They Might Be Giants 12: No!

So many of the songs in their catalog had the singsong potential to be playground favorites, so They Might Be Giants should be commended for pointedly recording a kids’ album. While they made sure to swap songs about “death and depression” for ones related to things like bedtime, it’s still a straightforward TMBG album, with wacky sounds and clever wordplay. Their genius, however, is giving their first effort in the genre the absolutely perfect title of No!

Beginning with the charming “Fibber Island”, the guys go through mostly original songs that Gen X parents would certainly prefer to Raffi and the Teletubbies. With its accordion and lyrics about waiting for a girl to show up for a date, “Four Of Two” could be from one of their first albums. “Robot Parade” had already appeared in a more rockin’ “adult” version on Japanese pressings of Mink Car, and this one is vast improvement. The title track is probably not something those parents would want stuck in their kids’ heads, but to us it recalls Apollo 18. “Where Do They Make Balloons?” comes from the voice and pen of the bass player, who isn’t even named John, while “In The Middle, In The Middle, In The Middle” is sung by one John’s wife and is a mid-‘60s PSA written by the same guy who composed the Addams Family theme. “Violin” celebrates that instrument as well as hippos, mops, dust, and quarters for some reason. “John Lee Supertaster” is apparently derived from fact, but mostly gives Flansburgh a reason to wail on the guitar.

“The Edison Museum” is revived from Long Tall Weekend for some reason, but why they’d want to scare kids is beyond us. “The House At The Top Of The Tree” is an intriguing extension of the “Farmer In The Dell” trope, just as “Clap Your Hands” is self-explanatory. “I Am Not Your Broom” is a cute dialogue between John Linell and the object (spoiler alert: it acquiesces), “Wake Up Call” isn’t much more than nonsense syllables over a melody, and “I Am A Grocery Bag” is a nice little list. “Lazyhead And Sleepybones” will resonate with tired parents of multiple children, though they might not appreciate the cacophony of animal noises and other sound effects that pervade “Bed Bed Bed”—hardly the stuff of lullabyes. A little more serene is “Sleepwalkers”, though the band kicks in to close it out.

While the songs may be too wordy for kids to sing, we’d bet their parents have reached for No! on many a car ride. It’s a perfectly charming album, and a nice little side hustle for the boys. (Always hoping to embrace technology, the original CD was enhanced with interactive animated videos for most of the songs. As most operating systems have surpassed those system requirements, they can now be enjoyed on a dedicated website. Meanwhile, a tenth anniversary digital expansion added live versions of four songs from the album and two others, plus an extended version of a song from a different children’s album.)

They Might Be Giants No! (2002)—3

Peter Gabriel 11: Up

After several years of rumors and false confirmations from the man himself, a full ten years passed between new Peter Gabriel albums, a break that spanned the Millennium. In the meantime he’d become very active on the Internet with his own personal website. In person he’d come to resemble none other than Burl Ives, a far leap from the skinny, more hirsute frontman of old.

Note we said “albums”, plural; first there was Long Walk Home, his soundtrack to Rabbit-Proof Fence, a drama about displaced Aboriginal children in the 1930s. While not as familiar and haunting as Birdy, nor as consistently dynamic and striking as Passion, his trademarked textures and touchstones resonated through to his next “real” album, released shortly afterwards.

Up starts promisingly enough with the fiendish “Darkness”—thirty seconds of muted percussion before exploding with a cry of pain or something, moving through sections reminiscent of the eerier tracks on the third and fourth albums. “Growing Up” delivers an upbeat groove but not much in the way of melody; still, he felt it important enough to name the tour after it. The haunting “Sky Blue” is based largely around a piece from Long Walk Home, specifically a repeated refrain sung by the Blind Boys Of Alabama. “No Way Out” has a rhythm reminiscent of “In Your Eyes”, but is nowhere near as catchy. Those fans who’d held onto their copies of the City Of Angels soundtrack from a few years earlier might have appreciated the alternate version of “I Grieve” included here.

The downfall of taking so long on this album meant that “The Barry Williams Show” becomes a weak diatribe against the likes of Jerry Springer, and makes it just as dated as it would have become anyway. (Apparently he wasn’t familiar with the iconic American status of the Brady Bunch actor, and used Shooter McGavin in the disturbing video instead.) “My Head Sounds Like That” sports a gripping but sad backing of piano and brass band, turning things up in the middle. While it’s not the Roxy Music song of the same name, “More Than This” is another attempt at a hit single. More uneasy listening comes in “Signal To Noise”, featuring the wailing, flown-in voice of the late Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan; the tension, albeit compelling, abates for “The Drop”, which is just Peter and the piano.

While Up has its moments, it’s just not that memorable, which is one of the last things we’d ever thought we’d say about a Peter Gabriel album. There’s plenty of promise in these tracks, but not enough songs, most of which pass seven minutes anyway. Perhaps all that time tweaking things in his quest for the perfect sound removed any spark. It also didn’t help that he’s easily distracted, as evidenced by such things as Long Walk Home and the Millennial OVO project (which featured the lovely tribute “Father, Son”). Artists with more obtrusive management might have suggested he make one good album rather than two so-so ones.

But he never wanted to be a superstar, and always strove to make his own music following his own whims. That’s why he’s still got a rabid fan base, who would have been happy to snap up the “official bootlegs” from the tours that followed Up, with each show represented on CDs pressed from the soundboard mixes.

