Johnny Cash – Water From the Wells of Home

Water Fromt he 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

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”

"The 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

Live at the Fillmore East (March 7, 1970): 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

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

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.

Ruth Fowler – The Problem With Hugs

Link to an article by Ruth Fowler:

“The Problem With Hugs”

This reminded me of a story on a local Fox affiliate TV news show in which they said that residents were trying to rebuild from the Ferguson protests, and I immediately thought they were going to show white people painting over graffiti.  The broadcasters proceeded to show what appeared to be a single family of white people painting over graffiti.  It perfectly symbolized papering over legitimate complaints with a self-serving plea to just return things to “normal” conditions of inequality and injustice that favor the white people painting over the graffiti.