It's a Shame About Ray (30th Anniversary Edition)

Resenha do Álbum

The rapid evolution that Evan Dando took The Lemonheads through in the short span between 1989's Lick and 1992's It's a Shame About Ray is still remarkable, some 30 years later. Although the group had quickly matured from a clang-bang clutch of smartass pop-punks from Boston into a moderately accomplished clutch of smartass pop-punks who benefited from some strong songwriting chops, Lick closed the door on the Lemonheads' early phase and set the table for the incredible combination of open-chord eloquence and barre-chord muscle that made 1990's Lovey such a remarkable major-label debut. Punk, but not; twangy, but not; lyrically evocative, but sometimes kinda dumb; ironically detached, but deeply sincere ... the album was defiant in its refusal to be pigeonholed, and, accordingly, was largely ignored by both record-buyers and radio programmers. That changed dramatically on It's a Shame About Ray, an album that took a very light sander to some of Lovey's rougher edges, added Juliana Hatfield as a bassist, and saw Dando crank up his songwriting prowess to emphasize the deft ease with which he combines crunchy alt-rock and acoustic breeziness. While structurally and sonically Ray closely resembles Lovey, there's a patina of professionalism here that helps Dando avoid some of his worst tendencies, and all the songs are taut and focused, filled with memorable characters ("Hannah & Gabi," "Alison's Starting to Happen), harrowing situations ("My Drug Buddy," "Ceiling Fan In My Spoon"), and lovelorn woefulness ("Rudderless," "Bit Part"). And, of course, there's the semi-ironic cover. Or, in the case of Ray, there are two semi-ironic covers. While Dando had always been quick to bust open the songbook, whether covering Patsy Cline, Gram Parsons, the Misfits, or even (or perhaps, especially) Suzanne Vega's "Luka," he played it coy on the original release of Ray, including a deep cut from the musical Hair ("Frank Mills") that sounded absolutely at home with rest of the material on the album, functioning as a sly nod and a note-perfect album-closer. However, he also contemporaneously recorded a cover of Simon & Garfunkel's "Mrs. Robinson" for a separate project, and that version managed to become a huge hit after initial pressings of Ray had already gone out the door. So, the note-perfect closer of "Frank Mills" was followed—somewhat clunkily—on subsequent versions of the album by what would end up being its biggest hit. That running order is maintained on this 30th anniversary edition, which also tacks on all of the demo tracks and b-sides released on a previous deluxe edition as well as some additional demos being heard here for the first time. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz