Dwight Twilley 6: Wild Dogs

Just when Dwight Twilley thought he finally found a label that would give his music the promotion it deserved, Wild Dogs was weeks away from being released when the head of the label was busted in a payola scandal that would end up rocking the industry. He was able to get distribution through a subsidiary, but only begrudgingly, and was essentially buried. It’s not likely the album would have sold anyway, given the overreliance on programmed Linn drum machines, sterile synthesizers, and too much reverb (as opposed to slap-back echo) everywhere. Only some of the blame belongs with producer Val Garay, who’d foisted “Bette Davis Eyes” on an unexpecting world a mere five years before.

The sunny piano and swirly strings wouldn’t seem to fit a song with the title of “Sexual”, but there you go. The title track might have passed for an old Dwight Twilley Band outtake if not for the production, which also crippled “You Don’t Care”, another song that deserved a lot better. Kim Carnes joins the chorus of the admittedly catchy “Hold On”, while Phil Seymour is credited with backing vocals on the mildly Beatlesque keyboard-wise “Shooting Stars”—fittingly, as the song is about him—but we can’t hear him.

He puts on his rockabilly voice for “Baby Girl”, and the verses of “Ticket To My Dream” has some of the Halloweeny aspects of similar songs, balanced by the choruses. “Secret Place” begins like an animated sci-fi movie soundtrack, but turns into an ordinary soundtrack; at least Susan Cowsill is high in the mix. “Radio” is pretty much tossed-off, an attempt to hold up that format when video had taken over. It’s back to piano triplets for the mildly doo-wop “Spider & The Fly”.

Despite glimmers here and there, Wild Dogs is a case of decent songs produced all wrong; indeed, the demos included on the expanded CD contain his original demos for eight of the tunes. Had anyone paid attention out there, any of these could have been radio hits, but the album made zero impact, and Dwight went back to Tulsa to concentrate on his family.

Dwight Twilley Wild Dogs (1986)—2
2022 CD reissue: same as 1986, plus 9 extra tracks

Kinks 30: Think Visual

1986 wasn’t the best year for bands like the Kinks, and whatever commercial clout they had built up thus far in the decade was scuppered once they signed to MCA (in the U.S.; London got them in the U.K.), a label that simply didn’t know how to promote artists, new or vintage. Which was too bad, since Think Visual, their first album under the new deals, wasn’t awful.

Of course, Ray Davies was still Ray Davies, and he opens the album with “Working At The Factory”, a blatant complaint about what the music biz has done to him. Subject matter aside, it’s still a decent track. So is “Lost And Found”, which is literally about getting through a hurricane, but works on metaphorical levels as well. (Even if it does evoke both “It’s The Same Old Song” and “The Boy With The Thorn In His Side”.) Too much of “Repetition” lives up to its title, but there are some clever inversions of the three-chord pattern, and a killer bridge. Similarly, “Welcome To Sleazy Town” has an arrangement to match, a slow bluesy stroll with a canned-sounding harmonica, while “The Video Shop” is left over from when Ray wanted to write a concept album about the guy from the “Come Dancing” video selling pirated tapes.

Dave Davies gets to bookend side two, and not very well. “Rock ‘N Roll Cities” is a not very original idea, shouting out names of places in a very pandering way looking for easy applause when they’d get around to playing it on stage. While it tends to drag over the same two chords, Ray redeems himself with “How Are You”, something of a sadder follow-up to “Do You Remember Walter”. The title track is more commentary on marketing, spouting what we now call buzzwords over an edgy backing, whereas “Natural Gift” takes a more human approach to the idea of substance over style. “Killing Time” is another one of those songs he could write in his sleep, and it’s a shame this wasn’t a single. But Dave leaves us with the synth-heavy “When You Were A Child”; there’s nothing wrong with it, except that it doesn’t belong on this album.

We said Think Visual wasn’t awful, mostly because it could have been a lot worse. There are enough decent songs throughout the album, but we get the feeling they were going through the motions.

The Kinks Think Visual (1986)—2½

Elton John 25: Leather Jackets

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

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

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

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

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

Elton John Leather Jackets (1986)—2

Kinks 29: Come Dancing

It had been ten years since the last Kinks kompilation, and it’s pretty safe to say that they had enough hits to fill such an album—particularly since their contract was up with the latest label. As proven by Come Dancing With The Kinks, helpfully subtitled “The Best Of The Kinks 1977-1986”, there were two records’ worth. The so-called Arista years were pretty solid as it turned out, and most of these tracks were FM radio favorites.

Of course, the live album included songs that had been around before, which is how the set could begin with “You Really Got Me”. That’s a good setup for the familiar structure of “Destroyer”, and while the disco thump of “(Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman” is out of place, “Juke Box Music” and “A Rock ‘N’ Roll Fantasy” show a common thread. The title track starts an upbeat side two, through “Sleepwalker”, “Catch Me Now I’m Falling”, “Do It Again”, and “Better Things”.

The third side begins like the first, this time with “Lola”. The snotty “Low Budget” leads into three more songs from State Of Confusion—“Long Distance” (which was only on the cassette of that album), “Heart Of Gold”, and “Don’t Forget To Dance”. The mood of that one is revealed to have its roots in “Misfits” from five years earlier, and it’s wisely placed at the top of side four. “Living On A Thin Line” gives Dave some of the publishing, but the real value is the first LP appearance of 1977’s “Father Christmas” single, with its bluntly honest sentiment disguised by a Springsteenian intro. The extended live “Celluloid Heroes” provides a fitting conclusion.

The set’s running time just exceeded 80 minutes, so something had to be sacrificed for the burgeoning compact disc format. To achieve this, the compilers chose to cut “Catch Me Now I’m Falling”, “Sleepwalker”, and “Misfits”. The latter was no real loss, but surely the two lesser tracks from State Of Confusion (read: non-hits) could have been booted instead.

