952 - Third Eye Blind 'Third Eye Blind' (1997)

My Rating: 2.00 out of 5

1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die: X

Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Albums: X

The Mojo Collection: X

Chart Peak (UK/US): --/25

Favourite Tracks: Graduate, Good For You
Least-Favourite Tracks: Semi-Charmed Life, God Of Wine

If you asked people today to vote for their greatest albums of all-time I wonder what delights we’d find. Some Lady Gaga or Nickelback perhaps? What about Rihanna, Mika & Miley Cyrus? Almost certainly the soundtrack to Mamma Mia The Movie. I shudder at the thought. Fad voting really screws up these lists. If any publisher is thinking of cranking out one of these top 1000 books, my suggestion would be to make all recently-released albums ineligible. Ban all records less than 5 years old & you might get an all-time top 1000 that owes more to genuinely great music & rather less to hype, fashion & the occasional smash-hit single.

So yes, here we go again… much like Sean Mullins, Third Eye Blind owe their appearance in this list to the fact that they scored a mega-hit in the US around the time that the book was being compiled. Is it one of the top 1000 albums ever made? No it’s not. Like Mullins, you won’t find this record in any other of the numerous greatest-ever lists that exist. Of course, that fact doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a bad album. There’s a stack of albums I love that never make it onto any of these lists either but this record is just too ordinary & unoriginal to stake any real claims for greatness.

The album kicks off with Losing A Whole Year. It’s a decent song with strong production, powerful drumming, interesting lyrics but that vocal melody & guitar owe rather too much to Oasis. And the musical magpie is busy elsewhere too; the chorus on Jumper conjures up The Smiths, the middle-eight reminds me of The Police, Motorcycle Drive By cruises firmly into U2 territory. The weak link here seems to be the lead guitarist who seems rather too keen on borrowing ideas from everyone else rather than developing his own individual style. He’s a competent guitarist but I’d argue that the best rock bands need more than that; the riffs here aren’t all that memorable, the solos often bland & wayward, the chord progressions simplistic & predictable.

Which leads us neatly onto Semi-Charmed Life, a Frankenstein’s monster of a song that seems to have been assembled entirely out of other people’s parts. Need a song for the closing credits of American Pie #17? Well here it is. It’s one of those numbers designed to appeal to the most basic of musical responses with a chirpy wordless “doo-dee-doo” chorus and three Major chords that repeat through verse, chorus & middle-8. And it worked… American radio played it to death (i.e., more than 3 times) & it was a huge single hit. [edit: I’ve just found out it was actually featured in the first American Pie movie… so much for sarcasm, eh?]

It’s not all bad though & a track like Graduate shows what Third Eye Blind can do when they’re not chasing universal chart approval. The guitarist finally sorts himself out & knocks out a monster riff with a gurgling, unhinged solo like something off a 70’s album by The Tubes (that’s a good thing by the way). In fact, the band seems to work better when they lose a bit of their polish & tracks like London & Good For You likewise benefit from being a little rougher around the edges. The problem is just that nagging feeling that you’ve heard all this somewhere before. And the bigger problem of course is that you probably have…

953 - Miles Davis 'At Carnegie Hall - The Complete Concert' (1961)

My Rating: 2.64 out of 5

1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die: X

Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Albums: X

The Mojo Collection: X

Chart Peak (UK/US): --/59

Favourite Tracks: Meaning Of The Blues/Lament, New Rhumba
Least-Favourite Tracks: Oleo

I’ve never seen a greatest album list that didn’t feature at least one Miles Davis record but by the same token I’ve never seen one that featured this particular album either. And there’s a reason for that… it’s really not one of his best.

