Octogenarian blues master remains vital, funky and blue
Your should hope to have this much life force at the age of 82. Sixty years into his career, and still logging more than two-hundred live dates each year, bluesman Bobby Rush sounds as vital as he did in his twenties. Born in Louisiana and musically schooled in Chicago clubs, he finally broke out as a solo artist in the early 1970s, adding soul and funk sounds to a blues base as he released a long string of albums and singles. This first release for Rounder teams him with producer Scott Billington and a slate of New Orleans musicians who double-down on Rush’s funky brand of the blue grooves. Rush’s voice is strong and his harmonica says as much as his lyrics.
Josh White’s 1956 folk-blues classic returns to vinyl in grand fashion
By the time Josh White began recording for Elektra in 1955, he’d reached heights that few other African-American entertainers had attained. He’d become a recording, concert and radio star, a civil rights activist and confident of FDR, and appeared in mainstream and avant garde films. But he’d also run afoul of both the left and the right by voluntarily testifying in front of the HUAC, ending up blacklisted (officially by the right, unofficially by the left) and unable to make a living in the US. But Jac Holzman bucked both sides of the political spectrum and offered White an opportunity to record for his fledgling Elektra label, releasing The Story of John Henry… A Musical Narrative as a double 10-inch album and 12-inch LP.
The following year saw the release of Josh at Midnight, an album that helped restore White’s career and boosted Elektra’s commercial fortunes. Recorded in mono with a single mic (a classic Telefunken U-47), the sound is spontaneous, lively and crisp. White is backed by bassist Al Hall and baritone vocalist Sam Gary as he works through material drawn largely from the public domain. Many of these songs were, or became, favorites of the folk revival, but even the most well-known are fresh in White’s hands. The material ranges from the sacred (“Jesus Gonna Make Up My Dyin’ Bed†“Joshua Fit the Battle of Jerichoâ€) to the profane (“St. James Infirmary†“Jelly Jelly!â€), with several humorous stops in between.
In the late 1930s, as those living on the land that became the Great Smoky Mountains National Park were leaving (some voluntarily, some forcibly) their homesteads, farms, mines and logging camps, folklorist Joseph Hall collected field recordings of their dialectical speech and music. Selections from those aluminum platters and acetate discs were first released by the Great Smoky Mountains Association on 2010’s Old-Time Smoky Mountain Music [12]. Six years later, the GSMA has commissioned contemporary performances of twenty-three traditional Appalachian songs and popular material that had made its way into the mountains via commercial recordings.
Expanded re-reissue of the Zombies live on the BBC 1965-68
Varese’s 43-track, 2-CD set expands on their earlier double-LP with five previously unreleased tracks. This augments material that’s been reissued in numerous configurations, including Rhino’s landmark Live on the BBC, and Big Beat’s Zombie Heaven and Live at the BBC. This is now a one-stop shop for the biggest helping yet of the recordings the Zombies made for the BBC. Included are live versions of the group’s three early hits, “She’s Not There,†“Tell Her No†and “She’s Coming Home,†along with other much beloved originals, “Whenever You’re Ready,†“If It Don’t Work Out†and “Friends of Mine,†and a slew of covers. Notably missing is a full take of “Time of the Season†(though it’s heard as background to the last interview segment), as its success postdates these BBC sessions.
The origin of these recordings (and similar catalogs for other British Invasion bands) lays in limits placed on the BBC’s use of commercially released records. To supplement their programming, musical artists were recorded in the BBC’s own studios, the recordings pressed to transcription discs, and the discs circulated to affiliates for broadcast. With the BBC failing to archive these works, it’s transcriptions of found copies that form the core of this set, supplemented by off-air recordings of material for which transcriptions haven’t yet surfaced. The quality varies, and while none match the productions of the group’s formal releases, they’re all quite listenable. The live energy and deep reach of the cover selections are essential additions to the group’s small catalog of commercially released work.
What’s immediately noticeable is how unique the Zombies sounded, even among the British Invasion’s explosion of creativity. Colin Blunstone’s voice gave the group an easily recognized front, Rod Argent’s keyboards added distinctive flair, and the group’s melodic sense was like nothing else on the radio. The tracks include several cover songs the group never released commercially, and multiple versions of “Tell Her No,†“Just a Little Bit,†“Will You Love Me Tomorrow,†“You Must Believe Me†and “This Old Heart of Mine.†Variations from the commonly circulated commercial masters – such as an acoustic piano on the February 1965 version of “Tell Her No†– are especially interesting in how they influence the tone of the performances.
Overdue reissue of country-punk-rock ‘n’ roll shoulda-beens
Originally from Pittsburgh, this hyphenate country-punk-rock ‘n’ roll band regrouped and restaffed a few times before making their mark in the clubs of Los Angeles. This 1985 full-length debut was a college radio hit, and led to a high profile appearance in the film Pretty in Pink (but not, alas, on the soundtrack album), and a deal with Epic. Their major label debut, The Book of Your Regrets, failed to capitalize on the band’s momentum, and after an uptick with their third album, Chance, the band was dropped, and broke up a few month later. But not before providing TV’s David Silver the soundtrack for his contest-winning dance moves on the Spring Dance episode of Beverly Hills 90210.
