The Beck is Joe, not Jeff, a very slick jazz guitarist responsible for the transformation of Esther Phillips from a cult R&B figure to the disco queen of New York. Phillips's style, since she came under the tutelage of Dinah Washington 20 years ago, has always been full of flattened notes, a piercing nasal tone, followed by sudden eruptions
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of tenderness. Where Aretha fills you up with her dreams and fantasies, Esther clobbers you over the head with reality. In the past three years, Creed Taylor has recorded four extraordinary, if overproduced, albums with her. The material was fine, often autobiographically slanted, and sides such as "Home Is Where the Hatred Is," "Scarred Knees" and "I Never Found a Man" are connoisseurs' classics. But her popularity never developed beyond a small, loyal following (including Aretha Franklin and Betty Wright), and Taylor grew impatient. This time out, he hired a new arranger, Beck, and the Brecker Brothers band, and decided to create a disco hit.
They chose "What a Difference a Day Makes," Dinah Washington's most popular tune, done in a format modeled after Gloria Gaynor's "Never Can Say Goodbye": The tune is speeded up, elaborately orchestrated and filled with dancer's changes. Phillips's voice is filtered to sound sexier and Barry White-style panting voices have been added. Curiously, it works.
Phillips treats the standard as a jazz player would, undercutting the sudsy lyrics and focusing on playing with the melody. She does sound sexy and it is one of the most challenging current disco numbers. It also has one quality missing from most disco records: charm.
I wish I could say that about the rest. Actually, it feels like a battleground between Phillips and the disco machine. On "One Night Affair," Esther triumphs, gracefully riding over the huffing and puffing band track, giving the whole thing erotic overtones. But the record doesn't work as a whole. The Beck arrangement is too fast and silly for dances; in fact, several places have been digging up old copies of the Jerry Butler or O'Jays version. Beck doesn't seem to understand that beneath a good disco record—like "Bad Luck"—there has to be some area for improvisation and some coordination between singer and band.
The rest of the album, with the exception of Grover Washington's "Mr. Magic," is pretty disastrous. Side two contains the worst material Phillips has recorded in ages—routine rhythm and blues and country numbers, with few saving graces. The literal-mindedness and insensitivity of the band make things worse. They have no class. Period.
To her credit, despite the utmost provocation, Esther does nothing to compromise her style or herself. There will be better Esther Phillips albums soon. (RS 198)
RUSSELL GERSTEN
