Amon Düül II: Bee As Such

AMON DÜÜL II: BEE AS SUCH (2009)

1) Mambo La Libertad; 2) Du Kommst Ins Heim; 3) Still Standing; 4) Psychedelic Suite.

As it turns out, the Amon Düül II story is not quite over with the passing of the millennium thre­sh­old. On the heels of various new compilations and CD re-masters, the original band made one more effort to reconvene — this time, featuring four of the founding fathers and mothers (Renate, Karrer, Meid, and Weinzierl). Sessions were held in April 2009, but the results, so far, have not been issued in CD form: the «album» was made officially available only on the band's site, and, as far as I can tell, Bee As Such does not even have its own album art.

It is, however, accompanied by a short and slightly ungrammatical press release, reading as fol­lows: «... a highly sensitive performance, of finding back to the roots – not in the past, but es­sen­ti­ally – seeking the new sounds and contents at the same time. No ‘kraut’, no ’70s’, but the music of the new millenium. This sound painting is one more of our unique works, containing the spirit of our time.» Meaning that, just as it was with Nada Moonshine #, the band is still more worried about being perceived as an «irrelevant oldies act» than about... uh, making good music?

Besides which, they are simply lying. Even on a fully formal and objective basis, how is it that there are «no '70s'» here, when 'Still Standing' essentially merges 'Hawknose Harlequin' from Car­nival In Babylon and 'The Wolfman Jack Show' from Utopia? And on a non-formal basis, the very fact that Bee As Such is, essentially, a set of lengthy studio jams, will automatically re­mind one of the days of Phallus Dei and Yeti. If anything, Nada Moonshine # was far more re­flective of the «spirit of our time» than this recording (although even that is not saying much). If the press release genuinely reflects the way they feel, this is fairly pathetic — an open acknowled­gement of the fact that they have no idea what the «spirit of our time» really is (not that I serious­ly blame them, but it's one thing not to know the truth and another thing to assert a lie). If, how­ever, this is just a dumb «marketing ploy», it's even more pathetic. How many incoming custo­mers has it managed to offend?

Still, let us forget about silly words. It certainly must be praised that, almost fourty years since the band was last involved in brave, unpredictable jamming, they came together to give this approach one more try. It is at least brave — and it endorses the idea that 1969-72 were, in fact, the years of Amon Düül II; that dark experimental jamming has been and will always be at the heart of the­ir legacy. Compare the idea with that of a Genesis reunion to record another Foxtrot, or an Aero­smith attempt to blacklist their outside songwriters and record another Rocks — things that never came to pass, even though they were expected so hard.

But, once again turning to the negative side, Bee As Such is not at all impressive. Frankly spea­king, most of its fifty minutes sound like kitchen rehearsals, fit for inclusion as bonus tracks on special editions of «proper» albums rather than having any serious autonomous value. They are authentic «jams», almost completely improvised (or, at least, seemingly so) around simple themes and usually appearing out of nowhere and disappearing in the same direction after a while (do not be alarmed by the 26 minute running time of 'Psychedelic Suite': it is really three separate jam parts that do not have any coherent links in between themselves). But the jamming has nowhere near the power, the concentration, and the density of, say, a 'Yeti Talks To Yogi'.

It may have to do with the fact that there is no keyboardist in the band: only Weinzierl is credited for «synthesizers», but most of the time he just plays guitar, with Karrer accompanying on violin. But even those guitar parts are perfunctory — rhythm chords, mostly, with the instrument never really leaving the ground. The band members still remember how to keep a groove together, but they seem to have forgotten how to develop that groove, or how to make their individual persona­lities impressive within the groove.

And, finally, as much as I respect Renate Knaup-Kroten­sch­wanz for her immeasurable services to Amon Düül II in the past, I have to admit that on this re­cord she is simply the biggest pain in the ass. I could have stomached the music more easily, were it not infested with her tuneless croaking. Whatever thin nuages of atmosphere the players might have been able to conjure with their jam­ming, they are immediately blown apart by Renate's thoroughly anti-atmospheric vocalizations. It's okay by me if she simply cannot sing any more, but whatever made them think that the inabi­lity to sing should be compensated with unlimited freedom of quacking and croaking?

