Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel - Timeless Flight

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Timeless Flight (1976) ***

Reviews are subjective by nature, and while I honestly enjoy this album a bit more (considerably more on a good day) than the three stars indicated above, that's simply because I like Steve Harley.  No, I don't mean that I know him personally - he could be an asshole in real life, for all I know or care.  He's got one of those rare voices that simply oozes warmth and charisma - a bit like Roger McGuinn does (did?), with a similarly friendly, slightly straining tenor.  The Cockney Rebels are present in name and perfunctory backup musicianship only:  this is the album where Harley apparently decided to make his gambit for serious singer-songwriter.  What that amounts to in practice is that we get an entire album's worth of mid-tempo, folky pop/rock songs stripped of any extraneous instrumentation that distracts from the words and the vocal delivery of those words - Harley's a man with a message, kids.  Exactly what that message is remains unclear, shrouded by metaphoric obscurity even at its most topical ("Red is a Mean, Mean Colour," character assassinates Bolshevik U.K. politicians with Cold War paranoia, but you'd never guess that unless you already knew to look for it - then it all falls into place).  Oh, "Understanding," is straightforward, alright -  in a rather gruesome way.  Harley had written love songs before, but never so bitelessly banal.  "Don't Go, Don't Cry," is the second album lowlight - mellow funk was never Harley's forte; it rocks so mildly it inspires little more than toe-tapping, never mind booty-shaking.   The rest of the album's six cuts are alright - just alright. nothing more; perhaps with the exception of the twilight loveliness of "All Men Are Hungry," the surefire cut-out for compilations.  Harley almost seems intent on sheer hooklessness, avoiding any of his trademark oddball hooks that made him interesting in the first place - perhaps he thought those too gimmicky and glam too juvenile, but now he's grownup and making mature music for serious consideration.  And if there's usually a recipe for a formerly exciting artist slipping into menopausal boredom, that's it.  The album initially comes off as drab and monochromatic as its cover:  classic Cockney Rebel swirled in kaleidoscope; solo Steve Harley steeps briskly in Earl Grey.  However, adjust yourself to the sad reality of a deeply ordinary, musically unadventurous singer-songwriter album and you've got quite a good one - that is, if you're predisposed to like Mr. Harley and his sense of songcraft already.  The album is too laidback by half - more Gordon Lightfoot than Bob Dylan, but hey I like Lightfoot, too, mellow easy-going melodics and all.  "Nothing is Sacred," essays the best of that Lightfoot/Dylan style, over five breathless (literally) minutes of verbiage with no room for any other than a torrent of words.  It's off-putting at first, but give it some time and it becomes cozy and comfortable.  Same as the rest of the album.