THE BOX TOPS: TEAR OFF! (1998)
1) Flying Saucers Rock'n'Roll;
2) Wang Dang Doodle; 3) Ain't That A Lot Of Love; 4) It Tears Me Up; 5) Last
Laugh; 6) Treat Her Right; 7) Soothe Me; 8) I'm In Love; 9) The Letter; 10)
Trip To Bandstand; 11) Little Latin Lupe Lu; 12) Keep On Dancing; 13) Last
Bouquet; 14) Big Bird.
I suppose that even fewer people are aware of
this surprising Box Tops comeback than those that know about the Big Star
comeback — then again, maybe not, since I really have no idea whether «old
school power pop» still remains more popular among the knowledge-seeking
youngsters today than «old school blue-eyed soul». Anyway, this particular
comeback was actually quite a proper comeback, since it did reunite all the
original band members from 1967, right down to the rhythm section (not that the
rhythm section had much to play in 1967). The resulting album, however, was
downright odd.
I mean, you could
rightfully expect the guys to go nostalgic, but Tear Off! goes way beyond simple nostalgia — it plays out like a
consciously assembled encyclopaedia of pop music forms in the pre-Sgt. Pepper era. Putting together a
jumbo-combo of golden oldies, forgotten oldies, and some pseudo-originals, these
Elderly Box Tops begin with stereotypical rockabilly (ʽFlying Saucers
Rock'n'Rollʼ), continue with some rockin' Chicago blues (ʽWang Dang Doodleʼ),
follow that up with gritty R&B (ʽAin't That A Lot Of Loveʼ), throw in some
torch ballads (ʽIt Tears Me Upʼ), heat it up with some hard rock (ʽTreat Her
Rightʼ), mix it with pop-soul (ʽSoothe Meʼ), spice it up with late Fifties'
novelty-comedy stylistics (ʽTrip To Bandstandʼ), bring on a bit of twistey
innocence (ʽKeep On Dancingʼ), remind us how country music used to sound when
Hank Williams was king (ʽLast Bouquetʼ), and finally, end things with a loud,
overdriven garage-rock jam (ʽBig Birdʼ) that seems to suggest — «yes, boys and
girls, and then, eventually, the angry, crazy, distorted rock guitars took over
and swallowed them all, and they all lived happily ever after in the satiated belly
of the heavy rock guitar».
Oh, I forgot: in the middle of it all comes a
re-recording of ʽThe Letterʼ, because otherwise, I guess, the record label
wouldn't let them release the package. Come on now — what good is a Box Tops
album in 1998 if it doesn't have ʽThe Letterʼ? It's like a Sgt. Pepper with no ʽYesterdayʼ on it!... oh, never mind. Anyway,
this new version sounds almost like the original, except that Chilton's voice,
retaining its gruffness, has lost much of its frailty and vulnerability, and
that makes them sound like their own inferior tribute band.
Anyway, on the whole this is a totally
harmless, perfectly fun, and completely useless record. Very cleanly and
wholesomely produced, which is the only thing that betrays its date of origin
(sort of like Clapton's From The Cradle),
but little more than a respectable tribute to all those heroes of long ago —
nobody is going to cherish this version of ʽWang Dang Doodleʼ over Howlin'
Wolf or this version of ʽSoothe Meʼ over Sam Cooke. This is disappointing in
that Chilton had gone a long, long way since the Box Tops last saw each other,
and with their legacy that, after all, goes a little deeper than generic rockabilly and twist numbers, this may have been a more meaningful album.
Instead, it's just like a gathering of old friends for old times' sake — stick
around, have some drinks, play a couple songs we used to play when we were
thirteen, except we do it like professionals now.
In the end, the lengthy ʽBig Birdʼ cover
happens to be the only place where they seem like they're trying to do something — even if that something largely amounts to
kicking up a ruckus, and is not very successful even as a ruckus (the exaggerated
screaming is way too «acted»: all these "OH BIG BIRD!" and "TAKE
THE BIG BIRD HOME!" and all the ooh-aahs seem sort of pointless). And everything
else is just a nostalgic souvenir — and it's not even the kind of nostalgic
souvenir you'd most likely expect from these former soulsters. But yeah,
everything sounds kinda cool. If you were a directionless teen in 1998 and you
saw this in a used bin and had your first acquaintance with ʽI'm In Loveʼ and
ʽSoothe Meʼ by donating fifty cents, it would at least give you a fairly good
understanding of the essence of Sam Cooke and Wilson Pickett. Wouldn't let you
understand too much about Alex Chilton, though.
Had no idea this existed - somewhat tempted to pick it up for curiosity's sake. Going to a Chris Bell tribute in Memphis on Friday, to maybe rediscover some of the magic I found in his and Chilton's music when I was a knowledge-seeking 20-year-old in 2000.
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