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So Long, Sam

Stax salutes a fallen hero. (Photo: Courtesy Stax Museum of American Soul)

Back during the initial flowering of Stax Records, as the label went from success to success in its first half-dozen years, and all its rooms buzzed with an ever-expanding staff trying to keep up with popular demand, one star in particular had a tendency to saunter away from the studio, where the action was, and take a detour down Stax’s back hallways from time to time. Deanie Parker, one of the label’s first office employees who soon became their lead publicist, remembers it well — that’s where she worked. 

“Every now and then, he just walked in the door,” she recalls a little wistfully, “with little gifts for the girls in the office, little packages. That’s the kind of person he was.”

Now, scores of mourners will be sending flowers to that same soul singer, Sam Moore, the high tenor partner of Dave Prater in Stax super duo Sam & Dave, who died at the age of 89 on January 10th in Coral Gables, Florida, from post-surgery complications. This week, we pay tribute to the great Sam Moore by revisiting the pivotal role he played in the history of Stax and all soul music, as remembered by two who were right there with him: Deanie Parker and David Porter.

(Photo: Bill Carrier Jr. | Courtesy of The Concord API Stax Collection)

Sam Moore: The Stax Years

The quieting of one of soul music’s most expressive voices sent powerful shock waves throughout the music world — certainly among his late-career collaborators like Bruce Springsteen, but not least in Memphis, where Moore and Prater, singing the songs of Porter and Isaac Hayes, helped bring the Stax sound to its fullest fruition in the mid-’60s, becoming overnight sensations with hits like “Hold On, I’m Comin,’” “You Don’t Know Like I Know,” “I Thank You,” and “Soul Man.” 

Even then, “Sam Moore got along especially well with the administrative staff,” says Parker, recalling those spontaneous gifts. “He was the most gregarious of the duo. He was a great conversationalist and very personable. Dave was rather laid-back, kind of quiet.

“Keep in mind, now, that I was not in the studio with him all the time because I was in administration,” Parker goes on. “But because of our proximity to each other, it gave me an opportunity to get up and, when the record light was not on in Studio A, go in and observe and listen — not only to their rehearsals, but to the final takes and the playback.” 

Surely anyone at Stax was rushing down the hall to hear the hot new duo’s latest, once the hits were hitting, for they were taking the Stax recipe to a whole new level of artistry. Yet while those songs are now part of the Stax canon, the definitive statements of the Memphis Sound, the success of two newcomers named Sam & Dave was not a foregone conclusion when they arrived.

Deanie Parker heading up the publicity desk at Stax (Photo: Courtesy Bill Carrier Jr. | The Concord API Stax Collection)

Newcomers

“There was no one interested in Sam & Dave,” songwriter David Porter told Rob Bowman in the liner notes for The Complete Stax/Volt Singles: 1959-1968. “It was like a throwaway kind of situation [to] see if anything could happen with them.” Indeed, it seemed no one at Atlantic Records, who had a distribution deal with Stax, knew what to do with this singing duo from Florida, who’d had little luck with their scattered singles on the Marlin, Alston, and Roulette labels. Despite this, said Porter, “I was very much interested in Sam & Dave.”

But were Sam & Dave interested in Memphis? Atlantic had “loaned” the duo to the smaller label that was showing so much promise, but in 1965 Stax was hardly a household name. Moore’s reaction, according to Parker, was, “Who wants to go to Memphis?” Moore had his sights set on crossover pop stardom in the Big Apple, not moving to what seemed like a backwater. “He really did not have a positive impression about Memphis,” Parker says. “And apparently he was not all that familiar with Stax, which stands to reason, because when Sam & Dave got here, we only had a couple of stars. We just had Rufus and Carla, Booker T. and the M.G.’s, the Mar-Keys, and Otis [Redding]. I don’t know that we had more than those in the category of the top stars.”

Moore himself described the situation hilariously in his acceptance speech for Sam & Dave’s induction into the Memphis Music Hall of Fame in October 2015. “When Dave and I first came to Memphis,” Moore recalled, “the first person I saw was David Porter. He had on a small hat, a big sweater, and his pants looked like pedal pushers. Water came into my eyes.” Moore paused for laughter with impeccable comic timing. “Then it got worse: I saw Isaac. Isaac had on a green shirt with a low-cut neck, like that, a white belt, chartreuse pants, pink socks, and white shoes. I started crying harder. I wanted to go home.”

There must have been more than a little truth to that, for, as Moore went on to explain, “I had in mind to sing like Jackie Wilson, James Brown, Wilson Pickett … but then they introduced us to these two guys and we went inside and they introduced us to the songs. And they didn’t sound nothing like Jackie Wilson and all these people! And then I turned to Dave … and he was trying to get a phone number to get to the airport.  

“Being the new kids on the block, we had nothing to say. So we had to go on in there.”

In fact, they were walking into the Stax brain trust, which had always dared to be different. When Sam & Dave’s pre-Stax singles tried to emulate the more polished soul of Wilson or Sam Cooke, albeit without their orchestral flourishes, the results came off as rather corny. Now it was 1965, and pop music was getting edgier, from Bob Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone” to the Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.” Even James Brown, whose biggest hits had been ballads like “Try Me,” was cooking up material like “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag.” 

Porter and Hayes mapping out the next Sam & Dave hit (Photo: Courtesy Bill Carrier Jr. | The Concord API Stax Collection)

Dream Team

David Porter, who saw their potential early on, inched them toward a rawer take on soul music when he penned the shuffling, feel-good “A Place Nobody Can Find” for them, though the B-side, written by Porter and Steve Cropper, was a more tender ballad, with sassy horns thrown in for good measure. Unlike their later hits, Prater was given the lead vocal, though Moore’s upper register parts hinted at the harmonies that were to come. It wasn’t until their next single that Porter and Hayes teamed up to produce the duo, and their nascent songwriting partnership blossomed. And they gelled not only in the substance of the songs, with Porter crafting lyrics for Hayes’ music, but in the strategy they mapped out for the two new kids on the block.

Reflecting on that strategy today, Porter says that Sam & Dave “didn’t have a concept as far as the artistic direction that they needed to go. That’s why Jerry Wexler, the president of Atlantic Records, brought them to Memphis, in hopes of finding whatever that was — he didn’t know what it was. But we had our concept of what we wanted to do, and that was to bring it out of the church, the spirituality out of the church, and have the music emphasize what we called the low end of it, the bass, drums, and guitar, and the underlying chord progressions in the low end, paired with the gospel persona of it, the spirituality of the church.”

And yet, as with Ray Charles and so much of the finest soul music, the gospel underpinnings supported very secular, worldly sentiments. Lyrically, Porter paired the world of the bluesman with the spirit of church. And that came as a shock to the singers, who had both grown up singing in church choirs. 

“David Porter and Sam could clash,” Parker recalls, “but it wasn’t hostile, and it didn’t last but a few minutes. It was like they were sparring, you know? Of course, Isaac’s thing was the keyboard, he was the melody man, and Porter was the lyricist. And sometimes Porter had to stop and help both of the guys understand what he meant when he wrote, ‘Coming to you on a dusty road.’ You know what I’m saying? Because this was not Sam & Dave’s environment. This was David Porter’s environment from the area around Millington, Tennessee.” 

