Album Review: Cat Stevens ~ Izitso

“An interesting, seminal precursor to Electro and Synth-pop from an unlikely source”

Artist: Cat Stevens
Album: Izitso
Year: 1977
Format used for review: Vinyl

	A
1	(Remember the Days of the) Old Schoolyard	2:46
2	Life	4:56
3	Killin’ Time	3:31
4	Kypros	3:10
5	Bonfire	4:10
	B
6	(I Never Wanted) To Be a Star	3:01
7	Crazy	3:33
8	Sweet Jamaica	3:29
9	Was Dog a Doughnut	4:11
10	Child For a Day	4:25
	Total	37:12

Producer: Cat Stevens & Dave Kershenbaum

Label: Island Records/A&M Records

It recently came to my attention that Yusuf Islam – the artist formerly known as Cat Stevens – is to be inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame. Firstly, I’d like to congratulate Yusuf on his recognition regarding his contributions to music. It’s a deserved accolade – his early 70s output consistently delivered music of the highest quality that would consequently influence singer-songwriters and guitar-based pop for generations. In honour of Yusuf, I’ll be retrospectively reviewing an album crepuscularly released during the twilight of his career – prior to his 25 year sabbatical from the music industry. It’s going to be my first album review, and since my song reviews are quite excessive as it is, I’m sure a review of an entire LP’s worth of material will make for an extensive read!

Cat Stevens – Popstar, Cult Hero and… Godfather of Electro?

I’ll begin with a question that might possibly sound strange to the ears of general music fans. Was Cat Stevens the progenitor of electro? When you think of Cat Stevens, many things come to mind – delicate acoustic guitar, melodic piano and one of the most distinguishable voices in pop music – not to mention uh, religious conversion. These days it seems to have been forgotten just how meteoric Cat Stevens’ ascent to the top of the 70s pop-circuit was. There was a time in the late 60s when the music-press considered Stevens to be a fluke – a teenage wonder whose career had fallen into a darkened abyss. After contracting a life-threatening case of tuberculosis – leaving him with a collapsed lung – Stevens disappeared from the public-eye. Bed-bound for almost 3 years – watching his career diminish before his eyes – the teenager who rose to fame with the hits ‘I Love My Dog’ and ‘Matthew and Son’ was left soul-crushingly dejected. However, against the odds – Stevens overcame his illness and reinvented himself – reemerging a completely different artist with a new-found zeal – surprising many by returning to the music industry an almost unrecognizable figure. And so, encouraged by the overwhelming success of his comeback LP – 1970’s ‘Mona Bone Jakon’ – Cat began to lay the foundations for a second career as a popstar – a career that saw him become one of the best selling solo artists of the decade – I mean, this guy was huge! However, after basking in success for several years at the start of the decade, Cat’s standards began to decline – and with it – his popularity. After a couple of years of waning public interest during the mid-70s – and several attempts to branch out into other genres – Stevens was struggling to find direction and identity. 1977 was imminent, and still in pursuit of something new to revivify his career trajectory – Cat released his milestone tenth studio album – the enigmatically titled ‘Izitso’ . It’s often cited as one of the first albums to feature what would later become signature phrases and techniques associated with the electro genre, as well as a benchmark recording in synth-pop – and to lesser extent – a precursor to hip hop – the latter being in regard to the album’s 9^th track – ‘Was Dog A Doughnut’.

I recently picked-up an original Canadian pressing of ‘Izitso’ from Sonic Boom – a fantastic record store located in mid-town Toronto. On the same day of my purchase, my girlfriend and I embarked on a 14-hour over-night Greyhound to New York City. Though I obviously couldn’t take a turntable on the coach, I did manage to download a .zip of the album to my Mp3 player – and albeit compressed, it would give me a chance to become acquainted with the album before having the luxury of spinning it on wax. I remained awake for the entire duration of our journey stateside due to my inability to rest anywhere other than a mattress, and I must have racked-up three or four times listens consecutively – except for the hour or so spent at Buffalo’s border-crossing where I barely managed to gain entry to the states due to the incompetence of one of their officers who had me fill-out some bullshit forms it turns out weren’t even mandatory! Eventually, they granted permission for me to enter their country in the early hours of the morning, and I’d like to take a moment to thank the border officer for the walk-of-shame I suffered upon re-boarding the coach after holding the other passengers up for half an hour – thank you for the humiliation and shallower pockets! But I digress.

For the most of it, it was dark and I couldn’t really see anything, but I recall looking out of the window at the fleeting apparitions of the Appalachian mountains that had began to reveal themselves in the refracted morning light – only to be distracted from their beauty by the aural-invasion of ‘Was Dog A Doughnut’ coming through my earphones.“Woah – what the fuck is this?”. I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing was released in 1977 – or that I was listening to Cat Stevens – I actually had to check the GUI on my Mp3 player to confirm I was still listening to the right artist. Coincidentally, Cat Stevens’ 1974 hit ‘Oh Very Young’ was playing over the system in Dunkin’ Donuts while we were in NYC – the only time I’ve ever heard his music in public!

I was already familiar with its predecessor ‘Numbers’ – an album that was generally panned at the time of its release for being confusing and inaccessible to the existing fan base – and simultaneously – to any potential first-time consumer. My expectations for ‘Izitso’ were subsequently lowered – although I had heard rave things – particularly regarding the record’s aforementioned ninth track – ‘Was Dog A Doughnut’’. ‘Izitso’ was considered a modest commercial success and briefly revitalised Stevens’ career – though ultimately proving to be his last hit-record before converting to Islam and abdicating his position in the industry – reaching #7 on the pop albums chart. Stevens – who had a burgeoning interest in Islam prior to recording the album – formally converted in late 1977 – one of the first notable high-profile celebrity figures to do. His subservience to Allah began several years earlier following a near-death experience in which Stevens claimed to have received divine intervention while cast-adrift just off the Malibu coastline and facing imminent death. During his transition, Stevens adopted the name Yusuf Islam and in 1979 had legally changed his name by deed-poll – by which time Cat’s final LP ‘Back To Earth’ had been released – albeit somewhat under the radar. By then, Islam had essentially retired from the music business – vowing to never perform any of his music predating 1978 – something he adhered to for nearly 30 years until he recorded a reworking of the ‘Foreigner Suite’ excerpt ‘Heaven’ and released it on his 2006 studio album ‘An Other Cup‘. During his 30 year hiatus, Islam devoted himself to altruism, education and proselytism – notably founding Kilburn’s Islamia School in the early 80s. Following the release of the 1988 “Magic Realism” novel ‘The Satanic Verses’, Stevens’ reputation took a damning hit when he controversially incited violence during a public broadcast debate in which he called for author Salman Rushdie to be burned alive. It inadvertently became a defining moment in the life of Cat Stevens who never managed to fully recover from the incident. Such was the scale of his disappearance from the media, many people to this day actually believe Stevens to be deceased – while those that have followed him as Yusuf Islam often find themselves in heated-debate with other fans regarding Stevens’ religious beliefs and political stance.

Musically speaking, the album continues from where its predecessors left off – shying away from acoustic instrumentation in favour of electric pianos, synthesizers and the occasional electric guitar. However, the record does see a regression to traditional Cat Stevens lyricism, offering songs of sentiment and allegory – subsequently leaving the incomprehensible fantasy of ‘Numbers’ to fester as an oddity in an otherwise consistent cannon of work. That said, ‘Izitso’ is kind of an odd record too – somewhat oxymoronic. The album jumps around between what we now refer to as electro and folk, often amalgamating the two – resulting in a somewhat incongruous affair – although they do combine to create some really harmonious moments across the album. Though the majority of its music adheres to the album’s synth-centric paradigm, Stevens inexplicably includes a couple of song’s in the respective genres of soul and funk.

My attention was first captivated by the album’s crimson-heavy sleeve design. Designed by Cat in collaboration with Eckford Stimpson, the artwork features a Moshe Brakha photograph of Stevens with a colour-coordinating yo-yo. The imagery I found most interesting within the sleeve artwork was the silhouette cast by Stevens arm against the blood-red backdrop that eerily appears to realise the form of an eye. As I explored the cover, the focal point became the title – a title that has been the subject of much debate among confounded critics and bemused fans respectively. It took me a while to decipher, but it actually borrows its title from a lyric found on the LP’s 6th track ‘(I Never Wanted) To Be A Star’, where Stevens sings the line “Is it so? Is it so? I never wanted to be a star”. Despite my dispelling its origin, I can’t deduce the significant importance of that line or why it was stylised as “Izitso” – most-likely to be edgy and enigmatic. It’s an unusual cover design – particularly for a Cat Stevens record. Drawing parallels with Cat’s previous albums ‘Foreigner‘ and ‘Numbers‘, the cover features a photograph of Stevens with his face obscured –1973’s ‘Foreigner’ is overexposed, 1976’s ‘Numbers’ is underexposed and ‘Izitso’ is partially cropped. Is there any significance to this? Possibly – Stevens is a performer known for being socially inept, awkward and rather uncomfortable with limelight – an issue addressed by the aforementioned ‘(I Never Wanted) To Be A Star’ found on ‘Izitso’. On opening the gatefold, I found the album’s linear notes containing childlike illustrations – drawn by Stevens himself – illustrations that depict imagery relative to the lyrics they’re presented with. These scribbles are intentionally juvenile, playful and humorous – alluding to the direction of the LP.

The album is the fourth to be primarily produced by Cat Stevens, this time assisted by Dave Kershenbaum – perhaps known for his work with Tracey Chapman and Duran Duran, as well as producing the Bryan Adams mega-hit ‘Everything I do (I Do It For You)’ – all of which came post-Izitso. It appears to have been recorded in various locations – predominantly in the United States, as well as Quebec, Canada and Copenhagen, Denmark. The album features contributions from an impressive collective of musicians with notable cameos from artists such as Chick Corea and Elkie Brooks as well as regular collaborators Jean Roussel and Bruce Lynch.

Back in 1954, Stevens enrolled at St. Joseph’s Roman Catholic School just off Drury Lane in London – aged 5 years old. In 1977 – aged 28 – Stevens recalls that experience with the album’s opener – ‘(Remember the Days of the) Old Schoolyard’. Featuring female vocalist Elkie Brooks during the bridge – I believe it to be the first duet to feature on a Cat Stevens LP. Cat originally composed the song for British soul-singer Linda Lewis – who had previously featured as a backing vocalist on ‘Angelsea’ – the third song on Cat’s 1972 LP ‘Catch Bull At Four’. Lewis also appeared as a backing vocalist on Stevens’ Bamboozle tour of 1974 – and as far as I’m aware – the two remain good friends. Clive Davis of Arista Records actually signed Lewis on the strength of her performance of ‘Old Schoolyard’ – which she released on her 1975 album ‘Not A Little Girl Anymore’ – two years prior to being release by Stevens on ‘Izitso’. Despite this, it’s the aforementioned Elkie Brooks who was entrusted to perform with Stevens on the ‘Izitso’ recording of the song. If it wasn’t already confusing, Brooks isn’t the only female vocalist to feature on the track as backing vocals during the chorus and outro were contributed by Kiwi singer Suzanne Lynch – a regular performer with Cat’s band – notably singing on the hit single ‘Oh Very Young’. Interestingly, Suzanne’s husband Bruce Lynch happens to be Stevens’ resident bassist and appears on much of the material on ‘Izitso’ also.

The song’s release parallels that of Cat’s 1967 hit ‘The First Cut is The Deepest ‘ – a song he originally sold to female soul-singer P.P Arnold for only a double-figure number – but eventually went on to release himself a couple of months later on his ‘New Masters’ LP. Confusingly – it’s Linda Lewis who also features in the music video for the Cat Stevens version – despite it being sung by Elkie Brooks on ‘Izitso’. It’s likely Stevens anticipated a warm commercial reception for the song – as promotional videos weren’t something he would usually care to create. Interestingly, it’s possible the video was actually filmed at Cat’s childhood St Joseph’s school – although I can’t be sure of the veracity of this claim. ‘(Remember the Days of the) Old Schoolyard’ was the only song from ‘Izitso’ to be formally issued as a single here in the UK – peaking at #33 on the Pop Singles Chart – becoming Cat’s last UK Top 40 hit for almost 3 decades.

