I’ll tell you what this fool believes—there has never been a song that wouldn’t sound better with Michael McDonald singing on it. The Sex Pistols “God Save the Queen”? Needs Michael McDonald on backing vocals. The Ramones first album? It would really kick ass with Michael McDonald back there singing up a soulful blue-eyed storm. Sonic Youth? Nothing without Michael McDonald. Ditto Lydia Lunch, the New York Dolls, Black Sabbath, Ted Nugent, the Urinals, Public Enemy, and GG Allin.
Ziggy Stardust may be the greatest album ever recorded but it would be an even greater greatest album ever recorded if Michael McDonald was in the mix. I’m sure you agree. Because the McGodfather’s R&B patented rumble—the guy sings like a four-on-the-Richter-scale earthquake that mumbles—will always turn anything it touches into gold. Gold records, that is. What have we done to deserve him? Nothing, so far as I can tell. He’s a form of grace. He’s Michael McDonald. I sure wish he sang on “Holiday in Cambodia.” That would fucking rock.
Of course, why settle for the Yacht Rock Soul King’s singing back-up when he can be right up front and personal? Sure, McDonald enriched songs by Steely Dan, Christopher Cross, Toto, Bonnie Raitt, Stephen Bishop, Wang Chung and others, but he’ll be best remembered for resurrecting those long gone hippies the Doobie Brothers, which let’s face it was a miracle of almost biblical proportions. Come 1975 the Doobs needed a temporary replacement for singer Tom Johnston, and McDonald not only stepped in, he stepped up, lending his trademark resonant mumble to a handful of instant classics. He singlehandedly turned a band on their way down into a first-class Yacht Rock hit machine.
Come 1982 McDonald went the solo route, and while he has recorded some fine songs over the years—including duets with the likes of Patti LaBelle and James Ingram—few equal the power and the glory of such Doobified classics as “Takin’ It to the Streets,” “Minute by Minute” or, let us all fall to our knees and give thanks, the halo-crowned “What a Fool Believes,” one of the few songs I can think of that deserves its own Nativity scene.
Which is why the 2005 Warner Bros/Rhino Records compilation The Ultimate Collection is a triumph even if it is a blatant cheat. Instead of giving us the best of Michael McDonald—whose name is attached to the album—it gives us both his individual best and his best with the Doobie Brothers. It’s a shameless ploy, and the folks who put it together should probably be sued for false advertising, but their duplicity is our delight.
Integrity has its place, but I leave it to the joyless sorts who put down the Monkees because they were a marketing ploy and have the temerity to question the greatness of the Ohio Express for the piddling reason that they don’t appear on their own song, “Chewy, Chewy.” Integrity? It’s nice so long as it doesn’t get in the way of the music. The poet Delmore Schwartz once wrote of a fellow writer that he “has scruples, he just doesn’t let them get in his way.” That guy would have done great things in the rock biz.
The Ultimate Collection is skewed only slightly towards McDonald’s non-Doobies work—seven of its thirteen tracks are culled from his first four solo albums, released between 1982 and 1990. And a quick look at the commercial fates of those albums offers up a good reason why The Ultimate Collection doesn’t focus solely on Michael’s solo work—the 1982 debut rose to No. 6 on the Billboard Charts, but each successive album fared worse until he dropped out of the Top 100. McDonald’s golden voice simply didn’t translate to gold records. As for the compilation’s chronology, it’s a bit skewed. For the most part McDonald’s earlier work with the Doobie Brothers gets A-side billing, but two of Michael’s solo songs are shoved in there without rhyme or reason.
McDonald’s tenure with the Doobie Brothers marked a seismic shift in the band’s sound. They went from playing straightforward rock and boogie to producing an intellectual-content free equivalent of Steely Dan’s patented slick and polished sound. The Doobie Brothers, of all people, became sophisticates. Donald Fagen’s sly wit was MIA, but the Doobie Brothers made up for their lack of smarts with McDonald’s soulful croon. And let’s not forget his keyboards. They were part and parcel of the Second Coming of the Doobie Brothers, and they’re front and center on most of their McDonald era hits.
