Neil Young—Time Fades Away

Neil Young—Time Fades Away

Time Fades Away—Neil Young has written and recorded innumerable songs in his more than 50-year career. Counting live and soundtrack albums, as well as his compilations, which often feature until-then unreleased material, he has nearly recorded his age in albums. There are at least ten others that were rejected by his record labels or shelved by the artist in favor of others. Despite his apparent dissatisfaction with albums like Homegrown or Chrome Dreams that led him to relegate them to the archives, he generally lets the material itself eventually see the light of day on other releases or in live performances. Some of his albums are harder to find today than others; Trans (1982) has only been reissued twice on CD, and not for almost twenty years. However, there is one album that, since its initial release, has completely disappeared from the radar, and that album is Time Fades Away.

Harvest (1972) and the #1 single "Heart of Gold" took Young to true stardom. He famously remarked in the liner notes of Decade (1977), "This song put me in the middle of the road. Traveling there soon became a bore so I headed for the ditch. A rougher ride but I saw more interesting people there," which has led fans to refer to the three subsequent albums (Time Fades Away, On the Beach [1974], and Tonight's the Night [1975]) as "the Ditch Trilogy." These three albums also document a period in which life was rough for Young and his bandmates; most of them were abusing drugs and alcohol heavily, due in part to the grief associated with the deaths of Crazy Horse guitarist Danny Whitten in November 1972 and roadie Bruce Berry in June 1973 from drug misuse. The majority of material that appears on Time Fades Away was recorded after Whitten's death, but shortly before Berry's, from a period of time February 11–April 1, 1973.

Young toured with the Stray Gators, a band that had evolved into a jumble of members of different groups: David Crosby, Graham Nash, Jack Nitszche, and members of Young's studio band from Harvest, but with new drummer Johnny Barbata, who replaced Kenny Buttrey mid-tour. The assembly of musicians coming in with different expectations and lifestyles resulted in friction concerning how the music was played onstage as well as compensation, and so Young only reluctantly released Time Fades Away in October the same year. He persistently remembered the tour so bitterly that he never once reissued the album until 2014 as part of a box set and as a download on his own music distribution service, Pono. Nevertheless, Time Fades Away has been an enduring part of Young's catalog, being widely bootlegged and pirated—the most taboo Neil Young album, if there is such a thing.

The rollicking "Time Fades Away" begins with the line, "Fourteen junkies/Too weak to work," possibly referencing the band and their associates themselves, reminiscent of "The Needle and the Damage Done." The song continues Young's long-standing relationship with time, nostalgia, and things lost ("Sugar Mountain," "Words (Between the Lines of Age)," "Old Man"), as he does on the lovely "Journey Through the Past," which makes its first official appearance after being a concert favorite for years already and the title of his 1972 film and accompanying soundtrack. "Yonder Stands the Sinner" is a sideways take on self-loathing; "L.A." is a subversive tribute or lampooning of the City of Angels, which, nota bene, is where Danny Whitten died. "Love in Mind" is the odd one out, dating from 1971 during Young's Journey Through the Past tour, documented more fully in the concert album Live at Massey Hall 1971 (2007), which was nearly released in place of Harvest.

"Don't Be Denied" is Young's statement on staying true in the face of adversity, obliquely referencing Led Zeppelin ("Well, all that glitters isn't gold/I know you've heard that story told"), which likely relates to Young's decision to refrain from reprising Harvest (Led Zeppelin's untitled fourth album and the song "Stairway to Heaven," which references the centuries-old proverb, were contemporary works). "The Bridge" is a minor but pleasing ballad that foreshadows Tonight's the Night. "Last Dance" is a ragged acknowledgement of everyday mundanity that, fittingly, usually closed the concerts or was played as an encore.

Though it's unfortunate that Neil Young had to suffer through the period of its recording dates, Time Fades Away is an engaging spectacle with some forgotten gems. It is a victory for fans that this music has recently become more available, giving them a fuller picture of one of the most rewarding stretches of Young's career.

