It's almost early Pink Floyd-esque how spacey the guitar sounds on this and then his voice comes in. Deep and resonant, yes, a very good voice but it's incongruous to the sound. As the album drags on - sorry, did I say drags? I meant draaaaaags. As it plods along, they dial back the tremolo and it sounds a lot more like traditional country-folk crossover.
It sounds like he's trying to write Everybody's Talkin from Midnight Cowboy. Oh wait, that is actually on here. Oh so _that's_ who sings that. Okay. My bad.
So the guy spends half an album coming up with the best song on there and then doesn't have the imagination to try a different recipe or the sense to recognise that that idea isn't going to get any better.
He's got a really nice voice but for this style of music you've got to like the words and I don't really connect with them or the sound. There are some great moments: the harp solo on Dadi-da is excellent and certain people would've done well to investigate the existence of actual musicians like this when they recorded their septic cock drippings. Mentioning no names.
Faretheewell is track 5 out of 12. Oh how I wish it was. You little bastard. Still haven't got to Everybody's Talkin yet and already I wanna wipe up the guck on my cooker and drink it down with the bleach it's soaking in.
Oh thank god. Everybody's Talkin. Oh no, what's this? This is a different version. Where's the lovely guitar riff and the skiffle drum beat? Oh ffs, you utter wanker. Why _why_ WHY would you fuck up a classic like that? Ah ok. Harry Nielson recorded the good version. Thank you Harry for spotting the potential in this song. This version is just stick-a-nail-up-your-jacksie boring.
I'm properly fucked off now. I was really looking forward to hearing that and now I've got to suffer the rest of this twaddle with no hope of reprieve.
Great harmonica on Sweet Cocaine but the song itself is too reminiscent of Cocaine Blues, which is a far more dextrous exposition of the substance that should've been called Instant Arsehole.
Green Rocky Road is the one track I actually like. It's got a feel that carries you forward and a tune you want to sing along with. It's too little too late but maybe it's just one of those albums that gets good at the end.
Nope. The closing track is an eight minute hot skewer down the urethra called Cynicrustpetefredjohn Raga. There is the suggestion of a skiffle beat somewhere among the previously redeeming but now directionless harp but it's lost in the cacophony. Exacerbating the torture are the sitars, which are irritating at their best but in this case appear to have been left out in the sun covered in bird seed and what we're hearing is what happened when the pigeons arrived.
You see? This is what happens when you do too much cocaine. You start thinking this sort of noise is acceptable or in some way constitutes art. Preach subjectivity all you want but there have to be limits surely?
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