How was I not hip to Mandrill? Sure, I'd heard the name spoken reverently by fans of old-school funk and soul and had passing familiarity with hits such as "Fencewalk" and "Mango Meat," but somehow I'd missed out on the snap-tight, brass-fueled 10-tet led by the Dominican-born, Brooklyn-raised Wilson brothers. Last night on Hollywood Beach, headlining the weekend's seventh annual Clambake, the mega-influential, monkey-monikered multiculturists put on a two-hour master's class in rhythm and groove that marks them as more than than a match for better-known contemporaries such as War, Tower of Power, Chicago and Rare Earth. It was hardly an exercise in nostalgia, either; the band sounds fresh and timeless, not only thanks to the addition of a (very unobtrusive) turntablist, as well as a rap performance by Lou Wilson's son, One Sun Lion Ra, but also because these cats were ahead of their time, pioneers of world-music and funk, and they play it like they still mean it.
The Wilson brothers, who formed the band in 1968, remain on the front line and cut quite a figure: Carlos dancing around the stage with his trombone slung over his shoulder; zebra-shirted Lou handling most of the lead vocals, blasting trumpet and trilling flute; Ric with a spray of gray dreadlocks cascading from a topknot blowing sax; and the cigar-chomping Wilfredo bopping away on congas and percussion. The ecstatic horns upped the excitement with unison lines, and vocal harmonies were as tight as you'd expect from a band of brothers, especially on the close-sung "House of Wood," which they dedicated to their granddad, and even an a cappella novelty ditty about a housefly gleefully shitting on everyone and everything.
A superb band, including original guitarist Omar Mesa, lent dynamic support, with particularly energetic drumming and Hammond B3 helping drive the action. Tunes such as the above-mentioned "Fencewalk" and "Mango Meat," as well as stone-cold acid-funk workouts on "Peace and Love," "Rollin' On" and "Polk Street Carnival" kept audiences smiling and dancing in the sand and on the dance floor in front of the stage.
For more on the band, check out Mandrillis.com. And for sure, next time they come to town, be sure to be in the house.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Farewell to Nappy Brown
One of the great voices in blues and R&B was lost this Saturday with the passing of Nappy Brown. Even at an advanced age — he would have turned 79 in October — Brown was still singing beautifully, his deep blues shout drawing raves on last year's Long Time Coming for the Blind Pig label.
As anyone who saw him perform can attest, Brown was also one hell of an entertainer. When he'd hit the floor on a tune like the raunchy "I'm a Lemon Squeezin' Daddy," he was connecting with generations of great blues and R&B showmen before him, from Howlin' Wolf to Big Jay McNeely. I spoke with Brown, who was born Napoleon Culp Brown in Charlotte, N.C., several years ago before he was set to perform at the Bamboo Room, about his stage antics, as well as his authorship of "Night Time," which became a smash for Ray Charles (as "Night Time Is the Right Time"), and his lack of both credit and royalties for same. Here are some excerpts from that interview.
On "Night Time": "After I wrote and recorded it [in 1957], that was a hit for a long time. And then after it cooled off, it ceased a little, and then Ray Charles picked it up. Only my ‘Night Time’ was slow, slow-like tempo, drop a beat behind it. His was fast-tempoed, with the Raelettes. That’s what pushed it over. Because he had everything note for note from mine, everything.”
On Savoy Records president Herman Lubinsky, who put his name as author of "Night Time": “Yeahhh. He was one of the biggest crooks there was [cracks up]. You see, when I recorded it, it was under my name, Napoleon [Culp], and that was in the studio. So, it was a long time before I knew it. So when it left out the studio, it had Herman Lubinsky and Arthur Kadina and N.C., that was me. Arthur Kadina he was the jazz band there."
On his laying down on-stage during performances: “I’ll tell you what. When I was a little boy, I used to go to a place where they used to have the dances, they would call it the I’m Not a Tourist dance. And they’d have different ones, you know, and we’d pay to go in and see different ones, like teenagers do. And, so, where I got that from, Roy Brown started that [chuckles]. And I been doin’ that every since. Except when I was in gospel, I come up in gospel, I started walking all up in the audience, but that layin’ down? That really come from Roy Brown. And Big Jay McNeely, when he laid down and blow his sax. Uh huh.
