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)

Cat Stevens—Numbers

Cat Stevens—Numbers (1975)

Numbers—Cat Stevens had a run of albums from 1970–1977 that resulted in four Platinum records (two 3x Platinum) and another four Gold. Calling him a hit-maker is an understatement—he had a string of eleven U.S. Top 40 hits during that same period that are still ingrained in public consciousness, mainly thanks to muzak. Every LP he put out in the wake of Tea for the Tillerman 1970) and Teaser and the Firecat (1971) had at least one notable hit that kept it from obscurity; it could be said that Stevens' business model was top-notch, if it's examined coldly. However, Stevens was more sensitive than that; he seemed to believe in his ideals, at least to some extent, and he was artful. Following Buddha and the Chocolate Box (1974), he tried something completely different.

Numbers
A Pythagorean Theory Tale

Further away from our Earth than it is possible to imagine, there was a galaxy. And almost in the center of the galaxy was a little planet called Polygor.
Polygor existed to give numbers to the universe. Number 1, number 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9. Each day millions and billions and zillions of numbers were distributed to every world that needed them [...]

Numbers is Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam's only clear concept album, and while it seems arcane, the story is fairly basic: Nine beings called Polygons each named after digits live in the Palace of Polygor, where a huge machine makes all the numbers of the universe. This persisted in stasis for an indeterminable length of time until the arrival of the prophet Jzero, who inflicted some vague truth on the Polygons that changed their lives. Stevens came up with the idea after reading a book on Pythagoras while in Australia. "At first I couldn't see the point of making numbers any more important than what you use them for ... [then I] realized that I’d always known the importance of numbers without really being aware of it—like all songs have a natural 'three' element, three being the strongest number of all ... Then you start finding out that Pythagoras developed the Western musical scale. Then, thinking about it, you discover that the law of music is the same law that applies to nature as a whole, that your life has octaves in the same way as the musical scale does." (Cat Stevens Talks to Mick Brown, Sounds, December 13th, 1975)

The whimsical opening instrumental "Whistlestar" seems to have no overarching significance in the story except that maybe the "Whistlestar" is part of the "cluster of burning stars" that illuminates the Numbers galaxy. Reportedly, when Stevens played the song live, he would pop out of a box after a magician performed tricks over the course of the song. The dirge "Novim's Nightmare" chronicles Novim's (number nine) experience being revitalized following the arrival of Jzero. Stevens explained, "Yes, its a vision I have often in dreams. There's something so strong about that guillotine. The moment you're born, and through the whole of your life, there's a guillotine waiting ... The centre to the story of Numbers is that really you're in a place where everything seems immortal, eternal and everlasting. And suddenly along comes this question of death, which has never entered before. And then you start to question everything." (Cat Stevens—Life, Love and Death, Melody Maker, November 15th, 1975)

The slick "Majik of Majiks" is about "the power of zero [...] when you think you're smart and you've got it planned and then along comes this silly little accident and you're put back to square one [...] the ego having to face death finally." A Polygon (presumably still Novim, who now sees himself as an outcast) sings about the shocking revelation of Jzero, who "[has] the key to any door." The knowingly gospel-inflected "Drywood" continues these themes with a more uplifting tone, urging the Polygons or the listener to "Kick out your dull padded life" and begin anew.

The strange, jangling "Banapple Gas," which was the one minor hit from Numbers, seems to represent the change in routine that was occurring on Polygor. "Land o' Free Love and Goodbye" seems to be a more traditional song about the time Stevens lived in, mentioning God by name rather than an allegorical character. On the theme song "Jzero," the titular character speaks equivocally about his purpose, saying he only came to the palace for work and little food. The Polygons note that "He says he hasn't got nothing/But he seems to possess less," seeming to allude to religious concepts of material possession and elevating Jzero to a holy figure of sorts. The yearning "Home" describes a kind of utopia "where all mums can sing/Back where the children don't cry/Home where you never ask why and/Everybody has enough," but also bizarrely "you don't have to put on clothes/Nobody has to hide 'cause everyone already knows," which either means Stevens was singing generally again or that the Polygons ultimately decided to get nude with the townsfolk. In the closing "Monad's Anthem," Monad (number one), the Emperor, bellows about "one" as a female chorus echoes him, seemingly in glorification of Polygor.

