 |
| 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.
