A musician who feels more comfortable in the studio than on the road, you would think this preference held by Jeff Lynne would lend itself to quality. His debut solo album, Armchair Theatre, felt like an inevitability. His presence as a producer is absolute. You can hear it in the two records he made with The Traveling Wilburys, and further back still with the peak of Electric Light Orchestra. He had a few similar tricks which, in turn, give Lynne the identifiable, soft-rock style. These are welcome tones and there is charm to it all, but when Lynne is stripped of super group status or space-age stylistics, when it is just one man and his guitar, he can offer little. Armchair Theatre explores Lynne’s basics and builds nothing from there. Far from disappointing, but still a step off the gas. It was, in a way, all downhill from here, anyway. All roads lead to ELO reunions.
Lynne blurs the line between ELO and Traveling Wilburys, enlisting Richard Tandy and George Harrison. This should be a supergroup worth hearing, and under the guise of a solo album, Lynne has plenty of scope to push through as a strong rock voice. What he offers, instead, is bad habits overwhelming a potential, thrilling new sound. A few covers here, some soft rock slip-ups there, Armchair Theatre is a chance for Lynne to cement himself as a solo artist. Opening track Every Little Thing suggests Lynne is ready to leave behind those ELO tones, the Bob Dylan-oriented country sound of The Traveling Wilburys. It is a magnificent opener, a song which is sadly relegated to the backrooms for the crime of outshining the entire twenty-first-century output of ELO records in just four minutes. Lynne writes with the sole idea of finding light in the dark, of learning from the misery. It becomes a chore at times, but Armchair Theatre is Lynne at his sincere best.
Those swinging dance hall grooves are surplus to requirement on the saxophone show stealer, Don’t Let Go. A cover, one of four to be found within, one of three not written by Lynne. His Tom Petty collaboration, Blown Away, is solid work lost to the crushingly dull consistency of flatlining rock standards. Lynne has neither the pop image nor the out-there frontman status needed to carry plain songs. His production, instrumental work, and voice, are all magnificent. They are not enough, though, to push Armchair Theatre to the next level, especially not when it feels like an album found buried at the bottom of a charity shop bin. Easy listening. Completely harmless work. Lynne has a like for slowed country classics, and develops those best of all. September Song is a highlight, a brilliant version of the Maxwell Anderson and Kurt Weill track. Lynne’s voice is beautiful, and works just right on these covers.
But when the cover works and the slick, charming production is what becomes the focus of an album littered with originals, any songwriter is in trouble. For Lynne, it means struggling to bring his own brilliance into focus. It is tucked away in there, with Now You’re Gone and Don’t Say Goodbye, but the covers overwhelm him. Perhaps that is the greatest weakness Lynne has, a humble spirit who wants to make music without the spotlight and all its effects. Fair enough, if that is the case, then continue on, but it undermines the purpose of a solo album. Armchair Theatre is mired by the songwriter who does not wish to sing, the writer who does not want to publish. A fine working of pop tones from the time, but those charms run dry rather fast for Lynne here.
