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• Good (1992)
• Cure for Pain (1993)
• Yes (1995)
• Like swimming (1997)
• The Night (2000)
• Bootleg Detroit (2000)

Good (1992)

6

Good / The Saddest Song / Claire / Have a Lucky Day / You Speak My Language / You Look Like Rain / Do Not Go Quietly Unto Your Grave / Lisa / The Only One / Test-Tube Baby/Shoot ‘m Down / The Other Side / I Know You (Part I) / I Know You (Part II)

A weirdly original trio, Morphine’s line-up consisted of Mark Sandman (2-string slide bass, vocals), Dana Colley (baritone and other saxes) and Jerome Dupree (drums). The result was a sound that could be both warm and bluesy as well as cerebral and detached. The latter is certainly present on this first album, where several songs seem vehicles for Sandman’s smart and often street-wise wordplay, combining thoughtful introspection with ironical observations. On the other hand, the band was also capable of playing a mean rock ‘n roll tune that could impress, despite the absence of guitar.

“Good,” the album opener, is one of many laidback grooves that are spread all over the album. Dupree provides a foundation of subtle drumming while Sandman and Colley add subdued bass and muted sax. The track immediately sets the tone for the reminder of the album, oozing out an uncomfortable darkness. The next song, “The Saddest Song,” is immediately the indisputable album highlight, a slow song with a slide bass that sounds incredibly sad. It also has the typical Sandman-wordplay full of repetitions (“On my first day back, first day back in town, first day, first day back in town…”) and an echo added to the vocals (a nice touch during the passage where Sandman sings “Come and get me in myself”). Other worthwhile tracks are “You Speak My Language,” with its steady rhythm and loud chorus during which the band really rocks out (finally!), and the jazzier “Claire,” that has several layers of saxophone, and which succeeds in leaving an impression.

Sadly enough, the rest of the album isn’t as impressive, though not bad either. “Have a Lucky Day” sounds definitely very cool and smart, and has some dirty baritone sax accents during the chorus, while the similar “The Only One” is an oddly funky track that offers a few memorable instances of excellent interplay. “The Other Side” creates a slightly feverish, Nick Cave-like atmosphere (though not nearly as threatening), and “Test-tube Baby/Shoot ‘m Down” starts off with nice propulsive drumming that speeds the pace up a bit, but never really develops into a memorable song. That can also be said of the bluesy “I Know You (Part I),” an improvement of the instrumental “I Know You (Part II).” Finally, “You Look Like Rain” is plain boring and the conversational “Do Not Go Quietly Unto Your Grave” only made me wonder whether it refers to Dylan Thomas’s poem “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” or not (I think it does).

Good introduces this trio with a nice and original sound, but without the songs to match that appeal. It’s not that these songs are bad or anything (although the album contains only one great song and two or three memorable tracks), it’s just that most of them are unremarkable, and therefore you’ll be waiting for a pay-off you’re not going to get. Not on this album, anyway.

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Cure for Pain (1993)

8

Dawna / Buena / I’m Free Now / All Wrong / Candy / A Head with Wings / In Spite of Me / Thursday / Cure for Pain / Mary Won’t You Call My Name? / Let’s Take a Trip Together / Sheila / Miles Davis’ Funeral

While their 1992 debut introduced a band with an intriguing sound and an unusual line-up, the album also failed to be entirely satisfying. Sure, the combination of melancholy slide-bass, sax and drums often sounded weirdly soothing, and here and there the band rocked out. However, despite their originality and inventiveness, the album seemed to lack something. And it’s not necessarily the absence of guitar or the two remaining bass strings, because with Cure for Pain, the Boston trio delivered an unshakeably confident and well-rounded album that stands firmly on its own, without guitars. Perhaps the band realized it themselves, perhaps they received signals from their fans or the music press, but this album is much more full-bodied than the previous one, with both the bass and sax way more upfront, sounding warm, sometimes even dirty, and, most importantly: exciting. It may not be their loudest album (insofar ‘loudest’ and ‘Morphine’ could ever fit in the same sentence), but it sure offers some nice thrills, as well as more modest tracks that are surprisingly touching on their own.

