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Sittin' In Again......

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Once again, I'm sittin' in with my friend, Roger Kash, on his fine Freetown Radio show, airing later today, Friday, February 8 from 3:00 - 4:00 PM US Central time onKRVS Lafayette, which broadcasts at 88.7 FM locally and streams its programming online worldwide. This time Roger has invited me in for a pre-Mardi Gras show featuring some rarely heard Carnival music treats from the HOTG archives. You can listen to the show online in real time or, after it airs, findthe podcastat KRVS. Appreciate the invite, Roger!
[Update: KRVS will rebroadcast the show this coming Tuesday, dat's Mardi Gras Day, at 2:00 PM Central.]

I'll have some more Mardi Gras cuts up here this weekend, and, of course, HOTG Radioon da web will have Mardi Gras-related party music streaming 24/7 starting at some point this weekend and going until Ash Wednesday. Enjoy.

MO' MARDI GRAS MUSIC.......

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Yea verily, the Mardi Gras spirit is upon us. My wife has King Cake Baby's picture up on her Facebook page [she showed it to me, since I am angling to be the last person on Earth not on FB ]. The big fat day is nearly here. Meanwhile, funked-up seasonal music has been pumpin’ since Saturday on theHOTG webcast streamand will be in rotation through at least Ash Wednesday. Now, I can’t let the 2013 Carnival season pass without posting more tracks here, too, can I?



“Handa Wanda”, Pts. 1 & II(B. Dollis)
Bo Dollis  & The Wild Magnolia Mardi Gras Indian Band, Cresent [sic] City, 1970

I featured the top side of this historic singleback in 2006. After seven years, it’s high time for the entire outrageous studio performance. I usually don’t combine the sides of two-parter into one track; but I’m taking the liberty here to provide something closer to the way it went down without the interruption of virtually flipping the record over, though the fades out and in on the record itself still break it up a bit.

Quint ‘Cosmic Q’ Davis, a Tulane University student who was a budding musicologist and impresario, sought out the Wild Magnolias Mardi Gras Indians and put them onstage at his campus jazz festival in 1970 where they jammed with pianist Willie Tee, who was performing with his new funk band, the Gaturs. At that point, the Indians usually only wore their elaborate costumes and did their music on the streets of the city’s black neighborhoods on Mardi Gras and St. Joseph’s Day and were nearly invisible to the outside world. The combination of their ritual singing and percussion with Tee’s funky touch was such a revelation that Davis arranged to make a record of their collaboration that was cut in Baton Rouge later that year. The rhythm section for the session included Tee without his regular band, instead joined by Zigaboo Modeliste of the Meters on drums, and bassist George French, who had played many prime R&B sessions in New Orleans during the 1960s. Dollis sang lead, with other members of the Wild Magnolias providing the chorus and playing percussion. Amazingly, the ensuing magic was captured in only one take.

Here’s what I said about the results in that earlier post:
There’s just no denying the elemental energy and unvarnished funk of this track, maybe one of the most unrecognized masterpieces of in-studio wildness ever magnetized on tape and pressed into grooved vinyl. No, it’s not recorded all that well; and Tee and French are pretty much just vamping around. But Zig, Bo and the Indian brotherhood - on drums, congas, tambourines, bottles, whatever - issue forth an undulating percussive flood that sweeps away all obstacles and resistance to rhythmic body movement. Above the churning sonic waves, Dollis’s raw scream of a vocal, surely born of gargling razor blades, tears through the roar and sears itself into your brain.

Issued on Davis’ one-off Crescent City imprint [misspelled on the label itself], the record helped to make the influential Mardi Gras Indian sound accessible. A subsequent 45 and two groundbreaking LPs, The Wild Magnolias (1974) and They Call Us Wild (1975), continued to mix their music and rhythms with hometown funk, opening more doors worldwide for all the Indian street tribes, and bringing their beautiful costume craft and performance art to decades of shows, concerts and festivals. Still, the deep traditional culture of the Indians is not fully understood or appreciated by outsiders.

The year this record came out, Quint Davis was also involved in organizing the first New Orleans Jazz Festival and Louisiana Heritage Fair, working for master festival organizer, George Wein, and later becoming the ongoing director of JazzFest, as it has come to be known, now rolling into its 44th year. Thanks to Quint, there has always been room for the Indians to show-out at the fairgrounds, too.
******



“Streets/My Darlin’ New Orleans”(Ron Cuccia, Ramsey McLean, Charles Neville)
Ron Cuccia & the Jazz Poetry Group, from the eponymous Takoma LP, 1979


The live set that this album documents was recorded by Cosimo Matassa at the Contemporary Arts Center in New Orleans on July 13 and 14, 1979. At the time, the Jazz Poetry Group was at its height and fairly active around town, a fact that goes to show the open-minded musical tastes of club-goers, since, at its core, the group consisted of poet Cuccia rapping his verse over the grooves and riffs of a jazz-funk outfit, alternating with the riveting vocals of a diminutive diva. The band consisted of Cuccia on lead vocal, Leigh Harris also on vocals, Charles Neville on saxophone and vocals, bassist Ramsey McLean, drummer/percussionist Ricky Sebastian, and Johnny Magnie on piano and vocals.

As Cuccia related in the notes to the LP, Charles Neville (who had not quite yet joined up with his brothers to form their legendary band) had been gigging around town in a jazz duo with McLean. He caught Cuccia at a poetry reading one night, early in 1978 and invited him to hear the duo play, because they had been “looking for a poet”! Either intrigued or just mystified, Cuccia came to one of their gigs, sat at the bar and composed a poem, which they proceeded to jam on later. A club show together soon followed and went so well that they arranged another later that year, adding Sebastian’s serious chops and Harris’ belting vocals to the mix. As gigs increased, John Magnie soon was invited aboard, as he regularly played with Harris in their own band, L’il Queenie and the Percolators.  

The Jazz Poetry Group didn’t have a long life, probably because Neville was soon pulled away by the coming together and rising popularity of the Neville Brothers; and the Percolators also soon became one of the hottest local acts, frequently gigging around the Gulf Coast region, as well.  Notably, Harris and Magnie brought Cuccia’s mash note to the city, “My Darlin’ New Orleans” into the Percolators’ set list; and it became one of their most popular tunes. In 1981, they recorded it for their only release, a single with Magnie’s “Wild Natives” on the flip, which came out their own very short-lived Ignant label. It was laterreissued by Great Southern; but the band broke up in 1982 due to outside forces. Harris has continued on as a solo artist up until this day. Magnie and Percolators’ guitarist/vocalist Tommy Malone, went on to found the original Continental Drifters, followed by their most well-known band, the subdudes.



* * * * * *



“Tuesday Mornin’”(Jon Foose)
Jon Foose with Oliver Morgan & the Royal Knights, Cypress Sounds 1000


I occasionally like to throw in something really off the wall from the annals of Mardi Gras records that went nowhere - some deservedly, some not so much. I’d put this one in the latter category. Despite the country twang to Jon Foose’s vocal that puts me in mind of Jody Levens’ original version of “Mardi Gras Mambo” back in 1954, the upbeat song itself is OK; and the playing and arrangement are exemplary.

Admittedly, I know nothing about the details of the recording, which has “Gator Get Down” on the back, starting with why Oliver Morgan gets credit along with the Royal Knights, since he is certainly not singing anywhere on either side.  Maybe the Royal Knights were his band. Neither do I know who Wil Morgan is, who arranged the tracks. Foose, who I believe resides in Austin, TX or thereabouts, has a BMI catalog of just over 20 songs he’s written or co-written, but neither side of this single is among them. Likewise, the US Copyright database does not list the songs among his compositions. Time to do the paperwork! Cypress Sounds seems to have been a one shot label invented for this release, which likely was Foose’s only record. Of course, it is undated; but I’d guess the 45 came out somewhere between the late 1970s and mid-1980s.

Foose is still singing, as evidenced by thisYouTube video 
of him performing with a blues band in Austin; and he obviously also has plenty of Louisiana music expertise, as he co-authoredUpFrom the Cradle of Jazz: New Orleans Music Since World War IIwith Jason Berry and Tad Jones in 1992. If you’re out there Jon, get in touch and let me know how this record came about.
******



“Do It Fluid/Do It Again”(DDBB)
Dirty Dozen Brass Band, from the Rounder LP, Live Mardi Gras In Montreux, 1986


Back in 2005, I featured the Dirty Dozen’s first recording of this tune from their debut album,My Feet Can’t Fail Me Now, released by Concord Jazz in 1984. It’s a monster, especially live, as evidenced by this take recorded at Montreux in 1985, six and a half minutes of intense ensemble playing that simply overtakes your nervous system where you sit or stand and plugs it into a Higher Power. Notice that there is little to no soloing going on, just a succession of intricately arranged, contrapuntal riffs by various groups of horns,all driven by a relentless groove established by the percussionists and Krk Joseph’s force o’ nature sousaphone bottom end action. I still remember the first time I heard this album, soon after it came out, and how it totally blew me away, leaving just a palpatating pile of protoplasm with one goal: hear it again.

While the writing credits on the track go to the Dirty Dozen, the majority of the tune is their inspired interpretation of the 1974 stone funk cut,“Do It, Fluid”by the Blackbyrds. Many of the riff lines of the brass version mirror the bass and vocal melody lines of the song, but the Dirty Dozen pump it up into hyperdrive and simply run away with it. As amazing as it is, I think some props to the original writer, the great Donald Byrd, are in order.

Besides Joseph, the other members of the Dirty Dozen on this record, several of whom played with Leroy Jones in the original Young Fairview Baptist Church Christian Marching Band and Hurricane Marching Brass Band I featured in my January post, are listed at theDiscogs pagefor this LP, which should be a well-played part of any New Orleans music collection.

I can’t think of a better song for energizing any Mardi Gras party. It should propel you on through Lent, as well. So, grab the album or at least buy a better quality copy of this track, add it to your playlist, and get down on it.


Have a ball this Mardi Gras, y’all.

. . . .AT DAT KREWE DU VIEUX PARADE. . . .

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                       H  A  P  P  Y
M A R D I   G R A S  2013

                 

                                                                        photos by Dan Phillips







TOUSSAINT 2.0: Footnotes & Follow-Ups

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Last month I started a series, Footnotes & Follow-ups, that I’ll be coming back to occasionally to feature tracks and information that update or relate to specific previous posts. When you think about it, everything around here relates to other posts somehow. That’s really the underlying HOTG concept. Like life in general, the whole New Orleans music scene was and is about interconnectedness. The groove nexus. But lest this become a metaphysics lecture, let’s get to the music and circumstances at hand.

As with the first entry, this one has to do withAllen Toussaintand the artists he worked with. The focus is on the period 1965-1966, a transitional time for him when, just back from several years of mandatory military service, he felt the need to seek new opportunities and reboot his career. As luck would have it, that's exactly what he did.

[The basic timeline for events has been pieced together from several of my usual sources, John Broven's great Rhythm & Blues In New Orleans, and Jeff Hannusch's two classics, I Hear You Knockin' and The Soul of New Orleans (if you don't have 'em get 'em), plus my own research.]

IN THE MOOD TO MOVE

Coming unexpectedly in 1963, Allen’s draft notice marked the end of a remarkable three year run of success, during which he wrote, arranged and produced numerous national hit records for Joe Banashak’s Minit and Instant labels with artists such as Jessie Hill, Chris Kenner, Ernie K-Doe, Aaron Neville and Benny Spellman. Even many of the records that didn’t do as well around the country were popular at home and are rightfully considered classics today, including those of Irma Thomas, which deserved better than they got.

Losing access to Toussaint’s talents was bad enough for Banashak’s business prospects, but also in 1963 other serious setbacks nearly sank his entire record-making enterprise. Los Angeles-based Imperial Records, which had an exclusive contract to distribute the Minit label nationally, was bought-out by another much larger L.A. company, Liberty Records. The change of ownership scuttled that agreement; and, without a distributor or his hit-making producer, Banashak cut his losses and “sold” the label to Liberty. It was a murky deal, at best. Liberty may have simply appropriated all of the Minit masters Imperial held and paid Banashak a pittance as compensation]. The new bosses dropped all of the Minit artists except Thomas, who they signed to Imperial and moved more toward the mainstream.

On the heels of that reversal, Banashak was soon forced into bankruptcy after the failure of another business he owned, A-1 Distributors, which sold independent records wholesale to retailers. Understandably discouraged and struggling, the cash-strapped entrepreneur was slow to regroup, barely keeping his recording operations afloat by releasing stored tracks by artists such as Eldridge Holmes and Willie Harper that Toussaint had cut prior to leaving town, and bringing in other producers for a few half-hearted projects. Without access to national distribution, he had to promote the records to local DJs on his own, probably without being able to provide the usual inducements for airplay. It was worst-case independent label limbo, leaving him hoping for a miraculous hit while waiting for Toussaint to come back and save the day.  

Meanwhile, Allen was experiencing his own money woes around the time of his induction, having trouble getting his substantial royalty payments from BMI for radio and jukebox play of the songs he had written. At least part of the problem was due to a mix-up about his using “Naomi Neville” (his mother’s maiden name) on songwriting credits. While he was gone, Banashak helped get the matter resolved, resulting in some large checks coming the writer’s way. Allen was appreciative; but the situation he would come back to after two years did not bode well for his career aspirations. Most of the great Minit artists he worked with had moved on; and Banashak’s remaining labels were stagnating, including Alon, which he had started in 1961 for Toussaint to run.  

Upon Allen’s return in 1965, Banashak began releasing material Toussaint had written while in the service and mainly cut in Houston with the Stokes, a band he had put together at his base. There were a total of 10 singles issued from the Stokes sessions, all on Alon with one exception, and under several names: the Stokes [5]; the band’s drummer, Al (a/k/a Billy) Fayard, [2], the Young Ones [1], plus one in his own name. The release not on Alon, “Younka Chunka”/”How Tired I Am”, which I featured in 2010 {see link below], was directly leased by the California-based Uptown label (#701), and, for unexplained reasons, showed the apocryphal “K. C. Russell” as artist, though Fayard was the lead vocalist. As for the single featuring Toussaint, it was definitely an anomaly at the time, his first solo release using his actual name [his earlier instrumentals for RCA and Seville used ‘Tousan’ and ‘Al Tousan’], and first upfront vocal on record.




“Poor Boy Got To Move“(Naomi Neville)
Allen Toussaint, Alon 9021, 1965

Listening to the lyrics on both sides of this single knowing that Toussaint would quit his association with Banashak a few months after coming home, it’s apparent that the subject matter of the tunes, the sense of loss at the end of a relationship and the need to move on, mirrored what had been on his mind. I’m sure he had not discussed those feelings with his boss/partner at that point. Had Banashak paid attention to the song titles and gist of the lyrics, perhaps he would not have been so surprised when Allen jumped ship.

As he has acknowledged, Toussaint was not interested in being a featured artist in those days, feeling most comfortable composing and taking care of the details of the recording process for others. Singing backup on certain tracks had been the extent of his voice being heard on any record up until this point. So, I’m not sure he intended his lead vocal takes on these songs to be released. He sang them likely because his preferred vocalists were all back in New Orleans; but just the fact that he committed the performances to tape indicates he was serious about the material. I get the sense that Banashak was just putting out all of the Stokes sessions that were finished, hoping that, with Allen’s involvement, at least a few would generate some sales. Yet, even if Toussaint had not expected the appearance of this single, it undeniably provided, in his own voice, a fitting coda to his time with Banashak’s enterprise.

Also apparent in the material on both sides is that Allen was directing his songwriting and production goals beyond the confines of the local market. In “Poor Boy Got To Move”, I hear the obvious influence of Curtis Mayfield’s work with the Impressions from several years prior. The song structure, melody line, harmony vocals and Toussaint’s singing that slipped here and there into falsetto, all go to show how well he could assimilate and get to the essence of another’s sound. I see it as an experimental exercise to get his creative juices flowing while away from home, and evidence that his inspiration was drawn from many sources.



“Go Back Home”(Naomi Neville)

Speaking of experimenting, there is something almost classical about the construction of this next beautifully executed tune, taking it a step beyond everyday mainstream pop fare. The stately, meditative feel and satisfyingly simple melody are set off by elements of complex instrumental harmony, as where the mainly minor key passages resolve to a major. To listen deep into it is to catch a glimpse of Toussaint’s innate, intense musical sophistication that would become increasingly evident as he matured. As a writer and arranger, he never could be confined to any particular genre, working comfortably in and among many styles, and often incorporating multiple musical elements into a single piece, as here when he ends each chorus with a bluesy, Ray Charles-like piano run - a perfect release from the restraint of the more formal sections. In time, experts far beyond my meager abilities will affirm Toussaint to be simply one of the great American composers.

None of the Alon tracks, which Banashak continued to issue well after Allen had left the fold, got much public attention on their own; but, as I have noted before, one of the sides, “Whipped Cream”, from the first Stokes 45 (#9019) was heard and quickly covered by a popular California trumpeter named Herb Alpert and his studio band, the Tijuana Brass, on a 45 for his own A&M label. It became a fairly substantial hit and was later used regularly on the TV show, The Dating Game, providing more happy returns for Toussaint’s reopened royalty stream.

 
Prior posts on Toussaint's work with the Stokes, and others on Alon:

Stoked For Solid Gold
Some Greasy Holiday Sides and a Desert Topping
Younka Chunka Returns....
Good Stuff Beyond the Fluff
Tracing Benny Spellman's Fortunes, Pt 2

A FRESH START IN THE CHARTS WITH LEE DORSEY

Soon after getting back to the Big Easy, Allen was approached byMarshall Sehornfor assistance on a project that did not involve Banashak. A colorful record promoter, producer and wheeler-dealer originally from North Carolina, whose exploits over the years became increasingly outrageous, Sehorn had previously worked for Bobby Robinson’s Fire & Fury labels out of New York and come to New Orleans several times to oversee sessions for the label’s local artists, Bobby Marchan and Lee Dorsey. After Robinson’s labels closed shop in 1963, Sehorn continued on his own to try to make something happen with Dorsey, recording two singles on Lee that he placed with the new Constellation label out of Chicago. When they failed to get much notice, Sehorn asked Toussaint to help record a four song package in hopes of getting the singer a deal with a national label.

Allen had first worked with Dorsey on “Lottie Mo”/”Lover of Love”, two classics from a one-off 45 he produced for Banashak’s Valiant label [soon renamed Instant] in 1958; and he had crossed paths with Sehorn before in New Orleans. They met at a Marchan session Sehorn ran for Fury in 1960; and the next year Sehorn hired Toussaint to arrange Dorsey’s first Fury single, “Ya Ya”/”Give Me You”, with the top side becoming a #1 hit.

Although Allen was still working for Banashak, he agreed to do the Dorsey project on the side.The old ties were starting to unravel. Once they were tracked, Sehorn shopped the songs to Bell Records in New York, who agreed to release them, assigning Dorsey to their Amy subsidiary. The first single featured Toussaint’s energetic dancer, “Ride Your Pony”, which quickly moved up the national charts and into the top ten by the summer, confirming that the writer/arranger’s mojo was officially back - and Lee’s, too.



“Ride Your Pony”(Naomi Neville}
Lee Dorsey, Amy 926, 1965

Just as Allen’s own Alon single closed a chapter in his career, this song opened the next one with a bang, several of them in fact! You can tell by the poppin’ energy of this track that he was inspired by the opportunity to write for Lee again. In terms of lyrics and concept it was one of hundreds of songs based around a dance, the Pony in this case, with the standard name-checking of various spots around the country; but several things set it apart. Of course the pistol shots were definitely an attention-grabbing, novelty gimmick that worked as intended. But the propulsive groove of this tune is what really locks the listener in from the first note with its fresh, hip, tightly-wound funk. Toussaint constructed the infectiously syncopated arrangement from a very spare instrumental backing of drums, bass, two guitars and a baritone sax. Though you don’t really notice, the song has only two chord changes, which obviously are just enough. Topping it off, the rudimentary melody line proved a perfect fit for Dorsey’s engaging, rhythmic, conversational vocal style.

The record easily held its own against the many high-quality tunes on the radio that year, and clearly got Dorsey noticed again. On the strength of it, he was invited to perform at the Apollo Theater in Harlem that year; and, for this important gig, Sehorn had Toussaint come along to direct the band. While there, the two discussed partnering a start-up production company to develop, record, and market talent. As Sehorn recalled in his own down-home way to Jeff Hannusch,

Allen and I went to dinner and talked about starting some kind of deal. Allen had some offers from Motown and the West Coast, but he told me his convictions were in New Orleans, and that’s where he wanted to stay.

The success of “Ride Your Pony” was the turning point. Allen soon gave Banashak his notice, and joined Sehorn in forming Tou-Sea Productions. With Dorsey as their first client, Sehorn negotiated a deal giving Amy exclusive rights to the singer’s releases; and more hits followed. In short order, Tou-Sea began recruiting a bevy of other artists Toussaint was interested in working with, including Eldridge Holmes, Betty Harris, Willie Harper, Willie West, Diamond Joe, and Benny Spellman. It also did not take the partners long to start their own labels: Tou-Sea and Sansu, which would be distributed by Bell, and Deesu, which Sehorn kept close to home by signing a distribution deal with Cosimo Matassa’s Dover Records. A music business Odd Couple, the new partners would work together well over two decades using a simple division of labor: Sehorn handled the business and Toussaint the music.
Re: Allen & Lee:
When Lee Met Allen
Ya Ya's In La La Land
Two More From Toussaint

JET-SETTING WITH ELDRIDGE HOLMES

One of the first vocalists Allen worked with in the new production company was the exceptional Eldridge Holmes, who he had recorded previously for Alon in 1962-1963, resulting in five singles. Most had been released while Allen was in the service, but languished, because, as discussed, Banashak was not able to properly promote them.

Before Tou-Sea had even set up their new labels, Allen cut a number of new tunes with Holmes that Sehorn then leased to Jet Set, a small, obscure soul label out of Washington, DC. Two singles by the singer appeared under the Jet Set imprint, “Humpback”/”I Like What You Do” (#1006) which probably came out late in 1965, followed by “Gone, Gone, Gone”/”Worried Over You”. Unlike most of the artists Allen worked with back then, Holmes wrote a lot of his own material. Three of the Jet Set sides were collaborations by the two, with “I Like What You Do” written by Toussaint alone. I featured the hard-driving dancer, “Humpback”, here back in 2007; and this is the perfect opportunity to get around to the second Jet Set 45.



“Gone, Gone, Gone”(E. Holmes - A. Toussaint)
Eldrige [sic] Holmes, Jet Set 765, 1966

As my promo copy shows, this was the plug (A) side of the record; and they managed to misspell his first name on both sides. In terms of structure and melody alone, it’s a competent piece of middle of the road mainstream soul-pop that in lesser hands might not have been worth noting. But, the performance and packaging kicked it up enough in quality to put its hooks in when you hear it and make you want to stay to the end and play it again. Certainly one of the city’s best soul singers, who never got his due or the chance to perform up to his full potential on record, Holmes provided the emotional investment and technique necessary to make the rather cliched lyrics (probably his contribution) ring true. That impression is bolstered by Toussaint’s perfectly balanced, intricately arranged instrumental presentation. There is nothing at all average about the perfect rhythmic flow, fine musicianship, and flawless singing that allow this number to exceed its potential.

For my money, though, they should have been plugging the other side.

“Worried Over You”(E. Holmes - A. Toussaint)

This is soul-pop of a different order. Toussaint’s mix of off-beat stop-time and regularly paced sections provides riveting tension and release, making the mid-tempo song more substantial than its short running time, just a second shy of two minutes, might suggest. At points, the stop-time segments leave gaps where all we hear is the fading reverberations of Holmes voice, drawing us deeper into an encounter with the singer’s consummately soulful delivery. It’s a master class in the arts of composition, arrangement, and production working together to showcase a great vocal performance and help impart the emotion behind the lyrics.

Even though Bell Records bought out Jet Set just prior to this release, which seemingly should have given this record more of a chance to be heard, neither side of the record got noticed. And Jet Set folded shortly thereafter.

As time went by, it became apparent that very few of the Tou-Sea productions other than Dorsey’s got effective promotion under Bell’s distribution contract. Sehorn intimated as much to Hannusch, saying that Bell always held a grudge against him, because he would not give them exclusive rights to everything the partnership produced. Of course, doing so would have ceded the company almost total control of Tou-Sea’s destiny plus a larger cut of any profits. Since the entities were already closely tied through Dorsey’s Amy deal, you can’t blame Sehorn for wanting to leave some other options open for the partnership to generate a hit with other artists and make some money. The standoff goes a long way in explaining why Bell would have worked Dorsey’s records harder than any of the partnership’s other releases.

[Just a geek note on the numbering of this single and Jet Set in general. According to the R&B Indies, Jet Set issues ran from 1001 in 1965 to 1009 sometime in 1966, when Bell came into the picture. The label then had just four remaining issues, numbered 765 - 768. The rapid demise of Jet Set suggests that Bell’s business model included not just efforts to hamstring their competition, but eliminate it whenever possible.]

Sad to say, Holmes’ luck would not get much better. His next release, “Until the End”/Without A Word” came out on Sansu 469 in 1967, followed by “Beverly”/”Wait For Me Baby” (#477), but both received little play beyond New Orleans. He then had four releases on Deesu over the next couple of years, all with likely backing by the Meters. One of them, “Where Is Love”/”Now That I’ve Lost You” did well enough locally to attract Decca Records to reissue it (#32416). Decca also directly released another of the singer’s Toussaint productions, “If I Were A Carpenter”/”Love Problem” (#32488), before losing interest due to slow sales.

By that point, Dover had collapsed in financial ruin, and Deesu went into hiatus. Probably Holmes’ best known 45 these days, “Pop Popcorn Children”/”Cheating Woman”, still with Toussaint in charge and the Meters on board, was released by Atco in 1969, but did not do well enough to merit a follow-up. Then came a Holmes single produced by Senator Jones with the involvement of Charles Brimmer around 1970 on the local micro-label, Kansu. But the singer was back working with Toussaint (at least according to the label credits) in 1972 for what would be the final record of his career, recorded in Charlotte, NC, and issued there on the short-lived Brown Sugar label.

Wikipedia UK has what appears to be a complete [but not quite chronological] Eldridge Holmesdiscography; and there's abrief bioof him at Allmusic. Here are links to my prior posts on the singer:
Three Sides of Eldridge Holmes
Eldridge Holmes Sells "The Book"


BETTY HARRIS: SANSU’S SOLE WOMAN

If you look at the roster of artists attached to Tou-Sea Productions, the dearth of females is glaring. Other than a one-off 1968 single on the Tou-Sea label by a strong, if somewhat tonally challenged, vocalist from the Atlanta area, Zilla Mayes, Betty Harris was all by her lonesome on the distaff side of the list. Likewise, during Toussaint’s tenure at Banashak’s Minit, Instant, and Alon labels, Irma Thomas had been the only woman with up-front billing. As in the world at large, male dominance was routinely endemic in the New Orleans recording scene for decades; but that’s a sociology topic for another day.

To their credit, Toussaint and Sehorn did sign Harris early on, who proved to be one of their most talented and relatively successful artists; but they found her in New York City rather than on the local or regional scene. Getting her on board in 1965 was definitely a promising score for the production company; but during their four year association, she would only come into town periodically to overdub vocals on productions Toussaint pre-recorded for her; and, as good as it was, It was never more than a long distance relationship.

While Harris was a talent worthy of Toussaint’s attention, I’ve always wondered why the partners never brought Irma Thomas in to work with Allen again, since there was a window of time when she would have been available, between her contract ending with Imperial early in 1966 and her recordings for Chess in 1967. In fact, Imperial had hired Allen soon after he got out of the service in 1965 to produce (and write) several tunes for her, which appeared on her impressive 45, "Take A Look"/"What Are You Trying To Do" (#66137) and LP [Take a Look] for the label; but, the always promising combination did not jump-start her declining sales, nor did her final Imperial single produced by the very hot James Brown. Her lack of a hit certainly wasn’t a quality issue. It had more to do with the airwaves being crowded with amazing music in those days, plus the British Invasion in full force, making it hard to compete even for such outstanding talents.

So, why wouldn’t Irma have been a good match for Tou-Sea Productions right after that? Even fresh off a disappointing collaboration, it’s hard to fathom why they would not want Irma on their side. But maybe it was Irma who held back, deciding to put any further recording plans on hold for a time when she left Imperial. She needed to make money for her family and so began gigging regularly on the busy Southern college circuit, which kept her on the road. Also, as Willie West confirmed to me recently, Tou-Sea was not paying the artists any money up front to sign with them; and, while, they did pay them a set fee per song [possibly union scale] for the sessions they cut, only those who had hits might get compensated any further for their work, and I emphasize the “might”. Having been around the block several times with different companies by that point, Irma may not have been interested in such an equation.  In any event, she and Toussaint never connected to make a record again.

[Note: Actually, Irma did finally sign with Sansu briefly about a decade later; but Toussaint never developed any material for her or recorded her, other than singing back-up from time to time at Sea-Saint Studio. What a waste. She parted ways with them for good after Sehorn recorded her performance at the 1976 JazzFest without her knowledge and licensed some of the songs to Island Records for inclusion on a double LP compilation of performances related to the event. She wasn't compensated for that, nor later when he re-licensed her live set to Charly in the UK, who released an album under her name, Hip Shakin' Mama, in 1981. To this day, Irma considers those tracks to have been bootlegged. But it was pretty much standard procedure for Sehorn. Harris, too, received no royalties for her Sansu records at the time, but won ownership of the recordings after a protracted legal battle some 25 years later.]

In Betty Harris, Toussaint found another gifted, soulful female vocalist to work with and write for; and I’m sure Sehorn saw nationwide breakout potential in their collaborations. Pete Nickols’ definitive summary of Harris’ life and career at Sir Shambling’s Soul Heaven [see link below], relates that she was born in Florida and grew up in Alabama, left her strict, religious home as a teenager in the later 1950s and went to New York City to seek her fortunes as an R&B singer. She first met Allen there in 1965, having finished a stint recording for the Jubilee label under the guidance of the great producer and writer, Bert Berns, scoring a decent-sized hit with his song, “Cry To Me”.

It’s highly likely that the meeting occurred at the time of Lee Dorsey’s Apollo show. Sehorn may have known Betty already from his prior dealings in the NYC music business and introduced her to Allen; but, however they connected, Harris quickly signed with the partners and became the initial artist to record for their new Sansu imprint. Her first single (#450) paired two new Toussaint numbers, “I’m Evil Tonight” and “What A Sad Feeling”; and Betty would record eight more for the label, plus a duet outing with Lee Dorsey. The only significant national response came from her amazing, deep take on Toussaint’s “Nearer” in 1967, which charted and became a modest hit.  After Sansu shut down in 1969, Sehorn placed one more 45 on Betty with SSS International, featuring Toussaint’s trippy funk classic, “There’s A Break In The Road”; but it failed to actually deliver any breaks other than James Black's incredible beats, and was her last release for decades.

I wish I had time to delve into more of Harris’ Sansu material [soon come, mon]; but, fortunately, Nickols has done a great job with the topic in his lengthy piece, which includes selected audio. So, I encourage you to listen and read up there - become a Betty Harris fan, if you’re not one already! Here's that link, plus my paltry prior posts on Betty:

Betty Harris: Sir Shambling's Deep Soul Heaven
Two More From Toussaint
Who You Gonna Call?

 I’m just concentrating on one of her Sansu records this time, which by coincidence happens to tie together her early and later recordings with Toussaint.



