Alright, I lied… just a few more words. Special thanks to nephew Dan and our good friend Rick Saunders for turning me on to Omara “Bombino” Moctar (sorry I missed a few of your posts, Rick… won’t let that happen again!). Deep Saharan blues with lots of swagger. Bombino brings to mind the great Malian guitarist Ali Farka Toure, but he’s jackin’ a Strat through a Marshall amp. In other words, he’s young and fearless and making me forget all about that Knopfler guy (another influence; Hendrix and Hooker are in there too). You’ll be hearing a lot more about Bombino down the road. In the meantime, check Deep Blues or Afropop Worldwide for bits and pieces of his remarkable backstory. Here’s a slice from Afropop:

“Agadez is a town in the north of Niger. When the off-and-on Tuareg rebellion in that region of North Africa surged again in 2007, the town became a conflict zone. The young guitarist/singer/songwriter Bombino had his first band up and running at the time, but when two members were killed, he fled to Burkina Faso. These experiences – rebellious guitar music, sudden outbursts of violence, flight, nomadism and separation from home and loved ones – are all part and parcel of the Tuareg rock experience.”

You also can go here to order “Agadez, the Music and the Rebellion,” a documentary about the Tuareg culture of the Sahara Desert (I believe the first and third videos are from the film). You’re welcome.

Some of Mullican’s recordings from the ‘40s and ‘50s sound like Bob Wills with a bad attitude. Others rank among the best rockers of the era, especially this tune from ’56 that was covered nearly 30 years later by Moon admirer Nick Lowe on his album “The Rose of England” (here Mullican is backed by the red-hot Boyd Bennett & His Rockets): Seven Nights to Rock

He also had a flair for country ballads and Cajun-flavored stomps like Jole Blon and Jambalaya, a tune Mullican co-wrote with another famous protégé, Hank Williams, to get around a contractual arrangement with Cincinnati-based King Records. Virtually all his recordings qualify as essential American music – a potent brew of country, blues, western swing, Cajun, rock, pop… and maybe a few other strains related to his Scottish-Irish heritage.

He’s on that long list of notable blues-based musicians from the great state of Texas (although he seemed to have a greater affinity for neighboring Louisiana, where he toured and recorded with eventual governor Jimmie “You Are My Sunshine” Davis). Born Aubrey Mullican in 1909, he grew up on the family farm in Corrigan, some 90 miles north of Houston. That’s where he first was exposed to the blues and, more specifically, a black sharecropper named Joe Jones, who showed him a few tricks on guitar and probably laid a few songs on him too. Aubrey’s father – a devout, church-going man – didn’t share his son’s appreciation for the devil’s music. But dad had the good sense to bring an old pump organ into the house, which his son used to play ill-gotten tunes that you can’t find in the Sunday hymnal. (When later asked why he played the piano, Moon replied: “Because the beer kept sliding off my fiddle.”)

With a big, booming voice and promising musical chops, Aubrey left for Houston at the age of 16 and began sitting in with western swing bands that borrowed heavily from the Texas roadhouse blues and jazz tradition. By the end of the ‘30s, he had built a fearsome reputation as a one-man wrecking crew on piano – not to mention his taste for booze, which probably earned him the moniker (short for “moonshine”?) that stuck with him throughout his adult life.

One of Moon’s many employers during the decade, western swinger Cliff Bruner, soon recognized his piano player’s distinctive voice and tagged Moon to sing lead on Truck Driver’s Blues – a ’39 hit that paved the way for one of my favorite sub-genres of country and honky tonk: Truck Driver’s Blues Within a few years Moon was fronting his own band, the Showboys, and honing a more hard-driving sound that would inspire a small army of rockers in the Fifties and beyond.

This brings us to the golden age of Moon – the dozen years (starting in ’46) that he recorded for Cincinnati-based King Records. Much like Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson, Roy Brown, Wynonie Harris and other post-war R&B stars, Moon could rock every bit as hard as Elvis did at Sun Studios in the mid-50s. The only difference being that an older, pudgier and far-less-sexy Mullican never received the recognition he deserved. Here’s aural evidence that Moon belongs in the pantheon of early rockers: I Done It

As we discussed back in this post, King proprietor Syd Nathan had a great ear for the kind of music hard-working folks from the south wanted to hear when they landed up north in big-city factories. Many of them were partial to blues (particularly jump-blues) and hard-core honky tonk. So Mullican definitely fit the bill on both fronts.

Nathan also had a knack for cross-pollinization. Even though he largely segregated his artists by creating “race” labels like Queen, Federal and De Luxe for his black R&B stars, he would get the most out of his publishing catalog by having someone like Harris, for example, cover a song by King honky-tonker Hank Penny (Bloodshot Eyes). And it worked both ways… One of my favorite cuts by Mullican is this hard-charging remake of a song originally recorded by R&B legend Tiny Bradshaw. For my money, Moon’s version packs more of a punch (with the help of blazing solos by Speedy West & Jimmy Bryant): Well Oh Well

Moon scored a few hits for King, including Jole Blon, Sweeter than the Flowers, and the culturally insensitive Cherokee Boogie (later covered by Asleep at the Wheel and BR5-49). He also developed a larger audience as a member of Nashville’s Grand Old Opry, playing on the program’s nationally syndicated radio broadcasts.

(From left) Iowa DJ/country artist Smokey Smith, Lefty Frizell and Moon

But the glory years didn’t last long. For reasons I alluded to earlier, Moon’s modest star was eclipsed in the ‘50s by the first wave of young, brooding rockers like Elvis, Gene Vincent and Eddie Cochran. Few of them credited Moon, but Jerry Lee remained a loyal supporter, even covering one of Mullican’s signature songs, I’ll Sail My Ship Alone (a number one country hit for Moon back in ’50): I’ll Sail My Ship Alone/Jerry Lee Lewis

After he left King, Mullican recorded some sessions in ’58 and ’59 for Coral Records (released on the long-lost “Moon Over Mullican” album). Although he gamely tackled some of his old rockers like Pipeliner Blues, the sessions were marred by the unfortunate presence of the Anita Kerr Singers. As Phil Davies notes in his Rockabilly Hall of Fame profile of Mullican, “it’s a pity Moon didn’t take them back to a sweaty beer joint in Beaumont… they’d have run a mile.”

Mullican showed up on the charts one last time with a lively remake of his original Ragged But Right, but an onstage heart attack in ’62 slowed him down considerably. Overweight (and often overserved at the bar), Mullican suffered a major coronary on December 31, 1966, and died the next day. Two years later, Kapp Records released an album of sessions produced in the early ‘60s by Cowboy Jack Clement. “The Moon Mullican Showcase” quickly disappeared into obscurity, as did most of Moon’s recordings.

In his book “Country Music, U.S.A.,” music writer Bill C. Malone describes Mullican’s legacy as the guy who brought “a new style of playing to country music, the barrelhouse style pioneered by itinerant black juke joint musicians… Mullican featured a melodic-based, boogie style of playing which was designed, in his own words, ‘to make the bottles bounce on the tables.’ Mullican’s piano playing, combined with his zestful singing, made him one of the most colorful personalities of southwestern country music.”

You can find Mullican’s grave at Magnolia Cemetery in Beaumont, Texas. His epitaph? I’ll Sail My Ship Alone

Moon on video… Here he barrels his way through a quick medley – Pipeliner Blues and St. Louis Blues:

And here’s a spirited rendition of Rock and Roll Mr. Bullfrog (with a little schtick he probably stole from Al Jolson):

I’m a blues hound… won’t deny it. Love the form’s many sub-genres and permutations. Hate most attempts to slap a little rouge on its cheeks and make it more presentable to the masses. You can have your Jonny Langs and Keb Mos. Give me John Lee Hooker, alone with his guitar – and please find a way to remove all those special guest artists from his final recordings.

