Frank Zappa 21: Bongo Fury

Frank and Captain Beefheart had a complicated relationship going back to high school, and thanks to their work making Trout Mask Replica a reality, the latter would often find himself as a footnote to the former. Halfway through the ‘70s, following several incarnations of the Magic Band and a few albums, the Captain wound up on tour with the Mothers, and a couple of the shows were the source of the Bongo Fury album.

For the most part, the album “rocks” more than the last few, the Captain being such a blues belter and harmonica blower. But he was also a poet, so “Sam With The Showing Scalp Flat Top” and “Man With The Woman Head” are accompanied by beatnik jazz, or an approximation thereof. A neat little boogie riff (fitting for the Austin locale) kicks off “Debra Kedabra”, but soon gives way to a very complicated construction for the Captain’s outbursts, finding its way to a nifty riff under a repeated quote from “Mr. Tambourine Man”. Napoleon Murphy Brock was still in the band, thankfully, and he sings a great co-lead on “Carolina Hard-Core Ecstasy”. “Poofter’s Froth Wyoming Plans Ahead” is a country spoof that brings to mind Jimmy Carl Black from 200 Motels; this and “200 Years Old” refer to the upcoming Bicentennial.

The city of Cucamonga looms large in Zappa history, but the song of the same title is more of a typical midtempo tune with wacky voices and a harmonica processed to sound like an accordion. It leads right into the lengthy “Advance Romance”, which is dirty in a musical way (only alluded to in the lyrics) with an extended solo section, beginning with slide guitarist Denny Walley and eventually moving to Frank. For whatever reason (most likely the metaphors) “Muffin Man” is the song that gets played on the radio, so people know it; it’s basically a spoken intro over a silent-movie piano, followed by a single riff beneath a solo, acknowledgment of the band, and the final goodbye.

What’s impressive about the album, and the others leading up to it, is that it was pretty much recorded live; even with the in-studio sweetening that likely followed, there’s no question that these bands were well-rehearsed and tight to the point of snapping. Bongo Fury is a harmless album, more a snapshot than a grand statement, and apparently not at all indicative of Captain Beefheart’s oeuvre as a whole.

Zappa/Beefheart/Mothers Bongo Fury (1975)—3

David Crosby 2: Oh Yes I Can

After pulling the best survival stunt next to that of Keith Richards, one wants to truly root for David Crosby. The least prolific partner in the Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young law firm, his comparatively miniscule output can be put down partially to years of drug addiction and subsequent incarceration. Giving only two songs to the American Dream project, one hoped that he was holding out the really good stuff for his own solo album, which arrived only 17 years after his previous one.

Unfortunately, most of the music on Oh Yes I Can would have the superfan saying, “Oh, no you don’t.” The arrangements, performed by the usual suspects, still reek of the worst ‘80s adult contemporary touches. “Drive My Car”, which had been sitting around since the previous decade, has average lyrics and showcases David Lindley in an uncharacteristic shredding frame. “Melody” sounds like a Star Search audition, but at least “Monkey And The Underdog” has some decent metaphors along the lines of “Cowboy Movie”. “In The Wide Ruin” is a pretty piano piece written by Craig Doerge and Judy Henske with nice harmonies, but hits an awful cliché when the drums kick in. (Bette Midler would have nailed this one.) Finally, “Tracks In The Dust”, a simple, slow strum performed with virtuoso “new edge” guitarist Michael Hedges and Graham Nash, is exactly what we want, and right in his wheelhouse.

Such a beautiful moment is splashed away by “Drop Down Mama”, a prime example of white man blues hollered badly. Bonnie Raitt does not contribute the dirty slide guitar to that, but she does harmonize on “Lady Of The Harbor”, a love song to the Statue of Liberty that very much predicts the sound with which she would soon take VH-1 by storm. “Distances” begins with some of those lovely wordless melodies, and while it would be better without lyrics, it does follow some of those unpredictable changes we’d been waiting for. “Flying Man” is one of those “songs with no words”, but it’s sung over a generic pop-jazz track led by Larry Carlton, making the vocals practically inconsequential. The title track does have some potential, going through inspired tempo changes, but singing “I’m sitting at my piano” while that instrument plays is just a little lazy. It’s not much better in the next verse where he’s literally sitting in his kitchen, especially considering that it’s supposed to be a declaration of commitment to his one true love. (And in case you didn’t know, “fire and ice makes water.”)

