Beatles 35: Anthology 4

Realizing that 30 years had passed since the first installment of the Beatles’ Anthology was unveiled was even more astounding when one considered that only 25 years had elapsed between that event and the band’s breakup. And while the Anthology CDs were said to close the vault on unreleased material, the people in charge of things back then obviously hadn’t dreamed of the potential, either sales or academic, that 50th anniversary super deluxe editions could create.

So it was that the original series was remastered and re-edited for broadcast on Disney+, the book was reprinted, and the three CD volumes were remastered, sonically cleaned up in a few places, and repackaged into a slipcase dubbed Anthology Collection, with the tantalizing addition of the new Anthology 4. Fans wondered at the fresh bounty that could be unveiled, only to find not Gideon’s bible, but that the new set—initially only available in the big set but eventually offered separately—consisted predominantly of selections from those recent expansions of Sgt. Pepper, the White Album, Abbey Road, Let It Be, and Revolver. Besides the repetition, the choices were somewhat lopsided, with only eleven new tracks coming from the first three years of their career, and almost the entirety of the second disc devoted to the last two. And of course, certain things that people wanted to hear were still missing, even with two discs not filled to capacity.

That said, as a collection of outtakes, it is an enjoyable listen, even when you’ve heard some of it before. The alternate takes of “I Saw Her Standing There” and “Money” were pulled from the (also initially limited) Bootleg Recordings 1963 download album, and two broken takes of “This Boy” were rescued from the out-of-print CD single for “Free As A Bird”. Each of the yet-to-be-deluxe-editioned albums get peeks; as ever, the early takes aren’t always too different from the final products, but it’s fun to hear the boys bantering along the way. There’s a lot of giggling between takes, and the source of the laughter isn’t always obvious, nor necessarily pharmaceutical. Take one of “Matchbox” wouldn’t have been our choice, but the first take of “In My Life” is lovely, and a very Byrdsy “Nowhere Man” only has vocals on the intro. “Baby You’re A Rich Man” is delayed while John asks Mal Evans for Coke and Paul demands cannabis, the instrumental tracks for “Fool On The Hill” and “Hey Bulldog” are revelatory, and the isolated strings and brass for “I Am The Walrus” prove that George Martin was the best friend they ever had. Finally, new Jeff Lynne-approved remixes of “Free As A Bird” and “Real Love” (which clean up John’s voice more via Peter Jackson’s AI tech, but aren’t as good as the ones on 2015’s 1+ DVD), followed by “Now And Then” (which most people would have already bought via either the expensive single or the expansion of the Blue Album two years earlier) bring things full-circle.

With the equivalent of two album sides of new music out of a nearly two-hour program, there is enough here that we hadn’t heard before, as it hadn’t been bootlegged. Having to follow the format of the previous three volumes put the compilers in a tough spot, as reissue projects have certainly evolved over three decades. Here, it’s quite a mad rush from “I Saw Her Standing There” to “I Am The Walrus”, and something of a stumble to the end. But while Anthology 4 is very much an afterthought, it’s still welcome. And we still want to hear everything, and we do mean everything.

The Beatles Anthology 4 (2025)—3½

Paul McCartney 39: Wings and Man On The Run

Roughly a quarter-century after the last time he undertook a look back to the band he and Linda formed after the Beatles broke up, Paul McCartney presided over a biography of Wings, tied in with a feature-length film. While this would have been the perfect occasion to finally issue the overdue Archive Collection editions and expansions of London Town and Back To The Egg, he decided people would want a double-disc anthology of previously released Wings music instead. Those who bought the Blu-ray version would have likely done so for the Atmos mixes, but beyond that, Wings is another Spotify playlist in a physical format. (A pointless single disc with a dozen songs was also offered.)

For the first time, unlike Wings Greatest and Wingspan, nothing credited to Paul outside of Wings was included. It does repeat songs already collected on those, as well as All The Best! and Pure McCartney, which means all the hits and a few deep cuts from every Wings album—even the bad ones—with the only rarity being the runthrough of “Soily” from One Hand Clapping, chosen over the frankly phenomenal one from Wings Over America. In fact, none of the live work by any incarnation of the band is included. A few songs make their first remastered appearance in this century, like Denny Laine’s showcase “Deliver Your Children”, “I’ve Had Enough” and the title track from London Town, and “Getting Closer” from Back To The Egg. Those sport a copyright date of 2022, suggesting that just maybe those albums are just waiting for someone to give the okay already?

