John Cale - Paris 1919

Another album I've rediscovered in the past few months, iTunes tells me I've listened to this album over 10 times.  Though I wouldn't consider it a major favorite I was trying to think of something soothing to listen to after a difficult session and this album instantaneously popped into my head.  After listening a few more times it's not hard to pinpoint why the album produces such a specific reaction: everything--from Cale's half-obscured vocals to the slide guitar, organ and strings that dominate the arrangements--everything here is the aural equivalent of being wrapped in an old but still comfy quilt (rainy day included).  If I may, it's these kinds of feelings that a lot of people might be describing when they say an album or song sounds "British" as if it's a genre or aesthetic descriptor.  There's a pervasive sophistication in these songs that seems to be uniformly reigned-in by an instinctual desire for understatement, and they all seem grounded in the sort of beauty that takes some attention to uncover and--no matter what the subject matter--is touched by a sort of resigned sadness.

Not to say that Paris 1919 is a downer, but if you're looking for some sort of extension of Cale's role in The Velvet Underground, you're likely to be repeatedly disappointed.  Sure, there are comparative moments of "rock" like the romping "Macbeth" and the quirkier, Eno-esque "Graham Green," but really nothing close to anything found on early Velvet Underground.  Not being much of a Velvet Underground fan at all, this doesn't really bother me, but I can see how this album's style might come as a shock--you're going to have to also enjoy pretty, orchestrated pop rock to make the transition to this one! 

There's so many things to enjoy in this album, from the evocative-yet-cryptic lyrics (Cale jumps from a brilliant one-liner in "nothing frightens me more than religion at my door" to the completely indecipherable titular chorus in "Hanky Panky Nohow").  The opener and "Andalucia" evoke a fragile nostalgic yearning that's only made stronger by the songs' simple and accessible melodies.  I can see how things might get a bit plodding for rock listeners ("Half Past France" gets a bit sedate, at least tempo-wise), but like many great pieces of art, a lot can change when you give yourself over to the creator's vision--when you're into it, Cale's repeated "we're so far away/floating in this bay" delivers a desolate, opiate euphoria.  Likewise, "The Endless Plain of Fortune" can change from plodding excess to gripping drama, and Cale's whispered vocals on the brilliantly-titled "Antarctica Starts Here" close the album with the sort of creepy intensity that only restrained dynamics and brevity can bring--in a scant two minutes the song is already fading away, closing the lid on a similarly terse album; packing your message into a concise package is a difficult feat to achieve, and I'm always impressed by how much more power a 31-minute album like this can pack into such a short time span.

Finally, I have to praise Cale's vocals--nothing makes me happier than hearing a great songwriter and musician achieve so much emotional resonance and deliver such beautiful performances with such a limited voice--there's nothing displeasing about Cale's delivery or tone, but it's fair to say he's not the most distinctive, technically-skilled or expressive vocalist.  That's the beauty of great singer/songwriter music--when it all comes together and the elements of composition, arrangement, performance and self-expression add up to something greater than their individual merits.  Though it may not sit at the front line of close-to-my-heart favorites, my collection always has more room for music as well-crafted as this!

Get it here.