I've never known what to make of this album. It rocks too much to be jazz. It's too ethereal to be rock. It's too nervy and dissonant to work as ambient music. Not only is this music something new and strange for 1969, it still stands outside of time almost sixty years later as one of the strangest, prettiest albums ever recorded.
I say "pretty", and that's important. Davis' career up to this point had been largely defined by prettiness, and his career from this album onwards represented a turn away from that aesthetic towards increasingly dissonant, rhythmically complex forms of music. In A Silent Way isn't so much a transitional album as a one off experiment, a sort of proof of concept that it was possible to make strange, jammy music that still held up.
The best way to convey the oddness of this music is to deconstruct the title track. It starts with a pretty, ethereal intro, then launches into a descending electric piano melody that carries on for some time, continuing even as a funky and even danceable keyboard riff wanders up from the depths of the song and fades in an out of the mix, until rock drums kick in and the whole song starts to swing. Then there's a final, almost ambient section featuring some very tender trumpet from Davis. It's an odd track. If you go into it with any expectations about how a track should be structured, you'll probably be left baffled. There's really no other choice but to accept the music on its own terms and sit back and enjoy the ride.
I think Davis recorded several better albums before and after In A Silent Way, but this is an incredibly important and influential piece of work. I personally have always found it slightly too busy for my tastes, but I still like it a lot. It's something special. It's also worth hearing because it points to a different direction Davis might have chosen to follow, instead of the intense, loops-and-splices heavy fusion monsters he ultimately went with. Davis would return to pretty, borderline ambient music with his Duke Ellington tribute, "He Loved Him Madly", but in between shit got pretty damned weird. Of course I love a lot of Davis' 1970s output so I'm not really fussed. In the end In A Silent Way is a great cap to the first half of Davis' career, an album strange and beautiful in equal measures, the echoes of which you can still hear in music today.
I usually listen to albums at least twice for this, but once again I'm not doing that because I don't want to.
This is not the worst album I've listened to for this project. In fact, there's even some pretty good music here. No, the problem is having to sit down and listen to an hour and fifteen minutes of this crap, uninterrupted. I tried. I got distracted several times and flipped through a coffee table book. Is that doing the Who a disservice? The Who have countless fans and made millions of dollars. I don't care what the Who think. If anything the Who should be apologising to me for expecting me to want to listen to songs like "The Acid Queen" and "Fiddle About".
The plot of this album (or "Rock Opera", if you will) is pretty easy to follow in general, although it gets confusing in the particulars. Basically a boy is traumatised by his parents, becomes psychosomatically deaf, dumb and blind, lives a terrible life, regains his senses after being subjected to a painful shock, and this somehow results in him becoming a sort of messiah figure (I think because the music in his head makes him some kind of pop star, though I'm not sure) - only for him to screw up and be left alone again. Along the way he gets tortured by his cousin, sexually abused by his uncle, given acid (and possibly raped - it's a bit vague) by some random woman, and also turns into a pinball prodigy because Pete Townshend wanted a pinball-loving critic to give the album a good review. There's a certain peverse creativity at work, but I have to wonder why primary songwriter Townsend went with such an incredibly bleak narrative. Supposedly it's all about the spiritual and philosophical beliefs of some guru or what have you that he liked, but not much of that comes out in the lyrics. Instead the listener is subjected to a bleak, horrific story, shown a glimpse of light at the end, and then Tommy fucks it all up with the help of his uncle (I suppose, being deaf, dumb and blind, Tommy may not have realised it was Uncle Eddie who asaaulted him?) and has a sort of mild revelation or something at the end which I didn't pay much attention to because I was really, really bored.
