This is an absurdly arranged bootleg compilation from 2019 that would require at least two more LPs to do justice to its misleading title. Yet it’s an almost essential addition if someone (like me) is attempting to acquire on vinyl every recording involving Christine McVie.
The problem is that most of the Many Faces presented in the set’s first half are relatively inconsequential when it comes to Fleetwood Mac’s lengthy list of lineups.
Revisiting A&M Records No. 29
We Five: ‘You Were on My Mind’ (September ‘65)
We Five: ‘Make Someone Happy’ (December ‘67)
Backtracking here to pair this SF ensemble’s debut sensation with the overly delayed follow-up that didn’t arrive until the quintet was breaking up, at least temporarily. As the horribly written back-cover notes indicate, the latter album was reason for fans to be both glad for their return yet sad that ‘(t)here is this album and there will be no more albums because there is no more We 5 [sic].’
Revisiting A&M Records No. 33
Nat Adderley: ‘You, Baby’ (late winter ’68)
Sometimes these CTI albums impress immediately, seizing our attention with intricate compositions, remarkable interplay and an enveloping warmth that offsets bracing coolness. Other times it takes multiple spins before arrangements click, distinctive solos sink in and subtler charms emerge.
Finally, 14 years later, a second solo album!
And what can be most quickly discerned from even a cursory spin? That at this point, late January ’84, Christine McVie had become such a reliably strong songwriter that she’d fully established a signature style as recognizable as Elton John’s.
This flick is still a wicked knockout a decade later, a near-epic with Scorsese-level aspirations that quite often measures up to the master’s flashiest sagas, ‘GoodFellas’ and ‘Casino.’ The reason why, however, ultimately has less to do with director David O. Russell’s consummate skills, even if this was his strongest work since the startlingly funny war drama ‘Three Kings’ in ’99, concluding a superb three-picture run of vivid realism begun by ‘The Fighter’ in 2010 and extended with ‘Silver Linings Playbook’ two years later.
Revisiting A&M Records No. 27
Various artists: ‘Million Dollar Sound Sampler’ (Nov ’67)
Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass: ‘Herb Alpert’s Ninth’ (Dec ’67)
This is somewhat a housekeeping post as we near the end of the most crucial year yet in my more-or-less chronological look at A&M’s history. Certainly won’t be the last time we encounter Mr. A as a recording artist or take stock of these assortments his label compiled to entice buyers, but both topics have been addressed in previous installments.
Revisiting A&M Records No. 26
Tamba 4: ‘We and the Sea’ (November ’67)
Now this is serious shit. Makes Sérgio Mendes seem exactly like the lightweight he was — highly capable, yes, and plenty enjoyable, just nowhere near the heavyweight class that this prodigious quartet was punching at by the time sunset fell on the Summer of Love.
Revisiting A&M Records No. 25
Phil Ochs: ‘Pleasures of the Harbor’ (November ‘67)
In hindsight there couldn’t have been a more sadly ironic song for this under-appreciated folkie to choose as an opening statement for the next phase of his career.
Revisiting A&M Records No. 24
The Merry-Go-Round: ‘The Merry-Go-Round’ (November ‘67)
Ten installments ago I asserted Lee Michaels was the label’s first true rock star. I stand by that statement, even if it took him four years and five albums to score a genuine chart smash.
I get why Robbie Patton didn’t make it big, though I also see why so many in his orbit really thought he would — not just Atlantic Records execs looking for a new star but particularly Christine McVie, who sings on (but did not produce, as erroneously stated elsewhere*) this third album of his after co-helming his second.