RSSClinton'sThe Cinderalla Theory comes with the imprimaturof a prime candidate for top musician of the '80s, the eccentricomnivore Prince. Released on Paisley Park, with the new boss chippingin anonymously and Public Enemy's Chuck D. and Flavor Flav all overa key cut, it's like Dr. Funkenstein never dropped from sight.Tweakin',Serious Slamming, andWhy Should I Dog You Out?tear the roof off militantly, vernacularly, raunchily, surrealistically,and electronically, andFrench Kiss ain't about Paris inthe spring. It's about that tongue. George wants it. In his mouth.
Young'sFreedom (Reprise) is an even bigger surprise becauseYoung never stopped turning out product. Devo rips, pseudo-country,ersatz rockabilly, horny blues--he'd put half an ass into anythingonce, and every two or three years Warner would announce thatRe-ac-tororOld Ways or whatever marked a return to glory. OnlyFreedomdoes. Recalling 1979's top-10Rust Never Sleeps in its scope,power, and consistency, it mixes the folkish love songs and cruderock
Note: the following also has same date, overlappingcontents. Which is which?
Prolific yet selective, consistent yet unpredictable, and marketableenough to defy biz convention from within, Neil Young was my choicefor artist of the decade 10 years ago--whereupon he turned intoan arrant weirdo, pissing away his always precarious commercialappeal while never ceasing to turn out product. Devo rips, pseudo-country,ersatz rockabilly, horny blues--he'd half-try anything once, andevery two or three years Warner would announce thatRe-ac-tororOld Ways or whatever marked a return to glory. A decadepassed. And guess who just turned in one of the prime albums ofits final year. You peeked.
Recalling 1979'sRust Never Sleeps, his last top-10 album,in its scope and power,Freedom (Reprise) mixes thefolkish love songs and crude rock stomps that have always been hiswinning parlay, but not to the exclusion of horns, bells, femalebackup, mariachi effects, and other accoutrements. Yet it's notscattered--once you hear past its surface simplicity, you realizethat this record is of all thingswell-produced, which inYoung is utter apostasy. It's more pretty than not, yet it's hismost mournful record sinceAfter the Gold Rush, his angriestsinceTonight's the Night. And while his regrets and ragehave their roots in familiar political and existential complaints,a new theme keeps coming up--crack, which he hates more than heever hated heroin. I know, everybody hates crack--but just aboutnobody has made songs out of the feeling. There's not a bum onehere.
Playboy, Oct. 1989
 | Sept. 1989 | Nov. 1989 |  |