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Music Record Reviews

God Save the Clientele-The Clientele

“All the dreams you dream, I hope they’re all of me,” Alasdair Maclean sings sweetly on “Here Comes the Phantom,” the opening track on the Clientele’s third album, God Save the Clientele. This line kicks off a musical and lyrical obsession with dream life that runs throughout this sleepily sophisticated record. The word itself shows up in several track titles, and most songs mention it either explicitly (“it’s autumn in my dreams”) or implicitly (the would-be lothario’s dreams of sexual conquest in “Bookstore Casanova”). Tying the album together thematically, this noticeable repetition evokes an interior world where the typical romantic emotions — longing, fulfillment, happiness, dread, sorrow — can be intense and overwhelming, unmolested by everyday concerns, even if the band slyly underplays them in the songs.

Similarly, the Clientele’s music dreams of a pop era long past. Drawing on such influences as Nick Drake, the Beatles, the Brill Building, and even the Monkees, the 14 songs on God Save are drenched in ’60s stylings, from the melodramatic strings on the closing “Dreams of Leaving” to the swinging guitar strums on “Bookstore Casanova” to the rolling piano line of the instrumental “Dance of the Hours.” The lovely “Isn’t Life Strange” is full of echoing backing vocals that reinforce the bittersweet melody, and on “I Hope I Know You,” Maclean breaks into a crescendo of la-da-da-da’s that sound off-the-cuff until he repeats them almost exactly a few measures later. That passage, like every other singsongy interlude, is just as practiced as any other melody on the album: For the Clientele, a few la-la-la’s and ba-ba-ba’s carry as much meaning as an entire lyric sheet.

To its credit, the band isn’t concerned with reviving any ’60s ideas, which is fortunate considering there are scores of likeminded indie artists aiming to do just that. Instead, this warmly dated aesthetic proves to be the most effective and effusive means of expressing Maclean’s particular heartache, and God Save the Clientele gives the Clientele a comfy pillow and a rainy day for drifting off to dream. — Stephen Deusner

Grade: A-

The Clientele plays the Hi-Tone Café Monday, May 14th, with Beach House and The Third Man. Doors open at 9 p.m. Cover is $8.

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Music Record Reviews

Watermelon Slim: The breakout star of the blues.

Does anyone in modern pop music have a more intriguing biography than Bill “Watermelon Slim” Homans? Homans, the privileged son of a liberal attorney and Freedom Rider, went to a liberal arts college (Middlebury) and eventually earned degrees from the University of Oregon (undergrad) and University of Oklahoma (grad). On the other hand, Homans ditched school and fought in Vietnam and has spent much of the past 30 years working blue-collar jobs such as truck driver, sawmill worker, and watermelon farmer (thus his performing moniker), only recently becoming a full-time musician.

The musician thing has worked out. Watermelon Slim became a blues-circuit regular only a few years ago, but this week he’s leading the nominations at the Blues Music Awards, which will be held Thursday, May 10th, at the Cook Convention Center. Slim’s six nominations put him on a level previously reserved for artists such as B.B. King and Robert Cray and come only two years after being a “Best New Artist Debut” nominee.

If The Wheel Man, the new album from Slim and his pointedly named backing band The Workers, is any indication, look for something like a repeat performance at next year’s BMAs, because in an increasingly niche-oriented genre, this robust, rousing record demands a bigger audience. Like Jimmie Rodgers, another working-class hero, Slim is a blues-loving white guy who blends country into his sound. The generally stomping electric blues on The Wheel Man is almost totally devoid of blues-bar-band clichés, with echoes of field hollers and jump blues thrown into the mix. And Slim proves to be a sharp songwriter: “Drinking & Driving” (“You better pull over baby instead of drinking and driving me away”) is one of those songs you can’t believe hasn’t already been written.

Content-wise, the album mirrors the diversity of experience of the man himself. “Newspaper Reporter,” about one of Slim’s past career paths, acknowledges his white-collar credentials, while the title track and “Sawmill Holler” speak to the blue-collar experience that has seemingly shaped him more. — Chris Herrington

Grade: A-

Watermelon Slim plays the Ground Zero Blues Club in Clarksdale, Mississippi, Saturday, May 12th.

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Music Music Features

Heavy Things

At first listen, Anchors & Anvils, Amy LaVere’s second release for Memphis’ Archer Records, doesn’t sound like a radical departure from This World Is Not My Home, a strong solo debut that was never quite as interesting as it could have been. But it’s a big step up for the throaty-voiced singer and bassist. Backed by a dream team of A-list musicians such as Bob Furgo (Leonard Cohen’s violin player), Chris Scruggs (BR5-49), Jimbo Mathus, Jason Freeman, Paul Taylor, and Eric Lewis, LaVere has never sounded better.

“I’d like to say there’s been a lot of growth since I recorded the last CD,” says LaVere, who appeared as Wanda Jackson in the Johnny Cash biopic Walk the Line and as Christina Ricci’s hard-partying friend in Craig Brewer’s controversial Black Snake Moan. Perched atop a barstool at coffee-shop Quetzal, down the street from Sun Studio, where LaVere works as a tour guide, the tiny country chanteuse known for slapping the hell out of an upright bass that appears to be twice her size looks right at home. From that vantage she discusses her recent life, the joys of working with producer Jim Dickinson, and the true love she’s found in the deep grooves of classic soul music.

