It took 34 on-stage musicians to turn Stevie Wonder’s inner visions into reality on Thursday night at the Fiserv Forum in Milwaukee.
Wonder’s band encompassed a 12-piece string section, six backing vocalists, a five-piece horn ensemble, two percussionists, two guitarists, two keyboard players and one drummer, bass player, guest singer, conductor and, of course, the man himself. Oh, and two of his grandchildren.
Performing in the same space that just three months ago was home to the Republican National Convention, Wonder and his expansive entourage spread a message of love, hope and joy to all people, regardless of background or political affiliation. With only 11 dates, Wonder’s Sing Your Song! As We Fix Our Nation’s Broken Heart tour is aimed primarily at swing states in the weeks leading up to the presidential election.
Flanked by his son and daughter – both of whom were in the band – Wonder took the stage and proclaimed he was “here to speak to you from the heart and spread some love.” That message shined in the opening number, “Can We Fix Our Nations Broken Heart.” Released late this summer, the song was a call for unity and understanding.
For the next two and a half hours, Wonder played most of his biggest numbers, many of which happened to reinforce his message of dropping defenses and building bridges. As polarized as the nation is right now, Wonder’s dream felt a lot less naïve when delivered via “Higher Ground” or “As.”
Wonder let the crowd take over for several songs in the first set, leading the nearly sold-out arena through “You Are My Sunshine,” which segued into “You Are the Sunshine of My Life.” The crowd also handled lead vocals for a trio of Wonder’s early hits: “For Once In My Life,” “Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours,” and “My Cherie Amour.”
Other high points in the first set include the early one-two punch of “If You Really Love Me” and “Master Blaster (Jammin’).” One of Wonder’s most beautiful ballads, “Overjoyed” closed the opening portion.
After a dozen songs, Wonder introduced his latest protégé, Shelea, and took a short break. Seated behind Wonder’s grand piano, Shelea delivered a medley of Aretha Franklin, Roberta Flack and Carole King songs that were well-received. A full-band performance of her original song “Something’s Coming” was better suited for the Broadway stage than the Apollo Theater. Fortunately, a dynamite version of the instrumental “Contusion” – the first of many songs from Wonder’s acclaimed album Songs in the Key of Life – brought Wonder back out and the night back on track.
The rest of the night was a powerhouse, each song building on each other, taking the audience higher and higher. The buoyant, horn-driven “Sir Duke” led right into the joyous reminiscing of “I Wish.” Wonder wrote “Isn’t She Lovely” for his newborn daughter Aisha Morris, now a grown woman who performed with the backing vocalists and brought her own children to the show. This gave way to another singalong, the worldwide smash “I Just Called to Say I Love You.” Whatever treacly sentimentality that song held in the hearts of the cynical was quickly wiped away by “Superstition.”
A few songs earlier, Wonder briefly tabled his dream of hope with a hard dose of reality, putting the plea “Love’s in Need of Love Today” against “Village Ghetto Land,” a beautiful baroque hymn of injustice and poverty. Wonder pushed even more focus on inequality and oppression with “Living for the City.” Performed consecutively, these songs were a poignant reminder of how society can’t advance until every person is able to move forward.
An extended medley of three epic numbers ended the night. First up was “Do I Do,” a horn-infected disco number that made sure everyone stayed on their feet. That gave way to the rapturous “As,” one of Wonder’s most beloved songs. Just when “As” started to fade away, Wonder kicked the band into the bossa nova groove of “Another Star” and took the energy to another level. By the time Wonder said good night he had achieved his dream of bringing people together. Everyone rejoiced as Wonder’s music cascaded over their souls. Of course, the tougher job is achieving this feeling of togetherness away from the concert. But Wonder clearly believes we are up to the task. I do, too.
Set list: First set: Can We Fix Our Nation’s Broken Heart, As If You Read My Mind, If You Really Love Me, Master Blaster (Jammin’), Higher Ground, You Are My Sunshine > You Are the Sunshine of My Life, For Once in My Life, Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours, Send One Your Love, My Cherie Amour, Overjoyed. Shelea set: Medley: Until You Come Back to Me (That’s What I’m Gonna Do)/Feel Like Makin’ Love/ You’ve Got a Friend, Something’s Coming, Contusion. Second set: Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing, Love’s in Need of Love Today, Village Ghetto Land, Living for the City, Sir Duke, I Wish, Isn’t She Lovely, I Just Called to Say I Love You, Superstition, Do I Do > As > Another Star.
After averaging nearly an album a year for the first quarter-century of his career, Stevie Wonder slowed down his output considerably in the late ‘80s, releasing only three albums in eight years.
Wonder surprised and delighted fans by dropping Natural Wonder, a double-live album, just eight months after his previous offering, Conversation Peace. With a set list that includes many big hits, deep cuts and new songs, Natural Wonder seems to have something for everyone. The concept of Stevie Wonder performing with a symphony orchestra is intriguing but the result is something less than vital. While the performances captured on Natural Wonder are strong, many of them simply aren’t that different from their studio counterparts.
The stirring new song “Dancing to the Rhythm” makes full use of the lush musical backdrop, combining a drum corps with horn section and sweeping string section. Wonder’s skills as an arranger shine on this dynamic opening number. A few songs later, the appropriately bluesy instrumental “Stevie Ray Blues” sets up an energetic romp through “Higher Ground.” The final new number is “Ms. & Mr. Little Ones,” an undistinguished Conversation Peace outtake.
The performance of “Tomorrow Robins Will Sing” shows how a little tightening could have improved the songs on Conversation Peace. Natural Wonder’s live version trims nearly a minute off its studio counterpart and is much better for it. Overall, Natural Wonder is a fun souvenir of a magical night for those who were there, but not something fans will turn to often.
Ten years after the one-two of Conversation Peace and Natural Wonder, Wonder gifted fans with A Time to Love, his last album to date. The album’s two singles set the template for much of the release: funk numbers and ballads.
