Peter Gabriel — So (1986)

So here we are with another album I rather like, from an era I really like. Peter Gabriel was about on top of his game here, but he padded out this album a little too much. When I want to listen to a Peter Gabriel album, it ends up being “Melt” (properly known as “Peter Gabriel III”), but when I want to hear a good Peter Gabriel song it ends up being one of the ones off the first half of So.

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Probably his worst album cover

God, what an era, though. Peter Gabriel, U2, Paul Simon and many other great acts were at their absolute zenith in a stretch of two or three years in the late 80’s, with meaningful lyrics and innovative music, which is all one can really ask.

(I think it’s telling that Lorde, the only pop singer I can think of that has had any success in the last five years without completely selling out and making bog-standard EDM, really seems to dig the late 80’s. When she grows up a little more she might usher in a new period of this kind of innovation. She certainly has made it clear that that’s her ambition, though not in so many words. I’ll probably never review a Lorde album, so here’s me saying I like her work for what it is, and I like her a lot as a person.)

So is arty. I’ll give Peter Gabriel’s detractors that. It certainly represents an thorough-going attempt to make an artistic statement, and it can really come off as too arty. I’d almost say “pretentious,” but I’m tired of anti-intellectual people using that word to dismiss anything that resists casual analysis or makes a far-reaching statement, so it has rather a bad aftertaste for me. To show you what I mean by “arty,” though, here’s a prime example: the title is Gabriel’s act of spite against his label, who wanted him to give his next album an actual title. (The prior four were all self-titled; even the numbers were added later to differentiate them.) Unwilling to give them a commercially viable title, he titled it with one of the shortest words in the English language. Yeah, maybe pretentious isn’t too strong a word for that. At least he didn’t title it with the (typographically) shortest word in English, “I.”

But how’s the music?

The album starts with a refinement of his prior sound, with an energetic and intriguing rhythm on the drums and a rich, indefinable instrumental texture a few seconds after that. A few seconds later he comes in himself with the vocals. He tells us openly that the song is about a dream. It’s a bold choice and one that rarely works (though it works for Neil Young sometimes). The details of his dream are cryptic and have the ring of an actual dream, but I can almost imagine it’s about some moment of violence happening on the news at the time he wrote the song. Hell if I know what, though. Take your pick, honestly. The actual songwriting is solid, suits the musical style, and Gabriel has a simple, strong melodic voice that conveys a lot of emotion. The music, overall, has a lot of the earmarks of the 1980’s synthesis of world influences. I like it, but it’s not just a mind-blowing song. 7/10.

Yeah, Sledgehammer is a dick joke.* It has some funny moments, but the Japanese flute in the intro is out of place and the whole thing seems like an attempt by a white Brit to sing what we call the dirty blues. He can’t pull it off, whatever the charts said. 5/10. I will admit that, since it’s the only Peter Gabriel song they play on my local rock station, I’m tired of it and probably biased. If you like it, we can still be friends.

*So much so that it bears mentioning that my friend Steven, a prude, absolutely the last person to make a crass joke, once heard this song and said in a terribly silly and bad Cockney accent “Is he… is he talking ’bout his genitals?”

“Don’t Give Up” is weird as hell. It’s a duet between Gabriel and highly individual pop singer Kate Bush, in which his character is an unemployed man seemingly at the point of suicide. Her character might be his wife or a relative, and she tells him “don’t give up/I know you can make it good.” It’s an oddly life-affirming ballad, even if it doesn’t have any moments of truly stellar songwriting, and Kate Bush has a great voice for this type of song. 8/10.

Ah, “That Voice Again.” This is in my top five Peter Gabriel songs. It’s percussion driven, has some nice, airy piano (probably courtesy of Gabriel himself), and some dark synth. Honestly, most of the song would work if it was just drums and vocals, which is saying something. The high-hat work here is virtuosic; without exaggeration, it’s top-tier playing. And to think that Peter Gabriel has a reputation for hating cymbals! If I remember right, he was on record even before this as saying that he wouldn’t have them on his records at all if left to his own devices.

The drums are played, as far as I could find out, by a French session drummer of African descent called Manu Katché, who also played with Sting and Satriani, and who probably deserves to be very famous. Maybe his solo career is well-known in France. I dunno.

(Did Manu Katché also play with Manu Chao or did I make that up? If not he totally should. How the actual hell do I know more than one French musician active in the world music scene named Manu, anyways?)

