I'm A Man

The other evening at home, my wife and I were spinning some vinyl records as she proceeded to kick my butt at billiards. Again. But it's always a good time and we don't get to do that often enough. She's a way better pool player than she takes credit for, so I feel like I can't give her any slack at all, because she'll run the table on me, given the chance.

First up on the turntable that night was the debut Chicago album, "Chicago Transit Authority", on brand new 180 gram vinyl. I've heard this music often since its original release in 1969, but I don't think I've ever heard it so clearly. I even put a Facebook post up about it the following day, saying that despite the musical pablum that Peter Cetera put out during his solo career in the '80's and '90's; back in the day, he was one bad-ass bass player! I don't know why it was so noticeable, but Cetera's bass parts just lept off the vinyl, as full and fat and clear as could be. I don't think that the album was remixed in any way for the vinyl release, as the original multitracks were lost in a fire some years ago. But I'm tellin' ya, folks, it was sounding pretty damn good!

Here's Chicago with "I'm A Man" from that first album, which was one hell of a debut by any yardstick. This track used to get regular airplay, even in the days of AM boss hit radio when the 3 minute single ruled the airwaves. Props also go to guitarist Terry Kath and drummer Danny Seraphine for kickin' some butt on this track. Y'all were bad!

The Spencer Davis Group, 1967

Two months after The Beatles appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1964, the "British Invasion" was in full swing and British groups dominated the pop charts on both sides of the Atlantic. Among the more influential was The Spencer Davis Group, a band formed in Birmingham, England, and best known for introducing a sound derived from the more soulful blues of the American South. This was, in no small way, due to the addition to the group of a teenaged Steve Winwood, who was already skilled on the guitar and Hammond organ, but also had a belting soulful voice that belied his youth. Winwood himself has always said his vocal style came directly from Ray Charles and you can certainly hear the influence.

The group's two best selling singles were self-penned projects. Both "Gimme Some Lovin'" and "I'm A Man" were searing showcases for the adolescent Winwood's gritty vocals and blazing keyboards over the band's pounding rhythms. Although they burned up the charts in the U.K. and the USA in 1967, the quartet never capitalized on their fame with an American tour. At the height of their success, Winwood left to form Traffic, leaving Davis without his dynamic frontman. Bummer for Davis; great for the evolution of rock 'n roll.

In this live clip from Danish TV, Steve Winwood looks to be about 18. His voice is a little road-rough, likely from a lack of decent vocal monitors back then, but he's still killin' it.

There are several compilations of the Spencer Davis Group at Amazon, but I will recommend this one, as it's thorough and rather affordable. All of their singles are there and then some.

Everything ever released by Chicago is still in print and available, but I still haven't the foggiest clue of what "25 Or 6 To 4" is all about. Your guess is as good as mine. But, I digress. Get the first 3 albums if you only like the old stuff, or you could spend less and pop for this import boxed set; a steal at around 30 bucks. The box includes the first 10 albums, all nicely remastered and packaged in mini LP replica sleeves. The massive "Live At Carnegie Hall" set is not included in that box, of course, but is available separately for all you Chicago completists.

One Toke Over The Line

Although there are many songs from decades past that were blatantly about marijuana, folk rock duo Brewer & Shipley's 1970 single "One Toke Over The Line" was the first pop hit of that decade to openly use a reference to pot in a song title. But the rest of the song didn't say anything else about weed or its use at all.

A rare 45 picture sleeve

“One Toke Over the Line” was released in an ugly atmosphere of anti-war demonstrations and en masse arrests and incarcerations of casual drug users. The record would become so popular that it caught the attention of Vice President Spiro Agnew, who termed the song, along with the Byrds’ “Eight Miles High,” Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit” and “Monkey Man” by the Rolling Stones “blatant drug culture propaganda”. Agnew warned of FCC sanctions against radio stations that played songs that “tend to glorify or promote the use of illegal drugs such as marijuana, LSD, speed, etc.”. Things were such in the Nixon era that threats of government crackdowns were commonplace and Spiggy had no qualms about taking any measures that could cripple the burgeoning counter-culture and its anti-Vietnam leanings.

While the reference to marijuana in the title is no secret, Tom Shipley told Discoveries magazine that the Vice President clearly misinterpreted the song’s meaning.

"We weren't telling people to get high! It was a song about moderation, maybe desperately crying for moderation in our own lives. At that time we'd been on the road too long. It was a metaphor for too many Holiday Inns, too many sleepless nights, too many easy girls and too many bad habits. Today, as a nation, we're many thousands of tokes over the line."

During this same time, in the most bizarre twist imaginable, Lawrence Welk's orchestra performed "One Toke Over The Line" on his TV show. Introducing it as a "newer" song, the announcer seems to have a bit of cottonmouth himself during his introduction. Welk himself appears at the end, calling the tune a "modern spiritual"! Could they really have been that naive? Did no one in the Welk band know what a toke was?

This is, without a doubt, the squarest, whitest music this side of Mitch Miller. The wardrobe leaves me speechless. Stuff like this is why YouTube is certainly one of the greatest inventions in the history of everything ever.

Here's the original, if you need a comparison. Honestly, I'm not so sure how different this version is. Guess I'll leave that up to you.

“One Toke Over the Line” was written backstage between sets at Kansas City’s Vanguard Coffee House. Mike Brewer explains how the song came to be.

Tom Shipley & Michael Brewer, still at it in 2012.

"We were real bored, sitting in the dressing room. We were pretty much stoned and all and Tom says, “Man, I’m one toke over the line tonight.” We were literally just making ourselves laugh, really. The next day we got together to do some picking and said, “What was that we were messing with last night?” We remembered it and in about an hour, we'd written “One Toke Over the Line.” We had no idea that it would ever be considered as a single, because it was just another song to us."

Despite some radio stations banning the record, “One Toke...” became a Top 10 hit and the song most identified with the duo. It remains a stoner anthem to this day. But Brewer says the song was most uncharacteristic of the rest of their music.

"It pretty much pigeonholed us and categorized us in a way that wasn't really valid. We'd written a whole lot of songs that were nothing like “One Toke.” Actually, Tom and I always thought that our ballads were our forte." Yeah well, go figure.

Music from Brewer & Shipley is still in print and available at Amazon. Apparently, you can still enjoy the "Welk Experience" in Branson, Mo. Have fun & good luck with that.

Play That Funky Music

Of the many one hit wonders produced in the silly '70's, this one stands out as one of the most enduring.

Straight outta the seedy bars of beautiful downtown Steubenville, Ohio, here's Wild Cherry making the most of their moment on The Midnight Special. Front man Rob Parisi has this really disturbing Robert Reed/Barry Williams thing going on and the bands' outfits are the kind of period-specific gems that vintage clothing stores live for. This clip has such an abundance of the awesome awfulness of the '70's that I'm nearly speechless. Take it away, Helen Reddy!

Dated as it is, this was from an era when the songs' lyric was a tad heretical. The idea of a die-hard rocker abandoning rock 'n roll music for a Disco lifestyle was the sort of thing that started fights or even riots. Having lived through that time, I can say with certainty that the argument had little to do with musicological points such as the quality of songwriting. The uncomfortable truth is that Disco was very popular with female, black and gay audiences and the anti-disco backlash from predominantly white, male, working class rock fans can now be interpreted as a smokescreen for racism, homophobia, sexism or all of the above, depending on your point of view. But it was, for all purposes, the Mods vs. Rockers scuffle of the '70's, as witnessed by the notorious 1979 Comiskey Park riot. Keith Olbermann has more on that story.

No less ridiculous are the occasional excesses of modern Country music or what passes for it anymore. This particular recording has ASCAP money written all over it as a motivation. Obviously, the original was more than ripe for parody. What better market to take a poke at the discofied '70's than Country? So, these clowns cut this record, hoping for a parody hit on the radio, like something Weird Al Yankovic would do. Which means that, hopefully soon, every country bar band and honky tonk DJ in the USA is playing it, and that makes the record sales take off, meaning they score co-songwriting royalty cash. At least, that's the theory, but that's all it is; just a theory. I'm just sayin'.

