Simon’s third solo album (including 1965’s The Paul Simon Songbook), found the singer-songwriter expanding upon the freedom he’d displayed on the previous year’s eponymous release. The branching out displayed with reggae, Latin and South American sounds was now expanded with bluesy doo-wop, New Orleans pop, gospel and Memphis soul. Simon deftly choreographed an impressive guest list that includes The Dixie Hummingbirds, The Roches, horns arranged by Alan Toussaint and strings arranged by Quincy Jones. His mastery weaves multiple studios, dates and backing bands (including the players of Muscle Shoals) into a surprisingly cohesive album.
After a seven-year hiatus that included health issues for Terry Adams, side projects for Joey Spampinato and the virtual retirement of Tom Ardolino, NRBQ has reformed and renewed. Spampinato joined up full time with his brother in the Spampinato Brothers, and Ardolino released himself from the rigors of touring, leaving Adams to rebuild the band with new partners. Initially billed under their leader’s name, the new quartet cut its teeth in gigs and the studio before Adams felt they captured grooves worthy of the name “NRBQ.†Adams’ new bandmates are guitarist Scott Ligon, bassist Pete Donnely and drummer Conrad Choucroun. Ligon and Donnely also add vocals and songwriting, making this a group, rather than a showcase for Adams.
Happily, the new quartet has captured the eclectic mix that made the original band so intoxicating. Leading off the album is Adams’ tribute to New Orleans legend Boozoo Chavis and his wife Leona, with Choucroun propelling the song with a terrific second line rhythm. Just as this parade passes by the band turns to the pure pop of “Keep This Love Goin’†and “Here I Am,†offering up shades of the Raspberries, Beach Boys and Gary Lewis. There’s rockabilly rhythm guitar and a touch of Carl Perkins’ lead style on “I’m Satisfied,†and the slap-rhythm of “Sweet and Petite†sounds like country came down the mountain to wax some rock ‘n’ roll.
The Staple Singers make their biggest hits and best album
The Staple Singers had been a together for nearly two decades when they landed at Stax in 1968. They’d recorded old-school spirituals for Vee Jay and folk-influenced sides for Riverside before finding a new direction with the Memphis soul powerhouse; not only did the Staples adapt to the soul and funk energy of Stax, but they evolved their material from the pointed social topics of the folk era to less specific, but highly empowering “message music.†Their first two Stax albums, 1968’s Soul Folk in Action and 1970’s We’ll Get Over, featured backing from the label’s house band, Booker T. & the M.G.’s, and mixed terrific material from Stax songwriters with Staples’ originals. Despite the quality of each release, nothing clicked on the charts, and the group’s third long-player, 1971’s Staple Swingers, found Stax executive Al Bell taking over production chores from M.G.’s guitarist Steve Cropper.
Even more importantly, Bell began recording the Staples’ backing sessions in Alabama with the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section: Eddie Hinton (lead guitar), Jimmy Johnson (rhythm guitar), David Hood (bass), Barry Beckett (keyboards) and Roger Hawkins (drums). Hood’s deep bass lines and Hawkins’ rhythm touch anchor this album, solidified by Johnson’s chords, Beckett’s vamping and Hinton’s inventive fills; the Memphis horns add texture and accents without ever needing to step out front to announce themselves. Produced at a time that Stax was evolving from its soul glories of the ‘60s to its funkier output of the early ‘70s, the Staples hit a third gear as they built the album’s tracks, particularly the hit singles “I’ll Take You There†and “Respect Yourself,†from perfectly intertwined strands of soul, funk, and gospel. Also blended in to “I’ll Take You There,†as Rob Bowman astutely observes in the liner notes, is the reggae of the Harry J All-Stars’ instrumental “The Liquidator.â€
Albert King had been bouncing around various blues scenes for over fifteen years when his 1966 signing to Stax led to both the label and artist achieving new levels of commercial success. King’s earlier sides for Parrot, Bobbin, King, Chess and Coun-Tee had found mostly regional success, though 1961’s “Don’t Throw Your Love on Me So Strong†did manage to crack the national R&B top twenty. But it was the sides he cut for Stax, many with Booker T & the MGs as his backing band, that would rocket him to stardom and mint an indelible catalog that included the classics “Crosscut Saw†and “Born Under a Bad Sign.â€
King’s career at Stax caught fire at precisely the right moment to have maximal impact on the growing American and British blues-rock scenes. His playing was not only a primary influence on Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix and other rock guitarists, but the advent of multi-act ballroom shows gave King a stage on which he could play directly to an audience outside the roadhouses and blues clubs; his 1968 performance at the Fillmore West, heard at greater length on Live Wire/Blues Power, is excerpted here in a shortened single version of “Blues Power.†The stinging notes of King’s guitar fit perfectly against the soulful vamping of the Stax house bands (including the Bar-Kays and Memphis Horns), offering continuity with the label’s other acts and differentiating his records from those of other blues guitarists.
Country, folk, bluegrass and blues from talented Texas songsmith
Owen Temple’s last album, Dollars and Dimes, took its concept from the socio-political ideas of Joel Garreau’s The Nine Nations of North America. Temple wrote songs that explored the regional ties of work and cultural belief that often transcend physical geography, zeroing in on the life issues that bind people together. With his newest songs, he’s still thinking about people, but individuals this time, catching them as a sociologist would in situations that frame their identity in snapshots of hope, fear, prejudice, heroism, and the shadows of bad behavior and disaster. As on his previous album, his songs are rooted in actual places – isolated communities that harbor dark secrets and suffocating intimacy, a deserted oil town lamented as a lost lover, a legendary red-light district, and the Texas troubadours in whose footsteps he follows. The album’s lone cover, Leon Russell’s “Prince of Peace,†is offered in tribute to a primary influence.
An 85-year-old blues legend burns up the stage
