This week In Male Balladeers 06/52

1 . Lenny Kravitz . Dancin’ Til Dawn

“Dancin’ Til Dawn,” the tenth track on Lenny Kravitz’s 2008 album “It Is Time for a Love Revolution,” feels like a deliberate nod to his rock and funk roots, but not without its share of nostalgic indulgence.

Clocking in at 5:09, the track hinges on Kravitz’s signature multi-instrumental approach—vocals, electric guitar, bass, and drums are all his handiwork, punctuated by a sultry saxophone performance by Lenny Pickett. These elements combine to create a groove that leans heavily on vintage riffs and funky rhythms, though their ambitions occasionally feel more style than substance.

The track initially appears poised to exude intimacy and intrigue, yet its execution feels more like cruising on autopilot. While the saxophone adds a distinct flair, reminiscent of late-night lounge vibes, the overall composition doesn’t quite command the urgency its title suggests. Instead, it sits in a comfortable, if somewhat predictable, mid-tempo pocket.

The song never reached notable chart heights, overshadowed by the album’s broader reception, which debuted respectably at No. 4 on the Billboard 200. Its wider promotion included a sleek, visually stylish video helmed by director Samuel Bayer, though the track’s impact paled next to the boldness implied by the album’s title.

Interestingly, “Dancin’ Til Dawn” found a place in Kravitz’s extensive two-year tour, starting with a highly visible Times Square New Year’s Eve performance on Carson Daly’s show. Yet even live, it seemed more atmospheric than explosive, an encapsulation of Kravitz’s tendency to prioritize vibe over visceral impact. A functional entry in his catalog, but not exactly a dance floor revolution.

Lifted from : Virgin publish Lenny Kravitz’ eighth album . ‘It Is Time for . Love Revolution’ (2008)

2 . Bryan Ferry . Slave To Love

“Slave to Love,” released on April 28, 1985, as the lead single from Bryan Ferry’s sixth solo album, “Boys and Girls,” makes an entrance like silk draped over a neon-lit nightscape.

Chart success follows the song across Europe and beyond, peaking at number 10 in the UK and landing top-20 positions in Norway, Ireland, Italy, Belgium, New Zealand, and Switzerland. More than just a flirtation with the charts, it lingers with surprising resilience, clocking nine weeks on the UK Singles Chart. Yet, commercial success is merely the backdrop to its layered melancholy.

The arrangement itself is luxury mid-’80s production, courtesy of Bryan Ferry and Rhett Davies, with a lineup of contributors that reads like a who’s-who of studio aces. Neil Hubbard and Keith Scott trade impressionistic guitar textures, Guy Fletcher of Dire Straits handles keyboards with a ghostly touch, and Tony Levin’s bassline glides like liquid mercury. And then there’s Omar Hakim on drums, layering precision like an artisan crafting something sleek but mechanical—a heartbeat controlled and detached.

The song’s appearance at Live Aid in Wembley Stadium provided it with a historic stage, but its intimacy perhaps conflicts with such a bombastic setting. “Slave to Love” asks for dim lighting, not roaring crowds, yet its inclusion in “Miami Vice” and sensual flicks like “9½ Weeks” and “Bitter Moon” proves it knows how to adapt.

Jean-Baptiste Mondino’s music video sharpens the aura of art-house glamor, populated by models Christine Bergström, Laurence Treil, and Marpessa Hennink—faces as coolly indifferent as the song itself. Ferry’s voice glides somewhere between pain and seduction, illustrating love as both reverie and gilded cage.

Still, there’s a sense of calculated effort that keeps “Slave to Love” from fully committing to anything dangerous. It’s opulence with few risks. Captivating? Absolutely. Reckless? Never.

Lifted from : BBC1 tapes Bryan Ferry (2007)

3 . Paul Simon . Wristband

“Wristband,” a standout track from Paul Simon’s 2016 album “Stranger to Stranger,” crafts a sly commentary on societal gates—literal and figurative—dressed as a breezy backstage anecdote.

