has consistent rain in the background while Frank noodles on the Synclavier—followed by “Waffenspiel”, a collage of sound effects.

The album was released directly through Zappa’s own mail-order company, in a deluxe cardboard package with libretto. At two discs and running nearly two hours, rapt attention is required, and the mind does wander, even without said libretto. Yet Civilization Phaze III is held up by those who know such things as Frank’s crowning achievement, and a fine example of 20th century classical; indeed, orchestras have since tried to take some of this music on. We’ll have to take their word for it.

Frank Zappa Civilization Phaze III (1994)—2

Ringo Starr 10: Old Wave

Movie roles may not have been coming his way, but Ringo Starr knew he could still make music, so he did. Rather than do the grab-bag all-star route that didn’t help Stop And Smell The Roses, he decided to keep it simple and let Joe Walsh, doing fine without the Eagles, handle the production. They even wrote most of the songs together, and Ringo played most of the drums. But such was his diminished importance to the music world that Old Wave was released in no markets larger than Canada and Germany. It’s too bad, because the album was well-made (in the house he bought from John Lennon with the studio built to record Imagine) and didn’t try to sound contemporary, but just rock like we knew he could. Yet the quest to maintain an album’s worth of tunes remained an uphill one.

“In My Car” is charming despite itself, and “Hopeless” has some appreciated aw-shucks humor, driven by Gary Brooker’s piano; Chris Stainton is also in residence. His personality continues on “Alibi”, featuring Mo Foster’s fretless bass, though “Be My Baby” has a little too much of Joe’s trademark talkbox all over it, and goes a little long. Of course it wouldn’t be a Ringo album without an oldie or two, and the first one is the Sir Douglas Quintet’s “She’s About A Mover”, wherein he’s backed by the 11-piece Hollywood Rock and Roll Revue, featuring Freebo on tuba.

The Lieber-Stoller rarity “I Keep Forgettin’” starts the next side; Ringo hams it up and adds unique percussion alongside Ray Cooper. We do wonder if this version inspired David Bowie to do his own version a year later. “Picture Show Life” is a curious one, contributed by Elton John’s and Queen’s manager, but the “Hollywood is tough” lyrics suits Ringo’s solo brand. Even though it’s slathered with synthesizers simulating an orchestra, “As Far As We Can Go” is a lovely piano ballad left over from an earlier recording project. The obligatory jam session is “Everybody’s In A Hurry But Me”, an instrumental featuring Eric Clapton and John Entwistle (not long after Joe Walsh had produced his own album). “Going Down” is more musically interesting, but just as sparing on the lyrics.

Save for imports and bootlegs, Old Wave wouldn’t get anything close to worldwide attention for another ten years, when it got a reissue, complete with detailed liner notes and a bonus track in the original recording of “As Far As We Can Go”. But that didn’t help at all back in 1983. Fortunately for Ringo, he was spending a lot of time with Paul McCartney on his projects in the meantime; unfortunately, those projects were Pipes Of Peace and Give My Regards To Broad Street. His own stock wouldn’t rise again for a few years yet either.

Ringo Starr Old Wave (1983)—2½
1994 Right Stuff reissue: same as 1983, plus 1 extra track

Ben Folds 17: Live With The NSO

Throughout his career, Ben Folds has worked with orchestras whenever he could, in the studio as well as in public. His performance with the West Australian Symphony Orchestra was released on DVD in 2005, followed twelve years later by a Record Store Day release on vinyl only. When he assumed the post of artistic director at the Kennedy Center in 2017, he helped pioneer a series of collaborations with the National Symphony Orchestra and pop artists as a public service.

Perhaps seeing the political writing on the wall, Folds performed a concert of his own with the outfit in 2024, which was then released on the NSO’s own label the following 4th of July, about five months after he resigned in the wake of the second Trump presidency. Only his third live album not tied to a video release, Live With The National Symphony Orchestra is designed to spotlight the players, the extra vocalists, and the arrangements of the music, so we don’t hear much interaction with the audience at all.

He was still ostensibly promoting What Matters Most, and the first three songs come from that album, and actually surpass the studio versions. Despite staying mostly on one chord, “Effington” is even more intricate with percussion everywhere, so the changes are more noticeable. “The Luckiest” is as sweet as ever, and “Capable Of Anything” gets more fleshed out than its original smaller group arrangement. The Tall Heights duo adds a wonderful harmonic counterpoint to “Still Fighting It”, then Regina Spektor comes out to sing her part on “You Don’t Know Me”. (Maybe it was the venue, but Ben lets the audience sing the profane line in the bridge, and they do, heartily.) “Landed” has a more lugubrious arrangement than the Paul Buckmaster version that snuck out a while back, while “Still”, the ballad from the Over The Hedge soundtrack, gets a sumptuous reading.

It makes for a nice closer, but the streaming version contains four more songs that could easily have fit onto the CD, or a third side of an LP. “Cologne” gets a chuckle for the line about the astronaut killing her boyfriend, “Moments” gets a nice version with Tall Heights again, he gives an aside in “Gracie” to remind the audience how old that little girl is now, and the audience seems to know how to accompany “Not The Same”.

Ben Folds Live With The National Symphony Orchestra (2025)—3½

Jack Grace 5: All The Above, It’s So Nice, Seven Cuts

As it turned out, we did have to wait four years for more new music to play on demand from Jack Grace, but that wasn’t due to any writer’s drought. Three related yet distinct releases give a glimpse of what he’s been up to in that time, and display his diversity.

