The Gold Standard

Keith Jarrett, Gary Peacock, Jack DeJohnette – Setting Standards: New York Sessions (ECM)

Manfred Eicher’s ECM label is celebrating the 25th anniversary of these pivotal recordings by reissuing them as a boxed set (they were originally released across two years as three separate albums – Standards vol. 1, Standards vol. 2 and Changes). The group had convened before, for Gary Peacock’s 1977 album ‘Tales of Another’ (one of the greatest and least recognised albums of the 1970s), but this was the first occasion they ventured into the great American songbook. Along with Bill Evans, and some would now argue Brad Mehldau, Keith Jarrett’s long-lasting group have helped define the art of trio playing, and continue to draw new lifeblood from the standard repertoire to this day. There is so much colour and texture in Jarrett's playing that the Piano becomes its own orchestra. Given Jarrett’s current musical outlook, this reissue makes a lot of sense. He now performs a mixture of solo concerts and performances with this trio – and has not made a studio recording since The Melody At Night, With You (a work not intended for release, but rather as a gift to his wife, who had supported him throughout a long battle with chronic fatigue). He has completely abandoned formal composition, now claiming that there is no greater art than simply to play. This is a matter for some debate given his standing rests as much on his composing as his improvising, particularly the work for his European quartet in the 1970s. Yet this set re-emphasises the extent to which Jarrett and his colleagues are radical re-inventors of a particularly journeyed wheel.

The first disc is especially strong, and illustrates many of the stylistic hallmarks of this remarkable group. Both Jarrett and Peacock manage to make their instruments sing, Peacock’s bass richly resonating and with even Jarrett’s more complicated lines rooted in melody and feeling. The rewarding version of ‘All The Things You Are’, with the trio locked tight in an intricate but scintillating groove, suggests how this group find form and content liberating rather than restrictive, with a musical chemistry that manages to break expectations and conventions. The lively take on ‘The Masquerade Is Over’ suggests that DeJohnette can swing as well as he can provide muscular, swashbuckling cymbal work. Even better is ‘God Bless The Child’, one of the most fascinating and exciting recorded versions of this well-known composition, which is tinged with gospel fervour and rhythmic invention, whilst somehow still anchored in a powerfully simple idea. Jarrett is at his most percussive in his approach to the piano here. It sustains a subtlety and intrigue, with a carefully controlled dynamic range, for over fifteen minutes. It’s a piece of music I could listen to hundreds of times and from which I can always intimate new lessons and value.

All three musicians make powerful and compelling individual contributions but they always serve the greater purpose of the group dynamic. Particularly captivating in this regard is Jack De Johnette’s varying accompaniment to the contrasting solos of Jarrett and Peacock on the wide-ranging ‘So Tender’. His underpinning of Jarrett’s solo is insistent and fiery, drawing attacking sounds and emphasising the toms, but he immediately moves to something more delicate and playful to support Peacock’s lyrical bass solo. It helps the performance to capture a multiplicity of moods with all the tenderness the title demands. Similarly, there’s an appropriate degree of mystery and intrigue in his brush strokes on ‘Moon and Sand’.

What is particularly remarkable about these recordings is that, amidst the peerless collective extrapolation and improvisation, the original beating heart of these tunes remains very much intact. Jarrett frequently elaborates and extends the themes, or amends the harmony, but he never veers too far from the memorable templates. These pieces of music form a standard repertoire precisely because of the emotion and feeling contained within them, and because they contain simple, clearly stated ideas that both musicians and non-musicians alike can appreciate. Perhaps it’s ‘Never Let Me Go’, with its curious contrast of dark melancholy and lingering romanticism, the real highlight of the second disc, which most clearly demonstrates how this group can take the essence of a theme and use it as the starting point for the most exploratory of journeys. Although it is wordless, it paints a vivid picture of the complex combination of commitment and possessiveness in human relationships.

