Tag: soul

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

LISTEN: The War and Treaty, “If It’s in Your Heart”

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Artist: The War and Treaty (Michael Trotter Jr. and Tanya Blount-Trotter)
Hometown: Albion, Michigan
Song: “If It’s in Your Heart”
Album: Healing Tide
Release Date: August 10, 2018
Label: Strong World/Thirty Tigers

In Their Words: “I had a friend who went through a terrible ordeal. I asked if she was ok and she said ‘yes’ but the truth was that she wasn’t and I felt it but didn’t act on it. ‘If It’s in Your Heart’ is everything I should’ve said to her to let her know that I was willing to go through the rain with her. I should’ve challenged her more and that’s what the song is about.” – Michael Trotter Jr.

Photo credit: David McClister

Sometimes It’s a Whisper: A Conversation With Liz Vice

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Despite never having desired a musical career, Liz Vice set about answering a higher calling with her 2015 debut album, There’s a Light. She spread a message of inclusivity and love, even while self-doubt, impostor syndrome, and a hellacious tour threatened to upend her very sense of self. Making it to her sophomore album, Save Me, therefore became an incredibly personal celebration—a heady reminder about how faith in something bigger than yourself can serve as a beacon in this messy world.

Across Save Me, she touches on personal topics (the illness that very nearly ended her life when she was younger, the crippling doubt that got in her way at the start of this journey) while looking outward to the community. On “Brick By Brick,” she reminds listeners about the central tenet, “Love thy neighbor,” as a rippling synth takes the brooding gospel track into a clarion call for kindness. No matter what listeners’ relationship with faith, religion, or belief might be, Vice’s message is as old as time – and more necessary than ever.

There’s this saying I’ve always appreciated: “Sometimes the wrong train gets you to the right station.” Here you set out to pursue film production, but life led you to music instead. How do you feel about your journey?

It’s always, “What the hell am I doing? How did I get here?” It’s only been four and a half years; I still wonder. I feel like this record is so different, it’s so much more me because it does involve my storytelling abilities, and working with somebody who’s also a great storyteller—Micah Bourne. I get to use aspects of film—storytelling—but instead of the camera, it’s with a melody. It’s still hard, but I think about, man, production’s really hard. You’re not getting paid much, you still get treated like crap, and I was typically the only brown person on set.

Which has its own complications.

Oh, one hundred percent.

Besides the opening cover song, the other tracks are all originals. What did your writing process look like this time?

I wrote with Micah Bourne, a spoken word artist, and Dana Halferty, who I met on set. I was listening to music, and I was like, “God, I’ve never written a song, and I’m terrified to do this thing that I feel like you’re calling me to do. Am I doing this out of a religious mindset?” Honestly, I don’t think Jesus would be very religious. We can’t earn our way into his good side, so am I doing this because I feel like he’s given me an opportunity to reach people and remind them that they’re loved? Or am I doing this because I feel a sense of religious duty?

Slowly, I feel like He’s been undoing this mindset of religious duty. The first time I ever heard this was when I was playing a blues festival—it was like my fifth show ever playing in front of an audience. This was the first time I got so nervous I cried. I sat on my couch and I felt God say, “I’m not asking you to save them; I’m just asking you to sing over them.” There have been so many shows where people say, “Oh my gosh, like I’m an atheist but I love your message. It’s something we can all relate to.”

You said you got more personal on this album.

“Baby Hold On,” I wrote that after one of the worst tours I’ve ever been on; I was like, “I’m done.” One of my drummers had to be sent back because his mom got sick out of nowhere, and then she ended up dying three months later. Then I fell down the stairs and broke my toe and had to drive three hours to sing in New Hampshire with my foot elevated on Vicodin.

It sounds like a testing ground, like “How much do you want this?”

