Tag: R&B

Canon Fodder: Aretha Franklin, ‘Amazing Grace’

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Listen to Aretha Franklin sing “Amazing Grace.” The hymn was nearly 200 years old when she tore into it on her 1972 double-live gospel album with the same title. Her version is nearly eleven minutes, and she spends most of that time wringing those lines of every emotion that has ever been felt in those intervening centuries. Aretha delivers those lines like she’s preaching, and the congregation answers in kind: applauding when she hits that high note on “a wretch like MEEEE” and voicing their excited approval when she locates untranscribable vowels in those simple words “amazing grace.” It is a vibrant collaboration between performer and audience, each pushing the other to new heights of spiritual ecstasy. The Southern California Community Choir comes in like a band of angels, but Aretha isn’t even done yet. Instead, she shakes them off and tests the limits of her upper register.

That is just one of many goose bump-inducing moments on Amazing Grace, which remains her best-selling album as well as the best-selling black gospel album of all time. While it has been overshadowed by the secular albums she recorded for Atlantic Records in the late 1960s and by her unprecedented comeback albums in the 1980s, it remains a touchstone in her catalog, an album that explains her complicated relationship to the gospel world as well as to the pop charts. Beyond that, it’s just an incredible set of music, with all the intensity, all the purposefulness, and all the spontaneity of her own or anybody else’s live albums. Amazing Grace surpasses even her 1971 Live at the Fillmore West, which is saying a lot because that album is a stone classic.

It is, however, an unusual album in her catalog: Title track aside, her voice is often subsumed into a larger choir. She was never one to be upstaged (the only instance I have found is when the violence outside the 1968 Democratic National Convention overshadowed her performance of the national anthem inside), but she slips in and out of the choir, harmonizing with them one moment and soloing the next. The point of the album—the point of gospel, in general—is to share the spotlight with a host of friends and family. Aretha understood that gospel was not a solitary pursuit; the music is not private or internalized.

Rather, it is public, communal: the sound of many voices united in a joyful noise unto the Lord. Even when she is pushing heavenward on “Amazing Grace,” she is no longer the diva she was in the secular world; perhaps this project offered her some escape from the royal demands of pop stardom, the tabloids printing rumors, the endless tours, the complicated business machinations, the physical drain of being the best-known pop singer on the planet. In church, surrounded by people she loved and trusted and admired, with only God as her audience, perhaps she felt at ease.

Nearly fifty years later, the origins of the project are still debated. Jerry Wexler, president of Atlantic Records, claims he encouraged her to record a gospel album, believing she needed to issue a major statement after so many singles-oriented albums. Aretha, however, claims the idea was hers all along, as was the plan to record it live in church. Others claim her father, the Rev. C.L. Franklin, pressured her to reconnect with the church, although he had instilled in her at a young age the belief that spiritual gospel and secular pop both sprung from the same well of black history. “If you want to know the truth,” proclaims a very proud C.L. during his short sermon, “she has never left the church!”

Aretha surrounded herself with some of her gospel heroes, including James Cleveland (the King of Gospel to her Queen of Soul) conducting the choir. Also taking part were her brothers and sisters, her grandmother, and her idol and mentor Clara Ward of the Famous Ward Singers. According to David Ritz’s 2015 biography Respect: The Life of Aretha Franklin, Wexler “was determined to sneak the devil’s rhythm section into church,” which meant hiring some of the session musicians that had been backing Aretha on her recent records: bass player Chuck Rainey, drummer Bernard Purdie, guitarist Cornell Dupree, and percussionist Pancho Morales. Even that rhythm section is in dispute, however, as Aretha denied the devil had anything to do with the way they played.

And that is where the disputes end, because as soon as Aretha enters on the opener “Mary, Don’t You Weep,” she presides over the album. She is the choir director, the producer, the soloist, the choir member, the preacher. She hammered out the track list with Cleveland in the weeks before the performances, favoring a repertoire that mixed old hymns and new pop songs often in the same arrangements. “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” bleeds so gracefully into “You’ve Got a Friend” that it’s nearly impossible to distinguish Thomas A. Dorsey’s composition with Carole King’s hit. She swaggers through Marvin Gaye’s “Wholly Holy” as well, but the most commanding arrangement is her gospelization of “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” which had recently debuted in Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Carousel. Not exactly churchly fare, but Aretha and the musicians playing with her find the kernel of spiritual steadfastness in each one. “He walks beside you,” the choir testifies, and she interjects, “He’ll put all of his angels beside you!”

Perhaps she doesn’t mean heavenly angels. Perhaps she means earthly angels: the people up on stage with her and the people down in the pews. In those words are echoes of the Civil Rights movement, a reminder of all the marches and demonstrations that showed strength and righteousness in unity. Gospel was integral to those events; in fact, Aretha performed with Martin Luther King Jr. repeatedly both as a gospel singer and a pop star. Perhaps that connection is what made Amazing Grace so popular at the time; it’s definitely what makes the album so powerful nearly fifty years later.

“Can I get y’all to help me sing?” she exhorts the congregation on closer “Never Grow Old,” and by “congregation” I mean everyone in the church and everyone who ever listens to the album. No one can sing to the heavens like Aretha, but by inviting everyone to sing along, these performances continue to provide an example of how all of America might sing in one beautifully harmonized voice.

The War and Treaty Bring Their Love to ‘Healing Tide’

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More often than not, it seems, the telling of the story of the War and Treaty begins with the war, specifically a piano in the basement of one of Saddam Hussein’s palaces. It is a tantalizing tale, and we’ll get to that.

But this time, let’s start with the Treaty: the moment Michael Trotter Jr. and Tanya Blount first met and two formidable talents took hold in life and in music.

“We have probably two different accounts,” Michael says by phone from Nashville, Tanya audible in the background, laughing as she agrees with the prediction.

Spoiler alert: There is to be much laughter in the ensuing chat, from giggles to hearty peals, and much weighing in from whoever doesn’t have hold of the receiver. And some tears and choking up too. It’s a real delight, everything up-front and on the table, just as anyone who has seen them perform would expect, and every bit of it captured in their new debut album, Healing Tide, a wonder of gospel-soul-country-rock-folk carried on their from-the-heart vocals, both of them capable of gale-force belting and whispered-breeze tenderness, sometimes, somehow, both at once.

It’s a love story through and through, evidenced in song titles along: “Love Like There’s No Tomorrow” (the album’s foot-stomping gospel invocation), “Are You Ready to Love Me?,” (swampy Southern soul), “Here Is Where the Loving Is” (fiddles and guitars and Emmylou Harris!) among them. And a belief that love is contagious, that it can repair the world — the boisterous title song (a bit of Ike and Tina and a lot of Delaney & Bonnie, perhaps), the steamed-windows twinkle of “Jeep Cherokee Laredo.” And in “One and the Same” they have given us unity anthem for the ages. All of the ages. And in album-closing “Little New Bern,” Michael wrote a vivid ode to Tanya’s large, loving family and the former plantation land where it began and at which all the cousins still gather with her grandparents (73 years of marriage!) every summer.

