Music Reviews - One Heart, Professional Vocalist

Monday, August 11th, 2008

By Chris Moore:

One of the key criteria in judging a solo act is in the singer’s range and catalog of material. From the sounds of his seven track sampler, professional vocalist Andi Dawson, also known as One Heart, has managed to not only select a wide range of rock and pop numbers for his repertoire, but also to master the subtleties of each of his diverse tracks.

From the first vocal notes of “Smooth,” the singer’s attention to detail is clearly evidenced by the vocal effect that is strikingly similar to the one used famously by Rob Thomas, who helped score a number one hit on the Billboard Hot 100 for Santana at the turn of the millennium. And yet, a few tracks later, One Heart has slowed down and, going back to the seventies, taken on the smooth tones of Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight.” Gone is the bravado necessary for a rocker like “Smooth.” Instead, he delivers a vocal true to Clapton’s original, complete with subtleties in inflection and overall delivery.

Suitably, his voice drops an octave for the early sixties Del Shannon hit “Runaway.” His timing is impeccable on One Heart’s version of “Brown-Eyed Girl.” And One Heart has left no decade of rock music unexplored, faithfully translating Queen’s early nineties hit “The Show Must Go On,” Bryan Adams’ eighties hit “The Summer of ‘69,” and a mix of fifties tracks in “The One Heart Rock & Roll Medley.”

The medley, the seventh and final track, fades with a take on “Rock Around the Clock,” originally by Bill Haley & His Comets. It is quite fitting for the set to end with the oldest songs presented, and yet with a number that is every bit as upbeat as their opening track.

Based out of Portsmouth in the United Kingdom, One Heart is the perfect solution for anyone planning the music for an event such as a wedding. Judging from his tracks — available online at www.one-heart.co.uk — this solo vocalist will bring a wide range of popular music sensibilities to his performances. This seven track sampler alone draws from mostly top ten and top five hits from artists as diverse as Elvis Presley to Queen, from eras as early as the 1950s to as recently as the new millennium. This supports the promise on the official website that “One Heart is an act that has been carefully designed to supply entertainment to all present.”

Having contributed regularly to the “session-a-day” Laptop Sessions acoustic cover songs project, I have quickly become an expert of sorts and indeed quite particular when it comes to judging the quality of covers. One Heart consistently demonstrates a mastery and a faithfulness to the original studio recordings of the songs he performs.

His music is solid, his vocal range is more than adequate for the range of artists he has chosen to cover, and his selection is vast — what more could you desire in one singer?

Music Reviews: Counting Crows - “Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings” (2008)

Sunday, August 10th, 2008

By Chris Moore:

In his personal liner notes, Adam Duritz thanks several people for “sticking by our vision for this album in the face of pretty much universal disapproval. Records SHOULD be what they’re MEANT to be.” In many ways, these notes help to tie Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings to the much larger tradition of the concept album.

Consider the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, arguably the first concept album. The Fab Four had to lock themselves away from all other distractions – including photo shoots and even live concert tours – to make what many consider to be their masterpiece. The Moody Blues were never meant to record Days of Future Passed; it was only as a result of convincing their producer to change course that this classic concept album was created. Brian Wilson arguably lost his mind in the pursuit of SMiLE, his masterpiece of an incomplete concept album that drew him back into the studio four decades later to finish it.

To compare this new Counting Crows album with the best of the Beatles, Moody Blues, and Beach Boys would be misguided; it is simply too recent to hold up to the classics. Still, this is one of the Counting Crows’ most compelling offerings and perhaps the strongest album of the year. Why, you ask? Not only do the songs shine – rocking and reflecting at the appropriate times – respectively, but the album concept unites each separate thread into a larger thought that holds up after and indeed invites multiple listens.

