Crawling around in the dirt. Crawling around in the dirt between the rows of blooming, blinding white cotton in the field to the side of Junior's old country juke, and this woman, Lord she must have been sixty, she was out there crawling around in the dirt with me, I'm not lyin'! Both of us out there in the sun, drunk on white lightnin' in the middle of the day! And it was Sunday! Amps turned up all the way inside the shack, drums making the floorboards boom, you could hear it fine. Yeah out there in the dirt. --Robert Palmer "Out There in the Dirt" (from Blues & Chaos)
Palmer was out there in the dirt, trying to find what people go looking for when they're drunk on shine - sex, laughter, the throb of life lived a little on the edge - even if only for a drunk Sunday in the country. And while those words are from the liner notes to Junior Kimbrough's All Night Long, they speak the truth for Most Things Haven't Worked Out, Kimbrough's album released a year after he passed away at age 67. From the sound of "I'm in Love" it doesn't seem like the old dog was ready to give up the ghost. Kimbrough comes on strong, talking about making love all night and how he can't help himself. The man may be close to the other shore, but he's still got both feet in the muddy waters of life. But words aren't even half the point of a song this elemental and driven. Everything which needs to be said comes from Kimbrough's guitar surging on the heavy bottom current provided by Gary Burnside (R.L.'s son) on bass and Kenny Malone (Junior's son) on drums.
The Dead, thoroughly in the bag, with Pigpen fronting on Hard to Handle, churning up the R&B dance grooves, with some, it has to be said, slomo camera to catch freedom in motion. With Pig belting through covers of his beloved r&b, soul, and blues classics, the Dead had a strut about them that was lost when McKernan passed on. He looks very in his element in a great clip from "A Night at the Family Dog" circa 1970.
It demanded to be posted. What a complete performance, starting with the host, presiding with a dignified ease sadly lacking in today’s racetrack world. And then there’s Merle Travis hanging out in a farmhouse telling you about Sixteen Tons. Besides getting to see Travis playfully in complete control - picking, practically showing off with his strikingly assured sense of time and rhythm, and using the guitar as a percussive instrument - we're treated to some brushed drums and (is that an?) an accordion, which help give this country song a very jazzy feel. And Mr. Travis twice casually lets go of the neck of the guitar to lean on a box next to him. Nice work if you can get it.
My pal and workmate, Josh Kantor, got a call from former Dream Syndicate lead singer/tunesmith Steve Wynn to play keyboards for his Boston concert which went down this past Friday. Wynn and his band Miracle 3 plus Josh played the Dream Syndicate album Medicine Show (now back in print) cover to cover. Fortunately for those of us who could not attend, the show was taped and uploaded to archive.org. Enjoy!
Apparently this was bound to be a Ray Charles day. Walked out the door, spun the dial on the pod, and found The Genius beckoning. By the time I discovered myself at the T some of Ray's early tunes - "Kissa My Baby," "Don't You Know," and his first hit for the Atlantic label "It Should Have Been Me" - had managed to make the dark sky day a little brighter. And then I let Blues and Chaos, the fairly new compilation of Robert Palmer's writing (the music critic and clarinetist, not that other Robert Palmer), fall open to any page it wanted to. The music gods turned the page to his liner notes for Ray Charles: The Birth of Soul. Ahmet Ertegun, co-founder and chairman of Atlantic Records, had this to say to Palmer about his working relationship with Charles:
Ray was never just another artist to us, he was always somebody very important. At first, we didn't know how to bring out of him what we knew was there and we rteally didn't hit our stride until we let him do what he wanted to do. In the first two sessions, we were trying to guide him into what was our formula, the Atlantic formula for making R&B hits. It took us a little it of time to understand that he had something else all of his own. When we heard him on the road, we realized we had a genius of sorts, an artist who had a lot more to offer than just writing a song and singing it. He had a whole conception of what his band should sound like, of what the track should sound like, and of what he should sound like.