The album closes with a striking re-arrangement of “My Country ‘Tis Of Thee” by Michael Hedges, possibly the most political moment next to “Tracks In The Dust”, and again, underscoring just what this album could have been. Sadly, Oh Yes I Can is not a demonstration of his grand return to form.

David Crosby Oh Yes I Can (1989)—2

Graham Nash 4: Innocent Eyes

Graham was so starved for collaboration in the mid-‘80s that he participated in a Hollies reunion, then defied all the lessons he should have learned from Stephen Stills’ recent monstrosity. The cover of Innocent Eyes may have qualified as cutting-edge computer graphics in 1986, but now it’s just a blurry mess. Speaking of which…

Take away his voice and every track sounds like it was written and recorded for an action/comedy movie soundtrack, probably on MCA. There are guitars, but they’re fighting for space with the Yamaha DX7s and Linn drums. You can hear that third world conch blowing sound that was all the rage, best associated with the opening seconds of “Sledgehammer”. And when there’s a deviation in rhythm, he relies on reggae. (Beats Latin, but still.)

There is no point in doing a track-by-track rundown, since they’re all fairly hideous. He went on the record to say that the sound was his own doing, that he hadn’t been coerced by anything other than his own desire to stay contemporary and rely on other songwriters for help. For the most part, the lyrics don’t say anything particularly profound, though “Chippin’ Away” would be revived by CSN when the Berlin Wall came down. “Glass And Steel” is a welcome departure in tempo and content, another song written in sympathy for David Crosby’s struggles of the time.

Then “I Got A Rock” steps all over everything, and we’re reminded how bad Innocent Eyes is. As ever, stripped-down arrangements might help illuminate whatever assets are in the tunes, but why bother?

Graham Nash Innocent Eyes (1986)—1½

Dennis Wilson: Pacific Ocean Blue

Initially hailed more for his looks than his musical ability, Dennis Wilson was nonetheless a talented individual, overshadowed by his more gifted brothers and loudmouth cousin. He was never the greatest drummer, but Brian always included him in the harmonious vocal blend of whatever he was working on. Before the end of the ‘60s, he’d even started writing songs; to everyone’s surprise, even the spottiest albums had something worth hearing from Dennis.

The boy also loved to party, and before long his voice had taken on a marked rasp; this, however, only made it seem more “soulful” (and not that different from the change Brian’s own voice started to make). During the ‘70s, when all of the official Beach Boys, touring players and all of their friends were fighting for space on the albums, Dennis often saw his songs overlooked for inclusion. So when he completed his solo album, it was as inevitable as it was surprising, seeing as none of the other Beach Boys had tried it first. More to the point, Pacific Ocean Blue holds up much better than what the band was doing around the same time.

Being the decade that it was (and the drugs he was taking) some of the songs venture dangerously near funk. Instead, he’s at his best when he’s found a decent chord sequence, the slower the better. The lyrics aren’t going to be mistaken for the great American novel, but one leaves feeling that his repeated statements of devotion are heartfelt.

“River Song” is a good opener, with some themes his big brother would appreciate. “What’s Wrong” is fairly dopey, but “Moonshine” is lush and loving. Here, as on much of the album, Dennis plays most of the instruments, as he does on the spacey intro to “Friday Night”. “Dreamer” is another “big” production, unfortunately sitting somewhere between “Rock On” and “I’m Alright” from Caddyshack, except for the middle section that channels Brian again. “Thoughts Of You” likely has a lot to why people love this album, a gorgeous meditation over major-sevenths and major-ninths with a stirring minor-key middle.

“Time” floats in on the same musical ideas that drove “Thoughts Of You” until an extended coda right off of a Chicago album. That sound could also apply to “You And I”, a single that may have been just a little too mellow for Top 40. “Pacific Ocean Blues” brings back the funk, but that’s wiped away by “Farewell My Friend”, a eulogy sadly colored by wacky synth effects, and would one day be played at his own funeral. The sadness gives way to the banjos and mandolins of “Rainbows”, leaving “End Of The Show” as an ambiguous closer.

