Much has been written about the curious career path of Alex Chilton, from his
beginnings as a teenaged Memphis soul man for the Box Tops, to his power pop
brilliance with Big Star, and then, of course, his ragged, quality control- challenged
solo years, which have piqued, baffled, and frustrated his fans ever since. The man
just won't stay comfortably in any box, and he seems to take particular joy in
avoiding anything close to what might be reasonably expected of him as a musician,
preferring to feint and tease like a con man who never quite reveals his agenda.
Just to confuse things further, Chilton has no aversion to doing live shows as part
of either a Box Tops or Big Star reunion, embracing his past when he feels like it,
and rejecting it the rest of the time. All of this makes him one of the most
enigmatic figures in rock, and if he is at times nearly impossible to listen to, he
is always fascinating, a fragmented, shadowy outline of genius gone haywire.
This two-disc retrospective of his solo material does as well as could be expected
in charting the choppy waters of Chiltonville, collecting some high points like
the punchy and wonderful "Bangkok," a crying and sobbing cover of Sky Saxon's
"Can't Seem to Make You Mine," the bizarre "Like Flies on Sherbert," the totally
understandable "Lost My Job," and his straight shot at the state of sex in the
contemporary world, "No Sex." At his best, Chilton's snotty, sarcastic take on the
world is refreshing and rewarding, and his singing and sharp guitar playing reveal
clear soul and pop roots. At the other end of the scale, Chilton is a bit like the
sideshow attraction that promises a glimpse of the unfathomable for only a buck, and
when you pay it, and step inside, you know you've been had. The question is, whose
fault is that?