When The Blues Is Dues- When A Girl Has Got To Have It- Bessie Smith’s“Put A Little Sugar In My Bowl”-Take Two

… she admitted it, had admitted to herself earlier that evening, she needed, no, she wanted a man, a good man, hell, an average man, that night. She was tired of turning herself on her stomach in bed, her lonesome bed, and manipulating her tongue- wetted fingers deep down between her thighs rapidly for some thrills (rapidly, unlike some women, according to her girl talk friends, was the best way that she could get her thrills).After a streak of bad breaks (she, before she got her current job working as a pool secretary, had been a waitress, a cocktail waitress, in a joint where every guy, married, single, a fag or two even, thought he could hit on her, and the management had expected her to take the cue, which she did for a while until she felt that she was nothing but low-priced whore and left) this bad karma , and bad, almost evil men she had, what did Bessie Smith call it in that gin house, barrelhouse song, oh yah, she had her wanting habits on. No question.

So fortified with a few shots of home scotch, high shelf-stuff some long ago guy, some guy with dough and maybe his own wanting habit son had brought along to seal the deal when she was on an earlier prowl, she went out, hailed the nearest cab, and went up to the Cotton Club all by her lonesome. If the sight of a good-looking dame with alabaster white skin, blue eyes, blond, real blonde, well, blonde with brownish highlights as she told the girls at the water cooler at work when they noticed, as they would, her new “color,” long legs and bedroom-begging hips ready to play house didn’t wake up some good, hell again, average guy, she swore she would go into a nunnery, well, maybe not a nunnery but do something like that to cure her itch and get back at those bastards who took her for a ride and then left her flat.

The point was to be a little subtle when she got there, since a single woman looking like she looked, all long legs slinky dress, and looking like she was on the prowl, at that club meant only one thing and she would not have to draw the right guy a diagram to know what that thing was, if he was a right guy. She got out of the cab, paid off the cab driver and added a good tip for good luck and entered the club. No stranger she to the wilds of the Cotton Club, but previously she had been somebody’s “exclusive” (that “exclusive” was a story unto itself and the last damn time she would be somebody’s hands-off mistress while he was sitting at home most nights with wifey and she with just her wetted fingers for comfort, and so was a little hesitant as she headed to the bar, sat down at a corner stool, opened up her purse and pulled out a cigarette just like in the movies. No bites. No guy coming up out of nowhere to light the damn thing and make some small talk.

She stood up for a moment to arrange her drink to give the boys a good look. Still no bite. A guy, a good-looking guy, looked in her direction, looked like a taker but then along came his honey from the Ladies’ Room and that dream flickered out. Then from behind her came a soft male voice, not feminine, but soft, like the guy was a little unsure of himself too. She turned in his direction and saw a fairly good-looking guy, maybe a professor over at Columbia or something like that from his airy look. He had asked if he could buy her a drink, she automatically said no, her womanly first response no, and then on some kind of cosmic whim, said hell, this guy is maybe it tonight. As she said,“yes scotch and water please” she thought how it was funny that guys always thought it was only them that were sex hunger and wouldn’t this professor be surprised at that if he knew his chances of getting laid tonight were looking better than when he, single man, came into the notorious Cotton Club.

As it turned out this guy wasn’t a professor but another one of those dime- a- dozen writers from down in the Village who are always trying to find themselves, and glad to tell you about the voyage. Although this guy turned out to have a big knowledge of blues stuff, stuff that she was interested in, stuff that if things worked out she might be able to get out from under that steno pool she was now imprisoned in and get a job in some club, maybe not the Cotton Club, but a club, as a torch singer. So they spent a lot of the talking about blues and jazz stuff, having some more loose scotches, and having a dance or two if the song was right. She noticed that when she danced with him he held her firmly but not tightly, the right way, and she also noticed that when they danced she was getting a little steamy, a little steamy in that old love puddle way. About two o’clock she asked him if he wanted to go home with her and before he said yes, fairly drunk at that point, but also filled with hopeful desire that this guy would be alright, she asked him point blank as they entered a waiting cab if he “would put a little sugar in her bowl.” And knowing the exact meaning of that reference when they hit her place he did…

Yes, You Better Boot That Thing- Early Women Blues Singers From The 1920s

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Victoria Spivey performing "TB Blues". Wow.

CD REVIEW

Better Boot That Thing: Great Women Blues Singers Of The 1920’s, BMG Music, 1992

One of the interesting facts about the development of the blues is that in the early days the recorded music and the bulk of the live performances were done by women, at least they were the most popular exponents of the genre. That time, the early 1920's to the 1930's, was the classic age of women blues performers. Of course, when one thinks about that period the name that comes up is the legendary Bessie Smith. Beyond that, maybe some know Ethel Waters. And beyond that-a blank.

I have tried elsewhere in this space to redress that grievance by reviewing the works of the likes of Memphis Minnie, Ida Cox and Ivy Anderson, among others. I also have scheduled a separate appreciation of one of the four women featured on this CD, Alberta Hunter. This CD format thus falls rather nicely in line with my overall intention to continue to highlight some of these lesser known women artists. Moreover, as fate would have it, this compilation included the work of Victoria Spivey, a singer that I have mentioned elsewhere and have wanted to discuss further. Finally, the conception of the producers here is enhanced by breaking up the CD into two parts-the urban blues part represented by Hunter and Spivey and the country blues part represented by Bessie Tucker and Ida May Mack. While both this trends have always shared some common roots and musicality they also represent two distinct trends in blues music as reflected in the increasing urbanization of the American black population in the 20th century.

Let’s use the urban/country divide as a frame of reference. The smoother style of Hunter and Spivey obviously reflected the need to entertain a more sophisticated audience that was looking for music that was different from that country stuff down home. And that laid back style was seemingly passé in the hectic urban world. Tucker and Mack reflect that old time country hard work on the farm, hard scrabble for daily existence found, as well, in the songs of their country blues male counterparts. What unites the two strands is the personal nature of the subject matter- you know, mistreating’ men, cheatin’ guys, two-timing fellas, money taking cads, squeakin’ man-stealing women friends, the dusty road out of town, and just below the surface violence and mayhem, threaten or completed. And that is just an average day’s misery.

So what is good here? I won’t spend much time on Alberta because I have looked at her work elsewhere but please give a listen to “My Daddy’s Got A Brand New Way To Love,” the title tells everything you need to know about this song and is classic Alberta. Of course for Bessie Tucker you need, and I mean need, to hear the title track “Better Boot That Thing” and then you will agree that you, man or woman, best stay home and take care of business. As for Ida May I flipped when I heard her saga of a fallen woman as she moans out on “Elm Street Blues” and her lament on “Wrong Doin’ Daddy”. However, what you really want to do is skip to the final track and listen to “Good-bye Rider” which for the nth time concerns the subject of that previously mentioned advice about “not advertising your man.” to your friends.

