![]() ![]() Rod’s a great star and he loves it, but then, he’s only fair on the football field so it’s not everything. It’s as if nothing will be allowed to subvert the friendship among the musicians that produced this music or the friendliness they would like to feel toward the people who listen to it. Never be a millionaire, Rod sings, even though he may be one already, because he’ll never really feel like one where it counts, he’s just too small-time, too friendly, too smart. The truth of this album, though, is clinched with its first line, from “True Blue”: “Never be a millionaire.” The ease of this album is, I think, its subject matter, a mood necessary to great success. The cut fades the whole album into a small and perfect rock ‘n’ roll party, where you can have a good time without trying to prove anything. The last cut, “Twistin’ the Night Away,” is a marvel, especially when Waller steps out near the end and bangs away like a twelve year old with a baseball bat and a set of garbage cans. But “Los Paraguayos” and “Italian Girls” (mainly one who said she was a killer and owned a flood-lit villa) are funny and move well, especially on the former where Rod begins with a cold and ends with pneumonia. Still, almost no one comes up with anything like side 2 of the third album twice in a row, and absolutely no one produces a single with the grace, the depth, or the staying power of “Maggie May” twice in a row. I don’t hear any hit singles, though I could be wrong. No “Maggie May,” no “Every Picture Tells a Story,” though “You Wear It Well” will keep on growing, I know that. Maybe there are four songs on that last one better than anything here. Stewart’s love songs are not only profound, they’re infectious. “Think of me and try not to laugh,” he says finally, “And I’ll wear it well.” By the end I was praying they’d get back together. He tries out compliments: “Madame Onassis got nothin’ on you.” No good, ping into the wastebasket. His girl’s left and he’s writing her a letter, trying out lines and balling up the paper and flipping it away, because all he wants to say is, You’re really great, I’m so dumb. That flow is there, Rod singing easily, with an emotional range that seems to have no limits. This should have been obvious after “Country Comforts,” “Maggie May,” or “Every Picture Tells a Story,” but if not, listen to “You Wear It Well,” my choice for the best number here (though the first, “True Blue,” is close). ![]() There is probably more affection, more truly authentic love in his songs than in the rest of the rock and roll scene put together. This is the heart of any of the solo albums.Īs for Stewart himself, nobody writes songs like Rod Stewart. Stewart and his band have a sound that is unmistakable, that is already classic, and that is unique. It is a sound that is at its best a flow, and the mesh of acoustic instruments (miked very loud) with Waller’s drums, Wood’s guitar, and whatever Rod happens to be doing with his voice couples the moods of a very English kind of delicacy and an equally English kind of drunken raunch. It resolves itself into a sound that evokes London, Birmingham, the English countryside, pubs, boutiques, dance halls, football fields and Robin Hood, usually all at once. They’ve worked out a sound and now they work within it: brilliant strummed cues from Quittenton, steady and inspired drumming from Waller, bass playing of remarkable sympathy from Wood or Lane, fluid, thoughtful leads from Wood, and an absolutely gorgeous organ from McLagan. The group Rod summons for these albums may be the best around. ![]() Stewart has no intention of going that route after all, he got into rock and roll to have a good time.įor a change, let’s talk about the band. If that seems like a somewhat abstract task, we can remember that some of Rod’s precursors in the game of rock and roll stardom failed at it, and lost their lives in the bargain. Just as Rod is really at the top now, he still knows where the bottom is, and I think this album is about working out a point of view that makes it possible to live with pleasure and honesty in either place or anywhere in between. Because Rod wanted to be a football star once, and he didn’t make it. The first fold-out presents the complete superstar trip: Yes, folks, he filled that football stadium all by himself! And the second fold-out shows Rod and his musical pals lined up in a row, also on a football field (we call it soccer), this time in England. The packaging is quite spectacular, and it took me a few minutes to find the record itself, but the packaging tells at least two stories this time. Rod Stewart’s fourth solo album is a warm, easy-going, good-humored piece of music. ![]()
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