Reviews of tribute records predictably ruminate on the very worthiness of the idea. Why bother collecting covers of the songs of some canonical artist performed by a bunch of lesser lights? In the case of the soundtrack for I Am Sam, it's better to take it as a given that there is a market for, and even a point to, assembling some more or less critically-lauded artists to tackle a handful of Lennon/McCartney compositions.
The word for this disc is "restraint." The majority of the tracks are unplugged and stripped down. Furthermore, nearly all the entrants tone down their performances, as if cowed by the Fabs' legend or fearfully covering their asses so as not to make fools of themselves. The net effect is a smoothing out that diminishes some artists' strengths, minimizes others' weaknesses and whitewashes other artists to the point where they hardly seem themselves.
Aimee Mann and Michael Penn, hard-luck pop troubadours both and a married couple to boot, open the disc promisingly with a sweet rendition of "Two of Us." Mann's usually expressive vocal style is largely muted, but the unforced chemistry between her and Penn carries the tune along. Even a slightly subdued Rufus Wainwright soars through a take on "Across the Universe," and Nick Cave closes the disc covering "Let It Be" with that weight-of-the-world quality edging his voice.
With his overblown tendencies under wraps, a solo Eddie Vedder, the most imitated vocalist of the '90s to the worst effect, turns in an amiable "You've Got To Hide Your Love Away" reminiscent of the early Pearl Jam strummer "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town." Sarah McLachlan offers a tame "Blackbird" that is plenty pretty, if not compelling. A band as unremarkable as the Wallflowers can be counted on not to offend when deployed in tribute, and the group takes a capable turn on "I'm Looking Through You."
Other contributors seem to lose their identities entirely. The now-defunct Black Crowes toss off a perfunctory "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" minus their trademark Stones-y style and sorely devoid of any kind of psychedelic trappings. Some may remember Heather Nova for her Lilith Fair-era radio blip about how she "want(ed) you to come ... (wink, wink) walk this world with me." Many don't remember her at all. Nova's "We Can Work It Out," the nadir of this affair, is so painfully generic that it makes the listener wish to forget her all over again.
Strange that Sheryl Crow, probably the highest profile singer on the disc, should warble thinly through "Mother Nature's Son," one of the White Album's more humble tunes, and quite a contrast from the slick bigness of some of her radio hits. While Paul Westerberg's solo acoustic "Nowhere Man" works during its running time, it is so lacking in the rasp and ache that were Westerberg's signature back in his Replacements days that it wafts from memory as soon as it ends.
In spite of the drudgery, there are surprises provided by those willing to hazard putting a new twist on revered music. Grandaddy gets points for audacity, altering the melody and instrumentation to recast "Revolution" in the group's own likeness. It's altogether too bad that this style chugs along in such boring post-Pavement Stockton-rock style.
On the other hand, young Boston singer/songwriter Howie Day, who at his worst can resemble a
coffeehouse version of Live's Edward Kowalczyk, reinterprets "Help!" wonderfully. He
deletes that infamous unresolved opening chord and inserts some suitably ominous guitar atmospherics that play up the desperation obscured by the Beatles' peppy original.
Chocolate Genius (a.k.a. Mark Anthony Thompson) toys with phrasing and packs sinew onto the
rhythm of "Julia," Lennon's delicate requiem for his mother and arguably the Beatles' prettiest
song. With a rough-hewn croon Thompson delivers the words as emotively as would be expected from a man who has chronicled losing his own mother, albeit in a different way, through his 1998 song "My Mom," a heartbreaking tale of Alzheimer's toll.
Even with these few risks included, I Am Sam the album is as comfortable as an old brown shoe. Everyone already knows the songs, and there's little here to scare off even the most milquetoast Beatles fan. For the more adventurous, there are enough thrills to make one wonder what could have been.
— Wayne Lewis (capsighs@pacbell.net)
Various Artists