Rubber City Review

Tiny dancers in La Serafina, Cuba – photo by James Quine

Can’t tell what’s putting off more heat: the baked leather of my car seat or this bad boogaloo on my stereo.

Brother James and I had a ball putting together RCR’s post on Latin boogaloo, and I was glad to see it get new legs over at iCrates. But the best part of the assignment was revisiting some of the essential stuff that somehow got buried in my own collection (including more than a few items I stole from James’ stash).

That process of discovery rarely ends when I hit the “publish” button. It only makes me keep looking for other lost treasures – like those found on “The Soul of Spanish Harlem” (Beat Goes Public), a curious collection of boogaloo and Latin pop numbers from the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. Some of the songs on this disc are more interesting as odd artifacts from the era rather than as first-rate examples of Latin soul. But a handful fall under the category of “highly flammable,” including this dangerous little number released in ’71 on the NYC-based Fania label: Crying Time/Monguito Santamaria

The leader on that date is Mongo Santamaria’s son, Monguito. Most Latinophiles would regard him as a member of Fania’s A-team. But the nasty guitar is from an unexpected source – Eric Gale, who made a name for himself in the ‘70s primarily playing light jazz, both as a solo artist and as part of the all-star band Stuff.

As Dean Rudland’s expansive liner notes point out, Crying Time appears on an album that sort of lost its way in the legendary Fania catalog: “When Santamaria came to make his next album, ‘Blackout,’ the boogaloo craze was on the wane and the album became a somewhat schizophrenic blend of nascent salsa and pure Latin soul… Santamaria has said that originally the tracks were going to be split with one side of each sort of music, but that the idea was abandoned. It seems that Monguito held the band from ‘Blackout’ in high regard (along with Gale, it included Ronnie Marks on vocals, Monguito and Richard Tee on piano, Chuck Rainey on bass, Jimmy Johnson on drums, and a fearsome horn section – Bobby Porcelli, Martin Banks and Barry Rogers), but that he abandoned the Latin soul side for the more popular salsa…”

So in one album, you can track the fall of boogaloo and the rise of salsa. Too bad… I could use about a dozen more tunes like Crying Time.

My other favorite cut on “The Soul of Spanish Harlem” is by singer and pianist Joey Pastrano – who, as Rudland points out, became one of Fania’s stars on the strength of the seven-minute single That’s How Rumors Start. It features some wonderful call-and-response between Pastrano and his backing vocalists – including Tony Pabon and Tito Ramos, who previously sang for Johnny Colon and eventually busted loose as the appropriately named TNT Band: That’s How Rumors Start/Joey Pastrano

Manuel Galban

As long as we’re in a Latin groove, let’s pay tribute to the great Cuban guitarist Manuel Galban, who passed away on July 7 at the age of 80. In previous posts, we included a cut from a Grammy award-winning project by Galban and Ry Cooder (“Mambo Sinuendo”), as well as a song from the early ‘60s featuring Galban with the Cuban doo-wop group Los Zafiros. Several articles on Galban’s passing pointed out that Los Zafiros caught the attention of The Beatles (depending on what you read, the Fab Four either hired the Cubans as their opening act at Olympia in Paris or extended their stay to see the band play at the same venue). Here’s another sample that might help explain why The Beatles were so enamored with Los Zafiros: La Luna En Tu Mirada/Los Zafiros

Of course Cooder was more fascinated with Galban’s amazing touch on guitar – a unique fusing of American surf and a whole slew of Latin influences, including Cuban son and bossa nova. You can hear those influences and a few more (most notably, lounge) on “Mambo Sinuendo” as well as Galban’s essential contributions to Buena Vista Social Club projects featuring vocalist Ibrahim Ferrer and bassist Orlando Cachaito Lopez. Galban even lays down some funky organ on the title cut from Ferrer’s 2003 album, “Buenos Hermanos”: Buenos Hermanos/Ibrahim Ferrer with Manuel Galban

And here’s a nice clip of Galban with Cooder at Havana’s historic Egrem Studio, working through a number that appeared on “Mambo Sinuendo”:

Let’s close this out in Cuba by giving Anthony Bourdain his due: In the first episode of No Reservations’ new season, he clearly hit it out of the park by taking the show to Havana.