As an overview of the band, and what he hoped to achieve by forming it and sticking with it until it served its purpose, Wings works. There was some excellent music created over those nine or so years, and other people besides McCartney helped make it memorable. If new fans get to hear it and learn from it, that’s great. But for the rest of us, this was yet another missed opportunity to provide some real gems, instead of more of the same.

The Man On The Run film (also the title of an unauthorized biography published in 2014) was basically an update of the earlier Wingspan documentary, with the added bonus of insight from some of the other players. Longtime fans weren’t surprised with any real revelations—though the footage was terrific—nor should they have been surprised that, only months later, there would be a companion soundtrack album. It wasn’t comprehensive, filling up only two LP sides.

Since the film was about his life in the ‘70s as a whole, some non-Wings tracks were included, along with repeats of “Band On The Run”, “Mull Of Kintyre”, and “Let Me Roll It” from Wings. The previously issued demo of “Silly Love Songs” opens the album as it does the film, but hold and below, three tracks appeared for the first time ever on an official album. “Gotta Sing Gotta Dance” was the cringey tapdance number from his 1973 TV special; without the visuals it sounds like an outtake from a Mel Brooks movie. “Live And Let Die” was the live performance as seen in the Rockshow film, and different from the version on Wings Over America. The biggest surprise was the rough mix (no horns, and a scratch vocal in their place) of “Arrow Through Me”, further rankling those of us who kept pestering his PR team to release those missing Archive Collections already. While the album runs mostly chronologically, and certainly enjoyable, it’s awfully brief, and little more than a cash grab from people collecting vinyl variations.

Wings Wings (2025)—3½
Paul McCartney Man On The Run – Music From The Motion Picture Soundtrack (2026)—3½

Marshall Crenshaw 14: The EP Collection

Like a lot of artists of his generation, Marshall Crenshaw saw the writing on the wall—or lack of it—in the second decade of the new century, and decided his music would be served best going directly to his fan base. So in 2012, he launched what would become an ongoing series of 10-inch vinyl EPs, crowdsourced and sold via his website. Each consisted of a new song serving as the title track, a cover, and a unique version of something in his catalog, either rerecorded or live.

Six EPs were released over a four-year period, which didn’t suggest prolific creativity, and there’s something of a darkness pervading the new songs. “I Don’t See You Laughing Now” sounds like the vocal’s been AutoTuned, but it’s got one catchy chorus. A highlight is “Stranger And Stranger”, which sports a prominent vibraphone that eventually blends with the rest of the backing. The moody “Driving And Dreaming” is very evocative of a late-night ride; like the rest of the originals, it was written with alt-folkie Dan Bern, with whom he worked on the Walk Hard soundtrack. “Red Wine” is the most developed track, with a full band arrangement and accordion. While it seems to be based on simple if forced rhymes, the undertones of “Move Now” are extremely dark, particularly in the current political situation. “Grab The Next Train” has similar forebodings, but seems to be more focused on a failed relationship.

The remakes weren’t all that radical, but the guy loved making records, so his covers have plenty of feeling. His voice is an improvement on Jeff Lynne’s on the Move’s “No Time”, while still retaining the psychedelic elements, just as “(They Long To Be) Close To You” is straight and sweet, right down to the horn solo. The Coral sitars he adds to James McMurtry’s “Right Here Now” are an unexpected touch, but then his heart is definitely in the ‘60s, as demonstrated by “Never To Be Forgotten” by the Bobby Fuller Four, John Sebastian’s “Didn’t Wanna Have To Do It” for the Lovin’ Spoonful, and “Made My Bed, Gonna Lie In It”, a great hidden gem by the Easybeats.

Once the series was done, much of the music was made available on a wider scale. #392: The EP Collection collected each of the new songs (sequenced in reverse release order) followed by the covers, with bonus tracks: a live version of the Everly Brothers’ “Man With Money” and a demo of “Front Page News”. (At some point, the individual EPs were downloadable from Amazon and iTunes, usually offering another live track, making things even more confusing for completists.)

