Waylon Music!

The mid-seventies were a good time for Waylon Jennings’ music and career. After many years of hard work, struggles with the Nashville establishment, many albums, and a few hits, he finally put it all together with a series of fantastic records. As I mentioned in an earlier post, two of the best examples of Waylon’s great work—Dreaming My Dreams and Honky Tonk Heroes—I own on CD not vinyl, so I won’t discuss them here. Suffice to say that they are brilliant records, essential for the country music fan, and two of the best albums of the seventies in any genre—Waylon Music, if you will.

This Time is another fantastic Waylon record from this exciting period (and a stylistic predecessor to Waylon’s “chamber country” masterpiece Dreaming My Dreams), co-produced by Willie Nelson and Waylon. This is true so-called “Outlaw Country” before it became a self-parody. Waylon’s sound is pared down to the essentials, no Nashville sweetening and corny background singers. The mature integration of all Waylon’s influences, the spare, driving swing of Johnny Cash (and probably Waylon’s late pal, Buddy Holly), Texas blues, Western Swing, not to mention Willie’s playing behind the beat jazz sensibilities are evident in this recording. The header on the liner notes say it all: “Waylon Jennings…Free Spirit.”

It’s a well-sequenced album. Side A features the more up-tempo numbers and Side B features the ballads. Many of the songs are Willie Nelson compositions (several of them from Willie’s great Phases and Stages album). One often thinks of rowdy songs when the term “Outlaw” country is used, but the reclaiming of ballads from the Nashville syrup factory was just as significant to the sound. From the hard-driving, “Slow Rollin’ Low” to the aching ballad “It’s Not Supposed to Be That Way” This Time displays a range, intimacy, and confidence that defines the meaning of Waylon Music.

Listening to Late Early and Early Mid-Career Waylon

I don’t own the two best Waylon Jennings records—Honky Tonk Heroes and Dreaming My Dreams—on vinyl. Just puny CD’s, I’m ashamed to say. You should own them yourself in whatever format works for you. That disclaimer aside, let’s begin the Waylon vinyl discussion with some late early and early mid-career records.

First up is Waylon Sings Ol’ Harlan from 1967. On this one, Waylon performs the compositions of the great Harlan Howard. Although this record (produced by Chet Atkins) does have some Nashville mid-sixties gloss—the background girl chorus vocals don’t sweeten as much as annoy–Waylon does honor to the material with his commanding voice and musical drive (is it Waylon and his band or session pros playing on the record?). I’m not so sure these are the definitive version of Howard’s songs—”She’s Gone, Gone, Gone”; “Tiger by the Tail”; “Foolin’ ‘Round” don’t quite match up to the Buck Owens versions (although maybe that’s because I know the Buck versions so well). Nevertheless, when you hear Waylon belt out “Busted” or “Heartaches by the Number” or mournfully croon “Beautiful Annabel Lee” or “In This Very Same Room” you know that this here is a country singer who stands out from the Nashville pack. A damn fine record.

Next up is 1971’s Singer of Sad Songs produced by Lee Hazlewood. I think the hipster in Waylon liked working with the oddball, hipster Hazlewood. On the cover photo greasy-haired Waylon doesn’t look so sad as he does pissed off. As powerful as Waylon sounds on the Harlan Howard record, he sounds so much more upfront and assured on this one. The Nashville sweetening is diminished, the arrangements are simpler (dig Waylon’s stark and soulful version of “No Regrets”), the Waylon beat is more prominent (check out “Ragged But Right”), the lead guitar is dirtier, the background vocals (including Waylon’s trademark doubletracked vocals) are less sacharine, the influences of folk rock and sixties rock in general is evident but they sound organic rather than forced, except for the one disappointment: Waylon’s prissy version of “Honky Tonk Women”—yuck! (interestingly, the allmusic review of this record lists Billy Joe Shavers’ “Honky Tonk Heroes” in place of “Honky Tonk Women.” What gives? Is this a typo or do I have an earlier version of the album?) His interpretation of the oft-covered “If I Were A Carpenter” is a lot more credible by comparison.

Coming up next: More Waylon!

An Open Letter to The Jazz Crusaders—Live Sides

Since I was just concluding with the “Ja’s” when I bought this record—The Jazz Crusaders—Live Sides—I’ll write about it. I feel funny writing about a newly acquired record for this project. It doesn’t feel like part of my life yet, but I’ll just address it as a new acquaintance. So here goes…

Hey there Jazz Crusaders,

I only knew about you in your later incarnation, The Crusaders. I remember hearing that song “Street Life” on the radio when I was in high school. I always thought of you as a kind of smooth jazz predecessor, a “Quiet Storm” kind of band. Not that there was anything wrong with that, just not all that interesting to me. The only other thing I knew was that Wilton Felder and Joe Sample were in the band, two cool names.

Then, a few months ago, my friend Big Game James waved copies of your Jazz Crusader-era live sides in my face. He explained to me that you were more hard driving, straight up, post bop,  sixties era soulful than I might have imagined. I was intrigued. Therefore, when I saw you in the stacks at Grooves I bought you. I’m glad I did.

If I were to introduce a skeptic to sixties jazz, I might start with you. Soulful, swinging, but not too out there or brainy (no insult intended!). You remind me of the live sides of Cannonball Adderly with a bit of the Coltrane and Miles influence. I dig Wilton Felder’s sax playing (I hear echoes of Coltrane and Wayne Shorter?), Sample’s piano and Henderson’s trombone. I love me some trombone. The opening track, Coltrane’s “Impressions” is a killer.

