Mickey Hart: Rolling Thunder

While Jerry Garcia and Bob Weir were busy with their own solo albums, exiled drummer Mickey Hart recorded one of his own in his Marin County barn. Rolling Thunder went some distance from the traditional Dead sound, but sported appearances by most of the band, as well as contributions from members of Quicksilver Messenger Service, Jefferson Airplane, and other notable Frisco musicians, plus the Tower of Power horns, Stephen Stills on one track, and two well-known tabla players augmenting his own percussion to present something of a world music fusion.

The album was named after the self-styled medicine man who provides the opening “Shoshone Invocation”. This segues into the rainstorm that heralds “The Main Ten”, better known as “Playing In The Band”, sung as usual by Bobby. “Fletcher Carnaby” is a Robert Hunter lyric set to a jarring psychedelic arrangement and growled by David Freiberg, but the mood returns to spacey on “The Chase (Progress)”, which pits Mickey against Zakir Hussain’s tabla while Jerry’s guitar adds color. A highlight is “Blind John”, a fireside strum with a martial rhythm and trademark high harmonies by Grace Slick.

Freiberg growls the garbled lyrics to the rockin’ “Young Man”, while “Deep, Wide And Frequent” features the horns and four guitar players competing over a very complicated meter. Built on the rhythm of an actual water pump, “Pump Song” was the basis for what Deadheads already knew as “Greatest Story Ever Told”. Jerry’s credited here for “insect fear”, which dominates the end of the track, leading into “Granma’s Cookies”, another piece with Mickey and Zakir. Driven by Freiberg’s dominant piano, “Hangin’ On” closes the program with another rocker.

One’s enjoyment of Rolling Thunder will certainly depend on how much one likes drum circles and the Tower of Power horns. Either way, it’s an interesting little side trip.

Mickey Hart Rolling Thunder (1972)—3

Oasis 6: Familiar To Millions

Most post-baby boom bands would consider getting to play Wembley Stadium to be a highlight of their success. For all their posing, Oasis is no different. Therefore, having revitalized the brand with two new members on guitar and bass, plus a guy on keyboards, their “triumphant” (according to the liner notes) appearance at Wembley in the summer of 2000 dictated that a live album be released as a souvenir.

Familiar To Millions doesn’t have any real surprises in the songs everyone already knows, except that Liam sounds more bored than ever. He and Noel make sure to take time during and between songs to berate whoever they want into the microphone with countless variations on “fook”. Much more interesting are the not-so-obvious song choices, such as the B-sides “Acquiesce” and “Step Out” (which sounds similar enough to Stevie Wonder’s “Uptight” to give that song’s writers royalties). Noel tackles Neil Young’s “Hey Hey, My My”, though nobody told him not to play the whole D chord, as well as “Helter Skelter”, tacked on as a bonus from a show an ocean away from Wembley. (A highlights CD omits five songs, including all the covers, not counting the tag of “Whole Lotta Love” at the end of “Cigarettes & Alcohol”.)

As a live album, Familiar To Millions serves as an able hits collection, geared towards those familiar millions. Yet there’s something about the entire crowd singing the chorus to “Don’t Look Back In Anger” with happy throats.

Oasis Familiar To Millions (2000)—3

U2 18: Songs Of Experience

While—to nobody’s surprise and despite their insistence otherwise—U2 didn’t have the follow-up to Songs Of Innocence in stores within the year, it did only take them three years to decide on a sequence for it, with a tour thrown in to celebrate thirty years of The Joshua Tree. The hype machine would have us believe that the band was just as important as they’d ever been, if not more, though some of us longtime fans feel that taking a hint from R.E.M.’s finale wouldn’t be such a horrible loss. Instead, Songs Of Experience defiantly loads up on anthems, helped by no less than nine producers, as many as five on a single track.

But rather than blowing the doors open, “Love Is All We Have Left” is about as quiet as they’ve ever been; we don’t even mind the Autotune. We discern no mention of Bono’s so-called “near-death experience”, but they save that for the louder “Lights Of Home”, a collaboration with sister-rock band Haim for which they get full songwriting credit. “You’re The Best Thing About Me” sounds like two different songs duct-taped together, with its trashy guitar verse and a more anthemic (there’s that word again) section used for the chorus. “Get Out Of Your Own Way” would be good advice, but loses points for sounding too much like the previous song run through “Beautiful Day” and particularly the closing rap by Kendrick Lamar, which bridges into the bombastic yet dull “American Soul”. (This song is mostly notable for repeating the “you are rock and roll” chant from the similarly placed “Volcano” on the last album.)

