BONNIE RAITT: NINE LIVES (1986)
1) No Way To Treat A Lady; 2)
Runnin' Back To Me; 3) Who But A Fool (Thief Into Paradise); 4) Crime Of
Passion; 5) All Day, All Night; 6) Stand Up To The Night; 7) Excited; 8)
Freezin' (For A Little Human Love); 9) True Love Is Hard To Find; 10) Angel.
I find it a little bit funny — and a little
ominous — that the title of this album would ten years later be appropriated by
Aerosmith, because this here is the beginning of the «Aerosmith-ization» of
Bonnie Raitt. Of course, she'd never exactly been a symbol of «artistic
independence» as such, but up to 1986, there was very little evidence for
branding her a «tool of the industry», either. However, in 1983, already in
those early stages of the «adjust-or-perish» period, Warner Bros. showed her
who really is the boss by rejecting a
completed album for lacking commercial potential, and only after two years of
nervous bickering, finally allowed her to put out an alternative, recutting and
rearranging most of the tracks.
Nine
Lives is far from the worst
album I have ever heard (I mean, every time we get exposed to this kind of
stuff, remember Rod Stewart in the Eighties to be brought back to senses), but
it is certainly a record that could be cut by anybody — completely faceless and
robotic even for the standards of Bonnie Raitt, who isn't exactly Ms.
Inimitable Personality herself. It's a big band affair (once again, the number
of people credited in the liner notes is skyrocketing to ridiculous heights),
molded as a very generic, sterilized pop-rock record, heavy on synthesizers,
electronic drums, processed guitar sounds, and corporate songwriting. Revealing
moment: the first song, ʽNo Way To Treat A Ladyʼ, was written by Bryan Adams
and Jim Vallance, and was released in the same year, 1986, by still another
Bonnie — Tyler! And it is fairly hard to decide whose version is more pompous,
overproduced, and deadly dull.
The entire album is full of cringeworthy
moments. Synthesized horns on ʽRunnin' Back To Meʼ, with all these trumpet
players in the studio? Why? Muscular-metal guitar on the steroid power ballad
ʽStand Up To The Nightʼ — who the hell could see Bonnie Raitt competing for
space with Heart and Cher in the Eighties? The simplistic electro-pop groove on
ʽFreezin'ʼ — who the hell could see Bonnie Raitt competing for space with
Prince, or associate her with «music for the body» as such? And then there's
the lyrics disease — as corporate songwriting sinks to new degrees of lowness,
we get lines like "my body is the only place where we meet anymore"
(!!!!!). Good job, Danny Ironstone and Mary Unobsky, whoever and wherever you
may be, for saddling a formerly reputable performer with ʽCrime Of Passionʼ, arguably
one of the most embarrassing entries in her entire catalog.
In an ultimate bout of irony, ʽTrue Love Is
Hard To Findʼ, a bland cod-reggae offering, features none other than the
88-year old Sippie Wallace herself on background vocals — Bonnie's personal
idol finally got a chance to back up her disciple something like a few months prior
to her demise on November 1, 1986. Shame it had to happen on this particular
track, in this particular setting and epoch — about twelve or fourteen years
too late for the move to have any serious meaning. For the record, her cracked
vocals, in those few moments when she can actually be heard above the production
din, have more personality here than everything else put together — but then
they are quickly washed away by the coda, a dull piano-based blues ballad
written by Bonnie's old friend Eric Kaz and sporting the title ʽAngelʼ. The
following year, a power ballad called ʽAngelʼ would be released by Aerosmith
for Permanent Vacation, their first album to mark the transition
from living human beings into automated mannequins. Coincidence? Yes. And no, if you think of certain deeper
reasons. Thumbs
down.
What, not even a trendy Keith Haring illustration saves this limousine liberal manifesto from the dust bin of history? I am shocked.
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