Welcome to the collection.

Sincerely,

uncorrected

Appreciating Blind Lemon Jefferson While Trying to Avoid the Blues Fallacy

I’m currently listening to a wonderful, great sounding two record set of Blind Lemon Jefferson recordings on the Milestone label. The liner notes by Pete Welding bring up elements of blues authenticity arguments that intrigue me. For example Welding writes that the myth of the “footloose, hard-drinking, hard-living, tender-tough man of rough genius” has been recently been recently exploded by “serious, dispassionate study.” And yet, he still maintains, “The more carefully one applies the merciless gaze of detached inquiry the more clearly he emerges an uncommonly original, highly individualistic artist sui generis. If anything, the aura of romance glows even more brightly.”

I can dig that mostly. Listening to Blind Lemon sing “Jack ‘o Diamonds” blues you can’t help but visualize a lonely, tormented genius, even if in reality his life wasn’t completely like that. On the other hand, you can hear a cheerfulness, sexiness and a vaudeville pop sensibility in the thirty two songs on this record. His guitar playing is zippy, danceable, sociable. You can imagine the guy playing with a band, not just alone and lonely.

In his book Escaping the Delta, Elijah Wald brings up an interesting question to think about: was Blind Lemon Jefferson a natural bluesman or was he a gifted musician who just happened to come of age when the blues was in its ascendancy as a popular music? A bit of both maybe?

Such questions take some of the fan boy romance away from the blues, but if that helps to take away some of the moldy fig snobbery and breathes life into my dusty old records, I’m all for that.

Spending a Rainy Day with Elmore and Skip James

A few years ago I read a comment by Jack White in which he said something to the effect that he hated electric blues (at least that’s what I recall reading). On one level, this statement seemed ironic coming from a guy who played a plugged-in, garage rock style of blues, but on another I dug what I think he was saying. He is opposed to what I call “Electric Blues Abuse.” You know, tedious, loud solos played at blues festivals for people too drunk to realize that the soloist is just to lazy or uninspired to do anything interesting. Or is that just my snobby opinion? Who am I to criticize someone’s good time?

I digress. My point is that like Jack White, I’m generally more of a fan of the acoustic blues in which singer and guitar are engaged in an intimate dialogue. It feels more…uh, oh, am I about to use that dreaded word “authentic”? I shan’t. My stated taste in blues music requires a qualification: I’d much rather listen to the sometimes hysterical, proto-metal stylings of electrified Elmore James than some inept or boring acoustic blues musician. I mean, surely Jack White after hearing James play something like “Something Inside Me” would provide his own qualification.

Elmore James. One Way Out. A vinyl release on the Charly label. Holy cats! Essential and exalted. From electrified Delta style (Chicago Blues), to danceable r&b. He was a masterful slide guitar player, as well as a fantastic fingerpicker. He was also a passionate singer whose vocal style sometimes bordered on hysteria (check out the aforementioned “Something Inside Me” as he sends the needles into red). It’s all on display on this fantastic slab o’ wax.

On the acoustic side, we have some late recordings by Skip James, A Tribute to Skip James on the Biograph label. Recorded after his “rediscovery” by John Fahey, these are reinterpretations of his classic recordings made in the early thirties. I suspect that these recordings aren’t held as in high esteem as his original recordings (or possibly even some of his other late recordings). He isn’t playing with the dexterity and passion of his younger days. His playing sounds more herky jerky and hesitant, although still brilliant at points, and his high tenor (?) is less clear and strong (and haunted) than it was thirty years earlier. Nevertheless, this is a good listen. No one else sounds like Skip James, my favorite blues singer and guitar player (sort of the Thelonious Monk of the blues guitar, if that makes any sense). A record I bought over twenty years ago and am just now mature enough to appreciate (You probably shouldn’t even start listening to the blues until your mid-thirties, until you’ve lived a little. No wonder I didn’t totally get these records when I was nineteen. Ah, but that’s a musing for another day…)

To learn more about Skip James, check out these three excellent books: I‘d Rather Be the Devil by Stephen Calt; Feel Like Going Home by Peter Guralnick; How Bluegrass Music Destroyed My Life by John Fahey.

The “Best Of” Etta James That Three Dollars Can Buy

As a record collecting kid, I was always perplexed by the meaning of “Best Of” versus “Greatest Hits.” Does “Greatest Hits” mean the highest chart toppers? Does the “Best Of” include high-quality non-hits as well as hits? And on and on.

The answer is: yes. “Best Of’s” can be repackaging of greatest hits plus b-sides, or scraps or no hits. Trash and treasure. You learn this as you go along in the record collecting game (“It’s all in the game”), especially with artists you don’t know much about. It was harder in the old days when you didn’t have the internet to research the “Best Of” that you paid three dollars for. Of course your ears can tell you whether or not a so-called “Best Of” is deserving of the name. Many times you learn what the cheapo packaging should have told you to begin with—you’ve bought scraps. But sometimes you luck out and you find some wonderful obscure songs (hello, mix tapes!) at a bargain price.

It’s my guess that the 1963 United-Superior release known as The Best of Etta James is a discount collection of maybe local hits, b-sides, and maybe stuff that had been sitting around. Which isn’t to say that it isn’t a fun listen and well worth the couple of bucks I probably spent on it. Nothing transcendent, no lush ballads, just straight up, tough, mid fifties to early sixties, pre-soul r&b.

And that pretty black lady leaning against a tree on the front cover photo? That’s not Etta James.