With Songwriting and Imagination Patrick Leonard Transcends "The Audiophile Album"

(review forward by Michael Fremer)

(Because I was involved in the vinyl production of this record (credited as “Vinyl Shepherd”) I didn’t feel it appropriate to review it. So I enlisted Morgan Enos to do it. Mr. Enos’s partial resume: “Former Staff Writer at GRAMMY.com. His features, essays, and interviews, which encompass jazz, classic rock, hip-hop, and other spheres, have also appeared in Fortune, Billboard, JazzTimes, uDiscover Music, and other platforms”. The album debuts today with pre-orders on the familiar sites including the “buy now” button at the review bottom, where you can get more details-MF

“What is this audiophile album you’re there to review?” asked my old friend, Thoren — who not only exhibits zero interest in audiophilia, but routinely sends me gloriously shitty-sounding ‘80s metal, ripped from ancient cassettes and CD-Rs. “Is it the next Dark Side of the Moon?”

When he looked up Patrick Leonard’s Wikipedia, one quote elicited the crying emoji. "The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, Dark Side of the Moon, The Wall,” Leonard is quoted as saying. “That's what I grew up with and that's what I dreamed of doing one day.”

Could Leonard, or anyone, make the next The Dark Side of the Moon? Your mileage may vary. But sitting before Michael Fremer’s imposing, ceiling-height stereo cannons, in his unwieldy, record-stuffed basement in otherwise sleepy Wyckoff, New Jersey — well, one can dream.

And what a groupchat quip can reveal. I was unfamiliar with Leonard’s work before, other than a vague remembrance of his name in liner notes from Leonard Cohen’s endgame run: 2012’s Old Ideas, 2014’s Popular Problems — and his final album, 2016’s You Want it Darker.

Leonard’s résumé is a trip. He co-produced Madonna’s peak run, and Roger Waters’ 1992 solo album Amused to Death. He’s worked with many household names: Elton John, Fleetwood Mac, Roger Waters, Bryan Ferry, Jeff Beck.

Which leads to, well, that audiophile album I was there to review: Leonard’s new solo album, It All Comes Down to Mood, out July 26. It sure does: Leonard intended this double platter to be digested front to back, on pristine 180-gram vinyl, soaking up the abundant vibes.

The band — not to be believed — was ready to deliver. Maybe in your proggiest reveries, you’ve imagined a lineup this ridiculously awesome: Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson (here solely on flute) and Martin Barre, King Crimson’s Tony Levin, Prince and the Revolution’s Wendy Melvoin. (The precise extent of what, and where, they played can be found here.)

It All Comes Down to Mood is rounded out by in-demand session cats, beaming in from various locations: guitarists Tim Pierce, James Harrah, Gerry Leonard, Bruce Gaitsch, and Frank Barbalace, and steel guitarist Paul Franklin.

From opener “Hat and Coat,” in all its swirling keys, to the devastating, almost Nick Cave-like ballad “Bishops of Fright,” through to the quietly ascendant closer “A Walk in the Woods” — what they made together, across four sides, is an achievement.

And not just because of impressive chops, or production, or ambition: These are simply good songs. Across this sprawling, aurally luscious program — with moments of profound and jazzy weirdness! — you get a sense of Leonard’s essence.

Certain cuts may not necessarily stick in your craw, but there are no serious stumbles. Think a fantastic band of prog veterans, backing a particularly clever and savvy folk-rock songwriter, with a raspy, conversational, gravitational vocal.

By now, arguments against The White Album or The Wall’s sprawl are dead in the water, but it’s true: some double albums beg to be singles. Not so with It All Comes Down to Mood.

Granted, some songs do hit harder than others — the fragile “For Her” is a complete stunner, while a few might slip by unnoticed at first listen — but I wouldn’t clip anything. It All Comes Down to Mood feels like a complete work, with a natural arc and surprises aplenty.

About an hour in, the program gets plenty quixotic — and jazzy, to boot. Dig “In Came the Fool,” where Leonard lets his inner jester wrest the controls: at points, he alternately roasts a pig on a spit and showers with a mule. “Line ‘em up/ Short to tall,” goes the refrain. “Big brain to small brain/ To no f—ing brain at all.”

Speaking of jazz: it’s but one color in this tapestry. Blues, ballads, electronica, Americana: it’s all here, and where he’ll go next is wonderfully unpredictable. But that voice, and that vision, make this work conceptually and aurally cohere.

The first time I visited Fremer, I got a crash course in which vinyl on the market shines, and which stinks. I won’t name names here, but it’s liable to radicalize a music consumer. Happily, It All Comes Down to Mood sounded terrific, with all the space, definition and depth you want from this unwieldy format.

I’m a fan of the numberless artists Leonard’s worked with — when Fremer told me about this album, the mere presence of Anderson sold me immediately. Now, I’m a fan of Leonard himself. I came to hear an “audiophile album.” I got something more.