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(07/29/04 4:00am)
Singer-songwriter Bill Morrissey might be a folkie, but he's also craggily, fierce and sometimes prone to intense, biting sarcasm.\nTake, for instance, his appearance at the Newport Folk Festival in 1985, when the presence of several huge yachts anchored in the Newport harbor signaled the tragic quasi-death of the type of '60s idealism that once saturated the festival. "Look at all those yachts out there," Morrissey said on stage as the delighted yacht owners tooted their horns. Then bang: "All that money, and they're too fucking cheap to buy a ticket to a folk festival." Silence from the harbor. Roars from the audience.\nThat story, related in the liner notes to this 20-song collection of his best Rounder material, symbolizes the type of devilish wit that often punctuates Morrissey's work. While his tales of small-town schlubs and blue-collar stiffs are frequently grim and downhearted, they also tend to have a silver lining, one made from a wry sense of humor.\nIn the angelic paradise described in "Letter from Heaven," Mama Cass has slimmed down, Charlie Parker has kicked heroin and James Dean has taken driving lessons. The heavenly narrator, who's currently dating Patsy Cline, buys Robert Johnson a beer. "Yeah, I know," Morrissey sings, "everybody's always surprised to find him here."\nSometimes wistful, sometimes sardonic, yet always enlightening, Morrissey's droll depictions of everyday life make for a must-have collection.
(07/29/04 2:39am)
Singer-songwriter Bill Morrissey might be a folkie, but he's also craggily, fierce and sometimes prone to intense, biting sarcasm.\nTake, for instance, his appearance at the Newport Folk Festival in 1985, when the presence of several huge yachts anchored in the Newport harbor signaled the tragic quasi-death of the type of '60s idealism that once saturated the festival. "Look at all those yachts out there," Morrissey said on stage as the delighted yacht owners tooted their horns. Then bang: "All that money, and they're too fucking cheap to buy a ticket to a folk festival." Silence from the harbor. Roars from the audience.\nThat story, related in the liner notes to this 20-song collection of his best Rounder material, symbolizes the type of devilish wit that often punctuates Morrissey's work. While his tales of small-town schlubs and blue-collar stiffs are frequently grim and downhearted, they also tend to have a silver lining, one made from a wry sense of humor.\nIn the angelic paradise described in "Letter from Heaven," Mama Cass has slimmed down, Charlie Parker has kicked heroin and James Dean has taken driving lessons. The heavenly narrator, who's currently dating Patsy Cline, buys Robert Johnson a beer. "Yeah, I know," Morrissey sings, "everybody's always surprised to find him here."\nSometimes wistful, sometimes sardonic, yet always enlightening, Morrissey's droll depictions of everyday life make for a must-have collection.
(07/22/04 3:38pm)
Obsessive music lovers have few goals in life: spending money they don't have on music, listening to said music while wondering how to pay the credit card bill and occasionally taking their minds off the credit card bill by unearthing an overlooked gem of an album.\nHey, it doesn't take much to please us. We also like nagging other people about buying the albums we like: "Oh man, you GOTTA listen to Engelbert Humperdinck Live in Reykjavik." DISCLAIMER: Mr. Whirty does not endorse Engelbert Humperdinck.\nBut here are 10 albums you've never heard that I do recommend:
(07/22/04 4:00am)
Obsessive music lovers have few goals in life: spending money they don't have on music, listening to said music while wondering how to pay the credit card bill and occasionally taking their minds off the credit card bill by unearthing an overlooked gem of an album.\nHey, it doesn't take much to please us. We also like nagging other people about buying the albums we like: "Oh man, you GOTTA listen to Engelbert Humperdinck Live in Reykjavik." DISCLAIMER: Mr. Whirty does not endorse Engelbert Humperdinck.\nBut here are 10 albums you've never heard that I do recommend:
(07/14/04 11:59pm)
What? A woman who claims Professor Longhair as an influence? A woman? A white woman?\nBelieve it. Kelley Hunt, a blues shouter who's been compared to Susan Tedeschi, tries to channel the sound and soul of the N'Awlins boogie-woogie patriarch (among other influences) on her second studio CD, New Shade of Blue.\nAnd, to a large extent, she succeeds. The Lawrence, Kan., resident moves from the mid-tempo leadoff song, "Waking Up Slow," to the boisterous "Deal with It" (a duet with Delbert McClinton) to the aching album-closer "Would You Still Be There" with relative ease, infusing the gut-bucket R&B with a foot-stomping touch of honky tonk. (And why not? She also cites pioneering rockabilly legend Wanda Jackson as an influence.) The CD weaves a diverse tapestry of styles and emotions, and it's also a whole lotta fun.\nBut is that enough to distinguish Hunt from the blues/roots pack? That's a little tougher to discern. She's got the chops, both as a singer and a songwriter, but it's too early to say that she's headed for blues greatness. Perhaps New Shade will lead to a Tedeschi-like breakthrough. But Hunt might have to pay her dues and strive to further refine her already unique sound for a little longer before the blues world appreciates her talent fully.
