BOOKER T. & THE M.G's: UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE (1977)
1) Sticky Stuff; 2) Grab Bag;
3) Space Nuts; 4) Love Wheels; 5) Moto Cross; 6) Last Tango In Memphis; 7)
M.G.'s Salsa; 8) Tie Stick; 9) Reincarnation.
As is known all too well, the death of your
drummer is a bad, bad omen. Led Zeppelin understood that and wisely disbanded; the
Who did not, and spent four years wallowing in mysery and degradation. Booker
T. & the M.G.'s, however, preceded both of them, and they probably believed
that, since they were not in the big leagues anyway, they could try it out
safely. So, in the place of brutally murdered Al Jackson Jr., they hired Willie
Hall, who formerly played with The Bar-Kays and Isaac Hayes, and ploughed
ahead.
There were other big changes, too. First, a new
label: Asylum Records, the first brainchild of David Geffen, notorious for
offering a brief «asylum» from Columbia to Bob Dylan in 1974-75 and now
providing the same for this bunch of Stax survivors. Second and more important,
a new style: with Afro-American entertainment music now shifting almost
completely to funk and disco, it was only natural that the M.G.'s, too, would
have their own funk/disco album. After all, they showed the world that they
could easily make the switch and tame those wild funky rhythms back in 1971, on
Melting Pot — what could stop them
from traveling further down that track?
Alas, Universal
Language falls in the same trap as so many other albums by Sixties acts who
tried to embrace the shifting production values, playing styles, and
atmospheric ideologies of the Seventies. Word of the day is «smooth» — tightly
disciplined and strictly repetitive guitars, «cosmic» electronic keyboards
painting pictures of seductive, but somewhat soulless technological future, and
formulaic dance grooves that are not allowed to experiment with rhythm because,
you know, who wants to be unexpectedly thrown off rhythm on the dance pad? The
best performers of the day could compensate for this tight harness with
wildness, sleaziness, or pop hooks, but Booker T. & The M.G.'s were never
wild, always tended to avoid coming across as sleazy, and as for pop hooks —
well, that could happen, but it was never a priority.
So, somewhat predictably, Universal Language ends up sounding professional, but dull and
quite pointless — as a serious musical offering, it hardly adds anything to
these guys' legend, and as entertainment, it is nowhere near as «hot» as, say,
Chic, or many more of the new competitors. ʽSticky Stuffʼ opens the album with
a nice cool groove, but it soon becomes obvious that the guys are not very much into it, or if they are, the
point is not to let us know: everything is tight, but nothing ever gets out of
hand. Total lack of passion, just professionalism — and the same verdict
applies to each of the remaining eight tracks.
The record has its fair share of decent
keyboard work from Booker, especially later on: there is a graceful, pensive,
nostalgic organ solo on ʽLast Tango In Memphisʼ, an uplifting uptempo solo in
ʽM.G.'s Salsaʼ, and a cocky, whistle-away-your-blues part on the closing
ʽReincarnationʼ, which is probably the braggiest tune about reincarnation ever
recorded. But even with these, it takes a long (and unnecessary) time to suck
them in, because everything is so restrained and «under wraps» of the
thoroughly unremarkable production.
All in all, just another passable experience.
Actually, as far as real «disco» is concerned, there ain't too much of it here
— not a single instance of a «proper» disco bassline detected — but that is
hardly a consolation, because I'd rather take «hot» disco over «cool» funk and
fusion like this. It is true that Booker T. & the M.G.'s had always thrived
on restraint and cool-calm-collected discipline, but with Universal Language, this just translates into Dull-o-rama-a-plenty,
and it is hardly a wonder that neither ʽSticky Stuffʼ as the lead single nor
the album as a whole were noticed by anybody. Upon which, the M.G.'s did the
wisest thing they could do — and split once again, with Cropper, Dunn, and
White eventually offering their services to The Blues Brothers. And I'd
probably take the kitsch of the Blues Brothers over the mind-numbing
seriousness of this Universal Language
any time of day. What sort of title is that for an album like this, anyway?
Since when has limp, pedestrian funk like this represented «universal
language»? ʽHotel Californiaʼ — now that's
«universal language» for you in 1977. Thumbs down.
Am I seriously the only one that doesn't hate 1980s Who? Aside from the live debacle and some unfortunate cheesiness on It's Hard (mostly on "Cooks County"), I genuinely enjoy those records. At the very least, they still manage to be resonant; maybe not as much as Pete's concurrent solo albums, but more so than other past-their-prime 80s albums
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