On more than one occasion, I’ve run into a distinguished-looking gentleman wearing one of those painfully casual outfits who claims to love blues too. But he’ll offer this information in a very solemn and private way, like he’s confessing he has a family of illegal aliens living in his basement.

Fact is, he’s told me nothing… Did he just see B.B. King at the outdoor amphitheater while getting hammered on cosmos with Buffy, Bif and Lillian? Or does he like to drink bottom-shelf liquor by himself and listen to the stream-of-consciousness blues that Robert Pete Williams recorded in Angola Prison? Doesn’t make much difference to me what he likes… I just think that extra bit of information would be helpful before we continue the conversation.

As Duke Ellington pointed out, “There’s two kinds of music: good and bad.” So it goes with blues – there’s a lot to like and almost as much to avoid. And I try to judge all comers on their own merits. I don’t knock Robert Cray for trying to sound like the second coming of Stax-Volt. Some of his best stuff comes close enough. But don’t bring me any of Clapton’s last 20 or so releases, and if you buy me Buddy Guy’s latest for my birthday, save the gift receipt.

The real reason I stick with the form is the universe of expression within it. You’ve got your city blues and country blues… hard-driving Chicago blues and laid-back Piedmont blues… full horn sections and one guy with a mic… fife and drum bands from the Mississippi hill country… flame-throwing guitar slingers from Texas… piano pounders from New Orleans and Kansas City… shouters… crooners… howlin’ at the mooners… maybe there’s a blues song in there somewhere?

Which brings us in a very roundabout way to one of my favorite sub-genres, swamp blues. Before I came across this mutant form, I thought I had a pretty good understanding of blues. I had faithfully purchased and analyzed the Muddy Waters and Robert Johnson box sets, viewed the “Live at Newport” videos, read the books, even learned a few of the songs myself… Then Slim Harpo came along, openly mocking my earnest attempts to become a blues scholar.

At this point, it’s probably useful to ask, what is swamp blues? First, it’s a form of Louisiana music that should not be confused with the state’s other vital and distinct contributions to American music – including Dixieland, New Orleans R&B, Cajun and Zydeco. Second, it’s largely the product of a small studio in Crowley, Louisiana, where one J.D. “Jay” Miller created regional hits for the Excello label, run by Ernie Young in Nashville. In other words, another one of those haphazard cultural collisions that makes Southern roots music so damn good.

Swamp blues is what you’d expect when a self-taught producer reinvents the dominant Chicago sound in a small Louisiana town – lazy, loping rhythms, casually soulful singing, and a do-it-yourself approach to recording technology (or lack thereof). Check out this cardboard-box rhythm on a tune by Lightnin’ Slim: Mean Old Lonesome Train/Lightnin’ Slim

Many artists made the pilgrimage to Louisiana rice country to record at Miller’s Crowley studio, including a small army of curiously named bluesmen like Mr. Calhoun, Shy Guy Douglas, Whispering Smith, Guitar Gable and Boogie Jake. Miller also launched the careers of several outstanding blues women – most notably the great piano player Katie Webster, who did session work on legendary swamp blues and pop recordings like Phil Phillips’ 1959 hit, “Sea of Love.” Here’s Katie with her own take on the hit… Sea of Love/Katie Webster

Crowley today: "Where Life is Rice and Easy!"

Let me get right to the point, by sharing with you a short list of my favorite swamp blues recordings (samples at the end for your listening pleasure):

Slim Harpo: I Got Love If You Want It. This tune seems to encompass everything that’s right and wonderful about swamp blues. I’m not sure how to describe the rhythm – it’s like the second-grade teacher gave the kids a few shakers and sticks and asked them to play a mambo. Then there’s the harp, which ain’t Little Walter but makes one hell of a statement at the opening. The acoustic-sounding guitar serves only one purpose – to move the song from I to IV to V. And Harpo’s voice brings it all together with his usual, laconic delivery. A blues masterpiece.

Lightnin’ Slim: It’s Mighty Crazy. John Hammond Jr. did a great version of this song back in ’75, but the original can’t be beat. Miller’s Cajun background must’ve led him to suggest the rub-board rhythm. Lazy Lester gives the tune its signature riff. And Slim’s gritty voice adds just enough menace to make you wonder just what he’s rubbin’ on. I think we all know it’s something other than a good scrub in the bathtub.

Lonesome Sundown: My Home is a Prison. Apparently, Miller liked the opening guitar riff to this song – it shows up on several other cuts by Lonesome Sundown (aka Cornelius Green). Sundown played guitar for Zydeco legend Clifton Chenier before joining Miller’s stable of artists in 1956. Released the following year, this tune is about as blue as blue can get… “It’s true I shot my baby, but it’s because she did me wrong. The only thing I got is this lonesome jail I call home.” Maybe Sundown was haunted by the dark muse behind this song… He eventually became a minister in the ecumenically named Lord Jesus Christ of the Apostolic Faith Fellowship Throughout the World Church.

Lazy Lester: I Hear You Knockin’. Not to be confused with the New Orleans nugget by Smiley Lewis that adds the line “but you can’t come in.” This is one of those blues songs with near-universal appeal, easily making the transition to rock and honky tonk (check out Dwight Yoakam’s version from “Buenas Noches from a Lonely Room”). Sounds like the rhythm section consists of that same cardboard box they used on Mean Old Lonesome Train. Legend has it that Lester met Lightnin’ Slim on a bus and talked his way into a recording session at the Crowley studio. We can all be thankful for that conversation.

“Rockin” Tabby Thomas: Hoodoo Party. The New Orleans influence is especially strong on this cut by Tabby Thomas, father of contemporary blues artist Chris Thomas King and former owner of Tabby’s Blues Box and Heritage Hall in Baton Rouge, LA. Great rhythm and horn part, and Tabby’s fine voice is practically swimming in Miller’s patented reverb. Louisiana blues doesn’t get any better than this – a testament to Miller’s genius in the studio.

Jerry “Boogie” McCain: She’s Tough. Jerry’s girl is so hot, she walks through campus and “professor lose his mind.” But she can’t hold a match to McCain’s blazing harp, which sounds like it could burn the whole place to the ground. McCain obviously inspired the Fabulous Thunderbirds, who included this song on their 1979 debut. And the pride of Gadsden, Alabama, is still playing the blues today. You can check him out at the city’s annual Jerry McCain Broad Street Blues Bash (now that’s how you honor a blues legend!). I Got Love If You Want It It’s Mighty Crazy My Home Is A Prison I Hear You Knockin’ Hoodoo Party She’s Tough

I should’ve included this in the first post… great clip of The Rolling Stones playing Slim Harpo’s Shake Your Hips (but without Mick on harp). Filmed live inside the Rialto Theater in Montreux, Switzerland – May 21, 1972, right after the release of the Stones’ classic “Exile on Main St.”:

“A lot of people think the blues is depressing, but that’s not the blues I’m singing. When I’m singing blues, I’m singing life. People that can’t stand to listen to the blues, they’ve got to be phonies.” RIP, Etta James (check here for a great blues cut by Etta).

The Storey Sisters in Cleveland, April 1958 (Photos by Tommy Edwards)

(Listen to Eddie Cochran while you read.)