(07/14/04 4:00am)
What? A woman who claims Professor Longhair as an influence? A woman? A white woman?\nBelieve it. Kelley Hunt, a blues shouter who's been compared to Susan Tedeschi, tries to channel the sound and soul of the N'Awlins boogie-woogie patriarch (among other influences) on her second studio CD, New Shade of Blue.\nAnd, to a large extent, she succeeds. The Lawrence, Kan., resident moves from the mid-tempo leadoff song, "Waking Up Slow," to the boisterous "Deal with It" (a duet with Delbert McClinton) to the aching album-closer "Would You Still Be There" with relative ease, infusing the gut-bucket R&B with a foot-stomping touch of honky tonk. (And why not? She also cites pioneering rockabilly legend Wanda Jackson as an influence.) The CD weaves a diverse tapestry of styles and emotions, and it's also a whole lotta fun.\nBut is that enough to distinguish Hunt from the blues/roots pack? That's a little tougher to discern. She's got the chops, both as a singer and a songwriter, but it's too early to say that she's headed for blues greatness. Perhaps New Shade will lead to a Tedeschi-like breakthrough. But Hunt might have to pay her dues and strive to further refine her already unique sound for a little longer before the blues world appreciates her talent fully.
(07/01/04 4:10am)
To say the 1950s -- 1954-'59 in particular -- were a crucial period in American musical and cultural history is, quite simply, a massive understatement. Within those five years, the slate was wiped clean and all bets were suddenly off.\nAfter years, even decades of steady simmering, the boiling phenomenon that was rock 'n' roll erupted over the edges of the pot and drenched the entire country. What was old was now … old, replaced by a new sound and a new style that was anchored in the country's youth culture, a culture populated by millions of teenagers who suddenly possessed large amounts of time, money and curiosity.\nIt was that curiosity that spurred America's young adults to tune into Alan "Moondog" Freed's broadcasts from Cleveland and then New York, programs that sent the formerly sinful sounds of black America to a generation of white kids who were hungry for something with feeling, something with power, something with … danger.\nThe 1950s changed America, and the artists who flourished during those years laid the groundwork for a half-century (and counting) of music. Here's a (regretfully short) primer for fans interested in exploring the sound that started it all.
(07/01/04 4:00am)
To say the 1950s -- 1954-'59 in particular -- were a crucial period in American musical and cultural history is, quite simply, a massive understatement. Within those five years, the slate was wiped clean and all bets were suddenly off.\nAfter years, even decades of steady simmering, the boiling phenomenon that was rock 'n' roll erupted over the edges of the pot and drenched the entire country. What was old was now … old, replaced by a new sound and a new style that was anchored in the country's youth culture, a culture populated by millions of teenagers who suddenly possessed large amounts of time, money and curiosity.\nIt was that curiosity that spurred America's young adults to tune into Alan "Moondog" Freed's broadcasts from Cleveland and then New York, programs that sent the formerly sinful sounds of black America to a generation of white kids who were hungry for something with feeling, something with power, something with … danger.\nThe 1950s changed America, and the artists who flourished during those years laid the groundwork for a half-century (and counting) of music. Here's a (regretfully short) primer for fans interested in exploring the sound that started it all.
