COSMICBEN’S RECORD REVIEWS

It's all that and a bowl of Count Chocula

Random bands!

I.E. The "I'm too cheap to buy the rest of their albums" page. I've ditched a lot of my old reviews and stuck with the ones I'm slightly proud of. Plenty more to come on this page.

Note: The "rated" records are the ones I've written recently. The old ones...well, read at your own risk.

* * 1/2  AC/DC: Back In Black (1980)--Time to reveal a bias: I don't like guitar rock that much.  It's not that I have anything against the guitar, per se (although I sometimes wonder how arbitrarily it was chosen as THE instrument of rock 'n' roll), but when a band gets complacent and thinks that as long as they have that crunching rhythm guitar, they are playing ROCK AND ROLL!!, well, that's when it starts to bug me.  For my money, the piano has a much fuller sound -- that's why Bruce Springsteen's Born To Run sounds so great.  If you're going to rely on guitars, at least make them colorful like Big Star; to my ears at least, anything else sounds boring and kind of ugly.  Anyway, the Young brothers do as much as they can with the standard sound on Back In Black -- their tone is tight and fluid -- and Malcolm's riff's are impressive and complemented by Angus's crazy solos.  The result is two classics -- the frantic title track and the propulsive "You Shook Me All Night Long" -- and a bunch of other songs that don't even come close.  Some of them are exciting ("Shoot To Thrill," "Given The Dog A Bone"), but even those hooks get recycled ("Shake A Leg"), and several of the choruses practically define "strained" ("Let Me Put My Love Into You," "What Do You Do For Money Honey"--take a guess).  "Hell's Bells" has nice riffery, but never fully gels as a song; and "Have A Drink On Me" feels fuller than the rest of the tracks, even if the songwriting is at the same uninspired level.  And when did it become okay to worship Brian Johnson and hate Sammy Hagar?  I can't tell the difference, except that Sammy annoys me less.  I like the band's attitude and tolerate their sound when the songs are great -- there's just a lot of uninteresting filler on here.

The Allman Brothers: A Decade of Hits (1969-1979)--They’re great, if only for the name of their drummer. I swear, if Jeff Foxworthy got up on stage and just said, "There’s somebody in this world named BUTCH TRUCKS," he’d have the whole audience laughing hysterically. Maybe he’d still have a sitcom and some dignity left now. Where was I?  Oh yeah, this album is great, because it demonstrates how amazing the Allmans actually were. I’ve heard that Duane Allman was one of the best, but it’s hard for me to tell his and Dickey Betts’ guitars apart, which, I suppose, shows how great Betts was too. Too bad he only got into the spotlight after Duane died. Duane, master of all things slide guitar, therefore, is featured on about half the tracks thanks to his horrific motorcycle accident. Thanks to Betts, I don’t see a difference. Here are some songs that I’ve been listening to nonstop for about 48 hours now: "Midnight Rider" is built on an addictive acoustic riff, bluesy vocals from Gregg Allman, and (presumably) Duane’s slide guitar, which make this an outlaw trucker anthem, whatever that means. But it’s great, and will somehow induce you to play Air Acoustic Guitar along with The Riff, which is no mean feat. "Jessica," otherwise known as the Publix song, is Dickey’s entirely, and he rides it for six exhilarating minutes while laying down an impressive guitar performance. "Ain’t Wastin’ Time No More" is Greg’s ode to lost time, which everyone can relate to (thanks to his ethereal vocals), and "Little Martha" is a short, thoroughly beautiful dual-acoustic number from Duane and Dickey that I NEVER get tired of. With the exception of late-seventies crap like "Crazy Love" and overrated country like "Ramblin’ Man," everything else is good too, from the riff-tastic Christian anthem "Revival" to the obligatory live spots that I’ve never really gotten into but are cool anyway. The Allmans were an incredibly tight and talented band, AND they had three strong songwriters. I strongly urge you to check this one out and see why Southern Rock was something much more than "rock played by guys with southern accents."

* * * *  The Allman Brothers Band: Eat A Peach (1972)--Though they're a bluesy guitar band, the Allman Brothers can write surprisingly affecting songs and pull off melodic guitar solos that keep my interest.  For me, Eat A Peach is the apex of Southern Rock: catchy, enjoyable music without the annoying hicky excesses.  I spent months during my freshman year sitting in my dorm room and listening to Gregg Allman's warm piano-rocker "Ain't Wasting Time No More" -- I think a preschooler could have seen the irony in that but it was mostly lost on me.  His tender, well-structured "Melissa" is punctuated by knowing slide guitar licks from Dickey Betts, and Betts' calming "Blue Sky" is the perfect song for driving down a country road with your favorite girl.  The second half features Duane Allman before he died, and includes three live tracks from the Fillmore East.  They're fun if not as direct as the studio tracks, and the very existence of a 33-minute song called "Mountain Jam" has always intrigued me enough to counteract the relative pleasures I get from listening to it (for what it's worth, I've heard plenty of five-minute songs that are much longer and less exciting).  It all ends on the Duane-Dickey acoustic duet "Little Martha", an unassuming little corker of a track that ended up being the perfect epitaph for Duane's career.  

The Eagles: Their Greatest Hits (1971-1975)--OK, so I can’t stand country music, but it does have a certain authenticity to it (or at least it used to), and sometimes the idea of 5 rich-as-hell coke addicts in some LA recording studio pretending to be down-home country boys makes me either want to laugh or puke, but the fact remains that they did it so damn well, and there’s a reason this is one of the top-selling albums of all time. New sentence! There are a lot of really good songs on here, but a few clunkers, so I’ll get those out of the way first. "Witchy Woman" has never appealed to me because it sounds too much like their eventual generic rock direction, and "Lyin’ Eyes," catchy though it is, drags on way too long. But "Take It Easy" is upbeat and catchy and inspiring, and hey, listen for the awesome banjo solo in the background towards the end. And the harmonies on "Take it To The Limit, "Already Gone," and "Best Of My Love" are perfectly manufactured, although I’d be surprised if any two group members actually sang at the same time when they recorded the song. But my absolute favorite is the perfect production of the tranquil "Peaceful, Easy Feeling." Listen for the rhythmic acoustic guitar strumming, the clip-clop of Don Henley’s drums, Bernie Leadon’s pedal steel solo sparring with Randy Meisner’s bass, the understated background harmonies, and Glen Frey’s almost-authentic country vocal. This song will put you at peace with the world, and while the same can’t be said for all of the other songs on here, they’re all worth listening to. Join the mob and get this one.

* * *  Earth, Wind & Fire: All 'n' All (1977)--I finally like this, so I guess there's no better time to review it. It's said to be one of EWF's best albums, but it still doesn't excite me very much, and I don't think I'll be running out to buy the rest of their catalogue anytime soon. Am I making myself clear? Should I bash it more? Nah. It's actually a pretty album, but also very slick, robbing it of the grit that I tend to require from my favorite funk. Add to that some indistinctive songwriting, and I'm mostly uninspired. Tracks like "Jupiter" and "Serpentine Fire" have propulsive funky power, but it's so buried that it sounds like the producer is the featured soloist throughout the songs. And when Maurice White and Phillip Bailey's beautiful harmonies are grounded by average, unmemorable melodies, as on "Be Ever Wonderful" and "Love's Holiday", it almost sounds like a big put-on. So when the most distinctive composition is the schmaltzy "Fantasy", I'm really not sure what to think; Bailey's showcase ballad "I'll Write A Song For You" is in the same vein, but it's so sincere and pretty that I have a hard time resisting it. Taken as a whole, the album is quite infectious but rarely transcendent. Still, there are a lot of neat tricks and sterling instrumental performances: an acapella horn arrangement that carries the groove by itself for a few seconds (!) ("Magic Mind"), a Coltrane-esque solo on "Runnin'"; and the harmonies really are as gorgeous and energizing as you might have heard (sparkling scat singing on "Runnin'").  Plus, the band stakes out its own musical path, sounding like a glowing, telepathic machine; and I'm at a wacky point in my life where I really do think relentless happiness and smiley-time positivity are that important. So I appreciate the effort, but I think they're trying too hard to make a grand, universal statement; if they'd spent as much time making the songs and sound as memorable as the message, I'd probably enjoy it a lot more.

* * * 1/2  Electric Light Orchestra: A New World Record (1976)--This is classic rock for the attention-span challenged.  You know, the types who write one-paragraph music reviews and need new ideas to pop up in their music every few seconds lest they get bored.  Hence, A New World Record is full of powerful drumbeats, cooing choruses, soaring opera singers, and swirling strings in the background, all in the service of an endless succession of vocal hooks.  Many of the hooks are merely pleasant, but to frontman/producer Jeff Lynne's credit it's all lush instead of irritating.  Of the samey pop-rockers, only the propulsive radio hit "Livin' Thing" stands out, but there are other triumphs on here: "Rockaria!" is a tacky Little Richard ripoff, brilliantly executed, and Lynne bullseyes both extremes of seventies rock on the two best songs.  "Telephone Line" has an aching melody and every vocal line in just the right place, and on the riff-heavy "Do Ya" Lynne curdles his guitar and voice into instruments of irresistably prefabricated rage.  The rest of the album isn't as timeless as it wants to be, but three radio classics equal a nice score for anybody.  Now move on to the next review before I lose you to that crazy-looking spot on the wall.

* *  Missy Elliott: Supa Dupa Fly (1997)--I used to think that rap was stupid, that "artists" who unmelodically spit out lyrics over a repetitive beat couldn't possibly be as talented as, say, Good Charlotte or John Tesh.  Obviously, I was very white at the time, and I now realize that rap is plenty neato.  However, I refuse to believe that mumbling is a valid art form.  My rule is, if I can do it, it ain't art.  As Missy Elliott barely says anything thoughtful or clever for the whole sixty minutes, just mumbling in a weed-induced haze about her style and friends without anything resembling a rhythmic flow, Supa Dupa Fly does not pass my test.  It's not so much "art" to my ears as "lowest common denominator sludge".  I have no problem with Timbaland's spacy, sensitive beats, which are quite innovative.  And Missy does have a gentle, nasal voice, which she uses to good effect in a few slow jams.  But she and Timbaland sample "Pass The Dutchie", changing it to "Pass Da Blunt", and as I just lost a few brain cells typing that, I'm going to wrap this up now.

