Coming after the "experimental" and idiosyncratic Running On Empty, this record is a more conventional and slick mainstream singer-songwriter rock album, and in some respects it picks up where 1976's The Pretender left off, serving as the far side of the hinge of Browne's career.
When I first listened to Hold Out, my reaction was that it sounded a touch soulless, like much "album rock" of that time. However, I soon realized that my assessment was flawed. It had only seemed relatively soulless, because I had heard it back-to-back with Jackson's classic "organic" sounding music from the 1970s. Closer inspection revealed hidden depths, and it remains to me one of his unfairly overlooked works, although it contains only seven songs!
Although Hold Out is deceptively meritorious in a purely musical sense, there is a case for arguing that lyrically some water-treading is in evidence. If anything, the subject matter is, by and large, less weighty and profound than on his previous LPs. Any social commentary is very mild, and is confined to "Disco Apocalypse" and "Boulevard". That said, the "personal" lyrics on a couple of the compositions are very moving and affecting.
Instrumentally, the accent is very much on keyboards, with little in the way of acoustic guitar work to be had. Thankfully, the subtle and soothing tones of David Lindley's lap steel feature prominently on several numbers. Also, acoustic piano survives, and the layers of keyboards give genuine texture to a few of the tracks, with the assistance Hammond organ. Any synthesizer work is very unobtrusive, and is employed primarily to accentuate melody and atmosphere.
The opening track on the album is "Disco Apocalypse", a dark and atmospheric song suffused with the aforementioned keyboards, in this case organ and electric piano. The title track follows, with an expressive Browne vocal, and a bland if endearing melody, and the first appearance here of the Lindley alchemy on lap steel.
The production on this album has a glossy feel, which is not unusual for the early eighties, but I would contend that this does not suffocate the emotion, nuance and melody of the set. The separation between instruments is pronounced, and this is exemplified by "That Girl Could Sing".
"Boulevard" is the nearest thing on the album to a catchy, up-tempo commercial song, with an energetic "new wave" blue-collar flavour, the sort of track which would become a staple of American mainstream rock in the years which followed. It is often forgotten how much Jackson Browne pioneered this particular "sub-genre", at least in sonic terms.
Without doubt the most emotionally charged song is "Of Missing Persons", written largely in tribute to Jackson's friend, the late Lowell George of Little Feat. The song is dominated by the vocal, seized with sincerity and sadness, and the poetic Lindley lap steel work.
"Let's Call It A Loan" then offers some light relief, preparing for the epic closer, "Hold On Hold Out", which almost has a suite-like quality, and the most grandiose arrangement on the whole album. The full range of keyboards is deployed, and the slide guitar again comes to the fore.
Hold Out often gets lost, as it falls between Browne's critically acclaimed early work and his more socially conscious albums of the 1980s. However, it is worthy of respect, being an entertaining and superbly crafted record.
No comments:
Post a Comment