Richard Harris - 'The Yard Went on Forever...' (Dunhill)

This moustachioed Irishman sure could croon! The followup to the mega-hit album which contained 'MacArthur Park' landed without much fanfare, despite Jimmy Webb going all-out to make a well-crafted orch-pop masterpiece. The Yard Went On Forever... is actually one song in eight parts, more like an opera, with themes coming and reappearing later, so I guess that makes this a concept album? There's a lot of imagery about children here, including some actual ones singing, and the lyric sheet takes the time to twice footnote the line 'she's skipping like a stone' as 'Before Nilsson', so you better be sure this wasn't a ripoff. I have a soft spot for Mr. Webb and somehow his progressive Southern American songcraft makes a nice match with Harris's soulful balladeering. It doesn't feel Irish in the slightest, though the format I somewhat associate with Scott Walker and some hybrid concept of 'Europe', and I guess this is a reverse version of that. The title track is nice to lose oneself in, with it's start-stop jerkyness, swells of orchestral magic,  backing vocals from the aforementioned kids and Webbisms like 'Does everybody have a place to hide?' There's some sort of social conscience here with lyrics about Nagasaki and Bombay and doomsday, but I just like the way it all crashes together.  I don't know what any of it means, but it's nice to listen to sometimes. Even still, I must admit this is a strange record to keep in the accumulation, found at a flea market and very rarely dusted off. The back cover has Harris in a bandanna with a Rambo font (though of course years before Rambo was created), which makes this feel like such a product of Vietnam and the changing social times - was he looking to garner cred with vets? Also, someone named David Duke plays French horn on this - I'm guessing it ain't THAT David Duke, but it's funny to imagine it so. I can see why it made sense to pair these guys up again and this is a great set of songs, though there's nothing particularly memorable here - no 'Galveston', no 'PF Sloan' - and I'm sure it was a commercial disappointment after 'MacArthur'. But then again, why the hell was that song so huge anyway? A perfect storm of right place, right time, I guess. Anyway, Dumbledore really belts them out here, and when he gets more aggro ('Gayla') it can be almost scary, at least if you have this turned up as loud as I do. But I'm more into the arrangements, which come from the Song Cycle style of American orchestral pop; the harpsichord and flutes float above everything, and for an early stereo mix, they did a pretty decent job. I understand why people go apeshit over listening to old pressings of records like this because it really sounds huge, almost like this was the genre of music my turntable was really designed for. I really liked Harris in that Lindsay Anderson film about Rugby League; this feels like a polar opposite to that aesthetic, though probably united through the concept of dirt. 

Giant Sand - 'The Love Songs' (Homestead)

It's exciting to review a test pressing, and a pretty good sounding one too - as far as I know the higher-ups at Homestead gave the thumbs-up to this. Somehow, this test pressing (I wonder how many were pressed) made it to Jerry's record store in Pittsburgh many years ago, accompanied by the 'one-sheet' promo text -  and I grabbed it, not knowing much about Giant Sand except they were supposed to be alt-country (but not the annoying Wilco kind). Between this and all of the subsequent Giant Sand records I've heard, this one is definitely the most 'country' sounding, though I don't know what that says except my own genre biases. It's an electric country record for sure, with lots of biting guitars, keyboard/organ drones, and other flourishes. It's a very well produced record, but somehow after years of casually listening to Giant Sand and Howe Gelb, I've never gelled with them completely. So I've always had this mild appreciation of his work without ever really loving it. A few years ago they made that Giant Giant Sand record called Tucson that was pretty ambitious and pretty great. But this is much earlier, and has some hard-rocking ballads, like the opening cut 'Wearing the Robes of Bible Black'.  The production is really top-notch, and nothing really indicates it's 1988 though I wouldn't know what alt-country is supposed to sound like then except for the Mekons. The drums are bright and crisp, and the arrangements are thick but tasteful. There's some waka-chika gutiar on 'Love Like a Train' which somehow works in the context and doesn't drag it towards a 70s porn sound. Gelb is a songwriter that lets his idiosyncrasies out; his vocals occasionally wail and contort, and he's not afraid to cop a classic pose, though it's always a little off-kilter. 'Almost the Politician's Wife' starts with a gentle acoustic strum and works from the position of a roving eye, never quite content, but not restless either. The album ends with a cover of 'Is That All There Is?', recently resurfacing in pop culture by its inclusion in the final season of Mad Men; here, Gelb is sarcastic, voice breaking into a million different directions. The album concludes by dissolving into a sample of The Honeymooners, which I guess means this is a reflection back on the past and the 60s in particular, though I don't really feel it. Are these actual love songs? They don't jump out as particularly romantic, but maybe that's the point. Giant Sand have always seemed to me like a band whose pleasures lie in subtlety, even if the songs aren't necessarily restrained; I think further time is required (even though I've had this LP for well over 15 years) to truly dig in.

David Ackles - 'Subway To the Country' (Elektra)

Source: Jerry's, probably around 2000, for maybe $4 or $5.

The curls of Dylan, the subject material of Scott Walker, the pipes more like Tim Buckley and a vibe that is part Frank Sinatra ... David Ackles is an odd one. I'm always up for records about transportation though this one is a mix between limp 60's AOR songwriting and really dark, fucked up shit like 'Candy Man'. I've never been able to view this album as anything but a showcase for this song, which is about a deranged vet opening a candy store and hiding porn in his stock for kids to find. The generally average backing band lays on the cheese when this climaxes, but it's all good - dark organ swirls give it the psychodelic atmosphere it deserves. It's an amazing song but not particularly well-written, if you get my drift. The rest of the record has a few duds, which come off as either lounge act posturing or lame blues-rock ballads (such as 'Out on the Road') ;; still, the session musicians sneak in some nice details. The whole album is only 8 songs, 4 to a side, and side 2 is probably stronger (or at least more fun to follow along on the lyrics sheet). 'Woman River' is probably the sleeper, as it bends and melts like a wax kiss on champagne. 'Inmates of the Institution' seems to warrant some mention because it's all shouty and serious and Malthusian, yet when it's over I just want to go back and listen to 'Candy Man' again.