Month: May 2006

By now, every guitar fan worth his salt knows the story behind these two concerts by Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble at the legendary Montreux Jazz Festival. Appearing in 1982, the boys were actually booed, but ended up winning over more important folks in the process. In 1985, they returned triumphantly as conquering heroes.

Let’s start with the 1982 show. A young SRV is clearly in command, and determined to do his thing regardless of crowd reaction. And that reaction is definitely mixed. The folks doing the booing were apparently upset because the day had been dominated by acoustic acts. They expected more of that. So imagine their surprise when the boys came out blazing with two loud, boisterous instrumentals, “Hideaway” and “Rude Mood,” followed by a version of “Pride and Joy” that about tears the front of your head off.

Yes, there were lots of boos. But there were also lots of cheers. In fact, by the time Stevie winds his way to a version of “Texas Flood” that is subtle and in your face at different points, there are plenty of folks hooting and hollering. My guess is the last part of the solo and the last verse being played behind his back didn’t endear the unknown guitarist to those who wanted things a little more laid back. They let him know it by the end, but so did those who liked it. The oddest part of this one for me was seeing Stevie pulling out a slide for a version of “Give Me Back My Wig.”

Of course, among those hanging out in Montreaux in ’82 were David Bowie and Jackson Browne. Bowie used Stevie on Let’s Dance , and the rest is history. After meeting the band there, Browne invited them to use his studio, free, to record the first record. So, like the documentary here says, it was a “success in disguise.”

That documentary, by the way, features very nice insights from Browne and John Mayer. Don’t laugh. The young hitmaker is a fine guitarist and SRV disciple who actually has done work with Double Trouble. Remembrances by Chris Layton and Tommy Shannon are excellent, too, especially a very funny story about the legendary bassist Larry Graham.

The disc of the ’85 concert is what you’d expect; excellent playing by the trio, plus newly recruited keyboardist Reece Winans. “Say When” and “Mary Had a Little Lamb” are highlights. So are three terrific cuts with bluesman Johnny Copeland joining the proceedings. Great stuff.

But I do have one complaint. Apparently all the cameras except the long shot in back, wrapped it up before the encore. So we hear and see long shots of nice versions of “Life Without You,” “Gone Home,” and “Couldn’t Stand the Weather.”

Still, this is a must-have for fans of SRV. The sound is nice, the camera work is, for the most part, excellent. And it supplies nice insight into a part of rock and roll history. Put in its context, considering the music that was dominating the charts in the ’80s, it’s amazing this stuff was able to find a niche in a very narrow music field and make Stevie a guitar hero.

It was 1967, and through those hash-hazy days of the Summer of Love, Beach Boys auteur Brian Wilson had a vision. Inspired by the Beatles’ Rubber Soul, he had created his epochal Pet Sounds, which was even then being hailed as one of the best rock albums of all time. Heady praise – perhaps too much so.

Now Wilson had something new in mind.
He announced he was collaborating with impressionistic lyricist Van Dyke Parks on his next album, Smile. He was recording what he termed “modular music” – tape snippets of songs, sounds, and “sampled” excerpts that could be combined into a weird and wonderful whole. Wilson saw this whole in a golden halo and humbly described it as “a teenage symphony to God.” Nothing more, nothing less.

With this as his goal, it’s little wonder he faltered.

Smile was shelved, and Wilson was gone, off to fight his own personal and creative demons, a battle that raged over the next three decades.

Still, a handful of tracks from the projected Smile album – “Heroes and Villains” and Wilson’s glorious feel-good tour de force “Good Vibrations” – were released as stopgap singles and on the belittlingly titled Smiley Smile album. We all had a taste, leaving us wanting more of the greatest album never heard.

Fast forward too many years. Wilson is back, releasing his 1988 album Brian Wilson, 1996’s Imagination, 2004’s Getting’ In Over My Head, and replaying his Pet Sounds glory days in concerts. It’s all proof that the summer really is endless.