When the heavily produced No Other went absolutely nowhere commercially, the eternally stage-frightened Clark was practically forced go on tour with a minimal backing band in an effort to bring in some cash and remind the world that one of the greatest songwriters of the 60s and 70s was still crafting extraordinary songs. While the tour was hampered by Clark’s alcoholism, if Live 75 is any indication, there were many stirring moments when Clark’s beautiful tenor combined with the scaled back virtues of a 3 piece band to produce profound readings of some of the gems in the Clark songbook.
While still working within the boy-girl context (he had yet to absorb the Dylan school of abstract lyricism), Gene was far better equipped to express his emotions openly in lyrics than were the others in the group. “Gene was fairly mature in an emotional, romantic kind of male way that I wasn’t,” offers Roger, acknowledging Gene’s gift for penning emotionally charged love songs. “I couldn’t sincerely even sing a song like [“Here Without You”], much less write one. And Gene was like a latin lover compared to me. He was a handsome guy, very suave and cool with it. He was popular with the ladies.” -from Mr. Tambourine Man
Gene Clark, latin lover, who knew. Maybe the key aspect to Clark’s emotional maturity as a songwriter, which colored so many of his best songs, was his vulnerability and refusal to give into resentment. An early articulation of this appears as the tinge of self-doubt in the famous “probably” in Clark’s “I’ll Feel a Whole Lot Better.”
On his album with the Gosdin Brothers, Clark wisely takes a long-view of the ups and downs of relationships with “Tried So Hard” and “Think I’m Gonna Feel Better.” Both songs have someone walking out on the singer, but Clark feels that not only will he get through the loss, but he’s mature enough to hope that the one leaving him will “see the sun” as well.
Fast forward to the the Byrds last studio album and even after 8 years of walking off the plane, Clark’s “Full Circle” once again gives evidence to his being, at least in song, the emotionally mature Byrd. This time instead of the rising sun bringing emotional renewal, Clark employs the image of a spinning wheel to express the cyclical nature of love and loss -- in a way it’s Clark’s own version of “Turn! Turn! Turn!”
But for me it’s with the The Fantastic Expedition of Dillard & Clark cut “Out On The Side” that Clark, writing from what feels like a space of great pain, pens his most powerful song on the necessity for openness and refusing the easy charms of self-righteous pride. No I'm not looking to find any holes From what I think has been denied That's not the feeling of love when it flows I hope I can lose that much pride
In the midst of interwebbing to gather words about Hazel Dickens, I found Mike Seeger (younger brother to Pete) and Alice Gerrard traveling the rural roads with some gorgeous film stock to make a short film about old-time music. Tommy Jarrell teaches Gerrard a fiddle lick, Roscoe Holcomb talks about wanting to be a working-man again, and Lily May Ledford sings about biscuits - and that's just in the first 15 minutes. Take your digital self out to the backporch and catch a little Homemade American Music. There's plenty more where that came from over at Folkstreams. Here's a clip with Holcomb to whet your appetite.
Maverick film director Arthur Penn passed away today. While Bonnie and Clyde usually gets most of the attention when talking about Penn, he made a number of other fine films, including the all too rarely screened The Chase, the 70s film noir classic Night Moves, and Alice's Restaurant, starring Arlo Guthrie. Alice's Restaurant suffers from its drifting, episode-driven narrative, and for my particular cinematic tastes its satire strays too far from realism to adequately ground the film in contemporary political questions (it was 1969 after all). But the snowy funeral scene, with Tigger Outlaw singing Joni Mitchell's "Song to Aging Children," has always struck me as a deeply moving portrait of fading 60s countercultural hopes - in its own way just as powerful as the murder of Wyatt and Billy the Kid at the end of Easy Rider.
Hello again. While I was snoozing on the job, someone swooped in and grabbed the bluebirdsing domain name from me. And the external hard-drive flew the coop and left me without the digitized songbook to draw from. But with a little help from some friends (notably the now 40 Cardonia) I've got most of the tunes back, and now there's a tavern in the sky (a hat-tip to Michael Hurley, who would never sleep on the job). So let's serve up a few!
