Steven Seagal Albums (2)
What The Critics Say
Apparently, action movie actor Steven Seagal didn't toss in the towel after 2004's Songs from the Crystal Cave. That record couldn't make up its mind what it wanted it to be: adult contemporary, Triple AM, neo-soul, rock, or modern slick blues. Mojo Priest is a step up in terms of focus, and Seagal has learned how to use a recording studio. But here, he's focused on a kind of watered down, nocturnal form of urban blues. It's ultra-slick; perhaps because the studio engineer was none other than David Z.. The production is full of sheeny, high-end wash, with excellent backing vocals by Debra and Carla Barnes and Daunielle Hill. It's like a postmodern read of Chicago blues, but without the grittiness or immediacy. Everything here has been so carefully plotted out -- with the exception of the songwriting -- that it feels like a by-the-numbers set list. Seagal's guitar playing, despite showcasing his Les Paul on the cover, leaves plenty to be desired. It rarely rises above bar band pedigree, and most of the time, isn't that good. On "Love Doctor," not even the mighty Ruth Brown can rescue this 12-bar disaster. She sounds shrill and harsh while Seagal's vocal is all buried in smoke and reverb. The guitar solo is laughable. "Dark Angel" creeps above the bar because of the killer slide work by Bob Margolin, but the lyrics are hilarious in that they lay out the eight-fold path to enlightenment in Tibetan Buddhism, talking about nature of mind and protector deities. Margolin once more rescues the pathetic "Gunfire in a Juke Joint" from banality with his slide. Seagal's evocation of blues clichés would just be bad if it weren't so nauseatingly serious. All of this music takes itself so seriously that it borders on delusional excess. Check the cover: there's the man himself wearing thousand dollar threads, holding a pristine Les Paul; sitting on a chair on the front porch of some rundown shack. When he talks of drinking all the time, carrying a 45, and gambling constantly on "Gunfire in a Juke Joint," one has to wonder who he's trying to channel (perhaps he's trying to channel Robin Trower, who is trying to channel Jimi Hendrix, who is channeling Robert Johnson?). The intentionally swampy "Alligator Ass," with its phase shifted guitar and gospelized backing chorus and choogling Hammond B-3 just falls flat on its ass. "BBQ" sounds like it's trying to call forth Son Seals from the grave but the late, great bluesman is probably turning in it instead. Willie Dixon's "Hoochie Koochie Man" and Elmore James' "Dust My Broom" are so hopelessly clueless in terms of their spirit and execution that they should have been left off the disc, and Seagal should be put on trial for murdering them. On the poetically titled "Talk to My Ass," Seagal plays "guitar," "lead guitar," and "rhythm guitar" -- wha??? It's a tale of domestic disquiet that makes us root for the downtrodden wife. He duets with Bo Diddley on "Shake" that closes the formal set out. Also of interest is that players like Robert Lockwood, Jr., Homesick James, and Henry Townsend also played on the sessions and are given credit for "additional tracks" (the three mystery bonus cuts tacked on at the end). Seagal has given us another side of his ego on Mojo Priest -- as if we needed one -- no doubt encouraged by his manager, the notorious Miles Copeland. ~ Thom Jurek, All Music Guide
'Songs from the Crystal Cave'
Release Date 1/1/2004
Tracks 14
Label Nonsolo Blue's
See Album Tracklist and Review
What The Critics Say
Never released in America -- perhaps for good reason -- actor Steven Seagal's debut album as a musician is a kind of wonderful mess: it's so all over the place, it can't make up its mind what it wants to be. There are so many styles here -- from adult contemporary to soft rock, triple-A format pop tunes, rock tunes fused with Jamaican dancehall (no kidding!), softcore, nocturnal urban blues, and faux soul -- that finding the album's center is difficult, to say the least. None of these songs are written particularly well, but that's endearing in its own way, and Seagal isn't the greatest singer, but that's nothing new among movie actors -- remember Philip Michael Thomas' and Don Johnson's solo albums back in the '80s? Or Keanu Reeves' rock & roll band efforts in the 1990s? OK, on to the music itself. There are a slew of players on these sessions, but Seagal holds down the lead guitar chair for the entire record and plays plenty of rhythm guitar as well; he gets help from some fine backing vocalists including Janice Renn, Sharon Bryant, Dana Calitri, Curtis King, and Shaun Fisher. The set kicks off with the faux soul shuffle of "Girl It's Alright," written by Seagal with Greg Barnhill -- who is a most worthy collaborator and his melodies are infectious. Seagal's singing is a tad flat, but it's got some emotion going and it's believable. Veit Renn's keyboards are a bit intrusive -- it might have been nice to hear just a couple of guitars and somebody playing a conga instead of a canned drum loop, but what the hell. The ringing rockistry of "Don't You Cry" (also written with Barnhill) could have come right out of the Counting Crows fakebook at their most Beatlesque and excessive. It's still got a fine melody and the wide-open guitar sound has lots of charm, but the actor's voice has a hard time carrying it in front of such a big mix. The bluesy (but still not blues) "Music" mixes funky grooves, stinging guitars, shimmering hip-hop shuffles, LaBelle-esque backing vocals, and Jamaican dancehall in its knotty sermon on how "music is a language of the people." The Buddhist overtones in all of these songs is refreshing because they don't beat you over the head but still come across as optimistic, while still being rooted in personal responsibility. The Americana-kissed "Better Man" was written with Barnhill. As for the steamy nighttime blues of "Route 23" and the funky, reggae-tinged "My God," Seagal wrote them himself. They're interesting if a tad monotonous, but again they drip with sincerity to the point that they're completely believable. But it must be stated that the latter track's lyrics are almost embarrassing -- they're obvious to the point of overkill. What saves it is a killer harmonica solo by Stevie Wonder and a fine rhythm guitar track by Al Anderson. "Lollipop" is a straight-up reggae-pop tune with burning dancehall by DJ Lt. Stitchie (who also appears on "War"). Lady Saw, another Jamaican DJ, appears on "Jealousy," an attempt at dread reggae fusion with Kavita and Mani Subramaniam and Sabash Chudrun on vocals, violin, and tabla, respectively. It's one of the strongest things on the set. Lady Saw also appears on "Strut," which is where the disc begins to run out of steam with absolutely laughable lyrics. "The Light" works because of Chudrun and the Subramaniams and the genuine emotional content of the words, and is a fitting closer to an album that mostly misses but has moments worth engaging. The strange thing is that two years after this set was issued, Seagal issued his "blues" album, Mojo Priest. The latter album sounds like he learned nothing from this experience and traveled down a road of cynical excess, forgetting much of the good-vibes experience that Songs from the Crystal Cave exudes. ~ Thom Jurek, All Music Guide
