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.

An Assortment of Jam

About twenty years ago I went through a period of brokenheartedness. During this time I became obsessed with bluegrass music. For nearly a year that’s all I listened to and all I bought. I couldn’t get enough of blazing banjo, mandolin runs and high lonesome singing. I seemingly spent all my spare money on bluegrass records. I was sporadically employed, incidentally, so eventually this meant trading in records I already owned for more bluegrass fixes. That’s how I ended up selling all of my Jam records (and the Clash and Gang of Four and other good stuff—it was as if I was selling off part of my identity).

Over the years I’ve reacquired some of my Jam records, which is what I’ve listened to over the past couple of days: Sound Affects; This Is the Modern World; and an ep of singles. Though I do still like the Jam I can’t quite summon the excitement of the nineteen year-old who was so inspired by the jumping around Jam. I find I can’t listen to this band for more than one record in a row—Paul Weller’s voice can be monotonous, filler songs sound like true filler songs (especially on This Is the Modern World—the great title track and few other okay ones). The Jam should never do a reunion gig—they’re meant to be a band of twentysomethings.

My one Jam record in a row (based on what I currently own) would be Sound Affects—their Revolver(the opening track “Start” has the bassline of Revolver’s opener, “Taxman”). It’s the Jam at their most mature and focused. It’s a nice balance of personal songs and big statements about England. Did it make a splash in the U.S.? Not at the time. But it created ripples that are still going. Someone English should do a 33 1/3 book about this record.

The Jam and my nineteen year-old self are dead. Long live the Jam and that tension-filled kid.

Rooting for Stephen Jackson While Listening to Milt Jackson

Milt Jackson was sort of the Stephen Jackson of The Modern Jazz Quartet—the fiery one, the bluesy one who pushed against the constraints of John Lewis’s formality. Or at least that was my younger understanding of the tensions between Jackson and Lewis of the MJQ (I saw them live in ‘86 and the tension was palpable). It was probably more complex than that. Jackson respected the formality (Lewis’s “Third Stream” compositions, the tuxedos) as well, and Lewis could play the blues. Just as Stephen Jackson respects his coach, the right way to play the game, teamwork, etc.

Be that as it may, let’s talk about two Milt Jackson records: The First Q on Savoy and Milt Jackson on Blue Note. The interesting thing about The First Q and the first side of MJ is that Jackson is the session leader on proto-MJQ gigs. In future years, Lewis would become the intellectual leader of the MJQ, but Jackson was always its heart. Anyway, he’s the featured guy on these discs recorded in the early ’50’s. If you’re notion of the MJQ is meditative (or boring) “chamber jazz” (and Lord, it could be that), these records are a nice antidote. Which is to say, the blues and fire that Jackson brought to the MJQ is at the forefront of these three minute tunes. Of course, Jackson could play those ballads real pretty too.

Most interesting to me of these two records is Side Two of the Milt Jackson disc, which features Jackson playing with the Thelonious Monk Quintet. I’ll have to do more thinking about this when we get to the Monk records, but I think I prefer the Blue Note period of Monk’s career (early fifties)—there’s youth, danger and humor in these sides. Monk and Jackson make “Misterioso” into something exalted.

Can I expect the same from Stephen Jackson and Baron Davis in the upcoming basketball year?

A Mission Statement

A few years ago, I initiated a personal project: to listen to all of my vinyl in alphabetical order in the course of one year. Then I decided to blog about it. Then I decided to add CD’s. This became quite a chore. I began feeling anxiety about how much music I would have to listen to and write about. And who cared anyway? I made it as far as the beginning of “J” on vinyl (Mahalia Jackson)and somewhere in the “D’s” on the CD’s. My project felt less like fun and more like a chore. Plus, life intruded, and so forth.

Lately, I’ve felt like restarting the project, but I don’t feel like going back to the “A’s”—at least not right now. Also, I want to stick exclusively with vinyl—my first love. So, I’m going to begin with where I left off (early J’s) and go from there.

Part record review, part memoir, part alphabetical listing—portions of my listening life in vinyl. We’ll begin with Milt Jackson’s collaboration with John Coltrane, Bags and Trane. A nice session with the great tenorist and vibist. The rhythm section is stellar: Hank Jones on piano, Paul Chambers on bass, and Connie Kay on drums. Jackson got to wail more than he was normally allowed with the Modern Jazz Quartet, and Coltrane gives us his bluesy sheets of sound. With Coltrane’s future far out projects in mind, I think I used to discount this record as a “blowing session,” but listening to it now, I think it’s solid all the way through.

Stand out track: “Be-Bop”

More Milt Jackson to come in the next entry.