Mine eyes have seen the glory

Squint - Steve Taylor (1993)

While Steve Taylor's reputation for challenging, even confrontational music has probably infuriated as many critics as it has won over fans, his songs generally seem to mitigate the inherent polemic with his in-your-face offbeat humour. Squint, however, is effective in its opposite impression. It gains an edge not found in much of his previous work by accentuating its very seriousness, allowing its quirky undercurrent to permeate more subtly.

For example, the title character in "The Lament Of Desmond R. G. Underwood-Frederick IV", (87), has just had that visit to the doctor that no one ever wants to have. "The news of my impending death," he says, "came at a really bad time for me." As Desmond examines his life, Taylor unsheathes his satiric blade against the self-absorption of new age psychology. Yet the shelves of bookstores to this day are lined with self-help theories that offer no tangible aid but to the author's bank account.

In "Bannerman", (73), Taylor is joined by former Chagall Guevara bandmate Dave Perkins on guitar. A tribute to the guys who hold up those John 3:16 signs at football games and such, Taylor has gone to great lengths in interviews to dispel any cynical slant to the song. "He ain't gonna change the world," Taylor sings of his hero, "but he knows who can." Perhaps a little dated in a post-"Stone Cold" Steve Austin world, but even Austin's catchphrase affirms that the direct boldness of "Bannerman"'s actions still resonate in the memories of many today. Accordingly, then, its composition is the most like cheeky 80s-Taylor of anything on Squint.

The complacency of those who should know better is an oft-shot target of Taylor throughout this album. Self-satisfaction is revved up to outright pomposity on the next song, though, called "Smug", (87). Comparing the posing and posturing of the church to the chest-beating and self-promotion of political pundits like Rush Limbaugh and the shallow beauty and pageantry of fashion models, Taylor has obviously heard enough sermons with all the sincerity of an awards show thank-you speech.

"Welcome to our church," he sings, "Strike the proud pose of our country club brethren, friendly as a tomb." It brings to mind Jesus' rant in Matthew 23:27: "Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You look like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men's bones and everything unclean." Phil Madeira's turn as an arrogant teacher as the song fades out is bone-chilling.

Rare indeed is it to come across someone who truly gets it as much as Taylor in the song "Jesus Is For Losers", (97), (http://www.mediafire.com/?s56cuhyvjr5zmzo). Christ himself told the self-righteous religious leaders of his day that his purpose was to bring physical and spiritual relief to the sick and to sinners. Where a self-satisfied piety fostered exclusivity and kept the religious adherents away from those they felt beneath them, Jesus ministered to prostitutes, cheats, the downtrodden and the ignored. As Taylor writes, "the self-made need not apply." That is good news even today for those shunned and cast aside as irrelevant by a world determined only to feed its own insatiable gut. There seems to be little difference today even in so many churches more interested in serving themselves than the obvious needs of others.

But this song deftly swerves from becoming a self-righteous condemnation itself. Riffing a bit on John Newton's "Amazing Grace" (1779) and Charlotte Elliot's "Just As I Am" (1835), Taylor knows the depravity of his own heart, exposing his own "stiff-necked" pride by calling himself an easily distracted, fame-hungry "fool" and "wretch." In somber reflection, he realizes, "we both know what we deserve." Sick of following himself around in fruitless circles, he finds redemption in a humble breakdown breakthrough "at the foot of the cross." Accepting the radical dichotomies of Christ, where the first is last and strength is manifest in weakness, Taylor presents a mature understanding that it is only through brokenness that he is made whole.

No less powerful a song is "The Finish Line", (96), (http://www.mediafire.com/?ncsa2cgyx6xy421). Bold and honest, it recounts the inevitable fall from grace that occurs from even the most inspired and determined intentions. Racing off with a promise to be true, the protagonist of this song discounts how utterly difficult the oncoming days of life really are ("as every little god buys its pound of flesh"), as the narrow path gets tighter and smaller and farther and farther away from where the majority of everyone else seems to be headed. It doesn't take long before the "vision blurs," as "the heart is weak, the will is gone and every strong conviction comes tumbling down."

With strength beyond himself, however, the protagonist's story echoes the words of Paul to Timothy: "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith," (2 Timothy 4:7). Even through times of hiding, injury, hypocrisy and frustration, this "average" guy is never abandoned by a loving and faithful God. He learns, however eventually, from his knocks and proceeds "bloodied but wise as [he] squint[s] with the light of the truth in [his] eyes" to complete that which he has begun, keeping a "steady ... gaze" toward "the finish line."