Here's... yes, it really is their band name, Chuck Wagon and The Wheels with "Play That Country Music". This record inexplicably crashed on take-off. By all measures, it should have been a smash, but it's possible that it was just too goofy, even for Country radio, and that's something that takes some real effort to pull off. Strap in. It's a bumpy ride.

The 1976 album "Wild Cherry" is not only still in print on CD, but there's new 180g vinyl available too! Turns out they released a second album, "I Love My Music", which must have been an instant flop, since I'm just discovering it now. Frighteningly, there's also an Mp3 cover version of "Play That Funky Music" out there by rehab regular Leif Garrett, which is best left ignored. Seriously, just... don't.

The 2000 album "Off The Top Rope" by Chuck Wagon and The Wheels is available at Amazon, used, for as low as 1 red cent. That should tell you something right there.

All The Young Dudes

For Mott The Hoople, it really was all about the shoes.

Mott The Hoople's recording of the David Bowie song, "All The Young Dudes" usually pops up on most any decent compilation of '70's rock. The song has a distinct tie to the early part of the decade, when British Glam ran amok through the high schools of America, despite the best attempts at taming kids with the likes of The Carpenters, The Captain & Tennille, America and ironically, Elton John, along with some of the other more saccharine pop idol singles that dominated radio airplay. In retrospect, Glam was just the warmup for the Punk explosion in '77. Even though the band members of Mott were all straight, this song became a gay anthem, at least in America, thanks to lyrics like "Lucy looks sweet 'cause he dresses like a queen".

Mott had very nearly packed it in by 1971 after releasing 4 albums, yet still had a cult following in England and Bowie was a big fan. Bowie heard about their impending breakup when Mott bass player Pete 'Overend' Watts called him up, looking for work. In an effort to keep the band together, he offered to produce their next album and provide them with a song he was working on. Since they had alienated their record label, Island, Bowie got them some time at Olympic Studios in London in the middle of the night. Besides producing the track, Bowie played some guitar, did handclaps and sang backup.

Yep, it was one of those 'game changer' albums.

When Bowie first offered the song to Mott The Hoople, they recognized its potential straight away.  Mott didn't know this when they recorded it, but Bowie had intended it for his own album, "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars". Good thing they accepted it, since Mott had already rejected Bowie’s “Suffragette City”, which would become an essential track on "Ziggy Stardust".

The lyric line, "All the young dudes carry the news" refers to part of Bowie's story where there is no electricity, and Ziggy Stardust uses songs to spread the news. Said Bowie: "'All the Young Dudes' is a song about this news. It's not a hymn to the youth, as people thought. It is completely the opposite".

David Bowie and Mick Ronson, 1972

Another lyric, "Wendy's stealing clothes from unlocked cars" was originally sung as "Wendy's stealing clothes from Marks and Sparks", which was the popular nickname for the British department store Marks & Spencer. The BBC refused to play a song if they thought it contained lyrics advertising a product. In their hit, "Lola", The Kinks had to change "Just like Coca-Cola" to "Just like cherry cola" at the last minute, so Mott had to get rid of Marks and Sparks. At the insistence of their record company, Ian Hunter flew from New York to London to re-record the line as "unlocked cars" before heading right back to America. Such is how things were done before we had transatlantic fiber optic data lines.

After the first recording session for this song, Bowie reportedly thought it was lagging at the end (which may provide a clue as to why he donated the song). Mott's lead singer Ian Hunter responded with the idea for the one-way conversation, which begins with him saying, "Hey, you down there, you with the glasses!" Said Hunter: "I remembered an encounter I'd had with a heckler during a recent gig at the Rainbow in London. He was annoying me and I ended up pouring beer all over him."

The song became the title track for what became Mott's breakthrough album for their new record company, Columbia. They followed up with "Mott" in 1973, and of course, "The Hoople" the following year.

Because I'm sure some of you are curious, the band's name came from the 1966 Willard Manus novel, "Mott the Hoople", about an eccentric who works in a circus freak show. According to a 1966 review of the novel, "Hooples, to clear this up right at the beginning, 'make the whole game possible, Christmas Clubs especially, politics, advertising agencies, pay toilets, even popes and mystery novels.' Obviously they're squares and Mott, Norman Mott, is certainly not." Sounds like band name fodder to me!

Despite having donated such a great song, Bowie had several bullets in reserve for the Ziggy project, so it wasn't any sort of great loss. Some of the songs besides "Dudes" that didn't make the final running order for one reason or another include "John, I'm Only Dancing" and "Velvet Goldmine", both released later as single b-sides and "Man In The Middle", which has never been officially released. But Bowie had also recorded his own take on "All The Young Dudes" during the sessions for Ziggy. Once Mott had a hit with it, Bowie shelved his version of the song, which sat unreleased until EMI put out a Bowie compilation in 1995. I'd only heard this recording once prior to the 90's, on a late 70's radio broadcast of rare Bowie stuff. The mix was very rough and distorted, like most bootlegs. It sure is great to have it available properly mixed and mastered.

Here's David Bowie and The Spiders From Mars doing "All The Young Dudes". While this is playing, I'd like for you to listen to the extraordinary lead guitar work of the late Mick Ronson. His guitar tone had a very distinct voicing and tone. While his equipment setup was simple, Ronson had a unique way of getting his massive, squalling sound.

Ian Hunter and Mick Ronson, on stage in 1975.
I caught this tour in Philly. Opener was Aerosmith!

Throughout the Ziggy era, Ronson played a '68 Gibson Les Paul Custom; a 'Black Beauty' stripped to the natural wood finish, through a Marshall Major head, a model that had evolved from the Marshall 200 of late 1967; an amp introduced to satisfy the arena-rock players of the day who weren't getting enough volume from the 100-watt Marshall JMP100 models. This 200-watt Marshall employed four large KT88 output tubes to belt out unholy volume levels, and it had to be fit into a widened cabinet, which Ronson nicknamed “The Pig” for its stout dimensions.

On the floor, Ronson employed a Vox wah-wah pedal, which he occasionally left at set positions to act as a tone filter to notch his midrange sound and an Echoplex; a primitive delay/repeat device that used a loop of recording tape in a cartridge, which often malfunctioned. He also used a Vox Tone Bender pedal on occasions when fuzz was required more than pure tube amp overdrive.

Ronson also recorded with Ian Hunter and Mott The Hoople, "Transformer" era Lou Reed, with whom he also arranged and produced many songs, and John Mellencamp, whose hit “Jack & Diane” he co-wrote and played the power chord intro on. Unfortunately, Ronson's solo career was one of fits and starts. Mick Ronson died in April 1993, of inoperable liver cancer. For all things Ronno, please visit mickronson.com.

All of the original albums by Mott The Hoople, along with several decent anthologies, are available at Amazon. David Bowie's extensive catalog has gotten a bit confusing over the years, having been through multiple record labels and re-masterings. Not all of them were improvements. EMI seems to have finally gotten the Ziggy Stardust album sounding right, without your having to pop for the overpriced 40th anniversary edition. CD's containing Bowie's version of "All The Young Dudes" can be found here, here, and if you're feeling extravagant, here.

Long As I Can See The Light

An original 45 from 1970 with picture sleeve.

Creedence Clearwater Revival was very likely the most successful singles band of 60's rock. Nearly every album they released played like a greatest hits record. The other side of their story, however, is one of old wounds, animosity and a plague of lawyers.

It's now old news about how songwriter & singer John Fogarty got royally screwed out of ever receiving any performance or publishing royalties from the enormous record sales Creedence generated. He was even taken to court for writing a song in the 80's, "The Old Man Down The Road" from his "Centerfield" album, that sounded too much like himself! For many years, Fogarty refused to perform any Creedence songs at his shows until Bob Dylan, of all people, reminded him in a conversation, "If you don't take those songs back, people will remember "Proud Mary" because of Tina Turner". Thankfully, all that is behind Fogarty now and the old CCR standards make regular visits to his live set lists. Hopefully, they will for as long as he is able to perform them.

I've seen that Creedence bassist Stu Cook and drummer Doug 'Cosmo' Clifford are still out on the road as Creedence Clearwater 'Revisited'. A 1997 legal injunction by John Fogerty had forced that group to change its name (the band temporarily called itself Cosmo's Factory), but the courts later ruled in Cook's and Clifford's favor. I suppose some old wounds never heal, but it sure would be nice to see the remaining CCR survivors do a few shows together before they can't. (Guitarist Tom Fogarty, John's brother, passed in 1990.)

From one of their best albums, "Cosmo's Factory", here's Creedence with "Long As I Can See The Light".

Ted Hawkins was a unique talent; unclassifiable and eminently soulful. For a year or so, he was even a star in his own country. Overseas, he was a genuine hero, performing for thousands. But on his L.A. home turf, sand-blown Venice Beach served as Ted Hawkins' makeshift stage. He'd deliver his magnificent blend of soul, blues, folk, gospel, and a touch of country all by his lonesome, with only an acoustic guitar for company. Passersby would pause to marvel at Hawkins' melismatic vocals, dropping a few coins or a greenback into his tip jar.

Ted Hawkins

Hawkins' life was no picnic. Born into abject poverty in Mississippi, Ted was an abused and illiterate child. Hawkins was sent to reform school when he was 12 years old. He encountered his first musical inspiration there, from New Orleans pianist Professor Longhair, whose visit to the school moved the lad to perform in a talent show. But it wasn't enough to keep him out of trouble. At age 15, he stole a leather jacket and spent three years at Mississippi's infamous state penitentiary, Parchman Farm.

Roaming from Chicago to Philadelphia to Buffalo after his release, music beckoned and Hawkins left the frigid eastern weather behind in 1966, purchasing a one-way ticket to Los Angeles. Ted bought a guitar and set out to locate the ex-manager of Sam Cooke, who was one of his idols. No such luck, but he did manage to cut his debut 45, the soul-steeped "Baby"/"Whole Lot of Women," for Money Records. When he learned no royalties were forthcoming from its sales, Hawkins despaired of ever making a living at his music and took to playing on the streets.

Fortunately, blues producer Bruce Bromberg was interested in Hawkins' welfare, recording his original songs in 1971, both with guitarist Phillip Walker's band ("Sweet Baby" was issued as a single on the Joliet label), and in a solo acoustic format. The producer lost touch with Hawkins for a while after recording him, due to Hawkins falling afoul of the law again. In 1982, those tapes finally emerged on Rounder Records as "Watch Your Step", and Hawkins began to receive some acclaim. Bromberg corralled him again for the 1986 encore album "Happy Hour", which contained the touching "Cold & Bitter Tears".

Mobile Fidelity issued this Gold CD edition.

At the invitation of a British DJ, Hawkins moved to England in 1986 and was treated like a star for four years, performing in Great Britain, Ireland, France, and even Japan. But when he came home, he was faced with the same old situation. Once again, he set up his tip jar on the beach, donned the black leather glove he wore on his fretting hand and played for passersby.

That's the way Ted Hawkins kept body and soul together until 1994, when DGC/Geffen Records issued "The Next Hundred Years", which became his breakthrough album. Suddenly, Hawkins was poised on the brink of real stardom, but it was not to be. Just after Christmas that same year, he died of a stroke.

This is Ted Hawkins' arresting recording of "Long As I Can See The Light". If Ted's version of this song is played at my funeral someday, that would make me very happy.

You can easily find Ted Hawkins' music at Amazon. Get yourself a copy of "The Next Hundred Years", whatever you do. 

Absolutely everything ever released by the original Creedence Clearwater Revival is in print and available at Amazon and probably every big box store on the planet. While there are several excellent compilations out there, be advised there are also collections of re-recordings of the original songs, done by the Cook/Clifford-led "Revisited" band. I would treat these like a caustic, lawyer-infested fungus and avoid them.

Crossroads

Cream: Baker, Bruce & Clapton

This is another one of those songs that got put on a pedestal with little to no acknowledgment to the author by the public, despite the sincere efforts of the musicians, both verbally and in print, to accomplish just that. At least the members of Cream; Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce & Ginger Baker, had the good decency to credit 1930's blues legend Robert Johnson with writing the song, even though Johnson was long deceased by the time Cream recorded their exploration of it. But they weren't alone in doing so.

