Patrick Bateman's Music Reviews
Genesis
I’ve been a big Genesis fan ever since the release of their 1980 album, Duke. Before that I didn’t really understand any of their work, though on their last album of the 1970s, the concept-laden And Then There Were Three (a reference to band member Peter Gabriel, who left the group to start a lame solo career), I did enjoy the lovely “Follow You, Follow Me.” Otherwise all the albums before Duke seemed too artsy, too intellectual. It was Duke (Atlantic; 1980), where Phil Collins’ presence became more apparent, and the music got more modern, the drum machine became more prevalent and the lyrics started getting less mystical and more specific (maybe because of Peter Gabriel’s departure), and complex, ambiguous studies of loss became, instead, smashing first-rate pop songs that I gratefully embraced. The songs themselves seemed arranged more around Collins’ drumming than Mike Rutherford’s bass lines or Tony Banks’ keyboard riffs. A classic example of this is “Misunderstanding,” which not only was the group’s first big hit of the eighties but also seemed to set the tone for the rest of their albums as the decade progressed. The other standout on Duke is “Turn It On Again,” which is about the negative effects of television. On the other hand, “Heathaze” is a song I just don’t understand, while “Please Don’t Ask” is a touching love song written to a separated wife who regains custody of the couple’s child. Has the negative aspect of divorce ever been rendered in more intimate terms by a rock ’n’ roll group? I don’t think so. “Duke Travels” and “Dukes End” might mean something but since the lyrics aren’t printed it’s hard to tell what Collins is singing about, though there is complex, gorgeous piano work by Tony Banks on the latter track. The only bummer about Duke is “Alone Tonight,” which is way too reminiscent of “Tonight Tonight Tonight” from the group’s later masterpiece Invisible Touch and the only example, really, of where Collins has plagiarized himself.
Abacab (Atlantic; 1981) was released almost immediately after Duke and it benefits from a new producer, Hugh Padgham, who gives the band a more eighties sound and though the songs seem fairly generic, there are still great bits throughout: the extended jam in the middle of the title track and the horns by some group called Earth, Wind and Fire on “No Reply at All” are just two examples. Again the songs reflect dark emotions and are about people who feel lost or who are in conflict, but the production and sound are gleaming and upbeat (even if the titles aren’t: “No Reply at All,” “Keep It Dark,” “Who Dunnit?” “Like It or Not”). Mike Rutherford’s bass is obscured somewhat in the mix but otherwise the band sounds tight and is once again propelled by Collins’ truly amazing drumming. Even at its most despairing (like the song “Dodo,” about extinction), Abacab musically is poppy and lighthearted.
My favorite track is “Man on the Corner,” which is the only song credited solely to Collins, a moving ballad with a pretty synthesized melody plus a riveting drum machine in the background. Though it could easily come off any of Phil’s solo albums, because the themes of loneliness, paranoia and alienation are overly familiar to Genesis it evokes the band’s hopeful humanism. “Man on the Corner” profoundly equates a relationship with a solitary figure (a bum, perhaps a poor homeless person?), “that lonely man on the corner” who just stands around. “Who Dunnit?” profoundly expresses the theme of confusion against a funky groove, and what makes this song so exciting is that it ends with its narrator never finding anything out at all.
Hugh Padgham produced next an even less conceptual effort, simply called Genesis (Atlantic; 1983), and though it’s a fine album a lot of it now seems too derivative for my tastes. “That’s AH” sounds like “Misunderstanding,” “Taking It All Too Hard” reminds me of “Throwing It All Away.” It also seems less jazzy than its predecessors and more of an eighties pop album, more rock ’n’ roll. Padgham does a brilliant job of producing, but the material is weaker than usual and you can sense the strain. It opens with the autobiographical “Mama,” that’s both strange and touching, though I couldn’t tell if the singer was talking about his actual mother or to a girl he likes to call “Mama.” “That’s All” is a lover’s lament about being ignored and beaten down by an unreceptive partner; despite the despairing tone it’s got a bright sing-along melody that makes the song less depressing than it probably needed to be. “That’s All” is the best tune on the album, but Phil’s voice is strongest on “House by the Sea,” whose lyrics are, however, too stream-of-consciousness to make much sense. It might be about growing up and accepting adulthood but it’s unclear; at any rate, its second instrumental part puts the song more in focus for me and Mike Banks gets to show off his virtuosic guitar skills while Tom Rutherford washes the tracks over with dreamy synthesizers, and when Phil repeats the song’s third verse at the end it can give you chills.