Take “Buena,” for instance, which is probably the most familiar track on this album (I think it was also used in some big budget movie, but I forgot which one): the combination of the repetitive bass-line and funky drumming will have you wiggle your ass in five seconds flat. Also, Sandman has learned to phrase his smart lyrics in a more appealing way, reciting them with much more glee and humour. Finally, it also contains a sax solo that blows away any sax part from Good. Other great-sounding and funky mid-tempo tracks are “All Wrong,” which has a sax solo with loads of wah-wah (what else is it?), and “Sheila,” with its simple and seductive music and enigmatic lyrics (“Sheila has a cat, she pats the cat, puts a spell on the cat, runs her fingers down his back, looks him in the eye, makes the cat reply”). Faster and even more electrifying are firstly the adulterous love story “Thursday” (“And sure enough one of the neighbours they saw my car, and now she says they think they know who you are, and her husband is a very violent and jealous man”), in which the bass and sax sound as distorted, excited, and wild as they should sound, and, secondly, the raunchy “Mary Won’t You Call My Name,” with another fatal woman (“I fell into the hand’s of a rich man’s daughter, she led me like a lamb no bother”) and excellent musicianship. The band also slows down the tempo in several places, with a few excellent results such as the gently paced “I’m Free Now,” and the album’s supreme ballad, “Candy”, which has a lovely and sad vocal melody that benefits from the puzzling, well-written, but slightly morbid lyrics: “Candy asked me if she died, if I could go on, of course I said I couldn’t and of course we knew that’s wrong, but Candy I said Candy no you can’t do that to me because you love me way too much for you to ever leave.” The title track and “Head with Wings” are further proof of the fact that the band had progressed with leaps and bounds, and both offer infectious sax accents and an irresistible rhythmic pulse. There are a few ‘different’ tracks, that are a retreat from the chosen direction, like the mandolin-dominated “In Spite of Me,” and the drugged-sounding “Let’s Take a Trip Together,” but they’re the least impressive tracks on this album, lacking the essence of what made the other tracks good in the first place. An exception is the sad, 1:47-long album closer, “Miles Davis’ Funeral”, which only has some silently wailing electric guitar, acoustic guitar strumming, soft percussion, and muted humming. This song should have been 10 minutes longer, that’s how beautiful it is.

When I bought this album a decade ago, I must have listened to it at least 5 times a day the first two months. I was that intrigued by this peculiar combination of smart lyrics, often minimal but steadily impressive playing, and the seductive late-night atmosphere this album oozes out. While it’s still my favourite Morphine album, I am no longer baffled by it like I used to be, maybe because I heard it too much, maybe for some other reason. Anyway, Cure for Pain made quite an impact on me and many other music fans during the early and mid-90’s, and it will keep on doing that, for as long as people are willing to embrace the compelling and sometimes addictive moods of Morphine.

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Yes (1995)

7.5

Honey White / Scratch / Radar / Whisper / Yes / All Your Way / Super Sex / I Had My Chance / The Jury / Sharks / Free Love / Gone for Good

The previous two albums of sensual baritone rock already secured Morphine a place among the most imaginative bands in ‘90’s rock, and Yes confirms that, while basically sticking to the formula. Well, maybe that’s not entirely correct, since the band’s albums became increasingly more traditional. Whereas the debut album was very much an experiment that sought to explore the confines of rock, the second album already moved towards tighter structures and more conventional song-writing, without losing any aspect of its original appeal. On Yes, the variety of sounds and styles is probably a bit more limited than on Good and Cure for Pain, but there’s a tougher backbeat and more homogeneity instead. The sound is again more fleshed out, has more of a traditional “rock” feel, with more focus on the rhythmic patterns and a broader palette of saxophone sounds, while Sandman – the Jim Thompson of ‘90’s rock – continues to deliver his ultra-cool noir lyrics with a careless aplomb he has mastered like no one else has. So, easier to assimilate than Cure for Pain – which wasn’t difficult to take in the first place, but I’ve known several people who thought something was lacking – with a more full-bodied sound and clocking in around a mere 37 minutes (excellent), Yes will satisfy those who were already converted and probably win a few more people over.

