Only Solitaire: G. Starostin's Record Reviews, Reloaded c intro Notes
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RHYMES & REASONS (1972) 1) Come Down Easy; 2) My My She Cries; 3) Peace In The Valley; 4) Feeling Sad Tonight; 5) The First Day In August; 6) Bitter With The Sweet; 7) Goodbye Don't Mean I'm Gone; 8) Stand Behind Me; 9) Gotta Get Through Another Day; 10) I Think I Can Hear You; 11) Ferguson Road; 12) Been To Canaan. Whirling Dervish Robert Christgau summarized this album thusly: "The melodies retain their overall charm, but because the lyrics continue their retreat, the hooks, such as they are, never jolt the expectations", and gave it a pitiful C rating. Of course, this judgement was made several years before I was born and has to be respected at least out of general respect for antiquity, but I could never bring myself to believe that Carole King got more boring just because she replaced Gerry Goffin as her chief lyricist with Toni Stern, and, ultimately, with herself. There simply has to be some other reason, considering that we are, after all, dealing first and foremost with one of the most beloved composers, not lyric writers, in pop music. It is most certainly true that lyrics like "It's a gray gloomy day / A strange and moody blues day / Gotta get through another day" are a little embarrassing even for a non-professional in the verbal department (and maybe just one notch higher than "It's Friday, Friday / Gotta get down on Friday / Everybody's looking forward to the weekend"). But the worst thing about ʽGotta Get Throughʼ are not the words, but the incomprehensibly bland and lazy melodic flow — its monotonously thumping piano chords never gel into a memorable hook, and its vocal melody never rises above a tepid, unenthusiastic self-admonition: remember the sheer energy and determination of ʽBeautifulʼ, a song that could really give somebody a great kick-start for the day, and compare it with this mushy piece — pleasant enough, but hardly rising above the average level of a typical theme for some third-rate talk show or soap opera. Horrendously, every single song on Rhymes & Reasons is like that. The only difference is that a few of the tunes are slightly more upbeat and give some work to the rhythm section (besides ʽGotta Get Throughʼ, there's also ʽBitter With The Sweetʼ, which is at least great to hear because of some more of that first-class funky work from the wonderful, totally underrated Charles Larkey), but most are slow, sentimental ballads, and the rot that began to surreptitiously creep in at the time of the still good Music, has now settled in decisively. Everything is pleasant and «tasteful»; nothing is memorable or outstanding. Above everything else, the energy level may be described by a near-flat line for all of the album's 35 minutes — not a single peak, outburst, climax etc. anywhere in sight. It's almost as if she took the refrain of the first song ("so come down easy, let it come down slow") for granted, and the entire album does nothing but come down slow and easy. All the arrangements are the same (piano, acoustic guitars etc.); instrumental passages are nearly non-existant, replaced by streams of boring lyrical images that contain their share of rhymes, but I couldn't say the same about reasons. I mean, you definitely have a problem when you have a song called ʽFeeling Sad Tonightʼ, yet there is nothing whatsoever in the song's mood to suggest a feeling of sadness — then, of course, you realize that the words really go "feeling sad tonight, but everything's alright", and that is precisely what's happening, because everything's definitely alright, and there's no reason to get emotionally riled over anything. Essentially, this set of songs is just completely devoid of inspiration: on ʽStand Behind Meʼ, she asks us, somewhat en passant, "Should I create today / Or let it be?" Guess what the answer should be. In this context, the last song, ʽBeen To Canaanʼ, allegedly expressing deep longing to revisit a long-lost earthly paradise, could be metaphorically construed as the author's implicit lament at this uncomfortable sterility — "though I'm content with myself, sometimes I long to be somewhere else... I won't rest until I go back again". She even released that song as a single, but it is just as sterile melodically as everything else, and I'm pretty sure people were just buying it out of politeness — yes, dear Carole, please go back again! In short, as curious as it is, here we do have ourselves a situation when an artist, in less than two years' time, goes from producing the perfect model of a singer-songwriter pop album to producing the most generic and yawn-inducing model of a singer-songwriter pop album ever. And it has nothing to do with the lyrics — it is the music that is a real letdown, a slipshod application of the formula that captures the artist in a mellow, self-content, emotionally stable mode and is essentially the musical equivalent of some pretty landscape