Average White Band: Living In Colour

AVERAGE WHITE BAND: LIVING IN COLOUR (2003)

1) Check Your Groove; 2) Down To The River; 3) Living In Colour; 4) One Of My Heartbeats; 5) Close To You Tonight; 6) Half Moon In The Crescent Street; 7) Think Small; 8) I Can't Help It; 9) I'm Gonna Make You Love Me; 10) Love Won't Let Me Wait.

But wait — they are not done yet! In fact, I was that close to missing this release at all: very little information on it is available outside of the band's fan-targeted website, and, furthermore, this new studio album almost threatened to get lost in the small, but steady trickle of live releases that the AWB are still baking on a regular basis. Yet there it is: a brand new studio album, much as I hate to admit that. Let us approach it with an open mind and a friendly heart, hard as it is to treat that way a record whose very front sleeve is screaming at you — «do you remember the soft, sweet, sexy days of 1974? Do you?» Particularly hard to take if you were born in 1976.

The good word is: this music still sounds very much like the AWB, despite the fact that there are, by now, only two of the original members left — and that even long-term post-peak member Eli­ot Lewis is no longer in the band by now, replaced by Klyde Jones. But the presence of Gorrie, who still handles most of the vocals, and Onnie McIntyre on guitar ensures healthy conservatism. Dubstep influences are nowhere near to be found, and neither is auto-tuning. In fact, all of the music continues to be recorded with live instruments.

The bad word, however, is that Living In Colour is a clear step backwards from the minor re­vi­val of Soul Tattoo. If anything, the band seems to be retracing their original steps — where Soul Tattoo was a partly successful attempt to restore the «classic» sound of their first three or four albums, Living In Colour brings us back to the late 1970s, the age in which their sound got soften­ed, their grooves got simplified, and their ability to capture the imagination, not just the feet, vanished into thin air. What for — I don't know. Maybe they got a call from a rich millionnaire fan, saying, «oh man, oh man, those days of rockin' it out to Feel No Fret in 1979 were hot — here's a million dollar check if you get me one more of those!»

It only suffices to compare ʽSoul Mateʼ with ʽCheck Your Grooveʼ, which opens this record on a superficially similar note — «checking the groove» reveals that the groove is pitifully limp from all points of view. Even the drummer releases zero energy hitting on the skins, not to mention the twice-as-minimalistic bass. It is still a well-constructed dance groove, but they forgot to adjust the dentures. And, unfortunately, it is the best track on the album.

Or, to be more honest, one of the best tracks. As long as they are ready to throw on even a small pinch of funky energy, the compositions are mildly fun. ʽHalf Moon In The Crescent Streetʼ, in particular, is a touching anthem to New Orleans, and its cajun attitudes add some bright colors to the otherwise dull-gray hue of the record. And ʽThink Smallʼ, presumably recorded live (although my only arguments are Gorrie's spoken introduction and occasional applause on the part of a small audience, both of which could be overdubbed), is a solid brass-led jazzy jam, «in the style of Cannonball Adderley, or The Crusaders, all the stuff we grew up on», Gorrie says. It is not tre­mendously exciting, but it is respectable second-hand jazz-pop.

Most of the rest of the album, unfortunately, is given to ballads — all of them equally dull and lifeless in their by-the-book sentimentality, culminating with a particularly lifeless cover of ʽLove Won't Let Me Waitʼ (which was already fairly lifeless when Major Harris had a hit with it in 1974, and has only managed to lose its last shreds of pulse since then). Some are slow and some are a bit faster, but who really cares? If you are that nostalgic, just throw on a karaoke version of ʽMore Than A Womanʼ. Going all mushy on us once again is not the way to go if you want to up­hold your R&B credibility. Thumbs down — and, as far as I can see, this really is the last studio album by the AWB; considering that age and lineup issues will probably no longer allow them to fabricate hot grooves, I can only hope that they will have the good sense not to release another ballad-soaked record in their twilight years. Gracefully, gentlemen; the keyword here is grace.

Average White Band: Face To Face

AVERAGE WHITE BAND: FACE TO FACE (1999)

1) Soul Mine; 2) Got The Love; 3) A Love Of Your Own; 4) Oh, Maceo; 5) Back To Basics; 6) Work To Do; 7) Every Beat Of My Heart; 8) Pick Up The Pieces.

Any respectable studio comeback deserves a live counterpart. Over the past decade, the AWB has released quite a number of these, actually, and spending a lot of time, words, and web space on them would be overkill, but Face To Face, as the first one in the series, deserves a brief mention. Roger Ball left the band shortly after the recording of Soul Tattoo, and, for the ensuing tours, was replaced by Fred Vigdor — clearly a hard-working guy, since he seems able to fill Roger's shoes to the extent that I honestly do not hear any big difference. The album itself is said to have been recorded at the Fillmore Auditorium in San Francisco — not the legendary Fillmore of old, of course, which was closed down by Bill Graham as early as 1971, but still the Fillmore, lending a bit of extra glitz to the whole thing.

The track listing is somewhat bizarre, though. Clearly, the band did not want to be perceived as simply an oldies act, so the inclusion of four tracks from the new album is understandable. But, altogether, there are only eight (plus a ʽLet's Go Round Againʼ as a bonus on some releases), and this leaves rather a miserable amount of space for the classic hits — and, for that matter, where are the classic hits? Other than ʽPick Up The Piecesʼ, there are none. If you are going to bring back the oldies at all, why resuscitate mushy balladry like ʽA Love Of Your Ownʼ (particularly since mushy balladry is already represented well enough by the new song, ʽEvery Beat Of My Heartʼ)? Where is ʽCut The Cakeʼ? What's wrong with ʽPut It Where You Want Itʼ? ʽPerson To Personʼ, anyone? Huh?..

