Tag: Jimi Hendrix

MIXTAPE: The Coal Men’s Cover Songs

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Through the years, the Coal Men have traveled a lot of miles in mini-vans and rentals. We always like to catch up on tour drives and listen to music that's catching our ears. In my younger, long-hair, Fentress County, Tennessee, days, I had my silver-face SONY dual tape deck. I even DJ'd a few dances with it. Mostly, I loved making mixtapes of older songs and doodling on the Maxwell tape box blank cards. Here are some of my favorite cuts that have found their way from those old tapes into the long shows we do when we step outside of our own song catalog. — Dave Coleman

"Long Black Veil" — (Danny Dill/Marijohn Wilkin)
Johnny Cash's version was the one I heard the most growing up, but the Band's version blows me away these days. Lefty Frizzell had the first first hit with it back in 1959. It's a heartbreaking tune written from the vantage point of a corpse.

"Rain" — (John Lennon/Paul McCartney)
The Beatles' version is a masterpiece, but I learned the song from Singing Sergeant Washington, a local Tennessee band that I loved. I desperately wanted to be in that band as a 17-year-old. I finally got the chance to play guitar with them on my first gig in Nashville (at Obie's Pizza). The band, sadly, broke up. Heartbroken, I forged on and started my own group. I like to throw my best Hendrix-inspired psychedelic roots rock on the song these days. Fuzz and Sun.

"Are You Experienced?" — (Jimi Hendrix)
My favorite mixtape I had was titled FOUR: it started with that many Jimi Hendrix instrumental songs I tracked down. It was stuff where he used extreme amounts of surf-sounding wah-wah pedal (i.e. "Hornet's Nest"). I later buzzed some of my other favorite songs onto it. The backwards guitar and drums in the song — along with the pounding quarter-note piano — are monumental. We now do a fun stripped-down roots rock version.

*Here are the Coal Men (with Pete Finney on pedal steel) from a few years ago down in Florida. Note the number four on my guitar — it came from the FOUR mixtape.

"Rock N Roll Girl" — (Paul Collins)
The Beat, a short-lived L.A. band, recorded this simple-but-perfect taste of power-pop delight. We do it fast, loud, and always for a gem of a bartender named George. The Paul Collins Beat did a record a few years ago that blew me away called Ribbon of Gold.

"Six Days on the Road" — (Dave Dudley)
It's been covered by tons of folks. What's the reason why? It might be the best truck-driving song ever. We just played a show with Mathew Ryan and I had to dedicate this one to him because he'd just "pulled out of Pittsburgh" to come down to Nashville to record his next record.

"Guitars, Cadillacs" – (Dwight Yoakam)
My life changed when I heard Dwight's original guitar player/producer Pete Anderson. Duane Jarvis told me a story about playing guitar with Dwight Yoakam on a Canadian tour. (Pete was producing the Meat Puppets at the time.) He went for the solo, and people were going crazy, and he thought he was on fire with the guitar. He turned around as Dwight was doing one of his killer dance moves. Sometimes it's not the notes you play, but how you shake them that counts, I guess. Jokes aside, this is a sad song about a land of "lost and wasted dreams" with a shuffle that won't stop.

"Everybody's Talkin'" — (Fred Neil)
I love Western movies and, when I was a kid, I rented Midnight Cowboy from Jamestown Video for a dollar. It is not, in fact, a Western. I still loved it, though. The version recorded by Harry Nilsson haunts the movie throughout in joyful, saddening beauty.

"Silver Wings" — (Merle Haggard)
In my opinion, this is the definition of a perfect song. One chorus and one verse. I cried when Merle died. We love to play this song for the travelers and the lonely ones they leave behind.

"Drive Back to You" — (Duane Jarvis)
I met Duane shortly after I moved to Nashville. He was my rock 'n' roll professor. He had this gritty and tasteful guitar playing with Brit-rock influenced songs. I toured a lot with him and we wrote dozens of songs together. This one was about his wife Denise. Duane passed away in 2009, but his music is still with me and lifts me up. I love to sing this song with the joy he brought to it.

"Jesus on the Mainline" — (Traditional arranged by Ry Cooder)
This song explains that beautiful relationship a Protestant has with the maker. You can talk to that friend any time you want — no busy signal, no answering machine. I'm a fan of traditional songs with a simple form. It allows the players to open up with confidence of the rock solid foundation underneath. That's something we could all use in our everyday lives. Ry Cooder's version has all of this hypnotic melodic playing that is as transcendental as it gets.

