I thought I would do something different today. I was reminded of this by the phrase, “it was before my time.” Movies and music fall into this category. I do know people who will not watch movies made “before their time.” I don’t think many of my readers would agree to this statement, but who knows?
I had a co-worker in the early 2000s (Sam) tell me that I shouldn’t like music that was before my time because it was unnatural (yes, he said that). I was first kinda of amused and shocked. I like Sam a lot, and we would talk a lot; he is a smart fellow. However, on this point, I didn’t understand. Why? Is there some unwritten law that I can’t like 1950s or 1960s music up to 1967, when I was born? That cut off some of the best music of the 20th century and beyond.
He grew up in the 80s, as I did, and was probably around 5 or so years younger than me. I’ve seen other people act the same way. If it were before they were born, then they would not give it a second listen. If a movie is black and white, they act as if they are near a radiation leak!
I think the subject centered around how I loved 50s and 60s music and The Beatles, The Who, The Stones, and The Kinks. He said I should be listening to music from my teenage years (well, I WAS…60s music was my soundtrack growing up), but I DID listen to the top 40 when I was a teenager, which, to me, didn’t live up to those bands to any degree or form. Maybe it wasn’t fair to compare Men Without Hats to those 1960s bands. It was hard to stomach some of the ’80s for me, but not all. Now I’m busy catching up on music I missed that wasn’t on Top 40 radio at the time. I did find an oasis in the 80s, alternative music like The Replacements and REM…and the classic bands.
I still want to find other music and movies I like. Why would age have any effect on the music, whether we like it or not? That doesn’t mean I don’t like new music. I have posted newer bands here before who have just released albums. If it’s good, it doesn’t matter what era it came from, at least not to me. Christian, Graham, and Lisa all posted some newer songs that I liked. With movies, yes, I find some I like. I just saw Weapons and loved it, plus there are others.
I’m not putting people down at all who think like that. Hey, if that is what they believe, more power to them. I never believed in criticizing people for their opinions, music, or otherwise. Whatever blows their hair back.
I first found out about the Tubes through MTV in the mid-80s. The song was She’s A Beauty and MTV loved that video. It was in their rotation for a long long time. Just like radio, they could wear out a song as well.
It’s hard to describe this band. Prog, art, theatrical, rock, pop, and everything in between. In 1981, The Tubes were tightening their sound, paring back the theatrical music, and letting producer David Foster make the music sound more commercially viable. The album was Completion Backward Principle, and it was their fifth album. This is when their popularity started to rise.
The Tubes formed in 1973 and were a band with a cult following and a reputation for the most elaborate live shows around. But they weren’t exactly making any money with expenses. When Capitol Records wanted to talk to them, the band saw a chance to remake themselves. What they didn’t expect was the full corporate makeover that awaited them, complete with producer David Foster, determined to rebuild The Tubes.
The concept album The Completion Backward Principle actually began as a joke. Capitol’s marketing department gave the band an old corporate sales-training pamphlet. The Tubes built an entire album around it. Slogans, uniforms, everything boiled down to the idea that rock and roll could pretend to be a corporate product and still be good. It was satire, but it was also radio-friendly.
The album produced the band’s biggest hit to date, Don’t Want to Wait Anymore, and gave them a new touring identity built around that corporate feel. The band reinvented itself by streamlining its songs.
Toto’s Steve Lukather lent a hand on this song by playing guitar and bass. That guy was everywhere in the 1980s, playing on practically every hit you heard. Yes, I exaggerated, but not by much (over 1500 different records). Their keyboard player is known to Grateful Dead fans. Vince Welnick played with The Tubes from 1973 to 1989 and then joined the Dead in 1990.
The album peaked at #36 on the Billboard album charts, #26 in Canada, and #4 in New Zealand in 1981. This song peaked at #7 on the Billboard Mainstream Rock Charts.
Talk To You Later
As I mentioned near the close of the last record This record you are now playing Is another example of the completion backward principle If you can possibly manage the time Please play both sides at one meeting
I met her on the strip It was another lost weekend The band was too slick And the people were twisted
So I asked her for a date She reluctantly agreed Then we went to my place And she never did leave
She won’t even miss me when she’s gone But that’s OK with me, I’ll cry later on
It’s been six months She hasn’t shut up once I’ve tried to explain She’s driving me insane
She won’t even miss me when she’s gone But that’s OK with me, I’ll cry later on
Talk to ya later Don’t wanna hear it again tonight I’ll talk to ya later Just save it for another guy Oh, talk to ya later Don’t wanna hear it again tonight I’ll just see you around
Get out I’m telling you now Do you catch my drift? What could be plainer than this?
Nothing more to be said Write me a letter instead I don’t mean to be cruel But I’m finished with you
She won’t even miss me when she’s gone But that’s OK with me, I’ll cry later on
I’ll talk to ya later Don’t wanna hear it again tonight I’ll talk to ya later Just save it for another guy I’ll talk to ya later Don’t wanna hear it again tonight I’ll just see you around
I’ll talk to ya later Don’t wanna hear it again tonight I’ll talk to ya later Just save it for another guy I’ll talk to ya later Don’t wanna hear it again tonight I’ll just see you around
I’ll talk to ya later Don’t wanna hear it again tonight I’ll talk to ya later Just save it, save it for another guy
All I had to do was read off the members, and I knew I would like this band. Who were the members? Ry Cooder, John Hiatt, Nick Lowe, and Jim Keltner. Each one of them is a legend, but when they teamed up in 1992, they made music that felt effortless.. This song plays like an anthem for anyone who has ever tried to get something done while the world keeps knocking at the door.