It is all the more bizarre considering how well the new-look band actually sounds. ʽSoul Mineʼ almost had me believe that I am listening to a studio re-recording with fake crowd noises; I hope to God the suspicion is not true (what point can there be for a band like this to release a fake live album?). Sound quality is impeccable, as is the level of coordination between all the band mem­bers. Most importantly, they are still having fun, going at it as if the past twenty years had not happened, and we were all still huddled in a circa-1974 club venue, knocking off that sweaty-funky mu­sic while it was still relatively fresh.

So it is no surprise that, most of the time, the audience is kept well awake and on its feet, with a particularly huge rise of enthusiasm at the opening trills of the show-closing ʽPick Up The Piecesʼ ("I think you know this", Gorie adds, and they sure do). If only they left out the slow ballads — there should be a law out there, allowing no more than one «slow-burner» per a show like this — and concentrated more on funky grooves, there could even be a chance of beating the impact of 1976's Person To Person. As it is, only ʽSoul Mineʼ, ʽOh Maceoʼ (explained from the stage to be a tribute to James Brown's sax player, Maceo Parker — shame on me for not realizing that earli­er!), ʽGot The Loveʼ, and ʽPiecesʼ help us work up a respectable sweat. Still, it's a fair enough do­cument, and solid proof — at least, for the turn-of-the-century period — that it still made good sense to purchase tickets to an AWB show.

Average White Band: Soul Tattoo

AVERAGE WHITE BAND: SOUL TATTOO (1997)

1) Soul Mine; 2) Back To Basics; 3) Livin' On Borrowed Time; 4) Every Beat Of My Heart; 5) When We Get Down On It; 6) Oh, Maceo; 7) Do Ya Really; 8) I Wanna Be Loved; 9) No Easy Way To Say Goodbye; 10) Love Is The Bottom Line; 11) Welcome To The Real World; 12) Window To Your Soul.

No band, good or bad, deserves to go out with an album as lame as Aftershock; thus, long-time fans just had to wait for a move of redemption. Fortunately, there comes a time in the life of most (if not all) artists when they get to think about themselves as too old and tired to care about fol­lowing trends — realizing that they'd rather just fuck all that shit and get «back to basics», which, coincidentally, happens to be the name of one of the tracks here.

With Gorrie, McIntyre, and Ball still forming the bulk of the band, and Eliot Lewis on keyboards plus Pete Abbott on drums supplementing the old guard, Soul Tattoo may not be a masterpiece of the R'n'B genre, but, coming eight years past Aftershock, it is pure gold in comparison. It is, in fact, as if the past twenty years never happened. No awful electronics, drum machines, real instru­ment playing, real funky grooves — the band is clearly committed to the safe old formula once again, sending all those dark times when they were betraying their master style into oblivion. No disco, either. Just old-fashioned dance-oriented R'n'B and a few old-fashioned ballads to boot. Gi­ving the finger to all the «new school R'n'B» as well. GOTTA LOVE THAT.

The rewinding is announced already on the first seconds of the album, with the opening syncopa­ted chords to ʽSoul Mineʼ; then, as Abbott kicks in with a solid rocking beat, the bass starts draw­ing complex geometric figures in the air, and the repetitive "working in a soul mine!" chorus starts getting addictive — that is where you actually start to remember that there used to be things that made you like, if not love, this band. The track does not have a melodic line as memorable and infectious as their few greatest-ever hits from the past, but in every other respect it is as hard-driving and authentic as anything they had ever done — and it sets just the right mood for the en­tire album. Even if the only other track that replicates its sweaty, funky success is the near-instru­mental ʽOh, Maceoʼ, a specially constructed showcase for Roger and his ball, er, sax, I mean. I do mean it — it is one of their most sax-drenched numbers, ever, probably with more sweat spilled over it than during the entire recording of Aftershock.

The other groove-based tunes are somewhat smoother and more pensive, but generally move one step beyond «boring», usually by means of a funny catchy chorus (ʽLove Is The Bottom Lineʼ, ʽDo Ya Reallyʼ). Eliot Lewis comes into his own as an okay vocal replacement for Hamish Stuart, but the star of the show is Gorie, whose range has not deteriorated one bit in twenty-five years time and who is now able to make the best of his falsetto, rather than blindly imitating the Bee Gees (even using it for a gorgeously placed vocal hook on the chorus of the album's worst song — ʽEvery Beat Of My Heartʼ, an over-sappy ballad that incidentally sounds like a boy band pro­duct). That said, it's too bad they did not try to populate the album with more tunes like ʽSoul Mineʼ and ʽOh, Maceoʼ — it is highly improbable they were still trying to use that smooth sound of theirs to charm the pants off ladies, so they could at least kick some extra ass for the guys.

On the modest critical scale that was specially invented for the AWB, this is a terrific, completely unexpected comeback, and a noble end to the band's studio career (unless they plan to reward their long term, arthritis-ridden fans with another offering — highly unlikely, considering that there has been no follow-up in fifteen years). Fans of their classic sound will definitely get a kick out of parts of it, to which I must add a pinch of pure respect. To come back together, screw the fashion in grand fashion, and make a defiantly retro album that can, at worst, be «dull», but al­most never «tasteless» — not everyone has it in them, and so the thumbs up judgement is as much based on rational context analysis as it is on pure pleasure. Which I am not denying, either: ʽSoul Mineʼ is great fun, regardless of any damn context.

