GONE WITH THE WIND
(TCM/Rhino)
Arguably the most popular film ever, Gone With the Wind was released
theatrically in 1939, but it wasn’t until 1954 that the first recording of its
soundtrack was available. Its appearance even then was something of a miracle
— in 1939 (the year that also saw The Wizard of Oz), the scoring of
soundtracks was less than a decade old and the notion of recording them
unthinkable. As GWTW was an independent film distributed by MGM, there
was even less concern that no masters for the music were kept; the 1954
versions were faithful orchestra reproductions and other masters weren’t found
until 1965. This 2-CD set of GWTW with its copiously detailed 48-page
booklet, then, is this year’s nod to Scarlett worshippers everywhere, as Max
Steiner’s lush orchestration brings the ever-popular story back to life. At a
time when soundtracks have became mere compilation packages and much of
GWTW might be considered politically incorrect, the sentimental
soundtrack is a refreshing reminder of a time when tomorrow really was just
another day.
4.0 stars — Margaret Moser
HANK MOBLEY & HIS ALL STARS
(Blue Note)
PAUL CHAMBERS
Whims of Chambers (Blue Note)
WAYNE SHORTER
Juju (Blue Note)
In the recent batch of Blue Note reissues, three of the major jazz tenor
saxophonists emerging since 1950 appear. Hank Mobley belonged to the first
permanently formed version of Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers and later replaced
John Coltrane in Miles Davis’ band. His major influences were Charlie Parker
and Sonny Rollins, although after this album was cut he absorbed ideas from
Coltrane. It’s one of Mobley’s best, containing four fifths of the 1957
Messengers: Hank, drummer Blakey, pianist Horace Silver, and bassist Doug
Watkins. Vibes great Milt Jackson replaces Donald Byrd and everyone’s in top
form. Mobley displays the melodic inventiveness and sensitivity for which he’s
noted, and the dark, warm, medium-sized tone that prompted Dexter Gordon to
label him “the middleweight champ of the tenors.” Coltrane appears on fellow
Davis sideman Paul Chambers’ disc, along with drummer Philly Jo Jones, Silver,
Byrd, and guitarist Kenny Burrell — a post-bop all-star sextet. In 1956, when
this disc was cut, Coltrane had already developed an original style that would
soon be influential. It was derived mainly from Gordon, whose relatively
staccato phrasing and use of wide interval leaps impressed him. Here, ‘Trane
plays infectiously, with a flood of ideas, excellent technique, and a narrow,
penetrating tone. Byrd, Silver, and Burrell contribute imaginative, swinging
spots, and Chambers, in addition to excellent rhythm section work, turns in
fine arco and pizzicato solos. Sonny Rollins and Coltrane were Wayne Shorter’s
point of departure and could be heard in his playing with Blakey in the late
Fifties and early Sixties. His 1964 quartet album, Juju, finds Shorter’s
style in transition, moving toward the airy, floating method of playing and
composing he would display with Davis’ great mid-Sixties quintet. Here,
however, the overall sound is more reminiscent of Coltrane’s quartet, which is
not surprising since his group includes Trane’s sidemen, pianist McCoy Tyner
and drummer Elvin Jones, along with bassist Reggie Workman. Shorter contributed
six provocative original compositions here, as well as strong tenor work. Tyner
cops the solo honors, though, with his brilliant, emotional playing, and his
comping lights a fire under everyone. Finally, note how many of the musicians
here were involved with Davis, Blakey, and Coltrane. Their groups were
responsible for an amazing amount of the new developments in jazz during the
Fifties and Sixties.
(Hank Mobley…) 5.0 stars
(Whims…) 5.0 stars
(Juju) 4.0 stars — Harvey Pekar
MILES DAVIS & GIL EVANS
The Complete Columbia Studio Recordings
(Columbia/Legacy)
 |
produced through the collaboration of Miles Davis and Gil Evans in the late
Fifties and early Sixties. Miles Ahead, Porgy and Bess, and
Sketches of Spain are critically regarded as some the finest recordings
the genre has produced. This package, finally released earlier this year
following numerous setbacks, contains the entirety of each of those albums, the
bulk of the less-successful album Quiet Nights, and take after take of
alternate, unissued, and rare material. In 1955, following his stint at the
Prestige label (and a bout with heroin addiction), Davis was signed to Columbia
Records by George Avakian. Shortly thereafter, Avakian proposed to Davis a
project based on an expansion of the sound he and Evans had pioneered with the
The Birth of Cool sessions in 1947. Undertaken as an exercise in framing
Davis’ austere, elliptical, and lyrical horn against Evans’ darkly polished
orchestral backdrops, the resulting synthesis of European classical formality
and American jazz improvisation was so well-realized that it made the joining
of disparate traditions seem natural, and perhaps, even obvious. It
revolutionized jazz possibilities in the process, and although often imitated,
remains a singular and distinctive work of art. Davis’ playing is nearly
flawless throughout, defining where passion and rigor meet in a perfect
embrace. Yet, despite its serious nature, this is not “difficult” music.
Hardly. Miles Ahead doesn’t swing (a complaint voiced by its detractors
yet today), and you can’t dance to it, but was welcomed on release in 1957 by
wide popular acceptance (another point against it to critics), and has
continued to entertain generation after generation of music fans ever since.
The proceeding recordings, Porgy and Bess and Sketches of Spain are nearly as fine. Although there were slight modifications to the approach
established on Miles Ahead, the basic pattern of Davis’ improvisations
filling the gaps between Evans’ structured arrangements is retained. Quiet
Nights was the last of the studio album collaborations between Evans and
Davis, and though never fully realized (both men disavowed the work), it also
has moments of high creative achievement and sublime beauty. While the rest of
the collection doesn’t unearth any undiscovered gems, the overall quality is of
such a consistently high caliber that longtime fans will probably want this
package to hear the music in its most attractive presentation yet (i.e. a true
stereo mix of Miles Ahead), and newcomers can make this a cornerstone in
any collection of 20th-century American music. Fans of acid-jazz and trip-hop
eager to more fully understand the genesis of the music are especially
encouraged to spend some time with this music. (And if the $90 price tag puts
you off, you should be able to find used CDs of the individual albums in used
bins all over town now.) The packaging of the set is awful. The box is
constructed in a way that makes it almost impossible to read the very good
notes enclosed. Worse, it looks like it will fall apart quickly. But further
complaint is trivial: Listen.
