Record Reviews - RecordDB

Artist	Title	Review
Neil Young	Chrome Dreams II	<p>Neil Young spent his 2006 hawking Living with War, an album as immediate as a news bulletin, so perhaps it made sense that after its promo push was done he would retreat into the past, planning to finally finish Archives, the long-promised box set of unreleased performances from his vaults. Two individual discs of classic live performances were released in the winter of 2006/2007, acting as a teaser for the proposed fall release of the box, but like with most things involving Neil, things didn't work precisely as planned, as he once again pushed Archives to the back burner so he could release Chrome Dreams II, a sequel to an album that never came out in the first place. The first Chrome Dreams was slated for a 1977 release, but for some indiscernible reason Young scrapped the album, parsing out some of the songs on subsequent albums, sometimes re-recording the originals, sometimes overdubbing, sometimes just sticking the previously unreleased tracks onto new albums. Among the Chrome Dreams songs that popped later are some of his greatest, including "Like a Hurricane" and an originally acoustic "Powderfinger" and "Pocahontas," along with other such excellent tunes as "Sedan Delivery," "Too Far Gone," and "Look Out for My Love," a pedigree that would suggest that Chrome Dreams II could include its fair share of major songs. Despite the inclusion of the long-bootlegged (and simply long at a lumbering 18 minutes) "Ordinary People," that's not quite true: it's a modest collection of stray songs and new tunes, pieced together in a fashion similar to 1989's Freedom, which in fact is where the 1977 "Too Far Gone" was finally unveiled.</p><p>Indeed, Chrome Dreams II shares more similarities to Freedom than the original Chrome Dreams -- so much so that it's a mystery why it's dubbed as a sequel, but it's a mystery not worth pondering, as there are few clues to their correlation, and even if a definitive answer to their kinship could be dredged up, it wouldn't illuminate the 2007 album, which is merely a good Neil Young album. Perhaps a little more than good, actually, as this has a shagginess and tattered heart that's been missing from his work for a long time, as he's spent a good chunk of the past 15 years pursuing conceptual works, ranging from thematic concept albums (Living with War, Greendale) to musical genre exercises (Are You Passionate?, Prairie Wind). Here Neil dabbles in all his signatures, starting the album with the sweet country corn of "Beautiful Bluebird," then careening to the mildly menacing minor-key groove "Boxcar" before he gets to the light, almost bouncy soul-pop of "The Believer" (complete with call-and-response backing vocals), the Crazy Horse mysticism of "Spirit Road," the lazy loping country of "Every After," and the elongated guitar workout of "No Hidden Path." He even gets way out with "The Way," singing with a children's choir, a stab at innocence that's cheerfully at odds with the sludgy "Dirty Old Man," an unexpected revival of the boneheaded off-color jokes of "Welfare Mothers," and then, of course, there's the album's centerpiece, "Ordinary People," a winding epic recorded with the Bluenotes in 1988 that's dated in its splashy production (and perhaps its blaring horns, since Neil largely abandoned the Bluenotes after This Note's for You), yet it sounds immediate and gripping. It's the kind of song to build an album upon, which is precisely what Neil has done with Chrome Dreams II, using it as an excuse to round up other songs with no home. This doesn't make for an album that holds together thematically the way other latter-day Neil albums do, but its mess is endearing, recalling how charmingly ragged albums like After the Gold Rush, Tonight's the Night, Rust Never Sleeps, and Freedom are, even if Chrome Dreams II never manages to soar as high as those classics.</p><p>— <strong>Stephen Thomas Erlewine</strong></p><hr/><p>The original Chrome Dreams contained some of Neil Young's most enduring electric blowouts and most somber, stirring folk-rock. That is, it would have, had it ever come out. Scrapped in 1977, Chrome Dreams has earned a place alongside Smile and Lifehouse in the Pantheon of Lost Albums, a puzzle for obsessive fans and bootleggers to try and reconstruct. Fortunately, the record was thoroughly stripped for parts, and among its 12 songs, classics "Like a Hurricane" and "Pocahontas" popped up on other Young albums.