CARPENTERS (pagal George Starostin) -1

Carpenters: A Kind Of Hush   CARPENTERS: A KIND OF HUSH (1976)   1) There's A Kind Of Hush; 2) You; 3) Sandy; 4) Goofus; 5) Can't Smile Without You; 6) I Need To Be In Love; 7) One More Time; 8) Boat To Sail; 9) I Have You; 10) Breaking Up Is Hard To Do.   I really pity poor ex-Domino Jim Gordon who was forced to enlist as session drummer for this album (as well as Horizon) — if you ask me, this is a pretty good explanation of why he went nuts and murdered his mother seven years later. Because A Kind Of Slush is just the kind of archetypal «kill-'em-with-kindness» rose-colored Carpenters album that condemns the duo be­yond all hope of redemption. Not in the very, very slightest does the record ever approach «edgy»; not in the very, very slightest does it touch upon any psychological hotspots. And this time around, there isn't even a single Motown or surf-pop classic to earn the record a few consolatory points in the cutesy-adorable department.   Sure, there's the title track, resurrected from a forgotten sunshine pop single by Herman's Hermits back in 1967, but even if it sounded somewhat anthemic and in (relative) touch with the Flower Power movement at the time, in 1976 it sounded merely like another Sesame Street episode, and Karen's diligent, but not-too-involved delivery of the vocal leaves her no space for flexible modu­lation — any professional lady singer could have done an equally good perfunctory job on it. I actually prefer their take on ʽGoofusʼ, an old pre-war composition briefly popularized by Phil Harris in 1950: with an arrangement slightly reminiscent of Elton John's ʽHonky Catʼ (perhaps not a coincidence, as both songs share similar subjects of country boys moving to the big city), it has fun interplay between honky-tonk piano and sax, and lets Karen put in a slightly humorous performance (as to myself, I always prefer hearing a sincere bit of laughter from her than seeing an obli­gatory forced smile).   Yet even though neither of the two songs is a true classic, I'd rather hear them both on endless repeat than enduring the interminable bland balladeering that constitutes the rest of the album. The biggest hit was ʽI Need To Be In Loveʼ, a song specially written by John Bettis (lyrically) for Karen and allegedly one of her favorites; but again, it sounds like ABBA-lite, a musically trite composition that cannot even properly separate its chorus from its verse, and even if the lyrics genuinely reflect Karen's emotional state at the time ("I know I need to be in love, I know I've wasted too much time"), and even if she tries to deliver them as sincerely and expressively as pos­sible, the song's complete melodic predictability and lack of dynamics render the effort nearly worthless. And that, my friends, is arguably the best of the ballads on here.   Most of the others are like Randy Edelman's ʽYouʼ — slow lush meadows of strings, woodwinds, and angelic backing harmonies (with, perhaps, an occasional guitar solo that does not even begin to try and stand out), rose-colored puffs of fake happiness, indistinguishable from one another and not even trying to adapt to the melancholic overtones of Karen's voice. One after another they drift off into space without leaving a trace, so much so that even ʽGoofusʼ, against their back­ground, produces an effect comparable to that of ʽPlease Please Meʼ in the era of safe, toothless teen pop; although nothing is going to make me positively rate the upbeat conclusion of Neil Sedaka's ʽBreaking Up Is Hard To Doʼ, a song far cornier than ʽThere's A Kind Of Hushʼ and made even worse by the duo's tepid treatment.   According to Richard himself, A Kind Of Hush turned out to be a subpar album because he happened to be addicted to sleeping pills at the time — which probably asks for a bad pun invol­ving the title of the record; ironically, he has named ʽGoofusʼ, the liveliest song on the album, as a particularly harsh disaster, while at the same time calling ʽSandyʼ "a lilting original that is per­fect for Karen's voice". For my money, ʽGoofusʼ is far more «lilting» (though certainly less ori­ginal) than ʽSandyʼ, just another quiet, light jazz-pop ballad about nothing in particular that is perfect for nobody's voice, much as Karen was struggling to make a good job with it — and with everything else on this snoozefest of an album. Guess even inoffensive romantic soft-rockers have to stay away from sleeping pills, though. Definitely a thumbs down — this is clearly the absolute nadir for Carpenters in the 1970s, as they would fortunately get somewhat more adven­turous again on their next album.   