The near-universal consensus is that producer Terry Melcher
killed this album by drowning it in sickly sweet strings and horns. Which gives
him both too much and too little credit; okay, he lays it on thick, no
question, but this was bound for mediocrity no matter who tweaked the knobs.
Nothing could polish these tunes into gold, nor does Melcher entirely stifle what is
there; McGuinn’s gentle but simple “Kathleen’s Song” was going to be
endearing but forgettable whether or not swirling symphonic fills were crammed
into its open spaces.
That and the Gene Parsons co-write “Pale Blue” are the
fearless leader’s most—only—valuable
contributions (the less said about his faltering stab at political commentary,
“I Wanna Grow Up To Be a Politician,” the better; on his go-to co-composer
Jacques Levy, let even less be said). Team Battin/Fowley can’t compete with
even that, turning in more of the lazy pap that marked Battin’s Byrdsian
contributions. Clarence White moves behind the mic for a few songs, credibly
enough, though surely even the young Jackson Browne had better offerings for
him to cover than “Jamaica Say You Will.”
At least they were smart enough to leave off the
once-requisite Dylan cover that traded in and simplified the complicated
sneer/sorrow combo of “Just Like a Woman” for a more straightforwardly
sentimental version that thus missed the point. Otherwise,
all the markings of a slapdash contract filler are here, including the goofy,
unappealing cover and title. Ladies and gentlemen, this is what uninspired
journeyman rock music feels like.
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