Record Reviews
📝 2096 reviews| Artist | Title | Review |
|---|---|---|
| Graham Parker | Live! Alone In America | <p>There's a wonderful, solitary beauty to the performance captured on this CD, from Philadelphia's Theatre of Living Arts in October of 1988. True, Parker doesn't do any radical re-tooling of any of his repertory in the manner of, say, Bob Dylan. But he does give us a lot of that repertory, going back more than a decade to Howlin' Wind, and into some unexpected corners of his work; fans may quibble about the choices, but taken on its own terms, what's here is delightful. The combination of his voice and a solo acoustic guitar, plus a relaxed venue and an obviously appreciative crowd, seem to have yielded a perfect vibe for the duration of the show. What's more, stripping Parker's songs to their basics is a good idea, lending them a folk-like spontaneity and intimacy that gives the words more meaning and the music more of a pronounced (yet still understated) beauty. Even "Three Martini Lunch" achieves a quiet, rootsy splendor and honesty. And Parker's voice rises to the occasion, with an elegant expressiveness that's much more (if not impossible) difficult to achieve in an amplified setting. Strangely enough, "Back in Time," the one song from Mona Lisa's Sister, his most recent studio album at the time, sounds slick and commercial next to the older repertory, though it's still fine listening, and might have made a great single in this form. And then there are the audience participation, clap-along numbers, such as "Hotel Chambermaid" and "Don't Let It Bring You Down," which can make the listener wish there'd been a video account of this show as well; even non-fans can float away on the ebullience of moments like these. And Parker closes the show with an artistically very risky move: white artists have been covering Sam Cooke songs for decades (Parker did it with "Cupid" on Mona Lisa's Sister); but "A Change Is Gonna Come" isn't just any Sam Cooke, or any song, trading as it does in images of racism, grief, and longing. Parker does pull it off, just. Southside Johnny is still the white artist best-suited to do that song, if anyone is, but Parker's restrained playing and raw emoting get him by, to a satisfying final.</p><p>— <strong>Mark Deming</strong></p> |
| Gene Parsons | Kindling | |
| Gram Parsons | GP | |
| Gram Parsons | GP/Grevious Angel | <p>In the year before his death in the fall of 1973, Gram Parsons recorded two superb solo albums, and Warner Brothers has conveniently reissued them in their entirety on a single compact disc. Since many of the same musicians played on both G.P. (released in January of 1973) and Grievous Angel (which appeared in stores almost exactly a year later), the two albums flow together quite well as a single set. And while no bonus tracks were added, the booklet features well-written essays on Parsons from John M. Delgatto and Marley Brant, the complete liner notes from both albums, and lyrics for all the songs on the disc (which weren't included in the original vinyl issues). While the material and performances on G.P. are a shade stronger than on Grievous Angel, both albums have more than their share of pearly moments, and this disc is a treat from start to finish; James Burton's guitar leads are chicken-pickin' at its smartest and most tasteful, Al Perkins' pedal steel is the definitive sound of country & western heartache, fiddler Byron Berline effortlessly reveals how he became one of Nashville's leading session musicians, and Parsons' duets with the young Emmylou Harris are nothing less than sublime. And would anyone who loves either country or rock really want to be without a CD that includes songs like "A Song for You," "The New Soft Shoe," "Big Mouth Blues," "$1,000 Wedding," or "In My Hour of Darkness"? While the definitive Gram Parsons collection has yet to be compiled, G.P./Grievous Angel gives you everything you really need from his solo career, and these 20 performances are among the most influential and satisfying music the genre of country-rock would ever produce.</p><p><strong>—Mark Deming</strong</p> |
| Jaco Pastorius | Jaco Pastorius | |
| Charley Patton | Pony Blues | |