The album opens – rather, explodes – with the first track’s thundering drum roll and massive distortion guitar. “1492” is a personal narrative that establishes the setting and the narrator’s “dark Italian underground” exploits in a private world of “disco lights,” sexual encounters with “skinny girls,” and “mornings spreading out across the feathered thighs of angels.” Duritz’s songs have often shown interest in angelic imagery – consider his band’s first hit with “Angels of the Silences,” for one – but the imagery is tipped on its head for this album. Initially, the darkness is shocking. It is darkness that leads to the repeated question in the chorus, “Where do we disappear?” The narrator’s personal history becomes intertwined with an interesting take on Columbus and the events of 1492, a final chorus about the “people who impersonate our friends,” and then, with a final bang on the drums and harsh down stroke on the strings of the electric guitar, it’s over just as abruptly as it started.

The first half of the album is devoted to the Saturday Nights portion of the concept. The “dizzy life” that is described in “Hanging Tree” is further fleshed out in the scene-setting “Los Angeles,” and more personal details are divulged in “Sundays” – an opening mention of “coloured rubbers” followed by a description of the narrator’s conception (“My mother made me out of flesh and wine”) leads to the choral confession that he doesn’t believe in Sundays. Time and again on this first half of the album, the songs are rock n’ roll through and through; solos and driving beats are par for the course. And yet this is not at the expense of artistry. Duritz’s imagery is poetic and pulls no punches; the reference to Sundays conjures religious imagery, and although he professes not to believe in them, these tracks smack of a trip to a confessional.

The final two tracks of the Saturday Nights portion make good on the promise of “1492.” With “Insignificant,” he returns to that feeling of disappearance, declaring “I don’t want to be insignificant.” “Cowboys,” the sixth and final track of the first half, provides the perfect transition as Duritz sings, “I’ll wait for you as Saturday’s a memory, and Sunday comes to gather me into the arms of God Who’ll welcome me because I believe, oh, I believe…” This is a shift from his statements in “Sundays” and brings God directly into the picture. Duritz’s final words of the track set a mission statement of sorts for the remainder of the album – “Oh, I will make you look at me… Or I am not anything.”

So ends the Saturday Nights segment of the album; the Sunday Mornings portion begins with the subdued acoustic picking, gently fingered piano, and deliberately plucked standup bass of “Washington Square.” Harmonica and a distant electric guitar join the sound of the largely acoustic arrangement of “On Almost Any Sunday Morning.” The lyrics fit the tone of the music aptly, sparse and raw as they are. It is interesting to note that both of these tracks were written by Duritz alone, perhaps adding to the personal feel of these tracks.

Just as “Washington Square” and “On Almost Any Sunday Morning” are songs of despair and desolation, the next two tracks find the narrator beginning to pick up the pieces. In “When I Dream of Michelangelo” Duritz sings, “I want a white bread life, just something ignorant and plain, but from the walls of Michelangelo I’m dangling again.” In a sense, the conception of the album is explained through this song, even as the narrator sings of that connection to the great painter. This brings many aspects together, most notably the religious imagery and the desire of an artist to communicate. “Anyone But You” kicks off with a haunting organ and quickly falls under the domain of a steady drum beat. The message of this track? Well, although he admits “I’m almost ready – it’s almost true – for almost anyone but you,” he ends up returning repeatedly to the simple statement, “I think about you.”

It is in this song that the album really comes together. Even as drums return to the mix for the first time since the transition to the Sunday Mornings section, the singer’s dilemma is clear: after his wild “Saturday nights” and his reflections on his life, God, angels, women, and more, he can only think of this one unnamed woman.

In the next track, the truth comes clearly crashing down.

“You Can’t Count On Me,” the first single from Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings, lays it all out there – the narrator clearly addresses that aforementioned woman (described here as “just my toy and I can’t stop playing with you, baby”), and he admits that “There’s just one thing you need to know and that’s that you can’t count on me.” Not exactly a declaration of love and selfless devotion, this clearly carries with it the same blatant, raw honesty that the previous tracks have been imbued with.

From the opening chords, “Le Ballet D’Or” plays out like a dream sequence characterized by Duritz’s reflections and realizations. These set up what is perhaps the most minimalist track on the album; Charlie Gillingham’s piano and Adam Duritz’s vocals are all that you get with “On a Tuesday in Amsterdam Long Ago.” The vocals, probably the most raw of the record, lead up to the ragged, repetitive pleading by Duritz – “Come back to me.”