“Mean Man”(Allen Toussaint)
Betty Harris, Sansu 478, 1968

This was Betty’s seventh Sansu solo single and came after her 1967 double-sided duo project (#474) with Lee Dorsey, which did not get the notice it deserved. From both the sound of this track and the date, I am pretty sure that the newly-hired Meters were the operative rhythm section on this track. There is definitely a step up in the energy of the playing and the funk.

As with most all of his work with Harris, Toussaint was at the top of his game in all departments on “Mean Man”, and having the Meters on board just added emphasis to the fact. The track displays his complex, trademark amalgam of interdependent parts that worked together flawlessly. The arrangement, playing, and singing are so precisely on target that they automatically induce our surrender to the polyrhythmic movements of the eminently danceable groove, and lock us into the easily accessible melody line and lyrics.  

It’s such a cool song in all regards that the only explanation I can come up with for why it didn’t make the charts goes back to the alleged Bell grudge against independent releases from Tou-Sea Productions. They had to be giving promotion of those records short shrift; and it was definitely starting to take its toll.  

Evidence of the growing strain can be seen in the decision not to produce a new track for the singles’s B-side and, instead, recycle one from her third single. In fact, they had also reused “I’m Evil Tonight” as the flip for “Nearer” the previous year. More than likely both were money-saving moves rather than a lack of fresh material being available. I'm sure they had o pay Harris' expenses to come down and record. Even if second-hand, though, their choice for the back of “Mean Man” definitely was worth hearing again.

“What Did I Do Wrong”(Allen Toussaint)

Originally on the flip side of another sadly underappreciated single (#455) from 1966 that featured the driving dancer, “Twelve Red Roses”, this tune is a fine example of what Betty has always considered to be her strongest suit, emotive, deep soul balladry. Taken at a moderate mid-tempo that Toussaint subtly tricked-out here and there with rhythmic change-ups, the song’s bluesy simplicity allowed her to dig in and render a gritty, richly dynamic performance that reveals her true gift for spellbinding phrasing, alternately on the beat, pushing against it, or hesitating, to keep the listener hanging on every meaningful word. Sublime.

Of course, this track was too early to have had the Meters on it, but is not diminished in any way for that. The musicianship is outstanding, and the feel of the track has a lot in common with a song from an outside project Toussaint produced that same year on another underappreciated soul singer.

BRIEFLY UNDER THE BIG TOP WITH LOU JOHNSON

MY 2011 post,Sansu 70s: Allen, Lee and Lou, featured a segment on material from Lou Johnson’s 1971 Volt LP,  With You In Mind, which had Toussaint’s manifold involvement. As I noted there in the background information on Johnson, he started recording in the early 1960s for New York City‘s Big Top Records and its Big Hill subsidiary, scoring several modest hits. Notably, up and coming songwriters Burt Bacharach and Hal David provided much of his material and produced some of those sessions. Three of their tunes that appeared on Lou’s singles, “Reach Out For Me”, “Always Something There To Remind Me”, and “Kentucky Bluebird” [a/k/a “Message To Michael (Martha)”], were covered and made much bigger hits by Dionne Warwick a few years later, again under the guidance of that production and writing team.

Big Top and the smaller Big Hill and Hill Top labels were owned by the hugely successful Hill  & Range music publishing company. By 1964, the principals found running record companies too distracting and let them go.  But, in 1965, Big Top was briefly reactivated with Bell Records as its new distributor. Of the mere five listed releases from the company before it finally went away for good, Lou Johnson had three of them. And, for the final one, Toussaint and company got the call to produce.

Of course, Bell farmed this project out to the Tou-Sea team due to the continuing success of the Dorsey-Amy relationship; and I’m pretty sure the session took place in New Orleans with Cosimo Matassa engineering. While Allen also got one his songs placed on the B-side, what may have most intrigued him about the project was the chance to do his own arrangement of a Bacharach-David tune.



“Walk On By“(Bacharach-David)
Lou Johnson, Big Top 104, 1966

I suspect the Big Top bigwigs picked this well-known feature track for Johnson, trying to get him back to his earlier successes (though limited) recording the songwriters’ material. Dionne Warwick’s original version, also produced by Bacharach and David, had gone to #6 on the pop charts and #1 R&B in 1964. As a successful writer/producer, Toussaint no doubt had great respect for the sophisticated musical sensibilities and hit-making skills of his peers and realized that he faced the tough task of doing justice to their great song while giving it a different enough spin to allow Johnson’s take to stand out. The bar for success was set quite high, and the deck was stacked against the single in several ways.

Without doubt, the delicate vocal  on Warwick’s version was a perfect fit for the tasteful, spare instrumentation and bossa nova influenced feel of its groove. The overall arrangement was nothing less than masterful, state-of-the-art pop production, making it an instant classic. So, I can’t help admiring the fearless assurance of Toussaint’s approach, allowing Johnson to come at the song from his comfort zone and display his trademark gospel-influenced vocal fervor.

For the most part, the song wasn’t altered much structurally or melodically; but Toussaint cast it in the warm trappings of a Southern soul feel, embellished by his sanctified piano fills and the subtly syncopated horns, making it at once totally recognizable yet miles away from the original. As brilliant an accomplishment as it was, the record went exactly nowhere. Big Top’s impending dissolution was likely the major factor, offering little incentive for Bell to promote it more than sending out DJ copies. At best, it was a paying project for Tous-Sea Productions, a challenging exercise for Toussaint, and created the opening to work with Johnson again a few years later.

Although the B-side of the single is not prime Toussaint material, I’m including it because I’m guessing that not many of even the most serious of his fans have heard it.

“Little Girl”(Allen Toussaint)


Allen’s contribution turned out to be an unsuccessful attempt to design a song for Johnson in the Barcharach-David style. He set it up around some of the changes in “Kentucky Bluebird”; but it was too labored an effort, and definitely lacked his usual rhythmic flow and ease with a melody. Even with Johnson’s well-sung, professional presentation, the song’s place on the back side of a poorly distributed single was fitting.

Toussaint has had his share of creative missteps over a long career - it’s only natural; and I usually don’t dwell on them; but the context of this one is interesting and helps to explain what he was up to, at least. If you just heard the song on its own without knowing anything about it, you might have a WTF moment.

Down the line I hope to explore other aspects of Toussaint’s creative journey. There’s much more from even this brief window of time, but it’s a wrap for now. Other topics crowd my desk, floor, shelves and boxes. Long dormant grooves beg to be heard again. So, I’ll be back with more. . . .

SUPER SUNDAY SHOW-OFF 2013

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Hi, y'all. I was in NOLA last weekend for the Record Raid [found a few fine fetishes to bring back] on Saturday and also managed to catch an outstanding double bill at d.b.a. on Frenchmen Street that night featuring localsGood Enough For Good TimesandCorey Henry's Treme Funktet[great sound in the club with Benny Hare running the board] - a funky good time for sure.

The fun continued the next day, as I got up and just made it over to Central City for theSuper Sunday 2013MardiGrasIndianparade before heading home. Here aresome more photosI took along the route. If I hadn't been an extra crispy geez by that point, I would have stayed for the big post-parade throwdown in Davis Park with multiple brass bands, et al.

Stay tuned, got another music post on the burner........

IRMA & SWAMP DOGG: The Canyon Sessions

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Back in March, out of the blue, David Marchese from SPIN sent methis linkto his impressive feature on Jerry ‘Swamp Dogg’ Williams, Jr., a truly independent and amazingingly prolific R&B artist, writer, producer, publisher, label-owner, and walking definition of  “gonzo”. I knew various bits and pieces about the man and his career; but the article was a welcome and entertaining overview that taught me more. It is great to know he’s still alive and musically kickin’ it at age 70.


Kudos to David for conveying a sense of Swamp Dogg’s multifaceted  personality, along with the talent and savvy that have kept him navigating the back alleys of the music business for over half a century (he cut his first record at 12). Lesser mortals might have packed it in long ago, but he’s maintained the spark and refused to fade away. Read the article and marvel at his, um, Doggedness.


As far as HOTG goes, Swamp Dogg has never had more than a tangential association with New Orleans music;; and 99% of that revolves around his brief but intense collaboration with one of the city’s most revered soul artists,Irma Thomas. In 1970, he was called upon to write, arrange and produce an album’s worth of material on her for the Canyon label, which folded before the LP could be released. Several years later, Swamp Dogg found the means to put it out, albeit briefly, as In Between Tears on his own imprint.


I found my copy in the bins of a Memphis used record store over 20 years ago, and have since picked up several reissues of it, as well as a few of the related 45s; but it took David's solid nudge to get me motivated to investigate the backstory of the project and (slowly) pull together this post.


[Notes: Information herein has been gleaned from my own research and several significant sources: David Marchese’s “The Real Mother****ing Doggfather”, as mentioned and linked above, from SPIN, dated March 5, 2013; Jeff Hannusch’s chapter on Irma Thomas inI Hear You Knockin’(Swallow Publications, 1985); Swamp Dogg’s notes to the 1993 Shanachie CD, Turn My World Around, and 2000 S.D.E.G. CD, The Little Jerry Williams Anthology (1954-1969); plus Tony Rounce’s fine notes to the excellent 2006 Kent Soul CD compilation,Irma Thomas, A Woman’s Viewpoint: The Essential 1970s Recordings. Also of extreme help is David Chance's massively annotatedJerry Williams, Jr./Swamp Dogg Discography, not to be missed for you completists who don't know about it already.


In Between Tears was first reissued on a Charly (UK) LP in 1981. The also now out of print Shanachie CD noted above contained Swamp Dogg’s Canyon material on Irma, but with certain of the original rhythm tracks replaced by him with newly recorded players. In 2007, he releasedTwo Phases of Irma Thomas, on his own Swamp Dogg Entertainment Group label, a CD compiling the original album along with the 1993 version. Also,Alive Naturalsound Recordswill soon reissue the original album on vinyl and CD. So, find a way to add it to your collection.]


IRMA’S LATE 1960s DILEMMA


In myFebruary poston Allen Toussaint’s 1965 career reboot, I mentioned in passing that Irma’s promising recording career had several setbacks in the mid-1960s. Imperial Records signed her after their parent company, Liberty Records, bought out Joe Banashak’s Minit label in 1963. Starting in 1964, she cut a string of good to excellent singles for Imperial, recorded mostly in Los Angeles, with at least four songs getting into the charts. Her self-penned “Wish Someone Would Care” was the most successful, becoming a Top 20 hit; but prospects cooled down by 1965, even when Imperial teamed her up with Toussaint back home for the outstanding “Take A Look"/"What Are Trying To Do”(#66137) and other tunes. So, the company let her go.


At that point, Irma went without a recording contract for over a year. As I said in that prior post, I've found nothing to indicate that Toussaint and his new partner in Tou-Sea Productions, Marshall Sehorn, attempted to sign Irma in the interim - a missed opportunity that has never been adequately explained. But, since she had no chance to record, Irma worked the Southern and Gulf Coast circuit playing club and college dates to support her family, also spending nearly a month in 1966 performing on tour in England. She had gone there earlier on the success of ”Wish Someone Would Care” and was still in demand.


Around the start of 1967, Chess Records signed Irma to their roster. The label had developed a prominent soul market presence with Etta James among others others, making the addition of Irma look like a very good move for all concerned. Spurred by Aretha Franklin’s success on Atlantic Records with the Muscle Shoals sound, Chess soon sent Etta, Laura Lee, and Irma for sessions at producer Rick Hall’s Fame [Florence Alabama Music Enterprises] Studios, backed primarily by famed house band, the Swampers. Irma’s sessions resulted in over a dozen finished tracks of fine material written by Dan Penn & Spooner Oldham, Otis Redding, Maurice Dollison, and Oliver Sain, among others. Her excitement at recording there plus the great musicians and gritty, very soulful material brought out some of the best performances of her career.


But, after releasing only three singles from the sessions, none of which were commercially successful, Chess summarily let her go. As Irma explained it to Jeff Hannusch, the company refused to promote her singles or release any more of them because she would not consent to have her gigs controlled by a budding music business mogul, Phil Walden. His agency in Macon, Georgia had a deal with Chess and other labels to book their artists; but Irma balked in particular at the large cut he took out of the performance fees (some of which probably got kicked back to the label). Though she made a brave stand, it meant that Irma missed out on a lot of helpful national touring exposure, as Walden also managed Otis Redding, and booked Sam & Dave, and, of course, Etta James, among many other names in soul music.

[I need to do a re-post on Irma's Chess sides, it's been almost 10 years since I briefly touched on them when all my vinyl was in storage after moving. So, they're now on the list again....]


By 1968, recording opportunities at home had quickly deteriorated due to the bankruptcy and demise of the only significant local studio and associated distribution operation, both owned by the legendary Cosimo Matassa. Many of the independent labels in the area that he did business with closed down or went on hiatus, leaving Irma no chance to make a record in the once thriving scene. Gigs for R&B artists were scarce in New Orleans, as well, with rock bands ruling the roost and a shrinking list of venues to play. So, she went back to working along Gulf Coast, at least until the devastating Hurricane Camille came down hard on the area in the summer of 1969, shutting down or leveling many of the clubs she regularly played.  In the aftermath, Irma parted ways with her band and moved to Los Angeles, working days as a retail clerk to make ends meet and doing pick-up gigs on the weekends, singing mainly cover tunes.


In L.A., Irma reconnected with some New Orleans expatriate musicians and artists who she had known early in her career, including Harold Battiste and Mac Rebennack. That led to some session work as a backing singer, and probably helped bring her to the attention of aspiring label-owner Wally Roker.  A veteran of a New York doo-wop vocal group, the Heartbeats, he had subsequently worked around the business as a publisher, producer and promo man for various outfits, and was just cranking up an independent of his own, Canyon Records, as the decade rolled over.


Roker was swift to scoop up Irma for his new venture and put her in the studio with Monk Higgins (a/k/a Milton Bland) arranging and running the session. Higgins had made his mark on the Chicago scene as a saxophonist, writer, and producer/arranger before relocating to L.A. around the same time as Irma. The resulting tracks were issued as her initial Canyon single late in 1969 or early 1970.




“Save A Little Bit For Me”(Mamie Galore-Dee Ervin-Monk Higgins)

Irma Thomas, Canyon 21, 1969


“That’s How I Feel About You”(Vee Pee-Mamie Galore-R. Brooks)


Though displaying #21, this single was really only the label’s fourth release. Roker started numbering at 18, since it was commonly thought to be beneficial to give DJs the illusion that a record company had been around for a while. Higgins co-wrote the top side with his wife, who generally went by Virginia Davis or Mamie Galore on writing credits, and Dee Ervin (a/k/a DiFosco Ervin, Jr). Ms Galore is also acknowledged as writer of the flip along with one Vee Pea, which BMI shows as an alias for....Virginia Bland (she needed two alias on one song?). Ray Brooks (a/k/a Marshall R. Greathouse in the BMI database) also got in on the credits. Obviously, these folks were well-prepared to make an end-run around the IRS, should either of these songs have struck paydirt and generated royalties; but that contingency failed to arise.


While Irma did a fine job on the mid-tempo soul of “Save A Little Bit For Me”, which has a pleasant-enough, generic gospel feel, the song just doesn’t go much of anywhere musically. The real keeper to me is her take on the other side’s deeper and much more engaging “That’s How I Feel About You”. It is simply killer, sounding like something from her Imperial pop catalog in terms of style and instrumentation. Still, neither side registered enough airplay to trigger sales, and left Roker to consider another approach to effectively utilize and display Irma’s soulful assets.


To retool, he turned to a multi-faceted talent who had recently signed on to provide services for Canyon.


ENTER THE DOGG

He was one weird dude, but he knew how to take care of business.- Irma Thomas’ nutshell assessment of Swamp Dogg, as quoted in I Hear You Knockin’


Jerry William, Jr. came to Canyon in his late 20s after having worked for Atlantic Records’ new Cotillion label for a frustrating year or so. A recording artist since his teens, he had been on a succession of labels in New York and Philadelphia, and involved in writing and production, too. At Cotillion he cut a few singles himself and produced records for other vocalists, but scored no hits and was unable to deal with the corporate record-making mindset that had become the Atlantic Group status quo. So, he and they parted ways in 1969. Several LSD trips during the period left his creative spigot stuck open and tricked-out his already singular nature with a new attitude, inspiring Williams to write a bunch of new material and head South to record. In his recollections to Marchese, Swamp Dogg pegged the spot for those sessions as Muscle Shoals with the Swampers backing him. But it must have been a slip of the tongue, since they occurred one state over with a different band.


In his liner notes to Little Jerry Williams Anthology (1954-1969), Williams recounted how in 1969 he approached Phil Walden, who had just opened Capricorn Studios in Macon, Georgia, about a partnering in a production deal. They reached an agreement, and Walden gave Williams use of the studio and staff musicians (though not the Swampers, a few had played at Fame) to record artists doing his material to be placed with outside labels. The first projects were albums on Tyrone Thomas (a/k/a Wolfmoon) and Doris Duke. Williams placed the eponymous Wolfmoon LP with Capitol Records; but they soon had second thoughts and killed the deal. As for Duke's album, Williams shopped it around without success, until he went to L.A. and found Wally Roker, who agreed to release it on his new Canyon imprint. The LP, I'm A Loser, and first single taken from it for radio play both charted. Things were starting to pop.
His next production session at Capricorn led indirectly to him doing an album of his own. After recording a local singer, JoAnn Bunn, doing two of his songs with disappointing results, Williams overdubbed his own vocals on the tracks and took them out to Roker, who gave him the green light to make his first-ever LP. He told Roker that he wanted to call himself "The Dogg" on the record to make a break with his earlier career; then, while back in Macon to cut the rest of the material, the session band described the Dogg's sound as "swamp music", which caused him to hatch the full Swamp Dogg moniker - at least that's how he recalled it in 2000.

Swamp Dogg's Total Destruction To Your Mind[newly reissued] came out on Canyon in 1970 along with two spin-off singles and met with near total broadcast indifference, or maybe it was stunned confusion at his Zappa-esque multi-genre approach. In any case, with no radio play to speak of, the records neither charted nor sold. Undeterred, he plunged ahead with productions on several other artists he brought to Capricorn, working almost non-stop on albums by Raw Spitt (a/k/a Charlie Whitehead) and Sandra Phillips (Too Many People In One Bed) that would also be released on Canyon with the same resounding thud of hitting a commercial brick wall.


Essentially the same rhythm section played on all those sessions: drummer Johnny Sandlin, keyboardist Paul Hornsby, guitarist Jesse ‘Pete’ Carr, and bassist Robert ‘Pops’ Popwell. All except Popwell had played in the Hour Glass with Gregg and Duane Allman a few years earlier. Sandlin and Hornsby were young veterans of the Alabama rock and soul scene, and wound up in Macon through their connections to the Allman's, who had signed with Walden's management company and were recording at Capricorn. Carr became a regular session player in Muscle Shoals around the time of these recordings, and was just doing some side work with his old bandmates.

Meanwhile back in L.A., Roker wanted to give Irma a better shot, and contracted with Swamp Dogg to take over the making of her next single, with a full LP to follow. There was no material at hand, so the ever-enterprising producer, as he asserted in the Shanachie CD notes, enlisted a friend, George McGregor, another A&R man, to come up with two good instrumental tracks that SD could write lyrics to and use for the 45 sides. McGregor obliged, supposedly creating and recording them the next day in Muscle Shoals where he was doing some sessions at an unnamed studio. I am assuming the recording was done at Muscle Shoals Sound, recently opened by the Swampers, because the Shanachie CD, which includes those sides, credits certain members of the MSS studio crew for playing on them, along with the Memphis Horns and pianist Spooner Oldham (a former Swamper). That would also explain the high level of playing.


In short order, McGregor caught a flight to L.A. to deliver the tapes to Swamp Dogg, who claims to have written lyrics for both sides within a few hours of getting them (with help from Troy Davis on the B-side). He then rehearsed with Irma for a couple more, cut her vocals, and delivered the masters to Canyon by the next afternoon. Even if he hyped that timeline just a bit in the telling, obviously Irma was right about his work ethic. Her second Canyon single hit the streets in a relative flash.




“I’d Do It All Over You”(Jerry Williams, Jr)

Irma Thomas, Canyon 31, 1970


That these songs have a country music feel to varying degrees is likely no accident. Williams may have ordered them up that way, as he has acknowledged being strongly influenced by country artists he heard on the radio while growing up in Portsmouth, Virginia. Generally, that manifests in the lyrics he writes with their down-home turns of phrase and strong narrative elements - characteristics that both country and soul music share.


For “I’d Do It All Over You”, McGregor [who, strangely, got no writing credit for either song] designed an upbeat, straightforward, rockin’ country sounding romp. The Memphis Horns pulled the feel over to the R&B side, which Irma reinforced with her own soulful, throwdown-hoedown delivery. Still, the song’s jokey title line hook kept it fairly lightweight.


“We Won’t Be In Your Way Anymore”(Jerry Williams, Jr - Troy Davis)


Once again, the B-side proved to be more impressive.  Musically, “We Won’t Be In Your Way Anymore” has a great mid-tempo soul feel and arrangement, augmented by a repeating section with a rock progression and some hot lead guitar riffing that serves as the intro, the lead-up to the third verse key modulation, and the ride-out. Irma sounds perfectly in her element here, investing much grit and emotion into the song’s strong storyline about a marriage breaking-up, while she deftly navigated some tricky, at times prolix, wording. If indeed she only had a few hours to learn these songs before cutting them, her talent and professionalism deserve even more props than usual. She showed herself to be a worthy match for Swamp Dogg’s go-for-it attitude.


Upon completing the 45, the producer took Irma to his home in New York to work up material and rehearse for the forthcoming album sessions. [I can only assume that Roker was picking up the tab for all the production-related travel expenses Swamp Dogg and his associates were racking up.] They spent about a week in preparations, then went down to Macon for the sessions at Capricorn. As noted earlier, the studio band were pretty much the same players who worked with Swamp Dogg on his other Canyon projects there, with the addition of Duane Allman [uncredited on the original LP cover] on two tracks. The drummer, shown only as “Squirm”, is a question mark, though. I’m unsure if that was Johnny Sandlin, who was doing more engineering and producing for the studio and new Capricorn label. Bill Stewart might be another possibility.


Once the majority of the tracking was done, Swamp Dogg sent his boss a reference copy to hear; and, after reviewing it, Roker called Capricorn and cancelled any further sessions, declaring the album complete and perfect as it was.  Even though some additional overdubs (“sweetening”) and a final mix had not been done, SD says his outsized ego led him to agree with Roker’s assessment; but, as it turned out, there was another motive for the sessions being cut off.


Canyon was deep in debt, its finances depleted. Before the album could be released, Roker took the company into bankruptcy and quickly out of business. The only Canyon/Swamp Dogg success stories had been Doris Duke’s album and first single [both still highly regarded by soul fans], which reached respectable levels on the charts; but sales were insufficient to cover the production costs for the label’s many other records that did not register at all with radio and the public. Not wanting to see his efforts go to waste, Swamp Dogg purchased the master tapes for Irma's album from Canyon, probably at liquidation sale prices  It would take several more years, but the ardent over-achiever kept hustling and eventually found a way to get it released.


At some point before the transaction, Roker managed to press up one more 45 on Irma, using two tracks from the Capricorn session tapes. He put it out on his own very short-lived, self-named label, seemingly set up in hopes of having a Hail Mary hit that would get him back into the black - the independent record business, of course, being nothing more than hard core gambling by another name.



“These Four Walls”(Len [sic] Farr)
Irma Thomas, Roker 502, 1970

This is one of only two songs from Irma’s Canyon sessions that Swamp Dogg did not have a hand in writing. Composed by Lynne [sometimes shown as Lynn, but simply misspelled on the label credit] Farr, it featured the same fine production treatment as the rest of the tracks and a top notch vocal by Irma. What the tune lacked was a truly engaging melody and structure that could have made it a sure-fire radio standout. As we will see, there were others to choose from that could have better fit the bill.

The flip side, “Woman’s Viewpoint”, was simply an excerpt from the extended monologue Swamp Dogg wrote for Irma that was part of a lengthy medley [discussed below] taking up the majority of the second side of the LP when it was finally released. Though the monologue wasn't prime radio material either, Irma has used it as part of her stage act for many years.

None of the handful of singles on Roker, including Irma’s, brought about the desired miracle, each quickly falling by the wayside, as another label bit the dust. Yet Roker the man survived the ordeals and worked in the music business for decades thereafter.

Following the Canyon debacle, Irma had a rebound fling with Atlantic Records, whose Cotillion subsidiary came courting as 1971 rolled around. It is tempting to think that Swamp Dogg recommended her to the label; but I have no hard evidence to back that up. According to Tony Rounce, Cotillion recorded her at several locations over the next year, including Detroit (!?), where sessions for a potential LP took place, as well as Miami (at Criteria), Philadelphia (at Sigma Sound), and, finally, Jackson, Mississippi at Malaco. For reasons unknown, probably corporate dithering, out of all that tape, the only two songs Cotillion got around to releasing came from her one Malaco session. “Full Time Woman”/“She’s Taken My Part” appeared on a lone single (#44144) issued late in the year, and were decent tunes well-produced by Wardell Quezergue during his incredible run at the studio [covered here in 2011 and 2012].

Despite impressive performances from Irma, the record was not pushed and went nowhere. Rather than give her another chance and more promotion, Cotillion mysteriously showed her the door instead. From what Rounce relates in his notes to the Kent CD, her many other tracks for the label remain tied up in corporate legal limbo and probably will never be available for issue by anybody. We will never know what treasures there may be slowly oxidizing on some shelf.

BRINGING FORTH FUNGUS

Around 1973, Swamp Dogg somehow convinced the North American division of the BASF Corporation, a huge German chemical manufacturing company that made myriad industrial products, to back his new record label, Fungus. [How I wish I could have been at that presentation meeting. I imagine him promising that it would spread widely and be hard to eradicate.]. With a seemingly modest financial infusion from BASF, he was finally able to release the languishing Wolfmoon LP [which he has described as “pop gospel”] and Irma’s In Between Tears, plus a new album by Charlie Whitehead, along with several related 45s; but none took hold on the radio or in the marketplace. It appears that Swamp Dogg was not able to secure national distribution for his label or an adequate promotional budget to propagate his product.

Thus Fungus never thrived, persisting for only about a year before BASF, whose closest prior brush with the music business had been making recording tape, thought better of their tentative venture and cut off Swamp Dogg’s cash flow - a move that consigned the label’s few offerings to the realm of future collectables.

For Irma’s long delayed and finally realized album, the failure of Fungus was tragic. Despite trippy but amateurish cover artwork that didn’t well represent the content, In Between Tears  held songs that effectively showcased her talents and deserved to be heard by the public at large. Here is some ample proof that she and Swamp Dogg were a good match in the studio.



“In Between Tears”(J. Williams, Jr - T. Davis)
Irma Thomas, from In Between Tears, Fungus 25150, 1973/1974

Another of Swamp Dogg’s collaborations with Troy Davis, this strong title song was worthy of Irma’s emotive, utterly engaging vocal treatment. It was also released on a Fungus single (#15141) in 1973, the second of only two spun off from the LP, and certainly merited radio play and a place in the charts. Instead it got the commercial cold shoulder, even though the entire album had a positive mention in the “Also Recommended” section of Billboard’s “Top Album Picks” during September, 1973, as well as a mini-review in their July, 1974 “Recommended LP’s” listings. Both rightly noted this song as one of the stronger offerings.

Listening to the cut on the original album, it is hard for me to fathom why Swamp Dogg later lamented that the album was "unfinished" and became so dissatisfied with his production work that he replaced much of the rhythm section parts with new players for the Shanachie CD some 20 years later. One can always second guess here and there, but the solid arrangements and session playing done at Capricorn still stand up well. Obviously (and thankfully), he had a change of heart, as his Two Phases of Irma Thomas CD in 2007 contained both the first version and its remuddled counterpart; and the latest reissue goes back to the source tapes with just up-to-date remastering.

“You’re The Dog (I Do The Barking Myself)”(J. Williams - G. Bonds - C. Whitehead)

Swamp Dogg wrote this punchy slice of Southern soul with two other of his collaborators, Gary “US” Bonds and Charlie Whitehead. He put it on the B-side of Irma's first Fungus single, with the deeper  “She’ll Never Be Your Wife” on the topside.

One of the first things you notice on “You’re The Dog” is a heavier grit that builds in Irma’s voice as the song goes along. The quirky lyrics call out the so-called man in her character’s life for not living up to his part of the bargain. As with many of the album’s other numbers, it’s theme relates to the emotions and resilience of a woman wronged in a relationship - a worthy concept perhaps inspired by Irma’s personal story. Another notable feature of this track is a taste of Duane Allman’s lead guitar playing. That’s him bending strings with a touch of distortion during the ride-out, counter-punching with Irma’s outright screams.

“What’s So Wrong With You Loving Me”(J. Williams - C. Whitehead)

Making a case for infidelity, this composition by Swamp Dogg and Charlie Whitehead strays from the general theme I just mentioned, but is one my two favorite cuts in terms of song structure and production values, ranking up there with the title track. The high class arrangement brought in a tympani drum; and the string section, used tastefully throughout the record, has a more prominent role here.

However gonzo Williams wanted to appear on his own records, with Irma he was a sympathetic producer intent on providing material and arrangements that would display her talent to its best advantage. In the case of “What’s So Wrong”, he again gave the music a radio-worthy, mainstream sound, while Irma’s earnest, soulful delivery of the subject matter kept the track real and relatable.

“Turn My World Around”(J. Williams - C. Whitehead)

This all too brief closing track of the LP comes after a lengthy (almost 14 minutes) medley on side 2 featuring the extended monologue, “Coming From Behind”, and an over 7 minute reworking of Irma’s own classic composition, “Wish Someone Would Care”, that gets so intensely deep that you almost need to be in a pressurized suit to listen to it.

On “Wish”, Swamp Dogg stretched her performance to the point of excess, pushing Irma to her vocal and emotional limits for the sake of the theme mentioned above; and she showed herself to have the incredible strength and stamina to take it that far. Impressive as that is, the long track makes for demanding listening, and does not lend itself frequent plays.

Instead of leaving the downtempo medley as the album’s final statement, SD used the much more upbeat “Turn My World Around” as the thematic closer. It’s no lightweight throwaway, even though the lyrics seem a bit more like an afterthought. The production values were as high and substantial as on any of the other cuts; and Irma's performance is just as worth taking in - so much so that the fade-out really is at least a minute premature.

* * * * * * *

When considering the collaboration of these two great artists, one takeaway for me is that, ultimately, Swamp Dogg’s creative efforts and skills in crafting an album that allowed Irma to shine were undone by his lack of the marketing clout needed to get the best songs onto the national airwaves for maximum exposure. Irma's old fans and prospective new ones lost out on some great music and the many pleasures of hearing her in her prime [which she's still in, btw!]. It’s an all too common story of the pitfalls of independent record-making, where having a worthy product is only half the battle.

Had a larger label taken the record over from Fungus, repackaged and pushed it, In Between Tears might have given the singer’s career a needed boost during a decade of record-making doldrums.

How disappointing and frustrating it must have been for Irma to have cut great performances for a succession of labels, many of which were not released; with the ones that did make it to vinyl not getting heard, either.   As Irma told Hannusch back in the early 1980s,

At this point I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll never have another national hit.You’ve just got to have big bucks. It’s been my luck to be with [either] a small company that can’t promote, or a big company that won’t promote. I honestly don’t know what to record anymore.

