Max Baumann, CEO, The Chill Group

My wife and I just spent a week at one of these all-inclusive resorts in Mexico – the kind of place that makes you feel like an alcoholic baby in a really lush crib, constantly reaching out to grab food and blender drinks… and gently sobbing when someone doesn’t show up.

Every afternoon at around 3, some well-tanned guy with a bandana around his head would drag a beat-up PA speaker out by the pool (safety… not a big issue in Mexico) and start playing this godawful music – usually some thumping, merengue-flavored pop confection – in a desperate attempt to get the party started. That was our cue to collect our stuff and find a remote stretch of beach for the rest of the afternoon.

On the last day of our visit, we saw bandana boy at the assigned hour and, like a couple of overstuffed lab rats, launched right into our newly learned response. Then something miraculous happened. As I was reaching for my SPF 185, I heard the big, bold and unabashedly romantic sound of Dexter Gordon caressing a timeless ballad… I think it was Don’t Explain, a song usually associated with the great Billie Holliday: Don’t Explain/Dexter Gordon

It was as if we’d been suddenly transported to a far more heavenly resort, free of whining children and overserved frat boys. The Land of Dex, where everyone is hip and sharply dressed and beautiful and the music springs from the very source of life eternal. The colors around us became more vivid; the sea and sky merging in a deep, electric blue.

Then we were overcome by this great longing to stay… to lie in those lounge chairs and await The Rapture, when the Almighty Dex returns to earth and plays the three perfect notes that can save our wretched souls from an eternity in hell, where the house band is the Black Eyed Peas. Another blender drink? No thanks, I’ve had enough.

Once again, I digress. But while I’m at it… On the flight back, I started paging through Hemispheres (inflight magazine for Continental and United) and came across an article about this surfer dude who developed a specialty drink called Just Chill – “a lightly carbonated peach and citrus drink dosed with 100 milligrams of the FDA-approved tea-leaf compound L-theanine, which has been shown in clinical studies to reduce anxiety while keeping people attentive.”

I was especially impressed with the thought process behind the product. “As you travel, you see a lot of stressed-out people,” said Max Baumann, CEO of The Chill Group. “I just looked around and realized people don’t need more energy drinks or caffeine; they need something to chill them out. Stress, nervousness and anxiety do not help you, as we’ve seen with all that jitter juice and snooze booze on the market.” Amen, Brother Max. As the sign says…

Photo by James Quine

So clearly, a higher force was guiding me to this post – a cheap opportunity to share with you a few of my favorite tunes for chilling the f#&k out.

As I’ve already demonstrated, any ballad featuring the wondrous Dexter Gordon will do just fine. And Dex didn’t approach these tunes lightly. He felt it was essential to know every word of the song – not only to get the phrasing right, but also to play it with the respect it deserves. But not necessarily like someone would sing it either. For example, the opening line of Where Are You, by Harold Adamson and Jimmy McHugh: “Where are you, where have you gone without me… I thought you cared about me, where are you?” First, listen to Frank Sinatra work his magic, then Dexter. Are you starting to feel more relaxed? Where Are You? (Frank Sinatra, then Dexter)

Jazz guitarist Kenny Burrell is another guy who really lays me out. Just staring at the cover of his album “Midnight Blue” makes me mellow. And whether he’s playing a ballad or a mid-tempo blues with a Latin groove (Chitlins Con Carne), Burrell brings everything to a slow burn. Doesn’t hurt to have a couple of Blue Note all-stars in your band – Stanley Turrentine on sax and Ray Barretto on congas. This one features Burrell with just his rhythm section, covering a tune first recorded by McKinney’s Cotton Pickers back in 1930. As Burrell says in the liner notes, “It’s a ballad, but essentially it’s still the blues.” Brother James plays this song with his band The House Cats down in St. Augustine, usually at a joint on Charlotte St. called Stogies. Stop in, get a glass of port, light up a cigar, sprawl out on the couch… if you’re still wound tight, you may need professional help. Gee Baby, Ain’t I Good To You/Kenny Burrell