Where to start… If you had any love for James’ two posts on Cuba (here and here), you probably couldn’t get enough of the stunning street scenes and images that Bourdain’s crew captured in Havana. I especially liked the footage of Cuban baseball games, which shows people dancing in the stands to makeshift rumba bands. I’d go to a lot more Indians games if I could spend the 7^th inning stretch grooving to some Afro-Cuban. But I’d have a big problem with any attempt to ban beer sales (which the government put into effect following several drunken brawls in the stands – a policy that Bourdain finally admitted was grounds for a regime change).

Fidel Castro and Che Guevara: photo by Roberto Salas, January 1959

I also was fascinated with Bourdain’s interview with photographer Roberto Salas, whose strange odyssey as Cuba’s “state photographer” began in 1957 when he took a photo of the Statue of Liberty draped in a Cuban flag (an image that appeared in Life magazine). He was only 16 at the time, but was soon befriended by a young Fidel Castro, who brought the photographer to Cuba where Salas captured some of the revolution’s most iconic images. He’s been there ever since, but seemed ambivalent about his role in promoting Castro and Communism.

But my favorite images were those captured in the following clip. I’m a sucker for classic American cars from the Fifties – those big, bulbous, steel-plated wonders that probably burn more gas than 10 Honda Fits strapped together. Cubans love their old Chevys and Buicks, which are everywhere in Havana… Enjoy this little taste of the island, topped off with another photo by Brother James and a closing number by Galban.

Bodas De Oro/Ry Cooder and Manuel Galban

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brother James returns with more photographs taken during several visits to Cuba over the past decade.  He provides his usual commentary under each photo, and I’ve decided to weigh in with a few of my favorite Cuban songs.

Life in Cuba remains harsh for many who live there – but obviously not nearly as hellish as conditions in Haiti.  Fortunately, the same technology that enables us to share the most mundane details of our daily lives has made it easier than ever to give.  So if you’re not a heartless prick like Rush Limbaugh, text “HAITI” to 90999 to donate $10 to the relief effort.  Or give more by going here.

J.Q.: I took this photo in Habana Vieja – Old Havana… just a group of kids coming home from school on a rainy day.  I was trying to take a picture of this interesting-looking street corner, and the kids came into the frame, playing for the camera.  The red-spotted car turning the corner added another nice element at the last second.

T.Q.: Originally from Santa Clara, pianist Ruben Gonzalez moved to Havana in 1940 and soon became a fixture in the city’s rich music scene.  He retired in 1980 but later returned to playing and recording when Ry Cooder recruited him in 1996 to take part in the Buena Vista Social Club project.  I love the timeless vibe of his solo recordings from the same period – and especially this cut from the slyly titled “Introducing… Ruben Gonzalez.”  He continued to live and perform in Havana until he passed away in 2003 at the age of 84. Mandinga/Ruben Gonzalez

J.Q.: This bar in central Havana opens out onto the street, where I took the picture using a tripod and a touch of flash.  Luckily, no one paid any attention to me.  Everyone seemed alone and lost in their own thoughts.  La Metropolitana has since received a facelift – it’s not nearly as cool today as when I took this shot.

J.Q.: I think this is a bridesmaid with her father and brother, getting ready for a wedding.  Looks like the boy is the ring-bearer – either that or just helping out.  It’s sort of a custom in Cuba for the bridal party to leave the ceremony in an immaculately restored ‘50s car to show off a little bit.  And, as you can tell, they have a great one for the occasion.

T.Q.: In “Cuba, Direct,” James noted that these restored American cars reminded him of the popular Havana band Los Zafiros.  Their sound was a unique mix of doo wop and the surf-influenced guitar of Manuel Galban.  In 2003, Galban won a Grammy for “Mambo Sinuendo,” a collaboration with Ry Cooder that sounds a little more unhinged than you might think.  It’s a playful mix of Latin rhythms and cocktail-lounge exotica, perfect for the bubbling Wurlitzer.  Here’s a tune by mambo king Perez Prado that Link Wray toyed with back in 1958. Patricia/Manuel Galban and Ry Cooder

J.Q.: This is a line of people waiting to get into a store – a common occurrence in Holguin, which is in the northeastern part of Cuba.  They’re trying to get into sort of a Cuban version of the Dollar Store… but with a lot less merchandise.  Customers line up early to get a chance at actually buying something before there’s nothing left to buy.  Cubans who are able to visit the states are always a little overwhelmed by places like Wal-Mart and Best Buy.

