Friday, July 24, 2009

*Voodoo Blues From The Bayou- The "Voodoo Daddy" Lonnie Brooks Is On Stage

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Lonnie Brooks.

CD Review

Lonnie Brooks: The Voodoo Daddy, Lonnie Brooks (and son Ronnie Baker), Alligator records, 1997

When reviewing various blues artist over the past year in this space I have spilled much ink on places like the Mississippi Delta, Chicago, Memphis and Texas. I have spent very little time talking about Cajun country, the bayous of Louisiana or the Mississippi port town of News Orleans as sources of the blues tradition. When one thinks of the bayous one tends to think of the Cajun-centered accordion or Zydeco music. New Orleans brings to mind jazz more than the blues, except maybe some barrel house influence. That omission seems now to have been flat out wrong as the artist under review, ‘The Voodoo Daddy” Lonnie Brooks, amply demonstrates.

Sure, Lonnie (and on this album his son Ronnie Baker as well) has mastered basic blues lines as any successful electric blues guitarist must but his music has that little extra “funky” edge that one gets when listening to better New Orleans jazz and Zydeco music, especially that big old sax blaring out to beat the band. That is what the Voodoo Daddy brings to the table. Here it starts right out with the first track “Jealous Man” carries through to “Hoodoo She Do” the aptly named “Zydeco” and finishes up nicely with “Rolling Of The Tumbling Dice”. More on this kind of bayou-derived music, especially under the influence of Clifton Chenier who was instrumental in jump starting Lonnie’s career, later. For now listen here- you can heard those swamp sounds from those Lake Charles and environs boys now, can’t you?


"Got Lucky Last Night"

Pretend you're mean as a lion
Wild like a tiger cat
Been lovin' mem so good last night
I almost had a heart attack

chorus:
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
Played your little game and I got lucky last night

Pretend you're mean and evil
Stubborn like a Georgia mule
Been lovin' me so good last night
You had me on private school
(chorus)

Pretend you can be sweet
Pretend you can be kind
But when it come to lovin' girl
You don't draw the line
(chorus)

I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
Played a little game and I got lucky last night

I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night, tryin' to get lucky tonight


"Wife For Tonight"

Is is that string bikini?
Or the sun that's makin' me hot?
Whatever thing to cool me with baby
They gonna take a hell of a lot
I feel the need for some down home lovin' tonight
Oh I could gonna pretend that I'm your husband
If you'd only pretend you'll be my wife tonight
Yeah

I'll build us a playhouse
Into my bedroom
So you can play the bride baby
While I play the groom
I feel the need for some down home lovin' tonight
Oh I could gonna pretend that I'm your husband
If you'd only pretend you'll be my wife tonight
All right...

You can come on over
There'll be no strings attached
If you like what I'm doin' to you baby
You can always come back
I feel the need for some down home lovin' tonight
Oh I could gonna pretend that I'm your husband
If you'd only pretend you'll be my wife tonight

Thursday, July 23, 2009

*The Hoodoo Man Is In The House- The Harmonica Blues Of Junior Wells

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Junior Wells Doing "Hoodoo Man".

DVD REVIEW

Don’t Start Me Talking: The Junior Wells Story, Junior Wells, Buddy Guy and various artists and commentators, Sony, 2005


The last time that the name Junior Wells was mentioned in this space was when he was referenced in a review of the work of legendary Chicago blues guitarist and his long time musical companion, Buddy Guy. Starting in the late 1950's those names, more often than not, were linked together as among the hottest sounds to come out of clubs and other venues during that fantastic period of the reemergence of the Chicago blues. Well today is Junior's turn in the spotlight in this informative hour and one half review of the ups and downs of his musical and personal life.

The personal part of Junior's life is not an unfamiliar one when detailing the life stories of many of the great black blues musicians who made a name for themselves in Chicago, the "Mecca" of the electric blues. Born down South on the farm, enduring a hard scrabble childhood, coming up North, hungry. Sound familiar? And, as in many other cases concerning the hungry part including Junior's case, almost literally so. But these guys and gals (think of Koko Taylor, an interviewee here) ready to do anything to get out of the South of the hard luck farms and the plantations, to speak nothing of Jim Crow. Chicago-bound was Junior's cry, as well. But there were a million guys trying to work Maxwell Street and get the bright light attention of the likes of Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf in the late 1950's. Somehow, through thick and thin and some toying around the edges of the criminal life, sheer talent and energy, Junior survived and got his big chance with Muddy. The rest, as they say, is history.

