Paul McCartney 14: Pipes Of Peace

It made perfect sense—war and peace, right? The follow-up to the successful Tug Of War, Pipes Of Peace came out in time for Christmas 1983 with a heavy emphasis on the duets with Michael Jackson, just when he was the biggest performer in the world hands down. Paul had already sung “The Girl Is Mine” with Wacko Jacko on Thriller; and Tug Of War sported two tracks featuring a Motown legend, so this does too. We’ll get to those.

The title track starts in a similar fashion to its counterpart, but gets derailed ere long by nursery-rhyme melodies and a children’s choir juxtaposed over Indian drums. At least the video had something to recommend it, but the song still sounds forced all these years later. “Say Say Say” has a lot more Michael than Macca, which probably explains its success, and it manages to be danceable without dating itself. (In the reverse of “Pipes”, the song is easier to swallow than the video.) And here’s where it all starts to really sink. “The Other Me” and “Keep Under Cover” barely have enough on their own to even turn into something worthwhile. Perhaps if he’d taken parts of each…no, that wouldn’t work either. “So Bad” might have been better served if he gave it to Jacko, or anyone else who wouldn’t sound so silly singing so high. To induce vomiting, seek out any of his interviews where he describes putting “boy I love you” in the lyrics to either humiliate or include his five-year-old son.

“The Man”, the other track with the future King of Pop, seems to be about someone very important, but damned if we can figure out who that is. “Sweetest Little Show” runs into “Average Person”, and both are equally as condescending as they are aggravating. (Though the latter might make folks pine for London Town, and it took years for us to notice that the fake horns motif at the end of each chorus was done better as the coda to “Tug Of War”.) “Hey Hey” is a dopey instrumental written with jazz cat Stanley Clarke, who wasn’t in a hurry to put it on any of his own albums. “Tug Of Peace” tries to unite the two big themes, and like some arranged marriages, succeeds only in wasting the time and attention of everyone involved. Luckily, “Though Our Love” is that One McCartney Song per album we’ve come to count on. Just gorgeous—but it’s too late. We’re already really pissed off.

Amazingly, George Martin signed off on Pipes Of Peace, easily Paul’s worst album in ten years. Some of these tracks were left over from the Tug Of War sessions, and it’s obvious why they weren’t used there. The better ones also appear in demo form on the Archive Collection bonus disc, along with a new remix of “Say Say Say”, the undeniably catchy “Ode To A Koala Bear”, and a few other underdone tracks from the same period. Of course, that didn’t stop the PR machine from touting Pipes Of Peace as an ‘80s classic, which it’s not. If we were in charge of these things, we’d’ve at least combined it with the new songs he’d earmarked for his first major motion picture (which we’ll discuss in due time), and pushed the demos over onto the concurrently released Tug Of War bonus disc, where they belong chronologically, rather than barely padding out both albums for the streaming generation. But this is what happens to performers who have spent decades doing anything they want. And in Paul’s case, it would only get worse.

Paul McCartney Pipes Of Peace (1983)—2
2015 Archive Collection: same as 1983, plus 9 extra tracks (Deluxe Edition adds DVD)

John Lennon 10: The John Lennon Collection

Just in time for Christmas 1982, Geffen had managed to license some EMI-owned songs to add to their Double Fantasy tracks for a “new” Lennon album, with an air of sheer commercialism dancing around its existence. That being said, as an LP The John Lennon Collection succeeds in that it includes the complete single version of “Give Peace A Chance”; it also utilizes a slightly remixed “Love”, the minimalist beauty from Plastic Ono Band. Side two begins strongly with “Imagine” and “Jealous Guy”, then retreads most of John’s half of Double Fantasy, all radio hits save “Dear Yoko”. (“Oh Yoko!” would have been a better choice but perhaps not as economically feasible for Geffen at the time.)

The Estate redeemed itself with the 1989 CD reissue by including the original single version of “Happy Xmas” (with correct printed lyrics), plus “Stand By Me” and the previously unalbumized B-side “Move Over Ms. L”. “Cold Turkey” rounds things out, if ending the disc on a harsh note. “Dear Yoko” still should have hit the scrap heap, and couldn’t they have added “Nobody Told Me” by then?