I’m skeptical of the term “world music,” because it’s often used to bring a little credibility to some fairly lame music. That’s not the case with “The Intercontinentals,” featuring a makeshift band of gypsies put together by guitarist Bill Frisell. The overall flavor is African, mainly inspired by Malian guitarists Ali Farka Toure and Boubacar Traore. “Intercontinentals” features another legend from Mali, percussionist Sidiki Camara. But Frisell delivers on the promise of the title by adding Brazilian guitarist, drummer and vocalist Vinicius Cantuaria and Greek oud and bouzouki virtuoso Christos Govetas – not to mention two other Yanks, violinist Jenny Scheinman and pedal steel player Greg Leisz (heard to great effect on Ray Lamontagne’s Grammy-nominated “God Willin’ & The Creek Don’t Rise”). I know, sounds like a global trainwreck… but it works beautifully: Baba Drame/The Intercontinentals with Bill Frisell

I even have a few straight-up blues albums that I slap on when I really want to chill. One of my favorites is a set of recordings featuring the great blues pianist Otis Spann, mostly joined by Robert Lockwood Jr. on guitar. These sessions from August 23, 1960, are actually compiled on two albums – “Otis Spann Is The Blues” and “Walking The Blues” – that were released on Candid, a boutique jazz label formed in New York City by writer and political activist Nat Hentoff. The sound on these recordings is amazing… It was Spann’s first outing as a solo artist, and he never sounded better. And you’d be hard-pressed to find a more sympathetic partner than Lockwood, another bona-fide blues legend. He learned guitar at the feet of Robert Johnson (who lived with Lockwood’s mother for several years), and he built his reputation with some classy fretwork on essential recordings by Little Walter and Sonny Boy Williamson II. Lockwood was a familiar fixture in Cleveland, where he lived and performed for 45 years. The Candid albums are so warm and intimate, they make you feel like you’re right there in the room with Spann and Lockwood as they make blues history on songs like this (with vocals by Lockwood): I Got Rambling On My Mind #2/Otis Spann and Robert Lockwood Jr.

Another album that makes me feel like a very relaxed and content fly on the wall is the slyly named “Introducing… Ruben Gonzalez,” which was released in 1996 when the Cuban piano master was 77 years old. Although he was “rediscovered” when guitarist Ry Cooder enlisted him to play on the Grammy-winning Buena Vista Social Club project (which also let to the sessions for “Introducing…”), Gonzalez had been playing in Cuban dance bands since the 1930s. He also was a member of Estrellas de Areito, an all-star group of musicians who created delirious Afro-Cuban jam sessions out of a few tired old island standards. Gonzalez’s solo album is a more sedate affair, but with a living, breathing presence that can’t be denied. In other words, it ain’t background music. I’m trying not to overuse the word “timeless” in this blog… but I can’t think of a better adjective to describe how Gonzalez effortlessly weaves his way through these beautiful arrangements. Tumbao/Ruben Gonzalez

Speaking of timeless, let’s close with the remarkable voice of Nina Simone. I melt almost every time I hear a great woman singer like Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughan, Billie Holliday, Dinah Washington, Dusty Springfield… but Nina Simone might have the most seductive voice of all. Deep, earthy, strong, sexy, soulful, spiritual… and incapable of sounding like anyone else. She also was a classically trained pianist who could lay down some serious jazz. Here’s a cut from her very first recording – a trio session from 1957 with Jimmy Bond on bass and Albert “Tootie” Heath on drums. It features a lazy, loping rhythm that’s specially designed to lower your blood pressure. On second thought, bring me that blender drink… My Baby Just Cares For Me/Nina Simone

What’s your favorite album for kicking back? Share it as a comment… I’m far too relaxed to question your good taste.

Fabulous video of Peggy Lee with husband Dave Barbour on guitar – the very definition of cool.

I like schtick… which doesn’t exactly explain my admiration of the Allman Brothers Band. But I’ll take a little showbiz over shoegazing any day of the week.

Given my weakness for corn, I was especially excited to come across a couple of videos showing Dan Hicks and his Hot Licks in their prime. We touched on this great band in a previous post… I’d describe their music as cowboy swing for the hippie set. And even though they played more than a few novelty tunes – O’Reilly At The Bar, Canned Music, How Can I Miss You When You Won’t Go Away? – Hicks and company are consummate musicians. In fact, guitarist John Girton, violinist Sid Page and bassist Jaime Leopold could’ve formed their own little “hot club” to play the acoustic jazz of Django Reinhardt. Let’s also give it up for the Hot Licks: Maryann Price and Naomi Eisenberg – two sweet-sounding chanteuses.

