FAVOURITE ALBUMS & SONGS THAT MAKE THE INEQUITIES OF LIFE BARELY TOLERABLE
(i’ll add more albums and songs as time goes on, but I figured i’d start with a few obvious faves)
The Who – Meaty, Beaty, Big And Bouncy (1971) – While it’s commonplace for the punters to sing the praises of 70s classic rock Who, and I certainly am one of them, sometimes I think 60s power-pop Who, which this wonderful comp features, is my fave. I Can See For Miles, Pictures Of Lily, The Kids Are Alright, Substitute, I’m A Boy, Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere (swoon). Perfect rock music. Almost 40 years after I discovered this crappy sounding cassette tape, these songs still sound as fresh and vibrant as ever.
The Best Of Joe Tex (1968) – Possibly my favourite soul singer. Joe’s spoken word sermons in his songs carry more emotional weight than any clergy ever could. Tracks like I Want To Do Everything For You and The Love That You Save still slay me. Apparently, and I can’t say if this is 100% true, Joe used to scream his voice hoarse before a show, because he felt that it gave it an edginess . Not something i’d recommend to most mortals, but then, Joe wasn’t most people. I talk at length about Joe down below in Songs That Oughtta Be Well Known.
Duke Reid’s Treasure Chest (1992) – See my entry below in Songs That Oughtta Be Well Known that discusses this amazing compilation of primo early Jamaican 60s ska/rocksteady that changed my life during a cold Ottawa winter around 27 years ago.
Fairport Convention – What We Did On Our Holidays (1968) – All of Fairport’s first five albums are essential to anyone who loves British folk-rock…or…y’know, music in general? Most fans tend to pick Liege And Lief or Unhalfbricking as the best Fairport album but to me, Holidays is the great link between the first album, when they were Britain’s answer to Jefferson Airplane, and the more well known Brit-folk period, which they basically created.
Garland Jeffreys – Ghost Writer (1977) – See my entry below in Songs That Oughtta Be Well Known. This brilliant album of smoking hot RnB, Reggae, and hook-filled pop-rock by one of New York City’s most criminally underrated sons should’ve sold in Rumours-like quantities, but alas, since there’s no justice in this world, it became a cult hit instead. Ottawa seemed to love him though. When I saw him at Ottawa Bluesfest about 15 years ago, he put on a show in one of the tents that is still one of the best shows that I ever saw, and the crowd clearly knew most of the songs.
Graham Parker & The Rumour – Howlin’ Wind (1976) – Graham has had a huge effect on my own music and is just one of my upper-echelon favourites. Channelling the urgency of Van Morrison with enough Stones-like edge and a switchblade voice, along with a crackerjack backup band that handled Rock, Soul, RnB, and Reggae with ease. In my wildest fantasies, I would dream of singing Graham-like songs with a band as great as The Rumour but sadly that doesn’t seem likely to ever happen. There’s a reason why I name check Graham in my song Jealous And Proud.
Hello, I’m Johnny Cash (1970) – One of the only good things that my deadbeat father ever gave me (though my sainted Mum gets partial credit) was a love of country music borne out of endless trips in the family van when I was little listening to 8-track tapes of albums like this one. I rediscovered it on vinyl when I was 18 and fell immediately in love with it, as it’s one of those albums that’s pretty damn near flawless, with not a slack track in the bunch. The best studio album he ever did. Yes, you heard me. And I would say that right to Rick Rubin’s face.
The Psychedelic Snarl (1984) – When a back cover blurb says, and I quote, “Choice U.K. Psychotic Freakbeat from the sixties. From the original Mastertapes. Rare, Scarce and undiscovered Gems”, you mean, you’re actually going to put this back in the bin and look for some friggin’ Grateful Dead bootleg like some philistine?? Thankfully, I did no such thing in the early 90s and promply had my mind blown listening to tracks like I Must Be Mad by The Craig, who I can’t believe only lasted for one single and inexplicably faded away because it’s one of the greatest rock songs i’ve ever heard (apparently, Carl Palmer of ELP was their drummer). And then there’s Grey by The Hush, which sounds like the early Kinks (and only good can come from that) on choice quantities of amphetamines, but who, once again, faded quickly. All this on the wonderfully named BamCaruso Records.