Victoria is just too much on “Telephoning The Blues,” again on that two timing man, wronged woman theme. “Blood Hound Blues” demonstrates that she was not afraid to tackle some thorny issues, including a reverse twist here about a woman driven to kill her hard-hearted physically abusive man, was jailed, escaped and is on the lam as she sings this song. The song that knocked me out on this more socially-oriented theme is her “Dirty Tee Bee Blues” about the tragic suffering of a gal who went the wrong way looking for love and adventure and now must pay the price. Powerful stuff.

A special note on Victoria Spivey. I have mentioned, in a review of some film documentaries (four altogether) entitled “American Folk Blues Festival, 1962-1966” that were retrieved a few years ago by German Cinema and featured many of the great blues artist still alive at that time on tour in Europe, that Victoria Spivey had a special place in the blues scene not only as a performer and writer (of songs and goings-on in the music business) but that she was a record producer as well (Spivey Records).

Back in the days when music was on vinyl (you remember them, right?) I used to rummage through a second hand- record store in Cambridge (talk about ancient history). One of my treasured finds there was a Spivey Records platter featuring Victoria, the legendary Otis Spann (of Muddy Waters’ band), Luther “Guitar” Johnson, and a host of other blues luminaries. She, like her black male counterpart impresario Willie Dixon (who she occasionally performed with), was a pioneer in this business end of the blues business, a business that left more than its fair share of horror stories about the financial shenanigans done to “rob” blues performers of their just desserts. That, however, is a tale for another day.

When Women Singers Held Sway In The 1920s Blues Night- “I Can’t Be Satisfied”-A CD Review

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Memphis Minnie, the Hoodoo Lady, performing, well what else, Hoodoo Lady Blues.

CD Review

I Can’t Be Satisfied: Early American Women Blues Singers-Town And Country: Volume l-Country, Yazoo Records, 1997

Recently in reviewing another compilation of women blues singers from the 1920s I mentioned that I had sworn off, I had sworn on a stack of seven bibles, that I was off, finally off film noir femme fatales after watching (or rather, re-watching) Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer, mainly Jane Greer, go round and round in the classic crime noir Out Of The Past. How could any rational man not think twice about following such femmes as Jane Greer’s Kathy who just happened to be a little gun happy (and a chronic liar to boot) and who put a couple in Robert Mitchum’s Jeff after he did somersaults to try to save her bacon about six times. That’s gratitude for you.

Well, like I said I am off, done, finished with those two-timing dames, and good riddance. Now I have time, plenty of time, and my health to speak of blues in the night wailing female torch singers who, as far as I know, do not carry or do not need to carry guns, to do their business. Of course it was not big deal to change my allegiances because since I was a kid I have been nothing but putty in their hands for any torch singer who could throw away my blues with some sorrow laden tune.

Maybe it was in some back-drop Harvard Square coffeehouse in long mist time 1960s when I first heard such voices, first among them, Billie Holiday, late, early, whatever Billie Holiday singing of some man on her mind, mostly some no good man, some no dough man, who maybe took a couple of whacks at her for no reason, or just took her last dough to bet on that next sure thing…and happiness. Or maybe earlier when some home background 1940s we won the war be-bop music filtered through the air of my own childhood house from the local radio station playing Peggy Lee all Benny Goodman’d up, or Helen Whiting, or, or well, you get the drift. Stuff that would stop me in my tracks and ask, ask where did that sorrow come from.

Later, several years later, it blossomed fully when some now half-forgotten (but only half-forgotten) girlfriend gave me a complete Vanguard Record set of all of Bessie Smith’s recordings. Ah heaven, and ah the student neighbors who had to listen for half a day while I played the damn set through. So get it, get it straight I am a long-time aficionado of the genre and commenting on this I Can’t Be Satisfied CD about classic women blues is a piece of cake.

Strangely, although the bulk of the “discovered” blues singers of the folk revival minute of the 1960s were male (Mississippi John Hurt, Bukka White, Son House, Skip James, et. al) back in the serious heyday of the blues in the 1920s and early 1930s women dominated the blues market, the popular music of the day. And the women featured in this compilation were the most well-known of the myriad torch singers that lit up the concert hall, speakeasies and juke joints North and South. Hattie Hart, Ruby Glaze, the divine Bessie Tucker, of course Lottie Kimbrough, Lizzie Washington, and Bertha Lee are all rightfully and righteously here.

What, no Memphis Minnie? Well yes she does Outdoor Blues here so stay calm. I have singled her out because to me her voice, her phrasing, her half breath between notes is what blues-style torch singing is all (and with plenty of double ententes too) . Now if I could just get a torch singer who was also a non-gun- toting femme fatale I would be in very heaven. Ya, I know I said I was off femmes but what are you going to do.

Out In The Mist Of Time Of The American Blues Night-“Before The Blues-Volume 3”-A CD Review

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Furry Lewis performing his old-time Harry Smith American Folk Anthology-worthy blues classic, Kassie Jones.

CD Review (The basic points made in this review have been used to review the other two volumes in this three volume set)

Before The Blues: The Early American Black Music Scene: Classic Recordings From The 1920s and 1930s, Volume 3, Yazoo Records, 1996

Out of the back of my 1960s teenage bedroom the radio was blaring out a
midnight blues version of Howlin’ Wolf’s How Many More Years complete with harmonica-devouring accompaniment by Wolf himself (a fact, the almost eating part, not visually known to me until much later when I viewed his epic work via YouTube) on the American Blues Hour coming over the airways from sweet home Chicago (sweet home of the modern electric blues that is). Earlier in the program Muddy Waters, prince regent of the electric blues just then, had held forth with his band (made up then, and at various other times, with sidemen like Otis Spann and Junior Wells who would go on to their own blues hall of fame-like careers), with a sizzling version of Mannish Child. Ya, those were the primo hell-bent devil’s music blues days. No question.

Well not quite no question for that show, or for this review. The show had started out with a three card Monte of Dupree’s Blues, first by Lightnin’ Hopkins on electric, Brownie McGhee on acoustic and Willie Walker doing an a cappella version (which is included in this compilation) from out of the mist of blues times, or the depths of the American music night. At least of the stuff that has been recorded. That is important because prior to radio this material was handed down mostly through the oral traditions. That tradition got reflected in the Dupree’s Blues example because although the basic melody and theme were the same throughout the narratives were somewhat different. And that too reflects the blues tradition, and before the blues, the roots of the blues which is what this compilation (and two additional volumes) concentrates on.

The blues, for the most part, was a quintessential black music form as it developed out of the scorched dry plantation fields of the post- Civil War Jim Crow South, out of the moans and groans of the black church Sunday and out of the hard drinking, hard fighting, hard loving, hard partying Saturday night acoustic music (had to, no electricity) night before sobering up for those Sunday church groans. And while it occasionally moved to a respectable dance hall or movie house concert hall (segregated, no questions asked) before the age of radio that is where it developed kind of helter-skelter. This Before The Blues compilation reflects all of those trends from Furry Lewis’s Kassie Jones to Memphis Minnie’s Frisco Town to Texas Alexander’s Levee Camp Moan Blues. So the next time you hear the Stones’ covering Wolf’s Little Red Rooster or Mississippi Fred McDowell’s Got To Move you know where it came from.

