Tag: eric clapton

Basic Folk: John Smith

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

Originally from Devon, English singer-songwriter John Smith got his start playing bars and clubs in Liverpool, both with his own songs and as a side player for artists like Lianne La Havas, Lisa Hannigan, and David Gray. Growing up with folk music and guitar music influences from Eric Clapton to Maria Callas to Nick Drake, John’s sensitivity as a player is one of the cornerstones of his music, especially when it comes to his live music. It’s earned him a passionate fanbase ever since his first EP release in 2009.

Host Lizzie No got to witness the connection he shares with audiences on a recent month-long tour around the UK. Everywhere they went together, audience members had stories of how important John’s songs were to them and guitar nerds flocked to have a look at his pedal board.

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Beyond his musicianship, John’s music is imbued with an earnestness that invites listeners to look around and feel gratitude: for nature (especially the vistas of rural England), for the wisdom that memory can provide, and for the people close to us. His latest album, The Living Kind, is a meditation on how delicate love and life can be, but also how enduring. It also showcases the creative partnership between Smith and his longtime friend and roots music industry icon, Joe Henry. One of the album’s highlights is “Milestones,” in which John reflects on how parenthood has changed his perspective on the artist’s life.

Photo Credit: Phil Fisk

BGS 5+5: Bruce Iglauer, Alligator Records

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Bruce Iglauer, Founder and President of Alligator Records
Hometown: Sweet Home Chicago
New Release: Alligator Records — 50 Years of Genuine Houserockin’ Music
Latest Album Produced: The Preacher, The Politician or the Pimp by Toronzo Cannon
Personal Nickname: Mr. Alligator

What’s your favorite memory from working in the music business?

After all these years, it would still be the first session I produced, back in 1971, with my favorite Chicago blues band, Hound Dog Taylor & The HouseRockers. We cut their debut album in two four-hour sessions, direct to two-track (I couldn’t afford multi-track recording) and 100% live in the studio. They played the same ragged instruments that they played in the South Side Chicago clubs. Hound Dog had a cheap Kingston guitar played through a Sears & Roebuck Silvertone amp built by Danelectro. Of the six speakers, two were cracked and distorted beautifully. Brewer Phillips played an ancient Fender Telecaster through a not-too-old Fender Concert amp, and Ted Harvey beat on an old Slingerland drum set. We recorded a couple of takes each of about 25 songs both nights, and chose the best for the album. We tried to make a record that felt just like their gigs at Florence’s Lounge, a South Side neighborhood bar where they played every Sunday. They rocked the house, so the slogan of Alligator Records became (and still is) “Genuine Houserockin’ Music.”

What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to work in the music business?

I came to Chicago in 1970 to work for a year as the shipping clerk at Delmark Records, a venerable small blues and jazz label. Then I was going to go back to college. The first week, the boss, Bob Koester, asked me to come to a recording session as “gopher” (the guy who goes for things like sandwiches, whiskey, guitar strings, etc.). I watched as, before my eyes, Chicago bluesman Junior Wells, accompanied by Buddy Guy, Louis Myers, Fred Below, Earnest Johnson and the best blues piano player in the world, Otis Spann, sculpted a blues record that’s worth hearing 100 times. I couldn’t believe this music was being created live right before my eyes. It was incredibly exciting. After that, I had no thoughts of going back to college.

What advice would you give to an artist who’s pursuing a career as a singer-songwriter?

Be a realist. The chances are better than not that you will not be able to make a living doing this. Be prepared to be hungry. Then, if you’re truly determined, insist on making your own statement. Don’t consciously think about being “commercial,” but do think, “Will other people relate to this music, or am I just indulging myself?” If your music doesn’t communicate, then you should perform for yourself in your bedroom and get a day job! If you do perform, remember that each performance is a way of auditioning your songs to the people you want to be your fans. Pay attention to their feedback, both what they say and how they react to each song, each verse, each line.

Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?

