Al Green: Don't Look Back

AL GREEN: DON'T LOOK BACK (1993)

1) Best Love; 2) Love Is A Beautiful Thing; 3) Waiting On You; 4) What Does It Take; 5) Keep On Pushing Love; 6) You Are My Everything; 7) One Love; 8) People In The World; 9) Give It Everything; 10) Your Love; 11) Fountain Of Love; 12) Don't Look Back; 13) Love In Motion.

[Technically, this belongs in between the reviews for Tokyo... Live! and I Can't Stop, but I have only recently acquired the album, which is why it would seem to be in the wrong place in the context of this blog.]

It only goes to show how much Al Green has derailed his critical audience with his abandoning the «secular» style — nobody takes good care of the man's official discographies any more. In the info section of Wikipedia, for instance, Don't Look Back (1993) is listed as the man's last «gospel album», whereas Your Heart's In Good Hands (1995) is listed as his first «later secular album». Accordingly, Your Heart's In Good Hands is an album that has been discussed and reviewed in quite a few sources, while Don't Look Back, at most, gets a brief mention and a title list, without any substantial discussion whatsoever.

What is bizarre about this situation is that even a brief glance at the track listings shows that Don't Look Back and Your Heart's In Good Hands are, in fact, almost the exact same album, except that Don't Look Back, which was from the very start released in CD format, runs longer, and Your Heart's In Good Hands has just one track that was not present on Don't Look Back — the title track, released as a single. However, since that title track was written by Diane War­ren, this gives me a legitimate excuse to forget about the existence of that album in the first place. Consequently, Al's «proper» comeback, one that somehow remained unnoticed by the critical society, is the 13-track Don't Look Back from 1993 — his first record in a decade and a half to consist throughout of «secular soul» material. Most likely, the confusion is due to the fact that the album was only released in Europe — and, as everybody knows, nothing released exclusively in Europe really counts in the US-centric universe.

The album owes much of its flavor to Al's collaboration with David Steele, former bass player in The Beat and Fine Young Cannibals — about a half of the songs are co-credited to Green and Steele, while the others are covers of contemporary (ʽLove Is A Beautiful Thingʼ) or old (title track, originally a big hit for The Temptations) R&B material. People have occasionally com­plained about the production of the album, but I do not see any serious difficulties: the producer here was Arthur Baker, a seasoned pro who'd previously worked with Afrika Bambaataa and New Order, and the worst accusation I could haul out against him is that too many drum parts are programmed rather than live — but far from all, and even those that are do not flaunt their elec­tronic gloss in any sort of ugly, arrogant manner. On the whole, I could not say that Baker's pro­duction is that much worse than Willie Mitchell's production on Al's subsequent releases: it's just that everybody went so crazy over the very idea of a Green/Mitchell reunion that they failed to notice that their chemistry no longer guaranteed immediate success.

Anyway, Don't Look Back sets the general tone for Al's two next albums — a collection of steady, honest soul grooves, most of which are tastefully enjoyable but feel sorta flat. Years of self-humiliating, individuality-effacing work for the Lord had paid off: the subtlety, vulnerability, sinfulness, inner torture, and occasional strive for redemption, all that dense psychological soup that made Green's soul classics so outstanding on a cruelly competitive market, no longer exist. Instead, song after song is simply dedicated to praising Love on a general level, which makes me happy for Al — clearly, such an album could only have come from somebody who had succeeded in finding internal peace — but rather quickly bored with the album in general. This is what hap­pens, I guess, when you have finally exorcised your demon and are left alone with the angel. Beauty, elegance, predictability, and boredom.

Which is a pity, because individually, some of the grooves are quite solid. ʽLove Is A Beautiful Thingʼ, for instance, has a tasty stereo mix of several overdubbed funky guitars capped with a catchy chorus ("soul to soul, fire to fire...") — the only problem being is that I know not what else to say about it. ʽWaiting On Youʼ might have even better guitar work — two more funky guitars engaged in a productive dialog (pentalog, actually, if you throw in organ, piano, and brass over­dubs: the mix is dense, but the production is so good that each instrument speaks with its own distinct voice). Then ʽWhat Does It Takeʼ takes over with...

...okay, I have little choice but to repeat the same unnecessary descriptions. Truth is, most songs here sound exactly the same. Funky guitars, brass, keyboards, backup vocals, repetitive codas, the works. For a 1993 album, everything sounds absolutely great and delicious — in an era when the word «R&B» was already heavily associated with the idea of technically challenging vocal gym­nastics over robotic pseudo-musical backgrounds, Don't Look Back redeems the genre with an old school vengeance. And from a strict, pedantic musical standpoint, I would even think that Don't Look Back is superior to the next two Mitchell-produced albums — I find the arrange­ments a bit more creative. But the overall problem is the same: most, if not all, of the songs are interchangeable, and their overall mood does not do perfect justice to the capabilities of Al's voice, which has not at all been ravaged by time, but is simply not offered the right material to shine in all its glory. On the other hand — if you are simply looking for a lot of love, Al's got a lot of love saved up from his fifteen years of ministering, and it's all spilled here. I mean, when 7 out of 13 songs have the word «love» in the title, that's gotta be a lot of love, right?..

Al Green: Lay It Down

LAY IT DOWN (2008)

1) Lay It Down; 2) Just For Me; 3) You've Got The Love I Need; 4) No One Like You; 5) What More Do You Want From Me; 6) Take Your Time; 7) Too Much; 8) Stay With Me (By The Sea); 9) All I Need; 10) I'm Wild About You; 11) Standing In The Rain.

As if we needed one more proof that life is stranger than fiction. Two times in a row, Al Green had unsuccessfully attempted to recreate the Ol' Green magic by immersing himself in the pains­takingly recreated setting of the legendary Seventies. It did not work. What was the reason? No one knows for sure. Then, for causes unknown, Green switched producers: instead of old pal Willie Mitchell, Lay It Down was produced by Ahmir "?uestlove" Thompson, from the hip-hop out­fit of The Roots. And presto, third time's the charm: suddenly, everything works!

I can only explain this by admitting that people change, and that, at this particular point, there are people for whom it is easier to step into Willie Mitchell's old shoes than for Willie Mitchell him­self. The essential difference between Lay It Down and Green's previous two records is that Lay It Down sounds far less cluttered. At his best, Green worked in a subtle way — nothing, to me, exemplifies the beauty of his approach better than the gallant dialog between the man and the strings on 'I'm So Glad You're Mine', and these subtleties were thoroughly missed on both I Can't Stop and Everything's OK. Now they're back — maybe not in a real big way, but they're definitely back, and the magic is back with them.

If the former two records both opened with an energetic, punchy rocker (that, nevertheless, some­how missed the punch), Lay It Down opens with the soft, relaxed title track, meaning that the company set their aims real high — on attempting to recreate the el-paradiso-atmosphere of I'm Still In Love With You rather than the much more dance-oriented collections of the mid-Seven­ties. And even if 'Lay It Down', featuring R'n'B guest star Anthony Hamilton on additional vocals on the chorus, is no masterpiece, it is still a perfect conductor for Green's warmth and kindness. Revolving around a (finally!) good vocal hook in the chorus, it manages to reinstate my faith in Green's soul therapy, and who could ask for more?