The only drawback to these videos is that they include an annoying and completely unnecessary laugh track. For that, we can blame the producers of the Flip Wilson Show, who at least had the good taste to book Hicks and his Hot Licks for the program. Maybe I should give them a little more credit… the FCC probably required laugh tracks for all prime-time comedy/variety shows back in the ‘70s. But did they really have to press the button during the musical acts?

Anyway, these clips are still a joy to watch, mainly because nobody does this stuff anymore (well, I guess there’s a certain amount of schtick appeal to a Britney Spears concert, but I’m talking about music that merits a second listen). You could argue that the modern rock equivalent is the gypsy punk band Gogol Bordello, which I caught on cable a few days ago (they were shown with other acts from Lollapalooza 2010). Virtually all of the other Lolla bands bored me to death, but at least the nutballs in GB took a tip from Mr. Hicks – when in doubt, just start dancing.

As long as we’re still mired in schtick, I can’t resist throwing in a video of The Mike Flowers Pops. During a recent vacation, I couldn’t help but notice that lounge versions of hit rock songs are the new ambient music. Maybe I’m the last person on the planet to figure this out, and I might be a little late to the party in appreciating the less-than-subtle joys of the Pops. Who cares… now I’m completely hip to their groovy vibe, as Mike might say. I had a hard time choosing between this one and a pretty awesome version of Wonderwall by Oasis. Let me light yer fire instead (thanks to April at Now This Sound for tossing this one back to us on twitter):

What the hell… It’s only bandwidth (and your time):

Put New Orleans guitarist Fird “Snooks” Eaglin, Jr. near the top of that long list of the criminally ignored.

Where do you start with this guy? Most accounts begin with the obvious, that he lost his sight before he turned two – the unintended result of an operation for glaucoma and a brain tumor. But that just started him down the same path as Ray Charles, Art Tatum, Arsenio Rodriguez, Stevie Wonder and other brilliant musical innovators to whom blindness seemed like more of an unfair advantage than a handicap. Easy for me to say, right? But someone who plays like this surely has a divine gift that’s rarely offered to the optically endowed: Kiss of Fire

Snooks was a master of the New Orleans tradition, but could play virtually anything that anyone threw at him. He was referred to as “The Human Jukebox,” and reportedly had a repertoire of more than 2,500 songs. And one of the many pleasures of the Snooks “songbook” is hearing his quirky, highly individual take on a wide range of styles – country, blues, rock, jazz, funk… even the occasional surf tune: Profidia

The Flamingoes, with Allen Toussaint at the piano

I suppose you could argue that his musical career started when he won a talent contest in 1947 at the age of 11. Before long, he was gigging with Crescent City legend Allen Toussaint as part of the Flamingoes, which competed with Art Neville’s Hawketts for the crown of best local act in the early ‘50s. He also began recording with local standouts like Sugar Boy Crawford, and you can hear Snooks’ rough and ready guitar on this Mardi Gras classic: Jock-A-Mo/Sugar Boy Crawford

Then Snooks got caught up in the folk music craze of the early ‘60s when he was “discovered” by Dr. Harry Oster, a folklorist from Louisiana State University. Oster recorded Snooks on acoustic guitar playing mostly country blues, with little accompaniment. Sort of like asking Paul Prudhomme to make a grilled cheese sandwich (although I’m sure it would taste great). But these reverently rendered standards – which ended up on the Folkways and Prestige labels – still have their little pleasures. After all, it is Snooks, who also had a wonderfully expressive voice that earned him the title “Little Ray Charles”: Bottle Up and Go

Far more rewarding are the cuts that Snooks recorded with the New Orleans-based Imperial label from 1960 to 1963, mainly because they were produced by Rock Hall of Famer Dave Bartholomew and feature many of the city’s top players, including the amazing James Booker on piano. You can find these sizzling cuts (if you’re lucky) on a 26-track collection called “The Complete Imperial Recordings.” If Snooks had ended his career with these tracks, he’d still be considered one of the city’s greatest talents. Here’s a taste: Is It True

But his best stuff was still down the road, including his legendary sessions in the early ‘70s with Professor Longhair and the Wild Magnolias – musicians who practically define all that’s good and right about New Orleans music.

