1. Political World
2. Where Teardrops Fall
3. Everything Is Broken
4. Ring Them Bells
5. Man In The Long Black Coat
6. Most of the Time
7. What Good Am I?
8. Disease of Conceit
9. What Was It You Wanted?
10. Shooting Star.
2. Where Teardrops Fall
3. Everything Is Broken
4. Ring Them Bells
5. Man In The Long Black Coat
6. Most of the Time
7. What Good Am I?
8. Disease of Conceit
9. What Was It You Wanted?
10. Shooting Star.
A confident staunching of the flow, with an album that is accessible, authoritative and substantial. Attentively written, vocally distinctive, musically warm and produced with uncompromising professionalism, this cohesive whole is the nearest thing there is to a great Bob Dylan album of the 1980s. Daniel Lanois’ determination to wrest such an album out of Dylan, and the plangent panache his production spreads across a variable collection of material, made for something overrated at the time (understandably, after what had gone before); but it remains a singular, welcome item in Dylan’s huge back-catalogue. An honourable minor work, well-received by the public and reviewers, and marred only by the feeling that Dylan has one eye on that public approbation: that he is asking if this is the sort of album people want from him. It’s all just a little too careful, guarded and stiff to be great Bob Dylan. Standout tracks: ‘Where Teardrops Fall’, ‘Ring Them Bells’, ‘Most of the Time’, ‘What Was It You Wanted?’ Tracks recorded but not selected: ‘Dignity’ and ‘Series of Dreams’.
The making of the album is the subject of the fourth of the five main sections in Dylan’s vivid memoirs, Chronicles Volume One, including thoughts on how the album turned out and on what he might have done differently if making the album again.
Oh Mercy was hailed as a comeback, not just because it had songs noticeably more meaningful than anything Bob Dylan had recently released, but because Daniel Lanois' production gave it cohesion. There was cohesion on Empire Burlesque, of course, but that cohesion was a little too slick, a little too commercial, whereas this record was filled with atmospheric, hazy production — a sound as arty as most assumed the songs to be. And Dylan followed suit, giving Lanois significant songs — palpably social works, love songs, and poems — that seemed to connect with his past. And, at the time, this production made it seem like the equivalent of his '60s records, meaning that its artiness was cutting edge, not portentous. Over the years, Oh Mercy hasn't aged particularly well, seeming as self-conscious as such other gauzy Lanois productions as So and The Joshua Tree, even though it makes more sense than the ersatz pizzazz of Burlesque. Still, the songs make Oh Mercy noteworthy; they find Dylan quietly raging against the materialism of President Reagan and accepting maturity, albeit with a slight reluctance. So, Oh Mercy is finally more interesting for what it tries to achieve than for what it actually does achieve. At its best, this is a collection of small, shining moments, with the best songs shining brighter than their production or the album's overall effect.
His seventh studio job of the decade is the third he didn't just churn out and thus the third to get hyped as a turnaround, but really, there is a difference. Daniel Lanois's understated care and easy beat suit his casual ways, and three or four songs might sound like something late at night on the radio, or after the great flood. All are modest and tuneful enough to make you forgive "Disease of Conceit," which is neither. So I forgive him. B.
The making of the album is the subject of the fourth of the five main sections in Dylan’s vivid memoirs, Chronicles Volume One, including thoughts on how the album turned out and on what he might have done differently if making the album again.
(MICHEL GRAY, The Bob Dylan Encyclopedia, s. v. "Oh Mercy [1989]")
Oh Mercy was hailed as a comeback, not just because it had songs noticeably more meaningful than anything Bob Dylan had recently released, but because Daniel Lanois' production gave it cohesion. There was cohesion on Empire Burlesque, of course, but that cohesion was a little too slick, a little too commercial, whereas this record was filled with atmospheric, hazy production — a sound as arty as most assumed the songs to be. And Dylan followed suit, giving Lanois significant songs — palpably social works, love songs, and poems — that seemed to connect with his past. And, at the time, this production made it seem like the equivalent of his '60s records, meaning that its artiness was cutting edge, not portentous. Over the years, Oh Mercy hasn't aged particularly well, seeming as self-conscious as such other gauzy Lanois productions as So and The Joshua Tree, even though it makes more sense than the ersatz pizzazz of Burlesque. Still, the songs make Oh Mercy noteworthy; they find Dylan quietly raging against the materialism of President Reagan and accepting maturity, albeit with a slight reluctance. So, Oh Mercy is finally more interesting for what it tries to achieve than for what it actually does achieve. At its best, this is a collection of small, shining moments, with the best songs shining brighter than their production or the album's overall effect.
(reseña de STEPHEN THOMAS ERLEWINE en allmusicguide.com)
His seventh studio job of the decade is the third he didn't just churn out and thus the third to get hyped as a turnaround, but really, there is a difference. Daniel Lanois's understated care and easy beat suit his casual ways, and three or four songs might sound like something late at night on the radio, or after the great flood. All are modest and tuneful enough to make you forgive "Disease of Conceit," which is neither. So I forgive him. B.
(ROBERT CHRISTGAU, Consumer's Guide)
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