(06/17/04 4:00am)
My reaction to both morsels of bad news was the same: "Oh, crap."\nIt's what I blurted out when my friend told me a few weeks ago that All Ears music store was closing. It's also what I blurted out last week when I logged onto the Internet and found out that Ray Charles had died.\nThat's because both are losses that will remove something vital from my life, something that reminds me that the world is an OK place, that life isn't really all that bad.\nMusic in many ways and at many times has been my lifeline, the life preserver that keeps me from drowning in turbulent waters or the rope that prevents me from tumbling over the rocky cliff. Music is perhaps my most important therapy.\nI listen to Wilson Pickett when I'm depressed (which, regrettably, is often), and I feel better. I listen to the Misfits when I'm angry, and my anger is purged. And I listen to Son House and Hank Williams when I want -- and need -- to cry.\nAnd, in the course of my life, I learned very quickly that Ray Charles and his music contained the power to cheer people up, including me. How can you listen to "What'd I Say" or Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music and not feel good about yourself and about life? And if you're not inspired by the fact that a poor, blind African American who grew up under the indignities of Jim Crow could become one of the most important musicians of the 20th century and a national hero, then I feel very, very sorry for you.\nJust knowing that Ray Charles was in the world -- that he was still making music after more than 50 years in the business -- was always comforting to me. He was a constant in my life -- and the lives of millions around the world. It's as if we thought he would always be there, always making us smile -- and making us shake our tailfeathers.\nBut now he's gone. We don't have him anymore. I don't have him anymore. And my life is a bit emptier.\nWhat I have left is his music -- and music in general. And for the last three years, the place I've gone to buy my music is All Ears, a cozy little record store at the corner of 10th and Grant streets owned and managed by a guy named Charlie Titche.\nWhile All Ears had a pretty good selection of new and used CDs, it couldn't compare to the massive stocks at chain stores like Tracks and Best Buy. What made All Ears so great and so unique -- and what kept me (and countless other customers) coming back month after month -- was the awesome amount of vinyl Charlie had.\nVinyl LP collectors like me are dorks, and we'll admit it. We're throwbacks who seriously need to get out of the '70s and buy an iPod. We're goofballs who tweak when we find an original Slade or Brothers Johnson LP. We haunt record stores so much that we develop a permanent layer of dust on our fingertips from flipping through piles of LPs for hours.\nAnd Charlie is, in his own words, "a record store geek." He's also one of the coolest people I've ever met. He greets everyone who comes into his store with a genuinely warm and enthusiastic greeting: "Hey fellas, happy Tuesday to you."\nLooking for some old Wanda Jackson on vinyl? He'll dig it out for you. Jonesing for a particular Black Flag CD? He'll order it for you. Wanna spend an hour leisurely perusing piles of $1.50 LPs? He'll point the way.\nOne of Charlie's employees told me that, unequivocally, Charlie was the best boss he ever had. I can vouch for that -- I worked at All Ears for a few months, and it was frickin' awesome. I loved being around that store, whether as an employee or as a customer. I thought about asking Charlie if I could bring in a pup tent and a Coleman stove and just camp there for a few weeks.\nFor me, All Ears was just like music itself -- it was therapeutic. Over the past three years I've pulled myself out of many a depressive funk by shopping for vinyl at All Ears. Some depressed people run to drugs or alcohol, some head for a half-gallon of ice cream. I made a beeline for All Ears.\nSure, I probably spent too much money there. I frequently bought records when I should have bought, I don't know, food. But I don't regret it at all.\nBecause so many times All Ears gave me a reason to be happy when I desperately needed one. Instead of doing something stupid I went to All Ears, flipped through some vinyl, bought some LPs and ended up with a smile on my face. And I need to smile more.\nThat's why I'll miss Charlie Titche and All Ears, and that's why I'll miss Ray Charles. They're two of the things that make life worth living, that make it worth sticking out the rough periods and pressing on for a sunnier day. \nSo thanks Ray, and thanks Charlie. I'll miss you.
