Supertramp
Slow Motion

We are at the final episode of the Supertramp saga, with which the group transitions into the new millennium releasing their last, uncertain artistic contribution. As already illustrated in the review of the previous album released five years earlier (here we are in 2002), by now the lineup has become a large combo (two keyboardists, two guitarists, two wind instrumentalists, live backing vocalists) prey to the blue-eyed soul desires of its leader; who in this last instance further disempowers the unique, peculiar characteristics of the historical Supertramp and reduces the band to a mere "modern" rhythm & blues entity, slow-paced, professionally impeccable but thematically modest.

Things were going better live, at least in those last times: the fact that a good ten musicians were performing on stage gave the re-presentation of the old repertoire that fullness, completeness, orchestration that for many years the five original band members had never managed to achieve. Indeed, Super are certainly not remembered as a live band... nothing compared to the likes of Deep Purple, Tubes, Ac-Dc... Their well-arranged and precisely weighed studio creations, full of many voices, keyboards, guitars, and percussion, were impossible to replicate on stage with the same efficacy while remaining a quintet. Not by chance, the band's history, as far as concerts alone are concerned, lasted until 2016, essentially ending due to the health problems of Rick Davies, who, as fate would have it, was afflicted with the usual cancer somewhere in his body, but anyway he has now passed the eighty-year mark... Best wishes!

But let's get to the album in question: the opening titular track holds up well, it's a slow piece in typical Supertramp Davies style, neither more nor less, with Helliwell's tenor painting in the finale. Unfortunately, it falls back immediately into sterile r&b with the second, third, fourth tracks, the last two almost irritating in their predictability. We then arrive at “Tenth Avenue Breakdown,” the central strong track, excessive nine minutes of which the beautiful suspended piano riff that intersperses the long phases of jazz rock groove poor in melody is worth it. Carl Verheyen's virtuous guitar achieves something but not much. Further enjoyable is “A Sting in the Wall,” which begins as a lullaby but then wakes up, introducing the characteristic, evocative Supertramp harmonica and extending into a good trombone/sax duet. “Bee in Your Bonnet” reiterates the slow, measured, soporific pace of the decidedly not very rock adult phase of good Rick Davies: yet another negligible r&b without hope of sticking in one's mind even after listening to it five times in a row. “Goldrush” is cheerful and sparkling, lacking in memorability but at least it's short. The final “Dead Man’s Blues” on the contrary, without any justification lasts over eight minutes, and is a canonical blues without the slightest spark of personality, etherized by jazz solos of piano, sax, trumpet, all professional but as tedious as jazz can be when it's just jazz. A somber ending for this band so centered, peculiar, tender, instantly recognizable in the good old days...

Amen! (in Latin). Bona! (in Bolognese). Pacce! (the Pope). End! (Fellini). Three stars! (Debaser). Adios! (Tex Willer).