Category: Record Reviews

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Shirley Scott feat. George Coleman: A Record Store Day Revelation

Befitting a veritable capital of Vinylandia, Memphis is all over Record Store Day (RSD), and not just because Memphis Record Pressing produces such a large percentage of the nation’s LPs these days. The city also boasts a large roster of bands currently releasing product on vinyl, from the Turnstyles‘ new album to Ibex Clone. But look no further than the RSD homepage to see more: their partnership with Sun Records has now led to a 10th anniversary edition of the Sun Records Curated by Record Store Day releases; and two clicks below that one sees a celebration of the debut full-length album from boygenius, which includes Memphis’ own Julien Baker.

Yet there’s another side to Record Store Day, having arisen gradually over the years, in which it’s a chance for previously shelved recordings to see the light of day in special editions. And that’s the real gem of this year’s RSD, scheduled for this Saturday, April 22, in the form of a new release on Jazz Detective, the label of Downbeat Producer Of The Year Zev Feldman, and Reel to Real Records, the partnership between Feldman and Vancouver-based impresario and musician Cory Weeds. Included in the labels’ new trio of previously unissued LP releases of archival performances (by groups led by Walter Bishop, Jr. and Sonny Stitt) is an organ lover’s dream album: Shirley Scott’s Queen Talk: Live at the Left Bank (Reel to Real).

Taking its name from Scott’s moniker, “the Queen of the Hammond B-3,” this gig showcases the organist’s soulful side in a trio setting featuring Memphis native George Coleman on tenor sax and Bobby Durham on drums. Captured at the Famous Ballroom in Baltimore, Maryland on Aug. 20, 1972, the band is a study in chemistry, especially when jazz vocalist Ernie Andrews sits in on three of the album’s ten numbers.

If Scott isn’t quite the household name that Jimmy Smith or Jimmy McGriff are, she’s no less of a player for it. The late jazz organ star Joey DeFrancesco once said of Scott: “Her legacy is her tremendous contribution to jazz organ that will live on forever. … She has some great records, but live is a whole other thing because the people are so free to go in whatever direction they like.”

And that’s exactly what this trio does, as Scott leads them through her grab bag of covers, many with a decidedly pop provenance. The title tune is of course a 1944 pop-tune-turned-standard, but she gets quite contemporary as well with “By the Time I Get to Phoenix,” “You Don’t Mess Around With Jim,” and, perhaps of most interest to Isaac Hayes (and Michael Jackson) fans, “Never Can Say Goodbye.”

And yet, such is the gravitas and groove of Scott, who pedals some very hip bass lines as her choppy chords and melodic flurries percolate on top, that these tunes — and even sentimental favorites like Charlie Chaplin’s “Smile” — come out swinging. It’s a testament to the organist’s sympatico with drummer Durham that the forward momentum never lapses.

And the pop nature of this workout is especially interesting in light of George Coleman’s career. With what may be considered his edgiest work with Miles Davis eight or nine years behind him, it’s interesting to see Coleman in league with Scott’s embrace of radio hits of the day. Ultimately, it’s a testament to not only his versatility, but his tone. With Coleman, the edge is always there in the voice emanating from his horn.

And if “edge” isn’t quite the right word for the undeniable warmth that’s also there, let’s just agree that he contains multitudes. With “Witchcraft,” Coleman even get’s to wail over a neo-bop uptempo workout, complete with humorous interpolations. Then Scott, with her thrilling, trilling, glossy sound, takes it up a notch, as her seeming telepathy with the drummer produces time-defying hits and accents whenever she scrambles over the keyboard.

As Coleman himself says (in the LP’s excellent liner notes) after recently hearing this album’s version of a John Coltrane tune: “I was amazed, especially, by ‘Impressions.’ I don’t think I really played it that well with Miles, but on this, with Shirley, the tempo was right. And Bobby Durham was real good on it. He kept everything really in focus and so did she.”

As it turns out, Record Store Day itself contains multitudes, across a spectrum that runs from gimmicky colored discs to true vinyl gems. For fans of jazz organ and/or George Coleman, this live set by three masters of their craft is a multifaceted example of the latter, a jewel in any collection.

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Salo Pallini’s Galactic Musical Blender

Instrumental albums are rare in this day and age, outside of the jazz and classical worlds, yet this year has already witnessed the release of two such works. The debut by all star trio MEM_MODS has been well covered in these pages, but another lyric-less album dropped around the same time — or at least the vinyl version did. This week, the album will be stream-able for the first time.

The album is credited to Salo Pallini, but don’t go searching the ranks of Memphis musicians for that name. It’s a band that includes Landon Moore, John Whittemore, Pat Fusco, and Danny Banks, with ace percussionist Felix Hernandez pitching in — and it’s a band energized with the spirit of musical adventure.

