MICK TERRY – The Grown Ups

the grown ups

With its lyrical themes and stories from the past loosely inspired by a diary from 1982, you could say this debut by London based singer-songwriter Mick Terry has been a long time in the making. ‘The Grown Ups’ is a personal record, but not in the soul-baring sense. It’s an album of lost friendships, relationship and closure which always retains a smile of optimism.

‘Hoxton Son’ opens the disc with simple, stabbing pianos with a gentle bass accompaniment. At the point where you think it’s about to elevate into Jellyfish ‘Ghost at Number One’ territory, Terry goes for a key change, but little more. Naturally, the rumpty-tumpty drums appear eventually – and by the time they do, the sound of the whole band is warm and inviting, without becoming intrusive. The sampled brass near the end isn’t entirely necessary, but on the whole, this paean to a London town has a charming quality, effectively pulling the listener into Terry’s musical world. ‘Northern Exposure’ follows suit with a similar marching feel – this time bringing more focus to the acoustic guitar. The mix of guitar and organ is effective and unfussy.

The acoustic based ‘Comets’ features slide guitar and accordion, but the heart of the song is provided by guitar and brushed drums. Terry’s storytelling approach comes with a heart warming quality and often unassuming manner. The chorus has a vocal approach which at first feels like it may irritate, but after a few listens becomes oddly endearing. The lead vocal has an intimate feel and a sound which reminds me very much of another London based singer-songwriter, Rich Barnard. I’m not sure whether that’s down to song writing style, or just the work of his English accented delivery. ‘Ringing Like a Bell’ has a very seventies feel, with tasteful electric guitar leads to punctuate the acoustic work. The warm bass and handclaps lend themselves to a tune with a very complete feel.

For the last couple of songs, the quality tails off. In keeping with the 1970s,
‘Tinseltown’ is pure easy listening; it doesn’t have the cool or song writing chops to make Mick Terry an heir to Billy Joel’s vacant piano stool, but certainly tips the hat to Andrew Gold. While Terry’s soft vocal and tales of jaded seaside towns and days past show strength, the music could have done with a little more embellishment – more than the ambling keyboard and drum machine featured.
Normally, I’m much more critical on singer-songwriter material which relies on programmed elements as opposed to more organic sounds, but Terry’s song writing has enough charm to get away with it here (but only just). Similarly, the keyboard string sounds which propel ‘Safe From Sound’ sound cheap, but an understated bass accompaniment and decent vocal performance (including a Brian Wilson inspired interlude) make the best of what could have been a dud. References to Small Faces’ ‘Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake’ and especially “The first Dexys album” reinforce the Englishness of Mick Terry’s teenage years. If viewed as a demo sketch, it’s easy to see what he was intending here, but this number doesn’t sound like a finished work – and certainly isn’t up to the quality of ‘Hoxton Son’, ‘Northern Exposure’ or ‘Comets’.

Featuring just eight songs and a reprise, ‘The Grown Ups’ is a succinct work, with the strongest tracks front-loaded; but two or three absolute gems held within provide more than enough reason for making it an album worth visiting…and revisiting.

February 2011

PJ HARVEY – Let England Shake

PJ Harvey

Over the years, Polly Jean Harvey is an artist who has gathered lots of great press. While never gaining status of national treasure, she’s gained a loyal fan base. She’s recorded a handful of tunes I like [‘Sheela-Na-Gig’, ‘Down By The Water’ and especially ‘Henry Lee’, though the latter has almost everything to with the presence of Nick Cave], but I must confess as to never having understood the fuss. A couple of people suggested I check out her 2000 release ‘Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea’, claiming it’s smoother edges could provide an easier entry point to her music, but I found that rather dull. (A live show from the same year was enjoyable, but again, didn’t set my world alight).

Her eighth studio disc ‘Let England Shake’ is anything but dull. But sadly, it’s not particularly accessible either, though I suspect that Harvey has no interest in drawing in new listeners with this release. Accompanied by long time collaborators John Parish and ex-Birthday Party man Mick Harvey (no relation), PJ offers the listener twelve tunes of relative uneasy listening; twelve songs mainly concerned with England, her decline and the effects of war.

