Showing posts with label New Masters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New Masters. Show all posts

Monday, 23 October 2017

Cat Stevens "The Laughing Apple" (2017)


You can now buy 'One Day At A Time - The Alan's Album Archives Guide To The Music Of Cat Stevens' in e-book form by clicking here






In 2014 huge mega Beatles fan Cat Stevens announced that he was going to be covering a Paul McCartney song for a tribute album (released as the rather good ‘Art Of McCartney’). As one of the bigger names speculation was rife as to which song Cat might perform: a spiritual like ‘Let It Be’? An acoustic song a la ‘Tillerman’ and ‘Teaser’ like ‘Mother Nature’s Son’ perhaps? Or maybe, as a genuine fan, Cat would sing something not many people would know (I was so hoping for ‘Somebody Who Cares’ off the ‘Tug Of War’ album, Paul’s most Cat-like song). Instead the recently-renamed Yusuf surprised us all I think by doing ‘The Long and Winding Road’. Even though I’ve heard that song a million times in its Beatle version (with or without the messed up Phil Spector overdubs),Cat’s version was so strong that whenever I think of that song now it’s his version that comes to mind.
This shouldn’t have been quite the surprise it should have been because, in a lightbulb moment, I realised that Cat had been using the same long and winding road for a life imagery in his work even before Paul had written his song. While all songwriters are to some extent going on a ‘journey’ (a horrible 21st century word that simply means ‘they’ve lived a bit and their life experiences changed them’), Cat is the only other writer I’ve ever heard that rather than give us audio diaries of their life tries to give us a map as well. There are endless songs in his catalogue about roads, of setting out on a journey and what he might find there. Even now, in his comeback years, Yusuf’s best latter-day album ‘Roadsinger’ has him still on this journey, still learning and singing songs about his experiences. The result is, if you happen to notice it (or you are reading this article), a treasure map of sorts. Only the treasure is not gold or riches but a better understanding of the way the world works. To understand the world, though, first you must visit it…
Let’s go back to the beginning, when Cat is all of eighteen and cutting his first single [3] ‘I Love My Dog’. Though the A-side is deliberately cute and commercial (though contradictory; what next, ‘I Love My Cat By Dog Stevens’?!?) it’s the B-side that gives us our first clue. [6] ‘Portobello Road’ was, for Cat, a mere four miles away from his family home in Shaftesbury Avenue. A famous market district of West London, it’s a song with a very home-grown feel. There’s a jumble of images, of discarded items for sale at the market all thrown in together. Cat is particularly keen on the way items discarded by different cultures are all rubbing shoulders in the same box. The song is as literal and realistic as Cat Stevens songs ever become, but there’s a twist in the last verse. Cat has been insisting for several minutes now that he’s been walking miles trying to look for something he needs – by the end it’s a worry that he hasn’t found it here and ‘growing old is my only danger’. The hint is that he’s carried on walking past the end of the song, past the market stalls and onto some very different road to find a very different sort of item that he is searching for.
A few months later Cat is recording another of his early batch of teenage songs for first album ‘Matthew and Son’. Rather overshadowed amongst the three top ten hits (for himself and for The Tremeloes) lies a song titled [8] ‘I See A Road’. Cat tells us the title over and over – he’s seen the road he must leave on and it scares him a little bit. He’s not ready to take it yet, not when ‘home’ is so inviting, with his girlfriend waiting for him. He’s desperate not to lose time, scared that it’s her who will ‘grow old’ this time (maybe it’s even his worry that she’s going to grow up before him; it could well be an early song about his first serious girlfriend Patti D’arbanville, who by his own admission was a little more developed emotionally than he was at the time). So he ignores the road and runs home, more interested for now in ‘the yellow ribbon in her hair’ and oddly enough where ‘silk music plays out of the country’ (of all the AAA members, Cat was born the closest to the centre of a big city, namely London; by comparison The Who, The Small Faces and The Kinks were all born on the fringes, at the point where London feels more like a ‘village’ full of locals you see all your lives and with a separate identity to the big bustling part of town). However its notable that in this song he keeps going back to the idea of the road outside his door and what might lie in the opposite direction from home – he’s still singing it when the song ends and the orchestra drowns him out. A quick mention here too for another song from the first album [7] ‘I Found A Love’. Rather than find her in the city, though, she was ‘hidden down a back street, ba-by-ee yeah’ meaning that Cat had to look for his love and she wasn’t obvious to find, an early sign that he’s going to prefer travelling down roads away from the straight and narrow.
Second album ‘New Masters’ is Cat growing up before our ears. Even though he’s only nineteen he already sounds old before his time and vulnerable, aware that he’s running out of time to see the world and escape where he’s living. For now, though, the road is still literal rather than metaphorical. This is the album that’s full of references to real places in the world: [24] ‘Ceylon City’ is now known as Sri Lanka and clearly isn’t anything like ‘where I was born’ as Cat puts it. Maybe he’s thinking about reincarnation as he wonders if the town will be the way it was when he left it, full of wooden sailing ships and children ‘laughing a happy song’. ‘Ceylon’ is the only song specifically set somewhere foreign, but there are so many other songs from this period that feel like it: [18] ‘Northern Wind’ is an early reference to the winds of change (as most famously heard on the song simply named [65] ‘The Wind’) and it’s clearly blowing him somewhere new, ‘come for you and anyone whose helped you along’. Cat yearns to live ‘where the stars shine bright’ – far away from the smoky metropolis of London – and when he hears the bird sing Cat ‘doesn’t want to fight it, because I want to go!’ There’s also a song that seems to reveal just how sick Cat was of home: while [31] ‘Lovely City (When Do You Laugh?)’ is not obviously set anywhere, its notable that Cat now feels lost in a place where he used to call home. ‘I’m an unexpected visitor who dropped in for tea’ he sighs, the magic of the city having been lost now that he’s seen so much of the rest of the world.
Or has he? I wondered, before I knew Cat’s chronology, if this was an album written on tour like so many other AAA albums that do similar things (10cc’s ‘Bloody Tourists’ is a good example, with songs for Tokyo and a hymn to the power of the telephone to keep you in touch with the folks back home). But no: the furthest Cat had been from home up till now has been up North to Carlisle (and it isn’t that alien a culture compared to London!) It seems more that he’s preparing for the big shift in his music, waiting for his big break to America and feeling that he’s outgrown the first phase of life and what it has left. He is, after all, in the habit of attending parties with the rich and famous in this era and desperate to do more with his life, to see more of the world. He’s also just realised that this isn’t all it could be: though he’s climbed to the ‘peak’ of success in commercial terms [32] ‘The View From The Top Can Be Oh So Very Lonely…’  Far from being a realistic goal to achieve and strive for, it’s turned out to be a red herring, one whose only gift is to reveal so many other more interesting and fulfilling roads down below. The only question was how to get there…
Actually fate will decide for Cat and it will all come crashing back down to earth, as a later album title has it, with Cat finding his world getting very narrow instead. Confined not only to a hospital bed but a hospital bed in the very restrictive city he thought he’d just escaped, dying from TB, must have been a colossal blow for a kid who was about to come of age and turn twenty-one (we’re not quite sure on the timings, but it seems likely that he was at least ill for his milestone birthday when traditionally youngsters set out to see the world – or at least they did until the credit crunch ruined that for a generation; possibly he was already deathly ill). Cat has nowhere physically to go and is literally stuck. However once he got better the music flowed from him as he learned the very vital life lesson that is still infusing his music now: you don’t physically have to go somewhere to ‘grow’ if you can mentally go there instead.
‘Mona Bone Jakon’ has shifted everything. Well nearly: there is still one last Cat Stevens song about a physical place to listen to: [47] ‘Katmandu’. This place is a much more spiritual retreat than the one in ‘Ceylon’, however, a mystical place that’s more about the thoughts and experiences Cat will have there. It sounds to me like a wish fulfilment: Cat still hadn’t been abroad yet and was maybe planning a holiday in some balmy spiritual place when he got sick; having already written about Sri Lanka he then goes for another place on his list, the capital of Nepal. Another step off on his journey from the physical to spiritual realms, perhaps, Cat sings that ‘soon I’ll be seeing you’ and imagining all the things he might be learning about the world if he were well enough to go. ‘Slow night, treat me right, until I go’ he sighs while asking for faith for the first time in song, to escape ‘Satan’s tree’. The ‘Mona’ album also notably ends on [50] ‘Lilywhite’, a return to songs about a mythical road and the first time that Cat equates it squarely with a metaphor for his life path (that settled it then: ‘The Long and Winding Road’, though recorded in 1969, had just become a big hit when this album was being written). ‘Back on the mended road I pause’ Cat sings, reaching out with his hand ‘to touch the wheel’, reflecting over this difficult phase in his life before turning back and getting on with life the way he was before he was so drastically interrupted.