4.5 stars — Brent Grulke
SONNY ROLLINS
Silver City — A Celebration of 25 Years
on Milestone (Milestone)
Here’s the rap on Sonny Rollins: He’s absolutely incredible “live” but his
albums suck. That’s been the conventional wisdom for the past quarter century,
anyway. There’s virtually no argument that Rollins is, hands down, the greatest
living jazz musician; but since signing on with Milestone Records back in 1972,
his recorded output as a whole has been less than spectacular to say the least.
Skewered by critics and largely ignored by fans, these albums seemed to
alienate and/or anger Rollins purists with their use of electric instruments
and decidedly commercial bent. This, despite Rollins’ unrelenting ability to
totally mezmerize his audiences in live performance with near superhuman feats
of sheer blowing power and saxophone virtuosity. The fact that Rollins’ 20
albums over this 25-year tenure with Milestone have yielded a mere 2-CD box
whereas his classic Prestige material, covering maybe half as many years, was
reissued as a 7-CD set, tends to speak for itself. Having said all that, I’m
actually a bit surprised but happy to report that Silver City is a
rather enjoyable collection of highlights from Rollins’ long collaboration with
Milestone. This is not Saxophone Colossus or Way Out West,
landmarks in the Rollins oeuvre and pinnacles in recorded jazz annals, by any
stretch of the imagination. Nonetheless, there is much to savor here with the
Rollins M.O. clearly in evidence: his penchant for Afro-Caribbean rhythms, his
love of American popular songs, his unfettered physical exuberance untouched by
musicians even half his age, and his immediately recognizable, diamond-hard,
large-toned tenor saxophone sound. Sure, there are electric keyboards and
basses to muddy the waters, but Rollins seems to soar above it all on these
selections. Not surprisingly, the live tracks tend to stand out in the crowd
with “G-Man” being a prime example of Rollins’ incomparable firepower. Absent,
however, is any material from the Milestone Jazzstars live album with McCoy
Tyner and Ron Carter, and the rollicking, crowd-pleasing title track from
Don’t Stop the Carnival. While there are numerous popular tunes
included, I would have enjoyed Rollins’ take on Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She
Lovely,” which garnered considerable airplay in its day. Maybe Rollins’ entire
Milestone output warrants only a 2-CD retrospective. Or maybe the 2-CD idea is
governed purely by economic considerations. In either case, Silver City offers some of Sonny Rollins’ best recordings of the past two-and-a-half
decades at an affordable price. So, I ask, who can complain?
3.5 stars — Jay Trachtenberg
THE DOO WOP BOX II:
101 MORE VOCAL GROUP GEMS
(Rhino)
 |
Golden Age of Rock `N’ Roll is the best-selling box set of Rhino’s 19-year
history. Given that sort of broad-based appeal among doo-wop enthusiasts and
casual listeners alike, it only makes sense to release a sequel. Does it
measure up to its predecessor? Well, if it’s definitive hits you’re looking for
(i.e. “Crying in the Chapel,” “Earth Angel,” “Come Go With Me,” and the like),
this might seem like sloppy seconds. But if this set is playing clean-up, at
least it’s doing so in a filthy-rich neighborhood. The most refreshing aspect
of The Doo Wop Box II is the overwhelming wealth of songs you’ll never
hear on a commercial oldies station. Unless you’re an enthusiast, the majority
of these songs are unlikely to ring a bell. Because they haven’t been deeply
embedded in our collective fabric of nostalgia, the lesser-known tunes also
provide a relatively unobstructed sense of the Fifties vocal group style (the
term “doo-wop” wasn’t widely used until the early Seventies) and the culture
that predicated it. Acting upon customer suggestion, Rhino broadened the
definition of “doo-wop” for this set. Included this time around are duos like
Robert & Johnny, who milk the possessive love ballad “We Belong Together”
for every drop of sentiment without a hint of pretension. Also included are
more female groups and non-New York groups. Of the former, the Bobbettes’ “Mr.
Lee” is a finger-snapping joy written about a high school teacher the girls
didn’t like. And how could you not love downright bizarre slices of inspiration
like the Chips’ “Rubber Biscuit,” the Five Keys’ “Ling Ting Tong,” and, best of
all, the Cellos’ “Rang Tang Ding Dong (I Am the Japanese Sandman).” The latter
part of the set focuses on the first “oldies revival” that took place between
1959 and 1963. The Fifties vocal group style had been dichotomously split by
lightweight junior crooners like Fabian on one hand, and the emergence of a
more gospel-tinged R&B sound. Songs like Little Caesar & the Romans’
“Those Oldies but Goodies (Remind Me of You)” and the Penguins’ “Memories of El
Monte” were a response to such fragmentation. Frank Zappa co-wrote the latter
and struck a genuine combination of novelty and affection that would surface
later on Cruising With Ruben & The Jets. Also notable in the
shape-of-things-to-come division are tracks by the Falcons (who sported both
Eddie Floyd and Wilson Pickett as members) and the Miracles (before the
“Smokey Robinson &” days). The Falcons’ “I Found a Love” contains distinct
echoes of the Stax/Volt heyday with a hyper-kinetic Pickett lead vocal and a
slight proto-funk backbeat laid down by the future Ohio Players. Meanwhile, the
Miracles’ “Bad Girl” provides a stripped-down premonition of the future at
Hitsville, U.S.A. By gently pulling you along from the outset of the big-band
era to the cusp of the soul music explosion of the Sixties, The Doo Wop Box
II provides a fascinating aural lesson in the evolution of American pop
that can never be learned by hits alone.
4.0 stars — Greg Beets
FRANK ZAPPA
L�ther (Rykodisc)
I was introduced to the music of Frank Zappa at a younger age than most,
through used albums with strange-sounding titles found in the pawn shops of
decrepit Victoria, Texas. For $1 apiece, I found myself enjoying all the
classic Mothers of Invention albums on Verve (which I still have today, thank
you) despite being cut off from much of the rest of civilization. Yet I
remember knowing, when Live in New York, Studio Tan, Sleep Dirt, and
Orchestral Favorites came out, that something was “wrong” with these
albums; that Zappa didn’t authorize them or didn’t like them or… something.