| Charley Patton | The Definitive | <p>The digital remastering on this compilation is just as superior to any previous attempts to transcribe Patton's marginally recorded and preserved legacy as that of the Document discs. And as it is only slightly less thorough -- the Document discs include extra takes on "Elder Green Blues," "Hammer Blues," and "Some of these Days I'll Be Gone" -- this compilation seems the likely choice for anyone with an interest in pre-war Delta blues. Both affordable and handsomely packaged, the three-disc box includes extensive liner notes written by blues historians Keith Briggs and Alex Van Der Tuuk, with reminiscences by Patton crony Son House.</p><p>—<strong>Travis Drageset</strong></p><hr/><p>The late 1800's/early 1900's, the term “redneck” had drastically different connotation than that which it carries today. Initially it was a verbal short hand to describe the Irish and Scottish immigrant farmers down south. After a day in the fields their necks burnt a lobster red. Like all who joined the great melting pot with dreams and hopes of something better, they brought their songs to sing with them. Folk melodies, murder ballads, played with a lot of the instruments which would be used for the early country music. This mixed with the sung laments of plantation slaves birthed the blues.</p><p>The earliest blues was a complex amalgam of these three seemingly divergent sources, country, folk and plain song brought over by the slaves. In the far future practitioners may have more chops, but the construction and influences would never again be as open minded, nor as organically mixed.</p><p>The embodiment of this first great wave of bluesmen was Charlie Patton. The exact date of his birth is often debated. Given sometimes as April 1887 or 1891. He himself was never sure, the later date being supplied by his parents for a 1900 census poll. He could not read or write except his name which he always slowly spelled out loud C-h-a-r-l-i-e. Ironically throughout his oeuvre it is spelled Charley.</p><p>Charlie was descended of mixed blood which included white, Native American and African American. The oddly pejorative term “good hair” (Caucasian-like) was often used to describe him when not talking about his music.</p><p>His family was religious and disapproved of his music and his casual teachers. The music was referred to as “Devil's music” and his romance with it often earned him beatings from his father. Eventually, for whatever reason his father eased up, even buying Charlie a guitar. It was shortly after this he hit the road never again to return home for any real length of time.</p><p>Charlie's main recorded output was the blues, but this was far more a financial decision on the part of the record company than a personal artistic choice on Charlie's part. It was the same commercial consideration which largely kept Charlie's less blues like pieces from ever seeing wax.</p><p>He did not seem to mind. Often to give an audience their money's worth, when performing Charlie would toss and catch his guitar, play the underside percussively, drum like or when the mood struck him, behind his head. Considering what was resonating from him, all far from necessary.</p><p>Although he never liked to complain, like many artists of his day (and sadly, in ensuing decades) Charlie was taken advantage of by record companies. He and other artists would have to commute to Northern cities to record or in makeshift studios set up in barns or flop houses.</p><p>These early blues men were pursued by record companies not out respect for their artistic merits but in hope of creating an African American record buying (phonographs too) public. With few exceptions this was driving vision behind these small companies.</p><p>Pony Blues was successful, Charlie's biggest seller (Paramount Records). In keeping with the times only the smallest trickle of money went to him. From his point of view, while never becoming rich, he was kept in sandwiches, whiskey and smokes. Always happy enough to not have to do manual labor as often.</p><p>Pea Vine Blues used a new gimmick thought up by the record company. The record was released with a contest. The singer was listed as “The Masked Marvel” its cover depicting an illustration which looked like Charlie donning a Lone Ranger styled mask. Contestants were asked to guess his identity. The winner received a Paramount Record of their choice. The contest entry forms accompanied the record all 10,000 sold out. Staggering when you consider that this was well before the age of mass media or quick communication. Paramount Records hedged their bets by also doing up 7000 promo posters and ads in The Chicago Defender, the premier paper for the other side of segregated America.</p><p>The initial pressing quickly sold out creating the market for a second pressing, a then rarity for such a specialized market.</p><p>Interestingly enough, Charlie had recorded (briefly) some religious hymns under the pseudonym J.J Hadley. Either name was an accepted answer for the contest.