The Kinks – Something Else By The Kinks (1967) – Among Kinks fans, it’s generally agreed that Village Green Preservation Society and Arthur are their best albums overall, but Something Else is right up there among them, and for me, it encapsulates everything I dearly love about the classic peak period of Ray Davies’ songwriting. In particular, songs like End Of The Season, which, if it had been written by George Gershwin or Cole Porter, would be considered one of the classics of the Great American Songbook, but here it’s just an obscure album track. Two Sisters, which deals with the jealousy felt by one sister living in married drudgery towards the other who lives a carefree, partying lifestyle (which Ray admitted was basically about him and his brother Dave), is a masterclass in great songwriting. It conveys more depth and emotion in its storytelling (and great melodies of course) in its two minute length than most people can put in five. But that’s genius for you.
SONGS THAT OUGHTTA BE WELL KNOWN
This is a series of posts that I did in 2013-14 on my Facebook page. I figure that I should give these a permanent home on my website, and maybe i’ll revive it again someday.
Sat. Dec. 7, 2013
Hi everybody. I’ve decided to start a little series of mine where I post various songs I like in various genres called, ahem, SONGS THAT OUGHTTA BE WELL KNOWN. These can be songs that are completely obscure, known only to a certain select group of fans, lesser-known songs from famous bands/artists, or local artists I know that are doing great work. I’ll post a Youtube link to the song or sometimes just an audio file. The inauguaral entry is a song from the 80s by Australia’s The Hoodoo Gurus called Bittersweet. It was a bit of a hit on college radio and various countries, but I think that it’s one of those tunes that should be on every “Best of the 80s” comp out there, which is why I think that it’s underrated.
Tues. Dec. 10, 2013
On this installment of SONGS THAT OUGHTTA BE WELL KNOWN, i’m going to start featuring two songs instead of one because there’s just so much deserving music out there crying out to be spotlighted. The songs will reflect my own tastes and obsessions, but isn’t that always the case? To make it interesting, they will be songs in two different genres. I’ll probably only do this feature once a week, but if enough people want it twice a week it’s possible. Love the responses from the first one! Keep ’em coming…even if you hate the song choices (though be kind).
The first song featured is no stranger to the small inner circle of people I jam with, as i’ve been playing it at our jams for a little while, and that’s Johnny Horton’s I Got A Hole In My Pirogue from 1957. Johnny is mostly known for the historical country songs that were massively successful in 1958-60, The Battle of New Orleans, Sink The Bismarck, North To Alaska, and his other Alaska song, When It’s Springtime in Alaska (It’s Forty Below). But not everybody knows that he made his initial success with gutsy honky tonk country/rockabilly tunes (Honky Tonk Man being the most notable, as it was covered by Dwight Yoakum in the 80s). I Got A Hole In My Pirogue is a gem that I found off of a Johnny Horton collection and was instantly knocked out by it. A great vocal melody by Johnny and the twangy lead pickin’ by session ace Grady Martin (one of the great unsung guitarists) adds up to a gumbo that more people should be tasting – thus it’s inclusion here.
And though I don’t want to get too much into the biographical info – as the song should be the focus and people can always find out more about a featured artist through searching on this thing called the Internet – I think that it’s fascinating that he was haunted by premonitions for years that he would be killed by a drunk man, and sure enough it came true when he was killed in a car crash at the height of his fame in 1960 – by a drunk driver. And that he married Hank Williams’ widow and played his last show at The Skyline Club in Austin, Texas (because of his premonitions, he refused to go out to the bar to greet patrons after the show that night as he thought a drunk was going to stab him) – the very same venue that Hank played before he died in a car seven years earlier. Creee-py…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iIt_ZAF_hWI
The other song i’d like to feature is by a great New York singer-songwriter named Garland Jeffreys. The song is I May Not Be Your Kind, a great roots-reggae song about interracial romance off of his criminally underrated 1977 album, Ghost Writer. Garland’s music is a mix of soul, rock, singer-songwrighter/folk and reggae that never stays in one place for very long.