‘Tea For The Tillerman’ is the album with the most places to chart on our map. The [61] Title Track, for instance, is about asking people to be kind and provide succour for those on a journey, because journeys are hard. [51] ‘Where Do The Children Play?’ is one of Cat’s most literal songs (‘gee, why are they tearing down so many children’s playgrounds?’) but it also sounds like a man whose seen a bit more of life and wants a bit more ‘fun’ in it. For all his intellectual traits, Cat is still a big kid at heart according to those who know him (he does take part in many school assemblies at his Islamia Primary school back home in London for starters) – this song sounds like a comment from someone on a life path that things got too serious too quickly to bear. [53] ‘Wild World’ is a warning from someone whose seen a bit of life too: it’s the opposite of [8] ‘I See A Road’ with Cat waiting anxiously at home for a loved one out there in the big world, afraid of what might happen to them to throw them off life’s path. [55] ‘Miles From Nowhere’ is the ultimate Cat Stevens worrying song. A tale of a journey through the afterlife, here Cat worries about what might happen when the ‘road’ literally ends. Where will he go? What will he do? Eventually the song picks itself up, dusts itself off and figures that without a road to follow at last ‘I can take my time’. It’s notable, though, that Heaven is for him still a physical goal, somewhere he has to travel to (perhaps through more than one lifetime back on Earth so that he can ‘earn’ it).
The big one, though, is [59] ‘On The Road To Find Out’ in which Cat tells us for the first time that the ‘road’ is very much a spiritual quest. Driven by curiosity and a thirst for knowledge, Cat leaves a ‘happy home’ where he was comfortable ‘with the aim to clear my mind out’. The road is at first busy and bright, full of ‘rowdy kids’ (surely a reference to his ‘pop star’ years) and lots of people who assume they know where the path he seeks lies and want to give him directions. The way gets hard though, his path blocked by snow and ice and he thinks about turning back, while the clock is ticking down. Eventually he finds that he’s alone, ‘hoping that someone will miss me’ and afraid that he’s made no impact on the world. By the end, though, he’s found the answer he was seeking and realised that he didn’t even have to go that far for it – the answer was inside his head all the time. ‘The answer lies within’ he yells, uncharacteristically for Cat, ‘so why not take a look now? Kick out the Devil’s sin and pick up a good book now!’ What’s interesting, knowing what we do of Cat’s future path, is the assumption many people have made that this is a religious text. The Bible is called ‘The Good Book’ by many people – and yet that’s not what Cat is saying here. He says ‘a good book’, meaning there are more than one. He may be thinking more than one religious books to read or he may not be thinking religion at all and means philosophical books to get people thinking (he isn’t, yet, anywhere near the stage of his religious conversion and is still declaring himself an ‘ex Catholic searching for answers like everyone else’ in interviews of the period).
Interestingly there are no ‘road’ references on perhaps Cat’s most famous album ‘Teaser and The Firecat’, though [65] ‘The Wind’ makes a comeback, the mysterious unseen force that keeps driving him on. Cat is still a wanderer without a set destination wondering ‘where I’ll end up only God really knows’, letting ‘my music take me where my heart wants to go’. By the time of next album ‘Catch-Bull At Four’ he’s more concerned about growing stationary. The title of [77] ‘Sitting’ alone gives you an idea of how far he thinks he’s come on his quest since the last album, even if the album opens with the pained cry ‘Oh I’m on my way, I know I am!’ He’s frustrated by where his spiritual quest has taken him, with a pained middle eight asking ‘if I’ll make it to the waterside, will I even find a boat or something?’ (imagery in many religions for death, which can only be reached by boat) and sighing that he’s truly and utterly lost, that ‘life is a maze of doors that only open from the side you’re on’. Kicking himself for ever walking at all, he turns on himself ‘Keep pushing hard boy otherwise you’re going to end up where you started from!’
Interestingly, too, this is the first album for three that has a song obviously set in the ‘real world’ too with an actual postcode, although [82] ‘18th Avenue (Kansas City Nightmare)’ is a very esoteric song. It really does sound like a nightmare, a surreal impression of life full of metaphor that feels like Cat trying to work out what a dream means that he’s just had. Realising that he’s been biting his tongue too long out of fear and paranoia Cat whispers ‘don’t let me go down!’, perhaps meaning that he’s been pushed back to Earth after having his head in spiritual heights for so very long. This ‘path is dark and borderless’, one he knows he shouldn’t have travelled down and he only feels better when the place is in his rear view mirror, checking his bags in at the airport (is this a spiritual ‘plane’ that will take him back to the Heavens?) Just what was Cat doing in 1972? Something he didn’t feel good about by the sound of it, admitting that he’s reached a cul-de-sac. Interestingly this song is followed immediately by [83] ‘Freeing Steel’ in which Cat feels himself physically crashing back into the real world (‘Though my body’s back I feel it can’t be real’). Suddenly he’s back loving physical pleasures, such as food that’s gone cold instead of the nourishment he was enjoying (‘A cold plate of meat and cold potatoes too, what’s a soul to do?’), his body ‘tied up’ and restricted by some mysterious force. ‘I’m only human and the Earth is where I belong’ he sighs, apparently turning his back on ‘the path’. It may also be significant that this troubled album ends with a physical place again – but one that used to be and which now only exists in [86] ‘Ruins’, a reminder perhaps that Cat isn’t going to get back to where he used to live in the physical plane at all. Maybe he’d better set out on that quest after all?
The next album finds his exiled, cut off from the spiritual path he was following and the earthly realm he used to know. Though named for Cat’s move to Brazil for the rather Earthly reason of paying less income tax, ‘Foreigner’ is about being cut off from the rest of the world in more ways than that. Cat sounds lost throughout, helpless, looking for answers on five troubled songs about life being crueller and more complicated than he thought it was. The side-long [878] ‘Foreigner Suite’ insists on telling us that Cat is ‘now over to that Sunnyside road’ and it appears for a time that Cat has discovered his calling. What he was really searching for was a ‘path towards your door’ to quote the Paul McCartney song, someone ‘who love you just for who you are, really are!’ Convinced he’s found the path, Cat and a gospel choir intone ‘Come on, its freedom calling!’ but he can’t convince us like the old days – he can’t even convince himself. ‘You can live in the largest house, have seven apartments too!’ he bawls at us, but if it’s down the wrong end of town then forget it; he’s rather be homeless and on the ‘right’ path. Though the love of his life has ‘just walked through my door’ and he was so happy a few minutes ago he leaves her behind, kicking her heels – he can’t sit still, not with so much of the world to discover, back to where he was in his teenage years. ‘When you’re with me, boy it chokes my mind!’ is Cat’s less than kind response to her loving. By the end of the song, though, he’s back where he started, looking for love. Or maybe he’s just looking for the wrong kind…
A mere two songs later Cat is trapped again, [90] ‘How Many Times?’ asking a series of rhetorical questions amounting to the same thing – ‘How long must I see this same old view?’ Cat’s had these dreams, found them wanting and not yet found anything to replace them with. A sad Cat then splits himself in three across next album ‘Buddha And The Chocolate Box’, perhaps the ‘Holy Trinity’ of the physical, spiritual and afterlife worlds. [95] ‘Sun/C79’ is the physical, the hotel room where Cat had a life-changing event with a girl (is this where he lost his virginity?) repeated like a mantra to his own children who are asking ‘why are we here?’ Cat can’t answer them – the path has gone cold – but he knows physically why they were there, after a night of passion that he still remembers and which stirs up powerful feelings to this day (it’s worth noting that Cat’s first child wasn’t born until 1979 and to this day there’s never ever been even the whiff of a paternity suit against him – even in his wayward teens). Songs like [97] ‘Jesus’ find Cat considering spiritual matters again while [94] ‘Oh Very Young’ realises that the physical world is no longer enough for him, that anything there is temporary, due to fade ‘like your daddy’s best jeans’ and patching up a body when it’s worn out just makes the break harder when it comes – it’s in the spiritual realm where lasting good can be done. [96] ‘Ghost Town’ and [101] ‘Home In The Sky’, meanwhile, return to the ‘Miles From Nowhere’ thought, Cat wondering about where life might take him after he dies, one a comedy full of all his favourite film stars having a ball, one a tragedy imagining him pulled from the Earth too soon before all his work is done (‘Come the morning I’ll be far from here, slowly rising in another sphere’).