I guess that I should answer that about both artists and producers (because above all, I’m a talent scout and producer). The artist who influenced me most has to be Elmore James. He wasn’t the best technical guitar player in the world, but he played and sang with such undiluted passion that every record he cut is worth listening to over and over. The first two things I listen for with an artist are passion and originality. He had both. As far as producers, I’d name my old boss, Bob Koester, of Delmark Records, for letting artists be who they are, and Tom Dowd, for inspiring artists to great performances in the studio — including Ray Charles, The Allman Brothers, Wilson Pickett, Aretha Franklin, Freddie King, Eric Clapton and literally hundreds more.

If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?

Find blues and blues-based artists who have that passion and originality, and help them (whether I’m their producer or not) to capture that passion and originality in a recording. Then, be the bridge that connects the artist to his or her potential audience. That way, if the Alligator Records team and I succeed, artists will make records that will rock people’s bodies and souls, and we will help the artists reach more and more ears and (hopefully) get the recognition they deserve.

Photo credit: Chris Monaghan

‘More Blood, More Tracks’ Shows Unguarded Dylan

Posted on by Editor

It’s just a little mmmmmmm-mmmm. The kind of sound you might make when you’ve tasted something really pleasant. Or when your kid says something cute. Or when your partner sidles up cozily against you under a warm blanket on a cold night. Satisfied. Secure. Certain. Dare we say… sexy. And completely in the moment.

It may be the most unguarded moment ever in a Bob Dylan recording. But also the most complex, complicated, deep and emotional, even as it seemingly belies the words of the lines it comes between: And I’m back in the rain / And you are on dry land.

There are eight takes of the song that contains that, “You’re a Big Girl Now,” on More Blood, More Tracks: The Bootleg Series Vol. 14, the sprawling new collection of the complete takes from Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks sessions. It culminates with the “final” version heard on the 1975 album. In each one he goes mmmmmmm-mmmm (or an uhhh or ohhh variation thereof) several times, each with a different spin, different nuance, different feeling in ways that are hard to pinpoint, but still quite clear on hearing.

There are two per verse and five verses in the song — accounting for a couple of the takes being fragments, there’s a total of 67 mmmmmmm-mmmms here. But it’s the very first one, in the very first verse of the first take of the song, just the third performance in a marathon four-day run in a New York studio, that will buckle your knees, make you swoon, make the rest of the world go away.

You have to wonder if on the day he made that recording – September 16, 1974 – if making the world go away was exactly his intent.

Six months earlier, on Valentine’s Day, 1974, Dylan stood alone singing “even the President of the United States sometimes must have to stand naked” on stage at the Forum in Inglewood, California. The crowd erupted in wild cheers, as had happened every night of his reunion tour with the Band, which closed that night. But on September 16, five weeks after Richard Nixon had resigned that Presidency, Dylan stood alone with just a guitar and harmonica in a New York recording studio, at his most emotionally naked, starting what would become Blood on the Tracks. This was and perhaps remains the first, the definitive post-Watergate album.

Many saw it as a new beginning when Dylan had reemerged from a several-year hermitage with the ’74 album Planet Waves and the tour with the Band, the latter documented on the Before the Flood album, which includes that Forum performance of “It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding).” This was a fresh start, the return of the Voice of a Generation to right all the wrongs of a world in chaos. Of course it was anything but. That was all housecleaning, doing away with the past, putting it to rest. Well, at least the past as seen from the outside. Now he had a blank slate and a tormented inner world to explore as he looked back over his relationship with wife Sara as it was coming to a close.

No wonder he struggled with how to present these songs, a fascinating process played out over the 87 tracks on More Blood. Sure, he’d done multiple takes of many songs in the past, as collected on some previous Bootleg Series sets, including the massive Cutting Edge account of every single studio recording he made in his watershed ’65 to ’66 run.

