— Dave Rimmer
"Session Man" is a deep cut off The Kinks' 1966 near-masterpiece Face to Face. It is, in fact, the song that prevents it from failing to measure up to the standards of the year's truly outstanding albums Revolver and Aftermath and Pet Sounds — and, indeed, follow-up Kink LP's Something Else and The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society. It's a botch. It fails partly due to some irritating enunciation on the part of singer Ray Davies as he struggled to make his lyrics rhyme ("he's a session man / a chord progre-she-an / a top musi-she-an") but mainly because it is so cynical and smug as to be unlistenable. (It is the tune which best compliments Davies' face, which is perhaps the most punchable in pop) It doesn't even matter if the song's subject matter is true or not: how would Davies know how paid studio musicians feel about what they do? It's one of those obnoxious armchair psychology works that also explains why I despise Fastball's loathsome "The Way" and why I've never quite warmed to Squeeze. But for the sake of this piece, let's just say that "Session Man" paints an accurate picture of the musical talent that never gets any credit.
(No, I'm not going to do that actually. Best just to discuss sessioners as people. Sorry, Ray)
There's this notion that session musicians and backing vocalists are failed pop stars trying to cling to their dreams (as opposed to, say, grown men still toiling away in a garage or a dingy club for little to no pay somewhere in your hometown right at this very moment). The acclaimed documentary 20 Feet from Stardom — as well as similar films about The Wrecking Crew and The Funk Brothers — seems to capture individuals who never quite made it while failing to acknowledge that not everyone is cut out for the big time. Backing vocalists have great voices but they may not have much else to carry them forward. Some may not have even craved it.
David Lasley managed to make a name for himself as a dependable falsetto (said to be, in Dave Rimmer's words, a "white bloke with a black woman's voice", though it doesn't seem all that dissimilar to the vocals of Jimmy Sommerville or him from The Catch so perhaps he sounds more like a man trying to sound like a woman but still mostly sounding like a man), having appeared on numerous disco, funk and soul records throughout the seventies (though I don't see any evidence that he ever showed up on a Roxy Music session despite what some like Rimmer claim) and even doing fairly well for himself as a songwriter. With the likes of Michael McDonald and Luther Vandross moving from jobbing backing vocalists in the seventies to success as solo artists in more recently, it may have seemed like the right time to launch Lasley in a similar role.
"Where Does the Boy Hang Out" doesn't do much for me personally but I'd hesitate to say that he fails where Vandross and McDonald succeeded (even though that's pretty much what happened). It's a competent record that seems to have accomplished what it set out to do: put a spotlight on Lasley's voice with some fine backing vocalists as support, gliding along like an updated Motown number. Fine stuff but nothing close to some of the songs he appeared on in the background back in the day: nothing to knock the listener down like classic Chic, nothing to worm its way into the mind like Chaka Khan, nothing to singalong with like Boz Scaggs. Rimmer likes it way more than it deserves and the overhype can be a turn off but once past that - assuming you're able to get used to Lasley's voice — it's solid pop to enjoy while it's on and forget about as soon as it's over. And I'd certainly take it over "Session Man".
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
U2: "Pride (In the Name of Love)"
Critics of ver 2 frequently deride the group's pomposity. They have a point but it overlooks the fact that there's not much to Bobo, The Hedge and the rest without the highfalutin hijinks. "Pride" is their first great single (you'll hear some try to make a case for "I Will Follow" or "New Year's Day" but they don't quite manage to get there) and their first successful shot at sounding as big as they would soon become. A tribute to civil rights leader Martin Luther King, it trades in generalities and cliches but that's probably for the best: a proper biographical song would have likely come out heavy-handed (something U2 know nothing about) and there's a refreshing subtlety in the lyrics that balance out with the overblown music. You have to be told it's about MLK though it clearly isn't about any old Northside Dublin dirtbag so it's not something to relate to but it could be something to aspire to. A nice reminder that while, yes, U2 can be trite, self-important and cringe worthy, they could also be the most brilliant pop group around. A definite should've SOTF — even though it won't be long till we see them take their rightful place with more highfalutin pomp.