Check "Soul Tattoo" (CD) on Amazon

Average White Band: Aftershock

AVERAGE WHITE BAND: AFTERSHOCK (1989)

1) The Spirit Of Love; 2) Sticky Situation; 3) Aftershock; 4) Love At First Sight; 5) I'll Get Over You; 6) Later We'll Be Greater; 7) Let's Go All The Way; 8) We're In Too Deep; 9) Stocky Sachoo-A-Shun.

Here is one more for the rapidly increasing collection of proofs that «generic mainstream muzak» in the 1970s was nine heads and eighteen tails over the same thing in the 1980s. After doing the sensible thing and packing it in after Cupid's In Fashion, the AWB, mercifully, spent most of the decade busy with their solo projects and recreation, but then the devil made them do it and re­convene just one year before it expired (although it's not as if the album would have sounded much different had they put it off until, say, 1993: this kind of music had pretty much solidified in the late 1980s and never truly budged since).

The reconvened line-up is flawed: Hamish Stuart was busy doing the right thing (playing guitar on Paul McCartney's Flowers In The Dirt), and so was Steve Ferrone, here replaced by Eliot Lewis, credited as much for «programming» as he is for «percussion». Additionally, Alex Ligert­wood, a one-time lead vocalist for Santana, is contributing some lead and background vocals. With these shifts, the remaining band members (Gorrie, Ball, and McIntyre) set out to reconquer the world... through the offer of an achingly wretched collection of «songs» that, for the most part, seem like a talentless imitation of Phil Collins' No Jacket Required (an album that, by itself, took no large amount of God-shared inspiration to create).

Seriously, a reunion has got to at least try to have a purpose; the only «shock» of Aftershock is to discover that the record does not attempt to do anything. All of its seven dance «grooves» and two so-called «ballads» are as hollow, unmemorable, and sonically annoying as R&B ever gets (and boy, can this «new school» R&B ever get annoying!). There is not a single moment any­where in sight — never mind a complete track — that would attract my attention. The rhythm section is programmed most of the time (some of the basslines are real enough, but fairly crude compared to what these guys used to fabricate); guitars are relegated to the background; and even the vocal hooks do nothing but drag, drag, drag.

To be completely honest, I would take one of those infamous pre-Jagged Little Pill Alanis Mor­risette dance pop albums over this tripe — at least the girl had some goddamn energy to compen­sate for the awful arrangements and melodic weakness. But the Average White Band were unlu­cky in that, from the very beginning, they always played it «soft», and now, in an age when no­body within that genre gave a damn about the silly old obsolete notion called «musicianship», they found themselves still playing it «soft» and «limp», only this time to programmed beats, streamlined no-presence rhythm chords, and third-grader keyboard sounds. Had anybody in the band at least found the courage to stand up and say, "fellas, why don't we stop this awful, awful shit, when was the last time you listened to your own ʽPick Up The Piecesʼ?", they might have achieved something. As it is — better just forget about there ever having been a 1989 in the his­tory of the So Below Average It's Not Even Funny Anymore White Band. Thumbs down.

Average White Band: Cupid's In Fashion

AVERAGE WHITE BAND: CUPID'S IN FASHION (1982)

1) You're My Number One; 2) Easier Said Than Done; 3) You Wanna Belong; 4) Cupid's In Fashion; 5) Theatre Of Excess; 6) I Believe; 7) Is It Love That You're Running From; 8) Reach Out I'll Be There; 9) Isn't It Strange; 10) Love's A Heartache.

I will try to be brief. An album titled Cupid's In Fashion cannot be a great album – period. An album titled Cupid's In Fashion and featuring six white-clad guys on the album cover cannot even be a good album. And an album titled Cupid's In Fashion, featuring six white-clad guys on the album, and coming from a band that went from playing their instruments to manipulating them, is zooming straight ahead into the realm of total darkness.

The only comforting thing I can say about Cupid is that, even in 1982, the band was holding out against going electronic, and, apart from some occasional robotic tampering with the drums, most of the music was still built around funky guitar playing, brass riffs, and gentle keyboard patterns. But this time around, there is not even an ʽInto The Nightʼ in sight — everything is either pedes­trian dance muzak or mushy, instantly forgettable balladry.

ʽReach Out I'll Be Thereʼ is the obvious standout, of course, since great Motown hits of the past have very little competition when they are surrounded by flat hackwork; but, predictably, the band adds nothing to the original, yet detracts quite a lot — and this is probably the first time I really feel the urge to strangle Gorrie for his falsetto.

Other than that, the title track is the only one that even attempts to build up a hookline, but it is a shallow and cold hookline, and marred with awful lyrics to boot. This whole musical schtick was hopelessly dated by 1982 — on-the-edge dance music was evolving in the direction of Contro­versy and Thriller, which these guys were unable to follow, being completely stuck in the reser­ved, «uptight» state of the 1970s. An obvious thumbs down — the only sensible thing they could have done at that time was to break up, and, fortunately, that is exactly what they did, once it be­came clear that Cupid, apparently, was not nearly as much in fashion as advertised. Especially when the Cupid that you are advertising looks suspiciously like a rubber doll.

Average White Band: Shine

AVERAGE WHITE BAND: SHINE (1980)

1) Catch Me (Before I Have To Testify); 2) Help Is On The Way; 3) Watcha Gonna Do For Me; 4) Let's Go Round Again; 5) Into The Night; 6) Our Time Has Come; 7) For You For Love; 8) If Love Only Lasts For One Night; 9) Shine.