This is different. It’s not just the arrangements (adding and subtracting musicians to the mix), or his delivery, or even the words, with which he fiddles considerably more than in the past. It’s a whole sense that varies from take to take with each of the songs here, transforming the very nature of the song and how it might be received. There are 11 attempts at “You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go” before he gets what he considered a keeper, for example. And that’s true from mmmmmm-mmmm to mmmmmmm-mmmm, each given a different spin, a different tone, a different meaning. But, hearing these recordings now, the first take of each of the songs is as much a revelation of his personal struggles.

Back then we all were struggling with how to be, how to behave, how to approach the future. With Nixon gone, with the Vietnam War coming to a close, we’d lost our focus, we’d lost our purpose, we’d lost our sense of the future.

As he stepped into the studio, the No. 1 slot on the Billboard singles charts just whiplashed from Paul Anka’s smarmy “You’re Having My Baby” to Eric Clapton’s version of Bob Marley’s Jamaican/Western outlaw fantasy “I Shot the Sheriff.” The No. 1 album was a towering masterpiece, and perhaps a challenge to any artist now making a record: Stevie Wonder’s Fulfillingness’ First Finale.

Overall, the year was full of looking back and looking for diversion: Barbra Streisand topped the 1974 year-end singles chart with the hazy nostalgia of “The Way We Were,” with Terry Jacks’ syrupy “Seasons in the Sun” right behind, and not far down the list John Denver’s similar climate assessment “Sunshine on my Shoulder.” Grand Funk re-did “The Loco-Motion” and Ringo Starr hit with a remake of “You’re 16” while James Taylor and Carly Simon mined the golden oldies vein with “Mockingbird” for a big hit. The Beach Boys were back in fashion, via their Endless Summer collection. Blue Swede was “Hooked on a Feeling” (oooga-chucka, oooga-chucka).  By the end of the year, everybody was “Kung Fu Fighting.” Everybody.

And when Dylan released the album on January 20, 1975, the No. 1 spot was held by Barry Manilow with “Mandy.”

For many of us, Dylan’s pain provided our relief. Even for this writer, just 18 years old at the time and less-than-inexperienced in love, let alone heartbreak, Blood was a beacon, a blueprint, a map to the buried treasures of a hoped-for life to come. Yes, even with the pain, as it couldn’t exist without the pleasures that gave way to it.

Never mind Dylan’s protestations that this was not autobiographical — in his 2004 book Chronicles, Vol. 1 he maintained that it was based on Anton Chekhov short stories — apart from the lashing “Idiot Wind” (“Positively 4th Street” part two) and the rambling-gambling adventure “Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts,” this is his version of Ingmar Bergman’s miniseries/movie, Scenes From a Marriage, seen as the marriage crumbles. It’s in turns — sometimes very quick turns — rueful, playful, bitter, dreamy, recriminating (self- and otherwise), wistful, wishful, despairing, desolate, sensual, confessional, impenetrable, regretful.

At the root of it, particularly in the songs that arguably make up the emotional core of the album — “Tangled Up in Blue,” “Simple Twist of Fate,” and “Shelter From the Storm” — what emerges most strikingly, now more than then, is a deep tenderness. And then there’s the raw “If You See Her, Say Hello,” with the line “sundown, yellow moon, I replay the past / I know every scene by heart, they all went by so fast.” But also striking are the key things missing: acceptance and closure. “Everything about you is bringing me misery,” he sings in the finale, “Buckets of Rain.” It’s open-ended and an open wound.

Even as we projected our own cultural uncertainties onto it, Blood was and remains the intensely private work of an intensely private person. More Blood even more so. Of course he had trouble shaping what would become the public view of it. Of course he got cold feet at the last minute, just four weeks before the album’s release, flying to Minneapolis for hastily set-up sessions to re-record the songs with local folk musicians, five new versions then displacing the original New York sessions, including “Big Girl.”

What’s most striking, perhaps, is that he released it at all. Almost as soon as the album came out, after he had revealed himself so starkly, he embarked on his Rolling Thunder Revue tour, a traveling circus in which he could get lost, get away, could hide, shielded and masked. As had so often been the case in his public past, he returned to his default setting of obfuscation.