“Illegal Alien” is the most explicitly political song the group has yet recorded and their funniest. The subject is supposed to be sad—a wetback trying to get across the border, into the United States—but the details are highly comical: the bottle of tequila the Mexican holds, the new pair of shoes he’s wearing (probably stolen); and it all seems totally accurate. Phil sings it in a brash, whiny pseudo-Mexican voice that makes it even funnier, and the rhyme of “fun” with “illegal alien” is inspired. “Just a Job to Do” is the album’s funkiest song, with a killer bass line by Banks, and though it seems to be about a detective chasing a criminal, I think it could also be about a jealous lover tracking someone down. “Silver Rainbow” is the album’s most lyrical song. The words are intense, complex and gorgeous. The album ends on a positive, upbeat note with “It’s Gonna Get Better.” Even if the lyrics seem a tiny bit generic to some, Phil’s voice is so confident (heavily influenced by Peter Gabriel, who never made an album this polished and heartfelt himself) that he makes us believe in glorious possibilities.
Invisible Touch (Atlantic; 1986) is the group’s undisputed masterpiece. It’s an epic meditation on intangibility, at the same time it deepens and enriches the meaning of the preceding three albums. It has a resonance that keeps coming back at the listener, and the music is so beautiful that it’s almost impossible to shake off because every song makes some connection about the unknown or the spaces between people (“Invisible Touch”), questioning authoritative control whether by domineering lovers or by government (“Land of Confusion”) or by meaningless repetition (“Tonight Tonight Tonight”). All in all it ranks with the finest rock ’n’ roll achievements of the decade and the mastermind behind this album, along of course with the brilliant ensemble playing of Banks, Collins and Rutherford, is Hugh Padgham, who has never found as clear and crisp and modern a sound as this. You can practically hear every nuance of every instrument.
In terms of lyrical craftsmanship and sheer songwriting skills this album hits a new peak of professionalism. Take the lyrics to “Land of Confusion,” in which a singer addresses the problem of abusive political authority. This is laid down with a groove funkier and blacker than anything Prince or Michael Jackson—or any other black artist of recent years, for that matter—has come up with. Yet as danceable as the album is, it also has a stripped-down urgency that not even the overrated Bruce Springsteen can equal. As an observer of love’s failings Collins beats out the Boss again and again, reaching new heights of emotional honesty on “In Too Deep”; yet it also showcases Collins’ clowny, prankish, unpredictable side. It’s the most moving pop song of the 1980s about monogamy and commitment. “Anything She Does” (which echoes the J. Geils Band’s “Centerfold” but is more spirited and energetic) starts off side two and after that the album reaches its peak with “Domino,” a two-part song. Part one, “In the Heat of the Night,” is full of sharp, finely drawn images of despair and it’s paired with “The Last Domino,” which fights it with an expression of hope. This song is extremely uplifting. The lyrics are as positive and affirmative as anything I’ve heard in rock.
Phil Collins’ solo efforts seem to be more commercial and therefore more satisfying in a narrower way, especially No Jacket Required and songs like “In the Air Tonight” and “Against All Odds” (though that song was overshadowed by the masterful movie from which it came) and “Take Me Home” and “Sussudio” (great, great song; a personal favorite) and his remake of “You Can’t Hurry Love,” which I’m not alone in thinking is better than the Supremes’ original. But I also think that Phil Collins works better within the confines of the group than as a solo artist—and I stress the word artist. In fact it applies to all three of the guys, because Genesis is still the best, most exciting band to come out of England in the 1980s.
