a collection of previously unreleased recordings made in 1971, prior to his Brandt-engineered makeover, As the River Flows presents an uncharacteristically intimate, unvarnished portrait of Jobriath finding his voice and persona, and shows how his considerable charm and magnetism¯not to mention his killer piano skills¯shine through with blinding radiance even in the absence of a major-label-bankrolled recording budget. Though often labeled the "American Bowie," Jobriath was actually more like Elton John, had the latter's lyrical concerns been as outrageous as his outfits. The elements at play on As the River Flows¯a mix of showtune sass, gospelized soul, and Aquarian-age hippy-dippy jam-rock¯were hardly subversive for their time, and much of this album would sidle up snugly alongside Elton's "Take Me to the Pilot" on your mom's favorite golden-oldies station. But then, Jobriath was the sort of singer who could raise eyebrows just by showing up and talking about his day. In contrast to, say, the sci-fi-inspired narratives of Ziggy Stardust, Jobriath sings frankly and non-chalantly about his routine habits¯the pill-popping, the cross-dressing, the cock-sucking¯with larger-than-life panache. And that charisma becomes all the more outsized when the recordings are stripped down to just voice and piano: the ivory-tickled "Wildfire in Memphis" is a male-hustler travelogue analogous to Lou Reed's drug-copping odysseys on "Waiting for the Man", with Jobriath gamely rendering transactional sex as sport: "I know the name of every pick-up bar in town... do you?" Even more captivating is the early attempt at "I'm a Man", which would eventually get gussied-up for Jobriath's 1973 self-titled Elektra release, but is presented here as a dying-embered torch song, its gender-bending sentiments ("I'm a man, yeah, I'm an elegant man/ satin bows and open toes are what I am") delivered with an unflinching toughness that fleshes out the skeletal arrangement with full-blooded fervor. (Pitchfork)

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