T.Q.: Holguin is the birthplace of the late composer and tres player Faustino Oramas, also known as “El Guayabero” (the name of his most famous song).  He was considered the last of the traditional trovadors – Cuban singer-songwriters who primarily played guitar or tres.  Oramas performed until he was 94… He died the next year, in 2007.  One of his compositions, Candela, is a highlight of Buena Vista Social Club.  Here’s another song by Oramas, performed by Social Club member Ibrahim Ferrer and Teresita Garcia Caturia: Marieta/Ibrahim Ferrer

J.Q.: I found these two well-dressed young ladies on the streets of Pinar del Rio, in the western part of Cuba.

J.Q.: This guy’s name is Tony King.  He claimed to be a conga player on some classic Cuban recording sessions.  To prove it, he started drumming on the table along with the music on the jukebox.  I actually was more interested in the guys conversing intently behind him – kind of odd and mysterious… and why are they wearing the same hats?  I took this shot in a bar in Central Havana that doesn’t exactly cater to tourists… I probably wouldn’t have gone in there but the mural caught my eye.

T.Q.: Ti Mon Bo… shorthand for three master percussionists:  Tito Puente, Mongo Santamaria and Willie Bobo.  Only one was from Cuba – conguero Mongo (Tito and Willie grew up in Spanish Harlem).  All three were heavily influenced by the island’s rhythms.  This is simply Latin percussion at its best, from Tito’s 1957 album “Top Percussion”: Ti Mon Bo/Tito Puente, Mongo Santamaria and Willie Bobo

J.Q.: This is a Cuban flamingo group, entertaining at a social function in Baracoa, which is on the far eastern end of Cuba.  They were performing at a despedida, or goodbye party, for our small group of Cuban and American photographers.  We had come together for “Shared Vision” – basically, a cross-cultural photography project documenting life in Baracoa.  I was captivated by the colors and the movement of the skirts.  A bit later, a Cuban woman scolded me for never putting away my camera.

T.Q.: “Cuba, Direct” also featured a cut by bassist/composer Israel “Cachao” Lopez – a formal “danzon” that you’d typically hear at official functions or parties.  Cachao’s nephew, Orlando “Cachaito” (Little Chachao) Lopez, made his mark playing in influential Cuban bands like the Riverside Orchestra and Irakere.  He was another member of Buena Vista Social Club who went on to record under his own name following BVSC’s huge success.  All of these solo projects have their merits, but Cachaito’s is my favorite – more experimental and far-ranging than the rest.  This one gets a reggae-dub treatment and features the legendary Hugh Masekela on flugelhorn.  Cachaito died last year – the sixth original member of BVSC to pass away since its ’96 release. Tumbanga/Orlando “Cachaito” Lopez

J.Q. I caught these guys clowning around with their machetes at a sugar mill near Jovellanos, located in Cuba’s western Matanzas Province.  Basically, the sugar cane goes up a conveyor belt into a machine that strips off the husks, pieces of which are raining down on them.  This debris, called bagazo, is gathered up and burned in big piles to get rid of it.  You can barely see the smoke from one of those burning piles in the background.

T.Q.: One of Cuba’s greatest musical innovators, Arsenio Rodriguez, was from Matanzas Province.  His main instrument was the Cuban tres guitar, which is used to play bass patterns as well as melodic lead lines.  Rodriguez is credited with bringing a stronger African influence to Cuban music – adding congas to give the traditional “son” form a more driving, propulsive rhythm.  He’s also considered the originator of son montuno… Think of a great vocalist like Celia Cruz improvising between the repeated choruses of her backup singers – then throw in hot solos by first-rate musicians on trumpet, piano, percussion, etc.  That’s basically son montuno… which means that a lot of modern salsa and Latin music can be traced back directly to Rodriguez.  Here’s one of his classic recordings: Para Bailar El Montuno/Arsenio Rodriguez

J.Q.: This guy was leading his horses to shore after washing them in Rio Miel in Baracoa.  I had to get into the river to take the shot.  Local legend has it that once you bathe in Rio Miel, you always come back to Baracoa.  I’ve been back twice since.

