UNNECESSARY DOUBLE ALBUMS: We Missed You, But Not That Much

The Eagles' catalogue is both slimmer and deeper than most realize. Slimmer because for all their blockbuster success in the 1970s, they managed to squeeze out only six albums. Give me a break; Neil Young makes six albums on his day off. But if you've heard only the half dozen songs classic rock radio has made us sick of, you're missing out. You owe it to yourself to hear Hotel California and On the Border in their entirety.

For 28 years, the Eagles didn't make a studio album. They were too busy with solo careers, families, and firing Don Felder to even bother. Then finally, in 2007, the fifth Eagles lineup gave us the seventh Eagles album. Don Henley, Glenn Frey, Joe Walsh and Timothy B. Schmit managed to complete Long Road Out of Eden without killing each other, and the album went multiplatinum in no time, despite being available only at Wal-Mart and on the band's website. The album's long, painful birth seemed to have been worth it.

The thing about spending that much time on an album, though, is that you can't bear to throw anything away. Long Road Out of Eden groans under the weight of 20 tracks. I don't care how long we had to wait for it, that's too many. Henley has said he believes the record would have been better if they'd spent another 6 months polishing it, but I can't imagine that's the problem. If anything, someone should have shut down the sessions early and forced these notorious perfectionists to just get the damn thing out already.

Henley blames the album's length on his own benevolence; he and co-founder Frey just didn't have the heart to cut any tracks by their employees Schmit and Walsh. What Don doesn't tell you is that Schmit and Walsh contribute only two songs each, and they're all pretty good. I'm afraid Henley and Frey, the only two original members left, are to blame for Long Road Out of Eden's sprawl.

Repetition is their undoing. Henley doesn't get one track to rant about the state of the world, he gets three, including the ten-minute(!) title track. Frey isn't allowed just one of his sappy/sweet ballads, he has five. Prune the album's few weakest tracks, and you're left with a more democratic selection of very strong material. Most importantly, an uneven double album becomes a very strong single disc.

The highlights, though, are worthy on the band's legacy. Henley's thoughtful "Waiting in the Weeds" features some of the most gorgeous and complex harmonies the Eagles have ever attempted. J.D. Souther's "How Long" makes for a hell of a single, and "No More Cloudy Days" plays to Frey's strengths as a melodist. Altogether, Long Road Out of Eden makes for a better valedictory than 1979's tired cokefest The Long Run. We're glad the old boys came back for another round, but they didn't need to stay until closing time.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Waiting in the Weeds" by Eagles
AVAILABLE ON: Long Road Out of Eden

UNNECESSARY DOUBLE ALBUMS: Bob Gives Us the Finger

There are several different types of double albums. Some contain an awkward marriage of brilliant material with dreck (see yesterday's entry). Some ramble in ways that are consistently bizarre and fascinating (the "White Album"). Some feel too long not because any of the material is weak, but because the strong moments aren't strong enough (Foo Fighters, In Your Honor). But there is one kind of double album that most fascinates: the double album that shouldn't have even been a single album.

Bob Dylan's Self Portrait is the most notorious example. I won't dwell too much on the album's many faults, as rock critics have spent the last 38 years finding new ways to say it sucks. (The great Greil Marcus said it best when he simply asked, "What is this shit?") Instead, I'd like to explore the reasons Dylan would even release this inscrutable jumble of covers, remakes, and oddball experiments.

Dylan has given several reasons over the years, but the most compelling is that he was angry at his fans and wished to punish them. While living in Woodstock with his family in the late '60s, Dylan saw his property overrun by unwashed admirers who trespassed just to get a look at him. Years later, he wrote, "Roadmaps to our homestead must have been posted in all fifty states for gangs of dropouts and druggies." I wouldn't want those people pitching tents in my yard either, but was he really surprised? What did he think his fans looked like, George Plimpton?

This is how Dylan describes the making of Self Portrait: "I just threw everything I could think of at the wall and whatever stuck, released it, and then went back and scooped up everything that didn't stick and released that, too." There is no better way to explain the almost shockingly slapdash quality of the record. The covers are mostly incompetent; if his recording of "The Boxer" is a joke, it's not funny, and if it's serious, God help him. The originals are lightweight and poorly sung, in a jokier permutation of his Nashville Skyline croon. And the remake of "Like a Rolling Stone"? Let's just say it is hard to rob that song of its bite, but Dylan figured out how to do it.