Its instrumentation and production have left us with a song that hasn’t exactly aged with grace – especially in comparison with the majority of Stevens 70s output. Even when compared to other tracks presented on ‘Izitso’, ‘Schoolyard’ manages to sound incredibly dated – mainly due to its reliance on the Polymoog synthesizer – an instrument found in abundance on synth-pop records and heavily affiliated with dated 80s pop music. Its melody isn’t entirely reliant on the Polymoog as the song also features the orchestral tones of the synthetic ARP string emulator – its harmony arranged by Stevens and Jean Roussel. Despite its much-maligned, ineffaceable 80s sound, we have to remain considerate of the fact it was issued a decade before the major influx of synth-based pop records – ergo it has to be respected as a seminal contribution to the music industry. Personally, I rather like it, and If you’re generally appreciative of music, its timely production is easily tolerable – it just wouldn’t transmit with grandeur on modern airwaves. Despite my focus on its dubious use of Polymoog, the synthesizer work is actually only relative to the chorus melody – with the song’s verses and bridge-verse being carried by electric and grand piano – instrumentation that will forever be immune to ageing. To be honest, it’s a great pop record and I’m surprised it failed to garner more attention or commercial success – although the song’s style at the time would have been unfamiliar to the public who were yet to be subjected to electronic music. By placing it as the opener, Cat has essentially decided to lead with the LP’s strongest song – at least where commercial viability is concerned. I find this to be a rather perplexing decision as it leaves the consumer anticipating similar highs further into the album – highs that ultimately aren’t reached again. In isolation, it’s a wonderful song of sentimental value complete with the overdubbing of children at play that could evoke even the most emotionally-sterile person to reminisce about their infancy.

‘When we had simplicity and we had warm toast for tea and we laughed and needed love yes I do – and I remember you’

Izitso’s second track is a slow, episodic number that appears to address life’s adversities where romance is concerned and an indomitable subject’s willingness to persevere – or at least that’s what I took from the line ‘But still you want to have it all I thought you had enough’. Either that, or it’s about somebody who isn’t satisfied with what they already have and Cat’s actually calling them out on their gluttony – which would ratify the line ‘You like to live it up’ – a phrase used to describe somebody who enjoys decadent things. ‘Life’ – as it’s aptly titled – is a rather laconic affair that drifts between phrases of acoustic guitar and ethereal electronic instrumentation that give the song a convoluted dream-like quality. It’s the first notable example of the album’s formulaic amalgamation of traditional and synthetic instrumentation. That said, the electronic elements dominate the soundscape – though unlike its predecessor, its synth-work has matured with far more grace – and from this point on much of the album’s electronic instrumentation remains tasteful and less-susceptible to aging.

‘Life’ melds various keyboards to produce its hybrid electro-acoustic soundscape, including the Yamaha CS-80 & GX-1, Minimoog and the infamous ARP2600 synthesizer. Its intro and first verse are complimented by a prominent electronic organ, imposing cathedral-esque tones over some acoustic guitar arpeggio – creating a pertinently spiritual essence to correlate with its theme. Despite being intrinsically melancholy, the song’s character undergoes an abrupt transmogrification following a bridge that descends into an unexpectedly upbeat coda inaugurated by the interlude of Steven’s own bouzouki playing before being superseded by synthetic ARP flutes. His juxtapose of acoustic guitar and synthesizer as well as his injection of Greek heritage culminate in its inexplicably elongated coda – a coda that arguably ventures too far away from the original structure of the song and subsequently disrupts its fluidity. It’s plausible the section in question was conceived through an impromptu jam with Cat and his band of musicians showcasing a significant portion of the repertoire of instruments at their disposal. Though it’s humble – the instrumentation is overwhelmingly impressive and masterfully mixed by Claude Dupras – one of his finer moments of the album. Despite the many interesting electronic sounds present on ‘Life’, I thoroughly enjoyed the inevitable cameo appearance of the bouzouki – an instrument I was first exposed to through Stevens’ ‘Rubylove’ from 1971’s ‘Teaser & The Firecat’. That said, the Baldwin Electric Harpsichord as well as the synthetic string-work are a personal highlight of the song’s musicianship.

‘Life’ also features the second appearance of singer Suzanne Lynch who once again provides backing vocals during the song’s chorus. As for Cat’s lead, his voice is particularly soft – sung using head-voice – shedding the timbre he possessed on his previous LPs – proof that after a decade in the business, he still hadn’t lost it – though it begs the question – why was his voice so hoarse and unrefined during the mid-70s?

In all, I found ‘Life’ to be a rather peculiar song – artistic, innovative, musically proficient – and after ‘Was Dog A Doughnut’ – one of the weirdest found on the album. Even at this early stage of the album, you have to question its running order – with the tracklisting already exposing a comprehensive lack of fluidity. The tempo initially set by ‘Schoolyard’ is instantaneously quashed by a song acclaimable in its own right but unfortunately misplaced on the album. It’s by far one of the more intriguing songs on this unfortunately inconsistent record, and although a beautiful composition – it was inevitably going to be unappreciated by his existing fan base. If Stevens had persisted with this type of music for the entire LP, it could have survived as classic, original album.

‘Life, you make it what it is – Love, can change it with a kiss’

Following ‘Life’ we find the unfortunately titled ‘Killin’ Time’. Incidentally, it happens to be a song referencing the habitual pass-times of idle people – literally, killing time. Though it addresses several mundane recreational activities, there’s one particular example of disdain that could potentially be construed as a contentious lambaste of what I assumed to be the USA’s obsessive gun-culture. Political undertones are prevalent in the line “People polishing guns they’ve got nothing better to do”, and although it’s perhaps an innocent reference to a common pass-time, there’s certain topics that inevitably evoke controversy due to their connotations. If there’s any veracity to my surmise then the lyric could be considered scathing political attack on gun owners from a then British ex-pat clearly not accepting of his adoptive transatlantic culture – or perhaps Cat innocently finds polishing guns to be a facile example of killing time.