Peter Gabriel Long Walk Home: Music From The Rabbit-Proof Fence (2002)—2½
Peter Gabriel Up (2002)—2½

Rush 22: Vapor Trails

After telling the other members of Rush he was retired, Neil Peart set off on a solo motorcycle trip throughout North and South America. The trip did him good, as he got a book out of the experience, fell in love and remarried, and basically felt refreshed enough to get back behind the kit and try to make music with Alex Lifeson and Geddy Lee again. They took their sweet time, more concerned with impressing each other than any other agenda, though Alex did insist on zero keyboards, to which the others acquiesced. Eventually, Vapor Trails emerged.

Appropriately, “One Little Victory” begins with a furious tattoo of drums, before a metallic Lifeson riff and only the slightest pauses in the manifesto. “Ceiling Unlimited” offers another top-speed riff with deep-thought lyrics; clearly these guys are glad to be back. The title “Ghost Rider” will be familiar to fans from Neil’s book about his bike trip; even without that background, the song urges positivity and perseverance. “Peaceable Kingdom” is another relentless riff, and one that reminds us of Pearl Jam a decade earlier. After all that pounding, “The Stars Look Down” is a bit much, except when the band quiets down a bit and weaves some backwards guitar into the mix. “How It Is” begins with a deceptively delicate arpeggiated guitar but increases in volume on schedule, whereas “Vapor Trail” is a better version of the same recipe.

“Secret Touch” presents another subdued intro that will become something of a chorus, which sounds like we’ve heard it elsewhere on the album already. It took several listens to realize it’s Geddy’s bass driving that little riff. Continuing the meteorological theme, “Earthshine” starts with a riff right outta Kiss, but with more finesse amidst the power, and time changes that band would never attempt. While it’s too heavy to be considered, “Sweet Miracle” is almost sensitive in its sentiment, though we wouldn’t be surprised if a certain plot element from Young Frankenstein wasn’t involved. “Nocturne” is something of a grunge throwback, with the simplest bass part Geddy’s ever written, the basic rhythm, and lyrics about dreams. “Freeze” (listed as Part IV of the “Fear” trilogy!) is one of the more developed songs, working through several sections that provide variety. Finally, “Out Of The Cradle” completes the band’s determination to endure, taking Walt Whitman’s idea of “endlessly rocking” at a literal sense he couldn’t imagine.

As is a common gripe around these parts, Vapor Trails is too long and could have been stronger had they concentrated on fewer songs, but most fans were happy with the general aggressiveness, and that the band was back (and touring). Still, much commentary was dedicated to the overall sound of the album, which was loud, certainly, but also harsh to the point of discomfort—in other words, not the band’s usual quality control, to which they fully copped. Some time later, two of the songs were remixed for inclusion on a compilation, and they went ahead to not only get veteran producer David Bottrill (familiar from Peter Gabriel credits) to remix the entire album, but re-release it in 2013, when it was also included in the box set The Studio Albums 1989-2007 at the expense of the original. (They also brightened the cover, and softened the font inside, too.) In the process, certain mix differences emerged, including a guitar part on “Ceiling Unlimited” and other nuances elsewhere. It’s still too long.

Back then, of course, they promoted the album with the standard mega-tour. Rather than waiting for the usual four-album cycle—and possibly because they wouldn’t have wanted to chance waiting that long—Rush decided to release the audio of the Rio de Janiero stop on the tour supporting Vapor Trails, in front of 40,000 people, separately from the DVD. Rush In Rio presented the complete, nearly three-hour show in order on three CDs, with two extra tracks from elsewhere in the tour tacked on the end. There are a few fun moments—the Simpsons sample at the end of “The Big Money”, the animal sounds scattered throughout “The Trees”, an unplugged “Resist” without drums—but the enthusiasm of the crowd notwithstanding, it’s not as essential as their earlier live sets, which is why we restrict it to this mention. The DVD is preferred, if only because one can see the working washing machines set up on Geddy’s side of the stage. (He’d switched to in-ear monitors, and they needed something to visually balance the mountain of amps that still filled Alex’s side.)

Rush Vapor Trails (2002)—3
Rush Rush In Rio (2003)—3
Rush Vapor Trails Remixed (2013)—3

Simon & Garfunkel 8: Live 1967 & 1969

With a concise catalog and outtakes already mined, how else could Columbia capitalize on Simon & Garfunkel in the 21st century? The answer was so head-slappingly obvious it’s a wonder it took so long: live albums from the archives. Two sets were eventually released, both stepping far up sonically from the bootlegs that had circulated through the decades.

Live From New York City, 1967 expanded on the Lincoln Center peek-in from the Old Friends box, leaving “Red Rubber Ball” as an exclusive to that set. It’s just Artie and Paul onstage, with none of the anonymous session polish, and nearly every song gets something of an explanatory introduction, adding to the intimacy. Most of the set would be familiar to anyone who had the albums, plus “A Hazy Shade Of Winter” was the current hit single. The future B-side “You Don’t Know Where Your Interest Lies” is something of a surprise, as it hadn’t been finished yet, and “A Church Is Burning” would only be known to those who tracked down Paul’s elusive solo debut. (He switches between six-string and 12-string acoustic guitars depending on the tune, plus you can hear his affected British accent even on the straight intros.)

First released as a Starbucks exclusive, Live 1969 was compiled from a handful of concerts from the autumn of that year. Nicely sequenced, it begins with the boys playing by themselves, joined seven songs in by Wrecking Crew legends Fred Carter, Jr on guitar, Joe Osborn on bass, Larry Knechtel on keys, and Hal Blaine on drums. In addition to adding variety in the song selection, in this case the boys sound energized with a band behind them, and adapt well.

