Coffeerooms on Music

Re-experience Jimi Hendrix

2010-02-08T23:04:00Z

"New" CD, revamped Catalogue to be Released in March

Jimi Hendrix is releasing a new CD -- forty years after his death. "Valleys of Neptune," a 12-cut album recorded in 1969, features the Jimi Hendrix Experience's final recordings along with Hendrix's early sessions with Army buddy bassist Billy Cox.

"Valleys of Neptune" includes revamps of Hendrix standards such as "Red House," "Fire," and "Stone Free," plus "Mr. Bad Luck," recorded during the "Axis Bold as Love" sessions. Hendrix also covers Elmore James' "Bleeding Heart" and Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love."

Following the profitable path blazed by the recent reissue of The Beatles catalogue, Legacy Recordings will release CD/DVD packages of "Are You Experienced?" "Axis Bold as Love," "Electric Ladyland" and "First Rays of the New Rising Sun" on March 9. The DVDs include a documentary about the making of each album produced by "Beatles Anthology" director Bob Smeaton with interviews with Mitch Mitchell and Noel Redding of the Experience, plus additional comments by Billy Cox, engineer Eddie Kramer and manager/producer Chas Chandler.

My initial reaction to the news was "Jeez, the dude only released four albums during his lifetime. They've put out 160 since his death. Haven't they picked Jimi's corpse clean by now? Should I invest in his catalogue for a third time?" On the plus side, Legacy is smart enough to throw in enough extras that make the upgrade worthwhile, and tweaking the sound with the latest technology is bound to make Jimi's phenomenal feedback sound more God-like. Being partial to singers rather than a Stratocaster turned up to 11, my favorite Hendrix tunes are the more melodic, introspective ones such as "Angel," "Drifting," "One Rainy Wish," "May This Be Love," and "Castles in the Sand." The upgrade is bound to uncover even more psychedelic subtleties to savor.

I listened to "If 6 was 9" on a pair of top of the line headphones back in the days when I indulged in non over the counter drugs. With Traffic's Chris Wood twittering on the flute in one ear and Jimi's cascading guitar in another, I was pole axed when Hendrix walked through the center of the phones declaring, "I'll know when it's time for me to die." For that brief moment, life, death and the meaning of the universe all converged in the headphones and made sense. I'm looking forward to reliving that feeling when I re-experience Jimi Hendrix.

Sade Returns

2010-02-08T22:53:15Z

Invades the Airwaves with "Soldier of Love"
Every half decade or so, Helen Folasade Adu (better known as Sade) blesses us with a new CD. Her last effort, 2000's "Lovers Rock" (4 out of 5 stars), was her best. If the advance single, the out of step single "Soldier of Love" (2 out of 4 stars) is an indication of what her new material will sound like, it won't be anywhere near being her best effort, but it will be an interesting radical departure from her romantic past.

For the most part, I like Sade's seductive songs - they're music to make babies by. Everybody feels sexy when they listen to Sade, but there's no sense of sensuality in "Soldier," and that's what Sade is all about. Simplistic lines like "It's a wild, wild west, doing my best to stay alive," don't really cut it for me after an eight year hiatus.

The five minute video borrows from Janet Jackson's "Rhythm Nation" both in subject matter and visual impact, which is negligible. With high-stepping dancers hip-hopping to military drum rolls, snapping to attention at Sade's command or bending their bodies in unison, these soldiers look like the Alvin Ailey Army, and while I respect Alvin's talents (as well as the other chipmunks), this is one fey looking bunch of recruits. I'm not sure what the dominatrix Sade with a lasso image means, but yippy-yi-oh-ki-yay.

Sade set out to do something different, and in that regard she's succeeded. Too bad "Soldier of Love" is 4-F. I'm hoping to re-enlist in Sade's army when I hear the rest of the CD is released February 8.

Grandpa Elliott - Sugar Sweet

2010-02-01T14:14:55Z

Grandpa Elliott
Sugar Sweet
3.5 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

A few years ago, a friend E-mailed me a video of Ben E. King's "Stand by Me" performed by musicians from all over the world for a project dubbed "Playing for Change." The three lead vocalists, in order, were Roger Ridley, a gruff-voiced powerhouse from Los Angeles; New Orleans based bluesman/R & B belter Grandpa Elliott, and Youngblood shouter Clarence Bekker from the Netherlands. The throat-ripping Ridley was the best, Bekker the most aggressive, and Grandpa fit the role of an authentic overlooked street musician. Grandpa had the whole Blind Lemon Chitlin' persona going, but his vocal for "Stand by Me" was occasionally hindered by his lack of an upper plate. Well, give a man the right tunes and some opportune dental work and a star is born.

Don't be put off by the trio of tentative tunes that start the album off, Grandpa sweetens things up as the finds his stylistic footing. The opener, "Ain't Nothin' You Can Do," was recorded with gusto by Van Morrison for his live album "It's Too Late to Stop Now." Grandpa will never win an award for clarity ("Dere ain't nuttin' you kan do"), but his vocal is less gruff than it was for his turn on "Stand by Me." His "Ain't Nothin' You Can Do" is done in a laid-back yet positive manner reminiscent of Bobby Mcferrin's "Don't Worry Be Happy," with bubbly guitar work by Louis Mhlanga. Grandpa helps set the mood with an easy going harp solo.

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With the CD's three weakest tracks by the boards, Grandpa begins to sweeten the selections with a slow, slurpy version of "Baby What You Want Me to Do." Mhlanga's slippery slide guitar and Eric Lynn's B-3 provide a bluesy background and Grandpa sounds fully invested and involved.

"We're Gonna Make it" is a soul searching, testifying R & B ballad that's Grandpa's gravy. His vocal and harmonica playing, reedy and rich along the style of Lee Oskar, is more confident, matching his volcanic vocal.

It's impossible to top Richard Manuel's heartfelt vocal for "Share Your Love" on The Band's "Moondog Matinee," but Grandpa's should be appreciated. You can tell Elliott had impressive pipes when he was younger - they're still in evidence here - so it's a shame he recorded "Share Your love" twenty years too late. Still, Grandpa has plenty of love to share and the way horn players Dave "Woody" Wooford and Steve Madaio frame his voice will bring back memories of Otis Redding and Stax Records during their salad days.

Grandpa's rendition of "Another Saturday Night" is a combination of Sam Cooke's soulful original and Cat Stevens' calypso version. My man Mhlanga continues to make the strings ring, and Grandpa does a good job with his phrasing. Praise Polident!

"Fannie Mae" is done live with Grandpa going Paul Butterfield on harp and still hanging in with authority on vocals. It's a loosely configured version with "Playing for Change" alums Keb Mo' somewhere on guitar and singer Tula's shrill shouts regurgitating unpleasant memories of Yoko Ono.

As a bonus cut you get Grandpa singing a sparse, overwrought "Please Come Home for Christmas" which is bound to sound a bit out of place come August. Grandpa's dental challenges get the better of him whenever he gums "Chrisssmuss," but his downcast harp and Joe Krown's low end turn on the Wurlitzer make it a soulful, sorrowful Christmas and a helluva better listen than "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer."

Before his untimely death in 2005, Roger Ridley took his shot at stardom with "Taking You Back," a CD featuring his grizzly bear versions of soul classics such as "My Girl," "Try a Little Tenderness," "Ain't No Sunshine," and, of course, "Stand By Me." It's worth a listen, and so is Grandpa Elliott's long deserved debut. It's sugar sweet.

Los Lonely Boys - 1969

2010-01-07T17:54:25Z

Los Lonely Boys
1969 EP
3 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

For those of you who continue to think I only give the thumbs up to "classic" rock artists instead of the young turks, this five song EP by Los Lonely Boys offers the best of both worlds - old school tunes done by a trio of musicians whose first album is still recent history.

Los Lonely Boys is comprised of the three Garza Brothers: Henry (guitar, vocals), Jo Jo (bass, vocals) and Ringo (drums, vocals, and yep, that's his name). The trio gigged in Nashville, creating their trademark "Texican Style" - a mixture of rock, blues, R & B and Tejano music. Their first single from their debut, "Heaven," was a catchy combination of lyrical Los Lobos-like licks and memorable hooks. "Heaven" garnered a Grammy in 2005 for Best Performance by a duo or group. The brothers didn't sit on their culos, producing two follow up discs, 2006's "Sacred" and 2008's "Forgiven," in rapid succession.

Having the luxury of their own label and the freedom to record what and when they want, the brothers Garza have released "1969," a tribute to their roots. True, the songs the Boys sing were all popular in 1969 - one was even written way back in 1958 - but the crisp production, coupled with their enthusiasm and "Texican Style" delivery will appeal to rockers of all ages.

Santana's first hit "Evil Ways," is recreated in low gear. It gets its Latin injection by way of the Pecos instead of L.A., but give the Boys credit for pulling it off with Henry's sizzling string bending subbing for the authoritative organ solo by Greg Rolie that embellished the original.

"Well All Right" was originally co-written by Buddy Holly in 1958, but was popularized in '69 by Blind Faith, one of the first "super groups" that featured Steve Winwood and Eric Clapton. The Boys' version is an off shoot of Blind Faith's loosey-goosey adaptation. The Garza Brothers' take lopes along at a smooth cha-cha clip assisted by Carmelo Torres on percussion, but dare I say it? Henry's wah-wah soloing is more interesting than Clapton's rave at the end of Blind Faith's version. Henry and Jo Jo's vocals are faithful to the Winwood/Clapton harmony work and Ringo pounds the drums with foot-tapping authority.

