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Rock on, Star Child...

"Seasons Of My Soul," by Rumer

Rumer is, by far, the best singer-songwriter making music today, but shamefully few seem to know it. But that’s all about to change, as Sir Elton John recently noted, “the world needs Rumer’s songs.” I couldn’t agree more. Rumer is a British singer-songwriter, and 2010’s Seasons Of My Soul is her stunning debut. Much has been noted about Rumer’s affinity for the oldies, and the observation resonates, as Rumer’s work is so much informed by the sun-faded, easy-listening music of the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, including Burt Bacharach, Judee Sill, The Beach Boys, Dusty Springfield, John Sebastian, Hall & Oats, and Bread, to name a few. In fact, listening to Rumer’s debut is akin to listening to John Mayer’s 2012 album, Born And Raised (as well as his forthcoming, Paradise Valley, which reportedly follows the same early 1970’s rock muse): the music on these modern albums pays homage to the past, illustrating that there’s still so much more to be gleaned, so much more terrain to explore inside that golden era of popular music.

The album took about a year to record, which gave birth to the album title, as Rumer noticed that the songs she’d completed earlier in the recording process were “coming back” to her, emotionally, like with the seasons. Opening with the album’s first single, “Slow,” (#16, UK) is the perfect introduction to the album, as the song, with its smooth, slow-jam shuffle and silky, milk chocolate vocal is wholly representative of the record and of this gifted artist. The album’s second single, the consoling, “Aretha,” pays tribute to the Queen of Soul, from the ears and heart of a young girl at school, trying in vain to fit-in and finding solace from the words and music of the legendary artist: and who, at some point or another, hasn’t been completely buoyed and transported by Aretha Franklin’s songs?

There are two non-ballads on the album, the carbonated, Sesame Street-styled, “Am I Forgiven?” which skips along joyfully, reminiscent of the Archies or 1910 Fruitgum Co., which is a huge compliment, by the way. The other non-ballad is an equally engaging piece of ear candy, the delightful, “Saving Grace,” another slice of “bubblegum” pop confection, where Rumer exultantly sings, “Because you’re the one who makes me see; you are my saving grace; you make me want to become; become better…” Roll calling her musical heroes, the album also contains a dreamy cover of David Gates’ 1977 top-20 hit, the theme song from Neil Simon’s, “Goodbye Girl,” and the deluxe version of the album contains three additional cover tunes: Paul Simon’s lovely, “Long, Long Day,” The Beach Boy’s 1964 classic, “Warmth Of The Sun,” and fittingly, a cover of Bacharach & David’s 1965 classic, “Alfie.” Rumer went on to leverage this approach with significant panache on her sophomore effort, Boys Don’t Cry, a covers album featuring 1970’s songs, both popular and obscure, by acclaimed songwriters. The title ironically labels an album of emo (before it was even a thing) songs, all written by men.

The album ends with a tender trio of perfectly constructed ballads, starting with the pleadingly gentle waltz, “Take Me As I Am,” which leads into the album’s very best tune, the contemplative, serene “Thankful,” where the theme of the album is extracted, following the trajectory of love through the lens of the four seasons: from spring to summer, where she fondly recalls one particular afternoon, “…doing the dishes at the window and the radio’s playing ‘Superstar...’” to autumn and winter, sighing a tearful goodbye to a loved one, “In the Forest of Angels, that’s where we laid you down, and I can hear you whisper when the first frost falls on the ground: ‘you’re alive, just be thankful for this time.’” The ethereal, “On My Way Home,” closes this exceptional album with the prayerful couplet, which surrenders, “Oh, my God, oh, my God; I am yours…” Magnificent. And while all but two of the songs barely rise above a whisper, Seasons Of My Soul powerfully unpacks the beauty, joy, sadness, and compassion contained in the human heart. Yep, the world needs Rumer’s songs.