And so a great foursome was born, beginning with the single “I Take What I Want,” which, as Bowman notes, “was to provide the model for the majority of Sam & Dave’s Stax 45s.” By the time “Hold On, I’m Comin’” dropped in March of 1966, topping the R&B charts and reaching number 21 on the pop charts, that model was locked in. After crafting a song and a sound, Porter and Hayes would only need to give the duo a brief rundown before they got it. Porter can still picture it today: “I’m standing there with them, and I’m looking at them as I give them the lyric sheet. We go through the melody at the piano, and then by the time they get on the microphone, they go into another world. They made it their own, and that’s when you know you’ve got something special.”

And so, even if “Sam was the dominant one,” as Parker recalls, and more prone to pushback, both Sam and Dave were consummate professionals. “We had to go on in there,” as Moore recalled, and they did. 

Porter says, “There never was a comment like, ‘Well, I don’t want to do that song. I don’t like that song.’ Because we produced the albums, even when we were doing a song by some other writer, and on occasion we would do that, they still didn’t object. They would bring their own spirit and commitment to wanting to make it as good as it could possibly be. And they did that.”

The Key to the Speedboat

The foursome’s recipe for success not only gave Sam & Dave’s career a boost; it solidified Stax’s standing as a label. As Robert Gordon writes in Respect Yourself: Stax Records and the Soul Explosion, “their album Hold On, I’m Comin’ proved to be the breakthrough for Stax’s album sales. In all the company’s years through 1965, they’d released only eight albums. … In 1966 alone they released eleven albums and Sam & Dave’s Hold On went to number one on the R&B album sales chart. Albums were good business.” 

Parker likens it to the fledgling label acquiring a sleek new machine. “They reminded me of a speedboat,” she says. “A boat that nobody was 100 percent familiar with because they were not on the water in the speedboat every day. They had to figure out a lot of things mechanically, and they had to become acquainted with each other. And I’m talking about Sam and Dave and David and Isaac. Once Sam and Dave found their groove with David and Isaac, it was like they had found the key to speedboat. They then began to realize that they had more going for them with their new producers than they’d ever imagined.”

If the speedboat was designed by the producers, Porter makes it clear that Sam & Dave supplied the spark of ignition. “You, as a creator, can create something that you know is strong and good, but when you have an artist that’s able to create their own individuality through the spirit of what you’ve done, then you’ve got something special. That’s the thing that made Sam Moore such a special talent, as well as Dave: They would go into the ownership of the message. I would tell them where the vibe was, and they would have to live the spirit of the message. That’s where true artistry comes in. And the more songs we wrote for them, the more comfortable they would get into doing it.”

Or, as Porter wrote on social media after Moore’s death, Sam & Dave “were always filled with passion, purity, individuality, and believability, grounded in soul.” 

The road grew dustier and rockier as the years rolled on, with Atlantic claiming ownership of all Stax masters prior to 1968, and taking Sam & Dave away from Memphis. The duo never reached the heights of their Stax records again, and split apart as Moore struggled with addiction through the ’70s. Yet, with the help of his wife Joyce MacRae, whom he wed in 1982 and who now survives him, he kicked drugs (coming to support several GOP candidates along the way) and revived his career without Prater (who died in a car crash in 1988). 

By the time he spoke to the Memphis Music Hall of Fame 10 years ago, Sam Moore had fully embraced his Stax past. “Coming from a humble beginning, with no formal training in singing or anything, we were just two guys who got out there and took the church with us, like Al Green did. … I’m going to say this to you: Thank you Memphis people, the band, the friends that Dave and I met all those years. …They believed in us. They stuck with us. Every record company that we had been with just didn’t know what to do with us. Sixty years later, I’ve been doing this. I’m blessed.”

Sam Moore knew he’d helped build something for the ages. As David Porter reflects now, “The music that was done by the four of us together will live on forever. There’s no doubt in my mind.” 

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2025 International Blues Challenge

Joce Reyome (Solo/Duo first place) (Photos: Nate Kieser)

Singer Shaun Murphy, formerly of Little Feat, had just finished her set as part of The Galaxie Agency’s “IBC Showcase,” held last Thursday afternoon at B.B. King’s Blues Club on Beale Street. During the lull between sets, my wife Vicki and I continued our conversation with the woman seated next to us. “I’ve never seen snow, before,” she said in a distinct Australian accent. “I live in Adelaide, which is in South Australia.” Snowfall at sea level is very rare, especially for a coastal Australian city like Adelaide.

The woman, wearing a Creamsicle-orange hoodie, went on to tell us that she’d visited several places in “the States,” but she hadn’t brought any cold weather clothing because she didn’t think it would get this chilly in the South. She hadn’t had time to go shopping for something warmer after arriving in Memphis.

Snow was forecast for Memphis and the Mid-South with predicted accumulations of five to eight inches. The woman had come to see a musician from her hometown of Adelaide compete in the 40th edition of the International Blues Challenge.

The Memphis-based Blues Foundation hosts the International Blues Challenge (IBC). Typically held in January, the annual event brings together blues musicians, fans, and industry professionals for what is essentially a week-long “blues convention,” featuring blues documentary screenings, roundtable discussions, award presentations, a free health fair for the musicians, showcase performances, and vocal/instrumental master classes conducted by blues veterans.

The challenge portion of IBC week featured mostly up-and-coming blues artists competing in two categories: Solo/Duo and Band. These acts came from all over North America and from around the world. The “challenge,” along with the other activities, took place around the Beale Street Entertainment District. This year, almost 200 acts from nearly 40 states and 12 countries performed in several rounds of competition. The musicians represented their local blues affiliates or sponsoring organizations — called “societies.” Many of the societies’ members traveled to Memphis in support of their artists, creating a home away from home atmosphere that, in many ways, is unique to the blues genre.

That atmosphere of home permeated everything on Beale, and the far-flung travelers created a temporary ecosystem dependent upon one element — a love of the blues. Community is key to blues music and once you were on Beale Street for IBC, it was easy to become a member of that community and feel right at home.

After all, Memphis is the “Home of the Blues.”

Following Galaxie’s afternoon showcase, we made our way down Beale, stopping in at several clubs along the way to take-in performances. More than a dozen Beale Street locales served as venues for the nightly challenges. From Blues City Café to Alfred’s, Beale was alive with the blues. Fans and supporters came together over three consecutive nights to hear great music and have a good time.

In the Corner Bar at Club Handy, we ran into an old friend and blues musician extraordinaire, Mick Kolassa, aka Uncle Mick, who was one of the judges for that venue’s Solo/Duo performers. IBC challengers are rated according to such criteria as musicianship, vocal abilities, and stage presence. John Klaver, representing the Dutch Blues Foundation, played an extraordinary set, and Vicki talked with him afterwards. Klaver is a friend of Vicki’s first cousin, Mark Zandveld, an accomplished jazz bassist from Amsterdam, and Cousin Mark had given us a heads-up that Klaver would be in Memphis for IBC. Maybe Vicki’s quick “hello” helped Klaver feel at home.

Internationally, blues music is as popular as ever, and fans (and musicians) from abroad love to visit Memphis and the Mississippi Delta. There’s a certain Memphis mystique that the world wants to experience firsthand. Australian Frank Sultana, the IBC’s overall 2023 Solo/Duo winner, came back for a visit this year. Sultana said he not only loves coming to Memphis, but that when you’re here you feel “a connection to that [early blues] era, remembering when it all happened.”