</p><p>So now, 30 years later, Young has decided his new album is a sequel to that career enigma, referencing a chapter only his most dedicated fans would know about. Why? The fuck if I know. Part of Young's charm and continued credibility is that he's grown more inscrutable as his hair has grayed, the opposite trajectory of most of his Rock Hall of Fame peers. After his brush with death in 2005, one might have expected the singer-songwriter to slow down, or at least write a bunch of grim songs about mortality—this is, after all, the guy who was singing about getting old when he was 24. But instead, Young has sped up his work rate and zagged at every opportunity, quick-fire releasing the ambitious Nashville throwback Prairie Wind and the hurried, furious Living With War.</p><p>Chrome Dreams II is less conceptually consistent than those two records; the family resemblance to its predecessor may simply be a matter of their shared scattershot approach. Indulging a grab-bag of styles and dusting off some long-shelved unreleased tracks, the record veers from Hallmark-card country to lite-soul throwbacks to Rust Never Sleeps-like garage rock. This variety might be distracting, were Young not so firmly loyal to the overarching production sound and band collaborators he's kept over the last ten years, with only his recent fondness for choral backing vocals doing much to distinguish it from his earlier work.</p><p>Strange then that the album's centerpiece, the 18-minute novella "Ordinary People", was actually recorded during Young's notorious 1980s identity disorder; it's a holdover from his 1988 r&b dalliance This Note's for You. Obviously, a song with a runtime that impressive necessitates the use of terms like "sprawling" and "epic," and it is pretty impressive, its 20 verses providing a stack of snapshots of life for drug dealers, assembly line workers, and the homeless between zealous horn and guitar solos. It aims to be the Band's "The Weight", and while it doesn't quite reach those lofty heights, it's a solid working-class anthem, despite the staleness of references to Lee Iacocca and boxing as an important cultural event.</p><p>In the shadow of "Ordinary People", the rest of Chrome Dreams II sounds a bit wispy—particularly the surprisingly adult-contempo, over-sentimental "Beautiful Bluebird" and "Shining Light". The faux Motown of "The Believer" is a little bit better, but somewhat reminiscent of 2002's Are You Passionate?, an uncomfortable lowlight of late-period Neil. Matched up against the raw, solemn acoustic classics—"Will to Love", "Star of Bethlehem"—of the original Chrome, it's telling how far Neil's ability to sculpt his quieter material into something haunting rather than hokey has faded with age.</p><p>But the electric numbers, both the compact "Spirit Road" and the extended knee-bend workout of "No Hidden Path", still ripple with vitality, even though they feature only one-third of Crazy Horse. Neither match the furious beauty of "Like a Hurricane", and "Dirty Old Man" might be a pale imitation of the raucous "Sedan Delivery," but it's still thrilling to hear Young getting his aggression out, letting the undiminished fury of his guitar tone saw off the shackles of age.</p><p>Whether the album title is Young seriously trying to reconnect to a specific moment of his past or perhaps simply making an inside joke, it's an apt demonstration that he can still shapeshift with the best of them. But while Neil Young's self-fractionation abilities are intact, the low hit to miss ratio of Chrome Dreams II is proof that not all of those personae are still quite as functional as they once were, around the time of Chapter One. Though having one good trick in the bag keeps him from becoming a mere oldies jukebox like so many other 40-year rock vets, the sampler platter of Chrome Dreams II suggests his renowned versatility, by comparison to its cult-classic ancestor, ain't what it used to be.</p><p>— <strong>Rob Mitchum, Pitchfork</strong></p>
Neil Young	Prairie Wind	<p>Since Prairie Wind is a return to the soft, lush country-rock sound of Harvest; since Neil Young suffered a brain aneurysm during its recording; since it finds the singer/songwriter reflecting on life and family in the wake of his father's death; and since it's his most cohesive album in a decade, it would seem that all these factors add up to a latter-day masterpiece for Young, but that's not quite the case. Prairie Wind manages to be less than the sum of its parts and the problem isn't a lack of good songs (although it does have a few more clunkers than it should) or a botched concept. Young's decision to revive the country-rock that brought him his greatest popularity never feels like a cynical move -- the music is too warm, comfortable, and friendly to feel like anything but Neil playing to his strengths. However, since he cut this in Nashville