Did Jim Morrison reach his peak with LA Woman? Sometimes, I think so - the writing is very focussed, ain't it?

A line from "Simple Twist Of Fate" seemed appropriate recently, and it gave me the incentive to listen to parts of* Blood On The Tracks again, after a long time. My old favourites remain, but I have been happy to find that I enjoy the other tracks more than I thought I did. Songs I remembered as sad, gloomy, and painful, but powerful, turned out to be anything but - well, sad and powerful, sure, but not without some cool sense of beauty. I don't know if that made much sense, but 'tis best not to try and analyze these things too much (especially when you can't write...!).

Incidentally, I don't know why "Lily, Rosemary & The Jack Of Hearts" is so maligned. I loved the song from my first listen! Repetitive in some sense, yes, but it is a lyrics song to me - "Desolation Row" could also be seen as repetitive, but I don't think too many people complain about the lyrics there. So I guess people don't like the narrative? Ah well.

Dylan seems to have sent shockwaves through his fanbase in Chronicles, where he claimed that one of his albums was based on short stories on Chekhov, while critics thought it was autobiographical. Naturally, the most obvious candidate for this album would be BOTT, which has always been taken to be about his marriage. Some people seem to feel that this means a lot of what has been written about the album is now wrong, but I don't think this is necessarily true. While I initially felt that this was a big development, on reconsideration I think it is more an interesting backstory. I don't know if I ever felt that the songs were explicitly about his marriage, in an autobiographical sense - as in, I don't think I thought, for instance, that the story of "Tangled Up In Blue" was based on what happened to him. But I did think, and still do think, that the underlying material itself was forged from what was happening in his personal life. For starters, it surely isn't a coincidence that he chose to write an album almost entirely about loss (loosely speaking) when his own marriage was dissolving? Even if they were based on Chekhov stories, the particular stories he chose seem to have a thread that is surely the influence of marriage! Or do I just not know my Chekhov...!?! :)

I guess what I am arguing is that even if, say, "Idiot Wind" doesn't necessarily imply that he was angry at Sara at the time, it doesn't make it any less of a powerful song (which I think most people would agree with), and it doesn't make it any less of a personal song (in a different sense, of course).

* I don't know if I have it in me, just yet, to listen to any of my old Dylan albums in their entirety, for some strange reason.

Henry's Dream

My past experiences with "album posts" tell me that they are invariably doomed from the start, in that the end result is usually inextricably linked with the time of the listening, and is usually a result of me being far too excited after a listen. But now I tell myself this is not really about an album as it is about my thoughts concering a fine songwriter, and so I shall march on...

Henry's Dream is an interesting installment in my relationship with Nick Cave, because I remember almost vehemently disliking it the first time I gave it a listen. Seeing as how it follows the much mellower Good Son, there was probably a part of me hoping for some of the beauty of that album, even if I hadn't exactly read anything to strengthen such a view. But, of course, it is quite a different album, even if it was released not that long after. Louder, angrier at times, and, well, furious imagery for lack of a better description. Any hope of a repeat of The Good Son was immediately struck aside with the opening track. No Portugese hymns here, my friend!

No doubt this played some part in me finishing the album with a sense of deep disappointment and frustration. But the comparisons to its predecessor only went so far, and for the most part I simply didn't like the songs. "Where is the underlying elegance and beauty?", I asked (clearly, I hadn't paid much attention to the softer songs, like "Loom Of The Land"), and kept thinking about how unnecessarily angry the music sounded - I felt as though it was unable to communicate anything effectively. Indeed, this dislike of the album made me think about whether I really like Cave's work, or whether it is just a song here and there that captured my imagination. After all, I asked myself, is this not the sort of music he is known for? I took my dislike to mean that maybe I had just convinced myself that I liked his work, when in fact I was at best a casual fan. Give me some of his ballads, and keep the rest at a respectful distance, say what?

