Reviews – Page 81 – Rock Salted

Johnny Cash – Water From the Wells of Home

Johnny Cash – Water From the Wells of Home Mercury 834 778 (1988)

Cash made some real stinker albums through the 1980s. Often this was the result of lunging from one producer to the next, trying to pair him up with whatever style seemed like the most commercially viable fad that year. Water From the Wells of Home was a little different in that Cash actually spent an extended period of time working on the album, instead of his usual practice of pulling together songs, relying on the producer to find a “sound” for the album, and then showing up and doing the actual recording in a brisk fashion. The album also employs what would be a growing trend for aging stars: enlist guest performers to try to draw in new audiences. For all that effort, the album is still pretty mediocre. Cash is clearly putting in more work to his singing than he had in a while, and most of the guests give this a real go. The production style is clear and crisp, without a lot of obvious gimmickry, so it has aged a little better than some other 80s efforts. But the backing band provides only the most hackneyed, nondescript support, to the point that this often feels like a karaoke session. Then there is the title track, a duet with Cash’s son John, which is really dreadful. So this album isn’t particularly successful, though it showed the potential still locked in Cash’s rich baritone voice, now a little older and coarser. In many ways, this was the album that set the stage for Cash’s American Recordings comeback in a few years, by keying in to his voice in a more direct and unencumbered way, letting the man sing what he likes without being beholden to some trendy country subgenre that didn’t quite fit. What remained, though, was to strip away the unnecessary guest spots, and get rid of the horrible backing band. Rick Rubin would realize this shortly, and make it happen soon enough.

Mark Stewart – As the Veneer of Democracy Starts to Fade

Mark Stewart – As the Veneer of Democracy Starts to Fade Mute STUMM 24 (1985)

Mark Stewart always seems to make music the hard way. He takes the most harsh, unpalatable material as his source and from there tries to service (a) a beat and (b) a slogan. It’s maybe no surprise that an album titled As the Veneer of Democracy Starts to Fade is going to have some political content of a certain variety. But Stewart’s greatest achievement really lies in his industrial hip-hop beats. They do serve him well as a rallying cry amidst the rubble. They also provide a sense that an artist can eschew anything of contemporary commercial value and still work out a beat that connects with listeners (admittedly, not all listeners, but still…). That’s the really radical aspect of this endeavor — it has no need for the establishment. This falls on the militant side of things, but strangely enough like Flipper across the pond, this is music that at its core tries to be incorruptable. It’s a lot more frightening and satisfying than Ministry, a U.S.-based band that comes to mind in this arena. It’s also a bit harder edged that Moebius‘ early 80s work, which otherwise has some similarities. It is worth picking up the expanded CD reissue of the album, because the bonus tracks there definitely help the album, which almost starts to slip on side two.

Sun Ra – “Night of the Purple Moon”

Sun Ra and His Intergalactic Infinity Arkestra – “Night of the Purple Moon” El Saturn LP 522 (1972)

Not the greatest entry in the Sun Ra catalog, but an intriguing one. Backed by a small combo, “The Night of the Purple Moon” is interesting in how Sun Ra’s own keyboard playing is up front. Let’s face it, most Arkestra albums feature a lot of great performances from many different quarters, making it seem a bit silly to focus in too much on any one performer. This album avoids that altogether by stripping down the raw numbers a bit so that Ra is clearly heard. John Gilmore predominantly plays drums instead of sax, which may be a disappointment to some listeners, but he’s at least adequate as a drummer. There are a few tracks that meander, but also some particularly good ones. What stands out most in Sun Ra’s playing is how he navigates the limitations of the rather primitive keyboards he uses. Some of his instruments don’t provide much in the way of dynamic range. To get around that, he plunks and jabs the keys in ways that hold little intrinsic melodic or harmonic interest, but add rhythmic subtlety that subverts the flat dynamics. In many ways, he’s using his skills as a good arranger to structure his own solos.

Another reviewer already said it, but it bears repeating. Sometimes, for a particular mood, only Sun Ra will do. “The Night of the Purple Moon” is the perfect album for a certain frame of mind, like on a mellow Saturday night.