Yes, Got Them Born In The Alley, Raised Up In The Slums Blues- Barrelhouse Mamas- A CD Review

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Lucille Bogan performing her barrelhouse blues classic They Ain’t Walking No More.

CD Review

Barrelhouse Mamas: Born in the Alley, Raised Up In The Slums: Classic Piano Rags, Blues and Stomps from the 1920s and 30s, Yazoo Records, 1999

Recently I made a point in another CD review that dealt with some favorite blues torch singers that although it was mainly male blues singers (Son House, Skip James, Mississippi John Hurt and the like) who were “discovered “during the 1960s folk revival minute back in the day, back in the 1920s and 30s day, the most well-known blues singers were female. One only needs to think of names like Bessie Smith, Ida Cox, Ma Rainey and Memphis Minnie, none of who are on this CD under review, Barrelhouse Mamas: Born In The Alley, Raised Up In The Slums: Classic Piano Rags, Blues, and Stomps from the 1920s and 30s, to get the point. Of course the above-mentioned names were the stars, the ones who achieved blues immortality and who drew down some serious dough performing for black audiences (mainly) in concert halls, movie theaters and any hall that was ready to roll, north and south, although mainly south in the then heartland of the American black population.

Naturally like any genre not everybody made it to the top, not even close in some cases. Not for lack of talent, but maybe being in the wrong place at the wrong time or maybe just because they liked working the off-beat milieu. With few exceptions the ‘barrelhouse mamas” here came up the hard way, made a small mark and faded back in obscurity once the blues (and jazz) craze died down with the advent of the Great Depression in the 1930s when spare nickels were not to be used for anything but survival.

The top tier performers here include a few songs by Lucille Bogan, a couple by Margaret Thornton including her Jockey Blues, and a couple by Saint Louis Bessie (not the famous Bessie Smith), including He Treats Me Like A Dog. Mainly these are songs that would resonate with their juke joint-style audiences, songs of no good, mean, always leaving, always two-timing, mistreatin’ men, no enough dough, not enough liquor, no way out of the slums and no way out of dire poverty (except maybe turning “tricks” on those mean streets). This is real slice of life down at the base of American society stuff not that far removed from today’s story line. As always with a Yazoo CD compilation there is an extremely informative booklet detailing the known information about these hard-pressed women.

An Encore, The "Jelly Roll Baker" Is In The House- The Blues Of Lonnie Johnson

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Lonnie Johnson Performing"Blackbird Blues".

CD REVIEWS

Ballads and Blues, Lonnie Johnson and Elmer Snowden, Vanguard Records, 1960

Okay, Okay those of you who have been keeping tabs know that I have spend much of the last year, when not doing political commentary or book or movie reviews, reviewing many of the old time blues artists that were the passion of my youth (and still are). So this writer, who thought he had heard virtually all the key blues men and women of the old days, got his comeuppance a while back when the name of Lonnie Johnson and his version of the classic double-entendre "Jelly Roll Baker" came up. To name drop just a little, the occasion was a local reunion of Geoff Muldaur and Jim Kweskin of the old Jim Kweskin Jug Band from the 1960’s (that also included Geoff’s ex-wife and great performer in her own right, Maria Muldaur). They did a stirring rendition of the song and attributed it to the performer under review here. After scratching my head I ran out to get some more of Brother Lonnie’s work and I am here to tell you- get this CD because if you have any interest at all in the blues you will not be disappointed.

Why this particular album to start out with? Well, it features Lonnie Johnson and long time friend Elmer Snowden together for the first time although early on (back in the 1920’s) they had worked together on some blues and jazz albums. That is, perhaps, why this work is interesting as an example of that closeness between the jazz and blues idioms before those musical forms parted ways sometime in the late 1940’s. As others have mentioned Johnson, the father of single-note six-string soloing, is in a strangely haunting voice on this selection of blues, ballads, and jazz, crooning the double-entendre "Jelly Roll Baker" and the heartache-ladened "Back Water Blues". I cannot add much to that description except you cannot go wrong by giving Haunted House, the first cut, a listen. That sets the mood. Finally, let me say WOW!


"Why Should I Grieve After You're Gone (1927)"

After you're gone, I'm left all alone.
Just feeling blue, all depending on you.
Not even the telephone, it don't ring anymore.
Not even the sun that shines, don't shine in my door anymore.
Since youâ've been gone away, many a million miles away.
I will give you a million smiles a day, to keep your blues away.

As the sun go down, and the wrong news, no play.
As the time goes lower and lower and lower, there's only you.
While I'm feeling blue, just feeling blue.
I would be happy today, but it all depends on you.

As the sun go down, and sinks behind the trees.
And just before it falls, I will answer to your calls.
When you're a million, million miles away, I will give you a million smiles a day.
That's because I love you, and wants to keep your blues away.

"Big Leg Woman"

Yes, I've got me a big legged woman, that solid rocks my soul
Yes, I've got me a big legged woman, that solid rocks my soul
And every time she turns the lights down low, Jack that's when I give up all my gold
She's so fine, she's so mellow, the rest I can't explain
Yes, she's so fine, she's so mellow, rest I can't explain
Way my baby stacked up, it's enough to drive the average cat insane
Yes, she's got great big legs, so pleasin' on the eye
Yes, she's got those great big legs, so pleasin' on the eye
And the preacher walked by, turned around and looked, Jack and hollered "My, my, my!"
She's got those big brown eyes, yes and she's somethin' really fine
Yes, she's got those big brown eyes, Jack she's somethin' really fine
And the best part about it, Jack she's mine, all mine!

"Cat You Been Messin' Around"

Now look here woman, you done lost your mind,
this is not my child, you bring me a better line
'Cause there's something wrong, woman don't start that lies there's something wrong
I never had such mix-ups in my family, since I was born
First it's loop-footin', and its head is long
And it's been half nuts ever since you brought it back home
So there's something wrong, I mean there's something wrong
Oh, take it back where you got it, woman 'cause depression is on
Now his eyes is blue, and his hair's brown
You know darn well you've been messin' around
So take that lie off of me, I mean take that lie off of me
Woman you had a twelve-month vacation, so don't put that lie on me
Now his head is nappy, and his feets is long, his eyes is crossed, and his sight is gone
You know there's something wrong, yes, woman there's something wrong
I never had nothing like that in my family, woman since I was born
Now I said it wasn't my child and you argued me down,
now my eyes ain't blue and my hair ain't brown
Woman you've been messin' around, yes,woman you've been messin' around
So woman get out of my face, or I take my fist and knock you down

"Low Down St. Louis Blues"