</p><p>Charlie was of average height and slight build (135lbs) but some of his material was musical boasts concerning his prowess and potency. (Charlie as a proto rapper?). Mostly though, he and other blues forefathers would recite topical verse over often simple but hypnotic beats. Charlie is believed to be the first one to use the now standard twelve bar blues pattern.</p><p>Initially, before the lexicon of blues standards was born, the tales in Charlie and his peers songs were intricate, image rich American Gothic. Flannery O'Connor meets the juke joint.</p><p>In Charlie's lyrics, depending upon your point of view, God or the devil was ever present, not as an incarnation, but as natural calamities. Floods, the taste of one's mortality, even boweevils. Despite the commercial considerations of what Charlie recorded, there was always more than just some woman having done him wrong. Deeper themes whose narrative complexity still retain their power in this modern age when Charlie's way of life has long since vanished.</p><p>Another key appeal of Charlie's work was his vocals. The lyrics were often obscured. The cadence of his voice being used as a second instrument. There is something about the sound of those simple, yet hypnotic beats mixing with that voice. It reaches deep down into you, a primal twitch. I like to listen to this in the dark. You should listen to this in the dark, listen anywhere desolation and appetite can be poetry.</p><p>It was said that Charlie had, had eight wives. At the very least he had eight roommates. With a hair trigger temper he had fought with all of them.</p><p>When not in jail, sick or recording, this American troubadour was out living the life he would represent in his art. Reporting on what he saw and interjecting his own opinions. One of the strongest tracks off of CD #2 is “High Water Everywhere”. This was based off of the 1927 Mississippi flood and its after effects as he witnessed them. It is from the episodic growl as much as the cabaret theater world of Brecht/Weil that Tom Waits would build his initial musical foundation off of.</p><p>Long time brother in arms Willie Brown spent years observing and playing with Charlie. From the practical application of this apprenticeship Willie became a great blues man in his own right. It was from Willie in the 1920's a teenage Robert Johnson attempted to learn.</p><p>With the onslaught of the depression, many small record labels folded, times were tough all around and Charlie made due the best he could. By the mid 1930's, Charlie, in his mid forties began to feel the effects of his lifestyle. A fight one night ended with Charlie having his throat slit and living to sing about it. Bad woman, good cocaine and strong whiskey with an endless supply of cigarettes to mark the time in between each.</p><p>1934 saw the depression finally beginning to bottom out. People no longer needed to be tunnel-visioned on how to eat, where to find work. It would be several more years until it was done with completely. The theory that affordable distractions will always make money in times of trouble has been proven again and again.</p><p>W.R Calaway of The American Record Corporation wanted to record Charlie. For what would be Charlie's last sessions he tracked the artist and his wife Bertha Lee who would share vocal duties, down to a Mississippi jail where they were both serving time for having had one of their knock down drag outs at a house party. W.R Calaway made bail and brought the pair to New York.</p><p>New York was having one of its bad winters. Charlie was already frail and sick. Both in lyrical content and in his haunted performance Charlie seems to have felt the ebb and flow of his mortality.</p><p>One of Charlie's last recorded songs was 34 Blues, 34 being slang for “go away”. Three months after his final sessions while living on a plantation with another woman Charlie died of a heart condition brought on by an attack of rheumatic fever. As he lay dying, in delirium, it was to the reciting of one of the religious hymns he recorded as J.J Hadley he occupied his last days until death finally took him.</p><p>The sound on these three CDs is good, it has been cleaned up, but not sanitized to the point of loosing its soul in studio artificiality. At times there is the ambient presence of a 78's hiss. It works, it belongs. The effect is akin to listening to some of the great prewar Edith Piaf recordings which contain the same hiss. It furthers the effect of being spoken to from another time, without ever distracting or lessening the art. So well does it work, it almost seems as if these two artists, so different, both incorporate the hiss and technological limitations into their deliveries and technique.