painting in the local three-star hotel. Curiously, it still managed to sell real well in the US, but trans-Atlantically, sales totally plummeted and marked the complete end of Carole King as a (still relevant) international artist — because, it may be presumed, this kind of music (muzak?) could only interest the local market, and even then, only for a short while longer. Thumbs down, by all means; I don't think even a single song from this lot should be making it over to anybody's best-of collection. FANTASY (1973) 1) Fantasy Beginning; 2) You've Been Around Too Long; 3) Being At War With Each Other; 4) Directions; 5) That's How Things Go Down; 6) Weekdays; 7) Haywood; 8) A Quiet Place To Live; 9) Welfare Symphony; 10) You Light Up My Life; 11) Corazon; 12) Believe In Humanity; 13) Fantasy End. A singer-songwriter without a genuine concept album to his/her name can never properly advance to the next level of artistic recognition; and as great as Tapestry was, it could only be called a «concept» album in the broadest possible sense (where, for instance, any album written by one artist based on his/her sincere feelings about the world would automatically be «conceptual»). So, as 1973 came along and the world as of yet showed no sign of getting out of the «progressive grip», Carole King took what was arguably the biggest gamble of her career — releasing a conceptual suite, in which she would try on several different masks and explore a wide variety of subjects (social, political, and personal), without, however, trying to genuinely conceal the Carole King stamp on all the addressed issues. To further ensure the conceptual unity of the whole thing, there would be no breaks between songs other than the Side A/Side B transition — and the album would begin and end with a thematic intro and outro, briefly explaining and justifying the concept: "...I may step out outside myself / And speak as if I were someone else". Oh, and all the lyrics would be self-penned this time around. One thing that is definitely true is that Fantasy is a big departure from Rhymes & Reasons — and a big brave departure, really, because as boring as that album might seem today, it still sold very well in 1972, based both on the continuing strength of the reputation of Carole in general and Tapestry in particular and on the overall popularity of sentimental singer-songwriterish soft-pop at the time. There was no transparent need to change the formula, and yet change it she did, no doubt, while still under the heavy influence of Marvin Gaye's What's Going On and a strong nagging feeling that music should «make a difference» and stimulate people, rather than merely provide passive entertainment. So far, so good; the real question is — would she be up to the task? After all, (a) most of her music had always stayed in the love song ballpark and (b) ever since Tapestry, her writing skills seem to have been steadily declining. Getting a genuinely soulful and moving reflection on the state of humanity from her right after being stuck with a conventional-clichéd collection of simple love songs on Rhymes & Reasons would seem quite a «fantasy» indeed, under the circumstances. And indeed, the gamble did not pay off. Fantasy sold OK enough, again, still riding on the strength of the songwriter's name, but stalled at No. 6 on the charts anyway, and all three of its singles fared even worse. The critics had, at best, tepid words to say about the results, and at worst, ended up ridiculing the poor woman for biting off far more than she could chew — successfully preventing her from trying anything like that again. (Incidentally, and maybe not even co-incidentally, a similar thing happened to Carole's most notorious song recipient in the same year: Aretha's Hey Now Hey (The Other Side Of The Sky), which also came out in 1973, was her most experimental and risk-taking album to date, and it was also panned by critics, neglected by fans and pretty much quenched her desire for musical adventuring once and for all). Occasional recent attempts at re-evaluation have not proven successful, either, and overall, the record continues to be regarded as a curious failure, at best. The problem is, Fantasy is a somewhat ambitious album, and from such albums, by definition, we instinctively expect a kind of ground-shaking reaction — whereas Carole can really only operate in a «homely» mode: neither her technically weak voice, nor her approach to melody writing, nor her experience with multi-layered arrangements would ever allow her to rise to truly epic heights. And when you have this nearly epic drive without being able to provide an epic realization... well, the obvious thing to do is mention this as a major problem, say «this is no What's Goin' On» and move on. Which would be the solution of choice for me, too, were I a major admirer of What's Goin' On: however, I do believe that, first of all, Carole King is no worse (and in some respects, better) composer than Marvin