Black and White (1969)
7.5
Willie and Laura Mae Jones / Soul Francisco / Aspen Colorado
/ Whompt Out on You / Don’t Steal My Love / Polk Salad Annie
/ Who’s Making Love / Scratch My Back / Little Green Apples /
Wichita Lineman / Look of Love // Ten More Miles to Louisiana / Georgia Pines
God
bless the public library of Brussels and its purchase policy for providing
me with a copy of Black and White. White had been trying to break
out of obscurity for a few years – his first single “Ten More
Miles to Louisiana,” recorded in 1966 and added as a bonus track here,
finds him exploring the wasteland between The Beatles and Burt Bacharach to
so-so results – but Monument signed him because he was like
the only guy in Nashville playing something entirely different at the time.
It’s a very plausible claim indeed … just think about it: who
else was playing stuff like “Soul Francisco” in 1968? CCR had
just released one album and Hendrix also had that mucky, wah wah-sound, but
that’s about it. For some obscure reason, the song became an instant
hit in France (and later on, Belgium), where he’d be much higher regarded
than in the States for his entire career. The title of the album actually
makes a lot of sense, if he’s referring to his blending of white and
black styles that is. During the album’s opening song, which deals with
racial matter, White sings “When you live off the land, you don’t
have time to think about another man’s colour.” The Swamp
Fox didn’t only grew up in an environment where blacks and whites
had to get along, he also fused their respective styles, as his sweaty swamp
sound betrays as many influences from soul and blues as it does from country
and rock. Is it any coincidence, on top of that, that he also has one of the
“blackest” voices in rock? Anyway, “Willie and Laura Mae
Jones” is one of his best early songs, an emphatic portrait that combines
the gritty soul of the original Crazy Horse (the sound bears quite a resemblance
to their self-titled album) with a few of those “classy” touches
(strings, horns, and even a flute). It’s Southern soul as good as it
gets and that climactic last minute – with that fuzzy guitar solo and
the ruffling drums – is pure gold. Of the other five originals, there’s
only one that reaches the same level: his biggest hit, “Polk Salad Annie.”
From its husky-voiced intro (“If some of ya'll never been down South
too much, I'm gonna tell you a little bit about this, so that you'll understand”)
to that atmosphere that really offers an aural equivalent for the hot &
moist swamp climate, it’s a classic, hypnotic track all the way and
when he gets to that solo near the end, you just wish it’d go on for
at least five more minutes. The same atmosphere is captured by like tracks
like “Soul Francisco” and “Whompt Out on You,” which
aren’t very substantial, but get by because of that groove and organic
sound. The chugging “Don’t Steal My Love” takes it nearly
into Delta blues-territory and adds some noisy guitar sounds to the
trance. The second half of the album consists entirely of covers. I have no
idea why they separated those and the originals, as it disturbs the album’s
cohesion a bit, while also the covers themselves are put there in a seemingly
random order: first there’s an excellent, gritty take on soul classic
“Hard to Handle” and a good one of “Scratch My Back”
(topped by the Fabulous Thunderbirds a decade later, though), but then the
album finishes with three “ballads” in a row. Of these, Bacharach’s
“Look of Love” is the nicest, even though it’s something
completely different from the grease ‘n’ gravy of “”Soul
Francisco” and “Don’t Steal My Love,” for instance.
The others are fine as well – even though the strings in “Wichita
Lineman” are a bit overbearing – but you’ll still be wishing
he’d added a few more originals instead. Black and White is
a bit of an uneven affair, but its best moments – the opening track
and signature song “Polk Salad Annie” – are essential TJW
and paved the way for what was coming next. It’s not one of his best
albums and shouldn’t be purchased before you get the better ones, but
it’s very likely that if you like the first album you’ll hear,
you’ll want all of them. Even though the comparison may not be that
accurate, it’s the same as with J.J. Cale’s records: they might
not all be as good, but if you like one of them, a new addiction is lurking
around the corner.
…Continued (1969)
7.5
Elements and Things / Roosevelt and Ira Lee (Night of the Mossacin*)
/ Woodpecker / Rainy Night in Georgia / For Le Ann / Old Man Willis
/ Woman with Soul / I Want You / I Thought I Knew You Well / The Migrant
I
have a soft spot for down-to-earth guys, for the kind that would rather stay
in the shades than in the center of attention, except for when it’s
showtime of course. Oh, I bet it’s a blast to meet self-conscious stars
like David Bowie or Beyoncé, brain-drained zombies like Ozzy or flat-out
pricks like (insert your pick), but nothing beats the type you can
still have a beer with, despite the success, fame and money. In early 1994,
I was lucky enough to meet Rory Gallagher (he sadly died a year later) and
I’ll never forget how surprised and delighted he was to meet a few people,
how ordinary he was, too, like the guy next door you wanna have a beer with.
Anyway, I saw Tony Joe White play live two years ago (with no less than Solomon
Burke as support act – what a bill!) and he immediately reminded
me of those moments with Gallagher. Like the Irish guy, White was and is all
about the music, not about the image, the flash or whatever else. He just
sat there on his chair, playing one groovy blues after another, shyly accepting
the applause and giving his all. It’s the same with his albums: even
though almost all of the albums that I heard have their misfires or uneven
moments, they’re always songs coming from the gut, delivered with warmth
and honesty. I’ve never heard his debut (never found it, basically,
and I rarely order albums), but the songs from that album I’m familiar
with (“Polk Salad Annie” and “Soul Francisco”) couldv’
fit on this album as well, which is – I presume – a continuation
of the first album. There’s nothing particularly astonishing or flashy
about this album, so if you’re in for intricate compositions and fret
wankery, you’ll have to get your kicks elsewhere. On the other hand,
if you think that
JJ Cale + Creedence Clearwater Revival + Bill Withers = Tony Joe White
looks fucking awesome, you should check out White’s albums (or a good compilation) ASAP. The above description might not always fit his music, but his best stuff sounds exactly like what it suggests. His music is as warm and laidback as Cale’s (his voice – a mellow baritone – has a bigger reach, though), as swampy and fiery as CCR’s (not surprising, since Tony Joe is a true Louisiana boy) and as mellow as Wither’s terrific blend of folk and soul. While his ballads occasionally sounded like cheesy blue-eyed soul (“For Le Ann,” with its, uhm, slightly ridiculously yelping vocals being the main offender here) that would’ve fit perfectly on an album by, say, Dusty Springfield, some of them turned into minor classics, the main example here being “Rainy Night in Georgia,” which was covered by too many artists. Even though it’s a good song, just like “I Thought I Knew You Well,” the tracks to get are of course the swampy boogies in which his commanding baritone gets to shine over a stubborn, trance-like drone you’d wish would continue forever. It’s exactly the kind of song the album starts off with: “Elements and Things” is alarmingly repetitive, with those tribal drums, organs hints and conversational vocals, but it’s the groove man, the GROOVE! Can you hear it, that chugging, ‘we’ll get there eventually, if it isn’t this year, it’s next year’-train rhythm and White’s muddy guitar sound that so foten switches to wonderful wah wah-licks. I’m not sure whether he’s a very accomplished musician, whether he can bend notes like B.B. and can play as fast as good old Eric, but boy, this guy knows a bit about sound: he’s the Malcolm Young from below the Mason-Dixon-line. It’s that primal groove what he’s best at and it’s also what he’s become famous for. “Roosevelt and Ira Lee” basically offers the same, albeit a bit faster and tougher (get that sound towards the end!), while “Old Man Willis” basically sounds like the bastard son of “Polk Salad Annie” (the rhythm is the same, isn’t it?) and “Hard to Handle,” which he’d effectively cover later on. Not all of the songs are as good or substantial: “Woodpecker,” for instance, is rather slight, but at least it doesn’t offer more than it’s capable of. Come to think of it, nothing really reaches the instantaneous effect of “Roosevelt and Ira Lee,” but “Woman with Soul” is a funk-styled jam and “I Want You” coms off as a semi-tribute to Stax’s more animalistic, sweaty cuts. That’s saying something. Well, to me. Anyway, the key ingredient are here, yet the album’s a bit marred by a few lesser cuts and one that’s a bit painful, even by Elvis’s standard, whom White resembles that much on the cover. Still, that SOUND, man, that SOUND!
* Don’t even think it’s a typo
Tony Joe (1970)
8
Stud-Spider / High Sheriff of Calhoun Parrish / Widow Wimberly
/ Groupy Girl / Conjure Woman / Save Your Sugar for Me / Hard to
Handle / What Does It Take (to Win Your Love) / My Friend / Stockholm
Blues / Boom Boom // I Protest / A Man Can Only Stand Just So Much Pain
Tony
Joe was already 26 when he started recording, so perhaps that explains his
style was already fully formed from the beginning onwards and that he had
already written a bunch of material. He’d release 5 studio in four years
and Tony Joe – his third and last album for Monument
– was also a third effort in less than two years. With a pace like that,
things didn’t change that strikingly: the recognizable swamp sound is
still intact, even though there are perhaps a bit more acoustic songs, but
the fact that four of the last five songs on the album were covers perhaps
signalled that the pace was getting the best of him. Anyway, those who liked
…Continued will dig Tony Joe as well. Overall the
sound is perhaps a bit gruffer and there are not as many ballads, while there
are several more similarities. Like the second album, Tony Joe starts
off with a “primal” stomper, a soulful slice of folklore that’s
pure grits and sweat. During songs like these, White sounds as if he’s
from an unspecified era and a region where time stood still, modern times
never really had much of an impact, and media are replaced by folk tales and
a stronger bond between a man and his soil. His earliest albums all share
this natural plainness and authenticity that never sounds contrived. Op top
of that, White also knows how to tell a story, as “High Sheriff of Calhoun
Parrish” and “Widow Wimberly” perfectly fit in some rural
narrative tradition. Both songs are basically also the same merger of acoustic
swamp-rock with some pop-flourishes (strings, basically), but it’s the
lyrical details in the songs (the “voluptuousness” of the sheriff’s
daughter in the former and the pitiable widow in the latter (“how do
you still manage to smile?”) that make ‘em so nice to listen to.
After these cuts, the album picks up the drive again, first with the driven
“Groupy Girl,” a wonderful song that combines the tough and laidback
side to White to great effect, and then with the less interesting drone “Conjure
Woman,” which has a particularly flimsy chorus. I presume that the poppy
“Save Your Sugar for Me” was the last song on the original A-side,
so that means the second half contained five songs, “Stockholm Blues”
being the only self-penned track. It’s an excellent one – a convincingly
raw, Delta blues that features nothing but acoustic guitar, harmonica
and a foot stomping on the floor, so it’s not much of a surprise that
it’s followed by a romp through John Lee Hooker’s “Boom
Boom,” and a greasy as hell version at that. The way it starts, with
White playing the distorted riff once and then asking the producer “Could
you dig this, Swan?” always cracks me up. White isn’t particularly
creative with it – it’s not that it wasn’t a repetitive
dirge to begin with in the first place – but of course it sounds right
at home on an album by this guy. The other covers are fine as well, though
Otis Redding’s “Hard to Handle” is the only standout track,
as the songs exactly requires the grittiness and pure soul that White possesses.
Like I said, the others aren’t that great, but “What Does It Take”
(later also covered by Santana), with that wailing harmonica, is the kind
of stuff (a combination of pop, soul, schmalz and country) that would’ve
fit perfectly on, say, the soundtrack to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance
Kid. “My Friend,” finally, is the only real ballad here,
a string-laden tearjerker featuring some moderately yelped vocals and some
nice piano parts by David Briggs. Tony Joe doesn’t mark a stylistic
shift from …Continued, as White probably still felt comfortable
churning out muddy swamp drones, alternated with more pop-oriented stuff.
He’d move on to a slightly different sound later on, but this is what
he’s become most “famous” (well, only “Polk Salad
Annie” cracked the charts I think) for. So, nothing really remarkable,
certainly if you’re mainly intrigued by today’s self-conscious
meta-music, but occasionally irresistible if you’re a simple country
boy (like me).
The Train I’m On (1972)
8
I’ve Got a Thing About You Baby / The Family / If I Ever Saw
a Good Thing / Beouf River Road / The Train I’m On / Even Trolls
Love Rock & Roll / As the Crow Flies / Take Time to Love /
300 Pounds of Hongry / The Migrant / Sidewalk Hobo / The Gospel Singer
The
Train I’m On, White’s fifth album (and second for Warner)
is the most exceptionally unexceptional of all his albums. Apart from “As
the Crow Flies,” it doesn’t have any songs that would end up in
my Top 10 or even Top 15 of favorite Swamp Fox songs, but
on the other hand, it’s also so dang consistent as well, but
in a way that’ll only make you notice it after several listens. At first,
the album seems even a bit boring – it has a warm, organic sound (courtesy
of the legendary Jerry Wexler & Tom Dowd), but there’s no sonic
experimentation, nothing that immediately catches the ear, while the gruff
swamp sound of the early albums is gone as well for the most part, with a
stress on acoustic instrumentation instead of the howl of his electric guitar.
Maybe it’s also a result of the different environment, as the album
was recorded in the legendary Muscle Shoals studios in Alabama; it does sound
a bit bluesier, a real return to the roots of white and black music. As I
said above, I only consider “As the Crow Flies” a classic, but
what a terrific song it is, propelled by that trademark steady beat (nearly
reminiscent of Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition”) and some
wonderful acoustic playing by White. Of course, the reason why I like that
song may also be that Rory Gallagher recorded it as well (and did a great
job at it) for his essential Irish Tour ’74-album, because
that’s the version I heard first. Almost as good is “If I Ever
Saw a Good Thing,” that’s basically an update of the old-fashioned
schmalz-soul of Freddie Fender (that swaying “Wasted Days and
Waster Nights,” what a fantastic tune that is) or imagine what
a song written by both Fats Domino and Arthur Alexander would sound like and
you’re probably getting close: retro pop with cool horn arrangements
at a time when that wasn’t a clever marketing trick yet. Of a somewhat
lesser stature – but one of the funniest songs he ever recorded –
is the nonsensical & funky “Even Trolls Love Rock & Roll,”
along with “300 Pounds of Hongry” the only remnants of the sweaty
swamp sound of before. The Train I’m On also contains a prominent
gospel influence during some of the songs, not only in “The Gospel Singer”
with its ‘Hallelujah’-chanting, but also in the simple, acoustic
stomp of opening songs “I’ve Got a Thing About You Baby,”
that was covered by no less than Elvis. Allegedly, White offered to write
a few more songs for the King, who didn’t take him up on the offer.
That wasn’t such a smart decision, as some of these songs would’ve
fit him well, plus they would’ve easily topped the average pap he churned
out towards the end of his life. But anyway, this is about Tony Joe here,
who turned in his most straightforward bunch of tunes yet in (and I’m
saying this with the general consensus about the fourth album (a continuation
of the third one?) at the back of my head), but also a dozen that’s
a consistent listen, as even the ballads are really nice and enjoyable this
time around (anyone remember “For Le Ann”?): whether it’s
cosy and unpretentious (“The Family,” which Johnny Cash would’ve
liked) or spreading a message of LOVE LOVE LOVE (“Take Time
to Love”), these songs are delivered with the passion of a guy who knows
he’s best when he’s dealing with simple subject matter, wrapped
in unadorned arrangements (despite the strings). Perhaps not the best place
to start, as it doesn’t seem to have the instant appeal of, say, Black
& White or Tony Joe, this fifth album might be one of the
most rewarding albums he’s ever done, a grower with class.
Read album reviews of similar or related artists: Bill Withers - Solomon Burke - B.B. King