50 Albums: Session #46

Another tough group for me.

Bill Evans‘ albums are well loved by jazz fans, and Sunday Night at the Village Vanguard (1961) is often held up as one of his best, along with Waltz for Debby. It’s nice, and if you’re in the mood for classic bop performed by a top quality trio, this’ll do you well. However, it’s definitely more a case of admiration than love for me. There’s the odd moment where this will scratch my itch, but on the whole I like my jazz with a little more funk in it.

I feel like I am letting the side down here, but I find I like the later American Recordings that Johnny Cash did with Rick Rubin better. I find the first album (1994), which I think was the first time the concept had been tried out (legendary performer, stripped to the bone, purer than pure production), stripped too bare. The songs are good, and Cash – of course – is awesome, but the overall package is too empty, too unfleshed. I’ll happily wait for Recordings 3 onwards.

I really like the more recent album by Kehlani but the earlier album, SweetSexySavage (2017) just doesn’t do it for me. The record is too wed to the autotuned, artificial elements of modern R’n’B. I don’t mind these qualities in themselves, but here, I feel overwhelmed by them, and struggle to connect with the record.

It must be real tough to be Graham Nash, being comfortably the weakest member of (whichever combination of) Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young (you care to mention). I am not really a fan of his contributions to those two mega-classic albums – I find them (Our House, Marrakesh Express, etc.) a little corny compared to Judy Blue Eyes, Helpless, I Nearly Cut My Hair and so on. Nonetheless, this compilation Over the Years (2018) does a pretty good job at making a case for his being seen as worth your time. There are a few tracks capable of causing me to reassess: Better Days is glorious – one day I’ll finally pick up Nash’s initial solo album Songs for Beginners, because if it’s only half as good as that song, it’s worth the time. Otherwise, like I say, it’s a good selection. Not good enough to adopt this record as a favourite, though.

I appreciate that the general consensus, which I largely agree with, is that U2 are deeply uncool and way past their sell-by date. However, I will argue all day and night that there was a period in the mid-late 80s (perhaps even the early 90s – much more debatable in my book), where they were legitimately and deservedly the biggest band on the planet. They released three albums that quickly developed an earlier post-punk aesthetic into a genuinely distinct and powerful stadium rock identity. And then they hooked up with Eno and Daniel Lanois and together they molded that sound into something even more powerful, creating two of the most defining albums of the second half of the decade: The Unforgettable Fire (1985) and The Joshua Tree (1987). Fans argue as to which is the more defining. I prefer the former by a good margin, but I’ve no beef with those that prefer the latter – they’re both exceptional. I’d argue, though, in defence of the former, that the latter is more song-orientated, whereas Unforgettable Fire is more given to textures and feelings, at least once you pass the first two tracks (which are, for me, perhaps unusually, the lowest points of the record – I could happily skip them sometimes). Wire and Bad, both comfortably in my top five by the band, and both trade on creating distinct moods. Also, in the case of Wire, despite having listened to this record a lot, I have not the faintest clue what Bono is singing about, not at all. He makes interesting noises, shrieks, grunts, mutters, but it’s all in the service of The Edge’s version of a post-punk disco, which whirls and whistles and clatters all around the place. Bad, of course, does have a definable narrative and it has, since back when I was in my first flush of religion, spoken to me deeply. But again, I could listen to it and enjoy it without paying any attention to the words. Each of the songs, even the first two, can be enjoyed purely for the atmospheres they create. The album feels like one of Eno’s ambient records, but one where U2 is trying, only sometimes successfully, to break out of. Of all of the incredible works that Eno has been involved in, I consider this one of the absolute best. I adore this record.

Oh, Scott Walker! (Swoon!) Listening to him on Portrait (1966), for my money the best of the three early Walker Brothers albums, is a bit of a mixed and frustrating experience. Firstly, there are the ‘brothers’. John is not a terrible singer – far from it – there are some nice inclusions, but it is a shame to share the record that way. Second, Scott’s songwriting is still inconsistent and there are many covers that are fine enough, I suppose, in that mid-60s pop/easy listening sphere, but they don’t quite hit paydirt. When it comes together, however, time stands still. Scott offers the defining version of In My Room, which booms morbidly and fearsomely, he wrote I Can See It Now, a more typical but gorgeous ballad. And then, on this release, there are a collection of extra tracks that are amongst the Walkers’ best: the deathless The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore, After the Lights Go Out, Another Tear Falls, Deadlier Than the Male, Archangel, Mrs. Murphy. I really like John‘s version Sunny too. Each of these are essential tracks, glorious, opulent, soulful, dramatic, morose (in the best way), and are tracks I’ll never want to be without.

The Stylistics brought the sweetest of sweet soul, and were part of Thom Bell’s seeming quest for total domination in the early 70s along with The Delfonics, The O’Jays, The Spinners. Built around the soaring, purest soul falsetto of Russell Thomkins, Jr. (sorry, Phil Bailey), Bell established some of the defining songs of the era, and this, their self-titled (1970) debut is their classic. It contains nine songs, five indisputable monsters: Stop Look Listen (to your Heart), Betcha By Golly, Wow, You’re a Big Girl Now, You Are Everything, People Make the World Go Round. The remaining tracks are all almost as good. A great record!

