COLD
ON THE SHOULDER
by
Noel Coppage - Stereo Review
Recording Of Special Merit
Performance: Excellent
Recording: Excellent
Few words of intriguing implication - words, say, sporting a positive
and colorful mantle of romanticism - fit a performer better than
troubadour fits
Gordon Lightfoot. Time has shown him to be the troubadour of this
modern
bunch, and his new "Cold On The Shoulder" album for Reprise - in
addition
to adding evidence that quality will surface and be recognized - shows
how
gracefully the consummate troubadour goes about the business of
traveling,
writing, and singing songs.
It is a mellow album that rocks when the mood arrives, and some of it
is just
about timeless. It is also much more varied than it at first
appears;
Rainy Day People is one type of song, and an almost classically elegant
example
of that type, and Bells Of The Evening, without fussing over its own
individuality,
is a fine example of an entirely different sort. There's a
magnificent
children's song, Fine As Fine Can Be, that Lightfoot wrote for his
eight-year-old
daughter; its melody will give pickers, at least, some insight into the
inventiveness
Lightfoot brings to the basic, non-tricky, three-chord
progression.
All The Lovely Ladies suggests a round; Lightfoot knows music inside
out,
you see. Rainbow Trout puts the emphasis on lyrics ("She was all
dolled
up / Like a blue-eyed pup, / Lokkin' for somethin' to spill") to offer
a
glimpse of the whimsey in Lightfoot's sense of humour. And the detail
work
everywhere is as fine as fine can be.
The singing is as usual, just what the songs want, and Clements, Shea,
Haynes,
and company, nicely assisted by Pee Wee Charles' steel guitar, do
another
tasty job with the instruments. Only the first cut is a little
flat,
and the next-to-last one, Now And Then, is a little slow and overly
tantalizing
about the way it delivers. But brace yourself, America, for one
of
those infrequent jolts of that thing grandparents lament when the
handles
of the new station wagons come off in their hands. Quality, they
call
it.
|