Such a shame; earlier this week on Earth Day, Monday, April 22, folk-icon Richie Havens died of a heart attack. He was 72. Born on Jan. 21, 1941, and raised in the Bed-Stuy neighborhood of Brooklyn, Havens was something of an autodidactic after dropping out of high school and went on to become one of the most celebrated performers, as well as a champion for Human Rights and environmental issues. “In the mid-1970s he founded The Northwind Undersea Institute, an oceanographic children’s museum on City Island in the Bronx. He later created The Natural Guard, an environmental organization for children, to use hands-on methods to teach about the environment” (Martin, 2013).

More than anything, Havens was a gentle soul who championed a sense of community, amongst each other and with the planet. “I’m not in show business,” Havens once said, “I’m in the communications business” (Martin, 2013). Speaking in 1999 of the influence music exerted over his childhood, Havens had this to say:

My father was an ear piano player; he could just hear

something and play it. I came up in Brooklyn singing

doo-wop music from the time I was 13 to the time I was

20. That music served a purpose of keeping a lot of people

out of trouble, and also it was a passport from one

neighborhood to another (Roeser, 2013).

Havens with “Paul” of the folk trio Peter, Paul and Mary.

When Havens emerged from the Greenwich Village folk scene in the mid-sixties he had something different to offer, and more than simply because he was a tall (six-and-a-half feet) black man in a predominately white scene. Havens quickly distinguished himself with the profound, emotional sincerity he brought to each composition, regardless if he was the composer or not. In fact he was a masterful interpreter of others’ songs, inhabiting them as if they were his own home. With a sturdy holler of a voice that sounds to be some viscous concoction of sweet molasses, gravel, sawdust, and hot ash, all bellowed up from massive lungs of smoked oak, Havens would accompany himself by seemingly flailing his big hands in a highly rhythmic pattern across the open tunings of his acoustic guitar. He always seemed tender without appearing frail, wise without being pedantic. His performances were welcoming, like a smile.

Around 1965, Havens recorded Henry Glover’s blues classic “Drown in My Own Tears” (made famous by Ray Charles in 1956 when it became his third number-one single on the Billboard R&B singles chart). Although it would not be released until 1968 after he had received a certain degree of fame, this recording perfectly demonstrates the expressive command and integrity a young and unknown Havens could bring to anothers material.

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Havens eventually began to make his presence known through his commitment to performing. As he later recalled of these years, “we played three coffeehouses a night, 14 sets a night, 20-minute sets, pass the basket, stay alive. I was there seven and a half years, every day. It was the most incredibly magic, magic time” (Roeser, 2013). Soon, Havens would catch both the ears and eyes of the reigning king of the scene (if not The Sixties in general), Bob Dylan. As Dylan wrote in his 2004 memoir, Chronicles: Volume One, “One singer I crossed paths with a lot, Richie Havens, always had a nice-looking girl with him who passed the hat and I noticed that he always did well.” After signing with Dylan’s manager, Albert Grossman, in 1967 Havens released his breakthrough LP, Mixed Bag. It would feature tracks such as a cover of The Fugs song, “Morning, Morning,” written by that group’s Naphtali “Tuli” Kupferberg; Jerry Merrick’s epic “Follow;” and a song that Havens co-wrote with Oscar-winning actor Louis Gossett Jr., “Handsome Johnny,” which you can check out below.

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Mixed Bag also features a tender rendition of Dylan’s “Just Like a Woman,” with which, utilizing an honest, sonorous rasp, Havens cuts deep to the song’s essential wistful melody and hungry rhythmic core:

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In May of 1969 Havens would release the impressive double album, Richard P. Havens, 1983, which features a combination of studio recordings and material recorded live in concert, in July of 1968. Other than its inspired interpretations of tunes by The Beatles, Donovan, Leonard Cohen, and Bob Dylan, the LP features a lunge into new sonic territories with such originals as “Indian Rope Man,” “Just Above My Hobby Horse’s Head,” and a Hindu-heavy song whose title perfectly captures the ethos of Havens’ life, “Putting out the Vibration, and Hoping It Comes Home.” The frenetic, psychedelic fuzz & stomp of “Stop Pulling and Pushing Me” was released as a single in July of that year.

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This single was split with a live performance of Havens’ tackling The Beatles’ “Rocky Raccoon.” Here, scuffing the song’s pretty veneer as he rides every hop-along and bumbling curve of Paul McCartney’s tune at a frantic clip, Havens makes it seem as if this were one of the most important song ever written.

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Richard P. Havens, 1983 itself ends with an extended burning groove of a righteous anthem:  “Run, Shaker Life/Do You Feel Good?,” which is based on a Shaker dance song by elder Issachar Bates.

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Beginning a few minutes after 5 p.m. on Friday, August 15 of 1969, Havens would have his career defining moment when, as scheduled act Sweetwater were stuck in traffic, he was asked to open the Woodstock Festival instead. Originally intending to play only four songs, the next few acts were all running late so he was implored to play on. Eventually, well into what would end up being a two-hour set, Havens ran out of material. “I sang every song I knew, and when they asked me to go back on one more time, I improvised ‘Freedom,’” Havens told CNN in 2009. “When you see me in the movie tuning my guitar and strumming, I was actually trying to figure out what else I could possibly play! I looked out at all of those faces in front of me and the word ‘freedom’ came to mind.” Backed by a second guitarist and conga player (his bass player too was stuck in traffic), in an urgent, cyclic growl Havens began to chant that word—Freedom—over and over again as the impassioned strum of his acoustic guitar surged over the crowd. Without even the slightest dip in intensity he let this mantra slip into the familiar lines of gospel pathos from “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child.” It’s hypnotic and earnest; it makes you feel. “My fondest memory was realizing that I was seeing something I never thought I’d ever see in my lifetime—an assemblage of such numbers of people who had the same spirit and consciousness,” he would recall (Browne, 2013). This summer, his family and estate plan to spread his ashes across the field in Bethel, Sullivan County, where the Woodstock festival was held.

I was fortunate enough to see Richie Havens perform live in the summer of 2007. On a clear blue day at the tail end of July we sat in a large swathe of sunlight and green grass on Governors Island. With its rolling green fields and old forts of red sandstone set in the Upper New York Bay, roughly one-half mile from the southern tip of Manhattan Island and barely separated from Brooklyn by Buttermilk Channel, Governors Island is one of those rare, remote places in New York City where you can completely forget where you are. This sort of easy-going slip between the quotidian and the metropolitan was only heightened by Havens’ performance that day.

Although his torso was draped in a dashiki of blue and white it did little to hide his striking height. With his colossal hands bedecked by thick rings of turquoise and silver and with his long grey tufts of a beard, Havens appeared as if he were some sort of shaman. However, any imposing sensations his figure might have created were immediately brought to ground when he shared that kind smile and began to play.

It was as if the world’s grandfather had entered into the comfort of your living room to entertain you personally with some songs and some wisdom, but most of all, he wanted you to feel good. Havens seems to be an artist who has always understood the symbiotic relationship between performer and audience, and how healthy it can be for all when approached with the right attitude. His voice and presence seemed like an aged structure of durable lumber, perhaps it revealed where it had grown worn and weathered through the years, and yet you felt secure within it.

One of the greatest moments I’ve ever experienced at a concert occurred when Havens began to play the song he was prominently featured for in I’m Not There, Todd Haynes’ stunningly ambitious and multifaceted “bio-pic”: Bob Dylan’s “Tombstone Blues.”

Havens as “Old Man Arvin” alongside actor Marcus Carl Franklin who portrays 11-year old hobo and troubadour “Woody” in 2007’s I’m Not There.