Many young British blues enthusiasts of the 60's such as John Mayall, Eric Burdon's Animals, Van Morrison & Them, The Yardbirds and certainly The Rolling Stones, who all got famous off the songs of their American blues heroes, were quick to credit them where it was due, because they were such huge fans and students of the music. Giving proper credit was their way of telling their fans about where to find the music they loved and who those blues men were. It also helped those guys in getting paid their songwriting royalties, which came in handy since most of them were middle age or older. There is also the well documented and egregious exception of Led Zeppelin, but I won't get started down that road, lest this feature turn into a mad, drooling rant.

Cream released their definitive version of Robert Johnson's "Crossroads" on their 1968 double album "Wheels Of Fire". The album was half studio recordings and half live, a trend that would continue into their final release as a band, 1969's "Goodbye". The other trend that carried over from their previous album, the psychedelic blues-rock classic "Disraeli Gears", was some eye-catching cover artwork. "Disraeli" featured possibly the most quintessential day-glo spectacular that ever adorned a record album. "Wheels" continued that by featuring some mind blowing drawings of assorted blobules printed over a highly reflective silver foil background. The inner art featured two wide-open psychedelic eyes staring back at you. Such were the times, when this sort of thing was new and neither retro nor ironic.

As an introduction for our younger readers, and a refresher for the old hippies out there whose memories are somewhat fogged by the ravages of time and recreational drug use, here's Cream's epic interpretation of "Crossroads". This live recording proved so definitive that no studio version was ever recorded by Cream. Subsequent cover versions of this arrangement done by other bands, like Lynyrd Skynyrd, are all superfluous.

In Jackson, Mississippi, in early 1936, 25 year old Robert Johnson sought out a Mr. H. C. Speir, who ran a general store and doubled as a talent scout. Speir put Johnson in touch with Ernie Oertle, who offered to record Johnson in San Antonio, Texas. The recording session was held on November 23, 1936 in room 414 of the Gunter Hotel in San Antonio, where Brunswick Records had set up a temporary recording studio that was primitive at best, even by 1930's standards. In the ensuing three day session, Johnson played sixteen selections and also recorded alternate takes for most of them. Guitarist and historian Ry Cooder speculates that Johnson played facing a corner to enhance the sound of the guitar, a technique that Cooder called "corner loading".

An original 78 in prime condition.

Among the songs Johnson recorded in San Antonio were "Come On In My Kitchen", "Kind Hearted Woman Blues", "I Believe I'll Dust My Broom" and "Cross Road Blues". The first songs to appear were "Terraplane Blues" and "Last Fair Deal Gone Down", probably the only recordings of his that he would live to hear. "Terraplane Blues" became a moderate regional hit, selling nearly 5,000 copies. Johnson, being an itinerant black musician in the 1930's, did not enjoy anything resembling wealth or stardom from his recordings.

Johnson's records sold poorly during his lifetime. It was only after the reissue of his recordings in 1961 on the Columbia LP, "King of the Delta Blues Singers" that his work reached a wider audience. Interestingly, the album was released at the height of the Folk craze of the early '60's, so I have to cynically speculate that Columbia's motive was not so much about preserving our musical heritage, but more like a clearing out of the vault to see what they had that might sell.

It's one thing to recommend to someone that they listen to Robert Johnson's recordings. It's quite another for them to actually do it, because Johnson is not an easy listen by any stretch. The listener will be abruptly transported from their familiar technicolor, hi-def, stereophonic world of audio entertainment into a stark, lo-fi, black and white world of America's past when this music was sold under the category of "race records". The audio quality is rough at best. Johnson followed his own internal time clock, so you'll find he doesn't keep traditionally paced musical time. It's all feel, as they say. John Lee Hooker later adapted this feel into his own deep blues. Most of Johnson's songs are deeply personal. When he sang about the "Hellhound on My Trail", it was palpably believable.

Please don't just play this. I urge you to listen to it with focus. It's the only way to really 'get' Robert Johnson. He's not just singing and playing a guitar. It's completely real to him. It's straight from his doomed soul. It's the blues personified.

