Everything old is . . . still old

Honestly, I try to broaden my musical consumption, if not my actual tastes.
Try as I might to listen objectively, The Kooks Konk album, for instance, is never going to sound as good as The Kinks Lola vrs. Powerman, or take its place in my collection.

Even newer acts aren't making new albums that appeal to me -- or get played -- as much as their older efforts. As much as I appreciate the broader palate of sounds they use and the attempts at variety, I simply don't like the new Raconteurs as much as the first one. At the very least, there's nothing on the new one I like as much as "Is She Really Going Out With-" . . . I mean, "Steady As She Goes"

As for anything outside my narrow, rock and roll comfort zone, I'm ignorant, unmotivated, and easily intimidated. Alarmingly superficial, too, but if you've ever read me, you know what a quick read I am.

While I will own up to my faults, can I help it if all three of the new albums I got a chance to hear this week are from artists that have been around for decades?

My attitude toward Tom Petty has made a 180 in the past year or so. I was so tired of the sluggish, strolling tempo that he seemed locked into on every single song, the lazy songwriting that sounded so redundant, the drawl that is probably legitimate but started to sound affected.

Then he and the Heartbreakers released Highway Companion, which I truly enjoyed, with a couple of songs ("Saving Grace" and "The Golden Rose") that played regularly for some months. The band I play in started doing some of their tunes, which are great to play and always go over. And Runnin' Down a Dream shows them to be very likable, even if, four or five hours into the otherwise-excellent, four-DVD set, they're sort of like house guests that just don't know when to leave.

The Mudcrutch album is still a pleasant surprise, even given my recent, positive disposition toward Petty and co. His decision to reconvene his pre-Heartbreakers band came out of the blue, and the timing seems especially surprising, given that he's launching a summer tour with his regular sidekicks. (One of our kids is seeing the show in July, so it's a good thing I'm over my aversion, since we're hearing a lot of TP & the HB's, to prep.)

While most of the Mudcrunchers are also in Petty's other outfit, the band sounds much less like the Heartbreakers on this album than I expected. True to Petty's stated intent, Mudcrutch has the sound of a 70's vintage road band, plugging into the studio between tour stops, putting on tape the songs they crank out every night. The material seems neither overly crafted or extremely tossed-off, just like a good, solid rock n' roll record used to. And while Petty may never get to be a Byrd, he and the 'crutch contribute a worthwhile studio rendition of one of their better, latter-day songs, "Lover of the Bayou."

On the down side, the world truly did not need another cover of "Six Days on the Road," particularly one done by a rock n' roll band. The other disappointment is that nothing on the album sounds all that much like the Mudcrutch tracks included on the Petty/Heartbreakers Playback box, which was what I'd hoped for.

Also blindsiding me, Elvis Costello's ode to instant noodles, Momofuku (which I'm guessing is contributing to all sorts of sophomoric humor, if there are any radio stations playing it). Here's another artist who has redeemed himself in recent years. Elvis got on the fightin' side of me many years ago when he spotted a (forbidden) camera a few songs into a show at Indiana University, and stormed off. Hurled some epithets, too, IIRC. Which was all nothing compared to the Bonnie Bramlett thing.

Our family's seen him in concert twice in recent years, however, in shows that have gone a long way toward erasing any ill-will (at least over that IU show). His concert with Emmylou Harris was just plain delightful, and in his solo opening slot for Dylan, he was as personable as he'd been rude in '79.

If I'd ventured a guess, it would have been that EC's next album would be along the lines of "From Sulfur to Sugar Cane"--written with T. Bone Burnett for All the King's Men, although not in the film--which he performed at the Dylan show. To no one's surprise, I would have been badly mistaken!

Elvis the rocker is back! Not a moment too soon. Momofuku has the raw, immediate sound of his classic records with the Attractions. If lacking a track as arresting and durable as "Pump It Up," "Clubland," or "Tokyo Storm Warning," the new one at least demonstrates his ability to rock satisfactorily at an advanced age (I say, as one in the same general demographic). It may not still land in my CD player in a few years, as This Year's Model, Armed Forces, and Trust, but when it does, it should still deserve a spin.

For me, EC is at his best when he's not attempting to shoehorn too many lyrics into tempos that are too slow, in arrangements that are too showy, and that's what we get here. The presence of Jenny Lewis, well, that's just a bonus.

Another EC shows up on the third new release I've been listening to, Steve Winwood's Nine Lives. A better title might be The Picture of Steve Winwood, because, after seeing and hearing him on last year's Crossroads concert, I'm convinced he's got a painting of himself in an attic somewhere, and in that portrait, he's looking like the dickens. Really, like Charles Dickens would today if you dug him up.

Given his inhuman youthfulness, and his remarkable talent, it's reasonable to expect Winwood to produce at least listenable music, even four decades into his career. Although he was a major contributor to one of my favorite all-time albums, Traffic's John Barelycorn Must Die, nothing I've heard from Winwood in the past couple of decades gave me much hope that he'd produce anything nearly so memorable.

"When You See A Chance" is a perfect example of what's disappointed me about Winwood's music: a cool tune with that Traffic-esque, light jazzy feel, with his piano and organ driving it. All well and good, until that wretched, wriggly synth starts playing over the top of everything. Seriously, where did he get that sample? From someone letting the air out of the neck of a balloon? My perception may be off-base, but that annoying synth blatt seems like the signature sound of his entire solo career. And it utterly ruins songs I would otherwise enjoy.

Can you guess where I'm going with this?

Winwood's new one has considerable promise of a return to earlier, pre-blatting form, and the high spots, like Clapton-spotlight "Dirty City," suggested that recent concerts featuring the Blind Faith music might not have been a fluke. Most of Nine Lives' music, while unremarkable, could fit nicely in a Traffic playlist.

A couple of tracks, however, feature an instrument as prominently and as gratingly as the ol' blatt-synth. It would take a bagpipe, or possibly a concrete drill, to introduce a sound that so utterly undermines and ruins a song for me as the sub-Kenny G* soprano sax bleating lavished on "Fly" and "Other Shore."
It is not just the sound itself--although that's enough to single-reededly wreck a song--but the hideous lapse in judgment in allowing that pathetic moaning licorice stick sound on a recording. Seriously, I'd give me the blatt-synth before making me listen to the bleat-ophone again.

Somewhere I read someone taking Winwood to task as a ghoul for sampling (late Traffic sax/flute player) Chris Wood's sax sound. I think there's a real good chance that lots of samples in today's synths were created by folks who are deceased, so I'm not sure that objection has a lot of merit, or at least, stands out in its ghoulishness. What diminishes Winwood in my eyes is failing to distinguish between a sound like Wood's sax playing and the sorry sax-o-whine on Nine Lives.

* According to Wikipedia, Kenny G's nephew, David, plays bass in the band, Puking Up Sunshine. Uncle Ken has yet to sit in with them, I'd surmise.