All The Above finds him still in a mildly country mindset, but mostly in the instrumentation. James Buhre’s upright bass fits nicely with both drummers, while the legendary Earl Poole Ball’s piano livens up “Don’t Go To Memphis (Without Me)” and elsewhere. These are pleasant little strums, starting with the opening plea to “Ban Jo” through the simple pleasures in “Sunshine”. The lyrics are as sharp as ever, with a distinct “c’mon cheer up already” attitude that’s directed within as well as without. “Sweetening The Decisions” and “Wildflowers Thrive After Rain” provide wonderful perspective in the face of plaints like “Oh Woe Is Me”, “Wrong To Feel Right”, “I Will Complain”, and “What’s Your Problem”. To sum it all up, “I Love You More Every Day” layers guitars, vocals, and harmonica with the sweet voice of a toddler.

That last track makes a nice setup for It’s So Nice, “a family album for kids and their grownups” credited to Wandering Jack and featuring most of the players from All The Above. This collection of sweet, mostly original songs is just plain charming, almost daring the listener not to smile. Here his voice is still his own, but gentle, suitable for long car rides and not likely to disrupt nap time. Songs like “You Are Traveling On A Boat” and “Hot Buttered Roll” are whimsical and fun, and “More Than The Sun” and “Mommy Was A Baby Once” are nice family singalongs. Animals figure prominently, and not just when he makes the familiar noises. You already know the melody of “The Ants Go Marching”, and his update of “Humpty Dumpty” is very original.

Musically, “John Robin” and “Bam Boom” (something of a cousin to McCartney’s “Bip Bop” but with more substance) could be relics of Grace’s beginnings in Steak, the not-quite jam band from Boulder and Frisco who made their biggest mark with “Big Bear” as featured in the movie Super Troopers. Their first new music of the 21st century, Seven Cuts picks up where they left off, with jazzy chords and weird lyrics, both tinged with Spanish, about crises real (such as those in “Veronica” and “Another Threat”) and existential, and such activities as “Fishing With Chico” and “Shooting Turkeys From The Car”. Throughout, Grace’s voice and guitar blends with those of Erik Lieblien, Mike Jay and Stu Damm drive the back line, and band friend Quentin Jennings contributes lots of electric piano. Too bad there’s only seven cuts.

Jack Grace Band All The Above (2025)—4
Wandering Jack It’s So Nice (2025)—3
Steak Seven Cuts (2025)—3½

Bruce Springsteen 30: Tracks II

The ‘90s were a pretty dry decade as far as new Bruce Springsteen music was concerned. His first attempt at a Bootleg Series-style release, Tracks, arrived near the end of it, and while it was comprehensive, but still left fans disappointed, as it only scratched the surface. Come the new century, further archival digs expanded on albums like Darkness On The Edge Of Town and The River, and he would also open the vaults to share various classic concerts via his own website.

An interval even longer than the major-label-debut-to-box-set-retrospective period capped by Tracks went by before a sequel of sorts appeared. Tracks II: The Lost Albums 1983-2018 differed from its predecessor in that this sprawling seven-CD collection (equivalent to nine LPs) consisted of completed album projects that he decided against releasing upon completion for various reasons. As it turns out, three of those albums date from the ‘90s, so now fans can argue with themselves over whether they might have enjoyed them in real time or not.

The first such collection, L.A. Garage Sessions ‘83, dates from the post-Nebraska pre-Born In The U.S.A. period, when he’d started writing more character-driven stories, haunted with the legacy of Vietnam, but some fun love songs too. The music is not as lo-fi as the tunes on Nebraska, using more keyboards and drum machines with a more full sound overall, possibly with the idea that it could be another releaseable album as is. The most full CD in the set, it gets its title from the venue where it was recorded, so if you’re looking for trashy rock (or Electric Nebraska), too bad. Of these songs, only “My Hometown” made the next album, and “Johnny Bye Bye” and “Shut Out The Light” would be B-sides. His rewrite of Elvis Presley’s “Follow That Dream” had been played live already, and “Sugarland” would be tried on the next tour. “Richfield Whistle” is more subdued, but the potentially harrowing tale in “The Klansman” is paired with an incongruous rockin’ backing. “Seven Tears” sounds like some of the rockabilly Tom Petty was trying (and didn’t release) around the same time, though “Unsatisfied Heart” has all the makings of a hit, moreso than the two versions of “Fugitive’s Dream”, with which it shares lyrics.

The drum machines heard on the first disc evolved over the ten-year jump to the next album. Streets Of Philadelphia Sessions doesn’t include the title track, for which he won an Oscar, but the songs are just as down, exploring more of the struggles of maintaining relationships. Some of these songs were built from drum loops, and again, the fans who wanted him to rock out would have been disappointed—again—and particularly after his last three, more low-key albums. It was their (and our) loss, because the songs are generally strong, and presented better than on the one-two disappointment of Human Touch and Lucky Town. Well, okay, the repeated “yeah” sample detracts from “Blind Spot”, an otherwise strong tune. “Maybe I Don’t Know You” and “The Little Things” are a little too literal, bested by “Something In The Well”, which shares lyrical ties with Tunnel Of Love; “Waiting On The End Of The World” is more cut from that cloth sonically too. Some of these aren’t too far removed from Peter Gabriel’s recent explorations on the same themes, like “Between Heaven And Earth”. “We Fall Down” and “One Beautiful Morning” are more energetic, and “Secret Garden” sounds very much like the eventual E Street-embellished version, but the artificial drums stick out here. Still, it doesn’t kill the song any. “Farewell Party” repeats some lines from “Blind Spot”, but is even more visual. To be blunt, it was a mistake to shelve this particular album.