Somehow, I had heard some inkling of the long tale of L�ther. To
boil it down, Zappa recorded a 4-album, 8-sided whopper of an album in 1977 to
tie up his contractual obligations with Warner Bros. and they didn’t want it —
nor did they want anyone else to have it. So the ambitious, highly varied
L�ther project was looted instead, with its various jewels being
spread out across the four albums mentioned above, separated neatly into a live
album, an instrumental album, etc. (The latter was another reason these albums
were “wrong” in my book — at that age, I was yet unprepared for a Zappa album
without plenty of funny/dirty lyrics). In 1996, following instructions from the
late Zappa, Rykodisc finally has released the complete L�ther (pronounced “Leather,” not “Lather”) and to say that it’s greater than the sum
of its unintended parts is an understatement. A handy sampler of Zappa’s
strengths, all the dichotomies are here; rock & roller and jazz master,
silly lyricist and serious instrumentalist, blues & rock guitar whiz and
classical composer, swimming around amongst each other with abandon. Even
Zappa’s fondness for doo-wop gets the occasional spotlight. Special points for
Ryko’s generous booklet, which tells the whole sordid L�ther tale,
and further, displays Billboard‘s Top 20 charts from 1974-77, just so
the listener can reflect on what the country was listening to (Mac Davis,
Starland Vocal Band) while this monster was being created. Overall, a broad,
excellent introduction to Zappa’s myriad talents.
4.0 stars — Ken Lieck
JAMES BROWN
Foundations of Funk: A Brand New Bag:
1964-1969 (Polydor)
Funk Power 1970: A Brand New Thang (Polydor)
Make It Funk: The Big Payback 1971-1975 (Polydor)
 |
Rapp, but these three separate sets (5 discs, 63 tracks) also make James Brown
“Bandleader Number One” — tugging, coaxing, and finessing brilliance of out
three separate backing outfits. On Foundations…, Nat Jones and Pee Wee
Ellis pass around the official “music director” torch, but it’s undeniably
Brown that makes 1964-1969 the Maceo Parker Years, in which the powerful
Brown/Parker relationship churned out undeniable hits (“Cold Sweat),
experimental misses (a live “Out of Sight/Bring It Up” medley), and wonderfully
loose jams (“Get It Together”). And although Foundation… is a 2-CD set
of well-preserved, complete performances, original mixes, and false starts
that’s never at a loss for momentum, it also never sounds nearly as
rhythmically raw and dangerous as Funk Power…, a compact yet stunning
year-in-the-life capsule of the original JBs. Here, Brown is not only shifting
the horny influence of old over to young bassist Bootsy Collins, he’s also
working harder vocally and writing more succinctly — all too briefly turning
the Brown/Bootsy summit into the perfect hit machine (“Get Up, I Feel Like
Being a Sex Machine,” “Talkin’ Loud and Sayin’ Nothing,” and “Super Bad”). So,
while the first two volumes succeed because they offer so many rare live cuts,
Make It Funky… instead concentrates on Brown’s newfound studio
interest, with previously unavailable and unedited mixes of definitive material
including “Hot Pants,” “Make It Funky,” and “Funky President.” And while the
rest of this material from 1971-1975 is itself a bit funky (as in bad funky),
witnessing Brown’s relentless nurturing and showcasing of trombonist Fred
Wesley is often worth the price of admission alone — especially after Maceo
rejoins the outfit for much of the second disc. After it comes full circle like
that, and despite a glut of other box sets and single album reissues, the
unique value of these three particular compilations becomes obvious: a
chronological account of the rare superstar solo artist well aware he was only
as good as his bands.
(Foundations…) 3.5 stars
(Funk Power…) 4.0 stars
(Make It Funky…) 3.0 stars — Andy Langer
JAZZ THE WORLD FORGOT, VOLS. 1-2
(Yazoo)
 |
noted the turn-of-the-century division between “highbrow” and “lowbrow”
culture. Highbrow was fine art, and musically, only classical could fit the
bill. Lowbrow, according to the critics of the day, could be summed up in one
word — jazz. It’s amusing, then, to realize that jazz is now considered an
intellectual music. Once upon a time, it was something far different — it was
decidedly base, funky, juke-joint music. Listening to this spectacular 2-CD
collection will easily demonstrate why: You immediately want to dance. That is,
assuming you can keep up. There’s no Marsalis exploring classical music here,
no Davis elegantly improvising around moody modal concepts, not even
Ellington’s ballroom grandeur. This is before all that, when a night at a jazz
club meant a speakeasy with liquor flowing, reefer smoking, and a wild,
frenetic beat that surely challenged the stamina and kept everyone in a
delirium. Jazz the World Forgot catches the music just as it was
emerging, the unlikely marriage of string band blues with military marching
band brass and ragtime syncopation, spitting forth raw hedonism. And best of
all, this collection seems to capture everything; sure, it’s not too hard to
find cuts by legends like King Oliver, Jelly Roll Morton, or the golden-voiced
Mamie Smith, but how many CDs contain regional obscurities like the Ross De
Luxe Syncopaters or Taylor’s Dixie Serenaders? If historical importance
enhances your enjoyment of music, you’ll be beside yourself with the
discoveries here.
