This week In Male Balladeers 07/52

1 . Robbie Williams . Angels

“Angels” by Robbie Williams may reside in the pantheon of late-’90s pop ballads, but it doesn’t beg for universal reverence.

Released December 1, 1997, as part of Williams’ debut solo effort, “Life thru a Lens,” its performance on the UK Official Singles Chart—peaking at number 4—is notable yet not groundbreaking, while its 41st place in the US charts feels almost like an afterthought.

Co-written with Guy Chambers, the song floats in a cloud of controversy, with Irish writer Ray Heffernan quietly pocketing £7,500 after allegedly penning its initial incarnation.

The production, handled by Chambers and Steve Power, coats the track in the kind of sweeping sentimentality that guarantees its status as a karaoke staple but might leave those with a preference for nuance unimpressed.

The video, directed by Vaughan Arnell, alternates between black-and-white shots of Williams emoting on beaches and stage sets—scenes that, though atmospheric, seem designed more for commodification than genuine storytelling.

A cultural omnipresence, “Angels” gets championed in all the expected ways: from being crowned “Best Song of the Previous 25 Years” at the 2005 BRIT Awards to becoming the presumptive choice for funeral service playlists—an oddly morbid badge of honor.

Still, the live renditions, particularly the much-publicized 2005 duet with Joss Stone, suggest Williams’ voice thrives best in the raw, unfiltered immediacy of concert halls rather than studio polish.

The 2022 reboot, “Angels (Beethoven AI),” swaps saccharine grandeur for algorithmic embellishments—tying Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” into its DNA.

This collaboration between Deutsche Telekom, Guy Chambers, and AI composers like Jules Buckley teeters on innovation but risks feeling gimmicky, reducing a “power ballad” to a tech experiment for Williams’ “XXV” celebration.

Its claim as a “secular hymn” might feel self-aggrandizing, but for better or worse, “Angels” endures—whether evoking deep emotion or pure exhaustion.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Robbie Williams. ‘Sing That’

2 . Glen Hansard . This Gift

“This Gift” by Glen Hansard sits comfortably within the fabric of “Rhythm and Repose,” his 2012 debut solo album that managed impressive chartings—number 3 on the Irish Album Charts, number 21 on both the Austrian Album Charts and the US Billboard 200.

The song’s inclusion in the Disney film “The Odd Life of Timothy Green” showcases Hansard’s knack for weaving his earnest melodies into cinematic backdrops, a skill he’s previously honed with works like “Once” and “The Hunger Games.” Yet, unlike the Academy Award-winning “Falling Slowly,” “This Gift” feels less iconic in scope, more a gentle ripple than a tidal wave.

Instrumentally, the arrangement is deliberate. The marriage of piano, snare drums, and the understated inclusion of a children’s choir crafts an uplifting mood. Hansard’s tender vocal delivery imbues it with sincerity, though there’s a lingering sense that the composition treads familiar territory rather than carving a bold new path.

As one of Hansard’s solo undertakings, the absence of Markéta Irglová, his collaborator from The Swell Season, is palpable. The song leans on its textured instrumentation but doesn’t ascend to the peaks you’d hope for from an alumni of “Once.” Live performances, like the August 28, 2024, rendition at The Salt Shed in Chicago featuring special guest Ethan Burfield, suggest the song’s spirits are perhaps better captured on stage than in-studio.

“This Gift” ultimately feels more functional than transcendent—perfectly apt as a film soundtrack piece but less likely to linger in the broader cultural consciousness. It is a moment in Hansard’s career that aligns with his introspective ethos but does little to expand it.

Lifted from : Glen Hansard closes his tour in Milwaukee (2015)

3 . Jamie Cullum . Gran Torino

“Gran Torino” is less a song than an atmosphere, a smoky lounge distilled into four minutes of wistful melody.

It pairs Jamie Cullum’s smooth jazz-pop vocals with a score composed by Kyle Eastwood and Michael Stevens, longtime collaborators on Clint Eastwood’s films.

Written in an unlikely alliance between Cullum, Clint Eastwood, Kyle Eastwood, and Michael Stevens, the track feels both cinematic and intimate.