That connection to the origins of the blues, along with the mystique, also fosters a sense of community — of feeling like home.

Sultana went on to say that the “connection to the blues” now comes “from everywhere [around the world],” including his home country of Australia, which sent seven acts to Memphis for this year’s IBC.

Thursday night ended with a couple more stops to check out the music and to say “hello” to more old friends. We were feeling part of the blues community, an ecosystem fed by great music and good times.

Then the snow came.

Friday morning was white, very white. And cold, very cold. Vicki reminded me, several times, that she hates snow. “Nice to look at,” she said, “from inside.”

We finally ventured out around 1:00 p.m. and sloshed our way back to the Beale Street ecosystem through six inches of snow and slush. Workshop classes and more showcase performances were already underway. Later that same evening were the semifinal performances.

Saturday brought continued chill with some sunshine for the IBC Finals, held in the historic Orpheum Theatre. The international blues community was well represented with five acts, including two from Australia. Regarding that global representation, Bob Kieser, the publisher of Blues Blast Magazine and a recent recipient of the Blues Foundation’s Keeping the Blues Alive Award, said, “IBC has evolved into quite an international event [and] shows the continuing importance of blues in shaping artists across the world.”

Josh Hoyer of Josh Hoyer & Soul Colossal (Band first place)

Dutchman John Klaver was a Solo/Duo finalist, but Joce Reyome of Canada won that category with an incredible onstage performance. In the Band category, Josh Hoyer & Soul Colossal, representing the Blues Society of Omaha, Nebraska, took first place.

During Saturday afternoon’s performances, Nardia, a band out of Melbourne, Australia, broke into their song “Long Way From Home.” I looked around at the Orpheum’s audience and let IBC week soak in — the stellar music performances, the atmosphere, and that feeling of community.

Home can be wherever you make it, and for one week in January the worldwide blues community came home to Memphis. 

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Remembering a Friend: Stanley Booth

Stanley Booth (Photo: Nanette Bahlinger)

My previous piece in 2018 on my friend Stanley Booth, whom I knew for 64 of his 82-plus years, had concluded with his revelation to me that he’d become a Catholic, achieving what he called “the greatest pleasure of my life … a complete redesign.” 

It was surely appropriate, then, for Stanley’s funeral to be a Roman Catholic mass, which took place at the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception on Central Avenue on Saturday, December 28th, more than a week after his death at Harbor View Nursing Facility on North Second Street. 

The attending group of communicants was smaller than I would have anticipated and scattered throughout the venerable high-ceilinged Midtown church. A mass was a mass, after all, and this one kept pretty much to the standard litany, without allowances for the kind of open memorial that people of consequence so often receive these days.

And Stanley Booth was very much a person of consequence. His authorship of The True Adventures of the Rolling Stones Outlaw Band (published in 1984 as Dance With the Devil after years of dedicated effort and familiarity with the band) was arguably the War and Peace of the rock era. There were other notable books, like Rythm Oil, a compilation of shorter pieces about the people, places, and things of that era, which, after all, is still very much with us. (The purposely misspelled title was typical Boothian waggishness.) 

My favorite single piece of Stanley’s, a brief review of a Janis Joplin concert in Memphis during the mid-’60s, a failure through no fault of the singer’s own, somehow manages to encompass all the rights, wrongs, misadventures, and pretensions of the time.

A memorial for Stanley will be scheduled for later on, or so promises our mutual friend David Less (no slouch as an author himself), who had made a point of looking in on Stanley in his last days. According to David, Stanley had been lonely and depressed at the nursing home, where he had grown progressively more physically incapacitated, even as his mind strained, as writers’ minds do, toward articulation and purpose.

All that striving had ceased mere days earlier, as Stanley, after consultations between David and Stanley’s daughter Ruby, was entered into hospice care per se. He had become mute and incommunicative, hovering on the edge of vegetative.

Very regrettably, I had not gotten around to seeing Stanley as he neared his end. Many reasons for that, including a newly acquired auto that couldn’t be depended on to start and resisted all efforts to fix. The basic reason, though, was that our relationship, like the car, famously had its fits and starts.

A few years ago, after a reasonably longish period of keeping close company (which meant, significantly, carting Stanley around and making sure he had things — e.g., wheelchair, TV, what-have-you — and passing on periodic feelers from music media types trying to connect with him), we’d had a bizarre interruption. Out of the proverbial blue, he’d asked me why, some 60 years earlier, I’d referred to his girlfriend of that time as “simian.”

I remembered no such shocking incivility toward a lady whom I had in fact admired and, reasonably enough, therefore, could offer no explanation. Many protests and back-and-forths later, there had been an exchange of over-the-edge remarks between us, resulting in a breach. Inevitably, there would have been a healing, something we’d gone through more than once during those aforesaid 60-odd years, but — time ran out.

Sadly, this kind of thing was not atypical for Stanley. His persona, like his sense of language, filled all the obvious, and most of the imaginable, spaces. Though he had reservoirs of charm, many of his relationships ran into stormy weather. Long on talent and short of stature, he had his share of the Napoleon syndrome. He could be modest, but never exactly humble. Or maybe that should be stated the other way around. His earliest literary model had been Ernest Hemingway, that paragon of basic English and exact phraseology. 

At a public function some years ago, the late George Klein introduced him, molto con brio, as a celebrated music writer. No, Stanley objected, for better or for worse, he was a writer, pure and simple. This was an echo of Hemingway’s famous late-career admonition to his overly self-concerned contemporary F. Scott Fitzgerald, “You see, Bo, you’re not a tragic character. Neither am I. All we are is writers.”

Over the years, I’ve known numerous highly talented individuals whose abilities transcended various categories of the usually recognized earthly disciplines. Even as we speak, I could name you a handful, right here in Mempho. Would-be Renaissance men (and women).

Though he was not without a generous amount of self-regard (as the high proportion of references to himself in all his work indicates), Stanley Booth was not among these across-the-board pretenders. A writer is all he was. No scatterer of loose energy across the lines. No diluter of his essential being.

And for that he deserves to be called a Master.

I did not mean to confer, earlier in this article, any slight upon the reach and scope of the Roman Catholic litany. Its very universality and subordination to a (lowercase) catholic whole may have been the aspect of the religion that most appealed to Stanley and caused him to embrace it. 

“I am not after any pie in the sky,” he would tell me, by way of an awkward attempt to account for his conversion. In this piece, I have not listed any of the earthly honors conferred upon him, and there were many, including a lifetime achievement award from the Smithsonian Institute. But as Stanley once said, wistfully, “You can’t eat reputation. If I had a nickel for every good review I’ve had …” letting that sentence fade out rhetorically. 

As the aforesaid litany notes, “we know partially, and we prophesy partially.” But it holds forth the idea for the striver of attaining the company of the saints, and that ain’t hay. 

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A Baker’s Dozen of Delectable Disks

Often a meme will circulate listing the hits of bygone times. A roll call of great releases in, say, 1977 will leave one feeling it was a golden age of recorded music, our contemporary sounds paling in comparison. Looking over this year’s best-of list, however, I’m inclined to think that 2024 will be celebrated in much the same way. And if you should beg to differ, I would only refer you to those wise wake up call offered by GloRilla herself, “Do y’all know what the f*ck goin’ on?? (goin’ on … goin’ on … goin’ on …)” 

Aquarian Blood – Counting Backwards Again (Black & Wyatt)

This caps off a trilogy of sorts, over which the sometime punk screamers dialed it back into the acoustic realm. Meticulously crafted yet loose, these songs are dark, primitive missives haunted by trauma and desire, as if German sonic artists Can reinterpreted the Incredible String Band. 