The narrative is simple but layered: a performer steps outside for a smoke and finds himself barred from reentry, lacking the plastic talisman of access—the titular wristband.

Simon stretches this minor indignity into a metaphor for broader issues of exclusion, hinting at economic divides and the silent barricades that define modern hierarchies.

The track’s flamenco-infused rhythm, bolstered by contributions from a Boston-based troupe, injects a pulse that feels both restless and deliberate, mirroring the frustrations of locked doors—not just backstage but in life.

Adding a digital sheen, Italian electronic artist, Clap! Clap! (Digi Alessio), provides production flourishes also present on other album highlights like “The Werewolf” and “Street Angel.”

Debuted live on February 6, 2016, during “A Prairie Home Companion,” “Wristband” gained additional exposure when it became the album’s lead single, releasing online on April 7.

The parent album, “Stranger to Stranger,” charted impressively, peaking at number 3 on the US Billboard 200 and clinching the top spot on the UK Albums Chart, showcasing Paul Simon’s enduring global appeal.

Yet the song never overwhelms with its messaging, instead leaning on Simon’s signature wit, understated melodies, and subtle storytelling to navigate its weightier themes without overburdening them.

The juxtaposition of playful delivery and pointed social critique makes “Wristband” both accessible and quietly incisive—though its charm may strike some as too modest to fully elevate its ambitions.

Lifted from : On TV today, Paul Simon at ‘A Prairie Home Companion’ (2016)

4 . Michael Bublé . Moondance

Michael Bublé’s version of “Moondance,” featured on his 2003 major-label debut album “Michael Bublé,” is polished to the point of gleam, thanks to producer David Foster’s signature approach, which blends grandeur with precision.

The track’s big band setup—including double bass, brass sections, French horn, and grand piano—leans heavily into nostalgia, yet its 4/4 rhythm and 109 bpm tempo keep the arrangement brisk enough to avoid feeling like a museum exhibit.

Bublé’s voice sits comfortably in the arrangement, but one cannot help but notice how much of it clings to the original Van Morrison blueprint without venturing far enough into reinterpretation.

The inclusion of musicians such as Brian Bromberg on bass guitar and Dean Parks on electric guitar ensures the instrumentation remains crisp and reliable, yet there’s a sense that the track’s technical finesse overshadows potential spontaneity or edge.

Gary Grant’s solo trumpet injects a shimmering moment of vitality, briefly shaking off the track’s otherwise methodical neatness.

Released in Australia alongside “Sway,” “Moondance” charted respectably on the Billboard adult contemporary chart, breaking into the top thirty, a testament more to its polished production than any radical artistic statement.

Engineered by Humberto Gatica and Christian Robles, the recording upholds a studio-perfect sheen, yet some listeners may long for the rougher charm of a live jazz set. For live enthusiasts, the song’s performance for Parkinson UK serves as an example of how calculated polish translates on stage.

Ultimately, this rendition of “Moondance” showcases technical mastery but appears caught between reverence for Morrison’s original and a perhaps excessive commitment to studio perfection.

Lifted from : 143 Records publish ‘Michael Bublé’, his eponymous and third album featuring ‘How Can You Mend . Broken Heart’ and ‘Kissing . Fool’ (2003)

5 . Father John Misty . I Love You Honeybear

“I Love You, Honeybear” sets the tone for Father John Misty’s second studio record with a blend of naked sentimentality and elaborate theatrics.

Its open-strummed acoustic guitars serve as a sturdy scaffolding for sweeping orchestral flourishes, all while Josh Tillman’s self-assured delivery straddles the line between a cabaret balladeer and a vintage crooner.

The track encapsulates the album’s exploration of love, marriage, and their cocktail of awkward beauty and chaos—an aesthetic further stamped by the production collaboration between Tillman and Jonathan Wilson, along with Phil Ek’s mixing and Greg Calbi’s mastering at Sterling Sound.

