Little-known and rare in hard-copy form, the Arif Mardin Chorus’ recording of “Evil Companions” is a song with a history in my own family.
Possibly no record in my late father’s collection better exemplified his winking, faux-bawdy sense of humor. This 45 was added to the stack on the spindle for a lighthearted moment, or when Dad’s sister’s family was visiting our Pittsburgh home from Chicago.
Next weekend, on the occasion of my sister’s 50th wedding anniversary dinner, the 45-turned-digital file will be heard by the family once more.
We don’t forget the important stuff–like music.
Arif Mardin
“Evil Companions” had no accompanying album; it was released only as a single, and available information is scant. According to the Atlantic Records discography, it was recorded in NYC on June 17th, 1968.
The song, as the label indicates, is from The Broadway Musical Production Her First Roman, which made its debut the same year.
As for Arif Mardin, who arranged the song, the Turkish-born record producer is a giant of the recording industry, with 12 Grammy awards and 18 nominations to his credit across genres of jazz, rock, soul, disco, country and more.
Among the artists he’s worked with are: the Rascals, Queen, John Prine, Melissa Manchester, the Bee Gees, Hall & Oates, Anita Baker, Aretha Franklin, Dionne Warwick, Donny Hathaway, Roberta Flack, Bette Midler, Michael Crawford, Chaka Khan, Howard Jones, Laura Nyro, Ringo Starr, Carly Simon, Phil Collins, Daniel Rodriguez, and Norah Jones.
Mardin was credited with reviving the Bee Gees’ career in the mid-1970’s as producer of Main Course, a massive comeback album that signaled an R&B-inflected course correction (so to speak) for the band.
Hard to imagine any of the above roster of artists recording anything like “Evil Companions”. I’d like to know more about what compelled this little one-off project, but I’m pretty sure I never will.
The original, Broadway cast version of the song has a couple additional verses. Et tu is amusing.
If there was a hidden message in going from bitter to sweet references in the titles of Tonic’s first two albums (their 1996 debut being Lemon Parade) it’s lost on me.
But there’s no denying the honeyed glaze coating the riffs and melodies on their second LP.
Discovering the band’s music post-2010 was probably key to my own appreciation of them. Among the Matchbox Twenty/Third Eye Blind/Toad the Wet Sprocket/Collective Soul thicket of 90’s modern rock, their music had a “heard it before” quality in the minds of some critics.
But to my ears at least, the years have been kind, and Tonic’s earnest lyrics and sturdy–if not groundbreaking–songwriting make for an enjoyable listen in an era when guitar rock isn’t exactly flourishing.
“You Wanted More” graced the American Pie soundtrack and so may be familiar. The song is inspired by the difficulties in striking a balance between life in a touring band and maintaining a relationship.
“Sugar” is breezily romantic; or, if you’re inclined to be critical, a little moist and saccharine. Depends on your taste, really.
“Waiting for the Light to Change” is wistful and evocative, and its title refrain is a metaphor that’ll stop you in your tracks–in a manner of speaking.
“Sunflower” is built on the kind of lively, stomping riff that has me hoping to take advantage of one of the rare opportunities to see these guys live.
Tonic received Grammy nominations and plenty of alternative rock airplay. And yet it seemed they could have been bigger. Perhaps the fact that they weren’t terribly prolific–just four albums released between 1996 and 2010–held them back. Or maybe they were just victims of a glut of guitar rock at the time.
At any rate, some bands and artists deserve to be reevaluated or reappraised outside their original context. I think Tonic is such a band.
Removed from the “Modern Rock” era, it’s just good music.
So much distinctive pop, rock and folk music has originated on that little island across the pond. Where would we be without the Brits and their flair for the idiosyncratic musical niche?
John Gladwin, Terence Wincott and Edward Baird performed what they themselves called “pseudo-Elizabethan/Classical acoustic music sung with British accents”.
And they weren’t jesting.
To wit: they dressed as bards and played medieval-style ballads and madrigals on recorder, harpsichord, cittern, crumhorn, harmonium, and a type of lute called a theorboe.
There being a dearth of acoustic Elizabethan-style bands to tour with, they opened shows for rockers like Procol Harum, Genesis, Steeleye Span and Free. So as you listen the accompanying anachronistic revelries, try to imagine a concert wherein their music was followed by “All Right Now” for example.
Apparently despite the contrast in styles their sound presented as compared with such rock acts, Blondel were well-received by audiences who hadn’t come specifically to see them, their stage banter and bawdy humor winning over audiences and making new fans.
The trio were known to take upwards of 40 instruments onstage–which could require about 5 hours’ worth of tuning beforehand.
Eventually there arose conflict between the band’s desire for studio and writing time and their manager’s insistence on a demanding touring schedule. This led to primary songwriter Gladwin leaving the band in 1973.
Amazing Blondel carried on subsequently as a duo, shortening their name to Blondel, and producing a brand of folk pop that leaned decidedly less medieval and more towards a mainstream sound.
But while Gladwin was the dominant writing voice, the band produced a fairly unique brand of archaic British folk, which sounds even more distinctive half a century removed from the English folk revival that spawned it.
These songs are simple, not challenging. They’re gentle, not bombastic. They’re humble, not ambitious.
Amazing Blondel’s songs don’t rock. They charm and enchant. If rock music wants to knock you down and carry you off, Blondel would rather court you with a medieval suitor’s chivalry.