Cedric Burnside – Hill Country Love (Provogue)

Burnside’s latest album turns the volume up, yes, but not the distortion. Bringing more of a full-band sound, this particular Burnside eschews the hard rock guitar tones that were his grandfather R.L.’s trademark. There are echoes of 2021’s I Be Trying’s quieter soul-imbued originals (“Smile”), but funkier, staccato riffs predominate — at least until he breaks out the acoustic for traditional numbers.

GloRilla – Ehhthang Ehhthang and Glorious (CMG/Interscope)

Rolling Stone ranked October’s Glorious among the year’s best, but we in the city where “everything is everything” tapped into the Ehhthang Ehhthang mixtape way back in April. While the 2024 releases are two peas in a pod, Ehhthang was arguably more significant as Glo’s triumphant debut in the full-length format. And tracks like “No Bih” slay (in Latin, no less) in such a stark, Memphis way: “F*ck it, carpe diem/I make ‘em motivated (okay)/Grammy-nominated (okay), f*ck whoever hatin’.”

IMAKEMADBEATS – WANDS (UNAPOLOGETIC)

While there are mad beats throughout this instrumental journey, there are also orchestral passages both ethereal and bombastic, at times sounding eerily like the ’70s synth-meister Tomita. It’s an interstellar trip in audio form, in which you’re never sure if you’re hearing a sample or an intricate new composition by MAD himself. “I’m Losing My Mind I’m OK” even features lyrics, hauntingly sung by Tiffany Harmon.

Juicy J and Xavier Wulf – Memphis Zoo

While Juicy J co-founded the dark horror-hop of Three 6 Mafia, this collab with fellow Memphian Wulf is, paradoxically, dark, ominous, and … fun. But there’s a gravitas here, too, as on the most popular track, album opener “The Truth,” an exhortation to cut the BS, stop fronting, and face facts. And a deeper truth about our times comes out in personal fave “Alley Oop”: “We’re living in the era of the alley oop,” and it’s not a good thing.

MonoNeon – Quilted Stereo (Court Square)

“I walked in the room and got butterflies.” So MonoNeon described his studio work with Mavis Staples on “Full Circle,” a highlight of Dywane “MonoNeon” Thomas Jr.’s latest work. With its doo-wop-ish vocal bass riff evoking a gospel bounce right out of the last century, it embodies funk and soul’s past, present, and future. Then there’s the sing-along jam with George Clinton, the perfectly Clinton-esque [and downright bluesy] “Quilted!” – an ode to flying your sartorial freak flag high, even if that means walking down the street decked out in bespoke, multicolored quilts. Then there’s the chugging New Wave pop of “Church of Your Heart,” the jungle beat rap of “Segreghetto,” and the sparkling sizzler of the summer, “Jelly Roll,” full of glossy synth warbles and bass stabs, its video overflowing with extras seemingly right out of the Crystal Palace roller-skating scene. MonoNeon’s greatest work yet.

NLE Choppa – SLUT SZN (Warner)

One of four releases by Choppa this year, all carry on his raunchy “Slut Me Out” variations, most audaciously with this album’s shuffling, acoustic guitar-driven “Slut Me Out 2 (Country Me Out),” featuring J.P., who sings, “If I was a cowgirl/I’d wanna ride me too!” Both versions skew gender in new ways for hip-hop, but it’s the stylistic mash up of the galloping, dancehall-flavored “Catalina” with Latin star Yaisel LM that truly takes Memphis hip-hop into global waters, reflecting Choppa’s Jamaican roots.

The Lisa Nobumoto Jazz Masters Orchestra – A Tribute to Jazz Singer Nancy Wilson

Having performed with the great Teddy Edwards for decades, this Memphian knows how to give Wilson’s catalog her own individual stamp. “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” becomes a ballad, worlds away from Frankie Valli’s stomper. “Uptight (Everything’s Alright)” verges into boogaloo territory, yet with a relaxed delivery. Carl Wolfe’s big, brassy arrangements give the album a rare jazz classicism.

Jerry Phillips – For the Universe (Omnivore)

Though this is Phillips’ debut album, his decades of experience recording with great songwriters like John Prine at the studio his father built lend it the feel of a career-topper from the last century. The wry observations and hard-won wisdom of songs like “Specify” (exhorting his lover to say what she wants) or “She Let Me Slip Right Through Her Fingers” are carried by Phillips’ voice, echoing Charlie Rich or Johnny Rivers, and a band of ace Memphis session players.

Talibah Safiya – Black Magic

As artist-in-residence at the Rudi E. Scheidt School of Music last year, Safiya tapped into the High Water Recording Company’s back catalog, working with producer/engineer Ari Morris to weave generous helpings of Mississippi blues and soul into her samples. Erstwhile Memphian-turned-international-producer Brandon Deener lends his sonic touch as well, not to mention guitarist MadameFraankie, who brings a simmering soul vibe to underpin Safiya’s powerful-yet-playful voice.

Marcella Simien – To Bend to the Will of a Dream That’s Being Fulfilled

For this most personal of journeys into her family’s past and her own well-being, Simien’s playing nearly all the instruments, crafting a setting in a kind of synthetic world-building, evoking the sweep of generations with the sweep of electronic filters. Rootsier sounds also make an appearance, as the artist conjures a timeless space to commune with her ancestors.

Snowglobe – The Fall

Like much of Snowglobe’s earlier output, this is rich with layers of ear candy. Though grounded by chords on an acoustic guitar or piano, the arrangements fill out with all manner of harmonies, synthesizers, or electric guitar riffs and hooks. Think Badfinger meets “Soul Finger,” with
hints of Harry Nilsson’s darker moods and post-‘90s quirks all their own.

Cyrena Wages – Vanity Project

Produced and mixed by Matt Ross-Spang, this album has some of the rootsy, vintage elements of his previous work with Margo Price, yet with the contemporary pop instincts once championed by one of Wages’ heroes, Amy Winehouse. Most of all, the sounds jump out of the speakers with the grit of a real band, which includes guitarist and songwriting collaborator Joe Restivo.  

All albums self-released except where noted.

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Reba Russell’s Life in Music

Reba Russell reflects on her career (Photo: Jamie Harmon)

Last Saturday at Hernando’s Hide-A-Way, the Memphis Blues Society recognized nine artists for their regional and global impact with its Lifetime Achievement Awards. Among the awardees were Thomas Bingham, Charles Gage, Mike Glenn, Eric Hughes, Al Kapone, Memphis Gold, Andrew “Shine” Turner, and Jay Sieleman, a roster marked by its eclecticism and inclusiveness. Yet there was one more recipient who was especially notable: Reba Russell. As one of the few local women still regularly singing the blues in this town (also including Barbara Blue and the incomparable Joyce Cobb), the celebration of Russell’s decades-long career was significant beyond the music itself.  

It was an appropriate award for the artist who only last year released the powerful single, “Women Rule.” As Russell says, “You know, I am a woman-lover. I believe in women, and I want women to do good, and I have even been ugly and kind of mean to men over my career and in life! It’s one of my favorite themes. But I’m really passionate about that. I really believe it. I just don’t think we get a good enough shake and that we’re still trying to overcome that.”