"Baby I’m-A Want You," by Bread

In some ways, an album like Baby I’m-A Want You by a band like Bread, is the epitome of what this blog is all about: a long-forgotten, well-crafted, pop album by an underappreciated band that deserves a dusting off and another spin on the turntable (or another “click” on the iPod). And Bread was an exceptional band that just never received its due for being one of the most consistently listenable acts of the early 1970’s (although there was a terrific, non-ironic 2005 tribute album). Baby I’m-A Want You stands as one of their very best albums (that said, there’s something to appreciate about all of their original albums released in the precious, few years they were together between 1969 and 1977).

But first, a few U.S. career highlights from this significantly misunderstood band:

·           In their heyday, Bread racked-up 12 top-40 hit songs between 1970-1977

·           7 of those were top-10 hits

·           Their solitary #1 hit, “Make It With You,” is a classic slice of early-1970’s pop balladry and has been covered by many over the years, including the legendary Dusty Springfield, whose tragically obscure version stands as the definitive version and is well-worth seeking out

But besides these points on a graph, Bread was simply an exceptional band of songwriters and musicians, signaling in 1969, “…the birth of Californian soft rock, as David Gates and compatriots blended the folk-rock of The Byrds and Buffalo Springfield with a distinctly British melodicism and a streak of sentimentality borrowed from McCartney” (All Music, 2013). Lofty and accurate comparisons, no? In fact, beyond their work with Bread, individual band members had notable achievements through the 1970’s and 1980’s and into the 1990’s, including band members Rob Royer’s and James Griffin’s Oscar-winning song, “For All We Know,” from the film Lovers And Other Strangers in 1970, as well as David Gates’ #15 solo hit from the Neil Simon film, Goodbye Girl in 1977 and his #30 hit, “Took The Last Train,” in 1978. Additionally, Griffin, Royer, and Mike Botts had continued success in the 1980’s and 90’s as songwriters and performers in the Country Music genre. Clearly, band members were overflowing with talent and ideas.

And peaking at #3 in 1972, Baby I’m-A Want You, the band’s fourth album, was its biggest hit, featuring radio classics such as, “Mother Freedom,” #37 in July of 1971, “Baby I’m-A Want You,” #3 in October of 1971, “Everything I Own,” #5 in January of 1972, and “Diary,” #15 in April of 1972. And beyond the radio hits, Baby I’m-A Want You included fan favorites, like the rocking, “Down On My Knees,” the surreal, imaginative “Dream Lady,” which I’ve always suspected inspired Gary Wright’s 1976 hit, “Dream Weaver,” both musically and lyrically, the equally dreamlike, “Games Of Magic,” the wistful, “Just Like Yesterday,” and the finger-wagging, lecture song, “Daughter.” Along with “Mother Freedom,” the album’s other civically minded tune, “This Isn’t What The Governmeant,” (See what they’re doing there?) provides the typical left-of-center, partisan political commentary rock bands were issuing in those days. And Baby I’m-A Want You is an exceptional album for its time; a sun-faded Polaroid of a remarkable and melodic era in popular music.

But by 1973, internal tensions pulled the band apart, and depending on the account to which you most prescribe, the rift was either caused by ongoing tension between principle songwriters, David Gates and James Griffin, over which songs would be selected as singles, with Gates’ mellow songs having the best commercial track record over Griffin’s more rock-driven songs, or it was caused by the record label, Elektra, that wanted to keep the band pigeonholed as hit making, “softy” balladeers, when the band wanted to explore other sounds and highlight their edgier, guitar-driven work. Either way, the tension makes sense; if you look beyond their best known, Gates ballad singles, the band rocked as hard or harder than many of their contemporaries on the radio at that time (to wit, the trend-conscious, “Truckin’,” which captured the early-mid 1970’s romanticized fascination with the trucking profession, “Let Your Love Go,” and “London Bridge,” to name just a few). But whatever the actual formula for its demise, I guess longevity wasn’t meant to be for the band, and the good lads went their separate ways in 1978.

