Month: November 2005

The news that former Soundgarden singer Chris Cornell was joining the three musicians in Rage Against the Machine, the hard rock/hip hop group that lost rapper Zack de la Rocha, was a true headscr-atcher. Would Cornell start rapping? Would the Rage guys go soft behind a singer?
No. And No. Cornell still wails and the former Rage still rages in a matchup that works surprisingly well on this debut CD. The band swings more than ever. Rage Against the Machine impressed with its energy, social consciousness, and willingness to mix styles, yet it was never something I’d put on to groove heavily to for 45 minutes. Not so with Audioslave.
“Cochise,” anchored by bassist Tim Commerford’s cool envelope-filter-ish riff, opens things with a whack to the head. “Set It Off” is another full-on assault, propelled by Cornell’s chorus-call to action. “Hypnotize” features a slinky dance beat in a U2 “Mysterious Ways” way, and slow-burners “I Am the Highway” and “Getaway Car” are enjoyable, melodic respites from the fierce swagger. Inventive guitarist Tom Morello remains the king of the toggle switch solo, designed to simulate a DJ scratching vinyl on a turntable; “Bring Em Back Alive” is a prime example. Producer Rick Rubin, meanwhile, gets an amazingly powerful and pure sound (as usual).
Some might decry the disappearance of Rage Against the Machine’s overt political references or bemoan the more “traditional” songs and themes, but to me the change is refreshing – don’t we already have 5,327 other young bands copping the old Rage thing these days, anyway? And though it’s easy to compare Audioslave to the members’ previous bands, this doesn’t feel like a simple case of that Soundgarden guy joining those Rage dudes. No, this is a real de la rocker.

This article originally appeared in VG‘s Mar. ’03 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

I’ve had more than one conversation with a colleague when The Paul Butterfield Blues Band album came up, and we said in unison, “That album changed my life.” A big reason for the 1965 LP’s impact was lead guitarist Michael Bloomfield, who, to me and my friends, was the first American to cut the figure that would later be dubbed “guitar hero” – his English counterpart being Jeff Beck with the Yardbirds.
To be accurate, it turns out Eric Clapton was the guitarist on the earliest Yardbirds’ tracks – many of them dazzling. But his name and picture were nowhere to be found on the American releases, and the stuff Beck was in fact on sounded like it came from outer space. Bloomfield was every bit as aggressive, performing in a hardcore blues context, and then, with Butterfield’s followup, East-West, flirting with jazz and psychedelia. (Hendrix, by the way, wouldn’t hit the radar until just before the Monterey Pop Festival in ’67 – at least on underground radio.)
Bloomfield’s brilliance continued when he left Butterfield to form Electric Flag, and then on Super Session with Al Kooper and Two Jews Blues with Barry Goldberg. But by the mid ’70s, Bloomfield’s output was uneven, and he rarely summoned the fire he once displayed.
In 1976, Guitar Player magazine recorded If You Love These Blues, Play ‘Em As You Please, which was ostensibly an instructional album of blues guitar styles by Bloomfield, for its short-lived record label, with producer Eric Kriss (head of GP’s book division) doubling on piano. Bloomfield would later say, “I know it’s my best record,” and while it doesn’t approach the heights of his work with Butterfield, it surpasses any of his so-called “solo” albums. The other major difference is that, instead of taking on the “guitar hero” role and carving out his own style, here he was the ultimate blues chameleon, on acoustic and electric, demonstrating the styles of his heroes – from B.B. and T-Bone to Jimmie Rodgers and Blind Blake. Bloomer even provides spoken narrative between the songs, which, despite its academic slant, is a rare treat today, as Bloomfield has been sorely missed since his death in 1981 at age 38.
And, even though he’s “doing” everyone but himself, you can see how those elements were the building blocks for his own eventual style. In the process he somehow avoids the sort of mimicry that marred Clapton’s From The Cradle, where he, too, did everyone but Eric Clapton; plus, Bloomfield wrote many of the songs – like a “new” B.B. King song from the early ’50s.
An entire second album, Bloomfield/Harris, consisting of mostly acoustic duets with guitarist Woody Harris, is included in the package, making this an unbeatable bargain. Recorded in 1979, the album found Bloomfield in fine form, and he and Harris had a great musical rapport. The program is all gospel instrumentals, so it’s ironic that it’s now paired with If You Love These Blues, which closes with “The Altar Song.” Hearing Bloomfield thank about 50 musicians, heroes and contemporaries, over the gospel melody is even more moving today than it was then, and the duets with Harris on songs like “Just A Closer Walk With Thee” are the perfect coda.