Havens takes this whirl of surreal blues and just lets it roll for every ounce of caustic fun it has to give. As he began to strum the opening riff, the lovely Joan Baez—who, despite her long dark hair being now silver and cropped short, I spotted seated on a blanket beside us—kicked off her shoes and began to passionately dance barefoot in the grass to this tune by her old childhood sweetheart. It really was quite something to see, but when you hear Havens’ rendition, it is easy to understand what took hold of her:

(photo by Dana Tynan).

photo by Tavia Nyong’o

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I’d like to send Richie Havens off with what has always been one of my favorite performances by him: his beautiful rendition of the “sacred and profane” (Friedwald, 2006) tune by Billie Holiday and Arthur Herzog, Jr.—“God Bless the Child.” Released in 1972 on his live LP On Stage, this performance, to me, is just breathtaking.

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“I’m going straight into what I’m doing. The direction for my music is heaven, of course. We gear all things to the realm of heaven – which is the mind, the organized mind. Everything I want to do, and to accomplish is on the other side of the universe. That’s peace of mind, energy, freedom. And I’m making myself ready to go, joyfully and willingly. I think I’m ready to be everybody’s friend, and to do anything for anybody. It’s heavy”—Richie Havens (Glazier, 1968).

R.I.P. Richie Havens.

Your warmth will be missed by the community.

—————————————BOBBY CALERO———————————-

Ref:

Browne, D. (2013, April 23). Richie Havens, Folk Icon, Dead at 72. Rolling Stone. Retrieved from http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/richie-havens-folk-icon-dead-at-72-20130422#ixzz2RZGbS1Pc

Dylan, B. (2004). Chronicles: Volume One. New York: Simon & Schuster.

Friedwald, W. (1996). Jazz Singing: America’s Great Voices from Bessie Smith to Bebop and Beyond. Da Capo.

Glazier, S. (1968, July 20). The Direction For My Music Is Heaven. Rolling Stone. Retrieved from http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/richie-havens-in-1968-the-direction-for-my-music-is-heaven-19680720

Havens, R. (2013, April 23) Richie Havens in his own words. CNN. Retrieved from http://www.cnn.com/2013/04/23/opinion/havens-his-own-words/

Martin, D. (2013, April 22). Richie Havens, Folk Singer Who Riveted Woodstock, Dies at 72. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/23/arts/music/richie-havens-guitarist-and-singer-dies-at-72.html?_r=0

Roeser, B. (2013, April 23). Richie Havens Dies: Watch Performance Of ‘Freedom’ That Made Greenwich Village Legend A Woodstock Icon. iRealtyTimes. Retrieved from http://www.irealtytimes.com/articles/3069/20130423/richie-havens-dies-watch-performance-freedom-made.htm

Shadow Morton

Hello all. Just popping in today to pay a small tribute to legendary producer and songwriter, Shadow Morton, who died February 14^th at the age of 71.

Born George Francis Morton in Brooklyn on Sept. 3, 1941, “Shadow” would go on to pen and produce one of the finest girl group singles of all time, The Shangri-Las’ “Remember (Walking in the Sand).” Certainly rivaling anything committed to tape by Phil Spector, and at just over two minutes in length, “Remember” is a perfect slice of theatric pop imbued with just enough quirk (such as the squeal of sea gulls and the rhythmic chant of the title) to catch the ear without distracting from the haunting melody or The Shangri-Las’ lead singer Mary Weiss’ wail of teenage angst. Shadow Morton had claimed that this composition (his first) took him “about 22 minutes” to complete (Fox, 2013). In 1964, through bluff and braggadocio, Morton landed a big break by being asked to present a song to some songwriters employed in Manhattan’s Brill Building, the celebrated center of activity for the American popular music industry.

Through various friends and associates Morton quickly secured a basement recording studio and a four-piece band. Then through another friend he was put in contact with a local Queens vocal quartet comprised of 4 high school girls, two sets of sisters: Mary and Betty Weiss and twins Marguerite (Marge) and Mary Ann Ganser. They were known as The Shangri-Las.

The Shangri-Las Radio station WHK 1965 Geauga Lake Park, Cleveland Ohio. (Photo by George Shuba).

“With these elements in place, Mr. Morton, on his way to the recording session, realized he lacked one thing: a song. Pulling his car over on a stretch of Long Island road, he wrote ‘Remember’” (Fox, 2013).

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Like it? Buy it.

“Remember” became a number five hit on the Billboard Hot 100 and number nine on Cashbox Magazine’s R&B chart (Whitburn, 2004). With their talent, their “tough girl” persona, and Morton’s songwriting and production work, The Shangri-Las had a string of hits (the best known perhaps being the melodramatic teenage-death pop classic, “Leader of the Pack”) and would go on to perform alongside The Beatles, James Brown, Dusty Springfield, and The Zombies.

However, by 1966 Morton was searching for a change in sound and found it when he began working with a local New York band known as The Pigeons. Then managed by reputed Lucchese crime family member Phillip Basile, The Pigeons would soon change their name to Vanilla Fudge. Impressed by their immense talent (it should be noted that they did feature one of the greatest rhythm sections of all time with Tim Bogert on bass and Carmine Appice on drums) Morton helped steer their sound into the symphonic psychedelic rock of half-speed covers that made their debut of 1967 an instant classic. The highlight off this self-titled debut must surely be their interpolation of the Brian Holland/Lamont Dozier/Eddie Holland penned “You Keep Me Hangin’ On,” which had been a hit for The Supremes the year prior. In addition to the aforementioned rhythm section, the track best exemplifies the talents of lead singer Mark Stein’s funeral church organ style and the bombastic crunch and groove to Vince Martell’s guitar.

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Like it? Buy it.

As one last small tribute to Shadow Morton I present to you a real big song: the psychedelic epic, “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” by Iron Butterfly. Released on their second LP in 1968, Morton has downplayed his involvement with this song, stating that due to his drinking he maintained minimal oversight to the recording process. However, it was in this atmosphere that the band were told to continue rolling and improvising through a “soundcheck rehearsal,” which resulted in the band completing this 17-minute opus in one take! Rolling through hypnotic drones, polyphonic heights, and extended solos, here’s Doug Ingle, Erik Brann, Lee Dorman, and Ron Bushy of Iron Butterfly at their most operatic:

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Like it? Buy it.

George Francis “Shadow” Morton (September 3, 1940 – February 14, 2013) R.I.P

———————————BOBBY CALERO—————————

Ref:

Fox, M. (2013, Feb. 15). Shadow Morton, Songwriter and Producer, Dies at 71. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/16/arts/music/shadow-morton-songwriter-and-producer-dies-at-71.html

Holland, B; Dozier, L.; & Holland, E. (1966) [Recorded by Vanilla Fudge] On Vanilla Fudge. ATCO Records (1967).

Ingle, D. (1968) In-a-gadda-da-vida [Recorded by Iron Butterfly] On In-a-gadda-da-vida.

ATCO Records (1968).

Morton, G. (1964) Remember (Walking In The Sand) [Recorded by The Shangri-Las] On Remember (Walking In The Sand) [7” Single].  Redbird, (1964).

Whitburn, J. (2004). Top R&B/Hip-Hop Singles: 1942-2004. Record Research

The Next Day

Today, January 8, 2013, David Bowie turns 66, and it seems in celebration of this he has quietly released his first single in a decade—the synth-lush and understated “Where Are We Now?” You can watch the single’s accompanying video, directed by Tony Oursler, below:

It seems that the rumor I reported here back in May of 2012 has now been substantiated, as this new song precedes the release of Bowie’s first album since 2003’s Reality. Titled The Next Day, and scheduled to be released this March, the album was produced by longtime collaborator Tony Visconti and recorded here in NYC. The tracklist has been reported on Bowie’s official website as:

01. “The Next Day”

02. “Dirty Boys”

03. “The Stars (Are Out Tonight)”

04. “Love Is Lost”

05. “Where Are We Now?”