Sometimes these feelings are more forthright than others, rarely more so than on the title cut where a soldier is called to “pack up [his] troubles and head for the fountain of death”. The hard-hitting lyrics are given a musical arrangement which at times can appear almost as relentless; angry without resorting to heaviness. With almost carny-like percussion, it has a fairly original sound. It’s a shame that she approaches the number sounding like a second rate Siouxsie Sioux. ‘The Last Living Rose’, musically, is one of the album’s most accessible numbers, with fantastic bass work and baritone saxes. Overlaid by a clanging autoharp and live sounding drums, this provides a great base for one of PJ’s more restrained vocals.

While at first, the rumbling bass and jangly guitars give the impression that ‘The Glorious Land’ is going to be just as accessible, it’s quickly punctuated by a trumpet reveille, which appears at random intervals, caring not to fit in with the music. The unsettling nature of the arrangement is matched only by Harvey’s anger and her lyrics, which here, bare a frightening set of teeth – especially as she states that our country is ploughed by tanks and marching feet and bares the fruit of orphaned children. Similarly off kilter is ‘Written On The Forehead’s reggae backdrop, which appears very much at odds with the track’s electronic treatments and Harvey’s gentle vocal.

For ‘England’ PJ squawks about her never-ending love for Blighty in a particularly off-key manner, set against stark acoustic backing. As the track progresses, the acoustic guitar is met by a mesh of other noise and backwards tapes – none of which are used in a manner which makes Harvey’s vocal delivery any more palatable. For all but the most tolerant PJ Harvey fan, this represents the best point on the album to leave the room and go and make a very British cup of Rosie Lee. ‘The Words That Maketh Murder’ employs a drum pattern which hints at tribalism, but set against a reverbed, old school guitar end up having more of a retro rock ‘n’ roll feel. The baritone sax makes a welcome return but is underused. Backing vocals from Squire and Harvey mesh with PJ’s lead, resulting in something very effective. With another political message and each band member given plenty of breathing space, this is undoubtedly the album’s best number – and certainly one of it’s most accessible. A tale of trenches, ‘Battleship Hill’ captures PJ’s voice at its purest, as she hits long, clear notes without resorting to shrieking or somehow being difficult. Backed with retro sounding guitars, an understated male baking vocal and piano, it’s the closest ‘Let England Shakes’ gets to something beautiful.

‘The Colour of The Earth’ is a plodding number which sees John Parish step up for a co-lead vocal. His tone has elements of a weary English folkie, but his slightly drawly delivery makes the already simplistic arrangement drag its heels even more. In harmony with PJ’s lighter tone (which here makes no attempt to unnerve) it sounds pleasant enough. It’s possible something relatively ordinary was placed at the album’s close in an attempt to wind things down from the preceding anger and intensity, but such an uninteresting arrangement makes for a bit of an anti-climax.

Lyrically, most of ‘Let England Shake’ is striking, but often the references are so linear – but even so, it could be the most vital release of Harvey’s career. It’s the work of an angry forty-something who wishes to share her grievances and attempt to address important issues. While the sharp edges are necessary here, Harvey’s shrill and often quirky vocal style can be difficult to listen to and at times this gets in the way of the album’s politics. PJ Harvey is undoubtedly preaching to the converted though – and her many fans will take the stark messages of ‘Let England Shake’ to their collective hearts.

February 2011

CANDY BUTCHERS – Hang On Mike

candy butchers

There are so many under-rated geniuses working in the power pop field, but none more deserving of huge recognition as Mike Viola, whose fourth full length release ‘Hang On Mike’- released under the Candy Butchers moniker – captures the singer-songwriter at his absolute best.