Although very little of Numbers was that far removed from Stevens' usual musical fare—it featured his usual band, and only the uncharacteristic instrumental "Whistlestar" and obscure paean "Monad's Anthem" were new ground for him—its off-kilter qualities seemed to be too much for the public. The album began a downtown for him commercially, although it and the following Itizso (1977) still went Gold. There are some heavier introspective themes on it, especially on the first side with songs like "Novim's Nightmare," but in the end people only remembered the fanciful "Banapple Gas" if they held on to anything at all. Numbers, which are represented in modern times by Arabic numerals, were adumbrating subject matter for Cat Stevens; he did not convert to Islam until late 1977, so it's tough to assert that Jzero is analogous to Mohammed, though perhaps he is an amalgam of Mohammed and other figures such as Christ.

Overall, it can't definitively be said that Numbers is as musically satisfying as the rest of Cat Stevens' oeuvre. There's no "The Hurt" or "Father and Son" to anchor it, though the album as a whole is melodically satisfying, with just the right amount of intricacy here and there. Perhaps the public should have heeded the warning in the liner notes which read, "This album is not to be taken 2 seriously," though the intellectual parts of Numbers are actually rewarding. It's a minor gem from an artist that rarely went against the grain, and it didn't deserve the treatment it got.

Joni Mitchell—Blue

Joni Mitchell—Blue

Blue—During the 1960s, Joni Mitchell was known more as a songwriter by repute than recognizance. Her songs "Both Sides Now" and "Chelsea Morning" had been performed by several artists, most notably by Judy Collins, who won a Grammy for her recording of the former. Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young performed the best-known version of "Woodstock" on their album Déjà Vu, among others. But Mitchell's own Song to a Seagull (1968), Clouds (1969), and Ladies of the Canyon (1970) were received with increasing acclaim; when the next decade rolled around, Mitchell's star began to grow, and she became known more for being a performer in her own right. However, she lacked a signature record, as her first two were produced uniformly as middle-of-the-road folk, and her third played more like a collection of disparate tunes than anything that spoke to a concept.

Following Ladies of the Canyon, Mitchell took time off to travel, interrupted only by a performance at the 1970 Isle of Wight Festival, when she played eight songs from Clouds and Ladies, as well as three new songs: "California," "A Case of You," and "My Old Man." Those three upbeat, optimistic songs came about with the onset of Mitchell's relationship with a young James Taylor, both as lovers and musical comrades; aside from touring together, Taylor would play guitar on the studio recordings of the three aforementioned songs, while Mitchell would provide backing vocals on Taylor's Mud Slide Slim and the Blue Horizon. But the restless Mitchell and the troubled Taylor would only last about a year together, and the split would send them in different directions. Taylor would go on to further his highly successful if uneven career, while Mitchell would return to Los Angeles to record Blue, her bright outlook now marred by a string of failed (and well-publicized) romances.

The frolicking opener "All I Want" exhibits Mitchell's free-wheeling spirit in contrast to the reserved approach of contemporary female artists. "I want to wreck my stockings in some jukebox dive," she proclaims while simultaneously acknowledging the hurt that has arisen from her missteps and the hints of self-criticism that she allows only so briefly ("I love you when I forget about me"). "My Old Man" details the ups and downs of new love, how "He's the warmest chord I've ever heard," and "when he's gone/Me and them lonesome blues collide/The bed's too big/The frying pan's too wide." The cozy "Little Green" predates the rest of the album; it became known decades later that Mitchell wrote it about her daughter, whom she gave away in 1965. The joyous "Carey," the album's most colorful song, is about a real person she met in Matala, Crete, the self-proclaimed "best cook in the area" with a "flaming red personality" (source). The encapsulating dirge "Blue" addresses directly the melancholy that peppers the album—around half the songs mention the color by name, sometimes in more intriguing ways like her daughter's eye color ("Little Green") or the glow of a television screen ("A Case of You").