"The Moshing Floor", (91), is certainly a child of 1993. Taking the malaise of the grunge movement, exemplified through perfectly disinterested backing vocals, "whatever, whatever", this song thrashes its way through the disillusionment of a generation adrift. Challenging the apathy, focusing the energy, still recognizing its creative force, Taylor's song offers encouragement to the hopeless as opposed to the rejection and abandonment they are more familiar with.

A similar idea is worked from a different angle on "Easy Listening", (91), as a grandfather in 2044 chastises his grandchildren for trying to rouse a fat, sacred cow. Over a wicked reggae-gone-weird drop, he pines for a return to the comfortable religion of his turn-of-the-century youth, our current times, marked by the churches we well know, devoted to thick wallets, big cars and housekeepers. "I didn't hear none of this 'sacrifice' bull," he informs his grandchildren whose fuss-raising is extremely inconvenient. Preferring the "sweet nothings" of a silver tongue to the gravel voice of hard truth is the spiritual equivalent to listening to Barry Manilow.

Psalm 37 provides the chorus to "Curses", (93), an expression of God's enduring protection and faithfulness. The verses of the song, austere but mobilized on an abundant bass line, contrast that with the all-too common modern horror of men, so full of self-interest, ditching their wives and families. As Jerry McPherson's guitar skillfully surges and wanes, Taylor pulls no punches, calling such men outright "deserter[s]."

Nailing Prince-like vocals along with The Revolution's signature soft funk as well as anyone up until the Flaming Lips' "Free Radicals (A Hallucination Of The Christmas Skeleton Pleading With A Suicide Bomber)" from At War With The Mystics (2006), "Sock Heaven", (83), fashions an effective washer/dryer analogy. Like the sock missing its match after being put through the wringer and tumbled around recklessly, this song questions the seeming careless nature of the universe.

While accepting his absolute inability to fathom God's actions, ("I was sure you were sovereignly watching us dangle"), Taylor trusts nevertheless, ("Don't get it now, but I'll get it ... in sock heaven"). Appealing to misfits everywhere, those who "didn't want more than to be understood," Taylor's empathy echoes the spirit of W.A. Fletcher's classic, (arranged by J.R. Baxter and W.B. Stevens), "Farther Along" (1911).

The first act of the album closer, "Cash Cow (A Rock Opera In Three Small Acts)", (88), is basically a cappella stage instructions, the tolling of bells bringing on act two and the meat of the song. Taylor recites a fable based loosely on Exodus 32, where the children of Israel "and most of the adults" erect their golden idol in the shape of a calf. Again, this song does not presume to stand in judgment of others, but is rather an amber light. It cautions just how easy it is for even ourselves to be swayed by the distant sound of a cash register going off in our hearts. "I too was hypnotized," Taylor writes, "the last time I uttered those three little words: 'I deserve better!" This is followed by a thirty-second intermission and act three, an instrumental guitar, strings and drum rock-out which wraps up the album with authority.

Taylor's label at the time was Warner Brothers, which allowed him to pop the image of Bugs Bunny on the promo "Lament ..." CD cover. This disc, released to radio stations, features rock single "The Lament Of Desmond R.G. Underwood-Frederick IV" along with Adult Contemporary single "Jesus Is For Losers". Also included are twenty so-called "Squintlets", Taylor's director's commentary, as it were. With the exceptions of "Jesus Is For Losers" and "Easy Listening", Taylor discusses his inspiration and ideas behind each Squint track.

Besides a live album two years later and a couple of compilation appearances, Squint remains Steve Taylor's final musical output. Working more in the medium of film since then, Taylor could hardly have chosen a more courageous album to go out on. Unloading unabashedly on an egomaniacal world where every selfish decision compounds the hurt and suffering of others, and in no way exempting his own culpability, this album points to our need for something bigger than ourselves for hope and redemption.

Squint (album): 88/100.

Early morning rain

These Were - The Earlies (2005)

The Earlies are a half-American and half-British band. They borrow freely and effectively from musical antecedents on both sides of the Atlantic while crafting this blissful and above-all reassuring debut album. These Were The Earlies is at times orchestral and electronic, psychedelic and poppy, remaining at all times absorbing.

