ROBERT WYATT | COMICOPERA (DOMINO)
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“Just as You Are,” which Wyatt wrote with his longtime partner in life and art, poet Alfreda “Alfie” Benge, takes the form of a nakedly honest conversation between an old couple. The woman’s lines, sung by Brazilian vocalist Monica Vasconcelos, are heavy with well-earned resentment, but it’s not enough to break the back of her affection. In response the man, sung by Wyatt, offers something she can’t find in herself–a kind of unconditional love. This wrenching portrait of a deep but damaged relationship became even more poignant for me after I read David Toop’s cover story on Wyatt in the current issue of the Wire, in which Benge admits that she can’t love unconditionally and that Wyatt’s drinking problem, particularly while he was making this record, drove her nearly to the edge. (Wyatt began going to AA soon after and is now sober.) Toop also relays the story of the tune’s origin: Eno dropped by the couple’s home and, finding them killing time, told them to “write a country song.” What came out is hardly country, but it’s the most profound and powerful track on the album.
Wyatt has divided Comicopera into three acts, and “Just as You Are” occurs in the first, “Lost in Noise.” It’s the most personal and emotionally direct part of the album, clearly rooted in his own experience. The songs breathe tenderness, but they portray flawed connections and decay–though most of the characters are listening to one another and struggling to sort out their troubles with kindness and patience, things aren’t working so well in their relationships. And in the heartbreaking “A.W.O.L,” there’s no relationship at all anymore: a widow named Hattie simply sits in her attic, listening to the ticking of a clock and disappearing into her memories. The music throughout the first act is somber and exquisitely beautiful–some songs are written for just voice and guitar or piano, and in others gentle lines played on clarinet, trombone, and saxophone intertwine intimately, dancing through guitar, keyboard, and bass. There’s not much drumming here, or on the album as a whole–though the drums were Wyatt’s instrument in the Soft Machine, he’s been wheelchair bound since 1973, paralyzed from the waist down by a drunken fall from a third-floor window at a party. He sings and plays piano, guitar, and trumpet, plus a little hand percussion, and only brings in a guest drummer on one track.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): Robert Wyatt photo by Alfreda Benge.
