Outlook: The reviews

(http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:RGExC-

G3ytEJ:www.outlookindia.com/magazine/story/the-reviews/297208+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=in)

Music legends are getting a bit thin on the ground. Three of them—Prince, David Bowie and

Glenn Frey—have left us within weeks of each other. That should be reason enough for us to

consider those still around as precious. Which is why it’s a welcome surprise to discover two

of the greatest releasing new albums. Bob Dylan turned 75 the same week he released Fallen

Angels, while Eric Clapton, recently turned 71, followed with I Still Do. Both are steeped in

nostalgia and offer bluesy covers of classics very unlike the kind of songs, music and lyrics

we are used to from the duo. It’s as if they both realise that having crossed a certain age,

mortality beckons and some gravitas is called for, along with a hat-tip to

songwriters/balladeers of yore. Dylan covered Frank Sinatra classics on his last album,

Shadows in the Night. On his new release, Dylan pays vocal tribute to songwriters from

another era, ambling through almost anti-Dylan songs, yet making it all believable. Even on

something philosophical, like Young At Heart (Sinatra again), he invests the lines with a

personal meaning, an awareness of his own fragile state, without descending into despair or

sounding corny. These are classic oldies like All or Nothing at All, Skylark or That Old Black

Magic, given a new lease of life with Dylan’s gravelly voice and a virtuoso band.

As always with Dylan, there are searches for hidden meanings or messages. Who, exactly, are

the fallen angels? Is he referring to the songs themselves, artefacts from a bygone age? Or is

it a lamentation for now, when angels are falling and ideals are eroding? Dylan has been

anointed the voice of his generation and now that voice speaks of love and heartache and

polka dots, a concept his fans will have a problem getting their heads around.

So too does Clapton. Away with originality and compelling guitar solos, say hello to sleepy,

nostalgia-laden covers of blues classics, reminding you of another era, of smoke-filled clubs

and amber liquid. I Still Do is almost a statement; that he still can perform with the best of

them. That also explains his collaboration with Glyn Johns, who produced Clapton’s iconic,

breakthrough album, Slowhand. If I Still Do refers to his guitar playing, it’s more mellow, as

in the blues grooves of Alabama Woman Blues and Stones In My Passway. Like Dylan,

Clapton fans will wonder why he is falling back on covers, and also who is the mystery guest

on this album. I Will Be There features guitar and vocals from ‘Angelo Mysterioso’, a name

George Harrison once used to collaborate with other big names. There are some vocals here

that could offer a clue. “When times are hard and friends are few/ You need someone to help

you through”. Here’s a twist. One of the covers is a Dylan original—I Dreamed I Saw St.

Augustine—which gets a more refined treatment. The question is whether this is a grand

finale. Clapton recently said about this: “Just in case I don’t cut another record, this is how I

feel”. It’s hard to fault anyone this late into a legendary career for wanting to say goodbye

this easily, this softly, this sweetly. I Still Do acts as a pleasant reminder that he’s still around

and to check out where he came from.

NPR: Review: Bob Dylan, 'Fallen Angels'

http://www.npr.org/2016/05/12/477069552/first-listen-bob-dylan-fallen-angels

So here we are, stuck inside of Croonerville with the Sinatra blues again. Fallen Angels is the second volume in which Bob Dylan sings the Great American Songbook, recorded at the same time (and with the same core band) as Dylan's 2015 album Shadows In The Night. Those who hated that record are gently advised: Please move along. Nothing on this set is likely to change your impression.

Those remaining, and at this point that may be a handful, you already know what kind of scene awaits when you drop in: Lights are low. There's an ashtray that needs emptying on the table. Fading neon signs blink behind the bar. The band is tuned up, the amps are set to Maximum Torch. And, as before, our star is a touch road-worn, grizzled in a way that may only seem charming to immediate family. It's a tableau rich in period details, the ideal setting for a singer whose mission is to interpret some of the most elegant melodies in pop-music history.