“A lot has happened,” she says. “I moved. I went through another long-term relationship, and I lost it. And regained it again. I’ve played a ton of shows since the last record, and my material’s gone in a completely different direction.”

“Killing Him,” an original murder ballad about love gone wrong, opens Anchors & Anvils, establishing the record’s sweet but undeniably spooky tone. It plays out like the long-awaited female answer to classic songs about obsessive love like the brutal standard “The Knoxville Girl” or the eerie Stanley Brothers cut “Little Glass of Wine.” “Killing Him” marries these ancient themes of murder in the mountains with a steady soul groove and the detached, almost jazzy vocals of “Coyote”-era Joni Mitchell.

“I got the idea for ‘Killing Him’ from Misty White,” LaVere says, tipping her hat to the drummer for the local all-girl band the Zippin Pippins. “She called me one morning to tell me about something she’d seen on the news. There was this woman who had killed her husband, and when somebody asked her how she felt about everything, she said, ‘Killing him didn’t make the love go away.’ She thought it would be a great line for a song. And so did I.

“Jim [Dickinson] told me that my themes and my style on this one are very Victorian,” LaVere says. “He said that I was really showing my dark side.”

If Anchors & Anvils is a step up for LaVere, it’s also a classic example of Dickinson doing what he does best. Anchors & Anvils marries the smooth Nashville pop of Patsy Cline with the hip-shaking funk of Muscle Shoals, Alabama, circa 1971 in the same way Dickinson’s 2006 solo release, Jungle Jim and the Voodoo Tiger, found the happy place where the honky-tonk sounds of Bakersfield, California, get down and dirty with Louis Armstrong’s Hot Fives.

“Jim gave me a great quote for my CD,” LaVere says. “You take the artist to the edge of the cliff, push them off, and hope they have the wings to fly.” She says he gave her free rein to experiment and the confidence to make bold choices.

LaVere grew up in a tiny town outside of Detroit that was, as she describes it, all about “Metallica and monster trucks.” Her mother played guitar, her dad was a drummer, and LaVere started playing in Motor City rock bands at about the time most kids are learning to add fractions. In Memphis, she made her reputation as a rockabilly sweetheart playing alongside her ex-husband Gabe Kudela in the Gabe & Amy Show.

But before moving to the Bluff City LaVere spent some time in Nashville. That’s where she married Kudela, in a chapel at the corner of Chet Atkins Place and Music Row. No matter how hard she may try to expand her sound or reconnect with her inner rocker, the country ache is always present. It is especially present in songs such as “Time Is a Train,” “Pointless Drinking,” and the sweet slow dance of “Tennessee Valentine.”

“There was nothing intentional about getting rid of the rockabilly,” LaVere says of her current sound, all the while expressing some worry that people see a small woman beating a big bass and think it’s nothing more than a sight gag. Besides, she never gave up rockabilly. She just changed things around a little.

LaVere says she’s too busy preparing for her seven-week tour in support of Anchors & Anvils to think about making any more movies, though that is something she intends to pursue.

“I have delusions of grandeur,” she says.

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B-side Players

This isn’t another story about Isaac Hayes. Or Sam & Dave, Otis Redding, and Booker T. & the MGs. While their voices and faces sold millions of Stax records during the company’s heyday, dozens of lesser-known musicians contributed their talents to the little label that did. Stax drew from Memphis’ deep reservoirs of talent — from its beginning in a garage on Orchi Road in the late 1950s to its bitter forced bankruptcy in 1975 — for its featured artists and for its supporting cast. Most of the studio musicians Stax employed for recording sessions lived in the city, and many have stayed. Memphis must have more residents who’ve played on Top 10 records than any city outside New York, L.A., and Nashville.

In honor of Stax’s 50th anniversary, we’ve dug up a few hidden treasures. The recognition these artists have received falls well short of the significance of their contributions to the Memphis sound. They have witnessed and participated in pivotal moments in Stax history and now share their stories.

In the beginning … a fan club and a pompadour

Charles Heinz goes back to the garage-studio beginnings of what was then Satellite Records. He recorded four sides for the label that would be Stax — including the local hit “Destiny” — in 1959, a time in the label’s evolution that predates its foray into rhythm and blues (the soul genre as such didn’t yet exist, either) and is, subsequently, overlooked in Stax history. It’s hard to find any mention of Heinz, a lifelong Memphian, beyond the wall of records in the Stax Museum, and his tracks were not included in the “complete” Stax singles box set released in 1991 or the Stax 50th-anniversary double disc released this year.

The artists whose records Satellite released before Heinz are dead or unaccounted for.