* * *  Eric Burdon Declares War (1970)--This one takes a looong time to enjoy.  The first eight times you listen to it, you'll probably wonder why seven talented instrumentalists are letting such a rambling moaner steal the show.  But former Animal Burdon grows on you: his pretensions, which are light-years beyond his moderate talents, are offset by his heartfelt love of the blues--he means this stuff, even if he doesn't really know what it means.  And the instrumental backing can't be faulted; War creates a super-tight groove on almost every song, with each member contributing to the infectious mix.  Most of the songs go on way too long, though, with Burdon's ramblings overstaying their welcome and even the grooves getting old after 14 minutes (!).  The opening "The Vision of Rasaan" (short at 7:40) choogles along nicely, with a lovely piano intro from Lonnie Jordan, but "Tobacco Road" is mostly absurd and "Blues For Memphis Slim" drags lethargically much of the time, leaving the worthwhile parts buried amid pointless vocals and dragging semi-grooves.  The short tracks are unimpeachable, though: "Spill The Wine" is a classic, with Burdon's spoken words and crazy Spanish ladies in the background creating the impression of a jivin' daydream, and the closing "You're No Stranger" is two minutes of loveliness built on an anonymous stolen melody.  This is not a great album by any means; when it's bad, it's snooze-worthy, and when it's good, you really have to wait a while to appreciate it.  But it's an interesting, heartfelt intro to the career of an awesome band (and a last hurrah for a sixties legend); nice, soothing background music for when you're in the right mood.

* * * 1/2  Everclear: Songs From An American Movie, Vol. 1: Learning How to Smile (2000)--I have a theory that great art straddles the personal and universal, with honesty tempered by ever-important concessions to artistry.  Rather than walking that line, Everclear leader Art Alexakis shoves both sides into the band's fourth album, resulting in something incoherent and joyful at the same time.  He's plenty talented, and several of these tracks are pure shots of fun, sonically colorful, anthemic, and personal enough to make me care.  The melodies aren't innovative, but they're usually engaging.  Lyrically, life is a giant series of highs and lows -- he's probably convinced himself that taking out the garbage every night is a great adventure, and it gets a little tiring.  But in his delusion, he somehow manages to bring his baggage right into the recording studio; half of it makes me cringe, and the other half is really refreshing.  Most of the songs sound the same, but the poppy, yearning "Wonderful" and the dreamy cover of "Brown Eyed Girl" are absolute classics.  With all of the amateurish purging, the album isn't great art, but it somehow makes for killer rock music.

Your comments:

Date: 03/22/2002 8:31:13 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: chriswhowell@hotmail.com

Ben,
I just want to write to you because I never thought I'd find such a good definition of "great art" hidden in a review of an Everclear album. I'm still not buying the album no matter what you say, though. And as a fan of his, I'd also like to say that to really appreciate the best of Neil Young's work you'd do well to spend some time listening to the mediocre and crap music he's put out. I like your site, though; it's good to hear a thought-out opinion even if I don't always agree. Keep it up!
Chris Howell

* * * *  The Flaming Lips: The Soft Bulletin (1999)--In other reviews I rail against singers who are likeable but don't really communicate anything because they hold back or simply don't have the talent to project their innermost feelings.  Then there's Wayne Coyne, leader of the Flaming Lips, who can communicate so much with a simple crackle of notes.  There's sadness in his high-pitched croon, along with vulnerability, a bit of cheekiness, and genuine optimisim and belief in the goodness of human beings.  On the Lips' eighth album, Coyne sings on top of a bunch of technically thin sounds that he somehow blends into a luxurious, twinkling bed of music.  The effect transforms "Buggin'" from a catchy song into a slice of pop perfection I haven't heard since the best Beach Boys songs of the sixties.  Similarly, "Race For The Prize" is a heartbreaking tale that draws me in from the first note, and "The Spiderbite Song" genuinely captures what it feels like to be terrified when someone you love is hurt.  Not every song reaches those heights, but the sheer feel of the singing and playing keeps me entranced until the next great track comes along.

* * * *  Fleetwood Mac: Rumours (1977)--Not sure what to say about this one.  It's fantastic soft-rock, which is a double-edged sword: it sounds impeccable and fun, but most of it is missing the grit and emotion that would really mean something to me.  The unlikely exception is Lindsey Buckingham, whose three awkward songs (especially the harrowing "Go Your Own Way") are gut-wrenching in a way that the more structured songs on here don't allow themselves to be.  Maybe it's in the vocals: he's more about naked emotion than nuanced cooing, and his are the tracks I keep coming back to.  Everything else is catchy, with the exception of Christine McVie's two piano ballads, which are pretty if not profound.  Stevie Nicks' "Dreams" is pleasant and livened up by a generous rhythm part, but she'd already covered the ground on "Rhiannon"; McVie's "Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow" and "You Make Loving Fun" are brilliantly infectious, if a bit glossy.  This is great songwriting -- enough to keep me coming back for a guaranteed fun listen -- but it's too self-consciously pristine to really be filling.

* * 1/2  Fountains Of Wayne: Utopia Parkway (1999)--I found this for four dollars, and it's fine proof that I can be just as disappointed by cheap CD's as by expensive ones.  I'm not denying the raw talent of Fountains Of Wayne: the album has some catchy rockers like "Denise" and "Red Dragon Tattoo" and pretty ballads like "Amity Gardens" and "A Fine Day For A Parade".  Why the disappointment, then?  Well, it's bland.  Bland like a nicely seasoned, fresh, perfectly shaped cauliflower that still tastes....like a cauliflower.  The instrumentation is bland, most of the melodies are bland, and leaders Chris Collingwood and Adam Schlesinger have two of the most boring voices I've ever heard.  Even worse, I don't hear any belief in the material: the vocals are smarmy and detached, and the lyrics sound like smug imitations of someone else's sincerity.  I'll acknowledge their competence and occasionally inspired songwriting.  But I dig passionate, meaningful rock music, and I just don't see much value in listening to a faded xerox of the real thing.

* * * *  Aretha Franklin: I've Never Loved A Man The Way I Love You (1967)--Aretha is one of those annoyingly overrated artists--that's not a knock on her musical skills, which are awe-inspiring, but on the legions of baby boomers and moronic celebrities who name-drop her as a phenomenal talent because they love "Respect" and because it's "cool" to like her.  I mean, I can't think of a clear candidate for "Best Female Artist Ever," but VH1's choice of Aretha doesn't sit well with me, especially given her erratic career and sporadic (though great) excursions into songwriting.  I Never Loved..., her debut for Atlantic Records, is still a solid album, though, if not The Best Soul Album of All Time, (as decided by Rolling Stone); in fact, each one of the songs is a tour-de-force, with strong Aretha vocals and chimy backing vocals from her sisters Carolyn and Erma, burbling basslines and sympathetic drumming from the rock-steady Muscle Shoals rhythm section, and sparkling piano from Aretha herself.  The problem is the songwriting: only a few of the songs stick in your memory, even after repeated listens, with the others seeming like standard R&B grooves without much staying power ("Soul Serenade," "Dr. Feelgood," "Good Times, "Save Me").  However, that's less of a problem than it sounds like, simply because the good songs are really, really good: "Respect," is, well, "Respect" (is it really worth describing?); "Don't Let Me Lose This Dream" is a jazzy marvel; "Baby, Baby, Baby" is fun; and "Drown in My Own Tears," "Do Right Woman--Do Right Man," and the title track are slow and deeply soulful.  The Rhino bonus tracks are for collectors only (pointless stereo versions of the three big hits), but the liner notes are informative and sufficiently nit-picky, and overall, this is an impressive document of Aretha's startling raw musical talent, which is an eye-opener for anyone who sees her as "just" a great singer.  Feel free to drop ten bucks on it; the good part is that you don't have to worry about her "awestruck fans" picking it up first.

* * *  Funkadelic: Maggot Brain (1971)--Dreadfully unspectacular.  Maybe I'm a pretentious wiener-dog, but my favorite track is the one most people bash: the 9:42 "Wars of Armageddon" has less to do with "Revolution 9" than a really cool Santana-esque funk jam, admittedly made funnier by interspersed sound effects ("More power to the pussy!  More power to the peter!"), but it wouldn't have worked without an awesome backbeat and insistent organ riffing.  The middle of the album features a bunch of short tunes that start out brilliantly (beautiful acoustic strumming on "Can You Get To That", mindbending keyboard riff on "Hit It And Quit It", ferocious fuzzy riff and vocals on "Super Stupid", quirky Jew's Harp on "Back In Our Minds") but dissolve into fun, but mediocre, pop songs.  The harmonies are pretty, but there's not much behind them.  And the ten-minute title track gets hyped as the greatest guitar solo ever, but aside from a few shimmering passages, much of it is boring and ordinary: it's cool how Clinton double-tracked it, delaying the second track, and the low-key backing is haunting, but the solo itself is less inspired than people give it credit for.  Maybe I gots no soul?  The whole album is engagingly freakish, but it also sounds like it was recorded down the hall -- it's hard to believe Clinton produced the ultra-lush America Eats Its Young just a few years later.  Completists will like this fun, undemanding slice of Funkadelica, but there's not even one classic track to snare the casual fan.

