Which Beatles song has aged the worst

Which album flops did 2018 bring? ROLLING STONE has brought together a few: Records that have been given one of the three worst ratings by the editors or authors, i.e. one star (★), one and a half stars (★ ½) or two stars (★★). All works come from reviews from issues 1/2018 to 12/2018.

Rod Stewart - Blood Red Shoes

Rod Stewart is a joker. "I actually think every time that I record my albums for a few friends - and the new album has exactly this intimacy," he announced on the occasion of the release of "Blood Red Roses". In fact, the 14 songs exude the intimacy of a bank branch.

You probably have to imagine it this way: the old man wanted to know again, that is, in a commercial sense. He invited his producer Kevin Savigar and a few musicians he trusted and made it clear to them what they had to do. It should be a record in tune with the times, but also one that would reflect his well-known passions, from soul to rock ballads to folk.

So the gentlemen put together a mix of well-known mannerisms in a supposedly modern guise between the door and hinge, stage and hotel room. Instant music with all kinds of canned sounds, against which even Stewart's albums from the 90s seem like the Holy Grail of authenticity. A home studio production for the stadium.

“Look In Her Eyes” pushes sugar-coated harmonies with club thump. Stewart still masters the flirtation with the anthemic pop chorus inside out. In general, there is a lot of repetition here. In "Give Me Love" he plays the disco lions again from "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?" Times, "Cold Old London" is once again pure lard. The title track begins with a folklore kitsch similar to "Rhythm Of My Heart", and "Rollin '& Tumblin" is once again a richly mediocre cover version. And Stewart's libidinal gurgling - ashes on my sexist head - will once again awaken feelings that were thought to be lost in women beyond menopause.

The best thing about "Blood Red Roses" is that at least one of them seems to enjoy it. It remains to be seen what. In the music? Or the idea that his fans will blindly eat out of his hand this time too?

Thom Yorke - Suspiria (Music For The Luca Guadagnino Film)

Of course it is wise not to imitate the famous witch's song of the "Suspiria" original by the fusion band Goblin (1977). But Thom Yorke
is also not a Ligeti or Bartók, not even Deathprod. Often he only reproduces those crackling and simple sound collages with which Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross are amazingly successful in Hollywood.

His vocal pieces sound like the solo sketches that Radiohead was last allowed to work out in the studio. The horror clichés are sad: chorales (“Sabbath Incantation”) as well as film soundtracks: the killer’s breathing, the victim’s moaning. Yorke reveals a lack of confidence in the effect of the score - evil must be able to reveal itself only in the music.

Rick Astley - Beautiful Life

A good singer should by no means do without such an advisor. Rick Astley, who amazed everyone in the late 80s when he sang simple pop numbers from the hit factory Stock Aitken Waterman in a deep voice, is doing himself a disservice by wanting to do almost everything himself on his eighth studio album.

He even played the drums himself, although the programmed ones almost hurt. Astley puts so much butter on bread with his, unfortunately, interchangeable dancepop songs that you lose your appetite. At the end, the man remembers the stars of his youth: “The Good Old Days” joins Supertramp, Elton John and Queen. Astley suddenly shines again as a singer. But a sovereign work of old age - there is another way.

Mumford & Sons - Delta

The Greek letter delta is used in mathematics as a difference symbol, in electrical engineering it stands for the loss angle. Not the best omen for the fourth album by Mumford & Sons, which deals with the "4 Ds: death, divorce, drugs, depression". But the real drama is the misplaced producer artifacts by Paul Epworth, who already provided the horror factor on Coldplay's "Ghost Stories". The banjo missing on “Wilder Mind” (2015) appears again, but it is often not recognized at all (counterproductive sound modification). Not much is left of the sublime folk of the debut “Sigh No More” (2009).

Instead, merciless stadium sound (which unfortunately makes the single “Guiding Light” sound irrelevant), unspeakable beats and glossy pop accessories. The acoustically filigree “The Wild” manages to cushion its unnecessarily monumental finale, and the heartfelt “October Skies” also gives an idea of ​​how much potential has been eliminated from the rest of the production.