In brief, I tip my imaginary hat to the band's decision to succumb to nostalgia (and Bee As Such, no matter what the press release tells us, is first and foremost a hardcore exercise in nostalgia), but if the album never makes it to CD format, this will not be a reason to shed serious tears. I could be mistaken, but I think the album clearly shows it's high time to pack it in — or, at least, high time to stop deluding themselves into thinking that they can still reflect «the spirit of our times» by producing watered-down imitations of their glory days. Granted, they may still have another Nada Moonshine # in them, but only if they stop being so serious about it. As it is, the sheer inadequacy of this product requires a thumbs down.

The Beach Boys: Keepin' The Summer Alive

THE BEACH BOYS: KEEPIN' THE SUMMER ALIVE (1980)

1) Keepin' The Summer Alive; 2) Oh Darlin'; 3) Some Of Your Love; 4) Livin' With A Heartache; 5) School Day (Ring! Ring! Goes The Bell); 6) Goin' On; 7) Sunshine; 8) When Girls Get Together; 9) Santa Ana Winds; 10) Endless Harmony.

This is where it ends, and salvation is no longer even a remote option. The late 1970s saw the band wobbling between the crass, the silly, the occasional flash of experimentation or creativity, and the very sporadic outburst of genius. In other words, the band was down on its luck, but still somewhat alive and struggling; it was, at the very least, curious to watch that struggle.

With the new decade on the horizon, Mike Love was all set to clench his teeth, tighten his grip, and achieve sanity and stability. A noble goal, but at what cost? The much-discussed image on the front sleeve gives us the answer. They may be «keepin' the summer alive», yes – but a com­pletely fake, artificial summer at that, kept on technological life support. As corny as their come­back was announced on 15 Big Ones, it is to Keepin' The Summer Alive that we ought to award the title of «First Ever Genuinely Awful Beach Boys Album». And by «genuinely awful», I mean exactly what I say — I'd rather have an album on which every second song was a variation on 'Bull Session With Big Daddy' than this one.

However, it is not the worst produced Beach Boys album, nor is it the least melodic. Its awfulness lies in its «aura». The motto is simple: «Whatever we are in real life, let us be infectiously happy and merry in the studio», a fairly strange attitude for a band in a state of complete moral wreck, twice as strange considering that «infectiously happy and merry» was certainly not even the pre­vailing mainstream musical vibe in 1980, not even in California, and thrice as strange considering that the market for surf pop was even smaller in 1980 than it had been in 1976.

As a result, Keepin' The Summer Alive sounds... well, imagine yourself having to do a stand-up comedy routine before a non-English speaking audience the next day after one of your parents' death, and you might get the general idea. Already the title track combines a grossly exaggerated «bar­room growl» delivery from Carl, electronically processed backing vocals that robotically chant the melody of 'Louie Louie' (??!!), and a dead-sounding keyboard backup, supposed to bring stuff «up to date» (visions of frizzed-hair leotard-clad girl dancers included). It hardly gets worse from there — but it very, very rarely gets better.

Most of the songs are catchy: that one aspect, at least, Mike is always committed to wrangling from Brian, Carl, or whoever else is involved in the writing. You will remember how to sing along with "some, some, some of your love" or "don't leave me alone, living with a heartache" (for a brief period of time, at least). But this catchiness does not match any of its surroundings — neither the arrangements, nor the age and mental state of the band members, nor the very times to which they try to stick it. Where some of these melodies may have qualified for passable pleasant filler, had they been written and transferred to vinyl circa 1962-63, they sound utterly dumb and kitschy in 1980. And this applies both to the worst offenders (title track; the hideously tropical 'Sunshine'; the clumsy vaudeville sentimentality of 'When Girls Get Together') and songs that were most likely quite innocent and positively oriented upon writing, but were still engulfed and destroyed by the same vibe (e. g. Carl's ballad 'Oh Darlin', not only muffled by pedestrian produc­tion and arrangement values, but also by being stuck in between 'Keepin' The Summer Alive' and 'Some Of Your Love').

Brian's own fetish for covering oldies, still ongoing from 1976, was generally suppressed by the rest of the band, but, as a compromise, they still include a cover of Chuck Berry's 'Schooldays', which only goes to show that compromises were never good for this band; the result seems just as sanitized as everything else on here.