Whitney Houston
Whitney Houston burst onto the music scene in 1985 with her selftitled LP which had four number one hit singles on it, including “The Greatest Love of All,” “You Give Good Love” and “Saving All My Love for You,” plus it won a Grammy Award for best pop vocal performance by a female and two American Music Awards, one for best rhythm and blues single and another for best rhythm and blues video. She was also cited as best new artist of the year by Billboard and by Rolling Stone magazine. With all this hype one might expect the album to be an anticlimactic, lackluster affair, but the surprise is that Whitney Houston (Arista) is one of the warmest, most complex and altogether satisfying rhythm and blues records of the decade and Whitney herself has a voice that defies belief. From the elegant, beautiful photo of her on the cover of the album (in a gown by Giovanne De Maura) and its fairly sexy counterpart on the back (in a bathing suit by Norma Kamali) one knows that this isn’t going to be a blandly professional affair; the record is smooth but intense and Whitney’s voice leaps across so many boundaries and is so versatile (though she’s mainly a jazz singer) that it’s hard to take in the album on a first listening. But you won’t want to. You’ll want to savor it over many.
It opens with “You Give Good Love” and “Thinking About You,” both produced and arranged by Kashif, and they emanate warm, lush jazz arrangements but with a contemporary synthesized beat and though they’re both really good songs, the album doesn’t get kicking until “Someone for Me” which was produced by Jermaine Jackson, where Whitney sings longingly against a jazz-disco background and the difference between her longing and the sprightliness of the song is very moving. The ballad “Saving All My Love for You” is the sexiest, most romantic song on the record. It also has a killer saxophone solo by Tom Scott and one can hear the influences of sixties girl-group pop in it (it was cowritten by Gerry Goffin) but the sixties girl groups were never this emotional or sexy (or as well produced) as this song is. “Nobody Loves Me Like You Do” is a glorious duet with Jermaine Jackson (who also produced it) and just one example of how sophisticated lyrically this album is. The last thing it suffers from is a paucity of decent lyrics which is what usually happens when a singer doesn’t write her own material and has to have her producer choose it. But Whitney and company have picked well here.
The dance single “How Will I Know” (my vote for best dance song of the 1980s) is a joyous ode to a girl’s nervousness about whether another guy is interested in her. It’s got a great keyboard riff and it’s the only track on the album produced by wunderkind producer Narada Michael Walden. My own personal favorite ballad (aside from “The Greatest Love of All”—her crowning achievement) is “All at Once” which is about how a young woman realizes all at once her lover is fading away from her and it’s accompanied by a gorgeous string arrangement. Even though nothing on the album sounds like filler, the only track that might come close is “Take Good Care of My Heart,” another duet with Jermaine Jackson. The problem is that it strays from the album’s jazz roots and seems too influenced by 1980s dance music.
But Whitney’s talent is restored with the overwhelming “The Greatest Love of All,” one of the best, most powerful songs ever written about self-preservation and dignity. From the first line (Michael Masser and Linda Creed are credited as the writers) to the last, it’s a state-of-the-art ballad about believing in yourself. It’s a powerful statement and one that Whitney sings with a grandeur that approaches the sublime. Its universal message crosses all boundaries and instills one with the hope that it’s not too late for us to better ourselves, to act kinder. Since it’s impossible in the world we live in to empathize with others, we can always empathize with ourselves. It’s an important message, crucial really, and it’s beautifully stated on this album.
Her second effort, Whitney (Arista; 1987), had four number one singles, “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” “So Emotional,” “Didn’t We Almost Have It All?” and “Where Do Broken Hearts Go?” and was mostly produced by Narada Michael Walden and though it’s not as serious an effort as Whitney Houston it’s hardly a victim of Sophomore Slump. It starts off with the bouncy, danceable “I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)” which is in the same vein as the last album’s irrepressible “How Will I Know.” This is followed by the sensuous “Just the Lonely Talking Again” and it reflects the serious jazz influence that permeated the first album and one can also sense a newfound artistic maturity in Whitney’s voice—she did all the vocal arrangements on this album—and this is all very evident on “Love Will Save the Day” which is the most ambitious song Whitney’s yet performed. It was produced by Jellybean Benitez and it pulsates with an uptempo intensity and like most of the songs on this album it reflects a grownup’s awareness of the world we all live in. She sings and we believe it. This is quite a change from the softer, little-girl-lost image that was so appealing on the first album.