Fortunately, a few years after she said that, her world finally turned around. She began to fully come into her own as a recording artist and concert performer when Rounder Records, a rare breed of independent label with their own distribution network, came into New Orleans on a mission to lift some of its greatest musical artists out of their relative obscurity into the national spotlight. With their support and a gifted producer, Scott Billington, her popularity has continued to grow through a string of excellent albums; and in 2007, she received a Grammy Award for her Rounder CD, After the Rain.

It is also gratifying to see Swamp Dogg getting attention again, too, through new reissues of his own records and productions for others. His belief in the value of In Between Tears and enduring appreciation of Irma's gifts kept the album alive in various forms over decades by way of licensing and repackaging. May the latest versions bring still more fans to both of them and finally win accolades for the masterful product of the serendipitous pairing of their soulful talents.

GETTING AT PROFESSOR SHORTHAIR'S ELLUSIVE LEGACY

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My research for this post got started when I added a genuine rarity to the HOTG archives in the last year or so. It’s a one-sided promo 45 by the New Orleans group, Blackmale - erroneously shown as “Blackmail” on the record, released on the Moneytown label. It was unfamiliar to me then; but as soon as I saw the New Orleans point of origin, band name, and Gerald Tillman as the songwriter, I knew it was a noteworthy record that could help shed more light on the city’s funk scene during the 1970s, and hopefully Tillman himself.


I had long known the name of New Orleans keyboardist, composer and vocalist Gerald Tillman (born in 1955), called “Professor Shorthair” by his friends and admirers, in association with the Neville Brothers. He was listed as organist on their eponymous 1978 debut LP and had posthumous writing credits for two songs on their later albums: “Family Groove” (co-writer) appeared on their 1991 LP/CD of the same name, and“Shake Your Tambourine” led off Live On Planet Earth, released in 1994. Onstage over the years, Cyril Neville has regularly acknowledged Tillman as an influence and inspiration, and also did so in more detail for the collective autobiography, The Brothers Neville, which is where I first learned the details of the important early connection Blackmale had to the brothers as a group.


In addition to the Blackmale track, I’m featuring three other songs, one Tillman played on, one he participated in to some degree, and one he co-wrote. Choices are limited, since not many recordings of his work were ever released commercially. Tragically, he passed away in 1986, cutting short his accomplishments. Very little has been written about him or his contributions to the New Orleans music scene. So, If you knew Gerald, played music with him, or saw him perform during the dozen or so years prior to his demise, feel free to leave a comment or email me. As always, I’d be glad to work more direct information into this post.


[Note: Background research comes from a number of sources, many of which were provided or suggested to me by Jon Tyler, longtime Neville Brothers archiver and keeper of theNevilleTracks blog. He deserves big props for the years of work he has done combining and clarifying the many musical connections of the band and the various, ever-increasing Neville family members.  
Jon shared with me the text of a brief elegy to Gerald Tillman, written by George Green with Boo Browning, that appeared on an early version of the Neville Brothers website. It contains some helpful facts and clues. He also alerted me to both the YouTube videos linked in this post, let me hear some helpful archival audio, and gave me several other good leads. As already mentioned, some further information on Tillman and Blackmale can be found in The Brothers Neville (Little Brown, 2000). Also, I have relied on two interviews with Ivan Neville I found in which he recalls Gerald:Ivan Neville: Return of the Prodigal Sonby Bunny Mattherws in OffBeat from 2005, andanother by Alison Fensterstockon nola.com in 2010. Most of the rest of the factoids herein come from my archives and various online resources......]

On The Possible Makings of A Professor

New Orleans being a city of musical families often spanning several generations, it’s not surprising that there is a possible lineage linking Gerald Tillman to some earlier players of note. As I learned from the elegy to Gerald noted above, his father, Joe Tillman, was a saxophonist. In fact,  a comment I read by Ivan Neville, who was in the original Uptown Allstars with Gerald in the early 1980s, said that Joe Tillman played sax in their band back then. Fans of early 1950s New Orleans R&B  may well recall that there was a well-known sax man in those days named Joe Tillman (pictured), who played on records by Ray Charles, Guitar Slim, Lloyd Lambert, and Joe Turner, among others. Since he was born in 1905 and died in 1976, the elder Joe was the right age to have been Gerald’s grandfather, which would make Gerald’s dad his junior. I haven’t found any corroboration for this as yet, but do recall Cyril Neville remarking in the autobiography that Gerald could blow a mean sax himself.


As long as we’re speculating, I’ll offer up two other older musicians with the same last name who could also have been related to Gerald:  Wilbert Tillman played sax, along with trumpet and sousaphone in various New Orleans brass bands from the 1930s to the 1950s; and Eddie Tillman was a bass player who worked on the West Coast in the 1950s and 1960s, recording with Little Richard and Sam Cooke, among others, as Mac Rebennack recalled in Under A Hoodoo Moon..

Such a background certainly might have contributed to the multi-talented Gerald Tillman being acknowledged by his peers as a “professor” while still young. Many of the musicians he collaborated with over the years still cite his influence on their writing and playing, and.It’s almost a given that if you grew up in the Crescent City area, your musical roots run deep. But, leaving conjecture behind, let’s explore what there is to know about Gerald from the music he made and the company he kept. 

Blackmale: The Beginnings


In funk guitarist Renard Poché’s notes to his 2009 CD,4u 4Me, the title song co-written with Gerald, he includes two fragments of unreleased recordings by Blackmale and briefly reflects on the beginnings of the band and his career in New Orleans. In 1973, Renard (born in 1956) and his bassist brother, Roger, began playing music with Gerald. The teenaged friends started a band that it seems was first called the Bold Souls; but, within the next year or so, the name changed to Blackmale [also shown as Black Male in other sources; but Renard renders it without a space, as does theirpublicity photoon his website]. Joined by drummer Newton Mossop, Jr,  they were a highly funkified outfit in a Meters configuration led by Gerald on organ, before expanding to include another keyboardist/vocalist, Gerald ‘Buffalo’ Trinity, and Chris Phillips on percussion. [At least one other player of note briefly passed through Blackmale along the way, keyboardist and Colorado transplant Johnny Magnie, who later co-founded several other significant local groups, Lil Queenie & the Percolators, the Continental Drifters, and much later, the subdudes.]


Blackmale’s lone single appeared in 1974 or 1975. I’ve seen a photo of another promo copy with 1974 handwritten on the label, but Poché dates the release at 1975, which may refer to the two-sided commercial single. That it came out on Moneytown at first raised questions, when I learned that the imprint was not originally local and had been inactive since the mid-1960s. But, as it turns out, the label made a brief comeback just for Blackmale. [Those not interested in the more minute details of record-making lore can just skip the next paragraph.]


George Redman started the independent label, Moneytown Records [not associated with a label of the same name out of Washington, DC some years later] in Chicago around 1963; and it appears there were several even more limited offshoots,  Moneytree and Bluelight. After the first Moneytown single, which featured the Desires, a vocal group, failed to get noticed, nothing else appeared on the label until 1965. That year Redman issued five more 45s by just two groups, the Mandells and the Intensions, but had no success with any of them, though some were re-issued by outside lables. He closed down the operation the next year and moved to New Orleans around 1970, where he would later come into contact with Blackmale. Obviously impressed by the band and its prospects, he revived Moneytown and issued their single; but Redman’s venture probably lacked the funds to adequately promote and distribute the record beyond a handful of promo copies and a limited pressing of the single. So, there would not have been much of a chance for it to be heard, and there was no follow-up. As far as I can tell, Redman had one other New Orleans adventure in label ownership somewhat later, Super City, releasing aone-off single(#70115), “Wonders of the World”/”It’s You Baby (It’s You)” by a group named Sex. Leo Nocentelli wrote both songs and co-produced the sessions with Redman; but the Sex project amounted to no more than an unproductive quickie.


As I said, the promotional version of the Blackmale single had only one cut, "Let's Get At It", which at least left DJs no question about what to play, or ignore. But, according to the two discographies of Moneytown I have consulted, the stock copy had a flip side, "Be For Real", which Gerald supposedly also wrote. On the commercial release, the band’s name seems to have been corrected to Blackmale, too; but I’ve never seen even a photo of that 45.. So, if anybody has the record, please let me know. I’d love to verify the details and hear the long lost B-side.



“Let’s Get At It”(Gerald Tillman)
Blackmail [sic], Moneytown 707-A, 1974-75


As the track reveals, Blackmale was a solidly syncopating outfit with a distinctive sound capable of making them stand out in a town rife with funky bands. It’s also evident right off that there were more than four instruments in play. Along with the drums, bass and guitar, no fewer than three keyboards can be heard: a prominent clavinet, with a piano and Tillman’s organ farther back in the mix. Whether Gerald overdubbed the additional parts or there were other players involved, such as Gerald Trinity, can’t be known without some further authoritative information. [Again, feel free to contact me.]


Mossop played a fairly open, simple drum groove on “Let’s Get At It”, allowing room for the other instruments in the nicely interlocking arrangement to make their own contributions. The result is a tight and at points densely polyrhythmic music bed with each part distinct and engaging. Prime evidence of the hip skills of all involved.


I can only assume that Professor Shorthair sang lead on his own song, which isn’t melodic enough to reveal his range; but the vocalist navigated the intricate lyrical phrasing with a spontaneous ease.


Blackmale had no other known releases, but continued local club work over the next several years, until an invitation came along that altered their trajectory.

The Neville Brothers Connection

Gerald was a genius. . . . He was younger than me, but where I was still searching for it, Professor Shorthair had found it. .  .  . He taught me more about songwriting than anyone.-
Cyril Neville in The Brothers Neville

He was the glue that kept the brothers' band kicking, and he was an inspiration and a teacher to me.- Ivan Neville on Gerald Tillman, nola.com/Times Picayune interview by Alison Fensterstock, 2010

In 1976. all  four Neville brothers, Art, Charles, Aaron, and Cyril, recorded together for the first time, when they made an album of Mardi Gras Indian-related songs with their uncle, George Landry, who was Big Chief Jolly of the Wild Tchoupitoulas. With instrumental backing mainly by the Meters,The Wild Tchoupitoulasnot only was a critical success; but, even more crucial, it sold fairly well. As a result, Art and Cyril quit the conflicted Meters the next year to go out on the road with their brothers and Big Chief Jolly’s gang in support of the record. That joint endeavor proved to be a unifying  turning point for the talented family,.with Aaron’s 18 year old son, Ivan, a keyboardist, and Charles’ vocalist daughter, Charmaine, being included in the ensemble.


Art wanted the new aggregation to have a cooking hometown rhythm section to lay down authentically funky grooves on their shows and recruited the core of Blackmale - Tillman, Mossop, and the Poché’s - after catching them in action one night. An extended engagement was booked for the Neville Brothers/Wild Tchoupitoulas at the Bijou Theater, a music venue in Dallas, Texas, during the summer of 1977. It  lasted a month or more and provided a vital shakedown cruise that helped establish the group’s identity and sound, laying a foundation for the 30+ years that the Neville Brothers’ have made music together.


I’ve heard a live recording (probably a soundboard tape) from a performance they did in September that year at the Monterey Jazz Festival, soon after the Bijou run, that verifies how impressive and recognizable the group’s sound was even then. At that point, the set list was mostly a collection of cover tunes, leading up to the Wild Tchoupitoulas material closing out the show; but, as Cyril put it, everything they did was “Neville-ized”. Though far from home, the convergence of the brothers’ talents and Blackmale’s booty-loosening ways elicited cheers from the enthusiastic festival crowd and must have been sweet validation for the group’s chosen path. [Looks like aCD of that recordingmay still be available through Charles Neville’s website, or check with the Louisiana Music Factory.]


As 1978 rolled around, the Neville Brothers attracted the interest of a major label, Capitol Records, and went to work making their debut album at Studio In The Country in Bogalusa, Louisiana, with a well-respected pop and rock producer, Jack Nitzsche, in charge. As often happens with such a recording deal, by mutual consent the band’s live sound was moderated for the record in hopes of garnering broader mainstream appeal. So, while there was some grooving and a few references to New Orleans culture, the tracks weren’t nearly as Neville-ized as their live material, and the Mardi Gras Indians were nowhere to be found. 

Other than the brothers themselves, only a few of the band members were used on the sessions. Mossop played throughout; and Tillman was listed as organist, though barely used. The Poché brothers were missing, however. Instead, on bass was Eugene Synegal, who had played guitar behind Aaron and Cyril in Sam Henry’s band, the Soul Machine, around 1970. Handling the guitar duties for the album were Jimmie ‘Balls’ Ballero (a member of Aaron’s previous band, Renegade), Casey Kelly (a/k/a Danny Cohen) from Baton Rouge, and L.A. session man Tony Berg, who also arranged the horns.


While the execution was flawless on a mix of material, mainly slow to mid-tempo originals and tunes by outside writers such as Lieber & Stoller and John Hiatt, by design The Neville Brotherswas unable to convey the group's core identity. Not surprisingly, none of the songs in the collection found a long-term place in the group’s live repertoire.


The only number on the LP with an identifiable organ is a trippy, soulful space hymn [reflecting Art’s interest in science fiction, I suppose] on which Professor Shorthair demonstrated some of his Hammond B-3 handiwork.


“Speed Of Light”(Arthur Neville)
from The Neville Brothers, Capitol, 1978


After ensemble playing throughout the first three quarters of the tune; the long rideout gave Gerald a chance to trade tasty licks with Art’s electric piano. While certainly no cutting contest, their interaction was as close to an extended jam as the band got on the entire record.


Once the album was released, Capitol seemed incapable of understanding where the material might fit among the already highly segmented commercial radio formats  Maybe their best shot at airplay, Lieber & Stoller’s uptempo“Dancin’ Jones”, an enjoyable, funk-tinged blend of uptempo rock and soul leading-off the LP, was simply not pushed, which pretty much ditched the project’s chances of getting heard anywhere but college radio, and ensured a quick end to their recording relationship.  


Veterans of the business, the Neville Brothers and band shrugged it off and continued on with their gigging, doing what they did best live. What the record label had seen as drawbacks were actually the group’s assets, roots music with a New Orleans spin full of undulating grooves that filled dancefloors night after night. to the delight of their followers. Their local audiences were primarily the white, college-age crowd in the Uptown area of the city where Tulane and Loyola universities were located. Those enthusiastic partiers frequented the nearby music venues, such as the Boot, Benny’s Bar, the Maple Leaf, Jed’s, Jimmy’s and Tipitina’s, where the band regularly found work. As a consequence, the group’s popularity spread via the word of satisfied customers exposed to the persuasive impact of the soulful funk..


The intervening couple of years without a record contract proved transitional. The brothers began to move away from performing the Wild Tchoupitoulas material due to the deteriorating health of Big Chief Jolly, who passed away in 1980. As their songwriting evolved and repertoire grew; they put out a very limited edition single on their own Cookie micro-label in 1979, with“Dance Your Blues Away”, a near-disco dancer written by Ivan and Reggie Cummings,  and R&B groover "Sweet Honey Dripper” written by Art.. I’m still looking for a copy of that I can afford, but having heard both sides, I don’t think Gerald participated on the sessions.


On the bandstand, the young professor remained with the group, along with his Blackmale mates, Mossop and Renard Poché; but Roger Poché was replaced by a new bassist around 1978.. For reference, here is a glimpse of the band in 1979 playing at Jimmy’s on Willow Street in Uptown New Orleans.



[As I learned recently from Jon Tyler, no sound was recorded on the original film footage. The audio medley you hear was taken from other live performances by the band around same time and added during the digital video conversion process.]


As for the players visible, that’s Art, of course, on the left with Ivan and Gerald (in the hat) behind him. To their right, on bass is James ‘Hutch’ Hutchinson, who Art first met in Austin Texas a few years before, while still in the Meters.[ A Massachusetts native, Hutch had spent some time in New Orleans in the 1960s, and was living in Austin when recruited for Neville Brothers by Art and Charles around the time the first LP came out.] That is Aaron, front stage center, with Mossop (I assume) briefly visible on the trap set behind him. Cyril is on congas to the far right, in front of Renard Poché (also hatted).  Charles is nowhere to be seen.


1979 was the year that I first saw the Neville Brothers play. I was in New Orleans visiting a friend, who took me to see them at Jed’s on Oak Street, just a few blocks over from Jimmy’s.  As I have mentioned before somewhere, it was a revelatory night. The place was packed; and I was, let’s say, in a very receptive state of mind. The greasy, uplifting grooves had me so wrapped up that I couldn’t leave until the music stopped at the end of the night, causing us to miss the last streetcar. The line-up I saw should have been close, if not identical, to the one on film, which means that I likely caught Professor Shorthair in performance in his prime, though at the time I was not familiar with anyone on the stage other than Art and Aaron. Having missed the opportunity to see the Meters live earlier in that era, my first experience of the Neville Brothers band made up for the deficit and put me on the meandering track that eventually led to this blog.

Sitting In With Zig & Gaboon's Gang

Meanwhile, Ivan and Gerald also played keyboards on the side in Gaboon’s Gang, a fleeting band fronted by former Meters’ drummer Zigaboo Modeliste that was chock full o’ funky players. Although I never caught them live, in 2009 Zig put out a five song CD of a 1980 set they did at the Saenger Theatre in downtown New Orleans. It’s calledFunk Me Hardand can still be purchased. Other members that night included Nick Daniels on bass, Melton Cozy on congas, guitarists Teddy Royal and Nelson Reed, with additional vocalists Reggie Cummings and Earl Smith.

Zig and Gaboon's Gang put out one 45 at the time, a true obscurity itself, but no lost gem, sorry to say. Released soon after the live date, it has a place in a subset of records particular to New Orleans, Saints rally songs. Over the years, various local artists, well-known and not so, have written and/or released tunes geared towards firing up fans of the city's beloved but frequently hapless (at least until the Sean Payton era) NFL team. Of course, all have hopes the number might catch on and be played at the games and on the radio during the season, and just maybe sell a Superdome full of copies. But even local favorites such as Dr. John, Aaron Neville, Irma Thomas, or Zig never could quiie get the tunes to function as intended.



"Let's Get Fired Up"(J. Modeliste)
Zig and Goboon's Gang, Orleans International Ltd 001, 1980


Unfortunately, the song on both sides of the record had the shallow production ambience of a  low-budget advertising jingle; but there was some good playing going on, especially the hot soloing by an unknown saxophonist and guitarist. I have nothing solid on who played the session, but assume at least some members of the live band participated. Studio instrumentation differed somewhat from the live show; which had no horns. Ivan could very well have played clavinet here, since it was his specialty with the Neville Brothers and Uptown Allstars; but with no other keyboards to be heard, if Gerald was on the track, he would have been singing back-up. [Update via Jon Tyler: Nick Daniels has confirmed that he, Zig, Ivan, and Gerald played on the single.]


For a song by one of the funkiest drummers on the planet, the beats come off as rather one dimensional and (dare I say it) machine-made, they are so repetitive and undynamic. The groove is an upbeat boogie driven by the forceful, upfront bass riffing and pumping (Daniels), reinforced by the rest of the rhythm section. But it's a stretch to say this record could have made anybody break much of a sweat. In contrast, the live version on that CD was a far, far funkier, high caloric keeper. Had it been packaged instead and played inside the Dome, those Who Dats would have risen up as one to shake what their mamas gave 'em, and the energy expended might have really inspired dem Saints. Too bad.


Once the record tanked, Gaboon's Gang didn't last too long. Then, out of the crew that played the Saenger gig with Zig, four came together on Professor Shorthair’s next project.


The Rise of the Uptown Allstars


The exact date of the formation of the band that Gerald christened the Uptown Allstars is not clear, but seems to have been around the time that the Neville Brothers recorded their second LP, Fiyo On the Bayou, in 1980-81. Through the intercession of Bette Midler, a fan with influence, A&M Records gave the brothers an album deal; and the sessions took place at Studio In The Country and Sea-Saint. The making of the record, which I’ve touched on before, is a tale in itself; but suffice it to say here that the producer, Joel Dorn, another influential friend of the brothers, for whatever reasons decided not to have the stage band participate, opting instead for seasoned session musicians, a mix of locals, mainly from the Sea-Saint roster, and some imported from the big leagues out of town.


It appears that Gerald conceived theUptown Allstars around 1981 as a continuation of the original Blackmale, setting up the collaborative funk unit to play out when the brothers weren't doing shows. Joining him from the earlier band were Gerald Trinity and Renard Poché, along with new recruits Ivan Neville,  Nick Daniels, Reggie Cummings, and drummer 'Mean’ Willie Green - all formidable players just coming into their own. Benny’s Bar, on the corner of Valence and Camp  in the same Uptown neighborhood where the Neville brothers grew up, became the Allstars’ home base.


After the release of Fiyo in the summer of 1981, the Neville Brothers toured for a while to support it. Their biggest coup was getting to open for the Rolling Stones on selected dates of the huge Tattoo You tour across the US that fall. While the exposure considerably upped their profile, sales of the album again came up short, despite it being a far better representation of the group that got raves from critics, musicians, and the band's small but fervent fanbase. The next year brought big changes in the backing band, as Tillman, Poché, Hutchinson, and Mossop stepped aside.


In September of 1982, the Neville Brothers recorded a weekend of live shows at Tipitinas, with songwriter and bassist Darryl Johnson, guitarist Brian Stolz, Willie Green, and Ivan comprising the revamped supporting rhythm section. The recordings were released over the next few years on two worthwhile LPs, Nevillization on Black Top, and Nevillization II (Live at Tipitina’s) on Spindletop. Connections between the bands remained, though, with Willie keeping his place in the Allstars, as did Ivan, albeit briefly.

Ivan Leaves For L.A.


Also around 1982-83, Ivan met members of the band Rufus at a Neville Brothers gig in New Orleans and gave them a demo tape of some of his original material. Having parted ways with soul-diva Chaka Khan several years earlier, Rufus invited Ivan out to the West Coast to audition for a vocalist slot on a new album in the making.with producer George Duke. Duly impressed, they gave Ivan the green light to sing lead on about half the LP's tracks, including a song he had written with two compadres from the Allstars.



“The Time Is Right”(Ivan Neville, Gerald Tillman, Nick Daniels, III)
Rufus, from Seal In Red, Warner Bros, 1983


I  would bet this tune was on the tape Ivan gave to Rufus, and was originally intended for the Allstars, seeing as Tillman and Daniels were co-writers. Built around the prominent, hooky bass riffs of each section, the music was all about the strong, cyclical groove. The lyrics may have been insubstantial, but Ivan delivered them with soulful intensity, locked in with full rhythmic focus.


The album’s production feel reflected what was hot commercially at the time: slick, post-disco, urban contemporary funk and soul  - everything in its place and precisely rendered with that highly synthesized instrumentation and electronically processed sonic sheen so valued by radio program directors. To his credit, Duke made sure that this track had hardcore, polyrhythmic dynamics impossible to ignore, even if rendered in the digital abstract. The airbrushed sonics proved an odd juxtaposition for Ivan’s singing here and on his other tracks, since his voice has such a natural rough husk to it. But the contrast actually makes his featured vocals the most appealing of the lot. He grounded the songs he sang, smearing the polish just a bit, and brought hints of the New Orleans street into play. I’m really impressed with how well he handled his role, seeing as he was just in his early 20s and it was his first venture into music industry machine. Working with an established, mainstream, hit-making band bolstered by the cream of West Coast studio musicians, and a well-respected musician/producer, he needed to be at the top of his game, and did not disappoint.


As for it’s appeal with the record-buying public,Seal In Redhad only mediocre results, barely rising into the top 50 before a rapid descent. The one track pulled from it for radio play didn’t have Ivan up front, depriving him of a true shot at a national audience. With no more than a half-hearted push by the record company, the album lacked legs and  turned out to be the last full Rufus studio release. Ivan had moved on by the time the group reunited briefly with Chaka later in 1983 for a big farewell concert captured on the double LP; Stompin’ At the Savoy - Live, that ironically was a big hit.


Back on the home front, the Neville Brothers covered  “The Time Is Right” on their shows for several years after the album came out, giving it their own far more organic funk feel; but Ivan was rarely around to sing it. After his work with Rufus, he stayed in L.A., making more contacts in the music scene and soon hooking up again with Hutch Hutchinson, who had gotten there ahead of him and been hired to play in Bonnie Raitt’s band. When Bonnie needed a keyboard player for her next tour, Ivan had an inside edge and got the call, working with her steadily for several years. After that, he wound up in New York City, was befriended by Keith Richards and Ronnie Woods, made an appearance on the Stones' Dirty Work album  (on bass!), played in Keith’s side band, the X Pensive Winos, and later launched his own solo career, having learned well from his time in the family band and working with Professor Shorthair.


Following Ivan’s departure from the Uptown Allstars, his uncle Cyril took over the band, and began moving their material into a mixture of New Orleans second line street beats, reggae, and some Caribbean soca with original songs that often addressed his outspoken worldview.. I’m not sure if Tillman totally left the band at that point, but I know he worked with several other outfits through the early to mid 80s, including Satisfaction, headed by guitarist Red Priest, who played regularly around New Orleans and regionally. Yet another of Tillman’s own projects, G. T. and the Trustees, also involved the Neville Brothers’ prime funk movers: Willie Green, Darryl Johnson, and Cyril. 

The Final Days of Professor Shorthair....and Beyond


In 1986, Gerald headed out to L.A. to work with Ivan, Nick Daniels, Leo Nocentelli, and Reggie Cummings on original tracks for his own album project, but became ill and had to return home. On September 15th that year, he passed away, just 31 years old. With a largely untapped potential, his creative gifts never became well-known to the world beyond his hometown, but surely would have been given more time.


A few days after his passing, an all night jam was held at Benny’s Bar where his friends, family and fans celebrated Professor Shorthair’s life and positive influence that still resonates in the music of the peers he inspired.


Besides the songs mentioned earlier that were later recorded by the Neville Brothers and Renard Poché, several other examples of his writing have surfaced since his passing.  


One is a mystery track, “Be Your Number One”, on Irene Cara’s 1987 album,Carasmatic, with songwriting credits to Gerald Tillman, Yolanda Smith, and Harold Allen, Jr. I have not found a listing for this song in the US Copyright or BMI databases, nor any firm information on the other writers. Any suggestions?


Ivan Neville included two songs on his 1995Thanksalbum: “Hell To Tell”, which he co-wrote with Reggie Cummings and Gerald, and “Padlock”, written by Gerald alone.


Also, the monster cut,“Deeper”, written by the two Geralds, Tillman and Trinity, was recorded by Ivan’s band, Dumpstaphunk, in 2010 appearing on their Everybody Want Sum CD. Among the other outstanding musicians in the group is original Uptown Allstars alum Daniels, who helps them keep Shorthair’s legacy alive and very deeply funkified.


Finally, I’ll leave you withthis linkto a brief, poignant glimpse of the man himself performing solo at Tipitina’s just a few weeks before he left this world behind.

TRACKING THE BIG Q FACTOR, PT 3: More on the Malaco School Bus Sessions & Beyond

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Happy New Year, y’all.

Rob Bowman’sextensive notesto the 1999 box set, Malaco Records: The Last Soul Company, revealed a lot to me when it first came out about Wardell Quezergue’s years working out of the company’s Jackson, MS studio, including the exact line-up of vocalists he and his partner, Elijah Walker, brought up from New Orleans on May 17, 1970 to wrap up their first big production project there. That trustworthy account, backed up by Knight’s recollections to Jeff Hannusch in The Soul of New Orleans, have Knight, King Floyd, Bonnie & Sheila, the Barons, and Joe Wilson all tracking vocals on songs which were eventually released on singles by various labels.

Since I covered the Barons’ Malaco sessions in the prior post (just scroll down, if you missed it), this installment focuses on the rest of the slate and examples of records they made at the studio under Big Q’s direction. Most of the contingent took that first trip up in a funky, old, un-air-conditioned school bus that Walker arranged for, an appropriate conveyance in a sense, when you consider the way Wardell schooled singers and musicians for his sessions, and the poly-rhythmic grooves to be found on many of the resulting tracks.

What he presided over during his tenure at Malaco was actually a unique re-allignment of the funk feel, first expressed by his arrangement of King Floyd’s “Groove Me”. Since the song is fairly well-known and easily accessible, I’m not featuring the audio here; but how it came to be, got the Big Q treatment, and became a hit is essential to the story. So find a copy and listen up if you like, as we move along.
Groovin’ With the King
When Floyd composed “Groove Me” a year or two prior to cutting it at Malaco, he was in California working with Harold Battiste, Mac Rebennack, and other New Orleans expatriates on recording and songwriting. He had the song pegged to be funky from the start with the offbeat bass line as its centerpiece; but the tune would have to wait for Wardell to realize its full potential. Floyd almost allowed another artist to record it out West, but balked then the producer of the project wanted to straighten out the groove. Upon returning home, he pitched it to several other vocalists, one of whom, C. P. Love, just happened to be managed by Walker and slated to be a part of the May 17 Malaco sessions. So impressed was Love with Floyd and his songs, “Groove Me” in particular, he offered to let him have his recording slot; and, once Big Q heard Floyd’s material, he readily agreed to the switch. So, the new recruit signed on and was prepped for his performance.

On the day of the sessions, Floyd was one of the few not on the bus. As he told Jeff Hannusch in I Hear You Knockin’, he took his own car up to Jackson; and it broke down along the way, making him so late that he almost missed his chance. Yet, when he finally stepped up to the mike, he got the first number down in just two takes, then nailed “Groove Me” on the first try. Only about a half hour had passed in the studio before he was back on the road for New Orleans to make a shift at work - quick, slick and meant to be.

All along, “Groove Me” was intended as the B-side of his single from the session. The preferred song,”What Our Love Needs”, also written by Floyd, had a more conventional beat and construction, with a smooth soul feel enhanced by Wardell’s evocative orchestration, adding strings and woodwinds to the mix. But, rather than treat “Groove Me” as a throwaway, Big Q channeled the song’s inner moxie, countering the quirky, off-balance rhythmic tensions of the verses with the quick propulsive releases of the choruses, so the music pulsed like some automated soul-funk hybrid under the singer’s assured, imperative delivery. Even though all involved considered it too groove-centric and idiosyncratic for mainstream soul radio, the song would soon prove them wrong.

After all the tracks had been cut, Malaco shopped each artist’s songs to Stax Records in Memphis, which passed on the entire lot, and then to Jerry Wexler at Atlantic, who did likewise. Thanks, but no thanks. As Bowman tells it, the setback took the wind out the the team’s sails, though they were still convinced they had cut some hits. Their first back-up came from a Jackson radio station program director who heard the material and thought Floyd’s songs had the most commercial potential. He encouraged Tommy Couch, co-owner of Malaco, to take a chance and release a single independently.

With no other viable alternative, the studio set up a new label, Chimneyville, and issued Floyd’s record (#435) in August of 1970. When George Vinnett, manager of WYLD, the premier soul station in New Orleans, received some copies soon thereafter, he fatefully gave one to his teenage niece who played it at a party with her friends. They all immediately flipped for the flip side and grooved on it all night long. That enthusiastic, unscientific focus group convinced Vinnett that “Groove Me” could be big, and he began pushing it on the air, much to Floyd’s initial consternation. The singer soon got over it, when the record took off all over town and began to break out regionally.

That’s when Atlantic swooped back into the picture to get a piece of the “Groove Me” action by providing national distribution for Chimneyville through their Cotillion subsidiary, which helped take the record to its #1 R&B, #6 Pop peak. That success, along with “Mr. Big Stuff”, the delayed-release hit for Jean Knight the next year, encouraged Wardell and his writers to pursue numerous other overtly rhythmic projects over the next few years.

Of course, King Floyd had his share of those cuts on subsequent 45s and two albums supervised by Big Q.