5.0 stars — Lee Nichols
MILTON BROWN AND THE MUSICAL BROWNIES 1932-1937
(Texas Rose)
It wasn’t supposed to happen. What crazy idea compelled a bunch of Texas
string musicians to ditch “Cotton Eyed Joe” and “Dill Pickle Rag” in favor of
hotcha rhythms and hokum lyrics? Where did a native son of Stephenville get off
sounding like Mr. Hi Dee Ho, Cab Calloway? In 1932, Milton Brown and his
Musical Brownies concocted a new sound that would eventually be called “Western
Swing,” and one that West Texas locals found rather disconcerting at first. In
fact, nearly everything about the Brownies seemed odd. For one thing, string
bands didn’t usually feature vocalists. Certainly not one like Brown, who
favored Calloway or the swinging young Bing Crosby over Jimmy Rodgers, the
preeminent country singer of the day. String bands didn’t have piano players
either. The Brownies’ pianist Fred “Papa” Calhoun played with all the
double-fisted energy of his idol, Earl “Fatha” Hines. But the weirdest of the
bunch was steel guitarist Bob Dunn. Nobody in West Texas (or nearly anywhere
else) had heard an electrified steel-guitar, let alone one that eschewed the
conventional Hawaiian style for the exuberant, trombone-like sound that Dunn
coaxed out of his jerry-rigged contraption. The source of all this crazy
experimentation was hot jazz, then turning the country on its ear. Once the
locals caught on, they couldn’t get enough of the Brownies — daily radio
broadcasts, Saturday nights whooping it up at the Crystal Springs Dance Hall,
and a whole mess of shellac. Now, finally, all 102 recordings of the Brownies
are available in this 5-CD box. From uptown pop to down-home folk, the Brownies
could play whatever their fans wanted to hear, though jazz and blues, of
course, took precedence. Brown, Dunn, and Calhoun, as well a fiddlers Cecil
Brower and Cliff Bruner were all inspired improvisers — hear how they tear up
“Sweet Georgia Brown,” a pop tune that had already, by 1935, become a jazz
standard. Or listen how they masterfully build the tempo on W.C. Handy’s “St.
Louis Blues,” which they could groove on for up to 15 minutes at dances. The
Brownies could be convincing in any genre, a distinction more complicated than
is immediately apparent. On some sides, Milton boasts that he’s going “down to
Cowtown to get my hambone boiled” or that he’s “got a black-haired gal make a
tadpole hug a whale,” while otherwise holding a torch for dear old Mammy, “My
Precious Sonny Boy” and “The Yellow Rose of Texas.” Mixing the salacious with
the bathetic was no big deal, it just reveals the wide constituency that the
Brownies served: home and hearth on the daily radio program, and a
rough-and-tumble crowd at Crystal Springs where Bonnie and Clyde reportedly fit
right in. By 1935, the Brownies were ready to take their brand of swing beyond
state borders when Brown’s car overturned on the Jacksboro Highway, killing him
at age 32. The band carried on for awhile under brother Derwood’s direction (14
tracks from a 1937 session are included here), but couldn’t sustain themselves
without Milton. Bob Wills, meanwhile, stood ready to assume the throne. So,
aside from historical appeal, why should anybody care about the Brownies today?
Because this music is about purely infectious joy, the rarest of all musical
properties. If the Brownies could make the downcast farmers of the depression
positively giddy, they can cheer us too. (Distributed by OJL, PO Box 85, Santa
Monica, CA 90406)
5.0 stars — Charles Hutchinson
THE CHARLIE DANIELS BAND
The Roots Remain (Epic/Legacy)
After establishing himself with years of toiling in roadhouses and studio
sessions, Charlie Daniels spent the hitmaking leg of his career with one foot
squarely in the Nashville establishment and the other in the rebel camp of
southern rock and outlaw country. Not surprisingly, Daniels was an Armadillo
World Headquarters favorite during the Seventies. Songs like “Uneasy Rider” and
“Long Haired Country Boy” struck a chord not only with the prevalent hippie
ethos, but also with outcasts in general. However, as this 3-CD set proves in
its later numbers, Daniels’ philosophy was cut from the same cloth as Merle
Haggard’s. Growing your hair and smoking an occasional joint with your Falstaff
is all right so long as you mind your own business, but flag-burning and
bank-bombing are still anathemas. Although CDB rarely pushed the envelope of
innovation, they often did a superb job of integrating country, rock, and blues
in an uncommonly prolific manner. You don’t hear Daniels mentioned in the same
breath as the Allmans and Skynyrd, but there is some serious virtuosity going
on in the guitar/fiddle interplay of songs like “Texas” and “In America.” The
open-ended jamming of “No Place to Go” isn’t enough to make you turn off
Live at Fillmore East, but it certainly establishes beyond a doubt that
Daniels is more than just that guy who did “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”
Daniels’ music drifted more toward the country end of the spectrum during the
Eighties and Nineties. While his output became more uneven and subject to the
hat act production aesthetic, there were some bright spots; the lazy, bluesy
“To Be With Joanna Again,” though previously unreleased and out of step with
its 1985 pedigree, may be the most resonant and evocative ballad on The
Roots Remain. At the same time, Daniels’ later output showcases his
political about-face. While he once sang about the pleasures of the occasional
toke, “Simple Man” finds Daniels singing about lynching dope dealers. If
nothing else, this switch provides a sobering reminder of the extent to which
the working class has systematically abandoned the left wing to out-of-touch
intellectuals. Yet, the only thing truly abhorrent on The Roots Remain,
is the obligatory set-starting encapsulation of a career that is “Then, Now and
Until the End.” Though Daniels’ spoken-word explanation of his raison
d’etre is valid, it comes off more like an outtake of John Wayne’s
America: Why I Love Her. The most convincing evidence of Daniels’ vision
of a utopian musical gumbo lies in the songs, and they can speak for
themselves.
3.5 stars — Greg Beets
EMMYLOU HARRIS
Portraits (Reprise Archives)
A lot of things are amazing about Portraits: Emmylou Harris’ 61-song
catalog, her duet partners (Roy Orbison, Don Everly, The Band, Don Williams,
Flaco Jimenez, and Willie Nelson, among others), the pitch-perfect production,
the unreleased tracks (including the gently rollicking “You’re Still on My
Mind” and a dead-on reading of Dylan’s “When I Paint My Masterpiece”), but
what’s most amazing is how little her voice and her vision have changed over
the almost 20 years (1974-1992) represented here. Her commitment to the innate
beauty of a song, her care in choosing her material, and her faith in the
musical traditions she grew up on all waver as seldom as her otherworldly voice
— a voice that can only be described as angelic. And, clean as the production
is, hot as her always-top-notch backing bands (including Rodney Crowell, Vince
Gill, onetime husband Paul Kennerly, and the smokin’ all-acoustic Nash
Ramblers) are, it’s her voice that sustains this box set. Not her singing
voice, either, her personal voice. She has the rare ability to climb inside a
song — no matter if it’s by Townes Van Zandt, James Taylor, the Beatles, or
the Louvin Brothers — and make it uniquely, totally her own. In doing so, she
weaves together disparate strands of America’s musical landscape, ending with a
tapestry that includes the bluegrass of the Carter Family and Bill Monroe;
country icons Loretta Lynn, Buck Owens, and Johnny Cash; the pure pop
sensibilities of Paul Simon, Phil Spector, and Richard Thompson; rock &
rollers Chuck Berry, Roy Orbison, and Bruce Springsteen; and modern-day
folklorists Nanci Griffith, Butch Hancock, Kris Kristofferson, and John Hiatt.
