Reviews by verlainemorrison96

Duke's a persuasive composer; there's a preternatural uplift that all of his compositions share, a surety, a swagger, a candid sense of self and others. Nothing breaks down b/c everything's a great run into the center of life and its particularities. This live recording famously attains that sensibility with genius. Quite literally, Duke and Louis (who's unforgivably absent from this list) invented our music. And a special shout-out to Cat Anderson, the best of all muted trumpeters I've heard. Sam Woodyard too on ‘Skin Deep.’

All-time voice; not an all-time album. Talent may speak for itself, but so does craft, subtlety, a diversity of sound, and expressive language, all of which this album has only some of the time, and not all that convincingly. But she can sing so damn well that her underachievements are now and then compensated for. She'll go down as an all-time great b/c her vocal abilities are, in fact, incredibly rare, and she has composed some pregnant, memorable songs. On this one: 'I Miss You,' 'River Lea,' 'Love in the Dark,' 'Million Years Ago,' 'Sweetest Devotion.' And yet, the whole gestalt lacks.

This one starts with two beauties, especially the opening track, which does manage to express the joy and realness of psychedelic experience: 'Oh, how is it that I could come out here / And be still floatin' / And never hit bottom and keep falling through / Just relaxed and paying attention?' That is precise, and superb. But then it drags quite a bit. Tho I admire the austerity of 'I Come and Stand at Every Door,' nothing impresses until the still innovative 'Eight Miles High.' Up next, the speedy and frantic rendition of 'Hey Joe' doesn't do it for me (it's admittedly hard for any to 'do it' after Hendrix), and the rest is good, but not great. When psychedelia snubs melodic variety, it can fall flat - this has that handicap. But it was widely influential and has some greatness in it. For that, I go higher.

If this isn’t excellent, it’s close to it. If it’s the beginnings of heavy metal, it’s early enuf not to be overwrought or to neglect its origins. Unsung heroics: Micky Waller, a put-together of Mitch and Ginger (got the fluidity of the former, uses the toms like the latter). The rendition of Ol’ Man River is more than up to snuff: it’s sincere. And I don’t know much about guitar chops, but Beck sure does seem to live up to the hype. I'll go w/ excellent.

Rush doesn't tell interesting stories, be they fantasy or science fiction, tho Geddy Lee may think he does. This isn't weird, it's boring, and when there is a reprieve of satisfying, even at times superior, instrumentation, you’re reminded of lyrics like: 'I stand atop a spiral stair / An oracle confronts me there.' 'Atop' and its kin are bad for music, unless its The Smiths and the literary is somehow properly negotiated. And when it's more stripped down (e.g. 'Tears'), it's unbearably saccharine, evincing a no-win situation.

His virtuosity aside, I can’t get into this - when it’s quietest, I’m happiest, like at the beginning of ‘Top Jimmy’ or ‘Drop Dead Legs.’ When it’s off, when it’s over, I’m really most pleased. I don’t mind dumb, or even fake, but a dud ‘tis, especially the squandering of ‘Hot for Teacher’ and ‘Girl Gone Bad.’ By the time ‘Jump’ (the best song, by far) starts soloing, there’s nothing left that I can remotely enjoy, it’s all so thin and, like so much hard rock, so soft. If he shreds, well, I can do w/o that verb.

Again, short songs redeem the whole. This is a well-produced album with creative percussiveness, rich, impactful guitars, and a compression to save it from going too far, too dreamy, too heady. The lyrics are the weak point, not difficult or pretentious, but in fact unmemorable, too steady, not wordy enough. But this is a good find, and in the end, I’m down with it. Especially beautiful: 'Onie'; especially tasteful: 'Train for Tomorrow' and 'Luvin''; heavy lifting in LA: 'Try Me on for Size'; not good: 'The Toonerville Trolley.'

'Although our music and our drugs stayed the same.' Sorta how I feel about this one - while I can admire Shaun Ryder's lyrics (at times), and the music has an edge (certainly Stones-influenced, more sixties than you'd initially figure), there's little variety here. If there's a joke, I don't quite get it; if it's about capturing a scene (rave culture), I'm not taken there. And it's weird when I don't know why: 'We're all food, your cake / We're all the food, your weirdo's cream.' I know what to do with impressionism, with the strange and the grotesque, but I don't know what to do with that. Nor do I want to. I do like the more straightforward stuff ('Country Song,' 'Wrote for Luck,' 'Lazyitis') tho - it negotiates The Stones well enough. But mostly, I’m a bit bored, a bit wanting more, or less.