The fact that I was unable to convincingly answer these questions meant that I was quite unhappy about the whole thing. Here I had gone and told myself that this was a songwriter I held in high regard, and now I thought this might be one of my delusions - more worrying, of course, was that I had invested so much time in his catalogue with this potentially being the case! But with time, I think this was perhaps a bit hasty. I think all Henry's Dream is is an album that requires a dedicated listen. 'Tis a little dense, sure, but that is not to say one cannot learn to love it. One needs the right time and place, of course - "Papa Won't Leave You Henry" will otherwise come crashing down on your quiet night! I find that I do not mind the hard, driving force of the tracks as I used to, and indeed I actually like most of them! The album is a good example of one where the sequencing comes to the rescue; "Straight To You" providing a breather (and what a breather! Reminds me of "The Ship Song", and the lyrics are as sharp as...well, the sparrow's beak!) after the powerful, but draining, first two tracks.

Like I mentioned, the lyrics here are far more florid when compared to the previous album (where he claimed to be "sick of words" - I know the feeling!). At first, I only really took towards "Brother, My Cup Is Empty", which has a clear reference to "Invictus", but mostly reminds me of something out of Dostoevsky. The scene in the bar from Crime and Punishment, I think, though my memory is a bit foggy. Perhaps the parallel is purely imagined on my part, but imagined or not it makes the song more interesting! With time, though, I have found myself able to appreciate the apocalyptic "Papa Won't Leave You Henry" (I wish I could write something like the first stanza), and even at times "John Finn's Wife" (though I still do not find myself fond of the last stanza). My natural inclination is still towards the ballads, "Straight To You" and "Loom Of The Land", but I no longer find myself turned off by the songs that dare to, you know, be aggressive.

I guess the reaction to these types of songs is not the same as one has towards the more balladsy-material. The latter has what I would call innate beauty, an obvious poetic touch that comes through and is familiar territory for me. But the denser songs? I suppose one starts to respond to the powerful style of expression that is a trademark of a Cave song. Like I said, it does take the right mood for this to be possible, but it is possible to get past the initial trepidation. I cannot say that I find "I Had A Dream, Joe", say, to be a highly resonant or traditionally "beautiful" song. And yet...the frantic pace, the dream-like (by which I mean nightmare-like) lyrics, and the vocal melody, they paint something very unique, and clearly "pleasing", if not in the traditionally understood sense.

The experience has left me richer, and has renewed my faith in Cave the songwriter. That tiff I had with him after the first listen has been resolved, and he can rightfully take his place amongst the list of my favourite songwriters, and is still one of rock's finest lyricists in my book.

S really surprised me today with a comment about albums, and how listening to an album the entire way through is essentially dead. Words to the effect of "You're probably the only one in the country who does that anymore"! Wow!

It got me thinking as to where I developed this habit in the first place. I suspect it is because of the hours upon hours my impressionable young mind spent taking in George Starostin's reviews. I seem to remember him making a few remarks as to how his reviews really were specifically about albums, and not just collections of songs. It didn't matter if there was any thematic or conceptual structure to the album; after all, that would strike out far too many albums from consideration. It was more to do with the overall feel that the album produced - listened, of course, from start to end.

There was a point in time when listening to an album the entire way through was the only way I would listen to music, and I think such an "extremity" is probably rare among listeners these days. I for one no longer belong to this group, for I have since been cured of this affliction, and now enjoy the pleasure of random playlists. But that is not to say that I have lessened my appreciation for the album as a separate experience, which I guess is also somewhat of a rarity. I of course accept that this is not at all the best way to listen to music, but I do think it provides an experience distinct from a randomized (or even personalized) choice of playlist.

One of things I like about it is, funnily enough, one of the points made by S against it - the continuation of mood, and occasionally the great arching structure the artist puts above it all. Again, I don't think this proscribes one to listen to the album in order, but that doesn't mean that there's nothing it offers that you can't get from a random playlist - which is all I argue, and which for some reason S seems to be implying to the contrary.

Actually, the only time when I feel like I have to listen to an album the whole way through is the first listen. In fact, while I am not entirely opposed to adding a track to one of my randomly chosen playlists after an initial listen, I do feel rather clammy about it until I feel I've properly listened to the whole album. Maybe in the space of an album, tough nuts have lots of protection around them, and are saved harsh criticism? Or (and this is probably more towards the truth), perhaps I think too much about albums, and get too excited about the times where the first song, chosen wisely by the artist, turns out to be a mini-masterpiece of sorts, shutting out all of the world for a moment or two. But there is also the fact that a shuffle seems so disjointed to me if I'm not at least somewhat familiar with the tracks. Of course, this is more a personal foible than anything else, and again I don't think I would ever argue that it is somehow "wrong" to have a different type of first listen. All I call for is a sense of balance!