The brothers' remake of "She Came in Through the Bathroom Window" is no match for the Beatles flippant version or Joe Cocker's throaty dissertation, but it won't make you want to jump through a window either. The Boys' version is grittier, flowing with inner city soul. Vocally, Henry is a dead ringer for Cesar Rosas of Los Lobos, and I'm all for it, because Cesar's got one of those classic dirty baritones that's perfect for rock. Viva to Henry's wah-wah wildness; it helps shape the remake's funky feel, and Ringo one ups his Beatle namesake with a blitz of pervasive percussion.

I hold Tony Joe White's songs in a sacred place in my heart, so I held my breath when I noticed the Boys had taken on T.J.'s "Polk Salad Annie." I've heard a number of credible versions of Tony Joe's best known number, including an incendiary, jump suit-jerking version by Elvis. The King's Memphis' soulful version satisfied because he took the time to get to know Tony Joe and to get a feel for his music. The Boys' version is snakey, with a laid back beat that percolates, but also has plenty of Longhorn spice. It doesn't re-write history, but it's danceable and doesn't throw dirt on Tony Joe's reputation.

The same laid-back treatment sticks The Doors "Roadhouse Blues" in enough Rio Grande mud to make it monotonous. The Garza's substitute Ray Manzarek's honky tonk piano with Henry's wah-wah wonderful guitar licks, but there's no replacement for John Sebastian's bluesy harp which, coupled with the shuffling pace, leaves a hole in the arrangement. It's a nice try; "Roadhouse" is even enjoyable when the Boys lock into a groove, but this one should have been a little more up-tempo.

I haven't been following the trail of Los Lonely Boys since their award-worthy debut, but judging by their respect for the "classics" I should, and perhaps you should too. Los Lonely Boys know how to party like its 1969. Bueno.

Christmas Music? Bah Humbug!

2009-12-16T14:56:51Z

I'd be more inclined to have a happy holiday season if it wasn't for the gnawing, appalling soundtrack of December - Christmas music. However, there are some sprigs of holly amidst the audio avalanche of yellow snow:

I present -- The Five Best Christmas Songs:

1)   Blue Christmas, Elvis Presley. The subject matter speaks to my skepticism of the season. The King pokes fun at his own singing style with an exaggerated, swaggering vocal, and those eerie banshee back ups are a blast.

2)   Jingle Bell Rock, Bobby Helms. Often imitated but never equaled. Rock and roll rockabilly at its most hummable.

3)   Rockin' Round the Christmas Tree, Brenda Lee. Little Miss Dynamite was all of 13 when she recorded this, another rockabilly classic with twangy guitar by Hank Garland (the same axe man on "Jingle Bell Rock") and gut-busting sax by Boots Randolph.

4)   Little Drummer Boy, The Harry Simeone Chorale and Orchestra. Touching, beautiful and warm, and that's what the holiday is supposed to be, isn't it? Credit The Jack Halloran singers for their angelic, spiritual vocals.

5)   The Christmas Song, Nat King Cole. Positive proof my Dad knew what he was talking about. This second "King" was one of his favorite singers; Nat's impeccable diction and those cascading strings have warmed even this chilly heart.

Honorable mention: Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy, Bing Crosby and David Bowie. Gotta love this just for the weird factor; it's one of the strangest couplings since Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller. Der Bingle sang the "Drummer Boy" counterpoint to Ziggy Stardust's "Peace on Earth" and somehow neither singer tripped up. Crosby died less than a month after teaming up with Bowie. Guess the thought of his fans seeing him making nice with a bi-sexual space oddity who favored spiked red hair and make up darkened his "White Christmas."

The Worst Christmas Recordings:
A rotten fruitcake and five lumps of coal to:

1)   Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer, Elmo and Patsy. I'd like to run over every copy of this corny country compost heap.

2)   Jingle Bells, The Singing Dogs. Forgot about this one, didn't you? Before six year-olds could figure out how to edit music on their home computers, hicks were wowed at how the producers got the dogs to bark out the notes in tune. (Here's hint, Sparky, they didn't.) Maybe it was amusing the first go round, but after that the incessant barking (not singing) this "canine classic" was as painful as a starved Rottweiler mistaking your naughty bits for a candy cane.

3)   Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Bruce Springsteen. Bruce's herniated ho ho hoarse vocalizing makes me want to hit him with a Yule log. Please, Bruce, get put some fiber in your eggnog - you sound like you're choking on a chestnut.

4)   Santa Baby, Madonna. Madonna's Betty Boop be-doing is cheesy and sleazy. Sounds like Santa's gonna need a large dose of disinfectant after Madge sits in his lap.

5)   Dominick the Donkey, Lou Monte. I'm surprised Tony Soprano didn't put a hit on Lou for making Italian Americans look like jackasses. Hee haw, hee haw, indeed.

Dishonorable mention: A Wonderful Christmastime, Paul McCartney. No, I'm not having a wonderful Christmas, Macca, not after hearing yet another silly love song composed by a supposed legend who couldn't come up with a cogent lyric if Tiny Tim's life depended on it.

I've never heard John Denver's "Please Daddy (Don't Get Drunk for Christmas)", but I assure you I would if I did.

Christmas music? Bah Humbug.

In the Court of the Crimson King

2009-11-23T16:47:41Z

King Crimson
In the Court of the Crimson King
4 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

If you want to know where progressive rock started, enter the realm of the Court of the Crimson King. Originally released in 1969, The five song L.P. combined elements of classical, folk, jazz and rock and helped focus attention on a genre further popularized by groups such as Yes, the Moody Blues, Genesis, Pink Floyd and Emerson, Lake and Palmer. In celebration of the 40th anniversary of the album's release, "In the Court of" has been remastered in several tantalizing formats: a double disc edition with bonus tracks, alternate mixes, and live recordings, and a boxed set with six discs that also adds restored bootlegs, single edits and rare promos. For Crimson completists, the six CD version is prog's version of the Holy Grail.

King Crimson sprang from the partnership of drummer Mike Giles, his bass-playing brother Peter and guitarist Robert Fripp, who recorded the 1968 album "The Cheerful Insanity of Giles, Giles and Fripp," a collection of quirky pop excursions. Seeking to expand their sound, the trio recruited multi-instrumentalist Ian Macdonald, who began experimenting with a Mellotron, the eerie keyboard that had given the Moody Blues music a wide-ranging orchestral sound. Macdonald then brought in poet Peter Sinfield, whose dramatic, descriptive lyrics elevated the band's songs to mythic proportions. Macdonald also drafted his girlfriend, former Fairport Convention singer Judy Dyble to handle the vocals but she left after the collapse of their relationship, having recorded a few demos with the group (which you can hear on the expanded edition of the album). The last member to join was bassist/vocalist Greg Lake, who was recommended by Pete Giles, the man he replaced. The final touch was provided by artist Barry Gober. Gober's only painting, a gripping, frightening portrait depicting a screaming crimson-colored man, became the cover for the group's debut.
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The Mellotron-heavy "Epitaph" is an ominous dirge with a gloomy funeral march middle section provided by Macdonald, who stirs up a foggy atmosphere on sax as Giles hit his cymbals like tolling bells, leaving Lake to lament, "But I feel tomorrow I'll be crying."

The album's only misstep is "Moonchild." The cut begins with a ghostly, echoed vocal by Lake, muffled, puffy drums and balalaika-like asides by Fripp. After a few minutes it degenerates into the type of free-form jazzy noodling that crippled the group's subsequent releases. The bunny-hopping percussion and irreverent xylophone rapping goes on for an overindulgent ten minutes before Lake mercifully returns with the closing verse. Listen to the first three minutes of "Moonchild" and skip the rest. Ironically, Steve Winwood lifted the melodic first few minutes for his song "Horizon," a highlight of his 2005 release, "About Time."

The album's centerpiece and the song that mesmerized millions of early FM radio listeners is the Mellotron-dominated title track. Giles emphatic drumming, Lake's doomsday vocal and Macdonald's horror film Mellotron chording set the song's nightmarish tone, with Macdonald providing a melodic respite with a whispery, baroque-styled flute solo.

Bassist Greg Lake may not be as omnipresent as Andy Fraser, Rick Grech or Jack Bruce, but he provides a nimble foundation to Fripp's off-center guitar work, particularly amidst the chaos of "21ST Century Schizoid Man;" and he adroitly adapts his vocal phrasing to fit the mood of each song. But the album's heavyweights are Ian Macdonald, Mike Giles and Pete Sinfield, who provide the album's color, character, and copy, respectfully. Unfortunately, the group imploded over its future musical direction, and within a year the original band was a legendary footnote. Sinfield was given his walking papers, Lake departed to join Keith Emerson and Carl Palmer in ELP, and Macdonald and Giles teamed up to record the album that should have been the group's follow up before Macdonald founded the schlock rock MOR group Foreigner. Fripp slogged on using the group's moniker, but King Crimson left the prog genre it had helped establish after its second album "In the Wake of Poseidon," morphing into a grating, less accessible schizoid jam band.

Eric Clapton & Steve Winwood - Live at Madison Square Garden

2009-11-23T15:01:24Z

Eric Clapton & Steve Winwood
Live at Madison Square Garden
3.5 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Blind Faith, one of rock's earliest and most heralded supergroups, is often held up as a prime example of what not to do when you get four famous artists together to make music. The principals had impressive resumes - vocalist/keyboard player/guitarist Steve Winwood came to prominence as a 14 year-old hit maker with The Spencer Davis Group before forming the legendary art rock band Traffic (my favorite group, by the way) with drummer/vocalist Jim Capaldi, sax/flute/keyboardist Chris Wood, (and occasionally guitarist Dave Mason). Eric Clapton had plied his trade as a blues guitarist with the Yardbirds and John Mayall before he formed Cream with power vocalist/bassist Jack Bruce and psycho drummer Ginger Baker. Baker (who Clapton didn't want in Blind Faith because of his heavy heroin habit and combative disposition), had rattled the traps for British blues pioneer Graham Bond. Bassist Rick Grech was the least familiar name in Blind Faith, but he'd received rave reviews for his work with blues/folk rockers the Family, and would later heighten his profile playing with Traffic and KGB. Despite their pedigrees, Blind Faith was finished within a year; Clapton because was disillusioned with the hype surrounding the group and Winwood was ready to go solo.

