If the man behind Plush, Chicagoan Liam Hayes, had achieved wider fame before commencing his defining/crippling project, this 'lost album' could have achieved mythical status by now to match the likes of Chinese Democracy. In certain circles it might have that reputation. Hayes started gaining recognition with his shadowy band in the mid-90s after initially working with Will Oldham in his (pre Bonnie 'Prince' Billy) Palace days, and you may have seen him tinkling the ivories in the background during a scene from movie High Fidelity. Debut album More Becomes You from 1998 was a collection of romantic piano ballads that have been compared in style to Burt Bacharach and Carole King and elements of those influences are common with Fed. However, even before that time, work on Fed had begun through what would be a painfully extended stuttering series of aborted sessions as Hayes searched for inspiration to what was planned to be a much grander artistic statement.

With record labels frightened off by the rising costs, Hayes was ploughing his own money into hiring expensive session musicians and studio time. No one wanted to pick up the tab to release it, if and when Hayes was eventually satisfied with a final mix. In 2002 a version did see the light of day, but only in Japan, and in 2004 Underfed was released. This 'official bootleg' album is a skeletal mirror of Fed, with the same track listing but as recorded stripped back to basics in 1999 with Steve Albini. Only now is a definitive release of the album properly available, and all the lush orchestration and overdubs are back. The overall tone is early 70s singer-songwriter piano man with a baroque bent: Harry Nilsson for example. An erratic rock operatic Abbey Road side two with plenty of 'Sun King' guitar, strings and horns. Some tracks have a wavering Harrison/Lennon vocal - upbeat swinging pop-rocker 'Greyhound Bus Station' even has a line mentioning Hare Krishna to complete the image. Elliott Smith would be a more recent point of reference, and it might be a stretch, but Rufus Wainwright might have beaten him to the punch these days, whilst having alot more fun doing it.

Opener 'Whose Blues' kicks things off positively with a punchy restless tune and forceful jazzy brass, with its enthusiasm carrying it through the slightly disjointed structure. OK so far, but the lyric "My creation has drowned me" might be a symbolic admission of what is to come. The brass section is to the fore again, in a more big band guise, on 'I've Changed My Number' but you can tell focus starts to wander with some McCartney style "Doo doo doo"-ing part way through over cooing female backing vocals. That also happens on the subsequent track but the melody manages to keep the show on the road. With such a long gestation, surely some suitable lyrics could have been added to fill the gaps? 'So Blind' is the first real howler - an overblown mountain fashioned from a molehill of a song. Respite comes with 'Greyhound Bus Station' and 'No Education' - a ballad with a lovely arrangement though it ends in danger of outstaying its welcome. Both these tracks show what wonders Hayes can work when it does all come together.

The second half is filled with meandering tunes being given a significant reverence, but which just don't have the spine of an underlying song strong enough on which to hang the heavy musical drapery. There are plenty of chord and key change tricks and tempo twists, but too often the tricks are more like pointless showboating and the twists lead down blind alleys. A song often morphs through several melodies and approaches, one of which might be attractive, like the second halves of 'Born Together' and 'What'll We Do', before moving on or ending just as you were getting comfortable with it. The almost seven minutes of the title track starts as an indulgent mid-tempo organ/guitar instrumental workout before half way through a completely unrelated tune is awkwardly bodged on - after a prolonged fade too. You want to appreciate an ambitious artist aiming high, but the attempted tour de force has become tedious.

Each full listen to Fed is fairly hard work without the payoff of feeling somehow positively enriched or stretched by the experience. As often with McCartney's early seventies output, there are frequent hints at greatness, but the ultimate prize just eludes more often than not and just as with the absent Lennon, another voice dictating quality control is sorely missed. Each wafer-thin layer of overdub leaves you feeling like Mr Creosote and indigestion sets in with this overly-rich musical stew: Fed too much.
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Links
Plush [official site]