Posted by G. S. at 9:35 AM 0 comments  Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Labels: Carpenters   Wednesday, August 23, 2017 Carpenters: Horizon   CARPENTERS: HORIZON (1975)   1) Aurora; 2) Only Yesterday; 3) Desperado; 4) Please Mr. Postman; 5) I Can Dream, Can't It?; 6) Solitaire; 7) Happy; 8) (I'm Caught Between) Goodbye And I Love You; 9) Love Me For What I Am; 10) Eventide.   The decline of the duo's commercial fortune starts here, even though Horizon was still able to yield two huge singles. The biggest one apparently continued the vibe of Now & Then: another lightweight cover of an oldie that, it could be thought, would never again be revived after The Marvelettes and The Beatles had done everything possible with it — still, Karen did the impossible and seduced America, along with the entire English-speaking world, into accepting ʽPlease Mr. Postmanʼ in Sesame Street-style, with a fluffy-feathery arrangement and a vocal part so light, you'd swear she was impersonating a 12-year old. Not that I'm complaining: she seduces me all right, and if you have no strong prejudices about «white» versions of «black» songs (with emphasis on de-sexualization etc., though I wouldn't necessarily call Karen's interpretations of black R&B «de-sexualized»), it will be hard to deny that the whole thing is cutesy and adorable without being too heavily dollified. The sax and guitar solos rule, too.   The lesser hit single was a bit more heavy and serious: a Carpenter/Bettis original, ʽOnly Yes­terdayʼ is a soulful love ballad of the «everything will be all right now that you're here» variety. But unlike many, if not most, of the earlier big hits, ʽOnly Yesterdayʼ has no subtle depth what­soever — its message does not go beyond "baby, baby, feels like maybe", and while the chorus is catchy, it is not original enough to compensate for a certain flatness in Karen's voice, as if she tried, but failed, to find a proper key to it and ended up just delivering the lyrics the best way her voice would allow it. ABBA could do this; Karen functions much better when she does not have to dilute her melancholic mood with fake happiness. And if she does, better do it Sesame Street-style all the way — at least it's more fun that way.   The main problem with Horizon is that most of it sounds like ʽOnly Yesterdayʼ, only worse. The idea of covering the old popular song ʽI Can Dream, Can't I?ʼ (they may have gotten it from Cass Elliot) was rotten from the start, because old midnight jazz standards are among the easiest things to turn into cornball if the singer does not give them a specific angle, and for all her wonderful qualities, Karen is hardly a major competitor for the jazz greats. Then there's the cover of ʽDes­peradoʼ, which is probably better than Linda Ronstadt's — Karen is really working hard here to make you sit up and take those lyrics seriously — but not necessarily better than the original; in any case, your acceptance of this will significantly depend on your general attitude towards The Eagles, and in any case, the Leon Russell covers were better.   The rest is mostly original stuff, and most of the second side of the LP where it is concentrated is a stiff bore. As keeper of the Only Solitaire blog, I'm probably supposed to be partial to any song with ʽSolitaireʼ in the title, but this here ʽSolitaireʼ is slow and dreary — again, I think ABBA could have done a better job with it, perhaps speeding the ballad up a little and giving it a few more distinctive piano riffs, but Richard's arrangement is the epitome of the «nothing happening» approach. With ʽLove Me For What I Amʼ, they apparently try to repeat the successful formula of ʽGoodbye To Loveʼ (because of another climactic distorted and phased solo from Tony Peluso), but the result hardly has even half the energy of its predecessor, and even the solo is super-short. And no semi-respectable Carpenters album should have a song called ʽHappyʼ — because, let's face it, the Carpenters vibe only works when they are not.   Summing up — one cutesy-adorable cover, a couple of passable originals, a couple more unne­cessary covers, and a puddle of filler; no sense of progress whatsoever and plenty of times when the project's chief asset is misused. Even on that album photo, Karen looks like she's not really there, you know? There was simply no great incentive here for the public to renew their love for the siblings, and there is no incentive for me not to give the album a thumbs down. Already in 1975, it must have been clear that the Carpenters were past their peak — and soon they would have to adapt their old-fashioned sound to the rapidly changing musical values, something for which they were far less than ready.    