The Professor Longhair recordings are referred to as “the Lost Sessions,” but we can thank the Rounder label for resurrecting a fine sampling of the smoking-hot tunes that Snooks laid down with the piano master in ’71 and ’72. They were recorded in Baton Rouge, Memphis and Woodstock, NY (somehow, Jerry Wexler of Atlantic Records and Albert Grossman, manager of The Band, got involved at some point), and capture the two giants with a rotating cast of back-up musicians, including a couple of first-rate and flamboyantly named drummers: Joseph “Zigaboo” Modeliste of the Meters and Shiba (Edwin Kimbraugh). This is the real deal – raw, unvarnished, let-it-rip New Orleans soul. I love the way Snooks cranks up his amp as he tears into this solo… give me a slice of that: Cherry Pie/Professor Longhair

And you’d be hard-pressed to find better ambassadors of New Orleans culture than the Wild Magnolias. We’re talking honest-to-god Mardi Gras social club Indians, but with a decidedly modern and funky take on that rich tradition. Basically, their first album was just a cheap excuse to put together an all-star band made up of New Orleans’ finest (sensing a theme here?). The sessions were organized in ’73 by pianist Wilson Turbinton – better known as Willie Tee, responsible for the “Carolina shag” hit Teasin’ You. Throw into that spicy roux Willie’s brother Earl on horns, a mighty rhythm section, Snooks, and the gritty, soulful voice of Big Chief “Bo” Dollis… dat’s some serious gumbo, my friends: Smoke My Peace Pipe (Smoke It Right)/The Wild Magnolias

That very well could’ve been it for Snooks’ recording career… but thankfully, Black Top Records’ label heads Nauman and Hammond Scott stepped in about a dozen years later, brought Snooks back into the studio and introduced him to poor schlubs like, well, me. At the time, I was listening to just about any blues I could get my hands on as I tried to survive the music industry’s most wretched years (Duran Duran, Wang Chung, Crock of Beagles… don’t bring that MTV shit to my doorstep). Now I’ve heard all the criticisms about the Black Top sound – slick, over-produced, occasionally uninspired… all of which, for the most part, are true. But the Scott brothers will always have a special place in my heart for rescuing Snooks and Georgia-by-way-of-Dayton, Ohio bluesman Robert Ward from complete obscurity (maybe even abject poverty). And, like the shrimp my bro’ gets in St. Augustine, it’s very difficult to screw up Snooks and Robert Ward.

I could support this theory with many examples from Snooks’ Black Top years… and I’ll get around to one before we’re through here. But I’ll also point out that Snooks didn’t exactly run away and hide from ’73 to ’85. He usually performed at the annual New Orleans Jazz Fest and held steady gigs in and around the city, either backing up other acts or doing his “human jukebox” thing, following through on a surprising number of requests from the crowd. So you could make the case that his best and nastiest stuff from the Black Top years were his live recordings. Let me enter into the record exhibit A, this blazing set opener from “Black Top Blues-A-Rama, Volume 6″ – recorded live at Tipitina’s in ’89: I Cry, Oh!

God bless the Scotts, the good folks at New Orleans Jazz Fest, and the proprietors of the Mid-City Rock ‘n’ Bowl club for giving Snooks a new lease on life that carried him all the way to his untimely demise in 2009, when he died of a heart attack at the age of 73.

How does one describe his legacy? Probably the most obvious tribute is that no one played like Snooks. He could toy with a delicate melody like Apache, and then flat-out shred. But everything he played had that indelible stamp of New Orleans soul filtered through a skewed, maybe even more than a little dirty, mind (with due respect for his late wife of 36 years, Dee).

By most accounts, he was an irascible, thorny guy who trusted virtually no one. But he sure left us with some awe-inspiring music… I’ll close with this supremely funky number from “Soul’s Edge,” which also features Snooks’ main musical foil during the Black Top years, former Meters bassist George Porter Jr.: Josephine

Snooks Eaglin at the Rock 'n' Bowl

Snooks Eaglin on video… live at the former Lone Star Roadhouse in NYC, with George Porter Jr. and Kenneth Blevins (Sonny Landreth, John Hiatt) on drums. And how do you even begin to describe what he’s doing on guitar? Most of my favorite pickers don’t use picks, but I’ve never seen someone attack a guitar quite like Snooks. It’s like someone pointed a gun to flamenco legend Carlos Montoya’s head and made him play like Hendrix.

Here he’s joined by piano man Jon Cleary on a Crescent City favorite, Red Beans. When Snooks stands up, you’d better watch out…

Bobby "Blue" Bland

Big-band blues. Urban blues. Blues that knows somebody.