“From the Bottom of My Heart” is a drippy love song that offers no surprises, including the fact that it won another Grammy. A third of the album runs in this vein. There are two more songs just as bland, plus a tribute to Wonder’s late wife and collaborator Syreeta Wright and a jazzy duet with his daughter, Aisha Morris.
The best of these songs is “Moon Blue,” a jazz number with some of Wonder’s best singing. In a better world, this would be a standard. It’s easy to imagine Robert Glasper or Erykah Badu digging into the song. The other stand-out ballad is “Passionate Raindrops,” which harkens back to Talking Book. A Time to Love would be a much better album if Wonder had kept these two ballads and excised the rest.
The upbeat numbers are an equally mixed bag. Lead single “So What the Fuss” doesn’t quite work, but Prince’s funky guitar lines almost make up for it. “Sweetest Somebody I Know” mines Wonder’s classic clavinet sound, while “Please Don’t Hurt My Baby” heads further down the path plowed by “Superstition.” On “Positivity,” Wonder’s second duet with Morris, his daughter’s sunny soprano is a nice counterpoint to Wonder’s talk box. It’s hard to believe this number was never used in an animated kid’s film. “Tell Your Heart I Love You” features Wonder’s signature harmonica, an under-utilized instrument on his later albums. Its arrival pushes the bluesy number to another level.
A Time to Love ends with the title number. Across nine minutes, Wonder, with help from India.Arie on vocals and Paul McCartney on guitars, ponders why we have time for so many other activities, but not for love. It’s not the most groundbreaking thought, but the percussion and choir sweep in and save the day. A couple minutes could easily be trimmed from the performance without missing anything. This advice applies to A Time to Love as a whole. At 15 songs and 78 minutes (only 7 minutes shorter than Songs in the Key of Life), A Time to Love would be a much better album if Wonder culled most of the ballads and brought the run time to under an hour.
Almost 20 years later, A Time to Love still stands as Wonder’s most recent album. While Wonder hasn’t been prolific in the decades since he has kept busy. In the final installment, we’ll look at 15 excellent, late-period, non-album Stevie Wonder songs.
More than halfway through the 1980s, Stevie Wonder’s output was mixed. Hotter Than July and In Square Circle were both strong releases, but the ubiquity of successful sappy singles “Ebony and Ivory” and “I Just Called to Say I Love You” cast a pall over his triumphs.
At 12 songs and more than an hour, no one could accuse Wonder of being lethargic on his 1987 release Characters. Sadly, not much works. “You Will Know” is fine, but opening the album with this ballad makes it feel like we’ve joined something already in progress. “Skeletons,” a look at political corruption, feels like an update of something we’ve heard before – and done much better – on “Superstition” and “You Haven’t Done Nothing.”
Wonder and Michael Jackson traded album appearances in 1987. After Wonder guested the Bad album cut “Just Good Friends,” Jackson repaid the favor with the single “Get It.” Like Wonder’s earlier efforts with Paul McCartney, these meetings of the Motown child stars are somehow less than the sum of their parts. Neither is bad, per se, but they don’t linger in my ears past their runtimes.
“My Eyes Don’t Cry No More” combines autobiographic verses with a resolute chorus over a swinging electronic production. Another tear-themed song, “Cryin’ Through the Night” (shouldn’t these two titles cancel each other out?) is a surprisingly up-tempo tale of heartbreak. Finally, “Free,” the closing song on the vinyl edition, stands as the album’s final moment, a rousing call for freedom. Wonder really liked ending albums with proclamations.
These five songs – less than half the album – comprise Characters’ high points. The other songs are either too maudlin or half-baked to discuss. “Come Let Me Make Your Love Come Down” earns special derision for not only its awkward title, but for squandering a rare guitar summit between B.B. King and Stevie Ray Vaughan. When critics trumpet Wonder’s lost muse, most of that reputation rests on The Woman in Red and Characters. And for those two albums, it is deserved.
For the better part of two decades, Stevie Wonder’s production defined and redefined the boundaries of music. By the time Wonder rolled into the 1990s, his fourth decade as an artist, he was now following the sound of the times rather than creating it. No one stays on the bleeding edge forever and how Wonder adapted his songwriting and arrangements to the culture reveals other facets of his creativity.
Wonder took another break after Characters, releasing his next album four years later, in 1991. The soundtrack to Spike Lee’s Jungle Fever featured programmed drums and lots of synthesizers across it’s 11 tracks. The overall aesthetic tiptoes up to the au courant sound of new jack swing, but rarely feels that urban.
Lead song “Fun Day” is an exception to this rule, featuring a lively hip hop drum track. The song soars, living up to its title and erasing any lingering doubts caused by Wonder’s previous underbaked release. Obligatory ballad single “These Three Words” is heartfelt and has a timeless feel. It is easily Wonder’s best ballad since “Overjoyed.”
The soundtrack’s final single, “Gotta Have You” combines a programmed drum track with a typically funky groove. Although it wasn’t released as a single, the title song featured prominently in the film. While it won’t win any songwriting awards it is infectiously catchy and fun. The best song is buried near the end. “Chemical Love” is an anti-drug number that dodges cliches and generalizations by looking at the spiritual and emotional cravings people try to fill with poisonous substances.
Jungle Fever doesn’t quite rise to classic status – the rest of the material is fine but not particularly noteworthy – but it is worth a second look.
Wonder went further into new jack swing on Conversation Peace, released in 1995. At 13 songs and 74 minutes, there is a good album buried among all the bloat. Excising some of the songs and trimming down the performances – most cuts hover around six minutes – would have helped immensely. For every banger like “My Love is With You,” the apex of Wonder’s new jack swing infatuation, there’s a track like “Cold Chill” that goes nowhere and takes too long to get there.
“Edge of Eternity” is an upbeat love song with a tight horn line, while “Take the Time Out” is an empathetic look at homelessness and poverty with Ladysmith Black Mambazo. Deeper in the album, “For Your Love” is the requisite love ballad single. Despite winning a Grammy, the track feels pretty generic. The propulsive “Sorry” is much better, but its production sounds more like the mid-‘80s than the mid-‘90s. “Sorry” sets up the closing number and title song to end the album on a strong note.