‘Buddha’ is a much more ‘imaginary’ album than previous Cat Stevens albums, but it takes another whole leap of imagination again to wrap your head around ‘Pythagorean Theory Tale’ ‘Numbers’, a concept album about a land inhabited by numbers who all have their own distinct personalities. The theme is that the world they live in need each other to work – only by putting their characteristics together can they create ‘new’ numbers made up of two, three or more figures. This is interesting because it seems to be the opposite of what Cat was saying back in 1970 or even as recently as 1973, that any spiritual path taken has to be taken ‘alone’. It might be significant too that this nice safe cosy world of nine people is interrupted forever when ‘J-Zero’ arrives, the town renegade and black sheep of the universe who works for nothing and lives to his own rules. Seemingly having nothing, actually he has more than anyone around him because he’s realised there’s more to this life than riches and material wealth, realising that there is a whole new ‘layer’ of numbers out there that the others haven’t realised yet because they haven’t been looking for it. Cat is, you suspect, a Jzero himself. The quest is back on!  Notably, though, this album’s penultimate track pulls the opposite trick: speaking as ‘Monad’, the city’s ruler who thought he knew how the world worked and who is now lost and frightened, he longs for the safe pull of home. ‘Forever your lamp will burn’ sings the ruler whose now realised how many different levels of existence there, ‘Would that you’d learn!’
Soon after the release of ‘Numbers’ comes that infamous near-drowning experience whose path ends up at a mosque, London’s Regents Park Mosque to be exact. Cat is treated with suspicion by many when he asks to join, but knows he’s in the right place when the secretary takes him by the arm and shows him all the wonderful things she sees in this religion and talks excitedly about him having found his true path ‘at last’. Cat falls for her and they’ll be married by 1979. Cat loses interest in his work immediately, skipping his usual annual album and padding out his contract with a Greatest Hits album and the oddball single-only rock and roll cover (the first of only two on any Cat Stevens release) [102] ‘Another Saturday Night’, a tale of warning about how earthly pleasures after payday can result in some pretty nasty hangovers the next morning. The next proper record ‘Izitso?’ interestingly goes back to the physical world, even though Cat must have been dying to express the spiritual ideas that have just come to him (a la George Harrison). Both [118] ‘Kypros’ (the Greek name for Cyprus) and [122] ‘Sweet Jamaica’ are real places again – places that Cat really has visited this time. This is followed on final album ‘Back To Earth’ (a significant title? Well, it’s an odd one for an artist whose just found the quest he had been searching for – is Cat forcing himself back to Earth to make this last album and free himself of his recording contract?) on which we end up in New York this time on [133] ‘New York Times’. As the title demonstrates all too literally, this isn’t a spiritual song so much as a journalistic one. Unable to sing about his new life experiences, Cat is taking most of his direction from what is in the newspapers. Once his contract is up, though, Cat is free at last.
In retrospect his first comment to journalists that ‘I needed a break – I was fed up of being on the road’ is an interesting one. Cat only ever undertook one full tour (as well as a short package tour alongside other acts). That was as long ago as 1976 and far from being on the road the whole time Cat had only ever performed a few small shows a year (his busiest period is 1974 when he performed forty-five; to put that in context The Who were having a rest year that year in the wake of Quadrophenia and they still performed forty-four!) Did he mean, instead, that he was tired of being out on a metaphorical road? Was he tired of relaying his discoveries back to us when ‘we’ weren’t responding the right way? (A common complaint of both ‘Catch Bull’ and ‘Foreigner’) Was Cat aware that we all have our own paths to follow and he shouldn’t be talking about his? Either way, here is where the road ended for Cat. Those who had followed him on earliest songs wondered half-seriously if his path would lead him to be a political figure, a fighter for social justice or even a hermit or whether he would just carry on writing songs for a living (some even wondered if he’d return to being a cartoonist, his planned stock in trade). Instead it led him to be a teacher, founding a school for Muslim students after discovering to his horror that there wasn’t one in London to send his children to. Typically hands-on Cat became involved at every level – the assemblies, religious study, fundraiser, he even filled in as a teacher when someone was ill or went missing as well as taking on most of the secretarial duties. Many of his fans assumed his ‘retirement’ was from everything – but actually Cat was busier than he ever was.
Until 9/11. A brush with the media in the 1980s had convinced him that the world wasn’t accepting of him yet (asked if Salman Rushdie’s controversial book ‘Satanic Verses’ broke a religious law he replied yes it did and that under Islamic law being rude about The Prophet Muhammad would inevitably result in a Fatwah; he made no comment on his own opinion, just his religion’s). However after 9/11 Cat was in a unique position. He was the only Muslim that many Christians could name. he was certainly the only one who had been a household name before taking up the religion (though you could argue a case for Richard Thompson and Pentangle bassist Danny Thompson – no relation – neither were household names the way Cat had been). The Western world was suddenly scared of what they took to be every Muslim and saw threats everywhere – on the tube, on the street corner, every big congregation of buildings. Cat knew that things were more complicated than this, that the religion is itself named after the Arabic for ‘Peace’ and that the perpetrators of 9/11 were radical extremists, the Christian equivalents of the first Christian Crusaders. As a liberal Muslim he felt he owed it to his community to show the world that they didn’t have to be feared.
Hence the come back, slowly at first until the first full album ‘An Other Cup’ in 2006. An odd and confusing work, part pop album, part religious text, it left fans scratching their heads. Cat also seemed to have forgotten all about his old metaphors: on the whole album the only reference to spiritual quests paths or roads is the comment that Cat hated being out in big cities late at night because he didn’t feel safe (** [  ] ‘Heaven- Midday (City After Dark)’). However sequel ‘Roadsinger’ gave us lots. The [ ] title track, for instance, has Cat physically leaving his home at the end of a path to go back down well travelled paths and tell the people he meets along the way how to get there. In it he travels not by foot but in a beaten old camper van with room enough for us all to get on board (of his past songs only [74] ‘Peace Train’ can compare and Cat wasn’t driving that one!) A pied piper followed mostly by children, Cat tries to remember what life used to be like and makes allowance for the fact that he’s ‘speaking another language’, but he still fulfils his duty, sets up in the market stall (perhaps the same one in [6] ‘Portobello Road’ where he started? So I would like to think anyway!) and starts to sing.
Cat/Yusuf also recorded another song that didn’t make the album but caused quite a stir all the same. [  ] ‘Boots and Sand’ is, by Cat Stevens, a most withering and sarcastic song about narrow minded people with limited world views. It might help to understand what this track is doing in his back catalogue if you know that he wrote it the night that he was blocked from an American airplane, denied access for his links with his religion. Though America backtracked and he was later greeted with open arms, it was deeply embarrassing at the point when Cat was trying to spread love and understanding about his religion to the world and it meant the premature end to an intended world tour. Here it might be significant that this song too is a journey, almost a pastiche of Cat’s old songs. Here he doesn’t yet have enough money for a camper van, reduced to merely ‘boots and sand’ but still walking firmly towards America, ‘the promised land’, ‘the birth of rock ‘n’ roll, where all your records turn to Gold’. Told ‘you’re on our no song list!’ Cat gets flown home ‘to the lower world’ , picking himself up by tracing back his steps to the path he was on as a side-section gets cut off from him and he’s ‘back on the long long road, one bag and a song I wrote, boots and sand’. Cat’s next record, his third since his comeback, largely ducks the idea of paths but this rather grumpy record (largely about how fans can’t keep pace with him) might be significantly titled ‘tell ‘Em I’m Gone!’ After that we turn full circle to the near-present day, with the hodgepodge of outtakes, abandoned songs and re-makes ‘The Laughing Apple’ that features a re-recording of [18b] ‘The Northern Wind’. Cat, by now his voice reduced by age to a hoarse whisper (hopefully put on for effect), is still buffeted about by the winds of change and yet he is still curious to see what happens next.
What will be next on the path? Will Yusuf quietly retire again? Will he return to only making religious albums after the (relative) commercial of his last two? Will there ever be a journey? Or has Cat indeed found it already (and has since 1979?) The road is long, with many a winding turn, but Cat in many ways closed the circle in 2014 by recording The Beatles song that so reflects his own style. Though we couldn’t travel the whole path with him and Cat may well still be ‘on the road to find out’, it’s been wonderful to get so many postcards from him on the way about where he’s going, where he’s been and how the journey made him feel. His whole catalogue feels in retrospect like a sat-nav, a source of comfort to seekers who share the same or similar paths and we can listen to it and take advice as we want to, but it can’t tell us where to go or live our lives for us. It’s been one hell of a journey, from the capitalist branch of [2] ‘Matthew and Son’ through to the [  ] ‘Olive Hill’ (the lone destination on last song ‘The Laughing Apple’) and hopefully it isn’t over yet. Cat sounds like there’s quite a lot about the world that he hasn’t quite found out yet…