Justin Fox Burks

Heinz had a fan club and a pompadour back then. He sang in nightclubs with the Bill Black Combo and other bands. After his brief stint as a local pop star, he devoted his career to church music. He retired as music director of Central Church and helped found Redeemer Evangelical, where he conducts the choir and orchestra today. Here is his story in his own words:

“My influences were Mahalia Jackson and Mario Lanza. He was a tenor for the Metropolitan Opera. I would study things that they’d sing at the Metropolitan and then go out and sing rock on the weekends. It was an interesting combination. The soul that Mahalia Jackson put into songs connected with the instruction of how to sing correctly. It’s like a baseball player. Fundamentally, he’s got to know how to hit, but he’ll use his own style.

“I went to White Station and was singing with a group there that included Jim Dickinson on piano. I was introduced to the people at Stax, Satellite at that time, and they wanted me to record. In about ’59, Jim Stewart was looking for artists. Chips Moman and I wrote ‘Destiny.’ It was on the charts here in Memphis for about 10 weeks.

“We recorded at Pepper [also known as Pepper Tanner studio, formerly located at 2076 Union Avenue]. Stewart rented that studio to record, and they later did some overdubbing on McLemore. Bill Black played bass — I really enjoyed him.

“At that time, Satellite was not going in a rhythm-and-blues direction. With Carla and Rufus [Thomas] coming on, that changed things quickly. [Satellite] was going in a pop direction, but when they bought the studio on McLemore, it brought a lot of African-American people in [from the surrounding neighborhood], and they went in a rhythm-and-blues direction.”

The other Jerry Lee

Justin Fox Burks

Jerry Lee ‘Smoochy’ Smith

Ask fans of early rock-and-roll to name their favorite piano-thumping Jerry Lee, and they’re guaranteed to say Lewis. But another ivory-tickler named Jerry Lee from Memphis has made his own mark on American music: Jerry Lee “Smoochy” Smith. Like his better-known namesake, Smith began his music career in the studios of Sun Records, where Smith played on recording sessions from 1957 to 1959. Smith wrote a riff that launched Satellite’s first million-seller and helped the company make a name for itself. Literally.

“I was playing in a band, and my guitar player was Chips Moman. Chips was the engineer at Satellite. We were playing one night at the Hi-Hat Club. In one of the songs, I throwed in a little groovy piano sound. Chips, having the ear for music he has, turned around and said, ‘Where did you get that?’ I said, ‘I made it up. It’s a rhythm-and-blues-type riff.’ He said, ‘Come on by the studio, and let’s put that down.’

“Chips called me one night and said, ‘I’ve got a group over here [at the McLemore Avenue studio], and we’re working on that riff you put out.’ He had added the horns in there. They were blowing two notes against my rhythm pattern. I said that sounds pretty good. I forgot about the song for a while. It stayed on the shelf maybe six months.

“Meanwhile, Jim Stewart had gotten in touch with Jerry Wexler of Atlantic Records. Wexler came down to listen to some of the songs that had been recorded to see if he liked any of them. Chips played every song that they did. Wexler told him he didn’t hear anything that knocked him out. He was fixin’ to leave, and Chips said, ‘I’ve got one more song. This is an instrumental.’ He played it, and Mr. Wexler said, ‘Now that’s what I’m looking for. Only thing, I’d like for you to put a saxophone ride in it.’

“Chips called a session, and we went and recorded it. He added two horns, Gilbert Caple and Floyd Newman. Gilbert played the saxophone ride. Floyd, he’s the one that said, ‘Awww, last night.’ He came up with that.

“I wasn’t but 21 years old when we recorded that. It took us four weeks to get it where we wanted it to be. I played organ and piano on it. I didn’t have much faith in the song. It started climbing the charts. We went on the road, and finally it hit #1. It turned out to be a great song. We recorded it in 1961, and I’m still drawing royalties on it.

Justin Fox Burks

Howard Grimes

“The song has been put in movies, and a lot of different people have recorded it. One year, the NBA used it as their theme song. Every now and then something happens with that song, and I’m making more money off of that song than I did when it first came out. It has kept me going over the years.”

Smith’s song, “Last Night,” recorded by the Mar-Keys, was the first million-seller for Satellite Records. It came to the attention of a California record company, also named Satellite Records. The California Satellite offered Jim Stewart the name outright for a hefty fee. Rather than pay or risk legal action from the California company, Stewart opted to rename his company. By combining the first two letters of Stewart’s last name with the first two letters of his sister Estelle Axton’s married name (she had bought into the company a couple of years earlier), a new brand was born: Stax.

“That was my shot, and I missed it.”

The lazy, laid-back beat that drove Al Green to the top of the charts in the late 1960s and early ’70s is one of the distinctive elements of the Memphis sound. Hi Records producer Willie Mitchell cultivated that groove at his Royal studio located one mile from Stax’s McLemore Avenue site. A different drummer, though, would have turned out different tunes. Name a hit from the Hi Records heyday and chances are Howard Grimes played drums on it. Though he made his mark at Hi, he got his start at Stax as a child prodigy.

Grimes lives a block away from the Stax Museum, yet, he says, he’s never been asked to participate in events there. “They don’t acknowledge me,” he says. “I don’t let it bother me, though I used to.

“I was self-taught on the drums. My mother had them big old 78 records of Big Joe Turner and Ray Charles. I’d play on the pots and pans. My granddaddy used to listen to the Grand Ole Opry. I’d sit and listen to it with him.

“I could hear the drums from the school over there on Smith Street where I lived in North Memphis. I came to Manassas in ninth grade. That’s when I took an interest in band — Mr. Able was the band teacher there. Mr. Able and them were into jazz, listening to Max Roach, Art Blakey, and these drummers. They started tuning me in.

Justin Fox Burks

Charles Heinz

“Mr. Able singled me out as a drummer that he felt would be successful. He used to let me out of school — I got an opportunity to record up there at Satellite. Rufus Thomas decided to cut a record one day, and it was suggested that I play on it. I was excited ’cause I had never recorded before and didn’t know whether I could do it. I was 12.

“I went up there and met Ms. Axton and Mr. Stewart. Chips Moman was the engineer. He was the most kindhearted man I’d ever met. He believed in me for some reason. It was Bob Talley’s band: Alfred Rudd, Wilbur Steinburg, Talley — he was a piano player but played trumpet on that session — Booker T. Jones, long before he became the MGs … Me and Booker were the youngest ones up there. The record was called ‘Cause I Love You.’ [Released in 1960 between Charles Heinz’ only two singles.]

“After that, they brought me back, and I cut Carla Thomas’ ‘Gee Whiz.’ [Released in late 1960, it was Satellite’s first national hit.] Something went wrong with the machine, so we did the session at Hi [Willie Mitchell’s studio at 1320 Lauderdale]. Marvell Thomas played piano, I played drums, and they had the Memphis Symphony, Noel Gilbert and his two kids. Sam Jones and the Veltones were the back-up singers.

“They called me back for William Bell. I also cut with Wendy Rene, Prince Conley. And I did a lot of instrumentals with the Mar-Keys. I never got any royalties. I got statements but never any money.

“A lot of [rumors] have come out over the years. Someone said that Al Jackson [Jr.] tutored me. Al Jackson never tutored me — I was before Al Jackson.

“[Stax] gave Booker T. an opportunity to record one day. I don’t know where I was, usually I was at home, but that day I left home. When I got back, my mother told me [Stax] had called. I was the staff drummer, but I called them back, and they said they had got someone else. I found out it was Al Jackson. Steve Cropper had recommended him. He called [Jackson] in that day for ‘Green Onions,’ and the rest is history. That was my shot, and I missed it.”

The man who kicked Isaac Hayes out ofthe high school band

High school bandleaders have had an influence on Memphis music that is huge and overlooked. To name just two, the great jazz orchestra leader Jimmie Lunceford taught at Manassas in the 1920s, and Harry Winfield tutored future Stax luminaries at Porter Junior High.

Emerson Able started teaching music at Manassas in 1956 and instructed many, including Grimes, who became prominent musicians. The most famous of his former pupils is the one who got away.

While a student at Manassas, Isaac Hayes couldn’t decide between Able’s band class or voice class. “I told him, ‘Go on,'” recalls Able. Hayes didn’t hold it against Able and later hired his old teacher to join the Isaac Hayes Movement. “Hayes introduced me on stage as the man who kicked him out of the school band,” Able says.

“I was not one of the musicians that hung around Stax. I had a job. They had been doing a lot of ‘head’ tunes at Stax [i.e., a song played from memory or verbal instruction rather than sheet music], and that can be very time consuming. A head tune is like ‘Last Night,’ a simple tune that they can pick up on. Basically, that was the Stax sound.

“Musicians didn’t always get credit for what they had recorded at Stax. They were doing what they called demos. You’d go down, record a demo, and they’d pay you 12 bucks. They have you to believe that it was only a demo, and they’d have you back to cut it [i.e., record for the purpose of releasing the material rather than practicing on a demo]. Then they’d [release] it and have you believe you’re not on there. Some of us could identify our errors, and we knew it was us.

“Another game they’d run, they’d make a demo, then play it on WLOK for a while. If [African Americans] in Memphis like a record, we’ll like it anywhere. So they’d test it on black listeners here, and if it got a lot of requests, they’d make a record out of it.

“Onzie Horne [Hayes’ arranger] brought me into Hayes’ band. That’s when we hit the road. We had charts, he had accomplished musicians, and we never would have gotten through all of that shit had it been a ‘head’ thing.

“We lost the music [traveling] between San Francisco and Los Angeles for Wattstax. We didn’t know it was missing until it got there. We assumed the airlines lost it. We had to write the music from memory before Wattstax.

“The other thing that happened, the tune we originally did for Wattstax was a Burt Bacharach tune [probably “Walk On By”]. After we recorded it at the Coliseum in L.A. and got back to Memphis, we had to go back out there. Bacharach would not give permission to use the tune [in the Wattstax film]. They fixed up the Coliseum, and we shot again.

“We’re supposed to be getting monies off of that, but we ain’t getting shit.”

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Relaunch

Fifty years ago, white Memphis fiddle player Jim Stewart started a music label, called Satellite, releasing a few pop, rockabilly, and country singles. A few years later, that label, rechristened Stax, would emerge as the Southern giant of soul music, rivaling its Detroit counterpart Motown as the country’s most important purveyor of “black” pop music (not such a simple distinction at Stax).

This year, three organizations — Soulsville (which operates the Stax Museum of American Soul Music and the Stax Music Academy on the original label site at the corner of College and McLemore in South Memphis), the Memphis Convention and Visitors Bureau (MCVB), and Concord Music Group — have joined forces to celebrate the 50th anniversary of Stax with a yearlong campaign that will involve a massive slate of classic Stax reissues, a publicity campaign, a new documentary about the label, a series of revue-style concerts (including June 22nd at the Orpheum), and, most daringly, a relaunch of Stax as an active record label.

According to Deanie Parker — a former Stax publicist, songwriter, and artist who would go on to head up the Soulsville organization and is spending her final year on the organization’s board overseeing the “Stax 50” celebration — the genesis of this celebration came a few years ago, right after the museum opened in 2003 and Soulsville board members were looking toward the future: “While we were concentrating on the stabilization of Soulsville — the academy and the museum — we were also thinking, What is the next thing that warrants our time and attention? And one of the things the board had put on its agenda was Stax 50.”

Under Parker’s direction, Soulsville partnered with the MCVB, which had overseen the city’s “50 Years of Rock and Roll” celebration in 2004. But what could have been — like the “50 Years of Rock and Roll” campaign — a primarily Memphis-generated P.R. initiative became something more tangible when the California-based Concord Music Group came into the mix.

Concord purchased Fantasy, which had acquired the bulk of the Stax catalog (that not distributed by Atlantic records during the early years of the Memphis label’s history) and the Stax name after the soul label’s messy mid-’70s dissolution, in 2004, with plans to re-energize the Stax brand.

“In the purchase of Fantasy, everyone thought that Stax was a very important part of the package,” says Robert Smith, senior vice president of strategic marketing for Concord. “Those Stax records, obviously, never went away, but it was certainly looked at as a property where the catalog could be further revitalized and the label could be relaunched. It’s one of those very few actual brands in music. So the plan was never just to do more reissues and raise awareness about the legacy but also to move forward and relaunch it as an active soul-music label.”

Smith says that the 50th anniversary of the label was a definite factor in Concord’s initial planning, making a partnership with Soulsville and the MCVB a mutually beneficial relationship.

“We found within the Concord family, I think, an appreciation for and a sincerity about the Stax catalog,” Parker says. “And one of things that I like about Concord is that they do have marketing and promotional savvy. They’ve got that. They’ve got the capacity and creativity to recognize promotional opportunities, seize them, and take them to the next level. And [we’ve] not had that opportunity with the previous owner of the Stax catalog.”

Parker praises Fantasy as a respectful guardian of the Stax catalog, but says that now “the need is different.”

Concord’s revitalization of Stax began earlier this year with what promises to be a massive reissue campaign. The first foray came in February with Johnnie Taylor: Live at the Summit Club, a concert album from the Stax singer (best known for his 1968 hit “Who’s Making Love”) recorded in Los Angeles during the filming of the famous 1972 WattStax concert. Concord followed in March with the two-disc Stax 50th Anniversary Celebration, the first self-contained collection to span the gamut of Stax’s history, and a bonus-track-laden reissue of Carla Thomas’ 1967 studio album The Queen Alone.

The reissues will continue with a series of “very best of” collections from multiple Stax artists, expanded reissues of Isaac Hayes’ studio albums, multi-disc sets dedicated to the Staple Singers and the 1967 Stax/Volt Revue European tour, and other releases.

A Stax documentary — Respect Yourself: The Stax Records Story — produced and directed by Memphian Robert Gordon and Los Angeles filmmaker Morgan Neville will be released on DVD by Concord in August, following a broadcast as part of PBS’ Great Performances series.

Many of these releases require cooperation between Concord and Rhino, which holds the rights to the portion of the Stax catalog retained by Atlantic after that label’s distribution deal with Stax ended in 1968.

“Traditionally, over the years, there has been a great deal of cross-licensing between Atlantic, now Rhino, and Stax, so that’s just continued,” says Smith. “If you go through your Stax Justin Fox Burks

collections, there is a great deal of intermingling. Stax 50th is clearly a major piece of collaboration. Twenty-one [songs] from Atlantic and 29, I think, from our Stax catalog.”

The Stax 50th compilation was produced and compiled by noted Stax scholar Rob Bowman and Cheryl Pawelski, a Concord executive who left the company in January to take the job of vice president of A&R at Rhino, a move that Parker hopes will help bring the two sides of the Stax legacy even more in line.

“Without a total understanding of how all of that fits together, and realizing that whatever they’ve structured today is going to change tomorrow, because the industry is in flux, I will say this with total confidence: That woman loves the Stax product and the soul music that comes out of Memphis,” Parker says. “So we have an ally. We have somebody there who understands and appreciates it enough that when she has to go to a meeting where there are 20- and 30-year-olds making a decision and who can only relate to rap and hip-hop, she’ll bring some balance to the table. Makes a difference.”

But as exciting as the current (and future) reissue campaigns might be to fans of Stax’s classic sound, Smith emphasizes that that’s only a part of what Concord has planned for Stax.

“The real purpose is to combine the heritage and legacy of Stax with the relaunch of the label and the signing of new artists and releasing of new records,” Smith says. “If you’re only dealing with it from a catalog standpoint, then you’re really missing what is truly behind this, which is that soul music is truly an important part of American musical culture.”

This relaunch of Stax as an active label began modestly with the March release of Interpretations: Celebrating the Music of Earth, Wind & Fire, a tribute album to the ’70s Chicago funk/R&B band — founded by Memphian Maurice White — in which contemporary soul artists cover the band’s songs.

This relaunch kicks into a higher gear in August with a new release by highly regarded neo-soul singer Angie Stone, followed by albums from Lalah Hathaway (daughter of soul star Donnie Hathaway), N’Dambi, and Soullive. But the highest-profile release on the new Stax will likely come from a name inseparable from the old Stax: Isaac Hayes, whose first album of new material under the Stax name in 20 years is set for release later this year.

John Burk, Concord’s executive vice president of A&R, acknowledges that it was important for Concord to launch this new Stax with a connection to the label’s legacy, but Smith says the signing of Hayes goes far beyond mere symbolism.

“Isaac Hayes is still a really vital artist and still a really important one, and we’re very fortunate to have him recording for Stax,” Smith says. “It wasn’t done for another reason. He’s just a great artist and one who does stand for what Stax is about, so of course it’s important from that standpoint. But Isaac Hayes is not recording here because he was on Stax. He’s recording here because he’s Isaac Hayes.”

Concord hopes to expand interest in a classic artist with the Hayes release, something the label, which released the hugely successful 2004 Ray Charles album Genius Loves Company, has some experience in.

“There are a lot of reasons it would be satisfying,” Smith says. “Isaac Hayes is one of those cornerstones of great American music. He hasn’t gone away. He’s so well-recognized and by young people, which doesn’t mean they own a lot of old Isaac Hayes records.”

And there’s a chance other veteran Stax artists could follow Hayes back onto the Stax roster. Booker T. Jones has acknowledged discussions with Concord, and Burk says, perhaps teasingly, “a lot of those original Stax artists are still around and still have things to say.”

But however much original Stax artists may get involved in the relaunch, the core of the new Stax is likely to be just that: new.

“There are great singers who, in a modern way, fit what that Stax tradition has always meant,” Smith says. “I think it’s exemplified by Angie Stone or Lalah Hathaway. Of course, if we didn’t have Stax we’d still want to have Angie Stone on our label, making a great record. She really epitomizes what Stax is about.”

But this relaunch may be bittersweet for a lot of Memphians. After all, Stax isn’t just a name but the product of a specific time and place, a specific set of unrepeatable historical circumstances. Burk cites the way Motown has remained a viable label over the years. But even though records have continued to be released with the “Motown” imprint, that hasn’t made those records Motown. Similarly, can the new “Stax” be Stax, especially based in Beverly Hills rather than South Memphis?

“I’m not critical of that,” Deanie Parker says of the relaunch. “But I have thought about it. I take comfort in my belief that Concord is not going to put anything on that Stax label that would destroy or belittle the integrity of that brand. I am all for Stax making a quantum leap into the 21st century and providing an opportunity for today’s artists to express themselves if they have a love, understanding, and appreciation for what we did.”

“It can’t be repeated,” Burk says of the creative formula that forged Stax, “but it can be a model for an artists’ community, which is what we’d like it to be. But that’s not geographic anymore. The world has changed.”

“People buy music because its great music,” Smith says. “I think the new releases will speak for themselves. They’re certainly of great quality. Very few things stay the same or stay in one place. What Stax was at its very beginning is different from what it was in its later years. Art, the commerce of art even, evolves. Tastes change. And social and cultural influences change music. What Stax started as and what it was by 1975 were very different things, because it’s a living tradition. One wouldn’t expect anybody to make music that tried to sound like it. So, I think the question is, what did Stax stand for, and how would it have evolved going forward? I think that the kind of artists we’re signing and the respect we’re paying that label and what it stands for will be really self-evident in the records we’re putting out.”

“The kind of place that Stax Records created is not one that can be duplicated,” Parker acknowledges. “But we could emulate it, and I’d like to see that happen in Memphis.”

If you believed everything you read in Memphis last fall, you would have been under the impression that it would, indeed, be happening in Memphis, with Millington-bred pop star Justin Timberlake overseeing Concord’s Stax relaunch from here in the heart of Soulsville. But that didn’t happen and isn’t likely to.

“There are so many things that are reported, and there are so many conversations that happen that go somewhere or don’t go somewhere, and I’m not in any official capacity to be able to talk about it,” Smith says of the Timberlake rumors.

Another source close to the situation acknowledges that there were discussions between Concord and Timberlake, though the two sides never got close to an agreement about the extent of his involvement with the label. But the two sides have maintained a good relationship, and it isn’t out of the question that Timberlake could get involved in the new Stax in some capacity.