Blind Faith left behind a six-song LP that became a rock cult classic. Forty years and just as many albums later, the group's principals, Steve Winwood and Eric Clapton, joined together for a concert tour. The DVD of their stop over at Madison Square Garden fulfils the promise of the group's only album. Although Winwood and Clapton never dubbed the tour a Blind Faith reunion, you can bet Ginger Baker (who wasn't invited) seethed while concert promoters cashed in on the group's rep while he was gathering dust in South Africa. Rick Grech had a better excuse for not signing on - he'd died in 1990.

To flesh out their Blind Faith tribute set, Winwood and Clapton raided their own massive back catalogues, but they did so with a twist -- Clapton chose Winwood's songs and vice versa. As a result, a few unexpected performances pop up. The list is constructed so one of the best singers in the world (Winwood) handles most of the vocals and an acclaimed guitarist (Clapton) gets to do what he does best. Since Blind Faith only released half a dozen songs, its surprising Winwood and Clapton omitted one of the group's best -- "Sea of Joy." Maybe Winwood couldn't hit the song's herniated high notes anymore, or Clapton felt there was no point in doing it without Grech's gypsy wind violin solo.
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As a singer, I'll admit I don't appreciate the nuances of Clapton's search for string nirvana through twelve minute solos, but I will say Slowhand's passages on the DVD have a seamless, soothing tone and he never hits a coarse or bad note. Air guitarists and aspiring axe men will drool over Slowhand's skill - perhaps he just makes it look too easy for me to appreciate him more. For me, the guy to watch is the more versatile and vocal Steve Winwood. His voice still has the power and beauty it had 40 years ago, and there are few keyboard players who can match his ability to improvise. Even Stainton, who's worked with The Who, Bryan Ferry, Ian Hunter and Jim Capaldi, takes a back seat to Steve (and by back seat, I mean he's barely visible over Clapton's right hand shoulder most of the time). Stainton doesn't stand out (he's not supposed to), but he's steady; a building block for the band's sound, working seamlessly alongside Weeks and Thomas.

The show opens with Blind Faith's "Had to Cry Today." What you'll notice straight away is Winwood is no slouch on guitar. Watch him trade solos with Clapton - there aren't many musicians brave enough or good enough to saddle up to Slowhand. The two connect as if they've been together for 30 years instead of having been separated that long.

In a voice over, Clapton relates that he and Winwood wanted to do a tribute to drummer Buddy Miles, who was on his death bed. They picked his best known tune, "Them Changes," which is propelled by Chris Stainton's spot on imitation of a Stax horn section on keyboard. Clapton displays some righteous R & B chops and you'll love the way Winwood revisits the soulful singing style he used in his Spencer Davis days. Buddy got to hear the first night's performance over a cell phone before he passed away. R.I.P., Buddy.

It's amazing how Winwood still sings with such ease, and he can still tickle the ivories as if the keys are an extension of his soul. Think it's easy? He has his back to the band while playing Blind Faith's arrangement of Buddy Holly's "Well All Right," proving he's one of the most intuitive musicians on the planet - a skill he learned while jamming with the unpredictable Chris Wood in Traffic.

Winwood played guitar, bass and organ on Traffic's original recording of "Pearly Queen." He bows to Clapton's experience on guitar for the Garden show performance of the song, sticking with the organ. The way Clapton takes off during his solo you can tell he's been crouching in wait to play this number to show what he can do. Clapton's played "Pearly Queen" before as part of the "Rainbow Concert" in 1973 with Traffic's Winwood, Capaldi, Grech, and Rebop Kwaku Baah as part of his back up band, but he was still coming off of years of heroin addiction and not up to the task. Ian Thomas handles Jim Capaldi's rolling drum solo at end, and although he lacks Capaldi's muscular flash, he plays with lumbering efficiency. As Thomas launches into his bit, Winwood smiles at him as if he's pleased with the way he's paying homage to his late band mate.

Clapton shows he's a much improved vocalist with the duo's rendition of Derek and the Dominoes "Tell the Truth." He's aggressive, and the impossible "Who's been foolin' whooooo" harmony is flawless, thanks to Winwood taking original Dominoes' keyboardist Bobby Whitlock's high parts.

Winwood's only glitch comes during the first verse of "No Name, No Face, No Number," a ballad he recorded with Traffic in 1967 and has seldom sung since. After belting out "Tell the Truth," it's a challenge for Winwood to coral his voice and settle into the song's gentle folk nuances, so he gets off to a wobbly start. Closing his eyes, Winwood finds his voice during the second verse, delivering a tender reading of one of Capaldi's romantic lyrics.

With the passing of Ray Charles and Richard Manuel (The Band), the only singer left that can do "Georgia on my Mind" justice is Winwood, who first sang a version with The Spencer Davis Group when he was a teen. It's his solo spotlight song, and his organ playing is as warm as a Georgian sun in August.

Blind Faith's signature tune was Winwood's haunting "Can't Find My Way Home", in which he whispered, moaned and wailed like a tortured spirit on the road to purgatory. Winwood lays down a nimble acoustic solo and Clapton instinctively wraps his electric guitar fills around it, and yes, Winwood can still thrill and chill with his choir boy cries. Nice to hear the boys reclaim the song after artists like Widespread Panic (whose version caused one) and House of Lords have bollocks it up over the years.

The guitar duel between Winwood and Clapton in "Dear Mr. Fantasy" brings to mind the Winwood/Dave Mason six string showdown on Traffic's live album, "Welcome to the Canteen." The Winwood/Clapton version is more cooperative, more balanced effort in which Winwood shows he a consummate guitarist. (We already know Eric can handle an axe.) The Winwood/Mason duel is worth a listen for its violent competitiveness; plus you get Jim Gordon driving the beat like a well oiled piston.

Not everything the old buddies do is legendary. The idea of substituting Clapton's guitar for Chris Wood's sax in the Traffic instrumental "Glad" is ludicrous. It's like setting Pink Floyd to country music (which I'm sad to say, has been done). And I understand your respect and love for the blues, Eric, but it's time to stop using the genre as an excuse to perpetrate variations on the same solo. (Maybe I should blame Stevie; he did select Clapton's set.) But Steve can't be held responsible for the dull edge Clapton lends to old blooze warhorses "Rambling in my Mind" or "Double Trouble." Blind Faith's "Sleeping on the Ground" is also a snoozer - the fact the group chose to leave it off of their only album in 1969 was a brilliant decision; reviving it wasn't. The other two selections to skip are Clapton's endless "Forever Man" and the whiny "Presence of the Lord," one of Blind Faith's weakest cuts (it barely edges out the Ginger Baker penned "Do What You Like" which wins because it was allowed to continue for an inexcusable 15 minutes.)

Keeping the Faith...The Extras

The extras include interviews with Clapton and Winwood, plus generous helpings of clips and photos from the duo's separate careers and their days together in Blind Faith.
There's a vintage black and white snippet of Traffic performing "40,000 Headmen" live with Jim Capaldi on drums, Winwood on organ and vocals and the underrated imp Chris Wood on flute that illustrates how creative the trio was. There are also several nervous moments from Blind Faith's free concert debut in Hyde Park that drew 80,000 hyped up fans.

The duo is upbeat and candid when it comes to their on again off again partnerships and Blind Faith's crash and burn. They met when Winwood was 14 and Clapton was 18, so Clapton looked after Winwood, who thought of Slowhand as an older brother: "He still treats me as a younger brother," Winwood laughs.

When Cream collapsed amidst flying fists and much acrimony, Clapton wanted to work with Winwood, but admits he felt Winwood wasn't too keen on the idea because he was still working with Traffic. Winwood stops short of agreeing adding, "I never lost my allegiance to Capaldi and Wood, but always felt it should be easy to move from one group to another." (Guess so. Traffic broke up and reformed three times in seven years.)

When they finally got to work together in Blind Faith, Clapton felt the U.S. concert tour overwhelmed the group; that they played better in smaller venues in Europe. "No one was expecting the moon," Clapton laments. Winwood recalls he felt they were under amplified, "'Can't Find My Way Home' and 'Presence of the Lord' were quiet songs," he notes. Clapton hated the idea of Blind Faith being called a supergroup, and confesses he worried he'd damaged his relationship with Winwood when he pulled out of the group so quickly.

The DVD's sound, lighting and picture are High Def perfection. You can see the glint in Winwood's eyes and the circles under Stainton's, even though he's in the background. You'll say "Well, all right" every time you sample the duo's crisp craftsmanship, and be "glad" you own a copy of their musical trip down memory lane.

The Beatles Reissues

2009-09-30T14:51:17Z

The Beatles
Reissues
5 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!

I feel extremely fortunate to have grown up with The Beatles. We needed them when they came to the U.S. in 1964. Our President had been shot down the previous November in graphic fashion, plunging the nation into mourning. The Beatles gave us back our optimism and hope. When I saw them on "The Ed Sullivan Show," they were charismatic, electric, original, and above all, magical. I came to know them better than my own kin: John the witty one, Paul the pretty one, George the quiet one, and Ringo the nice one. I listened intently as they progressed from the straightforward pop of "Love Me Do," to the psychedelia of "I am the Walrus" -- and I shed a tear when they reached "The Long and Winding Road."

