It seems that every time the Stones release a new album, some dipshit reviewer heralds it as a “return to form.” Like lemmings, we buy it and inevitably become disappointed because it is far from a return to form. What we get is an album that’s a notch above “Dirty Work,” which, as we learned, was the sound of the Stones machine working to stay afloat instead of staying ahead.
Let’s remind ourselves that the Stones will probably never achieve the same caliber as they did with “Some Girls,” “Tattoo You,” and there’s no way they’ll return to their late 60’s/early 70’s incredible run. They’ve got little left to prove and their recent albums seem to be flashpoints (get it?) to get legions ready to fork over even more cash during the subsequent tour.
“A Bigger Bang” is the latest “return to form” Stones album and, no surprise here, it’s not as good as “Tattoo You.” Here’s the thing: it’s probably as good as “Undercover Of The Night” but I’m one of a few people that actually enjoyed that one. I guess that means that I like “A Bigger Bang.”
It starts out with one of the best Stones rockers in recent memory, “Rough Justice.” Mick says the word “cock” in this one, but it’s clearly Keith that holds the balls on this one. Track two, “Let Me Down Slow” keeps things going in the right direction, to the point where you’re getting all hot ‘n bothered that the boys might actually have another really good album in them. Then the album starts spinning its steel wheels.
I suppose track three, “It Won’t Take Long,” isn’t bad, in fairness, it would probably make a great “Voodoo Lounge” track or whatever the hell their last album was called, it just doesn’t give you that “holy shit” feeling the first two cuts do. “Streets Of Love,” which has been pegged as a Mick “Alfie” outtake and, therefore, makes it a piece of shit, didn’t smell like a turd on the run to me. “Rain Fall Down” kept reminding me of “Pretty Beat Up,” which isn’t a bad thing. Then the boys pull of a really good blues song “Back Of My Hand” which makes one wonder why the fuck they don’t do a complete album like this. Add the two Keith tracks (“This Place Is Empty” and the closer “Infamy”) with the cut “Laugh, I Nearly Died,” and you’ve got 9 good songs on a 16 track album. The rest of the album, including the much publicized “Sweet Neo Con” (which sounds like a rush job merely designed for press coverage) is typical “going through the motions” Stones, just like every fucking studio album they’ve done since “Undercover.” Pair the selections down to ten, maybe twelve cuts, and you’d have me posting about how great it is. Instead, it’s a good album that has them going in the right direction, but we’re running out of time waiting for them to deliver one final consistently decent album. The Glimmer Twins really need a third party to trim the fat on these things, which probably is the reason why Keith’s solo albums and Mick “Wandering Spirit” remain my favorite “Stones” album in the past twenty years. They also need Charlie Watts, who is actually the most consistent thing in their cannon; he’s, as always, the band’s secret weapon and if he ever died or decided to leave the band, then the rest should call it a day in his honor.
But fuck it: as long as he’s with ‘em and as long as they keep trying to make albums for the hell of it instead of trying to sound relevant, then I’m all for another new Stones release. It sounds better than most of the shit being released by twenty-something rock acts, or even the artists formally known as Aerosmith.
Let’s move on to Paul McCartney, who’s last awesome album was 1971’s “Ram” and who’s had more of a dry spell than, well, Ringo Star. Again, the critics who have chastised Paul for being a boorish stoner suddenly started praising his latest work “Chaos And Creation In The Backyard.” Paul gave the nob-twiddling duties to one Nigel Godrich who was responsible for Radiohead’s “OK Computer” which sounded like a neat little collaboration on the surface. What we get instead is…a Paul McCartney album. It’s consistent, polite, and focused. It also sounds like what it is: an album recorded by a guy who’s 63 years old. Sure, his voice is in fine form. Sure, he’s a recognized genius. Sure, we’re all kidding ourselves when we think that Wings deserves a second listen.
It’s a very simple and plaintive affair, filled with a lot of reflection. To be honest, it’s not an album that I would find myself playing repeatedly.
Starting off with the spry “Fine Line,” things look good for the cute Beatle; it’s a track that could easily fit on a McCartney album thirty years old. It gets better by “Jenny Wren” which sounds like it could easily fit on a Beatles album forty years old. For these two songs alone, I give a tip of the hat and come close to forgiving Paul before remembering the chorus of “My Brave Face.” Let’s face it, “The Girl Is Mine” is just too easy of a target.
Then my attention span gets antsy, and I’m begging for a little electric guitar. It doesn’t arrive until track eleven, “Promise To You Girl.” That’s my problem, I guess. Listen, I can appreciate how the songcraft is top notch and I respect the fact that he played virtually every note on the album. I just can’t relate to his renewed belief in love (“How Kind Of You”) and how happy the guy seems to be these days. Not “happy” as in “upbeat,” but “happy” as in “it’s good to be Paul.” No shit? Fuck, I’d be happy to be Pete Best.
All bitterness aside, it’s a fine album, but not my cup of tea, which incidently, there’s a song about “English Tea” on the album.
Like the Stones album, this is the kind of album McCartney needs to be encouraged to make from now on. The praise is warranted and welcomed, but the irony is not lost on me how it took a respected, contemporary producer like Godrich to make the first McCartney album sound like he’s comfortable with his age. Call it “O.K. A.A.R.P.”
No comments:
Post a Comment