Maybe all this talk about it being a separate experience in my head after all. It could just be that I place too much worth on the album as a concept, leading to all sorts of quirks like this. Still, I don't feel like it's something particularly restricting, nor something that closes doors to me; not yet, anyway!

I still find that the first listen is the hardest. Of an album, that is - and I wonder whether it's to do with me, or if it's just how it has to be sometimes. It seems too easy to just call such work "subtle" and leave it at that, because I suspect there are other forces at play.

It is interesting to me that a non-trivial number of times, I have found myself either completely indifferent or actively disappointed about an album after my first listen. Sure, there are many times when I feel "Well, there is some good stuff here", confident that future listens will help bring out something - but far too many times for my liking, I have been scared away from future listens because of bad first experiences. And, in recent times, every time this has happened I have subsequently come to really like the album - we're talkin' becoming borderline devotional towards it, you know. I have to ask, is it the material, or is it just me? Or, better yet, is it just the way it has to be!?!

I don't think the material alone can explain this phenomenon, because it doesn't happen to "serious" albums alone. There's no doubting that a dead-serious album with complex themes really requires the right frame of mind if it is to be accepted with open arms the first time, and this can be a hard thing to summon up sometimes. But I have also had negative first experiences with albums that are essentially pop, ones featuring what I now consider to be very good melodies. No really complicated themes, just a lot of pretty melodies floating around, but...not a smile from me! I can remember the first time I heard them, where I would be itching, just itching for the darn thing to finish so that I could go clear my head and forget that I wasted my time on something so unworthy of it ;) The melodies, it would seem, did not make themselves all that well known on our first acquaintance*!

This leaves me to more or less conclude that it's either to do with me, or it's just a struggle we all have to sometimes go through. I wouldn't say I don't pay sufficient attention the first time around - I actually try and make it a point to give the album my full attention, especially I'm really excited about it. I suspect it's more to do with the fact that the first time around, the album needs to cut away any pre-conceived notions one has when coming into it. And in my case, albums usually have high expectations attached with them, and in the past I even used to expect specific songs to be knockouts based on reviews I had read. With such expectant listening, unless something is immediately, obviously good, one is bound to be disappointed that it didn't meet whatever lofty standards were set. I actually remember how before listening to Morrissey's Your Arsenal, I told myself that I had got it just for sentimental reasons, and that it was probably going to end up disappointing. And lo - I had a good first listen! Hardly scientific proof of my offhand theory, but it adds credence in my own subjective eyes.

Anyhow, it does leave the second listen in an interesting position. The first at least leaves open the possibility that it's one of these famous tough nuts that requires perseverence; the second is fraught with the peril that you are left in the exact same state as the first! This, in my experience, has been pretty rare. Even if I've left with a similarly unfavourable opinion the second time around, I usually manage to discover something that passed my careful ears the first time.

But wait, thinking about it, if we are to be precise (and we must, we must!), perhaps it is the pre-listen that is the hardest. Even the most eagerly anticipated album seems to require an extraordinary effort for me to sit down and prepare for the first listen. Put it down to one of my many foibles - I seem to require that things be "just right" for the first listen, for the all-important first impression. Which, more often than I'd like, ends up with me thinking "Well that was a waste of money"**.

Perhaps this sort of post is symptomatic of the problems I have with listening. It could just be that I think too much without sufficient listening time to give the thinking any reasonable form. I mean, the hours I've spent reflecting on how music I've never heard will probably sound...! Yes, there is a lesson here, but one which I haven't been able to learn well enough to put into practise. But then again, what are we really talking about - how to listen to albums? To paraphrase Zappa (again), "Just shut up 'n play it".

* Love's Forever Changes is what I am thinking of - the first listen I found absolutely dreadful, and I think I was so bored the first time that I stopped listening halfway through, and let it become background noise. For shame!