Pulp were far from the only band in the 90s that traded on the deep history in British pop music of highly literate chamber pop – you can find these strains in Divine Comedy, Tinder sticks, Saint Etienne. Pulp were distinct in their ability to marry this sensibility with huge populist hooks and choruses, though. As such they could trade blows in the charts and even be lumped in with their Britpop contemporaries, even if they didn’t quite belong in that company. Different Class () was the record that cemented their status and brought their talent to their widest audience, tapping into the Cool Britannia zeitgeist, and crossing the cultural divides in ways that Oasis and Blur weren’t able. All that would be fun and interesting, perhaps, but we must add that it loaded with great tracks that unsurprisingly became huge, abiding, singles: Common People, Disco 2000, Mis-Shapes, Sorted for Es and Whizz, Somethings Changed– that’s a hell of a run, no?

The heavy rock rock triumvirate of Sabbath, Purple and Zeppelin often obscures the fact that there were many great, heavy bands lurking around in the late 60s, early 70s. Also, the scene was messy enough that it is not obviously clear where they are all best placed. Some emerged from the blues scenes, some the British R’n’B scenes, some were acid-tinged psychedelics, some were early prog-rockers, or, just as likely, some combination of the lot. I will not make any claim to be an expert on the wealth of these scenes, but in picking up albums the way I do, sniffing things out by reputations and intuition, I come across records that fit some or all of these markers: Atomic Rooster is one, and their second album, Death Walks Behind You (1970) is a perfect example of how blues, jazz, prog and heavy riffs could share space productively. Orientated around Vincent Crane’s organ, there’s an immediate grandeur – a bigness – to their sound. Aided by Paul Hammond on drums and John de Cann on guitar, they were a huge three piece, Crane’s Hammond organ picking up the bass duties. It’s heavy and rich record with exemplary playing. The title track sounds like a gothic horror movie, with a thundering arpeggiated riffs, Vug is a Hammond workout – a full prog boogie, Tomorrow Night, the single, has a heavy groove, and so on… The album is great.

Sister Sledge would go on to make one of my favourite albums of all. Circle of Love (1975) was their debut and produced with half an eye to picking up some of the Jackson Five’s audience, given that Kathy Sledge was still only 15. In all the act was a different sort of beast, so that plan was never going to play out. Nonetheless, this debut was a strong start and one of their best albums across their career. It opens with the title track – a classic Philly soul sound, very strong. One thing that strikes from the off was the strength of Kathy as a vocalist. While the album is fairly distributed in its duties, Kathy delivers the good from the off and it’s not hard to see why Nile and Rodgers set her at centre stage. Across the album there are a range of sounds, covering the various modes of pop soul in vogue at the moment. Not every song is tight, but the album holds its own and is definitely a keeper.

I doubt anyone would argue too much to say that The Supremes were not an albums band. They were not artists that sought to tell a story across a number of tracks. But it is a testament to the staggering degree of talent floating around the Motown machine that a few of their albums are properly glorious and worth having in their own right. Supremes-a-Go-Go (1966) is one. There were two originals, but the rest of the songs were covers (mostly hits with other artists) and it is testament to The Supremes that their performances are still engaging – it very rarely feels like a simple re-tread. Ross’s vocals are at their peak here – she sound gorgeous. We even get a rare lead from Mary Wilson! Special mention here to one of my favourite cuts from the band, shockingly under regarded, Love is Like an Itching in my Heart – how this is not as well known as You Can’t Hurry Love, the other single here – great but it doesn’t compare, the jittering, funky stomper is relentless in its energy and excitement.

For a long time, Kate Bush’s career ended for me with Hounds of Love in 1985. I recall the hullabaloo that arrives with Aerial, and while my appreciation was short lived (one day it’ll come up and talk about it then), I still didn’t revisit her two other intermediate records The Sensual World and The Red Shoes (1993) – I think my mind must have been on other things when they were released. The net result was that I didn’t finally get to these records until relatively recently, when I eventually picked them up second hand. Truth is, neither impressed themselves upon me very much, and so catching up with the latter of the two again now remains a slightly cool experience – I’ve no residual love for them. But when these albums come up in this project I always, even when I am pretty confident of their low standing for me, try to give them a fair shake. But then, this is Kate Bush, and only a fool would push them aside readily – she’s a formidable talent. Consequently, I’ve found myself listening to the album four times in the last few days – trying to gauge my feelings as honestly as possible. First thing – I’m still not in love. I am not suddenly rearranging my internal discography to open a new spot at the top for it. But second, I’ve enjoyed each listen, and I think I enjoy each listen more than the one before. Rubberband Girl, the opener, is immediate – a clear single, full of hooks and memorable moments. And onwards arrives an interesting, provocative, art pop record, full of ideas, most of which land well. There are one or two I feel non-plussed about – Eat the Music, for instance – where the gesture falls flat. One thing the record does is provide me with an appetite to revisit The Sensual World – it’s been a while for that one too. I am also aware that Bush herself had reservations, given that she reformed a dozen songs across these albums in The Director’s Cut in 2011. But where to fall regarding this album here in this project…

Well, that leads us to the wrapping up point. There were four albums that were immediately out, but all of the remaining eight could go through. Two, however, will have to spend a purgatory in the Spares folder. (As an aside, I am becoming less apologetic about the growth of the Spares folder – it’s growing – but that’s fine.) It is worth reminding myself that the objective here is not to find the best of the twelve, but my favourite – the records that please me the most.