The box makes another ten-year jump, this time to a collection of songs allegedly written and recorded for a movie that never got made. Partly instrumental, Faithless has a western prairie vibe, and wouldn’t have been any more surprising a departure for the time than The Seeger Sessions, and coming right after Devils & Dust. Besides, you can get away with more on a soundtrack. This is dusty music, exemplified by the title track and the nearly atmospheric instrumentals. His kids sing on “Where You Going, Where You From”, unfortunately, but “All God’s Children” could easily be mistaken for a latter-day Tom Waits album. But for the lyrics and the eventual gospel chorus, “God Sent You” could have been left over from the Darkness sessions. Without knowing what the film was supposed to be about, we can only guess what these mildly religious tunes are intended to illustrate, but it’s another diversion thankfully available to hear.

Back in the ‘90s, the album now known as the Streets Of Philadelphia Sessions was abandoned, and he got back together with the E Street Band for the sessions that led to the new tracks on the Greatest Hits album. This presumably bought him the time and clout necessary to proceed with The Ghost Of Tom Joad, which it turns out was just part of the music he’d been churning out unbeknownst to us mortals. The way he tells it, Tom Joad was recorded at night, while the days were busy with Somewhere North Of Nashville, a straightahead country album that turns the volume up with extra twang. It’s not a new sound for him; the remake of “Stand On It” is close enough to that old B-side, just as “Janey Don’t You Lose Heart” replaces the ‘80s keyboard with pedal steel and fiddle. Two of the songs were released by other people as covers, and three different songs describe a particular type of “man”; “Repo Man” has a rockin’ piano but is throwaway, “Detail Man” isn’t much different, but “Delivery Man” is a pretty funny tune first tried back in 1983. (Garry Tallent, Danny Federici, and even Max Weinberg are on this disc, if that helps.) “Tiger Rose” is more rockabilly than modern, and the cover of Johnny Rivers’ “Poor Side Of Town” predicts his covers album two decades away. The understated near-Eagles quality of “Under A Big Sky”, “You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone”, and “Blue Highway” come as a relief to the louder tunes. The title track was previously known as a subdued interlude of sorts on Western Stars; here’s it more fleshed out. He still sounds like himself throughout the disc, but we wonder if the fans would have appreciated this at a time when Garth Brooks was inescapable.

He must have thought so too, as he also sat on it. Meanwhile, the critical acceptance of Tom Joad gave him the courage to keep exploring the history of migrant workers—in the American southwest as well as in New Jersey—which is where the songs on Inyo came from. This is quiet music again, where he’s accompanied only by Soozie Tyrell on fiddle and vocals and embellishments from Ron Aniello, except for when the mariachi bands show up on “Adelita” and “The Lost Charro”. Except for those two, the music is gentle enough to lull, so it’s not easy to follow the story he’s telling, which obviously meant a lot to him. (Far as we can tell, there are a lot of dead children, and plenty of injustice, hardship, and heartbreak.) “One False Move” and “When I Build My Beautiful House” are the least “genre-like” tracks here, and it’s too bad he couldn’t find another place for them. But likely not interested in testing his audience with another Tex-Mex detour—even one that was more upbeat than Tom Joad, low as the bar was—he shelved Inyo, concentrating instead on compiling the Tracks box and reuniting with the E Street Band again.

The new century saw him back to putting out albums on a more consistent basis, but more often, they were increasingly compiled from disparate sessions with rotating players, as with Wrecking Ball and Western Stars. Twilight Hours is another “companion” album, presenting the more orchestral pop side to the California pop of Western Stars, complete with major-seventh chords for the first time in his career. (Mighty Max Weinberg drums on most of the tunes.) He’s almost crooning here, taking on the guise of an older romantic in the depths of a midlife crisis. “Sunday Love” is the most blatant Bacharach pastiche, lyrically and arrangement-wise, among several, but he pushes his luck with the bossa-nova beat of “Follow The Sun”. “Late In The Evening” and “Two Of Us” might as well be the Spinners without the funk, considering both borrow from the same song. “Lonely Town” is downright forlorn, a cross between Tom Waits (again) and Elvis Costello’s Bacharach collaborations, while “September Kisses” channels Roy Orbison. The more paternal “I’ll Stand By You” had actually been written with the Harry Potter movies in mind; this version is from a different movie soundtrack. “Another You” and “Dinner At Eight” are just plain romantic. “High Sierra” (with lyrical echoes of Inyo as well as “Fugitive’s Dream” and “Unsatisfied Heart” from the first disc), “Sunliner”, and the almost hopeful title track are very much along the lines of the album that did come out; it’s pretty impressive that he had this much in the tank.