with a bunch of studio pros including legendary keyboardist Spooner Oldham, it feels just a tad slicker than perhaps it should, since the smooth sound inadvertently highlights the sentimentality of the project. It's hard to begrudge Young if he wants to indulge in rose-colored memories -- a brush with death coupled with a loss of a parent tends to bring out sentimentality -- but such backward-gazing songs as "Far from Home" feel just a hair too close to trite, and the easy-rolling nature of the record doesn't lend them much gravity. There a few other songs that tend toward too close to the simplistic, whether it's the specific invocations of 9/11 and Chris Rock on "No Wonder" or the supremely silly Elvis salute "He Was the King," which are just enough to undermine the flow of the album, even if they fit into the general autumnal, reflective mood of the record. But since they do fit the overall feel of the album, and since they're better, even with their flaws, than the best songs on, say, Silver & Gold or Broken Arrow or Are You Passionate?, they help elevate the whole of Prairie Wind, particularly because there are some genuinely strong Young songs here: the moody opener "The Painter," the gently sighing "Fallin' off the Face of the Earth," the ethereal "It's a Dream," the sweet, laid-back "Here for Your," the understated "This Old Guitar" (there's also the sweeping "When God Made Me," recorded complete with a gospel chorus, one that will either strike a listener as moving or maudlin -- a latter-day "A Man Needs a Maid," only not as strong). This set of songs does indeed make Prairie Wind a better album than anything Young has released in the past decade, which means that it's easy to overrate it. For despite all of its strengths, neither the recording nor the songs are as memorable or as fully realized as his late-'80s/early-'90s comeback records -- Freedom, Ragged Glory, and Harvest Moon -- let alone his classic '70s work. Nevertheless, it's the closest Young has come to making a record that could hold its own with those albums in well over a decade, which means it's worthwhile even if it's never quite as great as it seems like it could have been.</p><p>— <strong>Stephen Thomas Erlewine</strong></p><hr/><p>Neil Young turns 60 in November. In the last year he's survived an aneurysm and a greatest hits album. So why hasn't the man started to sound old? Sure, his voice quavers on some of the high notes on his ambitious new album, Prairie Wind, but he sounds remarkably preserved, showing the same age and wear he's shown for years: That voice—alternately gentle and strident, tender and outraged—has held up surprisingly well, gaining gritty authority with age. His few cracks and wrinkles just reinforce the sense of wistful nostalgia that suffuses Prairie Wind as well as almost all his other folk-rock albums since Harvest Moon, if not since Harvest.</p><p>Young has made this sort of no-surprises reliability a virtue. He long ago set the templates for his music, and while he's known for his itchy restlessness, late in his career he doesn't stray from that comfortable sound. The scope of his albums grows immodestly—his previous, Greendale, was even accompanied by a film—but his music, whether time-capsule folk like Prairie Wind or ragged-glory rock, remains the same size, exhibiting his confidence that a small voice can address enormous issues on a personal level. That constancy can be consoling, despite the themes of loss that haunts his songs.</p><p>There's something proudly old-fashioned about Prairie Wind, specifically in its simple visions of America, as in the title track's central image of a farmer's wife hanging laundry in the backyard. Even the title itself hopes for the possibility of more American frontiers, a new home on the range instead of a McMansion in the 'burbs. In other words, Young's concerns are deeply buried in the past, in a vision of history that seems simpler than the present. To his credit, he isn't another 1960s boomer insisting that everything was better back then, man—his music hasn't changed that dramatically. There are a few moments of fuzzy nostalgia, as on "He Was the King", which takes liberties with Elvis's legendary exploits. But does anybody need to be reminded of Elvis's popularity when the same old songs are repackaged every holiday season? Or is that Young's point?