Just for a change of pace....
I started watching CBS's "50th anniversary" tribute to the Beatles -- marking a half century since their appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show -- with some trepidation, but ended up enjoying it thoroughly. The music was front and centre, with talk kept to a reasonable level. Provided you PVR'd it -- at least 60 minutes of the bloated 150 minute running time was ads -- it was a lot of fun. Just a few thoughts...
* Ringo was an under-rated drummer. One of the show's gimmicks, well achieved, was to segue from a Beatles performance on the Sullivan show to a modern band doing the same song. Right at the start, "All My Loving" received that treatment, and Ringo's drumming from all those years ago knocked spots off the guy from Maroon 5 who was trying to recreate the sound.
* And speaking of Ringo, who'd have expected that his voice would have lasted so much better than Paul McCartney's? Poor old Macca no longer has the range to sing his own songs without obvious discomfort in the higher registers, whereas Ringo belted out his rather more limited repertoire without missing a note.
* George Harrison's songs, though much less numerous than John and Paul's, seem to have aged well, and were over-represented in the material covered by the guest artistes. "Something" and "While my Guitar Gently Weeps" were among the highlights of the show, both featuring a wasted but still rocking Joe Walsh.
* What percentage of Eurythmics earnings did Dave Stewart actually receive?? The duo "reunited" for the occasion. Annie Lennox belted out an impassioned version of "The Fool on the Hill". Stewart wandered on after the first verse, listlessly picking at a guitar while wearing an expression of profound ennui. He must have been awfully good in the mixing room, or somewhere.
* If there was a bum note anywhere, it was hit by Eric Idle, who came on wearing a beige raincoat, looking like a poster boy for edema, and delivered a startlingly unamusing monologue about the Rutles, which went down like a lead balloon. Was he ever actually funny? Actually, having seen Nuns on the Run, I don't need you to answer that.
One thing's for sure: it's hard to imagine any of today's popular music stars meriting similar treatment to Paul and Ringo in 2064.
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Tuesday, 11 February 2014
Friday, 3 August 2012
Antichrist on a bike
Big excitement at the Olympic Velodrome (aka the Pringle) yesterday evening, as the GB men's cycling trio won the team sprint event in a world record time. Medal safely in hand, however, the team's lead-off rider, Philip Hindes, made a surprising admission. In the preliminary round he had got off to a bad start, and therefore deliberately fell off his bike in order to force a restart! The team brass were quick to cover his tracks (so to speak), saying variously that his words had been misinterpreted, or were meant as a joke. The media, happy to see Team GB moving up the medals table, seem willing to accept this.
Here's a thing, though: Hindes was born in Germany, and until a couple of years ago could have chosen to represent that country in international competition. Can you just imagine how the UK tabloid press would have reacted if Hindes had in fact been riding for the land of his birth yesterday, and had diddled Team GB out of a medal through such tactics? It hardly bears thinking about.
Anyway, after a hard day's Olympic watching yesterday, I decided to flip through the channels in search of something entirely unrelated to sport. There on the excellent Sky Arts 1 was the world's smuggest man, the conductor Andre Rieu, coming to us from an outdoor stage in Maastricht. He brought onto the stage a gorgeous African soprano, and announced that she would be singing JS Bach's Ave Maria. In his most confiding tones, Rieu let us know that "with the passion she brings to this piece, it becomes like a prayer". You don't say? I wonder if that was the composer's intention.
Here's a thing, though: Hindes was born in Germany, and until a couple of years ago could have chosen to represent that country in international competition. Can you just imagine how the UK tabloid press would have reacted if Hindes had in fact been riding for the land of his birth yesterday, and had diddled Team GB out of a medal through such tactics? It hardly bears thinking about.