Capping the set is Perfect World—not an album per se, but a collection of various one-off tracks that kept falling off the stove. Any of these could conceivably have been included on Wrecking Ball or High Hopes, though they likely wouldn’t have improved them. It kicks off with the rockers everyone waited four hours to hear—once again hedging his bets that the fans wouldn’t like the other stuff in the box. The first three songs are collaborations with fellow heartland rocker Joe Grushecky, and already released by his Houserockers: “I’m Not Sleeping” sounds like Jon Bon Jovi fronting the Asbury Jukes, “Idiot’s Delight” has a Dylanesque whine, and “Another Thin Line” cops elements of several Animals songs. “The Great Depression” rolls along with banjo again and, like “If I Could Only Be Your Lover”, has some Western Stars sweep to it. It’s not his fault that “Blind Man” sounds like the Wallflowers, and “Cutting Knife” echoes Tom Petty style-wise, but even though “Rain In The River” is a little sludgy, his voice mixed to the point of near incomprehension, it kicks. Featuring the only appearance of Little Steven, the anthemic “You Lifted Me Up” is a happy love song—a rarity in this set, particularly when followed by the regret of the title track, first released in a version by John Mellencamp.

Seven new albums in five hours is a lot to take in. But each installment is treated as its own entity, complete with unique artwork, so it’s best to ingest them one at a time. Frankly, the overall quality of the music here suggests that he did himself a disservice by holding these albums back. It’s one thing to not release them for fear of alienating his audience, but doing so also made it seem like he was afraid to risk a commercial flop. Some would call that pandering. Had he taken chances, he might not have had to wait a quarter-century to be appreciated for widening his artistry, and even gotten respect for stretching himself.

Many longtime fans balked at the inflated price, even considering the heavily annotated clothbound book. Because why not, Lost And Found offered twenty “selections from the lost albums”, evenly representing each of the albums in the order they’re presented in the box. Therefore it’s pretty much all over the place, but it does include some of the more surprising left turns to be found. And just like in the big set, there’s not a single saxophone to be heard anywhere.

Bruce Springsteen Tracks II: The Lost Albums 1983-2018 (2025)—3½
Bruce Springsteen Lost And Found: Selections From The Lost Albums (2025)—3

Beach Boys 1: Surfin’ Safari

The legend of the Beach Boys began modestly, with a novelty song about surfing that few could have dreamed would kick off careers that would last decades. Equally unlikely was the band’s name, almost arbitrarily concocted to help sell the one record. Naturally, any follow-ups would have be along the same theme, right?

The Beach Boys were a family affair, led by middle-class musical genius Brian Wilson, with his younger brothers in the band, their cousin Mike Love singing most of the lead vocals, and a friend helping out on guitar. They played basic rock ‘n roll, but with the added bonus of multipart harmonies influenced by doo-wop and the Four Freshmen. Something else to consider was just how young these kids were. Brian had just turned 20; Mike was 21 (and already losing his hair). Lead guitarist Carl Wilson was not yet 16, drummer Dennis Wilson not yet 18, and rhythm guitarist David Marks had just turned 14. And they made a pretty rockin’ little combo.

Despite the strides made by Frank Sinatra and Johnny Mathis in the evolution of the long-playing record, in 1962 albums basically collected hit singles, their B-sides, and whatever else hurriedly recorded to fill up two sides. The dozen tracks on Surfin’ Safari filled that requirement, but as Brian was determined to make great records that would endure as art, he tried harder than most people under the thumb of a manager—who was also his and his brothers’ father, as well as the singer’s uncle—and the producers more concerned with simple commerce than whether the album was any good. Brian cared about the kids who would buy and listen to his records, because he was one of them.

While Brian wrote and arranged all the music, he had help in the lyrical department, mostly from Mike, and also from one Gary Usher, an aspiring musician who would one day become a producer of note. For now, he would help Brian concoct the vignettes that would support the cover photo of wholesome suburban white boys in search of the next wave, or maybe a beach bunny or five to keep them company on the shore.

The title track is a catchy call to arms, loaded with all the right lingo and namechecks, as good an advertisement for the surfing industry as any. “County Fair” describes a different kind of summer fun, the verses broken up by a carnival barker and a sweet lovely begging her fella to win her a prize. However, “Ten Little Indians” has not aged well, being a nursery rhyme dotted with further racist references, and “Chug-A-Lug” is an ode to the pleasures of drinking root beer. Dennis takes the dreamy lead vocal on a cover of “Little Girl (You’re My Miss America)”, and a hint to their depth of subject matter is “409”, a song about a car with actual engine-revving sound effects.

The indie single that led to their Capitol contract, “Surfin’”, starts off the second side, and it’s clear that Brian had already progressed, just as “Heads You Win, Tails I Lose” shows he hadn’t yet figured out how to write about romance. “Cuckoo Clock” is even squirmier, a lament about the wall adornment that interrupts woo-pitching attempts. Their cover of “Summertime Blues” is very close to the Eddie Cochran original, and “Moon Dawg” was a surf instrumental from a few years earlier, livened up by some Beach Boys dog-barking. Finally, “The Shift” attempts a novelty song about a dress.

Seeing as most of the early Beach Boys albums were less than a half-hour long, their first release on CD had them wisely packaged as “two-fers”, offering two consecutive titles in stereo (when available) with bonus tracks and liner notes. This certainly provided value for one’s dollar when the albums couldn’t always stand alone. Of the extras added from the Surfin’ Safari sessions, “Land Ahoy” would be reworked a year later as “Cherry, Cherry Couple”, and “Cindy Oh Cindy” begins with their overbearing (to say the least) father Murry barking, “Knock it off.”