Okay, "Alberta" sounds fine, but we didn't need two versions. And the Band provide enough energy to carry "Quinn the Eskimo (The Mighty Quinn)." But a great artist can stumble onto something good by accident. Most of Self Portrait seems designed to irritate and confuse. As the album hit stores, Dylan was already completing the far superior New Morning. Only four months passed between the release of the two records, and I don't believe that was an accident. I think Dylan wanted to see what people would do if he immediately followed a terrible album with a solid one. Like a coy lover, he started a fight just to make up. This is one of the reasons Bob Dylan is one of the most challenging and dynamic artists of our time, and why I wouldn't want to have dinner with him.

TODAY'S RECOMMENDATION: "Quinn the Eskimo (The Mighty Quinn)" by Bob Dylan
AVAILABLE ON: Self Portrait; iTunes

UNNECESSARY DOUBLE ALBUMS: Spaceships and Overdubs

If we’re going to talk about overdoing it, we have to talk about Jeff Lynne. Lynne’s most famous project, the Electric Light Orchestra, is a tribute to all that is overblown and ridiculous. Their concerts were known for elaborate sets and light shows. As a producer, Lynne puts his stamp on everything he touches, regardless of whose name is on the album. Still, he's been a spectacular hitmaker. His finest moment came in 1977, with the release of ELO’s Out of the Blue, a double album that misses greatness by the smallest margin.

Out of the Blue is ELO’s seventh and best record. Lynne’s hooks were never sharper, the ELO sound never smoother. The band’s early LPs were clunky, awkwardly marrying thin string arrangements to meandering progressive rock tunes. Their '80s albums suffered from lack of inspiration and synthesizer fatigue. But Out of the Blue is where Lynne got it exactly right. He must have been excited, because he let it go on way too long.

The album’s highlights are stunners. “Sweet Talkin’ Woman” welds the band’s hypnotic harmonies to an irresistible R&B groove. “Sweet is the Night” is sweet indeed, and surprisingly moving. "Jungle” is endless fun. Lynne also foreshadows his later work as a producer, with the Roy Orbison ache of “It’s Over” and Beatlesque bounce of “Mr. Blue Sky.”

Lynne was on such a roll, he kept going. That was his biggest mistake. The entire third side of the album is taken up by what Lynne calls his “Concerto for a Rainy Day.” It’s about as pretentious as it sounds, and mildly engaging at best. By the time things perk up with “Mr. Blue Sky,” the record’s flow has been seriously disrupted. It rallies a bit for the fourth side, but not without a major speed bump: “The Whale.” A five-minute instrumental, “The Whale” sounds like John Tesh on mushrooms, and it blemishes the album badly.

Cut away some of the fat, and Out of the Blue is a nonstop feel-good hook machine. Lynne’s skills as a pop craftsman rival those of Paul McCartney. But McCartney, at least in his peak days, had John Lennon to tell him when to knock it off. Also, the spaceship on the cover? Even George Lucas is shaking his head.

TODAY’S RECOMMENDATION: “Sweet Talkin’ Woman” by Electric Light Orchestra
AVAILABLE ON: Out of the Blue; iTunes

UNNECESSARY DOUBLE ALBUMS: Runt Goes Big

“Anything worth doing is worth overdoing,” or so says Mick Jagger, and many of his rock and roll cohorts seem to agree. Much like indulgent Hollywood filmmakers, some recording artists see no merit in self-editing. This is how we get Meet Joe Black. It’s also how we get to this week’s topic: Unnecessary Double Albums.

Todd Rundgren was one of rock’s first great do-it-yourselfers. A multi-instrumentalist, singer, songwriter, producer, filmmaker and hope to nerdy young boys everywhere, he made his mark with the Nazz before going solo in the early 1970s. His hit singles include “We Gotta Get You a Woman,” “Can We Still Be Friends?”, and “Bang the Drum All Day.” He’s also produced Meat Loaf’s Bat out of Hell, toured with Ringo Starr’s All-Starr Band, and replaced Rick Ocasek in the Cars.

