Rubber City Review

They called him the King of the Hillbilly Piano Players. I like to think of Moon Mullican as one of the lost heroes of rock ‘n roll – a vital link between R&B piano pounders like Amos Milburn and early rockers like Bill Haley and Jerry Lee Lewis who owed a huge debt to the Moon songbook.

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.

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):

Think of the many streams that flow into that big river called early rock ‘n roll – blues, gospel, R&B, doo-wop, country… You can hear all of those influences and maybe a few others (Southern Gothic?) in the music of The “5” Royales, one of the greatest and most overlooked acts of the Fifties and Sixties.

Even if you’ve never heard of The “5” Royales, you’re probably familiar with their work. The Mamas & The Papas turned one of their most popular songs, Dedicated To The One I Love, into a massive hit in 1967 (topping The Shirelles’ version from six years earlier). James Brown scored his first Top 40 hit in 1960 by turning up the heat on The Royales’ slow-burning original Think. And Ray Charles’ last hit for Atlantic Records was a 1960 cover of the band’s R&B classic Tell the Truth (with vocals by Raelette Margie Hendrix).

But those songs just scratch the surface of this band’s amazing legacy, which remains buried under an avalanche of reissues involving far-less-deserving artists (good luck finding Rhino’s two-disc Royales anthology “Monkey Hips and Rice” – a thing of great beauty and majesty – but how about four discs devoted to one shitty album, “Band on the Run”?).

Time for our mandatory background check… The nucleus of The “5” Royales was formed in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, which also gave us Camel cigarettes, Krispy Kreme doughnuts and John Tesh (sorry, took a side-trip to wikipedia). And the band’s roots were decidedly in the gospel tradition.

The Royales’ signature sound was built around two members in particular – songwriter and guitarist extraordinaire Lowman Pauling and wailing lead vocalist Johnny Tanner. Pauling and Tanner started singing together in a gospel group called The Royal Sons. That band eventually included vocalists Otto Jeffries, Jimmy Moore and Obadiah Carter – the starting lineup along with Pauling and Tanner when The Royals became The “5” Royales in 1952 (pronounced roy-ALS, with the quote marks used to account for an early six-man lineup that included singer Johnny Holmes).

Here’s a gospel number recorded by The Royal Sons in New York City and released by the Apollo label in 1952: Let Nothing Separate Me

But The “5″ Royales started to gain some traction with a tougher, R&B based sound – and songs covering topics that you don’t hear about in church: Right Around the Corner

That tune was written by a couple of staff writers at Cincinnati-based King Records, where The Royales landed in 1954. But the vast majority of the band’s songs came from Pauling, who combined a keen wit with an uncommon sense of drama. A few of his tunes – most notably, Monkey Hips and Rice – had unlikely sources of inspiration, as Ed Ward points out in his generous liner notes to the Rhino anthology:

“One day on tour, the group was eating in a luncheonette when a customer cracked the place up by coming in and announcing in a loud voice, ‘Just gimme a plate of those monkey hips and rice.’ A light went on in Pauling’s eyes, and there was their next new song. Certainly punishing poor Geneva by beating her ‘down and down’ with a chair is uncalled for, but it probably should be taken in the same cartoonish spirit as the meal. (Next time you’re near a monkey, check out how much meat you’d get off its hips.)” Monkey Hips and Rice

The “5” Royales recorded a number of jump blues classics in the early Fifties. But the band entered a different realm in ’57 when Pauling began to cut loose on guitar. The sound of those gospel-infused vocals framed by Pauling’s gutbucket guitar is one of the great joys of rock ‘n roll, and you really don’t hear that sound anywhere else. It’s the perfect fusion of all those influences I mentioned up front, with no compromises and nothing diminished. Pauling’s blues is just as powerful as Tanner’s churchy vocals. Call it pure American soul: Say It

Speaking of soul, that tune betrays a far deeper side to Pauling’s songwriting – one that had little to do with clever phrases and double entendres. As Ward points out, “You just can’t put something like this out and expect those happy teens to snap it up.” Which might help explain why The “5” Royales remain virtually unknown while the teen idols who followed (Frankie Avalon, Fabian, Connie Francis, etc.) are still household names.