The album might have left off on this note, leaving the resolution open ended and the final note a somber one. Instead, the next track begins deceptively with an acoustic guitar and piano that fade momentarily before being replaced by the first distortion guitar since “Cowboys” and perhaps the most rousing drum beat and bass line of the album. Duritz’s voice returns to form as he leads the band in “Come Around,” the only track on Sunday Mornings not produced by James Brown. Rather, this track was produced by Gil Norton, the producer for the six tracks of Saturday Nights.

Thus, “Come Around” effectively brings this concept full circle, promising in the chorus “We’ll still come around.” Yes, there is pain on the Sunday mornings…

But that won’t stop Duritz from coming back to the Saturday nights time and again. If nothing else, they certainly make for good songwriting – and this concept makes for a rocking, raw, and overall excellent album.

Music Review: John Mayer’s New Live Album is Not So New, Not So Desirable

Friday, July 4th, 2008

By Chris Moore:

This live album by Mayer is perhaps, in terms of new music, the biggest disappointment of the year for me.  Being a John Mayer fan from the beginning, I have never quite been able to understand the degree of praise he has received for going back to the blues roots.  Yes, he is an excellent guitarist, and I am happy that more people are giving him the respect he deserves.  But he was always an energetic, talented guitarist – recall “Neon” as merely one of many examples.  I was unimpressed with the John Mayer Trio – its minimalist setup and apparent reference to the great rock trios of the seventies (Jimi Hendrix Experience comes to mind) has always seemed out of place to me when considering the depth of Mayer’s vocals and instrumental components on his studio recordings.  Then, Continuum was released, and I was truly befuddled.  It wasn’t so much that I disliked this new album – though I did and do find it lackluster at most turns – but this new album garnered such an exaggeratedly positive response.  Based on Rolling Stone magazine’s review, one might expect that this was John Mayer’s most amazing album to date and perhaps one of the most significant albums of the year.

This brings us to current day, 2008, and the release of Where The Light Is: John Mayer Live in Los Angeles.  As I entered my local music retail store, I headed for the CD section, knowing that the live album had just been released.  I had decided the night before, when I first learned of its release, that I would not purchase it.  I made this decision, knowing full well that, once I enjoy one or two albums from any given artist, I usually end up buying all their subsequent releases.  However, I thought to myself, what if they lose my interest entirely?  In the case of John Mayer, it wasn’t so much a branching out and changing of his style that concerned me – it was and is my perception that he has regressed as a songwriter.

When I saw the live album, I almost bought it.

The packaging itself is solid – a live concert in three sections: an acoustic solo set, a John Mayer Trio set, and a full band set.  The acoustic set alone intrigued me; “Stop This Train” is one of my few favorites from Continuum, “Daughters” would work perfectly in this type of arrangement, and Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’” is one of my favorite songs.

So, I had picked it up, and looking it over, the desire to buy it was creeping in.  Then I read the second section – the Trio set.  Five of the eight songs in this portion were featured in the John Mayer Trio live album.  What could be so significantly different about these performances?  Of the final nine songs in the full band set, all but two were songs from Continuum.  The other two included “Why Georgia,” one of my favorite songs by Mayer, and a Ray Charles cover.  Why would I want to hear a live set of songs from an album that I was unimpressed with?

Saddened and, truthfully, disappointed, I placed the CD back on the rack.  I can’t say I will never listen to Where The Light Is, but I can say with certainty that I will not purchase it myself.  And that makes me very sad, as Mayer had quickly become one of my favorite new music artists on the scene a few years ago.  For perhaps the first time in my young, CD-collecting life, I have left an artist behind.  He may be off to new work with the blues community, but I’m off to listen to his lesser-appreciated work – the charming and spirited Inside Wants Out EP, the instant hit Room For Squares, and even the follow-up effort Heavier Things.  For me, those albums had it all – solid songwriting and great guitar work.

At most, I may return to Continuum and try to figure out what exactly it is that I have missed.

CD Review: Jim Fusco’s “What About Today?” is a Songwriter’s Concept Album

Monday, June 30th, 2008

By Chris Moore:

Many who listen to What About Today? may miss the apparent tip of the hat to Nashville Skyline—Bob Dylan’s 1969 album—that is implied on the cover.