Call it what you want… and blow it off at your own risk. Sure, any attempt to move Robert Johnson into a high-rent neighborhood is going to have its shortcomings. But if you root around a little bit, you’ll find some funky gems that belong in any self-respecting blues collection.

If this neighborhood had a first resident, it would be the great Texan T-Bone Walker. And his blues pedigree is inarguable. As a kid in Dallas, he’d walk the legendary bluesman Blind Lemon Jefferson from gig to gig – an important job by any measure. But he also was influenced by (and played with) the great jazz guitarist Charlie Christian. And he really hit his stride in the clubs of Los Angeles, where blues and jazz musicians were rubbing shoulders in the early ‘40s and coming up with swing-based stompers like this one (which helped set the stage for jump blues and its baby, rock ‘n roll): Hey! Ba Ba Re Bop/Lionel Hampton

T-Bone Walker

T-Bone’s greatest contribution involved marrying the sound of swing – usually emphasized by a small horn section – with his newly electrified and highly percussive attack on guitar. And there are few sounds more pleasing to my ears than the sides he recorded on the L.A.-based Black & White and Imperial labels from 1946 to 1954. Here’s a tune he recorded in ’46 at one of the first sessions for Black & White: Don’t Leave Me Baby

Few bluesmen are more identified with the uptown sound than B.B. King, an obvious disciple of T-Bone Walker (in her book “Stormy Monday: The T-Bone Walker Story,” Helen Oakley Dance quotes King as saying “Once I’d heard him for the first time, I knew I’d have to have [an electric guitar] myself. Had to have one, short of stealing!”)

Now I’m not real wild about a lot of B.B.’s latter-day recordings… I tend to gravitate toward earthier shades of blue. But some of the sides King cut for the RPM and Kent labels back in the ‘50s and ‘60s find that sweet spot between the juke joint and the night club – or, to be more accurate, between Memphis (where B.B. recorded for Sam Phillips, pre-Sun Studios) and L.A. (where this next tune was recorded in ‘66): Early Every Morning

Even more satisfying are the soul-based classics of chitlin’ circuit regulars Bobby “Blue” Bland, Little Milton and Johnnie Taylor.

Etta James

But first, I’d be remiss if I didn’t include a song by one of the great blues divas of all time, Etta James. She certainly has enough class to kill us softly with sensitive ballads like At Last and A Sunday Kind of Love, or carefully interpret any number of jazz standards (My Funny Valentine leaps to mind). But as a former heroin addict and the illegitimate daughter of Minnesota Fats, Etta is always two steps away from the blues. On this next tune (recorded live in L.A., 1986), she’s joined by another uptown cat, jump-blues legend Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson. Listen to how Etta schools the sophisticates at Marla’s Memory Lane Supper Club as she applies her rich contralto to this Great American Songbook favorite… Pass the Louis XIII, please: Baby, What You Want Me To Do?

Bland’s singles from the 50s and ‘60s for the Houston-based Duke label practically raise the uptown blues subgenre to the level of, dare I say, great art. In a weird way, they remind me of the mini-operas that honky-tonker George Jones recorded with Nashville producer Billy Sherrill in the ‘70s (here’s an example from a previous post: The Grand Tour) – tautly arranged songs filled with drama and emotion. Songs that make you feel sad, but also thankful that a three-minute ditty can elicit a response stronger than “is that a cowbell?” or “who decided to run tape on this?”

Bland’s main musical foils throughout this period were his first-rate guitar players, starting with wildman Pat Hare (who followed up on the promise of his Sun single, I’m Gonna Murder My Baby, by indeed murdering his girlfriend and eventually dying in prison) on Bland’s first hit, Farther Up the Road. Then Clarence Holliman took over, breathing some blues fire into Bland’s best singles from the ‘50s. And Oklahoman Wayne Bennett took over in the ‘60s with a more polished, jazzier touch. Here’s a signature Bobby Blue song, with a very subtle Bennett on guitar, that Greg Allman covers on his new album, “Low Country Blues”: Blind Man