“Honey White” and especially “Super Sex,” the two singles (at least, that’s what I think they were – being all over the radio for a while), are both standout tracks that combine muscularity with finesse, earthiness with wittiness. While the first one is driven by rush hour-adrenaline and multiple layers of baritone sax, Sandman’s smart wordplay once again takes centre stage: “She said: ‘You’ll get me when I’m old and wizened and not a day before that,’ the Devil said: ‘Honey it won’t be that long, besides I like to see a little more fat.’” “Super Sex” is less frenzied but equally feverish, founded on a repetitive bass line and long, deep sax blows and delves back into stream-of-consciousness-lyrics (“Hotel rock ‘n roll, the discotheque electric super sex”) and unusual catchphrases (“Did you know the president is super super super sexy?”). The strong rhythmic pulse that drives these songs is also present during the straightforward “Radar” and the short but funky title track that proves Conway and Sandman didn’t need more than your basic drum kit and a two-string slide bass to make you move your buttocks. Even a lot better is “Sharks,” the most raucous metaphor (“Sharks patrol these waters, don’t let your fingers dangle in the water”) the band ever committed to tape. Apart from these swift songs, the album of course contains its share of moderately paced tracks and that’s where the ‘problem’ lies. Well, not really a problem, but I’ve always found these songs a bit too interchangeable. “Scratch,” “Whisper” and “All Your Way” are all good songs, but there’s nothing that really sets them apart from each other, which makes them sound like different parts of the same song. I’m still impressed by the album’s ‘slow’ songs though. Both “I Had My Chance” and “Free Love” boast deep cajoling sax bursts that succeed better in creating a sweaty, dense and threatening atmosphere than many thrash metal albums. However, despite the inclusion of a few excellent tracks, there’s simply not enough that sets this album apart or improves on the previous album, which ultimately was more suggestive and contained a few tracks (“Miles Davis’ Funeral,” “Buena”) that possessed an enigmatic quality this album is mostly lacking (even though the acoustic “Gone for Good” and the Waits-meets-Bukowski-styled monologue are worthy attempts). So, it’s definitely an album you should have or at least have heard, and I presume it’s many fans’ favorite album, but it doesn’t really have Cure for Pain’s non-definable appeal.

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Like Swimming (1997)

6

Lilah / Potion / I Know You (Pt. III) / Early to Bed / Wishing Well / Like Swimming / Murder for the Money / French Fries w/ Pepper / Empty Box / Eleven O’Clock / Hanging on a Curtain / Swing It Low

While the previous two albums didn’t succeed in getting the band a breakthrough (as if that ever would happen), they did secure them a deal with the major Dreamworks, who decided - for the sake of credibility? - to give the band a shot. Unfortunately, Like Swimming rarely hints at the high quality of Cure for Pain or Yes. It doesn’t have the standout tracks Yes had, nor the consistency and variety that turned Cure for Pain into a must-have, nor is it a satisfying overall experience. It has its share of good songs, but they’re scattered all over the album, making this a very hit-or-miss listen, although – and this is quite rare – the second half might be the stronger one. Because “Lilah” is a one-minute instrumental, “Potion” more a succession of cool sounds than an actual song and “I Know You (Pt. III),” like parts I and II on the debut, fails at rising above mediocrity, it takes the band a while to offer a first successful track: “Early to Bed.” Dominated by a stuttering sax and – gasp – synth sounds, it’s a track that gets its appeal from the bare essentials. Less is indeed more. Quite remarkably, the other best songs are – like “Early to Bed” – the ones that tamper around with the ‘classic’ Morphine sound.