This is perhaps not a necessary reference to understand anyway, as Jim Fusco’s progression as an artist is in an entirely different place now than Dylan’s was when he released his first country-rock album. No, Jim Fusco is redefining his own style with this album, moving ahead with increasing complexity and depth, while Dylan was attacked over three decades ago by critics and fans alike who were disappointed by the simplicity of his then-latest release of sappy, romantic songs.
The allusion on the cover may be an indication of Fusco’s personal predilection for songs of this nature. What About Today?, however, is certainly anything but a collection of disappointingly simple love songs.

THE ALBUM

This album has been related to the landmark Brian Wilson masterpiece SMiLE by Fusco himself in the liner notes contained in the enhanced CD section. The most obvious comparison between these two works is in their unified composition, each track blending seamlessly into the next. As Fusco described, the ending chord of every song on his album matches exactly to the initial chord of the subsequent song.

The truth is that this method works well and places What About Today? a notch up from most contemporary rock albums into that somewhat forgotten realm of the concept album. Fusco demonstrates that an album can be more than a random assortment of the newest songs from an artist. Moreover, he has transcended the realm of the strictly chronological concept album—consider his earlier album My Other Half (2002) which follows the progression and breakdown of a relationship.

The one element of this album that cannot be described as more complex than any of his previous ones is notably the vocals. In the past, Fusco relied on vocal harmonies and combinations to define his music, and indeed they have always set him apart in an exceptional way. Honestly, I initially wondered whether this should be considered a downfall, a failure of the new album. After all, he completed the album in such a brief time—three weeks—so could he have rushed past the vocals? Upon many subsequent listenings, I have arrived at the opposite conclusion.

The majority of the background vocals on this album are subtler and more understated than in his earlier work. Yet that is not to say that they are any less well-thought-out or vital to the songs they support. I do not think that the background vocals are as prominent on this album, but I believe the album would be at a profound loss without them. At the risk of seeming like every other critic who has ever written about a particular artist over an extended period of time, Fusco sounds mature on this album. He does not demonstrate a perceived need to impress the audience with his vocal feats. Rather, perhaps for the first time, he is focusing on the unique voice that is Jim Fusco. He is concentrating on his command of delivering his lyrics, singing them with authority. He is also showcasing his abilities and techniques as a lead electric guitarist—a defining sound on this album and a theme suggested by the presence of his shiny red, classically designed guitar on the back page of the CD booklet.
If one could hear the thinly-veiled songs about his girlfriend, his childhood heroes, and his dreams that comprise his 2003 releases and say, “That’s all Jim,” then perhaps one would hear this new album and inquire, “What about Jim?” Which parts are his personal stories and which parts are fictions? Why has his poetic style developed in quite this manner? These issues can be encapsulated in one issue: we knew what he meant when he sang “Mold Me” in 2003, but what is he talking about in 2005 when he sings, “…I molded to you…”?
It is indeed the time that makes this album feel right, the progression of Fusco as an artist—singer and musician alike—that has brought him to the conception and creation of this album.

“I think these are my best songs to date, without a doubt,” Fusco writes in his liner notes. What is more, this is his best album to date.

THE SONGS

It is the electric guitar in “Don’t Be That Way” that first distinguishes itself and kicks the album off with electricity. There is distortion, but it is not distracting or overbearing, as harder music can sometimes be. Yet this is a new sound for Jim Fusco—it is louder, more confident.

“Don’t Be That Way” is the perfect album starter. This song is not a cookie cutter single, nor is it too complex to present at the beginning of an album. It truly sets the tone for the songs to come. Musically, it demonstrates Fusco’s increasingly defined guitar style. Throughout the song, it is as though there is a solo bubbling just beneath the surface waiting to explode—as it does a minute and a half into the song.

And when it does, it has been well worth the wait.

Vocally, this is a prime example of subtle yet effective and even powerful backing vocals supporting the words and sound of the lead. As if to make his point, Fusco ends the song with an extended solo intertwined with a repetition of the chorus.