Start with a good mystery. Then throw in some intimate and revealing images from the early years of rock ‘n roll. Therein lies the beauty of “1950s Radio in Color: The Lost Photographs of Cleveland Deejay Tommy Edwards” – a spellbinding book by songwriter, musician and music historian Christopher Kennedy, as well as a new exhibit at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum that runs through the summer.

The story behind these photographs combines a little intrigue with a lot of luck. Eight years ago, Kennedy began searching for one of the Holy Grails of rock – a movie short called “The Pied Piper of Cleveland” that includes early (pre-fame) footage of Elvis Presley taken during his first tour outside of the south. The movie was produced by Cleveland DJ Bill Randle as a way to document his own role in promoting rock ‘n roll.

Randle was an intense rival of fellow DJ Edwards, another noteworthy figure in the Cleveland music scene (both Randle and Edwards plied their trade at WERE-AM). But Randle had the good sense to put competitive jealousies aside and feature Edwards in the film as the first DJ in Cleveland to recognize Presley’s unique talents.

As Kennedy dug deeper into the history of the film (which remains missing), he became more interested in Edwards’ reputation as a devoted chronicler of all things rock ‘n roll. First of all, Edwards’ vivid photos – compiled in Kennedy’s book along with the author’s wry commentary – provide an inside look at some of the early stars of rock, country, hillbilly and pop as they made their career-building pilgrimages to WERE and Cleveland-area nightclubs. Second, he created a weekly, two-page newsletter that provides historical context to these images and the music business in general during the mid- to late-‘50s. Here’s a taste from the “T.E. Newsletter” (dated Sept. 2, 1955):

“Eileen Rodgers opens at the Alpine Village here on the 5th —– Johnny Van does the Cabin Club here this weekend to be followed by Laurie Anders —– Nat Cole’s next is FORGIVE MY HEART —– Gene Davis now working in Dayton — formerly here in Cleveland and Akron —- My new hobby is taking pictures of all stars who come in to visit on the show —– R & B TUNES TO WATCH: I’M SO GLAD, Mickey & Sylvia; IT’S OBDACIOUS, Buddy Johnson; IT’S YOU, YOU, YOU, The Charms.”

In the preface to his book, Kennedy describes some of the side trips that led him to the photos and the only surviving copy of every issue of the “T.E. Newsletter” – now safely housed in the Rock Hall’s Library and Archives. He befriended Edwards’ nephew, Keith Winters, who helped him locate the slides; and a separate detour led him to the newsletters, which Randle gave to Cleveland journalist David Barnett as a gift (bear with me… these artifacts made their way through a whole cast of characters).

Winters initially notified Kennedy about five Ektachrome slides he received from his father, Edwards’ half-brother Gerald Winters. These included an iconic shot that seems to capture a passing of the torch from an elder Bill Haley to Elvis, whose career was on the rise as Haley’s tailed off. Kennedy assumed the five slides were the only ones that survived, but then he found the motherlode.

“My discovery of Tommy Edwards’ small cache of photos was a nice coup for a novice rock ‘n’ roll detective but it was nothing compared to what was to come,” Kennedy writes. “Within a few weeks of our first communications, I receive an excited, late-night call from Keith, who asked if I’m sitting down. While looking for Christmas decorations, he found treasure stashed away under a basement workbench: several dusty cardboard boxes with the family name ‘Mull’ (Edwards was born Thomas Edward Mull) handwritten on the sides, containing 1,790 more slides. Gerald Winters had, in fact, inherited all of his deceased half-brother’s photographs. Sometime around 1988, Gerald gave the slide collection to his son… Keith simply had forgotten about them.”

As the book and exhibit reveal, the Edwards collection is an embarrassment of riches. I wouldn’t call Edwards a master photographer, but he definitely had a knack for capturing images that were strikingly honest and unvarnished. He also found a perfect use for his images, featuring them in slide shows at the many record hops he’d host throughout the area. Did Edwards create the first multi-media rock show?

Chuck Berry at Gleason's Musical Bar, August 1955

The above photo of a 28-year-old Chuck Berry seems like it was shot in the basement of one of those ethnic social clubs you can find throughout Cleveland. It actually was taken at Gleason’s Musical Bar, a popular club on Cleveland’s east side (E. 55th and Woodland) from 1942 to 1962. Virtually every major blues and jazz act you can think of from the era came through Gleason’s – James Brown, Bo Diddley, B.B. King, Ella Fitzgerald, Charlie Parker, Nat King Cole… This photo shows Berry with local sax star Sammy Dee, founder and leader of the house band for the show Bandstand (before it became American Bandstand).

In 1958, Johnny Cash came through town long enough to plop himself down on the couch at WERE studios to visit with Edwards. “Less than comfortable must be Sun Records owner Sam Phillips, walking the floor back in Memphis, justifiably paranoid about the clandestine deal Cash has struck with Columbia Records to leave Sun as soon as contractually possible,” Kennedy notes in his book.

That same year, rocker Eddie Cochran stopped by Cleveland to promote his new single Jeanie, Jeanie, Jeanie. More from Kennedy: “A rock ‘n’ roll star with smoldering sex appeal; an innovative guitarist, songwriter, and music producer; international touring act and budding movie star – the kid’s got it all. Except time.” Two years later, Cochran died in England when he was thrown from a taxi in a high-speed crash. Rockabilly star Gene Vincent (another subject of Edwards’ camera) survived the accident with minor injuries, but his glory days were mostly behind him.

Eddie Cochran, January 1958

Edwards eventually became the proprietor of Record Heaven in Cleveland’s Brooklyn neighborhood before passing away in 1981. Kennedy continues to search for Bill Randle’s long-lost treasure, “The Pied Piper of Cleveland.” I’ll definitely pay more attention at local garage sales, but the smart money’s on the guy who already delivered the goods with the lost photographs of Tommy Edwards.

Thirty-two images from Edwards’ collection are now showing in the Baker Gallery of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum’s Main Exhibit Hall. Check the Museum’s website for more information.

So who, you might ask, are The Storey Sisters? Hailing from Philadelphia, sisters Ann and Lillian helped pioneer the “girl group” sound that paid off in the Sixties for acts like The Shirelles, The Shangri-Las and The Ronettes. This smokin’ little number from 1957 features NYC session guitarist Wild Jimmy Spruill, who had the distinction of appearing on two #1 hits in May ’59: The Happy Organ by Dave “Baby” Cortez and Kansas City by Wilbert Harrison.

First and foremost, it changed my life – starting with the moment I first heard Jimi Hendrix coming from the tiny speakers of my transistor radio (a mind-blowing event that I covered here). There was no denying the power of the opening riff to Purple Haze. Just two notes, like a siren’s blare. And rock ‘n roll would never be the same. Purple Haze

I eventually got a Heathkit POS (piece of shit) stereo and kept it tuned to WMMS in Cleveland, where DJs like Billy Bass (“the classical gas, the man with the special stash”) turned me on to Cream, Jefferson Airplane, Santana, The Doors and other heavy bands from the late-‘60s. But eventually psych rock lost its appeal… and the best way to explain this is by looking at the changes that took place at roughly the same time in the Catholic Church.

You see, the Latin Mass I remember as a child was all about mysterious ritual (brightly colored vestments, odd choreography, ornate dinnerware), exotic sounds (Latin, Gregorian chanting), intoxicating fragrances (incense) and a solemn act of communion (Communion). Then, almost overnight, most of those grand mysteries were replaced with shiny happy teenagers singing crappy folk songs. At that point I knew exactly what was going on – the church was pandering to me, and I wasn’t buying it.