Several remarks are made throughout regarding the album they say they’re trying to finish, and four of those new songs are premiered here, including a stunning performance of “Bridge Over Troubled Water”. The crowd welcomes “The Boxer”, the newest song they knew, which here sports the extra verse familiar to us now from the 1982 reunion, replacing the instrumental break from the studio version. The album closes as it began, with only the duo onstage, including an efficiently arranged “Old Friends/Bookends”. (It has since been determined that the versions of “For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her” and “Kathy’s Song” are the same lovely ones that appeared on Greatest Hits, while “That Silver-Haired Daddy Of Mine” is not the same one as on Old Friends. The entire set was eventually included in the 40th anniversary edition of Bridge Over Troubled Water, which was of course the album in progress when the shows originally took place.)

Simon & Garfunkel Live From New York City, 1967 (2002)—3½
Simon & Garfunkel Live 1969 (2009)—4

Journey 12: Arrival

Fed up with waiting for Steve Perry to pull his head out of his hip operation, Neal Schon remembered that Journey was his band. Jonathan Cain and Ross Valory knew where their money was likely to come from, and after tapping Bad English (and Hardline) drummer Dean Castronovo, they found a competent singer in the form of Steve Augeri, who’d toiled in a handful of not-very-successful bands throughout the ‘90s. The fact that he bore a mild resemblance to Perry was undoubtedly a big plus.

Touring the oldies circuit was the immediate concern, though contributing a song to the blockbuster Armageddon soundtrack album right between two Aerosmith tracks helped in the money department. (Co-written by Jack Blades, “Remember Me” sounded more like Night Ranger.) Two years later, Arrival intended to open a new chapter for the band. They released the album first in Japan, where the melodic rock genre—a.k.a. hair metal without the makeup—was bigger than ever, and whence it was promptly pirated all over Napster. By the time it came out worldwide, a few songs were swapped, and the overly wimpy “I’m Not That Way” was dropped.

There must be people who can quote chapter and verse on all the differences, and we’re not going to. Throughout, Augeri delivers the songs in the same raspy register, though “All The Things” is a distillation of the first Tonic album. He finally shows some emotion in his voice on “Loved By You”, and “Livin’ To Do” could pass for Perry; both songs were co-written by Cain with a country songwriter. “I Got A Reason” sounds like Perry singing with Damn Yankees (surprise: also written with Jack Blades). He sounds like Bryan Adams on the ballads, most of which are interchangeable.

With all that, Arrival is generic yet harmless, and not excruciatingly embarrassing. It is, however, too damn long. Neal throws in a guitar lick as often as the mix will allow him, and lest anyone was still unconvinced they had any balls left, the band released an “experimental” EP initially through their website. Red 13 offered a two-track prog suite, an overblown heavy track, and another more conventional rocker. Most interesting is “Walking Away From The Edge”, a slow burner supposedly co-written with Geoff Tate of Queensrÿche, which has us wondering what might have happened if he’d joined the band instead.

Journey Arrival (2001)—3
Journey Red 13 (2002)—3

Paul Westerberg 4: Stereo/Mono

Being a college rock hero didn’t translate to sales for Paul Westerberg, so he took his wares to a smaller label and cut back on the big production. Stereo was self-recorded and overdubbed at night in his basement, but not exactly a lo-fi result.

“Baby Learns To Crawl” and “Dirt To Mud” aren’t identical, but they’re both monotonous in their own ways, though the latter is more memorable since it cuts off mid-verse. “Only Lie Worth Telling” is the first decent song, with hooks and clever lyrics dying for a rhythm section, and “Got You Down” strives for the same, but then “No Place For You” actually has drums and an electric guitar with bass frequencies, so…? “Boring Enormous” is back to acoustic troubadouring, bettered by the emotion in “Nothing To No One”, which is nicely augmented with a slide guitar part.

“We May Be The Ones” sounds like at least two earlier songs, but combines all the best parts into something good, with several lines that sound pointedly autobiographical. “Don’t Want Never” has a lot of promise, moreso than most of what we’ve heard, then once again stops mid-chorus as if the tape ran out. A fragment since identified as “Strike Up The Band” barely fades in and out, followed by a rocked-up version of “Mr. Rabbit”, which apparently dates back centuries, covered by the likes of Burl Ives and Pete Seeger. Fun as it is, “Let The Bad Times Roll” doesn’t deliver on its title, but “Call That Gone?” is a fragment worthy of development, as he apparently didn’t finish the lyrics.

Hidden at the end of the album is a sloppy cover of “Postcards From Paradise” by Flesh For Lulu that also cuts off abruptly, and a good lead-in for the Mono disc that accompanies the album. Recorded and branded under his Grandpaboy alter ego, it purports to be even less polished than the Stereo half, but it’s not; these songs simply rock harder.

In fact, it rocks a lot harder. These are all full-band recordings, him playing all the parts under redneck pseudonyms. He’s even a pretty good drummer. “High Time” is a midtempo smoker, “I’ll Do Anything” is good and Stonesy, and “Knock It Right Out” takes the best of both, soloing all the way underneath. “Let’s Not Belong Together” tries a little hard, but at least he’s trying. “Silent Film Star” takes a long way around a surprising put-down.

“2 Days ‘Til Tomorrow” and “Eyes Like Sparks” sound like they might have livened up the Stereo disc. “Footsteps” is another decent stomper with a surprising solo break, “Kickin’ The Stall” shows a lot of the old attitude, “Between Love & Like” is almost tender if still loud, and “AAA” is near-power pop with buried vocals, the chorus stating a barely discernable “ain’t got anything to say to anyone anymore.”