"In The Beginning", (80/100), is a good place to start. This is just a short prologue, as it were. In its less than thirty seconds, though, the album's major motif, "Mother Mary and the morning wonder, take me home," is introduced, while the orchestra, in essence, warms up. A choir of chirping birds joins in, and to lend credibility to the ostentatious tone of the biblical title, 1 Thessalonians 4:18 is quoted.

And what words shall then comfort the tormented soul? The next song is titled, "One Of Us Is Dead", (86). The singer of this song reads those words on the t-shirt of a passerby, and then later in a newspaper, which understandably starts him ruminating. The reflective mood is carried very casually by a gentle synth and a subtle drum loop. The song is chill, not like a corpse, but as one so enraptured as to have possibly missed the occurrence of his own death. Of course, the death lottery is only a win to one who believes something good is coming after. The album goes quickly from beginning to end, sampling a sermon on Revelation 21:5 in a reverb-drunk bridge: "I am making everything new."

While "One Of Us" evokes the Beatles' "A Day In The Life" (1967), the next track, "Wayward Song", (88), is performed with a wink and a nod to Kansas. "Wayward son, you've lost your head again," the singer confides with encouragement: "you've got to carry on." The song describes the internal toil that guilt wreaks, especially when falling short of one's own standards. Like "Carry On Wayward Son" from Kansas' Leftoverture (1976), lyrics such as "take a load off your weary head" are offered as a source of invigoration to one in superego burnout. The Earlies song employs liberal use of strings, woodwinds, and a nice piano run.

The whimsical instrumental, "Slow Man's Dream", (83), is aptly titled for its dozy ambience. A sparse synth intro heralds flute and even jingle bell accompaniment. Halfway through, the song's pace and tone pick up a little as piano enters with cello. "25 Easy Pieces", (88), (http://www.mediafire.com/?kutkj1x91gg6qmg), sounds like a slow motion tribal chant, perhaps even processed backwards. The percussion flitters almost like insects about the mechanical "gears" and electronic guts of this song, while the bells brought in to wind this one down are absolutely luminous.

The album's magnum opus may well be "Morning Wonder", (97), (http://www.mediafire.com/?t85068d53m096dq). The first two minutes and twenty seconds develop a propulsive engine, ever ascending via narcotic guitar riff and hypnotic synthy swoops before the "Mother Mary" line makes its striking return. Not long on lyrics, the song is a call-and-answer of the soul, the "take me home" prayer served by the "It's alright, my baby" response. The music is vivid, each sound alive and absolutely enthralling, attaining another height at 3:30, reaching one more at 4:17.

"The Devil's Country", (92), is a counterpoint of "Morning Wonder". Equally vivid, the comforting calm of "Morning" is traded here for turbulent, yet intriguing danger. The other side of that coin is one ravaged by brash, heavy brass and sulphuric-squeaky saxophone. A queasy, discordant chorus feels like it's melting off the record's edge. Seeking shelter, the Earlies signal another British classic rock bastion with the first verse's "like the stones on parade, your marchin' time's just a shot away."

Perhaps there is even a third side to that coin. The winds recede to start "Song For #3", (80), fitting for what amounts to a lullaby. Invoking another call and answer, the soothing female replies in the second verse just might subdue a fevered listener into a fetal position. The bridge, with all the warmth and sound of a Charlie Brown special, lyrically intones the Fab Four, "When will they get back to where they once belonged?", while the chorus, "How long will we sing this song?", calls to mind U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" (1983).

Next, "Lows", (84), are, of course, the natural result of highs. This instrumental is as serene and composed as anything else on the album, though, perhaps suggesting the lows and highs of life are easier to handle with a mellow balance.

The tempo is raised slightly on "Bring It Back Again", (88), which forgoes the classic rock callouts, at least momentarily. This time Francis Scott Key gets the nod, with "Oh, can you see by the early light?" bestowing an anthemic weight upon the track. A nice pat on the Earlies' own back follows shortly, with "I am lost in a slow man's dream." There is some of the intrinsic momentum that "Morning Wonder" earlier exhibited, though muted here a little. Along with some bells and the rain, the singer of this song wants his heart back.

Finally, "Dead Birds", (86), allows "Mother Mary" her ultimate advent. Extrapolating the oft-repeated line's last "home" into an orchestral onslaught that feels like it should go on longer nearly plunges the album into chaotic unravelling. It gathers itself together, however, for one final verse and the album is afforded ending with the same line it opened with.