There is no time to pause and reflect upon this, of course, as the first track is immediately juxtaposed with the interlude. This brief instrumental is repeated throughout the album at various points, as if to remind the listener that the songs on this album exist as one complete entity, as well as individual pieces. The interlude is before the tracks and after them and everywhere within the confines of the album—a reminder of the continuity that is a central theme.

The first track begins with electric guitar, the interlude is marked by the keyboards, and the second track—“Can’t Count On Words”—completes the triangle by beginning with acoustic guitar. In the spirit of the symbolic weight that the acoustic guitar carries, this track has a message to be delivered. Fusco’s is not a message of civil rights or any other such cause; but rather, he is concerned with interpersonal communication.

“Can’t count on words to fill the space between,” he sings. This assertion may be based on the unpredictable nature of interpretation. For instance, “casting of willingness” may be a reference to extending one’s enthusiasm, as in a fishing metaphor, in order to catch a greater good. However, it could also refer to the molding (a theme of Fusco’s work in general) of one’s motivation, one’s personality.

The triangle becomes a square as the third track opens with a bass guitar riff. “Another Backwards Day” chronicles the experience of being awake when everyone else is “down”—whether he means that they are sleeping or depressed is anyone’s guess. A quiet, perhaps subliminal nod to Brian Wilson is apparent in the sentiment of this song’s final verse. He sings of having someone at his side “When day begins long into the night,” ala “Wouldn’t It Be Nice.” This is only a possible meaning, but a fitting one considering his affection for Wilson and his music.

Just when you thought it couldn’t continue, What About Today?’s compositional square becomes a pentagon. Just as track one begins with electric guitar, the interlude with keyboard, track two with acoustic guitar, and track three with bass, so does track four—although it begins with acoustic also—soon present itself as a very vocally harmonic song. His thought for this track is the passing desire to be less intellectual.

“Sometimes I wish I were dumb so I wouldn’t have to think,” he sings. He entertains the concept of hope being a lengthy word to someone and he considers keeping thoughts at bay, “lowering his field of vision.” Interestingly enough, he decides on the title “Sometimes” as a qualification for this desire to be stupid.

“Reason” provides a timely escape from lyrics and vocals and showcases the aforementioned rapidly developing guitar style—it’s not blues, it’s not quite anyone else; it’s Jim Fusco. He has truly taken his music to another level through his devotion to developing his guitar style, a style that brings this album together in a compelling manner.

“She Waits” is the hidden gem, carefully concealed between five tracks on one side and seven on the other. It begins with a tame keyboard that is innocent enough. The ante is upped with some of the more interesting lyrics of the album, words that draw the listener in. One must wonder where the tale of this mysterious “she” will lead. Of course, no one can know until the end that she will only continue to wait—the story we were waiting to hear and perhaps imagining the outcome of does not in fact exist. “She Waits” as a title is not only the beginning of the story, but the end as well.

The middle section is the most enticing aspect of this song. When Fusco sings, “Tell me what it’s like to live in fear so I don’t have to learn on my own,” one cannot be certain if he’s talking to the woman who has been waiting or if it is the woman herself breaking the silence by speaking up. This is also my favorite vocal section of the album, hands down. The buildup to “oh, oh!” is particularly wonderful. Finally, the solo displays some of the best distortion guitar on any Jim Fusco recording to date.

A few more lines and the song is gone, handing the torch to “Where Are We Now?,” a song that I co-wrote with Jim. As has been mentioned in the liner notes, we wrote this song with a simple “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door” effect in mind. We used one too many chords to make it a complete match, but it’s still a jam-worthy tune. Once again, Jim’s guitar is highlighted and he’s given a chance to repeat and expand the solo he created and delivered on the same track on 2004’s Live In The Studio.

And who’s responsible for the awesome harmonica part?…

Another upbeat track follows—“Pack Your Love.” It’s the song that gets stuck in your head. It makes you wonder about lines such as “…hop the bell some more.” It is also the song that gives you the warm and fuzzies from lines like, “If we’re together, anywhere we go, we won’t be far away.” Jack Johnson would agree and might add, “It’s always better when we’re together.” Finally, it leaves you with that intriguing image in mind—one of packing one’s love and leaving to go…where?