But there is more. Additional magic can be found, for instance, on 'Take Your Time', where Green cedes a large part of the vocals to another guest singer, Corinne Bailey Rae, and their duet, aided but definitely not overshadowed by the usual silk screen of lounge instrumentation, is touchingly sincere. In fact, just about every ballad on here is good. The upbeat numbers are more hit-and-miss, perhaps running a bit too close on the heels of the generic product of yesteryear, but even so they manage to close the record perfectly — 'Standing In The Rain' is a great singalong number in the pure R'n'B tradition, with nary a sign of disco and sung in such an encouraging manner that somehow it leaves you certain that this isn't the last time you are heartily enjoying a slice of Al Green wizardry.

It may be so that all the «new blood» was brought in primarily with the aim of assuring chart suc­cess, an argument reasonably upheld by the fact that the album got an assured chart success, ri­sing to #9 on the Billboard where Everything's OK had previously stalled at #50. And we all know that Green is not the kind of ivory-tower artist that is most alergic to popularity: he is a prea­cher, after all, and regardless of whether you're preaching about heavenly or quite earthly love, you are a proverbially lousy preacher if you're not interested in attracting a large crowd. But if one's successful search for success even today, when even Google has trouble juxtaposing the words «good taste» and «Billboard», can, as it turns out, be compatible with a record as elegant, delicate, and well-crafted as Lay It Down — maybe there's still hope for our fellow earthlings. Thumbs up on the part of the grateful heart.

Al Green: Everything's OK

EVERYTHING'S OK (2005)

1) Everything's OK; 2) You Are So Beautiful; 3) Build Me Up; 4) Perfect To Me; 5) Nobody But You; 6) Real Love; 7) I Can Make Music; 8) Be My Baby; 9) Magic Road; 10) I Wanna Hold You; 11) Another Day; 12) All The Time.

Yes, everything's OK indeed. This is I Can't Stop Vol. 2 — same lush arrangements that tell you the last two decades never happened, same beautiful vocals, same dedication to original song­writing. How can I put down this album? It has everything that made Al Green a legend, in full shiny spades. A triumphant return to form.

Alas, for myself, I can only state that, just like its predecessor, it passed me by completely. It's one of these very, very bizarre situations where I honestly do not understand what is happening — I want to admire it as a successful comeback, and it seems to be fully equipped to qualify as such, but something essential is missing, and, once again, I can't put my finger on it.

In fact, when I manage to specially concentrate on some of the tracks, they are capable of giving the illusion of life. For instance, isn't 'You Are So Beautiful', well, beautiful? The strings, the fal­setto, the soaring choruses? Or doesn't the title track make you wanna get up and dance like it's supposed to? And isn't the warm, optimistic feeling on most of these songs a sincere feeling, so much in line with The Reverend's real nature? And isn't it spreading all over you, the listener?

Well... technically, yes. But the songs just don't have any staying power. The presence of form makes them seductive while they're playing — the lack of spirit makes them trifling when they're gone. And although I understand the host of critics who all but fell over themselves in praising Green's musical resurrection, I do not understand myself, because I cannot bring myself to fol­low­ing suit. It is funny that, statistically, about half of the opinions I've encountered rate this as superior to I Can't Stop, and the other half thinks vice versa — restoring the equilibrium.

I do heartily recommend Everything's OK to Green's serious fans, but I cannot even write about it, sorry. Thumbs down from all the sensitive organs of my mucho puzzled organism; I'd rate even Truth 'N Time higher than this — at least 'Blow Me Down', in my mind, is well worth all the twelve songs on here put together.

Al Green: I Can't Stop

AL GREEN: I CAN'T STOP (2003)

1) I Can't Stop; 2) Play To Win; 3) Rainin' In My Heart; 4) I've Been Waitin' On You; 5) You; 6) Not Tonight; 7) Million To One; 8) My Problem Is You; 9) I'd Still Choose You; 10) I've Been Thinkin' 'Bout You; 11) I'd Write A Letter; 12) Too Many.

From 1980's The Lord Will Find A Way and up to 1987's Soul Survivor, the Reverend was unwaverend: with a handful of minor "ambiguous" exceptions, everything that he wrote, covered, and recorded served the sole purpose of proving, over and over again, that He could always count on the Reverend in case of need. Some time in the late Eighties, though, either the Reverend felt that he'd propped up his faith with plenty of supporting beams already, or perhaps He eventually let the Reverend know that if the Reverend were to continue in the exact same way, his paeans would eventually start being regurgitated back on Earth in the form of a severe pandemic of dia­betes, proportional to the amount of Heart and Soul contained therein.

Anyway, during the late Eighties and Nineties Al Green released several uneven albums, some­what confusedly hopping between pure gospel, gospel-tinged secular numbers, and secular-tinged gospel numbers. Some of these albums are supposedly worth a short visit, but it wasn't until the turn of the millennium that it became possible to speak of a true "secular comeback" — after all, the Apocalypse happily passed us by, and so one could allow oneself a little relaxation.

Since relaxing is always more fun in the company of old friends, Green chose to team up once more with his old producer pal, Willie Mitchell, and within the confines of his original Eldorado: Hi Studios, where many of the old session players were still abiding. Not only that, but the inten­tion was clearly to try and replicate the old sound — screw all modern technology advances and return to the original warm vibes of Seventies' R'n'B; who cares if it sounds "retro" and "outda­ted" as long as it's Green's signature sound, the thing that he obviously does best?

Indeed, I Can't Stop sounds marvelous. No matter how much I listen to it, I still can't find a single thing that would unmistakably tie it to 2003 from a technical point of view; it seems to pick up exactly from where we were left twenty-five years back with Truth 'N Time. One could imagine that, over twenty-five years, Green could have at least aged in the throat, but the Lord has amply repaid him by protecting his vocal charm — he hasn't lost a single step off his range, still doing both his grunts and his high-pitched squeals the same way he produced them in his youth. And when you hear them strewn over funky guitars, rhythmic brass figures, swirling or­gans, and swinging live percussion, you know for sure that the old joy is back.

There's only one thing that's wrong with this idyllic picture: this album completely, totally, and inescapably sucks. Beneath the shiny facade, there is no sign whatsoever of the old amazing spi­rituality, or of the composing genius that Al Green used to be. Each and every one of the twelve songs on this album are utterly lifeless, as if they were contributed by outside hacks — all the more horrible it is to realize that all of them are credited to Green and Mitchell. Obviously, I have no "objective proof"; I can only speak for myself, stating that, where Green's classic material from 1971 to 1977 made me cry, laugh, and feel like a sentient human being, I Can't Stop has not connected me with Al Green neither on the in-, nor on the outside.