Posted by G. S. at 7:40 PM 1 comments  Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Labels: Carpenters   Wednesday, August 16, 2017 Carpenters: Now & Then   CARPENTERS: NOW & THEN (1973)   1) Sing; 2) This Masquerade; 3) Heather; 4) Jambalaya (On The Bayou); 5) I Can't Make Music; 6) Yesterday Once More; 7) Fun, Fun, Fun; 8) The End Of The World; 9) Da Doo Ron Ron; 10) Deadman's Curve; 11) Johnny Angel; 12) The Night Has A Thousand Eyes; 13) One Day Will Come; 14) One Fine Day; 15) Yesterday Once More (re­prise).   Upon first, second, and third sight, no Carpenters record since at least Offering cries out so loud and proud for a definitive thumbs down. From 1970 to 1972, the duo's albums were fluffy, schlocky, and hundred-percent-safe for bourgeois consumption — yet the fluffy packaging could often conceal deep shades of psychologism, suffering, and unfulfilled (unfulfillable?) yearning; in other words, a case could be made for each and every one of those albums that, at some level, it was an artistic statement, and that people were paying money for the real thing, not just a beauti­fully packaged facsimile trinket. With Now & Then, their fifth record, that consistent streak came to an end: for some reason, the Carpenters thought it would be fun to play the retro-game, and delivered a set of carpenterized oldies — pretty much reinventing the Fifties and early Sixties as having taken place in a rose-colored dollhouse.   The title of the album itself is confusing. Apparently, Side B, introduced by the self-written anthemic state­ment ʽYesterday Once Moreʼ and otherwise consisting of a medley of oldies, is the Then side; however, the Now side also contains a cover of Hank Williams' ʽJambalayaʼ that, by all accounts, should be Then. Moreover, the Now selection in general is rather atypical for the duo: there is not a single Richard original, the only song from a familiar songwriter of theirs is Leon Russell's ʽThis Masqueradeʼ, and on top of this confusion rests their cover of the Sesame Street ditty ʽSingʼ. Okay, so everybody knew that Carpenters were a bit Sesame Street-ish from the beginning, but did they really have to rub it in our faces so ferociously?   No, they did not. And in all honesty, there is nothing serious for which I could recommend this album, with the possible exception of ʽThis Masqueradeʼ — with its late night jazz melody and arrangement, it is the weakest of their Leon Russell covers, but at least it is sufficiently dark and brooding to fit the bill (and Karen's lower range). Plus, you can't get any cheesier if you start covering Johnny Pearson instrumentals (ʽHeatherʼ) — might as well just pack it in and get your­self a paid job in the Top Of The Pops orchestra. Clearly, this is just a mighty embarrassment on all possible fronts, but... but...   ...the thing is, Karen Carpenter + doo-wop / girl pop oldies = win. She may sound out of her ele­ment when doing contemporary happy material, but things are different when she sets out to cover ʽDa Doo Ron Ronʼ or ʽOne Fine Dayʼ, songs that clearly uplifted and inspired her back in those days and which she really sings with such pure childish joy that it totally transcends the corniness of the entire project. Yes, Richard often comes along and spoils the fun, fun, fun (al­though, admittedly, his singing voice is hardly worse than Mike Love's), but every time we get Karen behind the wheel, things get back to being irresistible. Heck, even that cuddly version of ʽJambalayaʼ — though it probably has poor Hank spinning in his silver coffin — is... ugh... adorable. There, I've said it. All of these are bubblegum reductions, but every once in a while, it becomes hard to resist a really sweet piece of bubblegum.   It is not difficult to resist ʽYesterday Once Moreʼ, the pathetic introduction to the old medley, because overblown nostalgic sentimentality over the once-liberating golden oldies might work well in a written essay, but not in an adult contemporary ballad. But the medley itself, once you have managed to close your ears to the irritating disc jokey interruptions (done by Tony Peluso in a very manneristic and overacted way), has an odd charm of its own — perhaps it is simply the time effect, though: I can imagine how crass this must have sounded for discerning audiences in 1973, but now that the Seventies themselves have long since passed into legend, it is probably an issue for nostalgia for the Seventies nostalgizing for the Sixties, if you get my drift. There is still a certain aura of touching innocence and sincerity about it all, something that is hardly imagi­nable these days from the likes of, say, Christina Aguilera or Miley Cyrus. (Although, admittedly, we have to wait for 30-40 more years to see how their warped portrayals of the good old days will sound to our ears at that time).   