When the album was reissued at the turn of the century as part of the Konk overhaul, those two were indeed left off, along with the live “Celluloid Heroes”, but replaced by “Full Moon”, “A Gallon Of Gas”, and “Good Day”. In other cases, the longer album tracks were used instead of single versions, to fill the disc to capacity. This only underscores that a band’s “best of” is purely subjective, as opposed to “greatest hits”, which can be verified. The order was shuffled as well, so it now begins with “Come Dancing”, sticks the live tracks in the middle, and ends with “Father Christmas”. Other than that, it seems very random, so while they may not sound as good, the 1986 versions are preferred.

The Kinks Come Dancing With The Kinks/The Best Of The Kinks 1977-1986 (1986)—3
The Kinks Come Dancing With The Kinks/The Best Of The Kinks 1977-1986 (2000)—3

Big Audio Dynamite 2: No. 10, Upping Street

Mick Jones clearly came out ahead of Joe Strummer after the Clash, and didn’t stop to rest. The second Big Audio Dynamite album followed almost exactly a year after the first, and sported an interesting name in the coproducer and occasional songwriting category: Joe Strummer. (Somebody else compared this to John Lennon producing Wings.) But as if the title of No. 10, Upping Street wasn’t obscure enough, the “most illinest B-boy” pose on the front cover would likely have turned away casual record store browsers.

Once again the combo attempts to cross genres, from synth-pop to rap. “C’mon Every Beatbox” channels Eddie Cochran through a rockin’ dance track, Mick’s vocals well supported by Don Letts. “Beyond The Pale” is the clear winner here, a Strummer-Jones track with a tuneful melody, piano in the mix, and a wonderful guitar solo. Apparently it’s drawn from his own family history, so clearly it meant a lot to him. “Limbo The Law” ups the tempo with a drum machine on high speed that detracts from the melody; likewise, “Sambadrome” is based around a canned beat, with some bass and piano, and a lot of samples in Spanish (sorry, our bad, they’re Portuguese and shame on us for assuming).

“V. Thirteen” is tuneful with a big guitar sound and a good choice for the second single—the Strummer-Jones team again—but it doesn’t quite get the singalong quality of a “Train In Vain” or “Should I Stay Or Should I Go”. Don Letts sings “Ticket”, with a delivery that modern ears sounds like Roy Kent, except for the motormouth toasting. “Hollywood Boulevard” namedrops a lot of old icons of screen and page, but it’s more stream of consciousness than anything coherent. “Dial A Hitman” is tuneful, with that canned harmonica from “Medicine Show”, except that it devolves into a “film excerpt” performed by Matt Dillon and Laurence Fishburne that isn’t as funny after you’ve heard it once. Finally, “Sightsee M.C.!” is more straight rap, loaded with samples and triggers.

The American cassette sported two extra tracks, one on the end of each side: “Ice Cold Killer” was a remix of “Limbo The Law”, peppered with “say hello to my little friend” samples from Scarface, while “The Big V” is an instrumental version of “V. Thirteen”, with the vocal melody played on guitar. These were tacked to the end of the CD, but after the “Badrock City” remix of “C’mon Every Beatbox” became a dance hit, it was added to the cassette and CDs too.

While No. 10, Upping Street is more consistent across the board than the first album, it doesn’t really stand out as much as that one did. The world simply wasn’t ready for this kind of hybrid.

Big Audio Dynamite No. 10, Upping Street (1986)—3

Roxy Music 11: Street Life

Whenever a band splits up, you can usually expect some kind of compilation or other contractual release in short time. Back in 1983, Roxy Music’s old American label put out The Atlantic Years 1973-1980, heavy on Manifesto and Flesh + Blood, adding only “Love Is The Drug” and “Do The Strand” from before the hiatus, with a fetching model’s face on the cover.

While it has its charms, they band deserved a more comprehensive career overview, and they got one. Not released in North America until 1989, once the catalog had been collected under the Warner Bros. umbrella, Street Life does a yeoman’s job of not only pulling together Roxy’s best, but including six Bryan Ferry solo tracks for context. The cover boasted “20 Great Hits”, which filled up the compact disc’s mid-‘80s capacity of 74 minutes, which made for short LP sides.

Right away there’s left turn, as the pounding glam of “Virginia Plain” is nudged aside by Ferry’s inane interpretation of “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall”. The obscure “Pyjamarama” single appears in a remix before “Do The Strand” and back to Bryan for “These Foolish Things”. “Street Life” and “Love Is The Drug” fight for space among two more Ferry cover attempts and the superior “Sign Of The Times”. Five terrific choices from Manifesto and Flesh + Blood are very welcome, but they also include the hideous “In The Midnight Hour”. “More Than This” and “Avalon” help to complete the story, with “Slave To Love” slotted in before their reverent cover of “Jealous Guy”.

For the beginner, Street Life was a good way to dip into the Roxy world, with the caveat that Ferry was in the lounge. A later set called More Than This was evenly split between the band and Ferry solo, with some selections jettisoned in favor of newer songs. A proper best-of Roxy, with nothing but Roxy in reverse chronological order, appeared in the new century and did the trick.

Bryan Ferry/Roxy Music Street Life—20 Great Hits (1986)—3½
Roxy Music The Best Of Roxy Music (2001)—4

Jayhawks 1: The Bunkhouse Album

By the mid-‘80s, American country music was in a period of transition. The “urban cowboy” phase of a few years before had become a stereotype, and while more serious “artists” like Rosanne Cash and Lyle Lovett were slowly emerging as influential, most legacy artists were struggling in the mainstream.

But in the heartland of the United States, younger bands were discovering Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, and especially the late Gram Parsons, whose brand of “cosmic American music” provided an easier foothold into country rock than the latest Nashville syrup. These kids adopted the songs and styles, without a drop of parody in their interpretations. One of those bands was the Jayhawks, started by Minnesotan Mark Olson, whose voice came straight from the Flying Burrito Brothers, and blended so well with that of lead guitarist Gary Louris it was sometimes hard to tell the two apart.

