Canon Fodder #2: I'll Be Satisfied
Jackie Wilson - The Very Best Of Jackie Wilson
Allegedly, when Jackie Wilson was called “the Black Elvis,” Elvis Presley responded that in fact he was the white Jackie Wilson. I’m inclined to agree, in that I think Wilson did almost everything he did on the pop charts better. Unfortunately, Wilson was equally committed to both the thrilling, whooping early rock crossover and the operatic schlock, taking his first crack at “Danny Boy” before 1953. His taste in bellowing balladry makes exploring full-lengths a little frightening, and finding a good compilation necessary. I was aghast to realize the cheap 2LP copy of The Jackie Wilson Story I bought a few months ago was actually missing a disc, so I was glad to find this 1CD comp with the same number of tracks. In fact, it seems this is a UK import from Ace with 8 more songs than the Rhino comp of the same name! And the UK one doesn’t have “Danny Boy”! I miss some of the doo-wop era wails on Story replaced here by later ersatz-Motown, especially the when the last track includes a rude muscial reference to “Danny Boy." But most Wilson compilations bring in covers of not just “Danny Boy,” but “Somewhere Over The Rainbow,” “My Way” and “Eleanor Rigby.” This doesn’t, and I’m grateful.
Kool & The Gang - 20th Century Masters
20th Century Masters is easily my favorite discount compilation series. Sony’s The Essential series tends to offer excessive double if not triple CD releases, demanding either a massive number of mainstream hits from the artist or a level of enthusiasm for arcana ironic for a budget best-of buyer. UMG usually offers 10-12 songs on a Masters disc, perfect for capturing a pop moment that lasted for a decade or less, but over more than one standard release album. The best I’ve found is Eric B & Rakim’s, a brisk, meaty chronological highlight reel that makes a case for their hallowed status in a way their individual full-lengths don’t. Kool & The Gang’s is almost as impressive in a different way, decontextualizing their career to better highlight their crossover accomplishment.
The album kicks off with 1980’s “Celebration” - their only pop chart-topper and platinum single, before backing up to capture the four Top 10s before it and six of the hits after. It’s a remarkably astute move, hinting at the evolution from grimy 70s funk band to pleasant 80s radio staple without making the arc painfully obvious. They have enough R&B hits to merit a double disc (“Misled”! “Spirit Of The Boogie”!), and UMG’s Gold is perfect if Masters is simply not enough Kool for you. But Gold's disc 1 reveals a semi-anonymous groove machine who couldn’t bother with a full-time singer, and disc 2 reveals a semi-anonymous hit machine whose new full-time singer never got more famous than “Kool” (the group’s bassist from 1964 to now, if you quite plausibly had no idea). The 20th Century Masters disc captures Kool & The Gang at their most immortal.
Bill Withers - Live At Carnegie Hall
Live albums probably make up 1% of my collection. Most I bother to own serve as a more spirited best-of than a studio compilation would allow (Millie Jackson, Warren Zevon, Mott The Hoople, John Cale). And in a few cases, artists who crushed it in the studio still merit a live victory lap on my shelf (Husker Du, Rocket From The Crypt, Neil Young). While at least four of Withers’ eight albums are worth owning, this show was recorded just after the first two in 1973. So instead of serving as a summation of his career, it captures the artist at a charismatic peak, high off the success of Still Bill, and not yet commercially chastened by the lukewarm response to his unheralded, grown-ass heartbreak classic +Justments. Withers’ empathetic, sly synthesis of singer-songwriter, blues, gospel and funk can feel underappreciated today, but not when hearing him gracefully work up a Carnegie Hall crowd. This album should have been too premature to qualify as a victory lap, but it wasn’t, so I’m glad it exists.
LCD Soundsystem - LCD Soundsystem
I was cranky enough about the pacing when this dropped to write a really snotty piece re-ordering it for Stylus, which actually got DFA honcho Jonathan Galkin popping off in the comments (I don’t think they were used to negative press…yet). Side B still gets dull and the side-closing Pink Ono Band and Eno tributes might as well be Todd Rundgren in their hollow simulation, but I no longer chafe at “Movement”s hipster critique. While Sound Of Silver was an improvement for recognizing mortality as James Murphy’s real bugbear, whining about your scene is rarely as infectious and punchy as LCD at their best, and the early singles on the “bonus disc” is them at their best. I was satisfied with a CD-R of the Stylus piece tracklisting for a long time but, after getting my kid hooked to the song about having a playdate with the “Get Lucky” robots, it felt worth having the double CD again.
Nellie McKay - Pretty Little Head
Buzzed by the cultural possibilities of McKay’s 2004 debut 2CD Get Away With Me, which I compared to Prince’s Dirty Mind in its unapologetic idiosyncrasy and confidence, I was disappointed to find out she was dumped by Columbia for refusing to shrink Pretty Little Head from two discs to one in 2006, even though anyone could have. She followed the indifferently received sophomore album by signing with Vanguard, then Verve, releasing an album of Doris Day covers and making clear she was sticking to residencies at Feinstein’s rather than attempting anything remotely pop again. No longer a prescriptively minded scrub placing bets on cultural relevance, I can now appreciate Head’s batty sprawl as one of her last attempts at reaching the world south of Houston Ave. For some reason Sony has the single disc version on Spotify despite eventually re-releasing the 2CD I once again have a copy of. Of the seven songs not online, I’m most glad to own the schizoid trio that closes disc 2 - the Broadway-meets-8 Mile agony of “Mama & Me,” followed by the giddy cat valentine “Pounce” and an ironically valedictory “Old Enough.” I don’t begrudge her preference for the cabaret circuit - that Doris Day tribute was great! - but I’ll regret the world didn’t give her more impetus to wild out like this again.
Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers - Greatest Hits
Like most American kids in my consumer bracket, I thought Tom Petty was a cool dude in the early ‘90s. Nonchalant in a casual way, always looking like he’s not trying too hard despite the considerable hookcraft and videocraft around him. Full Moon Fever was one of the first CDs I owned, and I naturally got this bad boy on cassette as soon as it came out. But it was also the last Petty album I got. By the time “Mary Jane’s Last Dance” ended its omnipresence, I was ready to take off the training wheels and dive into indie rock and Neil Young (that’s right, peers, I’m too cool for Wildflowers!). By the ‘00s, I was truly tired of the guy, always crowing about his artistic legitimacy and getting dap for it from Buddyhead types despite the Video Vanguard Winner being one cliche away from Bryan Adams. I never got rid of that copy of Fever, though, and finally decided to get this back on the shelf. His passive-aggressiveness is hard to miss from my adult perspective - for every moment of spirited, romantic empathy (“American Girl”, “The Waiting”) there’s two cranky songs about how the girl should get over herself and start treating him right. Granted, his “empathy” ratio is still one of the best in classic rock; better a “nice guy” whining you don’t have to live like a refugee than a beardo in a loincloth yelling about wang dang sweet poontang. And in this multi-platinum riff-rush, it’s easy to forgive how often he yelled “OH!” like Sam Kinison. I made sure to get a copy with the Thunderclap Newman cover and cheesy ‘90s artwork, as that’s what the middle school me knew. Ironically, my kid was noncommittal about Petty when we grabbed this at Fingerprints, unsure about “The Waiting” or “I Won’t Back Down” despite the on-screen co-signs from Jeff Lynne and two Beatles. Then he saw a cover band do “Free Fallin’” at a city fair, and now he’s in love. Why didn’t I tell him Tom sang about LA road infrastructure in the first place?!