Marshall Crenshaw 12: What’s In The Bag?

Even with the support of such an artist-centric label as Razor & Tie, Marshall Crenshaw wasn’t exactly prolific in the 21st century. The wonderfully titled acoustic live album I’ve Suffered For My Art… Now It’s Your Turn appeared in 2001, and another two years went by before he emerged with What’s In The Bag?

It’s off to a slow start with the lonesome waltz of “Will We Ever?”, followed by the subtle post-9/11 pondering in “Where Home Used To Be”. A straight cover of Prince’s “Take Me With U” features help from Mary Lee’s Corvette and picks up the pace, continued on the mildly galloping “From Now Until Then”. “Despite The Sun” is an elaborate one-man-band instrumental with a mildly cinematic swagger and some surprisingly screaming guitar. And despite its relatively low-key approach, “The Spell Is Broken” is classic Crenshaw.

He also plays most of “A Few Thousand Days Ago”, and he’s gotten either hold of a decent drum machine or just better at playing the real thing. “Long And Complicated” is only half-accurate, alternating between darker verses and sunnier choruses. The album’s other cover is Bootsy Collins’ oft-sampled “I’d Rather Be With You”, and he manages to pull it off, particularly when followed by the seduction of “Alone In A Room”. And “AKA A Big Heavy Hot Dog” is another snappy one-man instrumental with a melody we wish we could place that just ends.

There’s not a lot of jangle on What’s In The Bag?, and while it would be obvious to say he’d gotten older, that shouldn’t suggest he’d slowed down at all. He’s got excellent support from a rotating pool of musicians throughout—especially Greg Leisz on pedal steel—and it’s just as pleasant as anything else he’s done.

Marshall Crenshaw What’s In The Bag? (2003)—3

Jayhawks 7: Rainy Day Music

Having proven that they could stretch outside the box, the Jayhawks took advantage of the alt.country wave of the 21st century and went back to the well, so to speak. Rainy Day Music pared the group back to the core of Gary Louris and Marc Perlman, supported by the stalwart Tim O’Reagan on drums and harmonies and former Long Ryder Stephen McCarthy on the other guitars and stringed instruments. With the help of producer Ethan Johns, scion of the legendary Glyn, and a sessioneer on most of the keyboards, the sound was pared back too, without excessive fuzz or feedback, giving the songs room to breathe.

Proof that they’ve gone back to basics is evident immediately on “Stumbling Through The Dark”, with its prominent banjo. “Tailspin” has a little more crunch, but gets its boost from a great chorus and a terrific countermelody from Tim. “All The Right Reasons” brings the proceedings back to just above a hush, at least until the drums kick in, and “Save It For A Rainy Day” is one of those catchy songs we could swear we’ve heard before. There must be a reason why the protagonist of “The Eyes Of Sarahjane” spells her name that way, but it still sounds like a chorus matched to a completely unrelated verse. Not quite as schizophrenic is “One Man’s Problems”, which skirts with funk when it’s not going for California pop. Both are eclipsed by Tim’s “Don’t Let The World Get In Your Way”, which even has a Mellotron.

Others have noted that the second half isn’t as strong, but that’s not to say it’s not good. “Come To The River” goes for a soulful Southern rock vibe, and “Angelyne” manages to get a new song out of the same chords that launched a thousand Byrds and Petty knockoffs. “Madman” is another vibe peace, with swampy bongos and acoustic guitars under close harmonies. While very much related to “Waiting For The Sun” musically, with more acoustic touches, “You Look So Young” succeeds, particularly in the breakdown and subsequent bridge. Tim contributes another strong one, “Tampa To Tulsa”, while “Will I See You In Heaven” comes solely from the pen of Marc, who does not sing it. The closing reprise of “Stumbling Through The Dark” only helps to suggest that the album does seem to run long and gets too quiet at times.

Despite that, Rainy Day Music is nice and cozy for any kind of weather, and a welcome change of pace. It also helped that the American label’s new distribution deal with Universal brought them within the purview of the Lost Highway imprint, which gave it decent promotion among people interested in Ryan Adams and the like.

As was common at the time, a limited edition package included a bonus CD titled More Rain, which included the rockin’ “Fools On Parade”, two demos of otherwise unreleased songs, two alternate versions of album tracks, and a live acoustic take of “Waiting For The Sun”. These songs were not included on the expanded reissue some ten years later; instead five different, previously unreleased demos and another live cut were crammed onto the end of the disc.

The Jayhawks Rainy Day Music (2003)—3
2014 Expanded Edition: “same” as 2003, plus 6 extra tracks

Phil Collins 11: Brother Bear

Then again, maybe Testify was indeed a sop given to Phil Collins solely to ensure he’d write another soundtrack to a Disney film about anthropomorphic animals designed to terrify children. Brother Bear doesn’t seem to have endured at all like Tarzan has, but it’s clear Phil put in a lot of effort.

Once again Mark Mancina assisted with the score, and his contributions are heard on the latter half of the album, along with further songs repeated in different arrangements. The songs are about what one has come to expect from Phil, and could easily have been parsed out to individual albums, except that they were written to order. “Look Through My Eyes” wants to be this album’s “You’ll Be In My Heart” but isn’t. Tina Turner is given the lead vocal on “Great Spirits” for some reason; Phil’s version would be a bonus track on certain retail editions of the album. “Welcome” is pure Disney, first in a Phil-sung version, and later led by Oren Waters of the Waters family with the Blind Boys of Alabama (fresh from Peter Gabriel sessions). “No Way Out” (another phrase used for a recent Gabriel song) also appears twice, first with something of a ‘90s Genesis vibe, but the cheery-sounding chorus does not match the sentiment in the lyrics at all. The second version is more direct to the plot, slower, and more anguished, both in delivery and reception. “Welcome” is sung first in Inuit by the Bulgarian Women’s Choir (!) and later by Phil with a completely different vibe. “On My Way” is more typical, and should pop up in any number of department store commercials.