(06/17/04 1:42am)
My reaction to both morsels of bad news was the same: "Oh, crap."\nIt's what I blurted out when my friend told me a few weeks ago that All Ears music store was closing. It's also what I blurted out last week when I logged onto the Internet and found out that Ray Charles had died.\nThat's because both are losses that will remove something vital from my life, something that reminds me that the world is an OK place, that life isn't really all that bad.\nMusic in many ways and at many times has been my lifeline, the life preserver that keeps me from drowning in turbulent waters or the rope that prevents me from tumbling over the rocky cliff. Music is perhaps my most important therapy.\nI listen to Wilson Pickett when I'm depressed (which, regrettably, is often), and I feel better. I listen to the Misfits when I'm angry, and my anger is purged. And I listen to Son House and Hank Williams when I want -- and need -- to cry.\nAnd, in the course of my life, I learned very quickly that Ray Charles and his music contained the power to cheer people up, including me. How can you listen to "What'd I Say" or Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music and not feel good about yourself and about life? And if you're not inspired by the fact that a poor, blind African American who grew up under the indignities of Jim Crow could become one of the most important musicians of the 20th century and a national hero, then I feel very, very sorry for you.\nJust knowing that Ray Charles was in the world -- that he was still making music after more than 50 years in the business -- was always comforting to me. He was a constant in my life -- and the lives of millions around the world. It's as if we thought he would always be there, always making us smile -- and making us shake our tailfeathers.\nBut now he's gone. We don't have him anymore. I don't have him anymore. And my life is a bit emptier.\nWhat I have left is his music -- and music in general. And for the last three years, the place I've gone to buy my music is All Ears, a cozy little record store at the corner of 10th and Grant streets owned and managed by a guy named Charlie Titche.\nWhile All Ears had a pretty good selection of new and used CDs, it couldn't compare to the massive stocks at chain stores like Tracks and Best Buy. What made All Ears so great and so unique -- and what kept me (and countless other customers) coming back month after month -- was the awesome amount of vinyl Charlie had.\nVinyl LP collectors like me are dorks, and we'll admit it. We're throwbacks who seriously need to get out of the '70s and buy an iPod. We're goofballs who tweak when we find an original Slade or Brothers Johnson LP. We haunt record stores so much that we develop a permanent layer of dust on our fingertips from flipping through piles of LPs for hours.\nAnd Charlie is, in his own words, "a record store geek." He's also one of the coolest people I've ever met. He greets everyone who comes into his store with a genuinely warm and enthusiastic greeting: "Hey fellas, happy Tuesday to you."\nLooking for some old Wanda Jackson on vinyl? He'll dig it out for you. Jonesing for a particular Black Flag CD? He'll order it for you. Wanna spend an hour leisurely perusing piles of $1.50 LPs? He'll point the way.\nOne of Charlie's employees told me that, unequivocally, Charlie was the best boss he ever had. I can vouch for that -- I worked at All Ears for a few months, and it was frickin' awesome. I loved being around that store, whether as an employee or as a customer. I thought about asking Charlie if I could bring in a pup tent and a Coleman stove and just camp there for a few weeks.\nFor me, All Ears was just like music itself -- it was therapeutic. Over the past three years I've pulled myself out of many a depressive funk by shopping for vinyl at All Ears. Some depressed people run to drugs or alcohol, some head for a half-gallon of ice cream. I made a beeline for All Ears.\nSure, I probably spent too much money there. I frequently bought records when I should have bought, I don't know, food. But I don't regret it at all.\nBecause so many times All Ears gave me a reason to be happy when I desperately needed one. Instead of doing something stupid I went to All Ears, flipped through some vinyl, bought some LPs and ended up with a smile on my face. And I need to smile more.\nThat's why I'll miss Charlie Titche and All Ears, and that's why I'll miss Ray Charles. They're two of the things that make life worth living, that make it worth sticking out the rough periods and pressing on for a sunnier day. \nSo thanks Ray, and thanks Charlie. I'll miss you.