Billed as a 12-year-old genius on his third LP (released in 1963), Stevie Wonder made good on that promise less than a decade later, releasing six masterworks in as many years between 1971 and 1976. Wonder’s critical acclaim was matched by popular appeal, as he won Grammys for Album of the Year three times in four years and sent seemingly everything he touched to the top of the charts.
Yet Wonder’s output after the 1970s has been derided nearly as much as his long pinnacle has been celebrated. The release of a new digital single, “Can We Fix Our Nation’s Broken Heart,” made me realize how much I missed Wonder’s voice and sent me scurrying back to his forgotten era to see what I had overlooked.
The 1980s opened strong for Wonder. Just nine months into the new decade, Wonder released Hotter Than July, an album that continued his 1970s hot streak. From the infectious reggae groove of lead single “Master Blaster (Jammin’)” to the tender ballad “Lately,” the release touches on many of Wonder’s strengths. Hotter Than July is rightly regarded as a classic, so I won’t spend much time on it here, but I’d be remiss not to point out the beautiful “Rocket Love.” The album closes with “Happy Birthday,” a tribute to Martin Luther King, Jr. and a plea to turn King’s birthday into a national holiday. It worked.
Two years later, Wonder gifted fans with Original Musiquarium I, an unconventional double-LP collection that paired a dozen tracks from the ‘70s with one new song on each side. Of the new material, the 10-minute “Do I Do” is easily the best. “Do I Do” has an effervescent groove that could be the cousin of “Another Star.” The expansive track has room for both a Dizzy Gillespie guest spot and an exploration of the still-young world of rap. It took nearly a decade before exploring the nexus of jazz and hip hop was considered edgy. Once again, Wonder was on the vanguard. The ballad “Ribbon in the Sky” is another key new song on this collection.
Less than a month before Original Musiquarium I dropped, a single with Wonder raced to the top of the charts, a harbinger of some musical misadventures that lie ahead. Written by Paul McCartney, the simplistic ode to racial harmony “Ebony and Ivory” sat atop the U.S. pop charts for seven weeks in 1982. “Ebony and Ivory” earns all the mockery it has received. That said, I must confess the song works better in the context of McCartney’s excellent Tug of War album, where it closes the song cycle than it does as a stand-alone single. “What’s That You’re Doing?” the pair’s other collaboration on Tug of War, is better, but still feels like less than the sum of its parts.
Wonder’s reputation really started to take a hit with his 1984 soundtrack to The Woman in Red. At eight songs and 40 minutes, The Woman in Red feels slight in comparison to Wonder’s previous albums. Two duets with Dionne Warwick, a Warwick solo track and an instrumental written by someone else comprise half the album, making it feel even lighter.
Used copies of The Woman in Red are ubiquitous at flea markets, antique malls, garage sales and record stores thanks to the single “I Just Called to Say I Love You,” which topped the charts around the world and sold millions of copies. In the 40 years since its release, “I Just Called” has been the punchline for scores of jokes and memes and served as Exhibit A for proving Wonder’s muse had departed. The saccharine ballad deserves every bit of scorn lobbed its way, but Wonder’s well was far from dry, as we shall soon see.
The album ends “Don’t Drive Drunk,” a public service announcement masquerading as a musical number. This continues the trend of Wonder ending albums with a bold social declaration. Unfortunately, Wonder isn’t able to thread the needle as deftly as he did on “Happy Birthday.” Wonder’s heart is in the right place, but “Don’t Drive Drunk” is ham-fisted. The production is interesting, but there’s not much of a song. The Woman in Red’s lone redeeming spot is “Love Light in Flight,” the only time Wonder’s innovative production lines up with lyrics that are more substantial than a greeting card.
A little more than a year after The Woman in Red soundtrack, Wonder dropped his 20th studio album, In Square Circle. The world was still very much enthralled/nauseated by “I Just Called” when In Square Circle came out and the association mars the album’s reputation. While Wonder’s peak releases have a timeless feel, his later work is very much tethered to its time. In Square Circle is a very ‘80s album, which may have hurt the release for a while, but it’s been long enough that we can now embrace the once-awkward signifiers of the era.
The platter opens with lead single “Part-Time Lover,” a fine if unambitious pop song. I’m divided over the next cut, “Love You Too Much,” which somehow feels both fun and annoying at the same time. Fortunately, the strong ballad “Whereabouts” picks up the slack. “Stranger on the Shore of Love” combines a peak-era arrangement with modern production. Wonder’s production takes another step forward on the brilliant “Never in Your Sun.”
If nothing else, this exercise has been worthwhile for bringing “Never in Your Sun” to my attention. I guess I should pay more attention to Tyler the Creator, because he shouted out this song a few years ago. You can also tell the Neptunes were paying attention.
Side two isn’t as strong, but contains “Overjoyed,” one of Wonder’s all-time best ballads and another big-statement closing song: “It’s Wrong (Apartheid).” Recorded at the peak of the Artists United Against Apartheid and the “Sun City” movement, “It’s Wrong (Apartheid)” is not subtle. Wonder compares the racist institution to slavery and the holocaust, which might be accurate, but is so heavy-handed even Billy Bragg would blanch. The production saves the song. An electronic polyrhythm propels the number and an African choir reinforces Wonder’s sentiment and injects joy into the performance.
Arriving between the half-baked (and overblown) Woman in Red soundtrack and disappointing Characters (more on this in a in the next installment), In Square Circle has been unfairly maligned as a mediocre Wonder release. In Square Circle belongs in every fan’s collection and demonstrates that Wonder was still pushing boundaries as a producer and writing strong songs in the decade of decadence.
Concert capsules are immediate, extemporaneous pieces; less a review and more a reaction.
I’ve never seen a show like this before.