“If you got a good show, it takes you a long ways. Something that they’re not doing today. See, they don’t do that stuff now. When I come on the stage, doing this dancing and all this stuff, see, they don’t do that now. All that stuff was back in the '50s. Singing, dancing, acting and everything else. Really, it’s just one of those things."
On raunchy songs like "I'm a Lemon Squeezin' Daddy," which got him discovered and signed to Savoy after he sang it in a talent show: “Back in those days, you couldn’t record it. It was a little too, what I call, a little too vulgar-like. You couldn’t record like you record now. Everything had to be clean. And Roy Hamilton, he was on the talent show, and he won first place with ‘You Never Walk Alone.’ And I won second place with ‘Lemon Squeezin’ Daddy.’ In fact, they wanted me, the two managers trying to choose between me and Roy about ‘You Never Walk Alone.’ So, I told them that wasn’t in my vein, that was for Roy. ‘Lemon Squeezin' Daddy’ was for me. Roy was a ballad singer.”
"Savoy didn’t have a problem with that. The only problem was they wouldn’t let me record it. It’s not too long ago that I started to record it. Back then, everything had to been clean and polished. Today you can use words such as ‘fonky this’ and ‘fonky that.’ In fact, you can say anything you want these days. You couldn’t say that back then."
As anyone who saw him perform can attest, Brown was also one hell of an entertainer. When he'd hit the floor on a tune like the raunchy "I'm a Lemon Squeezin' Daddy," he was connecting with generations of great blues and R&B showmen before him, from Howlin' Wolf to Big Jay McNeely. I spoke with Brown, who was born Napoleon Culp Brown in Charlotte, N.C., several years ago before he was set to perform at the Bamboo Room, about his stage antics, as well as his authorship of "Night Time," which became a smash for Ray Charles (as "Night Time Is the Right Time"), and his lack of both credit and royalties for same. Here are some excerpts from that interview.
On "Night Time": "After I wrote and recorded it [in 1957], that was a hit for a long time. And then after it cooled off, it ceased a little, and then Ray Charles picked it up. Only my ‘Night Time’ was slow, slow-like tempo, drop a beat behind it. His was fast-tempoed, with the Raelettes. That’s what pushed it over. Because he had everything note for note from mine, everything.”
On Savoy Records president Herman Lubinsky, who put his name as author of "Night Time": “Yeahhh. He was one of the biggest crooks there was [cracks up]. You see, when I recorded it, it was under my name, Napoleon [Culp], and that was in the studio. So, it was a long time before I knew it. So when it left out the studio, it had Herman Lubinsky and Arthur Kadina and N.C., that was me. Arthur Kadina he was the jazz band there."
On his laying down on-stage during performances: “I’ll tell you what. When I was a little boy, I used to go to a place where they used to have the dances, they would call it the I’m Not a Tourist dance. And they’d have different ones, you know, and we’d pay to go in and see different ones, like teenagers do. And, so, where I got that from, Roy Brown started that [chuckles]. And I been doin’ that every since. Except when I was in gospel, I come up in gospel, I started walking all up in the audience, but that layin’ down? That really come from Roy Brown. And Big Jay McNeely, when he laid down and blow his sax. Uh huh.
“If you got a good show, it takes you a long ways. Something that they’re not doing today. See, they don’t do that stuff now. When I come on the stage, doing this dancing and all this stuff, see, they don’t do that now. All that stuff was back in the '50s. Singing, dancing, acting and everything else. Really, it’s just one of those things."
On raunchy songs like "I'm a Lemon Squeezin' Daddy," which got him discovered and signed to Savoy after he sang it in a talent show: “Back in those days, you couldn’t record it. It was a little too, what I call, a little too vulgar-like. You couldn’t record like you record now. Everything had to be clean. And Roy Hamilton, he was on the talent show, and he won first place with ‘You Never Walk Alone.’ And I won second place with ‘Lemon Squeezin’ Daddy.’ In fact, they wanted me, the two managers trying to choose between me and Roy about ‘You Never Walk Alone.’ So, I told them that wasn’t in my vein, that was for Roy. ‘Lemon Squeezin' Daddy’ was for me. Roy was a ballad singer.”