But back to that meeting: “I remember going to Laurel Lakes Park for an event, the Love Festival, Aug. 28, 2010,” he says of a day of music in Laurel, Maryland, near where each lived at the time, at which they were both scheduled to perform. “I was led under this awning and I saw this most beautiful woman I ever saw in my life.”

A “wow” is heard in the background, as if she’s never heard this before.

“And she did what any beautiful woman would have done with a slouch like me. She ignored me,” he says. “We introduced ourselves and she thought nothing of me. I thought everything of her. So I got on stage and performed, and then after I saw this woman running across the field in heels toward the stage, and it was her. She just wanted to know about my songwriting. The rest is history.”

Tanya grabs the phone: “He’s kinda telling the truth,” she allows. “Mine is the part where he says I ignored him. I was out there with some friends and a young lady working with me at the festival kind of whisked me away and said, ‘I want you to meet Michael.’ Which kind of came as he said it. It may come off as I was ignoring him. But I wasn’t. I was trying to do two things at once.”

As to her reaction to his songs, well, on that she agrees wholeheartedly.

“Oh my goodness! I lost my mind!” she says. “After he finished performing I ran over and bought six of the CDs he had and was a crazy person handing them out to people — ‘This is the best thing I’ve heard!’ He was amazing.”

And then?

“We exchanged numbers — and he would have a different account here,” Tanya says. “He lost my number! Threw it in the trash can. So I proceeded to call him and ask him if he could write songs for my brother and I. We were working on a project. I invited him over to the house. He wrote 10 songs in about two hours. He had songs ready, came over and sang them to me and we became friends, inseparable friends. And after I had a birthday party, that was September of 2010, and from there, the next day, we never separated. He moved into my house the next day.”

Michael’s take?

“You know? That’s accurate.”

Okay, then. Now let’s skip ahead to March this year, when the couple, having made their home in Albion, Michigan, found themselves in Nashville, being produced by Buddy Miller at his house — “We wanted to give Buddy Miller a chance to be discovered,” Michael says, barely containing silly giggles. “Just wanted to help him out” — and surrounded by such stellar musicians as drummer Brady Blade, fiddler Sam Bush, pedal steel and banjo player Russ Pahl and multi-instrumentalist Jim Hoke, realizing the love-filled vision they’d been honing tirelessly in the intervening years.

Oh, and there’s Emmylou Harris climbing the porch stairs, not only to add her voice to “Here Is Where the Loving Is At,” but to deliver a batch of birthday brownies to Michael one day.

“Another lady who might need to be discovered,” Michael says, not succeeding at holding back the giggles, before adding, “Everyone knows her for her singing, but people don’t know she makes the BEST BROWNIES EVER.”

The sound is a realization of an array of influences and passions, some shared ones including Aretha Franklin, Ella Fitzgerald, Nat King Cole, the gospel icons the Gaither Singers and James Cleveland. A big influence when they started performing together, Michael says, was the Civil Wars — he sheepishly notes running into that act’s John Paul White and, tongue-tied, blurting out that his act was called the Civil Wars. But what the War and Treaty draw on together is distinctly their musical DNA.

“We really have different backgrounds,” Tanya says. “My mom was from Panama. I grew up listening to Calypso and opera. My dad was from New Bern, North Carolina, and we also listened to Christian music, gospel, but also secular music — Whitney Houston. A plethora of sounds growing up. My dad loved western, so some country songs. We would have a guitar player in church, or sometimes just foot-stomping and clapping. ‘Love Like There’s No Tomorrow’ comes from that. Michael comes from a Seventh Day Adventist background and grew up listening to incredible harmonies and some of his writing comes out of that. His uncle Zilbert Trotter plays organ like no one I ever heard before. We took all that and married it together and it came together with the help of Buddy Miller as a beautiful piece of art.”

Though they’d made a well-received EP, Down to the River, spawning some viral videos to match the word-of-mouth from their dynamic concert performances, this was a whole other world for them, with new expectations, intimidating ones.

“When you get those musicians in the room, they know that no matter what accolades they have, they say, ‘Lead us,’” Michael says. “I had to learn to lead. Buddy Miller is not going to let you escape that responsibility. You come in and have a vision, he’s going to hold you to it. He’s a sweet man, but he has a way to make sure you stay authentic. He’s not going to do take 17, take 18. We did two takes of everything. We had it in the first one. Did the second one because Buddy felt guilty that we had it in the first one.”

He continues, “They all wanted to see where I wanted to go — show us what you’ve got. The intimidation factor was sky high. I don’t consider myself of the caliber of those giants, but then you have to believe you belong there. I remember playing my minor 7ths and diminished chords and this and that and they were laughing, had to explain to me what I was doing. Russ Pahl said, ‘How does it feel to have millions of dollars of education, and never gone to school a day in your life?’ I said, ‘Feels pretty good, Russ.’ He popped me on the head with a wad of paper and walked away.”

The closest he had ever gotten to a music education was under the most unusual circumstances, which brings us back to Saddam’s piano. Michael, having enlisted in the Army in 2003, was sent to Iraq, scared and unprepared. He found himself in a platoon stationed in one of Hussein’s abandoned palaces. A captain heard him sing, heard the inspirational power of his voice and took him to the basement where there was a piano and told him to go at it, learn to play, make music. Not long after, the captain was killed and Michael was asked to sing at his service, the first time he ever sang a song he wrote in public.

But as he talks here, that wasn’t the part of the Iraq story he wanted to tell.

“No one knows this,” he confides. “This is special. I was singing in Baghdad once, and it was probably two in the morning, singing to the troops. And they were singing and clapping with me. And one of the soldiers on guard duty said, ‘You all gotta come see this!’ And when I looked over the gate, the Iraqis with their tea were sitting down at the gate, listening to me sing. And they were clapping and patting their thighs with me. That’s the power of music, the power of songwriting. The war stopped for at least 30 minutes.”

That’s the kind of thing he remembers as his and Tanya’s life accelerates, as success builds and the demands grow — not least being having to spend more time away from their child.

“I’ve cried on the road and broken down,” Michael says. “We travel with our son, but time has now come where we have to leave him with someone for two or three weeks at a time, all for the call of the mission and honoring our life.”

That mission. That call.

“I’m singing with my wife, songs I wrote for us, and we’re on the road and helping bridge humanity in our way. Toughest thing we have to deal with is leaving our son. But no one’s calling us derogatory words.”

He cites a couple of rough epithets that in past have been hurled at many from various directions.