She projects an even more adult image on the Michael Masser produced “Didn’t We Almost Have It All,” a song about meeting up with a long-lost lover and letting him know your feelings about the past affair, and it’s Whitney at her most poetic. And as on most of the ballads there’s a gorgeous string arrangement. “So Emotional” is in the same vein as “How Will I Know” and “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” but it’s even more rock-influenced and, like all the songs on Whitney, played by a terrific backup studio band with Narada on drum machine, Wolter Afanasieff on the synthesizer and synth bass, Corrado Rustici on synth guitar, and someone listed as Bongo Bob on percussion programming and drum sampling. “Where You Are” is the only song on the album produced by Kashif and it bears his indelible imprint of professionalism—it has a smooth, gleaming sound and sheen to it with a funky sax solo by Vincent Henry. It sounded like a hit single to me (but then all the songs on the album do) and I wondered why it wasn’t released as one.
“Love Is a Contact Sport” is the album’s real surprise—a big sounding, bold, sexy number that, in terms of production, is the album’s centerpiece, and it has great lyrics along with a good beat. It’s one of my favorites. On “You’re Still My Man” you can hear how clearly Whitney’s voice is like an instrument—a flawless, warm machine that almost overpowers the sentiment of her music, but the lyrics and the melodies are too distinctive, too strong to let any singer, even one of Whitney’s caliber, overshadow them. “For the Love of You” shows off Narada’s brilliant drum programming capabilities and its jazzy modern feel harks back not only to purveyors of modern jazz like Michael Jackson and Sade but also to other artists, like Miles Davis, Paul Butterfield and Bobby McFerrin.
“Where Do Broken Hearts Go” is the album’s most powerful emotional statement of innocence lost and trying to regain the safety of childhood. Her voice is as lovely and controlled as it ever has been and it leads up to “I Know Him So Well,” the most moving moment on the record because it’s first and foremost a duet with her mother, Cissy. It’s a ballad about … who?—a lover shared? a long-lost father? —with a combination of longing, regret, determination and beauty that ends the album on a graceful, perfect note. We can expect new things from Whitney (she made a stunning gift to the 1988 Olympics with the ballad “One Moment in Time”) but even if we didn’t, she would remain the most exciting and original black jazz voice of her generation.
Huey Lewis and the News
Huey Lewis and the News burst out of San Francisco onto the national music scene at the beginning of the decade, with their selftitled rock-pop album released by Chrysalis, though they really didn’t come into their own, commercially or artistically, until their 1983 smash, Sports. Though their roots were visible (blues, Memphis soul, country) on Huey Lewis and the News they seemed a little too willing to cash in on the late seventies/early eighties taste for New Wave, and the album—though it’s still a smashing debut—seems a little too stark, too punk. Examples of this being the drumming on the first single, “Some of My Lies Are True (Sooner or Later),” and the fake handclaps on “Don’t Make Me Do It” as well as the organ on “Taking a Walk.” Even though it was a little bit strained, their peppy boy-wants-girl lyrics and the energy with which Lewis, as a lead singer, instilled all the songs were refreshing. Having a great lead guitarist like Chris Hayes (who also shares vocals) doesn’t hurt either. Hayes’ solos are as original and unrehearsed as any in rock. Yet the keyboardist, Sean Hopper, seemed too intent on playing the organ a little too mechanically (though his piano playing on the second half of the album gets better) and Bill Gibson’s drumming was too muted to have much impact. The songwriting also didn’t mature until much later, though many of the catchy songs had hints of longing and regret and dread (“Stop Trying” is just one example).
Though the boys hail from San Francisco and they share some similarities with their Southern California counterparts, the Beach Boys (gorgeous harmonies, sophisticated vocalizing, beautiful melodies—they even posed with a surfboard on the cover of the debut album), they also carried with them some of the bleakness and nihilism of the (thankfully now forgotten) “punk rock” scene of Los Angeles at the time. Talk about your Angry Young Man!—listen to Huey on “Who Cares,” “Stop Trying,” “Don’t Even Tell Me That You Love Me,” “Trouble in Paradise” (the titles say it all). Huey hits his notes like an embittered survivor and the band often sounds as angry as performers like the Clash or Billy Joel or Blondie. No one should forget that we have Elvis Costello to thank for discovering Huey in the first place. Huey played harmonica on Costello’s second record, the thin, vapid My Aim Was You. Lewis has some of Costello’s supposed bitterness, though Huey has a more bitter, cynical sense of humor. Elvis might think that intellectual wordplay is as important as having a good time and having one’s cynicism tempered by good spirits, but I wonder what he thinks about Lewis selling so many more records than he?