I cannot put my finger on it; it's one of those most-hard-to-explain cases where everything should work but somehow nothing does. It's certainly not the "sterileness" of the production — perfect studio gloss has always been a sine qua non of Green's life. It's not a matter of "detached singing": I cannot accuse Green of not caring for this material, as he fully empties his bag of vocal modula­tions and tricks onto the listener. It's not even a matter of "lack of hooks": technically, there are some 'attention-demanding' brass riffs and catchy choruses, meaning that the songs were written, not improvised on the spot. So what is it?

Unfortunately, it seems to be a severe case of gospelitis. After two decades of squeezing himself into the rigid hymn format, of bravely (but, in the long run, needlessly) sacrificing his indivi­du­ality for the Greater Glory, Green is no longer able — or, to put it in more optimistic terms, for the moment unable — to bring back that most important component: emotional intelligence. These are all simplistic, superficial love numbers, some in dance format, some in ballad shape, but none of them displaying even a tenth part of the subtlety and depth of old. They're all inter­changeable and flat; the only feel they give out is that of gladness and satisfaction, but you can't even tell where the gladness and satisfaction are coming from, much less discern a single trace of something more complex behind them.

There are some tiny drops of potential, like on the sly, foxy-sounding 'I've Been Thinkin' 'Bout You', or on the anthemic title track, but even these numbers sound like their primary purpose was to reintroduce the old sound — at all costs — rather than say something important. It all prompts me to end this review with some spiteful remark (such as "see what years of singing gospel music does to good people"), but it's scientifically incorrect to make broad generalizations even on such a tempting subject as dedicated Christians, so, instead, I'll just give this a straight ahead thumbs down from the heart, reiterating, however, that the brain was at least pleased to see the man able to recreate the basics of his classic sound with such meticulousness — even if to no avail.

Al Green: Tokyo... Live!

AL GREEN: TOKYO... LIVE! (1981)

1) L-O-V-E (Love); 2) Tired Of Being Alone; 3) Let's Stay Together; 4) How Can You Mend A Broken Heart; 5) All'N'All; 6) Belle; 7) Sha-La-La (Make Me Happy); 8) Let's Get Married; 9) God Blessed Our Love; 10) You Ought To Be With Me; 11) For The Good Times; 12) Dream; 13) I Feel Good; 14) Love And Happiness.

This live album came out somewhat belatedly, but early enough to be considered a 'proper' rather than 'archival' release; Al himself is heard mentioning, during his stage banter, that they are re­cording the show for a live album. And here is the live album itself: most certainly, a God-sent gift for the fans who'd already given up hoping for any more secular material from the man.

The Al Green live show generally boasted a high reputation, but I am not so sure that their magic is properly captured here. It's a long, two-LP set, honestly hitting on huge radio hits as well as some rarities, well-recorded and quite "authentic", but Green's power to seduce and enchant, as far as I'm concerned, manifests itself much stronger and much quicker on studio records. For one thing, it's not just the voice that matters: an essential part of Green's success are the musical flou­rishes and inventive arranging details, and most, if not all, of them, get seriously flattened out in the context of this live performance.

Worse, the emphasis is way too heavy on getting the people up on their feet — some of the golden oldies are rearranged as fiery disco workouts, which is just w-r-o-n-g. It's one thing to wind up the happy Japs with a genuine recent disco smash like 'I Feel Good', but an entirely dif­ferent one to follow it up with a dance reworking of 'Love And Happiness', a song that's unima­ginable without its unhurried mid-tempo. Likewise, the hurried delivery and extended jamming turn 'Let's Get Married' into something totally unconnected with the original message of the song. It's not necessarily bad, but it's certainly not "Al Green-specific".

On the other hand, the rare occasions where Al does stick to his guns don't add anything new to what we already know: 'L-O-V-E', 'How Can You Mend A Broken Heart' (seriously shortened), 'Belle' and others go off smoothly and predictably. Accompanied with visuals, they might work better, but as it is, I don't see Green pouring any extra passion into them compared to the perfec­tion already achieved in the studio (unless added bits of annoying stage banter count). So from that point of view, maybe it is more fun, in a way, to hear 'Love And Happiness' rearranged as a disco jam, or to get a better chance to enter a dance trance during the extra five minutes of 'I Feel Good' that Al and the band spend hitting it.

Something tells me that, perhaps, a live album from some earlier tour might have worked better; but since I have no proof, I'll have to take it for granted that this is the average Al Green live show, and that there's no way to properly capture it on record without me giving it a moderate thumbs down, according to my general views on the value of live albums. On the other hand, this is, so far, the only official Al Green live album in existence, and, therefore, is a must-buy for fans who crave knowledge as much as they crave enjoyment.

Al Green: Truth 'n' Time

AL GREEN: TRUTH 'N' TIME (1978)

1) Blow Me Down; 2) Lo And Behold; 3) Wait Here; 4) To Sir With Love; 5) Truth N' Time; 6) King Of All; 7) I Say A Little Prayer; 8) Happy Days.

The point of this record, however, is not clear. No sooner had Al rejuvenated and reinvented him­self with The Belle Album than he'd completed his conversion, and Truth 'N' Time turned out to be his last record of secular music for quite a long time. But it isn't even a properly done farewell to his classic image: coming off the success of Belle, it's a veritable cold shower, if not a straightforward fuck-you to this image. It's almost as if, at this point, he didn't care so much that he'd intentionally produced a total toss-off.

Truth 'N' Time completely adheres to the classic Woody Allen formula, introduced a year ear­lier — 'such terrible food, and such small portions'. With eight songs and not a single 'epic' among them, it runs for less than thirty minutes, and the amount of throwaway cuts rises over fifty percent. He didn't even write most of them, with gospel guru Bernard Staton contributing three cuts and two others being covers of Burt Bacharach that are usually associated with Lulu ('To Sir With Love') and Aretha Franklin ('I Say A Little Prayer').

Of course, Al's professionalism and work ethics prohibit him from releasing something utterly worthless, and the classic Green sound is still in vogue, with the ballads retaining the atmosphere and the dance numbers still kicking it up. But only moderately so. The title track and 'Happy Days' will only be bootylicious when not compared to the real maniacal punch of 'I Feel Good', which was like almost a meticulous study on all the possible reasons for shaking it up; and as for the ballads, the only thing that managed to register properly on my meter was the chorus to 'Blow Me Down', very idealistic and invigorating with its nice use of backing vocals. On the downside, the cover of 'I Say A Little Prayer' may be the closest Green has ever come to 'awful' — clumsy, rushed, and feeling completely superfluous; it's no use trying to do it if you're unwilling and un­able to compete with Aretha, and Al is neither able nor willing.

