I recently revisited Roger Taylor's first two solo albums. They are pieces of music history that have barely been spoken about since they came out, and this piece aims to rectify that at least a little bit.
But
on this latest listen it was "Good Times Are Now" that stood atop the rest.
Musically it's similar to "No Violins," but the subject matter is far more
meaningful. Roger is often conversational in his lyrics, and rarely is
he more down to earth and relatable than he is here:
I had to take a chance 'cause special moments only tend to happen now and then
Point
blank, this is one of the best hooks I've ever heard. The syncopation
of those words almost implies the urgency of needing to seize those rare
moments when they present themselves. He goes on:
Live for the present, it's the only one we have
Nobody gets out of here alive
Life in the future might never come to pass
You know good times are now
Nobody gets out of here alive
Life in the future might never come to pass
You know good times are now
Clichés
they may be, but somehow he gets away with it and makes you feel like
you're hearing such universal messages for the first time. The ensuing
guitar solo in the middle sounds very similar to "Coming Soon" off Queen's The
Game - but "Good Times Are Now" is considerably better because it actually
has something to say. And it's this genuine sense of character that
would permeate his next long player from start to finish.
In fan
polls people regularly rate the Roger tracks on the Queen albums from
1978-82 as their least favourites of the era, and with good reason - I'm
now fairly certain he was holding back his strongest material for his
solo album, as the best tracks on Fun in Space are leaps and bounds
better.
"My Country" tops any of his output on Jazz, The Game, or
Hot Space. But it's understandable that it didn't end up on a Queen
album, because it was too blunt and opinionated. It's a crying shame in
hindsight, as the change in tempo and timbre when the gated drums kick
in is no less effective than "In The Air Tonight." It also has one of the
top vocal performances of Roger's career, easily on par with any of the
most lauded rock vocals of all time. This should be known as one of the
great war protest songs, but sometimes the world isn't so just. For any
number of reasons, great art often falls through the cracks. "My Country" is one of those casualties.
(Peter Hince)
As side two progresses it gets a bit
weak in places, although "Airheads" has a badass and bone-crunching riff, and the title track is a unique and Eno-esque ambient new
wave science fiction workout. Queen's famed "no synthesizers" label had
gone the way of the Dodo the previous year, which Roger even made fun of
in the liner notes. With the title track alone he unquestionably wins the
race for the first member of Queen to find their identity outside of the
confines of the band.
I give the album 3 1/2 stars. Ultimately
about half of it is fantastic, which would be the case for the bulk of
Roger's albums going forward.
Except for Strange Frontier.
Fun
in Space has a few individually better songs and moments, but Strange
Frontier is more consistent and cohesive. There's no one song that
sticks out. It's not quite a concept album, but there's a uniformity to
it and every track is part of the greater whole. And the running order
is key.
We're off the tracks, we're off the lines
You and me have seen better times
Now we're on the borderline and I wish I wasn't here
You and me have seen better times
Now we're on the borderline and I wish I wasn't here
A half minute into the album we're clearly hearing a far more developed artist.
We're trapped inside these dangerous times
The
title track lays the groundwork for the nine-part story to follow, and "Beautiful Dreams" starts to get more specific. He speaks to the reality
and ease of having dreams come true as children, but that later in life
we need drugs (a secret world of "chemical dreams") to achieve the same
state of bliss. But there's no solution except "nuclear purity," which
is an idea very much of its time as the early '80s were the peak of the
Cold War. There isn't a solution, so nuke us all. "This is the final
twilight; this is the final cure, it seems." All delivered in ethereal
and soaring melodies. Chilling.
It segues into "Man on Fire," where
his more optimistic side is on display. Without question it's the most
accessible piece on the album, and thus it was unsurprisingly the lead single. But this upbeat feeling dwindles from
here onward.
In his 1951 book New Hopes for a Changing World,
Bertrand Russell stated how "One of the painful things about our time is
that those who feel certainty are stupid, and those with any
imagination and understanding are filled with doubt and indecision." So
many of us start becoming cynical by our 30s as certain realities of
life expose themselves, and these themes of doubt, frustration, and
pessimism permeate the album as Roger's disillusion has started to set
in (a few years of Thatcherism didn't hurt, either). In more recent
years it's pretty clear he eventually said "fuck it" and decided to have
fun with his life. Who can blame him?