"California" opens the second side with the same sort of whimsy as the first, with Mitchell contrasting her adopted home of California with the places she'd seen in her travels, sometimes with amusing anecdotes that suggest her resilience ("I met a redneck on a Grecian isle/Who did the goat dance very well/He gave me back my smile/But he kept my camera to sell"). The vortical "This Flight Tonight" represents her burning desire for a lover she's just left behind, but also the turbulence ("I hope it's better when we meet again, baby"). "River," a masterstroke, morphs "Jingle Bells" into a threnodic admittance of self-disdain, hopelessness, and escapism. "A Case of You" is a deceptively cute song about knowing the tragic flaws in a relationship will someday be too much to overcome, having evolved from an earlier incarnation as a simpler maritime analogue. "The Last Time I Saw Richard" sees Mitchell refuting a cynic, only to later find herself in the situation he forewarned; nevertheless, she assures herself, "Only a phase, these dark cafe days," ending the album on a curious but poignant note of optimism.

Joni Mitchell generally kept a healthy distance between herself and her music for the most part until Blue, choosing more to embrace the holistic ways of the folk scene. With Blue, she broke that barrier, reemerging from her hiatus with an evolved approach that continues to be emulated. It may not sound like such at times, but Blue was the most major work by a woman in the rock era—at the time most certainly, and it possibly still is.

Robyn Hitchcock—I Often Dream of Trains

Robyn Hitchcock—I Often Dream of Trains

I Often Dream of Trains—Although Black Snake Dîamond Röle (1981) and Groovy Decay (1982) were respectable beginning entries to his solo career, Robyn Hitchcock lacked a model record the caliber of Underwater Moonlight. It wasn't for lack of talent, of course, as Hitchcock was the principal songwriter of the Soft Boys, but having a band around him seemed to focus his music. The songs on Röle and Decay were sometimes labored or stiff, if principally strong, though the latter was perceived poorly and Hitchcock would fall into recession over the next couple years.

He reemerged in 1984 with I Often Dream of Trains, which was his first largely solo-performed and acoustic or piano-led album. He took the opportunity to explore new moods in his music. Whereas his prior work was a tense, warped new wave, Trains was subdued and moribund; he opens the album with a simple, pensive nocturne, simply titled "Nocturne (Prelude)." Hitchcock does retain his characteristic eccentricity, however, as evidenced by the creeping "Sometimes I Wish I Was a Pretty Girl," where he confides, "Sometimes I wish I was a pretty girl/So I could [inaudible] myself in the shower." On the conflicted "Cathedral," he struggles to understand another being with a hint of derision: "Like a toilet from outside/A cathedral from inside/There, behind your open face/Lies an awful lot of space."

"Uncorrected Personality Traits" runs through a litany of intriguing psychological pitfalls in under two minutes, commenting on how, as the first lines of the song put succinctly, "uncorrected personality traits that seem whimsical in a child may prove to be ugly in a fully grown adult." He also serves up the curious thought, "Even Marilyn Monroe was a man/But this tends to get overlooked/By our mother-fixated, overweight, sexist media," which is not as ludicrous as it initially sounds. "Sounds Great When You're Dead" is a somewhat lesser song where Hitchcock experiments with a particular arrangement, while the surrealist "Flavour of Night" echoes David Bowie's Diamond Dogs. "Ye Sleeping Nights of Jesus" highlights the futility of waiting for miracles; "This Could Be the Day" pays tribute to the Velvet Underground.

"Trams of Old London," an effectively immersive folk song, sees Hitchcock take his partner around London. "Furry Green Atom Bowl" is something like an alchemist's rendition of "Sixteen Tons." "Heart Full of Leaves," an instrumental, and "Autumn Is Your Last Chance," a haunting song with a lonely lyric, could have fit on an early Cure album. Title cut and high point "I Often Dream of Trains" wraps up the themes of autumn and longing as well as the romanticizing of trains before the album ends nearly the same way it began, with a slightly livelier "Nocturne (Demise)."

