Pop – Page 11 – Rock Salted

Willie Nelson – To All the Girls…

Willie Nelson – To All the Girls… Legacy 88765425862 (2013)

Willie Nelson has kept touring and recording a hell of a lot longer than anyone ever would have guessed. Many of those later-career recordings are decent but not of much consequence. They feel tossed off and somewhat lazy. But returning to a major label he has recorded a few albums in recent years that sound much more elaborate and polished than what he was doing in the early 2000s. Another problematic feature of his recent work has been the gimmicks, from stupid genre exercises like the reggae album Countryman to faddish, star-studded guest performer albums like The Great Divide. He’s made some dubious choices when it comes to quality control. But he’s still a guy with a great voice, and when he pulls himself together and puts forth some effort he’s still capable of good things. Against the odds, To All the Girls… is an unlikely late-career success. The title reflects that each song features a different female guest performer. There is a certain stylistic diversity, allowing individaul songs to lean on the strengths of the guests — from a Bill Withers cover with Mavis Staples to western swing with Shelby Lynne. But much of this has an easy listening feel — appropriate given that Willie is now eighty years young — and he comes across as more engaged with that sort of a sound than just about any time in memory. Nothing here jumps out as particularly notable. But Willie has hardly made an album this consistently listenable from top to bottom in more than a decade. There is a gentle touch in the recordings that suit that approach quite well, with unobtrusive strings and other little embellishments that enrich the performances without taking away from the singing and guitar solos that rightly remain the focus. The guest performers for the most part all turn in nice performances (the biggest dud being the outing with his daughter Paula Nelson), and the song selections are appropriate ones for both Willie and the guests, which is perhaps the most difficult aspect in pulling off a project like this. If you can handle Willie’s more polished and lighter tendencies then you might well rank this as his best since 1998’s Teatro.

Tiny Tim With Brave Combo – Girl

Tiny Tim With Brave Combo – Girl Rounder 9050 (1996)

Well, this album has finally given me the idea of the proper time to yell out, “Play ‘Stairway to Heaven!'” Dinner theater. I have one Robert Goulet album, a live one, and he takes the time between songs to mention that the next number is one he sang on Broadway, and how he’s going to do a song that’s about love, and he somehow conveys — on vinyl — the way he’s leaning down to suggestively hold the hand of some swooning woman in the audience. Tiny Tim plays “Stairway” the way Goulet would have, but that’s not enough, so there is a vocal chorus reminiscent of The 5th Dimension‘s “Age of Aquarius” for good measure. Oh, then Tiny Tim does a cha-cha-cha version of “Hey Jude” and you wonder why you didn’t sing it that way along with the similar pre-programmed beat from your late 1980s Casio synthesizer. Tiny Tim’s voice isn’t the ridiculous falsetto you remember, but deepened to something more like Bobby “Boris” Pickett of “Monster Mash” fame, with a lot more fantastically odd vibrato. He’s swooping from rock era hits to forgotten vaudeville numbers to old show tunes, and more. Tiny Tim could be kidding and completely serious at the same time. Yes, god bless Tiny Tim. Head for a Neil Hamburger record next.

Sharon Van Etten – Are We There

Sharon Van Etten – Are We There Jagjaguwar JAG255 (2014)

Sharon Van Etten operates mostly in the tradition of singer-songwriters from the 1970s, with vocals a little more breathy and quaking in the style of contemporary indie rock. Almost all of Are We There is a look at the sadder, more difficult parts of relationships–bad ones mostly. Where she shines, though, is incorporating a rhythm box and primitive keyboards. She takes what could be sad sack, mopey music and enlivens it with a patina of making more than expected from sort of stock elements.

One of the best songs is “Our Love.” Against a slow, monotonous, almost drone-line synthesizer (which could almost pass for “Kip Waits” on the Napoleon Dynamite soundtrack) and a lithe, slick guitar note bent slowly, she sings again and again, “It’s our love” with a faint, warbling voice. The tension from the juxtaposition of those elements are what make the song. The lyrics, which are minimal, suggest an abusive relationship. The keyboards suggest monotony. The heavy vibrato on the vocals suggests tortured emotion. Yet, the song doesn’t get around to pondering an end or escape. Instead, it wonders, “Still don’t know what I have found,” then repeating, “In our love.” It ends repeating the line, “It’s all love.” What makes the song something other than than a meek submission to abuse is that it ponders, without knowing, what the good parts are mixed in with the bad. Repeating the same lyrics so many times, with little flourishes of percussion, and slowly changing guitar riffs, subtly makes the point that there is more to the story than what the words explicitly say, and that there is a need to find our own deeper meaning. That takes an effort. But the song is fundamentally about making that effort. It isn’t a cheery song, and maybe the deeper meaning is that what the song conveys was never really “love”.

“Break Me” continues the theme of an abusive relationship. This is one of the bleaker tunes on the album. Powerlessness and dependency are recalled with a forceful touch of frustration, and perhaps even bewilderment. What makes the song listenable, is that it looks at the situation being described in repose, as something already conquered. Those synthesizers are back, with an ascending two-chord pattern repeating, with a slight addition of another note, then resolving with a middle chord and a higher one. These ostinato passages clash with washes of cymbal and a drum beat, probably a snare, processed with gated reverb (a kind of echo that doesn’t fully resolve; frequently used in heavy metal records of the late 1980s).

