Elvis Presley: Christmas Album

While a glance at the budget cassette rack this time of year could make it seem like the King of Rock ‘N Roll recorded ten different Christmas albums, that was a misleading implication thanks to RCA’s incessant repackaging of their biggest star. There were ever only two albums, recorded 14 years apart, give or take a single here and there. Even after the catalog was streamlined in the ‘90s, the same music has appeared again and again, sometimes with hideous results.

Of those two albums, the first is the best, recorded the year before Elvis went into the Army, never to return. But even that was a repackage of sorts, with eight new holiday tracks supported by the four songs from that year’s Peace In The Valley EP of gospel music. While not strictly Christmas music, they present a side of Elvis Presley that was perhaps his truest. Indeed, his gospel recordings rank among his finest performances. “(There’ll Be) Peace In The Valley (For Me)” is a wonderful group vocal, and once you get past the mawkishness of “I Believe”, “Take My Hand, Precious Lord” and “It Is No Secret (What God Can Do)” provide pure serenity.

But it’s still the rocking half that people remember, and for good reason. Besides having Scotty Moore, Bill Black and D.J. Fontana holding up the beat in back, this was the debut of Leiber & Stoller’s “Santa Claus Is Back In Town” and the snappy “Santa Bring My Baby Back To Me”, both unmistakably Elvis. In between there’s “White Christmas” a la the Drifters, a swaggering “Here Comes Santa Claus”, “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” and his wacky update of “Blue Christmas”, with that yodeling backing making it more “blue” than sad. The much calmer “O Little Town Of Bethlehem” and “Silent Night” begin side two, for a better transition to the gospel tracks.

Elvis was more of a singles artist than an album artist, but the care put into this original sequence underscore what was lost anytime the contents were shuffled, reshuffled, augmented, and diminished time and time again. The least intrusive ones usually pair it with 1971’s Elvis Sings The Wonderful World Of Christmas. Coming from the Vegas jumpsuit years, it’s not completely awful, but over the top and insincere, about as preferable to the ‘50s Elvis as latter-day Bing Crosby is to “White Christmas”. Left in its intended state, Elvis’ Christmas Album demonstrates what made him so special, especially to those of us who weren’t around before he became a caricature.

Elvis Presley Elvis’ Christmas Album (1957)—4

Yardbirds 3: Over Under Sideways Down

Having racked up enough hit singles in the UK, somebody decided the Yardbirds were ready to record a full studio album. By this time impresario Giorgio Gomelsky was no longer in charge, so production was shared by bassist Paul Samwell-Smith and new manager Simon Napier-Bell in a feat of hyphenation. The band even wrote all the songs themselves, or at least they were credited that way.

Over there the album’s title was simply Yardbirds, but because the cover had a drawing captioned Roger The Engineer, that became how it was known among those who bought it. In America, where it was the band’s third album, two songs were off, and the set was called Over Under Sideways Down in honor of the hit single it was pushing, with wacky cover art to match.

It’s a good start with “Lost Women”, which follows a fairly standard riff and takes a cool extended “I’m A Man”-style raveup detour that nicely pairs Keith Relf’s harmonica and Jeff Beck’s guitar. The title song is another classic, pinned by everyone shouting “HEY!” and a raga-styled hook from Beck. “I Can’t Make Your Way” is surprisingly toe-tapping pop, with the harmonica and guitar nicely balanced under the verse (Relf seemingly harmonizing with himself) and another well-constructed Beck solo. The nursery rhyme piano of the brief “Farewell” is odd enough, but then there’s the nutty chanting and wobble board in “Hot House Of Omagararshid”, and yes, the guitar solo should have come in much earlier.