King managed to score a minor hit earlier in ’57 with Think. I was familiar with J.B.’s version long before I found the “Monkey Hips” anthology in a Lexington record store (god bless CD Central), so I was floored when I first heard the rocking, mid-tempo groove of the Royales’ original, punctuated by some nasty riffs from Pauling’s guitar. Don’t get me wrong – can’t do without the Famous Flames. But the original is an equally satisfying slice of wonder: Think

At this point, I should mention that Pauling was a big influence on a young Steve Cropper, who generously credited his mentor – and Pauling’s playing on Think in particular – when Cropper was earning his reputation as the king of soul guitar in the ‘60s.

“I think it was Lowman’s licks and stance that were unforgettable to me,” Cropper said (from 429 Records). “He had a way of weaving his fills in when there was a hole in the melody and vocal, then he would get right back to the rhythm. Early on, I drew my rhythm influences from Bo Diddley, whose solo picking I loved, but Lowman did a lot of stuff that no one could really duplicate. As cool as it was to see the way he worked with the strap live (Pauling would use a long strap to keep his guitar real low – down by his knees – then cradle his axe and let the strap hit the floor when he played leads), he was good to listen to on record too because of those amazing fills. As I began working as a session guitarist, I applied a cardinal rule that I learned from watching and listening to Lowman. You don’t step on top of the singer. You’re there to lend support until your time for a solo comes up.”

Although they didn’t tear up the charts in the late ‘50s, The “5” Royales fit right in with King Records’s fearsome stable of artists, including James Brown, Hank Ballard and Little Willie John. King’s long-time producer, Henry Glover (who also worked with the band at Apollo), seemed to understand how to capture the essence of a band that, by all accounts, was tearing it up on stage damn near every night.

Like most of the essential King releases of the era, there was little attempt to smooth out the rough edges. Glover and the label’s head, Syd Nathan, knew their audience – primarily urban blacks who wanted the real deal, not some lame imitation of what they were hearing in the clubs.

With Pauling’s guitar cranked up in the mix, The “5” Royales churned out an impressive (if largely ignored) body of work following the birth of rock. It’s hard to imagine how they missed anyone’s attention when you hear the original version of Dedicated To The One I Love. Johnny Tanner’s brother Eugene takes the lead vocals on this one, and I can’t decide what I like more – his great performance or Pauling’s meaty fills on guitar. Kind of makes you forget all about Mama Cass: Dedicated To The One I Love

As commercial success continued to elude them, various band members came and went in the early Sixties – and by 1965 the band was finished. Pauling struggled with alcohol and died of a seizure in ’73 (he was working as a night watchman in a New York City church). Other band members left secular music behind for good, including Johnny Tanner, who was the director of the senior choir at the St. John CME Church in Winston-Salem until he passed away in 2005.

Although nominated in 2002 and 2004, The “5” Royales have yet to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Abba was inducted last year. Do I really need to explain what’s wrong with this picture?

No videos that I could find of The “5″ Royales in their prime… But I included this static-image clip for three reasons: 1) good sound quality; 2) more great guitar by Pauling; and 3) rock critic Dave Marsh named this song one of “the top 1001 singles of all time” in his book The Heart of Rock and Soul.

“Dedicated,” Steve Cropper’s all-star tribute to The “5” Royales, will be released August 9 on 429 Records. Special guests include B.B. King, Delbert McClinton, Bettye LaVette, Buddy Miller, Lucinda Williams, Steve Winwood, Sharon Jones, Shemekia Copeland… I’m already wondering how they’re going to pull this off. Here’s how Cropper describes the experience: “…if I can get (young people) interested in The ’5′ Royales, I’ve done something. Lowman Pauling was a major influence on me, and I think what I got out of his playing was that as a one-man guitar he was able to play rhythm and then when it was acceptable, play fills or a solo. And I think that I carried that with me through my Stax days and most of the records I’m known for playing on, it’s that style of being one man on a session. His music is youthful, original, and full of spirit so that’s why I let his style influence me. It’s been the most fun I’ve had making a record in a long time.” Look for spirited remakes of The Slummer The Slum (Buddy Miller), Dedicated To The One I Love (Winwood and Williams), Say It (LaVette), Right Around The Corner (McClinton) and Think (recast by Cropper as an instrumental). I’ll give it a few listens and report back in a future post. Check here for a nice interview with Cropper about the project.