I’m like, “I don’t want this!” This broken foot, and one of my drummers who I freakin’ adore, his mother passes away. This comes after our suitcases were stolen in San Francisco and then a month prior to that I got in a car accident—my friend’s car was totaled and I had a herniated disc. I’m just like, “God, I don’t want this. You have the wrong person. I told you I wasn’t strong enough, I told you that I didn’t want this bad enough” So having this real Moses moment. I listened to “Baby Hold On” and as soon as the “oohs” came in with the choir I started to cry. Sometimes I feel like it’s the words unsaid that hit me the most.

Even if you have a contested relationship with faith or you don’t believe in anything, there’s such a good message about kindness and community on Save Me.

Right, and I also think that we make God so small. He’s not logical, he’s not realistic. There are things I will never understand, and I have to let myself be OK with that. It’s not just me and God, me and the Bible, it’s me and people around me. … Everyone has a story, and it might not fit into this pretty package that we want it to fit in.

Even [Plato’s] Allegory of the Caves, I love that story. These three men are hanging from shackles and they’re living off the shadows of the world, and then one actually goes in the world to experience it, and he’s like, “Oh my gosh, so that shadow is this, and that shadow is this,” and the other prisoners beat the hell out of him. It’s like, how many times do we choose to live off of the shadows instead of the actual source?

Especially with social media, which might be the biggest metaphor for living off the shadows. What was a big turning point for you on this album, a way out of the shadows into the truth?

I want to be OK in my body. Once I can accept that I am a created being and there’s beauty in all that I am, even my deep voice that sounds like I smoke cigarettes every day and I don’t at all. Once I can love myself for who I am in a whole way, I really do believe, if you love yourself, you can love other people well.

Absolutely. I think that’s where it needs to start. In order to look outward, you need to start inward.

That’s one of the top commands—love God with all your soul and with all your might, and love your neighbor. If you want to love God, you have to love your neighbor. That is a sign you love God because He made them too. I’m not perfect at that, but what does it look like to start the conversation about what it actually means to love your neighbor?

How has your connection to God changed since moving from Portland, Oregon, to New York City?

I love living in New York City, and the reason why is because of something I didn’t necessarily get when I lived in Portland, like diversity.

Yeah, there’s that.

For the lack of nature, people try to tell me, “You can go to this park or that park,” and I’m like I literally lived at the bottom of an extinct volcano [in Portland]. I lived by the Gorge, where you drive 20 to 30 minutes east and you’re seeing waterfalls and canyons. I’ve lived here for a year and half, and already so much has changed since I moved here, so it really is like a constant recalibrating—like GPS—of how do I silence my mind, how do I connect with a spiritual being who doesn’t tend to work in a way that most would want to—with fireworks and earthquakes and raging fires? Sometimes it’s a whisper and you have to lean in more, but you have to position yourself in order to hear the whisper.

It’s got to be an interesting practice to explore. As you said, in the city you have this greater sense of humanity to remind you of something bigger.

No one looks at each other on the subway so it’s perfect for people-watching. I see every shade of people next to each other, and so many different languages, it really feels like heaven to me. Even though this place can be a hot mess, I just look at it and I think, “Man, God is in love with this city.” Even people who don’t even know Him! I love it here. It hurts so good.

Photo credit: Katrina Sorrentin

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

The Producers: Andrija Tokic

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When he modified a shotgun house in East Nashville into the “analog studio wonderland” known as the Bomb Shelter, Andrija Tokic wanted to bring the outdoors inside. He decorated with wooden slats and rustic stonework, creating something woodsy in the middle of a busy neighborhood. “If you’re going to be in one room for 10 hours, why not have something to look at?” he says. “For me, it’s stuff that’s usually outside — trees and rocks. There are other studios using wood as an acoustic treatment, but I just feel better being able to sit on something like a porch. It just takes the pressure off.”

If he feels any pressure, it doesn’t show. Over the past few years, his name has become synonymous with a rough-and-tumble branch of roots rock, ranging from the raw blues rock of Benjamin Booker to the scorched-earth Southern soul of Alabama Shakes to the tightly wound garage pop of Denney & the Jets. Although he works in no particular genre, Tokic’s projects are bound by an essential grittiness, an urgency that lends everything a live dynamic regardless of how it was recorded.