Harris herself is probably not any of them — the primary source that rings
through all but the poppiest cuts on Portraits is still her Grievous
Angel, Gram Parsons — because she is so transcendent. Underneath that
majestic mane of gray hair lies a mind that combines the best of the Grand Ole
Opry, the Brill Building, Sixties hippie California cowboys, and the Broken
Spoke. Emmylou Harris’ legacy — far from over, as last year’s Wrecking
Ball attests — is as rich and pure as her songbird voice, and
Portraits paints quite a full, fetching picture.
4.0 stars — Christopher Gray
BOBBY FULLER
El Paso Rock: Early Recordings, Vol. 1 (Norton)
Shakedown! The Texas Tapes Revisited (Del-Fi)
The Bobby Fuller Four (Del-Fi)
 |
Nirvana’s was in 1991. Not that it wasn’t deserved: There was a fire burning in
the cat’s music that singed all it touched. The thing is, that flame was hardly
a contemporary one. The rock & roll Fuller crafted was more staunchly
traditional than what was burning the airwaves at the moment of his commercial
emergence; just as Eddie Cochran/Buddy Holly-damaged as the Beatles or the
Stones, but more faithful to those precedents than either of them. This lent a
granite toughness and a 1955 rocketfuel drive to the music of the Bobby Fuller
Four, making them mavericks in their run in the sun, `65-’66, which was cut
short by the sort of untimely death which rock & roll mythology feeds upon.
(The mysterious circumstances surrounding Fuller’s death, however, have also
made it prime fodder for every conspiracy theory nut alive, as well as the
plotline to a recent episode of Unsolved Mysteries.) Interesting, then,
to see the virtually simultaneous appearance of not only a CD presenting the
tracks comprising Fuller’s two original Del-Fi releases of the day, but of two
separate collections anthologizing the same set of pre-fame Fuller recordings
cut prior to his relocation from El Paso to Los Angeles. Less polished than
Fuller’s commercial hits, these demos and early recordings vibrate with a
primal urgency time has yet to diminish. They’re also the object of an
interesting round of litigation between Del-Fi, Fuller’s original label, and
archival kings Norton, who legally obtained the tapes from Fuller’s brother and
bandmate Randy and from the Bobby Fuller Estate some time back. The Norton
package gets the edge in terms of sound quality, inclusion of some wild live
stuff, and liner notes by Miriam Linna that are less annoying and factually
inaccurate than the Dave Marsh-penned notes accompanying Shakedown!
Still, for anyone only familiar with his hit intensification of the Crickets’
“I Fought The Law” (the original, pre-fame recording of which graces both),
either release would be a revelation: Bobby Fuller was a definitive rock &
roller well before he was a rock & roll star.
(El Paso Rock) 4.0 stars
(Shakedown!) 3.0 stars
(The Bobby Fuller Four) 3.5 stars — Tim
Stegall
TELEVISION’S GREATEST HITS VOLS. 4-7
(TVT)
Tell me if this is an indication that TV plays too large a part in my life:
Before seeing his name, I immediately recognized the style of this series’
liner notes as being the work of Tim Brooks, co-author of the vapid Complete
Directory to Prime Time Network and Cable TV Shows 1946-Present books. If
my use of the word “vapid” didn’t clue you in, let’s just say that’s a bad
sign. The Television’s Greatest Hits series has had its share of
complaints from TV/music fans from the beginning; the first volume raised
eyebrows when its claim that all tracks were the original themes, not
re-recordings, proved false. There seems little question of the authenticity of
the cuts that encompass Vols. 4-7 (Black and White Classics, In Living
Color, Remote Control, and Cable Ready, respectively), as even the
sound effects from Alien Nation‘s opening sequence can be heard on the
theme, even though one assumes the music master tapes sans FX are still
around somewhere. The reproduction is largely excellent, especially on the
Black and White set, where those who think we never should’ve made the
jump to stereo in the first place can revel in bold, crisp mono tunes from
Captain Midnight all the way down to Bourbon Street Beat. A TV
theme is made with one goal in mind, of course: to drag the viewer into the
show kicking and screaming. As such, the greatest composers and talents in
music can be heard in these collections. Composers range from Ennio Morricone
(The Man From Shiloh) to Dave Brubeck (Mr. Broadway) to Chuck
“Palisades Park” Barris (the relentlessly catchy Dating Game and
Newlywed Game themes), and bands run the gamut from the Beach Boys (the
previously unreleased Karen) to the Grateful Dead (The New Twilight
Zone and Vietnam: A Television History), all given roughly a minute
to create something people will want to hear week in, week out. If the liner
notes offered more clues to the sounds on the albums and the names behind them
(Peter Matz, Barry Gray, Vic Mizzy to name a few additional worthies) instead
of presenting mostly tired anecdotes about the shows themselves, these four
volumes would be true wonders. As it is, we can listen with nostalgia to those
we recognize, and with puzzled fascination to those we don’t.