When Little Village came together in the early 1990s, it wasn’t a typical supergroup situation. Ry Cooder, John Hiatt, Nick Lowe, and Jim Keltner had already worked together in the studio. They worked on Hiatt’s 1987 album Bring the Family, a record cut in just four days. This album would be called Little Village.
Around 1991, discussions began about whether those four players could try something more equal and together as a band. Nick Lowe summed up the vibe when he said, “We only needed a name and a reason.” The name came from a 1930s reference, but the reason was simply that they liked working with each other. This wasn’t a record-company idea, and it wasn’t nostalgia.
While the sessions were friendly, the band admitted that being equals instead of backups slowed things down. Decisions took longer, and sometimes a song would go in five directions before landing on one. Lowe joked that it was like “four people in the passenger seat reaching for the wheel.” Critics generally liked it, although some expected another John Hiatt album and were surprised by its humor and different musical turns. Fans of any one member found something to enjoy. The album even received a Grammy nomination for Best Rock Performance by a Duo or Group.
Nick Lowe did say it wasn’t as good as it could have been. He blamed it on having too much time to record it. The album peaked at #22 in the UK and #66 on the Billboard Album Charts in 1992. Over time, this album has developed a cult following, especially among fans of Hiatt and Cooder.
This next video has a bonus live song, She Runs Hot. Enjoy Ry Cooder’s slide before they break into Don’t Bug Me When I’m Working.
Don’t Bug Me When I’m Working
Don’t bug me when I’m working
I’m working, I’m working
Don’t bug me when I’m working
Got a job to do
Don’t bug me when I’m working
I’m working, I’m working
Don’t bug me when I’m working
I don’t work for you
If you bug me at work I can’t get it done
Too tired, baby to have any fun
You got complaints, better keep ’em hid
Don’t come ’round here mess with the kid
Don’t bug me when I’m sleepin’
I’m sleepin’, I’m sleepin’
Don’t bug me when I’m sleepin’
‘Cause I need my rest
Don’t bug me when I’m
Don’t bug me when I’m got to buzz awhile
I said don’t bug me when I’m working
I’m working, I’m working
Don’t bug me when I’m working
Got a job to do
Now you bug me at home when I’m tired and beat
Can’t even stand on my own two feet
You call on the phone, you make me uptight
And I can’t even work with my baby at night
Don’t bug me when I’m working
I’m working, I’m working
Don’t bug me when I’m working
Got a job to do
Don’t bug me when I’m working
I’m working, I’m working
Don’t bug me when I’m working
I don’t work for you
Don’t bug me
‘Cause I don’t work for you
Don’t bug me
Mister I don’t work for you
Don’t bug me, don’t bug me
‘Cause I don’t work for you
Don’t bug me, don’t bug me
‘Cause I don’t work for you
At the sound of the tone
Better hang up the phone
If you want to be my friend
Don’t bug me when I’m working
I’ve heard of this guy for so long, associated with Taj Mahal and solo Beatles tracks. He played on over 80 albums of other artists. His guitar playing was top shelf and was truly one of the guitar greats. He doesn’t get the attention he deserves. My admitted lack of knowledge of him led me to think he could only play guitar. Much like last week’s Link Wray post, who I didn’t know could sing, he had a really good voice. I also want to thank Lisa from Tao-Talk for posting a Davis song last Friday.
Jesse Ed Davis was Kiowa, Comanche, and Muscogee (Creek) on his father’s side, while his mother was of Kiowa and Cherokee descent with a small strand of European ancestry. In other words, he was overwhelmingly Native American, with family roots braided through several Plains and Southeastern tribes. He grew up connected to that identity, not as a stage costume, but as him. His dad painted the cover for this album.
I started to go through his albums like ¡Jesse Davis!, Ululu, and Keep Me Comin or Keep On Coming. He has a couple more, which I still have to get to. I’m totally impressed by his rootsy music. Again, instead of just picking a song, I wanted to feature the album. There is no #1 hit on the album, nor do I think he was trying for that. Just really good, solid songs.
When Jesse Ed Davis stepped into a studio to record his 1971 debut album ¡Jesse Davis!. He had already carved out a reputation as the guitarist you called when you wanted soul and a heavenly guitar tone, and most importantly, zero ego. He’d played with Taj Mahal, recorded with Gene Clark, and done sessions with everyone from Albert King to Earl Hooker, Jackson Browne, John Lennon, and a ton of other artists. Jesse was the go-to guitarist of the 1970s.
How respected was he? On this album, he had some incredible guests. Eric Clapton, Leon Russell, Gram Parsons, Alan White, and the Gimme Shelter singer Merry Clayton. This album sounds like a loose jam session that worked all the way around. My favorite song on the album is Washita Love Child. It just hit me and has stuck. I found myself hitting the play button again and again. The band around him cooks with an irresistible looseness. You can hear Clapton on his track loud and clear. After researching for this post, I found out it was featured on the TV show Reservation Dogs.
The album works because it stays out of its own way. Lou Adler keeps the production loose and moving. Leon Russell arranged some of the songs and added his unique touch. The songs drift between blues, roots rock, and a kind of West Coast soul. Reno Street Incident floats in like someone cracked open a window at two in the morning. Every Night Is Saturday Night for Me comes alive with Leon’s piano, rolling forward like only Leon can do. And when Gram Parsons or Eric Clapton pop up, they don’t hijack the song; they simply join in.
What really holds everything together is Jesse’s guitar, a voice unto itself. He never shows off, he never “shreds,” he simply plays for the song. His solos feel lived in and warm. He didn’t shout to be heard; he just played. Hearing him play and sing on this album is like slipping into a holey, comfortable favorite shirt.
The album doesn’t scream commercial…it doesn’t scream at all. It’s an album you put on and listen to all the way through, and sit back and enjoy some great music. Jesse Ed Davis passed away in 1988 at the young age of 43.
I added a 10-minute documentary clip.
Washita Love Child
I was born on the bank in the Washitaw river in a Kiowa Comanche teepee
Daddy had a hard time Mama made his eyes shine Lord, it was just us three Well they weaned me riding bareback And I’d tie my hair back And i did that pow wow thang Daddy showed up with his stand up guitar and then we rocked it i believe
I’m a love child and I’m running wild hope it don’t take too long I’m a love you I’m a try to make you happy you got to let me sing my song
Mama said to son Said what about your school books? Baby baby what about the draft? Daddy said honey don’t you worry about this boy he’s headed somewhere Got a guitar and a van to ride
He’s a love child He’s gonna be running wild Hope he don’t take too long He’s gonna love you He’s in love with me too So we got to let him sing his song
Well i got myself together And i’ve been rolling down the road Gonna boogie down down down down If i ever get a chance to boogie woogie you Ha, you can’t sit down
I’ve been a Pretenders fan since I heard Brass in Pocket when it was released. Although I would spend a long time tracking down the name of it. In the 1980s, you could count on them to release something good and not the standard top 40 music. Chrissie Hynde had more grit in her singing than most of her male and female peers. She wasn’t here to sing you a pretty song; she meant business.
The original band was something special. The members were James Honeyman-Scott (lead guitar, backing vocals, keyboards), Pete Farndon (bass guitar, backing vocals), and Martin Chambers (drums, backing vocals, percussion)…and of course Chrissie Hynde. To convince guitarist James Honeyman-Scott to join The Pretenders, Chrissie Hynde hired one of his favorite recording artists, Nick Lowe, to produce the song Stop Your Sobbing, an album cut of The Kinks. Chris Thomas would go on to produce all the other songs on the album.
When the Pretenders burst onto the scene in 1979, they didn’t arrive with punk guitars (although the spirit was there). They were armed with mostly Hynde’s melodic songs. Chrissie Hynde was a new kind of female rock vocalist, vulnerable and dangerous all at once. She was/is a badass but still relatable. This song was the band’s second single in 1979 and was included on their 1980 debut album. It is a great slice of power pop that blends jangly guitars, melodic melancholy. I love James Honeyman-Scott’s intro guitar run; it makes the song for me. It’s very obvious why Chrissie wanted him in the band.
Hynde has stated the song is about a woman who works in “the game” (prostitution) to get by, and her sadness when her child learns the truth about what she does.Following the 1981 Pretenders album Pretenders II, two of the four band members, Pete Farndon and James Honeyman-Scott, died of drug overdoses, leaving just Hynde and drummer Martin Chambers, who remained the mainstays in the band amongst a rotating cast of guitarists and bass players through the 1980s.
The song peaked at #33 in the UK in 1979.
Kid
Kid, what changed your mood? You got all sad, so I feel sad too I think I know Some things you never outgrow
You think it’s wrong I can tell you do How can I explain When you don’t want me to?
Kid, my only kid You look so small, you’ve gone so quiet I know you know what I’m about I won’t deny it
But you forget You don’t understand You’ve turned your head You’ve dropped my hand
All my sorrow All my blues All my sorrow
Shut the light Go away Full of grace You cover your face
Kid, precious kid Your eyes are blue, but you won’t cry, I know Angry tears are too dear You won’t let them go
I’ve always liked funk music, but I haven’t heard a lot of it as much as other types of music. Posting the Meters a few weeks ago gave me the urge to listen to more. Where else would I go other than to follow fellow bassist Bootsy Collins? He most certainly brought the funk and runs on the bass that were incredible.
The opening alone feels like a giant neon sign flickering to life: FUNK DELIVERED HERE, with Bootsy Collins’ bass out walking and running amok. George Clinton started this band, but when I hear them, I can’t help but think of Collins. Maybe it’s the bass player in me.
Before the stage costumes, before Bootsy’s star-shaped bass, George Clinton was running a humble doo-wop group out of a New Jersey barbershop. That is where the so-called P-Funk universe first sparked to life. In the late 1950s Clinton worked as a hairdresser in Plainfield, New Jersey, and formed a vocal group called The Parliaments. Inspired by groups like Frankie Lymon & The Teenagers, their sound leaned closer to street-corner harmonies and teenage heartbreak rather than spaced-out funk. They spent their early years cutting singles for small labels, chasing a hit, and stacking harmonies with tight choreography.
Their first real breakthrough came in 1967 with the single “(I Wanna) Testify“, which scraped the charts and gave the group national attention. But success came tangled in bad contracts, which would later force Clinton to get creative with band names. After hearing Psychedelic Soul, Clinton began to shift toward that kind of music in the late 1960s under the name Funkadelic, as he had temporarily lost the rights to the name Parliaments. Funkadelic allowed Clinton to push into psychedelic territory, influenced by Hendrix, Sly Stone, and Cream. The debut Funkadelic album arrived in 1970, and suddenly the group had two separate identities. Later on, after he got the name back, he combined the bands, and they were known as P-Funk.
