Home of the Groove

Congrats to George Porter, Jr....

2012-01-28T23:26:00.012-06:00

[On the Button]

...for his 2012 Lifetime Achievement Award from OffBeat magazine, celebrated by George and his band at the Best of the Beat Awards show last night, where quite a party broke out. Read Alex Rawls' great interview with the bassist wtih the funky mostest, which also appeared in the January print issue with George gracing the cover.

He got well-deserved kudos and gave a very gracious thank-you to his wife of 40+ years, who he brought out onstage and handed the award, saying he was giving it to her for all her support, then delivered an outstanding, feel-good performance with the Runnin' Pardners. Plus, dig who dropped by for the warm-up musical tribute put together by his daughter, Katrina: Art Neville, Cyril Neville, Dr. John, David Barard, Papa Mali, Stanton Moore, and George's horn section alumni. Not too shabby.

As the pulse of so much vital New Orleans music, how could George ever NOT matter?

[George and Terrence Houston, well into it (photo by Dan Phillips)]

[P.S. - George's segment wasn't the only music, by far, with two stages going pretty much all night. See the line-up at the BOTB link above.]

Utterly Etta

2012-01-27T11:24:00.003-06:00

I thought I’d consider a few tunes from the HOTG perspective in remembrance of Etta James, one of soul music’s most expressive singers, who passed away last Friday at 73. She was preceded just a few days earlier by the great Johnny Otis, who had discovered her in San Francisco in 1954 and brought her down to Los Angeles to record for Modern Records, the first session resulting in a hit, “The Wallflower”.

Though not a New Orleans artist by any means; Etta did record there a couple of times, starting in 1956-57, when Modern brought her in to cut some sides at Cosimo Matassa’s original Rampart Street studio, J&M, ground zero for a multitude of classic records that decade, many hits, many misses. Two good singles resulted,, “Tough Lover”/”What Fools We Mortals Be” (#998) and “The Pick-Up”/” Market Place” (#1016), with Etta backed by members of the hot pool of local players who gave tracks cut as Cosimo’s their distinctive energy and sound; but nothing from those sessions fared well commercially - so she moved on...and on. By the time she returned to the city for an album project nearly a quarter century later, she was an acknowledged soul diva, albeit one who was having mid-life label problems. Much in the music business had changed. Yet, New Orleans still proved to be a great place to make a record..

Over the years, Etta put her distinctive stamp on number of songs by New Orleans and Louisiana writers, including Eddie Bo, Allen Toussaint, King Floyd, Bobby Charles, and David Egan. Almost exactly 5 years ago, I featured this cover of a rarely heard Toussaint tune; which has never been topped. It’s definitely time for a replay.

“Blinded By Love” (Allen Toussaint)
Etta James, from Etta Is Betta than Evvah, Chess 1976
LISTEN

That prior post considered three of the four known versions of “Blinded By Love”: Sam and Dave’s, produced by Steve Cropper in 1975 with a bunch of cool Stax alumni; Lydia Pense and Cold Blood’s funky bar band stab; and, of course, Etta’s, which I still attest to be the finest by far.

This unique, meticulously crafted Toussaint rock-pop hybrid can trip up the best of players with all its interlocking, tightly turned, precision-demanding riffs. On such material, the danger is losing the groove while negotiating the rapid-fire ins and outs to perfection. Undeterred by the challenge, producer/arranger Mike Terry decided to de-emphasize the riffs in favor of feel via finely tuned poly-rhythmic support that was on the money, in the pocket, but not in the way. That opened up the track and allowed Etta’s funky, expansive soul room to breathe. She certainly had her way with the enigmatic lyrics, making them matter purely by her intonation, phrasing and dynamics.

“Groove Me” (King Foyd)
LISTEN

Speaking of covers, she utterly dominated King Floyd’s “Groove Me” on this same album, her inventive melodicism and raw power taking it places Floyd never dreamed of. Luckily for him, few people ever got to hear her kick his ass. Terry kept the basic song structure intact, including the vital staggered bass line that gives the tune its herk-jerky fever, but employed his larger instrumental palette to create a pulsing cluster of rhythmic interplay that provided uplifting, booty-shifting support for Etta’s high caloric, deep-fried bump and grind vocalizing.

I note that Larry Grogan also tapped this one as part of his fine Etta tribute from the past weekend at Funky 16 Corners; but I’ve wanted to post it for so long, I’m going with it anyway - the more the funkier. For an extra-treat, you can catch her doing the song live in 1982 on YouTube, with Toussaint and Dr. John sitting in, no less

An enjoyable ride, this poorly titled and cheaply packaged LP marked the end of Etta’s association with Chess Records and quickly slipped into undeserved obscurity due to a chain of corporate upheavals. She had first signed with the Chicago company in 1960 and recorded most of her classic sides for the Chess brothers’ various labels. Once they sold out to GRT in 1969, recording activity tapered off over the next few years, and the Chess physical assets were liquidated.

Around 1976, All Platinum Records bought the remains from GRT, mostly for the rich back-catalog of music, but ponied up to make Etta Is Betta Than Evvah, tracking most of it at their New Jersey studios. The result likely was the last new recording ever to bear the Chess imprint, as All Platinum soon found it more lucrative to simply reissue the label archives, as did Sugar Hill when they took over a few years later, followed by MCA, et al, keeping the Chess name alive through perpetual re-packaging.

Etta signed with Warner Brothers in 1978 and recorded her fine Deep In The Night album in L.A. with Jerry Wexler producing, but it experienced the age-old music business curse of raves from the critics and indifference from the public. So, WB sent her down to Sea-Saint in New Orleans to work on a follow-up, aptly entitled Changes, with Toussaint in charge. He gave the proceedings variations on his usual mix of soul, pop and funk, with emphasis on the former and latter, considering who was singing, and got a number of impressive performances from Etta. I’ve featured several songs from this great album before, most recently as part of my series on the late Herman Ernest, III, who did a lot of the drumming on it; and the revealing back story of those sessions is there for the reading.