A NOW COMPLETE LIST OF CAT STEVENS ARTICLES TO READ AT ALAN’S ALBUM ARCHIVES:


'Matthew and Son' (1967) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/cat-stevens-matthew-and-son-1967.html

'New Masters' (1968) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/09/news-views-and-music-issue-114-cat.html

'Mona Bone Jakon' (1970) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-35-cat-stevens-mona-bone-jakon.html

'Tea For The Tillerman' (1970) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-41-cat-stevens-tea-for-tillerman.html


‘Teaser and the Firecat’ (1971) https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/cat-stevens-teaser-and-firecat-1971.html




'Back To Earth' (1978) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/cat-stevens-back-to-earth-1978.html


'An Other Cup' (2006) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2016/05/yusufcat-stevens-other-cup-2006.html

'Roadsinger'
(2009) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2009/05/news-views-and-music-issue-31-yusuf-aka.html

'Tell 'Em I'm Gone' (2014) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/12/yusuf-cat-stevens-tell-em-im-gone-2014.html


‘The Laughing Apple’ (2017)  https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/cat-stevens-laughing-apple-2017.html


Surviving TV Appearances 1967-2015 https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/cat-stevensyusuf-surviving-tv.html


The Best Unreleased Recordings 1969-2009 https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/cat-stevensyusuf-best-unreleased.html


Non-Album Recordings 1966-2014 https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/cat-stevensyusuf-non-album-recordings.html


Compilations, Box sets and Alun Davies LPs Part One 1963-1990
https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/cat-stevens-compilationslive-lps-part.html


Compilations, Box Sets and Religious Works Part Two 1995-2012 









Friday, 30 September 2011

Cat Stevens "New Masters" (1968) (News, Views and Music 114)


You can now buy 'One Day At A Time - The Alan's Album Archives Guide To The Music Of Cat Stevens' in e-book form by clicking here!









Cat Stevens “New Masters” (1968)

Kitty/I’m So Sleepy/Northern Wind/The Laughing Apple/Smash Your Heart/Moonstone//The First Cut Is The Deepest/I’m Gonna Be King/Ceylon City/Blackness Of the Night/Come On Baby (Shift That Log)/I Love Them All

