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(Polydor, 1984)Once more to the well! Here’s further doodly-doo from the archives, a partner/sequel of sorts to “Watching the Wheels” where John addresses the big-city bored-dude itch that comes along with his decision to squirrel himself away as a daddy for five years. It’s a stiff straight-rock-combo performance, clearly not intended to be a final take, but it’s strong enough as far as outtakes go (though maybe not worthy of release as a single). Yoko’s alien-croon funk come-on “Sleepless Night” adds little… beyond “Walking on Thin Ice,” the post-Double Fantasy years aren’t her most exciting musical period. Fashion commentary: the cover of this record reminds me once again that our friend John was bizarrely thin back in ’80. What was that about? Was he skiing the Bolivian slopes, wink-wink? HEY, SEARCH ME!
(Polydor, 1984)I know what you’re wondering: How’s stuff going with my shower? Well let me tells it to you straight by informing one and all that I fixed it my own damned self by bellbottoming down to the local plumbing supply store and simply buying a new shower head, which I then “installed” WITHOUT the recommended thread sealing tape. Problem solved, body cleansed. None more handy than this guy right here, and none more rebellious (re: thread sealing tape). I DO WHAT I WANT.And what of John Lennon? Baggy white-dude reggae butter from him here with “Borrowed Time”… it’s a very swell simp-Caribbean groove-thingy that ambles along inoffensively just as it should. His DF/M&H sessions were loose, and this pulls that vibe off as well as anything else on those oft-slight tapes, even if, as a whole, Milk and Honey goes a bit far in the anti-slick direction and, perhaps inevitably, feels at times unfinished and patched together. Uh. So?
(Polydor, 1983)I’m all out of sorts. Not only do I have some weird head-congestion situation that’s rendering me half-deaf and three-quarters off-balance, but my shower is also busted. Water pressure problem? Utility company tomfoolery? Wish I knew. Washing and shampooing in the kitchen sink is a skunk-rotten scene even after a single day. These aggravations have left me grouchy, and I’m sulking around the pad tonight with a grimace, a glare, and both fists a-shaking. What is that that deceased fellow from the Beatles sang in his big posthumous hit? “Nobody told me there’d be days like these!” Darn straight, Johnny! ’Cept he’s doling out a wryly bemused helping of whatchoo-gonna-do bafflement that has little to do – moodwise – with the pissy self-pitython that I’m busy rocking. Still, my anger hasta melt a smidge thanks to the goofy looseness of this simple pop ear-pleaser, a song whose rock-combo lightness of touch is refreshing after the off-putting gloss of Double Fantasy. Continuing the “dialogue” structure of DF, Yoko tacks her jarringly short “O’ Sanity” onto the B, wasting wax that woulda been better grooved with, if not a stronger Ono track, one of the many, many Lennon demos or outtakes from the post-’75 period – thematic whatsis is great and all, but this is just self-indulgent, poor-choice silliness. And that’s FACT, not my judgment-impairing sickness and uncleanliness talking.
(Polydor, 1981)
Here’s the one! Here’s the reason I foolishly bought all those other Ian Dury records that mostly bored me to death! “SPASTICUS AUTISTICUS”!! The lone TRULY GREAT disc this dude put out! It’s some fucked Seuss-style lyric-spit over punchy new-wave discofunk, all of which is rhythmically supervised by real-deal Jamaican dubberfuggers Sly and Robbie. Sure, I could do without the geeky Spartacus reference at the end (“I’m Spasticus!” “I’m Spasticus!”), but this is otherwise a catchy, hilariously misunderstood party-yelp that’s both the best articulation of Dury’s physical discomfort (and attendant sense o’ humor) AND the finest SONG he ever put together. The B-side here is a not-too-radical dub version – nothing exciting. Still: Get! GET! GET FOR KEEPS! Especially in the extended 12” format!! A classic, absolutely.