Essentially the same thing happened with psych rock: mysterious ritual (Morrison the Lizard King, Hendrix the Fire God, Janis the Whiskey-Swilling Earth Mother), exotic sounds (said opening to Purple Haze), intoxicating fragrances (weed) and a solemn act of communion (smoking of weed)… All of it was eventually co-opted by ad campaigns straight from Madison Avenue and lame-ass TV shows like The Partridge Family and Laugh-In. I wasn’t buying that crap either. But the music lives on, along with a few choice videos from the era.

I love the fact that early purveyors of psych rock, like Roky Erickson and the Austin-based 13^th Floor Elevators, somehow snuck past Dick Clark’s Vanil-O-Meter and made their way onto American Bandstand. Here’s a great clip of the Elevators attempting to lip synch their way through You’re Gonna Miss Me… Apparently they were just a couple tabs of acid from a perfect take.

Here’s another clip from Cleveland’s entry into the Bandstand sweepstakes, Upbeat. This segment from ’68 features The Yardbirds with Jimmy Page, notable for the fact that Page is faking Jeff Beck’s recorded solo. It’s another one of those trippy collages that cropped up way too often during the Sixties (although singer Keith Relf looks very groovy during the guitar solo).

It’s hard to find a better artifact from the era than Jefferson Airplane’s 1967 appearance on The Smothers Brothers Show, where they performed White Rabbit and Somebody to Love. First of all, White Rabbit remains one of the best examples of psychedelic rock – a wonderful stew of thinly veiled drug references, moody minor chords over a quasi-bolero beat, Jorma Kaukonen’s snaky guitar, and that amazing voice (to me, Grace Slick will forever be 28 years old). Second, the Smothers Brothers were a surprisingly subversive force on Sixties TV as they continually battled with CBS network censors over skits that took on, among other issues, racism and the Vietnam War. But their main stock in trade, of course, was being silly – in a mildly anarchic way. Those of you of a certain age will recognize Dick Smothers’ comment about “smoking a banana,” which at the time was rumored to give you a cheap high (never tried it, so I can’t confirm). And the visuals on these clips are vintage Sixties… There must be something inherently disorienting about tiny people floating in an oil lamp.

I’d be remiss if we didn’t include the godfathers of psych rock, the Grateful Dead. And this lengthy clip from Playboy After Dark (1969) is mind-blowing in several respects. Let’s start with the segment up front, as Hef and a few other well-scrubbed dandies (or “beautiful people,” as someone hissed in a youtube comment) “rap” with Jerry Garcia. I love Garcia’s description of the two-drum attack: “It’s like the serpent that eats its own tail, and they go around and around like that, and if you can stand in between them… they make figure eights on their sides in your head.” I think Hef’s intended response was “eh, that’s great, Jerry… let me go fetch another martini.” But mainly, this encounter reflects the whole co-opting process I mentioned earlier. I’m not suggesting that the Dead sold out by showing up at the Playboy Mansion. Hey, it was a simple business decision – and probably a good one, which is why the band stuck around for another 25 years.

You might want to pass on the first number, Mountains of the Moon… pretty dreadful. Pick it up at around 7:10 as the Dead launch into one of their signature freak-outs, St. Stephen. One more sidebar: You’ll notice the relative lack of dancers – unavoidable in most “After Dark” videos (although the St. Stephen clip includes the ghostly image of an unrecognizable soul man gyrating throughout). That’s because you’d probably need a tab or two to dance along to the song’s constantly shifting time signatures.

Of course, psych rock never really went away. But it sure seemed a lot less relevant to pimply faced teenagers in the Seventies (like me) who spent way too much time dazed and confused, listening to good old-fashioned crotch-rock from the Midwest and across the pond. Bands like Grand Funk Railroad, The James Gang, Free, Humble Pie, Savoy Brown, Foghat… riff-heavy bands that rarely strayed from the pocket and left the noodling to the experts, like Sonny Rollins. Mark, Don and Mel (need I say more?) first showed up at the Playboy Mansion right after the Dead, in ’69. But they seemed to come from an entirely different time and place. Note the return of the After Dark Dancers, looking fairly ridiculous on the stairs.

Let’s say I did psychedelic drugs… I doubt the trippy videos from the Sixties would raise my consciousness. But this one would earn me a trip to see Nurse Ratched.

As Austen points out, the most remarkable thing about the video is the last 55 seconds as Bo became “intimately engaged with his guitar – a guitar with a distorted, damaged tone that sang like a human being in a voice simultaneously joyous and mournful. Diddley was rock ‘n roll’s first guitar hero.” Far more viewers watched Elvis the following year on the same show, but the King’s mild renditions of Don’t Be Cruel and Love Me Tender couldn’t match the power of Bo and band in ’55.

By the end of the decade, Dick Clark had built a financial empire around a show that served as the prototype for virtually every music-related program that followed: American Bandstand. Clark is often blamed for polluting the airwaves in the late ’50s and early ’60s with the sappy sounds of teen idols like Fabian and Frankie Avalon – a trend that benefited his Philadelphia-based business interests and cronies. But Austen notes that Bandstand gave birth to a whole slew of worthy imitators, including shows like Shindig, Hullabaloo and, starting in ’71, Soul Train. And let’s hand it to the ageless one for featuring a long list of garage bands on Bandstand and its eventual spin-off, Where the Action Is, which featured bands lip-synching at various outdoor locations (mostly beach-related). Here Music Machine mimes their hit Talk Talk at what appears to be a zoo:

Speaking of lip synching, Austen is fairly forgiving of this hoary showbiz tradition. Given the technical limitations of most Sixties’ TV studios (and outdoor locations), it was difficult to accommodate multiple bands and their equipment in one session. “If no one had lip synched there would have been no guests on those shows,” Austen points out. Many of these mimed performances serve as historical documents of artists ranging from Chuck Berry to the Rolling Stones. Austen also notes that some of the better artists – like James Brown and, later, Michael Jackson – turned lip synching into an art form. He singles out Brown’s dazzling footwork during a solo take on Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag (seen here) – a mic-less performance on Shindig that enabled the show’s producers to “create a powerful, original visual statement instead of focusing on being ethnographic rockumentarians capturing a ‘real’ live performance.”

Even some of the band-less moments have their unique pleasures… Those of you who have a taste for the truly bizarre will enjoy this Bandstand clip from 1966 as Don Van Vliet (aka Captain Beefheart) calls in to answer some questions and introduce his cover of the Willie Dixon tune Diddy Wah Diddy (“Who thought of the name of the group?” “I thought of the Captain Beefheart and the rest of the group thought of The Magic Band”).

American Bandstand also should be credited for spawning countless regional music shows, like The !!!! Beat (filmed in Nashville, broadcast in Dallas, and featured in our recent post on Gatemouth Brown), The Buddy Deane Show in Baltimore (inspiration for John Waters’ movie and Broadway musical Hairspray), and Upbeat in Cleveland. Austen describes Cleveland as “one of the great TV rock towns,” with Upbeat serving as a first-rate example of regional rock ‘n soul programming. I remember being captivated by the show as a kid and even admiring Upbeat’s slick and cheery host, Don Webster. And if there’s better footage from the show than this live performance of Otis Redding and band tearing through Can’t Turn You Loose, you need to send it my way. (Historical footnote: Redding’s ’67 appearance on Upbeat occurred the day before the plane crash that took his life.)