His previous solo albums seemed to be stuck trying to mix the sensitive with the snotty, but in this case of two halves, the one he wanted to hide behind is the clear winner. As ever, he’s quite the contrarian.

Paul Westerberg Stereo (2002)—2
Grandpaboy Mono (2002)—3

Joni Mitchell 21: Travelogue

The idea of Joni Mitchell doing a standards album three decades into her career may have been tough to swallow, but the final result turned out to be quite palatable. So for her next trick, she decided further the experiment on “A Case Of You” and “Both Sides Now” to recast even more of her own material with orchestral arrangements.

Apparently anything worth doing is worth overdoing, so Travelogue runs over two hours. Right there it’s a lot to take in; plus, unlike established standards that have already been arranged in dozens of ways, most of Joni’s material already exists in definitive form as her original album tracks. That said, many of the selections are deep cuts, so people hearing the songs for the very first time may enjoy these versions more than those of us more familiar with them might. The selections come from eleven of her albums; of those, Wild Things Run Fast is represented by four tracks (ex-husband Larry Klein did the arrangements, so maybe that one is special to him.)

Some of the more percussive treatments sound like mid-‘70s Tom Waits, while “Sex Kills” is lashed to a rhythm akin to “On Broadway”. There’s a choir here too; unobtrusive on “Slouching Toward Bethlehem”, it works on “God Must Be A Boogie Man”, but not so much on “Sire Of Sorrow”. The louder tracks can be jarring so soon after softer ones, again making the two-hour journey arduous. The Hejira remakes seem to be the most faithful, and the look all the way back to “The Dawntreader” is also lovely. “The Last Time I Saw Richard” has something of a wandering arrangement, but her voicing of the waitress’s one line cheapens it. “Woodstock” is given an even more extended approach than hers, and certainly from CSNY’s version; we find it meandering. “For The Roses” gets a dramatic overhaul, wherein she really explores each line, just as “Cherokee Louise” is given a heartbreaking treatment, as befits the lyrics. “The Circle Game” ends the program gorgeously, with wonderful sax trills from Wayne Shorter, making for as moving as closer as “Both Sides Now” was on her last album.

In some ways Joni was ahead of the curve, as the years since have seen several artists go the “orchestral re-imagining” route a la Travelogue. Cynics suggest such a project happens when an artist has run out of ideas; in Joni’s case, she said she was done with the record business anyway. She wasn’t, but we didn’t know that then, and neither did she.

Joni Mitchell Travelogue (2002)—3

Pretenders 10: Loose Screw

Reinvention is nothing new in the music business, and often celebrated. But listeners can get very confused when presented with a sound that’s not only very different from someone’s previous pile of albums. While Loose Screw was the first time Chrissie Hynde managed to keep the same Pretenders lineup for three consecutive albums, outside of her voice, the album sounds nothing like the band formed over two decades before. This time out the prevailing genre is reggae filtered through triphop, which may be fine for some, but if you’re looking for snarl, it ain’t here.

The opening “Lie To Me” does have a lot of bite, with no reggae touches, but it cuts out abruptly, almost mid-note, and then the sound takes over. From time to time a decent song rises from the mix, such as “You Know Who Your Friends Are” and “The Losing”, but for the most part she’s merely crooning her heartbreak. The two tunes written with Steinberg and Kelly don’t stand out in good or bad ways than the ones she wrote with her guitar player. Obscure covers still being her thing, this time she tackles “Walk Like A Panther” by a late-century British electronic outfit.

This is not an indictment of reggae as a genre; in fact, Hynde and Co. managed to tackle it pretty well in “Private Life” on the debut, and time to time since then. Loose Screw is an experiment that goes on too long, to the detriment of what might be some decent tunes. If anything, it’s like she completed the album, and let somebody completely remix and rerecord it, leaving only her voice as evidence. Sure enough, several songs were subjected to further dance remixes by the likes of Junior Vasquez, to somebody’s enjoyment, or so we’d hope.

Pretenders Loose Screw (2002)—2

Van Morrison 35: Down The Road

It can be tiresome to trawl through a legacy artist’s ongoing catalog when even the artist in question avers that he’s just doing a job. Van Morrison has never felt compelled to justify his albums; he simply records them and puts them out, and considers any status in the grand pantheon as moot, but somehow still deserving of awe.

Unfortunately for us, we’ve established a format here, and we must proceed, somehow. Down The Road is another competent album of pleasant R&B-inspired originals with some country flavors. He’s not overtly complaining about how the industry’s screwed him, but at least two songs lament the state of current popular music. “Hey Mr. DJ” is a Sam Cooke song in all but delivery, while “Whatever Happened To P.J. Proby?” gets its inspiration from a guy best known as having a hit with a Lennon-McCartney giveaway. “Choppin’ Wood” is supposedly about Van’s father, but it’s got the same rhythm as the far inferior “Talk Is Cheap”, lessening the sentiment somewhat. “All Work And No Play” spouts the usual clichés, and his ill-advised quasi-scatting results in one of the least essential versions of “Georgia On My Mind” ever recorded. Despite the pedestrian lyrics, “Evening Shadows” is an intriguing collaboration with jazz clarinet legend Acker Bilk, and we get more variations on common themes like “Meet Me In The Indian Summer” and “What Makes The Irish Heart Beat”.

At 15 tracks and over an hour of playing time, Down The Road is too long to really ingest, and the listener would likely put on an earlier album that truly resonates. In the plus column: not a sign of Brian Kennedy anywhere.