"Savoy didn’t have a problem with that. The only problem was they wouldn’t let me record it. It’s not too long ago that I started to record it. Back then, everything had to been clean and polished. Today you can use words such as ‘fonky this’ and ‘fonky that.’ In fact, you can say anything you want these days. You couldn’t say that back then."
Monday, September 15, 2008
Moore better funk
Stanton Moore couldn't stop smiling. And who could blame him? On-stage at a packed City Limits, the New Orleans funk drummer was in the cat-bird's seat, displaying huge chops and on-the-spot creativity alongside comrades Robert Walter on the Hammond B3 and Will Bernard on guitar. The all-star trio lived up to its rep over two crackling sets, as Walter trilled and filled and added bottom, Bernard scratched out rhythmic funk and went to the slide on stabbing solos and the bespectacled Moore drummed up a parade ground of shuffles and added color and swing and booty-shaking percussive propulsion. (For a taste, dig Emphasis! (on Parenthesis), the threesome's most-recent slab.)
Booking agent Jackie Bressler was able to snag Moore and co. on the fly, as the trio was wrapping its tour and the drummer was headed back to N.O. to rejoin his bandmates in Galactic for an upcoming East Coaster. While Moore may have moaned a bit about having to trek this far down the peninsula, gas prices being what they are, he didn't look or sound like he regretted the sidetrip in the least, finishing up a lenghty second set on a joyous note with the Blue Note-era-sounding "(Late Night at the) Maple Leaf," a tribute to the famed Carrollton nightspot.
This well-attended Sunday-night party represents one of the first big shows at the new City Limits, which recently reopened just across the railroad tracks (and across the street from its longtime former location) on Atlantic Avenue in Delray Beach. Brick-walled and high-ceilinged, the location apparently once was a warehouse. While it's handsomely appointed, the venue's vibe is casual (though drinks ain't cheap; I shelled out $8 a pop for VO and Sevens.) And it's plenty roomy, with two wall-length bars running along the main performance space, a smaller bar off to one side behind it, and yet another in the comfortable upstairs space.
Bressler, who formerly booked bands at Revolution, has some exciting upcoming acts. On Friday (Sept. 19), Big Sam's Funky Nation (also playing at Hollywood's Clambake the following week) joins up with Miami's own Spam Allstars for what's sure to be one helluva fun double-bill. And on Oct. 4, Bressler pulled off a real coup in booking soul-blues legend Bobby "Blue" Bland. Check out newcitylimits.com or Myspace.com/citylimitsdelray for more. And look for more dispatches right here, as I know I'll be trekking up there again in the very near future.
Booking agent Jackie Bressler was able to snag Moore and co. on the fly, as the trio was wrapping its tour and the drummer was headed back to N.O. to rejoin his bandmates in Galactic for an upcoming East Coaster. While Moore may have moaned a bit about having to trek this far down the peninsula, gas prices being what they are, he didn't look or sound like he regretted the sidetrip in the least, finishing up a lenghty second set on a joyous note with the Blue Note-era-sounding "(Late Night at the) Maple Leaf," a tribute to the famed Carrollton nightspot.
This well-attended Sunday-night party represents one of the first big shows at the new City Limits, which recently reopened just across the railroad tracks (and across the street from its longtime former location) on Atlantic Avenue in Delray Beach. Brick-walled and high-ceilinged, the location apparently once was a warehouse. While it's handsomely appointed, the venue's vibe is casual (though drinks ain't cheap; I shelled out $8 a pop for VO and Sevens.) And it's plenty roomy, with two wall-length bars running along the main performance space, a smaller bar off to one side behind it, and yet another in the comfortable upstairs space.
Bressler, who formerly booked bands at Revolution, has some exciting upcoming acts. On Friday (Sept. 19), Big Sam's Funky Nation (also playing at Hollywood's Clambake the following week) joins up with Miami's own Spam Allstars for what's sure to be one helluva fun double-bill. And on Oct. 4, Bressler pulled off a real coup in booking soul-blues legend Bobby "Blue" Bland. Check out newcitylimits.com or Myspace.com/citylimitsdelray for more. And look for more dispatches right here, as I know I'll be trekking up there again in the very near future.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Found my MOJO
I've been trying to get my office into some semblance of order for about, oh, six months now. I just managed to sort through 10 years' worth of City Link magazines that had formed along one wall, and I'm now delving into the boxes that contain at least that many years' worth of accumulated notes, press releases, CDs, cassettes (remember them?) and old magazines.