Their self-titled album was only pressed in a run of two thousand, but word of mouth would eventually spread to the point where the so-called “Bunkhouse Album”—due to the cover art and the band’s self-assigned label—commanded high dollars on the used vinyl market. Not until 2010 did it get widespread release, which is how we managed to finally hear it.

It’s definitely twangy, with more overt country touches than their later albums, but the elements of what made the Jayhawks are all there. The likes of “Falling Star”, “Tried And True”, and “Cherry Pie” seem derivative, but “Let The Critics Wonder” and “Good Long Time” show off a unique voice. “Let The Last Night Be The Longest (Lonesome Memory)”, “The Liquor Store Came First”, “Misery Tavern”, and “Six Pack On The Dashboard” manage to take the drinkin’ song to new levels, while “Behind Bars” and “(I’m Not In) Prison” work on another trope and “People In This Place On Every Side” and “King Of Kings” play on the gospel elements of classic country. Again, these may seem like they’re poking fun at the more hokum elements of the genre, but time would prove their reverence.

The Jayhawks The Jayhawks (1986)—3

Replacements 10: For Sale

In the decades following the formal dissolution of the Replacements, interest in the band—and their legend—only increased. Meanwhile Paul Westerberg emerged from suburban fatherhood with the occasional lo-fi solo album, and Tommy Stinson paid the rent by regular touring as the bassist in Guns N’ Roses. After the two got back together to record a benefit EP for ailing guitarist Slim Dunlap, they managed to get organized for a few live shows, then a nationwide tour, which ended abruptly and scattered any plans of future recording.

That had only whet fans’ appetites further, so it was a perfect excuse for any label with anything worth selling to cash in. Astonishingly, the Sire vaults didn’t just have a well-recorded show of the original band; the ‘Mats actually rose to the occasion. They would notoriously sabotage any chance to get ahead, particularly if they knew they were captured for any kind of posterity, but throughout For Sale: Live At Maxwell’s 1986, everything clicked.

The setlist is stellar, culling tunes from every one of their albums to date, even the Stink EP. “Can’t Hardly Wait” appears, still in lyrical progress, but the band’s arrangement is bulletproof. Even “solo” songs like “Answering Machine” and “If Only You Were Lonely” get an electric boost. It wouldn’t be a ‘Mats gig without wacky covers, and “Fox On The Run” is started and abandoned early. They do much better with “Black Diamond”, of course, as well as “Hitchin’ A Ride”, “Nowhere Man”, and “Baby Strange” by T. Rex via Big Star. (We almost feel bad for the poor bastard who keeps screaming for “September Gurls” to no avail; at least he had the recent Bangles cover for solace.)

From time to time Paul gets stuck, either from forgetting words or changing them and losing his place. For the most part they keep charging ahead, particularly Bob Stinson in all his glory, firing on all cylinders and seeming autopilot. Tommy gamely yells “MURDER!” during songs and lulls, and Chris Mars proves to be more than just a timekeeper. For Sale is truly an unexpected treat, and an essential part of the Replacements legacy.

The Replacements For Sale: Live At Maxwell’s 1986 (2017)—4

Frank Zappa 42: Jazz From Hell

One of the things Frank liked about the Synclavier was its ability to perform whatever he programmed into it the way it was written. (Not having to deal with temperamental human musicians was probably just as key.) He and his tireless assistants painstakingly uploaded samples of a wide variety of sounds to make up the “instruments” throughout Jazz From Hell; indeed, none of these purely digital compositions were performed live by any of his bands, save one.

If the ultra-lush “Night School” sounds like a TV show theme, it could be because Frank had pitched an alternative news program to various disinterested networks around this time. It’s one of the more accessible pieces here, as the rest of the program follows the more “modern” compositions he’d been dabbling in on his own, such as in the furious rhythms in “The Beltway Bandits”. “While You Were Art II” is a transcription of a guitar solo, here punctuated by horn sounds that remind us of Uncle Meat and vibraphone effects that have us missing Ruth Underwood. The title track doesn’t seem any more hellish than the rest of the album, nor does it stand out much.

Despite being all instrumental, Jazz From Hell still received a parental advisory sticker in some markets, likely due to the title but not the harmless content of “G-Spot Tornado”. Despite its very dated atmosphere, it’s very mainstream-sounding, with a wiping effect akin to the scratching that was prevalent in rap and hip-hop. The wiping continues at a much slower pace on “Damp Ankles”, which evokes a cartoon factory. A guitar solo from 1982, dubbed “St. Etienne” from a performance in that French city, breaks up the monotony somewhat. While it starts slow, the fretwork gets frenetic by the end for a smooth transition to “Massaggio Galore”, featuring processed samples of the voices of various Zappa offspring.

As with his other instrumental excursions of the ‘80s, one’s enjoyment of Jazz From Hell will depend on one’s tolerance of computerized music. Just to show how nutty the music biz was in those days, this album garnered Frank his first Grammy® award—for Best Rock Instrumental Performance—and the only one in his lifetime. (Naturally, he disdained the gesture.)

Frank Zappa Jazz From Hell (1986)—3

Frank Zappa 41: Does Humor Belong In Music?

This album is another one in Frank’s catalog with a confusing history, but since here is the best place to cover it, we will. Not to be confused with the home video release of the same name and vintage, Does Humor Belong In Music? is a compilation of live performances by the 1984 band, released only in Europe and exclusively on the brand spanking new CD format in January 1986.

A faithful “Zoot Allures” segues neatly into “Tinsel-Town Rebellion”, which punctuates its derision of current music with highly pertinent musical quotes from the likes of the Scorpions, Culture Club, and Kajagoogoo. “Trouble Every Day” and “Penguin In Bondage” were both revived, this time to give Frank space for an extended solo in the middle of each. “Hot-Plate Heaven At The Green Hotel” is a complaint about the failure of trickle-down economics, but only if you listen to the lyrics; otherwise it’s another glorious guitar solo.