After the sonorously ethereal qualities of ‘Life’, ‘Killin’ Time’ reprises the tempo established by the album’s opener, shifting to a funk-based number reminiscent of 1973’s ‘Foreigner Suite’. It’s an energetic effort – likely recorded during his sessions at the legendary Muscle Shoals studio in Alabama – and features a multilayered Moog and brass section complimented by the acute electric guitar work of Pete Carr.

I like social commentary, but the lyrics presented here are arguably quite stilted. If there is indeed any negative undertone behind the polishing guns line then the song has presented Stevens with a contradiction – or an unabashed sense of irony – considering it was written by a man who exactly ten years earlier had released a song advocating work-place violence. 1967’s ‘I’m Gonna Get Me A Gun’ sympathized with its protagonist – a man who purchased a gun after becoming disillusioned with his mundane vocations and consequently threatened to make his peers pay. Though ‘Killin’ Time’ is a decent effort, it doesn’t particularly set the world album alight, and its inclusion on ‘Izitso’ feels incredibly contrived and disruptive to the album’s fluidity. Honestly, Stevens “really missed the point” with this one.

‘You missed the point you missed the point – you really missed the point’

Track four of side A is ‘Kypros’ – a wonderful instrumental piece performed solely by Stevens without the contributions of any additional musicians. With ‘Kypros’, Cat asserts his musical prowess by seizing full artistic-control in a megalomaniacal effort that sees him using a plethora of conflicting instruments – from the industrial drone of the Minimoog – to the traditional Hellenic tones of the bouzouki. A Grand Piano, a Fender Rhodes Piano, an ARP synthesizer, a Polymoog, the GX1, the E5AR as well as the aforementioned Greek bouzouki – all instruments performed by Cat Stevens on this particular song – lest we forget the programming of its sequencer. Chronologically It’s only the second appearance of an instrumental to feature on a Cat Stevens LP following ‘Whistlestar’ – the opening song on the ‘Izitso’ predecessor ‘Numbers’ – though the first of two to appear on this album – taking his quota to 3.

Best described as an electronic symphony on a substrate of traditional Greek bouzouki music – it’s one of my personal favourites on the record. The song recycles the same intermittent bridge between its refrains – executed with slightly different instrumentation on each reprise. As we progress through the song, layer upon layer of instrumentation coalesce as Stevens impressively showcases every tool at his disposal. It’s one of the few songs on the record unaffected by its overzealously polished production – a production that leaves many songs lacking three-dimensional qualities. Of all the material on the album, this is the song that evokes the most emotion for me – and it doesn’t even feature Cat’s marvelled lyricism! It’s a great example his understanding of composition and arrangement as well as a fine display of his playing competence.

Following ‘Kypros’ we arrive at ‘Bonfire’ – the final track of side A. It’s the first real love song presented on the album, and one of its overall better tracks – although not particularly innovative – something we attribute to much of the presented material on ‘Izitso’. ‘Bonfire’ is essentially a bog-standard funk-based piece of blue-eyed soul music with frankly juvenile lyricism, certainly atypical of its relative genre. Its namesake is a rather quirky simile taken from the song’s chorus and in essence defines the nature of LP – contrived, frivolous and odd. Despite this, Cat’s childish approach does offer a certain charm – and the inclusion of extremely primitive illustrations in the albums linear notes suggests Cat was very much consciously playing on it. It’s a song that initially failed to captivate me – its centric metaphor being a comparison of love to a bonfire and the aimlessness of its chorus turned me off. However, it did eventually grow on me – and far from being Stevens at his incontestable best – the lyricism is integral to the essence of ‘Izitso’ – establishing a pivot from which point on the material becomes increasingly frivolous and convivial in nature. A real issue I take with the song is its transition from pre-chorus to chorus, a transition that feels rather tenuous – almost as if Stevens wrote himself into a dead-end.That said, the second pre-chorus dives head-on into the chorus – omitting the transitional phrase from the first verse and showing it to be redundant and unnecessary. Ultimately, the pre-chorus builds up to something that inevitably doesn’t come – with the chorus sounding pancake-flat due to the particularly poor mixing. All my criticisms aside, it happens to be one of the catchier, more rememberable songs from ‘Izitso’.

‘Your love is like a bonfire burning deep within me’

Following ‘Bonfire’, the grooves guide the needle to its inevitable end and requires flipping over to side B where we find the album’s sixth track – ‘(I Never Wanted) To Be A Star’. Like side A, side B begins with parenthesis in its title – but the similarity doesn’t end there. Like ‘Schoolyard’, it’s another retrospective effort recalling Cat’s formative years – though with ‘(I Never Wanted) To Be A Star’ we find Cat recalling his adolescence and his transition from teen sensation to global pop star – expressing disdain for the music industry, disillusionment with the rigorous touring schedule and commercial aspects of the music industry as well as iconoclastically denouncing his own idolatry. As noted, the song contains the line responsible for the LP’s cryptic title – deriving from the lyric “Is it so – is it so?” which is found imminently before the first chorus. The song contains direct references to the very first songs Cat ever released while on Decca’s Deram label – ‘Matthew and Son’, ‘I’m Gonna Get Me A gun’ and ‘A Bad Night’ respectively. I found the ‘Matthew and Son’ reference to be particularly clever as Jean Roussel lifts the melody from its intro and performs the notes on a glockenspiel – fitting perfectly within the chord and its bars. The song also features the album’s only appearance of steel guitar – deftly performed by Weldon Myrick. It’s an instrument that never sounds contrived when used to embellish a record, so I find myself wondering why it doesn’t see more appearances in pop-music. I’ll praise the song’s composition and quirkyness – but you do have to question the sincerity of it. Despite Stevens being notoriously uncomfortable with fame, commercial success isn’t exactly something that’s handed to you on a plate – you have to desire it and work to attain it – besides, you’re not exactly forced to sign a contract with Island Records, are you?

‘I was 17 – you were working for Matthew & Son – The Beatles met the queen – and I wrote I’m Gonna Get Me A Gun’

When I initially began to review ‘Crazy’ – the seventh track on ‘Izitso’ – I hastily referred to it as the album’s low point. However, not realising how long it would take me to compose my review of ‘Izitso’ – time started to pass, and my project was consequently pushed aside. Fortuitously, it allowed me to give the wax a few more spins and further absorb it. A couple of weeks after my initial hearing of the song I found myself acclimating to it – leading me to concede I wrong and instead claim it to be one of the album’s highlights. ‘Crazy’ is a beautiful composition featuring gorgeous melodies and rich electronic orchestration. Familiarly, its lyricism is once again frivolous and quite predictable, and lines like ‘I‘m crazy ’bout you baby – my my my – your love just drives me cuckoo” are seemingly oh so contrived. However, its actually quite charming – not to mention extremely something of an earworm. I noticed some synthetic bass in places of the song similar to the casio basslines that “digitalized” 80s greensleeves records – I’d never heard instrumentation like this prior to the mid-80s, so I was quite surprised to discover it on this 1977 release. It’s probably not for everybody, but even if you can’t tolerate its lyricism – the instrumentation is certainly something to admire and has to be one of the album’s finer points.

‘I’m crazy ‘bout you baby – my my my, your love just drives me cuckoo – heaven knows why’

With a title like ‘Sweet Jamaica’, it’s rather fitting that the eighth song to feature on the album is a catchy blue-eyed soul track boasting one of the sweetest string sections I’ve heard for quite a while. It’s the third love song to feature on ‘Izitso’ – and easily the best. Conscious of the imperative role string sections play in soul music, Cat allows the incandescent orchestration on ‘Sweet Jamaica’ to essentially usurp his vocal by the pushing-up of strings high into the mix – with violins consuming every possible negative-space found on the song. Often more prominent than Cat’s vocal, their role is particularly effective during the song’s bridge, though the orchestration during the song’s intro remains my personal favourite example of string-work owing to its authentic Philadelphia sound. Though you’d assume Stevens was trying to create a veritable soul-track, there’s the inclusion of some prominent harmonica work which has to be said is a rather unusual instrument to make an appearance on a song of said genre – though it does inject some variety. Like authentic Thom Bell productions, the song includes the lush incandescent tones of harp and zither glissando to further the soulful accuracy of Stevens effort. Cat’s voice is particularly smooth on this track with the gruff inflections adopted during the mid-70s remaining latent where ‘Izitso’ is concerned. Like ‘Bonfire’ – the other soul-inspired effort on the album – ‘Sweet Jamaica’ adopts a traditional percussive section atypical of quintessential Cat Stevens records where drums are usually unorthodox and used to ameliorate songs by playing-on their melodies rather than serving as a stringent rhythm-section. The song’s chorus features a female backing harmony courtesy of Carla Benson, Evette Benton and Barbara Ingram who together formed the infamous Philadelphia Angels – a vocal trio originally based at the iconic Sigma Sound studios where 70s Philadelphia Soul originated. The trio – sometimes referred to as The Sigma Sweethearts – appeared on innumerable Philly releases and performed as resident vocalists for innovative producer, the aforementioned Thom Bell. Having attained such pedigree through performing indefatigably on so many authentic soul records over the years – including The Spinners’ million-selling hits ‘Could It Be I’m Falling In Love’ and ‘Games People Play’’ – their appearance on this blue-eyed soul record is certainly lucrative for Stevens. Despite my hype, we unfortunately hear little of the Sigma Sweethearts whose vocals are brief and sporadic– and when used – sunk criminally low into the mix – almost inaudible. Though I’m not crazy about blue-eyed soul music, its tasteful production presents a song that survives as an honourable tribute to soul music while simultaneously featuring Stevens’ trademark inflections and idiosyncrasies.Though the song’s romanticism owes to its dulcet tones and sombre chords, the bridge sees a shift from GMaj7 to F which momentarily lifts the mood to one of elation. As enjoyable as it is, I have to question why Stevens included it on ‘Izitso’- it’s yet another example of the album’s inconsistency and failure to define any direction – inexplicably dropping the inherent electronic dynamic intrinsic to most of its songs.

‘Yes you are my sweet, sweet Jamaica – country mama, brown country girl’

Following the soul-inspired ‘Sweet Jamaica’, the album’s desultory ordering of songs throws-up another unforeseen anomaly in the form of the infamous ‘Was Dog A Doughnut’ – and this is where ‘Izitso’ gets really weird! Once again drawing a parallel with its A-side counterpart, track four of side B is strictly instrumental – except for the vocal contributions from a – err, dog! Unlike ‘Kypros’, this instrumental features the appearance of several musicians including Jean Roussel, Chick Corea, Ray Gomez and Barry Morgan. Credited to Stevens, Bruce Lynch & Jean Roussel – it’s the only song on the album where we find Cat sharing writing duties – though a song that subsequently only saw Stevens singled out for acclaim!

There’s much debate as to the original source of electro – and although ‘Was Dog A Doughnut’ is simply too obscure to be the source of seminality that impacted the development of electro, it certainly has a claim of being the first example of anything along those lines. The song has since been revered as the first electro or techno-pop song ever recorded and praised for its primitive use of sequencers – with elements such as the overdubbing of barking dogs even being cited for its affiliation with hip hop music. The song predates the formation of the influential Japanese electro-outfit Yellow Magic Orchestra – who received all the accolades for further developing the genre. Though regarded as an electro track – it’s observably raw – evident by its inclusion of Ray Gomez’s funk guitar work – something certainly not associated with electro. Incidentally, I believe Stevens himself actually alluded to the genre 4 years early on his album ‘Foreigner’ during his elapsed 18 minute-long ‘Foreigner Suite’ where there’s a brief excerpt during the ‘Freedom’ segment that I would argue is a rudimentary example of electronic dance music.

‘Was Dog A Doughnut’ became Stevens only instrumental hit following its semi-official promotional release – peaking at #70 on the Pop Singles Chart. Oddly, its release spawned a unique demographic only familiar with Stevens for this particular song – with its unorthodox genre leading to it being categorised as a disco song – being played exclusively on disco stations, skating rinks and roller discos. The song was played regularly by DJs on late-night stations circa-77 and entertainingly established very specific cult followings affiliated with roller-discos and ice-rinks. Surprisingly, its status as an underground hit accrued a fan-base in Chicago due to its popularity at a local roller rink where the song was likely played by one individual in-charge of the playlist who happened to be fond of it. While doing my extended research – scrolling through threads on various music forums and video comment sections – I noticed a trend of people claiming to have been searching for decades in hope of finding this record – and even encountered several persons who were starting to doubt themselves, thinking that its existence was increasingly likely to be nothing more than a dream. Thanks to the internet, these people eventually managed to track it down – only to be both elated and perplexed by the discovery of it being a Cat Stevens record. I mean, imagine finding that out after 40 years – it’s just bizarre! It’s both confounding and fascinating that there are people out there from a particular fan base – most likely electronic – who revere this song as one of the most influential to their genre and regard it as a favourite song – yet probably aren’t even aware of the work Cat Stevens is actually revered for!

It certainly stands as the most unusual song on the album – perhaps Stevens’ entire discography – although, if you’re familiar with ‘Banapple Gas’ – you’d argue there’s only ever one song winning that accolade. The song is either disregarded, tolerated, acclaimed or adored – which is understandable given Cat’s fan base who almost certainly didn’t have an inclination for this kind of material – but then again, it’s groundbreaking – so it’s a taste every consumer had to acquire.

The origin of its bizarre title has confounded fans for years. Its spontaneous, enigmatic, and certainly humorous, but besides the overdubbing of barking samples,the title bares no correlation with the music. I did some digging, and as it happens, it’s not particularly allegorical at all. During a 2014 exclusive interview for Uncut Magazine, Stevens finally dispelled the ambiguity surrounding its origin. Explaining its title, Stevens said “In the ’70s, there was an article that made me furious, but also made me laugh, called ‘Was God An Astronaut?’ The whole premise of putting God into a space rocket was so outrageous I just decided to have a go and wrote that song.” All though it isn’t clear what the article was – it was most likely in regard to Erich von Däniken’s 1968 book ‘Chariots of the Gods’ – a book hypothesizing extraterrestrial contact excelled the development of human technologies. Why exactly he was so outraged I don’t know – as Stevens claimed to have been abducted by aliens several times – even penning the songs ‘Longer Boats’ and ‘Freezing Steel’ about his experiences. That said, it seems he didn’t actually read the book judging by his lack of contextual reference on the subject – missed the point again? To be honest, out of all the various things he’s given credence to over the years, alien abduction seems the most rational – at least to me. Around the same time as the release of ‘Izitso’ Cat was consumed by Islam, and following his religious conversion a year later – he never spoke of aliens again. Regardless, I just can’t see how he wrote the song in response to that headline – there’s no lyrics to address any subject or draw correlations with its title. There’s seemingly no relation between the music or the article that enraged Stevens to the point of action – he simply altered the title in jest and incorporated a dog barking – which is only relative to the tortured title Stevens created and not the original piece of literary journalism the song is an apparent response to. I’d love to know what was going through his mind when he conceived ‘Was Dog A Doughnut’ – especially when you consider the relative genres of other songs he was writing at the time of ‘Izitso’. Seriously, where on earth did ‘Was Dog a Doughnut’ come from? It’s just strange – really strange. Would it be implausible to deduce the song itself to be the direct result of an ironic extraterrestrial encounter?

On to superficial matters, the physical release of the record featured an illustration of a dog chasing its tail – contorting into a shape resembling a doughnut. Personally, I think they missed a trick with this one, as the illustration could easily have been reproduced on the disc label – fitting perfectly within its circular shape – though in the end they went with the generic A&M design. Of course, this is superficial – but it would have produced a great novelty collectors item. Then again, these things can be important when it comes to marketing – ratified by A&M’s decision to include a yo-yo with initial distributions of ‘Izitso’. 

Weaknesses do surface, though not from any overreaching. “Sweet Jamaica” and “(I Never Wanted) To Be a Star” are rather precious, and the electronics on “Was Dog a Doughnut” are a bit too robotlike.
– Rolling Stone Magazine

Upon its release, several professional reviewers simultaneously referred to the song as “robot-like” – denouncing it to be the album’s lowest ebb. The fact they unanimously used “robot-like” as their most descriptive and explanatory adjective of the song is an indictment of how fresh and perplexing the record’s sound was even to professional critics. Perhaps it’s the fruition of plagiarism among music journalists looking to each other for reference, or simply the only term anybody at the time could use to best describe exactly what ‘Was Dog A Doughnut’ is – oh, the luxury of hindsight. 

While the album has some downfalls – like “Was Dog a Doughnut”, an electronic song that came off as too robotlike-it also had some great tracks.
– Off The Record

‘Was Dog A Dougnut’ happens to be one of my girlfriend’s favourite songs in general – she and her friends even threw a party in its honour – exclusively playing it on a loop – leading to the impulse-purchase of a framed promotional poster featuring the doughnut-shaped dog illustration. In fact, she’s more or less part of the demographic who only know Cat Stevens for this specific effort – despite my best efforts to introduce her to the fantastic ‘Teaser and the Firecat’ LP. That said, last Christmas she spontaneously performed a rendition of Cat’s first single – the ironically titled ‘I Love My Dog’ – whilst borrowing from the melody of ‘Rubylove’ – which was random to say the least – but I digress. I thought it would be a nice idea to ask both she and her friend if they’d like to contribute to my review of the song – but there’s only so many times you can ask without reply before you realise they’re interested enough to buy expensive promotional posters and throw parties in its honour – but not too obsessive as to give me some damn quotations to use! Passive-aggressive digression aside, we’re both unanimous in our consideration of it being something of a clubbable novelty record – humorous in its approach and execution – with its ditty synth melodies and sampling of dog barks all but certainly intended to be convivial. Besides the loyal Stevens fans and the aforementioned cult-followings who acclaim the song, ‘Was Dog A Doughnut’ is a highly-prized collectable among electro fans and music aficionados determined to own an original copy of a record important to the history of music through its development of the electro genre. I wouldn’t mind owning a copy myself – though the scarcity of the record means its market-value is a little too excessive for me right now.

If you made it through ‘Was Dog A Doughnut’, you’ll find the album’s closer – ‘Child For a Day’ – a song recapturing the essence and charm of Cat’s revered early 70s work. Contrarily, it happens to be the only song on the record not written by Stevens, as it was originally penned sometime in the mid-seventies by Paul Travis and David Gordon – the latter being Cat’s brother – real name David Georgiou. Travis and Gordon had originally planned to include ‘Child For A Day’ on their album ‘Alpha to Omega’ – a record that ultimately never materialized. Cat was particularly fond of the song and asked his brother for permission to record it for inclusion on ‘Izitso’. Despite not being issued as a single in the UK, the song did see a release in several European countries including Germany and also served as a score to the 1977 romantic-drama ‘First Love’ starring Susan Dey and William Katt – which generated interest in the song and helped push sales of ‘Izitso’.

The song opens with a few bars of acoustic guitar arpeggio before conceding to a melodious electric piano riff – reminiscent of Stevens’ early 70s hit-making formula – and albeit brief, it’s quite evocative. The first verse is typical Cat Stevens – soft vocal with a hint of melancholy – backed only by humble piano. However, as we enter the second verse it becomes apparent Cat has resorted to sonic-inflation in a vain attempt to achieve a song of anthemic-stature to sign off with. Despite its bloated production, it’s actually one of the simplest compositions on the album and the only to not receive the electronic treatment. Devoid of keyboards and synthesizer respectively, the only ivories to be tickled are those of an electric piano, acoustic piano and an organ – giving the song a more organic sound. Though it sounds like a formula for producing a quintessential Cat Stevens hit, its production and the consequential inflation of what should be an intrinsically raw instrumental convolution strive towards achieving a song of gargantuan stature. It works to good effect – that is until the verse draws to an end and the song’s weak chorus leaves you pondering Cat’s decision to build-up to such an anti-climactic crescendo. It’s unequivocally poor songwriting when a record’s verses are superior to its chorus – and in this case – the verses are truly exceptional, with lyrics comparable to those penned by Cat himself during his most prolific years – yet the chorus is incredibly stilted – carried by a chord progression reminiscent of an Elton John b-side. The song’s progression culminates at the crest between verse and chorus where its integrity is jeopardised by the imminent loss of direction as the weak conduit of chords fails to carry its hackneyed lyrics with appropriate direction. It’s a composition that feels unfinished – lacking sufficient lyricism during its chorus to compliment the well-structured verses. It suffers from a chord progression that contrives to be unpredictable but ultimately becomes unviable. It’s not entirely the progression, but the decision to dwell on augmented minor chords rather than progressing through expected major chords is certainly culpable for its collapse – it’s simply not viable for carrying the vocal melody – which is weak as it is.

It’s really quite hit and miss – a phrase that best summarises the entire album. It’s so close to being a quintessential Cat Stevens number – delicate vocals delivering a touching sentiment to ponder – but David and Paul’s inability to explore metaphorical outlets exposes them as writers of a lesser ilk to Stevens. Of the substantively better lyricism found in the verses, the philosophical sentiment of the line “We are the men who worry of nothing we are the men who laugh at the sun – who listen to no-one yet speak about wisdom/ we are the pawns in the game” is by far the most subcutaneous. Positing determinism within its dystopian message, it’s the kind of lyricism you’d expect to associate with the writer of ‘Where Do The Children Play’ and ‘Peace Train’ – that said, it’s hardly Daniel Quinn.

Ultimately the song becomes far too reliant on embellishments though I rather enjoy Pete Carr’s guitar work on the song which presents an extremely complimentary amelioration to the instrumentation – notably during the verses and bridge. Another favourable embellishment is the gorgeous example of lapsteel playing which I believe was performed by Stevens himself! The song’s bridge focuses on an electric guitar solo – and albeit quite minimalist – it works to good effect – possibly the only section of the song where its unconventional chord progession actually manages to pay dividends.

With the song being suggestive of a return to his former hit-making formula, its placement as the closing number of ‘Izitso’ is rather fitting as it proved to be a precursor to Cat’s final LP – 1978’s ‘Back To Earth’ – an album which continued to revisit the style of his earlier albums following a much-needed reconciliation with producer and former Yardbird Paul Samwell-Smith. Unfortunately, I feel a chance at a hit single was missed with this one – and it actually annoys me to see a song with such potential so carelessly undermined by its writers. Though it received a formal release in select countries – it failed to shift amounts of any significance – and I have to mention, although Stevens has featured some charming sleeve designs on his LP releases, he clearly doesn’t care about the packaging of his singles – which incidentally feature some of the worst artwork I’ve ever seen – evident by the jpeg of the ‘Child For A Day’ sleeve posted above.

‘We are the men who fight without aim who listen to no-one yet speak about wisdom we are the pawns in the game’

The arrival of this synth-saturated, lavishly produced LP in 1977 would have been unexpected and consequently difficult to perceive as a Cat Stevens traditionalist. It’s likely it was misunderstood by the majority of Cat’s existing fandom – probably receiving much of its modest acclaim from general listeners. Despite briefly revitalising his career, the album is completely devoid of hit material with the exception of ‘(Remember the Days of the) Old Schoolyard’ – a brave move for an established pop artist. Rather than adhering to its unique electronic formula, the album is interspersed with several funk and soul tracks plus an additional acoustic number – producing a desultory record that fails to realise its full potential. Cat’s penultimate LP is a record suggestive of an artist struggling to find direction – and all though inadvertently stumbling across new genres along the way – Steven’s just wasn’t a viable artist to perpetuate them.

Despite Stevens maturing as an instrumentalist, the album has a regressive essence to it – another paradox created by this often conflicting album. Despite its contradictions, interesting parallels are drawn – the album opens on a song about playground romance and appropriately ends with a song titled ‘Child For A Day’, the fourth tracks on each side are strictly instrumental, and the first effort of each side of the record are retrospective efforts titled using parenthesis. As far as Cat Stevens standards are concerned, it’s extremely unrefined, laconic and ultimately below-par. If we compare its lyricism with Stevens previous albums, there’s an explicit decline in standards – with ‘Izitso’ offering little mysticism or allegory within its lyrics – instead presenting predictable metaphors thinly-veiling the most obvious sentiments. The childlike illustrations found in the LP’s linear notes are representative of the albums essence and unfortunately – its quality. The record foolishly peaks with its first track and there’s a observable lack of viable commercial material.

Unlike previous Cat Stevens releases, we often find the focal point of ‘Izitso’ to be the instrumentation rather than Stevens’ voice or lyricism – epitomised by its inclusion of not one but two completely instrumental tracks. I found Cat’s vocal range to be quite subdued, reaching nowhere near the C♯5s he regularly hit during earlier records, and rarely plumbing the depths of B♭. Perhaps his vocal range had diminished by this point – despite only being in his late 20s at the time. Despite the limiting of his range, I found Stevens delivery to be particularly smooth and refined – uncharacteristic of the hoarse, grit-inflected vocals that marred his earlier 70s work, with the songs ‘Sweet Jamaica’, ‘Child for a Day’ and ‘(I Never Wanted) To Be A Star’ being significant examples of exceptional vocal quality.

It really is a multifaceted affair, a bit sporadic and certainly odd – likely the conflicted results of Stevens attempting to show innovation while simultaneously trying to include early 70s cameos to appease his loyal fan base. Although garnering interest due to its experimentation – its innovative nature proves difficult to process for any long-term Stevens fans. ‘Izitso’ is difficult to hear, difficult to understand and difficult to analyse. Despite the addition of quintessential efforts such as ‘Child For A Day’ and ‘Bonfire’, their inclusion on this record feel incredibly out of place among the album’s experimental roster. It’s an incongruous collection of material that essentially splices folk rock and synth-pop for a number of songs – but its inclusion of soul and funk songs disturb the LP’s fluidity. It’s an oddball album that doesn’t identify particularly as anything, and I’m not exactly sure what Stevens was going for with the resulting product being a commercially unviable album devoid of hit material. It’s easy to see why fans are so indifferent towards the album – it just lacks any consistency in both substance and quality. I suppose the only constant is the use of electronic instrumentation – but as I previously mentioned, you have songs like ‘Sweet Jamaica’ and ‘Child For A Day’ that don’t adhere to the formula. With such an eclectic collection of styles and genres, I doubt anybody would refer to the album as bland – that’s for sure.

There’s a seemingly indefinite amount of musicians on the record responsible for a cacophony of various and often conflicting instruments – and it’s plausible the contributions of so many cooks has resulted in the spoiling of this particular broth. It’s unequivocally Stevens’ biggest production – heavily-funded by Island Records who were looking to recoup sales and re-establish Stevens as one of their major artists following the failure of ‘Numbers’. Despite my criticism, I do find myself in awe of the LP’s musicianship on several occasions – it might not present us with the structured hit material Stevens fans were accustomed to – but nonetheless it’s an exercise of brilliant innovation and virtuoso keyboard playing.

The album’s exquisitely polished production probably does the album a disservice – often sounding dulled and lacking bite. I found Claude Dupras’ mixing to be particularly flawed – and despite excelling with the more innovative electronic-based tracks, he doesn’t quite seem to get it right when it comes to the soul-inspired efforts like ‘Bonfire’ and ‘Sweet Jamaica’ – with areas sound incredibly flat and the percussion often being too high in the mix – effectively pushing down the orchestration and regrettably Chick Corea’s piano parts – notably on ‘Bonfire’. Many of the songs are heavily saturated by electronic embellishment – yet a combination of poor production choices and dubious mixing create a record that ultimately sounds clinically polished and sterile – with cats vocal often too dominant in the mix – subduing the instrumentation.

I feel it’s important to highlight the contributions of Cat’s frequent session musician and right-hand man Jean Roussel to the LP. Essentially, the album could be considered a collaborative effort between the pair – if we observe the album credits, we find Roussel had a hand in almost all material presented on ‘Izitso’ – citing him for performance, arrangement and composition – making it his largest contribution to a Cat Stevens LP. Roussel enhances much of the arrangements with his proficient keyboard playing as well as handling strings and miscellaneous instruments like the glockenspiel.

It is something of a landmark recording within the synth-pop and electro canon – however, in relation to Stevens’ discography – it doesn’t reach the high-standards previously achieved by the singer on a consistent basis. You can look at it two ways – you can praise Stevens for exploring new mediums and anticipating trends – in this case establishing a trend and being cited as a pioneer – or you could simply say that this is a man who had completely lost direction, ran out of ideas and inadvertently stumbled upon a new genre whilst simultaneously trying to keep the edge that brought him success in the early 70s. You certainly have to praise Stevens for his assiduity regardless of the overall quality of ‘Izitso’ – for its a work reflective of an man of indefatigable perseverance genuinely attempting to create a fresh quality record – unlike artists who are happy to flog any old rope to increase their net-worth.

Is it a critical to your music collection? Probably not, no – but it’s worthy of honouring by purchasing a copy if you should ever come across one – it’s certainly a piece of high-art.
Stevens managed to anticipate the impact electronic music would have on the 80s, but like all early works in an emerging field – it’s extremely rudimentary and ambiguous – yet to be refined to achieve a definitive niche. It’s an interesting, seminal precursor to electro and synth-pop from an unlikely source – a folk-pop veteran. Sadly, ‘Izitso’ is a damning indictment of a man who’s lost his knack for lyricism and hook-writing – though it’s still better than anything most of his peers could achieve – and its pioneering exploration of synthetic instrumentation is something to be both praised and admired. Despite producing an innovative record, Stevens struggles to rediscover his imperious best without the aid of the collaborative partnership with producer Paul Samwell-Smith and guitarist Alun Davies.