Nick Cave—From Her to Eternity

Nick Cave—From Her to Eternity (1984)

From Her to Eternity—No band had as many meaningless name changes as Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds. Nick Cave's original band was called "The Boys Next Door," which ran from 1973–78 when they mostly played covers. That name stuck up through the release of Door, Door (1979)–The Birthday Party (1980), after which they adopted "The Birthday Party" as their new name. In late 1983, the Birthday Party apparently broke up, though that's not true to what really happened. The only effective change in the band was the departure of guitarist Rowland S. Howard; core members Nick Cave and Mick Harvey remained, and the rest of the band went through no more dramatic changes than they did as the Birthday Party. At this time, they began going by the names "Nick Cave—Man or Myth?" (technically a solo act) and "Nick Cave and the Cavemen" before finally settling on "Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds." However, the resulting album from this period, From Her to Eternity, would be billed on the cover simply as the work of "Nick Cave."

In fairness, the name changes came with pointed shifts in style. Cave's raving, drug-fueled persona was toned down in favor of a more literary bent, signaled by a doomful cover of Leonard Cohen's poetic "Avalanche." The disquieting "Cabin Fever!" is a mad excursion through the mind of a tattooed, mutilated ship's captain. The dark threnody "Well of Misery" plays almost like a slave song. "From Her to Eternity," co-written by Anita Lane, is a claustrophobic account of a misguided tryst. Side B contains three songs recorded earlier in the band's formation: "Saint Huck" is a Delta blues gutted and turned inside-out, "Wings off Flies" is a blackly humorous soliloquy of twisted yearning, and the dirge "A Box for Black Paul" tells the tale of a man scorned upon his death with racial implications.

One might assume from their descriptions that From Her to Eternity is not much different than the work of the Birthday Party. The best way to describe it, really, is that there was logical evolution going on from Junkyard (1982) to Mutiny/The Bad Seed (1983) to From Her to Eternity. Junkyard still featured an erratic, outrageous edition of Cave and the Birthday Party; the Mutiny and Bad Seed EPs retained that surface style, but with tighter arrangements and less screaming, perhaps in part due to Rowland S. Howard—who was principal songwriter along with Cave—being forced out in favor of Blixa Bargeld of Einstürzende Neubauten. From Her to Eternity is equally steeped in lunacy, but with a greater emphasis on Cave's piano playing, suggestions of the American South (which would be further explored more explicitly by the band in coming years), and an overall roomier, live sound. As for its quality, Eternity is not the sort of record to listen to for blind pleasure. It's moody and psychologically oblique, and the arrangements and sound affects are almost wholly subordinate to the feelings associated with the lyrics. Coming from a different band, this set-up might be a recipe for overindulgence, but Eternity is just modest enough to carry weight.

More Nick Cave reviews by The Old Noise:

as The Boys Next Door/The Birthday Party:

Door, Door (1979)
The Birthday Party (1980)
Prayers on Fire (1981)

Junkyard (1982)

as Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds:

From Her to Eternity (1984)
The Firstborn Is Dead (1985)
Kicking Against the Pricks (1986)
Your Funeral... My Trial (1986)
Tender Prey (1988)
The Good Son (1990)
Henry's Dream (1992)
Live Seeds (1993)
Let Love In (1994)
Murder Ballads (1996)
The Boatman's Call (1997)
No More Shall We Part (2001)
Nocturama (2003)
Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus (2004)
Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! (2008)
Push the Sky Away (2013)
Skeleton Tree (2016)

as Grinderman:

Grinderman (2007)
Grinderman 2 (2010)

David Bowie—The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars

TO BE PLAYED AT MAXIMUM VOLUME

David Bowie—The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (1972)

The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars—The 1960s were when rock and roll started to get weird. With the advent of psychedelia, songs like "Hound Dog" and "Roll over Beethoven" were eclipsed by ones like "Burning of the Midnight Lamp" and "2000 Light Years from Home." As with the latter, outer space, space travel, and the notion of extraterrestrial life became hugely influential on popular music. Songs were written before, during, and after the Apollo 11 moon landing on July 20th, 1969, but none are more inextricably tied to it than David Bowie's "Space Oddity" released nine days prior. The worldwide hit, which remains one of his most enduring and beloved songs, put him on the map, but the album that followed had little to do with "Space Oddity" or space themes in general.