“What’s New In Baltimore?” has gained (some) vocals since its debut onstage, as well as a repeated section that resembles Leo Sayer’s “When I Need You”. “The Cock-Sucker’s Ball” is a blatant celebration of bad language that goes into an almost unrecognizable “WPLJ”. These are very brief detours before “Let’s Move To Cleveland”, a lengthy instrumental that went by several titles before settling on this one. Outside of the main melody, which surfaces repeatedly, this is a vehicle for a piano solo, a drum solo, and of course a guitar solo. Speaking of which, “Whipping Post” was the last song from the last show of the tour, done more straight than their previous reggae version, and features 15-year-old Dweezil Zappa on lead guitar.

The 1984 shows would be mined for future archival releases, but for now this was a satisfactory glimpse of Zappa live, especially as he wouldn’t tour again for another three years. Some of the synth effects and electronic drums sound understandably dated, but the tightness of the band overall is to be marveled. (Does Humor Belong In Music? didn’t get a proper worldwide release, including in America, until 1995 as part of Rykodisc’s massive catalog revisit. This time it sported new self-referential artwork by Cal Schenkel; for the 2012 re-reissue the original cover was mostly restored.)

Frank Zappa Does Humor Belong In Music? (1986)—3

Talking Heads 9: True Stories

At perhaps their mainstream peak, another Talking Heads studio album followed fairly quickly (for them). While sporting the appropriate title of True Stories, the album had the burden of accompanying a full-length feature film of the same name, directed by David Byrne and written by him in collaboration with playwright Beth Henley and the actor best known as Ned Ryerson (“Needle Nose Ned, Ned the Head! Bing!”) from Groundhog Day. The film was overly arty, presenting the inhabitants of a particular Anytown, U.S.A. as derived from the pages of Weekly World News and other barely believable supermarket tabloids. The songs as used in the film were either performed by or associated with various actors, making the band tangential to the proceedings, so the album itself is forced to stand alone, obscuring much of the context. Then again, even if you have seen the film, it’s not likely to send you back for a re-assessment.

Like its predecessor, the songs are simple, on the surface anyway, eschewing experimentation for hooks and lyrics. “Love For Sale” is a good charging rocker; it even starts with what sounds like the band actually having fun in the studio. “Puzzlin’ Evidence” keeps the party going, halfway between Oingo Boingo and a gospel singalong. With an arrangement similar to “And She Was” sent to a beach party, you’d think he’d’ve tried to find something more substantial to say than “Hey Now”, but there you go. “Papa Legba” sounds a little too automated these days, and works much better in the film, where it’s a showcase for Pops Staples.

While it was a mild trifle at the time, “Wild Wild Life” stands out today as a fun song, with enough musical left turns to keep your attention, and easily the highlight of the album. Continuing the journey through differing genres, the mildly zydeco “Radio Head” is mostly notable today for inspiring the name of another band. Despite the tension in the intro, “Dream Operator” becomes more of a song of wonder about childhood themes, and the nostalgia continues in “People Like Us”, with its prominent pedal steel guitar and fiddles. In a triumph of sequencing, these songs lead well into “City Of Dreams”, which also runs while the film credits roll.

Coming off the success of Little Creatures, True Stories had big shoes to fill, and didn’t. The only track that really took hold on the radio was “Wild Wild Life”, which was also included as a wacky extended mix on the CD version of the album, which the savvier kids would have bought. Many years later, this was included on the expanded CD along with Pops Staples’ version of “Papa Legba” and Tito Larriva’s interpretation of “Radio Head”, both from the film itself, but which had not been included on the Sounds From True Stories soundtrack album. Those completists who wanted all the music from the film only had to wait until 2018. The original album remains their least essential release.

Talking Heads True Stories (1986)—3
1986 CD: same as above, plus 1 extra track
2006 DualDisc: same as 1986 CD, plus 2 extra tracks

Todd Rundgren 21: Oblivion, POV & Some Trivia

Since we started this mission, we’ve tried to give equal time to albums good and bad, short and long. The idea is that an artist’s story is told by the albums he, she, or they make, and we’ve tried where possible to approach each entry from the perspective of somebody following along in real time, as each new album emerged. When it comes to certain veterans, however, it can be tough to dredge up anything new to say about people who haven’t necessarily said anything new in decades.

Now, that’s not fair to a guy like Todd Rundgren, who has long explored the boundaries of whatever technology was available at every given moment. But between record companies and his own attention span, he stopped being truly and consistently commercial by the time the ‘80s were underway. Luckily for him, he had plenty of production work, and he also managed to keep Utopia going as an active band while pushing work under his own name.

In the space of a year, Utopia released two studio albums for the indie Passport label. Both albums included songwriting contributions from all four members, and embraced current music technology, like drum machines and synthesizers. Both are slick and loud, both approach political commentary in between love songs, and neither is very good. The Cars may have done it best, but here Utopia comes off like the Tubes.

Oblivion came first, in a none-more-black cover with light embossing that belies the slick contents within. “Itch In My Brain” is no “Hammer In My Heart”, and it’s pushing it to have a song called “Winston Smith Takes It On The Jaw” in 1984. “I Will Wait” has potential, as does “Maybe I Could Change”, even with its quasi-Broadway intro. But of the whole album, “Crybaby” is the real keeper despite everything against it, like the keyboards and the inscrutable video with Willie Wilcox’s rotating motorcycle drumset, but at least it featured Ellen Foley.