Junior's story is told here in a number of ways. Mainly there are personal interviews with him about his sometimes rocky way to blues stardom. Then there are personal and musical testimonials from the likes of the above-mentioned Buddy Guy and long time Wells band member Lonnie Brooks (worthy of his own separate review in his well-travelled blues career). Finally, there is the seemingly inevitable roundtable group of commentators who throw out various tidbits about Junior's life, his recording career and his character, including important information for the blues archivist about the Delmark Records production of the album "Hoodoo Man" and from his first manager, the ubiquitous Dick Waterman. The results are an inside look into one of the key Chicago blues figures who carried on the tradition from the post-World War II blues giants like Muddy, Howlin' Wolf, and Willie Dixon. Nice.



"Hoodoo Man"

Lord, I wonder what's the matter, I'm crying all the
time
The minutes seem like hours, everything's the same
But I'm holding my hand, Lord I'm trying to make my
baby understand
Somebody done tell me, Junior, somebody done
hoodoo
the hoodoo man
I buzzed your bell this morning, elevator running
slow
I buzzed your bell this morning, take me up to your
third floor.
But I'm holding my hand, Lord I'm trying to make my
baby understand
I'm gonna tell you one time, ain't gonna tell you no
more
If I have to tell you again, I'm gonna let you go
But I'm holding my hand, Lord I'm trying to make my
baby understand

"Checkin' On My Baby"


Checkin' on my baby, see what she puttin' down
So many days and nights I been out of town
I wouldn't call home, and I wouldn't even write
I bought me a plane and flew back the same night
Checkin' on my baby, find out what she puttin' down
Checkin' up on my baby, find out what she puttin'
down
So many nights and days I been out of town



"Good Mornin' Lil' Schoolgirl"


Good morning, little schoolgirl, can I go home with
you?
Tell your mother and your poppa, I'm a little
schoolboy too
Lord, I love you baby, just can't help myself
Don't care how you treat me, baby, I don't want nobody
else
Good morning, little schoolgirl, hey hey hey!
Oohweeh, I'm gonna leave you baby, one of these old
days
On account of how you treat me, baby, I'm gonna stay
away
Good morning, little schoolgirl, can I go home with
you?
Come on now, pretty baby, come one home with me
Good morning, little schoolgirl, hey hey hey!
Ooh, oohweeh, I'm gonna buy an airplane, fly all over
your town
Tell everybody, baby, Lord knows you're fine
I can't stand it, baby, just can't help myself
You're so young and pretty, you love somebody else
Good morning, little schoolgirl, hey hey hey!
Ooh, oohweeh!



"My Baby She Left Me"


When my baby she left me, she left me with a mule to
ride
When my baby she left me, she left me with a mule to
ride
When her train left the station that old mule laid
down and died
Man I sent this woman a brand new twenty dollar bill
Lord I sent that woman a brand new twenty dollar bill
Now if that don't bring her back, I'm sure this old
shotgun will
Lake Michigan ain't no river, Chicago ain't no hill
town
Lake Michigan ain't no river, Chicago ain't no hill
town
If I feel like this tomorrow I'm gonna clear out be
back down Memphis bound
I'll be standing down on the landing when the big boat
pull off and roll
I'll be standing on the landing when the big boat pull
off and roll
I'll be hopin' I'll be prayin' I don't see your face
no more
When my baby she left me, she left me with a mule to
ride
When my baby she left me, she left me with a mule to
ride
When her train left the station that old mule laid
down and died
Lord I sent this woman a brand new twenty dollar bill
Man I sent my baby a brand new twenty dollar bill
Now if that don't bring her back, I'm sure my shotgun
will



"Messin' With The Kid"


What's this a-here goin' all around town
The people they say they're gonna put the kid down
Oh no, oh look at what you did
You can call it what you want to, I call it messin'
with the kid
You know the kid's no child, and I don't play
I says what I mean and I mean what I say
Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah, oh look at what you did
You can call it what you want to, I call it messin'
with the kid
You know the kid's no child, and I don't play
I says what I mean and I mean what I say
Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah, oh look at what you did
You can call it what you want to, I call it messin'
with the kid
We're gonna take the kid's car and drive around town
Tell everybody you're not puttin' him down
Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah, oh look at what you did
You can call it what you want to, I call it messin'
with the...