“Eleven O’Clock” is perhaps the hardest-hitting song the band ever released, with lots of bass distortion and a merciless repetition. Lyrically, nor structure-wise, it is anything particularly interesting, but it’s different, it’s fresh and something you wouldn’t have expected. The same goes for album closer “Swing It Low,” that doesn’t have any sax at all, just Sandman’s nearly whispered vocals, dreamy keyboards and soft beats from a drum machine. Also among the familiar sounding tracks some are successful, like tale of madness “Empty Box” and the seductive title track that once again confirms that the band was at its best when they combined sexual tension with a sense of shadowy mystery, something that was also hinted at in “Murder for the Money,” a track that might’ve been a soundtrack to some Raymond Chandler adaptation, but that ultimately is no match for earlier highlights such as “Thursday,” “Honey White” or “Scratch” to name a few. Finally, “Wishing Well” and “Hanging on a Curtain” are quite bland and the nonsensical “French Fries” never transcends patchiness. All in all, this suggests that Like Swimming – exactly like the debut – has the sound that set them apart, but not quite the songs to match it. With their fourth album, the Boston trio had painted themselves very much into a corner (unavoidable with this line-up?) and something new (which was hinted at in a few songs) was needed very fast. Unfortunately, something happened that cut short their career forever. On July 3rd 1999, the band played at the Nel Nome del Rock-festival in Palestrina (near Rome, Italy). During the gig, Sandman spoke these words of appreciation “Thank you Palestrina, it's a wonderful evening, it's great to be here and I wanna dedicate you a super sexy song,” and then he just fell over and died on stage, in front of 2,000 people. It was a natural death (cardiac arrest) and the band insisted the festival went on as scheduled, to continue Sandman’s legacy and love for music. Shortly after his death, The Mark Sandman Music Education Fund (an “organization dedicated to promoting innovative and creative approaches to music education for children”) was founded and also the album the band recorded shortly before his death was released. Contrary to Like Swimming, that album does find the band at a peak.

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The Night (2000)

7.5

The Night / So many Ways / Souvenir / Top Floor, Bottom Buzzer / Like a Mirror / A Good Woman Is Hard to Find / Rope on Fire / I’m Yours, You’re Mine / The Way We Met / Slow Numbers / Take Me with You

Ever heard a song that’s so terribly good that it makes you feel bad? Bad for having discovered it, for having chosen music as a passion, for having started all this music reviewing business in the first place. It seems that some songs aren’t meant to be dissected in an environment like this. They defy it, they resist analysis with a persistent stubbornness, because you can only regard them in their gut-targeting essence. The title track that opens this album is one of those songs. I guess it’s basically a fairly simple song with the familiar Morphine ingredients, yet it’s so much more than you could’ve hoped for. The combination of baritone sax and cello comes straight from an unspecified funeral, the drummer doesn’t play the drums, but he makes love to the skins and surrounding cymbals, while Sandman calls upon the muse he already referred to on the previous album (“Lilah”) with imagery that once more shows his infatuation with lyrics of a vague and enigmatic nature: “You’re the night Lilah, a little girl, lost in the woods, you’re a folk tale, the unexplainable.” The fact that Sandman died before this song was released makes it even more haunting – a normal sensation I presume, as most creations seem to become more meaningful after their creators have passed away.

It’s hard to avoid looking for hints that Sandman saw his fate coming - even though it was something as trivial as a heart attach that killed him – and lines such as “Leave your world, come to me, I’m closer to you than I seem” (in “Like a Mirror”) leave a wry taste. In many ways, The Night seemed to suggest that the band was ready to enter a new phase in its existence. While many of the key elements (the unique instrumentation always makes them instantly recognizable) are kept intact, many of the songs on the album are longer and sound darker than those on the previous four albums, while there are more contributions from guest musicians, on cello (the omnipresent Jane Scarpantoni, who worked with everyone from the Beastie Boys to Bob Mould), organ (John Medeski from jam-jazz trio Medeski, Martin & Wood) and even some female backing vocals. Medeski is probably most prominent during the lengthy “Top Floor, Bottom Buzzer,” a lengthy snapshot of a hipster gathering that’s dominated by a relentlessly sexy groove that makes you wanna organize your own private party. Other highlights are the Arabian-tinged “Rope on Fire,” that’s another instance of the band cultivating it’s inscrutable image and imaginary world, where eros and thanatos are the governing elements; and the impressive ballad that closes the album in a fine style, with some memorable melodies provided by saxman Colley. In between these impressive tracks, there are a bunch of songs that have their merit, but ultimately don’t succeed in distinguishing themselves that effectively. Of course, the near-threatening sounding “A Good Woman Is Hard to Find” does confirm that Sandman knew his Flannery O’Connor and knew how to portray female ‘entities’ as alternately intriguing, addictive and destructive, but the song doesn’t offer anything new. Quite similarly, the cool and plodding “Slow Numbers” gets its merit from Sandman’s smart wordplay (“Some of the numbers lose their smiles, especially the numbers one through nine, because they’re only seating parties of ten or higher”), while “I’m Yours, You’re Mine,” despite the nice staccato accents and the catchy chorus, seems to fall a bit short. Finally, it’s quite striking that Sandman regularly abandons the slide guitar in favor of a usual bass guitar (I presume) that nearly sounds like those ultra-deep moog pedals (during “Souvenir,” for instance). Anyway, I found it a bit disappointing that Morphine’s last album couldn’t be as great as the title track that opens it, but the beauty conveyed by that one, along with the neat ideas that are scattered over the album, are proof of the fact that Sandman still had a lot to tell to those who were won over by the trio’s low rock. So, The Night isn’t quite the masterpiece some people were probably waiting for, but it’s a better testament than Like Swimming, and more important than that, it should convince you that beneath the surface of easily digestible and spineless rock music, there are always some treasures waiting to be discovered.

