Published on Sep 1, 1999
Usually when an artist puts out a double album, it’s for the
purpose of doubling the price of the album while having to pad it
with twice as much crap. Sad, yes, but a typical state of affairs
in the recording industry, whether it’s 1979 or 1999. This was a
particularly painful epidemic in the late seventies and early
eighties; I mean, who can forget the Robert Stigwood
Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band? If they hadn’t gone to
two discs, we might have missed Peter Frampton mooing his way
through “The Long And Winding Road”.
However — and this is a big however — sometimes an artist puts
out a double CD because he has enough to say to make it worthwhile.
Happily, Dan Fogelberg’s
The Innocent Age falls in that category. Notwithstanding a
few small miscues, this is a solid piece of work, catching
Fogleberg in freeze frame in his transition between being just
another part of the seventies’ California mellow sound, to being a
serious, underrated songwriter, a countrified Harry Chapin who has
had the good grace not to die.
Everyone knows the singles. Let us merely note that “Leader Of
The Band,” “Run For The Roses” and “Hard To Say” exist, say they’re
pretty damn good songs, and move on. If you’ve never heard them,
you’re either under 15 or you’ve been living under a rock for
thirty years. The gem of the widely heard songs, however, is “Same
Old Lang Syne,” one of the most bittersweet songs ever written
about love lost and never regained. This documentation of a true
experience of Fogelberg’s is naked emotion, wistful and keen-edged.
(I find it fascinating this is used by a lot of ‘lite rock’
stations as a Christmas song. Do these people even
listen to the lyrics?)
To really appreciate
The
Innocent Age, though, you have to listen to it -as an
album-, one piece of work from the beginning of Disc One to the end
of Disc Two. From the opening chiming guitar of “Nexus” to the
elegant piano of “In The Passage,” the driving rock of “Lost In The
Sun” to the expressive vocals of “The Lion’s Share,” the power of
“Times Like These” to the almost sinister “Empty Cages,” this CD
almost never falters. When the closing chords of “Ghosts” die away,
you know you’ve had an experience. There are a few small miscues;
“Only The Heart May Know,” a duet with Emmylou Harris, drags badly,
as does “The Sand And The Foam,” but they’re minor problems at
best. From the first note to the last, this is country-rock
brilliance, further cementing Fogelberg as the most
underappreciated solo performer of the seventies and eighties.
This album is worth the price. (And thanks to CBS’ discount
policies, the price is lower than you’d expect.) Go get it, and get
surprised.