That’s not the complaint with “Jeff’s Boogie”, another derivative piece that’s a showcase for his style. He’s got a good fuzz tone on the mildly menacing “He’s Always There”, one of the better paranoid lyrics of the period. “Turn Into Earth” has a similar Gregorian approach from “Still I’m Sad”, wordless vocals once again dominating over simple piano bass notes and distant guitar. But “What Do You Want” is a Bo Diddley-style rave-up that takes two chords to make its point. “Ever Since The World Began” is more doom-laden philosophizing about the evils of money in another exploration of near-Gregorian style, then switches to a boogie halfway through, and stops.

While it’s a strange little album, it hangs together very well. As time went on, and the band’s stature increased with their legend, fans would have sought out British pressings, if only for the two extra songs on side one that shifted “Hot House” up to the start of side two. “The Nazz Are Blue” featured Jeff Beck singing, kind of, and had already inspired the name of Todd Rundgren’s first band, while “Rack My Mind” was another average boogie.

For some reason, Epic reissued the album in 1983 on LP and cassette as The Yardbirds, using the original British cover and lineup, but with the added bonus of the single “Happenings Ten Years Time Ago” at the top of side one and its B-side, “Psycho Daisies”, ending side two. (These tracks are notable for being the only appearance of Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page together on Yardbirds recordings.) It didn’t make it to an American CD until 1997 when Warner Archives of all labels issued it as Roger The Engineer with the same 14 tracks, but sticking “Happenings” at the end after “Psycho Daisies”. Since then smaller labels have taken over, usually pairing the mono and stereo mixes and adding the single, and rotating bonus tracks like Keith Relf solo singles, “Stroll On” from the movie Blow-Up, the occasional alternate take, and their Great Shakes commercials. So it’s out there; Spotify alone currently has three different editions of the album available for streaming.

The Yardbirds Over Under Sideways Down (1966)—3½
1983 The Yardbirds reissue: same as 1966, plus 4 extra tracks

Sting 11: If On A Winter’s Night

Way back in 1985, as the singles from The Dream Of The Blue Turtles piled up, Sting recorded an arrangement of the relatively obscure carol “Gabriel’s Message” as a B-side. It gained more exposure a couple of years later as part of the first Very Special Christmas charity album, and with its sparse presentation, even with layered vocals, it has remained a welcome holiday favorite.

The same song opens If On A Winter’s Night…, but it’s a brand new performance that sets the tone for the rest of this not-exactly-Yuletide-themed album. He uses the same breathy, sonorous tone that made his lute album such a tough listen; in the days of vinyl, you’d check the player to make sure it was at the correct speed. The photos of him with his masculine, full beard as he stands in a bulky sweater—reminding one of that professor character Will Ferrell used to play on SNL, talking about his “lover” and gorging himself on goat meat—contemplating either the snow outside or the guitar in his hand, give the game away.

These songs just seem so overdone, even with such humble instrumentation. Even when he does something relatively straight, like the old chestnut “Lo, How A Rose E’er Blooming”, he sinks it with a four-line monologue in the middle that would embarrass Barry White. His wordless vocal interlude on “The Snow It Melts The Soonest” is therefore welcome, as it doesn’t sound like he’s doing a character, or auditioning for a movie role, as demonstrated by his lugubrious reading of “Now Winter Comes Slowly”. “The Burning Babe” comes closest to the Sting of old, with jazzy drums, soprano sax and a decent vocal.

The gushing liner notes, describing how and why the album was recorded, don’t really give much insight as to why he chose what he chose other than they sounded like winter songs. He re-does “The Hounds Of Winter” from his last good album, for no other reason as that one word in the title, or maybe to ensure some publishing royalties. As most of these are traditional songs, he could use the coin. Speaking of which, “Soul Cake” is the wassail song as established by Peter, Paul & Mary; “The Hurdy-Gurdy Man” is not the Donovan song, as that would have been a stretch.