And the song is about being neurotic and overthinking everything in a relationship. Or is it about literally hearing voices? Gabriel cultivates the ambiguity, I think. At any rate, I always took it as a song about being a neurotic guy who can’t say what he means to the girl because he’s too insecure. And what frustrated passion Gabriel puts into the vocals! Honestly, he sounds like it’s about five minutes after dawn out on the savanna somewhere, and two minutes after the invention of music. There’s this fire and rawness to it that I’ve never heard in other Western music. His voice doesn’t sound like he’d be as good of a vocalist as he is. 9/10. 

Next comes perhaps Gabriel’s best-known song, “In Your Eyes.” Yeah, it’s a creature of two worlds. It’s an 80’s love ballad, with literally everything that implies. The same blood runs through the veins of “Sister Christian,” by Night Ranger, as blasphemous as that sounds. But then it’s also a product of the 80’s world music craze, with everything that implies. So what does Gabriel make of the raw materials?

Well, it’s better than “Sister Christian;” that should be an uncontroversial statement. I’ve always liked it, mainly on the strength of the anthemic chorus. And now that I give it a close listening, I hear African drumming or at least some poly-rhythms, as well as some other complexities beyond the pop instrumentation I had always heard. While I may never be able to shake its association with John Cusack in “Say Anything,” it’s a fantastic song on its own. The chorus may be cryptic and somewhat… I don’t know, overwritten, maybe, but like Bono around the same time, Gabriel sells it, he really does.

(Now I really want to hear “Sister Christian” with world rhythms and a vocalist of Gabriel’s caliber. I need to call my band.)

I don’t know, though, there’s some part of this song’s appeal that’s bound up in my own emotional history. When I first heard this song, when I first put it in a mixtape, coming hissy and trebly off some cheap boom-box, when I listened to it while driving a slammed-out pickup truck on Highway 49 (and hell yes, the tape is in my desk drawer next to the pens with the track-list written on it in Sharpie)… at that time, I was 17, I thought Bob Dylan was profound, I could still stand Journey, and I had my mind stuck on a girl, one of those crushes that didn’t bear examining even at the time. Still, for three months in 1987 I was obsessed. I thought of her when I listened to “In Your Eyes,” I thought of her when I listened to “Tomorrow is a Long Time,” and probably when I listened to “Any Way You Want It.” So I don’t know what’s real and what is the memory of hormone-driven teen lust. I think critically it’s a pretty great song, but I can barely hear it anymore. 8.5/10?

And there’s “Mercy Street.”  This song was informed by a book of Anne Sexton’s poetry.* I don’t know what it’s specifically referencing, but it’s very nice and atmospheric, and has some touching lines. I consider it a sort of sequel to “Lead a Normal Life” off of “Peter Gabriel III,” in that it deals with mental illness in a very sensitive way. They’re similarly sparse instrumentally too. 7/10

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Anne Sexton

*If you don’t know, Sexton’s story goes about like Sylvia Plath’s, and I, for one, couldn’t hope to tell their poetry apart in a blind test. I don’t mean to demean or belittle either of them or make light of mental illness, but I just don’t know what the criteria for good modernist poetry is, and I know I feel sad if I try to read either one.

But after “In Your Eyes,” the album was already winding up prematurely and to me, “Mercy Street” feels like the outro to the album.

And then comes “Big Time.” It’s an instrumentally bland rock song from the point of view of a rock-star who’s consumed by “bigness,” which is to say that everything around him must be as monumental as his ego. I do like his jab at religious hypocrisy, when the character says “I pray in a big church… my heaven will be a big heaven… and I will walk through the front door.” Really, though, Sledgehammer was all the pointless bombast this album needed. 4/10.

And then Gabriel gets too arty for his own good, as happens towards the end of every Peter Gabriel album. “We Do What We’re Told” is supposedly about the Milgram Shock Experiments, a fascinating psychological study done in the mid-20th century on people’s obedience to authority. People were told that it was a study of memory and learning under threat of punishment: the participants, so they were told, would administer increasingly powerful electrical shocks to a subject in another room whenever the subject got an answer wrong in a memory test, as an incentive to help the subject memorize the answers. In reality, the subject was just a tape recording being stopped and started, on which a man informed the participants that he had a bad heart, screamed whenever the participant had just “shocked” him and demanded to be let out of the study after suffering a certain number of shocks. The researcher would then inform the participant that he or she must continue to administer the shocks, in increasingly authoritarian tones of voice.