The 8-track tape of this album was a big hit among my older siblings in the late 70s/early 80s and many a summer afternoon in the backyard was soundtracked by such gems as the title track, New York Skyline, Cool Down Boy, and the epic Spanish Town (the other big summer backyard 8-track was America’s Greatest Hits – the 70s folk-rock band, not literally America the nation’s greatest hits!). I saw Garland do this at the Ottawa Bluesfest about a decade ago (back when it was on the City Hall grounds for a few years) and he had the crowd singing the chorus and clapping on their feet while he went out into the crowd to greet them. And this was from a guy who’d just recently come out of a lengthy retirement.
Saturday, Dec. 14, 2013
That’s right folks. It’s yet another installment of SONGS THAT OUGHTTA BE WELL KNOWN. First up to the plate is Last Kind Word Blues, a beautifully haunting song recorded in Wisconsin in 1930 by a Mississippi woman by the name of Geeshie Wiley. Not too much is known about her, and no photographs exist.
She only recorded six songs along with another woman named Elvie Thomas, with both of them on vocal and guitar. Though some sources (like Wikipedia) state that Thomas played on this track, most blues scholars believe it was Wiley playing solo. I tend to agree, as she was known, according to the few people who knew her who are on record, as an accomplished guitarist and the guitar arrangement is very creative for its time. She wrote the song and her vocal and guitar phrasing are pretty much in sync.
One of the things that’s most striking about this song is that there’s a minor chord as the opening chord to the verse, which is very different from a lot of Mississippi blues heard at that time. It gives it an almost British folk quality – by way of Mississippi. I understand that this song might be challenging listening to modern ears because a) the sound quality was barely audible at best, as recording technology was only then just crawling out of its infancy, and microphones, much less good sounding ones, were only just coming out (it’s probable that Geeshie was singing into a bullhorn to record, as mikes weren’t widespread until well into the 1930s), b) the scratches and hiss of older recordings can be a distraction. It’s important to keep in mind that most recordings from this period had to be re-recorded on modern analog and digital formats by literally using old 78 records from the period, as the master tapes of most pre-World War II recordings were destroyed or had disintegrated, and c) enunciation wasn’t always paramount with early roots music artists, making the lyrics sometimes indecipherable.
Here’s the lyrics (as best as can be deciphered):
The last kind words I heared my daddy say
Lord, the last kind words I heared my daddy say
If I die, if I die in the German war* (*many at the time used this term to describe World War I)
I want you to send my body, send it to my mother, lord
If I get killed, if I get killed, please don’t bury my soul
I prefer just leave me out, let the buzzards eat me whole
When you see me comin’ look ‘cross the rich man’s field
If I don’t bring you flour I’ll bring you bolted meal
(instrumental)
I went to the depot, I looked up at the stars
Cried, some train don’t come, there’ll be some walkin’ done
My mama told me, just before she died
Lord, precious daughter, don’t you be so wild
The Mississippi river, you know it’s deep and wide
I can stand right here, see my babe from the other side
What you do to me baby it never gets outta me
I may not see you after I cross the deep blue sea
The next featured song is Automan, from 1979 by a Vancouver punk band called The Young Canadians, who were also known as The K-Tels (after the famous Canuck record company. K-Tel threatened a lawsuit over the name – thus the change). Like a lot of punk bands of their era, they were only around for about two years, which fits with the punk ethos anyway. Their lead singer/guitarist was Art Bergmann, who went on to a notable music career of his own during the 80s and is still out there doing it from what I understand.
Anyway, I love this song because it’s got a helluva hook and a great simple but effective guitar sound reminiscent of such awe-inspiring Brit bands of that era like The Buzzcocks. It just rocks like a mofo and then it’s over in about three minutes. You gotta love the lost art of brevity.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_nYeXgY7tCY
Sat. Dec. 22, 2013
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows! But of course all of that’s completely irrelevant because it’s time for another installment of SONGS THAT OUGHTTA BE WELL KNOWN.
First up, I have the extreme pleasure of featuring a song from a man who I consider one of the upper-echelon soul singers, and i’m talking about the wonderful Joe Tex. His greatest period was the mid-60s to the early 70s, yet Joe isn’t a household name the way that Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett and other luminaries from that era are. Maybe that was because his style was a bit more idiosyncratic than the aforementioned, but that’s still a shame, as his catalogue contains some of the finest deep soul of any era.
