January 2012.

Despite what seems like an alarming degree of confusion and despair in the intro to my last post, things are okay.  Despite the fact that 2011 has been a year of intense, painful loss and transition, things are okay.  Despite the fact that the country seems to be in a state of dynamic chaos and flux right now, things are okay.  Of course, things are not really okay at all in the cosmic sense, but in the day-to-day grind, and in the essential need to find happiness and contentedness in the moment, things are okay.  Which is all any of us can hope for, really. 

Honestly, considering the over-arching economy and political atmosphere that we face, I’d say Dolly and I are doing damn fine in light of current circumstances.  I did recently get a job, which has done wonders not only for my rejuvenated self-esteem and confidence, but will also continue to lighten the stress of bills, student loans, and other anonymous expenses weighing heavy on my mind for the last few months.  I’m still playing catch-up with my finances, so LP’s have not been top on my list in terms of necessary priorities, but luckily I have a stockpile of vinyl purchased this last summer that sits patiently in sleeves, waiting for me to eventually put it on the turntable and, if I deem it worthy, display its sterling qualities for all of cyberspace to see.  I got heat in the crates for days, so don’t you worry, fearless reader.  The archaeology of untold wonders shall continue…

The Vibrations: "Taking A New Step"

This record is still blowing my mind.  It goes for serious money in the vinyl collectors’ market, but the matter of its rarity is dwarfed by its musical excellence.  What I know about the Vibrations is this—they started out as LA-based vocal group the Jayhawks, then changing their name to the Marathons and finally the Vibrations, charting their first big hit with “My Girl Sloopy,” which was re-titled and re-recorded by the McCoys as the massive ‘60’s pop tune “Hang On Sloopy.”  Member Ricky Owens joined the Temptations for a brief stint before quickly returning to the Vibrations, which is a key piece of biographical information in direct regards to this album.  The Temptations/Norman Whitfield sound makes a HUGE impact on this LP, which stands out as the most unique and singular entry in the Vibrations’ catalogue.  While vocal-group stylings are certainly present, the emphasis is firmly on ‘70’s funk, with spaced-out analog production and Whitfield-esque political musings making up the bulk of the material.  Highlights are “Ain’t No Greens In Harlem” and “The Man,” which go further than some of the more polished Whitfield discs of the time in pursuing psychedelic acid-funk.  “Kazoo” is part novelty tune and part Afro-roots, with the melody led by the instrument of the song’s title and the Vibrations themselves engaging in call-and-response.  Songs like “Wind-Up Toy” and “Man Overboard” feature exquisite harmonies and arrangements, and then there is a cover of “Midnight Rider,” which adds an extra amount of mood and menace to the Greg Allman original.  The album’s final statement is the anti-Vietnam “Bolder, Green and Jones,” a sound collage of different movements ranging from a capella to rock to early samples of warfare captured on audio.  I can’t say there are many records like this in the collection; that is, I can think of very little else like it, for even as it incorporates doo-wop, rock, funk, soul and folk, it is none of those things.  Innovative.

Luis Gasca: "The Little Giant"

Purchased back in my hometown of Omaha over the holiday break, this is a lovely little album, recorded right in that period where quote-unquote “Latin music” was making a transition between its earlier regional forms to a more universal groove that incorporated a number of disparate musical elements.  There’s a bit of breezy bossa nova here, thundering Afro-Cuban- and NuYorican-influenced percussion hurricanes there, and even a touch of avant-garde jazz, due mostly to the presence of Joe Henderson on sax.  There are interpretations of Mongo Santamaria’s “Afro-Blue” and the traditional “Motherless Child,” the former of which plays it relatively safe and occupies the same space as its original counterpart, while the latter is a radical re-arrangement of the standard tune, sounding less like the gospel field holler it started out as and instead coming off like the melodic and percussive result of spending a Friday night in Havana, the next night in San Juan, then flying back to New York and going straight to Spanish Harlem on Sunday morning.  There are other gems here also, like Moacir Santos’ trance-like “Cosia No. 2” and Hubert Laws’ Afro-Latin groover “Just A Little Bit.”  Gasca himself is in great form, playing flugelhorn alongside a host of renowned NYC session musicians like Chuck Rainey, Richard Davis, Steve Berrios and Marty Sheller, among many others.  This LP serves as a bridge between two worlds—the older, more provincial tendencies of pre-1960’s music met with the heady, freer possibilities of the late ‘60’s and early ‘70’s, where albums like this laid the groundwork for a newer, bolder era.