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

*Harmonica Heaven- The Blues Harp Of "Jazz" Gillum

Click On Title To Link To Wikipedia's Entry For "Jazz" Gillum".

CD REVIEW

Bill “Jazz” Gillum: The Bluebird recordings, 1934-38, Bill Gillum, BMG Records, 1997


Sonny Boy Williamson (either artist who went by that name), James Cotton, Brownie McGhee all made their marks with some very smoking harmonica. Hell, even Bob Dylan enhanced much of his earlier folk work using that instrument. Here one of the early masters of the instrument gives it a full work out and some very nice blues/jazz tunes. As the title of the album indicates, although he had a longer somewhat checkered career that ended in personal tragedy in some dark alley, Gillum hits his high notes best in the period of the Bluebird recordings. Together with some fine back up musicians and a voice that while not memorable is serviceable this album shows why that statement is true.

Remember though you are getting this album for the harmonica work, that is the strong suit here. For this reviewer the top song is the New “Sail On Little Girl” (that Big Joe Turner made a huge hit on later). Others to listen for are “Sarah Jane”, “Alberta Blues”, “Reefer Head Woman” (you know what that one’s about, right?) and the seemingly obligatory (for any black musician in that time coming out of the Mississippi Delta and heading North to Memphis or Chicago) “Good Old 51 Highway”.

Lyrics to "Reefer Head Woman" (a song covered bu Aerosmith, by the way)


I got a reefer headed woman
She fell right down from the sky
(Good Lord)
Woh...I got a reefer head a woman
She fell right down from the sky

Well, I gots to drink me a two fifths of whiskey
Just to get half as high

When the good Lord made that woman
He sure went to town
Oooh...when the good Lord made that woman
He sure went to town

Well, when he was feelin' high
Oooh...he sure should have been feelin' low

Oh Mr. Perry!

I got a reefer headed woman
Lord...she fell right down from the sky
Uuum...got a reefer headed woman
She fell right down from the sky

Lord, I gots to drink me two fifths of whiskey
Just to get, just to get, half as high

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

*Stinging Electric Blues Guitar-Otis Rush Is In The Room

Click On Title To Link To The Otis Rush Website.

CD Review

All Your Love I Miss Loving: Live At The Wise Fool Club, Otis Rush, Delmark, 2005


Okay, okay I have been talking about doing a review of the legendary electric blues guitarist Otis Rush ever since I saw him on some DVDs in the “American Folk Blues “series from the 1960’s that I have reviewed earlier in this space. Arguably, the 1950’s and 1960’s were the heroic age of electric blues guitar with the likes of Muddy Waters, Hubert Sumlin (from Howlin’ Wolf’s band), Elmore James, the incredible T-Bone Walker and Brother Rush. What makes the case for his inclusion here is some very rippling solos where he runs the board.

Sometimes the quality of live performances especially in the days before better sound production technology was developed, as here at the famous blues club the “Wise Fool Club”, diminishes the quality of the sound. However, for a performer like Rush, having that live audience in front is the spark that takes them to flights of ....musical fancy. Put that together with Rush’s deep, powerful voice to match the intensity of the riffs and a self-selected back up band and you have the blues when they are dos.

You don’t believe me? Well, listen to a smoking “Sweet Little Angel” or the pathos of “Feel So Bad”. Or the pain of “You’re Breaking My Heart” or the frenetic longing of the title song “All Your Love I Miss Loving”. Case closed.


Sweet Little Angel - B.B. King

(B.B. King & Jules Taub)

I got a sweet little angel
I love the way she spread her wings
Yes, I got a sweet little angel
I love the way she spread her wings
Yes, when she spread her wings around me
I get joy in everything

You know I asked my baby for a nickel
And she gave me a twenty dollar bill
Oh, yes, I asked my baby for a nickel
And she gave me a twenty dollar bill
Whoa, you know I asked her for a little drink of liquor
And she gave me a whiskey still

Ah yes, asked my baby to quit me
Well, I do believe I will die
Yes, I asked my baby to quit me
Well, I do believe I will die
'Cause, if you don't love me little angel
Please, tell me the reason why

Monday, July 20, 2009

*Bob Feldman 68: `Free Leonard Peltier!'