* * * 1/2  Funkadelic: Let's Take It To The Stage (1975)--Dave Marsh calls this "the best rock album most rock fans have never heard of."  All together now: "Wow, he's a knowledgeable guy!"  I must not know my stuff, because I just think it's good.  It's also so diverse that not much can be said about the album as a whole, so I'm gonna take the unimaginative route...  The opener, "Good To Your Earhole" is a fantastic Eddie Hazel rocker, with cooking wah-wahed rhythm guitar; the only problem is that they changed the lyrics and put it on the second side too ("Stuff & Things").  "Better By The Pound" also sounds similar, but the cool female vocals make it enjoyable.  Booty's vehicle "Be My Beach" is funny and has a great chanted refrain; "No Head, No Backstage Pass" is an engaging freakout, and shows up "lyrical subtlety" for the outdated notion it is (I suppose).  "Let's Take It To The Stage" is a hilarious funk workout that predates the Red Hot Chili Peppers by a few years, and "Get Off Your Ass And Jam" is indescribably danceable (with lyrics that made my sister lose any respect she might have had for my musical tastes -- but hey, I like 'em).  The second side isn't as good: "This Song Is Familiar" is a pretty ballad, but "I Owe You Something Good" is pure hack songwriting (and the only one where Clinton's working without a co-writer -- coincidence?), partially redeemed by a heartfelt/sappy vocal and a crunching riff.  Meanwhile, Bernie Worrell's "Atmosphere" is a 7-minute keyboard instrumental--technically impressive, but I'm not sure if it belonged on here.  Clinton adds some funny muffled lyrics, though.  Overall, this is a very cool , if low-key, album -- the hit-to-miss track ratio is actually better than most -- but very little actually knocks my stanky socks off, so I'd have to call it more representative of P-funk's sound and talent than their transcendence and enduring legend.

* * * 1/2  Daryl Hall & John Oates: Abandoned Luncheonette (1973)--Hall & Oates' second album is delightfully unpretentious, the perfect soundtrack to sitting at my window and watching the rain fall.  It's more soft-rock than soul, but the mix of strummed guitars and clopping drums is so organic that the sound never devolves into mush.  Even a few squealing guitars and synthesizers add to the fun without overtaking things.  The downside is that few of the songs get a chance to stand out, and most are more enjoyable than memorable.  One exception is Hall's irresistible vocal showcase "When The Morning Comes", and his multi-part epic "Everytime I Look At You" builds to an unforgettable harmonized chorus.  Best of all is the aching, pleading soul classic "She's Gone", where Hall and Oates borrow from Philly soul and outdo it in one shot of pure melodic desparation.  True, Oates is no Hall, but throughout, their voices intertwine and complement the music to perfection, resulting in one of the most pleasant albums in my collection.

* * * *  Daryl Hall & John Oates: Voices (1981)--The unquestioned peak of Hall & Oates, Voices is a bright, happy album that gives 80's radio pop a good name.  The bouncy, ecstatic "You Make My Dreams", with Hall's voice blasting out over minimal backing, was a huge hit, and he works the same magic with his masterful, lighter-waving soul workout "Everytime You Go Away" (Paul Young later went to the top of the charts with an overproduced version).  The joyful Motown pastiche "Kiss On My List", with an unforgettable piano hook, went to number one, and there were two more Top Forty hits: Oates' lumbering, but enjoyable "How Does It Feel To Be Back" and the duo's faithful, refreshing cover of "You've Lost That Loving Feeling".  "United State" is the best album track, cheekily recreating the frantic sound of Outlandos-era Police, and even the gimmicky "Diddy Doo Wop (I Hear The Voices)" has an infectious vocal arrangement.  Hall & Oates aren't masters, just pros at the top of their game, but I'll take their exuberant soul music over 80's mope rock any day.

* * * 1/2  Daryl Hall & John Oates: Private Eyes (1981)--After recording their classic soul platter, Hall & Oates set about making their Big Brainless Pop Album.  Despite what any of you "discerning" music listeners might think, they nail the genre on song after song, and the two most memorable tracks were #1 hits.   "Private Eyes" is a retread of "Kiss On My List" with subtly different vocal hooks, but it's still a classic pop/soul number with exciting dynamics.  "I Can't Go For That (No Can Do)" points towards the wimpy electronic direction they'd go in, but Hall hits some gorgeous falsetto notes in the chorus.  Elsewhere, there are a plethora of crashing, intricately harmonized, singalong pop songs: Hall's "Did It In A Minute", "Some Men", and "Head Above Water", and Oates' "Mano A Mano" and "Friday Let Me Down".  None are as melodically strong as the hits, and the same four-on-the-floor Motown beat on each song slows down the album's momentum.  But as a concept album based around my all-time favorite song structure, Private Eyes earns innumberable Cosmic Cool Points.

* * 1/2  Daryl Hall & John Oates: H2O (1982)--I guess I live in a fantasy world where Hall & Oates are musical powerhouses, and where all great art is flourescent green.  Fair enough.  It's fun here!  Listening to H2O, though, gives me a glimpse of your world, where Hall & Oates embody the worst musical trends of the eighties and my cat is seen as anti-social instead of endearingly independent.  Your world scares me, but I'm coming to understand it.  H2O sounds like your Hall & Oates; the tempos are slow, the drums don't sound like drums, and the evil synthesizers have the pianos hiding fearfully in the corner of the studio.  Worse, the duo's hooks just aren't as strong, and sometimes they're not worth listening for.  Even "Maneater", the requisite #1 hit, is enjoyable but much slower and more atmospheric than their previous triumphs.  The only great song is Hall's seductive, falsetto-drenched "One On One", although Oates' goofy "Italian Girls" adds some needed energy and humor.  Otherwise, this is one dreary album, and the high points are few.  Who are these guys?

* * 1/2  Daryl Hall & John Oates: Big Bam Boom (1984)--A funny thing happened to me on the way to reviewing this horribly disappointing, insubstantial album.  ...see? As Hall & Oates sink deeper into the eighties, it's getting harder to mask my disappointment with well-placed witticisms.   Big Bam Boom is less creepy and depressing, but also less focused, than H2O, with even the hit "Method Of Modern Love" being more of a synth-drenched catchphrase than a song.  It's a cliche to say that the song titles speak for themselves -- "Going Thru The Motions", "Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid" -- but......yeah.  I've listened to them over and over, and I can't remember a thing.  The one winner is "Out Of Touch", with a classic vocal that survives two interlocking synth riffs (are they trying to hurt me?).  Otherwise, Oates sings the two most memorable songs: the insistent "Cold Dark And Yesterday" and the naggingly catchy "Posession Obsession".  I've heard less pleasant albums than Big Bam Boom, but few that waste such talent while simultaneously leaving such a tiny impression on me.

* * * 1/2  Daryl Hall & John Oates: Live At The Apollo With David Ruffin & Eddie Kendricks (1985)--It's probably sacrilege for two legendary Temptations to "support" Hall and Oates on tour, but H&O are sufficiently reverent, and for a time they really were the ones carrying on the Motown tradition of bouncy love songs with tortured vocals.  The old masters sound great, if not particularly revelatory, on a medley of Temps songs, and the band does a good job of keeping things propulsive.  Elsewhere, H&O give exciting extended treatments to mediocre songs like "Posession Obsession" and "Adult Education". Oates shows off an ear-catching falsetto on "Posession" and even rips out a stuttering guitar solo.  Hall, as usual, steals the spotlight, effortlessly reaching the back row on "Everytime You Go Away" and the sultry "One On One".  The highest recommendation I can give, though, is that even on a dusty cassette, with my car's player going thump-thump-thump for no good reason, the energetic performances shine through and make me wish I'd been at the Apollo that night.

* * * * *  George Harrison: All Things Must Pass (1971)--I've held off on reviewing this for a while, and it might be because I can't think of a single bitter thing to say about it.  It's better than that.  All Things Must Pass is a deliberately sad album, full of downcast melodiest and declarations about death.  And yet, George Harrison is happy: he sings with full confidence about  his faith in God and the love of the people around him.  It's infectious.  With his nasal vocals and cosmic pretensions, he delivers my favorite vocal performance of all time; it's the sound of a man fully comfortable with his limitations and perfectly calm about life.  It comes out best on the cover of Dylan's "If Not For You", but how can you listen to any of these songs and not feel at peace?  Most of them aren't brilliant, but there's a sad beauty to each one, and Phil Spector's huge production demands that you sit up and pay attention.  With that combination, the number of powerful, comforting classics on here is staggering.  When George died, people struggled to say nice things about his career after this album.  But does it matter?  All Things Must Pass is as good a musical legacy as anyone ever has to leave.

* * *  George Harrison: Cloud Nine (1987)--This is something that only a superstar can get away with.  George's "comeback" album is really unambitious: mid-level everything, from volume to vocals to compositions to inspiration.  The album won't let itself be great -- even the inspired songs are nearly smothered by the laid-back vibe, and George undersells some good melodies by half-speaking the lyrics.  Jeff Lynne's production is clever but kind of morose, making the listening experience slightly dreary, and there are sincere, tuneless ballads peppered throughout.  Even the one awesome riff tune, "Fish On The Sand", is kinda ripped off from Lennon's "Any Time At All".  And yet, it's growing on me every time I listen to it, and not just out of respect for the dead or a sense of bitter, cynical kinship.  George is in a good mood here, and he's damn sincere on every song: if you listen closely, the mood will soothe you and make you feel happily warm inside.  And I know it's a cover song AND probably Lynne's baby, but "Got My Mind Set On You" is a lot of fun -- as are "Devil's Radio" and the clever "Wreck Of The Hesperus", plus a few others that are gimmicky but effective.  A happy little album, if you're not expecting a masterpiece.  I won't end on a joke, because the man just passed into the next plane of existence....and besides, I can't think of any.

* * 1/2  The Juliana Hatfield Three: Become What You Are (1993)--Boston-area rocker Juliana Hatfield writes complex, engaging guitar riffs and plays them capably, alternating between growling rhythm and sparkly jangle.  Unfortunately, her songs mimic the riffs note-for-note, sounding pretty but not especially melodic.  Sometimes she even sings the same uninspired chorus over and over; didn't anyone tell her that's a terrible idea?  Juliana's voice is her one stab at greatness, delicate and high-pitched and soaring.  With flexible, professional rhythm tracks and an angel out front, the album is eminently listenable, but Juliana's inspiration is limited: the only transcendent moment is the giddy, shimmering acoustic track "Spin The Bottle".  Everything else is interchangeable, with the lighthearted "My Sister" on the enjoyable side and "This Is The Sound", "Mabel", and "I Got No Idols" riding one repetitive chorus into pointlessness.  Become What You Are is a respectable stab at an album, but I still think Juliana's better off shredding and singing in support of other, more creative songwriters.