3.0 stars — Ken Lieck
NEIL DIAMOND
In My Lifetime (Columbia/Legacy)
In his liner notes to In My Lifetime, David Wild makes the
argument that Neil Diamond, if you think about it, was one of the first
alternative rock stars. While this may make sense in a marketing department
trying to earn mileage off of Urge Overkill’s rendition of “Girl, You’ll Be a
Woman Soon,” to someone who was forced to listen to their parents’ favorite
adult contemporary station blast out “Song Sung Blue” ad infinitum on
the car radio, that notion seems positively spurious. If you really think about it, Diamond has always aimed squarely for the middle of the road,
and he’s always managed to tap into a willing audience there. However, just as
being tagged “alternative” doesn’t make an artist worthwhile, being tagged
“centrist” shouldn’t diminish Diamond’s considerable achievements as a
songwriter. In My Lifetime marks the first time Diamond’s work for Bang,
MCA, and Columbia has been collected in one set. We start out with some truly
self-effacing rarities from Diamond’s teeth-cutting days. It’s hard to fathom
Neil Diamond sounding like anyone other than Neil Diamond, but there he is,
vainly attempting to be the next Everly Brothers (Neil & Jack’s “What Will
I Do?”) and Neil Sedaka (“Clown Town”). From there, we enter the golden age
with punchy hits like “Cherry Cherry,” “You Got to Me,” and “Thank the Lord for
the Night Time.” Diamond’s Bang Records sides have a well-crafted simplicity
that makes them universally adaptable, which may be why so many bands have
covered him. When Diamond moved to MCA in 1968, his songs became more
introspective and less ebullient. “Cracklin’ Rosie” and “Crunchy Granola Suite”
were about as light as it got. As the Seventies ushered in an age of
self-awareness and social relevance, Diamond hit (“I Am… I Said”) and
sometimes missed (“Done Too Soon”). Compared to the period between 1968 and
1972, Diamond’s growth as an artist at Columbia came at a snail’s pace. After
starting with the ambitious-but-overblown soundtrack to Jonathan Livingston
Seagull, and the Robbie Robertson-produced Beautiful Noise, Diamond
settled into a complacency of romantic ballads with weighty arrangements. A lot
of this music makes your teeth hurt since dentist offices seem to have a
penchant for the stuff. Still, one noteworthy departure is 1977’s
“Desir�e,” a fallow-yet-strangely-enjoyable take on disco that details a
youngster becoming a man with a woman twice his age. The songs from The Jazz
Singer hold up quite well. “Love on the Rocks” packs the wallop of 20 power
ballads, which makes it all the more hilarious to hear “Scotch on the Rocks,”
the reggae-tinged original version that sounds more like a sequel to Rupert
Holmes’ “Escape (The Pi�a Colada Song)” than anything resembling angst.
On the other hand, it’s ironic how popular “America” has remained in the era of
Proposition 187. Since the inspired-if-not-insipid Heartlight, Diamond’s
albums haven’t struck the universal chord they once did. A good example of this
man-in-search-of-a-formula mode is “I’m Alive,” David Foster’s vain attempt to
infuse synth-pop into Diamond’s music without alienating his adult contempo
base. However, Diamond has retained viability with consistently solid live
performances that come complete with plenty of energetic hip-shaking and an
everyman demeanor that appeals to everyone from grandmothers to six-year-olds.
There will always be room in the middle of the road. As a result, In My
Lifetime is a good bet even for the most casual of Diamondheads.
4.0 stars — Greg Beets
MEL TORME
The Mel Torme Collection: 1944-1985 (Rhino)
 |
produced, this most quintessentially “New York” of rock & roll bands did
some serious door-kicking with their unprecedented wrapping of dark literary
themes inside gorgeous pop melodicism and John Cale’s knack for classical
dissonance. From their Andy Warhol-“produced” first LP in `67 through their
untimely death in… Waitaminit! You mean we’re dealing with Harry
Anderson’s fave crooner here? Oops! (Heh-heh!) Sorry ’bout that! Actually, the
accompanying literature makes all manner of claims on Torme’s behalf for the
possibility that he could out-sing Sinatra. The booklet might not be off-base.
Indeed, the earliest recordings with Torme’s close-harmony aggregate, the
Mel-Tones, display a throat as Crosby-damaged as any of his generation. This
evidence is rendered all the more ironic three tracks in, when the Mel-Tones
back up Der Bingle hisself on the 1945 Decca release, “Day By Day.” And though
it would be Torme’s smoother-than-smooth delivery and tone as well as his
ability to scat anything (he’s Ella’s only peer in this department) that
would cement his reputation, this 4-CD box set proves that niching Torme within
the currently hip “Lounge” turf is insulting: Mel Torme’s no mere pop crooner
— he’s a jazz singer. Scratch that: Mel Torme is a jazz
musician. He has arranging/orchestration talents without peer amongst
his colleagues, a deft touch on several instruments, and is equally adept at
interpreting standards. He can write ’em, too: You can partially blame Torme
for “The Christmas Song,” better known (erroneously) as “Chestnuts Roasting on
an Open Fire,” and for pulling off projects as ambitious as “The California
Suite,” an early self-penned concept album cut first in 1950 then overhauled
afresh seven years later. As his artistic path gets mapped across these four
discs, we hear Torme gaining in confidence, flying fearless in front of several
live audiences in improvisational mode, contrasting melody against
countermelody, creating music of ever-increasing sophistication — music that
swings hard and true. Along the way, a powerful argument is made for the man’s
place in jazz pioneer circles. By the time last disc’s final notes decay,
derived from his own definitive 1962 take on “The Christmas Song,” the only
conclusion one can reach hearing this argument is: “Amen.” Inevitably and
irrefutably, “Amen.”
5.0 stars — Tim Stegall
FRANK SINATRA
The Complete Capitol Singles Collection
(Capitol)
As lyricist Sammy Cahn tells the story, “One time [co-writer Jule Styne] and I
were on the beach when a guy from Fox came up to us and asked us if we could
write a song called `Three Coins in the Fountain.’ I told him we could write a
song called `Eh.'” It’s precisely that quality of chutzpah that informs the pop
singles that Frank Sinatra (with a little help from Cahn and others in his
creative cabal) recorded for Capitol Records in the Fifties. Brashly confident
and occasionally over-the-top, these 45s, recorded at Sinatra’s creative
height, engender the illusion that even with the barest of materials the man
could work miracles. The years that Sinatra spent at Capitol are justly
celebrated as revivifying and triumphant. His eight-year association with the
label began in the spring of 1953 when his career seemed in irreversible
decline. Yet within months he was on the rebound, thanks to both his affecting
performance in From Here to Eternity and to the first handful of Capitol
singles. In marked contrast to the caprices of his previous label, where such
indignities as “Momma Will Bark” were forced upon him, at Capitol, Sinatra was
in nearly total control. That freedom inspired him to create a glorious
succession of albums that linked standards by Porter, Gershwin, and others into
song cycles evoking complex moods and themes. These concept albums like
Songs for Swinging Lovers and Only the Lonely have attained the
status of classics over the years. Still, the majority of singles from the same
period have been largely overlooked. For one thing, they’re an essentially
different listening experience. As an analogy, imagine the albums as
feature-length entertainment and the singles as coming-attraction previews.
