The Cult Love Electric

 

LOVE (1986)

ELECTRIC (1987)

 

For me, the two biggest contemporary rock albums of 1987 were U2’s The Joshua Tree and The Cult’s Electricity. The first was the monster that propelled U2 to true international stardom and the latter made big stars of The Cult in the USA, and elsewhere I suppose, big enough to sustain a long, successful career without becoming household word superstars at the level of U2.

 

I’d read about Southern Death Cult and Death Cult, the forerunners of The Cult, in the NME long before I could buy the records and they seemed to be also rans in the post punk, post New Wave, post New Romantic Gothic rock branch of popular music, destined to be cannon fodder like so many others bands of the same ilk. I had little idea what the music sounded like  except perhaps for “She Sells Sanctuary,” which was playlisted on the Saturday Shadow Show on Radio 5 (as it then was), the UK centric modern rock (before the phrase was coined) show that showcased the best of British during the mid- and late Eighties, and this tune was just a big, anthemic song yet not significantly distinguishable from the other bands in the genre  and barely registered on my radar.

 

it was only in 1987 when “Lil’ Devil” off Electricity was being punted as the lead single that The Cult totally got my attention. The song sounded like a retro hard rocking homage to, in my mind, mid -‘70s hard rock, and was a huge change from the anthemic, soaring Goth sound of the earlier Cult. I’ve always loved a certain type of simple, loud, hard rock that doesn’t take itself too seriously and “Lil’ Devil” sounded as if it was cut from the same template.

 

I was so enthusiastic about this song that I went out and bought the record (a rare thing for me at the time, as  I usually waited for record sales before I bought anything) and also, when I saw it in the record rack with Electricity, Love which was the Cult’s 1985 release that represents the swansong of their Gothic phase. As it turned out, Electricity was the sugar high, the contact high, the quick fix that quickly faded and Love became the album that grew on me as a highly satisfying, emotionally engaging, ambitious statement.  

 

Electric is obviously fashioned as a throwback kind of hard rock album, with a contemporary sensibility somewhat at odds with the musical climate in the UK at the time, and aimed straight at  the mass market of Middle America where this kind of rock never went out of style as if the various fashions in rock between 1976 and 1987 never happened, and from this perspective it’s highly enjoyable. On the other hand, the production values are so high and the vocals recorded so clearly that the lyrics have greater prominence than they might otherwise have, and, to be frank, for the most part they’re quite risible and sound like stream of consciousness shit Ian Astbury made up on the spot. Maybe the words are meant to be enigmatically poetic, Dylan like mysteriousness even, but to me it just sound naff, at best, and stupid at worst. Hard rock and metal lyricists are prone to writing banal, pretentious and plain dumb lyrics and that‘s okay if the vocals are  lost in the wall of sound, but here there’s no escaping and the lyrics quickly grate on the nerves. The relentless riffing, often with no sense of dynamic tension, also becomes old too quickly. So, if Electric is, well, a bolt of electricity to start with, it doesn’t have legs.

 

Love, on the other hand, with its wall of sound guitars, soaring vocals and words that aren’t so crystal clear, bears repeated listening and remains enjoyable throughout. Every tune reverberates and resonates with energy, tunefulness and high ambition for glorious emotional impact.

 

The bottom line is that Love is worth repeated listening and Electric is nice every now and then, but not nearly as compelling as its predecessor. Hearing Electric convinced me to buy Love but not to buy any of the following albums. I heard the lead tracks on the radio and they sounded of a piece with the best of Electrictherefore more of the same for which I didn’t care that much in the first place.

 

Ian Astbury and Billy Duffy  have had good careers in hard rock, and Astbury even stood in for the late Jim Morrison in Doors “reunion” shows, so I guess Electric did what it was intended to do, and more power to Astbury and Duffy for the ambition and the ability to achieve their aims but The Cult, post-Electric, is the epitome of a band that found a template for success, big success as that, and then continued relentlessly in that vein, with ever diminishing returns for a punter like me and nothing to persuade me to collect their records. 

 

 

 

A Decade of Steely Dan

“Babylon Sisters” (Gaucho, 1980) is probably my favourite Steely Dan song, with “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number,” “FM” and “Reeling In the Years” close behind, and I suppose part of the reason is that I listened to “Babylon Sisters” a lot at one time, having taped it from the Hobnail Takkie Show on Radio Good Hope, as it then was, in 1980. At this time, not knowing much else about Steely Dan, I thought of them as a tuneful, jazz influenced pop band specialising in sophisticated, literate lyrics  and in general they, and this type of music, were not my cup of tea. I preferred loud, fast  and not smooth, sophisticated and intellectual song writing craftmanship. repeated listening to this one, very catchy tune, converted me.

 

I’d vaguely recalled “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” (Pretzel Logic, 1974), which had been a small hit in South Africa as a soul pop tune, in the vein of J Geils Band’s “Must of Got Lost,” released in the same year, and thought that “Babylon Sisters” represented a progressive move to a higher degree of musical sophistication and, as I’ve mentioned, the influence of pop overlap with jazz funk, a style that was quite popular in late ‘70s pop and that I mostly loathed.

 

I was never motivated to buy any Steely Dan records because loving one song was one thing, listening to an entire album of the same kind of thing might’ve tested may patience.  However, around 1993 or 1994 I found a discount price copy of A Decade of Steely Dan and bought it, mostly because of “Babylon Sisters” and “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number,” on the premise that collection of hits would be the only Steely Dan record I’d ever want, or need, to own.

 

Over the course of the next year or two, and repeated listening, I came to know the other tracks well and came to love them too. A Decade of Steely Dan was a regular on the CD player, especially when I wanted to have quieter, more ruminative background soundtrack to my day. Having said that, it was not as if I played the album every day.

 

In mid-1995 I moved in with Karen Gagiano, who had only a small CD collection of her own, whereas I already owned a couple of hundred albums.

 

One of the things in respect of which I’m indebted to Karen, was the introduction of Tom Waits to my musical world, and specifically The Heart of Saturday Night and Raindogs, with she’d become acquainted through Daryl van Blerk her lover and father of her child, which I helped rear for about the first 18 months of his life. I’d known of Waits, from the NME and because Sean Rosenberg had a double album anthology of Waits’ early music and  Sean, being a jazz afficianado too, punted Tom Waits to me. However, it was only because of Karen’s enthusiastic proselytising that I bought the two aforementioned albums and became smitten.