Saturday’s ceremony, then, meant a great deal to Russell. “Memphis doesn’t support the blues or the Memphis Blues Society like it could, you know,” she says. “I just wish there were more people that cared, but at the same time, it was just a big, warm hug. And for me personally, Wayne and James and Sally were there, and they were at the very first gig I ever played at RP Tracks.”

Memphis Blues Society president Angela Ghoreishi and Russell at last Saturday’s event (Photo: Mark Cardwell)

That would be Wayne Russell, her husband and bass player; drummer James Cunningham; and longtime friend Sally Raburn, who, Russell says, “has been a music fan her whole life.” 

Speaking of that first RP Tracks show back at the dawn of the ’80s, accompanied by her husband-to-be and Cunningham, Russell says today, “I told the dude who was giving me a ride there, my friend Bill Turner, ‘Take me home. I don’t want to do this. I’m scared!’” Luckily for the club-goers that night, Turner stayed the course.

But it was still nerve-racking for the young singer. “I pretty much sang with my back to the audience,” she laughs, and that was not lost on Raburn. “She was the one who, at the end of that night, came up and said, ‘You are an amazing singer, but you know, it’d be nice if we could see your face. You should turn around while you’re singing!’”

It may be hard for today’s fans to reconcile that stage fright with the bold, bawdy blues (and soul and rock) singer they know. That’s summed up by longtime Memphis multi-instrumentalist and erstwhile guitarist for the Reba Russell band, Paul Taylor, now living in Wisconsin. “You could ask anybody about Reba,” he says, “and they would say that she’s one of the most electrifying vocalists you’ll ever hear in person, and she never fails to deliver, and she has the same powerful voice that she’s had for her entire career. I just marvel at her every time because she just has such an intense power.”

That power was apparent to friends who heard her even before that first show, and Russell credits their encouragement as a key motivator back in those early days. Through a series of bands, first Visions, then Portrait, and finally Reba and the Portables, Russell, Wayne, and a rotating cast of band members took the city by storm, performing mainly covers at clubs like Solomon Alfred’s or the Bombay Bicycle Club. In the meantime, the singer and her bassist were clicking romantically, marrying in 1986. 

Yet on her journey, from the Portables becoming one of the city’s premier cover bands, to a production deal with Chips Moman, to finally leaning into singing and recording her originals with the Reba Russell Band, the singer has remained appreciative of friends who helped her along the way. At Saturday’s event, Russell says, “I just got up there and praised Memphis and Memphis musicians and producers and engineers and everybody who perpetuates the whole blues scene. Because, you know, I had no experience when I started. I came here and, boom, everybody helped me. Nobody was ugly to me or told me to go away. So I was just trying to express my appreciation to the fabulous musicians in this town, many of whom aren’t here anymore, that have left the planet, yet were so instrumental in helping me and other people get on our feet and become worthy and hard-working musicians.”

That gratitude extended to her fellow awardees as well. “It was really awesome to be included in that group because there were some really cool other people that were given awards that night,” says Russell, noting that it reflected well on the the Memphis Blues Society. Founded in 2005, it gave aid to blues artists during Covid, then launched its Lifetime Achievement Awards in 2021

“There are blues purists, and then there are people who are into opening the blues up,” she observes. “It was really cool that Al Kapone was honored last night, and he spoke about that. He has been advocating and adding a blues feel and blues themes to his rap, and I’m sure that there are a lot of blues purists who kind of thumb their nose at that. But from my point of view, it’s absolutely amazing that he’s doing that, and teaching kids, and passing that blues legacy on. I really enjoyed his speech. What he said was really important.”

Reflecting a bit more on the evening and Al Kapone, she continues, “I think he was as proud as I was about receiving the award. And, you know, he’s a lot younger than I am, and he’s got a long time to perpetuate his artistry. So yeah, that part was lovely to me because it was about the continuation of this genre. It’s important for younger people to get hip to it.”

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Music Music Features

Simple Songs of Freedom

Tom Rush (Photo: Courtesy Acoustic Sunday Live)

In these fraught days of authoritarianism and climate change, when our fate depends more than ever on local community action, music continues to seal the bonds between those fighting the good fight. It’s an age-old function of song, for songs are both rousing and inherently inclusive, spreading equally to all eardrums in the vicinity. America has a tradition of protest and organizing songs going back more than a century, from Joe Hill and the Wobblies, to singing through megaphones at Occupy Wall Street, to today’s pop songs at political rallies or in countless poetry-song slams across the land.

It was no accident, then, that Bruce and Barbara Newman’s mutual love of folk music and the blues led them to create a concert series celebrating both music and community action simultaneously. And, appropriately enough, it started back in the ’90s with the music of Woody Guthrie. “My law practice was starting to represent folk musicians like Tom Paxton and Dave Van Ronk, a whole bunch of them,” says Bruce Newman. “So we started calling on these people to play music concerts, each one for different charitable beneficiaries. The first one we did was a tribute to Woody Guthrie, and we had Odetta, Oscar Brand, Richie Havens, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, Tom Paxton, and Josh White Jr. on that first bill. And the second one had Tom Paxton and Oscar Brand again, plus Melanie, Roger McGuinn, and Tom Rush.”

Those early concerts became Acoustic Sunday Live, an annual tradition unlike any other in Memphis, now in its third decade. And that last headliner from the early days — veteran singer-songwriter Tom Rush — is significant because he hasn’t been back since then. But it wasn’t for lack of trying. 

“I consider Tom Rush a friend,” says Newman. “I see him at Folk Alliance [International] every year. And I bugged him for 20 years, ‘Tom, when are you coming back?’ Well, he always had a conflict the first week in December, right when we always have our concert. But this past summer he said, ‘Bruce, if you move it one week, I’m coming down. It’s a good cause. It’s important.’ And that’s what we did.”

Booking Rush, a diehard pioneer of the folk club scene whose first album came out in 1965, would be a coup for any folk festival, but this year’s Acoustic Sunday Live will also feature Shakura S’Aida, Steve Forbert, and Tim Easton, not to mention special guests Anne Harris and Marcella Simien. As in other years, one thing is clear: When the Newmans get their Acoustic Sunday on, they don’t play. 

While finally getting Rush back was a challenge, it was especially significant both because of his ties to the series’ earliest days and because of his role in the ’60s folk revival. Like many folkies of that era, Rush had a great love of Woody Guthrie and classic Appalachian and Southern folk songs when he launched his career as a young English major at Harvard, filling his first albums with such material. But he had too much curiosity to be a pure traditionalist, and, as the ’60s wore on, he filled out his repertoire with songs as disparate as Bo Diddley’s “You Can’t Judge a Book by Its Cover” and Joni Mitchell’s “The Circle Game.” 

That eclecticism has marked Rush’s career ever since, setting him apart from the “more authentic than thou” folk set. “I’ve never been accused of being pure,” Rush quips today. “Early on, when I started out in Cambridge, Massachusetts, there was this big folk scene going on, with people playing all kinds of different traditional music. They all tended to specialize. There was one guy who did almost nothing but Woody Guthrie songs, and a band that did nothing but bluegrass, and another guy who did Delta Blues, or Irish-Scottish ballads, and so forth. And I tended to be the generalist.”