Speaking of March Madness, who’s idea was it to borrow so heavily from the President’s brackets? All top seeds? All gone. Although I must admit, it’s made the games far more entertaining. I don’t usually find myself agreeing with Charles Barkley, but I liked his comment at the end of a drama-filled weekend of Elite 8 match-ups: “If you didn’t like these four games, you don’t enjoy sports.” Not that enjoyment of sports is a civic duty. For example, I don’t care much for the fashion industry. I think all Americans should be required to wear uniforms with our names sewn on our shirts… might help stop bullying. But I digress.

Let’s jump back to jump blues: Here’s an act I knew next to nothing about until I came across a post on the Hound Blog. The Treniers were identical twins Cliff and Claude from Mobile, Alabama, usually backed by assorted relatives and hired hands. And as you can tell from this clip, their stock in trade was tearin’ it up onstage – mostly in Vegas or Atlantic City lounges. “The modern world knows no equivalent of the Treniers, who like Louis Prima with Sam Butera & the Witnesses, were all about entertaining their audience,” The Hound wrote. “They didn’t need a dozen tractor trailer trucks full of crap like U2 carry around…” Here’s a wild performance from ’53 on a show called “Night Music” (anyone familiar with that one?).

One of my favorite jump blues artists is Amos Milburn, a wonderful piano player who also performed some top-shelf drinking songs, including One Scotch, One Bourbon, One Beer and Let Me Go Home Whiskey. Here’s another one, and Milburn plays it with a smile on his face, despite losing his happy home and having to borrow Paul Williams’ band.

Blues doesn’t get much better than this clip from “And This is Free: The Life and Times of Chicago’s Legendary Maxwell St.,” a cinema verite-style documentary filmed in 1964 by director Mike Shea with assistance from guitarist Mike Bloomfield. Robert Nighthawk was a fixture on Maxwell Street during the early Sixties, and this slow-burning original shows why legends like Muddy Waters and Sonny Boy Williamson couldn’t get enough of Nighthawk’s deep, dark blues. It’s strong stuff, as you can see from the very personal ways that people experience his music. And the video captures a time and place that’s long gone.

Buddy Guy, Junior Wells and Magic Sam led the next wave of Chicago bluesmen. And tunes like Sam’s Boogie show what the fuss was all about – hard-driving, relentless, rockin’… Muddy wasn’t exactly running scared, but he was definitely paying attention. This clip starts out with a brief interview on a train as Magic Sam talks about his roots, playing the one-string “diddley bow” down in Mississippi. Then it moves to his signature song, All Your Love, followed by the show-stopping Sam’s Boogie. Essential blues – and amazingly, still available on youtube.

What if Lady Gaga turned out to be The Antichrist? Imagine armies of her meat-clad minions cutting a huge swath of destruction across the country. Entire towns are being leveled by massive, boob-guided lasers. Deep below the earth’s surface, a team of scientists works frantically in its secret bunker to develop an antidote. Finally, they emerge with a powerful force – the only weapon that can crush the protective titanium globe around Lady Gaga’s head. That weapon, my friends, is the mighty sound of Big Maybelle’s voice: Ain’t To Be Played With

Although we’re clearly delusional, those of us hiding out in RCR’s bunker are dedicated to bringing a little overdue recognition to artists who remain criminally ignored. And you’d be hard-pressed to come up with a more deserving subject than Big Maybelle.

Consider that she recorded Whole Lot of Shakin’ Goin’ On more than two years before Jerry Lee Lewis set the world on fire with his more rockin’ version, recorded at Sun Studios in May 1957. Granted, Jerry Lee kicks the song into overdrive. But he can’t top Big Maybelle’s voice, which sounds like it could peel every layer of paint off the church: Whole Lot of Shakin’ Goin’ On

Shakin’ is one of many outstanding tunes Big Maybelle cut for the Okeh label from October 8, 1952 through March 21, 1955 that feature the crème de la crème of New York City studio musicians, including Sam “The Man” Taylor on tenor sax, the red-hot Mickey Baker on guitar and the legendary Panama Francis on drums. But the centerpiece of these songs is clearly that big, bold and brassy voice – a truly wondrous sound, even by the high standards of post-war, pre-rock R&B. A voice that made a microphone and PA system seem practically meaningless. Where the hell did this 250-pound powerhouse come from?

