A few days before Farpoint I finally located Ringo Starr’s newest studio album, Liverpool 8. I’d been looking for the album off-and-on since its release in mid-January, only I could find this album absolutely nowhere. Best Buy? Target? Wal-Mart? Nope, nope, and nope.
Oh, I could have bought it on iTunes, but I like having something physical. I’m weird that way.
It’s an oddity that I’ve found Ringo Starr’s recent work more enjoyable — and more listenable — than Paul McCartney’s. Ringo’s Vertical Man and Paul’s Flaming Pie were both solid, but then Paul’s work went into some decline — due, no doubt, to Linda’s cancer and death. My reaction to the past few Paul McCartney albums (and the singles “Vanilla Sky” and “Freedom”) is that “Paul needs to lay off the fucking weed.”
Ringo’s work? Catchy tunes. Solid production values. Done with obvious love and fun. An all-around better listening experience. Vertical Man is great fun. I Wanna Be Santa Claus is the rare essential Christmas album. Ringo Rama and Choose Love are both solid.
Which is why I was anticipating good things from Liverpool 8.
Yet I find the album… boring.
I’ve listened to it three times now, and there’s nothing memorable about the album. Some tracks are amiable, some tracks have some verve. And some tracks are overproduced out the wazoo.
I can’t think of a reason I’d pull this CD off the shelf and listen to it. Liverpool 8 isn’t terrible, but it’s not especially catchy, either.