Ten years later, thanks to a new deal with Yep Roc, he took the opportunity to remix and rerelease the music. This time, From The Hellhole shuffled the contents of the previous version for a more diverse program. However, it dropped “Right Here Now” and the previous bonus tracks, and instead added a 1991 demo of “Walkin’ Around” and covers of Rare Earth’s “I Just Want To Celebrate” and Todd Rundgren’s “Couldn’t I Just Tell You”, a song that was basically made for him. Still, as a summation of the relatively little music he’s been creating, it’s good to have.

Marshall Crenshaw #392: The EP Collection (2015)—3
Marshall Crenshaw From The Hellhole (2025)—3

Bob Dylan 70: Through The Open Window

After several volumes delving into distinct stages of Bob Dylan’s career, it took the Bootleg Series fifteen years and nine volumes before they went back to the beginning. Through The Open Window aims to tell the definitive story of his origin only touched on by his first three albums (and subsequent archival releases).

The years stated on the cover span 1956 through 1963, but after a 15-year-old Bobby Zimmerman pounding Shirley & Lee’s “Let The Good Times Roll” on a St. Paul music store piano and an acoustic ditty called “I Got A New Girl” three years later, the program really begins in 1960, where a college slacker has discovered Woody Guthrie. Before the end of the first disc he’s already made it to the Gaslight Café and Gerde’s Folk City in Greenwich Village. He enters a recording studio to blow harmonica on a Carolyn Hester session, plays a concert above Carnegie Hall, and two months later records his first album over two days. (Two familiar outtakes are included, along with two alternates, and a previously unreleased cover of Woody’s “Ramblin’ Round”.)

All the while, he’s learning how to pick guitar and play harmonica at the same time, memorizing song lyrics and attempting to write his own, and fabricating his own back story, as alluded to in the baffling “Dusty Old Fairgrounds”. Many of the selections are informal recordings, included more for historical purposes, far away from studio microphones and settings, so there are flubbed strings, off-key instruments, and the sound of a 20-year-old kid trying to sound four times his age (save a salacious ad-lib in a version of “Cocaine”; the compilers chose not to include any of the VD songs Woody wrote). When an audience is present, they are fascinated, and collaborators like Jim Kweskin and Dave Van Ronk clearly like what he has to offer. And we get to hear him improve and develop in a fairly short time.

By the third disc he’s moved on from aping Woody on vintage folk and blues songs, and started writing more topical songs about social injustice. After more harmonica work for Harry Belafonte, Victoria Spivey, and Big Joe Williams, he starts to record his second album. But it takes a while to complete, as he can’t decide whether it should be all protest songs (like the earlier, edgier “Ballad Of Hollis Brown”) or if he wants to rock out, which is why he attempts the familiar “That’s All Right Mama” and his own “Mixed-Up Confusion” with a band, eventually settle for just Bruce Langhorne on second guitar. “Worried Blues” is tried out on a 12-string, and “(I Heard That) Lonesome Whistle” shows off his Hank Williams yodel.

Come 1963, the surviving minute of his appearance on a British TV show kicks off disc five. After his April show at the Town Hall show—about a third of which is here, out of order, and including repeats of “Tomorrow Is A Long Time” and “Last Thoughts On Woody Guthrie”—he comes up with the last handful of songs, a fresh mix of protest and personal, needed to finish the Freewheelin’ album. But by the summer, he was caught up in the civil rights movement, with appearances at voter rallies and the March on Washington, and made a big splash at the Newport Folk Festival. He also made a big splash with Joan Baez, who sang with him every chance she got; three of their duets are included here, including the only known performance of “Troubled And I Don’t Know Why”.

Angrier topical songs would dominate his third album, though he was also writing songs like “Farewell”, “Liverpool Gal”, “Boots Of Spanish Leather”, and “One Too Many Mornings” (the latter two heard in alternate takes) and banging the piano for “Key To The Highway” and “Bob Dylan’s New Orleans Rag”. The final two discs contain his complete Carnegie Hall concert in October 1963, twenty years after it was first teased on a promo CD. It’s a good place to finish, as that third album would come out in the first few weeks of 1964, when everything changed, and for him too. Most of the songs in the set weren’t on albums yet, so they’re fresh for the crowd, but the performance would only reinforce his image as a protest singer and nothing but.

