BLUES RECORDS

ROOSTER BLUES - LIGHTNIN� SLIM -ENGLISH BLUE HORIZON 7-63863 HE KNEW THE BLUES - SLIM HARPO -ENGLISH BLUE HORIZON 7-63854 LONESOME LONELY BLUES - LONESOME SUNDOWN - ENGLISH BLUE HORIZON 7-63864

LOUISIANA BLUES - VARIOUS ARTISTS - ARHOOLIE 1054

SWAMP BLUES - VARIOUS ARTISTS -EXCELLO EXC 8015/8016

These five albums all focus on the bluesmen who recorded for Jay Miller�s Excello label and, for those interested in the Louisiania, swamp-laden blues that scratched the national charts only with Slim Harpo�s �Raining In My Heart� and �Scratch My Back,� they offer an invaluable insight into the still-active blues world in the Crowley, Louisiania area. The three Blue Horizon discs speak for themselves. The Lightnin� Slim is a just-about total re-issue of his first Excello album. Slim also recorded for Chess (unissued), Feature and Ace and was one of the most popular of Excello�s bluesmen who played a starkly simple guitar and had a perfect blues voice—give �My Starter Won�t Start� or �Hoo Doo Blues� a listen. Slim (Otis Hicks) now lives in retirement in Detroit but, as Mike Leadbitter notes, Slim�s wail of �blow your harmonica son� to Lazy Lester will never be forgotten.

Slim Harpo (James Moore) died about a year ago, unfortunately, on the brink of his popularity and a scheduled European tour. He came to Excello in 1957 after years of touring the South as Harmonica Slim and cut �King Bee� (later picked up by the Stones) and �Raining In My Heart� in quick succession. His popularity waned over the years (he even snuck off to record some unissued sides for Imperial) but he still turned out some great blues, which can be found on his first two Excello albums. This album features Slim in a more modem setting (�The Hippy Song� and �The Music�s Hot�) but that wood-block, screeching harp-sound still overwhelms. Recommended.

Lonesome Sundown (Cornelius Green) was Excello�s best urban-blues artist who spent his early years playing as rhythm guitarist with Clifton Chenier�s band, coming to Excello in 1956. From 1956 to 1966 he cut 32 records for the label in a wide variety of idioms—from rock �n� roll to blues to ballads and acquired a local popularity that didn�t 'diminish until the mid-sixties, when he retired from the blues circuit to become a minister in hjs home-town of Opelousas, Louisiania. This album is a vivid cross-section of Sundown�s work—from the over-done �Learn To Treat Me Better� to the voo-doo-stung �Hoo Doo Woman Blues� to the belonely �Lonesome Lonely Blues� it has that bayou percussiveness thoughout.

Up to the Seventies with the next two discs that were both recorded at separate times for separate labels in 1969, both utilizing identical personnel (the bluesmen left in the Baton Rouge area who still play the low-down, Excello-oriented blues) and both vibratingly successful. A few words about the bluesmen present tell the story better than any analysis of the tunes they do:' Silas Hogan played the house-party circuit in the forties and in 1958 was brought to Jay Miller by Slim Harpo—the result was eight fine blues singles on Excello. In 1965 he quit the blues scene but, at the prompting of Guitar Kelley, started up again in 1966 and has been at it ever since—outstanding cuts by him on the Arhoolie are �I Got A Funny Feeling� and �Dry Chemical Blues� on the Excello. The harp player on most of Hogan�s discs was Moses �Whispering� Smith, who was with Lightnin� Slim�s band brom 1958-1960, led his own combo for four years, then rejoined Lightnin� until he moVed to Detroit in 1966, which prompted Smith quitting the blues. Until these albums that is, where he mesmerizes on �On The Dark Road Crying� Arhoolie and on some seven selections on the Excello, with �Thousand Miles From Nowhere� being the gem, perhaps, with �Baton Rouge Breakdown� not far behind in establishing Smith as a fine vocalist as well as harp-player.Piano player Henry Gray for years was a stalwart with Howling Wolfs band and also played with the likes of Little Walter, Jimmy Rogers and Jimmy Reed while based in Chicago: Gray retired in 1969 and returned to Louisiania and these, his first vocal recordings, likewise, reveal him to be a bluesman worth even more recording—�Cold Chills� from the Arhoolie and �Showers of Rain� from the Excello are particularly rewarding. Clarence Edwards is only ih his late thirties and learned guitar from his grandmother�s Kokonjo Arnold and Charlie Patton records—he first appeared on an obscure Folk Lyric record entitled �Country Negro Jam Session� and these efforts (�Hear That Rumbling�� from Arhoolie and �Lonesome Bedroom Blues�) reveal him to be a first-rate artist. Last, but not least, is Arthur �Guitar� Kelley, who has been playing in the Crowley area for the last thirty years but never quite made it into Excello�s studios in the old days—he bowls one over with �I Got A Funny Feeling� (Arhoolie) and �I Don�t Know Why� (Excello) and is steeped in that Excello �feel.�

There you have it. Two generations of blues from Excello, one of the South�s major independent labels for fifteen years and more. For those lamenting the death of the Louisiania, hoo-doo heavy idiom these discs (the Excello is a two-record set) are a revelation. And, I trust, harbingers of things to come for these still very-much-alive bluesmen. Who knows, maybe even Lightnin� Slim can be talked out of retirement now.

Gary Von Tersch

BLACK CAT TRAIL - VARIOUS ARTISTS - MAMLISH S3800

NEW DEAL BLUES - VARIOUS ARTISTS - MAMLISH S3802

Mamlish records, out of New York and run by Don Kent, seems to have been inspired by Nick Peris� Yazoo records line^ That is to say excellence all-the-way-around dominates these first two compelling Mamlish blues collections-the artwork is superb, there are seven cuts per side, the liner notes are stunningly insightful and compreshensive and the sound quality is peerless. Not to mention the selection of tunes, which is first-rate and fills in a lot of gaps in other company�s re-issue projects.

�Black Cat Trail� deals with thv "'st-war blues idiom from Detroit to 'lexas to Chicago—the amplified, coarse, tavern blues that was to be the genesis of today�s curtent blues revival as sung and played by the likes of Elmore James (�Hawaiian Boogie�), Robert Nighthawk (�Crying Won�t Help you�), Big Boy Spires (�Murmur Low�) and Snooky Pryor v (�Boogie Twist�), only to mention perhaps the most recognizable of the bluesmen included here. Other tour-de-force performances are turned in by female bluesette Grace Brim on �Strange Man,� the Texas-stung style of Otis Hinton on �Walking Down Hill� (�Ain�t gonna play the Saturday night blues no more�), the Chicago-based Leroy Foster rambling on �Pet Rabbit� and even a religious-styled �God�s Mighty Hand� by Reverend Utah Smith, that culpably depicts .the use of the amplified framework even in the gospel idiom of the forties. All fourteen cuts vividly document an era now long-gone but so creatively intense compared to the present day—there is no time or words to effectively describe the multi-faceted epiphanies and stark reyelations that are part and parcel of the legacy of the musicians on this disc.

And the same is true for �New Deal Blues�� that explores an even earlier (1933-1939) era with identically revealing results. Most of the bluesmen here began their careers in the twenties and were stalwarts; by the time these selections were recorded—from Big Bill Broonzy (�Beauty is only skin deep but ugly�s to the bone�) to Walter Davis, Bo Carter, Scrapper Blackwell and Memphis Minnie, the list is loaded with blues innovators and stylists that were just beginning to merge the country with the city in their imagery as well as their sound. Other, more colorfully named, artists like Bumble Bee Slim, Black Ace, pne Arm Slim, Peanut the Kidnapper and Pine-top also add their, often lucidly entitled (�Howling Man Blues� and �Suicide Blues�), contributiohs to this anthology. Other barrelhouse mavericks such as the aforementioned Davis doing his legendary version of �Sweet Sixteen,� Joe McCoy (Memphis Minnie�s old mail) wailing on �Meat Cutter Blues� (�I got a brand new knife and I grind it on my stone/When I go to cut your meat f can cut it to the bone�) and the philisophical Sonny Scott on �Firewood Man� all make this an invaluable collection indeed.

' Two anthologies that are first-rate and further un-hinge the blues magic that this country was full of in the thirties and forties. More power to further Mamlish projects.

Gary Von Tersch

THE STORY OF THE BLUES - COLUMBIA G30008

This is a two-record set which traces the history & development of the blues (via 32 cuts by as many different artists) from its , recorded beginnings in the �twenties to the middle �fifties, or, from Mississippi John Hurt, Willie McTell & Charley Patton to Otis Spann-Shakey Horton, Elmore James & Johnny Shines, if you can dig looking at it that way.

The anthology was compiled by noted British blues authority Paul Oliver to be used ' as an illustrative companion to his book of the same name, and while the anthology stands on its own admirably enough, it sort of has to be understood in light of its didactic intent, also.

Like, it more resembles 32 kinds of blues than the 32 best blues cuts of all time, y�know? I could quarrel with many of Oliver�s choices (the cuts representing Robert Johnson, Bukka White, Elmore James, to name only a few), even in terms of their usefulness in illustrating a point, but, then, it�s nearly impossible to get two stone blues freeks to ever agree on things like this, so you always have to take your chances.

Each side has an allotted portion of ground to cover. Number 1 deals with the aforementioned beginnings, has good cuts by the three aforementioned artists, plus a classic Texas Alexander and a rare good Peg Leg Howell. So far, so good.

Side Two is called �Blues and Entertainment�, and, while it makes the unpopular but valid point that blues-influenced artists of the �twenties and �thirties often found themselves shuckin� around some leagues away from the purity & validity of Patton or Johnson, and while it further illustrates the pervasive scope & influence of the blues (but, I thought we all knew this, already) it just isn�t killer stuff, save for the Bessie Smith cut & the Chippie Hill cut with some vintage pre-jive Louis Armstrong.

Side Three is the second-wave of Mississippi delta plus the urban spread & is the most instructive, in terms of introducing underappreciated artists (not Johnson or White, but such as Petie Wheatstraw, pianists Leroy Carr and Jimmy Yancey — again, the selection could�ve been a better one — and Casey Bill Weldon).

Side Four is a grab-bag of the other aforementioned plus Sonny Terry, Brownie MgGhee, Big Bill Broonzy, Joe Turner & Pete Johnson, the original Sonny Boy and Big Joe Williams.

Its been objected in other quarters, that Oliver�s refusal to pursue the blues past the middle �fifties constitutes a shortcoming in this anthology. Not so, since records by the contemporaries are easier to come by (on the whole — don�t tell me �bout those exceptions) and you�re likely more familiar with them anyway (British jazz critics are equally reactionary, it�s an old story).

I doubt that there�s anything condescending about recommending this album to blues novices as something to cut your teeth on. There�s considerable omissions — a whole generation of post-Jefferson-Leadbelly Texans, like Hopkins, Lipscomb, even up to Juke Boy Bonner, many delta rediscoveries (Son House, Skip James) and things which obviously couldn�t be used to illustrate a going thesis — Sleepy John Estes, Jesse Fuller, Zydeco — but which is nevertheless vital to hear. Still, with a miniumum of blues albums in your collection, this one should give you leads on at least a dozen more to pick up on, which aint bad at that.

Rich Mangelsdorff

C.J.�S ROOTS OF CHICAGO BLUES -j VARIOUS ARTISTS - BLUE FLAME RECORDS BLP-101

This album is a godsend indeed. For the past ten years and longer Carl Jones has been recording Chicago bluesmen and putting out 45�s on his own local labels (Keyhole, Firma, Colt), often with only local distribution and with scant success. Now, in the Seventies and with the help of Cary S. Baker of Blue Flame Magazine (THE Chicago blues paper — 2701 Birchwood Avenue/Wilmette, Illinois 60091), who compiled the tunes for this disc, the blues public has a chance to hear the best of these blues �blasts from the past� on one album. And the lineup is star-studded — from the legendary Homesick James and Hound Dog Taylor to blues vocalists Rudy Robinson and Betty Everett to the lamented Earl Hooker and the progressive Lee Jackson and the dynamic Little Mack, the twelve cuts on this album are a vibrant case for the unadulterated reality of the blues in the Seventies — the majority of these artists are still living and giggling in the Chicago area.

Outstanding cuts include the two Little Mack titles �Come Back� and �My Walking Blues� that feature a shrill guitar, Mack�s nice harp-work and possess that old Chess feel in their sound — similarly Lee Jackson�s two titles �Pleading For Love� and �Juanita� depict what vitality is left in this 65 year-old bluesman, who first recorded for the short-lived but prolific Cobra label in 1957 — here Lee overwhelms on �Pleading� and runs changes on �Juanita� that I have never heard on any blues record before — his sense of timing is exhilirating to say the least Also noteworthy are the two Elmore James—ish selections by Homesick James, the Betty Everett solo item �Why Did You Have To Go� and, of course, the Earl Hooker selections that date from 1966 — just before his all-too-short-lived upsurge of popularity that saw whole albums released on Blue ; Thumb and Arhoolie just prior to his unfomate death.

As far as I know this record can be procured by mail-order only direct from Carl Jones at 4827 Prairie Avenue/Chicago, Illinois 60615 at five bucks a crack — and ask him what singles he has currently available. As a listen to this album will reveal, his ear for the blues is undeniable. And don�t overlook the above-mentioned Blue Flam newsletter — if you want to know everything that�s going down in blues-alive Chicago, this is the place to read it first.

Gary Von Tersch

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BLUES FROM THE BAYOU - VARIOUS ARTISTS - PYE INTERNATIONAL NPL-28142

This album, so far only in British release, documents some of the vital bluesmen who record for Stan Lewis� Jewel/Paula labels out of Shreveport, Louisiana. Along with Excello and Goldband records (based in Crowley and Lake Charles respectively) Jewel records has been moving a steady string of blues and r&b 45�s, often obscure in the North but big hits in the South, since the label�s inception in 1965. The label is owned and operated by enterprising Stan Lewis, a major figure in Southern record business for many years: he discovered Dale Hawkins, Bobby Charles and Fats. Washington for Chess in the fifties and still runs a successful record shop in Shreveport.

And Shreveport is in Louisiana whence the bayou sound, the sometimes rural (Big Mac and Jerry McCain), the sometimes more urban (Little Joe Blue and Peppermint Harris) blues echoes that reverberate throughout this well-prbduced (by Charlie Gillet of Sounds of the City fame), 14-tune packed disc. Besides the above-mentioned artists the likes of George �Wild Child� Butler (with roots in the Chicago tavern blues scene), Lightnin� Hopkins (who has three fine albums on the Jewel label also), the Carter Brothers (who achieve a down-home old B.B. King type sound), the legendary Frank Frost (who has an excellent out-of-print 1963 Phillips album to his credit), unknowns Curtis Griffin and Johnny Mosley (who could both stand some recognition on the basis of these sides) are also present. Peppermint Harris (of Aladdin records fame) and Little Joe Blue (a fine B.B. King-influenced vocalist/guitarist) both have two cuts on the album — a wise move, at least on Little Joe�s part. As an extra treat this disc also contains two mysterious, originally-credited-to-Elmore-James cuts that date from 1952, both of which Lewis purchased. The first of these is �Catfish Blues� by Bo Bo Thomas, that originally appeared on the flip-side of James� very first waxing of his �Dust My Blues� anthem song. The other moldie is �Make A Little Love� by Arthur �Big Boy� Crudup, who was under contract to RCA when he cut this with Trumpet Records in �52 — so the disc was issued as by one �Elmer James.� Both are fine blues items, nonetheless, and fill in many a collectors chapter in the continuing legacy of blues oddities.

A most necessary collection that gives credit .to some long overlooked American r&b performers. - those who have never heard Little Joe BTue�s� �Standing On the Threshold,� Big Mac�s �Rough Dried Woman� or the Carter Brother�s �Booze In the Bottle� have a distinct treat in store for themselves. It is to be hoped that Pye records has more albums of this class up their sleeves — and the note's by Mister Gillett are most informative and, what is most important, tantalizing. Search this one out ., ,,

Gary Von Tersch

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STONEY END - BARBRA STREISAND -COLUMBIA KC 30378

Of all the singers to come out of the Broadway and supper-club �adult pop� circuits, Barbra Streisand is the only one with any of the qualifications for success as a rock �n� roll interpreter. Actually, she has several of them: first, she is nasal as hell, which was always written off in the other mileiu as part of her charm or personal style, since she was so good in other ways; second, she is basically a social misfit, having suffered much in her coming-up days for the distinctive physiognomy which apparently offended the taste ' in faces of so many people (I always thought she looked okay, just a New York chick with nice skin coloring; and besides, think of some of the things she could do with that schnozz!) that she had no choice but to become a star, because otherwise she�d have to sit behind some cash register and take all these nothing little people�s crap for the rest of her life; and thirdly, precisely because of all that, her singing style and choice of material have always had a strong element of resentment, even vindictiveness, in them. Barbra Streisand is the only �adult� star with a vocal characteristic in common with Bob Dylan. Barbra Streisand is' basically an outsider. And baby, Barbra Streisand knows what it�s like to be hurt and relishes the chance to blat a big �FUCK YOU!� at all the people who did her dirt, and the rest of the world too if she feels like it. So Barbara Streisand could be the perfect replacement for Janis Joplin, maybe, depending on one minor matter: does she have the rhythmic feel and stylistic intuition for rock �n� roll, something not one singer trying to vault over the fence to graze teen green has had yet in history.

My money says she has. Since she�s basically a likeable chick with lots of potential under all that Broadway Bitch and Poor Little Rich Girl Star With No True Friends bullshit, I can�t for the life of me figure why she didn�t give it a try sooner. Who wants to hang around all those old farts like Frank Sinatra and Joey Bishop and Tony Bennett, anyway, all those people that have to have their cufflinks polished before they can go out at night? She was married to Elliot Gould, and he smoked a joint in the Playboy Interview, and they still see each other in L.A, a lot, so you know she must be getting cool, mellowing out, digging the vibes in the counter culture with all those beautiful young people who are either gonna be collecting her meal ticket every payday or cold-Shouldering her back to Brooklyn in just a few years now.

As to her technical and emotional fitness for rock stardom — well, she�s gonna have to stop wearing a bra and doing her hair, ditto for cluttering up her show with all those comball sets and costumes. Fuck all that shit. You either deliver or ya don�t. She�s gonna deliver cause she already got started with �Stoney End,� which was one of the best radio songs of the last few months as you might as well admit.

As might be expected, Barb has played it fairly safe on her first 12-inch outing in the land of Jive. Besides the hit and two more Nyro numbers, she�s also well stocked with the likes of Joni Mitchell, Gordon Lightfoot, Randy Newman, Goffin-King, Mann-Weil, Nillsson, and even Barbara Keith, who will probably get an Ed Sullivan gig after this. Everready Richard Perry, who�s produced folks like Fats Domino (played piano on Fats� Reprise LP), presides over the session, and the personnel list includes a whole raft of names familiar from Sonny & Cher albums and all sorts of Hollywood Rock albums. It figures that Barbra would want some people experienced at this sort of thing to hold her hand on her maiden voyage, but she fucked up with this bunch. Because she mostly acquits herself with looseness to spare even if she don�t kick out the jams. But these schmucks thought they had to pussyfoot around with her, with the result that the album continually finds her champing at the bit of her rather plodding settings. For instance, in the other two Nyros, �Hands Off the Man (Flim Flam Man)� and �Time and Love,� she reveals further that she has a real affinity for Laura�s style, and begins to have a great time, kicking and swayin�. Meanwhile, though, those neo-Motown city rhythms are sinking in the mush of, on �Time & Love� say, little tinkling bells, thin Herb Alpert trumpets, a piano track that sounds like the Carpenters, for Christ�s sake, and by the time the violins start swooping through the beat is already so insulated behind all this musical styrofoam that you don�t even care.

�Free the People� meets the same problem, fares much better. Maybe Barbra�s voice always had a certain harsh edge to it (they call it �brassy� on Broadway?), and that�s why she takes to lines like �Free the people/Quell the fire . . . Tell the devil he�s a liar�) so intuitively. And when the band is sharp and crackling and driving like it is here, why, it�s obvious that the whole thing works. She works.

Some of the material is a bit gospelly, like �No Easy Way Down,� and she brings it off equally well, even if those Ray Charles piano triplets are supporting lyrics like �Your toy balloon has sailed/in the sky . . . � Which sounds awfully like Streisand stuff of yore, although that�s not entirely a fair judgement because the chorus of this song is really great: �Now you�re sad I�ll really see/Just how funny you�ll seem/Cause there-is-no-easy way down . . .� She�s got a (mostly black) vocal ensemble with Merry Clayton and others behind her on the chorus, so'it could hardly sound totally bad, but she Carries her part well. I suppose no self-respecting rock purist would tolerate the song, since It inhabits that halfway house between gospfel and milder white vocal styles where Dionne Warwick works; myself, I find this sort of thing much less offensive than lots of the hip folk-based minstrelsy proliferating now. It�s slick, but slickness can be refreshing. And besides, she�s still got that adenoidal slur in there; this song is an expecially good example of how it works for her. Since she�d obviously sound ridiculous if she tried to come on Black, the benevolent proximity of that glorious nose to the voice box offsets the stumbling block of all that training in the �correct� way to sing that she had back when. Then again, she always broke more rules than the next act m her league.

Same thing applies to her Floozy job on Randy Newman�s �Let Me Go,� which is in his great honky-tonk based style. Those two have certain similarities soundwise — except that her voice is about ten times better than his. But he�s one of the few performers who approaches her nasal quality, and maybe that�s why she sounds so at home with this song. For once the arrangement is appropriate, and the piano doesn�t get cute even though the clarinetist sounds like Pete Fountain. She sounds about half drunk, and gets some nice action in on �I�m so young, I�m so young,� where if not exactly down and out she does manage to slightly resemble both Newman and Van Morrison. Other great moments occur in the middle, where she hoots out �Lemme go! Lemme go! Lemme go! Don�t gimme the answer, �cuz I don� wanna know� as if trying out a nearly-learned Dylanism that very minute. It doesn�t sound much like Dylan, but you can tell she�s been doing her homework, and in fact throws around the whole song with a fine sloppiness that sounds not like The Pro Playing Around but B-Girl grinning up against the piano.

If everything here was as good as that song, �Stoney End�, and �No Easy Way Down�, this album would really be something to get excited about. What she needs is a producer who can get the powder puffs out and the balls in, like maybe Jon Landau. In any case, the kid�s got a great future in show business, and I myself confidently predict she�ll become at least a Superstar. In fact, I heard in L.A. that she sniffs coke now, so maybe she�s already made it.

Lecher Bangs

MOMENTS - BOZ SCAGGS - COLUMBIA C30454

Boz Scaggs� first solo album was so close to perfect that it must be considered a tough act to follow. Still, one might have hoped for something better than this.

Moments has only traces of the fire, forcefulness, and pathos that Boz has typified both on stage and in previous recordings alone and with the Steve Miller Band. First, the material this time out has more fat than meat; the ballads, which many consider his forte, seem forced and artificial. The horn arrangements are generally banal, and somebody (Boz, or producer Glyn Johns?) has glopped up much of the LP with a pointless and distracting string section.

�Downright Women� and �Painted Bells� are good examples. Both are sung in an uncharacteristically high voice, and substitute a conscious attempt at emoting for a natural, meaningful reading of the songs (which aren�t up to par for him anyhow). It�s almost as if Boz was singing songs written by and for somebody else, yet he wrote them both himself. There�s little you can say about tracks like �Moments� and �We Been Away� except that the musicians do the best they can with what they�ve got to work with. And then there�s the Strings.

