Los Lonely Boys' "Sacred"

Epic Records

2 out of 5 stars

Blues-iness
On their sophomore studio album, Los Lonely Boys have seemingly hit their stride in the popularity department with "Sacred." On the strength of their recently released single "Diamonds," a tune with hints much like their first mainstream success "Heaven," they look to be on their way. However, it seems that promotional purposes have marketed this Mexican Rock band as a blues album, which has, well...its repercussions.
The album kicks off with a Los Lobos-of-old flavored rocking number called "My Way" explaining the boys' ways of staying true to themselves and their music, answering any critics' notions of their selling their souls to the big label demons for commercial popularity. However, the real blood and guts of the album is highlighted about five tracks in on a flamenco-tinged, almost slow blues ballad called "I Never Met A Woman" which lends itself to another band of the Texican element called Tito and Tarantula. It has a slow burn feel to it, with just enough spice to definitely hint at the Stevie Ray Vaughan Texas roots of guitar player Henry Garza. The Garza Brothers, though lacking in lyrical content, don't lack in talent. Lush harmonies by all the brothers flourish throughout the disc, reminiscent of their Mexican roots from the mariachi tradition. The Garzas also call on their musical influences in the song "Outlaws" paying homage to Johnny Cash and the Texas Blues traditons. It is obviously that this fantastic band, especially in elder brother Henry's guitar playing, that these guys are rooted in blues but definitely do not produce a blues album.
It also obviously detracts from their previously released live disc which is just drench and flooded with the influence of Los Lobos, Vaughan, the Fabulous Thunderbirds, Tito & Tarantula, amongst others in the Texas Electric Roadhouse Blues tradition. With better marketing and experience on the road, the boys from Southwest Texas will make for a real good band blessed in the Texican spirit that they harmonize in the lyrics of the album

Ben Cox

Rod Cook and Toast: Troublemaker

From the openng notes of "Beautiful Delilah" to the shimmering cadenza of "Come together", Troublemaker, the latest release from Rod Cook and Toast just erupts, one explosion of texture and color after another and never seems to pause for air. Cook is a great slide player, comfortable exploring the complicated soundscape that can be created by blending acoustic and electric instruments, some taken far outside their normal tonal range. But enough guitar speak....

There's some great songs, both well-chosen covers and originals. Beautiful Delilah, the opening track is an old Chuck Berry Chestnut that gets a full fledged make-over thats like a cross between that Duane Eddy low-pitched rumble and an overdue express train. My favorite track on this disk is 'Up the Line", an old friend of a blues standard that sports a driving, almost latin groove. But really, to pick a favorite is a tough choice, because there is simply some brilliant playing here- "the Chasm" has been rotation in my player for weeks, for the simple beauty of the acuistic guitar lines and vocal harmonies. With a disk like this it's not hard to understand why Rod Cook and Toast as one of the Pacific Northwests stronger bands.

Highly rated! Check the band out at their web site site: www.rodcookandtoast.net

Reviewed by Henry Mann

Aynsely Lister's "Everything I Need"

About 8 Years Too Late
3 out of 5 stars

Ruf City Records

He sounds like he's from Texas on guitar, his voice reminiscent of Jamie Walters of "The Heights" early 90s TV fame; Aynsely Lister's album "Everything I Need" is running about eight years too late. When you put on the album, you'll understand that this is one of those good albums but not a great one. Hearkening everyone from ZZ Top to Stevie Ray Vaughan in his Texas-sized guitar sound and playing, Lister throws a long shadow of a flashback on the then encouraging blues-rock scene of the late 90s with the likes of Kenny Wayne Shepherd and Jonny Lang. Though those two eventually went on to sell their souls to the Big Label demons, Lister seems to make no apologies about who he is or where he comes from. When you get midway through the album, after being attacked with and loosed in the shuffle of your blues-rock mind, you hear an overly acoustic track called "As the Crow Flies," one of only two non-penned tracks by Lister himself that just grabs ahold of you and gives you a good shock. Then, four tracks later, you can close your eyes and envision Albert Collins ripping into one of his iconoclastic instrumentals, but its Lister delivering the punch with "Quiet Boy!" Finally, the last two tracks of the album will sell you, when Lister rips into a song reminiscent of SRV's classic "Tin Pan Alley" called "Need Her So Bad" that introduces you to some of the most dynamic playing on the whole album. Then, finally, Lister pays the ultimate tribute to SRV when he mimicks "Little Wing," the Jimi Hendrix classic, but unlike Vaughan's instrumental gem, Lister sings with that Walters-esque voice of his, adding a separate dimension to the song that is both haunting and captivating. If you can separate Lister from all the blues-rock warble of wannabe Stevie Ray's and the next Kenny Wayne's you might let this album find its way into your collection.

Ben Cox

Bullfrog Brown
Uncooked
KWAQ Records
2006
(23'53")

Let's have the same team and do it again. Even better. Indeed, after their excellent Snakes & Devils, already reviewed here, Bullfrog Brown seems to have improved their style, or maybe their blues simply has matured. Unless it's the extra time they spent together on the road, on stage and in the studio ? Nevertheless, here's the obvious result : country blues to die for. With both respect for the tradition and that inevitable modern sound due to the fact this was recorded in a studio of our time. The nucleus still consists of Alar Kriisa on vocals, Üllar Kärt on harmonicas and Andres Roots, the guy with a predestined last name on guitars (slide, reso, etc), composer and producer of every title on this little jewel. They added the talents of Peeter Pilk on doublebass and mandolin here, Raul Terep on drums there, and, as an icing on the cake, Marju Varblane on violin. Yes, a little jewel indeed, and that maybe the only flaw on this CD : less than 25 minutes, 6 numbers only, that's just enough to make one crave for more. Let's wish this gets reissued soon with the addition of as many songs of the same quality. This EP will be commercially available, it should be on Black Cat CD in the US, Woodchuck Guitars in Europe, and as mp3s on Green Bullet soon.

