At This Time

Burt Bacharach has always cut a curious figure, drifting in the margins between easy listening and pop.
Today we tend to revere Bacharach as a sort of proto-Brian Wilson, a visionary who playfully mocked and re-shaped the conventions of song-craft.
His songs, however, seem to inhabit another realm entirely. Mostly, he wrote them in the ‘60s, to be performed and consumed by teenagers.
Somehow, in the decades since, they have acquired a mantle of kitsch. Now, the Bacharach songbook, synonymous with dinner jackets and Martinis, ekes an eerie half-life as easy listening fodder.
Bacharach’s pop instincts clearly tug in both directions at once. This conflict is at the heart of At This Time, an extravagant, confused solo LP which cannot seem to decide whether it wishes to fetch up in a hipster coffee shop or in the background as your bank puts your call on hold.
The tension results in music that sometimes sounds edgier than it actually is. A case in point is the single, ‘Go Ask Shakespeare’. Opening with a skewed orchestral clatter, it segues after four minutes into a wistful ballad, delivered plaintively by Rufus Wainwright.
The track suggests three completely different kinds of song demanding the listener’s attention simultaneously. Perhaps Bacharach means to be clever; maybe he has lost the knack for conceptual foreplay.
Elsewhere, solipsistic saxophone solos haunt swathes of the record while a trumpeted contribution from Dr. Dre amounts to a triumvirate of stuttering drum loops. Go fix that Martini. You’ll probably need it.