Songs like these give me the sinking feeling that something really strange is going on here. To my ears, they�re the type of song, that�s a hit on both Top-40 and Middle-of-the-Road radio, segued on both stations right in there after Barbra Streisand�s �Stotiey End.�

For me, the only two songs on the album that make it at all are �I Will Forever Sing (the Blues)� and �Hollywood Blues,� both of which are right down Boz� alley. The vocals are fluid and sensitive to the lyrics, the band accents them nicely, and they sound pretty good here. Much better, but not enough to make the album a memorable one.

Then there�s two more worth considering, but mote as curiousities than as exemplary songs. �Alone Alone� is a country-styled number wherein Boz manages to sing just like Neil Young (no easy feat, that). In fact, were the tune not credited to Boz, I�d swear it was written by Young. �Can I Make It Last (Or Will It Just Be Over)� is an instrumental collage, probably as much the work of Johns as Scaggs. It�s interesting inconception, but veers close to Muzak in places.

In sum, let me add that this isn�t really a �bad� album, in the sense that there�s nothing blatantly offensive about it. But it�s certainly disappointing, even sad in some ways. Oh well, maybe next time. Meanwhile, I recommend without reservation his first LP, Boz Scaggs, a classic set of American music.

John Morthland

DELANEY AND BONNIE AND FRIENDS -MOTEL SHOT - ATCO SD 33-358

You are going to have to be one super, super, Delaney and Bonnie fan to want to have this absolute ripoff in your collection. It is the ultimate example of a group of musicians who have, taken themselves and their fan support far too seriously. It is an outright exploitation.

You see, this isn�t .your average high-energy-absolute-killer-Delaney and Bonnie-shake-your-ass Rock album. As it says in the liner notes on the inside of the album, (where you can�t get at them until it�s too late), �Sometimes it (the music) happens in somebody�s basement gameroom, sometimes in a backstage dressing room, sometimes on a tour bus, but the �motel shot,� wherever it is played is always characterized by the non-electric, no-strain, no-pain, soft easy sound that Delaney & Bonnie — and their talented friends — bring you in this record.� What that means, my friend, is that Delaney and Bonnie and all their good friends were sitting around playing for their own benefits, /and suddenly .decided that it might be neat to put it on an album and see if they could sell it to an unsuspecting public. Only five big dollars at your local K-Mart.

Some of the performances are so thin that it is almost inconceivable that this is the same outfit that gave you Soul Shake mid On Tour with Eric Clapton. With the music being all non-electric, that is to be expected, I suppose. Some of the cuts are absolute foolishness. The attempts at soul revival meeting type gospel, for instance. �Rock of Ages� would be absolutely laughable if it were not for the fact that it makes a mockery out of what too many people base their lives around. A bunch of drunken rockers attempting to portray some sort of funkiness and falling zillions of miles short. It has no value whatsoever.

It really pisses me off that a group could shit on the people who put, thern at the top. Passing out a piece Of garbage like this as an equal trade for your five bucks. (Five bucks is still a lot of powdered milk or grain, pookie.) Anyone who buys this lightweight effort expecting a shot-full-of-balls rock album deserves a personal apology from the Bramletts. It Sucks.

Al Niester

WORDS AND MUSIC - JIMMY L. WEBB -REPRISE RS-6421

Every so often a record will arrive nearly unheralded and almost totally unexpected; a record which, in the everyday routine of the hip dillettante, would somehow manage to get lost in the consuming rush fot the latest Crosby Stills & Nash or Santana milestone in alternative culture. And such records, when accorded even the slightest gesture toward self-exposure, will inevitably by the sheer power of their unforseen brilliance manage to command consideration and consequent praise. Such was the case withThe Velvet Underground & Nico album, such was inescapably the case with Van Morrison�s Astral Weeks, to a very vocal few of us it held true for Nico�s own Marble Index: releases that steal in through the back door but almost immediately reveal more of substance than the often unsubstantiated names who enter through the front to cheering crowds and discordantly blaring horns.

Add promptly to this list the name of Jimmy Webb and his Words And Music album. I have been spending a majority of my listening time with Jimmy Webb these last three weeks, and he�s got me extremely hard pressed to find a record as wonderously satisfying and thoroughly invigorating as his in the catalogue of recent first-go-rounds. That lazy Saturday afternoon magic is in the air, and is more deeply rooted with each successive playing.

In order to better perceive the distinctivemagic that is Words And Music, it is imperative that the base of Jimmy Webb�s historical identity be made clear. He is, indeed, the very same Mr. Jim Webb whose name remains fixed to such classic pop as �By The Time I Get To Phoenix�, �Wichita Lineman�, �MacArthur Park� and so many others. And while I hope that, this doesn�t turn your nose up in defense of your righteous general principles, it should also be, noted that Jimmy Webb songs rate an ever closer second in terms of cumulative air play to the defunct Lennon/McCartney team. And let�s face it, anyone who rates this much exposure must obviously be doing something worthy of investigation, right?

It appears that while mid-day housewives and otherwise normal people have been going about their limp daily chores with a Jimmy Webb song (courtesy, most likely, of Glen Campbell or Richard Harris) thinly whistled through their teeth for support, the hip aristocracy may have missed a diamond no farther away then the nearest transistor radio. I have always contended that the music many of us have summarily dismissed as �pop� is perhaps the most artistically realized of American musics, and people like Jimmy Webb have been validating that contention for years with little or no notice from students of �serious�music. (Chew for a while on the fact that few rock records can approach the production standards of A1 DeLory�s �Wichita Lineman� score for Glen Campbell or of Webb�s own work on Richard Harris� two albums.) But far more than merely being a master technician, everything Jim Webb touches (whether it be songwriting, arranging, playing or producing) bears the explicit mark of his creative outlook.

Webb has approached contemporary popular music (I�ll use �pop� from here on in) in the way that any true artist would approach a lump of clay: accepting its limitations rather than fighting them, sensing and drawing from his medium its best and most pleasing 'qualities and consequently molding them into an artistic statement which is both personally reflective and provocative or entertaining. Through drawing from strength one lessens the possibility of mediocrity, and through a thorough understanding of that strength one eventually masters it. Webb�s words and music reflect an almost passionate understanding of the medium: I mean, you~'can tell that he is intensely aware of where every little piece should fit in. He�s almost fanatically professional, and it�s refreshing as hell.

But his acute sensitivity, the direct channel of his emotional energy: these are what mark the core of his gift. He has nigh single-handedly generated the return of the romantic, and he still leaves rock�s ever growing legion of pretenders (Crpsby Stills & Nash, Laura Nyro, et al) miles behind in the dust. His lyric is a stimulating blend of simple sentiment and refined intellect: classical fingers and a love-struck country head. Indeed, few can match the touch of his rustic sophistication, and his words rescue, with their literate sanity, a pop scene too often engulfed in raw syrup (and, I would suppose, a rock scene which threatens to buckle under the weight of its self-righteous frown)

His sense of melody is infatuating in the best tradition of Tin Pan Alley. Realizing that \ melody is the very cornerstone of any successful music, the basic bridge between artist and audience, Webb creates songs which are infectiously relatable and artistically sustaining. Even as I sit here typing this review^ Webb�s album (softly playing in the background) vies seductively for my^ concentration. And that�s the secret, j So what we have is Words and Music,\ the first attempt by Jimmy Webb at standing alone on the center stage. His first thrust toward complete artistry. The most obvious explication is the introduction here of Jimmy Webb as vocalist. He possesses a rather unruly voice, the kind of raw material your high school music teacher would probably have), cringed at. Yet it is the first time we have seen Webb give vocal interpretation to his words, and what he lacks in suavity he more than makes up for with knowledgable enthusiasm. As with his music, he feels the correct order of each sound, and experience will educate his voice to better accomodate those souads. Even this initial vocal effort, however, is impressive in its highly spirited (albeit green) mode of expression.

Despite the customary wide range of instrumentation employed here, most of the music seems geared to be carried by a small rock ensemble. Webb�s piano fills the melody in much the same way as his voice wraps around the words, but a special mention must be made of the contribution of Freddy Tackett. Tackett is responsible for playing nearly every instrument outside of Webb�s keyboards, and he molds each individual instrument to fit the precise needs of Webb�s material with a flare that puts him steps above the usual studied tightness of the L.A. session man. He plays guitar in Webb�s present touring band, but on the basis of his work on Words And Music it�s kinda too bad that he can�t play bass and drums as well.

The song that strikes hardest upon first hearing is �P.F. Sloan�, a compelling story of neclected artistry (�But you just smiled and read the Rolling Stone while he continued singing�). The combination of the gently disquieting lyric and smooth chick chorus produces art with engaging grace, the kind of art that lays meditative textures with one finger on your emotional pulse. (In many respects the song projects autobiography; Jimmy Webb may very well be the P.F. Sloan who made it.) My current favorite is �Sleepin�

In The Daytime�, though, with its wonderfully rock-inspired melody line and singles ^potential. Webb (who is only 23) shows himself to be far more rock-oriented than his earlier work (considering the artists who recorded it) allowed for, and one can only assume that the completely self-involving nature of his work allows him the widest possible artistic latitude. He is his songs, and whatever musical vehicle he chooses ultimately become him.

The soul of the romantic comes to us via three traditionally beautiful love songs: �Careless Weed�, �Love Song� and �Once Before I Die�. All three move on the unblushing honesty of intimate feelings spread out on the table for all to see: the universality of his appeal springs, in part, from the fact that he is able to translate emotional needs into moving artistic statements which probe with sensitivity that region of the heart where Barbie and Ken stereotypes dare not tread. I�ve played �Once Before I Die� (�I demand my right to stand/I�ll not die upon my knees/Once before I die/I�m gonna be free�) for many people, and even the most steadfastly Cool could not remain unmoved.

Because the romantic is inherently linked to the spiritual, it is not entirely surprising to see two songs, �Psalm One-Five-O� and �Jerusalem�, carry strong religious connotations. �Psalm�, as the title would indicate, is straight from a rock and roll hymnal. The latter is the third part of a work Webb calls �Music For An Unmade Movie�. The work�s middle part (�Dorothy Chandler Blues�) is perhaps the only song on the album that fails to make the grade. It�s a mixture of parody and putdown (aimed at critics, no less), but the parody is a little strained and his sentiments triumph over his taste. But whatever the shortcomings of �Dorothy Chandler� may be, they are promptly absolved in the impending apocalypse of �Jerusalem� (�Boy you better get out of L.A.�), a song which would have been a ^logical postscript to Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls.

The production on the album is quite simply extraordinary, comparing quite favorably with the Beach Boy�s Sunflower. Webb can take three seemingly harmless ditties, �Let It Be Me�, �Never My Love� and �I Wanna Be Free�, and integrate them into a two minute sound sculpture of breathtaking beauty. He, much like Brian Wilson, encounters the sterility of the recording studio and transforms it into an artwork unto itself. The product of this production and arrangement finesse is an album of direct impact: in its emotional textures it reminds me of Miles Davis� Sketches Of Spain. Truly fine music can overcome lapses in production technique, but to Jimmy Webb there would appear to be no separation; each is but one part of a total product, and the production must be of no less concern than the music itself.

In a time when it has taken a Grand Funk to make us really stop and consider pop as product,' Jimmy Webb has been quietly channeling his awareness of pop product into intensely personal and thoroughly pleasing artforms. And he has shown us that, when approached in an intelligent manner, product and art can be one in the same. His Words And Music is his first fully realized exposition of that principle, and it will most assuredly not be his last. For while Jimmy Webb continues to turn out music miles superior to most of the rock foisted upon us today, he is one of the select few whose works will most probably be left standing long after rock�s amphetamine flashes die insignificant and unnoticed rest home deaths.

J. Robert Armstrong

CRAZY HORSE CRAZY HORSE -REPRISE 6438

If this initial release shows anything, it�s that Crazy Horse came armed and ready to play. I admit 1 was surprised. , . Crazy Horse was fine as an accompaniment for Neil Young, but Jesus, I had no idea they were quite so powerful by themselves. The line-up is the same as always, With the positive addition of Mr. �Lonely Surfer� Nitzsche on the ivories. Plus, Ry Cooder slips and slides all over three cuts.

The most * unexpected, (but satisfying) touch is the harmony. The voices are reminiscent of the tightly-wound arrangement of the early Hollies. On the repeating chorus of �Look At All The Things�, a staggering wall of sound is naturally built by voices that would curl the hair of Bbbb B. Soxx, himself. The great thing is that none of this is the least bit saccharin. This is stone funk music and you don�t lounge and listen. Crazy Horse fires up and each song almost breaks loose completely. �Dance, Dance, Dance� makes you wanna try your first �allemade-left� since Jr. High.

So, if you�re finally ready to forego some of the let�s listen real close, cuz this �uns supposed to really say somethin� stuff for some good ole foot-stompin� music, Crazy Horse is for you . . . and don�t be surprised if this album lodges itself in your head and reminds you through the day.

Curt Eddy

DOUG KERSHAW - WARNER BROTHERS 1906

I knew it. I knew my man Doug Kershaw, was a shitkicker. Even before I knew who he was I knew it.

On television I heard Bobbi Gentry sing a song that stuck with me for the longest time. One line �Gotta make a livin� he�s a Louisiana maan, gotta make a livin he�s a Looosiana man,� never left me and it drove me nuts trying to find out who did it and where I could get it. I never heard it again until about a year later on the radio when a D.J. finally announced the name of the song and the artist, Doug Kershaw.

Well as soon as my ship came in, I tipped over to my friendly local, and bought my first country album. Needless to say, if you�ve heard the album, The Cajun Way, I was greased right out on the floor, For months I went around imitating Kershaw�s half yodel-half banshee scream, driving the rest of my household straight up the wall.

After such a great premier, you can guess that I eagerly awaited his second offering. Needless to say, if you heard that album, my expectations were greater than the product. It sort of reminded me of that chain of two of, three singles that Len Barry had out a few years ago (Remember �1-2-3� and �Just Like A Baby� and all them other great ditties?). They were all just �1-2-3� version one, �1-2-3� version two etc. This album was just The Cajun Way version two though it masqueraded under the title of Spanish Moss.

Anywho, my faith in the ragin� Cajun has been revived with his latest effort.

It is said in one of his biographies that Kershaw has written over 19,000 songs, and plays 29 instruments. Well that second LP must have bgen a white alligator (like a white elephant, only they don�t have elephants in Louisiana) because this one sure has a bumper crop of good material. «And as for his instrumental prowess, well, they don�t have the musicians listed on the cover, but, to paraphrase the Lovin� Spoonful, he must have everything playing cause it sure sounds like he�s having a whale of a good time.

It is said that Doug Kershaw has a magnificent (yet naive) ego. Maybe that�s why most of his songs are autobiographical (then again maybe it�s because his life is a constant and reliable source; after all, most of the 1001 tales of the Arabian Nights were about Arabia.) Whatever the reason, his best songs are autobiographical, and though the lead off song sounds more Memphis than New Orleans (complete with a �Doug Kershaw Soul (JJhorus�) it is definitely this album�s �Louisiana Man�. Meaning, it�s a hit. (I swear I hear an alligator belching ht the end of the third verse.) Kershaw plays the fiddle like Menhuin plays the violin and there�s no better vehicle to show off that talent than �Play Fiddle Play�.

�It cost me a dollar-five to buy a record of Johnny Cash�. Memories of Mick, Keith and1 Brian sitting around in their cubbyhole apartment, listening to Chuck Berry and Bobby Bland records. In fact this record, for some reason, reminds me of the Stones� early efforts. It also reminds me of �Papa And Mama Had Love� from his first album, maybe cause it might use the same chord changes. But then, who cares?

HER MAN. . . HIS WOMAN - IKE AND TINA TURNER - CAPITOL ST-571

Capitol Records, sometimes you piss me off but good.

A long; long time ago, a friend of mine had a job at a record wholesaler in Philadelphia which stocked some of the strangest records he or I had ever seen, and I used to get regular packages of truly off the wall stuff from him. One singles package in particular sticks in my mind, with almost every record labelled THIS SIDE�S HOT! -THANKS, A. LOTT. One of the records in that bunch was a single by Ike and Tina Turner, �Get It-Get It� b/w �You Weren�t Ready.� The number was Cenco 112. I had never heard Ike�s band quite so raw, so funky, and the addition of — could it be? — a bassoon playing a second bass line was a stroke of genius. I still don�t know who Cenco ( a division of Spry Records, it says) might be, and neither Cenco nor Spry is in the current industry directory of record companies. A while later, in New York,1 I saw the Cenco album, but passed it up because I thought that the single was probably the best part of it. ,

Therefore, I was pleased to see Capitol get the rights to the Cenco album, and I never even bothered to read the small print before slapping it on my turntable. I was, and still am, pissed off. But good.

v. I still don�t know who to blame for this, but every single part that Ike�s band played on the original recording is doubled in strings and brass on this atrocity. The incredibly inventive bass player, the funky bassoonist, Ike�s best guitar work, the original three-part brass section with that crazy tenor player — all fall beneathe the onslaught of mush. That the strings and brass are later additioris can be seen by any person with a slight knowledge of studio techniques. That they suck can be discerned by anybody with ears. I have both, as well as the Cenco single.

Capitol Records, I dare you to put out the original. Butl ain�t gonna hold my breath.

It should be noted, incidentally, that this is the best album j I�ve yet heard from the Turners (four years old though it is), and Tina�s renditions of such classics as �The Things I Used To bo� and �I Believe� (which is none other than �Dust My Broom� in disguise) are really killer, if you can block out the sludge.

So if any of you have access to the original, get it. And I�d appreciate it if somebody�d send me one, too. I�ll pay you back. Because, like I said, I ain�t holding my breath waiting for Capitol.

Ed Ward

Kershaw seems to have that �Okie From Muskogee� sincerity (but none of the self righteousness or the �holier-than-thou attitude�) that people seem to feel from country performers, when they write a song that �says something�. People tend to believe that they write songs that �say something� because they think something should be said. Not just to purge oneself of steam. That�s the way Kershaw is in �Who Needs That Kind Of A Friend�:

�Where is the man who shook my hand, who said he�d be a friend?

Where is the man who shook my hand I could use that kind of a friend.�

I really think that �My Books And Julie� is one of the prettiest and most haunting love songs to be found. Kershaw seems to be one of those �Don�t you fret your pretty little head� type Southern gentlemen who would take his girl picnicking in a vest and shirtsleeves. He writes with that kind of tender romanticism (Golly, if I could blush, that�s what I�d be doing right now.) and �My Books And Julie� reflects that. There is also some odd instrument that I am at a loss for an identification of, that coupled with Kershaw�s oddly affected voice, gives x it that eerie quality.

Kershaw really likes his parents. Sometimes that can arouse a feeling of jealousy that at times can turn to contempt for what may be considered softness. I think, however, that Kershaw just really digs his parents very much. And that�s why you�ll find �Louisiana Man� and �Papa and Mama Had Love� on the first album, �Uncle Abel� on Spanish Moss and �Mama Said Yeah� and �Son of a Louisiana Man� which is the only follow-up song that I ever, ever enjoyed, despite it�s similarities to it�s predecessor.

Most everybody recalls the Fireball�s �The Battle of New Orleans�. Well, upon hearing Kershaw�s version of the song I am forced to bestow another �title upon him, that of master of the crescendo, and the dramatic buildup. He manages to work himself up into a fresh frenzy with each song that merits one. Kershaw has to be the fastest singer on record, words run out of his mouth like jack-rabbits in heat.

Doug Kershaw�s utter independance and self assertion is reflected in �That Don�t Make You No Better Than Me� and �You�ll Never Catch Me Walking In Your Tracks�. Maybe that�s where the legend of his ego comes in. Perhaps his self-confidence is mistaken for conceit. ■ • .. T ft

All the macro^bio-degradable-eco-freaks will definitely get off on �Natural Man�

You give me 24 hours on a river bed

a goocbgood woman on a soft soft bed

with god on my side

me and my bride

we�ll have a natural baby

bein� breast fed

No shit.

I keep thinking that people will be put off by Kershaw. Undoubtedly the self-assertion shows through even on record and it appears as aloofness at times. But then, the man makes good music. His attitude may get somebody�s goat, but goats are so easily got these days; nobody notices anyway.

Richard Pinkston IV

SUMMUN BUKMUN UMYUN (DEAF DUMB BLIND) - PHAROAH SANDERS -IMPULSE AS9199

Each album by Pharoah Sanders is simpler than the one before, or perhaps that�s a Western prejudice since what I mean is that each album becomes more rhythmic, less harmonic and more repetitious. Sander�s repetitiousness has caused some people to find his records boring, but I like all of them,y this one included, a fact that�s hard to account for. As well as not being as melodic as �The Creator Has A Master Plan� or �Upper and Lower Egypt�, the two sides here also lack the excitement of an almost lilting melody building to a frenzy of exultation. But what I have found attractive about this music is that through its repetition and layers of sound it produces ... serenity.

This is religious music and I, as a neo-hedonist, do not understand what it means to be a �spiritual� person (I have clues). I have experienced some kind of transcendence, mystery, faith (to a small degree) and, to an even lesser degree, creativity. God is not an anachronism to me, (He? She? It?) is a curse. I don�t understand any of this and mistrust anyone who tries to explain it to me. t

Music doesn�t explain anything, of course, it just exists and, if you wish, you may try to explain it.

Listening to side one, I at first found the constant rhythmic figure, with a minumum of changing voicings irritating, then hypnotic — not in the sense of pushing the music to the periphery of my mind and focusing on some great mystical white dot, but in the sence that the repetition captivated (?) my sense until a feeling of peace permeated my .., my what? my me, I guess. I�m just telling you like it happened, gang.

Side two is �slower� (another Western prejudice no doubt) and the serenity and peace it creates can be described in rpore conventional terms. So I won�t; I just want to mention Cecil McBee�s lovely arco bass spot, which will remain that way forever.

For the curious: Sander�s soprano playing is similar to his tenor playing, inasmuch as he occasionally gets that rough edge tone going. Other than that it�s different and Martin Williams will tell you all about it someday.

Richard C. Walls

ZEPHYR - COIN BACK TO COLORADO -WARNER BROS. WS 1897

Combining big city blues and a fair sampling of what seems to be worthwhile jazz progression with a slight touch Of Country/Western and moog synthesizer is indeed a complicated undertaking. On this, their second album Zephyr produces a sound that is well suited to thhe mainstream of mediocrity.

See-saWing between 8 bar grinds that bore to tears, and ephermally structured songs that attempt to cover up what they lack in structure by some of the most virtuoso guitar playing to come along in a long time, Zephyr stumbles on.

Candy Givens, though she posseses excellent control of a voice that has a very wide range, tends to grate on the nerves when coupled with the ataxic frenzy displayed on songs such as �Goin� back to Colorado� and �The Radio Song�. After these juggernauts clatter to their over-climatic ends, you can only sit there in shock for a few seconds till the screeching and stumbling starts up again.

There are six back-up musicians, and the five band members in the lineup. Between them they handle eleven different instruments and a variety of vocal combinations. A little freaking out on a synthesizer to fill the album out and some really cute knob fiddling add thier little part to the confusion.