It’s accepted fact that Dylan released the “right” version of the album. It fit the times, fit his mood(s) — and ours. But it’s wondrous to revel in the possibility of an alternate in which he might have stopped after the first takes, with just the first versions recorded that day, September 16, 1974, when he stood alone and sang mmmmmmm-mmmm.

MIXTAPE: Cordovas’ Unknown Legends

Posted on by Editor

The playlist is called Unknown Legends because each song carries a factor of the unknown; be it a somewhat unknown version (“Connection”), artist (Altyrone Deno Brown) or even origin (“Statesboro Blues”). These compositions and singers are the backbone of American weirdness, the reason we love our country’s music. – Cordovas

“Shake Sugaree” — Elizabeth Cotton

Cotton’s “Shake Sugaree” is crucial. Hard to find anyone that good at being a singer songwriter in the early 1900s but she was. Perfectly written, this song is a masterpiece of American music. This Carolina girl was an unknown legend

“Sweet Pea” — Altyrone Deno Brown

Just look at the picture of the dude. He could slay drums and he was 9 or 10 when he got signed. They want him to be the next Michael Jackson. Listen to his vibrato and the tenderness in his voice. The way he heard other singers seems to come out.

“The End of the World” — Skeeter Davis

This perfect melody. So sweet. Skeeter. Heartbroken and gettin’ over it by singing the blues. Some dynamite two part she throws down.

“Sign Language” — Eric Clapton

Clapton is obviously very well-known but this is a lesser known song. Featuring lead guitar by Robbie Robertson, harmonies by Richard Manuel, and a verse by Dylan himself, this is a beautiful scene in some movie. Two lovers. “You Speak to me in sign language as I’m eating a sandwich in a small café at a quarter to three.” So simple.

“Jesus I’ll Never Forget” — Forbes Family

Gospel Vocal groups. They believe. They lift their voices. This one has some epic 5 part harmony. It gets us singing in exaltation “Jesus I’ll Never forget” in the van as we ramble on. We are atheists.

“Piney Mountains” — Bruce Molsky

Jump up on the flat wheel car and let this fiddle tune take you up into the u-pined hills. “My hands can’t fiddle and my heart’s been broke, lord, and my time ain’t long.” Brother Bruce.

“Runs in the Family” — The Roches

The Roches have a masterpiece here. They address here the things we pass down in our families and in our ways and ambitions. Our desires. Through and through, concept, arrangement, feeling, this one is so well thought out and executed. On the idea of the sisters themselves coming of age the Roches sing, “Something about the danger zone, wouldn’t leave the bunch of us alone”

“Matty Groves” — Fairport Convention

This is a reworking of the old English ballad that tells a tale of lust, deceit and revenge in a renaissance setting. Sandy Denny’s powerful, convincing vocals are flanked by 20 year old Richard Thompson’s innovative, unpredictable guitar lines and Dave Swarbricks masterful electric fiddle, tying the tradition to a new era.

“Shady Grove” — Doc Watson

An Appalachian folk ballad by Doc Watson. There are some 300 stanzas collected reaching back to the 1800’s. There have been a vast amount of versions recorded and documented of this song, but Doc Watson’s version would come to be known through the folk revival period of the 1960s and making its mark into popular music by way of Jerry Garcia and David Grisman.

“Statesboro Blues” — Blind Willie McTell

This song came about from his many trips to a tobacco warehouse during harvest season in Statesboro, Georgia. He collected change from the laborers in a tin cup tied to the neck of his 12 string guitar that could be heard right outside the loading docks. “Reach over in the corner mama, grab my traveling shoes”.

“Going Down the Road Feelin’ Bad” — Woody Guthrie

Accompanied by Sonny Terry (harmonica) and Cisco Houston (mandolin, vocals) Guthrie’s rendition would provide the template for many subsequent versions of the song in both the bluegrass and the folk rock genres. Alan Lomax recorded this for the library of Congress.

