Archive Review: Elliott Murphy’s Unreal City (1993)

This was released several months ago, the return of singer/songwriter Elliott Murphy to these shores, and it’s been growing on me, nagging me to review it ever since I got it. It keeps returning to the CD player, each new spin offering some new insight or phrase that I missed the first time out. Murphy lives up to every claim ever made for him as a songwriter, an artist so poetically gifted that he throws away lines that lesser writers would base entire works on.

In the way of background, after a handful of under-hyped, under-appreciated late ‘70s/early ‘80s albums, which earned massive amounts of critical acclaim heaped upon near-total commercial failure, Murphy split to find some respect and mystery in Europe. Unreal City is a diary, of sorts, of the past decade’s adventures. Each song on Unreal City tells a story, presenting a lyrical postcard of a place, a memory, an emotion...

An artist in paradise, Murphy is following the trail of such literary greats as Fitzgerald or Hemingway. He remains unsure of himself, however, as on “Destiny,” when he sings “thought I was a romantic/when I crossed the Atlantic/ but that didn’t change the tide/but that’s a different story/in the search for love and glory/there’s no place left to hide...” Much of the album possesses a dark shadow to it, with lonliness and mortality often explored. On the haunting “On Elvis Presley’s Birthday,” Murphy remembers his childhood, his late father, and uses Elvis as an icon of both, singing “driving in his Cadillac/it was Elvis Presley’s birthday/they said it on the radio/my father liked Elvis and it was wonderful.” The song sadly ends, though, with the verse, “this is an unreal city/you can be anybody you want to be/when you’re alone.” It speaks to the memories which fuel the dreamer in each of us.

Through all of the travels presented on Unreal City, the joy and the tears, the acute observations on love and life, it is the birth of his son in Paris, inspiring the writing of the album’s closer, “Let It Rain,” which brings this sojourn full-circle. “Ever since I was a child,” begins Elliott, “my manner described as mild/it was always too late to estimate/the force of the hurricane blowing in my head.” He ends this opus of faith renewed, and, indeed, the album’s story, by denying the fates their victory. In joy he sings, “I believe in love/I believe in birth/I believe in giving something back to the earth...so let it rain.” It is as powerful an affirmation of life as has been written, by one of the rock genre’s most talented yet unknown artists. (Razor & Tie Music, released 1993) 

Originally published by R.A.D! zine, October 1993

Also on That Devil Music: Elliott Murphy’s Notes From the Underground CD review

Archive Review: Elliott Murphy's Notes From the Underground (2008)

Before Bruce was “The Boss,” before ‘Little Stevie’ Forbert haunted the doors of Manhattan’s nightclubs, before anybody had even heard of Johnny Cougar, the Long Island-bred Elliott Murphy was the best-and-brightest of those necklaced with the “new Dylan” albatross. A literate scribe with a penchant for observational, poetic lyrics set to an undeniably rocking soundtrack, Murphy’s ‘70s-era albums – gems like Aquashow, Lost Generation, and Night Lights – went nowhere and sold few copies.

To his credit, Murphy never attempted to change his spirited blend of rock and folk; he merely sharpened his pen and recorded intelligent, destined-for-obscurity works like 1986’s Milwaukee. Although American record buyers ignored the talented wordsmith in favor of hair-metal and grunge, European audiences loved Murphy’s sophisticated wordplay. Moving his family to Paris, Murphy continued to work throughout the ‘90s, cranking out classics like 1993’s Unreal City. His steadfast refusal to bow to musical trends or industry expectations has earned Murphy a solid reputation as a songwriter’s songwriter as well as the friendship of folks like Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, Sonny Landreth, and others.  

Elliott Murphy’s Notes From the Underground

Murphy’s best work is always filled with brilliant imagery, and Notes From the Underground, the artist’s latest, is certainly no exception. The album-opening, mid-tempo rocker “And General Robert E. Lee” begins with a strongly strummed guitar before launching into a storm of cinematic lyricism, a tale of romance gone wrong with references to James Cagney, Charlie Chaplin and other cultural touchstones, Murphy’s vocals supported by a mournful, weeping lead guitar. The subdued, Dylanesque “The Valley Below” matches Murphy’s best low-register, croaking vocal performance with sparse instrumentation that builds from a silent buzz to a resounding rattle-and-hum, the song’s romantic lyrics delivered with no little passion. “What’s That” is a spry rocker, Murphy’s rapid-fire vocals spitting out stream-of-consciousness wisdom, organized A to Z, the song delivering essential knowledge on everything from love to tea to personal hygiene.

The beautiful “Ophelia” is pure, trademark Murphy…rough-hewn vocals caressing delicate, carefully-crafted vocals above a stunning blend of acoustic guitar and lush rhythms. The dark, discordant “Frankenstein’s Daughter” features Murphy’s son Gaspard on guitar, supporting his father’s fractured, atmospheric vocals with intriguing, off-kilter fretwork. The haunting “Crying Creatures of the Universe” offers an almost spiritual vocal delivery, with sorrowful harmonica and folkish guitar supporting the singer’s wistful remembrances.

The lyrical themes visited by Murphy on Notes From the Underground are familiar favorites of the songwriter: the cost of love and loss on the human soul; the intrusion of the past on the present and future; the long shadow cast by the places we’ve been and the people we’ve known. No other songwriter provides these themes with more thought and vitality than Elliott Murphy, the finely-drawn protagonists of his songs standing on the outside of life, looking in. They’re life’s misfits and outlaws, men literally without countries, their homelessness as much a state of mind as it is a physical absence.

The Reverend’s Bottom Line

Notes From the Underground is a perfect showcase for Murphy’s uncanny ability to spin words into emotional landscapes. Supported by a talented band that has developed a special musical chemistry with Murphy – especially the phenomenal guitarist Oliver Durand – the ex-pat rocker has created his best album since 1998’s Beauregard, a late-career triumph that proves that Elliott Murphy remains the poet laureate of rock ‘n’ roll. (Elliott Murphy Music, released April 15th, 2008)

Review originally published by Blurt magazine, 2008