I'm certain that without The Beatles popular music as we know it wouldn't exist. No Dead. No Doors. No Traffic. No Crosby, no Stills, no Nash. No catharsis the moment I heard Mike Harrison of Spooky Tooth growl his way through their version of "I am the Walrus." The Beatles expanded the horizons of the 45 r.p.m. pop song by adding orchestras, tape loops, and multi-tracking while crafting lyrics that touched the mind as well as the heart. I fear that without The Beatles we'd still be listening to cocktail lounge music by Frankie Laine (providing he and his raccoon toupee were still alive), country corn by Homer and Jethro, or two minute teenager in love ditties by Fabian.
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My favorite Beatles album is their self titled L.P. released in 1968. The group reset the bar (again) by releasing not one, but two records, thereby making the double album a required litmus test for every would-be legend that followed. Despite the simple white cover with only the group's name embossed in the corner as an identifier, "The White Album" was the quartet's most elaborate, challenging, and eclectic effort, the moneymaker that sealed their immortality. "The White Album's" upgrade is so succinct, it's like hearing the songs for the first time. The sound has been power washed clean. You want more cowbell? The fire alarm cowbell in "Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey" remains desperate, but has been tamed to match Macca's bullish bass and George's sharp as a sabre licks. Now the overall frenzied effect won't give you a headache. The horns in "Ob-la-di-Ob-la-da" are more festive; George's haunted vocal in "Long, Long, Long" has a more delicate tone that's serves as ying to Ringo's menacing yang drum blows; and John's raw, raving vocal, Ringo's rolling rhythm, Paul's fatty bass foundation and George's king bee solo give "Yer Blues" a newfound sense of urgency. There are dozens of other bits that have been tweaked to perfection, like the "bang-bang-shoot-shoot" background vocals in "Happiness is a Warm Gun" or Paul's happy-go-lucky oompah arrangement and dancing piano in "Martha My Dear," his ode to his faithful sheep dog. And Clapton freaks will Cream at Slowhand's legerdemain as he makes his guitar wail in "While My Guitar Gently Weeps."

Okay, Yoko's childlike yapping is more evident in "The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill," (which is still a fun song despite her intrusion). I still hate Paul's bad acid vocal shieker "Helter Skelter," and a dozen more remixes can't disguise the fact that "Revolution 9" is eight plus minutes of tape loop terrorism. The Beatles began to fracture during "The White Album's" long gestation period, maturing into four separate artists jockeying for studio time. They evolved, becoming John the raving revolutionary; Paul, the pop practitioner; George the gesticulating guru, and Ringo the reluctant romantic. The competition between John and Paul in particular pushed the group to create some of their most memorable music.

One of the reasons I cherish "The White Album" is because its home to my favorite Beatles track, "Dear Prudence," John Lennon's gentle homage to Mia Farrow's sister. When the group made its much publicized transcendental pilgrimage to India to find spiritual enlightenment under the guidance of the Maharishi Yogi, Prudence spent the majority of her stay in her room, prompting the normally non-sentimental Lennon to pen the line, "Dear Prudence won't you come out to play." If Lennon's serene singing and soothing rhythm guitar lick doesn't entice you, then the heavenly back up vocals and the dominant drumming will. (It's been rumored for years that it's Paul McCartney smashing the cymbals on "Dear Prudence" and not Ringo. Ringo had quit the band during the album's early sessions when "Prudence" wad recorded, only to return two weeks later. I tend to believe Lennon's angry assertion that Macca's backtrack was wiped upon Ringo's return, but Beatlemaniacs may notice some extra giddy up on the snare.)

The reason I cherish "Dear Prudence" is because it's linked to a number of my childhood memories. I remember going away to Boy Scout camp in upstate New York at the age of twelve, petrified I'd wind up eating tree bark and squealing like a pig. (Okay "Deliverance" wasn't out yet, but I think you get the inference.) The first day there I heard someone strumming a guitar, singing, "Dear Prudence, open up your eyes. Dear Prudence, see the sunny skies." A group of grubby scouts gathered round and sang along in harmonic bliss. Thanks to "Dear Prudence," I soon realized I had friends in the wilderness that had my back. Forty years later, that same guitar player and I wound up together in a band - singing Beatle songs.

"Dear Prudence" also figured prominently in my so called early love life. I sang it at an eighth grade assembly for a girl I had a crush on who everyone knew by her more modern middle name of Mindy, rather than her matronly moniker. The song went over well but the sentiment didn't, and I got a cease and desist request from Prudence (aka Mindy) regarding further dedications. But every time I hear John, Paul and George join together like an angelic chorus to sing "Look around round round" I see "Mindy's sun kissed profile and I feel my temperature rise. Nowadays the memory stoked by "Dear Prudence" isn't so much about Mindy as it is about recapturing the zest for life and love I had 40 years ago.

As for the mono versus stereo issue...Yes, The Beatles' first half dozen albums were recorded in mono when few households had a stereo. My problem with mono is its flat one dimensional sound. Songs in mono come across as a block of sound, so much so you might think one of your speakers isn't functioning. So fear not the stereo mixes of the albums up to "Rubber Soul"; the separation is excellent, making the Fab Four sound as if they're in the room playing just for you.

Just for kicks, here are my fave Fab Four albums:

1)   The White Album... You know why.

2)   Rubber Soul - The boys grow up, dishing out heavenly harmonies and producing songs with mature storylines (adultery in Norwegian Wood, jealousy in "Run for Your Life," inner peace in "The Word," and they even show how worldly they've become by singing in French ("Michelle").

3)   Beatles for Sale - A well rounded step forward that preceded "Rubber Soul." Songs about the drawbacks of stardom subtly set to music ("I'm a Loser," "I Don't Want to Spoil the Party") some melancholy thoughts ("I'll Follow the Sun"), killer Carl Perkins covers ("Everybody's Trying to Be My Baby," "Honey Don't"), and Ringo's delirious intro to "What You're Doing," one of Paul's few pessimistic moments.

4)   Let it Be - The break up, set to music, with Lennon launching into his lexicon for "I Dig a Pony," and playing a slippery slide for George's Tiny Pan Alley treasure "For You Blue." Lennon and Macca weren't talking, but they could still create sparks ("I've Got a Feeling," "One After 909"). Plus two heartbreaking songs about growing and growing apart ("Two of Us," "The Long and Winding Road").

5)   Magical Mystery Tour - Graced with three of Lennon's super psyche standards: "I am the Walrus," "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Baby You're a Rich Man."

Still wondering how good The Beatles' are? The week after the remasters were released the #1 album in the country was..."Abbey Road." Number two? "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Band." The third fastest selling album? "The White Album." Yeah, yeah, yeah.

If you like music, don't let The Beatles' reissues pass you by. Having been some days in preparation a splendid time is guaranteed for all.

Who's That Singing?

2009-09-30T02:05:37Z

Who's That Singer?

Allow me to shed some light on singers you may have heard but don't know by name...

1) Mike Harrison, Spooky Tooth, The Hamburg Blues Band. Who else would I put first but rock's fallen angel? Simply put, Harrison has an astounding, captivating, frightening and expressive voice that can be angelically smooth and buttery one moment and as devilishly grainy as high grade sandpaper the next. He can take any song and make it sound as if he's lived the lyrics, a neat trick for someone who isn't a composer. Check out Mike with Spooky Tooth singing "I am the Walrus" ("The Last Puff"),"Moriah" and "Holy Water" (both from "You Broke My Heart...So I Busted Your Jaw").

2) Jim Capaldi, Traffic. It's tough to be a great singer in a band that has Steve Winwood, one rock's most noted front-men. As a result, Capaldi only checked in with three leads during his Traffic years, but two were on "The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys;" the tongue-in-cheek "Light Up Or leave Me Alone" and the reggae rum-shaker "Rock N' Roll Stew." Through a dozen solo L.P.s, Gentleman Jim displayed a knack for R&B and a talent for touching torch songs. Check out these tunes from Jim's solo efforts: "Eve" ("Oh How We Danced"), "The Game of Love" ("The Contender") and "Back at My Place" ("Fierce Heart").

3) Richard Manuel, The Band. Manuel's life-of-the-party lifestyle belied his deeply troubled psyche, but the hurt came through in his wounded vocals. As the saying goes, he sang with a tear in his voice. Check out: "Whispering Pines" (from "The Band" album), "Sleeping" ("Stagefright") and the live version of "King Harvest (Has Surely Come") from "Rock of Ages."

4) Miller Anderson, Keef Hartley Band, Hemlock, Dog Soldier, Savoy Brown, The Dukes, T. Rex, Spencer Davis Group, others. Talk about an itinerant musician! Miller is an ace guitarist with a husky, confident range, Miller was made to wail the blues. Check out Miller's solo efforts "Bright City" (from the album of the same name) and "Across the Borderline" (from "Celtic Moon"), plus "Believe in You" from the Keef Hartley Band's "Battle of Northwest Six."

5) James Dewar, Robin Trower Band. Calling Dewar a white soul singer only covers part of his abilities. Mix Dewar's wooly vocals with Trower's Hendrixy psych guitar and you've got magic. Three of Jim's best bits with Trower are the title track from "Victims of the Fury," "It's For You" ("Caravan to Midnight") and "The Fool and Me" ("Bridge of Sighs").

6) Chris Youlden, Savoy Brown. Youlden had a froggy, smoky delivery that sounded like Edward G. Robinson's dialogue set to music. Another bloke steeped in the blues with a soul man's sense of timing and the lyrical ammunition of a poet. Check out : "Made Up My Mind" and "I'm Tired" from Savoy Brown's "A Step Further" album and Chris' solo song "A Chink of Sanity" from "Nowhere Road."

7) Rod Evans, Deep Purple, Captain Beyond. Purple has had three main vocalists: screecher Ian Gillan, funky David Coverdale (well, he was funky with them) and Evans. He was a true singer with a steady, warm pitch and a deeply romantic tone. Too bad his career was cut short by a lawsuit brought against him by the other members for $600,000 plus that specified he couldn't perform the group's material. Come back to the mike, Rod, all is forgiven. Check out: "Anthem" ("The Book of Taliseyn") and "Hush" ("Shades of Deep Purple") from Rod's days with Deep Purple, and "Sufficiently Breathless" from his tenure with Captain Beyond.