I love my St. Louis women, but their ways I really can't stand
I love my St. Louis women, but their ways I really can't stand
They always bettin' some woman, how she can take her man
My woman dips snuff
, and she drinks a good old homemade corn
My woman dips her snuff, and she drinks a good old homemade corn
She get as drunk as she can be, then she fight for the whole night long
And I got another gal, live down on Deep Morgan Street
And I got another gal, she lives down on Deep Morgan Street
If she don't kill a man every day, all I can do is to keep 'r off of me
She drinks her homemade corn whiskey, blackjack and a razor's her friend
She drinks her homemade corn whiskey, a blackjack and a razor's her friend
And she loves to kill a man, just like the devil loves sin
Boys I got another gal, she lives down on Walnut Street
Boys I got another gal, she lives down on Walnut Street
My other gal is so bad, the cops is scared to walk the beat
She can make a blackjack talk and a razor fairly moan
She can make a blackjack talk and a razor fairly moan
From the way that gal kill up men, the graveyard ain't got much more room

"Dont Drive Me From Your Door"

Just look how it's rainin', my feet's on the ground
Just look how it's rainin', and my poor feet's on the ground
For the woman I've made happy, well she's after every man in town

Friends please open your door, and don't drive me away
Please open your door, and don't drive me away
The rent man has put me outdoors, and I've got no place to stay

Let me stay here tonight, it's ice all on the ground
Let me stay here tonight, it's ice all over the ground
Cause I'm motherless and I'm fatherless, and please don't turn me down

When I had plenty money, I had friends all over town
When I had plenty of money, I had friends all over town
But just as soon as I got outdoors, none of my friends could be found

After mother and father's gone, a dollar's your right-hand friend
After mother and father's gone, dollar's your right-hand friend
Then after your last dollar's gone, you're like a road that has no end

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, lord where will I go
I'm beggin' you my friend, don't drive me from your door
I cannot sleep on the ground, there's nothing but ice and snow

Jelly Roll Baker

She said, 'Mr. Jellyroll Baker
Let me be your slave
When Gabriel blows his trumpet

Then I'll rise from my grave

For some-a your jellyro-oll
Yes, I love a good jellyroll'
It is good for the sick
Yes, and it's good for the old'

I was sentenced for murder
In the 1st degree
*The judge's wife called up and says
'Let that man go free'

He's a jellyroll baker
He's got the best jellyroll in town
He's the only man can bake jellyroll
With his damper down

Once in a hospital
Shot all full-a holes
The nurse left the man dyin'
An says he's got to get her jellyroll

His good old jell-e-e-y
She says, 'I love my good jellyroll'
She says, 'I ruther let him lose his life
Than to miss my good jellyroll'

Lady asked me who learnt me
How to bake good jellyroll?
I says, 'It's nobody, Miss
'It's just a gift from my soul'
To bake good jellyro-oll
Mmm-mmm, that good ol' jellyroll

She says, 'I love your jellyroll
It do's me good deep down in my soul
She says, 'Can I put in a order
For two weeks ahead?
I'd ruther have your jelly-roll
Than my home-cooked bread'

I love your jell-e-e-y
I love your good jellyroll
It's just like Maxwell House Coffee
It's good, deep down in my soul.

The "Jelly Roll Baker" Is In The House- The Blues Of Lonnie Johnson

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Lonnie Johnson Doing "Got The Blues For Murder Only".

CD REVIEW

Steppin’ The Blues, Lonnie Johnson, Columbia Records, 1990.

Parts of the following have been used in a review of Lonnie Johnson Blues and Ballads CD (hereafter B&B).

Okay, Okay those of you who have been keeping tabs know that I have spend much of the last year, when not doing political commentary or book or movie reviews, reviewing many of the old time blues artists that were the passion of my youth (and still are). So this writer, who thought he had heard virtually all the key blues men and women of the old days, got his comeuppance a while back when the name of Lonnie Johnson and his version of the classic double-entendre song “Jelly Roll Baker” came up. To name drop just a little, the occasion was a local reunion of Geoff Muldaur and Jim Kweskin of the old Jim Kweskin Jug Band from the 1960’s (that also included Geoff’s ex-wife and great performer in her own right, Maria Muldaur). They did a stirring rendition of the song and attributed it to the performer under review here. After scratching my head I ran out to get some more of Brother Lonnie’s work and as noted above I have fulsomely praised his B&B CD in this space.

Although this CD has merit musically and certainly has historical worth as a comparison of young Lonnie Johnson in the 1920’s to the later B&B Lonnie this is one time when aging seems to have created a better body of work. A comparison of “I’m Nuts About That Gal” (really an early version of his classic “Jelly Roll Baker”) and the “Jelly Roll Baker” of the B&B make my point succinctly. That said, the noted Johnson guitar work is highlighted on “Guitar Blues”, the novelty sassy song in two parts “Toothache Blues” and “Deep Blue Sea Blues”. That is why you want this album.

Out In The Be-Bop 1960s Night- When The Music’s Over-On The 42nd Anniversary Of Janis Joplin’s Death-Magical Realism 101

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Janis Joplin and Big Brother and the Holding Company performing the bluesy classic, Piece Of My Heart.

Scene: Brought to mind by the cover art on some fogged memory CD of a Janis Joplin-like female performer belting out some serious blues rock in the heat of the “Generation of ‘68” night.

Josh Breslin (a. k. a. the Prince of Love, although some merry prankster yellow brick road bus wit made a joke of that moniker calling him the Prince of Lvov, some Podunk town in Poland, or some place like that) was weary, weary as hell, road- weary, drug-weary, Captain Crunch’s now Big Sur–based magical mystery tour, merry prankster, yellow brick road bus-weary, weary even of hanging out with his “papa,” “Far-Out” Phil Larkin who had gotten him through some pretty rough spots weary. Hell, he was girl-weary too, girl weary ever since his latest girlfriend, Gypsy Lady (nee Phyllis McBride), decided that she just had to go back to her junior year of college at Berkeley in order to finish up some paper on the zodiac signs and their meaning for the new age rising. Ya, okay Gypsy, do what you have to do, the Prince mused to himself. Chuckled really, term paper stuff was just not his “thing” right then.

Moreover this summer of 1968, June to be exact, after a year bouncing between summers of love, 1967 version to be exact, autumns of drugs, strange brews of hyper-colored experience drugs and high shamanic medicine man aztec druid flame throws, winters of Paseo Robles brown hill, brown rolling hill until he sickened of rolling, the color brown, hills, slopes, plains, everything, discontent, and springs of political madness what with Johnson’s resignation, Robert Kennedy’s assassination piled on to that of Martin Luther King’s had taken a lot out of him, including his weight, weight loss that his already slim high school runner’s frame could not afford.