There is a school of thought that considers Pacific Ocean Blue to be some kind of cracked masterpiece, along the lines of Berlin, Skip Spence’s Oar, or other weirdo projects. As anyone who’s read thus far should be able to tell, the masterpiece tag, cracked or otherwise, isn’t readily thrown about here. (If anything, it conjures comparisons with Duff McKagan’s solo album, and that’s not meant to be complimentary to either.) But legends persist and the album was given a couple of new leases on life, first in 1991 with the rollout of the Beach Boys’ ‘70s catalog on CD, then again in 2008 with a deluxe version. In addition to outtakes, a second disc was devoted to the sessions for his unfinished follow-up, one of the songs now enhanced with vocals by Taylor Hawkins, aka the Foo Fighters drummer that wasn’t Dave Grohl.

Dennis Wilson Pacific Ocean Blue (1977)—3
2008 Legacy Edition: same as 1977, plus 21 extra tracks

Blind Faith: Blind Faith

Weary of playing in a so-called supergroup, Clapton left Cream to form another one. But Blind Faith wasn’t a complete about-face, as Ginger Baker came along. Thus, two-thirds of Cream hooked up with Steve Winwood, late of Traffic, and Ric Grech (who played the violin on the Stones’ “Factory Girl”) to pursue Clapton’s vision of the Band, with not a little influence from Traffic. Their self-titled album was recorded fairly quickly, by today’s standards anyway.

“Had To Cry Today” beats a riff into the ground for nearly nine minutes, with lots of overlaid guitars and a nicely phased freak-out section that’s not even that freaky. However, “Can’t Find My Way Home” would become many people’s favorite campfire song, with its descending D shapes, acoustic guitars and haunting vocal. Winwood had already mastered the second-verse-same-as-the-first method on “Dear Mr. Fantasy”, making it easy for budding folksingers to memorize it. His piano finally emerges on “Well All Right”, which put some money into Buddy Holly’s estate; it would not be the last time a Clapton version would put a definite stamp on somebody else’s song. Eric himself only wrote one song on the album, but following the single-verse method of “Can’t Find My Way Home”, “Presence Of The Lord” was given to Stevie to sing, and he does, nicely. (Notably, Clapton does not take a lead vocal on the album.)

Side two starts of well with “Sea Of Joy”, a multi-part song that nicely mixes psychedelia with folk, with equal doses of guitar and organ, and even a violin solo. “Do What You Like” is much more trying; credited solely to Ginger Baker, mostly likely for the 5/4 meter, it has a couple of verses, then lets Stevie, Eric, Ric and Ginger each solo for a while. This indulgence would be said to be sadly indicative of what was wrong with the album, and would likely be skipped by most listeners not already grooving or on chemicals. The last minute of subtle cacophony, however, is about as fitting as any grand “finale”.

Blind Faith was a supergroup in a time when commercialism was considered bad form in the music business, and the album was only in stores for about a month before the band dissolved. These days it’s arguably notable for its garish cover; we much prefer the silly band photo that actually identifies the members, used on a later pressing, as shown here.

Because there was never a follow-up, collectors and fans have grasped at whatever bonus straws they could find. One of the first CDs (manufactured in Europe) had two unreleased tracks that have since been exposed as outtakes from a Ric Grech solo project, and not by Blind Faith at all. A later expanded edition proved that there wasn’t much for the band past the six songs recorded and released, and by the time they might have, they had already splintered back to their own ideas. Of those outtakes, the faster take of “Sleeping On The Ground” is of the caliber of the LP, or at least a B-side, while the electric “Can’t Find My Way Home” shows they were right to go with what they chose. (Fans of guitar improvisation and cowbell would likely drool over the four lengthy, Grech-less jams that make up the second disc.)

Blind Faith Blind Faith (1969)—4
2001 Deluxe Edition: same as 1969, plus 9 extra tracks

Robyn Hitchcock 22: While Thatcher Mauled Britain

Yep Roc’s joy at having Robyn Hitchcock on their label came equally from having mild critical and commercial success with his new work as it did from finagling yet another revamp of his thorny catalog. Already patronized by customers into digital downloads to go with new pristine vinyl, they and he took direct aim at people resigned to buying things they already had with two box sets devoted to Robyn’s seminal (there’s that word again) ‘80s work.