Even though the new Stax won’t be based out of Memphis, Concord executives stress that an active relationship with the city is a priority.

“We’d like to have a presence in town,” Burk says, suggesting that could come in the form of a satellite office in Memphis or the signing of contemporary Memphis artists to the new Stax, if the right situation emerged.

“We feel that we’re attached at the hip,” Smith says. “And that’s where the pleasure of working with people in Memphis, especially Deanie Parker and [original Stax] artists, is very satisfying.”

As for Parker, her hopes for the bundle of activity surround this 50th anniversary celebration are many, from financial and publicity benefits for Soulsville and its mission to tangible benefits for original Stax artists to raising the profile of Stax as a model for what’s possible in Memphis.

“Stax served its community,” Parker says. “Too much of [music today] exploits the community. This focus [on Stax] distinctly defines what music can do: economically, morally, socially, culturally. It has the capacity to do that.”

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Music Record Reviews

Grinderman, Grinderman (Mute)

After the Bad Seeds’ sophisticated 2004 double opus Abbatoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus, Nick Cave formed Grinderman as a means to regress. On their eponymous debut, the quartet favor an abrasive sound reminiscent of the Birthday Party, albeit without the unwieldy goth concerns, and create some truly weird sounds from a fairly traditional guitar-bass-drums line-up. “No Pussy Blues” and “Depth Charge Ethel” turn sexual frustration into a comical condition, while “Go Tell the Women” and “When My Love Comes Down” provide a perfect setting for Cave’s over-the-top imagery (example: “Your tongue is like a Kalashnikov”). Grinderman celebrates the vulgar and the puerile as rarified pursuits, or, as Cave sings on the opener, “I’ve got some words of wisdom: Get it on!” (“No Pussy Blues,” “(I Don’t Need You To) Set Me Free”)

Grade: A-

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Music Record Reviews

Because of the Times, Kings of Leon (RCA)

The Kings of Leon’s last album, Aha Shake Heartbreak, was an infuriating mess that was also, inexplicably, a hit with critics. While anybody with ears could hear the power behind this band, which consists of three brothers and a cousin, Aha Shake Heartbreak felt formless and tossed off. The Kings couldn’t even rouse themselves to find decent hooks for half the songs. The lyrics were especially nonsensical, even by the low standards of a rock record. Maybe reviewers were just in love with the band’s bio, which reveled in the fact that the brothers were primitive Southern boys, raised by an evangelical father who barnstormed the South to save souls. It wouldn’t be the first time ears were fooled by hype.  

But something happened on my way to forgetting about Aha Shake Heartbreak: A few of the songs lingered, finding their way back to a mind that had relegated them gone. My opinion of the album held, but maybe there was more to it than I first suspected.   

Now the Kings of Leon arrive with Because of the Times, and there is no waiting around for the impact because it is immediate. This is a great record. It’s old-fashioned in the sense that the guitar and Caleb Followill’s distinctive, drawl-heavy voice are the twin instruments that power an album that finds hooks under seat cushions and everywhere else it looks.

Because of the Times also does that rare thing in rock: It opens strong and then just gets better. The first song, the seven-minute “Knocked Up,” is a nervy tale of running away that floats on a recurring flute figure and an explosive burst of guitar that wouldn’t sound out of place on a U2 record. “Charmer” follows and has a menacing, bass-driven riff that recalls the Pixies. “On Call” is next, and it’s just a beautiful, soaring anthem with vocals that push the song higher and higher.

The lyrics are still sloppy on occasion even as the subject of the songs is made more clear and direct. Luckily, the Kings are singing about tried-and-true rock subjects: girls, fans, girls, and cars. They do so with a swagger and a confidence that seem to elude most bands. One hesitates to bring up comparisons with such heavyweights as the Rolling Stones, but that’s the level of pleasure Because of the Times is operating on.

Grade: A

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Music Record Reviews

Living With the Living–Ted Leo + The Pharmacists

Ted Leo doesn’t have a voice naturally suited to the brand of politicized pop-punk he’s been playing for more than a decade now. It’s thin and untextured, too studied in its enunciation and too weak in its falsetto to sound threatening or powerful. And yet, like many angry singers before him, Leo has turned what might be perceived as a shortcoming into an asset, writing lyrics that emphasize the cerebral over the physical and expanding his musical vocabulary to include tatters of reggae, new wave, and folk — whatever gets his point made. As a result, he comes across as an intelligent everyman who has reluctantly accepted a calling and steeled himself to succeed despite his limitations. As he remarks on “The Sons of Cain,” the galvanizing opener on his new album, Living with the Living, “I’ve got to sing just to exist… and to resist.”