Joe was known for putting spoken word “sermons” in his songs (many of which he wrote – rare among soul artists of any era) where he would talk about how men and women need, and need to respect, one another. Dignity and empowerment were central themes to much of his work. I once read that Joe used to shout his voice hoarse before a show so it would give it an edginess when he performed – though I can’t confirm if this is true or not. But I wouldn’t doubt it, as he definitely marched to his own drummer, so to speak..
The featured song is 1966’s I Believe I’m Gonna Make It, which is about a soldier in Vietnam stating how his woman’s letter has given him strength and hope. In lesser hands, this could have just been a sentimental weeper, but Joe makes you feel it every step of the way. The lyrics may seem a bit dated in some ways, but when he and the horn section come in on the chorus, it makes me forget about such mundane concerns. Great performances like this also confirm to me that the world from the mid-70s onward lost something precious when they took the gospel out of soul music and watered it down to the point of being almost musical wallpaper.
And speaking about people that deserved better, I give you Vancouver’s The Blue Shadows, who released two albums of terrific roots-rock in the early 90s and fell victim to the fickleness of country record companies and radio. Described by one critic as “the ’65 Beatles being fronted by Hank Williams”, the Blue Shadows’ lead singer was Billy Cowsill, who achieved million-selling fame as the oldest brother in The Cowsills, a musical family who were the model for TV’s The Partridge Family. Playing in various bands over the years after The Cowsills ran their course, Billy eventually drifted to Vancouver and hooked up with West Coast rockabilly stalwart Jeffrey Hatcher and the rest is history.
Their first album, On The Floor Of Heaven, was a gem that just didn’t seem to fit in with any of the strict formats at the time – thus they couldn’t get enough major label support. Not edgy enough for rock radio in the throes of Pearl Jam, not country enough for “new country” radio in the throes of Garth Brooks. Complicating things was Cowsill’s drug addiction and other health problems, which led to the band’s demise within a few years and his own in 2006. Family members learned of his death while holding a memorial service the same day for his brother and bandmate Barry, a victim of the August 2005 Hurricane Katrina, whose body had not been found and identified until January 2006. That’s some sad and awful shit…
However, we can still listen to the featured song, 1993’s Deliver Me, and wonder about what could have been. I think that if they’d had some luck, they definitely could’ve had a career like Blue Rodeo or The Jayhawks or any other roots-rock icons of the last 20 years.
Sat. Dec. 28, 2013
As I sit here recovering from a touch of the flu, it’s time for another installment of SONGS THAT OUGHTTA BE WELL KNOWN.
Many Canadians have heard of the Log Driver’s Waltz, a song written by Wade Hemsworth and recorded by The McGarrigles for an animated National Film Board short. But how many have heard of The Log Driver’s Song, another waltz recorded in the 1950s by Mac Beattie (1916-1982), the Ottawa Valley’s greatest songwriter? Mac & his folk/country band The Melodiers were active all throughout Eastern Ontario & Western Québec from the 40s to 80s, and were featured nationally on various CBC programs, most notably on the hugely popular Don Messer’s Jubilee. Most of Mac’s songs were written about the people and places of The Ottawa Valley, which he loved dearly. For more background info: http://www.backtothesugarcamp.com/macbeattie.html
This recording of The Log Driver’s Song was featured on Mac’s debut album from 1960, A Visit To The Ottawa Valley, however the recording was likely from the 1950s, as they had released regional singles before then (they likely didn’t have a great studio – hence the echo-y sound). I first heard this and other Mac songs from Charlie Gardner, an Ottawa musician who I’ve jammed with many times over the years. Charlie learned these tunes first-hand from Mac and The Log Driver’s Song is always one of the highlights of our annual campground jam at Bon Echo Family Campground in August.
I think that many of Mac’s songs should be considered among Canada’s finest folk tunes because of their great melodies and preservation of a time and a way of life that’s largely gone now. Let’s get a bunch of prominent folk/roots artists to cover such tunes as Saturday Night Up The Gatineau, Bank Robbery at Cobden, Little Shack Up The Pontiac, and On The Banks Of The Ottawa, which I’ve started playing myself in the last while. If anyone wants the lyrics and chords to this song, just give me a shout.