 

I don’t recall whether I owned any of the Waits albums when I moved in with Karen, but I did own A Decade of Steely Dan and, also, Maria McKee’s You Gotta Sin to be Saved.

 

For the period of six months that we shared a house, Karen played these two albums virtually every day, not necessarily always both on the same day, though it seemed like it, but at least one of the other. I got to know A Decade of Steely Dan far better than I’d ever wanted to. 

 

It was like listening to Top 40 radio in the ‘70s. By virtue of listening to the same pop songs too many times over the period of a day, I starting loathing many of them and it took years, decades even, before some were rehabilitated to the extent where I now enjoy them. The same thing happened to A Decade of Steely Dan. it went from being a favourite album, when sparingly applied, to a record I couldn’t bear to listen to.

 

I suppose a part of it had to do with the unhappy relationship with Karen and that my unhappiness in the situation was reflected in, and amplified by, the daily dose of Steely Dan, like a continuous musical torture, so to speak.

 

It was so bad that I couldn’t bear to listen to the album at all for at least ten years afterward (it was a very pointed reminder of a very unhappy and disastrous period of my life) and even when I dipped into it again, it was  only very occasionally,  until 2021, when I downloaded the album from Apple Music because, for some unexplained reason, I suddenly wanted to hear “Babylon Sisters” again.

 

A Decade of Steely Dan has been rehabilitated for me. Once again, I enjoy listening a superb collection of superior pop rock tunes with thoughtful lyrics and a good beat.  The slinky-funk style of “FM,” “Hey Nineteen,” "Peg" and “Deacon Blues” are almost the best Dan tunes and the more “rock’ oriented stuff seems stodgy  in comparison.

 

I will still probably never own an entire Steely Dan studio album. A Decade of Steely Dan is still extremely satisfying and I’m quite happy, though it took the better part of 26 years, that I can listen to it, and think of 1995 in historical terms without being mired in depression about bad choices and stupid decisions, and without any taint to the music anymore.  

 

 

Eric Clapton goes solo as Eric Clapton

 ERIC CLAPTON                                          ERIC CLAPTON (1970)

 

When Eric Clapton left Cream he abandoned his psychedelically painted Gibson SG guitar and probably his employment of the Les Paul  or any other Gibson instrument.  From here on he played a Fender, early on a Telecaster but thereafter mostly a Stratocaster. His style of playing changed, from hard tock bluster to a more melodic, bluesy and country style, and the sound changed from the over driven hard rock roar of the humbucking Gibson to the thinner, sharper and more piercing attack of the single coil pickup Fender guitars. 

 

There was  a transitional period with Blind Faith  where some of the material sounded like a further refinement of the Cream style and with Derek and the Dominos he excised the Cream links and played as pure a modern blues style as one could hope to hear, and he played powerfully.

 

According to the history, Clapton was influenced by The Band and Delaney & Bonnie to move to a simpler, song based musical style and away from virtuosity for its own sake.

 

Eric Clapton, his solo debut, reflects this new approach in songs and playing. The songs are more poppy, countrified and quite low key as is the playing, generally. Even his voice is more unassuming and lacking in confidence. 

 

The cover photograph is not inspiring either, as it shows an apologetic looking Clapton, in a bad leisure suit, slumping in a chair, with a Stratocaster balanced against his leg.  If ever I saw an album cover that would put me off buying the record, it’s this one.

 

The overall impression is that album lacks the power, passion and ambition of the Cream years and is the obvious harbinger of the type of commercially successful material and sound that made Clapton a pop star in the Seventies.  The upside is that Clapton became a much more dedicated and powerful blues player, alongside his pop tunes, than he was in the ultimately suffocating power trio. The downside was, when Cream reunited to play a  bunch of concerts in 2005 and early 2006, Clapton still played the Strat, played the same relaxed, bluesy way and made Cream sound like a technically accomplished but uninspired Cream cover band.

 

“After Midnight” is good, bouncy fun and deservedly a hit. ”Blues Power” isn’t very powerful in its studio version and usually done better live. “Let it Rain” is a future Clapton classic that also grew in live performances.

 

For the rest, the songs are workmanlike and the performances competent. It’s a well-crafted introduction to the new direction Clapton would make his own over the next decade but it’s not a classic album and I wouldn’t  include it in a top ten list of the best Clapton albums. It’s one of those records I’d listen to once, for the record, and then file, never to be heard again.

Desmond and the Tutus return after a hiatus. Why?

 DESMOND AND THE TUTUS                              DESMOND (2020)

 

Apparently this release is the band’s first record after a long hiatus. It seems that the influence of Beatenberg, Al Bairre and Short Straw, and various similar lightweight, twee pop bands that achieved some fame in the decade between 2010 and 2020, has been more pervasive than I would’ve thought. 

 

Way back I watched a series of YouTube videos of bands performing at Rocking the Daisies, probably circa 2013,  and was fascinated by the enthusiasm of the musicians, bouncing up and down on stage with vibed up energy, yet making music that was  lacking in power, tunes and variety. The songs and the vocals tended to be so samey one could be listening to the same song over and over and the same band over and over. it bobbled my mind why anyone would want to make that kind of music or, even more worrisome, why anyone would want to listen to that shit.  It’s okay in the live environment, when everyone’s high and/or drunk and full of happy daze but imagine playing the songs in your living room or on your music player at gym.

 

Presumably, the musicians make this kind of music not simply because they have a burning desire to make twee pop but because there is a perceived commercial demand for this product and I may be out of the loop here but, damn, this stuff just doesn’t engage my attention.

 

The positives are that the production values are high, the tunes are well crafted, there are hooks and ingenious arrangements, high energy and the musicians can play. here’s lots of funkiness and African-style guitar references that make the songs quite fun on a case by case basis.

 

The negatives are the anodyne tweeness and ultimate blandness of the product. The vocalist’s whiny voice also irritates. 

 

I also wonder why people write the kind of lyrics that seem rooted in teenage angst, long after the lyricist has passed 30 and has reached, presumably, some kind of maturity.

