A few weeks ago I moved a notch higher on the “yep, gay” scale when I bought Barbra Streisand’s album Guilty. Actually, it was more like I had gone up a notch back in 1980 when the album originally debuted (I had it on 8-track, of course), then dipped when I got rid of my 8-track tapes because it was a horrible crime of a music playback medium. So really, I’ve just returned to my 1980 level. As befits someone getting older, I’ve recently gone trolling through the music of my youth, buying a clutch of albums from the olden days when CDs were new and novel (or yet to exist). Here are a few quickie reviews of each in this modern and scary year of 2016 (all albums save Guilty I had not owned previously):
Guilty (Barbra Streisand), 1980. Collaborating with Barry Gibb and his brothers, at times this album sounds exactly like what you’d expect–a Bee Gees album fronted by Streisand. Some of the musical flourishes are very much of their time but in the end Streisand’s vocals elevate the production. “Woman in Love” is the highlight here. The lyrics are merely serviceable, the music, apart from a dramatic organ chord, is nothing special, but Streisand’s singing is powerful.
Boston (Boston), 1976. There’s a lot more organ on this album than I expected. This isn’t a bad thing, it’s just a thing. This is arena-friendly rock, its power chords anchored by Brad Delp’s dexterous, soaring vocals (which turned “More Than a Feeling” into a massive hit). The music flirts with a more prog rock sound at times but never strays far from being manly man rock and roll. It’s fun and a bit silly.
Reckless (Bryan Adams), 1984. The album is appropriately described on its iTunes page as “so overstuffed with classic-rock-radio perennials, it practically qualifies as a greatest-hits collection.” This is Adams refining his sound and style and getting everything right. The album barrels along, with a pause for the ballad “Heaven” so you can catch your breath before it speeds off again. It’s all catchy as hell and Adams rough-edged vocals add just the right amount of grit to this rollicking effort. It’s an album whose ambition is to be nothing more than solid rock and roll and it delivers big time.
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (Elton John), 1973. Amazingly, this was already John’s seventh album, a sprawling double disc (remember “discs”?) that shifts musical styles throughout, effortlessly switching from prog rock to reggae and on to simple ballads and arena rockers. Some of the subject matter is a bit odd (Roy Rogers?) but the sheer variety and the way John confidently blazes through every song holds it all together. As with Guilty, it is often John’s vocal work that lifts the material to a higher level.
