Oliver Wood Gets “Weird” On Second Solo Album, ‘Fat Cat Silhouette’

As the frontman/guitarist of The Wood Brothers, Oliver Wood is well versed in the art of roots experimentalism, but even that genre-blurring trio can’t satisfy all of his curiosity. With his second solo album, Fat Cat Silhouette (out now), the singer-songwriter set out to reach a new creative plane of existence.

Featuring nine playful, untethered tracks exploring pure sonic adventurism, the set became a case study in songwriting for songwriting’s sake; it’s a joyful mix of folk, jazz and free form pop. Recorded analog to tape by Wood Brothers percussion polymath Jano Rix, it features guest appearances by Katie Pruitt and Los Lobos saxophonist Steve Berlin, and some of the most irreverent, open-minded musical journeys ever taken. Each day, Wood would wake up, grab a coffee and sit down in a comfy chair, looking out the window to write whatever crossed his mind. The result was musical mood-shift, just a refreshing as it is insightful.

Ahead of another Wood Brothers tour, BGS talked with the artist about clearing his creative mind and getting “weird.”

It seems like you were purposely expanding your horizons on this second solo record, right? Why did you want to open up the floodgates?

Oliver Wood: I don’t know, it just felt like time to do that and time to experiment. … The Wood Brothers, we put out an album last spring and when we were done, I guess I was just still writing tunes. But also, I’ve always just liked in the last few years to make it a point to collaborate with some people outside of the band. And then production-wise, I felt like we’ve just done this album with The Wood Brothers a certain way, and a lot of times we react as artists and as writers. You sort of react to what you did before, and you try to be different, even though there’s not necessarily an exact sound in mind. It’s like, “What can we do that’s weirder?”

I love that idea of being a little weird, because why not, right? But the funny thing is that as a band, The Wood Brothers does not exactly seem limiting in terms of creativity.

No not at all.

So was there just still more in you, that had to get out creatively, or what?

I think so, yeah. And I’m sure there’s a subconscious part of me that wants to figure out what is my musical identity. I know what it is within The Wood Brothers. That’s sort of our bread and butter, but when I do my own thing, I feel like I can do whatever I want. … Maybe nobody will even hear it, so why don’t I just do get as weird as I want to get?

In the album bio, you talk about practicing songwriting without self-judgment and I think that’s a cool idea. Can you explain what that is to you and how you go about getting there?

Yeah. I think that is, first of all, almost impossible. However, maybe putting myself in a frame of mind that I was under less pressure to make something that people would like helps get there. It’s all subconscious, but when we’re with The Wood Brothers, even though we’re not trying to please anybody but ourselves, we do have to make our living, so in the back of our heads it’s like, “Oh, this song will sound good at Red Rocks or the Ryman Auditorium.” In other words, “People are going to love this.” I can’t help but think that in the back of my mind probably. But as far as writing without judgment and what that looks like? I think it looks like trust. I think it looks trusting that oftentimes your first instincts are right.

You don’t have to fix something or change something. You can trust that your soul and realness is going to come out if you just let it, and you write something down or play something, rather than going over it and editing it. I feel like I did that a lot with lyrics on this record. I wrote some things and I was like, “That doesn’t make any sense.” I caught myself thinking that, and then I was like, “Screw it. I trust that that’s what my subconscious told me to write. And it’s real.” I don’t think you really have to try to do that. In fact, the more you try, the less authentic it might be.

What came out is these nine tracks that to me are really playful and enthusiastic. What do you like about where the sound went? You definitely took some leaps.

Well, I talked with [album producer and fellow Wood Brothers member] Jano a lot about maybe being a little bit less on the drum set side, a little more on the percussion side. He is my favorite drummer ever, but sometimes I get tired of drum sets. I mean I love classic rock ‘n’ roll and R&B drums, all that stuff. But sometimes when you think about it, it sounds like everything else. So it was like “What if we didn’t have that?” There was one point where it’s like, “Jano, why don’t you do that percussion part vocally?” With the song “Whom I Adore,” not only did he play the Sitar and the tambourine, but he also did this weird shaker part with his mouth. Sometimes when you avoid one thing, you have to innovate to replace it with something else. And that was kind of the idea.