Visually, the music video directed by Grant James provides a stage for Tillman’s alternately tender and ironic take on intimacy, featuring Brett Gelman and Susan Traylor in roles that dance around quasi-domestic absurdity.

The song is a microcosm of an album that merged vulnerability with grandeur enough to debut at #17 on the Billboard Top 200 and #14 in the UK, garnering critical nods from publications like the New York Times and Los Angeles Times.

While its orchestral lushness and melodic warmth are undeniable, the title track’s dependency on such grandiosity risks smothering the nuanced absurdities lurking in Tillman’s lyrics, which are ultimately what give “I Love You, Honeybear” its pulse.

Lifted from : Father John Misty releases his second album . ‘I Love You, Honeybear’ (2015)

6 . Ed Kowalczyk . Heaven

On “Awake: The Best of Live,” released November 2, 2004, “Heaven” slips in as perhaps an understated entry in Live’s sprawling compilation of hits spanning their first six albums.

While “Lightning Crashes” and “I Alone” resonate with the gothic sincerity that earned Live acclaim, “Heaven” feels like a quieter sibling, caught between the cathartic and the contemplative—a song less likely to roar on the stage of Woodstock or “SNL,” where the band once cemented their early triumphs in 1994.

The album also offers a live version of “Heaven,” recorded at Brussels’ Vorst National and included on the accompanying deluxe edition DVD, which presents fresh dynamics.

Yet, even in this alternate setting, it struggles to escape this compilation’s thematic weight of epic, more memorable fixtures.

If “Lightning Crashes” is a tempest, then “Heaven” is an overcast sky—calming but unlikely to inspire awe. Its inclusion here does, however, underscore the band’s trajectory post-‘Throwing Copper,’ a watershed that defined not only their discography but their larger footprint in mid-’90s rock.

The Platinum certification in Australia and 2× Platinum status in New Zealand for “Awake” reflect its strong commercial pull. Still, “Heaven” remains caught between representation and relegation, a deep cut that, while loyal to its era, may lack the gravity to shine on its own amid this compendium of juggernauts.

Lifted from : Ed Kowalczyk revisit Live’s ‘Throwing Copper’ (2014)

7 . Keb’ Mo’ . One Friend

Keb’ Mo’s “One Friend,” from his 2004 album “Keep It Simple,” offers an introspective touch to a body of work steeped in blues, soul, and country hues. Stripped of grandeur but never lacking warmth, the track feels like a whispered confession rather than an impassioned plea, a choice that treads between intimate and overly restrained.

“Keep It Simple,” Mo’s fifth studio outing, reflects his Nashville lifestyle while still holding hints of his roots in Compton, California. The album’s title captures its ethos: a deliberate step away from complex arrangements, focusing instead on storytelling and melody—a move that landed the record on the Swiss Albums Top 100 at #93. In this context, “One Friend” feels homely, yet it risks being overshadowed by stronger compositions within Mo’s extensive discography.

What keeps the song grounded is Keb’ Mo’s vocal timbre, a fusion of timelessness and contemporary candor. Still, the sparse arrangement can feel more like a safe retreat than a bold artistic statement, especially when placed within an album that nestled closer to the surface than it dug deep. Not confined by the cultural gravitas he reached with Grammy-winning albums like “Just Like You,” this installment lacks the same immediacy.

Within “One Friend,” there’s an undercurrent of longing that’s compelling but stops just shy of evocative catharsis. Keb’ Mo’s choice to forgo excessive ornamentation works as a double-edged sword; what could be poignant might, for some listeners, register instead as overly subdued.

Lifted from : Keb’ Mo’ releases ‘Keep It Simple,’ his fifth album recorded with Robert Cray (2004)

8 . Kurt Elling . Norwegian Wood

Kurt Elling’s rendition of “Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown),” found on his 2011 album “The Gate,” does not merely revisit The Beatles’ classic but reimagines it through a jazz lens curated by producer Don Was.

The song’s transformation is rooted in Elling’s collaboration with an ensemble that includes Laurence Hobgood on piano, John McLean on guitar, John Patitucci on double bass, and Terreon Gully on drums.

Where Lennon and McCartney’s original melded folk-pop intimacy with cryptic storytelling, Elling stretches the arrangement like taffy, allowing its melancholic undertones to breathe through his vocal phrasing.

This flexible approach aligns with the broader ethos of “The Gate,” an album that spans reinterpretations of artists ranging from Herbie Hancock to Stevie Wonder.

Yet, Elling’s innovation here treads cautiously, restrained by the shadow of the source material’s iconic status.

While Thom Jurek of AllMusic celebrates the effort as “mesmerizing and mysterious,” some may find the song’s deliberate pacing veers more toward nostalgia than provocation.

Still, the interplay of instruments—Patitucci’s double bass particularly grounds the abstraction—adds a richness that rescues the track from feeling overly mannered.

A Grammy nomination for “The Gate” in the Best Jazz Vocal Album category underscores the credibility of the project, though this version of “Norwegian Wood” might polarize listeners depending on their willingness to embrace the tension between fidelity and reinterpretation.

Lifted from : Concord publish Kurt Elling’s album ‘The Gate’ produced by Don Was (2011)

9 . Stuart Staples . My Oblivion (w/ Tindersticks)

Tindersticks’ “My Oblivion,” lifted from their 2003 album “Waiting for the Moon,” treads familiar ground for a band steeped in atmospheric melancholy.

Stuart Staples’ tremulous baritone, here less a voice and more a gravitational pull, drags every syllable through an emotional quagmire, making it impossible to escape the song’s haunted terrain.

The arrangement feels deliberate to the point of inertia—spare instrumentation, somber piano lines, and a rhythm section that doesn’t so much play as breathe faintly, collectively refusing to disrupt the vocal’s funereal weight.

For all its gloom, “My Oblivion” resists histrionics, substituting bombast with restraint, a choice that will resonate depending on the listener’s capacity for understatement.

The track’s inclusion in the “My Oblivion” EP, which labored to number 82 on the UK Singles Chart, reveals its niche—adored by some, likely unnoticed by most.

Absent from specific live mentions, “My Oblivion” might still occupy the spectral setlists Tindersticks are known for on their European tours, though one wonders if crowds would drift between adoration and restlessness during its subdued performance.

Released by Beggars Banquet, the track exemplifies their early-2000s output, a period marked by quiet confidence rather than reinvention.

Available on YouTube through Beggars Group Digital Ltd., its video offers visual accompaniment that, one imagines, underscores the song’s deliberate intimacy and thematic gravitas.

While Staples, Neil Fraser, and Dave Boulter’s curation of mood remains commendable, “My Oblivion” is less a revelation than an echo of past glories, landing closer to a whisper than a shout.

Lifted from : Tindersticks visit Paris (2015)

10 . Paul McCartney . My Valentine

“My Valentine,” one of two original compositions on Paul McCartney’s 2012 album “Kisses on the Bottom,” is a delicate gesture of love, penned for his wife, Nancy Shevell, shortly after their wedding in 2011.

Set against a backdrop of covers from the Great American Songbook, the track might initially seem like an outlier on the album, yet its understated arrangement aligns snugly with the polished nostalgia at play.

Eric Clapton’s acoustic guitar accompaniment adds a warm layer, though it edges toward predictability, more embellishment than revelation.

The melody is pleasant in a manner that seems almost self-conscious, as if designed not to overstep its boundaries—appropriate for a personal tribute, perhaps, but it skirts emotional depth.

McCartney directed its music video, featuring an earnest interpretation of the lyrics through sign language by Natalie Portman and Johnny Depp.

The intention is admirable, even if minor flaws in the signing invite as much discussion as the song itself.

Commercially, “My Valentine” found modest success, breaking into Belgium’s top 40 and settling at 19 on the US Billboard Adult Contemporary chart, though it failed to transcend its niche audience.