Next, Wilson was coaxed to dig back through the remains of 1967’s Smile. His youthful paean to God existed only as a mishmash of song fragments, alternate versions, and poorly cataloged tapes. The motivating force getting Wilson back on track was another collaborator – keyboardist, harmony vocalist, and self-described “musical secretary” Darian Sahanaja. Van Dyke Parks and Sahanaja provided their support, but it was Wilson who dug in and began work over a five-month period starting in April 2004.

Now, 37 years after it was first promised, Smile is here. Wilson sifted through Parks’ now-ancient lyrics, revised old songs, and composed new music, creating a 47-minute whole.

And what a creation it is. Think of the Beatles’ Revolver, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and Abbey Road. Think of Pet Sounds. And yet Smile is different – not necessarily better, just different. On first listen, it’s a surfer doo-wop opera: the Beach Boys, now with gray in their golden hair but still chasing waves on longboards and California girls in little deuce coupes.

But spinning the disc again, there’s something more. Harking back to 1967, Smile begins with a beach party hallelujah chorus jumping in time to a tinny car-radio intro to “Heroes and Villains.” The album is bookended with a reworked version of “Good Vibrations” bringing everything back home again.

In between are three symphonic-rock movements comprising a total of seventeen tracks of Wilson’s modular music. The instrumental orchestration is incredible in itself – keyboards, percussion, strings, Theremins, saws, you name it. But as with the best of the Beach Boys, it’s the layers of doo-wop vocals and harmony vocals that fill the ear with a sonic rainbow, all the fruit of Wilson’s long-ago fascination with the Four Freshmen. The musicians and singers are rehearsed, spot on, and wondrous.

Yet underlying the music is a strange mood – a sense of a man trying a bit too desperately to relive his youth. The songs are at times funny, at other times dark, as with the foreboding instrumental “Mrs. O’Leary’s Cow.” There’s an attempt to recreate the joy of the old surf songs, but that innocence is long gone and they now sound world-weary. And Parks’ lyrics are often too deep – or too obtuse – an odd counterpart to Wilson’s persona.

But after 37 years, this is no longer a teenage symphony to God anyway; it’s the saga of one man’s life and struggles, and with that as its vision, Smile is a great success.

So, is this the best album of all time? Naw. And who cares? Ultimately, what matters is that Smile does indeed make you smile.

David Ball has the talent to be a huge star, yet he seems content to fly underneath Nashville’s radar. His first song, “Don’t You Think I Feel It, Too,” was originally recorded by Jessie Colter, then later by Shawn Colvin and Lyle Lovett. His first group, Uncle Walt’s Band, teamed Ball with high-school chums Walter Hyatt and Champ Hood. They influenced a generation of roots songwriters including Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Nanci Griffith, and Shawn Colvin. His solo career began in ’94 with the disc Thinkin’ Problem, which spawned three #1 country hits. Ball toured with Alan Jackson and Dwight Yoakum, but a record label reorganization quashed his climb to the top. He regrouped and joined the ranks of musicians forced to eschew major companies in favor of smaller indie labels.

This all brings us to Freewheeler, which showcases Ball’s stellar performing and songwriting abilities. And although the airwaves devote plenty of space to new country and hot country, there’s have little room for adult country, which best describes Ball’s music. Tales of young impetuosity give way to stories of older regret. Instead of lyrics about young love and hot bodies, Ball treats us to narratives such as one about temptation in an airport bar titled, “I’m Happy With the One I’ve Got.” Arrangements also harken back to more classic country, with piano, steel guitars, dobros, and fiddles taking the forefront rather than Gibson Les Pauls heard through Mesa Boogies set to stun.

The sonics also remind me of an older mid-’80s country. At times the harmonic balance leans a bit toward a thin, clean, aggressive midrange so prevalent on early digital recordings. Perhaps this slant was chosen so no one will miss the twang of the multitracked guitars and pedal steels. Fortunately, after turning down the treble a bit, the sound never ruins the power of the music.

If you consider yourself an adult who favors country music, you’ll find much to enjoy on Freewheeler. David Ball knows how to create music guaranteed to make you proud be a country music fan.