Somehow I forgot to mention that the noticeable shift of sound from Warmer Communications to Feel No Fret had much to do with the band's change of label and, more importantly, producer: from Atlantic veteran Arif Mardin they went on to Victor Records and new producing guy David Foster, one of the big heroes of mainstream Eighties pop. It was under his guidance that the Ave­rage White Band began and completed the transformation into the Average White Automaton; which, naturally, does not take the blame off the shoulders of each individual member as well.

Shine is basically Feel No Fret No. 2, but goes even further in the direction of dispensing with the «live» feel and machinizing the sound of the band. They still play their own instruments, even the drums, but all of the grooves have been streamlined, and there is a stiff, robotic feel to all the tracks — exactly the kind of thing Foster was aiming for. Thus, it does not really matter any more if it is the AWB playing this shit, or any other run-of-the-mill dance band with ten years of heavy practice behind its back.

The pretentiously jovial ʽLet's Go Round Againʼ managed to become a minor hit single here; and as far as generic, but expertly produced disco goes, it is neither better nor worse than any other such minor hit single. The chorus is catchy, the rhythm is danceable, the strings and horns well placed, and Hamish even gets to play a melodic solo. But crowd pleasers like that really go for a dime a dozen, and I would rather take ʽHelp Is On The Wayʼ, whose vocal melody is nowhere near as easily memorable, but not as silly, either.

Alas, the only track on here that is vaguely reminiscent of the AWB's former «average greatness» is ʽInto The Nightʼ. It is almost completely instrumental (apart from a few mood-setting vocal lines in the «chorus»), so you do not have to put up with Gorrie's formulaic falsetto. It has a per­fectly well worked out brass groove that takes a brief, but effective musical idea and explores it, unlike the horns on the other tracks, which merely exist to provide an extra sonic layer. It is «fun­ky-pretty» rather than «disco-crappy», and is more influenced by Stevie Wonder than Donna Summer. If anything ever survives from Shine, it's gotta be this one rather than ʽLet's Go Round Againʼ — I'd rather have the mainstream disco epoch be remembered through its clever facets than its populistic anthems.

Still, if you like smooth, perfectly polished, un-annoying disco as background muzak to accom­pany your home chores or morning aerobics, Shine might find some sort of useful application: when played loud enough, it will effectively hinder your sleeping reflexes. This is why the pre­dictable thumbs down reaction arrives hatred-free.

Curious P.S.: It is exceedingly funny how all the reviews of these late-period AWB on Amazon rave about their greatness and consistently come furnished with 5-star ratings. It takes a stupid person like me a few minutes to realize that, in most cases, there are about three to four reviews for each, and that, most probably, they are all written by nostalgic 50-year old geezers whose me­mories of this music are inextricably tied in with memories of their first sexual experience. Tee­nage musical experience can be so detrimental, once you think of it.

Check "Shine" (CD) on Amazon

Average White Band: Feel No Fret

AVERAGE WHITE BAND: FEEL NO FRET (1979)

1) When Will You Be Mine; 2) Please Don't Fall In Love; 3) Walk On By; 4) Feel No Fret; 5) Stop The Rain; 6) Atlantic Avenue; 7) Ace Of Hearts; 8) Too Late To Cry; 9) Fire Burning.

How can I «feel no fret», I wonder, when, without a warning, all of the advantages gained in 1978 are lost one year later? The Average White Band finally make their way through to disco, and it is not a pretty sight. Actually, it is no sight at all. The whole album just speeds by, and once it's gone, nothing remains but the sad echo of involuntary toe-tapping.

Let us begin with this: ʽWalk On Byʼ used to be a decent pop song, a highlight of the Dionne Warwick catalog and all. What was the reason for trying to reimagine it as a mid-tempo dance­floor standart sung in disco falsetto? It takes all the power out of the hooks without adding any extra groove strength. There is nothing wrong with trying to modernize classics as such, but there has gotta be a point. This particular rearrangement has none. And that is what's wrong with the whole album altogether: the band seems to have snapped out of their conservative formula — and found itself aimlessly adrift in musical space.

The central piece here is the title track. At six minutes and thirty seconds, it is supposed to de­mon­strate how firmly the AWB has now grasped the essence of disco. Sure enough, they repro­gram their rhythm section — hardly a monumental task — speed up the tempo, and provide the club-goers with an extra bit of dance fodder in case the club-goers run out of «average white dis­co» artists before dawn. But the groove as such is non-existent: the guitars are limited to beeps and bleeps, the brass section plays nothing but lazy, quiet flourishes, and the keyboards are limi­ted to «atmospheric» hissing synths. Basically, they just forgot to add some music to our day.

Unfortunately, I cannot locate any hidden gems, either. ʽWhen Will You Be Mineʼ is probably the strongest of the lot, opening with grumbly wah-wah and preserving a strong funky attitude throughout — it sounds like a second-rate outtake from Warmer Communications, and, for that reason, is quite a traitorous introduction to the album; once it's over, it's lazy balladry and limp, unsubstantial disco all the way to the end. ʽAtlantic Avenueʼ is occasionally extolled as a high­light as well, and it is a semi-notch above the rest due to its proud anthemic ambition, but the ly­rics are ultimately dumb ("So come on, down Atlantic Avenue / Let the samba take ahold of you" embodies the decade's hedonism without the slightest bit of irony — even the Bee Gees could do better than that), and the melody only really goes well together with a leisure suit.

