Bruce Springsteen
Don't expect the thunderclap of 1984's Born in the U.S.A. or the more intimate grandeur of 1987's Tunnel of Love. These two new records are, for the most part, more muted—the seasoned sound of a man who has changed some diapers.
The somber homogeneity of the two discs doesn't make for an imposing first impression. But the impact of the 24 compositions becomes more profound with repeated plays. The thing about Springsteen's songs is that they are so deeply rooted in mood and character: Listen, for instance, to the way Lucky Town's "Book of Dreams" evokes the thoughts and hopes of a man on his wedding day.
Human Touch, recorded mostly in 1990, is the more clangorous and electric collection. Springsteen employs a traditional band (E-Streeter Roy Bittan on keyboards, drummer Jeff Porcaro, bass player Randy Jackson and several special guests) to ignite a number of his patented backbeat bonfires—"Roll of the Dice," "All or Nothin' at All" and "Gloria's Eyes."
The brash "Real Man," with Ian McLagen on piano and David Sancious on organ, sounds like Mitch Ryder meets Elton John. There are some departures here too, for instance the lullaby-like "Pony Boy" and the fable-like "With Every Wish," which with Mark Isham's muted trumpet and Kurt Wortman's African dumbeck drums sounds unlike anything Bruce has recorded before.
Human Touch is likely to get more radio play because it fits the old American Bandstand criteria: good beat and you can dance to it. But Bruce's big heart just doesn't seem to be in the rockers anymore. That's why Lucky Town, recorded mostly last year, though far quieter, is the more passionate album.
Springsteen essentially has three voices: the smooth croon, the raspy shout and the faux hillbilly twang. On the acoustic-flavored and often solo Lucky Town, the country voice prevails, from the Dust Bowl dirge of "Souls of the Departed" to the misty swamp tango of "The Big Muddy."
What both records confirm is that Springsteen is the most incurably romantic pop composer since Barry Manilow. Consider the opening stanza from Human Touch's "I Wish I Were Blind": "I love to see the cottonwood blossom/ In the early spring/ I love to see the message of love/ That the bluebird brings/ But when I see you walkin' with him/ Down along the strand/ I wish I were blind/ When I see you with your man." OK, a gritty, fatalistic Barry Manilow.
If budget or taste discourage a double dip, here's a simple tip: If you want to hear Bruce shout down the Devil, pick up Human Touch; if you want to hear him send up his prayers, head for Lucky Town.
Tracy Chapman
Last year, Fox's In Living Color featured a skit sending up Chapman, the dour folkie who stunned the music world with her platinum-plus 1988 debut. Playing Chapman, Kim Wayans poked fun at her somber songwriting by looking out a window and describing every depressing thing she saw on the street below.
On Chapman's third album, the singer gives In Living Color only more fuel. It's not her spartan arrangements that deserve satire. Nor her candid and frequently poetic dissections of American life, which she views as focused on greed and exploitation. The problem is that this time she fails to leaven her relentlessly downbeat lyrics with her usual deft melodies. Chapman, sadly, doesn't distinguish herself enough from the battalion of coffeehouse troubadours inspired by her success.
Too often, Chapman weakens potentially challenging ideas by couching them in platitudes and clichés. On "Dreaming on a World" she sings, "No matter how unrealistic or naive it may seem/ Always keep dreaming." Better is "Bang Bang Bang," about the disturbing availability of guns, especially in poorer neighborhoods, and about white tolerance of the violence as long as it stays within those boundaries: "If he preys on his neighbors, brothers, sisters and friends/ We'll consider it a favor/ We'll consider justice done."
The gently rocking "I Used to Be a Sailor" is a pleasant reminder of Chapman's first two albums. Unfortunately she keeps coming back to such woefully depressing material—and presenting it in such a woefully depressing manner—that all but her most committed fans are going to want to jump ship. (Elektra)
The Cavedogs
Here's a quick quiz. What trio of rockers formed a band in a town known for its alternative rock scene, started cranking out punkish power-pop and have just released an album that perfectly captures their edgy sound? Nirvana? It sounds like their résumé, but the correct answer here is the Cavedogs.
This Boston group doesn't quite play Seattle-based Nirvana's gleeful grunge, but it does have an even better knack for finding the melody in its sonic roar. The recipe starts with bassist Brian Stevens's nasal, Lennon-like delivery. Blend in jangly. occasionally jarring guitar and stir with smart pop hooks and a raunchy rhythmic flavor. Voila! Soul Martini.
Songs like "Love Grenade" and "Murder" are the band's tangiest concoctions. Other tunes sound too much alike and fail to make a strong impression. Still, though Nirvana is justifiably the alternative-rock messiah of the moment, the Cavedogs are nipping at their heels. (Capitol)
- Contributors:
- David Hiltbrand,
- Andrew Abrahams,
- Craig Tomashoff.
Saved by the Bell Reunion
The hookups, the meltdowns, the memoires
The case reveals what was really going on what they think of each other now!
