 Cass Elliot It's hard to think of a celebrity whose fame relied more deeply on her simple likability than Cass Elliot, who filled the same sort of place in music that Bette Midler would later: talent with more panache than demonstrable technical skill. Dream a Little Dream is easily the definitive Cass collection (beating the frighteningly titled Mama's Big Ones), offering the most thorough portrait of her post-Mamas & Papas career, through bubblegum and cabaret folk and onto Vegas glitz. The standouts are definitely the "big ones" – "Make Your Own Kind of Music," an almost weepily inspirational song (later remixed into a big club hit, by the way), and "It's Getting Better," another optimistic slice of chewy pop that would make the Banana Splits jealous. Some of the more surprisingly good tracks are covers of "My Love" and "New World Coming," the Left Banke-ish "One Way Ticket," and "Who's to Blame," which is a bit more somber but a very good song. Most of the remaining tracks fall into either the prefab camp (the dixieland b.s. of "Lady Love") or the "My Way" camp (the dramatic career cappers "I'm Coming to the Best Part of My Life" and "Dream a little Dream of Me"). There aren't any really bad tracks (even "Disney Girls" is listenable), but there is a sort of pathetic "LIKE ME!" quality to a great deal of the material (especially the opening "charmer" "Don't Call Me Mama Anymore"). Unlike Bette Midler's undeniable star quality, Cass Elliot's appeal was more of the "average Jane" variety. She was approachable; she was like your best friend, famous. Yet that quality prevented most of her performances from being truly great. The pervading sadness stems from the lack of a real sense of humor … Cass was always trying too hard to please. The accepted story is that Cass died at the height of her career, but in fact it was 1974, long past her chart-topping prime, and she had spent the majority of her solo career trying to establish an identity beyond Mama Cass. The bizarre "California Earthquake" can only be seen as an anti-"California Dreamin'." I'm always surprised, given Cass Elliot's public persona of the fun-loving fat girl, that her actual presentation was so devoid of hilarity. You'd think she'd at least be doing some sort of Liza Minnelli schtick, but she comes off more like Susanne Somers talking about alcoholism. Which, I guess, can be considered funny depending on how big a bastard you are. This CD is recommended, mainly for the three or four big singles, but I can't honestly say it's a disc I ever listen to all the way through. It's to a certain extent a depressing document of a failed artist, which is strange considering the large percentage of bubblegum songs and "go-out-and-get-em" type songs. It's too bad no one ever really saw more in Cass Elliot than tack pianos and strings, but on the other hand the best word comes from Cass herself: "Make your own kind of music, even if nobody else sings along." Now I want a prize for not making a "choke on a chicken sandwich" joke anywhere in the review. Oh damn, I just blew that one.
Review by Joni Tuttle |