Dad also had a playful side and enjoyed acting the fool in front of his young children. He loved puns, clever verse and virtually every song written by Gilbert & Sullivan – and he would use this obvious weakness to come up with absurd little monikers for most of his six kids, like Timmytay Shaygay Togglehookie or Keena Boobah Buncha Baby or James Henry Hooligan Holigan Dirty Muddy Water in the River. If that didn’t work, he’d resort to slapstick.

Adolescence was another story altogether. He had little affinity for your typical sullen teenager. His own father passed away when dad was 15 – probably from the long-term effects of yellow fever that he contracted in Cuba during the Spanish-American War. Dad’s newfound sense of responsibility for his mother and younger brother robbed him of his own adolescence, so he didn’t have much use for the bad behavior of high school kids in the early Seventies. Dad was the provider; mom was the hammer.

Dad met his future wife in Washington D.C. where he worked as a staffer for a naval subcommittee led by “Dixiecrat” Congressman Carl Vinson (yes, the aircraft carrier guy). The Congressman’s secretary was Jane Little, a sharp-looking firecracker from Milledgeville, GA. Vinson told Jane about the smart, handsome and somewhat shy young man from Akron, and also teased John with a few stray comments about his cute secretary. So if it weren’t for one of the longest-serving Congressmen in U.S. history (50 years), Rubber City Review wouldn’t exist. Blame him.

The Conspirators

Things started to heat up in the Pacific, so dad was sent to New Guinea to serve as head watchman at a naval base on the north shore. We suspect the good Congressman must’ve sent a letter along with dad that spared him from combat, because his stay on the island was fairly uneventful. But he found a great way to stave off the boredom, and it appealed to his love of jazz and cocktail piano players. Apparently his commanding officer played piano for vibraphonist Red Norvo (“Mr. Swing”). Dad noticed that the base had scheduled a talent show in a few months, so he asked the officer to teach him how to play the old standard Lady Be Good. They worked together for days on the tune (the commander must’ve been bored too) and then dad unleashed it on his fellow officers, who gave him a standing ovation and asked for an encore. Dad threw out a few self-effacing comments – “this isn’t all about me; let’s give the others a chance” – to mask the fact that he didn’t know any other songs.

After returning safely from the Pacific Theater, dad stopped by the idyllic family farm in Milledgeville just long enough to snatch up his wife and three-year-old son and move them to his mother’s soot-stained home in Akron – conveniently located on a hill near the city’s rubber factories. I don’t think my oldest brother Jack ever forgave him, since he was abducted from four doting women on the farm. Dad eventually found a job working for his stern, humorless uncle at a local title company. And he went about the business of providing for his six kids (a seventh, Kathryn, died in the crib).

I have fond memories of growing up at our house on the “other” side of town. My father was kind to me but grew more remote as I entered my teens. He’d come home like clockwork every day around six, make himself an Old Fashioned (or two… above all, he was a man of moderation) and read the paper before we sat down for dinner. Afterward, he’d flip on the TV and usually watch PBS. Occasionally he’d come across a televangelist (maybe Akron’s own Rex Humbard) and marvel at the steady stream of bullshit he was slinging. If my dad had any prejudice, it was against stupid people. He couldn’t understand how anyone would fall for hellfire preachers or heavy-handed politicians.

Then again, dad was a devout Catholic, which seemed to fit well with his disciplined, reserved nature. By the late Sixties, the Latin Mass was becoming a thing of the past as well-scrubbed folkies began to strum their way into the church program. Dad and mom stuck with the Latin thing while the rest of us pretended to head off to the Folk Mass next door. We’d usually spend the hour listening to Top 40 hits on the car radio.

My dad probably would’ve been amused by these little acts of rebellion. He had bigger fish to fry with my older siblings, who argued against the Vietnam War and began questioning his political views, which could best be described as pragmatic and, at worst, regressive. Although my dad considered himself a Democrat, he’d occasionally rail against the Welfare State, and he supported Nixon’s efforts to deport drug-using ideologues like John Lennon. This usually led to heated arguments around the dinner table – and even better excuses for dad to retreat to the Anglo-filled pleasures of his favorite PBS programs.

I felt more like collateral damage – an innocent bystander stuck in the aftermath of the Sixties. I was part of that cynical age group that equated hippies with gonzo bikers or good-old boys whacked out on painkillers. Our defining moment was when the President resigned in disgrace. And if we had any heroes, they were the two journalists who brought him to his knees – one conservative, the other liberal. Clearly, my older siblings had lost the culture war, and the Sixties I experienced through them became like a Chinese menu. I’ll take a little of that weed… some psych rock… a cool T-shirt… and save those groovy slogans for someone who cares. All I need is love – and a decent job that doesn’t make me want to rip off my own head.

Meanwhile, my dad’s calm demeanor and sense of reason had already prevailed. Two years prior to Nixon’s demise, he decided to ignore the overheated rhetoric of his old high school buddies and back one of the first candidates for Congress in Ohio who ran on an anti-war platform. The candidate won, using my dad’s office (with its all-important Xerox machine) as his makeshift headquarters. The Congressman, John Seiberling, went on to spearhead the single most important contribution to Akron’s quality of life, working with his Republican colleague Ralph Regula to create the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. Chance of that happening today? Zero.

As the Seventies dragged on, dad probably came to the conclusion that I “wouldn’t amount to much,” given my predilection to party (a lot) and play blues harp. It wasn’t that he treated me with open contempt. But he didn’t have much to do with me as I fumbled my way through college and held a succession of questionable jobs.

Years later, I was working in Columbus as a speechwriter for the Governor of Ohio (and playing in a blues-rock band on weekends). I was urged to take the job by an old friend from Akron, who was hired as the Governor’s press secretary. I told him I wasn’t a true believer like many of the Sixties-era idealists who worked on his staff. He said that was OK – none of them could write.

After it became clear that the Governor wouldn’t fire me (that was the job of his Republican successor), my dad grudgingly came to terms with the fact that I might amount to something. I even helped break the ice by joining my dad for a few rounds of golf. He loved the slow rhythms of the game, not to mention the inch-deep relationships he developed with his fellow golfers. To him, the perfect conversation involved a lot of small talk around the latest gear and swing techniques.

In the winter of ’86, I was at my usual after-work spot – a neighborhood pub on the city’s near-north side – when the bartender handed me the phone. My brother-in-law told me I should think about driving up that night. Dad had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of leukemia and wasn’t doing well in the hospital.

When I walked in his room, I saw fear on his face for the very first time. It shook me to the core. But as things got worse, he seemed to calm himself by saying a lot of Our Fathers and Hail Marys. Although dad was 76, he never retired, and I was stunned by all the legal documents his law partner brought for dad to sign on his deathbed. But that had a calming influence on him too.

My brother and I made plans to watch the Super Bowl with him that Sunday. He passed away in the morning, peacefully (I took a call from John Seiberling literally seconds after he died). As we prepared for his funeral on Monday, we were inundated with the breaking news about the explosion of the Space Shuttle Challenger, which became the main topic of conversation at visiting hours the following day. Not much talk about dad’s quiet grace and dignity, which probably would’ve suited him just fine.

What song did I pick to honor dad? The only one he knew how to play, of course. Oh, Lady Be Good/Red Norvo

Fact is, the Seventies are back with a vengeance. The Stones are on tour. So are The Eagles and Fleetwood Mac. Scores of alt-rock bands – from Iron & Wine to Weezer – are recycling the Sound of the Seventies, with varying levels of success. Rolling Stone magazine recently featured The Mellow Mafia – a select group of session musicians who contributed to huge hits by James Taylor, Carole King, Jackson Browne, Carly Simon and other singer-songwriters of the era.