As you may heave read above, I’ve had to spend most of my time this week filling in my latest incapacity forms or whatever stupid name they’ve given to them now (I’ve just looked it up and its employment and support allowance apparently – what, so people who can’t work through no fault of their own get employment allowances now? What a dreadful term!) Most of the questions ask me to describe at length how I feel doing a particular action and another for my general state of health. I wish I could send my entry in in musical form because there’s a track on the ‘New Masters’ CD that sums up exactly what I mean. ‘It’s A Supa (Dupa) Life’ (sadly only a B-side despite being recorded at the same sessions so I can’t talk about here except in brief) is a joyous, hyper-energetic song full of crashing cymbals, speedy tempos and an absurd vocal from Cat that goes so subtly from being in control and genuinely positive to being totally over-the-top and overwhelmed it catches you by surprise and so subtly overtakes the song that there’s no one point where you can say it’s turned ‘hyper’. The song ends not with the expected big finish but with a surprise funeral march that slowly rises in volume until it slowly walks towards you from the back of the room, silencing all the hysterics in it’s path, trampling all that nervous energy like an iron curtain. It’s as if everything you believed that was helping you move forward and overcome obstacles is actually destroying you, subtlely, by making you move faster and faster out of your comfort zone until you cannot stop unless heading for collapse. On an album essentially upbeat, witty and enthusiastic, this is a doubly sinister moment, like a shadow that’s been hovering for the past 30 minutes of the album and only making itself heard in the odd throwaway comment is finally forcing it’s way through the increasingly false laughter to be heard to dominate the sound. It’s as if Cat’s subconscious is writing the album for him, because his conscious form is too busy partying, recording, touring and doing everything that was needed to be the ‘in’ pop sensation of 1967 (he topped newcomer polls that year you know, beating the likes of Pink Floyd, Procul Harum and Jimi Hendrix starting that year to the crown).
Cat Stevens didn’t have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome thank goodness because I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, never mind on a hero (Cher is the only musician to my knowledge who does have it), but its no coincidence that Cat collapsed from tuberculosis and exhaustion shortly after this album’s release because  there’s clearly a hidden message on this album about...something happening. It’s there on other parts of this album too, often in the most unexpected places, on songs about laughing apples and fun holidays, with several anaologies for the fun-loving/hard working/npo time for sleeping party lifestyle Cat was enjoying suddnely tunring sour.  Actually come to think of it the song ‘I’m So Sleepy’ is a pretty good fit for CFS too, another song about pushing your body to such extremes that it suddenly seems to have a life of it’s own, controlling what you do instead of the other way around. (Only those who have been truly ill will know what I mean by that last sentence and the fact the frighteneing part of the whole experience isn’t the pain or the loss of energy but the fact that the body you have been benignly controlling fopr the greater part of your life suddenly exists as a seperate entity with its own warning signs and sudden shut downs you don’t even consciously think about).
In fact so soon after this record’s release did Catty suffer his collapse that the star was no longer around to promote his own record,leaving ‘New Masters’ a huge flop of such massive proportions that Deram actually dropped the singer from their label despite having five top 20 hit singles and a top 10 album, cruelly telling him at his hospital bed (well, at least they didn’t force him to work when he was unfit to, unliike some Governments I could name). We’ve covered Cat’s triumphant rejuvenation as a bearded folk singer thinking mystical thoughts elsewhere on this site (see review no 35 and 41), but it’s worth filling you in a bit more about his sudden collapse and the impact this had on his career.
TB wasn’t a killer in the sense it had been in the Victorian era and it’s all but gone today thabnk goodness, but 50 years ago it was still serious and back then not many pop stars came back from suffering such a serious illness back in the 1960s. An infection of the lungs, often caused when the sufferer is feeling unwell and has been pushing himself too hard, it drew a line across Cat’s career just at the point when he may have been looking for a way out of it anyway. In 1967 Cat was seventeen and cool and he knew it. He was singing cute songs about all sorts of mad subjects, with an ear for catchy orchestral arrangements and was one of the perfedct poster boys for the lighter side of the summer of love, even with a few surprising songs about workaholics and guns in the mixture that didn’t really fit the mood of the times but still sold well thanks to their dazzling pop hooks and perfect sonic quality that made them stand out from the crowd even amongst such hallowed surroundings. In 1968 the world was darker, Vietnam and Korea were in full swing and the hip youngsters knew that the world that had seemed to offer them so much was actually a drak and angry world, full of wrongs that needed righting but with such towering figuresd in power that change seemed even more unlikely than it had pre-1967. Whether because Cat sensed this too or whether it really was the illness already growing inside him, ‘New Masters’ is a much darker world than ‘Matthew and Son’ had been. On that record, things do spring out of the closet door to scare us, but they can be cured by those that we love, the beauty in life or simply the act of dancing. Here you can search all your life for the meaning of life only to find the answer you’ve out for hypnotising you into submission (‘Moonstone’), find your higher purpose overtaken by luxury and every possible nindulgence you could imagine (‘I love Them All’, on the surface a very hippie song about loving everyone – until you find its a song about the narrator regretting being repeatedly unfaithful to his girlfriend) and love that used to be flowing everywhere is in short supply (most famously ‘The First Cut Is The Deepest’ but also on ‘Smash Your Heart’ and ‘The Blackness Of The Night’. Suddenly, Cat’s cute quirky subjects and the parping distinctive orchestral arrangements don’t sound as cute and innocent anymore.
‘New Masters’ isn’t as innocent as first album ‘Matthew and Son’ and it isn’t as deep and meaningful as the albums to come which, together with it’s poor sales, means this poor album often gets overlooked by Cat’s fans. It was in fact his worst-selling album until right near the end, when 1978’s ‘Back To Earth’ unfairly disappeared from shops almost as soon as it arrived, and if anyone ever writes about it now it’s in the context of how different it is compared to what’s to come.That’s cruel returns for an album that, more than any other, sees Cat growing up before our ears and offers a higher than usual return of strong songs, moody atmopshere and real insight into what’s going on inside the head of one of our most under-rated writers. Last issue we listed the difference between this album and successor ‘Mona Bone Jakon’ as one of the biggest 10 stylistic leaps in the AAA canon and its true: this album is epic, orchestral, grand, glossy and confident while its successor is deep, quiet, brooding and anxious; the perfect aural depiction of what an illness can change in a person’s outlook.  In truth we could also have listed the gap between this album and it’s sweet and innocent if catchy predecessor ‘Matthew and Son’, one where there’s nothing bad lurking in  the shadows and where everything is fab and groovy, a fact which rather leaves this album a unique listening experience, lost in a world of it’s own making. It’s also worth remembering that Cat was only 18 when this album came out: if there was a singer around with that much talent today (and no, I don’t mean Jutsin Bieber) we’d be endlessly hearing bright things said about their future; Cat was unlucky to be born in the middle of the biggest explosion of talented young things the world has ever seen and for his age these songs are so overwhelmingly impressive (the only AAA member younger than Cat is Lulu, two years younger still, although she didn’t write her own material until she was in her 40s).
Just have a look at that cover and that title. The name ‘New Masters’ sounds like it could have been either a sracastic take on the record bsuiness a la ‘Beatles For Sale’ or a record company completely non-plussed over how to market it. That cover too is unusual: Cat looks like the dapper young teenager about town that he always looked before this album came out, looking quite the dandy in a floral shirt and sporting rings and cuff-links (there haven’t been too many cases of cuff-links on AAA Album covers, after all!) But his expression is so moody, staring out towards the distance with a pensive look in his eyes and the lighting too is moody, espia-tinged to make him look older and wiser (‘Matthew and Son’ had tried the same tactic, actually, what with its Vicftorian-style lettering, but the very teenage smirk on Cat’s face gives the game away). This is a young man made to grow up very suddenly, a year older chronologically but so much more mentally thanks to endless tours, endless recording sessions, endless parties, endless groupies, more money in one go than his family had ever earned in their lives, etc (let’s not forget, two years before Cat was a school drop-out doing music for laughs as he worked part-time as a waiter at his parent’s restaurant – the journey between that and Top Of The Pops is about the biggest you can travel). A lesser artist than Cat would have stuck grimly to a winning formula, whatever was happening in his life and to those around him, but Cat is clever, Cat is observant and he knows that to keep his audience he has to be honest, about himself and the world around him. We will reach the zenith of that with ‘Mona Bone Jakon’ and ‘Tea For The Tillerman’, both 1970, two of the most nakedly autobiographical and honest albukms ever made , but even here at age 18 Cat is willing to change both himself and his musical style.
Sure, ‘New Masters’ doesn’t quite connect. The wacky themes of the first album are there but spread thinner, so that they sound like competing parts of Cat’s quirky psyche rather than  pieces of a jigsaw that all fit together to tell a bigger story as before. ‘New Masters’ is also less consistent an enjoyable listening experience than it’s predecessor: ‘Matthew and Son’ is a fun record for the most part and the fun never stops, whether Cat’s singing about dancing, dogs, hummingbirds, workaholics or even guns. By contrast there are a few weaker tracks than usual on this album: ‘Come on Baby Shift That Log’ may have a cracking instrumental interlude and would have made for a terrific instrumental but it’s lyrics are naive, quaint and an experiment too far; ‘The Blackness of The Night’ is also an early songwriter’s mistake that appears on almost everybody’s first few albums when they are learning their craft – a promising song that repeats itself so often the listener has alrerady worked out the ending from the opening line; ‘I love Them All’ is also an uncomfortable ride into Cat’s darker psyche, at odds with every song on this album – and of this era. For one of the few times in my life I’m annoyed that the unwritten rule for the 1960s meant that artists never included their (in this case superior) singles on an album because with the addition of songs like ‘A Bad Night’ ‘It’s A Supa (Dupa) Life’ ‘Lovely City (When Do You Laugh?)’ and ‘Where Are You?’ instead of the above songs this could have been one of Cat’s strongest LPs (the B-sides aren’t bad either). Cat’s singing too is a struggle on some of the recordings here (especially period B-side ‘Image Of Hell’), a far cry from the effortless breeze of ‘Matthew and Son’ (both album and single).
But there’s plenty to love too. As wacky as Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd, but every bit as deep and revealing as the crazy Diamond’s songs, this is the lighter side of the flower power era stuffed into a mixer and with the fairy-tale aspects turned on their head, to sound sinister and dark even while we laugh at them. Cat’s always been one of the more creative artsist on our list, stuffing songs with so many changes in direction they become a whirlwind ride of sound  (especially in this early era), making it all the more surprising when he abandoned music altogether in the late 70s because here the art of creating is everything: middle eights in abundance, instrumental sections coming out of nowhere, clever links between choruses and verses, it’s hard to listen to anything immediately after Cat’s works because everything else sounds so, well, bare and monotonous. The string arrangements, first with long standing musical director Alan Tew and later with a slew of others, are quite unlike any other orchestral arrangements of the day (edxcepting that first album anyway), ones that really seem to understand that these are deep ‘pop’ records and that grandiose Wagnerian-style epic accompnaiments would drown the fun out of the songs. And the songs themselves can reach such heights of playfulness laced with power that it’s hard to believe Cat still really is only 18 and yet has already learnt the lessons of life at a very early age.
There’s no other explanation for ‘The First Cut Is The Deepest’, the album’s most famous song about good times coming after bad, even if it had to be given away to P P Arnold to become a hit (Miss Arnold crops up a lot on this website – see various Small Faces reviews and Roger Waters’ ‘Amused To Death’). A powerful song about being hurt and yet still wanting to love, it’s perfectly arranged, growing from quiet defensive hurt to swinging love song in the blink of an eye. It may be the most perfectly realised song here about looking forward to happier times, but it’s far from the only good one: ‘Kitty’ is a swirling love song not to a person so much as a way of life when our work is done and it’s time to give your emotions release (Oasis tried the same trick with their stomping ‘Lyla’, another two-syllabled heroine with a murky past given redemption); ‘I’m Gonna Be King’ is a song about being pushed around and looking for escapism to a time when that won’t happen; ‘Ceylon City’ is a dreamy song about wondering what your old loves are up to while you’re busy slaving away (the sort of thing the Moody Blues will make their own in the 1980s).
There’s also an underlying theme of things ending and the realisation that the ‘old’ life is over. Cat may have only been 18 but he’s already realised that you can’t live your life as one endless party (well, actually, if you’re Keith Moon you can but that’s a special case). Even if he hadn’t fallen ill and had managed to promote this record enough to keep his record contract, Cat would have gone in an entirely new direction with his music from here. Time and again we hear songs about how a journey that was meant to bring joy and excitement has only brought pain and emptiness, whether that’s disguised by tales of a groupie-loving singer, an archerologist whose spent his life searching for a jewel or a kid waitingt for an apple to fall of a tree, mouth-wtering at the porspect of what it will deliver, only to find it disappointing when he finally bites into it. Cat has wanted success all his life and it came in a lightning flash, quite unlike the way he’d plotted and planned it in his bedroom – and yet, when it arrives it’s hollow and empty, full of ‘yes’ men telling you where to go and what to think but never really understanding you or your art. That’s an uncomfortable realisation for any artist – to go back to Oasis again, Noel Gallagher’s still trying to come to terms with that now in song – but for an 18 year old it must have sounded like the sky falling on your head. After all, what’s left to aspire to now, when a heaving bank account and your pictures in the paper make you guilty and nervous rather than inspired and happy.
The changes Cat makes in his music and his life – adapting a new style, becoming a Muslim, goriwng a beard – are always assumed by fansd and critics to stem from his illness and an extended stay in a hospital where the record company men have moved onto the ‘next big thing’ and all Cat has left around him are the friends and family he hasn’t seen in years. Of course that was a defining moment in his life and so it should be – Cat had the intelligence and empathy enough to realise that the success he’d craved wasn’t the only impoirtasnt thing in his life, even all of his ‘new’ friends probably told him it should be. But I think the defining moment comes earlier, right here on this second album, where all that glitters is not gold and the workload – andc even the parties – come with a pricve no one should have to pay. If you love Cat’s later works, the Teasers, Tillerman, Firecats and Catch-Bulls then the elaborate orchestral arrangements, jumpy tempos and quirky subject matters on these songs may well leave you puzzled. But if you want to know why Cat suddenly ‘got’ what was happening in thw world when others around him were getting into glam jumpsuits and building whole albums around one riff, why Cat should suddenly have changed his lifestryle and his audience in a barve move of immense proportions, why suddenly the lyrics and atmosphere became everything, then you need to listen to this album. And Decca desperately need to re-issue it, because today ‘New Masters’ is one of the hardest Cat CDs to track down and fans (perhaps even those who’ve joined the movement since Cat returned to the music world as Yusuf in 2004) need to know about this missing piece of the masterplan. Whether you also like an album that’s so important in the great man’s canon is almsot irrelevent; but I do think that, for the most part, you will.