As before, we haven’t seen this movie, don’t plan to, and will try to avoid it just because traumatized cartoon animals make us sad. Nor have we seen the sequel, which roped in Melissa Etheridge for its soundtrack. Brother Bear is therefore reserved for Collins completists and Disney fetishists.

Brother Bear: An Original Walt Disney Records Soundtrack (2003)—2½

Jeff Beck 16: Jeff

Determined as ever to follow his own muse, the turn-of-the-century flurry of activity from Jeff Beck culminated with the simply titled Jeff, which followed on from its predecessors in a full-blown embrace of electronica. To his credit, these experiments work, except when they don’t.

It helps that his collaborators include such pioneers as Andy Garcia and David Torn, who dominate “So What” and “Plan B” respectively, but then vocals start to get in the way. “Pork-U-Pine” doesn’t need any input from Saffron of Republica, while “Seasons” should have been left as an orchestral mood piece. By this time we lose patience for “Trouble Man”, built on a pounding drum loop; “Grease Monkey” and “Hot Rod Honeymoon”, both produced by Apollo 440, lean on automotive effects, though the latter has some cute Beach Boys references.

“Line Dancing With Monkeys” is a terrific song title, though the finished product doesn’t suggest any of that. Tony Hymas turns up on “J.B.’s Blues”, which is more moody than bluesy, whereas as “Pay Me No Mind (Jeff Beck Remix)” is almost entirely the work of Me One, from the outfit who once exhorted us to pump up the jam. “My Thing” brings back the woman who yelled all over the Apollo 440 tracks for a rather generic track. Just to completely throw us off, the set closes with a supposedly traditional melody called “Bulgaria” that segues into “Why Lord Oh Why”, another Tony Hymas composition, with the whole suite orchestrated by a guy who once did the same for Black Sabbath.

More than the others, Jeff is recommended if you like techno, but it’s not strictly a guitar showcase. Approach with caution.

Jeff Beck Jeff (2003)—3

Van Morrison 36: What’s Wrong With This Picture?

And on Van goes, putting out a new album every year or so, daring us to care. The labels haven’t given up on him either, and somehow What’s Wrong With This Picture? was released on the Blue Note label, legendary for its jazz catalog, which likely appealed to him.

The title track begins full and lush, giving us the mistaken impression that this will be a make-out album. But then he ends the first verse by actually saying “it don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing,” and cracking himself up in the process. Then it’s off to the upbeat swing of “Whinin Boy Moan”, the adult contemporary shuffle of “Evening In June”, and the bluesy “Too Many Myths”, featuring his own sloppy acoustic guitar. If you didn’t get enough Acker Bilk on the last album, he’s back to collaborate on “Somerset”. While the backing isn’t very adventurous, “Meaning Of Loneliness” does enter some thought-provoking lyrical territory, and while someone is singing along, he’s low in the mix and not Brian Kennedy.

The mood is broken again by “Stop Drinking”, an adaptation of a Lightnin’ Hopkins tune with a mix of R&B, skiffle and rockabilly. It’s back to the blues, and complaining about being famous, in “Goldfish Bowl”. “Once In A Blue Moon” touches on calypso, before the cover of “Saint James Infirmary”, most of which is devoted to soloing, slows things down again. “Little Village” is in a 12-bar structure, but somehow manages to evoke his late-‘80s sound. No prizes for guessing what he’s complaining about in “Fame”, but we do wonder if the call-and-response chant of the title at the end is a nod to David Bowie. “Get On With The Show” takes another cliché and builds a song around it without any real cohesion.

To answer the album’s title question, there’s nothing wrong with this particular picture, expect that we still half expect the guy to wow us like he used to. He’s obviously capable of blending several styles, but hearing so many at one time gives the impression of listening to several albums instead of just one. And at over an hour long, What’s Wrong With This Picture? isn’t likely to wow anyone.

Van Morrison What’s Wrong With This Picture? (2003)—3

Bruce Springsteen 16: Essential

Maybe the record industry knew their glory days were long past, as the new century saw a proliferation of hits collections, particularly for people who’d already had several. While not as cheaply executed as Unigram’s “20th Century Masters—The Millennium Collection” series, Sony’s line of “Essential” compilations usually aimed to load up two CDs, with some true rarities to entice repeat buyers.

Bruce had managed to avoid exploitation throughout his career, but come 2003, with audiences still swooning from The Rising, his catalog was ripe for the hits treatment. The Essential Bruce Springsteen isn’t merely an expanded Greatest Hits, nor does it even duplicate that collection. But it does kick off with five radio favorites from his first two albums, and giving more love to most everything after. The title tracks of Nebraska and The Ghost Of Tom Joad provide bleak perspectives in between the anthems; meanwhile Born In The U.S.A. is underrepresented, and you’ve got to look elsewhere for “Secret Garden”. (Really? They had to make room for “Mary’s Place”?) The second disc closes with the two new songs from 2001’s Live In New York City, “American Skin (41 Shots)” and “Land Of Hope And Dreams”.

A couple of odd choices aside, this set wouldn’t be worth more than a paragraph’s mention except for the third, “bonus” disc. This sequel to Tracks collects some extraneous soundtrack songs from the ‘90s, such as “Missing”, “Dead Man Walkin’” and “Lift Me Up”. There’s only one B-side (“The Big Payback” from the Nebraska era) but two songs from charity collections—“Trapped”, a live cover of the Jimmy Cliff song previously stuck on the USA For Africa album, and Elvis’s “Viva Las Vegas”.

