A 56-year-old rockabilly legend teams up with some hungry young hotshots… throws them 16 hard-bitten songs that are ready to burn… and then lets it rip in an old-school analog studio, where everything is recorded in glorious mono. An instant classic? Maybe in a parallel universe, where Elvis swears off pharmaceuticals and fried banana sandwiches. In the real world, it’s just another great record that few people heard before it dropped off the face of the earth.

Of course, it didn’t help that the label, Upstart, quietly folded only a few years after the record was released in 1996. Or that the artist, Ronnie Dawson, only had about five good years left in him before he died of throat cancer in 2003. Or that rockabilly remains a genre of limited interest to most people.

Dawson, aka “The Blonde Bomber,” was no stranger to adversity. A native of Dallas, he was surrounded by music as a kid – his dad, “Pinky,” fronted his own western swing band. The younger Dawson soon picked up the guitar and became a teen sensation playing rock ‘n roll and honky tonk music in the Dallas area. And he quickly gained the attention of the ageless one himself, Dick Clark, who signed him to his Swan label. But then Clark and his label got caught up in the “payola” scandal of the late-‘50s that also dragged down former Rubber City DJ Alan Freed. And Dawson was sent adrift, without a label or opportunities to capitalize on his early hits, like Action Packed or this one… Rockin’ Bones

A Young Blonde Bomber

The Blonde Bomber eventually signed with Columbia, where he recorded several first-rate singles. I especially like the B side to Do Do Do, released in ’61. It’s a churning blues-rocker called Who’s Been Here, with Dawson (under the alias Commonwealth Jones) wailing away in his high-pitched, almost otherworldly voice… Who’s Been Here

Dawson also carved out a niche for himself as a multi-instrumental session player, even showing up as a drummer on notable rockers like Hey! Baby by Bruce Channel and Hey Paula by Paul and Paula (effectively cornering the “hey” market). But he always remained well under the radar screen – except in Europe, where his rockabilly hits were revered by roots-music fanatics throughout the Continent.

In his book “Texas Music” (published in 1998), journalist Rick Koster tags Dawson as a “Criminally Underrated Artist”: “Ronnie Dawson is an ageless phenomenon, a fire-fingered genius who helped create rockabilly and then resurrected it forty years later – all without seeming to move in time.”

Eddie Angel

Beginning in the late ‘80s, Dawson decided to build on his newfound cult status across the pond by recording several albums in England. I especially like the previously mentioned release from ’96, “Just Rockin’ & Rollin’” – mainly because it features the blazing guitars of Los Straitjackets member Eddie Angel and another young turk, Amsterdam native Tjarko Jeen. And Dawson, who had been shredding since his teens, brought his own bag of tricks to the proceedings. I’m not sure who’s who on this next cut (I think Jeen takes the first solo, then Angel), but it’s pretty clear these guys came to play… Sucker For A Cheap Guitar

As you can tell, the album was recorded in near-complete denial of the improvements that had been made in studio technology since the first rockabilly records were waxed in the mid-‘50s. And this, of course, is another one of its key strengths. It’s as if someone had rescued the “Rockin’” sessions from a long-lost tape discovered at a garage sale in Memphis. Just Rockin’ and Rollin’

Tjarko Jeen

But this is hardly just another form of retro-mania. For a fairly hard-core rockabilly cat, Dawson brought a nice diversity of material to the Upstart project. A couple of songs even fall under the category of border-rock. In a 1999 article that appeared in the Dallas Observer, Dawson mentioned that he was inspired to write Mexigo and Veronica after sharing the stage with conjunto accordionist Mingo Saldivar in 1994 at Carnegie Hall, where both men performed as part of a roots-revivalist showcase. “Wearing a big grin, Dawson says they’re ‘conjuntobilly’ songs,” noted writer Robert Wilonsky. Here’s a little visit to Mexigo.

Even with these side trips thrown in, “Rockin’” comes across exactly as billed – no-frills rock ‘n roll made by grown men with bad habits and scars to prove it… You Got a Long Way to Go

Dawson recorded two more albums after “Rockin’” – “Live at the Continental Club” (released in ‘98) and “More Bad Habits” (’99) – and kept touring like his life depended on it… which was probably the case, given the shamanistic powers of his live performances. And even though he couldn’t beat the Big C, his legacy lives on through classic rockers that bear the unique stamp of this bigger-than-life Texan.