I Often Dream of Trains marked an artistic rebirth for Robyn Hitchcock, which is strange considering its status as something of an anomaly in his oeuvre. He recorded nothing quite like it across the rest of the decade, instead choosing to effectively reform the Soft Boys (minus Kimberley Rew as the Egyptians) and record more electric material. It is characteristic of Hitchcock as the folk singer he always wanted to be, and despite its radically different style from the rest of his '80s work, it is rightfully considered a career highlight: melodic, wryly humorous, and ardently performed.

Scott Walker—Scott 4

Scott Walker—Scott 4

Scott 4—There exists a trope in which a fictional character is split in two, resulting in two discrete personalities, usually one good and one evil. This storyline has existed in literature at least as long as The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886), but it was popular in the earlier days of television as well, notably in the Star Trek episode "The Enemy Within," which first aired in October 1966. Of course, while the concept is metaphorical, the human struggle between conflicting sides of the same identity is very real.

Scott Walker's first three LPs were mixes of interpretive covers—generally American songwriters and Belgian singer-songwriter Jacques Brel—and his own originals, which had slowly become the bulk of his material. Scott (1967) was one-quarter original and Scott 2 (1968) a third, which were both huge hits in the United Kingdom (Walker's effective homeland, though he was, in fact, born and raised in the United States). Scott 3 (1969), though it hit the third slot on the UK charts, was received with more skepticism, in part due to its lack of recognizable tunes. Walker penned ten of its thirteen songs and pushed the three Brel covers to the end of side two; the originals were dissonant, murky, and arcane—nothing disagreeable, to be sure, but also not an ideal pop formula for 1969.

Instead of continuing the formula, Walker released two successive albums in the second half of the year. First came Scott Walker Sings Songs from His T.V. Series (that series being the BBC's Scott, the footage of which has been lost), which was reminiscent of the early part of his career with the Walker Brothers, featuring standards and songs written by other popular artists. Four months later came Scott 4, which was entirely the opposite, with Walker reaching the culmination of his study of chant and classical music, composing all songs included on the album. The striking "The Seventh Seal" is typified by this. Its lyrics outline the plot of the 1957 Ingmar Bergman film Det sjunde inseglet, foreign films being a passion of Walker's. "On Your Own Again" (arranged by the former Wally Stott, who handled most of Scott 3) is a pleasant ode to an ended relationship with the peculiar line, "I was so happy, I didn't feel like me." The sparkling poem "The World's Strongest Man" is the other side of that sentiment: "Take me back again to your warm design."

The orphic "Angels of Ashes" evokes Van Morrison's Astral Weeks. The seemingly self-referential vision "Boy Child" is an affecting trip through spacetime, while the expat folk farewell "Hero of the War" criticizes not only war but, surprisingly, the soldiers themselves. "The Old Man's Back Again (Dedicated to the Neo-Stalinist Regime)" is a haunting response to the Prague Spring of 1968 and the reforms of Czechoslovakian leader Alexander Dubček, perfectly accented during its chorus by the choral ensemble. The beautiful "Duchess" is a fairly straightforward love song that illustrates how important the arrangements (by the usuals Stott and Peter Knight, and on this song Keith Roberts) were to the record as a whole; the same can be said of "Get Behind Me," which is otherwise somewhat forgettable musically. However, Walker's skills as a wordsmith generally make each song worthwhile, the fitting closer "Rhymes of Goodbye" no exception.

Scott Walker showed a keen ability for performing stylized covers of popular music, but Scott 4 was the record where he proved he could do it all by himself. Unfortunately, it would mark the last time he'd produce a complete album of original material for fifteen years. It's tragic that so much possible music was forgone during that period, especially considering the weight of music like "The Seventh Seal," "Boy Child," and the stunning "The Old Man's Back Again." That is neither here nor there, however, and Scott 4 remains a shining testament to Walker's talent, and a timeless, inexhaustible listen.