POV arrived sporting graphics made up predominantly of windows from the then-mindblowing Macintosh operating system; oh, the memories this brings back for those of us who remember a world before Microsoft. The photos suggest some kind of sci-fi thriller; meanwhile, Todd was sporting one of his worst haircuts, and considering his history at the barber, that’s saying something. “Play This Game” is a terrific opener, but “Style” kills the momentum, and will have the listener looking online for “Jane’s Getting Serious”. “Mated” is half-decent yacht rock, and “Zen Machine” is no “Zen Archer”.

After the band was pretty much done, but before the label collapsed, they released Trivia, which compiled a grab-bag of selections from both Passport albums, along with some fine choices from 1982’s Utopia album that elevate the others. Two new tracks were recorded for extra enticement, “Fix Your Gaze” preferable to “Monument.” (The artwork is so dated it hurts: the front image looks like the work of someone who just bought a computerized graphic design program, while the back capitalizes on the Trivial Pursuit craze.)

A decade later, Rhino had already reissued every Rundgren and Utopia album up to 1982, so when they acquired the rights to the Passport albums, they combined everything on a double-disc set cleverly dubbed Oblivion, POV & Some Trivia. For the cover art, they went with the most photogenic option, as if that did any good. The first disc had Oblivion plus “Fix Your Gaze”, while the other had POV plus “Monument” and the B-side “Man Of Action”. This edition is tough to find, but the two albums now stream from the usual places with the extra tracks.

And that, dear reader, is how we can justify reviewing all these so-so albums in one post.

Utopia Oblivion (1984)—2
Utopia POV (1985)—2
Utopia Trivia (1986)—2½
Utopia Oblivion, POV & Some Trivia (1996)—2

Genesis 15: Invisible Touch

By 1986 Phil Collins had truly dominated the music industry to the point where the first time we heard a song called “Invisible Touch” on the radio, we assumed it was just another B-side to another single from No Jacket Required. But no! Genesis actually made another album, and if they were going to coast on Phil’s notoriety, all the better for them. (Not that he had all the fun; Mike Rutherford recruited Paul Carrack and a singer named Paul Young who wasn’t the soulful heartthrob for a combo called Mike + Mechanics, which had a couple of hits over the winter.)

At first impression, Invisible Touch is truly indistinguishable from Phil’s solo work, being that it’s full of catchy tunes and pop hooks, many of which were hit singles. Tony Banks wasn’t doing anything on the title track that was any more advanced than the keyboards on “Sussudio”, and whatever guitar flourishes Mike came up with would be copped by Daryl Stuermer on stage anyway. “Tonight, Tonight, Tonight” revives some of the “dark” moods of “Mama” from the last album, and while this too would be a hit single, they had to chop about four minutes out of the middle of the album version. Then there’s “Land Of Confusion”, the big social-conscience statement with pointed video to match, its distorted mannequins still causing nightmares of its own today. And while they’d been doing pretty ballads for a while now, “In Too Deep” might as well have been “One More Night Part Two”.

“Anything She Does” sits in the same position as “Illegal Alien” from last time, and while it’s not as offensive, the horns and synths are particularly dated. It also sets the album apart as a Genesis production, since Phil on his own would never be so cheeky to sing about a porn star on a solo album; that influence came straight from the other two. They were also quick to defend their modern streamlined hitmaking sound by pointing out all the lengthy tracks on the album, like “Domino”. But calling two unrelated tracks parts one and two of the same piece doesn’t make it so. That said, “In The Glow Of The Night” suffers from the technology of the time, while “The Last Domino” at least builds momentum to be mildly exciting. “Throwing It All Away” finally gets the recipe right, combining everyone’s pop tendencies with a great arrangement and straightforward delivery. It’s the high point of the album, certainly, especially when followed by “The Brazilian”, an instrumental (you know, just like they always used to do) that doesn’t seem to conjure much of an international feel, unless they were referring to the salon treatment.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with Invisible Touch, unless you’d ignored the last five years and actually expected Genesis to recapture their prog roots. Everyone else was happy with it, and it sold by the bucketful. And even if Peter Gabriel’s So, which ruled the charts and airwaves along with this album during the same period, didn’t excite the gearheads, they could always check out GTR, which combined the ideas of former Genesis guitarist Steve Hackett with those of Steve Howe, most recently of Asia and once of Yes.

Genesis Invisible Touch (1986)—3

Peter Gabriel 6: So

What with his old band suddenly becoming mainstream pop icons—helped along by their ubiquitous drummer—it was both odd yet fitting to find Peter Gabriel competing for pole position at the top of the very same charts. It helped, of course, that So was very accessible; while still chock full of unusual subject matter, its sound was very radio-friendly, thanks in part to co-producer Daniel Lanois. (The handsome cover shot was also a big departure from his previous portraits.)

Production is a big part of the stunning “Red Rain”. While it sports such a big sound, the band still consists of guitar, bass, drums and piano (plus the vocal, once described as a cross between Bruce Springsteen and Elmer Fudd). The song maintains its tension, breaking the ceiling in the brief section before the last chorus, and taking it down to its bare bones gradually to the very end. To call “Sledgehammer” an antidote to the tension is an understatement; this horn-driven ode to pleasure easily made the album a hit, helped by the video. Kate Bush returns for a duet on “Don’t Give Up”, a song pointedly about a man struggling under an economic situation but easily embraced as a universal pick-me-up. “That Voice Again” juxtaposes two musical sections for a rather straightforward song about relationships.

It was the first song on side two, however, that soon became one of the biggest romantic touchstones of the decade. “In Your Eyes” still works as a love song for the ages and for any age, and would be transformed in live performances (boombox not imperative). The spooky “Mercy Street” becomes even more mysterious and unsettling the more one learns about its inspiration, the troubled poet Anne Sexton. Luckily, the hilarious pomposity of “Big Time” brings some daylight back to the proceedings, helped along by yet another amazing video. But “We Do What We’re Told (Milgram’s 37)” revives another disturbing subject, that of the danger of obeying authority. Less clear is what the coda (“One doubt/One voice/One war/One truth/One dream”) has to do with it.