A little background… Born on May 1, 1924 in Jackson, TN, Mabel Louise Smith honed her awe-inspiring instrument in the tradition of the Sanctified Church, a highly spirited denomination that made Southern Baptists seem positively tame. At this point, I’ll defer to music researcher Peter Grendysa’s liner notes from “Big Maybelle – The Complete Okeh Sessions”:

“At the age of eight (Mabel) fearlessly entered the Memphis Cotton Carnival amateur contest and took home First Prize. Pushed to the front of her local Sanctified Church congregation, little Mabel learned to shout and cry for the glory of the Lord. The raw, uninhibited emotion of her church remained with her throughout her professional career.”

But so did an insatiable lust for the bad stuff. Obviously, she ate more than her fine frame could handle. And a nagging drug habit throughout her adult life contributed to her poor health. Grendysa’s notes include this revealing quote from an autobiography by Ralph Cooper, a former emcee at the Apollo Theater: “She was a wonderful singer and a funny character who did a lot of sniffin’. Heroin was her thing, and it cost a lot of money. She used to hang out at the theater, and whenever she needed the powder, which was all the time, she would put the touch on anybody who was around” – including the great boxer Joe Louis, who apparently had a soft spot for Big Maybelle’s constant come-ons for money.

The one-two punch of an unhealthy lifestyle and drug use led to Big Maybelle’s untimely demise in 1972. She passed away in a diabetic coma in Cleveland at the relatively young age of 47.

Big Maybelle wasn’t as prolific as some of her contemporaries, including Big Mama Thornton and Etta James. But her explosive Okeh tracks remain some of best examples of blues-influenced R&B you can find from the Fifties.

Previous to ’52, Big Maybelle had recorded for Cincinnati’s King Records and toured as a singer for labelmate Tiny (Train Kept a Rollin’) Bradshaw’s jump blues band. During the down time, she’d perform in some of the bustling nightclubs across the river from Cincinnati in Newport, KY. At one of those gigs, a local DJ named Ernie Waits introduced her to indie record man Fred Mendelsohn, who cut a deal with Big Maybelle right on the spot. Mendelsohn eventually set up the Okeh recording dates in NYC that cemented her reputation as one of the most dynamic voices in R&B.

The next tune is from her first session for Okeh. It opens with a nice sax riff by Taylor and features some meaty fills by jazz guitarist James Cannady, who also recorded with Miles Davis and Benny Carter, among others: So Good To My Baby

Baker joined the sessions in January ’54, and his stinging, bluesy guitar served as the perfect foil for Big Maybelle’s soulful growl: No More Trouble Out Of Me

Here’s a hidden gem from one of Big Maybelle’s last sessions for Okeh, with a Ray Charles-like arrangement and more stunning guitar from Baker: Don’t Leave Poor Me

Big Maybelle continued to perform and record as her health declined, with mixed results. She cut some great sides for the Savoy label from 1956 to 1959 – some in a jazzier vein, but others that matched the power and majesty of her Okeh recordings. This one was covered by Charles Brown on his excellent 1990 release “All My Life”: That’s a Pretty Good Love

She also was a major influence on a young Aretha Franklin, who later covered two songs from Big Maybelle’s Savoy years – Pitiful and So Long – on her unheralded album “Soul ’69.”

I may not understand the junkie lifestyle, but when I listen to Big Maybelle’s classic sides from the Fifties, I definitely want more. And that’s the tragedy of her all-too-brief career – although I’m hoping Big Maybelle’s legacy will outlive Lady Gaga’s titanium headdress. I’ve Got a Feelin’

This might be the only live video of Big Maybelle on youtube – from the 1958 Newport Jazz Festival:

Another big, sprawling topic – more than one post can handle. And another cheap excuse to share a few of my favorite examples of the form.