 

The blurb refers to Desmond and the Tutus as “indie darlings” and this might well be the case but for me the make shallow, forgettable music that has no impact beyond a low level sugar rush, and once the last note of the last song fades, so does the album.  I’m reminded of Cape Town band  Amersham, who released many albums from the mid to late Nineties, all of them journeyman-like worthy but as forgettable.  The effort is worthy but ultimately pointless.

Metrobolist: David Bowie still rocks 50 years later

METROBOLIST (THE MAN WHO SOLD THE WORLD 2020 remix) (1970)

 

I don’t subscribe to the notion of the unfathomable, ever mutating genius of Bowie. I only like the Seventies rock albums, from The Man Who Sold the Word to Diamond Dogs (1974), and Low and “Heroes” (both released in 1977). Anything other than these leave me cold.

 

In the late Seventies, 1978 or 1979, NME published a version of Bowie: The Illustrated Record, which covered his career probably up to Heroes and it was illuminating to read of the earlier albums, before Aladdin Sane (1973),  such as Hunky Dory (1971) and The Man Who Sold the World,  so much so that I bought the latter album, before even listening to it, in Port Elizabeth in late 1979 when I visited family friends there and saw the record, not with the original “Bowie in a dress” sleeve though, in a record store. The argument that persuaded me was the description of the music as doomy heavy rock, with “The Width of a Circle” apparently featuring riffing that almost outdid Led Zeppelin.

 

I must confess, when I bought TMWSTW, that I’d not listened to any of the Bowie albums I mentioned above but was familiar only with the Bowie singles that received airplay on local radio stations and TMWSTW  was my first exposure to full Bowie. 

 

At the time I was baffled by songs with lyrics I thought of as rather immature, puerile and simplistic even if the riffing was indeed quite heavy for the most part. The authors of The Illustrated Record raved about Bowie’s skills as lyricist and this album didn’t seem to be much more than bog standard rock song writing, the kind of thing one would expect from most heavy bands of the era.  I think the apt, derogatory expression is “Sixth form poetry.”  However, I still liked the album at the time but once I’d immersed myself into Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, Aladdin Sane and Diamond Dogs, I concluded that TMWSTW was no more than an ambitious work by an aspirant rock star who was still  a bit clueless.

 

This remixed version of the album sounds impressively heavy, with the prominent bass being given even more bottom  and fits right in with so much of its peer group from that time, to the extent,  judged on its own merits, one would never have thought that this David Bowie would achieve any more fame than, say, Leaf Hound.  

 

I’d always thought that “Black Country Rock” was the odd track our,  too simplistic and silly even for a collection of simplistic, sometimes pretentious, rock but now, I hear Bowie either mocking or honouring Mark Bolan on the outro to the track, and perhaps that was the point.  The track is not written by Bowie, has really stupid lyrics and could almost be a heavy metal parody song.

 

“The Width of a Circle” and “She Shook Me Cold” are the textbook heavy tracks but the title track and “The Supermen”  are by far the best things on the album, with the best music and atmosphere of all the tracks. The lyrics still aren’t impressive and smack too much of teenage would-be poet trying too hard. The power is in the music, as in the rest of the album, and one can gloss over the imperfections if you don’t pay close attention to the singing and just enjoy the heaviness of the performances.

 

I don’t blame David Bowie for his ever evolving and changing musical styles; that’s his prerogative as creative soul. On the other hand, I like what I like and disliked his foray in to blue eyed soul/disco with Young Americans (1975) and Station to Station (1975) and the continuation of that strain, Low and “Heroes”excepted.  Let’s Dance (1983) baffled me as much as, in a way, TMWSTW did, as the huge hit of a title track had, to my mind, particularly stupid and unimaginative lyrics and the music didn’t move me either. My initial dislike of the post Ziggy music could’ve been ascribed to my youth and immaturity at the time but when I listened to the albums roughly 30 years later my original opinions were re-affirmed.  How on earth any of this stuff could be classified under genius is still beyond my ken.  Yes, it seems that Bowie kept evolving, never rested on his laurels, but, like Neil Young’s similar restless creativity, hot all change was good and not all inventiveness was interesting and captivating.   

 

Bowie was perhaps contractually forced to continue releasing new music, and had the nous, time and money to experiment (Tin Machine comes to mind as flawed result) so that arrangements and  sonic tonality were the instruments to make nis music sound contemporary, and even ahead of the curve, but most of it is just running on empty to me.  The albums Bowie released over the last 30 years of his life just blurred into one another as non-essential, anodyne product with high production values.

 

I guess I will stick to and keep on listening to my core Bowie collection of albums up to roughly 1974, with those two exceptions from 1977, and enjoy them as visceral rock and roll to the max, with some intellibenet, quirky lyrics to make things interesting, and ignore the rest of the oeuvre as if it didn’t happen.

 

This latest version of The Man Who Sold the World  reminded me of why I love this type of artless early ‘70s hard rock in general, and why I love Bowie’s take on rock in particular. 

 

 

 

 

A partial reconsideration of Uriah Heep

 

I’ve always thought of Uriah Heep as the poor man’s Deep Purple, mostly because of the very similar line up with prominent electronic organ, but with inferior songwriting.

 

A  schoolmate of mine owned The Best of Uriah Heep Pith the stark black cover and played it to me a few times to impress me, I guess.  He did better when he introduced me to Nazareth’s No Mean City. To me, Uriah Heep was ponderous pretentiousness to the max. I was into hard, loud and fast at the time and Heep wasn’t fast and definitely not hard enough.

 

Very ‘Eavy, Very ‘Umble (1970) opens with the ponderous and, to me, pretentiously poetic “Gypsy,”  which sets out the stall of a semi-progressive heavy band that wants to elevate its hard rock to something that will achieve artistic acclaim, or at least enthral lonely teenagers who obsessively read deeper meanings into rock lyrics and want to feel as if they’re part of a music that’s more ambitious than being merely good time rock and roll. 

 

The rockers rock quite nicely but Uriah Heep always feel like a Second Division heavy band whose records should turn up on YouTube as obscurities and rarities dubbed from vinyl that only a few hundred people bought when the LPs were first released.

 

I’ve never listened to this album before, hell, I’ve never listened to any Uriah Heep albums except for The Best of Uriah Heep album owned by a Heep-loving schoolmate back in my high school years, and Very ‘Eavy, Very ‘Umble doesn’t fill me with the deep regret that I missed out on something special when I was a teenager. This is dire, dreary hard rock.