The album really starts to sag here, through the lackluster “Summer Of Love” and “Red Flag Day”, though it’s nice to hear the Edge’s vintage harmonies in the mix on the latter—or is it Julian Lennon?—as opposed to Lady Gaga on the former. (Bono’s notes helpfully point out that these particular songs were conceived in the south of France looking across the ocean at Syria, possibly with the kids on the cover in tow, not considering the irony of preaching from such a lofty locale most fans can’t afford to visit.) “The Showman (Little More Better)” is something of a departure into mindless pop, but we always hear Stewie and Miley singing about friendship from the Hannah Montana episode of Family Guy. Yet it makes “The Little Things That Give You Away”, moody as it is, a nice diversion.

The sentiment in “Landlady” seems a little strange, until one realizes that it’s a pet name for his long-suffering wife, to whom he’s been apologizing, in song, since the Carter administration. “The Blackout” begins like a generic, annoying dance tune, but develops into something decent by the end. Driving as it is, it’s not really a big stadium singalong, so that’s the role “Love Is Bigger Than Anything In Its Way” plays, if the other ones don’t take. Finally, “13 (There Is A Light)” is touching, and reaches new heights by appropriating “Song For Someone”, one of the better tracks from the last album.

That’s where the standard CD ends, but since vinyl was a lucrative format again, the equivalent of side four was added to a so-called deluxe edition of the CD. “Ordinary Love” is an alternate mix of a song they wrote for a Nelson Mandela film bio. “Book Of Your Heart” has potential, but is best appreciated for Edge’s early-‘80s guitar style and tone. The “St Peter's String Version” of “Lights Of Home” heightens the tension big time, while an alternate mix of “You’re The Best Thing About Me” (billed as “U2 vs. Kygo”, a DJ we’ve never heard of either) is unnecessary and seizure-inducing.

With all the time and talk that’s gone into every U2 album of this century, we must concede that they’d never delivered anything pointedly bad or even embarrassing—until this. Maybe Songs Of Experience should have been the “free” album. Shave it down and combine it with the highlights from the one before, and it might rate higher, but that would mean even more years between albums.

U2 Songs Of Experience (2017)—2

Todd Rundgren 18: Swing To The Right

For the second Utopia album in a row, the cover art features a Beatles reference. But while Deface The Music was played in the style of the Fab Four, Swing To The Right merely uses a doctored photo from a Revolver-era record burning to tie into the album’s theme, a reaction to the conservative wave then washing over America. For the most part, the music is modern (read: dated) New Wave, and something of a less robotic version of Devo.

The title track does approach the band’s prog roots, except for its “wacky” resolutions. Todd takes over the mic for “Lysistrata”, a snappy retelling of an ancient love-conquers-war Greek comedy, though “The Up” tries a little too hard to be catchy. Still, it’s a treat compared to the assembly line effects of “Junk Rock (Million Monkeys)”, which attacks the current music scene. That doesn’t stop the stock chorus pedal Todd uses throughout the album, though less so on “Shinola”.

A remake of the O’Jays’ “For The Love Of Money” doesn’t do the original any justice, even when followed by “Last Dollar On Earth”, which almost resembles the Tubes (whom Rundgren had produced before and would again). He manages to turn “Fahrenheit 451” into an enjoyable Prince-style party anthem, and then it’s over to Broadway for “Only Human”, a big blue-eyed soul ballad that sticks out badly at first, but soon becomes preferable to most of what’s come before. Finally, “One World” is a very decent rocker in the vein of such album-closers as “Just One Victory” and “Sons Of 1984”.

Swing To The Right is an ugly-sounding record, which matches the lyrical content, but doesn’t make it any more enjoyable. Having become a democratic unit—on the liner notes anyway, which credits all songs to the band—it’s not always easy to figure out who’s singing, except when it’s Todd, but the better songs are all his.

Utopia Swing To The Right (1982)—2½

Jimi Hendrix 28: Both Sides Of The Sky

For no apparent reason, even after saying they were done with this sort of thing, another hodgepodge of unfinished studio recordings by Jimi Hendrix was unleashed on the world. Both Sides Of The Sky purports to consist of even more contenders for his never-realized fourth album, while sporting cover art based on a younger version of the man who composed the music therein. The compilers even dared to call it “the third installment in the trilogy”.

