Rubber City Review

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

Steve Cropper

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.

Here’s a quick hit while I’m fumbling my way through Europe…

A while back, we featured a great clip of soulmen Sam & Dave tearing it up in front of a TV studio audience in Offenbach, Germany, 1967. Turns out there’s more prime footage from the same concert – including performances by the hugely underrated Lee Dorsey, Arthur Conley and Linda Carr.

Dorsey, of course, is best known for his massive hit from ’66, Working in a Coal Mine. But most of his classic stuff never showed up on the Billboard charts. I highly recommend anything he recorded with legendary New Orleans producer Allen Toussaint and the world’s funkiest rhythm section, The Meters – including an essential album from 1970, “Yes We Can.” As these next two clips demonstrate, Dorsey also was a consummate performer (although even Bruce Willis would have a fighting chance if he were backed by Sam & Dave’s tough-as-nails touring band). And let’s hand it to the Germans for capturing this historic occasion with first-rate sound and camera work. Hard to find better footage of live soul music from the era:

Next, Memphis meets Motown as Linda Carr covers a ’66 favorite by The Supremes. Carr eventually became a fixture on the U.K.’s Northern Soul scene. Here she pledges allegiance to the two great strains of American soul music:

Otis Redding protege Arthur Conley scored a huge hit in ’67 with this next tune, released on the Atlantic label. Don’t blame the current crop of country stars with the whole name-checking thing – it started right here. Although I have to admit, Brad Paisley ain’t got nothin on Conley:

Can’t call it a post without another great clip of the masters at work. Sam & Dave, once again showing why it was a fool’s game to follow them on stage in the Sixties:

The Ohio Untouchables with Robert Ward (far right): Toledo, 1964

In previous posts, we covered a lot of fertile ground in southwest Ohio – King Records, Fraternity Records, Lonnie Mack, Roger Troutman… But the picture wouldn’t be complete without the man who introduced Lonnie to his first Magnatone amp – Robert Ward.

I first discovered Ward through his recordings for the New Orleans-based Black Top label, starting with the much-acclaimed “Fear No Evil” in 1991. Then I tracked down an outstanding collection of singles that Ward recorded in the Sixties. The compilation was released in ’95 on the tiny Relic label, an offshoot of a vintage record store in Hackensack, NJ. And the title, “Hot Stuff,” actually falls short of describing the raging inferno within. This is hard-grinding, hair-raising soul music of the highest order.

Let’s start with an incendiary workout recorded in 1962 at Cincinnati’s King Records studio. It features Ward and the Ohio Untouchables backing up one of the greatest vocal groups ever assembled – The Falcons, with eventual soul stars Wilson Pickett (lead), Eddie “Knock on Wood” Floyd and Sir Mack Rice: I Found a Love/The Falcons

I suppose a little background is in order here… It’s not hard to find a decent bio of Ward (and “Hot Stuff” includes excellent liner notes by Bill Dahl), so I’ll try to stick with the high points:

• Born in Luthersville, Georgia, in 1938 and grew up in poverty with four brothers
• Inspired by gospel-singing dad and guitar-pickin’ mom, who gave him his first axe when he was 10 years old (a gift from a white family whose house she was cleaning)
• Also exposed to blues and gospel through his parents’ 78 RPM records – Sister Rosetta Tharpe, the Dixie Hummingbirds, John Lee Hooker, Jimmy Reed and Muddy Waters, among other favorites
• Played on a local radio station with a country and western band, using his slide guitar to mimic a pedal steel
• Served in the Army from ‘57 to ‘59
• Returned home to form his first serious band, the Brassettes, which shared a gig with James Brown before touring steadily with the legendary bluesman Piano Red

Which brings us to Dayton, Ohio, where Ward moved in 1960 to find “a better way of living.”

Down the road in Cincinnati, Lonnie Mack was perfecting his lightning-fast runs on guitar with stunning instrumentals like Wham and Memphis. Meanwhile, in Dayton, Ward had formed the Ohio Untouchables with bassist Levoy Fredrick (replaced by Marshall Jones in ’61) and drummer Cornelius Johnson – and later rounded out by Pee Wee Middlebrook and Clarence Satchell on horns. “I was thinking about Robert Stack and ‘The Untouchables’ on TV,” he told Dahl. “I said ‘Well, they’re the untouchables in stopping crime. I want to accumulate a band where we’ll be up there with the best and be unstoppable.’”

Here’s more evidence that Ward had achieved his stated goal: Forgive Me Darling/The Ohio Untouchables

Ward’s signature sound involved the thick, organ-like vibrato of the Magnatone amp. And Mack didn’t hesitate to get his own Magnatone after catching Ward’s act in Indiana. On this tune, recorded in Cincinnati in 1963, you can hear Ward’s obvious influence on his protégé Mack: The Bounce/Lonnie Mack

After listening to Black Top-era Ward, it was a revelation for me to hear earlier versions (both with and without the Ohio Untouchables) of his originals like Fear No Evil, Your Love is Amazing and My Love is Strictly Reserved for You. These and other standouts first appeared in the early to mid ‘60s on Detroit-based labels LuPine (whose producer, Robert West, first signed the Ohio Untouchables in 1962), Thelma and Groove City. Here’s the original version of My Love, with powerful singing by Ward. Should’ve been a massive soul hit… My Love is Strictly Reserved for You/Robert Ward

Ward and the Ohio Untouchables parted ways in 1965, with his former band destined for fame and fortune as the superfunky Ohio Players (Love Rollercoaster) and Ward eventually moving on to Detroit to do session work at Motown. If you think you’re new to Ward, think again – you probably heard him on Papa was a Rolling Stone by the Temptations and this unavoidable hit from 1971 by the Undisputed Truth: Smiling Faces Sometimes/the Undisputed Truth

Ward’s life took some tragic and unfortunate turns in the ‘70s and ‘80s with the death of his first wife in ’77 (cerebral hemorrhage) and a year in a Georgia prison, where he played in a band with former hitmaker Major Lance. But much like our recent subject Snooks Eaglin, Ward was rescued from near-obscurity by Black Top co-owner Hammond Scott.