The third disc, originally released as ‘Changes’ demonstrates the group’s other side, that of collective free improvisation. Jarrett has talked of attempting to start his solo concerts with a completely blank slate, and although the two parts of ‘Flying’ are credited to him as a composer, it’s clear that it is really a thirty minute improvised performance. The first part is lyrical and broad, based around a simple pedal and featuring subtle and calm exposition. The second is tighter and groovier, with a dexterous and passionate drum solo. Given that these were recorded at the same sessions, it’s clear that they still belong in this set – as the standard material evidently provided the springboard for the spontaneity and creativity of these recordings. There's still plenty of order and logic to this material, clearly influenced by the relationship between form and inspiration the group found in the standard repertoire. It's a far cry from the fiery abandoning of all convention favoured by Evan Parker or Ornette Coleman (with whom De Johnette has also played), but it is every bit as charismatic and innovative.

It’s also worth recognising that all this material came as the result of recordings taking place over a couple of days. As good as Radiohead’s ‘In Rainbows’ is – one has to wonder whether it’s worth slaving over a brief collection of songs for four years when something as profound and magical as this can be crafted so quickly given the right conditions. Even in the jazz world, which values antique methods of live studio recording and the principles of spontaneity and one-off achievements, it’s hard to think of a younger contemporary musician working at Jarrett’s Herculean pace.

Jarrett is clearly a very difficult human being – extremely self-righteous, occasionally pompous, unrepentantly single-minded and completely driven towards original creativity. Yet he has crucial qualities too – an open mind towards broad ideas and contexts for his work. He has argued that, for him, ‘music is the end result of a process that has nothing to do with music’ – a process that has as much to do with life experience, philosophy, literature and personal outlook as it does with musical influences. With nearly 70 recordings to his name, Jarrett’s contribution to the development of the jazz language has been immense. It’s fascinating now to see how his playing has changed over time, and to observe just how pivotal these recordings were in his career. In the Mike Dibbs/Ian Carr documentary film ‘The Art of Improvisation’, Jarrett states that ‘the more experience a person has, the more simplicity is profound…but timing is the complex part of simplicity’. This set contains simplicity and complexity in equal measure, and timing may well be both its vitality and charm – the connection between these three musicians is instinctive and completely priceless. All three seem to know exactly what to play and exactly when to play it. Most importantly, they seem to still be learning something new whenever they convene.

Unsatisfactory Overview

Morrissey - Greatest Hits

The Press Release for this compilation (the first release under Morrissey’s new contract with Decca) boldly states that ‘Greatest Hits spans Morrissey’s twenty year career as a solo artist’. In a sense, it’s not a lie – there are two tracks from solo debut ‘Viva Hate’ and plenty from his most recent album ‘Ringleader of The Tormentors’, in addition to the obligatory two brand new tracks. What this doesn’t quite reveal though is the album’s considerable bias in favour of recent material – all the singles from ‘You Are The Quarry’ and ‘Ringleader…’ are present, the bulk of them sequenced next to each other in the first half of the album. The ‘Ringleader…’ singles particularly emphasise the more generic, plodding rock into which Morrissey’s group can sometimes lapse. With only one disc, and just fifteen tracks, this leaves very little space to explore the rest of Morrissey’s patchy, but frequently inspired solo catalogue.

Perhaps it’s arguable that his earlier career has been compiled and collected before – with World of Morrissey and The Best of Morrissey, although neither of these compilations were entirely comprehensive either. I suspect that the real reasons for the poor selection are rather more prosaic – it’s likely that Decca got a good deal from Sanctuary on the licensing for the recent singles, but buying up the bulk of the back catalogue from a variety of other labels would have proved too costly. The early tracks they have opted for seem to have been chosen purely on the basis of chart position – how else to explain the inclusion of ‘Last Of The Famous International Playboys’ over ‘Piccadilly Palare’ or ‘November Spawned A Monster’?

What a tremendous shame this is – as this was a golden opportunity for a two disc, comprehensive overview of Morrissey’s solo work. Most disappointing is the compilation’s total failure to rehabilitate the reputation of the more than adequate albums Morrissey released during his supposed ‘wilderness years’. There is nothing at all from either ‘Southpaw Grammar’ or ‘Maladjusted’ – both ‘The Boy Racer’ and ‘Satan Rejected My Soul’ were punchy, infectious singles worthy of reappraisal. ‘Maladjusted’ also contained the quite wonderful ‘Trouble Loves Me’, a swooning ballad and favourite of recent live sets. That this selection also completely passes by ‘Your Arsenal’ and ‘Kill Uncle’ is more surprising – the latter is admittedly Moz’s least successful album, but the former was a critical and commercial success.