The son of Croatian immigrants, Tokic grew up in Takoma Park, Maryland, near Washington, D.C., and found a job manning the boards at a neighborhood studio. He recorded anyone who walked through the door, which gave him a strong grounding in a range of styles: gospel, rock, world beat, even go-go — that spry local sound that remains unsung outside the Mid-Atlantic. The experience also gave him the confidence to move to Nashville, although he found Music Row too restrictive and regimented for his tastes.

At his first studio, located in his home, he recorded the Shakes’ career-making debut, Boys & Girls, then moved to the Bomb Shelter’s current location. In just a few years, it has become a waystation for an array of artists who don’t fit easily into any one particular category or scene, who thrive at the fringes of rock and country.

A lot of people I talk to for this column were musicians first who then migrated into the producer role. But you’re a different. You wanted to do this from the beginning.

I grew up playing music at a very young age, but I got into recording as a teenager and preferred it to playing. I liked the diversity in what you do all the time. It’s cool to get involved with more instruments rather than just playing the same old guitar part. You’re able to do different kinds of projects and different kinds of music. It’s like playing in a whole bunch of different bands. That variety is really what got me excited about it. It’s not about how you play the part, but about how you capture it. How do you create an image in a record or a sense of time when the music was being played? How do you convey how that music was being played?

So I try to treat every project individually. At my studio, we don’t resort to the same setup every time for every band. Some places are like that, but I think it’s about how you can get the most out of every project. So I try to vary everything and customize the process for each specific artist and their strengths and weakness. Maybe a lot of people feel like the foundation of every song is the same: “Alright, let’s start with the drums and build from there.” But some things start with the vocals. Or a guitar. Or even a piano part.

When you started out, was there a song or an album that made you aware of the production?

The Beatles was the first time. I was rifling through my parents’ record collection, and there was a weird Yugo Tone version of Yellow Submarine. God knows what kind of editing or recutting happened with that record, but out of all of these records in this collection, it was the one that sounded like color, where everything else sounded like black and white. It was recorded with creativity in mind. I would go back and forth between that and Queen. And I remember loving the Queen record, but it didn’t make me want to grab my four-track.

When I would put on Yellow Submarine, all the parts just had so much character. To this day, the Beatles stand as a new approach to recording music. There’s still something about it that’s never been done the same. There are all kinds of things in their songs that make me excited about making music. How do you make guitars sound like that? What are all these instruments popping in and out? There’s no telling what the long-term impact of that record has been for me. But ever since I started playing around with a four-track, whenever I listen to a recording, I always picture what could be happening in the studio.

You got your start in D.C., a city that I think many people associate with punk. Did you have any connection to that world?

I feel like that was already long gone by the time I got started. I’d heard stories about how cool all that stuff used to be. But there was not a lot of rock ‘n’ roll music to record. Definitely the minority of the work I was doing was band-oriented, and a lot of that was jazz and gospel. Only the smallest bit of it would have been rock. There just wasn’t that much to be found, but I think there’s been a resurgence since I left.

D.C. is such a busy place, though. All of the best musicians I knew were these incredible players who played with all of these great people and had long histories and all had day jobs. There weren’t very many people who were only musicians. It was more like, “I’m a musician, but I also work on the Metro.” I didn’t see much opportunity when I was there, but there are more art spaces opening up, and I think things have gotten more affordable. Bands I work with will tell me about playing such-and-such place in D.C. and I’ve never heard of it.

It sounds like that experience gave you a good grounding in a lot of different types of music.

Definitely. I was able to get very, very hands on. There was definitely a good variety of stuff, some jazz and some world beat with a lot of hip-hop in between. We used to do restorations of old recordings — old reel-to-reel and really old records. We had all kinds of strange players that could play weird speeds with different head configurations. It was all kinds of audio — whatever came through the door. These days I’m working with musicians, and it’s more like curating a sound or working on a project from the ground up.

What kinds of conversations are you having with artists before the sessions start?

