CAT STEVENS
important work in color
1967: Matthew and Son/New Masters. 1970: Mona Bone Jakon. 1971: Tea for the Tillerman * Teaser and the Firecat. 1972: Catch Bull at Four. 1973: Foreigner. 1974: Buddha and the Chocolate Box. 1975: Greatest Hits. 1977: Izitso * Cat’s Cradle. 1979: Back to Earth. 1988: Classics Volume 24.
If he’d had a band instead of a producer, Cat Stevens’ first two albums may have had a starkness that would have given them staying power. Instead, over-arranged garishness resulted. The heavy-handed destruction of otherwise interesting songs like "I Love My Dog," "Matthew and Son" and "I’m Gonna Get Me a Gun" would have been enough to throw any number of sensitive performers off the deep end, and Stevens’ well-known bout with illness, after his initial commercial success, was probably a God-send.
But what is it about late adolescent tragedy that inspires so many singer/songwriter’s short bursts of maximum inspiration, and gives us so many quick, classic pop songs, right before that quick spiral downward? Do apolitical, self-referential songwriter’s, ungrounded in the rules of art, exhaust themselves after the most dramatic portions of their psyche have been used for song fodder? After the usual three or four albums, boorishness sets in; and already the singer/songwriter is wistfully looking to the past. Late in Joni Mitchell’s career she has often felt compelled to talk in third person formats, sing about Ethiopia, and flirt with the techno-trends of the day, but she only catches fire when she sings about what really interests her: herself. For James Taylor, a reconciliation with the need to play "Fire and Rain" over and over again, is accepted as his reason for being here (i.e. "That’s What I’m Here For" from the album That’s What I’m Here For). It’s a defeatist acknowledgment (there is peace in resignation).
Cat Stevens’ passion burnt out at an even pace. When art was no longer a cause, religion took it’s place, perhaps for the better for him and us. There was a steady decline from the anguished-but-hopeful heights of Mona Bone Jakon, Tea For the Tillerman, and Teaser and the Firecat. Stevens’ band, during these classic albums, included Alun Davies on (often acoustic) guitar, Larry Steele on bass, Gerry Conway or Harvey Burns on drums (drums with nicely recorded, sonorous, acoustic properties intact), with Cat contributing guitar and keys. The sound had verve and a slightly off-kilter percussive spirit; it was a stripped down acoustic sound full of abrasive time shifts and odd short-bar punctuation supporting Cat’s dry, mournful, aching lamentations. It still sounds quite original today, but, considering Cat’s later career, it’s hard to believe the vanishing of the imaginative spirit behind the clever ecological song "Where Do the Children Play;" the power pop enthusiasm of the spirituals "Longer Boats," "On the Road to Find Out," "Changes IV" and "Peace Train;" the melodic mining of angst on "Sad Lisa," "Buy I Might Die Tonight," "On the Road to Find Out," "Father and Son," "Tuesday’s Dead" and "Bitter Blue."
The slyly named Catch Bull at Four may not simply have indicated Cat Steven’s apprehension of critical backlash, he may have recognized it as a flagging of his own talents. There are certainly indications of intense confusion and vivid introspection in Cat’s early writing – that’s the charm of it all: but how could paranoia not be far behind? The addition of Jean Roussel on Catch Bull at Four signaled a move toward a keyboard-driven sound, and the verve of Cat’s early guitar-based songs started drifting away. At the same time, his writing got more distant and vague on songs like "The Boy With the Moon and Star on His Head," and "18th Avenue." The melodies started leaking out of the love songs ("Sweet Scarlet"). The communion of bitterness some of us shared with him on earlier songs became both alienatingly reactionary and abrasive ("Freezing Steel," "Ruins"), or overblown ("Sitting"). After Foreigner, it was probably as little fun for Stevens as it was for us. "Sun C79," a song about a junkie love affair on Buddha and the Chocolate Box (great title, perhaps reflecting Stevens’ inability to keep his hand out to he pop candy jar despite his spiritual inclinations), is surprisingly realistic give the bland songs that surround it. Cat may have been trying to give us spiritual guidance on songs like "King of Trees," "A Home in the Sky" and "Oh Very Young," but his strengths resided in a more realistic and personal anguish. Isitso, Back to Earth and Numbers don’t have a good song on them, and reflect a total relinquishing of a once considerable talent.
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