'Do you really think she'll pull through?' 'And the pain was enough to make / A shy, bald Buddhist reflect / And plan a mass murder.' 'And if you should die / I may feel slightly sad, but I won't cry.' That's Morrissey alright - that's his invention, of which I can't think of a proper imitator/reverential copycat. How'd you do it? I had, for some reason, evaded The Smiths's final album. Shame on me - tho not quite their best, b/c it's not their most definitive, it might be their most consistently colorful and vigorous, even approaching something soulful at times: Morrissey finds his growl ('A Rush and a Push,' 'I Started Something'); I find myself chuffed, snaring this thing that's theirs, that only they've ever done.

'You elevate my soul / I've got no self-control / Been living like a mole now.' That's bad, as is much else here, never quite reaching the heights (and how high are those heights, really?) of 'Beautiful Day.' There appear to be authentic moments of poppy breakthrus, but they persist for even less than a chorus. 'I don't know / which way the wind will blow.' It's difficult to write that and get away with it. U2 doesn't. Their best and most soulful ('In A Little While,' by far) unfortunately can't save this album from itself, which manifests most dreadfully on 'Peace On Earth.'

'You made me miss the Slick Rick gig.' This brilliant album (and artist) is a cultural and musical amalgamation you rarely get - a jazz vocalist with r&b perceptiveness laced with footnotes to hip hop. And a voice as seductive and creative as the things she sings about, aspires to. Honest, something special.

I love this album, not because it communicates tension, but b/c nothing feels like it's going to fall apart. This isn't adolescence's final stand, or last day of summer, but a continued expression: 'I wake, I still look, I feel loose.' ‘Still’ is the operative word. Even on 'Made of Stone,' which approaches Tom Verlaine's impressionism, the philosophy is a subdued trust in the process: it's all gonna be okay. And that works for many a night out, or in, or here, or there.

‘The fairytale was climbing up / A mountain far too steep.’ That's a rare, inspired lyric moment. Musically impressive because lush and adequate but never honest, hardly a big deal. I’ll give it the benefit of the doubt b/c the songs are short and the production is good enough to overcome some of its shortcomings. But not that many of them. 'My Mistakes Were Made For You' is the strongest single - and 'I Don't Like You Anymore' has got punky oomph - but it's all a bit blandish, and the legitimately sexy orchestration ('The Meeting Place') isn’t merited.

'You should hear how we syllogize / You should hear / about how Babel fell and still echoes away.' All of this, and the rest, is very, very good - original, dynamic, not too deep in strange land, and off kilter enuf - but founded on the pleasure principle, I'll not return as often as I do to others. For sure, it's an unforgettable listen, not that demanding, a pleasurable thing in the end. 'Caligari's Mirror' and '(Pa) Ubu Dance Party' prove it's so. Maybe a bit too cool for school. And not as perfect as Marquee Moon.

'No dark sarcasm in the classroom' - that'll stay with me, as will much else.

But.

This is a sometimes pretentious, not always profound, album with quite a few unpretentious and profound songs. It was conceived ambitiously, so it ought to be judged that way, and I'm not moved by its conceptual frame. It can be puerile, it can be surface, it lacks intellectual stamina. But it has 'The Thin Ice,' 'Mother,' 'Hey You,' 'Comfortably Numb,' and some others ('Goodbye Blue Sky'), that are permanent and real expressions.

Hard rock/heavy metal seldomly holds my attention for more than, say, thirty seconds, before it falls apart under its pretenses, inanities, tediums. Zeppelin and Sabbath are the formidable exceptions. It must be that the music Bill War, Geezer Butler, and Tony Iommi orchestrate is authentically blues-inspired, regularly funky, always improvisatory. It doesn't even feel particularly 'heavy,' at least no heavier than its progenitors - congrats to them for that. I can listen to Sabbath's enduring riffs often and gratefully.

‘I can’t dance / I guess, I’m just one of the unfortunate few,’ sings Parsons. I guess we’re some of the fortunate many who have discovered this artist. I’m not so sure I care that it’s a fusion of rock and country - big deal - that’s not his (or hers, Emmylou's) genius. It’s that it’s got soul, humor, voice, pluck. And he can sing, just enough, intimately, consistently, quietly. These songs story so much really - for that, it gets my appreciation.

'I wouldn't normally do this kind of thing' - also, I wouldn't normally like this kind of thing. But I do. Because it's more than the sum of its heartstrings - and it has lyrics like 'to free in me / the trust I never dared.' It takes balls to feel good - and the music got those in droves. 'Then, when I was lonely / I thought again / and changed my mind.' That's good. 'Looking for love and getting / nothing that's worth regretting.' And so is that. 'Together.' Why not? Whitman's Calamus, I hear it, read it, happily, finally, all over again.

What's cool is this is as much the birth of an idea, an aesthetic, a posture, as it is superb music. Not much to say here - Miles inventing again.

Her voice doesn’t merely come from a real place - it takes you there as well, which can’t be said about many ‘real things.’ It wobbles and clouds over, tho it’s also so clear, sound, and solid. Does she push it? Not as much as you may think. So give me Janis. Then I’m good, and in that special way, I can live all over again.