The band’s Epic albums were previously reissued as a two-fer, but their debut EP and album for the Fun Stuff label have remained maddeningly out of print. Until now. The vault door has finally swung wide open, providing not only the album’s original ten tracks, but eleven bonuses that include live radio performances and material produced by Steve Berlin and Mark Linett for a scrapped second album. Over 78 minutes of vintage Rave Ups that sounds as vital today as it did thirty (30!) years ago. Stephen Barncard’s production has none of the big studio sounds that have prematurely aged so many mid-80s records, and the band’s timeless rock ‘n’ roll foundation was cannily woven with potent threads of country, punk and blues.
“Positively Lost Me†opens the album with a memorable rhythm guitar lick and the boastful kiss-off “you lost a lot when you lost me.†The bravado appears to crack as the forfeiture is inventoried in a pedestrian list of ephemera (“six paperback books and a dying treeâ€), but it’s a setup, as the real price is lost confidence and broken trust. Singer-songwriter Jimmer Podrasky was full of great lyrics and catchy vocal hooks, and the band stretched themselves to find deep pockets for his songs. There’s a punk rock edge to the square-dance call “Remember (Newman’s Lovesong)†and the Beach Boys pastiche “In My Gremlin,†and an improbable demo of “If I Had a Hammer†is cannily wed to a La Bamba beat.
Though Tony Joe White reached his commercial zenith as a performer with his 1968 debut, Black and White and its single “Polk Salad Annie,†he’s continued makin music ever since. In the nearly fifty years since that debut, he’s released two dozen albums across Monument, Warner Brothers, RCA, Casablanca, Columbia, Polydor and a host of independent labels. This latest finds his fuzz-toned guitar still slithering, and his vocal growl weary, wary and fully simmered in his native Louisiana. The Memphis funk of his earlier years has mostly given way to darker blues as he sings of magic signs, rural rituals, betrayal and, of course, swamps.
Last we saw Buffalo, NY rocker Willie Nile, he’d stripped himself of his six-string, and sat down for a more introspective turn at the piano for 2014’s If I Was a River. The declarative rock ‘n’ roll of his recent albums gave way to a more conversational style, both between Nile and the piano, and between Nile, the piano and their listeners. Though only a temporary detour, it proved a valuable addition to Nile’s catalog, and a resting spot to gather himself for another album of highly-charged rock. Now into the latter-half of his 60s, Nile hasn’t lost a thing; one has to wonder if there’s an album in his attic whose music is aging away, Dorian Gray style.
Nile’s rock ‘n’ roll was bred in the 1970s, as a fellow traveler of those who fused the resuscitating spark of punk rock with a reverence for the roots of rock ‘n’ roll and blues. He’s played alongside Springsteen and the original panoply of CBGB acts, and the true-believer banner he hoisted with his 1980 debut still flies just as freely in his fourth decade of music making. Rock ‘n’ roll isn’t mere entertainment for Nile, though it’s certainly entertaining; more deeply, Nile shares Springsteen’s view that music is a redemptive force, and in Nile’s capable hands, it’s an emotional contact sport.
The album opens with a line drawn from teenage years to elder statesman, but it’s nearly superfluous to say in the wake of Nile’s unwavering commitment to rock ‘n’ roll. Rock isn’t Nile’s avocation or occupation (or even pre-occupation), it’s a fundamental tenet that leads to the only halfway tongue-in-cheek “Grandpa Rocks.†And Grandpa does rock. Hard. But he also takes it down to a knowing ballad for “Runaway Girl,†with lovely castanets (courtesy of Patricia Vonne) that echo Mink DeVille channeling the Brill Building. He breaks down to the blues for “Bad Boy†and the humorous social critique, “Citibank Nile,†and free associates a Dylan-esque catalog of unusual companions for the title track.
Coming to grips with the experiences that define you
Acid-folk artist Tom Wilson and producer Michael Timmins (Cowboy Junkies) have conjured a dark electric sound for Wilson’s third album under the Lee Harvey Osmond name. Timmins’ production layers piano and guitar over a heavy bottom end, creating a musically cavernous space in which Wilson touches upon the poetic delivery of Leonard Cohen, the downtown sound of Tom Waits, and the more frightening regions of Captain Beefheart’s growl. Wilson is hypnotic as he stretches out over rhythm-rich tracks of drums and bass, pushed along by reeds and guitar, and punctuated by echos, reverb and stabs of backward guitar.
The acid and folk of acid-folk are heard back to back in “Oh the Gods†and “Dreams Come and Go,†as the spacey guitars and close-miked vocal of the former give way to the acoustic picking of the latter. The contrast is stark, no doubt purposely so, but with a blue mood that ties the songs together. The closing couplet of “Black Spruce†and “Bottom of Our Love†offers the same dynamic, the former expanding into a flute and blues jam, and the latter a weary acoustic lament. It’s the sort of contrast Led Zeppelin employed, though with vocals whose power is in their reserve rather than their ostentation.
“Loser Without Your Love†is both assured and distracted as it’s forced to admit “I’m just a loser without your love… I guess.†The vocal ellipsis doubts the statement’s sincerity, and the song’s instrumental playout leaves time for additional pondering. It’s a great opening to an album whose performance is comfortable with its confessions, if not always certain of their truth. Echo and distortion on the guitars and voices balance the supple rhythm grooves, and the acoustic bass and vibraphone of “Blue Moon Drive†soothe cool, whispered vocals that still manage to ring with passion.
Octogenarian blues master remains vital, funky and blue