In short, it feels as if time might be kind to this — technically throwaway — moment in Carpen­ters' history, just as it seems to be equally kind to their better records. Additionally, Now & Then is better regarded not as a cheap sellout, but rather as a temporary diversion, a harmless attempt to capitalize on a nascent trend that would be abandoned by the time of their next album (although, as the hit cover of ʽPlease Mr. Postmanʼ would go on to show, they would still keep in mind the goldmine potential of the oldies). Now if only they hadn't included that Sesame Street song... because, look, guys: I know it may seem, from the faraway distance of 1973, that the target audiences of Sesame Street (or any of its pre-1969 predecessors) and ʽFun, Fun, Funʼ were all the same age, but there was a dividing line, and that line is called «puberty». Therefore, do make a choice — putting your toddlers and your horny teens in the same basket is most definitely anti-pedagogical. End of story.   Posted by G. S. at 8:55 PM 1 comments  Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Labels: Carpenters   Wednesday, August 9, 2017 Carpenters: A Song For You   CARPENTERS: A SONG FOR YOU (1972)   1) A Song For You; 2) Top Of The World; 3) Hurting Each Other; 4) It's Going To Take Some Time; 5) Goodbye To Love; 6) Intermission; 7) Bless The Beasts And Children; 8) Flat Baroque; 9) Piano Picker; 10) I Won't Last A Day Without You; 11) Crystal Lullaby; 12) Road Ode; 13) A Song For You (reprise).   My original review of this album was surprisingly cruel — or perhaps I did get mellow as time goes by, after all? Not sure how it happened, but now that I am giving A Song For You another chance, it is not clear even to myself how a Carpenters record without a single Bacharach tune on it, but with at least one Leon Russell and one Carole King original, could get such a low assess­ment. Of course, it is just another Carpenters album, which means there is no escaping mushy fluff at times, but it does host some of the duo's loveliest moments as well; released at the height of the soft-rock era, it is almost inevitably infected by a certain psychological subtlety that was omnipresent in 1970-72, and then, as the formula became a formula, pretty much evaporated from the spirit of long-haired dudes and dudettes with acoustic guitars and pianos.   A whoppin' half of the songs from here were released as singles (most of them high-charting ones), but, funny enough, not the title track — the most serious and solid composition on here, and another great vehicle for Karen to apply her talent. Like ʽSuperstarʼ, the song clearly must have meant much more to its composer and original singer than to Karen Carpenter, but she does a fine job adapting it to a womanly perspective, and she is believable when she sings "I've been so many places in my life and time", even though most of these places were in Connecticut and California. Heck, she even sounds believable when she sings "I've made some bad rhymes", even though she hadn't made any rhymes. The important thing is, she gets this message of repentance and redemption through pure love across in a clean, accessible, and realistic manner, without underdoing it or overdoing it — perfect phrasing all way 'round. The moody sax solo, lacking in Leon's stripped-down piano version, complements her appropriately.   The biggest hit was ʽTop Of The Worldʼ, featuring the duo in their countriest mood yet, with Nashville pro Buddy Emmons on pedal steel and Karen probably sporting her jauntiest cowgirl hat in the studio. The original intention was to use this Richard original as a (filler?) track on the album, but they changed their minds after Lynn Anderson had a hit with the song on the country charts — surprisingly, general pop audiences were only too happy to snap it up with Karen on vocals, perhaps seeing her presence as an excuse to satisfy their internalized country fetish. There is not a lot of space in this happy country romp for Karen's brooding melancholia, but she does at least as good a job with it as Lynn Anderson, sounding slightly more serious and stately in her own way. But on the whole, it is probably good that they did not latch on to this success and make a complete transition to country(-pop): pledging allegiance to cotton fields and rodeos would have ruined the last shreds of their credibility.   