In short, Feel No Fret simply reflects a complete loss of whatever individuality these guys had — and I have no idea how it is possible at all to enjoy this without first constructing a late 1970s dance club atmosphere framework in one's mind. (For that matter, I strongly believe that ʽPick Up The Piecesʼ or ʽSame Feeling, Different Songʼ will find their admirers any time, any day). But if, for some reason, you are in need of a concrete example of how «transition to disco ruins a solid funk band», a «paired» listen to Warmer Communications and Feel No Fret will do nice­ly, and a perfect thumbs down is guaranteed for all.

(PS: For some reason, the CD edition of the album not only added four extra tracks, but was even re­titled as Feel No Fret... And More — as if we should all be happy to get more of the same for the same money exactly when it comes to selling the worst album in the band's history so far. Marketing is a strange, strange art indeed).

Average White Band: Warmer Communications

AVERAGE WHITE BAND: WARMER COMMUNICATIONS (1978)

1) Your Love Is A Miracle; 2) Same Feeling, Different Song; 3) Daddy's All Gone; 4) Big City Lights; 5) She's A Dream; 6) Warmer Communications; 7) The Price Of The Dream; 8) Sweet & Sour; 9) One Look Over My Shoulder (Is This Really Goodbye?).

The jolt, transmitted by «Benny», was electrified enough to inspire the band for another fine ef­fort, arguably their best in four years. No changes in style whatsoever — not only disco, which the guys continue to solemnly ignore, but New Wave influences as well begin to pass them by. But the compositions go up one or two notches. The slower grooves gain in the «sexy / sleazy» respects, and the faster ones are pinned to generally more delicious, juicy melody lines.

The former category is best illustrated by ʽYour Love Is A Miracleʼ, which is probably the closest they ever came to capturing the musky smell of Funkadelic — «lite», yes, but all of the instru­ments, rhythms, and harmonies work cohesively towards a nasty, dirty big-boy sound that no mo­rally trained housewife would ever tolerate. The title track is equally fine, with their most memo­rable chorus in years — there may be nothing revolutionary about choosing the line "we gotta have warmer... we gotta have warmer... warmer communications" as a hook basis, but its unin­tentional sex mantra seems to work against all odds.

On the faster side, ʽSame Feeling Different Songʼ kicks in with the finest brass riff we have heard from the AWB since ʽPick Up The Piecesʼ, and they keep it strung up and tense for five minutes, regularly switching the focus from brass to the blubbering, «telegraphic» guitar and back again. And the instrumental ʽSweet & Sourʼ, straying slightly away into jazz-fusion territory, is built upon a dep-reaching, nagging, ascending guitar line that goes straight to the subconscious and does strange things with it, especially if you are listening in headphones.

If it weren't for the ballads, which, unfortunately, cannot be moved from the usual levels of bore­dom (the cover of James Taylor's ʽDaddy's All Goneʼ is particularly trite, although, technically, it «got soul» all right), War­mer Communications could easily rival their best efforts in terms of consistency; and the band's conservatism, at this point, becomes almost respectable — at a time when traditional R&B was starting to get restructured into its disco and post-disco forms, minimalizing, if not nullifying, the role of particular instrument players, they continue to tighten up their act and rely on complex time signatures and tricky chord changes, instead of watering it all down. It may have been re­corded in 1978 all right, but it sounds positively 1973-ish, and for this type of music, it is an en­ormous plus, well worth the usual tepid, but friendly thumbs up. And if four or five «warmer» funky grooves ain't enough to thrill you, how about that album co­ver? Those were the days...

Average White Band: Benny & Us

AVERAGE WHITE BAND: BENNY & US (1977)

1) Get It Up For Love; 2) Fool For You Anyway; 3) A Star In The Ghetto; 4) The Message; 5) What Is Soul; 6) Someday We'll All Be Free; 7) Imagine; 8) Keepin' It To Myself.

Who would have known it — a derivative, cautious funk act in the middle of a downhill slide, and a formerly great, but drastically outdated R&B hitmaker turn out to be a match made, if not in heaven itself, then at least somewhere on the outskirts. Well, sometimes even in the world of music two minuses yield a plus, and there is no question that in 1977, both acts could easily be considered as «minuses», despite their past achievements.

But this one-album collaboration project between the AWB and Ben E. «Stand By Me» King somehow managed to reignite the cold fuel in all parties concerned. At the moment, King was ac­tually not doing too badly: his disco single ʽSupernatural Thing (Pt. 1)ʼ had managed, two years earlier, to return him to a brief resurgence of national prominence. But he was unable to keep it up, and clearly needed outside assistance. Likewise, the AWB still hit the charts with regularity; but the original formula seemed to be exhausted.

As the two acts found each other, good things started happening. King's vocal delivery gave the band that element of authenticity that they usually found so hard to achieve, precisely because their vocalists could sing falsetto, but could never reach the level of conviction that great R&B stars seem to ascend with such natural ease. And the band, in turn, provided King with excellent backing, heavy on funk and light on strings and sappiness.

Already the first notes of ʽGet It Up For Loveʼ announce that the ride is going to be much more fun than it was on Soul Searching: a grumbly wah-wah track wrestles with ringing syncopation, the bass sets a very minimalistic, but stern and firm groove, and Benny gives us a nice repetitive chorus to sing along with. But, although the performance is far from a masterpiece, the coolest thing is that the same level is sustained throughout the album, unlike Soul Searching, which be­gan promisingly enough with ʽLove Your Lifeʼ and then quickly plummeted into puddly, wishy-washy balladry. (On Benny & Us, there is some balladry, too, but much less than we'd expect from a Ben E. King album, and much nicer than we usually see on an AWB album.)