In 2021, the band recorded 11 songs meant to serve as a musical accompaniment for Kurt Vonnegut’s 1959 novel, The Sirens of Titan. And this January that album, titled The Sirens of Titan: A Preemptive Scoring, was released as a beautiful LP. Ostensibly a wannabe soundtrack to Dan Harmon’s proposed adaptation of the novel, the album can nonetheless be enjoyed without knowing the novel or any of its permutations. And in any case, the real point of the album is to pioneer a new hybrid genre, what the band calls Progressive Latin Space Country.

In fact, it might be more accurately dubbed Progressive Latin Space Rock, for there’s always an undercurrent of classic FM sounds behind much of the composition. Indeed, that keeps the momentum up through this collection; one never knows when the coiled snake of rock will rise up and seize the reins of any particular track.

The most obvious case in point is the album’s single, “Kazak’s Bossa,” released as a video last December. It begins as if sauntering through a smoky party, it’s organ and keyboard textures weaving a spell over some very button-down jazz guitar melodies and fills. Then come the cavemen and gunshots roaring “Huh!” in the background. As with many of the tracks, it features a superb keyboard solo by Fusco (in this case on organ). After a breakdown, the congas of suspense announce a change, and suddenly we’re in rock riff land.

It’s pro-level genre-hopping not seen since the glorious ’70s heyday of Queen and Paul McCartney (or Snowglobe). And it captures in a nutshell what’s most fun about this album: its gonzo spirit.

The multi-genre song cycle isn’t the only thing about this project that evokes the ’70s. In “Malachi,” a languid rock-jazz groove not unlike Dark Side of the Moon builds into something from a ’70s action film. Later, there might be a touch of the ’90s: “Beatrice” could almost be a Built to Spill tribute, but then settles into something more like Mott the Hoople.

As the tunes roll by, we hear well-crafted unison guitar lines, or zithers, over driving conga rock, not to mention insane piano solos, angelic sopranos, treacly Moog melodies, bells, whistles, and ambient soundscapes.

Another highlight is “Goofballs,” which delivers the most genuinely Latin groove via Fusco’s deft keys, Moore’s under-groove, and Banks’ driving beat, with some zany guitar to boot. Then it loops into an entirely different rhythm and becomes a chugging rock ballad of sorts.

Salo Pallini’s strength is to always keep you guessing. Even if you know that “Malachi” and “Salo” are from the Vonnegut novel, you’ll nevertheless have fun guessing how to apply the various moods of this album to The Sirens of Titan. And if you’ve never heard of Kurt Vonnegut, this album will still keep you on your toes.

Salo Pallini celebrates the streaming release of The Sirens of Titan: A Preemptive Scoring at Young Avenue Deli this Friday, March 24th, 9 p.m., with Steve Selvidge on guitar and Pee Wee Jackson on drums.

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The Futuristic Sounds of Sun Ra: The Future is Now

With “jazz month” drawing considerable attention and attendance at Crosstown Arts for the past two weeks, encompassing everything from hard bop to the city’s burgeoning avant garde scene, it’s worth taking a step back to consider an artist who mastered all those styles and more: Sun Ra.

The fact that both he and his longtime saxophonist John Gilmore were from the South (Birmingham, Alabama and Summit, Mississippi, respectively) makes them all the more relevant to the current moment, above and beyond the fact that Ra’s legacy informs all artists who walk the line between “inside” and “outside.” Those words, of course, are jazz lingo for playing inside the lines of conventional chord changes versus stepping outside into a world of free improvisation.

That line matters when it comes to Sun Ra — born Herman Poole “Sonny” Blount — as the mere mention of his name these days is often used to signify any music that’s outlandishly free or experimental. What’s often forgotten is that, behind the sci-fi-influenced language and costumes of Ra’s futurism, there was a disciplined composer and arranger who revered Fletcher Henderson scores dating back to the 1920s. That’s not to say that the Sun Ra Arkestra didn’t have its moments of more chaotic improvisation, but they were only partial refractions of the ensemble’s wider palette of sounds.

The Futuristic Sounds of Sun Ra, first released on Savoy Records in 1962, then re-released last fall on 180-gram vinyl, CD, and hi-res digital by Craft Recordings in honor of its 60th Anniversary, is a good case in point. It was an historical milestone, being the first recording made with his band, The Arkestra, after moving to New York from Chicago. Produced by Tom Wilson (who would go on to produce Bob Dylan, the Velvet Underground, and the Mothers of Invention, among others), The Futuristic Sounds of Sun Ra has long been considered one of the avant-garde artist’s most accessible albums.