In short, I don't understand this record at all. Under different circumstances, I'd call this a typical effect of a "contractual obligation", but Al wasn't getting out of any contract — he was still asso­ciated with Hi Records, and he'd continue to be associated with them for much of his gospel peri­od. So, rather, Truth N' Time is just a semi-misguided album from a person who'd finally lost interest in secular pleasures, yet still could not force himself to make the complete conversion to the Lord's music; it took another couple of years and another stage accident in 1979 to finally convince Green that taking this career risk was the right thing for his soul. I am fairly sure that he himself, looking back, would give Truth N' Time a thumbs down as decisive as I am forced to award it, even if 'Blow Me Down' and the title track are salvageable in the long run.

And, as much as pure gospel music annoys me to no end — unless it is Mahalia Jackson taken in very small dosages — I guess that an inspired gospel album is still preferable over an uninspired secular pop one, regardless of whether it narrows your vision of things or widens it. Except I have about as much interest in reviewing gospel music as I have in writing about flamenco, so that you are free to explore Green's output in the 1980s on your own, without my judgements to refer to.

Al Green: The Belle Album

AL GREEN: THE BELLE ALBUM (1977)

1) Belle; 2) Loving You; 3) Feels Like Summer; 4) Georgia Boy; 5) I Feel Good; 6) All 'N' All; 7) Chariots Of Fire; 8) Dream.

In 1977, Al was but two years away from a full-fledged immersion into radical gospel; it's all the more amazing that the same year saw such a major oddity in his catalog as The Belle Album. He may have realized himself that the last three records, consistent as they were, were also pretty much interchangeable, and opted for a change of direction. Long-time pal and producer Willie Mitchell was cordially given the sack; new musicians were brought in the studio; Al wrote pretty much all of the material himself, and he even played his own guitar on most of the tracks. The results could have been terrible; instead, they are brilliant.

What's so fascinating about The Belle Album is that it goes in two opposite directions at the same time. No other Al Green record makes so well-pronounced a distinction between Dance and Dream; no two Al Green songs are more different from each other than 'I Feel Good', symboli­zing the Dance and 'Dream', symbolizing itself. And yet the two extremes are one in that both serve the same purpose — celebrating the beauty of Her and the goodness of Him in one package, the two inseparable from each other.

For the Dance, Al finally makes the crossing into disco (blessed are the polyester wearers, so the Lord says). But if all disco were like this, we could still be hailing disco as the best musical break­­through since the days of Handel. 'I Feel Good' — an original, nothing to do with the James Brown hit — boogies along to a clever web of acoustic rhythm, funky clavinet patterns, brass bursts, and even a little modernistic electronic percussion; it is disco, technically, but it feels like maniacal funk all the way, even despite lacking fiery funky guitar solos. 'Georgia Boy', also built around a disco bassline, is, however, its direct opposite: it's hushed and stripped down, with just a little acoustic backing track and some handclaps (and some delicate chiming in the background) strapped on top. The result is fairly weird, as if we were witnessing an old folk-blues performer adjusting to the modern times, but it's quite unique in a way.

Those who are more interested in the "serious" aspects of soul music, though, will certainly want to pay more attention to the Dream side of the story. That one is best illustrated by 'Belle' and 'Dream'. The former is a gorgeous ballad; the story is old — once again, Green is assuring his girl that he has little choice but to share her with the Lord, because 'I know you're all of these things, girl, but He's such a brighter joy' (yes, I know that's exactly the way I'd always talk to my wife were I a truly devoted believer) — but the way of delivery is new, with Green's acoustic and the shrill, but pleasant synthesizer gelling together in a manner that seriously raises the angelic feel of it all.

Yes, even though synthesized strings mostly replace real ones on this album, it never feels wrong because they're pushed a bit into the background to provide subtle atmosphere, while the loud part is mostly Al's acoustic rhythm. This is even more pronounced on 'Dream'; the latter formally belongs to the pile of Green's seven-minute mood-setters, but it's better than most — it is really set in the manner of a "musical lullaby", slowly rocking back and forth, rising and falling, soaring and swooping; if you play it loud, it'll be a never-ending series of mini-climactic moments, but you're probably supposed to play it soft, so that it gets a chance to really lull you — I've always felt that "music that puts you to sleep" is not necessarily a bad thing, and 'Dream' will put you to sleep in one of the best ways possible, just as 'I Feel Good' will put you up on your feet even if you were among the original jury that yielded the guilty as charged verdict against disco.

Set so near the end of his career, so unconspicuously nested among a string of "merely good" records, and so near to the usually (but not in this case) precarious influence of the disco spirits, The Belle Album rarely gets the same attention or respect as the early 1970s records that defined Green's career, but to me it is obvious that this is little more than the result of unfortunate circum­stances, and my own respect and love for the record prompt me to give it as solid a thumbs up as I'd give Call Me or I'm Still In Love With You, and here's hoping the album will eventually return to print and gain as much critical and fan appraisal as the older records.

Al Green: Have A Good Time

AL GREEN: HAVE A GOOD TIME (1976)

1) Keep Me Crying; 2) Smile A Little Bit More; 3) I Tried To Tell Myself; 4) Something; 5) The Truth Marches On; 6) Have A Good Time; 7) Nothing Takes The Place Of You; 8) Happy; 9) Hold On Forever.

Or maybe it's Have A Good Time, after all, that is slightly more consistent than Full Of Fire — it's so easy to sway from one to another when one stops playing and the other begins. At least there is one major plus: no pure-atmosphere seven-minute track for the ultra-dedicated fan. The closest to a seven-minute track is a couple four-minute tracks, one of which ('Something') is really quite a moving ballad, with some exquisitely novel use of a sitar (if that really is a sitar) that someone is trying to play like a moody Nashville guitar. [The connection with George Har­rison, despite the sitar use, does not extend beyond the name of the song]. The other chunk of slow romance, 'Nothing Takes The Place Of You', is nothing special — but it is not a seven-mi­nute chunk, and so you are not forced to concentrate on how positively it demonstrates the depth of Al Green's decline.

Elsewhere, he is accelerating the drive towards disco, but there are no distinct disco basslines and the melody in all these dance send-ups almost comes first and foremost before the groove. The only track that misses competition with Chic and the Bee Gees by an inch is the opener 'Keep Me Cryin', yet it is so awash in complex strings patterns that it is hard to accuse it of extra cheesiness. If there is a flaw, it's that Al is working way, way too hard to wrap the listener in a friendly, lo­ving vibe: with tunes like 'Have A Good Time', 'Happy', and 'Smile A Little Bit More' — all on the same album! — he doesn't so much wrap you as he drowns you, and if he were just a wee bit less talented and charismatic, this would be the equivalent of overdosing on Prozac. All of the ambiguity and all of the subtle darkness that used to elevate his art to the level of A-R-T seem to have been burned away by just one pan of boiled grits, and I sincerely miss them...

...but only when I take a look back at his major efforts from the start of the decade, that is. As frustrating as it is to admit, there is not a single really weak tune on the record — well, 'The Truth Marches On' starts out suspiciously, as if we were about to witness some forced "gritty blues-rock", but then it turns out the blues-rock aspect of the song is secondary to its atmosphere and inspired religious message. And no matter how shallow and superficial I could find the exhorta­tion to 'have a good time', the note captured by Al comes across as so sincere and charming in its naïveness that spiritual depth and profound meaning can go fuck themselves for a good half hour — and I don't care.