J.Q.: This is a family of cocoteros – workers who climb trees to harvest coconuts, husk them and then sell the good stuff to the state.  They live near Baracoa… very nice family that I’ve gone back to visit several times.  They always treat me like royalty.  As you can see, they’re just happy to get their photo taken together.  One daughter is hugging the father, and another apparently decided that he shouldn’t have his hat on for the photo.  They’re probably part Taino – Indians who lived in Cuba when Columbus arrived.  It’s said that “son” – the basis of many forms of Latin music, including salsa – originated in this part of the country.

T.Q.: In 2001, Rhino Records released “El Son No Ha Muerto” (The Son Has Not Died), a fine collection of songs featuring the trademark Cuban rhythm.  Here’s one by Cuba’s favorite sonero, Beny More.  It’s a great example of the driving, big band sound that ruled the island in the Fifties. Me Gusta Mas El Son/Beny More

J.Q.: Seems like a good photo to end with… This is the bridge to Boca de Miel – a little fishing town at the mouth of Rio Miel.  I saw this old man walking across the bridge.  Just as I got my camera ready he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.  I think he just wanted to see what I was taking a picture of.

T.Q.: And here’s a good tune to close with – by Eliades Ochoa who, thankfully, is still alive. La Comparsa/Eliades Ochoa

Eliades Ochoa and James Quine,
Santiago de Cuba

Every year I get together with five or six of my high school buddies – as well as assorted spousal units and special guests – for a party at my friend’s alpaca farm just outside of a small town in southern Ohio.  Now this town is a good three-plus hours away from our alma mater, St. Vincent-St. Mary in Akron.  In fact, it’s a good distance from just about everything.  One of the running jokes on the morning after the party involves asking for the Sunday Times and a cup of Starbucks joe (although I’ve been told the frozen breakfast burritos at the mini mart are actually quite good).

But our relative isolation allows us to reflect, in a somewhat impaired manner, on all things Seventies.  And for me, of course, it’s all about the music – which is why I’m in charge of coming up with a five-hour playlist that draws from that awkward era between the hippies and the punks.

Several of the activities don’t require musical accompaniment.  There’s the shooting competition led by Officer Tony.  And then there’s the obligatory golf-like event organized by Fern, the honorary Mayor of Batavia.

But the main event of the weekend focuses on the making of sausage, using a century-old stuffer and several miles of entrails.  Over the years, this has become a highly synchronized activity involving wine, accompanying dishes, exotic spices, Seventies music and near-constant bitching from all of us about how much ground red pepper to put into the pork.  This bitching dissipates somewhat as the evening progresses – which is why we need special containers, originally designed for the nuclear industry, to hold the late-night sausage (note to self: rephrase that before posting).

Dazed and confused…

I thought that coming up with a playlist for this event would be fairly easy.  After all, I burned through what seemed like several thousand dollars in my youth buying albums by the Rolling Stones, the Allman Brothers Band, J.J. Cale, Little Feat, Taj Mahal, Steve Miller Band (before he was the Joker), Fleetwood Mac (before they were a joke), Savoy Brown, and so on.  Now I could’ve referenced other Seventies acts like prog-rockers Yes, King Crimson and Emerson, Lake & Palmer, and the ubiquitous city/state bands like Chicago, Boston, Kansas, Duluth, whatever… but I hate that shit – and unlike most other DJs, I don’t take requests.

I also could’ve mentioned the most iconic album (and image) of our high school years, “Dark Side of the Moon” by Pink Floyd. But that’s like saying the baseball game kicked off with the Star Spangled Banner.  It’s safe to say that no other generation has had such an omnipresent soundtrack.  Of course, this was back before the music industry was such a fragmented mess, when it was possible for huge masses of people to share the same musical tastes and sources.  I heard “Dark Side” so many times during the Seventies, both intentionally and otherwise, that I’m not sure I can work up a visceral reaction to it today.  I won’t question that it’s one of the most important musical achievements of the 20th Century.  Just don’t play it for me, ever again.

A lot of stuff I grooved on in the Seventies sounds pretty lame today.  I’ll start with the musical moment that defined every young man who came of age in that era – the arrival of Led Zeppelin’s first album in 1969.  How can that be, you ask?  Well, first, Led Zeppelin may have landed in ’69, but they rocked every high school kid in America in the early Seventies, period end of story.  And second, this is my blog, so I’ll pretend it was released a year later to make my point.  And that point is… oh yeah, lameness.