My god, what really are a raw rub are the lyrics. It�s not very often that one has the pleasure to sit through the steel wool massage that this band generates. So if anyone has a thin skin be fore warned, buying this album is a good way to get chapped ears. When are musicians going to figure out that all this pseudo-ecological, anti-urban, middle city malarky has worn down any of the pretenses it might have had to be interesting. This sort of artistic bumps and grind is really a drag.

The facinating cover that might have tempted people into buying Zephyr�s -first album has found a close follow-up at least in the field of visual aesthetics, this tfme around. They�ve put the keenish picture of downtown Manhattan on the front. It would look beautiful over your mantelpiece, the record stapled inside to keep the jacket straight.

Art Grupe

TUMBLEWEED CONNECTION - ELTON JOHN - UNI 73096

I really don�t know about Elton John. If it weren�t for the fact that he just about almost nearly always converts me by how good parts of this record are, I�d probably end up thinking how he, just comes on with way too much give-em-what-they-want.

N Too much for me, that is. Other voices, other rooms, other reactions. In the crush behind me there is a girl — young, slim, and .nubile. She�s draped only in a converted, vaguely Roman and equally ancient bed sheet. Her expression defies objective description, but looks rather like coitus interruptus. While she gnarls her fingers in frustration, she implores him to gaze upon her. �Ohhhhooo Elton. OOhhhElton. OOlhhhhohhoohhh I need you so much. I need you to talk to me. I need you soooo.� As she raves her fine young breasts rise and fall against the thin material; adding fuel to her rising passion. Budding nipples dance freely as her feet stamp an erotic tantrum. Finally restraint banished, she reaches out to me, and we sink slowly, sensually to the floor. I can�t resist her needs. Still crying out his name her legs intertwine with mine. Our arms encircle one another. My mouth expertly captures her cries and turns them into' quiet moans of fulfillment.. . But I�m harder to please.

So OK for the naively impertinent studied presumptiousness of mood in the cover photograph. It is a nice picture. So OK the red, white and blue plastic shoes; and OK the cape and ultimately floppy button topped cap; and OK the jump suit; and even OK the pull-cord light-up-nosed kid�s pin-on toy clown prominently placed over crotch and tugged vigorously in time with the clap-along portion of the grand finale. But finally there is a no, No. There is a limit violated when the camel�s back breaks. When the unreality takes over with 51% of the coporation. When the self-conscious attempt to be far out is too obvious. When there is too much pop stardom in the glitter of the eyes. That�s when Elton John blows his cover. Because it�s not honest.

Then I listen to how good so much of Tumbleweed Connection is, and I just don�t know. If that�s what he�s got to do to get us to listen, then maybe it�s not his fault that that�s what he�s got to do. Its a frigging good record. Better music than nearly anyone else on the whole scene is putting out. The successor to the magic sound of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.

If there is any weakness, it�s in Bemie Taupin�s lyrics. Because often, like on �Country Comfort�, they aren�t about real things. They�re projections rather than descriptions. But the music is grand. Everybody plays like they�re in love, and the mix deserves an Oscar. Nothing is extraneous or wasted. Every instrument plays a vital part in the construction of the whole. The balance is simply extraordinary.

So I guess it�s only when I�m not listening to Elton that I�m uncertain. When he�s on, he�s just fine by me. I even like to clean house to Tumbleweed Connection; I can think all these things behind the broom.

Jack Hafferkamp

BABY HUEY - THE BABY HUEY STORY/THE LIVING LEGEND - CURTOM CRS 8007

THE CHAMBERS BROTHERS - NEW GENERATION - COLUMBIA C30032

1 The difference in feeling that these two records have is astronomical; on the one hand, we have a now dead godsend of a soul singer, someone who has breathed life into a music that seemed on its way into banality — on the other we have a band which has already reached that point of banality.

To talk about Baby Huey, it is necessary that you know a little about him: Baby Huey (real name James Ramey) was a 26 year old 400 pound soul singer who was found dead October 28 on the bathroom floor of a South side Chicago motel. But before he died, he managed to set on record these songs, something of a legacy from a great singer, one of those Black geniuses that die before their time, or, to be more accurate, at what always seems to be the worst of all possible times.

The music on this record is extremely emotional and satisfying rhythm and blues; the kind that you stick your teeth into and your mouth comes up greasy.

Baby Huey was one of those voices that was made specifically for this music; a deep, booming voice that can seemingly as easily tear the walls of a room apart as a set of fingers can rip a piece of paper. And then can turn as soft and pleading as anyone ever hoped to be.

Huey�s back up band is also powerful. It�s a nine piece group with some of the best arrangements I�ve heard of late. The arrangements are the type that make this music stand up; they are tight and uncluttered, with no instrument out of place.

There are only eight songs on this album, and Baby Huey�s voice is heard on five of them. The other three are instrumentals.

Among the instrumentals, the best is the version of �California Dreaming� done with a flute as the lead. It�s the first R & B flute that seemed to have a substantial amount of soul to it.

But the most exciting song on this album is the old Sam Cooke tune �A Change is Gonna Come�. Play this song loud to get the full energy force behind it, and chances are that you�ll be sticking your Rolling Stones records in the back of thie record pile. This has always been one of my favorite rhythm and blues songs, and it�s lyrics have always been interpeted in my mind as being political (�I was bom by the river/in a little tent/and just like the river/I been running ever since. It�s been a long time comin�/but I know a change is gonna come�). In fact, it is one of the most unpresump tuously� political songs of sixties rhythm and blues.

This is hard soul music in the James Brown-Wilson Pickett-Otis Redding tradition, and it�s too bad that we are deprived of the infinite joy that more Baby Huey music could have given us; it�s a shame that we get this smidgen of music from Baby Huey, recorded just before he died, but it�s also a shame that bands like the Chamber^ Brothers couldn�t stick with the glorius tradition handed them by James Brown, etc. and picked up by Baby Huey.

The Chambers Brothers have, for as long as I can remember, been on the fringes of rock and soul music. It has always seemed that they have been a soul music band for whites more than Blacks.

This band has done some good mugic in their time (�Uptown� is a good example), but most of what they�ve done is along the lines of this album.

There is really nothing interesting on this record. Probably the biggest mistake of the record is the way the strings are used. Now there is really nothing wrong with strings when they are used right (Motown showed us that), but the strings here only serve to make the music more mundane. I really don�t see much of worth in the Chambers Brothers New Generation, but it is useful in comparing two extremes of what is essentially the same music. That is, the awesome power that comes from the now dead Baby Huey and the weakness that comes from the Chambers Brothers. If you want to hear some good rhythm and blues, just get The Living Legend.

Geoffrey Jacques

JOHN AND BEVERLY MARTYN - ON THE ROAD TO RUIN - WARNER BROS. 1882

Every time I listen to John and Beverly Martyn�s Stormbringer album, something new knocks me out. Each time, I catch a phrase or a rhythm that I didn�t hear before.

One of the most unobnoxious records to come out in months, it took me almost as long to �grow into it� as it did for Music From Big Pink (appropriate to note here that Mr. Levon Helm plays drums on two cuts, �Sweet Honesty� and �John the Baptist�).

The new album is a bit different in flavor but is not lax in taste. Though John Martyn�s guitar playing (nearly completely acoustical) was heavily jazz influenced on the first album, the entire second album has an overt jazz tone to it. m

The first cut, �Primrose Hill� by Beverly (they alternate credits and cuts; however John can claim both album titles), has a Stan Getz sounding saxophone and the benefit of Beverly�s dusky voice.

Besides Steve Lawrence, John Martyn has the only voice I know which sounds double tracked when you know it isn�t. It seems that his voice was created for stereo, and �Parcels� brings out this quality more so than any other song on either album, except �Come On and Get It� on the first lp.

�Auntie Aviator� (�If you don�t want to you don�t have to come down�) precedes �New Day� a wine-glass warm flute-song that I fall for every time. Perhaps because one .gets so tired of brashness, understatement becomes a boon attended by untold relief. �New Day� sort of fades into itself and makes you want to play it again. Once to make cure that it�s there and again to enjoy what you just heard all over.