</p><p>The songs are all presented in chronological order which I always think is a nice touch. Aside from the aforementioned “High Water Everywhere” another personal favorite (CD #2) is “Mean Black Moan” which features a trance inducing guitar pattern, with the singing violin sounding almost like an upper register clarinet all occurring while the tale is told.</p><p>Henry Sims on violin is perfect. He had a touch which managed to be both raw and subtle. He would go on to work with later day blues man Muddy Waters. It offers a glimpse of what might have been if Charlie had had opportunity for more instrumentation or at least further sympathetic accompaniment.</p><p>The packaging is nice. The three CDs are packaged in hard cardboard sleeves to look like old 78's which are housed in a good looking little box with an eighteen page informative booklet.</p><p>This compares nicely with “The Best of Charlie Patton” (1 CD Yazoo). Yazoo was one of foremost revivalist of early American music chroniclers. This is one CD and not really that much less than this three CD set.</p><p>The crown jewel for any serious collector is “Screamin' and Hollerin' the Blues:The Worlds of Charley Patton” (7 CDs Revenant Records) This is literally functional art. Designed to look like a large 78's record box, it includes lots of reading material including the long out of print thesis on Charlie by John Fahey, stickers interviews and other Charlie related literature. An investment to be sure, but worth it.</p><p>It was not until 1980 Charlie was actually induced into The Blues Foundation's hall of fame. In 1990 singer John Fogerty paid for a proper funerary monument to be erected. Other Mississippi blues men are talked about and sited more often. Charlie's stuff, because of its deeply personal delivery would be far harder to emulate. This is the king. From the roots of this musical tree would flow far reaching and diverse branches.</p><p>—<strong>Maxwell Chandler</strong></p> |
| Charley Patton | Pony Blues | <P>The story of Delta blues starts with Charley Patton's slashing slide style, hoarse and gruff vocals, and unerring ability to personalize even the most mundane blues lyric. Patton's 78s have been collected in several fine packages, including the JSP box called Complete Recordings, Catfish's three-disc budget box called Definitive Charley Patton, and the last word in all this, the impressive (and expensive) seven-disc Screamin' and Hollerin' the Blues from Revenant Records. This single-disc selection from Proper works as an inexpensive single-disc introduction to Patton, and it contains his best-known songs like "Pony Blues," the two-part "High Water Everywhere," "Down the Dirt Road Blues," "High Sheriff Blues," and "Revenue Man Blues." Since Patton's rhythms and overall approach can be repetitive at times, casual listeners wondering what all the fuss is about might be better served with a single disc like this one that hones things down a bit, but Patton's work is both the Big Bang and the epicenter of country blues, so going a little deeper and springing for one of the box sets is well worth the time and expense.</P><p>— <b>Steve Leggett</b></p> |
| Charley Patton | Pony Blues | |
| Paul Butterfield's Better Days | Better Days | <p>"We're the only band around that's playing rooted American music," Better Days vocalist and former folkie Geoff Muldaur told an interviewer when this album was first released in 1973, and with perhaps just a handful of exceptions he was right. The band's mix of various styles of blues, from rural (Robert Johnson), to cosmopolitan (Percy Mayfield), along with hints of New Orleans R&B, boogie woogie, and early rock and country, was tremendously out of step with the pop trends of its time.</p><p>These days, of course, there are many bands doing more or less the same thing (although rarely as well), but the fact that these guys couldn't have cared less about appearing trendy is one of the reasons why BETTER DAYS sounds timeless. Another reason, of course, is world class musicianship; Muldaur, Paul Butterfield, and stupendously stylish guitarist Amos Garrett in particular come across as both relaxed and passionate. Despite their essentially formalistic approach to music making, they never sound academic or sterile. BETTER DAYS is one of the great lost albums of the '70s.</p> |