 

The first impression of second album, Salisbury (1971), is that the production values have vastly improved since the debut album.  The music is still heavy rock laced with prog elements and the lyrics still tend towards the risible.  “Lady in Black” is a good example of pretentious poetics set to a rollicking folk beat, and, sadly, quite catchy too.  “Salisbury” Is 16 minutes of rock meets symphonic orchestra (possibly inspired by Deep Purple’s Concerto for Orchestra and Group) and you can‘t beat it for grandiose bombast. It’s the best thing on the record, except for the customary dumb lyrics that spoil what would otherwise have been a grand, over the top, instrumental delight. 

 

“Look at Yourself” from Look at Yourself (1971) and “Easy LIvin’” from Demons and Wizards (1972) are two short, sharp, muscular rockers that have always been my favourite Heep tracks, mostly because they hit, git and split in simple, direct fashion and do not dwell on the pseudo philosophy and pretentious poetry of so much else the band did.

 

 “Look at Yourself” also has “meaningful” lyrics of deep philosophical importance but the hard rocking music (very much prime Deep Purple-esque, referencing pounding rockers like “Highway Star”) mitigates the pedantic life lesson.

 

“July Morning” a 10-minute epic from Look at Yourself, though, is from the same artistically delusional and ambitious template as “Gypsy” and “Lady in Black,”  and my mate used to  point to it as the validation for his deep and abiding love for the band.   Musically, it echoes Deep Purple again, this time “Child in Time,” and though the lyrics are just simple musings on the search for significant love, the music ain’t half bad and. much like “Salisbury,” the song would be highly impressive as a purely   instrumental track. 

 

Look at Yourself is quite enjoyable (weak lyrics apart) as a worthy, journeyman’s hard rock record, especially if you like electronic organ heavy rock with a singer who can shriek in tune when required.

 

Demons and Wizards (1972) features tracks called “The Wizard” and “Rainbow Demon,” not to mention “The Spell” and magic and myths seem to be the high concepts  here. “Easy Livin” is the most uncomplicated rocker and the rest are brooding, mid paced stompers leaning towards the prog rock aspirations of the band. Drummer Lee Kerslake and bassist Gary Thain have joined and the band sounds more powerful for it, and somehow more proficient too.  Obviously, Heep are still a heavy band yet this album levels out the heavy and amps up the tunes.

 

Uriah Heep persists with the occult on The Magician’s Birthday (1872), well, on the title track anyway, as well as the smoother rock of its predecessor with accomplished, but not inspired, song writing and more introspection than before. The title track is another elaborate 10 minute piece of pseudo-mythic storytelling divided into different “acts” of a mini rock opera. It’s nowhere near as interesting and engaging as “Salisbury” or “July Morning,” though. 

 

I’d intended to listen to all of the Seventies albums, even if only on cursory level, until I got to whatever album features “Free Me,” a rather uncharacteristically pop (I thought) radio hit for Uriah Heep in South Africa, but after finishing The Magician’s Birthday I lost the motivation. I realised that, if I didn’t like Heep much when I was a teenager, the passing of time brought no change. My musical tastes have, uh, matured, and certainly changed considerably over the last 50 years but the heavy, posturing bombast of Heep still has not gained in appeal and it’s not  even heavy enough for me. I don’t care for Jethro Tull and bands of that ilk, and I dislike prog rock, and, if push comes to shove, I don’t have much appreciation for Black Sabbath either.

 

In 1977 the UK punks used the term “boring old farts” and the hip music press used “dinosaurs,” when referring to the heavy and prog bands that held sway in die late Sixties and the pre-punk Seventies, and for me Uriah Heep fits the bill precisely with its ponderous, “serious” music and “meaningful” lyrics that now sound silly, and didn’t even impress me at the time. It’s almost comical, like a bunch of brickies’ ineptly executed concept of high art. Punk should’ve killed Uriah Heep stone dead but the band survived, and is surviving to this day, apparently featuring only Mick Box as the last link with the original version of the band. This longevity is not due to the artistic importance  of the band, which will always just be judged as  a Second Division band, but to the tenacity of someone like Mick Box whose career and life investment this band has been. It also again proves the point that so-called classic rock has survived because of hard work and the unfathomable devotion of a fan base that may no longer buy as many records but still support the gigs of their old favourites.

 

So, this is no definitive overview  and assessment of Heap’s oeuvre. I can’t bear to suffer this much for my art. They were moderately successful, have a bit of a “name,” yet will never move me.  I can hardly believe anyone would place their albums on a list of the 500 top rock albums of all time, much less a list of the best albums of all time period.

The van der Mentals release their debut album.

 THE VAN DER MENTALS                                    CITY MONSTER (2020)

 

At the moment this album, the Van der Mentals’ debut, is available only on Bandcamp but a CD release is promised too.

 

Rob Nagel is the only name I recognise on the band roster and I’d guess this is his side hustle when he’s not gigging with the Blues Broers. Simon Orange, also from the Blues Broers, plays keyboards. I’ve no clue who the other guys in the band are.

 

According to the blurb this recording is kind of home-made and, of course, independent of any record label.

 

The music is laid back, tuneful, bluesy (with a hint of country) rock and the two immediate impressions are (a) that production values are high and the musicianship excellent; and (b) that the vocals are the weakest link and kind of let down the side. The songs are well written, and quite literate, but three (or two?) vocalists have distressingly colourless voices that may be able to carry a tune, but lack character and impact. They sound too damn polite and cautious. For this reason the tracks sound like demos, albeit well-produced demos, with guide vocals.

 

A couple of tracks have sassy blues riffs, reminiscent of Hubert Sumlin with Howlin’ Wolf (both “There’s No Change” and “Bad Day” sound like “Smokestack Lightnin” re-imagined), but the basic mode is grooving, mid-tempo rock and roll, with tasteful guitar solos, with blues harp here and some jumping, raucous saxophone there. 

 

Two of the songs perpetuate the misogynistic, trad blues view of women, a rather glaring failure in the “me too” era. Never mind stealing a Madonna song title, “Material Girl” is a well-worn trope that offers no new insights and “If I’d Have Shot Her When I Should” repeats a tired joke that wasn’t funny in the first place. I know that traditional blues lyrics treat women as low down and bad, or objectify their sexuality, but this doesn’t mean that modern bluesmen should repeat that error. Not many relationships are perfect, and it’s usually both sides that are at fault, and there must be enough material there that can be used to sing the blues without automatically blaming the woman.