The album begins with ‘What To Do With Michael’, a tale of a hit-and-miss relationship, set to an almost guitar-less, bouncing arrangement with the piano firmly upfront. Its purely seventies arrangement features the best elements of early Billy Joel crossed with the sunshine vibe of ‘Love Will Keep Us Together’ by Captain and Teneille. It’s one of those tracks which sounds eternally fresh; something about that particular style of stabbing piano is consistently pleasing (Let’s be honest, ‘Allentown’ by Billy Joel…it never gets old, does it?). ‘Nice To Know You’ continues the seventies vibe but has extra focus on vocal harmony; while ‘Hang On Mike’ showcases better songs than this, it holds up as a great example of how Viola knows how to write a simple, yet effective melody and how although fashions may change, the kinds of pop Viola loved in the seventies have an almost timeless appeal.

‘Not So Bad At All’ captures a perfect punchy pop feeling, hovering somewhere between Jellyfish at their most direct and New York’s Mark Bacino, but if it’s an instant pop frenzy you’re looking for, the Jellyfish meets Brian Wilson-isms of ‘Let’s Have a Baby’ will provide instant joy. The stabbing piano should be enough, but when combined with a quirky chorus vocal featuring potential baby names, the song hits a whole new level of infectiousness. At just under three minutes, the moment is gone before long, but it should be more than enough to leave you smiling. ‘Sparkle!’ is even more upbeat, with camp overtones as Mike’s trademark pop is driven towards show tune territory with a wry grin.  That wry grin is hosted by the “untrustworthy narrator”, since although this is a number which sounds flippant and happy upon the surface, its lyrical content is somewhat steeped in sadness.

‘Unexpected Traffic’ demonstrates the flipside of Mike’s song craft. An acoustic based, introspective number, you get a sense of Mike’s voice cracking under emotional weight. In a similar vein, although lyrically far more direct, ‘Painkillers’ is heartbreaking, as it tells of the death of someone very close and the daily struggles of coming to terms with deep sadness. While the album’s acoustic numbers often give Viola more gravitas as a songwriter, it’s his poppier works which provide the album with its long lasting appeal and most memorable moments. ‘Kiss Alive II’ shows a sly humour, not unlike Ben Folds, where Mike tells the tale of musical discovery as he attempts to turn a friend on to the piano based mastery of 1970’s Elton John (specifically ‘Bennie and the Jets’) and in return gets a copy of KISS’s double live opus [It’s up to the listener to decide whom gets the best deal there]. The song’s structure is based around simple but fairly dominant piano chords – likely meant to evoke classic Elton, but somehow ending up a little more Billy Joel…which, of course, is more than fine.

The title cut features a slightly strained vocal on fragile verses, but is balanced by a perfect pop chorus in an autobiographical tale (“Hang on Mike, if there’s one thing you’re good for, it’s holding on / Hang on Mike, if there’s one thing your good for, it’s another song”). No-one is in a better position to recognise fame isn’t always an overnight success than Viola. He may have written the songs in the “Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story” movie and provided vocals in the Tom Hanks flick “That Thing You Do”, but somehow the accolade of being a true household name seems to have eluded him.

When his second album (‘Falling Into Place’) was released, Mike sounded as if he had the chops to be one of the greatest singer-songwriters to come through in a long while – and this fourth album leaves absolutely no doubt about his talent. If you still hanker after the days when things were as well crafted as Todd Rundgren’s ‘Something/Anything’, then this is essential.

July 2010

VAN MORRISON – Inarticulate Speech Of The Heart

inarticulate speech

After his late 60s albums ‘Astral Weeks’ and ‘Moondance’ established Van Morrison as one of the greatest singer songwriters of the age, he entered the 1970s in very high regard and with great confidence. The rhythm and blues led ‘His Band and Street Choir’ kick started Morrison’s greatest decade, during which he released a string of superb albums – all strong in their own way and each one featuring a handful of genuinely classic tracks.