In the late 1990’s, Gates, Griffin, Botts and Knechtel came back together for the inevitable nostalgia reunion tour, but to the best of my knowledge, they recorded no new material at that time. Sad, that, as just a few years later, Mike Botts and James Griffin were dead from cancer. Larry Knechtel died of a heart attack in 2009. And that, music fans, was the end of Bread. Most folks who appreciate the hits have already sated their appetites with the double-CD, Bread Retrospective, released in the 1990’s, but there’s much buried treasure and even more insight to be gained from picking up the original albums that carried these 1970’s pop gems, which helped usher-in not only “soft rock,” but also the singer-songwriter era of the early 1970’s.

“Carole King: Music,” by Carole King

In January of 1971, Carole King and a group of her friends recorded an album at A&M Records that defined an era. Tapestry was a classic-filled monster, holding the #1 position on Billboard’s album charts for four months that summer and launching King as a superstar. Up to that point, Carole King had been most known as a writer of pop hits (e.g., “Will You Love Me Tomorrow?” “(You Make Me Feel Like A) Natural Woman,” “Up On A Roof,” “The Loco-motion,” etc.), but Tapestry signaled the musician as one of the most reliable singles artists of the coming decade. Indeed, while her albums made less and less impact as the decade wore on (exceptions: Really Rosie, in 1975, and Pearls: Songs of Goffin and King, in 1980), King delivered some of the best, 1970’s radio-ready ear-candy, including such staples as, “Been To Canaan,” “Nightingale,” “Jazzman,” “Only Love Is Real,” and “Hard Rock Café,” helping us to navigate that tumultuous, stone washed decade.

Later that same year, King and friends returned to the studio, amidst the avalanche of promotion and performances that followed the massive success of Tapestry, and they crafted the magnificent and sadly underappreciated, Carole King: Music. Now, here’s the thing: rock writers always make one of three observations about any follow-up to a blockbuster album: 1.) “Ugh, it’s a mechanical, cash-in rewrite of their last album,” 2.) “Ugh, it’s an artist trying too hard to be fresh; they should have stuck with what they do best, you know, like on their last album,” 3.) “Sigh, the new album’s okay, but doesn’t quite possess the “magic” of their earlier work, you know, like on the last album.” Responding to Music, critics o’ the moment took all three positions: Robert Christgau called Music “mechanical,” and Rolling Stone suggested King had strayed too far from the Tapestry formula and that Music “…doesn't have its predecessor's sure, unified sense of style.” Sigh. “...Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose…”

I’d argue, however, that Music stands not only as one of King’s very best albums, ever, but constitutes an album of songs that any artist of that time (or of this time!) would have killed for.  In fact, two of the songs were recorded and made hits by other artists, including Karen and Richard Carpenter, who took “It’s Going To Take Some Time” to #12 in the spring of 1972. Ironically, that Music arrived in the wake of the Tapestry behemoth both ensured its success (it reached #1 just a few, short weeks after its December, 1971 release) and sealed its fate as the “oh, that was the so-so next album...” In fact, all of King’s subsequent (and consistently solid) work, post-Tapestry, faced the same, unfair comparison. No matter, though, as King has certainly received her due, with numerous Grammy awards, gold/platinum albums, hit songs, induction into the Rock-and-Roll Hall of Fame, and this May, King was the first woman recipient of the Library of Congress “Gershwin Prize” for popular song. Well done, Library of Congress, well done.

Music opens with the engrossing, “Brother, Brother,” written just months on the heels of Marvin Gaye’s classic single, “What’s Going On,” also with the phrase, “Brother, brother…” Was it an echo of Gaye’s lyric, as Rolling Stone suggested? A response to Gaye’s anthemic statement? Or was it more personal for King, whose own brother lived with disability? It works beautifully, either way, and remains a fan favorite, as well as one of many shoulda-been-a-hit-single songs off the album. Other songs that could have been big hits in 1972 include: “Surely,” which is an voluptuary slice of blue-eyed soul that could have been a big hit for King or for any number of R&B artists from the era (e.g., Al Green, Aretha Franklin, Dusty Springfield, Diana Ross, etc.), the sweet, James Taylor harmonied, “Song Of Long Ago,” and the vibrant, catchy-as-hell, “Brighter.”