If you’ve ever taken a psychology class, you probably know what the data showed: most people will administer potentially fatal shocks to what they believe is a man at risk for heart attacks, if a man in a white coat and a tie tells them to in the right tone of voice. There’s controversy, naturally, as to whether this was an ethical study, given that people thought they were killing somebody, and as to whether the data is contaminated by people who suspected the experiment was fake. All of this is fascinating and perhaps troubling, if the results are valid, but does it translate to a good song? Nope. You wouldn’t have known any of this from the song, which plays as a slower and duller repeat of “Mercy Street” with fewer lyrics. Actually, I think it’s just the title being repeated over and over again. It’s pretentious rubbish that barely registers as music with me. 4/10.

And the last song is… weird. Decent, but weird. Laurie Anderson does guest vocals and I think guest writing on this song. If you don’t know who that is, imagine Peter Gabriel as a woman, but with the self-awareness knob not only turned to zero, but actually pulled off and thrown in the studio trashcan. A lot of people know her only as Lou Reed’s eccentric wife, but she actually had a career, shockingly, much weirder than his. Back in the day, she had a thing shaped like a violin, but instead of strings it had a magnetic head from a tape player where the bridge would have been. She strung a violin bow with tape and recorded all kinds of weird samples on it. Apparently, she could actually play music on it by moving these samples past the head at various speeds (and thus pitches). I don’t know if she still uses it, though, because if I remember right, she later made some kind of motion sensitive wizard staff that plays samples. I swear.

So this song is… nice, actually. It’s a lot of double-tracked vocals from the two of them and not a lot of instrumentation. I have no clue what it’s about and probably, neither do they. 7/10.

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It’s high time, Cymbaline.

I’m forced to conclude that this is another “glorified EP” album, where the album, minus filler and garbage music, equals a perfectly good EP. “Soundtrack to the Movie More” by Pink Floyd is the archetypical example for me, with the difference that it doesn’t claim otherwise. It’s a soundtrack album, so I didn’t expect 42 minutes of song-like content; I expected atmospheric noises and half-assed jams, and got them, but there was also almost a full side of fully-formed songs. Honestly, I view every song on More as a gift, unasked and undeserved–the fact that there was more early Floyd I had never heard was in itself a gift when I first heard that album.

So, however, claims to be an album and delivers practically an EP’s worth of content. Some of it is stellar content, but it’s still not enough to make the album stand on its own.

Full album average: 6.81/10
Penalty for even including “Big Time:” -0.5
Bonus points for two guest vocalists that deserved to be on more songs, and some fantastic studio musicians: +1
Best Song: “That Voice Again,” with “In Your Eyes” as the immediate runner-up.
Worst Song: “Big Time”
Final rating: 7.3/10

All content reviewed here is the property of its respective owners, all images  claimed under fair use, all views and opinions mine.

King Crimson — Discipline (1981)

Before I begin this review properly, I’m going to have to apologize to hardcore King Crimson fans. I only know one album and a couple of earlier songs by the band. While I know that they existed in earlier and very different incarnations that are perhaps better-acclaimed or at least more popular, I don’t know a thing about them.

See, despite liking the genre, I’ve never really been a hardcore prog fan. Pink Floyd and Discipline - Original Vinyl Cover.jpgYes are the only prog bands I’d consider myself generally knowledgeable about, with ELP a distant third. But I have albums or at least songs from Alan Parsons Project, Genesis, Prog-era solo Peter Gabriel and others I’m probably forgetting either on vinyl or on my computer. But overall, it’d seem that I’m generally a casual fan. So when a friend gave me a CD of Discipline about five years ago, it was with the warning that I might not like the band or the album.

And I didn’t, not at first. I listened to the first few tracks, decided almost automatically that it wasn’t my kind of prog, and forgot about it for several days. Then, that week, I caught myself humming “Frame by Frame,” thought “hey, that’s actually a pretty good song,” and I gave the album another chance. As a matter of fact, that’s the exact same way I came to love “Court and Spark,” by Joni Mitchell, which I’ve already mentioned among my favorite albums. In fact, it was the same friend who gave me both albums, come to think of it.

Worlds apart in tone, genre and feel from “Court and Spark,” but perhaps reflective of some of the same 70’s-&-early 80’s trends, Discipline is also a textured, likable album that rewards close listening, even if it features too much spoken word for my taste. Like many of my favorite albums, it’s from that era in the late 20th century when, in music at least, the world was all before us, an era when world music flourished on the international scene and wide-eyed optimism could have a place in popular music. God, what happy years they seem like, looking back solely through the lens of music. I don’t have to tell you that that’s not what they were really like.

The album opens strong with a Hendrix-esque hammer-on/pull-off trill from the celebrated avant-garde guitarist Robert Fripp, late of collaborations with Peter Gabriel and David Bowie. If you know any of their music from the era, this alone should tell you what kind of guitarist he is, but it’s probably also telling that he’s the guy who tried to popularize a “new standard tuning,” and entirely new types of harmony into rock guitar. Then we hear the fascinating “Chapman stick,” a kind of tapping guitar-and-bass combo, played by another recent Peter Gabriel collaborator, Tony Levin. The texture soars almost immediately into totally uncharted space, at least for Western audiences. My understanding is that Robert Fripp, who was in the original, disbanded King Crimson, wanted to reform the band as a “rock gamelan.” A gamelan is a sort of Indonesian orchestra that creates a thick, multi-layered musical texture, and that’s exactly what Fripp and Levin do in the first few seconds.

So how is the song (“Elephant Talk”) after the first few seconds? Interesting. But also stupid.

Stupid may be an overstatement. The new front-man, Adrian Belew, who had been in the Talking Heads and who went on to play the famous synth riff in Paul Simon’s “You Can Call Me Al,” lists words related to “talking” in alphabetical order, while making elephant noises with his guitar. So that’s the kind of band we’re dealing with. Not avant-garde, they’d probably tell us, capital-A Avant-Garde. And you know, I don’t hate it, despite this. It’s catchier than it sounds in this description, and it could almost be a Talking Heads song. Adrian Belew clearly patterned his vocal delivery after David Byrne’s.

So is the next one better? Hell yes. “Frame by Frame” holds up to my initial liking for it.It begins with another “stick”-heavy, “gamelan” intro, before breaking down into a more minimalistic texture for the verse. The melody of the verse is catchy as hell, but the lyrics are slight, almost just wordplay. “Death by drowning/in your arms, in your arms” is a great pop hook, lyrically and melodically, though. I also like the melody when he sings “Analysis!” right after the hook.

(I just looked it up, and apparently, it’s “death by drowning/in your own, in your own/analysis.” I almost like the mondegreen better, as bad as that is to say.)

The song starts strong and finishes strong with an “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)”-style sudden ending in the outro, but is probably too busy for some people’s tastes. One can definitely hear 90125 era Yes here, and in fact, Tony Levin eventually played in a shortlived Yes lineup. But that’s another long story.

Next is the first, originally-published version of the only ballad on the album, “Matte Kudasai” (the title is apparently Japanese for “please, wait”). It has a more conventional, jazzy texture, with soaring slide-guitar lines and watery, processed arpeggios. The lyrics are a bit sentimental and are delivered a bit sentimentally, but the texture is so nice and the vocals fit so well into it that I can’t really take issue with it.

There’s an alternate version with an additional lead part at the end of most versions of the album, but not the original pressing. I can’t decide which I like better, the alternate, or the original. The latter is too busy, the first not busy enough, maybe.

Next is another song with rather dopey spoken word from Belew, “Indiscipline.” The narrative here is that the speaker is a mentally unbalanced man who is obsessing over something that he stole: we never find out what. The music in the intro is a similar layered texture to the first two songs, but with a harder edge that I quite like, but it’s not quite enough to salvage the song. The looped “I repeat myself when under stress” is an annoying gimmick, and the whole thing grates on me.

(Apparently, the monologue is adapted from a letter Belew sent to his wife of the time, concerning a sculpture she had made. I don’t really know how to fit that in with the actual song, but whatever.)

A similar situation to “Indiscipline” exists with “Theela Hun Ginjeet.” That’s not Sanskrit for anything, much as they might want us to think so. It’s an anagram for “heat in the jungle.” So yeah, we have here a song about gang violence. The annoying part comes after the (quite good) intro, which has one of the nastiest, funkiest bass-lines I’ve ever heard, courtesy of Levin. The annoying part is Adrian Belew talking into a pocket tape recorder about… walking around talking into a pocket tape recorder in the big city, which seemingly gets him harassed by both gang members and the police. I think his crazy-person persona had something to do with it, too.  That trashy mono recording eats up more of the song than it has any right to. I like the song somewhat, entirely on the strength of that bass-line and the whole intro.