The RS article reminded me of my brief stint as a record store clerk in Athens, where I witnessed the slow and painful demise of those heavily sedated strummers. Punk rock was on the rise, as evidenced by the crate of unsold Dan Fogelberg albums I was storing behind the counter. And if you weren’t in either camp (throw me in that category), you probably wouldn’t find much to like in our store.

I spent much of the Seventies digging into the roots of my favorite artists from my teenage years, like the Stones, Taj Mahal, Jimi Hendrix, The Allman Brothers, Traffic, etc. So that put me on a blues track – mostly Muddy and Little Walter – with forays into hard country, bluegrass and other more idyllic strains that informed songs like Wild Horses and John Barleycorn. I guess I was a hippie at heart, even though I fully intended to make a decent living in some soulless urban setting.

So, what was my original premise? Ah, that’s right… This is another cheap setup for a playlist (we’ll save the intervention story for another post). I thought it would be fun to take a “Time-Life” approach and share a favorite song for each year. Also, my therapist thought it would way for me to begin the healing process by uncovering some deep-seated anxieties from “The Lost Years,” as she likes to call them.

1970 Sly Stone released this song as a single in December 1969 (with the equally awesome Everybody is a Star), but it didn’t really catch on until it showed up the following year on the Family Stone’s Greatest Hits album. By February ‘70 it reached the top of the charts, making it one of the funkiest #1 hits of all time. I remember hearing it on a jukebox over and over again at a dive bar that inexplicably let me in to shoot pool with an older friend. So this tune will forever remind me of an important right of passage, Akron style. Thank You (Falettinme…)

1971 When I think of rock ‘n roll in the early Seventies, I feel sorry for my kids. The Rolling Stones were on the greatest run in rock history – from Beggar’s Banquet in ’68 to Exile on Main St. in ’72. Eric Clapton and Duane Allman set a new standard for blues-rock guitar with Derek & the Dominoes. Traffic created their own subgenre – let’s call it pastoral rock – with their well-baked masterworks John Barleycorn and Low Spark of High Heeled Boys. Santana stepped up their game with each new album. Led Zeppelin, Free, Faces, Joni Mitchell, The Band, Bonnie Raitt… do any of you still give a shit about Dave Matthews?

In my mind, ’71 belonged to the Allman Brothers Band. I was spending summers in Milledgeville, Georgia – just down the road from the Allmans’ home base in Macon – so I sort of felt like their Rust Belt ambassador. I literally wore out all four sides of At Fillmore East (might’ve had something to do with the cheap vinyl used by their label, Capricorn), and I still can’t do without it. I’m back in my happy place every time I hear the first blast of their set opener, a cover of a Blind Willie McTell original. Pure southern blues goodness… Statesboro Blues

1972 The Stones owned that year as they toured in support of Exile – another big, sprawling love letter to the American South (mainly blues and Memphis Soul… for more on Exile, check here). Note to future terrorists: Don’t try to break me by blasting Fillmore and Exile for hours on end. It didn’t work back in ’72. Stop Breaking Down

1973 Lots of great songs to choose from that year: Dr. John’s Right Place Wrong Time… Billy Preston’s Will It Go Round In Circles… The J. Geils Band’s Southside Shuffle… James Brown’s The Payback… Ultimately I decided to pick a standout tune by one of my favorite bands of the era, Little Feat. Their supremely talented frontman, Lowell George, also mined the south for inspiration – in his case, mostly New Orleans and the syncopated funk of The Meters. Few songs from the era hold up as well as this one – an American classic. Dixie Chicken

1974 Although the L.A. singer-songwriter movement was in full swing that year, I wasn’t buying much of it. I was looking for something a little closer to the bone, like Ry Cooder’s Paradise & Lunch and Gram Parson’s Grievous Angel (released four months after his death in ’73). I’d also discovered the many joys of Shuggie Otis’ acid funk-fest, Inspiration Information, which was far more adventurous than anything else coming out of L.A. Joni Mitchell’s Court and Spark seemed to live somewhere in that space between Shuggie and The Eagles… same amount of studio polish used by those crotch-rockin’ cowboys, but at least with Joni you were listening to a true artist at work. Help Me

1975 Bob Marley began conquering the world. That’s pretty much all you need to know about ’75. Eric Clapton paved the way the previous year by scoring a hit with his cover of I Shot the Sheriff. Then Marley released the explosive Live! album in ’75 (recorded at the Lyceum Theatre in London using the Rolling Stones Mobile Studio), and the stage was set for world domination. Just the opening of this song tells you Marley and the Wailers had arrived… and the rest of us would never be the same. Lively Up Yourself

1976 It was a great decade for funk – from Sly Stone to Prince, who released his debut in ‘78. Even the Stones got in on the action that year with their disco-fueled hit Miss You. But they were a little behind the curve… Two years earlier, you could shake your booty to new releases by Kool & the Gang, Wild Cherry (with the infectious Play That Funky Music), the Ohio Players, Earth, Wind & Fire, Funkadelic and the O’Jays. Let’s give it up for the Godfather, who was still going strong well into the Seventies with dancefloor dynamite like this tune… Get Up Offa That Thing (Release the Pressure)

1977 By the late Seventies, much of rock had become bloated and irrelevant. Many bands seemed interchangeable – REO Speedwagon, Journey, Foreigner, Styx, Kansas, Chicago, Boston, Duluth, Fresno… it was all the same dreck to me. Punk rock served its noble purpose that year by making those bands sound even more ludicrous. I was partial to Muddy Waters’ “comeback” album Hard Again, which had kind of a punk edge to it (so did the title – after hearing one of the cuts for the first time, Muddy said it made him hard again). And you can’t deny the subversive energy of this tune. Sometimes you just gotta stay on The One… Mannish Boy

1978 I was on this Robert Palmer jag at the time. It actually started with ‘74’s Sneaking Sally Through the Alley, which took full advantage of guest artists The Meters and Lowell George, and lasted all the way up to the end of the decade – right before he broke out as an MTV megastar. I especially liked this frantic workout from ’78, from the same-titled album. Call it hyperfunk (definitely too many beats per minute for the disco dancefloor). Some People Can Do What They Like

1979 Dire Straits released their first album in ’78, but it didn’t show up on my radar screen until the following year, when I also discovered the subtle pleasures of J.J. Cale’s 5. So consider 1979 the year of the tastefully restrained guitar hero. Then came that barren wasteland of music called the Eighties… Don’t expect an RCR post on the Eighties. Sensitive Kind

The Unsung Heroes of the Seventies? Those second- and third-tier bands who brought their rock and roll revival shows to crappy clubs and small theaters throughout the Midwest. Many of those bands were British; a few of them – like the J. Geils Band and Fleetwood Mac – eventually broke through to become major acts. So let’s hoist our pewter mugs to Savoy Brown, Long John Baldry, Brownsville Station, Black Oak Arkansas, Humble Pie (with Peter Frampton and “the little rocker who could,” Steve Marriott), Wishbone Ash, Foghat, Uriah Heep, Dave Mason… and the pride of NE Ohio, The James Gang:

In 2011, I interviewed writer/filmmaker Mathew Ramirez Warren, the man responsible for the documentary We Like It Like That: The Story of Latin Boogaloo. I’m glad to report the film recently received the funding it needed for widespread release – and if the smoking-hot trailer at the end of this post doesn’t pique your interest, you probably googled “rubber” and landed here by mistake.

When I asked Mathew about contemporary boogaloo bands, he offered one unqualified recommendation – NYC’s Spanglish Fly. That sent me to the band’s website (and Youtube), where I found plenty of evidence that the Latin soul tradition is in good hands.