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Bootleg Detroit (2000)

8

Intro / Come Along / Dana Intro / Mary / Banter #1 / Candy / Sheila / Billy Intro / Claire / My Brain / Banter #2 / Head with Wings / Cure for Pain / You Speak My Language / Thursday / Banter #3 / You Look Like Rain / Buena

It’s quite remarkable that the band’s one and only live album was not only released after Mark Sandman had died (allegedly, he’d edited the material shortly before that fatal night in Italy), but also that it was a “Low-fi recording by a fan in the audience St. Andrew’s Hall, Detroit Michigan March 7, 1994.” It indeed has the ‘shortcomings’ most bootlegs have (an unsteady sound, lots of noise by the audience), but it’s never irritating. If anything, it even adds to the representative quality of the album, since it really took me back to the evening when I witnessed them during the ’94-edition of the annual Pukkelpop festival in Belgium (in august). The sound may not be crystal-clear, but hey, the live Morphine experience wasn’t about coming as close to the studio albums as possible. They weren’t the Steely Dan of indie rock and they sure as hell knew how to deliver the goods when they were supposed to (their version of “All Wrong” was so good I actually yelled “YEEAAAAH” or something like that – and that’s not normal, I can assure you). Most of Bootleg Detroit sounds either fascinating or exciting, the band exploring their invented brand of rock with lots of gusto. The only thing that mars this release a bit is that it seems to promise more than it can deliver.

The booklet and back cover mention 18 tracks, but the truth is that there are only 12 actual songs included (that’s counting the neo-Beatnik-with-freewheeling-sax of “My Brain” as a song), while the rest are merely song introductions that are separated as if they were songs. As for the songs, the selection is superb, which isn’t that surprising considering the fact that the band was on the road supporting their best album, Cure for Pain, from which seven songs are taken. The debut is represented by three tracks, but the song they started off with, “Come Along,” never appeared on any of their albums, and that’s a shame since hearing it for the first time was a total blast: starting off with Conway’s drum intro, it features a killer bass line and booming double sax courtesy of Colley, who delivers one kick-ass solo. Next are four portraits of the women (“Mary,” “Candy,” Sheila” and “Claire”) that inhabited the band’s first two albums. Of those songs, the most impressive are “Candy,” which makes you remember why you chose Cure for Pain as your favorite Morphine album in the first place; and “Sheila” with its seductive pace and wonderful opening blows. Other highlights come with the back-to-back attack of “You Speak My Language”/”Thursday,” songs as wild, raucous and rocking as anything in their catalogue. Conway’s funk never lets up, Sandman delivers his wise-ass stories of adultery and other passions with the fitting cool credibility, while Colley wails, bleats and blows his sax to pieces, so to speak. The album ends with an excellent version of “Buena,” one of the band’s very best songs (prove me wrong, prove me wrong!), but it should be clear by now. Hearing Bootleg Detroit once more made me realize that they really were something special and to be reckoned with, while it’s also one of those live albums that makes you wish you were there when it happened. Well, I did see ‘em around that time, but unfortunately the details have become a bit blurry. Time travel would be cool.

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