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.

Scott Walker—'Til the Band Comes In

Scott Walker—'Til the Band Comes In

'Til the Band Comes In—"What happened?" thought the Scott Walker faithful upon the release of his fifth album in December of 1970. The story of Scott Walker in the '70s was unfortunately not an uncommon one; plenty of artists before and since have been given ultimatums by their record companies: sell or die, and even the biggest stars can have short leashes. It took Walker only one failed product, the critically lauded Scott 4 (1969), for Philips to reel him in, and the still-young if well-traveled singer-composer apparently lacked the gumption to stand up to them. What followed was nearly a decade with no original material from Scott Walker, which was one of the biggest losses for pop music in history.

His swan song, as it could be called, was 'Til the Band Comes In. It's an album that has been unfairly lumped in with his infamous '70s tetralogy (The Moviegoer [1972], Any Day Now [1973], Stretch [1973], and We Had It All [1974]), and it is deserved to a small degree. It is, without a doubt, a step down from Scott 4 in every way. It is often prosaic, hardly introspective, and rarely intricate musically, with far less nuance. On the other hand, it captured Walker in a different light, with it having an air of being off-the-cuff like nothing else he recorded among his originals. The brevity of the material often makes it seem as though it was written as a minor observance, or a snapshot of life during wartime.

The "Prologue" sets the tone: a tenement building with a leaky faucet and screaming children, set across a backdrop of soggy strings from Walker's usual arranger, Wally Stott (Angela Morley). It segues into the 10/8 shuffle of "Little Things (That Keep Us Together)," which beat "What's Going On" to the punch by about a month, or was presented as a revved-up "A Day in the Life," if you will. Walker sings that how "A moving car/Stole a movie star" and "Jumbo jets can die/Killing 81" are the "Little things that keep us together," keeping us busy "while the war's going on." The slick "Joe" is the tale of a living, bygone relic who has run out of friends as he waits for death, while the singer muses that Joe has recognized the futility of resisting the course of the world in his old age. "Thanks for Chicago Mr. James" is a tryst between a "kept cowboy," according to Ady Semel's back cover notes, and his city-slicker lover.

"Long about Now," about an unfaithful lover, is sung by Esther Ofarim, Israeli singer of moderate international fame; her performance is nothing terribly special, but it does provide some variety in Walker's format and adds a needed female voice. On "Time Operator," the singer pines for same, and hasn't paid the water or electricity bills, but makes sure to "[make] the bill for the telephone." The song adds to the album's themes of loneliness, evoking a sympathetic reaction as on "Joe," though perhaps with a bit of embarrassment thrown in. "Jean the Machine" pokes fun at Communist paranoia, saying that Jean the burlesque stripper used the "boys in the band ... as part of her dirty Commie plan," according to the landlady. The appropriately curt "Cowbells Shakin'" casts invective at a former lover. Carnivalesque title cut "'Til the Band Comes In" either references the coming of an army, the nearness of death, or both intrinsically tied together. "The War Is Over (Sleepers)" ends the suite as if it is not just the war ending, but a story of people, suggesting that the conflict and its observers are inherently inseparable, at least thematically.

The rest of the record—covers of "Stormy" by Classics IV, "The Hills of Yesterday" from the box-office flop The Molly Maguires with Sean Connery, the First Edition's domestic hit "Reuben James," "What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?" from The Happy Ending, and Jimmie Rodgers' "It's Over"—became a large part of the reason why 'Til the Band Comes In came under fire. While they are a bit pointless, it is curious that these five innocuous covers are treated as so insidious when the beloved Scott (1967) and Scott 2 (1968) were littered with covers. The Jacques Brel covers were of course characteristic, as Brel was Walker's main artistic influence, but they were also curiously faithful and, at best, slightly inferior. Others, such as Mann/Weil's soppy, foppish "Angelica," which was also a contemporary tune, are no more or less offensive than the movie music here. Peter Knight handled the covers on 'Til the Band Comes In, and his arrangements are no less interesting than they were on the excellent Scott 4.

Even Walker's fourth album, Scott Walker Sings Songs from his T.V. Series, gets occasional accolades just for the performance factor, which helps present a key point: people liked Walker's covers when they were prepared to hear them, and not tacked on to the tail end of a record of originals. On the first three albums, the covers gave context to the originals, whereas on 'Til the Band Comes In, their placement gives the impression that they were afterthoughts. Perhaps they were, but his versions of "Stormy" and especially "It's Over" are great, and while the middle three are not anything to write home about, they are a small part of the whole.

'Til the Band Comes In is not Scott Walker's best album. It's probably not even in his top three, but based on the talent factor alone, it is a quality work. The production is less adventurous, and the arrangements are more spartan. Perhaps Wally Stott, who told David Toop that Walker "used to sit on the floor with a guitar and strum a few chords and expect me to go away and do Sibelius" (Scott Walker, Pitchfork, November 30, 2012) had grown tired of the collaboration and did not feel compelled to go all-out—indeed, the album was the last time the two would work together. The concept is interesting, and Walker's lyrics are at least thought-provoking, especially the keen "Little Things (That Keep Us Together)" and the heraldic "'Til the Band Comes In," and the humor and variety that pervades the rest of the suite is invigorating.