Van Morrison Down The Road (2002)—3

Bruce Springsteen 15: The Rising

Purportedly, within weeks of the attacks on September 11, Bruce Springsteen was driving down by the Jersey shore when a guy in the car next to him rolled down his window and called out, “We need you!”

While Bruce has never had the level of hubris of, say, Bono, he did still mean something to the people of New York who grew up on his music, and likely only enjoyed a handful of songs he put out in the ‘90s. Now it was a new century and the world had changed, and as he’d already put the E Street Band back together for a tour following Tracks (documented on the obligatory live album and DVD), it was time to rock out again.

The songs on The Rising resonate with the multitude of emotions following 9/11, and work best when they use the E Street Band, which now included both Steve Van Zandt and Nils Lofgren, and of course Patti Scialfa. Also prominent is violinist Soozie Tyrell, and because it’s a Brendan O’Brien production, it’s not so much live-sounding as it is decorated.

The first six songs are all solid, one after another, well paced and contrasted. The harpsichord and strings at the start of “Lonesome Day” are a red herring, as it soon turns into exactly what the guy on the shore wanted. It takes a lot of balls to put a song called “Nothing Man” on an album produced by the guy who worked with Pearl Jam, but he pulls it off. “Into The Fire” and “Empty Sky” seem overtly related to current events, but not blatantly, while “Countin’ On A Miracle” and “Waitin’ On A Sunny Day” are just the type of apostrophed rockers that fill stadiums. You have to listen for Clarence Clemons, but he’s in there, just not blasting over every fade.

The wheels come off 25 minutes in, on track 7. “Worlds Apart” has a melody and chord structure right out of his late ‘70s songbook, but we can handle only so much Middle Eastern effects and choirs when Sting uses them, and they sound just out of place here. Even worse is “Let’s Be Friends (Skin To Skin)”, heavy on hip-hop loops and modern R&B. “Further On (Up The Road)” is ordinary rock by numbers and “The Fuse” is little more than a spruced-up demo.

Things do get back on track on “Mary’s Place”, with another red herring of a Mellencamp intro; while it’s about twice as long as it should be, the song’s “let’s have a party” sentiment provides the same relief as similar songs on The River, needed here more than ever. “You’re Missing” is moving but not mawkish, while the title track still stirs chills and thrills, even without delving into the lyrics. “Paradise” is a dour detour into Ghost Of Tom Joad territory. And finally, “My City Of Ruins”, completed before the attacks but a fitting end, borrows liberally from Van Morrison’s “Crazy Love”, but most people will think of “The Weight”.

Bruce has always written about struggle, hope, despair, and persevering despite it all, so even outside of the context of the times, The Rising for the most part succeeds. Take out the chunk of misses in the middle and tighten a few of the fades—the songs are all longer than they need be anyway—and it would rank with his best. It was still his best album in 15 years.

Bruce Springsteen The Rising (2002)—3½

Mark Knopfler 5: The Ragpicker’s Dream

Working at a pace we hadn’t seen in a couple of decades, Mark Knopfler returned in 2002 with The Ragpicker’s Dream, another low-key collection of original songs with that familiar tone and rasp. Compared to the overblown concepts that marred Sailing To Philadelphia, this one’s a lot more relaxed, understated and satisfying.

The album’s at its best when it feels like you’re sitting on a casual strum, Knopfler singing either in the style of or actual re-creations of ancient folk songs. “Why Aye Man”, “Hill Farmer’s Blues”, “Fare Thee Well Northumberland” and “Marbletown” appear to be sung by tradesmen away from home, without seeming repetitive. However, when he adds more rock to the mix, as on “Coyote” and “You Don’t Know You’re Born”, it gets a little tedious, except for the chorus.

He’s careful not to stick too close to a couple of styles. “Devil Baby” takes place in a circus, and the same wacky scene inhabits “Old Pigweed”. “A Place Where We Used To Live” is more timeless, even jazzy, while on “Daddy’s Gone To Knoxville” and the sales pitch of “Quality Shoe”, he sounds uncannily like Leon Redbone. He even sneaks in an original Christmas song for the title track, without limiting it to the usual clichés.

A little shaving here and there might even put The Ragpicker’s Dream on a higher level, but for what it is, it’s a nice, comfortable listen. Save it for your next rainy day and see how it goes down.

Mark Knopfler The Ragpicker’s Dream (2002)—3

Graham Nash 5: Songs For Survivors

For the first time, the winner of the “who’s gonna be the first of CSN to do a solo album” contest went to Graham Nash, though apparently it took him two years to find a label that would distribute it. The nod to the title of his first solo album 30 years before is clever, but as with most sequels, Songs For Survivors has a high hill to climb.

The first drawback is his voice, which shows the effect of time, and gets in the way when he tries to sound sincere. “Dirty Little Secret” is a strong opener, referencing the specter of racism, but “Blizzard Of Lies” and “Lost Another One” are just too cheerful musically to match the lyric content. It’s dangerous for anyone but Leonard Cohen to write about “The Chelsea Hotel”, but at least he stays away from overt references to that song (or Joni’s “Chelsea Morning”, for that matter), choosing instead to celebrate the artists who led mostly bleak lives there. Just when you think he couldn’t possibly still be sappy, “I’ll Be There For You” is the pick-me-up nobody we know requested. (Maybe it got somebody through a crisis, which would be fine.) “Nothing In The World” delivers the same sentiment, but it’s a better song all around.

