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Ringo’s fifth album — released on this day in 1976 — bears the distinction of being the last record to feature contributions from all four Beatles. Does that make it a major piece of work? Em, not really.
The songwriting contributions from the three other Fabs — Paul’s “Pure Gold,” John’s “Cookin’ (In the Kitchen of Love),” and George’s “I’ll Still Love You” — are not among their best. Eric Clapton chips in with “This Be Called a Song,” which sounds like it was thrown together over a cocktail hour. Ringo’s own efforts, and those of the other writers involved, are undistinguished at best, throwaway at worst.
Wikipedia notes that Ringo later “attributed this downward turn to his ‘[not] taking enough interest’ in music, saying of himself and friends such as [Harry] Nilsson and Keith Moon: ‘We weren’t musicians dabbling in drugs and alcohol; now we were junkies dabbling in music.’ Starr, Nilsson and Moon were members of a drinking club, the Hollywood Vampires.” Ringo’s career and life would continue on this trajectory until the mid-80s, when he finally bottomed out and cleaned up.
Rotogravure is not unpleasant to listen to, and the players are top-notch. But it never really goes anywhere — the adjective that comes to mind is “tepid.” Like lukewarm water, like Derek Smalls, like a hot tub that’s been off for awhile.
In truth, my favorite parts of this album are a) the title, which is a reference to works by Marcel Duchamp, and b) the 90-second improvised sound piece that closes the record, “Spooky Weirdness”:
Good fodder for your next Halloween playlist. It may not be much to take away from a 34-minute album, but it’s something.
I love the honesty of this:”We weren’t musicians dabbling in drugs and alcohol; now we were junkies dabbling in music.” I wonder about that semi-colon, though.