This article originally appeared in VG‘s June. ’05 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

It’s become cliché to say a particular guitarist is recognizable after just one note, but in the case of George Harrison, it’s true. Because along with his many hats and talents – singer, songwriter, guitarist, Beatle, icon – he was also a great, albeit underrated, slide guitarist with a truly unique sound and approach. Think of all of the slide players you’ve ever heard, and they pretty much fall into one camp or another – Elmore, Muddy, Duane, Ry, etc. Then there’s Harrison, who entered from a completely different direction, never fell into the stock licks others employed, and has rarely been copied (the Heartbreakers’ Mike Campbell comes to mind as one of the few who obviously owes a debt to George when he shifts over to slide).
Brainwashed was George’s work-in-progress at the time of his death in November ’01. His fellow Traveling Wilbury and producer of 1987’s Cloud Nine, Jeff Lynne, and Harrison’s son, Dhani, put the finishing touches on what George had started, and while it’s impossible to say with certainty, the results don’t sound drastically different than they probably would have been if George had been around for the final mix. Dhani plays acoustic or electric guitar or Wurlitzer electric piano on most cuts, with Jeff supplying bass, keyboards, and additional guitars. (No drummer is credited on “Looking For My Life,” so unless it’s a machine, it’s probably Jim Keltner, who’s behind the traps for most of the rest of the set.)
Harrison’s slide sounds a tad grittier, more aggressive on the opening “Any Road” and “P2 Vatican Blues,” but on tracks like “Rising Sun” (with some Beatle-esque cellos – also uncredited), his patented slide sound is, as Duane Eddy once described it, “just sweetness.” On several tunes, George also strums ukulele, including a great rendition of the swing-era standard “Between The Devil and The Deep Blue Sea.” Swing music was always near and dear to Harrison’s heart, and where he learned his chord vocabulary when he had his first guitar lessons. He later had Djangophile groups like the Robin Nolan Trio play parties at his mansion. So it seems fitting to have this upbeat number, with George obviously enjoying himself, on his final album.
It’s startling to realize that this is the only solo studio album by the ex-Beatle since Cloud Nine – making this posthumous gift a most pleasant surprise.

This article originally appeared in VG‘s Mar. ’03 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

Tommy Castro goes for the throat, emotionally, no matter if he’s playing straight blues, funk, or good old-fashioned rock and roll. This album is a good case in point.
It’s set up as a “thank you” to folks who have influenced Castro through the years. Anyone familiar with his music won’t be surprised to find songs by folks like Sam and Dave, B.B. King, James Brown, Howlin’ Wolf, Chuck Berry, Buddy Guy, and numerous others.
Each and every one of the 12 cuts here is a stone-cold killer. You’ll know some (maybe all) of the tunes. The album, while reverent, doesn’t out-and out copy the originals. It keeps the feel but adds Tommy’s spice to the mix. Check out his tribute to B.B., “Bad Case of Love.” It’s a nod to a master, but Tommy’s great vocal and wonderful solo out are infused with his own sense of style. And that goes for the whole record.
Tommy’s playing is muscular and tight. At times it’s in your face, and other times subtle as can be. The tone is usually what I like to call “big fat Strat;” nice and full-bodied, but with that Fender edge. Check out his playing on the classic John Lee Hooker tune “It Serves You Right to Suffer.” The deep blues of the first couple of minutes turns into a hyper boogie, with Tommy and the band not missing a beat. And at seven minutes in length, it gives him a chance to show his stuff.
Tommy’s vocals are a treat, too. Somewhere between a rock and roll shouter and a Chicago blues man, his singing is about as soulful as it gets. You can sample great singing on pretty much every track, but one of my favorites is Albert King’s “Everybody Wants to Go To Heaven.” Right after, listen to “I Found a Love,” Tommy’s tip of the cap to Wilson Pickett, and you’re in soul heaven.
This album works on a couple of levels. As a tribute, it’s fitting. As a balls-out blues-rock album, it’s a winner.

This article originally appeared in VG‘s Dec. ’03 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

Talk about piquing one’s curiosity. The promos for the truncated pledge-drive version of the Crossroads Festival that aired on PBS in December began, “Sixty-five guitarists… 87 guitars … came to play with one man.” Cut to Eric Clapton playing the opening riff of “Layla.” Exciting? You bet!
The promo, that is. If only the actual event or its four-hour DVD documentary were near as dynamic.
The first of the set’s two discs begins promisingly enough, with a montage of stages being set up, guitars being tuned, and interview quotes from Clapton, J.J. Cale, Carlos Santana, and others, over Jimmie Vaughan’s rendition of “Texas Flood” from the event. The concert footage then begins, very much out of chronology with Clapton and his band performing “Cocaine” – which E.C. has given a P.C. makeover (not that the song was ever pro-drug) by adding the phrase “that dirty cocaine” to each stanza’s tag, “cocaine.”
The patchwork sequencing continues, jumping from the June 6 Cotton Bowl finale to sets that took place on smaller stages earlier in the weekend and back. The most interesting aspect of the festival was that it presented such a stylistic diversity of guitar players – butting classical Indian slide up against shredders, while country and folk legends swapped songs on a separate stage – but, no doubt owing to Clapton’s personal inclination, it was weighted fairly heavily towards blues.
I’m a blues fanatic, and have witnessed what seems like a million blues jams (although in actual fact it’s been closer to a mere thousand). Maybe three or four were in that special category where all cylinders were hitting, and it rose beyond yet another rendition of “Sweet Home Chicago.” The much anticipated blues jams at Crossroads (Clapton, Vaughan, Buddy Guy, and Robert Cray recreated the lineup of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s final show at Alpine Valley, with the addition of steel guitarist Robert Randolph and Hubert Sumlin; or Clapton, Vaughan, and Guy backing B.B. King) were, alas, pretty tame. Ironically, though, one of the strongest blues numbers of the weekend, Larry Carlton’s “Friday Night Shuffle,” is absent in favor of “Josie,” from his session days backing Steely Dan.
There are highlights, to be sure, like the acoustic bluegrass duo of Dan Tyminski and Ron Block; Vince Gill’s diesel-fueled country; Robert Cray’s soulful “Time Makes Two;” Joe Walsh and Los Lobos’ David Hidalgo taking turns fronting Booker T. & The MG’s; and an especially blistering “I Shot The Sheriff” by the event’s host. And the historical pairing of Clapton backing J.J. Cale is appropriately laid-back but quite memorable.
But greater-than-the-sum-of-its-parts wholes can’t be choreographed; they either happen or they don’t. Not surprisingly, the one time that those kinds of sparks fly is when Clapton joins Santana for an extended “Jingo.”
Clapton’s rendition of “Layla” is relegated to the DVD’s “special features” section – which makes little sense. Interview segments or behind-the-scenes footage are special features, but to remove Clapton’s best-known song from the actual program is kind of like shooting blanks.
The festival itself, in June in the Dallas heat, was downright grueling, but I felt lucky to be there. It’s hard to pinpoint, but in the comfort of my living room, viewing the high-definition version, there’s something lacking. It’s like having the best seat in the house, but not being part of the experience.

This article originally appeared in VG‘s Mar. ’05 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

Mountain had just one real hit – the two-and-a-half-minute blast of “Mississippi Queen” can still be heard on classic rock radio. And while it has a 12-bar structure, it isn’t a blues song.
In fact, a look at the Mountain catalog shows no real blues songs, but rather music that is quite sophisticated – a direct influence of producer-bassist Felix Pappalardi.
Lesie West, the guitarist and driving force behind Mountain, has released several albums since Mountain disbanded in the mid ’70s. With this album, though, he finally has a record in which he can take pride.
The album is marked by West’s first use of vintage gear in the studio since he ditched the famed Les Paul Junior he used on the Mountain records. It all helps the listener focus on the music and guitar, both of which are fine. Mostly blues covers, songs range from slow to medium-tempo arrangements of classics from John Lee Hooker, B.B. King, Muddy Waters, and Robert Johnson, among others.
Never much of a vocalist, West was always more of a shouter/screamer. For whatever reason though, here he keeps the register low and husky, which lends the sort of whiskey-and-cigarettes growl these songs demand.
The playing here is fine, as well. And for West, it’s the pentatonic scale and that glowing, violin-like vibrato he developed early on. More stinging than Clapton, slower than B.B., more pure than Trower, it’s the vibrato so many of us tried to get, only to find we lacked the technique and touch. But West had long ago put aside his classic vibrato, and for 20 years leaned on the whammy bar to color his phrasing. Maybe that’s why this return to form is so satisfying. The three best cuts on the record feature West, alone with an electric guitar. His reading of “Born Under a Bad Sign” is full of LP Junior tone, don’t-mess-with-me vocals, tasty licks, and a shimmering vibrato. Creamy guitar tones, pinch harmonics, and the basic pentatonic scale are the rocker’s stock in trade. And West hasn’t forgotten a thing. The original “Down By the River” co-written with Mick Jones from Foreigner, also gets a solo reading while “I Got the Blues” is a riff-fest over West rapping about how he started playing guitar.
Many have forgotten that West was a hell of a slide player, but searing slide tones abound here, particularly on “Crawlin’ Kingsnake.”
This album makes it very clear that West has a great feel for the blues, and has retained the abilities that make him a force to be reckoned with.

This article originally appeared in VG‘s Oct. ’04 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

Although fine female bluegrass singers and songwriters like Hazel Dickens and Emmylou Harris have achieved success, Alison Krauss must be considered the first woman bluegrass superstar. Ever since her first release, Krauss’ CDs have maintained a remarkably high level of musical and technical consistency. Her latest, Alison Krauss + Union Station Live, shows why the audiences at her regularly sold out live shows always go home happy.
Recorded over two evenings using Sony’s DSD recording format, this two-CD set combines both great playing and great sound. Union Station’s core members, Dan Tyminsky on guitar, mando, and baritone vocals, Ron Block on banjo, guitar, and tenor vocals, and Barry Bales on acoustic bass, are joined by Jerry Douglas on dobro and Larry Atamanuik on drums. This ensemble produces some of the tightest, most technically complex bluegrass music you’ll ever hear. Their precise three-part harmonies coupled with dazzling solos and complex arrangements set a dizzyingly high musical standard.
The sound on Alison Krauss + Union Station Live is nothing short of state of the art. The Sony DSD recording process is simply the most transparent and least colored methodology currently available. Chief engineer Larry Paczosa, assisted by Neal Cappellino, Tracy Martinson, Eric Bickel, Thomas Johnson, and K.C. Groves, captured the pristine quality of Alison Krauss and Union Station’s live show. Frank Edmundson, their road manager and house sound engineer who recently passed away at age 49, was renowned in bluegrass circles as one of the best live sound guys. The sonics here give you a taste of just how good amplified music can sound.
This is a must-have for Krauss and bluegrass fans, as well as anyone else who enjoys virtuoso acoustic music.

This article originally appeared in VG‘s Mar. ’03 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

Here are a couple of records from one of America’s best songwriters. One is a batch of cuts made for movie soundtracks, or for some other reason didn’t fit on his albums. The other is brand spanking new, and causing controversy for no reason.
The controversial one is Jerusalem‘, and the controversy is over a little ditty called “John Walker’s Blues.” Yes, that‘ John Walker; John Walker Lyndh, the American kid who fought with the Taliban.
Earle sings the song in the first person, as Walker, and tries to explain why a kid would become “the American Taliban” (does everyone hate that expression as much as I do?). It’s an okay song. Not surprising that a guy like Earle would write this kind of thing. But it’s neither controversial in my mind, nor all that impressive a song. In fact, of the 11 cuts here, it’s one of my least favorite, and not because of the subject matter. I just don’t think he fleshed out the character enough, and the music is, at best, refried folk/rock.
The problem is in this day and age, anyone not toeing the line is bound for some criticism, and that’s what happened here. Hell, I think the intelligent and well-written liner notes by Earle are more controversial than the song is. If anything should raise the hackles of the folks who think any words contrary to the president’s are treasonous, it would be those liner notes.
Okay, enough about that song. Maybe the publicity did Steve some good.
Other than that, this is a fine album, the kind you’ve come to expect from Earle. Not as strong as his last effort, it still contains some excellent writing. There’s a lot of stuff, as you’d expect, pulled from today’s headlines. “Amerika v. 6.0 (the Best We Can Do)” is an acerbic take on American’s priorities. “What’s a Simple Man to Do” has a fatalistic lyric and a stomp that must be making Doug Sahm smile in heaven. “The Truth” tells a prison tale with Earle scraping the lyrics through a bullhorn, a la Tom Waits. “Conspiracy Theory” is a must-listen for fans of talk radio everywhere, and the title cut is a wonderfully upbeat way to end things. Not Earle’s best work, but a strong album.
Also interesting is the Sidetracks‘ disc released earlier this year. “Some Dreams,” from the movie The Rookie, is a real gem. It’s what he does best. A killer country-rock story with killer hooks, both lyrically and musically. Same with “Open Your Window” and “Me and the Eagle.” Country-folk with a purpose. Then, there’s some really off-the-wall stuff that helps you see some of his very varied influences. “Johnny Too Bad” takes us to the islands. “Breed” is the very unexpected Nirvana cover. “Time Has Come Today” lets him share the spotlight with Sheryl Crow and Abbie Hoffman (in spoken word). And Little Feat’s “Willin’” really was meant to be sung by Earle. It fits him, and he fits it.
There’s also some nice instrumental stuff; Earle and friends shine on the Celtic-meets-the-South “Dominick St.” And there’s a live cover of the Flying Burrito Brothers’ “My Uncle” that’ll knock your socks off.
Both these are worth having. Ignore the hype about “John Walker’s Blues,” and just enjoy the music.

This article originally appeared in VG‘s Jan. ’03 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.