Nevertheless, the music was still good, but that wouldn’t prevent the Estate from attempting further compilations at random intervals. 1997 brought the packed-to-capacity Lennon Legend. Subtitled “The Very Best of John Lennon”, it included everything on Shaved Fish except that song with the N-word in the title, key album tracks like “Love”, “Working Class Hero”, “Jealous Guy”, and “Stand By Me”, just the four singles from Double Fantasy, and “Nobody Told Me” and “Borrowed Time”, which revisionist history likes to portray as “prophetic”. The chronology was a tad strange, but the overall sound was hotter, so it’s a nice place to start. Eight years later, his 65th birthday was the excuse for Working Class Hero, so-called “The Definitive Lennon”, which rendered both Shaved Fish and Lennon Legend obsolete, and added enough album tracks to fill up two discs. The only rarities not in standard versions had been available already. But there would be more of the same soon enough.

John Lennon The John Lennon Collection (1982)—4
1989 CD reissue: same as 1982, plus 4 extra tracks
John Lennon Lennon Legend: The Very Best of John Lennon (1997)—4
John Lennon Working Class Hero: The Definitive Lennon (2005)—4

Pete Townshend 6: White City

Roger Daltrey’s 1985 solo album got a little help from Pete Townshend, but only had two months to itself before Pete’s own album started chasing it around the charts. White City ultimately got more attention, as it was subtitled “A Novel” and had an impenetrable straight-to-video film to go with it.

Whatever story he hoped to tell—something having to do with apartheid as experienced on a council estate—is luckily overshadowed by some good music. “Give Blood” is an angry, turbulent song propelled by drums and repeating guitars. “Brilliant Blues” is pleasant enough, followed by the white rap of “Face The Face”. “Hiding Out” is poppy, and the side drags to an end with “Secondhand Love”, which got radio play despite being so average.

“Crashing By Design” kicks off the second side well, but gets dashed by a calypso detour and the allegory of “I Am Secure”. “White City Fighting” is an excellent collaboration with David Gilmour, even though it doesn’t seem to explain the plot any. “Come To Mama” is in two parts—a lengthy intro and another prose exercise—and ends the album oddly.

The main problem with the album is that there’s not enough “music” to enjoy it as a collection of songs, and not enough explanation to pass it off as a story. Those factors together make White City feel incomplete. Was he pressured to keep it a single album? Or were the ideas left over from the sessions simply not good enough?

Several years later Pete posted his original script for the film on his website. It covered many of the themes that would color much of his writing over the next two decades, including separated spouses, regret for one’s actions and hallucinatory conversations with oneself as a child. When combined with the story on the back cover, it unfortunately illuminates the filming process more than the film itself. In the end, trying to find a story within White City accomplishes nothing. You’d be better off simply enjoying the music. (The 2006 reissue included an odd mix of extras: “Night School”, which was never completed for the film despite being featured in a “making-of” segment; a pointless extended mix of “Hiding Out”; and a cover of the English Beat’s “Save It For Later”, one of Pete’s favorites.)

Pete Townshend White City: A Novel (1985)—3
2006 remaster: same as 1985, plus 3 extra tracks

Roger Daltrey 7: Under A Raging Moon

Without The Who to take up his time (the brief Live Aid reunion notwithstanding) Roger Daltrey went right back in the studio to put together another album fairly quickly after the disappointment of Parting Should Be Painless. The brief was more or less the same; he gathered songs from a variety of sources, old and new, though this time he contributed to four songs himself.

The first single, and what sold Under A Raging Moon upon release, was “After The Fire”, which Pete Townshend wrote in the wake of Band Aid and Live Aid and everything. The song absolutely soars, despite a puzzling reference to Dom DeLuise, with the rhythm section from Big Country, so familiar from Pete’s own albums. Then strap yourself in for some downright boomy tracks. “Don’t Talk To Strangers” is a cover of a tune on one of the songwriters’ solo albums, while “Breaking Down Paradise” is the requisite Russ Ballard entry. “The Pride You Hide” crams a lot of words into a simple song about heartbreak, and while “Move Better In The Night” is fairly cliché, it still rocks. (The CD and cassette included an extra song here, “Love Me Like You Do”, which mostly takes up six minutes for a guitar solo from Robbie McIntosh, playing hooky from the Pretenders.)