* * * * *  The Jimi Hendrix Experience: Axis: Bold As Love (1967)--This record takes me two places: one is back to Tolbert Hall, circa 1998, and I'm listening to it and eating a Blimpie Sub and not doing anything or talking to anyone, and it's the same thing I do every single night...  That's why I couldn't pull this CD out for months after my first year of college: I could literally taste the processed turkey a few seconds into the first track.  Luckily, the second place is much happier: the shimmering, sparkling, swinging sixties, where everybody let their fancies flow and played trippy wah-wah'd guitars and sang about peace and love and floating off to some faraway place.  And man, can I dig that.  On this, his second album, Jimi flies his freak flag proudly, balancing trippy mood pieces ("Up From The Skies") with raging, tightly-packed rockers full of poetic, druggy lyrics that scream out SIXTIES!! in a good way (almost every other track).  Truthfully, very few of them stand out besides the heartfelt "Little Wing" and the anthemic title track, and a lot of them even sound the same, but as an album, this is an amazing document of what must have been a memorable era.  Jimi's loose riffage lays the backdrop for each song, and his organic leads snake in and out of your speakers, flying back and forth through the channels and thoroughly tripping you out.  Not to be outdone, Noel Redding and Mitch Mitchell provide fantastic rhythmic backing, with Redding even contributing a fine rocker with speech-impedimented vocals ("She's So Fine").  The JHE's first album might have had more classic songs, but as a cohesive statement, Axis is much more LSDeelicious.  Kinda like the turkey.

* * *  Hindu Love Gods (1986)--This is barely an album, made by a band that never really existed, but it's more fun than some legitimate platters.  One fine weekend in 1986, Peter Buck, Mike Mills, and Bill Berry of REM joined forces with rocker Warren Zevon to record some songs.  One might think they'd end up with a combination of REM's Godlike jangle and Zevon's witty bread-and-butter rock.  But no, it's a bunch of blues covers.  You might think dull, repetitive songs like "Mannish Boy" and "Walkin' Blues" are classics, but I glean very little joy from listening to them.  The saving grace is the power the Gods wring out of these boring songs.  Buck churns away on rhythm guitar, and Berry propels the whole thing with his loud, clattering drums.  For instance, their cover of Prince's "Raspberry Beret" isn't at all revelatory, but it drives along irresistably.  Meanwhile, Zevon is too cocky to be a vulnerable blues singer, but his rich vocal personality still carries the music.  I'd only play the smoking Georgia Satellites cover "Battleship Chains" for friends, but the whole album makes for gritty background listening.

Buddy Holly: From the Original Master Tapes--In third grade, my class had "fifties day," and I came to class with a giant cardboard guitar. And everyone asked "Are you Elvis Presley?" "No," I explained. "I’m Buddy Holly." "Who’s he?" Now that’s depressing. I mean, Elvis didn’t even play his guitar. Not that Elvis was without merit, but ask the Beatles, ask the Stones, or any other sixties rock band, and they’ll tell you how much of an effect Buddy Holly had on their careers. He hiccuped his lyrics into the mike, played a mean guitar, and you can practically hear him dancing around the studio while the tape was running. Holly co-wrote a good amount of his songs with his band The Crickets (Crickets? Come on; the Beatles--get it?--weren’t even trying to be subtle about Holly’s influence), and made any other song completely his own. "Rave On" (it’s a crazy feelin’...) rocks as hard as anything on the radio today; he screams "Oh Boy!" while the Crickets coo in the background, and moans for "Peggy Sue" while Jerry Allison sounds like he’s drumming from the bottom of a well. Need I say more? Holly did all this before the age of 22. Of course, everyone knows the day the music died; unfortunately, not everyone knows the music. So go ahead, buy this album; find out what "American Pie" is mourning, find out where the Beatles got their sound, find out how Buddy made rock 'n' roll sound so easy and natural five years before anybody else caught on to why it was so cool.

* * * *  Hootie & The Blowfish: Cracked Rear View (1994)--I love big songs.  Intricacy is nice, irony is fun, indie is usually cool.  But sometimes those things are just there to disguise what are essentially tiny songs.  Cracked Rear View sold 16 million copies because the songs are huge; you can't escape them, even when you turn off the album.  Not all of the songs deserve the size, but Darius Rucker and his gang get points for shoving them in your face anyway.  Despite the rootsy instrumental blend, the band polarizes people, partially because of Rucker's forceful whine and partially because there is nothing cool about liking these big, goofy songs.  To me, the album is a shot of fun, with classics like "Let Her Cry", "Time", "Drowning", "Only Wanna Be With You" (which namechecks my Miami Dolphins), the phenomenal singalong "Hold My Hand" and my new favorite, the propulsive "Hannah Jane".  I'm not cool, and maybe that's why I love the album.  But it's also a loveable throwback to the days when you could put your unironic uncool-ness on the line and rock out more convincingly for it.

* * *  Ernie Isley: High Wire (1990)--Talk about uncool: an innocuous solo album by a balding guitarist from a band that was past its prime a decade earlier. Usually, I hate those. Isley's solo debut isn't bad, though, because he's more than competent at the one-man-band thing, and his sweet tenor is so likeable that you always want to root for him. He's also a fantastic guitarist: like a Carlos Santana or Jimi Hendrix with a little less inspiration, making every extended solo ear-catching and fun if not profound. He uses electronic drums, but they have power, and they're supplemented by knowing percussion from Pauhlino DaCosta. It's the most enjoyable and personable electrofunk I've ever heard, and it goes down quite easily; the only problem is that almost none of the songs are memorable, and he extends undeserving songs like "Back To Square One" long past the point where you're paying attention. It's hard to explain: the songs have verses and choruses like everything else I've heard, but they sound short and tossed-off, making them less than memorable, and the lack of stylistic variation among the tunes heightens the confusion. But everything's intriguing (the title track's complex thump would make Prince proud), and while you're listening, it's a lot of fun. Plus, there are enough great solos to satisfy any fan of the electric guitar. He includes two short demos - their warmth, slow pace, and use of actual acoustic instruments makes me wish more of the songs were in that vein (the gentle, pretty ballad "Love Situation" comes the closest). But he never tries too hard (like that other guy), and he's good at what he does, making this a good buy if you can snag it cheap.

* * * * 1/2  My Breakfast At Ivey's Grill (8/29/04)--For an accidental breakfast, this was exceptional.  Ivey's is my favorite restaurant on earth, but Katie had suggested Home On The Range, and we ended up at Ivey's only when Home was closed.  No problem here.  The cameraderie with my old co-workers was fun, and I got to see both of my old bosses.  That aside, I go for the food, and the I wasn't disappointed.  I ordered the Veggie Benedict, which came drowned in spinach hollandaise (the way I like it), sparing me the sight of two poached eggs staring back at me.  It was scrumptious, as were the crispy herb potatoes.  Katie and I talked about our future while she enjoyed her spicy black bean burro and homemade pico de gallo, and we both chowed down on the Godlike banana bread french toast (not the real name, but I wouldn't fault Rick and Stephanie for being egotistical about it).  To top everything off, I picked up my last paycheck from the summer, walking out of Ivey's with ten times more money than I spent.  Every meal should end like that.

* * * *  Carole King: Tapestry (1971)--A few weeks ago, I needed this album; my other CD's were sounding cold to me, and I wanted to add some warmth to my collection.  Tapestry did the trick.  Carole King packs a lot of sincere emotion into her screechy voice, and her minor-key dabblings on the piano create an incredibly homey atmosphere.  "So Far Away" has to be one of the prettiest songs ever recorded, fine proof of her songwriting and performing talent.  The same goes for about six other songs on the album: both propulsive pop-rockers ("I Feel The Earth Move", "It's Too Late") and moving ballads ("You've Got A Friend," "Tapestry") show off her incredible sense of melody and pop instinct; and the best moments on the album are her stirring, emotive, slowed-down takes on big sixties hits that she just happened to have written ("Will You Love Me Tomorrow", "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman").  The part nobody seems to notice, though, is that four other songs are completely unmemorable in their pretty sameness, and the playful, in-your-face rocker "Smackwater Jack" is totally out of place on such an introspective record.  Big-time 60's producer Lou Adler throws in lots of soothing touches, and the overall feel of Carole wanting to be your best friend mostly works, despite self-congratulatory album credits ("The [Joni] Mitchell/ [James] Taylor Boy-Girl Choir") that remind us how out of the in-crowd we really are.  A great album for winter nights and those days when your other CD's seem to be growling at you.

* * * *  The Kinks: Arthur or The Decline and Fall of the British Empire (1969)--Not nearly as pretentious as the title makes it seem.  This was my first foray into Ray Davies' world, and it's way different than I'd expected: most of the songs are intelligent multipart riff-rockers, with infectious melodies and insightful lyrics that apparently tell the story of a guy named Arthur.  The Davies brothers' guitar interplay is magical in its competence, Mick Avory is ferocious on drums (check out the middle of "Princess Marina"), and the vocals are tons of fun--even Ray's "dumb voice" has grown on me.  I can't stand the production, though: Ray has a million great musical ideas, but they all seem to blend together after a while, and I can't help but wonder what a George Martin could have done for these guys--at the very least, bring the vocals up front, and maybe even keep the album from sounding so disorganized.  As it is, it's kind of confusing, and I almost resent having to dig really deep to get into Davies' England, something the Beatles and the Stone have never made me do.  Still, almost every song is entertaining, and a few stick out as brilliant: "Victoria" is a soaring, instantly memorable ode to a queen, and "Arthur" is a mindblowing riffrocking experience, easily one of the best songs I've ever heard; "Shangri-La" is a haunting, stately anthem; "Brainwashed" is a fine, uncompromising rocker; "Nothing To Say" is remarkably like the early Who, with a solid hook; and "She Bought A Hat Like Princess Marina" is a pretty, rousing music hall number.  And almost every other song, especially "Yes Sir, No Sir" and "Some Mother's Son" (not to mention the insanely weird "Australia") has a nice melody and something interesting going for it; whenever you start to get used to something, Ray changes the melody and tempo, and it's consistently exciting.  At this point, though, Arthur sounds too muddled for me to call it ones of my favorite albums; but there's some impressive songwriting here, and as a document of the 60's that you probably haven't heard, it's tons of unpretentious fun. And that title track....yeesh.  Sums up the whole album, and it's impossibly good.  Impressive, no?