And then there are the completely new songs outside of bootlegs. “From Small Things (Big Things One Day Come)” was a River outtake made a hit by Dave Edmunds, followed by “Held Up Without A Gun”, a great live raveup barely longer than a minute. “None But The Brave” was earmarked for Born In The U.S.A. but likely cut for sounding too much like his last two E Street albums, whereas “County Fair” is beloved by collectors who also love “Wild Billy’s Circus Story”. “Code Of Silence” is another rarity from the “reunion” tour, while “Countin’ On A Miracle” is an acoustic alternate played over the PA at the end of the Rising shows.

Given when most of these songs were recorded, they could have easily been slotted into Tracks and still kept under four discs. Why he sat on them for five years is anyone’s guess, but fans can be happy to finally have them. That is, if they acted fast enough; twelve years and five studio albums later, the set was overhauled, replacing a dozen tracks from the first set with nineteen others. Some of the older substitutions were negligible, but not all of the newer ones made up the difference. Also, this time there was no bonus disc.

Bruce Springsteen The Essential Bruce Springsteen (2003)—4
Bruce Springsteen The Essential Bruce Springsteen (2015)—3½

Joe Jackson 16: Volume 4

Having gone back in time once already, sort of, Joe’s next move went even further. He reunited the original Joe Jackson Band and picked right up where they left off. Okay, not really, but Volume 4 does well to wash away the bad taste left by much of Beat Crazy all those years ago.

Right away, Dangerous Dave Houghton rolls in the drums and Graham Maby percolates a bass line, Joe lets out a howl and Gary Sanford proves that he hasn’t changed his amp settings in 23 years. But then Joe throws on a piano part right out of Night And Day, and “Take It Like A Man” manages to meld a lot of styles together. The equally clever “Still Alive” nicely apes the XTC version of the Beatles, with a bridge reminiscent of Steely Dan’s “Barrytown”. “Awkward Age” absolutely crackles, just like they used to. And just like they used to, they get mellow, or at least mellower, on “Chrome”, with its intricately plucked guitar and a bass solo where the guitar or piano solo would be. The mood stays that way for “Love At First Light”, a slightly melancholy portrait and a rather adult perspective on a casual encounter. As a possible reaction, “Fairy Dust” crashes in with a 5/4 tempo, heavy wah-wah guitar and jazz attack, and presents another argument about sexual roles.

“Little Bit Stupid” has a great trashy sound to go with the title, before moving back to a sensitive approach on “Blue Flame”, about as close as the album gets to a seduction. Then, as if to wipe that away, there’s “Dirty Martini”, complete with the band chanting backups and a cheesy Farfisa-guitar duet, stopping for a New Orleans-flavored piano break. “Thugz ‘R’ Us” works where it shouldn’t, a ska-fueled spoof of angry youth, sounding mostly like a Madness track of, say, 23 years earlier. And finally, “Bright Grey” comes to an edgy, angry finish, just this side of chaotic.

Volume 4 is no more a “comeback” than any other artist’s so-called “return to form”, but what makes it successful is its simplicity. Listeners knew by now that Joe Jackson was an exceedingly talented musician, and even a skilled composer, though sometimes songs require a more straightforward approach, and that’s what we have here.

Those whose appetites were whet by the six-EP included in early pressings of the album (the Japanese, incidentally, got an excellent cover of Todd Rundgren’s “Couldn’t I Just Tell You”) would have been very pleased to scoop up Afterlife, captured on the reunited band’s tour, mixing old and new, including songs that only Graham Maby may have played before.

Joe Jackson Band Volume 4 (2003)—3

Sting 9: Sacred Love

It wasn’t a transition to vanilla as Phil Collins made in the same amount of time, but those of us who had enjoyed Sting’s earlier work, both on his own and with the Police, could only shrug with indifference when he deigned to make another album—his first in the new century. Not that we expected the yellow-haired punk from Outlandos to return, but then again, Sacred Love wasn’t designed to please us anyway. His crowd had become what used to be called adult contemporary, and they got just what they wanted.

The opener, “Inside”, is more of a litany than a lyric, but he does put a lot of energy into the vocal, and without laughing. Since it worked so well on the last album, “Send Your Love” expands on that Mideastern electro-pop sound, less so on the remix tacked onto the end of the CD, which is amazingly the shortest track on the album. “Whenever I Call Your Name” combines the litany gimmick of “Inside” (this time leaning heavily on the word “whenever”) with a duet sung with Mary J. Blige. Something of a return to a earlier sound comes in “Dead Man’s Rope”, with its Olde English guitar and feel—and then the reference to “Walking In Your Footsteps” seems almost obvious. There’s an intriguing story in “Never Coming Home”, of the end of a relationship; perhaps the arrangement was sped up to keep it from dragging, but the pace makes it hard to follow, and the effects are equally distracting.

If he’s going for style over substance, that’s fine; he makes beautiful wallpaper for his fans’ car stereos, and they’ll have been sucked in by now. But he insists on crafting stories, and they don’t always balance well. “Stolen Car (Take Me Dancing)” appears to be sung from the point of view of a private detective spying on a wayward husband—probably not any of the characters from the previous track—yet doesn’t quite make the transition to the chorus, which would have been better paired to other verses. “Forget About The Future” moves another apologetic lyric through another funky groove; this time the effect involves a scratchy 78, sent back to the present day via an actual harp flourish (the kind with strings, not the one you blow). There’s a crossfade into “This War”, an anti-Bush et al rant that actually rocks. That’s not Clapton on guitar, but it’s the effect he wanted, and it works. Unfortunately, that’s it for the rock, as “The Book Of My Life” (featuring Anoushka Shankar on sitar, as Ravi must not have been available) and the title track (with a reference to a “river in flood”) meander through the same rhythms.

We want to like Sacred Love, since history had previously shown that every less-than-stellar Sting album was followed by a better one. Instead, we can recommend it for fans of those albums, and shrug our shoulders along with those who gave up on him already.