The centerpiece here is ʽA Star In The Ghettoʼ — pure dance-pop formula with by-the-book brass and strings arrangements, but somehow it works for all of its seven minutes. Maybe it is because it is hard to go wrong when a genuine star from the ghetto sings this kind of song, but, actually, the orchestral arrangements are quite emotional, and the transition from verse to chorus has a lit­tle bit of cathartic effect worked into it. Somehow one does get the feeling that this is the real thing — even if it is nowhere near as catchy as the Bee Gees.

Further on down the line, both ʽThe Messageʼ and ʽWhat Is Soulʼ are fine dance grooves as well, although it is King's energy that consistently keeps them above generic mediocrity (otherwise, ʽThe Messageʼ is not too different from ʽGoin' Homeʼ off the previous record). Donny Hatha­way's ʽSomeday We'll All Be Freeʼ has King getting into character with more vitality and passion than anywhere else on the album; the decision to segue the number right into a somewhat dilu­ted and unfocused cover of ʽImagineʼ was hardly a correct one, but at least it is not the most awful take on ʽImagineʼ that you will ever hear (and you will hear plenty). Finally, the revised version of ʽKeepin' It To Myselfʼ is engineered by King in an Al Green manner, and nearly blows away the original — except that they change the tonality on the chorus, and, with this move, strip the song off its major vocal hook (at least, such is the effect produced on my ears).

Of course, all the differences are really very subtle. It is not as if the two acts were so thrilled by bumping into each other that they generated an accidental masterpiece. Benny & Us never inten­ded to break any new ground — in fact, it looks fairly conservative and «old-mannered» even next to its disco contemporaries of the Chic-type crowd. But the two acts liked each other, and clearly enjoyed collaborating, which makes the results friendly, inviting, and filled with a sense of purpose. Hence, a friendly thumbs up.

Average White Band: Soul Searching

AVERAGE WHITE BAND: SOUL SEARCHING (1976)

1) Overture; 2) Love Your Life; 3) I'm The One; 4) A Love Of Your Own; 5) Queen Of My Soul; 6) Soul Searching; 7) Goin' Home; 8) Everybody's Darling; 9) Would You Stay; 10) Sunny Days (Make Me Think Of You); 11) Dig­ging Deeper (Finale).

A technical success, perhaps, but this is where the meter finally started dropping down. Although Soul Searching still shows no signs of the band seriously embracing disco, it veers dangerously in the department of «suave»: the band, formerly known for its warm (if not exactly «hot») dyna­mic grooves, is putting more and more effort into producing lyrical balladry. Of the nine primary songs on this record, six are ballads (or, at least, slow, soft, sentimental grooves), and only three take us back to sweaty, funky territory. Surely this is not what I usually associate with the idea of «soul searching» — unless we consider the soul to be six parts honey and only three parts grit.

Furthermore, the three «gritty» numbers are nowhere near classic level. Two had already been previewed on Person To Person, where they did not look particularly inspiring next to big ones like ʽPick Up The Piecesʼ, and here, they are the best of the lot. On ʽLove Your Lifeʼ, the whole band still works as a terrifi-team; all that is lacking is a set of memorable guitar and/or brass riffs, instead of a set of nice-sounding, but not particularly inspired wah-wah grumbles. ʽI'm The Oneʼ has a much more interesting brass part, even if the syncopated blasts were clearly reaped from the same territory on which ʽSuperstitionʼ had sown its seeds four years earlier. The third dynamic dance groove is the near-instrumental ʽGoin' Homeʼ, and there is nothing I can say about it ex­cept that... well, it could have worked well in a blackspoitation movie.

As for the ballads, it may be worth one's while to locate and try to enjoy ʽA Love Of Your Ownʼ, sometimes extolled as one of the band's finest, although I find the wheezing synthesizer annoying, the brass backing purely atmospheric, and Gorrie's falsetto completely generic; ʽQueen Of Your Soulʼ is a slightly better proposition, with a better oiled rhythm section and tolerable chimes in­stead of the synthesizer. Actually, at this point I believe that my favorite band member is... who­ever is playing the bass at any given moment (Stuart or Gorrie): the bass lines, in general, show more originality and creativity than any other lines on the album.

It does not help matters much that the record is dressed up in conceptual clothes, with an ambient ʽOvertureʼ that previews some of the album's themes at ultra-slow tempos, and an equally slow and moody ʽFinaleʼ, subtitled ʽDigging Deeperʼ — perhaps a hint at the band not having found its soul, after all, but promising to do better next time. In the process, they ended up giving us some average mid-Seventies equivalent of what would later be known as «adult contemporary», the on­ly difference being that it is sometimes interesting to trace the traces of the band members' fingers on their instruments, whereas in classic «adult contemporary» the very idea of «musical per­for­mance» would be devalued.

Still, that's no reason to go easy on Soul Searching: it must be cli­ni­cally boring for everyone but the most dedicated nostalgic funky guy (especially if he happened to get his first lay to the softporn sounds of ʽWould You Stayʼ), and since 1976 is my year of birth and I couldn't experience any nostalgia for this whatsoever, I give it a thumbs down with the clearest state of conscience that I could ever feel.

