By Will York

'ONE OF THE cardinal sins of writing is to blend or mix one metaphor with another, creating either confusion or unintentional comedy." So writes Jimmy Webb in his 1998 book Tunesmith: Inside the Art of Songwriting (Hyperion). He goes on to give a few examples, ending with one of his own lyrics: "Between the parted pages and were pressed in love's hot fevered iron like a striped pair of pants."

"I rest my case," he concludes.

That line comes from "MacArthur Park," although it's not the greatest lyrical sin most folks associate with the song. That would be the part about the cake: the green cake that some cruel, sadistic bastard left lying out in the rain. Webb has clearly developed a sense of humor about this once deadly earnest song, which is both his biggest hit (Richard Harris's version reached number two on Billboard's singles chart in 1968, and Donna Summer's rendition got to number one in 1978) and one of the most loathed songs in pop history.

Volume dealer

A full study of "MacArthur Park" and its ramifications could fill volumes, but there's more to Webb than this puzzling song. Casual listeners know his hits, though they often don't realize the same person wrote them all: Glen Campbell's "Galveston," "Wichita Lineman," and "By the Time I Get to Phoenix"; the Fifth Dimension's "Up, Up, and Away"; and the widely covered torch song "Didn't We," among many others. He's also responsible for penning albums by Thelma Houston, a post-Diana Ross Supremes, and a post-Simon and Garfunkel Art Garfunkel, in addition to Harris's mind-boggling first two albums, Campbell's superb Reunion (Capitol), and the Fifth Dimension's disturbing psych-soul opus The Magic Garden (Soul City/Buddha). "Not the most stunning cast," I can hear the peanut gallery muttering. Keep digging, though, and you'll find plenty of more critically reputable acts who have covered Webb's songs: Isaac Hayes, Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash, Frank Sinatra, Dusty Springfield, the Four Tops, Scott Walker ... the list goes on.

Then there's his solo career, which is the subject of the recently issued five-CD box set on Rhino Handmade, The Moon's a Harsh Mistress. It collects all five of his long-out-of-print '70s solo albums, along with a full disc's worth of outtakes and demos, plus an unreleased live album recorded at the Royal Albert Hall in 1972. To fans of Webb or of classic pop songwriting in general, the chance to hear him render his own songs in place of the usual middle-of-the-road interpreters makes Mistress appear to be some sort of holy grail – the ultimate word on the sprawling Webb songbook.

Patchy parade

It's not, though, for reasons that are sort of complicated. The most obvious one is that writing great songs and making great albums are skills that don't necessarily go hand in hand. There are similarities between Webb and fellow late-'60s phantom hit-maker Burt Bacharach in this regard. Both got away with making hits out of unconventional, downright strange material that was difficult to pull off, vocally and otherwise. Coincidentally or not, neither one of them recorded the definitive versions of many of their own songs. Webb's albums were more ambitious than Bacharach's easy-listening afterthoughts, though, and that's part of what makes this box set interesting as well as frustrating. It's a six-hour parade of hits and misses that never really gets on track, yet never gets so far off that you want to give up on it.

One thing that's missing is focus. Unlike contemporaries Randy Newman and Harry Nilsson, Webb never totally carved out an identity as a solo artist. His early albums, 1970's Words and Music and '71's And So: On (both on Reprise), reside in a no-man's-land somewhere in between early-'70s Americana, piano pop, and singer-songwriter turf. One minute, they sound like Little Feat; the next, Carole King; and the next, some weird 1973 Christian rock vanity pressing. The first song on the set, Words and Music's "Sleepin' in the Daytime," is a foreboding minor-key rocker with backward guitars, environmentally conscious lyrics, and nary a note of piano. The next, "P.F. Sloan," is a drumless piano ballad with "na, na, na" vocals courtesy of Webb's sister, Susan. These are two of the best songs on the set, yet they're completely baffling as an opening one-two punch. Land's End (Asylum, 1974) pulls a similar trick, opening with a classy country rock tune, "Ocean in His Eyes," before following it up with "Feet in the Sunshine," which sounds like a tennis shoe commercial.