So why, considering all the classic Miles Davis albums out there, did the people who voted for the All-Time Top 1000 Albums choose this one? Well, for jazz fans it represented something of a historical event; Miles did countless live performances over the years but he only ever did two concerts alongside his celebrated collaborator Gil Evans. Yet as an archive of this momentous occasion, the original 1961 live album was flawed because it only included half the concert. Then after four decades or so, someone at the record label finally twigged that it might be a good idea to reissue an expanded version of the album that featured the complete show. This new 2-CD edition caused something of a stir with jazzers on its release in 1998, which coincidentally was when the All-Time Top 1000 book was being compiled and hence it grabbed a good deal more votes than it might in polls nowadays.

Like many teenagers I was a music nut. Back in the vinyl days I used to head into London’s West End every weekend & scour the second-hand record shops looking for anything interesting (and cheap). I’m not sure why, but one day I returned home with a brand new Miles Davis LP – Porgy & Bess. It was the first jazz album I’d ever bought & like many new listeners, the combination of Gil Evans’ lush orchestral arrangements & Miles’ melancholic trumpet solos soon had me under their spell. So I was very much looking forward to hearing this album, but have to report that I found it rather disappointing. First & foremost the recording quality is simply not good enough; the first horn blast of opening track So What squawks painfully out of the speakers and throughout the album unpleasant distortion occurs whenever Davis hits the high notes. Of course it doesn’t help that his trumpet is placed so piercingly loud in the mix. You can be pretty damn sure that Miles insisted on being the loudest thing onstage but the overloaded sound & the volume hike every time we move from a sax or piano solo to his trumpet just ruins almost every song.

Next disappointment for me was the lack of Gil Evans. Having gone to all the trouble of assembling his orchestra & installing them all onstage, Davis curiously leaves them twiddling their thumbs for most of the concert & only employs them on a handful of songs. OK we do get the 17 minute long Concierto de Aranjuez but considering it was such a rare event for him & Evans to perform live together, I did expect to hear more than 3 songs with full orchestration.

As for the content, well naturally there are some terrific performances here (especially from saxophonist Hank Mobley) but on the whole it has the niggling feel of a greatest hits run-through. Perhaps that shouldn’t be surprising considering the nature of a Carnegie Hall audience, but I still felt that some of the playing was a little scrappy and often lacked the intensity & emotiveness of the studio recordings. Apparently the day before the concert, Davis had peevishly decided that he didn’t want to perform & even refused permission for the event to be recorded. That might explain the uncharacteristically aggressive edge to his playing on this album. It certainly explains the poor sound quality as some reviews state that the recording had to be secretly captured using a few microphones hidden onstage. Either way, I'd say this is one for Miles Davis buffs only.

954 - Tim Buckley 'Happy Sad' (1968)

My Rating: 2.00 out of 5

1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die: √

Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Albums: X

The Mojo Collection: X

Chart Peak (UK/US): --/81

Favourite Tracks: Love From Room 109 At The Islander
Least-Favourite Tracks: Gypsy Woman

Happy Sad proved an appropriate title for an album that offered up such a pleasing first half yet such a disappointing second. It was a scorching hot day so I stuck this on whilst stretched out in a shady corner of the garden and it soon seemed like the perfect setting. Strange Feelin’ kicks things off oh-so gently with languorous marimbas & a meandering double bass and the track strolls along as if it has all the time in the world; an electric guitar solos lazily, the vibes plink-plonk for a while and the effect is all rather serene. Wait a minute though… isn’t that tune lifted from Miles Davis’ All Blues? And what about those marimbas & double-bass – is this a jazz album Mr Buckley? Well no, not really; the musicians clearly aren’t “jazzers” but what they lack in technical proficiency, they more than make up for in feeling. So this is something of a folk-jazz hybrid and for a while at least, quite a successful one.

The album’s highpoint was Love From Room 109 At The Islander (On Pacific Coast Highway), a big mouthful of a title that signals an equally large-proportioned song. Weighing in at a hefty 11 minutes or so, this epic track starts off like some acoustic session by The Doors (complete with its Yes The River Knows-style guitar break) yet soon morphs into something quite unique. The tempo plummets to a funereal pace and a complicated melody starts weaving its way around scratchy violins & the sound of a crashing sea. It’s a song with a loose organic structure, as if the band members are composing it on a Ouija board, all pushing it in a certain direction yet never quite knowing who is in overall control nor where they will heading next. And yet, it works. And back in the days when music emanated from those grooves in black vinyl
it would have closed out “side one” with a flourish.

However that minimalist, organic technique continues into “side two” and here it begins to show its limitations. Gypsy Woman feels particularly under-produced; a song whose naked ambition outstrips its naked arrangement, it flounders flimsily under Buckley’s impassioned cries, like Kenny G doing a cover of Metallica. The unstructured approach, so successful on Love From Room 109 fails dismally here and the song lurches along aimlessly like some drunken, drummer-less jam session. As for Buckley’s vocal histrionics, well when The Flight Of The Conchords do it it’s funny, but here the falsetto swoops, growls & off-key vibrato are just irritating. With a 12 minute runtime, make that bloody irritating.

I was a bit disappointed with Tim Buckley’s singing. I’d read dozens of glowing reviews and Allmusic has dubbed him “one of the great rock vocalists of the 1960s” but on the evidence of this album I can’t agree. For a start he has a “gnarrrrey” timbre coupled with a wavering pitch that can make him sound a bit like Mr Bean gargling. Stylistically inconsistent, his voice also seemed a little short of range & struggled to jump through the many flaming hoops Buckley placed in front of it.

I also felt many reviewers overstated the poeticism of the lyrics. Take Strange Feelin’; “Well it's just like a mockingbird a-singing on a hillside / Chirping at his morning song / But don't you weep don't you fret don't you wail don't you moan / Can't you hear that whippoorwill a-callin? / Now don't you worry / Your daddy's comin' home / He's gonna chase those blues away”. Yes Buckley evokes typical pastoral “poetic” imagery, birdsongs, mountain breezes & the like, but allied to rock clichés like “your daddy” & “chasing the blues away” the sentiments often seemed woolly & rather hollow. The exception being Dream Letter where Buckley uses much simpler language yet suggests much deeper emotion; “All I need to know tonight / How are you and my child? / Oh is he a soldier / or is he a dreamer? / Is he mama's little man? / Does he help you when he can? / Oh does he ask about me?” OK we know he’s talking about his estranged son Jeff & the tragedy that surrounded both their lives certainly adds an extra dimension, yet I still found it a powerful song about the genuine anguish & regrets of a broken family.

Just 6 songs here so the original 1968 LP was neatly divided into 3 tracks per side. And if I had owned this album on vinyl, it would have been one of those where side one was covered in scratches & fingerprints, yet side two would have remained forever in shiny mint condition. Happy Sad indeed.

955 - Jack Bruce 'Songs For A Tailor' (1969)

My Rating: 3.00 out of 5

1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die: X

Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Albums: X

The Mojo Collection: √

Chart Peak (UK/US): 6/55

Favourite Tracks: Rope Ladder To The Moon, He The Richmond
Least-Favourite Tracks: Boston Ball Game 1967, The Ministry Of Bag

Very 60s, this one. My first listen was as I cycled alongside the Grand Union canal & within a few minutes I was transported into some kitchen-sink drama; the industrial landscape around the half-finished Olympic stadium faded out into black & white & I half-expected a youthful Rita Tushingham to wave at me from one of the rusty iron bridges. It’s funny how the 60s, 70s, 80s and even 90s all have their own distinct signature sounds. Can’t think what the signature sound of the 00s will be though; perhaps an anonymous voice singing through Auto-tune accompanied by the shuffling noise of marketing men rubbing their clammy hands together & the distant rumble of Simon Cowell’s wallet dragging on the ground? But this album is almost the antithesis of today’s music – it’s unrefined, unpredictable and credits its listeners with having more intelligence than a goldfish – all of which makes it refreshingly enjoyable.