Track nine is the harsher “Give and Take,” a song that is notable for one of my favorite images in the Fusco catalog. He sings, “I see the two of you painting signs, but I can’t see what they’re trying not to say!” This is an image of gossip, resentment, and carefully, hurtfully concealed intentions that wound the singer—“Why do they hide when I’ve done nothing to make them scared?”

The anger and energy of “Give and Take” is artfully blended into “What Left To Do?” The latter counteracts the former’s raw emotion with a thoughtful examination of where days go when they are over and how long feelings will remain in effect. The first two choruses leave one wondering whether the singer is hung up on someone or has hung up (as in during a phone call) on someone—a subtle, yet essential distinction. As the middle fades to the chorus, there can be no questioning the intentions of the singer to pursue the girl who has helped him to board his “last ride until the end.” (A note for those who have heard Fusco’s previous work: “Making up words we can’t define” is remarkably analogous to “We’ll make up words that only we know…”)

The keyboards fade and the acoustic guitar signals a transition from asking to telling. Where “What Left To Do?” repeatedly demonstrates uncertainty, “It’s You” suggests confidence with its assertions and certainties. He carefully ties this song back to “Can’t Count On Words” when he sings “…you’ll find it’s not the words that make the song…” This is an instance of the lyrical overlap that is less obvious than the musical congruities and physical blending of the songs. Anyone can edit songs to run together, but uniting their feeling and message is an accomplishment to be noted.

The next track, “Sideshow,” is an interesting exploration of a sideshow as an image. In some ways, Fusco is the burning fire that won’t stop, the “next big thing” that will cause the lines to grow for the show. He has collected his music, recorded it, and arranged it for this album—his sideshow of sorts.

Following another musical interlude, the final track is unleashed. This is a track that could have appeared anywhere else on the album—as the opener, the single, or whatever it needed to be. It is a great way to end this generally upbeat, musically and lyrically strong album. You can become immediately hooked on a song like this, with its crisp guitars and impressively executed vocals. Another alumnus of Live In The Studio, this song is reborn on What About Today? in a manner that demonstrates Fusco’s ability to redefine himself. Probably one of the best songs he’s ever written.

That these notes have barely scratched the surface of the content of Jim Fusco’s latest release should be defense enough for its five star rating. All my biases aside, it is one of the best albums of the year and deserves to be heard.

7/2005

CD Review: Tegan and Sara’s “So Jealous”

Sunday, June 29th, 2008

By Chris Moore:

So Jealous brings to mind the definition of a three star album.

If one star indicates one’s ability to record an album and five stars suggests one’s talent for producing superior, impressive music, then three stars is a rating for a good album. In this case, Tegan and Sara have found a unique sound for themselves and embraced it. It is a good album that I have enjoyed—I am arguably biased in their favor, as my first two listenings took place on a two and a half mile stretch of I-91 during a major traffic jam; they saved me from utter boredom and frustration.

Yes, it is a good album. Does it demonstrate the musical genius of Brian Wilson? Does it compete for poetic excellence with the Wallflowers? Does it draw you in entirely, body and soul, as Jack Johnson’s new album can? The answer to these questions is an honest “no.”
This being said, I have learned that one cannot expect miracles out of every album ever made.

Tegan and Sara’s greatest strength lies in their ability to combine acoustic and electric elements. The first track demonstrates their very catchy sound as it builds from an acoustic song to an all-out electrified jam. And they sound good together. The combination of their voices is a blend that is pleasing to the ear.

For the most part, the songs are successful—memorable, even. This is not an album with one or two good songs and the remainder a void of throwaways. After all, how can one resist their cries for the subject of one song to “take me anywhere”? Or ignore their quiet, though authoritative pleas for another not to “get so uptight,” then to “Go away!”?

They have chosen to incorporate basic harmonies, which is a good choice for their vocal blend. Even their slower songs have a backbeat that drives them simply—as is the case with their vocals—yet effectively.