Todd Rundgren—A Wizard, a True Star

Todd Rundgren—A Wizard, a True Star

"To me, it's the beginning of my real career as a musician. Up until then, I was pretty much following the rules of the game. An album was a collection of singles, and singles were all short, accessible songs that usually were about the opposite sex. 'Something/Anything?' was an attempt for me to get a grip on that. By the time I got to the end of that record, I not only had a grip on it, but I was bored with it." —Todd Rundgren, Cleveland.com, 2009

A Wizard, a True Star—Everything begins and ends in nature. The 1971 earthquake in San Fernando, California took 64 lives and caused $553 million in damage. Philadelphia native Todd Rundgren saw fit to move back east and construct Secret Sound Studio, his follow-up to Something/Anything? already in mind. A Wizard, a True Star was not exactly meant to bitterly destroy his reputation, a la Nirvana's In Utero, but it is a deliberate attempt at artistry over the mainstream. "It was a spoof on becoming a show-biz personality," Rundgren stated. "I think I read it in a review somewhere—'a wizard, a true star'—and it just amused me. It wasn't supposed to be serious," he continued, but in 1973 claimed, "I've always tried to make an album that would frustrate critics to the point that they couldn't review it [...] I'm looking for the true fans. This album really puts people to the test as to whether they are really following what I'm into or not. A lot of people were into my music because they were very self-satisfied by what the music represented to them."¹

Side one, titled "The International Feel (in 8)," delivers on this promise. The opening "International Feel" takes off like a rocket ship, proclaiming, "I only want to see if you'll give up on me." Perhaps knowingly, this leads into a watery cover of "Never Never Land" from Peter Pan, giving new context to "Just keep an open mind [...] You'll have a treasure if you stay there." The suite then turns truly bizarre with the psychedelic "Tic Tic Tic, It Wears Off," the proto-punk "You Need Your Head" and "Rock & Roll Pussy," the nonsensical "Dogfight Giggle," the sweet, slinking "You Don't Have to Camp Around," and the chirping "Flamingo."

"Zen Archer" was foreshadowed by "Song of the Viking," but here is fleshed out into a fully-realized epic. "Just Another Onionhead/Da Da Dali" is either a veiled message on selling out, a quaint fantasy, or both, coupled with a Tin Pan Alley send-up. "When the Shit Hits the Fan/Sunset Blvd." is a love letter of sorts to the Los Angeles that Rundgren left behind; ironically he begins the song with the line, "Earthquake in New York City." He then closes the side with the reprise "Le Feel Internacionale," broadcasting, "Utopia is here," a band whose sound is previewed on this album in some respects.

Side two is comprised of more traditional songs, and is thus labeled, "A True Star." "Sometimes I Don't Know What to Feel" is a more vulnerable take on the "feels" he mentioned in the previous suite. "Does Anybody Love You?" contains the curious line, "Love between the ugly is the most beautiful love of all." Rundgren does himself one better than he did on Something/Anything? with the ten minute "Medley: I'm So Proud/Ooh Baby Baby/La La Means I Love You/Cool Jerk." Rundgren raves, "A meal at McDonald's/Nothing fills a man when he's hungry for love" on the demented would-be lovesong "Hungry for Love." The song is baffling—and, of course, that is the name of the game—presented next to the sincere "I Don't Want to Tie You Down." Rundgren said at the time, "For [David] Bowie, the songs are a background for a theatrical presentation rather than a musical one [...] Alice [Cooper] and David really break the illusion at a certain point. It seems to leave the realm of strict theater."² He may have been commenting further on this on "Is It My Name?" when he exclaims, "There is cause and effect/There's a reason I'm so erect," and asks, "My voice goes so high you would think I was gay/But I play my guitar in such a man-cock way/Why don't you love me?/Is it my name?" which may indicate frustration at the inability to succeed at the level of Alice Cooper or David Bowie.

"I've never been able to give up certain things that you have to give up to become a star, such as eliminating the more frayed aspects of my personality and becoming a unified thing and representing one thing as much as David or Alice represent one thing. I've never been able to play it straight. I always end up acting like a kid, blowing it and giggling. I don't take it seriously enough to act like I'm supposed to act. If I had an audience with the Queen, I'd giggle through the whole thing." —Rundgren, Interview Magazine, 1973

Finally, Rundgren plays himself straight and summarizes his message with "Just One Victory," a wondrous call to arms where he comments on his critics ("I've been listening to what's been going down/There's just too much talk and gossip going 'round/You may think that I'm a fool, but I know the answer/Words become a tool, anyone can use them) and proclaims, "The time has come to take the bull by the horns [...] We need just one victory and we're on our way."