Musically there's some good stuff, like the extended instrumental piece "Underture", and the faintly satirical pop song "Sally Simpson" (tellingly, these songs were written independently of Tommy and shoehorned in). What's annoying is that a man who wrote so many great pop songs before and after Tommy would fumble things so badly here. Maybe someone out there thinks "Pinball Wizard" totally rocks, but I don't. And it's not like opera can't contained short, catchy standalone tunes. But what's really annoying is that the wit and warmth that made an album like The Who Sell Out so great is almost entirely absent here. I guess Townsend wanted to attempt something serious and profound, but that's not really where his strengths lay. After this he'd go on to pen the bloated Who's Next, which a lot of people love but which I don't really care for, either.
On a side note, I hate being called "Tommy". So it's perhaps inevitable that I'd hate an album where someone keens "Tommy can you hear me?" over and over again.
Anyway, I can see why some people would like this but I do not. It's an important album in that it popularised the rock opera form (even if we've had two much, much better rock operas already from the Pretty Things and the Small Faces), and I guess there are a few good tunes buried deep within its bloat. Like I said, the big problem is the length. Taken individually there are some great moments here, but as an album Tommy is a depressing, nigh-incoherent slog.
The final Beatles album on the List, and I couldn't be happier. There are a lot of reasons for this. The main one is that I just fucking hate writing about the Beatles. There's nothing new, positive or negative, that can be said about the group, and whatever was said was said far better by someone much more talented and informed than I am. Then there's the cultural weight the group have - I'm glad no-one reads this blog sometimes, because I don't know how I'd cope with someone attacking me in the comments because they earnestly believe that "Savoy Truffle" is the apogee of Western Art. I'm looking forward to moving on to smaller, less weighty artists, and finally putting the Fab Four behind me.
Still, here's a good example of what I mean. Abbey Road is generally regarded as one of the greatest albums of all time. I think (IIRC) that Australians even voted it their very favourite album in a poll conducted by the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. But I'm only giving it three and a half stars, because while it's a pretty good album, it's not really super duper great. And yes I know that this was the last album the Beatles recorded as a unified group, that by many it's regarded as the perfect cap to their career and all that. But that's part of my point - the Beatles the group, and the legend, are so entwined with the Beatles' music that it can be hard to separate them, and try to be even slightly objective. I guess I'm lucky, though, in that I'm just some crank with a blog, and don't really have to be objective at all.
So with that out of the way, I'll put it bluntly - side one of this album kind of sucks. "Come Together" starts with a nifty bass line and some innovative pattering drum work, only to be sunk by Lennon's fucking awful "surreal" lyrics. Which is annoying, because I would much rather have heard the song that intro promised, instead of the self-indulgent twaddle we got. Harrison's "Something", thankfully, is a love song for the ages. It's almost good enough to carry you through the faux-Twenties children's singalong murder ballad "Maxwell's Silver Hammer". Really, what the hell was McCartney thinking? Not only is this a stupid song about a young man bashing women's heads in with a hammer, but he was convinced it was going to be a big hit and insisted on an obsessively perfectionist execution that pissed everyone in the band off. Maybe he was on to something, though, because I was taught to sing this song in primary school, and as a kid I thought it was kind of cool. What you make of a man coming to visit a class of fifth graders and teaching them to sing "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" is up to you.
After that is McCartney's "Oh! Darling", which is a pleasant but unremarkable and rather too long soul song hindered by the inclusion of a very annoying and chirpy guitar overdub. I think McCartney gives a decent vocal performance, though, very raw and powerful. Too bad the lyrics are about as deep as a cup of tea.
"Octopus's Garden" is Ringo's chance to shine on the album, and it's just not a good song. I think if they'd gone in a more experimental direction with the music, like "Yellow Submarine", it could have worked. But it's just a straight rock song about living with an octopus. Maybe it's meant to charm the child in all of us? I don't think Ringo is a terrible singer, but this is a pretty terrible song.
Side A is rescued by John Lennon, who makes up for the shittiness of "Come Together" by closing things out with the heavy, proggy "I Want You (She's So Heavy). There's not much to this song lyrically, but I really like it as a piece of music. The changes between the simple, vaguely Latin 50s rock of the verses and the pummelling arpeggios of the choruses are great fun, and it's a great, if somewhat out of leftfield, closer to side one.