While excavating last night, I came across an old issue of MOJO, the Brit music mag, and stayed up way too late reading in-depth articles about Tusk era Fleetwood Mac and the glory days of Gil Scott Heron. Anyway, MOJO also ran a short feature in which they asked performers as diverse as Siouxsie Sioux and Dr. Ralph Stanley a handful of questions that I found quite revealing about their musical tastes. It also got me to thinking that as a journalist, I often ask these types of questions in interviews, but I never get to answer them. (Yeah, yeah, poor me. No forum except a column that ran for eight years in City Link and another one that appears monthly in Jazziz.) So, here are my responses to the MOJO quiz, as reported by, well, me:
What music are you currently grooving to?
Ah, thanks for asking! The Talking House label has just released the first three volumes of its excellent Blueprints of Jazz series, which have been in heavy rotation here in the jazz and blues bunker. Killer straight-ahead jams by drummer Mike Clark's sextet, with Christian McBride on bass and Donald Harrison on alto (Vol. 1); tenor saxophonist Billy Harper's octet, featuring the brilliant spoken-word artistry of Amiri Baraka, who traces the roots of black music from its African origins to 52nd Street and beyond (Vol. 2); and drummer Donald Bailey's quintet grooving high on the hardbop with a couple of heavy cats in tenor man Odean Pope and trumpeter Charles Tolliver (Vol. 3).
What, if push came to shove, is your all-time favourite album?
Again, great question, even if you are resorting to British spellings. I'd have to say John Coltrane's A Love Supreme is one of a few albums I can return to again and again and never get tired of hearing it. The suite of songs is so rich and beautiful, played by one of the best ensembles in jazz (Trane, McCoy Tyner, Jimmy Garrison and Elvin Jones), and deeply moving. Trane's playing reveals his utter confidence in a higher power but also seems to be searching for answers to existential questions.
What was the first record you ever bought? And where did you buy it?
The first records I remember picking out on my own were 45s of "Welcome Back, Kotter" and the theme to "Happy Days." I had just turned 10, and my next door neighbor's dad ran a record store. So, for my birthday, he invited me to the store to select my gift. I had no idea at the time that John Sebastian had been the lead singer of Lovin' Spoonful, but I liked his voice and the urban vibe of the opening "Kotter" credits. Also, I was really into the '50s doo-wop sound, which seemed to have a resurgence in the early to mid '70s with groups like Sha-Na-Na, who even had their own TV show. Certainly, "Happy Days" did its share to boost nostalgia for that era. I also remember thinking boy, that Potsie sure could sing!
Which musician have you ever wanted to be?
Keith Richards.
What do you sing in the shower?
Well, this morning, I worked through an early Dylan medley. But depending on my mood, I like to belt out tunes by Chicago, Little River Band, The Commodores, Steely Dan, The Doobie Bros., Poco, John Prine, Chris Smither, Ted Hawkins and all manner of blues, jump swing and R&B. It's a great act, really. You should catch it sometime. (Bring your own soap.)
What is your favourite Saturday night record?
Miles Davis' Kind of Blue has that slinky, nocturnal energy that gets me going and anticipating what the night will bring.
And your favourite Sunday morning record?
Charlie Parker With Strings. Sunday paper, big ol' mug of coffee and Bird caressing "Just Friends" and "Autumn in New York" with that sumptuous orchestra behind him. About as good as it gets.
While excavating last night, I came across an old issue of MOJO, the Brit music mag, and stayed up way too late reading in-depth articles about Tusk era Fleetwood Mac and the glory days of Gil Scott Heron. Anyway, MOJO also ran a short feature in which they asked performers as diverse as Siouxsie Sioux and Dr. Ralph Stanley a handful of questions that I found quite revealing about their musical tastes. It also got me to thinking that as a journalist, I often ask these types of questions in interviews, but I never get to answer them. (Yeah, yeah, poor me. No forum except a column that ran for eight years in City Link and another one that appears monthly in Jazziz.) So, here are my responses to the MOJO quiz, as reported by, well, me:
What music are you currently grooving to?
Ah, thanks for asking! The Talking House label has just released the first three volumes of its excellent Blueprints of Jazz series, which have been in heavy rotation here in the jazz and blues bunker. Killer straight-ahead jams by drummer Mike Clark's sextet, with Christian McBride on bass and Donald Harrison on alto (Vol. 1); tenor saxophonist Billy Harper's octet, featuring the brilliant spoken-word artistry of Amiri Baraka, who traces the roots of black music from its African origins to 52nd Street and beyond (Vol. 2); and drummer Donald Bailey's quintet grooving high on the hardbop with a couple of heavy cats in tenor man Odean Pope and trumpeter Charles Tolliver (Vol. 3).
What, if push came to shove, is your all-time favourite album?
Again, great question, even if you are resorting to British spellings. I'd have to say John Coltrane's A Love Supreme is one of a few albums I can return to again and again and never get tired of hearing it. The suite of songs is so rich and beautiful, played by one of the best ensembles in jazz (Trane, McCoy Tyner, Jimmy Garrison and Elvin Jones), and deeply moving. Trane's playing reveals his utter confidence in a higher power but also seems to be searching for answers to existential questions.
What was the first record you ever bought? And where did you buy it?
The first records I remember picking out on my own were 45s of "Welcome Back, Kotter" and the theme to "Happy Days." I had just turned 10, and my next door neighbor's dad ran a record store. So, for my birthday, he invited me to the store to select my gift. I had no idea at the time that John Sebastian had been the lead singer of Lovin' Spoonful, but I liked his voice and the urban vibe of the opening "Kotter" credits. Also, I was really into the '50s doo-wop sound, which seemed to have a resurgence in the early to mid '70s with groups like Sha-Na-Na, who even had their own TV show. Certainly, "Happy Days" did its share to boost nostalgia for that era. I also remember thinking boy, that Potsie sure could sing!
Which musician have you ever wanted to be?
Keith Richards.
What do you sing in the shower?
Well, this morning, I worked through an early Dylan medley. But depending on my mood, I like to belt out tunes by Chicago, Little River Band, The Commodores, Steely Dan, The Doobie Bros., Poco, John Prine, Chris Smither, Ted Hawkins and all manner of blues, jump swing and R&B. It's a great act, really. You should catch it sometime. (Bring your own soap.)
What is your favourite Saturday night record?
Miles Davis' Kind of Blue has that slinky, nocturnal energy that gets me going and anticipating what the night will bring.
And your favourite Sunday morning record?
Charlie Parker With Strings. Sunday paper, big ol' mug of coffee and Bird caressing "Just Friends" and "Autumn in New York" with that sumptuous orchestra behind him. About as good as it gets.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Remembering Spider Martin
Tom Marcello, manager of vibraphone wizard Joe Locke, checked in with BWJAZZANDBLUES this weekend regarding a previous post about South Florida jazz fave John "Spider" Martin. Initially, Marcello wrote, "In all honesty, Spider wasn't much of a tenor player, but he was a virtuoso self promoter. Even from the grave!" He then enclosed a flier that Locke sent along to him regarding a Sept. 6 tribute to Spider at the Ontario House in Niagara Falls, featuring B3 Hammond monster Joey DeFrancesco. (Apparently, Spider's brother, Kenny, had sent the flier to Locke.)
That may be so, I countered, but on the recording I was writing about, Live From the Breakers of Fort Lauderdale Rooftop, Spider played with plenty of heart and feeling, and I still think the disc holds up as a great snapshot of the mid-'80s jazz scene here in South Florida. (Dr. Lonnie Smith and Ignacio Berroa are also on it, and Blue Note record store owner Bob Perry is the emcee.) It's also a fond rememberance of the troubled saxophonist who tragically passed away in 2000 after battling demons and addictions for decades.