PS  Allow me a second to worship at the shrine of Dave Davies.  As great as Ray is, there are times when his songs grate on me a bit, when I need something a bit rougher and less oblique.  So let me point you towards three of the album's bonus tracks, written by "lesser" brother Dave.  I'd have to rank this guy as one of the best songwriters of the 60's: maybe not the most prolific or recognized, but all three of his cuts on here (none of which made a Kinks album) are fierece, passionate, and melodic.  "Mindless Child of Motherhood" is practically one giant hook!  "Mr. Shoemaker's Daughter" is lovely if you can get past his voice; and "This Man He Weeps Tonight" is damn effective.  So skip past the album proper once in a while, and you'll find something very different from Ray's work, but (I'd say) just as good.

* * 1/2  The La's (1990)--This CD should hold special value for me, since I bought it in Manhattan on one of the most exciting days of my life.  The day consisted of walking around the city and eating pizza, which probably says more about me than I should let on.  That the album wastes such a heaping of goodwill probably says more then it wants to let on.  La's frontman/songwriter Lee Mavers came up with a bunch of awkward, minimally hooky songs that don't benefit at all from his sneering vocals.  He's going for happy guitar pop, but nearly every song is a flat melody and that same boring guitar strumming you to death.  On the other hand, Mavers graces us with "There She Goes", a song so perfect it boggles my mind.  Suddenly his sneer becomes a romantic falsetto, and the Byrdsy jangle and pristine melody capture the feeling of longing better than any song I've heard since "Walk Away, Renee".  The rest of the album is bouncy enough, but simply not very good -- it lets me down even more because "There She Goes" means so much to me.

* * * * 1/2 Led Zeppelin: The One Between the Third and Fifth Albums (1971)--The "classic" and a damned imposing record, with five of the eight songs still in radio rotation 28 years after the fact. And truthfully, I was wary of buying it, since classic rock radio taught me that Zeppelin only churned out loud, raging riff tunes with headache-inducing vocals. So I was surprised to find out that Zep 4 is a solid album, with some nice diversity mixed in with the usual cock-rocking radio hits. And the cock-rockers are still fun: "Black Dog" and "Rock and Roll" are both riff-filled bashers with piercing Plant vocals, "Misty Mountain Hop" is exciting no matter what anybody says, and "Stairway To Heaven" still strikes me as a catchy, well-crafted epic rather than an overplayed annoyance. But the experimentation balances things out nicely, with acoustic numbers like the haunting medieval ditty "The Battle of Evermore" and the wistful acoustic ballad "Going To California." And the album ends on a memorable note with "When The Levee Breaks," an echo-drenched dark blues slathered with eerie guitars and thumping drums, simultaneously brought down by Plant's hoarse ramblings and salvaged by his spooky mouth harp wailing. Only "Four Sticks" riffs to no purpose, but overall, this is a consistently enjoyable record, and Jimmy Page's recent remastering job makes it even better, with the instruments sounding clearer and more fluid than ever. Ye olde untitled album is still too bombastic to be called the greatest of all time, but it's enjoyable and more diverse than you'd probably expect. Crank it up and enjoy; just keep the tylenol within reach.

Your comments:

mattzindroski@yahoo.com (Matt Zindroski): Here I am, making my trumphant return to commenting on music (... return from my two comments on The Beatles on George Starostin's site that I wrote a year ago.  Then I gave up, cause I realized they kinda sucked.  But here I am again.). Anyway, Led Zepplin's fourth offering has never done much for me. Maybe it's cause in my younger years, I used to hate them... Black Dog has never really ever done anything for me. The start-stopy-ness of the song just kinda gives me a head -ache. Rock and Roll is much much better with it's drum intro and guitar solo/tone stuff. May I display my obvious ignorance, and group The Battle for Evermore, Four Sticks and Going to California all in the same catagory? They all refuse to stick in my mind. Maybe it's cause of a lack of a memorable riff?  Misty Mountain Hop is a song that seems like it should be a guilty pleasure, but to me, never quite achieves that. Another head-ache song. Ooohhh, but I love the epics Stairway to Heaven and When the Leeve Breaks.  The buildup of Stairway to Heaven and the lack of build up on When the leeve breaks get me every time.  It earns 3 stars (***) from me.

* * * *  Come On Feel The Lemonheads (1993)--As much as I skewer the genre, country music done well is a real thrill for me.  It's laid-back, heartfelt, twangy, and melodic if not always innovative.   When mainstream performers call it country-rock to save face, I don't mind, because the music loses the anonymous vocals and braindead lyrical pandering that I hate.  In contrast, Evan Dando's lyrics are delightfully pointless, and his smug baritone is sincere enough to appeal to me.  The band's arrangements are loose and snappy, and there's more gruff rhythm guitar than syrupy steel guitar.  It's hard to remember how these songs go, but most of them are singalong country nuggets with ragged vocals and shimmering refrains.  When guest singer Juliana Hatfield soars on the harmonies, I come as close to country-rock bliss as I have in a long time.  Dando can clearly do this in his sleep, and you could accuse him of tossing off these songs because he had nothing better to do.  But with all of the junk I've been buying lately, listening to Come On Feel The Lemonheads thrills me as much as chewing on a really fine piece of straw.

* * * *  Let It All Hang Out!: 60's Party Hits (1994)--The more I listen to music, the more I am convinced that the best most artists can do is one or two great singles per album.  Yes, I am still an album junkie because I like getting "the whole story", uninspired crap and all, but I broke away from that mindset last night and bought this wonderful singles collection.  Going with my theory, even this wonderful singles collection has three songs I really care about, but I am nevertheless excited about owning them.  "Double Shot (Of My Baby's Love)" by the Swingin' Medallions might be the ultimate example of balls-to-the-wall 60's revelry, a drunken fratboy anthem with frantic organ riffing and an unforgettable chorus.  I love it.  "Sunday Will Never Be The Same" by Spanky and Our Gang is one of the few one-hit wonders to match wits with the delicate pop of the Zombies and Beatles, with an absolutely heartbreaking melody and an impassioned lead vocal.  I love it.  Finally, "Keep On Dancing" by the Gentrys is one of my favorite shots of energy, combining a frantic, poppy melody and thunderous drumming.....indebted to "Do You Love Me" but very much its own classic.  I love it.  Other good songs pop up, notably "Wooly Bully" and "Hair", but as usual the best three songs stand above the others and make the album worth owning.

* * *  Huey Lewis And The News: Sports (1984)--I hope I never become a yuppie.  For one, I never want to play into the oblivious, money-worshipping stereotype.  And it'd be doubly sad because I don't have a rebellious past that would at least make my yuppie-dom ironic.  But can I still enjoy the music?  This is the News' third album, and they're still delivering the good-time, anally precise yuppie rock that took country clubs by storm in the eighties.  I have nothing against said yuppie-rock; what's lost in guitar-shredding rock 'n' roll spirit is made up for by positive vibes, a snappy beat, and a much-needed sense of humor.  They deliver all of these on the hits "The Heart Of Rock & Roll" and "I Want A New Drug", and on several album tracks.  They're all fun, if lacking truly memorable melodies.  The band only makes the formula shine, though, on two songs.  "If This Is It" has a shimmering chorus and impeccable harmonies, and the cover song "Heart And Soul" drives along on a powerhouse synth-guitar riff.  They make the album worth buying....if your stocks happen to be doing well.

* * *  Huey Lewis And The News: Fore! (1986)--As William Safire would say, these Huey Lewis grades are cops-out.  But how else can I rate a band so unimaginative, so cheesy, and yet so basically enjoyable?  Their fourth effort was another multi-platinum showing, with an amazing five top-ten hits.  Predictably, it's a collection of mid-mid-mid-tempo rock songs with an enjoyable instrumental blend and Lewis working his amiable schtick on top.  The hits aren't as good as last time, being slower and less memorable.  But songs like the driving "Hip To Be Square" and feel-good cover song "Doing It All For My Baby" are still fun, even if the Bruce Hornsby donation "Jacob's Ladder" is uninteresting.  They add well-arranged harmonies to the donated "I Never Walk Alone" and "Simple As That", and guitarist Johnny Colla even contributes a slightly cloying, but charming acapella song.  Best of all, guitarist Chris Hayes' warm, bouncy "Stuck With You" is the most timeless News song of them all.  Fore! isn't brilliant, but you shouldn't feel bad about adding it to your BMW's CD changer.

