Album Reviews

Led Zeppelin “Led Zeppelin III” (1970)

I always gauge a professed Led Zep fan by their attitude to this record. If they say they find it weak, boring, soft, folky, then you pretty much say they’re fairweather friends who just want the hammer to drop, and would be much more at home with Black Sabbath or Uriah Heep. Fact is, Led Zep’s folk (and world music) inclinations weren’t some sort of add-on bonus; folk is at the heart of what the band is all about. Just listen to the first two records, which boast “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You”, “Black Mountain Side” (a straight retread of Bert Jansch’s “Black Waterside”), “Ramble On”, “Thank You”, “Your Time Is Gonna Come” and even “What Is And What Should Never Be”. In each of these songs, Celtic folk is a crucial element. Essential to Zeppelin, too, is the sense of mystery that comes from the folk tradition, the sense of the past in the present, that the otherworld (whether it be the supernatural or the Christian tradition) is just around the corner — what Bob Dylan once summed up affectionately as “songs about death and vegetables”. (And I’m reminded it was Dylan who informed us that “mystery is a fact”.)
So. Led Zeppelin III. Written and recorded, not in a frenzy of activity, as the first two albums had been, but in a more relaxed frame of mind, with Plant and Page actually decamping to Bron-Y-Aur, a small cottage in rural Wales, to write together. No wonder, then, that this is a mellower album than its predecessors. Not that you’d know it when you drop the needle on the record. “Immigrant Song” explodes into being, with Plant’s wail initiating us into the new world. The first two albums had begun with songs about sex; this one is about a mythical past, with Plant taking on the persona of a Viking warrior, ready to meet his companions in Valhalla (that is, in death). All hitched to one of the most brutal riffs this side of “Black Dog”. And then it’s over. Can it really be only two minutes’ long? It feels like we’ve glimpsed an entire world in that time.

Sometimes seen as just that record between the hard rock milestones of II and the self titled fourth album, it’s much more than that. In a way, it’s the culmination of the journey undertaken on the first two records, as well as the beginning of a new one that will last for the rest of the band’s career. Put simply, all the branches Zep will follow from now on can be traced to the seeds laid on III, whether it’s the orchestral majesty of “Kashmir” (with its template of “Friends”), the medieval tone to “No Quarter” or “The Battle Of Evermore”, or the slow burners of “Stairway” or “In My Time Of Dying”. Idiot American reviewers sometimes claim that with this album Zep were trying to jump on the Crosby, Stills & Nash soft rock bandwagon, yet a quick look at the English scene of 1969-70 shows that Zeppelin’s influences were Pentangle, Fairport Convention (compare III with Liege And Lief) and even Nick Drake. Actually, “influences” may be the wrong word; like any great band Zeppelin simply tied into the zeitgeist of the times, and discovered that its strains ran deep in its own DNA. –Brad

The Kinks “The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society” (1968)

This album still grows on me every time I listen to it! In the title track the Kinks sing ‘God save Donald Duck, Vaudeville and Variety’ and in this collection they do their best to immortalise all kinds of things. If all the world’s music except for this album were suddenly to disappear the Kinks would single-handedly have preserved some simple but catchy pop tunes (“Johnny Thunder” and “Animal Farm”), Vaudeville (in the form of “Sitting By The Riverside”) and Music Hall (“All Of My Friends Were There”) as well as the Village Green. Quite an achievement. But they don’t stop there. They capture the sound of The Grateful Dead and Dylan on “Last Of The Steam-Powered Trains” and is that Hendrix I hear in “Big Sky”? Then there’s the darkly psychedelic “Wicked Annabella” and the latin “Monica”. They do their own take on the “Under My Thumb” Rolling Stones theme in “Starstruck” and the ridiculous in “Phenomenal Cat” (who sounds as if he’s all set to eat the equally ridiculous Donald D). Is there no end to their conserving? “Picture Book” and “People Take Pictures Of Each Other” make sure that our nearest and dearest aren’t forgotten. Rest assured – we’re in safe hands. Taken on their own, many of the songs are rather simple. But put together I believe they amount to an artistic masterpiece – a preserved musical and poetic patchwork of past and present, itself reflecting the patchwork of the countryside that is home to many a village green. –Jim

Donovan “Barabajagal” (1969)