The Blonde Bomber, live at L.A.’s Blue Saloon (Nov. 1990)… Dawson backed by a great rockabilly and western swing band from Southern California, Big Sandy and His Fly-Rite Boys. I love how this amateur video seems to drop you right in front of the band at one of those small bars where a stage seemed like a frivolous expense. So good, I had to include two clips (Dawson’s beaming grin during V-8 Ford Boogie seems to say it all)…

At what point did we know that the box set was deceased?

Was it when the German Bear Family label released a 12-CD collection (with hardcover book) of Pat Boone’s complete ‘50s recordings? Or when America’s leading reissue label, Rhino Records, laid off 20 percent of its staff – resigning itself to the fact that the vast majority of people under 30 refuse to pay for music?

Regardless, it’s been a good run for those of us who like to deep-dive into our favorite artists’ back catalogs. So let’s cherish the digital memories… even as we curse the unwieldy cardboard boxes taking up valuable shelf space in our partially assembled particle-board entertainment centers.

Here’s the rest of the list we started in our last post – five more box sets that you probably don’t have the time to listen to (although one kept me from going insane during a major paint removal project).

Sonny Rollins: The Complete Prestige Recordings… Members of the assembly, have we grown soft worshipping false idols? There is only one Greek god of the saxophone, and his name is Rollins. Let us bow down as he hurls mighty bolts of power and majesty from his throne atop Mount Colossus. Sorry… I get a little giddy listening to the “Complete Prestige Recordings,” which captures the meteoric rise of Sonny Rollins from journeyman be-bopper to one of the true giants of jazz. He was a man of contradictions, a daring soloist who could burn with blazing speed and dexterity but often played his favorite show tunes with great reverence (and maybe just a tinge of irony). And that lyricism often seemed at odds with a sound that was about as bold and muscular as any one man can wring out of an acoustic instrument. There’s a lot of variety in this set as Rollins supports Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk, and even goes head-to-head with John Coltrane on Tenor Madness. But the best tunes are those with Rollins firmly in charge, and the opening to You Don’t Know What Love Is – from his masterpiece, “Saxophone Colossus” – even sets the gold standard for “jazz noir”… You Don’t Know What Love Is

What It Is! Funky Soul and Rare Grooves… Those of you who collect vinyl usually enjoy the act of crate-diving – the thrill of the hunt, as they say. In my younger days, I spent a fair amount of time combing rat-infested record stores. Now I thank god for labels like Rhino Records for doing all the hard work for me and coming up with outstanding collections like “What It Is!” As allmusic.com rightfully points out, “it would cost a fortune to collect these songs in their original form of release.” I say, just bring me the goods – and Rhino delivers. Even hard-core collectors of rare funk and soul give the label credit for digging especially deep to come up with some great hidden gems on this one, although a few of the artists (Aretha, Commodores, Curtis Mayfield) are hardly unknown. In another post, I featured my favorite song from this collection – Fairchild by Willie West. Here’s another standout cut from “What It Is!”… You Gotta Know Watcha Doin’/Charles Wright

Crescent City Soul: The Sound of New Orleans, 1947-1974… In one episode of the new HBO show “Treme,” much is made of an out-of-print box set by famous New Orleans producer, arranger, bandleader and all-around musical wizard Dave Bartholomew (basically, nutjob DJ Davis steals it in an act of revenge). Well, I wouldn’t mind stealing “The Genius of Dave Bartholomew” myself. But in terms of sheer awesomeness, I’d have to give the edge to this 4-CD, 119-song, equally hard-to-find set featuring some of the greatest songs ever recorded in the Crescent City. And yes, Bartholomew has a hand in a lot of them – Trick Bag by Earl King, Stack A Lee by Archibald and Walking to New Orleans by Fats Domino, to name a few. So good, it was named the “official collection of the 1996 New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.” And so hard to describe in just one paragraph, so I’ll leave you with just two of the many delicious R&B nuggets on “Crescent City Soul.” By the by, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum will honor 89-year-old Bartholomew and long-time musical partner Fats Domino, 82, in its 15th Annual American Musical Masters Series set for this November in Cleveland. I Done Got Over It/Irma Thomas Travellin’ Mood/Wee Willie Wayne