The first of these, I Wanna Go Backwards, was built around three key solo albums: Black Snake Dîamond Röle, I Often Dream Of Trains and Eye. Each got new booklets and bonus tracks, some familiar, some not. But the real attraction was the two discs of demos from the ‘80s, some familiar, some not, collected under the new title While Thatcher Mauled Britain.

One of our favorite since-deleted bloggers was kind enough to break out what makes this set essential in comparison to the Rhino program of a decade earlier, but essentially the discs shuffle a bunch of selections already beloved from Invisible Hitchcock and You & Oblivion with some of the Rhino discoveries for an even more chaotic listening experience. One’s enjoyment of these depends on the listener (and how many copies they already had) but chances are everyone went straight for the never-before heard stuff. Not all of it would have been better off unheard.

“Melting Arthur” does a lot with a simple melody, and “Parachutes & Jellyfish” is one of his better Syd Barrett impressions. “Lightplug” is something of an ancestor to “Wafflehead”, and “You’re So Repulsive” has better verses than the chorus of the title. As for the more familiar stuff, a jaunty acoustic “Flesh Number 1” has no Glenn Tilbrook but does boast Peter Buck. There’s even a live version of “Dr. Sticky”. An earlier, more primitive performance of “The Abandoned Brain” helps keep things different; the same keyboard is used for “Opiatrescence”, which is worth the wait. Likewise, it’s surprising that he never did anything else with “Lovely Golden Villians” or “Toadboy”. And after a couple of hours’ worth of spooky acoustic music, “I Wanna Go Backwards” provides some electricity to close the set.

So there’s a lot of music crammed into this set, and hardcore Hitchcock fans need it all (again). Still, one can’t help wishing the all-new stuff could have been made available in their own tidy little package, because really, did they expect a whole crop of new fans to discover him for the first time here?

Robyn Hitchcock I Wanna Go Backwards (2007)—3½

Billy Joel 11: An Innocent Man

So Billy Joel managed to fall in requited love with supermodel Christie Brinkley, giving hope to short dog-faced guys everywhere. (This after allegedly dating Elle Macpherson as well.) His happiness spurred his next genre experiment; where The Nylon Curtain was rightfully called Beatlesque, An Innocent Man was anything but, taking inspiration from the R&B and soul music that dominated the charts before the British Invasion.

His joy was infectious, as six of the album’s ten tracks were hit singles. At the risk of playing out a game of Spot the Influence, not everything on the album was as overt as “Uptown Girl”, which aped the Four Seasons, or “The Longest Time”, which brought a cappella doo-wop back to the radio. It helped that the songs could stand on their own. “Tell Her About It” was the first hit, spurred by a cute video complete with an Ed Sullivan impersonator and a cameo by Rodney Dangerfield (right around the time when his movie Easy Money came out, the title song of which happened to be the opening track on the album at hand). “Leave A Tender Moment Alone” helped revive the popularity of Toots Thielemans, whose harmonica would find its way to another Phil Ramone production a year later when Julian Lennon had a hit with “Too Late For Goodbyes”. Even the title track, a smooth pastiche of the Drifters that ran over five minutes, got airplay.

The woman who started it all got only one namecheck on the album, though “Christie Lee” is not exactly a highlight. “This Night” uses the vintage gimmick of borrowing from the classics—in this case, Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique—for the chorus, rendering that melody impervious to any other connotation. “Careless Talk” gets closer to the Sam Cooke style, but unfortunately, Billy is no Steve Perry. The one song that comes off the most contemporary is “Keeping The Faith”, which limits the nostalgia references to the lyrics, and effectively closes the album.

An Innocent Man had a lot of legs, with those hit singles carrying the album well into the following year. Being more pop than rock, it didn’t help his standing on the AOR stations, but Top 40 ate it up. And of course, being able to show off his girlfriend in his videos ensured that even the kids listening to Rush and Def Leppard looked forward to seeing him on MTV.

Billy Joel An Innocent Man (1983)—3