In short, you know things are going really, really bad when the best track on the album is a long-time reject that dates all the way back to 1972, and was written by Bruce Johnston, of all people; now that he is in full technical control of the band as its producer, it is only natural that the track he never got around to donate to the band eight years earlier (having been fired by Jack Rieley) finally makes a triumphant return. (Subsequently, it is the only track on the album to feature ba­cking vocals from Dennis — who reportedly hated the sessions so much that he walked out after just a couple of them, and I fully empathize). 'Endless Harmony' is an attempt on Johnston's part to emulate the «deep» sonic landscapes of Brian, and, compared with the likes of 'Our Prayer' or 'Surf's Up', it is a very cheap facsimile; but compared with the average crap that constitutes the bulk of Summer, it is an obvious highlight — at least it gives us a tasty bit of collective band harmonies circa 1972, reminding the forgetful that it didn't always used to be like this.

At this particular point, it is reasonable for the non-historian to cut off access to everything that bears the «Beach Boys» tag on it (except for archive releases): 1980 sealed the band's doom, even if they still had a few decent years left as a respectable touring act (mainly due to Carl's active presence and Brian's spirit on the stage serving as a mascot, even if the man himself hardly con­tributed at all to the stage show). With the endless harmony warped into the state of an endless thumbs down, one might as well just assume the harmonies on 'Endless Harmony' to represent a swan song coda — and move on to Brian's solo career instead. But the reviewer's honest duty is to back up nasty generalizations with album-specific bawdry, so on we go.

Billie Holiday: At Jazz At The Philharmonic

BILLIE HOLIDAY: AT JAZZ AT THE PHILHARMONIC (1954)

1) Body And Soul; 2) Strange Fruit; 3) Trav'lin' Light; 4) He's Funny That Way; 5) The Man I Love; 6) Gee Baby, Ain't I Good To You; 7) All Of Me; 8) Billie's Blues.

Although this album was not released until 1954, the actual recordings date from 1945 and 1946, when Billie was an active participator in Norman Granz's «Jazz At The Philharmonic» touring program (and, since Granz was also the founder of Clef Records, to which Billie was signed in the 1950s, it was only a matter of time before he would make these recordings public on his own label). The actual dates are February 12, 1945 (first two songs) and October 3, 1946 (second two songs) at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles; and June 3, 1946 at Carnegie Hall for the last four songs. All of the material has now been included on the Complete Verve boxset, including a couple more live tracks of very scratchy quality from 1946, and four more live performances of far better quality from 1947.

Considering that there are very few live-not-in-the-studio recordings from Billie at all, this is a record of historical importance; considering that these are the earliest available live recordings from Billie, it is a record of tremendous historical importance. Considering that the second track on here is 'Strange Fruit', it is also a record of tense curiosity: how does it go with the audience? are there any traces of nervousness in Billie's voice (other than a couple of precautionary coughs during the piano intro)? Not to worry: the applause is as strong as ever, and the singing matches the original studio recording fairly closely.

The setlist, as we can see, is completely standard; the only «new» tune, 'Trav'lin' Light', was ori­ginally recorded by Billie for Paul Whiteman's big band in 1942, and re-arranged here as a mini­malistic lounge ballad, with no one but Ken Kersey at the piano — another case of a «jazz stan­dard» on which Lady Day was but a bit player transformed into a vulnerable confession, spotlight on the frail human soul and all that.

Unfortunately, live recording was still new and inexperienced in the 1940s, so there is no getting away from the «thin» quality of the vocals; hopefully, this will be nobody's introduction to Billie, or one might subconsciously develop an impression of the lady as a «whiner». Naturally, JATP is for the seasoned admirer rather than the novice. But, as the only complete live album to capture her in full control of her powers, it is at least a unique technical phenomenon, if not necessarily a unique emotional experience.

The Black Keys: Brothers

THE BLACK KEYS: BROTHERS (2010)

1) Everlasting Light; 2) Next Girl; 3) Tighten Up; 4) Howlin' For You; 5) She's Long Gone; 6) Black Mud; 7) The Only One; 8) Too Afraid To Love You; 9) Ten Cent Pistol; 10) Sinister Kid; 11) The Go Getter; 12) I'm Not The One; 13) Unknown Brother; 14) Never Gonna Give You Up; 15) These Days.