Shortly after 8 p.m., Lucinda Williams shuffled onstage with a warning: she’d suffered a stroke and wouldn’t be playing guitar. The evening would also incorporate stories about her songs, drawing on Williams’ recent (excellent) memoir. Seated in a chair, the stories tended to ramble and the vocals were feeble.
More than two and a half hours later, (nearly as long as Beyoncé’s set at Arrowhead last week) Williams was standing, tearing through “Joy” with youthful vigor. How did this happen?
Buick 6, Williams’ stellar four-piece backing band, and the crowd at the Uptown Theater deserve most of the credit. Buick 6 handled missed vocal cues and lapses with ease, keeping the song going until Williams could climb back in.
The comfortably crowded audience was pin-drop silent during the stories and demonstratively supportive when Williams faltered or questioned if she was doing a good job (which happened several times). The audience never left her side, shouting encouragement at the right times and patiently allowing one of the most accomplished songwriters of her generation to do her thing.
The set list contained deep cuts, such as “Pineola” and “Crescent City,” Bob Dylan and Hank Williams covers and favorites “Car Wheels on a Gravel Road” and “Those Three Days.”
It’s been 48 hours since my sister and I experienced what one friend called the Barbenheimer of concerts. On Sunday, Oct. 1 we saw the final show of Beyonce’s Renaissance tour at Arrowhead Stadium. The next night, we caught the second performance of Bob Dylan’s two-night tour opener at the Midland Theater.
The two experiences were as dichotomous as you would expect. Beyoncé continues to operate at the peak of her powers as an artist and performer. The nearly three-hour show didn’t start until almost 10 p.m. and was a feast for the senses, including a massive high-definition video screen as wide as a football field.
Dylan started promptly at 8 p.m. and left the stage one hour and 45 minutes later, just a few minutes shy of 24 hours after Beyoncé’s start. His stage was austere, consisting of a few lamps, mainly decorated with a line of road cases along the back of the stage, resting impatiently in front of an unadorned black brick wall.
At 82 years old, Dylan’s glory days are clearly behind him. He led a four-piece band from behind a baby grand piano. His voice, never sonorous, was surprisingly clear in the mix. Dylan thanked the crowd several times between songs. It was clear these shows were special to him.
There were several moments when despite playing together for years, Dylan and his band failed to gel. Momentum would hiccup in the transition between chorus and verse, or never quite materialize at all. Dylan also hit quite a few bum notes on his piano, which was prominent in the clean mix.
This isn’t to denigrate Dylan’s performance in any way. A late-set delivery of “Mother of Muses” was captivating. Other strong moments included a completely rearranged “Gotta Serve Somebody” and the classic “When I Paint My Masterpiece.” A version of “To Be Alone With You” showed the influence of Little Richard.
If there is one through-line between Dylan and Beyoncé’s performances it is a commitment to new material. Dylan played all but one song from his latest album, Rough and Rowdy Ways. Beyoncé delivered all 16 songs from Renaissance. Fans hoping to hear classics from Blood on the Tracks or hits “Halo” and “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” were out of luck.
The Houston-born diva sprinkled “Love on Top,” “Drunk on Love” and a shortened version of “Formation” among her 37-song set.
One of the night’s strongest moments came when Beyoncé introduced her daughter Blue Ivy at the end of “Run the World (Girls).” The 11-year-old had no problem picking up her mother’s metaphorical baton, dancing with a skill that showed she has probably been working with choreographers since before she could walk.
Renaissance is a celebration of positivity that embraces all body shapes, colors, genders and orientations. A stadium filled with fans that heeded Queen Bey’s call to wear something silver shimmied and sparkled along with Renaissance’s resilient disco beats as costumes, sets and props changed throughout the night.
As Sunday marched proudly into Monday, Beyoncé’s troupe seemed indefatigable. The sensory smorgasbord concluded with a trailer for the upcoming movie made from the tour. A promise of more to come. The concert was ending, but the performance would be immortal.
Dylan, in contrast, walked humbly out from behind his piano at the conclusion of a moving rendition of “Every Grain of Sand.” He stood slightly stage right of center and soaked in the applause for a few moments before humbly bowing and ambling offstage. There was no encore. No guarantee his once seemingly never-ending tour would carry him back through town. This may not have been goodbye, but it felt a lot like farewell.
Concert capsules are immediate, extemporaneous pieces; less a review and more a reaction.
I’ve seen Ben Folds a little more than a half-dozen times in several configurations, but last night’s show at the Uptown Theater was easily the best performance I’ve seen him give. Opening act Tall Heights also served as part of Folds’ band (that’s them on the riser in the back). Including an acoustic guitar and cello added fresh textures to the songs and opened new avenues for instrumental interplay.
The sold-out crowd was also on point, effortlessly handling Regina Spektor’s part on “You Don’t Know Me” and nailing the three-part harmony on “Not the Same,” a Folds staple.
While nearly half of the 90-minute set drew from What Matters Most, Folds’ first album of new material in eight years, the crowd stayed engaged and enthusiastic.
For the encore, Folds returned with a solo version of “Zak and Sara,” with a little harmony help from High Trees on the last verse and chorus. This lead into two more songs from Folds’ solo debut, now more than 20 years old. A gentle “Still Fighting It” gave way to a raucous singalong on “Anne Waits.”
“The Train” is a stand-out song on an otherwise unmemorable (but not horrible) Outkast album. Released in 2006, Idlewild turned out to be Outkast’s final album.
By Joel Francis The Daily Record
A few weeks ago, Rolling Stone made a list. It seems like that’s all they do these days, mainly because it’s too darn hard to get anyone to pay attention to what you’re saying unless it’s in a list or a Tik Tok video. (Old man yells at clouds, shakes fist.)
This time Rolling Stone made a pretty good list, 50 Genuinely Horrible Albums by Brilliant Artists. As I read the list, I was struck by how many of these albums I either currently own or have owned at one point. Thankfully, the number wasn’t as high as I feared, but it still comprised just under 25% of the total.