There are many moments of great power and majesty in Led Zep’s first – which completely altered my reality when Brother James’ friend Bill Austin first brought it over to the house, holding it carefully like the small explosive it was – but this next little number ain’t one of them… You Shook Me/Led Zeppelin

Everything up to that point actually works pretty well, but I just can’t get beyond Robert Plant yelping like some crazed, rabid blues hound in heat.  I’m reminded of a capsule review I once read about ”Apocalypse Now” – two hours of great drama, leading up to a cameo by Don Rickles.

A lot of other stuff on my playlist holds up much better.  And, once again, I’ll cheat a little – by picking an album that was recorded in late ’68.  I really don’t consider Taj Mahal’s “The Natch’l Blues” part of the Sixties anyway… it’s not the least bit psychedelic or mind-expanding, and the lyrics are fairly straightforward (except for something about painting a mailbox blue).  “The Natch’l Blues” is a rootsy collection of mostly blues-based songs – eight originals and four covers, and only one extended jam.  Taj is a triple threat with his gritty voice and perfect touch on harp and national steel.  But the album’s secret weapon may be guitarist Jesse Ed Davis – an American Indian from Oklahoma with an endless supply of slippery, soulful licks.  I’ve listened to this album regularly since it showed up on my radar screen in the early Seventies… hard to believe it was recorded more than 40 years ago. Going Up To The Country, Paint My Mailbox Blue/Taj Mahal

Another notable album from that era is “Live!” by Bob Marley and the Wailers, recorded on July 18, 1975, at the Lyceum Ballroom in London.  This was Marley’s third tour of England, and you can tell by the crowd response that he’d become a major phenomenon.  One of the great pleasures of the album is hearing this steady roar in the background – the same sound you typically hear at World Cup Soccer matches… in other words, the sound of many delirious people shouting and singing at the same time.  And, unlike some other live albums, it seems like the crowd’s quasi-religious fervor was more than warranted.  It may be one of Marley’s best performances, live or studio, and certainly better than some of the slick recordings he made late in his career.  Here’s the raucous opening to Lively Up Yourself… Lively Up Yourself/Bob Marley

I also have a weak spot for Steve Winwood and his band Traffic.  Winwood started his career (and might be ending it) as kind of a slavish interpreter of American soul.  Not to take away from tunes like Gimme Some Lovin’ and Roll With It, but I like the fact that in most of his work with Traffic, Winwood isn’t afraid to sound, well, British.  To my ears, early-Seventies classics like “John Barleycorn Must Die” and “The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys” sound very organic – what you’d expect when three hugely talented Brits hide out in a countryside cottage, experiment with god knows what and explore their own roots for a change.  It’s really genre-bending at its best – not quite jazz, not quite blues or folk, and certainly not sea chanteys… just an oddly familiar-sounding mix of influences that these guys seemed incapable of screwing up.  Here’s part of an extended jam that closes out “Low Spark”… Rainmaker/Traffic

None of the tunes on these albums would ever show up on a “Classic Rock” playlist.  But I’ll spare you from my usual rant about this dreadful format (if it were a form of torture, I’d cave right away).

Instead, I’ll use this opportunity to thank Mark, Francis, Sophie and Sadie for graciously welcoming the Mongol Horde from the North to their beautiful home in the country… by giving a shout-out to the Sausage Party regulars – wife Laura, Jim and Martha, Fern and Patty, Pat and Mary, Don and Donna, Tony, Mickey, and assorted hangers-on… and by leaving you with this quick list of a few other Superhits from the Early Seventies (or at least the version that would exist in a parallel universe).  I purposely left off my favorite funk and soul of the era – that’s a subject for another post.