The lyrics, drenched in nostalgia and loneliness, weave dream-like imagery around the passage of time, mirroring the reflective tone of the 2008 film it anchors.

Unlike the film’s primary score, marked by stark and percussive textures, this track leans into a softer realm, its “lazy, crooned melody” evoking a laid-back Vegas flair that, at its best, feels like a musical sigh.

Cullum’s live performances of the song, including a stirring one with the Heritage Orchestra at the Royal Albert Hall under Jules Buckley’s baton, expand the song’s reach, though the recorded version remains tethered to its purpose as a movie theme.

Despite its understated beauty, “Gran Torino” never quite breaks free from its cinematic roots—it doesn’t feel designed to stand alone.

It’s notably absent from major charts, and while associated with Cullum’s album “The Pursuit,” it lacks the defining liveliness of his chart-topping works.

Instead, the song sits in a promotional limbo, released around the same period yet never claiming substantial independent ground.

As much a vehicle for Eastwood’s penchant for sparse storytelling as for Cullum’s vocal subtlety, “Gran Torino” is a subdued collaboration, more notable for its craftsmanship than for its lasting impact.

Lifted from : Jamie Cullum sings in Paris (2014)

4 . Joseph Arthur . A Smile That Explodes

“A Smile That Explodes,” a track from Joseph Arthur’s 1997 debut album “Big City Secrets,” blends emotional resonance with musical intricacy, setting a distinctive tone within Arthur’s early repertoire.

The song’s layered composition benefits greatly from its collaborations. Julia Darling’s “tender soprano” harmonizes delicately with Arthur’s baritone, creating a textural interplay that avoids predictability. Andrew Sherman’s string arrangements enrich the track’s emotional core, while the Prague Symphony Orchestra—recorded in Czechoslovakia by Sherman and engineer Ken Rich—adds a cinematic depth that feels both intentional and expansive. Without veering into grandiosity, this layering situates the song between intimacy and orchestral ambition.

Live performances of “A Smile That Explodes” suggest Arthur’s knack for adaptation. By employing live-looping techniques, he reimagines the song’s intricacies without sacrificing its emotional weight, showcasing a resourcefulness that keeps the arrangements compelling in less controlled settings.

Contextually, the song emerges from a critical period in Arthur’s life. After being discovered by Peter Gabriel and signed to Gabriel’s Real World label, Arthur transitioned from playing local blues bars to performing at WOMAD tours alongside acclaimed artists. This shift underscores the stakes of “Big City Secrets” as a project that straddles personal expression and a wider stylistic ambition.

The song’s elements reflect Arthur’s strength as a craftsman of mood, yet it occasionally risks over-layering. The orchestral components, while striking, can feel at odds with the rawness of his vocal delivery, introducing a tension between polish and poignancy that doesn’t always resolve. Still, “A Smile That Explodes” remains a moment of artistic clarity, where collaboration and ambition converge in ways that linger.

Lifted from : Joseph Arthur performs at ‘One On One’ (2010)

5 . Ed Sheeran . I’m . Mess

“I’m a Mess,” nestled in Ed Sheeran’s sophomore album “x,” tiptoes the line between vulnerability and calculated polish, revealing the singer-songwriter at a crossroads between soul-baring artistry and chart-friendly accessibility.

Clocking in at four minutes and five seconds, the Jake Gosling-produced track blends folk undercurrents with the broader strokes of pop, employing electric guitar lines and a steady drumbeat to construct its sonic foundation. Its composition in C♯ minor, paired with a brisk 140 beats per minute, lends the song an urgency that contrasts sharply with the lyrical self-flagellation. Sheeran’s delivery is raw yet contained, like a confessional whispered through a studio’s glass window rather than scribbled in a private journal.

The lyrics paint a grim self-portrait, with phrases like “I’ve only caused you pain” and “maybe I’m a liar” serving as emotional checkpoints. Yet, for all their intent, the lines stop short of digging deeper, opting instead for a surface-level exploration of regret. It’s self-reflection in bullet points, as if Sheeran is more interested in documenting the mess than cleaning it up.

Commercially, it performed respectably, peaking at number 49 on the UK Singles Chart—a modest but telling indication of fan engagement. Spotify streams north of 340 million suggest that while it may lack mainstream bombast, listeners find resonance in its quieter anguish.