Cash McCall: "Omega Man"

By the time this album was released, McCall had spent years toiling away in the Chicago blues and soul scenes, appearing here and there on various projects done during the Windy City’s golden age of soul.  The music here was recorded on the hallowed ground that was Ter-Mar studios, where some of the most influential blues, soul, jazz and funk of the ‘60’s and ‘70’s was laid down, as well as being home to master arranger-composers like Charles Stepney and Richard Evans.  While this LP has a distinct tendency towards hard, electric Chicago blues, it incorporates that form into other, more unpredictable avenues.  There is an apocalyptic vibe at play, with numbers like the title track, “Junkie For Your Love” and “Hard Attack” displaying a hard-won urban nihilism that is as aggressive as it is potent.  One of the few moments of hope—albeit doubtful hope—comes in McCall’s cover of the Timmy Thomas classic “Why Can’t We Live Together.”  I don’t personally think it bests the original, but I like it better than Sade’s later, too-smooth version from the ‘80’s.  What makes this album work is the thumping, reverb-heavy production and McCall’s commanding boom of a voice, which is part Muddy Waters, part Jerry Butler and all Chicago.  These components add up to create an eerie sort of layering that rewards more with every subsequent listen.  This one is raw blues on the surface, yet something much more complex and sinister underneath.

Freddie North: "Cuss The Wind"

A deep soul treasure for the ages, and another LP where the ever-ubiquitous Jerry Williams Jr., AKA Swamp Dogg, can be found among the liner credits.  I have another record by North entitled “Friend,” but it does not manage to scale the hyperbolic heights achieved on this masterpiece.  Released on the small, Nashville-based Nashboro label, Freddie North engages in some serious and even slightly disturbing introspection with these songs.  Foremost among them is the DIY-sounding funk of “Love To Hate,” which discusses how various emotions can turn quickly into their opposite.  Also worth checking out is the cover of David Ruffin’s Motown staple “My Whole World Has Ended,” as North subverts the original by slowing it’s ‘60’s pop-soul feel to a crawl, slow-burning and deliberating on the depressed lyrics until finally building to an enormous crescendo, complete with a funk-gospel-rock breakdown, handclaps and background singers all joining in a cacophony of rhythmic sadness and confusion.  Then there is Freddie’s rendition of the Southern soul standard “Rainy Night In Georgia,” perhaps the definitive version in that, once again, North foregoes some of the tune’s inherent melodrama and instead focuses on a pacing, carefully-executed portrait of tension and release, letting the dynamics of the band and his warm, near-crooning voice do the work.  For anyone who identifies themselves as a fan of Southern soul, this is an essential item to add to the want list, though it is exceedingly hard to find and to my knowledge has not been re-released in the digital age.

Bo Diddley: "The Black Gladiator"

Another album recorded at Ter-Mar, around the time when the studio seemed to be producing records at an infinite rate (’69-’70).  This is grimy, psychedelic, Chicago blues-soul, an attempt to make Bo over in the same fashion as had been tried with Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf a couple of years earlier.  Though I love the Muddy and Wolf Cadet-Concept LP’s, I think the stylized transition suits Bo better, as he always landed more on the “rock” side of the equation.  He doesn’t have to reach so far, and the arrangements feel more strident, less forced, although still with loads of overdriven, fuzzy guitar and organ (yes please).  This album jams from the opening bars of the heavy “Elephant Man” to the closing strains of “I Don’t Like You,” with all the stops in between being necessary points of interest.  Bo writes uncompromising lyrics, evident in titles such as “Power House” and “Shut Up, Woman,” in which he essentially lays his own truths down without fear of what the listener and/or audience may think.  Other tracks, like “Black Soul” and “Funky Fly,” catch a glimpse of the unquantifiable advances in R&B that would come in the next few years, sounding more like Sly Stone and even early Funkadelic than the 1-4-5 motions of South Side blues.  On all these tunes, Bo Diddley sings and plays with a rawness that is as bold as it is honest, with his guitar leads sounding especially stinging and vicious.  What the album does as a whole is link two eras together—that of the blues-drenched, chaos-filled, ominous late ‘60’s, and the almost-as-bleak, anything-goes aesthetic of the early ‘70’s, where fresh territory was being explored on a daily basis, particularly in the blossoming innovation of the R&B genre, which was exploding and fragmenting into new forms/hybrids like funk, funk-fusion and funk-rock.  On “The Black Gladiator,” Diddley leaves all the rough edges intact, so as to still expose the roots even as he begins to scale the high branches.