What really sparked this band was former James Brown bass player Bootsy Collins, when he joined in 1972. His brother, guitarist, Phelps “Catfish” Collins, was already in the band. This guy is a fantastic bass player, and there isn’t much better than him. This song became Parliament’s first million-selling single and remains one of the most recognizable funk tracks ever cut. It was played in discos, block parties, roller rinks, sports arenas, on the radio, and later, hip-hop sampling culture.
This album was called The Mothership Connection (Clinton was a huge Star Trek fan) peaked at #13 on the Billboard Album Charts and #4 on the R&B album charts. The song peaked at #15 on the Billboard 100 in 1975.
Give Up The Funk (Tear The Roof Off the Sucker)
Tear the roof off, we’re gonna tear the roof off the mother sucker Tear the roof off the sucker Tear the roof off, we’re gonna tear the roof off the mother sucker Tear the roof off the sucker Tear the roof off, we’re gonna tear the roof off the mother sucker Tear the roof off the sucker Tear the roof off, we’re gonna tear the roof off the mother sucker Tear the roof off the sucker
You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin’ down There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin’ down There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round
Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk We gotta have that funk Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk We gotta have that funk
You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin’ down There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin’ down There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round
Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk We gotta have that funk Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk We gotta have that funk
We’re gonna turn this mother out We’re gonna turn this mother out
You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin’ down There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin’ down There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin’ down There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin’ down There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round
Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk We gotta have that funk Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk We gotta have that funk
Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk (Let us in, we’ll tear this mother out) We gotta have that funk Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk (Let us in, we’ll tear this mother out) We gotta have that funk
Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk We gotta have that funk Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk We gotta have that funk Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk We gotta have that funk
(We’re gonna turn this mother out) Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk (We’re gonna turn this mother out) Ow, we need the funk We gotta have that funk (We’re gonna turn this mother out) Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk (We’re gonna turn this mother out) Ow, we need the funk We gotta have that funk
Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk (Let us in, we’ll tear this mother out) We gotta have that funk Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk (Let us in, we’ll tear this mother out) We gotta have that funk
We want the funk Give up the funk We need the funk We gotta have that funk We want the funk Give up the funk We need the funk We gotta have that funk We want the funk Give up the funk We need the funk We gotta have that funk
(You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin’ down) (There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round) You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin’ down There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin’ down There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round
Ow, we want the funk Give up the funk Ow, we need the funk (Let us in we’ll tear this mother out)
I like this band and most of the songs I’ve heard from them. They had a few hits, but for the most part, they were huge on college radio and unfortunately didn’t hit the masses like they should have. This song is fantastic, and the title is brilliant to me. Many musicians have come from Wisconsin. There is Steve Miller, Al Jarreau, Steve Miller, Les Paul, Violent Femmes, Liberace, The BoDeans, and many more.
In 1977, Sophomores Sam Llanas and Kurt Neumann met in a study hall at Waukesha South High School in Wisconsin and bonded over a shared love of music. The two later end up playing music together. In 1980, at Neumann’s urging, Llanas dropped out of college to pursue music full-time. The group pursues gigs at small bars, clubs, dances, and events. Llanas comes up with the name, Da BoDeans. Llanas and Neumann added drummer Guy Hoffman (Oil Tasters, Confidentials, later the Violent Femmes) and bass player Bob Griffin (The Agents) to fill out their sound in 1983.
By the time the BoDeans released the album Home in 1989, they had already carved out their niche as Midwest roots artists, but this album pushed them further into pop-rock territory without losing their rootsy identity. The title is a great play on words, but the song plays it straight. Jangly electric guitars wrapped around acoustic strumming, a steady backbeat, and those harmonies between Kurt Neumann and Sam Llanas.
Jim Scott produced the album. They met him in 1987, producing Robbie Robertson’s self-titled solo album. The BoDeans added some backup vocals to it, including the songs Somewhere Down the Crazy River and Showdown at Big Sky. If you are exploring Home, this track is a rewarding stop, a small reminder that even when love gets messy, misspelled, or just plain “goob,” it can still turn out pretty good.
The album peaked at #94 on the Billboard Album Charts in 1989.
Neumann: The second record, you have all of this critical acclaim but the record company wants to get you on the radio, which is a whole ‘nother ballgame, and Jerry Harrison was from our hometown of Milwaukee. We worked with Jim Scott [on the third album], another really fun record.
Neumann: “There’s an installation about Midwestern rock bands and we’re one of those bands that are in the installation. As a band, music artist, whatever, it’s flattering that you’d ever get anything in the Hall of Fame. You go there and you look at Jimi Hendrix, Rolling Stones and all this stuff, and you’re like, ‘Wow, somebody heard my music and put a guitar of mine and some lyrics up as well?’ That’s quite a big compliment.”
When the Love Is Goob (I Mean Good)
Well, I work for the money but it takes my pride
It takes everything that I got down inside
Takes half a life just to break even
And it takes half my money just to have my fun
And I get so tired of love on the phone
I’m standin’ here when I should be at home
And the longest nights when I’m far away
You listen, pretty baby, to the words I say
“Hey lady, yes I can do anything, wanna be your man
Hey lady, yes I could do anything when the love is good.”