The next song is nice. It’s a more gamelan-styled, eight-minute instrumental titled “The Sheltering Sky” after an old novel. It’s one of my favorites from the album, but I don’t have much to say about it or about “Discipline,” another, harder instrumental. Their sonic experimentation is uniformly good and listenable. The album closes, in my copy, with the alternate version of “Matte Kudasai.”

So, while I think that the spoken word is too much and too pretentious, the album is a very nice piece of later prog, and a relic of an era that is very near to my heart. 5.5/10

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The Dire Straits – Brothers in Arms (1985)

This is going to be a hard one to write about… “Brothers in Arms” is one of the six or Image result for brothers in armsseven albums I must have in my collection at any given point. This puts it in a closed category with albums like War, Highway 61, Graceland, Court and Spark and So, albums that, in my mind, are masterpieces both musically and lyrically, with songs that I identify with on a personal level. I could go on and on! So rather than just gush about my favorite parts, I’m going to break this album down track by track and then talk about what I think is the album’s chief failing. 

The album opens with a comparatively short, straightforward rock track, “So Far Away from Me.” Here, singer Mark Knopfler pines to be near the object of his affections, but remains up-beat and melodic, if not actually catchy. It’s a solidly put-together cut, and it deserves more radio play.

Next, however, is the song most of us think of when we think of this album: “Money for Nothing.” I’d guess a lot of the popularity of this song is due to the catchy chorus and rather provocative lyrics, but truth be told, it really does have all the elements of a hit record. It opens with an ear-catching space rock segment (reminiscent of “Shine on, You Crazy Diamond”), which features guest vocalist Sting repeatedly crooning the line that has all but replaced the actual title: “I want my MTV.” With a heavy drum line, the song transitions into a vaguely ZZ Top-esque hard rocker, with Knopfler on lead vocals and Sting on backup. The singer laments his career choices, wishing he could get “money for nothing and chicks for free” like the singers and guitarists on MTV.

It is here that Knopfler makes one of the more regrettable decisions of the album: he spends an entire verse making fun of an unnamed rock-star for his supposed homosexuality and effeminate appearance. While Knopfler has distanced himself from the lyrics, saying that they represent the views of a character and not his own, it seems the lyrics came across as counter-progressive even at the time. I certainly think the song might have been stronger with an alternate verse. Who’s to say?

Still, it was built to be a hit, with solid guitar and synth arrangement, pop drums, and fun little details like Sting singing the line “I want my MTV” to the tune of his hit “Don’t Stand so Close to Me” in the background of the chorus. If it were the only strong track on the album, I might judge it harshly, but on an album like “Brothers,” it only has to bear its own weight. It holds up as an album cut.

(I almost wish this song had been in Dune, playing in the infamous scene where Sting’s character, Feyd-Rautha, steps forth Speedo-clad from a high-tech steam bath to watch his soldiers cooking a pig with cattle-prods, but I somehow doubt even David Lynch would go that far. Also, per Wikipedia, the film was made in ’83 and the song was recorded some time after it was released in ’84… Still, a fellow can dream.)

Next comes the other hit from the album, “Walk of Life.” It’s a blues-rock number with a catchy organ/synth line and lyrics about a struggling street musician, almost certainly identical to the title character of “Johnny B. Goode” by Chuck Berry. It, too, earned its place on the charts, in my opinion, but it always felt a little light-weight, to me. I don’t know why; it has some great lines in the chorus. Still, I can’t help but overlook it, especially when I compare it to the next track.

“Your Latest Trick” opens with a sad, smooth-jazz saxophone line, which drops away as the song transitions into a slow rocker, remaining present but not over-powering in the background. In the verses, Knopfler shows his true colours as a folk musician after the pattern of Bob Dylan. Clever wordplay builds up some levity, but ultimately it’s a sombre, after-midnight in the city sort-of-ballad. Indeed, the sound of lashing rain hitting windows and walls is nowhere to be found in this song, but it is everywhere implied. If I were a DJ, it would be on my short-list of songs to play on rainy nights, together with “You Look Like Rain” by Morphine, “Invitation to the Blues” by Tom Waits, and a very few others. At any rate, it’s a fantastic track and it more than makes up for the excesses of the album to this point.