Miles Davis: The Complete Columbia Studio Recordings of the Miles Davis Quintet… Back in the early ’60s, who would’ve thought that Miles Davis could top his legendary quintet with John Coltrane (the one that recorded the classic “Kind of Blue”)? Well, in just a few short years, Miles had assembled a new band that some jazz fanatics simply call “the second great quintet.” Miles, Wayne Shorter on sax, Herbie Hancock on piano, Ron Carter on bass and Tony Williams on drums. It’s no exaggeration to say that hundreds of contemporary jazz acts are modeled after this band. Miles’ new quintet started out deconstructing the same standards that the Miles-Coltrane band perfected – songs like Stella by Starlight and All of You. Then they ventured off into playing original compositions, many by Shorter, that simply served as launching pads for the kind of breathtaking group improvisation heard here… Footprints And toward the end of their tenure, they built the foundation for Miles’ next journey into the land of electric funk… Stuff I’ve listened to this set many times, but I still feel a sense of discovery every time I play it.

Rockin’ Bones: 1950s Punk and Rockabilly… Another fine set from the good folks at Rhino – a wild ride through the many joys of ‘50s rock ‘n roll, hillbilly style. I would’ve been disappointed with another collection of the classic stuff I already own. So I especially like the way this one moves from the familiar (Summertime Blues by Eddie Cochran) to the obscure (Down on the Farm by Al Downing). Of course, rockabilly purists might argue that the set is skewed in favor of the familiar, and some might question the “punk” label being applied to music that appeared some 20 years before the Sex Pistols spat on their first fan (although I’m not sure I can come up with a better label for this next tune, which later was subject to even greater depravity at the hands of psychobilly sickos the Cramps: Love Me/The Phantom). But let’s not pick nits – this is hugely enjoyable stuff. And, since many of the artists are of Appalachian descent, there’s also some first-rate guitar pickin’ throughout. Plus the audio clips from vintage teen-film trailers – like this one and this one – make it even more essential. Play it in your car and obey the speed limit… I dare you. Action Packed/Johnny Dollar

Ten more worth mentioning:

• Joe Henderson: The Blue Note Years… This set features the pride of Lima, Ohio, as bandleader and sideman (with, among others, Lee Morgan, Horace Silver and McCoy Tyner). But it really tells the story of one label’s glory years.
• Sam Cooke’s SAR Records Story… As a label head, Sam Cooke was full of surprises – from the gritty gospel of the Womack Brothers to the juke-joint blues of  Johnnie Morisette.
• Sir Douglas Quintet: The Complete Mercury Recordings… The king of border rock plays some of our farfisa-driven favorites and a whole lot of Texas rock ‘n soul. Plus Mendocino en Español!
• James Brown: Star Time… Still the best funk collection ever assembled. Slap it on at a party and let the games begin.
• The House That Trane Built… Another great overview of a groundbreaking label – in this case, John Coltrane’s last stop, Impulse!
• Cuba: I Am Time… A cigar box that holds the island’s greatest export – a rich musical tradition that contemporary Cuban bands seem to reinvent every day.
• Big Ol’ Box of New Orleans… Some overlap with “Crescent City Soul,” but another outstanding collection of prime R&B from the cradle of American roots music, with more of a modern twist.
• Thelonious Monk: The Columbia Years… An exhaustive set would have many versions of the same composition. Thankfully, this 3-CD set offers a more diverse overview – from solo to big band performances.
• Muddy Waters: The Chess Box… Probably my first box set – a Christmas gift from my mom. She called it “jukin’ music.” I call it the source of all that is good and right in the world.
• Dexter Gordon: The Complete Blue Note Sixties Sessions… A 6-CD meditation on what it means to be “urbane.”

Blues, New Orleans-style… The late, great Earl King at the Chicago Blues Festival, doing that thing that he used to do so well.