* * Living Colour: Vivid (1988)--You know, sometimes I think I review music to avoid thinking about the more important things in my life.  Anyway, I found Vivid for a dollar (on CD!), and I'm pretty sure it was a solid deal.  Vernon Reid is a truly awesome rhythm guitar player, shredding warp-speed riffs and flawlessly alternating between rough and jangly tones, always packing in twice the riffage that lesser guitarists could accomplish; and the rhythm section of Muzz Skillings and William Calhoun is fantastically funky, like the Red Hot Chili Peppers with some actual variety in the drumming--they add an interesting vibe to every song, and Skillings even pulls off some impressive solos on a few songs.  The only weak link, in my opinion, is vocalist Corey Glover; he's kind of like a black Art Garfunkel: he has range, and his voice is pretty, but it's generic--so flawless that there's nothing meaningful or great coming out when he sings.  But otherwise, they sound like an awesome band, right?  Well, not in my opinion.  They have all the ingredients necessary to make great music, but I can't hear a need in them: it just sounds like a bunch of talented guys were bored one day and realized there weren't any black rock groups in the spotlight.  "Wanna make a solid rock record?"  "What the hell, sure.  Show them honkies what we can do."  And does the world really need a humorless band with nothing to say, nothing to prove, and a need to say and prove it anyway?  Not in my opinion.  For added "cred," they slip in lots of clips of famous people speaking (Malcolm Ten, etc.) and even haul in Chuck D. and Flava Flav for an utterly pointless two-second rap.  Not to mention that the songwriting is hit-and-miss: the big hit "Cult of Personality" is priceless (humorless too, but whatever), but "I Want To Know" sounds like the New Kids with bite, and "Open Letter (To A Landlord)" has a truly sappy chorus ("Now you can tear a building down / But you can't erase a memory"...indeed.)  There are a few other winners, like the poppy "Glamour Boys," but even that one is disturbingly homophobic, and most of the other songs sound really cool until you turn the album off and can't remember how they went.  Even the lyrics, which are admittedly clever and insightful, sound like something they figured they should care about, but really didn't.  In sum, this sounds like a solid record, but it's all pretense and no feel; it really does kick butt in places, but while I'm impressed, I just can't bring myself to like it that much.

* * * *  Graham Nash: Songs For Beginners (1971)--Nash's solo debut can be said to be full of small pleasures, but that's underselling the inspiration behind the cute country ballads.  The ex-Hollie and then-current CSNY'er doesn't have the achingly personal delivery of Brian Wilson or the bottomless pen of Paul McCartney, but in short sprints he can compete with the best of their work.  Several songs rise above the homey shuffle of the album.  The soaring "I Used To Be A King" builds in intensity and gripping tunefulness with each verse, while the contemplative "Man In The Mirror" contrasts a gentle verse with a stunningly melodic chorus.  The vocals on "Better Days" come out of nowhere and are filled with lightweight intensity.  Best is the ferocious "Military Madness", one of the few songs I've heard that keeps the sugary melodicism flowing from beginning to end without sacrificing intensity.  When I saw CSNY play it in Miami this year, I could have died happily in my seat (still glad I didn't, though).  Even when Nash is wailing, everyting is quiet and touching and personal; just as a collection of small pleasures Songs For Beginners would be timeless in its affected innocence.

* * *  New Radicals: Maybe You've Been Brainwashed Too (1998)--A curious record.  The New Radicals are simply Gregg Alexander, who, like most rappers, decided that an in-your-face pseudonym would put him across better than his real name.  Whatever.  He's another guy in the Ben Folds mold: insanely talented, but prone to being grossly misguided in the artistic sense, which leads to several tracks having spoken-word voicovers that make absolutely no sense -- not to mention the whole record beginning with a girl saying "Make my nipples hard, let's go!"  Am I missing the point?  He's pushing a message, as evidenced by the title and the cover -- I guess the bar code on his shoe is saying that we're all commodities, or we're all victims of corporate America, or his shoes are cooler than ours, or something -- and nearly all the songs vaguely reflect that message.  His lyrics are provocative, but only in the way our campus preachers are: lots of flashy imagery that doesn't add up to a message I care about when I stop listening.  Not to mention the cliches, bad poetry, and misspelling Amelia Earhart's name in the lyric booklet.  He's a production savant, but unfortunately in the Puffy sense: a perfect sound with very little hint of personality.  All of which is a terrible shame, because at his core, Alexander is one of the most interesting musical forces to come out of the nineties: his lyrics are absurd, but his sincerity is undeniable; his voice can get grating, but it's also flexible and emotive; and his melodies are breathtaking, resulting in a powerful riff tune (the hit "You Get What You Give", unfortunately featuring an infantile rant in the middle), lots of midtempo rock songs with gorgeous hooks and pretty verses ("In Need Of A Miracle" is the best), and maybe the most beautiful, emotionally transparent rock ballad of the decade ("Someday We'll Know").  Rambling title track aside, every song has something nice going for it, and every one has cringe-worthy lyrics and production tricks that can be downright incoherent; it all makes for a very mixed bag, but given the moments of true beauty scattered throughout, I still say it's a shame that this was his first and last album.

* * * 1/2  Nirvana: MTV Unplugged In New York (1994)--Yeah, yeah, I was in middle school once too.  Fifty years later, I still can't deny that this is an amazing vocal performance: creaky, versatile, and nakedly emotional.  It comes out best on the chilling, tension-building cover of Leadbelly's "Where Did You Sleep Last Night", but everywhere else Kurt sounds weary and resigned, artistic and very human at the same time.  He makes the whole thing pleasant and interesting, but where songs like "Polly" and "Come As You Are" used to seem profound, now they bore me -- especially in this form, "Dumb", "Polly", and "On A Plain" sound a lot alike, for all their individual merits.  Most of the good songs come from the Meat Puppets (who are covered three times), but he does trot out a few emotional masterpieces like "About A Girl" and "All Apologies", which sound awesome in this context.  The sound is unrelentingly dull, but Kurt's forceful singing makes it a worthwhile throwback to the days when I was overweight, dorky, got mediocre grades, and had trouble making friends.

Queen: Greatest Hits--These guys get a bad rap from critics. Why? Hell if I know. The difference between Queen and a million other bombastic, in-your-face seventies groups is that Queen did it well. Three of the four members were talented songwriters, the rhythm section was solid if unimaginative, Brian May was a first-rate guitarist, and Freddie Mercury was a truly talented singer who really knew how to arrange vocals to great effect and make any song his own. Not that it worked all the time; some of the "let’s see how many synths we can cram into this one" songs like "Play the Game" and "Body Language" nauseate me, and others are just unmemorable. But most of the good songs are masterpieces, from "We Will Rock You" and everybody’s favorite bet-you-didn’t-know-it’s-a-gay-anthem "We Are the Champions" to Mercury’s delightfully prissy "Killer Queen" and the multi-layered vocals of "Bicycle Race." My favorite songs? So glad you asked. Those would be the operatic "Somebody To Love," with a gazillion Mercury vocals piled on top of one another, and the quick, cute 50's throwback "Crazy Little Thing Called Love." Overall, the production and playing on each song are great, but while I can play the best ones over and over, I had to specifically listen to some of them for this review, since I’ve owned this album for years and I didn’t even remember how they went. Still, buy it, as it showcases the talents of one of the cooler groups from the 70’s and 80’s, and believe me, there weren’t many of them.

* * 1/2  Temple Of The Dog (1991)--I generally try to absorb albums a few times before reviewing them, but I've been a busy man lately and I don't have the goddamn patience for this one.  "Reach Down" is eleven minutes long and I think I've come to a point in my reviewing where I shouldn't have to torture myself with an eleven-minute grunge epic more than once.  I hope that's okay.  This is essentially a Chris Cornell (of Soundgarden) album, and he's backed by future members of Pearl Jam in a tribute to Mother Love Bone singer Andrew Wood.  Cornell wrote many of the songs, and they're standard midtempo grunge with barely functional hooks, made distinctive and a bit annoying by his trademark screech -- like a bunch of Soundgarden album tracks.  Despite all of my vitriol, the project is worth hearing for one song, the dark, soaring protest ballad "Hunger Strike".  With a then-unknown Eddie Vedder trading sleek, dreamy lines with Cornell's piercing howl, it's a reminder of how little talent and imagination today's Vedder-imitators bring to rock and roll.  A stone classic, but aside from the pretty "Call Me A Dog" there's no reason to sit through the rest of the album.

* * * 1/2  The Temptations: Sing Smokey (1965)--Lame, lame music--corny, processed, contrived stuff.  Entertaining too; grand, uplifting, emotional music that can't help but make you smile or yearn along as the situation demands.  See the contradiction?  I could never play this stuff for my friends--they'd laugh at me--but when I'm alone, I groove like crazy to Benny Benjamin's powerful, thumping bass drums, the swaying horns and jangly rhythm guitars, and the Temps themselves, whose voices range from kitchy (bass Melvin Franklin) to competent (Otis and Paul Williams--no relation!) to masterful (crystal-clear Eddie Kendricks and gravelly David Ruffin).  Smokey Robinson wrote all the songs, and while some of them drag ("What Love Has Joined Together"), the melodies are all enjoyable, and as usual, his lyrical games are full of first-rate couplets ("If leaving causes grieving and to part can break your heart/ Then what's so good about goodbye?") that might make you blush and that I find damn clever.  Not everything works as well as the hits (the enduring, impossibly lovely "My Girl," the bouncy "The Way You Do The Things You Do," the soulful "It's Growing"); their version of Smokey's standard "You've Really Got A Hold On Me" lacks the desperate emotional punch of the original, and "What Love...," "Who's Lovin' You," and "(You Can) Depend On Me," nice as they are, veer towards the lounge lizard direction that Barry Gordy had a misguided love affair with.  But the upbeat numbers swing, the remastered sound quality is phenomenal, and the whole album makes for great rainy day listening.  It won't convert anyone, but if you're sick of angst and power chords (like I am), Sing Smokey makes for an entertaining alternative.  