The album kick-starts with ‘Kitty’ , a bouncy song about a workaholic narrator who gets glared at by his colleagues and peers for working as hard as he does – and yet gets glared at even more when he parties hard too. One of Cat’s early songwriting experiments in contrasts, this song is almost a battle in sound with work-filled verses battling the release of the choruses, Cat singing in both his higher and lower registers and a musical ‘argument’ between traditional rock instruments, an orchestra and an accordian. It’s a bit like ‘Father and Son’ but Cat isn’t singing about the generation gap as much as he’s singing about the sniping tendencies of people to look down on those around him – whether he’s working or pl,aying, the narrator still can’t win people over to his way of thinking. Like the Small Faces’ ‘All Or Nothing’, this narrator isn’t going to stand for half-measures. This is a man built for doing everything to extremes and that’s shown by the bouncy tempo which drives the song forward much like ‘Matthew and Son’ – only in this case the hard work comes from an inner drive, not a constutional dermand to keep punching the clock. The parties are meant to be a release – the build up between the verses and the choruses, with a bubbling bass and a tapping tambourine steam-rollered by the orchestra playing on one note, as if forcing the rest of the band into submission illustrates this superbly. Whoever Kitty is, she’s all the narrator lives for, what he dreams about when working hard and consuming his everything in his nights off, overhwleming both his and our senses with a crescendo of noise where all hell breaks loose. It should be a happy, jolly track – and Cat sings it as if it is – but already there’s a mood of caution. By the second verse the passing ‘men’ are looking down their noses because the narrator is ‘on the brink’ (of collapse, perhaps), pushing his body much further than it was ever meant to go. The ending too, where the orchestra builds up to an extreme conclusion instead of simply passing back to the quiter sound of the work-filled verse, sounds very final, like an enforced full stop rather than a pause for breath. It’s tempting to see this as Cat’s sub-conscious telling him to stop; whether you see it on those terms or simply as a fine rock song about contrasts its a pleasure to spend time in ‘Kitty’s company, a delightful sounding lady who deserved better than to have only made #20 on the hit parade.
The programming of the album that puts ‘I’m So Sleepy’ next sounds deliberate, as if this is the only future the narrator can look forward to if he keeps pushing his body too far. Cat sings this simple song about being so tired he could fall asleep anywhere in a dreamy, satisfied voice but the lyrics suggest something nastier happening. ‘In the night I can feel it creeping...creeping’ sounds to me like a man half-aware that he’s falling ill, while the lines about something in his ‘dreams...calling, soon I’m going to slip away’ sounds less like a good night’s sleep than it does a nightmare out of a horror film. ‘I won’t fight it, I’ll just write it’ sings Cat at one point –for the sake of his health, if only he had fought it. But then again from our point of view we wouldn’t have had such sweet, lovely songs as this one: tranquil one moment and terrifdying the next, the arrangement makes a good job of juggling all the swicthes in mood and David Whittaker’s orchestral accompaniment is one of the best on the album, fairy-tale like with just enough edge not to set your teeth on edge. Eevn the ending of the song can be read as either cute or scary, with the narrator ending in mid yea-e-e’ on a song that has no resoltuion: has the narrator fallen asleep mid-song or fallen prey to his demons? Another very clever song, this could easily have been annoying but Cat sings it with just the right amount of edge, his voice in a dream-world state where nothing is as it seems.
‘Northern Wind’ is one of my favourites on the album, a faux-Western song that appears to be  the narrator offering a man called Billy a word of advice about a coming storm. The song does descend into arch nonsernse by the end, with a cluttering orchestral score and backing singers that sound more like an army from the American Civil War than a pop song, it’s true, but for the first minute or so it’s a beautiful sparkling pop song pitched just right. It’s also fascinating for Cat scholars like me looking for insight into one of the most troubled times of his life. The unknown warning sounds to me like Cat’s subconscious telling him to ‘look out’ – the coming wind that’s ‘awful strong’ that’s ‘come for you and anyone whose ever helped you on’ sounds like a tired body that already knows it’s unable to fight the germs within it. Cat’s curious reply ‘I want to live, live, live and make the stars shine bright’ only makes sense if you consider this a  song like ‘Kitty’ about someone who only lives for their ‘days off’ which aren’t really days off at all and  the line ‘I don’t want to fight it, Billy, because I want to go’ sounds like a final realisation of submission to an unseen force that makes those dreams sound unlikely. It’s notable too that, far from causing death and destruction, this wind simply makes it’s narrator ‘feel kind of strange’. Whether you believe that Cat was only really ill after this album’s release (when he collapsed and was diagnosed with TB) or whether he was really poorly long before that, from a lifestyle that just wouldn’t let his mind and body take rest and slow down, this is still an impressive song. Cod-Westerns are surprisngly common among AAA artists (there’s three in the CSN/Y canon alone) but ‘Northern Wind’ is one of the best, with a mood-setting harmonica giving way to an epic orchestral arrangement that really does sound as if we’ve gone on a ‘journey’. Even though we never quite get to the plot of the song (does the Northern Wind ever actually arrive? The music suggests it does, the lyrics suggest it doesn’t) and even though Cat’s strained vocal gets hammered into submission by an unsensitive mix that all but drowns him out, this is still an impressive song and especially recording, one that’s been forgotten by Cat sollowers for far too long.
‘The Laughing Apple’ has a title that almost could be a Syd Barrett song but, like the early Floyd, this sweet song also has bite. It starts with a sound that’s more like a door-bell or a nursery rhyme (its very like the start of Wings’ ‘Let ‘Em In’) with Cat promising to tell usthe story ‘of a tree, an apple tree.’ Again, though, I don’t think this song is just about fruit. I think this is a song about cold hearted managers ‘growing’ their superstars like a ‘tree’, watering them when they will bear them fruit and discarding them on the compost heap of life when they don’t. Interestingly, though, the apple ‘stars’ don’t want to be picked: the sensible ones all ‘duck’ when they’re about to be picked, despite the fact that they were bred solely to give ‘enjoyment’ to other people. In this song, Cat seems to be saying that the truly happy aren’t the rich and famous but those who are happy – the best apples, the best ‘stars’, are the ones who are ‘laughing’.  Alas these laughter lines are often forced, because the apples will simply be discarded if they’re ‘ever caught wearing a frown’. Like The Hollies on ‘Clown’ and various 1960-s Ray Davies songs, this is a surprisingly early piece about the downside of fame from someone who suffered from the ‘fame rollercoaster’ more than most.The song proper is another turbulent rocker, with a rasping horn that gives the song almost a soul feel and a pulsating driving tempo that rushes on even when the narrator wants to stop and think. Unfortunately, unlike ‘Kitty’ and ‘Northern Wind’ that drive doesn’t involve the listener so much as knock them backwards, making the song a gabble of words and a cacophony of noise at times. Still, as a song if not a recording this is another strong one, with the metaphor of apples perhaps stretched a bit far but then, hey, this was the 60s and most of these songwriting techniques were new back then, at least in a pop and rock context.
With such unwelcome personal changes at such a tender age, it’s perhaps no surprise that occasionally the glimpses into cat’s soul are ugly. ‘Smash Your Heart’ is a clever song that in many ways is the antithesis of ‘The First Cut Is The Deepest’, with a wronged narrator swearing he’ll get revenge on the girlfriend who spurned him, whatever it takes and however long he waits. Like ‘I’m Gonna Get Me A Gun’, it’s hard to see this vengeful spirit as the same man who turned to a religion fundamentally built on peace rather than remain in a record business he saw as corrupt (and say what you will about 9/11 Islam is based on peace from the title down – terrorism or freedom fighting is the act of a few not the whole, as the recent peace movement in the Muslim community in London proves), but it’s true. Luckily for us, this is a slow-burning song of hatred in the Stephen Stills sense, attached to a tune so beautiful and so graceful and an orchestral accompaniment so haunting it hardly seems possible that the words and music came from the same man. ‘I’ll see you pay!’sings Cat, but to a flute-led backing that makes the whole thing sound sad rather than bad, pitiful and understandable rather than a madman bent on revenge. Interestingly, the really horrible-sounding part of the track isn’t Cat’s narrator’s threat to ‘smash your heart’ but the cold disdain as he vows to ‘turn and walk away’ without a second glance, as if she meant nothing to him. Of course, that isolation is just wishful thinking – just loisten to the emotion of this track where it’s clear the narrator is incapable of doing anything but return to the scene of the crime. Like Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘I Am A Rock’, this is a man so hurt by his loved one that he’s encased off his heart ad vowed never to love another soul – even though the listener can read between the lines and knows that in truth he probably feels a bit too much. Was Cat wronged in this period? Alas we’ll never know and Yusuf’ unlikely to speak about it now, but this song does make for a complement with other tortured love songs in the period like ‘Lady D’arbanville’, love matches that were always doomed to failure despite the best attempts of both parties to reconcile their differences. An intriguing song that never quite matches it’s many harmonic sections together, it’s nevertheless a moving and complex song, ably supported by a sensitive orchestral arrngement from Des Champ which seems to instinctively grasp what a subtle and fragile rather than angry song this really is.
‘Moonstone’ ends the album’s short first side with an intriguing story-song about an archeologist who goes on the voyage of a lifetime to track down the ‘moonstone’ of the title that he’s been searching for all his life. But is it really just a stone? Or the mysteries of life, that disappear the moment you think you have them within your grasp? Closer in style to the imaginative narratives of ‘Matthew and Son’, with almsot a Tin Pan Alley patter in the opening section and a wham-bam chorus, ‘Moonstone’ is nevertheless also open to a deeper interpretation based on what we know of Cat’s life at the time. The moonstone sounds to me – and again this is only conjecture, like much of this site – like fame or drugs, with Cat the archesologist whose spent his whole life yearning for it, only to find the happiness it gives him fleeting and hypnotic (it’s no coincidence that the song ends with the dfiscomforting words ‘and it started to disappear...’) The moonstone offers a sudden pleasing but fleeting moment the narrator ‘just has to see it again’ and yet its not what we really should be searching for in life because it never offers any answers and it disappears before it can really be understood . No wonder Cat starts this song by telling us that ‘he is not insane’ – the effect this mysterious gem has both on the narrator and the music makes us giddy, what with crashing cymbals and sweeping violins and the like. Goodness knows what the ‘a-bu-ray’ chorus means, by the way, which is not one of Cat’s more inspiraing middle eights (especially given his weak double-tracked voice) but there’s something about ‘Moonstone’ that, like the gem in the title, keeps us coming back for more.