Recorded at Sticky Studios in Surrey, “I’m a Mess” encapsulates Sheeran’s knack for turning personal turmoil into broadly palatable pop-folk hybrids. It may be his claimed favorite from “x,” but its restrained vulnerability feels more like a cautiously assembled puzzle than a true unraveling.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Ed Sheeran

6 . Zach Condon . Un Dernier Verre [Pour La Route] (w/ Beirut)

“Un Dernier Verre [Pour La Route]” from Beirut’s 2015 album “No No No” carries the weight of Zach Condon’s self-reflection post-hiatus, though it doesn’t quite strain under it. The song sits comfortably within the band’s signature blend of indie rock and world music, but its notable restraint compared to earlier Beirut highlights feels more meditative than revelatory.

The production, handled by Gabe Wax, mirrors this pensive tone. Wax, the same hand behind Beirut’s “Gallipoli,” opts here for a sound as meticulous as it is minimal, revealing an almost skeletal approach beneath the album’s broader intentions of renewal. The drifts of instrumentation—anchored by Paul Collins and Perrin Cloutier’s contributions—feel less like a caravan bursting with global inflections and more like the subdued shuffle of a quiet return.

Live performances of the track have brought flashes of vitality, but Beirut’s on-again, off-again schedule, exacerbated by Condon’s health challenges, has limited its evolution in public spaces. Still, listeners familiar with the song’s placement in “No No No” may wonder if its subdued energy holds up when removed from the broader context of an album about re-entry rather than rediscovery.

“Un Dernier Verre [Pour La Route]” doesn’t try to overwhelm with climactic crescendos or intricate layers. Instead, it presents itself as a song of afterthought, as though Condon is working his way back into the room without forcing the issue. The result is quieter, perhaps not unintentional, and offers a reflective pause rather than a decisive exclamation. B-

Lifted from : Beirut introduce ‘Gallipoli’ (2019)

7 . Myles Kennedy . Haunted by Design

“Haunted by Design,” the seventh track on Myles Kennedy’s 2018 solo debut “Year of the Tiger,” lands as a shadowy meditation wrapped in stripped-back blues. At 3:39, its brevity contrasts Kennedy’s typical hard-rock exploits with Alter Bridge and Slash, yet this departure toward acoustic simplicity feels neither abrupt nor forced—it lingers like a well-worn photograph, faded but deliberate.

Thematically, the album revolves around the death of Kennedy’s father in 1974—the titular “Year of the Tiger” in the Chinese calendar. While Kennedy doesn’t spell out a clear narrative for this specific track, the broader conceptual framework of grief and reconciliation permeates each note and lyric, dripping with quiet anguish. This isn’t a song that smiles through the pain—it winces, looks downward, and keeps marching.

The sonic palette showcases Kennedy’s restrained craftsmanship. Gone are the bombastic crescendos of his rock oeuvre; instead, “Haunted by Design” opts for the sparse but sturdy textures of rootsy blues. It’s an intriguing pivot, but does it fully satisfy? That depends on how one values tonal restraint—there’s a subtlety here that may alienate listeners craving Kennedy’s more electrified skill set.

Critics lauded the album overall for its raw emotionality, with outlets like Classic Rock and Daily Express praising its depth. Still, the sparsity risks redundancy when stretched across multiple tracks. As for “Haunted by Design,” it’s an effective, if not boundary-challenging, chapter in Kennedy’s introspective journey—haunted, yes, but perhaps too resigned to its own blueprint.

Lifted from : Myles Kennedy performs at Paste Studios (2018)

8 . The Weeknd . Sidewalks (w/ Kendrick Lamar)

“Sidewalks,” nestled within The Weeknd’s 2016 album “Starboy,” is an understated intersection of ambition and introspection, with Kendrick Lamar’s verses acting as both mirror and foil.

The production, handled by Doc McKinney, Bobby Raps, and Ali Shaheed Muhammad, leans heavily into its layered texture. Its sampling of Fugees’ “Fu-Gee-La” is a subtle nod to hip-hop’s enduring legacy, though it never tries to be overtly nostalgic. The track oscillates between smooth R&B rhythms and Lamar’s sharp-edged cadence, producing a contrast that is as deliberate as it is effective.