“No one is doing that. There are no signs that you have to drink from the black water fountain. That’s not happening,” he says. “We are blessed that we have not faced it that way. We have a multi-cultural band that reminds folks of what we have overcome. I’m not here to promote the black race or white race, but am genuinely invested in unifying the human race. I do believe there ain’t no better thing in life. I’m almost coming to tears just thinking about if Dr. King’s dream can be a reality daily. We make sure at every concert that everyone hugs each other and tells each other they matter, black or white, foreign or domestic. We are all human beings.”

As the song says, with equal grace and power, we are all “One and the Same.”

Tanya puts it simply and profoundly: “This project is an act of love.”

Photo credit: David McClister

MIXTAPE: Bette Smith’s Soul Salvation

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Who doesn’t like soul music? Come on! My big brother Junior absolutely loved it, too. Also, he was my protector throughout my rough and tumble childhood growing up in gang-infested Bedford Stuyvesant, Brooklyn. I stood there, as he lay dying from kidney failure, under that heartless hospital sign that read, “Do Not Resuscitate.” I sang to him at his bedside at Kings County Hospital, trying to maintain my composure. At the time, I was completing my bachelor’s of science degree with an emphasis in creative arts therapy. Overcome with emotion, I sang to him our favorites songs. — Bette Smith

Donny Hathaway — “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother”

Sometimes this soul/gospel powerhouse moves me to tears, especially when Hathaway utters the title lines “He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother …” It only adds to the impact when I look at the profile of Hathaway and see the striking resemblance to my dear brother Junior. It’s like wow, wow, wow!

Otis Redding — “The Happy Song”

Yes, everyone knows Pharrell Williams’ recent hit with the similar title, but check out Otis’s brilliant soul ditty. Simply put, this song makes me feel happy whenever I’m down! Like Bounty, it’s the “quicker picker-upper!”

Bill Withers — “Ain’t No Sunshine”

I will never forget the “Do Not Resuscitate” request, which broke my heart on account of my big bother passing away just a week afterward. Now, every time I sing this song, I remember him on his deathbed, saying to me “Keep singing no matter what.” And especially this song. Now, wherever I travel for gigs, I hear that same old song playing on the radio, or by a live band at Louis Armstrong Airport in New Orleans, or pumping through the speakers at the Memphis airport, or the t-shirt store in Hawaii, or at the bar at La Guardia. I am grateful that he’s letting me know that he’s still with me. And Junior continues to make his presence known — loud and clear.

Esther Philips — “Try Me” 

I loved Esther Philips as soon as I heard her sassy and soulful voice. The way she enunciates her words is just so classy. I very much relate to her cheeky and heartfelt style — often delivering it at the same time! See also “Just Like a Fish.”

Otis Redding — “Try a Little Tenderness”

Although I recall hearing this song in classic movies like The Crying Game, it wasn’t until earlier this year I discovered, on YouTube, Otis Redding’s live in London version. Mr. Redding does like a gazillion encores and really brings the house down. What an inspiring performance! It’s really influenced the way I delivered my songs from that point on. Otis encourages me to “break down the wall” that separates the singer from the audience.

Sugar Pie DeSanto / Etta James — “In The Basement”

This is one of the ultimate “get-down” songs. But, what else could I expect from collaboration between two soul goddesses — Etta James and Sugar Pie DeSanto?

Nina Simone — “Ain’t Got No — I Got Life” 

What can I say about this inspirational song that hasn’t already been said by the original High Priestess of Soul? It’s one of those songs that gets you up and off to work on a rainy Monday morning, when you’d rather call in sick and stay in bed all day. (Or why not just stay in bed all day and listen to it?) Either way, it makes you feel grateful just to be alive.

Charles Bradley — “Changes”

This tune was written by heavy metal legends Black Sabbath, but Bradley transforms it into an iconic soulful vibe with his poignant voice. It makes me experience the emotion of regret for every experience of deep friendship that I somehow let slip away because of my inherent shyness. Ugh!

Wilson Pickett — “Mama Told Me”

This song has a fiery, up-beat tempo complete with Wilson’s smooth timeless lyrical interpretation, which I enjoy so much.

Nina Simone — “I Put a Spell on You”

This hauntingly “gutsy” song makes me feel empowered and vulnerable — simultaneously.

Etta James — “I’d Rather Go Blind”

A lawyer who moonlights as my stand-by drummer once said to me, “I never really understood the meaning of that song, until I heard you sing it.” What a compliment! This tune, which I was once hesitant to perform because it’s emotionally demanding, really gets to me. Now I love performing it, as well as listening to it. It’s the ultimate “break up” song.

Danny White — “Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye” 

Songs like this remind me of when my Muhammad Ali-looking big brother tapped his size 15 foot along the cold, hard, aluminum hospital bed frame in time to my singing classic soul tunes. And, like the proverbial “Little Drummer Boy,” I sang my best for him. But he winced with pain soon as I came to the end of my chanting. Then I sung one last verse before saying goodbye for what I didn’t know would turn out to be the last time.

Photo credit: Shervin Lainez

MIXTAPE: Amy Black’s Memphis Mood

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I didn’t know it until recently, but man, I love Memphis. After touring for two years on an album I did in Muscle Shoals, I decided it was time to move on to a next project, and Memphis was the obvious choice. In order to soak up the music of Soulsville, I dove in deep, visiting the city, hanging with the locals, touring the studios, and listening to everything I could get my hands on that was recorded in Memphis back in the booming Stax, Hi, Sun, and Ardent days. I knew most of the staples, but there were so many more artists and songs to discover. I was in music heaven. What I experienced informed my songwriting for the project, as well as the covers I would select for the album and my live show. My fourth album, Memphis, features some of the architects of the infectious Memphis sound that I just can’t get enough of. This Mixtape is a sampling of the music I discovered on my Memphis journey. It’s got the Memphis grit, heart, and soul. Get ready. It will make you want to shout, dance, sway, shake and sing! — Amy Black

Otis Redding  — “My Lover’s Prayer”

Otis. The superstar of Stax Records. Do you know how much we love you and miss you? Your spirit comes through in every one of your songs. I love this ballad. Even though you don’t “go off” on the same level as some of the other songs, we feel your emotion, your desperation to make things right. Gets me every time.

Ann Peebles — “I Pity the Fool”

How did I miss Ann Peebles? I knew “I Can’t Stand the Rain,” but there is so much more to her. Now here’s a singer who can move from gentle to fierce without blinking. On “I Pity the Fool,” her line “look at the people” feels like a gut punch. A good gut punch. Ann Peebles, there’s no one who can “sock it to me” like you can.

O.V. Wright — “Blind, Crippled, and Crazy”

I love, love, love me some Al Green, and we will talk about that, but fellow Hi Records artist O.V., now he’s got his own thing going on. He brings it every time. He’s got that Memphis grit in his voice. He sings with urgency. He makes you sit up and listen — and believe every word. “Blind, Crippled, and Crazy” is a killer example of this. It love it so much, I start every show with it.