(Polydor, 1977)
Another version of the “Everybody Knows” single, which, for some bizarre reason, Polydor in Germany felt the need to reissue in the late ’70s. But there is at least some value here, as the B-side, “Always Me,” isn’t on any American Dave Clark Five LP. The song isn’t terribly different from “Everybody Knows,” with those strings and choir-of-angels backing vocals, and despite the 1977 copyright date it’s apparent that this Clark/Smith composition also comes from the tail-end of the ’60s. Rarity or not, however, it’s hard to get charged up rather than depressed about further lifeless, flabby balladry. The DC5 is clearly limping its way the end of the creative road with this garbage.
(Polydor, 1973)Ready for a dull review? Released in Mexico while the band’s snooze-inducing Life in a Tin Can was busy tanking, this is an odds-and-ends EP that plucks love songs from 1967 (“To Love Somebody”), 1969 (“Lamplight”), and 1971 (“How Can You Mend a Broken Heart”). The grandiose “Lamplight” is dominated by Robin’s high-pitched warble, with bright-sounding acoustic guitars and syrupy strings underneath. The payoff when the beautiful chorus hits makes it worth a listen, but the song just isn’t that memorable or well-constructed; here, orchestral ambition has made the fellas forget that you need to keep things tight and coherent (a problem on much of the Odessa album from which this is taken). Adult soft-pop is the name of the game on “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart,” a delicate little wimpfest that might have one of the group’s best melodies ever. Deservedly a big smash, so why not weep to it tonight when you’re all alone? The stylistic hodge-podge continues with a shockingly mature track from the band’s first album, the white-as-fuck soul of “To Love Somebody.” Gold star for Barry, who gives a sassy performance that has more than a whiff of the distinctive vocal style he’d develop in the mid-’70s. Ought to mention as well that Eric Burdon and the Animals recorded a histrionic, seven-minute cover of this one in the late ’60s for their Love Is album. Find it and soak your ears in self-indulgence!
(Polydor, 1968)Ah, the early Bee Gees. Look no further if you seek the “at” at which it’s at! This stuff is consistently outstanding, and it should blow away whatever early-80s popular-culture disco-backlash hangover might still be foolishly coloring your preconceptions of the group. The Bee Gees were a fairly democratic five-piece in their early days – the Gibbs plus Vince Melouney and Colin Petersen – and while they very much wrote for the pop market/charts, they typically brought an intense sense of drama and seriousness to their weird little tunes, most of which were heavily orchestrated with an odd chamber-psych sound. Love songs about death row? “I’ve Gotta Get a Message to You.” Upbeat songs about alcoholism? “Indian Gin and Whisky Dry.” Songs about being buried alive? “New York Mining Disaster 1941.” AND SO FORTH! They mighta dressed every track to the nines (TENS?!?) in strings, horns, and xylophones, but the melodies and harmonies were ALWAYS beautifruggingtardedly memorable. Always!And sure nuff, this Portugese EP sees the kiddies hitting their stride with four lush, ambitious, feelings-drenched mini-soaps, two of which are from the Horizontal LP, two of which are non-album. “Words” is just piano and a pleading Barry vocal before, at the second verse, swelling into a tasteful full-orchestra arrangement that is pretty enough and sweet enough to tamp down what would otherwise be quite reasonable accusations of appalling sappiness. In a similarly maudlin vein, droning organ and strings underpin a more mournful Barry on “With the Sun in My Eyes,” which is perhaps as psychedelic a lovelorn croonfest as ever you’ll hear. Then it’s time for more emotional sun-fun with “And the Sun Will Shine,” a slightly rockier ballad – in the drums, primarily – this time featuring Robin’s quivering lead. But! BUT! The TOTAL EARTH-SHATTERING MASTERPIECE on here is the rousing “Sinking Ships,” which has a beefy pre-Fridmann – dig them bells – arrangement, cryptic yet moving lyrics, and soaring vocals (when they up the volume and break into that “Take a look inside myself…” bit: YOW!). This was a B-side?! Generosity, thy name is Gibb!! Which is precisely why you oughta right now be buying Rhino’s reissues of the first three Bee Gee albums, each of which includes a full disc of outtakes and non-LP rarities. Rethink everything you ever pre-thunk once you spin these thingies! Solid gold. Bee Gees? More like BEE’S KNEES!!!!Look, I tried. It’s late.
(Polydor, 1984)