Remember the box set? Actually, in a year or two we might be asking ourselves, remember compact discs?

I came fairly late to the CD party – which is probably a good thing, because a research team comprising the world’s leading acousticians recently found that first-generation CDs from the mid-‘80s sound like complete dogshit. All that tinny, undefined high-end noise and hardly any bass. Which is probably fine if you’re listening to tinny, undefined, noisy and baseless pop music from the Eighties, but virtually useless if you’re trying to get your groove on to James Brown and The Fabulous Flames.

Once I started buying CDs, I became one of those maniacal completists who needed to replace virtually his entire record collection with what most of us considered to be a clearly superior format. Yes, I was part of a small army of consumers that kept the major labels propped up about 20 years longer than they deserved.

I won’t even argue that CDs sound better than vinyl. I’ve listened to heavyweight virgin vinyl records played on high-end turntables hooked up to tube-driven amplifiers, and it’s truly a heavenly sound. Just a few weeks ago, nephew Dan convinced me that some 45s actually sound even better than LPs – something about more music data per inch of groove, greater presence and resolution, etc. He played me a French rock ‘n roll single from the early Sixties (might have been Johnny Hallyday), and I couldn’t deny it was sonically superior to the album he had on earlier. Check here for more on this late-breaking news.

But I’m still no audiophile (as evidenced by the term “complete dogshit,” which doesn’t pop up much in Sound and Vision magazine). All things roughly equal – in other words, as long as it wasn’t a Wang Chung CD released in 1984 – I preferred the convenience of slapping a few compact discs in a carousel changer and letting it play all night long. And from there it was just a short walk to endlessly streaming, easily organized mp4 files… preferably played through a tube-driven amp.

Even if CDs become the next casualty in the continued demise of the music industry as we know it, I’ll miss the sheer, tactile pleasures of the box set.

There’s something about those sturdy, attractive booklets with exhaustive information on each recording session – date, studio, producer, engineer, instrumentation, label, chart position, etc… The way everything neatly fits together, like a set of building blocks for kids (appropriate, since we usually give or get box sets for Christmas)… The sense that you’re holding in your hands the most important works of a major recording artist’s entire career – which is probably as enjoyable for me as it is humbling for the artist.

Based on these and other important criteria – like whether I own it – RCR’s research subordinassociates are proud to offer this carefully calibrated list of the 10 Greatest Box Sets of All Time (in no particular order). We’ll apologize in advance for the fact that a few of these are long out of print… and that we’re only covering half of them in this post.

Boogie Uproar: Texas Blues and R&B, 1947-1954… The good Brits who run the JSP label deserve some sort of royal commendation for their consistently first-rate and affordable box sets. If anyone asks me where to start with musical giants like Charlie Parker, Django Reinhardt or Louis Jordan, I just tell them to plunk down $30 (or less, depending on where you shop) and buy one of their budget-priced, five-disc sets – you’ll have just about all the Bird, Django or Jordan you need. Granted, most of that stuff had already been available elsewhere… but you’d be hard-pressed to find virtually all of Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown’s classic Peacock recordings in one place. For those who like slashing Texas blues guitar backed by a tough-as-nails horn section, this is the motherlode. Rounder Records gave us a stingy 12-song Peacock collection back in ’92; JSP ups the ante with 38 cuts of prime Gatemouth… PLUS 35 cuts by an even harder-edged Goree Carter… PLUS four by another overlooked and underrated Texan, Zuzu Bollin… PLUS 18 by the virtually unknown but notable blues shouter/guitarist Lester “I can’t lose with the stuff I use” Williams. And, of course, it took a British label to deliver the goods. Here’s just a small taste… That’s Your Daddy Yaddy Yo/Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown

Grant Green Retrospective: 1961-1966… Next to JSP, the best source for quality box sets is probably the Blue Note jazz label… but it appears they might have released their last set several years ago (another great box-set label, Rhino Records, seems to be struggling). If you can still find them, I highly recommend virtually all of these collections – the complete Blue Note Sixties sessions of Dexter Gordon and Herbie Hancock, the complete Blue Note and Roost recordings of Bud Powell, the Horace Silver retrospective, etc. But if you follow RCR on a fairly regular basis, you know that all of us get a little light-headed when it comes to guitarist Grant Green. We believe every young guitar-shredder in America should be required to listen to Blue Note’s Grant Green Retrospective. It may not stick, but at least they’ll know what a true master sounds like. The first two discs feature some of the best organ-combo tunes ever recorded, including this funky workout featuring the great Big John Patton: Soul Woman And the last two discs show off Green’s prodigious jazz chops in a number of different settings, including one he used to play spirituals (love Hancock’s churchy piano on this one… some jazz is meant to be played loud): Go Down Moses This is beautifully recorded, deeply satisfying stuff – and once you get hooked, you may end up sounding as evangelical as we are about the real pride of St. Louis.

Sonny Boy Williamson: The Chess Years… This is one of my most prized possessions – all of Sonny Boy II’s Chess recordings (originally released on its Checker subsidiary), with a bonus disc of alternate takes and studio chatter. There’s just so much to savor on these discs – the dazzling guitar of eventual Cleveland resident Robert Lockwood Jr., the amazing piano of Otis Spann, the world’s greatest blues rhythm section – Willie Dixon on bass and Fred Below on drums… and, of course, Sonny Boy. His worst stuff sounds better than most of the blues recorded since the mid-‘60s. Sonny Boy always gets his due for his deeply soulful harp playing, but I keep coming back to his voice, which is unlike any other in blues. That little vibrato he’d throw in, especially on the lower notes, gets me every time. It’s like he’s mimicking the same guttural sound he gets out of his harp, which blew away the competition (except for Little Walter, of course) with no amplification at all: Help Me On one tune, he even mimics the howl of dogs on the hunt. And hard-core blues hounds always like to bring up the famous exchange with Leonard Chess on Little Village (hey, I’ve already shared it with you twice… check it here). Unfortunately, this set is long gone – but you can pick up most of the pieces as part of various Chess re-releases, like the Essential Sonny Boy Williamson (on mp3).

Five Guys Walk Into A Bar (Faces)… At RCR, we like our rock ‘n roll ragged but right, with no overdubs or apologies. And in this case, amazingly, it involves the same guy who spent much of the last decade snuggling up to the Great American Songbook. Hard to believe that Rod Stewart was once among the world’s pre-eminent rockers. And he had one hell of a band to keep him honest – Ian McLagan on keyboards, Ron Wood on guitar, Ronnie Lane on bass and Kenney Jones on drums. The beauty of “Five Guys” is that it goes far beyond a glorified collection of greatest hits. Sure, you get the best of their studio recordings, like Cindy Incidentally, Ooh La La and Miss Judy’s Farm. But this set is packed with live recordings, rehearsal tapes, BBC broadcasts and other oddities that showcase the Faces in all their drunken glory – just letting it rip like a red-hot bar band near the end of a long night. Most of the credit for “Five Guys” goes to McLagan, who selected the songs (some from his own archives) and sequenced them out of chronological order for a better listening experience. He also gets extra points for coming across in interviews as one of the coolest guys on the planet. And he’s a pretty damn good player to boot: Miss Judy’s Farm (live)/Faces

The Complete Stax-Volt Singles: 1959-1968… If Memphis soul is America’s greatest musical treasure, then this is Fort Knox. I borrowed this box set from a friend of mine, a fellow musician who played keyboards and sax. We spent hours studying these arrangements and even worked a few Stax-Volt nuggets into our band’s set list. Then he passed away suddenly at the young age of 44, which somehow gave greater meaning to a cardboard box and nine shiny discs that both of us already revered, in an unhealthy, music-nerd kind of way. So this one’s dedicated to J.D., who truly was the coolest guy on the planet. And getting back to the subject at hand, it’s hard to hold back the superlatives. Sure, you get the tunes that all of us know and love, like Green Onions and Soul Man and Try A Little Tenderness and Knock On Wood. But there’s also a lot of unsung soul on these discs – shockingly good material that remains almost completely overlooked, probably even by a few people who actually own this collection. I’ll leave you with samples of three hidden gems… and I’m proud to say J.D. and I came close to nailing the third one (R.I.P., John). I’m Glad To Do It/C.L. Blast Able Mable/Mable John I’m Going Home/Prince Conley

To be continued…

Sam and Dave on video… The first clip, from the 1967 Stax-Volt Revue in Europe, shows why none of the other performers wanted to follow Sam and Dave. By ’69, they’d gotten the whole band in on the act.

