Reviews

Look in the mirror and double-check if it's really you, suggest these geezers. Dee Snider nods approvingly.

Psychedelic fairy tale gets dusted off rubbing off magic dust.

One of many pre-prog ensembles of the late '60s, FIRE eluded the oblivion thanks to what now is considered a masterpiece: their 1970's album "The Magic Shoemaker", a rare if naive song-cycle which has never been glorified as rock opera. Because it wasn't, even though the singing guitarist Dave Lambert spun a cohesive storyline. Maybe it was this dim light that made the record gain momentum over the subsequent years and made its makers reunite to come up on stage in Surray in the late 2007 to perform the record in its entirety - and lend it a new lease of life.

Now the songs do breathe from the faux-orchestral ring of "Overture (To A Shoemaker)" to the "Happy Man Am I" joyful resolve via the infectious harmonies of "Flies Like A Bird" and the "Tell You A Story" drums-and-bass heavy march which defy the notion that, out of the band, only Lambert who composed it all has been playing ever since - in THE STRAWBS. There's still a powerful pull in the chorus hook of "Only A Dream" and the hypnotic rockabilly groove of "War" making up for some tracks that wouldn't work of out context and some that come dangerously close to the popular songs of the period: doesn't "Shoemaker" follow the tracks of "Dedicated Follower Of Fashion". But here's a period charm at play, and everything sounds very fresh. Which means the album has stood the test of time being revered ever so rightfully.

****

Going backwards is a conservative yet steady way to move forward.

The artifact from the British crossroads time with Graham Bond flying from the tangent to blow it.

That was an era when glam was king not gloom, but for drummer John Dummer the blues had always been any color he liked his band to get dressed in. They dabbled in folk and in witchcraft, yet in 1973 everything started to dissolve, so impressive line-up notwithstanding - the original guitarist Dave Kelly returned from FOGHAT to play and sing the lead and former MUNGO JERRY pianist Colin Earl joined in - the results of the group's four-day stand in Rockfield Studios didn't produce quite an album.

These are fine songs, from the country roll of "Short Haul Line" and "LA Lady" to the "Who's Foolin' Who" elastic funk and the "Keep It In My Mind" creepy joy; however, there's no completeness to the whole. The ensemble's blues roots rear their heads in Elmore James-like "Goin' Home" to rock the juke and let the great Graham Bond do his Magick trick - possibly the last one recorded - on the sax, and boogie sound aplenty here. The musicians clearly had a good time laying it all down, and the good time is to be had while listening to the record. Just don't call it an album.

****

Time has stood still for this man. Or has this man been frozen in time just like the cover oranges? It's juicy, still.

Brian Wilson's a genius - or was it back in 1966, at the point of "Pet Sounds" and before "Smile" made him crack. On the rise again for several years now, since he revived the latter project, there's a Wilson magic at play again as if it was 1967 still. The wonder of the album - shot through with Louis Armstrong's title perennial - is in the real-ness of what's going on there. Brian shows no sadness for the times past - he's not reminiscing but sees everything ever so clear, while realizing that a lot has changed in LA over the last 40 years. In "Oxygen To The Brain" the veteran readily admits he "wasted a lot of years, life was so dead" and, in "Going Home", that "at 25 I turned out the light… but now I'm back".

As "Midnight’s Another Day" goes, "there's no morning without 'u'", and there's no mourning, indeed. The sunny mood of the artwork and the spirit so sincere, in deceptively primitive "Forever She'll Be My Supergirl" and the sparking "Morning Beat" the artist doesn't imitate his young self but rejuvenates, picking up the song he cut off back in the carefree years. Yes, the song - the album being a tightly knit suite with part of the narrative written by Wilson's old compadre Van Dyke Parks. So if the time's stood still, it produced a charming, harmony-rich still life of great soulfulness.

****

Welcome to the tower of song when all is voice and voice is all.

When it comes to the a cappella architecture in the realm of popular music the obvious reference points would be such harmony kings as Brian Wilson and Bobby McFerrin, but once the layers of this album's opener, "Andywalker", flow in, one instantly recognizes the Apenninian progressive style. It takes some concentration to notice there's no other instruments involved save for maestro Savoldelli's vocal chords, and even the title track and the Mex-country of "Mindjoke" embellished with Mark Ribot's lines can be heard without the guitarist's contribution. The multi-tracked voice is dancing around - in "Circlecircus" it's sun-speck-like, in "Bluechild" it's gospelly spectral. Yet there's a lot of soulfulness in the hectic "Crosstown Traffic" and the croon of "In The Seventh Year", a present to Boris from the old jazz guard, Mark Murphy. Overall, it's a mindbending and extremely sensual experience that's impossible not to love.

*****

Will the veteran swallow anything evil? What lies behind the blue eyes?

Look at this frank face and clear eyes. Can this sweet man do anything bad with good songs? Of course, no! Especially now, when James Taylor celebrates the 40th anniversary of his debut album. That's probably why the six-time Grammy winner decided to become another victim of the covers-mania and recorded songs written - for the most part - before 1968. Nothing wrong with that but the gist is not in not-spoiling the classics yet in lending them your own personality. And it's there that the veteran gloriously fails.

The problem lies in keeping too close to the original versions - but THE TEMPTATIONS did the mellifluous "It's Growing" much better. Still, the change for the sake of change brings no use either: if the emotionality of the "Hound Dog" delivery is measured against Elvis' take on it, the Big Mama Thornton's belter will make one end of the scale and Taylor's reading the other. Which doesn't diminish the value of "Covers" where everything is made with love, and it's hard to not be drawn in the "Not Fade Away" or "(I'm A) Road Runner" drive; more so, one can't wish better accompanists than Steve Gadd, Michael Landau and the like.

The fans of Jimmy Webb and Leonard Cohen may not share the sentiment, as James considerably flattens "Wichita Lineman" and "Suzanne", but the Americana aficionados will love this album, what with the graceful dance of John Anderson's "Seminole Wind", the only track here written when Taylor was already a superstar. Big artist made a big work.

****