Stephen Tayler has been making a big name for himself on the remix/remaster scene of late, with his upgrade to Hawkwind’s Space Ritual being a revelation, but this might be his absolute best yet. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if the original is one of those ‘recorded through a sock’ muddy production jobs of the time which has led to calls over the years for a remix to save it – indeed, it is more one of those cases where you didn’t know it even needed improving, until you heard the evidence.
This 1969 album was the first to be released under the Jack Bruce post-Cream solo banner, though it wasn’t actually the first he recorded. Things We Like had already been completed before this, though it would not get a release until 1970. That album was very much a jazz recording, being fully instrumental and recorded with John McLaughlin, Jon Hiseman and Dick Heckstall-Smith, but although Songs For A Tailor is far from being rooted in jazz entirely, the link is not without some relevance, as Jack’s well documented love of jazz can be seen influencing most if not all of the tracks on the album to at least some degree. Indeed, a large part of what makes Songs For A Tailor work as well as it does is the cleverness of the songwriting and arrangements, bringing real depth to songs which are very concise in length.
There is a reason for the somewhat odd-sounding album title, as the album was named as a tip of the hat to Jeannie Franklyn, a ‘tailor to the stars’ in a way, who had designed clothes for Cream and was tragically killed in the Fairport Convention van accident – which also claimed the life of Fairport drummer Martin Lamble. For the recording Bruce assembled a loose aggregate of musicians rather than an actual ‘band’ per se, with particularly notable contributions coning from Jon Hiseman on drums almost throughout, and Chris Spedding handling lead guitar duties. This release comes as a four disc affair, comprising two CDs and two Blu-ray discs, and without doubt is likely to be seen as all the Songs For A Tailor you would ever be likely to want or need.
Now, the first two CDs here carry what one might call the backbone of the release (the first Blu-ray has a surround version of the album, which is a treat for the real audiophiles, while the second is video content, which we will come to shortly). Disc One has the original album, plus a few alternate takes as bonus tracks. Disc Two has a brand new stereo mix by Stephen W Tayler, plus another selection of bonus material. From that, you may well assume that the first disc will be your go-to listen most of the time. Your assumption would in fact be wrong, as the new mix is such a massive improvement on the original production that you may as well glue the first disc into the package or mount it on your wall, because you won’t be needing it. Tayler has been making a big name for himself on the remix/remaster scene of late, with his upgrade to Hawkwind’s Space Ritual being a revelation, but this might be his absolute best yet. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if the original is one of those ‘recorded through a sock’ muddy production jobs of the time which has led to calls over the years for a remix to save it – indeed, it is more one of those cases where you didn’t know it even needed improving, until you heard the evidence. That’s the genius of this work – it takes an original which has stood the test of time for 55 years, and makes it redundant overnight. ‘Bravo’ is the only word.
Having shamefully only having ever heard a couple of these songs before in their original forms, my first exposure was to the old mix on Disc One. And I was left in two minds by it, with some obviously great material but several tracks which left me underwhelmed – or in one particular case, bewildered. As soon as the new mix had passed my ears, however, it was as if scales had fallen from my eyes, or else I had suddenly heard a different album. This record is an absolute gem, and fully deserving of its strong reputation over the years. Made up of ten tracks, with only one over four minutes, it would not be unreasonable to peg this as a simple set of fun but basic bluesy rock. Not unreasonable, but in fact entirely wrong. The jazz influence which always ran strong in Jack Bruce is left to flow into the very fabric of this recording, with even some of the most seemingly straightforward songs possessing an odd time change here, or an unexpected chord progression there, to not only keep it fresh but also to keep the ‘prog’ crowd satisfied. There are also some of the most wilfully opaque lyrics this side of Dylan, courtesy of Jack’s regular collaborator Pete Brown, and who doesn’t love trying to divine the meaning in a bit of impenetrable poetry, especially when it is delivered as tantalisingly as it is here.