I use this really dull, rubber-bridge guitar on a lot of the songs, so there’s some more atypical guitar sounds. And of course, Steve Berlin and the bari-sax was a really cool thing. There was one section where we were wishing we had a horn section and instead Jano and I just sang all the parts. That was for “Star In the Corner,” and we just sang them like idiots – like fake opera singers! It’s kind of silly, but it was like, “That’s cool. And we haven’t done that before.”

That to me was the way to go to be non-judgmental, to be like you called it, playful. Sometimes you feel like you can control something and make it just perfect. But the opposite of that is letting go and trusting that if you try something, it may or may not turn you on, but when it works, it’ll surprise you and delight you. And that’s so much more fun than trying to control something and never quite being happy.

Tell me about the track “Little Worries.” This contains the album title, Fat Cat Silhouette, which is so fun. How does that song speak to the project overall?

Some of the themes, I feel like bloomed from that song. I have a ritual where I’ll go downstairs in the morning and have a cup of coffee in this armchair, which is right by a window facing my front yard. And I usually go down there and I write and sometimes I just write in a notebook, just sort of freeform. Sometimes it’s working on a song, but it’s wide open and several of these songs kind of started that way.

The idea of the Fat Cat Silhouette was really just an actual thing. I’m sitting there in that chair with my cup of coffee and I have these semi-transparent sheer curtains, and there’s a cat sitting there looking out the window. Sometimes for me – and I’m pretty sure for a lot of other songwriters – you don’t know what you’re going to write about, but you may see something that gets you started. And so the beginning of that song is literally me describing sitting in the chair with my cup of coffee and there’s a fat cat silhouette in the window.

That sort of observation, oftentimes if you write it down, can lead to a story. The first song on the album, “Light and Sweet,” happened the same way, sitting in the same spot looking out the window and there’s a sparrow. I started the song and then I started fantasizing. He’s on the phone with his lawyer talking about his divorce with his soon to be ex-wife.

[Laughs] You don’t hear many songs about bird law.

Exactly! But with the “Little Worries” song, I think writing that song and writing in general every morning is a good way for me to deal with anxieties and overthinking things. And that kind of turned out to be what that song was about.

How about “Yo I Surrender.” This is another track about giving up control, but also I think the most fun on the record. I love how you said it has the worst guitar sound ever. Why does that work for you?

That’s one that Jano and me and [bassist] Ted [Pecchio] were warming up one day, and we just started playing that groove. We just had fun playing that groove and I saved it on my phone, and then Steve Berlin from Los Lobos was in town with his bari-sax, and we invited him to come into the studio, help us finish writing that song. So the four of us sort of arranged the music and parallel to that, I was starting to think about the lyrics. I was also reading some cool books that were giving me some cool vocabulary words that I was like, “I just want to use that word. I don’t even care if it fits. I don’t even care if it makes sense.” It was definitely one of those things where it was musically such a group effort, and then lyrically one of those things – let it be weird, let it be ambiguous. I think some of my favorite songs that I’ve heard over the years are always a little bit ambiguous.


Photo Credit: Alysse Gafkjen

LISTEN: Los Lobos, “Jamaica Say You Will”

Artist: Los Lobos (David Hidalgo, Louie Pérez Jr., Cesar Rosas, Conrad Lozano, and Steve Berlin)
Hometown: East Los Angeles, California
Song: “Jamaica Say You Will” (Jackson Browne cover)
Album: Native Sons
Release Date: July 30, 2021
Label: New West Records

In Their Words: “I used to go over to David’s house after school and listen to records with him, and this song always resonated for me — such a beautiful melody. And the narrative was something I was attracted to. The storytelling. This song in particular inspired me to write from introspection — and I saw that my songs could be personal, but I could still write them to be universal. To this day, that’s been the template.” — Louie Perez Jr.

“A very delicate track. I know it’s a big favorite of Dave’s and he brought it in, but I was surprised — I mean, that’s kind of a heavy lift! Dave knocked it out of the park. Everybody did great work on it. I think we did it justice.” — Steve Berlin

“Another old favorite. Great song. Louie introduced me to Jackson. We’ve worked together on projects and become friends.” — David Hidalgo

(Artist quotes from Native Sons‘ album liner notes.)


Photo credit: Piero F. Giunti

 

STREAM: Leftover Salmon, ‘Something Higher’

Artist: Leftover Salmon
Hometown: Denver, CO
Album: Something Higher
Release Date: May 4, 2018
Label: LoS Records

In Their Words: “This album was written and arranged more collaboratively. It’s a reflection of where the band is, at this point. It’s a really healthy collaborative environment, where we’re all creating together. All the wheels are on the ground and all these new ideas are being harvested. I think producer Steve Berlin really helped to realize some of the goals we were aiming for. He has great arrangement ideas, and he knows how to get great sounds and also how these sounds interact with each other to make a big mix.