Al Green: Full Of Fire

AL GREEN: FULL OF FIRE (1976)

1) Glory, Glory; 2) That's The Way It Is; 3) Always; 4) There's No Way; 5) I'd Fly Away; 6) Full Of Fire; 7) To­gether Again; 8) Soon As I Get Home; 9) Let It Shine.

Al made a whoppin' two albums in 1976 — both of them easy-going and eminently listenable, but completely surprise-less. Full Of Fire may be a bit more consistent than Have A Good Time, or it may be vice versa, however, that is not saying much.

Do not get me wrong, though: Al's last really big artistic transformation happened four years be­fore, and since then his main emphasis had steadily focused on creating new melodies rather than new ways of expression. Full Of Fire is more or less evenly divided between proto-disco dance numbers and slow ballads, and the dance numbers in particular never disappoint — regardless of whether they celebrate the celestial ('Glory Glory') or the carnal (title track), they're the usual mix of catchiness, fun, and tasteful arrangements.

The ballads are slightly weaker this time around, though, especially 'Together Again', which creeps along at a dehydrated snail's pace and is weirdly lazy even in the vocal department; maybe somebody loves the idea of stretching vocals, strings and saxes to the point of thinning out to a microscopic level, finding it mesmerizing, but if formerly the idea of an Al Green ballad was to assist your sleeping with a lovely lady, the idea of 'Together Again' just seems to be in assisting you to sleep — period. Arguably hooking people on ballads is a more subtle matter than hooking them on rockers, since Al is clearly losing the balance here on these two fronts.

Nevertheless, when the ballads run at a slightly more upbeat tempo, the results are more optimis­tic. In particular, 'Soon As I Get Home' is one of Al's simplest, but also tenderest and warmest creations — there's nothing here emotionally but a starry-eyed wish to be reunited with one's beloved, of course, but as long as it's expressed with so much passion, and as long as the strings con­tinue to play the part of the beloved to Al's part of the lover, who would want Al Green to drop this simple approach in favour of a more complicated "existentialist" one?

All in all, once we get around to the bragging title track, I'm all but ready to believe that, no mat­ter how many times he's going to do this all over again, he's still "full of fire", and will remain that way until the end of time. Therefore, here's another highly recommended Al Green album; thumbs up from the heart, which is still in love with the man, and from the brain, which is trying to calculate the exact number that it is possible to come up with a winner using the same formula — using the Al Green catalog as essential empiric data.

Al Green: Al Green Is Love

AL GREEN: AL GREEN IS LOVE (1975)

1) L-O-V-E (Love); 2) Rhymes; 3) The Love Sermon; 4) There Is Love; 5) Could I Be The One; 6) Love Ritual; 7) I Didn't Know; 8) Oh Me, Oh My (Dreams In My Arms); 9) I Gotta Be More (Take Me Higher); 10) I Wish You Were Here.

This isn't a bad album, but its message is forcefully overstated — just look at all the song titles. Besides, it's not like Al is letting us in on something we haven't been previously aware of. In re­ality, this may simply be a sign that the king (of Love) is faltering, and that this nothing more than a desperate gimmick to reassert his failing position. When the Rolling Stones, on their 1969 tour, billed themselves 'The Greatest Rock'n'Roll Band In The World' whenever they went, audi­ences weren't really too sure of this prior to the show, meaning that the gesture was arrogant, but masterfully provocative. When Al Green, in 1975, claims that he "is Love", though, he is remin­ding this to people who were already quite positively certain of the fact since 1972 at the latest, and when exactly is it that you have to remind people of the obvious? That's right — when the obvious is either no longer obvious or, on the contrary, is so obvious it has become boring and forgettable. So, not a good sign.

There is exactly one song on Al Green Is Love that constitutes forward movement: the near-instru­mental 'Love Ritual' —a musical representation of said ritual through the art of funky jamming. It is pretty decent as far as proto-disco jamming goes, but, evidently, it cannot be any­thing but an oddity in Green's catalog, because who the hell wants to listen to Al Green not sin­ging? Its presence on the album is only justified within a larger context, since Al clearly designed the record as a semi-conceptual one, defining and describing the power of love in multiple ways, including even one way that does not involve his trademark vocals, except for a few woo-woos and hoola-hoolas.

The rest is basically just Explores Your Mind Vol. 2: respectable dance grooves graced with catchy vocal hooks, interchangeable but, as usual, all ranging from pretty to gorgeous. 'L-O-V-E' and 'Oh Me, Oh My' are probably the high points of the 'tighter' sector, especially the former, which is one of Al's most straightforward anthems, completely devoid of subtlety or ambivalence — but, of course, one cannot and should not always be ambivalent; there's always a time and place for letting yourself go, and few people can do it more gracefully than Al.

However, the further we progress, the more he seems to be slipping. The slower ballads aren't that captivating any more, maybe because he cannot think of any new ways to seduce us, and who wants to always be seduced in the very same way? that'd be missing the very point of seduction. The hugest misstep is on 'I Didn't Know', whose eight-minute length would indicate a soft R'n'B jam showered with inventive vocalization, like 'Jesus Is Waiting' or 'Beware', but instead it's just one more slow ballad with a relatively generic performance, and it functions as okay background music to make out to, but the greatness of Al was that, even if his previous output could always be technically defined as 'background music to make out to', it always went beyond that — 'I Didn't Know', on the other hand, belongs in a decent-quality softcore flick, never to be judged as containing some sort of value that trumps this level.

On shorter songs, hooks take more time to sink in — I still haven't been able to buy into the magic of 'Could I Be The One' or 'The Love Sermon', and only a super-effort on 'I Wish You Were Here', where Al really pulls all the stops with his falsetto, effectively grants a memorable and moving ending to the record and thus, a general favorable impression, with the best dance number opening it and the best ballad closing it.

It's interesting that the record scarcely ever bears the imprint of Al's great tragedy of the prece­ding year, when his then-current lover Mary Woodson scalded him with boiling grits and then committed suicide — an incident which, as it is often claimed, moved him one big step closer to fully converting to religious activities. Nor would I try to insinuate that his third-degree burns resulted in this slight drop of musical quality, a drop that was probably inevitable — you can't go on making great music forever, not if you lock oneself in one particular style. It does, however, seem reasonable to think that, the more messed up he became in personal life, the more idyllic he would be shaping his musical landscapes, which were his Wonderland refuge from the troubles of everyday existence. But there's only so far you can go with idyllic settings, and on Al Green Is Love, there is simply too much honey and not enough meat to balance the diet. Thumbs up any­way — there are no serious accusations I could have against the record — but if there ever was such a thing as a "beginning of the end" for Green, this was it. Or maybe it was the boiling grits.