Anyway, after a hard day's Olympic watching yesterday, I decided to flip through the channels in search of something entirely unrelated to sport. There on the excellent Sky Arts 1 was the world's smuggest man, the conductor Andre Rieu, coming to us from an outdoor stage in Maastricht. He brought onto the stage a gorgeous African soprano, and announced that she would be singing JS Bach's Ave Maria. In his most confiding tones, Rieu let us know that "with the passion she brings to this piece, it becomes like a prayer". You don't say? I wonder if that was the composer's intention.
Wednesday, 11 April 2012
Boris and Ken, Johnny and Joe
Excellent news! The campaign for the mayoralty in London is set to be a dirty, no holds barred fight between two men, Boris Johnson and Ken Livingstone, who really, really hate each other. The real issues facing Londoners are unlikely to get much of a look in; this is going to be personal, and it's going to be nasty, which should be great fun for those of us who don't actually have to live in the Great Wen.
In the red corner, meet Ken Livingstone, a man who has already served a term as mayor and has been close to the apex of London politics since the days of Margaret Thatcher. Ken once attempted to explain the apparent inconsistency between his old-style socialist views and his expense account lifestyle by comparing himself with the French Revolutionary hero, Georges-Jacques Danton. It's possible that Ken doesn't know that Danton finished up with his head in a wicker basket, after an encounter with the guillotine.
Over in the blue corner, we find Boris Johnson, the incumbent. (Note to non-UK readers: yes, that is his real name, though he has various other given names in reserve -- his full name is Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson). Old Etonian Boris thinks it's a good idea to reach out to the voters in one of the most polyglot cities on earth by regularly lapsing into one of the few languages that almost none of them speak: Latin.
In Ken's favour, he has no ambitions except to be mayor of London, though many voters who lived through his previous tenure in the job might feel that even that is well beyond his abilities. Boris, in contrast, sees the London job as a stepping-stone toward his real ambition: he wants to be in pole position if and when things fall apart for David Cameron in Downing Street. Boris and the PM are both Old Etonians, but there is little old school solidarity between them.
There is one ambition that unites Boris and Ken: they're both desperate to be in the mayor's job when the Olympics come to town in July. Ken was mayor back when the Olympics were awarded to London in 2005, while Boris was in the job at the time of the Beijing Games, presiding over the rather tawdry handing-over ceremony at the end of that Olympiad. Both apparently find the lure of being the one to introduce Chas and Dave to the world at the London opening ceremonies impossible to resist. (Another note to non-UK readers: you may want to think twice about opening that link!)
Those opening ceremonies are apparently going to feature performances by big names from British pop music over the years (which probably excludes Chas and Dave). One name that won't be there, however, is Johnny Rotten: the Sex Pistols have turned down the invitation. As a result, the punk era will probably be represented by Joe Strummer and The Clash. One of their best known tunes, London Calling, apparently commends them to the organisers as an obvious choice. This can only mean that none of the organisers has actually listened to the apocalyptic lyrics. Sample:
The ice age is coming, the sun's zooming in
Engines stop running, the wheat is growing thin
A nuclear error, but I have no fear
'Cause London is drowning, and I live by the river
In the red corner, meet Ken Livingstone, a man who has already served a term as mayor and has been close to the apex of London politics since the days of Margaret Thatcher. Ken once attempted to explain the apparent inconsistency between his old-style socialist views and his expense account lifestyle by comparing himself with the French Revolutionary hero, Georges-Jacques Danton. It's possible that Ken doesn't know that Danton finished up with his head in a wicker basket, after an encounter with the guillotine.
Over in the blue corner, we find Boris Johnson, the incumbent. (Note to non-UK readers: yes, that is his real name, though he has various other given names in reserve -- his full name is Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson). Old Etonian Boris thinks it's a good idea to reach out to the voters in one of the most polyglot cities on earth by regularly lapsing into one of the few languages that almost none of them speak: Latin.