Given its many studios and vibrant music scene, LA gave rise to the most Bandstand-like programs in the country – Shivaree, Shebang and Groovy, to name a few. Here’s sort of a hybrid performance from Shivaree, with The Byrds singing live over a prerecorded backing track. This segment was hosted by Frankie Avalon and broadcast on May 8, 1965, only three days after the band’s TV debut. Interesting tidbit from “mcd220″ for you Byrdmaniacs out there: ‘If you listen carefully, you can hear Gene Clark’s baritone vocal part in the second chorus during ‘In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come following you.’ This part was NOT on the record; reason being is that Gene’s vocals were on the same track as Leon Russell’s electric piano, which was taken out of the mix.”

If you’ve got about eight minutes, you’ll want to check out this treasure trove of soul music from Shindig – great footage (both live and otherwise) of James Brown, Tina Turner and Booker T and the MGs:

Next up: The agony/ecstasy of psychedelic rock on TV.

I tend to be a little more realistic. It’s hard enough dealing with the day-to-day challenges of making ends meet with a dwindling paycheck. Why complicate matters by trying to reinvent yourself? The craziest thing I’ve done in recent years is start this blog (which I view as the cornerstone of RCR’s burgeoning virtual empire… and my wife sees as “the thing that keeps you from fixing this goddam sink”). That slight reinvention should do me for the entire decade – or at least until End of Days (see #10).

This year, I prefer to simply express my gratitude for all the things that somehow went well in 2011. Let’s face it, plenty of things sure as shit went south. We lost Hubert Sumlin, Howard Tate, Dobie Gray, Amy Winehouse, Cesaria Evora, Manuel Galban, Doyle Bramhall, Gil Scott-Heron, Bert Jansch, Willie “Big Eyes” Smith, Clarence Clemons, Cornell Dupree, Pinetop Perkins, Melvin Sparks, Big Jack Johnson, Eddie Kirkland… and, in a way, Etta James, who’s in the final stages of leukemia and also suffers from dementia. Also, Fear Factor came back on the air – an event that surely was documented in Revelations. And Rick Perry’s still in the hunt. But let’s set aside those tragedies for now and focus instead on some positives from a year that needed every one of them.

1. 10 Years of Daptone Records. It’s reassuring to know that soul music – made the way god and James Brown intended – is alive and well in Brooklyn. But that’s just part of the story at Daptone. Do yourself a favor and pick up one of the label’s outstanding samplers. You’ll find everything from Afro-beat (Antibalas) to a capella gospel (“Como Now: The Voices of Panola Co., Mississippi”). Simply put, Daptone is an American treasure. Here’s to many more decades of fine, funky soul… and a whole lot more. Let’s celebrate the first 10 years with the queen of Daptone soul, Sharon Jones: Be Easy/Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings
2. More Live Music on TV. Maybe I’m deluded, but it seems like I’m coming across more first-rate music programming on cable (not on the main broadcast networks, unless you count your favorite band’s performance on SNL, Letterman or Jimmy Fallon – and even then, you have to wade through a lot of crap to get there). In the course of a few days, I watched two great shows on Palladia – one featuring Radiohead (The King of Limbs: Live from the Basement) and a rebroadcast of My Morning Jacket on VH1 Storytellers. And although it only includes a few live performances, Talihina Sky: The Story of Kings of Leon was easily one of the most powerful and captivating rock docs I’ve ever seen (video below). Keep ‘em coming, cable gods!
3. The Return of Gillian Welch. It took Welch eight years to deliver a follow-up to her previous album, “Soul Journey.” But “The Harrow & The Harvest” was well worth the wait. Tunes like Scarlet Town and The Way It Goes capture Welch and her longtime musical partner David Rawlings at the top of their game – combining heavenly harmonies with Rawlings’ predictably stunning fretwork. I had the great pleasure of seeing the duo on tour in support of the new album… noticed a lot of local pickers watching Rawlings’ every move. But my favorite moment found him on banjo and harmonica as Welch hamboned and clogged her way through Six White Horses (video below). It seemed like a pure expression of joy, without pretense or artifice. In other words, many galaxies away from modern country.
4. The Black Keys Bust Loose. They started the year on a roll, and now they’ve conquered the world with their new album “El Camino.” As Brian van der Brug of the LA Times put it, “After something like 30-odd years of listeners’ declaring that rock had run out of steam, there’s something wonderfully weird about a drums-and-guitar duo riding swaggering blues-rock to the top, and it sounds even better.” Basically, it’s what happens when two unassuming and non-ironic dudes from Akron reinvent blues, soul, garage rock and a few other vital strains of American music, tour relentlessly, and spend countless hours honing their craft. I know, pouring Crystal over strippers sounds a lot more glamorous, but for these guys, it would just get in the way of the work. Money Maker/The Black Keys
5. Music Streaming Services Become More Competitive. And by competitive, I mean “free.” Actually, I’m not sure if this is a positive or a negative. Earlier this year, RCR teamed up with the MOG Music Network, which gave me access to their massive digital library. It’s pretty cool, but in some ways overwhelming. If you have 16 million+ songs at your fingertips, where exactly do you start? Playlists and Pandora-like streaming helps, but I get a little cranky when a song by Steve Earle is followed by American Pie or some other dreck. Fact is, they should just pay me to program their service (then they’d really be out of business!).
6. The Miami Heat Tanks. I know, I shouldn’t take pleasure in another team’s demise. But they sort of asked for it, didn’t they? I don’t even consider myself a LeBron hater. After all, he keeps coming back to our fair city to dole out money to various charities and play some hoops with his buddies. But it would’ve really pissed me off if the billion-dollar trio had realized their goal in Year One. The King will eventually get his Ring, but let him wait a few more years… builds character.
7. I Finally Visit Europe. You didn’t think I’d leave myself out of this, did you? I should be embarrassed to admit that at fifty-(cough) years, I’d never made it to Europe. But I fixed that in June when I flew to Berlin with my wife (hobbled by a knee injury) and daughter. We spent a few days in Chemnitz, a former car manufacturing center that was practically destroyed by bombs in WWII and then partially rebuilt under Communist rule (the bartender at the hotel yearned for the good old days when the Russians would show up with wads of cash). Then we survived a wild night in Berlin with our friends at iCrates before heading over to Paris, where we joined throngs of other tourists staring at the Notre Dame Cathedral, the gardens of Versailles, the Eiffel Tower, the Arch de Triumph… Glad we went, not sure we’ll be back any time soon. Aaah, the ennui…
8. I Got Hooked on Justified. For this, I blame my sister Mary. It seems to me that few shows capture the nuances of life below the Mason-Dixon Line better than Justified. There’s nothing even remotely hip about the show – other than maybe the theme song by Gangstagrass with T.O.N.E.-Z: Long Hard Times to Come Just solid storylines with some fine acting (including a well-deserved Emmy for Margo Martindale, who scared the shit out of me as Mags Bennett, the matriarch of a very twisted crime family from Harlan County). And it’s all served up with a healthy dose of backwoods funk and filth. Still time to jump on board this crazy train… Season 3 starts on January 17 (FX).
9. Commodity Prices Rise as Dollar Weakens. Actually, I have no idea what this is all about… Just thought it was time for RCR to tackle one of the more important financial issues facing the nation. Done.
10. Last Full Year Before End Times. The 5,125-year Great Cycle of the Ancient Mayan Calendar ends on winter solstice, December 21, 2012 (at 11:11 a.m., to be precise). What does this mean? Is The Rapture near, or am I confusing the Mayans with a religious cult in Idaho? I think the best we can hope for is that we reconnect with the wisdom of nature, and Bravo cancels the next season of The Real Housewives of New Jersey.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank my family for sticking with me as I spend far too much time on dubious missives like this one. After all, what’s more important than the support of your loved ones? Even Charles Manson hears from his family this time of year… in the “extended” sense of the word, of course.