It doesn’t help that Moz has not always been entirely shrewd with his choice of singles. Many of the finest tracks on his best works (this is particularly true of 1994’s exquisite ‘Vauxhall and I’) have been album tracks. So, there’s no room for, say, ‘Now My Heart Is Full’, ‘Reader Meet Author’ or even ‘The National Front Disco’ (an excellent song which, unlike the nasty ‘Bengali In Platforms’, does withstand the allegations of racism). Similarly, who wouldn’t take the audacious and ambitious ‘Dear God, Please Help Me’ or ‘At Last I Am Born’ over any of the singles from ‘Ringleader…’ (with the exception of ‘You Have Killed Me’, which has one of his most memorable melodies).

On the plus side, ‘Suedehead’ and ‘Everyday Is Like Sunday’ still sound fantastic in spite of their 80s production values, and the two new tracks return Morrissey to the punchy, muscular production of Jerry Finn. ‘All You Need Is Me’ is familiarly self-aggrandising, but the self-mocking ‘That’s How People Grow Up’ makes grim fun of a succession of unrequited love affairs and develops the more confessional side of Morrissey’s work..It’s also worth remembering that ‘…Quarry’ was a bold comeback statement – ‘Irish Blood, English Heart’ and ‘The First of The Gang To Die’ are both insistent and pugnacious.

Anyone who already owns ‘…Quarry’ and ‘Ringleader…’ is unlikely to invest either time or money in this release, possibly downloading whatever they are missing in isolation. It’s hard to see what purpose this disc fulfils other than biding time before Decca drop the new Morrissey album in the Autumn, and giving him something to promote with his week of shows at London’s Roundhouse (not that mere self-promotion isn’t enough, as his belligerent litigation against the NME currently suggests). Hopefully the sets for these shows will venture further away from his most recent output.

Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are DEVOTees

Devo Live at Jarvis Cocker’s Meltdown, June 19th 2007

The newly refurbished Royal Festival Hall doesn’t exactly look transformed, although it has to be noted that the seats are now considerably more comfortable. It’s a great venue for classical music, folk and jazz, but a rather staid atmosphere for many of the acts Jarvis Cocker has selected for Meltdown. It’s interesting to note just how many of these artists are recently reformed or coaxed out of semi-retirement. There’s Iggy and the Stooges, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Melanie, Roky Erikson and, of course, Akron, Ohio’s greatest cultural export, art-rockers Devo, performing in the UK for the first time in seventeen years.

Devo are one of a small selection of bands that have influenced my life from the very formative years. I remember a tape put together for me by a rebellious childminder, which included a couple of David Bowie’s 80s moments, plus the first half of Devo’s Brian Eno-produced debut LP ‘Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo’. I’m pretty sure I hadn’t the first idea about the band’s concept of De-Evolution then, but I found the chanting choruses, angular rhythms and infectious hooks highly exciting. So, seeing the band live for the first time ought to have been a revelatory experience – uniting that rush of childhood enthusiasm with my later admiration for their conceptual wackiness.

In many ways, the show doesn’t disappoint. The band put on an absolutely fantastic show, beginning with an absolutely hilarious intro film which begins ‘So, you’ve decided to see a Devo performance…a wise decision…’ The band then leap to the stage in their customary yellow jumpsuits and ‘energy domes’ (staggering that so many purchased them for £18 from the merchandise stall when they are essentially just adapted plastic plantpots). They may look a great deal older (and considerably fatter in the case of Mark Mothersbaugh), but they still have plenty of energy, as the thunderous opening rendition of ‘That’s Good’ amply demonstrates. There’s plenty of instrument swapping throughout, with Mark Mothersbaugh frequently running across the stage to play out one of their trademark synth riffs before running back to centre stage again. The lighting is intelligently synchronised and the crowd are rapturous throughout, gamely trying to dance to their many songs with unexpected switches of time signature.