They call themselves “New York City’s only band dedicated to reviving and renewing the music known as Latin bugalu or boogaloo, the sound that sprang from the street corners, the transistor radios, the pool halls and the clubs of 1960s Spanish Harlem.” I’ll simply add that this band does it the way God and Tito Puente intended, with a funky rhythm section, blazing horns and the sassy, soulful voice of Erica Ramos.

But don’t just take our word for it. Ask someone who really knows, like former bandleader and Fania producer Harvey Averne, who was there at the very beginning with other boogaloo greats like Joe Cuba, Ray Barretto and Pete Rodriguez. Averne signed on to produce Spanglish Fly’s new digital single with bonus tracks (here’s a taste: Brooklyn Boogaloo). And now the band is geared up to release a full record – a project they’re partially funding through a Kickstarter campaign.

So consider this post part of a well-orchestrated effort to gain your support for one of the few bands out there that’s keeping the boogaloo spirit alive. Hopefully they’ll make it to the Rubber City before the end of the decade (actually, Cleveland has a fairly healthy Latin music scene, but it needs a little more boogaloo to go along with all that salsa).

I also thought I should use this opportunity to chat with the band’s ringleader and trumpet player, Jonny Semi-Colón.

T.Q.: You’ve talked about the inclusiveness of Latin Soul, which must ring especially true for a guy whose real name is Jonathan Goldman. How did you catch the boogaloo bug?

J.S.C.: I arrived at boogaloo through the soul side of Latin soul about 12 years ago. I’m a New York City native and have heard salsa and Afro-Cuban and Caribbean music my whole life, but Latin boogaloo hit me hard. I promised myself that I would someday play it live in NYC, where the music was born. After waiting years for someone to start a group, I said what the heck. I’ll do it myself.

I’m completely respectful of the music’s Latin basis, but the fact that I’m not Latino myself never fazed me. Latin Boogaloo is hybrid music, urban music, the sound of the streets of the USA. It comprises Afro-Cuban rhythms, blues scales, soul fervor, and rock and roll rebellion. It invites everybody to dance without caring whether you know the steps. In the 1960s some of its biggest tunes were recorded by African Americans, Jewish Americans, etc.

Speaking of Jewish Americans with a Latino heart, I’m glad to see that Harvey Averne produced a couple of songs for your new album. He’s the real deal – played vibes and led a few bands in NYC during the heyday of Latin Soul… ran the legendary Fania label for a spell… produced killer albums by Ray Barretto and Eddie Palmieri… How did you connect with him?

I met Harvey at one of DJ Turmix’s “Boogaloo!” parties (where Spanglish Fly is house band). We hit it off instantly, bonding over music and life and where to get the best whitefish salad in NYC. Working with him has been a dream come true. He’s been a great help to the band, a great mentor, and a great friend.

I noticed you were a DJ before forming Spanglish Fly (the only time I hear boogaloo here in the Rubber City is when I come across a DJ with an especially deep collection). What boogaloo records do you play to get people out on the dancefloor?

I first discovered the floor-shaking power of the classics, obvious cuts by Ray Barretto (Soul Drummers), Joe Cuba (Bang Bang), Pete Rodriguez (Micaela), and Joe Bataan (Subway Joe). At the same time I was staggered by all the amazing boogaloo covers of 1960s soul/rock/pop tunes, like Mongo Santamaria’s Cold Sweat. I’m partial to lesser known boogaloo tunes like Party Life by funk/soul legend Jimmy Castor, and the boogaloos by Tonino Quirazco, a 1960s Mexican ska bandleader.

And, in no particular order: Lay An Oz on Me Baby, by Luis Aviles, Do It All Over by Raphie Martinez, Deep by Quetcy Alma. Plus: all the boogaloos by Eddie and Charlie Palmieri, Joey Pastrana, the Latinaires, Johnny Zamot, Johnny Colón, La Lupe, Bobby Valentin, Bobby Matos, the Lebron Brothers, Pete Terrace, the TNT Boys, etc. Tito Puente made great boogaloos. I could go on for a long time. There’s a lot out there.

Judging by your band’s name, your pseudonym and a couple of your videos, you seem to have tongue firmly in cheek. But you’re obviously dead serious about the Latin tradition. How do you throw a big ol’ party while playing at such a high level (musically speaking)? I’m more of a 3 chords, 6 cervezas kind of guy…

Ha! We knock back a few cervezas ourselves while on stage, and yeah, we have a ball with our audience. But hey, you don’t bring any kind of Latin music to the NYC public unless you’re for real. Our percussionists all studied Latin rhythms for years. I’m fortunate to be surrounded by musicians focused on playing the shit out of their instruments. Our singer Erica Ramos – you see her once and you know she’s putting everything into the music. But we’re not about individuals; we get together every week and work at being tight, at playing together as a unit. (A few cervezas at rehearsal mean that we’re practicing how we perform.)

No one with half a brain plays in an 11-piece band to get rich. Everyone in Spanglish Fly is passionate about the music. We demonstrate it on stage and the audience joins in the love.

What other contemporary boogaloo bands should we check out?

A lot of bands will throw in a boogaloo here and there, but the main other practitioners are the Boogaloo Assassins in L.A. and Los Po-boy-citos, who mix up boogaloo and New Orleans music. (Full disclosure: I helped found the latter when I lived in the Big Easy briefly.) Rene Lopez and Ray Lugo have mined the vein too.

Tell us a little about the new album and your decision to help fund it through Kickstarter…

We decided that, yeah, singles are cool, but we need to document what this group can do across a solid 45-60 minutes of music. We have a bunch of originals written by band members, plus our own arrangements of boogaloo classics. We have a large repertoire so it’s going to be hard to decide what goes on the record and what we save for next time and for our live shows. Expect a party record anchored in Latin boogaloo, with shades of funk, soul, jazz and rock.

Spanglish Fly’s shows create real feelings of community. Fundraising through Kickstarter is a way for us to strengthen those connections. It’s patronage that comes with rewards for the patrons but leaves the musicians in charge of the music. Between that and a record label, I’ll take the backing of the community.

Show some love for the Fly – support their new album here.

Spanglish Fly live at the 2012 Battle of the Boroughs…

And, as promised, here’s the trailer for We Like It Like That: The Story of Latin Boogaloo, coming soon to a distribution channel near you…

Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie and Thelonious Monk: It’s easy to imagine Bird and Dizzy as a couple of hipster deities, trading riffs for all of eternity at the Mt. Olympus Cafe. But even though they practically invented bebop during their informal jam sessions back in the early Forties, they spent a relatively small amount of time in the studio together compared to the many sessions they shared with other jazz artists, such as Miles Davis (Bird) and James Moody (Diz). Nothing against Miles, but I don’t think Bird ever came across a more formidable sparring partner than Dizzy. In fact, you could argue that the latter’s best solos on their shared recordings brought a little more heat than Bird did, even without all those needle-ing distractions. This 1950 session includes Monk on piano (the jazz giant’s only recording with Bird), making it a summit for the ages. Bloomdido

Dizzy, Stan Getz and Sonny Stitt: I could feature Dizzy with a number of worthy accomplices, mainly as a cheap excuse to listen to his jaw-dropping solos. But this one’s special for several reasons. First, it features Diz at the very top of his game… he blew the roof off the studio at this ’56 session. Second, it’s a tribute to the man’s sense of confidence that he brought along two heavyweights on sax with very different approaches to their instruments – Stitt with his hard-charging style that owed a big debt to Bird and bebop; and Getz, the cool, breathy player they simply called The Sound. Third, I love how all three men tackled exotic little workouts like this one that take advantage of their great flair for drama and dynamics. Dark Eyes