In Ken's favour, he has no ambitions except to be mayor of London, though many voters who lived through his previous tenure in the job might feel that even that is well beyond his abilities. Boris, in contrast, sees the London job as a stepping-stone toward his real ambition: he wants to be in pole position if and when things fall apart for David Cameron in Downing Street. Boris and the PM are both Old Etonians, but there is little old school solidarity between them.
There is one ambition that unites Boris and Ken: they're both desperate to be in the mayor's job when the Olympics come to town in July. Ken was mayor back when the Olympics were awarded to London in 2005, while Boris was in the job at the time of the Beijing Games, presiding over the rather tawdry handing-over ceremony at the end of that Olympiad. Both apparently find the lure of being the one to introduce Chas and Dave to the world at the London opening ceremonies impossible to resist. (Another note to non-UK readers: you may want to think twice about opening that link!)
Those opening ceremonies are apparently going to feature performances by big names from British pop music over the years (which probably excludes Chas and Dave). One name that won't be there, however, is Johnny Rotten: the Sex Pistols have turned down the invitation. As a result, the punk era will probably be represented by Joe Strummer and The Clash. One of their best known tunes, London Calling, apparently commends them to the organisers as an obvious choice. This can only mean that none of the organisers has actually listened to the apocalyptic lyrics. Sample:
The ice age is coming, the sun's zooming in
Engines stop running, the wheat is growing thin
A nuclear error, but I have no fear
'Cause London is drowning, and I live by the river
And why stop there?? After the opening ceremonies, maybe we can get Paul Weller to head to the site for the shooting events down at Bisley, and strike up the equally inappropriate Eton Rifles -- but only, of course, if Boris Johnson wins the mayoral election.
Wednesday, 14 September 2011
Looking for a rainbow
For the second time in four years, those spoilsports at UNICEF have published a report suggesting that children in the UK are among the unhappiest in the developed world. (BBC story on the report can be found here). According to UNICEF, British parents are so busy trying to make money that they have no time to spend with their kids. To make up for that, they ply them with toys and gadgets to keep them quiet. The report makes unflattering comparisons between the way children are raised in the UK and the way things are done in Sweden and Spain.
Rather surprisingly, The Times (behind the paywall) takes editorial exception to this. It chides UNICEF on the illogical grounds that at least children are not being sent down the mines any more, which is nothing whatever to so with the point that UNICEF is trying to make. The agency's criticisms are notionally about children -- that is, after all, its remit -- but are really an indictment of the way that British society, and British capitalism, have evolved over the span of about a generation or so.
Think about it this way. According to UNICEF, large numbers of parents in the UK are much more interested in their careers than in their children. While they're out pursuing wealth and promotion, the kids are acquiring their moral codes from one another, or worse, from those nice folks you meet in "Grand Theft Auto". It makes the summer's rioting and looting just a bit easier to understand.
How did the UK get this way, and in particular, how did it get out of step with other wealthy countries? Who better to help us figure this out than the lugubrious Middlesbrough bluesman, Chris Rea? In 1989 Chris released an album called "The Road to Hell". (He promoted the album, with minimal success, all across the United States. When he appeared on the David Letterman late night show, Letterman memorably held up the album cover and said with a grimace, "I think this is his Christmas album".)
Anyway, the album is an odd mixture of paeans to America (songs like "Texas" and "Daytona") and thoroughly mournful ditties about the state of the UK after a decade of Thatcherism. In the title song, for example, Chris is driving in search of work when he has a vision of his late mother:
"I said Mama, I've come to the valley of the rich, myself to sell".
She said "Son, this is the road to hell".
And in "Looking for a rainbow", another song about people having to uproot themselves and go in search of wealth, he sings:
"Yeah we're Maggie's little children, and we're looking for Maggie's farm".
Maggie left the political scene many years ago, but the atavistic impulses she unleashed -- greed, selfishness -- haunt us still. If you don't want to take UNICEF's word for it, or Chris Rea's, or mine, there's always St Paul's First Letter to Timothy: "Radix malorum est cupiditas" -- "the love of money is the root of all evil". Or you could just ask a kid near you.