A little gem from ZZ Top’s best album, “Tres Hombres” (released in 1973) – Low Rider meets the Texas Hill Country: Sheik/ZZ Top

Another great live album that I completely wore out, “The Allman Brothers At Fillmore East” (1971): Statesboro Blues/The Allman Brothers Band

I’m a proud veteran of the Rolling Stones’ 1972 concert at the Akron Rubber Bowl (yes, I was five years old), and this was the song of the summer: Tumbling Dice/The Rolling Stones

From Bonnie Raitt’s first, back in 1971 – still her bluesiest album: Finest Lovin’ Man/Bonnie Raitt

So much J.J. to choose from… Why not start at the beginning, “Naturally” (1971)? Crazy Mama/J.J. Cale

Before Rod became irrelevant, he fronted one of the great rock ‘n roll bands of all time… Also evidence that Ron Wood could play. Bad ‘N’ Ruin/Faces

Ry Cooder reinvents a song by zither-strumming evangelist Washington Phillips, from 1974’s “Paradise and Lunch”: Tattler/Ry Cooder

Still the greatest soundtrack album of all time – made even better with the “Deluxe Edition” treatment in 2003: The Harder They Come/Jimmy Cliff

On the video front, I’d love to post the party scene from the movie “Dazed and Confused.”  It’s almost as if the director, Richard Linklater, were a documentary filmmaker at half the parties I went to in high school.  Instead, I’ll offer this prime example of what ethnomusicologists have labeled “stoner rock,” featuring one of the great voices of the Seventies, Paul Rodgers.

The cover song is a proud musical tradition – and it dates back centuries. Let’s face it, many popular tunes and entire forms of music wouldn’t exist today without the act of appropriating someone else’s song.

Guitar hero Richard Thompson made this point in spades several years ago when he released a set of live recordings on his own boutique label that he only half-jokingly titled “1000 Years of Popular Music.” The CD kicks off with a 13^th Century “round” and eventually gets around to covering Oops!… I Did It Again by Britney Spears.

The cover song seemed to reach its peak, at least in terms of significance, in the 1940s and ‘50s. At that time, songs recorded by black R&B and blues artists were typically segregated onto so-called “race” labels – Modern, Aladdin, Savoy, etc. But some of those artists started covering songs by white honky tonkers – for example, Bull Moose Jackson’s Why Don’t You Haul Off and Love Me, a cover of a 1949 country hit by harmonica player Wayne Raney – and aspiring white rockers began perfecting their own form of musical thievery.

Of course, this whole cross-pollinating thing led to what may be the defining moment in 20^th Century music – Elvis Presley’s cover of a little ditty by Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup, That’s All Right Mama.

For the most part, the covers by white artists pale in comparison to the originals, but there are a few exceptions. Here’s the original version of The Train Kept A-Rollin’, by jump-blues bandleader Tiny Bradshaw: The Train Kept A-Rollin’ (Tiny Bradshaw)

Now here’s the cover by an especially dangerous rockabilly band from the Fifties, the Johnny Burnette Trio: The Train Kept A-Rollin’ (Johnny Burnette Trio)

Johnny Burnette Trio

I’d argue that the Trio kicked it up a notch or two, fueled by Johnny’s well-placed screams and Paul Burlison’s gut-bucket guitar. And I won’t even bother with the far more popular version by Aerosmith, which ranks a distant fourth in my book (a Columbus bar band came in third).

Quick aside about those screams: Apparently, Burlison liked to place his lit cigarette on the loose end of one of the strings sticking out from the head of his guitar. Band is tearing it up onstage… Johnny backs into the lit cigarette… screams bloody murder… crowd goes wild… rest is rockabilly history.

There are far more examples of definitive originals by black artists. If you’re only familiar with Elvis’ cover of Hound Dog, brace yourself… the original by Big Mama Thornton will make you forget all about The King’s version: Hound Dog

A mutant offspring of the cover is the “answer song,” which also peaked around the same time. It’s a fairly simple concept, and I’ll let this response to Big Mama’s Hound Dog speak for itself… Bear Cat

You get the idea… The accuser is Rufus Thomas, who was a mainstay on Memphis’ fabled Stax-Volt label throughout its glory years. Here’s another answer song from the label’s catalog, with Jeanne & the Darlings take on Sam & Dave… Soul Girl

The Rolling Stones started out as little more than a decent cover band, doing their own versions of Chicago blues standards. Here they put their stamp on a classic by Muddy Waters… I Just Want To Make Love To You

The Beatles also cranked out more than a few covers, including a version of this original by soul singer Arthur Alexander, who was one of John Lennon’s favorites (he reportedly had a jukebox that only played Alexander’s 45s)… Anna (Go To Him)

Alexander also was covered by the Stones (You Better Move On) and spent years in obscurity before he was rediscovered in Cleveland, driving a school bus. He put out a strong comeback album – “Lonely Just Like Me” – before passing away in 1993.