Charting as high as No. 27 on the Billboard Hot 100 and earning Platinum certification from the RIAA, the song clearly resonated commercially. The Canadian and New Zealand Platinum designations further affirm its reception beyond U.S. borders. Yet its broader appeal perhaps lies in its lyrical core. “Sidewalks” turns an everyday image into a metaphorical journey—gritty, uneven paths leading to hard-won triumphs. Thematically, it champions resilience without romanticizing the struggle, eschewing overdone clichés.

The addition of Daniel Wilson’s ethereal backing vocals reinforces the song’s introspective tone, while its connection to the “Mania” short film adds visual weight to its narrative ambitions. Lamar’s verse, precise and layered, effortlessly threads into The Weeknd’s smoother delivery, though the contrast can feel slightly jarring at times.

One of the song’s high points came with a live Vevo performance at the LA Hangar Studios, where Lamar’s presence elevated the collaboration into something palpably raw. That live execution captured a chemistry that feels a touch more distant in the studio version.

For all its polish, “Sidewalks” doesn’t entirely escape the shadows of “Starboy”‘s bigger hits, like its title track. Yet, its value lies in its layered ambition, a quieter moment in a bombastic album that rewards patience and closer listening.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday The Weeknd

9 . John Lennon . Stand By Me

John Lennon’s “Stand By Me,” featured on his 1975 album “Rock ‘N’ Roll,” steps into the formidable shadow of Ben E. King’s original, which remains an enduring cultural archetype of devotion and resilience.

Stripped of its original producer Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller’s crisp, dynamic handling, Lennon’s rendition feels more like weathered nostalgia than reinvention. Recorded at The Hit Factory in New York during sessions in the mid-’70s, it captures Lennon’s penchant for reconciling his rock ‘n’ roll roots with the raw immediacy of his solo ethos.

Chart performance tells a quieter story. While King’s 1961 version dominated charts (#4 in the U.S. and a belated but spectacular #1 in the UK by 1987), Lennon’s take peaked at a modest #47 in the UK and barely registered elsewhere. This disparity isn’t surprising—audiences in 1975 seemed reluctant to embrace a cover that leans more on reverence than reinterpretation.

The performance filmed for BBC’s “Old Grey Whistle Test” provides a peek into Lennon’s evolving relationship with the track and its broader 50s-progression underpinnings, later nicknamed the “‘Stand by Me’ changes.” Despite Lennon’s sincerity, the delivery lacks the taut urgency that made King’s original so kinetic.

Stacked against its predecessor’s accolades—ranging from Rolling Stone’s #121 ranking on their “500 Greatest Songs of All Time” to being the fourth most-performed song of the 20th century by BMI—Lennon’s version feels like a purposeful but muted homage. What stays is his signature urgency, though it fades in the absence of the soul-drenched spark that made the original timeless.

Lifted from : John Lennon releases his sixth solo album . ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll’ featuring ‘Stand by Me’ (1975)

10 . James Taylor & Johnny Cash . Oh! Susanna

The collaboration between James Taylor and Johnny Cash on “Oh Susanna” stands as a curious moment in the tapestry of American music, offering a blend of Taylor’s soft, introspective charm and Cash’s rugged gravitas.

Filmed on February 7, 1971, at the historic Ryman Auditorium and aired later on “The Johnny Cash TV Show” just ten days after, the performance feels less like a grand statement and more like a casual gathering of musical heavyweights. This isn’t a bad thing—it’s a snapshot of a unique cultural moment, with icons like Linda Ronstadt, Neil Young, and June Carter either sharing the stage or orbiting in the same creative space.

Musically, the track “Oh Susanna,” penned by Stephen Foster in 1848, carries its weight as a foundational piece of American folk. James Taylor had already recorded it for his 1970 album “Sweet Baby James,” though this version isn’t as polished. Instead, it leans into its live setting, with the rustic Ryman acoustics adding texture. The tone is playful yet reverent, as Taylor’s breezy delivery intersects with Cash’s unmistakable baritone, giving the song a mix of buoyancy and grounded warmth.