Al Green: Explores Your Mind

AL GREEN: AL GREEN EXPLORES YOUR MIND (1974)

1) Sha-La-La (Make Me Happy); 2) Take Me To The River; 3) God Blessed Our Love; 4) The City; 5) One Night Stand; 6) I'm Hooked On You; 7) Stay With Me Forever; 8) Hangin' On; 9) School Days.

Explores Your Mind? More like Explores Your Body! Keeping up with the times, Al and pro­ducer Willie Mitchell steer the ship in a more shallow direction, ending up with the first Al Green album in a long time that might be more suitable for club audiences than late night make-outs. The tempos are driven up, the strings swoop in precise funky grooves, Al introduces more catchy vocal choruses, and much of this borders on proto-disco.

Is it bad? Who knows? After all, it is quite slippery to try and accuse Al Green of "selling out"; his creed, from the very start to the very end, has always been Spirituality, Sentimentality, and Commerciality (or, if one wants to use a less derogatory term, Accessibility). So, Al Green Explo­res Your Mind may abuse the latter part, but it does so without sacrificing either Spiri­tuali­ty or Sentimentality — and, if anything, he is now even closer to merging the two, e. g. on 'God Blessed Our Love', the slowest and most gospel-oriented song on the album. Nothing can be more exciting than bringing together God and the lady you love, right?

But, of course, it can be relatively unsettling to learn that the big hit, this time around, bears the title of 'Sha-La-La'. It's not the Manfred Mann level of (anti-)intelligence, of course, yet there is decidedly less subtlety to this little album-opening hymn than to 'Call Me' or even 'Let's Get Mar­ried', and you can feel that decidedly less work went into it, as well. So history was right to de­cide that the true song number one on the album is Al's original version of 'Take Me To The Ri­ver', not fully appreciated by either black or white audiences until its popularization by Talking Heads several years later.

With the Heads, it was put by David Byrne through his well-oiled para­noia machine, but also lost the lyrical relevance — David Byrne isn't well-known for being (and could have never even tried on the guise of) a tortured lover, whereas for Al it's the primary occu­pation, and his use of a Christian metaphor — 'take me to the river, wash me down' — to reflect the yearning for getting rid of a love he doesn't feel right about is right on target. Once again, here's this idea of a super­natural fear outbalancing temptation, and it is perhaps no accident that 'God Blessed Our Love' is the very next track: in order to overcome this fear, Al has to make sure that this is not a demonic temptation, but rather a holy feeling validated by his superior. It's only natural, though, that 'Take Me To The River' is the masterpiece, and 'God Blessed Our Love' the trifling footnote.

None of the other songs have an intrigue as deep-cutting as 'Take Me To The River', but both the ballads and the dance grooves are uniformly tasteful, and one has to seriously, seriously com­mend the strings and horns arrangements: for instance, the first fifteen seconds of 'One Night Stand', with the two waves of these sounds meeting each other, are quite a glorious fifteen se­conds, and the clever use of the harp on 'Hangin' On' is a refreshing novelty. So let it be well understood that, even though the emphasis is on Entertainment, this is still first-class Entertain­ment and still one of the best soul/R'n'B albums of the year. And even though it begins with the feather-light 'Sha-La-La', it still ends with the pensive, introspective finale of 'School Days' — Al sweetly and gracefully reminiscing about his early days of romance. Or maybe reminiscing about your early days of romance? After all, it's Al Green Explores Your Mind, not His Mind. But a big thumbs up from the heart regardless of the answer, and a slightly lesser one from the mind, which still cannot completely shake off the not so pleasant feeling of being "explored" with the likes of 'Sha-La-La'.

Al Green: Livin' For You

AL GREEN: LIVIN' FOR YOU (1973)

1) Livin' For You; 2) Home Again; 3) Free At Last; 4) Let's Get Married; 5) So Good To Be Here; 6) Sweet Sixteen; 7) Un­chained Melody; 8) My God Is Real; 9) Beware.

I cannot think of anything substantial to say about this album. It is another transitional piece, ap­parently, before Green started venturing into more "danceable" territory with his next album, and as such, reflects the usual high standard of Green's records, but with next to no serious surprises and no minor breakthroughs into unexplored territory.

For some reason, the songs here just don't grapple as much as the best songs on his two previous records; maybe he was again temporarily running out of ideas, or maybe his musical partners were too busy trying out the latest in trendy chemicals, or maybe it's just that the recording ses­sions fell on an unlucky day. Case in point: the eight-minute jam of 'Beware' looks like it's there just to occupy all the empty space — with 'Jesus Is Waiting', at least Al had some sort of point to break through, but here he is just coasting; with class, but still coasting.

He also seems to be recycling ideas; for instance, the "rocking" section of 'Home Again' would have been far more effective in surprising the listener, who'd already settled into the soft groove of it, if it hadn't been lifted right off 'All Because'. Minor quibble, to be sure, but enforcing the general unhappy feeling that Livin' For You is, in fact, the first in a long string of albums where the man finally has nothing new left to say and is forced to repeat himself.

The big hit was 'Let's Get Married', and, regardless of what I say, deservedly so: it's first-class Al Green, tenderness and paranoia and tremendous R'n'B drive all in one. And realism, of course — no clichéd lovey-dovey nonsense or dumb sexual bravado for Mr. Green, he always looks like he's torn between the holi­ness of his feelings and the utmost horror of them — exactly because they're so holy, he's so scared of them; true love, after all, is a very, very scary thing, much more so than simple adultery. If 'Love And Happiness' didn't manage to get the message through, then 'Let's Get Married' certainly will; throughout all of it, you can never really guess if the protagonist offers the girl to get married because he happily means it or because he just wants to get over all of this as soon as possible.

However, the only track that truly points to the future is, odd enough, the album's most light­weight number — 'Sweet Sixteen', a straightahead dance number that could have been disco if it had been just a tad faster. It does take some lyrical and musical clues from 'Sweet Little Sixteen', but overall it's an unrecognizable re-working, with near-robotic funky guitars, "geometrically ar­ranged" string embellishments, strict drum patterns, and just tiny touches of looseness here and there to retain the connection to Green's classic style. One might call it a cheapening of the gene­ral approach, but I'd rather save this remark for the next album, where this "innovation" becomes a commodity; within the context of Livin' For You, it's weirdly refreshing.

In the long run, it's still a thumbs up, of course, but I dare say the album will very rarely show up on the Top-3 for any fans of the Reverend, unless it chances to be the first Al Green record ever heard by them. Incidentally, it also happens to feature the cheesiest album cover from that period: Al Green as a cartoonish towering giant! I'd rather see the man in a pimp hat than that.

Al Green: Call Me

AL GREEN: CALL ME (1973)

1) Call Me (Come Back Home); 2) Have You Been Making Out OK?; 3) Stand Up; 4) I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry; 5) Your Love Is Like The Morning Sun; 6) Here I Am (Come And Take Me); 7) Funny How Time Slips Away; 8) You Ought To Be With Me; 9) Jesus Is Waiting.

