Author: Nathaniel FitzGerald

Record #11: Anathallo – Canopy Glow (2008)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

This record starts a pretty long streak of a whole slew of favorites, and I’m pretty psyched about it.
Anathallo, in particular, has been one of my favorites for a while. I discovered them in college when they played down the street from my school, and I bought both of the CDs they had for sale, and a shirt, so when I found this record (after hearing nothing from it) in the record store in Chicago, I had to buy it, and I was rewarded for my faith.
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Record #10: America – America (1971)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

Up until listening to this record (today being its first time on my platter), the only America song I knew, like you probably, was “A Horse With No Name,” a mildly convincing Neil Young impression.
Given that to go on, I was expecting an album that opens with the hit single, and then offers a bunch of attempts to rehash its success.
I was wrong.
The single doesn’t arrive until five tracks in, using the preceding four to reintroduce America to the fan who bought the record solely on the merit of their most well-known song.
And these opening four songs are strong in their own right, showcasing an America that is capable of writing folk-pop songs that bounce higher and rock harder (“Sandman” features a beaten drum set and a fuzzed out lead guitar) than the relaxed, midtempo “Horse,” and the excellent vocal harmonies that weave through all of the songs conjure more Simon & Garfunkel than Neil Young, which is a welcome comparison (compare anyone to Simon & Garfunkel and I’m there).
By the time “Horse With No Name” arrives (which was added on later editions, as it hadn’t been recorded on the album’s debut. Thank you Wikipedia) it’s more impressive than any of the other times I’ve heard it. The band sounds more confident, sure-footed and, judging on the four tracks that precede it, more self-aware of themselves than the amateurish copy-cats that the listener could have dismissed the group as after hearing the single out of context.
America goes on from “Horse” to prove themselves more than competent as songwriters, composers, and instrumentalists, especially on “Here,” which starts with a slow droning chord progression, then bursts into a raucous clap along before an impressively executed acoustic guitar solo takes the front of the mix, dies down, and returns to the opening segment.
Side two opens with “I Need You” (the album’s second single), which is the only weak song on the album. “Here,” America hangs up their guitars and tries their hand at a Beatles-style piano ballad. The result is boring and disappointing, and even the writing suffers (“I need you/like the flower needs the rain.” Really, guys?) “I Need You’s” shortcomings are only augmented as the group takes the guitars back after the next song and continues on the album doing what they do best, which is making guitar songs that, while pretty, explore enough through means of song structure and tempo changes, are still interesting enough to have merited the 1972 Grammy for Best New Artist.
America, we’ll be hearing from you again.

Record #4: Al Jarreau – Breakin' Away (1981)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

Here’s another record from that free stack taken from my in-laws’ house, but this one is quite a bit better than the last (Air Supply…ughhh…). Admittedly, this genre (R&B/jazz crossover) is a little out of my familiarity, but most of these songs just remind me of 80s sitcoms*, or post-break up montages from 80s rom-coms (My Old Friend, especially, could be played to shots of forlorn lovers staring out windows before fading out into a rain-soaked reconciliatory plea).  Filled with jazz tinged love songs, this album has probably been put on by many a daddy after the kids had been laid to sleep.
The one thing that makes Jarreau stand out among the vaguely “funk” landscape of 80s R&B is his tendency towards scat solos, which makes for a much more entertaining listen on the more upbeat tracks. And while the first half is rather ballad heavy (but with much more success than my last entry), the B-side is filled with less mainstream offerings, all of which do a great job of showcasing Jarreau’s vocal acrobatics (see: Blue Rondo a la Turk) His mastery of his voice as an instrument is the largest contributor to the album’s success, but it also strongly benefits from the composition of the songs, which is littered with jazz-style chord changes. These two factors keep the slow songs from being boring, and the fast songs from being inane.
Allmusic’s review states that the record was “the standard bearer of the L.A. pop and R&B sound” of its time, which is what makes this record sound so dated in 2012–the album’s most prominent flaw. But what can you do?
All in all, it’s a fun record and significant cultural and historical piece, but it’s not something I’ll throw on to unwind.
*I found out after writing this bit that he wrote the theme song to the 80s dramedy Moonlighting.

Record #3: Air Supply – Lost In Love (1980)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

I got this for free, so don’t judge.  And I really don’t want to have to listen to it later, so I’m just getting it over with.
Do you like sappy, overproduced, 80s rock-pop? This is your bag. Just about every track is sub-100 BPMs, features a “Long And Winding Road”-esque orchestra and egregious dramatic production flairs (piano-only codas and multiple key-changes are par for the course), and overuse of the the word “love” (“You keep using that word; I do not think it means what you think it means”).
The sequence of this album obviously wasn’t very well thought out (it opens with three power ballads, followed by a disco-rock cut), and it doesn’t help convince unbelievers (namely, me) that Air Supply was worth the accolades they received upon the release of this record. “Just Another Woman,” the aforementioned disco-rock cut (which funnily enough follows “Every Woman in the World”) is the first song on the record that doesn’t make me want to rip the disc off of the platter and through it in the Goodwill bin. It’s also the only song on side one that breaches the 100 BPM mark, and the only track with any sort of venom to it (or maybe it’s the absence of artificially sweet sentiment).
But sadly, Air Supply’s penchant (or is it their trademark?) for ballads and vocal interplay between two nonblending lead singers is the downfall of this record. The few times they break out of that comfort zone is the only success they manage to wiggle out for themselves, even if the non-ballads are stylistically inconsistent, as if even after four albums, they still hadn’t decided what kind of band they wanted to be (besides balladeers), as they jump from disco-rock to pop country to heartland Americana rock (with the faintest hint of prog).
In summation: this is the kind of record a studio has a band release when they want to make a few bucks, heavy on potential heart-stirring singles with enough “variety” to keep the listener from getting bored with ballads. It’s albums like this that led to the invention of the “greatest hits” album.
That Goodwill bin is sounding like a good idea.