According to John Szwed’s Space is the Place: The Lives and Times of Sun Ra, the album was not even reviewed at the time and immediately sank into obscurity. So much for being accessible! And yet, compared to what came later from the Arkestra, this album is indeed approachable, and a good entry point into Sun Ra’s oeuvre for listeners hoping to expand their horizons.

It’s “a record which could have easily represented their repertoire during an evening at a club” at that time, as Szwed writes, with a listenable balance between free improvisation and composed pieces for an octet. The latter pieces are not so different from other cutting edge, large-ensemble jazz albums of the time, such as Gil Evans’ Out of the Cool (1960), Charles Mingus’ Oh Yeah (1961), or Oliver Nelson’s The Blues and the Abstract Truth (1961).

That’s apparent right from the start, as “Bassism,” beginning with a sparse bass line, soon incorporates tight horn bursts and grooving piano before making room for a more freestyle flute from Arkestra stalwart Marshall Allen. The tracks continue in that vein, mixing tightly arranged horn lines, piano vamps, and freer soloing in relatively concise compositions. With “Where Is Tomorrow,” the arranged horns soon drop out to make way for intriguing freestyle interplay between two flutes and bass clarinet (the latter played by Gilmore).

That “outness” takes over on the next track, “The Beginning,” which begins and ends with a melange of unorthodox percussion. The album liner notes tout this element, noting that the record features bells from India, Chinese wind chimes, wood blocks, maracas, claves, scratchers, gongs, cowbells, Turkish cymbals, and castanets. These flourishes lend a distinctive sonic stamp to the entire album.

At times, the mood mellows, as with “Tapestry from an Asteroid,” a ballad that became one of Ra’s most-performed works. Interestingly, out of the 10 original selections on the album, “Tapestry from an Asteroid” would stand as the only work that the artist would ever revisit — on stage or otherwise — again. “China Gates” is also in this mood (and is the sole track not written by Ra), with vocalist Ricky Murray sounding almost like Billy Eckstine amid the bells and gongs.

Following the release of Futuristic Sounds, which marked Ra’s sole album under Savoy, the artist and the Arkestra enjoyed a fruitful period in New York and Philadelphia. In 1969, Ra graced the cover of Rolling Stone. In the early ’70s, he became an artist-in-residence at the University of California, Berkeley. Later in the decade, back in New York, his shows would attract a new generation of fans, including the Velvet Underground’s John Cale and Nico. As he grew older, Ra’s influence only continued to grow, with bands like Sonic Youth inviting the artist to open for them. During his lifetime, Ra also built one of the most extensive discographies in history, which includes more than 100 albums (live and studio) and over 1,000 songs. And now, nearly 30 years after his death, the legacy of Sun Ra lives on through the ever-evolving Arkestra, which continues to record and perform today under the leadership of the forever-young Marshall Allen.

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The Secret Weapon: Big Scarr’s Posthumous Release Dazzles

The Secret Weapon by Big Scarr

It was just back in November when Memphis rapper Big Scarr, whose releases on Gucci Mane’s The New 1017 Records had already been making major chart waves, announced that he’d be extending his tour into 2023. “I am adding more dates so I can hit every city and pull up on the whole Grim Reaper Gang … Love, Big Scarr aka Big Frozone, aka Big Grim Reaper aka The Secret Weapon. P.S. This just the warm up. I’m in album mode now. 2023 is mine.”

Those words ring bittersweet now. On December 22, the 22 year-old rapper, born Alexander Woods, died of a prescription pain medication overdose. But his words may yet ring true, as the album he mentioned has just been released.

The Secret Weapon was clearly aiming for the stratosphere, continuing the move to bigger sounds signaled by Scarr’s full length debut on the 1017 imprint, 2021’s Big Grim Reaper. That album offered three full versions of a single tune, “SoIcyBoyz,” which, taken in succession, track the changes Big Scarr was undergoing as he ramped up to the big time.

The song’s first version, featuring his cousin Pooh Shiesty and Foogiano, was a masterpiece of hip hop invention, pairing hazy acoustic guitar chords with relaxed rhymes touching on the joys of swigging cough syrup and Fanta in the yard with one’s steady mobbin’ crew of choice. Its sound is a standout in the trap music roster by virtue of its almost folksy ambiance, yet is practically stamped with the phrase “Memphis AF.”

As he noted in a statement after his debut album, “It’s rough out here. What I’m rapping about is what’s going on where I’m from. It’s the slums. It’s the trenches. It’s the hood. It’s tough. It’s real.”