Robert Christgau gives Call Me an A+ rating, and so do many other critics, whether influenced by "The Dean" or not. I have not been able to understood what exactly is it that separates Call Me from the rest and so unequivocally turns it into the pinnacle of Green's career. But there is hardly any need to turn that into a pretext for not sleeping nights. It is obvious, anyway, that an Al Green fan without a copy of Call Me is like a Michael Jackson fan without a copy of Off The Wall, regardless of whether this or Thriller is his highest point — in other words, a ridiculous and bizarre entity that defies scientific explanation.

Innovation-wise, Call Me makes one bold step forward by taking two well-known country stan­dards — Hank Williams' 'I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry' and Willie Nelson's 'Funny How Time Slips Away' — and transforming them into classic Seventies' country-soul with Al Green's seal of approval. Having already shown that he could effortlessly (or with but a little effort) Greenify radical R'n'B, whitebread ballads, and even Brit-pop, he now takes his cue from Ray Charles and delves into country. 'I'm So Lonesome' is a particular stunner, a song whose mood and lyrics suit Al's general self-pitying style so well it must have been the obvious choice; he injects a little bit of different emotion into each syllable, and if you thought, like me, that Hank's original was intentionally some­what detached, containing its grief to just the lyrics, you wouldn't be able to think that about Green's version.

Another reason for the high critical opinion might be that, in fact, the whole album conveys a general atmosphere of sadness and moodiness, with the dial set to 'tragic' or 'lamentable' far more often than on I'm Still In Love With You — and don't we usually regard tragedy as the high genre, a priori set to exploring the innermost depths of one's soul? The very opening is telling — sad, sad, sad swoops from the strings and even the horns; those same horns that, in an Al Green tune, usually announce joy, but here morosely pronounce separation. And the echoey female backup vocals — 'call me', 'call me', 'call me', like a Eurydice might have been calling out to Orpheus from under the ground, if classical metaphors are allowed. A masterpiece of a song, but certainly not the proper tune to make out to, at least if you're even a little bit superstitious.

Only a couple songs sound more upbeat and R'n'B-ish, like 'Stand Up' or 'Here I Am', but in my mind they actually sound more timid than Green's first full-blown entry in the gospel genre, the almost six-minute sermon of 'Jesus Is Waiting'. Sermon, not song — there is a basic vocal theme here, but it does not matter one iota next to the amazing web of vocal overdubs that Green uses to draw you closer to his religious conscience. As goes with all of great gospel, though, you don't have to be a zealous Christian to appreciate it — for all I know, you could be a militant atheist. I'm an agnostic, but even I can't resist his 'thank you... thank you... thank you', or 'help me... help me... help me...', or especially 'you been good to me... you been good to me...'. Like all best ser­mons, this works well on the subconscious level, and it makes me feel good and inspired without making me yearn to be baptized.

It does go without saying that this is a highest quality Al Green record with enough soul to warm the heart and enough inventiveness to soothe the brain, so a thumbs up is guaranteed from both directions. As for the issue of "all-time best", I don't think Al himself ever gave a damn about it, and I don't do, either.

Al Green: I'm Still In Love With You

AL GREEN: I'M STILL IN LOVE WITH YOU (1972)

1) I'm Still In Love With You; 2) I'm Glad You're Mine; 3) Love And Happiness; 4) What A Wonderful Thing Love Is; 5) Simply Beautiful; 6) Oh, Pretty Woman; 7) For The Good Times; 8) Look What You Done For Me; 9) One Of These Good Old Days.

I always knew there was one particularly magic moment on this record — the idea had been lingering in my head since the very first listen, but, for a long time, it seemed impossible to lay my finger on it, as if the whole album were shrouded in a stealth cloak. But then finally I knew the secret, even if it didn't become any less magical because of this.

It comes at 0:37 into 'I'm Glad You're Mine'. [If you own the album, go listen to it before you read on any further and see if you agree]. It's when the tender strings "swoop" arrives in response to Al's call. He makes the call three times, see — 'baby, I'm so glad you're here... baby, I've got something to say my dear... baby, I'm so glad you're mine...' — at exactly the third 'baby', no soo­ner, no later, the strings come in as if finally replying, finally giving in to Green's seductive, year­ning cooing. See, not even the instruments can resist this, much less his female audience!

On I'm Still In Love With You, Green's transformation into the Ladies' Man is complete. Even the album cover, with the man sporting a blinding white suit, slyly and contentedly, with a hint at decadence, perhaps, grinning at you from a blinding white wicker chair, exudes temptation (of course, some of the more cynical heads might probably think of it as advertising a dentist's office instead). And the songs are ALL about love, passion, devotion, and, to a small extent, suffering (from love, passion, and devotion). Simply put, Al now knows what kind of thing is best for him, and dedicates himself completely to doing that one thing.

Accusing the record of monotonousness would be like condemning a lion for carnivorous beha­viour. It may be wise to savour its genius slowly, one or two songs at a time, to get a better taste for all of its delicious little flourishes and vignettes — another well-propagated use for it is to employ it as the soundtrack to one's making out, if you're into that kind of thing (i. e. a generous threesome with Al Green). The approaches are numerous. But to treat this in an 'applied' matter without recognizing it as a major work of art would be criminal.

I'm Still In Love With You has arguably the finest combination of singing, melody, rhythm section work, organ, strings, and backup vocals on a soul record ever. It is a very well fleshed out record, with multiple sonic layers, a great level of understanding between all the players and the singer, and a respectable balance between groove and melody. A perfect example is 'Love And Happiness'; the strings flourish on 'I'm Glad You're Mine' may be the most magical moment on the record, but 'Love And Happiness' is simply my favourite song in the Green catalog, and actu­ally, the moment when the mysterious organ line presents the main section after the quiet intro­duction is only iotas below the 'baby'-substituting strings.

And it goes deeper than one might expect from a song called 'Love And Happiness'. It's a ner­vous, disturbing song, with the organ and the brass section working towards establishing a slightly pa­ranoid mood — so that Al's "warning" at the beginning of the song ('something that can make you do wrong, make you do right...') comes back to you with a vengeance, and so that you realize that the 'power of love' may, indeed, be a double-edged weapon. And all this time the rhythm section hacks away with a rhythmic power normally intended to make you dance — but here, the heavy, precise drumming and the pounding bass only remind you further of the danger of the whole thing. And then it just goes on and on for three minutes after there's no more verses, be­cause that's exactly how much time Al needs to implant his inner confusion and turmoil inside his listeners — those that actually listen, of course.

But that's about the grimmest thing on this unabashedly happy album. Shaking off the cobwebs, Al then proceeds straight into the honey-pouring 'What A Wonderful Thing Love Is', and his cover of Orbison's 'Pretty Woman' transforms a magnificent pop song into a magnificent celebra­tion of an idolized love object.