Miles Davis – It’s About That Time

Miles Davis – Live at the Fillmore East (March 7, 1970): It’s About That Time Legacy C2K 85191 (2001)

What Dark Magus is to the tail end of Miles’ fusion period, It’s About That Time is to the early part of it. Both represent versions of his electric band at their most wild and unhinged. While this album is a good one, it probably is only essential for addicts of this period of the Miles Davis discography. It actually is closely related to Black Beauty: Miles Davis at Fillmore West, which was recorded about a month later at the other Fillmore, on the other coast. The lineups on It’s About That Time and Black Beauty overlap substantially, but It’s About That Time represented the final performance of saxophonist Wayne Shorter with the group before leaving to form Weather Report. Steve Grossman replaced Shorter, and that personnel change did have an effect on the group’s sound. Grossman provided merely window dressing with Chick Corea taking command of most of the soloing, while on It’s About That Time Shorter and Corea, along with Miles, are jointly the workhorses of the group. Because the Shorter lineup had only been documented on record once before this release (on the Japanese-only release 1969 Miles – Festiva de Juan Pins), It’s About That Time has taken on a certain amount of hype of the “holy grail” variety. Don’t expect too many revelations though. Shorter plays well, and he stretches about as far out as he ever did here, but he still sounds more or less like the same Wayne Shorter featured on Davis’ early fusion albums like Bitches Brew. Critic Thom Jurek made the pointed observation that on Black Beauty Grossman “plays everything he knows in every solo.” But because Grossman is only providing color, that’s not so bad. The extra space allowed Corea, and the generally tighter sound from the band as a whole, to make Black Beauty the better of the two offerings, even if bassist Dave Holland is less audible in the mix. Though, to repeat, if you are an addict of this period of Miles’ career–and if you like this period at all you probably are or will become an addict–then It’s About That Time is worth your attention at some point.

Sly & The Family Stone – Dance to the Music

Sly & The Family Stone – Dance to the Music Epic BN 26371 (1968)

In 1968 Sly’ second album turned pop music on its ear. His energetic blend of funky vamps with a host of rock influences left an indelible mark. The bright idealism and overflowing energy take this music to a higher level. Sly’s confidence and sheer willpower transform what seems laughable on paper.

Where the group’s debut had decent results employing a shotgun approach to contemporary soul styles, Dance to the Music explodes by digging into the dazzling musicianship of the group, highlighted by Sly’s expertly textured production. The title song is considered the classic song of the album, but it is perhaps the least interesting as it sits. Most of the tunes build off big vamps. Actually, many of the songs use the same chords. Vaguely resembling modal jazz, the group’s interpretations add rich color and flavor to the songs without adding bulk. The bounce of the grooves hint at psychedelia but stay true to roots in gospel. “Dance to the Medley” pulls together everything that makes the album as a whole great. That song also ends with some fuzzed-out noodling that sounds way ahead of its time.

Grandmaster of the electric bass Larry Graham gets plenty of opportunities to shine. This album, more than any other, showcases his power while still utilizing all his finesse. The rest of the band is on fire as well (unique at the time was a horn section that was part of the group). Dance to the Music shines brightest as the group interacts and builds up the songs by feel.

Not everything is perfect here. The lyrics are at times thin or even a bit hokey. But the group sings along with charm. They seem to enjoy making the music. Listening to it, the fun is infectious. Just listen to the organ and piano on “I Ain’t Got Nobody (For Real)” to get a taste of the careening, soulful forces packed into this album.

Many do not consider Dance to the Music Sly’s best work; however, it was the turning point. This is still a hugely influential album. Sly gave Miles Davis a copy and Miles couldn’t take it off his turntable. Miles wore out the copy and had to ask for another. These sounds were revolutionary to say the least. Yet with such snappy results there is hardly time to waste being critical–just dance to it baby.

Van Morrison – Astral Weeks

Van Morrison – Astral Weeks Warner Bros. WS 1768 (1968)

Astral Weeks is full of hope and possibility. Van Morrison weaves his tales through that nasal Irish voice and survives on his wits alone. There are no prominent hooks. There are no hit songs. This is just a beautiful album. It is a blend of romance and desire. Van Morrison lets nothing fall through the cracks. He holds every emotion dear, contemplating the simple joys of obscure coincidence and universal hopes. Morrison forgives his faults and circumvents the dangers of perfectionism. He accepts fully his reality. His love, therefore, feels as comprehensive as any ever heard.