I make the last point not to sound like a muso, but rather to highlight that Devo had a rare rhythmic invention mostly lacking in their post-punk peers. As I recall, even on their more overtly produced 80s albums, the drums sounded motorik, but dry. It may have been that the Festival Hall has acoustics unfavourable to a big rock band, but they sounded imposing and boomy here, with far too much stadium reverb applied. As a result, the drums (played ambidexterously but unsubtly), all too frequently predominated in the mix, a problem not helped by the lack of definition in the mostly overdriven guitars. It sounded a little odd to hear Devo’s jerky, mostly weird songs refashioned, whether intentionally or not, as power rock assaults. Still, the vocals sound great, and the unusually responsive London crowd more than compensate for these niggles.

It would also be churlish to complain about the setlist, which is unashamedly nostalgic (there’s no new material yet) and strikes a shrewd balance between obvious favourites like ‘Girl U Want’, ‘Whip It’ and ‘Joko Homo’ and slightly less predictable selections like ‘Secret Agent Man’, ‘Mr. DNA’ and ‘Wiggly World’. The crowd participation reached its peak with the call and response coda to ‘Jocko Homo’, by which point the band had disrobed from their jumpsuits to reveal spectacularly tasteless black hockey outfits, complete with bizarre kneepads.

It’s all tremendous fun, with Mothersbaugh particularly in great voice. The encore is brilliant, with the band not only replicating the segue between ‘Gut Feeling’ and the outrageous ‘Slap Your Mammy Down’ but Mothersbaugh also rejuvenating his Booji Boy alter ego, complete with costume, for ‘Beautiful World’. Is it any wonder that this is the same man who composed the Rugrats theme tune?

An additional pleasure involved catching the post-concert foyer performance from Bishi, who has now assembled an excellent band featuring Zongamin, Matthew Glamorre, Fidel Villeneuve from the Applicants, an excellent tabla player and my musical co-conspirator Brendan Pickett. It was a sadly brief set, but Bishi’s voice, and gold lame costume, were sublime.

The Genius Of Warren Zevon

The three Rhino CD reissues of Warren Zevon albums released this week seem to have been in the pipeline for ages and ages. It also seems that Zevon reissues are like buses – you wait a couple of years for them, and then they all come together (in May, Artemis, the label for which Zevon recorded his last three albums are putting together a 2CD compilation of pre-1976 material for which they’ve somehow managed to secure the rights). Given that these reissues have taken so long to prepare, it’s a shame that they’re not more lavish – cheap jewel cases, and a mere four additional tracks (including relatively unnecessary alternate takes) on each CD. I suspect there must have been more material on the cutting room floor. Still, at £6.99 each, they’re certainly a snip, and more than worth the investment, especially given the entertaining and incisive inlay notes that come with all three. ‘Excitable Boy’ (actually Zevon’s third album, but commonly referred to as his second following his disownment of ‘Wanted Dead Or Alive’) will be familiar as Zevon’s biggest seller and home to his only sizeable hit in ‘Werewolves of London’. 1980’s live album ‘Stand In The Fire’ and 1982’s ‘The Envoy’ have long been considered holy grails among Zevon fans, so long have they been left criminally unavailable. Both now appear on CD for the first time.

It might be accepted wisdom, but ‘Excitable Boy’ probably remained Zevon’s creative high watermark. Although he recaptured some magic with ‘Sentimental Hygiene’, his 1987 collaboration with REM, and the late albums are excellent, this is as fine a collection of songs as he produced. Whilst some of the 80s material is understandably marred by unpleasant synthesisers and pounding drum sounds, Jackson Browne and Waddy Wachtel’s production here is sensitive, naturalistic and unobtrusive. The songs and their remarkable arrangements are allowed to breathe, the playing throughout is masterful, and the superb backing vocals from seasoned professional Jennifer Warnes and The Gentlemen Singers resound brilliantly.

The variety and sheer invention of Zevon’s vision is at its fullest expression on this album. Zevon recognised the poetic qualities of Bob Dylan, Paul Simon et al, but noted that America did not yet have the John Updike or Norman Mailer of songwriting. It is the literate quality of Zevon’s writing that stands out, a preoccupation he would continue through collaborations with his author friends Carl Hiaasen and Hunter S. Thompson. So, we get the title track, a marvellous satire on Attention Defecit Disorder before the term even existed; the majestic and bizarre ‘Roland The Headless Thompson Gunner’, a ghost story of Congo mercenaries co-written with David Lindell, himself an ex-mercenary and the utterly hilarious feckless criminal on the run story of ‘Lawyers Guns and Money’. The opener ‘Johnny Strikes Up The Band’ is one of many great songs Zevon wrote about the art of rock and roll itself, a surprisingly difficult subject for a songwriter to approach without sounding ham-fisted or self-referential.

