(bootleg)
RECOMMENDED
A major improvement on Rykodisc's official 19 Years from 1992, this unfortunately now long-gone blog download is the best rundown of Alex Chilton's solo career I've heard, though one criticism still applies: much of the first disc -- thirteen of the eighteen cuts, in fact -- consists of what amounts to a Box Tops hits collection, which anyone interested enough in Chilton to seek this out should already have and very likely does. Ironically, when 19 Years was released, the Box Tops were Chilton's best-known venture in the mainstream, so the compilation sought to introduce listeners to Big Star (they only had to rights to Third) and then to a smattering of '80s material. Now, Big Star is arguably in the average rock music listener's introductory course -- though still not as famous as they deserve to be, which is unlikely to change -- so this mix ignores them in favor of a cram session of Box Tops.
It's a decent collection of their work, and gets major credit for incorporating not just the hits but the bizarrely lovely "Sweet Cream Ladies, Forward March" and the throttling, emotionally overwhelming psych cover of the Supremes' "You Keep Me Hangin' On," the exclusion of which is the sole criticism of the excellent Soul Deep: Best of the Box Tops. The problem is more that the Box Tops are rich enough to deserve their own discussion as much as Big Star is. Either go all the way and give a full-fledged sampler of both bands or stick to what Chilton's done on his own.
In that respect, A Retrospective is a success. We still miss Alex more than we care to tell you -- and it's one of those sickening instances when you find out after his death that he was so much more accessible than you realized. I learned two months after his passing that we shared a close mutual friend, through whom I might have spoken to him and told him how much his work had meant to me, something he'd likely have shrugged off modestly and offered me a drink or game of tennis, but which still would have felt nice to express to him. He heard it all the time, of course; it's for me more than for him that I'd like to say it. He was among those very few pop stars for whom legend seems a good fit: his gifts of hookery and directness were that mythical, his demons that alluring.
Those demons are most strongly expressed on the record Like Flies on Sherbert (which was supposed to be reviewed here some time ago but somehow got muddled around and never posted); these compilers sidestep all but one song on that record that's sometimes decried as inaccessible -- though the carnival-like fuckup "Take Me Home and Make Me Like It" is here -- but it's really the culmination of the beautifully apocalyptic psychodrama to which Big Star's work had gradually been leading. After that, Chilton sets out to not give a shit, rock out, and have the time of his life in the studio. The results tend to be a bit more innocuous than many fans would prefer, but they're also undeniably fun and personable.
And as this collection shows, on the first disc particularly, they can scrape up with brilliance amid their lyrical sarcasm and shattered chords. 1987's "Dalai Lama" is the funniest vaguely offensive dance song you've ever heard (rhyming "mosquito" with "Buddha" among other whoppers) and he sings it with a sly pleasure untapped in the context of either of his bands. The prior year's "No Sex" (and "Underclass" to a lesser extent) is anthemic in approach and fits in beautifully with the breadth of '80s power pop infected with Big Star's sound, though far smarter and clearer for obvious reasons.
It's the six-minute "Wild Kingdom" that's become my obsession among this lot -- a subtle Bo Diddley rhythm track with strangely intoxicating light-jazz tones, over which Chilton croons heartily in yet another new voice; eventually, like "Shangri La," it gives away to pointed guitar and extended jamming before returning to Chilton losing himself more completely than he or anyone who ever wrote about his solo work will give him credit for. It's hard to know what to make of its pointed but mysterious lyric and its complete separation from all else here, but it's a stirring moment. The closest analogy I can think of it would be, appropriately enough, the Replacements' "Nightclub Jitters."
The second disc is a bit lighter on conversion-worthy material (though dig "Guantanamerika" for some perfectly constructed conscious pop, "Bangkok" for the sound of a raging tornado in full control) but is a blast anyway. If you've heard the Big Star reunion album, In Space -- basically a Chilton solo effort with high-profile backing by Jody Stephens and the Posies -- you know what to expect: the sound of pressure-free maniacs goofing off in the studio. He seldom does what his fanbase probably expected, fixated on midcentury-vintage song forms ("Let Me Get Close to You," the hauntingly beautiful "My Baby Just Cares for Me" cover, a logical progression from Big Star's "Nature Boy") and discordant boogie ("Make a Little Love," "Rock Hard"). If you like that, you'll like this. Equipped with a "GTO" cover and songs with titles like "What's Your Sign Girl" and "B.A.B.Y.,' it's twenty years worth of coming to terms with past success or failure by not giving a shit, and doing what the hell you want to do, living an adult life in the richest most fulfilling way you can with limited resources. You know what that is? That's inspirational.
Chilton's music, in all its various stages, is consistently full of life -- that's why when you feel broken, it's a good idea to put this compilation on and hear how that strange belief in one's own immortality that comes from this sort of carefree performing can be laid down on tape, captured in perpetuity. "My Baby Just Cares for Me" is a must for me any time I miss someone who's passed -- not just Chilton.
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