* * * *  That Thing You Do Soundtrack (1996)--Chris Willie Williams once asked me how I could hate Fountains Of Wayne but love "That Thing You Do", the irresistable retro nugget written by FOW leader Chris Collingswood and serving as the centerpiece of this soundtrack.  I said, "If you don't agree with me then start your own damn website."  Lo and behold, he did.  At least, that's how I remember it.  Story #2: I initially hated this Tom Hanks-penned movie because I was dragged to it by a group of girls who only invited me because I brought along my cooler friends.  Bitterness and sexual frustration can really do a number on my critical faculties, let me tell you.  Eventually, I recognized the movie as cutesy and brilliant, and the attending soundtrack, produced and partly written by Hanks, is almost as good.  It's a collection of songs by groups that never existed, and surprisingly, they're almost all enjoyable, not kitchy exercises but lovingly rendered homages to Burt Bacharach, the Beatles, Dick Dale, and Phil Spector, among others.  The deadpan liner notes are the icing on the cake, describing the songs as though they were real (right down to the bassist switch when the Wonders played the Hollywood Television Showcase).  To top it off (the melted wax on the icing on the cake?), the aching 50's ballad "All My Only Dreams" and jangly gem "I Need You (That Thing You Do)", both sung in real life by Mike Viola, are more convincing than most "real" music I've heard.  To answer Chris, maybe it's true that I need the innocent image of the unbelievably prefab Wonders to turn a sterile pop song into an exciting masterpiece.  But if you love the movie like I do, it's impossible to hear the song any other way.

* * * 1/2  Richard & Linda Thompson: Shoot Out The Lights (1982)--The duo's sixth album is enjoyable pop-rock, but not the emotional masterpiece critics call it.  Yes, Richard and Linda were breaking up as they recorded the album, but I attribute their performances to their innate professionalism and not any momentary emotional turmoil.  Meanwhile, Richard's songwriting is hit-or-miss, and for every classic, there's a pedestrian rocker like "Don't Renege On Our Love" or the dull, purportedly dark title track.  Even the catchy "Man In Need" is a melodic retread of the much better "Wall Of Death", a haunting jangle-rocker graced with harmonies just on the edge of emotional hysteria.  Linda shines on the slow, wrenching lament "Walking On A Wire"; she sings the similar "Just The Motion" skillfully, but the song isn't as arresting.  Richard plays lyrical guitar throughout, but his tone is tinny and often escapes notice.  Still, the duo's harmonies, glistening production, and intermittently classic songwriting make Shoot Out The Lights a worthwhile, often captivating album.

* * 1/2  Richard Thompson: Mirror Blue (1994)--This doesn't feel right to me.  The rockers are catchy, the ballads are pretty and heartfelt, and sixties folk icon Thompson clearly sings with conviction, but I have a hard time believing any of it.  His phrasing is awkward, like he's eating peanut butter while he sings.  His lyrics are so straightforward and unironic that they make me wince.  "Mascara Tears" sounds like it should be a heartbreaking anthem, but all I can do is wonder the whole time what he's bellowing about.  It's awkward and square.  Now, it's entirely possible that I just don't understand this record.  I know nothing about British folk-rock, so maybe I'm expecting the wrong kind of music here.  And it could be that after years of listening to detached, ironic music, I have no idea how to deal with a guy like Thompson who sings the words "easy there, stready now" and "fine as a bee's wing" without caring whether people think he's outdated.  On the other hand, I dig old music and old ideas, and I'm an Anglophile, so I should be in a prime position to love this record.  It's certainly pleasant, but it's weird hearing Thompson try to play rock and roll while sounding like he missed the first forty years of it.

* * * 1/2  The Travelling Wilburys: Vol. 1 (1988)--Do you ever have "Hey, it's THAT song!" moments?  I love hearing "End Of The Line" on easy listening stations, but have never known how to find it.  Then my friend burned me Vol. 1 and I said, "Hey, it's THAT song!"  Boy, I'll bet you didn't see that coming.  "End Of The Line" is a breezy, effervescent classic, and while the rest of the songs on Vol. 1 aren't as inspired, they're usually a lot of fun. George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Roy Orbison, Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne are clearly having a good time ripping us off, and because they never take themselves seriously this is a heck of an enjoyable album.  Harrison's "Handle With Care" and "Heading For The Light" aren't great songs but they're well-produced, and it's always a thrill to hear George and the other classic voices trade off verses.  I also love the mindbending country tossoff "Margarita".  The only downer is Bob Dylan, whose smutty "Dirty World" rips off the oldies staple "Bread And Butter" while his epic "Tweeter & The Monkey Man" slows the album down AND unforgiveably makes fun of Bruce Springsteen.  Bastard.  Vol. 1 is a tiny album but a good one, like hearing Roy Orbison sing in the shower -- and who wouldn't want to?

* * * * 1/2  U2: The Joshua Tree (1987)--The best 80's album I've ever heard (forget Skylarking--nice as it is--this is a real band, playing real music, much more homey and loveable, not simply quirky and enjoyable), but it still betrays the main weakness of the U2 formula: their sound--grandiose, breathy, layered, energizing, magnetic--works great when the strong songwriting is there, but when they try to dress up mediocre compositions, it ends up sounding awkward at best.  Case in point: the opener, "Where The Streets Have No Name," has a full, ringing sound that millions enjoy, but when you compare it to "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" or "With Or Without You" (as many do), it just can't stand up--it's more of a mantra than an actual song.  Whereas the other two are strong compositions, gripping, emotional rides with instantly recognizeable choruses--classics in every sense of the word.  As is "Bullet The Blue Sky"--a little bombastic, but it has a dark hook that pulls at you and makes even Bono's pompous monologue enjoyable.  And the next song is arguably the best one on the album: "Running To Stand Still" is a beautiful lullaby, a peaceful piano ballad with an ambiguous melody--I dare you to hum it--that somehow works where the other two quiet, innocuous songs at the end of the album ("Exit," "Mothers Of The Disappeared") don't.  Those two might have their moments, but my attention is usually lost as soon as "One Tree Hill" (a powerful, ambient classic, as are the three songs that precede it) ends.  So the album isn't perfect, as many claim, but there are eight wonderful songs with sensitive, powerful vocals and chiming guitar chords -- a truly dreamy listening experience where the sound and the songs combine to produce something magical.  Highly, highly reccomended, even if you have a hard time getting into U2--for once, the pomposity and deadly seriousness consistently work, and it's really something to behold.

* * * * 1/2  U2: All That You Can't Leave Behind (2000)--When Bono made the statement that, in this year 2001, U2 was the best band in the world, I assumed that it was just more of his pompous prattling.  And I was right!  But by sheer coincidence, he happened to be telling the truth.  Twenty years into their career, U2 have made a truly amazing album, one of the few in my collection that I really enjoy from start to finish.  Let's hear it for the old boys.  All That You Can't Leave Behind is a dreamy listening experience, with gorgeous melodies fusing with watery synths and chiming guitars to soothe you and make you feel happy about your miserable life.  I'll be honest: I've never much cared for this band.  Outside of The Joshua Tree, I find it hard to sit through their albums, and they're always flirting with that eternal paradox: can Bono write lyrics so pretentious that even His voice can't redeem them?  And indeed, the lyrics here are laughable, but his voice still manages to be better: every song is a showcase for his tender, soaring, and sometimes even crackly vocals.  "Walk On" is the best, with two different gut-wrenching choruses; the leadoff single "Beautiful Day" and "Kite" are almost as good, and every other song has unexpected vocal flights that are simply inspiring, with the subtle "Grace" deflating things on just the right tired note.  I hate to say it, but it's the kind of album that only superstars could make, and this time around, I don't begrudge them the effort.  The music veers towards easy listening, but it's given texture by Brian Eno's subtle synth playing and the same glossy sheen that made The Joshua Tree a classic.  All That You Can't Leave Behind isn't as adventurous as Tree, but it's just as good as Bono wants you to believe, and pretty much saved me from an oblivion of mediocre, inconsistent, unadventurous albums.  Not only do the geezers still have it, they have more than I've ever given them credit for.  I'll leave, then, with something I never, ever say: pay full price if you have to, because you've certainbly paid it for albums that aren't nearly as good as this one.

* *  The Vines: Highly Evolved (2002)--Listening to the Vines' much-hyped debut is like hearing the words "blah, blah, blah" set to music.  It catches your attention at first and then dissolves into feedback and screaming and who cares what else.  There are hooks, proving that frontman Craig Nicholls has some talent, and the band plays competently, working up a fun groove on "Factory".  But their ballads are mostly sleep-inducing, and their attempts at rock are so obvious and irritating as to put off any serious fan of the genre.  "Get Free" has been compared to Nirvana, but Kurt Cobain never wrote "Barbie Girl"-catchy screamers just so he could look cute and clever.  And unlike Nicholls' generic rasp, Cobain's screams projected meaning and emotion, not just contrived rawk bluster.  Nicholls does slip in "Homesick", one of the gosh-darn prettiest piano ballds I've ever heard, with a lush arrangement and a rare believable vocal.  This could point to great things in the band's future, but like the vastly-more-interesting Oasis any attempt to call them the "future of rock music" is pushing them in the wrooong direction.

* * 1/2  Mike Viola & The Candy Butchers: Falling Into Place (1999)--Mike Viola sang The Wonders' classic "That Thing You Do" but I bought his solo album because he may have sung the aching lead on their masterpiece of prefabricated longing, "All My Only Dreams".  Here, though, he sounds like a poppier Elvis Costello, which makes me wonder: why does the world need another Elvis Costello?  I can barely stand the first one.  Like Costello, Viola can pump out the occasional inspired single -- the piano-driven "Falling Into Place" is lulling and beautiful -- but usually has a hard time with the kind of casual catchiness or melodicism you'd get on any stupid radio song.  Viola would probably complain that his songs are too smart for the radio, but truthfully they're just not that good.  His abrasive approach to power-pop demands your attention and his weathered voice does set him apart from the pack. "Break Your Heart" effectively recreates the title track's circular chorus effect, and the ballads are sincere if mediocre.  Most of these songs, though, reach for the requisite catchy chorus and fall a few notes short.