Stitt and Gene Ammons: Stitt is another guy you want to hear in virtually any setting – including soul jazz, which often found him paired with a B3 giant like Brother Jack McDuff. Ammons brought a little more heft to his sound and also distinguished himself in the organ-combo format. But here the two men duke it out with little else to distract us from the main event. Actually, it’s more like a conversation among two old friends with seemingly endless ways of expressing themselves. I’ve listened to a lot of extended solos over the years, including more than a few that rubbed me the wrong way (like the one I played last week?). When these guys take off, you just sit back and enjoy the ride. Blues Up & Down

Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong: Sweet and bitter. Satin and sandpaper. Sheer elegance with a side of ham. Why would anyone think this wasn’t a winning combination? Verve producer Norman Granz brought Ella and Louis together for several collaborations in the Fifties, and they hold up as some of the best jazz recordings of the era. Granz upped the ante by backing these two legends with an all-star cast, including Oscar Peterson on piano and Buddy Rich on drums. And they rip into the Great American Songbook like it was, eh, a fine porterhouse steak… with a whiskey chaser. Here they celebrate their obvious differences with a George and Ira Gershwin tune that was begging for an Ella-Louis makeover. Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off

Chet Baker and Gerry Mulligan: Call it “chamber jazz” if you want. I call it one cool summit – the Golden Boy of West Coast trumpet meets the classically trained Mulligan, a master of baritone sax. The two stars aligned in the early Fifties during Monday-night jam sessions at The Haig, a small club on Wilshire Boulevard in L.A. Mulligan had made a name for himself with his landmark Birth of the Cool recordings with Miles Davis. Baker gained some cred when he was hand-picked by Bird to play a number of West Coast dates in ‘51. Together, they laid down some classic recordings as part of the pianoless Gerry Mulligan Quartet, with Bob Whitlock on bass and Chico Hamilton on drums. The chamber feel signaled a stark departure from the Bird-Diz model: Instead of playing mind-boggling melodies in unison, Baker and Mulligan adopted a far more relaxed approach, weaving around each other with separate yet simpatico lines. Unfortunately, this partnership only lasted a year – until Mulligan was imprisoned in ’53 following a drug-related arrest. Soft Shoe

Thelonious Monk and Sonny Rollins: Several years ago, there was a lot of hoo-ha around two releases featuring Monk and John Coltrane – a previously unissued Carnegie Hall performance from ’57, and a reissue of all their studio sessions for the Riverside label. Essential stuff… but I still think Monk’s perfect foil on sax was Sonny Rollins. Certainly no one could improvise like Trane, who pushed Monk’s thorny originals in bold new directions. But Rollins and Monk drank from the same deep well. They shared that rare ability to sound both ancient and completely modern – often in the same solo. Rollins and Monk collaborated on several sessions in the Fifties. Their crowning achievement was 1957’s Brilliant Corners, which includes some of Monk’s most challenging compositions. In fact, the title song might be the wildest ride in Monk’s entire catalog: Brilliant Corners

Grant Green and Big John Patton: As Blue Note’s most-recorded artist, Green played with countless lineups featuring virtually everyone who recorded for the venerable jazz label. He also covered a lot of ground stylistically, moving from straight-ahead jazz to funk to organ-combo soul. I love it all… can’t get enough of Green’s warm, horn-like tone – whether he was caressing a ballad or cranking up the heat on a dancefloor favorite. But I’ve got a special weakness for the tunes he recorded with the hugely underrated organist Big John Patton. Green and Patton teamed up on a number of records attributed to both artists and a few others, including saxmen Lou Donaldson and Don Wilkerson. Here they work their magic on a 1967 session that was recorded during a relatively fallow period in Green’s career, when he was battling with a chronic drug problem. Iron City

Here’s a great artifact from the glory days of bebop – live footage of Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie (Dick Hyman’s sweet piano solo is a nice bonus too)…

It’s time to bring back the funk of Johnny “Guitar” Watson.

Why not? You can hear Seventies funk of every stripe on TV commercials and movie soundtracks by everyone from The Isley Brothers and Betty Wright to Curtis Mayfield and The Staple Singers. But sadly, Johnny G’s funk gems remained mostly buried in the past. As the man himself famously asked in the title of his ’79 album, what the hell is this?

And what about a Watson biopic? How can Hollywood green-light the Bobby Darin story Beyond the Sea and ignore one of the most storied musical careers of the 20^th century? I mean, Watson died on stage in the middle of a guitar solo. How can you come up with a more dramatic ending than that?

Alright, I’m done ranting… Let’s head over to RCR’s “happy place” and dive right into some of these mind-blowing songs.

Now I’m no music scholar, but I’ll go out on a limb by breaking down Watson’s career into three distinct eras:

1. The Early Blues Years
2. The Transition Period
3. Superpimp Funkdaddy

Born in Houston in 1935, Watson started out on piano but eventually took his place in a long line of great blues guitar slingers with strong ties to Texas, including Blind Lemon Jefferson, Lightnin’ Hopkins, T-Bone Walker, Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown, Albert Collins and Johnny Copeland. In terms of Watson’s early blues years, I’ll defer to our good friend The Hound, who did a fine job of rounding up the best of those recordings here.

But I’ll throw in a couple observations about the radioactive blues numbers that Watson waxed in Los Angeles (where he moved as a teenager) back in the mid ‘50s for the RPM label. First, if you don’t have a collection of those songs – and several good ones are still available, including one you can order at the end of this post (Hot Just Like TNT) – then you need to right that wrong immediately. Here’s a little taste of what you’re missing… Too Tired Also, as Hound rightfully points out, Watson laid down some pretty fearsome tracks both before and after he recorded for RPM. And you’d be hard-pressed to find a better slow burner from the early ‘60s than Cuttin’ In. At the risk of melting your laptop speakers, I’ll pack as much as I can into this next sample… Cuttin’ In

We’ll place Watson’s transition period (which we touched on here) in the early to mid ‘70s, when he recorded a couple albums for the Fantasy label, home of Creedence Clearwater Revival. Some view this era as Watson’s sweet spot, when he found that perfect mix of blues and funk. I’m guessing that was the late blue-eyed soulman Robert Palmer’s opinion – he covered this next song on his Some People Can Do What They Like album from ‘76. I like the slow grind of Palmer’s version, but you can’t top the sweet caress of Watson’s guitar solo on the original: You’ve Got a Hard Head

Which brings us to Watson’s most commercially successful period, when he came into is own as the ultimate pimp-hustler-gangster-soulman-funkdaddy. And, from what I’ve read, it wasn’t necessarily a role that Watson played to give his act a little “street cred.” As music writer Peter Guralnick puts it in his book Dream Boogie: The Triumph of Sam Cooke, Watson was “a star on the L.A. r&b scene whose talent was exceeded only by his panache and his ambivalence about whether he wanted to be a singer or a pimp.” And Hollywood still hasn’t picked up on this??

Watson’s string of hit albums released on the DJM label in the ’70s started with Ain’t That a Bitch in ’76. And at this point, you might be wondering how an unreconstructed blues nut such as me could appreciate these records, which were produced and orchestrated to within an inch of their lives with lush horns, precise yet funky rhythms and the occasional string section and synthesizer.

Well, I’ll give you three good reasons (sorry, I’m stuck on triads… seeking help): 1. Watson’s guitar – filled with Texas funk and L.A. fire no matter what he played; 2. Watson’s voice – an amazingly soulful instrument that only got better with age; and 3. Watson’s sense of humor – which makes virtually all of these tunes hugely entertaining (if a bit dated).