Todd Rundgren, as he put it, established a new language with A Wizard, a True Star. It may not have the eminence of his prior work, but it is a dense LP with an abundance of ideas and just as diverse as the sprawling Something/Anything? by which he made his name. It has potential to be a revelation to casual fans, and for the true fans, it is an essential milestone.

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1 2 interviewmagazine.com/music/new-again-todd-rundgren^↩

Tom Waits—Closing Time

Tom Waits—Closing Time

Closing Time—Before there was "Time," there was Closing Time. Today, Tom Waits is at once a Grammy winner and a cult figure, a duality demonstrable by the body of songs written by Waits but called to attention by others. Prolific singer Rod Stewart, Meat Loaf, and even Scarlett Johansson are three of many; fans of E Street Radio may hear "Jersey Girl" from the native, and those who watch all five seasons of The Wire will have heard five arrangements of "Way Down in the Hole." While Waits is far from the caliber of influence predecessor Bob Dylan holds, the point stands that one who ingests information media has very possibly heard Tom Waits. But back in 1973, Closing Time wasn't exactly a smash, not recognized until the likes of Tim Buckley (himself undervalued) and the Eagles took on its songs. Looking back, it's easy to see why they did: the songs are easy to pick up and play, yet they have a distinctive excellence that leaves musicians wondering how they didn't write them first.

It seems retrospectively logical that the band who would later write "Life in the Fast Lane" covered "Ol' '55." Waits' original begins the album on a gentle note, belying its amusing inspiration from a friend who had to drive in reverse on the Pasadena Freeway to get his underage date home.¹ Beyond that, the song perfectly places the listener in the driver's seat, watching the sun rise and the "stars beginning to fade." "I Hope That I Don't Fall in Love with You" seems a strange sentiment at first glance, but perfectly captures the fear that comes with falling in love, perhaps at first sight or perhaps just in theory. Its lines "I had a beer and now I hear you calling out for me" and "I turn around to look at you/You're nowhere to be found/I search the place for your lost face/Guess I'll have another round" suggest that the source of his infatuation may be imaginary. It may be coincidence that the song is followed by the drunken regret of "Virginia Avenue," a theme that would be explored more explicitly on Small Change (1976) and parts of other releases.

"Old Shoes (& Picture Postcards)" is a song so perfect in its arrangement, naturally flowing and idyllic in atmosphere that it sounds like a standard, a tale of a breakup without remorse—for the author, at least. "Midnight Lullaby" is a modern twist on the old-time lullaby, spun more for a lover than a child, with a "Hush Little Baby" quote to boot. The side one closer "Martha" is the centerpiece, a dreamy, wistful piece where Waits refers to himself under a partial pseudonym. There is a stronger sense of the bittersweet here than anywhere else, probably because it seems to be the most personal of the album's songs. "Rosie" is the flip side of it, a lighter affair that suggests more a passing infatuation than longing. "Lonely" speaks to a mood rather than a particular thought, successfully attaining the image denoted by its title with its lack of accompaniment.

If there is any one point in Waits' early canon that forecast the Howlin' Wolf-inspired second phase of his career, it's "Ice Cream Man." While the performance is not exactly the long-lost cousin of "16 Shells from a Thirty-Ought-Six," his classicist euphemism echoing those of legendary bluesmen. "Little Trip to Heaven (On the Wings of Your Love)" is another classic, not impressing with its diminished-chord progression or its simple astronomical metaphors but the interplay between the two. "Grapefruit Moon" is heavy-heart nostalgia, functioning almost as a two-part conclusion with the instrumental "Closing Time" to sum up the feelings and concepts of the album while rounding out the jazz modality present throughout.

It's hard to say whether an artist like Tom Waits has a magnum opus when his discography is bursting with masterpieces or works that come very close. Closing Time is not his best or even his most consistent work, even if it would be considered those in most artists' catalogs. However, it is one of the best song-oriented works in all of popular music, being referred to as such only because of its seamless aggregate of rock, folk, and jazz. It's hard to say there's a work of music everyone could appreciate, but if there's any album that has a lot of universal appeal, it's Closing Time.

