Bob Andrews’ last release Shotgun was a simmering delight of vintage rock and various New Orleans idioms, Shotgun (http://stevemahoot.blogspot.com/2012/06/bob-andrews-shotgun-rkr-cb-productions.html... this earlier review gives you the lowdown on Mr. Andrews and his history with Brinsley Schwarz, Graham Parker and the Rumour, etc.) was a sleeper, a record whose virtues seemed modest at first, but that deepened and impressed with each listening.
Just five months on, hot on Shotgun’s heels Andrews and his partner Robin Hunn release the equally impressive Invisible Love.
Invisible
Love is a little tougher, a little harder, and a little darker.
The template established by Andrews and his co-writer (lyricist/producer Robin Hunn, aka RKR) is
more familiar, making Invisible Love’s
impact more immediate. The disc release is again accompanied by a
corresponding
book release. Hunn’s bizarre conceit (the lovers tale is also a lover’s
tail,
especially in the accompanying book the action is seen through the eyes
of Labradors, Guzzard and Mr. Poo) remains intact. You may
find it oddly compelling. You may not. In the final analysis it isn’t
critical
to appreciating her finely tuned lines, her characters passed out on the
curbside, messy sheets vision of a relationship in turmoil and
transition.
Bob Andrew’s genius is in taming these fevered words and
making them so resolutely musical. I suggested in my review of Shotgun that there were moments when I
wished his vocals were a bit more venomous, demonstrative or driven. Those
moments are fewer here. Instead, I appreciate the cool anguish he brings to a
heartbreaker like “Defleured
Me.” There’s a wounded tenderness
in his delivery of lines like “I broke my promise not to bend to all your
insincerity again” that’s musically right and emotionally dead on. And to
Hunn’s credit the lyric is a well-toned meditation on the costs of pleasure.
“Defleured Me” has an austere guitar part worthy of Lou Reed, complemented with
devotional organ work from Andrews. Imagine Toussaint McCall and Reed
collaborating; the song is deep soul beyond any idiomatic definitions or
considerations. Not to belabor one song, but “Defleured Me” is one of the
most emotionally honest and artfully rendered songs I’ve heard all year.
Much of Invisible Love
is devoted to rockers bearing a line of descent from Fats Domino and Jerry Lee
Lewis, but as revved up by the Rolling Stones. The title track sounds like an Exile outtake – smoky, dark, propelled
by John Mooney’s terrific slide guitar. "Invisible Love" is followed by “Don't Stop” (a track
so Stones-y that the boys from Richmond
even have a song so named). Andrews is no Jagger, but there is an urgency to his well mannered delivery that evokes singers like Paul Kelly, another guy who
may not project in an exaggerated way, but who sure gets his point across. The
sneering basher “She Drives Me to Drink” could use an extra dash of bravado in
the vocals, but hey – I am what you call a critic.
A solid rhythm guitarist, Andrews shines especially on the
tracks where he shows off a little on the keys. “Where You Gonna Go” is a sly,
swampy number, one lover eviscerating the other for lack of ambition. Andrews’
piano trail doesn’t lead so much to the Crescent City as to a vision of Pete Johnson meets Art Tatum. Stop for a moment, and
bear in mind - when you listen to Invisible
Love you are hearing one of the great keyboard players of the rock era, his
comfort with a wide variety of styles and techniques is uncommon. Few musicians
could have covered the ground a player like Nicky Hopkins did as a session
player, but Andrews is on that short list.