“Where Love Lies Tonight” is pure ‘70s James Taylor, if you like that sort of thing, but the cover of Richard and Linda Thompson’s “Pavanne”, featuring harmonies from one Sydney Forest, is particularly surprising, and very nice. “Liar’s Nightmare” may sound like it rips off “Masters Of War”, but since that stole the melody of the traditional “Nottamun Town”, no harm no foul. Despite the length, it’s the best tune on the album, and somehow makes “Come With Me” bearable.

Despite all we’ve said, Songs For Survivors is still one of his better solo albums, though that’s considering how thin the competition is. Soundwise the production is commendable, thanks to the father-son team of Russ and Nathaniel Kunkel, while instrumental support from the likes of Matt Rollings, Dean Parks, and Viktor Krauss is understated and more than competent.

Graham Nash Songs For Survivors (2002)—3

Coldplay 2: A Rush Of Blood To The Head

Any young band coming off a mildly successful debut album is faced with an immediate quandary for their follow-up: deliver more of the same, and risk charges of redundancy, or stretch out in another direction, and confound the skeptics? More adventurous bands might choose the latter option; Radiohead did and watched it pay off, while Weezer did too, and took a sabbatical in the where-are-they-now file.

Coldplay always comes off as being just as dialed in to what their fans and critics say, while still trying to maintain their integrity as artists of substance. With A Rush Of Blood To The Head, they managed to deliver their stated brand without repeating themselves.

The angry, edgy guitars that begin “Politik” hint at a new direction, and one to make people notice, but that’s a red herring. “In My Place” provides a keening ballad in the tradition of “Yellow”. The edge comes back on “God Put A Smile Upon Your Face”, with a pounding snare and one-note riff that will separate the fans from the pans.

And it pretty much goes from there, from the sensitive yearning of “The Scientist” to the stadium-ready “Clocks”, both built around basic yet insistent piano parts. “Daylight” recycles the pattern of track 3, and the droning “A Whisper” is anything but; meanwhile, “Green Eyes” (written and recorded well before Gwyneth Paltrow became a fixture) revives the folk strums of Parachutes. The piano would gain prominence in their overall sound, without a guitar hero to otherwise hog the spotlight. For example, “Warning Sign” begins as a strum, but is reduced to piano and vocal by its drawn-out end. The title track mixes all of the tricks in their bag so far, leaving a surprising finale with “Amsterdam”, starting quiet and building to a finish that screams second encore.

A Rush Of Blood To The Head appealed to a post-9/11 audience seeking something that at least appeared to have meaning. Arty videos helped, of course, depicting the photogenic frontman emoting, leaving one’s recognition of the rest of the band as spotty as ever. It’s a good toe-tapping, knee-jogging album to have on in the background, even if it doesn’t reveal much with close inspection. Thus, they were slowly on their way to world dominance. (In their quest to be the next U2, the CD booklet included a page full of pleas and websites relating to various world charities.)

Coldplay A Rush Of Blood To The Head (2002)—3½

Tom Waits 19: Blood Money

While it hadn’t been waiting as long as Alice, Blood Money came from the same general source: a pre-industrial tale dramatized by Robert Wilson with songs by Tom Waits, with yet another complicated plot. At first it seems like a more challenging listen than its counterpart, but that’s not to elevate Alice any higher than it deserves.

“Misery’s The River Of The World” sports a lovely chromatic descent and return to accompany his Beefheart bark, and “Everything Goes To Hell” is just as bleak a message. “Coney Island Baby” brings a piano ballad just in time; not the Lou Reed song, but still has some allusions to “Innocent When You Dream” at the end. The marimbas and clarinets return for “All The World Is Green”, but then we go back to the demented circus for “God’s Away On Business”. “Another Man’s Vine” should appeal to fans of Bone Machine, reminiscent as it is of “Dirt In The Ground”. But the true antecedent here is The Black Rider, as demonstrated by the instrumental “Knife Chase”.

A very tender “Lullaby” provides a nice break, again, but then it’s back to nightmare territory with “Starving In The Belly Of A Whale”. “The Part You Throw Away” has the potential to be something profound, but the understated delivery and Night On Earth arrangement make it seem more of a passing phase. “Woe” is a brief, bronchial song of devotion swallowed up by the more dissonant “Calliope”, which brings to mind some of the interludes from the earlier Island years. An old 78 winds up for “A Good Man Is Hard To Find”, which plays over the credits of the imaginary movie.

Just like Alice, there are a lot of interesting textures on Blood Money, but it’s unlikely that Waits would be comfortable with this becoming background music, in the way that another artist famous for his textures (i.e. Brian Eno) would be. The music is striking, for certain, but without an outside producer to edit him (and the writing co-credited to his wife) one wonders what could have been whittled down to something simple and thus even more striking.

Tom Waits Blood Money (2002)—2

Tom Waits 18: Alice

He’d come back in such a resounding way with Mule Variations, so it was with relative speed that Tom Waits resurfaced yet again with not one but two albums released on the same day. Both were derived from stage productions he’d mounted with Robert Wilson, the playwright behind The Black Rider. Alice comes first alphabetically, so we’ll deal with that one here.

It’s also a good place to start, because the title track is a smoky lounge piano ballad that sounds equally at home on a Waits album from the ‘70s, ‘80s or ‘90s. It would be a wonderful torch song if it weren’t written from the point of view of an opiated adult towards an adolescent. A canned train whistle heralds the death march of “Everything You Can Think”, but while the nightmare seems to pass for “Flower’s Grave” and “No One Knows I’m Gone”, the mournful lyrics say otherwise. The CD booklet provides no lyrics for “Kommienezuspadt”, an exercise in gutteral fake German, but one might assume they would tie into the freaks the populate the next songs. “Poor Edward” is somehow afflicted with a woman’s face (“or a young girl”) on the back of his head, but perhaps he wasn’t as bad off as “Tabletop Joe”, a distant relation of the Eyeball Kid, “born without a body” but still possessing hands, so he could make music.

