Van Morrison--Born to Sing: No Plan B (Exile/Blue Note): Van Morrison's first outing in four years (for him, that's a long gap between records) goes a long way toward capturing his classic sound, with a strong bunch of players nicely complimenting his most welcome vocals and a decent but not great batch of songs. The drawback is that Morrison has covered the need to get away from the trappings of his professional career before and he sounds no more emotionally rich than he did, say, ten years ago. But maybe he's close; perhaps that's why I like "End of the Rainbow" so much. In a few instances, he revives that near-scat singing that elevated songs too numerous to mention (I immediately thought of the final minute of "Tupelo Honey," or "Redwood Tree" from 1972's Saint Dominic's Preview) and continues to develop a most resonant lower register over his long string of albums. Born to Sing: No Plan B is worth hearing, though in a modest way. To be honest, I enjoyed Greil Marcus' book, When That Rough God Goes Riding: Listening to Van Morrison (Public Affairs, 2010) more than this, because I was then reminded of an era when Van Morrison's music was death-defying.
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Mary Chapin Carpenter--Ashes and Roses (Zoe): Lovely and understated to a fault, Carpenter's Ashes and Roses looks into an often isolated world, one where people my age aren't buzzing about the latest releases anymore. Would "Soul Companion," a duet with James Taylor, have lit up today's pallid airwaves as it might have in the old days? Popular culture seems so different now. Still, one has to admire these songs, graced mainly by acoustic guitars (one of my faves, Duke Levine, is still aboard). In "I Tried Going West," Carpenter sheds light on both sides of a situation: "I can't stand a man who lies like you/and I can't bear a woman who pleads." One of Carpenter's great skills is evident when she lowers her voice and somehow sounds angrier than when she raises it. This is probably why I completely misheard the lyric in "What to Keep and What to Throw Away." The lyric sheet says, "fill up every journal/empty every shoebox" (I thought she said, "sh*tbox").
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Bob Dylan--Tempest (Columbia): We're to a point in the life of Tempest, which was released in September, where the press for this album is remembered as much as the set itself, which is unfortunate. The glowing reviews were met with horror in other publications, because so many can't wrap their heads around Dylan's croak of a voice, or why he's idolized, even in 2012. The doomsayers are not really not taking into consideration how Dylan does so much with so little, and that he's cooked up a strong bunch of narratives, from "Narrow Way" to the sadness of "Scarlet Town." Indeed, when I hear the whimsy of "Duquesne Whistle" (written with Robert Hunter), or many of the blues-based tracks that often set the tone, I can hear him with his outrageously great, sarcastic voice circa 1965, doing similar material. What's really impressive about Tempest is that Dylan really mixes it up stylistically; it's got a bit of everything he does well, and it's an album, not merely a batch of songs. That said, the low points are "Roll On John," a rather indifferent ode to one of Dylan's few artistic equals, John Lennon, and the overly lengthy title piece, which is the story of the Titantic, full of details and yet an almost empty excercise. Overall, the great care that Dylan put into Tempest says that he still has so much to offer, and the cries that he should retire or that he is no longer relevant are a crock.
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Bettye LaVette--Thankful N' Thoughtful (Anti-): She may never top 2007's near-masterpiece The Scene of the Crime (where she was supported by Drive-By Truckers, so very steeped in soul), but LaVette is not too far from that level with Thankful N' Thoughtful, which along with her autobiography, celebrates her 50th year in the record biz. There's a sense of absurdity, disgust and ultimately triumph in her versions of Neil Young's "Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere" and "Everything Is Broken," where she abandons the John Fogerty-ish arrangement of Dylan's 1989 original and shakes up an already wonderful song. One cover not quite up to par is Savoy Brown's "I'm Tired," from that band's greatest era (with vocalist Chris Youlden), but the song choices are fairly strong--did I mention that Bettye sings the hell out of this stuff?
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Graham Parker & the Rumour--Three Chords Good (Primary Wave):
From 1976 to 1979, there was no better match in British rock'n'roll than fiery vocalist-songwriter Graham Parker and the Rumour, the roaring and swinging combo consisting of pub rock vets Brinsley Schwarz and Martin Belmont (guitars), Bob Andrews (keyboards), Andrew Bodnar (bass) and Stephen Goulding (drums). Following 1980's somewhat forced The Up Escalator, Parker went solo, leading to three decades of mainly uneven work with many flashes of brilliance.
So what a jolt to learn that Parker and the Rumour were reuniting. After initially finding Three Chords Good to be something they merely tossed off, I can't stop playing the thing. Taking into consideration that they've all slowed down a bit, this album lives up to their collective reputation. All the hallmarks are there: a shifting instrumental attack full of finesse, and an almost effortless, unforced wallop propelled by rubbery guitar and Andrews' soulful keyboards--he is the Rumour's secret weapon. Their background vocals, not exactly harmonies but a cheerful chant, remain delightful.
Parker's songs run from poignant takes on universal experiences to positively chilling. His "Arlington's Busy" perfectly captures the U.S. military in business-as-usual mode("Arlington's busy and nobody cares/We're looking at Tucson when we look for cross hairs") as needless death rolls on in the form of the military complex that Eisenhower warned us about when he exited office in 1961. The backing is gorgeous, in wondrous contrast to the spinetingling lyrics. Parker may have suggested he was against abortion on 1979's "You Can't Be Too Strong" (from the magnificent Squeezing Out Sparks), yet on this record's "Coathangers," Parker takes us back to what he calls "pre-history"--and to nail that down, he recalls Neanderthal times--that is, men calling the shots while women suffer at the hands of back alley medical procedures. It's not just G.P. on his soapbox; it's a vital rock'n'roll performance.
These heavy themes hardly sink the rest of Three Chords Good, which ranges from sarcastic to simply fun. On "A Lie Gets Halfway 'Round the World...," the song's furious pace falls apart to great affect, as Parker, panting, tells the band, "I've broken one hand--that's alright, I got two."
Aside from the remains of the Beach Boys putting out an album last spring, Parker & the Rumour's effort is the unexpected reunion of the year; the joy of it all is that Three Chords Good is often sensational, one of the very best records of 2012.