The Beach Boys Surfin’ Safari (1962)—2½
1990 CD reissue: same as 1962, plus Surfin’ U.S.A. album and 3 extra tracks

Jane’s Addiction 3: Ritual de lo Habitual

Coming off the heels of their major-label debut, and with a nutty outspoken frontman out there, the pump was primed for Jane’s Addiction next album. Ritual de lo Habitual was provocative out of the gate, starting with the cover art. Once again a sculpture designed by Perry Farrell and his partner, it depicted, well, a threesome, complete with pubic hair. (To make the album available in stores that wouldn’t stock that cover, a more stark version with the misattributed First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was prepared.) The music is full of the Jane’s trademarks we’d expect, but in a wider spectrum that inspires positive comparison to Led Zeppelin’s more epic mid-‘70s work.

A spoken piece in Spanish introduces the band, and “Stop!” crashes through the gate with everyone firing on all cylinders. For the second album in a row Perry opens with a hearty “here we go”; the half-time bridge is very effective, as is the a cappella break. They don’t let up on “No One’s Leaving”, a slice of funk that soon turns to an all-out assault, except for when it pauses after each verse. Following a mildly atmospheric interlude underscoring defiance, “Ain’t No Right” drives the tempo back to full more of the same. “Obvious” fades in, with an incessant piano under the groove, deftly riding the wave through the bursts of accents between the dense vocals and wailing guitars. It all coasts to a close after six mesmerizing minutes, then it’s the audio-verité and barking dog opening the goofy “Been Caught Stealing”, helped along by its equally goofy video.

In an excellent demonstration of how to program albums as distinct sides, the second half is practically an entity to itself. The half-hour opens with “Three Days”, which basically fills in the details around the snapshot of the cover. One of the participants was no longer with us when the album came out, having died of an overdose and the album dedicated to her, but the fact she was likely a minor when she knew Perry likely added to his excitement. The recited prose in two speakers doesn’t help, but it’s much more interesting to hear what the band does with the music dynamically. “Then She Did…” is on a similar theme of remembrance, winding its way through trippy riffing and complementary drums for several minutes to establish a groove, with a few Big Moments, punctuated by strings and cymbals. The last such Big Moment concludes with a verse that illuminates Perry’s raison d’être: his mother’s suicide. The childhood reflection continues on “Of Course”, a gypsy stomp dominated by the Klezmer-style violin of Charlie Bisharat, recently of Shadowfax and shortly to accompany both Yanni and John Tesh. It’s a little too long—not unlike slapping yourself in the face—but the shimmering “Classic Girl” is a simple love song that ends the journey in tranquility and acceptance. He even wishes us a good night at the end.

Along with Nothing’s Shocking, Ritual de lo Habitual made the ideal side B on the Maxell tape that was their oeuvre (though you needed a 100-minute cassette to fit it all). And that would be it for a while, as the band, already fractured between the sober members and Perry’s dominance, disbanded at the close of the lengthy tour promoting the album, which included the first Lollapalooza Festival as part of its North American leg.

Jane’s Addiction Ritual de lo Habitual (1990)—4

Tears For Fears 9: Songs For A Nervous Planet

The promotional success of The Tipping Point saw Tears For Fears touring behind it over two consecutive summers, and a show from near the end of the second leg was the basis of the double live album Songs For A Nervous Planet, as well as a matching film. Stuff from the new album is mixed with the expected hits and older favorites, all impeccably performed to replicate the records, with little variation (such as the blatant quote from “Hello Goodbye” at the end of “Sowing The Seeds Of Love”). There’s a wonderful shift when Lauren Adams sings a stripped-back “Suffer The Children”, followed by the duets of “Woman In Chains” and “Badman’s Song”. We do find it interesting to hear “Break It Down Again”, the only song in the set from an album Curt Smith wasn’t on. “Shout” is the closing number, of course; you can just barely hear the crowd singing it before the first verse.

Perhaps to give the consumer a little more, the first disc begins with four new studio tracks. “Say Goodbye To Mum And Dad” mixes somber messaging with a jaunty whistled tune, while “The Girl I Call Home” starts out techno and ends anthemic. “Emily Said” is downright cheery, and blatantly personal, given the titular character speaks Roland Orzabal’s first name, and is also the name of his new bride. The children’s choir overdoes the sugar, however, and the false ending with a different coda suggests there’s another version of it somewhere in a vault. But the opposite emotion is “Astronaut”, another wish to hide from the world. (Target stores got an exclusive track in “Landlocked”.) In some ways the live portion seems like a bonus to an EP.

Tears For Fears Songs For A Nervous Planet (2024)—3

Van Morrison 51: What’s It Gonna Take?

Clearly still miffed about Covid, Van Morrison followed up the two-hour diatribe that was Latest Record Project with another 80 minutes of biased ranting from the Irish equivalent of a MAGA nut. It should be telling that the only positive review of What’s It Gonna Take? by a major news source came from the National Review.

“Dangerous” seesaws over two chords for over seven minutes, livened up only by a fiddle solo. The title track is catchy, but for the angry lyrics, and “Fighting Back Is The New Normal” makes its point over a cheesy organ. “Fodder For The Masses” is well arranged, down to the middle eight and the backing vocals, but doesn’t understand the irony of calling out “fake news”. The more meditative “Can’t Go On This Way” could easily be tweaked to be more about general heartbreak than all the ways he’s been inconvenienced, but “Sometimes It’s Just Blah Blah Blah” is just plain insulting, especially when he tries to drown out the doo-wop vocalist over the end. “Money From America” (as in no more) doesn’t even bother to find a melody.