“Woman Don’t Go Astray” (King Floyd)
King Floyd, Chimneyville 443, 1972
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio


Another original by the singer, this song initially appeared on the his eponymous 1971 LP, released by Cotillion to further cash in on the success of not only “Groove Me”, but the #5 R&B, #29 Pop follow-up single, “Baby Let Me Kiss You”, a highly funkified variation on the theme of the prior hit. As for the prospects of “Woman Don’t Go Astray”, George Vinnett once again showed his prescience, lobbying to get the track released on a 45, convinced that it too could do great things. That came to pass in 1972, when the single version became another #5 R&B smash.

Simply constructed with just two alternating sections, the song’s appeal lies in the interplay of each different yet complimentary dance groove. The first is built around another hesitating, ostinato bass riff similar to “Groove Me”, while the other breaks into an upbeat swing feel that affords the tune forward momentum. Wardell’s arrangement avoided getting in the way, and focused on that interaction, staying in the stripped down mode of just drums, bass, guitar and organ, plus smatterings of horns throughout. Meanwhile, Floyd’s reliable tenor locked perfectly into the rhythmic mix.

“Woman Don’t Go Astray” appeared on Floyd’s fifth Chimneyville single and would be the last charting track of his career. Due to its success, the song was also included on his second LP, Think About It. Though he stayed with the label for a few more years and put out other good records, the singer and Wardell parted ways somewhere around 1973, due to the oft-used catchall of “creative differences”. Those in the know have said that Floyd was generally difficult to work with, to the point of becoming irrational at times; and things only got worse when when the hits stopped coming.




“It’s Not What You Say” (Michael Adams, Albert Savory, Wardell Quezergue)
King Floyd, from
Think About It, Atco 7023, 1973
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Here’s a great groover from the final days of the collaboration, which only appeared on Think About It, the last Floyd LP to have Big Q’s involvement. Again, Atlantic released it as part of its Chimneyville Series, but on the Atco imprint this time around.

It was a worthy collection that included a few cover tunes for the first time. The perennial “My Girl” was completely re-imagined and extended by Wardell and Floyd into an impressive, multi-part production with two monologues; and there were two Otis Redding-related numbers (nothing wrong with that!), including the title track, which also appeared on a single. With Floyd’s record sales down, Atlantic may have dictated the use of those songs to try (in vain) for wider appeal. Still, each got the distinctive Big Q treatment; and the bulk of the album’s material was sourced once again from his stable of tunesmiths, as well as Floyd and various co-writers.

Penned by Big Q with Michael Adams and Albert Savoy, “It’ s Not What You Say” is one of the most impressive loose-booty tracks Floyd and his producer made together and certainly should have had a spin-off single of its own. Using the same basic Malaco-era instrumentation from the Chimneyville rhythm section and horns, Wardell further textured the mix with some very effective added percussion, upping the funk quotient considerably. It’s another example of his ability to create intricately layered, interactively syncopated synergy among the players and vocalist, engendering a groove that strips away all excuses not to move.

Listening to this track again (and again), I am reminded why Floyd’s performances on funkier material generally seem his most satisfying. He had a pleasant enough voice, but a limited vocal range, which he compensated for by gearing his approach more toward the rhythmic energy in the music. It brings into focus the importance of having a collaborator such as Big Q, who intuitively understood how to bring out a singer’s strengths and minimize any limitations, and whose poly-rhythmic grooves dovetailed perfectly with Floyd’s emphasis on the meter of his delivery. No doubt such support was vital for the singer to attain the success he had in the business, even though he unfortunately did not fully appreciate the fact.

Call it miraculous, or call it destiny, as the singer did in describing to Jeff Hannusch the chain of events that led to his break-out years at Malaco. There’s no doubt in my mind that the King Floyd - Wardell Quezergue musical connection was a beneficent cosmic convergence for all concerned, including those of us still enjoying the results in the here and now.

Jean Knight's Biggest Stuff




Jean Knight, who came into this world as Jean Caliste, connected with Wardell in an equally unplanned and fortuitous manner. Her recording career began about five years earlier in her hometown of New Orleans, when she came to Cosimo’s studio to cut some demos for Henry R. ‘Reggie’ Hines. He and Lynn Williams co-owned Lynn’s Productions, a Mississippi-based talent management and production company which operated several labels up in the Delta. Hines had recently opened a branch operation with bandleader Al White in the Crescent City to find and develop talent. Among the young, local acts on his roster at that time were the Barons, and a female vocal group, the Queenettes (more about them later).

Caliste’s first record resulted from that session, but actually came out thanks to another wheeler-dealer producer and label owner, Huey Meaux, a Texan with Louisiana Cajun roots, who was also at Cosimo’s recording a project on the great Barbara Lynn. When he happened to hear the demo tracks Caliste had done, he was impressed enough to contract to release the tunes, “Doggin’ Around” and “The Man That Left Me”, as a single (#706) on his Jetstream label in 1965. She adopted the stage name, Jean Knight, for the record; and it would stick. Subsequently, she cut two more singles in Texas for Meaux’s Tribe imprint; but he soon lost interest when none of her 45s did well. The recordings did allow the singer to get some club work around New Orleans and environs; but, by the end of the decade, Caliste was putting bread on the table by working as a baker, with musical prospects for Jean Knight looking pretty flat.

Then, as she related to Jeff Hannusch in The Soul Of New Orleans, out of the blue one day while downtown, she was recognized and approached by a stranger, Ralph Williams, who said he was a songwriter for Wardell Quezergue and had some material he would like her to record. Interested, she soon met with Big Q, and got a tape of songs to consider for an upcoming recording date at Malaco. Of those, she immediately was drawn to the concept of “Mr. Big Stuff”, but put off by the fact that it was paced as a ballad! So, she convinced Williams and head-writer Joe Broussard that it needed perking up to allow her to give the vocal some emphatic attitude that captured the spirit of the lyrics; and Wardell kept that in mind when he recorded the backing tracks.

As the story goes, and I’ve no reason to doubt it, he worked out the arrangements for all the songs to be cut at his first big Malaco instrumental tracking session, while in the car on the way from New Orleans to Jackson. No mean feat! What he came up with for “Mr. Big Stuff” was neither funk, New Orleans R&B, nor straight southern soul. Instead, he infused the tune with what might best be described as a hybrid Jamaican rock-steady feel. Whether it was intentional or coincidental remains open to conjecture; but it was still a fairly unusual slant for the US soul-pop mainstream at the time.

Taking the track at mid-tempo, Wardell had James Stroud keep the snare beat in the pocket on the two and four, allowing the kick drum just a touch of an off-beat, while the interacting patterns assigned to the guitar, bass and horns provided uplifting syncopations. The resulting innovative, infectious bounce afforded Knight evocative support for the take-charge attitude she brought to her vocal romp with the litany of put-downs penned by Broussard, Williams, and Carol Washington.

In contrast, the flip side ballad, “Why I Keep Living These Memories”, by Broussard and Michael Adams, provided a real change of pace and mood, showing Knight could be an effective songstress of the deep, as well. Most everyone involved with the sessions immediately thought “Mr. Big Stuff” had strong hit potential; but, as mentioned, circumstances would lead some to second guess that gut feeling.


Once both Stax and Atlantic had initially passed on everything cut at the school bus sessions, Malaco’s Tommy Couch began to question whether “Mr. Big Stuff”, which he considered a novelty number, was even worth trying to push. So, he left Knight’s tracks on the shelf to concentrate on getting the other material released, including setting up Chimneyville to issue the King Floyd single. It was not until early 1971 that Couch’s friend, Tim Whitsett, who worked at Stax and was a fan of “Mr. Big Stuff”, convinced still skeptical higher-ups at the label to reconsider and take a chance on it. The single came out around March, almost a full year after the recording date; and, by May, the song was #1 in the nation R&B, and had crossed over, climbing to #2 Pop. Later that summer, it became one of the biggest sellers Stax ever had, surpassing two million in sales.

Soon after her record went gold, Stax released the Mr. Big Stuff LP pictured above, produced by Big Q at Malaco with material by his staff writers. The album was decent enough, but contained nothing really outstanding beyond the hit. It didn’t even include her follow-up song soon to hit the charts, although the flip side made it in. Even so, the LP with that imposing blimp-daddy portrayed on its cover sold well; but, despite her flash of phenomenal success, Knight’s run at Stax would prove to be all too brief.




“You Think You’re Hot Stuff” (Broussard, Williams, Washington)
Jean Knight, Stax 0105, Sept. 1971
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio



In age-old record business fashion, Big Q and company tried to keep Knight’s stuff from cooling off by making the next song to be pushed a relative knock-off of the first - not a replica that required a Part 2 designation, but certainly a close enough continuation of the sound and theme that it would be immediately recognized by anyone who had heard “Mr. Big Stuff” more than a few times. They had done similarly with Floyd’s second single.

Often, such ploys can range from lame to simply redundant, but, in this case, the writing of Broussard, Washington and Williams plus Wardell’s arrangement offered up music and a groove that still engaged despite that warmed-over feeling. Though this iteration still has the high-profile bounce, the rhythm track attack is harder-hitting; and Stroud’s drumming nicely slips and slides a bit more to the funky side. The result again gives Knight sturdy, dance-worthy support for the second bout of lyrical trouncing she delivers.

Released in the immediate slip-stream of her prior hit, “You Think You’re Hot Stuff” sold respectably, but reaction was far less intense. It barely got into the R&B top 20 by October of 1971 and went no higher, staying in the charts less than half as long as its predecessor. As for her remaining three singles that Stax released on into 1972, all failed to significantly chart or sell.




“Do Me” (Albert Savoy - Wardell Quezergue)Jean Knight, Stax 0150, November, 1972
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio


I first featured this tune, which comes from her final Stax single, back in 2006; and it’s certainly worth breaking out again here. I stand by myfavorable assessmentof the track in that post. Pop that thing! Yes, m’am.

Through no fault of her own, Knight remained an outsider at Stax. During her run, she was under contract with Wardell and company, who provided her with tunes cut exclusively at Malaco. The Memphis label felt her material did not mesh with its sound and direction. So, as she told Hannusch, they attempted to bring her into the fold by offering her good material from their in-house writers that she liked and deemed hit-worthy, but Big Q refused to let her record anything that didn’t come from his production team, no doubt in order to get the publishing royalties involved. So, it became a stand-off. Obviously, Stax wanted more control of Knight’s sound and a cut of the publishing action, too. When they could not get either, they simply refused to release anything else by the singer.

Wardell probably did not relent because he would have been a loser either way. He’d have no publishing income, if Knight did Stax material; and they might lure her away, as well. So he let the deal go under; and, since Malaco seemingly had nowhere else to go with Knight’s recordings, she was through with Big Q by late 1973. Music business power-plays do not go well for those without good options. It was a blow for Big Q’s operation, but much worse for Kinght, whose career never had a chance to fully develop. Stax, on the slide toward bankruptcy, never did sign her; and she bounced from label to label almost yearly throughout the rest of the 1970s, until having two more substantial hits in the 1980s working with producer Isaac Bolden in New Orleans. The last of those was a cover of Rockin’ Sidney’s strong-selling, go-figure novelty nonsense, “My Toot Toot”. In the 1990s, she put out two CDs and continues to perform at festivals and oldies shows up until the present day.

Bonnie & Sheila’s Limited Hang


Of the five acts who recorded sides as a part of these sessions, Bonnie & Sheila are certainly the most obscure. Not only is their record hard to come by these days; but it was elusive at the time of its release. Bonnie told Rob Bowman that she was not sure it was even issued, since she had never seen a copy! Well, Bonnie, if you are still unsure, it was released. I had seen several promo copies, before I chanced upon and bought this stock copy from a UK seller. For those who might be looking for one, note that Sheila’s name is misspelled on the label, making the 45 a bit tricky to search for online.




“You Keep Me Hanging On” (Bonnie Perkins)Bonnie & Shelia [sic], King 6352, 1971
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio


“I Miss You” (Bonnie Perkins)
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio
Credited as songwriter on both sides of this King single, Bonnie Perkins also had her full name disclosed in Bowman’s box set notes along with that of her singing partner, Sheila Howard. As he also indicated, this was the only commercial release the duo had.

With these tidbits of information, I was able to do further research leading me to believe that Bonnie had also done some recording in the mid-1960s which resulted in two prior releases. On one of them, she worked with not quite ready for prime-time operator ‘Reggie’ Hines, a connection she had in common with the Barons and Jean Knight (see the above section and/or the prior post for details). Bonnie appears to have been a member of the Queenettes, a female vocal group who like the Barons, were signed by Hines to Lynn’s Productions at the time. Both cut several songs for the 1966 Folkways LP,Roots: Rhythm and Blues, a compilation featuring artists from Lynn’s roster, produced by Hines and Al White at Cosimo’s in New Orleans. I discovered Bonnie’s involvement when I checked her other songwriting credits in the BMI database, and found her listed as co-writer on two of the Queenettes’ three tunes on that album. Also credited on those were Hines, probably just getting his producer’s cut; and three other names: Bernadette Moore, Sylvia Moore, and Veronica Thompson, who I am assuming were other members of the group.

If you are an avid collector and/or have been paying close attention here for the last few years, you might recall that Eddie Bo also recorded a group shown as the Queenetts on one of the few 45s for his under-funded and very short-lived Fun label. If that was the same group, which I think is likely, the resulting, extremely rare single (#304) was probably their first release. Both sides were Bo compositions, “So Lucky In Love” b/w “How Long (Can I Hold MY Tears)”; and, from the performances on clips I’ve heard, there were probably fewer than a four members at that point. The participation of Bonnie or the still mysterious Sheila on those two tracks remains unclear.

But back to the 45 at hand. Both of these unassuming pop sides sound like throwbacks to that earlier era, and rather out of place in comparison to the other material recorded along with theirs. I’m not really sure what Big Q expected to achieve commercially going with Bonnie's songs, or why he would not have asked his writing team to cook up something more current for them to release as a debut.

The tunes obviously benefited greatly from Wardell’s arrangements, especially the top side, “You Keep Me Hanging On”, which he presented in the best possible light as a hooky dancer with a great groove courtesy of the in-house band (later known as the Chimneyville Express) at his disposal. I’ve seen this track described as New Orleans funk in several places; but that’s not really what’s going on here, even though Stroud's drumming, syncopated by Big Q design with tambourine reinforcement, is the saving grace of the track. Rhythmically, it’s another hybrid, with all parts, including the vocals, set up with the producer’s usual emphasis on emphatic rhythmic interaction, and performed with such tight tolerances that, once the initial boom-da-boom beat of the intro locks you in, your attention doesn’t fade until the music does. I particularly like the way he reinforced the chorus by repetition, wrapping the chord progression back around itself to make it build. All in all, the track is no doubt a great pop production, creating something engaging out of modest material at best. But I still think the sound was just about five years too late out of the gate to catch a break in 1971, especially on the funk-heavy King label, which seems not to have paid it much mind at all.

I am assuming that Bonnie was the stronger and more expressive of the voices on these cuts, but I have found no clear back-up for that. It’s easy to speculate on what might have happened had that singer worked solo for Wardell on some more challenging material. For a prime example of what she was capable of, seek out “You’re Not The One For Me”, an unissued Malaco track, ostensibly by the duo but with just one main vocal, that was written by Tommy Ridgley and first came to light on the grapevine compilation,Wardell Quezergue Strung Out: The Malaco Sessions. It’s a soulful stunner of a performance on a nicely constructed soul ballad with a very lush, high-class arrangement by the Master, just miles (and miles) beyond what the King sides had to offer. Why it was not released at the time remains another Bonnie & Sheila question mark.

Instead, as things stood, neither of the singers hung on after their first record received its stealth release, and “You Keep Me Hanging On” quickly became their head-bobbing swan song.
Rediscovering the Soul of Joe Wilson
There were supposed to be two deep soul specialists on the school bus to Malaco in May of 1970; but, as noted earlier, C. P. Love gave up his spot at the sessions so that King Floyd could have a shot with ”Groove Me”. That left Joe Wilson, a very capable vocalist with an expressive style and extremely supple range, who was arguably the best pure singing talent signed by Big Q and Elijah Walker. He could easily ascend into high tenor and falsetto, sounding somewhat similar to the great Ted Taylor when he did.

Despite his gifts, Wilson never gained wide recognition when he was making records, although he has belatedly received his share of well-deserved accolades from collectors and fans who appreciate vintage tracks from the deeper end of the soul spectrum. Several of his earliest sides, cut in the mid-1960s for Cosimo Matassa’s White Cliffs label, are prized for the artistry and emotive intensity of his delivery. In addition, his choice work at Malaco has also become more sought after these days, and somewhat easier to come by.

I don’t own any of Wilson's three fairly rare White Cliffs singles, nor do any of the tracks appear to have been released on comps [A general, well-annotated White Cliffs retrospective is way past due]; but it would surprise me if Big Q were not involved in at least a couple of the productions. As for the singer’s Malaco material, I’ll be covering most of the released sides here; but for a comprehensive overview, Gary Cape’s Soulscape label has compiled virtually every track Wilson did with Wardell at Malaco, including six that were unissued, as part of the 2009 CD,Malaco Soul Brothers Volume 1.

Online,Sir Shambling’s Deep Soul Heaven, researched and compiled by John Ridley, one of the true experts in the field, is the go-to site for the basic lowdown on Wilson’s career (and so many others!), including a discography and some tracks to hear. So, for more details, open up a window on that, too.




“Sweetness” (J. Broussard-A.Savoy-J. Wislon)Joe Wilson, Dynamo 147, 1971
Hear it on
HOTG Internet Radio
This fine 45 is the result of Joe Wilson’s initial session at Malaco. The impressively sung, deep soul B-side. “When A Man Cries”, written by Joe Broussard, is available at Sir Shambling’s page on Wilson, or can bestreamedcourtesy of 9thWardJukebox on Youtube. Due to the number of tracks I’m covering, I’m passing this ballad up.

As previously detailed, when Atlantic and Stax expressed no interest in any material by Wardell’s school bus (and one broken down car) artists, Tommy Couch was left with the dilemma of how to get the tracks placed, and came up with various solutions over the next year. For Wilson's record, he presented the tracks to Musicor, a New York City company which made arrangements for a national release on their R&B subsidiary, Dynamo Records. The record came out in the Spring of 1971; with Wardell getting full credit on it as producer and arranger.

An upbeat spash of fairly straight-ahead southern soul written by Broussard, Wilson and Albert Savoy, “Sweetness” has a great, groove suitable for dancing, a somewhat unusual song structure, and a well-executed arrangement with horns and strings. Following the short, catchy instrumental intro, which repeats again mid-song, the body of the song is front-loaded with the bright chorus, which predominates. The verses, such as they are, alternate with it thereafter, marked by a shift into minor chords. Overall, the tune was well-suited to Wilson’s vocal style; and he sang it with surprising conviction, considering that it was pretty lightweight fare; but that’s the way he rolled.

Although Ed Ochs’ Soul Sauce column in Billboard
gave “Sweetness” a pick in April of that year, along with dozens of other releases, the song didn’t make much impact on the airwaves. Musicor experienced some business setbacks around that time and had just gone through an ownership shuffle. Unbeknownst to Tommy Couch, the company was about ready to shut down or sell off Dynamo, which would return under new management a few years hence as a disco label. So, the deck was stacked against the record; and any push they gave it was probably perfunctory at best. Interestingly, this single was re-issued on Musicor (#1501) in 1974; but it again made no waves.

Meanwhile, Wardell had recorded more songs with Wilson, including “Let A Broken Heart Come In” and “(Don’t Let Them) Blow Your Mind”, which Couch and company released on their in-house Malaco label (#1010), likely in early 1971, as well. But, with no distribution or money to promote it, the record wasn’t going anywhere, so Couch again went to Musicor for a re-issue. For the resulting single, either he or Dynamo substituted another Wilson track, “Your Love Is Sweet (To The Very Last Drop)”, for the top side, and put “Let A Broken Heart Come In” on the flip. It dropped not long after #147 fizzled.




“Your Love Is Sweet (To The Very Last Drop)" (A.Savory-M.Adams-J. Wilson)Joe Wilson, Dynamo 149, 1971
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio


With the resounding success of King Floyd’s “Groove Me”, Big Q and his crew were emboldened to give a similar treatment to many sides on the Malaco production line. Rather than seeing the hit record as a fortuitous fluke, they turned its quirky, herky-jerky groove concept into a template to fashion other potential hits for not just Wilson, but a number of artists they would bring to Malaco over the next few years. It’s an oft told music business truism that nobody really knows which song will become a hit, or how it happens. So, as in gambling, people try all sorts of angles looking for a sure thing, facing the unknowns of chance with ritual, superstition, various questionable formulas for winning and dogma about what works. Obviously, just copying what you did before, or what somebody else did, to get the desired result has always been a popular gambit. Never forget the Skinner box.

Thus, we have “Your Love Is Sweet”, one of Wardell’s musical, mostly one-trick wind-up toys. But, as always, it’s a fun trick, and extremely well-done. Getting caught up in the syncopated inner-workings of all the parts provides a few minutes diversion. But, like the the various sweets mentioned in the lyrics, the result is mostly empty calories, soon forgotten as we’re off in search of our next sugar high. The song's kinship to Floyd's hit is likley what attracted Dynamo to it; and it just as easily could have shown up as a filler cut on one of Floyd’s albums. Wilson did a good enough job getting down and becoming one with the groove; but the tune was really not well-suited to favor his vocal gifts.
“Let A Broken Heart Come In” (Quezergue-Savoy)
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Here we find Big Q back working in the upbeat southern soul-pop mode, a better match for Wilson’s smooth moves. It’s an arrangement that had Stroud lay down straight in the pocket snare beats with some customary syncopation mainly in his bass drum footwork, providing deft support both for the ascending/descending progression of the verses and harder drive of the other segments.

Though not a truly great song, it’s certainly good enough that I think it should have remained the single’s A-side, as on Malaco 1010; but, knowing with hindsight the status of Dynamo at that point, such choices ultimately made no difference. The 45 was marked for oblivion. Musicor jettisoned the label soon after this release, giving it the distinction of being the last one of the series.

Wilson’s next and final record through Malaco came about probably late in 1972, when two more tracks produced by Wardell, “You Need Me” and ”The Other Side of Your Mind”, came out on the limited-edition label, Big Q (#1002 - see the label shot of this rare bird at Sir Shambling’s), probably just to get it to some DJs in the New Orleans area and build a buzz for “You Need Me”. Soon thereafter, the single was picked up and re-issued nationally by Avco, another New York-based company, which had recently released two 45s on Dorothy Moore, one of Malaco’s own artists.



“You Need Me” (A. Savoy-W. Quezergue-J. Wilson)
Joe Wilson, Avco 4609, 1973
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

As you may have noticed by now, I don’t usually concentrate on ballads here at HOTG; but this track has that rare combination of a slow pace and a good groove. Not to mention that it is a classic Quezergue production and Wilson performance, superbly rendered with a well-recorded, full orchestral treatment, the beauty of which is somewhat impaired by the sonic limitations of what the 45 medium (let alone a flimsy mp3 file) can deliver. But you know it’s all good when the fade seems to come far sooner than its 3:32 running time, and you’re not ready for it to end. If you feel this track, I recommend getting the Soulscape CD, which has an extended version in far higher fidelity. It was a big selling point for me, and I’m not generally a fan of down-tempo sides.

In essence, “You Need Me” no has gimmicks. The lyrics are as simple and straightforward as the structure itself. Musically, it’s all about the many entrancing nuances of the interwoven parts, all built upon the subtly syncopated patterns Wardell had Stroud put down. Wilson took the track entirely in the higher range of his impressively emotive tenor, but never oversang, allowing him the latitude to impart feelings of vulnerability and tenderness that only a first class soul man in total control could deliver.

Without a doubt, this is the song that woke me up to the fact that Joe Wilson is the real deal. Too bad it didn’t affect more people that way back in 1973. As it makes abundantly clear, Wardell’s greatest gift was his ability to artfully provide a production platform for a singer to be at his or her best. He didn’t always reach the near perfection of this production, but he was constantly striving for that goal, and got things right far more often than not.

“The Other Side of Your Mind” (A. Savoy-W. Quezergue)
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

How does one follow an impeccable performance? Few flip sides would stand a chance against “You Need Me”. But we have to take each song on its own terms and decide if the execution matches the intent; and, in this case, I think something a little bit funky and off the wall was a good way to go.

In this case, it seems Big Q was gong for a Staple Singers at Muscle Shoals feel, which is what the Chimneyville Express rhythm and horn sections delivered. It’s a mid-tempo southern soul arrangement with a country-ish sway to the bass, juxtaposed with subtle syncopation in the kick drum and hi-hat push-pulls, tasty guitar licks, Memphis Horns-type fills, plus Wardell’s lower mid-range tonal coloring on electric piano. Nothing wrong with copping a popular sound of the day, when you can pull it off so well. The lyrics are kind of unfocused and offbeat; but Wilson worked with them, applied some grit, and got the job done, although the funky side was not his true forte.

Without a doubt, the Big Q/Avco single was the highpoint of Joe Wilson’s recording career, which lasted a little over two decades, though with some gaps. After “You Need Me” failed to get him the recognition he deserved, he apparently had nothing else released until the 1980s came around, when he again worked with Wardell on several projects. As shown on Sir Shambling’s discography, there was as a one-off single on the BFW label in 1980, and a reprise of “You Need Me” for Maria Tynes’ Ria label in 1987, appearing on a single [which we’ll get to at a later date] and the LP, Come Inside.

For the next installment, I’ll be doing one more Malaco-related post, covering a spate of mainly one-shot singles Wardell produced there for a variety of artists. Hope it won’t be too long. . . .


Steppin' Into Carnival 2012

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Well, I just looked up for a minute from the near constant keyboard tapping, information seeking, and record cleaning/listening rituals around here to find the new year fully engaged andTwelfth Nightalready past. Damn, tempus fugeddaboutit. It’s time to stand back up and start celebrating all over again, and not just because the Saints continue their winning Who Dat ways....

It's Carnival season, y'all, in no way to be confused with the current Circus of the Absurd masquerading as presidnetial campaigning, traveling state to state to peddle assorted vaporous remedies purported to cure all ills. What better time for a far more efficacious remedy, two quick shots of street-occupyin' funk to help get the juices flowing for all the partying, parading, and other polymorphously festive proclivities to come, as anticipation builds for Mardi Gras, February 21st, 2012. Eh las bas!

On deck we have some early Rebirth Brass Band action transferred from rare vinyl, plus an LP cut from the Wild Tchoupitoulas Mardi Gas Indians, featuring the late Big Chief Jolly. Let’s go get ‘em!




“Put Your Right Foot Forward” (Kermit/Philip)Rebirth Brass Band, Syla 986, ca 1987
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

This single on Milton Batiste’s Syla label likely came out around Mardi Gras in the late ‘80s, no doubt as a fairly limited edition, since Syla releases got spotty distribution at best, even around their city of origin. My bunged up copy - the only one I’ve run across, so far - turns out to be an interesting artifact in the Rebirth’s coming of age saga.

The group formed in the early 1980s, when three teenage high school friends and marching bandmates, trumpeter Kermit Ruffins and the Frazier brothers, tubist Philip and bass drummer Keith, started a brass and percussion unit, Rebirth Jazz Band. The group was inspired by the revolutionaryDirty Dozen, who were already busy around town making a splash and the resulting waves by updating traditional street parade sound with slamming new material, both originals and adventurous cover tunes. The Dozen, Rebirth and a host of other new groups who would follow revived the dying brass band genre, injecting it with the fresh, improvisatory energy, and unstoppably funky grooves that define it to this day.


Rebirth honed their chops playing for tips on the street in the French Quarter and around their home base, the historic Treme neighborhood. With a well-chosen name that was a straightforward statement of their intent, they have kept the innovative intensity going for 30 years. In the early 1990s, Kermit left them to pursue a successful solo career; but neither that nor the Federal Flood stopped the band, whose latest in a long string of albums,Rebirth of New Orleans, is up for a Grammy this year.

In 1984, the group’s first LP,Here To Stay(re-issued on CD in 1997), was recorded live by roots music propagator Chris Strachwitz at the Grease Lounge in the Treme, and released on his Arhoolie label. By the time they made their next LP/CD,Feel Like Funkin’ It Up, for Rounder Records in 1989, they were going by Rebirth Brass Band exclusively. The Boston-area label was bigger and had much wider distribution than Arhoolie, plus two fine producers,Scott Billingtonand Ron Levy, focused on bringing numerous New Orleans artists, old and new, to national prominence with well-produced showcase releases.

I’m thinking Rebirth cut this single somewhere in-between those two albums. Although they were shown as Rebirth Brass Band on the label, Kermit’s spoken intro to “Put Your Right Foot Forward” says it’s “...a new one by the Rebirth Jazz Band....” - either a slip, or the name was still in flux. Batiste had taken them into Sea-Saint Studio in 1987 to record a number of sides, four of which appeared two years later on a Rounder brass band compilation,
Down Yonder. There the band was billed as the Rebirth Marching Jazz Band, an awkward variant that thankfully did not stick. Anyway, the tracks on this single (with “The New Second Line” on the flip) may well have been cut at the same session.

At Sea-Saint, the band was again recorded live, pumped up to ten pieces from its typical eight in those days, but the the core as listed on the notes to the CD were lead vocalist Ruffins and Derek Wiley on trumpets, the Frazier’s holding down the bottom, Eric Sellers on snare, plus tenor saxophonist John Gilbert, with Keith ‘Wolf’ Anderson and Reginald Stewart on trombones. As the track attests, by this point they were already well-seasoned and smokin’.




“Indians Here Dey Come” (George Landry)from Wild Tchoupitoulas, Antilles, 1976
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Of course, Mardi Gras Indians are another phenomenon of the by-ways of the city’s black neighborhoods, traditionally appearing in their colorful regalia on Mardi Gras, and again around St, Joseph’s Day. With their increasing popularity, some also suit up at other times of the year for special events and paying gigs, such as JazzFest. Their long,intriguing history, with cultural roots going back to pre-colonial Africa, is well worth exploring.

George Landry, who wrote and sang this tune, was the uncle of thebrothers Neville: Aaron, Art, Charles, and Cyril. He is best known as Big Chief Jolly, leader of the Indian gang, the Wild Tchoupitoulas. that he founded during the early 1970s on the family’s Uptown 13th Ward home turf.

In 1970, another group of Uptown Indians, theWild Magnolias, under Big Chief Bo Dollis, had a historic jam session with Willie Tee and his funk group, the Gaturs, which resulted in the two groups having a succession of fecund collaborations on recordings over the next few years, including several local singles, and two LPs in 1974 and 1975. Their popularity added yet another facet to the inter-related marvel that is New Orleans music and brought the Indians to the eyes and ears of the world. Naturally, coming from a highly musical family, Jolly and his nephews sought to make their own recorded statement based upon his take on the Indians’ songs and the many cultural influences within them.


The resultingWild Tchoupitoulasalbum, was recorded at Sea-Saint and released in 1976 on the Island Records subsidiary, Antilles, and had a couple of 45 spin-offs. Although Sea-Saint owners Allen Toussaint and Marshall Sehorn of Sansu Enterprises got the production credit on the LP for working the deal, they at least allowed Art and Charles to have co-producer and arrangement props; but, as Art pointed out in the brothers’ autobiography, he, Jolly, and all the musicians involved had a part in the production process and contributed more than just their fine chops to the overall sound.