Like many of his peers, Morrison appeared to be out of step with the 1980s. He began the decade with the release of ‘Common One’, an understated collection of largely ambling and, at times, almost directionless songs. The largely forgettable ‘Beautiful Vision’ followed, although that’s very much worth checking out for the upbeat ‘Cleaning Windows’ featuring Mark Knopfler on guitar. In 1983, Van released the keyboard heavy ‘Inarticulate Speech of the Heart’, an album considered by some to be the nadir of his career.

The main problem with ‘Inarticulate Speech of the Heart’ is obvious right from the start, as ‘Higher Than The World’ begins with a wash of keyboards (somewhat akin to those that Simply Red would drench their albums in a few years later) leading to an easy-listening mulch, not far removed from Sade or something similar. Given an arrangement that would befit a restaurant, Morrison does his utmost to create interest, as his gruff voice moves from moody mumbling to lumbering loudness at the drop of a hat. By a couple of minutes in, there’s a feeling that he may be over compensating, as he warbles off key in his “enthusiasm”.

Initially, the synthetic eighties sound is quite suited to ‘Connswater’, the first of the album’s instrumental numbers, but soon it becomes obvious that the eighties production comes at the expense of one of the track’s key features. The tune has a distinctly Irish feel, with Davy Spillane making a guest appearance on Uileann pipes. The jig element of the number is very pleasing, but the bridge sections – featuring a pounding drum – are lacklustre, due to the drum being far too low in the mix. You guessed it – the dominant sound over that drum is a keyboard, not too dissimilar to the one featured during the previous track. The sax driven ‘Celtic Swing’ follows suit and, as you’d expect, has a jaunty quality. Production aside, there’s nothing overtly dislikeable about either of these instrumental numbers, but they feel rather like filler – and if you consider that amongst ‘Inarticulate Speech’s eleven tracks you’ll find four instrumentals, that’s a lot of padding. I can only assume with the inclusion of these instrumental numbers, Van was hoping somehow to create a successor to ‘Common One’.

‘Cry For Home’ is a mid-paced soul pop number which appears well written, but loses a lot in delivery. ‘River of Time’ – although far from essential Van – is much better, due to the drum kit having a little bit of oomph behind it and the bass work sounding more live. As you may expect, Van’s delivery on these songs lacks subtlety – drowning out most of the backing harmonies at various points – but quite often, it’s the force of nature that is his love-it-or-hate-it voice which carries this album’s songs, especially when the music is pedestrian. Considering the great session musos who stopped by to lend a hand on albums like ‘Tupelo Honey’, you have to wonder how Morrison got saddled with the bunch of people featured here who sound like they’d be better suited to performing library music for TV wildlife documentaries.

The album’s title track appears in two parts. The first part is an atmospheric instrumental with a piano at the fore. The piano work is simple and is counterbalanced by human voices used as instruments (a technique re-employed at the end of the album, but achieving a far weaker result). The end section of part one features a loud drum sound, which is very welcome, especially considering the subdued role the drums play on most of the songs. The second part brings in Morrison on vocals, but there’s not a great deal to get excited about as, over a gentle, waltzing arrangement he repeats the same three lines (“I’m a soul in wonder” and “I’m just wild about it, I can’t live without it”) between a repetitive refrain of “Inarticulate speech, inarticulate speech of the heart”. There’s a decent organ solo midway, but it’s so low in the mix, you’ll wonder why John Allair bothered playing it at all.