“Connection” — Ramblin’ Jack Elliott

“Connection” is a Jagger/Richards song about being stuck while traveling, wanting to be home. Covered by NRPS among others, the song is on Elliott’s Reprise debut where it takes new life, now sung by a gunslinger-type.

“Tamp’ Em Up Solid” — Ry Cooder

Cooder’s “Paradise and Lunch” is a collection of older tunes, some somewhat unknown, including songs by McTell, Philips, and more. “Tamp’ Em Up Solid” is a traditional, attacked by Cooder in his unique style.

Photo credit: Alysse Gafkjen

MIXTAPE: Lloyd Green & Jay Dee Maness’s Steely History

Posted on by Editor

Fifty years ago, the Byrds set out on an ambitious path to deeper explore the country music they had flirted with on previous records with Sweetheart of the Rodeo. In addition to introducing Gram Parsons to a larger audience, it was the first country-rock record to be recorded by an established rock act. The record continues to open the eyes of new generations to country music. Recorded in March of 1968 in Nashville, Tennessee, and April of the same year in Los Angeles, California, the original record utilized the amazing steel guitar talents of Lloyd Green (Nashville) and Jay Dee Maness (L.A.), both established session musicians. The freshness of their playing added not only an authenticity to the sessions, but opened the eyes of a whole new audience to the sound of the pedal steel guitar.

Now, 50 years later, the original steel guitarists have reunited to make a stunning instrumental tribute to this ground-breaking record. Over the intervening decades, the two masters have played on countless songs. Here are some of their favorites.

LLOYD GREEN

Warner Mack — “The Bridge Washed Out”

Owen Bradley, the producer, did not want to use me since he didn’t know me nor my capabilities. He insisted on Pete Drake, who Warner said could not possibly play this new idea and sound I had discovered. Owen reluctantly let me be on the session, and it became Warner Mack’s first and only number one record, for which Owen Bradley then took credit, telling people that he knew they had a hit with my sound on that record. It was my career-launching recording.

Tammy Wynette — “D-I-V-O-R-C-E”

Producer Billy Sherrill heard me doodling with a new sound I had discovered, recognized its uniqueness, and told me that was going to be the signature of the song. It was and quickly became a number one record for Tammy, where I introduced the last remaining missing component of the E9th commercial tuning heard on most records which had remained unknown — the E to F pedal change. It now is part of our tuning on all steel guitars which use the commercial E9th neck.

Freddie Hart — “Easy Loving”

George Richey had gotten in an argument with Freddie about how we should record this song and, wisely, went outside for a smoke and to cool off. So Charlie McCoy, Billy Sanford, and I said, “Let’s cut this damn thing,” which we did in two takes. Richey came back in and asked if we were ready to cut it, but I told him we already had. He listened with a bored look on his face and said, “Sounds okay, next song.” Little did he know we had just cut Freddie’s career song which sold around two million copies and became a number one, and also became one of only three records to ever become the Country Music Association’s Song of the Year two years in a row, in 1971 and 1972.

Gene Watson — “Farewell Party”

We had recorded Gene’s new Capitol album but lacked one more song to complete the music. Having but 10 minutes left in the session, both Gene and his producer, Russ Reeder, came over to me and asked if I would just do an intro and a solo in the middle real quickly so they could finish the album and not have to pay the musicians overtime. I did. We cut the song in one take and left for our next sessions. While not becoming a number one record for Gene, it quickly became his most famous recording and he even named his band Farewell Party. The song became a cult favorite among steel guitar players around the world.

Alan Jackson — “Remember When” 

Keith Stegall, Alan’s producer, called me when he heard I was coming out of a 15-year retirement to again record, asking me to cut with Alan Jackson. It was my first time back in the recording studio. On the session, Alan told me his favorite steel solo of all time was what I played on “Farewell Party.” He asked me to give him another “Farewell Party” solo. The song, of course, went to number one, like all of Alan’s records and, ironically, became the last major country music record with a significant 16-bar solo. Steel is no longer featured on most big recordings.