At the heart of the album is the peculiar juxtaposition of ‘Werewolves of London’ (built around an insistent and repetitive descending chord sequence) and ‘Accidentally Like A Martyr’. The latter, with its seemingly nonsensical title, is one of the most extraordinary ballads in pop history, the technical mastery of its harmony and arrangement betraying Zevon’s classical training at the home of Igor Stravinsky. It is a song that dares to suggest that time in fact does not heal (‘the hurt gets worse and the heart gets harder’) and Bob Dylan took the line ‘Time Out Of Mind’ for the title of his deeply solipsistic and moving 1997 album. ‘Werewolves…’ effectively made Zevon a one-hit wonder, but it’s worth recognising what a funny and inventive song it is, as fine a portrait of a predatory ladiesman as has been written and full of great lines (‘I’d like to meet his tailor!’).

In fact, ‘Werewolves..’ won a BBC Radio 2 vote for greatest opening line in rock a couple of years ago (I’m sure Chinatown restaurant Lee Ho Fuk’s were equally grateful for the plug), but I wonder whether ‘Lawyers, Guns and Money’ (perhaps my favourite Zevon song) might actually surpass it. It’s a tragicomic confessional, told with ribald glee (‘I went home with a waitress, the way I always do/How was I to know that she was with the Russians too?’). Its central plea (‘send lawyers, guns and money/Dad, get me out of this’) never fails to raise a wry smile. That’s before we get to the playful ending, with its masterful breaks (dig the way Zevon grunts ‘huh!’) and superb guitar line.

Of the bonus tracks, the alternate take of ‘Werewolves…’ is interesting only to the most completist of fans, given that it buries the vocal too deeply in the mix and features some unnecessarily busy playing from the rhythm section that smothers the song. They definitely went with the right take in the end. There are two reversions of songs from ‘Wanted Dead Or Alive’ – the solo piano version of ‘Tule’s Blues’, an exceptionally moving break-up song, is powerful and effective, and Zevon’s own string arrangement for ‘Frozen Notes’ is subtle and desolate. The core of Zevon’s genius is contained succinctly within the mere 50 seconds of ‘I Need a Truck’, two verses of a reworked blues delivered accappela. The lyric is masterful, referencing Zevon’s hard-drinking and hell-raising ways (he nearly killed himself early in his career, falling off a stage when drunk) – ‘I need a truck to haul my guns to town/I need a truck to haul my bad thoughts around/I need a truck to haul my Percodan and gin/And I need a truck to haul all my trucks in’ – as deceptively simple and intelligent a verse as any songwriter has written.

The most well-known songs from ‘The Envoy’ are musically less subtle, and betray the mutual appreciation society building between Zevon and Bruce Springsteen (Springsteen is credited as co-writer for ‘Jeannie Needs A Shooter’, which featured on Zevon’s superbly titled 1980 album ‘Bad Luck Streak at Dancing School’). Interestingly, much of ‘The Envoy’ captured that big, behemoth ‘Born in the USA’ sound before Springsteen even got there. ‘Ain’t That Pretty At All’ and ‘Looking For The Next Best Thing’ are intelligent songs perhaps slightly undermined by their production values, whilst the pounding approach works much more successfully for the fascinating title track, perhaps the most startling example of Zevon’s ironic approach to world politics.

Zevon himself may well have appreciated the playful irony that the album is at its most effective when at its least bombastic. The closing ‘Never Too Late For Love’ boldly risks descending into cliché, but ends up more inspiring than sentimental (‘You say you’re tired/how I hate to hear you use that word’) and may well have provided the direct reference point for REM’s ‘Everybody Hurts’. ‘The Hula Hula Boys’ is a delightfully mournful ballad, and ‘Jesus Mentioned’, stripped back to just guitar and voice, stands with Gillian Welch’s ‘Elvis Presley Blues’ as one of the best songs about Elvis’ death, his inspirational power and his unshakeable influence. ‘Let Nothing Come Between You’ tempers the synths with a quieter, less intrusive backbeat and some pleasant jangly guitar work.