Of the other singles, ʽIt's Going To Take Some Timeʼ is nice, but completely unnecessary, since it is all but impossible for Karen to improve on Carole King's personal delivery (cute flute solo, though); the theme song for Stanley Kramer's Bless The Beasts And Children is lush, formless schlock, with the likes of which Karen can do very little; and the cover of Ruby & The Roman­tics' ʽHurting Each Otherʼ is too pompous and overblown to truly make one feel sorry for its protagonists. On the other hand, the obligatory Nichols/Williams contribution ʽI Won't Last A Day Without Youʼ has the catchiest chorus of 'em all; and ʽGoodbye To Loveʼ seems to be one of the finest songs Richard ever wrote — an elegantly flowing proto-ABBA ballad with a couple of brilliant fuzz guitar solos by guest star Tony Peluso; apparently, those solos were the reason that (a) some adult contempo­rary radio stations refused to play the song because of its «hard rock» content, and (b) some critics name it as the first, or at least the prototypical, «power ballad». Both points are fairly ridiculous (no ballad with Karen on vocals can be a true «power» ballad, because her strength is in subtlety, not power), but the solos are truly good, working as faithful outlets for burning emotion that is only subtly hinted at in the vocals.   In addition to the romantic elegance and the slushy schlock, the album features bits of unneces­sary silliness (ʽIntermissionʼ — "we'll be right back after we go to the bathroom"; its chief purpose is not so much to let us know that Carpenters can harmonize like the Beach Boys as it is to let us know that Carpenters, like regular mortals, are endowed with urinary tracts) and goofi­ness (the Richard-dominated interlude ʽFlat Baroque / Piano Pickerʼ, an educated musical joke that probably needs somebody like Saturday Night Live-era Bill Murray to make it work), but they are short, and sometimes they almost seem necessary to cut through some of the schlock. On the whole, though, the tone of A Song For You is set by the spiritually heavy title track — re­prised at the end so the framework could be complete — and despite the goofiness and the happy tunes like ʽTop Of The Worldʼ, most of the time the album wades through sorrow and melancho­lia, culminating with ʽRoad Odeʼ, not the best song here but certainly the most depressed one. Naturally, simply being sad and depressed all or most of the time does not necessarily make for a great album, but this is the best possible state for Karen as a performer, and from that point of view, A Song For You is one of the band's most adequate and well-rounded records, though, clearly, not at all free from poor musical choices and fluffy soapiness. At least ʽA Song For Youʼ, ʽGoodbye To Loveʼ, and maybe even ʽTop Of The Worldʼ, for a happy change, should clearly make it to that top-notch compilation — the rest is up to you.   Posted by G. S. at 7:03 AM 0 comments  Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Labels: Carpenters   Wednesday, August 2, 2017 Carpenters: Carpenters   CARPENTERS: CARPENTERS (1971)   1) Rainy Days And Mondays; 2) Saturday; 3) Let Me Be The One; 4) (A Place To) Hideaway; 5) For All We Know; 6) Superstar; 7) Druscilla Penny; 8) One Love; 9) Bacharach/David Medley; 10) Sometimes.   By now, it is hardly difficult to predict the final verdict on the Carpenters — with that paradigm in place, the duo was fundamentally incapable of recording a consistently great album, because the goodness or badness of a Carpenters tune essentially depends on the degree of Karen's in­volvement in it, and it is unreasonable to expect 100% involvement all over the place. Yet it is also true that almost every Carpenters album would go on to feature at least one or two fantastic atmospheric masterpieces, shallow on the surface but infused with a certain disturbing darkness that seems to undermine those very «family-oriented values» they seem to promote.   For the self-titled Carpenters, these masterpieces are fairly obvious. There's ʽRainy Days And Mondaysʼ, another perfect offering from the Nichols/Williams songwriting team and even more double-edged than ʽWe've Only Just Begunʼ. The verses are poised for an intense build-up, and Karen does a great job going from a deep, dark and brooding start to an expressive, lilting finish. The middle-eight, offering the protagonist a happy cop-out ("funny but it seems that it's the only thing to do / run and find the one who loves me"), seems Hollywoodish on paper, but Karen's talents allow her to do this in «dignified consolation» mode, so that she always seems a bit con­tent in her melancholic brooding, and always a bit unhappy in her romantic gushing. It does not hurt, either, that each verse forms a nice catchy pattern, and that the "rainy days and mondays always get me down" bit is brilliant phrasing all by itself.   