Those who take their blues straight up tend to have pretty strong opinions about the Black Top sound. I’ll share the musings of our friend The Hound about Robert Ward’s recordings for the label:

“I find Black Top one of the most offensive labels of the 90′s blues revival in that they could make lame records with some of the finest artists of all time (Snooks Eaglin being another who comes to mind) by attempting to make their discs 90′s radio friendly, as if Robert Ward’s record was going to get airplay next to Madonna.”

A little harsh? Maybe… and I’ll cop to being a fan of Ward’s ‘95 release, “Black Bottom,” which includes a rock-solid remake of Johnnie Taylor’s soul classic Toehold: Toehold/Robert Ward

But my favorites on that album are a couple of heartfelt ballads with spiritually inclined lyrics and soulful singing by Ward. Here’s one that always knocks me out: Silver and Gold/Robert Ward

On Ward’s final album – the 2000 Delmark release “New Role Soul” – he dispenses of heavy horns and other Black Top flourishes in favor of a more stripped-down sound. With a little less production gloss, this number wouldn’t sound out of place on a Groove City single: Never Found a Girl/Robert Ward

In his last years, Ward lived in rural Dry Branch, Georgia (not far from my mom’s hometown Milledgeville), with his second wife, Roberta, who contributed to “New Role Soul” as both a singer and songwriter. He suffered a stroke in 2001 and never really recovered. Ward passed away in 2008 – leaving behind an amazing musical legacy that seems to grow more vital as each season of American Idol drifts by.

Here’s the only live footage of Ward on youtube – from the Chicago Blues Fest, probably not long after he signed with Black Top. Many youtube videos of tattooed nimrods aping Stevie Ray Vaughan, and only one of Ward. Guess that’s why I do what I do. It’s not even a particularly great video of Ward. Just good enough to remind you how special this guy was. What a wonderfully soulful voice. Crank it up…

Time for our long-overdue follow-up to this post, in which we reported that the soul music revival had finally made its way to the Rubber City. I wasn’t suggesting that Eighties Rock is now out of favor – it’s still the dominant soundtrack in most theme bars (Scorchers, Scoreboards, Skittles, Scooters, Scumsuckers… must I go on?). But a few enterprising DJs are starting to make people far younger than me appreciate classic Stax-Volt soul and its many mutations.

As I noted in Pt. 1, I have no real evidence of said revival – other than I recently stumbled into a local club where I was stunned to hear the DJ playing rare, out-of-print soul and funk albums by artists I’d never heard of. Mostly hard-core southern soul, but also a few tunes that were clearly conceived many miles from Memphis. Songs like this one, recorded in ’93 by a band of funky freaks from Munich, Germany (you heard it right – German funk): More Mess On My Thing/The Poets of Rhythm

My first direct exposure to soul and funk was as a student at Miami University, where I only lasted two years (I never felt comfortable at a school where the students were more conservative than my parents). Although campus was a non-stop parade of kids named Muffy, Buffy, Bif and Skippy (another name for a theme bar?), the music scene around Oxford, Ohio, in the mid-‘70s was something altogether different. One band, Medicine Wheel, included refugees from the Lemon Pipers (Green Tambourine) and Ram Jam (Black Betty). You could also find guitar legend Lonnie Mack or his keyboard player Dumpy Rice playing at a dive just down the road in McGonigle.

But the most fearsome act of all was Roger and the Human Body, a family funk band from nearby Hamilton, Ohio. The band’s charismatic leader, Roger Troutman, could play Hendrix-like runs on guitar, then tear it up on keyboards, harmonica and even the flute… sometimes in the same extended jam. But his main innovation was combining the talkbox (think Joe Walsh’s Rocky Mountain Way or Peter Frampton’s Do You Feel Like We Do) with a keyboard-driven synthesizer.

He eventually turned that contraption into gold in the early ‘80s with his hugely popular band Zapp and songs like this one, which reached number two on the Billboard Soul Singles chart in 1980: More Bounce to the Ounce/Zapp

But back in ’75, Roger was playing bars, freshman mixers and student union parties with his brothers Larry, Lester and Terry, along with several other musicians from the fertile southwest Ohio soul and funk scene that produced the Ohio Players, Robert Ward and Bootsy Collins, among others. We’d often catch the Human Body at the King of Clubs, right across the street from the dive where Lonnie and Dumpy would play. And when things were really cooking, you felt like you had to lean into the stage to keep the band’s energy from knocking you over. Freedom/Roger and the Human Body

Although Troutman took his funk machine around the world, he kept his home in southwest Ohio and recorded hits for other artists – including Sugarfoot from the Ohio Players and Shirley Murdock – at his studio in Dayton.