Surprisingly coherent for what essentially amounts to a collection of songs released on earlier singles and EPs, These Were provides plenty of neural stimulation, allowing one to ponder the great mysteries or simply veg on the sleek-cast tunes. With several references to eyes and sight, the Earlies conceive an album projecting its vision through a glass darkly and sincerely.

These Were (album): 86/100.

Flowing like a river to the sea

Time Takes Time - Ringo Starr (1992)

It was the first studio album in nine years from the much maligned Richard Starkey, otherwise known as the former drummer for some Liverpool moptop band. Dropped by Polydor/Atlantic after sharply declining sales in the late '70s, Starr managed only one album with RCA, 1981's Stop And Smell The Roses, before suffering the same fate. Little interest in its Joe Walsh-produced follow-up, Old Wave (1983), prevented that LP's release in both the US and the UK.

A follow-up to Old Wave was begun in 1987 with producer "Chips" Moman in Memphis. Fourteen tracks were allegedly laid down, with appearances from Eric Clapton, Carl Perkins, Dave Edmunds and Bob Dylan. Disillusioned with the results and fading into alcoholic haze, Starr pulled the plug on the project.

Time Takes Time, then, marks Ringo's musical and sober return to form. Breaking from the past affords Starr to start from scratch. Armed with a renewed sense of positivity, the songs presented here are imbued with a long-absent passion. Shedding the dregs of the past allows one to see more clearly the riches there. Thus, while celebrating a victorious present and anticipating a bright future, Time's tunes are still pleasantly tinged with a late-60s pop sensibility.

It would seem Starr himself was elated to finally get the monkey off his back. "Weight Of The World", (85/100), the album's upbeat opening track and lead single, suggests there is a ton of junk in everybody's rearview mirror. Some of it is there by one's own indiscretions, some of it by those of others. Keeping a tight grasp on old pain is an impossible task, carrying it around along the lines of Atlas or Sisyphus is no way to live. Looking firmly forward, Starr realizes, "You either kiss the future or the past goodbye."

"Start swinging," Ringo quips to begin the next track, "Don't Know A Thing About Love", (83). A loose tempo and tight background harmonies from Jellyfish's Roger Manning and Andy Sturmer and the Knack's Doug Fieger and Berton Averre undeniably make this an ideal tune for bopping and swaying. Juxtaposing the amazing technological advances and scientific accomplishments of humankind with the void of love that seems to be left in their wake, the song is co-written by original Heartbreakers drummer Stan Lynch along with Richard Feldman, who co-wrote "Promises" for Eric Clapton in 1978. These first two tracks are both produced by Don Was and feature keyboards from Heartbreaker Benmont Tench and artful guitar by super-sessionist Mark Goldenberg, all of whom Ringo dutifully thanks at the song's conclusion.

"Don't Go Where The Road Don't Go", (88), is one of three tracks Starr co-wrote for Time, each with art-rocker Johnny Warman, and this one also with former Rod Stewart-heyday writer/guitarist Gary Grainger. Electric Light Orchestra conductor/Traveling Wilbury Jeff Lynne steps into the production booth for this song, presumably in those rare moments he is not in the actual studio laying down guitar, bass, keys and background vocals for it. Wisely taking his "with a little help from ..." to extremes, Ringo also calls in George Harrison's favourite saxophonist Jim Horn and cellist extraordinaire, Suzie Katayama, with a slew of credits dating back to Earth, Wind & Fire's Powerlight (1983) and Prince And The Revolution's Purple Rain (1984), to contribute their respective talents to this rousing rocker. Ringo reiterates the need to leave disappointment behind, referencing his own "It Don't Come Easy" (1971).

Peter And Gordon singer/guitarist Peter Asher produces "Golden Blunders", (86), Ringo's faithful cover of the Posies single from Dear 23 (1990). If anything, perhaps this version is just slightly more restrained, but Ringo's drumming is excellent and his accent works wonderfully for the lyrics admonishing rushing into a loveless marriage. Asher also supplies tambourine and joins the background choir, as does Andrew Gold, of 1978's "Thank You For Being A Friend" fame, whose guitar solo at 1:38 confers a gentle energy to the song.