Masochist that I am, I thought it would be fun to walk through the 11 genuinely horrible albums by brilliant artists that have found their way into my collection at one way or another. I sold off or traded in 99% of my CD collection many years ago, just before the disc bubble collapsed, so only five of these titles are part of my current music library. The number by the album is where Rolling Stone has ranked it.
50. The Who – It’s Hard
As a fan of The Who in general and Pete Townshend’s songwriting in particular, I own all of the Who’s studio albums on LP, including this one. Aside from the OK single “Athena” and incredible “Eminence Front,” I knew this wasn’t a gem when I bought it for about $5. It was also the last of the historical Who albums I purchased. (I’ve since picked up the band’s 2019 self-titled album.)
49. Billy Joel – The Bridge
I got this as part of a budget-priced, triple-pack of CDs in college. The other two albums in the set were The Nylon Curtain and Storm Front. Released in 1982, The Nylon Curtain contains “Allentown,” “Pressure” and “Goodnight Saigon,” a poignant portrait of Vietnam and one of Joel’s best story-songs. Storm Front has “We Didn’t Start the Fire” and isn’t as good as you remember, although my mom, and everyone else’s, loved “And So It Goes.”
While the cliché says that you can’t judge a book by its cover, the artwork for The Bridge should have been my first warning. The horrible pastels scream waiting room or budget hotel lobby, which is probably the most appropriate space for these bland songs. “A Matter of Trust” was the big single, and the duet with Ray Charles on “Baby Grand” is the album’s high point. In retrospect, I should have removed The Nylon Curtain from this set and gifted the other two discs to the person at the register
48. Van Halen – Van Halen III
Van Halen was my favorite band in high school. One of the first concerts I saw was Van Halen on the Right Here, Right Now tour in 1993. I saw the band again on the Balance tour two years later, and caught Sammy Hagar’s first post-Van Halen tour in 1997. When Eddie and company came back through town in support of this album, you know I couldn’t miss them. My favorite part of the night was hearing bass player Michael Anthony sing “Somebody Get Me a Doctor,” which probably says all you need to know about new singer Gary Cherone and the VHIII material performed. I revisited the entire Van Halen catalog after Eddie’s passing a couple years ago and, yeah, aside from the instrumental opening and lead single “Without You,” there’s nothing memorable happening here.
Incidentally, that 1998 show was the last time I saw Eddie in concert. Don’t feel too sorry for me – I did catch Chickenfoot.
46. Outkast – Idlewild
Planning a wedding is a lot of work. As a longtime Outkast fan, I jumped at the chance in the late summer of 2006 to take a break from planning my upcoming wedding, sit in the air conditioning and think of nothing but the magical story unfolding on the movie screen in front of me. It worked. For two hours, I didn’t think of the wedding. I haven’t really thought about the movie Idlewild since.
Speakerboxx/The Love Below was packed with so many great ideas, that some residual creativity had to seep into the grooves of the Idlewild soundtrack, right? I remember the singles off this album being pretty good. At least good enough to buy this LP at Amoeba on sale when my wife and I were in Los Angeles on vacation. Although I haven’t played my copy in years, Idlewild strikes me more as forgettable than horrible.
44. R.E.M. – Around the Sun
On Tuesday, October 5, 2004, I bought Around the Sun and Real Gone, the new Tom Waits album also released that day, on my lunch break. After work, some friends an I piled into a car and headed to Columbia, Mo., to see the recently reformed Pixies in concert. The two discs were the perfect soundtrack for the two-hour car ride.
Around the Sun definitely took some of the buzz out of that evening. It seemed uninspired upon first listen and the water-treading live album the band released as the follow-up seemed to confirm they felt the same way. I added “Leaving New York” to my 72-song, nearly five-hour R.E.M. playlist, but the chorus lyric of “leaving was never my proud” always stains the song for me. My favorite track is the one everyone seems to hate, “The Outsiders,” with Q-Tip. Tip’s laid-back delivery is the perfect complement to Michael Stipe’s singing. Who could deny Peter Buck’s simple but fantastic guitar part? “Final Straw” is pretty good, too, but I haven’t given the other 10 songs on the album any thought. As the only R.E.M. album I don’t own on LP, I would buy this again if it was reissued. I’m sure the queue at the register would be very short, which I why I don’t expect this to get the 20th anniversary treatment next year.
42. The Clash – Cut the Crap
Loyal readers may have noticed this site is a bitferventin itsadoration ofJoe Strummer. Dedicated Clash fans know the band’s manager Bernie Rhodes ruined the songs on Cut the Crap with chintzy, dated production that embarrassed all the musicians involved.
But …. OK, there is no but. The song “This is England” is the Clash’s final masterpiece. Put it, “Dirty Punk,” “Three Card Trick” and “North and South” with “This is England” on an EP and there still might be one song too many. I own all of Joe Strummer’s albums, so I own Cut the Crap, but honestly, I play the Walker soundtrack more often. You can read more about my thoughts on Cut the Crap and the two tribute albums it inspired, Re-Cutting the Crap.
41. Genesis – Calling All Stations
At this point, I’ve owned seven of the 10 albums on this list. I guess if you’re going to own a bunch of horrible albums, you want them to be the least horrible from the lot, right? Thankfully, I only have four of the subsequent 40 titles.
Invisible Touch, a very, very not-horrible album, was percolating just as I was starting to discover popular music in late elementary school and junior high. By the time We Can’t Dance came out, I was in high school and knew the score. I was looking forward to seeing Genesis on that tour, but they skipped Kansas City, Mo., and headed to Ames, Iowa, instead. Ames is only three hours from Kansas City, but when you’re 15 and don’t have a car, Ames may as well be Mars.
In the six years between We Can’t Dance and Calling All Stations, Genesis lost Phil Collins and – shades of Van Halen III – brought in a relatively unknown singer to fill the void. There are a few good moments on this album. The title song and singles “Shipwrecked” and “Congo” are solid. “The Dividing Line” rock harder than anything the band had done since Duke (even if the lyrics leave a bit to be desired).