I probably should add that he had a great sense of drama as an arranger, which he used to create some fairly audacious openings to his best songs. Listen to how he kicks off A Real Mother for Ya with some powerful guitar riffs (cushioned by lush horns, of course): A Real Mother For Ya And that was simply an attempt to outdo the badass majesty of Bitch: Ain’t That a Bitch

One of the great strengths of these recordings is the tension that his down-home blues guitar and voice creates against the uptown arrangements. When was the last time you heard a guitar like this on urban radio? Superman Lover

No question, his music captures a very distinct time and place in American pop culture, with references to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s sky-hook, “makin’ milk out of powder” and hoppin’ on a “jet plane DC-10,” which today is primarily used to move Fed-Ex packages and the unfortunate passengers of Ghana Airways. It was a time when you could still find blaxploitation films at the theater (not the megaplex) and you didn’t have to explain the term “Detroit lean in a deuce and a quarter.”

He was the original Gangster of Love – a cool character whose red-hot guitar inspired a long and diverse list of artists, including Steve Miller, Bobby Womack, Frank Zappa, Sly Stone and Jimmie and Stevie Ray Vaughan. And he eventually gained a strong following of rappers/hip-hoppers with his deft wordplay and larger-than-life personality.

Watson continued to record and perform throughout the ‘80s and into the ‘90s. One of his biggest champions during this period was Zappa, who even credited the song Three Hours Past Midnight for motivating him to pick up the guitar. “One of the things I admired about him was his tone, this wiry, kind of nasty, aggressive and penetrating tone, and another was the fact that the things that he would play would often come out as rhythmic outbursts over the constant beat of the accompaniment,” Zappa said (from Zappa, a Biography, by Barry Miles). “It seemed to me that was the correct way to approach it, because it was like talking or singing over a background. There was a speech influence to the rhythm.” Watson appeared on several of Zappa’s later albums, although mainly as a vocalist.

As I referenced at the top of the post, Watson went out in a blaze of glory. He dropped dead on stage in Yokohama, Japan, right in the middle of one of his funky-ass guitar solos. Reportedly, his last words were “ain’t that a bitch.” And I ain’t makin’ that shit up.

Before I Let You Go

Here’s a couple of videos showing Johnny G in and his band in their prime, filmed live at a TV studio in Bremen, Germany in 1977. And they drive home the fact that Watson was one hell of a showman. Stick with Gangster of Love through the “calling all cars” schtick up front (if only to watch Watson ask his keyboard player what city they’re in) – the song starts at about the three minute mark. And on Ta-Ta, look how far up the neck of his guitar he places his capo, a la fellow Texans Gatemouth Brown and Albert Collins. Awesome solo too. So much soul:

This next video is a surreal treat. As Frank Zappa was dying of cancer, his wife Gail would try to boost his spirits with Friday-night “salons” at his house – eclectic gatherings of musicians and artists who had little in common other than showing up in Zappa’s rolodex. “He liked to introduce people from entirely different musical traditions and see what happened when they played together,” Miles notes in Zappa. Filmed by the BBC in January ’93, this one includes Zappa’s long-time friend Watson as well as a trio of Tuvan throat singers, violinist L. Shankar and members of the Chieftains. Zappa died in December of that year.

One more piece of Watsonian lore… I found it interesting that, after guitarist Jimmie Vaughan parted ways with harp player/lead singer Kim Wilson and the Fabulous Thunderbirds in 1990, both men got in touch with their inner Watsons – Vaughan with a credible version of Motor Head Baby from his ’98 album Out There, and Wilson with this number that gives guitarist Duke Robillard a little room to burn too… She Moves Me/Kim Wilson with Duke Robillard

Summer is right around the corner. Time to whip out the Fender Jaguar with whammy bar, Dual Showman amp, tube reverb unit, Precision bass and Rogers drum kit with a sweet floor tom. You surf freaks out there know what I’m talking about.

For the purposes of this week’s playlist – and recognizing the fact that I’m reporting from a completely landlocked community – we’ll expand our definition of surf to include a few related strains, like garage rock and blues instrumentals. To me, it’s all about the guitar. And who am I to tell Lonnie Mack he can’t hang with the Ventures?

Bobby Fuller & the Fanatics

Let’s start with something as unarguable as mom, apple pie and an awesome Malibu longboard. Although he grew up in El Paso and idolized fellow Texan Buddy Holly, Bobby Fuller cut most of his classic stuff in the more surf-friendly environs of Southern California. I’m sure you’re familiar with his most enduring tune, I Fought the Law (famously pilfered by John Mellencamp for his hit Authority Song). But you might not know that Fuller and his band, The Fanatics, also rode the surf with the best of them. Here’s a ’64 release on the Donna label that plays off of one of the year’s most popular TV shows, My Favorite Martian. Unfortunately, Fuller died two years later under mysterious circumstances… and the rumors continue to swirl. Some think The Mob was involved; others blame Charles Manson. Let’s not rule out aliens. Our Favorite Martian

Speaking of Holly… How did Clovis, New Mexico, become such a hotbed of surf guitar? Well, it starts with a first-rate producer – in this case, Norman Petty, who had a proven track record with the world’s greatest bespectacled rocker. Then throw in all those tasty stringbenders who made the pilgrimage to Petty’s Clovis studio back in the ‘50s and ‘60s hoping to get a piece of that action. Of course many of them showed up without a singer nearly as good as Holly. The solution? Cobble together a few surf-rock instrumentals that might inspire even more pimply faced kids to pick up a Fender. Here’s one of those bands responsible for this odd looping effect: The Tiaras (basically four gringos from Amarillo, shown in photo at top of post)… Mexican Rock

Now let’s head back down to El Paso, where a young blues guitarist named Long John Hunter landed in 1957 after a disappointing run at Houston’s Duke label. Hunter soon found a home across the Rio Grande in Juarez, where he held a steady gig at the Lobby Café for about 13 years. Two of his band members were Mexicans – local bartenders who Hunter personally whipped into shape to play his unique brand of border-flavored blues-rock. During this period, Hunter’s biracial band cut a number of sides for the small Yucca label in Alamogordo, New Mexico, where Bobby Fuller also recorded a few tunes. I wouldn’t call any of these songs surf, but they fall neatly into my “Beyond” category (meaning the guitar is front and center and they rock like Roman Polanski’s casting couch). Let’s give it up for Miriam Linna, proprietor of Norton Records, for digging these up in ’99 and adding her always-colorful comments in the liner notes. The Scratch

What do we know about The Fretts? Bupkus. I found this tune on a curious collection of rarities: Rockin’ Guitar and Early Original Piano Boogie Woogie (looks like the label could’ve use a copywriter). And the less-than-helpful liner notes plow right past The Fretts: “As a special treat, we offer you four unreleased guitar instros [sic] by two bands about which nothing is known [the other band is The Impacts].” Given the allure of this exotic little workout, I think they deserve a far better fate, don’t you? Ranch ‘n

Here’s another entry in the “Beyond” category… We covered Lonnie Mack pretty well in a previous post – one of the most influential rock guitarists to emerge in the early Sixties. Lonnie’s an absolute speed demon, but one who plays with consummate soul and taste. Here he turns the heat up on a tune later made famous by Creedence Clearwater Revival. CCR’s is my third-favorite version – Lonnie’s shares the #1 title with the awe-inspiring original by Dale Hawkins that features another fearsome guitpicker, James Burton.  Susie-Q

I’m a big fan of Mexican-wrestling surf rockers Los Straightjackets. Fact is, I have a weakness for just about any talent-filled band that doesn’t take itself too seriously. I also didn’t miss the fact that they landed on their surf-influenced sound in Nashville, not some paleface-less shore town in Southern California. Guitarists Danny Amis and Eddie Angel and drummer Jimmy Lester came together in ’88 as refugees from various rockabilly and post-punk bands (bassist Scott Esbeck signed on later). And according to their website, the band continues to tour and record with a new rhythm section. Here’s a sunny little rocker from their wonderfully named debut, The Utterly Fantastic and Totally Unbelievable Sound of Los Straightjackets. Carhop