Maximilian Hecker: Wretched Love Songs

The fact that the street musician was quickly forgotten by us after his celebrated debut (2001) was compensated for with an unlikely success in East Asia. Maximilian Hecker has more followers than U2 on Xiami, the Chinese Spotify. And with “Zhong’er” in Chinese, there is even a term for this dramatic-romantic self-pity with which teenagers in particular sedate themselves and which Hecker uses so persistently. If you didn't know anything about his apparently more grateful sales market, you would almost have to admire the stubbornness with which the 40-year-old takes on his whispering whimpering pop, without a change of direction and no recognizable further development. The ninth album is also overflowing with it, with titles like “Xanax Child” and a lot of homesickness - for a place that doesn't exist.

Samuel Hope - Other Man

Samuel Hope is not interested in subtlety. The New York singer and songwriter drives the maximum bombast load on his debut album ("Runaway") and likes himself in massive soul-pop ballads.

Django Django: Marble Skies

Sometimes rock'n'roll, then endless echoes like from a black hole, manic choir voices as if a sect were singing in a cornfield circle. With their 2012 debut, Django Django established their own style out of nowhere: You could call him Space-O-Billy, the best of hipsterism, cosmic music and roots.

Little is left of that on their now third album.

Songs like “Tic Tac Toe” or “In Your Beat” still have the “Beam Me Up” dramaturgy of an imminent speed of light (one song is even called that!): After a minute the band pushes the tube. But when the guitars are gone and the only thing left is the beeping, the British sound like the Chemical Brothers in Soft. Your joke - "Here we come, the greaser from space!" - seems to have been told.

Dita Von Teese: Dita Von Teese

What does Dita say herself? “I'm not a singer.” And what about composer / producer Sébastien Tellier? “Your physical presence fits my music.” Both are right. Dita Von Teese has about as much (or as little) voice and musicality as Princess Stéphanie von Monaco on “Irresistible”.

And this (partly Ami-French) little bit of an idea actually goes well with the relaxed beats of the veteran Tellier, who makes the record sound like the audio logo of one of those 80s erotic film productions whose works were only available on VHS. Or like old "disco" episodes in which Luv ’and Baccara appeared in different colored lingerie. Or like a Max Kruse title: Well groaned, Dita!

The fact that the Chose quickly becomes boring is due to its nature: It's just erotic, not sex.

Simple Minds: Walk Between Worlds

After the Scots hawked their hits again in an acoustic guise in 2016, the return to the roots is now being announced. In fact, the first few bars of “The Signal And The Noise” (more than anything else in the last 36 years) are reminiscent of the wonderfully spooky “Sons And Fascination”.

But if Jim Kerr's voice sets in, one only registers the high degree of relationship to the bombastic chunk "Sparkle In The Rain". His vocals, which are pregnant with meaning in the core piece "Barrowland Star", seem almost involuntarily funny, while the guitars cause downright pain. A general store that is completely clogged and does not want to buy anything.

Erik Cohen: III

When the Kiel hardcore sprats from Smoke Blow announced in 2011 that they would not be releasing any new albums - they continue to perform live - Jack Letten decided to go it alone. He's now screaming in German and calling himself Erik Cohen. "III" is, how could it be otherwise, his third solo album by now.

Unlike its predecessors, it does without keyboard instruments, leaves the earlier wave borrowings aside and instead relies on wide-legged, old-fashioned rock music. Always straight ahead. You can do it, but then you should be a very good copywriter.

Unfortunately, Cohen is not. The old fire is still burning inside you, the "ferry wolf" calls out, someone breaks his chains. Oh Lord!

Skids: Burning Cities

No more lies, he demands to the guitar crackling of "This Is Our World". To the punk boogie riff of “Kaputt” he complains that the whole world is crazy. And to the jagged beat of “Into The Void” he reveals that he doesn't want to be pushed around anymore.