The first thing I like to do is try to get a feel for the music in its rawest form. Does the artist write on piano or do they write on guitar? Just hearing how they wrote the songs is helpful, so I love getting an early demo. What are the things they’re hoping to capture? How do they want to record the music and have a great time working on it? So, if I can hear a song with nothing added to it and not really stylized in any way, I get to think about what it could sound like in the studio.

It’s about trying to figure out the vision. If it’s a band, do they want to create a new sound and get studio heavy, or do they want to maintain a sound they’re already performing? I’m just trying to collect as much data before we set off in a particular direction, because that just makes everything more fun and more productive. But if I hear something and I want to go left and the artist wants to go right, that’s cool. I want to try what they’re thinking, or maybe it’s not going to feel like something I can help with.

You have a reputation for working very quickly in the studio.

I would say I work very efficiently. But it’s such a relative thing. You think about a place where they’re pounding out publishing demos and doing more songs that I’d even consider starting in a day. They have to work quickly. I do think it’s healthy for everyone to get a lot done and always be moving forward, even if there are projects where it’s not necessarily a good idea to set aside however many days to knock out the record. Sometimes you need to spread things out so you can readdress things or reapproach certain parts. Nobody wants to be sitting there running up the clock and not moving forward. You’re going to get burned out and frustrated.

There have definitely been projects where we knew we were going to have to try a bunch of different things. It’s going to be a much longer project. And then there are projects where we know exactly what we’re doing and we have it all mapped out. I always believe in letting the studio be an instrument, as well. I like to get things about 80 percent dialed in before we start, but leave a certain amount of openness to see what happens. You get everybody in a room playing together and sometimes things take on a new life that you never envisioned. “Hey, this is working well. We didn’t think to go in this direction, but it’s working. So let’s not be afraid to go off course a little.”

It also sounds like you’re playing a lot of different roles on these projects — not just what we think of as producing, but engineering, mixing, a little bit of everything.

I guess it’s all so connected! I’ve been hired to make something, so I just use the tools to my utmost ability. Whatever the project is, I do what sounds and feels right to me and to the artist, as well. Those lines get crossed a lot. I can produce this record, but I might as well engineer it, too, rather than run it through a different set of hands. I’ve worked as an engineer. I’ve been hired as a mixer. But I guess I’ve always thought that those jobs crossed each other a lot. After all, arranging a song is just as much about mixing it as sitting down and working out the parts. Some mix engineers spend a long time cutting out parts and moving parts around and rearranging the structure of the song. For me, that’s just part of the production: “Oh, we need something on the second chorus. It doesn’t sound big enough. Let’s throw another guitar in there.”

There are still a thousand definitions of what a producer does and what an engineer does. It’s comes down to what people individually feel. Especially with all of the changes happening in the recording industry, the roles are becoming harder and harder to define. I think they come down to individual people making their own definitions. Also, genre is a big thing, too. If you’re producing a jazz record, it would be closer to arranging, whereas if you’re doing a psychedelic rock record, you’re going to be doing a lot more with microphones, adjusting flangers, messing with gear. It all demands different knowledge and a different role.

You work primarily in tape instead of digital. Does that change your approach?

I think so. I can work on any format, but I find myself most fluently working with tape. I think it’s because it’s the format that I started on. It means more work on the front end and maybe less on the back end. You have to work out the parts and figure out what sounds best in a different way than when you’re working on a computer. Then the big thing is editing. It definitely affects the process, but the thing I’m thinking about is what suits the music the best.

Looking over your discography, I noticed a lot of bands seem to come to you when they’re recording a debut or making a big album, like Alabama Shakes or Hurray for the Riff Raff.

I’ve wondered if that’s the case. Maybe that’s part of my path or something, I don’t know. I definitely feel like a lot of people approach me looking to try something different or take a new step. It’s not always somebody’s first record. It’s hard to say. But I do enjoy developing something new from what’s already there. I like hearing demos and thinking about what we can do with the material. “What can we do to grow this into something new?” That’s always on my mind.

I wouldn’t attribute this to being someone’s first record, but I definitely like recording something where there are no expectations that you have to guide an artist toward. “Okay, we can stay in the same world as this previous record or we can change things up this way or that way.” My favorite people to work with are the people who are uninhibited about the music. I guess people tend to come to me already in that mindset.

Melissa Etheridge: The Rock ‘n’ Soul of Self-Respect

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Melissa Etheridge is closing in on three decades since her first full-length of original material was released and, over the years, she’s represented something distinct to many different kinds of fans. Most know her for her music, with well-loved hits like “I’m the Only One” and the Grammy Award-winning “Come to My Window.” To other fans, her public battle with breast cancer and resilient spirit are an inspiration through illness and hardship. Beyond that, Etheridge’s outspoken and unwavering dedication to human rights causes and the LGBTQ community has made her an icon and an articulate voice for the causes and issues that affect people every single day.

But before Etheridge was on the national stage, it wasn’t always about her own words, songs, lyrics, and melodies. “I’ve always played other people’s music,” says Etheridge with a laugh, recalling a string of cover bands and her earliest gigs. “I learned by playing other people’s music, from country to rock ‘n’ roll to R&B.”

That affinity for the classics has been made apparent plenty of times throughout her career — check her jaw-dropping rendition of Janis Joplin’s “Piece of My Heart” for evidence that Etheridge can slay a cover song — and when she was approached by Concord Records to take a crack at the Stax catalog on her latest studio release, Etheridge jumped at the opportunity. Her forthcoming full-length album, MEmphis Rock and Soul, is a 12-song compilation that covers Stax songs originally recorded by icons like Otis Redding, the Staple Singers, and Rufus Thomas, and it zeroes in on the music that inspired her own.

“Stax, as far as I am concerned, it’s the soul, it’s the birthplace of rock ‘n’ roll,” she says. “I’ve seen film of Janis Joplin watching Otis Redding in concert, and then she moves and sings just like him at Woodstock. The artists that inspired me were inspired by Stax, so this is going back to my serious roots.”

Where does one even begin when the Stax catalog is your playground? Etheridge was left with 200 tracks to choose from after she’d gone through and selected her favorites. Slowly, she picked them apart and narrowed it down to 100, then 50 songs, and finally she got down to the 20 numbers that she brought into the studio. “The main criteria was how I felt inside when I listened,” she says.

“Some of them were inspiring. I mean, ‘Try a Little Tenderness’ is great, but it’s been done a million times, and I didn’t feel like I could give anything newer to it. I tried ‘Knock on Wood,’ and that one just didn’t read, didn’t flesh out. Then, there are even a couple that no one’s heard of that I found. I just loved the beat, loved the whole thing, and thought, ‘Okay, I’m just going to put my rock ‘n’ roll spin on it.’”

The Etheridge you hear on MEmphis Rock and Soul embodies the unrestrained passion that so many artists have found in these songs before her. Maybe it’s the ghosts of Royal Studios coming back for one more encore — after all, the Memphis spot where Etheridge recorded the album was hallowed ground for the likes of Al Green and Chuck Berry, and it was started by Willie Mitchell, whose son Boo Mitchell produced the record with Etheridge.

“Without Boo, this project would not have happened,” says Etheridge. “He was the first one there and the last one to leave every day, and the respect he has for the music, for his father, for his father’s legacy, for Vaughan and Lowe … It’s a real family down there.”

Much is added to MEmphis Rock and Soul beyond Etheridge’s recognizable vocals — astute listeners will catch the sounds of the Hodges Brothers and many other Memphis music legends in the background of the soulful tracks — but Etheridge found herself taking on greater roles than she’d bargained for, too. Take the enthusiastic “Hold On, I’m Coming” — the first single from the forthcoming album and one of her favorite numbers from the compilation. “For the longest time, I was looking for someone to sing it with me. I kept thinking, ‘It’s a duet. It’s a duet. I’m going to ask this person, that person,’” she says. Things didn’t pan out, but she brought the song into the studio on one of the final days of recording. “I thought, ‘Well, I’m just going to put the pedal to the metal and just hit this thing as hard as I can. Make it as rock.’”

Jumping into the recognizable number by herself, Etheridge railed through the song with all of the noisy edge she’d hoped for, zeroing in on her own unique take on the song while preserving the energy that made it a hit in the first place. The vocal that made the final mix was the live one they recorded right then in the studio, and you can hear Etheridge beam as she relives the recording process. “It was just such a great experience, with these musicians there. They’ve seen so much. They’ve played on so much,” she says. “They took me in. I have such great respect and love for all of them.”

Respect comes up a lot in conversation with Etheridge, but her rendition of the Staple Singers’ “Respect Yourself” might be the most soulful embodiment of the virtue.

“I decided to go into Respect Yourself and take the heart of the meaning, and the purpose behind the song,” she says, citing Black Lives Matter and the nationwide push for change and equality as catalysts for her lyrical direction. She called fellow songwriter Priscilla Renee with the intention of maintaining the sense of urgency and the call to action that inspired so many in the ‘70s, but modifying the original lyrics for today’s social and political climate. With the weight of her activism to guide her, Etheridge makes for a compelling voice behind so many numbers that served as a soundtrack for the nation’s civil rights movement.

“I’m 55 years old, and I’ve seen some things,” she says. “I do understand one thing, and that is that I can’t change the world, or I can’t ask the world to change, unless I come from a place inside myself. I can’t ask for respect from the world unless I respect myself. I can’t ask for the world to love unless I love myself. When I do — when I love myself, when I have a deep respect for myself as a human being and as a member of society, when I respect who I am truthfully — every inch of me — then I can truly look at my neighbor with respect, and they will see what respect is. They will see it in me.”

On MEmphis Rock and Soul, Etheridge owns this mantra with a reverence for the musicians who came before her that reveals itself in her respect for her own tastes, interpretations, and talents. It’s easy to belabor the places we’d like to see a bit more respect — on the Internet, in the schoolyard, on the political stage — but it’s got to start somewhere. Why not with a little rock ‘n’ soul?

 

Enjoy thoughtful female singer/songwriters? Read our Artist of the Month feature on Mary Chapin Carpenter.

Lede illustration by Cat Ferraz.

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.

Counsel of Elders: The Fabulous Thunderbirds’ Kim Wilson on Keeping it Fresh

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If the idea of success in music revolves around “a certain way of doing things,” count on the Fabulous Thunderbirds’ Kim Wilson to chuck that concept and strike out on his own path. It’s not that he’s always had that kind of freedom, but after a certain amount of time building his legacy in the music industry, he’s earned himself enough flexibility to go about things differently. For starters, Wilson keeps the Fabulous Thunderbirds on their toes by avoiding set lists and going by the feel of the evening. Then there’s the way the band tours nowadays: Rather than launch lengthy stretches that involve mostly clubs, Wilson prefers festivals and casinos where he and his boys can cut loose. It’s an approach that allows him to balance his personal life with the music he so loves to perform.

Wilson co-founded the Fabulous Thunderbirds in 1974 with Jimmie Vaughan and, in 1979, the band released its self-titled studio debut. He hasn’t slowed down since, even while the members have undergone significant changes. Wilson remains the only original, but alongside Johnny Moeller (guitar), Steve Gomes (bass), Kevin Anker (keys), and Wes Watkins and Rob Stupka (drums), he recorded and released a new album, Strong Like That, this year. Combining Wilson’s compositions with covers from an array of legends like Johnnie Taylor and Clarence Coulter, the album is packed with lively energy and a blues-influenced rock ‘n’ roll.

Strong Like That shows the harmonica player and vocalist still has a lot to say when it comes to both of his instruments, a point he continually reinforces off-stage when he’s communicating with fans via the band’s blog. “Being a musician is all about leaving a legacy. And that’s not about money. That’s about music,” Wilson wrote in October. “If you can’t leave a musical legacy, if you can’t be remembered for what you did, there’s no sense in doing it.” He’s proof positive for any musician at any stage that, even though there can be a standard path toward success, hiking off in your own direction is equally rewarding.

Besides guitar, harmonica has been credited with being the staple instrument for the blues, but really it’s the person behind the instrument that infuses it with a particular flavor. What does the harmonica allow you to say that another instrument wouldn’t?

A harmonica is very close to you. It’s inside you. That’s how close it is. You can do more things with a harmonica, expressively, than you can with just about any other instrument. There are so many different kinds of tonal things you can get and, of course, it’s all improvised. I consider myself a player. It’s not something where I’m doing a part to enhance a song; I’m actually improvising and just winging it. And that’s a big deal for me. That keeps things fresh for me. I improvise everything on the bandstand, even the set list. I don’t have a set list.

No kidding.

I can call off the next one while the one before it is going, and my boys know it. There are certain songs that you almost have to play; I mean some of the hits, obviously, and some of the new ones, too. Other than that, it’s kind of a free for all. I think the guys appreciate that. It keeps everything fresh for them, too. Even the hit songs have a lot of improvisation for them. You know it’s the song, but I don’t sing ‘em exactly the same, and they don’t play ‘em exactly the same.

I love the music more than I’ve ever loved it. You’re not supposed to get worse. You’re supposed to get better at what you do, and I really haven’t gotten, in my mind, to where I want to be until just recently. And I’m still not where I want to be. Of course, you’re always learning, and you want to be able to hear yourself back on a recording and not wince. Very very important. Very important.

That’s probably the key test. It seems like it takes a certain kind of age and maturity and perspective to hit a stride.

Well, to play the kind of music we play, it does. It can’t be contrived; it can’t be just run of the mill. You’ve gotta be at the top of the food chain to be in the business as long as we’ve been in it: 45-46 years now. Obviously, there are arrangements and stuff like that, sure. I think, if it’s not interesting for you, it’s certainly not going to be interesting for the audience.

Do you feel as though playing the harmonica is a different personality than your singing?

Well, how I perform, it’s kinda violent. There can be some pretty moments, but really it’s more kind of …

Primal?

It’s very primal. That’s exactly right. And I think that it used to be that I’d have to really hit the audience to get their attention, and it’s still kind of that way. People, when you give them something else, they don’t want that. They want something that’s going to smack ‘em a little bit. I was always an athlete — I was a football player when I was a kid — and, luckily, I’ve chosen an instrument that’s allowed me to affect people without breaking bones.

Well, there are always eardrums …

Maybe. Oh, I know all about the eardrum thing.

Me, too. With Strong Like That, how did you decide which songs to include? Leslie West and Johnnie Taylor, among the others you cover, are such interesting choices.

It’s not all blues, obviously. That’s the way we’ve always been.

Right, you’ve always straddled different genres.

We just played a bunch of songs and picked the best performances, the ones we thought worked the best.

I love your rendition of West’s “Don’t Burn Me.”

That’s a great track.

There’s a real heat that comes off it. I know you spent a good deal of time in Texas. Do you equate the feeling you were able to create with that particular region?

The Texas sound … I can’t say we ever had a Texas sound. We lived in Texas. In the beginning, we were more Louisiana and now it’s more, maybe, Memphis. I don’t know what’d you call it. It’s a lot of different areas that we come from. I’m a blues singer, so however I sing it, it’s going to come out like that. Now, we’re playing soul beats and soul songs, but how they come out is more of a blues band playing soul and rock ‘n’ roll and blues. It all starts with the blues for us. When they’re playing this stuff on the radio, it always has upset me when they automatically take it to the blues stations. And some of it you could, but a lot of it you could take it to a lot of different stations. I think right now we’re doing well at Triple-A [Adult Album Alternative], I believe. The Triple-A thing, that’s a relatively new thing out there. You used to have AOR [Album-Oriented Rock] Radio, which we would climb to the top of that and then we would get into the CHR [Contemporary Hits Radio], when there were actually 40 or 60 songs they were playing.

Now it’s more like 15.