So that's that, really. The problem is that there was a compromise struck between Lennon and McCartney, where the former wanted an album of standalone songs while the latter wanted to basically follow on from Sgt Pepper's. This means that side one is a grab bag of the group's pet songs, some good and most mediocre-to-bad. Thankfully side two is much better. Things open with the gorgeous Harrison number "Here Comes the Sun", which Carl Sagan wanted to send on the gold record into space (they couldn't afford the rights). Then there's the pretty "Because", which has stupid lyrics but gorgeous harmonies. And then there's the Medley.
The Medley is kind of a head scratcher. It's just a collection of bits and pieces the band had lying around, none of which were substantial enough to be proper songs, all woven together by George Martin and linked by recurring musical themes. It doesn't really make any sense at all, lyrically. But it's a great deal of fun, and there are brief moments of beauty like the Pink Floyd-esque "Sun King" and the humorous rocker "She Came In Through the Bathroom Window" that more than makeup for nonsense like "Mean Mr. Mustard" and "The End". Then there's a hidden track for no reason which I think is about Paul McCartney wanting to fuck the Queen. Fair enough, She wasn't bad looking in 1969.
So what to make of it all? Abbey Road is a mishmash of sounds and shows McCartney and Lennon to be running on empty, lyrically. If not for the George Harrison numbers I'd say it's not even worth bothering with. The uneven song writing is however made up for to a large extent by the absolutely beautiful production. This album sounds gorgeous. Every note is recorded perfectly, and the arrangements are subtle but impeccable. It's a pity the Beatles were running out of steam as songwriters, because as musicians this album represents a real highpoint in their careers. Some might complain that George Martin sanded a few too many rough edges off, but the Beatles were always a bit quirky as songwriters, and the contrast between their oddball ideas and the sheer prettiness of the production is, I think, integral to Abbey Road's success.
I wouldn't say I'm being too hard on this album, because as I said I think it's pretty good over all. The low-key, tossed-off nature of some of the songs is probably some of the point. The relatively understated Abbey Road does after all follow the towering Sgt Pepper's and the sprawling, self-indulgent White Album. I can certainly see why fans like it so much. However true it may be, it seems to show the Beatles both as individual songwriters on side one, and back together as a cohesive unit on side two. This is really what you'd call a "fan favourite" - to the uninitiated, it's kind of baffling, but to fans its something really special. And the whole idea of a loose song suite was incredibly influential - everyone from Yes to Kate Bush took note, and I have to tip my hat to the Beatles if only because I wouldn't give up side two of Hounds of Love for anything.
So, a beautifully recorded and musically influential album of strange, uneven songs. I'm not really sad to see the Beatles go (I really don't want to have to listen to Let It Be again, even if it does contain "Across the Universe"), but it's been a fun journey watching them develop from a scrappy R&B combo into what was, for a few brief years, the very best band in the world. It's hard to really know what to think of them. The Beatles were so popular that everyone aped their music, which means that we live in a cultural environment where the Beatles are the origin of most of what we listen to, which means that we effectively like the Beatles because they created everything we hear. It sort of like how everyone loves Shakespeare because everyone loved Shakespeare and copied him, and we now live in the world Shakespeare created. It's a very perplexing cultural feedback loop, and fun to think about. A lot more fun than listening to "Maxwell's Silver Hammer", anyway.
A lot of great bands sell an attitude as much as the music. I think CCR fit that mould. They have a lean, stripped-back sound, there songs are short and direct, and things are as much about the vibe as anything. A good example is "Green River", which is sort of a spiritual successor to "Born on the Bayou" - another song about the good old days in the Louisiana backwoods that sells an idea of earthiness and the "real" America. Never mind that apparently it was actually about growing up in California.