Carla Thomas — “B-A-B-Y” 

Carla Thomas of Stax Records … if Ann Peebles has the growl, Carla’s got the purr. Her smooth voice and upbeat songs just make you happy, especially this favorite number. I was glad to hear “B-A-B-Y” is in the new Baby Driver movie. What a sweet, groovy song. I got my very own baby niece this last year (my first one) and this is her song. I sing it to her all the time and we dance to it. I’ll keep doing that until she begs me to quit out of embarrassment.

Jackie Brenston and His Delta Cats — “Rocket 88”

Going old school here. There’s a whole lot of history behind this one, so look it up. A few key points: Sam Phillips recorded it; many say it was the first recording of a rock ‘n’ roll song; the band and song were really Ike Turner’s but Jackie got the credit; oh, and that fuzzy guitar sound was a new thing. Something about a dropped amplifier? What I can tell you for certain is when one does this song live in 2017, people still go crazy over it. Long live rock ‘n’ roll!

Jerry Lee Lewis — “Night Train to Memphis”

Great to play these two back-to-back. This is song is absolutely infectious. Just stand still and don’t dance to it: I double dog dare you. I end the show with this one and usually go Pentecostal. It can’t be helped.

The Staples Singers  — “City in the Sky”

Okay, now we are talking. Mavis, you are MY girl. No one else can have you. Okay, I’ll share. Seriously, Mavis is one of my greatest musical and spiritual inspirations. I’m so grateful for her and her family and all the positivity and honesty they have put out into the world for decades. Mavis is still going strong at 78! Love this song. What a great message and a great groove. XOXO

Al Green — “Old Time Lovin’”

This Hi Records superstar just oozes soul. That Hi groove and all that feeling. Sexiest music available (and yes, I know about Barry White). If “Old Time Lovin” doesn’t get you in the mood, you might need to see a doctor.

Bobby “Blue” Bland  –“I Wouldn’t Treat a Dog (the Way You Treated Me)”

I didn’t grow up listening to the blues or being exposed to this kind of music at all. You could think it’s sad or that I had some pretty excellent music to discover as an adult — I go with that latter line of thinking. To discover Bobby “Blue” Bland in my 40s was just the right time. I love this man’s full catalog. He is oh so smooth (they say “Frank Sinatra of the blues”) but can bring that Memphis grit in a heartbeat. Love this song. It’s groovy and is sure fun to do live.

William Bell — “You Don’t Miss Your Water”

A classic from the ballad master of Stax, William Bell. This is a beautiful song. It’s simple and stunning. More from William below. (He is still making music … and winning Grammys.)

Albert King — “Walking the Backstreets and Crying”

This is Memphis. We’ve got to have some serious blues on this playlist. This Albert King version of a song originally recorded by Little Milton stopped me in my tracks the first time I heard it. The drama. Bring it, Albert. And those Memphis horns blaring in the background. Yes!

Big Star — “September Gurls”

As I write about these songs, I’m listening to them. I have a huge smile on my face right now. Does Big Star do that to you, too? Just make you happy? Just make you want to dance around the room? That’s what they do for me. It’s not soul music, but it gets to my soul. Having the chance to hang with Big Star drummer Jody Stephens at Ardent while mixing my record also made me smile. What a guy. What a band.

The Bo-Keys — “High Roller”

Quintessential Memphis. These guys are keeping that amazing Memphis sound alive and well. I had the pleasure of working with Bo-Keys leader Scott Bomar as my producer for the new album. I came to him because I love the sound that he gets. This song is a perfect example. So good!

William Bell — “Poison in the Well”

We are back to William Bell. He’s the only person who gets two songs. I just can’t help it. He’s 77 years old and making a comeback. But to those who have always loved him, he didn’t go anywhere. I’m digging his new Grammy-winning album and I gotta share. I’ve been rocking out to this song all summer in the tour van. Enjoy!

Don Bryant — “What Kind of Love”

Speaking of comebacks … Don Bryant is the husband of Ann Peebles and wrote many of her hits, but he’s also a amazing singer. He’s been singing gospel for years, but this summer released a new soul/R&B album that Scott Bomar produced. He’s touring with the Bo-Keys and killing it.

North Mississippi Allstars — “Meet Me in the City”

The Dickinson family is legendary in Memphis. Jim was one heck of a musician and producer, and his kids — Luther and Cody — are following in his footsteps. Glad there’s a next gen of Dickinsons to bring us more great music.

Valerie June — “Wanna Be on Your Mind”

Valerie June calls Memphis home. She’s described her sound as “organic moonshine roots” (found that on Wikipedia). While it’s not classic Memphis soul or blues, both are certainly influences, along with folk, gospel, country, Appalachian, and bluegrass … otherwise known as Americana music! This is one of my favorites from her debut album, Pushing Against a Stone.

City Champs — “The Set-Up”

Joe Restivo is a killer guitar player. Al Gamble slays on the organ. George Sluppick is wicked on the drums. Put these guys together, and you have the excellent Memphis trio, City Champs. Treat yo’ self and listen to this song and many others. These fellas played on my Memphis album. Yes, I’m a lucky lady.

Amy Lavere — “Killing Him”

I remember the first time I heard of Memphis-based singer/songwriter and bass player Amy Lavere. An industry guy played me a murder ballad of hers and said, “If you want to do a murder ballad, this is the way to do it.” I talked to him today and he stands by that. She worked with the late great Jim Dickinson on the album this track is from, Anchors and Anvils. Fun fact: Amy played Wanda Jackson in Walk the Line. How freaking cool is that?

John Paul Keith — “We Got All Night”

I’ve had the pleasure of seeing John Paul play live several time in Memphis and got to hang out while he was doing some recording at Scott Bomar’s studio. His music is a sweet and soulful mix of rock ‘n’ roll, country, rockabilly. Dig it. He plays a lot in Memphis. Make sure to catch him next time you are in town!

John Nemeth — “Three Times a Fool”

From Idaho to California to Memphis. That was John’s path. Definitely a great move resulting in some excellent music. He won the Blues Music Award for “soul blues male artist of the year” in 2014 and has recorded several albums in Memphis. He also plays a mean blues harp. Next time you are in Memphis, check out his killer side project called the Love Light Orchestra. Big band. Big sound. Big time.

Amy Black — “The Blackest Cloud”

Yes, I have to put one of my songs on this playlist. But I did put it at the end, so there’s that. I picked producer Scott Bomar’s favorite song, “The Blackest Cloud,” for your listening pleasure. It’s a mix of old and new and features HORNS. If you like what you hear, stream the full album on Spotify. Okay, advertisement over.