Even the cover tunes fit
the concept. "Racing in the Street" and "Masters of War" are both excellent
examples of making an existing song one's own. He'd achieve the same
with "Working Class Hero" a lifetime later.
The interlude of "Killing Time" is a marvellous sonic experience. "Dreams go by just
killing time." He's fixated on dreams again, but this time in a
different context - being consciously aware of it instead of escaping
it.
We're treading the same old wheel
Killing what they can't steal
Smile but we just don't feel
Killing what they can't steal
Smile but we just don't feel
Who would've thought the guy who wrote "I'm In Love With My Car" could come up with something this... real?
"Tears
of heartache, tears of rage from living in a tiring age" declares Roger
in "Abandonfire." He's a rhyming couplet type of writer, and he's rarely
been better than on that line. If you want to see inside this man's
soul, it's all over this album.
But he remains briefly hopeful:
Listen to the rhythms of the city life
Listen to the rhythms of your soul
Listen to the rustling in the undergrowth
Follow in their footsteps to your goal
Listen to the rhythms of your soul
Listen to the rustling in the undergrowth
Follow in their footsteps to your goal
Almost like it represents the inner ping-pong match of persevering vs. giving up. Brilliant.
On the surface "Young Love" is an innocent and nostalgic piece, but amidst the overall narrative it comes across as wistful.
This is your life, this is your age
A typical call to arms, but it is short-lived:
You've seen it before
Like your mum and your dad
They're dying each day
Living a lie that's so sad
Like your mum and your dad
They're dying each day
Living a lie that's so sad
He's
saying young love is precisely that - for the young. Reality soon sets
in. It's messy. David Gilmour and Pete Townshend covered similar ground in "All Lovers Are Deranged" from About Face, also released in 1984. Give "Deep Deep Feeling" from McCartney III a gander too.
These guys know what they're talking about.
Nobody sees this American dream just fading away, it's a complete waste of time, just a nursery rhyme
It
seems obvious now, but in the '80s this idea was slowly emerging. Neil
Peart nailed it on "Between The Wheels," and Roger Taylor nails it on "It's
An Illusion" - although with much less subtlety, because Roger Taylor
doesn't do subtle. His heart is on his sleeve, always.
Our reason is fading away
A
1979 US postage stamp sported the phrase "fueled by truth and reason."
But by the '80s that veneer was starting to get peeled back.
I hope you're fine, I hope all's well, give 'em hell
Given time hope springs eternal.
Given time hope springs eternal.
Once
again, he doesn't sit in his happy place for long enough, as this isn't
an album designed to bring comfort. It questions it, constantly.
Life has no fun anymore
Time is on the run for sure
Time is on the run for sure
Again, he oscillates between optimism and anything but.
Who finds conclusions with love, hope, and confusion?
A far cry from the man who wrote throwaways like "Let's Get Crazy" and "Fun It" a few years earlier, innit?
And who exactly is he crying for? Himself? The world?
Next
time one of us meets him, ask him. He's touring solo next month for the
first time in decades - now's your chance. He'll be flattered that you
even know the songs - trust me. The greatest gift you can give an artist
is your time, and to take the time to ask him about his feelings goes a
country mile further than "I first heard your music in year X," "I lost
my virginity to song Y," or "can you sign this for me?"
It's
criminal that this music isn't more well-known. But alas this is what
happens when you're second fiddle to the greatest frontman of all time.
Your music doesn't get the distribution it deserves.
At the time
he insisted Strange Frontier is far better than its predecessor, and as
much as it can be reduced to PR to market his current project, he was
right. It's a manifesto to its time and timeless all at once, because
it's just as much about the universal human condition as it was about
the state of the world in 1984.
Musically it's largely dated like
so many albums of its time, but persevere with it and peel away the
layers and you'll likely come to see that it's lyrically a masterpiece. A coming of age. He may not be
Springsteen or Dylan, but here he gets remarkably close. 4 1/2 stars.