All would have faired more than well amongst the trifle hit songs of 1972: “Alone Again (Natrually)” (Ugh. Because you deserve to be), “Candy Man” (Um, creepy much?), “Brand New Key” (Maybe, brand new...NO!), and “Baby, Baby Don’t Get Hooked On Me” (Don’t worry, I won’t. Seriously...). And speaking of singles, King’s label at the time, Ode, oddly released only one single from Music, the wonderfully sunny, “Sweet Seasons,” which reached #9 in the spring of 1972. Interesting side note: the B-side of the “Sweet Seasons” single is a lost gem, “Pocket Money,” from the long-forgotten 1972 film of the same name, starring Paul Newman and Lee Marvin: a great, unheard song, but widely available today on various CD and digital formats and one that I include as a “bonus” track for this superb album, as it was likely recorded during the Music sessions and nicely fits the overall tone of the album.

Other key album cuts include King’s version of her own song, “Some Kind Of Wonderful,” which is a slowed down iteration of The Drifters’ magnificent hit song from 1961. What I love about King’s version is how intimate the lyrics become with her tender reading. “Carry Your Load” contains a solicitous lyric about the support and kindness of an old friend. I think about this song most when I think about Kristina and Simon. And of course, there’s the title track, “Music,” that’s lyrics testify to the uplifting power of music, and more specifically, the sheer pleasure of writing music for the masses – what a great privilege that must be: “…Ah, summer is over; But the music keeps playing…pictures are forming inside my brain; Soon with the colors they'll rain together and grow…but the music keeps playing.” An apt description of the writing process.

And my favorite song is the album’s finale, “Back To California,” which Rolling Stone magazine, in 1971, called a “throwaway” track. It’s my favorite song on the album, albeit for personal reasons. In the last 24 months, it’s become Kristina’s and my theme song: a love song to our adopted home state. After flying back last year from a trip did we realize how thrilled we were to be coming “home” to California. King’s lyric resonated: “So won't you carry me back to California; I’ve been on the road too long; take me to the West Coast, daddy, and let me be where I belong…” I return to Carole King: Music, just as often. 

“Fandango,” by Pat Metheny, Alan Silvestri, and various artists

A first for this blog, and perhaps a first for any album review: I’m writing about an album that, technically, doesn’t exist. Also a first for this blog, Fandango is not a formal album by one particular artist, which is an underlying theme for this blog, but a compilation of many musicians. That said, it’s one of the best albums that never was from one of the most underrated films of the last few decades, so I’m including it, here. Fandango is a 1985 film, starring Kevin Costner in one of his first leading roles and directed by Kevin Reynolds, who would go on to work with Costner in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991) and the ill-fated, Waterworld (1995). But in 1981, Reynolds was a budding, student filmmaker, whose graduate student film, Proof, about the antics of his fraternity at Baylor University, caught the attention of one, Stephen Spielberg, who was impressed enough to offer financial backing for a feature-length film. Reynold’s graduate student short film became Fandango, one in a line of hundreds of archetypal, road trip/coming-of-age films. This one is set in the U.S. Vietnam era, 1971, and it follows the “farewell fandango” of “The Groovers,” a group of college friends, two of whom had just received notice that their draft deferral had expired, requiring them to report for military duty in the Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia conflicts.

While the movie played all of two weeks in a limited number of theaters across the country, cable television and late-night syndication have given the film an extended shelf life, and it has garnered a dedicated cult following in the almost 30 years that have passed since its release. And deservedly so. It’s a cool movie. Regarding the rumored release of an official soundtrack, some “super fans” of the film report owning a uber-obscure cassette soundtrack of the film and claim the album had limited release in conjunction with the movie decades ago, but most seem to concur that the soundtrack for Fandango was never released as an actual album. And that’s a pity, since the music used in the film perfectly captures the sadness, angst, frustration, fear, and excitement of the five central characters, each facing vastly different, post-college fates.