The LP ends there, but the increasing number of consumers who bought the album on cassette or compact disc got an extra in “This Is The Picture (Excellent Birds)”, a collaboration with performance artist Laurie Anderson. But if you buy the CD today, there’s been a further change: “In Your Eyes” has been moved to the end of the program, after “This Is The Picture”, making for a much different finale.

Whatever the “real” track order, the ubiquity of the songs on So hasn’t diluted their quality since they first appeared. Lots of fans discovered Peter Gabriel via this album, and likely dug deeper into his catalog for more. From an economic as well as an artistic standpoint, he couldn’t ask for a better return.

Decades later it’s still his most popular album, and nostalgists cultivated a full wish list for its inevitable commemoration. As he was never one to adhere to calendars, it was only fitting that the 25th anniversary repackaging of So arrived 26 years after its initial release. A three-disc version added a 1987 concert from Athens, while the so-called Immersion Box also added a DVD of that concert, the album on vinyl, a 12-inch disc of three outtakes and, most intriguing of all to people like us, a CD called So DNA that traces each track from initial cassette demo through later incarnations. None of the packages contain any contemporary B-sides or remixes. (In a fascinating exchange with the excellent Super Deluxe Edition website, Peter explained some of his reasoning behind what was and wasn’t included. That site’s review of the DNA disc is essential reading.)

Peter Gabriel So (1986)—3½
25th Anniversary Deluxe Edition: same as 1986, plus 16 extra tracks (Immersion Box adds another 10 tracks, 2 DVDs, LP, 12")

Prince 8: Parade

Prince’s second major motion picture was a big deal destined to crash, and it did. So a lot of what people think of Parade, the album designed as a companion to the film, is colored by whether they have any opinion of Under The Cherry Moon, and most of that isn’t positive. A narcissistic exercise in black and white, at first it appears to take place in an earlier decade, but the music doesn’t match, and much of the dialogue is too modern. Prince directed the movie himself, and completely relishes the script in every scene. Jerome Benton plays a larger version of the version of himself from Purple Rain, but doesn’t quite have the capacity for some of the more dramatic lines he has to deliver.

Therefore it’s best to take the album as its own entity, despite some obvious references in the lyrics and a heavily French influence. While credited to the Revolution, the whole band only plays on three tracks, the rest consisting of Prince by himself, per usual, with help from Wendy and Lisa, and lots of cinematic orchestration by Hollywood veteran Clare Fischer. (Pointedly, however, all the singles taken from the album save the first were Revolution tracks.)

“Christopher Tracy’s Parade” doesn’t just open the album; it kicks off a suite of tracks that were recorded as one sequence, with changes in rhythm, time, and key intact. A fanfare with plenty of flourishes, it crumbles down into something of a muddle, before returning as “New Position”, accompanied by the barest percussion and broken steel drums. That slows down as well to the even more spare, even briefer “I Wonder U”, wherein Wendy sings the lead. It’s a quick change of tempo to the disturbed waltz of “Under The Cherry Moon”. Strange as it is, the segment works. It’s not the psychedelia of the last album, nor is it rock or funk. And that makes the arrival of “Girls And Boys” welcome, as it sounds more like the type of Prince track people might have come to expect, finger cymbals and all. The whole band seems to be singing the repeated chant of a chorus, with Wendy’s sister Susannah and Sheila E. in there too, plus a woman talking in French for about a minute. “Life Could Be So Nice” has a big uptempo sound, though it’s just him, and it too stops abruptly for the lush instrumental “Venus De Milo”, just a hint of the background music used in the film.

Side two is framed by two of his most underappreciated tracks. “Mountains” has all the pieces: a good groove, Prince on falsetto, decent horns that don’t overplay, a catchy chorus. (There’s a nearly ten-minute version on the 12-inch single, which would be nice to hear again.) In case you forgot where we were, the track fades into another French trifle, “Do U Lie?” Female vocals fight for space with the orchestra, and yes, there’s an accordion. The song that people do know is “Kiss”, which he originally gave to one of his protégé slash side projects, only to take it back when he liked their minimal arrangement. The video is still fun for showing of his sense of humor. The Revolution returns for “Anotherloverholenyohead”; the wordplay of the title likely contributed to its lack of success on the radio, but the movie was out of theaters by then anyway. And everything quiets down for “Sometimes It Snows In April”. This gorgeous lament features only acoustic guitars and piano, with Wendy and Lisa joining his vocals for an extended ethereal introduction. The chorus, sad as it is, has wonderful changes, and just like that, the album’s over.

Parade is a strange little album, but very rewarding given time to breathe. It’s hard to believe now that it came out less than two short years after Purple Rain, during which he did two albums for Sheila E. and tried to morph the remains of The Time into The Family (known today for releasing the first version of a little number called “Nothing Compares 2 U”). Also, during the three-month period between the release of the album and the film, he was competing with himself, as the Bangles had a smash hit with “Manic Monday”, credited to his character onscreen.

Prince and the Revolution Parade: Music From The Motion Picture Under The Cherry Moon (1986)—3½

Journey 8: Raised On Radio

Steve Perry’s solo album was an early sign that Journey wouldn’t last without him, but they still managed to pull together an album that, for the first time in the Perry era, sported a title with more than one word. Raised On Radio found the singer defiantly in charge, credited as sole producer and bringing in players from his solo project to replace Ross Valory and Steve Smith. One report has them leaving “due to creative differences”, others say they were fired. Whatever the truth, their absence is felt big time.

With different sections in seemingly different keys, “Girl Can’t Help It” has enough of the established Journey vibe to pass, and it’s smart to start out that way. But “Positive Touch” would have been a great hit for the Pointer Sisters; here it’s just cheesy. And that saxophone? Good Lord. “Suzanne” is a vast improvement, providing a lovelorn lyric with yearning, keening chorus; one of their more underrated, ignored classics. “Be Good To Yourself” is the requisite pep talk, but might have been more effective as a side-opener or closer. Then we get funky with “Once You Love Somebody”, with a decent melody but a generic backing, and “Happy To Give” is about as far removed from rock as they’ve ever been.