I suppose it must be hard for the general public to think of two guys as «brothers» when one is playing all the «real» instruments and singing all the vocals and the other one is «just» drumming, no matter how vital that drumming may be to the music (and, with all due respect to Pat­rick Carney, he ain't no Keith Moon). But more power to the band if slapping on a title like Brothers functions as a placebo to get the creative juice a-flowin'. Actually, for a short while there was a certain danger of The Black Keys breaking up — Auerbach released a solo album and Carney had serious family problems — but eventually, things got better, and, if the band members are to be believed, their personal turmoil only helped to improve the music.

There is one serious problem with Brothers: it is way too long. The running time of 55 minutes is the band's personal record, and a highly questionable one: when it's just one guy with a guitar and one other guy with a drumset, things are supposed to wrap up quickly. If you listen to Brothers on a one-song-per-day basis, you might think that there are no truly «weak» cuts here; but if ta­ken together, the last 20 minutes will almost inevitably sound like a rehash of the first 30. Which is especially troublesome considering that, in actuality, Brothers further expands the Keys' musi­cal vision — with Danger Mouse at the helm once again, there are new sounds, new influences, new emotions, and all of it without sacrificing the old spirit.

Beginning with the beginning, 'Everlasting Light' is generic folk blues at heart, but the coating is cool — a dry, crunchy tone beaten into a danceable pop-rock pattern, drumbeats merged with handclaps and an out-of-nowhere 'Come Together'-ish «ssh...!», credible attempts at falsetto cro­oning from Auerbach, and minimal, but atmospheric backing whoos and whaas from hip-hopper Nicole Wray (guest-starring here through her partici­pation in «Blakroc», a joint rap-rock side project between the Keys and various hip-hop artists). No better illustration for the devil that is in the proverbial details. The crunch and simplicity firmly tie the song to the band's legacy and style, but the coating shows how successfully they manage to climb out of the rut that said legacy was beginning to turn into.

Likewise, the big hit single, 'Tighten Up', could have been a by-the-book roots-rock number with nothing but yer average «soul» to redeem it, if not for all the little things. The cute little Morri­cone-style whistling in the intro. Carney's melodic drum fills, raising tension. The in-between verses guitar riff that transforms the song into power pop before returning it back to R&B territo­ry. The unpredictable key change for the coda. It is good to know that the boys are now open to the idea of having experimental fun in the studio.

Similar stylistic mergers characterize most of the material on Brothers. Hardcore blues-rock fans might be appalled, as well as blues-rock haters who firmly cherish the idea that the only thing that will help traditional blues-rock to get better is a terrorist attack on the Chicago Blues Festival (no hostages taken, preferably). We ought to respect those religious feelings — but there is nothing wrong, either, about welcoming intelligent ways of merging blues and pop like the band does here on 'Ten Cent Pistol' (a catchy, hummable chorus there, within a song whose basic melody, lyrics, and attitude are all geared towards dark blues), or on the slightly martial 'Howlin' For You', which is what The Cars could have originally sounded like, if only they'd tacked their tacky key­boards on early British R&B rather than early British pop-rock.

That said, I repeat that the bag of tricks is not really full enough to accommodate 55 minutes worth of new Black Keys songs. Individually, none of them register as masterpieces; collectively, there's just too many of them, and, in the end, I walk away from Brothers with a sense of indig­nant admiration that is almost enough to convert the thumbs up to its opposite — here be an al­bum that chooses excellent ways to dispel boredom, but gets so caught up in the excitement that, in the end, it just gets plain boring to watch it chase away boredom. (It does not help, either, that most of the tracks on which experimentation is essentially suspended in favor of «soul», e. g. the heart-on-the-sleeve ballad 'These Days' and the personal confession 'Unknown Brother', are somehow all grouped at the end). Which all translates to a complex, but very often felt (judging by peer reviews) flaw — and kudos to Dan and Patrick for acknowledging the fact by extermina­ting said flaw on their next record.

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