The film includes classic rock tracks of the era by Cream, Elton John, Carole King, Classics IV, Blind Faith, and Steppenwolf, as well as perfectly fitting mood pieces by the legendary Los Lobos and the obscure, Milton Brown and the Brownies. These songs are interspersed with Alan Silvestri’s (Forrest Gump, Back To The Future, Cast Away, The Avengers, etc.) remarkably descriptive film score and three Pat Metheny contributions: the gentle piano ballad, “September Fifteenth,” an affectionate tribute to Bill Evans, who died during the song’s recording, “It’s For You,” which beautifully framed the wedding dance scene with Costner and Suzy Amis, which is the emotional centerpiece of the movie, and the heartbreaking, “Farmer’s Trust, (5:50 mark)” which sets the mood for the tender dénouement of the film. Pretty. Poignant. Perfect. Silvestri’s imaginative score is also, sadly, not widely available, save for a few Fandango songs being included on the end of the now-out-of-print soundtrack for the even more obscure, 1994 film, Blown Away.

That factoid and much of the other information about this exceptional, non-existent album was gleaned from an outstanding Fandango film fan site, which also suggests a soundtrack song list, but I’ve compiled my own, wonky iteration, here:

1. Cream, “Badge”
2. Elton John, “Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting”
3. Los Lobos, “Ay Te Dejo En San Antonio”
4. Carole King, “It's Too Late”
5. Classics IV, “Spooky”
6. Alan Silvestri, “Smooth Talk”
7. Alan Silvestri, “The Other Side Of Madness”
8. Alan Silvestri, “Acknowledgement”
9. Steppenwolf, “Born To Be Wild”
10. Milton Brown And The Brownies, “Taking Off”
11. Pat Metheny And Lyle Mays, “September Fifteenth”
12. Pat Metheny And Lyle Mays, “It's For You”
13. Pat Metheny, “Farmer's Trust”
14. Blind Faith, “Can't Find My Way Home”

I think what strikes me most about the songs Reynolds used for Fandango is the way, when taken together, they perfectly recreate the zeitgeist of that particular point in time for many White people in the United States: the end of the 1960’s and the beginning of the 1970’s. The music, when listened to as a piece, feels like that tumultuous era and conjures the thoughts and feelings connected to that moment of significant, political unrest and social upheaval, that moment of heartbreaking war and fear, that moment of great expectations and personal freedom. And Reynold’s classic movie does the same; it’s worth seeking out. Afterwards, you’ll need the above song listing (and a little internet ingenuity) to complete your own groovy soundtrack. 

“Here’s to us and to what we were.” 
“And what we’ll be...” 

"Carpenters," by Carpenters

Carpenters’ sophomore effort, Close To You, launched the siblings into superstardom. The one-two punch of the #1 and #2 singles, “Close To You,” and “We’ve Only Just Begun,” respectively, catapulted the duo into the public eye, and that breakthrough album remains a fan, as well as a critical, favorite, landing high on Rolling Stone magazine’s list of “Top 500 Albums of All Time.” And deservedly so, but it was the album that followed, the eponymous “tan album,” which is lesser-known today, that stands as Carpenters’ highest-selling, non-compilation album, stateside. One might argue that the album’s stunning sales figures were singularly due to inertia from the Close To You phenomenon, and that may well be a factor, but I argue that the album, itself, contains some of the sibling’s best musical contributions and reflects the flavor of pop music in 1971. Relevant sidebar: tapping into the spirit of early 1970’s pop music was a knack for which brother Richard singularly possessed, with few missteps, for four solid years between 1970 and 1973. He was the Kanye West of that moment in pop music history.