“Not Seeking Approval” wastes its Motown beat by rhyming the title with “business as usual”, and “Damage And Recovery” rehashes all his beefs from the title track, livened only by his saxophone solos. “Nervous Breakdown” is just plain odd, as he introduces all the instruments one by one in a cartoony voice, then equates his condition with having “some kind of breakthrough”. It makes the piety and plea for unity in “Absolutely Positively The Most” all the more incongruous. We’d like to believe him when he insists “I Ain’t No Celebrity”, and he bemoans his own fame in “Stage Name”, and then “Fear And Self-Loathing In Las Vegas” finds him muttering to himself while killing time between gigs. While it’s a little repetitive, “Pretending” is by far the best song here, and the most universal.

Everyone is allowed their own opinions, of course, but until the end of the album, What’s It Gonna Take? doesn’t vary from the chosen theme enough to strengthen his arguments. We don’t want to listen to Neil Young yell about electric cars or Monsanto for the length of an album either. It’s just tedious.

Van Morrison What’s It Gonna Take? (2022)—2

Van Morrison 1: Them

As a youth in Belfast, Van Morrison was obsessed with jazz and rhythm & blues, but by the time bands like his were getting noticed, record companies were looking to jump on the British Invasion bandwagon. So over the two years and two dozen players who passed through their ranks, Them were tasked with making hit singles out of their brand of British R&B—kinda like the Animals. Producer and songwriter Bert Berns came over from New York to cash in, sometimes using one Jimmy Page to bolster the studio sound.

Somehow the Van-penned B-side of “Baby Please Don’t Go” became a huge hit (and garage band staple) on both sides of the pond, and since America was all about hits, “Gloria” was emblazoned on the cover and among three single sides added to the distillation of the excellently titled British album The Angry Young Them. It was placed at the end of side one, which began with Berns’ “Here Comes The Night”, another hit with a distinct Sam Cooke influence in the vocal. Berns also foisted “Go On Home Baby”, which features rare harmonies from another band member, on them. John Lee Hooker’s “Don’t Look Back” is a cool ballad with tasty piano, and the prominent organ of “I’m Gonna Dress In Black” makes it very much an Animals soundalike. “(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66” had already been claimed—and nailed—by the Stones.

Of Van’s own songs, “Mystic Eyes” is the standout, basically a two-chord jam with a seemingly extemporaneous recital that’s a forerunner to his later, longer ruminations. (“Little Girl” isn’t as successful, and “One Two Brown Eyes” is more notable for its slide guitar effects.) “One More Time” and “If You And I Could Be As Two” are attempts at seduction, stuck between belting and speaking, and “I Like It Like That” mostly meanders.

Less than a year later, Them Again shaved the British version down to twelve tracks, still split between Van originals and covers. Of these, their moody take on Dylan’s “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” is the clear winner. Chris Kenner’s “Something You Got” has a sax solo that might be Van, and these days it’s interesting to hear “Turn On Your Love Light” and consider that Them’s version could be what inspired the Dead to do it. “I Can Only Give You Everything” is a trashy variation on the usual garage riff, and “Out Of Sight” is the closest they got to being James Brown. Tommy Scott was now their producer, so four of his songs made the album. “Call My Name” and “How Long Baby” are rather ordinary, but “I Can Only Give You Everything” has a cool snotty riff, and the flute and piano on “Don’t You Know” predict “Moondance”.

Van himself was limited to four songwriting credits. “Could You, Would You” with its powerful drum fills opened the album, and the double acoustic guitar on “My Lonely Sad Eyes” almost makes it folk-rock. “Bad Or Good” is nice and soulful, just as “Bring ‘Em On In” is defiant.

Management issues and general disinterest led to the band splitting into factions on tour, and ultimately Van went off to be a solo artist of merit, which meant that various repackages of Them material popped up throughout the ‘70s. The first, 1972’s Them… Featuring Van Morrison, excerpted ten songs from each of the American albums but in reverse order, with dense liner notes by Lester Bangs in phone book-size type across the inner gatefold. Two years later, Backtrackin’ helpfully offered up ten tracks that weren’t on either of the American albums, including such singles as “Baby Please Don’t Go” and their cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s “Richard Cory”, as well as “Hey Girl” (another flute-laden precursor to “Cyprus Avenue”) and the previously unreleased “Mighty Like A Rose”. Three years after that, The Story Of Them offered nine more of the same, mostly blues covers but also the rare title track, a rambling memoir in changing keys originally split over two sides of a single but here continuous, the early EP track “Philosophy”, and the lovely late single “Friday’s Child”.

Eventually, The Best Of Van Morrison included “Gloria”, “Baby Please Don’t Go”, and “Here Comes The Night”; Volume Two offered “Don’t Look Back” and “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” amidst songs from the ‘80s simply because Polydor still had the rights to them. Another attempt to tell The Story Of Them Featuring Van Morrison on two CDs had to navigate mono mixes and stereo remixes, and still seemed to be somewhat random in its sequencing. It wasn’t until the band’s 50th anniversary (and Van’s partnership with Sony Legacy) that The Complete Them 1964-1967 presented a full chronological overview, with all of the singles and album tracks in context on two discs, and a third devoted to previously unreleased demos and select alternate takes and BBC sessions. Van even wrote the liner notes. Getting to hear the singles in release order doesn’t take away the haphazard construction of the albums, even in the British sequences, but we do hear his voice and songwriting improve.