No tears will fall from this angel’s eyes
We’ll hold promises where the love never dies
Old memories, well, I ain’t got none
‘cuz soft, sweet angel, now, you’re the one
Well, I guess I’ll go find my way, get down on my knees and pray
All this talk ’bout love someday, when, baby, I’m just givin’ it away
Now, no tears gonna fall, no one’s gonna cry
We’ll hole up in heaven, let the world go by
Longest nights when I’m far away
You listen, pretty baby, to the words I say
I was really taken aback when I saw this album. I played it, expecting an instrumental, and when I heard a voice, I thought it was a different singer. When I think of Link Wray, I think of Rumble and instrumentals like that. I was surprised when I found this roots album by him, recorded in 1971. I want to thank Lisa for posting something that made me think of this rare Link Wray album.
After serving in the military, Wray contracted tuberculosis and lost a lung, which made singing difficult, and doctors advised him against it. Because of his breathing difficulties, Wray began to focus more on expressive and experimental guitar playing, leading him to become known for his instrumental hits. Wray was a Native American of Shawnee descent. He grew up in North Carolina. Wray later honored his heritage in his music, with songs like Apache and Comanche.
This album was recorded in a converted chicken shack. His brother, Ray Vermon Wray, helped produce it along with Bob Feldman and Steve Verroca. Instead of power chords and a leather jacket, Link traded distortion for Americana, funk, gospel, and storytelling. It was earthy, roots-driven, and deeply personal, almost a different artist altogether from the one I thought I knew. After being freed from label pressures, Link finally made the music he grew up with: gospel from church revivals, Native American rhythms from family heritage, country blues, and Southern soul.
There were still guitars, but now they sat behind the songs instead of smashing through them. Tracks like Fire and Brimstone, Juke Box Mama, and Ice People feel like they were born out of the dirt. The grooves are loose, almost like field recordings. His voice, rarely heard on record before this, carries a soulful and weathered sound. He didn’t sound like a rock guitarist trying to sing; he sounded like a weathered preacher who happened to play guitar.
You hear old-time country on Take Me Home Jesus, boogie on God Out West, and Native rhythms driving Black River Swamp. No other rock guitarist of his generation made anything remotely like this. Only one song retains his old tone, and that’s the intro to Tail Dragger. If anything, it pointed the way decades later for artists like Los Lobos and the entire alt-country movement. If you want to hear some authentic Americana, listen to this album.
Polydor gave the album a shot, but the public wanted Link the guitar guy, not Link the backwoods Americana prophet. Sales were modest, and critics were divided. However, like many records that were too authentic for their time, it grew in legend over time. Today, many fans call the 1971 album his true masterpiece
Black River Swamp
I was born down in the country Down where the cotton grows Turnin’ off the main highway Goin’ down that country road
There’s a place down in the country Where the pine trees grow so tall Walk across that old log bridge Stretching ‘cross Black River Swamp
I can hear them bullfrogs croaking In the blackness of the night Calling me back to my childhood Down here in Black River Swamp
Saw my name carved on a big oak tree Down there by the fishing hole And the smell of old Black River Where the waters are deep and cold
I can hear the hound dogs howlin’ Chasin’ that old fox where I used to roam Down there in the country Callin’ me to Black River Swamp
I can hear them hound dogs howlin’ Chasin’ that old fox where I used to roam Down there in the country Callin’ me to Black River Swamp
I was born in the country Down where the cotton grows Turnin’ off the main highway Goin’ down that country road
There’s a place down in the country Where the pine trees grow so tall Go across that log bridge Stretching ‘cross Black River Swamp
I first heard this song by the Everly Brothers in their comeback in the 1980s. It fit their style perfectly. I had assumed they wrote it, but I recently found out that Chip and Tony Kinman wrote it for their band, Rank and File. Two Brothers who started a punk band and then moved to Austin, where they transitioned to country-punk. Another performer who was a member of this band at one time was Alejandro Escovedo.
Rank and File were one of those bands that always felt born a decade too early. When most early 1980s acts were into synths, drum machines, and big production, the Kinman brothers were rewiring country music with punk and some power pop.
Chip and Tony Kinman first made music in the late 1970s with The Dils, a sharp-edged California punk band known for political lyrics, ragged guitars, and a take-no-prisoners attitude. When The Dils ran their course, the Kinmans stepped back and started exploring American roots music. They headed toward warmer tones and harmony.
In 1981, the brothers moved from California to Austin, Texas, a shift that changed everything. Austin was the hub of outlaw country, rockabilly revival, blues bars, and indie experimentation. The perfect place for musicians who did not fit neatly into one box. They found guitarist Alejandro Escovedo, fresh out of The Nuns, another West Coast punk band. The three of them shared a love for classic country songwriting like Hank Williams, The Burrito Brothers, and the raw honesty of punk.
The band officially formed as Rank and File, a name that reflected their working-class roots and their desire to keep things grounded. They blended Telecaster twang, tight harmonies, and a pinch of punk to keep them honest.
What I love about this song is how free it feels. Listening to it today, you can hear the origins of what would become Uncle Tupelo, The Jayhawks, Old 97s, and the whole alt-country wave that swept in during the 90s. Rank and File never got the widespread attention they deserved, but Amanda Ruth remains a cool little gem.
This song was on their debut album Sundown, released in 1982.
Tony Kinman – “We’re brave, we’re not afraid to do stuff, most people are. They’re deathly afraid to do anything different. … [W]hen everybody else was talking about how stupid country music was, country music was the last thing to like, if you wore a cowboy hat you were a redneck, you know, we decided go say, ‘Yeah, we play country music, it’s fun.’
“Up in San Francisco, KUSF Wave, their magazine, did the first review Rank and File ever got, live review. They said we sucked, and then they said, ‘What are these guys trying to do, start a trend?’ Well, that’s the way it worked out, but only because we were brave enough and smart enough to do it first. That’s how you get to be influential—if you’re brave enough to do something different and you’re smart enough to do it right. Otherwise you’re just another dumb-ass band.”
Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
We read the paper and we pick the show,
I’d meet her there but my watch was slow
She came early and I came late
We never met
It was a hell of a date
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
Amanda, Amanda Ruth
The way we met, she was a friend of a friend,
They needed money and I had it to lend
She had five; she wanted ten.
I gave her all my money
So I got none to spend
She burns her biscuits and her gravy is strange,
Can’t fry a chicken in a microwave range.
Her salt’s tasty, her sugar’s sweet
No she can’t cook
But she’s got something to eat
I started to listen to this album on a recommendation, and I was totally impressed. I started off with one song, but the hell with that, I went on to the complete album. Great rock and roll band with killer riffs and tones. Also, being produced by an E Street Band member doesn’t hurt either! Steven Van Zandt produced this album, and that right there is huge. Also, on keyboards, you have the Small Faces and Faces keyboard player, Ian McLagan. McLagan helped out on this recording, and he sounds great. They walk the line between rock, hard rock, blues, and even throw some funk in there in places. Great musicians on this album, and there is a reason for that.
The band formed right after the death of Stevie Ray Vaughan. Drummer Chris Layton and bassist Tommy Shannon, the backbone of Double Trouble (SRV’s backing band), found themselves without a frontman after Stevie’s passing in 1990. Instead of leaving the stage, they teamed up with two Austin guitarist-vocalists: Doyle Bramhall II and Charlie Sexton. Both were young, rising Texas guitar players with deep musical pedigrees. The name “Arc Angels” referenced the Austin Rehearsal Complex. Although the album was born out of Stevie Ray’s backing band, it sounded different and moved ahead.
The album was recorded in Austin and at Ardent Studios in Memphis (Big Star, The Replacements), and it blended blues, alt-rock edges, and soulful songwriting. Throughout the record, Layton and Shannon play like a unit that has lived many lifetimes together, heavy but never heavy-handed. They aren’t just holding down rhythm, they’re pushing the music forward. Doyle Bramhall II, Charlie Sexton, Chris Layton, and Shannon did most of the writing, along with help from Tonio K.
The opening song is Living In A Dream, and it’s bold and in your face, as the rest of the album is. The second song is Paradise Cafe, which is probably my favorite off the album. That guitar is raunchy as hell, and I love it. They did include a song they wrote in memory of their friend Vaughan called See What Tomorrow Brings. The track Good Times has some cool funk and blues to it. If you have some time, check this album ou.t. I think you will like it. The critical reaction was good for this album, but it got lost in the grunge shuffle that was going on at the time, unfortunately.
For anyone who loves Texas blues with bite, this is a great place to start.
Living In A Dream
If you were mine I’d give you all the world If you were mine I’d take you higher girl But you got me waiting Ooh, you’re so cold It kills me time Ooh and time is all we need But god knows I’ve tried, I’ve tried To get you close to me
But tonight when my eyes are closing You’ll be with me
Just let me be And let me believe, you’re mine Cause there’s nothin’ wrong here I’m just livin’ Livin’ in a dream
Without a sign You brought me to my knees Without a sign, I crossed the line I beg for sleep
But tonight when my eyes are closin’ You will be with me
Just let me be And let me believe, you’re mine Just let me be And let me believe, you’re mine Cause there’s nothin’ wrong here I’m just livin’ Livin’ in a dream
This is a fun song to hear once in a while. This song was written by the group’s lead singer, David “Lonesome Dave” Peverett. Many air guitars have been played with this song. Peverett was different than most hard rock bands’ lead singers. He had a heavy blues influence that would show, and he was an excellent guitar player. This is arena rock at its finest. Listening to it as a kid, I had no idea what it meant, but it was so powerful with that guitar pumping out that rhythm.
This was released in 1975 on their album Fool for the City; it became Foghat’s signature song, the song that turned them from touring road warriors into FM radio staples. What has always fascinated me about Slow Ride is how something that simple, that groove-heavy, can hit so hard and stay so fresh nearly fifty years later.
Foghat was born out of the blues band Savoy Brown. Dave Peverett, the drummer, Roger Earl, and the bassist Tony Stevens quit that band and decided to form their own band in 1970. The band wanted to take the sound of Savoy Brown a step further and add a rock edge to its basic boogie blues.
I always liked their name, Foghat. It’s a name that sticks with you for better or worse. Foghat got their name when Peverett came up with the word while playing a Scrabble-like game with his brother. He convinced the band to go with it instead of Brandywine, and I have to agree with him. Some myths claim it is a slang term or that it meant something dirty, but the truth is simple: it was just a made-up word from Dave Peverett’s childhood.
Their bass player, Tony Stevens, quit and was replaced by their producer, Nick Jameson. Nick had played bass in his first band, so they asked him to join. They all jammed with each other for around 6 hours, and this song came out of it. Although it is credited to Peverett, it is said to be written by the entire band, with big contributions from Jameson.
This song peaked at #20 on the Billboard 100 and #14 in Canada in 1976. They were a British band that never had much success in the UK…but they did have a lot of success in America. The album peaked at #23 on the Billboard Album Charts and #85 in Canada in 1976.
Slow Ride
Woo!