Now the chickens were coming home to roost. Before he had joined Captain Crunch’s merry prankster crew in San Francisco, got “on the bus,” in the youth nation tribal parlance, last summer he had assumed, after graduating from high school, that he would enter State U in the fall (University of Maine, the Prince is nothing but a Mainiac, Olde Saco section, for those who did not know). After a summer of love with Butterfly Swirl though (his temperature rose even now every time he thought about her and her cute little tricks to get him going sexually) before she went back to her golden-haired surfer boy back down in Carlsbad and then a keen interest in a couple of other young women before Gypsy Lady landed on him, some heavy drug experiences that he was still trying to figure out, his start–up friendship with Phil, and the hard fact that he just did not want to go home now that he had found “family” he decided that he needed to “see the world” for a while instead. And he had, at least enough to weary him.

What he did not figure on, or what got blasted into the deep recesses of his brain just a couple of days ago, was a letter from his parents with a draft notice from his local board enclosed. Hell’s bells he had better get back, weary or not, and get some school stuff going real fast, right now fast. There was one thing for sure, one nineteen-year old Joshua Lawrence Breslin, Olde Saco, Maine High School Class of 1967, was not going with some other class of young men to ‘Nam to be shot at, or to shoot.

Funny, Josh thought, as he mentally prepared himself for the road back to Olde Saco, how the past couple of months had just kind of drifted by and that he really was ready to get serious. The only thing that had kind of perked him up lately was Ruby Red Lips (nee Sandra Kelly), who had just got “on the bus” from someplace down South like Georgia, or Alabama and who had a great collection of blues records that he was seriously getting into (as well as seriously into Miss Ruby, as he called her as a little bait, a little come on bait, playing on her somewhere south drawl, although she seemed slow, very slow, to get his message).

Josh, all throughout high school and even on the bus, was driven by rock ‘n’ roll. Period. Guys like Elvis, Chuck, Jerry Lee, even a gal like Wanda Jackson, when they were hungry, and that hunger not only carried them to the stars but slaked some weird post-World War II, red scare, cold war hunger in guys like Josh Breslin although he never, never in a million years would have articulated it that way back then. That was infernal Captain Crunch’s work (Captain is the “owner” of the “bus”) always trying to put things in historical perspective or the exact ranking in some mythical pantheon that he kept creating (and recreating especially after a “dip” of kool-aid, LSD for the squares, okay).

But back to Ruby love. He got surprised one day when he heard Ruby playing Shake, Rattle, and Roll. He asked, “Is that Carl Perkins?” Ruby laughed, laughed a laugh that he found appealing and said, “No silly, that's the king of be-bop blues, Big Joe Turner. Want to hear more stuff?” And that was that. Names like Skip James, Howlin’ Wolf, Robert Johnson, Son House, Muddy Waters and Little Walter started to fill his musical universe.

What got him really going though were the women singers, Sippie Wallace that someone, Bonnie Raitt or Maria Muldaur, had found in old age out in some boondock church social or something, mad Bessie Smith squeezed dry, freeze dried by some no account Saint Louis man and was left wailing ever after, a whole bunch of other barrelhouse blues-singers named Smith, Memphis Minnie, the queen of the double entendre, sex version, and the one that really, really got to him, “Big Mama” Thornton. The latter belting out a bluesy rendition of Hound Dog made just for her that made Elvis' seem kind of punk, and best of all Piece Of My Heart.

Then one night Ruby took him to club over in Monterrey just up the road from the Big Sur camp, the Blue Note, a club for young blues talent, mainly, that was a stepping-stone to getting work at the Monterrey Pop Festival held each year. There he heard, heard if you can believe this, some freckled, red-headed whiskey-drinking off the hip girl. Ya just a wisp of a girl, from Podunk, Texas, or maybe Oklahoma, who was singing Big Mama’s Piece of My Heart. And then Ball and Chain, Little School Girl, and Little Red Rooster. Hell, she had the joint jumping until the early hours for just as long as guys kept putting drinks in front of her. And maybe some sweet sidle promise, who knows in that alcohol blaze around three in the morning. All Josh knew was this woman, almost girlish except for her tongue, had that certain something, that something hunger that he recognized in young Elvis and the guys. And that something would take us over the hump in that new day they were trying to create on the bus, and a thousand other buses like it. What a night, what a blues singer.

The next day Ruby Red Lips came over to him, kind of perky and kind of with that look in her eye that he was getting to catch on to when a girl was interested in him, and said, “Hey, Janis, that singer from the Blue Note, is going to be at Monterrey Pops next month with a band to back her up, want to go? And, do you want to go to the Blue Note with me tonight?” After answering, yes, yes, to both those questions the Prince of Love (and not some dinky Lvov either, whoever that dull-wit was is going to get it) figured he could go back to old life Olde Saco by late August, sign up for State U., and still be okay but that he had better grab Ruby now while he could.

Out In The Be-Bop 1960s Night- When The Music’s Over-On The 41st Anniversary Of Janis Joplin’s Death

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Janis Joplin and Big Brother and the Holding Company performing the bluesy classic, Piece Of My Heart.

Classic Rock : 1968: Shakin’ All Over, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1989

Scene: Brought to mind by a the cover art on this CD of a Janis Joplin-like female performer belting out some serious blues rock in the heat of the “Generation of ‘68” night.

Josh Breslin (a. k. a. the Prince of Love, although some yellow bus wit made a joke of that moniker calling him the Prince of Lvov, some Podunk town in Poland, or some place like that) was weary, weary as hell, road- weary, drug-weary, Captain Crunch’s now Big Sur–based magical mystery tour, merry prankster, yellow brick road bus-weary, even hanging around with his “papa,” “Far-Out” Phil Larkin who had gotten him through some pretty rough spots weary. Hell, he was girl-weary too, girl weary ever since his latest girlfriend, Gypsy Lady (nee Phyllis McBride), decided that she just had to go back to her junior year of college at Berkeley in order to finish some paper on the zodiac signs and their meaning for the new age rising. Ya, okay Gypsy, do what you have to do. Moreover this summer of 1968, June to be exact, after a year bouncing between summers of love, autumns of drugs, winters of discontent, and springs of political madness what with Johnson’s resignation, Robert Kennedy’s assassination piled on to that of King’s had taken a lot out of him, including his weight, weight loss that his already slim runner’s frame could not afford.

Moreover, now the chickens were coming home to roost. Before he had joined Captain Crunch’s merry prankster crew in San Francisco, got “on the bus,” in the youth nation tribal parlance, last summer he had assumed that he would enter State U in the fall (University of Maine, for those who did not know). After a summer of love with Butterfly Swirl though (his temperature rose every time he thought about her and her cute little tricks to get him going sexually even now) and then a keen interest in a couple of other young women before Gypsy Lady landed on him, some heavy drug experiences that he was still trying to figure out, his start–up friendship with Phil, and the hard fact that he just did not want to go home now that he had found “family” he decided that he needed to “see the world” for a while instead. And he had, at least enough to weary him.