Squared Roots: Ryley Walker on the Off-Kilter Blues of Ali Farka Touré

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Dubbed “the African John Lee Hooker,” Ali Farka Touré rose out of obscurity, in terms of Western recognition, with a little help from Ry Cooder, when the two joined forces for Talking Timbuktu in 1994. Many more collaborations and accolades followed in the wake of that project, but Touré's success back home in Mali was marked by different measures. Singing in a number of languages — primarily Songhay, Fulfulde, Tamasheq or Bambara — he brought communities together and made voices heard. His legacy, musically and personally, lives on in the many African artists who have followed in his footsteps.

American artists, too, tread his past, including singer/songwriter/guitarist Ryley Walker. On his albums, like 2016's Golden Sings That Have Been Sung, Walker incorporates the cyclical, off-kilter rhythms he learned from listening to Touré. Casual listeners to his work might not single out his main reference point, but serious students of the form must surely admire his ability to bridge the gap between here and there, now and then.

I always like to start with broad strokes, so … why Ali Farka Touré, for you? Is he someone whose work you've studied pretty closely?

I first heard his music late in high school. I was kind of a sponge for world music, at the time. African and Brazilian. I was at a really good age to find that kind of music. I've always been kind of fascinated by off-kilter blues that's so present in that music. It's unlike anything else — really innovative. It relies on tradition. West African music is really forward-thinking, really progressive. It's the kind of music that anyone can enjoy, yet it's really complicated and insanely groovy. It's incredibly hypnotic. The number of languages he sings in is really incredible — like four or five different languages.

Like a lot of folks, my introduction to him was the Talking Timbuktu project he did with Ry Cooder. With a project like that, why is it so important to tie the threads together the way they did?

That record's really good. It was a huge record, too. I think it sold over a million copies and got all sorts of Grammys. It's a really incredible collaboration. I think Ry Cooder paid a lot of respect. He was really into it.

There are also the Red and Green records, those two records that were both self-titled, released in '84 and '88. Both of those records were inspired. They have to be some of my favorite records that he's ever done. There's a little Moody Blues saxophone thing on there. It just seems like you could go up to him and shake his hand and be like, “What's up, man?” He just seems so approachable. That's just kind of the scene — somewhere in Mali, just a bunch of guys hanging loose, just a normal day in Mali. And, yet, there are probably four languages on there. It's the rawest, purest form. They didn't try to slick the music up. A lot of his sounds are pretty slick, toward the end of his life. But this is just him, in his prime, making records with no Western audience, at the time.

I haven't seen Feel Like Going Home, the Scorsese documentary that he's featured in which traces the lineage of the blues. But, if American roots music goes back to the blues and the blues go back to African music, what do you hear as the similarities and differences between those forms?

I guess, yeah, it can all be traced back. It's a truly unique form of music. It's really original, the traditions that Ali Farka Touré's playing on. It definitely has some groove in there. But, before that, it was real folk music. It was just played by the baker down the street or the local blacksmith. It was just people. It wasn't a record label thing. It wasn't a monetary thing. It was just for them and their friends. It was real tradition. There's no pretension to it at all. It's just real music by real people.

You could go to a village — I mean, I've never been, but … it's not like you would go to a bar in Chicago and say, “Oh, these are musicians.” Everybody in these villages plays music. It's part of their DNA.

Right. It's similar to, still today, if you do down into the Delta, the old blues men are sitting on their porches and nobody's ever heard of them.

Yeah, absolutely. I agree. And Ali Farka Touré, for me, he's up there with [Jimi] Hendrix or anybody else. And his son is really good, too — Vieux Farka Touré. I don't know if you've heard of him.

I have. Yeah. And I was going to ask … who do you feel is carrying on his work? Obviously Vieux is among them and opening his arms far and wide to interesting collaborations.

He's really bad ass. He played a great concert in Chicago about five years ago in the park. He was absolutely ripping. His band was really smoking hot. He's had some questionable collaborations with American musicians. Because I'm such a huge fan of Ali Farka's, when Vieux's first solo record came out, I was like, “Man, I don't know …” But I think that record was as good as anything Ali Farka Touré's ever done.

I'm just fascinated by the whole circuit. They're born in really small villages, where there's no media or anything. And they could rise above it because they're such innovators that it caught on. That's really magical.

And how much of all that creeps into your music?

I think it really creeps into my music. There's always an off-kilter groove with the drums. It's a very cyclical music, instead of a four-four in American rock music. That cyclical, off-kilter thing where the grooves go into each other … I guess you could find a lot of that in Kraut rock, too. They took a lot from Ali Farka Touré, in terms of groove. Or if you listen to Fela Kuti or any of the big African rock stars. They have that cyclical sound where the rhythm and the temperament and the measurement so seamlessly go into each other without a big fill or stop. It feels really natural. I think I definitely try to incorporate that into my music. I rip off Ali Farka Touré religiously. [Laughs]

[Laughs] You're paying homage. You're doing it right.