With Version 2 of the song, producer Tay Keith, also from Memphis, was brought on, and the track took on a more percussive atmosphere, while retaining a certain lightness. With Version 3, which added Gucci Mane to the mix, the soundscape seemed to grow even more cinematic, and more in keeping with the horror-film aesthetic of Three 6 Mafia.

Cut to last week, when the The Secret Weapon revealed Big Scarr’s first full album since his debut (not counting 2022’s deluxe mixtape, Big Grim Reaper: The Return). And the soundscape somehow splits the difference between all those versions of “SoIcyBoyz,” invoking cinematic spaces even as the vocals and assorted jangled sounds stay perched on the edge of your ear.

Take track 2, for instance: “Trappin n Rappin (feat. Gucci Mane),” begins with orchestral sounds seemingly run through a broken tape player that nonetheless lend an epic sweep to (Gucci Mane’s?) invocation, “Long live the legend, my secret weapon.” The otherworldly swirl of sound is an effective contrast with Big Scarr’s dry, laconic delivery, surely the most Southern of the diverse dialects in today’s hip hop world.

Yet, in his own gruff way, Big Scarr’s rhymes are mighty nimble as well, as he reveals later in “SKRT SKRT,” the title signifying the song’s hook, sung in falsetto. “That’s what ya hear when I come through …” he sings in between rapid-fire verses that deftly paint a portrait of the neighborhood life.

It turns out such throw-away choruses, thrown out as if afterthoughts, are a specialty of Big Scarr. “Toe Tag (feat. Key Glock)” also features the two title words, evoking the morgue, in a brief quip of a “chorus” that’s over before you know it. The offhand delivery is almost maniacal in it’s casual glee.

Perhaps cutting a track like “I’m Him” was Big Scarr’s subtle shout out to the mega-platinum world of Kevin Gates’ smash album of the same name. In any case, the Memphis rapper is sure-footed in defining a new sound for himself, equal parts cinematic gloom and toy-instrument lightness. Now that Memphis — and the Magnolia community of South Memphis where he grew up — mourns his loss, that sound still stands, and may yet be New 1017’s secret weapon.

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In the Land of the Snowblind, Joecephus is King

Trapped in the house with icicles glittering all through my window, the slick street throwing sunbeams back in my face, the day’s listening material practically screams out to be played: Joecephus & the George Jonestown Massacre’s Snowblind in the Rising Sun. As the early days of the pandemic taught us, being housebound is the absolute best time to get your choogle on. And this is the group to do it with.

The success this group’s had with staging all-star charity tribute albums (Heirs of the Dog: A Tribute to Nazareth, Five Minutes To Live: A Tribute To Johnny Cash, and Mutants Of The Monster: A Tribute to Black Oak Arkansas) might cause casual listeners to forget that they’ve put six albums out over more than a dozen years’ time, all crammed with quality originals. They not only know their way around a riff, they can forge it into a song. And that’s exactly what they do on their latest outing, released last fall.

There could be no better album kickoff than “Voices,” a boogie riff that won’t stop, except when it does, allowing singer Joey Killingsworth to toss out “All by myself, always the same/Stare into the the lie, it’s always a game,” as one verse goes, perhaps making sure we know the “voices in my head” are nothing to worry about.

A spirit of rollicking, rocking fun permeates every minute of this album, even when the chords are laden with doom. And the plainspoken, everyman voice of Killingworth underscores the good times, placing the group squarely in the Mid-South with a refreshing lack of affectation that’s all too rare in this genre.

As for what kind of fun they’re celebrating, the band is quite up front about what makes for their good times, tagging themselves as “country rock,” “hard rock,” and “stoner rock.” And the lyrics pull no punches when it comes to calling out their favorite substances. “Summer of ’93” seems to make references to “windowpane,” and one can assume that someone took a heavy trip thirty odd years ago; the title track sings of being “snowblind in the House of the Rising Sun, on the lam and on the run,” suggesting the involvement of snow-like contraband; and “The Border” offers some sage advice to a galloping beat that recalls the early days of cow punk: “Don’t take weed across the border, or you might get patted down.” Quick on its heels comes “Nothing to Lose,” an ode to “a wake and bake morning, come on stop snoring, get your ass in here and get out of bed/Pack yourself a bong, come on sing along, follow ‘long to the words in my head.”

And yet there’s a more serious side to these voices in Killingsworth’s head: “Life falls apart in the blink of an eye,” he sings on “Life of the Party,” which alternates between a nervous, scratchy riff and a thunderous power-chord chorus. “Company Man” is a portrait of a man who “wants to go out on the town” with a sardonic twist that skewers anyone that “lives for the company” even as twin guitars in perfect Allman Brothers-like harmony kick in with an intoxicating hook. “Cities will crumble, burn to the ground” goes the opening line of “Bleed the Day” which combines a Black Sabbath mood with a Metallica-like crunch. And “Change the Channel” celebrates our ability to snap out of an apocalyptic rut, with Gerald Stephens’ John Lord-like organ wailing through the intro.