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1 Waits, VH1 Storytellers, 1999.^↩

Rolling Stones—Goats Head Soup

Rolling Stones—Goats Head Soup

Goats Head Soup—Is there such a thing as an obscure Rolling Stones record? As with the rest of the British Invasion, no one today really remembers their early records, but they do live on through the hits and non-album singles; to be sure, Goats Head Soup did have the sales and a hit, but so did everything else they put out. Even Steel Wheels (1989) had a top five hit in the US (Mixed Emotions), and the Stones' much-maligned period of 1980-1997 is notable in its failure. No one remembers the apparent mediocrity of Goats, just as people are more keen to remember Metal Machine Music than they are Berlin. Unfortunately, it happened to follow Exile on Main St. (1972) and a trio of nearly as beloved releases (Beggars Banquet, Let It Bleed, and Sticky Fingers). This doesn't affect the quality of any record that came before or after them, but it does explain why it was and still continues to be perceived as a platinum letdown.

Exile was always an aberration in the Stones' catalog. The Stones were never a concept-heavy band; while their albums almost always have a cohesive sound and production style, they never followed a central plot or recurring theme. When they released Exile, their most explicit love letter to Americana, it threw a lot of longtime listeners who had come to expect song-oriented records. Despite some initial apprehension, it would come to be considered a milestone. But when Goats Head Soup popped up the following year with ten gargantuan blues-rockers that turned the unpretentious "I Just Want to See His Face" on its head, Stones fans had partially forgotten the sound of its pre-Exile relatives.

"Dancing with Mr. D" is about as close to the macabre as the Rolling Stones ever went, but primarily it is filthy, riff-driven rock. It's the kind of song the band never quite seemed to want to make, probably because Black Sabbath was already doing it, but when Geezer Butler started writing "Changes" instead of "War Pigs," rock music suddenly had a vacancy where gloom was concerned. "100 Years Ago" is a forgotten classic and an uncharacteristically bright song that, if not for its arrangement, could have fit on a Badfinger LP. "Coming Down Again," at the time a rarity by virtue of its Keith Richards vocal, is an evocative, ragged ballad that is also peculiar in its personal leaning. Richards was never devoid of soul, having been a disciple of the likes of Muddy Waters, but this song revealed a different side of the Stones' leader that showed introspection and self-doubt.

"Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker)" today sounds cliched, and even for the time is not a gem. It is not surprising given the song's solid groove that it managed to chart in the United States, but it is a strange choice for a single, probably only having been chosen for the album's overall lack of marketable material. "Angie" is the real deal: the aforementioned international smash that preceded the album's release, and likely contributed also to the mixed reaction to the album when the rest of the songs didn't sound like it. "Silver Train," a slightly older work covered just prior to the release of Goats Head Soup by Johnny Winter, rivals anything from its closest ancestor Let It Bleed. "Hide Your Love" can best be described as a mellow barroom shuffle that somewhat makes up for a lack of originality with its inherent earnest charm (which can possibly be said about the album as a whole).

On an album where most songs exceed four minutes, "Winter" is the only one that is truly turgid, successfully shooting for ambiance but not character, which is an approach better left to other bands. The same can be said somewhat of "Can You Hear the Music," but it ends up being the more effective song because of its roots in psychedelia previously trod on Their Satanic Majesties Request. They sound more at home on the basis of familiarity, where "Winter" sounds like it was written for a movie. If there's any lingering melodrama by the end of the record, it's completely wiped out by the crass "Star Star," a quintessential mid-period Stones song and a plainly fun listen.

It's hard to defend a work that succeeds much in part due to pedigree, but some of the Rolling Stones' music is good just because they are who they are and even second-rate is better than others' best. Goats Head Soup fits that bill, but it's also home to songs that are better than "Happy" and a sound fuller than Some Girls. While it's not the band's secret best album, Goats is home to some excellent playing, unusually varied vocals by Mick Jagger, and unique elements—some ineffective, but still interesting—that would be a shame for any fan to miss.

Best song:           
Other picks:           

Dancing with Mr. D
100 Years Ago                         
Coming Down Again
Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker)
Angie                         

Silver Train                         
Hide Your Love
Winter
Can You Hear the Music
Star Star