The album opens with a couple of the most immediate tracks, and ones which hold up very well even on the original mix. The interestingly titled Never Tell Your Mother She’s Out Of Tune is a perfect opener, a ballsy blues-rock tune propelled by a nicely arranged horn section (and some almost entirely inaudible guitar from George Harrison), while next up is probably the most celebrated song here, the masterful Theme For An Imaginary Western. The track is arguably most well-known over the years from Mountain’s take on it, a version which has joined the likes of Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower or Nazareth’s This Flight Tonight as being regarded as the quintessential take on the song in question. Even though the mix of Felix Pappalardi’s vocals and Leslie West’s magnificent guitar work managed to wring magic from the tune every time they performed it, let us not forget that this is the original, and it is itself a beautifully evocative piece, if a little more low-key. Felix Pappalardi, as producer of this album, obviously had early access to the song and saw its potential for Mountain. Tickets To Waterfalls is a complex song which contains enough time changes and subtle compositional tricks within its compact duration to satisfy the most demanding of progheads, while Weird Of Hermiston (referencing Robert Louis Stevenson’s unfinished 1896 work Weir Of Hermiston, for no discernible reason) takes us all around the lyrical houses, with Jack singing about going to a wedding dressed in black, a funeral dressed in white and several other odd destinations – but musically it is beguiling. Rope Ladder To The Moon, closing the first vinyl side, is another song known for a cover version, this time by jazz-rockers Colosseum, but this is much more concise. It’s perhaps not such a surprise that Colosseum picked up on the song, as several of that band actually play on this…
Heading into the second half of the album, it is here that in some ways we get to the real meat of the album, in the shape of some of its most challenging and surreal moments, and also where the new mix really comes into its own. The Ministry Of Bag comes complete with one of the most defiantly surreal lyrics I have ever come across… it has been suggested that it was inspired by John And Yoko’s ‘Bag-In’ event, but the words stray far from such an easy concept. I won’t go into it in detail, except to note that this is the one and only time that I have ever come across the phrase ‘The menu smells of feet’ in a song lyric or indeed anywhere. The music is once again irresistible however, and brings the bizarre wordplay to life brilliantly, and uses the far sharper and more focused mix to deliver the song to perfection. The bafflingly named He The Richmond again belies that seemingly random title by turning out to be a rather splendid song featuring a beautiful lyric filled with images of nostalgia, loss and regret. Along with Imaginary Western, it’s the finest set of words on the album, and a real highlight. Things plunge into the head-scratchingly odd with the sub-two minute Boston Ball Game 1967, a somewhat experimental song featuring what appears to be a two-way conversation, and which (naturally) has nothing to do with baseball, or indeed any ball games, or even Boston itself. Pete Brown could be a very strange man – and yet, the proof of the pudding is that his words still intrigue and fascinate 55 years on.
The final two tracks are the ones most dramatically transformed by the brilliance of the new mix, and both are songs which left me cold until the nuances were brought out and the tracks taken into new focus. The five and a half minute To Isengard is the longest track on the album, and also one which raises a shiver of expectation in any Tolkien-loving listener (guilty as charged, your honour). However, it naturally confounds expectations by having no discernible connection to Isengard in particular or The Lord Of The Rings in general. It also consists of two distinct pieces shoehorned together, with the first three minutes being a balladic tune originally entitled And So Our Time, which then shifts abruptly into some dissonant and difficult formless jazz-rock fusion (originally titled Vikings). Or so I believed from the original mix. The new one, however, shifted my negative opinion entirely, partly in the more dynamic separation and improved clarity of the opening half, but more spectacularly in the Vikings section, where Chris Spedding’s experimental guitar squalls and Bruce’s magnificent bass lines are taken front and centre and sharpened to diamond precision. Suddenly the intent of the piece becomes clear, and its extremely clever and brilliantly arranged playing works perfectly. In a similar yet different way we have the closing The Clearout, which became a live staple later, performed as a powerful rock piece. Here, however, it is accompanied by a sort of jaunty fairground or circus organ which gives the whole thing a slightly unsettling ‘novelty’ feel – once again, until you hear the new mix that is. This chirpy circus waltz is taken back down into the mix from its over-prominent and distracting original form to be buried nicely alongside the newly emphasised bass work from Jack, which allows the ‘circus’ element to retain a quirkiness which now manages to merely suggest itself rather than riding roughshod over proceedings, and the piece becomes more like its future live form, only even better as that quirkiness now gives it a subtle extra dimension which really makes the song.
The bonus tracks on the first disc are inessential, being mainly alternate mixes, but those on the second have far more bite to them, consisting of several early takes of the tracks on the album, showing them fascinatingly in development. There are also early instrumental run-throughs of two songs which would end up on the follow up album Harmony Row. The third disc, as previously mentioned, houses the audiophile’s dream which is the surround sound mix, while the fourth, and the second of the two Blu-rays, has a real unearthed gem in the shape of the 1970 documentary film Rope Ladder To The Moon, looking at Jack’s early life and transition into successful musician. Long unavailable – even on YouTube, which tends to hold most things – it is a little of its time, and cuts short some musical performances in an irritating way, but it is a real treat to be able to settle down and actually watch this period piece at your leisure.
With the four discs all in mini-gatefolds, and accompanied in the box by a poster and a bumper 64-page booklet including some great period photos and all of the lyrics as well as a new essay, makes this a highly desirable set. If you don’t have this in your collection, you really should look to rectify that – but by the same token if you are already a fan and own the album, you still need to check this out to see just how a great remix done with understanding and real technical gifts can add to what you already know and love. Jack would have surely approved were he still with us.
