Yes 12: Drama

While Yes and their fans should have been accustomed to personnel changes by now, in a rather shocking development, not only did Rick Wakeman leave the band, but Jon Anderson did too. Wakeman had bolted before, of course, but this was the first time Yes wouldn’t have their iconic lead singer. (Don’t worry about Jon; he put out two albums on his own, and three in collaboration with synth wizard Vangelis, all over the next three years, none of which will be explored in this forum.)

Even more baffling, especially in hindsight, is that the remaining trio—of which Chris Squire was the last founding member—joined forces with the two main members of the Buggles, who’d made quite the splash with “Video Killed The Radio Star” even before MTV happened. Since Trevor Horn could sing and Geoff Downes played keyboards, they slotted into the vacancies. The aptly titled Drama was the result.

The music glides in like the creature on the interstellar landscape on the cover, then a proto-King Crimson crunch riff plows us into “Machine Messiah”, with a few modern synth swoops. While Horn’s voice with Squire’s always underrated harmonic counterpoint sports enough of the established Yes brand, and there’s a bit of acoustic guitar, the pastoral fairy tales of old are nowhere to be found. After ten minutes of that, “White Car” is an odd little interlude that showcases the two Buggles and naught else. Then Chris hits his bass and Steve Howe slashes power chords for the arena-friendly “Does It Really Happen?” There’s a lot of Hammond organ that reflects Fragile while veering into Kansas territory. Again, Squire’s vocals remind you what band this is.

As with the first side, another attempted epic kicks off the second. “Into The Lens” was developed from a Buggles idea, and it shows, from the new wave touches to Horn’s solo vocal, and frankly, the robotic chorus (“I am a camera/Camera camera”) invites ridicule. (Once the Buggles reverted to just being Buggles instead of Yes men, the song would be re-reworked into the first single from their next album, retitled, naturally, “I Am A Camera”.) “Run To The Light” has Horn sounding somewhere between Jon Anderson and Sting vocally, and while Alan White handles the stop and start rhythms fairly well, it’s a little plodding. The Kansas swirls return for “Tempus Fugit”, and except for the overuse of the Vocoder, the tune rocks. Everyone is engaged, Chris is back in the vocal mix, and they can even get away with ending each verse with the word “yes”.

Despite everything going against it, Drama really isn’t a bad album, particularly because it sounds like Yes as they’d evolved after a decade. Roger Dean even contributed the artwork, though we couldn’t possibly explain what’s with the “hands up” poses in the gatefold. But this lineup couldn’t last, and the group soon splintered yet again. With the aural equivalent of hindsight, the album is a throughline to the next project involving Howe and Downes. (The eventual expanded CD included two single edits, two unfinished tracks without vocals, two “tracking versions”, and four refugees from the first sessions with Jon and Rick still on board, all of which pale compared to what ended up on the album.)

Yes Drama (1980)—3
2004 remastered CD: same as 1980, plus 10 extra tracks

Steve Howe 2: The Steve Howe Album

Seeing as his first solo album didn’t really show him at his best, Steve Howe started fresh with his second outing, even giving it a more bold title in The Steve Howe Album. Naturally it had a Roger Dean cover, where he looks like he’s drowned, and not necessarily swimming. (This unfortunate figure would be removed on some but not all later CD editions.) Inside were photos of all the guitars and other stringed instruments he used, and a handy chart showing which tracks had what. Both Yes drummers helped out, as did the exiled Patrick Moraz. Best of all, he kept the singing to a minimum.

He starts out rockin’ and riffin’ with “Pennants”, though we wonder where the vocals would go if there were lyrics to fit, and “Cactus Boogie” is a more countrified piece for several guitars. “All’s A Chord” sports a gentle, classical-tinged theme that’s soon taken over by other styles until it sounds like an unused Yes track, complete with falsetto vocals as if he’s trying to sound like Jon Anderson. “Diary Of A Man Who Vanished” has all the hallmarks of a television theme song, perhaps something involving cowboys. Guest vocalist Claire Hamill takes the mic for “Look Over Your Shoulder”, even harmonizing with herself, while Ronnie Leahy’s Hammond organ also makes a Yes contender.

