Rubber City Review

The Swan Silvertones

Back in this post, we featured a carefully selected playlist of songs best suited for Sunday mornings, when godless ingrates like me are busy reading the Times and sipping artisinal coffee. Now there’s the word of the moment: artisinal. Want to charge an extra $5 for a loaf of bread? Call it “artisinal.” In fact, consider this blog artisinal – lovingly crafted by small, swarthy people who live in caves. By the way, is it pronounced ar-TEASE-in-al? And do you really want to emphasize the “tease” in a word that promises untold quality at twice the price?

But again, I digress… As we pointed out a couple of years ago, that playlist was designed to accompany Arts and Leisure, not necessarily to instill a sense of religious fervor in the faithful. No, I saved those tunes for this post – a sampling of songs by a few of our favorite gospel artists. So put down the paper, crank up the laptop, get your ass off the couch and spread some joy… even if the congregation amounts to a fairly jaded spousal unit and a few nervous pets.

The Georgia Sea Island Singers spread their unique brand of joy around the world. But the Gullah tradition they celebrate – formed in the coastal plains and islands of Georgia and South Carolina – is largely one of isolation. It’s an African-American heritage in the truest sense of the term, with songs, dances, stories and a uncommon dialect that grew out of a cultural collision of the American South, West Africa and the Caribbean. Their music is mostly a capella, call-and-response gospel, and one of the form’s greatest performers was Bessie Jones, a native of Smithville, GA. Bessie was “discovered” by folklorist Alan Lomax, who recorded this song on St. Simon’s Island in 1960. You can find it on an amazing collection of rare and beautiful gospel songs on the Dust-to-Digital label: “Goodbye, Babylon.” O Day

One of the biggest gospel hits from the renowned catalog of Specialty Records was a novelty tune by Cleveland native Wynona Carr. She was signed to the independent label in 1949 by its owner, Art Rupe, who elevated her to the title of “Sister” hoping that some of Sister Rosetta Tharpe’s mojo would rub off on his new artist. In Sister Wynona’s Biblical baseball game, Temptation is on first, Sin’s on second, Tribulation’s on third, Satan’s on the the mound, Solomon’s the umpire and Ryan “The Hebrew Hammer” Braun is up to bat… OK, I made that last one up. Actually, J.C.’s standing at home plate “just waitin’ for you to come in.” So don’t slide home with your spikes up. The Ball Game

Bobby Womack

Wynona left gospel behind and joined Reprise Records (the home of Frank Sinatra) in ’61 – roughly the same time that fellow Clevelander Bobby Womack was starting to hit the gospel circuit with his brothers Friendly (Jr.), Cecil, Harry and Curtis. The Womack Brothers soon caught the attention of the great Sam Cooke, who signed them to his own label, SAR Records. The brothers cut a few gospel sides before transforming themselves into The Valentinos and recording such secular pleasures as Lookin’ for a Love (later covered by The J. Geils Band) and It’s All Over Now (a #1 UK hit in ’64 for The Rolling Stones). Of course Bobby Womack went on to become a soul/funk legend – and a favorite of Rubber City singer Chrissie Hynde. But back in ‘61 he was just one of five brothers from Cleveland trying to carve out a gospel career with sanctified tunes like this one: Couldn’t Hear Nobody Pray

Let’s head out of Cleveland and over to Chicago, where the Highway Q.C.’s were building a reputation as one of gospel’s most fearsome acts. The group earned its place in the gospel firmament by graduating Sam Cooke, Lou Rawls and Johnnie Taylor into the secular mainstream. By the end of the ‘50s all those giants were long gone, but the Q.C.’s managed to carry on admirably with the soulful voice of Spencer Taylor (no relation to Johnnie). In 2010, Taylor and band celebrated 65 years of spreading sacred music around the world – and I think (correct me if I’m wrong) they’re still performing today. The Q.C.’s had a big influence on a young Bob Dylan, who first heard them at his home in Hibbing, MN, by dialing in the powerful signal of Shreveport’s KWKH. Here’s a song Zimmie might have heard back in ’59 (from a Mojo magazine compilation called “The Roots of Bob Dylan”): Working on the Building

Brother Claude Ely

What can you say about Brother Claude Ely that our friend The Hound didn’t already cover in this piece? It’s hard to imagine this voice came out of a white hillbilly preacher… he sounds like he could’ve jumped right in with the Q.C.’s, the Womacks, the Swan Silvertones or any one of the great black gospel acts of the last century. Simply put, this dude could flat-out sing, and he clearly had the spirit too. As we made the case a couple weeks ago with Moon Mullican, when it comes to raisin’ the roof on a church or a Texas roadhouse, don’t rule out the pudgy white guy. Do You Want To Shout