But “Lost In The Harbour” is the last gasp of a dying man, illustrated by what sounds like the water in the harmonium about to swallow him up, but he surfaces long enough for another verse. “We’re All Mad Here” turns the nightmare back on, followed by the monologue in “Watch Her Disappear”. One would think there’s some kind of connection to Germany, since the next track takes place in the “Reeperbahn”, unless he’s referring to the more literal translation of “rope walk”. Another respite emerges in “I’m Still Here”, which could qualify as a reconciliation, and “Fish & Bird” and “Barcarolle” are just as pretty (though the latter threatens to descend into discord in the instrumental middle). “Fawn” is a closing instrumental with a violin that sounds more like a saw.

Unlike The Black Rider, no synopsis is supplied to help us discern whatever story these songs on Alice are supposed to illustrate. The songs had sat around for ten years before this official recording was released, so fanatics already had something for comparison. For those of us entering the party with this invitation, we were less inclined to sample the food laid out. Chances are others that happened to wander in might not have stayed to see what the fuss was about, but no matter; there was the other album to consider while this one marinated.

Tom Waits Alice (2002)—2½

Robyn Hitchcock 18: Robyn Sings

Selling self-manufactured discs via his website seemed to be a good option for somebody like Robyn Hitchcock, who had things to say but shrinking outlets by which he could say them. And even when he wasn’t saying anything new, he could put out an album anyway.

Robyn Sings consists entirely of Bob Dylan covers. His straightforward (for him) liner notes explain how he was transfixed by “Desolation Row” at an impressionable age, sending him on his path as a singer-songwriter. The set is split into two LP-length discs, denoted “Stripes” and “Dots” in honor of Dylan’s mid-‘60s onstage choice of shirt.

Most of the Stripes disc is made up from live acoustic performances, with only the barest augmentation here and there, as shown on the versions of “Visions Of Johanna” that bookend the disc. And it’s not just the “classic” period he shows love for—“Dignity” and “Not Dark Yet” are hardly staples of Dylan tributes.

The Dots disc presents the electric half of his heavily bootlegged recreation of the “Albert Hall” bootleg on its thirtieth anniversary, recorded in a London club. The band and audience knows the songs (and performances) as well as he does, right down to the sneered twixt-song comments and muttering.

For the most part his renditions are faithful—he is, as he admits, performing a kind of karaoke to songs he’s committed to memory—but every now and then he throws in a surreal rhyme. There’s a wonderful moment in “4th Time Around” where he loses his place, then backtracks through events of the previous verses to find his way back.

Ultimately, Robyn Sings is a curio, an option for those not into file-sharing or tired of trawling eBay for the promo that offered songs for a limited time. It’s a labor of love, a worthwhile listen for fans of both gentlemen, but hardly essential.

Robyn Hitchcock Robyn Sings (2002)—3

Soft Boys 4: Nextdoorland

His solo career had turned out less lucrative than ever, but at least Robyn Hitchcock had the distraction of reissuing Underwater Moonlight (everybody’s favorite Soft Boys album) on the trendy Matador label. In a move as unexpected as it was obvious, the band reunited for a tour, which led to a new album.

Nextdoorland turned out to be one of his better albums in a while, certainly helped by a consistent, reliable unit throughout the album, as opposed to the pick-and-choose sequencing of his Warners output. There’s little of the chaos so prevalent on their albums, instead relying on tight playing, excellent guitar interplay, and Robyn’s choice of words. It would also appear that all of the songs were written or at least developed with the Soft Boys in mind.

“I Love Lucy” is perhaps one of the better illustrations of their strengths, being mostly instrumental. “Pulse Of My Heart”, “Mr. Kennedy” and “Unprotected Love” all teem with hooks, while “My Mind Is Connected To Your Dreams” recalls some of the moodier Egyptians tracks from the ‘90s.

“Sudden Town” has a riff that flirts with “Kingdom Of Love”, breaking out of its straitjacket in time for the chorus. “Strings” goes for over six minutes, mostly due to a few psychedelic trips here and there. “Japanese Captain” tries a little too hard to be odd, so “La Cherité” is a better use of evasive meaning. “Lions And Tigers” is kinda silly, but it works.

As good as Nextdoorland is, something’s still missing. Over the years, what had once seemed to come so easily to Robyn was now seeming more contrived. Plus, spending 25 years in the business not likely too careful with his throat was starting to result in a rasp.

But at least he was making music, and letting it be heard. As was becoming common for him, another handful of songs was made available via direct mail order. The aptly titled Side Three offered another twenty minutes of catchy tunes, before disappearing. Of the six tracks, one is a remake of “Each Of Her Silver Wands” from an earlier offhand release, and “Evil Guy” had been a legendary Egyptians outtake. It’s out of print, but new and used copies abound on the e-tail sites.

The Soft Boys Nextdoorland (2002)—3
The Soft Boys Side Three (2002)—3

Ben Folds 6: Ben Folds Live

Whether he’s playing with a band or on his own, every Ben Folds concert offers something different from the previous performance. His encyclopedic knowledge of his own catalog, as well as others, means every setlist is a coin toss, and his love for new and old cheese can lead to any number of improvisations.