Even if that singer is Bob Dylan, who will celebrate his 75th birthday four days after Fallen Angels is released. Dylan isn't exactly known for having nimble pipes; a recurring knock against Shadows, which concentrated on songs recorded by Frank Sinatra, was that a voice with such a high gravel quotient should stay away from the sleek, graceful, demanding lines within songs written by Richard Rodgers and Cole Porter.

But possessing a pleasing vocal tone is really just one element of the singing business. The larger challenges involve personalizing a melody, shaping each phrase so it rings true. This is where Sinatra towers above mortals: His sighs, small gestures and nuance-rich asides tell — or, more accurately, hint at — stories inside of stories.

Dylan, a storyteller from way back, understands this. In spite of the limitations of his vocal instrument, he has created a whispery, willfully idiosyncratic phrasing style, a way of ambling through tunes (his own on recent records, those written by others here) that feels disarmingly believable, at least most of the time.

On Fallen Angels, Dylan sings as though he's deep within a reverie — seized by the memory of some "pug-nosed dream" from 30 years ago, unable to fully bring himself into the present. He evokes heartbreak, or recollections of heartbreak, with a convincingly unsteady tremble. He sings lighter love songs with a vaudevillian's panache. And even when he's rendering something that requires a more philosophical tone, like "Young At Heart," he invests the lines with some personal meaning, some trace awareness of his own fragile state. In this way, he's turned advanced age, with its endless backward glances, into an advantage: These are old songs sung by an old guy who is fully owning the oldness, the melancholy, the spontaneous outbreaks of gushy sentimentality.

Naturally, fittingly, the accompaniment is aimed at the older set; somehow, Dylan and his band catch the grace of a bygone era without descending into despair or corniness. The foundational rhythms are foxtrot and what jazz drummers derisively

call the "businessman's bounce" — pleasant ballroom-dancing rhythms that have aged out of relevance. Atop that is the steadying presence of rhythm-guitar strumming in a Western swing mode. Atop that sits wonderfully wistful, sloping leads from pedal-steel master Donny Herron — the hero of these sessions, whose lines frame and animate Dylan's vocals without getting in the way. Check out "Polka Dots And Moonbeams," the Jimmy Van Heusen/Johnny Burke ditty that was Sinatra's first hit with the Tommy Dorsey band way back in 1940. It's a song about a moment on a dance floor, and Herron opens it with a gracious, entrancingly spare instrumental chorus. By the time Dylan sings the opening line, "A country dance was being held in a garden," the mood is fully established; the band sounds as if it's been entertaining dancers for hours. Unfortunately, not everything coalesces to that degree: "Skylark" feels unnecessarily hurried, while "All Or Nothing at All" never really finds a comfort zone. For all its surprising spryness, the album's lone barn-burner, "That Old Black Magic," has a moment or two where the music nearly goes flying off the rails.

It is folly, everyone knows by now, to ponder the motivations and intentions of an artist like Bob Dylan. Still, the presence of a second volume of standards sparks an inevitable, "What is the Bard trying to teach us?" kind of curiosity. Heck, even the volume's title invites parsing. Who, exactly, are the "Fallen Angels" here? The lovers from a bygone age of decorum and earnestness, whose amorous exploits are detailed in these songs? The romantics who immortalized those lovers, in language bright with innocence? Of course, Dylan could be referring to the songs themselves, artifacts from an also-bygone age. Maybe it's a sly commentary by comparison, with Dylan holding up a structurally brilliant and musically inspired peak moment in the history of songwriting — like "Polka Dots And Moonbeams" or "Skylark," or really any of these tunes — as if to suggest that this crystalline achievement was routine not so long ago.

Maybe it's all of the above, a lamentation on 10 levels at once. What to do when angels are falling and ideals are eroding? Cue the torch songs.