In fact, if you exclude the Albert Hall disc – which is basically a live greatest hits – there is not one stretch on the box set where you'll find three really good songs in a row or, for that matter, three bad ones. The most coherent album is the last one, 1977's George Martin-produced El Mirage (Atlantic), and it again opens strong with the well-known country ballad "The Highwayman" and the Jennings-inspired "If You See Me Getting Smaller I'm Leaving." Unfortunately, that album came a little late in the game, as that year's particular vintage of disco-inflected soft rock hasn't exactly aged well.

Heartbroken

"What did you expect?" I can hear some of you asking, and that's a good question. After all, even the Webb-penned albums I like – The Magic Garden, for example – have songs I can't stand and can't even understand why he would write. That may be part of why I'm so fascinated by the guy. I've listened to 20 albums' worth of his music, listened to interviews, read his book, and still can't quite get where he's coming from. His blend of meticulous, borderline-pretentious songcraft and earnest country-boy sentiments is, at the very least, unique.

He's also the undisputed master of one very specific type of love-song variant: that of the miserable, perpetually unrequited lover pouring out his feelings to the woman who broke his heart. "Just This One Time," "Cryin' in My Sleep," "Hurt Me Well," and "See You Then" are all variations on this theme, and unlike some of his other songs, Webb really nails them with some heroically scrappy vocal performances. Songs like these make it worth sifting through soggy ballads like "Piano" or irritating, James Taylor-ish dreck like "Once in the Morning." It's also the inspiration to keep searching out those scattered Webb songs on other folks' albums, even those by way-uncool folks like Campbell, Garfunkel – check out his version of "Cryin' in My Sleep" on Watermark (Columbia) – and, gasp, Bill Medley.

And without a definitive release that gathers his best songs as recorded by other singers in one convenient package – something that the Tunesmith and And Someone Left the Cake out in the Rain ... compilations shoot for but don't fully achieve – the Webb fan's experience will remain a scavenger hunt. Fortunately, it will remain an affordable one as long as his music stays as unhip as it is. The Moon's a Harsh Mistress is a big piece of the puzzle, but, to mix metaphors in "MacArthur Park"-ian fashion, it isn't the full monty by any means.

Best of the Webb

Glen Campbell, Reunited with Jimmy Webb: 1974-1988 (Capitol) Scoff all you want, but this is pure countrypolitan gold, featuring some of the best cornball breakup ballads ever.

Fifth Dimension, 'Rosecrans Blvd,' Up, Up, and Away (Soul City) You have to hear this straight-out-of-left-field "album track," a stream-of-consciousness ballad with no repeating parts, to believe it.

Richard Harris, The Webb Sessions: 1968-1969 (Raven) Possibly the ultimate one-CD Webb experience, but you've gotta have a strong stomach to handle the intense melodrama on hand here.

Thelma Houston, Sunshower (ABC/Dunhill) Along with Reunion, this rare LP is one of the best Webb songbook albums, done in an orchestral, almost show tune-y soul vein.

Mark Richardson, 'I Keep It Hid' (found online) Who? No one seems to know anything about this guy, but his suave Scott Walker-meets-Neil Diamond delivery is perfect for this song, a Webb standby.

Jimmy Webb, Jim Webb Sings Jim Webb (Epic) Webb disowns his low-budget 1968 debut album, which Epic released without his permission, and All Music Guide gives it one star out of five. But to these ears, it's actually his most enjoyable solo album, highlighted by wounded-lover pleas like "I Can Do It on My Own" and the triumphant "Run, Run, Run."

Various artists, Tunesmith: Songs of Jimmy Webb (Raven) This Australian two-CD compilation includes Dusty Springfield's definitive version of "The Magic Garden," plus songs by everyone from the Four Tops to Lowell George to R.E.M. But, much like the similar, more condensed And Someone Left the Cake out in the Rain ... comp, this also contains some dubious adult contemporary fare you'll want to skip.

W.Y.