Slow ride, take it easy
Slow ride, take it easy
Slow ride, take it easy
Slow ride, take it easy
I’m in the mood
The rhythm is right
Move to the music
We can roll all night
Oh slow ride
Oh slow ride, take it easy
Slow ride, take it easy
Slow down, go down, got to get your lovin’ one more time
Hold me, roll me, slow ridin’ woman you’re so fine
Woo
I’m in the mood
The rhythm is right
Move to the music
We can roll all night, yeah
Oh
Slow ride, take it easy
Slow ride, take it easy
Slow down, go down, got to get your lovin’ one more time
Hold me, roll me, slow ridin’ woman you’re so fine
When I was growing up, I remember watching music shows from Nashville, and I saw this white haired man constantly. That white haired guy was Charlie Rich. I never knew much about his older music, but I am really getting into it.
After a stint in the Air Force, Rich started writing his own songs and playing around Memphis, the city that ended up shaping him more than anything else. Memphis in the 1950s was a blend of blues, country, gospel, and early rock and roll, and Rich fit right into the middle. He wasn’t a purist of any genre; he was a blender, and that would become his signature for the rest of his career.
His big break came when he walked into Sun Records, though it wasn’t exactly instant stardom. Sam Phillips didn’t quite know what to do with him because Rich didn’t fit the Sun mold. He wasn’t a raw rocker like Jerry Lee Lewis, and he wasn’t a rockabilly guy like Carl Perkins. He was smoother, jazzier, more complicated.
Before he became the “Silver Fox” singing Behind Closed Doors, he was a studio guy down in Memphis, searching for the sound that matched his style. Midnight Blues, recorded in 1960 for Sun, captures that in-between phase perfectly, smoky, late-night melancholy set to a subtle shuffle.
Some singers have a pain in their voice, such as Richard Manuel of the Band. Charlie Rich’s early Sun Records is like that as well. What always blows me away with Rich is that he could sound both heartbroken and confident at the same time. This song has a little bit of everything in it. He had one of those voices that could blend into anything, from country to soul, jazz, or blues.
He would go on to have nine country number ones in the 1970s. Lonely Weekends was his first US hit. It hit #27 on Cash Box in 1960.
Midnight Blues
Midnite, you know you’re doing me wrong Midnite, doing me wrong Keeping me up all night long All night, all night long Everytime I feel a little bit free I hear those blues, midnite blues Commence to calling me Midnite, why don’t you leave me alone Leave me, leave me alone I’m trying my best to make a happy home Happy, happy home Everytime I feel a little bit free I hear those blues, midnite blues Commence to calling me I just can’t help to feel a little bit ashamed Everytime I hear you call my name I’m blaming you for all the bad things I’ve done Blame you for what I’ve done Still I will admit that every once in a while it was fun
Yeah but midnite, don’t keep me running around Don’t keep running around I made up my mind, I’m gonna settle down Ah ha, settle down Everytime I feel a little bit free I hear those blues, midnite blues Blues, midnite blues I hear those blues, midnite blues Commence to calling me That blues is a calling me Midnite blues is a calling me
I’ve always liked this song. It was originally by Henry Mancini for the Peter Gunn television show in 1958. I love instrumentals, and this is one of the best. I think the heyday of instrumentals was the fifties and sixties.
This (and many of his songs) was recorded in a Phoenix studio, which had an echo chamber that was originally a large water tank. A single speaker was placed at one end of the tank, the microphone at the other, and the guitar was piped in there. It’s hard to mimic that with a reverb stomp box.
Duane Eddy, the man who made a single twangy note sound like thunder rolling across the land. In 1959, he took Henry Mancini’s already cool Peter Gunn TV theme and turned it into something leaner and meaner. Backing him up was producer Lee Hazlewood, who knew how to turn an amplifier and that echo chamber into sonic gold. Together, they recorded this song in Phoenix, with a rhythm section that was tight and lean.
I like how Eddy arranged his songs. No big flashy solos or seeing how fast he could play, just that sound he had, never letting up. Duane Eddy laid the groundwork for surf music, spy soundtracks, and even hard rock. Everyone from The Ventures to George Harrison took notes from that tone.
The song peaked at #27 on the Billboard 100, #30 in Canada, and #6 in the UK in 1959 and 1960.
If I was gonna get movin’, now was the time So I packed up my bags and my Gretsch ’59
When I heard the Stray Cats in the early eighties, I thought I had it on the wrong station. It didn’t exactly fit in with Sheena Easton, Andy Gibb, Barry Manilow, or Dan Fogelberg. What I heard sounded like it came out of 1956, and I loved it. The echo, upright bass, and big Gretsch guitar were there. A 1950s revival had happened in the 1970s, and it started in the 80s with the Stray Cats, but the other rockabilly bands would not reach such high chart positions as they did.
After the Stray Cats brought rockabilly back to radio, Setzer took a wild detour into big-band swing with the Brian Setzer Orchestra, proving that big pompadours and horn sections could coexist. This song is from his 1996 album Guitar Slinger. The song is about a rocker greaser who could out-race, out-play, and out-cool anyone in town.
Setzer has always been a guitarist storyteller, and here he channels every Gene Vincent, Eddie Cochran, and Link Wray riff he ever loved into one blast. The song kicks off with surfy reverb, blaring horns, and a beat that feels like a V8 engine coming to life (I just had to put a car reference there). Johnny Kool is the spirit of every hot-rod rebel who ever revved an engine down a road.
“The Legend Of Johnny Kool” might not have hit the charts, but it shows what makes Setzer special. He never plays rockabilly as a museum piece; he plays it like it’s still dangerous and fun…and it still is!
