Scroll down for reviews of releases by Doug Powell, The Black Watch amd Kimberley Rew. Click here for reviews of releases by Various Artists: Right to Chews: Bubblegum Classics Revisited, Andrea Perry, The Lackloves, The Paybacks and OK Go.

The Wildweeds
No Good To Cry: The Best Of The Wildweeds

(Confidential)

confidentialrecordings.com

Any time you want to express an opinion of ‘60s music, you have to qualify it. Because you never know when an important reissue will come out that will teach you about another great artist. This disc is a case in point. The Wildweeds were total gassers in their native Connecticut, a simply brilliant blue-eyed soul combo that impressed at every level – great songs, top flight vocals and a swinging, grooving sound. The songs here show that they, as a recording unit, skipped the gritty garage phase that contemporaries The Young Rascals passed through, heading right to blissful R & B.

The lead Weed was none other than "Daddy-O" himself, Big Al Anderson, showing his chops before NRBQ and Nashville songwriting stardom beckoned. He penned the majority of the tunes, including the band's closest brush with national prominence, "No Good to Cry". This single, along with the bulk of this disc, was released nationally on Cadet, a subsidiary of the legendary Chess label. Though the song did big business on the home turf, it couldn't quite break through. It richly deserved to.
A mid-tempo soul tune, the song shows off Anderson's skill for melding an urgent blues vibe with a lighter groove. Anderson's vocals get a B – he's somewhat gritty, but doesn't quite have the oomph that you hear him trying to achieve. He compensated with excellent phrasing – his feeling becomes obvious in how he holds on the words and then lets them go. Hey, not everyone could be Steve Marriot or Stevie Winwood, and Anderson was quite good. The verses have a very Holland-Dozier-Holland feel, with Anderson's stamp coming on the bridge which ratchets up the intensity – only to break down to a mellow coda after the title phrase is invoked. This song alone evidences why The Wildweeds were sensations in the Northeast.

The disc has even more evidence. "Someday Morning" firmly sits within the tradition of ‘recapturing the magic' – a follow-up song that is strongly evocative of the hit. If anything, "Morning" ups the passion of "No Good to Cry" another notch or two. It would be Anderson's most soulful vocal, if he hadn't fronted "I Want You Here", a seething Southern style ballad. This is another tune that exemplifies the compelling tension in a lot of these songs – pretty melodies are contrasted by the fervent soulful energy that simply wants to explode. If so much Southern soul was defined by the conflict between human desires and praise for the Creator, both which lead to rapture, maybe Anderson's songwriting reflects an analogous conflict – the desires of a young man remain the same, but the conflict is more in keeping with a proper polite Connecticut upbringing (or maybe I'm just full of it).

During this era, the band mostly stayed away from the fray of trends. Two stabs at more contemporary stylings yielded varying results. "Sorrow's Anthem" is a clunky bit of folk-rock that aims for social relevance, but is too heavy-handed and bogged down with poor lyrics. "I'm Dreaming" goes for a harder approach with slight psychedelic touches (like the spooky opening choral vocals). The band doesn't seem entirely comfortable trying to be a driving rock band. Nevertheless, the ‘Weeds mastery of R & B grooves carries the day. The passion in the verses gives the more noodly parts foundation and the song still sneaks in a typically melodic passage in a brief middle eight.

While not every song is a winner, there are plenty of delights. There's the bitterjoyful "Happiness is Just an Illusion", with the pessimistic title sentiment (backed by Anderson's lyrics) backed by some of the sunniest white soul you've ever heard – kind of proto-Earth, Wind and Fire. "It Was Fun While it Lasted" lets the vocal take center stage, with sweet string accompaniment swelling to provide extra heft to this break up tune. The most Rascals-like number is mild funk of "I Can't Stand It" -- how did The J. Geils Band miss covering this? "You Know Your Love" melds The Temptations and Ray Charles, while "Where Is Our Love" is a great driving number that should be resurrected for the next Solomon Burke album.

After waxing these sides, the Wildweeds recorded an album of country-rock (something we later heard from Anderson when he joined the ‘Q) before calling it a day. While I don't know if that album would be a letdown from this material, this collection makes a case for having the entire Wildweeds catalog available. In the meantime, enjoy this overdue reissue.

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Doug Powell
The Lost Chord

(Parasol)

parasol.com

Doug Powell has always been more sophisticated than the average pop-rock artist, with his articulate lyrics (that sometimes can be too clever or pedantic), dense arrangements and other complexities. This album is a logical progression from Powell's previous work, as his last full length studio effort, More, showcased his ornate production skills on a bright collection of songs. This disc is a incisive tour-de-force. It's a wee bit less flashy, though it's hardly reserved.