His perky keyboards—which are complemented by those of Little Feats’ Bill Payne—set the tone of the McDonald Age’s greatest song, “What a Fool Believes.” It’s Yacht Rock gold, this one—a slinky pop confection on which McDonald mumbles up a storm, pausing only to hit the high notes. He once said Donald Fagen wanted him on Steely Dan’s records “‘cause I could sing like a girl.” McDonald’s piano and the congas of Bobby LaKind establish the funky groove of “Takin’ It to the Streets,” on which McDonald sounds tougher–like a street fighting man, almost. It’s a bravura performance, and the first single McDonald sang on, and what an introduction. The slick and stylish “Minute by Minute” is as close as the Doobies came to being Steely Dan clones—those backing vocals and that jazzy organ are pure Becker and Fagen—but boy does it work. Who expected the former biker bar band would one day become slick studio cosmopolitans? Nobody.
But they keep it up Steely Dan style on the ballad “You Belong to Me,” which doesn’t win any awards in the charisma department but who cares, what with McDonald going deep dish soul? The song’s all tonsils, and the same is true for “Real Love,” which lacks a stick-to-the ribs melody but gives McDonald free rein to do some serious McLovin’. “It Keeps You Runnin’” has more pop appeal—McDonald’s keyboards establish a funky groove, and he picks up the vocals and runs with them. And keeps running. And those backing vocals! Say what you will about the Doobie Brothers Mark II, they had style, and sure knew how to fill out a song. And to work magic in the studio. Hard to believe these are the same guys who gave us “China Grove.”
McDonald’s solo work is a more mixed big. His vocal performances will make you stand up and cheer, but the songs themselves aren’t as strong—I’ve listened to a few of them dozens of times and still have trouble conjuring up their melodies in my memory. Such isn’t the case with “I Keep Forgettin’ (Every Time You’re Near),” which opens with some impossibly bright keyboards, boasts a slinky melody, and features a bravura vocal performance by old blue eyes, whose eyes are actually green. “I Stand for You” has momentum, boasts a perky guitar riff, congas and some overpowering horns, and stands with his work with the Doobie Brothers. “Take It to the Heart” is a muted mid-tempo number that lacks a killer melody and is more or less forgettable—the chorus stands up, but pretty much everything else just sorta lies there.
“I Gotta Try” is an upbeat ditty, shiny as a new dime, and McDonald is at the top of his game—this one will stay with you. “No Lookin’ Back” has galloping drums but doesn’t really go anywhere—the damn thing runs in place. And McDonald’s vocal performance isn’t as overwhelming as usual. He sounds muted. But what brings it down is the melody, or lack thereof. It’s all aerobics and no hook. And its “contemporary AOR sound” sounds dated in a way that McDonald’s songs rarely do.
“Blink of an Eye” opens with some snazzy snare work, then a funky organ comes in followed by his Michaelness. The horn section annoys, and while the song is intricately put together it doesn’t take you any further than “No Lookin’ Back.” What you’re left with are McDonald’s from deep in the chest vocals—and the backing vocals that complement them nicely—and not much else, although there is a tasty guitar solo in there. “Lost in the Parade” is generic eighties who cares, and interchangeable with how many other songs of the period? Dozens? Hundreds? It’s a waste of McDonald’s barrel-chested tonsils, and McDonald’s barrel-chested tonsils are a terrible thing to waste. This could be Toto at their worst, or to be charitable any number of forgettable bands of the period at their best. Small wonder the guy would soon turn his attention to covering Motown greats.
So there you have it. The Ultimate Collection is well worth owning, but it brings into bright relief the unfortunate and undeniable fact that McDonald the solo artist was not the equal of the McDonald who successfully performed cardiac resuscitation into a band that was rapidly flatlining. But even the worst of its tracks make clear one thing. Michael McDonald has soul. I don’t have soul. You don’t have soul. We have to bask in the reflected glory of our benevolent spiritual godfather, whose voice brightens the firmament like 1,000 suns, makes tiny woodland creatures happy, and even makes Toto songs sound better. Jesus couldn’t make a Toto song sound better. He would say, “There are some miracles even the Son of God can’t perform. Like making a Happy Meal happier.”
But Michael McDonald did it. He walks on the water of popular music and lights up our lives like Debbie Boone. He has the white beard of an R&B Jehovah and if you open your heart to his glorious croon, and that divine rasp, ye shall enjoy eternal life. Or something like that.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B+