That doesn’t detract from the power of Rush’s music to bring folks together. Indeed, his inclusiveness only amplifies that power, even as he eschews what Bob Dylan once pejoratively dubbed “finger-pointing songs.” Part of that came down to Rush’s own sense of himself. “There’s a certain irony in a bunch of Harvard students sitting around singing about how rough it was in the coal mines,” he chuckles. “I did ramble around from genre to genre. By the time I cut my second album for Elektra, I’d run out of traditional songs that got me excited. So one side of that album was traditional songs, and the other side was me covering rock-and-roll tunes, including one that I wrote, ‘On the Road Again.’”

He also had his antennae out for a new era of songwriters. “Then the following album was The Circle Game, where I introduced [the songs of] Joni Mitchell, James Taylor, and Jackson Browne because nobody really had heard of them before. That was a further switch away from traditional folk. These three brilliant writers came at me from different directions, but they were writing stuff that was dazzlingly great, yet not so different from folk that I couldn’t relate to it.”

His ear for a good song has served him well, up through his latest release of all originals, Gardens Old, Flowers New. Those attending Acoustic Sunday Live should expect that same soothing voice and eclectic ear that’s kept Rush, now on what he likes to call his “63rd annual farewell tour,” in demand for decades, as he swaps songs with other legendary troubadours. “I stay away from getting political on stage,” he says. “I have done shows to support various causes, but I don’t take it on stage. I think my shows should be a little bit of a vacation from problems of the world.” 

Acoustic Sunday Live — The Concert to Protect Our Aquifer, presents an evening with Tom Rush, Shakura S’Aida, Steve Forbert, and Tim Easton, as well as special guests Anne Harris and Marcella Simien, at First Congregational Church, Sunday, December 15th, 7 p.m. Tickets start at $50.

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Music Music Features

WYXR Vibrations

J Spaceman and John Coxon (Photo: Courtesy Fat Possum Records)

Raised By Sound Fest, the music festival and fundraiser staged by community radio station WYXR and Mempho Presents, is once again in the offing, scheduled to have the Crosstown Concourse bursting with sound this Saturday, December 7th, and, as with the event’s previous iterations, the mix of performers is intriguingly eclectic. 

Through its short history, Raised By Sound has earned a reputation for drawing top-tier artists for its main concert event, always held in the Crosstown Theater, and this year is no different. In 2022, when Jody Stephens’ reconstituted Big Star quintet planned only a few shows in honor of #1 Record, the Raised By Sound Fest was a pivotal performance for them. And last year, Cat Power made Memphis one of their first stops when they began touring their Dylan tribute album, The 1966 Royal Albert Hall Concert.

This year, WYXR has outdone itself once again for Raised By Sound’s main concert, presenting a live score to the William Eggleston film, Stranded in Canton, performed by J Spaceman and John Coxon of Spiritualized. “We just heard they had a really incredible show in London,” says the station’s executive director Robby Grant, “and in the U.S., Memphis is the only city they’re doing it in, outside of New York and L.A.” 

As Grant notes, these marquee events all came together by way of the station’s openness and centrality as a meeting place for creatives of all kinds. “We keep our antenna up,” he says. “We have a huge window. We’re very welcoming. We’re very transparent. There’s a lot of benefit to that and making these connections.” The Spiritualized event is a case in point, as WYXR DJ David Swider, owner of Oxford’s The End of All Music record store, told Grant that the group’s live score was slated to be released on the Fat Possum label; the next day, Winston Eggleston (son of the photographer/filmmaker) mentioned that the group had reached out to him about permission to use the film. Things simply clicked by virtue of the station’s network. 

Tommy Wright III (Photo: Courtesy WYXR)

Yet that capstone event, now sold out, is only one of many musical experiences that Raised By Sound will offer. Throughout the day, many other performances will echo in the columns of the Central Atrium, and that will only heat up once the final credits roll for Stranded in Canton, as the ticketed after-party kicks off in the East Atrium at the top of the red staircase, with a DJ set by Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney of the Black Keys and performances by hip-hop legends Tommy Wright III and Lil Noid. 

The free music begins at 1 p.m., when artists from the University of Memphis’ Blue T.O.M. Records will perform, including Meaghan Christina, Ozioma, and Canale. “It means a lot to us to be able to give [Blue T.O.M. artists] that level of exposure,” says WYXR’s program manager Jared Boyd, “and we’re also promoting an educational component, partnering with Grammy U, Stax Music Academy, and Crosstown High School. It creates a level ground for them to be on the same bill as the Black Keys and Spiritualized. It’s bringing it all under one house.”

That revue will be followed by Fosterfalls, a solo performer also based in Memphis. “They’re a really interesting solo artist,” says Grant. “They’re kind of acoustic, very ethereal, with a lot of loopy-type stuff, and they’re a great example of a local artist who’s getting out there and working really hard and just doing it.” Also in the hard-working vein is the blues-rock HeartBreak Hill Trio, fronted by Matt Hill, a longtime presence on the Memphis scene, known for his axe work with wife Nikki Hill. Once the trio has livened things up, Brooklynite Max Clarke, aka Cut Worms, will take the stage. His 2019 album Nobody Lives Here Anymore was produced by Matt Ross-Spang. And finally, the afternoon will close out with a solo show by Hurray for the Riff Raff’s Alynda Segarra, who has close ties to New Orleans despite being from the Bronx. 

Indeed, all of the artists happen to have ties to Memphis. Celebrated Memphis-born photographer Tommy Kha, for example, has worked closely with Hurray for the Riff Raff. Yet the festival organizers are not strict about that as a criterion for inclusion. As Boyd notes, “We wanted to be able to present homegrown artists as well as artists who have some sort of significant Memphis or regional influence. Some are from elsewhere, but were called to Memphis because of music.”

“You don’t have to be a Memphis-connected artist to be booked for Raised By Sound Fest,” adds Grant, “but we found that every artist we booked has some connection. Like, no matter who we book, because Memphis is such a music city, there’s some connection.” That even goes for the performers from Spiritualized, who first debuted their live score for Eggleston’s film a decade ago at the Barbican Gallery in London, as part of Doug Aitken’s Station to Station festival. Now, a recording of that has been released by the local heroes at Fat Possum.

The after-party, too, will have strong Memphis roots. The Black Keys, based in Nashville, are not only steeped in the North Mississippi blues via that same record label, but have worked closely with Memphis’ Greg Cartwright. And, of course, Tommy Wright III and Lil Noid were on the ground floor of the local hip-hop revolution that gave rise to superstars like Three 6 Mafia. Wright is arguably the better known of the two, his music having been embraced by the skateboard scene. As Boyd notes, “There’s even a skateboard hardware company in L.A. called Shake Junt, and their entire brand image is an homage to Memphis rap culture!” But Lil Noid’s profile is also rising, and, tying it all together, he’s even featured on a new Black Keys track, “Candy and Her Friends.”

All told, the Raised By Sound Festival will provide a compelling glimpse and staggering diversity of music in Memphis, but other dimensions of the city will be represented as well. Community groups like Music Export Memphis, Memphis Music Initiative, and CHOICES will have tables, and visual artists like Sara Moseley, Darlene Newman, and Toonky Berry will have works either on display or being created as the music plays on. It’s all part of a concentrated celebration of what Memphis brings to the world. As Boyd says, “We have an embarrassment of riches when it comes to talent. And if you grew up in it, you may not always realize that most places are not like this.” 

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Music Music Features Uncategorized

Iron Mic Coalition

Mac, Derelick, and Duke of the Iron Mic Coalition, performing at the Undugu Hip Hop Festival. (Photos: Courtesy IMC)

Memphis is known for its world-class rappers; trap is the new “Memphis Sound.” But while we might hear BlocBoy JB shout out, “901 Shelby Drive, look alive, look alive,” on the radio, there’s a cohort of lesser known but very active hip-hop artists among us who live and breathe such lyrics, depicting life in our place and time like no others. Does any recent rhyme capture the feeling of living under the weight of this city’s history like: “I rap Memphop, I rap the deep quadrant/I come from the marshes, the shady tree garages/The torn-down projects, the cotton on the barges”?

Some readers will instantly recognize that as a line from “Maybap Music” by Iron Mic Coalition (IMC), as a devoted following has developed around the group over the past 20 years. If you know, you know. Part of that comes down to IMC’s undeniable grounding in this region. That comes across both lyrically and musically, as on 2014’s “Home,” driven by a minor key soul blues sample, with the lyrics: “A stranger in his own land, a Delta blues homeland … Crossroads demon summit, now the blues man cometh with the truth boom bappin’ hell on ’em.” 

Jason Da Hater, Duke, Milk, and Mac of the Iron Mic Coalition (Photo courtesy IMC)

Indeed, IMC’s music over the years has been full of Southern soul and blues, (or even the tweaked voice of Billie Holiday singing “Gloomy Sunday” on “Crown”). Case in point: the hard-hitting blues guitar lick on their best-known single, “Memphop,” done many years before Al Kapone began experimenting with his own style of blues-infused rap. Clearly, IMC is fully rooted down, devoting a whole track (not just one line of a hit single) to the “901 Area Code” on their 2005 debut.  

Skipping back and forth across the decades is par for the course with IMC’s music, as the collective of DJs and MCs have been remarkably true to their vision and consistent in their output for 20 years, across three releases whose titles speak to their shared coherence: The 1st Edition (2005), The 2nd Edition (2008), and The 3rd Edition (2014). These artists have always been playing the long game, as should be clear this Friday, November 29th, at the Stax Museum of American Soul Music, where the IMC will make a rare appearance to celebrate their 20th anniversary, revisiting their debut album in full and hinting at what a fourth work-in-progress might hold in store. 

The Memphis Flyer, it should be noted, has been with IMC for the whole ride, starting with Chris Herrington’s 2004 survey of Memphis hip-hop, but as I speak now with IMC member Quinn McGowan, aka The Mighty Quinn, there’s one thing he’d like to clear up about how the group’s been described here in the past. “The popular misnomer was always we were like the Wu-Tang [Clan] of the South, but actually a more accurate description would have been the Native Tongues of the South, right? Because we were always a group of groups. Native Tongues was the Jungle Brothers, Black Sheep, De La Soul, A Tribe Called Quest, Queen Latifah — all those folks kind of wrapped up in a loose association.” The same affiliation of like-minded groups coalesced in Memphis “because we were all doing shows together, right? And we were carving out what would become Memphop, throwing our own kind of shows, with b-boys [breakdancers] and the artists out front. We were adhering to the four elements.”

Those would be the four elements of hip-hop — DJing, MCing, breakdancing, and graffiti art — and the IMC members’ adherence to them as a way of life might explain the collective’s longevity, despite having never blown up coast to coast. Through the decades, the core group of groups, including Fyte Club (General MacArthur, The Mighty Quinn), M.O.S. (Duke, Derelick, and Milk [aka Yasin Allah]), Kontrast (Jason Da Hater, EMPEE, and DJ Capital A), and Fathom 9 (aka Avenging Wind), have continued as a tightly knit cohort, despite Fathom 9’s untimely passing in November of 2014.

“There have always been eight MCs and our DJ Capital A,” says McGowan, before noting the involvement of another stealth participant of sorts. “My son was always a secret 10th member. I drew a future projection of him as a silhouette inside of the eye in the Iron Mic borders.” That was back when McGowan was helping craft the visuals for the fledgling group. McGowan’s son, then very young, uttered the first line of the first IMC release. An upcoming album now in the works will echo that when Eillo, as McGowan’s son is known, now a key player and artist in his own right with the Unapologetic collective, will join the IMC. “Eillo is finishing a verse at the end of the project for the point of the symmetry, right?” says McGowan. “He starts out The 1st Edition. So we wanted to make sure to have him, you know, get his lyricism on to close out The 4th Edition.”  

In keeping with the four elements of hip-hop, expect a visual element at Friday’s show as well. McGowan’s other creative outlet is his visual art, including a line of comics called Wildfire, published by his own Legends Press. “My approach to comics is very much rooted to my approach to hip-hop. There’s this lineage of comic books in hip-hop that goes back to Rappin’ Max Robot.” It’s all been part of living the hip-hop life for McGowan, staying true to his vision and offering commentary on the state of the world. (It’s no accident that IMC opened for knowledge rapper KRS-One back in the day). “My band of brothers are a group of men that I have a great deal of respect for, and we try to live the values that we espouse,” says McGowan. And part of that involves embracing the unabashedly local “Memphop” tag, a term McGowan coined when the group began.

“There’s always going to be a culture of hip-hop or Memphop in Memphis. Hip-hop has its own very distinct expression here, even in the ways that we execute those four elements. Our graffiti is different. We have not only have b-boys; we’ve got jookin, right? You can still hear a Southern twang, so to speak. Memphop is bigger than us. So we want to do something that’s dedicated to that. And this thing at Stax is about our own placement in that.” 

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Music Music Features

For the Love of Lelia

Marcella Simien (Photo: Jenny Max)

The first words of Marcella Simien’s new album, To Bend to the Will of a Dream That’s Being Fulfilled, are the perfect introduction to the journey that awaits listeners: “May I heal this family bloodline, forwards and backwards through time.” It’s an incantation of sorts, delivered with a devotional energy that sets the tone for what’s to come. Musically, it’s a departure from Simien’s previous recorded work by way of its minimalism, her main accompaniment for this song being a piano, so evocative of New Orleans and Louisiana. That region, of course, is where the Simiens have been for generations, and where any journey into the singer’s family bloodline must take her. 

But while that’s zydeco country (her father Terrance being one of the most celebrated artists of that genre), this is not a zydeco album. Nor is it “swamp soul,” as the rootsy-yet-eclectic sound of Marcella Simien’s band has come to be called. For this most personal of journeys, she’s playing nearly all the instruments, crafting a setting in a kind of synthetic world-building, evoking the sweep of generations with the sweep of electronic filters. 

With the new sound comes a new performance style, as Simien will unveil on Saturday, November 23rd, at Off the Walls Arts. “Yvonne [Bobo] built this structure out of metal,” Simien says, “with a screen on the front, and Graham [Burks] will be projecting visuals on this cylinder. It’s gonna be this really interesting experience for the audience, something new.”

Yet the electronic approach itself is not especially new to Simien. “I don’t even know where to begin with my love for synths, from Kraftwerk to Gary Numan to Gorillaz,” she says. “I always wanted to explore that more. Then we finally invested in a Korg recently.” With the new album, that investment has come to fruition, but in a subtle way. This sculpted audio universe doesn’t wear its synths and drum machines on its sleeve, yet it doesn’t shy away from them, either. 