You might be familiar with Robert Randolph as a mainstay on the jam-band circuit (maybe the only artist in that vein that gets my blood pumping). Let’s not forget Randolph came out of the sacred steel tradition, which started in the ’30s in House of God churches throughout the eastern U.S. as black pedal steel guitarists began to mimic the Sunday choir. If you really want to get right with god, check out one of the wonderful sacred steel compilations on the Arhoolie label that capture mind-blowing performances (a few featuring Randolph) at several churches and the first-annual Sacred Steel Convention in Winter Park, FL. Randolph eventually gained far greater fame with revved-up rock albums featuring his Family Band. But he returned to sacred ground with his 2001 album “The Word,” featuring keyboard player John Medeski (Medeski, Martin & Wood) and the North Mississippi Allstars. Here they burn through an old gospel standard: I’ll Fly Away

With all the much-warranted fuss over The Blind Boys of Alabama, it’s easy to forget these guys had some serious competition the next state over. In fact, The Five Blind Boys of Mississippi might pre-date the Alabama group – although the latter’s big voice, Clarence Fountain, has said that both groups were named at a gospel contest in ’48. Regardless, both are essential to the southern gospel tradition, with The Blind Boys of Alabama doing their best to keep the spirit alive today. But the most exciting and powerful blind boy might have been the Mississippi group’s lead singer, Archie Brownlee. He’d shout, scream, stomp his feet and even throw himself offstage in a state of religious fervor (the first crowd-surfer was a blind man??). Here’s a taste of Brownlee and The Five Blind Boys of Mississippi, circa 1959: My Robe Will Fit Me

Let’s close with my favorite gospel song of all time, by The Swan Silvertones. It starts with a plaintive guitar, then goes into a slow burn that builds and builds until it explodes with the heavenly falsetto of one Claude Jeter, who makes Prince sound like a first-time sinner. If this doesn’t move you… well, I got nothin’ else for you. Wanna watch some funny cat videos? Mary Don’t You Weep

Here’s a great vintage clip of The Blind Boys of Alabama… Clarence Fountain conquers all evil on this one:

How’s that for a blowhard title?

The operative word being “moments”… which speaks to one of several fundamentally different ways that we experience music.

Some folks like it in the background, like aural wallpaper. Now, I’m not going to waste valuable bandwidth trashing smooth jazz, Enya or Muzak. I actually felt a tinge of sadness when I found out that Muzak filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection last year. But I tend to have a hard time ignoring ambient music – I’m always trying to figure out what song is being reprocessed, and whether or not it’s an actual improvement over the original.

Years ago, I was toiling away in a Muzak-fed workplace when I kept hearing this nagging melody… Why is this so disturbing? Then I suddenly realized I was listening to an orchestral remake of Journey to the Center of Your Mind by Ted Nugent and the Amboy Dukes, and my head almost exploded. I found out later that Nugent actually tried to purchase Muzak just to put it out of business. So I’ll give the company credit for following through on this diabolical act of revenge.

Other folks just wanna dance. Nothing wrong with that… In fact, that’s probably a far healthier approach to music than this constant need to analyze every song and identify every conceivable influence.

Some of my more literate friends are all about the lyrics. They trace their musical lineage back to Dylan, who begat the Beatles who begat Elvis Costello who begat a whole slew of contemporary indie poets. Unfortunately, some of these modern-day bards approach things like rhythm and musicianship with an attitude bordering on contempt.

I recently came across a quote from guitarist Geoff Muldaur (Paul Butterfield’s Better Days, The Texas Sheiks) in the Austin Chronicle that seemed to describe where I come out on this issue:

“I’m miserable at listening to singer-songwriters, because I’m not interested in the (singer-songwriter’s) music, and I don’t listen to the words,” Muldaur said. “Zero. I come at it from the music. If the lyrics hold up, if the music is compelling, I might listen to words – if they’re spectacular and draw me in. Take ‘Gee Baby, Ain’t I Good to You,’ as an example. ‘Love makes me treat you the way I do. Gee, baby, ain’t I good to you.’ That’s it.”

Which brings us to the malcontents at Rubber City Review and other obsessive-compulsive types – mostly musicians and record collectors – who simply can’t get certain guitar licks or horn parts or vocal flourishes out of their heads. Sadly, these retained musical moments don’t go away – they begin to crowd out other basic thoughts, such as those involving food, personal hygiene and the speech patterns of spouses and family members. Help stop this terrible affliction…

OCD-related maladies aside, I’ve always noticed that musicians use these moments as shorthand to describe what they like about a certain song, artist or genre.