Absolutely. I respect the hell out of his legacy. I appreciate the music every time I hear it.

How important is it for Westerners to pick up those torches and help carry them forward?

I don't know if it's important to them. It all depends on the listener and what they want from the music. There's music you can rock to. There's music you can worship, like me, and try to play like it, pay homage to it. I don't know. That's a really good question.

You're shining a light on this hero of yours through your work and through talking about him. So that helps spread his message and, hopefully, people will go back and listen to him. I'd say it's a community service.

I'd love to think of it as a community service. It's some of the most important music up there … like [John] Coltrane or Charles Mingus or Art Tatum or any great innovator. It's definitely important to keep the records on, keep the music going. I don't think I'm going to be in a West African band, by any means. [Laughs]

But I absolutely adore his music, ever since I first heard him. It's so captivating. Really beautiful and pure. The guy was so smart. In America, if you speak Spanish, it's like, “Whoa.” Or if you know French or German, it's more of a hobby. But there, you need to know all these languages for work because you have so many different cultures right around you, like the tribe in the next village with a different language and you need to make money and trade with them. So they learn so many languages and incorporate so many different cultures. There's so much different stuff going on there within 500 square miles and they incorporate that into the music. It's a beautiful thing.

Here is a fun and fascinating Wikipedia fact, which we'll take as the truth: “In 2004, Touré became mayor of Niafunké and spent his own money grading the roads, putting in sewer canals, and fueling a generator that provided the impoverished town with electricity.”

Damn!

That's a hero, right there.

That's pretty amazing. That's Robin Hood vibes. He seems like a good dude. Any footage you see of him playing, he's always surrounded by friends and family. That's really cool to me. And they'd sing along to the tunes, to this music they came up with. I guess he was sort of solely responsible for taking West African music around the world and making it popular. I don't know if it's super popular, but record collectors and fans of old music, he's solely responsible for that, him and a few others.

Love the blues? Check out our interview with Jimmy "Duck" Holmes.

Photo of Ryley Walker by Eric Sheehan. Photo of Ali Farka Touré courtesy of public domain.

To Spend Your Life in Pain and Misery: An Interview with Eric Burdon

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Lead Belly Fest is coming to Carnegie Hall. It is a fitting venue, as Lead Belly’s last performance was at Carnegie Hall in 1949. An all-star lineup is paying tribute on February 4, 2016 with Eric Burdon of the Animals co-headlining the festival. The Animals first rose to fame in 1962 with an electrified version of Lead Belly’s “House of the Rising Sun.” It was an unparalleled success and influenced everyone from Bob Dylan to Jimi Hendrix, and inspired countless aspiring musicians to pick up the guitar. It was the “Smells Like Teen Spirit” of the 1960s. Now, Burdon circles back around to honor his hero.

Thank you for taking the time to talk before the Lead Belly Fest at Carnegie Hall. They must be very excited to have you headlining. Have you performed at Carnegie Hall before?

No, but it will be an honor to pay homage to Lead Belly in a place like Carnegie Hall, which represents the pinnacle of venues around the world. It will be a thrill to share the stage with blues legend Buddy Guy, so I'm really looking forward to it.

The two most influential versions of “House of the Rising Sun” come from you and Lead Belly. At this point, you must have performed “House of the Rising Sun” more than Lead Belly or anyone else. How do you feel about the song?

I will probably be singing this song as they lower me into my grave. It's a song that is closely associated with me, and I can't tell you how many people have told me it was the first song they learned how to play on guitar or was in the background for their first kiss. I first heard this song in the folk clubs of Newcastle and immediately fell in love with it. It somehow clicked and connected with me. I chose the song because it has a mysterious vibe, a haunting melody, and a good story to it. I stand by it today as one of the best songs I've ever heard and, no matter how much I fight it, I still always enjoy singing it for people.

Has it taken on new meaning for you? What about the song did you relate to as a young man? What do you home in on now?

I related to it then, as now, as the tale of an outsider trying to make it in this cruel world. Nothing in the past 50 years has changed that feeling. It's a universal situation, whether one is young or old, to be faced with one's mortality and desires.

Growing up outside of the U.S., what was the first version of the song that you heard? I know Roy Acuff had a much earlier version and the Lomaxes first released it in the early 1930s, but I don’t imagine the Grand Ole Opry was as popular in England.