Tiiim-BERRRR! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBt3tYMA33Y
It’s one of the great crimes against humanity that Ted Hawkins never became more well-known than he was. Though his own demons, and he had many, probably would’ve kept wider success at bay anyway. But no matter, his mixture of folk, country, deep southern spirituals, and soul music played solo on opened-tuned acoustic guitar with a voice like that of Sam Cooke after years of hard living has touched me greatly in the last decade. Because he was an older black man that played acoustic guitar, people stereotypically thought he was a bluesman, but blues, though he certainly earned the right to sing it, was barely found in his repertoire.
To make a long story short, Ted went through a life of drug addiction & incarceration and spent most of his adult years busking off the beach in Venice Beach, California, developing quite a local following in the process. He had earlier recorded some songs in the early 1970s before getting put in jail and becoming a heroin addict. Flash forward to 1982, and the producer who he’d recorded for tracked him down and asked him if he could release the 70s tunes. He gave his consent, and from there Ted’s profile rose considerably as that same album, 1982’s Watch Your Step, got a rare five star review in Rolling Stone magazine.
Until his death of a stroke in 1995, Hawkins toured Europe and Asia and recorded four more albums of material, sometimes managing to stay out of trouble and sometimes not. True to his contrary nature, he went back to being a street performer in California even after he had gained enough of a following to play clubs and had a recording contract.
The featured song is a live version of I Got What I Wanted, a cover of a Brook Benton tune that was originally featured on 1995’s Songs From Venice Beach. It sounds like a long-lost Sam Cooke demo, and only good can come from that kind of influence. Can’t someone cover this and make his widow some cash and also bring Ted some attention?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0E8hIf6RzrU
Sat. Jan. 4, 2014
As the temperature outside approaches that of the surface of Mars, it’s time for another installment of SONGS THAT OUGHTTA BE WELL KNOWN.
It’s strange to think that a proto-reggae song from sunny Jamaica could seem apropos for a bitterly cold night but Heartaches, a rocksteady song from 1967 sung by Vic Taylor, a journeyman reggae and r&b singer, fits the bill. Back in a cold Ottawa winter in 1992/93, I discovered a two CD compilation called Duke Reid’s Treasure Chest, a collection of mostly obscure rocksteady/ska/early reggae on the Treasure Isle label from the 1960s and early 70s run by the legendary no-nonsense ex-cop Mr. Reid himself. Many of these songs were big and small hits in Jamaica but never ventured anywhere else, outside of Jamaican immigrants taking some of this music to the U.K., Canada and The States. The Heartbeat label, which put out the comp, specialized in releasing long-forgotten Jamaican music and I had earlier wet my whistle with their Kingston Town collection of music from the same place and time and liked most of it enough to want to dip my toe even further in those waters.
Needless to say, I FLIPPED over Duke Reid’s Treasure Chest. So many great songs by artists who would barely be heard from again, as the rocksteady/ska/early reggae scene at the time was driven by 45 rpm singles sung by any young desperate soul who the tyrannical studio heads could get a performance out of. Same old story just about anywhere, though there were the consistent hitmakers like The Paragons, Desmond Dekker, The Techniques etc. Anyway, Heartaches was just one of many favourites of mine on the album, and it’s as good a choice as any to warm the soul on such a bitterly cold night. Just as it did to mine on many a similar night 20 years ago…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hg2LQBL8H-A
Next up, in keeping with our wintry theme, we feature a song by an obscure British indie band called The Rolling Stones, a bunch of lovable moptops from the London suburbs who flamed out pretty soon after their initial successes and…
OK, all kidding aside, you might ask why the inclusion of a song from one of the most storied bands of all time? Well, because it’s called Songs That Oughtta Be Well Known, and even the greats have plenty of obscure classics that demand respect (The Kinks’ b-sides could fill a year of STOBWK alone). The song in question is Winter (See? I told you I was keeping with the wintry theme.), off of their underrated 1973 album, Goat’s Head Soup.