It may be slightly uneven, but on balance ‘The Envoy’ is a powerful album that maintained Zevon’s wit, wisdom and songwriting invention. The bonus tracks included here are rather less illuminating. ‘Word of Mouth’ is an instrumental and pleasant enough, the cover of ‘Wild Thing’ is ragged and rough, and the alternate take of ‘Let Nothing Come Between You’ is superfluous. The one substantial song is ‘The Risk’, which most clearly demonstrates the influence of Springsteen on Zevon’s work at this time.

The real revelation of this series is ‘Stand In The Fire’, the 1980 live album that captured Zevon over five nights at the Roxy in LA. It’s remarkable for documenting Zevon as a vivid and incendiary entertainer, making playful alterations to his lyrics and delivering most of the vocals in a gutsy and gritty style. Even Zevon’s great friend Jackson Browne apparently expressed surprise at Zevon’s conjecture that ‘if you’re not entertaining, you’re not doing anything’. Browne had always considered Zevon to be too intelligent and too original for mere entertainment. With these shows, Zevon proved that the cerebral and the visceral need not be mutually exclusive. Here, they are entirely complementary.

For his backing band for these shows, Zevon hired a solid rock group that amusingly specialised in Warren Zevon covers. The result is blisteringly intense and rarely subtle, but it’s precisely this bludgeoning quality that gives much of the material its brutal impact. ‘Werewolves of London’ and ‘Lawyers, Guns and Money’ are rendered fresh by being taken and slightly slower, heavier tempos, and there are even a handful of hilarious machine gun fret-tapping guitar solos. ‘I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead’ from the self-titled album becomes an almost Bon Jovi-esque trudge, whilst ‘Mohammed’s Radio’ is rendered with savage passion.

The album is perhaps most interesting for the two tracks that Zevon composed especially for the shows. The title track is another impassioned rock ‘n’ roll testimony, whilst ‘The Sin’ is an elaborate and compelling prose poem with a striking opening (‘The time that you were cruel for cruelty’s sake’), and a complex web of guilt and intrigue.

Throughout, Zevon is riotously inventive. ‘Werewolves of London’ perhaps undergoes the most significant lyrical adjustments, the key line being replaced by the gleeful bellowing of ‘and he’s looking for James Taylor!’. Jackson Browne also gets a mention (‘I saw Jackson Browne walking slow down the evenue…his heart was perfect!’) which raises a cheer. Zevon gets completely wild on ‘Excitable Boy’, even enjoying some kind of barbed Elvis impersonation mid-way through.

Of all three reissues, ‘Stand In The Fire’ is the one most enhanced by its bonus selections. In fact, it’s difficult to comprehend why these were ever omitted from the original tracklisting. The album came accompanied with a Thomas McGuane quotation claiming ‘the dog ate the part we didn’t like’, but in this instance it would appear that the dog was not entirely helpful. There are superbly energetic takes on ‘Johnny Strikes Up The Band’ and ‘Play It All Night Long’, the latter a gloriously deadpan take on Southern country rock (‘Sweet Home Alabama, play that dead band’s song’ rings the chorus, and even nastier is the zesty ‘there ain’t much to country living: sweat, piss, jizz and blood!’). Most significant though are the two concluding tracks played solo at the piano – a vivid, rambling ‘Frank and Jesse James’ and a beautifully forlorn ‘Hasten Down The Wind’, during which he asks for the house lights to be turned up (‘I think I’ve found the ones who are my friends!’, he cries, in reference to the song’s central lyric). These songs not only provide much needed balance, but also a sense of serious finality evaded by the Bo Diddley medley that originally concluded the album on a much more playful note.

If some people find the show’s pre-encore finish (Zevon going down in gunfire and being stretchered offstage), a little incongruous with his literate and cerebral profile, then they are neglecting the man’s sense of humour, which was both zany and profound. When told of his terminal lung cancer in 2002, Zevon claimed he had just one ambition left – to see the next James Bond film (Die Another Day), an ambition he did live to achieve. When asked what his overall plan was for his last months, he responded dryly ‘I’m gonna enjoy every sandwich’. A man that witty and courageous in the face of death richly deserves these fitting tributes and more.