Ever find yourself on a long drive in the middle of the night, searching for those perfect songs to keep you awake but not wired?

There I was, drinking a mocha-infused Starbucks cocktail, almost enjoying the sound of my tires hitting the grooves on the right side of the road. I’d driven myself nuts listening to an endless be-bop solo by some journeyman jazzbo… I actually thought about staying on the shoulder and changing speeds to approximate a basic melody.

Then I decided to reset my iPod (without taking my eyes off the road, of course), and up pops a song by Ted Hawkins, from his final album, “The Next Hundred Years.” Slowly, I start moving into an actual lane on the highway. And I finally get the sense that this late-night drive might turn into something more profound, maybe even life-affirming.

Hawkins’ incredible life has been well-documented elsewhere, but I’ll give you the basics: Born in Biloxi, Mississippi, in 1936 – and raised under conditions that are best described as abject poverty… A troubled youth who was sent to reform school when he was 13, where he was encouraged to sing and perform by the superintendent’s wife and inspired when New Orleans piano legend Professor Longhair played for the kids… A drifter and heroin addict who spent a fair amount of time in prison… A street performer most of his life – and mostly in Venice Beach, California, where he probably spent many nights sleeping on the beach… A black man who seemed most comfortable singing his own brand of folk and country music… A rare talent who was criminally overlooked in his own country – even when his first album garnered a 5-star review in Rolling Stone – but gained fame and recognition in Europe… And finally, a major-label artist who passed away only a few months after he finished his debut album on Geffen Records.

“The Next Hundred Years” isn’t even widely viewed as his best album. Allmusic.com singles out “a plodding band unwisely inserted behind Hawkins that tends to distract rather than enhance his impassioned vocals and rich acoustic guitar strumming.” Apparently, Hawkins wasn’t too crazy about the album himself and felt his voice and guitar didn’t need any help at all, thank you. I find it to be a great listen – in a crisply produced, Chris Isaak sort of way. It captures Hawkins’ deeply soulful voice in a number of different settings, from a cappella gospel to honky tonk. And, like I said, it’s the perfect soundtrack for a long journey – searching yet dead certain… like the feeling of not knowing what’s around the corner, but welcoming every turn.

I’d also be hard-pressed to describe the band, including ace drummer Jim Keltner, as “plodding.” The guitar playing on the opening cut alone, by Chris Bruce, includes some of the tastiest fills I’ve heard outside of a Bakersfield studio. And Hawkins’ gritty voice – well-worn from years of exposure to windswept beaches – is a thing of beauty: Strange Conversation

As another critic pointed out, Hawkins’ lyrics are virtually metaphor-free. Case in point – the opening lines to The Good And The Bad: “Livin’ is good when you have someone to live with; laughter is bad when there’s no one there to share it with; talkin’ is bad if you’ve got no one to talk to; dyin’ is good when the one you love grow tired of you.” Although some may find these sentiments a little awkward and confessional, I admire the purity of expression in Hawkins’ songs. There’s something very powerful about simple words from an honest and innocent man, especially when he’s reaching out to a good woman… Green Eyed Girl

The song Biloxi seems to drift into jam-band territory – which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, because the form could use a swift kick in the ass. Remember Blind Melon’s left-field hit No Rain, that goofy little tune (with an even goofier video) that you couldn’t pry out of your head back in the ‘90s? In a more perfect world, that number would never see the light of day, and we’d still be talking about the summer we spent listening to Biloxi. Of course, most radio hits don’t end with hair-raising exhortations like this one… Biloxi

Radio also isn’t kind to pure, unbridled honky tonk, and there are two first-rate examples on “The Next Hundred Years.” A few posts back, we featured Hawkins’ brilliant version of a Webb Pierce hit from 1953, There Stands The Glass. A Hawkins original called Afraid also gets the full-band honky tonk treatment, with tasty pedal steel by Greg Leisz. I like how Hawkins kicks the band up a notch by yelling “play that thing!” Seems like he was born to sing this music. He certainly nails this material better than your standard Nashville country star. Afraid

