BACK BEAT

Rip It Up, Issue 243, 1 November 1997, Page 33

BACK BEAT

Waiting for the late-career masterpiece — and a refusal to believe that when musicians become unfashionable, or merely pass 30, their creativity dries up — is a sad and lonely business, but someone’s got to do it. Occasionally, patience and optimism is rewarded. More often than they are given credit for, musical superannuitants come up with hidden gems on otherwise workmanlike albums. But what I'm after is the big, defining statement. In 1992, there was Charlie Rich’s Pictures and Paintings, and last year, Willie Nelson’s Spirit. Bob Dylan’s Time Out of Mind (Columbia) is an aweinspiring surprise: a one-man retrospective in which he broodingly reflects on the passing of time. It’s bleak — but rivetting. It’s always a mistake to count Dylan out; usually he knows exactly what he’s doing, but too often his off-hand recordings have let down his writing. Even his last great album — the essential Blood On the Tracks — used a slapdash pickup band. Now, he has found his most sympathetic group of musicians since Highway 61 over 30 years ago. The sly, gnarly veterans (among them, white godfathers of groove, Jim Keltner and Jim Dickinson) find a swampy, primordial blues which suits Dylan’s weary tone while bringing out his sardonic humour and wisdom. Dominated by 12-bar blues, these wry shaggy dog stories are hypnotic, due to Dylan’s raw larynx being at the front of the mix. Daniel Lanois has left his own personality outside the studio as lets the band

find their own atmosphere of gritty realism. Due to band politics and general jaundice, I’ve almost given up on the Rolling Stones ever delivering anything of sustained substance again. All I want is the occasional great single surprising me out of the car radio, or at least some greasy playing that reminds us what R&B swamp dogs these characters once were. On Bridges to Babylon (ah, Virgin), the ballads are best, not the generic rewrites of the classic riff. It’s a marriage of convenience: in the strongest songs, the band plays second fiddle, like an accompanist on a solo album by Jagger or Richards. It’s also an album of contradictions: guest guitarist Waddy Wachtel makes more impact than either Keith or Ron (maybe the latter is still miffed that he’s not a full shareholder). The gem we’ll never hear on radio is Jagger’s ‘Saint of Me’; it features the Dust Brothers’ polishing, but is also the most authentic, a gospel-rock ballad a la ’Shine a Light’. Richards isn’t even present on it, but his zonked-out, after-hours crooners are the other highlights. The seasoned snarl of Steve Earle returns on El Corazon (Warners), which is like a hybrid of his recent returns-to-form. The mix of styles includes Neil Young & Crazy Horse blue-collar rock, old-timey bluegrass and country folk - but the possible hit is ‘Telephone Road’, a high-spirited Wilburys stomp. As usual, his timeless songs could be Carter Family originals. One-time “new Elvis” Bobby Bare had great taste in

songwriters (Billy Joe Shaver, Kris Kristofferson, Shel Silverstein) and a penchant for the humorous (eg, ‘Drop Kick Me Jesus Through the Goalposts of Life’). Unfortunately, on the remakes on his Greatest Hits (Warners), his smooth baritone warbles somnolently above bland, countrypolitan backings. Patsy Cline never got a chance to let her spirit fade. Recently unearthed in an archive, the raw tape of her Live at the Cimarron Ballroom (MCA) catches her in concert at an Oklahoma dine ‘n’ dance joint, between a bad car accident and her fatal plane crash. She’s full of sass and swing, western swing that is, thanks to (“Take it away”) Leon McAuliffe’s sharp pick-up band.

Archive fun continues with Pete Ham on 7 Park Avenue (Rykodisc). Here the main-songwriter of Badfinger shows why the “new Beatles” tag was cruelly deserved. These roughly recorded demos show his ear for soft melody and harmony came from a different place than Big Star’s edgy interpretation of the Fabs. The possibilities of these songs gleam like diamonds. The Songs of Jimmie Rodgers (Columbia) exposes to a new generation the songwriting smarts of the “singing brakeman”, an inspiration to Van Morrison, Bob Dylan and countless other closet yodellers. Coordinated by Dylan — whose bouncy version of ‘My Blue Eyed Jane’ is pure sunshine compared to the cloudy day of his own album — it features sparkling cameos from Willie Nelson, Jerry Garcia, Steve Earle, Van, Dwight Yoakam, and the inevitable Bono.

Ambition is not a dirty word to solo Fugee WyclefJean as he Presents the Carnival featuring Refugee Allstars (Columbia). Taking his lead from grandmasters of flash,

Quincy Jones or Isaac Hayes, this is big concept R&B. Opera, orchestra, doo-wop, rappers, Latin lovers and crooners all make an appearance, including sampled visits from the Bee Gees, Manu Dibango and the l-Threes. It’s like a musical documentary from inside the mind of a Haitian homeboy. Maxwell has similar pretensions but none of the vision on his MTV Unplugged. A guest string quartet doesn’t hide the soul-lite feeling of this retro-70s potboiler. Like a fey Marvin Gaye, Maxwell could learn something from the ageless Holmes Brothers, whose passion shines through on their ‘best-of I Saw the Light (Larrikin/ Festival). This is a history lesson in deep R&B, as taught in a dirt-floored juke-joint. When they stick to high-spirited gospel rather than blues ordinaire, their special rapport shows why they’ve been trading harmonies for three decades.

CHRIS BOURKE