Winter is ragged and beautiful, like much of their work in the 1968-73 era. There’s a sublime weariness to Mick’s vocal that exemplifies what most of us feel by mid-February and the way it builds up with the strings near the end is also genius. Not to mention the guitar playing of Mick Taylor, who gave their songs a majesty in that period that’s been sorely missed ever since. It’s a great song to listen to on your mp3 player/phone when you’re waiting for a bus and looking up at the sky in January.
Sat. Jan. 11, 2014
Bueller…? Bueller…? Bueller…?, it’s time for another installment of SONGS THAT OUGHTTA BE WELL KNOWN.
There was a time when blues music played alone on an acoustic guitar was actually music that people danced to, as opposed to being listened to, which, don’t get me wrong, is great and everything, but sometimes I feel that we’ve kind of lost something by being programmed to only dance to music with a bass or drums to it. Rhythms are rhythms, and we shouldn’t be so goddamn picky.
Which brings me to the infectious rhythms of Bukka’s Jitterbug Swing, a tune from 1940 by the late, great Booker (Bukka) White (1909-1977), a slide guitarist/singer from Mississippi who recorded in the 30s, 40s, and 60s and served time at the infamous Parchman Farm Penitentiary for assault. He’s mostly known for such tunes as Fixin’ To Die Blues, Shake ‘Em On Down and the aforementioned Parchman Farm Blues, but this gem gets me tappin’ every time. He’s backed up by a gent named Washboard Sam on, go figure, washboard. The song is a testament to the simple powerful groove two people can get out of rudimentary instrumentation and no amplification, save for the one microphone recording everything.
If ever there was a song that deserves to be well known and covered by drunken girls in karaoke bars everywhere, it’s the 1989 Motown-esque soul stomper Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah from, of all bands, England’s premier purveyors of boozy Celtic rock, The Pogues. This song is a real anomaly in the Pogues’ catalogue, as it was a real departure from what they were known for, and to the best of my knowledge, the band haven’t really recorded much in this style since. Which is a real shame, because this rocks like a mofo and doesn’t let up. I’m not going to go so far as to say that they missed their true calling, but damn, I would have loved to hear more of this kind of stuff once in a while.
The band is as tight as can be, and even though their dentally challenged lead singer Shane MacGowan wouldn’t have made it strictly as a rock/soul vocalist, he sings his ass off here. I hear tunes this great, and I just have to shake my head as to why this isn’t on compilations and in shopping malls everywhere. On second thought, that might not be a good thing… (P.S. Could that video be any LESS fantastic?)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W-JdFM41RUg
Sat. Jan. 18, 2014
Well, slap me in the ass and call me Charlie! It’s time for another installment of SONGS THAT OUGHTTA BE WELL KNOWN.
Our dear land has had its share of great forgotten bands, or at least great forgotten songs or albums. And i’m just going to come right out and say that we’ve done a piss-poor job of preserving our musical heritage and educating our citizens about it. Not to mention re-releasing/reissuing stuff from our past commercially. Collectors from around the world would buy CDs of our forgotten past, so why don’t we care enough to release this stuff languishing in vaults?
When you see Europe and Japan doing such great jobs at releasing collections of obscure North American folk/roots music – often with superior remastering jobs (step right up the Bear Family reissue label of Germany), it makes you weep. The only place I could find Mac Beattie’s stuff was on a private site of a country/folk aficionado, as it’s all completely out-of-print, which, given the quality of his songs, is a national disgrace. Sure, I believe we really only came into our own musically-speaking in the last 60 yrs., but almost every time someone documents our music history from that era it’s usually only the big names that get mentioned. Where are the hidden forgotten gems, the artists who almost made it, or the ones who did but are now only residing in the memories of a few?
Well, today’s first entry fits the bill. I’m talking about Kensington Market, a band from Toronto (“what was your first guess?” sayeth the three people who follow this series in response) who were only around from 1967-69 (Canadian bands don’t tend to last too long as a rule. It’s tough staying together when you have to travel great distances in a smelly van with three other guys to play for what amounts to beer money after gas, lodging, food is accounted for) and who re-formed in 2006 and have been playing around Toronto at venues like Hugh’s Room. The Market only released two albums, the debut Avenue Road (those Toronto references again!) and Aardvark, which I think was vastly superior to the former. They were very much a psychedelic rock band like many from that era, but with a touch of Beatlesque craftsmanship in their songwriting that set them apart from others.