Kings of Leon perform Talihina Sky – after a solid minute of bitching…

Gillian Welch and David Rawlings at the 2011 Newport Folk Festival…

My introduction to The Coppertone was when she weighed in on our post on cover songs (“Don’t Play Me No Stormy Friggin’ Monday”). I was intrigued by the name, so I checked out her website and signed on as a fan right away. Since then, we’ve shared a few comments and recent musical finds via Facebook and Twitter. For example, Amanda turned us on to Alabama Shakes and Hanni El Khatib, and I think we got her listening to some Latin boogaloo.

I also recognized a kindred spirit when I came across this quote: “I was not about to be another one of those ‘technical’ blues players. In my opinion 90 percent of all contemporary blues players while I was growing up were white guys in khakis playing shitty renditions of The Thrill is Gone and Stevie Ray Vaughan’s Pride and Joy. I was not about to attempt a career doing that shit. Fuck no.” Amen, sister… No wonder she liked our piece on bands that keep flogging the same old warhorses!

But mainly what we dig about The Coppertone – other than her obvious good looks and taste – is the otherworldly sound that comes out of her. Sort of a mix of primordial blues howl and ballsy, barroom indie rock (not the “too sensitive to live” variety). First of all, she plays some damn nasty guitar – not at a Link Wray level of filth, but well on its way. And that voice… where the hell did that come from? It’s got plenty of rock ‘n roll attitude but just enough blues misery to make you wonder where all the bodies are buried. In other words, right up RCR’s dark, crime-ridden alley: Black Water

Let’s check in with Amanda so she can ‘splain herself…

T.Q.: You’re from King City, Ontario – a well-scrubbed community just north of Toronto… Not exactly a hotbed of roots music (hockey, maybe). What got you started down this road to ruination?

A.Z.: I am a late bloomer with music, so even though I grew up around my father who would saturate my ears with tunes, I never really fully found myself and surrendered to music until I moved away to California to learn guitar and got my ass kicked by John Lee… That’s when the real “ruination” begun (haha). What sparked it all at the very start? I’d say I owe a lot to the country… growing up with no one around who I spoke to. It’s an odd thing for people to grasp even now, the fact that I enjoy being close enough to the city (Toronto is about 40 mins away) but able to seclude myself out here. I think growing up with that molded who I became creatively. It really pushed me to fight boredom and as a result I have this very driven and strong-willed discipline when it comes to songwriting, playing guitar, singing etc. It instilled this sense of urgency in me at a very young age. I thought I had to learn as much as I could as fast as possible to get out of there and do something great. When I found a guitar kickin’ around the house at 18 it was all over… or should I say, all begun.

Dan tells me you’re a big Junior Kimbrough fan, and I’ve heard you wax poetic about the usual culprits, like John Lee Hooker. What are some of your other influences, both blues-based and otherwise?

Yea my favorites are definitely Junior and John. My other loves would be Elmore James, Wanda Jackson, Mississippi Fred McDowell, ZZ Top, BB King, Robert Johnson, Jack White, Anne Peebles, Al Green, Dan Auerbach solo as well as The Black Keys, The Stooges, David Bowie, Chuck Berry, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Ray Charles, Muddy Waters, Little Walter, FREE, Taj Mahal, Seasick Steve, Elvis Costello, Tom Waits, SRV, George Thorogood, Otis Redding, The Temptations, Wilson Pickett, Sam Coffey, Lucinda Williams, Loretta Lynn etc. etc.

What are you locked into right now? I need a shot of something new and awesome.

Oh! I love doing this… I’m such a sucker for tipping off people on new tunes! Also for receiving them… thanks to your posts I’ve had quite a year of refreshing new material. Right now, I’m really into a few records in particular: Gozalo Bugalu Tropical Vol. 1 // Michael Rault, Ma-ME-O // Michael Kiwanuka, Tell Me a Tale // Daniel Romano, Sleep Beneath the Willow // The Dinner Belles, West Simcoe County // Sam Coffey and the Iron Lungs (self-titled) // Mariachi El Bronx, Mariachi El Bronx (II).

Thanks – already digging into Kiwanuka: Tell Me a Tale… I’ll pounce on that boogaloo collection next! I’ve been following you on Twitter, and you’re an obvious foodie (lots of iPhone shots of some sweet-looking meals). Kind of pisses me off, really. Do you have a food wrangler as part of your crew? And what are a few of your favorite eateries/dishes? 

Hahahaha, I am such a foodie! One of my goals is to be featured in some way on the Food Network. Luckily with touring I’ve had the opportunity to scout out and try some gems. I also have a lot of friends who are musicians and fellow foodies who point me in the right direction. My favorite cuisines would have to be Mexican (I live for great guac), Japanese, Vietnamese, and the odd Italian in there somewhere. To break it down here is a list of some of my favorite spots:

Ciccio pizza: Terroni

1) Terroni, Queen Street in Toronto… This place is unreal. I mainly always get their Mezzo e Mezzo platter, which is an antipasto plate. I can’t really eat a lot of lactose, but you only live once and I like splurging on quality. If you ever get a chance and are in town, go there – start with the Mezzo e Mezzo and a glass of Italian red… make your way to a mouth-watering main like their thin-crusted traditional pizzas… I love the Ciccio: folded pizza with prosciutto di parma, arugula, fresh tomatoes, fior di latte, served cold. Finish with their warm flourless chocolate cake… perfection! They also have this beautiful patio in the back for the summertime. I swear it’s like you’re transported right to Florence. Sometimes I’ll go and order a Spagiatto – translation: a mistake (a fav summertime drink of mine: Prosecco, Vermouth, Campari and a blood orange) – read a book and kick my feet up.

2) Golden Turtle, Ossington in Toronto … They kill it. It’s super cheap and super cramped all the time in there which adds to the dining pleasure.

3) The Merchant Tap House in Kingston Ontario. I went there to play a show and we got a free meal, which already makes the food taste better. I ordered this grilled tiger shrimp salad that came with chipotle seasoned potato wedges and had an avocado vinaigrette dressing. I swear to god I haven’t had a better salad in my life.

4) The Gratitude Cafe, Berkley California. I came across this gem while helping my sister move to Oakland. They only serve raw vegan food, gluten free or veggie dishes… which at first glance could make some people squeamish. But you wouldn’t miss the meat or lactose one bit. My favorite dish is called I Am Fortified (yes, if you haven’t got it by now the whole cafe is one big self-affirmation). It consists of sauteed seasonal vegetables, steamed Quinoa or local brown rice, topped with a choice of sesame-ginger, tahini-garlic or Thai almond sauce.

Coconut mango salsa salmon: The Royal

5) The Royal, Nelson B.C. We were playing on tour recently in the gorgeous mountains of Nelson and came across a menu that blew my mind. I got the coconut mango salsa salmon accompanied by a little tower of wild/basmati rice. Jesus spoke to me in my mouth that evening… Amen.

I could go on and on with this list… honorable mentions include the pineapple shrimp quesadilla at Amigos in Saskatoon.

The road can get a little boring… What are you reading to help you get through those long drives across Ontario?

This time around I brought a copy of The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. It’s a short and poetic read and I have honestly read it hundreds of times. There is something about it that grounds me, so whenever I hit the road and become transient I make sure to grab it. Also, I’ve been known to (and been made fun of) for bringing along books on marketing or advertising. I have no clue why but I LOVE that stuff. Also, self-improvement books (haha) pseudo spiritual/psychological reads. I find them fascinating. I grew up with a very spiritual mom and a psychiatrist as a dad so I have always been drawn to finding that middle ground. Learning about body language, the power of thoughts and intentions, communication etc. is really rewarding to me.

