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Music Music Blog

Ponderosa Stomp Recap: 24 Hours in NOLA

Alex Greene

Andria Lisle, Vaneese Thomas, and Carla Thomas

Although Ponderosa Stomp, the New Orleans-based love letter to lesser-known soul, blues, rockabilly, and garage artists, was cut short by the fizzled Hurricane Nate, the festival was hopping last Friday. Many of the performers and audience alike stayed at the Ace Hotel, where the daytime hours were filled with panel discussions and interviews as part of the event’s Music History Conference. While vinyl junkies perused the record bins in a side room, and that evening’s bands rehearsed in a closed space near the lobby, hundreds more filed through the hotel’s main event hall to hear some history.

For those eager to hear personal tales of the music world, it was an embarrassment of riches. An early highlight was the panel dedicated to the late Billy Miller, visionary co-founder of Norton records. The label has released many Memphis treasures, from archival re-issues of rockabilly and Big Star to more recent works by the Reigning Sound. Miller passed away last year at the young age of 62, making this memorial panel an emotional one. His wife and partner, Miriam Linna, said that she was especially proud of his last labor of love, a collection of lost Dion tracks from 1965. The panel was moderated by the unflappable Michael Hurtt, of Royal Pendletons fame, also a musicologist in his own right.

Another Memphis panel featured Reggie Young, guitarist extraordinaire with Hi Records and American Studios. Young was not in the best health, but certainly of sound mind and body as he exchanged comments with moderator Red Kelly on the landmark singles and albums of his career, beginning with his first encounter with Jack Clement and Bill Black at the Memphis “Home for Incurables” in the 1950s. The success of the Bill Black Combo (who were known to wear “BBC” suit coats) led to tours with the Beatles, Kinks, and Yardbirds. When Kelly cued up James Carr’s “The Dark End of the Street,” featuring Young’s guitar work, the crowd gave the record a standing ovation. Similarly, upon hearing just the guitar break in Joe Tex’s “Skinny Legs and All,” the crowd once again rose to applaud. Young also recalled taking a lunch break while recording with King Curtis. At the local diner, Curtis picked up a menu and began riffing on menu items in musical terms, including some “boiling Memphis guitar.” The group loved it so much, they skipped lunch and returned to the studio to cut “Memphis Soul Stew.”

Another fine panel tied to Memphis was Andria Lisle’s discussion with Carla and Vaneese Thomas. They recounted their early love of the Teen Town Singers, and the pride they felt when Dave Clark, being dubbed “The World’s Oldest Teenager” at an award ceremony, turned to kneel before Rufus Thomas as he looked on, saying that honor could only go to him. Carla also recalled writing songs just for fun as a teen, as her father recorded on a home reel-to-reel tape deck. One of these was a little tune called “Gee Whiz (Look at his Eyes),” the recording of which Rufus took down to Stax on a whim, launching her career.

When dusk settled on the Crescent City, festival goers migrated over to the Orpheum to see that evening’s full roster of bands. It all kicked off with Billy Boy Arnold, who delivered a soft-spoken “I Wish You Would,” along with other blues. A swamp pop revue followed, featuring T.K. Hulin and G.G. Shinn, and the latter’s “Harlem Shuffle” was galvanizing. Some fine, funky soul followed with Warren Storm and Willie West, but it was Winfield Parker who really brought the house down with his voice, an under-appreciated treasure of the soul genre.

It should be noted that a perplexing audio mix plagued much of the night, but every performer rose above it with aplomb. Barbara Lynn, a Stomp regular by now, was in fine voice and demonstrated some sublime guitar work. Archie Bell whipped the house into a frenzy, both with his “Tighten Up” and the lesser-known “Strategy,” which had him screaming “I’m soaking wet! I’m soaking wet” at the song’s climactic chorus, perhaps in sympathy with the Gulf Coast being on the receiving end of Hurricane Nate.

Roy Head carried on over the full horn section rave up during “Treat Her Right,” another Stomp favorite. And then came the abrupt shift to cajun stomping music with Doug Kershaw, who was a little out of it, but sang with gusto every word of his hit that he could recall. “He’s got Muskrat hides hanging by the dozens/ Even got a lady Mink, a Muskrat’s cousin/ Got ‘em out drying in the hot, hot sun/ Tomorrow papa’s gonna turn ‘em into money.” It had the floor shaking with knee-slapping joy, and Kershaw’s freestyle fiddling over the chord changes made the band sound almost psychedelic.

