Boy do these guys have chops! Boy is their inimitable brand of jazz fusion as relentlessly “upbeat” as everybody else’s inimitable brand of jazz fusion! Boy do I never want to hear them again!
To the extent that I’m deaf to the charms of jazz fusion I probably shouldn’t be reviewing Sea Level or their 1977 sophomore release Cats on the Coast. What I hear when I listen to jazz fusion is a music that combines the worst of jazz and the worst of rock to create a kind of dumbed down muzak that offends both the jazz lover and the rock lover in me.
Left high and dry when the Allman Brothers Band broke up (albeit temporarily) in 1976, Chuck Leavell (piano, keyboards, vocals), Lamar Williams (bass), and Jai Johnny Johanson (drums and percussion) went down the worm hole of fusion music. Randall Bramblett joined in time for Cats on the Coast, lending both vocals and alto and soprano saxophones to the mix. Unfortunately he also seems to killed the funky impulses Sea Level demonstrated on their 1977 eponymous debut.
Not surprisingly, I find most of Cats on the Coast (and all of its B Side) unlistenable. What’s more surprising is that it includes a couple of tracks that, while hardly worth a second listen, don’t immediately induce projectile vomiting. And the playing throughout is solid (drummer George Weaver and conga player Jaimo acquit themselves quite nicely), if not my cup of tea. Perky–and perky is what Sea Level is selling–wears thin very quickly, and too much of the stuff can be downright nauseating.
Let’s address the listenable ones–and by listenable I mean not godawful–first. “Hard to Fall” splits the difference between Little Feat and Steely Dan; the problem, not surprisingly, is it doesn’t measure up to the songs produced by either band. Still, if you turn off your brain and just appreciate the funky groove and solid musicianship, it ain’t bad. Then there’s “That’s Your Secret”–the only Sea Level song to chart–which is quite palatable in a Yacht Rock kinda way. While these cats hail from Macon, Georgia, on this LP they’re working a West Coast groove, and this one sums up both the best and worst of the Left Coast’s music scene–the sound is clean, the guys have their arrangements down pat, and depending on your point of view it’s either really nice to your ears or sterile beyond words. I fall into the latter camp.
The album’s only bona fide good track is the bluesy “It Hurts to Want It So Bad.” The organ has a nice gospel feel, the electric piano is bright but not blinding, the horn arrangement has kick, and Leavell, while no Gregg Allman, carries the tune with conviction. If Sea Level sounded like this all the time they might have made a career out of opening for Little Feat. Unfortunately, “It Hurts to Want It So Bad” is the odd man out on Cats on the Coast; the boys would obviously much rather be showing off their smooth jazz chops.
And show them off they do, on such jejune numbers as Side One’s “Storm Warning,” which showcases Leavell’s piano and tries, but fails, to reproduce the formula that made “Jessica” such an enduring Allman Brothers classic. Side Two is well-nigh unbearable. “Midnight Pass” is bullshit in a blender; Bramblett is no Tom Scott who is no big sax talent anyway, and it’s only Weaver’s drumming that keeps this baby from straying into Grover Washington Jr. territory.
“Every Little Thing” has a reggae feel that ought to spark outrage in Jamaica and that’s all I’m going to say about it except it’s not as jazzy as anything else on the B Side, which is, I suppose, a kind of compliment. Oh, and vocalist Bramblett is every bit as soulful as Buzzy Linhart!
The title track begins life as a slow mood piece (think John Coltrane’s idiot brother) in which Bramblett’s alto sax sails like a pigeon over Leavell’s lounge piano. Then it picks up a trifle and Bramblett lets out his inner Kenny G, while Leavell continues a’noodling. Then the boys turn up the funk as high as they can, putting them at a par with, say, the Eagles. Then, shock of shocks, they come as close as they ever got to actually letting loose, and for a moment you think wow, maybe these guys’ every last move isn’t dictated by their slavish dedication to their notion of what constitutes “good taste.” But the moment doesn’t last, and they quickly get back to bidness as usual, making the kind of music designed to tap into the vast audience for Chuck Mangione.
On Cats on the Coast Sea Level seeks its own level, which lies somewhere below Weather Report at their absolute worst and Mr. C. Mangione at his absolute best. Jazz fusion lovers may forgive them their pureed sound, insipid melodies and unrelentingly feel good sound, but I’ll be damned if I will. If Spyro Gyra’s music is a kind of bathroom mold, Sea Level’s is a variety of seaweed, and not one of the varieties that are good for you. No, they’re of the family Lyngbya, and could lead to ciguatera poisoning. And you don’t want ciguatera poisoning, do you?
GRADED ON A CURVE:
D+