Roger on guitar

In 1999, Troutman was shot dead outside of his studio, the victim of a murder/suicide involving his older brother Larry – a former member of the Human Body and Zapp. The tragedy appeared to stem from Larry’s financial problems and Roger’s efforts to distance himself from them. Roger was cut down in his prime, only 47 years old and the toast of rappers and hip-hoppers ranging from Tupac Shakur and Dr. Dre to Snoop Dog and The Notorious B.I.G. He had recently jump-started his career through his contribution to a huge Tupac/Dr. Dre hit, California Love, and his deep grooves served as the foundation for West Coast hip hop. Rapper Ice Cube became a fan at the age of 11, when he saw people dancing to More Bounce at a party… “I just think that was a rush of adrenaline for me, like a chemical reaction in my brain.” Much like the reaction I had when I first saw Roger and the Human Body turn the bright pink sweaters of Miami coeds into twisted knots of sweaty funk. (For more on Roger Troutman, read this article in SF Weekly).

Rather than end on a low note, I decided to feature a few quick samples of soul and funk gems I’ve been listening to lately…

Here’s a tune that was covered by the Neville Brothers on their classic album “Live at Tipitina’s.” Surprisingly, the original is by Little Esther Phillips, who tackled a number of genres over the years but was probably best known for her ‘50s R&B sides. I found this one on a “Raw Soul” compilation put together by the UK music magazine Mojo. Makes you wonder what the geniuses at Atlantic Records were thinking when they weaned her off of this hard stuff in favor of jazzy pop. Mojo Hannah/Little Esther Phillips

God bless David Byrne for rescuing the early ‘70s recordings of Shuggie Otis from complete obscurity by releasing “Inspiration Information” on his Luaka Bop label in 2001. Simply put, this is some of the greatest soul and funk ever committed to wax. Shuggie’s beautiful, mind-blowing arrangements were way ahead of their time (I’m sure he learned a lot of the basics from his dad, Johnny – a legend of post-war R&B and early rock). And he was an amazing guitar player, mainly because of what he didn’t play. If Shuggie had less taste, he would’ve been a huge star… Sparkle City/Shuggie Otis

Here’s a cautionary tale from Betty Wright, better known as the “Clean Up Woman.” It’s from her debut album released in ’68, “My First Time Around.” The Miami native remains active in the music biz, recording backing vocals for Erykah Badu, David Byrne, Jimmy Cliff and many others. She’s also a two-time Grammy nominee, as both a producer (Joss Stone’s “Mind, Body & Soul”) and vocalist. Girls Can’t Do What The Guys Do/Betty Wright

Charles Bradley

We touched on Brooklyn-based Daptone Records and Sharon Jones in a previous post. Here’s another great cut from the label’s outstanding stable of artists – essentially, a rotating cast of musicians totally dedicated to keeping the spirit of funk alive… and maybe more important, playing it the way god and James Brown intended. This tune is by Charles Bradley, a J.B. devotee who spent much of his life either living on the streets or working as a chef. Hopefully, he’ll finally get the break he so richly deserves: The World (Is Going Up In Flames)/Charles Bradley

“The Heart of Southern Soul” is a fine collection of long-lost soul nuggets recorded in Nashville, Memphis and Muscle Shoals for Nashville-based Excello and its affiliated labels. Among other obscure artists, it features The Wallace Brothers, a duo from Atlanta who recorded this steamy little number at Rick Hall’s legendary Fame Studio in Muscle Shoals. Soul music of the highest order… Line Between Love and Hate/The Wallace Brothers

No soul selection is complete without something from the Stax-Volt catalog. But let’s bypass the usual hits by Otis Redding or Sam & Dave in favor of a lesser-known artist, Ruby Johnson. She recorded some first-rate soul for the Volt label, including the minor hit I’ll Run Your Hurt Away, but never really caught on and left the music business for good in 1974. A couple of interesting factoids about Johnson – she practiced the Jewish faith throughout much of her life, and she eventually ran a federal program called Foster Grandparents, which helped handicapped children connect with the elderly. Nothing particularly respectable about this song… certainly not Steve Cropper’s gutbucket guitar, one of his finest moments on record. I’d Rather Fight Than Switch/Ruby Johnson

They called him the Tan Canary… one of the most extraordinary voices to come out of New Orleans. But Johnny Adams was little known outside of the Crescent City, probably because he was so damn eclectic. He sang R&B, jazz, blues, country – and, for the purposes of this post, hard southern soul. I almost included a sample of this song in our “Great Moments in Modern Music” post. It’s the little vocal melisma he does with the word “leave” (“do you want me to leeeeave…”) and then shouts “baby”! Knocks me out every time. A Losing Battle/Johnny Adams

Deep soul on video… Here’s another tune from “The Heart of Southern Soul” compilation. It features The Kelly Brothers, who started out as a gospel quintet from Chicago and went on to record gospel-infused soul for the Sims and Excello labels. Robert Plant must’ve had this one in his archives – he covers it on his “Band of Joy” album…

Here’s Charles Bradley backed by the Menahan Street Band, performing at Mellow Johnny’s Bike Shop in Austin as part of this year’s SXSW. The Menahan Street Band includes bassist Nick Movshon, who tours with The Black Keys. Wish my local bike shop would book these guys…

Just in case you were wondering how that whole talkbox thing worked out for Roger…

I was trolling through the vast wasteland that is cable TV (one of those many “500+ stations and nothing to watch” moments) and came across a documentary on Showtime about the great singer-songwriter-soulman Bill Withers – “Still Bill.”