*Folk Potpourri- Part Three-Mark Spoelstra

Click On Title To Link To Rhapsody's Presentation Of "Mark Spoelstra At Club 47". For Those Unfamiliar With 1960's Folk Revival History Club 47 (Now Club Passim) Was The "Mecca" Of The Boston/Cambridge Folk Scene With The Likes Of Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Tom Rush And The Artist Under Review Holding Forth There. Those Were The Days. Sorry, I Could Not Find A YouTube Link For Mark Spoelstra.

CD REVIEW

Five & Twenty Questions, Mark Spoelstra, Collectors’ Choice Music, 2006

Over the past year or so I have been reviewing many of the male folksingers who proliferated in the early 1960’s folk revival and who threw their hats in the ring to be “king of the hill” of the burgeoning folk scene (the women singers of the period are to be looked at separately later). Names such as Tom Rush, Tom Paxton, Jesse Colin Young and Jesse Winchester have already been reviewed. These are performers, for the most part, who still work the small concert and coffee house circuit but whose names are probably very unfamiliar to today’s musical audience, folk or otherwise. I approached my theme initially under the sign of this question; what qualities, personal and musical, make some singers succeed and others fall by the wayside?

We know that Bob Dylan, without a doubt, wanted to win that contest for supremacy and did so. I think that Dylan answered the why of that question himself in one of the snippets of interviews in the Martin Scorsese documentary of his early career, “No Direction Home”. There he noted, when asked why audiences gravitated to his songs, that while there was plenty of talent around most singers sang their message over the audience (I think that he meant in the literal performing sense, as well as intellectually) but that it was necessary to “speak” to the audience. To our sense of longing for identity, for some knowledge of life’s mystery, and for that some one who could express in our own tribal youth language the words that we needed to push on with. Well, Dylan certainly did that to a generation, my generation, that saw “the answer blowing in the wind” and desperately hoped that “the times were a-changin’’’.

The folk artist under review, Mark Spoestra is one of the male singers that I have not mentioned previously, although he was certainly in the mix of things in the early 1960’s. In fact, his “resurrection” here is due to my having seen his “talking head” commentary on that “No Direction Home” Scorsese production. I do not know the particulars of his later story but the work here on this CD is a case in point about the Dylan comment. (I note that after this review was written I found out that Mark Spoelstra had died in 2007.)

Certainly his lyrics are strong and are right in the Woody Guthrie (and later, Dylan himself) troubadour tradition of spreading the news of the day. “Five & Twenty Questions” and, more so, the tragic story outlined in “Ballad Of 12th Avenue”, about the desperation of a used up man in the bowels of modern American society that has left him with no resources but the gun to work out his problems, are in that mode. “On The Road Again” and “The Leaves” speak to the need to ramble and find oneself or to find love or find something that we hungered for then (and not just then either). That said, this album still leaves me with the feeling that old Mark was speaking to himself and for himself and not to me. That is the difference. A big difference. Still, if you have time listen in to someone who was struggling to find the meaning of his times and, at least on “Ballad Of 12th Street”, hit pay dirt.

He Was A Friend of Mine (Just A Hand To Hold)

Lyrics: Mark Spoelstra

Music: Mark Spoelstra

This was played by the Grateful Dead in their early days, from 1966 to 1970. It is normally in setlists as "He Was A Friend Of Mine" but it is in fact a portion of a Mark Spoelstra song "Just A Hand To Hold"


Chorus
He was, he was a friend of mine
He was, he was a friend of mine
Now he's dead and gone

This morning my best friend
Was sleeping in his bed
His face like a jewel
And he was dead

[chorus]

He liked to play games
Mark, push me on a swing
Mark, push me on a merry-go-round
Going round and round

[chorus]

deadsongs.vue.90 : He Was A Friend Of Mine
permalink #5 of 18: Alex Allan (alexallan) Sat 17 Sep 05 01:20

Thanks to a tip from Russ Lipetzky, I've discovered that the song we
know as "He Was A Friend Of Mine" is in fact "Just A Hand To Hold" by
Mark Spoelstra. Spoelstra recorded it on his 1965 LP "5 & 20 Questions"
and it was covered in the same year by Kathy and Carol (Kathy Larisch
and Carol McComb). I've got a copy of the latter - lyrics below. The
Grateful Dead sang just the first few verses. Mark Spoelstra used to
perform with Bob Dylan, Dave Van Ronk et al in New York in the early
1960s, which may explain the loose connection with the song "He Was A
Friend Of Mine" that they performed.


