In-Car Entertainment

"What an odd title!" you're thinking. That's OK; it's quite an odd album. From quite an odd group, too. Sparks, largely a vehicle for the extraordinary talents of brothers Ron and Russell Mael (Russell with the hair, Ron with the moustache), have been making bizarrely inexplicable music for over thirty years now. Not that you'd notice; I was quite surprised when I found 1974 was the release date for this album. It seems so much more recent.

Although it does have roots in the glam rock era (some of the more jaunty numbers are strangely reminiscent of Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel gone mad), the sound of Sparks is firmly their own. You will never have heard anything quite like the opening track (and lead single from the album), "This Town Ain't Big Enough For The Both Of Us" - once describedly quite rightly as a singularly singular single. A wailing keyboard line, alternately subtle-then-pounding drums, tight guitar lines and, above all, Russell's voice.

A voice that deserves a new paragraph. It swoops and dives between barks and croons. It's probably what gives early Sparks their unique sound. Although, over an entire album, it can begin to tire. These songs are so unique that the uniqueness can seem samey. Get under the skin and into the lyrics, though, and the distinctness returns. The album shows its LP roots, with a first side of staunchly separate pop songs, and second featuring more smoothly-flowing, melodic tracks. A useful trick; you'd get tired if the pace of the first half was continued all the way through.

Sparks have made a variety of albums over the years, covering glam, disco, pop and, most recently with Li'l Beethoven, symphonic dance music. Some work; some don't. This is definitely one of their best, and a good place to start if you're looking for something rather different.

I'm a dirty great stopout, you know. Stayed over at a friend's last night, following a supposed "lads' night out". Except you could tell that we weren't real lads any more : 1) too many couldn't make it because their wives wouldn't let them, 2) the food was pizza, but Pizza Express own brand and 3) real lads wouldn't know where the apostrophe should go. It was most fun, but it meant that the latest review comes a day late as the second half was only listened to this evening.

This was one of those albums that everyone at university seemed to own; I suppose it was only a matter of time before I picked up a copy, too. You might know one of the tracks: the impossibly-titled "Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm", with its tales of three rather unfortunate children. (Although a parody version by another uni favourite - 'Weird Al' Yankovic - was possibly more famed when I was studying.) But the rest you're unlikely to have heard in the UK - unless you were one of those album-owning students, of course.

The songs are generally reflective, but not on the usual subjects of love 'n' lust. These concentrate on life, where we came from, and where we're headed. Lead vocalist Brad Roberts bellows his way through tracks such as "Afternoons & Coffeespoons", an anthem to growing old gracefully, and "Here I Stand Before Me", which seems to be all about going to the doctors. Perhaps 'bellows' wasn't quite the best word, but it's hard to sum up Brad's voice - deep, resonant and rubbery.

The wry writings find themselves against a firm band backing, with piano and female backups in prime places. It fits the themes well - jaunty and serious at the same time. You even get a final piano solo, aptly named 'Untitled', although I'm not sure why. Still, it rounded off proceedings well, and when journeying home after a delicate day, I wasn't complaining.

I have a feeling that this album is passing its time for me, though. The more I tried to get out of the songs, the more I found the sentiments a tad cloying, and the introspection a little more detailed than necessary. Or perhaps I'm getting too old for quintessential student listening.

It was a horrible day on the roads around Cambridge today. A ghastly accident on the A14 blocked the main routes, and so traffic was helplessly squeezed into byways and back lanes in the vain hope of getting to its destination. And yet I managed to escape the worst, with a run to work not much worse than the usual rush-hour peaks. I could tell from the unusual queues in unusual places that something was up; it wasn't until I got to the office that I discovered exactly what had happened.

My companion through the queues was Wilco's fourth album, a selection made on the basis of several appearances in the end-of-year album reviews for 2002. I discovered that the band had gone through various shifts in identity and personnel, even during in the recording of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. I also learned that when Warners heard how the album was proceeding, they deemed it uncommercial and declined to release it. The band had to buy back the rights to their own music and put it out themselves. Contracts, eh?

It's easy to see how a major label wouldn't like what they hear here. But then again, always remember that this is world in which even the most experimental mainstream albums - e.g. Radiohead's Kid A - can sell well. There are a still a couple of classic 'pop' songs, most notably the instantly accessible 'Heavy Metal Drummer', with its feel-good beat and summery sounds. But the majority of music on this album is much more progressive in nature.

The opening and closing tracks, for instance, feature a noise like strumming the strings of a piano, as well as plenty of static and samples gleaned from the airwaves. (Wilco have just forked out in royalties from lifting a monotonic 'Yankee Hotel Foxtrot' repeating voice from a record compiling miliary 'numbers stations'.) They may not be 'songs' (how about 'works'?) but you'll still find a sense of melody and structure, as well as a smattering of abstract poetry.

Prog in the 00s sounds very different to its 1970s counterpart. Gone are the rambling indulgent guitar solos, and in come lengthy swooshes and a few beeps. So next time you're stuck in a jam, try it for size. You won't get there any quicker, but you won't mind.

When I first thought about writing this blog/daily review column, I realised that there would be a few difficulties. In opening my thoughts up to the whole world (albeit an admittedly small subset), my opinions and musings on a record might be perceived as carrying some weight. Which means that when covering certain 'mighty' artists or albums, I'd be letting myself in for arguments. So before I continue, let me clarify : it's just a blog, a few of my thoughts, and if you disagree, tough!

Bob Dylan is certainly perceived as one of the mightiest artists around. Still touring and releasing new material, his back catalogue is one of the most intensively studied of all solo singer-songwriters. And
Blonde On Blonde is frequently held up as his greatest recording. A double-album set, it was considered a true epic on its release in 1966, even though now in the CD age its size is not so remarkable.

Inside, you'll find a remarkable collection of songs. Dylan's lyrics are zany without being stupid, and with four sides of vinyl at his disposal, he can easily afford to spread out and hit the listener with verse after verse of calculated nonsense. From the plain bizarre "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35", through the lovingly sneering "Leopard-skin Pill-box Hat" (where fashion comes first), to the closing epic folk ballad of "Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands", the sheer amount of poetry in song is impressive. No wonder the album has the mighty status that it does.

Given that all the songs have been analysed to death by countless others, and given that this page is meant to offer a review with a personal slant, you're right to be wondering at this point precisely what I think of today's choice. Well, I can appreciate the quality of the songwriting. I can smile at the jokes and enjoy the snide comments. I'm able to find Dylan's playing and voice slightly comical in itself (never has the word 'singer' been used so loosely).

But can I come to terms with the majesty of the occasion? Not quite. Until I know the words off by heart (and through tinny car speakers with road rumble, it's not always easy to tell, although the quality of the remastering on these new releases is startlingly good) and have managed to decipher the meaning of at least some of the twisted imagery, Dylan's masterpiece will remain a mystery. Then again, that's always how he's liked things to be.