Hawkins was the kind of artist who evoked strong feelings among his fans. Some were drawn in by the backstory of an artist who beat the odds – most notably, homelessness and heroin addiction. Others were under the spell of his highly personal songwriting and stunning voice. Many of them preferred Hawkins alone with his guitar, and I’m sure these fans felt a little cheated by “The Next Hundred Years”… until they got to the last number. It’s a cover of John Fogerty’s Long As I Can See The Light, and Hawkins delivers the opening by himself – without his guitar. Hard to imagine a better ending to a remarkable major-label debut. Long As I Can See The Light

With a positive review from Rolling Stone under his belt (“…a passionate collection of gospel, soul, country and blues songs about mortality, perseverance and transcendence…”) and gigs lined up in nice theaters, Hawkins finally tasted the success that had eluded him for so long. But it only lasted a brief moment in time. He died of a stroke on the first day of January, 1995 – only nine months after the release of “The Next Hundred Years.” The title now seems a little cruel, but I’m guessing his legacy will survive into the next millennium.

Ted Hawkins on video: Typically, the commentary you find on YouTube isn’t very useful. Here’s an exception, from “varuscelli.” I’ll just shut up and run it in its entirety:

“An abbreviated live video version of Ted Hawkins’ rendition of There Stands the Glass (from the ‘Amazing Grace’ video documentary, 1995).

“The ‘Amazing Grace’ video is apparently available only on VHS tape, and copies can be found in various place on the internet (for instance, eBay). Why the video has not been converted to a digital format for re-release/sale/distribution to the public is a mystery. The ‘Amazing Grace’ video, released the year of Ted Hawkins’ death (1995) features numerous songs by Hawkins interspersed with documentary-style commentary from Hawkins himself and a number of other musicians, family members, and music industry associates.

“Most of the song performances on the VHS tape are either partial songs (shortened for the documentary) or songs partially ‘interrupted’ by blended-in bits of commentary, but a handful of the songs are nearly uninterrupted — as with this shortened version of ‘There Stands the Glass.’

“There seems to be little video footage of Hawkins performing anywhere, which is a shame for both those who never saw him in person and those who would like to somehow see him again. The ‘Amazing Grace’ video is one of the few sources for a look at Hawkins performing both on stage and on the street (busker-style performances). The video is also full of commentary about Hawkins’ life, so is of interest to Hawkins fans on many levels. Running time for ‘Amazing Grace’ is just over 60 minutes, and true Hawkins fans will likely be so mesmerized by the video that they’ll have hard time taking their eyes from the screen while viewing it the first time.”

Our new Fly Fishing Correspondent, Kevin Swan, reels in some of his favorite Ry Cooder moments from the “pre-Buena Vista Social Club” era:

When Rolling Stone magazine published their “100 Greatest Guitarists” in 2003, there were few surprises in the top ten, with one exception: the enigmatic Ryland Peter Cooder. Hand-picked at age 18 to help solidify Captain Beefheart’s Magic Band, Cooder’s blues-based slide work was already highly prized in the Los Angeles studio scene. (Ry’s professional work ethic clashed with Beefheart’s unpredictable behavior, finally dissolving in chaos at a warm-up show for their scheduled appearance at 1967’s Monterey Pop Festival, when Beefheart refused to sing, then walked, or fell, off the back of the stage.) The final track of “Safe As Milk,” Autumn’s Child seems to mimic their artistic denouement: Cooder’s workmanlike guitar at odds with the throaty, possessed, anti-syncopation Beefheart, not to mention Dr. Stanley J. Hoffman’s wandering theremin: Autumn’s Child/Captain Beefheart with Ry Cooder

Through the late ‘60s Cooder kept a full session plate, working with and enhancing a range of artists: The Everly Brothers, Buffy St. Marie (!), The Monkees (!!), Pat Boone (!!!) and some incredible work with the Rolling Stones. (If you want to start a musicians’ fistfight, try, “Who played that amazing slide guitar on Let It Bleed?” I say an uncredited Cooder, even if the liner notes disagree.) Let It Bleed/The Rolling Stones (with Ry?)