06. “Valentine’s Day”

07. “If You Can See Me”

08. “I’d Rather Be High”

09. “Boss Of Me”

10. “Dancing Out In Space”

11. “How Does The Grass Grow”

12. “(You Will) Set The World On Fire”

13. “You Feel So Lonely You Could Die”

14. “Heat”

Bonus tracks:

15. “So She”

16. “I’ll Take You There”

17. “Plan”

In celebration of this news I present to you a bit of a Bowie rarity, the disco revision of his 1972 hit single, “John, I’m Only Dancing.” In August and November of 1974, while working on his Young Americans LP, Bowie decided to re-contextualize the song from swinging London into the “hedonistic nights in venues like the drag queen capital of the East Village, Club 82″ (Doggett, 2012). Here is the abbreviated 7” version, as I’ve never been able to get my mitts on the 12”, which has a full runtime of 6:57.

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Well, I’m off to work–Happy Birthday Bowie and thanks for another one!

———————————————————————BOBBY CALERO—————————

Ref:

Bowie, D. (1974). John, I’m Only Dancing (Again). [Recorded by David Bowie] On John, I’m Only Dancing (Again) Vinyl 12″ Single. RCA (1979).

Doggett, Peter. (2012). The Man Who Sold The World. New York: HarperCollins.

A real fun book about a real crafty turkey named Pete that I read to the kindergarteners the other day; written by Teresa Bateman and illustrated by Jeff Shelly.

Hello all, and Happy Thanksgiving! I’ve been too preoccupied with other projects and responsibilities to devote much time to these pages as of late, however, I wanted to pop in today to try and sweeten up our modern slant on a harvest feast with some thematically appropriate sounds. This holiday, as we Americans have come to celebrate it, has been an official tradition since 1863, when, in the midst of the divisive horrors of the Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln responded to a 74-year-old magazine editor, Sarah Josepha Hale, who urged the president in a letter dated September 28, 1863, to unite the states through custom by having the “day of our annual Thanksgiving made a National and fixed Union Festival.” On October 3, 1863, President Abraham Lincoln issued the following proclamation written by Secretary of State William Seward:

Detail from “First Reading of the Emancipation Proclamation” by Francis Bicknell Carpenter shows President Abraham Lincoln seated at left and Secretary of State William Seward seated at right.

By the President of the United States of America.

A Proclamation.

The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consiousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union.

In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the Seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the City of Washington, this Third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the Independence of the Unites States the Eighty-eighth.

By the President: Abraham Lincoln

William H. Seward,

Secretary of State

Nearly eighty years later, On December 26, 1941, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed a joint resolution of Congress changing the national Thanksgiving Day from the last Thursday in November to the fourth Thursday.

Otis with the Johnny Otis Orchestra in 1957. (Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images).

Now with that little history lesson out of the way, I’d like to first present to you The Robins backed by the exceptional Johnny Otis (“the blackest white man in America”) and his Johnny Otis Orchestra, who in 1950 laid down these swinging rhythm and blues instructions to dance the “Turkey Hop.”

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Like it? Buy it.

Eddie Jefferson playing at Half Moon Bay California, October 10, 1978 (Photo by Brian McMillen).

From Turkey to Thanks, up next is Eddie Jefferson, the innovator of Vocalese: a style of jazz singing wherein words are sung to melodies that were originally part of an instrumental composition or improvisation; basically, it’s like scat singing with a lexicon. Tragically, while exiting Baker’s Keyboard Lounge on May 8, 1979 at approximately 1:35 a.m, Eddie Jefferson was shot and killed by a disgruntled dancer who once worked for him. Jefferson was 60-years-old. However, a few years prior in 1974, Jefferson released the album Things Are Getting Better, which featured a freewheeling and funky rendition of Sly and the Family Stone’s 1969 hit, “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)” Here in this song, Stone gives thanks for perhaps the greatest gift one can receive, being permitted to just be who you are.

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Like it? Buy it.

Eddie Jefferson – Vocals

Sam Jones – Bass

Billy Mitchell – Flute, Clarinet (Bass), Sax (Tenor)

Joe Newman – Trumpet

Mickey Tucker – Organ, Piano, Piano (Electric), Saw

Conrad Buckman – Vocals

Eddie Gladden – Drums

Mildred Weston – Vocals

—Alright, I’ve given you the gravy, and now it’s time for some dry turkey meat—

First published in the 1989 chapbook Tornado Alley, “Thanksgiving Day, Nov. 28, 1986” features William S. Burroughs giving thanks as only he could. Two years later, director Gus Van Sant created this short film of Burroughs reading the poem over a montage.

For John Dillinger

In hope he is still alive

“Thanksgiving Day, November 28, 1986″

Thanks for the wild turkey and the Passenger Pigeons, destined to be shit out through wholesome American guts

Thanks for a Continent to despoil and poison

Thanks for Indians to provide a modicum of challenge and danger

Thanks for vast herds of bison to kill and skin, leaving the carcass to rot

Thanks for bounties on wolves and coyotes

Thanks for the American Dream to vulgarize and falsify until the bare lies shine through

Thanks for the KKK, for nigger-killing lawmen feeling their notches, for decent church-going women with their mean, pinched, bitter, evil faces

Thanks for Kill a Queer for Christ stickers

Thanks for laboratory AIDS

Thanks for Prohibition and the War Against Drugs

Thanks for a country where nobody is allowed to mind his own business

Thanks for a nation of finks—yes,

Thanks for all the memories all right, lets see your arms

You always were a headache and you always were a bore

Thanks for the last and greatest betrayal of the last and greatest of human dreams.

Now, as a bit of a palette cleanse, I’d like to conclude with what was a radio-wave tradition in my youth and what must be the most epic of Thanksgiving songs, a twenty-year-old Arlo Guthrie’s hilarious and poignant true story, “Alice’s Restaurant Massacree.” With a runtime of 18 minutes and 34 seconds, this song served as the opening track (and took up the entire A-side) of Guthrie’s 1967 debut album, Alice’s Restaurant, which later inspired an amusing and underrated 1969 movie of the same name co-written and directed by Arthur Penn.

Yet, before I leave you with the song I’d like to say that we need to remember—to paraphrase colonist William Bradford’s words of 1621, in “Of Plymouth Plantation”—Thanksgiving is the time for the people to “fit up their houses and dwellings against winter,” and to celebrate both “being all well recovered in health and strength.” and having “all things in good plenty.” However, more importantly, if you find yourself fit up and with all things in good plenty, Thanksgiving should serve as a reminder of a fundamental principle for humanity, perhaps best expressed as a succinct maxim in Bob Dylan’s 1967 song “The Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest”:

When you see your neighbor carryin’ somethin’

Help him with his load

And don’t go mistaking Paradise

For that home across the road

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Like it? Buy it.

THANK YOU———————————BOBBY CALERO—————————

Those of you familiar with these pages and my writing style surely know by now that I am prone to florid hyperbole and literary detours, but please bear with me when I state:

Today I present to you just about the best new song I’ve heard all year.

A few years back I worked as the doorman for The 55 Bar, a relatively small basement club in Greenwich Village that tended to host some of the most talented musicians in the modern scenes of jazz, blues, and the variegated spectrum between the two. Now, the roster of tremendous talent that frequented this establishment is something I will certainly get around to featuring in these pages. However, my nights there generally consisted of crowd control, selling tickets, setting up the stage and equipment, negotiating both the junkies shambling from Christopher Park across the street and the over-stimulated homosexuals from the surrounding clubs, listening to some of the most extraordinary live music of my lifetime, and drinking my weight in Maker’s Mark.

That doorway next to the stairs is where you could find me huddled through most long winter nights.