Back in 1974 on Phases and Stages Willie tried to tell everybody to pick up the tempo - just a little. But while he may have been wanting to take it on home, the song just wanted to slowly find its own way to the door. Give him a few years and he puts the ramshackle shuffle on it when doing a starring role in Honeysuckle Rose, but even with Dyan Cannon and Amy Irving to get home to he's still he's not barnstorming it like he does on, say, "Whiskey River" or "Good Hearted Woman."
And then we have the Jerry Jeff Walker, Lloyd Maines, and Co. kicking down some doors to get home version.
"We were doing country, but it was pretty aggressive country." - Lloyd Maines
Maines is talking about the music he was making with his brothers, Steve, Kenny, and Donnie in the late 70s/early 80s as The Maines Brothers, but his words do a pretty good job of describing the Rock & Roll thrown down he and Walker put on "Tempo."
And I had heard this great little seventeen-year-old drummer who was working with Jackie McLean named Tony Williams, who just blew my fucking mind he was so bad.... Man, just hearing that little motherfucker made me excited all over again. Like I said earlier, trumpet players love to play with great drummers and I could definitely hear right away that this was going to be one of the baddest motherfuckers who had ever played a set of drums. - Miles Davis, from Miles The Autobiography
miles and lennon try to shoot hoop. warhol photogs. “attica state” is born. spector and his sunglasses collide the thumb cymbals. rubin and lennon have a marijuana. sha na na, roberta flack, stevie wonder, and johnyoko rock the msg. and mekas’ flickershot jump cutting camera mind shoots everything full of exuberance and community. and then 12/8/80. strawberry fields forever.
Screen the complete film here. Screen 40 of Mekas’ gems here.
I can’t decide what to think about Joan Baez’s singing on her cover of The Stones’ country blues “No Expectations” from her 1970 album (I Live) One Day at a Time. Just when I think she’s too uptight (and in need of a few shots of whiskey with Keith), I start feeling that she’s pretty committed to the song and that I’m a judgmental sob. But whatever about all that. What I do know is that though she doesn’t cover Dylan (yet again) on this album, she does right by herself and follows his footsteps to Nashville and gets help from some of the same Nashville pros -- like Pete Drake, Charlie McCoy, and Kenny Buttrey (handing out lessons on the drums) -- Dylan was lucky enough to have join him on Blonde on Blonde, Nashville Skyline, and John Wesley Harding. These guys are seriously taking care of business. (And, to state the random obvious, after hearing this on LP and then downloading the song for posting purposes, it’s just a damn dirty shame how much texture and sonic depth is lost when you go digital.)
Today’s World Cup final has been many years in the making, and I think we are in for a very memorable match. While I’ve got nothing against the gentlemen in Oranje (scratch that: they're jerks), after staying in Spain for a month or so and falling in love with the country, I want to see La Roja raise that kind of goofy looking trophy in triumph. Wish I could be there with you Oli, Arturo, and Sasu! Viva Espana!
The USofA is busy screwing up all over the globe. Thank God we've got Willie calling us back to what matters. Happy 4th of July everybody!
“It’s people drinking beer, smoking pot, and finding out that they have things in common and don’t really hate each other,” Willie says.
"Rednecks, hippies, misfits—we’re all the same. Gay or straight? So what? It doesn’t matter to me. We have to be concerned about other people, regardless.”
My pal Alethea and I started talking about James Brown today. She reminded me that the Godfather had died on Christmas Day back in 2006. I rambled on about a chance encounter in an ex-pat bar in Moscow, where some impertinent so and so had the gall to mock Brown’s music and transcendent talent. A bit later that night I walked out into cold, cold Moscow and got stopped by the militsia: better than listening to someone run down a genius. Anywho. In 2010 Dan Reeder did quite right by JB when he recorded the deeply soulful, gospel-inflected “James Brown is Dead and Gone.”
While running around the www today trying to find some words about the sublime Fantastic Expedition of Dillard & Clark, I discovered over at the essential Byrd Watcher that the recently deceased Senator Robert Byrd was a fiddlin’ fool. Seems this cranky, long-winded Byrd loved to fiddle and fiddled well enough to make an Opry appearance as well as release an album, Mountain Fiddler, of old-time music. Here’s a video montage clip of Byrd flashing his skills:
Check out the wonderful University of North Carolina Southern Folklife Collection blog for a few words about the Senator and a clip of one of the songs from Mountain Fiddler.