Teisco Del Rey. Sure, it’s a sweet vintage guitar. It’s also a pseudonym used by rock journalist Dan Forte (Editor-at Large, Vintage Guitar magazine), who recorded two hugely entertaining albums back in the Nineties. Even the titles made me smile – The Many Moods Of and Teisco Del Rey Plays Music for Lovers. But there’s nothing jokey (well, maybe a little) about the way he manhandles the burly surf-rock tunes that show up on both albums. In keeping with the multi-cultural spirit of this post, I give you… Casbah

If you thought Junior Brown was just another two-trick pony, think again. The country picker’s weapon of choice is the double-neck “guit-steel” – half standard electric, half lap steel… something you wouldn’t normally bring to a beach bonfire. But he can flat-out ride the surf too. Junior’s great ’96 release Semi Crazy ends with a seven-minute surf medley – Pipeline, Walk Don’t Run and Secret Agent Man. I couldn’t share the whole thing, but enjoy the ride all the way up to the last number’s signature riff. Surf Medley

The King of Surf Guitar, Dick Dale – live on the Ed Sullivan Show, 1963…

Not surprisingly, many of these one-time collaborations sound exactly as intended – “let’s just roll tape, screw around a little bit and grab the good stuff.” But a few stand the test of time and hold up well against either performer’s best efforts.

From a creative standpoint, some of my favorite examples of great musical summits are in the blues category. Probably has a lot to do with the form’s casual, communal spirit – not to mention the friendly competition of old-school “cutting contests” that helped many of these players hone their chops. The best ones always bring it, regardless of the setting.

Big Walter Horton with Carey Bell: Although this 1972 release on the Alligator label is the only studio recording that featured harp giants Horton and Bell, they played many gigs together in Chicago’s South Side clubs. The older Horton was a bona-fide blues legend, a former Muddy Waters sideman who reportedly gave a few lessons to Rice Miller (Sonny Boy II). “Carey is Walter’s protégé,” label head Bruce Iglauer pointed out in the liner notes, “and when they jam together in the blues bars, people refer to them as father and son.” But they sound like peers and equals on this record, which captures an uncommon bond between two masters who know when to step up, and when to step aside… Required listening for hot-shot harp players who don’t know the difference between a duel and a duet. Have Mercy

Champion Jack Dupree and King Curtis: The King of Soulful Sax came to the 1971 Montreux Jazz Festival as part of Aretha Franklin’s backup band. Champion Jack was there to perform solo. Someone decided they should play together in an impromptu jam session that also featured funky guitarist Cornell Dupree (no relation), a veteran of Curtis’ R&B band from the early ‘60s. A former boxer, Champion Jack brought the same pugilistic approach to the piano – so he didn’t appear to be a good fit with more uptown players like Curtis and Dupree. But those two must have drawn on their own chitlin’ circuit experiences as they turned the Montreux stage into a Louisiana roadhouse. It ended up being Curtis’s final recording – three months later, he was stabbed to death by a junkie in front of his apartment in New York City. Get With It

Otis Spann and Robert Lockwood Jr.: This isn’t just a notable summit… The sessions that brought these two together in the winter of 1960 are among my favorite blues performances. Hearing Spann playing solo piano in a well-appointed NYC studio is a real treat – like downing a shot of fine, top-shelf whiskey. Adding Lockwood to the mix elevates it to Blues Nirvana. Spann, of course, lent his amazing chops to some of Muddy Waters’ best recordings, and Lockwood learned how to play guitar from a guy named Robert Johnson (his stepfather). Capturing the two of them in such an intimate setting was sheer genius. For that, we can thank renowned writer and humanitarian Nat Hentoff, who recorded them for his own short-lived Candid label (mostly a jazz imprint). Take A Little Walk With Me

Muddy Waters and The Band: I’m probably stretching our “summit” concept here, because I’m really talking about two lineups. The only true collaboration between Muddy and The Band – from the latter’s farewell performance on Thanksgiving Day, 1976 – was captured by Martin Scorsese for his documentary The Last Waltz (video below). Muddy stole the show, but maybe not the movie, which seemed fixated on guitarist Robbie Robertson’s matinee-idol makeover. I’m more fixated on The Muddy Waters Woodstock Album, a ’75 release that teamed Muddy with Levon Helm and Garth Hudson of The Band as well as harp maestro Paul Butterfield. Helm sounds like he’d been playing Chess sessions all his life (this was Muddy’s last release for the label), Hudson tears it up on accordion, and Butter adds some jaw-dropping solos on the album’s best songs. But once again, the real star is Muddy and that big, bad, beautiful voice. Why Are People Like That

Jay McShann and Claude Williams: Pianist McShann practically invented the Kansas City Sound with his hard-driving big band in the Forties, which included a young cat named Charlier Parker on sax. Williams was a little-known jazz fiddler and guitarist who, like McShann, was an Okie from Muskogee who made a name for himself playing in Kansas City clubs (Williams backed Count Basie with rhythm guitar). Although the two shared many gigs over the years, their recorded output is limited to only a couple of out-of-print albums. Thankfully, their ’72 collaboration, Man from Muskogee, is available as a digital download. Williams’ fiddle playing is an absolute joy, steeped in the blues and swing traditions but sounding completely in the moment. And you can’t lose with McShann pounding the keys and teasing every lyric. A roots music gem. Mary Ann

Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown and Roy Clark: Here’s another genre-bending collaboration (and, unfortunately, it isn’t available anywhere). Much like the Champion Jack-King Curtis pairing, this one doesn’t look good on paper. Gatemouth’s early recordings on the Peacock label are the motherlode for lovers of gritty, distorted blues guitar. Clark is a slick chicken picker who gained fame and fortune on the hit TV show Hee Haw. But they cover a lot of common ground on their ’79 summit Makin’ Music (mostly jump blues and swing). Clark sounds invigorated sparring with such a formidable partner. And Gate… well, he sounds like Gate – one of the most soulful, effortless and distinctive guitarists in any genre. Throw in Jim Keltner on drums, longtime Dylan accomplice Tony Garnier on bass, modern jazz great Airto Moreira on percussion… What’s not to like? Caldonia

Etta James and Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson: Both Etta and Eddie cut their teeth playing hard-grinding R&B. Although Eddie stayed that course through most of his career (with a few side trips into straight-ahead jazz), Etta began moving into a more pop-rock direction in the Seventies. But all of her more refined instincts went right out the window when she joined Cleanhead in ‘86 for a small-club show in L.A. We’re talking nasty, down in the gutter blues – including some R-rated stuff that the older crowd ate up like $10 slabs of prime rib. Reminds me of Eddie’s classic Kidney Stew, or Etta’s raucous Roll With Me Henry… or a typical juke-joint set for either artist back in the Fifties. And that’s a good thing indeed. Baby What You Want Me To Do

Muddy Waters and The Band, with Steady Rollin’ Bob Margolin on second guitar and Butter on harp – from The Last Waltz:

Pieced-together footage of Gatemouth Brown and Roy Clark on Austin City Limits. Rough sound too, but well worth your time. Nice pedal steel by Cal Freeman…

Let’s end on the mountaintop – Muddy, Otis Spann, Sonny Boy II, Lonnie Johnson, Victoria Spivey, Memphis Slim, Big Joe Williams, Willie Dixon, Matt Guitar Murphy… Live at the 1963 American Folk Blues Festival (the video basically ends at around 5 mins… lots of credits after that):

RIP Leonard Bertsch… the Mayor of Highland Square. You got about 10 more than you deserved, and we’re very thankful for that.

Blue Note artist Donald Byrd on a subway in NYC, 1959 (photo by William Claxton)

I don’t know about you, but I’m getting overwhelmed by all the dire news and violent images I’ve been digesting lately. Maybe it’s time to shut everything off, disconnect the cable, buy someone’s used RV and head off into the great unknown – where I can listen to red-state yayhoos blame the world’s problems on godless, gun-shunning fornicators like me.