Club Helsinki. 405 Columbia Street. Hudson, New York 12534

Now, flash-forward to this past June 7^th, when I attended the “A Celebration of the Life and Legacy of Levon Helm” tribute concert at Club Helsinki in Hudson, NY.

I must say that the major draw for me was that a contemporary songwriter whose work I love, Elvis Perkins, was scheduled to perform. He did not disappoint as he happened to play a rendition of one of my favorite The Band songs—Music from Big Pink outtake: “Yazoo Street Scandal” (featured here for my own Helm tribute).

Although I was familiar by name only with the majority of performers listed—The Felice Brothers, Shivaree’s Ambrosia Parsley, The New Pornographers’ A.C Newman, Diamond Doves (who are the “Dearland” component of Elvis Perkins in Dearland), Elegant Too, and others—that night featured various configurations of these musicians performing spirited renditions of Helm tunes together. The sense of camaraderie on stage was magnificent, permeating the venue, and leaving the crowd with the impression that they experienced something joyful, which—regardless of many a band’s obvious talent—is something too rarely experienced at a concert these days. This sentiment perfectly complimented the democratic spirit of Levon Helm’s music.

Now, while my wife and I watched the show from the stage’s edge (and by the wobbly video above you can tell we were dancing and singing along too), there was one talented player who was incredibly familiar: A lanky-limbed kid with a chin and nose made prominent through contrast with a thick black mustache and chops, who continually switched from being a member of the horn section to playing the piano, and occasionally conducting the crowd while singing lead. My Wife (who also worked at The 55) and I were convinced that this kid must’ve played there—most likely alongside the singular saxophonist David Binney, was my guess. So as the show ended we approached him and as it turns out, he was not a performer at The 55, but a regular: one of those young students who, despite their good manners and apparent respect for the music, always mildly annoyed the servers; annoyed because, with these customers’ steady penchant for only ordering coffee, soda, and tea, the bartenders knew there was not much of a tip headed their way. However, after catching up through a brief but humorous chitchat (during which he displayed a cheerful demeanor and a gracious acceptance of each compliment) I knew that this kid named Adam Schatz was someone worth cocking an ear towards in the future.

With his words and mannerisms marked by an affable bounce, Adam Schatz explained that he was responsible for arranging all the horns that evening, and (after first being sure to give the majority of the credit to the event’s organizer and Diamond Doves’ drummer, Nick Kinsey) that the show itself was in part presented through the non-profit organization he founded: Search & Restore. As he states on the organization’s website, it is “committed to bringing the artists and audiences of new jazz and improvised music together in new ways, while never forgetting it’s DIY roots.” In a sense the organization operates as a promotional tool and resource for a whole slew of talented artists, but to my mind it seems to exist as well to remind the world that the culture of Jazz need not be relegated to archives and museums. It need not be a relic, xanthous with age and only admired through the protective glass of static sentiment and tradition. Music is a protean organism, it declares, and one that can be fully enjoyed out there this very night. In other words, as he stated when speaking to Ben Ratliff for The New York Times in 2010: “My mission is to bring people together around art. We don’t care who you are or how old you are. We just want you to get down.”

It was this very same positive attitude that made me wish to explore his music further. As it turns out, he seems to be pretty prolific, and certainly busy. Along with running Search & Restore, he participates in numerous music projects, including the Brooklyn based twelve-piece afrobeat group, Zongo Junction; the nine-piece psychedelic soul band, The Shoe Ins; playing self-described “zombie Jazz” with the band Father Figures; and the “melodic mayhem” of the improvisational duo Blast Off!; as well as performing solo under the moniker of Mrs. Adam Schatz (in honor of his “invisible and imaginary wife”). Catching a show of the latter this past Saturday, I must say these solo shows are incredibly amusing, filled with spirited asides, improvisation, and audience participation. In addition to all this he recently informed me that he would be joining the brilliantly idiosyncratic band, Man Man.

Zongo Junction: http://zongojunction.net

Blast Off! http://blastoff.bandcamp.com/

Father Figures: http://FatherFigures.bandcamp.com

  (photo by Sasha Arutyunova, 2011). Landlady:  http://Landlady.bandcamp.com

However, today’s song comes from yet another group of his, Landlady. This six-piece group is a dynamic exploration of what can be achieved through the big fun of pop music. Released as a digital single this past month of September, “Above My Ground” is, as I stated above, just about the best new song I’ve heard all year. Delicately constructed, each element of the song is flawlessly implemented to arouse sincere pathos in the listener. It does so without resorting to plunging into the emotional schlock and pompous mewling many pop groups rely on in the hopes of receiving a little empathy in response to their disingenuously contrived ballad. Exquisitely hypnotic—through its ambient chiming, martial drumming, and the warm yelp of Schatz’s vocal, alternately ascending and descending the steps of each phrase in perfect rhythm, there is a true human quality to this song. This is a current I hear in the majority of his music; even considering certain reeling heights of dissonance, or the more manic Muppet moments of some of the compositions, the listener always gets the sense that there is an actual person there behind the curtains of these sounds. This quality is particularly evident as the song builds towards the chant of its crescendo; a chant that—to paraphrase his words when encouraging the audience to sing-along—is meant to be shouted at the heavens so that things can be OK, at least for the moment.

Below are the two videos the group released for this song, each with its own organic focus. I leave it up to you to decide which one you prefer, but with a song this infectious, I recommend you play one, wait a few minutes and then play the other.

 LANDLADY- “Above My Ground” (Official Vegetable Music Video, directed by Adam Schatz & Thomas White):

LANDLADY- “Above My Ground” (Official Human Music Video, directed by Lance Steagall)

“Above My Ground” by Landlady.

Recorded at the Bunker Studio by Jacob Bergson and by Adam Schatz in his basement, mixed and mastered by Tom Tierney at Spaceman Sound.

Written by Adam Schatz, intro written by Ian Davis.

Adam Schatz- Vocals, Farfisa, Realistic concertmate

Renata Zeiguer- Violin, Vocals

Tom Tierney- Guitar

Ian Davis- Bass

Ian Chang- Drums, Guitar

Booker Stardrum- Drums

You can learn more about Landlady, purchase their music, and listen to this song’s b-side (a sultry cover of the Pixies’ “Oh My Golly”) all here:: http://Landlady.bandcamp.com

I highly recommend you attempt to catch a live show by Adam Schatz in one of his various musical incarnations, and in fact it appears that due to his hectic schedule, Landlady will be playing their final show of 2012 at 9pm on Saturday, November 3^rd at Pine Box Rock Shop, located at 12 Grattan St., Bushwick, Brooklyn.

Adam Schatz (photo by Sasha Arutyunova, 2011).

You can experience a bit more of Adam Schatz and his music here, http://zombieville.tumblr.com/ and here, http://AdamSchatz.bandcamp.com.

——————————— —  –   -

P.S. As an added bonus (and perhaps to act as a final testament to how much I’m digging this tune right now), here’s Mrs. Adam Schatz performing “Above My Ground” solo at the NYC club, Le Poisson Rouge on September 7^th, 2012.