Gaye, and, second, that she feels just as strongly about all these issues and all her invented characters as Marvin feels about his — it's just that her approach is always on the shy and humble side. She's essentially an introvert making a brave, if a little terrified, attempt here to venture out into extroverted space — and even if the individual songs rarely rise to the heights of Tapestry, I'd say that as a whole, the album still works, even if some of the transitions between the tracks could have been handled much less crudely (actually, the problem is that there are no transitions — most of the time, the first song is just cut off abruptly and the next one barges in. Somebody had obviously missed her Thick As A Brick homework). Anyway, as far as the socially-conscious part of the album is concerned, the tracks are (softly) poignant. ʽYou've Been Around Too Longʼ, alternating between paranoid funky verses, somewhat more triumphant verses with brass fanfare hooks, and ominous orchestrated breaks, is as good a civil rights anthem as any. Another funky highlight, opening the second side with terrific bass work (as usual) from Mr. Larkey, is ʽHaywoodʼ, where the lady amicably reprimands a drug addict — it's not really much of a song, but kudos to Carole for getting the essence of «dark funk» just right, and the atmospheric combination of bass, brass, and orchestration on the final jamming bit eventually gets under my skin quite efficiently. ʽBeing At War With Each Otherʼ, despite the nice message, is a little too slow and mushy for my taste, but ʽBelieve In Humanityʼ, which essentially reprises the same message on the second side, is Carole's musical answer to Stevie Wonder's ʽSuperstitionʼ, with a similarly tense gradual build-up through a long verse to a final chorus explosion, followed by more fanfares from the «released» brass section — and it's a fairly catchy and involving song, and far more playful, musically, than its title would suggest. The most daring number on the entire record is ʽWelfare Symphonyʼ, which probably could have been expanded into a much longer epic number; as it is, with less than four minutes of music, it could hardly hope to make much of an impression on the «progressive» world — but its mix of pop and jazz motives, as it eventually forgets all about its social message (lamenting about a mother struggling on welfare) and plunges forward into experimental jazz territory, is as far out as Carole would ever venture in the area of composing. Of course, it would be ridiculous to compare the work to that of jazz-fusion pros, but then, this is not «Carole King trying to sound like Soft Machine» anyway — this is Carole King trying to apply, in a very simple way, some of the achievements of modern jazz music to an allegorical conveying of the state of mind of someone who "had so much trouble all her time", and even if I cannot say that she totally succeeds in this (after all, «broken» jazz chords like that are hardly my musical trick of choice when it comes to symbolically representing toil and trouble in music), the effort is still unique and admirable. Of course, it would be futile (and irrational) to expect a complete album of nothing but sociopolitical songs from Carole — and while I could not state that these simple love songs are a big step up back from the blandness of Rhymes (ʽYou Light Up My Lifeʼ is the kind of stereotypical ballad I could easily live without), stuff like ʽThat's How Things Go Downʼ reprises a certain childish freshness that was still abundant on Tapestry and Music but was almost completely replaced by James Taylor-isms on the 1972 disaster. And although most critics hate and dismiss ʽCorazonʼ as a silly cash-in on the Latin style that shows zero understanding of it on Carole's part, I think that the track, with its catchy keep-it-simple-stupid seven-note bass/piano riff, still has a certain charm — it's not so much of a «failure» to work in a certain genre as, rather, yet another attempt to borrow a bit of that genre and adapt it to the Carole King style. The fact that the lyrics are reduced to a measly "Corazon, mi corazon, yo te quiero, mi corazon", certainly does not mean that she cannot succeed in the genre — it is more of a subtle-ironic reminder of how little the words, compared to the music, tend to matter in this sort of songs (although it is true that the chances of encountering a popular Latin American song without the word corazón in it are very close to zero, so she does know about and respect this convention at least). Overall, Fantasy is not an overwhelming success, but it does work as a special «homebrewn concept album», and it did help pull the songwriter out of a rut, if only for a brief while. Of course, I am not saying that we should throw out thumbs up ratings to any album that «tries», just because it does (or else I'd be forced to positively rate all those Kansas records, yeeewgh); but when you have an artist as innately charismatic as Carole King, then sometimes