— Ian Brich
The Beatles and George Martin, Miles Davis and Teo Macero, Madonna and (insert name of currently fashionable boffin): the last century or so of recorded music has resulted in many great artist-producer team-ups. One half sets down a glorious piece of music in the studio, the other sets about making sure it all comes together in order to be cut onto a disc. Not every such pairing is long standing — see Madonna, who was ahead of the curve on the modern trend of frequently switching up production collaborators — and plenty of groups and singers eventually found themselves toiling behind the mixing desk as well as in front of a mic. But few are those who prove equally adept wearing both hats — and most of those that do tend to
Brian Eno, Lee "Scratch" Perry and Todd Rundgren are three of the most beguiling studio wizards. All may well have prided themselves on their abilities as vocalists and musicians but all were better suited to the production side. Eno's recorded output includes the first two extraordinary Roxy Music albums (as much as I enjoy the next two, it's clear the band was never the same after his departure) in addition to several acclaimed solo albums that I'm happy to have heard just the once. Though not credited as such, his primary role on David Bowie's Berlin Trilogy was very much as a producer, there to guide the more impressionistic tracks. He was also there as the final piece in making U2 into the powerhouse that would dominate the eighties and nineties. Perry is by all accounts a terrific vocalist but his musical contributions are practically irrelevant next to his production work at his famed Black Ark studio. Rundgren did manage to deliver one masterpiece, 1972's Something/Anything?, but by the time of its overrated follow-up, A Wizard, A True Star, he was already becoming far too concerned with studio trickery than laying down some solid tunes. Producing himself he begins to seem too busy, too caught up in showing off his immense talents; producing others (the first New York Dolls album, Meat Loaf's Bat Out of Hell and XTC's Skylarking, a wonderfully catholic resume even if you're not crazy about some or all of them), he got the best out of his charges resulting in far better works than the ones he was putting out.
Thomas Dolby is an eighties equivalent, though in the context of a music scene that had him pegged for pop stardom. Like contemporaries Howard Jones and Nik Kershaw, there's a sense that he was dragged down by having to wear too many hats and that he may have been better off finding an area of expertise - though, unlike those two, he would soon find his musical calling.
There are a lot of ways of doing a cover version. The simplest way is to do a carbon copy. Another approach is to to do something similar but with more modern sound. Some will try to improve on the original, others try to bring a whole new sound or genre into it. One thing that should be avoided, however, is to cover a song that makes one only want to listen to its source. I think Dolby is trying to grasp at something that may not be readily apparent in Dan Hicks' prototype but it doesn't quite work. Where the original sounds dashed off and toyed with, Dolby's rendition is considered. Perhaps too considered. Hicks brought his usual maverick sensibilities, shoving heaps of rootsy Americana, jazz and gypsy folk all together; Dolby keeps the jazz with just traces of Hicksian cram-it-all-in spirit in Kevin Armstrong's folk-funk guitar solo. Hicks' vocal has a slight twist of irony as if he'd fully aware that what he's singing of is utter hokum but knows it will be effective at getting his lover to submit to his advances; Dolby sings every word like he means it. It's possible he was simply to close to a record he so obviously and rightly loved but in paying homage to a musical kindred spirit he ended up unwittingly doing him a disservice.
So, I'm rather blase towards this record and, to be fair, a lot of that is down to expectations. Not one who has followed Dolby's lengthy career to any extent, I had always surmised that the man was all about keytars and fairlight synths and audio pyrotechnics. I was, therefore, thrown to discover that he was willing and able to turn out some smooth (mostly acoustic) jazz. I would like to say that I was pleasantly surprised to make this discovery only it's too smooth and unwilling to take risks. Happily, Thomas Dolby's production work with one of my favourite groups would right that ship.
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Phil Collins: "Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now)"
Between Dolby's contribution, Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time", a reissue of Rick Springfield's "Jessie's Girl" and this we seem to be entering the era of MOR. His best work both as a solo artist and with Genesis already behind him, Phil Collins was easing himself into the power ballad market that would make him his fortune. Like a lot of his maligned material from the age, this is much better than we've been led to believe. On the other hand, it's nowhere near as good as his staunch defenders will claim. A nice throwback to an era when pop songs could be far more popular than the films from which they came — and a reminder of a time when James Woods was still relevant.