** Only half-seriously, mind you! For I don't think I have yet given up entirely on an album, no matter how atrocious the first listen was. True, getting myself to sit down and prepare for that second listen is tough, but I've been fairly diligent thus far.

Hatful Of Hollow

Album: Hatful Of Hollow
Artist: The Smiths
Year: 1984
Track picks: What Difference Does It Make?, This Charming Man, How Soon Is Now?, Hand In Glove, Back To The Old House, Reel Around The Fountain, Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want
Synopsis: A good compilation that serves as a great introduction to the early days of one of the more interesting indie rock bands of the '80s

Note: I couldn't really finish this "review"! So think of it more like a musing inspired by the album rather than a guide to the album itself.

It's been a while since any talk of music here, which is not all that surprising, given that there hasn't been much music to speak of that I've listed to. 'Fact, Stranded is probably the last album I've heard, and that was at least a few months ago. However, I have rediscovered the wonderful medium that is the compilation, which I talked about previously in terms of how I was at one stage opposed to the whole thing on principle (no doubt mimicking my friend GS, who I believe said something similar, but in a different context). I think the only consistent soundtrack of these past few months has been the Smiths' Hatful Of Hollow. Even after numerous listenings, it's hard to say just what it is that is appealing with some of these songs. Fair enough question, and one that I've enjoyed trying to answer.

The first problem you have is trying to characterize some of these songs. Post-punk? A bit later than most post-punk bands, but even so, it's more New Wave, yet not quite. After all, where are the Beatlesque pop songs? Hmm, so what is it? At first, I hesitated to call them pop, because you don't usually get pop songs that start off with lines like "All men have secrets and here is mine / Let it be known". But musically, they really aren't all that complex, and so I think the best way to describe most of these songs is introspective (some may say egotistical) guitar-based pop.

If that doesn't sound all that exciting, I don't blame you, especially considering that in terms of melodies, the band isn't supremely gifted - and to many, that is the most important thing for a pop band ("What else is there?"). Now, sure, there are some very strong melodies, don't get me wrong, but all I'm saying is that these guys are no Wings. No, the emphasis is definitely more on the feeling; that wallowy, mopey feeling...and here's where Morrissey comes in.

Morrissey may be one of the most grating performers of the last 25 years to some, but to others he is one of the most talented lyricists. A Morrissey love song is really quite unique ("William, It Was Really Nothing"), but so is a Morrissey put-down (I don't know why, but I just love "You shut your mouth" for the sheer helplessness it conveys). I don't think it's possible to name anyone to be the "best" at anything, but I will say that I consider Morrissey to be one of the most unique lyricists/songwriters in all of rock (which is saying something, given how many talented lyricists there are).

Granted, uniqueness doesn't mean quality. After all, the mere fact that no-one has written anything quite like "How Soon Is Now?" doesn't make it good, now does it? Clearly, you need to be doing something of value to boot, and that he does. The Oscar Wilde of rock? Spot on, for all I know. His reputation for being mopey is most certainly deserved, but that's not all there is to the guy. The romantic side of Morrissey is definitely worth knowing, after all it produces such gems as "Why pamper life's complexities / When the leather runs smooth on the passenger's seat?". I hesitate to say that his style was unprecedented, but I can say that I haven't heard anyone write quite like him, no sir.

As with all "love him or hate him" performers, I think it's best not to take everything he says too seriously. I don't blame you if you find "How Soon Is Now?" unbearable; it's perfectly understandable to see it as mere self-pity and pointless ego-stroking. But take it from a slightly more distanced view, and I really think you can see it as an amazingly confessional song. I really don't think there was anyone who was as startlingly naked in saying "I am the son and the heir / Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar / I am the son and heir / Of nothing in particular".

This brings me onto Johnny Marr. It's no surprise that he was often overlooked as Morrissey took center stage, but man the guy is good. Oh, if only I had continued my studies in music theory, for then I could try to explain something behind the Pedia's statements that his sense of harmony and counter-melody were ahead of its time. All I can offer is the pedestrian remark that it all sounds great, but what stands out is how it's often something very simple, which makes it all the more interesting. Kind of like some of those Robbie Krieger riffs on some of the Doors' songs like "Wild Child" and "Five To One", so simple yet so effective.