Richard Jobson is 57 from Scotland, has an honorary doctorate and has made a career as a TV presenter and filmmaker, but would like to be part of a youth movement again. Like in 1977, when Skids, whose front man he was, were among the punk and new wave bands from the very beginning. “Burning Cities”, however, is the soundtrack of a bumpy, clumsy revival that nobody really needs.

Or is there anyone who has not yet noticed that the world is broken, crazy and lying?

Herbie Hancock: Sunlight (Reissue)

In 1978 the wave of jazz-funk fusion had already ebbed when Herbie Hancock boldly took the next step with “Sunlight” into a future that was supposed to be more electro-based, musically smoother and more slippery.

Hancock plays electric piano and serves a lot of synths, Jaco Pastorius and Tony Williams provide the necessary jazz connection at the end of “Good Question”, and with the edited disco number “I Thought It Was You” a small hit was even achieved , but in the years since then, hardly anything has aged as badly as vocals hunted by vocoders. Awful!

Olli Schulz: Shit life, well told

When Olli Schulz was not yet a TV celebrity, was allowed to sit at the table with Jan Böhmermann or help out with the “crime scene cleaner”, he wrote strange, wonderfully casual, funny and serious songs. Now instead he rhymes verses like "Young woman seeks mature man / And calls the breakdown service" in a delicate Indian romance. Or he mimes the doorknob philosopher: "There are an awful lot of doors on the long corridor of life / We know how they open, but not where they lead." And his music seems to have been hit somehow in recent years. Electric pounding with auto-tune effects (“ambivalent”) and rap embarrassment (“sport boat”) squeeze intrusively between indie rock hit songs (“throw everything in”). Olli Schulz can also groove Peter Fox-like stoned ("Wölfe") or play the casual chansonnier ("Schockst nicht mehr"), but he also manages to screw up the "Seven Nation Army" riff completely ("Ganz lot of freedom").

In the ten songs on “Shit Life, Well Told”, Schulz never lets himself be committed to anything, doesn't make pop, but metapop, makes music in his curious ironic bubble and takes care of his ego. Also because he adorns the songs with all his friends known from radio and television: with Olli Dittrich and Bjarne Mädel or the “Tageschau” spokeswoman Linda Zervakis.

In the songs recorded by Moses Schneider, relationships are like a game of skat, love tastes like piss smells, skinny bitches, garbage bags and Facebook junkies romp around, and "venereal disease" rhymes with "lawyer". “Shit life, well told” is always damn close to the parody, an album made up of puns, slapstick, zeitgeist, complacency and trivial poetry and set to music with lukewarm indie-pop clatter and crude laptop beats - a played joke for everyone who's also about Mike Krügers “You just have to pull the nipple through the tab” can laugh heartily.

Editors: Violence

When they call an album "Violence", you know that it is about abuse of power, corruption and a civilization on the verge of the abyss. But since they also want to give something back to the world, they do not leave it with a gloomy diagnosis of the time, but always have a spark of hope ready. A pinch of dystopia, a pinch of head-up optimism, rounded off with a dash of pathos. "Help me carry the fire", sings Tom Smith in "No Sound But The Wind".
The editors could be U2. Or Depeche Mode. But they are only moderately talented epigones who hardly ever produce a good song. Because they know it themselves, they build cathedrals from the rubble of post-punk, industrial and new wave, warm themselves to the great end-time melancholy and celebrate their apocalypse dancepop on so many festival stages until some people get the impression that it is about a band of tremendous importance.

"Violence" will fit in perfectly with this cozy doomsday routine. In terms of production, the editors are scratching the mainstream. Where the gaps in content gape, scratch and hammer away beats, riffs and synths, for example in the dumb bombast of "Hallelujah (So Low)", which could also be a Skrillex remix of an Arctic Monkeys track. The title song pulsates restlessly, borrows its chorus in equal parts from Enigma and Arcade Fire and ends in a Kraftwerk homage. And as with all current meanings, a David Bowie quote must of course not be missing here and there.