All the way through If On A Winter’s Night… is the nagging thought, “This would be so much nicer if he wasn’t on it.” If you’re looking for yuletide music with an English folk lilt, this isn’t it. As a Christmas album it falls short, and as a Sting album it’s just too precious. Better it be considered a winter album; musically, of course, it’s lovely, and that’s what makes it so frustrating. Subtle hurdy-gurdy, Northumbrian pipes, delicately plucked guitars and other gentle touches often show the potential so often stomped over like so much snow from boots out in the hall. It’s therefore best enjoyed in the background when you’ve finished shoveling out your driveway, since it won’t inspire you beforehand.

Sting If On A Winter’s Night… (2009)—2½

Stomu Yamashta: Go

Steve Winwood was relatively quiet in the years following the end of Traffic, before gearing up for the solo career that would ultimately bring him a higher love. His first real project was a rather adventurous one, and one that still dwells in relative obscurity today.

A truly odd gathering of musicians, Go was billed as a collaboration between Japanese percussionist Stomu Yamashta, Winwood and Santana drummer Michael Shrieve, in that order. As if that wasn’t enough, their eponymous album also included contributions from Tangerine Dream’s Klaus Schulze on synthesizers, Pat Thrall and Al DiMeola on lead guitars, Junior Marvin from Bob Marley’s Wailers on rhythm, Traffic’s Rosko Gee on bass, backing vocals by Thunderthighs, and string arrangements from none other than Paul Buckmaster. Taken all together, Go melds jazz fusion, synth prog, and even, given the year, disco for an end result that should fail horribly, but doesn’t.

Like all concept albums, good or bad, there’s a story, which isn’t easy to follow considering that it begins on side two. Lyrics for all tracks save one are credited to Michael Quartermain, if that is his real name. And even once you get the story (travel through space and time, good vs. evil, what is the nature of man, how can you mend a broken heart and so forth) you don’t really care; it’s the music that matters.

A suitably spacey intro brings in “Solitude”, which turns into “Nature” in time for Winwood’s first, tentative vocal. Similarly, “Air Over” is a setup for “Crossing The Line”, a more straightforward rock song. “Man Of Leo” is pretty dated funk, but some typical tasty Hammond organ work, melding to DiMeola’s solo workout for “Stellar”, punctuated by seemingly random clanging that will inspire fans of Blazing Saddles to exclaim “The sheriff is near!” The story presumably ends with the extended extraterrestrial effects of “Space Theme”.

Lots more space sounds dominate side two, through “Carnival” which is meant to evoke Stravinsky, but might be better appreciated with “Atom Heart Mother” or “Saucerful Of Secrets” as a point of reference. Winwood returns halfway through the side with some truly mushmouthed vocals on “Ghost Machine”, a brisk number that ends almost as quickly. “Surf Spin” floats around to set up “Time Is Here”, an aimless jam for a “seize the day” message, while “Winner/Loser”, credited solely to Winwood, has a contemporary Elton John vibe, but also sounds the most like the natural follow-up to the last Traffic album.

Most of the participants would go on to perform and release the suite (in its correct order, with extended solos) for the self-explanatory Go — Live From Paris, and most save Winwood would return on Go Too. The albums have appeared on CD, sometimes combined into a complete set, but the original LP, with its wonky sequence and booklet, is still preferred.

Stomu Yamashta/Steve Winwood/Michael Shrieve Go (1976)—3

Jethro Tull 6: Living In The Past

Now that they’d gotten very far away from their roots, it was time for Jethro Tull to look back. Living In The Past first arrived in a thick cardboard package, like old 78s used to, with a booklet of photos showing how the band had changed from album to album. Along with familiar hit singles from the albums, various non-album tracks helped sweep up anything that might have gone missing, and demonstrate their progress—particularly in America, where some songs were making their vinyl debut.

Beginning appropriately with “Song For Jeffrey”, several early singles get wider exposure, from what sounds like an electric mandolin on “Love Story” and the reverent yet cautionary “Christmas Song”. The collection’s title track has since become an FM radio staple, if one can imagine a 5/4 tune with a flute part that quotes from “You Really Got Me” becoming a hit. “Driving Song” is a blues shuffle, and “Bourée” represents the second album.