Sting Sacred Love (2003)—2½

Lou Reed 26: The Raven

The idea that Lou Reed might be a fan of the work of Edgar Allen Poe isn’t such a stretch. Whether or not Lou saw himself in the same caliber as a writer is open to debate, but when occasional collaborator Robert Wilson approached him with the idea of a theater piece based on Poe’s work, he took the bold step of adapting some of it to music, rewriting other pieces, adding his own scatological touches, and even weaving in two of his own songs. Just to be extreme, The Raven was an ambitious double-CD set, released simultaneously as a single-CD condensation that’s heavier on the musical portions. It is not a fun listen in either incarnation.

It’s recorded well, of course, with support from trusty sidekicks Mike Rathke, Fernando Saunders, and Tony “Thunder” Smith, with a beefy horn section and Jane Scarpantoni on cello. Much of the program is spoken, sometimes effectively, usually overacted, from such stereotypical creepy voices as Willem Dafoe, Steve Buscemi, Elizabeth Ashley, and Amanda Plummer, among others. Various famous musicians turn up too. (Incidentally, co-producer Hal Willner had spearheaded a similar star-studded tribute to Poe a few years earlier.)

Musically, it’s so-so. The “Overture” is a blast of guitar and drums a la “Dorita” from Magic And Loss, but “Edgar Allan Poe” (said to be “not exactly the boy next do’”) sounds like a parody. “A Thousand Departed Friends” pits a distorted guitar against a honking sax over a martial drumbeat for five minutes, which is approximately when a melody surfaces. “Change” is barked from the point of view of Death, while “Blind Rage” is used to illustrate the old man in “The Tell-Tale Heart”. “Balloon” is an a cappella duet by the McGarrigle Sisters, though if you wanted to hear Steve Buscemi do a Sinatra impression, listen no further than “Broadway Song”. Lou himself unwisely changes his voice to take on a character in “Burning Embers”; a version sung straight might actually be worth it. After the unsettling dialogue of “Guilty”, Lou sings it again while Ornette Coleman improvises. “I Wanna Know” is supposed to illustrate “The Pit And The Pendulum”, but merely has Lou emoting a monologue with the Blind Boys of Alabama. The too-brief “Hop-Frog” barely delivers the promise of another collaboration with David Bowie, but the feedback and electronics that illustrate “Fire Music” are frighteningly vivid.

It’s not all horrible. “The Bed” from Berlin is used to comment on “The Fall Of The House Of Usher”, while “Perfect Day” (sung by Anohni, when she was still known as Antony Hegarty) sets up his rewrite of “The Raven”. “Call On Me” is a very pretty dialogue of sorts, Lou singing a mournful part and Laurie Anderson responding in prose before adding her own unaccompanied melody at the end. “Vanishing Act” is a lovely reverie set over the barest piano followed by beautiful strings, and “Science Of The Mind” is even more stark, with Anohni harmonizing just right. “Who Am I? (Tripetina’s Song)” builds from a simple set of chords to a wonderfully orchestrated epic, and “Guardian Angel” manages to quietly close the proceedings with something akin to peace. Taken together, these highlights present more of Lou’s softer, more vulnerable side.

If The Raven brings the work of Poe to modern audiences, then that mostly fulfills Lou’s hope for it. As an album, it’s a vanity project and should be approached with caution. The better musical moments are on the single disc, if that helps.

Lou Reed The Raven (2003)—2

King Crimson 20: The Power To Believe

Despite most people’s expectations, King Crimson actually surfaced in the 21st century. The Power To Believe retained the same quartet from the previous album, and is something of a piece, with its intricate fake-delay guitars and electronically enhanced percussion. There seems to be less emphasis on upfront vocals, which is fine.

The title track is split into three parts plus coda throughout the album. The first part is a cappella, a processed vocalizing that recurs throughout; the second seems to have several other sections within it; the third supports a lengthy slow Fripp solo; and the coda is almost Enoesque (until the vocals come in). “Level Five” is textbook Crimson, pounding a non-standard time signature into submission with staccato emphasis a la the “Larks’ Tongues” series (in which it would one day be officially incorporated as “Part Five”); similarly “EleKtriK” should be pleasing to shredheads. If there’s a radio-friendly single on the album, it’s “Eyes Wide Open”, but even that might be considered too light for the band and the prog genre overall. “Facts Of Life” has a long, dull intro (indexed separately) and lyrics that think too much, but an experiment that works once you figure out the point is “Happy With What You Have To Be Happy With”, a skewering of the nu-metal scene and how their songs are constructed (“I guess I’ll repeat the chorus/we’re gonna repeat the chorus”). “Dangerous Curves” builds in the style of “The Devil’s Triangle”, and overall the album seems to hearkening back to the Crimson of the early ‘70s.

Something of a preview (a la VROOOM for Thrak) appeared in the form of Happy With What You Have To Be Happy With. Three new songs-with-vocals are linked by short, processed a cappella pieces and instrumentals. A ten-minute live version of “Larks’ Tongues In Aspic (Part IV)” is pretty cool, and the set ends with a collage of snippets from the studio, some humorous. The one song that didn’t appear on the album proper was “Potato Pie”, which extended some of the “blues” experiments of the last album. Also available at shows before given wider release directly from the band was the Level Five EP, highlighting five mostly instrumentals (and one hidden track, all with boomy mixes) from their brief stint opening up for Tool, some of which would be developed for The Power To Believe. A further souvenir appeared as EleKtriK, recorded at the Tokyo stop of that year’s tour. It actually consisted of most of the audio portion of the first disc of the Eyes Wide Open DVD package, which is more comprehensive, and therefore a better representation of the so-called Double Duo’s capabilities. (All three of these audio extras have since been rereleased by Discipline Global Mobile in a single package.)

History has shown that nothing is set in stone, but for many years, this was the last King Crimson album, Fripp having semi-retired but still authorizing archival releases and fighting for the rights of the musician. At this stage he had left a legacy that remains challenging, inspiring, unpredictable and, for those who have made the plunge, highly rewarding.