Such a mixture has the power of total overwhelm. But what is behind the façade of perfect stylization and exaggerated sounds? Will one day be able to remember a single song on this album? The Editors concept seems to consist in creating an elegiac noise in order to create the illusion of a total work of art.

The Boxer Rebellion: Ghost Alive

"Ghost Alive" is music for mediocre television series, for the assembly sequence at the end of an episode, in which all the storylines are half-heartedly concluded, and so that the showrunners don't have to exert themselves, they don't even try dialogue scenes, but let singer-songwriters - Throwing goods do the work: acoustic guitar, climatic piano, strings, harps, a male falsetto voice calling the mountain.

The sixth album of the band The Boxer Rebellion consists of eleven such lullabies, one more pointless than the other, the level of complacency is astonishing and almost respectable again. Singer Nathan Nicholson sings soft imperatives, he has a lot of nasty advice up his sleeve. Just nobody asked him.

Josh T. Pearson: The Straight Hits!

It's hard to say what's most obnoxious about the song “Straight Laced Come Undone”: How it smugly offers a woman to help her undress so that one can finally get down to business? How does an affected country ballad arise around it? Or how the whole thing is performed in a horribly overdone Texas accent?

Josh T. Pearson understands “The Straight Hits!” As a malicious answer to Trump, as a parody, as a finger exercise with which he wanted to prune himself by devising rules such as that every song had the word “straight” in the title must have.

The result is a record that is neither funny nor revealing - inconsequential role prose between rock'n'roll, country punk and hipster western parody.

Lisa Stansfield: Deeper

When Lisa Stansfield took off in 1989 with her souped-up soul pop and hits like "This Is The Right Time", she was up to date, even a bit ahead of her. The now 52-year-old Brit stayed true to her style on her eighth album. However, in the meantime it has accumulated a lot of dust.

Lisa's producers (husband / co-writer Ian Devaney and Mark Cotgrove aka Snowboy) sometimes overshoot the mark. The house arrangement, in which "Desire" was embedded, for example, robs the track of all emotionality. And if a piece is already called “Love Of My Life”, then you expect a little depth.

Occasionally, low-melody results from the radio workshop are integrated. Vocally, as the widescreen production “Billionaire” proves, Lisa Stansfield doesn't have to hide from younger people like Adele. Maybe a breakbeat-free ballad album would suit her best.

JB Dunckel: H +

Air's brain is the tinkering Nicolas Godin. However, with “Contrepoint” he fell into boredom with educated citizens. The heart of Air, on the other hand, is Jean-Benoît Dunckel. He is developing the duo's dream pop, which may not be releasing an album any more.

But Dunckel also disappoints solo, despite monumental concepts such as those promised by “Space Age” and “Transhumanity” with their view of space. In the end he is just the interpreter with the Mickey Mouse voice and sings pop like Richard Clayderman had invented.

So everything is the same: Godin researches the retro-futuristic arrangements, Dunckel the feelings - they only create great music together.

Derek Smalls: Smalls Change (Meditations Upon Aging)

The Spinal Tap bassist's first solo album! Just don't call him Harry Shearer or he'll get mad! (Shearer is just the actor who mimes the bass player in “This Is Spinal Tap”.) So this album is a kind of played joke, the “Meditations Upon Aging” are called “Hell Toupee” or “When Men Did Rock” or - my favorite - "She Puts The Bitch In Obituary".

It doesn't get any more subtle, a matter of honor. And of course you need guests, many, famous ones! David Crosby, Donald Fagen, Taylor Hawkins, Jim Keltner, Danny Kortchmar, Steve Lukather, Joe Satriani, Chad Smith, Richard Thompson, Steve Vai, Waddy Wachtel, Rick Wakeman, Phil X, Dweezil Zappa, among others. In the long run, unfortunately, not as funny as the film still is after 34 years.