I’ll confess I didn’t expect much. To me, Bill Withers is sort of like the Grand Canyon – hard to miss, great place to visit… then you never go back. Or, as Withers himself put it in the movie, “I think I’m kind of like pennies. You have them in your pocket but don’t remember they’re there.” So the first thing I appreciated about the documentary was being reintroduced to some classic stuff that I’ve always been aware of but never truly appreciated: Ain’t No Sunshine

The film reminded me that short, sturdy songs like Lean On Me and Ain’t No Sunshine and Use Me are about as good as it gets… almost zen-like in the way they convey basic human emotion. Little pop hymns for the masses – and I mean that in the best possible sense. “The hardest thing to be in songwriting is to be simple and yet profound,” said Sting in one of the interviews that underscore Withers towering influence on contemporary pop. “Bill seems to understand intrinsically, instinctively how to do that.”

When you listen to a tune like Sunshine, you realize that songwriting really hasn’t advanced much since the early ‘70s. In fact, when you think about a lot of the contrived crap that passes as hip-hop or indie rock – or one of those country hits that seems like a checklist for the Bubba lifestyle – it’s easy to argue that the form has actually devolved over the past four decades.

In the film, Withers confesses that he’s bit of a manic-depressive. And even though he walked away from the music business in 1985, you can still see flashes of that obsessive focus shared by most great artists. Whether he’s worrying over a single couplet (one of his many gems: “Your love is like a chunk of gold, hard to get and hard to hold”) or worked up about the phrasing of a chorus, Withers serves as living proof that constructing the perfect three-minute pop song is serious business: Grandma’s Hands

The casual feel of his best material hides the fact that there’s a hell of a lot of sweat equity behind these mini-masterpieces. And although he hasn’t released anything since his last Columbia album in ’85, the film shows a very animated, 70-year-old Withers working on a Cuban-flavored tune in his home studio with Latin musician Raul Midon. “He has no problem throwing down when he feels like throwing down,” his daughter Kori points out. “When he wants to do something, he’s just obsessed. He’s all in, up at 2 o’clock in the morning, not eating, not sleeping.”

“Still Bill” doesn’t delve too much into why Withers left the business, or even his glory years of 1971 to 1975, before he signed with Columbia and veered off into “quiet storm” territory. And the film’s directors, Alex Vlack and Damani Baker, readily admit to this shortcoming. Instead of taking a more straightforward biographical approach, Vlack and Baker captured the remarkable spirit of the man as he is today: “…we just realized that he was such an unbelievable guy and the more time we spent with him the more we just kept thinking, ‘This needs to be a film about him as a person, not about his life so much,’” said Vlack in an interview with PopMatters. “So I think the more that we just kind of learned about him and spent time with him and just experienced what it’s like to be around such a wise and complex, interesting guy that we realized that’s the experience we want people to have watching it.”

Besides, a lot of the basic biographical information on Withers is readily available on Wikipedia and elsewhere. Born on the Fourth of July, 1938, in Slab Fork, West Virginia… youngest of 13 children… spent his youth as an asthmatic stutterer (“Any dreams I had, I kept to myself”)… inspired by his grandmother and the spontaneous singing at her Holy Sanctified Church… joined the Navy when he was only 17… worked at Douglas Aircraft installing toilets into 747s… wrote songs on the side, and saved up enough money to record a few demos… got signed by Sussex Records in 1970 and recorded his first album with the legendary Booker T. Jones at the helm… moved to Columbia in ’75 after Sussex went under… eventually became disenchanted with the music business when Columbia execs – and various white “black-sperts,” as he likes to call them – kept pushing him away from the stripped-down sound and honest emotions of his original recordings.

In the film, Withers points out that he didn’t even own a guitar until around 1970. “I don’t know an F-sharp from 9th Street,” he said. His first live performance was in front of about 5,000 people, probably around the time that Ain’t No Sunshine was rocketing up the pop charts. And given that most of his life has been spent away from the spotlight, it’s not surprising that Withers comes across as an exceptionally warm, well-adjusted and centered person, with few if any regrets about his personal and professional decisions. “We are so remiss in overvaluing entertainers – of which I am one, no problem – and athletes and undervaluing the people around us who have less-obvious gifts,” Withers said, bringing even greater clarity to his decision to remain outside the public eye.

By the end of “Still Bill,” you feel like you’ve been hanging out with your favorite relative – and can’t wait for the next family get-together.

Although Withers engages in a little group bloviation with African-American black-sperts Dr. Cornel West and Tavis Smiley, he can’t resist bringing that session back to reality when Smiley decries the dangers of selling out. “I’m not crazy about that word,” Withers replies. “We’re all entrepreneurs. To me, I don’t care whether you own a furniture store or whatever, the best sign you can put up is ‘sold out.’ Can we make that ‘subservient’?”