It kicks off with Never Tell Your Mother She’s Out Of Tune – all squawking horns & grimy distorted bass like a cross between Blood, Sweat & Tears, Spirit & some wacky incidental music from The Prisoner. The reviews I’d read referred to this album as ‘jazz-rock’ but I’d say ‘art-rock’ was a more accurate description. For me, jazz-rock conjures up images of Miles Davis in kooky shades or John Mclaughlin grappling a guitar with about 27 necks. I suppose I’m confusing jazz-rock with fusion but however you want to describe this record, it’s certainly more about rock than jazz.

I wasn’t all that familiar with Jack Bruce - I know Cream’s big hits of course but that didn’t prepare me for this album which grew on me the more it went on. Unusual chord progressions steer songs like Tickets To Waterfalls into odd directions, yet whenever it seems to be heading too far into the unconventional we get a delightfully melodic line to haul us back from the brink. Having spent my formative years listening to a lot of avant-garde material, I was especially taken with Rope Ladder To The Moon which with its dark acoustic guitars, melancholic scratchy cellos & angular vocal melodies seemed to have more in common with acts like the Art Bears than any conventional rock outfit.

Lyrically it’s rather a poetic album but that’s not to say it’s portentous or overblown; there’s some quasi-psychedelic quirkiness with lines like “The cook’s jumped in the river / The menu smells of feet” (from The Ministry Of Bag) but generally the words seem heartfelt and, to me at least, rather profound. Weird Of Hermiston has “Skies are no longer a comfort / Leaves turning black with the autumn / The corn is hung down with the heaviest weight that I’m feeling” while on He The Richmond Bruce sings “Yes my name it is written in the sand / And it can’t escape your sweeping hand”; worthy of Brian Wilson that one & a league above the standard flimsy pop/rock sentiments. (Having just researched a little further, I’ve discovered that the lyricist Pete Brown also penned the words for Cream’s hits & published poetry too so that explains a lot).

For all its inventiveness, the album doesn’t always hit the mark. Boston Ball Game 1967 is a bit of a mess, The Ministry Of Bag sounds musically like something dragged from the KPM archives & the jam-session second half of To Isengard drifts perilously close to Derek Smalls’ Jazz Odyssey. But I’d gladly listen to any of them on a 24 hour tape loop ahead of anything that Mr Cowell digs up during the rest of this decade.

956 - 2Pac 'Me Against The World' (1995)

My Rating: 2.20 out of 5

1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die: √

Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Albums: X

The Mojo Collection: X

Chart Peak (UK/US): --/1

Favourite Tracks: So Many Tears, If I Die 2Nite
Least-Favourite Tracks: Heavy In The Game, Old School

Like it or not, gangsta rap has been one of America’s most successful musical exports. 2Pac alone has sold over 75 million albums which represents one hell of a soapbox for his particular musings on life. Such popularity also inspires a form of cultural imperialism, with people around the world tossing away huge chunks of their own identity & replacing it wholesale with that of their favourite US rappers. Here in the UK, there’s nothing more cringe-worthy than hearing a middle-aged, middle-class, white Englishman trying to speak like a young, working-class, black American. How much more removed from your own origins do you need to be? I recently worked in a trendy music biz office where one plummy Oxbridge graduate regularly used “ghetto-talk” without a hint of irony; the worst thing was that it’s become so normal that nobody else there even noticed.

Although Tupac spent several years at drama school, the way he spoke & behaved didn’t seem to be an affectation. He grew up in a harsh environment & while aspersions have been cast about the “street” credentials of some rappers, the very nature of Tupac’s life (& death) means nobody could really accuse him of faking it. Authenticity is a highly-prized commodity in the world of gangsta rap, so when you issue an album just after you’ve survived being shot 5 times & whilst serving a prison sentence for sexual assault, it is bound to add a certain gravitas to your words. Released against that backdrop an album titled Me Against The World was always going to be taken seriously.