Even for the most hardcore blues fan, things can get a bit “samey” after a point, with so many artists dipping into the same 12-bar well. So as nice as it is to have some of the elder statesmen still vital and kicking, it’s even more exciting when a new face comes along and injects some life into the party. Singer/guitarist Michael Powers achieves that and then some.

One key is that Powers approaches the music in a far-from-purist way, with an eclectic repertoire, and doesn’t treat the blues as something “old.” So even though we’ve heard a million versions of John Lee Hooker’s “Boogie Chillen,” when Powers opens with his autobiographical “Successful Son,” spoken over the same groove, you ask, “ Then what did your mama say?”

Although this is Powers’ debut solo effort, the 52-year-old’s career has spanned 40 years. Which illuminates how he can shift from his take on Howlin’ Wolf’s “Who’s Been Talkin’” to the Sir Douglas Quintet’s ’60s hit, “She’s About A Mover,” to a moving gospel arrangement of Leonard Cohen’s “Bird On A Wire” to the Count Five’s garage-rocker “Psychotic Reaction,” complete with feedback rave-up – all with ease, somehow making everything cohabitate in a way that makes perfect sense.

Powers grabs acoustic, electric, and slide (and a variety of cool tones) according to what fits his version of the material best. (So the Otis Rush classic “I Can’t Quit You Baby,” for instance, is turned into an acoustic country blues.) The biggest left turn is Michael’s flamenco-esque steel-string instrumental “Night In Madrid.” What else is in his bag of tricks is anybody’s guess. As he sings in his beautiful ballad “Graffiti,” for blues fans, this is “like sweet meat to a hungry dog.”

Pizzarelli is on a roll. His past few albums have been stone-cold killers, and his most recent, Knowing You, is a collection of songs by writers he loves, with guest musicians augmenting his normal trio. It differs a bit from his recent efforts in that there’s not as much guitar as you might expect. Oh, there’s plenty to make sure you don’t forget what a great player he is. Check out “Coffee, Black.” His unison guitar-scatting is phenomenal. The solo is pure chops and swing. Then, just to make sure you know his harmonic skills haven’t diminished, his comping behind Ray Kennedy’s piano solo is very skilled. Top the song with the great lyric and vocal (and the quote from the old Maxwell House ads), and you’re good to go.

For the most part, though, the emphasis here is on John’s vocals and songs. He has that unknown something that makes a vocal just swing. “Pick Yourself Up” has been sung by hundreds. But this version is one that will stick in your head. It also has a pretty amazing guitar-scat solo. The unique choice here is the Beach Boys classic “God Only Knows.” It would take guts to take that song on in a rock situation, but to turn it into a jazz tune really takes intestinal fortitude. The nice surprise is how well it works. Pizzarelli then tackles a favorite of mine in Dave Frishberg’s “Quality Time.” John and guest vocalist Jessica Molaskey catch the whimsy for which Frishberg is so well-known, and that this song showcases. With the unison piano and guitar, on occasion it brings to mind old Nat Cole recordings. He tops the tune with a fine melodic solo.

Pizzarelli obviously has a good pedigree. But he has paid his dues, learned his stuff, and come through big-time. Here’s hoping all the hard work and great music will make his a name known in a lot more households.

The music of New Orleans has, by now, been over-anthologized, but, with four discs and an 80-page book, Shout! Factory’s deluxe treatment is perhaps the most ambitious to date, and quite possibly the most fun.

Since this is not a “jazz” or “rhythm and blues” anthology, producer/compiler Chuck Taggart’s task was to distill the city’s varied sounds into a mere 84 tracks, clocking in at five-and-a-quarter hours. Taggart, a NOLA expatriate and deejay at KCSN in Los Angeles, says his instruction from label head Gary Stewart was to make a party record – so he wisely took a shotgun approach to sequencing, stirring up genres and eras. If you want a history lesson, go to the library; if you want to experience New Orleans, this shuffle-button approach is like walking past a block of clubs, hearing different styles fade in, fade out, and sometimes overlap.