Average White Band: Person To Person

AVERAGE WHITE BAND: PERSON TO PERSON (1976)

1) Person To Person; 2) Cut The Cake; 3) If I Ever Lose This Heaven; 4) Cloudy; 5) T.L.C.; 6) I'm The One; 7) Pick Up The Pieces; 8) Love Your Life; 9) School Boy Crush; 10) I Heard It Through The Grapevine.

The Average White Band Live Experience is pretty much what you would expect it to be after gulping down the Studio Experience. Basically, everything is kept the same, with the addition of some major jam power. Naturally, in an era of double live LPs Person To Person could only be double, but that's understood — considering that ʽT.L.C.ʼ goes on for fourteen minutes and ʽPick Up The Piecesʼ is stretched to eighteen, only two LPs could have made this even the slightest bit representative of the band's actual shows.

Unfortunately, all of the things that confirm the «average» tag for the AWB in the studio do not seem to dissipate live, either. First and foremost, the band is still playing it cozy and safe. Stretch­ing the songs out into jam mode could give them a chance to go wild; but the individual solos that explain the length of ʽPick Up The Piecesʼ are still well-mannered and restrained, even Steve Fer­rone's drum solo, which is very pefunctory and boring in comparison to a John Bonham or a Ginger Baker or a Mi­chael Shrieve. And none of the other members are great soloists, either; in fact, there must have been a bery good reason why they always emphasized collective groove over individual showcases on their studio albums — none of the guitarists or brass players have anything even remotely approaching an individual style, preferring to blend into the surroundings. (Still wonder why Paul McCartney spent so much time recording and touring with Hamish Stuart in the late 1980s / early 1990s? This is the kind of sidekick that he appreciates the most).

Second, the setlist is good, but far from perfect. Everything is funky-midtempo or slow-balladry; a fast romp along the lines of ʽPut It Where You Want Itʼ would have made the experience far more convincing. Where, in a different context, I would bemoan the presence of disco, here I find its absence equally bemoan-ful: too much white-boy funk, even played with all due professiona­lism and inspiration, can eventually render the heart immune to its charms. It doesn't help matters, either, that the two new numbers, previewed from Soul Searching (ʽI'm The Oneʼ and ʽLove Your Lifeʼ) show that the formula, good for the first three years, was getting seriously stale and repetitive into its fourth. And finally, the cover of Marvin Gaye's ʽI Heard It Through The Grape­vineʼ is a genuine failure — it takes the guys a whole three or four minutes to set up the groove, and then the groove turns out to be rather limp compared to both the classic «black» and «white» versions (CCR's, for instance).

Overall, a huge disappointment — funk bands are supposed to give their best on stage, but this here is clearly not the case. I still like the fourteen-minute version of ʽT.L.C.ʼ (very few solos and some nice tension build-ups on the way), but if the boys place more emphasis on precision and cleanliness of playing than on letting their hair down, it should be obvious that studio records are the way to go. Hence, a logical thumbs down — avoid, unless one of those inexplicable forces of Nature happened to transform you into a major AWB fan.

Average White Band: Cut The Cake

AVERAGE WHITE BAND: CUT THE CAKE (1975)

1) Cut The Cake; 2) School Boy Crush; 3) It’s A Mystery; 4) Groovin’ The Night Away; 5) If I Ever Lose This Hea­ven; 6) Why; 7) High Flyin’ Woman; 8) Cloudy; 9) How Sweet Can You Get; 10) When They Bring Down The Curtain.

Recording of this album was somewhat darkened by the accidental death of the band’s drummer, Robbie McIntosh, from overdosing, with a story that would be fairly typical for the rock hero party style of the time — an unfortunate side effect of «normal» L.A. party entertainment, with someone «accidentally» substituting cocaine for heroin (could be from here that Quentin got the inspiration for Pulp Fiction, or from a billion similar stories, I guess).

The evil joker inside me wishes to state that the rest of the band were too stoned to notice any­way, and that is why they carried on like nothing happened, with Cut The Cake continuing in exactly the same vein as AWB; but, as a matter of fact, they did notice (if anything, Alan Gorrie nearly died as well in the same incident, only saved in the nick of time by Cher — «best thing Cher ever did», adds the evil joker), quickly replacing Robbie with Steve Ferrone and dedicating their next record to his memory. If there ever was an individualistic change in the drumming style, count me too coarse to notice.

Having mentioned the band’s transfer to sunny California in the previous review, I forgot to men­tion that the label was Atlantic, and the new producer was Arif Mardin — the same guy who was, at the exact same time, responsible for rebooting the career of the Bee Gees; and, for that matter, I find it quite unfair that even the finest efforts of the AWB have mostly fled from public memory where albums like Main Course managed to take solid root in it. The Bee Gees had the unques­tionable advantage of finding the better hooks for their dance grooves; but the AWB were far more respectable as a real groove-based band of actual musicians, rather than three pretty voices backed by interchangeable session players.

Even the songwriting, at this point, could be disputed. Maybe it was their bandmate’s death that provided an unprecedented fit of sentimental inspiration, but the ballads on this record — ‘If I Ever Lose This Heaven’, ‘How Sweet Can You Get’, and particularly ‘Cloudy’ — find beautiful vocal lines to host their emotions, and, at the same time, feel livelier and less glossy than any ‘More Than A Woman’ could be. They are glossy: Mardin, ever the dedicated escapist, gives every number the cleanest sound possible and lays enough echo on the vocals to place an unbrea­chable distance between the singer and the listener. But the playing is inventive and even impro­visatory, which compensates for overproduction.