Bruno Mars and Mark Ronson — “Uptown Funk”

You made it this far. I’m going to either reward you or punish you. It’s all based on your perspective. I love the song “Uptown Funk.” What’s not to love? And the coolest part is that it was recorded at Royal Studios, the historic spot where all of the Hi Records artists recorded with the Hi Rhythm section. Boo Mitchell (heir of famed producer Willie Mitchell) is running the studio and following in Willie’s footsteps as a producer and engineer. They are celebrating its 60th year right now in 2017. What a great testimony to how relevant Memphis is to today’s music scene!

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Photo credit: Stacie Huckeba

Counsel of Elders: Don Bryant on Second Chances

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What’s the time limit on second chances? Don Bryant is learning that it really can take a lifetime, or at least a few decades. Since the 1960s, the Hi Records songwriter has been putting pen to paper for other people’s voices. Label owner Willie Mitchell recognized his talent and tapped Bryant to help keep churning out the hits in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, contributing to the catalogues of the “5” Royales (“I Got to Know”), O.V. Wright (“I Can’t Take It”), and Etta James (“A Love Vibration”). And then, of course, there were his many collaborations with Hi Records signee Ann Peebles. The two co-wrote their most famous single, “I Can’t Stand the Rain,” one year before they married in 1974. But Bryant also has a talent for singing and, at 75 years old, he’s getting the chance to showcase his own voice.

Bryant released his second album, Don’t Give Up On Love, this year via Fat Possum Records. It follows his 1969 release, Precious Soul. If 48 years seems like a long time to go in between projects, it only allowed Bryant to marinate. He never stopped writing, and he certainly never stopped singing. He simply chose less public platforms to share those two gifts. For his latest project, Bryant reunited with Hi Records players, like drummer Howard Grimes and organist Charles Hodges. Their resultant joy cannot be contained. Each song plays like old friends having an absolute ball together. “I couldn’t have scripted it no better,” Bryant says. “That’s why I’m embracing it so much and enjoying it so much.” Besides covering O.V. Wright’s “A Nickel and a Nail,” and recording his version of the song he originally wrote for the “5” Royales, “I Got to Know,” he touches on subjects including love, jealousy, cheating, and what lies beyond. On “How Do I Get There,” Bryant digs into his gospel side, growling runs and all, to pose a rhetorical question: If the afterlife is really paradise, then what do I have to do now to get to then? The song feels plucked from his best session writing days at Hi Records, offering listeners a transporting and transformative experience. Don’t Give Up On Love, then, is less an album about second chances, and more a celebration of restitution. If patience is a virtue, then Bryant’s virtuosity has yielded a soulful answer.

People have been describing your new album as a second chance, but it feels closer to restoration.

It does, because I never stopped singing. I was doing some gospel things, and getting in touch with my spiritual side. Music and singing have always been my life, since I was a small kid, so I’ve been enjoying it, even if I just sing to myself. And write songs. I’ve been writing, too! I enjoy putting down demos for myself. I never know what’s going to happen with them, but just put ‘em down because they’re there.

In a way, it’s like practicing. You do it enough and, eventually, you’re called up to the big stage.

Look at that! Who would’ve known?

What is the soul man’s role in the 21st century?

I feel that there are still a lot of people that love the music and enjoy the music, but we’re not getting a lot of [soul] right now. That was one of the main reasons I embraced doing this album. Some people had confidence in saying, “Hey, it might work.” There are so many people that still love the R&B field and, according to the crowds that I’ve performed before, it seems like they love it just as they did then.

The soul man has been an uplifting force throughout history, but there’s often an important message that accompanies that presence, which you’ve been able to tap into. And we need it more than ever!

Oh, yes. I think that was one of the reasons I was writing those songs [on Don’t Give Up on Love]. I feel that we need them. I had no idea how I would be able to get them done, or what have you, but they keep coming. I got to write them down.

Does it happen in one go for you, or do you have to come back to the table a few times?

Sometimes I do, because sometimes I only get a title. Then it takes time to examine that title and the different ways it’s been said. Is it possible to say the same thing in a different way and get a great feel on it?

Was “How Do I Get There” an instance of getting a title first?

Well, to tell you the truth, it was one of those writing spells that I had. When I’m in one of those situations, and the title or something comes to me — I don’t know if it’s an automatic thing — I start searching what I’ve heard, what I’ve seen, what have you, to add to this equation to be able to write a song that will reach more people. I’ve talked to people about that situation, and a lot of them had questions. The question was the main thing: How do I get there? When the title hit me, I just started looking for different directions to go in, and once I gathered it in my head, it didn’t take me long to write the song.

It’s gorgeous. It’s funny how beautiful things sometimes come so quickly.

That is so true. And I’m so glad and thankful that it’s still happening to me. It don’t take much to just get off into something. Even with the songs that I wrote for the new album — Scott Bomar told me, “Hey, we need to write some for this new album” — the light came on! Everywhere I went, I started hearing things. Bands playing and maybe a phrase they used would trigger something in my mind. It’s a beautiful feeling.

It’s got to be. I think there’s a certain kind of receptivity writers have, so how do you keep yourself open to ideas? It’s easy to get tired and stressed out, and you’ve certainly experienced personal tribulation.

Well, that’s my free space. You know what I’m saying?

Yeah, a place to work it out.

I can be there and, at that moment, regardless of how long it lasts, the rest of the [stressful] things are not taking advantage of me. I can sit it on the shelf for a minute and get off into something that I enjoy doing, and it compensates for all those rough times that you think about.

You need that outlet, otherwise it would all be rough times.

Definitely so. And to me that’s always been one of my outlets, to be overly involved in writing songs. Sometimes I might write two or three different versions of a song before I’m finished with it, and then put the chords to it and, the majority of the time, the chords and everything come along while I’m doing it. It’s just a beautiful feeling.

So what happens to that second or third version?

I hold on to it! There’s something in there that I might be able to use on another song. I don’t ever throw it away. I’ve got a catalog of unfinished songs.

If you ever wanted to release those …

Stop putting ideas in my head! It’s beautiful, though; I enjoy it. There are some things that I need to get off my mind.

You’ve mentioned how you wrote this album with Ann in the back of your mind and it’s dedicated to her. Turning to your song, “Don’t Give Up On Love,” it’s a striking number coming at a time when it’s harder for people — especially in my generation — to invest in one another. They want things to come fast and easy.

[Singing] “When I fall in love, it will be forever.” We’ve had a beautiful life; we’ve enjoyed each other. It’s had its ups and downs, but we’ve really enjoyed each other. She was there in the studio with me, and she was boosting me along and giving me ideas when I was recording the album. It was very important to me. You don’t find it all the time, and everybody don’t find it, and I’m thankful that I found it.

That is such a blessing.

It’s a blessing. I’m trying my best to hold on! And then there’s just so much, even after all these years. Everybody’s going to have problems. There are ways of getting beyond problems without a whole lot of commotion. You learn these things as you get on in life. I want to apply these things rather than move in the other direction.

Was there ever a single piece of advice you received that helped you in your relationship?

Yeah. “Don’t give up on love.” [Laughs] That’s the main thing. Love eliminates a whole lot of stuff. A lot of different things happened: I seen a lot of my brothers and sisters give up because this happened and that happened, and they didn’t want to go no further. But, I mean, in life, things are going to happen that you don’t like. I don’t care whether you’re in love or out of love, sometimes you just have to brace it and go on because that’s not the end.

It can seem like it, in that moment.

It can, but hey, “This too shall pass.” I can say [Ann and I] still enjoyin’ each other because we got so much in common. The music thing we got it in common, the way we came up — the big families. I think there were 11 in her family and 10 in my family. It took time for us to find those things out.

Of course. It’s a process, years in the making.

And through it, we were able to help each other.

What prompted you to cover O. V. Wright’s “A Nickel and a Nail”?

I don’t know. That has been one of my favorite songs, ever since he recorded it. I love it, and I used to just walk around singing it. It brought back memories of when that was going on as a kid, with a nickel and a nail, and the other kids around. [Laughs] You could jiggle that nickel and a nail and they’d think you had some money in your pocket. [The song] said a whole lot to me. I don’t how much it said to other people, but it said it a lot to me. And O.V. had such a voice, it was hard to duplicate his voice.

Were you trying to duplicate him or find your own way?

It was a mixture of both. There were some phrases he did that I don’t think nobody else could’ve done any better.

Speaking of memories, when you were recording with Charles Hodges and Howard Grimes, what did that unearth?

Well, I’ll tell you what, it was just like being back home again. Everybody had such a joyous mood to be able to come back together and do it again.

You can hear it on the album!

It was great. Everybody enjoyed it. Me, most so, because I’m standing there saying, “Hey, this is me.” I’m really getting another opportunity to do this and I’m so thankful that I’m able to do it. It’s time for me to enjoy it: Embrace it and enjoy it.

I love that. It seems there are not many opportunities to really be yourself in a public way.

That’s so true. This is me. It’s been me for a whole lot of years. I don’t know if there’s anyway to top it, but we will see.

You’ve set the barometer for yourself.

I’m not worried about that. I’m just sitting here and working on enjoying that one right now.

Photo credit: Matt White

Keeping the Culture Alive: A Conversation with Trombone Shorty

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If recent reports are to be believed, New Orleans has usurped Las Vegas’s drunken, fluorescent-pink crown as the go-to spot for bachelorette parties. Gaggles of girls trouncing down the Tremé sporting satin bride-to-be sashes are not an uncommon sight, as brash replaces the sound of brass that defined the city that Troy Andrews, known to most as Trombone Shorty, grew up in. Like everywhere with a deep and steely soul, gentrification has landed, bee to flower, and Andrews, who became a bandleader before most children had their training wheels removed, is intent on keeping that spirit alive: but in a way that makes sense for the modern world, not despite it.

On Parking Lot Symphony, his newest LP, Andrews collaborates with everyone from members of Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros to Aloe Blacc, and has previously shared the stage with country, rock, and pop greats — including Dierks Bentley, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Madonna, to name a few. There’s a lot of arguing these days about how to best ensure that music keeps thriving in a bachelorette party-inundated, streaming- and synth-heavy world, and Andrews’ school — one that fuses R&B, jazz, blues, and big band — is the type to actually keep the art of song cogent. It’s full of tradition but never once traditional, rich in talent and technique, but never trying to fly out of reach.

The title track, written with Alex Ebert of Edward Sharpe and the album’s producer, Chris Seefried, is this dichotomy in action: It’s slick and funky but joyfully unpredictable, adorned with pulls of the trumpet that are as lyrical as the words itself. Parking Lot Symphony is partly inspired by a youth spent playing anywhere outside of four walls, marching down the Tremé in street parades, and partly by Andrews’ sponge-like approach to current culture — more often than not, he’s browsing the Spotify Global Top 50 over any individual record.

“We played everywhere from Jackson Square to parking lots, funerals, backyards, on street corners, on street cars, everywhere,” says Andrews. “So Parking Lot Symphony really means music can go anywhere, be played anywhere, and take you anywhere.” True to form, the record feels blissfully free of any sonic or physical walls.

It’s been four years since your last record (2013’s Say That to Say This) was released. Was there a song that kicked things off for this new collection and made you realize the direction you wanted to take things?

I don’t know if it was one song; it was more a process of letting inspiration come to me while I was traveling and working on the road. Then some sparks of inspiration would come up to do some new music, and I’d be writing a hook. I went into the studio by myself for two weeks and played all the instruments before I introduced the band to the songs. I wanted to get a bunch of ideas out first, then have the musicians play the parts better than I could while we perfected the arrangements.

You have such an interesting roster of co-­writers on the record: Kevin Griffin from Better Than Ezra, and Ebert amongst them. On “Familiar,” with Aloe Blacc, you even create a new palette you’ve called “trap funk.” What do you do to stay connected to every corner of music, regardless of genre?

I think it is a natural progression. When I grew up, I was listening to brass bands and I was listening to New Orleans hip-hop, so that is a part of my culture. I started, then, playing my horn to hip-hop beats and rock beats. It’s part of knowing where you come from, but trying to move the music forward.

You chose two covers for this record, both from local legends: “Here Come the Girls” by Allen Toussaint, and the Meters’ “Ain’t No Use.” What musical gaps were you hoping those would fill?

I didn’t want to play standard songs and, when I heard “‘Here Come the Girls,” even though it was written before I was born, I almost feel like it was written for me to perform. I just thought that the horns in “Here Come the Girls” would fit really well with the sound I was creating at this moment. “Ain’t No Use” is a song we have played live.­­ The Meters are New Orleans legends. Their sound to me is New Orleans, and you can hear in their music how they adapted and grew and expanded on the traditions they started in, which we try to do.

Is there a song on the record that you are most nervous to play live?

I don’t really get nervous, but singing, in general, for me, can be a little challenging. It’s easier and more natural for me to play than it is for me to hear my own voice. Singing feels more like jumping over a hurdle. And I feel like I really pushed myself vocally on this album and I’m looking forward to doing that in our shows, as well.

Speaking of nerves, you’ve played at the White House before. Would you do it now? Do you think musicians should be overtly political?

It’s a personal choice to be political or not, and I don’t want to tell anyone what to say. I did play four or five times for President Obama at the White House, and a few times were for Turnaround Arts to support arts education. Those were tremendous experiences because I also got to collaborate with kids, as well as some artists that I never thought I would get to play with. It was just great to be on stage there, be among some of the greatest musicians in the world, and be able to play in front of the President and the First Lady.

You’ve also played with country musicians like Dierks Bentley and Zac Brown. Do you enjoy modern country?

I love all music. Garth Brooks is probably right at the top of the list for me, as far as artists I respect and would love to work with. Seeing Zac Brown live when we toured with him, I learned a lot from that, how he plays with so much emotion. And playing with Dierks Bentley and with Little Big Town … you can just feel the power of their talent.

New Orleans is once again becoming one of the biggest tourist destinations — a hot destination for bachelorette parties with AirBnbs everywhere. Does that worry you? Do you ponder gentrification much?

It does, when I go to the old neighborhood and realize how many of the people who made it a special place aren’t there. The Tremé is the neighborhood where I grew up, but since the storm, many of the original Tremé people I grew up with can’t afford to stay there any more. So, in some ways, it is already a New Orleans that lives on in my music.

We’re in a world of synthesizers and automation — as a musician, do you think about instruments themselves being at risk long-term, and kids growing up not wanting to play an instrument? What do you think can be done to ensure we keep kids picking up guitars and trombones, not just computers?

I can remember playing and marching down the street in the Tremé. Without that, and the people around me who taught me or provided access to instruments, I wouldn’t be who I am. That’s why I feel the responsibility to carry on the traditions that raised me. I don’t want to wait until late in my career to give back. I want to do it while things are growing for me. I felt an unspoken responsibility to give back.

What do you hope people take away from this record emotionally?

My goal is to put out great New Orleans music, and I’ve taken everything that I’ve learned, everything I’m interested in, everything I’ve played onstage with different people from country and western, to rock ‘n’ roll, to funk, to hip-hop, and I’m just putting that in the context of my own tradition of what I grew up with in New Orleans. So I hope people take that you can be true to your roots and still make your own way forward.

Photo credit: Mathieu Bitton

Rock ‘n’ Roll Isn’t Dead: A Conversation with Black Joe Lewis

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The acronym, as unsexy of a word it might be, has been the base of hundreds of great songs: Michael Jackson’s “P.Y.T,” Kanye West and Jay-Z’s “H.A.M,” Grand Funk Railroad’s “T.N.U.C.” Part of the mystique is often figuring out what the hell those letters actually stand for and why they’re even important to begin with. Or, sometimes, it’s because the result is simply N.S.F.W. (not safe for work). “PTP,” from Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears‘ new LP, Backlash, is a little bit of all of that. The track, deliciously raucous with unpredictable spirals of guitar and crunched aggression, stands for “Power to the Pussy,” a bit of a calling card he picked up from his cousin Tiffany. It’s a chant about female sexual freedom that seems even more topical in the Trump era, with pink pussy hats marching everywhere from Main Street America to Washington, D.C. There’s a lot of forecasting on Backlash, the band’s fourth album, which even has some Russian lettering on the album art (a covert way to mention, in another language, that he’s back with the Honeybears).

Lewis isn’t a spy for the Kremlin, but he is quite good at taking elements of American sonic lore — classic soul, R&B, and blues — and mixing them with full-throttle rock ‘n’ roll. Though some might tag him “throwback,” it’s really anything but: The urgent grooves of “Sexual Tension,” the blast of horns that ends “Lips of a Loser,” and the punk energy of “Shadow People” are all as modern as anyone who might choose a Big Muff over synth keys.

Backlash is the Austin-based Lewis’s first album in three-and-a-half years — the longest break of his recording career, and a product mostly of a careful, thoughtful process that took a little longer than the normal recording cycle tends to allow.

Backlash has an incredibly strong rock ‘n’ roll spirit, beneath all of the soul references. Does it bother you to constantly be referred to as throwback?

It doesn’t bother me really. You have to have a way to classify stuff. That’s just what people do. I’m more annoyed with how, nowadays, people won’t find out about you unless they’re told by a blog that it’s something good versus actually checking it out. It’s gotten so cheapened.

Do you feel like rock ‘n’ roll, itself, gets a fair shake in the scheme of things? And on those blogs?

In popular music, it’s tougher: Rock ‘n’ roll is just not big anymore. And I feel like, back in the day, you had to go to the record store and actually check shit out, to see if you liked it. There was a word of mouth, but now people need to be told.

So is the live show even more essential these days because of that?

Yeah, with the way that stuff is now, it’s the best way to get the music out. You gotta prove the hype versus what you actually are.

These days, a lot of soul music doesn’t always fall under the umbrella of “Americana,” maybe limiting how much the music is found from those very audiences. Do you think soul and R&B should have more of a table in Americana?

Yeah, dude, for sure. I think blues is; but I would say Americana is traditional American music, if you ask me. And this is classic stuff.

You’ve been outspoken on your Twitter page about the Trump administration. Do you think artists have an obligation to speak out on social and political issues?

I try to keep politics to a minimum because I feel like people want to hear me play music. I think it’s better to say things through your music. Social media is not real life, and I don’t think you can judge a person on social media. I put crazy shit up. But I can’t stand Trump. I fucking hate him and I don’t feel like he’s making people feel like they are welcome in this country. He’s spreading the hate.

Do you think all the resistance and reaction to Trump’s reign will breed music that’s activist at its core?

Yeah, I hope he’ll spark a wave, like in the ’70s or ’80s with angry punk rock stuff. Or the ’60s — you had war and all that shit inspiring music. We’ll see what the youth has, what they’re going to say.

Do you think you’ll react politically in your music?

We’ll see. I think eventually. I try to let the songs go where they want to go, and there will probably be a song.

There’s some Russian lettering on the cover art of Backlash. You sure you’re not trying to send a message to Putin?

I did that before that shit even happened. It’s kind of crazy. That was the Honeybears thing. We tried to drop the name and everyone got confused. I figured, if I had to put the name [of the band] on there, it might as well look cool. People just don’t like to do the research, I don’t think. It was always the same band, but different dudes. It’s kind of weird that stuff is like that now. It blows.

“Power to the Pussy” could be an anthem from the Women’s March, so that’s probably more evidence that you aren’t spying for Russia.

It’s the power of the pussy, dude! My cousin coined the term. It kind of falls into what’s going on — we’ll see if I get it to be in the next march.

A grand marshal role, maybe?

[Laughs] Yeah! We’ll see what’s up.

Where did the phrase “Flash Eyed,” the album’s opener, come from?

That’s from Amos Tutuola, a Nigerian folk dude. He has a story about being lost in a jungle with all these different ghosts and one is “flash-eyed.”

It seems like you take inspiration from all kinds of places — Nigerian folk stories, your cousin, and everything in between.

I take inspiration from life, I guess. I like to read, and I’ll read a cool story about someone and go with that. Life in general — anything I see around me — it ends up coming out in the songwriting. I like having a cleaner vocal sound so you can understand what’s going on lyrically.

What are you reading right now? Do you feel like the value of literature has decreased in the social media era?

