separate entity, it's not a bad record. It's just that her previous ones are much better.

Maybe she was turned off by the extreme commercial success of the songs on her first two albums. Many of those songs have become TV Prime Time staples, performed and misinterpreted by every notalent with show-biz connections. At any rate, with her last album, New York Tendaberry, Miss Nyro has veered away from the substantial song to the more nebulous realm of the avant-garde. Even Miles Davis digs her.

It may be working. She's retained the intensity and even the musicality of her earlier works, but much, for me, anyway, has been lost. Primarily, it has lost its enjoyment factor. Her music can be appreciated for its virtuosity, but it's hard to just sit back and dig on it. It's too bloody serious. Worse yet, Laura Nyro has set herself a number of cliches, admittedly unique, upon which she depends very heavily. They become increasingly uncomfortable, as they are iterated and re-iterated.

Christmas and the beads of sweat is simply, a difficult record to listen to. Much of it sounds like vocal and finger exercises. When she seizes on something substantial, she has a habit of worrying it to death.

Moreover, her technique has become static and she has come to rely on her tonal textures rather than do anything with her "sound." So many of the cuts on this record sound like earlier stuff. The semi-surreal lyrics, the multiple tracked voice, the flamboyant use of her considerable range; they've lost their ability to startle, and she doesn't seem to have made the next move.

It's so difficult to pick an example from this record, because even after many listenings, the songs do not become distinct. They still run together to a far greater extent than on any previous album. This, I find, is the worst quality of the record. It has all the faults of modern jazz with few of its strengths.

But, there is one exception.

In concert, Laura does "Spanish Harlem," which always goes over well. On this record, she does Goffin-King's "Up On The Roof," which is, as far as I know, the first song she ever recorded that she didn't write. It's the high point of the album. It has the solidity that the rest of the record lacks. Her trilling and deep breathing form frosting for the composition rather than become the basis of the whole song. It's beautiful.

Cbristmas and T