 

Musically, though, “Material Girl” is a groovy little number with driving bass, rasping sax and some lovely slide guitar.

 

The other songs are, as I’ve said, well-written and it’s apparent that thought and care have gone into the lyrics. “Don’t Tune Me ‘Huh’ ” (I’m guessing it’s a Rob Nagel composition) perpetuates another wretched South African stereotype but it’s funny. “Sing in the Rain”  is the lovelorn ballad and “I Don’t Want Your Body” is the sly country shot, or would be if the singer had a twang.

 

The album is a worthy effort and the guys must be commended for putting it out, but I can’t say it’s a record I’ll be listening to more than once, mostly because of the uninspiring vocals. I’d suggest that the band gets a vocalist with a more powerful, interesting voice to elevate the tunes.  I suppose it doesn’t matter much in a sweaty, smoke-filled barroom where the PA is so bad that the vocals are distorted and the musicians can carry the load but in the cold light of day, listening to these tracks on superior headphones, the abject vocals are extremely disappointing when contrasted with the confident, vigorous music underneath.

Van Halen reconsidered

 

Edward Lodewijk Van Halen (January 26, 1955 – October 6, 2020)

 

Accolades, plaudits and praises are being heaped on the late Eddie  van Halen, founder guitarist of Van Halen, with his brother Alex on drums, vocalist David Lee Roth and bassist Michael Anthony.  Over the years the brothers were the core members and both Roth and Anthony were eventually replaced.  The Van Halen career can be divided into the David Lee Roth period and the Sammy Hagar period, much as the career of AC/DC can be separated into the Bon Scott years and the Brian Robertson years.  in the same way I prefer Bon Scott with AC/DC, I prefer the Roth version of Van Halen, for much the same reason: they brought an insouciance to the vocals that their successors flacked, regardless of how successful the respective bands still were.

 

Anyhow, the claim is that Eddie van Halen is one of those guys, like Hendrix, who changed the sound of rock guitar, especially hard rock guitar, forever and was not only technically brilliant and an innovator but also played with immense emotion, mostly happiness and inspired countless young guitarists and apparently caused unease in older guitarists.

 

As I understand the story, Van Halen was one of those bands that struggled to achieve success, with a debut album, Van Halen (1978),  that eventually sold millions, on the back of a cover of “You Really Got Me,” and became a truly influential record, not only for Eddie personally but for the new hard rock sound pioneered by the young upstarts in the hey days of punk and in the wake of the first generation of heavy bands that were morphing into dinosaurs.  Van Halen kicked open the door and let fresh air into the increasingly stodgy metal and hard rock scene.

 

The hard rock jocks of Radio 5 played some Van Halen tracks and “Jump” from 1984 became a big radio hit in South Africa too, but they hardly released top 40 radio fodder  and one had to buy the records to get the whole kahuna. I never did buy them.

 

If I were to make a list of my top hard and heavy rock bands of the period preceding Van Halen’s ascendancy (i.e. before the  release of Van Halen), the list would include, in no particular order, Led Zeppelin, early Kiss, Aerosmith, Blue Oyster Cult and the trio version of Grand Funk Railroad.  Of course, all of them were essentially guitar based and the guitarists were technically proficient  but none of them traded on the kind of overweening virtuosity that seemed to be the trademark of Eddie van Halen and so many “shredders” that followed. Like the punks, I eventually grew tired of lengthy, facile guitar solos and could dig where the insult “guitar wank” came from.  Soloing, even  at length, isn’t the difficult part. The challenge is to play solos that engage the audience and are viscerally thrilling beyond mere expertise and speed.  Eric Clapton with Cream, Jimmy Page, Donald Roeser, and Joe Perry and Brad Whitford of Aerosmith are some of my favourite guitarists because their guitar playing, solos specifically, cause a gut reaction that I don’t just appreciate for the technical mastery, as I kind of do in the case of  Eddie van Halen.

 

On listening to Van Halen again for the first time in many years, I’m reminded why I didn’t buy it or have much interest in it back in 1978.  It doesn’t sound particularly innovative, even “Eruption,” (just evidence of hours of practice) and the rhythm section Is far too stolid for my taste. There’s no doubting Eddie van Halen’s virtuosity but it doesn’t seem extraordinarily better than, or different to, any of his peers. The songs aren’t more than serviceable.  For me, the restrained, acoustic opening to the rocked up blues, “Ice Cream Man,” makes it the best tune on the record.

 

I guess, the band made its reputation and built an audience by touring and its stage presentation, with Roth’s classic front man exhibitionism and Eddie van Halen’s guitar solos. 

 

The debut was commercially successful but Van Halen II (1979) was less so. Here “You’re No Good” is the cover possibly intended to ensure the same interest as “You Really Got Me” engendered on its predecessor but it’s only a solid, stolid hard rock version of a tune much better served by, for example, Linda Ronstadt.

 

“Spanish Fly” is the acoustic guitar finger exercise counterpart to “Eruption” and the rest of the tracks are proficiently played hard rock tunes with nothing of interest that would make one want listen to the record more than once. 

 

My interest in Van Halen was really piqued by the third album, Women and Children First (1980), or at least the opening track “And the Cradle Will Rock” as well as the rollicking “Take Your Whiskey Home” and the jazzy “Could this Be Magic?”  Most of the tracks conform to the hard rock template of the first two albums but third time around, it seems that Van Halen finally found a more creative spark that inserted telling, intriguing, often acoustic guitar, details in the tracks to elevate them from the stolidness the band suffered from before. This is where Van Halen really found their mojo; this album is all killer, no filler.

 

I’m more ambivalent about Fair Warning (1981) which starts off  with material in a similar style to the first two albums, and therefore a relative disappointment after Women and Children First but is then redeemed by the edgy synthesiser swirls of the last two tracks “Sunday Afternoon in the Park” segueing into “One Foot Out the Door.” The previous tracks are just standard hard rock, but the album finale is almost alone worth the price of entry and a heart-warming indication of a change in direction away from stodgy hard rock.