The title track didn’t come with printed lyrics, although Perry and Cain are credited for them. Once you decipher the mushmouthed slurring, it’s merely a string of oldies song titles strung together over a rockin’ riff. Yet it makes the otherwise lightweight “I’ll Be Alright Without You” stand out, with its Greek-chorus asides and extended guitar solo. Something must have happened to Perry’s voice; already husky on the album, he doesn’t sound like himself until the first chorus of “It Could Have Been You”. “The Eyes Of A Woman” is another one that would have sold buckets of a solo album, but there’s no denying the lighters-in-the-arena potential of “Why Can’t This Night Go On Forever”, which might as well be “Faithfully” played backwards, with lyrics equally applicable to a lover as they are to you: the true fans.

Raised On Radio was great if you loved Street Talk. But longtime fans who were already uncomfortable with the encroaching adult contemporary influence on a band that developed from the fancy fretwork of Santana would resent Neal Schon for going along with something so by the numbers. Then again, nobody had conceived of Bad English or Hardline yet, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Naturally, Journey toured to promote the album, with newcomers Randy Jackson resembling a portly Clarence Clemons on bass and the decidedly non-photogenic Mike Baird on drums. The setlists included two songs from the Perry solo album and a few covers as encores. (The expanded CD includes live versions of “Girl Can’t Help It” and “I’ll Be Alright Without You”, as previously heard on the videos for said songs.) And that would be it for a long time.

Journey Raised On Radio (1986)—2½
2006 CD reissue: same as 1986, plus 2 extra tracks

World Party 1: Private Revolution

If Karl Wallinger had done nothing but play keyboards on “The Whole Of The Moon” by the Waterboys, he would still be respected around these parts. However, he learned fairly quickly that he wouldn’t be able to collaborate with Mike Scott on his own terms, so he recorded something of his own one-man band project called World Party, which turned into a real live Pinocchio when he had a worldwide hit.

“Ship Of Fools”—subtitled in some places as “Save Me From Tomorrow”, after the hook in the chorus—was an infectious surprise in the darkening winter months of 1986 to 1987, a strolling piano sub-boogie with a vocal that sounded like Jagger channeling Dylan. It was one of the better developed tracks on Private Revolution, which spilled his other obvious influence, that of the recently de-Revolutioned Prince. Drum machines had only progressed so far at that point, and that dated sound colors both the title track and “Making Love (To The World)”. The blatant homage is mostly out of the way with those, so the lengthy follow-up single “All Come True” delivers more mystery in only a few chords. “Dance Of The Hoppy Lads” is a brief instrumental before the smooth soul of “It Can Be Beautiful (Sometimes)”.

Dylan dominates side two, from the outright parody of “The Ballad Of The Little Man” to the straight cover of “All I Really Want To Do”. In between is the countryish “Hawaiian Island World”, notable now mostly for the debut backing vocals (and one scream) by one Sinead O’Connor. The song “World Party” likely came before the band had a name, with a chorus borrowed from the Beatles. Finally, “It’s All Mine” lopes through an ecological lament, but only if you’re paying attention to the lyrics.

Private Revolution would sound better today if it were produced better, but that’s assuming that more sophisticated instruments wouldn’t subtract from the charm. It would have been easy to expect this to be a one-hit wonder, and maybe he’s faded into the background, but Karl Wallinger would have a lot more to offer, in his own sweet time.

World Party Private Revolution (1986)—3½

Smithereens 1: Especially For You

A band that presented power equal to their pop, the Smithereens were around a long time before becoming mainstream. Their debut EP, 1980’s Girls About Town, presented four songs with “girl” in the title—three originals, plus a cover of the Beach Boys’ “Girl Don’t Tell Me”. It’s bouncy, jangly pop, though Pat DiNizio had yet to develop his mopey baritone, sounding a lot like Joe Jackson on the title track. 1983’s Beauty And Sadness, reissued after the band got big, has a different gimmick; this title track’s drums are right out of “Tomorrow Never Knows”, “Some Other Guy” shares its title with an early Beatles cover, while “Much Too Much” is also the name of a Who song, but here sounds like the Stray Cats. “Tracey’s World” is an upbeat lovelorn lament in the spirit of the girl groups.

By the time of their first album, DiNizio learned to write songs in different styles, while the band found their ideal sound by running their Rickenbackers through Marshall amps. Especially For You straddles bona fide ‘60s pop with the brooding jangle recently popularized by R.E.M. and other college rock bands. “Strangers When We Meet” is a crackling opener, with harmonies equal parts Beach Boys and Hollies, and a title like “Groovy Tuesday” could only have come from a mind stuck to the radio. That’s how “Listen To Me Girl” is a cousin of The Who’s “Circles” with harmonica replacing the French horn, “I Don’t Want To Lose You” ends with the solo from “Feel A Whole Lot Better”, “Time And Time Again” turns on a riff everybody’s fudged, and “Crazy Mixed-Up Kid” is pure Beatles ‘65.

But you’ll be hard pressed to find a ‘60s equivalent to the menace in “Blood And Roses”. Name-drops of Bill Wyman and Jean Shrimpton are the only retro features of “Behind The Wall Of Sleep”. “Cigarette” features a prominent accordion, while “In A Lonely Place” uses vibraphone and Suzanne Vega to exude coffeehouse cool. “Hand Of Glory” sounds different, probably because it was written by little-known musician Jimmy Silva. “Alone At Midnight” is a bit of a downer, but it fits the image. (Later CDs added two bonus tracks: the trashy encore “White Castle Blues” and Dick Dale’s “Mr. Eliminator”.)