Side two is even more disparate, beginning with another descendant of “The Clap” in “Meadow Rag”, while the jaunty “The Continental” came from a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie 45 years earlier, for which it won an Oscar®. Here it has a Reinhart/Grapelli feel, thanks to Graham Preskett’s violin. “Surface Tension” is an original Spanish guitar piece, and something of a prelude to “Double Rondo”, where he’s accompanied by a 59-piece orchestra. Ambitious as it is, it pales in comparison to the closing rendition of the second movement of Vivaldi’s concerto in D major, originally composed for lute rather than the Les Paul he plays here, and one of the loveliest classical pieces ever composed. It’s a fitting conclusion to a surprisingly cohesive album.

Steve Howe The Steve Howe Album (1980)—3

Kinks 33: Lost And Found

Just because the Kinks only released three albums with MCA, that was no reason for the label not to anthologize them. Yet even in the one country in the world where it was released, Lost And Found only fulfilled the first half of its title. (London Records in the UK didn’t bother.)

That said, it did collect some of the better songs of the period, beginning with “The Road”. “UK Jive” still wouldn’t make sense to Americans, but the virtual title track and “Working At The Factory” still belong on any Kinks anthology. Unfortunately, “Think Visual” and “Welcome To Sleazy Town” don’t invite any empathy. “How Do I Get Close” still sounded contemporary in 1991, but why would any compiler choose “The Video Shop” instead of, say, “Rock ‘N Roll Cities”, which actually got airplay? (Our guess: Dave Davies wrote it, not Ray, but that doesn’t explain “Now And Then” over “Down All The Days”.)

The well was pretty shallow to begin with, but they attempted to lure the unsuspecting with three tracks from Live: The Road. One of those is Dave’s “Living On A Thin Line”, but while “Apeman” thrills the small crowd, “Give The People What They Want” isn’t meant to be ironic. Even by cherry-picking from three lackluster sources, it’s unnecessary.

The Kinks Lost And Found (1986-89) (1991)—2

Mike Campbell 2: Wreckless Abandon

Having spent his entire adult life working as Tom Petty’s right hand man on stage and in the studio, Mike Campbell waited a good three years after his boss died before finally starting his solo career. (A stint touring with Fleetwood Mac alongside Neil Finn kept him busy as well.) He’d already formed the Dirty Knobs as a side project, so they were ready to back him up on Wreckless Abandon.

As was clear from the exactly two songs wherein he sang lead with the Heartbreakers and Mudcrutch, he was never exactly a singer. But years of writing for and with Tom certainly helped shape his voice into a vehicle for lyrics, and we’re here for the guitars and hooks anyway. The title track has lots of them, fitting nicely between classic Heartbreakers and the Stones’ “Happy”, framed by atmospheric effects. On “Pistol Packin’ Mama” his drawl gets easily lost against guest Chris Stapleton’s, and if it’s a little derivative, “Sugar” makes up for it in bite and attitude. “Southern Boy” stomps a little too long, but the pounding “I Still Love You” shows what was missing on the last couple Heartbreaker albums. Stapleton comes back to harmonize on “Irish Girl”, which rhymes “mutiny” with “scrutiny” and otherwise sounds like 21st-century Mudcrutch.

He tells it like it is on the Stapleton co-write “F-ck That Guy” (censorship ours), but isn’t the most arresting storyteller on the John Lee Hooker pastiche “Don’t Knock The Boogie”, which improves once the solos start. “Don’t Wait” stays in the swamp even longer, so the pretty and quiet “Anna Lee” is certainly a respite. Benmont Tench shows up to lend a little welcome piano to “Aw Honey”, and “Loaded Gun” brings back the classic Campbell sound from all those records. The last minute of the album is dedicated to an acoustic slide rendition of “Don’t Knock The Boogie”.