The sinister “Sweet Dream”, made more unsettling by the trumpets, gives way to the more swinging “Singing All Day”. “Teacher” represents Benefit, while “Witch’s Promise” points to the English folk sound where they were headed next. The Americans could now enjoy the tightly intricate “Alive And Well And Living In” (in place of “Inside”), more so than the celeste-driven “Just Trying To Be”.

What was side three presents two selections from a Carnegie Hall concert, and recorded very cleanly, we might add. “By Kind Permission Of” is a mostly-solo piano medley of familiar classical themes and blues clichés, joined here and there by Ian’s flute, the band coming in at the very end. “Dharma For One” is extended for even more soloing.

Sporting the appetizing image of “the excrement bubbles”, “Wond’ring Again” was a predecessor to “Wond’ring Aloud” from Aqualung; here it’s followed by “Hymn 43” from that album, while the Brits got “Locomotive Breath”, which would have been preferred. The balance of the set presents the Life Is A Long Song EP; the title track, the nostalgic “Up The ‘Pool” and the grateful “Nursie” make it a less labored alternative to the sound of Thick As A Brick, while “Dr. Bogenbroom” and the instrumental “For Later” pick up the pace in between.

Because of the differences between the UK and US lineups, and future attempts to squeeze everything onto a single CD, several editions of Living In The Past have emerged over the years. But whatever the sequence, the first-time listener (guilty) will be pleasantly surprised at the new sounds, the “hits” kept to a minimum. And because it covers the arc of five albums, there’s not a lot of sameness over the two LPs.

Perhaps because many of the tracks would end up appended to expanded editions of the previous albums in the new century, the album was not expanded until 2025, when Still Living In The Past collected most of the original mixes, along with previously released Steven Wilson mixes—as well as some new ones—and the complete Carnegie Hall show excerpted for side three. There’s a lot of repetition, but that’s to be expected in a five-disc package, and that’s not even counting the versions on the Blu-ray disc.

Jethro Tull Living In The Past (1972)—3½
2025 Still Living In The Past: “same” as 1972, plus 47 extra tracks (and Blu-ray)

The New Basement Tapes: Lost On The River

Given the development of this unique little album, it’s bound to confuse people who aren’t obsessed with Bob Dylan or any of the participants. (Especially since its release was arguably overshadowed by a product more important to those obsessed.) Basically, it’s new music written to suit a pile of handwritten lyrics most likely dating from prior to the recordings known for years as The Basement Tapes. (Something similar happened in the ‘90s with unused Woody Guthrie lyrics, so there’s another precedent.) The project was driven by T Bone Burnett, so ultimately, it’s a T Bone Burnett album, familiar to anyone who’s heard the O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack or Raising Sand, the stellar meeting of Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. The New Basement Tapes is the name given to the collective, these song gathered under the title Lost On The River.

They’re not trying to recapture the basement sound of “Million Dollar Bash” or “Please Mrs. Henry”, but living within the country, blues and Appalachian folk that people like Greil Marcus insist inspired the original sessions. Banjo and fiddle courtesy of Rhiannon Giddens of the Carolina Chocolate Drops make this a distinct slice of Americana, and that’s considering that two Brits—Burnett buddy Elvis Costello and Marcus Mumford on leave from Mumford & Sons—are involved. Jim James of My Morning Jacket and Taylor Goldsmith from Dawes round out the group, and everybody swaps instruments when one is needed. (Of course, there’s a deluxe version with five more songs, one per band member.)

As per his recent work, Elvis tends to over-emote and spit. “Six Months In Kansas City” is two songs stuck together, encouraging shouted asides from the rest of the group, but still fares better than “Married To My Hack”. “Golden Tom—Silver Judas” could go on his “Sugarcane” albums, and the lovely melody on his version of “Lost On The River” (denoted “#12”) makes it the keeper of his contributions. (It was a smart move to record several versions of each song to inspire collaboration, and certainly to set up a possible sequel already in the can should demand arise, but the mind shivers at the possibility of stabs at “Hidee Hidee Ho” that didn’t make the first cut.)

