No doubt some will take to these reconstructions of famous Elvis Presley songs, while others will feel they’re bastardizations on par with Ted Turner’s colorization of movies. The truth lies somewhere in between. Presley’s iconic vocals have been lifted and recontextualized in modern arrangements augmented with new instrumental performances. The results are a great deal more radical than George and Giles Martin’s mashups of the Beatles catalog for Love. At times the rhythms will remind you of the monotonous dance floor beats of the Stars on 45 medleys, and Brendan O’Brien’s overbearing remake of “That’s Alright†borrows its dominant riff from Katrina and the Wave’s “Walking on Sunshine.â€
Unlike Love, this feels less like a celebration than a tortured attempt to make Elvis relevant to twenty-first century ears. The shame of it is that Elvis’ original recordings still hold the magic laid into them fifty years ago, and much of what makes them special is lost in these translations. The contrast of hillbilly guitars and burning vocals is buried under mounds of modern studio sounds that compete with rather than amplify Elvis’ preternatural ferocity. Casting “Heartbreak Hotel†into a delta blues might be an interesting trick if the producer (O’Brien again) trusted listeners to stay entertained without adding sizzling Vegas horns. But he can’t help himself, or perhaps he can’t escape the live show’s demands. Serban Ghenea’s hyperbolic reworking of “Blue Suede Shoes†suffers the same fate, overwhelming both Elvis and the listener with studio pyrotechnics that are distracting rather than energizing.
The acoustic arrangement given “Love Me Tender†momentarily drops the album’s bombast, but Dea Norberg’s duet vocal doesn’t stand up to Elvis’ original. It’s not impossible to overlay an inspiring duet on Elvis – Celine Dion did so in a video performance of “If I Can Dream,†for example – but this is the wrong song and the arrangement is too sedate. Shelly St.-Germain fares better on “Can’t Help Falling in Love,†though the arrangement’s percussion distracts with its busyness. If you’ve been asking yourself “what would Elvis sound like if he were recording with a modern chart act,†perhaps these reworkings will help you imagine the answer. But even those few tracks that retain some of the originals’ joyousness, such as “Bossa Nova Baby,†fall to the disc’s hyperkinetic overdrive.
Stellar box set of four documentaries and a bonus disc
Reelin’ in the Years’ five-DVD set includes excellent documentaries on Dusty Springfield, Gerry and the Pacemakers, Herman’s Hermits and the Small Faces, which are also available individually. Each film is packed with full-length performances (some live, some lip-synched for TV) and interview footage with the principles and other key personnel. Though all four documentaries are worth seeing, the chapters on the Small Faces and Herman’s Hermits are particularly fine. In both of these episodes the filmmakers were able to get hold of a deeper vein of period material, and with the Small Faces relatively unknown in the U.S. and the Hermits known only as non-threatening hit makers, the stories behind the music are particularly interesting.
Winning documentary of early British Invasion hit-makers
It’s Gonna Be All Right: 1963-1965 is one of four documentaries released as part of a five-DVD British Invasion box set by Reelin’ in the Years Productions. Of the four artists profiled (which also include Dusty Springfield, the Small Faces and Herman’s Hermits), Gerry & the Pacemakers might seem the most lightweight. But like all of the artists in this series, what U.S. audiences saw were just the tip of a larger artistic iceberg, and this collection of seventeen vintage musical performances and interviews, television and stage appearances, and contemporary interviews with Gerry Marsden and Bill Harry (founder of the Mersey Beat newspaper) tells more of the band’s story beyond their oft-anthologized hits. The Pacemakers emerge as early exponents of Liverpool’s beat rock, and an act that vied with the Beatles for the seaport town’s music fans.