We’ve always been all over the place, musically. It’s hard for us to tell if we’re a bluegrass, pop, or jazz band. So we don’t try to be any of those things. We just try to be ourselves and let our music shine through, and we let the industry try to figure out what we’re doing. But there’s something that ties the record together. A willingness to provide the feel and the textures and the motion that would benefit the songs the most. I think we serve the songs.” — Vince Herman

The Producers: Steve Berlin

Philadelphia-born producer Steve Berlin cut his musical teeth playing R&B with some of the City of Brotherly Love's most famous sessioneers, went West to find himself a member of the Blasters and, for the last 40 years, has been the saxophonist, keyboardist, and de facto producer of Los Lobos. He's also produced a host of records for other artists, as well, from a strangely quixotic album for Clap Your Hands Say Yeah singer Alec Ounsworth to an upcoming set for one of American's best-known bluegrass bands (whose name we're not at liberty to divulge right now). Currently a resident of Portland, Berlin sat down at the city's Case Study Coffee Shop to talk about classic R&B, what it was like to produce Leo Kottke, and how the most recent Los Lobos studio record could be the last Los Lobos studio record.

I didn’t realize you were born in Philadelphia. Did the Philly soul of the late '60s and early '70s have any influence on you?

Oh my God, yeah. Huge influence. When that stuff was happening, I was, like, 16. Some of the people I was playing with in Philly, at that time, were playing on those records. Those guys are my heroes; those records, to this day, are some of the most amazing productions ever. They’re so three dimensional and so beautiful and so iconic and soulful. That had a lot do with me choosing to be a producer: "How do you do that? How do you make something that sounds that beautiful?"

And radio in Philly was so advanced. We had one of the first underground FM stations. When they came online, I was 13 and I would listen to it religiously. Great Black stations, great soul stations, great jazz stations. I was a child of that; that was the stew I grew up in. When I got to play with these musicians, it was a great place to learn because there was an extremely high standard. You had to show up, play great, and play anything. You couldn’t really say, "Sorry. I don’t that. I’m a jazz guy. Or I’m a rock guy."

So what kind of records are we talking about? Hall & Oates Abandoned Luncheonette, for example? 

That’s a great record. It’s so funny you would bring that up. Literally, this morning, I was thinking, "I should find that record again. That’s such a great record." Arif Mardin produced that — that was a New York production, even though Hall & Oates were from Philly. I was talking about the Philly International stuff: Gamble and Huff …

… The O’Jays …

The O’Jays. The Spinners. Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes. Gamble and Huff produced the Soul Survivors record. I was playing with the band behind the Soul Survivors. Then they moved to L.A. and that’s how I got to the West Coast. They became Billy Preston’s band and said, "Hey, you should come out. Let’s put a band together here." So I did, back in ‘75. That band put one record out on Casablanca. So we got to see that whole circus. It was an interesting time, for sure.

I still get chills listening to Teddy Pendergrass …

Oh, yeah. You put those records on and it’s like … I still can’t understand how they did it. They’re so rich — the reverb spaces. I’m a pro. I should be able to figure this stuff out and it’s still beyond me. It’s magical.

How did you become part of Los Lobos?

Well, the band [that recorded on Casablanca] fell apart and I moved to Venice Beach and started playing with some guys down there, just for something to do. One of the bands was called the Beachnuts. We were terrible, but we were around a lot. The lead singer was this Korean guy who called himself Beachy Beachnut. He was a relentless self-promoter so we would play all weekend, every weekend. There weren’t a lot of sax players around … there were pros, but there weren’t a lot of guys like myself, who would play with just about anybody. So, just from being aorund, I ended meeting a lot of people who would go on to be part of the Blasters and X and bands like that.

I was working at a music store in Hollywood and I got a call from Dave Alvin [of the Blasters] asking if I could play baritone. And I said "absolutely" even though I didn’t. [Laughs] Luckily, there was a baritone at the music store that I "borrowed." That session went well so I ended up being in that band for about three years. When Los Lobos opened up for them one night, I became friends with them and started playing with them when I was off the road with the Blasters.