Leslie Tom — “Hey Good Lookin'”

“Hey, Good Lookin'” is a Hank Williams song I’ve played since the age of 13 or 14 in the bars and clubs in Mobile, Alabama. I can still play it exactly like Don Helms recorded it back on non-pedal steel guitar in 1951 with Hank. But … I only honored him with some key phrases on this modern Leslie Tom recording. My entire recording career has been built around creating sounds, not imitating others. Leslie’s version, while also honoring Hank, has a bit more swing and sizzle to it, so that’s the direction I went. It is really good, and I am honored to get to record with such a talented, beautiful lady. Leslie sings it with fervor and an obvious love for Hank Williams’ music.

JAY DEE MANESS

Gram Parsons — “Blue Eyes”

I got a call to work on an album called International Submarine Band with Gram Parsons. When I got to the studio, I found out that Glen Campbell would be playing acoustic rhythm guitar. This was my first encounter with both Gram and Glen. In addition to myself on steel, the album had Jon Corneal on drums, Joe Osborn on bass, and Earl Ball on piano. This album was produced by Suzi Jane Hokom. The album was eventually released in 1968, after the group ceased to exist. Some might say this was a precursor to the Sweetheart of the Rodeo album.

Ray Stevens — “Misty”

In 1974, I was lucky enough to record in Nashville on a song called “Misty” with Ray Stevens. Shortly after the session, I moved my family back to Los Angeles. One day, Ray called and said he had been nominated for a Grammy for “Misty,” and asked if I wanted to play on the Grammy Awards. Of course, I said yes. I was thrilled to get to play the Grammys on national TV with Ray Stevens. During rehearsal, all went well. Once it was our turn to be on stage — live — and it came time for my “solo,” I broke the third string on my steel guitar. This string is very important to the sound of the solo so, on national TV, and I had to “fake” it. This was a very embarrassing moment.

Eddie Rabbit — “Every Which Way but Loose”

In 1978, I received a call to do the soundtrack and had a bit part in the movie Every Which Way but Loose, which was produced by Clint Eastwood. All the bar scenes were being filmed at the Palomino Club, so Clint decided to use the house band in the movie. I had already received the call to do the soundtrack and to play with Eddie Rabbit on the title song and to play on Mel Tillis’s “Send Me Down to Tucson.” Soon enough, I was called to do the Any Which Way You Can soundtrack, too. In addition to the soundtrack, I was able to play with Shelly West and David Frizzell on “You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma.” I also had the opportunity to work on “Bar Room Buddies,” sung by Clint Eastwood and Fats Domino.

Anne Murray — “Could I Have This Dance”

I had the privilege of working with Anne Murray on her hit song “Could I Have This Dance” which was produced by Jim Ed Norman. “Could I Have This Dance” was also in the Urban Cowboy movie and soundtrack. Later on, I got a call late one evening from Jim Ed Norman asking if I could come over to his studio after my gig at the world famous Palomino Club. He said, “I have a record for you.” I thought it was a copy of the album which had the tune on it. When I got to the studio, he presented me with a platinum record of “Could I Have This Dance” from the Let’s Keep It That Way album to hang on my wall. This was the first of many albums from various artists that I now have on my wall.

Eric Clapton — “Tears in Heaven”

When I got to the studio to record with Eric Clapton, I was told Eric was not feeling well and could I come back the next day. The next day, I came back and started recording. We took all day to record Eric’s song called “Tears in Heaven.” I was packing up my steel guitar, when Eric came out into the studio and said, “I would like you to play the solo.” That’s when I got scared. I played the solo (melody) on the steel and, after I left, Eric put the harmony part on top of my melody. “Tears in Heaven” became a number one hit for him. I feel very privileged to have played on it.