Yeah, maybe that isn’t such a good idea… But at the very least, I need a little time to chill. So that makes me a little less inclined to slap on music that’s inane, hopeless, depressing or overly aggressive (or all four).

Remember what happened after 9/11, musically speaking? The most popular artist to emerge the following year was Norah Jones with her muted, elegant debut, Come Away With Me. Now I’ve heard lots of people slag Norah – dinner-club jazz, easy-listening pop, dreamy soundtracks for Big Gulp-swilling soccer moms… Not me. I had no problem suckling on that warm teat. Her voice was the soothing balm our wounded psyches needed in a post-9/11 world. And right now, I need me more of that (sorry Evan Johns… I’ll get back to you later).

It doesn’t even have to be the sound of a woman’s voice. It can be the martini-dry tone of Paul Desmond’s sax, caressed by the sweet seduction of Brazilian rhythms. You’re probably more familiar with Desmond as the longtime musical foil to Dave Brubeck and the prime architect of the most popular and familiar melody in jazz, Take Five. But Desmond also led quite a few sessions without Brubeck, including a few that featured other top-shelf players such as fellow saxman Gerry Mulligan, guitarist Jim Hall and the Modern Jazz Quartet. Bossa Antigua is the title song to a ’64 session with Hall that might seem like a cheap ploy to steal a little of Stan Getz’s mojo (he broke through in a big way the previous year with Getz/Gilberto and The Girl from Ipanema). But it’s still Desmond and Hall – two absolute masters who could shine in any setting. Bossa Antigua

When it comes to soul music, I’m usually feasting on the bountiful Stax-Volt catalog. Take me to Memphis, turn the Vibrolux up to 10 (thanks, John Hiatt) and hand the mic to someone who sounds a lot like Otis Redding. But occasionally – as in lately – I need something a little less electric… maybe something with strings and flutes. Before you accuse me of blatant milquetoast-ery, give a listen to Michael Kiwanuka’s towering achievement, Tell Me a Tale. The native of North London started out as a session guitarist before going all-in as a solo performer. According to his official bio, Kiwanuka was especially taken by Redding’s Sitting on the Dock of the Bay, which “made the soul icon seem more human, more accessible.” You can hear some of that influence in Kiwanuka’s fine 2012 release Home Again. But I’m still waiting for another song as startling as this one – a mellow-soul masterpiece that would make Bill Withers proud. Tell Me a Tale

If anything annoyed me about Norah Jones, it was this assumption she was the only game in town (I wouldn’t want to have been Diana Krall’s manager in 2002). We ought to save a little love for Shelby Lynne too. When Lynne was 17, she watched her father kill her mother and then take his own life – an unspeakable tragedy that left her with some anger management issues (laid bare in a classic New York Times profile). But she also found a way to cope by singing like a goddam hillbilly angel. Here’s evidence from her excellent 2008 tribute to Dusty Springfield, Just a Little Lovin’. This song was written by Eddie Hinton, another soulful performer who dealt with a fair amount of tragedy in his life. Breakfast in Bed

Some people think a great way to deal with adversity is to come up with brainless fist-pumpers like This Ain’t No Rag, It’s a Flag – or even well-meaning catastrophes like Accidental Racist. I’m not going to rain on their parades (well, I guess I just did, sort of). But I’ll simply point out that the most profound examples of healing I’ve experienced through music had little or nothing to do with a hopeful lyric wrapped up in a feel-good song. Maybe it’s just the sound of an instrument well-played. Maybe the performer’s wordless spirituality and wisdom are enough to remind us that, despite humanity’s worst failings, we’re also capable of true greatness… like the sound of John Coltrane’s horn. Aisha

I’m also uplifted by songs that remind me of better times and more beautiful locales. Yeah, I know… it’s called denial. But what’s wrong with taking a little time away from the dismal news of the day to luxuriate in a warm reggae beat? And what better place to start than the greatest reggae album of all time, the soundtrack to the movie The Harder They Come? I have many fond memories of when I first heard the album, and some of them don’t even involve ganja (which helps explain why I still have a few memories of the early ‘70s). The film itself was kind of depressing, sort of a cautionary tale for would-be gangsters everywhere. But the music is a celebration of the Jamaican spirit, featuring the best songs and performers of the era. Songs like this one, by the movie’s star, Jimmy Cliff. Sitting in Limbo

Some folks think blues music is a complete downer. I couldn’t disagree more. Blues has always been about lifting people out of misery… that, and making all of us more aware of the human condition, which seems to be a pretty good way to discourage random acts of violence. But mostly it’s about having a good time – something I’ve discovered through extensive research over the years. Few things made me happier than seeing Muddy Waters live at the Cleveland Agora back in ’78. It was like going to church, with the service conducted by a Big Black Buddha – the font of all blues knowledge. Verily, it was good. In the spirit of this post, I’ll sample a rare, intimate performance captured by a Swiss radio station in 1972. It features Muddy on electric (turned way down) with Louis Myers on second guitar and Mojo Buford on harp. Rock Me

To be honest (does that mean everything I’ve shared up to this point has been complete bullshit?), here’s the easiest way for me to chill out – go on a long bike ride in the country, then grab a cold beer and collapse on the deck while listening to Blue Note jazz from the Sixties (and watching my big dog chew on the small one’s throat). Wayne Shorter, Horace Silver, Lee Morgan, Dexter Gordon, Herbie Hancock, Jackie McLean… The High Priests of Cool. Here’s a tune by Shorter that always lowers my blood pressure. Miles Davis did a beautiful version with his Second Great Quintet (in which Shorter played sax and served as the band’s go-to composer), but the original is still the gold standard. Have a cold one while you listen… Footprints

On Friday, we lost one of the greatest singers of any genre… definitely the best white soul singer of all time. RIP George Jones.

Lately, though, I’ve seen a positive sign or two on that bleak landscape – enough to make a hardened cynic like me realize the music biz is capable of doing a few things right.

Let’s start with Omara “Bombino” Moctar, the mind-blowing guitslinger from Niger in Western Africa. In a previous post, we touched on Bombino’s remarkable backstory and featured several videos – including a mesmerizing performance of his song Tar Hani, captured by filmmaker Ron Wyman at the edge of the Saharan desert. Just in case you missed it…

Tar Hani is from Bombino’s 2011 release, Agadez, which I’d place at or near the top of the heap of that year’s musical offerings. Now he’s back with Nomad, recorded at Dan Auerbach’s Easy Eye Studio in Nashville. And it’s great to read all the glowing reviews from critics who normally would rather hyperventilate over the latest hipster band from Brooklyn/Portland. Four stars in Rolling Stone… LA Times recommended it to “anyone who has ever appreciated a master player make magic on a Fender”… NPR called it “a landmark in African rock music”… and I’ll throw RCR into the mix by simply pointing out they all got it right.

As you can imagine, with Dan at the helm, Nomad is thicker, heavier and more down in the groove than its predecessor. And that only seems to add greater focus to Bombino’s stunning guitar and slithery originals. No question, the man from Agadez can shred with the best of them (including his idol Mark Knopfler). But Dan wisely spends more time turning Bombino’s ethereal riffs into taut, high-energy rockers, lifting these songs from pleasant global collaborations into ecstatic celebrations of the African spirit. Here’s a taste of that ecstasy – some trippy footage from the Nashville sessions:

Meanwhile, Sony Legacy just released new songs by another master, Shuggie Otis. “New” is probably a stretch… Inspiration Information/Wings of Love includes the full contents of his groundbreaking album from 1974 (Inspiration, with four bonus tracks) as well as a separate CD of unreleased studio and live recordings from 1975 to 2000. Despite the heavy use of synths and bad Eighties effects on the second disc, it’s a real treat to hear more of Shuggie’s guitar – a shimmering, soulful mix of blues, jazz and funk. And, as you can tell from this cut from Inspiration, he remains hugely underrated as an arranger: Not Available

Keep in mind, he played most of the instruments you hear on this song and painstakingly edited those performances into a final cut, long before artists like Prince and D’Angelo tried their hand at the same technique. But more important, he kept it exceptionally funky… in a psychedelic, Seventies sort of way.