The parallels between the Pacemakers and the Beatles are many. Both were Liverpool bands with Skiffle roots that turned to covering American R&B. Both honed their live performances in demanding Hamburg gigs, played the Cavern Club, were managed by Brian Epstein, wrote some of their own hits, were produced by George Martin, starred in their own film (Ferry Cross the Mersey), toured America and appeared on the Ed Sullivan show in 1964. The Pacemakers’ music wasn’t as edgy as the Beatles, and Marsden never really varied from his smiling, sometimes hammy, showmanship as a front-man. The group broke in 1963 with “How Do You Do It?†and “I Like It,†and crossed the Atlantic the following year with “Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Crying.†Their earlier U.K. singles would find later success in the U.S., though “You’ll Never Walk Alone†and “I’m the One†(#1 and a #2, respectively) remained UK-only hits.
Invigorating mix of rock ‘n’ roll, production pop, Tex-Mex and more
Among the most intriguing aspects of this San Antonio quartet’s second album is that you’re never quite sure what you’re listening to. Is it taking cues from early rock? California production pop? Stax soul? Tex-Mex? Neo-psychedelic grunge? The answer is ‘yes’ to all. At times, like the Beach Boys ‘65-inspired “Younger Days,†the influence is pure honorific. Other antecedents are amalgamated, such as the suggestions of Little Richard and Thee Midniters in the early rock ‘n’ soul of “Mama’s Cookin.†Others are honored and tweaked at the same time, such as a cover of the Everly Brothers’ “You’re My Girl,†on which the sound is a bit harder than the original, but the lust in the vocal gets at what Phil and Don could only allude to in 1965.
Stellar documentary of endearing British Invasion hit-makers
Listen People 1964-1969 is one of four documentaries released as part of a five-DVD British Invasion box set by Reelin’ in the Years Productions. Like the other three, it’s a terrific collection, spanning twenty-two complete vintage performances, period promotional footage, television and stage performances, and contemporary interviews with Peter Noone, Karl Green (bass), Keith Hopwood (guitar) and Barry Whitwam (drums – sitting in front of his awesome gold-sparkle Slingerland drum set). Noone was – and is – one of the most charming front-men of the British Invasion, and the documentary reveals the band to be much more than a backing unit for their vocalist. Their hits were often the lightest of pop songs, but written, played and sung exceptionally, and the group was a charming live act.
The group’s hit singles were brought to them by producer Mickey Most, who had a golden ear for material and arrangements. Their first single, a 1964 cover of Earl-Jean’s “I’m Into Something Good,†was a worldwide smash and followed by a string of singles, some unreleased in the UK, some unreleased in the US, that kept the group at the top of the charts on both sides of the Atlantic well into 1967. The unusual release strategy left U.S. audiences with a different picture of the group than those in their home country; in particular, “Can’t You Hear My Heartbeat,†“Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter,†“I’m Henry VIII, I Am,†“Listen People,†“Leaning on the Lamp Post,†and “Dandy†were all stateside smashes that went unreleased as singles in the UK.
The documentaries’ interviews reveal the unorthodox story behind the recording and release of the music hall styled “Mrs. Brown,†and recollections of the band’s first NME Poll Winners Concert are born out by a winningly nervous performance. The group looks more comfortable with their up-tempo cover of Sam Cooke’s “Wonderful World,†with the young Noone in his schoolboy suit playing the part of the song’s protagonist. It’s easy to see why he was the sort of heartthrob who induced Beatlemania hysterics in young girls. An early performance of “Fortune Teller†at the Cavern Club shows the group to have had a grittier R&B side that was mostly unused for their hits. The liner notes and commentary mention a hot version of Chuck Berry’s “I’m Talking About You†that unfortunately didn’t seem to make the final cut of the DVD.
The group’s hits rarely strayed from polite pop, failing to navigate many of the changes wrought by the latter half of the 1960s. Their recordings of songs by P.F. Sloan (“A Must to Avoidâ€), Ray Davies (“Dandyâ€) and Graham Gouldman (“No Milk Todayâ€) took them towards folk-rock and more poetically crafted lyrics, but even as their clothes took on the fashions of 1966 and 1967 their singles remained “romantic, boy-next-door stuff.†They continued to record through the psychedelic era, having a Top 40 hit with Donovan’s “Museum†(not included here) and thickening their productions with strings and a hint of country twang on “My Sentimental Friend,†but the heavy sounds emanating from San Francisco and elsewhere spelled the end of their hit-making days.