| Pearl Jam | Ten | <p>Ten may be classic rock today, but it's easy to underestimate how radical Pearl Jam sounded back in 1991, even with Nirvana ascendant. After several long years of hair metal dominance, here was a band that could jam stadium-large, texture their sound darkly and densely, and explode the blues-rock template. Here was a frontman with an entirely new stage presence, whose voice strained hard for sincerity and whose songwriting expressed grave self-reckoning without resorting to easy sentiments or self-glorifying choruses. Against the odds—as well as against the band's wishes, apparently—their debut became a phenomenon, an alt-rock figurehead as crucial as Nevermind in ushering in and defining the parameters for mainstream rock. Vedder's self-doubts ran as deep as Cobain's, but he expressed them bluntly and directly rather than poetically and obscurely. Oh and also, he's still alive.</p><p>Deeply invested in the cathartic possibilities of punk and classic rock, Pearl Jam seemingly made music as a form of self-therapy, an idea that took hold with nearly a decade of alt-rock acts to come. The band is routinely blamed for the self-gratifying Stone Temple Pilots, Creeds, and Nicklebacks that followed Ten, but the band naturally never set out to remake rock music in its own image. Suspicious of the hedonism of the arena rock that preceded them, Pearl Jam were a solemn band, and Ten sounds nothing if not entirely serious about animating Vedder's self-doubts. At times, it's a bit overwrought ("I don't question our existence/ I just question our modern needs"), but the earnestness with which Vedder sang and the band played these songs belies the decade's reputation as a period of pervasive irony. Ultimately, the 1990s wouldn't have been so bad if Pearl Jam's followers hadn't aped their self-seriousness so relentlessly.</p><p>Nevertheless, Ten remains impressive and occasionally moving 18 years later, even gentrified with a shiny reissue. The public perception of the album is watered down thanks mainly to the excision of "Alive", "Jeremy", and "Even Flow" as singles. The latter two may be the album's least remarkable tracks: "Jeremy" is the most pat Freudian psychodrama on an album full of them, and "Evenflow" romanticizes homelessness as spiritually transcendent. But "Alive" remains potent not only because Vedder touches on some seriously transgressive shit here (dead fathers, hints at incest, survivor guilt), but mostly because the band rock the hell out of that coda.</p><p>Today, Ten lives and dies by its album tracks, and while there are a few clunkers, most are pretty ballsy in their disdain for expectations. Granted, as a new band with few realistic prospects for the kind of success they quickly achieved, Pearl Jam were working with a very different set of expectations than the ones retroactively assigned to them. On songs like "Once", with its insistent breakdowns, and "Black", with strangely dramatic vocalizations, there's a hardscrabble dynamic that the band would be unable to capture on subsequent releases. "Why Go" is ferocious in its outrage, with Vedder delivering his most pained vocals, and Stone Gossard and Mike McCready match him on every song, translating Vedder's howls into messy, edge-of-the-precipice solos and paint-peeling riffs like the one that anchors "Deep".</p><p>In addition to the original album as produced by Rick Parashar and mixed by Tim Palmer, the new reissue includes a second disc, titled Ten Redux, that includes a new mix by Brendan O'Brien. A few of these new versions appeared on 2004's best-of Rearviewmirror, and O'Brien, who has worked with Pearl Jam on most of their subsequent albums, brings Vedder's ad libs to the forefront, sharpens some of the guitar riffs, and generally cleans up the murkiness. Sounding like 2005 rather than 1991, Ten Redux misses the point: The album's murkiness was one of its chief attractions, its flawed spontaneity feeding the songs' of-the-moment intensity. Ultimately, these new versions have less to do with Pearl Jam's music than with O'Brien's superfandom.</p><p>Ten Redux closes with a paltry six bonus tracks. "2,000 Mile Blues" is atrocious Jimi worship, "Evil Little Goat" is Vedder's best Jim Morrison impersonation, and neither "Breath" (here retitled "Breath and a Scream") nor "State of Love and Trust" sound as vital here as they did on the Singles soundtrack. These tracks are obviously intended not to overlap with 2003's Lost Dogs: Rarities and B-Sides, but flipsides like "Dirty Frank" and "Yellow Ledbetter" were surprisingly popular satellites orbiting Ten, played often on radio stations that didn't typically delve that deep into any artist's catalog and shouted at concerts by fans who weren't that fanatic. Their absence limits the reissue, creating an incomplete portrait of the band in its earliest days.