‘Rave On, John Donne’ begins with a spoken vocal, delivered by Van with a typical Belfast brusqueness. The music lulls as Mark Isham’s synth creates a blanket of sound and Chris Michie’s guitar overlays a simple chord structure with a ringing tone. Once again, the eighties production cannot be avoided, but here, it’s very well suited to the overall feel of the track. When Van’s lead vocal begins, it has all the effortless power of his mid-late seventies work. Similarly, the better known ‘Irish Heartbeat’ (covered by Billy Connolly as the theme to his ‘World Tour of Scotland’ travel programme) captures Van in a confident mood, his vocal steeped in a soulful power. His unmistakable tone gives the song an uneasy beauty, which loses none of its appeal despite a thin arrangement and even thinner sounding drum kit. ‘When The Street Only Knew Your Name’ is the album’s most upbeat moment. David Hayes lays down a fabulous funky bassline, although thanks to the eighties production techniques, it sounds unnaturally compressed and almost like a keyboard. Van’s delivery harks back to his early seventies work from ‘Band and Street Choir’ and as such, it’s one of the only times on this album where the band step outside of middling balladry and actually sound like they’re having fun. By the song’s end (as with ‘Rave On, John Donne’ and ‘Irish Heartbeat’), you’ll likely find yourself wondering how much better it certainly would have sounded had Morrison written and recorded it a decade earlier.

With a little more care, the instrumental ‘September Night’ should have been as good as ‘Connswater’. Its majestic keyboard chords could have provided the album with an atmospheric closing number, but that atmosphere is ruined by the use of a wordless vocal. I’m not against the idea of using the voice purely as an instrument – and the female vocals give the track an almost European cinematic quality – but once Morrison’s vocal begins, the atmosphere is quickly broken as he wanders into tuneless abandon.

While it’s easily understood why ‘Inarticulate Speech of the Heart’ is so disliked, it’s more confusing as to why 1985’s ‘No Guru No Method No Teacher’ is so highly regarded. And what’s more, it’s absolutely bewildering as to why ‘Inarticulate Speech’ is so enjoyable despite it’s thousand faults. Maybe it’s because ‘Rave On, John Donne’, ‘Irish Heartbeat’ and ‘The Street Only Knew Your Name’ could have been classic Van. Sadly though, those good songs have had the life sucked out of them by too many unnatural sounding keyboards and an over-production which makes everything sound way too clinical. In addition, four instrumental numbers is far too many, when you consider that Morrison is best known for his status as a singer-songwriter. Somehow though, especially considering it’s extremely flawed, ‘Inarticulate Speech’ manages to stay more memorable than most of Morrison’s other works throughout the 1980s.

July 2010

PETE TOWNSHEND – Who Came First

townshend

In the mid 1960’s, beat groups and rhythm ‘n’ blues changed lives, and with their bombast, The Who had become one of the era’s most popular bands. Pop music had constantly re-invented itself and psychedelia had pushed pop’s boundaries even further. As part of The Who’s second album (1966’s ‘A Quick One’) Pete Townshend contributed a theatrical piece, ‘A Quick One While He’s Away’, which suggested there was more to the band than their previous work may have suggested. But things were going to get bigger. Much bigger.

As the lead track from Mark Wirtz’s ‘A Teenage Opera’, Keith West scored a hit single in the summer of 1967 with ‘Excerpt from “A Teenage Opera” (Grocer Jack)’. EMI pulled the plug on the release of the complete ‘Teenage Opera’, but between Wirtz’s grand musical vision and the rock musical ‘Hair’ making its off Broadway debut at the end of the year, some important musical seeds had been sown. Via experiments with psychedelia, The Who released their career defining rock opera, ‘Tommy’, in May 1969.

This was not only a career defining moment for The Who, but for rock music in general. After an appearance playing ‘Tommy’ at Woodstock and the release of their seminal ‘Live at Leeds’ album, Pete Townshend (alongside a few famous chums, including Small Faces man Ronnie Lane) recorded ‘Happy Birthday’, an album of music inspired by the spiritual teachings of Meher Baba. The Who returned in 1970 with a re-recording of a track from this release, ‘The Seeker’, which became a UK top ten hit. Pete Townsend intended The Who’s next album to be an ambitious concept piece called ‘Lifehouse’, though the project was abandoned in favour of a more conventional album release. In 1971, The Who released ‘Who’s Next’, an album containing a solid collection of rock tunes (some of which were intended for ‘Lifehouse’. ‘Who’s Next’ is rightly regarded as a masterpiece; one of its many stand-out moments is ‘Baba O’Riley, a track which would also appear in extended instrumental form on a second collection of spiritual material, once again dedicated to Meher Baba.