Vermont milk cows looking at me like the fool I am.
Somehow this bluebird contraption has made it past the one year mark. So I figured I’d celebrate with a six-pack: Waylon’s on the road again, Gene Clark is a genius again, the early Byrds hit the road for Boston, George cries in his booze again, as does Commander Cody, and James Talley casts those daily grind troubles aside and takes the wife out to raise a little hell. And while I'm celebrating, I want to thank Odie, Brendan, and Mike for helping me get and keep this thing rolling. And, folks, do yourself a solid and check out the links over on the right. If you aren’t regularly going to The Rising Storm, The Adios Lounge, Groover’s, or the other sites listed, then you are depriving the brain cells of vital musical oxygen. And speaking of oxygen, it's time to crack a cold one and listen to Waylon and the boys.
“He listened to sounds, it was sounds that were always on his mind; hens, foxes, hounds, turkeys were the subjects of his imitation as well as trains. Most of all, he wanted to get the train sound right and eventually came close enough so that a railroad engineer once came up to the WSM studios to compliment DeFord on his accuracy as well as to correct his whistle pattern for crossings.” - from “DeFord Bailey” chapter in Guralnick’s Lost Highway
DeFord Bailey - Fox Chase [emusic] "In fact it was DeFord's harmonica playing that inspired the Opry's change of name. DeFord's 'Pan-American Blues' led off the broadcast on the night of December 10, 1927, contrasting sharply with a 'serious' modern piece just aired on the NBC Music Appreciation Hour that was meant to convey the sense of an onrushing locomotive. There was, sniffed NBC conductor Walter Damrosch...'no place in the classics for realism.' The Solemn Ol' Judge [Opry MC George D. Hay], not to be outdone, introduced DeFord's train blues, and the Barn Dance itself, as 'nothing but realism, down to earth for the earthy,' and then came up with the inspired tag: 'For the past hour we have been listening to the music taken largely from the Grand Opera, but from now on we will present the Grand Ole Opry." - from “DeFord Bailey” chapter in Guralnick’s Lost Highway
"In a way, it was a song about the end of life and was better suited to the tired and broken Garcia of fifty than the strong, confident man of thirty who first sang it." - from Blair Jackson's Garcia: An American Life
Jackson is writing about "Stella Blue," yet what he says applies to the Dead's cover of Merle Haggard's "Sing Me Back Home" - but with a twist: Garcia only sang it during those "strong, confident" years, but he performed it as though he knew exactly what it was like to be tired and broken at fifty.
Hiram rolled into town and gave me the keys to a Dan Reeder trip. I’ve been tripping ever since. After hanging out for a good while with Mr. Hurley, I’m pretty primed for this journey. There’s an anything goes spirit to Reeder’s songs: One minute it’s Norwegian union scale wages, the next Chinese drivers with their feet on the brakes, then we’re sailing the seas and breeding ponies. And all along it’s Reeder singing the workingman blues. It seems disparate, but that just adds to the glow of understanding.
I don’t get out to see too many concerts, but this week I caught Sam Quinn playing a (mostly) solo acoustic set and tonight I’m hitting the town with friends to see the Dave Rawlings Machine. Since hometown pal John placed Rawlings’ Friend of a Friend album in front of me I’ve basically been delirious about it. Just listen to this infectious “Sweet Tooth” with Old Crow Medicine Show, Gillian Welch, and Benmont Tench, and you can tell why. Like many of Michael Hurley’s best songs, "Sweet Tooth" takes a break from stale old Reason to open us back up to poetic, earthly delight -- and just having a good time while we float around on this rock. Count me in.
Sam Quinn’s out and about touring around with Japan Ten and songs from their new album The Fake That Sunk a Thousand Ships. It’s Quinn’s first album since he and Jill Andrews decided to call an end to The Everybodyfields. They produced three fine albums together, getting the Emmylou and Gram comparison while doing so. And they do harmonize soulfully through some trouble in mind songs.