</p><p>Ten deserved better than Ten Redux and the paltry bonus tracks. Fortunately, the reissue also includes a DVD of Pearl Jam's 1992 performance on "MTV Unplugged". The fashions are of course dated (nice fuzzy hat, Jeff Ament) and Vedder's stool-bound intensity can be fairly ridiculous, but the DVD is a useful and entertaining document of their intense live sets. Thanks to the tight rhythms of drummer Dave Abbruzzese and bass player Ament, the songs lose little of their momentum in this setting, which handily showcases the guitar interplay between Gossard and McCready. But this is Vedder's show—a live, public debut for his idiosyncrasies. Taking the stage in a tight jacket and backwards baseball cap, he gradually unleashes himself during the show, first letting his hair down and then eventually losing the jacket. By show's end, he's balancing precariously on his stool and scrawling PRO CHOICE!!! on his arms with a Sharpie. Pearl Jam may have shunned the spotlight, but they were born showmen.</p><p>— <strong>Stephen M. Deusner, Pitchfork</strong></p> |
| Pearl Jam | Ten | <p>The first Seattle band to hit the big time after Nirvana, Pearl Jam was not anyone's pick to be successful. Yet, Pearl Jam's brand of hard rock made them more accessible than any other Seattle band, including Nirvana. Pearl Jam's music is not as confused as Mudhoney, as melodic as Nirvana, as menacing as Alice In Chains, or as bloated as Soundgarden. Ten is remarkably clear-headed and clean, and very politically correct — a perfect soundtrack for the 1990s. The muscular, melodic rock of "Jeremy," "Alive," and "Evenflow" brought Pearl Jam crossover success, helping Ten climb into the Top Ten and sell over nine million copies.</p><p>— <strong> Stephen Thomas Erlewine</strong></p> |
| Pearl Jam | Vitology | <p>Thanks to its stripped-down, lean production, Vitalogy stands as Pearl Jam's most original and uncompromising album. While it isn't a concept album, Vitalogy sounds like one. Death and despair shroud the album, rendering even the explosive celebration of vinyl "Spin the Black Circle" somewhat muted. But that black cloud works to Pearl Jam's advantage, injecting a nervous tension to brittle rockers like "Last Exit" and "Not for You," and especially introspective ballads like "Corduroy" and "Better Man." In between the straight rock numbers and the searching slow songs, Pearl Jam contribute their strangest music — the mantrafunk of "Aye Davanita," the sub-Tom Waits accordion romp of "Bugs," and the chilling sonic collage "Hey Foxymophandlemama, That's Me." Pearl Jam are at their best when they're fighting, whether it's Ticketmaster, fame, or their own personal demons.</p><p><b>— Stephen Thomas Erlewine</b></p> |
| Pearl Jam | Merkin' Ball | |
| Pearl Jam | No Code | <p>A strange phenomenon with anthemic hard rock bands is that when they begin to mature and branch out into new musical genres, they nearly always choose to embrace both the music and spirituality of the East and India, and Pearl Jam is no exception. Throughout No Code, Eddie Vedder expounds on his moral and spiritual dilemmas; where on previous albums his rage was virtually all-consuming, it is clear on No Code that he has embraced an unspecified religion as a way to ease his troubles. Fortunately, that has coincided with an expansion of the group's musical palette. From the subtle, winding opener, "Sometimes," and the near-prayer of the single, "Who You Are," the band reaches into new territory, working with droning, mantra-like riffs and vocals, layered exotic percussion, and a newfound subtlety. Of course, they haven't left behind hard rock, but like any Pearl Jam record, the heart of No Code doesn't lie in the harder songs, it lies in the slower numbers and the ballads, which give Vedder the best platform for his soul-searching: "Present Tense," "Off He Goes," "In My Tree," and "Around the Bend" equal the group's earlier masterpieces. While a bit too incoherent, No Code is Pearl Jam's richest and most rewarding album to date as well as their most human. They might be maturing in a fairly conventional method, but they still find new ways to state old truths.</p><p><b>— Stephen Thomas Erlewine</b></p> |
| Pearl Jam | No Code | |
| Pearl Jam | Touring Band 2000 | |
| Pearl Jam | Binaural | |
| Pearl Jam | Live At The Garden | |
| Pearl Jam | Lost Dogs |
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