Today, it seems like indie rockers, hip-hoppers and country hit-makers are lined up to pay tribute to anyone from Marvin Gaye to the Grateful Dead. But much of those tribute songs are totally unnecessary and only serve to send the listeners back to the originals. A few rise above the fray, like Bob Dylan’s cover of a Hank Williams tune from the 2002 Grammy-winning tribute, “Timeless.” Now I’ll just come out and admit that I’m not a big fan of Dylan’s recent vocal stylings (he makes Billie Holiday’s final performances sound too polished). But I like how he wheezes his way through this one (great phrasing) as his ace band drags Hank into a west Texas dance hall… I Can’t Get You Off Of My Mind

During the summer months, you can’t miss the steady parade of tribute bands coming to an ampitheater near you – covering well-worn songs by the Beatles, the Stones, the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac… even U2 and the Dave Matthews Band. These bands take boomers back to days when they could get a contact high at most rock concerts (although that tradition seems to live on at jam-band shows).

But that’s not quite the same as musicians trying to reinvent the songs they love… and maybe even create something a little better (or at least different) in the process.

Oh, and if you’re still wondering what Richard Thompson did with Britney Spears… Oops!… I Did It Again

A few favorite covers…

Actually, just picking the right song to cover is a creative process that can say a lot about a band or musician. Here are a few covers that head off in different directions from the originals.

Let’s start with the oldest – Milk Cow Blues. Kokomo Arnold recorded the original back in 1930, and it’s one of those tunes that country musicians pounced on right away, probably because of the lyrics. It’s been covered by many artists – Robert Johnson (as Milkcow’s Calf Blues), Elvis at Sun Studios (as Milkcow Blues Boogie), Willie Nelson, Ricky Nelson, the band Nelson (strike that last one)… but my favorite is a western swing version from 1941 by Johnnie Lee Wills, brother of Texas legend Bob. Back then, it was a much shorter walk from blues to country, and Wills’ singer barely takes a step. He’s Cotton Thompson, a long-forgotten fiddle player (the world’s first blue-eyed soul singer?). Kokomo’s original comes first, then the cover.Milk Cow Blues (Kokomo Arnold/Johnnie Lee Wills)

The title of Young Man’s Blues is a little misleading, because neither of the following two versions falls neatly into the blues category. The originator is Mose Allison, really a jazz guy who played a lot of blues-based songs, and a keen observer of the human condition. The imitator is The Who, from the 1970 album Live at Leeds. Now I’m not a huge fan of everything The Who put out, but I like how they reworked the original – transforming it from a laid-back lament into a defiant rocker… Roger Daltrey is one pissed-off young man!Young Man’s Blues (Mose Allison/The Who)

Johnny Cash has been covered by hundreds of musicians of every stripe – roots-rockers, hillbillies, punks, metalheads… And roots-music explorer Ry Cooder has made an entire career out of reinventing other people’s songs. This next one is the flip side of The Who’s approach – Cooder takes Cash’s signature “Tennessee Three” treatment and slows it down… and in the process, turns it into something far more ominous (we’re not quite sure where this train is heading). I especially like the instrumentation on this cover – just mandolin, piano (the late Jim Dickinson, a Memphis icon) and upright bass.Hey Porter (Johnny Cash/Ry Cooder)

If their recent reissues proved anything, the Beatles are an even bigger draw today than they were back in 1964. But their songs haven’t been covered by other artists as much as you might think. Could be that the Beatles catalog is considered sacred canon by many musicians – or maybe it’s just too damn hard to improve on the originals. But that didn’t scare off The Holmes Brothers, who have developed a strong following with their unique brand of gospel-infused R&B. This one knocks me out every time I hear it – a soulful take on an old Beatles favorite.And I Love Her (The Beatles/The Holmes Brothers)

Musicians seem to have an easier time covering Dylan… might have something to do with the demo-like quality of albums like “The Basement Tapes” with The Band, which gave us the original version of Going to Acapulco. The cover shows up 40 years later on the soundtrack to “I’m Not There” – a surreal look at various incarnations of Dylan throughout his career. I was unimpressed with most of the soundtrack, but this one stands out as the Tucson band Calexico paints a desert soundscape behind the stunning voice of Jim James (My Morning Jacket). Better than the original? You be the judge.Going to Acapulco (Bob Dylan/Jim James & Calexico)