Them Them (1965)—3
Them Them Again (1966)—3
Them Backtrackin’ (1974)—2½
Them The Story Of Them (1977)—2½
Them The Complete Them 1964-1967 (2015)—3

Neil Young 74: Talkin To The Trees

The latest State of the Neil arrived a year after a Crazy Horse tour that had to be cut short due to “health issues”. Once he had a new batch of songs, he went back to Shangri-La Studio with three young guys from Promise Of The Real, plus Spooner Oldham, who’s older than Neil. He dubbed his new band the Chrome Hearts—must be a C.H. thing—and three documented days of recording resulted in Talkin To The Trees. The co-producer was the legendary Lou Adler, who also happened to be his brother-in-law, and that may be one reason for a smoother sound overall, on the loud as well as quieter songs.

“Family Life” starts out nice, though his cranky old man voice doesn’t bother to find the tempo of the backing. It’s also the first of two songs that overtly discusses an apparent estrangement from his daughter and grandchildren; the heavier “Dark Mirage” doesn’t name names but is even more pointed while repeating the same woes, and frankly, it’s uncomfortable to sit through. “First Fire Of Winter” provides some relief from the hurt, even though it sounds like “Helpless” without a chorus, and about as loping as “Roger And Out”. Micah Nelson does add some nice atmospherics in the absence of Ben Keith. Seemingly a tribute to his tour bus, the acoustic “Silver Eagle” uses the melody from “This Land Is Your Land”, and so does “Lets Roll Again”, an electric stomp exhorting the American auto industry and indirectly calling out Elon Musk.

“Big Change” is a lot of yelling over loud chords; he’s done this a lot lately, but somehow it works this time. The title track is another melodic rewrite of “Western Hero” (or “Train Of Love”)—it even references “Prime Of Life”—and we don’t know if the Bob mentioned is Dylan or his own brother. “Movin Ahead” (clearly we’re dealing with an aversion to apostrophes) is a ramshackle thrash that sounds like a first take, or left over from Peace Trail; our favorite part is when the mix drops everything out but the tack piano. But with “Bottle Of Love” we finally get a bonafide classic with all the hallmarks he used to provide: switching meters and unorthodox changes played on piano and vibes with a haunting vocal melody. It leads well into “Thankful”, a cousin but not a copy of “Harvest Moon”, ending a compact album with an autumnal feel.

While a consistent release regimen keeps his message fresh, he doesn’t craft albums anymore; gone are the days when he would be able to pick and choose from several sessions over sometimes a few years. But the good definitely outweighs the bad on Talkin To The Trees, and we do hope he’s got more left in the tank. We also hope he can patch things up with his family, but that’s really none of our business.

Neil Young and the Chrome Hearts Talkin To The Trees (2025)—3

Brian Eno 30: Secret Life

By the time he was 75 years old, Brian Eno had more than a couple generations of musicians who’d been influenced by his work. One such person was Fred Gibson, also known as Fred again.. (with two periods), a DJ and producer who worked with Eno on his collaborations with Karl Hyde. While keeping eyes and ears on each other since, the Covid pandemic gave them a chance to collaborate fully and at their own pace.

Secret Life is mostly an ambient album, in that it has little to no tempo and relies mostly on muted electric pianos and other keyboards. But Fred does provide vocals, equally inspired by those of his older partner. His other trick is to interpolate other people’s songs—as he does on “Secret”, from a Leonard Cohen song, and John Prine on two others—and sample vocals from a variety of sources. Those contributors are acknowledged in the same list as the other engineers and producers.

For the most part the album floats along, but “Enough” and “Trying” have more prominent vocals and energetic backing melodies that refuse to stay in the background, particularly when the static is mixed up. What little percussion the album has comes from the sampled voices. There’s so much Fred here it’s not clear what Eno brought to the table, but that was probably the point.

Fred again.. Brian Eno Secret Life (2023)—3

Warren Zevon 1: Wanted Dead Or Alive

The man who would one day be called one of the best American songwriters of his generation had a slow start to notoriety. Warren Zevon’s first recordings were as part of a Sonny & Cher-styled psychedelic duo called lyme & cybelle, then he wrote some songs for the Turtles. In 1970 his first album came out, credited under his surname and produced by entrepreneur and sexual predator Kim Fowley. While Wanted Dead Or Alive does have some of the style and idiosyncrasies that would become his hallmark, it’s very much stuck in its time. With backing mostly by future Byrd Skip Battin and onetime Love drummer Drachen Theaker, it’s got a clunky sound that occasionally veers into studio trickery. The man himself plays all the guitars, mostly in a blues style, and piano.

Fowley supplied the title track, which is still suited to Zevon’s vocal, even where double-tracked. “Hitch-Hiking Woman” also drives a simple riff into the ground, but the first real showcase for his talent is “She Quit Me”, which had already been covered for the Midnight Cowboy soundtrack, and here is just his acoustic guitar, voice, and wailing harmonica. (Thankfully, he’d back off from the vibrato in the future.) “Calcutta” is another dirty blues, supposedly written by one Xavier Fletcher and something of a prediction of the first Crazy Horse album. And then there’s his cover of “Iko Iko”, wherein his signature piano flair is drowned out by kids singing along playground-style.

On side two we get music that most resembles his later work, from the lyrics to the arrangements, though some of the embellishments on “Traveling In The Lightning” are a bit much. “Tule’s Blues” is a mostly country strum with all the instruments mixed high, which is also the case with the darkly humorous spoof “A Bullet For Ramona”, though somebody else supplied the lyrics. “Gorilla” is more sludge over mostly one chord that kills three minutes on an already short album, whereas “Fiery Emblems” is an intricate instrumental with changing time signatures, a swirling coda, and what sounds like backwards drums throughout.

