Graham Parker

(Translated from my original Italian text by ChatGPT and Piero Scaruffi)

Graham Parker's rock band was perhaps the most resounding and authentic example of populist rhythm and blues to emerge from English pubs in the 1970s. Parker quickly established himself as the punk version of Bruce Springsteen—full of emphasis, anger, and rebellion.

Howling Wind (Mercury, 1976), leveraging vibrant rhythms and whipping guitars (thanks in part to his backing band, the Rumour, led by Brinsley Schwarz himself), showcased Parker’s passionate grit and raw romanticism with a vernacular tone and a back-alley atmosphere (piercing horns and boogie piano) that seemed lost after the 1960s of the Rolling Stones and the Yardbirds. The Rumour excelled especially in the neurotic rhythm and blues of White Honey and Lady Doctor, and in the exuberant rock and roll of Back To Schooldays. The reggae ballad Don't Ask Me Questions and the bright tales of Gypsy Blood and Soul Shoes completed the panorama.

Back Door Love, on the contemporaneous Heat Treatment (Mercury, 1976), the great New York Shuffle, and Watch The Moon Come Down, on Stick To Me (Mercury, 1977), completed the series of robust, full-bodied classics. However, Parker’s vocal register was closer to that of a street hooligan than a black shouter, and he was indeed able to craft anguished anthems like the reggae Don't Ask Me Questions (on the first album), the Latin soul Fool's Gold (on the second), and the long Heat In Harlem (on the third).

Parker matured once the punk dust settled, allowing him to find a more personal voice. Squeezing Out Sparks (Arista, 1979), his masterpiece, is marked by uncontrollable existential rage. The sound of Local Girls is direct, hard, cynical, and driving—a full and mature rock, played by a solid band like the Band, and sung with an incisive tone that, having abandoned adolescent sarcasm, reveals a hybrid of Van Morrison’s visceral soul, Dylan’s angry folk, Neil Young’s introspective country, and Springsteen’s proletarian vehemence, as shown by the passionate anti-abortion oration of You Can't Be Too Strong. The repertoire is enriched with much more personal songs, such as Passion Is No Ordinary Word, You Can't Be Too Strong, Protection, and Discovering Japan.

In the 1980s, Graham Parker remained somewhat low-profile. Up Escalator (Stiff, 1980) is a deep disappointment after the excellent Squeezing Out Sparks: Endless Night and No Holding Back head in the direction of overblown melodrama, in a somewhat pathetic attempt to make him the British Springsteen. The ballads Temporary Beauty on Another Grey Area (Arista, 1982), Just Like A Man and Life Gets Better on The Real Macaw (Arista, 1983), and Break Them Down on Steady Nerves (Elektra, 1985), Don't Let It Break You Down on The Mona Lisa's Sister (RCA, 1988), restore that slightly angry, petit-bourgeois tone that had been the key to Parker’s success. But the albums of this period are full of unnecessary filler.

The decade closed with Human Soul (RCA, 1989), and it almost seems as if Parker’s career were starting from scratch. The band, again led by Schwarz, delivers a granite-like and imaginative rhythm and blues (when not ska, swing, and rockabilly). What’s missing are only the good compositions: apart from Big Man On Paper, Parker’s songs lack juice, and the suite on the second side is purely self-indulgent.

Struck By Lightning (RCA, 1991) is somewhat his Nebraska, an album of catharsis and wisdom, mostly acoustic, intimate, simple, rural, and laconic. From the long waltz of She Wants So Many Things that opens the dance to the solemn ballads of Children And Dogs and The Kid With The Butterfly Net, Parker celebrates above all himself.

Burning Questions (Capitol, 1992), in which he seems to mimic Costello’s pop-soul style (Platinum Blonde), and the romantic meditations of 12 Haunted Episodes (Razor & Tie, 1995) continue a career that has always been in a minor key, but now flows in general indifference, even from those who once hailed the musician as a great of British rock.

Given the limited attention from critics and the public, it is surprising that six Parker albums were released in 1996, including reissues, tributes, and anthologies. Acid Bubblegum (Razor & Tie, 1996) is the real new album, bitter and angry like in the good old days (Girl At The End of The Pier, Turn It Into Hate).

Your Country (Bloodshot, 2004) is quintessential Parker, with no disguises and no excuses, a populist rocker of the old school.

At best, Songs of No Consequence (Bloodshot, 2005) is the album of a bunch of amateurs imitating Big Star. At worst, it is the album of an aging songwriter that ran out of topics a long time ago.

Deepcut to Nowhere (2001),

Parker's new project of the 1990s was the Figgs, a band that helped him return to form on The Last Rock'n'Roll Tour (Razor & Tie, 1997), even if Stupefaction, Don't Get Excited, etc sounded like 30-year old pub-rock.

The usual mix of rockers and heartfelt ballads characterized Songs of No Consequence (2005), Don't Tell Columbus (2007), Imaginary Television (2010), Three Chords Good (2012), Mystery Glue (2015), Cloud Symbols (2018), and Last Chance to Learn the Twist (2023), credited to the Goldtops.