Few pop albums of the early rock era went as far as using a jazz band to back the vocalist. Richard Davis on bass and Connie Kay on drums provide unreal depth to the album, on top of other great performances by Jay Berliner, John Payne, and Warren Smith, Jr. Richard Davis particularly shines on “Sweet Thing,” “The Way Young Lovers Do,” and, well, all of them. His unique talents all come into the spotlight. He pushes with calmly funky rhythms; easy to like, but Richard can ignite your mind if you concentrate. Connie Kay has more restraint than most drummers, never overpowering the delicate songs. Kay is as cool as ever. His wispy accents add the illusion of grand orchestration seemingly impossible with such a small combo. Morrison and his backing band convey a pure energy. The motivations are so noble as to need no support.

Van Morrison established himself as a legendary vocalist with this release. Most would make fools of themselves with such a studio band. But the spontaneity of Van Morrison’s performance carries the record to its lofty stature in pop music. He thrives from Side One/“In the Beginning” to Side Two/“Afterwards.” Van Morrison shouldn’t be called a blue-eyed soul singer. No qualifiers are needed. He was a great singer, period, as Astral Weeks reveals.

No other attempted the unblinking idealism of Astral Weeks in the decades following its release. In that it is a singular work. Astral Weeks is far from the R&B Van Morrison made his name recording early on. Instead, it searches territory beyond any concrete probabilities for success. A proactive Van Morrison makes Astral Weeks an album that accomplishes something beyond its sound. It isn’t something you have to understand to appreciate. He believes. He lets you believe too. The world is a great place indeed, if you want it to be.

Willie Nelson – Always on My Mind

Willie Nelson – Always on My Mind Columbia FC 37951 (1982)

Willie’s star soared in the late 1970s and early 80s. Red Headed Stranger was a big hit, but Stardust blew it away with multi-platinum sales. Riding high on that success Willie even began an acting career, culminating in a starring role in the film Honeysuckle Rose. However, after Stardust he had released mostly soundtracks and niche albums like a holiday one, a gospel one, a tribute to Kris Kristofferson and an assortment of duet/collaboration outings. He also issued what remained for a long time his definitive “best of” compilation: Greatest Hits (& Some That Will Be).

Always on My Mind proved to be Willie’s highest-charting album, and one of the best selling releases of his entire career. He still had chart-busters left in him, but this represented the high-water mark of his popularity. It also marked another departure for him, in a career that always veered (or some might say lurched) in unpredictable directions. This was the arrival of Willie the 80s pop singer.

Producer Chips Moman comes on board. He would work with Nelson a lot in the coming years. Moman has an uneasy legacy, in hindsight often criticized for his clinical, overproduced destruction of numerous albums, from Townes Van Zandt in the late 1970s to The Highwaymen and Johnny Cash in the 1980s. But, that legacy aside, Always on My Mind is among his more durable efforts (eclipsed of course by Elvis‘ From Elvis in Memphis). He lets this ride on the strength of the performances rather than a suffocatingly synthetic layer of studio and mixing gimmicks. Willie is singing lots of pop and rock fare, tending toward lighter, slow-burn ballads and torch songs. These are much much more contemporary tunes than on Stardust. He takes somewhat of a cue from Elvis, who recorded the title track, Simon & Garfunkel‘s “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and “Let It Be Me (Je t’appartiens)” during his 70s comeback. Willie possibly edges out The King on the title track, though Willie hits the top of his vocal range on “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and noticeably can’t go as high as he seems to want to go (no pun intended). Much of the material is well-selected, like “Do Right Woman, Do Right Man” and Procol Harum‘s “A Whiter Shade of Pale.” A couple of obligatory re-recordings of old Nelson hits make appearances as well. One can forgive, somewhat, the fact that Moman seems to be pushing a few too many of his own songs because they happen to work, particularly the opener with its guest appearance by Waylon Jennings. But this album does exhibit some serious lapses in judgment. When a saxophone enters on “Let It Be Me,” it is as if Gato Barbieri stumbled into Nelson’s recording session amidst a marijuana haze and thought he was redoing the Last Tango In Paris soundtrack, or somebody was warming up for the “Lethal Weapon” soundtrack. That sax (from John Marett) is probably the album’s biggest liability. It is unredeemable.

