Joe Henry, Reverie. It is probably a good thing to be well-rested
before entering Joe Henry's Reverie. It's a challenging album of
wondrous suprises, but they come at a price. Rhythms get fractured,
instruments tuned to a private scale and lyrics that could just as easily
be taken from a fevered mind. Somehow, though, everything falls into
place and Henry takes a huge leap into the very front ranks of America's
singer-songwriters. Some may say he's been there all along, but with
this new album it's undeniable.
"Now, I sat and watch the falling moon,
The shower-stars and, coming soon,
The whole thing will look new--
When blessedly I will forget
The ways of God and all regret
Like I was walking back to you"
For being basically a cool cookie, a style developed no doubt over
years of producing all kinds of testing artists, Joe Henry wears his
heart out on his sleeve. He clearly reads a lot of books and pays
attention to the world's trying vagaries, too, because songs like "After
the War" (quoted above) and "Room at Arles" show he is tuned into the
big mysteries and unafraid at what he's finding out. It takes guts to go
there.
There aren't many working at Joe Henry's level these days, let
alone someone who's been doing it for three decades without breaking
through to the big time. But when music is this affecting the payoff
sometimes remains in the doing, and for that this man is richer than
everyone. His singing can be so soulful blissful tears seem like the
only proper reaction, and the way he can stop time is a gift from a
place few ever get to visit. Reverie is just that, the perfect autumnal
affair of the heart for music lovers and all others too.
There's a high percentage of bullseyes among these dozen songs,
which says something about the material but just as much about the
artist line-up. Alan Jackson sets a high mark opening with "You've Been
Lonesome, Too." He really may be the best country singer alive right now
and a hard act to follow. But follow Bob Dylan does, sounding suitably
creaky but full of fire. Norah Jones, Lucinda Williams, Levon Helm and
all the other singers each shine strong, and make what could have been a
novelty album into something enduring and full of life. To co-write
with Hank Williams is a tall order any way you look at it.
Williams was only 29 years old when he died. He had changed country
music forever, and really hasn't been bested since that last
Cadillac trip on New Year's Day in 1953. Thank the lucky stars his
notebooks survived all these years, and the men and women on The Lost
Notebooks believed in the living and breathing beauty of music enough to
enter the realm and ride with the king.
All that makes this debut album a bright beacon, and seriously
interesting because except for one song by Roger Waters, noted eccentric
Syd Barrett wrote every song on it. This was before the waves had
crashed on top of Barrett and the rest of the band had to take the wheel
before he ran headfirst into the wall.
The Piper at the Gates of Dawn is just that: recorded in 1967 right
before the Beatles ruled the world with Sgt. Pepper's, Pink Floyd
harnessed the hallucinatory patterns in the air and captured lightning
in a bottle. These early psychedelic excursions retain all the innocent
charm of that period, but also show there wasn't room for Syd Barrett to
grow. He'd already brought the twilight zone into the studio and made
it to the mountaintop. In too many ways, it was all downhill for him
after this.
Of course, Pink Floyd would go on to conquer the world on a scale
few other groups ever achieve. They took rock into places it had never
been, and created the great concept album of all time on Dark Side of
the Moon. Even if they drifted into pomposity soon enough, their reign
can't be denied. EMI is ready to supply every last snap, crackle and pop
ever recorded by the Brits in formats once only dreamed about. Still,
what Syd Barrett, Roger Waters, Richard Wright and Nick Mason dreamed up
here is something to behold. Dawn would never look or sound quite the
same again.

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