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 The
Major Lift
By
John Brodeur
If
there’s one thing the major record labels do well to serve
the proverbial bottom line, it’s churn out “new” product by
the tried-and-true warhorses. Remaster, remix, repackage,
and so forth. Who needs new ideas when the old ones still
generate profit? So one can only imagine the collective cha-ching
sound made by Sony Music suits when they were given the news
of an unreleased album from the godfather of psychedelic rock,
Jimi Hendrix. Valleys of Neptune is being touted
as a pretty big deal, naturally: It’s a collection of 12 previously
unreleased studio recordings, made in New York and London
in 1967 and ’69, mostly featuring the original Experience
lineup of Mitch Mitchell and Noel Redding. (Redding’s replacement,
Billy Cox, appears on three tracks.) The release should spark
new interest in the man widely regarded as the greatest rock
guitarist of all time. If nothing else, it gets him back on
the cover of Rolling Stone. (The music press and the
music industry at least have one thing in common—they both
know Hendrix moves units.)
But is Valleys any good? I’ll put it this way: If this
is your first time hearing the Jimi Hendrix Experience, you’ll
almost certainly want to hear more. There are moments here
that approach greatness: an instrumental jam on Cream’s “Sunshine
of Your Love”; Mitchell’s full-on drum solo on “Fire”; Jimi’s
sing-along solo on “Hear My Train A-Comin’.” But, honestly?
If you’ve spent any time at all with the catalog, you’ll realize
these are generally inferior takes of stuff you’ve heard a
million times before. Right from the opening “Stone Free,”
a certain lack of electricity is notable—most of the versions
here pale in comparison to their previously released counterparts.
It’s not quite a barrel-scraper, but the omnipresent amp hiss
on “Red House” proves the point: This is collection of rehearsal
tapes and studio seconds that only truly belongs in the collection
of a Hendrix completist.
 This
is just the beginning of an excavation series that will see
the Hendrix tape closets raided further in the coming months
and years. But along with that comes a series of reissues
that should be the real focal point. Axis: Bold as Love
is the first of the catalog titles to get the treatment. Unlike
the aforementioned mish-mash, this thing is the real deal.
The sound quality is superb, the package is gorgeous, and
the accompanying DVD documentary, featuring studio engineer
Eddie Kramer, is well worth watching. Take another listen
to “Spanish Castle Magic” and “Little Wing” before even giving
Valleys of Neptune a second thought.
From a lost album by a rock pioneer to an artist of nearly
the same vintage, still quietly plugging along: Peter Wolf,
voice of the J. Geils Band, is back this week with his seventh
solo record, Midnight Souvenirs. The 64-year-old rocker
teamed up with several hitmaking cowriters for his first album
in eight years, and while the character is still there (he
still has that inimitable way of talk-singing) his accuracy
isn’t what it used to be. He throws himself into notes and
dives down through melodies like he’s just trying to get to
the other side. These weaknesses are put into stark relief
on the album’s duets: Matched against the pitch- perfect Shelby
Lynne or Neko Case, Wolf sounds haggard; he’s no better alongside
Merle Haggard, who shares the bill on album-closer
“It’s Too Late for Me.” He’s simply not the right singer for
the commercial gloss of some of these songs. As ever, he’s
most in his element on the impossibly cheesy blues-rock numbers
like “Watch Her Move”—a low point for Souvenirs but
a high point for Wolf. Fitting.
 The
music-loving public’s ongoing reconsideration of Hall and
Oates gets a mark in the “win” column with Interpreting
the Masters Volume I: A Tribute to Daryl Hall and John Oates,
the latest from The Bird and the Bee. The third release
from producer-keyboardist Greg Kurstin and singer Inara George
is a total hoot; the duo rightly treat the eight covers (candy-coated
lead single “Heard It on the Radio” is an original track written
in “tribute”) like the gold-standard pop songs they are. George
sings all of Hall’s idiosyncratic ad-libs verbatim (“ooohbutitswildwoooo”),
showing that this is no goof: The duo’s love for the source
material is evident in every note. Your enjoyment of this
record will likely come down to your relationship to Hall
and Oates, but perhaps it shouldn’t: You’ll have “Rich Girl”
and “I Can’t Go for That” stuck in your head for days after
hearing these synthed-out takes, which has nothing to do with
kitsch and everything to do with the fact that they are top-shelf
pop singles.
Top-shelf is a fine way to describe the heartbreak beats on
The Sea, the sophomore release from Corinne Bailey
Rae. Seemingly lost in the shuffle these last few months
but absolutely worth seeking out, this is a terrific record
marked by significant personal loss. It’s a song cycle addressing
the 2008 overdose death of Rae’s husband and its emotional
aftermath, in tones that are dynamic and deeply affecting.
The heaviness is palpable on opener “Are You Here,” where
the fragility in Rae’s voice belies the snappy, crystalline
production (which should itself earn the artist another Grammy
nomination or two). The arrangements and performances, from
the ’60s-garage stylings of “Paper Hearts” to the massive
crescendo of single “I’d Do It All Again,” are uniformly brilliant.
But it’s the singer’s evocatively mournful sigh that makes
The Sea worth your bottom dollar. This is the best
put-away-the-sharp-objects pop record you’re likely to hear
this year.
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