Rather surprisingly, The Times (behind the paywall) takes editorial exception to this. It chides UNICEF on the illogical grounds that at least children are not being sent down the mines any more, which is nothing whatever to so with the point that UNICEF is trying to make. The agency's criticisms are notionally about children -- that is, after all, its remit -- but are really an indictment of the way that British society, and British capitalism, have evolved over the span of about a generation or so.
Think about it this way. According to UNICEF, large numbers of parents in the UK are much more interested in their careers than in their children. While they're out pursuing wealth and promotion, the kids are acquiring their moral codes from one another, or worse, from those nice folks you meet in "Grand Theft Auto". It makes the summer's rioting and looting just a bit easier to understand.
How did the UK get this way, and in particular, how did it get out of step with other wealthy countries? Who better to help us figure this out than the lugubrious Middlesbrough bluesman, Chris Rea? In 1989 Chris released an album called "The Road to Hell". (He promoted the album, with minimal success, all across the United States. When he appeared on the David Letterman late night show, Letterman memorably held up the album cover and said with a grimace, "I think this is his Christmas album".)
Anyway, the album is an odd mixture of paeans to America (songs like "Texas" and "Daytona") and thoroughly mournful ditties about the state of the UK after a decade of Thatcherism. In the title song, for example, Chris is driving in search of work when he has a vision of his late mother:
"I said Mama, I've come to the valley of the rich, myself to sell".
She said "Son, this is the road to hell".
And in "Looking for a rainbow", another song about people having to uproot themselves and go in search of wealth, he sings:
"Yeah we're Maggie's little children, and we're looking for Maggie's farm".
Maggie left the political scene many years ago, but the atavistic impulses she unleashed -- greed, selfishness -- haunt us still. If you don't want to take UNICEF's word for it, or Chris Rea's, or mine, there's always St Paul's First Letter to Timothy: "Radix malorum est cupiditas" -- "the love of money is the root of all evil". Or you could just ask a kid near you.
Tuesday, 7 December 2010
Musica gratia artis
I know we're supposed to accept that art is whatever artists choose to do, but every time I seem to be getting my head around that concept, the Turner Prize comes along and I'm back to square one.
This year's Prize has been awarded to the improbably-spelt Susan Philipsz for her work Lowlands. This chef d'oeuvre consists of three loudspeakers in a room, through which is played a recording of Philipsz singing a Scottish folk song. Philipsz calls it a "sound sculpture", but most of us would call it "music". Or maybe not: Philipsz herself admits that she can't actually sing , and anyway she didn't write the song herself. Calling her work art may be the only way she can get people to listen to it.
Needless to say the arts community has rallied around. Check out this fabulously pretentious piece from the Guardian, for example -- and be sure not to miss the readers' comments at the end. As for me, I'm wondering what comes next. Maybe the Grammies will give one of Ronnie Wood's paintings their award for Rock Album of the Year.
This year's Prize has been awarded to the improbably-spelt Susan Philipsz for her work Lowlands. This chef d'oeuvre consists of three loudspeakers in a room, through which is played a recording of Philipsz singing a Scottish folk song. Philipsz calls it a "sound sculpture", but most of us would call it "music". Or maybe not: Philipsz herself admits that she can't actually sing , and anyway she didn't write the song herself. Calling her work art may be the only way she can get people to listen to it.
Needless to say the arts community has rallied around. Check out this fabulously pretentious piece from the Guardian, for example -- and be sure not to miss the readers' comments at the end. As for me, I'm wondering what comes next. Maybe the Grammies will give one of Ronnie Wood's paintings their award for Rock Album of the Year.
Monday, 28 June 2010
Just as good as in 1966....
....Stevie Wonder, that is, closing the Glastonbury Festival last night. Heck, he even managed to sing "Fingertips" in a convincingly prebubescent voice. Great work by the BBC on the visuals and the sound too. I wonder if the latter owed anything to the two sub-woofers that one of Stevie's backing singers appeared to be carrying under her outfit.