Here's Marcello's affectionate reminiscence of palling around with Spider in upstate New York:
"Spider and I hung out a lot during the '70s after he was released from Attica. I spent many a good night listening to him play and going out to the after-hours clubs. It was he who introduced me to Dizzy and Max [Roach]. Fond memories!
"I meant not to dis Spider's playing so much, but the fact is if he put as much effort into his horn as he did in his hustles, he would have been greater.
"Spider could always hustle a gig. It wasn't too many months after he was released from jail that he got a concert with the Rochester Philharmonic! He also gave gigs to many of the young guys in Rochester (who needed the experience) like Joe, Barry Kiener, Greg Skaff and many others. In fact, Joe still uses one of his sayings when he ends a set: "Stick with your party and don't bother nobody." You have to say it with the right accent on the vowels!
"He burned his bridges here in a number of ways (small rip-offs and passing bad checks; that's what landed him in jail) and he split to South Florida. My first wife was from Miami, and in January of '86 we were down there visiting and I saw an ad that he was at the Gusman doing a MLK tribute concert with Joe, Dizzy, Mongo [Santamaria] and Nestor Torres. I stopped by and was happy that he had become one of the main players there. That's the last time I saw him.
"So, a lot of fond memories of Spider Martin for me!"
In addition to managing Joe Locke, Marcello is also a helluva photographer. Check out his amazing jazz snaps at http://www.flickr.com/photos/11447043@N00/. He truly captures the Rochester and New York loft scenes of the '70s; look for some killer shots of Sam Rivers holding court at Studio RivBea.
That may be so, I countered, but on the recording I was writing about, Live From the Breakers of Fort Lauderdale Rooftop, Spider played with plenty of heart and feeling, and I still think the disc holds up as a great snapshot of the mid-'80s jazz scene here in South Florida. (Dr. Lonnie Smith and Ignacio Berroa are also on it, and Blue Note record store owner Bob Perry is the emcee.) It's also a fond rememberance of the troubled saxophonist who tragically passed away in 2000 after battling demons and addictions for decades.
Here's Marcello's affectionate reminiscence of palling around with Spider in upstate New York:
"Spider and I hung out a lot during the '70s after he was released from Attica. I spent many a good night listening to him play and going out to the after-hours clubs. It was he who introduced me to Dizzy and Max [Roach]. Fond memories!
"I meant not to dis Spider's playing so much, but the fact is if he put as much effort into his horn as he did in his hustles, he would have been greater.
"Spider could always hustle a gig. It wasn't too many months after he was released from jail that he got a concert with the Rochester Philharmonic! He also gave gigs to many of the young guys in Rochester (who needed the experience) like Joe, Barry Kiener, Greg Skaff and many others. In fact, Joe still uses one of his sayings when he ends a set: "Stick with your party and don't bother nobody." You have to say it with the right accent on the vowels!
"He burned his bridges here in a number of ways (small rip-offs and passing bad checks; that's what landed him in jail) and he split to South Florida. My first wife was from Miami, and in January of '86 we were down there visiting and I saw an ad that he was at the Gusman doing a MLK tribute concert with Joe, Dizzy, Mongo [Santamaria] and Nestor Torres. I stopped by and was happy that he had become one of the main players there. That's the last time I saw him.
"So, a lot of fond memories of Spider Martin for me!"
In addition to managing Joe Locke, Marcello is also a helluva photographer. Check out his amazing jazz snaps at http://www.flickr.com/photos/11447043@N00/. He truly captures the Rochester and New York loft scenes of the '70s; look for some killer shots of Sam Rivers holding court at Studio RivBea.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Matt "Guitar" Murphy is still one bad mother
I wasn't quite sure what to expect when I trekked up to The Back Room last night to see Matt "Guitar" Murphy. The Mississippi-born guitarist, who made his name alongside blues elite such as Memphis Slim and Sonny Boy Williamson II and gained mainstream fame with The Blues Brothers movies, is either 78 or 80 years old (depending on what source you cite) and had suffered a stroke a few years back that severely affected his right side. As it turned out, there was no need for concern, as Murphy delivered the goods and then some.
