Last year rock nyc editor Helen Bach began writing a weekly column looking at a single album and what it meant to her personally. She would begin with an anecdote, sometimes quite harrowing, continue with an overview and then end with a song by song review. .
Iyt was my fave of Helen's writing ut Helen hasn't written it in ages and when asked why responded "It takes so much out of me." More is the pity but after deciding to buy Mamouna (believing, wrongly, that it wasn't on Spotify), Bryan Ferry's 1994 album, I thought I'd bring back the format to take a closer look at an album I seem to be in the minority in believing it to be major.
By November 1994. I hadn't written a single piece of rock criticism in five years. I was, officially, a full time business man working in the advertising world. This meant that I had, what's that word again? money… And it was nice to have money and nice, in 1994, to be able to buy a fifth row seat to Bryan Ferry at $40. In those days Cablevision didn't have their claws in the Beacon, and they weren't even on Ticketmaster. I took a cab to the Beacon wand got on line when the tix went on sale. cash only.
And I got a great seat.
I wasn't listening to music the way I am, though, compared to most people, I was still pretty fanatical. It was the time of Britpop and it wasn't a stretch to go from Damon Albarn to Bryan Ferry and back and I had bought Mamouna some six months prior to the November 1994 gig because, while I hadn't been obsessive about the man, really ever, the news Brian Eno was on the album was enough to grab my attention. And I liked it, I liked it a lot, I liked the packaging, the greens and yellows, the brightness and the semblance was sort of a deadly desire: it reminded me of Lawrence Of Arabia. Which is kinda apt because "Mamouna" is the name of a city on the edge of the Sahara.
And it is also apt because Mamouna is all one shade, and that is a dusty yellow like a desert and the songs all flow into each other and though written over a period of six years, proving the seriousness of Ferry's intentions, they feel like the same song being but stretching endlessly on like the Sahara, the songs are dry and dusky, all shimmering sun on dazzled sand going on and on. It is the Bryan Ferry album for people who love Bryan Ferry.
Don't Wanna Know: The very first song is something of a slight return in itself, with Phil Manzerena leading a five guitar well, not attack, more like a world of sound, with chirps, cheeps, synths,
N.Y.C. – Creepy as all get out, like getting lost way up town while some creep tries to sell you something you really don't want at all. Oddly enough, it is the least fashionable vision of the city you can think of.
Your Painted Smile – The single by dint of it having the most obvious (if not the only ) melody like on the album,and for once Ferry (co-producing the album with, weirdly enough, Robin Trower) let's his vocal rise to the top of the mix. The strings haunt the track, again.
Mamouna – Well, well, the drums lead the songs and the Middle Eastern flavor is so deep it is like salt on garlic. Gentle yes, but a gentleness that is like a deep aloofness.
The Only Face – About as dramatic as this album gets because the guitars keep on appearing in little runs and trickles of desire.
The 39 Steps – The guitar work is really sterling here, and the vocal even, could it be, GROWLS with intensity.
Which Way To Turn – The orchestration is all long drawn out sighs interrupted by single note solos.
Wildcat Days – Wild? Well the pace is picked up and omg, is that a back up singer? Considered the keeper on the album but just another great sonh to me.
Gemini Moon – Syncopated rhythm and more of the same, some 40 minutes in the consistency is amazing.
Chain Reaction – He leaves the best for last, a sex song with an actual hook, "lovey dovey on me"… somebody should cover it.
And nearly two decades later, it holds up very strong as possibly his most consistent piece of work to date. New R&B should be sampling it night and day.
Grade: A-