Photographer Elliott Landy has a Kickstarter campaign (fully funded in five days, but still running) to fund the production of a book of photographs he made of The Band for their first two albums, Music From Big Pink and The Band. Only 30 of the 8000 frames that he produced have been widely published before, with many great pictures having sat in Landy’s fire-proof file cabinet for forty-five years. The Kickstarter campaign offers both a regular and deluxe edition of the forthcoming book, as well as numerous other items.
Montgomery’s fourth album for the Riverside label, recorded in 1961, finds the inimitable guitarist leading a quintet of Hank Jones, Ron Carter, Lex Humphries and Ray Barretto on a set that mixes originals (“Twisted Blues” and “Something Like Bags”) with well-selected standards. The group comes out charging hard with Montgomery picking firm and fast as the rhythm section swings with all due speed. Carter’s bass provides both rhythm and a melodic foil for the guitar, and Jones’ fleet fingers prove a good match for Montgomery’s thumb. The ballads show another fully-formed side of Montgomery’s playing, with the highly-charged percussive picking giving way to more fluid and introspective lines, such as on the unaccompanied “While We’re Young.” The mid-tempo “I’m a Lucky So and So” allows the band to swing as Montgomery explores the song’s melodic theme in his lead, finally giving way to Jones for a bluesy 32-bars. The album closes with a truly sublime reading of “One for My Baby (And One More for the Road)” whose drowsy tempo takes the place of Johnny Mercer’s late-night lyrics.
Former Day of the Outlaw front man Stewart Eastham debuts as a solo with this semi-autobiographical album documenting his transition from Los Angeles to Nashville, and his rebirth in Music City. Ironically, given the genesis of his new songs, the album was actually produced by former band mate Burke Ericson in Los Angeles with West Coast musicians, including Ted Russell Kamp and steel player John McClung. Eastham began his musical journey as a drummer, working his way to the microphone of the band Minibike and its follow-on, Day of the Outlaw. As a vocalist and songwriter, Eastham’s folk-like storytelling provides continuity between the group’s two releases and this solo outing, but where Day of the Outlaw’s The Retribution Waltz leaned towards Stones-ish rock, his solo outing starts with traditional country at its core.
With change clearly on his mind, Eastham’s considered many sides of transition. The gospel-tinged opener “Let It Go” sets the stage by proselytizing an optimistic, future-facing outlook. One can imagine this song helping Eastham let go of the comfort he’d developed in Los Angeles by looking forward to the then-unknown opportunities of Nashville. That cross-country journey is essayed in the steel-heavy, foot-stomping “Born in California,” exploring the dichotomies – countryside and city, home and adventure – that have threaded throughout Eastham’s life. He describes the layer between his lyrics and characters as having gone transparent for this batch of songs, and you can feel the autobiographical connection both directly and in allegory. The co-dependent relationship of “Broken Hearted Lovers,” for example, may be a tie between people, or between Eastham and Los Angeles.
The Band of Heathens continues to surprise. While their new album offers up the Americana and Little Feat-styled funk fans have come to expect, there’s a thread of late 1960s production pop that’s a welcome addition. This opening track, “Shotgun,” tips the album’s surprise with its nod to “Everybody’s Talkin’.” Gordy Quist sings the opening “I heard that you were talkin’ ’bout me, I heard you had a smile on your face while you cried, cried, cried,” with a rhythm and melody that easily brings to mind Fred Neil’s original couplet. The song quickly establishes its own sound, but the unison singing, keyboards and electric sitar-like guitar preview echoes of Curt Boettcher, Gary Usher and Brian Wilson heard in several of the album’s tracks.