More Scott Walker reviews by The Old Noise:

Scott (1967)
Scott 2 (1968)
Scott 3 (1969)
Scott Walker Sings Songs from his T.V. Series (1969)
Scott 4 (1969)
'Til the Band Comes In (1970)
The Moviegoer (1972)
Any Day Now (1973)
Stretch (1973)
We Had It All (1974)
Climate of Hunter (1984)
Tilt (1995)
The Drift (2006)
Bish Bosch (2012)
Soused (2014)

Bob Dylan—Self Portrait

Bob Dylan—Self Portrait

Self Portrait—The first phase of Bob Dylan's early career—1962–1978, for the purpose of this writing—was marked with a number of controversial periods. From 1963–1964 (The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan and The Times They Are a-Changin'), Dylan became an unwitting spokesman for liberal values and civil rights, most notably for his song "Blowin' in the Wind." When he decided he'd rather sing songs of a more basic and personal nature (Another Side of Bob Dylan), he was met with scorn from his purist folk fanbase, who would become further begrudged with the release of the semi-electric Bringing It All Back Home and almost entirely electric Highway 61 Revisited (1965).

It seems ludicrous in 2015 to argue any one of these albums to be contentious. The vast majority of his '60s and '70s material is universally beloved, as is the man himself, now considered a living legend in not only music but pop culture and humankind itself. Even lesser works, such as Street Legal (1978), are treated as respectable efforts if not essential. There is one release from this era, however, that was received with ridicule upon its release and continues to be shunned by critics and outright ignored by fans: Self Portrait.

To be clear, this is not to say Dylan (1973) is not considered a far worse record, but Dylan was released under different circumstances. Dylan's recording had become sporadic from 1971–1972, resulting in only a handful of songs: two singles ("Watching the River Flow" and "George Jackson") and various others which were set to appear on Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits Vol II (1972). Dylan, which was a mishmash of older outtakes (some incidentally taken from Self Portrait sessions), was seen for what it was: Columbia's self-determined attempt to milk Dylan's back pages (or perhaps a parting shot at Dylan for jumping ship to Asylum). Thus, Dylan is excused by historians as a dubious moment, undeserving of derision at least in regard to the artist.

The same cannot be said of Self Portrait. It's understandable that fans and critics would have been disappointed by its release in 1970. Until that point, they had come to expect an album of originals at an average rate of one per year, so when Dylan presented them with a double album of covers, outtakes, rehearsal cuts, and live recordings, it must have been a shock.

"There'd be crowds outside my house. And I said, 'Well, fuck it. I wish these people would just forget about me. I wanna do something they can't possibly like, they can't relate to. They'll see it, and they'll listen, and they'll say, 'Well, let's get on to the next person. He ain't sayin' it no more. He ain't givin' us what we want,' you know?"—Bob Dylan, 1984 interview by Kurt Loder for Rolling Stone 

It can't be said that Self Portrait is a lost classic, but its continued disdain through the years is unwarranted. There are four studio originals, which are all at least pleasant, though not earth-shattering: "All the Tired Horses," which is a rare Dylan album cut not featuring his singing, "Woogie Boogie," a basic instrumental, "Living the Blues," a vanilla blues as the title suggests, and the adequate single "Wigwam." Four other songs were recorded live at the 1969 Isle of Wight Festival, done in the style Dylan cultivated working with the Band: "She Belongs to Me," "Like a Rolling Stone," "The Mighty Quinn (Quinn the Eskimo)," which was at that time only known in its Manfred Mann incarnation, and "Minstrel Boy," which was then unreleased in any form (no relation to "The Minstrel Boy").

What remains are the covers. The funny thing about Self Portrait is the idea that it's not much of a self-portrait if Dylan isn't writing the majority of the songs, at least not in comparison to his usual fare, where he both writes and performs the material. Upon careful examination, however, it becomes apparent that the covers are great tools for examining Bob Dylan the performer—the recordings of songs composed by Dylan are presented with an overriding veneer of Dylan's reputation and whatever purported message the listener chooses to project onto them; when those things are stripped away, all that's left is the rock star. "I always wanted to be a guitar player and a singer. Since I was ten, eleven, or twelve, it was all that interested me. That was the only thing that I did that meant anything really," Dylan recalled when interviewed by Cameron Crowe for the box set Biograph (1985). Outside of his modest debut, Bob Dylan (1962), Self Portrait was the first time home listeners were treated to this side of the artist.

The performances have been criticized as desultory or meaningless, but that's purely a matter of perspective, as the same things have been touted concerning The Basement Tapes (1975; recorded '67–68), which is beloved for its laid-back ambiance and exploration of quaint Americana. Granted: The Basement Tapes was almost entirely penned by Dylan and the Band, but on the point of the music itself, the albums are principally similar. Moreover, Dylan's choice of covers is excellent: the Everly Brothers classic "Take a Message to Mary," Don Gibson's "Take Me as I Am (or Let Me Go)" (both penned by Boudleaux Bryant, the former with his wife Felice) and "Alberta" presented in two versions, and Cecil Null's "I Forgot More than You'll Ever Know," plus standards like "Blue Moon" and "Copper Kettle;" contemporaries Paul Simon ("The Boxer") and Gordon Lightfoot ("Early Mornin' Rain") are a pair of surprising inclusions.

Dylan remarked further in the Biograph liner notes, "I was being bootlegged at the time and a lot of stuff that was worse was appearing on bootleg records. So I just figured I'd put all this stuff together and put it out, my own bootleg record, so to speak. You know, if it actually had been a bootleg record, people probably would have sneaked around to buy it and played it for each other secretly," and he was absolutely correct, as evidenced by the success of the eleven volumes and counting Bootleg Series. Self Portrait is not a revelation, but as a collection of music, it can be a nice find for the seasoned listener.