Quinn’s sorrowful tale of displacement by progress, “T.V.A,” from their first album, Half-way there: Electricity and the South, won the best bluegrass song award at the 2005 Merlefest.
As a fellow native of East Tennessee I’m pretty partial to Quinn’s evocative portrait of the quiet virtues and joys of small town southern life “Good to be Home.”
If you are in Boston on June 2nd, you can catch Quinn at Johnny D’s (the night after Peter Rowan plays there). Check his site for when he's coming to a town near you.
If you're looking for an album to go along with your summertime beers, Phosphorescent's new LP, Here's To Taking It Easy, can easily handle more than a few spins on your record player. This one could have fit in just fine on To Willie.
Flew across the country. And you never know what those airplane magazines are going to reveal to you. Amidst all the buy this and you haven’t been there and you ain’t hip enough yet, I ran across a he’s-got-a-new-album-out piece about Merle Haggard. But what really took my eyes out of their sockets was the revelation that Haggard had written a song for Hillary Clinton during her Democratic Party nominee campaign. And it wasn’t a rundown. Instead, Miss Pant Suit got the thumbs up from a dude who was pardoned by Ronald Reagan. This drop of knowledge got the wheels spinning about what Hill might say about Merle’s "Are the Good Times Really Over (I Wish a Buck was still Silver)", especially the line “Before Microwave ovens when a girl could still cook, and still would.”
Now it's possible this particular line is some more of that fly over your head irony, as found on “Okie from Muskogee” - when Merle’s tongue was a bit too buried in his check and apparently only hippies got the joke, except when they were getting the shit kicked out of them by those who thought Merle was preaching the gospel. But if the line is flying-high irony, it lands with a thud. (Thom Jurek's allmusic review inadvertently nails it by homophoning the quoted lyrics’ "would" with "wood.") But on “Are the Good Times Really Over” I just don’t hear any of the quick laughter that’s not so hidden on “Okie.” Here's Merle chuckling his way through the song:
Instead “Good Times” straight-on laments the loss of what to Merle (and many other post-1960s Americans) were defining characteristics of a once great nation: honor abroad and at home, hard-working men, women who knew how to cook and would, and well-built Chevys. Which brings me to Michael Hurley (who also seems to share a fondness for the Chevys of old).
I was over at Snock's website the other day and took a look at his online jukebox. And what did I find there but Hag’s “Are the Good Times Really Over.” Now if Michael Hurley is giving it the thumbs-up, then who the hell am I to question it? I definitely can’t question Hurley’s snoozing on the backporch genius, which on album after album re-grooves the world to its proper speed. There's plenty of nonsense lyrics in "Eyes Eyes," but Hurley sings them with break your heart tenderness.
And then I flew back to journey with pb down to the Eastern Shore of Maryland. We stopped in at Rabbit Hill, J. George’s record & musical instrument house.
And even though more than a few weeks have passed since Record Store Day, I want to cast my belated vote for Rabbit Hill. If you are traveling down Highway 50, be sure to stop by and see the big Rabbit (and get yourself fresh corn and tomatoes in his front yard). Then it was onto the shore where PB’s pops told us tales of hanging-out with Wade Ward and journeying deep into the West Virginia mountains to meet old-time fiddlers and banjo players and write-down traditional songs and tunings. Seems that if you wanted to gain the respect of the mountain men and women you hoped to learn from, it was best to carry a banjo or fiddle as a sign of legitimacy and seriousness. One old-timer met them at the door with a .45 and a shotgun, only to tell them to come on in once he saw the banjo cases. As he told these stories he played us Roscoe Holcomb singing high and lonesome on “Moonshiner.”
Photo from Bob Adelman's thicket-dense photo-history of early 70s Camden, Alabama, Down Home.
Last but not least, back in the Hub I worldwidewebbed myself to a great music blog, Naturalismo (from where I snagged the Hurley photo). If you dig Devendra, Hurley, and Joanna Newsom, then you definitely want to type your way to Naturalismo. Cheers!
another class of people put us somewhere just below
I’ve been meaning to write about Merle Haggard’s “Are the Good Times Really Over (I Wish a Buck was still Silver),” but it deserves more words than I can give it now. I’ll get to it next week, but here’s Hag’s tribute to his mother’s sacrifices for her family. If the honest working man nostalgia of “Are the Good Times” strikes this listener as partaking too much of early 80s conservatism, “Hungry Eyes” voices a subtle and dignified populism.