Things looked up for Huey and the boys on the second album, 1982’s Picture This, which yielded two semihits, “Workin’ for a Living’” and “Do You Believe in Love,” and the fact that this coincided with the advent of video (there was one made for both songs) undoubtedly helped sales. The sound, though still tinged with New Wave trappings, seemed more roots-rock than the previous album, which might have something to do with the fact that Bob Clearmountain mixed the record or that Huey Lewis and the News took over the producing reins. Their songwriting grew more sophisticated and the group wasn’t afraid to quietly explore other genres—notably reggae (“Tell Her a Little Lie”) and ballads (“Hope You Love Me Like You Say” and “Is It Me?”). But for all its power-pop glory, the sound and the band seem, gratefully, less rebellious, less angry on this record (though the blue-collar bitterness of “Workin’ for a Livin’” seems like an outtake from the earlier album). They seem more concerned with personal relationships—four of the album’s ten songs have the word “love” in their title—rather than strutting around as young nihilists, and the mellow good-times feel of the record is a surprising, infectious change.
The band is playing better than it last did and the Tower of Power horns give the record a more open, warmer sound. The album hits its peak with the back-to-back one-two punch of “Workin’ for a Livin’” and “Do You Believe in Love,” which is the best song on the album and is essentially about the singer asking a girl he’s met while “looking for someone to meet” if she “believes in love.” The fact that the song never resolves the question (we never find out what the girl says) gives it an added complexity that wasn’t apparent on the group’s debut. Also on “Do You Believe in Love” is a terrific sax solo by Johnny Colla (the guy gives Clarence Clemons a run for his money), who, like Chris Hayes on lead guitar and Sean Hopper on keyboards, has by now become an invaluable asset to the band (the sax solo on the ballad “Is It Me?” is even stronger). Huey’s voice sounds more searching, less raspy, yet plaintive, especially on “The Only One,” which is a touching song about what happens to our mentors and where they end up (Bill Gibson’s drumming is especially vital to this track). Though the album should have ended on that powerful note, it ends instead with “Buzz Buzz Buzz,” a throwaway blues number that doesn’t make much sense compared to what preceded it, but in its own joky way it amuses and the Tower of Power horns are in excellent form.
There are no such mistakes made on the band’s third album and flawless masterpiece, Sports (Chrysalis). Every song has the potential to be a huge hit and most of them were. It made the band rock ’n’ roll icons. Gone totally is the bad-boy image, and a new frat-guy sweetness takes over (they even have the chance to say “ass” in one song and choose to bleep it instead). The whole album has a clear, crisp sound and a new sheen of consummate professionalism that gives the songs on the album a big boost. And the wacky, original videos made to sell the record (“Heart and Soul,” “The Heart of Rock ’n’ Roll,” “If This Is It,” “Bad Is Bad,” “I Want a New Drug”) made them superstars on MTV.
Produced by the band, Sports opens with what will probably become their signature song, “The Heart of Rock ’n’ Roll,” a loving ode to rock ’n’ roll all over the United States. It’s followed by “Heart and Soul,” their first big single, which is a trademark Lewis song (though it’s written by outsiders Michael Chapman and Nicky Chinn) and the tune that firmly and forever established them as the premier rock band in the country for the 1980s. If the lyrics aren’t quite up to par with other songs, most of them are more than serviceable and the whole thing is a jaunty enterprise about what a mistake one-night stands are (a message the earlier, rowdier Huey would never have made). “Bad Is Bad,” written solely by Lewis, is the bluesiest song the band had recorded up to this point and Mario Cipollina’s bass playing gets to shine on it, but it’s really Huey’s harmonica solos that give it an edge. “I Want a New Drug,” with its killer guitar riff (courtesy of Chris Hayes), is the album’s centerpiece—not only is it the greatest antidrug song ever written, it’s also a personal statement about how the band has grown up, shucked off their bad-boy image and learned to become more adult. Hayes’ solo on it is incredible and the drum machine used, but not credited, gives not only “I Want a New Drug” but most of the album a more consistent backbeat than any of the previous albums—even though Bill Gibson is still a welcome presence.