King Crimson Level Five (2001)—3
King Crimson Happy With What You Have To Be Happy With (2002)—2½
King Crimson The Power To Believe (2003)—3
King Crimson EleKtriK (2003)—3

Robyn Hitchcock 19: Luxor

The direct approach suited Robyn, and continued with the next installment in his discography. Originally distributed to attendees of his 50th birthday concert, Luxor begins with promise, being completely solo and mostly acoustic, just like the best albums of his heyday.

Indeed, “The Sound Of Sound” crawls along at a lovely slow pace, but is pushed aside by “One L”, a tribute to his wife that’s a little too personal to succeed. “Penelope’s Angles” follows a plucked pattern similar to “Autumn Is Your Last Chance”, but wanders off to repeatedly insist that “I am not a yam.” There’s something of a juxtaposition in the not-quite-there-ness of “The Idea Of You” and the much superior “You Remind Me Of You”. The title track is instrumental, and happily doesn’t evoke mental images of Vegas casinos, Egyptian relics or computer games. “Keep Finding Me” beings with an enticing melody that unfortunately loses its way in the bridges (“Be true to your drum/be true to your drummer/this summer is gonna be hot—hot!”).

“Maria Lyn” has some excellent lyrics, but the one-chord blues style has never been his most comfortable approach, no matter how many times he tries it (though “Solpadeine”, which closes the program does much better in the format, mostly because it offers more chords). “Round Song” is an improvement, its ringing 12-string and vocal effects sounding very much like the English psychedelic folk we imagine him loving without having heard it ourselves. The jumpy “Ant Corridor” seems more like a demo than anything else here, making little sense. The same could be said of “Idonia”, but somehow this particular mix of sea shanty and 1966 Dylan clicks. “The Wolf House” is another pretty instrumental staying just this side of revealing its structure.

Presented with little fanfare, Luxor re-establishes the trend of Robyn Hitchcock albums that are pleasant but not very exciting. Because of the perfection of I Often Dream Of Trains and Eye—not to mention the sheer entertainment his solo shows always provided—we desperately want to like this album more than we do. The rating should therefore be taken well within context, and we’d be surprised, albeit pleasantly, if anyone fell in love with his work based on this particular album.

Robyn Hitchcock Luxor (2003)—2½

Television 3: The Blow-Up and The Old Waldorf

Television initially only existed long enough to put out two albums, but played regularly on the punk club circuit in New York City and elsewhere. Here Tom Verlaine’s capabilities as a guitarist were put on best display riding the wave of dynamics of the band underneath. Songs that were already mesmerizing on vinyl were given plenty of space to stretch without restraint.

For the longest time, the only evidence of how they sounded came from a bootleg-quality compilation called The Blow-Up. Issued by the tiny ROIR cassette-only label, it was put together by Verlaine himself, giving something of an approximation of gig in 85 minutes. While some of the track info has been clarified over the years, it’s still unknown where these songs were recorded. Whatever the source, the crowd’s having a ball.

The album gets its title from the opening song, which is actually a 13th Floor Elevators tune called “Fire Engine”. Several tracks from the two albums are performed faithfully, and then it gets interesting. “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door” was an unlikely cover in 1978, and here they take the opportunity to take it apart. “Little Johnny Jewel” and “Marquee Moon” are given epic readings, and it all ends with, of all things, “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”.

Another official live album finally came out in 2003, in conjunction with the two Elektra albums’ reissues. Live At The Old Waldorf was recorded at that San Francisco club, and released by Rhino’s Handmade limited edition imprint. While it doesn’t have the breadth or length of The Blow-Up, it gets the edge thanks to its superior sound, taken from a radio broadcast, complete with DJ patter. “The Dream’s Dream” is a surprising opener, and while it doesn’t exactly grab the crowd by the throat, at least it sucks them in.

Television The Blow-Up (1982)—3
Television Live At The Old Waldorf (2003)—3½

R.E.M. 14: In Time

Halfway through recording their next album, somebody must have noticed that R.E.M. had been around for twenty years, fifteen of which were spent on the label where they enjoyed their biggest success. So why not compile a hits collection covering those seven albums, with a few extras thrown in?

In Time: The Best Of R.E.M. 1988-2003 contains all the obvious favorites from that period, sequenced for feel instead of chronology, so that some of the less omnipresent hits get as much attention. To underscore this, “Shiny Happy People” is not included, to nobody’s chagrin. “The Great Beyond”, the single from their soundtrack to the Andy Kaufman biopic, appears as the second track, right after “Man In The Moon”, which gave that film its title. “Bad Day” (the original blueprint for “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It”) is revived and refined, given a new level of meaning in the wake of the War on Terror. “All The Right Friends” was another decades-old song, newly recorded for a questionable Tom Cruise movie. “Animal” is completely new, sounding like a distillation of the Monster album through the synth effects of Up and Reveal. The closing grouping of “Everybody Hurts”, “At My Most Beautiful” and “Nightswimming” presents the band at their most gentle.

Of course, any self-respecting R.E.M. fans would only justify picking up this hits collection if they went for the limited-edition double disc, which added an hour’s worth of B-sides and rarities. Some of these are welcome, like the acoustic take of “Pop Song 89”, a live electric “Drive” and the haunting “Fretless”, an Out Of Time outtake featuring Kate Pierson on harmonies. Of the latter (and the less exciting “It’s A Free World, Baby”, which is half a good song), Peter Buck says in the liner notes that he can’t imagine how it was left aside. “Revolution” got a lot of stage time when they wrote it, but was ultimately excluded from New Adventures In Hi-Fi, while a strikingly different arrangement of “Leave” is miles away from the noisy one on that album. A lengthy live take of “Country Feedback” will please fans of the song as much as it will irritate detractors.