If Always on My Mind represented some of the worst tendencies of Willie Nelson’s music in the coming decade, it would be hard to tell from this evidence alone. At its best, this ends up being one of his stronger pop outings. Aside from some slight unevenness, it delivers a classic in the title track and has enough other successes to keep things interesting. Warts and all, this is probably something that will appeal to casual fans of pop music, even without any particular interest in the artist, and ranks as a worthwhile second-tier Willie Nelson effort for the fan.

Willie Nelson – Tougher Than Leather

Willie Nelson – Tougher Than Leather Columbia QC 38248 (1983)

Anthropologist F.G. Bailey wrote in his book Humbuggery and Manipulation: The Art of Leadership (1988) that a leader has a need for an entourage, who make up a buffer and a sort of subordinate set of leaders to insulate the ultimate leader from the mundane. But, such a leader must control his entourage, usually through strategic use of uncertainty and discord among the ranks. If we take Bailey’s theories (right or wrong) and apply them to Willie Nelson, then maybe they provide an explanation of what went wrong in the 1980s. Nelson developed a Pollyanna-esque “positive thinking” approach to life and steadfastly refused to focus his energies or attention on anything negative. He did have an entourage, which between his backing band, drivers, bodyguards and assorted others, had grown quite large by the early 80s. But his laid-back approach to life didn’t allow him any room to control this entourage. So he was too often enveloped in a strange cocoon of celebrity. His recordings, increasingly pop- and easy listening-oriented, suffered because of it.

Near the peak of his popularity Willie collapsed a lung, and had to recuperate in the hospital for a time. While there, he planned his 1983 album Tougher Than Leather. It marked a return to the stripped-down old-time acoustic country sound of Red Headed Stranger. It ends up being Nelson’s finest album of the decade by a fair margin. He had a lot of range, but he was always known first and foremost as a country artist for a reason. He plays to his strengths here. There are some old tunes and even some traditional chestnuts like “Beer Barrel Polka” tossed together with another loose (and barely recognizable) concept. This time it has to do with reincarnation — a topic Nelson genuinely believed in. The time spent on thinking this through provides warm returns. This is the most consistent and convincing album Nelson would deliver for a while. The reason may well be that being less reliant on his band and having more time to himself in the hospital Nelson freed himself briefly from the confines of his entourage. This may not be his finest moment compared to the entirety of his career, but renditions of the likes of “My Love for the Rose,” “Changing Skies” and “Summer of Roses/December Day” (and more) are very good.

Willie Nelson & Family – Willie Nelson & Family

Willie Nelson & Family – Willie Nelson & Family RCA Victor LSP-4489 (1971)

Another middling offering from the time just before Willie really broke through. He veers into the territory of singer-songwriters, with a cover of James Taylor‘s hit “Fire and Rain.” The nagging problem is that Willie is making this music too grandiose, and is still clinging slightly to a crooner’s style in his vocals. That, and the glitzy, Vegas-style backing singers, horns and strings on “I’m a Memory,” “Today I Started Loving You Again,” and “Kneel at the Fee of Jesus” seem too much for Willie’s style of guitar playing and singing. Rather than take simple, spare music and dress it up as he does here, his next album Yesterday’s Wine would instead strip things back to simple, spare performances with greater success. This plays well enough all the way through, and is better than some of Willie’s early Nashville albums, but it still pales in comparison to what was just around the corner from him.

Willie Nelson – City of New Orleans

Willie Nelson – City of New Orleans Columbia CK 39145 (1984)

This turd of an album went platinum, which is more an indication of Willie Nelson’s overall name recognition in 1984 than the quality of City of New Orleans in and of itself. Willie is in easy listening mode, again. Chips Moman produces, and he ruins yet another recording with oppressively sterile sound. Listeners won’t doubt for even a second that this album was from the mid-80s. In truth some of the performances — like the title track — aren’t bad. But does anyone need to hear Willie do “Wind Beneath My Wings?” Ever?