This is a better album overall than Bayou Country, although it lacks the stripped-down, fast-paced rockers that I really enjoyed from that album. The song writing is more complex both lyrically and musically. "Wrote a Song for Everyone" may be a straight rip-off of the Band's "The Weight", but its lyrics about a crumbling relationship are quite poignant. "Wrote a song for everyone, and I couldn't even talk to you" is just a great line. "Bad Moon Rising" contrasts apocalyptic lyrics with upbeat music that just makes things even creepier - should the end of the world really sound jaunty? And "Lodi" is a great song about being ground down by life on the road.
The extent to which you like the rest of this album depends on how much you like bluesy rockers. I can go either way, really. There isn't a bad song on this album, but there isn't really anything about, say, "Tombstone Shadow" to get especially excited about. Partly this is the fault of history. When Green River came out, no-one else was really doing this. But unfortunately I can't subject myself to some kind of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind-style memory erasure that allows me to experience this music with fresh eyes. Plus I guess I've just never been a huge fan of blues rock, and also half the time I can't understand a word John Fogerty says. Which all makes me sound like I don't like this album, but I'm actually quite fond of it. The good songs are really damned good. It's just kind of patchy at times. There's even a quote included in the book about CCR being one of the all time great singles bands, and I think that may be true. They released a great number of amazing songs during their brief existence. So far their albums have been good, but I think you'd be better served with a greatest hits collection. Which I'll admit is kind of a backhanded compliment. Green River is a very good album, it's just not really my cup of tea.
7. San Quentin (performed a second time at the audience's request)
8. A Boy Named Sue*
9. (There'll Be) Peace in the Valley
10. Folsom Prison Blues
***1/2
I should point out that the Book notes that At San Quentin is only available these days in an expanded format. I would have preferred to listen to that, but Spotify has the original album these days and I thought I should listen to that version because, after all, that's the way everyone heard this album until the 2000 expanded edition came out.
So anyway, there's a lot to like about this album, but it can't really compare to At Folsom. Cash sounds tired for the first half of the set, and doesn't really find his voice until "Starkville City Jail". The material is all well chose, and includes career bests like "I Walk the Line" and the hilarious and timeless "A Boy Named Sue". I didn't really need to hear "San Quentin" twice, though. It's a great song, and the audience reaction is stirring, but I kind of wish they'd included "Big River" or something instead. I guess the inclusion of the second version helps to replicate the feel of the live show, and how the audience responded to it, though.
The album is very well-recorded, and has a muscular and punchy sound that really carries these songs along. Cash may be a bit weary here, but his band are in top form. The interactions with the audience are also pretty great. Cash has an understated wit and a great way with banter. It's interesting listening to the original version of the album, because the recording is punctuated with lengthy beeps as Cash cusses his way through the proceedings.
This is a very good album, and the cachet or mystique or whatever you want to call it of being recorded live at a prison certainly enlivens things. At Folsom is definitely the one to listen to, but I can see why this was a hit. And really, this album is worth it for the performances of "San Quentin" and "A Boy Named Sue" alone. I think if I listen to it again, though, it will definitely be the uncensored, expanded version.
I don't know who was in charge of country selections for the Book, but they've done a damned good job. Of course I knew very little about country before beginning this project, but I've enjoyed every country selection so far, and this is arguably the best one we've had yet. No, that's probably At Folsom. This is a close second, though.
The core of the Flying Burrito Brothers was Gram Parsons and Chris Hillman, both of whom had split with the Byrds for a variety of reasons (Parsons' ego and Hillman's dissatisfaction with the group's direction, as best as I can tell). The Gilded Palace of Sin sees them shedding the nigh-claustrophobic arrangements that typified the Byrds and exploring a looser, more laid-back country rock sound. I've encountered criticisms of the production and recording, but I think the slightly scruffy quality of the music is a part of what makes it work so well. From a modern perspective, this album just seems natural and obvious. Its innovations have been pretty thoroughly absorbed into popular music, and you hear echoes of it everywhere from the Eagles and Townes Van Zandt to Gillian Welch and Yo La Tengo. Parsons' desire to create an amalgam of American music means that there are flashes of country, soul, psychedelia and R&B, but all folded into something new and organic that works perfectly, and manages to sound fresh and exciting without losing the connection to its deep roots. It's impressive to produce an album where the twangy draft-dodger song "My Uncle" fits in perfectly with a cover of the soul classic "Do Right Woman".