As odds ‘n sods collections go, it’s no Dead Letter Office, which is understandable considering the period whence these castoffs emerged. As for the hits portion of In Time, it’s a decent overview, but unfortunately underscores the band’s increasing lack of importance, paradoxically enough.

R.E.M. In Time: The Best Of R.E.M. 1988-2003 (2003)—3½

David Bowie 33: Reality

Almost as quickly as ever before, Bowie was back with another new one, with much of the same band and production crew as on the satisfying Heathen. But while some have hailed Reality as a masterpiece, these ears were not nearly as wowed. The ingredients generally don’t add up and the covers—an unrecognizable “Pablo Picasso” by Jonathan Richman and “Try Some Buy Some” by George Harrison via Ronnie Spector—don’t seem to fit anywhere.

Something about “New Killer Star” manages to sound like a typical Bowie album opener, its jaunty meter belying the lyrics that seem to reference the recent attack on the World Trade Center. “Never Get Old” crosses the moods of Never Let Me Down and Outside, and it’s an odd transition into the depressing but touching lament of “The Loneliest Guy”. “Looking For Water” portends a doom that also may or may not be inspired by the aftermath of 9/11, while the tension in the opening verses of “She’ll Drive The Big Car” doesn’t last through the different chorus sections.

“Days” isn’t the Ray Davies song, which is a shame, since he could probably nail it. One of the more teasing tracks is “Fall Dog Bombs The Moon”, with its straightforward guitars, bass and drums riding a stop-and-start rhythm. The title track piles a lot of heavy sounds into a small space, making the lengthy closer “Bring Me The Disco King”, with its quieter jazz backing, easier to swallow. (As with Heathen, the initial release included a bonus disc, this time with three extra tracks: the very synth-pop “Fly”, the basically unfinished “Queen Of All The Tarts (Overture)”, and a re-arrangement of “Rebel Rebel” apparently recorded for a Charlie’s Angels sequel.)

Reality isn’t very exciting, no pun intended, but ultimately the good outweighs the bad. Bowie’s a trouper, so when he’s excited about something he promotes it. The subsequent tour was one of his better ones, covering all the highlights of his nearly forty-year career, until a health scare forced him to cut it short. The CD version of A Reality Tour (which had already been a DVD) shows off a terrific band, good sound, and an extremely cheerful singer—plus the stellar duet with Gail Ann Dorsey on “Under Pressure”—yet suggested something of a finale for such a wild career. It was just as well; outside of a few guest appearances and the occasional catalog update, he stayed silent for his longest stretch in decades. Nine-plus years without new music had us thinking that he really had retired, yet, as much as we’d missed his input, something told us he was happy where he was. Finally.

David Bowie Reality (2003)—3
2007 limited 2CD edition: same as 2003, plus 8 extra tracks
David Bowie A Reality Tour (2010)—3½

Robert Plant 8: Sixty Six To Timbuktu

Dreamland got more critical acclaim than huge sales, but was enough of a hit (in Europe) for Robert to compile his first solo career retrospective. Sixty Six To Timbuktu was a two-CD set, the first concentrating on hits and near-hits, while the second compiled pre-fame tracks, soundtrack contributions, rarities and more.

The average listener would be happy enough with the first disc, except that it ignores Pictures Of Eleven completely, and only includes “Big Log” from The Principle Of Moments. That means no “Burning Down One Side” or “In The Mood”. But a whopping five cuts from Fate Of Nations and a few from Dreamland mingle nicely with the likes of “Sea Of Love”, “Tall Cool One” and “Ship Of Fools”. Obviously, he’s going more for feel than ego.

His detailed liner notes, affectionate to both his journey and everyone he met along the way, help illustrate the choices on the second disc. This isn’t a mopping-up of all his rarities—“Far Post” would have been a great inclusion, though “Dirt In A Hole” from the international versions of Dreamland is welcome—but it does cover a wide swath of sounds as suggested by the title. Beginning with a handful of pre-Zeppelin recordings, including covers of “You Better Run”, “For What It’s Worth” and “Hey Joe” (the latter two in a band with young John Bonham on drums), we get to hear the development of his voice. Then it jumps ahead to the ‘80s and the so-called Phil Collins era, with a few oldies recorded for soundtracks and the big thing of the ‘90s, the tribute album. A couple of the experiments that led up to his late-‘80s sound help add to the story, for better or worse. After getting rockabilly out of his system, he took these opportunities to explore his interest in world music and several tracks related to Moby Grape and/or Skip Spence.

This is the stuff that he’s really proud of, and you can tell by his delivery. The thing is, the man has such a great voice, you can almost forgive the dated experiments for things like “21 Years” or “Life Begin Again” with the Afro Celt Sound System, where it’s just him and a backing. A long way from the 18-year-old kid doing covers, and pointedly away from the guy in the women’s blouses singing with Led Zeppelin.

So Sixty Six To Timbuktu is hardly a hits collection, and destined to only be of interest to diehard fans. And with about two-and-a-half hours to take in, it’s unlikely that either disc will stay in the rotation more than, say, the albums that spawned some of the hits. (To drive that particular point home, the Nine Lives box set arrived a couple years later, collecting each of his solo albums, including The Honeydrippers EP, each with bonus tracks, as well a DVD.)

Robert Plant Sixty Six To Timbuktu (2003)—3

Led Zeppelin 13: How The West Was Won

Ever since The Song Remains The Same soundtrack was released, Jimmy Page had talked about possibly putting together a live album that he felt would better represent the band in concert. But for the longest time, there were only those 1973 performances, one song on Coda and one on the box set to demonstrate the band’s live show. Then, BBC Sessions filled in the gaps bigtime with recordings from 1969 and 1971.

Perhaps due to the daunting task of going through so many different tapes—as the plethora of bootlegs covering the band’s career certainly attests—Page decided to limit such an overview to filmed performances to make up a deluxe retrospective DVD package. While mixing the sound for those, he came across two shows recorded on the 1972 American tour, just after they’d finished recording Houses Of The Holy. The result was How The West Was Won.

