‘King of Yesterday’
a decent snack of pop

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Reviews by Burl Burlingame
bburlingame@starbulletin.com

"King of Yesterday" Jude (Maverick)

Jude Christodal has this decidedly uncommercial habit of repeating songs from earlier albums. This time out it's "I Do," from his 1998 "No One Is Really Beautiful" debut for Madonna's label, Maverick, and "I Will Not Die" from an even earlier recording.

Apparently assembled under a tight budget over a weekend slam-jam with friends sitting in -- no other musicians are credited -- and under orders to deliver radio-ready sap-pop after another arty and ambitious project was shelved by Maverick, this is a California-casual, blue-eyed soul confection of the highest order.

Jude has an extraordinary four-octave voice, and it positively resonates with pretty-boy angst -- listen to him cover David Gates' angelic "Everything I Own" as if it were the most important song ever written -- and his sheer sincerity lets him skate through some pretty ineffective arrangements.

It's all very pleasant as it's occurring, but it just dribbles out your ears and evaporates when it's over. The most effective cuts are the most personal, such as the confessional "Red Room," or the snappy observations of "The Not So Pretty Princess" and "Sit Ups."

This record doesn't sound like anything else out there, and it takes the pop-music groove seriously -- and that's not a recommendation; it's an advisory observation.

"Let's Get Together" The Dickey Betts Band (Back Alley)

Betts, whose graceful, loping guitar leads helped define the jazzy Allman Brothers sound of the late '70s, was asked to leave the band under suspiciously unpleasant circumstances a while ago. This solo record pretty much explains why. It's a mess -- unfocused, sloppy, uninspired, cranky and slow-minded.

It's pretty much standard-issue Southern rave-on blues, played by absolutely average musicians. Virtually all tunes clock in at seven minutes-plus; one is 12 minutes long, and should have been only three.

Where's the producer? If it weren't for Betts' presence, this stuff wouldn't get past a record label's front desk. But -- let's be frank -- Betts is more of a liability than an asset here. He's singing like Foster Brooks and playing guitar like he's just been introduced to the instrument. It's embarrassing.

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