But what is jump blues, exactly? Some would describe it as post-Thirties (mostly post-war, with a few major exceptions), pre-rock ‘n roll, small-combo, primarily horn-driven R&B… true, honest-to-god rhythm and blues, that is, as opposed to what you might call a more contemporary urban act like Boys II Men or even John Legend. And the undisputed king of jump blues is the great Louis Jordan.

Jordan was a huge influence on blues giants like B.B. King, Muddy Waters and Little Walter. In fact, Walter credited his tone and attack to spending countless hours trying to play harmonica just like Jordan played alto sax. Which makes sense, because Walter transcended his peers with a hard-driving yet melodic sound – basically the same approach that Jordan used on a long list of hits that directly preceded the golden years of Chess Records.

Jordan’s best tunes serve as the most obvious examples of what makes jump blues – done right – such a beautiful thing: great musicianship, rockin’ rhythms and plenty of attitude, all cooked up in a spicy stew of jazz and blues – and, on this number, even a little taste of the Caribbean… Run Joe/Louis Jordan

If you don’t have any Louis in your life, my deepest sympathies. I’ll direct you immediately to a huge but affordable collection of his recordings on Decca from 1938 to 1950: Louis Jordan and His Tympany Five (on the JSP label). You might say, “I don’t want to spend $29 for five discs of Jordan in his prime,” and I’d agree, but only if you decide to buy the entire collection of 131 songs on amazon’s mp3 store for the ridiculous price of $8.99. I know, it seems almost criminal, but it’s legit. We’re talking essential stuff like Caldonia, Five Guys Named Moe, Choo Choo Ch’Boogie, Let The Good Times Roll, Blue Light Boogie, and duets with Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Bing Crosby. If there’s such a thing as a Great American Songbook, many of these tunes would be in it – and you’ll find very few duds in the mix. I’m starting to sound like a late-night TV pitchman.

Some even would argue that Jordan was the original rapper. I’ll let you decide by listening to this number 5 R&B hit from 1948: Pettin’ and Pokin’/Louis Jordan

Anyway, that’s my amazon sales pitch for the week (but I’ll also mention that JSP offers excellent box sets featuring Charlie Parker, Django Reinhardt, Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown and essential country blues artists like Son House and Skip James… you can find them here).

Now that we have Jordan covered, let’s look at a few other gems in the jump blues canon.

But first, a cautionary message. Seems this genre in particular has been hard-hit by the economic downturn (ironic, given that many small R&B combos were formed as economical alternatives to big bands). In other words, stuff that was readily available a few years ago is especially hard to find today, because record stores are disappearing and iTunes needs all that bandwidth for Grizzly Bear and Lady Ga Ga. So good luck finding Tiny Bradshaw – and I apologize in advance for sharing any songs that are long out of print.

Back to the goods. Generally, you don’t listen to jump blues for the lyrics, especially if you’re turned off by the occasional ode to misogyny (Shut Your Big Mouth or Upside Your Head, anyone?). But it’s important to point out that jump blues gave rise to a lot of great women singers and instrumentalists – Dinah Washington, Ella Johnson, Little Esther Phillips, Helen Hume – and big-time piano pounders like Camille Howard and Julia Lee (who were solid singers too). Here’s Camille radiatin’ the 88s with one of the era’s most popular jump blues band leaders, Roy Milton… Milton’s Boogie/Roy Milton with Camille Howard

I thought about including this next one on our “Great Moments in Modern Music” post. Next to Jordan, my favorite jump blues artist is probably Buddy Johnson, also known as the “King of the One-Nighters” (he played thousands of gigs over a 20-year period throughout the South). His specialty was dance music, and more than a few of his signature songs featured his younger sister Ella on vocals. Listen to how Ella’s coy come-on is answered by a powerful blast from Buddy’s road-tested horn section. Crank it up! That’s How I Feel About You/Buddy and Ella Johnson

