Neil Innes - Dear Father Christmas

(Making Waves, 1984)

Neil Innes is one of those guys whose work – particularly with the Bonzo Dog Band – can (should!) be immensely appealing to high schoolers as they hit their “Monty Python” phase, but the surreal wackiness soon becomes less and less amusing, occasionally even slipping into cringeworthy territory as time goes by. That’s certainly been my experience, at least; I don’t bust a gut every time I see that Trojan Rabbit the way I did when I was 14, and, similarly, I now have a hard time getting through heavy-handed Innes songs like “9 to 5 Pollution Blues” and “Give Booze a Chance” that once were faves. I’ll always love everything he did in the Rutles, yes, but neither his straight-up comedy songs nor the more serious-minded compositions that litter his solo albums have held up too well as my pimples have faded.

“Dear Father Christmas,” a non-album single released after the Off the Record LP (and co-produced by Rod Argent!), strikes a very Innesian balance between jaunty semi-silliness and finger-wagging universal concerns, as it pleads for world peace over a seasonally-appropriate tuba, bells, and piano arrangement. Not bad as these things go, actually, and I appreciate that it gently mocks and deflates itself by confessing to being “just a Christmas single” in the chorus. I’ll waste no kind words on the oil-slick sax/synth horror of a flipside “City of the Angels,” however, as this is Innes at his most clumsily serious, the music and urban-grit lyrics coming off like an unfunny parody of bloated, nadir-era Lou Reed. Anything so rancid that it actually manages to make Innes’ contemporaneous dance remake of “Humanoid Boogie” seem appealing by comparison is a hunk of vinyl that ought to be buried deep within a landfill rather than sitting atop my turntable. Get outta my ears, song!

Imaginary Friend - Letters Home

(Drive-In, 1998)

Nice reverb and mixed-gender harmony on here, but, like the band’s first single, I still find it too professionally adult-contempo for comfort… even the reasonably straightlaced likes of Damon & Naomi outshine stuff such as this with some degree of homespun warmth and off-kilter charm. Boring post-Brit-folk Terrastockers who are into the, I dunno, Tom Rapp scene, say, might dig the Imaginary Friend alongside chin-beards and shows where you really listen, but all others should just stick with beer and having fun. That’s my deal, and look how far I’ve gotten.

Imaginary Friend - Whimsy

(Drive-In, 1997)

NO NO NO. There’s something about the skilled, over-emotive lady-sing here that reminds me of every mediocre local band that I, cross-armed and expressionless, suffered through in the coffeeshops and bars of high school and college. Oy. I admit: insane or not, I tend to be horrified by “technically-nice” voices, perhaps because they, almost always lacking the essential quality of EARNESTNESS, sound so out of place when set against the rudimentary/ugly/braindead musics I prefer. And, yeah, sure, there are some fine, spacey, post-Gal500 moozikmoods on this disc (“Hear From You,” especially), but this record achieves a spectacular blandness most noteworthy for its inability to impress itself upon your earholes in any way; the needle lifts and you’ve already forgotten what you’ve heard. Just as coffee races through the urinary tract, so does the Imaginary Friend scamper through the skull. Mentally flush it.