Josh Rouse: Love In The Modern Age

Until the wonderful “Country Mouse City House” (2007) one could justifiably claim that Josh Rouse was a talent - his last records were at best mediocre. With "Love In The Modern Age" the songwriter from Nebraska has now reached an artistic low point. As stylish and boring as Rouse poses on the cover with Ray-Ban sunglasses in a red and blue ambience, he has reorganized his tired folk pop with the most obvious electronic means.

This music could soon be used in branches of coffee house chains and in cute indie films. But despite all the contortions in terms of understatement, one has to admit that Rouse hardly manages anything original. “Ordinary People, Ordinary Lives”, “Businessman” and “Love In The Modern Age” ripple incredibly shallow. Perhaps the globetrotter Rouse has stayed in too many wellness oases. Love in modern times - with him it sounds like ennui and sophisticated monotony.

A Perfect Circle: Eat The Elephant

The songs are called “Disillusioned”, “The Doomed”, “The Contrarian” and “Hourglass” and tell confused stories of neurotransmitters and heroin, Jesus and oligarchs, of transience and decline. Sometimes Douglas Adams gets a kind of requiem ("So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish"), sometimes a song that was actually intended for Linkin Park ("Eat The Elephant") makes it onto the album.

What all the pieces have in common, however, is that they always puff themselves up into powerful and formulaic staged power ballads. "Eat The Elephant", the first album by A Perfect Circle in 14 years, drones to you with the same heavy guitar chords in minor, faded piano melodies, grumbling bass lines and sweeping drums. Progressive rock for beginners.

Luka Bloom: Refuge

Overwhelming. A man, a guitar, glaring volleys from the wrist, LL Cool J's “I Need Love” as intense folk rap. The purring of main act Cowboy Junkies afterwards: almost dreary. That was almost 30 years ago, the Irishman Barry Moore has long since emerged from the shadow of the larger-than-life brother Christy. In a double sense: made her own name as Luka Bloom. His concerts are cultic events.

But somehow he ran out of grains over the long haul. What was acoustic rock'n'roll became contemplative melancholy. Eleven songs are lined up on “Refuge”, more and more of the same, gentle arpeggios, whispering voice.

It's beautiful (“Dear Gods”) or longing (“City Of Chicago”) or clichéd (“I Am Not At War With Anyone”) - and mostly overwhelming.

Pish: Pish

Pål Vindendes, front man of the Norwegian pop group Kakkmaddafakka, also plays humorous hymns as a solo artist, which nowhere sound as good as on the dance floor of an indie disco. You can hear the pieces off this dance floor, but there is no reason for that. A mid-tempo beat runs through it, Vindenes beats syncopation into his clear sounding electric guitar, sometimes there are nice lead melodies, plus flat synthesizers and his crooked vocals.

Some of the songs this time are tight dance music. The three best pieces would have made a wonderful EP. But the repetitive trivialities in the second half of the record now challenge the patience of even a benevolent audience. The album doesn't even go half an hour and is too long.

Rick Parfitt: Over and Out

The title of Parfitt's posthumous solo debut seems almost cynical. But he was already certain before the status quo guitarist died in December 2016. Unfortunately, “Over And Out” is nothing more than a boogie rock routine.

Gunslinger: room with a view

The Berlin crossover band scrutinizes the republic with a pleasant loud mouth. Regardless of whether consumerism, racism, welfare protectionism, digitization, hatred of one's own generation: Singer Jonas Kakoschke demonstrates an amazing analytical flair and raps Orwell's dystopia as an inventory in 2018 ("2018").

In addition, Kafvka have the right loud riffs from Hardcore, Post-Punk, Nu Metal, Industrial. “Batikhose” only seems to strike a sunny note, mocks poverty tourism and the view through post-colonial glasses: “We come to your country and misbehave / your culture, our beer garden Eden.” The in-the-face attitude of pieces like "Fuck your people" will not taste good to some. OK then!