After live shows for ‘Who’s Next’ wound down, many musicians would’ve taken the time to step back from such an extraordinarily busy schedule. But not Townshend. He returned to the studio to record a second album of songs inspired by Meher Baba, ‘I Am’, and ‘Who Came First’, an album of personal material; a collection of songs which is widely regarded as his first official solo release.

As expected, the album showcases Townshend’s skill as a songwriter, but also highlights his talents as a studio hand. With the opportunity to have the final say with regard to this project, Townshend not only takes on vocal and guitar duties, in addition to playing various keyboard parts, but also becomes producer, engineer and mixer too. Where The Who had previously enlisted either Kit Lambert or Glyn Johns to produce, ‘Who Came First’ was Townshend’s opportunity to oversee all technical aspects of the project in an almost Orson Welles like fashion.

He’s not so arrogant as to not enlist other musicians where necessary though (even letting them take the musical reigns on occasion). Old friend Ronnie Lane contributes vocals and guitars, Caleb Quaye (best known for his work on Elton John’s albums from a similar period) is enlisted as bassist, drummer and sometime guitarist, and Billy Nicholls adds guitars and vocals. As for the material itself, it’s very much a rag-bag of stuff; some which is instantly enjoyable and some which requires work on the listener’s part to get to grips with.

The album opens with one of its most familiar numbers. Originally intended as part of ‘Lifehouse’, ‘Pure & Easy’ made its debut here as a Pete Townshend solo recording, but was re-recorded by The Who a short time later (eventually appearing on their 1974 compilation of rarities, ‘Odds & Sods’). In the hands of The Who, the song features some great harmony vocal moments in addition to Daltrey’s commanding lead. Townshend’s original take is weak in comparison. The harmonies are all but absent, and Townshend’s vocal during the opening verse is almost painful to listen to, as he hits notes which are far too high for him. Thankfully, he settles down by the pre-chorus, and the song finds its stride. Despite Townshend’s vocal shortcomings in various places ‘Pure & Easy’ is a great song and his band is solid throughout (if never remarkable). Since the song features some great moments but never quite reaches its potential, it makes sense that The Who re-recorded it so quickly, improving it a great deal in the process.

‘Evolution’ presents one of the album’s best numbers. Here Ronnie Lane takes the helm in an acoustic reworking of ’Stone’, an old Faces number. Lane’s vocal is easy and natural, the perfect fit for the rootsy, blues-folk hybrid of the music. The main acoustic part is fairly basic, but a few complicated runs and some fantastic soloing really bring style to the number. Having long been peers by this point in their careers, there’s a mutual respect between Lane and Townshend and the space each performer affords the other on this recording highlights that. [Lane and Townshend would work together five years later on a completely collaborative album, ‘Rough Mix’].

‘Sheraton Gibson’ tells a tale of life on the road and of how it takes its toll upon the artist. Townshend’s gentle vocal is full of aching and longing and set against a beautiful plucked acoustic arrangement, it’s certainly one of his best performances. A few electric guitar overdubs during the chorus flesh things out unnecessarily – as if to remind us of Pete’s usual background – but essentially, this solo performance (without bass or drums) has an air of fragility – of feeling lost. Whether the home he refers to is literal, or whether home refers to the spiritual teachings of Meher Baba is unclear.

‘Time Is Passing’ is a rumbling pop-rock number, which has echoes of The Who, only without any of the power. The guitar parts are somewhat understated, but there’s some great organ accompaniment. Townshend’s vocal style makes this number sound far more twee than it ought to be, but the end result still has more in keeping with The Who than most of the numbers present on ‘Who Came First’. Townshend may be star of his own show, but it’s Caleb Quaye’s bass and drum work which is this number’s strongest feature. Granted, his drumming might not carry the breezeblock subtlety of Keith Moon, but it’s powerful enough; his bass style is very upfront, giving this track an anchor.

