A postcard-like album cover suggests Streetlife Serenade is not the full picture. But what purpose do we have for a complete image when the snippets of life, the everyday moments which makes each day unique, are ever-changing? Can we ever get a complete view of the world? Probably not, and Streetlife Serenade does well to invest its time in these calmer moments. Those snippets are not for relaxation. They are stern warnings from Billy Joel, who was under pressure to release another album yet had been stuck on the tour cycle, opening for big names like The Beach Boys. Reaching into this stressful schedule and pulling out of it some joys, some sense of hope for brighter, calmer times, is an act of simple goodness. Its effort and tone are far more interesting than the slack lyrics. But the thrill of no obligations takes precedence.
Debussy in tone, that much is true for Joel to say. These are light affairs but they needn’t be anything else. This is the spirit of the street – those fractured moments which come when the touring gets tough and any sliver of light is a treat. All Joel can do here is observe. Nothing wrong with that, but knowing what he is capable of in later albums puts a dampener on Streetlife Serenade. Ugly sentimentalities are hard to break from here, though, and it is a schmaltzy feeling Joel cannot shake. Outdoor barbecues and the soft touch of country whining through The Great Suburban Showdown drift closer to an appreciation of the unchanged hometown than the glory of escapism. Yet the microscopic moments Joel takes note of, the long grass and the change in fashion compared to those days of uninterest, carry it towards salvation. Not close enough to acceptable, but an attempt is made. Just take a listen to Root Beer Rag. The problems become clear.
Where they may be touched on by Joel, he does very little to reset the course of Streetlife Serenade, which turns more into a say it, see it, slam it style album. Particulars are noted, mocked and moved on from. When not taking soft jabs at flabby parts of American subcultures he is fooling around with relatively tame piano rock fundamentals. He just forgets the rock part. At least Joel finds it in himself to start knocking his label and their expectations. The Entertainer may feel relatively light but the more obvious jabs at the demand from one party and the disgust from another is laid out well. Braggadocious, but carried well by a caricature of Joel not as an artist but as an entertainer, the latter as disgusting a word to some as content is to film.
This, he at least nails. A bright spark in a muddied album of messy piano rock and lyrically obtuse moments which still try and figure a niche. Whatever the case, Joel is his own worst enemy here. Chasing a sound and style which does not benefit him or his listener and, crucially, affects the quality of his lyrics. His writing suffers because of an insistence to push back against the label, and yet this is the strongest, singular moment. You can hear the cracks of potential in something like Last of the Big Spenders though it cannot separate itself from Elton John’s influences. If not influence, then similar-sounding piano work. It all feels relatively tame, and it is understandable as to why that is.
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