(06/10/04 4:00am)
Bluegrass is perhaps one of the few genres of American music that hasn't been able to grow and develop as the years roll on. Or at least that's the case in the eyes of countless music fans, who view bluegrass (very inaccurately) as old-fogey music, a quaint form of Americana practiced by fat white guys in overalls.\nKing Wilkie aims to change that perception. Self-styled as a breath of fresh air for bluegrass, the Charlottesville, Va.-based group of 20-somethings wants to infuse bluegrass with new blood and new bite while remaining loyal to the legends who came before (by, for example, naming themselves after Bill Monroe's favorite horse).\n Thus King Wilkie -- which performs Friday, June 18 at the 38th annual Bean Blossom Bluegrass Festival in Bean Blossom, Ind. -- issues Broke, its first CD for famous bluegrass label Rebel Records. The disc features souped-up renditions of standards by Ralph Lewis, Jimmie Rodgers and the Monroe Brothers, among others, along with several original cuts.\nEschewing self-indulgent instrumental flashiness for grit and vivacity, the six-man band succeeds, at least somewhat, in making bluegrass attractive to newer generations without selling out to the modern pop-music mainstream. There is integrity, and there is energy, and while King Wilkie isn't the Next Big Thing for bluegrass (at least, not yet), the band proves that bluegrass isn't just for old fogeys anymore.
(06/09/04 10:52pm)
Bluegrass is perhaps one of the few genres of American music that hasn't been able to grow and develop as the years roll on. Or at least that's the case in the eyes of countless music fans, who view bluegrass (very inaccurately) as old-fogey music, a quaint form of Americana practiced by fat white guys in overalls.\nKing Wilkie aims to change that perception. Self-styled as a breath of fresh air for bluegrass, the Charlottesville, Va.-based group of 20-somethings wants to infuse bluegrass with new blood and new bite while remaining loyal to the legends who came before (by, for example, naming themselves after Bill Monroe's favorite horse).\n Thus King Wilkie -- which performs Friday, June 18 at the 38th annual Bean Blossom Bluegrass Festival in Bean Blossom, Ind. -- issues Broke, its first CD for famous bluegrass label Rebel Records. The disc features souped-up renditions of standards by Ralph Lewis, Jimmie Rodgers and the Monroe Brothers, among others, along with several original cuts.\nEschewing self-indulgent instrumental flashiness for grit and vivacity, the six-man band succeeds, at least somewhat, in making bluegrass attractive to newer generations without selling out to the modern pop-music mainstream. There is integrity, and there is energy, and while King Wilkie isn't the Next Big Thing for bluegrass (at least, not yet), the band proves that bluegrass isn't just for old fogeys anymore.
(06/03/04 4:00am)
Lately, on the nights when I come home feeling depressed and forlorn (and they are many), I seem to be listening to the same song over and over again. In the last few weeks, when I feel yet again that I'm ready to explode in a blast of anger, frustration and self-hate, I've been listening to Warren Zevon's "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner." And I've been feeling much better.\nWarren Zevon has quickly become one of my heroes, one of the people I look to for inspiration, meaning and a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Of course, Warren's dead now. He died Sept. 7, 2003, more than a year after he had been diagnosed with untreatable lung cancer. Two weeks before his death, his final album, The Wind, was released. The last song on the CD was "Keep Me in Your Heart." "These wheels keep turning," he wrote in that song, "but they're running out of steam." It's still hard for me to think of him and not cry.\nBut before he died, Warren carved out his own unique and tiny niche in the world of music -- and in the worlds of countless people whose own lives were marked by the contradictory mix of jaded pessimism and idealized romanticism. Warren, Bruce Springsteen once said, was "a moralist in cynic's clothing." His fans -- his true fans, not the ones who think "Werewolves of London" is "pretty cool" -- adored him, not because his songs were pretty (although many of them were), but because he could take life's ugliness, and twist it and turn it to produce something that radiated truth and verity, something that revealed the inner workings of his own heart -- and the hearts of everyone who listened.\nThus, "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner" came to exist. The second track on Warren's 1978 album, Excitable Boy, "Roland," tells the tale of a Norwegian mercenary whose specialty was the trademark submachine gun. He signs on to fight for the Congolese in the Biafran War, but, thanks to his unsurpassed skill, is soon marked for death by the CIA. One of his colleagues, Van Owen, then unceremoniously blows off Roland's head. Roland stalks through the night, searching for his killer, eventually finding him in a Mombassa bar: "Roland aimed his Thompson gun -- he didn't say a word / But he blew Van Owen's body from there to Johannesburg."