The second side begins with ‘The First Cut Is The Deepest’, a song that managhes toi cut deeper and sound more honest and less metaphorical than any other track here. There’s a reason this song has so much universal appeal it’s become one of Cat’s most covered songs, full of pain and suffering but also hope and this quietly troubled and haunted original remains the best version I’ve heard. Cat might not be the world’s greatest vocalist, particularly in these early years, but his creaking fragile voice offers up far more emotion than the more famous cover versions, PP Arnold’s earnest delivery and Rod Stewart’s sleepwalking monologue. Cat sounds more doubtful than either of them, doubly sure that a new relationship will end in tears simply because, well, they always do – but also curious enough to know what will happen with a new partner to go along for the ride, half-reluctantly. The opening is gorgeous, with an uncredited guitarist (possibly cat himself, though it doesn’t sound much like his normal work) offering a simple, melancholy mood before the track proper ‘cuts’ in, plunging the narrator in a world of love much bigger than his own lonely isolated world. The perfect musical depiction of isolation flowering into real passion and interest is matched by a set of words that, while simple, are pretty good at summing up the huge chasms of emotion felt in relationships in brief, simple, compact verses. The one part of the song that falls down for me is the chorus: this is the biggest, boldest, catchiest part of the song and yet the narrator is at his most awkward and angry here, determined that ‘the first cut ois the deepest’ and he’ll never get over it and singing about his old love when he should be singing about his new one. The clumsy rhyme of ‘worst’ and ‘first’ also sounds odd here, better suited to poetry than songs where the sound of words is everything. Still, even with this fault the song is a strong one, personal enough to sound genuine and moving and universal enough to appeal to a whole new audience less interested in laughing apples and shifting logs. If only Cat had been well enough to promote his own version he might well have had the biggest hit of his career – but then again, perhaps without suffering the mixed emotions heard in this song he might never have fallen ill in the first place.
‘I’m Gonna Be King’ is more growly simmering anger matched to hopeful optimism, with Cat singing in a much deeper register than normal. He’s not quite grown into this ‘new’ voice yet, which will suit him well come the time of ‘Mona Bone Jakon’, but even with such a struggle this song still manages to impress. ‘I’ve been pushed around, made to clook a clown’ starts the song, which is clearly aimed squarely at the managers picking up apples discriminately from trees. And yet it’s the next line, the one where ‘it is time for me to start to grow’ that resonates loudest (as well as the later line ‘it is time for me to show what I can be’). This is Cat caught halfway between his ‘old’ and ‘new’ selves, giving us a pointless silly chorus about ‘being king’ with his bride as ‘Queen’ set against the relaities that only you can shape your future and make yourself happy. The effect is like hearing someone thinking out loud, determined not to make the same mistakes and yet making them all the same. I’ll forgive Cat for now, though, because the melody that accompanies this set of lyrics is one of his best, rounded and complete in true Paul McCartney style and yet full of such believable stuttering and worrying like the best Lennon lyric. Cat really did become ‘king’ of this sort of open-hearted, revealing compositional style and even though this is an early stab at that direction, not yet delivered with as muchpanache and sophistication as used later, it’s still an important and moving song, a crucial stepping stone on the path to ‘Mona Bone’ and ‘Tillerman’. Once again, full marks to Des Champ whose melodic and understated accompaniment is just what this hesitant and hopeful song needs and who proves he really was the best of Cat’s many colleagues in this period.
‘Ceylon City’ is one of this album’s rare stabs at something wider than just the narrator and his life. On first hearing, it’s a happy quirky song about escapism, full of quick-witted rhymes and a breezy melody that’s infectious, about a far-away town the narrator knows (Ceylon, which is actually a country not a ‘city’, was part of the British Empire before changing its name to Sri Lanka and becoming independent in 1972, some four years after this album’s release), complete with clichéd wistful accordion to start us off. However, on closer inspection there are sharks in the water: listen out for both the moody links between the verses (played on a bass that sounds like it’s on say-release from a horror film set) and the hint at what the ‘brother’ on the song is up to. First he’s hiding (‘he’s nowhere!’) and later on he’s serving (presumably just the food that his ‘momma’s just served, but could it be he’s a draft-dodger forced to serve in the army? Cat sings ‘my brother will be fighting...’ on the fade too which could point to either a family feud or something more sinister). Cat did have a brother but no sister, so it’s likely that these lines are make-believe rather than autobiographical – and as far as I know he never toured or recorded in Ceylon and certainly wasn’t born there as he sings in the song (although he might well have had a holiday there) – and they’re rattled off in a vocal caught somewhere between fun and sarcasm. A feast for the ears, there’s so much going on in this song it’s hard to tell where to look next. Full marks to the un-credited harmony singer (at least, it doesn’t sound like Cat double-tracked) who does a good job of making this song sound more like energetic and hungry Merseybeat than anything Cat’s recorded up to this point. A bit of fun, with a front that might well be hiding a less innocent facade, this is a delightful pop song with a great tune and the performers at the top of their game.
From hereon in the album is less satisfying, taking the themes hinted at so far and whacking the listener overhead with them. ‘Blackness Of The Night’ is a clever acoustic song, similar to those Cat will go on to write in the 1970s, but without their honesty or depth. As first verses go this is a good beginning: taking a walk in the dark, the fugitive narrator is realising that his life is not what he thought it was and he’s on the run, afraid of everybody. However, the second verse ties the song too firmly to being anti-war (Cat even goes a bit Scottish here, as if he’s been watching too many Braveheart-type films about independence) and to top it all there’s a cheesy organ solo that’s as crass and calculated as anything in Cat’s canon. The biggest mistake of all is the lack of change: all we get are an instrumental and three verses that tell more or less the same story, to the same harmonic pattern. It’s a forgivable mistake for an 18 year old, though a surprising one for a man of Cat’s talents, and suggests that this is a really early song revived in desperation when the deadline for recording came round again. The whole song is meant to sound stirring, complete with a string arrangement that’s designed to capitalise on our heart strings, but the result is too lacklustre and too contrived to get our sympathies. We’ve all heard this sort of piece so many times before it’s hard to get excited about and – compared to the sumptuous textures of the rest of the record – this is deathly dull.
‘Come On Baby (Shift That Log)’ suffers from the opposite problem. Far from being unadventurous, this song tries to pull off so many tricks at once you want to yell at Cat to slow down. A chirpy acoustic riff gives way to some Indian-style percussion and a slow-burning groove that crawls to a halt in places before being split wide open in the instrumental middle section by some blistering horns that seem to have wandered out of some Stax recording session. The two don’t comfortably sit together, but then that’s meant to be the point: this is a song about being uncomfortable, about the growing tension between partners. Unfortunately for Cat much of his strong opening lyrical observations about the spark of interest in lovers giving way to mundane tasks, until making love is slotted in between moving logs and washing dogs as a chore, is ruined by a low and plodding chorus that makes these inanities comical rather than emotional. I’d love to have heard the backing track for this session – something that sadly seems to be out of fashion now for CD re-issues but used to be the highlights of archive releases for a time, certainly among the Moody Blues re-issues – because it sounds like a cracking one, with measured breaks between sudden excitement and lethargy. Alas, with some of the most complicated lyrics on the album added on top there’s simply too much here to take in, even on repeated listening. Cat shelved an earlier arrangement of this song because he was unhappy with it, starting all over again during one of the album’s last sessions but to my ears he still hasn’t quite nailed the song yet, making it too awkward and angular, rather than surprising and exciting. Cat doesn’t tend to revive many old songs now that he’s called Yusuf, especially from these early days, but I wonder what his more experienced brain would make of this song nowadays with that bit more experience behind him. Full marks for trying, but alas ‘Shift That Log’ tries just a little too hard and until that electrifying middle section can be something of a hard slog for fans.
The album ends on a third and final uncomfortable note with ‘I Love Them All’. For years I didn’t pay this song much attention, assuming it to be a typical 1967-68 era announcement of peace and love – but actually it couldn’t be further from the truth. Cat’s narrator this time is unlikeable, quite frankly, reminiscing about the times he spent with his true love and kicking himself for not spending more time with her and making her happy – only to have a chorus full of passing groupies and the admission that ‘if they came again I would do the same again because I’m that kind of a guy’. This type of song has dated badly and its surprising to hear it from such a forward-thinking man as late as 1968, when –the Rolling Stones and possibly Gilbert O’Sullivan aside – most songwriters had left this kind of lifestyle behind long ago (in their music, at least, if not in reality). Like ‘I’m Gonna Get Me A Gun’ the effect isn’t clever or exciting – it just sounds wrong and completely out of tune with the times. A shame, because the tune for this song is particularly strong, led by a boogie woogie piano and a stab of percussion that really highlights the song’s infectious groove and goodtime feel. Again, I’d love to hear the backing track without the words because the musicians sound like they were really on it that day.
Ah well, even with the poor ending ‘New Masters’ is still an album to savour. Whether you’re a Cat fan looking for clues towards his later work, a lover of infectious pop singles circa 1968 or someone in need of something deeper than the usual rock bands-with-orchestras fair this album should be your cup of tea. ‘New Masters’ was the first of Cat’s albums I found and whilst it’s not as deep or weirdly as accessible as what’s to come I can still see what I heard in the album to make me reach out to all the other albums to follow (and one before it). A dazzling ride through some quirky subject matters, it’s all as deep or as shallow as you want it to be, all held together by one of the hardest working (and hardest partying) 18 year olds on the planet. If we had Cat around now I’d fear for his sanity, of having too much fame too young and losing that sparkle of genius that made his songs so loved by so many people. Cat didn’t have an easy journey getting to where he wanted to go, with a history full of illness and rows with record companies and doubts over his religion and spiritual beliefs. But the fact that an 18 year old seduced by parties and the glittering lights of fame should even be thinking of spiritual matters says much for the make-up of one of our greatest musical lights. Yusuf seems to have gone quiet recently, since the release of a so-so comeback and a much superior follow-up that nobody but me seems to have bought. If he was to disappear again that would be a terrible shame because cat’s personal journey from a young bright teenager to a worldy-wise figure is one of the most fascinating stories of all. The collapse from TB and fall from grace on the charts have broken so many promising young talents, even in an era less full of brilliance than it was back then, but as we’ve seen already on this album cat was made of stronger talents than most of the fading wonders around him that year.  