8) Terry Kath, Chicago. Jimi Hendrix was seldom in awe of anyone, but he was very impressed with the way Chicago's lead stringman attacked his guitar. He also assaulted the mike with his rich bellow of a voice and could scream like a man on fire. If Kath hadn't been a fan of Russian Roulette, Chicago might still be a viable band today. Check out: "Jenny" (Chicago VI), "Loneliness is Just a Word" (Chicago III) and "Make Me Smile" (Chicago II).

9) Danny Kirwan, Fleetwood Mac. He was England's Richard Manuel, and one of Fleetwood Mac's most overlooked and skilled guitarists. Kirwan's gentle, quiet vocals reflected his inner turmoil or his boyish charm. It's been said he cried when he played and sang, and you can hear it in his almost hesitant but thoughtful approach. Check out "Sometimes" and "Woman of a Thousand Years" from the Mac's "Future Games." and "Dust," from the group's "Bare Trees" album.

10) David Ruffin, The Temptations. "Ruff" (as he was known) was perpetually late to gigs, an egomaniac and a coke Hoover. There was also an unconfirmed rumor he used Tammi Terrell for a punching bag, causing the brain tumor that eventually killed her. Despite his unforgivable faults, Ruff was the definition of raw emotion and a true soul singer. When he went solo, Ruffin couldn't figure out why he couldn't produce the same raspy cry he manufactured for the Temps hits. Turns out the Tempts producers had Ruffin sing a few octaves above his normal tenor range to make him strain, creating his distinctive desperate vocal cry. Check out: "All I Need" (with the Temptations) and Ruff's solo songs "Take Me Clear From Here" ("Rock and Roll is Here to Stay") and "My Whole World Ended" (from the album of the same name).

Five Who Need to Back Away From the Microphone...

1) Bob Dylan. Even Bob says he can't sing, so what does that tell you? Dylan was an accomplished songwriter early in his career, and I'll also give him props for employing a childhood friend of mine in his band, but when he opens his mouth, it's a hard rain that's gonna fall.

2) Tom Waits. Waits inhabits the skid row characters he writes about, growling, yelling, grunting and snotting his way through his tales of whine and roses. It's called singing Tom, not acting and I can't "waits" for you to stop.

3) Geddy Lee, Rush. This Canadian goose sounds like Olive Oyl being strangled by Bluto. Take off to the great white north, giddy.

4) Lou Reed. Surly Lou always sounds sleepy and bored. His monotoned mumbling has the same effect on audiences.

5) Bruce Springsteen. Like Dylan, Bruce the Moose is a capable songwriter, but sings as if he needs a healthy dose of Ex-Lax, making all of his Jersey clap trap sound, ahem, forced.

George Benson - Songs and Stories

2009-09-21T01:07:16Z

George Benson
Songs and Stories
1.5 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Listening to George Benson has always been an exercise in frustration for me. He has an attractive, mellow voice; the problem is it's as flexible as King Kong's underwear. George has an infuriating penchant for scat singing, the vocal equivalent of running your fingers down a dust-covered chalkboard. He's also likes to run rampant on the guitar and scats while playing. I'm all for multi-tasking, as long as it doesn't constitute two heinous acts at once. George hasn't been that creative with his style either. If you've heard his epileptic rendition of the Drifter's "On Broadway" or his sway by the numbers fakery in Leon Russell's "This Masquerade," then you've sampled his playbook.

"Songs and Stories," takes jazz's version of Scatman Crothers and let's George try to reinvent a few classics to see what he scats up. Unfortunately, like most kool kat jazzbos looking to crossover, George keeps coughing up hairballs.

How does George fair with familiar fare? Well, less than fair. Only one of the dozen tracks, "Come in from the Cold," will warm your heart. Joni Mitchell wrote a great song with the same title that was one of her few listenable tracks from her post "Court and Spark" period. George needed more material like "Come in from the Cold," even if George borrows heavily from Al Green's persona. Then again, maybe that's why it succeeds.

It's a sad story as far as the rest of the album goes. James Taylor's "Don't Let Me Be Lonely Tonight" is hallowed ground for me and George is a grave robber. Altering a line to "sho' nuff good to see you" wasn't necessary, George. It makes it sound as if you're patronizing the homies and the Pigmeat Markham set. (C'mon, I know your're out there, or at least George does.)

]]> The chief offender in George's rendering factory is his dismantling of Tony Joe White's "A Rainy Night in Georgia," which was immortalized by Brook Benton. As far as covers go it's not as unintentionally funny as Frank Sinatra's desecration of George Harrison's "Something," ("Somethin' in da way she moooves, baby!), but it's a monsoon of jumbled jazz and crass crooning. George's phrasing is watery. He accents the wrong words and sings one line "It-still-comes-out-the-same" as if he's reading it off cue cards after waking from a nap at one of his concerts. And to complete his sacriledge, George omits the third verse, exiting with "I play my guitar through the night," which he does in such a haphazard manner it'll make you wish he'd gotten hit by a truck in the midst of a rainy night in Hoboken. Be thankful Brook Benton's dead and Tony Joe's too nice a guy to sue, George.

George also sinks Christopher Cross' "Sailing" with a considerable revisionist broadside. At least George is smart enough to make this an instrumental. I'd sail straight to the isle of projectile vomiting if he sang Cross' titanically terrible title. George keeps the scatting to a tolerable minimum and finally plays a solo with pride instead of trying to impress the radio czar's with flashy flourishes. Nevertheless, "Sailing" is an unsalvageable wreck.

As for the less familiar songs and stories, well, the story is, they have nothing to say.

"Show Me the Love" starts off with a dwee-doot-da-dweedalee-do scat. Can't fool me, George. I caught that brief homage to disco dross era hit "Turn Your Love Around." Show me the door.

"A Telephone Call Away" is a duet with Lalah Hathaway that gets hung up on he-man cliches. Hathaway has a smokey Mary Wilson way of emoting that inspires George to slip into an embarrassing "you sexy thang" mode. He's already taken down Tony Joe White. With "Telephone" he makes a bad connection with Barry White's style and dials up a wrong number.

Too bad "Nuthin' But a Party" isn't the J. Geils wall-shaker (that'd be "Nothin' But a House Party"). It's finger popping disco with programmed drumming. This is party should have been raided and the organizers locked up without bail. "Lowenbrau, welcome to the party," George exhorts. Montel Jordan anyone?

It's the same old story. George's Tourette's Syndrome scating was a novelty "On Broadway," but it's become a crutch he pulls out whenever substandard material is falling apart, and "Songs and Stories" has plenty of listless, dated, safe performances. George picked two diamonds in "Rainy Night in Georgia' and "Don't Let Me Be Lonely Tonight" then fell asleep at the switch. You will too.

Listening [moving] to: "Yellow Moon" - Neville Brothers

2009-09-20T23:33:05Z

A truly beautiful album. Immersing and compelling from the first note. A delicious mix of rythms and moods. Such rich sensuousness in every single shining note it is simply not possible to sit still when this record is playing.

What a delight in every way. Click on the cover to find it at Amazon. They also have it for MP3 download. Cool. The title song is so worth it.

By the way; all the songs here are also in a live set available for streaming over at Wolfgang's Concert Vault.

Listening to: Rubber Soul (09 Remaster). Sweet Heartbreak

2009-09-09T13:31:03Z

For me, "Rubber Soul" is one of those personal milestones. One of those where I remember the place that I when I first heard the singles on the radio. It was December of my senior year in high school. What a time and what a perfect record for it.

Loving the Beatles anyway and being at that cusp age -- still a kid but coming up on being grown up. Newly registered for the draft. Wondering what post-high school would be like, slightly aware of Vietnam and slightly more aware Civil Rights but totally immersed in being a 1965 teenager in The Class of '66.

So along comes this totally transformative record. Pop music but so different. Experimental pop, I guess. Different rhythms, different instruments, and ideas that just weren't on the radar. We were stunned by this album. And loved it.

Dylan got us to think about stuff, and, OMG, the Stones certainly put an edge on pop, but with "Rubber Soul" the Beatles formally became the spirit guides of the baby boomers.

It always was a beautifully crafted record, ImHO. Imaginative and moving and great fun and, I thought, crisp and clear.

Until today. Now I'm listening to the 2009 digitally remastered re-release of "Rubber Soul" and it's a whole new experience. So open and bright and truly clear and fresh. So beautiful and so incredibly different.

You will hear people say that it is as if a layer of mud has been removed from the old recordings. Believe them. As good as the '65 vinyl mix is, it is nothing compared to this.

Each voice comes through as if you were party to the recording session. Each buzz and catch of a vocal chord. Each nuance fretting and fingering. New drama in the vocal interpretations.

You can actually hear a smile in Paul's voice in "Michelle". There are new notes that appear in the wonderful bass lines of "Drive My Car". And the slide guitar solo in that cut becomes a whole different marvel of musical taste and even production skill. Wow!

I said "heartbreaking". Well, it could be my personal connection to the album but I have a feeling that I'm going to feel this way for every single track in the remastered Beatles collection. The clarity is breathtaking and fun to listen to, but what also comes through so beautifully and so perfectly is these four guys, who we knew so well and loved so much, just doing what they do. Doing it so well -- so much better than we even thought at the time -- and having such a good time doing it.

It's wonderful. It brings a giant smile but so many other thoughts, feelings, rememberances, fullnesses, and emptinesses. I'll leave it to other people to list and discuss all of the feelings. They are a flood -- like the memories John sings about in "In My Life". It just makes your heart hurt a little bit.