Bryan Adams was one of the faces and voices of 1985—in this hemisphere, anyway—and he and writing partner Jim Vallance serve up two songs for Rog. “Let Me Down Easy” is a carbon copy of Adams’ “Somebody”, an undeniably catchy tune in its own right. Kit Hain is brought back from the last album for “Fallen Angel”, which Roger delivers first in a lower register that mostly sounds like a bad Bowie imitation, then starts yelling his way through it but for a “sweeter” bridge. The yelling continues on “It Don’t Satisfy Me”, which he wrote himself with the producer, suggesting that he might actually be channeling some of the anger over the Who ending. Beyond that, the drums are right out of Robert Palmer’s “Addicted To Love”. “Rebel” is the other Adams/Vallance track, and sounds a little more convincing out of Roger’s mouth; after all, real rebels don’t go around telling everyone that’s what they are. Finally, the title was supposedly intended to call up the spirit of Keith Moon, but we’ll be damned how that’s supposed to be given the lyrics (courtesy of John Parr, then riding high with the St. Elmo’s Fire soundtrack). The backing track is too obvious an homage to “Won’t Get Fooled Again”, the guitars slash like Pete, and seven all-star drummers are listed as contributing, with a closing solo that’s a battle between Mark Brzezicki and Zak Starkey in a stroke of foreshadowing.

While certainly produced and mixed for contemporary rock radio by one Alan Shacklock, Under A Raging Moon actually works, despite itself; call it a guilty pleasure. Even though he’s always at his best in his original band, the album suggests that maybe Roger would be fine on his own after all. Maybe.

Roger Daltrey Under A Raging Moon (1985)—3

Who 17: Who’s Last and Shea Stadium

Following Pete Townshend’s statement saying the band was done, there were rumors of a live album in the works that would encompass The Who’s entire career. Instead, the following Xmas saw the release of Who’s Last. Instead of a retrospective, the album consisted solely of performances taken from the 1982 farewell tour. And since it was on MCA, nothing from the ‘80s was included.

This is the showbiz Who, going through the motions, delivering the hits, with Pete playing the Schecter Telecaster copy that always sounded like his chorus pedal was jammed in the full position. It takes balls to include songs already perfected on Live At Leeds, and superior versions of “Baba O’Riley” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again” were on The Kids Are Alright. Most of the tracks are padded front and back with audience noise. At least John Entwistle gets the last word with his shredding vocal on “Twist And Shout”, and Kenney Jones plays with more fire throughout the album than he demonstrated on any of his Who studio recordings. Except for the backing tapes to “Who Are You” and the Who’s Next tunes, any keyboards heard are provided by Tim Gorman, cruelly called “Jim Gorman” in the liner notes, adding to the shoddiness of the package. Despite occasional moments—such as the rockabilly coda to “Long Live Rock”—Who’s Last proved to be about as inspired as its title.

It took forty years, but they finally got around to releasing a complete show from this tour, but only after it had been released on DVD and Blu-ray that went out of print. They weren’t the first band to play Shea Stadium since the Beatles, but they were certainly the biggest, cramming the field over two nights. As it was about three weeks into the tour, they were up to speed and not yet worn out. (The final show from Toronto has been on video for years, and throughout that Pete looks as uncomfortable as his haircut.)

Live At Shea Stadium 1982 is taken from the second night, and being able to hear a complete set already puts it above Who’s Last. The mix is good, making the keyboards more audible, especially when they pan across the stereo spectrum. Roger’s in good voice as ever, Pete and John less so, but Pete’s sobriety kept him on track. And since they weren’t just playing the hits, but promoting the new album, the setlist is more balanced. Once they get the newer songs out of the way, they start dipping into the past. Pete does a verse of “I’m One” solo before the band crashes in for “The Punk And The Godfather”, and “Drowned” jams for nine minutes. They even play “Tattoo” for some reason, though Pete blows the first chorus, and include “I Saw Her Standing There” in the encores. It’s a long two hours, and not stellar, but better than what we had.

The Who Who’s Last (1984)—2
The Who Live At Shea Stadium 1982 (2024)—3

Neil Young 25: Harvest Moon

A year after blowing our ears out, Neil came from the other end of the spectrum with Harvest Moon. Touted as the long-awaited sequel to Harvest, it did use many of the same musicians and made some direct references, but was a lot closer to Comes A Time in that it has little electric edge.

“Unknown Legend” is pleasant enough, a story of a waitress with a nice open-air feeling from riding the Harley. While we can’t decide if “From Hank To Hendrix” refers to Marvin or Williams, it’s an engaging tune about keeping relationships and love fresh after many years. “You And Me” is the most blatant echo of the past. Its chords are similar to “Old Man”, plus a key couplet had prefaced “I Am A Child” on a bootleg from 1971. Proving that good things come to those who wait, it’s good he took the time to finish this one. The title track is just lovely, illustrated by him happily dancing with Pegi in the video. “War Of Man” features the famous D modal tuning, and actually got airplay despite its pointed, anti-war lyrics.