However, much of this has been heard before, in one way or another. The fanatics can contrast and compare alternates of “Hear My Train A-Comin’” (with the Experience) and “Lover Man” (with Band of Gypsys), and shake their heads over a sped-up “Stepping Stone” that touches on country and polka. “Mannish Boy” appeared in a slightly different form on Blues, and “Georgia Blues” was on the now-deleted companion to Martin Scorsese’s take on the genre. “Power Of Soul” was in a different mix on South Saturn Delta, as was a less-developed demo of “Sweet Angel”, here bridging the similarity to “Little Wing” with the xylophone. Three tracks teased on the 1990’s Lifelines set appear in more complete takes and/or composites; “Things I Used To Do” is a jam with Johnny Winter, and “Send My Love To Linda” combines a few solo takes with a full Gypsys rendition, but “Cherokee Mist”, featuring Jimi on electric sitar and feedback with Mitch Mitchell playing along, is a fascinating peek into the Electric Ladyland sessions.

It seems the biggest selling point for the marketers are two jams with Stephen Stills on organ and vocals, supposedly recorded at the same session but with different drummers. “$20 Fine” is basically a Stills song with Jimi adding guitar, and “Woodstock” is very similar to the CSNY version that had yet to be released, except that Jimi is merely playing bass. These would probably be better suited to a Stills compilation, but the Estate likely insisted only they could release them. That leaves only “Jungle”, which starts with some meandering and eventually gains Buddy Miles on drums, before fading out.

Considering not every note Jimi played in a studio setting has been made available to those who don’t collect bootlegs, it’s too soon to tell if this is really it for what the Estate has to offer. Of course, there are still plenty of official live releases, always with the chance of more to come, for those inclined to explore. If we were in charge of things, and obviously we were not, neither this album, nor the other two in the “trilogy”, nor South Saturn Delta, nor First Rays — especially once Cry Of Love and Rainbow Bridge were widely available again — nor the box sets would have happened. Rather, the music would be grouped chronologically, Beatles Anthology-style, for less of a grab-bag approach, and giving the student a much smoother journey through the man’s studio life, particularly to demonstrate all the directions he explored in the last 24 months of his time on the planet.

Jimi Hendrix Both Sides Of The Sky (2018)—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

Joni Mitchell 17: Turbulent Indigo

An artist of Joni Mitchell’s stature can be allowed the time and space to work, and a three-year gap had become her norm. But when that gap comes between two albums of such comparative quality, it’s worth the wait. Turbulent Indigo finds Our Heroine back on Reprise Records, where it all started, gently plucking her guitar strings and singing songs both direct and opaque. From time to time, Wayne Shorter flutters in on his soprano sax.

“Sunny Sunday” is a simple sketch of a woman who shoots a gun at a streetlight and always misses, a provoking metaphor. The theme of struggle set, the loudest song on the album—which isn’t saying much—is “Sex Kills”, which manages to skewer pharmaceutical companies, big oil, the gun climate, and just about everything else that’s wrong with society. “How Do You Stop” is a cover of a then-recent James Brown tune, and features Seal on backing vocals (she’d done the same for his album that year too). Somehow it fits perfectly on the album. The title track matches the cover self-portrait of herself with Van Gogh’s bandaged ear, making clear points about artistry. Her voice ably reaches the upper end of her current range on “Last Chance Lost”, a moving rumination on the end of a relationship (which may or may not be her own).

The heartbreak continues on “The Magdalene Laundries”, which refers to the fate of so-called “fallen women” in Ireland, in asylums that existed through even this past century, and by extension condemns the Catholic Church for its complicity. The piano emerges on “Not To Blame”, a timely lament for victims of spousal abuse and worse, which steadily ticks toward a hopeless conclusion. “Borderline” uses clever alliteration and mild wordplay to discuss the conflicts we instigate with each other, followed by another view on difference. A study of a man trying to impress a French girl, “Yvette In English” was written with David Crosby, and first appeared on his own album the year before. Joni’s version is superior, except for the constant repeats of Yvette’s name throughout the track. Finally, “Sire Of Sorrow (Job’s Sad Song)” is both the longest track and the closer, but not given epic treatment or any other stature above the rest. Still, its recasting of Job’s arguments with God is mesmerizing, particularly with the “antagonists” in her own multitracked voice mocking her plight.

Turbulent Indigo is a strangely soothing listen, given the subject matter. Not a single track could be considered upbeat, yet it’s a strong statement. And yes, it’s good to have her back.

Joni Mitchell Turbulent Indigo (1994)—3½