You can find a lot of great instrumentals in jump blues – Flamingo by Earl Bostic, Honky Tonk by Bill Doggett, Cole Slaw by Frank Culley, Walk ‘Em by Buddy Johnson… But this next one by barrelhouse piano player Sammy Price is hard to top. It features the dangerous guitar of long-time New York session man Mickey Baker and the soulful sax of the one and only King Curtis. Price also played in a lot of sessions in New York, primarily as house pianist for Decca records. But his recordings with Baker and Curtis sound almost live – like someone threw out a few basic riffs and they took off with the tape running. Recorded in ’56, Rib Joint combines a rock ‘n roll attitude with Price’s deep roots in Texas blues and boogie-woogie (he cut his first record in Dallas in ’29)… Pick up the song on iTunes for 99 cents, or buy the whole album on amazon for $100: Rib Joint/Sammy Price with Mickey Baker and King Curtis

Even a giant of jazz like Dizzy Gillespie couldn’t resist the joys of jump blues. Maybe he wanted to move beyond the tired conventions of be-bop, or maybe he was just selling out. I’m guessing the latter is closer to the truth – he’d just started his own label (Dee Gee) when he recorded School Days in ’51. And, since he always had his ear to the rail, Dizzy probably knew that R&B 45s were very popular among urban blacks and easy to find in barroom jukeboxes. Louis Jordan scored an R&B hit with this number just the year before, so Dizzy certainly didn’t break any new ground here. But if you were putting together a jump blues combo, wouldn’t you want the world’s greatest trumpet player in your band? Vocals by Joe Carroll. And, like I said earlier, you’re not here for the lyrics. School Days/Dizzy Gillespie

Brother James, who has a hot little swing band in St. Augustine called the House Cats, turned me on to Julia Lee. James covers her tune Lotus Blossom, which was first recorded as the less-than-subtle Marijuana. But subtlety wasn’t one of Lee’s strong suits – she also recorded a fair amount of risque rhythm & blues, like My Man Stands Out (yes, we’re talking slack size) and I’ve Got A Crush On The Fuller Brush Man. Novelty tunes aside, Lee could flat-out play the piano. In fact, she honed her chops in the clubs of Kansas City, where you didn’t even show up unless you could hang with the likes of Bennie Moten or Jay McShann. The German Bear Family label paid tribute to Lee with a five-CD set called ”Kansas City Star”… Great stuff, but you can probably live with far less. Here’s a taste… If It’s Good/Julia Lee

This is the third time Wynonie Harris has shown up in one of our posts (also check out “King of the Independents” and “There Stands the Glass”), so obviously we have our collective finger on the pulse of popular culture. That, and we’re convinced Wynonie is highly underrated. Like Big Joe Turner and Roy Brown, Harris was an unreconstructed blues shouter. But I’ve always been partial to the power and grit in Harris’ voice, which comes across like the human equivalent of an overdriven tube amp. Here’s one of my favorite Wynonie tunes, recorded in 1953 at Cincinnati’s King Studios. It’s from “Battle of the Blues,” a compilation that pits Harris against Brown in an imagined juke-joint cutting contest. Wynonie wins in a knockout. Bring It Back/Wynonie Harris

Here’s another tune recorded at King. It features The 5 Royales, a group from North Carolina that combined a strong gospel influence with driving R&B rhythms and the gutbucket guitar of Lowman Pauling, who was a big influence on a young Steve Cropper. Their tunes were covered by James Brown (Think), Ray Charles (Tell The Truth) and the Shirelles (Dedicated To The One I Love, which also was covered by the Mamas and the Papas). Think was recorded in ’57, but I consider it part of a direct line that leads from Louis Jordan right into the rock ‘n roll era. Although they never got the recognition they deserved, The 5 Royales have one of the richest and most satisfying catalogs in R&B. American roots music at its very best. Think/The 5 Royales

Louis Jordan on Video… Surprisingly, quite a few available on youtube. Some of these clips were filmed by William Forest Crouch, who directed a short musical about Jordan called “Caldonia” as well as a number of three-minute “soundies.” Here’s one for Buzz Me Baby, from 1945:

In the early 1980s, I lived in Cincinnati and edited one of those free entertainment newspapers you see blowing through the streets of big cities throughout the country.  The following piece borrows heavily from an article I wrote back then about one of America’s greatest independent labels, King Records.  Its huge catalog includes seminal recordings by some of the most important artists of the Forties through the Sixties – ranging from the hard, lonesome sound of the Stanley Brothers to the heavy funk of James Brown.