Like B.B. King, Little Milton recorded for Sam Phillips and was heavily influenced by T-Bone Walker. But his best sides were released on Chicago’s esteemed Chess label. If you don’t have a good sampling of those Chess albums – “We’re Gonna Make It,” “Sings Big Blues” and “If Walls Could Talk” – RCR’s phone lines are open to take your order. Milton went on to record for Stax and Malaco, but many of those tunes tended to favor soul and even disco at the expense of Milton’s considerable blues cred (a guy who once backed Sonny Boy II should not play disco). Here’s Little Milton at his best: Ain’t No Big Deal

Maybe we should cut Milton a little slack. He signed up with Stax in ’71, a little past the label’s sell-by date. By then, its most explosive blues-based sides had already been recorded by master stringbender Albert King and silky soulman Johnnie Taylor. And those guys had the unfair advantage of being backed by the world’s greatest band – Booker T on keys, Steve Cropper on guitar, Duck Dunn on bass and Al Jackson Jr. on drums. Taylor also went on to record with the Southern soul-blues label Malaco, but I think he did his best work uptown (Memphis, that is): Little Bluebird

From the movie Wattstax, a documentary of the ’72 music festival organized by Stax Records at the Los Angeles Coliseum to recognize the 7th Anniversary of the Watts riots. Stax collapsed three years later, probably due to a lot of the conspicuous consumption seen in this clip, which features Johnnie Taylor in a small-club performance.

And just in case you thought T-Bone Walker wasn’t a real bluesman… Another great clip from the American Folk Blues Festival. Just T-Bone with Shakey Jake on vocals, 1962.

About a year ago – in one of my feeble attempts to prove I listen to living, breathing musicians – I waxed poetic about The Wood Brothers. Since then, they’ve gone from being great to scary great. Slap your mammy great. The kind of great that makes you forget all about good.

What do I base this on, you might ask? Well, there’s that unerring factor known as the “chicken skin” test, as Ry Cooder would call it. When I caught them live last week in nearby Kent, Ohio – and was treated to a first listen of their soon-to-be-released album “Smoke Ring Halo” – I had those tell-tale bumps on my arms that told me I was on to something rare in this world of reality-show divas and painfully hip dilettantes. The title song itself is almost a perfect distillation of what this band does best – rootsy, but not reverent… deeply soulful, but all about left-field hooks (like the phrase Smoke Ring Halo, for example) that suck you in right away… and far more musically accomplished than just about any other band playing in that unfortunately named “Americana” sandbox (think Avett Brothers and Mumford & Sons – good bands, but in my mind, just not on the same level as the Woods).

I think of The Wood Brothers as part of that grand American tradition of brother acts, mainly because these guys have come up with some funky harmonies that sound like back-alley tributes to the Louvins, the Everlys, the Delmores… that perfect blend of voices that seems to come naturally to blood relatives. But once again, the Woods aren’t the least bit slavish about this tradition. And again, I’ll go back to the new album’s title song, which marries an insistent groove and a churning organ (courtesy of John Medeski) with almost Beatle-esque harmonies in the chorus: Smoke Ring Halo

That was the song they opened with at the Kent show. So about five minutes into the night, I’d already experienced one of the best live performances I’ve seen in a few years. I felt like speed-dialing my 2-3 friends and family members and begging them to join us so we could start to fill up some of the theater’s empty seats, which seemed like cruel reminders that American Idol was on TV that night.

A little background… The Wood Brothers started out as a duo in 2005, with Oliver on guitar and lead vocals and Chris on bass, harmonies and the occasional harmonica. Although raised in Boulder, Colorado, the brothers eventually set off on very different musical paths, with the elder Oliver kicking around various blues bands in the Atlanta area, and Chris making a name for himself in NYC as half of the dynamic rhythm section for progressive jazz band Medeski, Martin and Wood. So although I knew nothing about Oliver before ’05, I’d been a fan of MMW’s heady jazz-funk brew for about 10 years. Here’s the song that got me hooked, from their ’95 release “Friday Afternoon in the Universe”: The Lover

During this same time, Oliver had gone from playing second guitar for Georgia stringbender Tinsley Ellis to forming sort of a blues-based equivalent of MMW with a band called King Johnson, combining two popular blues surnames and possibly a nod to someone’s, er… junk. I recently checked out some of their stuff on iTunes – sounds like they did a fine job of combining southern blues with the second-line rhythms of New Orleans. Damn good horn section, too. But their secret weapon may have been Wood, whose casually proficient blues guitar seemed perfectly suited to the slightly warped songs he was writing for the band.