 

Diver Down (1982) has so many cover versions one could think that the band found it difficult to write  new material. There’s another Ray Davies tune (“Where Have All the Good Times Gone?”), a sizzling version of Roy Orbison’s (Oh) Pretty Woman,” a terrible version of “Dancing in the Street” and acoustic and fun takes on “Big Bad Bill (is Sweet William Now)” and “Happy Trails” on either side of a great original “The Full Bug.”

 

On this album Van Halen fully embraces synths and quirky elements to embellish and enhance, and somewhat lighten, the trad hard rock of earlier albums, and it’s better for it.

 

For me, the pinnacle of early Van Halen, is represented by 1984 (1984), also the swam song of David Lee Roth, who went off pursue  a solo career after its release. The opening tracks “1984,” “Jump” (a big pop hit), “Panama” (another big hit) and “Top Jimmy” are as good as it gets, with good tunes, solid riffs and pop smarts that elevate the hard rock underpinning, and the rest of the album, though not nearly as strong, is pretty good and evidences the same innovation and freshness.

 

Between 1980 and 1984 Van Halen progressively upped their game and went from being a common or garden hard rock band, albeit with a genius guitarist and sassy vocalist, to a genuinely exciting, inventive, entertaining rock band. 

 

Sammy Hagar is introduced as the new vocalist on 5150 (1986.) Hagar was the lead vocalist for Montrose and also followed a solo career  before joining Van Halen, with albums like Standing Hampton (1981) and Three Lock Box (1982), and his music was of the hard rock type where I admire the sound rather than love it, and only “Heavy Metal” from Standing Hampton is the kind of visceral rocker I rate highly. The rest is just workmanlike, crafted unimaginative rock played by studio professionals. To me, Hagar is a journeyman vocalist and songwriter whose success is due to hard work rather than major talent.

 

“Why Can’t This Be Love?”   “Dreams”  and “Love Walks In” fit the template of so many ‘80s rock ballads and the rockers feature intricate guitar riffs and fills, and the arrangements are intricate, but the feeling is that the band has reverted to the stolidness, and lacklustre song writing,  of the first two records and Hagar’s voice is a powerful but inflexible and unsubtle instrument and the overall effect is of listening to a Hagar solo album, rather than  a Van Halen album, as typified by their best work in the 1980 – 1984 period. It’s noteworthy, at 43 minutes, that it’s the longest Van Halen album to date too and the extra minutes don’t offer extra quality.

 

On OU812 (1988) Van Halen embraces that recognisable highly polished late ‘80s production style that was deemed  necessary for commercial success, and might have succeeded with the goal, but diminished the power of so many rock bands by smoothing out the exciting sharp edges and rawness and reducing previously  thrilling hard rock to pablum.  It’s  no wonder that the raw edginess of Guns ‘N Roses, whose debut would be released in 1989, spoke  so much more powerfully to a younger generation of hard rock fans, but for the time being bands like Def Leppard and Aerosmith reaped the commercial benefits of being groomed into radio friendly acts.

 

The best one can say for OU812 is that it’s well produced, sounds great (if you like that style of music) and that the songs are well arranged and proficiently played but it I’ve ever heard AOR hard rock, this is it.  it’s even longer than 5150 and no better for it.

 

Curiously, a cover of Lowell George’s “A Apolitical Blues” is a bonus track on the CD and streaming versions of the album. it’s arguably the best song on the album.

 

Full Unlawful Carnal Knowledge (1991) is a knowing, childish smirk of an album title and opening track “Poundcake” is in that same juvenile, hard rock macho cliché vein. Hard rock is not particularly mature, or aimed at mature males, but if you realise that this album, and this kind of lyrical japes, competed with Metallica and Use Your Illusion I and II, it does seem like an unfortunate misjudgement.

 

The major plus of this record is that the unfortunate ‘80s production has been relegated to the dust bin of history and the new sound is beefy, solid, powerful and, though still polished, has some serious heft. All the strengths of Van Halen are present and correct, but songs are never more than functional, with instrumental arrangements designed to impress and deflect attention from the weak lyrics and lack of tunes.

 

Sammy Hagar left the band after recording, and presumably touring, Balance (1995.) Once again the production emphasises the brute instrumental strength of the band and Eddie van Halen’s virtuosity. As with Full Unlawful Carnal Knowledge, the songs tend to open with intricate, strong and energetic riffs that are generally more interesting and far better than the songs they introduce.

 

“Big Fat Money” (influenced by “Too Much Monkey Business”) is a nice loud, fast track for a change and not the type of enervating mid-paced stomp the band usually plays. “Not Enough” is an endearing, big, piano driven ballad (the synths seemed to have disappeared from the Van Halen colour palate), “Doin’ Time” is an Alex van Halen drumming masterclass, and the other tracks are the usual mix of acoustic guitar on slower tunes and  intricate hard rock riffs on the tougher tracks.  Nothing very distinguished here and perhaps these are the signs that the band is slowly grinding to a halt.

 

Hagar was replaced by Gary Cherone (ex Extreme) for one album, Van Halen III (1998), the last studio release for the next 14 years. Surprisingly, the album opens with a ruminative  keyboard and acoustic guitar instrumental before the normal  hard rock service resumes. Kind of. Not only is there yet another different voice, the musical style is also less bombastic  and less mega-riff driven than on previous records with a greater range of guitar sounds and textures and what was described as a prog rock approach.  Perhaps, it’s just Van Halen’s Led Zeppelin III.

 

“Fire in the Hole” is probably the most recognisably “Van Halen-esque” rocker on the album and it might shine brighter for being so alone as standard bearer for the old days.

 

If I were a die-hard Van Halen fan, from the first album onward, I would probably have been utterly baffled by the “progressive” music here, which might’ve satisfied the inner creative artist in the band members, who relished an opportunity to break away from a stereotype but I can’t see how a hard rock audience would’ve embraced the band going so far out on a limb. The thing is, though the songs are well crafted and the arrangements stellar, they carry little emotional weight and fail to engage the listener deeply and this, for me, is why the record fails.

 

At 65 minutes, Van Halen III is by far the longest of the studio albums.

 

I didn’t bother listening to the 2012 “comeback album.”  For me, the albums from Van Halen to Van Halen IIIrepresent the canon even if it’s perhaps unfortunate that the band went out on a downer.

 

I never much cared for Van Halen, from first to last, and binge listening to the albums hasn’t made me change my mind. Women and Children First is still the best, most worthwhile, album and perhaps one can fillet the others to make a decent compilation but even so, the heavy, almost ponderous style of Van Halen’s take on hard rock doesn’t move me, and I don’t care if Eddie van Halen changed rock guitar for ever. Musicians and fans might love his technical ability and ingenuity but his style of virtuoso guitar playing, the so-called “shredding” style that seems to emphasise technique and knowledge of weird chords over emotional, groove playing,  is a style I’ve never much liked and have grown to abhor the older I get.

 

Van Halen must’ve been great fun on stage where loudness and bombast  are fundamental elements of the heavy metal show, combined with guitar wizardry, but the  studio albums don’t bear close scrutiny, beyond the craft of record making. The songs are ordinary, and the arrangements and intricate instrumental interplay bear the entire weight. Van Halen reached enormous commercial success without ever penning a classic heavy song that’s become  a standard, a tune with legs.  

 

 

 

 

 

The Rolling Stones in the Sixties

 THE ROLLING STONES IN THE SIXTIES

 

The Rolling Stones came from London and were bluesmen compared to the Beatles Liverpool beat group origins and were hyped as the hairier, more offensive competitors to the clean cut Beatles who became the public’s darlings where the Stones became the bane of the public, ostensibly anyway. If one listens to the records, the Stones were as much interested in commercial pop success as the Beatles and if Jagger / Richard started off in the shadow of Lennon / McCartney as a songwriter partnership,  they soon came up to speed and, arguably, soon wrote songs that were as good as any from the Beatles’ stable ad, in my view, in many cases, better.

 

At the start of his career, Mick Jagger had difficulty comprehending that he, or the other guys, could still be in the pop music industry after turning thirty and yet, almost 50 years later, the Stones, dropping a few members along the way, are still regarded as the greatest rock and roll band in the world.

 

The records I discuss here are only the UK releases.

 

THE ROLLING STONES (1964)

 

The young, fresh, wide eyed Rolling Stones performing a mix of blues, current R & B hits and three original compositions, two of them credited to the group and one, the quite awesome “Tell Me,” to Jagger  / Richards. One imagines that this studio set is also pretty much the live set of the time and on this evidence the Stones weren’t that different in approach and repertoire to their peers. The album followed some singles, not collected on the record, and was a chart topper but it hardly  gives us any clue that the band would become as massive as they did, even if one can point to the presence of Jagger and Richards. Brian Jones is fully integrated into the sound, as befits the erstwhile leader of the band, and Charlies Watts drums magisterially and Bill Wyman holds down his end with authority, yet the set list and thin sound aren’t particularly impressive.  

 

It’s an enjoyable album with spirited performances but one can’t say much more about it than that.

 

I’d bet that the singles (the best ones were “Come On,” I Wanna Be Your Man,” Not Fade Away,” “It’s All Over Now,” “Time Is On My Side,” “Little Red Rooster” and “Heart of Stone”), aimed at commercial success are the true reflection of the power of the Stones even this early in their career.

 

 

The formula is the same as with the debut album, with three Jagger / Richards compositions in a lightweight pop vein.  The productions values are higher, which means that the tunes sound less tinny than on the debut album but there’s still a sense that the covers are merely earnest interpretations of the music the band loved, despite the vigour of the performances.  For example, the musical performance of “I Can’t be Satisfied” is stellar but Jagger sounds awfully young and  British.  The band’s own songs are far better.

 

Once again the singles tell the story much better than the album tracks do. “The Last Time,” “Play with Fire,“ “Time Is On My Side,”  “ (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” and “Get Off of My Cloud,” amongst the others, are viscerally exciting, energetic and full of the creative ingenuity that pushed the Stones to the head of their peer group class. “Satisfaction” was the monster international hit that propelled them to success and huge status in the USA, after which they never looked back.

 

 

OUT OF OUR HEADS (1965)

 

Surprisingly, still more of the same, with three Jager / Richards  songs and one group composition.  If it wasn’t necessarily true for the debut album, by the time of The Rolling Stones No 2, it seems that the covers are little more than filler because of the then practice of not including singles on albums. If the Stones could have included their strongest material, the singles, on their albums, these would have been far stronger and more cohesive.

 

This is probably where the strategy of different track listings for the UK and US albums works in favour of the latter because these records could happily discard the covers in favour of UK singles. It’s surprising how much the Stones relied on cover versions to  populate their albums. I suppose, not only was the advice to save the Jagger / Richards compositions for singles but that the pressure to release albums (in those days usually at least two a year) was so intense that the songwriting partnership just couldn’t keep up.

 

The production on this record is excellent and quite bottom heave, for the first time giving the Stones the literal weight to their sound that their music needed to make impact. Closing track, “I’m Free,” sounds like a defiant proto hippy anthem.

 

 

AFTERMATH (1966)

 

The tracks were recorded in the US and all songs were written by  Jagger / Richards.  At 11 minutes plus, “Going Home” is the longest track the Stones have released, and about only Bob Dylan had done something like that before. The Beatles were still dong three minute pop songs. Not that “Going Home” is a great song, being just a long, jamming groove with Jagger improvising vocals for most of the duration.

 

With “Stupid Girl,” “Under my Thumb”  and “Out of Time,”  another long song, the songwriters’  misogyny, which became a trademark during the following period, became openly apparent. 

 

Richards and Jones discover how powerful acoustic guitars can be if amplified correctly, and Jones spreads his instrumental horizons with sitar, marimba and dulcimer, though Richards played all of the standard guitar parts.

 

Though the best tracks on the album have become classic Stones songs, not all of the tracks are great, but at least this time around even the filler was composed by Jagger / Richards.

 

“!9^th Nervous Breakdown” and “Paint It, Black” were the contemporaneous singles. 

GOT LIVE IF YOU WANT IT!  (1966)

 

This album was originally released only in the US as a cash in on the popularity of the Stones. When I first listened to it, I was unimpressed by the performances and the sound.

 

The tracks is the expected mixture of hit singles and filler, representing the Stones live sets of the period.  Not very interesting to say the least except as some sort of concert memorabilia. Both the on-stage sound and repertoire would be infinitely better 10 years later with technological advances and with the core songs we have become over familiar with. 

 

 

BETWEEN THE BUTTONS (1967)

 

Surprisingly light, proto-psychedelic, Swinging London pop that seems an atypical release from the grungy rhythm and blues musicians the Stones were at the start of their career only a few years before, but Jagger and Richards were always as much pop song tunesmiths as they were blues fanciers and on Between the Buttons they show off their ability to write as good frothy confections as anybody else.

 

“Yesterday’s Papers” and “Back Street Girl” continue the misogyny.

 

The US version of the album contains the singles “Let’s Spend the Night Together” and “Ruby Tuesday”  in place of “Back Street Girl” and “Please Go Home.”  The singles add some heft to the album and perhaps losing the sneering misogyny of “Back Street Girl” is not a bad thing but the Diddley-esque romp (the Stones’ take on the Northwest Pacific punk rock scene which was influenced by the Stones in the first place) of “Please Go Home” is rather fun if utterly lightweight.  

 

The best I can say about this records is that the breadth and pop ambition of Jagger / Richards songwriting is quite intriguing and the album is enjoyable but is so bereft of gravitas that I see it mostly as an experimental curiosity and not one of the top Stones albums of all time.

THEIR SATANIC MAJESTIES REQUEST (1967)

 

Apparently, this was the Stones answer to Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and maybe the Beach Boys’ Smiley Smile, in that this was their stab at high psychedelia.

 

It wasn’t very well received at the time of release and was seen as a poor imitation of the Beatles’ “masterpiece” but, when I listened to it for the first time, possibly 40 years after its release, I didn’t understand why contemporary  rock critics took such a dim view of it. I already knew some of the tracks from various Stones compilation albums, such as “2000 Light Years from Home,” “Citadel” and “She’s a Rainbow.” The latter could’ve fitted on Between the Buttons, “Citadel” has an excellent, post-Cream heavy riff and “2000 Light Years from Home” is deliriously, beautifully, gloomily psychedelic.

 

“In Another Land” is Bill Wyman’s debut composition on a Stones album and he sings it, a departure from the norm where Jagger sings most of the songs and Richards has one or perhaps two vocals per album and was never repeated. The song itself seems influenced by “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and Wyman’s flat vocals let down what otherwise would have been a lovely little pop tune.

 

Jagger / Richard tries to imagine how middle aged people would see the new generations in “2000 man,” only 33 years away (I wonder how they felt about this song in the year 2000) and in this they seem to take a cue from the skewed views of Ray Davies of The Kinks.

 

“Sing This All Together (See What Happens)” seems to be a studio jam, perhaps cobbled together from various takes, and the methodology and a throwaway riff halfway through sounds very much an adumbration of Miles Davis’ On the Corner. Put it down to LSD inspired  experimentalism.

 

The best one can say for “The Lantern” and “Gomper” is that they’re different, off-kilter folky and psychedelic with respectively electronics and Indian instrumentation to tart up slight whisps of songs.

 

This album has only three good tracks, the ones that turn up on so many compilations and though none of the rest are bad, they’re just not very engaging. The Stones attempted to stretch the envelope, and perhaps they did, but to no great appeal or success. There’s so little visceral excitement here.

 

I would say that Their Satanic Majesties Request marks the end of the progression of Stones Mk I from grungy R& B band to Swinging Sixties psychedelic pop.  And although Brian Jones was still technically a member of the band for the making of Beggars Banquet, that album marks the genesis of Stones Mk II.   

 

 

BEGGARS BANQUET (1968)

 

The last Stones album recorded and released during the lifetime of founding member Brian Jones, though he was no longer much of a force in the band and contributed nothing to the recording. 

 

“Jumping Jack Flash,”  the non-album single, introduced the “new” Rolling Stones, on the cusp of becoming eh greatest rock and roll band in the world, with the innovation of acoustic guitars played through a cheap cassette tape recorder that distorted the sound to a degree that it became more powerful than roaring electric guitars.  On close listening it seems as if almost every track has a bedrock of acoustic guitars with electric guitar overlays and fills.  Regardless, it’s still a quite tough record and even the slighter songs benefit from this treatment.

 

Part of the sessions for the album, specifically the recording of “Sympathy for the Devil” was filmed by Jean Luc Godard for inclusion of one of his movies.

 

“Jigsaw Puzzle,” “Street Fighting Man,” “Factory Girl” and “Salt of the Earth”  are the social commentary songs, “Stray Cat Blues”  is the misogyny song and “Prodigal Song” is the acoustic traditional blues, adumbrating “You Gotta Move” from Sticky Fingers.

 

The conceptual change here, seems to me to be that for the first time the Stones overtly embraced Americana, blues and country, in an amalgam that served them extremely well over the next five years and resulted in their best music, their most original music, the music that truly did make them that great rock band.

 

 

LET IT BLEED (1969)

 

Mick Taylor joins the Stones and the music changes subtly with less of the dual guitar interplay that characterised the Brian Jones period, with Keith Richard sticking more to rhythm and Taylor playing lead guitar. Let It Bleed and Beggars Banquet are the first two instalments in a 4 album purple patch (Sticky Fingersand Exile on Main Street are the others) that straddle the end of the Sixties and the start of the Seventies, and arguably represent the Stones at their creative peak. 

 

The album opener, “Gimme Shelter,” is up there with “Sympathy for the Devil” as a kick off for arguably the most complete Stones album to date with possibly the highest ratio of classic Stones songs, that include “Midnight Rambler,” “Love in Vain,” “Live With Me” and “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”

 

“Honky Tonk Women” was the monster single of the time, mirrored by “Country Honk,” a country tune played earnestly and not for laughs, as the band was wont to do in later.

 

Let It Bleed ended of the Sixties for the Stones, as much as the notorious Altamont concert in December 1969, meant to conclude the first Stones tour of the US in many years, ended the peace and love vibes of the late Sixties and proved, for all the rebellious stance, that the Rolling Stones were only people, powerless as individuals or band to influence badness around them even if they were building towards the satanic majesties peak of the early Seventies. Rock and roll is built on myth and the myth of the infallible superstar rocker is possibly the biggest.

 

What is also true, though, is that as band and as songwriters the Rolling Stones changed, mutated and improved radically between 1962 and 1969, from a rinky-dink English R & B group to a powerful, internationally famous and influential rock band.