Some of this music had circulated on bootlegs for decades, but never in this quality. Through The Open Window of course only scratches the surface of what has survived from this period, and the individual listener will have their own missing favorites (for us it’s “Black Cross” and the electric “Rocks And Gravel”) in addition to resentment over repetition, both in song choice and things that had already appeared on earlier volumes and copyright releases. As had been the label’s habit, a two-CD “highlights” condensation was also made available, but we always wonder who would actually spring for those outside of completists. With most Bob, you’re either all in, or out.

Bob Dylan Through The Open Window: The Bootleg Series Vol. 18 1956-1963 (2025)—3

Chrissie Hynde 5: Duets Special

Between her Dylan tribute album and the Valve Bone Woe experiment, Chrissie Hynde has shown her love of songs from all over the popular music map. On the lowkey Duets Special, she tackles a baker’s dozen tunes with all sort of “pals” (her term) selected from various genres.

Most of the album is subdued and acoustic, though she and Cat Power bring in the fuzz for Morrissey’s “First Of The Gang To Die”, and there’s subtle electricity for “Every Little Bit Hurts” with Carleen Anderson. She does two songs associated with Elvis Presley (one a virtual duet with the late Mark Lanegan) and the slowcore band Low is also touched on twice, first with Debbie Harry (who sounds like an older Marianne Faithfull here) on their “Try To Sleep”, and then with the band’s Alan Sparhawk on Cass McCombs’ “County Line”. Beyond those, the choices aren’t too obscure, though k.d. lang does lead a gender-bent but faithful (odd word, we know) take on “Me And Mrs. Jones”. Lucinda Williams snarls her way through a mostly unplugged “Sway” via the Rolling Stones, but the most eye-raising collaboration would be with Julian Lennon on his father’s “It’s Only Love”.

Duets Special is nice, and if you like her, you might like this. Or you might not. We found it a pleasant side trip.

Chrissie Hynde & Pals Duets Special (2025)—3

Steve Winwood 1: Steve Winwood

Not long after appearing in Stomu Yamashta’s Go project, Steve Winwood finally put out his first album under his own name. The songs on the album are very much of the time, soundwise; Jim Capaldi is still a songwriting collaborator, and Reebop appears here and there, but the tunes aren’t really any more exciting than the ones on the last Traffic album. He plays all the keyboards and most of the guitars, and Willie Weeks and Andy Newmark are the rhythm section for most of it, which lends to some of the blandness.

The tone is set by “Hold On”, which but for his distinctive voice sounds like something off a contemporary Boz Scaggs album. The groove picks up a bit for “Time Is Running Out”, a wordy slice of social commentary that crams a lot of words, images, and rhymes into a mix that obscures them, even over the chanted coda, so any intended statement is lost in a reason to dance, which one would think defeats the purpose. “Midland Maniac” stands out because it’s performed entirely by the auteur. Unfortunately, it’s also eight-and-a-half minutes long. It does have distinct, not always cohesive sections, and the changes keep the ear’s attention, but there’s no reason to drag it out.

While it sports a different rhythm section and Junior Marvin of the Wailers on guitar, “Vacant Chair” isn’t that different from the rest of the album, but it’s simply a better, more developed song with an arrangement that belies its somber subject matter, that being the death of a friend. (We had to look up the meaning of the repeated African phrase; it translates as “the dead are weeping for the dead”.) “Luck’s In” begins promisingly, but turns its back on Latin jazz for more standard funk, albeit with an odd meter in the verses. The romantic lyrics don’t gel with the backing, and whatever hope lies therein has disappeared on “Let Me Make Something Of Your Life”. With echoes of “No Time To Live” and “(Sometimes I Feel So) Uninspired”, it certainly sounds like the obvious choice for a closer.

Steve Winwood isn’t bad, but it doesn’t really stick. We always forget what a good guitarist he could be, but we’re guessing the songs are all on the long side because that’s all he had, and they needed to fill up the sides somehow. If anything, it’s very much a harbinger for the solo career he would soon nurture and develop—in other words, safe adult-contemporary pop without much bite. Which is fine if you like that sort of thing.

Steve Winwood Steve Winwood (1977)—2½