(The Legend of) Johnny Kool
I had one cup of coffee and a cigarette Then I rolled out of bed with my shirt soaking wet If I was gonna get movin’, now was the time So I packed up my bags and my Gretsch ’59
It’s a hard life, love But when push comes to shove It’s the only life for Johnny, Johnny, Johnny Kool Plays his guitar and he sang like a fool Don’t let the big boys grind you down
Johnny, Johnny, Johnny Kool He was a rebel that broke all the rules Everyone can’t stop talkin’ about The legend of Johnny Kool
It was darker than black, not a star in the sky So I revved on the engine and let that Mercury fly With the wind blowin’ by at a 105 I was trying like hell just to keep it alive
It’s a hard life, love But when push comes to shove It’s the only life for Johnny, Johnny, Johnny Kool Played his guitar and he sang like a fool Don’t let the big boys grind you down
Johnny, Johnny, Johnny Kool He was a rebel that broke all the rules Everyone can’t stop talkin’ about The legend of Johnny Kool
Rumor had it now, this cat had it all He was loud, he was wild, and he sure rocked the hall Some guy grabbed my arm and I jumped on the stage And I was rockin’ with a guy who was twice my age
It’s a tough life, love But when push comes to shove It’s the only life for Johnny, Johnny, Johnny Kool Played his guitar and he sang like a fool Don’t let the big boys grind you down
Johnny, Johnny, Johnny Kool He was a rebel that broke all the rules Everyone can’t stop talkin’ about The legend of Johnny Kool
Johnny, Johnny, Johnny Kool He’s a rebel, Johnny Kool He’s a legend, Johnny Kool Everybody can’t stop talkin’ about The legend of Johnny Kool
Just found this band. What a band, Ry Cooder and Taj Mahal in the same band. It doesn’t get much better than that. Some songs sound like they were born on the back porch, passed around from player to player, gathering different fingerprints and stories along the way. This is one of those songs. This is a traditional song arranged by the Rising Sons.
The band formed around 1964 in Los Angeles, built on the partnership between two then unknown but soon to be legendary musicians, Taj Mahal and Ry Cooder. Taj had moved west from Massachusetts after studying agriculture and getting into the folk revival. Cooder was a teenage slide guitar prodigy growing up in Santa Monica who already had a reputation as the kid who could play anything with strings. They met in the LA clubs, places like the Ash Grove and Troubadour.
They quickly became a standout act on the LA scene. They were signed to Columbia Records in 1965, which tells you how much buzz they had, but the label didn’t really understand what to do with a group that wasn’t rock, wasn’t folk, and wasn’t blues, but somehow all three. Their album was shelved for decades. This is the same problem the Goose Creek Symphony had; the label didn’t know what box to put them in.
The real joy of their Candy Man is how it captures a moment in time right before American roots music exploded. This was before the Byrds went country, and The Band were still the Hawks backing up Bob Dylan. This short-lived 1965 band was a great one, featuring a young Taj Mahal, an even younger Ry Cooder, and future Byrds drummer Kevin Kelley (later on), who replaced Ed Cassidy, Jesse Lee Kincaid on vocals and guitar, and Gary Marker on bass. The Rising Sons didn’t last long, but recordings like this show just how special that little window was.
They recorded an album, and it was produced by Terry Melcher. The album wasn’t released, but this single was. The album was finally released in 1992. It’s blues meeting folk with a bit of country rock in there. I was reminded in the comments that this version was based on the Reverend Gary Davis version. Thank you, halffastcyclingclub and purplegoatee2684b071ed.
I wanted to include these slang words and definitions that were given.
Salty Dog – In blues songs, a “salty dog” is a slang term for a man, often an experienced sailor, who seeks a casual, non-committal sexual relationship. The phrase can also refer to a libidinous man more generally, or someone who is “salty” in the sense of being experienced, spicy, or unpredictable.
Candy Man – In blues songs, a “Candy Man” is a term for a gigolo, ladies’ man, or dealer of drugs, often with a sexually suggestive connotation. While the literal interpretation is a seller of candy, the more common meaning in traditional blues songs refers to a charismatic and enticing man who sells a different kind of “sweet” product, like sexual favors or drugs.
Gary Marker: “We were the problem; we had difficulties distilling our multiple musical agendas down to a product that would sell. We had no actual leader, no clear musical vision…. I think [Melcher] went out of his way to make us happy – within the scope of his knowledge. He tried just about everything he could, including the live, acoustic session that produced ‘2:10 Train.'”
Candy Man
Candy man, Candy man Been and gone been and gone Candy man, Candy man Been and gone been and gone Candy man, Candy man Been and gone been and gone
Well, I wish I was down in New Orleans Sitting on the candy stand Candy gal through the candy stand Oh yea, got stuck on the candy man Candy gal through the candy stand Oh yea, got stuck on the candy man Candy gal through the candy stand Oh yea, got stuck on the candy man
I love my candy gal God knows I do Little red light, little red light Little green light, little green light Little red light, little red light Little green light, blue green light Little red light, little red light Little green light, little green light The light’s stuck on red but when it goes to green don’t you mess with Mr. Inbetween
Went on down to the candy stand Found my gal with the candy man I went on down to the candy stand Found my gal with the candy man Took her hand from the candy man I said I’d be her candy man now
I love my candy gal God knows I do
Candy man Candy man Salty dog, Salty dog Candy man Candy man Salty dog, Salty dog Candy man Candy man Salty dog, Salty dog
Well, I wish I was down in New Orleans Sitting on the candy stand
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