Eurythmics: In The Garden (Reissue)

Did Clem Burke advise Annie Lennox to sing like Debbie Harry? Burke is Blondie's drummer - and Lennox, who later developed into a soul interpreter, is imitating the voice of her more famous colleague.

The Eurythmics debut read terrific on paper. Conny Plank produced it in his studio, alongside Burke, Jaki Liebezeit and Holger Czukay from Can worked, as did Robert Görl (D.A.F.). Result: Pop without character, like music by people who are alien to each other.

Perhaps Lennox's partner Dave Stewart should have taken the initiative. In any case, standing in a garden for the record cover does not mean Krautrock.

Shocking Blue: Good Times (Reissue)

Five years after their smart hit song “Venus”, which is still a hit with tipsy karaoke stupidities, the successful Dutch group started their swan song with this rather poor album.

The title track, originally by Easybeats, is deprived of all lightness, Bobbie Gentry's "Mississippi Delta" of its swampy character and Waylon Jennings' "Nashville Rebel" of its rebellious nature. The fact that band member Robbie van Leeuwen is named songwriter on the cover is probably an oversight, but it fits into the sad picture of a discontinued model.

Namika: Que Walou

“Grandmother's hands give a lot and take so little / Grandmother's hands hold everything together here”, Namika whispers in the ideal world hip-hop number “Hands”, inspired by Bill Withers. The kitsch is still the smaller problem in the declaration of love to the grandma, however, as the guest, of all people, Farid Bang (“And I'll fuck your mom in the brothel”), who is famous for his mother's love, is brought to the microphone - yes, exactly, this guy from ECHO .

The album saves you from such embarrassing appearances. And the genre-typical tick of staging oneself in a me-versus-all plot is acted out rather discreetly in songs like “Que Walou” or “Ahmet (1960–2002)”. But it doesn’t have more to offer than light-weight pop music, perked up with hip-hop, soul, reggae and Arabic flourishes.

Between “Everything that counts” and “I want to miss you”, Namika constantly talks about the happiness of togetherness, before she turns into Helene Fischer in “Circus” and sings about the best night of life happening more than once in life can.

Clare Bowen: Clare Bowen

A “Lullabye” to all other sufferers: after attempting suicide, she gives her friend Aves the courage to live, thanks her parents, husband and her horse Lijah. Clare Bowen is like a one-woman charity for love and compassion. She wears hippie feathers in her hair and sings sweetly for the good, even in the "Helene Fischer Show". Sarcastic reflexes are still inappropriate.

The Australian's pathetic messages are true: she spent years of her childhood on the cancer ward, which shaped her, and, as in a fairy tale, she became a star with the US television series “Nashville”. It's just a shame that the songs of the debut are so mediocre in their country pop opulence and that Bowen doesn't outgrow their sweetheart attitude.

James Bay: Electric Light

Hat disposed of, hair off. In addition, a musical metamorphosis? Indeed, “Pink Lemonade” proves to be a poppy strokes song for Generation One Direction, while “Wild Love” sung with a vocoder and the slow jam “Fade Out” pay homage to Frank Ocean. “Wasted On Each Other”, on the other hand, refers to 80s rockers like Robbie Nevil.

However, that would have unpacked all of the surprise eggs. The successor to the million seller “Chaos And The Calm” was produced rockier and more modern (Adele refiner Paul Epworth spoke the last word), so it is more like a glowing lightbulb than candlelight - most of the songs are too pleasing to match the title and too interchangeable. No gospel choirs can help.

Billions - Berlin

Setting the mood of entire cities to music: an ambitious affair. With a corresponding height of fall. On their second album, Ben Hartmann and Johannes Aue roam Berlin, the sell-out is scourged. "But now the investors are coming, the chaos is over," they say about fast guitars and broken electro beats. Not exactly an original finding for 2018.