even a relative «risk-taking failure» like this is emotionally preferable to playing it safe and sound by the book, like she did on Rhymes & Reasons. Fantasy is not great, but it is curious and it is touching — especially if you try to approach it with minimum prejudice, and more from a «little person's perspective on big problems» angle than a «Marvin Gaye rip-off!» one. WRAP AROUND JOY (1974) 1) Nightingale; 2) Change In Mind, Change Of Heart; 3) Jazzman; 4) You Go Your Way, I'll Go Mine; 5) You're Something New; 6) We Are All In This Together; 7) Wrap Around Joy; 8) You Gentle Me; 9) My Lovin' Eyes; 10) Sweet Adonis; 11) A Night This Side Of Dying; 12) The Best Is Yet To Come. Here it is, the album that Rhymes & Reasons should have really been if Carole hadn't suddenly felt the need to wrap around pure mellowness instead of joy...ful pop hooks. With the relative failure of Fantasy (or, more accurately, with the world's refusal to acknowledge her as a bona fide progressive artist), she returns here to the simpler pop song format, as well as (temporarily) abandons her lyrical ambitions — all the words here are credited to David Palmer, the original singer of Steely Dan. (Some people use this as a criticism, but who really listens to Carole King songs for the words? It's usually enough to just get a general message of what the song is about, and that's that — I like the tone of something like ʽBeautifulʼ far more than the actual words of ʽBeautifulʼ, which are just an ordinary form of bedroom psychotherapy). The difference is that there's more upbeat and truly joyful (rather than melancholic) stuff; the songs, on the whole, are better written, with more sharply delineated and emotionally filled choruses, and although even the best of these tunes cannot stand comparison with Tapestry (maybe because this album is just a bit too happy in comparison?), almost everything is memorable in one way or another, not to mention endearing as usual. Basically, if you are looking for a very straightforward, very romantic and peaceful, but still very well-written, album of Carole King songs, Wrap Around Joy is precisely what you should be doing. The big hit was ʽJazzmanʼ, an ode to saxophonist Curtis Amy, predictably replete with lengthy sax solos itself (from notorious sax player Tom Scott) and therefore blending well into the epoch (it might not be a coincidence that Lennon's ʽWhatever Gets You Thru The Nightʼ, also heavily dependent on blaring saxes, rose to #1 in the same year — actually, in the exact same month, November '74, as Carol's song hit #2). It's catchy, joyful, uplifting, and almost becomes proto-disco in the chorus without losing that typically C. K. warmth, even if there's no particular depth to the message. Even better, though a little less successful on the charts, was ʽNightingaleʼ, a tight piece of soft funk with a really beautiful chorus of friendly melancholia and an inventive arrangement (there's an odd recorder-like — nightingale-like? — lead part throughout the song that adds an odd spirit of pastoral peacefulness to the tune). But even apart from the hits, there's plenty of goodies in store. The title track, for instance, with its stuttering rhythmics, honky-tonk piano, and over-joyful harmonies, is the closest she'd ever come to «pub pop» at the time, with intentional musical similarities to ʽRock'n'Roll Fever & The Boogie Woogie Fluʼ — and the chorus, expectedly, is all but impossible to get out of your head. Perhaps it is more of a musical joke for her, like ʽSmackwater Jackʼ, but so much the better. ʽSweet Adonisʼ explores the good news theme from a power-pop side, while ʽMy Lovin' Eyesʼ is more in the soul/R&B vein, but both songs have melodic twists in the lead vocal part that remind you of Carole King's genius far more efficiently than anything from the previous two albums. Even the slower ballads do the job — ʽYou Go Your Way, I'll Go Mineʼ (nothing to do with the similarly titled Dylan song) is a really sharp-edged song about separation, where the verses convey desperation (I shiver every time she raises her voice on the "with sharp and angry lies..." line, with all the determination of a sentenced prisoner speaking her last piece) and the chorus, with an abrupt "well all right!", pushes the song into a more self-assertive direction; and even though ʽChange In Mind, Change In Heartʼ «wastes» four and a half minutes on a single vocal hook, it still makes sense to wait for it; it's a really touching ode to mutual tolerance and reconciliation, and the «mind / heart» dilemma is handled in quite a special way. Of course, none of this should efface the fact that the record is stylistically monotonous and emotionally simplistic — despite sharing its occasional moments of subtle sadness, it's largely a very happy album, as suggested by its title, reflecting a fairly peaceful period in Carole's life (she wouldn't be divorcing Larkey until 1976), and, like all very happy records, will never be as exciting