That said, us tough guys will probably want to throw out the sissy stuff and look for red meat. The juiciest slice is right on top — the title track, a worthy sequel to ‘Pick Up The Pieces’ as one of those near-instrumental compositions that the AWB deserve to be remembered for: another combination of interlocking guitar, bass, drum, and brass lines that is simply infectious beyond reason, or adequate description. But there is also ‘Groovin’ The Night Away’, whose purpose adequately matches the title, and ‘School Boy Crush’, which starts out cool-struttin’ and arrogant like an Aerosmith number (unfortunately, not really delivering upon the promises of that terrific bass groove), all of them quite worth the while of any big fan of the syncopated approach.

And, for that matter, only the last number, ‘When They Bring Down The Curtain’, should pro­ba­bly qualify as proper «proto-disco», even if the rhythm section is still playing by its own rules without properly subjugating itself to the simplifications of disco. So for those who like drawing strict lines between «funk» and «disco», I can safely certify that Cut The Cake is quite «old school». It is also one of the AWB’s finest efforts, although the degree of its adventurousness will probably be better assessed by professional musicians than an average white listener: like all of its predecessors, Cut The Cake really only starts growing once your ear has been properly con­verted into a democratic six-track system, in which Gorrie’s bass is given the same attention as Hamish Stuart’s guitar etc. I am not sure I have completed the process, but at least it has progres­sed far enough where, without scruples, I would be glad to support Cut The Cake with yet another thumbs up — if everybody in the world who makes music without a single spark of ge­nius would at least aspire to this level, that would certainly save us all a lot of trouble.

Check "Cut The Cake" (CD) on Amazon
Check "Cut The Cake" (MP3) on Amazon

The Average White Band: AWB

THE AVERAGE WHITE BAND: AWB (1974)

1) You Got It; 2) Got The Love; 3) Pick Up The Pieces; 4) Person To Person; 5) Work To Do; 6) Nothing You Can Do; 7) Just Wanna Love You Tonight; 8) Keepin' It To Myself; 9) I Just Can't Give You Up; 10) There's Always Someone Waiting.

This is the one that broke 'em big. Relocated by Bruce McCaskill from the misty highlands to sun­ny Los Angeles, and receiving a proper amount of promotion, The Average White Band un­expectedly found more acclaim in the States, where their second, self-titled, LP shot all the way to No. 1 (in the UK, it only climbed to No. 6, and the discrepancy would be even more noticeable on their next two records). Apparently, American audiences felt more at home with the idea of this inherently-black music played by genuine Scotsmen than Scotsmen themselves. You draw the head-spinning sociological conclusions, I will try to restrict myself to the music.

Success actually came on the heels of the big hit single 'Pick Up The Pieces', which, up to this day, arguably remains the AWB's best known and most frequently radio-spun piece to be picked up. For good reason — unless you disrespect «groove-based» music in the first place, it is very hard for me to imagine how this particular groove could be resisted. There are plenty of things that can go wrong with the AWB: they may be too sappy, too sentimental, too generic, too boring, too «white» in a «black» setting or vice versa etc. etc., but none of these accusations work in the case of 'Pick Up The Pieces'.

Roger Ball blows some fine melodic sax in the solo part, but the main attraction is, of course, the basic groove — bass, drums, guitar, and sax locking into one another in one of the finest complex figures that mid-1970s dance music had to offer. And these days, we may actually drag it out of its cocaine-drenched hedonistic L.A. context and just enjoy it for the general inspiring atmo­s­phere that it conveys. Who knows, people might still be wanting to tap their feet and jerk their heads to it long after L.A. itself finally sinks into the sea... but we digress.

For the most part, the AWB smooth out the edges even further out here. Most of the traces of 12-bar blues-rock (like 'Reach Out' from the last album) have been eradicated, so that the album is more or less evenly divided between «edgy» and «soft» grooves (the only exception is 'There's Always Someone Waiting', which closes the album in «blues» mode, but even this «blues» has been tampered with by means of funky wah-wah guitar, fusion-esque keyboards, syncopated drumming, and jumpy transitions from section to section).

The «soft grooves» sometimes feature exciting vocal twists — like 'Keepin' It To Myself' and its falsetto chorus — but the album's reputation still rests on the edgy ones, from 'Pick Up The Pie­ces' to the second-best cut 'Person To Person' to the proto-disco 'Got The Love' and 'I Just Can't Give You Up' (particularly the latter of the two could easily compete with any given Bee Gees hit of the same era — terrific combination of ingredients on that one).

As far as I am concerned, the one weak link on all of these tracks is lack of implosive guitar pre­sence. Hamish Stuart is competent and moderately inspired, but there isn't one single «fabulous» funky riff on here, or wall-rattling solo, to jump out at the world and conquer it in one go. (Actu­ally, 'Got The Love' begins with a faint hint at such a riff, but it goes away instead of developing in the right direction). Whether that reflects lack of talent or intentional modesty, I have no idea – but then, if the saxophone is allowed to lack modesty on 'Pick Up The Pieces', what's up with dis­criminating the most important instrument in pop music?

Maybe they thought, though, that too much loud guitar would disrupt the sexy smoothness of the grooves, supposed to match the seductiveness of the curves of the letter W on the front sleeve. This is understandable — the AWB never concealed the fact that they were, essentially, writing music for couples, be it on the dance floor or on the bedroom one. But writing music for couples that is neither «fake» nor «cheap» is very hard business all the same, and if the AWB do not ma­nage to scale much further heights than achieving that goal, this is still sufficient reason for an honest thumbs up, perfectly cleansed from nostalgic overtones.