There are times when I genuinely don't know if I'm
showing off the breadth of my knowledge or the confines of my ignorance - I'd kinda,
sorta thought I'd heard of Helmut Zacharias when I came across this, and I kinda
sorta knew he played the violin. That was about the sum of my knowledge of Mr
Z, but now a quick look online reveals the man had depth and breath far
beyond the meagre information that I'd somehow osmosisised (over 14 million albums sold
apparently). But then again, it wasn't his name that caught my eye and made me
pick this up anyway, it was two other things.
Firstly, that cover. I'm assuming the woman cast in soft focus glow was meant to be giving off a 'come hither and dither' vibe of love and longing to the viewer, but to these eyes that's a face full of the exasperated pissed off-ness of someone disturbed from her book by a husband calling from the kitchen to ask where she keeps the tin opener. Secondly, the track listing on the reverse; 'Light My Fire' was released in 1971 and the music it contains represents a broad brush sweep of all that was recently popular (and often cutting edge) in the contemporary world of rock music.
'Light My Fire', 'Satisfaction', 'Baby Love' - the originals of these are now set in the stone of popular twentieth century music's Mount Rushmore. There's no need to namecheck the original artists because we already know. Ah, but where this scores brownie points for aiming left of centre and not going for the too predictable for its source material (there's a version of The Avante Garde's 1968 semi-hit 'Naturally Stoned' on here which I can't believe anyone would have seen coming), it then loses them for the whole having the aura of a tracklist compiled by a committee of the clueless with a definite market in mind who had brainstormed what 'the kids' were getting down with at a Monday morning marketing meeting.
How else can you explain versions of 'Little Green Apples', Ob-la-di ob-la-da' and 'Brown Eyed Woman' amongst the above? How else too to explain the misguided (and musically ignorant) sleeve note that refers to "Otis Redding's 'Respect' and Aretha's beautiful 'I Say A Little Prayer'" when Franklin wrote neither but effectively 'owns' both? Whatever the truth though (and it's probably something lost in time by now), I think we can all agree it's a mixed bag.
Despite such eclecticism though, the presentation itself adopts a blanket approach of reducing every piece to the same common denominator. Tonally, we're in a familiar easy listening mode that's as early seventies as geometric wallpaper and Watneys party seven. Largely instrumental, the arrangements are, to a note, firmly in the camp marked 'predictable' with perhaps just a little bit too much weight behind it to class it as true muzak, but not enough ooomph to frighten the horses. Layers of overly lit female "ba ba da ba" backing vocals swoon over string arrangements that follow the chord progression of the tracks with Zacharias himself picking out the main vocal line and melody on his fiddle; as long as you're familiar with the original song then at no point is there any doubt as to what you're listening to
And yet if I'm being honest, I quite enjoyed listening to the undemanding familiarity of the first two or three tracks. But then just like eating a family size box of biscuits at one sitting, what starts off as an indulgent treat soon turns into a thick and cloying stodge that starts to weigh heavily somewhere deep inside and I found myself counting down the tracks until the end before I'd even turned the disc over - surely the audio equivalent of looking at your watch at the cinema and never a sign of total immersion. And once sat through, I can't see me ever listening to 'Light My Fire' again. To be honest, I wouldn't know where to - although the cover is suggestive of a female wanting her fire lit, this isn't something I'd automatically reach for to soundtrack a quiet night of romance and I think I'd be quite disappointed with any female who'd actually want me to. Sorry Helmut
Firstly, that cover. I'm assuming the woman cast in soft focus glow was meant to be giving off a 'come hither and dither' vibe of love and longing to the viewer, but to these eyes that's a face full of the exasperated pissed off-ness of someone disturbed from her book by a husband calling from the kitchen to ask where she keeps the tin opener. Secondly, the track listing on the reverse; 'Light My Fire' was released in 1971 and the music it contains represents a broad brush sweep of all that was recently popular (and often cutting edge) in the contemporary world of rock music.
'Light My Fire', 'Satisfaction', 'Baby Love' - the originals of these are now set in the stone of popular twentieth century music's Mount Rushmore. There's no need to namecheck the original artists because we already know. Ah, but where this scores brownie points for aiming left of centre and not going for the too predictable for its source material (there's a version of The Avante Garde's 1968 semi-hit 'Naturally Stoned' on here which I can't believe anyone would have seen coming), it then loses them for the whole having the aura of a tracklist compiled by a committee of the clueless with a definite market in mind who had brainstormed what 'the kids' were getting down with at a Monday morning marketing meeting.
How else can you explain versions of 'Little Green Apples', Ob-la-di ob-la-da' and 'Brown Eyed Woman' amongst the above? How else too to explain the misguided (and musically ignorant) sleeve note that refers to "Otis Redding's 'Respect' and Aretha's beautiful 'I Say A Little Prayer'" when Franklin wrote neither but effectively 'owns' both? Whatever the truth though (and it's probably something lost in time by now), I think we can all agree it's a mixed bag.
Despite such eclecticism though, the presentation itself adopts a blanket approach of reducing every piece to the same common denominator. Tonally, we're in a familiar easy listening mode that's as early seventies as geometric wallpaper and Watneys party seven. Largely instrumental, the arrangements are, to a note, firmly in the camp marked 'predictable' with perhaps just a little bit too much weight behind it to class it as true muzak, but not enough ooomph to frighten the horses. Layers of overly lit female "ba ba da ba" backing vocals swoon over string arrangements that follow the chord progression of the tracks with Zacharias himself picking out the main vocal line and melody on his fiddle; as long as you're familiar with the original song then at no point is there any doubt as to what you're listening to
And yet if I'm being honest, I quite enjoyed listening to the undemanding familiarity of the first two or three tracks. But then just like eating a family size box of biscuits at one sitting, what starts off as an indulgent treat soon turns into a thick and cloying stodge that starts to weigh heavily somewhere deep inside and I found myself counting down the tracks until the end before I'd even turned the disc over - surely the audio equivalent of looking at your watch at the cinema and never a sign of total immersion. And once sat through, I can't see me ever listening to 'Light My Fire' again. To be honest, I wouldn't know where to - although the cover is suggestive of a female wanting her fire lit, this isn't something I'd automatically reach for to soundtrack a quiet night of romance and I think I'd be quite disappointed with any female who'd actually want me to. Sorry Helmut
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