The confluence of such talents on the same episode is striking. That Neil Young had just wrapped vocal work on “Heart of Gold” earlier that day, Taylor and Ronstadt providing harmonies, underscores the interconnectedness of this era’s music scene. Yet, if there’s a critique here, it’s that “Oh Susanna,” while charming, doesn’t quite rise to the potential of such an illustrious gathering. The performance satisfies but doesn’t astonish.

Ultimately, the historicity of the moment is where its resonance lies. While the recording of “Oh Susanna” won’t redefine anyone’s appreciation of Taylor or Cash, it’s an artifact of a time when collaboration was fluid, and the boundaries between musical worlds were refreshingly porous.

Lifted from : On TV today . James Taylor at ‘The Johnny Cash Show’ (1971)

11 . Donald Fagen, Michael McDonald & Boz Scaggs . Who’s That Lady (w/ The Dukes of September)

“Who’s That Lady,” performed by Donald Fagen, Michael McDonald, and Boz Scaggs as The Dukes of September, is less an Isley Brothers homage and more a tightly executed showcase for their journeyman expertise in groove replication.

Recorded during their November 2012 Lincoln Center concert—eventually broadcast as part of PBS’s “Great Performances” and released on 429 Records in 2014—the live rendition serves as a reminder of the trio’s reverence for R&B classics, even if it falls slightly short of capturing the Isley Brothers’ electrified mystique.

Backed by a disciplined band featuring Jon Herington on guitar, Freddie Washington on bass, and Shannon Forrest on drums, the sound is polished to a professional sheen. The horns provide color, and Jim Beard’s organ injects a vintage energy, but the performance feels more an exercise in fidelity than in reinterpretation, a contrast to the life-or-death urgency of the 1973 original.

With the three vocalists alternating lead duties, the song sometimes meanders, their individuality blurring into what might as well be a studio-conceived simulation. While Fagen’s nasality, McDonald’s soulful heft, and Scaggs’s laid-back smoothness provide texture, the collective chemistry lacks the raw, spontaneous combustion etched into the Isley Brothers’ version.

The concert’s blend of personal hits and R&B covers, including “Reelin’ in the Years” and “Lowdown,” cements the setlist’s nostalgic intent, but “Who’s That Lady” comes off as a curio—less a revelatory moment of timeless reinterpretation and more a well-dressed footnote to a band flexing its pedigreed muscles.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Michael McDonald. ‘On His Own’

12 . Screamin’ Jay Hawkins & Serge Gainsbourg . Constipation Blues

Few songs wear absurdity as a badge of honor quite like Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’s “Constipation Blues,” and the 1983 televised collaboration with Serge Gainsbourg adds an extra layer of chaos to this already unhinged composition.

Originally recorded in 1969, the song takes the physical discomfort of constipation and transforms it into a theatrical blues lament, complete with Hawkins’s trademark guttural vocalizations and comedic timing. The humor is both strikingly literal and intentionally over-the-top, pushing parody into the realm of performance art.

What makes the 1983 performance with Gainsbourg so singular is its drunken, unscripted energy. Gainsbourg, the French provocateur known for his own eccentricities, serves as a foil to Hawkins’s larger-than-life presence. Their duet feels less like a polished performance and more like an offbeat cabaret spectacle—messy, unpredictable, and oddly magnetic.

Musically, “Constipation Blues” operates within a straightforward blues structure, its simplicity giving Hawkins ample room to lean into his grotesque theatrics. The odd trivia surrounding the original recording, involving observations at a hospital, underscores the absurd commitment behind its creation.

Included in compilations like the 2006 release “Spellbound,” the song remains a testament to Hawkins’s role as an early shock rock pioneer. His macabre props and outlandish live shows framed him as a man willing to turn life’s most mundane struggles into experimental performance pieces, albeit at the cost of broader commercial success.

Ultimately, this offbeat collaboration is less about musical refinement and more about embracing absurdity with unapologetic flair. Few performances encapsulate Hawkins’s career of theatrical unpredictability better than this unlikely duet, even if its appeal resides more in its novelty than its substance.

Lifted from : We remember Screamin Jay Hawkins. ‘Give me A J. What’s That Spell? Screamin’ Jay’