Shuggie’s also making the rounds on the late night talk shows and has booked a fairly busy schedule of small-venue concerts. Hopefully his lengendary chops will get even better in the coming weeks. In the meantime, here’s a solid performance from The Jimmy Fallon Show.

And then there’s D’Angelo, whose comeback album is “99% complete” according to his producer, Questlove of The Roots. Starting with his ’95 debut, Brown Sugar, D’Angelo paved the way for a small army of neo-soul artists such as Lauryn Hill, Erykah Badu, John Legend and Outkast. Then, much like Shuggie, he mysteriously fell off the radar screen following his 2000 album Voodoo. Drugs? Depression? Battles with his label? Does it really matter? In an industry fueled by home recordings and free downloads, I find it stunning when artists as supremely gifted as D’Angelo and Shuggie Otis can’t find a way to either create music or get their songs to fans who kept the faith during the fallow years.

Hopefully, we’ll hear a lot more from both in the coming years – and watch Bombino (and Dan) rake in a little hardware at the next Grammy Awards.

Here’s another encouraging sign – documentary footage of D’Angelo and Questlove performing at last year’s Bonnaroo Festival (the band kicks in at roughly the two-minute mark):

Bill Allen & the Back Beats

I wouldn’t put them in the same category as the Burnettes or Gene Vincent, but Allen and his band the Back Beats came up with one of the best examples of the form with this red-hot single from ‘58: Please Give Me Something

As Allen pointed out on the Rockabilly Hall of Fame’s website, the band’s DIY approach paid off when they rolled tape on this one at an Akron radio station. “Our only effects were a Fender reverb unit and Johnny’s (guitarist Seli) Les Paul and Fender Bassman amp,” Allen said. “I played rhythm guitar and Dean (drummer Hanley) kept time with a muted snare drum, desk top and an Akron Telephone Book.” Love the dynamics on this tune – about as basic and effective as rock ‘n roll gets.

The Imperial label released the song as the B side of a single, but wanted Allen to remix it at an L.A. studio. Allen turned them down, mainly because he didn’t want to leave his wife while she was pregnant. Good move from both a personal and artistic standpoint… bad for his career. The label apparently had little faith in the band’s raw, primitive sound and ended up pulling the single, effectively killing their only shot at success.

But it’s hard to bury a song this good. It eventually resurfaced on compilations in Europe and was embraced by rockabilly fans in France, Germany and the UK. And I’m willing to bet the original single worked its way into the record collection of another Akron native, Erick Lee Purkhiser – better known to his fans as Lux Interior. It clearly served as an inspiration for his groundbreaking psychobilly band The Cramps and this next song in particular, featuring the buzz-saw guitar of Poison Ivy (Erick’s wife, Kristy Wallace, who also spent a fair amount of time in Akron). Twist and Shout is from the band’s 1980 release “Songs the Lord Taught Us,” recorded in Memphis by Alex Chilton (Box Tops, Big Star). Twist and Shout

Here’s another guy who felt the love of enthusiastic rockabilly fans in Europe. A native of Harlan County, Kentucky, Rusty York scored a minor hit in 1959 with Sugaree, released on the venerable Chess label. This next tune was aimed at building on that success, but remained unissued for 19 years until it showed up on a UK compilation. By then, York had already moved on from his rockabilly roots to record country, bluegrass and gospel music at his Jewel Recording Studio in Cincinnati (and release them on his own label of the same name). I interviewed York in the early ‘80s for an article in the local music mag. Those notes are long gone, but I recall a very friendly, engaging and satisfied man who seemed more amused than frustrated by the setbacks he experienced as a recording artist (apparently, running a successful business helps ease the sting). York sold Jewel in 2008 and moved to Florida… RCR wishes him the best in his retirement. Sweet Talk

What do I know about The Jet Tones? Three things:

1. They hailed from Lorain, Ohio (about 60 miles from Akron)
2. Their hot-shit guitarist was named Donald Ward
3. They gave us one sweet slice of rockabilly goodness

Jet Tone Boogie was the flip side of a ’59 Chess single that included another Cleveland-area artist, Rocky Olson. His cover of the Leiber and Stoller favorite Kansas City is nice, but definitely not in the same zip code as the B side – a hillbilly explosion that sounds like it was recorded in some Memphis garage. In two short minutes, it works in a slap-bass solo, a drum solo, a few screams and some of the wildest guitar shredding that ever came out of northeast Ohio. I have no idea who Ward is and what happened to him… Anyone? Jet Tone Boogie

Brenda Lee aping Judy Garland

Brenda Lee (aka “Little Miss Dynamite”) is probably best known for her seasonal hit Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. But she also recorded some tough-as-nails rockabilly back in the ‘50s, when she was barely in her teens. This next tune held down the B side of Lee’s first single for the label, which also included a spirited version of the cajun tune Jambalaya. Both tunes were recorded in ’56 at Owen Bradley’s Quonset Hut studio – the cornerstone of Nashville’s Music Row. Those tasty guitar licks are courtesy of Grady Martin, who turned up the heat on a whole slew of country and rockabilly hits during his five decades as a Nashville session man. Bigelow 6-200

I should dedicate a whole post to the inimitable Joe Clay (known to his parents as Claiborne Joseph Cheramie). He certainly falls under the category of “criminally ignored.” Case in point: the nine radioactive cuts this little-known Cajun rocker waxed for RCA back in 1956 – four including the great Mickey Baker on guitar. Although he shared the stage with Elvis on the Louisiana Hayride and even landed on the Ed Sullivan Show, Clay never got the recognition he deserved. Probably a combination of bad timing and poor management, because you can’t argue with the results. At the risk of sounding completely redundant, I’ll point out that rockabilly fanatics in Europe once again came to the rescue by reissuing the RCA sides on several compilations. That didn’t mean he could quit his job driving a school bus in New Orleans or turn down the steady gigs at local weddings and lounges. But at least a few thousand more people around the world now understand what real, honest-to-god “crank it up and let it rip” rockabilly sounds like… Slipping Out and Sneaking In

We’ll close with one of the greatest rockabilly cats who ever walked into Sun Studios, Billy Lee Riley. One of my most prized possessions is a first-rate compilation of Riley’s Sun recordings (a UK release, of course). If you’re not familiar with his crowning achievements – Flyin’ Saucers Rock and Roll and Red Hot – I’ll once again encourage you to exit here. One of the finer pleasures of the Riley comp is listening to the way he manhandles songs more commonly associated with other artists, like Louis Jordan and The Coasters. Here’s Riley’s take on an old blues standard by Big Joe Williams. It’s been covered by a “who’s who” of blues and rock royalty – Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker, Bob Dylan, The Doors, Van Morrison, Aerosmith, AC/DC… But few attack it with as much flair as the man from Pocahontas, Arkansas. Riley passed away in 2009, but thankfully his unique brand of hillbilly soul lives on. Baby Please Don’t Go

One more thing… RIP, Bill Allen.

This ain’t rockabilly, but it’s a pretty cool period piece – Brenda Lee singing Lover, Come Back to Me…

I don’t know where this came from (it was uploaded in 2010, and the footage is pretty rough), but looks like Joe Clay isn’t ready to hang up his rock ‘n roll shoes…