The second single was Leon Russell's ʽSuperstarʼ, which had earlier been tried by Delaney & Bonnie, Joe Cocker / Rita Coolidge, and Bette Midler, but did not reach iconic status until Richard nicked it for Karen. His arrangement of the "don't you remember you told me you loved me baby..." chorus is nothing particularly special, and his decision to amend the original "sleep with you again" to "be with you again" warrants a good snicker, but the "long ago and oh so far away..." verses literally send chills down my spine. As an experiment, it is instructive to listen to Rita Coolidge and Karen back-to-back — the first version is all about power and passion, but Karen's is all about bearing the curse of doom. Quiet, deep, mournful, with full emphasis on realistic suffering rather than theatrical technique. Upon hearing ʽSuperstarʼ, it becomes obvious that this sort of tragically soulful material was the perfect choice for Karen; unfortunately, it just wasn't the kind of material to keep on keeping stereotypical «housewives» (and Richard Nixon) happy, and so what we get in addition is...   ..."Saturday began just the same as other days... love is in my world since Saturday... sing to the sounds of the day after Friday"... well, you get the drift (hello from the past, Rebecca Black!). This piece of vaudeville fluff, cooed by Richard, is at least short and inoffensive; far worse is ʽDruscilla Pennyʼ, another (in addition to ʽSuperstarʼ) song about a groupie, but this time just a piece of corny mockery, not even saved by being set to a baroque harpsichord melody — and could somebody please explain to me why Richard is lispingon the verses? "I've theen your fathe at leatht a thouthand timeth..." — did somebody smack him in the chops on the day of recording or something? In any case, it results in making an already dumb song sound even more embar­rassing, and its positioning immediately after ʽSuperstarʼ is one of the greatest incentives ever to divorce the amazing sister from the shameful brother (which, I admit, is not entirely just, seeing as how in so many cases Richard's arrangements worked perfectly for Karen).   Anyway, so as not to pin all the bad stuff on Richard, the only really good song on the album other than the big two is ʽLet Me Be The Oneʼ, another offering by Nichols and Williams; and this one is more due to the catchy chorus than any profound psychologism in Karen's perfor­mance. ʽHideawayʼ and ʽFor All We Knowʼ are mushy Euroballads that do not do justice to her voice; Richard's ʽOne Loveʼ is a bit more ambitious, featuring echoes of Brian Wilson in the vocal melody, but somehow still firmly lodged in the rosey my-prince-will-come paradigm; and then there's a five minute Bacharach/David medley that truly deserves no comment other than KILL IT WITH FIRE. Gosh, what a disgrace.   I would not hesitate giving the record a thumbs down if it wasn't for the obvious — on a certain level, all Carpenters albums deserve a thumbs down, so let us keep this option in stock for those records that do not have a smash duo of the ʽRainy Days And Mondaysʼ / ʽSuperstarʼ caliber to redeem it. From an optimistically benevolent perspective, this was a period in which Karen Car­penter was capable of jaw-dropping greatness and occasionally demonstrated it; history will chew over the rest without a blue-type verdict on my part.   Posted by G. S. at 5:55 AM 6 comments  Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Labels: Carpenters   Wednesday, July 26, 2017 Carpenters: Close To You   CARPENTERS: CLOSE TO YOU (1970)   1) We've Only Just Begun; 2) Love Is Surrender; 3) Maybe It's You; 4) Reason To Believe; 5) Help!; 6) (They Long To Be) Close To You; 7) Baby It's You; 8) I'll Never Fall In Love Again; 9) Crescent Noon; 10) Mr. Guder; 11) I Kept On Loving You; 12) Another Song.   It should hardly come off as a big surprise that the first song to break Carpenters big was a Burt Bacharach number. What does come off as a surprise is that the song in question, first recorded by Richard Chamberlain in 1963 and then re-done by Dionne Warwick and Burt himself, actually sounds good in this arrangement — Richard (Carpenter) gave it more of a beat, bringing it closer to a lively music hall number, and Karen sang it like only Karen could: with a pinch of dark de­spair, implying that being "close to you" is more of an unattainable dream than a reality. I could very well live without the last minute and a half of dreamy la-las and wah-wahs that try to dis­solve memories of Karen's dark-golden voice in regular syrup, but the first three minutes prove decisively that even a Burt Bacharach song can be turned to first-rate pop art if it is done properly. (Ironically, the second Bacharach song on here, ʽBaby It's Youʼ, is done in a slower, soapier, and far more generically melodramatic manner — definitely not the right way to cook this goose, so do right unto yourself and check the Beatles' version instead).   