Monday, September 5, 2011

#462 - Marvin Gaye - Here, My Dear


Critically panned upon its’ initial release, Marvin Gaye’s ode to divorce Here, My Dear has now come to be known as a genius album. Ummmm, huh? Now, there is no argument from me that Gaye is an immense talent. Arguably, the best R&B crooner of all time, but this album is, for lack of a better term, weird. This is unfortunate, because the story behind this album is so wonderfully tragic that I want this album to be the best thing I have ever heard.

Upon their divorce in 1975, Marvin Gaye and Anna Gordy (sister to legendary label owner Berry Gordy) came to an agreement where Gaye would kill two birds with one expensive stone. Berry Gordy was pressing Gaye for an album and Anna wanted paid. Seeing as how Gaye had been getting it on and having two children with another woman, I don’t blame her. Ultimately, it was agreed upon that Gaye would write the album that would later become Here, My Dear and that the album’s advance and the first $300,000 of its’ earnings would go to his ex-wife. Gaye agreed to these terms fully intending to write a piece of shit record just to appease the Gordy clan, but then Gaye’s emotions (as well as his artistic pride) got in the way. The album developed into something that ran the spectrum of emotion ranging from rage to bitterness to genuine heartache. The artist was unsure if he even wanted to release the deeply personal album. Eventually, he did, but only after having his ex-wife listen to it. She was less than ecstatic.

I was very harsh on this album the first few times I listened to it. It may be due to the fact that Gaye disregarded most pop conventions when constructing these songs. Half the songs don’t appear to even include a hook or chorus. Instead, the album presents itself as some form of R&B/Jazz fusion record. The uniqueness of the album and Gaye’s masterful voice began to grow on me, but ultimately I feel this album falls way short of such a high accolade. Ultimately, the same things that I love about this album are its’ downfall. Gaye’s heartfelt lyrics tug at the listeners’ heartstrings, at times, but these same lyrics also provide some awkward sarcasm and lyrical pitfalls. I’m not going to go into each song and dissect them as I sometimes do. Instead, I’ll leave it at this. If you are a true fan of Marvin, you may love this album (even though as I stated before this album was slammed upon its’ release). If you are not a fan in the same vein, you may want to pass on this album. I definitely think it is worth a listen, but am not read to give my approval on its’ inclusion on this list.

-d.


Marvin was never one for subtlety. He makes it very clear how he feels, what he plans on doing to you once you’re in his bedroom, or how much you’ve hurt him when you won’t let him do the aforementioned anymore. He found success by wearing his heart on his sleeve, and doing so with one of the most beautifully passionate voices in r&b. Unfortunately, that voice was so stunted by excessive drug use by the time Here, My Dear was recorded that despite it’s heavy emotional content, it feels lifeless.

Let’s set the scene. Marvin married Anna Gordy, seventeen years his senior, in 1964. They remained a power couple, as he was a superstar singer and she was Berry Gordy’s older sister and a successful songwriter herself, until the early ‘70s. That would be when he met a 17 year old girl named Janis, and began an affair with her. Obviously this didn’t set well with Anna, and she ended up leaving Gaye, who then wrote this album about the whole sordid mess. So when I first saw titles like “I Met A Little Girl” my mind began questioning the appropriateness, and I wondered where this was all headed.

Turns out that song is about Anna, and practically walks you through their relationship. Marvin even yells out the exact year he plans to reference before each verse, which is just as corny as it sounds. That kind of defines my problem with this whole thing; it’s corny as hell. Not in a kitschy, unapologetic way either. In a do-we-really-need-another-spoken-intro kind of way. It’s like a lounge singer doing a retrospective, with lot’s of unnecessary time spent beating the plot into you.

“Is That Enough” could be a beautiful song with an epic sax solo if not for one thing. In the middle of that solo, there is a missed note that pops the worst reed squeak I have ever heard on record. My middle school band director would have slapped us over a mistake that horribly timed. I think the player is Ernie Fields, Jr., who currently plays in the American Idol band. So if any of you ever get the chance to make it to the finals of that affront to music, paintbrush that bastard for me.

It’s not that this is a terrible album. Really, it’s not. It’s just so far from the greatness that Marvin Gaye was capable of. Cocaine had gotten the best of him. He wasn’t questioning his initial ideas, and it shows a real lack of taste at times. Random instrumental solos overlayed in the verse clash with the vocals, with both being poorly performed. It just all feels lazy, which makes me so frustrated. This could have been a fantastic breakdown of such an emotionally turbulent period, the kind most songwriters have a perverse wish for, which tend to motivate great art. Instead we get half-assed, spaced out meanderings that completely fail to ever find the point.

This isn’t from this album, but a Hawaiian playing Marvin on ukulele is worth it.

-the fat man