One thing that the many excellent records of 2022 prove, from the Subteens to the Drip Edges to HEELS, is that Memphis rocks, and this offering from Joecephus & the George Jonestown Massacre is Exhibit A. The pounding chords and solos of this album are irresistible, and sure to knock any case of blindness right out of you.

Joecephus & the George Jonestown Massacre open for The Supersuckers at the Hi Tone Cafe, Saturday, February 4, 8 p.m.

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Green Onions Redux: ¡Muy Caliente!

We don’t often review singles in these pages, but we’ll make an exception given that this is a remake of one of, if not the, premier song of Memphis for over half a century — by its chief composer, no less.

“Green Onions” is a masterpiece one never tires of hearing, and the man who wrote its key riff and progression has always been a good sport about taking it out for a spin when he’s in town. That would be Booker T. Jones, of course, though it’s actually credited to band mates Steve Cropper, Al Jackson, Jr., and Lewie Steinberg as well, in the egalitarian spirit of both Stax Records and the 1960s.

Last year, while appearing at the Stax Museum of American Soul Music, Jones treated the audience to a beautiful rendition of the tune, accompanied by three Stax Music Academy alumni, the Franklin Triplets (Sam Franklin IV, Christopher Franklin, and Jamaal Franklin). And while we often hear the tune performed in countless bombastic ways here in the Bluff City, this was clearly “Green Onions” done right: bare bones, tight, and funky. Furthermore, while speaking after the performance, Jones announced that he would soon have a new recording out to celebrate the song’s 60th Anniversary.

Jump forward to 2023, and that new track has indeed been released, though seemingly without fanfare. No press from Fantasy Records accompanied the drop, nor were there any reviews. And yet its appearance last November was perhaps one of the most significant events of 2022, in terms of its relevance to Memphis music history.

Jones himself noted the release on his Instagram page: “On this 60th Anniversary of the beloved song ‘Green Onions,’ it seems magical that my love for Latin music would be intertwined with my first musical hit. Listen to the new ‘Cebollas Verdes Cut’ out now!”

The single’s full title, “Green Onions (Cebollas Verdes Cut),” should tip off listeners that this is not your grandma’s “Green Onions,” for Jones, not one to rest on his laurels, has re-imagined the tune in a Latin boogaloo style.

And while this transforms the song’s feel considerably, the core riff and harmonies remain the same, making for a highly satisfying recasting of the song for the new century. With Melvin Brannon II on bass, Lenny Castro on percussion, Ty Dennis on drums, Jones himself on the Hammond B3, and his son, Ted, on guitar, the song retains some of the original’s glorious lack of clutter and overproduction, even as it propels itself forward on a new groove.

Careful listeners will immediately recognize that Jones has incorporated nearly all of his original solo into the new arrangement, and of course the instantly recognizable organ riff is preserved. From there, Jones takes the tune into new sonic territory, with classic Latin start-stop breakdowns and some innovative harmonies and soloing.

At the root of the tune is a bass line more in the vein of what some call the New Orleans “Spanish tinge.” One might almost mistake it for a remake of “Black Magic Woman” for a minute, until Jones enters with that inimitable solo. From there, Ted Jones brings a decidedly more progressive quality to the guitar solo, also echoing Santana.

If you don’t care for the sound of that, skip the radio-friendly A side and go straight to the deep cut, a much longer edit that plays more fully on the possibilities of mixing the boogaloo beat with the organ. Indeed, there is no guitar solo here, only the extended riffing and soloing of Jones, a master of the Hammond B3.

In all, this is a satisfying gem of a single, and, given the city’s influx of Latin American emigres since the original single dropped, a welcome update to fit current demographics. One can only hope that it becomes the standard of this century, carrying on that slinky, earthy groove well into the next.

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Richard Wilson: Folk Jazz for the Fireside

Though the Memphis Flyer often covers the venerable Royal Studios‘ musical ventures, that’s typically in the context of stone legends — the likes of Al Green, Ann Peebles, Hi Rhythm and the like. What’s less often mentioned is Royal’s availability to the working musician today. Hi Rhythm, Boo Mitchell, and microphone #9 are right there, waiting to be booked.

One such workaday musician who made sparks fly at Royal back in 2020 is Michael “Spaceman” Graber. This year’s noteworthy entry is Richard Wilson, who’s jazz-inflected tunes for voice and guitar have graced Memphis for many years now, often cut at Scott Bomar’s former Electraphonic Recording location. This time around, with Distant Train, he’s upped the ante considerably, in terms of his ensemble. For when recording at Royal, why not seize the opportunity to include Boo Mitchell and Rev. Charles Hodges in your band?

