White City: A Novel is a solo concept album by Pete Townshend of The Who, released in 1985 on Atco. After the experimental All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes, Pete Townshend returned to a more traditional form of concept album with White City: A Novel. Built around a loose narrative concerning urban despair, the album doesn't work very well conceptually, yet a handful of the individual songs are among his finest solo work, including the punchy "Face the Face" and the anthemic "Give Blood."
Pete Townshend and the Deep End Band played live for two benefit outings – November 1 and 2, 1985 at the Brixton Academy – to help support Townshend's own "Double O' Charities. The performances are excerpted here and were used in a made-for-home-video, also called Pete Townshend's Deep End Live!. Initially, a promotional 12" EP of the show was released to AOR radio stations in August of 1986. However, significant interest in the project would ultimately yield a 10-song LP which was issued to retail a few months later.
Despite critical acclaim as a performer, the rootsy singer/songwriter T Bone Burnett earned his greatest renown as a producer, helming recording sessions for acts ranging from Roy Orbison and Elvis Costello to Counting Crows and Sam Phillips.
To be sure, there are some great performances in this 10-disc set, André Previn: The Great Recordings. Previn's insouciant wit is evident in his effervescent reading of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, and there is deep affection in his sensuous account of highlights from Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet. His explosive rendering of Orff's Carmina Burana has barbaric splendor, and there is thrilling excitement in his orgasmic interpretation of Rachmaninov's Second Symphony. But it can't be denied that Previn's superficial readings of Holst's The Planets and Debussy's Images are little more than musical travelogs, and that his dreary accounts of Shostakovich's Eighth and Elgar's Enigma Variations are musty musical picture galleries. His extravagantly colorful renderings of Messiaen's Turangalîla Symphony and Walton's Belshazzar's Feast come across as lurid musical history lessons.
A 19-CD box set? Twenty one and a half hours of music? A 72-page book? Artefacts that include a receipt for her first piano? Who said the music industry no longer had money to burn?
For anybody unfamiliar with Sandy Denny’s yearning, evocative songs, her teeteringly vulnerable vocal style and the erratic contours of a career that ended shockingly in a fall downstairs in 1978 when she was 31, this eye-watering project may seem like ludicrous indulgence.