The rest of the album whizzes by flawlessly—side two opens with their most searing statement yet: “Walking on a Thin Line,” and no one, not even Bruce Springsteen, has written as devastatingly about the plight of the Vietnam vet in modern society. This song, though written by outsiders, shows a social awareness that was new to the band and proved to anyone who ever doubted it that the band, apart from its blues background, had a heart. And again in “Finally Found a Home” the band proclaims its newfound sophistication with this paean to growing up. And though at the same time it’s about shedding their rebel image, it’s also about how they “found themselves” in the passion and energy of rock ’n’ roll. In fact the song works on so many levels it’s almost too complex for the album to carry, though it never loses its beat and it still has Sean Hopper’s ringing keyboards, which make it danceable. “If This Is It” is the album’s one ballad, but it’s not downbeat. It’s a plea for a lover to tell another lover if they want to carry on with the relationship, and the way Huey sings it (arguably the most superb vocal on the album), it becomes instilled with hope. Again, this song—as with the rest of the album—isn’t about chasing or longing after girls, it’s about dealing with relationships. “Crack Me Up” is the album’s only hint at a throwback to the band’s New Wave days and it’s minor but amusing, though its anti-drinking, antidrug, pro-growing-up statement isn’t.
And as a lovely ending to an altogether remarkable album, the band does a version of “Honky Tonk Blues” (another song written by someone not in the band, named Hank Williams), and even though it’s a very different type of song, you can feel its presence throughout the rest of the album. For all its professional sheen, the album has the integrity of honky-tonk blues. (Aside: During this period Huey also recorded two songs for the movie Back to the Future, which both went Number One, “The Power of Love” and “Back in Time,” delightful extras, not footnotes, in what has been shaping up into a legendary career.) What to say to Sports dissenters in the long run? Nine million people can’t be wrong.
Fore! (Chrysalis; 1986) is essentially a continuation of the Sports album but with an even more professional sheen. This is the record where the guys don’t need to prove they’ve grown up and that they’ve accepted rock ’n’ roll, because in the three-year transition between Sports and Fore! they already had. (In fact three of them are wearing suits on the cover of the record.) It opens with a blaze of fire, “Jacob’s Ladder,” which is essentially a song about struggle and overcoming compromise, a fitting reminder of what Huey and the News represents, and with the exception of “Hip to Be Square” it’s the best song on the album (though it wasn’t written by anyone in the band). This is followed by the sweetly good-natured “Stuck with You,” a lightweight paean to relationships and marriage. In fact most of the love songs on the album are about sustained relationships, unlike the early albums, where the concerns were about either lusting after girls and not getting them or getting burned in the process. On Fore! the songs are about guys who are in control (who have the girls) and now have to deal with them. This new dimension in the News gives the record an added oomph and they seem more content and satisfied, less urgent, and this makes for their most pleasingly crafted record to date. But also for every “Doing It All for My Baby” (a delightful ode about monogamy and satisfaction) there’s a barn-burning blues scorcher number like “Whole Lotta Lovin’,” and side one (or, on the CD, song number five) ends with the masterpiece “Hip to Be Square” (which, ironically, is accompanied by the band’s only bad video), the key song on Fore!, which is a rollicking ode to conformity that’s so catchy most people probably don’t even listen to the lines, but with Chris Hayes blasting guitar and the terrific keyboard playing—who cares? And it’s not just about the pleasures of conformity and the importance of trends—it’s also a personal statement about the band itself, though of what I’m not quite sure.
If the second part of Fore! doesn’t have the intensity of the first, there are some real gems that are actually quite complicated. “I Know What I Like” is a song that Huey would never have sung six years back—a blunt declaration of independence—while the carefully placed “I Never Walk Alone,” which follows, actually complements the song and explains it in broader terms (it also has a great organ solo and except for “Hip to Be Square” has Huey’s strongest vocals). “Forest for the Trees” is an upbeat antisuicide tract, and though its title might seem like a cliché, Huey and the band have a way of energizing clichés and making them originals wholly their own. The nifty a cappella “Naturally” evokes an innocent time while showcasing the band’s vocal harmonies (if you didn’t know better you’d think it was the Beach Boys coming out of your CD player), and even if it’s essentially a throwaway, a trifle of sorts, the album ends on a majestic note with “Simple as That,” a blue-collar ballad that sounds not a note of resignation but one of hope, and its complex message (it wasn’t written by anyone in the band) of survival leads the way to their next album, Small World, where they take on global issues. Fore! might not be the masterpiece Sports is (what could be?), but in its own way it’s just as satisfying and the mellower, gentler Huey of ’86 is just as happening.