This is the album to play for any of your friends who insist that Donovan just doesn’t rock. The Jeff Beck Group pop in to kick the crap out of the title track, while “Superlungs” also shakes the foundations. (OK, I’m not pretending Deep Purple or Black Sabbath would be shaking in their boots. But heavy they are, my friend.) Elsewhere Don goes “Hey Jude” one better with “Atlantis” by going from spoken introduction to ecstatic freakout, omitting any actual song. “To Susan On The West Coast Waiting” is one of the best anti-war songs in a period not noticeably lacking in anti-war songs, and one of the few that actually expresses empathy for the soldiers doing the fighting. Elsewhere you have the lusty delights of “Pamela Jo” and “Trudi”. And if there’s also a piece of psychedelic silliness called “I Love My Shirt”, well, what did you expect? This is Donovan, remember. A remarkably satisfying listen that still sounds great, if a little short (about 32 minutes in total). –Brad

Roger McGuinn “Cardiff Rose” (1976)

McGuinn wasn’t the most talented songwriter in the Byrds (that was Gene Clark) or the most innovative (that was Chris Hillman), but he was probably the most solid musician and definitely the classiest vocalist. On this album, though, he’s working at peak form and the end result is a minor classic. He’s backed by Dylan’s Rolling Thunder band (here called Guam) and producer-guitarist Mick Ronson, who throws a handful of gravel into McGuinn’s sometimes too-sweet sound. There’s also a strong focus and consistency that his often too diverse other albums lack. The original material — “Take Me Away”, especially — is fine, but the high points are songs by Rolling Thunder collaborators Dylan and Joni Mitchell, both unreleased at the time (and for years after). Of course it wouldn’t be a McGuinn album without a traditional song, and he turns in a lovely, chilling performance on the old ballad “Pretty Polly”. His best post-Byrds work? Almost certainly. –Brad

Syd Barrett “The Madcap Laughs” (1970)

I have no idea what Syd Barrett’s mental state was like when he recorded this album (going on what I’ve read, though, it obviously wasn’t good), but we should emphasise this doesn’t sound like music from a man who was sick. It’s confident, playful (if also darker and more serious than his Floyd material), whimsical and open. It’s also not very “psychedelic”, in the sense that Piper was; the music, pared back to its core, reminds me more of, say, post-Cale Velvets than the Floyd. It’s an album with its own, defiantly personal way of doing things; it’s something you’ve never heard before, totally individual, and there’s no meeting it halfway — you either open your heart to it, or you don’t. Myself, I love it to pieces. –Brad

McCoy Tyner “The Real McCoy” (1967)

Yes! Here we have the album that lifts Tyner out of the shadow of Coltrane and propels him to deity status in jazz. A formidable pianist with a unique style Tyner was the defining muscular pianist whose hard aggressive block right hand chords and subtle left hand work made him eay to recognise and even easier to admire. With this album he simply explodes in every sense. His playing has never been bettered and it seems that all shackles are off. What also stands out is the stunning maturity of his compostion. This has the best opening of any jazz album with the romping Passion Dance and the perfectly titled Contemplation. Ron Carter has never sounded better either and Jones has a telepathic understanding with Tyner as is to be expected after so many years together. This would be in my ten jazz albums as a collection starter for any new or aspiring jazz fan. –Jon

Jerry Garcia “Garcia” (1972)

While the Grateful Dead don’t play on Garcia’s first solo album — it’s Jerry on everything except drums, which Bill Kreutzmann plays — you can, fairly, call this a Dead album in disguise. Not only did the six songs on the record all enter the band’s repertoire, most of them becoming mainstays, but the music very much inhabits the same sound world as Workingman’s Dead or American Beauty. Imagining those songs with, say, Bob Weir’s “Playing in the Band” and a Pigpen tune or two is enough to make you mourn the Great Dead Album That Wasn’t. Still, never mind; this is far and away Garcia’s best solo record, and even with the creepy sound experiments that fill out the second side — which I happen to like but clash somewhat — this just misses the full five stars. Apparently it’s Cher’s favourite album ever! –Brad

The Byrd “Dr. Byrds & Mr. Hyde” (1969)

Kicking off with an appropriately incendiary and doom-laden cover of a song best known from the Band’s Big Pink, this is not your L.A. hippie’s Byrds. Or is it? It’s a schizophrenic mess, really, as befits its title: the second track is a bounding little country ditty dedicated to a late dog, and, as a dog lover, I have to say I’ve got a soft spot for this, but it’s an unintegrated piece of a puzzling mess of a record, with a backhanded ode to the shitkickers that inspired their foray into country and western in the first place; a few remnants of their early psychedelic folk; a bizarre blues medley that doesn’t sound like much of anything (and not really in a good way); and a few other hybrids of the kind that would later prompt the term “alt-country.” These, and a really great proto-metal tune called “Bad Night at the Whisky.” Scattershot in song-form, production, and the level of commitment in its songwriting and performance, it’s really a McGuinn solo record backed up with a bunch of studio players who’re not always providing a sympathetic setting for the man’s restless (do I mean aimless?) creativity. Even so, I’d agree with reviewers who say this record doesn’t really get its due, ’cause sometimes there’s something to be said for schizophrenic messes—especially those that have such a strange, dark undercurrent. I probably prefer this to some of their more lauded releases. –Will

