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Half of this album is twaddle.
The other half is staggering. The dead man sings with uncanny dignity and often a single note will be better than the last time you looked upwards and saw Concorde dissect Orion. Like all the storybooks say, Roy Orbison's voice was something language can't describe. His last British concert was a revelation to me. I'd always bracketted him with all the other "legendary" old fogeys, but that night the man was a rock in flames. How well I remember. The youthful Wilde in floods of tears. My ladyfriend fainting. Everybody seeking a reason not to leave at the end. It was like a yard sale for closet emotionalists. It was gripping stuff.
Then Roy Orbison died. This meant many things to many people. To me it meant Wilde neglected to back the horse I'd tipped (it won) so naturally I regretted The Big O's demise without reservation. Then I hear the five and a half glorious songs on "Mystery Girl" and do you know what? I feel a great deal less flip about the whole grievous affair.
The four and a half silly rockabilly/C&W dirges on here (which could be anybody — something we shouldn't be allowed to say about Orbison) are probably the fault of producer Jeff Lynne. I mean, maybe they're not, but let's blame him anyway, shall we? We'll ignore those. We're thoughtful like that. The half and half one, by the way, is the current hit "You Got It," which as you know is horribly contrived but clutches one or two golden moments to its panting bosom.
It's the weepies we're interested in, because if ever a truism was true it's that the dead man could turn a weepie into a cascade. "In The Real World" delights us, a kind of sequel to "In Dreams" which devotees will doubtless interpret in a heavily spiritual fashion, given the recent shrugging off of mortal coil. "If only we could make of life what in dreams it seems / But in the real world, we must say real goodbyes ... there are things which we can't change, endings come to us ..." This velvet kiss is not so much godlike as blessed. ("And a surefire Number 1" — Virgin Records.) The closing 10 seconds are transcendent.
Similarly, "A Love So Beautiful" and "Careless Heart" are exquisite in their just-the-right-side-of-maudlin proud stance. Carry on bleeding, says Roy. Soppiness glowers erect on those strong shoulders. It's that voice again, bringing it home that its much tougher to admit the tears and still come out fighting than it is to put on an ironically detached brave face. Actually, it's not, in my belief. Putting on an ironically detached face is tougher, and certainly more heroic, cos you don't get sympathy. But anyway, Orbison sometimes makes you think it's the other way, which is what we all want to hear when we want to hear it, when we "bite the bullet and then you chew it," as the dead man himself phrases it. I hope you have enjoyed this paragraph.
There are two more worthy successors to the likes of "It's Over" and "Crying" on the posthumous platter. They stem from unlikely sources. "She's A Mystery To Me" is a U2 song. I hate U2 but find this sublime, which possibly demonstrates what an irritating vocalist Bono really is. It's such a simple song I can't waffle about it. Just inhale the manifold nuances of strength in the voice. And "The Comedians" is an Elvis Costello song. Same applies, but this is an astonishing creation.
And what a story! There's old Roy sitting at the top of the ferris wheel looking out over the fairground and thinking she's left him suspended up there for a bit of a lark. Then he twigs she's walking off hand-in-hand with the wheel operator! While Roy's suspended up there like a lemon! God is that cruel! What a cruel story. God that's really terrible. Love can be a bitch sometimes. Absolutely mate. Storming stuff, if a fraction overt on the symbolism. (Mind you, if anyone ever comes up with a line as clever as "He stopped the world from turning at your command" is in this context, I'll personally rush out and purchase the entire Declan MacManus back catalogue.) Whatever, "The Comedians" is an awe-inspiring melodrama sung like a muse by a champion.
The way I see it, we are all but spilled salt crystals on top of the fridge with the oranges and one day the cat sneezes so we fall down the back with the plastic bags and stuff. To leave a body of work like Roy Orbison's is therefore quite an achievement. More than not, Mystery Girl aids and abets the legend's fierce fortitude.
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