That album, David Bowie (1969), is sometimes referred to simply as Space Oddity both because of that song's notoriety and because Bowie's debut was also called David Bowie. Its themes were hazy, grotesque, and introspective. When focused, such as on "Memory of a Free Festival," they were often quite pastoral, seeming the opposite of spacey. On his following albums, Bowie would refine these sensibilities, first with the good The Man Who Sold the World (1970) and then the great Hunky Dory (1971). At this time, Bowie was producing new music at a an increasingly rapid pace. Most of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars was already written or recorded (ca. November 1971) before Hunky Dory was even out the door. That album, while not a monster seller initially, was met with immediate warmth, which likely provided a boost to Bowie's ego. Thus, his iconic Ziggy Stardust persona was born.

Bowie had personality from the beginning, but he nearly always presented vague androgyny and outsider qualities rather than a concrete character. In January 1972, the Ziggy Stardust tour began in England (later moving to the U.S., Japan, and other parts of the U.K), when Bowie began to dress up in elaborate costumes designed by Kansai Yamamoto, red hair, and extensive, glamorous makeup. It is, of course, during this time that glam rock hit its zenith, with Ziggy being arguably its most exemplary character, album, and song. While the movement produced many memorable albums by T. Rex, Roxy Music, and Bowie himself, among others, Ziggy was special—it had a story.

It begins with the apocalyptic love song "Five Years," in which humanity finds out it has "five years left to cry in." The T. Rex-esque rock spiritual "Soul Love" pontificates on love and God. "Moonage Daydream" was repurposed from Bowie's Arnold Corns side project, which was essentially a '71 incarnation of backing band Spiders from Mars (Mick Ronson, Trevor Bolder, Mick Woodmansey) plus fashion designer Freddie Burretti. It was released as a single that year, but failed; the Ziggy version rocks harder (especially on Mick Ronson's legendary solo), and features altered, more absurd lyrics as well as more varied reverb, echo treatments, and horn parts.

The wondrous "Starman," which was recorded last and almost didn't even make the album (a cover of Chuck Berry's "Around and Around" was in its place in the initial running order), became Bowie's biggest hit (#10 U.K.) since "Space Oddity" (#5) and even hit an unprecedented #41 in the United States. In the context of the album, its lyrics present the mindsets of young people hearing Ziggy on the radio, who until that point had forsaken rock and roll. Interestingly, the song they are hearing can actually be inferred to be "All the Young Dudes," which was written by Bowie specifically for Mott the Hoople in a move to save their career. In that song, Ziggy sings about the decadence of youth; in "Starman," he continues his exposition in which he reveals that the "infinites" (the starmen) are coming to Earth and may save it. Musically, the song fittingly borrows from gay icon Judy Garland's "Over the Rainbow" for its memorable chorus, which becomes increasingly variegated with each iteration before swelling into a warm, symphonic cheer. A warped cover of Ron Davies' honky-tonk "It Ain't Easy," a holdover from Hunky Dory, closes the side, providing some post hoc thematic cohesion (also being another last-minute replacement of a cover: Jacques Brel's "Amsterdam").

Swelling Marc Bolan tribute "Lady Stardust" is quietly one of the album's best songs. The transient "Star," by contrast, is one of the least essential. "Hang on to Yourself," the B-side of the Arnold Corns single, is heavier than the original, which was more of a frenzied folk-inspired tune. Incomparable theme song "Ziggy Stardust" summarizes the story promised by the album's title; bits of it can be seen or heard in virtually every type of media and social phenomenon. Spirited, raunchy blues "Suffragette City" (initially offered to Mott the Hoople just prior to "All the Young Dudes"), is well-known for its build-ups and false stop. On the bittersweet, acoustic-symphonic "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide," Ziggy dies as he is consumed by the infinites to make themselves corporeal. It also, of course, served as the showstopper during the tour, including at the conclusion of the final show, documented in the Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars film (1973) and its accompanying album, Ziggy Stardust: The Motion Picture (1983).

There's no question that Ziggy Stardust is a classic album, but it's always been less clear where it stands in Bowie's oeuvre. It's probably not his masterpiece, compared with more careful works like Hunky Dory, Low (1977), "Heroes" (1977), or Scary Monsters (1980)—the songs "Star" and the cover "It Ain't Easy" disrupt the album's flow in a minor way, but only because the rest of the songs are of such high quality by contrast. Produced during a hectic period in Bowie's life, Ziggy has a certain unpolished, naive energy to it that's often as off-putting as it is endearing. Of course, that was part of the point; Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars were supposed to be a basic rock and roll band, and on that level, it succeeds. It's greater than the sum of its parts, and it's charming. No matter how you cut it, "Starman, "Ziggy Stardust," and "Suffragette City" are some of the best songs Bowie ever produced, and the entire package is a star that won't burn out for a long time.

More David Bowie reviews by The Old Noise:

David Bowie (1967)
David Bowie (1969)
The Man Who Sold the World (1970)
Hunky Dory (1971)
The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (1972)
Aladdin Sane (1973)
Pin Ups (1973)
Diamond Dogs (1974)
David Live (1974)
Young Americans (1975)
Station to Station (1976)
Low (1977)
"Heroes" (1977)
Stage (1978)
Lodger (1979)
Scary Monsters (1980)
Let's Dance (1983)
Ziggy Stardust: The Motion Picture (1983)
Tonight (1984)
Never Let Me Down (1987)
Black Tie White Noise (1993)
The Buddha of Suburbia (1993)
Outside (1995)
Earthling (1997)
'Hours...' (1999)
Heathen (2002)
Reality (2003)
The Next Day (2013)
Blackstar (2016)

Joni Mitchell—Court and Spark

Joni Mitchell—Court and Spark (1974)

Court and Spark—Coming off the pensive, adventurous For the Roses (1972), Joni Mitchell had the world at her fingertips. That album was the fourth in a series of increasingly huge hits, and critics and even other major musicians worshiped her. Roses, while not exactly orchestral, was her most carefully produced album yet. For the follow-up, she sought out an even wider range of musicians who could play even more intricate parts. Court and Spark was teased with the "Raised on Robbery"/"Court and Spark" single, a rock-and-roll A-side that charted respectably (#51 in Canada, #65 in the United States) but failed to make the same impact as Roses' "You Turn Me on, I'm a Radio." This proved to be insignificant, as Court and Spark went on to hit #1 in Canada, #2 in the U.S., and Top 40 in several other countries following its January 1974 release.

The keynote address, "Court and Spark," details the wariness that comes with seeking romance. A street performer has an epiphany that leads him to throw it all away in pursuit of love. Mitchell (or Mitchell as the singer) notes her instant connection with him, but also her apprehension, seemingly both in general and in waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I cleared myself/I sacrificed my blues/And you could complete me/I'd complete you," he promises; Mitchell concludes, "The more he talked to me /The more he reached me /But I couldn't let go of L.A./City of the fallen angels" (with the slick addition of bells in the background), indicating she is not willing to give up her lifestyle fully as her subject has. The smooth, self-deprecating "Help Me," her biggest hit, similarly notes the difficulties of commitment ("We love our lovin'/But not like we love our freedom"). The liberative "Free Man in Paris" is a cheeky tribute to her friend David Geffen (head of her label, Asylum), poking fun at his complaints about working in the industry. "People's Parties" is a short statement on social anxiety and struggling to fit in. It medleys into "The Same Situation," another commitment song that sees would-be lovers striving to reconcile the failings of one another.

"Car on a Hill," in which the singer waits for their lover to come pick her up, suggests the fear and disconnected feelings that come with having a more outgoing partner. The contemplative, symphonic "Down to You" is the album's musical capstone, and is more lyrically broad, examining personal transformation and loneliness. "Just Like This Train" is comparatively less weighty, even contented: "Lately I don't count on nothing/I just let things slide." Its wisdom ("Jealous lovin'll make you crazy/If you can't find your goodness/'Cause you lost your heart") stands in opposition to the uncertainty of the rest of the album; Mitchell confidently relaxes and observes those around her against the semi-metaphorical backdrop of a train ride. The brash "Raised on Robbery," the album's finest moment, is a witty raid on the daily grind in which Mitchell identifies with a prostitute. The sax-twinged "Trouble Child" is about being stuck in life, unable to connect to anyone, romantically or otherwise, and not yet having the strength to move past yourself or listen to advice. Of the rare cover, "Twisted" (featuring Cheech & Chong), Mitchell once explained, "I hope you enjoy your craziness, 'cause it can be a lot of fun" (stage banter from August 22nd, 1974 performance).