Sam Rivers “Contours” (1965)

Along with True Blue by Tina Brooks this is one of those Blue Note LPs that is painfully rare and unheard. What a shame as it is an absolute classic. Very different in feel to Brooks but just as essential. Avant Garde yet never forgetting to swing and what a line up: Hubbard, Hancock, Carter and Chambers! That should be worth the price of the LP alone but Rivers stamps his authority all over the set which is no mean feat in this company. His solos are at times tempered and sensitive and at other times scream with bursts of noise from the speakers. Carter and Hubbard are also on great form. The album also highlights what a great composer Rivers was. –Jon

Various Artists “Transformers: The Movie” (1986)

The battle’s over, but the war has just begun… There was only one place any boy in the summer of ’86 wanted to be – in the local multiplex soaking in Transformers: The Movie. Stepped-up animation, Transformers (including the presumedly indestructible Optimus Prime) getting shot and DYING, and bad language, this one promised a full dose of PG thrills. A few decades later, the movie is more of a chore to sit through, but the soundtrack holds up as a snapshot of mid 80’s pre-teen dreamin’. A mix of period AOR, slick metal, and evocative fusion/prog instrumentals, Transformers: The Movie plays up the good guy/bad guy angle with Stan Bush’s amazing double-shot of self-confidence in “The Touch” (reprised by Mark “Marky Mark” Whalberg in Boogie Nights) and “Dare,” while Kick Axe transform into Spectre General to deliver some evil Decepticon rock with “Nothing’s Gonna Stand in Our Way” and “Hunger.” Lion’s metallized version of the classic theme song is a pure laserblast of energy, and NRG’s “Instruments of Destruction” keeps the cannons blazing. Wrap it up with Scotti Bros. pride and joy, “Weird” Al Yankovic doing his best Devo impression on a rallying cry to kids across the country strung out on sugar and Atari, “Dare to be Stupid,” and I’m ready to slap on my Walkman, and hop on the ol’ Huffy BMX for some suburban curb burnin’. Transform and roll out! –Ben

Gil Scott-Heron “Pieces of a Man” (1971)

The song “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” is the earliest incidence of rap that I’ve heard so far. What’s more, it features the flute playing of Hubert Laws. That’s right, flute in a rap song. The next thing that really struck me was the bass. None other than Ron Carter makes the switch to electric bass, reminding me of Jaco Pastorius a little bit. Those three musicians form a deadly trio. Hubert Laws only plays on three songs, I think. That’s not much of an issue though because he wouldn’t have really fit in many of the other songs. The style of the music varies from fusion on the first half to soul and jazz on the rest of the record. What takes the album from being good to being great is the fact that everyone can identify with the lyrics about the plight of African Americans and subjects like depression. “Lady Day and John Coltrane” feels more like a statement about the power of music in general to enhance you life, with John Coltrane and Billie Holiday used as examples. Scott-Heron has made it known on his records that he’s a huge fan of Coltrane. Kind of makes a person wonder what kind of crazy supergroup would have been inevitable had a few people not died prematurely. Let’s say Coltrane lived on. Heron might have used Ron Carter to recruit Coltrane into this band. Pretty much wherever Coltrane went, Elvin Jones followed, so they wouldn’t have had to look far for a drummer. So far we’ve got flute, vocal, drums, sax and bass. What about guitar? The only right person for the job would have Jimi Hendrix, yet another victim of too much celebrity. Maybe throw John’s talented wife Alice in on piano and harp. Voila! Potentially one of the best supergroups that will never be. It’s sad, really. What I like better about this album versus Free Will is the presence of Ron Carter and that the lyrics are still political but don’t go so far as to border on being anti-white. It’s one thing to stick up for your people but it’s other to sound like you’re verbally attacking another group in the process. Let’s not fight hate with hate. Pieces of a Man was released the same year as What’s Going On by Marvin Gaye, has just as much political and social commentary, might be better, and yet gets a meager amount of recognition in comparison. Yup, that’s about how much sense I’ve come to expect from the music world. –Rob

Bruce Springsteen “Nebraska” (1982)

For this, I will forgive all the frat boy anthems. For this, I will forgive “Dancing in the Dark”. Hell, I’ll forgive Springsteen’s entire post-1985 career for this haunted, scarifying record that seems beamed directly in from a black and white movie from 1949. In its own strange way it’s as avant-garde as any French new wave film; here’s an eternally rural America where teenagers kill their families, the churches are filled with bodies, the highway stretches out endlessly before us and it’s always the hour before dawn. –Brad