Levon Helm - Electric Dirt

2009-09-04T12:04:00Z

Levon Helm
Electric Dirt
4 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Levon Helm is a survivor, an American icon. He grew up dirt poor on his daddy's farm in Arkansas, sustained by his love for blues and traditional music, and went on to become a member or The Band, one of music's most unique and respected groups. The Band featured three ill-fated lead singers: crooner/keyboardist Richard Manuel, whose expressive, wounded voice mirrored his troubled psyche; hiccupping bassist Rick Danko, the happy-go-lucky party boy, and drummer Mark Lavon "Levon" Helm, whose roguish drawl stamped many of the group's signature songs. Manuel was devoured by his demons - driven to suicide, Danko's abused body wore out, and Levon seemed ready to meet his maker when he contracted throat cancer.

Not only did Levon defeat the disease, he defied predictions he'd never sing again. Rising like a southern fried Lazarus, Levon resurrected his dormant solo career with 2007's Grammy Award winning "Dirt Farmer," an album in which he revisited his Arkansas roots through a collection of traditional country and blues.

In a tribute to his rural roots and as a way to honor one of his mentors, Muddy Waters, Levon has titled his second comeback album "Electric Dirt." Muddy once put out an album called "Electric Mud" (he didn't like it and called it "Electric S**t") but the pyschadelasized version of classic blues tunes introduced Muddy to a new generation of fans. "Electric Dirt" is bound to do the same for Levon, who many know as the dude with the cool Southern drawl in Tommy Lee Jones' movies rather than the man who held the beat for The Band. It's his best solo effort since his debut, "Levon Helm and the RCO All Stars" thirty-two years ago.
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Levon has taken the concept of recording rural roots music a step further by turning up the amps and gussying the arrangements with some good ole Creole soul courtesy of Allen Toussaint and Steven Bernstein's horn arrangements, thus removing the veil of gloom that permeated "Dirt Farmer." The production, crisp and uncluttered, makes the songs sound as if they were cut live. Fans of The Band can rejoice - the writers Helm chose to supply material for "Electric Dirt" have the same magical talent for storytelling as The Band's chief composer, Robbie Robertson.

Toussaint put together the horn section for The Band's landmark live album "Rock of Ages," but it's Bernstein who makes the first cut, The Grateful Dead's "Tennessee Jed," sway. Levon's Arkansas twang was built for the Garcia/Hunter standard: "Betta git back ta Ten-a-see Jead."

Helm may not be a man of God, but the gospel according to Levon is in session with "Move Along Train," penned by pious Roebuck Staples. Levon mixes a shuffling groove with a Baptist feel and is assisted by daughter Amy Helm (a member of the folk group Ollabelle) and Campbell's spouse, Teresa Williams. Levon belts out his vocal like a grizzled preacher dipping his flock in the River of Jordan, and guest guitarist Jimmy Vivino (Musical Director for The Tonight Show Band), provides cutting 50's rockabilly fills. This train hits every stop on its way to glory.

Levon doesn't write much, but with the assistance of Larry Campbell, he put his dirt poor farmer's past into "Growin' Trade." With weeping strings and an acoustic guitar/mandolin/fiddle backdrop provided by Campbell, "Growin' Trade" resembles some of The Band's episodic folk tales about hard times in the back forty, such as "The Weight" or "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down." "I guess he'd wonder what's the dignity in the crop you grow to burn, but this land is my legacy, I got nowhere else to turn... I used to farm for a livin', now I'm in the growin' trade."

Levon revisits his Appalachia roots in Happy Traum's "Golden Bird." There's a heavy turn of the century hillbilly feel supplied by fiddle, dulcimer, harmonium, and autoharp that gives "Golden Bird" an "Amazing Grace" sound. The fable follows a man chasing the flight of a bird, only to kill it with a stone because he's jealous of its freedom: "its beauty was such that I must have it." The spirit of the bird appears to him in a dream in the guise of a beautiful woman, who tells him: "Did not you know when you hurt me so cruelly, I was your love, and I was your friend? You couldn't stand that I was so free, now you'll never see me again." This would be a great track for a Ken Burns project if he ever does another Civil War documentary or a show about the Hatfields and the McCoys. Levon sings his heart out. His weathered voice, his pain and regret are fully exposed. I normally loathe country/hillbilly music, but "Golden Bird" is a shining moment.

"The Stuff You Gotta Watch" was one of the few clinkers on The Band's first comeback album, "Jericho." It was shuck and jive in overdrive, beneath The Band's storied legacy. Slowed to a more palatable shuffle, with Levon hitting the sweet spots, and singing with growling glee and with Brian Mitchell squeezing out knee-knocking riffs on accordion, this is great stuff.

Levon heads back to "the deep rolling hills of ole Virginia" in "White Dove." It's somewhere between an Oakie folk tune and a hymn. Brian Mitchell and Larry Campbell form a front porch band with Amy Helm, sawing on fiddles and mandolins. "White Dove" has a coal miner's storyline to it that's similar to The Band's "Jericho." It's the weakest track on the album, mainly because it's too couched in an archaic format, but it's still listenable.

Levon uses the grit in his gullet to swagger through Randy Newman's New Orleans inspired "Kingfish," a sarcastic swipe at Louisiana Governor Huey Long. "Who built the highway to Baton Rouge? Who put up your hospital and built your schools? Who is it looks after sh**kickers like you? You know the Kingfish do." Newman's version was a dead fish, but Levon's profane performance is fit for a king. Allen Toussaint's horn section staggers like a party animal down Beale Street, then dances along neatly with the pride of a N'Orlins parade. If you've ever been to Madi Gras, you'll love the celebratory blast of the horns and the way they compliment Levon's scathing vocal. Yeah, the Kang-fish do.

When The Band planned "The Last Waltz," their highly publicized final concert, Levon Helm insisted blues icon Muddy Waters get an invite. Levon proves he's still got Mud in his veins with his slow, steaming version of Muddy's "You Can't Lose What You Never Had." (Do yourself a favor and listen to the Allman Brothers' rabble-rousing take on "Win, Lose, or Draw.") Muddy might raise an eyebrow at Campbell's flicking mandolin solo, but there's no doubt he'd approve, especially when Campbell pulls the trick off twice. This ain't the blues, but you can't lose.

The album's highlight is Campbell's self-penned eulogy, "When I Go Away," which rocks during the verses and turns into a Bible Belt revival during the chorus as Helm pontificates, Campbell and Jay Collins dig deep for the bass parts, and Amy Helm and Teresa Williams tackle the hand clapping and high back ups. Levon's voice has the same captivating timber as Ralph Stanley's vocal for "O Death," an Appalachian dirge featured on the "O Brother Where Art Thou" soundtrack. Stanley's vocal was attached to a chilling scene (he was voicing a Ku Klux Klansman addressing his flock). When you hear Levon sing, you feel saved, rather than frightened: "See that storm over yonder, it's gonna rain all day. But the sun's gonna shine through the shadows, when I go away."

"Heaven's Pearls" is the third Ozark/Appalachian hymn ("Golden Bird" and "White Dove" are the others). What keeps "Heaven's Pearls" from falling into "White Dove's" hillbilly hokum is Steve Bernstein/Larry Campbell's deflated funeral procession horn arrangement.

The closer, "I Wish I Knew How it Would Feel to be Free," is a New Orleans raver
with party time horns arranged by Allen Toussaint. It's not as heavy handed as the rest of the material, and if you're familiar with Levon's first solo album "Levon Helm and the RCO All Stars," the mood will remind you of Earl King's bayou belter "Sing, Sing, Sing." It's a smart and fun way to end a very satisfyin' and electrifyin' CD.

Levon Alone... Other Solo Stuff, Son

Following the demise of The Band in 1976, Levon jumped out of the blocks with "Levon Helm and the RCO All Stars" (4 ½ out of 5 stars). Helm's "back up" band featured numerous music heavyweights, including Paul Butterfield, Dr. John, Donald "Duck" Dunn, and Booker T. Jones. The album was full of strutting, good time rock and rockabilly, and remains Helm's high point. It's a half a star above "Electric Dirt" because the material is more accessible and it has some of Butterfield's best harp work.

Dr. John's "Washer Woman" opens the album with a bit of leering chauvinism and dead on interplay between Butterfield and the horn section. Duck Dunn's snakey bass, Butterfield's lingering licks and Levon's dead stop drumming highlight "The Tie That Binds," is a bluesy tale of adultery: "Last night I slept with an open eye as you whispered on the phone. The tears you cried soon disappeared, when you wished you was alone. You thought I was sleepin', but I know you were sleazin', and you can't keep that little ole secret from me. Let's not break the tie that binds, let's not lose our peace of mind. You know I really love you darlin', but you just too much to deal with at this time."

Given the acrimony between Helm and former Band guitarist Robbie Robertson, it's a surprise to hear Robertson's clipped solo alongside ex- Band buddy Garth Hudson's accordion in "Sing, Sing, Sing" (or as Levon puts it, "sang, sang, sang"). Side two takes off with a hard charging version of "Milk Cow Boogie," with Levon pushing the beat and Butterfield blowing fire. Butter is smooth in the slow, sorryful blues of "Rain Down Tears," and Levon blithely bounces the beat in "A Mood I Was In" with Butterfield breaking into a lung-busting solo. The closer, "That's My Home" is Band-like down home homily embellished with prancing strings and Southern sentiment: "When friends say how-de-do, and they all mean it to, a lover's love so true, that's my home."

1978's uneven "Levon Helm" (3 out of 5 stars) doesn't match the full band bravado of "The RCO All Stars," but still contains some memorable moments. Oddly, Levon doesn't play drums, leaving that task to the very capable Roger Hawkins (formerly of Traffic) and Willie Hall. Just about everyone's done a version of Al Green's "Take Me to the River," and with Levon in full twang, his toe-tapping take will leave you feeling duly baptized. Other highlights include the driving opener, "Ain't No Way to Forget You," a celebratory version of Tony Joe White's "I Came Here to Party," the slinky "Let's Do it in Slow Motion," and an upbeat horn-filled take of Toussaint's "Brickyard Blues," retitled "Play Something Sweet," with Levon further altering the original by singing "Play me some junkyard blues."

1980's countrified "American Son" (3 out of 5) was Levon's first attempt to record the type of songs rustic traditional folk songs he'd grown up listening to. When it worked, it brought to mind Levon's more grass roots recordings with The Band. When it didn't, it left behind the cornpone after taste of The Grand Ole Opry. The closer, "Sweet Peach Georgia Wine," capitalized on Levon's lecherous country boy personality: "Now how was I supposed to know she was the sheriff's daughter? She was only sweet sixteen, but she looked much older. Well, I guess I learned my lesson, son, now I'm doin' now ten to twenty-one, just for tastin' that sweet peach Georgia wine." "Dance Me Down Easy" bopped like a horny field hand at a Saturday night dance; "Hurricane" recalled the tetchy weather and oily bayou beats made down near Lake Ponchartrain, and "Violet Eyes" was a touching country gentleman ballad. The rest was a might too country for me, but Levon sounded more at ease with the material than on the previous album.

Released in 1982, Levon's second self-title album (1 out of 5 stars) signaled it was time for ole hoss to take a break. Populated by familiar but tired covers (a bankrupt version of "Money," a losing take of "You Can't Win 'Em All"), "Levon Helm 2" only has two salvageable tracks: an attractive but sluggish version of "Willie and the Hand Jive" (more cowbell, Levon!) and one of Helm's best solo tracks, "Even a Fool Would Let Go," a teary ballad that leaves a lump in the throat: "It's funny how love goes, 'cause I know this could never work out. But honey how love grows, even though there's reason to doubt. This could never be, you keep saying it's wrong. Neither one of us is free, still I want to hold on. When even a fool would let go, 'cause he knows there's no use in trying. Even a child would say no, 'cause he know he'll end up crying. Tell me now, is it worse holding you, when even a fool would let go."

After a three decade hiatus, during which The Band reformed (minus Robertson) and recorded three more albums, followed by Levon's struggle with cancer, Levon stunned the music world with the traditional sounds of "Dirt Farmer" (3 out of 5 stars). Despite "Dirt Farmer's" seemingly limited appeal, the album was a hit, garnering a Grammy for Best Traditional Folk Album. The country stuff still whined a bit too much for me, but when Levon mixed a little grit with his old time music, "Dirt Farmer" bore fruit. Among the most notable tunes were "False Hearted Lover Blues," the mandolin driven opener with the "Mystery Train" rhythm; "Calvary," a sparse dirge with haunting resonator guitar strokes; Levon's take on Steve Earle's "The Mountain," a period piece that threw the suffering narrator down in the black hole of a the coal mine; "Feelin' Good," good time country rock in the tradition of Geoff and Maria Muldaur; and "Wide River to Cross," a reflective hymn ("I've come a long, long road, but I've still got some roads to go. I've got a wide, wide river to cross.") You can feel the sand from a depression era dust bowl storm hit you in the face in every cut. "Dirt Farmer's" not an easy album to love, but its worth the effort.

Richard and Rick are gone. Robbie's creative candle has flamed out and Garth is in his bog somewhere creating "Phantom of the Opera" passages on the harmonium. It seems that Levon has always had to struggle to be heard. It's nice to see Levon is doing something other than cameos in Tommy Lee Jones' films. Listen up kids, "Electric Dirt" is a bumper crop. Harvest its bounty and add it to your collection.

Ten Great by Bonnie Raitt

2009-09-03T15:17:43Z

by Michael Jefferson

Dr. Mike's recent Bonnie Raitt post got me thinking... I hadn't listened to her music in years. So I immersed myself in Bonnie's catalogue, revisiting a lot of great tunes that didn't necessarily get a lot of airplay, which I now pass on to you:

1) "I Feel the Same" (from "Takin' My Time"). An uneasy song about deceit and infidelity that gets its eerie atmosphere from Lowell George's slippery slide guitar, Freebo's fretless, and Milt Holland tapping the tablas.

2) "Feeling of Falling" (from "Longing in Their Hearts"). Bonnie on Hammond organ. Yes, she skids across the keys like she's driving a car at 90 over a cliff, and Hutch Hutcherson slaps his bass as if he's popping a big wad of Juicy Fruit. When Bonnie sings, "I miss that feelin' of fallin'... Of fallin' on over the edge," you know she's seen what's on the other side of that precipice and survived.

3) "Two Lives" (from "Sweet Forgiveness"). As weepy a ballad as Bonnie's ever committed to tape. She displays incredible vocal range and control, hanging on notes and raising her voice in waves for emotional emphasis. As an added bonus you get heartbreaking back up vocals by Doobie Brother Michael MacDonald and Rosemary Butler.

4) "Crime of Passion" (from "Nine Lives"). Don't let one of the ugliest CD covers ever created turn you off, or the fact this passionate piece comes from an album made up of leftover tracks. Bonnie's career was at a low -- when "Nine Lives" was released it died a quick death. This was the album before "Nick of Time" and it only made it to #138 on the charts, but then again, so did the critically acclaimed "Give it Up." "Crime of Passion" takes physical attraction to task: "My body is the only place where we meet anymore. Thought I could handle the heartache, like I did before. I remember your warning, to never mention love. A little crime of passion is what I'm guilty of." Gotta admit I also love this one because of Carlo Vega's aggressive, non-stop drumming and Dean Parks' fervent solo.

5) "True Love is Hard to Find" (from "Nine Lives"). Reggae that rocks. Bonnie gets a huge boost on back up vox from Blondie Chaplin, best known as the lead singer of the Beach Boys' "Sail on Sailor."

6) "River of Tears" (from "Green Light"). Bonnie and drinking buddy Richard Manuel (The Band) capture their broken lives in song. Even this late in his career anything Manuel sang he owned, but he and Bonnie harmonize wearily and wonderfully.

7) "Let's Keep it Between Us" (from "Green Light"). Bonnie gets laid back and languid with this little known Dylan tune. Two albums away from astronomical success with "Nick of Time," Bonnie's voice sounds lived in, and William "Smitty" Smith's organ playing is as sweet and thick as freshly tapped Vermont syrup.

8) "Steal Your Heart Away" (from "Longing in Their Hearts"). Bonnie spits out desire and hurt with each syllable in this richly produced effort. Another Beach Boy alumni, Rikki Fataar, regulates the beat and Sweet Pea Atkinson and Sir Harry Bowes, the back up singers you see cutting up in Bonnie's videos, earn their keep with back ups that would make the Temptations jealous.

9) "Walk Out the Front Door" (from "Home Plate"). Bonnie turns into a one woman soul review. A toss up between "Good Enough," and "Fool Yourself" (with Terry Reid and Jackson Browne singing backs ups) from the same album. This one gets the nod for now because of Bonnie's attack dog attitude and the Stax-like horn section.

10) "Too Long at the Fair" (from "Give it Up"). A stand out composition from a time when Bonnie was more of a blues/folkie purist, with mind-bending bass by Freebo, Gene Stashuk's calming cello and -gasp - an expressive solo by Congressman John Hall.

Give it up for Bonnie Raitt, kids.

Emitt Rhodes

2009-09-03T12:21:38Z

Emitt Rhodes
The Emitt Rhodes Recordings 1969-73
4 out of 5 stars
Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Emitt Who?

When you look up the terms unfulfilled potential, musical genius, and compelling composer in the dictionary, Rhodes' picture should appear right alongside the text. His 1970 debut, "Emitt Rhodes" put him on the road to stardom, but within four years it was "Farewell to Paradise."

Hip-O-Select has set right the many wrongs visited upon Rhodes by releasing the four albums he recorded between 1969 and 1973 in a 2 disc remastered set.

The closet artist I can compare Rhodes to would be Paul McCartney -- back when Macca mattered. Emitt looked like Paul's twin and recorded all the instruments himself on three of his four albums, just like Paul did for his first solo record.

Rhodes first came to public's attention at the age of 14 when he occupied the drummer's stool for The Emerals, a cover band that played in his adopted hometown of Hawthorne, California. The Emerals changed their name to The Palace Guard, recorded three singles that went straight to the discount bins and had the distinction backing actor Don Grady (of "My Three Sons" fame) during a recording session. By 16, Rhodes was the de facto leader of The Merry-Go-Round, a baroque/folk/rock quartet that placed a couple of minor hits ("Live" and "You're a Very Lovely Woman") on West Coast radio stations. Rhodes stayed on the merry-go-round for three years before striking out on his own, recording a solo album in 1969, "The American Dream," in order to fulfill the band's contract with A&M. The album featured noted session players Jim Gordon, Hal Blaine and Larry Knechtel, among others, and was the only one of Rhodes quartet of albums in which he used outside musicians. It was telling, however, that A&M chose not to release it until 1971.
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Rhodes' self-produced, self-titled 1970 release was heralded as the arrival of a new McCartney or Harry Nilsson. When "Fresh as a Daisy" and "Somebody Made for Me" from "Emitt Rhodes" made waves on the airwaves, Dunhill Records pushed Rhodes to finish his next album, "Mirror." Naturally, Rhodes couldn't keep up with the hectic production pace, so Dunhill wound up suing him for $250,000 for the delay and withheld his royalties from "Emitt Rhodes." Rhodes completed "Mirror" in 1971. The situation worsened when in an attempt to catch a ride on Rhodes' rising star, A&M finally released his first solo album "American Dream" that same year, which likely confused fans and cut into "Mirror's" sales. With two albums on two separate labels out and his first album only a year old, Rhodes was faced with the dilemma of becoming over exposed. The public took care of that potential problem, pushing "Emitt Rhodes" to number 29 on the Billboard charts, while the "Mirror" cracked at a disappointing #182 and "The American Dream" didn't register a pulse.