What about them songs, then? Well, they're mostly good, sometimes great, at worst tolerable, and that about sums it up. As a compilation, it's pretty good, although clearly since the band had only the one album out when this was released, the songs aren't able to cover as wide a variety of styles and moods as one would like (nothing humorous, for starters).

You know, there was a video for "This Charming Man" on TV today (yes, there is a video!), and on seeing it I began to wonder "Wait on, if I was channel surfing and came across this, would I even pay a second glance to it?" Perhaps I was in bit of a critical mood at the time, but the point is that on analysis, it seems perplexing to me to try and pin point what makes this song as likeable as it is. My initial response is of course to say the lyrics, but really, after the intro ("Punctured bicycle on a hillside desolate"...see, I'm swooning already, and I don't know why!), there's far too little to totally satisfy. I end up wanting more of "Why pamper life's complexities" and the brilliant "This man says it's gruesome that someone so handsome should care". Then it hits me that there's Morrissey, and that voice. You might hate it, but I dig it; so emotive, and so fitting with the mood I feel. The Hatful version is actually rather different to the original album one. Going by the video, the original is even shorter, and I find it to be far too quick to be effective. This one tries to gently squeeze out the quality, and gives the song a far more deserving platform I feel.

I've already referenced "What Difference Does It Make" more than a few times these past few months, so I don't know what more there is to say about it. It rules, for starters. "Yet another catchy Marr riff and some interesting lyrics" doesn't really say enough, I fear. Heck, is this pop? Well, I guess so. Friggin' good.

My other favourite would have to be "Reel Around The Fountain", which I think risks being forgotten seeing how it is buried late in the track listing. There are some very memorable lines here, but it's also Morrissey's little vocal tricks that I really like. The content might be a bit...risque, though you wouldn't think as much listening to the music.

I don't think the Smiths were really an album band - they really did put a lot of effort into singles, and so compilations like this are an excellent representation of the bad. Since it was my introduction to them, I of course think it is a great first album to get, though I suppose The Queen Is Dead would be a good choice though. Nonetheless, this is a thoroughly enjoyable compilation - not endowed with killer material from start to end, but it certainly has charm in spades.

I sometimes wonder about these music reviews I spend so much time reading on other sites, and thinking about writing myself (most of which have never seen the light of day). One of the reader comments at John McFerrin's Yes reviews gives us his review of Tales From Topographic Oceans as a picture - the album cover to Yesstory. He tries to describe how the picture captures his feelings about the album and the songs contained, and does a somewhat convincing job of it; at the very least, he is able to awaken a part of me that totally agrees with him, and wants to say "Yes*!! How can you possibly attempt to explain the worth of music with words? You can't really tell me if this album is good or bad! This is all just wallowing in the mire!" (quite an excitable voice, no!?). This is no doubt fuelled by my own frustrations on the few times I've actually sat down and tried to review albums. I remember spending lots of time at the end of last year trying to come up with words to describe why I adored "Waiting For The Sun", but what I came up with ("a soft synth-propelled opening is shattered by a monstrous riff") sounded very feeble compared to the amazingly powerful feelings the song seemed to invoke in me; I seemed to have reached a problem where merely pouring on more adjectives wasn't going to solve anything.

I then started wondering whether the mistake was singling out individual songs. My Transformer review is structurally uninspired, because all it does is go song by song. This works sometimes, but some of the more interesting albums are where you can't look at it as a direct function of the songs it has**. When I tried to write my thoughts on Plastic Ono Band, this became quite clear to me; out of context, quite a few of the songs might not strike one as being particularly powerful. But it just seemed to me that taken as a whole, the whole atmosphere was somewhat overwhelming, and this was something I had no chance of exploring if I were to just list each of the tracks and go through them step-by-step. I tried to move towards the holistic review style in my most recent efforts, in the hopes it would provide the answer to what I was searching. But looking over my review of Forever Changes, I still feel unsatisfied. And I can't even begin to think how one might review Another Green World. I've often thought about whether it's impossible to properly describe the charm of "St. Elmo's Fire", but even more daunting is "The Big Ship" - I dare say it's near impossible to explain what that's about. I saw a RYM user call it "spiritually cleansing", which is pretty close, but it's almost impossible to give a clear reason. One can describe it perfectly step-by-step, but the end result will always be crushed when you play the song the next time - that final synth will hit, and you exclaim "What the heck was I going on about, that's not why it's great at all"!

The obvious question to ask is whether this is all a reflection of a lack of skills on my part. Well, to a large extent, yes, but it's also interesting to read some of the reviews by people who actually do have such talent, like George Starostin and John. They more or less go for the "overall picture" approach to album reviewing, but even their high-quality reviews don't seem to always be on the money. In terms of expressing some of the wonder of the music, that is, not the mirroring of my own opinions! (Let It Bleed gets a 15? I still can't figure it out!). Why then did I look up so much to these two reviewers? Surely if they couldn't express the wonder of "Editions Of You", I had no chance? As I see it, it comes down to the question - what is the point of the review/reflection? Therein I think lies the answer. One can't approach the it with the mindset that I possessed (and still do to some extent, unfortunately) - that it will be able to convey an equivalent feeling as listening to the music would. I think that's my hang-up, and what has stopped me in my tracks; the feeling of inadequacy when I read over what I've written, only to go "No, no, no! That's not it at all! That doesn't explain why I love "Watching Alice", I've made it sound so drab and unappealing!" - this is followed by me asking "Well, why do I like it anyway?", leading to much frustration, and eventually, submission to the fact that I probably can't do what I want to do with the review.

Perhaps with all this out in the open, I can try to write again, but I fear old habits die hard. I think I will probably have to settle for musings I give on RateYourMusic, rather than the drawn out reviews of yore. Funnily enough, my RYM musings are usually far more potent than most of the lengthy reviews/rambles! Part of the problem is that it's so much fun just thinking about things one likes, so any effort put into them, wasted or not, is usually far beyond healthy doses - which makes it doubly disappointing when the end-result is so limp and uninspired!

Now, with all that said and done, maybe it's as good a time as any to take a deep breath and try not to get tied up about albums in future. Lou Reed was asked what he thought about Transformer in the Classic Albums documentary about the albium: whether it was a personal favourite, whether he thought it deserved all the praise it got, and so on. I'll never forget the way he matter-of-factly said, "It's just an album. You make it and then you go and make another one". Heh, I ought to take a leaf out of Lou's book (and maybe even create a classic underground album in the process).

* Believe me, no pun intended at all

** There's a bit in one of the more esoteric record review sites, Steve And Abe's Reviews, about how the attitude of wanting to hear a song with the album it's contained in confuses rock with a novel, and that compilations shouldn't be looked down upon! It felt good to see someone put this view forward, because I think otherwise I'd have lost my way entirely; it's good to get an injection of common sense sometimes. I certainly fell head first into this trap, not even looking at compilations because I saw them as somehow inferior to the original albums. Stupid, stupid. Or, at least, sometimes stupid. There are places where it certainly does apply, for like I said, sometimes it is quite important to have the album as a concrete entity, and extracting individual songs from it can be somewhat detrimental. It shouldn't come as much of a surprise, though, because I've always bounced from one extreme to the other. Before this period of elitism, my music listening strategy was deadly simple. Play the CD once in the background. If some song leaves a residual effect, make an MP3. If it doesn't, too bad, maybe next time (which, of course, would probably be never; hey, I already had the best songs, right?) It's obvious then that I would have an extreme backlash against this practise, so much so that I wouldn't listen to a song outside of its context to the album it was in. I'd start humming "Peace Frog", and say "Gee, what a great song. I wouldn't mind hearing that one more time. Ah well, maybe next time I feel like hearing the whole of Morrison Hotel". But as I've mellowed, I've realized that I began applying this restrictive practise far too much, in places it clearly didn't belong. Now I've been set free to find a new illusion.