\nAs I sit at home and listen to the song, I envy Roland -- not because he got his head blown off, of course, but because he found revenge, because he defeated that which had at first defeated him. In my darkest hours, I silently dream about blowing away that which defeats me. I want to avenge all my lost years, the time that was wasted at the hands of self-hatred and unrestrained, self-imposed anguish. Listening to "Roland" becomes, quite simply, a catharsis for me, a way of sublimating my innermost desires into a metaphor for my frustration and hatred and paralyzing sadness. And my Van Owen -- that which defeats me -- is myself, myself and my mind.\nOf course, on its face the song is much more ambiguous, especially with the ending:
(06/03/04 2:11am)
Lately, on the nights when I come home feeling depressed and forlorn (and they are many), I seem to be listening to the same song over and over again. In the last few weeks, when I feel yet again that I'm ready to explode in a blast of anger, frustration and self-hate, I've been listening to Warren Zevon's "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner." And I've been feeling much better.\nWarren Zevon has quickly become one of my heroes, one of the people I look to for inspiration, meaning and a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Of course, Warren's dead now. He died Sept. 7, 2003, more than a year after he had been diagnosed with untreatable lung cancer. Two weeks before his death, his final album, The Wind, was released. The last song on the CD was "Keep Me in Your Heart." "These wheels keep turning," he wrote in that song, "but they're running out of steam." It's still hard for me to think of him and not cry.\nBut before he died, Warren carved out his own unique and tiny niche in the world of music -- and in the worlds of countless people whose own lives were marked by the contradictory mix of jaded pessimism and idealized romanticism. Warren, Bruce Springsteen once said, was "a moralist in cynic's clothing." His fans -- his true fans, not the ones who think "Werewolves of London" is "pretty cool" -- adored him, not because his songs were pretty (although many of them were), but because he could take life's ugliness, and twist it and turn it to produce something that radiated truth and verity, something that revealed the inner workings of his own heart -- and the hearts of everyone who listened.\nThus, "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner" came to exist. The second track on Warren's 1978 album, Excitable Boy, "Roland," tells the tale of a Norwegian mercenary whose specialty was the trademark submachine gun. He signs on to fight for the Congolese in the Biafran War, but, thanks to his unsurpassed skill, is soon marked for death by the CIA. One of his colleagues, Van Owen, then unceremoniously blows off Roland's head. Roland stalks through the night, searching for his killer, eventually finding him in a Mombassa bar: "Roland aimed his Thompson gun -- he didn't say a word / But he blew Van Owen's body from there to Johannesburg."\nAs I sit at home and listen to the song, I envy Roland -- not because he got his head blown off, of course, but because he found revenge, because he defeated that which had at first defeated him. In my darkest hours, I silently dream about blowing away that which defeats me. I want to avenge all my lost years, the time that was wasted at the hands of self-hatred and unrestrained, self-imposed anguish. Listening to "Roland" becomes, quite simply, a catharsis for me, a way of sublimating my innermost desires into a metaphor for my frustration and hatred and paralyzing sadness. And my Van Owen -- that which defeats me -- is myself, myself and my mind.\nOf course, on its face the song is much more ambiguous, especially with the ending:
(05/27/04 4:00am)
The blues has always been a largely male domain. Sure, we've had a slew of great vocalists, from Bessie Smith to Billie Holiday to Dinah Washington to Etta James to Koko Taylor. However, when it comes down to grabbing a guitar, plugging in and tearing up the joint, there have been very few women (Memphis Minnie, Rory Block and Bonnie Raitt, to name a select trio) who've been able -- or even willing -- to take on Muddy, Buddy, John Lee and Stevie on their own turf.\nBut for the last decade, there's been Deborah Coleman, whose vocals and guitar work have made her a much-respected, if less-than-famous, figure on the blues circuit. What About Love?, her first disc for Telarc, features her deep, sultry voice, biting riffs and sharp solos soaking through 11 solid tracks.\nCuts like the disc-opening "Bad Boy" and "Lie No Better" reveal a singer/guitarist who possesses both maturity and heartfelt soul. Her cover of the Everly Brothers' "When Will I Be Loved?" and the steamy "A Woman in Love" are also durable.\nUnfortunately, What About Love? features no tracks that jump off the CD and help place Coleman among the blues elite. She is indeed one of the shining lights and best hopes for female blues, but she still hasn't made the jump to the top tier of the genre.