The cliché also rules otherwise. “Rosemarie” from Warsaw's Kiez is the name of an admired milieu creature who murders men and pulls tourists away. “Die Toten vom Rosenthaler Platz” is an ode to the homeless with a lot of echo in the voice. In spite of all the detailed allusions, her urban forays seem just as anxious as the constantly excited power sound. German rock in hipster disguise.

Paul Simon - Graceland - The Remixes

When “Graceland” was released in 1986, it was criticized that Paul Simon had traveled to South Africa especially for the first recordings. In doing so, he circumvented the artistic boycott of the country that was maintained in the West in order to put pressure on the apartheid regime. But there was also criticism between the lines that a supposedly full white musician, who liked to call himself a "relationship singer", appropriated African rhythms and sounds politically unconcerned in order to lend his music new liveliness.

However, “Graceland” quickly became a world music classic because Simon showed what simmering musical energy there was to discover on the African continent. Especially since the songwriter hired some of the best musicians in South Africa. So what could be more productive than a younger generation of musicians who overwrite Simon's alleged cultural naivety with a new version and take back the spirit of this album?
But what is now appearing under the title “Graceland - The Remixes” is exactly the opposite: a soulless and directionless collection of deep house and dance new versions, which should pave the way for the record into the clubs, but at the same time to iron out their ambiguity in favor of self-indulgent clarity.

It starts with the "Homeless" in the version by Joris Voorn, which is stretched out with happy Latino beats. But already Joyce Muniz ’interpretation of" Gumboots "shows Paul Simon the dreary way into techno hell. At least there are a few surprises, for example “I Know What I Know” (Sharam), which is wonderfully overloaded with echoes, reverb and electronic gadgets. The title track was also heated with touching awe by The MK & KC Lights. But Groove Armada's dub mutilation of “You Can Call Me Al” can only be a bad joke. Particularly irritating: The “Graceland” remixes often use Simon's texts as sound fragments without ideas.

Ray Davies: Our Country: Americana, Act II

The songs that made him famous with the Kinks are about the British petty bourgeoisie, social advancement, frugality, family and home. When Ray Davies was then famous, his ambitious concept album "The Village Green Preservation Society" (1968) failed - whereupon he wrote further concept albums that exhibited his affinity: On "Muswell Hillbillies" (1971) Davies thinks through his London suburban origins with the coinage American music together, "Everybody's In Show-Biz" (1972) is a garish satire on the entertainment business.

Davies often has a second act. "Our Country" is the continuation of Davies ’later country studies, which began last year with" Americana ". In the spoken text "The Invaders" he remembers the Kinks' concert tours poorly: "They called us the invaders."

As with "Americana", he travels through the provinces as Captain Obvious: "Oklahoma USA" (from "Muswell Hillbillies"), "The Getaway", "We Will Get There", "Louisiana Sky", "March Of The Zombies", "The Big Weird" is followed by "the central character as he abandons the land and the family he once belonged to and cherished, in search of his own musical identity and a greater self". So it can be said that this man is similar to Ray Davies and that he is looking for happiness.
In the wildly eclectic songs that evoke blues and country music, musicals and New Orleans brass swing, Davies is accompanied by the Jayhawks as on “Americana”. Davies rattles through the genres with a touching, comical loyalty, and in some cozy recitatives he chats purringly like the fairy tale uncle, half Roger Waters, half Robbie Robertson.

Lush choirs evoke gospel emphasis. Ray Davies ’tourist potpourri is a kind of“ The Sound Of Music ”with him in the role of the Trapp family. And really: he makes a play and a film out of it. It is a lover's strained local music. "Cause I'm a Muswell hillbilly boy / But my heart lies in old West Virginia / Wooo!"

The Alarm - Equals

The British band around singer and songwriter Mike Peters recently went through tough times. On "Equals". he processes his cancer, looks for optimistic tones on mainstream terrain between U2 (“Beautiful”) and Bon Jovi (“Coming Backwards”).

King Crimson - Discipline (Reissue)