I should confess at the outset that I know very little about rap. Everyone has holes in their musical knowledge & gangsta rap represents a point-blank .45-calibre exit-wound in mine. If you’d mentioned “Tupac & Biggie” to me several years ago, I might have assumed you were talking about some kiddies’ cartoon show. And I laughed the other day when a guy on a radio phone-in mistakenly referred to 50 Cent as “50 Pence” but secretly knew I wasn’t all that far away from making the same blunder. Rap certainly polarises opinion amongst people I know in the music world too; some pretend to know a lot about it in order to boost their credibility, others loftily dismiss the whole genre without ever having listened to a single note.

Back to the album & if anyone was not aware that Tupac had been shot, the opening intro-track soon remedies that; what starts out as a soulful instrumental soon turns into something of a brag-fest as dozens of sensationalised news reports about his shooting & discharging himself from hospital are interwoven through the music. It’s as subtle as a sledgehammer – you’re a tough guy, we get it for heaven’s sake. But as the album progresses we get glimpses of some vulnerability & for the critics that is one of the things that sets this release apart from its peers. Most of the lyrics (predictably) glorify his violent lifestyle, yet there’s a contemplative streak running through all the songs that simultaneously express his doubts & fears. It’s like Tupac had one of those cartoon devils whispering in one ear & an angel in the other. A track like If I Die 2Night talks of “plottin’ on murderin’ motherfuckers” & “duckin’ the cop.. as I’m clutchin’ my Glock” yet conversely complains “I’m sick of psychotic society, somebody save me” & “I hope I’m forgiven for Thug livin’ when I die”. It’s a contradictory stance yet in a sense it works because it comes across as an honest internal struggle. Having said that, I think many critics overplay the vulnerability-line; they hold up a track like Dear Mama & point out how few hardcore rappers would record a gentle ballad tribute to their mum. That may be so but Tupac still can’t bring himself to state directly that he loves her – his big repeated chorus line is “you are appreciated” which as a sentiment is not exactly overflowing with warmth & tenderness.

The spectre of his untimely death looms large over the whole album & it’s something I found intriguing. It’s partly the dying-young effect; I get the same thing hearing Ian Curtis or Nick Drake, though in Tupac’s case the album feels more like a self-fulfilling prophecy than a eulogy. The paranoid mistrust of Death Around The Corner is eerily-accurate & on track after track, Tupac predicts his own violent demise. Lines like “I’m having visions of leaving here in a hearse” or “my every move is a calculated step to bring me closer to embrace an early death” (from So Many Tears) take on extraordinary significance. I couldn’t help wondering what we’d make of such lyrics had he not been shot dead. If he’d gone on to great success as an actor & got fat by the pool in his Bel-Air mansion such lyrics might have come across as just empty posturing, but following his murder they stand as a kind of validation & that certainly adds a powerful edge to the record.

Musically the songs are well-produced & surprisingly melodic but I do find it hard to get all that excited about songs constructed entirely from samples of other peoples’ songs. Also there’s a (jealous) side of me that resents anybody who doesn’t write the music, doesn’t play any instruments, doesn’t sing & yet can still make over $80 million of record sales in one year. Considering the Poet Laureate earns £5750 a year that’s pretty good wages for a bit of rhyming. And I do have misgivings about a lot of the lyrical content, not because I find it offensive but mainly because its obsessive uber-machismo focus on murder, sex, drink & drugs just seems so childish – to me it’s the sort of thing that 14 year old boys boast about, not grown men.

Rap fans have long revered this album; as an outsider to the genre I found it something of a mixed bag. It was certainly more accessible than I expected & the murky world it portrays, whether fact or fiction (or a blurring of the two) offers a vicarious thrill to those of us peering in from our comfy suburban lives. The cycle is neatly completed with the final track Outlaw & its chilly closing lines - “Muh’fuckers wanna see me in my casket… I never die, thug niggaz multiply, cause after me is thug life baby”. As my plummy Oxbridge friend might put it; “Believe”.