Once again, Withers is a lot more complicated than his songs and easygoing manner would suggest. He struggled with an obvious (and still slightly noticeable) stutter until roughly the same time that he entered the music business. But he shows no signs of the subservient mindset that can trigger many speech disorders. There seems to be great inner strength and pride behind his decision to spend more time with his family rather than lip-synch his way through yet another TV variety show – or put out yet another over-produced album for Columbia: You Try to Find a Love

Withers is especially emotional when he talks about the issue of stuttering and the need to bring greater self-esteem to children who struggle with it. The film captures his appearance at a fundraiser for New York City’s Our Time Theater Company, where he gives a few heartfelt remarks about his own experience as a stutterer: “Let’s hope that each kid finds his own personal comfort zone, where he can grow and nurture whatever gifts that he might have. Because if you take away the people who stutter from the world, you’re left with a whole bunch of chatty… fill in your own word.”

But the film’s most touching moment comes near the end, when Withers records a song written and performed by his daughter Kori. As he listens to a playback of the tender, jazzy ballad, he can only cry… probably tears of gratitude for the time he spent away from the “fame game,” nurturing the gifts of his children.

Bill Withers on video – with his great touring band from the ’70s: Benorce Blackman on guitar, Ray Jackson on keyboards, Melvin Dunlap on bass and the supremely funky James Gadson on drums:

And here’s the trailer for “Still Bill”…

“Still Bill” is available on Showtime on Demand through Feb. 28. Or, you can order a DVD on amazon (below):

We now have nearly 40 posts completed and properly filed with the internet authorities. Not what you’d call a highly prolific output. But as my sister pointed out, what I lack in frequency I make up for in long-windedness. Someone else told me I should write shorter posts and publish more often. I sent him a 10-paragraph email – with readership stats broken out in several tables – explaining why I disagree. For some reason, I never heard back from him.

Anyway, it seemed like a good opportunity for the RCR team to rummage through the old mail bag and find out what’s on our readers’ minds. Not that we plan on using that information to do anything different. I just couldn’t come up with a coherent theme this week.

I was a little disappointed in the response to “Truck Driver’s Boogie” – until I heard from Rob, who directed me toward one Scott H. (Hiram) Biram. I guess I’d describe his stuff as classic cowpunk and gutbucket blues, and I especially enjoyed this little item from Biram’s myspace page:

“Scott H. Biram won’t die. On May 11th, 2003, one month after being hit head-on by an 18-wheeler at 75 MPH, he took the stage at The Continental Club in Austin, TX in a wheel chair – I.V. still dangling from his arm. With 2 broken legs, a broken foot, a broken arm and 1 foot less of his lower intestine, Biram unleashed his trademark musical wrath…” Then it offers this promotional nugget: “When Scott H. Biram took the stage at his 2004 SXSW festival showcase right after Kris Kristofferson he was quoted as growling ‘They said that was a hard act to follow….I’m a hard act to follow motherfuckers!!’ The stunned crowd looked on.”

So obviously we’re dealing with a badass of epic proportions. Here’s musical evidence of Biram’s ornery nature (from his latest, “Something’s Wrong/Lost Forever”): Hard Time/Scott H. Biram

Lots of good comments to “There Stands the Glass,” my homage to the American drinking song. Musician and RCR contributor Kevin Swan captured the joys of the Big Three Trio’s Cigareetes, Whuskey and Wild Women: “Just add a Mason jar of sour mash, a big-boned gal in a flower dress, and sing loud.” And Bruce from Australia recommends that we down a pint of Woody Guthrie’s Rye Whiskey.

But Brother Jack convinced me I’d overlooked a true classic, One For My Baby (And One More For The Road), from the songwriting team of Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer. The tune was first performed by Fred Astaire in 1943 in the musical “The Sky’s The Limit” – then made popular four years later by a far more appropriate interpreter, Frank Sinatra. Over the years, it’s been covered by artists ranging from Lou Rawls and Lena Horne to Willie Nelson and Iggy Pop, and Bette Midler famously serenaded Johnny Carson with it on his last night as host of “The Tonight Show.” But I don’t think anyone plumbed the depths of this tune as effectively as Billie Holiday, who certainly drew from a deep well of experience… One For My Baby (And One More For The Road)/Billie Holiday

Don’t be surprised to see a future post titled “There Stands Another Glass.”

Dickey Betts, 1972

My love letter to Milledgeville, GA (“Georgia On My Mind”) received the most comments to date. Nephew Dan of The Black Keys has warm memories of our family’s log cabin in the piney woods – “i remember playing in that log cabin as a kid… i’ve driven through georgia what seems like a million times on tour and thought about stopping by but never have.” I mainly recall scaring the kids when I threw a chair across the room after losing my third-straight pot in poker. Fellow blogger The Hound shared one of Southern Rock’s great ironies: “I love that Dickey Betts was booted from the Allmans for taking too many drugs. Think about that. That must have been an incredible amount of dope to get chucked out of that band.” Old friend J.T. savored the time he spent at the cabin, when he almost died in Longino’s Jeep and then got poison oak everywhere, “even my schween.” And college buddy Art Rock (I prefer the more quotidian alias, admin) remembered waking up to Valerie Carter singing Ooh Child and bacon sizzling on the stove. I’ll throw in another cabin favorite, an acoustic duet with Betts and Duane Allman that Leo Kottke called “the most perfect guitar song ever written”: Little Martha/Duane Allman and Dickey Betts