The silver lining in Calling All Stations was that this new iteration of Genesis had exhumed several classic, long-overlooked songs for the tour. Not that anyone would in the United States would hear them. Poor ticket sales ended the tour – and singer Ray Wilson’s tenure in the band – in Europe. It would be almost 25 years until I experienced Genesis in concert, finally checking that long-vacant box on my wish list. (By the way, Rolling Stone also has a recent interview with Wilson that is well worth your time.)
35. Pete Townshend – Psychoderelict
I bought this from the cut-out bargain bin at Best Buy for a buck.
That should be where the story ends, but it doesn’t. A few years later, I bought the dialogue-free edition of Psychderelict for five bucks or so at the used CD store. Freed from the radio-drama acting of the first version, Townshend’s songs breathed a little bit more. That said, I haven’t really given Pscyhoderelict much thought since jettisoning it from the collection.
34. Aerosmith – Nine Lives
If nothing else, this exercise proves that I remain a loyal fan well past the sell-by date. After discovering Aerosmith in junior high through the song “The Other Side” and seeing the band four long years later on the Get a Grip tour as a high school student, I was primed primed for whatever the band wanted to give me next. Unfortunately, what they gave me, four years later, as a college student, was Nine Lives. Lead single “Falling In Love (Is Hard on the Knees)” felt like it was trying too hard (although the horn arrangement is fantastic). The second single, “Hole in my Soul” was a retread of the “Crazy”/”Cryin’” ballad formula that worked so well earlier in the decade.
To quote Cousin Eddie in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, “If that thing had nine lives, she just spent them all.”
Nine Lives got some spins the spring it came out and over the summer, but by the time everyone returned to campus in the fall it had been replaced in my rotation by the Chemical Brothers’ Dig Your Own Hole, Coil from Toad the Wet Sprocket and Wyclef’s The Carnival.
12. Van Morrison – Latest Record Project, Volume 1
Van Morrison is a legend, but he’s also a legendary crank. When my then-fiancée and I travelled to Washington, D.C., to watch him perform in the summer of 2006, a large digital clock sat at the extreme edge of stage left, pointed toward the center. It started at 90:00 and by the time it hit 0:00 Van the Man was walking off the stage.
The title alone is reason to see Morrison’s 42nd studio album as nothing more than a cynical cash grab. But it was a cynical cash grab with solid marketing. I bought this triple-LP set because it promised to be signed by Van himself. Since I couldn’t picture Morrison going down the line, signing autographs for fans (his limo zipped right past me after the D.C. concert), this seemed to be the best option. So now I have Van Morrison’s autograph. And an album I’ve only played partially. You know what they say about a fool and his money.
I have three items in defense of Latest Record Project:
The autographed edition the autographed edition was the same price as the unsigned version.
I have more albums by Bob Dylan than anyone else in my record collection. I have all of Bob Dylan’s records, including Triplicate, a three-LP set of Dylan singing standards (which is also his third standards album), Self-Portrait and Dylan, a mid-‘70s collection of outtakes from the dreadful Self-Portrait album. Is Down in the Groove worse than those albums? Rolling Stone seems to think so. I don’t feel compelled to play them all in succession and find out. In for a penny, in for a pound.
In the new Beatles documentary series Get Back, on the first day of filming after guitarist George Harrison abruptly walked out of rehearsal and left the band, Paul McCartney made a prescient observation:
“It’s going to be such an incredible sort of comical thing, in like 50 years’ time, you know. They (the Beatles) broke up because Yoko (Ono) sat on an amp.”
For far too long, Yoko Ono has been painted as the villain the Beatles story, The person who turned John Lennon’s heart away from the band and drove a wedge in his partnership with McCartney.
Obviously, these accusations are rooted in misogyny, racism, and ignorance. More importantly, they are now also clearly wrong. Regardless of how the other Beatles felt about Lennon bringing Ono into the band’s inner circle, everyone in the group is clearly over it by the time the cameras started rolling for Get Back. And sure, one could argue that the Fabs were just pretending to enjoy Ono for the sake of the cameras, but if you’ve seen Give My Regards to Broad Street you know McCartney isn’t that good of an actor.
Besides, Ono was far from the only visitor to the Beatles’ sessions. McCartney’s fiancé Linda Eastman and Ringo Starr’s wife Maureen Starkey both show up and hang out while the band is working. George’s small entourage of Hare Krishnas are seen observing the band at work. Eastman’s daughter, Heather, tags along with McCartney while the band works during a weekend session. If Yoko’s mere presence was such a burden, wouldn’t bringing a child into the studio be out of the question? Nevertheless, everyone seemingly has fun dancing and playing with Heather.
Furthermore, McCartney is an active participant in not one, but two spontaneous, extended jam sessions where Ono took the mic and lead the way. He appears to be enjoying the moment and the music that comes out of these jams is some of the most riveting, cutting-edge material in the film.
I grew up reading that the sessions at Twickenham Studio were when the band was falling apart and that it was only by moving to Apple Corps headquarters and inviting Billy Preston to participate that the Beatles were saved. Get Back complicates this mythology. Granted, the Beatles seem more comfortable and friendly once they are at home at Apple and Preston joins, but Lennon and McCartney’s relationship is never in doubt for a moment. In fact, many of my favorite moments in the documentary was watching those two bounce ideas around at lighting speed only to fly off on a random tangent and somehow remain in lockstep the entire time.
As for the Beatles growing a part as musicians, Lennon and Harrison discuss this in the third part of Get Back. After working on “All Things Must Pass” and “Let It Down” the day before the famous rooftop concert, Harrison told Lennon about all the songs he’d written.
“I’ve got so many songs that I’ve got, like, my quota of tunes for the next ten years, or albums,” Harrison said. “I’d just like to do maybe an album of songs.”
Lennon asks Harrison if he means this to be a solo album, which Harrison confirms. The two seem to agree on how solo projects could co-exist with the Beatles.
“You see it’s good if we put out an LP and it’s safe that The Beatles are together, but George is doing an album,” Lennon said. “Same thing as me doing an album.”
Harrison picked up the thread.