If “Your Latest Trick” spoke of insomnia, “Why Worry Now?” is a perfect cure, both in the sense that it is literally a lullaby, with comforting words and a gentle arrangement, and in the sense that it is light-weight, boring, and a minute or more too long. Still, as filler goes, the Straits could do worse. I’d prefer no filler at all, but that’s just me.

The latter half of the album begins with the sound of synthesized bamboo flutes and tribal drums. A less generous critic might call this arrangement an attempt at pushing the listener’s “intrigue button,” but I’ll withhold judgement for the moment. The song, “Ride Across the River” is the first of the war songs on “Brothers,” sung or rather half-spoken from the perspective of a revolutionary about to cross a river into enemy territory. One struggles to place it in Latin America, Central Africa, Korea, but the truth is, the song is general enough to be about all revolution, everywhere. It’s the kind of song U2 were writing around this time, as Apartheid and the developing world came onto the international scene in a big way. Knopfler has the most interesting way of sounding like Dylan “as he should have been.” At any rate, this song and the other two war songs on the album give it much of its universality and lasting appeal, a delicate consciousness of the human condition that  is impossible to fake.

“The Man’s Too Strong” grapples with similar ideas, but in a far more cryptic way. “I am just an ageing drummer boy,” the narrator informs us, “and in the wars I used to play.” Then he skillfully blindsides us with “And I have called the tune to many a torture session.” This song, more than the one before it, sounds like it’s about revolutions in Latin America, especially given the Catholic imagery, but who’s to say? There seems to be a narrative here, but it’s so heavily buried under cryptic lines about stolen diamonds and stolen pieces of silver that I can’t make heads or tails of it. The real shining moment to me is the abrupt dynamic shift in the chorus after the line “the man’s too big, the man’s too strong,” but it can’t really save the song from being too obscure.

“One World” is lightweight, a bunch of pseudo-Dylan moaning about the human condition that comes across as too blatant and bleeding-heart. It does have a couple of memorable lines, like “They say it’s mostly vanity that writes the plays we act; they tell me that’s what everybody knows.” It’s not bad for filler.

And finally we come to the title track, the third and final war song, dark, brooding and full of stormy 80’s synth and slow, clean blues licks. And it’s here that Knopfler really shows his talent as a songwriter, even more so than “Ride Across the River.” There’s a line here that is so startlingly strong and simple to me that I’m only surprised no one plucked it from the vine before 1985: “Now the sun’s* gone to hell, the moon riding high.”

(Or, continuing with messianic imagery from “The Man’s Too Strong,” “The Son.”)

But isn’t that line great? It takes something that literally happens everyday, and effortlessly colours it with strong emotion. How many songwriters must have kicked themselves in ’85 for never having thought of “the sun’s gone to hell?” The only other single line I can compare it to for emotional effect is David Bowie’s “Planet Earth is blue and there’s nothing I can do.” And it goes on like that. As the ageing soldier thanks his comrades and laments that they had to fight at all, Knopfler gets in a few more gems, like “it’s written up in the stars, and every line in your palm.”

But now that I’ve covered the album with dripping praise, I have to talk about its tragic flaw. There exists what we call “the 80’s sound,” more so than for any other decade before or since, though the 90’s and the 00’s are close runners-up in this department. Instantly dated digital synth, hi-gloss sound production and plastic-sounding drums say 80’s rock in the same way that heavily compressed guitar lines with no dynamic range say 2000’s metal. Few of the greats of the era were exempt. U2 were not exempt on War, an apt comparison on a number of levels. On both albums, the drums sound like plastic toys. The studio drummer here gets away with it somewhat better than Larry Mullen Jr., perhaps because Mullen plays more histrionic fills and is generally mixed front-and-center. But where, oh, where are the full, thick, organic sounding drums of the 70’s? And the synths are lamentable. The midi pan-pipes on “Ride Across the River” in particular must have been badly dated ten minutes after the track was recorded. And the fact that this was literally the first album to be digitally recorded in full only solidifies my opinion: the mastering and production are trash.


In summation, it’s a truly great album that’s unfortunately struggling to breathe through a film of shiny 80’s plastic. I have to give it an 8/10, though, and I don’t intend to give many of those.


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