Disenchanted, Rhodes recorded one final album, sending a message by naming it "Farewell to Paradise." The album took two years to produce and featured harder edged power pop sound mixed with wistful, world-weary ballads. Rhodes' bearded, bedraggled appearance on the album's cover further signaled that the dream was indeed over. When "Farewell to Paradise" failed to chart, Rhodes unofficially retired from music at the still tender age of 24. He turned to producing other artists and working as an A&R man for Elektra/Asylum Records.

The "Emitt Rhodes Recordings" unspools Rhodes' albums in chronological order, with "The American Dream" up first. Unlike his other one man band albums, "The American Dream" is marked by its diversity.

"Pardon Me" is one of Rhodes' most McCartneyesque tunes, a quiet love letter that hints at what "Teddy Boy" might have sounded like if Paul had envisioned it as a waltz. Rhodes' voice is fluid, and there's an unexpected solo on recorder mixed with ringing bells that will immediately relax your mind: "Pardon me is your love taken, hope I haven't been mistaken, hoping you might love me, you might love me. Now here's my invitation I have made my reservation for an evening or two, an evening or two."

"Textile Factory" mixes a down on the farm good timey feel with fiddles, mandolin and knee-slapping percussion, as the narrator makes light of growing up blue collar poor: "There were six of us in the family, not one of us ever learned to read."

"Someone Died" is a frank, borderline macabre account of a death in the family and how that person's sudden passing affected everyone else. The acoustic "Mother Nature's Son" backing mixes well with a harmonium that gives "Somebody Has Died," a folky feel that'll remind you of The Band's expressive musical fables.

"Come Ride, Come Ride" gets the full Hollywood soundtrack treatment with glamorous, swirling strings, a fluttering flute, and a very proper Rhodes vocal. With it's wall to wall sound, "Come Ride, Come Ride" would have made a great track for one of those classy 70s British spy thrillers starring Michael Caine.

With an active fuzz guitar and Rhodes double tracked back ups, "Let's All Sing" is a peppy piece of Badfinger pop that screams single: "Now don't you worry now she's gone, you're better off that way. Now don't you worry now she's gone, been worse if she had stayed." You gotta love the way Rhodes works in a line from John Lennon's "Give Peace a Chance" at the end.

With a steel drum accompaniment, "Mary Take My Hand" has a calypso presence. Day-o! Decorated with bouncy piano and jolly horns, "Holly Park" gets high marks as a tribute to The Beatles' "Penny Lane." If you're familiar with The Monkees, then "Mary Take My Hand" will bring back memories of the Tin Pan Alley tunage connected with some of Davy Jones' vocals, such as "Cuddly Toy" (written by Harry Nilsson), "Daddy's Song" and "Someday Man," (penned by Paul Williams).

The piano possessed "With My Face on the Floor" opens Rhodes' second platter, "Emitt Rhodes" with nicely Beatle-esque regulated vocals and an avalanche of slapping tambourines. Eleven cuts later, it's evident that every song on "Emitt Rhodes" is a glossy gem.

"Somebody Made For Me" was the first Emitt Rhodes song I heard, a two and a half minute heavenly slice of layered vocals, fuzz bass, maracas and tight snare. It was a dose of reality done up pretty for those of us who were still searching for "the one": "I've been searching all my life, guess I've looked most everywhere. Many girls have caught my eye, but that special one's not there."

"She's Such a Beauty" is one of the album's many upbeat Tin Pan Alley feel good tunes, matched by "Fresh as a Daisy." "Beauty" has bumping bass, syncopated drums, cheese grater guitar, and a precise four bar and out solo by Emitt. In "Fresh as a Daisy," Emitt's sunny vocal is upfront alongside his plinking piano riffs and steady Ringo rhythm.

"Long Time No See" has lancing guitar sound bites that wrap around Rhodes' harmonic, bitter vocal and thick bass playing that would make Macca proud.

At 1:06, "Lullabye" hits a melancholy mark. It'll make you sit back in your chair and be thankful if you've got your health and a reasonably happy family. It's just Emitt on guitar with an airy, ethereal vocal: "Tears that angels cry... In the darkening of the sky when the one you love says goodbye, tears that angels cry." If it was any longer than 1:06 you'd never stop crying.

Emitt outlines his musical philosophy in "Live Till You Die": "I have to say the things I feel. I have to feel the things I say. You must live till you die, you must fight to survive. You must live till you die; you must feel to be alive."

Rhodes fulfills his production potential in "Promises I've Made" putting in a chorus of angelic back ups, ringing guitars and a looming song-ending moog solo. "You Take the Dark Out of the Night" features more rich Rhodes call and response vocals mixed with sneaky drum fills, and is followed by the emotionally wrung out "You Should be Ashamed" with it's pessimistic harmonies, in which Emitt makes the cymbals ring.

If "Lullabye" was deliciously depressing, the low key acoustic agony of "You Must Have" is a suicide watch theme song in the spirit of Nick Drake. It's one of those tunes you hear that makes you realize there's always someone who's worse off than you are. "You must have for ever grey sky, a sky that's blue. You must have for every love lost a love that's new. To get by, to live your life, you must have for ever grey sky a sky of blue. I've been alone too long, to feel right. I've been alone too long to say goodnight. Somebody help me to see the light." Speak to me, Emitt.

"Mirror" and "Farewell to Paradise" make up the second CD. They may not have gotten as much airplay as "Emitt Rhodes," but don't lack for memorable moments. "Mirror's" energetic opener, "Birthday Lady" has a pounding "Lady Madonna" piano undercurrent. "Better Side of Life" hearkens back to the gentleness of "Emitt Rhodes" with the maestro overlaying his buttery vocals against an acoustic backing and pristine electric work: "There's a strong possibility that we might see the better side of life."

"My Love is Strong" has a bit of "Hey Bulldog's" junkyard dog attitude, matching Rhodes' typically smooth style against a gritty guitar. The shuffling, beautifully laze faire "Side We Seldom Show" makes use of a sloshing high hat, harmonium, and a pinpoint acoustic solo. Rhodes' sound takes on a sharper edge in the title track as he uses his bass as the lead instrument, giving "The Mirror" a sinister secret agent signature sound: "The mirror always knows, the mirror always shows."

Tweaking his own two-minute format, Rhodes put together a two song medley, "Bubble Gum the Blues/The Cruiser." "Bubble Gum" is Rhodes at his most syrupy, aping McCartney at his silliest: "Everything sweet as candy, when you bubble gum the blues." By contrast, "I'm a Cruiser," is Rhodes as a lowdown low rider. "Bubble Gum" is a chewy delight, "Cruiser" crashes; it's just too out of character. No matter how hard he tried, Paul McCartney could never sound tough enough. Frenzied yes, ("Helter Skelter"), but he was hardly as hard as John Lennon, who wouldn't hesitate to berate someone by pushing them to the verge of tears or by giving them all five fingers in the form of his fist. The same is true of Rhodes. You can tell when he's acting rather than living a song - and medleys never work anyway.

"Love Will Stone You" has the right measure of menace to it. It comes from the heavier pace, darker lyrics, and sharp, serious guitar asides rather than Rhodes' voice, which maintains its pop clarity. "There ain't no one who'll share your sorrow. There ain't no one who'll make you sane, 'cause your woman's left you again. Love will stone you, but you'll come down."

Rhodes' last album, "Farewell to Paradise" is his weakest, which is to say 3 of its 11 tracks -- the noisy "Bad Man," the rambling jazz-vibed "In Desperate Need" and the fatal Beethoven meets ARP synthesizer suicide mush of "Those That Die" -- are hard-edged stinkers compared to his near flawless previous output. (Coincidentally, the three below average cuts follow one another.)

Two of the more progressive tracks are "Warm Self-Sacrifice" and "See No Evil." "Warm Self-Sacrifice" borrows its pounding piano sound from Fats Domino's "Blueberry Hill" with a swinging sax solo thrown in to balance the scales. "See No Evil" marks another advancement in Rhodes' sound, mixing floating flirty flute with rippling guitar fills and spooky mellotron.

Disillusionment with the record business toughened Rhodes' sound, and "Drawn to Me's" bass and brass heavy arrangement makes the narrator sound like a stalker. In a brilliant move of sequencing, Rhodes dowses "Drawn to Me's" threatening pall with the Tex Mex optimism of "Blue Horizon." The listener is plunged back into Rhodes' new more intensely mature sound with "Shoot the Moon" which features muted stabbing horns and a Plains Indian tribal beat.

However downcast Rhodes' odes on "Emitt Rhodes" were they often had perky arrangements to pick them up. Not so on "Farewell to Paradise" - Rhodes caters to his misery. "Only Lovers Decide" is framed by weeping mellotron and sparse piano. In the past, Rhodes would have over dubbed multi level back ups. Here he lays his voice bare. His voice is less smooth and processed in "Trust One More," making his vocal sound more ravaged and pained. He follows up by reaching into his multi-layered production bag with "Nights Are Lonely," employing cutting guitar licks, nightmarish synthesizer that resembles a careening car and a lost, reverbed vocal. Emitt begins his exit as an artist on a typically positive Rhodes note with the harmonica embellished, tropical flavored "Farewell to Paradise."

The reclusive Rhodes has become a cult figure in spite of himself. The Bangles recorded "Live," and his exquisite "Lullabye" was used in the soundtrack for "The Royal Tannenbaums." But aside from a brief live appearance at Poptopia in 1998, it's been Emitt who? Now you know who.