Art and Cyril were part of the legendary Meters, under contract with Sansu at this point; and the group became the rhythm section for the project, with added percussion by members of Jolly’s gang. Aaron, whose career was at loose ends, contributed his unmistakable vocal skills; and Charles, who was living in New York, was summoned down to play saxophone. It was the first time that all four brothers had recorded together and set the spark that encouraged them to unite as the Neville Brothers band for an epic, multi-decade ride, once Art and Cyril left the Meters in 1977.

Obviously, a lot of incredible talent and good energy was devoted to this LP, which proved to be a charmingly melodic experience with a pronounced Caribbean feel at times, riding relaxed but highly poly-rhythmic grooves. Though well-received by New Orleans aficionados and the music press, it never was a big seller. Sansu claimed it barely made enough money to recoup the production costs; and, thus, little or no royalties were paid out, souring Jolly on doing any more recording. Still, over the years,
Wild Tchoupitoulas has become a Carnival music classic and a must-have for any decent collection of the city’s feel-good music.

I'll be back closer to the day with more Carnival tunes. Party on.....

The New(er) Dark Ages?

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Since today is Black Wednesday, I thought I'd act like a real blog today and just post a link to this piece on Mashable which says better than I could what all this SOPA/PIPA obfuscating isreally about....and it ain't online piracy, folks.

Not that I support pirating; but nuking the internet, or attempting to make it serve just a few masters, is no solution. In the immortal words of the Isley Brothers...and Public Enemy..."Fight the Power!"

Utterly Etta

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I thought I’d consider a few tunes from the HOTG perspective in remembrance ofEtta James, one of soul music’s most expressive singers, who passed away last Friday at 73. She was preceded just a few days earlier by the greatJohnny Otis, who had discovered her in San Francisco in 1954 and brought her down to Los Angeles to record for Modern Records, the first session resulting in a hit, “The Wallflower”.

Though not a New Orleans artist by any means; Etta did record there a couple of times, starting in 1956-57, when Modern brought her in to cut some sides at Cosimo Matassa’s original Rampart Street studio, J&M, ground zero for a multitude of classic records that decade, many hits, many misses. Two good singles resulted,, “Tough Lover”/”What Fools We Mortals Be” (#998) and “The Pick-Up”/” Market Place” (#1016), with Etta backed by members of the hot pool of local players who gave tracks cut as Cosimo’s their distinctive energy and sound; but nothing from those sessions fared well commercially - so she moved on...and on. By the time she returned to the city for an album project nearly a quarter century later, she was an acknowledged soul diva, albeit one who was having mid-life label problems. Much in the music business had changed. Yet, New Orleans still proved to be a great place to make a record..

Over the years, Etta put her distinctive stamp on number of songs by New Orleans and Louisiana writers, including Eddie Bo, Allen Toussaint, King Floyd, Bobby Charles, and David Egan. Almost exactly 5 years ago, I featured this cover of a rarely heard Toussaint tune; which has never been topped. It’s definitely time for a replay.




“Blinded By Love” (Allen Toussaint)
Etta James, from Etta Is Betta than Evvah, Chess 1976
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

That prior post considered three of the four known versions of “Blinded By Love”: Sam and Dave’s, produced by Steve Cropper in 1975 with a bunch of cool Stax alumni; Lydia Pense and Cold Blood’s funky bar band stab; and, of course, Etta’s, which I still attest to be the finest by far.

This unique, meticulously crafted Toussaint rock-pop hybrid can trip up the best of players with all its interlocking, tightly turned, precision-demanding riffs. On such material, the danger is losing the groove while negotiating the rapid-fire ins and outs to perfection. Undeterred by the challenge, producer/arranger Mike Terry decided to de-emphasize the riffs in favor of feel via finely tuned poly-rhythmic support that was on the money, in the pocket, but not in the way. That opened up the track and allowed Etta’s funky, expansive soul room to breathe. She certainly had her way with the enigmatic lyrics, making them matter purely by her intonation, phrasing and dynamics.


“Groove Me” (King Foyd)
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Speaking of covers, she utterly dominated King Floyd’s “Groove Me” on this same album, her inventive melodicism and raw power taking it places Floyd never dreamed of. Luckily for him, few people ever got to hear her kick his ass. Terry kept the basic song structure intact, including the vital staggered bass line that gives the tune its herk-jerky fever, but employed his larger instrumental palette to create a pulsing cluster of rhythmic interplay that provided uplifting, booty-shifting support for Etta’s high caloric, deep-fried bump and grind vocalizing.

I note that Larry Grogan also tapped this one as part of his fine Etta tribute from the past weekend atFunky 16 Corners; but I’ve wanted to post it for so long, I’m going with it anyway - the more the funkier. For an extra-treat, you cancatch herdoing the song live in 1982 on YouTube, with Toussaint and Dr. John sitting in, no less

An enjoyable ride, this poorly titled and cheaply packaged LP marked the end of Etta’s association with Chess Records and quickly slipped into undeserved obscurity due to a chain of corporate upheavals. She had first signed with the Chicago company in 1960 and recorded most of her classic sides for the Chess brothers’ various labels. Once they sold out to GRT in 1969, recording activity tapered off over the next few years, and the Chess physical assets were liquidated.

Around 1976, All Platinum Records bought the remains from GRT, mostly for the rich back-catalog of music, but ponied up to make Etta Is Betta Than Evvah, tracking most of it at their New Jersey studios. The result likely was the last new recording ever to bear the Chess imprint, as All Platinum soon found it more lucrative to simply reissue the label archives, as did Sugar Hill when they took over a few years later, followed by MCA, et al, keeping the Chess name alive through perpetual re-packaging.

Etta signed with Warner Brothers in 1978 and recorded her fine
Deep In The Night album in L.A. with Jerry Wexler producing, but it experienced the age-old music business curse of raves from the critics and indifference from the public. So, WB sent her down to Sea-Saint in New Orleans to work on a follow-up, aptly entitled Changes, with Toussaint in charge. He gave the proceedings variations on his usual mix of soul, pop and funk, with emphasis on the former and latter, considering who was singing, and got a number of impressive performances from Etta. I’ve featured several songs from this great album before, most recently as part of my series on the late Herman Ernest, III, who did a lot of the drumming on it; and the revealingback storyof those sessions is there for the reading.

The
Changes LP took over a year to complete, because, in the midst of the process, Warner Brothers heard the rough cuts and decided to dump the album and Etta. Go figure. Put on indefinite hold, the project picked up again when RCA showed interest in it, only to have them also back out on the deal. Finally, after many months, MCA stepped in and funded completion the LP, releasing it on their T-Electric imprint; but it seems they then forgot it existed, as the record sank in the commercial shark tank pretty much without making a ripple.



“Changes” (Carole King [??])
Etta James, from Changes, T-Electric, 1980
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

I‘m so fascinated with this unusually structured, deep soul title track, I had to ignore my own preference for the upbeat and include it. Toussaint’s artful arranging and production ingenuity were well-expressed here in the slow, swing/sway of the beat, set in a floating 6/8 time with certain rythmic liberties taken at points for contrast and added kick. The studio band rendered it all flawlessly; and the leader's churchy piano vamping set the tone and provided the platform for the authentic, soulful authority of Etta’s delivery. That she was the realest of deals is undeniable on this tune, where her always mind-blowing vocal power is under such effortless control and perfectly attuned to the track.

There’s one mysterious caveat to this number. Regardless of what the back cover and label credits say, it appears not to have been written by Carole King at all. Neither the lyrics nor the melody match the song of the same name on King's 1978
Welcome Home album - the only song with that title she wrote, by the way. I have been unable to find a correct or even plausible attribution* for Etta's “Changes”, but feel there must have been a mix-up in the performing rights/song licensing department at the company, and would appreciate any leads you can lend as to who the writer(s) might be.

For a nice summaryof Etta’s career, be sure to hop over to The B-Side and read what Red has to say about this all too human, yet larger than life singer’s singer, whose voice that had no compare or competition, belonging in a timeless class unto itself. Utterly irreplaceable.


*Note: Toussaint’s BMI catalog of songs includes one with the same title, and shows three co-wrtiers, who turn out to have written it in the 1990s, when it appeared on the Clockers soundtrack. Including Toussaint on the credits is either a BMI mistake, or may have something to do with the subtitle of that song being “Get Out of My Life Woman”. The US Copyright Ofiice does not show “Changes” as a registered Toussaint composition.

Congrats to George Porter, Jr....

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[On the Button]

...for his 2012 Lifetime Achievement Award from OffBeat magazine, celebrated by George and his band at the Best of the Beat Awards show last night, where quite a party broke out. Read Alex Rawls' greatinterview with the bassist wtih the funky mostest, which also appeared in the January print issue with George gracing the cover.

He got well-deserved kudos and gave a very gracious thank-you to his wife of 40+ years, who he brought out onstage and handed the award, saying he was giving it to her for all her support, then delivered an outstanding, feel-good performance with the Runnin' Pardners. Plus, dig who dropped by for the warm-up musical tribute put together by his daughter, Katrina: Art Neville, Cyril Neville, Dr. John, David Barard, Papa Mali, Stanton Moore, and George's horn section alumni. Not too shabby.

As the pulse of so much vital New Orleans music, how could George ever NOT matter?



[George and Terrence Houston, well into it (photo by Dan Phillips)]

[P.S. - George's segment wasn't the only music, by far, with two stages going pretty much all night. See the line-up at the BOTB link above.]

Feel Good Music

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With just a week to go until Mardi Gras, it’s high time for some more seasonal music short takes here; and, starting this Friday on theHOTG webcast* Carnival themed and flavored music will once again be streaming 24/7 until Ash Wednesday. So feel free to listen in and catch some more spirit, especially if your particular patch of the planet doesn’t normally (?) celebrate this season of indulgence.

*[Update: Friday, Feb 17 - The musical Carnival cruise is now fully engaged and funkin'. Tune in and enjoy.]



Last weekend, my wife and I made our annual pilgrimage with friends to theKrewe du Vieuxparade that rolls through the narrow streets of the Faubourg Marigny and French Quarter, the first procession of the season. The weather was wonderfully warm and the rain abated just in time for the festivities to begin. As usual, the costumes went from weird to raunchy with plenty of just plain funny in between, and the range was the same for the mainly mule-drawn floats of the myriad sub-krewes with their creatively satirical/salacious variations on the event’s central theme, Crimes Against Nature, defaming politicians (as if they needed much help) and/or depicting various lewd acts or giant sized body parts that might be deemed obscene any other day of the year. You know, family entertainment. Let your imagination run wild and free........

The effect of these shenanigans on mental and physical well-being is a judgement call, I guess, which, thankfully, we choose not to make this time of year, if ever...but, when you see what the rest of the human race is up to most days, one thing is clear. Dis beats dat!

And, of course, let's not forget that feel good music, as pointed out by the Meters once upon a rejuvenation, is efficaciously beneficial to both body and soul. So, apply liberally.
Good Call


“They Call Us Wild” (Wilson Turbinton)
Wild Magnolias, from They Call Us Wild, Barclay, 1975
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

With They Call Us Wild, their second and final LP for French producer and label owner Philippe Rault, the Wild Magnolias Mardi Gras Indians, under the leadership of straight-razor-voiced Big Chief Bo Dollis, completed their history-making collaboration with the project’s musical director, Willie Tee (Wilson Turbinton) and band. They had been working together since the start of the decade on the fusion of the Wild Magnolias’ variations on highly percussive, traditional MG Indian songs with the poly-rhythmic instrumentation of funk. They recorded two landmark local singles and the two LPs that brought it all to the world, creating some fine new songs in the process, like this title track by Tee, and changing the local musical landscape forever.

The union fittingly completed a circle, a mini-yuga (metaphor courtesy of yet an even more ancient tradition of Indians), if you will, in which the rhythms of the backstreet black Indian culture in the city became a foundational influence on the emergence of funky beats in the city's popular music. It all comes back around.

Read more on what all the well-deserved hoopla was and is about at the links found onlast year's Carnival postfeaturing another cut from this album.

Partying Up In The City With Mr. Earl




“Mardi Gras Party (Pt 1)” (Earl King)
Timothea, Grand Marshall 102, 1984
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Soul and blues chanteuseTimothea Beckerman’s musical energy and enthusiasm may have outstripped her vocal ability at times, but that only made her a better entertainer; and, as does good whiskey, her smokey singing voice improved with age. By the time shepassed awayway too young in 2006, she had several worthy, self-released albums to her credit with musical backing by some the best players in and out of town.

Unfortunately, this rather muddled recording did not showcase her voice to advantage, putting it too far back in the mix, and compounding that fault by applying some electronic processor to her singing that only made it sound more ill-defined. Still, the single itself is worthy of note for it’s relative rarity and who her co-conspirator was on the project. Not to mention that it still grooves.


It was Timotheas’s friend, the legendaryEarl King(heard saying “awright” on the intro) who wrote the tune, arranged the session, played piano and tambourine on it, and co-produced the whole shebang. As I have learned from the session details on the back of the decorative record sleeve, other players included Paul Henahan on drums, Steve Nelson on percussion, Dave Renson on guitar, and bassist Jeff Cardarelli, with Paula Rangell on sax, and Wes Mix and Leroy Derby on trumpets.


Though it obviously was a quick, low-budget project, the song’s potential to be a happy addition to the Mardi Gras song list can be heard in its catchy central riff and “Willie and the Hand Jive” meets the second line groove. Had the quality been upped a notch or two, or had Earl recorded the song himself at some point, there probably would have been more prominence for this particular Mardi Gras Party music.

I just found this single last week while going through a shed full of records in New Orlean; and it's the first one I’ve seen, although a few years back I picked up its immediate predecessor, Grand Marshall 101, also from 1984*and featuring Timothea doing two other compositions by Earl, who co-produced them with George Porter, Jr. Those tracks show off her voice to much better advantage; and I’ll have to feature the 45 at some point down the line. I believe there was one more single in this series, also produced by Earl. [Update, thanks to Jon at the NevilleTracks blog for verifying that single to be Grand Marshall 103, produced by Earl along with Art Neville (!), with the feature track, "No Leftovers No Hand Me Downs".] So, I’ll keep digging.

*Notably, the year of the semi-disastrous New Orleans World’s Fair.




“Mardi Gras In the City” (Earl King)
Earl King, from Glazed, Black Top, 1986 

Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio
 
Just two years after those Timothea records, Earl made his big career comeback, recording his Glazed album with Roomful of Blues for the up and coming Black Top label (“Paving The Way To Your Soul”) in New Orleans, distributed nationally by the influential roots music purveyor, Rounder Records.

At the time, Rounder had begun to focus on the city in a big way and, mainly through the efforts of esteemed producerScott Billington, was in the process of jump-starting the faltering careers of many of the city’s best artists, such as Irma Thomas, Johnny Adams, Wolfman Washington, and Chuck Carbo, and helping to launch some younger acts, too, by giving them the opportunity to record outstanding new albums. Without doubt, along with Jazzfest, Rounder and Black Top were responsible for bringing public attention back to the musical riches of the Crescent City and environs, and invigorating the local recording and performing scene in the process.


Earl had a history with writing and recording Mardi Gras songs, having composed “Big Chief” in his youth, which became an often-covered seasonal standard after Professor Longhairrecorded it for Watchin 1964. Earl co-produced that session with arranger Wardell Quezergue, and did the vocal, as well. Around 1970, he wrote and recorded“Street Parade”, an obscure Mardi Gras classic 45 on the Kansu label that at the time was one of three commercially released singles resulting from sessions Earl did for producer Allen Toussaint with backing by the Meters. The other two appeared on Wand.

As we learned above, he tried his luck again with “Mardi Gras Party”, but technical issues on Timothea's record put it in a trick bag for keeps. Then he cut “Mardi Gras In the City” for his Black Top debut. The LP was blessed to have a decent budget and no-nonsense production by label co-owner Hammond Scott, who hooked Earl up with the powerhouse New England blues big-band, Roomful of Blues, for the sessions. What the band lacked in true New Orleans funky grit, they made up for with impeccable playing and deep musical intuition, making it seem like they had been backing Earl for years.

More From Mardi Gras Weekend, 1978....




“Her Mind Is Gone” (Roy Byrd)
Professor Longhair. from The Last Mardi Gras, Atlantic, 1982
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

I featured this track five years ago and think a replay is in order. It’s not a Carnival song per say, but was captured live at Tipitina’s on the Friday or Saturday night before Fat Tuesday, 1978. Longhair, the patron saint of New Orleans funkitude, originally recorded and frequently performed two of the greatest Mardi Gras standards, his own “Mardi Gras In New Orleans" (a/k/a “Go To the Mardi Gras”and King’s “Big Chief”. You can get all the details on this performance from that prior post.


As I said last year, when I featured another cut from the album, without a doubt The Last Mardi Gras is the best live recording of Fess with a band, bar none - and the story of how it came about is pretty amazing in itself.

Special Delivery Funk




“Blackbird Special” (Dirty Dozen)
Dirty Dozen Brass Band, from My Feet Can’t Fail Me Now, Concord Jazz, 1984
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Just ain’t Mardi Gras without some cookin’ brass band grooves goin' on. So how about a track from the Dirty Dozen’s first LP, released on Concord Jazz in the year of the World’s Fair. [I just realized that I featured this cut back in 2010. My mind is gone, too, Fess. Oh, well, it's a good 'un.]

By no means was it a disastrous year for New Orleans music, though, as this album was the first official declaration of the brass band resurgence that the Dozen had been stirring up out in the streets for the prior five years or so, and which continues to this day with so many bands on the scene who were inspired by these creative, highly skilled and dynamic blowers.

Produced by legendary music promoter and festival impresario George Wein with assistance from Jazzfest’s own mover and shaker, Quint Davis, Feet opened many doors for the Dirty Dozen, and they ran hard with every opportunity, becoming the new brass band movement’s first and biggest ambassadors, making countless converts with the sheer power, scope and agility of their funk.

For some great inside background on the Dirty Dozen,read my interviewwith co-founder Roger Lewis.


Doin’ The Slow Boogie Roll




“Hey Pocky A-Way” (Nocentelli - Porter -Neville -Modeliste)
Idris Muhammad, from House of the Rising Sun, Kudu/CTI, 1976
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

I featured a cut from this great LP by master drummer Idris Muhammad just overseven years ago, in the early days of the blog. I had been planning to get to another one sooner, but, ya know, I kind of got distracted....

Formerly known as Leo Morris when Art Neville recruited him as a teenager to play drums for the Hawketts - they were from the same 13th Ward neighborhood - Muhammad has gone on to have an amazing career grooving with the greats of R&B, soul and jazz around the globe. Through it all, he always stayed close to his hometown rhythmic roots and influences, getting his earliest inspiration from brass band bass drum beats and Mardi Gras Indian tambourines out on the streets, and learning much from other local players such as Paul Barbarin, Earl Palmer, Ed Blackwell, Smokey Johnson, and John Boudreaux, to carry forward . But he tells it much better inthis interviewI referred to in that old post. Vital reading for all rhythm hounds.

I’ve long loved the hip insouciance of his take on the Meters’ classic, “Hey Pockey A-Way”. Killer groove; and the playing is topnotch all around with Eric Gale funkin’ it up on bass, Hugh McCracken on guitar, pianist Don Grolnick, and horn soloists, George Young (sax) and the J.B.’s Fred Wesley (trombone). Frank Floyd did the lead vocal.

By the way, I never did pick up that CD re-issue of this album I mentioned way back, which I should have, since I've always wanted to hear the remastered tracks - oddly, the drums sound somewhat boxy and muffled on the vinyl version, which is a rather serious oversight on an album by a drummer’s drummer. It would be great to hear them with more clarity.

Be that as it may (and it just might), this track still serves well to liberate mind and booty, so you can get way loose low down and shake what your mama gave ya all Mardi Gras day and beyond. Turn it up and get carried away....

Scenes from Krewe du Vieux & Radical Faerie Ball

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HAPPY

MARDI GRAS

2012

!!!















photos
by
Dan Phillips


TRACKING THE BIG Q FACTOR, PT 4a: More Multi-Label Malaco Sessions

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[Note:  Audio files for this post have been removed, as is standard procedure here after a certain amount of time. Most of the tracks have been or will be added to the playlist of theHOTG webcast, streaming 24/7, where you can hear many of the songs that have been posted here over the years, plus more recent New Orleans-related funk 'n' groove releases, too. Feel free to listen in.]


I’m not sure how significant it is that I’m posting this on April Fool’s Day. Guess you can be the judge o’ dat!


My ongoing, but increasingly irregular, retrospective on the career of the late maestro, Wardell Quezergue, is on again, having been delayed several times in the last few months for various mainly mundane reasons, but most recently due to my dad’s unexpected health issues. He had a hospitalization that necessitated me going to Memphis for nearly a week. Fortunately, he came through that well is now on the mend; and I’m trying to crank back into gear so we can once again track Big Q in the great indoor wilds of a 1970s mid-Mississippi recording studio.

For Part 4, I’ll be featuring two more batches of singles recorded at Malaco Records’ Jackson, MS. studio during his tenure as an in-house producer and arranger from 1970 to 1973. The artists involved were among the second wave that Big Q and his business partner, Elijah Walker brought in after the initial test-run by the Unemployed and the so-called school bus sessions that quickly followed in the Spring of 1970.

I will be posting these in two segments over the next month or so, starting with releases that appeared on Quezergue and Walker’s short-lived Pelican label, plus several related one-offs. Next time, I’ll get into singles mainly on Malaco’s own labels, plus a few more that came out on Atlantic or Cotillion.

Though I’ve featured quite a few of these 45s on HOTG at various times before; it’s been a few years; and I thought grouping them together might offer more context and a direct feel for the range of Big Q’s productions at Malaco. Songs previously posted will have brief (for me) commentary with links back to the older posts for newly updated background details. Also, please see below* for direct links to the prior parts of this series, if you’ve missed any or all of them. and want to catch-up (minus the audio, sorry to say)..

Take your time absorbing the music and information, there’s no rush and you won’t be quizzed (though you may be quizzical), but, however you do it, for sure,“don’t be no square, get hip to Quezergue!”

*
Tracking the Big Q Factor:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
 

OF PELICANS AND OTHER RARE BIRDS

The Pelican label’s name came from Big Q and Elijah Walker’s company, Pelican Productions, Inc., as it was called when they began their working relationship with Malaco. While I have no specific documentation, I am assuming from the facts discussed previously that most all the Pelican tracks were cut in 1970, not long after King Floyd, Jean Knight, et al had recorded their first sessions at the studio, as discussed in Part 3. It was a highly active period packed with potential, with Big Q rolling session after session down the line, especially once Floyd’s “Groove Me” hit paydirt. Quite likely, the sheer volume of material being committed to tape overwhelmed Tommy Couch, Malaco’s co-owner and man in charge of placing the recordings with companies for release. There were only so many he could work at one time; and the inability to find takers for all the tracks probably led to Pelican and several of the other boutique labels getting off the ground to take on some of the load. This allowed Quezergue and Walker to press up a limited run of records and get them into the hands of DJs around home in hope of something catching on locally and attracting release by a national company. That was the intention, at least.

*Since I first began doing research on Big Q, I had only been aware of four singles on Pelican, and managed to acquire them over the past five years. But I suspected there might be one or two more in the run. For one thing, the record numbering certainly leaves some room for doubt. The first three issues appear to have been 1230, 1231, and 1233, with the other being way out of that sequence at 1920, probably due to its being distrubuted by Atlantic (as we shall see). The R&B Indies discography lists those four with a blank space beside number 1232, which could mean that it simply was not used, or the record with that number was withdrawn or went unissued for some reason, or even that it was released, but in such a small quantity (as a promo only) that a copy has yet to turn up. With no evdence of that 45 existing, I put up a plea on the earlier version of this post for anybody's assistance in tracking down other possible Pelicans.



Last week, Peter Hoogers, who has provided valuable reseach assitance here several times before, sent me scans and audio of another Pelican, surprising in several respects. First off, it wasn't 1232, but an unanticipated 1234, coming right after Larry Hamilton's release discussed below. Secondly, it's surely the most unusual of Wardell's productions while at Malaco, being decidedly not a soul or funk record like all the others, but folk! The artist, shown on the label as "Leather", was a understated male singer finger-picking an acoustic guitar, and probably the guy who wrote both tunes, Robert Greene. The only overt producing/arranging Wardell did was on the strangely titled top side, "Won't Take You Bad", where he added strings behind the singer/guiarist. If I had to pin him down, I'd say "Leather" on that tune was going after the mid-1960s folkie style of Eric Anderson. On the flip side, he attempted to tackle Bob Dylan's talking blues humor of earlier in the 60s - but on neither did he measure up.

Don't ask where Pelican was going with that. Haven't a clue. I would guess that Greene was a walk-in to Malaco willing to pay to cut a record and was obliged, getting 50 or 100 copies as part of the deal - most of which are still in a box in a garage somewhere. So, while the fifth known Peilcan release wasn't, um, quite what we were hoping for, at least we know there was one, and just maybe something else will turn up. If you have an undiscovered Pelican single or run across one, please let us know.

Listening to all of these lesser-known records as a group reveals a diverse range in Big Q’s attempts to fashion songs that had mass appeal, from hybrid funk, to Southern soul, to highly crafted soul-pop. Let’s not forget that his goal was to sell records in the commercial moment, not create art for art’s sake or limited edition collector’s items. Unfortunately, it becomes clear that not all of the singers Wardell produced records on were capable of performing up to the level required; and even the truly gifted singers he got to work with didn’t crack the charts. Ultimately, it can be debated whether Malaco was the ideal vehicle for Wardell’s huge talent and mainstream ambitions; but the situation there offered the best opportunity he had at the time, and he made the most of it, even though sustained sales success beyond the hits of Floyd and Knight remained elusive.
 

DENISE KEEBLE

I don’t know any more about Ms Keeble than I did when I first featured her two known releases back in 2007 and 2008, and can still only assume she was a New Orleans area artist. In general, her recording career seems to have been brief and her vocal talent somewhat limited; but the reason we are still talking about her some 40 years on is that, during her fling in the business, she got to work with Wardell, whose studio expertise upped her game considerably.




“Chain On My Thing”
(Byran Babour) 
Denise Keeble, Pelican 130, 1970

Here’s what I wrote about the track itself back when Ifirst postedthis single:
 

As with many of Quezergue's Malaco-era arrangements, well-crafted, mutli-instumental rhythm patterns were assigned to each player on the track to bring the song's desired groove and feel to life. While not as idiosyncratic as King Floyd's "Groove Me", this upbeat mover was definitely on the funky side with Vernie Robbins locking in the thrusting, offbeat bass line that meshed perfectly with the tight, springy hits and hesitations James Stroud laid down perfectly in the pocket.

"Chain" has a somewhat varied instrumental impact, though, since it seems the only electric instruments on this track were the bass and subdued keyboard. In a nice touch, Quezergue used a prominent acoustic guitar and a string section to soften and texture the sound, in contrast with Stroud's aggressive beats and the punchy horn accents. Keeble, whose voice reminds me at times of Barbara George, obviously gave the performance her all, but ultimately wasn’t able to step out and own it, or convince anyone to play and push it - a deficit no Big Q arrangement could compensate for.


I still don’t know anything about songwriter Byran (or Bryan, maybe?) Babour, either. Might have been an alias....



“Before It Falls Apart” (J. Broussard, A. Savoy, W. Quezergue)

I still have a soft spot in my head for this catchy piece of over-the-top, cut-and-paste pop experimentation, and stand by this assessment from the earlier post:


 "Before It Falls Apart" is the side I prefer, even though I think the song's creative reach exceeded its grasp. Writers Joseph Broussard, Albert Savoy, and Quezergue, the core of the Pelican Productions team, mixed in way more hooky elements than a couple of minutes could effectively hold, resulting in a production curiosity, rather than the danceable, sing-along hit it could have been with some pruning. Listen closely, though, because the busy, intricate arrangement never falters, due to excellent execution by the players; and Keeble's voice sounds somewhat better to my ears, though she hardly had a chance to settle in anywhere.

* * * * *

Quezergue and Walker issued Keeble’s other single under the B.F.W. Records imprint, likely in 1970, also, perhaps so as not to flood the market with Pelican releases. You think? #1101 is the only one I know of.




“Love School”(E. Small - M. Cottrell) 
Denise Keeble , B.F,W. 1101, 1970

As I remarked in theearlier post, this song draws obvious comparisons to Jean Knight’s delayed smash, “Mr Big Stuff”. I’m sure all concerned were hoping for as good a track; but, though Wardell and band did their best silk purse stitching, Keeble’s performance again just didn’t measure up. Or, as I phrased it the last time:
 

Another member of the [Pelican Productions] team, Elliott Small, co-wrote "Love School" with Milton Cottrell; and, while the tune has a pretty funny concept and some of the funky bounce of "Mr. Big Stuff", it pales in comparison. Part of the problem was that Keeble just didn't have the same sassy, stand-out vocal chops to deliver the goods like Ms Knight. But, even if Knight had done it, "Love School" would have been at best a B-side or album cut. Still, Quezergue's signature tight arrangement of interlocking, syncopated parts offered good enough grooving to make the track worth some spins. The predominant, percolating bass line rendered by Vernie Robbins put the emphasis on booty action and still keeps me coming back for more education.

We’ll hear from Mr. Small himself in the second installment of this post, as he had two releases on the Malaco label that Big Q had a hand in.

As for Denise, just when you’re about to count her out, you turn the record over to find this....


“Giving Up”(V. McCoy)
The great songwriter and producer/arranger of soul-pop hits,Van McCoy, wrote "Giving Up" for Gladys Knight in 1964. In Quezergue's deft hands, this version outshines McCoy's own production on Knight's original Maxx single. Dramatic and musically sophisticated, the song is just the kind of thing an expansive talent like the Big Q could run with. He issued forth a flowing, lush, well-paced, and rhythmically gripping arrangement that uplifted Denise Keeble's vocals and allowed her to finally show her strengths. Although she held her own on the song, she was nowhere near the league of Gladys Knight. Just imagine what Knight could have done with this version. To listen deeply into this song is to behold and relish Quezergue's gifts in all their glory. So, why, why, why, was it the B-side?

As I also noted on that prior post, Donny Hathaway did aninteresting coverof “Giving Up” around the same time as Keeble’s; and I also recommenda more current takeon this compelling song by the outstanding Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings.

Not bad company, Denise.


C. L. BLAST


C. L. Blast’s lone single on Pelican took me the longest to acquire. Finally, last year I bumped into an affordable, if somewhat beat-up copy (as the audio confirms), long having had CD versions of both sides on the 2001 Funky Delicacies/Tuff City compilation
Wardell Quezergue’s Funky Funky New Orleans, a good but out of print overview of Big Q’s work during this era.

An outstanding, under-appreciated journeyman soul singer from Birmingham, Aalabama, Blast, whose actual name was Clarence Lewis, Jr., hooked up with Quezergue and Elijah Walker about mid-career, around 1970, after a brief stop at Stax. He recorded three promising singles at Malaco; but the inability of Tommy Couch to find a receptive label or labels to release two of the records nationally pretty much put a silencer on Blast’s impressive work at the studio. As I’ll discuss, his other 45, which came out on the United label, was also stopped short due to even more unfortunate circumstances.

Outside of Johnny Adams and Irma Thomas, who Wardell worked with only briefly during this period (more on their one-shot records next time), Blast was the best pure singer the producer had the opportunity to work with while at Malaco, and had the best potential to make a strong commercial showing. But that’s not the way things played out.

For more details on the artist, a personal favorite of mine, refer back to myprior postthat first featured the Crestown single he made with Big Q, or see Sir Shambling’sprofile on Blast, which includes a discography.