(05/27/04 4:00am)
James Cotton's career reads like a travelogue along the blues highway. At the age of 9 -- 9! -- the native of Tunica, Miss., was taken under wing by the legendary Sonny Boy Williamson, whose harp-playing the young Cotton listened to faithfully on the King Biscuit Hour out of Helena, Ark., just across the river.\nCotton then formed his own band when he was still in his teens and promptly set about recording for the equally legendary Sam Phillips at Sun Records in Memphis. After that, Cotton, at the ripe old age of 18, hooked up with the -- you know the word -- legendary Muddy Waters, for whom Cotton played harp for 12 years.\nBy 1966, Cotton was ready to launch his own stellar career, which continues with the release of Baby, Don't You Tear My Clothes, a CD filled with top-notch guest appearances by Bobby Rush, Dave Alvin, Marcia Ball, C.J. Chenier, Rory Block and Odetta, among others.\nCotton and Co. cover a lot of ground, with modern interpretations of Lightnin' Hopkins, Robert Johnson, Jimmie Rodgers, Big Bill Broonzy, Sam Cooke and Slim Harpo. The album also includes three solid Cotton originals, all laced with Cotton's sweet, addictive harmonica. It's hard to go wrong with James Cotton -- after all, he's got the pedigree for greatness.
(05/26/04 10:09pm)
James Cotton's career reads like a travelogue along the blues highway. At the age of 9 -- 9! -- the native of Tunica, Miss., was taken under wing by the legendary Sonny Boy Williamson, whose harp-playing the young Cotton listened to faithfully on the King Biscuit Hour out of Helena, Ark., just across the river.\nCotton then formed his own band when he was still in his teens and promptly set about recording for the equally legendary Sam Phillips at Sun Records in Memphis. After that, Cotton, at the ripe old age of 18, hooked up with the -- you know the word -- legendary Muddy Waters, for whom Cotton played harp for 12 years.\nBy 1966, Cotton was ready to launch his own stellar career, which continues with the release of Baby, Don't You Tear My Clothes, a CD filled with top-notch guest appearances by Bobby Rush, Dave Alvin, Marcia Ball, C.J. Chenier, Rory Block and Odetta, among others.\nCotton and Co. cover a lot of ground, with modern interpretations of Lightnin' Hopkins, Robert Johnson, Jimmie Rodgers, Big Bill Broonzy, Sam Cooke and Slim Harpo. The album also includes three solid Cotton originals, all laced with Cotton's sweet, addictive harmonica. It's hard to go wrong with James Cotton -- after all, he's got the pedigree for greatness.
(05/26/04 10:05pm)
The blues has always been a largely male domain. Sure, we've had a slew of great vocalists, from Bessie Smith to Billie Holiday to Dinah Washington to Etta James to Koko Taylor. However, when it comes down to grabbing a guitar, plugging in and tearing up the joint, there have been very few women (Memphis Minnie, Rory Block and Bonnie Raitt, to name a select trio) who've been able -- or even willing -- to take on Muddy, Buddy, John Lee and Stevie on their own turf.\nBut for the last decade, there's been Deborah Coleman, whose vocals and guitar work have made her a much-respected, if less-than-famous, figure on the blues circuit. What About Love?, her first disc for Telarc, features her deep, sultry voice, biting riffs and sharp solos soaking through 11 solid tracks.\nCuts like the disc-opening "Bad Boy" and "Lie No Better" reveal a singer/guitarist who possesses both maturity and heartfelt soul. Her cover of the Everly Brothers' "When Will I Be Loved?" and the steamy "A Woman in Love" are also durable.\nUnfortunately, What About Love? features no tracks that jump off the CD and help place Coleman among the blues elite. She is indeed one of the shining lights and best hopes for female blues, but she still hasn't made the jump to the top tier of the genre.