Johnson's poorly documented life and death at age 27 have given rise to much legend, including the Faustian myth that he sold his soul at a crossroads to achieve success, which was fictionally padded in the 1986 movie, "Crossroads". I'm not going into any of that business here due to space limitations, but you can peruse all the speculation you want, out there on the webtubes.

The best Robert Johnson collection available is still "The Complete Recordings", as it contains both the originally released versions plus alternates. The entire Cream catalog is still in print, augmented by numerous 'best of' compilations. You can also easily find vinyl albums by Cream or Robert Johnson at your locally owned vinyl record merchant or Amazon.

Chitlins Con Carne

Kenny Burrell during the "Midnight Blue" sessions. Jan. 8, 1963

As far as jazz guitar on Blue Note records goes, there are two names you must know: Grant Green and Kenny Burrell. While Grant's discography for Blue Note is rather large, Kenny Burrell did much of his recording as a sideman. His 1963 album, "Midnight Blue" however, was not only a game changer for Burrell, but remains one of the cornerstone titles of the Blue Note label.

The album features some great sidemen including Ray Barretto on congas, Stanley Turrentine on tenor sax (both are also solo artists) and the mighty Major "Mule" Holley on the upright bass. Holley acquired that nickname due to his habit of accentuating his walking bass lines with vocal grunts, often very audibly, hence the name of the album's second track, "Mule". This album is beautifully recorded; state of the art for the time and sounds just great on CD, but is a special treat to hear on vinyl. "Midnight Blue" remains a highly recommended addition to your jazz collection.

Here's the opening cut, "Chitlins Con Carne". Mix up a Tom Collins and take a seat by a warm fire.

Even a cursory listen to this song tells you that this was likely an influential sound on young budding guitarists of the 1960's. I'm certain both Jimi Hendrix and Carlos Santana soaked up Burrell's sound early on and mixed it in with their other influences. So it makes sense that the song would continue its influence down the line to the next generation of musicians, who picked up the song from the musicians who influenced them.

We all know Stevie Ray Vaughan was an amazing guitarist alright, but it's mostly because he was no slouch as a music student. He learned the foundations of what became his signature phrasing from the recordings of Albert King, Lonnie Mack, Jimi Hendrix and yes, Kenny Burrell.

I got to see Stevie play only once, in a nightclub in Destin, Florida in 1983. My group of buddies and I had no clue who we were going to see that night. Some blues guy that sounds like ZZ Top? Yeah, sure. Well, Stevie hit that stage like the gunslinger that he was, grabbed his audience by its collective face and didn't let up for his entire set. When he sat on the floor at the very front of the stage to play "Lenny", you could have heard a mouse break wind. It takes a special player to silence a nightclub full of rowdy partiers. It was a stunning set, partly due to my not ever having seen a musician attack his instrument the way Stevie did. The other thing I recall that impressed me is that while the band was quite loud, it wasn't just volume. It was tone. Gobs of thick, clear, bluesy tone, and it was coming off the stage, not from the P.A. mains, which were very close to being unnecessary from my vantage point.

Stevie also had some rough times dealing with personal demons along his road to success throughout the 1980's. I wish I'd gotten to see him play again after he'd cleaned up. Vaughan was killed in a helicopter crash in August of 1990. He is one of those unique players that fuels speculation regarding what new directions he would have taken not just his own guitar playing, but modern blues in general. He is, and will be missed.

From the first of several posthumous collections of outtakes, "The Sky Is Crying", here's Stevie Ray Vaughan's Texas-ized version of "Chitlins Con Carne".

The entire Stevie Ray Vaughan catalog is in print and available at Amazon and almost anywhere else. The four studio albums released during his lifetime, "Texas Flood", "Couldn't Stand The Weather", "Soul To Soul" and "In Step", are all available as double disc Legacy Editions from Sony Music.

Amazon currently lists 125 albums with Kenny Burrell's name on them. That's a hell of a lot to wade through, so I will recommend that you start with "Midnight Blue" and go from there. You can even get it on brand new vinyl if you want. Trust me, take the hint.

Walking In The Rain

This is the most feminine & least frightening photo of Grace Jones that I could find. Be grateful.