What he did not figure on, or what got blasted into the deep recesses of his brain just a couple of days ago, was a letter from his parents with a draft notice from his local board enclosed. Hell’s bells he had better get back, weary or not, and get some school stuff going real fast, right now fast. There was one thing for sure, one nineteen-year old Joshua Peter Breslin, Olde Saco, Maine High School Class of 1967, was not going with some other class of young men to ‘Nam to be shot at, or to shoot.

Funny, Josh thought, as he mentally prepared himself for the road back to Olde Saco, how the past couple of months had just kind of drifted by and that he really was ready to get serious. The only thing that had kind of perked him up lately was Ruby Red Lips (nee Sandra Kelly), who had just got “on the bus” from someplace down South like Georgia, or Alabama and who had a great collection of blues records that he was seriously getting into (as well as seriously into Ruby although she seemed slow, very slow, to get his message). Josh, throughout high school and even on the bus, was driven by rock ‘n’ roll. Period. He got surprised one day when he heard Ruby playing Shake, Rattle, and Roll. He asked, “Is that Carl Perkins?” Ruby laughed, laughed a laugh that he found appealing and said, “No silly, that's the king of be-bop blues, Big Joe Turner. Want to hear more stuff?” And that was that. Names like Skip James, Howlin’ Wolf, Robert Johnson, Son House, Muddy Waters and Little Walter started to fill his musical universe.

What got him really going though were the women singers, Sippie Wallace, mad Bessie Smith, a whole bunch of other barrelhouse blues-singers named Smith, Memphis Minnie and the one that really, really got to him, “Big Mama” Thornton. The latter belting out a bluesy rendition of Hound Dog that made Elvis' seem kind of punk, and best of all Piece Of My Heart.

Then one night Ruby took him to club over in Monterrey, the Blue Note, a club for young blues talent, mainly, that was a stepping-stone to getting work at the Monterrey Pop Festival each year. There he heard, heard if you can believe this, some freckled, red-headed whiskey-drinking off the hip girl, ya just a wisp of a girl, from Podunk, Texas, or maybe Oklahoma who was singing Big Mama’s Piece of My Heart. And then Ball and Chain, Little School Girl, and Little Red Rooster. Hell, she had the joint jumping until the early hours for just as long as guys kept putting drinks in front of her. What a night, what a blues singer.

Just now though Ruby Red Lips came over to him, kind of perky and kind of with that look in her that he was getting to catch on to when a girl was interested in him and said, “Hey, Janis, that singer from the Blue Note, is going to be at Monterrey Pops next month with a band to back her up, want to go? And, do you want to go to the Blue Note with me tonight?” After answering, yes, yes, to both those questions the Prince of Love (and not some dinky Lvov either) figured he could go back to old life Olde Saco by late August and still be okay but he had better grab Ruby now while he could.

In The Time Of The Time Of An Outlaw Country Music Moment- The Belfast Cowboy Rides Again Van Morrison’s “Magic Time”

Click on the headline to link a YouTube film clip of Van Morrison performing his classic Into The Mystic.


CD Review

Magic Time , Van Morrison, Exile Records, 2005

The basic comments here have been used, used many times, to review other Van Morrison albums from various points in his long and honorable career.

Apparently just now, although this time rather accidentally, I am on something of an outlaw country moment tear, again. I have mentioned on previously occasions when I have discussed county music, or rather more correctly outlaw country music, that I had a very short, but worthwhile period when I was immersed in this genre in the late 1970s. After tiring somewhat of Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and other more well know country outlaws I gravitated toward the music, eerily beautiful and haunting music, of Townes Van Zandt whose Steve Earle tribute album Townes I have recently reviewed in this space. As I noted there, as well, while this outlaw country thing was short-lived and I scrambled back to my first loves, blues, rock and folk music I always had time to listen to Townes and his funny mix of blues, folk rock, rock folk, and just downright outlaw country.

And that brings us to the album under review, Magic Time, and another “outlaw” country music man, the Belfast cowboy Van Morrison. Wait a minute, Van Morrison? Belfast cowboy? Okay, let me take a few steps back. I first heard Van Morrison in his 1960s rock period when I flipped out over his Into The Mystic on his Moondance album. And when I later saw him doing some blues stuff highlighted by his appearance in Martin Scorsese PBS History of Blues series several years ago I also flipped out, and said yes, brother blues. But somewhere along the way he turned again on us and has “reinvented” himself as the “son”, the legitimate son, of Hank Williams. But Van Morrison is no one-trick pony as his long and hard-bitten career proves.

If you do not believe me then just listen to him ante up on his Keep Mediocrity At Bay , a classic folk bluesy number; the thoughtful Just Like Greta; the pathos of Lonely And Blue; the title song Magic Time; and, something out of time,Evening Train. The Belfast cowboy, indeed, although I always thought cowboys wore their emotions down deep, not on their blues high white note sleeves.

In The Time Of The Time Of An Outlaw Country Music Moment- The Belfast Cowboy Rides Again Van Morrison’s “The Best Of Van Morrison, Volume Two”

Click on the headline to link a YouTube film clip of Van Morrison performing his classic Into The Mystic.


CD Review

The Best Of Van Morrison, Volume Two, Van Morrison, Polydor, 1993

The basic comments here have been used, used many times, to review other Van Morrison albums from various points in his long and honorable career.

Apparently just now, although this time rather accidentally, I am on something of an outlaw country moment tear, again. I have mentioned on previously occasions when I have discussed county music, or rather more correctly outlaw country music, that I had a very short, but worthwhile period when I was immersed in this genre in the late 1970s. After tiring somewhat of Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and other more well know country outlaws I gravitated toward the music, eerily beautiful and haunting music, of Townes Van Zandt whose Steve Earle tribute album Townes I have recently reviewed in this space. As I noted there, as well, while this outlaw country thing was short-lived and I scrambled back to my first loves, blues, rock and folk music I always had time to listen to Townes and his funny mix of blues, folk rock, rock folk, and just downright outlaw country.

And that brings us to the album under review, The Best Of Van Morrison, Volume Two l, and another “outlaw” country music man, the Belfast cowboy Van Morrison. Wait a minute, Van Morrison? Belfast cowboy? Okay, let me take a few steps back. I first heard Van Morrison in his 1960s rock period when I flipped out over his Into The Mystic on his Moondance album. And when I later saw him doing some blues stuff highlighted by his appearance in Martin Scorsese PBS History of Blues series several years ago I also flipped out, and said yes, brother blues. But somewhere along the way he turned again on us and has “reinvented” himself as the “son”, the legitimate son, of Hank Williams. But Van Morrison is no one-trick pony as his long and hard-bitten career proves.

If you do not believe me then just listen to him ante up on his cover of Bob Dylan’s It’s All Over now Baby Blue, a classic folk bluesy number; the thoughtful Sense Of Wonder; the pathos of Real Real Goner; the song I’ll Tell Ma; and, something out of time,Hymns To The Silence . The Belfast cowboy, indeed, although I always thought cowboys wore their emotions down deep, not on their blues high white note sleeves.