While both shows are sourced over three CDs, the sequencing results in a much more enjoyable listening experience than The Song Remains The Same had. Starting with “LA Drone” as a kind of fanfare, the band kicks into “Immigrant Song” and doesn’t let up. “Stairway To Heaven” hadn’t worn out its welcome yet, and the acoustic songs that close the first disc are both intimate and fun. The second disc is dominated by a mammoth “Dazed And Confused”, which includes substantial explorations of “Walter’s Walk” and “The Crunge”, and a lengthy “Moby Dick”. “Whole Lotta Love” with an R&B medley starts the third disc, but three shorter songs end the proceedings.

How The West Was Won is a wonderful album, and a very pleasant surprise, if sparsely packaged, but a nice surprise (along with the DVD, which is just as essential for fanatics). The band sounds in mostly good spirits throughout, and sound especially enthusiastic about the new songs that would eventually appear on Houses Of The Holy the following year. Best of all, Page and Bonham had yet to be debilitated by the drugs and alcohol that affected later tours. If this is the only archival live recording Page will authorize, it will do just fine. (When the album was remastered and re-released 15 years later following the studio album expansions, two minutes of “Hello Mary Lou” from the “Whole Lotta Love” medley had been excised, likely because the historically stingy Page didn’t want to pay royalties.)

Led Zeppelin How The West Was Won (2003)—4

Daniel Lanois 3: Shine

In the ten years between his second and third solo albums, Daniel Lanois kept doing what he did best: producing other people’s records. He achieved some acclaim working with Emmylou Harris and Willie Nelson, and even shared a Grammy for Bob Dylan’s Time Out Of Mind. He also produced the soundtrack to Sling Blade, where his own compositions and selections of covers worked very well both on the screen and in your CD player.

Shine was distributed by the Anti label, then riding high as the new home for Tom Waits. Whatever sales they hoped to get from Lanois are unknown; thematically sits somewhere between his first two albums. The best song is the first track. “I Love You” has exactly two chords, and includes harmonies from Emmylou over a typically swampy sound. Bono shows up on “Falling At Your Feet”, which was likely the focus cut. “As Tears Roll By” gets its rhythm from an old Charley Patton record, and builds sonically on that.

Many of the tracks are instrumental, giving him a chance to show off his proficiency at the pedal steel guitar, pointedly outside of a country & western frame. As with most instrumentals, some provide soothing atmosphere, while others, such as the highly Eno-like “Matador”, suggest doom and gloom.

Shine doesn’t stand out so much as exist, and that’s fine. For all his occasional steps into the spotlight, Daniel Lanois is simply not a frontman. His voice doesn’t need to be as up in the mix as it is, and the hubris that kept For The Beauty Of Wynona from being great is still in evidence. But it’s always nice to hear what he’s got “cooking in the kitchen”, as his liner notes say.

Daniel Lanois Shine (2003)—3

George Harrison 15: Concert For George

A year to the day after George died, his “guitarist-in-law” Eric Clapton collaborated with Olivia and Dhani Harrison to put together a star-studded tribute concert. The obvious parallel would be made to the Concert For Bangla Desh, as many of the friends who’d helped out with that project were on hand to do it again here.

The first half hour—taking up all of disc one—is devoted to Indian music, mostly composed by Ravi Shankar, performed by an orchestra and choir led by Ravi’s daughter Anoushka. An interlude of “The Inner Light” sung by Jeff Lynne fits very well, while the final section includes acoustic extrapolations by Eric. It’s mesmerizing. (Not included on the CD, but presented in full on the DVD, was the intermission, featuring “Sit On My Face” and “The Lumberjack Song” performed by most of Monty Python in full singing-waiter and Mountie costumes. Without question, George would have loved it.)

The rock portion of the show provides heartfelt renditions of several George songs, mostly performed faithfully to the original recordings. Jeff, Eric, Gary Brooker and the little-known-to-Americans Joe Brown trade off on vocals before the big stars come in. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers do “Taxman” and “I Need You”, and bring Dhani and Jeff up for “Handle With Care”. Billy Preston does “Isn’t It A Pity”, then Ringo comes out to sing “Honey Don’t” and “Photograph” before introducing Paul McCartney.

Paul’s choices are intriguing, as they mostly come from the Get Back period. His ukulele arrangement of “Something” dovetails not seamlessly into the standard version, led by a Clapton solo. And his heartfelt rendition of “All Things Must Pass” is a stunner, considering how many times George tried to get the Beatles to learn it, only to be met with indifference. He sits at the piano to back up Eric on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”, before letting Billy take over with “My Sweet Lord”. Everyone crowds onstage for “Wah-Wah” (with Klaus Voormann on bass!) and then Joe Brown brings his ukulele out one last time.

While a straight tribute album, George’s voice comes through every moment of this concert. The choice of songs also shows how much his lesser-known tracks meant to his friends. To get the full experience, watch the DVD—the love all these people had for the guy permeates every shot. There are several angles taken of drummers Jim Keltner, Henry Spinetti and Ringo working as one. And with handsome Dhani strumming away on an acoustic throughout, it’s not easy to be unmoved.

Concert For George (2003)—4

Neil Young 35: Greendale

Greendale had a lot to overcome, from the disappointment of Are You Passionate? to the way Neil presented it to the world. It’s a song cycle that apparently came through him as we hear it, complete with background on each character and plot to fill the spaces in between the songs (at least until the movie came out). He played it acoustic with narration for a while, then brought Crazy Horse on tour on the eve of its release, and braved a pile of bad reviews and poor audience response for ignoring the hits. (Neil felt so strongly about the significance of the album that he released it the same day four of the Missing 6 appeared.)