My first encounter with the ferocious visage of Grace Jones was on a VHS video called "A One Man Show" that was available at the video rental counter on Ramstein Air Force base in Germany, where I was stationed in the mid-to-late 80's; a decade that held a lot of 'love it or hate it' moments for me musically. This Grace Jones person looked... well, interesting enough and I recognized some of the songs she was doing, like The Pretenders' "Private Life" and "Demolition Man" by The Police, so I figured an hour long video rental wouldn't be too much of a waste if I didn't like it. But I was in for an unexpected surprise.

Sly & Robbie, 2012

Grace Jones may have been the star of this video, and yes, she was most unusual; way more so than say, Cyndi Lauper. But the real star of this music was the band! This was the hardest, groovin'-est reggae rhythm section I'd ever heard! I understand how Keith Richards said he felt when he heard Chuck Berry for the first time and flipped out over the piano playing by Johnnie Johnson, not Chuck's guitar work. Grace Jones was signed to Island Records at the time and had been working with producers Chris Blackwell, Alex Sadkin and the Compass Point All Stars, recording at Blackwell's Compass Point Studios in Nassau, Bahamas. The rhythm section of drummer Sly Dunbar and bassist Robbie Shakespeare were the pulse of the music. I feel they are one of the greatest bass-drum duos in all of rock music history, right up there with Watts & Wyman, Jones & Bonham or any of the Motown bands. Sly and Robbie were also important in developing the trend towards computer-assisted music and programming in the mid-1980's. They did a killer job with Joe Cocker on his "Sheffield Steel" album from 1981, still one of Joe's best records ever. Together, they have produced and/or performed on literally thousands of recordings to date.

Here's Grace Jones with Sly & Robbie playing their hypnotic version of Flash and the Pan's "Walking In The Rain". This groove is relentless, yet slinky as a cat and very atmospheric.

The thing about Grace's recording of this song is that she was such an extreme personality, yet hers is the more natural of the two versions. I say this because Grace's version has a sound that is distinctly hers. It sounds like any other Grace Jones record; whereas the original artist, Flash and the Pan, gave the song a stark demo quality that stood out from the clatter of New Wave and Punk at the time of its release in 1978, yet it doesn't sound like anything else they did. When this song came over the radio, it sounded very cold and robotic, before that style became more common in the '80's, thanks to the likes of Gary Numan, The Eurythmics and others. And yes, there once was a time when songs like this were given frequent radio play.

Flash and the Pan was little more than an ongoing song demo factory run by Australian hit makers, Harry Vanda and George Young, both former members of The Easybeats, who scored hits in the '60s with "Friday On My Mind" and "Gonna Have A Good Time", both of which have been covered several times and will likely be the subject of future articles on this blog. Harry and George also found success as producers; working with the likes of AC/DC, Rose Tattoo and The Angels, creating the blueprint for a generation of simpler yet harder rock & roll bands.

George Young & Harry Vanda

Vanda and Young began their own small, something-to-do demo project in 1976. By 1979, the duo had turned out a novelty hit with the single "Hey St. Peter." A second single, "Down Among The Dead," also became a hit throughout Australia and Europe, which lead to the release of the album "Flash and the Pan". American FM radio began playing import copies, which led to a deal with Epic Records. The album would soon reach the Top 100 in the States, despite the lack of a supporting tour. They released two more albums with some minor success in the U.K., but failed to make much impact due to the part-time nature of the project.

Let's all go "Walking In The Rain" with Flash and the Pan. You'll notice the absence of the rhythm section immediately. That sole difference makes the Grace Jones version warmer and more organic. Let's see if you agree. Of course, you may think this song is just plain weird no matter who's doing it. That's ok too.

The Flash and the Pan album on which you'll find this song and "Hey St Peter", which you may vaguely recall from the foggy mist of the 80's, is available as an import CD with bonus tracks, new, for about 6 bucks at Amazon.

Your best bet for Grace Jones' music is either the excellent Private Life: The Compass Point Sessions, for a more complete overview, or Island Life, which is a good single disc compilation, and has the advantage of being available on vinyl, which this music sounds very good on. Get 'em both at Amazon or your favorite locally owned vinyl emporium.