I was going to offer a few words about Mable John’s “Your Good Thing (is about to end),” but then I found that Funky16Corners had already done the job mucho better than my brain could have. This is one damned sultry performance, with Able Mable savoring every bit of (sexual) power she has over her ex. Lookout!
After the divine A Love Supreme, the Coltrane Quartet kept moving forward, radically expanding their range. In 1965 the Quartet released Love Supreme, The John Coltrane Quartet Plays, Ascension, and New Thing at Newport. If A Love Supreme can reside pretty comfortably on most turntables as Classic Jazz, Ascension is the free jazz revolution writ large, with 7 horn players doing the big band thing like it ain’t been done before. It’s in this run of albums that we find Coltrane taking over "Chim Chim Cheree," turning yet another children’s song sung by Julie Andrews toward free jazz. The collective energy of the Quartet is astonishing. And as much as I love Coltrane’s solos, especially when he comes screaming in after McCoy Tyner’s piano solo, it’s Elvin Jones’ cat quick drumming that I can’t take my ears off of.
Somehow the Grateful Dead got invited to play Hugh Hefner’s “After Dark” show in January 1969. And I’m still trying to figure out how in hell Hefner and his producers felt the Dead were a group to have on the show, or how The Dead felt this was a scene they wanted to be involved with for even a minute or two. One thing does spring to mind: the band must have grinned like wolves at the thought of dosing every last one of the assembled. While Kesey had retired the bus, the Dead remained notorious for pranking any unsuspecting individual with a healthy dose of LSD in their drink of choice. The historical record is a bit unclear about whether or not the Dead got to Hef’s drink (though one story has Hefner toasted and telling Phil and Bill “I want to thank you for your special gift.” Enjoy the ride Hugh.) But it does seem that Owsley’s potent blend of acid was eye-dropped into the cups of many attendees, and if Jerry’s stoned banter and permanent grin are any indication, he was swimming in it. To take the weirdness up a notch, they start their set with a gorgeous version of their acoustic psych-chamber piece “Mountains of the Moon". Only ten or so times did this tune ever get played (all in 1969) -- and the Dead gift one to Playboy.
Oddly enough, this little engagement does let us in on the changing role of Ron "Pigpen" McKernan in the band's music. That’s Phil’s friend T.C. Constanten gracing the harpsichord. The Dead were in a definite transitional moment in early 1969, which is why Constanten rather than the band’s usual organist Pigpen is at the keys. Phil and Jerry had more adventurous sounds they were wanting to create, and not all members of the band were keeping up. Bob Weir wasn’t making much progress on the electric guitar and was asked to leave the band. As was Pigpen, who found it hard to create a space for his brand of blues and r&b in the increasingly psychedelic music. So Phil and Jerry brought in Constanten for some of the songs on 1969’s Aoxomoxoa. And it’s easy to see why, for Pigpen was just not the sort of player who was going to break out the harpischord to play a few delicate figures. But Constanten also took over organ duties, pressing Pigpen further to the edges of the band’s music. Skip ahead a little in that after dark night and we get a raucous “St. Stephen” with T.C. in the middle of it all on organ and Pigpen stranded in the corner with his congas, looking a little lost amidst the swirling riptide produced by the rest of the band.
Yet after the brief grumbling over his playing, he remained an essential member of the band’s live performances. Shows were inevitably capped by Pigpen mixing the rhythm & blues with Lord Buckley on triumphant versions of “Turn on your Lovelight.” After "St. Stephen" fades and Hugh says goodbye, we hear Pig and the band ripping through "Lovelight" for the dancing kings and queens, who look to be having the time of their lives on that LSD stuff. Pigpen outlasted T.C., who split amicably after a year, but Constanten’s brief tenure confirmed that the band’s music required a second keyboardist.