The Beatles and George Martin, Miles Davis and Teo Macero, Madonna and (insert name of currently fashionable boffin): the last century or so of recorded music has resulted in many great artist-producer team-ups. One half sets down a glorious piece of music in the studio, the other sets about making sure it all comes together in order to be cut onto a disc. Not every such pairing is long standing — see Madonna, who was ahead of the curve on the modern trend of frequently switching up production collaborators — and plenty of groups and singers eventually found themselves toiling behind the mixing desk as well as in front of a mic. But few are those who prove equally adept wearing both hats — and most of those that do tend to
Brian Eno, Lee "Scratch" Perry and Todd Rundgren are three of the most beguiling studio wizards. All may well have prided themselves on their abilities as vocalists and musicians but all were better suited to the production side. Eno's recorded output includes the first two extraordinary Roxy Music albums (as much as I enjoy the next two, it's clear the band was never the same after his departure) in addition to several acclaimed solo albums that I'm happy to have heard just the once. Though not credited as such, his primary role on David Bowie's Berlin Trilogy was very much as a producer, there to guide the more impressionistic tracks. He was also there as the final piece in making U2 into the powerhouse that would dominate the eighties and nineties. Perry is by all accounts a terrific vocalist but his musical contributions are practically irrelevant next to his production work at his famed Black Ark studio. Rundgren did manage to deliver one masterpiece, 1972's Something/Anything?, but by the time of its overrated follow-up, A Wizard, A True Star, he was already becoming far too concerned with studio trickery than laying down some solid tunes. Producing himself he begins to seem too busy, too caught up in showing off his immense talents; producing others (the first New York Dolls album, Meat Loaf's Bat Out of Hell and XTC's Skylarking, a wonderfully catholic resume even if you're not crazy about some or all of them), he got the best out of his charges resulting in far better works than the ones he was putting out.
Thomas Dolby is an eighties equivalent, though in the context of a music scene that had him pegged for pop stardom. Like contemporaries Howard Jones and Nik Kershaw, there's a sense that he was dragged down by having to wear too many hats and that he may have been better off finding an area of expertise - though, unlike those two, he would soon find his musical calling.
There are a lot of ways of doing a cover version. The simplest way is to do a carbon copy. Another approach is to to do something similar but with more modern sound. Some will try to improve on the original, others try to bring a whole new sound or genre into it. One thing that should be avoided, however, is to cover a song that makes one only want to listen to its source. I think Dolby is trying to grasp at something that may not be readily apparent in Dan Hicks' prototype but it doesn't quite work. Where the original sounds dashed off and toyed with, Dolby's rendition is considered. Perhaps too considered. Hicks brought his usual maverick sensibilities, shoving heaps of rootsy Americana, jazz and gypsy folk all together; Dolby keeps the jazz with just traces of Hicksian cram-it-all-in spirit in Kevin Armstrong's folk-funk guitar solo. Hicks' vocal has a slight twist of irony as if he'd fully aware that what he's singing of is utter hokum but knows it will be effective at getting his lover to submit to his advances; Dolby sings every word like he means it. It's possible he was simply to close to a record he so obviously and rightly loved but in paying homage to a musical kindred spirit he ended up unwittingly doing him a disservice.
So, I'm rather blase towards this record and, to be fair, a lot of that is down to expectations. Not one who has followed Dolby's lengthy career to any extent, I had always surmised that the man was all about keytars and fairlight synths and audio pyrotechnics. I was, therefore, thrown to discover that he was willing and able to turn out some smooth (mostly acoustic) jazz. I would like to say that I was pleasantly surprised to make this discovery only it's too smooth and unwilling to take risks. Happily, Thomas Dolby's production work with one of my favourite groups would right that ship.
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Phil Collins: "Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now)"
Between Dolby's contribution, Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time", a reissue of Rick Springfield's "Jessie's Girl" and this we seem to be entering the era of MOR. His best work both as a solo artist and with Genesis already behind him, Phil Collins was easing himself into the power ballad market that would make him his fortune. Like a lot of his maligned material from the age, this is much better than we've been led to believe. On the other hand, it's nowhere near as good as his staunch defenders will claim. A nice throwback to an era when pop songs could be far more popular than the films from which they came — and a reminder of a time when James Woods was still relevant.
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