Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers
Runnin’ Down a Dream
****
Sure, it’s more a DVD boxed set, but Tom Petty’s Runnin’ Down a Dream package is first and foremost about the music. Director Peter Bogdanovich’s two-disc, four-hour director’s cut documentary of the same name follows the band’s Elvis-inspired roots, early U.K. success, numerous damn-the-Man legal scuffles, Traveling Wilburys interludes and soldiering-on after the 2003 death of bassist Howie Epstein. The two-hour 30th anniversary concert from Heartbreaker hometown Gainesville, Florida, meanwhile, includes nearly two dozen hits, covers and duets with Stevie Nicks.
Then there’s the fourth disc, a “bonus soundtrack” CD featuring nine unreleased tracks and rarities. “Rarities” is a bit of a misnomer (particularly when describing a 1977 rehearsal of “Breakdown” or a live version of “American Girl”), but the charmingly innocent “Anything That’s Rock & Roll” from Top of the Pops, a Dave Grohl-backed “Honey Bee” from a 1994 Saturday Night Live and twin Long After Dark outtakes (the jangly, wistful “Stories We Could Tell” and the “Listen to Her Heart”-esque “Keeping Me Alive”) are apt reminders of classic-rock radio’s archival shortcomings.
A handful of postcards and a 16-page booklet (check out Petty playing sax in a bathtub!) round out the set, but it’s the singer/songwriter’s timeless appeal—optimistic, no frills, heartfelt rock ’n’ roll sprung from an idealism that never quite did and never quite will exist anywhere in the real world—that truly completes it.
–Julie Seabaugh
Various artists
The Brit Box: UK Indie, Shoegaze and Brit-pop Gems of the Last Millennium
****
Earlier this year, Anglophiles hoisted a pint (or five) in celebration after Rhino Records announced the release of a four-album collection of all things British—a compilation that spans from one-hit wonders to arena behemoths, from indie-shamblers to ethereal shoegazers, from jaunty Brit-pop to, well, its late-1990s aftermath.
It’s difficult to sum up the Brit Box, simply because there are so many genres (and permutations of genres) covered: jangly power-pop (Trashcan Sinatras, Primitives), psych-rock (Primal Scream, Spacemen 3), swirling noise-pop (Telescopes, Curve), Morrissey-inspired melancholy (Gene, Echobelly), pre-Brit-pop obscurities (The Dylans, Birdland), Brit-pop coattail-riders (Marion, Mansun, Cast), critical darlings (Catatonia, Gay Dad) and style-busters (Placebo, Cornershop, Stereolab). And this doesn’t even begin to address the classic Brit Box tunes penned by nearly every band worth its Union Jack flag—Pulp, Oasis, James, Ride, Supergrass, Swervedriver, Echo & The Bunnymen, Teenage Fanclub, Suede, Lush, The Verve, Elastica, etc.
Now, sure, the bands omitted from Brit Box are rather egregious in certain cases—no Slowdive? no Lightning Seeds? no House of Love?—although that’s likely due to licensing issues, and not ignorance. (After all, Rhino couldn’t even snag the Sex Pistols for its punk box.) And it’s a bold move to choose Blur’s “Tracy Jacks” over the bigger Parklife hits—and unnecessary to include The Cure, which has had more of an influence on modern American music than it did on Brit-pop. Plus, the collection mostly ignores the trip-hop/dance music that became popular in the U.K. (and U.S.) during the ’90s, a disappointing oversight.
Otherwise, there’s very little revisionist history to be found on Brit Box, a treasure trove of classics, dusty gems and songs that should stay obscure, meaning that even completists will find something new and worthy here to love.
–Annie Zaleski
Miles Davis
The Complete On the Corner Sessions
**** 1/2
The ninth (and apparently final) deluxe, bound box in Columbia/Legacy’s Miles Davis reissue odyssey probably won’t outsell many of its predecessors, since the phrase On the Corner doesn’t possess the jazz cachet of, say, the words Gil Evans, Bitches Brew or John Coltrane. Be that as it may, if you can afford to drop the $100-plus sticker price for just one of these bad boys, The Complete On the Corner Sessions might be the pick of a consistently amazing litter, with competition perhaps only from 2003’s The Complete Jack Johnson Sessions.
Covering the years 1972 to 1975, the series’ latest edition not only lays out the story of Miles’ controversial jazz-funk classic On the Corner—initially derided by traditionalists, later hailed as a benchmark of urban fusion—but also significantly bolsters it, by way of 12 previously unheard cuts and five tracks presented in unedited form for the first time. Far from also-ran outtakes or barely discernible alternate versions, the unearthed material provides key insight into the large-ensemble sessions that produced On the Corner and portions of follow-ups Big Fun and Get Up With It.