“The Sons of Cain” showcases everything Leo does well: It rings out loud and fast, an adrenaline rush of pop-punk guitars whose double-time tempo and impassioned, imperfect delivery alone make it catchy. However, his political frustrations over the Iraq war and the brutal, militarized culture it has created seem to be getting the better of him on Living with the Living, with very few tracks living up to the promise of “The Sons of Cain.” “Army Bound” stalls continuously, even when it nabs the Kinks’ “Victoria” melody for its bridge, and “Colleen” never gets moving, thanks largely to its overly simplistic structure that tries to rhyme every single line with its title. Curiously, many of the album’s passages, like the half-rapped delivery on “Bomb. Repeat. Bomb” or the lengthy coda of “The Lost Brigade,” sound telegraphed and flat — like ideas that never panned out.

The album’s most damning flaw isn’t the uninspired and uninspiring music but Leo’s tone. Where he once sounded outraged but relentlessly hopeful, now he sounds outraged and bitter, his usually incisive lyrics turned blunt and accusatory. He sounds like he’s no longer trying to change the world and instead is just complaining. War is hell indeed. — Stephen Deusner

Grade: C+

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Music Record Reviews

A country giant returns — to music and to Memphis.

The Johnny Cash/Rick Rubin records of the past decade may have come with a bit of an aftertaste — heightening a Man in Black mythos that appealed to hipster converts while obscuring Cash’s tremendous musical/conceptual range — but say this for Rubin: He knew to otherwise stay out of the way of greatness.

Most producers faced with an aging legend on the comeback trail prove incapable of such restraint, choosing instead to clutter their project with too many backing players and name collaborators. It probably makes for a memorable experience for those invited to participate, but this gambit tends to damage the project.

Such it is with Charlie Louvin, in which producer Mark Nevers pairs with the legendary Louvin on a record in which all but one track feature a “featuring.” The damage here is minimal by the standards of the celebrity-duet record, but it still feels a bit too busy, especially since Louvin’s voice, though certainly weathered, still sounds strong enough and interesting enough to carry the record on its own. No recording of the great “The Christian Life” needs 10 people, including musicians and vocalists.

Louvin is the remaining half (alongside late brother Ira) of the Louvin Brothers, the country harmony duet team among the most important record makers of the 1940s and pre-rock ’50s. The Louvins, who spent some time in Memphis, disbanded in 1963 (Ira passed away in ’65), and Charlie recorded regularly as a solo artist through the early ’70s and sporadically since then.

This is his first solo album in 15 years, and the song selection mixes classic Louvin copyrights (“Great Atomic Power,” “The Christian Life”) with other early genre classics (the Carter Family’s “The Kneeling Drunkard’s Plea,” Jimmie Rodgers’ “Waiting for a Train,” etc.). The “guests” range from country followers such as George Jones and Tom T. Hall to rock-god fans such as Elvis Costello to indie/alt oddities such as Lambchop’s Kurt Wagner and Superchunk’s Mac McCaughan. (I’m sure Louvin is a huge “Slack Motherfucker” fan.)

Despite a title that focuses all attention on Louvin himself, Charlie Louvin comes off more like an attempt at an alt-country Will the Circle Be Unbroken but without quite the force of personality to pull it off. — Chris Herrington

Grade: B

Charlie Louvin returns to Memphis for an appearance at Shangri-La Records on Friday, April 20th, at 6 p.m. For more on Louvin at Shangri-La, see Local Beat, page 29.

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Music Record Reviews

Neon Bible–Arcade Fire

I never quite connected with the drama on this band’s 2004 debut, Funeral, one of the decade’s biggest indie-rock cult faves. But on this follow-up, the Montreal septet packed with American ex-pats turn their previously private agonies and anxieties public. Some would classify the content as “political,” but this isn’t about elections. It’s about (quality of) life and (threat of) death. (Which often is what elections are about.) In the opening “Black Mirror,” frontman Win Butler awakens from a troubled sleep to gaze into an uncertain future: “Mirror, mirror on the wall/Show me where them bombs will fall,” he sings. And from there, he and his band rouse themselves from a restless night to concoct a sweeping, mournful lament about a world gone mad, before escaping into slumber again with the climaxing — though not closing — “No Cars Go.”

Musically, Neon Bible builds from the dark, New Order-esque swoon of “Keep the Car Running” to the pipe-organ-drenched penitence of “Intervention” to a gathering “ocean of noise.” Spiritual, stirring, grandiose, the band at first comes across like an indie-rock U2. But there’s no Christ complex here. Butler’s wobbly, human-scale voice navigates the music more like a David Byrne. And the music has an organic, homemade modesty. The scruffy, ragtag quality of the band effectively undercuts — or, in a different way, emboldens — the band’s grandiosity. Maybe they’re more like a young, middle-class Mekons.

Neon Bible gets bigger, bolder, more specific as it goes, peaking with the righteous, sorrowful, anti-American sing-along “Windowsill” (the refrain “I don’t want to live in my father’s house no more” morphs into “I don’t want to live in America no more”), where Butler namechecks what he wishes he could reject: “holy war,” inherited debt, salesmen at the door, a rising tide that could drown us all. Along the way, there’s “The Well and the Lighthouse,” a subtle parable about cultural (read: indie-rock) isolation, in which Arcade Fire choose the lighthouse and the responsibility that comes with it. Otherwise, they muse, “the ships are gonna wreck.” — Chris Herrington

Grade: A-