A few notable events have occurred since I wrote the original article:  1) The city of Cincinnati got its act together and put up a historic marker in 2008 where King Records once operated (a good start); 2) Shad O’Shea, a former radio personality, studio owner and raconteur, passed away in June; and 3) the King catalog (minus James Brown’s recordings, which are owned by Polydor) is now being reissued, although in a somewhat haphazard manner, by Collectables Records.

A future post will focus on Cincinnati’s Fraternity Records – home of flame-throwing guitarist Lonnie Mack. 

King Records

In 1943, Cincinnati had become an industrial hub that attracted poor Appalachian whites, along with an already burgeoning population of blacks from the South.  Not only did both groups share the same jobs, they also shared an intense love of the regional music traditions they grew up with.  Syd Nathan must have realized this fact.  That same year, the asthmatic, near-sighted hustler closed the book on a series of dead-end jobs (wrestling promoter, park concessionaire, refrigerator salesman, record retailer) by founding his own record company, which eventually moved into a former icehouse at 1540 Brewster Ave. in the city’s Evanston neighborhood.

The origins of King Records coincided with the initial broadcasts of what later became Cincinnati’s answer to Nashville’s Grand Old Opry – WLW’s “Midwestern Hayride.”  And many of the artists that were featured on the Hayride eventually wound up on Nathan’s fledgling label.  Within a couple of years, King had become one of the most influential country labels nationwide, with a roster that included the likes of Grandpa Jones, Cowboy Copas, Moon Mullican, Hank Penny, Hawkshaw Hawkins, the Delmore Brothers and many others.  And most of it was pure, unfiltered country – a formula Nathan stuck with for most of the label’s existence.  Here’s a gospel-flavored number from 1960 by the legendary bluegrass duo the Stanley Brothers… Rank Stranger/The Stanley Brothers

Nathan didn’t just stop there, though.  During the early years he also released a number of records under the “race” category – a term used to describe records aimed specifically at blacks.  These records featured the citified sounds of jump blues and boogie-woogie, and are considered to be the forerunners of rock and roll.  Tiny Bradshaw, Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson and Ike Turner all scored R&B hits with King, as did blues crooners such as Bull Moose Jackson and Ivory Joe Hunter.  Here’s one by Cleanhead, whose unique brand of risque rhythm always seemed to find its way onto a barroom jukebox… Sittin On It All The Time/Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson

You get the idea… Nathan’s true forte, however, was his practice of covering country hits with R&B artists, and vice versa.  The York Brothers, a country duo that recorded for King in the late ‘40s and early ’50s, covered several of the era’s R&B hits and predated Sam Phillips’ work on Sun Records with Elvis Presley and Jerry Lee Lewis by several years.  Likewise, R&B acts such as Bull Moose Jackson and Wynonie Harris successfully re-recorded country hits by Wayne Raney and Moon Mullican, among others.  Wynonie scored a hit in 1951 by covering a tune recorded the previous year by Hank Penny (the tune also has been covered by western swingers Asleep at the Wheel, which makes sense, and rocker Pat Benatar, which makes no sense at all).

Bloodshot Eyes/Wynonie Harris

And here’s the flip side of the equation as the “King of the Hillbilly Piano Players,” Moon Mullican, cuts loose with a number by R&B bandleader Tiny Bradshaw… Well Oh Well/Moon Mullican

Although Nathan’s intentions were not totally artistic (he only covered hits by his own artists, which he owned all publishing rights to), his musical juggling act earned him a reputation as an innovator.  “Syd had a number of theories when it came to recording” said Col Jim Wilson, a salesman and, later, executive V.P. who worked with Nathan from King’s inception until 1965.  “He once said, ‘Give me the material, and I’ll find the artist,’ so he placed great emphasis on that.  At the same time, he always seemed to find artists with very distinct and readily identifiable styles.  Every King artist was unique in one way or another.”

Wilson, who eventually joined Starday Records in Nashville and helped orchestrate the purchase of King, also gave a lot of credit to the facilities themselves.  “King’s studio was the first of its kind in the country.  Recording, mastering, plating, printing, pressing and shipping were all done in the same building.  You could cut a record at night, and the next day it would be in the hands of a local DJ.”