Quite simply, it tells the story of an extended family on a farm in a small town, and how a single tragic incident leads to further tragedy, culminating in one character’s efforts to make the world a better place. The plot proceeds at a matter-of-fact pace, with compassion between each line.

“Falling From Above” sets the scene, with interlocking conversations between some of the characters, followed by more back story in “Double E”. “Devil’s Sidewalk” goes across town for another point of view over the first of several simple yet spellbinding riffs. “Leave The Driving” sets the plot in motion, followed by the effective storytelling of “Carmichael”, a song that really gets inside the head of real people. “Bandit” is achingly pretty, with a hopeful chorus that would have worked better as the title. It’s also the only song that works outside of the plot. “Grandpa’s Interview” moves the story along, and as long as it is, it’s not boring. Neil’s pump organ returns in the delicate “Bringin’ Down Dinner”, followed by the one-two indictment in “Sun Green” and “Be The Rain”. Whew.

Of course, the album takes longer than that simple synopsis. It works best heard in a single setting, and not piecemeal. This is his most overtly cinematic album, and coincidentally the most penetrable plotwise, though it doesn’t really have an ending. Given the simplistic arrangements and the politics, it’s clear why a lot of people didn’t like it. But they also didn’t give it a chance. Soundwise it’s a logical extension from the two previous Crazy Horse albums, even if Poncho wasn’t included on the sessions.

As he worked to get his message out, Neil took advantage of his website to provide visitors with a multimedia Greendale experience. Starting with a map, various pieces were filled in, including locations, family trees and even a recording of Pegi singing “Don’t Fence Me In”. The initial version of the CD came with a bonus DVD of a live acoustic performance of the songs, filmed in Dublin earlier in the year (which had already been available for streaming on the site). Then, a “second edition” followed a few months later, with a different DVD, this one covering the recording sessions. Whether it helped sales any is not known; what is known is that the fan base didn’t want to buy the album twice, no matter how much they liked it or didn’t.

Neil obviously had affection for the project, as he would eventually release a live version of the album as part of the Performance Series in his sprawling Archives. Return To Greendale finds Crazy Horse stomping through the album in order in Toronto a month after it came out, stretching it just past the capacity for a single CD. Sadly for fans, the extra time on the second disc was not given over to any of the other songs played at the concert, but the booklet did include the songs’ lyrics for the first time. (The deluxe edition of the album offered the album on two CDs and two LPs, plus a Blu-ray of the concert film and the DVD from the second edition of the original album.)

Greendale remains a polarizing album among critics and fans today. Detractors didn’t care about the ecological theme or thought the music was too simple; supporters felt Neil was exercising his art to the fullest, and that the Horse were the perfect vehicle for the tunes. Chances are it will remain overlooked.

Neil Young & Crazy Horse Greendale (2003)—3½
Neil Young & Crazy Horse Return To Greendale (2020)—3

Elvis Costello 22: North

Despite a career spent dabbling in countless musical styles, whenever Elvis put out an album that didn’t include another clone of “Pump It Up”, it got slammed. North had the honor of being named on lists for both the best and the worst albums of 2003 in Entertainment Weekly. The key complaint raised there, and all over the Internet, is that the album doesn’t have any melodies, which is horse-hockey. North is full of melodies, and gorgeous ones too, with arrangements are closer to such classic torch song collections as Frank Sinatra Sings For Only The Lonely. That’s where people object, but consider that the songs were all composed on the piano by someone who considers himself an amateur keyboard player at best. (A guitar appears on only one song, albeit mixed so low as to be inaudible.)

Though he was quick to say otherwise, the album was written and recorded in the wake of his separation and subsequent divorce from his (second) wife of 17 years, followed by his romance with Diana Krall, a respected singer/pianist known for her reverent versions of jazz standards—not unlike the contents of this album. Whatever the inspiration, it’s still a haunting song cycle examining the arc from love lost to love found.

After a swirl of strings that functions as a prelude, “You Left Me In The Dark” is a fairly straightforward statement of melancholy solitude. “Someone Took The Words Away” goes even deeper, and it’s not often you hear someone as verbose as EC admitting to being left speechless. The extended sax solo that brings to mind Tom Waits’ beatnik era. “When Did I Stop Dreaming?” breaks out of the startled mood with an arrangement worthy of Tony Bennett, followed by the brief but effective “You Turned To Me”. “Fallen”, the album’s best song, evokes the images of leaves falling from trees, with a plea for “someone to shake me loose” out of despair.

“When It Sings” is loaded with clever rhymes and oblique wordplay, accompanied by punctuating strings, and lead track “Still” is a rare display of tenderness from a guy known for songs about jealousy. Lest we feel we’re eavesdropping, he chooses to hold his joy close to his chest in “Let Me Tell You About Her”, featuring rhymes straight out of Cole Porter. It closes with an extended flugelhorn solo, accompanied by EC’s own piano playing. (The majority of the piano performances on North come from the dexterous hands of Steve Nieve.) “Can You Be True?” goes back to Sinatra territory, and “When Green Eyes Turn Blue” has all the hallmarks of a Big Finish, from its grand arrangement and dramatic strings to the perfect ending. But the last word goes to “I’m In The Mood Again”, in which the narrator slings his coat over his shoulder, his hat at a jaunty angle, and wanders among the lampposts out of Manhattan, happy again. (There was a title track of sorts, only available via a download ticket. It’s just as well; the song—like two others included as bonus tracks overseas—is more of an afterthought or B-side that really doesn’t fit with the rest of the album.)

North is a successful experiment, and fine accompaniment for dusky autumn evenings with a bottle of red wine. This was not the first time he’d put so many low-key ballads together; every album from his first (remember “Alison”?) has had its share. Its closest relative in the canon would be Painted From Memory, another album that pissed off many in his fan base. Those who gave it a chance—and to this day it still divides the faithful—were happy to have it, moreso than the over-hyped, disappointing When I Was Cruel.

Elvis Costello North (2003)—4