“Tarifa” adds horns. There is a hint of R&B flavor, and a huskiness to Van Etten’s voice. Just like a lot of the songs, the theme is again the uncertainty of knowing whether a situation is right: “Tell me when / Tell me when is this over? / Chewed you out / Chew me out when I’m stupid / I don’t wanna / Everyone else pales / Send in the owl / Tell me I’m not a child.” Unlike “Our Love,” this song tells of someone trying to find confidence, which is to say to connect inner, subjective feeling to some kind of external validation.

It might have helped to have something on the album other than hard looks at romantic relationships. It fades to black a bit too much for its own good. The sense of deliberateness, the sort on the percussive chords bashed out repeatedly on the piano on “Your Love is Killing Me” typify it, give this weight but also weigh it down. There also is too much reliance on the sorts of affected vocalizations that litter indie rock recordings of the day (Josephine Foster comes to mind as a comparison point), and even the kind of aching cries (“You Know Me Well”) that Bono trades in regularly. Are We There is still better than much in its milieu. Hopefully Van Etten has more and better things to come.

The Beach Boys – Pet Sounds

The Beach Boys – Pet Sounds Capitol T 2458 (1966)

This is the album against which every other pop album is judged. A work of studio genius put together by Brian Wilson, Tony Asher and The Beach Boys, the reputation of Pet Sounds needs no repetition. It raised the bar as to what an album of songs could be as a unified work. Pet Sounds is the essential coming-of-age masterpiece.

Innocent and charm is what makes The Beach Boys so widely appealing. Tony Asher’s lyrics are full of hope in the way they present the doubt of confidence and the confidence of doubt. Often songs describe the highs and lows of a adolescent love. What sets Pet Sounds apart is the complete, though imperceptible, avoidance of escapism (inevitably encountered in the institutionalized American education system). At some point everyone can appreciate the loving, natural world this music represents. Ditching school (or work) to surf, drag race, or fill-in-the-blank is universally appealing as kids stuff goes, but eventually you reach a place like “Caroline No.”

While The Beach Boys went through many turbulent comebacks and personal conflicts, Pet Sounds survives as a perfect fragment of their potential. The first albums I ever bought were two discount Beach Boys compilation tapes I got at a bookstore. Along with a hip-hop album I copied from a friend, this was the extent of the music I listened to for months, well years really. I wasn’t allowed to watch MTV and for some reason I didn’t listen to the radio ever—probably because no one else at home did. Right around junior-high-time I decided I was too cool for The Beach Boys. I shoved the tapes into the back of a closet and out of mind. Only years later as a college DJ did I give them another chance. They were considered one of the all-time great groups after all; I had to listen. It was a slow process but I came to appreciate all that The Beach Boys represent. They functioned as a metaphor for an innocent childhood I could look back on. Rediscovering The Beach Boys had a deep meaning for me. They don’t paint the picture of a perfect world, but one with a full range of emotions and experiences. “That’s Not Me” is just one of my favorite songs. Brain Wilson begins with long, smooth organ chords then places the vocals in the same groove, broken only by the incessant taps of a tambourine.

Brian Wilson was the 1960s’ rebel without a cause. The Beach Boys may not arrive anywhere particular, but all that matters is that they flail around for a while. The point is Pet Sounds is a coming-of-age story told while it was happening. Completely authentic.

Adele – 21

Adele – 21 XL XLCD 520 (2011)

Adele is a good singer, but she’s a better singer than songwriter. Lots of this material wears pretty thin. The popularity here seems to stem mostly from the fact that it’s better than most of what gets played in the mainstream media most of the time, which is more a comment on how much crap the media usually plays than any great achievement here. Pleasant and forgettable.

Antony and The Johnsons – Antony and The Johnsons

Antony and The Johnsons – Antony and The Johnsons Durtro 050 CD (2000)

Fortunately, Antony’s voice was already established on this debut. Otherwise, Antony and the Johnsons hadn’t quite perfected their craft. The basic elements are there, but the strengths aren’t accented enough and the weaknesses, oh, a bit too noticeable. A reviewer in The Wire once called this too theatrical, and that’s probably right. I Am a Bird Now took what was here and, like a finely tended garden, trimmed it back to what was needed to let Antony’s beautiful voice shine through and grow to its full potential. As it stands, this one is burdened by the need for strings, brief orchestrated interludes, and other frills that seem to mug to the audience all too often. Definitely flawed, but those who like what came later might find it possible to look past the faults. Best track: “Cripple and the Starfish.”

Neil Young – Comes a Time

Neil Young – Comes a Time Reprise MSK 2266 (1978)

Lyrics have always been Neil Young’s weakness. Here–surprise!–he delivers his best all-around showing since After the Gold Rush (and this would remain his best songwriting across an entire album for at least a decade more). There are a number of very strong numbers here, like “Goin’ Back,” “Comes a Time,” and “Lotta Love” (backing singer Nicollette Larson would have a big hit with her own solo version of the latter). Still, the album has a few faults. Its country-rock style feels a little self-conscious at times, and some of the songs seem to coast by without a lot of ambition. The bleary weirdness of American Stars ‘n Bars. This nonetheless remains one of the stronger second-tier Neil Young albums.