Ed Jurdi opens the album’s second song with a voice as warm and soulful as Quist’s. Where the opener was pleased to see an indiscreet ex-lover (or, perhaps, a recently departed, smack-talking founding member of the band) receding in the rear-view mirror, “Caroline Williams” is rife with the pain and confusion of the left behind. Recently arrived drummer Richard Millsap adds both rhythm and melody with his tom toms, and a short instrumental pairing of piano and wordless vocals echoes another element of late-60s studio pop. Jurdi and Quest wrote this album amid both personal and band changes, and transition is a running theme. In addition to relationships in formation, reformation and dissolution, there’s a longing for stability and simplicity.
The last studio recordings of a New Orleans legend
Though often cited as one of three primary New Orleans piano legends, James Booker’s popular renown never grew to the size of Professor Longhair’s or Dr. John’s. Launching his career in the mid-50s, he was sidetracked by a late-60s drug bust and continuing brushes with the law. One of those brushes, apparently, was with legal counsel Harry Connick, Sr., whose son became one of Booker’s students. The mid-70s roots revival brought renewed opportunities for Booker, particularly in Europe, and upon returning to the U.S. he took up residency at the Maple Leaf Bar. At the end of this run, in 1982, he hurriedly recorded this last studio album, and the following year succumbed to the physical and mental ravages of his drug use. Rounder’s remixed and expanded 2013 reissue adds ten bonus tracks to the original dozen, including nine previously unissued performances.
Booker is heard here playing solo as well as with a quartet of Alvin “Red” Tyler, James Singleton and Johnny Vidacovich. Playing “with” the quartet may be an overstatement, as they often seem to be chasing songs that he selected on a whim. Still, his playing and singing both show a lot of verve in each setting. The material is drawn from an incredible array of sources, including R&B (Lloyd Price’s “Lawdy Miss Clawdy,” Doc Pomus’ “Lonely Avenue,” Leiber & Stoller’s “Hound Dog” and Titus Turner’s “All Around the World”), country (Roger Miller’s “King of the Road”), classical (Richard Addinsell’s “Warsaw Concerto”), jazz (“Angel Eyes”), film (Nino Rota’s “Theme from the Godfather”) and the great American songbook (“Yes Sir, That’s My Baby” and “Baby Face”). Booker also drew from the New Orleans repertoire with Allen Toussaint’s “All These Things,” Fats Domino’s “One for the Highway” and a Professor Longhair medley; but even when he was playing outside material, the Crescent City was always in his fingers.
The fluency with which Booker plays this wide range of material is breathtaking. He’s equally adept at classical fingerings, florid jazz changes, blue R&B chords and the rolling arpeggios of New Orleans. There are many highlights among the original album tracks, including a lighthearted take on “Baby Face” that shows more finesse than Little Richard’s 1958 hit, with a vocal that maintains the spark of Al Jolson. The reading of “Yes Sir, That’s My Baby” added to this reissue is even funkier, with Booker on organ, a wicked second-line drum beat from Vidacovich and some fat sax from Tyler. There’s little hint of Eddie Cantor here (and perhaps a touch of Ricky Nelson‘s sax man), but the core emotion is swing. Booker’s classical training comes forward for dramatic readings of the Rachmaninoff inspired “Warsaw Concerto” and the title theme to the 1966 Lana Turner film Madame X. Note that “Madame X” was listed by its subtitle, “Swedish Rhapsody,” on previous reissues, but it’s the same track.
From the pop songbook, Booker tears into Leiber & Stoller’s “Hound Dog” and Roger Miller’s “King of the Road.” The former is played with great percussiveness, the latter as a haggard ballad. Booker’s singing never really matched the easiness of his piano, but it serves both of these songs well, the former coy and sassy, the latter a bit shopworn. The bonus solo take of “Lawdy Miss Clawdy” is speedier than the band version included on the original album, but each approach has its own merits. Booker’s originals include the album’s title song, the bonus track “I’m Not Sayin’,” and the original closer, “Three Keys.” The first two have edgy rhythms and unusual fingerings that bring to mind Thelonious Monk, the third weaves “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” into a rolling New Orleans’ piano solo.