Consequence of Sound: Eric Clapton – I Still Do

http://consequenceofsound.net/2016/05/album-review-eric-clapton-i-still-do/

With the passing of Glenn Frey, Prince, and David Bowie, the remaining stars of their level and era of rock music become that much more precious. Each record gains some vital gravitas, a reminder that it could be not only the last album from that particular legend, but of an entire generation of legends. Or, at least some semblance of logic would suggest that, but you wouldn’t know it from listening to the latest from Slowhand himself, Eric Clapton. I Still Do, a sleepy, cover-heavy, forgettable batch of tunes, will fit pleasantly soundtracking Sunday morning coffee with a newspaper — and if you’re not old enough to be up on Sunday morning or reading a newspaper, it’ll likely be a hard pass.

To be fair, Clapton was never known for either mind-blowing songwriting or genre-busting experimentation. The title of his new album, could stand in for a reminder that he still does remember how to play the guitar, in case you’d forgotten — and, really, that’s what you’re listening for. “It goes straight from his heart to his fingers,” producer Glyn Johns explained of Clapton’s playing in a recent interview. “His brain doesn’t get in the way. And he’s playing and singing as well as he ever did.” It’s hard to argue with that. Now 71 years old, he hasn’t lost a step, driven home particularly well on the blues grooves of Leroy Carr’s “Alabama Woman Blues” and Robert Johnston’s “Stones in My Passway”.

It’s telling, though, that the two biggest headline-catchers from I Still Do relate to big names contributing to the record that aren’t Eric Clapton. The first is Johns, the man behind the boards for what is perhaps the guitarist’s most iconic album, Slowhand. Johns’ work here is clean, rich, and sparkly, sanding off any rough edges — not that there were likely many to begin with. The puzzle pieces he assembles were already incredibly clean, all top-tier musicianship and classic structures.

The second big name is, for the lack of a better word, more mysterious. “I Will Be There” features guitar and vocals from “Angelo Mysterioso,” a name similar to that which George Harrison once used to collaborate with other big names without stealing focus (L’Angelo Mysterioso). The rumor mill swirled prior to release, some guessing archival recordings of George would make the cut. Others have suggested that it could instead be another Harrison, George’s son Dhani. Whoever it is, and Clapton’s keeping mum, wraps some sweet vocals and acoustic guitar around Slowhand’s on “I Will Be There”. Clapton and co. could’ve picked any pseudonym for a guest, though, and picking one so close to the former Beatle’s implies a tie at the very least. “When times are hard and friends are few/ You need someone to help you through,” Clapton sings, either a fitting and sweet tribute to his long friendship with Harrison or a tune that just as well could be.

While there isn’t a ton of grit to Clapton’s blues these days, the songs that ditch what little that remains in favor of sweeter, more pop-friendly tunes suffer. Though it was never a ripper in the hands of Sarah Vaughan, Bing Crosby, or its countless other singers, the bouncy acoustic “Little Man, You’ve Had a Busy Day” sounds cut from the same cloth as Randy Newman’s Toy Story tunes, not a comparison point one might expect from a musician Rolling Stone called the second best guitarist of all time. Bob

Dylan’s “I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine” similarly gets a Disney treatment, near-zydeco tones, smooth guitar filigree, and warm breeze taking the teeth out of the ballad.

Though his take on the standard “I’ll Be Seeing You” (popularized by Billie Holiday) won’t make any list of Clapton’s best performances, it carries some charm due to context. The septuagenarian could keep going forever, or this could be the end. “Just in case I don’t cut another record, this is how I feel,” Clapton has noted of this record. “I kind of might be saying goodbye.” It’s hard to fault anyone this late into a legendary career for wanting to say goodbye this easily, this softly, this sweetly. Much like the entirety of the last chunk of Clapton’s career, I Still Do acts as a pleasant reminder that he’s still around and to check out where he came from, both within his own guitar and those of the blues musicians that inspired him.