Throw in Justin Walker on drums and that’s exactly what we have here. And the end result is such a warm, unpretentious vibe that the album could well grace many a holiday get-together this year. For, while these are not holiday songs in the least, and the album was in fact released this summer, the overall mellow-yet-swinging mood befits the chilly season exceptionally well.

Wilson’s lightly swinging jazz rhythm guitar sets the pace for each tune, with Hodges’ trademark creamy Hammond B-3 chords voiced perfectly around it. Even before the drums and Mitchell’s occasional electric piano chime in, a graceful harmonic blend is happening, on top of which Wilson weaves his low key lyrics and melodies.

Wilson, who originally hailed from England before relocating to Memphis, hits a sweet spot in the British blue-eyed soul tradition that stretches from Georgie Fame to Kevin Rowland to Simple Minds’ Jim Kerr. The singer himself invokes Bobby Darin. Whatever the influences, Wilson’s delivering his songs quietly, but earnestly and tunefully.

One standout is the folk/blues/jazz call to arms, “Say What is Right Blues.” Intoning “ooooh” like a half-remembered fever dream of Howlin’ Wolf, Wilson laments the state of the world:

Ooh — I’m not crying
Ooh — I ain’t lying
On and on and on and on it goes
Ooh — these thoughts ain’t dying

You gotta stand up and say what is right
Theres no more time
To stay down

The groove is raw and deliberate; the interplay of rhythm, keyboards and guitar is subtle and atmospheric. Despite the stellar players, this is not a soloist’s album, but rather a songwriter’s album. In treading the jazzier side of that genre, it avoids many of the cliches of Americana-style singer/songwriters; instead, it brings a kind of approachable, soulful jazz into play. And, when the home fires are burning, that’s a very welcome sound indeed.

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Aaron James’ Debut Ponders the Love We Make

Album art by Shakeya Merriweather

The Unapologetic collective champions virtues that aren’t often associated with hip hop: vulnerability, fragility, and even self-doubt. Such qualities crop up in even their hardest jams, but they’re front and center, distilled into their essence, on the new long-playing debut from the group’s go-to guitarist, Aaron James.

At first, Nobody Really Makes Love Anymore hits the ears as a complete departure from Unapologetic’s typical fare. The first of three spoken vignettes gives way to snippets of backwards synth and falsetto, reminiscent of Magical Mystery Tour, until gentle guitar strums set the pace for James’ quiet vocals.

Dear love, above / Your moon don’t align with my rising sun / And I heard that’s not good for relations / You said, you’d send / A strand of your hair in a letter you penned / But instead, you sent just the pages.

With a hushed delivery reminiscent of Elliott Smith or Sufjan Stevens, these words and tones take the listener to a very interior place, where one goes to recall half-forgotten dreams. But while James’ voice has always delivered vulnerability with a confident strength, going back to his first single six years ago, the production here savors the space between his breaths as much as the music itself. Indeed, this album may be the most painterly music from the collective since the sparest moments from Cameron Bethany’s work. Though James can pick cascading guitar ostinatos like a folk pro, he sometimes chooses a sparser approach here, as acoustic guitar notes hang in the air and breathe.

Aaron James (Credit: Gabrielle-Duffie)

The 13-track album (including three conversational interludes) was recorded with a team of three producers and multi-instrumentalists, featuring James himself, co-producer Kid Maestro (Miss Lauryn Hill), and keyboard/piano/harmony vocalist Eillo. Together, they create a soundscape rich in acoustic beauty, yet undergirded with a deft sense of beats, synth flourishes, and even vocoder.

Kid Maestro, of course, is familiar to Unapologetic fans from his harder-hitting work with rappers, but he pivots here to more delicate percussion and a subtle sense of atmospherics. And Eillo is a secret weapon worth celebrating in his own right, bringing accomplished pianistic and vocal flourishes that decorate these songs like ear candy.

But if this album sports some of the most accomplished production in the Unapologetic catalog (and that’s saying something), there’s a rawness at the heart of it. That’s partly due to its emergence from the pandemic. The album is yet another Covid baby, produced in ad hoc studio settings, including a shed, as the trio soldiered through the height of quarantine while practicing responsible social distancing. As James notes in a statement, “It was a great exercise in capturing the DIY vibe of the time and just not taking things too seriously. I also hope the rawness translates and helps make this dialogue on love feel more honest as opposed to something that was way over produced.”

And truly, it’s the raw honesty that shines through here, as when James confesses in “The Breaker” that he wants to flip the script, and “treat you cold and jaded, with no explanation.” Ouch. It may be that nobody is making love, but James and company manifest it with a heartfelt question mark.