You’re into vintage sounds and the kind of equipment that can get you there. Tell all our gearheads out there what you’re playing with (and through)…

Oooooo okay! Well… my primary setup for the past two years has been my 50th Anniversary gold Airline run through a Fender twin using a Fulltone Soul-Bender for my fuzz. That trio is basically my tone. I also love my 1482 Silvertone Sears amp… the trem on that thing is ridiculous. Most recently (thanks to Dan) I picked up an old Shin-ei Fuzz Companion that rules. I also use an old Electro-Harmonix Memory Man for my delay.

Seems like you’re about ready to bust loose… What’s it going to take? Anything on the horizon you can share with us?

Haha well thanks! Your guess is as good as mine. I’m a pretty firm believer in the old-school mentality of you reap what you sow (if you have talent and half a brain). That being said I’ve been putting myself to the grind for the past few years and am starting to finally see the slow and steady growth, which is amazing. The new year is really exciting for me… there’s a lot to look forward to. First on the map is going into the studio and recording a new full-length, hopefully at the end of January. I know come March we are headed to SXSW, which is pretty awesome. We’ve got a handful of festivals to nail and really just aiming to play as much as humanly possible. I love traveling and meeting new people, winning over new crowds. My goal for 2012 is to record a solid record and tour the hell out of it… and hopefully if I have anything to do with it, find some killer eats along the way.

Any plans on bringing your tough little band to NE Ohio??

I sure as hell hope so.

Test drive The Coppertone’s four-song EP, “Hymns for the Hollow,” at the coppertone.com, or buy it below. 

The Coppertone on video… Just in case you were wondering if Amanda could deliver the goods live (“Matthew” tagged this on the end of a comment below; I liked it so much I moved it up here):

Here’s a rockin’ little number from “Hymns”:

And here Amanda talks about her previous album, “Hidden Dreams” (this clip is from the Wood and Wires Video Series):

I should warn you up front that if you’re looking for the usual holiday-flavored confections by the likes of Michael Bolton, Susan Boyle and Sting (or Sphincter, as my bro-in-law calls him), you’ve come to the wrong place. We spend a lot of time at this site dissecting songs about drinking, cheating, murder and prison. We like our Christmas songs too – as long as they’re a short walk from John Lee Hooker or Big Mama Thornton. Save Amy Grant for the in-laws (and don’t get me started on that holly-jolly hairball Burle Ives).

We’ll kick things off with the Guru of Hoodoo, Dr. John, and one of our favorite albums: “Dr. John Plays Mac Rebennack.” This outing from 1981 (accompanied by a second album released in ’83, “The Brightest Smile in Town”) captured the only solo sessions Dr. John ever recorded on piano. We covered those sessions in this post but neglected to feature Mac’s spirited take on Silent Night. It’s a keeper – which is probably why it showed up on the initial release. By the way, RCR is looking forward to Dr. John’s latest project, produced and recorded by nephew Dan at his Easy Eye Studio in Nashville. If their performance together at this year’s Bonnaroo Music Festival was any indication, it should be another keeper. Silent Night/Dr. John

A lot of us aren’t very merry this Christmas. Times are hard. Jobs are scarce. And if you’ve got a job, you’re probably earning the same or less than you did a few years ago. Of course I’m speaking to those of you in the “99%” camp (I think we chased off our few 1% readers several posts ago). So if you don’t have any cash to spend on gifties and just aren’t in the mood for the usual holiday claptrap, you’ll probably appreciate this hard-bitten alternative from The Staple Singers, released on the Stax label in 1970. “Too busy fighting wars, trying to make it to Mars…” Hey, times were tough back then too, but at least we had enough money in the federal budget to consider space travel! Who Took The Merry Out Of Christmas/The Staple Singers

Am I the only one bothered by the fact that many of our most treasured holiday songs were recorded in the balmy surroundings of Los Angeles? Think about it… Bing Crosby probably played a round of golf and had a couple of cocktails by the pool before laying down White Christmas in an air-conditioned studio. L.A. also served as the backdrop for the holiday classic Merry Christmas Baby by Johnny Moore’s Three Blazers, with the great Charles Brown on vocals and piano. Guitarist Moore tried several times to recreate the success of that number – even recruiting Brown soundalike Frankie Ervin for this blatant rip-off recorded in November ’55 (just in time for the holiday season). Who cares? I’ll take this over Michael Bublé’s Christmas any time of year. Christmas Eve Baby/Johnny Moore’s Three Blazers

Here’s another gem from the West Coast – this one by R&B pianist, bandleader and arranger Lloyd Glenn. The former Texan played on T-Bone Walker’s signature tune, Stormy Monday Blues, and contributed to some of B.B. King’s best recordings from the ‘60s. Sleigh Ride appears on the B side of a ’54 single on Hollywood Records. The A side? Merry Christmas Baby with Charles Brown. Which, of course, makes this little slab of vinyl essential for any desert-island jukebox (and required listening for all you holiday hipsters out there)… Sleigh Ride/Lloyd Glenn

There’s hip, and then there’s ahead of your time, like Rahsaan Roland Kirk. The Columbus, Ohio, native stunned audiences in the ‘50s by playing several horns at once – often using some fairly unconventional techniques (nose flute?). And he eventually perfected a “circular breathing” method that enabled him to play a flurry of notes (or even a single note) for long stretches of time without having to take a breath. Gimmicks aside, Kirk was a bold player with a wide-ranging style – sometimes lyrical, often searching and “outside.” You can hear it all in this stunning remake of an old Christmas favorite. Kind of gives new meaning to the phrase “star of wonder.” We Free Kings/Rahsaan Roland Kirk

Here’s a band that never registered on my “give a shit” meter… that is, until I came across this little Christmas cut-and-paste that also features fellow Canuck Sarah McLachlan. It didn’t make me change my mind about the rest of the Barenaked Ladies catalog. But apparently the band had some fairly serious musical chops to go along with its reputation as the nudge-winking blowhards of the ‘90s. I’ll give them 4 stars for coming up with this well-crafted and fairly swingin’ version of two classic carols that should’ve been jammed together a long time ago. And we’ll throw in another star for McLachlan, who typically spends the holidays ripping my guts out with that damn ASPCA commercial. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen/We Three Kings/Barenaked Ladies & Sarah McLachlan

Big Jack Johnson (not to be confused with surfer-dude Jack Johnson or the famous boxer) was a master of the southern roadhouse blues tradition – that raw, earthy, greasy sound that found a home on the Fat Possum label in the early ‘90s. The guitarist and native of Lambert, Mississippi, teamed up with harp player Frank Frost and drummer Sam Carr in 1962 to form The Jelly Roll Kings (who also performed as The Nighthawks – not to be confused with the D.C.-based blues band). We featured the Frost standout My Back Scratcher in this post. Johnson eventually struck out on his own with his band the Oilers, and can be seen performing with Samuel L. Jackson in the movie Black Snake Moan. Johnson passed away in March, so consider this tune a holiday-flavored tribute to another fine bluesman who left us too soon: Jingle Bell Boogie/Big Jack Johnson

Any of you bother with New Year’s resolutions? You know, drink less, exercise more, spend less time blogging, give up Twitter… I’m considering all of those, but I’ll probably end up with another lame, vague promise to “be a better person.” The fact is, I’m fairly boring without the occasional drink or fascinating nugget that I find online. And my gym doesn’t have a bar or wifi, so I’m kind of screwed there. So I’ll just hang on to the same vices that helped me fend off a nervous breakdown in 2011 and all the other years I’ve spent in semi-adulthood. Which brings us to our last number, by Otis Redding and Carla Thomas. “Baby let’s make promises that we can keep…” Now there’s a resolution that I can wrap my head around! New Year’s Resolution/Otis Redding & Carla Thomas

Man, what a rough month… R.I.P., Hubert Sumlin (seen here with the Wolf)…

R.I.P., Howard Tate…

R.I.P., Dobie Gray…

Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown

Rolling Stone recently came up with another list of the “100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time.” The new list was compiled by “a panel of top guitarists and other experts” – including RCR supporter Dan Auerbach of The Black Keys, Steve Cropper, Dave Davies of The Kinks, Eddie Van Halen, James Burton, Carlos Santana, rock writer Peter Guralnick, RS contributing editor Anthony DeCurtis, and many others. It follows up on a previous list assembled in 2003 by the magazine’s senior writer, David Fricke.