Yeah, it’s kinda crazy. Triple-A is fine. Whatever gives us more success, we’ll take it. It’s one of those things that’s really out of your control. We did sign this deal with Sony now, which has really helped. It’s been great to be back with them because they’re so well-staffed and they’ve been on the case, they’ve been really working it. I’m really appreciative of that. We feel like every project we do is very special and for it to just fizzle immediately because people aren’t aware of it, so we’re very happy with the Sony deal.

They have the manpower to get the word out because there’s so much taking place these days, in terms of new releases and surprise drops and what have you.

Right.

I read you play 300 shows a year between the Fabulous Thunderbirds and your own solo projects.

I don’t do that many anymore.

Okay, because I was going to ask where you find the energy for that momentum.

I do quite a few shows and I do have the All-Stars, I guess is what you call it, but that’s a lot of going back into the clubs and it can be a real hassle. Even though I love that music and I love playing it, going back into the clubs is just … Boy, you really start, once again, seeing the bottom of the food chain. It’s very difficult. I do it mostly out [in California] now. I do a Christmastime thing. That’s really all I can do. I don’t want to go out there and kill myself, because it’s not worth it — being burned by club owners and people not advertising shows. It’s kind of insane. It’s really taking a step back from what it was when I was a kid, which was a pretty fun way to make a living.

Playing clubs, you have to work literally 300 days a year just to do anything financially, and that’s just not where it’s at with me anymore. I want to enjoy my life; I just got married, after all this time. I want to see more of my wife, and I want to play more shows that are going to get to a lot of people, like festivals. Not necessarily blues festivals. I mean, festivals, casinos are a nice … Casinos are kind of what the clubs used to be, but a little better than what the clubs used to be, as far as the facilities go.

In terms of treating artists with respect or drawing a crowd?

The facilities are beautiful; you have real dressing rooms. It’s a nice way to go. It’s gotten to where there’s a lot of competition in the casinos, a lot of people who had hit records in the past are gravitating to that. You don’t play as many of them. You play more festivals, but it’s always nice to play a casino because the room’s right there. You just come right down and get on stage. I mean, it’s very nice.

I can see why the Las Vegas residencies are so popular. They live upstairs and just go downstairs for work.

I wouldn’t mind having a residency, actually. I go back and forth on that. I don’t know if I’d want to be in a house band or have to play every night. I wouldn’t be playing the same thing every night anyway, even in a residency. I would be doing how I do it now.

Let’s end on a millennial question: Do you think the blues can be applied to modern woes, things like FOMO [fear of missing out] or hook-up culture?

Of course. Well, I mean, guys like J.B. Lenoir were doing that 40, 50 years ago. There’s always different subject matter you can tap into. There are always different emotions you can tap into, as long as it’s not too corny. I’ve spent my whole life trying not to be corny because I just don’t like corny. Modern music is a very, very difficult challenge because all the lyrics have been used. Now, I love putting a different twist on a cliché. That’s the challenge. Putting a new twist on something people have heard a lot — and a clever twist, not a corny twist.

Myself, I like sticking to … well, blues and soul, it’s really all about man, woman, and money. Now, it can be a really uplifting song like, “I love her, she’s the greatest thing that ever happened, she’s so fine, she’s so smart,” you know? Or it can be, “I hate her, she ruined my life.” And people have success with all that stuff: “I’m broke” or “I’m rich.” There are lots of different ways to approach it. I still like the man/woman interaction, and that’s just the way I’ve always been. I listen to some of these old songs; I don’t listen to too much modern music. To me, there’s something missing there. I like to listen to stuff that I’ve been listening to all my life.

LISTEN: Southern Avenue, ’80 Miles from Memphis’

Posted on by Editor

Artist: Southern Avenue
Hometown: Memphis, TN
Song: “80 Miles from Memphis”
Album: Southern Avenue
Release Date: February 24, 2017
Label: Stax Records, a division of Concord Music Group

In Their Words: “’80 Miles From Memphis’ is a song about my journey — how I left everyone I loved behind and set to chase my dream. I wrote this song coming back to Memphis from a show we had in Clarksdale, Mississippi. That lonely feeling got to me, and I felt like I had to express it with a song.” — Ori Naftaly

Photo credit: David McClister