Photo credit: John Macy

Squared Roots: Jonatha Brooke on the Rhythm and Groove of Joe Sample

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Music is full of innovators, some worthy of the word, some less so. Jazz pioneer Joe Sample certainly fits the former. Coming out of Houston, Texas, Sample's artistic roots ran deep and wide. And he wasn't afraid to let them reach into everything he did, blending blues, soul, gospel, and other forms into one. Sample started playing piano at the age of 5 and passed away, in 2014, at 75. In between, his main band project was the Crusaders, a jazz group based in Los Angeles, California, with which he crafted a lasting legacy before they (mostly) disbanded in 1987, despite a few reunion projects.

Jonatha Brooke, likewise, is an innovator within the folk-pop world that she has inhabited since her debut as half of the Story in 1991. Her literary lyrics and sophisticated harmonies somehow manage to both anchor and buoy the songs on the eight solo records she has released, including 2016's Midnight. Hallelujah. And then there are her deeply heartfelt musical theatre projects — one of which, Quadroon, was in development with Sample at the time of his death.

It makes sense to me why you'd pick Joe Sample because he's somebody who softens the complexity of jazz with the soulfulness of rootsier genres. From that perspective, I can totally hear his influence echoing through your work. Did I get that right?

Yeah. Yeah. I think that he, himself, would have said, in some ways, he had a real pop ear for melody. He was not trying to be complex or intellectual. He was just trying to write a great freaking melody. He just wanted to write a great song. He was passionate about it making a lot of sense. It's gotta feel like a complete idea: You state your theme and you have to make it musically make sense. It has to tell a story. There has to be an arc. He's a great storyteller, musically.

I get that. But, at least to my ear, jazz can't help but be a little bit complex. It's not just G-C-D — a three chords and the truth kind of thing.

No. It's so amazing how he voices his chords. They are richer than anything you've ever heard before. But it's deceptive with him. Some of his songs are absolutely simple, just three or four chords, but they're so rich in their embellishments and their harmonics, it gives you that extra bolt. Songs like “One Day I'll Fly Away,” “Street Life,” “When Your Life Was Low” … those are just beautiful, beautiful, classic, singable pop songs.

Again, I'm an absolute dummy about jazz, but I read up to learn that he and the Crusaders played hard bop, which is the bluesier cousin to bebop. School me on that.

[Laughs] Well, I'm gonna sound like an idiot …

Better you than me! [Laughs]

When Joe would tell stories about it … Full disclosure: My husband managed Joe for 35 years, so I got to get an earful, which was an amazing history of jazz and music. But he would always say that all the hard cats were in New York and the Crusaders were like, “Fuck this shit. Where's the melody? We're going to L.A.” [Laughs] And they did what they did, which was more melodic and less lanky, less intellectual and trying to impress people. They had soul. They wanted to keep that element in their approach to jazz.

There was a quote of his included in his New York Times obituary. It's perfect: “The jazz people hate the blues, the blues people hate rock, and the rock people hate jazz. But how can anyone hate music? We tend to not hate any form of music, so we blend it all together. And consequently, we’re always finding ourselves in big trouble with everybody.”

[Laughs] That's awesome! He used to tell this story on stage about this one Crusaders song, “Way Back Home.” Really simple song. Gorgeous, though. Simple, but make-you-cry beautiful. At one point, I guess it was on some kind of tape that the Symbionese Liberation Army was using for their brain-washing. So there were these pictures of Patty Hearst and this song in the background, so the FBI came after the Crusaders because they wanted to know what connection they had to Patty Hearst and the Symbionese Liberation Army. [Laughs] Then they would play the song and it's almost like a hymn, really. The irony was just crazy.

[Laughs] That's hilarious. So they would get in trouble even when they had nothing to do with anything!

Exactly! [Laughs] They just got in trouble.

Too funny. So he started out on acoustic piano, but later gravitated toward electric keyboards. That must've opened up a whole, huge world of creativity for him.

