Album Reviews

Former Kinks frontman Ray Davies’ fans are among the most fan-atic in rock. I found out the hard way when I dared to post a less than fawning review of an Irving Plaza show I attended last spring on a Kinks fan newsgroup that I joined.

Backed by a group more interested in personal musical aggrandizement than in propelling his vision, Davies put on what I thought was, overall, a disappointing show, though his performance was committed.

Some of the old tunes were put over well and Davies still has great charisma, but in the middle of the concert, “fans” began flipping paper plates at Ray, upon which were written requests for him to sing. Dutifully, (like a trained monkey actually), Ray scooped up the plates and did the “fans’” bidding. I found the spectacle depressing, demeaning and offensive and I dared say so. I also made the mistake of describing the audience as among the biggest assemblage of clods and nebbishes I’d ever seen at a concert.

I wrote that because it was true! We’d been to see Dead Can Dance a few weeks before and that audience had a dark, cool, glossy vibe. This bunch was strictly Audio Visual Aides alumni (hey, I was one!), without style, panache, or as far as I am concerned, respect for their hero.

One idiot actually threatened to kill me and he wasn’t kidding. He did his homework though, going online and finding a less than flattering picture of me taken I don’t remember when with EveAnna Manley of Manley Audio. “And this guy dares criticize us? he sputtered. He went on to doubt that I was really a writer and went so far off the deep end it took some fellow Kinks fanatics to pull him back from the brink of a visit from the FBI. It had gotten that directly threatening.

Anyway, this Ray Davies solo album, his first in all these years, was five years in the making and while the 61 year old Ray can’t match the wit, wisdom and melodic invention of his earlier days (I await more death threats), there’s plenty of great Ray here for his fans and it’s available without throwing pie plates.

You just have to be prepared for missing the tight knit backings of Kinkdom, of the distinctive string bending of brother Dave and of Mick Avory’s taut stickwork. Camaraderie, personality and a rocking good time are replaced by anonymous studio professionalism. When the ensemble rocks it’s the populist rock of Arista era Kinks.

Once you’re acclimated, you’ll find Ray’s jaundiced wit, and cynical world (weary) view intact. The album begins with a new beginning of sorts on “Things Are Gonna Change (The Morning After)” in which Ray sings “My turn to get pushed in the face,” and “You feel shite, the air bites, oh, will I ever learn.” It doesn’t take long to figure out the answer is “no.”

Over the years, Davies’ lyrics have become less poetic and more like rambling narratives backed by run on melodies. On this album he’s returned, for the most part, to a more compacted and harder edged form.

Both “Things Are Gonna Change….” and “After The Fall” (which begins with the double-edged line “I Just had a really bad fall/And this time it was harder to get up than before” and was written before his New Orleans shooting incident) feature catchy hooks and sinewy guitar lines, while “Next Door Neighbors” harkens back to the nostalgia-filled, good-timey suburban ditties Davies perfected when he was a very young man. Ironically, he did it more effectively back then. The tune’s good but the arrangement is too sympathetic. The first side of the two LP set ends with “All She Wrote,” built upon one of Ray’s slinkiest guitar riffs in years.

With the exception of the title tune, which is the album’s strongest, most of these mid-tempo rockers require repeated listening to sink in, partly because of the less than inspired arranging and production. You can hear a tune like “Is There Life After Breakfast” being so much more in the hands of an outside inspiration. As recorded it just lags. Too much of the record sounds like gussied-up demos built upon straight ahead rhythm tracks.

The swamp-rock of “The Gateaway (Lonesome Train)” and the stellar title tune exude the most effective recorded atmosphere. On his first solo effort, Davies strikes a more personal, intimate pose than on Kinks albums—more of a Lou Reed demeanor and less like the flamboyant Ray of old. Whether that’s mellowing with age or an artistic choice, it works, helping to make this album a Ray fan’s delight.

While he takes on some obvious adversaries such as tabloid journalism (“Other People’s Lives”), and chronicles what he sees as the descent of taste and style (“Stand Up Comic”), he does it with a gentle twist.

Highest point? The exquisitely melodic “Over My Head,” about a just-dumped guy who tries to come to grips with what’s happened to him, without bitterness and without blaming his ex.

Davies’ strained attempt in the somewhat chaotic liner notes to link this song with the album’s opening line is more than a stretch: it’s also indicative of the album’s lack of musical and artistic focus, good as some of the tunes on it are.

Davies’ vocal performances are exceptionally strong, with his voice sounding supple and remarkably unchanged in 40 plus years of record making

The album was tracked (rhythm parts) via 2” analogue and then ruined, I mean completed in Pro-Tools. The sound isn’t bad, but it’s overly compressed and more pasted together than produced…especially the drum recording, which is distant, weak and lacking in focus.

The LP was mastered for vinyl by Stan Ricker using 96K/24 bit files sent by Bob Ludwig. Spread out over 4 LP sides, you can bet the vinyl will sound better than the downconverted CD, but this is merely a competent recording that could sound not great in any format, including the original master file.

Other People’s Lives is somewhat disappointing but it’s an album Ray Davies fans will want to have. The more I played it, the more I enjoyed it and that’s a good sign.