“One Of These Days” had been around for a few years—he did a great version at the piano onstage in 1989—but it’s a nice look back at some old friends, some of whom were still playing with him. “Such A Woman” gets a dreamy Jack Nietzsche arrangement to show the positive side of “Expecting To Fly”; this partnership would work best the following year with “Philadelphia”. “Old King” pissed off a rather vocal segment of the audiences at his warm-up shows that year. (It’s about his dog, for crying out loud.) “Dreamin’ Man” is a very pretty song that took us the better part of ten years to realize is about a stalker. “Natural Beauty” ends the album similarly to “Mother Earth”: extraneous sound effects implore the preservation of the environment and keeping things as they are.

Harvest Moon is very easy listening, and that’s not a bad thing. It is the most satisfying of all his soft-country experiments of the previous twenty years, with something anyone could appreciate. At this point, he could do whatever he wanted and still sell records. Not only was it a tonic for two years of Crazy Horse and feedback, but a commercial slam-dunk: a return to the MOR country sound people waited twenty years for, not realizing he hadn’t really abandoned it.

Many years later, after various installments in his Archives project had started to appear, Volume 12 of the Performance Series appeared in the form of Dreamin’ Man, changed from its original announced title of Harvest Moon Live. As that title would suggest, this was a collection of live versions of the songs on that album, recorded mostly on Neil’s preview acoustic tour before the album was released. Performed completely solo, without harmonies or other sweetening, it’s basically an unplugged performance of the album a full year before the performance that made up his actual Unplugged album. While it provides another view of the songs, it’s unlikely to convert anyone who didn’t like the Harvest Moon album in the first place.

Neil Young Harvest Moon (1992)—3½
Neil Young Dreamin’ Man Live ‘92 (2009)—3

George Harrison 10: Gone Troppo

Another Harrison album came and went with barely any notice. George didn’t care, Warner Bros. didn’t care, and radio didn’t care. Gone Troppo would almost be worth discussing if it were a phenomenally bad record, or surprisingly good. Unfortunately for the consumer, it’s neither.

“Wake Up My Love” was the single, another nod to the contemporary sound of Elton John. It was not a hit, unfortunately, since it’s pleasant enough. “That’s The Way It Goes” is also pleasant, featuring the bass voice of Willie Greene, who also dominates the doo-wop cover “I Really Love You” to the point we can barely hear George. He’d lately been putting odd covers on his LPs, and usually surprised us with his canny choices, but not here. “Greece” is an instrumental that instead sounds unfinished; there’s supposed to be some clever wordplay over the bridges, but the vocals are mixed so low they’re tough to decipher. The title track has a quirky island motif, with a hook that seems very close to that interlude before “Beware My Love” by Wings. Well, at least he doesn’t sound as grumpy.

“Mystical One” has some nice hooks but they just aren’t sharp enough to stick. The same can be said for “Unknown Delight”, but at least this one has some touches reminiscent of the :George Harrison album. “Baby Don’t Run Away” sounds odd coming out of his mouth. This would have had more emotional effect had he finished the song; as it is it seems more like a barely fleshed-out synth demo. “Dream Away” was first heard over the closing credits of the Python-related film Time Bandits. The best part is the chorus, which is always on the verge of meaning something, yet stays just out of grasp. Finally, “Circles” was another orphan from 1968; already one of his most depressing melodies, it’s even more of a dirge here.

And with that, we wouldn’t hear from him again for five full years. Again, there’s nothing wrong with this album. There’s also nothing right with it. Even the cover seemed both patchwork and garish, with an outdated photo on the cover and too much space spent on a thin joke taking up a full side of the inner sleeve. (The tank must really have been empty; while the expanded CD only had a six-minute acoustic demo of “Mystical One” as a bonus, it makes us long for a disc of tracks just like it.) He seemed to be stuck back in his mid-’70s hole, with all the antiseptic qualities of that era. At least, unlike many rock legends, he didn’t bother making a hideous album in 1983 or 1984.

George Harrison Gone Troppo (1982)—2
2004 Dark Horse Years reissue: same as 1982, plus 1 extra track