All of which wouldn't matter much if the lyrics didn't match the music. But freed from the Byrds' reliance on covers, the team here show themselves to be genuinely great and versatile songwriters. Opener "Christine's Tune" is a classic "she done him wrong" song. "Sin City" is a nigh-apocalyptic song about the perils and pitfalls of LA. "My Uncle" is a funny and clever character study of a draft-dodger who musing that "Vancouver might be my kind of town". The two "Hot Burrito" tracks show both ends of a relationship, both the yearning of wanting to be with someone and the cold reality of trying to live together once the honeymoon period is over. "Hippie Boy" is a slightly tongue-in-cheek call for togetherness across the cultural divide. A lot of ground is covered, and it's all done very well.
Still, this is at its core a country rock album, and as such some people will love it, some will dismiss it as long-hair bullshit, and others will consider it redneck crap. You only have to look at the album's dismal commercial performance, not just on release but in subsequent years. This is a cult album, really. I can definitely see why it's exerted such an influence over the years, though. Other musicians would tweak this formula with greater commercial success, but this album is really something special. I've listened to it like three times today. Maybe because before that I had to suffer through two albums of over-produced, self-important crap. There have been times doing this project when I've found myself thinking "God damn it! When will punk finally happen?". I guess, in lieu of that, The Gilded Palace of Sin will do nicely.
1. Variations on a Theme by Eric Satie (1st and 2nd Movements)
2. Smiling Phases
3. Sometimes in Winter*
4. More and More
5. And When I Die
6. God Bless the Child
7. Spinning Wheel*
8. You've Made Me So Very Happy*
9. Blues - Part II
10. Variations on a Theme by Eric Satie (1st Movement)
**1/2
I kept confusing Blood, Sweat & Tears with Earth, Wind & Fire. It's annoying, as I'd much rather have listened to the latter band.
The big problems with this album are ones that will plague a lot of the albums I'm going to have to listen to until at least the mid-70s. 1) This album is pretentious, and 2) BSAT seem to think that "more is more". The result? A patchwork of "high art" influences that mean that every song goes from a simple R&B number, to high-energy soul, before wandering into big band jazz, and then finally collapsing inelegantly back into R&B. None of these elements are well-integrated. I can't but quote from a Rolling Stone review at the time of release, which observed something to the effect of "the combination of all these elements is meant to trick you into thinking you're hearing something new, when really you're just hearing mediocre rock, then mediocre R&B, then OK jazz".
The annoying thing is that BSAT are obviously highly talented musicians, and if they'd thought a bit more about how to integrate their influences this album might have been something special. Instead they wound-up with some sort of Frankenstein with pretensions to jazz-fusion.
There is one song here I genuinely like, although even it has been jacked-up with pointless jazz nonsense. "Spinning Wheel", written by the singer, actually has a solid hook and a good rhythm, at least when David Clayton-Thomas is singing. I was surprised to find that I recognised the song. I think someone must have recorded a stripped down version at some point. I guess I also like the understated (for this album, anyway) "You Make Me So Very Happy".
Unfortunately, those songs are islands of sanity in a sea of madness. I mean, the album is bookended with flashy rearrangements of Satie's Gymnopedies. The second to last track, "Blues - Part II", is twelve minutes long, and really I thought that the opportunity to work-out their musical ideas in a looser, non-pop format might have shown BSAT in their best light. Instead, it just sort of meanders for a while, then quotes "Sunshine of Your Love" and Willie Dixon's "Spoonful" for some reason. It's not very good.
If you're one of those people who's really into technical, flashy music, you might enjoy this. If you're looking for well-crafted songs and instrumentation that serves the lyric, you'll probably be disappointed. As the write-up in the Book observes, this album is just too big for its boots.