A few of you played along to “Great Moments in Modern Music.” Christian from Albuquerque loves the trumpet work in the “Chinatown” soundtrack as well as the last section of John Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme” (Psalm). Kevin came back with a vote for Louis Armstrong’s “Big Butter and Egg Man” – a saucy duet with May Alix. Keena and her ganja-inspired friends couldn’t get enough of an odd “bip” that somehow found its way into Warren Zevon’s vocal fills in Werewolves of London. But we’ll give the RCR Ribbon of Achievement to Joscha from Germany, who threw out two big winners – the MC5’s I Want You Right Now (Joscha’s favorite moment is at 2:13, “where they take it down, creating tension, ready to explode back in the full blast main riff”) and Aretha Franklin’s It Ain’t Fair, which brings back the tasty guitar of Duane Allman along with sax great King Curtis… It Ain’t Fair/Aretha Franklin with Duane Allman and King Curtis

I’ll leave you with a couple of unqualified recommendations from the RCR Nation…

First, if you share my obvious enthusiasm for Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings (“Rare Soul + Funk, Pt. 1”), you’ll want to check out her latest platter – yes, it’s available on vinyl – “I Learned the Hard Way.” Here’s a little taste… Better Things/Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings

Second, The Black Keys’ new release, “Brothers,” drops on Tuesday, May 18. Obviously, I can’t be objective about these guys, but I think this is the one they’ve wanted to make ever since they first hung a mic over a water pipe in Pat’s basement. It’s definitely their best-sounding disc… fat, heavy grooves with lots of trunk-rattling bass – something you probably wouldn’t expect if you’re partial to “The Big Come Up” and “Thickfreakness.” Most of “Brothers” was recorded at the legendary Muscle Shoals Sound Studio – former home of the crack session team that laid down Aretha’s It Ain’t Fair. And although the Keys are far from bound by tradition, you can still hear the ghosts of Eddie Hinton and other masters of deep southern soul who never got their due.

Make no mistake, Dan and Pat are Rubber City guys at heart, as you can tell by this next tune. It was recorded during the “Brothers” sessions but won’t appear on the CD release (it’s now available as a free download on the band’s website if you register). Ohio/The Black Keys

Catch the Keys on tour this summer… get the full list of dates here. And test-drive “Brothers” right now at NPR.

These just in from Dan… A hotel-room video of Dickey Betts playing with “Dangerous” Dan Toler and a Greg Allman solo performance – both from a documentary called “Brothers of the Road” (1982) – and Duane Allman from 1970. “Dickey Betts is really underrated,” Dan says. “I love those double-stop country things he always adds. His signature, I guess. And the footage of Duane is something I’ve never seen. Modern jam bands just don’t get it.” Amen, brother.

The Ohio Players

This is really just a cheap excuse to share a few samples of some pretty cool tunes I’ve been listening to lately. So if you’re one of those Northern Soul nuts from the UK, don’t expect me to illuminate you on stuff that you don’t already own.

But I can’t help but feel we’re in the midst of a major soul music revival in the U.S. – and since RCR’s research team is currently on vacation, I can only point to a few pieces of second-hand or anecdotal evidence. (If you’re one of our faithful readers, you already know that this is the last place you’d go to calibrate your barometers of hip.)

The first is an article in the New York Times from 2007, which reported that soul music is back with a vengeance. So if I recalculate for Flyoverland and adjust for the paper’s previous inaccuracies, I can say without qualification that the soul music revival may or may not arrive here by 2015.

Aloe Blacc

The second is the theme song to a great new series on HBO: “How To Make It In America.”  My daughter turned me on to the show, which is sort of the NYC equivalent of “Entourage,” but without its constant references to celebrity/showbiz drivel. “Make It” has a lot going for it – a couple of winning lead actors (Bryan Greenberg and Victor Rasuk), crisp writing, sharp images of street life in Manhattan and Brooklyn… And any show that features the luscious Lake Bell and character actor Luis Guzman – not to mention Cleveland native Kid Cudi in a nice supporting role – gets on my preferred list right away.

Back to the music… The theme song, I Need a Dollar, is by Aloe Blacc, an LA native of Panamanian heritage. And it’s an outstanding example of contemporary soul with an ear to the past. In fact, I thought it was recorded in the Seventies until I did a little digging to find out otherwise. And judging from some of the online chatter I’ve come across, the song is probably generating a little more buzz than the show itself (which still hasn’t been greenlighted for a second season on HBO… Don’t make me send the RCR Nation to your doorstep, HBO programmers!). I Need A Dollar/Aloe Blacc

Exhibit C involves a trip I made a few nights ago to a local watering hole. Now the Rubber City’s a lot of things, but trendsetting probably isn’t one of them (unless you count Devo, Chrissie Hynde, The Black Keys, LeBron James and the invention of the zipper). Still, I couldn’t help but notice – beyond the fact that I was easily the oldest person in the room – that the relative youngsters in the bar were listening to vintage soul music, and digging it! I can’t tell you that this same scene is being played out in bars around the country (I’m not allowed to travel out of state). But I have to say this makes me feel slightly less depressed about the future of today’s youth.

I also have a strong hunch that there’s a lot of first-rate soul music out there that remains buried or very hard to find, maybe more so than any other genre. And some of these tunes sound like they sprang from the rich catalogs of Stax-Volt and Motown instead of some obscure label in Nashville.

It could have something to do with the proliferation of smaller, independent studios as recording technology became more widely available and affordable in the Sixties and Seventies – places like Malaco in Jackson, Mississippi, where aspiring, road-tested soul performers could go and spend some gig money to record fairly decent “vanity” projects, either with their own bands or local musicians. It could also have a lot to do with the gospel tradition and the churches, which served as kind of a farm system for up-and-coming talent.