René Malines

Jimmy "Duck" Holmes
Back To Bentonia
Broke & Hungry Records – BH13001
2006
(39'01")

What we have here is no less than the proof that the Bentonia style is alive and well, and very healthy too.
But what is Bentonia style may you ask ? To make it simple, let's say it's the blues as it was taught to Jack Owens by Skip James, then taught by Owens to his fellow Bentonian musicians. The genre lovers thought Owens passing could also mean the disappearance of the style. Not at all. Jimmy "Duck" Holmes, a Bentonian himself, who benefited Jack Owens lessons, maintains the tradition. Holmes is a heir, a carrier of the torch, and he holds it high as this CD testifies. He also inherited the Blue Front Cafe, a local juke joint his parents started in 1948., where most of these sides were recorded in last november, the rest being recorded in December at the au Delta Recording Studio in Clarksdale, Mississippi. By Jimmy Holmes side, harmonicist Bud Spires, an old sideman of Jack Owens, can be found on several numbers, including Your Buggy Don't Ride Like Mine he sings, and legendary Sam Carr on drums when Holmes leaves his acoustic guitar for an electric one. It's raw, it's sincere, it's authentic, it's the blues as it was played in the American Southern country side a century ago, and as it is still being played today as proven here. Essential to the genre amateurs.

René Malines

The Sean Carney Band
Life Of Ease
Nite Owlz Records
2006
(68'59")

Despite quick appearances in France last July, first as a guest with trombonist Sarah Morrow at the Parc Floral, then at the One Way Cafe in St Ouen where he first performed solo, then with Jersey Julie's band (ex-Mudcat, the Vagabonds), then again with Julie at the Martin Pecheur in the Paris suburbs a couple of days later, Sean Carney is totally unknown our neck of the woods. That's a shame that must be repared as soon as possible according not only to these very few performances, but also to this dazzling CD.
Second effort by this young man under his own name (he also lead Teeny Tucker's band on the road as well as on the lady's most recent recordings), this is an accomplishment, a true masterpiece of finesse, concision, vocal and guitar perfection, construction, arrangements, everything ! Clearly ingfluenced by the great T-Bone Walker and his almuni Duke Robillard (he has the balls to admit he's a fan of the Bostonian guitarist when the fashion these days seems to be taking down this genius) Sean delivers an album that, if it unfolds but a few aspects of his multiple musical talents (you must hear him play country blues ! He got it perfectly figured out !) will fulfill any normal modern blues amateur's expectation. His shuffles are of the "in your face" quality, his sophisticated blues à la Charles Brown will make you melt, his slow blues will tear you up moaning with pleasure. And don't go thinking for a minute this just another review in which the writer pleases himself by adding as many superlatives as he can in some sort of a litteral onanism .No, this album truly is of exceptionnal quality. Everything in it is excellent, from recording to mix to every musician talent, from tightness to expression, not to forget great guests such as the late Joe Weaver (these probably were his last recordings) whom Carney was a sideman too, Willie Pooch, and Teeny Tucker, just to name the vocalists only, when Sean is an accomplished singer himsel. It's the perfect album any band with a little talent dreams of producing one day. No need to say this CD is highly recommended. Now we can only hope to see the Sean Carney band booked on a french stage soon, if possible on a big festival one. And not 10 years from now !

René Malines

Lance & Donna
The Sun Will Shine
Dog & Bone Records
2005
(59'29")

Or a recording come back by the sympathetic couple from Nashville, Tennessee. What could be said about these blues troubadours that hadn't been said already ? And yet, these two manage to surprise us again. First by writing 15 of the 16 songs on this album. Just when you thought there were more into covers, today they are so impregnated by the original models that their own writing wins the challenge of being both original and sounding like the old guys' blues at the same time. With the difference that Lance & Donna benefit of today's studio possibilities, which has the effect of giving their instruments, most of them acoustic here, that crystal clear tone. Donna is still as discreet with her perfectly mixed rainstick, giving her companion the right pulse when necessary, and she also sings, sometimes doing background vocals on the chorus, other times sharing the lead vocals in a tasty dialog with Lance. As for him, is it just an impression ? It seems that he has added different new aspects to his singing, thus colouring the several sides of the album with different tones, more than he used to. As for his playing, be it on an acoustic guitar, on a resonator one, on a lapsteel or on a ukulele, we know the man can do it. In the end, this is a CD filled with freshness and tasty lyrics, one of those little happy moments only such modern hobos can provide.

Lance Harrison Band
No Rest For The Wicked
Dog & Bone Records
2005
(57'43")

In France there's a saying that goes :"un bonheur ne vient jamais seul", which means litteraly "one happiness never comes alone" : Lance & Donna confirm by sharing the pleasure of their electric band, with a new album to add to the caddy. They took Paco Saval on keyboards, Manju B on bass, Ralph Schlaeger on drums, invited Ralf Grottian on harmonica on 3 sides, all of them excellent musicians, and there you go, here's the Lance Harrison Band ! As usual, Lance's inspiration as a songwriter, sometimes alone, sometimes with Donna's help, on 13 numbers out of 14, are American roots musics : some blues of course, but also ragtime, country, an inch of folk-rock, and here's about one hour of excellent music, tongue-in-cheek lyrics, but sometimes very tender too, always right on the spot. The experiment is a success : Lance & Donna in electric band mode ? "I'm down fo'it" ! Of course, it is still Lance & Donna, their trademark is right there, the CD is filled with their own musical personality, but with a different tone, a different groove. As pleasant as the duo, but it may also be Lance's chance to express himself in a context that allows him to explore new domains, things maybe more difficult to do by just the two of them in acoustic. Whatever the case may be, this is a perfectly cooked album, a musical main course that should satisfy the most hungry for authentic musics amateurs.

Get yourself both from : www.lance-n-donna.com

René Malines

Dan Treanor & African Wind

Mercy
Plan-It Prod. PPCD 0015
(2006 – 64:10)

We knew about Dan Treanor thanks to the splendid album he co-signed with Frankie Lee : "African Winds", published by the Northernblues label. Here, Treanor, without Frankie Lee, selfproduces and conducts from A to Z (artwork included) an album by many musicians he's the conductor of. The multi-instrumentists surrounds himself with numerous talents : fifteen plus contributors, lead by a basis composed of she-drummer DJ Mrugala, singer Rex Peoples, bassist Christine Webb and (good) guitarist Randy Mrugala. The idea here is the same as on the record with Frankie Lee (to mix blues with African beats and instruments) and has spread quite a bit since, aside from African influences, Treanor adds those of barrelhouse, rock & roll, folk (listen to the violin tunes), vocals and fife and drums musics. As you might have guessed, what he's into is the "meeting" of popular, ethnics, or roots musics, pick the word that suits you the best. Dan Treanor doesn't suffer from the "white Zulu" syndrom, it is indeed the history of his own country, the United States, he tells. Almost a political committment in George Bush's days ! The music on this CD has nothing to do with a blunt lecture on "the blues roots are in Africa" à la Scorsese : it's alive, colourful, moving. The accent is on the rhythm, and a strong reference to Fred McDowell isn't vain : you'll often find yourself stomping your feet. Of course this album is a self production that could have been more focused : it suffers a little from its very generosity (there's even a bonus track at the end), but all we get is good music. Wish we could see them live !