Elvis is arguably the biggest “name” here, but he doesn’t nudge aside the lesser-known players. If anything, this album will expose people to them. Jim James already made a stamp as a Dylan interpreter from his appearance in the surreal faux-biopic I’m Not There. Arguably, his songs sound the most like potential Dylan songs, given his voice’s similarity to the Nashville croon. “Down On The Bottom” builds well, while “Nothing To It” is both jaunty and rocking, infused with a wonderful fuzz.

The original basement sessions were a pointed boys’ club, so having a woman sing on these also makes it separate from that established norm. At first appearance Rhiannon Giddens reminds the listener of Natalie Merchant, who appeared on the Billy Bragg and Wilco collaborations on the Guthrie material, but that comparison is grossly unfair considering how much more she offers. She infuses “Spanish Mary” with a melody that Bob would have been happy to pinch himself (and if he keeps making albums, he still might). And her closing take of “Lost On The River” (denoted “#20”) is pleasingly spooky. Taylor Goldsmith’s “Liberty Street” also recalls the Bragg/Wilco project, only because it’s so damn gorgeous, while “Card Shark” sounds uncannily like early Bruce Cockburn. Marcus Mumford’s offerings sound a lot like what’s thus far brought him a fan base; “Kansas City” and “Stranger” are his standouts, the latter a welcome example of Dylan wordplay.

But even though Dylan was the spark for the project, and he did endorse it while keeping his distance, the album is best appreciated out of that context, and for that, it succeeds. To get a better appreciation for their accomplishment, the Lost Songs: The Basement Tapes Continued documentary is rather illuminating, though the staged recreations of the events of 1967 inspire more winces than wonder.

The New Basement Tapes Lost On The River (2014)—4

David Bowie 36: Nothing Has Changed

Celebrating fifty years of media manipulation, the Nothing Has Changed compilations capped a fertile period of activity for David Bowie, in which he got lots of press but only appeared in public via the videos for his well-received The Next Day album. We say “compilations” plural because, in an echo of the Best Of Bowie deluge of a different version appearing depending on what country you bought it in, this new set appeared at least three ways, each with a different cover: a three-CD set in reverse chronological order, a two-CD in forward order, and a two-LP version that jumps all over the place. Besides being a nod to the Changes albums (and song) from the RCA years, when it comes to repackaging, nothing has changed.

To entice the Bowie nut who has everything already, many of the songs appear in various edits or remixes. That’s fine if you want the Pet Shop Boys hijack of “Hallo Spaceboy” or the condensed single of “‘Heroes’”, but Bowie’s propensity to release multiple remixes of the same song makes only slightly more sense than the Stones. (Speaking of which, is there anyone out there who thinks the Jagger duet on “Dancing In The Street” belongs on anything purporting to be either’s “best”?) Nothing from the Tin Machine era is included, leaving a gap but also keeping the sound consistent between the late ‘80s and the early ‘90s.

With all the repetition, there are some interesting, truly rare tracks. “Sue (Or In A Season Of Crime)” is a lengthy croon over an edgy jazz traffic jam, not unlike Elvis Costello’s experiments in the same Herrmannesque territory. Touted as a “brand new song recorded specially” for the set, he needn’t have bothered. Much more exciting are “Let Me Sleep Beside You”, “Your Turn To Drive” and particularly “Shadow Man” from the unreleased Toy album, spurring discussion of whether that would ever be released. And for those of us who don’t have anything from before “Space Oddity”, a handful of early singles (sorry, no “Laughing Gnome”) enables the selections to span fifty years.

As ever with these things, Nothing Has Changed is a good Bowie set for the newcomer, and frustrating for the longtime fan. But at least the Stones didn’t put out another hits album that year.

David Bowie Nothing Has Changed (2014)—4