Powell himself, according to the press release, thinks that he is finally coming into his own as an artist. Though I'm sure many of his fans would say he already has, I understand where he's coming from. There's a sense of bravery that comes through on this record, that Powell really has tapped fully into his ability to take the ideas, feelings and sounds in his head and can get them out just the way he wants to on record. The result combines the scope of prime Electric Light Orchestra with a human Todd Rundgren sensibility that has always pervaded Powell's work.
This really comes through on the one-two punch of "A Roar Boring Alice" and "Baby Blue". The former begins in a foreboding manner similar to ‘67-era Beatles and E.L.O. in psychedelic mode. What makes this song so wonderful is that the verse, bridge and chorus work three distinctive memorable melodic ideas into a perfect flow, so the sinister beginning builds up to a blissful (yet scolding) chorus. And the way he comes out of the chorus to couple up with the following verse is so creative. The song never lets up, continuing to take you higher.

"Baby Blue" follows with Powell singing over simple Mellotron accompaniment. The Mellotron part is a constant, which Powell then weaves on additional melodic ideas. Again, Powell is doing a critical character study, noting that Blue is "like Pegasus tied to a plow/you knew you were made to fly/you were just being held down". Yet, Powell concludes that "it all over" for Baby Blue. I'd love to know who inspired this track. This song pulls off the difficult feat of being obviously inspired by the Beatles, without sounding like a mere Beatles variation. In so doing, Powell manages a best of both worlds – evoking the greatest rock band ever while showing off his unique musical and lyrical charms.
The album closing epic ballad "She Walks on Water" evokes something a bit different. Underneath the layers of keyboards (and Powell, who plays everything, manages to make some obvious electronic effects still sound good) and Powell's typically astounding vocals, something about this tune gives me the same feeling as some of Elton John's mid-‘70s stuff. And that's a good thing.

If there's one area where Powell is inconsistent, it's in the lyric department. His words teem with metaphors and imagery. Sometimes the metaphors get mixed or overwrought. Sometimes he is forced to settle for a groaner of a rhyme, like this one from "She Walks on Water": "But it's so impolitic/she is well and she is sick". It rhymes, but what does it mean?

Of course, Powell, at most, commits the occasional artistic misdemeanor while striving to create big music. Songs like "The Palace of a Sigh" and "Cul-De-Sac", the former goosebump inducing, the later a Rundgreny mid-tempo rocker are full of emotion and Powell sings them with gusto. Still, Powell doesn't always go full throttle. "The Lost Chord" is striking beyond compare, with distant haunting guitar squeals and pretty piano – the texture of this mournful song just adds to its excellence.
Now, having a voice that is rangy and powerful and crystalline makes things a bit easier for Powell. But what becomes consistently more impressive about Powell is the passion that he brings to his work. Though these songs are not sung as personal experiences, they obviously mean some to him on the personal level and it's aurally apparent on practically every track. Powell's is on a mission to better himself with each record and he has done it yet again.

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The Black Watch
Jiggery-Pokery

(Stonegarden)

stonegarden.com

I've only picked up The Black Watch story in the last few episodes. Yet I feel pretty comfortable saying that The Black Watch are one of the most certain bands in music, delivering the goods with remarkable consistency. The core of the band, as it has been for years, is John Andrew Fredrick, who writes the songs, sings and plays guitar, and J'anna Jacoby, who provides so much of the essential color in the songs, with her lead guitar, violin, viola and vocal contributions.

The Black Watch are one of the few bands (The Green Pajamas are another that comes to mind) who are keeping the fire burning for good old fashioned literate melodic rock. During the ‘80s, there seemed to be more bands, such as The Reivers and The Go-Betweens, who made music that was lyrically driven and intellectually acute, yet did not skimp on beauty and catchiness. Notably, this is the first Black Watch disc on Stonegarden Records, the home of Smart Brown Handbag, a band who evolved from Pop Art, another kindred spirit of the ‘80s.

Fredrick is a fascinating lyricist. He is capable of literary flights of fantasy, straight forward observations (think Kinks), the language of love – he can even be funny. The title "The Tennis-Playing Poet Roethke Said" either portends humor or pretentiousness, and thankfully it's the former. While Jacoby winds together two stately string parts, the tune lopes in and Fredrick, who sings with academic diction intones: "You go swim after heavy meals/and operate machinery...drink 6 drinks at the local bar/insulting those in the vicinity." Fredrick's semi-serious singing makes this sound funnier than it probably reads, though the chorus is actually a plea for the poor bastard Fredrick is singing about to get his shit together. Sarcastic chamber rock – we need more of this.

Fredrick's anger is more to the point on "Everything is Just a Scam". First, I have to point out what Jacoby brings to the table – she may not write songs, but her violin work alone (and she does so much more than that) not only enhances Fredrick's well-constructed melodies, but very often she either plays an added and/or countermelody. Whether any of this can be pulled off live, I don't know – who cares. Her ability to mesh her string embellishments gives The Black Watch a sound that is dense, yet the sound is not cluttered and is usually quite spacious.
Oh, back to the song. Fredrick, in a state of melancholic angst, ponders life, "somehow now I've noticed everything is just a scam/still I find an ATM, and I bleed it". Despite the pessimistic sentiments, the chorus provides a respite, Fredrick realizing that the alternative to letting the weight of the world crush you is to go after your dreams, and not let life pass you by. This is all done to music that is a folkier variation of mid-‘80s indie British pop like The Smiths and James.