Joining these achievements is Something/Anything?, his two-LP epic from 1972. Comprising 25 tracks and almost ninety minutes, it’s an overblown and often underwhelming attempt at remaking the White Album in Rundgren’s own image. A few tracks are essential, many are enjoyable, some are puzzling in-jokes that should have stayed in the vault. It even includes a spoken word interlude, a Motown cover, and an instrumental, thus completing the Album Filler Trifecta.

If it sounds as if I don’t like Something/Anything?, slow down. I criticize because I love. There’s plenty to marvel at. The soulful hit “Hello It’s Me” was good enough for the Isley Brothers, and therefore, for us. “Couldn’t I Just Tell You” and “It Wouldn’t Have Made Any Difference” are heartfelt and catchy. “Wolfman Jack” and “Slut” are funny without being too stupid and they rock, which is hard to pull off. “I Saw the Light” is as close to perfection as a pop single ever gets. Add up all of Something/Anything?’s finest moments, and you’d swear Rundgren was a genius.

He is, but genius is not concise by nature. It’s sloppy and sprawling and unreliable, making Something/Anything? a fitfully enthralling but frustrating experience. Did Rundgren really need to include “I Went to the Mirror,” a mumbling dirge that could be described charitably as a Lou Reed parody, and uncharitably as an incomprehensible waste of time? Must he indulge his inner Gilbert and Sullivan to sing about a Viking? Must he ruin the amusing “You Left Me Sore” with laughter, just to make sure we know he’s kidding? No, he mustn’t, but he does, and it leaves the listener exhausted and impatient.

Altogether, it’s a good album containing some greatness. It is impressive to consider that, for the first three sides, Rundgren plays every instrument and sings every part himself. That’s not a choir of females on “I Saw the Light,” it’s an overdubbed army of Todds. (He has said, "I have no 'soul' in the usual sense, but I can do this great feminine falsetto,” and he’s right.) Rundgren’s talent is impressive, but once he’s done impressing you, he doesn’t know when to stop.

TODAY’S RECOMMENDATION: “I Saw the Light” by Todd Rundgren
AVAILABLE ON: Something/Anything?; iTunes

UNNECESSARY DOUBLE ALBUMS: Elton's Blue Period

By 1976, Elton John had cranked out a dozen albums in only seven years. This, combined with constant touring, a nasty (and worsening) drug habit, and the stress of concealing his personal life had left old Reg pretty drained. Lyricist Bernie Taupin wished to leave England for the United States so he could become a real Brown Dirt Cowboy. But the beast needed feeding, and Elton was the biggest star in the world, so they kept on. That year saw the release of Elton’s second double album, Blue Moves, after which he took a desperately needed break.

Blue Moves is an appropriate title. Not only is it Elton at his most melancholy, but the album has classy pretensions not expected from this man. It's Elton's Art Record. Jazz flourishes and James Newton-Howard’s dramatic orchestrations replace the tacky fun of previous hits like "The Bitch is Back" and "Bennie and the Jets." Even Taupin seems muted and unusually humorless. "The Wide Eyed and Laughing" is laughable, and "Boogie Pilgrim" strains but fails to strike a funky rock groove. Really, who told these guys they could even approach funkiness?

Shame, though, because there are occasional reminders of the team's brilliance. Bernie spins one of his patented narratives in the spirited Bonnie and Clyde update “Shoulder Holster.” "Tonight" is an eloquent, if overextended, tale of a dying affair, and "One Horse Town" rocks nicely.

Most revealing, and quite effective, is “Idol,” the sad tale of a pop star “taken to the very bottom.” The narrator, seated in the audience, can’t bear to see one of his heroes singing in a dingy lounge. The creamy, horn-colored arrangement can’t hide how tired and sad Elton sounds as he sings it, and it makes you wonder just whose demise Bernie was chronicling.

Upon its release, critics entirely dismissed Blue Moves, ignoring even its best moments and declaring it a disaster. The original review in Rolling Stone failed to even mention “Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word,” the album’s only hit. That the song was not recognized as an instant classic is surprising, but at that point, many were rooting for Elton’s hot streak to finally cool. They got their wish, but if Blue Moves had been more succinct, it might have been another Elton John classic.

TODAY’S RECOMMENDATION: “Idol” by Elton John
AVAILABLE ON: Blue Moves; iTunes