Eric Doidy in Soul Bag magazine #183 (June 2006) , translated from french by René Malines.

Duane Allman - in Memorium (bootleg)

(Bugs Bunny was known to say, “If I dood it, I get a whuppin’. Okay, I dood it!” So “I dood it” too, and, let the whuppin’ begin, because this is a bootleg release. But Duane played for the love of music—and that’s why I wrote it.)

Duane Allman:

In Memorium 1946-1971

They say the best tribute of a musician’s legacy is the test of time. How does/did an artist compare against his or her peers? What influences did he or she contribute that still manifest today? And most important and vital: does the music hold up with the same fire, charisma, charm, and devotion that made us listen in the first place?

It is therefore a privilege, an honor, and with the strongest affection I bring as a dedicated and inspired fan that I acknowledge the 30 years this past October since Duane Allman left us with a chance to say how much he touched our lives with music. That’s quite a statement, but there is a wonderful reason to rejoice: an assignment like this marks a sacred anniversary. With three decades behind a loss as powerful as Duane, it is an effort of love and joy to write this in behalf of so many fans and musicians who played with or listen to him.

What more treasured a way to add a tribute and inaugurate our group effort in music publication than to give center stage to a rebel who embodied a musician’s visions in so many classic ways? With Duane, it seems afresh that he truly brought out the best of others in his studio and stage contributions, whether it was in blues, rock ‘n roll, jazz, or country influences. In deepest thanks and acknowledgement, this has now been enhanced due to the double-CD I recently added to my collection of Duane’s work: Duane Allman – In Memorium. As a new collection of Skydog Allman at his uncanny brightest, I’m lighting this one first. Besides, it has six funny photos in one small convenient place of that red-haired free spirit: Duane with Berry from the Ludlow Garage CD; Duane deep into his solo in the studio; playing an acoustic with total glee radiating in his face; defiant and proud with arms crossed; a marvelous side profile of those elegant chops; and outdoors at Piedmont Park.

Take it back to Muscle Shoals, back to 1969-70, and let the Hawk, Ronnie Hawkins, step to the podium for a few cuts of testimony. Ronnie is “Down in the Alley,” and Duane starts off with a chainsaw screech on bottleneck that captures the slow molasses pace of this song. It sounds like he double-tracked his slide solo, but when you’re playing alongside Roger Hood, Barry Beckett, Eddie Hinton, Roger Hawkins, and King Biscuit Boy, Duane had the company to strut his stuff. And off they go, as “Red Rooster” parties all night long behind Ronnie’s deluxe boogie, and you can hear him twice call out for Duane on cue to lay down that electricity.

Duane could also drop down solos with a sheer ferociousness that could make a mediocre song sound good. He does so with wild abandon on the next two tunes, buttressing up the Soul Survivors’s “Darkness,” and then Sam Samudio’s (Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs, y’all) “Relativity.” When that special ingredient was needed, Duane could season up anything and make it tasty. But for himself—that’s where Duane doesn’t get the support from his fellow musicians, and it’s not because he wasn’t trying. Vocally, Duane just didn’t have the range to comfortably front a song for an entire album’s worth of work, as shown by “Steal Away,” a psychedelic wailing cut from a project that was mercifully better left abandoned. Duane redeems his poor singing on “Dimples,” but that’s on Volume II. And when it came to singing, outtakes from the first Allman Brothers release shows why Gregg was the natural choice for a song like “Trouble No More,” which shows up here in a version that was found in a tape on Momma A’s kitchen shelf. Duane’s stinging treble slide really gets in tasty comments, and it’s also worth noting that Gregg really threw his heart and throat into his delivery. The brothers, at age19 and 18 years old respectively, knew their roots. The same goes for “Don’t Keep Me Wonderin’” and “Revival,” which can also be found on the bootleg CD Second Coming.

However, it was also with his extended family of friends that Duane found companionship (see Delaney Bramlett’s interview and comments in the Gritz archives), and DB and Friends had a party when King Curtis and Duane played in August 1971 in New York City at a radio-sponsored show. Showcasing the talents of their intimate close connection, the self-proclaimed “Three M’skeeters” added in Little Feat’s Sam Clayton and Kenny Gradney to party hearty on “12 Bar Blues.” Delaney does stand-up comedy bits, Curtis blows golden smoke rings, and Duane preens like a peacock with trademark slide guitar comic comments, chuckles, laughs, and quips that literally speak in a special language of his love for playing. And for all you roasted and toasted freaks, Bobby Weir and the rest of the Grateful Dead were thrilled to have Duane come onstage to join them in April 1971 (just after the legendary Fillmore Concerts shows) to fill in on second lead for “Sugar Magnolia.” The visual impact of so many wild and crazy personalities must have been worth the price of an acid tab. This song is worth hearing if only to have a second opinion as to who had more jazz influences: Phil Lesh or Berry Oakley.

The CD ends with two early versions of the Brothers themselves onstage in 1970, taking a spin on “Elizabeth Reed” (at the Warehouse in New Orleans, March 19^th) and “Stormy Monday” (at Swarthmore College, on May 2^nd). The recordings don’t do justice to the band’s performance, although they have been cleaned up from sonic distortion, hiss, and crackles, and that’s only because the Brothers hadn’t really explored the possibilities that these tunes would eventually become a year later on “Fillmore.” But it’s Duane’s commentaries about the audience (“There’s a pervert down here…if any of you young ladies would like to pick up on one…”) that would make a fan blush. This is not to ignore or overlook his lusty, leering introduction to Dickey’s epic composition: “I’ve Got Peanut Butter Caught In My Pubic Hair…Crunchy Peanut Butter!” What else can you do when the leader of your band has the cojones--and talent--(and love as a leader from his mates)--to make Eric Clapton ask for guitar lick ideas and support on a masterpiece compilation like Layla and Other Love Songs?