And to be sure, Carpenters placed three of its singles into the top echelons of the charts that year, starting with the Oscar winning “For All We Know,” #3, from the film, Lovers And Other Strangers, followed by the classic Paul Williams/Roger Nichols track, “Rainy Days And Mondays,” #2, and the definitive version of Leon Russell’s, “Superstar,” #2, a song, which had previously failed to catch on, even after covers by “superstars,” Rita Coolidge and Bette Midler. Karen’s sensual reading, recorded in just one take, delivered the perfect rendering of heartbreak and unrequited love. The album reached #2 on the Billboard album chart, went on to win a Grammy, that year, for “Best Pop Vocal Performance – Duo or Group,” and perhaps most significantly, it introduced fans to the indelible, now instantly recognizable band logo.

Hits aside, the album delivered two quintessential Carpenter album tracks, a future commercial jingle, an obscure Henry Mancini composition, one song that would most certainly have been a top 5 hit, had it been released in 1971, one cringe-inducing moment, and one, extended track that may well be their most perfect, musical moment. Here's the rundown: 

Two quintessential Carpenters album tracks:

1. “(A Place To) Hideaway” - A perfect song for the siblings’ old-fashioned style, this sentimental song was written by Randy Sparks, the founder of the New Christy Minstrels and author of the 1970’s wedding standard, “Today.”
2. “One Love” – Richard lifted a line from this song of heartbreak in the liner notes for the first posthumous Carpenters album, Voice Of The Heart, “Few are the choices we are given; the sands of time pass quickly by…”

Future commercial jingle: “Saturday.”

When my partner and I moved to California a few years ago, we heard, on a television commercial, an even perkier (believe it or not) cover of this already bubbly ditty about the joys of Saturday. It’s one of the rare lead vocals by Richard and his second best, after “I Kept On Loving You,” from Close To You.

Obscure Henry Mancini composition: “Sometimes.”

As the story goes, in the late 1960’s, Henry Mancini’s daughter, Felice, wanted to give her parents a unique gift for the holidays, so instead of buying them a present, she wrote a poem about how much her family meant to her. Her famous composer father loved it so much, that he set the poem to music, and the siblings loved the resulting song so much, that they included it on their third album. It might be the gentlest song I’ve ever heard.

Had it been released in 1971, “Let Me Be The One” would have, most certainly, been a Top 5 hit. Having a smash hit with “We’ve Only Just Begun,” by the third album, the duo actively sought-out Roger Nichols/Paul Williams compositions for hits, and “Let Me Be The One” was strongly considered as a first-single off the sibling’s self-titled LP. Richard has noted, over time, that he regrets not releasing this one as a single, as he believes it would have easily been another top-5 hit in 1971. I’m inclined to agree.

Cringe-inducing moment: “Drucilla Penny.”

By this point in their career, Karen was the clear lead-singer for band, yet, Richard still, apparently, felt compelled to deliver the lead on a few songs on each album. Of all the songs Carpenter/Bettis might have written together for brother Richard to record, why this one? Its prissy, preachy, finger-wagging lyrics about groupies are just embarrassing (did Carpenters even have groupies?). This track, no doubt, did little to help the duo with rock critics that year.

Perfect musical moment: “Bacharach/David Medley.”

Before the siblings took over the world in the early 1970’s, they were fledgling musicians signed to A&M Records. Burt Bacharach was a fan of Carpenters’ version of “Ticket To Ride,” and he asked Herb Albert if the duo would put together a medley of Bacharach/Hal David songs for a 1969 fund-raiser. This is the medley Richard arranged, and legend has it that it was at this time that he was introduced to their break-through single, “Close To You.” Ernesto Lechner, from Rolling Stone magazine, indicated that the medley “…is arguably the group’s most impressive moment – light and breezy, slightly jazzy, the work of two young idealists who are still in love with life and its endless possibilities” (2004).

An apt description for both the medley and the entire album, and while not their most critically acclaimed release, that award goes to A Song For You, the “tan album” captures the duo at the most exciting moment in their lives and careers, both had just begun, and that spring, it seemed like anything was possible for Karen and Richard. And indeed, for the next few years in the early 1970’s, everything they touched seemed to turn to gold.