* * * * XTC: Skylarking (1986)--Pretentious perfection; I like it, but I still can't figure out what the point is. Skylarking is a beautiful suite of 14 songs, each of them entirely memorable--after just a few weeks of occasional listening, the refrains of each of these songs has run through my head at least once while I'm walking to class or talking to someone especially boring. In addition, the melodies are exquisite and the lyrics range from creepy ("Another Satellite") to brilliantly clever ("That's Really Super, Supergirl") to even poetic ("Summer's Cauldron"), as much as I hate to admit anything good about rock lyrics. The instruments are impeccably played, with head honcho Andy Partridge playing nice fills on guitar, Dave Gregory adding tasteful and inventive synth parts, and Colin Moulding earning his keep on the bass (at least, I assume so--my stereo sucks). In addition, studio whiz kid Todd Rundgren gives each song a glossy sheen and lots of intriguing sound effects--check out the bee buzzing its way across your headphones during "Summer's Cauldron"--and studio cat Prarie Prince does a capable job on the drums (XTC's drummer quit once they stopped touring). The album's sound ranges from eerie to calming, and still always makes sense. By golly, something should be wrong with this record--and there is! For one, I can't stand any of the vocals: Partridge is grating (if competent), and Moulding is just annoying--his sneering even manages to negate the irresistable piano riff of the album's closer, "Sacrifical Bonfire." But the main reason I find it hard to love this album is the sheer ego involved, and I'm not even talking about professional egomaniac Rundgren. The three chaps in XTC know they're melodic, they know they've mastered the studio, and they know they can imitate their sixties idols, but in the end, that's all it is: a soulless imitation. Partridge can create a tuneful Beach Boys homage/ripoff with "Season Cycle," and make it bouncy and memorable and nicely harmonized, but without any humility in the mix, it's ultimately off-putting. Imgine Brian Wilson or Paul McCartney if they didn't constantly worry about whether the public would like their records--instead of cruising through Hawthorne or Liverpool and getting ecstatic when their song came on the radio, they just sat in the studio expecting the great reviews to roll in. That's why I can't see the bouncy "Earn Enough For Us" as a great rocker--it's merely a great studio creation and nothing more. That's not to say that this isn't a good, solid album: engaging songs abound, from "Another Satellite" (which sounds like late-period Police) to Moulding's orchestrated "Grass" to the big atheist single "Dear God"--but even there, you can hear Partridge trying his best to sing with a "gritty," "impassioned" voice and write about things he really "cares" about, and ultimately failing. To be fair, I really enjoy this album, but I'm holding out hope that their earlier rockin' stuff is more sincere. 'Cause for now, they don't even seem like a real band to me: just a tuneful, professional facsimile of one.

Your comments:

taosterman@yahoo.com (the incomparable Rich Bunnell): Well first off, I'm surprised you can tell apart Partridge's and Moulding's vocals! Maybe it's because I started out with the early stuff but I found them barely discernable at all until someone told me Moulding sang his own songs-- now the distinction is obvious to me (Colin's voice is much lighter). As for the "annoyance" factor, I admit that their voices originally annoyed the crap out of me but they really grew on me since they're really distinctive and can carry a melody-- I mean sure, we could have some slick guy with a great voice singing these songs but then they'd sound almost completely anonymous!  On the "imitation" thing, I don't see very much imitation involved aside from the two songs you mentioned and "The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul"(fairly generic yet catchy beatnik cool jazz)-- in fact, the band barely ever pulled from its predecessors elsewhere. The one major exception, of course, is the "Chips From The Chocolate Fireball" album (or collection) they recorded as the Dukes Of Stratosphear-- try to find that one; it's derivative, but that's the whole point of the project, and it's really, really fun. And on the "doesn't sound like a real band" factor---well, yeah, that's part of being a studio-only band. These songs weren't made for live shows due to Partridge's stage fright and thus they took full advantage of the studio. The early stuff definitely is more sincere since they used to do the exact opposite thing; i.e. only make a song if it CAN be played live without a hitch. Check out "Black Sea," that's definitely their most consistent early-period album-- and try to let "Respectable Street" grow on you because it's an excellent song once you get used to the clangin' gee-tars. One last note: Partridge really DOES care about his athiest beliefs which he expresses in "Dear God," but he feels that the song is a failure lyric-wise because he's, to quote Partridge himself, "trying to sum up such a broad topic in a mere 3 1/2 minutes." Maybe even that's a little pretentious, but at least Partridge acknowledges that the song has a lyrical lapse.

* * * 1/2  XTC: Oranges and Lemons (1988)--At 15 songs, and with nearly every one of them filled with warp-speed vocals, inventive percussion, weirdly intriguing horn parts, and crazy melodies, this is a whole lot of XTC to swallow.  If you can sit through it, it's quite rewarding, but that's a big "if": I'm usually zonked by the fifth track--not only because it's tiring, but because the glossy sheen puts me to sleep ("Here Comes President Kill Again" is clever, but is it really entertaining?).  Still, XTC seems to have taken it upon themselves to prove that they're smarter rockers than anyone else, and what the hell: they are.  Andy Partridge's lyrics are more entertaining and insightful than anyone's this side of Bob Dylan's; the melodies are quirky and addicting; guest drummer Pat Mastoletto is virtuosic, adding something interesting to every track; and there are enough crazy tricks buried in every song (even the boring ones) to keep you interested and guessing for at least a few minutes.  In fact, condensing the whole thing into a short review like this is probably a huge injustice to such a densely packed work of art, but what the hell, it's never stopped me before.  Besides, there are several flaws to this record: for one, in a career of trying to prove their brilliance (and usually succeeding), XTC has never really produced a standard (think "Imagine" or "Like A Rolling Stone"), a song with simplicity, soul, raw honesty, and timeless melody--namely, the things that make great music great.  As it is, XTC are just the hardest-working men in the recording studio, showing up most other artists as uncreative lazyasses, but falling short of creating anything truly transcendent (although the beautiful closer "Chalkhills and Children" comes closer than any other XTC song I've heard).  That doesn't stop "The Mayor of Simpleton" from being one of the most genuinely catchy songs ever written (if only Partridge had dumbed down the lyrics, it would have been huge), or the rest of the record from being an exhausting, intriguing load of fun, but there are plenty of less inventive, more rewarding albums out there that will probably end up meaning significantly more to you.

* * * * 1/2  XTC: Wasp Star (Apple Venus Volume 2) (2000)--Tons of fun, but for criminy's sake, don't listen while you're sick.  I did, and the slick production and repetitive, dirge-like nature of the songs (even the rockers) dug into my psyche and gave me repetitive, dirge-like nightmares.  But if you're a 98.6er, hooee, this is a heck of an album.  Sure, Moulding dropped the ball here: his songs are clever, but two of them bring the album to a jarring halt (only "In Another Life" is enjoyable), and his voice is at its smarmiest and most boring throughout.  But I'd vouch for every single one of Partridge's numbers, even the comic blues "Wounded Horse."  The ugliest man in rock is proof postive that creativity still exists in the industry, as he plasters every song with dirty guitar effects, unexpected chord changes, and fantastically inventive percussion.  If you can get past his voice, which is actually very bearable here, you should enjoy all of his songs, especially the giddy pickup-line-fest "We're All Light" and the riffy "The Wheel And The Maypole."  It's all pretty slick, sure, but that just shows how much effort they put into making the album, and if the songs go down easy, it's because Andy's spent the last seven years perfecting his hook-writing.  Basically, XTC has created a timeless album here: it's not perfect, but it's not tied to any era or passing fad, so in, say, 2050, when we're all wondering why we went ga-ga over average grunge-rock like Creed, Wasp Star will still be enjoyable.  Yes, "Boarded up, two-by-fourded up" is probably the worst lyric I've ever heard, an example of Moulding trying to live up to his clever reputation and failing, but Partridge's "I'm The Man Who Murdered Love," while too cloying for radio, is an enjoyable mindfuck, from the opening guitar sqeal to the harmony-laden fadeout.  By its second week, Wasp Star was sitting pretty at number 190, which means that you probably haven't heard it--so go buy it, let it sink in a few times, because if it's not perfect, it's pretty darn great anyway.  Really fucking peppy, and too weird for your friends, but great nonetheless.

* * *  Yes: The Yes Album (1971)--I'm not what you would call a "Yes-Head".  They have produced some really fun radio hits and their music is probably more complex than I am capable of understanding right now.  But I could name dozens of dumber songs whose melodies connect with me and say more in two minutes than "Yours Is No Disgrace" says in ten.  Their music is also pretentious beyond belief, which probably wouldn't bother me if the songs were better.  I'm not knocking the individual talents of the band members: I think Jon Anderson has a beautiful voice and I am constantly amazed by the riff-writing genius of Steve Howe (he's also fun on the disarmingly unpretentious guitar hoedown "The Clap").  But they lose me on the longer songs, and even the shorter ones rarely rise above pretty.  Such is the case with this album, full of competent melodies and endless jams that cannot compete with my miniscule attention span.  "Your Move" is one of my all-time favorite radio songs, a stunning showcase for Anderson's harmonies that makes me giddy when it comes on.  But it only highlights the fact that while the other songs sound like "Your Move", they don't inspire nearly as much giddiness.

* * * 1/2  Yes: Fragile (1972)--I'm not what you would call a "Yes-Junkie".  Their jams fart out virtuosic brilliance but just sound shrill to me, combining Chris Squire's ugly bass tone, Rick Wakeman's piercing organ, and Steve Howe's tinny guitar sound.  To me, it's not pretty enough to be classical music and lacking the visceral crunch of great rock and roll.  And they still lose me on the jams; "South Side Of The Sky" and "Heart Of The Sunrise" both have inspiring moments but are much longer than they should be.  Anderson's melodies are darker and more memorable this time around, resulting in the mindbending radio classic "Roundabout" (with Squire making the song) and the enjoyable multi-part classic rocker "Long Distance Runaround/The Fish".  On Anderson's vocal showcase "We Have Heaven", they place their bets on a compact shot of melody instead of drawn-out baroque mediocrity and it works wonderfully.  In fact, this is a consistently good album, and fantastic if you are a "Yes-Groupie".  But as you might be able to tell from the dull tone of this review, Yes does not get me very excited.  This kind of music, for all the brilliance contained within, does not touch me in all of my special places.  It's good at best and usually just kind of there, often more anal than exciting.  Which can be said about me, but I don't cost $14.95 at your local Spec's.

Hate to break it to you, but your new reviews aren't much better...

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