Just A Hand To Hold

Mark Spoelstra


He was, he was a friend of mine
He was, he was a friend of mine
Now he's dead and gone

This morning, my best friend
Lay still on his bed
His face like a jewel
And he was dead

He was, he was only six years old
He was, he was only six years old
So I've been told

He like to play games
Mark, push me on the swing
Mark, push me on the merry-go-round
Go round and round

Swing me, oh swing me, swing me all up and down
Spin me, oh spin me, spin me around and round
Till my feet touch the ground

He never was afraid
For he was was brave and bold
And the only thing he ever asked for
Was a hand to hold

It makes no difference where he's from or where's he's bound
And it makes no difference if he's lost or been found
He's dead and gone

But there is no power
Anywhere in this land
Like the voice used to say
Will you hold my hand

There is a voice that rings loud throughout this land
There is a voice that speaks for the black and tan
And for all of man

It's young and it's old
It's brave and it's bold
It can't be bought or sold
Just a hand to hold

*Irish Author Of "Angela's Ashes" Frank McCourt Is Dead At 78

Click On Title To Link To NPR's Story On The Death Of Author Frank McCourt. Frank McCourt's story is my story about a generation later and a continent away. But it is still my story. I have reviewed that elsewhere in this space and have reposted it below.

*A Bit Of The Odd Manner- Irish Style- The Childhood Saga of Frank McCourt

Book Review

Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir Of Childhood, Frank McCourt, Flamingo, London, 1997


Frank McCourt’s “Angela’s Ashes” is probably the easiest review that I have had to write since I have been doing such reviews in this space. Why? Frank McCourt’s book of childhood memoirs is my story. No, not in the details of his life’s story, or mine. But rather in how being Irish, being poor and being uprooted affects your childhood, and later. And those traumas, for good or evil, cross generational lines. McCourt, we are told as his story unfolds, was born in America of immigrants of the Diaspora after Irish independence who, for one reason or another, returned to the old country in defeat in the 1930’s. As McCourt notes right at the beginning, that fact in itself provides a rather ironic twist if one is familiar with Irish history (at least until very recently). He is, in any case, thus a child of the Great Depression and World War II, the generation of my parents, as it was refracted through Ireland during that period. I, on the other hand, am a child of the 1960’s, the “Generation of ‘68” here in America born of the dreaded Irish Catholic-English Protestant combination- and raised in an Irish Catholic enclave. Nevertheless the pages of this memoir are filled to the brim with the results of the emotional (and sometimes physical scars) of being “shanty” Irish in this world that hit home to this reader.

That said, we did not share the terrible effect that “the drink” had on creating his dysfunctional family with his father’s, Malachy McCourt, crazed need for the alcohol cure to drown his sorrows and his bitterness and the fact that his great moment in life was his bit for “the cause” (of Irish independence). A familiar story in the Irish community here and in the old country but my father seldom drank, although he too was constantly out of work and shared with Frank’s father that same bitterness about his fate. He was uneducated, lacking in skills and prospects and as a “hillbilly” Protestant Southerner from coal country down in Kentucky. Thus, an ‘outsider’ like Frank’s father. That is the commonality that caught my eye (and sometimes my throat) as I read of Frank’s youthful trials, tribulations and adventures. McCourt’s ability to tap into that “mystical” something is what makes this a fine read, whether you are Irish or not.

Throughout the book McCourt’s woe begotten but fatally prideful father is constantly referred to in the Irishtown working class poor ghetto of Limerick (and elsewhere, as well, but the heart of the story is told from there) as having an odd manner. This reflects a certain clannishness against those from the North of Ireland (Dare I say it, the area then known as Ulster) and a sneaking suspicion amount that crowd of some alien (meaning English Protestant) heritage. As the book progresses that odd trait is transferred (by heredity?) to Frank in his various wanderings, enterprise and desires. What joins us together then is that odd manner that gets repeatedly invoked throughout the book. Frank survived to tell the tale. As did I. But in both cases it appears to have been a near thing.

There is more that unites us. The shame culture, not an exclusive Irish Catholic property but very strong nevertheless, drilled in by the clannishness, the closeness of neighbors, the Catholic religion and by the bloody outsiders- usually but not always Protestants of some sort (as least for blame purposes- you know, the eight hundred years of British tyranny although very real to be sure). All driven by not having nearly enough of this world’s goods. Every time I read a passage about the lack of food, the quality of the food, the conditions of the various tenements that the McCourt family lived in, the lack of adequate and clean clothing I cringed at the thoughts from my own childhood. Or the various times when the family was seriously down and out and his mother, the beloved Angela of the title, had to beg charity of one form or another from some institution that existed mainly to berate the poor. I can remember own my mother’s plaintive cry when my brothers and I misbehaved that the next step was the county poor farm.