While he did have his champions at this early stage, Wanted Dead Or Alive did have enough of an original sound, nor the industry clout, to make much of an impression. Much like Harry Nilsson’s debut album, it remains a curio.

Zevon Wanted Dead Or Alive (1970)—2½

Jimi Hendrix 12: Live At Winterland

Just in time for the music industry’s celebration of the 20th anniversary of the Summer of Love came the first “new” Jimi Hendrix album specifically designed for the CD market. The first product of Rykodisc’s brief affiliation with the Estate, Live At Winterland was compiled from a three-day residency at a converted San Francisco ice skating rink the week Electric Ladyland was released. The compilers had six shows to choose from, and only repeated one performance from The Jimi Hendrix Concerts.

By this time his manager was professionally recording his concerts, so the source used was superior to anyone’s bootlegs. This CD was produced by Alan Douglas and future Beach Boys catalog maven Mark Linett, and they did a decent job of presenting the trio as they were, seamlessly blended to simulate a single show. After Bill Graham’s introduction (a Douglas trope), they plow through “Fire” and “Manic Depression”, then Jimi provides an explanatory intro for a jam on Cream’s “Sunshine Of Your Love”. “Spanish Castle Magic” is marred by buzzing amplifiers, and he acknowledges the absence of “Red House” from the American version of his first album. Jack Casady of Jefferson Airplane sits in on bass for “Killing Floor”; “Tax Free”, an instrumental familiar from War Heroes, gets an eight-minute excerpt. From there it’s a good run through “Foxey Lady”, “Hey Joe”, and “Purple Haze” right into “Wild Thing”. All in all, a solid listen. (Five years later, the album celebrated an anniversary of its own with the release of Live At Winterland+3, containing—you guessed it—three more songs on a 30-minute bonus disc, including a lengthy exploration on “Are You Experienced”.)

In this century, once the Estate realized that fans would be interested in multi-disc archival digs, the shows were mined for a four-CD package simply titled Winterland. However, as would be their wont, they still took liberties with history, by curating a disc each from each day’s two shows, and adding a fourth of “extras” from three of the shows, bolstered by an interview conducted two months earlier on the opposite coast. (Amazon customers got another disc with a little over a half an hour of music from eight months earlier at a different Bill Graham venue, most of which was previously released as an official bootleg, and notable for the first collaboration with Buddy Miles, on a cover of “Dear Mr. Fantasy” in two pieces because the tape ran out. Meanwhile, a single disc of Winterland “highlights” muddied up the discography further.)

Being a new mix spearheaded by Eddie Kramer, the sound is different from the Rykodisc releases; they even restored Herbie Rich’s organ and Virgil Gonsalves’ flute on songs where they’d been omitted earlier. But there was still some editing and combining of performances to enhance general listenability, and some chatter heard on the old CDs didn’t make it. There is naturally repetition of several songs, but he never played anything the same way twice, and for the most part the set focuses on songs that enabled his soloing as opposed to just playing the hits and familiar album tracks, which he does too. (“The Star-Spangled Banner” makes two appearances, once of which is compiled from two performances; the October 11 “Voodoo Child” remains exclusive to Live At Winterland+3, but at least the set included full versions of songs included on The Jimi Hendrix Concerts, which had since been deleted.) Nearly five hours of music is a lot to take in, but it’s educational to hear him in an environment where he could settle in for a stint and stretch, rather than just rush from town to town and show to show.

The Jimi Hendrix Experience Live At Winterland (1987)—3½
1992 Live At Winterland+3: same as 1987, plus 3 extra tracks
The Jimi Hendrix Experience Winterland (2011)—3½

Elton John 27: Greatest Hits Volume III

The live album notwithstanding, 1987 was Elton John’s first year without new material since his first album. But thanks to the label switch, he still had product in the racks. Somehow Geffen was able to license two tracks that were on MCA, which is how a third volume of so-called greatest hits happened, ten years after the last one, and mere months after Live In Australia came out.

Side one is indisputably strong, proof that even his lesser albums had great songs. It’s hard to argue with this lineup: “I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Blues”; “Mama Can’t Buy You Love”; “Little Jeannie”; “Sad Songs”; “I’m Still Standing”; “Empty Garden”. We’d like to say the same for side two, but these particular hits just aren’t as strong. Much as we like “Kiss The Bride” and “Blue Eyes”, “Heartache All Over The World” is just too fluffy, and “Too Low For Zero” hadn’t even charted as a single. “Nikita” belongs here, of course, but “Wrap Her Up” was likely included due to the presence of George Michael, then riding high with Faith.

Only five years later his catalog was standardized worldwide, with everything in the US reverting to MCA (even though Geffen was part of MCA by this time anyway). Because of licensing and whatnot, songs on the second hits album had been switched, but that meant that “Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word” and “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” were now selling points on the revamped Greatest Hits 1976-1986. Best of all, those songs replaced “Heartache” and “Too Low For Zero” figuratively and literally, and the set even added “Who Wears These Shoes?”

The sequence was different from the Geffen album, shuffling the “new” songs on side one of the cassette—there was no LP version, being 1992—and going chronologically for side two. Geeks like us also appreciated the copious track information, including players and even recording dates. While the cover photo reflected the year of release and not the material, it’s still a strong collection, and preferred to its first incarnation.

Elton John Elton John’s Greatest Hits Volume III 1979-1987 (1987)—3
Elton John Greatest Hits 1976-1986 (1992)—3½