But that wasn't evident from the get-go. First off, Murphy and his wife, who were driving up from Kendall, were having trouble finding the venue, which is on a long, dark stretch of Dixie Highway in Boca. Although he didn't arrive till 11 for a 9:30 show, the wait was more than tolerable thanks to the extremely entertaining and talented Darrell Raines and his excellent band, including the dynamic harp blowing of Pix Ensign, the rollicking keyboards of Jerry Mascaro and the terrific rhythm team of bassist George Caldwell and drummer Dr. Bob Sellani. A somewhat limited vocalist who nonetheless sells each song with plenty of feeling, Raines has great charisma and a fiery but not flamboyant guitar style that shows his deep respect for and knowledge of the idiom. His library of licks recalled everyone from Freddie King to Elmore James to Jimi Hendrix (but not in that derivative fashion that makes so many Hendrix-inspired guitarists so damn tiresome), and he reminded me of similarly powerful but restrained guitarslingers such as Lurrie Bell.
When Murphy arrived and began making his way to the stage, the image was shocking. If your enduring image of him is the vital, musclebound dude from The Blues Brothers, you couldn't help but be taken aback by his deliberate gait and the loose skin that hangs from once-taut biceps. Still, once he gingerly stepped on stage, sat down and strapped on his blond Telecaster (the same one, Jim Nestor tells me, that graces the cover of Murphy's Down South album), a familiar smile creased his broad face and he was once again Matt "Guitar" Murphy.
The band launched into "Matt's Guitar Boogie," Murphy's signature tune, and his jazzy chordings and sweet intonation, which calls up Memphis like no other sound, were in fine form. Even without the use of the digits on his right hand — he used just his right thumb, and believe me, the fingers on his left hand were as speedy and precise as ever — Murphy masterfully evokes the city where he found fame early on; his sound will be instantly recognizable to anyone who spent a great deal of time with The Blues Brothers' Briefcase Full of Blues album, as I did as a kid.
Murphy's and Raines' contrasting styles worked beautifully in tandem, as the pair traded leads and Murphy also displayed expert chops as a rhythm player. Even if you swore you'd never sit through another version of "Sweet Home Chicago" again, the version these guys cooked up was a real treat, full of improvisational back-and-forth as the two guitarists laid into the groove and jammed on a lengthy instrumental intro.
For the second set, Nouveaux Honkies guitarist Tim O'Donnell joined the proceedings, and like Raines, showed the utmost deference to Murphy as he was obviously thrilled to be sharing the stage with him. Dressed in a sharp suit and tie, O'Donnell played slide and did some fleet-fingered soloing on his hollow-body jazz box, as well as singing a couple of numbers alongside Raines and Murphy, who obviously got a kick out of him and shared more than a couple of laughs that seemed to suggest, "How does this white boy know all this shit?" Best of all was when O'Donnell inquired if Murphy remembered "Mother Earth," the great existential blues by Memphis Slim. "Oh, yeah," Murphy replied, as they launched into the doomy, familiar riff, with O'Donnell powerfully vocalizing and Murphy time-tripping back to another era as they concluded the set on a high note before Murphy hit the highway back to South Miami.
Certainly, Murphy is no museum piece. This show was just flat-out fun, and it seemed like everyone on stage was just delighted to be there. That goes for everyone off-stage, as well.
But that wasn't evident from the get-go. First off, Murphy and his wife, who were driving up from Kendall, were having trouble finding the venue, which is on a long, dark stretch of Dixie Highway in Boca. Although he didn't arrive till 11 for a 9:30 show, the wait was more than tolerable thanks to the extremely entertaining and talented Darrell Raines and his excellent band, including the dynamic harp blowing of Pix Ensign, the rollicking keyboards of Jerry Mascaro and the terrific rhythm team of bassist George Caldwell and drummer Dr. Bob Sellani. A somewhat limited vocalist who nonetheless sells each song with plenty of feeling, Raines has great charisma and a fiery but not flamboyant guitar style that shows his deep respect for and knowledge of the idiom. His library of licks recalled everyone from Freddie King to Elmore James to Jimi Hendrix (but not in that derivative fashion that makes so many Hendrix-inspired guitarists so damn tiresome), and he reminded me of similarly powerful but restrained guitarslingers such as Lurrie Bell.