Transformer was Reed's breakthrough album, where he managed to reach commercial success by "embracing" glam-rock and coming up with what is often considered one of the best albums of the entire genre; although, whether it really is glam-rock or is just loosely based around it is debatable. Regardless, it is by far Reed's most popular and well known album, and it's easy to see (or rather hear) why. Collaborating with Bowie, Reed went on a considerably different path to some of the Velvet Underground's albums. Now, I don't know about all this glam-rock nonsense, but the melodies are mighty fine. Heck, there isn't a single really weak track on here as far I can tell.

The opener is the delicious "Vicious", which opens with the absurd "Vicious / You hit me with a flower", at which point you just know that it's something else (apparently, Andy Warhol told Reed to write a song called "Vicious" that was "Vicious, like, you hit me with a flower"). Reed's vocals are stunning. I don't often say that, but it's true. The best I can describe it is Dylan for the masses - which I suppose would be Dylan minus nicotine (though not without heroin, eh?). Dylan takes a while to get used to, but his intonations are wonderful once you get accustomed to his voice. Starostin calls Reed "the best Dylan imitator in history", and I would agree. Some people say they can't hear the similarity, but I don't see how. Sure, the voice is different, but it's the intonations, the phrasings that Reed has perfectly captured. Anyhow, "Vicious" has a nice riff with hilarious lyrics ("Vicious / Hey, why don't you swallow razor blades"). Priceless.

"Perfect Day" has such a (dare I say it?) perfect chorus. Heh not really, but I couldn't resist. What does strike you is that Reed, who was involved with such, ah, works of noise (to put it politely) as White Light/White Heat actually has strings in this song. It's odd to hear Reed singing something so mellow and beautiful; is this the same guy who wrote "Sister Ray"? You never can pin this guy down, he's always got a few surprises up his sleeve. I suppose he wasn't afraid to try anything, which is good - he didn't try to keep up a tough-guy image, he just did whatever he felt like. Then we have "Hangin' Round" - now this is pure rock 'n roll, baby! I read somewhere that Dylan was on the road somewhere when he heard a Beatles song on the radio. He stopped the car and started madly thumping the car to the beat of the song. I was tempted to do the same with this song - once the chorus hits, ooh man, it's pure gold. Yes, it's no "Day In The Life", but it's enjoyable nonetheless darn it! And isn't that what's important? The answer, of course, is no.

Of course, the most famous song off this album is "Walk on the wild side", with the subdued shuffling beat and the "Do do doo do doo doo do doo" chorus. But I don't think it's the best song on here. More on that later. The song seems innocent enough, but they mask the lyrics about transvestites and other interesting personalities whom he came across in Warhol's factory. A bit off-putting, actually, since you want to love the song, but for me it's a little hard when I hear of people who "shaved her leg and then he was a she"..anyway, "Satellite Of Love"'s ending is precious - well I like it anyway. That's Bowie doing the "Satelliiiiiiiite", by the way; yep, amazing huh? The song reminds of something else, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

On the whole, pretty darn good, I'd say. My only complaint would be that the album gets a little limp towards the end. The cabaret-flavoured "Goodnight Ladies", for one, doesn't do anything for me, but that's forgiveable, it's over quickly enough. Extremely consistent, and always entertaining - minimal filler and wonderful melodies. How can you go wrong? It's too hard to pick a favourite song. "Vicious"? "Perfect Day"? "Walk on the wild side"? "Satellite Of Love"? Heck they're all great. Even the minor numbers are nothing to be ashamed of (like, say, "Make up" - I'm telling you now, the "You're a slick little girl" line is inexplicably infectious). Amazing stuff! I haven't really dug deep into '70s rock by any means, but I think this is up there among the best of them. Although Band On The Run might have something to say about that, eh? Oh wait a second, the '70s was when Plastic Ono Band came out, so Transformer is at best #2. Hmm and of course we have Rust Never Sleeps. Ya know what, let's leave it at "this is a great album", and save the "Ohhh my album is better than your album" stuff for another day.

Update 4/10/05: Just a quick word to say I now find this is so charmingly naive. Especially the bit at the end about it being one of the best, ah...! Would it still make my top 10 for '70s albums? Possibly, though I think Eno and his collaborations are currently swimming towards the top of my list.