At first, Nathan separated the R&B from King’s mainstay, country, by using different labels such as “Queen,” “Federal” and “De Luxe” for his race records.  In the ‘50s, however, he combined all of his acts under the King label, with greater emphasis on black R&B.

The first acts to score big for King in the ‘50s were the vocal groups – the Dominoes (featuring Clyde McPhatter), the Charms (later Otis Williams and the Charms) and the Midnighters (later Hank Ballard and the Midnighters).  Sixty Minute Man, the Dominoes’ Number 1 hit in 1951 that featured the refrain “I rock ‘em, roll ‘em all night long,” is considered by some to be the first true rock and roll record. Sixty Minute Man/The Dominoes

Midnighters’ hits such as Sexy Ways, Work With Me Annie and Annie Had a Baby made many listeners blanch with their sexually suggestive lyrics, but still worked their way up the charts.  As a bandleader, Hank Ballard later broke through with the classic party singles Finger Poppin’ Time and Let’s Go, Let’s Go, Let’s Go – both from 1960.

The jump blues of the late ‘40s led to the early rock and roll instrumentals of the ‘50s, such as organist Bill Doggett’s Honky Tonk – one of those perfect songs that should be pre-loaded on every iPod.

Nathan also unearthed the raw talents of Little Willie John (of Fever fame) and Little Esther, who went on to even greater success as Esther Phillips.  Listen to Little Willie tear it up on this cut from 1960… You Hurt Me/Little Willie John

“Commercial black music was born in Cincinnati,” said Shad O’Shea, a local radio personality who also ran Counterpart Creative Studios.  “Nathan was a true originator.  He was responsible for making black music available to whites.  Berry Gordy (of Motown), who gets a lot of the credit, simply prostituted a lot of the black R&B by ‘sweetening’ it up for white tastes.”

King also released singles and albums by some of the era’s top blues artists – including John Lee Hooker (who recorded as “Texas Slim” on King’s Federal subsidiary and “Johnny Lee” on De Luxe), Johnny “Guitar” Watson, Champion Jack Dupree, Albert King and Freddie King.  Freddie’s sides are among the most unique and satisfying in the King catalog – especially his “surf-blues” instrumentals that clearly informed a young Eric Clapton (who recorded a spot-on version of Hide Away with John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers).  I highly recommend all of Freddie’s recordings on King, but decided to feature this wild instrumental workout from 1950 by Hooker, who sounds like he’s bashing out the first power chords ever caught on wax! Slim’s Stomp/Texas Slim (John Lee Hooker)

King’s ace in the hole, though, was a young black dynamo from Augusta, GA, who recorded his first single at the Brewster Ave. studio in 1956.  Please, Please, Please laid the groundwork for the remarkable career of “Soul Brother Number 1” – James Brown. Please, Please, Please/James Brown

Although Brown’s early records for King eventually became R&B and funk classics with their gritty, unabashed drive, they couldn’t compete on the pop charts with more polished efforts by artists such as the Platters and the Coasters.  One of the reasons for Brown’s relative holding pattern in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s may have been that King Records, already beyond its heyday by the turn of the decade, was unable to promote an artist of Brown’s stature.  Whatever the reason, Brown ended up in a tense legal tug-of-war with Nathan and his label, resulting in him being given complete artistic control of his recordings by 1965 – virtually unheard of at that time.  And that same year, Brown took off with the song that made him an international phenomenon – Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag. Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag/James Brown

Brown continued with King through the ‘60s, even after Nathan’s death of a heart attack in 1968.  The label was eventually sold to Starday in Nashville, and Brown went on to form his own record production company with distribution handled by Polydor.

Today, the city of Cincinnati is finally recognizing one of its greatest contributions to the rest of the world.  Hopefully, the city’s true faithful will keep that legacy alive by succeeding in their efforts to build a new studio and King Records museum near the former icehouse on Brewster Avenue.

Another Christmas gift from Rubber City Review… Want to dance like J.B.?  As Brother Jack would say, there is help.

OK, I couldn’t resist adding some Freddie to the end of this… Enjoy! Walk Down the Aisle (Honey Chile)/Freddie King