and stimulating as albums about pain and suffering. But there's enough intelligence and simple, tasteful beauty behind the proverbial shine and gloss, and I dare say that with a more inventive approach to arrangement and production, Wrap Around Joy could have easily become and remained a critical favorite. As it is, it merely returned Carole to commercial success for a brief while, but that, too, was a pretty happy happening for 1974. Thumbs up. REALLY ROSIE (1975) 1) Really Rosie; 2) One Was Johnny; 3) Alligators All Around; 4) Pierre; 5) Screaming And Yelling; 6) The Ballad Of Chicken Soup; 7) Chicken Soup With Rice; 8) Avenue P; 9) My Simple Humble Neighborhood; 10) The Awful Truth; 11) Such Sufferin'; 12) Really Rosie (reprise). Not having had the honor of growing up as a kid (or growing kids as a parent) in mid-Sixties America, I have missed the opportunity to become closely acquainted with the work of Maurice Sendak — however, as far as I can see, at least the verse part of his picture books (The Nutshell Library series) was fairly faithfully adapted by Carole King, and the lyrics are pretty cool: at the expense of being perhaps a bit too complicated for the average toddler, they have «family entertainment» value in that they may engage both kids and adults, and, of course, they have that «unsettling», «dark» angle that is so much all the rage today, as long as a particular author of children's literature wants to get a pat on the back from sophisticated critics and readers. But truth be told, there's really no denying the talent of the writer, and it's twice as awesome that a melody writer as talented as Carole King agreed to put some of those lyrics to music. It may have been quite natural, too, seeing as how she had kids of her own who probably were growing up on that stuff (in fact, daughters Louise and Sherry are here in person, providing backup vocals throughout), and, as a progressive mother who is not afraid of a little bit of scary imagery, she herself is totally getting into the spirit of the thing. More importantly, it provides her with a great opportunity to get away from the too overtly mellow, wishy-washy structure of her emotional balladry and concentrate almost exclusively on those pop hooks that had pretty much died out after Tapestry (although Wrap Around Joy wasn't too bad in that respect). The proper way to do this, actually, is (a) keep the tunes as snappy and upbeat as possible and (b) keep the arrangements to a minimum — most of the time, it's just a piano-bass-drums trio, with husband Charles Larkey and Andy Newmark keeping up the beat. In a few cases, there's also some guitar, usually in the appropriate contexts — for instance, ʽThe Awful Truthʼ, where the protagonist discusses her chances at "playing Mrs. Dracula", is accompanied by some histrionic distorted electric soloing; and, curiously, Carole herself is credited as the only guitar player on the album, so it's somewhat hilarious to think that her first experience playing distorted electric guitar may have taken place on an album for kiddies. Anyway, if your toddler likes the books, he or she would probably be happy to recite the alphabet in the ʽAlligators All Aroundʼ order, empathizing with the I-don't-caring Pierre and the lion who had to eat him in order to cure him from an annoying attitude, crying at the terrible fate of Chicken Soup (Carole gets into this one with a particularly theatrical flavor, with probably her wildest bit of screaming ever captured on record), or learning the differences between the twelve months of the year, all of which have only one thing in common — ʽChicken Soup With Riceʼ. And if you are the parent of that toddler, you might (brushes sentimental tear off face) be happy yourself to provide him or her with that entertainment. Besides, if you just stick to the books, you'll never be able to recite them as effectively as Carole, so, you know, better leave it to the professionals. No, honestly, it's not one of those rare records that «masquerades» as a children-oriented piece of entertainment, while at the same time containing hidden depth — Really Rosie is purely shallow fun-oriented stuff. But it is infested with Carole King charisma from top to bottom, and when the charisma is combined with a clever mix of cuddliness, sentimentality, humor, and macabre spookiness... well, the overall result is far more enjoyable on a gut level, even for an adult, than quite a few «dead serious» albums in my memory. So, thumbs up: my only complaint is that it will now take at least a couple of weeks for my brain to clear out that "chicken soup, chicken soup, chicken soup with RIIIICE!" bit. Particularly painful, that one, given how much I hate the very idea of chicken soup with rice. (For a change, try humming "chicken soup with mice" or "chicken soup with lice" instead — I assure you that it won't spoil the spirit of the book or of the musical one little bit). 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