Everyone in the world has recorded that song, but if you go back in time, it was based on an English hymn. It probably goes back to the 15th century. In fact, if you listen to “Greensleeves,” which was written by Henry V, there is a great similarity between those two songs, which makes it a pure folk song.

I believe it was Dave Van Ronk who said there are older versions of the song that are about a woman joining a convent. It seems like the “House of the Rising Sun” can represent almost anything. Do you relate it to the more traditional idea of it being a brothel or do you think there’s more to it?

It can represent almost anything — the brothel in New Orleans, the coal mine in Newcastle, the state of mind that you are stuck someplace, a bad marriage or any soul-crushing job. There are hundreds of thousands of people who spend their lives in pain and misery and even people who have the money, the clout, and the lifestyle to escape pain and misery who find themselves in that state. It's not just a story of a woman who works in a whorehouse or a guy visiting one. It's a song of soul-searching. It's a song of redemption. "To spend your life in pain and misery" could be about any place one needs to escape from.

In your book Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood, you describe being invited to the actual House of the Rising Sun. It must have been heavy visiting the supposed source material of the song that kick-started your career. Is there any new information about the house since you visited? Has it been authenticated? I would love to visit sometime — is it open to the public or are there any plans for it?

I don't know if it has been authenticated. For sure, there are several places that claim to be the true, one, and only House of the Rising Sun. But this two story building on St. Louis Street in the French Quarter had me convinced that there was some magic there. It was kept in immaculate condition, pretty much the way it had been at the turn of the century. It was owned, at the time, by a madame — Marianne Soleil Levant, which translates to Rising Sun. Today, it belongs to a female lawyer. There were paintings imported from France, and a mural in the courtyard that was painted with colors made from plants. I wanted to photograph it before it disappeared. Unfortunately, when I went back there a year later, the mural was almost gone, but the vibe was still there. Heavy rain had drained away most of the coloring. A totally unique and fascinating place.

The woman who owned it had the New Orleans city records with an entire history of how many times the house had been used as a brothel. That's how she determined it was the House of the Rising Sun. During the Civil War, when the Union Army came to New Orleans, they needed a whorehouse for the officers, so they made it legal. Then, when the union Army left, the house was shut down.

These pleasure houses were not cut and dry houses of sin. The girls who worked in these places were usually chosen by the madams for their light-colored skin, their ability to deliver sexual pleasure, and, more importantly, for their skills in natural medicines. Skills that they inherited from Africa. These girls knew the plants that grew in the jungle regions of New Orleans — how to identify them and use them to heal the elderly bodies of their customers.

For me, the most intriguing part is the music. It's said that that's where jazz got its start. Jelly Roll Morton brought ragtime music to these houses. Ragtime suited the joy, the merriment that was going on there. Later on, Morton claimed to be the inventor of jazz.

When I visited the alleged House of the Rising Sun, there were 12 nuns there, in their habits, and they asked me to sing the song, which I did, a cappella. After that, they said they would pray for my mortal soul — an experience I'll never forget.

It’s been a big year for Lead Belly fans. Smithsonian released an unheard track, “Queen Mary,” and an extensive box set. The Lead Belly Fests have been traveling the world. He seems as important now as when he was still alive. What do you think it is about Lead Belly’s music that still resonates so strongly?

Lead Belly didn't just sing the blues. He wrote and recorded songs that can be heard today in modern popular culture. He was the first Black folk singer who actually turned the essence of blues into commercial songs, which were recorded by other people, such as "Goodnight Irene." Lead Belly was an artist of incredible depth. A totally unique character. He was a convicted murderer. Through his music, he was able to free himself. He did not do only one type of music and, in fact, did not wish to be known as a blues singer. He sang about the hardships of life and he sang songs for children, influencing everybody from Woody Guthrie on. His importance will always be felt and his music will always resonate for anyone who experiences real human emotions.

Lead Belly’s song “Bourgeois Blues” is one of my favorites. It deals heavily with poverty and race, and it seems particularly relevant today in the U.S. with the decline of the middle class and the Black Lives Matter movement. What are your views on “Bourgeois Blues” and Lead Belly’s more topical material? Would you ever perform it? If so, would you keep it in first person or switch it to third?

I have not yet fully absorbed “Bourgeois Blues,” but Lead Belly influenced everybody to sing topical songs. His words are as powerful as ever — and just as relevant. That's because he sang about real life. Songs like that are needed now as much as they ever were. Nearly all of his songs dealt with poverty and race. In London, at Royal Albert Hall, I performed "In the Pines," and it was only after several performances that I began to see the meaning of the song in a different light — with "In the Pines" as a modern tale of love gone wrong, something like a domestic dispute.

Photo credit: Marianna Burdon