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
Something evil's lurking in the dark
I can't help thinking that the Christian Brothers must bitterly regret the fact that they didn't invent the Moonwalk.
Monday, 15 December 2008
The broken Hallelujah
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy, or the broken Hallelujah!
(Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen)
Turns out though, it does matter.
Since its release in the 1980s, Cohen's biblico-sexual epic Hallelujah has turned into a kind of secular hymn. Everyone and his dog has had a crack at it. A couple of months ago BBC2 ran a one-hour documentary on the song, featuring umpteen different versions by a host of singers, known and never-to-be known, with each trying to explain what they saw in the song. They all agreed it was the mysterious lyrics that drew them to it, though given that no two versions ever seem to include the same verses (Cohen wrote more than 80, of which about a dozen are still used), I find that a bit unconvincing. I think it's the simple tune and the chord progression, which Cohen helpfully (if bizarrely) spells out: "the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift".
It's been suggested that Hallelujah is the greatest song ever written. I suppose it might be, but you could equally argue that it's not even Cohen's best. (For your consideration: Alexandra Leaving, from Ten New Songs; Joan of Arc, from Songs of Love and Hate).
Alas, nothing is so perfect that Simon Cowell can't ruin it. He had all three X-factor finalists record Hallelujah, and the version by the winner, Alexandra Burke, has now been released, with every expectation that it will be the Christmas number 1. It's pretty bad. She only sings three verses; she adds a word in the first verse (it's only "and", but you don't mess with Leonard!); and she bellows out the last verse in an appalling Celine Dion/Whitney Houston stylee. With so many good versions of the song out there, it's sad to think that this racket will be many people's first exposure to it.
In fairness to Ms Burke, though, hers is not the worst version I've ever heard. Cohen's own rendition is not that great. Much worse, though, is one that I have on a Cohen tribute album ("Tower of song") in which Bono mumbles an almost inaudible version. Neither the words nor the tune comes out unscathed. Hallelujah survived that, so I suppose it can survive Ms Burke too.
The holy, or the broken Hallelujah!
(Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen)
Turns out though, it does matter.
Since its release in the 1980s, Cohen's biblico-sexual epic Hallelujah has turned into a kind of secular hymn. Everyone and his dog has had a crack at it. A couple of months ago BBC2 ran a one-hour documentary on the song, featuring umpteen different versions by a host of singers, known and never-to-be known, with each trying to explain what they saw in the song. They all agreed it was the mysterious lyrics that drew them to it, though given that no two versions ever seem to include the same verses (Cohen wrote more than 80, of which about a dozen are still used), I find that a bit unconvincing. I think it's the simple tune and the chord progression, which Cohen helpfully (if bizarrely) spells out: "the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift".
It's been suggested that Hallelujah is the greatest song ever written. I suppose it might be, but you could equally argue that it's not even Cohen's best. (For your consideration: Alexandra Leaving, from Ten New Songs; Joan of Arc, from Songs of Love and Hate).
Alas, nothing is so perfect that Simon Cowell can't ruin it. He had all three X-factor finalists record Hallelujah, and the version by the winner, Alexandra Burke, has now been released, with every expectation that it will be the Christmas number 1. It's pretty bad. She only sings three verses; she adds a word in the first verse (it's only "and", but you don't mess with Leonard!); and she bellows out the last verse in an appalling Celine Dion/Whitney Houston stylee. With so many good versions of the song out there, it's sad to think that this racket will be many people's first exposure to it.
In fairness to Ms Burke, though, hers is not the worst version I've ever heard. Cohen's own rendition is not that great. Much worse, though, is one that I have on a Cohen tribute album ("Tower of song") in which Bono mumbles an almost inaudible version. Neither the words nor the tune comes out unscathed. Hallelujah survived that, so I suppose it can survive Ms Burke too.