Other, rootsier sounds do make an appearance. Speaking of a song honoring her late great-grandmother, Simien says, “With the song ‘Lelia’ in particular, which was the guiding light for the whole idea, I intentionally used instruments that Lelia would have heard in her life and in the 1930s, when she was young and building her family.” Lelia is a centerpiece of the album, and the track bearing her name begins with the sounds of crickets in a field at night, then Simien saying, “Recently I’ve been writing with my great-grandmother.” Indeed, listening to the album, it feels as though Lelia is sitting in the room with us, though Simien never met her.  

Nor did her father, Lelia having died when he was an infant. Yet Simien felt a deep bond with her father’s grandmother, and the small town where she helped raise him. “I spent a lot of time in Mallet, Louisiana, a very small community outside of Opelousas,” she says. “And I feel this deep, deep connection to the Simiens. I spent so much of my time around them there, where our family goes as far back as the early 1700s, when they settled on that land.” Simien recalls imagining Lelia when visiting the old family house, where “there was this old photo of her when she was 15, taken on the day she got married. And you can see this beautiful Creole woman with long, dark hair, and these hands of hers reminded me of my hands. I would just stare at that picture, and I think she became a deeper part of me, beyond the DNA.”

Paradoxically, the first word of “Lelia” is “hydrated,” probably not a word used much in Mallet back in the day. Yet that’s also a clue to the power Simien finds in her family past: She came to it through her yogic practice, as a source of strength when she herself was navigating some dark days of her own. It was a time when she struggled with pharmacological dependence. “After a decade of being prescribed Adderall,” she confides, “I decided to get off it. It’s been over three years now, and I don’t miss it at all, but it was scary because I really didn’t trust myself for so much of my 20s, you know?”

Through the struggle, Lelia and others in her family lore were guiding lights. “I started to think about just how challenging her life was,” Simien says. “Giving birth to 15 children, living off the land, making your own stuff, and building a life with next to nothing — I couldn’t comprehend it, but I always thought, ‘If she could handle that, I can handle whatever I’m going through.’ She was tough, and it showed me that there’s so much I can learn from these women. And I want to honor them any way that I can.” 

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IMAKEMADBEATS: Not of this Earth

IMAKEMADBEATS (Photo: Peyton Dollar)

The road to recovery from a major health condition can happen in stages. Confronting a disease when you’re in its grips, determined to keep moving forward, is one thing; putting yourself out in the world once the worst of it is over is another. Having gone through hell, you realize things about yourself — things you can’t forget.

That’s one way into WANDS, the new instrumental album by IMAKEMADBEATS, aka James Dukes, which arguably marks a new aesthetic high point in the producer’s career. That much will be evident on Saturday, November 16th, at the Pink Palace’s Sharpe Planetarium, when MAD (as he is known) will premiere the album live, in an extravaganza of light and projections that will likely be seen as a defining moment in Memphis’ Afrofuturist scene. 

It should come as no surprise that the producer who named his dream studio Outerspace has been fascinated with the cosmos, or characters like the Mars-dwelling Watchmen character Doctor Manhattan, all his life. “The only field trip I cared about as a kid was to the planetarium. I didn’t care about nothing else!” he says, as we chat amid the glowing buttons and dials of Outerspace. 

“I’ve always been attached to space and the unknown,” he explains. “In WANDS, the general idea is that I have to leave here to find out where home is. The very first song is about me leaving here. The second song is the soundtrack to me making my way through the Earth’s atmosphere. The third is about flying through stars. The fourth is about me running into an alien that is telling me where to go to find home. The fifth song is about me descending onto that planet where there are clouds of bubbles that sing to me. And so that song is called ‘Choir of Bubbles.’”

If such a tale captures the album’s epic sweep, that last title hints at the album’s sonic palette. While there are indeed mad beats throughout, sporting MAD’s trademark glitches and tweaks, there are also orchestral passages both ethereal and bombastic, at times sounding eerily like the ’70s synth-meister Tomita. It’s an interstellar trip in audio form, in which you’re never sure if you’re hearing a sample or an intricate new composition by MAD himself. The track “I’m Losing My Mind I’m OK” even features lyrics, hauntingly sung by Tiffany Harmon.  

Another track, “James Michael,” features the producer — typically seen behind a console of sample triggers — playing a solo keyboard passage. And that, it turns out, is a clue to how the entire album came to be, starting with MAD’s decision to take videoconference music lessons (full disclosure, from me) during Covid’s early months of social distancing. As with the great Sun Ra himself, MAD’s latest voyage to outer space began through that trans-dimensional portal known as a “piano.” 

“I wanted to be a jazz pianist since I was a teenager,” he says. “I just didn’t have any kind of keyboard. What I did have was access to old records and a sampler. So, you know, I had a professional career in music before I had an instrument. Then I bought this keyboard, the Korg SV-1, with the weighted keys on it, and it feels like a real piano. And I felt drawn to that, like, ‘Yo. This is my time to actually learn this.’”

But eventually there was an even more compelling reason to play. During his first forays into playing keyboards, “I was just messing around and having fun,” MAD says, “until I got sick.” Just as Covid emerged, the producer contracted a rare autoimmune condition which initially threatened his motor skills. “You know,” he reflects, “I spent my whole life making things with my hands, and suddenly I couldn’t use my hands, with any real accuracy, for a couple of months. That scared the shit out of me!” He points to our surroundings to underscore his point. “I mean, I’m literally surrounded by buttons and knobs.”

Nonetheless, he kept at it, often with Kid Maestro twiddling the dials under MAD’s direction, and eventually the material that became MAD Songs, Volume 1 and Volume 1.5 came together. Those albums stood as proof positive that he could soldier on artistically through the hardship of his illness. Yet after that came a recovery of sorts, and it was in that period that the seeds of WANDS were planted. 

“A few months later, my hands came back and I started hitting you up.” MAD was a student of singular focus and determination. “One of the top things I remember in those lessons was how you would slide from one note to the next, and it would just add these, like, half step emotions. Which I am addicted to: half step movements in any chord progression I ever write.”

But beyond the raw knowledge of harmonies and melodies, or the basic physical therapy of strengthening his hands, playing the piano became a skeleton key, thanks to the infinite library of sounds available to any producer now, into the world of composing and arranging. (If this was a film, we would insert the heroic montage here.) Taking long sabbaticals of studying only piano, MAD began experimenting with the complex jazz harmonies that had always fascinated him. At that point, pairing music’s infinite plane of harmonics with his love of space was an easy leap to make. That in turn led him to an insight into his own condition. 

“There’s no one else in my family with any sort of autoimmune disorder. So for me to have this is an extreme anomaly. And so it made me wonder, you know, maybe I’m an alien?” Which brings us back to the story of WANDS, soon to be premiered musically in the planetarium (on his birthday, no less), but later to be revealed narratively, a bit further down the road. Look for a second edition of the album early next year that includes voiceovers recounting the tale in all its world-building glory. In the meantime, just know that an alien walks among us, and he is MAD. “I literally was telling my mom a couple weeks ago,” he says. “I was like, ‘Mom, if you didn’t actually remember birthing me, I would swear I’m not from here. You are the sole evidence that I am from Planet Earth.”