Both lists share some obvious choices – including the consensus #1 pick, Jimi Hendrix. And you don’t have to head too far down either list to find Eric Clapton, B.B. King, Jimmy Page, Duane Allman and Jeff Beck, to name a few perennial favorites. But once you get past the first 20 or so picks, things get far more debatable and, in a few cases, downright puzzling.

Now I’ve never placed much value on “best of” lists, the Grammys, CMA Awards, blues competitions, battles of the bands, etc. etc. To me, ranking artists seems like a fairly useless and highly subjective exercise (ranking athletes, no problem – stats don’t lie). But if someone else is doing the ranking, I have every right to throw stones, don’t I?

I have three major problems with the new list (which made me want to call Dan and bitch, but he probably deserves some credit for Clarence White showing up at #52). My concerns are as follows:

1. No Robert Quine (#80 on Fricke’s list). My main problem here is that Lou Reed, not exactly an awe-inspiring stringbender (important in other respects, but not for his fretwork), shows up at #81. Keep in mind Reed, who had practically given up playing guitar, hired Rob back in ’82 to play on his critically acclaimed album “The Blue Mask.” And Rob goaded his boss into playing more guitar – with Reed quickly assuming a supporting role to his far-superior hired hand. After battling through two more albums and several tours with Reed, Rob went on to contribute to seminal recordings by Tom Waits (“Rain Dogs”), Marianne Faithfull (“Strange Weather”) and Matthew Sweet (“Girlfriend”), among others. For further evidence of this injustice, check out our Quine posts here and here.
2. No Danny Gatton (#63 on Fricke’s list). This is inexcusable. I’ve already made the case here that Gatton was simply the most amazing guitarist I’ve ever witnessed. Read it (and listen to the samples)… If you still don’t mind that John Frusciante (ex-Red Hot Chili Peppers) is taking a spot away from Gatton, then click here to exit site.
3. No Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown (not on either list).

Unfortunately, this final indignity is just one of several heaped on Gatemouth both during and after his time on earth. Maybe it’s time to set the record straight (yeah, that’ll happen!) on one of the most effortlessly soulful and satisfying pickers of all time.

But first, another one of our “bio briefs” (this stuff is readily available elsewhere… no need for me to plagiarize): Born in Vinton, Louisiana – April 18, 1924… quickly moved to Orange, Texas…  learned to play fiddle from his multi-instrumentalist father… dubbed “Gatemouth” by a teacher, who claimed he had a voice like a gate (?)… played his first professional gigs as a drummer (with William H. Bimbo and His Brownskin Models, which belongs in the Band Name Hall of Fame)… switched to guitar when he was blown away by the great Texan T-Bone Walker in San Antonio… sat in with T-Bone’s band at a club in Houston – an impromptu performance that earned him a record deal with Don Robey, owner of the Peacock label. According to Gatemouth, he improvised this next tune on the spot including the opening line: “My name is Gatemouth Brown, just got in your town. If you don’t like my style, I will not hang around.” Gatemouth Boogie

Well, Gatemouth hung around for the next 48 years, recording for a number of labels and taking his distinctive brand of what he liked to call “American Music” (he hated the blues moniker) around the world several times.

I was first exposed to Gatemouth’s music during a trip to Austin in 1980, and I’ve been a fan ever since. In performance he was a revelation – playing fluid single-note runs that he’d punctuate with punchy chords that sounded like a full horn section (a style he reportedly landed on when he couldn’t afford to tour with horns). And those long, talon-like fingers – not a pick in sight – that would barely move as he burned through hyperactive showstoppers like Pressure Cooker and Flippin’ Out. He also played harmonica and was an exceptional fiddler, even contributing to the groundbreaking and Grammy-winning collaboration “Talking Timbuktu” with Ry Cooder and Ali Farka Toure: Ai Du

But Gatemouth’s greatest legacy remains the red-hot sides he recorded for Don Robey from 1947 to 1960. Much like fellow guitar shredder Pee Wee Crayton, Gatemouth came up with his own take on the elegant stylings of his mentor T-Bone – tougher, more visceral and far closer to the nascent sound of rock ‘n roll: Ain’t That Dandy

Here’s a rare blues fiddle workout he recorded in 1959 during one of his last sessions for Peacock: Just Before Dawn

The Peacock recordings alone should earn Gatemouth a spot on the “top 100” list. But his career took a number of interesting twists and turns over the next five decades. Those of you of a certain age might remember his legendary duels with country picker Roy Clark on the hit TV show “Hee Haw” (and the fine album “Makin’ Music,” an out-of-print treasure). And he asserted his dominance over a small army of contemporary blues wankers with several albums he recorded for the Rounder label in the ‘80s. Here’s a blistering cover of an Albert Collins original from Gatemouth’s 1981 Rounder debut and comeback of sorts, “Alright Again!” Frosty

One of my favorite latter-day Gatemouth releases was a Texas swing-flavored session from 1975, “Blackjack.” The album captures Gatemouth at his best, moving seamlessly from cajun fiddle stomps to fiery swing tunes that feature some mind-boggling interplay between Gate and pedal steel guitarist Don Buzzard. I especially like the title cut, which borrows heavily from a soul-jazz classic by Kenny Burrell but ends up as pure American music, Gatemouth-style: Blackjack

A few of Gatemouth’s final recordings lapse into some fairly listless and formulaic schtick (including one of those dreaded “guest artist” outings that somehow always involve Eric Clapton), but he’d long ago established his reputation as a true original and roots-music legend.

Gatemouth’s final years were difficult. Although he fought lung cancer and heart disease (he smoked for many years), he ultimately was a casualty of Hurricane Katrina. His home in Slidell, Louisiana, was destroyed by the storm – and even though he beat a retreat to his brother’s house in the familiar surroundings of Orange, Texas, he never recovered from the debacle.

“He was completely devastated,” said Rick Cady, Brown’s booking agent (AP story). “I’m sure he was heartbroken, both literally and figuratively. He evacuated successfully before the hurricane hit, but I’m sure it weighed heavily on his soul.”

Gatemouth passed away in Orange on September 10, 2005, at the age of 81. At least he didn’t have to live through another snubbing by the list-makers at Rolling Stone.

Gatemouth doin’ the Okie Dokie Stomp – live on “The !!!! Beat” TV show (Dallas), 1966.

From the same show – Gatemouth and Freddie King doing a short version of Funky Mama…

Here’s Gatemouth throwing down on fiddle, circa 1990… Nice footage of black cowboys too. I think Gate’s prowess on fiddle – not to mention his eclecticism – actually worked against his legacy as a guitarist. Pisses people off when someone’s that good on two instruments and can cover so many different styles.