Small World (Chrysalis; 1988) is the most ambitious, artistically satisfying record yet produced by Huey Lewis and the News. The Angry Young Man has definitely been replaced by a smoothly professional musician and even though Huey has only really mastered one instrument (the harmonica), its majestic Dylanesque sounds give Small World a grandeur few artists have reached. It’s an obvious transition and their first album that tries to make thematic sense—in fact Huey takes on one of the biggest subjects of all: the importance of global communication. It’s no wonder four out of the album’s ten songs have the word “world” in their titles and that for the first time there’s not only one but three instrumentals.
The CD gets off to a rousing start with the Lewis/Hayes-penned “Small World (Part One),” which, along with its message of harmony, has a blistering solo by Hayes at its center. In “Old Antone’s” one can catch the zydeco influences that the band has picked up on touring around the country, and it gives it a Cajun flavor that is utterly unique. Bruce Hornsby plays the accordion wonderfully and the lyrics give you a sense of a true Bayou spirit. Again, on the hit single “Perfect World,” the Tower of Power horns are used to extraordinary effect. It’s also the best cut on the album (written by Alex Call, who isn’t in the band) and it ties up all the album’s themes—about accepting the imperfections of this world but still learning to “keep on dreamin’ of livin’ in a perfect world.” Though the song is fast-paced pop it’s still moving in terms of its intentions and the band plays splendidly on it. Oddly this is followed by two instrumentals: the eerie African-influenced reggae dance track “Bobo Tempo” and the second part of “Small World.” But just because these tunes are wordless doesn’t mean the global message of communication is lost, and they don’t seem like filler or padding because of the implications of their thematic reprise; the band gets to show off its improvisational skills as well.
Side two opens smashingly with “Walking with the Kid,” the first Huey song to acknowledge the responsibilities of fatherhood. His voice sounds mature and even though we, as listeners, don’t find out until the last line that “the kid” (who we assume is a buddy) is actually his son, the maturity in Huey’s voice tips us off and it’s hard to believe that the man who once sang “Heart and Soul” and “Some of My Lies Are True” is singing this. The album’s big ballad, “World to Me,” is a dreamy pearl of a song, and though it’s about sticking together in a relationship, it also makes allusions to China and Alaska and Tennessee, carrying on the album’s “Small World” theme—and the band sounds really good on it. “Better Be True” is also a bit of a ballad, but it’s not a dreamy pearl and its lyrics aren’t really about sticking together in a relationship nor does it make allusions to China or Alaska and the band sounds really good on it.
“Give Me the Keys (And I’ll Drive You Crazy)” is a good-times blues rocker about (what else?) driving around, incorporating the album’s theme in a much more playful way than previous songs on the album did, and though lyrically it might seem impoverished, it’s still a sign that the new “serious” Lewis—that Huey the artist—hasn’t totally lost his frisky sense of humor. The album ends with “Slammin’,” which has no words and it’s just a lot of horns that quite frankly, if you turn it up really loud, can give you a fucking big headache and maybe even make you feel a little sick, though it might sound different on an album or on a cassette though I wouldn’t know anything about that. Anyway it set off something wicked in me that lasted for days. And you cannot dance to it very well.
It took something like a hundred people to put Small World together (counting all the extra musicians, drum technicians, accountants, lawyers—who are all thanked), but this actually adds to the CD’s theme of community and it doesn’t clutter the record—it makes it a more joyous experience. With this CD and the four previous ones behind it, Huey Lewis and the News prove that if this really is a small world, then these guys are the best American band of the 1980s on this or any other continent—and it has with it Huey Lewis, a vocalist, musician and writer who just can’t be topped.