Tuesday, 15 January 2008
Way to go, Robbie!
Robbie Williams (remember him??) has announced that he may register his displeasure at what's going on at EMI by refusing to release his next album.
This seems like the kind of protest where everyone's a winner, especially the music-buying public. We can only urge other "artists" to follow Robbie's highly principled lead. James Blunt, for instance, or The Feeling.
This seems like the kind of protest where everyone's a winner, especially the music-buying public. We can only urge other "artists" to follow Robbie's highly principled lead. James Blunt, for instance, or The Feeling.
Friday, 29 June 2007
I'm voting for never
Geri Halliwell said that the Spice Girls' reunion was a case of "now or never". It's a shame they didn't give the rest of us a vote.
Monday, 25 June 2007
Back again, naturally
Watched the Who closing the Glastonbury Festival on the tube last night. Despite the presence of a lot of musicians on the stage, the performance was so note-perfect that I almost suspected there was a backing track. Surely the Who are not turning into the Eagles, who have never been known to play an improvised note in public? In any case, it was a first-rate 90-minute tour of their back catalogue, spoiled only by a bit too much "Tommy" near the end. At one point a banner appeared at the bottom of the screen to advise viewers that they could switch to another channel to see the Chemical Brothers. It's hard to imagine that many people will have been tempted.
I thought of rooting through the old tapes gathering dust under the TV to see if I still have the recording I made of the Who's supposed "farewell concert" in Toronto. I recorded it on the first VCR I ever owned, some time in the early 1980s. It would have been interesting to compare the set lists for that show with the one at Glastonbury. I would bet there was something like a 90% overlap.
I don't suppose that the Who or anyone else imagined the appetite that baby boomers would have for geriatric rock acts more than two decades later. I have nothing against musicians of my age continuing to perform. In the last few years I've paid to see Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Mark Knopfler and Bryan Ferry, among others. But there's surely a limit, and we may have reached it. No, I'm not talking about the Spice Girls reunion. The weekend papers contained an ad for a series of concerts by......Gilbert O'Sullivan! Now I'm more than happy to admit that "Alone again, naturally" and (even moreso) "Nothing rhymed" are pretty good songs of their type. But let's face it, the rest of his material, even when he was at his peak, was pretty thin, and like the Who, he hasn't had a whole lot of hits since then. With his reedy voice, I don't recall that he was ever much in demand as a live performer.
If Gilbert O'Sullivan can fill halls around the country, then it's surely true that nostalgia isn't what it used to be. But hey, maybe there's even an opportunity for me to cash in here. Coming soon: my Jake Thackray tribute tour.
I thought of rooting through the old tapes gathering dust under the TV to see if I still have the recording I made of the Who's supposed "farewell concert" in Toronto. I recorded it on the first VCR I ever owned, some time in the early 1980s. It would have been interesting to compare the set lists for that show with the one at Glastonbury. I would bet there was something like a 90% overlap.
I don't suppose that the Who or anyone else imagined the appetite that baby boomers would have for geriatric rock acts more than two decades later. I have nothing against musicians of my age continuing to perform. In the last few years I've paid to see Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Mark Knopfler and Bryan Ferry, among others. But there's surely a limit, and we may have reached it. No, I'm not talking about the Spice Girls reunion. The weekend papers contained an ad for a series of concerts by......Gilbert O'Sullivan! Now I'm more than happy to admit that "Alone again, naturally" and (even moreso) "Nothing rhymed" are pretty good songs of their type. But let's face it, the rest of his material, even when he was at his peak, was pretty thin, and like the Who, he hasn't had a whole lot of hits since then. With his reedy voice, I don't recall that he was ever much in demand as a live performer.
If Gilbert O'Sullivan can fill halls around the country, then it's surely true that nostalgia isn't what it used to be. But hey, maybe there's even an opportunity for me to cash in here. Coming soon: my Jake Thackray tribute tour.