My only complaint is that I don't seem to possess the exact amount of soul to connect with Green on the same level as I am able to connect with, say, John Lennon. My mind finds too many man­nerisms and not enough straightforward directness in this stuff; all of these sonic layers are gor­geous, but just how many of them do you need to penetrate in order to get straight to the heart? And is that steel-melting, iceberg-thawing voice of his really the voice of his heart, or just a well calculated gimmick to give ladies their dose of physical pleasure? These questions will never cease to torment me, but in the meantime that does not prevent I'm Still In Love With You from becoming the most consistent, the most well-produced, the most symbolic album in Al Green's entire career, or from receiving an easy thumbs up from both the intellectual department (for some of the cleverest arrangements in soul history) and the emotional one (for successful idoliza­tion of love as the supreme emotion).

Al Green: Let's Stay Together

LET'S STAY TOGETHER (1972)

1) Let's Stay Together; 2) La-La For You; 3) So You're Leaving; 4) What Is This Feeling; 5) Old Time Lovin'; 6) I've Never Found A Girl; 7) How Can You Mend A Broken Heart; 8) Judy; 9) It Ain't No Fun To Me; 10*) Eli's Game; 11) *Listen.

Early 1972 marks the arrival of the new, freshly-glossed Al Green. After half a decade of kicking around, he finally and ultimately falls into his new groove he'd be exploring for another half a decade, before making the transition into gospel. This is the period that has all the hits. It may or may not be one's favourite period in the man's career, but it's certainly his period, a time when everything came out all right and when no one else could make it came out the same way.

It is hardly a coincidence, either, that Let's Stay Together is Al's first album where the originals outnumber the covers — seven to two. Al didn't have much of a knack for conjuring tight funky grooves out of his own mind, but soft silky ones seemed to come to him naturally. The class of Al's act cannot be really esteemed without realizing that he really wrote songs with melodies, not just riding high on the strength of his newly-found unique voice and his tremendously gifted backing band. These melodies may not come through too quickly, and not all of the songs are of equal quality, but they, and nothing else, are the reason for owning all of these classic Al albums except of just one, for collection's sake.

The biggest hit — in fact, Green's biggest hit so far — was the title track, which is maybe just one tiny step away from a gross cliché of the idea of conjugal happiness, but it's exactly that one tiny step that makes me recommend it for all the happy couples in this world without the slightest bit of embarrassment. Some sappy strings in the background could spoil the picture if they were given free rein, but they never ever threaten to overshadow the song's main attraction: Green's voice, which had by then redefined the meaning of the word "soft" when applied to somebody's vocal cords. It's not just "soft", it's seducing to the breaking point, far beyond the realms of common decen­cy, I'd say. It has to be rated PG-13 at least, and X in extreme cases.

The new approach works so well that the grittier, funkier spirit of Gets Next To You is all but forgotten. Sterner rhythms only kick in on two tracks: the boppy album closer 'It Ain't No Fun To Me' and the paranoid 'So You're Leaving', which comes in two tracks after 'Let's Stay Together' and has the effect of a cold shower after the pleasant happy delicacy of the former: Green gives his best impersonation of a nervous, tired man on the edge of his seat (or sofa), tearing himself apart because he's being abandoned but never really able to decide what to do about it. (The man was always much too gallant to behave in a 'good riddance, bitch' manner).

Everything else is milk and honey, one hundred percent organic and fresh from the local farmer's market. Even the choice of covers is telling: the Bee Gees' recent lush ballad 'How Can You Mend A Broken Heart', one of their sugariest creations, which, in Al's treatment, manages to sound more natural and convincing.

Frankly speaking, there's a bit too much sugar, and the ba­lance would be somewhat corrected on Al's subsequent releases. The transition is too sudden and too total, and a few of the songs look like they're just there to mark this totality rather than to be minor masterpieces per se. But even the lesser songs still warrant further listening, and this means a sincere thumbs up from every piece of the organism, be it emotional or intellectual.

Al Green: Gets Next To You

AL GREEN: GETS NEXT TO YOU (1971)

1) I Can't Get Next To You; 2) Are You Lonely For Me Baby; 3) God is Standing By; 4) Tired Of Being Alone; 5) I'm A Ram; 6) Driving Wheel; 7) Light My Fire; 8) You Say It; 9) Right Now, Right Now; 10) All Because; 11*) Ride, Sally, Ride; 12*) True Love; 13*) I'll Be Standing By.

Third time gets it right. Please own this Green album: there is nothing else like it in his catalog. Al's first really focused, really consistent effort still catches him in his transitional phase, when he hasn't yet decided whether it is more promising to keep on putting out harder, grittier grooves, or to completely reinterpret himself as The Ladies' Man. So he tries some of both, but with a serious bias towards the "grittier" side nevertheless — and if you've ever gotten tired of the exquisite, but tiring soft sound of his post-1971 records, Gets Next To You gives you an Al Green who can do it all: rock along with the best of 'em and croon like even the best ones of them can't.

The only thing he can't do is get next to you, as he shamefully confesses in the title track... but then you look at the album title and you know he's only pretending. Slowing down the original Temptations version, removing the funk and replacing it with a slow, longing, burning R'n'B melody, Al gives the song a whole new life, and the Memphis Horns a terrific playground for practicing their brassy geometry. Instead of playful and aggressive, the song is now dark and disturbing, and while Al's one-man potential is not enough to replace from four to six different individual Temptations, he has the advantage of personalizing the song and building up a persona: the same confused, chaotic, but mild and lovable persona he'd be regularly invocating from now on. Watch out for the two or so bars of grizzly psychedelic-Funkadelic-like guitar in the solo, too.

But 'I Can't Get Next To You' isn't the only half-cool, half-relaxed, sweaty, rhythmic workout on the album. 'I'm A Ram' is like a tightly wound coil of great brass, organ, and guitar riffs, over which Al asserts his superiority to the average Joe; Roosevelt Sykes' (yes!) 'Driving Wheel' is indeed given the musical shape of a rollin' wheel (more great riffage); and on 'You Say It', 'Right Now, Right Now', and 'All Because' they finally figure out how to make Al sound funky without emulating James Brown. It turns out that all you have to do is just... stop emulating James Brown!!! (Even though he still can't help giving out a few grunts and hiccups on 'All Because', but on that particular song they fit the ominous organ chords to a tee).

The album's biggest hit and best-known song was, however, one of the "softies" — 'Tired Of Being Alone'. For a good reason: this is the tune that has for the first time given us the new, silky-smooth Al Green, and the world certainly didn't forget it. But in the general context of the album, there's little that makes this tender little gem more worthy than the poppy, jumpy 'Are You Lone­ly For Me Baby', or the gospel number 'God Is Standing By'.

So we will forget the album's only clumsy misfire — a lumbering reconstruction of 'Light My Fire', in the vein of the failed experiments on Green Is Blues — and join the brain and the heart in a glorious thumbs up tandem. Perhaps this isn't the most sonically perfect album Al ever cut, but it's certainly one of his most consistent, and one that goes down the easiest with me.

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