And how about the false pride and skewed order of priorities? Frank’s father was a flat out drunk and was totally irresponsible. From a child's perspective, however, he is still your dad and must be given the respect accordingly, especially against the viciousness of the outside world. But life’s disappointments for the father also get reflected in the expectations for the son. The dreams are smaller. Here, the horizons are pretty small when a governmental job with its security just above the “dole” is the touchstone of respectability. Sean O’Casey was able to make enduring plays from the slums of Dublin out of this material. And Frank McCourt enduring literature. Thanks, brother.

Note: The movie version of “Angela’s Ashes” pretty fairly reflects the intentions of Frank McCourt in his childhood memoirs and follows the book accordingly, without the usual dramatic embellishments of that medium. The story line is so strong it needs no such “touch-ups”. Particularly compelling is the very visual sense of utter poverty down at the base of Irish society in Frank McCourt’s childhood.

These two songs below are constantly being sung by Frank McCourt's father when he is "on the drink"

"Roddy McCorly"

O see the fleet-foot host of men, who march with faces drawn,
From farmstead and from fishers' cot, along the banks of Ban;
They come with vengeance in their eyes. Too late! Too late are they,
For young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

Up the narrow street he stepped, so smiling, proud and young.
About the hemp-rope on his neck, the golden ringlets clung;
There's ne'er a tear in his blue eyes, fearless and brave are they,
As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

When last this narrow street he trod, his shining pike in hand
Behind him marched, in grim array, a earnest stalwart band.
To Antrim town! To Antrim town, he led them to the fray,
But young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

There's never a one of all your dead more bravely died in fray
Than he who marches to his fate in Toomebridge town today; ray
True to the last! True to the last, he treads the upwards way,
And young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

"Kevin Barry"

In MOUNT JOY jail one Monday morning
High upon the gallows tree
Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the 'cause of liberty
Just a lad of eighteen summers
Yet no true man can deny
As he walked to death that morning
He proudly held his head up high

Another martyr for old Erin
Another murder for the crown
The British laws may crush the Irish
But cannot keep their spirits down

Just before he faced the hangman
In his dreary prison cell
The British soldiers tortured Barry
Just because he would not tell
The name of all his brave companions
And other things they wished to know
Turn informer or we'll kill you
Kevin Barry answered no

Another martyr for old Erin
Another murder for the crown
Whose cruel laws may crush the Irish
But CANNOT KEEP their spirits down

Sunday, July 19, 2009

***Once Again, A Blues Potpourri-John Lee Hooker And Furry Lewis

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Furry Lewis Doing "Kassie Jones" Wow!

DVD REVIEW

John Lee Hooker and Furry Lewis, John Lee Hooker, Furry Lewis, Yazoo Productions, 2002


I have recently reviewed a few of John Lee Hooker’s vast number of blues albums that lend credence to the title “Boogie Chillen” man. I also noted that unlike other old time electric blues artists such as Howlin’ Wolf and Lighting Hopkins that Hooker’s work, in general, leaves me cold. Although the small segment of his work presented here is good as he articulates his sense of what the blues mean, especially as it features one of his signature songs that I like, “Boom Boom”, I still am left with that same feeling. I finish by noting that this is a question of personal taste. Hooker is a blues legend, justifiably so. Case closed.

The other figure in this short Yazoo production is a different story. I have also reviewed Furry Lewis’s work elsewhere in this space and have praised his clean guitar picking style and vocals from his early career in the 1920’s when he was along with Blind Blake and Blind Lemon Jefferson one of the kings of the guitar pick. Furry does not fail here late in his career after reemerging during the folk revival of the 1960’s. His version of the famous “Kassie Jones” is worth the price of admission.

*Down With The Federal Defense Of Marriage Act (DOMA)- The Legal Fights Steps Up

Click ON Title To Link To National Public Radio Segment On The Legal Fight By The Massachusetts Attorney-General To Challenge The Federal Defense Of Marriage Act (DOMA). Needless to say, while we have a different strategic (and political) approach to this vital democratic question all avenues, state and local, legal and on the streets, to gain this right are supportable. Down With DOMA!