REVIEW: Alex Chilton, Set (Bar/None)
- Don Share
There are three things you should know: 1.) The album, as originally released (in Europe), was titled Loose Shoes and Tight Pussy; 2.) It does not sound in the slightest like Big Star; 3.) The reason it's called Set in the US - other than the obvious reason, I mean - is that the none of the songs are "originals," but rather cover songs Alex can and does play in his solo sets. If none of these things offend your sensibilities, you can safely proceed.
The material, not, as you might expect from the foregoing, is not all staxy and sexy - it ranges from a louche instrumental version of "April in Paris" and a loungy version of Johnny Guitar Watson's "Hook Me Up" to straightforward, albeit indescribably Chiltonesque versions of soul classics like "Lipstick Traces" and the great Eddie Floyd's "I've Never Found A Girl."
Much of this is given Chilton's by-now standard cool-but-white-boy treatment, as if he fancies himself some sort of rock-and-roll Chet Baker. Some will find this tiresome, and the rest of us will love it, as we have loved everything this peculiar man has recorded for years. After all, who else would dare, and I mean dare, a version of Brenton Wood's "The Oogum Boogum Song?" Never heard of the "The Oogum Boogum Song?" You will never forget it, once you hear it, and who better than Alex to introduce you? Similarly, the outrageous "You've Got a Booger Bear Under There" is so far out-there that the fact that the only sexual overtones in Chilton's version come from his ironic leer simply lays bare, so to speak, the true outrageousness of the original; he's always been simultaneously a fanatic historian of music and purveyor of its ridiculousness. I keep explaining to people who cringe at his versions of such set-pieces that his actual arrangements, often down to the very notes of his guitar solos, are truer to the spirit of the originals than more slavishly faithful remakes. A good example is "I Remember Mama," a sentimental tune if there ever was one: Alex sings it deadpan, which makes it funny if you're in the mood; yet he also wrenches out of it every teardrop, as he drawls on about Mama's being in the bosom of the Lord, that the six credited writers could have wished for.
Some of this is listless. "If You's a Viper" isn't a hoot, once you've heard, say, Sidney Bechet's version of "Viper Mad," both tunes about reefer madness. "Shiny Stockings" and "April in Paris" show that Chilton still plays guitar extremely well - but they're throwaways, and the latter's one-more-time codas are excrutiating. Still, where the heck else do you get all the foregoing, plus Gary Stewart's wonderful "Single Again?"
Another album, then, to disappoint those who've made Alex Chilton a pop prophet who's yet to come back and save them. After all this time, I'm starting to see the point of his disdaining the role, since it's impossible, and since nobody was listening when such things as Big Star actually mattered to him. I'm not waiting anymore; no, I'm all set.