(05/25/04 3:06pm)
In hindsight, it's perhaps quite unfortunate that Los Lobos' version of Ritchie Valens' "La Bamba" (recorded for the 1987 movie of the same name) was a No. 1 hit; for many casual listeners, it's probably the only way they've heard much of the band.\nQuite unfortunate indeed, because Los Lobos, over its three-decade career, has become arguably the greatest Latino band in history (profuse apologies to Mr. Santana, and no, Menudo doesn't count). The group's ability to blend traditional Latino musical traditions with more mainstream rock and pop styles has made them very durable and very dependable. The band has never really made a bad record.\nRecently, though, there's been a problem: while the band's releases have all been good, they also haven't really stood out as much as, say, the brilliant Will the Wolf Survive? from 1984. Los Lobos had, it seems, fallen into a rut.\nThe Ride could perhaps be seen as the group's effort at breaking out of that rut. With top-notch contributions from such luminaries as Bobby Womack, Dave Alvin, Garth Hudson, Mavis Staples, Elvis Costello, Tom Waits and Richard Thompson, The Ride definitely has a fresh sound and perhaps even crossover appeal. Will it be able to overcome the unfortunate shadow cast by "La Bamba?" Probably not. Does it mark an innovative and creative departure from the ordinary? Absolutely.
(05/24/04 8:50pm)
Ever since Loretta Lynn released her first single 44 years ago, her heart and soul have remained intimately tied to her childhood as a coal miner's daughter in rural Kentucky. She's never forgotten who she is and where she came from, never left behind the life lessons she learned growing up in Butcher's Hollow and watching her father toil in the nearby Van Lear mine.\nAnd, fortunately for us, her latest release lets us know that right from the start. Van Lear Rose begins with the title track, a song that could very well be about her parents, or even Lynn and her husband, Oliver "Doo" Lynn, themselves: a father tells his daughter about the Van Lear Rose, a beautiful woman who teased the coal miners but whose heart was eventually won by a poor boy who supposedly had no chance with the much-pursued Rose.\nThat boy, it turns out, is the singer's father, and the listener is instantly captivated, just like the Van Lear Rose was captivated with her poor-boy suitor. The entire CD, like much of Lynn's stuff from her heyday in the 1960s and '70s, is direct, honest and powerful, so much so that we can almost see what she sees, feel what she feels, live what she lived.\nSome of the credit must be given to producer Jack White, who took a break from the White Stripes to help create a passionate statement by an American legend. The CD's sound is full and rich without being cluttered and confusing. He also contributes gritty electric guitar on fiery tracks like the almost-jazzy "Have Mercy" and the mournful "Women's Prison" and affecting vocals on the album's duet, "Portland Oregon."\nBut while White and others fashion a rich backdrop for her, the CD is Loretta's and Loretta's alone. Her gutsy vocals have faded little since she belted out groundbreaking feminist anthems four decades ago. She displays her versatility by showing subtle anguish on "Miss Being Mrs." (which could very well be dedicated to Doo, who passed in 1996) and raucous rave-up on "Mrs. Leroy Brown."\nUp to this point, Loretta Lynn has produced 52 Top 10 hits and 16 No. 1s. Whether Van Lear Rose adds to those totals really doesn't matter. What does matter, however, is whether modern country fans give Lynn the immense respect she deserves. Perhaps more than any artist in country-music history, she's been able to both rise above and remember her humble beginnings, and Van Lear Rose is a triumphant statement by a woman who in many ways has no peer.