"All In The Name Of Love", (76), is a fairly standard glove-dove-love song but is notable for being Mark Hudson's first appearance on a Ringo album. Providing some percussion and background vocals here, Hudson would go on to be a major collaborator on Ringo's next four studio albums, writing, producing and playing most of the material from Vertical Man (1998) until a falling out during the Liverpool 8 (2008) sessions. Written by Jerry Lynn Williams, who played guitar with a young Jimi Hendrix for Little Richard as a youngster, and later wrote songs for blues legends like Clapton, B.B. King and Stevie Ray and Jimmie Vaughan, "All" is the first of two Phil Ramone-produced tracks on Time.

Johnny Warman signed with Starr's Ring O' Records label in 1977, managing a European-only 7" and one album, Hour Glass, released only in Germany, before its bankruptcy the next year. Obviously staying in touch, the second Starkey/Warman effort on Time is "After All These Years", (85). Lynne delivers a '50s feel in producing this track, from his piano hammering to his spot-on Chuck Berry guitar impersonation. There is a sense, then, of pressing on in the face of lost innocence in this happy song, mostly concerned with "dancing ... on a Saturday night" and "rocking all over the world."

The Jellyfish return on "I Don't Believe You", (86). Written by Sturmer and Manning, appropriating glorious Beatlesque chord progressions, harmonies, handclaps and even a title full of personal pronouns, this might be the closest cousin to an early Fab Four track on the album. The song, despite evincing the frustration of a guy sick of being lied to, still preserves the celebratory feeling of the album under Don Was' production. Tench returns behind the piano and organ, while Storyville's David Grissom drops by on acoustic guitar. Though never officially released on a Jellyfish album, a demo of this track does appear on the Fan Club rarities boxset (2002).

Phil Ramone's second production credit is on the third Starkey/Warman composition, the socially conscious but respectfully complex "Runaways", (90), (http://www.mediafire.com/?up8vb6c61m8ldzv). This song is quite a departure from what might be considered the usual Ringo fare. There is no chummy goofiness, no aggrandized self-referentializing, no easy answers given. Invoking the dangerous air of solitude it describes, "Runaways" is indeed a sober moment on a rather cheerful CD, but still in no way oppressive. Super-sessionist Michael Thompson accompanies former Steely Dan member and Doobie Brother Jeff "Skunk" Baxter on guitar, while Harry Nilsson joins the chorus of back-up vocalists in one of his final recordings before his untimely death.

The incontrovertible goodvibes are back "In A Heartbeat", (88), (http://www.mediafire.com/?mnmffsxipm8xgmp). This can be mostly attributed to the awesome "doot-doot-doot" of none other than Beach Boy Brian Wilson, a guy who knows a thing or two about creative, euphoric background harmony. The Dianne Warren-penned song is a self-described cloud chaser, lavishing true love on a lucky recipient, a too-rare security by way of an equally touching and catchy "I'll be there" no matter what vow.

That could be a very strong ending for Time right there. Ringo, however, pulls out one more, slightly harder, a little more aggressive, which actually effectively brings the album to an even more satisfying finish. Producing both, Don Was brings strings to the album's energetic closer, "What Goes Around", (88), giving it a distinct but never less enchanting feel. Once again taking encouragement from an unusual source, literally digging it from the ashes of failure, Ringo and his crew, including Sturmer, Manning and Gold, recite the famous karmic maxim that everybody eventually gets what they deserve. Whether or not there is any evidence of that in the actual world, this song is confident in its determined zeal.

The Japanese edition of Time also features Ringo's straightforward take on the Otis Blackwell/Elvis Presley hit, "Don't Be Cruel". Produced by Lynne, it also ended up as a b-side on the "Weight Of The World" cd-single. The b-side of the German "Don't Go Where The Road Don't Go" single is "Everybody Wins", co-written by Ringo with Warman and produced by Asher. It was re-recorded in 2010 under its proper title, "Everyone Wins" for Y Not.

Despite the four-headed producer beast, Time Takes Time maintains a sense of cohesion. It sounds good, feels good and it's also good to have a Ringo album where he is the sole drummer. Saturating the market over the last dozen years with fluctuating solo records and an endless string of live albums with diminishing All-Starr bands has obscured the fact that there is life in Ringo Starr's catalogue. It is no waste to take time, yes, to smell the roses, and to hear Ringo at his best.

Time Takes Time (album): 85/100.