It also kind of doomed them commercially, as Canada tended to go for more commercial top 40 type stuff at the time. Maybe if they’d gone over to the more receptive-to-their-kind-of-music U.S., things might’ve been different, but meh…coulda, woulda, shoulda. Anyway, I’d have to say that my favourite track from them is Said I Could Be Happy, from 1969’s Aardvark. Great to listen to on earphones. Those harmonies are to die for!
Although I like to play tracks from different eras if I can, this next song, My Deceiving Heart, is also from 1969, and it’s by one of my personal favourites, Chicago’s greatest contribution to soul music, The Impressions. Their lead singer, guitarist, songwriter, and all-around genius, Curtis Mayfield, is largely known for standards like People Get Ready, Gypsy Woman, Move On Up, and his later 70s funk masterpiece Superfly, but delve into his vast catalog and you will be seldom disappointed. Not only were his vocals sweet as honey, but he was also one of the only guitarists that played in a guitar tuning unique to him alone (at least I can’t think of anybody else playing it)- which he created by tuning his guitar to the black keys of the piano on account of being a beginner and not knowing the “proper” way. There’s a lot of worthy Curtis songs I could’ve included here, but My Deceiving Heart is as good a choice as any.
Where to begin? The ache of Curtis’ vocal? The sublime guitar fills on the chorus? The epic horn arrangements? The way the song builds and builds? Best to just sit back, listen, and swoon…
Sat. Jan. 25, 2014
Linda, put the coffee on. It’s time for another installment of SONGS THAT OUGHTTA BE WELL KNOWN.
One of the great pleasures in finding obscure old music is you discover genuine originals like Washington Phillips. Little is known about Phillips (1880-1954), aside from the fact that he was a deeply religious man from Texas who sang strictly gospel songs and later became a preacher and who recorded 18 songs (with only 16 that survived) for Columbia Records from 1927-29. As they are sung gospel sermons, the more secular-minded among you might be inclined to tune out, which would be a mistake, as you would be missing some strange and beautiful music. The song featured today is from 1928 and is called What Are They Doing In Heaven Today?
What’s most fascinating about him is the way he accompanied himself. Some music historians of roots music have debated whether he played an autoharp-like instrument called a zither or similar more obscure variants like the dolceola or the celestophone (love that name!) or that he also played two zithers at the same time! One of the only surviving photos of him (you’ll see it in the YouTube video) shows him holding two zithers, and one stringed instrument expert believes he was playing a zither (or zithers?) with modifications to the instrument done by Phillips, which is good enough for me. In the end, it matters not a bit, as the haunting beauty of his zither and lovely melody of his singing win me over every time. Maybe the ringing of said instrument reminds me of the Dickie-Dee ice cream truck and summer days when I was a kid?
The mark of a truly great band is when their more obscure songs (e.g. b-sides, forgotten album tracks, demos) are frequently as good as the a-list material. Though this isn’t always true of course, it still helps to make a good case for their greatness. I said in one of my previous installments that The Kinks’ B-sides could make up a whole year of STOBWK alone, and I wasn’t kidding. The Kinks, of course, need no introduction, aside from the fact that they are one of the greatest and most influential bands of all time and probably my favourite.
However, because of the band’s volatile nature (with the Davies brothers being the frequent culprit), they were their own worst enemy as to why a lot of great music of theirs’ didn’t always achieve the success it should’ve. It was also due to bad luck, bad management and the fact that some of their whimsical and Brit-central songs seemed a bit out-of-fashion in the era of psychedelics and free love. Which is just one of the many reasons we Kinks fans love them so.
For your consideration, I give you This Is Where I Belong, a 45 RPM single from 1966 that for some insane reason was relegated to the b-side of the single (and therefore not deemed worthy of top airplay, as that was the a-side’s job) and, even more bizarrely, made available only in The Netherlands. It wasn’t heard by most Kinks’ fans until its inclusion on the 1972 compilation The Kinks Kronikles, and that’s where I fell for it. There’s lots and lots of obscure Kinks songs I could’ve included here, but this one just always puts a big smile on my face, and what better reason could there be than that?