In 1970 Cooder’s solo career began with his eponymous album. Hard to imagine now, but this type of raw, roots-based music was nearly unheard of 40 years ago; I doubt much made it out over the airwaves, beyond the odd college station. Sleepy John Estes’ Goin’ to Brownsville blends his mandolin, electric and slide guitars (although his vocals are, to me, still an “acquired taste”): Goin’ to Brownsville

In 1971, “Into the Purple Valley” crystallizes Cooder’s love of dust-bowl America, with Woody Guthrie, Leadbelly and Joseph Spence molded into a style evocative of a Depression-era hobo camp. With Hey Porter, the Johnny Cash train-track rhythm is deconstructed, Cooder lengthening and punctuating the time signature with his stuttering mandolin: Hey Porter

Slide guitar lends itself well to distinctive, signature styles. Duane Allman’s death in late 1971 took from us one of the best at that craft. His stinging bottleneck leads on “Blind Willie” McTell’s Statesboro Blues are among the most revered among slide-guitar aficionados. Cooder showcases his own unique touch on slide with another McTell song, Married Man’s a Fool. It’s from 1974′s “Paradise and Lunch,” which reveals even more of Cooder’s vast influences – from Burt Bacharach to Arthur Blake to Bobby Womack. (Tattler, a Washington Phillips reinvention, reveals a growing maturity and confidence and was covered by Linda Ronstadt on one of her mega-mega-selling albums.) Married Man’s a Fool

Just when the A&R guys thought they had singer-songwriter Cooder pegged as an American roots guy, 1976’s “Chicken Skin Music” threw a curve. Featuring Tex-Mex with Flaco Jimenez, then slack-key Hawaiian guitar with Gabby Pahinui, it was one of many of his collaborations that spanned musical genres. (When asked for definitive Cooder recordings, I usually respond, “Oh, get about 20 or so of his albums, that should do it.”) Chloe

The first of his albums to really take my breath away, though, was simply called “Jazz.” (A year earlier, my son was born; I named him Ryland. Django seemed a bit too much.) Drawing from early twentieth-century American jazz and blues, with traditional brass and wind backing, it re-visits Tin Pan Alley and the great bands and songwriters of the era. I’ve read that Cooder found the final recording too sterile and has distanced himself from it, but I find it unique in its scope. Although “Jazz” has been long out of print, you can find audio samples and a few copies for sale here.

Not fully satisfied with sessions, solo work and touring, Cooder scored dozens of movies, establishing an especially lasting bond with director Wim Wenders. For “Paris, Texas,” Cooder presents his doctoral dissertation on Blind Willie Johnson`s Dark Was the Night theme with spare, haunting precision. It is more than mere incidental music for the movie crowd, standing on its own with a rare depth of emotion: Paris, Texas

The Magic Band experience now far behind him, Cooder joined John Hiatt, Nick Lowe and Jim Keltner to form the band Little Village in 1992, named after a Sonny Boy Williamson studio rant. What started out as Hiatt’s backing band rather than a musical collective, it boasted Lowe on bass as well as great session drummer Keltner, a long-time Cooder collaborator. Ry must have been in heaven with Keltner at the kit: his style of drumming, sounding very loose but with a laser-like precision, is similar to Cooder’s playing – relaxed… with the confidence that comes from decades of hard work:

In the early ’90s Cooder presented two more interesting “world music” collaborations. V.M. Bhatt (with Ry’s son Joachim on percussion) plays the Hindustani slide guitar on the Grammy-winner “A Meeting By The River,” from 1993. A year later, Cooder played on and produced Ali Farka Toure’s “Talking Timbuktu,” a pan-African musical excursion that floats down the rivers of Mali and up the Mississippi. (Keltner once again held court on the drums.) Those musical roots run centuries and continents deep. They also remain alive and vibrant, with the help of singular artists like Ry Cooder.

R.I.P., Ali Farka Toure… This is amazing — look no further for the roots of John Lee Hooker.