But the psychedelia was just beginning. Roky Erickson, who’s reprise of 13th Floor Elevators cuts has been known to be spotty at other festivals, was completely on point this night, and the band supported him mightily. The chemistry in this band led “Dr. Ike,” festival organizer Ira Padnos, to exclaim that it was the closest thing he could imagine to seeing the Elevators themselves.

Finally, show closers the Gories hit the stage fast and furious, building a glorious wall of noise with minimalist, primitivist swagger. Again, the ferocious music rose above the sound mix and the house was gyrating to Mick Collins’ blasts of noise guitar, soaring over the wiry groove of guitarist Dan Kroha and drummer Peggy O’Neill. For those Memphians who have long adulated this stunning band, it was a fine, gritty apotheosis to the night and the perfect melding of R&B, blues, punk, and unclassifiable parts and grease off the garage floor.

Alas, though Nate was a fizzle in the Big Easy the next day, a city curfew forced the cancellation of the second night’s show. Although there was an impromptu concert in the Ace Hotel on Saturday afternoon, this did not include performances by Don Bryant or the Thomas sisters. Indeed, the Bo-Keys, crack soul band of the current era in Memphis music, didn’t even make it to New Orleans due to bad weather or the threat of it.

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Film/TV Film/TV/Etc. Blog

Music Video Monday: Marco A.

Good morning, Monday. Time for a music video to brighten your day. 

In this clip for Marco A.’s “Follow Your Heart”, the R&B singer endures a text-based relationship crisis in the middle of a recording session. Directed by Robb Smith of Memphis-based production team Rockwell Visual and shot in the New School Media studios, the dance-heavy video matches the smooth 80s tone of the catchy song. 

Music Video Monday: Marco A.

If you’re a band, artist, director, or other interested party, and you would like to see your music video featured on Music Video Monday, email cmccoy@memphisflyer.com. 

Categories
Film Features Film/TV

Amy

There’s a strange contradiction in the hearts of performers. On the one hand, being the center of attention of a large group of people (“public speaking”) regularly tops surveys of people’s biggest fears. On the other hand, being the center of attention of a large group of people is the ultimate goal of any performer. If you want to get rich — or even make a living — as a musician, you’re going to have to be able to thrive in conditions that the vast majority of people would call hell.

That’s the big takeaway from Amy, the new documentary on the rise and fall of Amy Winehouse directed by Asif Kapadia. This is the director’s second documentary after 2010’s excellent Senna. But while the story of Formula One racing legend Ayrton Senna was mostly triumph, Winehouse’s story is a slow-motion tragedy that makes for a much more complex and challenging film.

As in Senna, Kapadia uses all archival footage stitched together with a keen editing eye. There are no talking heads — the few contemporary interviews are all presented as voice-only under relevant footage. We first meet Winehouse in 1998 at age 14 singing “Happy Birthday” with her friends Lauren Gilbert and Juliette Ashby. Her prodigious talent is already evident, even though she’s just a fresh-faced “North London Jewish girl,” as Island Records president Nick Gatfield calls her. Even then, she was a woman out of time. As Britpop and hip-hop dominated the London airwaves and the beginnings of dubstep seeped through the underground, Winehouse was idolizing Ella Fitzgerald and Tony Bennett. Her first producer Salaam Remi puts it, “She had the styling of a 70-year-old jazz singer.”

There’s no shortage of images of Winehouse as a dead-eyed junkie, but Kapadia is able to show her humanity, because he won the trust of her first manager Nick Shymansky, who happened to obsessively chronicle her early tours with a handheld digital camera. Of all the people in her orbit, Shymansky comes off the best. He apparently had a bit of an unrequited crush on Winehouse, but even after she fired him in a fit of pique, he still had her best interests at heart. That is not true about literally anyone else she surrounded herself with after her 2003 album Frank became an unlikely hit in England. She started hanging out at London’s trendy Trash nightclub, where she met her husband Blake Fielder-Civil. If you’ve ever known a pair of mutually reinforcing junkies, you already know what their relationship was like. Booze, pot, coke, crack, meth, heroin — you name it, they took it. Fielder-Civil was also a musician, but when Winehouse became the biggest star in the world in the mid-2000s, he became a professional enabler.

Not that Winehouse needed much enabling. The film depicts her as never recovering from her parents’ divorce at the age of 9. She was severely depressed as a teenager and a bulimic from age 15 until she died at 27. She wrote the songs that propelled her to stardom as a way to deal with her many issues, but it was one song in particular that seemed to have doomed her. “Rehab” was written about a failed intervention Shymansky, Gilbert, and Ashby staged for her, which was squelched by her increasingly careerist father. It was kind of an afterthought on the carefully crafted Back To Black album, but when it became her biggest hit, it took on the air of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Amy functions a companion piece to Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck. The two self-destructive musical prodigies had similar trajectories, but they were treated differently by the press and public. Cobain’s junk-induced suicide was an unexpected tragedy, while the world was practically taking bets on how long it would take Winehouse’s body to give out under the onslaught of a $16,000-a-week polysubstance habit. Amy does not hesitate to point the finger at the gawkers and paparazzi who fed them, even as Kapadia depends on their copious footage to fill out the overly long end of his film. Amy succeeds at humanizing Winehouse but leaves you feeling queasy at your own eagerness to watch the trainwreck.

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Music Music Features

Teenie Hodges: 1946-2014

Mabon “Teenie” Hodges wrote a song that one could mistake for a 19th century gospel standard. “Take Me to the River,” which he penned with Al Green in 1973, has a startling simplicity to it. But then so did Teenie Hodges’ guitar playing. He was a master refiner of ideas and phrases, whittling them down to a profound and economical beauty.

Hodges passed away Sunday night in Dallas from complications of emphysema. He had gone to Austin in March to promote the film Take Me to the River, which is based in part on the world that Hodges lived in with his brothers Leroy Jr., a bassist, and Charles, a keyboardist. In Austin, they celebrated a lifetime of soul music and success. Teenie never made it back to Memphis, but his soul and his spirit leave an indelible mark on our city. The Mitchells and the Hodges are founding fathers of Memphis’ musical identity.

“My dad and mom had seven kids in four years,” Teenie’s brother Charles Hodges said last March before heading to Austin. “So there were three sets of twins in a row. Leroy (bass) is my oldest brother. Teenie is between Leroy and me. Teenie’s twin is a girl, and I have a boy twin. They had eleven kids in all.”

It was a musical home: Their father, Leroy Sr., had been a musician and kept a decidedly musical house. One might think that a home with so many brothers might collapse into a competitive mess. But that was not the case.

“We didn’t compete. We worked together,” Hodges said. “We didn’t go to school for it. It was a gift from God. My dad just helped us develop our talent.”

Robert Allen Parker

The Germantown Blue Dots, Teenie far right.

Named “Teenie” due to his diminutive stature, Hodges began playing in his father’s band at age 12 and was soon noticed by bandleader Willie Mitchell, who played a profound role in Teenie’s life. But Teenie made major contributions to the Mitchell empire too. “Howard Grimes,” Charles said. “Willie had another drummer after Al Jackson went with Booker T. and the MGs. Jeff Greer. … Willie wanted to change the drummer. So Teenie told him about Howard Grimes. We heard Howard, and he just blended in.”

The records that came from this period are classics and key elements to our musical culture as a city and as a country. Al Green, Ann Peebles, O.V. Wright, and the Hi-Rhythm albums don’t need further explanation. If you don’t know them intimately, you have a problem. The music Teenie made with Mitchell also became the gold standard for young players, and his openness as a person and a mentor provided a supreme example to younger players.

“Memphis lost a cornerstone of its musical identity,” Luther Dickinson of the North Mississippi Allstars wrote of Hodges’ death. “Similar to Al Jackson, without Teenie, Memphis soul will never be the same. Teenie was so cool. He elevated the whole city singlehandedly. He was one of the real Memphis guitar heroes, like Scotty Moore, Roland Janes, Steve Cropper, and Reggie Young, playing melodies and rhythms on records that millions of people love worldwide. His guitar style is ingrained in the human collective consciousness.”

Joe Restivo, through his work with engineer Scott Bomar and his band the Bo-Keys, was occasionally called upon to fill in for the ailing guitarist.

“I didn’t quite understand his genius until I got to play within the context of Hi-Rhythm. There’s a way that whole thing fits together. That’s when the light bulb goes on. … His parts fit perfectly in relationship to Howard Grimes, to Charles, Leroy, [and] Hubie [keyboardist Archie Turner]. If you’re playing that role — and I had the opportunity to do that a couple of times — you find yourself doing Teenie. You can’t do anything else. It’s his style, his concept, where he laid it in the pocket.”

Charles addressed the same approach to music when we talked last March. “The bass player knew what I was going to do. I knew what the guitar player was going to do. The drummer knew what we all were going to do. We didn’t get in anyone’s way. We came together spiritually. Teenie, Leroy, and I are biological brothers. But Howard and Hubie are just like our biological brothers. We’re spiritually connected. We just feel each other.”

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Sing All Kinds We Recommend

Wild Bill’s Is Going Strong

Wild Bill’s reopened in December under new owners after having been closed since June of 2013. They now serve food and are open every day for lunch. On Fridays and Saturdays, they are open until 3 a.m., with live blues and soul from 10 p.m. Every out-of-town needs to see Wild Bill’s. That rhythm section is tough to beat. Here are the Memphis Bluesmasers with Ms. Nikki and a woman screaming in the background. Bless her heart. 

Memphis Bluesmasters feat. Ms. Nickki-I’m Gettin It-Live at Wild Bill’s from Memphidelity on Vimeo.

Wild Bill’s Is Going Strong

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Calling the Bluff Music

Worth Checking Out: The Itis By S.O.U.L.

SOUL_The_Itis_Ep-front-large.jpg

I recently became aware of S.O.U.L., an indie hip-hop group that puts you in the mind of early Outkast blended with a little Big K.R.I.T., and a couple other dope lyricists.

S.O.U.L. recently dropped their debut EP, The Itis. For it to be their first official release, the project is pretty impressive. The Memphis-bred rhymers fuse honest, insightful, and, at times, entertaining rhymes with organic beats on The Itis.

The EP’s title derives from an episode of The Boondocks, an animated television series, also titled “The Itis.” The episode, which the group uses an excerpt of on the EP’s intro, focuses on the fatigue a person experiences from eating unhealthy food.

The Itis is definitely worth checking out if you’re a fan of hip-hop. Stream and download the EP below. Some tracks I’m feeling off the project are “The Real,” “Throwed Off,” “Ghetto Girl,” and “Light Up.”


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Music Music Features

Hard-Earned Homecoming

Even for those with proven greatness, the pursuit of stardom can be a cruel fate. For John Gary Williams — the singer for the Mad Lads, whose success on Stax’s Volt subsidiary was derailed when he was drafted in 1966 — the possibility of redemption is at hand. Thanks to the hard work of Williams, Emmy-winning producer John Hubbell, and Stax eminence Deanie Parker, Williams has another shot.

When Williams returned to the U.S., he was reinstated into the Mad Lads (against the wishes of his band mates) at the insistence of Stax founder Jim Stewart. A mix-up in 1968 involving the civil-rights-era agitators the Invaders landed him in prison. Upon his release, Williams recorded a long-missing 1973 self-titled solo album. Williams’ album was not released: a casualty of label mismanagement on a scale comparable to the period’s musical grandiosity. This is late-period Stax: Strings and a funky rhythm section combine for epic soul music.

This Saturday, he will perform in concert with Opus One and soul revivalists the Bo-Keys at the Levitt Shell. It’s the first performance of music from Williams’ album. Hubbell and Parker have worked for nearly a decade to locate the masters and negotiate their release, an effort still in the works. Hubbell and photographer Lance Murphey are also producing a documentary to tell Williams’ story. To watch the trailer, go to iseehopememphis.com and get on board with this Memphis homecoming.

John Gary Williams with Opus One and the Bo-Keys, Levitt Shell, Saturday, September 28th, 7:30 p.m. The concert is free.

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Music Music Features

Master Blaster

Despite being blind since infancy and surviving the duel depredations of a hardscrabble east Detroit upbringing and child stardom to become one of the most celebrated pop musicians in recorded history, Steveland Judkins “Stevie Wonder” Morris doesn’t have a biography that can match the torment or weirdness of Ray Charles, James Brown, Al Green, Prince, or Michael Jackson. And, right, he missed out on the mythologizing that early death provided to Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, and Marvin Gaye.

Like his onetime Motown elder Smokey Robinson, he’s a relative normal (no, I haven’t forgotten about Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants) and a lifer whose music suggests those rather unexciting qualities. And also, right, a genius.

These days, Wonder is too often thought of — when thought of at all — as the Grammy-certified embodiment of middlebrow respectability: neither a hip-hop/neo-soul touchstone (like Gaye) nor a totem of crossover hip (like Brown).

But who else in soul/R&B has produced a deeper, more wide-ranging catalog? And how many can match his longevity? No other R&B artist who was making notable pop music when Wonder debuted, at age 12, with 1963’s “Fingertips (Part 2)” was still much of a factor well into the ’80s, much less 2005. That was when Wonder released the unexpectedly solid A Time To Love, his first proper studio album in a decade and an album that, aside from its few nods to hip-hop, could have been released in 1977 without sounding terribly out of place.

Wonder’s embrace of the middlebrow genteel — and its even more fervent returning affection — made him an institution during his fecund adult prime in the ’70s and well into an ’80s now best remembered for his soupy but somewhat underrated soundtrack smash “I Just Called To Say I Love You.” But that reputation overshadows how much of a politically tough-minded, musically idiosyncratic groove machine he was at his peak. And, perhaps just as much as the larger social forces coming to bear, he was the primal force that changed Motown, musically and in a business sense, in the incredibly fertile five-year period (1971-1976) after he turned 21 and seized control of his career, culminating with the overreaching but often brilliant double-record-and-then-some Songs in the Key of Life.

Some highlights of a discography ripe for rediscovery:

Love songs: Pre-emancipation Motown singles “I Was Made To Love Her” and “Signed, Sealed, Delivered” are well-oiled vehicles for Wonder’s irrepressible and — by Motown’s early standards — nearly chaotic vocal performance. But Wonder’s best love songs might be those that bookend what is, despite the elevated reputations of Innervisions and Songs in the Key of Life, his best album, 1972’s Talking Book. The opening “You Are the Sunshine of My Life,” its synth-and-bongos intro the unlikely sound of a waking epiphany, might be the most wholly beautifully record he ever made. The closing “I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will Be Forever)” is a romantic hymn hypnotic in its repetitions.

Political songs: Aside from an early, Motown-mold-breaking Dylan cover (“Blowin’ in the Wind”), the then-19-year-old Wonder made his first foray into political pop with 1970’s “Heaven Help Us All,” singing someone else’s words over too-intrusive gospel-styled backing vocals and making them sound a lot tougher and smarter than they really were. On his own after that, Wonder proved a more astute commentator. Innervisions‘ “Living for the City” is an epic, personalized allegory for the civil rights movement that makes pained acknowledgement of its lost momentum. Wonder then devoted the second strongest synth riff of his career to the Nixon-era admonishment “You Haven’t Done Nothin’,” a fed-up lament that’s lost little bite or relevance in subsequent decades.

Groove records: With the possible exception of Wonder-inheritor Prince, there may not be a modern R&B musician who so fully absorbed the variety of the black music canon. With its sassy, swinging horn fanfare, shout-outs to the greats (adding Glenn Miller to Ellington, Basie, and Armstrong), and joyful interjections from Wonder himself, “Sir Duke” captures this better than anything, though Wonder would extend his jazz tribute across 10 minutes of “Do I Do” with Dizzy Gillespie on trumpet. “Boogie On Reggae Woman” was a fruitful nod to the Jamaican contribution to the black pop diaspora, but Wonder topped it with 1980’s “Master Blaster (Jammin’),” still probably the best non-Jamaican reggae record ever. “Higher Ground” is a funk workout not even the Red Hot Chili Peppers could ruin. And on Talking Book‘s “Maybe Your Baby,” Wonder multi-tracks his own vocal into a trance-like rhythmic abstraction.

Devotional songs: Vocally, musically, and philosophically, Wonder may have been soul music’s least gospel-influenced star, at least through his own prime years. Songs in the Key of Life opens like Sunday morning, with the one-man-backing-choir of “Love’s in Need of Love Today” and the personal devotional “Have a Talk With God.” But, more often, Wonder found the spiritual in the form of others: Martin Luther King Jr. on the joyous “Happy Birthday,” a special someone who spurs contentment on the lovely “For Once in My Life,” and, most of all, a newborn daughter on “Isn’t She Lovely?”

Visionary, mystical, or otherwise beyond classification: “Uptight (Everything’s Alright)” probably rivals latter Motown discovery Michael Jackson’s (and the Jackson Five’s) “I Want You Back” as the greatest kid-pop ever recorded. A 15-year-old Wonder runs roughshod over a locomotive Motown groove, yelping, “Got empty pockets, you see, I’m a poor man’s son!” at the climax of a conventional poor-boy-rich-girl love story turned into something more. “Visions” is Wonder’s ultimate testament of faith in this world, more affecting for how matter-of-fact it is, a blind man’s meditation on the certainty of leaves changing from green to brown. And “Superstition” is probably one of the greatest pop records: such a tough, gritty, and synthesized groove paired with an equally tough, questioning lyric about religion (“You believe in things you don’t understand, then you suffer”) that it would take more than a decade for another black pop musician to take up.