The second big hit that confirmed and solidified their pop star status was ʽWe've Only Just Begunʼ, a song that had just skyrocketed the career of... Crocker National Bank! (having been used, alongside wedding imagery, in a TV commercial) — and yet again, Karen was able to make something bigger out of this than just a sappy wedding ditty. The key to this version is that, by her very nature, she was almost incapable of sounding perfectly happy: there are no false sugary notes in this voice as she sings about "white lace and promises" — instead, there is a note of pensive introspection, an implicit understanding that some out of the "so many roads to choose" may not necessarily be the right ones. Even the flute riff somehow manages to combine tender­ness with a warning intonation, and this mix of happiness and worry is precisely what separates the Carpenters' version from just about any other cover of this song that you might encounter. In short, this performance has psychological depth, even if none of this was an intentional decision on the part of either the brother or the sister. (For that matter, just how many people, I wonder, upon hearing the song and seeing the album sleeve back in 1970 thought of Richard and Karen Carpenter as husband and wife rather than siblings?).   In between these two classics (yes they are), Richard and Karen insert all sorts of randomized material that suffers either from being too lightweight and flimsy (Offering-style), or too boring, or both. The idea to repeat the formula of ʽTicket To Rideʼ with another Beatles song falls flat: not only is their slowing down of ʽHelp!ʼ sort of plagiarizing Deep Purple, but, unlike ʽTicket To Rideʼ, ʽHelp!ʼ was actually a showcase for desperation from the very beginning, and there are no new dimensions to be opened here (plus, Karen is mixed way too low for her magic to work pro­perly this time). Pop fluff like ʽLove Is Surrenderʼ and ʽI'll Never Fall In Love Againʼ (Bacharach again!) passes by quickly and inconspicuously, and Richard-led pop fluff like ʽI Kept On Loving Youʼ passes by slowly and painfully. Tim Hardin's oft-covered ʽReason To Believeʼ is quite nice and gives a good hint at how Carpenters could have sounded with a country-western career (not too country-westernish, I'd say), but the definitive version of the song still belongs to Rod Stewart: this one is just way too fragile.   Curiously, the most interesting two songs past the big hits actually belong to Richard, although ʽCrescent Noonʼ would not have been anything other than a midnight piano ballad without Karen: this is her technically strongest and, perhaps, most nuanced performance on the entire album, not to mention the most depressing — it would have been a stroke of genius to place it at the very end, so that the record could go from "we've only just begun to live..." to "all our green Septem­bers burn away, slowly we'll fade into a sea of midnight blue", but I imagine that such grim con­ceptuality would have been banned by the industry people; after all, this is family entertainment here, not an airbrushed take on Jim Morrison. So the song is buried deep in the middle of Side B, immediately followed with ʽMr. Guderʼ, an amusing personal attack on a Disneyland boss who had the nerve to fire Richard once — and, by extension, a general attack on all kinds of corpo­rate behavior, ever so ironic because it does not seem to me that Richard was particularly averse to shining shoes, neat haircuts, coats and ties, either. Still, it is always fun to hear a soft-pop artist go soft-poppily vicious on The System, more so than just have another love ballad from them.   To conclude: Close To You is where the duo truly arrives, especially considering that Karen is handling most of the lead vocals now, and while they would have slightly more consistent albums in the future, on the whole, this is really as good as it gets — for all their career, they had exactly one great asset at their disposition (some people also like to gush about Richard's skill in arrange­ments, but complex and perfectly organized fluff is still fluff), and they did not always use it with wisdom. When they did, though, I can pardon them everything else for it.

	1			The Carpenters - There's a Kind of Hush
	1			The Carpenters - I Need to Be in Love
	2			Richard Clayderman - Yesterday once more
	2			Richard Clayderman - Only yesterday
	2			The Carpenters - Yesterday Once More
	1			The Carpenters - Hurting Each Other
	1			The Carpenters - Only Yesterday