Especially For You still appeals on several levels, from rock ‘n roll to alternative, and the reason is the songwriting. That it was anachronistic in the ‘80s makes it just as enjoyable today.

The Smithereens Especially For You (1986)—4

Smiths 4: The Queen Is Dead

The third LP (not counting compilations) by The Smiths has grown in such stature over the years that it hasn’t only topped the best-of lists of 1986, or even the whole decade. Some pundits have gone as far to declare that The Queen Is Dead is the greatest album of all time. While it’s clear those people haven’t heard Mean Business, opinion is one thing and fact altogether another. It’s a good album, but not great, and it should soon be clear why.

The title track is a terrific way to start, with a snippet from some little-known film Morrissey fetishized, cut off by galloping drums and a strong band performance driving the cutting lyrics. Here the guitar is more part of the sound than dominating it. “Frankly. Mr. Shankly” is something of an ‘80s version of “Take This Job And Shove It”, but with the knowing, parodic angle of the narrator. Any chance of “I Know It’s Over” being just another gloomy lament of unrequited love is dashed by beginning (and repeating) “Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head.” In between, he does manage to stir some sympathy as well as empathy. The album’s clunker is “Never Had No One Ever”: it sounds too much like the song that precedes it, retreads the same territory, and is about three times as long as it needs to be. Here are some options: either incorporate some of the lyrics into other songs, or move it to the end of the side, change the arrangement, and make it only as long as it needs to recite the lyrics once, and done. To their credit, the side ends instead with “Cemetry Gates”, a jaunty stroll through said territory, where Our Hero sees the graves of people who’ve died and it seems so unfair that he wants to cry.

Side two, however, is enough to suggest that all those best-album-ever claims might be on to something. Two of their best singles dominate: “Bigmouth Strikes Again”, with its relentless attack and sped-up counterpart; and “The Boy With The Thorn In His Side”, a gorgeous lament decorated by Johnny Marr’s deft orchestration. “Vicar In A Tutu” returns to the rockabilly shuffle that dominated the previous album, and a much better pastiche too. “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out”, Mozzer’s own “My Way”, would have been a fine closer, that place is instead bestowed upon the one-liner of “Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others”. While countless songs utilize the fake ending, this one sports a fake beginning.

The Queen Is Dead was easily the band’s best album to date, and they knew it. Their confidence extended to the artwork, which challenged their apostles to squint at the tiny pink lettering on a dark green background. In many ways, it epitomizes what people both love and hate about the band today. Thus it made sense for a reissued, repackaged edition to appear a year after the album’s 30th anniversary. The double-disc expansion added a pile of demos slash early takes plus familiar B-sides. The seven-minute version of the title track is a joy, though the demo of “Never Had No One Never” is marred by a crazy trumpet solo and Morrissey’s laughing over the extended fade. Naturally any fanatic would want the Deluxe Edition, which added a DVD with a high-resolution mix of the album plus a short film, and a third CD touted as “live in Boston”. While actually recorded some thirty miles outside that city’s limits, and not the complete show, it sports a different setlist from the gig recorded two and a half months later and eventually released on Rank.

The Smiths The Queen Is Dead (1986)—4
2017 expanded edition: same as 1986, plus 13 extra tracks (Deluxe Edition adds another 13 tracks plus DVD)

Billy Joel 13: The Bridge

And so we enter the Wayfarer years, wherein Billy Joel competed with Bruce Willis for who could have more photos taken of him in sunglasses. (To their credit, they didn’t go the stupid hat route, considering their eventual hairlines, or lack thereof.) The Bridge was Billy’s first album since who cares when that didn’t have some kind of theme or style tying it together, unless that theme is “I’m sleeping with Christie Brinkley and you’re not.” Or “Check out the guest stars I’ve got all over this thing.” Hmm. Maybe there’s a theme after all.

At any rate, were the tunes any good? That depends. “Running On Ice” begins with a suitably illustrative piano part, followed by another syncopated section that plays off the song’s edginess, and likely kept it from being a hit single in those feel-good times. Instead, folks ate up “This Is The Time”, a fairly overt Valentine to his wife, sure to replace “Just The Way You Are” as that decade’s first wedding dance. That single came after “A Matter Of Trust”, pushed along by the count-in and prominent video wherein the Piano Man actually plays a guitar! Except that according to the liner notes, he doesn’t, and this decade’s ears wish they sounded more like, you know, guitars. Still, an undeniably catchy tune. The first single from the album was actually “Modern Woman”, heard originally to promote the shrill Bette Midler vehicle Ruthless People, and sounding like a sped-up descendant of “You’re Only Human”. A fourth single was “Baby Grand”, a smoky duet with Ray Charles—both guys sing and play piano here—that works as a slightly faster “New York State Of Mind”.

One jazz tune wasn’t enough, so side two is blasted open by the big band horns of “Big Man On Mulberry Street”. It pales in comparison to “Baby Grand”, which wasn’t as obvious in the days when you had to flip the record or tape between sides. Still, it does clean the palette somewhat for “Temptation”, a moody tune stuck between love and guilt. “Code Of Silence” is possibly the album’s hidden gem, musically and even lyrically. Co-written with Cyndi Lauper at the height of her multicolored career, she’s used sparingly on vocals, thankfully, with a minimum of chirp. (Liberty DeVitto cleverly turns the beat around, if you notice.) With only one song left, it’s time to bring in the last guest, and for “Getting Closer” it’s Steve Winwood, then firmly back in the high life again. His Hammond B-3 works around a rhythm that wants to be a Traffic homage, but isn’t.

Despite the novelties of each track, there’s no real progression on The Bridge. Synthesizers abound, since it was 1986. The odd thing is that even when Billy Joel was exploring old styles he was doing something “new”, while this is merely a collection of songs that don’t seem to have a lot to do with each other. Then again, there’s nothing wrong with just having an album of songs.

Billy Joel The Bridge (1986)—3