I produced a track for them that was on a rockabilly compilation. That went well so, when they got signed to Slash, I produced the first EP along with T Bone Burnett. By the end of that record, I was in the band.

How was it working with T Bone?

Complicated. It’s always complicated. [Laughs]

Should I ask you to explain that?

Uh … I’ll just leave it at that. I don’t want to be that guy.

Okay, then, rather than talking about all 900 records in your producer catalog, let’s talk about one of my favorites: John Lee Hooker’s The Healer.

Well, to be honest, I just did that as a member of the band. I had a lot to do with the production, but it’s not one you could say I produced.

The coolest thing about that record is that I was — and still am — a big Beastie Boys fan. Back before they actually got intelligent. I thought they were fascinating, sonically, really cool. So I was a really big fan of Mario Caldado, who engineered and produced those records. When we got the call to do the John Lee Hooker record, I thought, "It would be really cool to get Mario to do this record." So, I reached out to him, we met, and I told him it was going to be us and John Lee Hooker … and he was scared shitless. Here’s a guy who did multi-million-selling records going, "I don’t know if I know how do this." I said, "Of course you do. Just do what you do. Just guys playing. It just happens to be John Lee Hooker. " [Laughs] Part of it was for me — I just wanted to see how he did it, to observe his process. Like, "How do you make those great records?"

Which, of all the records you’ve done, stands out as being special in some way?

That’s an interesting question. There are a lot of them that fall under that category. I guess, like any parent, I like some of the weirder ones. I like the ones that are very odd … that didn’t really sell or anything like that … but are really close to my heart.

I did a record [Mo’ Beauty] with the lead singer of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah [Alec Ounsworth]. After [Hurricane] Katrina, they did these artist retreat kinds of things in New Orleans to raise consciousness about what was happening in the city … how fucked they were by the U.S. government, how the Army Corps of Engineers basically caused the flood … to interpret for themselves how things happened, because everyone thought it was a natural disaster.

I met Alec on one of those and we said, "Wouldn’t it be cool to do a record down here?" About a year later, we made it happen. It was Stan Moore from Galactica, who’s one of my favorite drummers on earth; George Porter [the bassist] from the Meters; Robert Walter on keys; a friend of Alec’s on pedal steel; and myself. Alec’s voice is an acquired taste, but the record was so much fun to make and his songs are really strange, really odd. But he works extremely hard at them. He’s not like some talented amateur; he’s a craftsman. 

On the first song we did, the lyrics are about him falling in love with another man. [Alec’s] not gay but George is like, [Growling] "What is this shit? I didn’t sign up for this." Gradually, over the course of the day, though, he figured out this is great music, that it was going to be cool. The horn section was this group called Bonerama, this group of four trombone players. The other day, I was trying to talk this other band into hiring them. Since they're all over the Alec record, I had to listen again. And I thought, "Wow, this is a really great record. It’s really powerful, really emotional." So that’s one that I love. 

I did a record with Leo Kottke [Great Big Boy] that I really love. I got approached by his label, who wanted to do a record of him singing. But he’s a very reticent singer; he doesn’t really like it. It was interesting to work with him in that he hears music in a very different way. We would agree that this particular sound is an electric guitar or a piano. But he hears things more in colors. He would say, if he hears anything in a certain range — something like 40hz down to 800hz — he can’t do anything, as if it literally closes off everything else. I was like, "That’s kind of wacky." I said to him, "So you don’t work with bass players?" He said, "No, I do, but I hate them." [Laughs] So we basically did the record with just him and a drum machine, and then built it back out from there. It was a really interesting way to make a record. I had never done that before … or since, for that matter.

And he was so anti-his voice that I had to come up with a new way every day to trick him into singing. We’d be packing up and I’d go, "Hey, Leo, would you mind putting a scratch vocal on this thing so I can do a rough mix on it?" I could never allow him to think he was singing. It always was, "Can you do me a favor? Just before you go. You don’t have to take your guitar out. Leave your jacket on; just run through this." That was how we did the whole record.

The psychology of being a producer …

I don’t think I’m particularly good at that part, but I’ve worked with master manipulators.

When I talked with Dave Cobb about producing Jason Isbell, we talked a lot about Bridge over Troubled Water and Roy Halee, whom he considers to be one of his big influences. Also Jimmy Miller.

Jimmy Miller is a true unsung hero. He was at the center of so many unbelievable records and nobody gives him enough credit. People never talk about Jimmy Miller the way they talk about T Bone, for example. I guess he missed out on the cult of personality part of the game. But, my God, that guy worked with Traffic, the Stones, you name it. Bob Johnston is another guy, making all those folk records in the '60s. It’s amazing. There are so many seminal guys that nobody mentions even though they’re literally the architects of modern music.

Is there a Steve Berlin aesthetic? A legacy of some sort that you would like to see passed on to the next generation of producers?

I learned this going from producing my band to being a band member: It’s never worked for me to have a sound that I bring with me. You can’t take this trick that worked once and plug it in over here and expect it to work the same way. What I’ve come to practice is to walk into a session with pretty extensive notes that no one knows but me, but not with an idea that I’m going to do something a certain way. Every project is a new thing — every song, every track. That’s what makes it fun. And, for me, it’s healthier.

When you look back at producing the first Los Lobos EP and then look at producing the latest one [Gates of Gold], what’s changed?

Well, number one is that I didn’t produce the new album. It says "Produced by Los Lobos." Normally, as part of Lobos, I would do a lot of the same stuff I would do as a producer but, really, it works best when it’s collegial. We work best without a leader. When you get to 40+ years together, nobody wants to hear from anybody what he oughta be doing. On Gates of Gold, in particular, I made a conscious effort to just let shit happen. I was the instigator on a lot of stuff on other records but, on this one, for whatever reason, I felt it was important for people to have more of an emotional investment in this record. So I was one-fifth of the hive mind that created it. There were a lot of choices made that I was on the losing end of and I’m fine with that.

It was a hard record to make, on a lot of levels. What made it hard was that everybody had to step up and make choices on their own. It was a challenge for some guys because they’re just used to going with the flow. You know — "You figure it out. I’m just going to go back home and watch TV or whatever." So, it was tough and it took a long time because, in some cases, the guys didn’t want to make choices. They just wanted someone to tell them what to do. And I thought it was important for everyone to be invested, not just saying, "Well, that was Steve’s call or that was the engineer’s call."

In terms of what has changed over the years, there are a lot of lessons we’ve learned. Number one: We’re a bunch of guys who get bored easily and, when we’re bored, it’s not good. So, one way to keep us from being bored is to not really know what’s going on before recording. We never rehearse before going in to do an album — there's almost no sharing of any demos, there’s no discussion prior to the first day or even once we start, to be honest. It’s sort of like, when you show up, you just have to jump on the boat and ride through the rapids and just go with whatever happens. Sometimes that's easy, like in the '90s when we did Kiko and Colossal Head. As I look back, they were incredibly easy records to make. Back then, you didn’t have to paddle very much; the boat would go on its own. To be honest, the last three studio records have been a lot of paddling, a lot of swimming upstream.

Frankly, I don’t know if there’ll be another one. It’s hard for me to imagine, at this point in our career, the rationale for doing another one. Where we’re at now, where our fans are at. Do we need another record? I don’t know.


Photo of Steve Berlin at the Portland Waterfront Blues Festival, 2014 by Michael Verity

The Producers: Jamie Mefford

Producer and sound engineer Jamie Mefford sort of fell into this whole music thing. Recording friends' bands for free ended up snowballing into a fully fledged career. Aside from having produced a handful of excellent records — notably Gregory Alan Isakov's This Empty Northern Hemisphere and Nathaniel Rateliff's Falling Faster Than You Can Run — he also hits the road with many a touring band, offering an expert touch to the house boards of rock halls across America. 

One of the reasons I'm enjoying writing this series on producers that I secretly want to be Quincy Jones. What producer would you secretly like be?

I’m a big fan of Daniel Lanois and Ethan Johns. There are a lot of them, actually, but those are the first two who come to mind.

What is it about their work that impresses and inspires you?

They seem to have a sound that’s theirs, especially Daniel Lanois. It’s a sound I recognize and appreciate. He has an ethereal quality to his work, especially the stuff with Brian Eno. I’ve always enjoyed that.

Is there an album he did you’re particularly fond of?

Some of the U2 stuff. The Dylan record [No Mercy] that he did. Emmylou Harris’s Wrecking Ball is a record I love.

Those are the three I would pick, too. They’re his iconic records. And Ethan Johns did Ryan Adams’ Gold album, right?

Yeah, and the one I really gravitate toward is Heartbreaker. It’s an album I always reference when I’m working. I really love the sounds on it.

Give me a short bio on Jamie Mefford, starting with the first song or album you remember hearing as a kid.

[Laughs] I don’t know. I grew up with two older brothers and they listened to a lot of harder rock and metal — weirdly. That’s what I grew up on: AC/DC … stuff like that … Pink Floyd. Heavier stuff than I would listen to now.

Did you play in a band? Was “rock star” at the top of your career list or did you always want to be a producer?

When my first band went into the studio, it just fascinated me — the whole process. I wanted to learn how to do it myself because I thought I could do it better. So slowly, over time, I just kept learning and learning. I’ve gotten good enough at it now that people call me to do it for them.

It’s been a slow process, really, of me just learning sound, learning how to record things, how other people made things, trying how things fit together, listening to other people’s records. It took me a while to figure it out.

Every producer I talk to says almost the same thing: "I was fascinated when I went into the studio and I’m always trying to figure out how things are done.” Seems to be universal.

Yeah, I hear other people’s records and I think, "Man, how did that happen? What is it about this that I really love? What draws me in?" And then I try to pinpoint it. I feel like I never get there — like everyone else’s work is always better. I’m always trying to translate that emotional quality into the recordings.

When I talked to Steve Berlin, we referenced Arif Mardin’s production on Hall & Oates’s Abandoned Luncheonette. He said the same thing: "I’m always trying to reach that level of work." How did you win your first job?

I started recording friends for free, just to learn. It kept snowballing. I owned a studio, at one point, worked as just an engineer for a long time. There was really not one moment where I was, like, "Oh, this is it." It just evolved into this thing and became a full-time gig. When I look back, I guess that was the moment where I thought, “Wow, I’m doing this.” I didn’t have another job. [Laughs]

That seems to the qualifier — when I didn’t have to do anything else to make a living. Let's talk about a couple of your productions, starting with the “West” portion of Stephen Kellogg's new album. I like to learn about the process behind the production.

I co-produced it with my friend Gregory Alan Isakov. It was the two of us, working together and separately. Stephen basically showed up with nothing; he didn’t even bring a guitar. We just worked on the songs first. Gregory worked with him on lyrics; we found tempos, we found sounds, figured out where we wanted to go sonically with it. Then he picked up a guitar and we built the record up from just guitar and vocal tracks, mainly with Gregory and me playing the other stuff. At the very end, we brought some friends in to sing and play some extra things we couldn’t do. It was a thoughtful record in that we didn’t record it live with a band. It was about what works — what we wanted, how we wanted to build it up.

I assume that having an artist show up at the studio without a guitar is somewhat unusual.

[Laughs] Yeah. That’s the first time that ever happened. I think it was because he was on tour at the time and his guitar was on a tour bus. It wasn’t an intentional thing. He also knew we had a lot of great, old, vintage guitars that he could play.

This morning, taking my kid to school, we were listening to Gregory Alan Isakov's The Weatherman record. He actually had his earbuds in listening to something else, then he said, "Hey, wait, that’s Weatherman, isn’t it?" So that record appeals to 15-year-olds and 50-year-olds equally.

I’ve actually been out of the road with a few of the bands I’ve worked with in the studio, just doing live sound, just to get out of the studio a little bit. It’s been interesting to see the fan base because I get locked away in the studio. I make these records and move on to the next one and never see what they do. Then I go out with these artists in the real world and think, "Oh, people really like this work." It kind of hits me in a really interesting way.

And that record specifically … it’s kind of a slow, thoughtful record, and I really loved it. But it wasn’t until I went out with him and saw the reactions to the songs, that I realized how good it is. For that one, we went into a studio in the mountains of Colorado — just the two of us — and worked really hard on it, off and on, for about a year. It was kind of the same process as with Stephen. We started with acoustic guitars and vocals and were really thoughtful about how we wanted to build the songs. Some of them we recorded 10, 12, 14 times to really get them right. We weren’t afraid to throw anything out. We actually threw out an entire record we made at the same time, just as part of the process of searching for the right songs.

Besides the symphonic album I know you’re producing with Gregory, what else is coming up for you?

That’s the main thing on my schedule right now. I have a few other things in the works, but nothing that’s super-solid. And right now, I’m out on the road with another friend of mine, Nathaniel Rateliff, doing live sound for him. Then I’m heading back to finish Gregory's record.