Tuesday, 6 February 2007
....what's that all about?
Just a couple of random rants.
Rugby....what's that all about? If it's such a good game, why do they keep changing the rules? (And they're about to do it again). I am proud of my record as one of the only two people in England who have never seen Jonny Wilkinson's winning kick at the World Cup, whenever that was. The other person who's never seen it: Jonny Wilkinson himself.
Mika....what's that all about? Everybody in the know in the music biz has decided he's the breakthrough act of 2007. The guy makes Leo Sayer sound like Barry White. You want to hear the anti-Mika, try Seasick Steve on for size. There's a great video on youTube, if you're a member. (Advance warning: you have to put up with 10 seconds of Jools Holland before the music starts).
Rugby....what's that all about? If it's such a good game, why do they keep changing the rules? (And they're about to do it again). I am proud of my record as one of the only two people in England who have never seen Jonny Wilkinson's winning kick at the World Cup, whenever that was. The other person who's never seen it: Jonny Wilkinson himself.
Mika....what's that all about? Everybody in the know in the music biz has decided he's the breakthrough act of 2007. The guy makes Leo Sayer sound like Barry White. You want to hear the anti-Mika, try Seasick Steve on for size. There's a great video on youTube, if you're a member. (Advance warning: you have to put up with 10 seconds of Jools Holland before the music starts).
Thursday, 7 December 2006
Don't buy me "Love"
The Beatles remix album, Love, was at the top of my Christmas list -- right up to the moment when I actually heard it. The BBC was kind enough to make it the "album of the week" a while back, which mercifully saved me from having to buy it. The top item on my Christmas list is now a voodoo doll of Sir George Martin, together with a large supply of pins.
I am a big fan of mixing musical genres, as a perusal of my CD collection would quickly reveal. (Reggae tribute to Bob Dylan, anyone?) One of my musical highlights for this year was hearing the warm-up act at a Waterboys concert do an acoustic folk version of "I second that emotion". (The Waterboys were good, too). But "Love" is nowhere near as ambitious as that. For much of the time you can think that you are listening to the original versions of the songs; then, suddenly, there is a bar or two of another song, which makes about the same impact, and is about as welcome, as interference on the radio. Elsewhere there are attempts to splice things together: for example, a "Blackbird"/"Yesterday" track that has the intro to "Blackbird" lead into the lyrics and instrumentation of "Yesterday". The result is not a happy one. (I suppose even George Martin couldn't do it the other way round, since "Yesterday" has very little in the way of an intro).
I know Paul McCartney may need a little extra cash in the near future, but it's hard to see why he and Ringo went along with this travesty. Before George Martin became the Beatles' producer, he was best-known for producing comedy albums. So I suppose he's gone back to his roots with this album, because "Love" is a joke.
I am a big fan of mixing musical genres, as a perusal of my CD collection would quickly reveal. (Reggae tribute to Bob Dylan, anyone?) One of my musical highlights for this year was hearing the warm-up act at a Waterboys concert do an acoustic folk version of "I second that emotion". (The Waterboys were good, too). But "Love" is nowhere near as ambitious as that. For much of the time you can think that you are listening to the original versions of the songs; then, suddenly, there is a bar or two of another song, which makes about the same impact, and is about as welcome, as interference on the radio. Elsewhere there are attempts to splice things together: for example, a "Blackbird"/"Yesterday" track that has the intro to "Blackbird" lead into the lyrics and instrumentation of "Yesterday". The result is not a happy one. (I suppose even George Martin couldn't do it the other way round, since "Yesterday" has very little in the way of an intro).
I know Paul McCartney may need a little extra cash in the near future, but it's hard to see why he and Ringo went along with this travesty. Before George Martin became the Beatles' producer, he was best-known for producing comedy albums. So I suppose he's gone back to his roots with this album, because "Love" is a joke.
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