Whatever the reason, I feel like I’m just scratching the surface of America’s greatest musical export… and I could easily spend the rest of my life being surprised by the quality of stuff out there that you can only find in someone’s lettuce crate at a flea market. But my crate-diving days are over, so I’ll continue to count on the kindness of relatives and friends to bring me the goods.

Thankfully, some of these gems are showing up on recent collections like Rhino’s “What It Is! Funky Soul and Rare Grooves.” And one of my favorite cuts on that 4-CD set is the tune Fairchild, written and produced by Allen Toussaint and performed by the relatively unknown Willie West. It was released on the New York-based Josie label in 1970, but it features the fearsome rhythm section of The Meters from New Orleans. I’m not sure what happened to West, who plays acoustic guitar on Fairchild. But it’s a shame he didn’t put out more cuts like this one – a prime slab of southern soul. Fairchild/Willie West

Here’s another tune written and produced by Toussaint (let’s just agree this guy is an American icon). It’s sung by Zilla Mayes, who recorded a few R&B sides on the Mercury label before unleashing this minor soul masterpiece in 1969 on SSS International, based in Nashville. I’ll thank nephew Dan for turning me on to this one… All I Want Is You/Zilla Mayes

Some of you may be familiar with Johnny “Guitar” Watson’s slick funk hits, like Ain’t That A Bitch and A Real Mother For Ya. Others might prefer his legendary blues recordings on the RPM label in the mid-‘50s – amp-melting workouts like She Moves Me, Hot Little Mama and Too Tired (if you don’t have those in your collection, leave the site now and go get them… we’ll wait for you). But Johnny went through a little transition period in the early-‘70s when he recorded a couple of albums for the Fantasy label – home of Creedence Clearwater Revival and whole slew of straight-ahead jazz acts. Although clearly in the soul/funk vein, Johnny’s Fantasy recordings never stray too far from the down-home blues that he perfected on the streets of Houston. Check out his patented, stinging attack on this cut from “Listen”: Why Don’t You Treat Me Like I’m You’re Man/Johnny “Guitar” Watson

Even a well-regarded soul label like Stax-Volt had a few treasures buried in the vaults. Carla Thomas scored big with hits like Gee Whiz and B-A-B-Y, but this tune easily tops both of those with a deep soul groove that only Steve Cropper, Donald “Duck” Dunn and Al Jackson Jr. could deliver. It’s from the appropriately titled “Hidden Gems,” a collection of 20 outtakes recorded for Stax-Volt between 1960 and 1968. Another potent reminder that the Memphis label simply couldn’t miss in its heyday… Sweet Sensation/Carla Thomas

Albert Washington is one of those fine but obscure soul performers who never quite made it to the big time. Born in Rome, GA, and raised in Cincinnati, Washington started out in the gospel tradition (the Gospelaires) but eventually made the move to more secular pleasures, playing for years at local blues joints like the Vet’s Inn near the Ohio River. He cut some first-rate singles in Cincinnati, mostly for the Fraternity label and often with the great Lonnie Mack on second guitar. One of his songs – Turn On the Bright Lights – was even covered by Jerry Garcia for a solo project. This next tune was recorded at King Studios in 1970 (for a nice overview of Washington’s career and the Cincinnati blues and soul music scene, check out “Going to Cincinnati: A History of Blues in the Queen City” by writer/harp-player Steve Tracy). Loosen These Pains And Let Me Go/Albert Washington

If you think you don’t know Fred Wesley, think again. He spent years anchoring James Brown’s horn section, blowing his fine funky ‘bone on cuts like Hot Pants, Doing It To Death (a million-selling single), Mother Popcorn and many other of the Godfather’s hits. And his later recordings – with artists ranging from the Count Basie Orchestra to the Klezmer collaboration Abraham Inc. – betray Wesley’s more adventurous spirit… not to mention a highly eclectic taste in music.  This next cut was released in ’74 (without J.B.) under the name Fred & The New J.B.’s… It’s a steamy slice of funk from a true master of the form. Breakin’ Bread/Fred Wesley & The New J.B.’s

Eddie Hinton might be the most unsung hero in the history of soul music. He spent most of his career as a session guitarist and songwriter, most notably at the fabled Muscle Shoals Sound Studio, where he contributed to a string of hits recorded by other artists. You can hear his tasty guitar on a cut we featured in a previous post (“Those Chimeless Holiday Classics”) – Every Day Will Be Like A Holiday by the Sweet Inspirations. But he saved the best stuff for himself, and some of his demos blow away tunes that other artists were recording as singles on major labels. Build Your Own Fire and 18 other demos are included on “Dear Y’all: The Songwriting Sessions.” If you’re a fan of deep southern soul, just get it… Build Your Own Fire/Eddie Hinton

I’ll close this out with a recent release on the wonderful Daptone label (for a great piece on the label and its driving force, Gabriel Roth, go here). For a short period of time, the label was offering a generous sampler for free on amazon’s mp3 site – definitely the best (legitimate) steal I’ve ever come across online. Based on a near-religious experience I had seeing Sharon Jones live at a small club in Cleveland, I view these folks as modern-day missionaries, spreading the good word of true funk and soul while struggling against the forces of evil unleashed by antichrists like the Black Eyed Peas. And guitarist Binky Griptite must host one hell of a radio show. If you don’t have any Sharon Jones in your life, you should fix that right now. This next tune features one of her labelmates – Lee Fields, a former chitlin’-circuit performer who seems to epitomize the term “rare soul.” Here’s the title song to his excellent new release, “My World”… Enjoy! My World/Lee Fields

Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings on the BBC’s Later with Jools Holland… Accept no substitutes — this is how it’s done:

Since Brother Jack did such a great job of taking us down to New Orleans in his last post on James Booker, I decided to stay there – and offer up a few of my favorite examples of Crescent City Soul.