———————————BOBBY CALERO—————————– – — -

Ref:

Calero, R. [LacreoCalero]. (2012, Oct. 26). Adam Schatz, Elvis Perkins, Diamond Doves (and others) performing The Band’s “Ophelia.” [Video file]. Retrieved from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJA2d8WwDzA&feature=youtu.be

Calero, R. [LacreoCalero]. (2012, Oct. 26). Elvis Perkins in Dearland – Yazoo Street Scandal. [Video file]. Retrieved from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dINrgcrlbhs&feature=plcp

Ratliff, B. (2010, December 3). Sample Sale: Growing a Jazz Audience. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/05/arts/music/05archive.html?_r=0

Schatz, A. (2012). About Search & Restore. Retrieved from http://searchandrestore.com/about

Schatz, A. [AdamLouisSchatz ]. (2012, Sep 26). LANDLADY- ‘Above My Ground’ (Official Human Music Video). [Video file]. Retrieved from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XrCqVt-OdPw&feature=plcp

Schatz, A. [AdamLouisSchatz ]. (2012, Sep 24). LANDLADY- ‘Above My Ground’ (Official Vegetable Music Video). [Video file]. Retrieved from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMtBig_xT1Y&feature=plcp

Schatz, A. [AdamLouisSchatz ]. (2012, Sep 11). Mrs. Adam Schatz- Above My Ground. [Video file]. Retrieved from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-CaQOvaJtk

Schatz, A. & Davis, I. (2012). Above My Ground [Recorded by Landlady] On Above My Ground [Digital Single]. (2012).

If asked what it is about Bob Dylan’s art that makes me so obsessed I would surely reply something to the effect of—with my love and fascination for both the poetic malleability of the English language and that strange alchemy in which an artist shapes the air to create sound, and in turn grants these sounds form and meaning through arrangement, thus the creation of music, of song—one cannot help but be enraptured by a genius of this craft. However, my passion for Dylan’s work goes far beyond being marveled by one’s skill at a particular task. It is as if the man can interpret what happens to vibrate within my heart, mind, and spirit at any given moment. I am not speaking of any concrete definition for a certain set of an assortment of agreed upon symbols; I am not speaking of no more than what words mean and the specific tale they tell in any individual song. What I am trying to convey is beyond that, or perhaps beneath. It is a matter of timbre and tone, of phrasing, color, nuance, and sentiment; and, as expressed by the poet Yusef Komunyakaa, it is a matter of the “innuendo under the skin of language” (2012).

This is no claim that this man has endeavored to write a fact-checked biography of my emotional state or inner-life. What I speak of is a mystery. To appropriate an idea by the artist and scientist Bern Porter—it is the harmonious mystery of what occurs when plasma encounters plasma:

One of Bern Porter’s “Founds”

“Your plasma has your name and its up to you to fulfill your

name. And however you may feel, doubt or question whether

you’re negative or positive, you must believe in yourself. I have

this, it is mine, it was given to me, I believe in it, however many

flaws, however many errors, however many wrong decisions,

however many negatives, I have this, I am positive about it. I

will radiate it and if there’s someone who receives, fine, they are

radiating, let us hope their radiation corresponds with mine

momentarily.”

—Bern Porter (Melnicove, 2009).

With Dylan, it is the obvious precision and concentration that his songs must demand of their creator, but it is also so much more than that. With Dylan, it is performance. To paraphrase something he once stated in an interview a long time ago, he is both a song and a dance man. And as it should be with all great music, these things speak to me—of me.

As I find myself unable to articulate with pinpoint precision all that I am trying to communicate, I’ll recede behind the two long quotations that follow. I know that the crux of what I am getting at dwells somewhere within (and is waiting to be extracted, by a mind more incisive than mine certainly, to be served up as an elucidating parallel) these passages from the first segment of Marcel Proust’s seven volume novel, Remembrance of Things Past—1913’s Swann’s Way:

Presumably the notes which we hear at such moments tend

to spread out before our eyes, over surfaces greater or smaller

according to their pitch and volume; to trace arabesque designs,

to give us the sensation of breath or tenuity, stability or caprice.

But the notes themselves have vanished before these sensations

have developed sufficiently to escape submersion under those

which the following, or even simultaneous notes have already

begun to awaken in us. And this indefinite perception would

continue to smother in its molten liquidity the motifs which

now and then emerge, barely discernible, to plunge again and

disappear and drown; recognized only by the particular kind of

pleasure which they instill, impossible to describe, to recollect,

to name; ineffable;[…].

                                                                        …

[…] the field open to the musician is not a miserable stave of seven

notes, but an immeasurable keyboard (still, almost all of it, unknown),

on which, here and there only, separated by the gross darkness of its

unexplored tracts, some few among the millions of keys, keys of tenderness,

of passion, of courage, of serenity, which compose it, each one differing from

all the rest as one universe differs from another, have been discovered by

certain great artists who do us the service, when they awaken in us the emotion

corresponding to the theme which they have found, of showing us what richness,

what variety lies hidden, unknown to us, in that great black impenetrable night,

discouraging exploration, of our soul, which we have been content to regard as

valueless and waste and void.

Mural on Kenmare Street, NYC by CNNCTD+.

“Blood Tempest” by Charlie Forrester of Freehands Creations, inspired by the “rich [...] thematic imagery and symbolism” of Dylan’s latest LP.

On Bob Dylan’s brilliant new studio album (and 35^th overall), Tempest, there is a little gem of a lament titled, “Long and Wasted Years.” I write “little” as on an album comprised of songs that generally run near the six-minute mark or more, with it’s run-time of three minutes and forty-seven seconds, “Long and Wasted Years” is one of the more concise offerings to be found. As with the majority of these new Dylan compositions, this is a meticulously crafted song that utilizes melodic repetition to create both momentum and tension. As there is no chorus or refrain, in this instance he employs a descending guitar riff that chimes out mournfully through each verse.

This song resides in that soft but certain territory beyond love and beyond hate. There are no good-guys or bad-guys, no exact right or wrong. There is no victor here spitting insults, only two incompatible losers not only stuck with regret and heartache, but also seemingly still stuck together. Featuring refined, forlorn phrasing and enunciation that skillfully convey the restrained anger and impotent sorrow (or, interchangeably, restrained sorrow and impotent anger) of a wounded marriage, it is not hard to imagine this song sequenced on his masterpiece of hurt feelings from 1975, Blood On The Tracks. In fact, this song fades in mid-riff as if this melancholy litany has been going on for quite some time now—far too long actually—until it all abruptly ends as Dylan arrives at the title with the lines: “So much for tears/So much for these long and wasted years.” Honest in its inability to point a finger directly at one or the other, this song perfectly captures the perplexing truth that with love-gone-wrong there is room for remorse without the definitive weight of guilt.

On his album, The Times They Are a-Changin’, released in January of 1964, a twenty-two-year-old Dylan sang, “You’re right from your side, I’m right from mine/We’re both just one too many mornings, An’ a thousand miles behind.” Here, in “Long and Wasted Years” we receive a similar lament from a man who can not only still empathize with the complexities of romantic relationships and matters of the heart, but give them voice as well. Albeit, now it arrives void of the wounded vanity of a romantic young man, but with the sullen comprehension that seeps in with maturity: Sour hearts and sorrow do not need culprits, only victims. Another major distinction from the younger man’s work is here there is no sense of theatrical finality. His use early on of the open-ended word Maybe, seems to permeate throughout the entire song’s atmosphere.

“Is there a place we can go, is there anybody we can see?

 Maybe?,

 It’s the same for you as it is for me?”

I write “open-ended” to not only signify the ambiguous nature of the word itself, but for the questions the word’s placement in the lyric leaves unanswered: Does it belong to the anterior statement, the line that follows, or maybe both?

In fact, it is this Maybe that serves as an engine, not only for this tune’s lyrics, but as what has driven this couple through these long years.

A still from the music video for Tempest’s opening track, “Duquesne Whistle.”

Now, I could have employed the rambling preamble above for any number of Dylan’s compositions, but today it’s like this:

Tempest, back cover

—————————————-(CLICK TO LISTEN) 

Like it? Buy it.

——————————————–Bobby Calero—————————

Ref:

Dylan, B. (2012). Long and Wasted Years. [Recorded by Bob Dylan] On Tempest. Columbia [CD] 2012.

Dylan, B. (1963). One Too Many Mornings. [Recorded by Bob Dylan] On The Times They Are a-Changin’. Columbia [CD] 1964.