“Got To Find Someone” (R. Williams, J. Broussard, C. Washington) 
C. L. Blast, Pelican 1231, 1970

Unlike the other two singles Blast cut a Malaco, both of his Pelican sides featured songs from Wardell’s writing.team, particularly, Ralph Williams, Joe Broussard, and Carol Washington, who frequently collaborated.

Here on the A-side, we have a strong soul-pop production with a twist, in that Big Q gave “Got To Find Someone” a taste of what made King Floyd’s ”Groove Me” unique, assigning Vernie Robbins a bassline on the verses to reinforce the stylized syncopation of James Stroud’s drumwork, which Wardell designed to mesh with the other instrumental interplay and Blast’s vocal attack. When Floyd’s hesitating, bob-and-weave, hybrid funk song hit the charts and quickly climbed to the top, Wardell lost no time incorporating staggered, nearly mechanical sounding bass patterns into many subsequent tracks he cut on various artists, hoping for a hit by association; but the gimmick worked best on simple songs designed purely to groove, and, even then, the novelty quickly wore off.

In this case, that particular poly-rhythmic approach was applied to a more complex arrangement, where it abutted the driving, doubled-up beat of the chorus. Wardell made it all work surprisingly well together; but the herky-jerky feel of the groove likely scuttled the song’s mainstream aspirations, despite Blast singing the hell out of the lyrics. If the record got airplay anywhere, I suspect New Orleans was the spot; but, even there, demand was not forthcoming.

Once again, it seems to me that the flip side would have made a far stronger leader that might have brought the singer at least one of the hits he so richly deserved but never realized.



“Everybody Just Don’t Know What Love Is”(R. Williams, J. Broussard, C. Washington)

With all the essential elements of gritty, unassumingly funky Southern soul, including questionable grammar, this song set aside clever complexity altogether to simply give Blast the opportunity to get back to his gospel roots, dig down and do some joyous raving. After all, he had plenty to flaunt.

Wardell made the song’s standard issue R&B structure a head-sticker by playing up the spring-loaded ascending/descending riff on the verses and establishing the hooky drop-down pattern on the intro, chorus and bridge. His elemental organ work on the track is quite catchy in its own right. At once, the groove is more relaxed and straightforward than what the A-side has to offer, yet eminently more of a rhythmic body mover to boot.

For his part, Blast assumed confident control as soon as he sang the first note, and over the course of the song progressed to full-tilt testifying. Why this guy remained under almost everybody’s radar through the course of a long career is one of the enduring mysteries of the universe.

* * * * *

I have no idea what the sequence was for releasing Blast’s three 45s worth of work at Malaco, so my line-up is arbitrary. But, next, let’s marvel at an even better effort by all concerned that came out only on a very limited edition single that at the time probably got even fewer spins than the Pelican, sad to say.




“Two Time One Is Two” (Frederick Knight, Aaron Varnell) 
C. L. Blast, Crestown 1000, ca 1970

I first featured these tracks back in 2007; and, actually, I didn’t really write much about them then, choosing to concentrate on the background of this woefully under-appreciated singer. On the other hand, it also could have been that the tracks are so well-rendered, nearly flawless, that I just let them do the talking. What a concept.

This well-chosen top side was written by Blast’s fellow Birmingham soul man, Frederick Knight, with Aaron Varnell. Knight was still a couple of years away from his first national hit, “I”ve Been Lonely For So Long”, which would be released on Stax; but he already had his songwriting chops down stone cold and gave Blast what should have been a winner without question.

For his production, Big Q had the wisdom to use his arranging expertise to bring out the inherent strengths of the song. His secret here was the pacing, choosing a deliberate mid-tempo strut with Stroud creating a deep backbeat pocket (reinforced by claps) to which was added Robbins’ supple, syncopating bass, generating a light, propulsive bounce on the verses and percolating counterpoints on the bridge and chorus. In fact, the bass carries most of the rhythmic complexity of the groove, allowing enough space for Blast to work his emotive vocal magic without having to oversing. That’s tasteful, effective soul-pop of the highest order.



“Love Is Good” (Albert Savoy, Wardell Quezergue)

Equally compelling in its own way, this joint venture by Wardell and staff writer Albert Savoy, is a hard-hitting, rhythmic ride with enough ups, downs, twists and turns to induce whiplash before the fade. Credit the session musicians, whose extremely tight, high caliber ensemble unison playing allowed them to execute the wicked demands of the arrangement without seeming to break a sweat. I said “seeming to”. Believe me, there must have been plenty of dehydration going on in the rehearsals and attempts to achieve this master take.

Blast delivered an utterly killer performance, unfazed by the power of the band, and easily matching the energy decibel for decibel with no indication that he was anywhere near tapped out. This single reveals a master at work, nuanced and emotive as called for on the A-side, and a pure soul powerhouse on the flip, who more than lived up to his explosive stage name.

Either of these tracks were highly qualified to be hits and the fact that no one seemed able to get the man some radio exposure did the greatest of disservice to him and the listening public who certainly could have reveled in this amazing music and talent had it been available.

* * * * *

Blast’s third project with Wardell was also impressive, if more overtly pop-oriented, but never had a chance for a different reason, as it turned out.


The single, “What Can I Do (When My Thrill Is Gone?)” / “I’m In A Daze”, was issued in 1970 on the tiny United label (not to be confused with the big 1950s era Chicago label of the same name, a 1960s one-off label also from Chicago, or the small mid-1970s imprint out of South Carolina). Hal Atkins, a DJ (“on-air personality”) for the New York City area soul station, WWRL AM, set up United through his own Atkins Enterprises, Inc.

Though I can’t find any definite back-up, I am pretty sure he was the same Hal Atkins who spun records at WYLD In New Orleans during the early to mid 1960s and helped Connie LaRocca start and run the local Frisco label there in 1962, even appearing on the first two releases as Al Adams. Their best selling act was Danny White; but
Willie West,Porgy Jones, Al Reed, and the Rouzan Sisters also recorded for the label; and Big Q did some producing and arranging for them, as well. So, he and Atkins would have known each other prior to this record.

As Frisco was winding down around 1965, it appears that Atkins briefly moved on to Memphis, working at WLOK, before landing an afternoon slot in the next year or so at WWRL, in a much bigger radio market. He was still on the air there when Blast’s United single came out. I don’t know the particulars of how he came to take on the project, and am not sure anybody does anymore; but the scraps of facts I’ve picked up around the web, mostly from old Billboard articles, indicate that Atkins was also involved with scouting talent and assisting artists in getting signed to labels. For example, he and an associate lobbied to get Kool and the Gang their deal with DeLite Records in 1969. It would appear that he cooked up and funded the United single, the label’s only known release, as a platform to get Blast recognized by bigger fish in the business. In all probability, he did so because Wardell and/or Elijah Walker had contacted him outside of Malaco for help with boosting the singer’s exposure.

With his connections, Atkins’ participation in the production surely seemed a path to the big break Blast needed. So I suspect nobody minded much that Atkins used songs he wrote, or at least credited to him. As the labels indicate, Wardell arranged both sides; but it is very possible that Atkins came down to Jackson when the tracks were cut for some oversight.

Yet, all that really didn’t matter in the grand design, because, later that year, not long after the record was pressed, Hal Atkins passed away, taking with him any hopes of it getting airplay or a national release.




“What Can I Do (When My Thrill Is Gone?)” [Hal Atkins, Jr] 
C. L Blast, United 224, 1970

Like I said, this mid-tempo mover has a decidedly pop music feel. For one thing, the drum beats were straighter, though Big Q still cranked up a lot of syncopated energy using the other instruments of this rather large production, and definitely pulled no punches. Bringing in the strongly fuzzed rhythm guitar crunch in the second half of the song and adding other electric guitar fills toward the end, gave a strong rock element to the feel that contrasted with the more uptown sound of the swirling strings; and, while the bass is not as up front in the mix as on the Pelican and Crestown singles, it still contributed much to the underlying power and rhythmic complexity of the track.

The doubled piano ostinato that begins the song and continues throughout as the central riff, picked up here and there by other instruments, has a subtle latin flavor to it that lends the arrangement even further resonance and rhythmic appeal. Overall, Wardell provided a fine ride for Blast’s awesome vocal performance.

Again totally in command, feeding off the internal combustion and building dynamism of the music, Blast strutted his stuff and took some inspirational chances, especially on the transitional section that divides the song’s two halves, where he improvised a swooping melismatic run on just one word, “alright”, and shot out staccato rhythmic variations on the other few available lyrics, then let loose again on the ride-out. Right on, right on, right on.

It took a producer of Big Q’s ability to create arrangements worthy of C. L. Blast and allow him to show what he was capable of. Not that it did him a lot of good at the time. Neither he nor Wardell ever had fortune fully smile on their gifts, pluck them from semi-obscurity, or adequately reward their efforts, for many complicated and ultimately lousy reasons.


“I’m In A Daze”(Hal Atkins, Jr)

In the spirit of completeness, I’m including this B-side ballad. With more of a 1960s pop-ish, off-Broadway musical kind of sound, it’s not in the same league as “What Can I Do”, and doesn’t have much going on structurally or lyrically. Yet it inexplicably goes on for over five minutes! Wardell did with it what he could, but there was obviously not much to latch onto.

If there is a saving grace to ”I’m In A Daze”, it’s that Blast sang the hell out of it, squeezing a commendable performance out of an otherwise aimless piece of music . It just goes to show what value a great vocalist can impart to most any run of the mill song, if he cares enough to try.

As much as I enjoy Wardell’s work with his hometown vocalists, I think he could have gone far in the big leagues of the music business producing/arranging for artists such as Blast, who could handle what Big Q wrought when at the top of his game, rather than be overwhelmed by it. But, by choice he stayed close to home and kept his bright light under the proverbial barrel much of the time. Even when he got the chance to shine, as on the Blast projects, his amazing efforts were done in by missed connections, lack of influential contacts, and other variations of bad luck. Such is the artistry and relative tragedy of his story.
 

LARRY HAMILTON

I first featured Larry Hamilton’s Pelican single exactly four years ago; and you’ll find some details of his inconsistent musical career onthat post. As noted there, he recorded his two known 45s while also working with Wardell’s team as a writer. I don’t have the ultra-rare Ham 101 with his killer composition, “My Mind Keeps Playing Tricks On Me”, on the top side; but I suggest you seek it outon CDor at various spots in Cloud Download Land. It’s a churning, burning piece of upbeat funk and certainly one of Big Q’s strongest productions that, of course, never got the exposure it deserved.

Next time, I’ll get to a couple of the late Mr. Hamilton’s songs cut by others at Malaco. But, for now, consider his other worthy effort for Wardell as featured artist.




“Gossip” (Michael A. Adams, Albert Savoy, Larry Hamilton)
 Larry Hamilton, Pelican 1233, ca 1970

Here’s the gist of what I had to say about this track previously:
 

Though it starts with some gimmicky, chipmunkish chattering, "Gossip" is no trivial novelty number. It’s more of a minor-key mini-sermon on the evils of behind the back hearsay and rumor mongering, delivered with soulful sincerity by Brother Larry over a hypnotic, undulating groove, and offering yet another slant on Big Q’s production savvy. It’s got almost an understated Afro-beat feel to it, between the primal way it moves and how the horns are arranged. The only thing that briefly snaps us back to US soul territory is the instrumental break about two thirds through the song which shifts to a major key for a Stax-like guitar and horn-driven interlude before resolving back to the minor mode funk that dominates the tune. Out of left field, but somehow it works.

What impresses me about this side is that it really doesn’t sound quite like anything else that Big Q produced at Malaco. While using the same instrumentation, the arrangement’s feel and flavor set it apart .The elemental rhythm track may be key, as it was not overly complicated, and seems to have an organic pulse to it. Drums, guitar, and piano were playing fairly simply, with the bass again being the most involved. Yet it didn’t follow the mechanical “Groove Me” style patterns that Wardell exploited on many of his other experiments in funk. I also sense in the groove whiff of what Dr. John and Harold Battiste had cooked up on the “Gris Gris” album. You could say the team let their New Orleans roots show on this one.


“Keep the News To Yourself”(Larry Hamilton, Elijah Walker)

And speaking of “Groove Me” inspired bass patterns:
 

..."Keep The News To Yourself"....was a more conventionally structured R&B/soul outing, though it had a bass line inserted into it closely resembling that of King Floyd's "Groove Me", the first big success for Quezergue and the Malaco Groove Assembly Plant that same year. The producer used such offbeat patterns a lot after that, hoping to spark another break-out hit - but it simply didn't work as intended. The number, written by Hamilton, was well-played and performed, but really had nothing fresh to offer either lyrically or musically, and deserved its backing status on the record.

Fashioned as another angle on the gossip theme, the song benefitted both from Hamilton’s strong vocal and Big Q’s horn section arrangement which provided some needed rhythmic counterpoint to keep the mid-tempo pace from plodding. Elijah Walker was credited as co-writer, but, as discussed elsewhere in this series, his contributions to these projects were far more financial and managerial than creative; and his sharing in any royalties from these records was simply a way to insure he got his due. Hope he wasn’t planning to retire on ‘em.
 

CURTIS JOHNSON

I featured the B-side of Johnson’s Pelican 45 back in 2008; and, to go along with it, I have a summaryon the postof his brief singing and recording career.

As I noted then, this single was the last of the Pelican line; and, while probably recorded in 1970, did not come out until the next year, as the label indicates. Also to be seen on the label are the non-sequential number assigned to the record and the fact that Atlantic distributed it directly. At the time, they were also distributing Malaco’s Chimneyville label through their Cotillion subsidiary, due to their desire to get in on King Floyd’s hit action. But, I have no idea how or why this Pelican single got picked up, nor the reason other of the Pelican offerings did not.

In hazy hindsight, which is where I operate, it is probably too generous to call what Atlantic did with this record distribution. More likely, they simply pressed up some promos, such as mine, and sent them around, and did a limited run of stock copies and called it a day when no DJs immediately began incessantly playing the plug side. In other words, a tax write-off would be the more appropriate term.




“Trying To Win You Over” (J. Broussard, R. Williams, C. Washington) 
Curtis Johnson, Pelican 1930, 1971

Garden variety Southern soul penned by the prolific writing trio of Broussard, Williams and Washington from the Pelican staff, this top side had a punchy arrangement by Wardell, but a rather clunky mid-tempo groove it was unable to rise above. As if to further dampen its impact, the recording of Johnson’s vocal sounds somewhat unfocused and insubstantial. Seems to me his voice was set a bit too low in the mix and in need of some tonal equalization to help it cut through. Even if that had been done though, I think we’d still find Johnson’s singing less than inspiring. Whether to chalk that up to performance anxiety, vocal problems, a poor fit for the song, or all of the above, I don’t know. But of all the Pelican singles to put out through Atlantic, this was certainly not the one.


“Sho-Nuff the Real Thing”(W. Quezergue, A Savoy)

As this side shows, Johnson just didn’t just have a one-time delivery problem on the sessions. He fared worse on the B-side:
 

....The flip was another matter. I've chosen it as an example of Big Q's penchant for quirky rhythmic experimentation; but "Sho-Nuff The Real Thing" was really not Johnson's best vocal showcase, as he seemed overwhelmed, or maybe unnerved by having to deliver something equivalent to what King Floyd was having success with at the time. Maybe funk really wasn't his thing.

As I've noted previously, Quezergue’s standard operating procedure at Malaco was to pre-record the backing instrumental tracks with the in-house studio band, creating a distinct part for each player. He did this pretty much in his head just prior to the sessions; and it's interesting to hear the results of his obviously mathematical mind at work in these fine-tuned, precisely interacting instrumental and vocal rhythms bouncing back and forth off each other like some little perpetual motion engine. The resulting poly-rhythms may be too calculated to be pure funk – but what else do you call this music?


To answer my own question, I’ve come to call it hybrid funk, a cop-out perhaps; but that’s all I’ve got. “Sho-Nuff” is definitely an energetic hunk of that stuff, requiring more from the vocalist than Johnson was capable of giving, at least that day. Larry Hamilton would have been a better fit. Blast would have killed on it. And, of course, King Floyd could have had his way with the track, too. But it looks like nobody else got a shot at it.

Johnson probably wanted and needed a ballad - something more melodic, perhaps; but that’s not what he got for his last shot at hit-dom. Sir Shambling notes that the singer had a bad taste for the music business and dropped out for good after appearing on Pelican’s swan song(s) - probably a decent gauge that his good judgement, at least, remained intact.

* * * * *

Stay tuned for Part 4b, which will probably be dropped on you after the upcoming month of festing.

ERNIE K-DOE: THE BOOK

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Ben Sandmel's new biography of the legendary New Orleans entertainer extraordinaire, Ernie K-Doe, is now available and should be considered essential reading for all fans of and obessives about the city's music scene and the exploits of its many colorful participants. Of those, K-Doe emanated a distinctively Day-Glo aura in the course of his planetary pursuits.

The official title of the book, published by the Historic New Orleans Collection, and associated website is Ernie K-Doe The R&B Emperor of New Orleans; and you can learn more about it by hitting that link. Also, the current editon of
OffBeat has an niceexcerpt.

As a disclaimer, let me say that I am a friend of Ben's and contributed just a smidgen to the massive amount of research he did for this book, which includes a thorough discography and extensive notes. Having gotten numerous reports on his progress over the past few years, I can attest that Ben has dug deep and labored long to do justice to all that was and is great about Emperor K-Doe's mythic life and mind.

I consider this biography to be a vital addition to the small but important body of work about specific New Orleans R&B musicians and performers, including Rick Coleman's impressive tome on the life and career of Fats Domino and New Orleans' place at the inception of rock 'n' roll,Blue Monday; Earl Palmer's slim but insightful reflections on his role as a rhythmic inventor,Backbeat; Harold Battiste, Jr.'s telling memoir,Unfinished Blues(also published by the HNOC); Dr. John's autobiography, Under A Hoodoo Moon; as well as the revealing story ofThe Brothers Neville.

Read all about it.

A LITTLE OF WHAT LEVON LEFT BEHIND

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[Note: song titles without links can now be heard streaming on the HOTG webcast.]


Sadly, I note thepassing of Levon Helm, Arkansas-born drummer and singer, who was the lone US citizen in a group of expatriate Canadians.known asthe Band, whose first two albums, recorded and released in this country in the late 1960s, established them as the definitive American roots rock band, before the term actually existed. In my low-rent opinion, if you know anything at all about New Orleans music, you can’t help but hear the city’s fundamental early rock ‘n’ roll and R&B influences in their playing. Both Levon and his partners have acknowledged as much in various ways, including doing covers of Fats Domino, Frogman Henry, and Lee Dorsey hits on their Moondog Matinee LP, as well as working with Allen Toussaint and Dr John over the years.

Levon gave more direct props in a 2008 Modern Drummer interview with fellow drummer Steve Jordan, making clear he knew who was responsible for the game-changing mixed beats on the seminal hits of early rock ‘n’ roll.That’s what Earl [Palmer] taught us. He would do it in the same song. . . .play the shuffle [against] the straight 8th. I kind of copied from Earl, I’m sure.

Early in 1966, when I was in high school, I saw Bob Dylan play a concert in Memphis, right before his Blonde On Blonde LP was released. After doing a long solo acoustic set, he brought out his band, who he introduced as the Hawks, to join him for a mind-blowing, rocking electric set, which was still considered a controversial, almost sacrilegious, act to folk music purists of the day; but I didn't have a problem with it, nor did most of the rest of the crowd that night. As I would later learn, a few years prior to their association with Dylan, the Hawks - Robbie Robertson, Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, Garth Hudson, and Levon Helm - had been seasoned on the road, backing gonzo rock ‘n’ roller Ronnie Hawkins, an Arkansas native who relocated to Canada in the late 1950s. Levon had met Hawkins down home and started drumming for him in 1957,  three or four years before the other four became Hawks in the early 60s.

As Rob Bowman recounted in his 1991feature on the Bandfor Goldmine, after Hawkins took on Robertson et al in Canada one by one during 1960-1961 as replacements for departing members, they did some recording with him and stayed on the road above and below the US border for several years playing bars, clubs, and roadhouses, and becoming a tight, killer rock 'n' roll unit. Underpaid and micromanaged by their boss, they parted ways with Hawkins and continued successfully playing circuits in Canada and the South as Levon and the Hawks, even recording a couple of singles. No longer confined by Hawkins' repertoire, they began incorporating much more R&B into their sets.

An associate recommended the Hawks to Dylan, who took them out on a long tour in 1966, with dates in the US, Europe and Australia . When I saw the Memphis show, the Hawks still had short, slicked back hair and were wearing matching suits; but what I did not realize until just recently was that Levon might not have been playing with them then, having dropped out of the band, tired of getting booed almost nightly by those who didn’t want Dylan to actually change with the times.

During his hiatus from the road, Levon wound up working on oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico.  Meanwhile the rest of the group followed Dylan to Woodstock , New York, settled in there, and did a lot of informal home recording with him for a couple of years, the results of which were frequently bootlegged untilThe Basement Tapeswere released in 1975. The band, soon to capitalize their "B", summoned Levon back  in 1968, when they got a recording contract with Capitol and a large advance, and prepared to make their first album together. I doubt it would have been the same without him.

Somewhere, I read that a number of the colorful stories Levon would tell about his life inspired images, places, and characters that chief writer and guitarist Robertson incorporated into his impressive, timeless songs for the group. On their first two albums,Music From Big PinkandThe Band, where the bulk of their best work is concentrated, and over the course of the next decade, they channeled all of their collectively absorbed musical influences into a synthesis of rootsy styles firmly planted in the cultural soil of the US South. As great as the other members were, Levon helped to authenticate and ground the group with his primal, funky, in the pocket grooves and earthy vocals.

After fighting throat cancer (damn cigarettes) for over a decade, Levon left this world this past Thursday, the 19th. He was 71. For more detail on his remarkable life and career, start with the obituary by Jon Pareles’ in the New York Times, linked above, and proceed to the link to the Levon's website; and don't miss the Band's very well done site, also linked nearby. He also penned an autobiography in 1993, This Wheel’s On Fire; and, then, of course, there’s the music.....

I’ve got just a few of examples of his playing and singing out of so many; and the first two point more or less directly to New Orleans influences. Fans should be well aware of them already; but, if you’re not all that familiar, dig in and then do yourself a favor, seek out more. I doubt you’ll be disappointed. Levon was the real deal, as were The Band.


“Rag Mama Rag”(J. R. Robertson)
The Band, Capitol 3433, 1972

Both sides of this single were spun off of the Band’s live LP, Rock Of Ages, taken from a series of concerts they did at the Academy of Music in New York City at the end of 1971. For the shows, they brought in a horn section and called on Allen Toussaint to write the arrangements, since he had done so well with the horn charts for their song “Life Is A Carnival”, released on theCahootsLP and as a single earlier that year. Combined with the group’s organically funky feel, Toussaint’s musical sensibilities brought a celebratory synergy to the performances.

The original version of “Rag Mama Rag” appeared on their eponymous second album and had the same rambunctious feel, but a more stripped down presentation. In the context of the concert setting, that spirit was intensified when the non-New Orleans horn players responded to Toussaint’s challenge to bring a buck jumping brass band feel to the party, Howard Johnson’s syncopated tuba pumping being particularly effective. What made the Band great was that they never got slick or allowed studio work and playing big venues to refine away their loose, vital, down home, bar band sound (just listen to the barely controlled chaos of Garth Hudson’s piano solo that ends the song) or smooth out the unaffected character in their voices.

According to Bill from Pittsburgh in the comments to this post, the Band's instrumentation on this track showed their flexibility, with Hudson, as noted, on piano, since Richard Manuel played drums, and Levon was on mandolin. Rick Danko played fiddle, and Robbie Robertson remained on guitar. Toussaint, by the way, also directed the horn section on the shows.

After the group broke up in drug and alcohol-fueled acrimony over money and other issues in 1976, Levon went on to have a distinguished solo career as a performer, recording artist, and actor. His first solo release, Levon Helm and the RCO Allstars, came together in 1977, an aptly named aggregation of outstanding players recorded at his own RCO Studios in Woodstock and Shangri-La Studios in Malibu, California. Joining Levon as the rhythm section were Booker T. & the MGs’ Steve Cropper, Duck Dunn, and Booker T. Jones. Other players included blues harmonica giant Paul Butterfield, guitarist Fred Carter, Jr, and, for the New Orleans flavor, Mac Rebennack on keyboards and guitar, who also contributed several songs.


“Sing, Sing, Sing” (Earl King)
from Levon Helm & the RCO Allstars, 1977, ABC

I’m sure Mac was responsible for Levon doing this fine cover of Earl King’s classic ode to making the world a better place, and it fit the signer’s genuine spirit perfectly. Howard Johnson once again took to the tuba for this number; and two of Levon’s former bandmates sat in, Robertson on guitar, and Hudson on accordion.

A bluesy, soulful, but somewhat laid-back record, it never found its audience, stalling-out well below the Hot 100 in the charts, and remains under-appreciated to this day.

His second LP fared even worse, as it was less well-focused in the choice of material.

from Levon Helm, 1978, ABC

Indulge me on this one, as it really has nothing to do with New Orleans (definitely no mountains around). It’s a bit of reggae-fied Ozark soul-funk written by Earl and Ernie Cate (that’s them singing back-up), twin leaders of one of the South’s great blue-eyed R&B outfits, the Cate Brothers Band, who I got to see play many times over the years in Memphis. From the Fayetteville, Arkansas area in the western part of the state, the Cates were heavily influenced by Ronnie Hawkins in their youth and knew Levon and the rest of the Hawks, who were around their age, as their respective bands played the same Arkansas area club circuit. When Levon left the Dylan tour, he even picked up a few gigs drumming for the Cates before going offshore to work.

This song appeared on the brothers’ self-titled first LP from 1975, and Levon played drums on that track. Besides covering it later on his album, Levon also toured with the Cate Brothers Band backing him in the early 1980s; and, when he reformed the Band in 1983, the core of the Cates’ group briefly served as a kind of second rhythm section for them.

Duck Dunn produced the Levon Helm album, which was recorded in LA and Muscle Shoals; and it had a host of fine players. Other tracks of note include a good-feeling cover of Al Green’s “Take Me To The River” and a decent but rather undynamic take on Toussaint’s “Play Something Sweet”. By the way, the photo is of my picture-disc promo copy of the LP, which I picked up used many years back. Don't see 'em much.

I was fortunate enough to get to see these guys again as the Band play live in Memphis early in the 1970s. Robbie Robertson was so ill (the flu, as I recall) that he just stood in one spot and played guitar staring straight ahead. They still cooked, but it was a short set with no encores, as I recall. That’s showbiz. Around the turn of the century, Levon opened a club that bore his name on Decatur Street in the French Quarter; and I got to see a great Irma Thomas show there one night; but never Levon on his own. Due to his illness, he was unable to sing at the time; and his financial backer pulled out after a just a few months, shutting the place down. Way too bad. Levon and New Orleans would have worked well together. . .You can just hear it.

TRACKING THE BIG Q FACTOR, PT 4b: Mainly Malaco's In-House Labels

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[UPDATE: Audio links to songs in this post associated with label photos are now closed. The files have been moved to the HOTG Radio site and added to the stream.]

 After another long pause for various causes, including festing for most of April (at least on the weekends), and lately some technical difficulties, I’m back to this continual work in progress (or regression) masquerading as a blog for the sake of some free webspace. Once again, I’ll be focusing on producer/arranger Wardell ‘Big Q’ Quezergue, a host of singers and musicians under his guidance, and the grooved black plastic, circular fruits of their labor at the Malaco recording studio in Jackson, MS during the early 1970s. But, this time, most of the records I’ll be featuring appeared on Malaco’s own labels, though there are some significant exceptions that came out under other imprints.

Should you need or want to backtrack in this series, which covers only a select portion of Big Q’s massive record-making enterprises, links to prior posts are provided below. For some reason, after he passed away last year, I started with certain records he worked on in the late 1960s. As usual around here, I didn’t have a master plan in mind. This post should more or less wrap up the three to four year Malaco period that came after. Eventually, I’ll go farther back into Wardell’s early days in the business, and explore his post-Malaco records somewhere down the line, too. But to keep this from becoming all Quezergue all the time, I will be moving on to some other obsessively nerdy topics and groovin’ tracks again soon.

TRACKING THE BIG Q FACTOR (The Saga So Far):
Part 1-Trying to Make the Barons Rule
Part 2- The Unemployed & the Barons
Part 3- More on the Malaco School Bus Sessions & Beyond
Part 4a- More Multi-Label Malaco Sessions

BEGINNINGS OF THE MALACO AND CHIMNEYVILLE LABELS

Malaco’s namesake record label got its start several years before Big Q sought refuge from the temporarily moribund recording scene in New Orleans and came to work at the studio some 200 miles to the north. The operation derived its name from Malaco Attractions, a successful rock and soul concert promotion business in Jackson run by Mitch Malouf and Tommy Couch (the “Mal”and “Co”). Fascinated by all aspects of the music business, the young partners opened their studio venture on the side with a friend, ‘Wolf’ Stevenson, in 1967, having plenty of good intentions but little experience with the technical demands of getting such an operation up and running. They took a learn-as-you-go approach; and, with some sheer luck, good ears for talent, and plenty of naive enthusiasm, they persevered. The first single they put out was Malaco Records 901 in 1968, two tracks by Cosey Corley and the Blue Gardenia Show Band, “Warm Loving Man”, a soulful nugget sung by Corley’s wife, Carolyn Faye, and “Got To Get Myself Together”. The 45 received some favorable regional response and led to a less well-received follow-up “It’s All Over” / “I Love You”.(#902), soon thereafter.

Having one of the few viable studios in the area, Malaco managed to attract some promising young songwriters, budding producers and session musicians into the fold and began to record a number of other local and regional artists; but the partners soon realized that they did not have the resources to effectively market and distribute their own records. So, they let the label slide and worked as a production company, developing material and talent, recording various artists, then leasing the sessions to viable outside record companies with distribution clout who could release and promote the records (at least that was how it was supposed to work). Though still new at the game, they had some initial success placing their masters; but hits were not forthcoming, and keeping the doors open became a concern.The studio stayed afloat by cutting advertising jingles; and Malouf and Couch helped the cash flow by continutng to book concerts. Then, one day, Quezergue and his partner, Elijah Walker, came knocking with a mutually beneficial proposal to join forces, as detailed in earlier posts.

Wardell had years of experience in the business, a track record of producing and arranging hits, plus a team of on-call songwriters and a stable of of willing and able singers who Walker promoted and managed under the banner of Skyline Productions. With the New Orleans recording scene in dire straights, Malaco’s suitable studio set-up, capable in-house band, and Couch’s connections with outside labels seemed to be just what Big Q required to get a quality product to market. Yet, once the deal was struck and the sessions had started, Couch struggled to place any of the first batch of singles. Seeing the greatest promise in Floyd’s record, the Malaco partners activated a new label, Chimneyville, in 1970 to get it released and, they hoped, onto the airwaves, which quickly took place. “Groove Me” was the side that got hot in a hurry on New Orleans radio, so much so that Atlantic Records, after first snubbing Floyd's single, suddenly saw the light and signed on to handle the distribution, and promoted the song into a national R&B chart-topper. Their agreement with Malaco also included an option to lease and/or distribute any other projects produced at the studio they thought might be hits; but time would show that making some short-term money off of Floyd's streak was their main concern.

With the positive outlook and cash-flow generated by “Groove Me” and Floyd’s immediate follow-ups, the production wheels were well-greased. Things soon got busier around the studio, with Big Q regularly cutting tracks on a steady stream of primarily hometown artists. One of them, arriving soon after those first sessions for a chance at record-making roulette, was a high quality vocalist named C. P. Love.