In The Time Of The Time Of The British Blues Explosion-He Ain't No One-Trick Pony- The Belfast Cowboy Rides Again Van Morrison’s “Keep It Simple”

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Van Morrison performing Behind The Ritual.

CD Review

Keep It Simple, Van Morrison, Exile Records, 2008

Apparently just now, although this time rather accidentally, I am on something of an outlaw country moment tear, again. I have mentioned on previously occasions when I have discussed county music, or rather more correctly outlaw country music, that I had a very short, but worthwhile period when I was immersed in this genre in the late 1970s. After tiring somewhat of Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and other more well know country outlaws I gravitated toward the music, eerily beautiful and haunting music, of Townes Van Zandt whose Steve Earle tribute album Townes I have recently reviewed in this space. As I noted there, as well, while this outlaw country thing was short-lived and I scrambled back to my first loves, blues, rock and folk music I always had time to listen to Townes and is funny mix of blues, folk rock, rock folk, and just downright outlaw country.

And that brings us to the album under review, Keep It Simple, and another “outlaw” country music man, the Belfast cowboy Van Morrison. Wait a minute, Van Morrison? Belfast cowboy? Okay, let me take a few steps back. I first heard Van Morrison in his 1960s rock period when I flipped out over his Into The Mystic on his Moondance album. And when I later saw him doing some blues stuff highlighted by his appearance in Martin Scorsese PBS History of Blues series several years ago I also flipped out, and said yes, brother blues. But somewhere along the way he turned again on us and has “reinvented” himself as the “son”, the legitimate son, of Hank Williams. And hence the Belfast Cowboy. But he ain't no one-trick pony.No way, no how. Too many hard life lessons "learned."

If you do not believe me then just listen to him ante up on School of Hard Knocks, a classic bluesy number; the thoughtful Song Of Home; the pathos of No Thing; the title song reflecting back from back in youthful rock times, Keep It Simple; and, something out of time, Behind The Ritual. The Belfast Cowboy, indeed, although I always thought cowboys worn their emotions down deep, not on their blues high white note sleeves. But I guess they do.

In The Time Of The Time Of The British Blues Explosion-He Ain't No One-Trick Pony- The Belfast Cowboy Rides Again Van Morrison’s “Down The Road”

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Van Morrison performing the title song from the album under review, Back On Top.

CD Review

Down The Road, Van Morrison, Exile Records, 2002

Apparently just now, although this time rather accidentally, I am on something of an outlaw country moment tear, again. I have mentioned on previously occasions when I have discussed county music, or rather more correctly outlaw country music, that I had a very short, but worthwhile period when I was immersed in this genre in the late 1970s. After tiring somewhat of Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and other more well know country outlaws I gravitated toward the music, eerily beautiful and haunting music, of Townes Van Zandt whose Steve Earle tribute album Townes I have recently reviewed in this space. As I noted there, as well, while this outlaw country thing was short-lived and I scrambled back to my first loves, blues, rock and folk music I always had time to listen to Townes and is funny mix of blues, folk rock, rock folk, and just downright outlaw country.

And that brings us to the album under review, Pay The Devil, and another “outlaw” country music man, the Belfast cowboy Van Morrison. Wait a minute, Van Morrison? Belfast cowboy? Okay, let me take a few steps back. I first heard Van Morrison in his 1960s rock period when I flipped out over his Into The Mystic on his Moondance album. And when I later saw him doing some blues stuff highlighted by his appearance in Martin Scorsese PBS History of Blues series several years ago I also flipped out, and said yes, brother blues. But somewhere along the way he turned again on us and has “reinvented” himself as the “son”, the legitimate son, of Hank Williams. And hence the Belfast cowboy.

If you do not believe me then just listen to him ante up on Steal My Heart Away, a classic bluesy number; the thoughtful The Beauty Of Days Gone By; the pathos of Chopping Wood; the title song reflecting back on youthful rock timesDown The Road; and, something out of time,Fast Train. The Belfast cowboy, indeed, although I always thought cowboys worn their emotions down deep, not on their blues high white note sleeves. But I guess they do.

In The Time Of The Time Of The British Blues Explosion- This Ain't No One-Trick Pony- The Belfast Cowboy Rides Again Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Handsome Man”

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Van Morrison performing In The Back Room.

CD Review

Brown Eyed Handsome Man , Van Morrison, Bono Records, 2000

Apparently just now, although this time rather accidentally, I am on something of an outlaw country moment tear, again. I have mentioned on previously occasions when I have discussed county music, or rather more correctly outlaw country music, that I had a very short, but worthwhile period when I was immersed in this genre in the late 1970s. After tiring somewhat of Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and other more well know country outlaws I gravitated toward the music, eerily beautiful and haunting music, of Townes Van Zandt whose Steve Earle tribute album Townes I have recently reviewed in this space. As I noted there, as well, while this outlaw country thing was short-lived and I scrambled back to my first loves, blues, rock and folk music I always had time to listen to Townes and is funny mix of blues, folk rock, rock folk, and just downright outlaw country.

And that brings us to the album under review, Pay The Devil, and another “outlaw” country music man, the Belfast cowboy Van Morrison. Wait a minute, Van Morrison? Belfast cowboy? Okay, let me take a few steps back. I first heard Van Morrison in his 1960s rock period when I flipped out over his Into The Mystic on his Moondance album. And when I later saw him doing some blues stuff highlighted by his appearance in Martin Scorsese PBS History of Blues series several years ago I also flipped out, and said yes, brother blues. But somewhere along the way he turned again on us and has “reinvented” himself as the “son”, the legitimate son, of Hank Williams. And hence the Belfast Cowboy. But this ain't no one-trick pony. No way, no how not with that deep musical background.

If you do not believe me then just listen to him ante up on He Ain’t Give You None, a classic bluesy number; the thoughtful Beside You; the pathos of Send Your Mind; the title song from back in youthful rock timesBrown Eyed Handsome Man; and, something out of time,The Back Room. The Belfast Cowboy, indeed, although I always thought cowboys worn their emotions down deep, not on their blues high white note sleeves. But I guess they do.

In The Time Of The Time Of The British Blues Explosion- This Ain't No One-Trick Pony-The Belfast Cowboy Rides Again Van Morrison’s “The Best Of Van Morrison, Volume Three”

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Van Morrison performing Tupelo Honey. A greatest hit, indeed.

CD Review

The Best Of Van Morrison: Volume Three, two CD set, Van Morrison, various artist, Exile Productions, 2007

Apparently just now, although this time rather accidentally, I am on something of an outlaw country moment tear, again. I have mentioned on previously occasions when I have discussed county music, or rather more correctly outlaw country music, that I had a very short, but worthwhile period when I was immersed in this genre in the late 1970s. After tiring somewhat of Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and other more well know country outlaws I gravitated toward the music, eerily beautiful and haunting music, of Townes Van Zandt whose Steve Earle tribute album Townes I have recently reviewed in this space. As I noted there, as well, while this outlaw country thing was short-lived and I scrambled back to my first loves, blues, rock and folk music I always had time to listen to Townes and is funny mix of blues, folk rock, rock folk, and just downright outlaw country.