Widely regarded as a triumphant success, Court and Spark's only substantive criticism is that Joni Mitchell sold out on it. While it was indeed loaded with more radio-ready songs than its predecessors, Spark is also more heterogeneous in nature and takes more risks than For the Roses, which is arguably her most difficult album to crack. Her previous albums had all ultimately been arranged uniformly as folk albums, even if the instrumentation varied from time to time; on Spark, she ventured fully into jazz for the first time and made a Dylan-esque move by fully embracing rock, if only for a moment. In the process, she made an album with universal appeal that didn't sacrifice her songwriting, which remained cerebral, droll, and piercing.

More Joni Mitchell reviews by The Old Noise:

Song to a Seagull (1968)
Clouds (1969)
Ladies of the Canyon (1970)
Blue (1971)
For the Roses (1972)
Court and Spark (1974)
Miles of Aisles (1974)
The Hissing of Summer Lawns (1975)
Hejira (1976)
Don Juan's Reckless Daughter (1977)
Mingus (1979)
Shadows and Light (1980)
Wild Things Run Fast (1982)
Dog Eat Dog (1985)
Chalk Mark in a Rain Storm (1988)
Night Ride Home (1991)
Turbulent Indigo (1994)
Taming the Tiger (1998)
Both Sides Now (2000)
Travelogue (2002)
Shine (2007)

The Move—Shazam

The Move—Shazam (1970)

Shazam—"Band for hire" could probably have been the Move's slogan from 1968–70. Upon the release of Move (1968), bassist-vocalist Ace Kefford left, and guitarist-vocalist Trevor Burton soon followed after an injury and in-fighting. Three singles followed—"Wild Tiger Woman," which flopped, "Blackberry Way," which hit #1 and saved their career, and "Curly," a respectable hit. However, the sweeter tones of the latter two were not wholly representative of the Move's essence; they were still a rock-and-roll band with some weirdness and a penchant for the occasional classical or R&B crossover. In the middle of this, enterprising lead vocalist Carl Wayne took it upon himself to sell the Move to Starlite Entertainments, who amusingly began to book them in cabaret clubs, which proved lucrative. Cabaret was conducive to Wayne's style, but not so much to the rest of the band; they continued playing regular gigs, and also tried to crack the U.S. market with little success thanks to almost no support from their U.S. label, A&M.

When they returned to the studio to finish Shazam—which had been announced soon after the release of Move—it had become a far different record than was originally intended. Keyboardist Richard Tandy had joined the band after Kefford's departure, but quickly moved to bass after Burton's injury, and when Burton recovered, Tandy simply left the band. Tandy and Dave Morgan were meant to help write parts of a double-LP Shazam, but Morgan only ended up contributing the non-album songs "This Time Tomorrow" and "A Certain Something" (sometimes rendered "Something" or "That Certain Something"). Instead, the single LP ended up being half Roy Wood originals and half Carl Wayne-chosen covers (Mark Paytress, liner notes to 2007 Fly/Salvo CD reissue of Shazam).

By this time, Wood's personality had begun to take over the once-democratic Move. His stage act became more elaborate, much like his more wildly successful contemporary, David Bowie. Where once it was fairly uncommon for he, the Move's primary songwriter, to sing his own songs, Shazam opened with Wood belting out the lumbering "Hello Susie." It had recently been a pop-blues hit for Amen Corner; Wood reclaimed it in his own obscure style. The ironically elegant "I-just-got-laid" "Beautiful Daughter," sung by Wayne, is the album's only straightforward cut, and would have been its single (it ended up having none) had Wayne not left the band. It is preceded and followed by bizarre bouts of chatter, the second of which leads into a reworked "Cherry Blossom Clinic Revisited," which extends into a Looney Tunes-esque, classical music-quoting jam. On their rendition of Ars Nova's sanctimonious "Fields of People," they demonstrate more expertise than on the original before moving on to a five-minute tantric, interpretive passage that simulates Indian music. An emboldened version of the Mann/Weill "Don't Make My Baby Blue" is probably the album's most banal moment, but Tom Paxton's "The Last Thing on My Mind" as a rolling, psychedelic epic is somehow effective.

Usually regarded as the Move's best album, Shazam is probably better described as their best-played album. They were rarely in better form than they were on Shazam's jams, but there are downsides. Carl Wayne, while serviceable, didn't flourish in such a dominant performing role; he wasn't a varied or terribly interesting singer, and his cover choices were not strong. Roy Wood's songs weren't by and large new material, even if they are refined and generally improved, and they're not exactly his best songs—they simply appear to be because of the strength of the overall package. That's where Shazam succeeds, if it does anywhere: it's a good album to have playing in the background and not examine too closely.