Last Spin:
Traveling Wilburys
Vol. 1 and Vol. 3
1988 and 1990
We all know that tastes change. Last Spin is a series in which our writers give a final listen to and offer up reflections and recollections about albums that once meant something to them before bidding them farewell.
With recent bands like Monsters of Folk, the Dead Weather, Them Crooked Vultures and whatever the hell Thom Yorke and Flea are doing together, the term "supergroup" has been tossed around a lot. As many point out, the term is somewhat misleading and usually sets up the audience for disappointment. It also sounds like what would happen if Batman, Spider-Man and Hulk formed a band. Initially, you hear about these bands and get really excited about the people in them, but then the album comes out and. . . well, the majority of time the parts are considerably greater than the sum. I mean, when was the last time, if you're under 50, you listened to Blind Faith or the band often held as the gold standard, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young? For the indie crowd, the side project or side band (see: virtually every Canadian band of the past decade) has supplanted the supergroup, which is mostly for the best.
Demonstrating music critics' reliable lack of imagination, many reviews of the Monsters of Folk, who do win points for their name, have mentioned the Traveling Wilburys, which is more tongue in cheek than anything. It did remind me that I still somehow owned their two albums, both stamped with those BMG CD club labels. If you told a classic rock leaning fan who was unfamiliar with the Wilburys about their line-up (Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Roy Orbison, Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne) they'd probably freak out and wonder why they hadn't heard their albums. Then they'd probably ask, "Who the hell is Jeff Lynne?" When the first album came out in 1988, I was, thanks to my parents' very modest record collection and oldies radio, getting into '50s and '60s rock and thought it was a pretty cool line-up. Also, I had no idea who Jeff Lynne was.
After taking a hiatus from album making, a reinvigorated Harrison was eager to get back into the studio. Asked to record a B-side for Cloud Nine, he and Lynne decided to call up some of their pals. Thus, the Wilburys were born. It wasn't totally unexpected as Dylan and Harrison had known each other for years and Petty had recently toured with Dylan. The real ace in the hole was the legendary Roy Orbison, who Lynne calls "the greatest pop singer ever." It was a unique confluence of three rock greats, each representing an influential era and each talented in a distinct way. No offense to Petty and Lynne, who are reliable journeymen.
They recorded the album quickly, mostly at Dave "Eurythmics" Stewart's home studio, writing on the fly, sharing vocal duties, and making it a surprisingly ego-free, democratic project. For the hell of it, they all took on goofy nicknames: Otis, Lucky, Nelson, Lefty, and Charlie T. Jr. The opening song "Handle with Care" is still their best known song, covered a few years ago by Jenny Lewis, Ben Gibbard, Conor Oberst and M. Ward on Lewis's solo debut, Rabbit Fur Coat. What comes through in most of the tracks is that they are really enjoying themselves and are playing as equals, although they all clear the way for Roy Orbison's still gorgeous voice, which lends poignancy to the line "I'm so tired of being lonely/ I've still got some love to give." Maybe the most surprising Wilbury is Dylan, who, a year before his umpteenth overrated return to form album, Oh Mercy, was coming off a consistently mediocre and indifferent decade. Here he takes lead vocals on three songs and sounds, if not exactly revived, focused and even, on "Dirty World," playful. With its deliberately cheesy double entendres and lyrics ripped from magazines, Dylan sounds as lecherous as, well, maybe ever. He gives a sleazy kick to lines like "Oh baby, the pleasure'd be all mine/ If you let me drive your pick-up truck/ And park it where the sun don't shine." Elsewhere, there's a classic, acidic and self-pitying Dylan kiss off song, "Congratulations," and, one of his best songs of the 80s, "Tweeter and the Monkey Man," a cinematic narrative that just might be making fun of Bruce Springsteen. After all, there's a reference to "Thunder Road," and the line "In Jersey's anything legal/ As long as you don't get caught." Either way, it's a great performance and it's a pity he doesn't make it part of his set.
Elsewhere's, there's an energetic, if conventional, rockabilly song, the more atmospheric "Margarita," and a set piece for Orbison, "Not Alone Anymore," which showcases his piercing, operatic vocals. It ends on a relaxed, warm note with the front porch, country tinged "End of the Line." This song has some added depth to it as they filmed the video after Orbison's untimely death in 1988 at the age of 52. There's a brief, but moving shot of a rocking chair with Orbison's guitar and a picture of Orbison.
Two years later, the band returned with new silly nicknames (Muddy, Boo, Clayton, Spike) and a new album, puzzling called Vol. 3. The first album was heavier on acoustic guitars, while Vol. 3 begins with the robust rocker "She's My Baby." This outing is both goofier and more serious than the first. The opening line of the album is "She's got a pudding in the oven/ And it's going to be good." However, you do get Dylan singing "She likes to stick her tongue right down my throat." There are two vague, slightly preachy statement songs, "Inside Out" and "The Devil's Been Busy," both of which are protesting bad air and toxic waste, or something. The highlight of the latter is Harrison's sitar. There's nothing as immediately grabbing as on Vol. 1 and Orbison's loss is deeply felt. It's a more erratic effort, with a doo-wop song, too much Tom Petty, a throwaway '50s rock song and an attempt to start a dance craze, "Wilbury Twist," the video of which briefly features John Candy. Perhaps some would-be YouTube star could rediscover this. The first album felt like a happy accident and the second, while enjoyable, feels like a somewhat futile attempt to recreate it. It would be the final Wilburys album and though most of the principals went on to fruitful decades, it would be the last significant recoding for Harrison, who, aside from a live album, had a quiet decade before his death in 2001. So listening to these albums now does have an unexpected melancholy undercurrent.
Rhino re-released the entire Wilburys oeuvre several years ago in a handy set, which included new liner notes, bonus tracks, and a DVD with a making-of and all their music videos. It's a nicely put together package, but also an unnecessary one. After all, the appeal of the band was their spontaneity. Either way, the first album holds up better than expected and is one of the best supergroup outings, partly because of the talent involved and partly because it seemed like a lot of fun. And it may have been the best thing that ever happened to Jeff Lynne. Sic transit Gloria, Wilburys.
by Lukas Sherman