</p><p>Still, Prairie Wind is best when Young indulges personal reminiscences, as on "Far From Home", which starts with a fond memory: "When I was a growing boy rockin' on my daddy's knee/ Daddy took an old guitar and sang 'Bury me on the lone prairie.'" Young's dad appears again on the title track, and a less earthly father appears on "When God Made Me". "This Old Guitar" reminisces over his long career, and on the album opener, "The Painter", he nods to old friends who are either long gone or still hanging around for another album. Several of the musicians on Prairie Wind have played with Young many times before, including keyboard player Spooner Oldham, guitarist Ben Keith, bassist Rick Rosas, and Emmylou Harris. For such a seasoned band, though, they sound maybe a little too familiar: They tend to let the songs drag out, clocking in at five, six, or even seven minutes (the tiring title track) when three would work just fine.</p><p>Intermingled with these private memories are larger concerns about Bush-era America, across which a cold prairie wind apparently blows. Yet Young's music is so rooted in the past, specifically the spirit of the 60s, that his stabs at contemporary relevance sound awkward and even curmudgeonly, as on "No Wonder" when he refers to "America the Beautiful" as "that song from 9/11" and quotes Chris Rock. Prairie Wind tries to gauge the present via the past, but there's a profound disconnect. But maybe Young is aware of it: "I try to tell the people," he sings on the title track, "But they never hear a word I say/ They say there's nothin' out there but wheat field anyway." He sounds pretty frustrated, but Prairie Wind mostly is frustrating.</p><p>— <strong>Stephen M. Deusner, Pitchfork</strong></p>
Steve Young	Rock, Salt And Nails
Steve Young	Seven Bridges Road
Gheorge Zamfir	La Doina Roumaine
Gheorge Zamfir	Flute De Pan Et Orgue
Frank Zappa	Hot Rats	<p>Aside from the experimental side project Lumpy Gravy, Hot Rats was the first album Frank Zappa recorded as a solo artist sans the Mothers, though he continued to employ previous musical collaborators, most notably multi-instrumentalist Ian Underwood. Other than another side project -- the doo wop tribute Cruising With Ruben and the Jets -- Hot Rats was also the first time Zappa focused his efforts in one general area, namely jazz-rock. The result is a classic of the genre. Hot Rats' genius lies in the way it fuses the compositional sophistication of jazz with rock's down-and-dirty attitude -- there's a real looseness and grit to the three lengthy jams, and a surprising, wry elegance to the three shorter, tightly arranged numbers (particularly the sumptuous "Peaches en Regalia"). Perhaps the biggest revelation isn't the straightforward presentation, or the intricately shifting instrumental voices in Zappa's arrangements -- it's his own virtuosity on the electric guitar, recorded during extended improvisational workouts for the first time here. His wonderfully scuzzy, distorted tone is an especially good fit on "Willie the Pimp," with its greasy blues riffs and guest vocalist Captain Beefheart's Howlin' Wolf theatrics. Elsewhere, his skill as a melodist was in full flower, whether dominating an entire piece or providing a memorable theme as a jumping-off point. In addition to Underwood, the backing band featured contributions from Jean-Luc Ponty, Lowell George, and Don "Sugarcane" Harris, among others; still, Zappa is unquestionably the star of the show. Hot Rats still sizzles; few albums originating on the rock side of jazz-rock fusion flowed so freely between both sides of the equation, or achieved such unwavering excitement and energy.</p><p>—<strong>Steve Huey</strong></p><hr/><p>Frank Zappa – guitar, octave bass, percussion</p><p>Ian Underwood – piano, organus maximus, flute, all clarinets, all saxes</p><p>Captain Beefheart – vocals on "Willie the Pimp"</p><p>Max Bennett – bass on all tracks except "Peaches en Regalia"</p><p>Shuggie Otis – bass on "Peaches en Regalia"</p><p>John Guerin – drums on "Willie the Pimp", "Little Umbrellas" and "It Must Be a Camel"</p><p>Paul Humphrey – drums on "Son of Mr. Green Genes" and "The Gumbo Variations"</p><p>Ron Selico – drums on "Peaches en Regalia"</p><p>Don "Sugarcane" Harris – violin on "Willie the Pimp" and "The Gumbo Variations"</p><p>Jean-Luc Ponty – violin on "It Must Be a Camel"</p><p>Lowell George – rhythm guitar (uncredited)</p>
Frank Zappa	Chunga's Revenge	<p>Chunga's Revenge marks the debut of Mark Volman and Howard Kaylan (among several other musicians) with the Mothers, and while their schtick has not reached the graphic proportions it later would, the thematic obsessions of the 200 Motels period are foreshadowed on tracks like "Road Ladies" and "Would You Go All the Way?" Other vocal numbers include the hard-rocking "Tell Me You Love Me," the musicians' union satire "Rudy Wants to Buy Yez a Drink," and the doo wop-influenced "Sharleena." Meanwhile, Frank Zappa's strong instrumental music incorporates Eastern European influences ("Transylvania Boogie"), cocktail jazz ("Twenty Small Cigars"), and the percussion-only "The Clap." Zappa's guitar tone is wonderfully biting and nasty throughout; George Duke provides another musical highlight by scat-singing a "drum solo." But while there are plenty of fine moments, Chunga's Revenge is in the end more of a hodgepodge transitional album, with less coherence than Zappa's other 1969-1970 works. Still, it will appeal to fans of that creatively fertile period in Zappa's oeuvre.</p><p>—<strong>François Couture</strong></p>