Komunyakaa, Y. (Winter, 2012). On The Edge of Diminished Light. Oxford American, (75), 109.

Melnicove, M. (Spring, 2009). Bern Porter: A Found Essay. Esopus, (12), 30.

Proust, M. (1928). Swann’s Way. (C. K. Scott Moncrieff, Trans.). New York: The Modern Library. (Original work published 1913).

“Les Alyscamps: Falling Autumn Leaves, 2″ by Vincent van Gogh, November 1888

Today’s post comes as an addendum to the last, as I have not been able to get this song out of my head lately. This past weekend I was fortunate to travel upstate for an afternoon fishing trip, as the leaves had just begun to turn colors, dressing up the scenery quite nicely. While my wife and buddy cast their lines out into the rushing current and his wife fed their newborn baby girl, I sat on the smooth stone banks reading Peter Guralnick’s engaging article about Howlin’ Wolf from this past winter’s Oxford American, their “Thirteenth Annual Southern Music Issue.”

I’ve often thought that there may be one common denominator

for all great music, and that is its capacity to bring a smile to your

lips. It’s not the subject matter. And it doesn’t really have much to

do with mood. It’s the commitment to the moment. It’s what Sam

Phillips called throwing yourself into the music with abandon

(Guralnick, 2012).

            Just as I read these lines I paused to glance into the clear, blue sky and watch a Turkey Vulture glide in concentric circles on the thermal currents up above. My eyes then spied the only other object moving overhead: a solitary yellow leaf spinning in the distance and lilting on a gentle breeze. Certainly long enough to notice, it seemingly danced in place. I watched for a moment more only to witness this little, yellow leaf abruptly plummet directly down into my glass of beer.

—When you’re tumbling down, you just look better—

[Note: In order to focus upon just the one featured song, this is a condensed version of what will be a larger post concerned with this stage of Iggy Pop’s career.]

Today’s feature comes from Iggy Pop’s phenomenal album of 1977, Lust For Life. The second LP that he would release that year, this album also marked his second collaboration with David Bowie (excluding Bowie’s mixing work for The Stooges’ final album, 1973’s appropriately titled, Raw Power). Although these two artists entered into a working relationship when both had been reduced into fairly unhealthy neurotics from years of excessive substance abuse (and in Bowie’s case, I’m sure the manic rate at which he not only produced music but continually re-conceptualized his entire approach to his craft contributed greatly to this as well), their joint relocation to Berlin would prove to be the onset of one of the most fecund periods in either man’s career.

David Bowie and Iggy Pop, Copenhagen Railway Station, 1976

In April of ’77, nearly immediately after coming off a tour that promoted their first collaboration, The Idiot, Iggy and Bowie entered Hansa By The Wall Studios in Berlin to record a follow-up. For “The Idiot World Tour” Bowie had momentarily slowed the pace of his own career by relegating himself with little fanfare to a supporting role as the organ player for Iggy’s live band and occasionally singing backing vocals.

The sessions for Lust For Life would be completed in a mere eight days and the album itself finished in under three weeks—impressive, as they entered the studio with very few (if any) true arrangements for any of the compositions. Iggy must have enjoyed being the main attraction while on tour, as he made a concerted effort to take the more dominant role for these sessions, sleeping little and often tailoring or outright disregarding Bowie’s input to meet his own vision for the album. “See, Bowie’s a hell of a fast guy,” Iggy later commented, “I realized I had to be quicker than him, otherwise whose album was it gonna be? (Pegg, 2000), and “The band and David would leave the studio to go to sleep, but not me (Griffin, 2012). He must have sensed that his faculty for whirlwind creativity and spontaneous songwriting had been somewhat taken advantage of the first go-around; a lab-rat/mad-scientist dynamic being something to which Bowie admitted years later:

Poor Jim, in a way, became a guinea pig for what I wanted

to do with sound. I didn’t have the material at the time, and I

didn’t feel like writing at all. I felt much more like laying back

and getting behind someone else’s work, so that album was

opportune, creatively (Loder, 1989).

However, ultimately this was a mutually beneficial relationship, as Pop’s shambled career had been revitalized and thrust into the mainstream, while Bowie had been significantly inspired enough to end the decade on a high-note with his ingenious “Berlin Trilogy.”

Yet, Lust For Life truly does come across as a wholly different animal than its predecessor. The Idiot is a sonically ambitious album, primarily concerned with atmosphere.

It is a projection of harsh neon upon the slate-grey façade of an industrial-park-nightclub, featuring twitch-&-glitch guitars and synths pulsing and scouring through viscous funk and robotic cabaret; all while Pop’s strung-out baritone—sounding like the ghoul of some forgotten ’50s crooner who refuses to quit the scene, despite being dead of TB near on a decade now—permeates each tune to its capacity. Whereas The Idiot is the inevitable conclusion for Glam Rock, music for those with bloody noses and barely enough strength left to climb the walls, Lust For Life (as its title suggests) is an album full of vigor, featuring last night’s survivor now willing-and-able to run down any street and dance on any floor. This flavor is perfectly captured by the child-like imp grinning mischievously on the cover photo taken by Andy Kent.

Although the creation of this album generally followed the same formula used when assembling The Idiot—with Bowie suggesting a riff or melody while Iggy would mold these through his (often spur-of-the-moment) lyrical composition as the band expanded upon these components—Lust For Life is much more rooted in the traditional R&B and Rock & Roll of the ’50s and early ’60s, particularly Bo Diddley’s pioneering use of rhythm as melody. However, the predominant distinction between this album and the one prior, despite any particular song’s subject matter or form, is its overwhelming sense of alacrity. With Lust For Life there’s room for Iggy Pop to laugh.

Towards the end of these sessions, someone suggested that the musicians swap instruments. Guitarist Ricky Gardiner manned the drums, while drummer Hunt Sales took the bass from his brother Tony Sales (both being the son of comedian Soupy Sales). Tony switched over to play guitar alongside Carlos Alomar, and soon they found themselves jamming along on a groove created by shuffling around a descending melody that Bowie hit upon on the organ. Presumably inspired by his then girlfriend (and daughter of an American diplomat) Esther Friedmann, Iggy Pop entered the vocal booth and began to spontaneously recite some of his finest imagist lyrics—his true poetic talent for this being typically and grossly overlooked by reviewers who tend to focus on the abrasive, yet admittedly, wholly captivating physicality of his performances. With succinct lines like “A bottle of white wine/ White wine and you,” “A table made of wood,” and “Standing in the snow/You’re younger than you look” Pop perfectly conveys both scene and mood to the listener. Edited down, this vamp would come to be sequenced as the album’s hip-swinging closing track, “Fall in Love with Me.” Although generally considered a minor song by Pop, I believe this track is a perfect example of how his vocals should be recorded: with a bit of vinyl grit, as if he were attempting to sweet-talk you through a megaphone.

I recall watching an interview with Pop shortly after this stage of his career where the interviewer asked what it was that he learned from working with David Bowie. Iggy answered something to the effect of “compromise.” Although he did not elaborate, I’ve always taken that statement to mean that through these collaborations Iggy learned that he did not need to remain an unappreciated, loony-bin proto-punk rocker who bludgeoned his audience with acts of self-mutilation and the relentless, frustrated stomp of his previous musical incarnation; Iggy Pop could retain his artistic integrity and yet still create music that the rest of us, not so maniacally inclined, could dance to too.

Iggy Pop & Esther Friedmann in Berlin, 1977.

———————(CLICK TO LISTEN) 

Like it? Buy it.

Fall in Love with Me.