The history of New Orleans R&B is filled with characters like Roy Montrell – incredibly talented musicians who kept the tradition alive but received little or no recognition for their efforts.  Montrell played on countless sides during his 20-some years as a session guitarist and toured with New Orleans elite, including Fats Domino.  But he only recorded two singles under his own name.  My first pick makes the case that they should’ve kept the tape running a lot longer…  It features some of the Crescent City’s best players – including the great Earl Palmer on drums and the one-two punch of Red Tyler (baritone) and Lee Allen (tenor) on saxes.  Don’t let the title fool you… (Every Time I Hear) That Mellow Saxophone is a masterpiece of manic energy. (Every Time I Hear) That Mellow Saxophone

Even casual fans of the New Orleans tradition are aware of Dr. John’s legacy as a first-rate piano player, soulful singer and conjurer of dark spirits.  But few know that the man who started his career as Mac Rebennack was an equally dangerous guitar player with a slashing style.  (In his highly entertaining autobiography, “Under a Hoodoo Moon: The Life of Dr. John the Night Tripper,” Rebennack notes that he switched to piano after someone shot the ring finger on his left hand.)   The best of Rebennack’s guitar-driven singles, along with a few other novelties, can be found on “Medical School: The Early Sessions of Mac ‘Dr. John’ Rebennack” on the Music Club label.  Listen to him work out on the aptly titled Storm Warning… Storm Warning

The legendary Professor Longhair cast a long shadow over every Crescent City keyboard player who fell under his spell (although he may have been outdone by the ridiculously talented James Booker).  Thankfully, we can find many examples of his masterful playing on a number of releases, including a fine anthology on Rhino.  But I keep coming back to a classic version of Big Chief, recorded in 1964 at the studio of famed New Orleans engineer Cosimo Matassa.  Oddly enough, this tough-as-nails single features Dr. John on guitar and relegates an even better guitar player, Earl King, to the role of “whistler” – while Longhair sounds a little buried under the stabbing horns.  But it all works… and it’s hard to find better examples of what n’yawlins rhythm is all about… Big Chief

The easiest way to describe the Meters is “Booker T & the MGs filtered through New Orleans”… but it doesn’t begin to capture the essence of a band that churned out one monstrous groove after another during an incredible run from 1965 to 1977.  Although singer and keyboard player Art Neville went on to join his brothers in forming the city’s most famous family band, he continues to perform today with other original Meters in various lineups.  But their output from the late ‘60s to the early ‘70s is like raw meat to the world’s greatest rhythm sections – the stuff you dive into when you’ve had your fill of the rest.  Listen to how guitar player Leo Nocentelli teases the beat on this funky little gem from 1969. Cardova

In 2005, Nonesuch Records released “Our New Orleans,” a post-Katrina benefit to raise funds for the relief efforts of Habitat for Humanity.  It featured newly recorded songs by a number of musicians identified with the New Orleans sound, including the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, Allen Toussaint and Eddie Bo.  But my favorite cut is by the Queen of Crescent City Soul, Irma Thomas.  She’s been covered by artists ranging from the Rolling Stones (Time Is On My Side) to Norah Jones (Ruler Of My Heart, backed by the Dirty Dozen).  Although bowed by a music biz doesn’t seem to have much use for a 68-year-old R&B legend, Irma is far from broken.  She remains one of New Orleans’ most vital artists — as evidenced by her emotional take on this original by a prescient Bessie Smith.  Back Water Blues

Although famous for his hit Working in a Coal Mine, Lee Dorsey recorded far-funkier sides during his 25-year career – usually under the production of New Orleans renaissance man Allen Toussaint.  And, like virtually every other artist in this list, Dorsey kept cranking out one gem after another while remaining virtually unnoticed by the music industry.  But he’s making a posthumous comeback, with the Obama Nation and several indie rockers adopting his classic anthem Yes We Can Can (written by Toussaint) as a tribute to the power of positive thinking.  But I’m partial to the deep groove laid down by – who else – the Meters on a song from 1970 that seems like a raw prelude to Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On. Who’s Gonna Help Brother Get Further

The New Orleans sound continues to evolve, thanks to artists like drummer Stanton Moore.  He’d already mastered the city’s highly syncopated rhythms by the time he formed Galactic in 1994 – another jam-band with a rabid following.  And he’s a restless innovator who seems to jump from one lineup of musicians to another at the drop of a drumstick.  But the recordings he’s made under his own name seem a little closer to the root, and I love the way he turns the tradition inside out on this cut from “Flyin’ the Coop.”  It also features Chris Wood from Medeski, Martin & Wood, as well as a sampled chant from the Wild Magnolias Mardi Gras Indians.  Modern New Orleans music doesn’t get much better than this… Fallin’ Off the Floor

Dr. John with the Baby Dolls at Mardi Gras, 2008 (Photos: James Quine)