The most significant factor in my mediocre rating of this album lies in their one notable flaw—repetition. On several tracks, they tend to take the same chorus, albeit a well-written, catchy chorus, and repeat it too many times. Ending some songs earlier or expanding the lyrics would have significantly improved the flow of the album.

I truly believe that they have it in them to write better songs. Actually, I should say they have it in them to better the songs they have already written. “You Wouldn’t Like Me,” “I Bet It Stung,” “I Won’t Be Left,” “Walking With A Ghost,” and “Fix You Up” are strong tracks and very good songs. They are performed in a heartfelt manner by two talented young songwriters who are perhaps a couple of the world’s last, best hopes for successful women artists in the music industry. They write their own songs, play their own instruments, are entirely clothed in all their pictures, and criticisms aside, have produced a thoroughly enjoyable album.

7/2005

CD Review: Brian Wilson’s “Gettin’ In Over My Head”

Saturday, June 28th, 2008

By Chris Moore:

Released on the eve of SMiLE, Gettin’ In Over My Head is a testament to Brian Wilson’s talent and motivation as a singer/songwriter. Entire books (see: Wouldn’t It Be Nice: Brian Wilson and the Making of the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds by Charles L. Granata) have been written about how Wilson changed the landscape of the singer/songwriter’s rock/pop album, both in how artists create and in how the audience listens. It is refreshing and inspiring to see that such an artist is not only reworking unfinished projects from the past, but also creating new music that stands independently from his past hits.

The first track, “How Could We Still Be Dancin’,” is a great start for this album. Brian Wilson may be an aged rock star whose prime was arguably in the mid-1960s, but his flair for an upbeat song—a song which one might dance to—is unsurpassed. He invites Elton John along for the ride, and delivers a great album starter. This is followed up by “Soul Searchin’,” a song that carries with it many implications. The lead is shared by Brian and his brother Carl, who passed away in 1998. Brian was able to take Carl’s original vocal—cut in the mid-90s for a possible Beach Boys project—and feature it on a new track cut by Brian and his band. For Beach Boys’ fans, this is a treat in and of itself. That it is an emotional song and perhaps one of the best on the album is a wonderful bonus. The third and fourth tracks are notable for their sound. The fourth (and title) track is especially notable, when considering the evolution of Brian Wilson’s sound. There are certainly intimations of Pet Sounds throughout the album, in the choice of instrumentation and the themes of love and, specifically, the overlap between new and old love.

This is not to say that Wilson is simply tapping into and mimicking a previously established sound, albeit his own. On the contrary, he delivers songs like “City Blues” (an upbeat track laced with a typically, and appropriately, bluesy electric solo by Eric Clapton) and “A Friend Like You” (an admittedly cheesy, yet sincere collaboration with Paul McCartney)—these are new songs. Still, Wilson good-naturedly returns to the music of his youth with “Desert Drive,” a song that could have stepped off of an album like Little Deuce Coupe. Wilson wrote three of the songs on the album by himself, of which “Don’t Let Her Know She’s An Angel” is probably the most brilliant. He sings, “I don’t know why she completes me…I’m not even sure what love means / Don’t let her know she’s an angel.” Even in his sixties, Wilson still remembers how it feels to be in love and yet not know how to define it, how to define it logically. It’s a beautiful little tune, complete with a well-orchestrated backing track and impeccable harmonies—Wilson’s trademarks.

What cannot be understated here is the fact that Wilson wrote or co-wrote each and every one of the thirteen songs on this album. He has earned the right to host guests like John, Clapton, and McCartney to a degree that an artist like Santana has not. Wilson cannot be accused of relying on the names of his co-stars. He has arranged an original album that stands on its own. It builds upon the surf music and Pet Sounds styles of his past without relying on them. He even closes the album with “The Waltz,” a song he co-wrote with Van Dyke Parks. A song of high school cotillions, angora sweaters, fandangos, Topanga, Tarzana, and a love that “can make this old world tremble,” this final collaboration is an apt nod to Wilson’s next release, the long-awaited SMiLE. This album stands on its own, a validation of Wilson’s continuing career as a singer/songwriter.

11/2005