When I was putting together my post on Robert Quine, I came across a tribute from an old friend of Rob’s, Procter Lippincott (from the music site Perfect Sound Forever). Here he describes a process that should be familiar to most musicians:

“We never listened to whole tracks together. In fact, on most occasions, as I recall, we listened only to that particular instant on any track that we felt made it great, even breathtaking, in its impact. It might have been A Thing of the Past, for instance, where Shirley of the Shirelles’ voice cracked on the first word of the phrase, ‘Thi-i-s-s is the moment to decide’ (my choice), a syncopated line on ‘Waltz for Debby’ (Bill Evans’ ‘Live at the Village Vanguard’… his), or the pregnant pause right after the head in Power to Love on Jimi Hendrix’s wildly uneven ‘Band of Gypsys’ album, before Jimi cranks up the volume to take another unearthly solo (mutually appreciated). Quine typically was not as accepting of my choices as I was of his, but we kept at it endlessly, searching for our secular epiphany.”

Here’s that moment (and more – I just couldn’t cut off the solo) from “Band of Gypsys”: Power to Love/Jimi Hendrix

In the best spirit of this process, I’ve asked brothers Jack and James to join me in sharing some of our favorite musical moments. I promise to be accepting of their choices – even if I’m convinced they suck – and I look forward to joining them at the upcoming Rubber City Roundtable: “Why Our Opinions About Music Are Much More Important Than Yours.”

Tim: Charlie Parker may seem like an obvious choice, but I wonder how many jazz musicians became junkies after hearing Bird’s ultimate throwdown to his fellow be-boppers? This is from a compilation of his recordings on the Savoy and Dial labels (one Dial collection even included this sample as a separate track, listed as the “Famous Alto Break”): Night in Tunisia/Charlie Parker

Jack: This is one of those slow blues that only a good blues singer can sing. I’m talking about Muddy Waters. With a top-notch band that follows his every breath. “Don’t say I don’t love you, cause I stays out late at night long… You know I’m a country boy and I don’t know what’s going on.” It’s great, but the growl and cry at the end really nails it. Country Boy/Muddy Waters

James: It had to be the mid-’70s when I first heard Reconsider Me coming from a record vendor’s booth at a Pensacola flea market. When I asked who the singer was, the vendor said he thought it might be Tom Jones. “Tom Jones can’t sing like that,” I said. Not even in his dreams. It turned out to be New Orleans crooner Johnny Adams. For reasons I still don’t understand, the song was included in a compilation album called “The Streak,” which also featured that Ray Stevens ode to exhibitionism. I don’t know how to categorize this sound. Swampolitan? I do know there aren’t many vocalists, alive or dead, who could sing with this particular combination of sophistication and scary passion. Listen to Johnny’s bloodcurdling falsetto on the chorus. Reconsider Me/Johnny Adams

Tim: Couldn’t resist another perfect falsetto – this one from gospel singer Claude Jeter, who passed away in January 2009. You probably didn’t read about it in the paper or see it covered on Entertainment Tonight. Which makes sense, because he had one of those transcendent voices (like the previous example) that seem to exist in another world… one that would relegate Madonna Ciccone to a lifetime of obscurity. Here’s my favorite moment – actually, two soaring falsettos by Jeter – from my favorite tune by the Swan Silvertones: Mary Don’t You Weep/The Swan Silvertones with Claude Jeter

Jack: The great James Booker… Is he playing in front of the beat or behind the beat?  You figure it out. He sure is creating a lot of excitement with just a couple of chords. Keep On Gwine/James Booker

James: I Ain’t Got Long has to be one of the most deep and moving performances I’ve ever heard on record, and the story behind it is incredible. A prison warden overheard the legendary Bahamian musician Peter Elliot singing the song in his cell, where he was awaiting execution, and was so moved that he arranged his release. Elliot later fell to his death through the open window of a Nassau bar. The song is performed by a group of Elliot’s friends in the same alley where he died. It’s from the classic collection of field recordings, “The Real Bahamas.” This is as real as it gets… (we’ll just play the whole thing) I Ain’t Got Long/Sam Green and group

Anyone else want to weigh in? Doesn’t even have to be an actual piece of music… I’ll leave you with this little slice of studio banter between Leonard Chess and Sonny Boy Williamson (warning: don’t play this for the kids) as you ponder which nugget you’ll send me for a future post: Little Village/Leonard Chess and Sonny Boy Williamson

Today’s Record Store Day… Go spend some cash at one of the 700 independent record stores left in the U.S. so they can stay open for another year.