Frank Zappa	Burnt Weeny Sandwich	<p>Burnt Weeny Sandwich is the first of two albums by the Mothers of Invention that Frank Zappa released in 1970, after he had disbanded the original lineup. While Weasels Ripped My Flesh focuses on complex material and improvised stage madness, this collection of studio and live recordings summarizes the leader's various interests and influences at the time. It opens and closes on '50s pop covers, "WPLJ" and "Valarie." "Aybe Sea" is a Zappafied sea shanty, while "Igor's Boogie" is named after composer Igor Stravinsky, the closest thing to a hero Zappa ever worshipped. But the best material is represented by "Holiday in Berlin," a theme that would become central to the music of 200 Motels, and "The Little House I Used to Live In," including a virtuoso piano solo by Ian Underwood. Presented as an extended set of theme and variations, the latter does not reach the same heights as "King Kong." In many places, and with the two aforementioned exceptions in mind, Burnt Weeny Sandwich sounds like a set of outtakes from Uncle Meat, which already summarized to an extent the adventures of the early Mothers. It lacks some direction, but those allergic to the group's grunts and free-form playing will prefer it to the wacky Weasels Ripped My Flesh.</p><p>—<strong>François Couture</strong></p>
Frank Zappa	Hot Rats	<p>Aside from the experimental side project Lumpy Gravy, Hot Rats was the first album Frank Zappa recorded as a solo artist sans the Mothers, though he continued to employ previous musical collaborators, most notably multi-instrumentalist Ian Underwood. Other than another side project -- the doo wop tribute Cruising With Ruben and the Jets -- Hot Rats was also the first time Zappa focused his efforts in one general area, namely jazz-rock. The result is a classic of the genre. Hot Rats' genius lies in the way it fuses the compositional sophistication of jazz with rock's down-and-dirty attitude -- there's a real looseness and grit to the three lengthy jams, and a surprising, wry elegance to the three shorter, tightly arranged numbers (particularly the sumptuous "Peaches en Regalia"). Perhaps the biggest revelation isn't the straightforward presentation, or the intricately shifting instrumental voices in Zappa's arrangements -- it's his own virtuosity on the electric guitar, recorded during extended improvisational workouts for the first time here. His wonderfully scuzzy, distorted tone is an especially good fit on "Willie the Pimp," with its greasy blues riffs and guest vocalist Captain Beefheart's Howlin' Wolf theatrics. Elsewhere, his skill as a melodist was in full flower, whether dominating an entire piece or providing a memorable theme as a jumping-off point. In addition to Underwood, the backing band featured contributions from Jean-Luc Ponty, Lowell George, and Don "Sugarcane" Harris, among others; still, Zappa is unquestionably the star of the show. Hot Rats still sizzles; few albums originating on the rock side of jazz-rock fusion flowed so freely between both sides of the equation, or achieved such unwavering excitement and energy.</p><p>—<strong>Steve Huey</strong></p><hr/><p>Frank Zappa – guitar, octave bass, percussion</p><p>Ian Underwood – piano, organus maximus, flute, all clarinets, all saxes</p><p>Captain Beefheart – vocals on "Willie the Pimp"</p><p>Max Bennett – bass on all tracks except "Peaches en Regalia"</p><p>Shuggie Otis – bass on "Peaches en Regalia"</p><p>John Guerin – drums on "Willie the Pimp", "Little Umbrellas" and "It Must Be a Camel"</p><p>Paul Humphrey – drums on "Son of Mr. Green Genes" and "The Gumbo Variations"</p><p>Ron Selico – drums on "Peaches en Regalia"</p><p>Don "Sugarcane" Harris – violin on "Willie the Pimp" and "The Gumbo Variations"</p><p>Jean-Luc Ponty – violin on "It Must Be a Camel"</p><p>Lowell George – rhythm guitar (uncredited)</p>
Warren Zevon	Exitable Boy
Warren Zevon	Bad Luck Streak
Warren Zevon	Leave My Monkey Alone
Pinchas Zukerman	The Phenomenal Pinchas Zuckerman
Pinchas Zukerman	Favourite Violin Concertos
Zwan	Mary Star Of The Sea

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