You look so good to me

Here in this old saloon

Way back in west berlin

A bottle of white wine

White wine and you

A table made of wood

And how I wish you would

Fall in love with me

You look so good to me

Standing out in the street

With your cheap fur on

Or maybe your plastic raincoat

And your plastic shoes

They look good too

Standing in the snow

You’re younger than you look

Fall in love with me

Fall in love with me

How I wish you would

A table made of wood

And a bottle of white wine

And you-and a bottle of

White wine and you

And when you’re standing

In the street and it’s cold

And it snows on you

And you look younger

Than you really are

I wish you would

Fall in love with me

I wish you would

Fall in love with me

I wish you would

Fall in love with me

I wish you would

Fall in love with me

Yeah

The way your eyes are black

The way your hair is black

The way your heart is young

There’s just a few like you

Just the kind I need

To fall in love with me

Oh and you look so good

Yes you look so good

A bottle of white wine

A cigarette and you

Here in this saloon

White wine and you

I wish you’d fall in love with me

I wish you’d fall in love with me

’cause there’s

Just a few like you

So young and real

There’s just a few like you

So young and real

Fall in love with me

Fall in love with me

Fall in love with me

Fall in love with me

I wish you would

You look so good

When you’re young at heart

There’s just a few like you

You’re young at heart

Won’t you

Come to this old saloon

Come to my waiting arms

A table made of wood

And I will look at you

’cause you’re so young and pure

And you’re young at heart

You’re young at heart

A bottle of white wine

And when you’re tumbling down

You just look better

When you’re tumbling down

You just look finer

——————————————–Bobby Calero

Ref:

Griffin, R. (n.d.). Bowiegoldenyears: 1977. Retrieved October 5, 2012 from http://www.bowiegoldenyears.com/index.html

Guralnick, P. (2012). Howlin’ Wolf: The Soul of Man. Oxford American.

Loder, K. (1989). Sound and Vision. [CD liner notes].

Pegg, N. (2000). The Complete David Bowie. Reynolds & Hearn: California.

Pop, I., Bowie, D., Sales, T., & Sales, H. (1977). Fall In Love With Me [recorded by Iggy Pop] On Lust For Life. RCA (1977).

“Les Alyscamps: Falling Autumn Leaves,” Vincent van Gogh, November 1888.

The Fall officially began a few days ago and so I have a two-for for you today; both tracks concerned with the theme of women letting their love come down.

Up first is an artist who inexplicably is not a household name. Working extensively with the top-notch writing and production team of Isaac Hayes and David Porter—who at the time served as the prolific house composers for Stax Records—and backed by such legendary musicians as guitarist Steve Cropper, bassist Donald “Duck” Dunn, and drummer Al Jackson, Jr. (all members of Booker T. & the M.G.’s), how an artist as talented as Ruby Johnson failed to hit it big is beyond me.

Isaac Hayes & David Porter in the studio.

Booker T and the MGs in 1970; from left to right: Al Jackson, Jr.; Booker T. Jones; Donald “Duck” Dunn; and Steve Cropper.

When it came time to lend her distinctive contralto vocal style to these compositions, Ruby was willing to explore the full emotional range of each song. At the prefect moment Ruby could thrust her immense and torn voice forward through the melody and let it hang there raw and ragged as a display of her sincere investment in the material, which too few singers have the ability to convey. She actually attributed her trademark sound to her enthusiasm and work ethic: “I think a lot of that came from actually being on the hoarse side at that particular time. I didn’t get to go to Stax often, and when I did get down there to record, we worked hard. We were in the studio all day and half the night” (Perrone, 1999).

Born April 19, 1936 in Elizabeth City, North Carolina, Ruby Johnson was raised in the Jewish faith and began singing alongside her eight brothers and sisters in the Temple Beth-El choir. Upon finishing high school, Ruby began performing with local rhythm and blues bands in Virginia Beach and Washington DC while supporting herself as a waitress. Her career came to be managed by local entrepreneur Never Duncan Junior who subsequently hired the talented Dicky Williams to serve as arranger/producer for her recordings. In 1960 they began to release a series of 45s, first on the Philadelphia-based V-Tone label, and eventually for her manager’s own NEBS Records (Sir Shambling, 2012).

Al Bell (Photo by Josh Anderson for The New York Times)

While working for Washington DC station WLOK, disc-jockey Al Bell had been an early proponent of Ruby Johnson’s music. When Stax hired him as its first in-house promotional manager in 1965, Bell helped Ruby secure a contract with the preeminent label for Southern Soul. Al Bell himself would go on to own Stax during the label’s ’70s heyday; unfortunately, it was under his leadership that the company was forced into involuntary bankruptcy in 1975 (Sontag, 2009). Her 45s now being issued on the Stax subsidiary label, Volt, Ruby later recalled that she was “[…] very excited, very nervous, because that was my first attempt to record on that level. […] They would give me those songs on a piece of paper and say: ‘here’s the lyric.’ We would sort of run over them to let me get familiar with the words, and then we’d say: ‘let’s do a take.’ We were in there for hours sometimes” (Perrone, 1999).

Although several of her records sold fairly well, her recording career never seemed to reflect her great talent and a good deal of Johnson’s Stax sessions remained in the vaults until 1993, when the compilation I’ll Run Your Hurt Away was released. Ruby Johnson eventually quit the music business in 1974 and went on to be the director of Foster Grandparents, a federal program helping handicapped children relate to older generations. Although she continued to sing twice a week at Temple Beth-El near her home in Lanham, Maryland, Ruby admitted to missing the old days: “Every time I see some of those big shows, I long for it sometimes, I really do. I enjoyed what I was doing. […] I always aspired to be a professional singer, even as a child” (Perrone, 1999). Sadly, Ruby Johnson passed away at the age of 63 on July 4, 1999.

“When My Love Comes Down” is as fine an example of Ruby Johnson’s talent as you can get, and certainly one of the best 45s ever issued by Stax. Released as the flip-side to the tender ballad “Come To Me My Darling” on October 19, 1966, “When My Love Comes Down” features a gentle melody played on the organ (either by Booker T. or Isaac Hayes) exquisitely contrasted with the punch and pierce of Steve Cropper’s chopped guitar and the The Memphis Horns‘ emotive blare; all-the-while Ruby’s intense vocals alternately smolder, swagger, or just plain tear at the seams.

Enjoy!

———————————(CLICK TO LISTEN) 

Like it? Buy it.

Evelyn “Champagne” King

Up next: Although this track could perhaps be considered lighter fare than the above, Evelyn “Champagne” King’s #1 R&B hit “Love Come Down,” off her certified double platinum album of 1982, Get Loose, is another fine example of superb arrangement and production value, albeit from a completely different approach.

There’s a certain simmer and bounce to the streamlined synth-funk of this song that makes it stand-out against the assembly-line beats that began to dominate the digitally recorded music of the 1980s. Unlike the majority of music in this category, here is a dance song that is still permitted to have character.

Written by the multi-talented Kashif—a pioneer of hypnotic synth grooves and guitar sheen—he shared production duties with Morrie Brown. When Get Loose was released Evelyn King was in the midst of a somewhat career comeback, as she was crossing over from Disco to R&B. Born in the Bronx on July 1, 1960 but raised in Philadelphia, her career has a bit of a storybook beginning. A 16-year-old Evelyn was working as an office cleaner at Philadelphia International Records when producer Theodore T. Life who had overheard her singing in a washroom discovered her (Hogan, 2012). She was eventually signed to RCA Records and had a string of hits with the label. With its slippery, yet coiled bass-line, up-beat vocals, and quirky chimes and blips it is not difficult to imagine this song as a precursor to Prince’s brilliant B-side of 1984, “Erotic City.” Enjoy a bit of bouncing around with this number, and hopefully this autumn will treat you all right.

————————(CLICK TO LISTEN) 

Like it? Buy it.