Critics have been kind, with “Rolling Stone Australia” ranking it among McCartney’s best solo works and “American Songwriter” commending its romantic sincerity.

When McCartney performed the song at Glastonbury in 2022, using the video as a visual backdrop, the pairing underscored its role as a refined but cautious entry in his vast catalog.

“My Valentine” is crafted with care, yet it walks the line between heartfelt and conventional, offering a restrained echo of McCartney’s trademark flair.

Lifted from : Paul McCartney releases his fifteenth solo album . ‘Kisses on the Bottom’ featuring ‘My Valentine’ (2012)

11 . Lou Rawls . God Bless The Child

“God Bless The Child” by Lou Rawls stands as a confident yet restrained statement on his 1962 debut album, “Stormy Monday,” sometimes referenced as “I’d Rather Drink Muddy Water.”

Recorded at Capitol Studios in Los Angeles over a week in February, the track places Rawls’ rich baritone against the instrumental precision of the Les McCann Trio—Les McCann’s piano lines steady but never intrusive, Leroy Vinnegar grounding the piece with his subtle bass work, and Ron Jefferson’s restrained drumming anchoring the whole effort.

As a rendition of the classic jazz standard written by Arthur Herzog and Billie Holiday, it exists in an interpretive space that favors tonal warmth over dramatic reinvention. Rawls treats the material with care but without the raw poignancy of Holiday’s original performance, offering instead a vocal style that trades fragility for resilience.

Producer Nick Venet’s hand feels light but deliberate, giving the arrangement enough breathing room for Rawls’ voice to glide effortlessly across McCann’s blues-infused jazz scaffolding. Yet, the track sits firmly within the collective strength of the album rather than emerging as the definitive highlight—a deliberate choice or a missed opportunity, depending on your perspective.

This recording, baked into the broader aesthetic of “Stormy Monday,” introduces Rawls to a career that would span decades. While it doesn’t shatter expectations, its craftsmanship is undeniable, setting a contemplative tone for what was yet to come.

Lifted from : Lou Rawls records his debut album . ‘Stormy Monday’ a.k.a. ‘I’d Rather Drink Muddy Water’ with the Les McCann trio (1962)

12 . Arlo Guthrie . Old Shep / Me and My Goose

Arlo Guthrie’s performance of “Old Shep” and “Me and My Goose” at The Birchmere on February 8, 2013, stands as a curious blend of humor, nostalgia, and dark absurdity.

Part of the “Here Comes The Kid” tour commemorating Woody Guthrie’s centennial, these songs highlight Arlo’s knack for weaving together storytelling with music, often blurring the line between earnest sentiment and deadpan comedy.

“Old Shep,” originally a Red Foley composition, functions as Guthrie’s setup—a mixture of reverence and camp, laying a somber foundation for the tonal whiplash that follows in “Me and My Goose.”

As an original piece positioned as a “humorous variation” on its predecessor, “Me and My Goose” flips the emotional registers into something almost subversive.

While ostensibly a children’s song, its off-kilter lyrics contain an undercurrent that veers toward unsettling rather than whimsical, offering a wry comment on innocence skewed by perspective.

Both songs benefit from Guthrie’s live context, where his penchant for storytelling and audience rapport play a pivotal role.

His introductions, often lighthearted yet incisive, create a space where songs transcend their own simplicity.

The contrast between “Old Shep’s” mournful tone and the chaotic humor of “Me and My Goose” serves as a microcosm of Guthrie’s ability to oscillate between moods effortlessly.

This performance, part of a setlist that included classics like “City of New Orleans” and “Highway in the Wind,” reinforces Guthrie’s reputation for blending musicality with narrative depth, tethered firmly to his folk lineage.

Still, the effectiveness of “Me and My Goose” hinges largely on its delivery, which some may find teetering uncomfortably between comedy and unease—perhaps exactly Guthrie’s intention.

Lifted from : Arlo Guthrie soloes in Virginia (2013)