So when he puts out a live album culled from a variety of concerts, the selection can almost seem arbitrary, leading one to suspect such a move as being merely financial while he takes his sweet time between new studio albums. But fans should have plenty to appreciate with the simply titled Ben Folds Live, beginning with the sly distortion of his first band’s first album title in the artwork, and continuing with the cover photo itself (documented in a hilarious clip on the accompanying DVD).

It’s just him and a piano, but such is his style that he’s still able to make the rockier songs move. And since the audiences are all devoted fans, it’s easy enough for them to pick up his instructions to emulate some of the arrangements, like the horns on “Army” and the harmonies on “Not The Same”. (The guy from Cake even walks on to add his part to “Fred Jones Part 2”, just like on the album.)

A few rarities are included, like the rarely heard “Silver Street” and the jokey B-side about B-sides, “One Down”. His debt to Elton John is paid on a faithful “Tiny Dancer”, while “Philosophy” is extended to incorporate all kinds of themes for the coda, including Dick Dale’s surf classic “Miserlou”, which the crowd likely knew from watching Pulp Fiction.

As enjoyable as it is for fans, there’s still something incomplete about Ben Folds Live. It’s best illustrated by the inclusion of “Rock This Bitch”, which is kind of his own “Drums In Space” improvisation, and which has been different every time he’s done it. So how could he possibly pick one?

Ben Folds Ben Folds Live (2002)—3

Rolling Stones 40: Forty Licks

Around the time that their ABKCO catalog got a major overhaul, with handsome digipacks, improved sound and, in some cases, SACD layers for the audiophile, somebody at the Stones office got thinking. Since they weren’t doing much else anyway, why shouldn’t the Stones put out another hits collection on their current label? For a twist, maybe it could encompass their entire career, and how about a couple of new songs to entice the wary? With a really suggestive title, like Forty Licks or something? And maybe even use it to launch an official website?

And that’s just what they did. The forty songs here are collected to commemorate the Stones’ fortieth anniversary. It should surprise nobody that the earliest twenty tracks cover their first ten years, and the remaining twenty (four of which are indeed brand new) cover the other thirty years.

Disc one is the first repackaging in a while of the ABKCO-owned material, and while it doesn’t quite replicate Hot Rocks, most of it is there. (And as long as we’re keeping score, it’s got only half of Big Hits and all but two from Through The Past, Darkly.) Disc two is much more traveled, sporting six songs from Made In The Shade, ten from Rewind and the 374th appearances of “Brown Sugar” and “Wild Horses”.

Of course, it’s the new songs that generate the most interest. “Don’t Stop” was the single, an inoffensive rocker, as was “Stealing My Heart”. “Keys To Your Love” brings back the old falsetto, but for many, Keith’s slow burner “Losing My Touch” was the winner.

Each disc is sequenced non-chronologically, but nothing from either “era” mixes with a stepsibling. Also, as a compromise, “Wild Horses” is on the ABKCO disc, while “Brown Sugar” is on the post-1971 disc. Forty Licks delivers what it promises, giving a nice overview of what made the boys great. But part of us still thinks Forty Lashes would have been just as fitting a title.

Rolling Stones Forty Licks (2002)—4

David Bowie 32: Heathen

Another label change set up Bowie’s next album, but the big news on Heathen was the return to the fold of producer/creative foil Tony Visconti. Sure enough, the album was his strongest in years. Much of the content seemed to be influenced by the aftermath of 9/11, though Bowie insisted most of it was in the can before that. (Indeed, some was even left over from sessions for the aborted Toy project, which was to present new compositions alongside rerecorded songs he originally did back in the pre-“Space Oddity” days.)

Overall, the sound mixes nods to his Berlin era with a cold, claustrophobic atmosphere and ruminations on a world in turmoil. “Sunday” begins the album with a spooky synth and a slow vocal, reporting that “nothing remains” and “everything has changed”. Similarly, “5:15 The Angels Have Come” and “Heathen (The Rays)” follow each narrator through a city where the trains are late and the sky is made of glass. The demand for “A Better Future” gets an edge when you consider the song is sung from the point of view of his young daughter.

“Slip Away” is an odd tribute of sorts to the obscure cult favorite, the Uncle Floyd TV show, with a gorgeous chorus and arrangement to match, complete with Stylophone. “Slow Burn” turns up the volume, boasting a searing lead guitar literally phoned in by Pete Townshend. The success of “Afraid” and “I Would Be Your Slave” depends on our mood, while “Everyone Says ‘Hi’” revives the best elements of his mid-‘80s pop sound; we especially like the nod to “Absolute Beginners” on one of the bridges.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a Bowie album without weird covers, and Heathen offers three: “Cactus” by the Pixies, “I’ve Been Waiting For You” from the first Neil Young album, and “I Took A Trip On A Gemini Spaceship” is his long overdue nod to the Legendary Stardust Cowboy.

Heathen was a very pleasant surprise, and easily his most consistent collection since the first Tin Machine album. He successfully combined some of his recent “sounds”, from pensive to electronic, and it looked like the 21st century was going to be another fruitful period for him. (The first version came with a strange little bonus disc, with two contemporary remixes and two re-recordings—“Panic In Detroit” from 1979, which had already been on Ryko’s Lodger reissue, and “Conversation Piece”, an excellent early B-side redone during the Toy sessions. It’s merely a curio that doesn’t add or subtract from the main program at all.)

David Bowie Heathen (2002)—3½
2007 limited 2CD edition: same as 2002, plus 10 extra tracks