Friday, July 18, 2025

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)—

Tuesday, July 15, 2025

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)—

Friday, July 11, 2025

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.

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 and a twist from Nebraska), “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)—
Bruce Springsteen
Lost And Found: Selections From The Lost Albums (2025)—3

Tuesday, July 8, 2025

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)—
1990 CD reissue: same as 1962, plus Surfin’ U.S.A. album and 3 extra tracks

Friday, July 4, 2025

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

Tuesday, July 1, 2025

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