The band is clearly comfortable backing him, since they’d been together twenty years already, and Wreckless Abandon has a fresh live sound thanks to George Drakoulias. Most of it clearly came to life on stage, but that doesn’t mean some editing mightn’t have helped. We’re just glad he’s still writing and playing. (He blows a mean harmonica too. And he got Klaus Voormann to design the cover.)

The Dirty Knobs Wreckless Abandon (2020)—3

Todd Rundgren 34: Disco Jets

For a guy who always seemed to be recording, one might think Todd Rundgren would have a vault of unreleased music rivalling that of Prince or Bob Dylan. Yet for the longest time, he only had one “lost album” to speak of. A goofy celebration of disco and sci-fi, Disco Jets was recorded by the first quartet incarnation of Utopia shortly after Faithful, but was seemingly shelved to be replaced soon enough by Ra, which was only unintentionally silly.

The album is predominantly instrumental; while the title track does sport lyrics in the form of a repeated chant, it’s really more of a general fanfare. “Cosmic Convoy” picks up on the CB radio craze (and novelty song) of the time, complete with “breaker, breaker” conversation, only six years ahead of Neil Young’s own futuristic mashup. “Time Warp” rearranges a jazzy Rick Derringer instrumental from a few years earlier and adds sound effects that sound like Space Invaders two years before the game even came out. “V.H.F.” is clearly considered something of a TV theme song, and just for good measure, their arrangement of the familiar Star Trek theme song follows. (This would’ve been a top ten single had it been released then.)

Speaking of fads, the funky “Pet Rock” is a cross between K.C. and the Sunshine Band and “Car Wash”. “Space War” proves that titles could be interchangeable on this album, but this one has more prominent lead guitar than the keyboards that dominate elsewhere. It’s odd that he didn’t seem to find any more lyrics for “Rising Sun”, even with what would soon end up on their next album. “Black Hole” brings back the funk, punctuated by laughter and shouting deep in the mix. Finally, the overlapped melodies of “Yankee Doodle”, “The Star-Spangled Banner”, and other patriotic tunes in “Spirit Of ‘76” remind you what year they recorded all this.

Despite the constant thump and seemingly random bloops and bleeps, Disco Jets is still in line with their earlier prog excursion. It’s also very melodic, with pieces short enough to digest. One must have a sense of humor to enjoy this album, and just accept it as it is. It is not for everyone.

Todd Rundgren & Utopia Disco Jets (2012)—3

Steely Dan 11: Everything Must Go

In the modern era, three years was a relatively short gap between albums, and especially so for a band like Steely Dan. Sure enough, Everything Must Go served up another familiar-sounding assortment of laid-back adult contemporary music that was too smart for anyone’s good. Some have called it a concept album, which is fair; there’s not a story per se, but a theme does run through it.

After opening with a flourish right off of Aja, the PA announcer in “The Last Mall” tells shoppers to pay up before Armageddon hits, but the message is lost under the standard shuffle. “Things I Miss The Most” is more standard fare, a lonely guy summing his life up after a breakup, but once he starts cataloging everything, it’s clear she’s better off without him. “Blues Beach” is obscure again, though there’s a suggestion this narrator is heading to rehab. Much more clever is “Godwhacker”, wherein a team of hired guns prepare to take out the Almighty. “Slang Of Ages” is the fourth song in a row with the same meter, but Walter Becker sings it, and that helps it stand out, but it’s yet another song sung by a guy trying to score with a young lady half or even a third his age. (Maybe that’s why Donald Fagen didn’t provide the vocal, as he’s already established a reputation.)