It’s interesting to hear King Johnson’s take on one of these songs, Spirit, and compare it to the later version by The Wood Brothers. The former has a lot going for it – sassy horns and whorehouse drums – but the latter seems more vital without the busy arrangement. Certainly more menacing and true to the spirit (sorry) of Oliver’s lyrics. I spliced the two together on this sample… you be the judge: Spirit (King Johnson/Wood Brothers)

So on the one hand, you’ve got a first-rate songwriter and blues guitarist – not to mention a singer who can deliver this material with a healthy dose of soul. On the other, you’ve got a bona-fide jazzbo – a guy who graduated from the Boulder High jazz band and later took lessons from Miles Davis alum Dave Holland. Two guys with serious chops and that common bloodline that can make for heavenly harmonies.

Now throw into the mix a drummer who really knows how to do this stuff justice. I’m not sure when the Wood Brothers made the official move to a trio format. But prior to the new album, they tended to use drummers on an “as-needed” basis, and always to great effect. “Smoke Ring Halo” features drummer Tyler Greenwell (Derek Trucks Band) on every track, and the tour seems to make the three-piece official by substituting Greenwell with Nashville favorite Jano (pronounced “Johnno”) Rix… an excellent name for a porn star, as Oliver pointed out at the Kent show. Thankfully, Rix opted for a career in music. He has a wonderful touch, using a small vintage kit that serves as the perfect foil to Chris Wood’s 1920 acoustic German bass. And the two locked in tight during the show, especially in the opening of this tune off the new album: When I Was Young

Rix also threw in some tasty harmony vocals (including the third harmony on Smoke Ring Halo) and played a uniquely rigged instrument that the band referred to as the “shit-tar” – essentially, a stringless acoustic guitar that Rix turned into a makeshift drum kit with the help of a few well-placed mics. I’m predicting a run on shit-tars when they show up at the Guitar Center.

The trio format also gave The Wood Brothers an opportunity to retool some of their older songs – including Twisted from the album “Loaded,” which became a full-blown New Orleans stomper. But mainly, it seemed to energize Chris Wood (who literally danced with his standup bass at one point) and make the band’s live show a deeply satisfying experience.

Check here for tour dates. Then gas up the car, feed the pets, tether the kids to a pole in the basement and head out for a club near you.

Jessica Lea Mayfield

It’s barely April and, next to Smoke Ring Halo, I’ve already come up with my favorite song of the year. Even better, it was recorded by nephew Dan in West Akron, not far from the world headquarters of Rubber City Review (bastard left for Nashville, but we’re keeping him on the Christmas card list… for now). It’s by the artist formerly known as Chittlin’, aka Jessica Lea Mayfield. More important, it’s everything a pop song should be – an unexpected, sing-song-ey vocal that grabs you by the throat (in a gentle, folksy kind of way)… wonderfully original lyrics… a killer chord progression… great groove… surf guitar… and a slow build to a near-perfect bridge. Our Hearts are Wrong is from Jessica Lea’s strong new album, “Tell Me.” Buy it on your way to The Wood Brothers gig, then make sure you thank RCR profusely on the interwebs: Our Hearts Are Wrong

If you’re anywhere near Cleveland Wednesday night, go see Jessica Lea at the Beachland Ballroom.

The Wood Brothers on Video… Here’s a tune from the new album, with Greenwell on drums:

This next video is just, well, great (there’s that word again)… It’s filmed in an old Brooklyn elementary school by a group called Mason Jar Music Presents, and I’ll let them speak for themselves: “‘Mason Jar Music Presents’ is a video concert series inspired by the peacefulness and tranquility of the old buildings that continue to dot New York City’s 21st-century landscape. These productions provide a setting and space for fresh, unique music with compelling arrangements that breathe new life into each song. Each episode is dreamed up and brought to life wholly by the Mason Jar Music team. Songs are carefully selected from the artist’s repertoire and re-imagined with arrangements for strings, woodwinds and other assorted orchestral colors. Mason Jar Music is a collective of music makers trained in production, arranging, composition and recording. They all live and work together in a residential studio in Brooklyn, NY. In addition to producing, recording and/or mixing records for a variety of artists, Mason Jar Music specializes in film scores, original music for film and television, concert videos, and other audio/visual productions.” (MasonJarMusic.com) And you get a quick glimpse of Jano playing the shit-tar too.

And here’s a nice reworking of the Allman Brothers classic, Midnight Rider: