Blues

Black Merda “Black Merda” (Chess, 1970)

Jimi Hendrix disciples proliferated in the late ’60s and early ’70s—and understandably so. In the same time period, psychedelic soul and lysergic funk were also burgeoning, thanks to Funkadelic, Chambers Brothers, Sly & The Family Stone, Charles Stepney/Rotary Connection, and the Motown writing/production team of Norman Whitfield and Barrett Strong, among others. The Detroit group Black Merda were right in the thick of that febrile activity, adding their own special sounds to the mix.

The members—Veesee L. Veasey (bass), Anthony Hawkins (lead guitar), Charles Hawkins (guitar), Tyrone Hite (drums); they all sang, too—got their start in the mid-’60s as session musicians who also played in the Soul Agents. They backed up luminaries such as Edwin Starr, Wilson Pickett, Joe Tex, the Temptations, and the Spinners. You can hear the Soul Agents on Starr’s towering hits “Twenty Five Miles” and “War” and on Fugi’s fantastic psych-funk jam “Mary Don’t Take Me On No Bad Trip.” In 1967, the Soul Agents also did the first Jimi Hendrix Experience cover: “Foxy Lady.” It smokes.

So, by the time Black Merda cut their first album in Chicago for Chess, they were tight as hell and hungry to put out something over which they had total creative control. However, if you thought that Black Merda was going to simply offer freaky rock and funk of the sort heard on the Chains And Black Exhaust and If There’s Hell Below… comps, you’d be wrong. “Think Of Me” is basically folk-blues played on acoustic guitar while “Windsong” peddles mellow, morose blues, like a less ominous “She’s So Heavy.” The contemplative psychedelic blues “Over And Over” could’ve fit well on Muddy Waters’ Electric Mud. “I Don’t Want To Die” is a mournful, tear-jerking ballad. The solid, melancholy rock of “That’s The Way It Goes” rolls a bit like Jimi Hendrix Experience‘s cover of “All Along The Watchtower.” The sweet, midtempo soul tune “Reality” sounds like a hit, but alas, it was a miss.

All of those tunes are fine, but Black Merda really excel when they get more out there. For example, the wah-wah-fueled, psych-rock slow-burner “Good Luck,” with its powerful unison singing, is as soulfully inspirational as anything on Funkadelic’s self-titled LP. The bruising rocker “Ashamed” castigates people who mistreat the less fortunate and ignore injustices, but makes it a righteous party jam. Even better is “Prophet,” hard-thrusting funk rock of great liberatory force, as epitomized by the refrain “Set me free, uh huh yeah.” Best of all is “Cynthy-Ruth,” which is simply one of the great psych-rock songs in history. The taut yet elastic rhythm and hypnotic, warped guitar riffing—plus excellent grunts, “whoa-oh-oh-whoa”s, and “boo-hoo”s—elevate this track to Hendrix-/Funkadelic-level genius. This song along is worth the price of admission.

Black Merda suffered from poor distribution due to management issues at Chess Records, and it didn’t initially garner the audience it deserved. However, the record’s become a cult favorite among funk/psych heads and has been reissued many times on vinyl over the last 30 years, most recently by the Russian label Lilith in 2020. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Steve Cropper “With A Little Help From My Friends” (Volt, 1969)

The legendary R&B/soul/rock guitarist Steve Cropper passed away on December 3 at age 84, and respect must be paid. Best known for his work with Stax Records’ tight-as-hell house band Booker T. & The MGs, Cropper played on hundreds of important sessions and on dozens of hits by Otis Redding, Wilson Pickett, and others. He also (co)wrote and produced many of his own classics and chart-dwellers, performed with the early Stax house band the Mar-Keys, and maintained a solid solo career. As many of you know, Cropper was one of the most economical and soulful guitarists ever to plug in.

Wanting to honor the master’s passing, I was tempted to review one of Booker T. & The MGs’ many influential instrumental albums, but decided to focus attention on a lesser-known work: his debut solo LP, With A Little Help From My Friends. It’s a fantastic showcase for Cropper’s R&B and rock chops, and it gives him room to spread his wings more than he could with the concise, precision-tooled tunes he cut with the MGs—that is, until 1970’s expansive Melting Pot. (Cropper’s 1969 collab with gospel/R&B/blues guitar giants Pop Staples and Albert King, Jammed Together, is also worthwhile.)

“Crop-Dustin’” sets My Friends‘ righteous tone; it’s groove-heavy, horn-blasted R&B that makes you wanna keep on truckin’, cowritten with Band Of Gypsys/Electric Flag drummer Buddy Miles. Steve and company turn Chris Kenner’s “Land Of 1000 Dances” into a sizzling banger—no surprise, as it’s never not sounded exhilarating, no matter who’s covering it. Of course, Cropper solos like the champion he is. On another oft-covered chestnut, Pickett/Cropper/Eddie Floyd’s “99 ½,” Cropper’s eloquent, scorched guitar calligraphy elevates one of the sexiest and most ominous soul classics ever to the top of the heap.

“Boo-Ga-Loo Down Broadway” and “Funky Broadway” (the 1966 Dyke & The Blazers dancer) deliver funky, good-time music with a lascivious bass lines and Cropper’s extravagantly soulful licks. The title track is not exactly an obvious choice for a Beatles cover, but it fits with the album’s theme. (Strange, then, that musician credits are largely absent!) Cropper blows the song out into an organ-intensive exposition that rivals Joe Cocker’s bombastic take. With contributions from guitarist Michael Toles and bassist James Alexander, “Oh, Pretty Woman” sounds nothing like Roy Orbison or Van Halen’s renditions. This one is more menacing, as Cropper solos with a seething intensity.

The album closes with a couple of Pickett/Cropper joints: One of Steve’s biggest hits, “In The Midnight Hour,” is given the hip instro treatment, while in the shaker-heavy “Rattlesnake,” Cropper gets off some fleet-fingered filigrees, but lets the horn section steal the glory.

Don’t come to With A Little Help From My Friends expecting anything that sounds like Booker T. & The MGs’ “Green Onions,” the 1962 minimalist masterpiece that established their lean, propulsive soul approach. Here, Cropper and his buddies go for an extravagant, party-igniting attack. It sounds like it was as fun to make as it is to listen to. Rest in power, Mr. Cropper. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Marsha Hunt “Woman Child” (Track, 1971)

Born in Philadelphia in 1946, Marsha Hunt attained cultural cachet and musical brilliance in the UK during the hothouse milieu of late ’60s and ’70s London. She is something of a Renaissance woman, earning notoriety as an actor, model, singer, and novelist. On a more salacious note, Hunt also had more than artistic relationships with some of England’s rock royalty, including Marc Bolan, Mick Jagger (with whom she had a child), John Mayall, and Soft Machine’s Mike Ratledge, whom she married to help her resolve visa problems. In addition, Hunt sang alongside Bluesology keyboardist Reg Dwight (later Elton John), acted in the London staging of the zeitgeisty musical Hair, and reputedly was the inspiration for the Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sugar.” What a legend…

We here at Jive Time HQ are most interested in her musical exploits, though, which she flaunts with panache on her debut LP, Woman Child. Produced by three of the UK’s finest studio wizards—Gus Dudgeon, Tony Visconti, and Kit Lambert—the album goes heavy on covers… some expected, some surprising. With everyone from Humble Pie to Jonny Jenkins to Cher covering Dr. John’s “I Walk On Gilded Splinters,” it’s not shocking for a soulful diva such as Ms. Hunt to take a crack at it. And Marsha really digs into the haunted guts of this New Orleans voodoo-funk classic with apropos gravitas and intensity. It’s clear from the outset that Hunt’s acting chops came in handy when she got in front of a mic in the studio. Her expressiveness is elite.

Hunt also flexes her formidable range on “No Face, No Name, No Number,” an intimate, orchestral interpretation of the 1968 Traffic ballad. The vibe resembles some of the gentler pieces on Love’s Forever Changes. Hunt gives one of the Supremes’ most heart-rending hits, “My World Is Empty Without You,” a nuanced reading, reflecting the lyrics’ profound hurt amid a shivering, orchestral backing and subtle conga patter. Listen closely for her beau, Bolan, on backing vox. On “Keep The Customer Satisfied,” Hunt blows out Simon & Garfunkel’s twee folk song into a gospel/hippie-rock revival, with crazy, wailing sax. And her seductive take on Dylan’s celebratory country-rock nugget “You Ain’t Goin Nowhere” probably made Bobby all hot and bothered.

The first of three Bolan compositions reworked here is “Hot Rod Papa,” in which Hunt switches the gender of Marc’s spare blues-rocker “Hot Rod Mama.” She and her musicians improve the original into sleazy, fried R&B that’s not too far from what Rotary Connection were doing a couple of years earlier. A mellifluous, folk-proggy Bolan number from Tyrannosaurus Rex’s Prophets, Seers & Sages The Angels Of The Ages, “Stacey Grove” doesn’t really play to Hunt’s strengths, but it’s interesting nonetheless. And for all the John’s Children fans, there’s a remarkably sexxxy soul cover of the freakbeat classic “Desdemona,” written before Bolan formed Tyrannosaurus Rex. Here’s where Hunt reveals her swag in excelsior. The way she sings “lift up your skirt and flyyy-iiieee” is a serious climactic moment on Woman Child.

On “Wild Thing,” Hunt once again super-charges a white-boy track (this time by the Troggs) with show-stopping eroticism. She brings the full force of her towering thespianic powers to this groovy ode to raunchiness. Rumor has it that Faces members Ron Wood, Ian McLagan, and Kenny Jones play on this. I believe it.

It should be noted that Hunt’s greatest song, “(Oh No! Not!) The Beast Day,” only appears on a 45 released by the vaunted Vertigo label in 1973. I paid a pretty hefty price for it, but the ROI has been great, as I play it in 90% of my DJ gigs to overwhelming approval. Both that single and this album deserve reissues. It may be quixotic to think that this review will initiate the process, but it can’t hurt to put the idea out into the universe. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

David T. Walker “Plum Happy” (Zea, 1970)

David T. Walker is one of the planet’s smoothest, mellowest guitarists. His feathery touch and melodic gracefulness made the Tulsa, Oklahoma-born musician one of the 20th century’s most in-demand session players. He’s recorded and performed with dozens of big names, including Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Jackson 5, Marlena Shaw, Bobbi Humphrey, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, and Quincy Jones. Walker also played in the short-lived supergroup Afrique, whose lone LP, 1973’s Soul Makossa, is a serious funk bomb, and in Paul Humphrey & His Cool Aid Chemists. So, even if you’ve never checked one of Walker’s 15 solo albums, you’ve undoubtedly heard his delicious licks somewhere.

I’ve only heard four of DTW’s LPs, but of those, Plum Happy hits the sweetest spot. My curiosity in Walker was piqued via the main sample in hip-hop group People Under The Stairs’ 2002 classic, “Acid Raindrops”: i.e., his unbelievably chill cover of Bob Dylan’s “Lay Lady Lay.” Incidentally, I’d love to know if Bob ever heard Walker’s transformation of his moody 1969 hit ballad into paradisiacal instrumental bliss, blessed by brisk congas and DTW’s liquid-gold guitar filigrees. It’s become my go-to walking-in-summer-sunshine jam, and it’s yet more proof that Walker is a master of interpreting other musicians’ compositions.

But that doesn’t mean the man can’t write his own tunes. Plum Happy boasts five originals, and they reveal the sharp skills that come standard with a first-call studio wiz. Right from jump, “Doo Doo” offers a splurge of extroverted funk, like a wired Dennis Coffey joint, but with less fuzz and distortion. The title track is a busy, complex jazz number that recalls Phil Upchurch‘s contemporaneous work for Cadet and Blue Thumb Records. “Blues For My Father” brings solid electric blues showcasing Walker’s fluid, rhythmic style while “Listen To The Sun”‘s jaunty, ornate soul jazz evokes the magnificent Gábor Szabó.

As for the remaining covers, DTW secularizes the Edwin Hawkins Singers’ 1969 gospel-pop hit into a buoyant blues mood-elevator, as he extravagantly ladles on the wah-wah. For “Come Together,” John Lennon’s groovy surrealism gets some gilded adornment with fuzz-tone guitar conspiring with Walker’s crystalline timbre and frilly ornamentation. You can tell the band—John Barnes (piano), Al Edmond (drums), Richard Waters (timbales), Buzz Cooper (tambourine, percussion), Tracy Wright (bass)—really dig extemporizing on the Beatles’ funkiest song. The album ends with “Love Vibrations,” speedy funk rock that’ll get your pulse pounding, stat. The vivacious female backing vocals really send this hippy-friendly heater over the top. It’s one helluva climax.

Scandalously out of print on vinyl since 1970, Plum Happy deserves a reissue. Get to work on that, music industry! -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Ted Lucas “Ted Lucas” (OM, 1975)

Could Detroit folk-rocker Ted Lucas be poised for a posthumous revival à la Nick Drake? Stranger things have happened. The guitarist/vocalist/sitarist/harmonica player—who passed away in 1992—only released one album in his too-brief life. Ted Lucas (though it’s also known as OM, which was the name of the label that first issued it) largely went ignored upon release, but it’s accrued cult status, thanks in part to Yoga Records’ 2010 reissue (they pressed it again in 2018).

It’s not a stretch to think of Lucas as an American analogue to Nick Drake, though Ted’s voice is huskier and, to these ears, more stereotypically soulful. A close US counterpart would be Skip Spence, who also only released one album, the stone classic Oar.

A Motown session guitarist who studied sitar with Ravi Shankar, Lucas also played in the Spike-Drivers, the Misty Wizards (their sike-pop gem “It’s Love” appears on the Nuggets comp, Hallucinations, aka My Mind Goes High), the Horny Toads, and the Boogie Disease. The man obviously had instrumental chops, and as Ted Lucas proves, he could write a mean tune, as well.

Ted Lucas is split between side one’s sparse folk songs with the acoustic-guitar-wielding troubadour’s effortlessly poignant singing to the fore and deliciously double-tracked and side two’s sublime, (mainly) instrumental jams. I wouldn’t want to live in a world without either.

From the first seconds of “Plain & Sane & Simple Melody,” Lucas’ voice draws you in and entwines you in a warm halo of intimacy. His melodic mastery instantly asserts itself, its folky luster at once familiar and fresh. These songs must have sounded like decades-old standards in 1975, but they’re also distinctive and memorable on their own merits.

My favorite side one track, “Now That I Know,” has a main vocal hook that recalls Nico’s “The Fairest Of Seasons.” Its low-key jauntiness contrasts with the lyrics of heartbreak, as Ted’s acoustic richly jangles in sparkling counterpoint to his oaken vocal timbres. The self-explanatory “It Is So Nice To Get Stoned” makes me wonder how this song hasn’t been used by a 21st-century cannabis company. Put this in your marketing bong and hit it… come on! “Stoned” possesses the same velvety, heavy-lidded vibe as Spence’s “Weighted Down (The Prison Song)” and “All Come To Meet Her.” Thus ends the LP’s song-based side.

“Robins Ride” begins side two with some funky folk bearing the flintiest acoustic attack since Leo Kottke’s 6- And 12-String Guitar and vibrant hand percussion. It’ll sure enough shake you out of the blunted lassitude that “Stoned” induced. A cautionary tale about the perils of drinking alcohol, “Sonny Boy Blues” delivers menacing folk blues with knuckle-on-gtr beats. Timeless! The alluringly titled “Love And Peace Raga” is reminiscent of Peter Walker’s folkadelic dabbles with Indian music. Carol Lucido’s gently snarling tambura complements Lucas’ rambling, triumphant guitar motifs, with time for plenty of contemplative interludes. A wonderful finale.

Third Man Records is reissuing a deluxe version of Ted Lucas/OM on February 21, with further plans to release previously unreleased archival recordings. Thanks again, Jack White, for your service. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Spacemen 3 “The Perfect Prescription” (Glass, 1987)

If, as the title suggests, the British quartet Spacemen 3 considered this platter a drug, then it’s more Quaalude than Dexedrine. Excepting the crashing turmoil of “Take Me To The Other Side” (this is how you begin an album!) and the throbbing first-album Stooge-isms of “Things’ll Never Be The Same,” the songs on The Perfect Prescription exude a contemplative, post-coital calm. On their second LP, Spacemen 3—led by Pete “Sonic Boom” Kember and Jason Pierce—deployed to divine effect Farfisa organ, electric and acoustic guitars, violin, trumpet, and “bass vibrations” to achieve a peak in a career unmarred by duds.

The band’s reverent homage to Lou Reed’s sprawling, urban paean “Street Hassle” evokes fond memories of the original and it segues beautifully into the aerated ambient whorl of “Ecstasy Symphony” and the gently exploded cover of “Transparent Radiation,” which dwarfs Red Krayola’s original in a most respectful manner. Tracks such as “Feel So Good” “Come Down Easy,” “Call The Doctor,” and “Walkin’ With Jesus” are all adorned with minimal instrumentation, but the music has a relentless lambency that tickles you into tranquil abstraction.

Bathed in a holy glow of Farfisa, “Walkin’ With Jesus” is a proto-Spiritualized jam epitomized by Pierce’s salubrious infatuation with Christian imagery while he and his Rugby, England mates forge a beatific new hymn that will give even the staunchest heathens shivers up and down the spine. “Feel So Good” and “Come Down Easy” are spot-on emulations of J.J. Cale’s ultra-laidback, featherlight blues rock. Rarely has a rock group sounded this blissfully opiated. The latter’s a nearly seven-minute, see-sawing blues rock mesmerizer that you wouldn’t mind going on all day. Some might call it monotonous, but it’s actually as spellbinding as swaying on a hammock. “Call The Doctor” is a stark cautionary tale about heroin abuse buoyed by watery guitar, lowing bass, and Sonic Boom’s sotto voce intonations. It’s a phenomenal yet harrowing way to end this druggy album—a subtle ripple of darkness on a record mainly radiating celestial light. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Fleetwood Mac “Mystery To Me” (Reprise, 1973)

Fleetwood Mac’s eighth studio album—which peaked at #67 in 1973 and took three years to go Gold—represented a high point in that group’s unstable post-Peter Green era. Dominated by American guitarist/vocalist Bob Welch and the ever-reliable keyboardist/vocalist Christine McVie, Mystery To Me feels transitional yet also had some fantastic anomalies to help set it apart from a catalog rife with stylistic shifts.

Recorded on the Rolling Stones Mobile Unit, the album definitely was an improvement over its mediocre predecessor, Penguin and more interesting than its successor, Heroes Are Hard To Find. And it showed that Fleetwood Mac had recovered from the major bummer of losing guitarists/composers Danny Kirwan and Jeremy Spencer.

Welch asserts his importance from the opening song, “Emerald Eyes.” Yes, his raspy and dulcet singing is an acquired taste, but it’s one I’ve gladly embraced. His voice hits like a welcome sedative on this romantic ballad on which Mick Fleetwood’s beats slap surprisingly hard to heighten the urgency. On “Believe Me,” McVie reinforces how crucial she is to FM with a rollicking, piano-heavy rocker in the Faces vein, before the song goes on some dreamy tangents. This might be Christine’s hardest-rocking tune, as husband John’s bass avidly pumps along with Mick’s booming bumps. Furthermore, “Just Crazy Love” oozes effortless melodic gold in that patented McVie manner. Album-closer “Why” reveals another facet of McVie’s compositional skill; it’s a stately, stripped-down folk blues that blossoms into a string-laden power ballad about coming to terms with a breakup. McVie’s “The Way I Feel” is a spare, gorgeous thwarted-love ballad that sounds like something Elton John might have turned into a hit.

Things get really interesting with Welch’s “Hypnotized,” which wasn’t a hit but became a fixture on US FM stations (shockingly, the Pointer Sisters covered it on 1978’s Energy). Fleetwood’s triple-time beats mimic the precision boom-boom-boom-tsss of a drum machine, lending the song a trance-inducing pulse that merges perfectly with the terse electric and acoustic guitar filigrees. Welch’s wonderstruck and numb vocals seem to outline the effects of an acid trip—which, when coupled with the trippy, beachy vibes, transforms “Hypnotized” into an unintentional Balearic club anthem, years before those paradisiacal islands became a cultural hotspot.

“Forever” (cowritten by John McVie, Welch, and guitarist Bob Weston) follows in the denigrated tradition of white rockers dabbling with reggae. But it’s surprisingly enjoyable—definitely more tolerable than the Rolling Stones’ “Cherry Oh Baby.” Then again, I’m just a sucker for Welch’s gentle, pure vocal timbres, which fall somewhere between Paul Simon and Canned Heat’s Alan “Blind Owl” Wilson. “Keep On Going” is an oddity in the FM canon, as McVie sings on a Welch-penned song. Even stranger, it’s a swaggering orchestral folk-rock tune, with strings arranged by Richard Hewson—plus Weston plays a lovely flamenco-flavored acoustic-guitar solo.

Another tangent occurs on “The City,” where the Mac pay homage to James Gang’s nasty funk rock. “Miles Away” sounds like the coolest song that the Steve Miller Band never wrote—peaceful-easy-felling rock that nonchalantly accelerates when it desires to. This track could not have been written by any other Fleetwood Mac member but Robert Lawrence Welch Jr. The thorny, complex rock of “Somebody” is as close as FM got to Captain Beefheart. The LP’s only kinda-sorta misstep is the cover of the 1965 Yardbirds hit “For Your Love.” It’s an awkward fit for Fleetwood Mac, but not uninteresting. As with some of Bryan Ferry’s reinterpretations, FM don’t quite get the inflections and nuances right, and that friction sparks an odd sort of joy.

Mystery To Me deserves much more respect than Fleetwood Mac fans—and people, in general—have given it. It’s too bad that this version of the band broke up after it was discovered that Weston was having an affair with Fleetwood’s wife, Jenny Boyd. (Bob, how in blazes did you think this was a good idea?!) -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Half Japanese “Music To Strip By” (50 Skidillion Watts, 1987)

After beginning their career with noisier, more inaccessible albums such as 1/2 Gentlemen/Not Beasts, Loud, and Our Solar System, Maryland group Half Japanese eventually became more proficient on their instruments, wrote more structured songs, and enlisted pro producers such as Shimmy-Disc boss Kramer to oversee their recordings. All of these changes led to their greatest LP, Music To Strip By.

Half Japanese’s wild sixth album rambles all over the musical spectrum like a sugared-up toddler. Led by guitarist/vocalist Jad Fair, Half Japanese animated their blues, jazz, speedcore, R&B, and No Wave with a wrongheaded, primitive minimalism that threw a new light on these styles.

Throughout the record, Fair seems like the kind of guy who got taunted throughout his school years and for revenge later channeled his pent-up venom into music. He possesses the ultimate nerd whine (Fair’s influence manifested in Violent Femmes’ Gordon Gano); on Music To Strip By, he uses it with devastating effect on his quirky songs about a mother who needs to strip to support her family, hot dogs, intellectually slothful teens, demonic ouija boards, prehistoric animals, and FBI gigolos, among many other things.

The album starts with the amazing “Stripping For Cash,” a euphoric gush of high-energy rock that extrapolates upon the peak parts of the Velvet Underground’s “What Goes On.” The rock-ribbed blues of “Thick And Thin” won’t make anyone forget Howlin’ Wolf or Muddy Waters, but for a bunch of geeky Caucasians, it’s pretty tough. “Hot Dog And Hot Damn” sounds like Ornette Coleman’s Prime Time, as interpreted by riled-up 5th-graders. “Sex At Your Parents’ House” channels the Contortions, albeit without the reckless rage of their late frontman, James Chance. This piece broke new ground for Half Japanese.

A shocking departure, “The Price Was Right But The Door Was Wrong” is a J.J. Cale-style speed boogie. Similarly, “US Teens Are Spoiled Bums” manically rambles like something off Meat Puppets II. “Silver And Katherine” is another shocker—a tender, sincere ballad with the feathery gravitas of the Velvet Underground’s “Pale Blue Eyes,” but augmented by blissful sax ripples. The relatively straightforward cover of “La Bamba,” a Mexican folk song that Ritchie Valens made famous with his 1958 hit, is somewhat out of place here, but charming nonetheless. My favorite cut on the album is “Diary,” on which Fair’s voice seethes with what seems like a lifetime of bitterness over the leanest white-boy blues ever: “I’ll write in my diary/What you did to me/And leave it on the table/For all the world to see/… I might even make it into a movie.” Damn.

On much of Music To Strip By, Half Japanese sound like a twisted pop band working on a miniaturist scale. Ex-Butthole Surfer bassist Kramer’s sparse production is ideal for this approach. In this case, less really is more. These tunes will leave you laughing, crying, and disbelieving in gasps. It’s quite possibly the greatest 22-song album ever. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Scientists “Blood Red River” (Au Go Go, 1983)

Considered by some to be harbingers of grunge and by others as goth, Scientists always struck me more as Australia’s Stooges. Now, that remote country has fostered many bands with Iggy & company’s DNA, but nobody outside of Birthday Party captured the Stooges’ menacing, seething quality with as much pizzazz as Scientists.

Led by vocalist/guitarist Kim Salmon, Scientists released a self-titled debut album in 1981 whose bubbly power-pop/punk songs didn’t hint at the brooding heaviness that animates their 1983 mini-album, Blood Red River. To these ears, they sounded like lightweight also-rans on that first LP. In retrospect, it makes sense that soon after The Scientists was released, two members left to join the Hoodoo Gurus. Bringing in drummer Brett Rixon, bassist Boris Sujdovic, and guitarist Tony Thewlis had a salubrious effect, as Scientists transformed into a very different and much ornerier beast.

“When Fate Deals Its Mortal Blow” stands as one of the greatest openings to a record ever. Salmon sneers a revenge tale like Lux Interior’s meaner, Down Under Döppleganger while the guitars squeeze out radiated sparks and the rhythm section metronomically marches down a muddy trench with grim certitude. Swagger overload right out of the gate! “Burnout” motors down the garbage-strewn alley with a brutal grunt of a bass line, staccato, pugilistic beats, and guitars like zipping wasps. The song eventually accelerates into a thuggish yet disciplined freakout.

“The Spin” starts exactly like Birthday Party’s sinister blues-rock churn “King Ink,” making it one of the least-surprising moments on Blood Red River. Following in BP singer Nick Cave’s footsteps, Salmon gets off a pitch-perfect, feral Iggy howl. “Rev Head” foreshadows British heavy psychonauts Loop, with some maniacal, Suicide-like repetition (hence the Martin Rev-referencing title) and Alan Vega-esque shouts thrown in for good measure.

One of the coolest songs of the ’80s, “Set It On Fire” forces your mouth agape with jaw-harp-enhanced Stooge-adelia, powered by a thrusting, lascivious bass line, plus well-timed, Jimi Hendrix-meets-Andy Gill guitar explosions. The title track ends the record with sparse, menacing blues rock that, if you saw it stalking toward you, you’d cross the street to avoid it.

Scientists would get trashier and thrashier on 1986’s Weird Love, but for my money, they decisively peaked on the short yet potent Blood Red River. (In 2015, Numero Group reissued Blood Red River. That’s probably the easiest and most cost-effective way to obtain it.) -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Eddy Senay “Hot Thang” (Sussex, 1972)

As a guitarist from Detroit coming up in the ’60s and ’70s, Eddy Senay had to deal with some tough competition. Funkadelic’s Eddie Hazel, the Funk Brothers’ Dennis Coffey, the MC5’s Fred “Sonic” Smith and Wayne Kramer, etc. But Senay held his own among these heavy Motor City axe-slingers on his two lone albums for Sussex, Step By Step and Hot Thang (both released in 1972). He wasn’t as incendiary a player as the aforementioned musicians, but Senay ruled as a purveyor of mellow finesse, a virtuoso of blissful licks.

Hot Thang bears similarities with Mel Brown’s Chicken Fat (reviewed on this blog earlier this year). Both records eschew vocals (let us give thanks) and possess a sinuous, sinewy approach to bluesy funk. Sometimes the best way to start an album is to ease your way into it. Fig. 1 is “Just Feeling It,” a laid-back psych-blues charmer that would make Khruangbin flip their wigs. “Down Home” bears Steve Cropper/Booker T. & The M.G.s vibes. Country funk of the highest order, the song rewardingly chews the aforementioned Chicken Fat.

Written by Donny Hathaway and Richard Evans, “Zambezi” remains one of the coolest funk cuts ever, with Senay operating at his flashiest and most dexterous, working in perfect tandem with the uncredited, flamboyant organist. It’s the album’s peak and my go-to cut from it for DJ sets. Almost as great are “Jubo” and “Reverend Lowdown.” The former’s hard-hitting, elastic funk screaming to get on a blaxploitation-film soundtrack; the latter’s stripped-down, James Brown-ian funk with tambourine-augmented beats. Scorchers, both.

Senay’s such an ingenious musician, he can make even an over-covered hit such as Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine” sound necessary. He does it with requisite solemnity, but also a peppier tempo and funkier rhythm. It’s one of the best versions of this song, which, given how many there are, is serious praise.

Modern Harmonic reissued Hot Thang on vinyl and CD in 2017. Get it on all formats -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Tony Joe White “Tony Joe” (Monument, 1970)

The late Tony Joe White should’ve been at least 75% as popular as Elvis Presley. He had the deep, sexy voice, the knack for telling vivid stories in songs set in his Louisiana swampland youth, the tight guitar playing, a sly sense of humor, and the rugged good looks. TJW was the whole package, and he was more versatile than Elvis (who charted with White’s own biggest hit, “Polk Salad Annie”). So while Tony had some commercial success (the aforementioned hit in the last sentence and “Rainy Night In Georgia”) and wrote a couple more blockbusters for Tina Turner ca. 1989, he didn’t come close to the fame and fortune of his fellow Southern stud. Life ain’t fair, etc.

TJW’s first five albums from 1969-1972 are all great and representative of his prodigious sangin’ [sic], songwriting, and guitar-pickin’ skills. I could’ve written about any of them, but I chose his third LP, Tony Joe, because I dig the poncho Tony’s wearing on the back cover and the horse he’s riding looks cool. I also picked Tony Joe because it starts with one of White’s toughest tracks, “Stud Spider,” which Light In The Attic Records placed on the first comp of its essential Country Funk series. In conjunction with Muscle Shoals hotshots Norbert Putnam (bass), David Briggs (organ), and other session-musician ringers hanging around Nashville studios at the time, White weaves a lustful tale of love via the metaphor of spider behavior while he and the boys erect a slow-burning funk edifice to accentuate the lyrics’ drama. Kanye West and Common have sampled Jerry Corrigan’s drums from this one, and it’s surprising more hip-hop producers haven’t.

Further excursions in grooviness occur with “Save Your Sugar For Me,” a paragon of country-funk accessibility, with White’s trademark libidinousness leading the way and female backing vocalists (uncredited, unfortunately) adding that titular sweetness. With natural gusto and grunting lasciviousness, Tony embodies the Southern-fried braggadocio of Otis Redding’s “Hard To Handle.” Clearly, TJW was born to perform this soulful crotch-scorcher. “What Does It Take (To Win Your Love)” (previously done by Jr. Walker & The All Stars) reveals White’s tender side with mellifluous harmonica playing and a confidential singing tone.

Another highlight occurs on “Conjure Woman,” an ominous pounder about a swamp-dwelling witch whom the narrator feared would put a spell on him. The album’s low point is Donnie Fritts/Spooner Oldham’s “My Friend,” a string-heavy ballad that unfortunately tumbles into the maudlin column. White’s better when he straps on the acoustic for some minimalist blues, as he does with “Stockholm Blues” and “Widow Wimberly.” Speaking of blues, White really rises to the occasion with his take on John Lee Hooker’s lean, menacing 1962 original of “Boom Boom.” He lays on the hambone-tough-guy persona thickly while playing mean harmonica and subtly savage electric guitar over the top of the classic’s pitiless lope. This version’s nearly eight minutes long, and it’s all gripping. Ain’t no way Elvis could do it better… -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Eugene McDaniels “Outlaw” (Atlantic, 1970)

Eugene McDaniels’ outré political-protest-album era was short, but yielded two classics: 1970’s Outlaw and 1971’s Headless Heroes Of The Apocalypse. These records deviated from his previous output as a relatively conventional R&B singer, becoming treasure troves of samples for hip-hop producers and earning love from counter-culture types, too. His rabble-rousing 1969 anthem “Compared To What” was turned into a hit by Les McCann and Eddie Harris, and it somewhat foreshadowed Outlaw. By 1975, though, McDaniels was in full-on loverman mode with Natural Juices. While Headless Heroes has been sampled more and garnered more critical accolades, Outlaw is just as powerful an artistic statement.

To achieve this lofty work, McDaniels enlisted elite session players Ron Carter (bass), Hugh McCracken (guitar), Eric Weissberg (guitar), Ray Lucas (drums), and Buck Clarke (percussion), plus musical director Williams S. Fischer. This team served as exceptional facilitators of soulful, rock-oriented ballads and occasional forays into funk and gospel. Eugene threaded the needle with songs that double as fascinating character studies and trenchant sociopolitical commentary.

“Outlaw” portrays rebellious women who don’t wear bras nor fry their hair, but rather live with nature and not with the law. Surprisingly, “Outlaw” sounds like one of those elegantly stumbling, blues-rock gems from the Rolling Stones’ Beggars Banquet. “Sagittarius Red” offers more Stones-like balladry, flaunting McDaniels’ vast range and emotional depth as a singer, a rich combo of soulfulness and rock bravado.

“Welfare City” is an absolutely joyous ode to flouting convention, hanging out with the kids in Washington Park, and smoking joints. It’s powered by a total earworm of a melody that moves in huge, sugary loops and possesses some of the most infectious “yeah yeah yeah”s and “la la la”s. The gospel intro of “Silent Majority” gives way to a lean, staunch protest song that gathers strength with each passing bar. The guitar interplay between McCracken and Weissberg glints and coils with glorious tension in a tune that’s a perfect merger of Shuggie Otis and Phil Ochs. The song segues seamlessly into “Love Letter To America,” a devastating condemnation of the USA. “Hey, America, you could’ve been a real democracy/You could’ve been free/You could have had me for your friend and not your enemy/The only thing you can respect is violence now/You lost the gift of love, don’t ask me how.” McDaniels renders this brilliant concept with tough tenderness.

In “Unspoken Dreams Of Light,” McDaniels loquaciously castigates the genocide of indigenous peoples (called “Indians,” in the parlance of the time) to a backing in which heartfelt balladry and incisive jazz-funk alternate. It’s a fantastic roller-coaster ride. With its über-funky opening drum break, “Cherrystones” unspools into a low-lit, laid-back charmer in which McDaniels sarcastically lambastes greedy, apolitical assholes. Reminiscent of the sidewinding seductiveness of the Rolling Stones’ “Stray Cat Blues,” “Reverend Lee” relates a tale about a clergyman who succumbs to the fleshly temptations of “Satan’s daughter.” The album closes with “Black Boy,” a trembling ballad in which McDaniels shows the rare ability to simultaneously project vulnerability and strength.

On the record’s back cover, McDaniels wrote, “under conditions of national emergency, like now, there are only two kinds of people—those who work for freedom and those who do not… the good guys vs. the bad guys.” Evergreen truth. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.