‘Forever’s No Time At All’, written by Billy Nicholls sounds like filler material. It has a similar-ish vibe to ‘Time Is Passing’ (clearly that kind of rock-pop was Townshend’s band’s forte) and Townshend’s multi-tracked guitar parts are fabulous (lending themselves to a great use of stereo). Sadly, his great contributions are almost eclipsed by handclaps which are far too loud in the mix. Since it was his number, Billy Nicholls takes lead vocal and his high tone kills any enjoyment this song may have had.

‘Heartache’ is an acoustic cover of the Jim Reeves number ‘There’s a Heartache Following Me’. Hearing Townshend lumber his way through this old, crooning number is just bizarre. Recorded just after the most inventive part of The Who’s career, it seems so out of step with Townshend at his best. However, with ‘Who Came First’s main focus being on more introspective and personal material, it almost fits here. Why did Townshend choose to include it, when the sessions included better cuts which were originally left behind (such as the basic blues workout ‘I Always Say’ or the wonderful film-score-like piano instrumental ‘Lantern Cabin’)? The answer is simple: it was one of Baba Meher’s favourite songs.

Released as a single by The Who the previous year, ‘Let’s See Action’ appears on ‘Who Came First’ as alternate recording made by Townshend and his band. Having Daltrey, Entwistle and Moon on hand may have improved ‘Pure & Easy’ but interestingly The Who’s rendition of ‘Let’s See Action’ isn’t as good as Townsend’s solo take. With Townshend up front, this rolling bar-room rocker feels more natural; his softer vocal appears far more understanding with regards to its mid-tempo, mid-volume arrangement. The Who’s single version appears to drag in places, despite only a four minute duration; by contrast, this six minute extended arrangement stays the course, with Caleb Quay’s rhythm work carrying just enough punch to keep it flowing.

‘Content’ is an interesting choice, particularly for a rock star of Townshend’s usual posturing and bravado. For this track, he uses a poem by Maud Kennedy as a lyric, which he then sings rather gently over a simple piano arrangement. The piano chords are played slowly and very clearly defined in an unfussy style. There’s almost not quite enough happening to make the music gel, so an overdub of Townshend’s buzzing guitar strings is used to add extra musical depth. Again, it’s a world away from the then most recent Who album (‘Who’s Next’), but what is a solo album for, if not to release pieces of music which have no suitable home for a main project? The idea of including poetry just wouldn’t sit right with The Who, although it is very much in keeping with the hippie ethos of the early seventies [See also the old woman reading poetry at the end of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Bare Trees’ LP].

‘Parvardigar’ is a reworking of a track from the second album for Meher Baba. The lyrics are based upon one of his prayers, but it’s the music which is of greatest interest. Multiple ringing acoustic guitars make up the core of the main tune, but it’s not always gentle. There are moments where Townshend just cannot resist throwing out huge ‘Pinball Wizard’ style chords and during the moments where the band provides complete support, it sounds like a Who demo. Even Caleb Quaye’s drum fills are a nod to Keith Moon (albeit played with far more subtlety). While I don’t care especially for the spiritual aspects of the lyrics, or the general praise lavished upon Meher by Townshend, it would have been great to hear Daltrey at his peak absolutely belting his way through this tune.

‘Who Came First’ only achieved limited commercial success at the time of release, spending just two weeks on the UK album chart, its highest position just #30. Over the years, the album has been re-appraised and is often seen as one of the best Who-related solo ventures.

While ‘Who Came First’ features some good songs,Townshend’s vocal approach doesn’t always bring out their best qualities. Over the years Daltrey breathed a great amount of power and presence into Townshend’s songs and, in comparison, Townshend’s high voiced (although more than competent) style is often unremarkable. While some people have heaped praise upon ‘Who Came First’, it’s possibly more of an interesting curio than an essential album.

[An expanded version of ‘Who Came First’ features most of Townshend’s main contributions to the Meher Baba albums as bonus tracks, as well as a few other choice cuts].

November 2010