Nina Simone

Nina Simone was an enigma. She is often described as a jazz singer. She wasn’t one of consequence. Stack her next to an actual jazz singer and this becomes pretty clear. She developed a reputation as an artist with moral integrity. Yet that reputation wears thin when looking at how many misguided concessions to pop fads are littered all through her recording career. Much is made of her bitter break from Euro-classical music early in life. Denied entry to a conservatory (The Curtis Institute of Music) as a pianist, she turned to singing in lounges. Little of her piano playing impresses on her own recordings, though it can be effective in accompaniment. But when you hear her voice on a good recording, she definitely had something special. Singing may not have been her desire, but it was her great talent. Sometimes talents choose their medium, rather than the other way around. She was often at her best when adding a rough blues or gospel or jazz inflection to burningly austere chamber pop songs. She was sort of a gothic shadow cast from commercial pop. It was the tone of her voice that embodied a palpable sense of anger that drove so much of it. Close listening doesn’t reveal much clarity in her rhythmic phrasing, her control of vibrato, her pitch range, or even her use of melisma. All that aside, she had the power to deliver songs as if saying, with a firm scowl, “I will sing this song and I will make you remember it.” The single-minded resolve to put her own identity into her music is fiercely determined. This makes the greatest impression on the material that resists that approach. When she worked with jazzy orchestral backing, as was a prevailing style for a time during her long career, the resistance to her identity could be too much. When she played straight blues or even militant soul and R&B, there was nothing really working against her identity to put up any challenge. She reversed her formula and added formal pop technique to rougher electric soul and R&B, and it came across as a reflection of her limitations rather than her positive talent.

What follows is a long yet incomplete set of brief reviews of her albums. This is limited to what I’ve heard, which does not include anything from her time with Colpix Records. Continue reading “Nina Simone”

The War on Drugs – Lost in the Dream

The War on Drugs – Lost in the Dream Secretly Canadian SC310 (2014)

Add Lost in the Dream to the growing roster of indie rock bands of the 2010s aping the sounds of late 1970s/early 80s FM radio pop, like Don Henley, Paul Simon, and Jackson Browne. This is self-consciously nostalgic, “retro” music.

Many of these songs go on longer than it seems they should. They just vamp over and over again. If we pick up the Paul Simon angle, it is almost like the scene in The Graduate (1967) — a film famously featuring a Simon & Garfunkel soundtrack — when the main character floats around in a pool all day and when asked what he is doing simply replies, “Well, I would say that I’m just drifting.” That is what many of these songs do. They drift. They have little to say, and that little content is mostly just repeated to make up a song. There are more interesting bits, like when some horns appear at a transition to a slow resolution about three minutes from the end of the opener “Under the Pressure.” But these more interesting bits are just brief moments in songs that otherwise seem so uniform as to hardly change from beginning to end. They melt away into an almost indistinguishable washover of reverb.

It is almost always tiresome when an artist slavishly recreates old forms. To be interesting, they must go beyond the historical reference point. They must be more faithful to some ideal than the idol they “imitate”. So, we can ask, is this more boring that Don Henley? A question like this is not one everyone would choose to ask. But it is the necessary question. The answer has to be “yes.”

If there is a value to music like this, it is that it gives expression to an inability to articulate powerlessness. The near impossibility of affirmatively “proving a negative” is the challenge it takes up. Framing the issue this way may be self-defeating, in a larger sense, but it is the chosen framing for Lost in the Dream. Take a look at the world today. Capitalism is collapsing. The prospects for a transition to socialism are still in question. But a reversion to some sort of new fedualism is showing signs everywhere, with the populations of most industrialized countries reduced passive observers. Music like Lost in the Dream is tailor made for the sorts of college-educated people who always saw themselves as having (or deserving) more freedom and power than they actually sense they have today. The music stops well short of putting these things across. It stops with emotionally portraying the gap. But this is important. Boredom is a starting point. “If you are not bored, you just stupidly enjoy the situation in which you are.”

Willie Nelson – American Classic

Willie Nelson – American Classic Blue Note 67197 (2009)

These “standards” albums are so common, that you almost expect that mild-mannered jazz combos record piles of them just to leave “in the can,” waiting for celebrity vocalists to come along and drop in some singing on top. Willie Nelson has done plenty of these before (Stardust, Healing Hands of Time, etc.), this one merely in the format of the revived Blue Note Records pop jazz aesthetic. It’s stripped of any real charisma, ensuring that it’s a real snoozer. Yet, this one’s professional through-and-through. My mom would sure enjoy this, as she loves vapid, lowest common denominator, boring housewife sort of albums like this and Rod Stewart‘s It Had to Be You… The Great American Songbook. But I’m selling this short! It is also suited as background music for a genteel businessman’s cocktail lounge or a waiting room.