With three scant minutes to put across their message, these records are all
about grand gestures and concentrated energy. There are also categorical
differences about repertoire between the two formats. Saving the classic pop
for albums, Sinatra sought out fresh material for his 45s, often written
specifically for him. This was an advantageous approach in an era when
performers recorded competing versions of the day’s hits. Sinatra got these
songs first (and, not-so-incidentally, helped himself to a piece of the action
by retaining publishing rights). That many of these singles succeed, that they
make us willingly suspend our disbelief about anything mattering but the
marketplace, speaks volumes about Sinatra’s gifts — as well as those of
several other names below the title: arranger Nelson Riddle, songwriters Cahn,
Styne, Jimmy Van Heusen and Lew Spence, a crack squad of studio pros, and to
some extent, the various sharpies, pluggers and hustlers that made themselves
at home in the offices of Sinatra’s publishing company. Occasionally, they
produced the song of “Eh” — the musical equivalent of mere shrugging — but
given the stature of Sinatra and company, it ended up sounding like the kind of
shrug that might have come from Atlas.
4.0 stars — Charles Hutchinson
IN THEIR OWN VOICES:
A CENTURY OF RECORDED POETRY
(Rhino Word Beat)
Deep inside the pages of the hardcover booklet accompanying this 4-CD set,
there’s an almost apologetic note reading: “T.S. Eliot was unavailable for
inclusion due to licensing restrictions.” That in itself speaks more to the
completeness of this collection than any list of names could, for Eliot is
about the only significant name in 20th-century American poetry that the folks
at Rhino failed to procure. This collection had to be some poetry proponent’s
labor of love, clocking in at a expansive 247 minutes, showcasing everyone from
the obvious (Whitman, Pound, Yeats, William Carlos Williams, Langston Hughes,
Maya Angelou, Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, and the list goes on) to the most
obvious Beats to current, emerging luminaries (UH professor Edward Hirsch,
Li-Young Lee). The pedigrees alone are enough to draw people sold on poetry
toward the collection. But for those of you not in that camp? The booklet
attempts to address that in an Erica Jong essay, which states, “People think
they can do without poetry. And they can. At least until they fall in love,
lose a friend, lose a child, or a parent, or lose themselves in the dark woods
of life.” Still skeptical? Think of it this way: In Their Own Voices… is a great way to satisfy any curiosity you’ve ever had about any of the 80
featured poets. Some of the poet’s speaking voices are surprising departures
from what you’d expect, and some of the poets give startling insights, judging
from their inflections and emphasis, on which lines seem to matter most to the
pieces. Because of the strong performance background of the Beats, their
readings hold up well in this type of package. Certainly, Ginsberg’s “America,”
despite its shaky sound quality, has the most satisfying, fun audience in the
collection — their interjections and laughter actually build on the strength
and humor of the original. And it’s hard to imagine hearing pieces like
Ferlinghetti’s “Underwear” without audience response. Yet some of the
collection’s best gems come from more obscure poets, such as Joy Harjo, Lucille
Clifton, and Lisel Mueller, showing that Rhino did their homework, going beyond
the literary canon and finding work that has loosened the transitory borders of
what poetry is in this day and age. As a singular listening experience, this
set is too long and disparate to be enjoyable to all but the most attentive
listeners, but as an anthology or even encyclopedia, it’s a treasure. If we
Americans are going to get serious about poetry, then every home should have
one of these.
4.0 stars — Phil West
THE MISFITS
(Caroline)
Yeah, I know: The fact that this lushly packaged, coffin-shaped collation of
the varying non-Walk Among Us pieces of these Jersey horror-punk kings’
oeuvre was released in the spring and is only now being assigned for review is
further grist for the lynching of my editors and their better-late-than-never
policy towards underground rock & roll coverage. Still, you can’t fault
them for knowing a good band when they see one, even if it’s a good 12 years
past the Misfits’ expiration date. True, it’s hard to remember the merits of
these citizens of Lodi in light of both their ungodly sloppy live sets, and the
fact that leader Glenn Danzig ended up such a steroid-damaged doofus who took
years to fork over monies due any of the former Misfits. And yes, thanks
partially to Metallica, the Misfits have also become the T-shirt band of choice
for the mouth-breathers of the world, be they spare-changers on the Drag or
habitues of the Back Room. But any of these four discs should prove there was
meat on them bones. Glenn Danzig knew a good tune when he met one, and his
tireless pillaging of Grade-Z horror shows for lyric matter also displayed
surprising wit, intelligence, and craftsmanship. On record at least, the
Misfits collaborated with muscle and efficiency, providing an economical blitz
of tight, viciously downstroked fuzz guitar, pressure-drop rhythm section work,
and hoarse, goon-squad choruses. They may’ve been that meeting of Kiss, the
Ramones, New York Dolls, and Manner Films you never realized you’d been eagerly
awaiting. Here’s the evidence, sheathed in elegant, black jewel boxes
(including a limited release of the long-lost, unissued ’78 Static Age
LP in a case that will take you three hours to figure out how to open),
nestled inside a red velvet-lined home and accompanied by an expensive-looking
Misfits Fiend Club pin. Worth the $66.66 list price? Sure, why not.