“That way it also preserves this, the Beatle bit of it, more,” Harrison replied.
So, if Yoko is not obviously disruptive and the Beatles were clearly open to a looser unit where partners, family, friends, and musical collaborators could come and go without undermining some special Beatles magic, we must look elsewhere for reasons for the Beatles’ falling out. Get Back shows that the Lennon-McCartney partnership is still working. And there seems to be enough flexibility within the group for solo projects to exist alongside Beatles releases. So, why did the Beatles break up? The answer to this question never appears on-camera in Get Back, but he lurks in the shadows of the second and third parts.
Two days before the rooftop performance, Lennon arrives at rehearsals glowing over his conversation with Allen Klein the night before. Klein is the Rolling Stones current manager and managed Sam Cooke before the Stones. One of Klein’s major calling cards was that he would bulldog the labels into giving his artists everything they were owed (lining his own pockets in the process). Klein wormed his way into Lennon’s heart by talking about a benefit concert for the war-torn Republic of Biafra.
“He knows what we’re like, you know, just from the pick-up,” Lennon gushed. “I mean, he said he had to see me to know exactly if he was right or not. But the way he described each one of us, you know, and what we’d done and what we’re going to do, and that …. He knows me as much as you do. Incredible guy. We (Lennon and Ono) were both just stunned.”
Lennon is still talking about this conversation with Klein the next day as well. Producer Glyn Johns knew Klein from his work with the Rolling Stones.
“I don’t know if he speaks to you the same way as he does other people – perhaps not, because you’re who you are,” Johns said. “But he can take anything you say, if he disagrees with it … I don’t know … he can convince anybody of anything. I mean, I could say this piano is black, you see, right, and in five minutes he’d have me believing it was green.”
Klein came to the Beatles in a vulnerable moment. The group established Apple Corps as tax shelter, but were hemorrhaging money. Klein promised to fix Apple’s financial problems and end the days of the Beatles being played as suckers.
A few days after meeting with Lennon, Klein met with the rest of the band. Lennon was already on board, but his enthusiasm pulled Harrison and Starr on board as well. McCartney was suspicious of Klein and wanted very little to do with him.
McCartney tried to persuade his bandmates to sign with Lee Eastman, his father-in-law. Smelling nepotism, the other three declined. Lusting for the whole Beatles enchilada, Klein made the relationship between himself and Eastman as rocky as possible, pitting his three clients against McCartney. Ultimately, McCartney had to sue Lennon, Harrison, and Starr to dissolve the Beatles partnership.
Ironically, while Klein was gunning for the Beatles, his other clients, the Rolling Stones, were growing dissatisfied. Never one to leave money on the table, Mick Jagger was suspicious of how Klein always managed to turn a personal profit in the band’s business affairs. In 1970, the same year McCartney was suing the other Beatles, Jagger announced Klein was no longer the Stones’ manager.
By the middle of 1972, Harrison and Lennon were fed up with Klein as well. Klein helped Harrison organize a benefit concert like the one that had enchanted Lennon. Harrison’s groundbreaking Concert for Bangladesh at Madison Square Garden brought out some of the biggest names in music and resulting in a triple-album set and film that raised millions.
Unfortunately, Klein botched the paperwork, which meant Harrison had to pay taxes on the amount raised. It also came to light that Klein was making more than $1 from each copy of the live album, which sold for $10. Lennon was upset that Klein wouldn’t give Ono’s career the same support and attention that he gave the other former Beatles. In 1973, Lennon, Harrison and Starr announced they wouldn’t renew Klein’s contract.
“Let’s say possibly Paul’s suspicions were right,” Lennon admitted at the time.
Is it fair to blame the Beatles demise on Klein? In the short term, he made the band a lot of money, but he lined his own pockets with some of it and refused to cooperate with McCartney and Eastman. McCartney could have done himself a favor and selected someone other than his father-in-law as an option to manage the band. It’s also important to note that the Beatles were all in their late 20s at the time Klein entered their lives. Twenty-something millionaires aren’t known for their prudence.
Given that so-called “creative differences” were never the problem in the Beatles, it should not be a surprise that the Get Back/Let It Be sessions were musically successful. What is surprising it that this project and the band’s final masterpiece Abbey Road were able to happen at all while the band struggled with the financial and managerial issues that clearly taxed their native capacity and opened them up to opportunists and sharks.
Ono has unfairly been blamed for breaking up the Beatles for far too long. It’s time to shift the criticism onto the smooth-talking accountant who slimed his way into the band and succeeded in pitting the musicians against each other. More than any other single person, Allen Klein broke up the Beatles.
In a previous life, Dave Tanner and I worked as reporters at sister newspapers in suburban Kansas City. He always had a positive spirit and was eager to talk out about music whenever our paths crossed.
When another friend and reporter suggested we drive across Missouri to see Ringo’s All-Starr Band at the Fox Theater in St. Louis, Tanner and I jumped at the chance. The three of us drove to the show, drove home afterward and were back at work the next morning, because we were young and could do things like that back then.
Since then, Tanner has become one of the best Paul McCartney stand-ins in Beatles tribute bands across the country. When the pandemic halted his touring – Tanner estimated he played 155 shows and was gone for 200 days in 2019 – Tanner turned to his backlog of songs and decided to record an album of his own material.
The album (and band) name Passerine Dream came from a songbird Tanner kept running across in his hobby as an amateur birdwatcher and bird photographer. (Those are his photos on the album.)
Tanner was kind enough to talk through each track on the album with The Daily Record during a break while performing in Georgia with the group Liverpool Legends. In the spring of 2022, the Liverpool Legends will set up shop in the Andy Williams Moon River Theater in Branson, Mo.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
“Be Together”
“The first complete song of words and music that I ever wrote. I wrote it on an acoustic guitar, which was tuned to the tuning McCartney uses on Yesterday, D standard. It is that way because I had that guitar sitting around from my live shows. I added bass to it for demo purposes. Another band I was in called The Depth and Whisper recorded it and played it live quite a few years ago. I used it as an icebreaker to break in the new album.”