A NOW COMPLETE LIST OF CAT STEVENS ARTICLES TO READ AT ALAN’S ALBUM ARCHIVES:


'Matthew and Son' (1967) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/cat-stevens-matthew-and-son-1967.html

'New Masters' (1968) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/09/news-views-and-music-issue-114-cat.html

'Mona Bone Jakon' (1970) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-35-cat-stevens-mona-bone-jakon.html

'Tea For The Tillerman' (1970) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-41-cat-stevens-tea-for-tillerman.html


‘Teaser and the Firecat’ (1971) https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/cat-stevens-teaser-and-firecat-1971.html




'Back To Earth' (1978) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/cat-stevens-back-to-earth-1978.html


'An Other Cup' (2006) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2016/05/yusufcat-stevens-other-cup-2006.html

'Roadsinger'
(2009) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2009/05/news-views-and-music-issue-31-yusuf-aka.html

'Tell 'Em I'm Gone' (2014) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/12/yusuf-cat-stevens-tell-em-im-gone-2014.html


‘The Laughing Apple’ (2017)  https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/cat-stevens-laughing-apple-2017.html


Surviving TV Appearances 1967-2015 https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/cat-stevensyusuf-surviving-tv.html


The Best Unreleased Recordings 1969-2009 https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/cat-stevensyusuf-best-unreleased.html


Non-Album Recordings 1966-2014 https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/cat-stevensyusuf-non-album-recordings.html


Compilations, Box sets and Alun Davies LPs Part One 1963-1990
https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/cat-stevens-compilationslive-lps-part.html


Compilations, Box Sets and Religious Works Part Two 1995-2012