ROCK•A•RAMA

ROCK•A•RAMA

This month’s Rock-A-Ramas were written by Craig Zeller, Jon Young, Chuck Eddy, Michael Davis and Bill Holdship

VARIOUS ARTISTS A History Of New Orleans Rhythm & Blues, Volumes One-Three (Rhino)

Twenty-one cuts spanning 20 years from way down yonder and the party never stops. A treasure trove of one-hit wonders, gumbo obscurities and madman rockin’ is yours for the buying. Volume two is the one that I keep coming back to the most. It features Ernie K-Doe refusing to name names (“A Certain Girl”), Benny Spellman getting his loveline traced (“Fortune Teller”), Frankie Ford capsizing like crazy (“Sea Cruise”) and the Showmen’s incomparable statement of purpose, “It Will Stand.” And so many more. Whether it’s a hit, a miss, or a party out of bounds, everything is hopelessly under the mysterious spell of that unique New Orleans sound. I feel a bit like Clarence “Frogman” Henry: I don’t know why I love it but I do. C.Z.

JAMES CARR At The Dark End Of The Street (Blue Side)

I Audaciously subtitled “The World’s Greatest Soul Singer,” this electrifying collection of lost ’60s gems comes mighty close to delivering on its promise. Recording for Memphis-based Goldwax Records, Carr was a spellbinding performer, blessed with a rich, resonant voice in the gospel mold of Percy Sledge. But unlike Sledge or other better-known counterparts, Carr offered little catharsis—there’s a somber cast to “(At The) Dark End Of The Street” and “Pouring Water (On A Drowning Man)” that borders on terminal despair. It’s no surprise he never had a big hit to go with his giant jtalent. Carr was simply too intense for the pop market. In short, required listening. J.Y.

DION & THE BELMONTS Reunion (Rhino)

Dion DiMucci was some kinda goneDaddy-0 Bronx punk three decades ago, and he’d been trailed by hellhounds like heroin by the time he got his old buddies back together to knock off this one-shot Madison Square gig in the summer of ’72, and he was ready to rock even if his nostalgia-bound audience and the Vegasy pros in Billy Vera’s backup band (why use any band??) weren’t. Once he hits “The Wanderer,” he’s doo-woppin’ and beboppin’ down scat-rat alleys where no white men have trod before, and by the bad-chick closers “Runaround Sue” and “Little Dianne” he’s stretchin’ and droolin’ and double-time twistin’ his boogaloo tongue like Jimmie Rodgers trippin’ on Eddie Jefferson trippin’ on Jack Kerouac trippin’ on Samuel Morse. “I wanna pack and leave, slap your face/Girls like you are a disgrace,” the final song goes, and it’s the most unholy sort of howl, not some Happy Days hooey. Dion breaks it all down here, and his old buddies ain’t bad, either. C.E.

DR. JOHN, THE NIGHT TRIPPER Gris-Gris (Alligator)

A tribute to New Orlean’s Ninth Ward, recorded on unused Sonny & Cher studio time? Stranger things have happened, but few albums are considered stranger than this one the first time around, in the preTrout Mask Replica 1960s. Atmospheric, percussive jams, gutteral mutterings, banshee wails, eerie horn lines—there was more than enough all-purpose weirdness here to launch a lifetime of trips. But the stuff holds together, largely because many of the musicians had been the cream of New Orleans’ studios before they moved out west where the jobs were, and the album boasts one bona fide classic in “Walk On Gilded Splinters.” Predating and anticipating Bob Marley’s work with Lee Perry, as well as Miles Davis’s Bitches Brew, this is one bad disc; if you take a bite of this root, I ain’t gonna guarantee what you’ll see. M.D.

VARIOUS ARTISTS

Frat Rock!

(Rhino)

The first time I ever heard the term “fraternity rock” was at a Bruce Springsteen concert when he introduced “Sherry, Darling.” The Boss’s song sounded like the Swingin’ Medallions, and I guess those guys—whose “Double Shot Of My Baby’s Love” is one of the rock wonders of the world—really were fraternity brothers. And I guess the Kingsmen got a lot of mileage at frat parties with “Louie Louie,” especially after its association with Animal House. Personally, I always thought stuff like “Nobody But Me,” “Wooly Bully,” “Keep On Dancing,” “I Want Candy” and “Wild Thing” were better classified as punk or garage rock. But I was in a band once that played all but two of these tunes—so call it what you want, it’s great stuff, and one of Rhino’s finest compilations yet. B.H.

VARIOUS ARTISTS Soul Shots Series (Rhino)

Following their sublime Nuggets series, good ol’ Rhino turns to '60s soul with five volumes of obscurities, one-hit wonders, and other treats. Despite the stray dud, each disc more than deserves attention from your bad self. Dance Party includes the explosive original versions of "She’s Looking Good,” by Rodger Collins, and Dyke & The Blazers’ “Funky Broadway” (both covered by Wilson Pickett), as well as J.J. Jackson’s manic “But It’s Alright.” The Sweet Soul collection is a little soft, though every home should have “The Jerk,” by the Larks, and Dobie Gray’s "The ‘In’ Crowd.” But Instrumentals just plain cooks, especially Cliff Nobles’s “The Horse” and Alvin Cash & The Crawlers’ hilarious “Twine Time.” (How can an instrumental be funny? Spin it and see.) Screamin’ Soul Sisters is worth the price of admission simply for the Sweet Inspirations’ churchy “Why (Am I Treated So Bad)” and Fontella Bass’s soaring “Rescue Me.” Finally, Ballads seems a bit unfocused, though you can’t argue with the seductive “Yes, I’m Ready,” by Barbara Mason, or Aaron Neville’s dreamy “Tell It Like It Is" Have mercy! J.Y.

IRMA THOMAS The Best Of Irma Thomas (EMI America)

My introduction to Irma Thomas came about eight years ago when I tracked down a copy of “Wish Someone Would Care,” which Greil Marcus once singled out as “the saddest record in all of rock.” It’s a masterpiece of heartbreak and the standout attraction in yet another one of EMI’s five Legendary Masters collections. Thomas has one of those potent, deep-reaching voices that lets you know she’s seen plenty. She has quite a knack for making her despair palpable (“Time Is On My Side,” “It’s Raining,” “I Done Got Over It”). And she knew how to have a ball despite it all—just listen to her run wild on “Break-A-Way.” The one notable absence of this set is “He’s My Guy,” one of the great lost “girl group" records. Find it. C.Z.

PROFESSOR LONGHAIR Houseparty New Orleans Style (Rounder)

Defying conventional logic, Professor Longhair got better as he got older, passing years merely adding to his majesty. These 1971-’72 tracks, recorded a little less than a decade before Fess passed away, are a fitting introduction for newcomers as well as a must for long-time fans, capturing his elegant piano and hound-dog vocals in all their engaging glory. Just a few bars from his on-the-money versions of “Tipitina” or “Junco Partner” will show why he influenced New Orleans music so profoundly— the good Professor could put across a song with an easy grace that was pure blues poetry. J.Y.

PERCY SLEDGE The Ultimate Collection (Atlantic)

The lack of liner notes (or even session info) sucks, and the only reason this retrospective exists at all is because they play “When A Man Loves A Woman” in Platoon, and 16 cuts is probably a bit too generous for somebody who leaned as close to schlock as this guy did, but the disc comes as a surprise nonetheless. Somehow I expected total yuckiness beyond the bigmelodramatic-hit-that-defined-soul, but it turns out that the nervous catch in Percy’s gliding tenor gives these downtempo popsacred connubial-laments a rather gritty back-porch edge. Here and there, the Muscle Shoals arrangements get overblown by corny horns and by background choruses that ain’t near as humble as the main man, but much of this provides a suitably lonesome chill; Sledge’s “Dark End Of The Street” is up there with Richard and Linda Thompson’s if not James Carr’s, his “Come Softly To Me” almost up there with Buck Dharma’s. And as for “Out Of Left Field,” hey—any song with baseball metaphors is OK by me. C.E.

THE TURTLES Chalon Road (Rhino)

Shell Shock (Rhino)

A-sides. B-sides. Demo tapes. Unfinished studio recordings. We are not talking about the cream of the crop here; sometimes, we’re not even talking cottage cheese. These collections from the band’s last days are natural wet dreams for Turtles completists and ’60s enthusiasts, but they’re a bit more problematic for everybody else. Shell Shock is particularly iffy; unless the ideas of the band (1) poking fun at CSN (“If We Only Had The Time”); (2) trying out three new Bonner-Gordon tunes or (3) coming out with their own over-arranged folk-pop protest songs (“We Ain’t Gonna Party No More”) appeal to you greatly, you might wanna skip it. Chalon Road, on the other hand, focuses on the trippier side of the band, backing up the idea that acid never changed the corn content of anybody’s brain. After the hits “She’s My Girl” and “You Know What I Mean,” things get weird in a hurry. “Chicken Little Was Right” sounds like New Delhi gone Nashville, “The Owl” is just a howl, and “Can’t You Hear The Cows” is indescribable. “Sound Asleep,” though, is entertaining over-theedge Beatlesque psychedelia. Play the rest of it for laughs, but don’t trade your Dukes Of Stratosphear for it. M.D.