“Little Dreams”
“I had a little guitar lick that I’ve been messing around with for a couple years. I don’t know what exactly came into my head other than those first couple of lines when I was sitting there with a guitar. The first verse about came about through conversations with other birders, about how suburbia creates a completely unnatural ecosystem for wildlife. Cutting down grass helps sparrow, starling and robins survive. There are billions of these birds we have enabled to fill up our back yards. They are at war, but there is hope in everything that waits. Everyone wakes up thinking today could be the day I catch a break.
“When I took the thumb drive containing these tracks into the first mixing session, the files were corrupted (laughs). I had a sort-of, almost buried piano part on there so (producer) Paul (Malinowski) said let’s make this a piano ballad now. He started taking the covering off this amazing baby grand and started miking it up. He told me, you’re going to play that (song) on this (piano). I was like (deep breath) OK, here we go. Steve Davis from Liverpool played the slide solo.”
“On and On”
“’On and On’ is an old song I’ve had kicking around in my demo files for a long time. The roots of some of these songs go back pretty far. I knew I had an acoustic guitar and multi-layered vocal breakdown recorded years earlier. Eric Voeks arranged that middle part, where he and I each sing multiple layers.
“It was going to be really stripped down, just acoustic guitars and voices. I sent it to my boss with Liverpool Legends, Marty Scott. He said it needs drums and that it had R.E.M. and Jellyfish written all over it. I just went with it. I didn’t want to talk myself out of it.
“I wrote the lyrics on an airplane flying to and from a gig. The hum of the aircraft gave me a melody and I started writing them down as fast as I could. They came flooding to me pretty quick. I’m amazed at how that song went from stripped-down demo to a 12-string (guitar) and rockin’ drum beat.”
“Driver”
“I wrote ‘Driver’ in one day, music and lyrics. I started it, say, maybe, 10 in the morning. By 2 in the afternoon I had a five-and-a-half-minute demo cut.
“The well-intentioned narrator in the opening few lines, he wants to do what’s right. He’s also at the mercy of life and substance. Something happens to him. I had more stanzas, but I edited them down. It was becoming too (Bob) Dylan-esque for me, getting too long and laborious. What got cut out leaves it open to as to what happens to the narrator. He has a moment where he triumphs – his willpower and the love of his life win the day.”
“Hometown”
“’Hometown’ is based on a few phrases and things my dad told me when I was leaving home. I grew up in a small town in Ontario, although I’ve lived in Missouri for quite a number of years. He basically said, if things don’t work out, my door is always open. Go into the world and do your thing. Without that confidence, I would have stayed in Ontario.
“My dad passed in 2014 and I had some of (the song) written then. I finished it for this album. It was an emotional song to sing. I know it’s a peppy kind of a song, (with a) driving beat and guitar riffs. When I was trying to lay down the vocal tracks, it took me quite a few days. The first couple days I tried to do it I couldn’t make it through.
“John Perrin, the current drummer for NRBQ, plays drums on this. On backing vocals is my friend Erik Voeks. I was stuck on what kind of vocal harmony use and it was starting to interfere with the melody. I sent the song to Erik and he was kind enough to send a suite of backing vocals. I wanted to see what others could do because I was hitting a brick wall.”
“Path of Least Resistance”
“This one came from a couplet in an old notebook. I had a vague melody going and it came together pretty quickly during the recording process. I thought to balance the album, I should have another rocker and so I kind of wrote it that way, to drive a little bit. I sent the tempo and chords to Marty and he pounded out a great drum part in his home studio. He sent that back to me and I layered a few more things on here. It’s my own voice, rhythm and creation, but it does harken back to right about 1980 or ’81, something that might have been around then. It balances out the album pretty well. I couldn’t think of the album without having that rocker.”
“Breaking Through”
Dave Tanner
“This song was written during the period of 2020 when I was fighting with self-doubt and depression. I started asking myself when are we going to break through? Even as humanity, we’ve got to break through somehow again. The next revolution has got to be in our minds, to look forward and break through all the monotony, hate, self-loathing and rancor out there.
“People started asking if the song is about coming out of the pandemic and I guess it kind of is. We’ve gone to the edges, the highs and the lows. We can psychologically put ourselves anywhere, we can go down or give ourselves hope.”
“Feel/My Heart”
“It comes from an original demo called ‘Feel.’ I had that opening guitar hook and verse and chorus. The melodic part just came to me – something to lift the chorus. Without that, the song is at one level. It shows the narrator is affected and uplifted by how the other person makes them feel. Sometimes you can’t do it with words.
“When I was laying down the groundwork, I had two minutes left on the click track after I was done with the song. Rather than just erase it, I thought I’d try to write another two minutes, so I wrote the poem ‘My Heartbeat,’ where the narrator actually finds the words. I was pretty proud of that, because the first part of the song sounds unrequited, not necessarily finding the words, but then there’s a love poem at the end. The words were there the whole time. Marty Scott played drums and I did the rest.”
“Opened Your Eyes”
“I had a demo called ‘When You Opened Your Eyes Today.’ It had some guitar chords and asked some questions. It pointed inward a little bit: Who are you going to be today? Musically it’s almost a little haunting. Lyrically, it is about looking at one’s self and asking the question, when you step out into the world, what’s the deal? Where are you going? What are you going to do with your life?
“If you listen closely, there’s sort of a secret when those haunting background vocals enter in the second half of the track. Those are the attempts to answer those questions. In the first half I’m asking when you open your eyes, who are you going to be? The answer in the second half is myself. I’m going to be myself.
“The reason this song is last is that I had the other eight songs done and I saw if I was going to put this album out on vinyl, I still had some time to spare on side two. I went into my notebooks and pulled out these lyrics. It’s the last one on the album because it was the last song I worked on and I already had how the album was going to be in my head. It’s my own bonus track without being a bonus track.”
To purchase the Passerine Dream album or follow Tanner on social media, visit the band’s website.
joelfrancis.com 