Overall, people read less with all the stuff that we have out there, though not artists, I don’t think. I’m reading [Russian writer] Maxim Gorky. I’ve been reading all his stuff lately. One’s about this spoiled rich dude, the Russian version of There Will Be Blood. The kid grows up and is an asshole.

Like Trump?

[Laughs] Kinda. Yeah.

3×3: AJ Hobbs on Hot Chicken, Wet Weather, and a Drum Circle of Gods

Posted on by Amy Reitnouer

Artist: AJ Hobbs
Hometown: Los Angeles, CA
Latest Album: Too Much Is Never Enough
Personal Nicknames: Mom calls me Adam. Some people still call me Cal King — they never even called me by my name?

 

A photo posted by A.J. Hobbs (@ajhobbsmusic) on

If Jesus, Buddha, Krishna, and Mohammed were in a band together, who would play what?

I gotta be honest, I just see a cacophonous drum circle happening.

If you were a candle, what scent would you be?

“Fingers after BBQ”
 
What literary character or story do you most relate to?

The Cat in the Hat. Sometimes you gotta mess shit up to have fun, as long as you clean it up. 

 

A photo posted by A.J. Hobbs (@ajhobbsmusic) on

How many pairs of shoes do you own?
About four pairs of boots, two pairs of hiking shoes, running shoes, dressy shoes for when my friends get married and house slippers nice enough to go to the store in.

What’s your best physical attribute?

My wife says I have striking blue eyes.

Which is your favorite Revival — Creedence Clearwater, Dustbowl, Elephant, Jamestown, New Grass, Tent, or -ists?
Creedence. Hands down.

 

A photo posted by A.J. Hobbs (@ajhobbsmusic) on

Animal, mineral, or vegetable?

We all become minerals eventually. 
 
Rain or shine?

What is rain? 

Mild, medium, or spicy?

I’ve always been a spicy guy, growing up around amazing Mexican food, but Bolton’s in East Nashville turned me into a medium guy. A painful lesson.

‘Groove and Grind: Rare Soul 1963-1973’

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As R&B collections go, this four-disc, 108-song set gets high marks for its intelligent and well-conceived presentation. Producer James Austin wisely eschews the folly of the eye-burning, 5,000 word "expert essay" in six-point type in favor of a few hundred introductory words of enthusiasm for the music, the kinds of singles for which every crate digger lusts with every weekend expedition to the local swap meet.

The rest of this box set’s 120 pages of verbiage (written by an actual expert — Bill Dahl) is housed in a glossy, well-constructed, 8" x 8" hardcover book and focuses exactly where it should: on the songs and the artists who made them. In the case of Don Gardner, whose 1966 single “My Baby Likes to Boogaloo” opens the collection, we learn from whence he came (Philly), what he did (He was once part of the duo Don and Dee Dee.), and where he recorded “Boogaloo” (in the '50s and '60s unofficial Black music capitol of the world — Englewood Cliffs, NJ). There are plenty of photos of the actual singles (a nice touch), a long list of resources (including one of the great R&B blogs, Funky 16 Corners), and a helpful tracking of the songs in each of the collection’s four subgenres: urban soul, group soul, Southern soul, and funky soul.

Musically, the collection stays true to its purpose as stated in the introduction: “There’s not much in the way of hits here, but the grooves are skin-tight, the singers are utterly amazing, and this collection won’t cost you a small fortune that these selections would in their original 45 form.” In many cases, the grooves are strong and the singers are amazing. Gardner’s “Boogaloo” certainly qualifies on the former count, as does the Tempos’ Motown groove of “(Countdown) Here I Come,” the Dynamics’ “Bingo!” (tracked by Ed Wingate, Berry Gordy’s biggest competitor during the '60s). and the Mandells’ ultra-funky “There Will Be Tears, Part 1.” On the latter count, Alvin Robinson leaves his heart on the studio floor on the April ‘66 cut, “You Brought My Heart Right Down to My Knees”; Hoagy Lands channels Sam Cooke on the ‘71 single, “Do You Know What Life Is All About”; and Willy McDougal’s slinky “Don’t Turn Away” is just that — as slinky as it gets.

Passing R&B fans will fail to see the point — not every song here is off the charts and most never made the charts — and audiophiles might be miffed about the mastering as it’s clear a lot of the material was lifted from vinyl, master tapes likely being long gone. But when all's said and done, this is a welcome document of some excellent music which, as the producers noted, wouldn’t be accessible to us without their efforts. To that, they’re owed a tip of the hat.

The Essential Bill Withers Playlist

Posted on by Editor

Nobody crossed the bridge between R&B and folk during the 1970s quite like Bill Withers. His music embodied the silky groove of Memphis mavens like Otis Redding and Al Green while speaking to the deep acoustic tradition of the American South. It was — and still is — as perfect for a sing-at-the-top-of-the-lungs joyride in a ‘72 Malibu as it was — and still is — the perfect soundtrack for an encounter of the horizontal kind.

For all of his influence on American popular music, it wasn’t immediately evident Withers would make a career out of singing and songwriting. He was born the youngest of six children in Slab Fork, WV. He was just 13 years old when he lost his dad and a mature 18-year-old when he enlisted in the Navy. Singing and songwriting was on his mind as early as 1967, though, when he took his Navy discharge and headed for Los Angeles. During the day, he worked a factory job; at night, he wrote songs, performed the club circuit, and shopped his demos about the industry.

In 1970, he scored a deal with Sussex Records and the legendary Booker T. Jones was hired to produce Withers’ first record. What was planned to be a quartet of quick three-hour sessions ended up trimmed back and spread out over the course of six months. Finally, with Stephen Stills guesting on guitar, Just As I Am was released in 1971. It yielded one of his three biggest hits — the Grammy Award-winning classic "Ain’t No Sunshine" — and launched him on a touring schedule with legends like James Gadson and the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band. As his star began to rise, Withers remained professionally conservative, holding down his factory job even after "Ain’t No Sunshine" reached platinum status.

In 1972, during a break from touring, he convened in the studio with some of his touring band members to create his excellent Still Bill album. It was a massive hit, in no small part because of his two biggest singles, "Use Me" (which reached number two) and "Lean on Me" (an all-time pop classic that landed at number one).

Legal wrangling with Sussex in ‘74 found Withers heading off to Columbia Records, leaving behind an album called +’Justments (that was ultimately released in 2010). In the interim, Withers recorded somewhat sporadically over the next 10 years, making four marginally successful smooth R&B records and one million seller — the 1977 long player called Menagerie (which included his hit, "Lovely Day").

Though his work on Columbia has its strengths, it’s his recordings with Sussex that ring true with us. Bearing that in mind, here’s our version of The Essential Bill Withers Playlist, a sweetly concise set of songs that concisely covers the sweetness of the music he made in the early 1970s.

Photo: Columbia Records publicity shot of Withers, circa 1976 (Public Domain)