Image and plenty of words can be found at slipcue.
Before I get to the quote and song, I must say that upon seeing this portrait of a happy as can be Kitty Wells I immediately thought of classic baseball trading cards and thought that what the world needs are the stars of classic country music trading cards. Ok, quote and song:
In 1953, Tennessee governor Frank G. Clement presented her with an award which read, in part, that Kitty was “an outstanding wife and mother, in keeping with the finest traditions of southern womanhood.” - Charles Wolfe, Classic Country: Legends of Country Music
The accompanying cd for the monograph The Age of Shanghainese Pops came through the library the other day. Here's the "golden voiced" Chou Hsuan singing "Sweet Blossom of Youth."
From the CD insert: "Sweet Blossoms of Youth" represents the creme de la creme of Shanghainese pops at the height of its Golden Age in post-war Shanghai. Musically and creatively, the Shi Dai Qu of this period are unsurpassed by those that followed. "Sweet Blossoms of Youth" is the opening song on the 1947 film An All Consuming Love.
extraextra: For some reason this song made me think of Louis Armstrong's floating on air "Song of the Islands." I put the digital needle down on that number and googled the title to find out the dates and players for the song. And what do I find but an extragood blog devoted to Senor Armstrong. Whatever your level of Louis love, do yourself a favor and give some time over to The Wonderful World of Louis Armstrong.
Seems like this is some special religious day, but if you are a Red Sox fan, the real resurrection action happens this evening on Yawkey Way, with services starting at 8pm. The Great Satan shall be cast out!
But since it is that raised from the dead day, a little testifying is in order. Here's Paul Foster hitting the lead notes for the Soul Stirrers. (I gotta add that Foster gives a masterful performance, moving with a very commanding stage presence and back and forth vocally between shouting the good word and letting loose with some high notes. The man has the Gospel in him.)
And then we have Jimmy Outler taking his spot out front with the always incredibly moving "Listen to the Angels Sing":
There are more than a few versions of “Louie Louie” floating around out there. The Wiki puts the number in the hundreds. The song’s first author Richard Berry released the original in 1957, but his was only a regional R&B hit.
It took the Kingsmens’ exuberant first-take garage-band run (or is it stumble?) through to propel the song to national fame. And investigation: some worried minds in the country felt the hit single to be obscene, and so they contacted Attorney General Robert Kennedy about the matter and the song was duly investigated by the FBI. After two years of crack detective work, it was declared that the song was “unintelligible at any speed.” Cut to 1969 and we find the song made very intelligible by some members of the Black Panther Party, who did their own bit of creative appropriation by altering the lyrics to their anti-pig rhetorical ends.
piggy wiggy ooh ooh, i say, you gotta go now, oink, oink, bang, bang, dead pig
You can catch some party members singing this iteration of the lyrics in the 1971 documentary The Murder of Fred Hampton (about 17 minutes into this clip).
The brain’s busy trying to find the right words to say about Merle Haggard’s classic and inane “Are the Good Times Really Over (I Wish a Buck was Still Silver)”, but figured in the meantime I’d throw a few Terry Callier songs out there. Check this interview with Callier -- a fascinating gentleman.
While going this way and that on the internet archive the other day, I came across this video of Acid Mothers Temple. I went to see AMT a couple of years ago with an old roommate of mine, Joe Turner (of Joe Turner & The Seven Levels and drummer for the defunct psych-pop band Abunai!), and had my mind and eardrums thoroughly blown. If AMT comes to your town, definitely go see them - but I do suggest a sturdy pair earplugs, for these Japanese mothers are LOUD.
Hmmm, looks like the total concert won't just stream from song to song, so you'll have to hit the forward button to get to the next song. Have fun.
Until about a year ago I thought The Monkees were robots. They are not robots. The Michael Martin Murphey penned "What Am I Doing Hangin' 'Round?" is a pretty early stab at countryrock, with Mike Nesmith calling it a "new-wave country song...with its minor chord changes; Buck Owens wouldn't have done anything like that." Can't seem to find out who exactly, but allmusic has "some members of the Byrds" (Clarence White?) playing on the song.