C. P. LOVE COMES TO CHIMNEYVILLE

A popular live performer whose strong suit is deep soul, New Orleans native Carrollton Pierre Love has been a woefully under-recorded vocalist for the majority of his career, which began around 1960 when he was a just a teenager. You can see his discography, and hear some selections from it on Sir Shambling’s Deep Soul Heavenweb page devoted to the singer.

As he told Jeff Hannusch in the Soul of New Orleans, Love’s first chance to make a record didn’t materialize until about 1968, when, at one of his gigs with a popular local band called the Invaders, he met Elijah Walker, a music business hustler with many hats who got the group some additional work and then approached Love about cutting a single. The singer was agreeable, and the result was “You Call the Shots” b/w “Plenty of Room For More”, released on the tiny King Walk label (#569) owned by Earl King and Walker. Though the King penned A-side was a great debut performance for Love, the record quickly sank, in no small part due to the abysmal state of the record business in New Orleans at the time. King Walk soon dissolved, after just one other release.

Walker then got Love studio work singing on budget-priced knock-offs of current hit records, keeping the singer on the line while setting up Pelican Productions with Wardell. As previously discussed, when the partners lined up Malaco for their new base of operations, Love, then about 25 years old, was on the short list for their first multi-artist sessions there in the spring of 1970; but he graciously convinced them to give King Floyd a chance to record in his place. That wound up paying off exceedingly well for everybody except C. P. Love He did finally get another session slot later that year or early the next, and cut quite a few tracks, but only two saw the light of day on a Chimneyville single.



“I Found All these Things”(Joe Broussard)
C. P. Love, Chimneyville 438, 1970

Penned by Wardell’s chief writer, Joe Broussard, this stately ballad and tasteful arrangement showed off Love’s voice to excellent effect. His strong, distinctively soulful tenor had just the right mix of purity and grit, and the latter timbre is well-displayed when he takes the song to church for some testifying on the ride-out. While he did a fine job on the more uptempo flip side, “Never Been In Love Before”, composed by his friend, King Floyd, Love couldn’t overcome the song’s hackneyed lyrics and structure, making it a B-side not to remember.

On the face of it, Love’s performance on “I Found All These Things” should have effectively sold the record and upped his profile. According to Hannusch, the song found promising support in New Orleans and several other sectors of the southern soul market. But, for unexplained reasons, Love was unable to go on a planned tour with Memphis soulman James Carr to generate more of a buzz; and the song failed to break out any further on its own. Also working against the record’s prospects was Atlantic’s indifference to promoting most of the releases it was nominally distributing for Malaco at the time, except Floyd's.

At least the in-demand Floyd, who owed a debt to Love for getting him his shot with Big Q, provided some pay-back and took the singer out on tour with him later. They were on the road for almost a year, but the exposure did nothing to resuscitate “I Found All These Things”. In fact, Love returned to find his prospects for another release had greatly diminished. Atlantic/Cotillion soon pulled the plug on their distribution deal with Malaco, once Floyd’s hot streak in the charts cooled down; and Tommy Couch had continuing trouble placing all Wardel's completed sessions in the pipeline. Once the producer had his falling out with the recalcitrant Floyd, and Stax dropped his other hitmaker, Jean Knight; Wardell retreated home to work at the newly-opened Sea-Saint Studio.

A vocalist of C. P. Love’s caliber certainly deserved another chance to work with Big Q’s promising production team, but it wasn’t in the cards. The window of opportunity for New Orleans artists at Malaco was not open long enough for all trying to get through it.

* * * * * * *

Meanwhile on Chimneyville, King Floyd’s output continued even after Wardell departed, until the singer and label finally called it quits a few years later. The studio band had well-learned how to make records Big Q style, and just continued to do so. Other than the two Barrons Ltd. singles, discussed several posts back, and Love’s record, none of Big Q’s other productions appeared on the label. Instead, a number were issued on the Malaco imprint, which had been reactivated in 1971 for a project that did not even involve Wardell.

Although the pace of his sessions was brisk in 1970-71, Malaco’s own in-house producers managed to slip in a few of their own, including making a fine record on itinerant Gulf Coast soul man, Mighty Sam McLain, that featured his promising take on the slow-burner, “Mr. & Mrs. Untrue”. But Atlantic predictably passed on it. Tommy Couch could find no other takers, because Rick Hall at Fame Records in Muscle Shoals quickly released a version of the song by Candi Staton which charted, cutting off interest in McLain’s version. So Couch went to Plan B (or M, actually), deciding to put it out on Malaco Records instead. It was just the label’s third single (#1011 - starting a new numbering scheme). However, the rub continued to be that Malaco could not afford a big promotional push to get McLain’s record noticed. As a result, it didn’t get very far out the door.

Having the Malaco label available again, Couch began to issue a number of Wardell’s productions on it, for lack of a better alternative. These were singles which had also failed to initially attract outside distribution or leasing deals. The concept seems to have been similar to what Big Q and Walker already had been forced to do themselves with Pelican and their other micro-labels discussed in the last post, releasing limited-edition singles just to get the records into the hands of radio DJs and maybe a few regional sellers in hope of getting some action stirred up that might encourage a larger company to sign on for distribution and promotion and take them farther. But that fall-back business model proved to be less than dependable. Very few singles on Pelican or Malaco got distributed or leased by other companies between 1970 and 1975, and none of those were hits. As the decade progressed, lack of response for its releases was turning Malaco into the lost soul company.

Despite the spectre of creating a limbo for soul records (nothing to dance about), Couch had to put his own productions and records coming through the Big Q operation somewhere. So the Malaco catalog slowly grew, and everybody hoped for the best.

HANK SAMPLE: A TALE OF TWO SINGLES

Henry Lee ‘Hank’ Sample, III, was a New Orleans-based vocalist who Quezergue and Walker brought to the Malaco studio for several sessions during the high-traffic first year of their operation. Not only was Sample a DJ on WBOK-AM, at least in the 1960s, he also had run a local record shop where he played a part in some of the city’s music business history a few years earlier by helping to break Robert Parker’s big 1966 hit, “Barefootin’”. Wardell had produced and arranged the song for Nola Records the year before; but the label-owners hesitated to release it with Parker’s vocal. Certain it was a hit waiting to happen, Sample arranged to sell a limited run of copies at his shop to test its appeal, and quickly moved them all. That was enough to convince Nola to send out promo copies to the radio stations. Subsequent break-out airplay and enthusiastic listeners’ response started the song’s climb high up the national charts.

Later in the decade, Sample was singing in a vocal trio, the Jades, who recorded one single,“Lucky Fellow”b/w “And Now”, produced/arranged by Wardell, and released on the Mode label (#503). The top side was a great soul-pop dancer with Sample on lead vocal, but the record went down the hole, that is, the smoking crater where the busy local record business had once been. Although Wardell seems to have been in charge of most of the Mode sessions,Sir Shamblingnotes that Sample himself produced one record, Mode 504, “You’re Using Me” / “Can’t Stay Away” by the Fabulettes, and likely had a financial interest in the label. As I related before in the series when discussing the Barons, Ulis Gaines, a partner in Nola and co-owner of Gatur with Willie Tee, has been identified as the principal owner of Mode. If Sample did have a piece of the action, it was likely kept under wraps due to his working for a radio station; yet, the connection did not seem to have benefitted any of the Mode releases, none of which were commercially successful.

After Mode closed down in fairly short order, the Jades did some other session work for the Scram label with Eddie Bo producing, but nothing was issued; and the group broke up by the end of the decade. From there, Sample went solo, becoming a part of Elijah Walker’s stable of singers alligned with Pelican Productions, which put him on track for his sessions at Malaco. The other two members of the Jades, Alvin Turner and Arthur Stewart, went on to form the Enticers, a vocal group also managed by Walker. But more about them a bit later.

Right now, let’s hear the A-side of the first record Hank Sample cut on his own, which Tommy Couch succeeded in placing with an outside company, albeit the smallish Jay-Walking, an offshoot of the Soulville label based in Harrisburg, PA.



“So In Love With You”(King Floyd)
Hank Sample, Jay-Walking 006, 1971


Another shot on the mainstream pop side of soul for Sample, this swinging, mid-tempo groover, written by King Floyd, is definitely easy on the ear thanks to the effective singing and Big Q’s deftly rhythmic arrangement. Like Floyd, Sample had a limited vocal range, but worked well within it. Both singers, too, had the ability to lock their vocals into the groove on numbers like this, for the good of the tune, and make the process seem effortless.

Something that is only slightly evident on this track but much more pronounced on the B-side ballad, “You’re Being Unfair To Me” (hear it at Sir Shambling's), is Sample’s similarity at times to Joe Tex in vocal timbre and phrasing, which was surely no coincidence, considering Tex’s popularity.

While Jay-Walking lacked much clout, they were at least able put the record out in the large Philadelphia/New York market nearby, where such a song had a better chance of getting noticed; although, ultimately, this spin of the wheel was not a winner.

Even so, Sample got another chance, this time on the company’s own label, coming right after Mighty Sam McLain’s single.



“If You See That Girl Of Mine”(W. Quezergue, J. Broussard, A Savoy)
Hank Sample, Malaco 1012, 1971

I consider this to be one of Wardell’s best down-tempo arrangements while at Malaco - dramatically dynamic, exquisitely layered, and superbly played. There wasn’t really much going on melodically on the minor key song, written by Big Q and the cream of his writing team; but that suited Sample’s range limitations. Still, he had to really invest a lot of emotion into his delivery of the simple lyrics to make his voice a meaningful match for the top-notch musical accompaniment. He succeeded; but that may be hard to discern from my worn copy of the 45. I suggest you seek out a good digitally re-mastered copy* to really appreciate Sample’s nuanced performance.

.He handled flip side with aplomb, as well.

“Got To Find The Nerve” (J. Broussard, A. Savoy, H. Sample, E. Small)

James Stroud’s funky drumming finally came into play on this highly repetitive, more upbeat soul number, which has musical and lyrical similarities to the song “Let Us Be”, written by Larry Hamilton, that appeared on King Floyd’s third Chimneyville 45, as well as his 1971 Cotillion LP.

It’s definitely a B-side worth picking up on, both for Sample’s sincere, gritty vocal and Wardell’s relaxed arrangement, which dispensed with the more contrived hybrid funk hesitations he regularly imposed on Stroud and bassist Vernie Robbins for many other poly-rhythmic productions. Instead, he allowed them to provide a more natural bounce and flow to the groove, a copacetic combination sure to inspire repeat spins.

As noted, issuing these distinctive songs on a Malaco single meant more or less sealing their fate to endure a lengthy suspended animation until eventual discovery by latter day collectors and other retro-music fans. Sample recorded again after Malaco, but his other attempts fared no better. As Sir Shambling points out, there were two more releases on Senator Jones’ Superdome and J.B.’s labels respectively in 1973 and 1975, before the singing DJ faded from the scene for good.


CLEMMON SMITH: A REAL RARITY ON BIG Q (the label)

Before getting into the other in-house Malaco releases involving Wardell, I am backtracking to a 45, quite beat-up and scarce, that I stumbled upon just after I did the prior post covering Pelican and other micro-labels set up by Quezergue & Walker while at Malaco. Since it was too late to fit it in there, I saved it for this time.

This single came out on the very limited-edition Big Q imprint (#1001), active only during the first few years the partners operated at Malaco. The only other known release on Big Q , Joe Wilson’s “You Need Me” / ”Other Side Of Your Mind” (#1002), was leased and re-issued by Avco in 1973. The artist on 1001, Clemmon Smith, only rang a bell with me due to a funky obscurity he did for Instant records in the early 1970s that I have on a 2001 CD comp (Voodoo Soul: Deep and Dirty New Orleans Funk). I had been unaware of his prior records and association with Wardell until this record turned up.

Fortunately, Sir Shambling’s Deep Soul Heaven had already done afeature on Smithwhich includes the singer’s scant discography and audio of several tunes. I suggest that you definitely check that out, as Smith was another little-known artist who deserved more studio time, releases, and attention than he got. The few records he did have are well worth hearing, including the two cut prior to recording for Big Q, both likely issued in 1967 and showing him as Clemon Smith. One was on Lionel Worthy’s Eight Ball label (#1563), and the other on Joe Banashak’s Alon (#9037 - in its final days, after Allen Toussaint was long gone). It probably goes without saying at this point, but neither single got any action.

The two ballads Sir Shamblng has available from those singles show Smith singing in a smooth soul style; but the tracks he recorded for Biq Q reveal his a grittier side.



“I Want To Thank You Baby” (Michael Adams & Alvin Savoy)
Clemmon Smith, Big Q 1001, ca 1970

On this fairly straightforward piece of mid-tempo southern soul, Wardell gave the arrangement a relaxed yet rhythmic groove with a smooth flow accentuated by a tastefully used string section. Smith had just enough gritty husk in his voice keep things interesting, not too sweet and refined, and delivered the lyrical goods with sincerity and conviction, sealing the deal.

“Life Ain’t Worth Living” (Wardell Quezergue & Albert Savoy)

Here’s an example of Wardell borrowing ideas from other members of his writing team and recycling some of his own. This song owes a lot musically to “Mr. Big Stuff”, recorded by Jean Knight at Malaco earlier that year, though not released until 1971, as discussed earlier in the series. Punchy and funky, the groove appropriated the same spunky bounce found on Knight’s track; but the weak point here is the lyrics, which don’t offer nearly as clever a concept. Smith’s strong vocal had plenty of potential attitude that the words just couldn’t match, a central flaw that made the number no more than flip side filler; but it's still fun to listen to.

It’s easy to agree with Sir Shambling that “I Want to Thank You Baby” was worthy of radio play and deserved at least a shot at the national charts; but for whatever reasons, the Big Q label release gambit worked only later for Joe Wilson’s masterful single. As I said, Smith moved over to Instant around 1973, cutting the engaging, two-part groover“Are You Sleeping Brotherman”(shown as “Brother Man, Sister Ann” on several compilations, which is not it’s legal title, according to BMI). It was his last known release.


ELLIOTT SMALL'S MALACO DEJA VU

New Orleans-based vocalist, songwriter and harmonica player Elliott Small first recorded for Wardell Quezergue as a young man in the mid-1960s, making the single“I’m A Devil” / “Hate to See You Go” for A.B.S. (Always Better Sound #108 - with his first name misspelled), a short-lived label in which Big Q had an interest. The top side, written by the singer and Joe Broussard, who had a long working relationship with the producer, is a pumping dancer that has become a cult favorite among collectors for it's odd lyrics, harmonica solo, and rarity.


Small did not make another vinyl appearance until late in the decade, when he cut“Girls Are Made For Loving”/ “Stay In My Heart”, again with Wardell in charge, which appeared on New Sound 1001, possibly an offshoot of the Mode label. Directly aimed at the mainstream pop market, the single must have gotten some radio play and good response around New Orleans, because it was re-issued by Bert Berns’ mainly pop-rock oriented Bang label out of New York in 1969 (see myearlier post), only to get quickly lost in the big city shuffle.

After joining the songwriting team that worked for Pelican Productions out of Broussard’s house in New Orleans, Small eventually also got the nod to record with Wardell at Malaco, joining a long line of other singers looking for a hit. Though he would have two releases on the house label, surprisingly, only one of them was cut at the Jackson studio.



“Cherry”(W. Quezergue, M. Tynes, J. Broussard)
Elliot Small, Malaco 1014, 1971

As should be getting obvious by now, this is another example of Wardell’s patented funky semi-automation, fully engaged. He manufactured such grooves using the lean, clean rhythm section machine of drummer James Stroud, bassist Vernie Robbins, and guitarist Jerry Puckett, to punch out push-pull rhythmic substructures to his exact specifications. Often, those would be variations on the “Groove Me” template; and some songs of that ilk worked better than others. I’d put “Cherry” in the better category, as Wardell laid some welcome change-ups into the sequence, including a driving bridge that builds to a peak, then drops off at one point to a short, stuttering interlude before the regularly repeating syncopations begin again. There’s also an unexpected larger instrumental section later in the song that takes the beat in another direction before the final bridge kicks in. It was well-thought-out and cleverly crafted to set booties in motion while moving the arrangement beyond the realm of one central groove.

Small’s melodic talents weren’t particularly required on this one; so he sang it in King Floyd fashion, using his voice as one more rhythmic element, dancing inside, outside and around the beats. The lyrics from Maria Tynes and Broussard picked a tree-full of fairly funny, semi-salacious double entendres, plus various other fruity metaphors and plays on words, which may have been a bit too ripe for radio back then.

“Separation”(Elliot Small)

Meanwhile, over in Flipsville, Small’s own “Separation” provided him more melody to work with as he bemoaned some rather specific repercussions of relationship breakups and double-dealing. It becomes a rather preachy rant, sort of a singing sociology lesson, conducted over chord changes reminiscent of Van Morrison’s “Gloria” [as performed by Them, natch]. Nonetheless, Wardell’s arrangement lent excellent musical support, from its well-paced snare and percussion backbeat and broken-beat kick drumming to the flowing strings and reinforcing horn fills, all working to mitigate Small’s overwrought rapping.

As you’ll note, the single’s label editor left off a “t” on Small’s first name, twice - not that it mattered. Once again, the Malaco Records syndrome was at work; and the release took its place in the static limbo line.

Small’s next recording date came a few years later, after Big Q had returned to New Orleans and was working at Sansu Enterprises’ new Sea-Saint Studio on his own projects plus some contract arrangement work. Taking on production of the session himself, Small had Wardell arrange a flat out funk number that the two had co-written with guitarist Teddy Royal, a frequent but often uncredited Quezergue collaborator during the period.

But when it came to marketing the master, Small went back to Malaco to see if they could assist. The company was suddenly hot again after Dorothy Moore’s take on “Misty Blue”, released on Malaco 1029, became a substantial smash in 1975, saving the studio from financial ruin and shifting perception of the label 180 degrees, from dead record zone to successful hit generator. Still on good terms with Big Q (who did the string arrangement on “Misty Blue”) and his crew, Tommy Couch decided to release Small’s session as a two-parter on Malaco, hoping it might take advantage of the newfound momentum.




“E-Ni-Me-Ni-Mi-Ni-Mo”(Small-Quezergue-Royal)
Elliott Small, Malaco 1031, 1975

I first featured this tune back in 2007. along with some commentary, most of which I’ve summarized above. I’ll just add this snippet fromthat post:

[Small] and Wardell may have been trying to revive the kind of feel that had been successful earlier for King Floyd at Malaco when he was working with Big Q. . . . In fact, Small even affected some of Floyd's vocal mannerisms on the song; but nobody sprang for his funkified children's chant, no matter how danceable it was.

Suffice it to say, “E-Ni-Me-Ni” was no “Misty Blue” by any measure; and its failure to get noticed, even with all the favorable attention coming Malaco’s way, marked the end of the studio’s involvement with New Orleans-related productions from there on out.

JOE JOHNSON AND RICHARD CAITON CLOSE OUT BIG Q’s MALACO RUN

As far as I can tell, there were only two other releases featuring New Orleans artists on the Malaco label. The singles, by Joe Johnson and Richard Caiton, appeared successively in 1973 and 1974, neither leaving much of a trace, although Johnson’s did get re-issued nationally.

What little I know about Joe Johnson, who was originally from Independence, in east-central Louisiana just north of Hammond, comes mainly from Sir Shambling’sonline featureand discography on him, and from John Broven’s essential book,South to Louisiana, which briefly mentions the singer. His music career began in the Louisiana swamp blues scene of the mid-1960s; and he first recorded for legendary producer Jay ‘J. D.’ Miller, who ran a studio in Crowley, located in the southwest region of the state.

For about a decade, beginning in the mid-1950s, Miller recorded and helped develop the careers of area black blues artists such as Lightning Slim, Lazy Lester, Lonesome Sundown, and Slim Harpo, successfully leasing their sessions to the Excello label run by Ernie Young in Nashville, TN. Johnson’s initial single for Miller came in 1966 and was issued on the relatively new Abet imprint (#9417), an Excello subsidiary. But, the record was a non-starter; and the timing was bad all around. Miller’s distribution deal dissolved the next year, when Young sold Excello along with his other label holdings, and the new owners quickly moved to sign Slim Harpo, Miller’s best-selling artist, to a direct contract.

Johnson cut one more record for Miller, backed by Guitar Grady and his band, which came out on the producer’s own, one-off Cry label around 1968; but it also failed to flourish. After that, Johnson and Grady could be found performing regularly in Gretna, on the Westbank, right across the river from New Orleans. Around 1970, the singer recorded a 45 for Crown, a Gretna-based micro-label; and, as Sir Shambling notes, he also had a release on the mysterious Jo-El label about the same time.

Along the way, the singer came into association with promoter, booking agent, and manager Elijah Walker, which is how he got one of the later recording slots at Malaco, while Big Q was still running sessions there.



“Perfect Love Affair”(Alvin Savoy & Milton Alverez)
Joe Johnson, Malaco 1019, 1973

Johnson’s blues roots are nowhere to be found on his Malaco tracks. This top side is simply soul-pop, effectively arranged by Wardell with a swinging spring to the groove - mid-tempo, but still about a mover. As for the vocal, there is nothing truly memorable about it, but it's nicely done and displays an easy confidence. As Sir Shambling points out, Johnson did a more distinctive job on the B-side ballad, “The Blind Man”, a satisfying serving of smooth, southern soul emoting that you can hear at Deep Soul Heaven.

Probably due just to favorable timing, this limited-run Malaco single was one of the few in those years that got re-issued nationally, coming out that same year on the GSF label (#6909) based in New York City. Tommy Couch placed it as part of a package deal in which GSF also released singles by Dorothy Moore (#6908), Chuck Brooks (#6912), and Billy Cee (#6913), who were Malaco in-house artists at the time; but only Moore’s funky jewel, “Cry Like A Baby”, got into the charts, just barely.

After Johnson’s shot with Big Q and Malaco/GSF fell short, he recorded just a few more times, putting a single out on Tee, another tiny Gretna label, in 1977. Then, a decade or so later; he had at least one quite decent release on Milton Batiste’s Syla imprint; but neither involved Big Q or brought Johnson any significant recognition.

* * * * * * *

I first heard the top side of songwriter and falsetto specialist Richard Caiton’s lone Malaco single on the label’s 1999 CD box set, The Last Soul Company; but Rob Bowman’s generally informative notes barely mention him. At that point, the singer was hard to trace; but ever since, information on him has been accumulating, along with an appreciable fanbase, especially in the UK.

Prized in Northern Soul circles, several of Caiton’s singles can be expensive to obtain. All were fairly limited run releases, as commercial success for the most part eluded him. Contributing to his obscurity is the fact that Caiton consistently pursued his vocal and songwriting talents as a sideline and rarely performed live. Preferring the security of a regular paycheck to provide for his family, he made his living as an educator and administrator, knowing recording opportunities were infrequent and rarely lucrative.

Caiton made his first record when he was just 19 via a connection to famed producer Dave Bartholomew, who thought he showed some promise and cut a session on him in 1964. The songs were both Bartholomew compositions, though not his best stuff:: “You Look Like A Flower”, a 1950s style throwback ballad with weak lyrics, and “Listen To The Drums”, which didn’t have much going for it other than a heavy beat (hence the title), probably supplied by Smokey Johnson (coincidentally, a neighbor of Caiton’s back then). Though the singer sounded somewhat green on both tracks, Bartholomew’s legendary reputation probably helped get them released as a single by GNP Crescendo (#327) that year; but, not surprisingly, it flopped.

A few years later, Caiton began recording for Up-Tight, yet another local micro-label, working with saxophonist and arranger Eddie Williams.“Without Your Love”, from his first single for Up-Tight (#101), received some encouraging airplay on New Orleans soul stations in 1966; and his next release on the label in 1968 did even better, featuring the singer’s own socially-conscious composition,“Take A Hold Brother & Sister”(#151), which had heavy local sales but didn’t breakout to other markets. I first heard that one in 2002 on the Funky Delicacies/ Tuff City CD compilation, Funky Funky New Orleans 2, and later lucked into a copy of the 45, which remains to date my only Caiton on vinyl, though not for lack for trying.

Two more singles followed on the label, featuring A-sides “I Like To Get Near You” (numbered 151 again - not that it made any difference) and “Reflections” (#?), but neither fared well. Caiton seems to have been Up-Tight’s only artist; and i’m sure the recording budget was limited, though virtually all of the sides managed to have string sections. From what I’ve heard of his performances, the playing, and arrangements, all seem to be of fairly high quality, but Up-Tight had no way to compete with the mainstream artists that Caiton wanted to run with. I heard him say in a recent interview* that at least some of the label’s sessions were cut in Houston, likely due to the financial demise of Cosimo’s studio. In any case, all became moot by 1970 when Up-Tight went under, as had so many other small imprints around town in that period.

Not long thereafter, Caiton began his association with Elijah Walker, Big Q, and their Pelican Productions team, first as a writer. One of the songs he collaborated on with Joe Broussard and Maria Tynes, the strong dancer,“Send Him Back”, was recorded at Malaco in 1972 by a new female vocal group, the Pointer Sisters, brought in by Atlantic Records to cut a single with Wardell producing and arranging. The other side, “Destination No More Heartaches”, was written by other members of team. Promising at it was, the Atlantic release (#2893) did not take off, and the Pointer girls soon parted ways with the company and signed with Blue Thumb, where they had their first big hit covering a tune from another New Orleans songwriter, Allen Toussaint.

Caiton’s vocal abilities insured that he got a session slot at the studio in Jackson. The resulting Malaco single (#1020) contained two of his own compositions, “Superman”, the top side, with “I’m Gonna Love You More” on the back, but came about so late in the Quezergue epoch at the studio that it’s likely the producer/arranger was officially gone by the time the record was released in 1974. As the singer has acknowledged, his intent all along was to make records for the mainstream soul market, where he got his inspiration; and these tracks reveal that Big Q was just the creative enabler he needed to get that sound.

The minor-key, mid-tempo “Superman”, had a jazzy feel and showed an obvious debt to Curtis Mayfield’s vocal and songwriting style of the era, but was probably the wrong song to lead off with, when on other side was such a effective soul-pop mover. Big Q’s arrangement on“I’m Gonna Love You More”fused the breezy flow of Caiton’s chord progression and his effortlessly melodic, seamless high tenor/falsetto, here reminiscent of the Stylicstics or Delphonics, with an unstoppable syncopated groove, subtle yet highly rhythmic. In a few years, this would probably have been considered disco by many, but it’s not nearly as formulaic.

As was the pattern at the time, there was no taker willing to deliver these tunes to the masses, so Caiton’s single ended up languishing under the in-house brand, awaiting its trans-Atlantic revival decades in the future. For the fellow vinyl-deprived, both sides are included on the 2003 Grapevine CD,Reflections, a well-done, selective overview of Caiton’s recorded work with revealing notes and many of his released and unreleased tracks. Various sites have downloads of at least some of his tunes, as well.

Caiton only made a few more 45s, which he self-produced later in the decade. One of them came out on his own Caiburt imprint around 1975. Following that, he hired Big Q to do the arrangements for a 1978 single recorded at Sea-Saint and released on Senator Jones’ J.B.’s label (#131) to get it a better shot at radio play. The top side was a more decidedly disco “Where Is The Love”, with a very commercial sound in tune with the times; but, ultimately, Jones’ operation didn’t have the clout to get the record where it needed to go. Caiton pretty much retired from the music business after that; but some 30 years on, his singles are still sought after by a growing number of those in the know. With the re-issue of his work by Grapevine, a new crop of soul fans have joined the old to create a demand for his music that might just revive his career. He recently performed in the UK; and we can only hope he’ll do the same at home one day soon and get some props and appreciation for all the music he made while standing in the shadows.

*[I recently discovered anarchived interviewMr. Caiton did with UK radio host Dave Thorley earlier this year that lets you hear some of the story from the man himself. Check it out.]


TELLING ON THE ENTICERS

As mentioned in the segment on Hank Sample above, following the breakup of his late 1960s vocal trio, the Jades, with Alvin Turner and Arthur Stewart, Sample went solo and a new group, the Enticers, was started by his former partners. They all became affilated with Walker and Quezergue's Skyline and Pelican operations and would cut two singles apiece at Malaco.

A five piece outfit, the Enticers had obvious similarities to the Barons, but with a tighter, more polished sound, at least on their best tracks. According to the notes by John Ridley (a/k/a Sir Shambling) to the 2004 Gravevine CD comp,Strung Out: The Malaco Sessions, the other members of the Enticers were Gerald Alexander, Wilson Porter, and Johnny Carr. They got their initial session with Big Q fairly early on; and Atlantic picked it up directly for release by Cotillion. An auspicious start for the first single by a new group.



“Storyteller”(Clyde Wilson)
The Enticers, Cotillion 44125, 1971

Maybe it was the choice of this song for the A-side that enticed Atlantic to take a chance, something they regularly refrained from doing during their strained relationship of convenience with Malaco. Wardell and the group took on a cover version of“Don’t Make Me A Story Teller”, originally recorded by Detroit soul singer and writer Steve Mancha (actual name, Clyde Wilson), which had an R&B chart run in 1967. I’m sure the song’s track record somehow assured the company that a re-make might have the right stuff.

The versions are a contrast in approaches. On the original, Mancha’s eminently soulful vocal and the strong rhythm track had a more raw and up-front sound, with prominent drums and bass injecting serious pelvic movement into the mid-tempo pace. Wardell’s uptown, more sophisticated arrangement smoothed-out the rough edges and straightened out the beat, giving the groove more of a glide over which the Enticers wove their highly effective vocal. blend. As good as it sounds, the song did not have the desired effect on radio airplay and was nowhere near as successful as Mancha’s version. Essentially, it tanked, a miscalculation by the producer(s) trying to successfully introduce the group, however impressive their massed harmonies might be.

In my less than weighty opinion, as with Richard Caiton’s Malaco single, a stronger first-impression showcase for the Enticers would seem to have been available by simply turning the record over to play the other side.

“Calling For Your Love”(R. Williams, J. Broussard, C. Washington)

While lyrically this song doesn’t really stand up to “Storyteller”, Big Q’s main songwriting team did a bang-up job on the nuts and bolts construction, offering up a tune in the Motown mode that was all he needed to create an infectious, dance-inducing, rhythmic powerhouse of an arrangement, chock full of hooks. It just seems flawlessly designed to be heard again and again and flip the impulse-buying switch in a million youthful brains. Hell, I feel like running out and buying a few more copies myself - looks like geezers too are not immune to its appeal.

The Enticers’ five voices had less to do here, since the lead carried most of the load with an agile, syncopated delivery that added another layer of interactive fun to the polyrythmic spree. Too bad this B-side remained undiscovered. Had some Djs picked up on it, the group’s fate could have been quite different.

Their second record, which Cotillion also took on, was released the next year. Not nearly as strong as the first, seriously flawed actually, it ended up being their last.




“Thief”(Elijah Walker, Alvin Savoy)
The Enticers, Cotillion 44156, 1972

On first listen, the stock sound effects - breaking glass, door knocking and sirens - during the instrumental intro suggest things are getting cheesy, unless it might be an intentional comedy record. Nope. Instead, it’s a superficial, predictable message song to a theif about how his criminal ways are uncool, and, by the way, explained by being a drug addict. That was a cliche even then. Not only that, Big Q’s arrangement employs with unintended irony a blatant appropriation of the Temptations’ style, with voices in various registers each taking a line. Not that you’d actually confuse these guys with those guys.You might recall that he took the Temps route earlier with the Barons, too. But that was at least closer to the mark.