The best thing about this Ip is it�s absence of triteness; a song like �Give Us a Ring� with all its potentiality for such, still manages to escape this all-too-common fate.

�On Sorry To Be Long� and �Say What You Can� Beverly proves to be the rocker with John as the roller on the jazzier �Tree Green� and the title tune �On the Road To Ruin�.

Beverly sounds an unfortunate bit like Kate Taylor who recorded (atrociously) her �Sweet Honesty� (another medium rocker) on her (Kate�s) solo album. The conga-ish �Say What You Can� comes close to equaling her work on the first album in terms of quality, and is certainly the best thing of hers oh this one.

If Fairport Convention were modern-day minstrels, they�d sound a bit like John Martyn does on the first part of �The Road To Ruin� (I�d swear that I heard the bass coming from another part of the room the first three times I played this song) which breaks into a saxophone dominated conclusion which carries itself on out the road.

If Satan were a Ginsbergian beat poet, he would tip on down the path to the aforementioned tune.

What with all the E*L*T*0*N J*0*H*N hype, and the J*A*M*E*S T*A*Y*L*0*R hype and the T*A*Y*L*0*R dynasty hype, it does a lot more than a little good to hear John and the Beverly. The closest thing to hype (or even advertising) is the inclusion of a cut from this album on one of the new Warner Bros, samplers (though I�m sure that Warner�s, who handles J*A*M*E*S you-know-who, will think of something).

So to all the little Dantes who insist on dragging us through their own little Infernos, I�ll just tack on this little note from John and Beverly themselves: (Are you listening, James?)

�At the risk of being quoted (pause), after a close scrutiny and due consideration (emphasis) we think we. can safely say, quite categorically (emphasis) that this music has nothing to do with dying or anything like that�.

Richard A. Pinkston IV

ALEX TAYLOR WITp FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS - CAPRICORN SD 860 SISTER KATE - KATE TAYLOR -COTILLION SD 904 5

In spite of the fact that he�s popular, I like James Taylor. Even better, I like Livingston, because I think his material is more varied. But friends, I�m here to tell you that there are two members of that family who are downright funky, who you can actually dance to, and who are extremely talented even if they don�t write any of their own material. I refer to Kate and Alex, each of them every inch a Taylor, and each one every bit a major talent.

Kate is probably my favorite, since I sat through her world d^but at the Lion�s Share in San Anselmo, California the other night, and watched her discover (much to her amazement, although to nobody else�s) that the audience loved her. She was nervous, to put it mildly. That s a Taylor family trait, though — I literally bumped into Liv one night in San Francisco and said, �Hey, aren�t you Liv Taylor?� He jumped straight into the air and said �How�d you know?� But his tension was nothing compared to Kate�s. Look at her well-chewed fingernails on the cover of her album, where she sits looking like a wound watch spring. That�s what her presence at the table was like. Her traveling companion, none other than (*GASP*) Kim Fowley, the �bad boy� of rock and roll, tried to calm her down, but to no avail. She got up onto the stage and did a few numbers and then the spring started unwinding as she launched into an incredible stream-of-consciousness rap, dealing with — I think — a dog named Pencil, among other things. The audience sat there, digging every word. By the second set, she had us conquered.

And no wonder, what with the material she�s got. I�ve been waiting for somebody to revive that fantastic Jerry Ragovoy number that Howard Tate recorded way back when — �Look At Granny Run Run,� but I certainly didn�t expect it would be a Taylor. True, the album�s not perfect — Peter Asher did add a bit too inuch �sweetening,� as is his wont, and I could have done without another version of �Country Comforts� — but one tends to overlook its flaws because the strong points are so strong. Like brother Liv�s �Be That Way,� as true a song as it could be, and suited to Kate perfectly. Like �White Lightning,� by one Jape Richardson, known to some as The Big Bopper. Like her moving Like the album�s undisputed masterpiece, Beverley Martyn�s �Sweet Honesty�, where Kate�s voice just comes pouring out of her.

LIVE - JOHNNY WINTER AND -COLUMBIA C30475

How, you might be asking yourself, could this not be a killer album? After all, it may have taken two albums and several tours, but Winter has definitely proven himself a great guitarist, overhype or no. And his new band of old McCoys was one of the high points of last year. So, theoretically, all you�d have to do would be to turn on the tape recorder one night and you�d have yourself a bitch of an LP, right?

Right. And I�m glad somebody else thought of that, too, because that�s exactly what they did and that�s exactly what this is. A definitive live rock album, one that, by virtue of its sheer excellence, it�ll be hard to get too much of.

When Winter was first trotted out to a mass audience, you�ll recall, there suddenly surfaced a horde of tapes from the old days. None of those LP�s was worth releasing (except to avaricious businessmen), but they did reveal an interesting fact: that, despite all the hoopla about his incredible blues guitar, Winter had as many roots in Buddy Holly as he did in Muddy Waters.

He may have played a lot of blues, but, like the Stones, his blues were rock and roll blues. His old touring group was nothing more than a drummer and bassist that kept time while Johnny played his long, blues-based soloes. It was good, but obviously very limited. He needed himself a rock and roll band.

Enter Rick Derringer and crew. The addition of another (superb) guitarist made a world of difference for Winter. It created the kind of musical tension that�s just not there with a rhythm section and solo guitarist, no matter how goo; that guitarist is. Now Johnny and his band could bum.

Burning is what this album is all about. Drummer Bobby Caldwell chunks out the opening, and then the two guitarists cut in with the riff from �Good Morning, Little Schoolgirl.� It sounds just fine, and keeps on getting better. Generally, Winter sticks to the shrill, piercing guitar lines that take you apart; Derringer puts you back together with his hard, rock-bottom lines. Looked at from a different angle, Derringer�s rolling and Winter�s tumbling. Note especially the interplay on �It�s My Own Fault,� and the raga effect, akin to �East-West,� that they develop on �Mean Town Blues.�

The medley of �Great Balls of Fire,� �Long Tall Sally,� and �Whole Lotta Shakin� Coin� On� is Derringer�s showcase. He makes it an .object lesson in pacing and excitement, tightening and weaving these time-tested oldies into something brand new but still as exhilarating as the originals. Like Johnny, he is more a shouter than a singer; I get the image of a true, fiery-eyed rock and roll heathen gone berserk, so uncontrolled and yet so perfect is his vocal performance here. The rill thang, as Little Richard would say.

�Rock and roll!� Winter screams at the beginning of �Johnny B. Goode,� his adopted theme song and the album�s finale. That�s his way of making sure you get the point. All I care to add is, Amen.

John Morthland

In fact, the biggest drag about the album is that Atlantic saw fit to call it Sister Kate, as if she needed coattails to ride to success on. She doesn�t, as I sure hope you discover soon.

Brother Alex, I think, kind of regards his instant fame as a shuck, but one that he�s gonnafput up with. Well, lemme tell you, he has the family�s highest percentage of funk (probly cuz he is onto the corn squeezin�s so much), as well as the ability to phrase and interpret that rose his two younger brothers to fame. I mean, check out his version of �Night Owl.� Of course, it didn�t hurt to have King Curtis in there on the session, but the voice itself can only come from Alex/ No, the dominant feeling I get off Alex�s album is, I think, just what he intended — he went into the studio with a bunch of his friends and neighbors, and this is what they came out with. In direct contrast to Kate�s album, it is laid-back and relaxed. If you want to see what I mean, try on Alex� version of Duane Allman�s �Southbound.� All Alex does is sit back and let the(band go, and boy do they go. Alex couldn�t care less, it seems, and so nothing is forced. Fortunately, he has the talent tQ pull it off.

I�m not about to sit here and' make some blithe pronunicamento about the Taylor family being the First Family of the New Rock, or any of that rot, but I will say that there are some very talented people getting onto records these days, and ah uncommon number of'them seem to have the same last name. „ , ... ,

Ed Ward