Aaron James will celebrate the album’s release tonight, Friday, November 11, 7:30 p.m., in a private house show at 579 N. McLean Boulevard. Free, but reservations are encouraged due to limited space.

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J.D. Reager Brings a New Vision to Light with Latest LP

Though this latest is his third album, J.D. Reager’s latest, Where Wasn’t I?, leaps from the turntable like a sizzling, fresh-off-the-grill debut. After all, it’s been ten year since his last solo release. Yet perhaps we ought to celebrate third albums more, assuming OK Computer, London Calling, Electric Ladyland, and Led Zeppelin III qualify as milestone works. Let’s say Where Wasn’t I? (Back to the Light) is Reager’s own bid to enter that esteemed company.

The larger point is that this really hangs together as an album, a unified body of songs and moods, despite springing from a variety of disparate recording sessions and venturing in multiple stylistic directions — much like Led Zeppelin III, in fact. When kickoff “Diane” explodes from the speakers, it sets a standard for what’s to come: perfectly raw-yet-crafted pop gems. And, as gems go, “Diane” is a stomper, a soaring power pop steamroller given wings with seraphic background voices.

(Credit: album art by Jason Pulley; layout and design by Graham Burks)

Speaking of voices, Reager is in better voice than ever, keeping his trademark vulnerability but now adding a more determined tenor to it. “There’s no reason to shy away!” he cries out in track two. While unique, Reager’s voice might arguably be compared to Bob Mould’s, in terms of feeling equally at home (and authentic) in a soaring post-punk power pop anthem or a screaming punk rager like “Stop Staring.”

But keep listening, and soon the fourth track will summon echoes of Rick Danko. “I need help from a friend,” Reager sings with a quaver, and it may bring a chill to many a listener. “Through all we recover/The dead friends and lovers/What we discovered/Was that it meant everything.”

Later, you’ll hear traces of Thunderclap Newman. But whatever the echoes, Reager’s uncanny ear for a rock arrangement ties the tracks together, backed by a host of A-list guest artists who always step in with the perfect part. Each pop gem fits together like clockwork.

Though Reager’s often been known to collaborate, he notes on his own Back to the Light podcast that the 2020 quarantine helped him take that to a new level. “I’ve always had a little home studio or project studio of some kind; previously, I would just invite folks over to the studio. But under quarantine, with everybody getting into home recording and file sharing, I caught the wave at exactly the right time, and everybody said yes.”

As Reager told Commercial Appeal’s Bob Mehr in August of last year, “There is a bit of a story to the record, about my recovery, and in a way, finding myself in the midst of all the madness in the world.

“The pandemic also created an availability for other people to work with me who normally wouldn’t have. I don’t know that nailing down people like Steve Selvidge [of the Hold Steady] or Dave Catching [of Eagles of Death Metal] would have been possible if everyone was as busy as they normally would be.” Beyond those players on the international stage, the LP hosts a legion of local luminaries, often grounded by the Midtown powerhouse, John Bonds, the drummer formally known as Bubba. Mark Edgar Stuart, John Whittemore, Paul Taylor, Jeff Hulett, Jeremy Stanfill, Jeremy Scott, and Graham Burks also make appearances.

Those players help bring a rock classicism to this project that gives the tracks a timeless feel. But while the guitars might channel a ’70s/’90s timewarp, and the synths the ’80s, this is most strikingly an album for now. Something in Reager’s frank delivery doesn’t let us forget that.

J.D. Reager (Credit: Jennifer Brown Reager)

That may be because the album grew out of a major time of struggle and growth for the artist. As he told Mehr last year, in 2019 “I finally got into therapy and quit drinking – now I’m over two years alcohol free. But then the pandemic hit and I lost my job. It came to where I didn’t have anything else to do but work on music and podcasts all day.”

Yet all backstory aside, coming to grips with his own personal demons seems to have pulled out some of the songwriter’s most emotional work. It shows in his delivery, but that’s taken up a notch by the delivery of another, one Ross Johnson, who makes two cameos on this LP. His trademark self-excoriating humor (is self-directed schadenfreude a thing?) proves to be a perfect foil for the slamming sounds of Reager’s band(s), especially on “Philanderer,” which hits like a pounding outtake from Fleetwood Mac’s Tusk (that’s a compliment). And Johnson touches a very personal nerve when ruminating on his father’s Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (“PTSD Story”), stemming from the World War II era — eerily reminiscent of what this author’s own father experienced.

As crazy-quilt as all this may seem, the best approach is just to listen. Listen to the well-crafted prose of Johnson the wordsmith, and the well-crafted power pop of Reager, and you’ll hear the album as a seamless whole, offering many flavors of regret, passion, and maybe even redemption.

“What does it mean to be a best friend?” Reager asks with childlike wonder in the album’s closer, “Wore Me Down.” But, as with most of the album, the raw nerves and sensibilities of youth are soon met with more adult concerns moments later in the song: “There are times when I can’t sleep next to you/And I thought about running ’round/But you wore me down.” From there, the song leaps along like a go-cart over the landfill: perfect power pop, complete with trash and shadows.

Songs from the new album and more can be heard at the Back to the Light Fall Turnout, Saturday, November 5 at 2 p.m., Wiseacre Brewing Company, featuring these bands:
2 pm – Loose Opinions
3 pm – Rosey
4 pm – J.D. Reager
5 pm – S p a c e r
6 pm – The Subteens

Categories
Music Record Reviews

SIVAD LIVES: Reissued ’60s Wax by Fantastic Features Host Hits for Halloween

When most Memphians of a certain age encountered Sivad for the first time, John Beifuss wrote in 2005, he was “formally dressed in his trademark Lon Chaney-in-London After Midnight ensemble of top hat, cape, medallion, long hair and loose fangs,” and, as the soundtrack from Destination Moon played, he “rode into view driving a horse-drawn hearse.

“Crouching and smiling ghoulishly, Sivad then pulled a coffin from the back of the carriage and lifted the lid. Smoke poured from the casket, followed by a clip from that night’s feature.”

History confirms that Sivad’s entrance for every Saturday’s episode of WHBQ’s Fantastic Features made quite a mark on impressionable minds gathered around televisions in the ’60s and early ’70s. As Beifuss writes, “this introduction was scarier for most children than the movies that followed.”

Indeed, he so captivated the Mid-South viewing audience with his introductions to Fantastic Features‘ grab bag of science fiction and horror B-movies that he was soon a local celebrity in his own right. It was quite a coup for one Watson Davis (get it?), “a former advertising director for Malco who was much honored by his peers for his clever movie promotions,” Beifuss wrote. By 1963, an appearance by Davis/Sivad at the Mid-South Fairgrounds would attract 30,000 people. Thousands more would flock to other, smaller events featuring him.

And part of that experience was buying Sivad’s own locally produced, wacky singles. Now, Black & Wyatt Records has reissued Sivad’s 1963 release on the local Tom Tom label, “Sivad Buries Rock & Roll” b/w “Dicky Drackeller.” It’s a welcome development for lovers of all things spooky and camp, as the original singles have become rather sought after. Collector and author Ron Hall writes in the liner notes that he has “sold a ton of them” over the years.

What of the music? Surprisingly, for a novelty record, the backing track hits pretty hard. This has everything to do with it being recorded at the famed John Pepper Studio, where most local advertising jingles were produced, using some of the ace Memphis players that worked sessions at the time. They lay down a groovy little horn-driven vamp over which Sivad can intone his ghoulish desires.

Weirdly, he’s here to destroy what all the kids loved. “We’ve come to bury rock and roll and leave it here to stay…Dig me a deep dark hole in the ground,” to which an oblivious teen voice replies, “Look Pop, I’m diggin’!” And the groovy Memphis beat chugs on.

The flipside of this graveyard romp is an equally curmudgeonly tale of woe about Sivad’s arch-rival, a teen pop star named — you guessed it — “Dicky Drackeller.” Let’s just say Dicky the heartthrob gets the upper hand in Sivad’s dastardly plot, and we hear the track cut repeatedly to Dicky’s smash hit, driving our favorite vampire bonkers. It’s a prime slice of sound collage comedy, predating “Mr. Jaws” and other such ’70s hits by more than a decade.

But the real comedy gold is Sivad himself. True, as Beifuss writes, there was a healthy dollop of Lon Chaney in the persona Davis created, but the master stroke was blending that with his own Mid-South accent and delivery.

“To whom it may concern: There is no escape! My enemy has caught up with me!” Delivered with Davis’ hard country R’s, the dire news makes you want to laugh before the story’s even begun. And so the tale rocks on from there, but we won’t offer any spoilers. Best to drop some coin for this fine red-vinyl edition, with its extensive liner notes and cover illustration by longtime Sivad booster Mike McCarthy. It’s obviously put together with much affection for the caped host that struck fear into the hearts of the greater Tri-State area, riding on a Memphis groove.

The single’s release will be celebrated at Black & Wyatt Records’ Halloween Rock and Roll Dance Party, Saturday, October 22, 6 p.m., at Bar DKDC, featuring live music from Tyler Keith & the Apostles, Andy V, and Senpapi Red Moon.