4.0 stars — Tim Stegall
DEXTER GORDON
The Complete Sixties Blue Note Sessions
(Blue Note)
 |
distinguished himself as the first jazz musician to forge an original bebop
style on the tenor saxophone. Despite a dishearteningly fallow period during
the Fifties, Dexter returned with a vengeance to record nine albums (seven of
which were issued at the time) during his 1961-65 stint with Blue Note. All of
this music, an unissued track from a Sonny Stitt date, and portions of an
interview done for Danish radio are included in this handsomely packaged,
completely annotated, 6-CD box set that represents some of the very finest
music the label ever produced. During this time, the Blue Note roster was awash
with “young turks” who were creating new directions in jazz. Likewise, the two
other tenor titans of the time, John Coltrane and Sonny Rollins, both of whom
were greatly influenced by Gordon, were also exploring new avenues of
expression. Gordon, by contrast, was the personification of the hip, urbane,
unadulterated mainstream. His large, robust tenor, impeccable sense of style
and keen ability to swing soulfully practically defined the quintessential
“Blue Note Sound” of that era. Albums such as Go, A Swingin’
Affair, and One Flight Up are absolute gems in the Blue Note
motherlode. While many of the label’s more adventurous releases would feature
multi-horn frontlines and augmented rhythmic configurations, these sides never
find Gordon working in more than a standard quintet; indeed, his best work was
done within a simple quartet setting. He had so much to say on his horn, such
enticing tales to tell, it would have been superfluous to constrain him in a
crowded session. The success of these dates can also be attributed to the knack
of aligning Gordon with a handful of simpatico and first-rate pianists to
support him. Sonny Clark proved to be the near-perfect match, but other
standouts include the legendary Bud Powell, Kenny Drew, Barry Harris, and
Horace Parlan. Powell, along with French bassist Pierre Michelot and pioneering
drummer Kenny Clarke, comprised Europe’s premier trio of the time. They team
with Gordon, also an expatriate by this time, to dust off a set of warhorses on
the wonderfully swinging Our Man In Paris, a personal favorite of mine.
Gordon would eventually make a triumphant return to the USA in 1976, go on to
record some excellent albums for Columbia and earn an Oscar nomination for his
role as an expatriate jazzman living in Paris in the film Round
Midnight. He will be best remembered, however, for this extraordinary body
of recordings for Blue Note.
5.0 stars — Jay Trachtenberg
MUHAL RICHARD ABRAMS
Young in Heart/Wise in Time (Delmark)
ROSCOE MITCHELL
Sound (Delmark)
MAURICE MCINTYRE
Forces and Feelings (Delmark)
JOSEPH JARMAN
As If It Were the Seasons (Delmark)
Many of the initial free jazzmen were rough and ready, interested in playing
gutty, visceral music. Whatever their merits, pacing and subtle arrangements
were not their main priorities. During the late Sixties though, the new
generation of free players strove to infuse their music with more variety and
restraint. Prominent among them were members of Chicago’s AACM, the Association
for the Advancement of Creative Musicians. Fortunately the area’s Delmark
records took a keen interest in them and recorded a series of their albums,
which are now being reissued. Their latest batch includes one by AACM prime
mover Muhal Richard Abrams. Unlike many free jazzmen, Abrams was conversant
with a number of styles within and outside jazz, and enriched his work by
drawing from them. At times his percussive, dissonant playing was reminiscent
of the Cecil Taylor/Thelonious Monk school, as well as modern classical music.
On Roscoe Mitchell’s Sound, the leader, on alto saxophone, clarinet and
recorder, is joined by trumpeter Lester Bowie, tenorman Maurice McIntyre,
bassist Malachi Favors, drummer Alvin Fielder, and Lester Lashley, who adds a
sonic dimension by doubling on cello and trombone. There’s more unusual
instrumentation on McIntyre’s Forces and Feelings, on which he appears
with a guitarist, bassist, drummer, and vocalist, and, on Joseph Jarman’s As
if it Were the Seasons, which features Charles Clark on bass, cello, and
koto, and singer Sherri Scott. The improvisation on these recordings may not be
based on pre-set chord progressions, but the groups’ performances are tight and
coherent; members pay attention to collective interplay and textural and
dynamic subtleties. All are full of the kind of color, life, and humor one
associates with Sun Ra, who anticipated their work, by the way. Add Anthony
Braxton and the Art Ensemble of Chicago to Sun Ra and the cats appearing on
these discs and maybe you’ll agree that Windy City musicians had more of an
impact on jazz during the Sixties than at any time since the Prohibition
era.
(All) 4.0 stars — Harvey Pekar
GALAXIE 500
(Rykodisc)
 |
it on the heap of discarded genre classifications — there on top of “grunge.”
Okay, guys, but tell the union no more names like Luna, Mazzy Star, and Comet.
Or Galaxie 500. No, what we’re really dealing with here anyway is Velvet
Underground and Joy Division — forget progressive kra�trock, and pay no
attention to Galaxie’s dreamy proximity to American Analog Set. There may be
lots of unchartered territory between pop and progressive jazz — lots of gray
areas and light years of space — but this universe has been
thoroughly mapped. Starting as three high school friends who later ended up at
Harvard together, Damon Krukowski, Naomi Yang, and Dean Wareham did what any
cooperative of bored college students with aspirations for fun are wont to do:
They started a band. Not that they knew how to play… but when did that
ever stop anyone? And yet by the time it was over — five years
(’87-’91) and three albums later — they’d go belly-up with their label Rough
Trade and down into the annals of indie-rock history together. Until now, those
albums, a couple of EPs, and assorted singles and their respective B-sides have
all been long out-of-print and much in demand. In fact, even after Rykodisc
released this 4-CD set, which gathers all three albums and throws in a fourth
disc worth of rarities, Galaxie 500 was still highly sought after as the
first humble printing of this box set sold out so quickly that it panicked a
small but expectant fan base. Back on the shelves, Galaxie 500 traces
the arc of a group whose debut cassette reveals a love of simple, early
Eighties synth/goth Britpop that had doublebacked by their final album, This
Is Our Music, at which point students became musicians. In between, there’s
Kramer, Kramer, and more Kramer, the legendary DIY producer who pitted
the band’s obvious pop sensibilities against musician-friendly, two-chord V.U.
drone and Wareham’s wall-of-reverb wail. Each album is better than the last as
the band and its producer got progressively more Stereolab as time wore on.
“What had started out as a strong friendship and minimal musical commitment for
me ended up as a deep commitment to music and a lost friendship,” writes Yang
in her well-designed booklet. And even though all three band members have
realized their potential in other projects — Yang and Krukowski in Sub Pop’s
Damon & Naomi, and Wareham in Luna — the bassist’s description of what
many fans feel is the band’s apex, album number two, On Fire, may also
be the best assessment of the Galaxie 500 and its recorded output: That place
“between musical na�vet� and experience.”
4.0 stars — Raoul Hernandez
This article appears in December 13 • 1996 and December 13 • 1996 (Cover).