All or Nothing 1965-1968 is one of four documentaries released as part of a five-DVD British Invasion box set by Reelin’ in the Years Productions. It is a spectacular collection of footage that spans twenty-seven complete vintage performances, interviews with the principle band members reflecting on their time as seminal mod and psychedelic rockers, and superb vintage clips of the band creating in the studio, shopping on Carnaby Street and gigging at iconic clubs like the Marquee. The producers have performed miracles in digging up rare television and film footage, and archival interviews with Steve Marriott (from 1985) and Ronnie Lane (from 1988, his last filmed appearance) are complemented by contemporary interviews with Kenney Jones and Ian McLagan.
Though the Small Faces had only one chart hit in the U.S. (1968’s “Itchycoo Parkâ€), their fame in the UK and Europe, not to mention their style, sound and musicianship, were in league with the Who and Stones. The band members post-Small Faces gigs brought a greater helping of stateside fame (Marriott with Humble Pie; Lane, McLagan and Jones with the Faces; and Jones with the latter-day Who), but this 101-minute documentary shows the Small Faces were a group to be reckoned with. Marriott was a ferocious front-man with an aggressive vocal delivery, hot guitar licks and a songwriting partnership with Ronnie Lane that matured from derivative R&B to original tunes that wove pop, rock and psych influences into their bedrock soul. The interviews trace the group’s original influences, the pop sides forced upon them, and the turning points at which they made artistic leaps forward.
SNL singer serves up rock ‘n’ roll with a side of Stax
Rock ‘n’ roll women have always been a sparser commodity than their male counterparts. Even the adjective that describes a forceful rock ‘n’ roll performance discriminates with its anatomical reference. Rock’s had a few chart-topping female stars, including Wanda Jackson, Janis Joplin, Ann Wilson, Joan Jett and Pat Benatar, but the bulk of female rockers labor in day jobs that overshadow their solo output, or work in local obscurity. Patty Scialfa’s better known for her marriage and membership in the E Street Band than for her three releases, Karla DeVito is remembered more for the video she made with Meat Loaf (on which she lip-synched Ellen Foley’s vocal) than her solo album or subsequent song writing, and Ronnie Spector took decades to emerge from the shadow of her former husband and producer.
Christine Ohlman, whose twenty-year gig with the Saturday Night Live Band has put her voice in the ears of millions of listeners, has released six albums and contributed vocals to dozens of projects, yet remains more of a cult favorite than a name star. She sings in a gutsy rock ‘n’ roll voice edged in soul and blues, part Bonnie Raitt and part Genya Raven, with an element of Van Morrison’s early wildness. Her throwback sound combines the romanticism of Brill Building pop and horn-fed Stax muscle (courtesy of the Asbury Jukes’ Chris Anderson and Neal Pawley) into a potent rock ‘n’ roll stew. Her music reaches back to a time when guitars were front and center and bass lines propelled dancers to the floor.
The album opens with Ohlman growling her lovesickness against a twangy variation of the riff from Barrett Strong’s “Money.†She’s drawn to the wrong man, but loyal to a fault, recounting the reasons to break away but lamenting what she’s missing, proclaiming everlasting love and, in the tradition of the Crystals, opening her arms without worry of what others will think. She slings it out with the ease and familiarity of a club singer, working the crowd and drawing listeners close. Ohlman’s band is similarly road-tested (Michael Colbath’s bass playing is particularly notable), and her guests include Ian Hunter, Al Anderson, Eric Ambel, Levon Helm, Dion, and Marshall Crenshaw. Her dozen originals are complemented by covers of Van & Titus’ deep soul “Cry Baby Cry,†Marvin Gaye and Mary Wells’ “What the Matter With You Baby,†and Link Wray’s “Walkin’ Down the Street Called Love.â€
Original artists, not original hit recordings, but still interesting