Of particular value: “On the Corner [take 4],” which illustrates how dramatically the dense title cut differed from take to take; an 18-minute expansion of the previously six-minute “One and One”; and “Jabali,” a fresh composition from the era’s most legendary sessions (June ’72).
Liner notes are, in typical series fashion, beyond compare, mining rare photos, first-hand accounts from surviving players, detailed discography notations and scholastic essays on the music and its place in history, most notably pieces exploring the influence Karlheinz Stockhausen’s work had on the trumpeter during the period and the role producer Teo Macero played in creating the electronically manipulated On the Corner. There’s even a metal cover embossed with three-dimensional characters from the original street-scene artwork, in case you needed one more reason to tear up that holiday wish list and simply ask for more Miles this winter.
–Spencer Patterson
Various artists
The Heavy Metal Box
***
Emblazoned on the side of this cleverly designed box set are two words: “heavy metal.” There’s no clarifying subtitle to the latest carefully curated collection from the music nerds at Rhino, and the set’s claim to comprehensiveness ultimately proves to be its downfall. Although the extensive liner notes explain the constraints of the project, starting around 1970 and ending around 1990, the four discs offer a curiously lopsided summary of a wide-ranging genre that, admittedly, is probably too large to be contained in one box.
The omission of certain big-name acts (AC/DC, Ozzy Osbourne, Def Leppard, Guns N’ Roses) can be chalked up to licensing issues, and the song selection from the artists that are included is generally sound. There’s a solid mix of recognizable hits (Deep Purple’s “Highway Star,” Scorpions’ “Rock You Like a Hurricane,” Metallica’s “One”) from the most well-known artists, along with deeper album cuts and a number of influential but less obvious bands (Diamond Head, Hanoi Rocks, Prong). Only three acts (Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, Metallica) are represented more than once, and deservedly so (although Ronnie James Dio shows up as vocalist for three different bands).
Disc 2, about half of which focuses on the early-’80s new wave of British heavy metal, is the most satisfying and in-depth, while Discs 3 and 4 get bogged down in far too much hair metal, a subgenre extensive enough to warrant its own compilation, but overly represented in this general overview. The box not only stops at 1991—completely ignoring the way that metal has evolved in the last 16 years—but also leaves out the essential death metal subgenre, an unforgivable and unexplained oversight.
What’s actually here is generally worth listening to, but such an ambitious project should have been assembled with a little more focus, or at least a more manageable scope. – Josh Bell
David Bowie
The David Bowie Box Set
**
A gathering of Bowie’s work from 1995 to 2003 by definition is only for the most dedicated fans who don’t care that the Thin White Duke’s artistic peak came in the ’70s, and his commercial peak in the ’80s.
Gathered here is the Bowie music that came after Tin Machine. On the early discs, Bowie’s dependence on guitarist and songwriting partner Reeves Gabrels, a Tin Machine alumnus, is unsettling. Gabrels co-wrote every song on the horrible hours ... (1999), and overplays to disastrous impact on both Earthling and Outside, not that Gabrels can be accused of marring otherwise worthy efforts. More sonics than songs, Outside (the desperate rematch with Brian Eno) and Earthling show Bowie chasing every pop-culture trend (cyberpunk to drum and bass) worth name-checking or imitating while being totally deserted by even his most basic musical instinct: the ability to write killer songs.
Wading through these discs (each expanded with a bonus disc) shows how trend-chasing compares to the trend-riding that helped Bowie rise to fame on the ashes of glam and Ziggy Stardust. But, after a few years off, Heathen (2002) is a dramatic change. It may not be Bowie’s best work, but it is consistent in a way he had not been since Let’s Dance in 1983. Heathen sounds like vintage Bowie as much for the songwriting as for the welcome production reunion with Tony Visconti and the equally valuable departure of Gabrels. Heathen highlights include the lovely “Slip Away” and a fantastic cover of the Pixies’ “Cactus.”
Bowie followed with Reality, an even more confident disc, offering harder and darker material than he had dealt in since Scary Monsters. Still, “I’m Afraid of Americans” and “Thursday’s Child” count as highlights on the first few hours of material gathered here. Bowie’s desolate stretch is long and deep. Far better for most fans just to buy Heathen and Reality than invest in this tombstone to music mostly and justly forgotten. – Richard Abowitz