——————————————–Bobby Calero————————

Ref:

Hayes, I. & Porter, D. (1966). When My Love Comes Down [recorded by Ruby Johnson] On I’ll Run Your Hurt Away [CD] Volt (1966), Stax (1993).

Hogen, E. (2012). Evelyn “Champagne” King: Biography. Billboard. Retrieved September 26, 2012 from http://www.billboard.com/#/artist/evelyn-champagne-king/bio/76577

Kashif. (1982). Love Come Down [recorded by Evelyn King] On Get Loose [CD] RCA (1982), BBR (2010).

Perrone, P. (1999, September 10). Obituary: Ruby Johnson. The Independent. Retrieved September 26, 2012 from http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/obituary-ruby-johnson-1117495.html.

Ridley, J. (2012). Ruby Johnson. Sir Shambling’s Deep Soul Heaven. Retrieved September 26, 2012 from http://www.sirshambling.com/artists_2012/J/ruby_johnson/index.php

Sontag, D. (2009, August 14). Out of Exile, Back in Soulsville. The New York Times. Retrieved September 26, 2012 from http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/16/arts/music/16sont.html.

Today, September 14, 2012, marks the thirty-ninth birthday of Nasir bin Olu Dara Jones, better known under the moniker of Nas. In terms of lyrical technique Nas remains one of the greatest rappers out there, and his off-beat conversational flow truly innovated modern Hip Hop. Additionally, Nas has an eye for detail that is sorely missing amongst the majority of his contemporaries. In a Nas song you can smell and taste the scene. And of course he gets points for representing Queens!

In celebration of this artist (a bit last minute, as I only found out it was his birthday this afternoon) I’ve slapped together a mix from songs of his I happen to have on my laptop at the moment. Again, by no means is this mix meant as my “Best-of-Nas,” and only consists of what I had on hand at the moment. However, with a talent such as his, I feel it shines through regardless. You can grab the mix below.

Enjoy!

Happy Birthday Nas!

A Mouthful Of Pennies Presents:

                                        Nasir bin Olu Dara Jones is Like…

Nasir bin Olu Dara Jones is Like…

1)    N.Y. State Of Mind part 1 – Nas

2)    N.Y. State Of Mind part 2 – Nas

3)    Walking 2 (J.Period Dubplate) - J.Period & Nneka, feat. Nas

4)    As We Enter – Damian Marley & Nas

5)    Last Day - J.Period & G. Brown, feat. Nas

6)    Tom’s Diner/It Ain’t Hard To Tell – Suzanne Vega & Nas (Danger Mouse remix)

7)    You Owe Me – Nas

8)    Give Up the Goods – Q-Tip, feat. Nas & Mobb Deep (J.Period Remix)

9)    Hey Young World – Nas

10) New York Is Killing Me – Gil Scott-Heron, feat. Nas

11) Me Tienes – The Roots, feat. Nas (J.Period Remix)

12) Fast Life – Kool G Rap & Nas (Shaan Saigol Remix)

13) Young Gifted & Black – Big Daddy Kane (J.Period Remix)

14) Young Gifted & Black Freestyle – Nas (J.Period Remix)

15) Memory Lane – Nas

16)  Back To The Grill Again (Remix) – MC Serch, feat. Chubb Rock, Nas, Red Hot Lover Tone

17) Too Many Rappers [New Reactionaries Version] – Beastie Boys, feat. Nas

18) Nas Is Like – Nas

19) Road To Zion – Nas

Come and get it!:

MediaFire: http://www.mediafire.com/?srnfi5gkrg64n4h

…or if you just want to stream the mix, click below:

DivShare: http://www.divshare.com/download/19561704-f05

——————————————–Bobby Calero———————————

Few can deliver a song quite like Victoria Spivey. Whether it be a song concerned with the circumstances of hard-living or one about the bawdy delights of intercourse, Spivey wrote them with a sly intelligence, hip attitude, and then got them across in her distinctive “tiger moan,” which, in the case of “Toothache Blues,” could make even dental work sound sultry. Born on October 15, 1906, in Houston, Texas, Queen Victoria Spivey’s personal style was honed as a young teenager playing regularly in local bordellos and music halls after her father was killed in an accident and it became financially necessary for her to utilize her musical talents for more than mere entertainment and pocket money. Moving to St. Louis in 1926, Spivey signed to the Okeh label, and recorded her signature hit “Black Snake Blues.” Over the next two years she would record roughly once a month, often accompanied by Jazz greats like Lonnie Johnson, King Oliver, Clarence Williams, and Louis Armstrong.

Moving to Chicago as the record business collapsed along with all other industry during the Depression of the 1930s, Spivey expanded her career by playing vaudeville musical revues, such as the Hellzapoppin’ Revue in New York City, and she even appeared as “Missy Rose” in director King Vidor’s first sound film—and one of the first all-black films by a major studio: Hallelujah!

Retiring from the stage in 1952—becoming an organist for a church in Brooklyn—Spivey would return to her career in the ’50s and ’60s during the folk and blues revival of that era, and she would even set up her own record label. She died at the age of 69 on October 3rd, 1976 in New York City.

The last time Victoria Spivey was featured in these pages it was with the tale of drug-induced delusions of grandeur that is “Dope Head Blues.” That track was recorded in New York City on October 28, 1927 for the Okeh label. Spivey returns today with a side recorded a decade later on March 12, 1937, now for the Vocalion label.

“One Hour Mama” is likewise swollen with braggadocio, however, here the listener gets the distinct impression that she is not lying; she is just a woman who knows what she wants, and what she does not. The woman is simply hard to please.

In my mind’s eye, when listening to this song, this is pretty much what I see—

————————————————(CLICK TO LISTEN)

Like it? Buy it.

I’ve always heard that haste makes waste

So I believe in taking my time

The highest mountain can’t be raced

It’s something you must slowly climb

I want a slow and easy man

He needn’t ever take the lead

Cause I work on that long time plan

And I ain’t a-looking for no speed

I’m a one hour mama, so no one minute papa

Ain’t the kind of man for me.

Set your alarm clock, papa; one hour that’s proper

Then love me like I want to be

I don’t want no lame excuses ’bout my lovin’ bein’ so good

That you couldn’t wait no longer; now, I hope I’m understood

I’m a one hour mama, so no one minute papa

Ain’t the kind of man for me.

Why don’t want no greenhorned lover, like a rookie goin’ to war

With a load of big artillery, but don’t know what it’s for.

He’s got to bring me reference, with great long pedigree,

And must prove he’s got endurance, or he don’t mean that to me.

I can’t stand no crowin’ rooster, what just hits a lick or two

Action is the only booster of just what my man can do.

I don’t want no imitations, my requirement ain’t no joke,

and I get full indignation for a guy that’s lost his stroke.

I’m a one hour mama, so no one minute papa

Ain’t the kind of man for me.

Set your alarm clock, papa; one hour that’s proper

Then love me like I want to be

Why I may want love for one hour, then decide to make it two

It takes an hour ‘fore I get started, may be three hours ‘fore I’m through

I’m a one hour mama, so no one minute papa

Ain’t the kind of man for me.

——————————————–Bobby Calero

Ref:

Commire, A. (Ed.) (2002). Spivey, Victoria (1906–1976). Women in World History: A Biographical Encyclopedia. Vol. 14. pps. 655-657. Detroit: Yorkin Publications. Retrieved February 6th, 2012 from http://go.galegroup.com.queens.ezproxy.cuny.edu:2048/ps/i.do?id=GALE%7CCX2591308746&v=2.1&u=cuny_queens&it=r&p=GVRL&sw=w

Spivey, V. (1937). One Hour Mama. [recorded by Victoria Spivey] On Victoria Spivey Volume 4: 1936-1937. [CD] Vocalion. (1937). Document. (2000)