Taggart does, however, detail the history behind the sounds in his informative narrative in the book, which is interwoven with vignettes about the city’s sights, smells and tastes by Mary Herczog (whose byline was inadvertently omitted in the layout process). Extensive session information is also included for each cut, so we find out, for instance, who played guitar on Frankie Ford’s 1959 hit “Sea Cruise.”

So what’s to complain about? Well, I’d hardly be a self-respecting music journalist if I didn’t question a compilation’s inclusions and omissions. But it’s really just niggling – probably because I wish I’d gotten the gig instead of Taggart. It’s like Herczog (and, admittedly, most people) preferring the Central Grocery’s muffuletta. I’ll take the Napoleon House’s over it any day – while sipping a Pimm’s Cup with a slice of cucumber.

New Orleans’ musical scope is already vast, but Doctors, Professors is even broader – encompassing, for instance, Cajun music and zydeco. From a marketing standpoint, this makes sense. I can almost hear readers thinking, “Yeah, zydeco, blackened redfish – that’s New Orleans.” But South Louisiana is made up of a plethora of regional scenes, and Cajun and zydeco hail from Lafayette, Opelousas, and Lake Charles – three to four hours’ drive from the Crescent City. That’s like lumping Houston or Dallas into a survey of Austin music, or treating Nashville and Memphis as one and the same.

The fact is, Cajun and zydeco have grown increasingly popular in the Big Easy – but where haven’t they? The problem is, as great as material by BeauSoleil and Boozoo Chavis is, it takes up space that could have been occupied by indigenous, how-could-they-leave-out artists – like Esquerita, Astral Project, Louis Prima, and Sam Butera. My only other quibbles are that, with such tough decisions, anything remotely so-so (like J. Monque’D) need not apply, and (title aside) “No City Like New Orleans” isn’t representative of Earl King’s best work.

King is one of the guitarists who stands out in a scene dominated by pianos, horns and drums; others represented here include Sonny Landreth, Gatemouth Brown, Leo Nocentelli (and bass wonder George Porter) of the Meters, Snooks Eaglin, and Deacon John (both as a solo artist and as sideman on classics by Aaron Neville, Benny Spellman, and Ernie K-Doe).

But what’s the answer to our trivia question? The guitarist on “Sea Cruise” was none other than Mac Rebennack, better known as Dr. John, a mere 18-year-old “sprout,” to use one of his own terms, at the time. Ooh wee, baby, indeed! – DF

I despise most “multi-cultural” bands because they end up being musical jacks-of-all-trades and masters of none. The Duhks (pronounced like duck) manage to avoid this musical pitfall due to their enormous talents and obvious reverence for their musical roots.

Comprised of 20-somethings hailing from Winnipeg, Manitoba, The Duhks have been together for two years. The CD leads off with the gospel-flavored song “Death Came A Knockin’.” A powerful percussion line followed by strong three-part lead harmonies and fiddle obbligato sounds sort of like Sweet Honey and The Rock goes Celtic. The second tune, “Mists of Down Below” combines a bluesy lead vocal with Celtic fiddle and modal guitar. Once more, the strong percussion section drives the song forward with elegant syncopation. My favorite tune, a cover of Ruth Unger’s “Four Blue Walls,” uses all the band’s strengths for great effect. Tania Elizabeth’s fiddle lines mesh with Scott Senior’s percussion to provide a poignant counterpoint to Jessica Harvey’s heartfelt vocals.

Co-produced by banjo whiz Bela Fleck along with engineer Gary Paczosa, The Duhks couple outstanding dynamic agility with natural timbral accuracy. On the first tune, a penny whistle punctuates the end of the first musical line. Even when I’m expecting it, that whistle never fails to whip my head around. It sounds so real that my ears perk up like Pavlov’s dog at feeding time.

If you long to hear music that combines what Bill Monroe used to call “the ancient tones” with a modern musical sensibility, look no further than The Duhks. Their music will roll over you like liquid off a waterfowl’s back.