And that brings us to the album under review, Pay The Devil, and another “outlaw” country music man, the Belfast cowboy Van Morrison. Wait a minute, Van Morrison? Belfast cowboy? Okay, let me take a few steps back. I first heard Van Morrison in his 1960s rock period when I flipped out over his Into The Mystic on his Moondance album. And when I later saw him doing some blues stuff highlighted by his appearance in Martin Scorsese PBS History of Blues series several years ago I also flipped out, and said yes, brother blues. But somewhere along the way he turned again on us and has “reinvented” himself as the “son”, the legitimate son, of Hank Williams. And hence the Belfast Cowboy. But this ain't no one-trick pony. No way, no how.

If you do not believe me then just listen to him ante up on Gloria , a classic bluesy number with legendary bluesman John Lee Hooker; the thoughtful Centerpiece Stone with Georgie Fame and the Flames;the pathos of That’s Life;The Healing Game; and, something out of time, out of youthful rock timeTupelo Honey with bluesman Bobby Bland. The Belfast Cowboy, indeed, although I always thought cowboys worn their emotions down deep, not on their blues high white note sleeves. And as loners, not with legendary company. But fine, fine indeed.

In The Time Of The Time Of The British Blues Explosion- He Ain't No One-Trick Pony-The Belfast Cowboy Rides Again- Van Morrison’s "How Long Has This Been Going On"

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Van Morrison performing the title song from the album under review, How Long Has This Been Going On.

CD Review

How Long Has This Been Going On, Van Morrison, with Georgie Fame and the Flames, Exile Productions, 1995

Apparently just now, although this time rather accidentally, I am on something of an outlaw country moment tear, again. I have mentioned on previously occasions when I have discussed county music, or rather more correctly outlaw country music, that I had a very short, but worthwhile period when I was immersed in this genre in the late 1970s. After tiring somewhat of Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and other more well know country outlaws I gravitated toward the music, eerily beautiful and haunting music, of Townes Van Zandt whose Steve Earle tribute album Townes I have recently reviewed in this space. As I noted there, as well, while this outlaw country thing was short-lived and I scrambled back to my first loves, blues, rock and folk music I always had time to listen to Townes and is funny mix of blues, folk rock, rock folk, and just downright outlaw country.

And that brings us to the album under review, Pay The Devil, and another “outlaw” country music man, the Belfast cowboy Van Morrison. Wait a minute, Van Morrison? Belfast cowboy? Okay, let me take a few steps back. I first heard Van Morrison in his 1960s rock period when I flipped out over his Into The Mystic on his Moondance album. And when I later saw him doing some blues stuff highlighted by his appearance in Martin Scorsese PBS History of Blues series several years ago I also flipped out, and said yes, brother blues. But somewhere along the way he turned again on us and has “reinvented” himself as the “son”, the legitimate son, of Hank Williams. And hence the Belfast Cowboy. But this ain't no one-trick pony. No way.

If you do not believe me then just listen to him ante up on Early In The Morning , a classic bluesy number; the thoughtful Gershwin tuneHow Long Has This Been Going On ; the pathos of That’s Life;and, Blues In The Night; and, something out of lost time,Early In The Morning. The Belfast Cowboy, indeed, although I always thought cowboys worn their emotions down deep, not on their blues high white note sleeves. And kudos to Brother Fame, who rode that same train, as well.

In The Time Of The Time Of The British Blues Explosion- He Ain't No One-Trick Pony- The Belfast Cowboy Rides Again-Van Morrison’s “Back On Top”

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Van Morrison performing the title song from the album under review, Back On Top.

CD Review

Back On Top, Van Morrison, Exile Productions, 1999

Apparently just now, although this time rather accidentally, I am on something of an outlaw country moment tear, again. I have mentioned on previously occasions when I have discussed county music, or rather more correctly outlaw country music, that I had a very short, but worthwhile period when I was immersed in this genre in the late 1970s. After tiring somewhat of Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and other more well know country outlaws I gravitated toward the music, eerily beautiful and haunting music, of Townes Van Zandt whose Steve Earle tribute album Townes I have recently reviewed in this space. As I noted there, as well, while this outlaw country thing was short-lived and I scrambled back to my first loves, blues, rock and folk music I always had time to listen to Townes and his funny mix of blues, folk rock, rock folk, and just downright outlaw country.

And that brings us to the album under review, Back on Top, and another “outlaw” country music man, the "Belfast Cowboy," Van Morrison. Wait a minute, Van Morrison? Belfast cowboy? Okay, let me take a few steps back. I first heard Van Morrison in his 1960s rock period when I flipped out over his Into The Mystic on his Moondance album. And when I later saw him doing some blues stuff highlighted by his appearance in Martin Scorsese PBS History of Blues series several years ago I also flipped out, and said yes, brother blues. But somewhere along the way he turned again on us and has “reinvented” himself as the “son”, the legitimate son, of Hank Williams. And hence the Belfast cowboy. But he ain't no one-trick pony, no way. This guy is a musical songbook of the late 20th century.

If you do not believe me then just listen to him ante up on Goin’ Down Geneva, a classic bluesy number; the thoughtful The Philosophers Stone; the pathos of High Summer; the title song Back On Top; and, something out of time, something out of a place that few musicians, hell, few people, go Golden Autumn Day. The Belfast Cowboy, indeed, although I always thought cowboys worn their emotions down deep, not on their blues high white note sleeves.

From Out In The Be-Bop Blues Night- Sippie Wallace's "Women Be Wise"

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Sippie Wallace performing her classic, Women Be Wise (also covered by Bonnie Raitt and Maria Muldaur among others).

Markin comment:

Well I will just let Sippie tell it like it is for once. Truth. Without further comment. Okay. lol in cyber-slang.
******
Wallace Sippi

Women Be Wise

Women be wise, keep your mouth shut
Don't advertise your man
Don't sit around gossiping
Explaining what he really can do
Some women now days
Lord they ain't no good
They will laugh in your face
They'll try to steal your man from you

Women be wise, keep your mouth shut
Don't advertise your man

Your best girlfriend
Oh she might be a highbrow
Changes clothes three time a day
But what do you think she's doing now
While you're so far away?
You know she's lovin your man
In your own damn bed...
You better call for the doctor
Try to investigate your head

Women be wise, keep your mouth shut
Don't advertise your man

Women be wise, keep your mouth shut
Don't advertise your man
Now don't sit around girls
Telling all your secrets
Telling all those good things he really can do
Cause if you talk about your baby
Yeah you tell me he's so fine
Honey I might just sneak up
And try to make him mine

Women be wise, keep your mouth shut
Don't advertise your man --
Don't be no fool!
Don't advertise your man
Baby don't do it!