The biggest problem, clear from the outset, is that the group’s formerly righteous blend of voices is missing in action, and where is that strong tenor who sang lead on the prior record? It definitely sounds as if the Enticers had some personnel changes between records;.and maybe lost a member, too. I have no documentation on this, just ears. Knowing Wardell’s vocalists were all thoroughly coached on songs parts and arrangement prior to recording, the loss of the group’s sound might be best explained by some less adept singers having come in as replacements. That combined with this second-rate song from a writer who for sure had many better to offer, would have made any competent disk jockey or program director stop the song in mid-preview and say, “Next”.

Still, despite the flaws, I dig the playing on the track, at least. Espetially the tasty acoustic guitar work, probably by rhythm section regular, Jerry Puckett.

The flip side, “God Bless Tomorrow”, written by the other Savoy twin, Albert, is not his best either, a middle of the road ballad bogged down by a mid-song recitation by the bass vocalist. Again, the singing is merely adequate - the group’s enticing luster nowhere to be found. It’s little wonder that this less than adequate record marked the end of the line for the group’s recording career.

On the strength of their first record alone, the Enticers can be added to the list of artists for whom Big Q fashioned worthy, mainstream-oriented productions while at Malaco, joining others such as the Barons, Denise Keeble, C. L. Blast, Hank Sample, and Richard Caiton. All of them deserved more of a shot at that market than they got. The quality of his work aptly demonstrates that Wardell and most of those vocalists could have made more sweet music together and potentially big(er) bucks had they been plying their trade in one of the major recording hubs working for big(er) labels, instead of at an impressive but struggling, small studio/production company Jackson, MS.

[Geek alert:One last note about the Enticers singles. Both labels show Walker as producer, a nominal designation, as previously discussed; but instead of following that with “for Malaco Productions” as on other records where he is named, “for Skyline Productions” is shown. It is the same for Wardell’s arranger credit on the later 45. I think these are the only mentions of Skyline on any of the records the two were involved with at Malaco. My only guess as to why Skyline replaces Malaco would be that Walker got Cotillion to take the Enticers directly, without Tommy Couch setting up the deal. If anything makes better sense, feel free to let me know.]

LET’S NOT FORGET IRMA AND JOHNNY!

Before finally closing this segment out, I want to mention two other notable singles Big Q oversaw at Malaco that were placed with the Atlantic group, both of which I have done posts on in the past.

One was issued directly by Cotillion in 1971 on soul queen Irma Thomas, combining the lush ballad,“Full Time Woman”, and a funk nugget,“She’s Taken My Part”. I featured the latter song way back in 2005, and you can readmy musingson the record there.

The other was an Atlantic release by Johnny Adams from the same year, featuring the equally funky“More Than One Way”b/w “You Got Your Kind Of Life To Lead” that also failed to connect with the public. Myoriginal poston the top side of that record was done back in 2008 as part of a feature on the late songwriter, Larry Hamilton (who also co-wrote Irma’s B-side). Both Thomas and Adams could have benefitted from a longer, more productive working relationship with Big Q at Malaco; but when neither of their singles charted, further access was denied. Adams was taken elsewhere to cut a few more sides for Atlantic; and Cotillion simply cut Irma loose.


WRAPPING UP (if that is even possible....)

In the long view of Wardell’s Malaco experience, there were some early successes and, surely, almost continual disappointment, purely in terms of the lack commercial rewards for most of his productions, there being far more misses than hits. Much of that could well have been attributable to Malaco’s inability to hold up their end of the bargain completely and get all the songs coming down the Big Q production line off to market. But, there were some mistakes in judgement, ungreased DJ palms, and a fickle public to consider, too.

As for his team’s musical scorecard, though, without question the good to great tracks far outweighed the merely average, or few not so good. If Wardell had been working in or even near the music business big leagues, such a track record might have merited him equal footing with greats like Jerry Ragavoy, Curtis Mayfield, Holland-Dozier-Holland, Gamble & Huff, Quincy Jones, Arif Mardin, and so many others. But he chose to stay close to home and created a rich legacy of music that you often have to do some digging to find. But it’s there.

Hope I’ve at least gotten the ground broken for those of you who are somewhat new to the Q and want to do more exploring; and maybe I've helped fill in a few gaps or found a new connection or two for you longer term fans of the man and his many musical modes, As I see it, that's the best way to honor his legacy.

With any luck, there will be more to hear and say down the road. . . .

P-STOMP'S LOUISIANA SOULMEN

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I continue working up the next installment in my Big Q series (soon come, children!); but I’m dropping in a post here inspired by the long-awaited return of thePonderosa Stompconcerts, music conference and record show coming up this week. The series skipped 2012, so anticipation has long been building for the event’s 11th iteration, October 3- 5 in New Orleans. Check their site for more.  

Among the many fine veteran artists featured at this year’s Stomp are four all too rarely heard Louisiana soulmen: Charles Brimmer and Richard Caiton from the New Orleans area, plus James Alexander and Lynn August from Lafayette.

So, what follows are short (for me) takes on five songs from these singers that I find worthy of note for one reason or another.  

CHARLES BRIMMER 

I’ve written about a number of records by this fine vocalist over the years, with the most detailed posts having been done around the time he was scheduled to perform at the 9th Ponderosa Stomp in 2010. You can find them in the archives for perusal, datedAugust 18andOctober 5of that year. 

Unfortunately, Mr. Brimmer bowed out of that performance and did not get back on the bill until this year.. I’m really glad he’s booked again and look forward to being among the crowd of old and new fans there for that rare appearance on this Friday night’s show at Rock ‘n’ Bowl.

Of the four vocalists I’m featuring, Charles Brimmer certainly had the most recorded output, with over a dozen singles and two albums released in a span from the mid-1960s into the 1980s. As promising as a number of those records were, only one, the deep soul classic, “God Bless Our Love”, broke out nationally when Chelsea Records picked it up and put him in  the well-deserved national radio spotlight, albeit briefly.

Back in 2010, I featured a few of his Chelsea sides and have another one up this time; but first
I want to go back to Brimmer’s early days in the studio, when he was recording for Dave Bartholomew’s Broadmoor imprint. He cut three singles for Broadmoor in the late 1960s through an arrangement made with Bartholomew by another producer and small label-owner, Camille Incardona, who had Brimmer under contract.  

I focused on one of his other Broadmoor sides, the funky “What’s That You Got”, in 2010; but this cut took a decidedly different approach, designed to place the singer into the mainstream soul-pop market



"The Feeling Is In My Heart"(Morell Patterson)

Charles Brimmer, Broadmoor, 201-A, 1969
 

Excuse the sonic extra-crunchiness. This is actually the better of my two copies, both of which are pretty much trashed as far as the playing surface goes. Nicer, better-playing ones can be elusive...and expensive. Despite the prevalent snaps, crackles and pops, the musical content is still well worth hearing [but there are some cleaner copies streaming on YouTube, if you prefer.].. 

As Jeff Hannusch’s segment on Brimmer for The Soul of New Orleans related, Wardell Quezergue handled arrangement duties on sessions for Incardona’s own ABS label, which included Brimmer’s first two solo releases around 1965. It is assumed that Big Q continued to do so on productions for the singer’s Broadmoor sides; and the smooth instrumental  flow in and around the somewhat non-standard song structure strongly suggests his talent and experienced guidance were in play.

With its laid back, yet rhythmic lilt and Brimmers pleasing vocal, the song got airplay and sold well around New Orleans, raising his profile; but Bartholomew lacked the means to obtain national distribution; so the record went no farther. The singer had one more release on the label featuring “What’s That You Got”, as mentioned earlier; but it was not as well received. Disillusioned by the refusal of Incardona and Bartholomew to put out an album on him as they had promised, Brimmer refused to record any more for them during the several years left on his contract. Meanwhile, the exposure he got from his earlier releases allowed him to get better-paying gigs; and he began singing with a popular local band, Oliver and the Rockets,
around that time.


A few years later, Senator Jones, who owned a bevy of micro-labels convinced Brimmer to make records again. As noted, by mid-decade, the Chelsea Records deal brought the singerr his first and only big hit with “God Bless Our Love”, followed by three more singles and two LPs for the label; but none of the follow-ups made lightning strike again.


I’ve featured cuts from both of his Chelsea albums before; but want to catch one funky track from the second one before moving on. His rousing take,makes it easy to understand his appeal as a  live entertainer back in the day.


Charles Brimmer, from Soulman, Chelsea, 1976


First, let’s get past the fact that this song, written by another of New Orleans’ great soulmen, Tony Owens, blatantly rips off the basic structure and groove of Bill Withers’ famous 1972 hit, “Use Me”. Tony took Bill at his word, but luckily escaped legal consequences since the partially purloined tune appeared on a record that did not sell particularly well.

Other than that relative niggle, this is really one of my favorite Charles Brimmer vocals. His super smooth delivery belies the plentiful power he possessed; and he ranged from an always appealing tenor up into his falsetto with the greatest of ease while keeping his rhythmic sense right on the money. First rate stuff.

Musically the track has a much more complex production that Withers’ stripped-down inspiration  Arranger Raymond Jones, who worked for Senator Jones but was also Brimmer’s musical director onstage, brought out more of the Latin feel of the groove and deftly interwove the instrumental elements, including horns, into polyrhythmic counterpoints that took the track  higher. All in all, the artistry in Brimmer’s performance, the impressive arrangement and tight playing  provide reason enough to overlook the song’s derivation. 

RICHARD CAITON 

I did an overview of Mr. Caiton’s career inJune, 2012as part a post in my Big Q series; and you’re welcome to read it for more details [scroll down a bit more than halfway on that page]. He was one of the last artists to record for Quezergue at Malaco in Jackson, MS. The resulting 45, “Superman”/”I’m Gonna Love You More”, was released on the Malaco label, which had virtually no promotion and very limited distribution. It likely got no play outside of the New Orleans area, and little there, resulting in negligible sales. Today  the record is sought-after by collectors, highly prized for both its rarity and quality.


Most of Caiton’s limited vinyl output is hard to find and pricey when one turns up, which is why I own only one to date; but its easier to find his material in the digital realm. In 2003, Grapevine put outReflections, a 20 track CD compilation of his work; and downloads of at least some of them can still be purchased.


Around the time that Charles Brimmer was recording for Broadmoor, Caiton began making records with arranger Eddie Williams that were released on the tiny Up-Tight label. In all there were four singles issued, with the second, “Take A Hold Brother And Sister”/”I Will Love You”., being the most well-received. It got a lot of airplay and sales locally, but had no access to extended exposure. I lucked into my copy within the last few years, and am featuring the A-side as an audio snapshot of the artist as a young man.



Richard Caiton, Up-tight 151, 1968

As I noted in my earlier piece, the singer has said that he always had his sights set on writing songs and making records for the national mainstream soul-pop market, which is why you will not hear much of anything in his music that identifies it as coming from his home base. Such is the case with “Take A Hold Brother And Sister”, which flirts with the funky side but owes a lot to the influences of both Curtis Mayfield and Motown.

For an independent project, I am impressed with the high production quality of this session [as is the case for all his Up-tight recordings] in which Williams incorporated strings, horns, organ, and piano, along with bass, guitar and drums into a very effective arrangement that would have fit well into radio playlists of the day.. Caiton’s emulation of Mayfield extended of course to his singing, as he virtually always stayed in his falsetto and had the ability to extend his range even higher as needed. Quite an instrument.

More than his other songs, this one has a strong message, speaking to solidarity and mutual support among his “brothers and sisters” during those days of social upheaval. Such serious themes were appearing more frequently on soul records of the day, with Mayfield again being a leader; and no doubt the record could have been a contender around the country with the right breaks, or had a larger label re-released it nationally. Unfortunately, neither outcome came to pass, as was the sad case with every record Caiton had out.

Having a family and working as an educator, Caiton did not do much live performing when he was making records, and even more rarely thereafter. So, his P-Stomp appearance should be one to savor. Hope it might herald the beginning of more to come. . . .

JAMES ALEXANDER 

As you can read in the briefbackground noteson Mr. Alexander at the Stomp site, his career as a professional vocalist was confined to the 1960s, and he worked mainly in and around his hometown of Lafayette, LA , performing with several bands of the day before joining Lil’ Buck and the Top Cats, Paul ‘Lil’ Buck’ Senegal’s big soul and R&B outfit that toured regionally.
Of course, Lil’ Buck and his new Top Cats have been the backing band at the Stomp for a number of years now, so Alexander’s performance will not only be a reunion but a chance to glimpse what the group was like back then.  

Alexander’s only known recording was on the first of the band’s two singles for the La Louisianne label, based in Lafayette. My copy comes from the digital domain.

Lil’ Buck and the Top Cats, La louisianne 8079, 1968

As this performance attests, Alexander was an affecting soulman and obvious asset to the Top Cats during the five years he was with them.  They primarily covered the hits of the day on the bandstand, and you get the sense that Alexander was the right singer for the job.

This side can be found on the now out of print Kent CD, Lafayette Soul Show, and some commercial download sites, it appears.
After the Top Cats broke up around 1970, Lil’ Buck went on the play with the great Clifton Chenier; and Alexander got out of professional music and went to work in the oil fields to support his family. Glad he’s still around for another shot at the spotlight.

LYNN AUGUST

Again, you can catch some quickbackgroundon multi-instrumentalist and vocalist Lynn August at the Stomp pages. Growing up in Lafayette and blind since birth, he was a musical prodigy with a career that started early and has had many twists and turns. He played drums for several years with the wild rocker Esquerita, starting in the late 1950s at age 11 (!), then learned keyboards and accompanied himself on solo gigs as a vocalist. In the 1960s, he fronted a big band before going back to solo work in the 1970s. Later in life, he picked up the accordion and got a band together to play zydeco music in the 1980s and 1990s. He still performs solo gigs around Lafayette. When I first moved here about 10 years ago, he was playing weekly at one of the Piccadilly cafeterias in town; and I recall seeing a sign recently in another restaurant saying he would be there.

On the recording front, I first became aware of Lynn August through his 1992 and 1993 Black Top CDs, Creole Cruiser and Sauce Piquante, fine collections of zydeco and R&B material. When he cut his first single in 1966 for the local Tamm label (#2008), he was just in his late teens; and the top side “Little Red Rooster” had a garage band vibe to it. As far as I know, he only had three more singles, one of which I ran across just a month or so ago. I’d never seen it before.



"One Way Ticket"(Glenn Norris)
Lynn August, Preview (no #), 1972


I’ve only had a chance to research this rarity using the RTL (Read The Label) method; but results show that it was produced in nearby Crowley, LA at  J. D. ‘Jay’ Miller’s Modern Sound Studio on the town’s main drag.  Preview appears to have been an in-house imprint for the studio’s production company, which likely released the single in hopes of getting larger label to pick it up.


“One Way Ticket” very much aspired to the style of one of soul singer Tyrone Davis’ mega hits on the Dakar label from a few years earlier,  “Can I Change My Mind”, and several of his similar follow-ups - a tempting target to shoot for, no doubt.  Strangely, just a year prior to August’s 45, Davis had a Top 20 hit also named “One Way Ticket”; but it was a different song altogether.


Vocally, August did a good job selling this number, digging in with grit and conviction; but the production quality and songwriting were not quite impressive enough to get the record beyond the local airwaves. Still, it’s an enjoyable track worth seeking out.


Later, August cut at least two singles and an album for Floyd Soileau’s Maison De Soul label out of Ville Platte, LA.  


He’s playing very late on the Friday show; and the diehards should be in for a treat.

TRACKING THE BIG Q FACTOR, Part 5.1: New Arrangements

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Hard to believe it’s been over a year since I last posted an installment in this series on the studio work of producer and arranger Wardell ‘Big Q’ Quezergue. It’s time to get back to it. For anybody still reading these meandering digressions, in the next few posts I’ll be focusing on the phase of his career which started soon after he parted ways with Malaco Studio in Jackson, MS. 

For more details on the Malaco years, see my prior installments:
Part 2:The Unemployed & the Barons
Part 3:More On The Malaco School Bus Sessions & Beyond
Part 4a:More Multi-Lable Malaco Sessions
Part 4b:  Mainly Malaco's In-House Labels

While coming up in the volatile independent record business of New Orleans, Wardell was continually subject to the vagaries of the chronically underfunded small labels he was associated with. They had big aspirations without the cash necessary to fulfill them, which meant a chronic inability to adequately distribute and promote their products. Lacking ready access to the radio airwaves where pay-to-play was the dominant business model and competition from companies with deeper pockets was cutthroat, getting exposure for new records was haphazard at best. The only other ways to generate a buzz for an song and artist that might lead to sales was through jukebox play and live performance, both of which had far more limited impact than having them in heavy rotation on local and, hopefully, national stations.

Even if a small outfit lucked into a huge hit, it could quickly go through the looking glass into disaster mode when the ability to supply the needed quantity of records simply could not meet the demand. This is why so many independents sought out larger companies with better resources and clout to lease tracks to or re-release a record under a better-known imprint that might penetrate the national market.

Having started in the 1950s as a gifted musician, arranger and bandleader, Wardell broke into the recording side of the business working with producers Dave Bartholomew and Joe Jones. By the mid-1960s, he had become chief producer/A&R man for a number of up and coming local labels, including Nola, Watch and Mode, bringing forth a large number of records that mainly had some impact, if any, in and around New Orleans. But there were several notable exceptions that had significant chart success nationwide, including Robert Parker’s “Barefootin’” for Nola,  Willie Tee’s “Teasin’ You”, also for Nola but leased to Atlantic, and Johnny Adams’ cover of “Release Me” that came out on Watch and was picked up by SSS International. 

By the end of the decade, the independents Big Q  produced for were gone. Dover Records, which had been designed by Cosimo Matassa and a local DJ, Bob Robin to manufacture and distribute 45s for most of the area’s small labels, crashed in a financial heap, forcing Matassa into bankruptcy and out of business in 1968, taking his legendary studio operation and most of the local record business down with it. Amid the ruins, Wardell formed a new venture, Pelican Productions, to develop artists and material to record in partnership with Elijah Walker, who managed a number of area singers. The pair had to seek a recording venue outside the city to do their sessions, which is how they came to merge their production company with Malaco’s operation in 1970.

Despite producing legendary big hits by King Floyd (“Groove Me”) and Jean Knight (“Mr. Big Stuff”) that came out early on in Jackson; none of the follow-ups had the same success. By 1973, Wardell stopped working with the increasingly hostile Floyd, and Knight was dropped by Stax, causing her to part ways with the producer, as well. Even though many other good to excellent quality singles were generated by the Big Q and Malaco teams featuring a bevy of fine singers mainly recruited by Pelican, they could not get a break commercially. Malaco suffered the same perpetual problems as all the other small fish in the record business shark tank. 

Coming Aboard At Sea-Saint

The event that put the stamp of finality on Big Q’s Malaco years was the death of Elijah Walker around 1973. With no more hit records forthcoming and losing his partner who handled business matters, Wardell wound down his operations up north. Fortunately, his transition back to working on the home front occurred just as the city’s lagging recording scene was on the verge of revitalization. Sansu Enterprises, the resurgent production company owned by Marshall Sehorn and Allen Toussaint, had not only survived the Dover disaster but was prospering; and the partners’ new, industry-standard Sea-Saint Studio had just opened.

Reverting to his role as an arranger, Wardell found steady work at the Sea-Saint facilities on various projects for both Sansu and a group of labels run by another music business survivor, Senator Jones. At times, due to Big Q’s level of experience and expertise, he was asked to assume the duties of a producer on certain sessions, though he did not get credit nor likely adequate compensation for doing so. During the remainder of the decade he only occsionally had a chance to work for himself and get records made for artists he was associated with, such as Chuck Simmons [covered in depthhere a few years back] and the Barons, releasing them on various short-lived micro-labels; but none caught a break.

I’ll devote a later post to some of Wardell’s own productions at Sea-Saint. But for the next few segments, I will be focusing on records he worked on for Sansu which involved both local and national artists and labels.

Chuck Cornish Does His Ali Thing

First up is a side by the rather mysterious New Orleans vocalist and songwriter, Chuck Cornish. Although Sansu itself is not shown on the label credits, the 1974 date makes the record a prime candidate for having been done during the early days at Sea-Saint; and there’s reason for considering it to be one of Wardell’s Sansu-related sessions.

I don’t know much more about the singer, writer, and producer of this song, Charles Herlin Cornish, Sr., than I did back in 2006 when Iposted a pieceabout his previous record, “Blue Eye Brother And Soul Get Along”, which came out on the SSS International label (#793) in 1969. As noted there, Toussaint and/or Sehorn may have involved with that release, but the session details remain a mystery.

As for record at hand, a mono/stereo promo copy with just Part 1 on each side, the fact that it came out directly on the New York based Wand label would suggest that Sehorn had a hand in the transaction, as he had also leased singles by Warren Lee and Earl King to the company a few years earlier. Cornish’s production credit on it, instead of Sehorn/Toussaint or Sansu, probably means that he or a backer funded the session, buying studio time at Sea-Saint, obtaining Big Q’s services either by choice or default, and procuring the players, likely from the studio’s on-call pool of top-notch local talent.

Inspired by an upcoming event and a high profile public personage, the song takes its place in a long line of quirky novelty records that have come out of New Orleans.



Chuck Cornish, Wand 11272, 1974

Considering the subject matter, I think the release date would have had to be very early in the year, with the session itself maybe happening late in 1973, as the song seems to refer to legendary boxer Muhammad Ali’s highly touted comeback bout set to take place in New York City at Madison Square Garden on January 28, 1974. Cornish’s lyrics did not specify the event; and Ali’s opponent, Joe Frazier (“some funny jerk”?), who had famously defeated him three years earlier, was not named at all. Still, since the city is name-checked numerous times, I think the context would have been obvious to those anticipating the big fight.

Back in 1967, Cornish recorded his first single for Matassa’s White Cliffs label (#258)  with “A Tribute To Mohammed [sic] Ali” as it’s top side. So, he was definitely a fan of the man formerly known as Cassius Clay. I doubt though that the blatant boosterism of “Ali Funky Thing” would have been enticing to Wand had not all involved in the project figured that the pre-fight media hype might help them sell a load of 45s. As a record business roll of the dice, it seemed like a decent bet, I’m sure. Tape has been magnetized and grooves stamped into plastic for far flimsier excuses.

Of course, Ali contributed much of his own hype to the media frenzy, being a larger than life athlete with an ego to match who engaged in extensive self-referential wordplay, a lot of it in rhyme [he would have made a great rapper]; but that points out a substantial weakness in  “Ali Funky Thing”. It lacked the verbal cleverness and overall craft needed to represent its colorful subject. A further flaw is the disconnect between the lyrics about the fighter doing his unspecified “funky thing” in the ring and the supporting groove, which more or less just plodded along instead of nimbly bobbing and weaving with some slick broken beat drumming. With Big Q on the session, you’d expect some of his Malaco-style hybrid funk to show up at least, but it’s missing in action. Instead, it was left to his hooky horn charts and the hot lead guitar licks (Leo Nocentelli?) to punch up the proceedings.

Ultimately, I blame the weak framework of  Cornish’s composition rather than the musical messengers for the song’s failure to get noticed. Working with a limited budget and time constraints would have left little room for improvements; and, in the end,  the finished product just didn’t perform to expectations. Ali won the fight in a unanimous decision; but the tune singing his praises fell flat on the mat and slipped off into oblivion before the first bell. It would be the singer/writer’s last known studio round.

As for Wardell, well-aware of how long the odds were on having any record become a winner, I doublt he lost any sleep over it. He simply moved on to his next assignments, which involved working on a series of releases for an international label featuring an artist he had helped to popularize back in the mid-1960s.

Robert Parker’s Island Sessions

As I have mentioned before in these pages, by the time Sea-Saint opened, Toussaint was no longer engaged in producing singles, concentrating instead on the more lucrative recording of LPs, mostly for outside artists already signed to major labels that allocated decent budgets for the sessisons. As album making became the name of the game for the industry; Allen was increasingly in demand, especially once Sehorn got him signed to Warner Bros in 1972 as an artist, writer, and producer in a deal that also included a multi-album commitment for the Meters. Much of the front money Sansu reaped from that helped fund their new studio facility.

Singles were still played on the radio, but most contained tracks taken from the artists’ albums and were meant to help promote the long players. While there was less room for independent labels releasing 45s only, they remained in the mix, especially in cities and regional markets where local artists had or could build a following. To maintain this segment of the business for Sansu, Sehorn hired Isaac Bolden to oversee singles A&R. A local musician and owner the Soulin’ label, whose most successful act was Tony Owens, Bolden worked mainly behind the scenes, rarely being credited on records, and may well have delegated some of his responsibilities once Wardell arrived.

In 1974, Sansu brought Robert Parker in to cut several songs he had written. He may have been recruited specifically because his former producer at Nola had come on board, but, in any case, Wardell arranged and likely ran the sessions for the singer’s single “Get Ta Steppin’” / "Get Right On Down”, which Sehorn placed with the large UK/US independent label, Island Records. The version released in England accurately credited Wardell as producer, but not so the US 45.

At that point, Parker’s career-defining big hit was almost a decade behind him; and he had not had a record out for several years. In 1969, he cut material  for two singles in Muscle Shoals and Baton Rouge with local producer and label owner Bob Robin (International City and River City Records). The tracks were leased directly by Shelby Singleton for his Silver Fox and SSS International imprints [read more on those in myprior poston Parker]; but the records got no response. For his Island debut, Parker stuck with the tried and true dance record format, but this time the sides were infused with funk.



“Get Ta Steppin’”( R. Parker)
 Robert Parker, Island 015, 1974



The basic rhythm tracks on both sides were no doubt inspired by the work of Sansu’s world class funk band the Meters. At least two members of the group, bassist George Porter, Jr. and guitarist Leo Nocentelli, likely played on the date, as they were doing a lot of session side work at Sea-Saint; but their drummer, Zig Modeliste, was no longer participating on backing tracks due to bad blood with the ownership. Instead, the versatile and more than capable Herman Ernest would have been a prime candidate for bringing the choice beats, as he was working regularly at the studio then. The simplicity of the electric piano parts leads me to suspect that Big Q himself did them, playing just the rhythmic essentials; and his tasteful horn charts reinforced and enhanced both grooves.

With their high funk quotient, It’s hard to pick a favorite between the stripped down and primal “Get Ta Steppin’” with a lot of space between the instruments, and the denser arrangement of “Get Right On Down” displaying a higher rhythmic complexity, driven by some extremely motivating broken-up drumming.

Like Lee Dorsey, Parker didn't have much of a range to his singing, yet his relaxed, pleasingly good-natured voice and solid rhythmic sense proved perfect for songs such as these where the lyrics and melody line were simple and the groove ruled.

In what became a pattern, Island couldn’t seem to break Parker’s record nationally, though it seems to have done well enough around home to merit a follow-up the next year.



“Give Me The Country Side of Life”(Robert Parker)
Robert Parker, Island 044, 1975

Oddly, at least to me, this tune did the best of Parker’s 45s on Island, despite its basic, highly repetitive, linear construction with nary a chord change. Big Q's concept seems to have been to outfit a country rock type of tune with the trappings of funk for some possbile crossover appeal. He gave it a nice enough energy and arrangement, offering some good call and response interplay between Parker and the female backing singers, plus the usual highly effective horn section; but, fun as it is to listen to, the song lacks both a compelling groove and the hook of a strong central riff to make it truly memorable.

The flip side, “It’s Hard But It’s Fair”, had even more of the same hybrid slant, but was nowhere near as tolerable.

Still, as Jeff Hannusch noted in The Soul of New Orleans, “Country Side” managed to become a local hit. No doubt, the sing-song quality of the simple melody made it easily accessible, and the musical equivalent of platforn cowboy boots would not have deterred anybody either. But the appeal didn’t carry much beyond the city confines.

With no chart action after two tries, Island managed only a half-hearted release of Parker’s third and final single in 1976, ensuring that it became an overnight obscurity despite the high quality of both sides.



“A Little Bit Of Something (Is Better Than A Whole Lot Of Nothing)[Robert Parker]
Robert Parker, Island 074, 1976


By far, these songs were the best that Parker and the Sansu production crew delivered to Island; but the label doesn’t seem to have done much with them at all.  I have yet to lay my hands on or even see a stock copy of the 45. Only a few the promo copies like mine with “A Little Bit Of Something” on both sides show up every so often, leading me to believe that not many were sent to radio stations. If a run of stock copies with “Better Luck In the Summer” on the back was pressed, it was a limited one and may ultimately have been held back due to the lack of airplay. Whether it was some kind of music industry tax write-off/creative accounting dodge or just an inability to market the artist, too bad for Parker and Sansu. It was and is a great record worth hearing.

If anybody has a stock copy. let me know. Two discographies (Soulful Kinda Music and The R&B Indies) list it; but I can’ even find a label shot on the web.

Wardell’s arrangements on both songs highlight his ability to weave together tight, syncopated multi-instrumental interplay that creates the polyrhythmic synergy that defines great funk. On “A Little Bit Of Something” the bedrock of the movement-inducing groove combined the deft broken-beat drumming (surely Herman Ernest, again) with George Porter, Jr’s tricky, stripped-down offbeat bass pattern, probably concocted by Big Q. Everybody on the track had to be at the top of their game for such an intricate contrivance to succeed. At Sea-Saint, it was just a normal day on the job.

Of particular note is the ostensible B-side, “Better Luck In The Summer”, written by guitarist Leo Nocentelli, which has appeared on several compilations of ParKer’s recordings. It’s a loose, appealing amalgam of southern soul, rock and country that manages to sit just right in the loose pocket and lope along with a side-to-side sway - a genuine change of pace that remains funky. In its own way the song refers back to Parker’s hybrid,  “Country Side Of Life”, but is a much better structured composition.

More kudos to Wardell for ensuring that these tracks served Parker’s vocal style so well. For his part, the singer handled the more melodic songs with ease, putting his distinctively enthusiastic, friendly stamp on each. Without a doubt, this 45 could have been his money shot, had anybody heard it.

Also in 1976, Marshall Sehorn worked a deal with the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival to record the sets of mainly Sansu artists, Toussaint, Irma Thomas (who was technically signed to the company at the time but had no releases of her own), Lee Dorsey, Ernie K-Doe, and Parker, along with Earl King, Lightnin’ Hopkins, and Professor Longhair, at JazzFest in April of that year. Due to an equipment failure, the performances of King, Dorsey, Parker failed to make it to tape at the festival. So, several songs by each were cut at Sea-Saint that September, all of which unfortunately attempted to fake a live sound with boomy vocals and canned crowd noise. Sea-Saint engineers mixed and mastered a number of the live and studio tracks; and Sehorn sold them to Island for release as the double LP package,New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival 1976, which first appeared in the UK.

According to Thomas, she was not even told that her set was being recorded and never received any sort of compensation for her work, which Sehorn also later re-packaged and sold to Charly Records for another LP,  Hip Shakin’ Mama. I doubt that the other artists were treated any differently, except for Toussaint, of course

In any event, Parker’s two tracks on the album, remakes of “Barefootin’” and “Country Side of Life” were his last recordings for Sansu or anyone else, for that matter. He has been gigging sporadically ever since, and appeared regularly at JazzFest for many years.  More recently, he played the Pondersa Stomp and Best of the Beat awards, but a stroke he suffered several years ago has limited his performing even further.

Next time, I’ll be featuring Big Q’s work with K-Doe for Sansu, plus several album projects for outside artists that benefitted from his talents. So check back.


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