When Murphy arrived and began making his way to the stage, the image was shocking. If your enduring image of him is the vital, musclebound dude from The Blues Brothers, you couldn't help but be taken aback by his deliberate gait and the loose skin that hangs from once-taut biceps. Still, once he gingerly stepped on stage, sat down and strapped on his blond Telecaster (the same one, Jim Nestor tells me, that graces the cover of Murphy's Down South album), a familiar smile creased his broad face and he was once again Matt "Guitar" Murphy.
The band launched into "Matt's Guitar Boogie," Murphy's signature tune, and his jazzy chordings and sweet intonation, which calls up Memphis like no other sound, were in fine form. Even without the use of the digits on his right hand — he used just his right thumb, and believe me, the fingers on his left hand were as speedy and precise as ever — Murphy masterfully evokes the city where he found fame early on; his sound will be instantly recognizable to anyone who spent a great deal of time with The Blues Brothers' Briefcase Full of Blues album, as I did as a kid.
Murphy's and Raines' contrasting styles worked beautifully in tandem, as the pair traded leads and Murphy also displayed expert chops as a rhythm player. Even if you swore you'd never sit through another version of "Sweet Home Chicago" again, the version these guys cooked up was a real treat, full of improvisational back-and-forth as the two guitarists laid into the groove and jammed on a lengthy instrumental intro.
For the second set, Nouveaux Honkies guitarist Tim O'Donnell joined the proceedings, and like Raines, showed the utmost deference to Murphy as he was obviously thrilled to be sharing the stage with him. Dressed in a sharp suit and tie, O'Donnell played slide and did some fleet-fingered soloing on his hollow-body jazz box, as well as singing a couple of numbers alongside Raines and Murphy, who obviously got a kick out of him and shared more than a couple of laughs that seemed to suggest, "How does this white boy know all this shit?" Best of all was when O'Donnell inquired if Murphy remembered "Mother Earth," the great existential blues by Memphis Slim. "Oh, yeah," Murphy replied, as they launched into the doomy, familiar riff, with O'Donnell powerfully vocalizing and Murphy time-tripping back to another era as they concluded the set on a high note before Murphy hit the highway back to South Miami.
Certainly, Murphy is no museum piece. This show was just flat-out fun, and it seemed like everyone on stage was just delighted to be there. That goes for everyone off-stage, as well.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Poppa, you can hear him
It's always a treat to catch up with Poppa E. Not only a talented interpreter of various blues styles and an excellent songwriter, the Miami-based bluesman also happens to be one helluva decent cat and a captivating storyteller. All of this will be in evidence Friday, when WLRN airs my conversation with Poppa on Ed Bell's South Florida Arts Beat sometime between 1 and 2 p.m.
The New York-born musician talks about his grandfather's and his uncles' influence on his life and music — his granddad fled Cairo, Ill., with the law on his trail after shooting some white men who harrassed his wife; his uncles ran a pool hall and record shop, respectively — as well as his return from Nam, life in Chicago and session work with Bill Withers on some of the pop soul singer's biggest hits ("Lean on Me," "Use Me"). Poppa also unpacked his guitar and loaded up his rack harmonica for a couple of tunes, one of which was an amazing, Delta-fied rendition of "Folsom Prison Blues," the other a pretty blues ballad called "Melonera's Blues."
You can find Poppa at Tobacco Road 10 p.m. Tuesday, Aug. 19 and 10 p.m. Aug. 31. Check out Poppae.com or Blackowlmusicmiami.com for more.
The New York-born musician talks about his grandfather's and his uncles' influence on his life and music — his granddad fled Cairo, Ill., with the law on his trail after shooting some white men who harrassed his wife; his uncles ran a pool hall and record shop, respectively — as well as his return from Nam, life in Chicago and session work with Bill Withers on some of the pop soul singer's biggest hits ("Lean on Me," "Use Me"). Poppa also unpacked his guitar and loaded up his rack harmonica for a couple of tunes, one of which was an amazing, Delta-fied rendition of "Folsom Prison Blues," the other a pretty blues ballad called "Melonera's Blues."
You can find Poppa at Tobacco Road 10 p.m. Tuesday, Aug. 19 and 10 p.m. Aug. 31. Check out Poppae.com or Blackowlmusicmiami.com for more.
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