Bradlor 1999 / 2023
A quarter of a century down the line, hurt turns to art and springs eternal.
Love Isn’t The Answer
Ever since Marvin Gaye’s “Here, My Dear” proved to be a hit, divorce albums became a thing of elusive success, even in creative terns, yet Neal Rosner seemed to have roped in the winning formula back in 1999 when this album arrived for the first time – at the time when the artist’s family breakup still caused a lot of suffering: hence stormy emotions packed in the record’s dozen cuts. Fast-forward twenty-five years, and enough of the anguish passed for him to follow the decades-spanning compilation "Kentucky" with a reissue of that painful platter which is very much different from what came before and after it, apart from glimpses of experimental idiosyncrasy peppering the singer-songwriter’s pieces. Their flow may turn maudlin closer to the end, where Andalusian motifs float into focus, but the Rundgren-contradicting beginning of “Love Isn’t The Answer” should pack a mighty punch.
Its titular opener feels truly irresistible, offering a groovy synth-pop figure to drive Rosner’s nervous voice and an effects-stricken variety of riveting sonics forwards, to the number’s enchanting chorus which could easily bite into the charts, the bass-laden and vibes-spiced “Joanna” oozes mesmeric mellifluousness to render Neal’s strident vocals and loose ivories and Marty Mayer’s honeyed six-string passages genuinely magical in The Big Easy kind of way. Still, if “Blame Me” where the audience can enjoy the anger of the multi-instrumentalist’s former wife will turn the rhythm-and-riff drama into a sultry life-affirming rave, resolved in a piano boogie, “Oblivion” goes for rhumba-esque delirium, and “Little Egypt” for a humorous hoedown in which bluegrass and new wave get engaged in a dance. And while the dynamic-shifting “Callyda” shapes an artificial symphony, “Flagpole” rocks guitar jive and an accordion line like there’s no tomorrow before the otherwise triumphant “Graduation Day” pours some blues into this heady brew, and the theatrical “Ballad Of Danny T” brings such a storm to a close…
Or, rather, could have brought forth the finale had it not for the presence of “Let Me Stay” and “God Bless The Ladies” – each one delivered in two variants, English and Spanish, to test the listener’s patience and muddle the album’s message. Discard these, and there’s a perfect, vitriol-fueled opus worthy of dusting off for a fresh airing.
****4/5