On side two, though, is when Duane really shows why he was the unparalleled master of both slide and lead in a style that continues to be learned today. “Statesboro Blues” and “Whipping Post” (from a 4^th of July, 1970 show) are as colorfully artistic as the liquid light displays that the band used, and even in a shorter version, the latter is still breath-taking and loaded with opportunities. But come on back to the Warehouse in September 1971, with a fated few short weeks of time left in that remarkable life, when Duane blazed like a comet on “Blue Sky” and “Dreams.” The recording quality is lacking, but they are the two most vital songs on the package. On the former, Berry finds his wings behind Duane’s songbird-in-spring outpouring, following his and Dickey’s lead notes like a trio of soaring eagles. This takes the studio version to a magical realm that only the Allmans could have imagined in their creative capacities.

It is on the latter song, though, where Duane’s abstract jazz themes traveled to new dimensions. In his solos on previous recordings, he always floated as effortlessly as the out-of-body night trips we have of flying, but on this recording, he dove to the bottom of the deepest ocean to prepare for his ascent. If you want to track it on the sonar scope, the missile he fired broke the surface with that incredible liquid bronze fuel-powered sound on slide approximately 12 minutes into the song.

Duane must have been as hard to control offstage as he was daring in concert, so Dave Herman (host of the WPLJ-FM show in August) of WABC-FM in New York had to verbally wrestle with his guest’s quicksilver outbursts that scurried like the surface of a pond with water bugs. The closest man I can think of as a similar uncontrolled terror to interview must have been the late Keith Moon. I’ll argue with my credentials as a middle/elementary schoolteacher that Duane was as hyperactive as any student I ever tried to control—and we label ‘em as ADHD these days. That doesn’t take away from the potential and enthusiasm that goes with that—and I’m an acknowledged candidate for that behavior label, too, as friends can testify. But coming in drunk on Jack Daniels didn’t make Duane any less inhibited--if anything, he was ready to raise holy hell, and there was nothing holding him back.

This also included an endorsement to the audience to take off their clothes, which Duane cheerfully detailed in testimony for album covers, his views on the raw seething power of Dickey Betts as an unheralded musician, insights on the making of “Layla,” and nearly blurting out the private phone number for friend Johnny Sandlin. Oh, and he also encouraged a phone-in caller to meet him (obviously a female) for a potential X-rated rendezvous: “Say any dirty words you want…10:00 at your hotel…I’ll bring the whips and masks!” Dallas Taylor, drummer for Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, also present at the taping, must have been ready to dive for the fire escape to reach safety, as Duane was wired and ready to explode. To close the CD, Duane and his beloved band are back at the Fillmore for his gorgeous brief solo ending on the Eat A Peach and Concerts CDs, as “Will the Circle Be Unbroken?” gathers in the flock to safety. This song in its entirety (“Mountain Jam”) would be my vote for the last music I would wish to hear in my final moments on Earth, as it is a magnum opus of jazz, rock, blues, and gospel, built around a pop ballad.

As he was founder and inspirational father of the Allman Brothers Band, consider here that Duane inaugurated what I call the Allman Cousins (Berry, Scott Boyer, Tommy Talton, Pete Carr, Paul Hornsby, and Johnny Sandlin). They were more than just an extended family group, because they had been making music with him through so many precious moments, and deserve honoring their own category. Delaney Bramlett told me about how Duane and King Curtis and he were so closely bonded; I also saw fellow Domino Bobby Whitlock moved to tears when he finally viewed the photos of Duane’s gravesite. There is no denying that many men and women still grieve for their long-gone friend’s presence and spirit, and the years will continue to fall aside. As new generations of musicians and audiences explore the archives, and they will surely find themselves captivated by Duane’s extensive collaborations. With luck and personal negotiation, more material may yet surface. It would certainly be his way of spreading the joy of the music he loved, and in turn, our ways of giving it back. God bless you, Duane, for making it sound so beautiful and magnificent. Dedicated to a Brother.

Derek is Eric--and his mates

If there has been anyone who carried the Olympic Flame of Guitar Heroes, Eric Clapton would have to be considered. He has matured as a musician who truly brings smiles to everyone onstage with him. Thank you, old friend, for these fireworks displays.)

Derek & the Dominos

In Concert (Polydor)

Live at the Fillmore (Polydor)

These packages are really fraternal twins of the same concert: two performances a night on October 23^rd and 24^th, 1970, at Bill Graham’s Fillmore East. If you love Eric Clapton (and not liking this phase of his career is like finding fault with a sunrise), then it’s a treat to own both CD’s, even though they carry the bulk of the same material on each set. However, the subtle nuances and slight alterations of Eric’s serpentine lead guitar and the athletic backup show of the Dominos (Bobby Whitlock on organ and piano; Jim Gordon on drums; Carl Radle on bass) make this a musical “would you prefer blondes, brunettes or redheads” type of opportunity! Just dig in and enjoy.

It always takes just one tune to make me reach for the In Concert disc, and that’s “Why Does Love Got to be So Sad?” Beginning with a loose exchange between Clapton’s wah-wah musings and Gordon’s ride cymbal/percussion prodding, the song shakes itself awake like a rearing stallion as Whitlock takes his cue on Hammond B-3 and starts to breathe fire. The band catches the momentum and everyone is cooking, and it’s especially interesting to catch Carl Radle’s fluidity if you use headphones. Underestimated as a bass player, he keeps himself nimble enough to make his partners give that little extra bit.

Okay, I’m a sucker for rock ‘n roll, so just juice it up with a “Bottle of Red Wine.” Eric and Bobby just have the time of their lives, and Clapton’s vocals and playing are pure enthusiasm, keeping tandem with Whitlock’s exhilarating background vocals and laser-beam organ lines. The guitar solo is crisp and punchy, and if your feet aren’t nailed to the floor, then you’ve probably moved the furniture and grabbed your favorite dancing partner. I’d leave things as they are: next up is a raunch ‘n roll, and someone needs to “Roll It Over.”—you can figure out that some groupie somewhere is patting herself on the back (literally) for the memories from this complement. The lyrics are bawdy and earthy, and Eric’s guitar reaches straight for the heavens like a beacon looking for an airplane at night.

There’s still room for a party, and Eric shows the way: he’s got “Blues Power.” Whitlock plays piano like a true percussion instrument, raining down chords to keep pace with Clapton’s voracious attack, and the ever-steady Gordon runs on nuclear fuel. One tune that appears as a before-and-after is a favorite of many from the Layla album: “Tell The Truth.” Stripped bare of the slide work of Duane Allman, this song has two incarnations, and each shows why this was a mandatory part of the set: the anguished, grievous singing of Clapton and Whitlock work like barbed wire to keep a sharp boundary marker that lets Clapton kick up his heels on Stratocaster like a scared rabbit trying to double back on its tracks, urged on by anvil choruses of piano and cymbal smashes. However, on Fillmore, Eric throws a nod to Skydog’s influence as he slips a bottleneck on his finger and whines and buzzes like an industrial saw on the jobsite.

A special serving of Layla tunes makes Fillmore a welcomed addition to your collection: “Key to the Highway, Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out,” and “Little Wing.” Clapton kicks off “Key” with a clarion blast of notes, then swings down on his chariot as Whitlock rocks him slowly. The lyrics are textured with a barroom smoky feeling, and Eric dreamily loses himself for a few brief moments, only to crack the whip again on his strings. Everyone successfully repeats this format for “Nobody Knows You…”, and Eric’s vocals stand as testimony to the original author’s shame and self-pity, and he puts out his best Freddie King tribute. With a touch of controlled lead mixed with wah-wah and steamy organ, Jimi Hendrix is saluted with the fireworks display of “Little Wing” as Eric pours out notes of 24-karat gold.

If there’s such a thing as British gospel, “Presence of the Lord” fits the bill. Eric’s voice is strained and fragile, but the melody is initially supported on the strong shoulders of Whitlock’s piano and backup vocals. Clapton gets his sea legs under himself—then he fills the sails with a mighty flurry, mixing string-bending with wah-wah effects. With optimism and recovery of sorts in mind, maybe it’s time to check out “Got to Get Better in a Little While.” Ominously direct and to-the-point with comments about Clapton’s battle with heroin (“Sniffing things that ain’t good for me”), Whitlock helps build a wall of driving piano with his mates to lay a foundation under Eric’s panoramic phrases. In songs like this, the rhythmic coordination of Radle and Gordon as counter-weights really shows why this team was so stabilizing in allowing Clapton his freedom to soar.

As a human dynamo, Jim Gordon kept a relentless pace on drums in a live set (ala Butch and Jaimoe), and he is turned loose halfway through “Let it Rain” to unleash a barrage of percussive fundamentals in his solo. Using a simple but effective kit, he pulls every inch of available space from his tom-toms, using their deep resonance to pull some bottom against the snare’s pistol crack and cymbal hiss and splashes. Whitlock’s Hammond shudders with fury, and Clapton again leaps for the upper atmosphere. When the others finally rejoin Gordon’s frantic pace (I have personal testimony that the boys were indulging right behind Jim, ignoring his warranted annoyance and “get up here and let’s play!” prodding), guitar and B-3 sprint home against him for the checkered flag, and Radle keeps them honest. On the Fillmore version, Clapton’s outburst at this point leaves the solar system at the speed of light.

So, maybe it’s time to slow things down—a whole lot. “Have You Ever Loved A Woman” lets everyone move like it’s 95 degrees in the shade…and the heat makes all the difference. His vocals rip apart his torment and Eric’s searing fingers perform open-heart surgery with a razor-sharp cutting edge. This is why they call it the blues—but this is really indigo-deep and to the core. With that in mind, turn back to Fillmore and let Robert Johnson’s “Crossroads” remind you of who caught Eric’s ear and soul with his own legendary bargain. Deliberate and crisp, everyone runs their routine like a gym boxing workout. For those of you who own the Crossroads compilation, this is the same version.

It really comes down to paying dues, and Derek & the Dominos put enough credit in their account to break the bank. As much as can be said about the excesses and emotional upheavals that were the detonating device and/or destroyer of their efforts, we can be thankful that they were so willing to live in this musical lake of fire. Clapton had the best team of commandos that ever strapped on, picked up, or plugged in during this timeframe, and for those who were lucky enough to have been there, seeing was believing. Hearing it again just validates what once was…magic…of the highest order from a man and his friends.

Mr. Lucky wins again

Satisfied

Mr. Lucky (MRL Records)

After I laid this out for a listen, I am more convinced than ever that there is a kind of natural affinity of the coordinates of points South that creates material this good. A kind of a home-grown, musical Fertile Crescent has been nurtured for all these years for the industry--it must be the soil, or perhaps just good karma, but the talent is just getting better each year. There has always been good news available on the circuit from Nashville (which these men call home), Memphis to Muscle Shoals and over two steps to Georgia, but now it’s more exciting as new artists are taking themselves into distribution. With that in mind, these guys will melt the winter freeze in your home, and keep you in a groove that’s so deep it’s subterranean. “Satisfied” ain’t the word—I’m celebratin’!

Just dive right in to this mix, because it’s a split deck: either a hot, sweaty trek across a barren blues wasteland of pain and misery, or aged-in-the-wood vintage rhythm and boogie. Rick Moore’s grainy, hoarse vocals sound like a made-to-order mesh between Dr. John’s gravel and Gregg Allman’s soulfulness to lead the way, and Sam Stafford comes up with incredible, lion-sized claws of flesh-tearing lead and slide guitars or deliberate, muted runs. There’s stormy-nights-in-the-woods anguish that follows like a bad dream from Joe Warner’s B-3, only to shimmer like a rainbow when the clouds are gone; the pounding hammers of Tim Hinkley’s piano fall and jump like a gymnast’s routine, and the rhythm section of Nick Buda on drums, Jerry “Snake” King on bass, and Will Rhodarmor on harp send down some dangerous rockslides without any warning. Some special friends are also here: Jimmy Hall hoots briefly on sax and meets Doug Moffit’s horn and Wayne Jackson’s trumpet and arrangements, Jack Pearson lends a hand with lead licks on a tune, and Jimmy Nalls takes time for rhythm guitar on some cuts.

I always look for mojo to get things into circulation, and I found a heaping supply (on my favorite tracks): “Dark Before Daylight” has that slow burn that I crave, “Memphis Stripper” and “She’s Allright” are gonna be banned from my wife’s ears before she gets the wrong idea (and spoils my fantasies) about Southern women, and “Sell My Monkey” whips a slide guitar (disguised as a cat-o-nine-tails beating) behind a cruisin’ shuffle. However, the devil’s gonna getcha when Albert King’s “I Wanta Get Funky” comes through and claims your soul. There is also some great gospel here with “Hello Darkness,” a New Orleans stroll with a “Good Man Gone Bad,” and the best suggestion I’ve heard in years: “Take It Down to Memphis.” Just tell ‘em Mr. Lucky sent you—your ticket has been waiting at the gate.

Make yourself a New Year’s promise: you will make all efforts, superhuman or otherwise necessary, to see these guys play, and while you’re at it, insist that this CD is included in the show. I’ll tell my missus that I’m working late that night, and we can celebrate together afterwards. Guaranteed we’ll be “satisfied”!

Barbara Blue: Recoloring the blues

(Friends said to me, “Do you know what you sound you’d like doing to her?” Damn right I do—but Barbara was very pleased with this. She told me so. Yes she did…very pleased. I know which side of the bread the butter goes…)

Sell My Jewelry

Barbara Blue (Big Blue Records)

The most impressive thing to see when you’re in Memphis is…the Mississippi River, right? Not even close—the tides and currents, they say, slow down, when Barbara Blue is on stage and doing a number. The lady may sing the blues, and some wicked funk, too; be warned, though, because she’s more infrared, and liable to make the Greenhouse Effect look like an afterthought on the thermometer. Barbara may say she’s blue, but I don’t know if there’s a measurement yet for this musical heat on the spectrum.

This is a new voice—one that would make that ol’ river go back for a second look—she commands, demands, and gets attention. It’s the kind of effect a vixen named Circe did for twelve months to a wandering sailor named Ulysses. She wove some potent spells, that woman. In another similar way, if friend and heartbreak E.G. Kight has the pipes of a brass horn, then Barbara is alongside with an alto saxophone for vocal cords, and you will follow her beckon and call. Why? Same as E.G. did: here’s another one who’s “Trouble with a Capital ‘T’”. Oh, Lord, this should have been a signal that I was about to beg for mercy, and Mike Finnegan’s chilling B-3 acts as Barbara’s high priest to draw you to your knees. That’s the Texacali Horns who weave and sway behind her (Joe Sublett and Darrell Leonard), and there’s no choice but to obey Barbara’s wishes. Joe sneers and jeers at your fate, but Barbara holds the power to be pleased: you can’t get away, and she’s also “Back by Popular Demand.” Those three snake charmers who serve their mistress so effectively are Larry Fulcher on bass, working alongside Tony Braunagal’s rhythmic drumming, and Johnny Lee Schell’s weaving guitar.

What would she bid you to do? She has the “Tool Box Blues,” (although I think she’s not worried about it). ‘Just stick around, baby, you’ve got something in your tool box (that turns her love light on) and you might come in handy some time.’ No need to guess what her workbench is, brother, and you’re gonna be changing more than oil. Yes, that’s the grease gun in your hands, but not from the hardware store. But see here: as I said, the woman knows what she wants; she’s for real and down-to-earth, and the diamond solitaire on this disc comes from the sweetest chords you can find when Barbara and her men roll out the carpet for “Don’t Lead Me On.” This is what it’s all about: she’s got a heart of 24-carat, and that’s worth a royal ransom. Power and beauty do have a match, and despite all the worries and fears of losing herself, staying true (and blue) to Barbara could be the finest thing a man could find.

So now you’re committed and hooked, and there is something sweeter than sugar coming when Barbara gets over her “Road Blues.” You can sway and grind because she’s got you in that magic spell, and John “Juke” Logan’s harmonica wails like a pet songbird that has just seen the light of a new dawn in the window. Maybe that’s you on the perch, looking for favors, and if Barbara’s going places, so is her main squeeze, because she “Can’t Get Your Lovin’ Off My Mind.” Accessories are one thing, but love is a commodity, and the self-titled Memphis Queen has her expectations—and fulfillment is a noble priority. There are more dangerous things to do than disappoint her (with a CD like this, honoring her sensuous decrees will become the next Olympic Extreme Sport event).

Barbara has some spiritual musical guardians watching over her, and you don’t mess with the vamp and sermon of John Lee Hooker, who must be smiling down on this earthly messenger. Taking a mosaic look at the Hook’s titles in a throbbing molten lecture, “From the Delta to the Golden Gates” drills deep into the heart of the blues master’s soul in tribute and love. She’s also more than capable of handling any tomcattin,’ and I pity the fool who instigated the angry manhunt and threats from “Cheatin’ Blues.” You need some serious insurance to double-down in love on a woman with more tattoos on her arm than you have. She’s still a romantic in spite of all the wounds, and there’s a “Drunken Angel” in the picture. Staggering, twisting organ and a gorgeous ballad tune are the medicine Barbara needs. So, since she’s feeling alive again, it’s because she’s been “Brought Together By the Blues,” and Honey and Rod Piazza have penned a magical recipe for her. Just in case that doesn’t keep ‘em crawling back for more, Godmother Janis Joplin will cast down the judgment of “Turtle Blues,” and Barbara won’t turn the other cheek. If anything, she’s ready to sock you on the jaw.

So when they say, what are the great sights out west, there are monuments, statues, natural resources, and other wonders—but none of them sing. And none of them are as magnificent as this woman, who deserves, earns, and offers a package of value that has a price tag worn in her heart. Just think: she would sell her jewels for your love at www.barbarablue.com—and she’s one helluva glittering gem herself. She’ll wear you with pride, too, and that’s why blue is going to be your favorite color. Barbara’s gonna tell you so.

Delaney & Bonnie On Tour with Eric Clapton

(Ladies and Gentlemen, in my opinion—and one echoed by fans and friends throughout the country and around the world: perhaps the purest rhythm and blues band to ever be recorded: Delaney & Bonnie & Friends.)

Delaney & Bonnie & Friends

On Tour with Eric Clapton

(Atco)

If it is true that we are judged by the company we keep, then Delaney Bramlett has the musical wisdom of Solomon. Can you imagine having an on-stage lineup of this proportion: Dave Mason, Jim Gordon, Bobby Whitlock, Carl Radle, Bobby Keys, Jim Price, Rita Coolidge, Bonnie Bramlett, Tex Johnson…and a fella named Clapton. Lord have mercy!

Maybe the Beatles said it better: “I Get By With a Little Help from My Friends.” Delaney knows the merits of that—just look again at those names and you know that his little black book of phone numbers belongs in the Smithsonian. I mention the Fab Four because Delaney played with them, too—and George was another Friend of this widespread family. In fact, both he and Ringo were at one of these shows—and stood on their chairs during the applause to show their enthusiasm. You could add another Beatles phrase in here, too: “…you’re gonna carry that weight”: this band’s power and energy moved fixed stages. But when there was this kind of power coming from the set, they probably needed steel reinforcements.

From the first notes, Delaney’s relentless driving pace and Bonnie’s crackling, tearing voice rips up the set for this awesome, blistering performance as “Things Get Better” literally kicks off like a revved Harley. Whitlock’s steaming organ fires up beside the horns and a great jangling guitar solo takes your breath away. By the way, the man who truly held the helm throughout this show was Carl Radle—just see how quick his fingers jumped as he guided the pace while letting his bandmates enjoy the spotlight. Radle is, in my book, a forgotten mentor for bass players who need to learn how to handle a band in the manner that a trainer works a Kentucky Derby winner.

D&B’s souls come with a deep love for two vital ingredients: Robert Johnson’s blues and gospel, and “Poor Elijah—Tribute to Johnson (Medley)” lets this good man and woman tell their stories as they set their voices aloft like kites dancing in a summer wind. Mr. Clapton scampers and jumps like an enthusiastic, happy puppy during his solo, with notes that are just down-to-earth delightful and honest in their directness—just listen to his sincerity.

In case you overlooked it, Dave Mason had a well-known hit that Delaney covered: “Only You Know and I Know,” and when the band takes it, everyone gets a chance to show off their strengths—especially the guitar solos that challenge each other in a magnificent duel, but please thank Jim Price and Bobby Keys for their horn work and tremendous efforts as they project a panoramic wall of sound as a backdrop. If anyone in the audience wasn’t torn to a frenzy during the Bacchanalian-like festivities of “I Don’t Want to Discuss It,” I’d like to know if someone checked their pulse. The band races on a hell-for-leather mad dash behind Delaney’s ecstatic zeal—just pick any player, follow them over their own off-road rally, and be sure your seat belt is buckled, ‘cause this is free-wheelin’! Have you ever seen those speeded-up old-time films—the Keystone Kops come to mind—where everything seems to be in double-time? Imagine a song at that pace. Wait a minute--when the party is over, Ms. Bonnie has the spotlight—and a red one, please—the lady asked for it--as “That’s What My Man is For” calls for some sweaty swayin’ and bumping and grinding. And tell it, tell it righteously she does, just the way it is, two-fisted, rich and raw, as she puts her pipes through a session that would make Janis Joplin stand up and pump the air with a proud salute.

In another of those “here-we-go-again!” escapades, “Where There’s A Will, There’s a Way” sets Olympic records for enthusiasm, excitement, and all-around musical marksmanship, and that’s why fire extinguishers are made—to put out blazes like this--sho’ nuff, honey. Follow this up with “Coming Home,” as Dave Mason’s snaky slide guitar taunts Eric’s lead, and the horns make it clear that this destination can’t be denied. So what do we do for a finale? Whop-bop-a-loo-bop!—dance yer shoes off (and anything else that comes loose, but don’t stop!), as a Little Richard medley demolishes “Tutti-Frutti,” grooves into “The Girl Can’t Help It,” flaunts a passionate “Long Tall Sally,” and escorts sister “Jenny Jenny” for all the right, naughty reasons. Get up, get down, get it on, and best of all, get to it! And if you can catch yourself from dancing in the street, then you need another listen. Memories are made from shows like these—may I be lucky enough in my lifetime to meet more people who were in England on this magic night and hear their testimony.

Come into the Blues: E.G. Kight, the Georgia Songbird

(When I finished this, the tears were streaming down my face. “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long (To Stop Now)” is a tornado waiting to be heard.)

Come Into The Blues

E.G. Kight (Blue South Records)

Don’t tell me that lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place: I’ve got E.G. Kight in the CD player and there’s a bulls-eye on my chest. Everything on this disc is blue as can be—even her Fender guitar and denim outfit—and the music grabs your soul and shakes it as fiercely as a pit bull.

My gosh, does this lady rock! Just be sure to check your hat at the door, because you won’t be leaving soon—there’s some accounts due and guess who is holding the check? Not E.G: Get out of the way, she says, it’s time for “loving a brand-new man,” she’s gonna be “Somewhere in Atlanta,” and don’t you dare even try to make amends. The horns chatter away like gossiping jaybirds in agreement, and I’ll guess that someone’s using a fish fillet knife on slide to create those ripping squeals. Follow that with a saxophone solo by Elbert Durham that scorches and torches everything in sight, and E.G. is long gone—and you can just get back on that train, ‘cause someone ain’t treating her with justice. There’s not one ounce of remorse, because she testifies that it’s time to “Unlove You,” and although her heart is breaking into a thousand pieces, that aching sax and smoky vocals just won’t give you another chance. No way!

Anyone who thinks he could win over E.G. had better bring some big boots to fill. Can’t get the job done? She knows it now, and tells you so: “I Broke a Heart” (which I know now was her own, too), and a woman scorned is as friendly as a diamondback rattlesnake with a case of sunburn. Two mistakes don’t take her off the playing field, and there’s some hot slide being served from the pitcher’s mound, throwing strikes for her team. Take your bat off your shoulder, mister, and turn in the uniform, because your love is just “Skin Deep,” and it’s a long walk back home. However, she’s found her home-run man, and it takes her five days to get primped and proper for “Lovin’ on the Weekend.” Here’s that rascal on slide again—he’s obviously the clutch performer she’s been needing, and the rest of the band keeps an all-star scorecard.

With the sun setting and the crowd gone home, E.G. has found true love and thrills. It’s a natural thing, and she can now say, “At Last,” it’s time to slow-dance with a Patsy Cline-like smooth vocal and soaring hopes—and hold her close. How sure is she? She’s smokin’ the racetrack, and now she’s got “Fuel to Burn.” Rev up that guitar—I mean, engine: The NASCAR circuit would be wise to host E.G and her band if they want to see some real action. There’s new meaning to the phrase, “mechanic on duty,” folks, when E.G. pulls in for a pit stop.

She just can’t shake those blues, though—the hurt is hard to ignore, and “Bits and Pieces” of that ill-fated love affair are everywhere. Is she moved? Like a woman should be, especially since “Nobody Ever Touched Me There,” and she means to the roots of her soul. E.G. will cut you loose one last time, and with a melody that jitters and jukes with a strong hint of the Beatles’ “Money (That’s What I Want),” a free woman makes one last stand for her independence and declares, “I Don’t Care No More.” Just light a candle, though, because you need to know: “I’ve Been Lovin’ You Too Long (To Stop Now).” With a rising, spiraling vocal to take her prayer aloft, approaching stormclouds brew as the horns, percussion, and B-3 give wings to her words. Those aren’t raindrops falling, they’re tears, and they could make a river overflow. That brings it to a close, but there’s no denying that love lost is a heavy price to pay. Just bare your soul and let her show you why she shares that same burden—they make movies from songs like this. And when E.G Kight is feeling it this strong, that’s why you need to Come Into the Blues.

Albert King and Stevie Ray Vaughn: In Session

(Awright, y'all, just making sure we understand: some of these folks that I review have seen better days and some are no longer with us--but they played with their heart and soul as instruments. Dig 'em!)

When Delaney Bramlett told me Albert King was a friend and inspiration, I was caught off guard. That only took 10 CDs of Albert King material to correct! Worth every penny and minute of effort, too. It’s too bad that Albert never learned to read—I wish he could have seen this. Farewell, Stevie Ray. We lost you too soon.)

Albert King with Stevie Ray Vaughn

In Session (Stax)

The old saying is true: when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. In the case of Stevie Ray, his apprenticeship reached a new peak on December 6, 1983, when he was asked to share a stage with the legendary Albert King for an independent television station gig in the Canadian province of Ontario. This was not their first meeting: Albert had been observing Stevie’s career burn like a bonfire when the veteran guitar player caught an introductory 1973 show at the Coliseum Club in Austin. The skinny Texan with the gravelly voice and blazing hands left a lasting impression on the big man with the arrow-shaped guitar, and Albert acknowledged that he stayed back without revealing his personal interest in order to better watch the fiery youngster perform.

Stevie had earned Albert’s curiosity the hard way: he had paid his dues by studying the tone, the string-bending, and the blues-drenched statements that made King famous. This album, just released in 1999, simultaneously captures the two-fisted sledgehammer power of both men’s hands and fingers—but also demonstrates the delicate caresses on their instruments with which they lavished their love for the blues. More importantly, the fondness and adoration of the master for his pupil (and vice versa) is clearly heard throughout the running comments and patter throughout this set. Albert confidently encourages, coaxes, praises, and blesses his protégée. In return, Stevie’s worshipful delight and authentic “aw, shucks” simple appreciation literally shines like a beacon from a lamp with faithful friendship. The two men were perfectly at ease with each other; both locked in synchronicity.

Joined by Gus Thornton on bass and the Llorens brothers (Tony on piano and organ; Michael on drums), the set ran for 105 minutes, but an hour’s worth is preserved here as a musical documentary. “Call it Stormy Monday” lays down a tutorial in driving nails with guitar strings as hammers, with Albert cutting a path on first solo, then gleefully urging his partner throughout the blistering reply. Both men pass verbal snapshots of nostalgia after the song is finished, and it’s obvious that they totally enjoyed this opportunity and the craftsmanship that it produced.

Albert then beckons Stevie to do “that fast thing—that rap thing—that had a heckuva groove to it!”—and Stevie muscles his way into “Pride and Joy,” much to King’s radiant delight. The rhythm section hauls their heavy load like a big trucker’s rig, and Stevie’s coarse-grit sandpaper voice and jack-hammer fingers work on the Strat’s jumbo strings like a pneumatic drill on concrete. King then asks Vaughn if he would help out on “Ask Me No Questions” (a song covered by B.B. King), and they pack a front-and-back galloping display of firepower pulls and pushes as Tony Llorens nimbly dances over the piano keys. There’s a verbal celebration on the sidelines when the song ends, and the electricity between these two is crackling with excitement and potential.

Albert handed out some meaty praise to Stevie when he asked him to fill the shoes of the late Jimi Hendrix (no surprises there!) on “Blues at Sunrise.” King bends his intro notes and solo with blowtorch heat on his Flying Vee (they say Albert bent strings that stayed bent!) and instructs his student to come on in just like Jimi did. Vaughn takes the task with concentration and deliberation, laying off the volume control to keep things at a savage hum.

With that, Albert calls for new strings and says it’s time to sit back and watch the younger generation call the plays at quarterback. The signal is for “Overall Junction,” and Stevie and Tony L. make the most of the double-reverse play. One can only imagine that Albert looked back and contemplated the horizons that beckoned to his young scholar. “Put this on your next album,” he mentors, and “Match Box Blues” is laid out for Stevie’s infusion. Pumped with vitality, “Don’t Lie to Me” lets King crush his strings beneath those immense hands (that’s why he couldn’t hold a pick, right?), and Vaughn steam-rolls a reply, flagged on by his proud coach. The rhythm section has their cross-traffic patterns locked, and this magnificent encounter closes with both men in a musical arm-wrestling match.

God bless them both for giving us such a treasured fruit of their labor. And dear Lord, we miss them dearly. Play the blues, everyone, for Albert and Stevie Ray! They’re playing together again, you can bet on that. So, today’s assignment is to get your copy of this disc. Albert King wouldn’t have it any other way—and anyone with a sense of self-preservation knew not to upset him. And Stevie would just as quickly bull-whip you with a song—so follow in their footsteps and party hearty!