The rhythm finally changes for “Green Book”, but the subject is only too rote, this time exploring newer, high-tech ways to exploit women. “Pixeleen” is somewhat related, only this time Fagen is drooling over the teenage superhero vixen swashbuckling across the video screen. The cumulative effect thus far makes his bellyaching about the high-maintenance character in “Lunch With Gina” less than sympathetic. The title track echoes the opener, except that it’s more literal about a company going out of business. True to form, the narrator hopes for a tryst with an office mate, and further hopes a coworker will film it.

Musically, the album is well played and impeccably produced. As with its elder brother, Everything Must Go will please anyone willing to overlook its shortcomings. However, we can’t, and it doesn’t.

Steely Dan Everything Must Go (2003)—2

Prince 25: The Rainbow Children

Once in the new century, Prince did a few things. First, he started using his name again. Then he decided to license his new albums rather than signing a longterm label deal he’d one day regret. He also got divorced, and had embarked on a relationship with the woman who’d become his next wife. But perhaps most significantly, he became a full-fledged Jehovah’s Witness.

This last detail wasn’t quite as earth-shattering as, say, Bob Dylan’s religious conversion. After all, Prince had grappled with religion and sex and whatever twain shall meet throughout his previous albums, but this shift would send him on a decidedly more puritan (for lack of a better term until we find one) path. And because he had to be him, his journey would manifest in his new music.

The Rainbow Children is a parable of sorts about good conquering evil, full of imagery, metaphors, questionable viewpoints, and most unfortunately, narration by a processed voice pitched even lower than that of the guy in “Bob George”. But beyond all that, the most striking aspect of the album is the music, which as a whole is unlike anything he’d previously put out under his own name or even symbol. He played everything as usual, with the exception of the drums, horns, and some backing vocals, but the music borders on jazz fusion.

The title track sets up the story with some narration—helpfully transcribed in the included lyrics—but mostly exists for a lengthy guitar exploration, which is fine with us, and modulations of the main vocal theme, which exhorts said Rainbow Children to rise, before switching to a much more subdued theme very reminiscent of late-‘60s Miles Davis. That makes a smooth transition to the just-as-smooth “Muse 2 The Pharaoh”, which begins as something of a love song, but slides over to expound on religious theories. (From here the tracks are shorter, for a while anyway.) “Digital Garden” is almost ambient jazz until he starts singing, and the narration moves the story further. That entails people going door to door a la Jehovah’s Witnesses, so “The Work Pt. 1” extols this via a James Brown workout. “Everywhere” is begun very sweetly by one of his female backup singers before escalating into a joyful number with lots of drums, then the instrumental “The Sensual Hereafter” would appear to be something of a seduction scene, which continues into the apt “Mellow”.

More narration insists that we understand “1+1+1=3” over another funky groove, with a Camille-style voice modulation in the mix. “Deconstruction” is an orchestrated segue leading into “Wedding Feast”, an incredibly silly fanfare right out of The Wizard Of Oz. (See, he still has a sense of humor.) With “She Loves Me 4 Me” we finally get a track that can easily insist outside of the narrative, even if some of the words might rankle the former Mrs. Nelson. From here the tracks get longer again, beginning with “Family Name”, which sports a different kind of computerized narration and other vocals dealing with the history of African Americans and other marginalized minorities, with a Martin Luther King sample for good measure. “The Everlasting Now” is more preaching, but it’s over yet another infectious groove, and not at all tossed-off. And since he likes to have grand finales regardless of the subject matter, “Last December” fills that purpose with a slowish groove and a gospel-tinged chorus, and a very Hendrixian break. Just for good measure, the album fades to silence before returning with an a capella reprise of the final notes.

It’s redundant to say The Rainbow Children is a very personal album for Prince, since they all are. Unfortunately, unless you’ve fully subscribed to his bag, the message can be a bit much. But musically, it’s terrific, especially if you like hearing him play guitar. If only there was a strictly instrumental mix of the album somewhere.

Prince The Rainbow Children (2001)—3