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In and of itself, eclecticism is neither a good nor bad characteristic. Consistency may in fact be (as Ralph Waldo Emerson<\/strong> sorta<\/em>-said) the hobgoblin of a little mind, but it helps sell records. People like knowing what to expect. Not everyone wants adventurism with their rock’n’roll.<\/p>\n But some of us welcome the musical curve ball. And for us, For the Baby Doll<\/em>, the new disc (and book, but more on that in a few grafs) from The Nicholas Tremulis Orchestra<\/strong> delivers just that. The NTO is an orchestra only in name: it’s really Chicago-based Tremulis (heard last on the Candy Golde<\/strong> EP<\/a> not so very long ago) on vocals, guitar and keys, plus four other musicians. Presumably, none of them is wearing a tux or \u2013 save the drummer \u2013 playing an acoustic instrument. This is some rockin’ stuff. While Candy Golde was a vaguely retro-flavored project, For the Baby Doll<\/em> aims for a more timeless feel.<\/p>\n \u201cYou’re Gonna Lose (Everything You Got)\u201d is a barbed-wire riff rocker. \u201cWithout You Without Me\u201d is jangly, anthem-rock vaguely reminiscent of Traveling Wilburys<\/strong>. \u201cLost Without You\u201d is an epic storytelling rocker in the grand tradition of Bruce Springsteen<\/strong> and Thin Lizzy<\/strong><\/a>‘s Phil Lynott<\/strong><\/a>; it deftly mixes vivid word-pictures with a wide-screen, sweeping arrangement worthy of Jack Nitzsche<\/strong><\/a>. This song’s dynamics, in particular, conjure tantalizing thoughts of how Tremulis’ music might go over live onstage.<\/p>\n \u201cEverybody Here\u201d finds Tremulis adopting a falsetto vocal that feels a bit like Prince<\/strong>. The Stax-flavored horn charts take things in different yet equally funky direction. \u201cYou’re Too Much (But Never Enough)\u201d may have a somewhat clich\u00e9d title, but the song itself is a speedy, noisy roadhouse rocker that all but steamrollers over the listener. (There are worse ways to go.) The song’s manic slide guitar is brief and will leave you wanting more.<\/p>\n Speaking of titles, \u201cIf God Were the Devil\u201d more than makes up for any lack of titular originality elsewhere. With an old-fashioned melody that’s equal parts The Motors<\/strong>‘ \u201cThat’s What John Said\u201d and John Lennon<\/strong>‘s \u201c(Just Like) Starting Over,\u201d Tremulis is in Mink Deville<\/strong> mode, spinning another story-song rumination. The chorus of female backing vocalists \u2013 used to great effect throughout For the Baby Doll<\/em> \u2013 are at their most effective here. \u201cPush It\u201d is just this side of ordinary, but still an enjoyable swaggering rocker. The loping \u201cSuper Human Love\u201d applied a super-heavy beat to what might otherwise be a c&w-flavored tune. Its singalong chorus and steel guitar reinforce the latter feel, but the chunky rhythm guitar keeps it closer to Blasters<\/strong><\/a> territory.<\/p>\n \u201cFor the Baby Doll\u201d is the album’s penultimate track. With a lyric set in New York City, it kicks off with a plaintive vocal backed by forlorn church bells, acoustic guitar picking and sounds of the city streets. When all the players kick in, it turns completely instrumental and sounds and feels like famous NYC resident John Lennon. The Spector<\/strong>ian \u201cWalk in the Sun\u201d very much has the ambience of a classic album-closer, in which Tremulis and band pull out all the stops. Again there are hints of Springsteen, Bob<\/strong> Geldof<\/strong>, Mark<\/strong> Knopfler<\/strong> and other purveyors of that bigger-than-life brand of songcraft.<\/p>\n Tremulis is a proud member of the old-school; he believes in the album as a medium and (accoridng to the album’s press kit) he \u201clike[s] packages.\u201d To that end, For the Baby Doll<\/em> isn’t merely a CD. No, the disc comes enclosed in a 36-page paperback book that includes a sort of mini-novel. Notwithstanding the inclusion of a \u201cForward\u201d (sic) by Michael Thomas<\/strong>, the book is comprised mostly of a thirteen-page reminiscing memoir by Tremulis in which he recounts his days hanging at the seedy NYC bar mentioned in the album’s title. He helpfully includes all the song lyrics as well, in reasonable print size so’s you can read ’em, and said lyrics make for good reading (a rarity, that).<\/p>\n
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