Pat Fish, a/k/a The Jazz Butcher, makes a guest appearance at the mike for two songs. This is a logical collaboration, as Jazz Butcher records also provide their share of intelligent lyrics and artful yet playful rock. "Bathyscope" is a melodic drone, Fish and Fredrick both doing some singing and Jacoby doing adding some beautiful backing vocals. Something about this song reminds me of Pleasure Principle-era Gary Numan in its construction. Fish gets the stage all to himself on the ringing "What is the Color of Happiness?" (another great opening line – "She once lived in Brazil/and so much better still/she was literate") – Fish's vocal style is still the same – like a more weathered and less arch Lloyd Cole, tinged with warmth and whimsy. He really seems having a good time delivering Fredrick's bon mots.

Three other tracks merit your attention. "Mr. Ordinary Man" is a kitchen-sink anthem – Fredrick's description of the fella seems dismissive, and in the chorus Fredrick questions his own dismissiveness – the post-choral interlude is pure loveliness, a delicate oasis in an otherwise intent tune. In a world where bands still released singles, "Lovestruck" would be my pick to click – this song comes the closest to retaining some of the New Order vibe that the band showed off on its previous Christopher Smart EP, so kudos to bassist Scott Taylor for his adept work on this track. The song percolates along and has an awesome instrumental break, Fredrick and Jacoby crunching their guitars and then Jacoby playing a violin part that will just shoot shivers throughout your body. And certainly "Dear Abby" was written before Eppie Lederer's death, but perhaps Fredrick was an Ann Landers fan the way he disses her sister/competitor – actually this biting track is a collection of rants and not just an anti-advice column piece. My anger should sound as good as this does.

Fame and fortune may never be within the grasp of The Black Watch. But high quality and consistency seems to be inherent in their work. They are always worthy of your attention.

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Kimberley Rew
Great Central Revisited

(Bongo Beat)

bongobeat.com

A good time album of music that finds the Soft Boys lead guitarist (I almost typed former, but since they're back together for the moment...) and former mastermind of Katrina and the Waves playing personality filled pub rock that fills the void left by Stiff Records. Four things stand out about Rew: he's an exceptional guitar player, his voice, while not technically a marvel, has just the right shaggy dog charm for his tunes (it's a bit nasal and his accent is similar to colleague Robyn Hitchcock's), and the tunes, by the way, are superb, matched with lyrics that are generally witty and sometimes outright hilarious.

Contrary to that description, however, one of the best tunes on the album drifts into territory closer to Rew's pal Robyn Hitchcock. "Sick of Hearing About Your Drugs" is a winding slice of post-Dylan balladry, with a static organ line enrobed in lead and slide guitar licks. Rew declaims the coverage given to celebrities who tout their triumphs over addiction in contrast to the realities of drugs for normal folks. The music described above is delicate and mournful, rather than the strident styles singers often use to back their complaints, casting the song in the light of empathy for the less fortunate, as opposed to ‘singer as superior social observationist'. Rew is a surprisingly keen social commentator. Rew also gets contemplative on "Screaming Lord Sutch". This is a chronicle and tribute to the late eccentric Brit rocker. Rew hits just the right tone and his emotional vocal alone makes this a terrific recording.

Rew nails the proper ‘50s shuffle rockabilly vibe necessary to make "EC Blues" a fitting tip of the cap to Eddie Cochran. His sweet twangy guitar leads would do Dave Edmunds proud. Rew triumphs on the ringing "English Road", which pulses with a driving rhythm and inspiring guitar melodies that rank with the best of early Tom Petty and latter day Searchers. The rocking energy is devoted to a serious message – let's keep the luster and beauty of the British countryside from falling prey to developers. I wish more artists would marry peppy tunes to sober sentiments. This song is excellent at every level.

Rew takes on another serious topic – well, serious if you're "Philip Larkin". The song lopes like Nick Lowe's "Crackin' Up". Rew tells the tale of the repressed Larkin and in the middle eight, points out: "Sexual intercourse began in 1963/too late for him, but not for you and me". Poor Philip. Even odder is Rew's a cappella "Purple and Orange Stripes", which marries Robyn Hitchcock's "Uncorrected Personality Traits" with The Monkees' cautionary "Zor and Zam" (Robyn joins in on the vocalizing, by the way). The song seems to be some sort of absurdist take on racism...I think.

What I know is that Kimberley Rew has a rock and roll heart and soul, and that provides a great foundation for this album. Even better is that the album is chock full of quirks and detours that make the 13 song journey entertaining and rewarding. This is a timeless record from one of the more underrated figures in rock.

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