I think so. And the way he played those instruments is absolutely iconic — the way he played the Rhodes and the Wurli. He has one of the most sampled catalogs in the world. The irony is that his name is Sample. I don't know anyone whose riffs and grooves have been more sampled than Joe's. It's those groovy Crusaders Wurli and Rhodes parts that are central to that vibe he would create, that rhythm-and-groove vibe that people are still craving.

Then, as session guy, he played with Joni Mitchell, Marvin Gaye, Miles Davis, Tina Turner, B. B. King, Minnie Riperton, Eric Clapton, and …

Chaka Khan!

Chaka-Chaka-Chaka-Chaka Khan. Yeah. Then he was working with his Creole Joe Band playing zydeco at the end. What sort of skill does it take to be that versatile?

Oh my God. Ridiculous, super-human skills. You have to have that good of an ear that you're always absorbing and still making it your own and turning it into a signature sound. He had all of that. He had the technical skills. He could just blow. But, also, he was always really working on the composition. That was his first-and-foremost love: “How can I make this a beautiful composition? Where should it go? What story am I telling?”

And there's not a single artist that I saw listed that isn't overflowing with soul, themselves, no matter what genre they're in. So, if they're calling on him, there has to be a kindred spirit there.

Yeah. And he would bring so much to the table. I'm surprised … well, I'm not surprised at all … but, often, I would imagine, he should've been a co-writer on many of those sessions because he was bringing it — bringing the groove, bringing the riff that created the song. But those were the days when session cats were just session cats.

Speaking of co-writers … perfect segue … Quadroon. Talk to me about that.

[Laughs] That's a really cool project. It's just devastating that he's not here to finish it. It's a beautiful, large, passionate story. It was his idea to write about this nun who lived in New Orleans in the 1830s. Her name was Henriette Delille and, in real life, she's in line for canonization at the Vatican. She was Creole, so she could pass for white. And, at that time, if you were in that category, you could become a quadroon — you could marry a wealthy, white merchant. Her mother was married to a French merchant. She was his second wife. She was the kept mistress wife of this very wealthy merchant. In some ways, in that time, it was a better option than trying to make it on your own.

Henriette's mom wanted her to go into this line of life called plaçage, but Henriette wanted to be a nun. She wanted to serve God. That was all she wanted, ever, from the time she was small. So, she bucked the system and ended up befriending this French priest. This is all true. And this French priest helped her with her ministry, got her recognized as a nun by the Vatican before she died. She ended up starting an orphanage. She had her own ministries. And she had these schools for poor Black kids and Joe ended up going to the schools that her sisters and followers still run in the Houston area — New Orleans and Houston.

Joe grew up hearing stories about Henriette Delille his whole life and, after he moved back to Houston a few years ago, he decided to research the story and talk to the nuns who were still in New Orleans. They gave him their blessing to write something about this amazing woman. So that's what we've been working on. It's called Quadroon. I think we wrote 20 songs before he passed away and we were able to do a small reading in Houston at the Ensemble Theatre before he died.

That's great. So you're gonna keep pushing forward?

I'm gonna keep pushing. I'm pushing on.

Since you did get to spend a good bit of time with him, what's either the lesson that's stayed with you or the impression of him that lingers for you. Linger … you see what I just did there?

HA! I see what you did there! [Laughs] I think it's that he never tired of creating music. He was really prolific. He always had a new idea. And he wasn't afraid of sucking. [Laughs] He didn't edit himself before it was time. He just let ideas flow. I'm left with memo recorders of hundreds of snippets of ideas that I can still work with. But he just kept writing stuff. That's my biggest inspiration. He was tireless. And he never repeated himself, too. His last record is called Children of the Sun with the NDR Bigband orchestra. It's a masterpiece. It should be an Alvin Ailey ballet. And then the Creole Joe band. And the musical. He was just incredible and I take such inspiration from him because he was 75 and still pumping out ideas!

Photos courtesy of the artists.