"Session Man" is a deep cut off The Kinks' 1966 near-masterpiece Face to Face. It is, in fact, the song that prevents it from failing to measure up to the standards of the year's truly outstanding albums Revolver and Aftermath and Pet Sounds — and, indeed, follow-up Kink LP's Something Else and The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society. It's a botch. It fails partly due to some irritating enunciation on the part of singer Ray Davies as he struggled to make his lyrics rhyme ("he's a session man / a chord progre-she-an / a top musi-she-an") but mainly because it is so cynical and smug as to be unlistenable. (It is the tune which best compliments Davies' face, which is perhaps the most punchable in pop) It doesn't even matter if the song's subject matter is true or not: how would Davies know how paid studio musicians feel about what they do? It's one of those obnoxious armchair psychology works that also explains why I despise Fastball's loathsome "The Way" and why I've never quite warmed to Squeeze. But for the sake of this piece, let's just say that "Session Man" paints an accurate picture of the musical talent that never gets any credit.
(No, I'm not going to do that actually. Best just to discuss sessioners as people. Sorry, Ray)
There's this notion that session musicians and backing vocalists are failed pop stars trying to cling to their dreams (as opposed to, say, grown men still toiling away in a garage or a dingy club for little to no pay somewhere in your hometown right at this very moment). The acclaimed documentary 20 Feet from Stardom — as well as similar films about The Wrecking Crew and The Funk Brothers — seems to capture individuals who never quite made it while failing to acknowledge that not everyone is cut out for the big time. Backing vocalists have great voices but they may not have much else to carry them forward. Some may not have even craved it.
David Lasley managed to make a name for himself as a dependable falsetto (said to be, in Dave Rimmer's words, a "white bloke with a black woman's voice", though it doesn't seem all that dissimilar to the vocals of Jimmy Sommerville or him from The Catch so perhaps he sounds more like a man trying to sound like a woman but still mostly sounding like a man), having appeared on numerous disco, funk and soul records throughout the seventies (though I don't see any evidence that he ever showed up on a Roxy Music session despite what some like Rimmer claim) and even doing fairly well for himself as a songwriter. With the likes of Michael McDonald and Luther Vandross moving from jobbing backing vocalists in the seventies to success as solo artists in more recently, it may have seemed like the right time to launch Lasley in a similar role.
"Where Does the Boy Hang Out" doesn't do much for me personally but I'd hesitate to say that he fails where Vandross and McDonald succeeded (even though that's pretty much what happened). It's a competent record that seems to have accomplished what it set out to do: put a spotlight on Lasley's voice with some fine backing vocalists as support, gliding along like an updated Motown number. Fine stuff but nothing close to some of the songs he appeared on in the background back in the day: nothing to knock the listener down like classic Chic, nothing to worm its way into the mind like Chaka Khan, nothing to singalong with like Boz Scaggs. Rimmer likes it way more than it deserves and the overhype can be a turn off but once past that - assuming you're able to get used to Lasley's voice — it's solid pop to enjoy while it's on and forget about as soon as it's over. And I'd certainly take it over "Session Man".
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
U2: "Pride (In the Name of Love)"
Critics of ver 2 frequently deride the group's pomposity. They have a point but it overlooks the fact that there's not much to Bobo, The Hedge and the rest without the highfalutin hijinks. "Pride" is their first great single (you'll hear some try to make a case for "I Will Follow" or "New Year's Day" but they don't quite manage to get there) and their first successful shot at sounding as big as they would soon become. A tribute to civil rights leader Martin Luther King, it trades in generalities and cliches but that's probably for the best: a proper biographical song would have likely come out heavy-handed (something U2 know nothing about) and there's a refreshing subtlety in the lyrics that balance out with the overblown music. You have to be told it's about MLK though it clearly isn't about any old Northside Dublin dirtbag so it's not something to relate to but it could be something to aspire to. A nice reminder that while, yes, U2 can be trite, self-important and cringe worthy, they could also be the most brilliant pop group around. A definite should've SOTF — even though it won't be long till we see them take their rightful place with more highfalutin pomp.
No comments:
Post a Comment