Photos courtesy of Jamie Mefford

‘Back to Birth’

On this Steve Berlin-produced longplayer, Jackie Greene adeptly inhabits the same neighborhood of fashionable yet forthright pop and roll that was built 40 years ago by Andrew Gold and Stephen Bishop and has been regularly reinhabited by the likes of Matt Nathanson and Howie Day.

Greene’s somewhat more soulful, though — more a mix of Daryl Hall with Amos Lee — and that adds considerable strength to tunes like the opener, “Silver Lining.” Southern Cali oohs-and-aahs anchor the song’s semi-funky harp as well as its Hall and Oates hand-me-down groove, as Greene bids goodbye to Bowling Green. “Now I Can See for Miles” is a head bopper and toe tapper that rings with the same sunny ocean shimmer as Robbie Dupree did when he stole away. “A Face Among the Crowd” is a pretty ballad, albeit with some platitude-packed poetry, while “Light Up Your Window” settles into a nice backbeat. “Trust Somebody” draws on the Philly soul ballad with considerable strength, while “Motorhome,” one of the rootsiest songs of the set, takes to the road with an easy attitude. One of the most beautiful songs on the record, his rendition of “Hallelujah,” features Greene singing softly in his upper register to start and then breaking into the full-on gospel clap and praise at the finish. He gets the blues on “Where the Downhearted Go” — a touch of Memphis contained therein — then balances the ballad against the beach on the ebb and tide of “You Can’t Have Bad Luck All the Time.”

Though the words sometimes hang on the precipice of prosaic — and the band members seems a little gentile about their intentions at times — this is a nice record that mixes well with many of the aforementioned musos. If he’s half as good live as Amos Lee, this’ll be a fun record to hear in concert.

 

The Essential Los Lobos Playlist

Just Another Band From East L.A.

Well, not exactly. The sextet that is Los Lobos has been one of the most influential bands on the American music landscape for the better part of 40 years, a group that’s combined the roots of Mexican Tejano music with the energy of American Top 40 to produce their own unique sound.

The story of Los Lobos begins one day in the early '70s at East L.A.’s Garfield High School, where singer and guitarist David Hidalgo and drummer Louie Perez discovered they had a common love of writers like Randy Newman and Ry Cooder. With bassist Conrad Lozano and guitarist Cesar Rojas joining the fray, the core of Los Lobos was born somewhere around 1973. Squeezing dirt cheap recording sessions and weekend wedding gigs in-between their day jobs, the band — with the addition of saxophonist Steve Berlin — played throughout L.A. during the '70s until they scored a night opening for Public Image Ltd. in 1980. By that time, the band had long forsaken Top 40 covers and were experimenting with their signature blend of traditional Mexican music and three-chord rock 'n' roll.

Their critically acclaimed 1983 EP, … And a Time to Dance, was followed the next year with their breakout major label release, How Will the Wolf Survive?. The heart-breakingly beautiful song of Hispanic life in America, “One Time, One Night,” appeared in the movie Colors and provided the anchor for another highly acclaimed record, 1987’s By the Light of the Moon. That same year they recorded their ubiquitous cover of Richie Valens’ “La Bamba” and found themselves touring the world with the likes of the Grateful Dead and Bob Dylan. In 1988, they returned to their roots with La Pistola y El Corazon, an album completely in Spanish that won the band a Grammy in 1989.

The '90s found Los Lobos experimenting with darker, noisier sound, and yielded three of their very best albums: The Neighborhood, which included appearances by Levon Helm and John Hiatt; the beautiful Kiko; and the rugged Colossal Head. Since the turn of the century, the band have done a 10-spot’s worth of albums, though new studio material has come less frequently, with cover albums and live sets becoming more common. The one truly exceptional studio piece from that era, The Ride, includes some fabulous cameos by the likes of Tom Waits and Mavis Staples.

In The Encyclopedia of Popular Music, Colin Larkin refers to How Will the Wolf Survive? as “the critical breakthrough album for a refreshing sound that created Tex-Mex rock ’n’ roll.” That might be overstating the case a bit; the Lobos, themselves, would likely agree that Richie Valens was the architect of "Tex-Mex rock 'n' roll." But their fresh take on that sound has been built into a repertoire of touching narratives of life in Hispanic America blended with have-a-blast rock 'n' roll to form a legacy of tremendously influential music.

Here’s a concise playlist of the essential Los Lobos tunes.


Photo credit: Public Domain