The Changes LP took over a year to complete, because, in the midst of the process, Warner Brothers heard the rough cuts and decided to dump the album and Etta. Go figure. Put on indefinite hold, the project picked up again when RCA showed interest in it, only to have them also back out on the deal. Finally, after many months, MCA stepped in and funded completion the LP, releasing it on their T-Electric imprint; but it seems they then forgot it existed, as the record sank in the commercial shark tank pretty much without making a ripple.

“Changes” (Carole King [??])
Etta James, from Changes, T-Electric, 1980
LISTEN

I‘m so fascinated with this unusually structured, deep soul title track, I had to ignore my own preference for the upbeat and include it. Toussaint’s artful arranging and production ingenuity were well-expressed here in the slow, swing/sway of the beat, set in a floating 6/8 time with certain rythmic liberties taken at points for contrast and added kick. The studio band rendered it all flawlessly; and the leader's churchy piano vamping set the tone and provided the platform for the authentic, soulful authority of Etta’s delivery. That she was the realest of deals is undeniable on this tune, where her always mind-blowing vocal power is under such effortless control and perfectly attuned to the track.

There’s one mysterious caveat to this number. Regardless of what the back cover and label credits say, it appears not to have been written by Carole King at all. Neither the lyrics nor the melody match the song of the same name on King's 1978 Welcome Home album - the only song with that title she wrote, by the way. I have been unable to find a correct or even plausible attribution* for Etta's “Changes”, but feel there must have been a mix-up in the performing rights/song licensing department at the company, and would appreciate any leads you can lend as to who the writer(s) might be.

For a nice summary of Etta’s career, be sure to hop over to The B-Side and read what Red has to say about this all too human, yet larger than life singer’s singer, whose voice that had no compare or competition, belonging in a timeless class unto itself. Utterly irreplaceable.

*Note: Toussaint’s BMI catalog of songs includes one with the same title, and shows three co-wrtiers, who turn out to have written it in the 1990s, when it appeared on the Clockers soundtrack. Including Toussaint on the credits is either a BMI mistake, or may have something to do with the subtitle of that song being “Get Out of My Life Woman”. The US Copyright Ofiice does not show “Changes” as a registered Toussaint composition.

The New(er) Dark Ages?

2012-01-18T09:34:00.002-06:00

Since today is Black Wednesday, I thought I'd act like a real blog today and just post a link to this piece on Mashable which says better than I could what all this SOPA/PIPA obfuscating is really about....and it ain't online piracy, folks.

Not that I support pirating; but nuking the internet, or attempting to make it serve just a few masters, is no solution. In the immortal words of the Isley Brothers...and Public Enemy..."Fight the Power!"

Steppin' Into Carnival 2012

2012-01-13T11:54:00.003-06:00

Well, I just looked up for a minute from the near constant keyboard tapping, information seeking, and record cleaning/listening rituals around here to find the new year fully engaged and Twelfth Night already past. Damn, tempus fugeddaboutit. It’s time to stand back up and start celebrating all over again, and not just because the Saints continue their winning Who Dat ways....

It's Carnival season, y'all, in no way to be confused with the current Circus of the Absurd masquerading as presidnetial campaigning, traveling state to state to peddle assorted vaporous remedies purported to cure all ills. What better time for a far more efficacious remedy, two quick shots of street-occupyin' funk to help get the juices flowing for all the partying, parading, and other polymorphously festive proclivities to come, as anticipation builds for Mardi Gras, February 21st, 2012. Eh las bas!

On deck we have some early Rebirth Brass Band action transferred from rare vinyl, plus an LP cut from the Wild Tchoupitoulas Mardi Gas Indians, featuring the late Big Chief Jolly. Let’s go get ‘em!

“Put Your Right Foot Forward” (Kermit/Philip)
Rebirth Brass Band, Syla 986, ca 1987
LISTEN

This single on Milton Batiste’s Syla label likely came out around Mardi Gras in the late ‘80s, no doubt as a fairly limited edition, since Syla releases got spotty distribution at best, even around their city of origin. My bunged up copy - the only one I’ve run across, so far - turns out to be an interesting artifact in the Rebirth’s coming of age saga.

The group formed in the early 1980s, when three teenage high school friends and marching bandmates, trumpeter Kermit Ruffins and the Frazier brothers, tubist Philip and bass drummer Keith, started a brass and percussion unit, Rebirth Jazz Band. The group was inspired by the revolutionary Dirty Dozen, who were already busy around town making a splash and the resulting waves by updating traditional street parade sound with slamming new material, both originals and adventurous cover tunes. The Dozen, Rebirth and a host of other new groups who would follow revived the dying brass band genre, injecting it with the fresh, improvisatory energy, and unstoppably funky grooves that define it to this day.

Rebirth honed their chops playing for tips on the street in the French Quarter and around their home base, the historic Treme neighborhood. With a well-chosen name that was a straightforward statement of their intent, they have kept the innovative intensity going for 30 years. In the early 1990s, Kermit left them to pursue a successful solo career; but neither that nor the Federal Flood stopped the band, whose latest in a long string of albums, Rebirth of New Orleans, is up for a Grammy this year.

In 1984, the group’s first LP, Here To Stay (re-issued on CD in 1997), was recorded live by roots music propagator Chris Strachwitz at the Grease Lounge in the Treme, and released on his Arhoolie label. By the time they made their next LP/CD, Feel Like Funkin’ It Up, for Rounder Records in 1989, they were going by Rebirth Brass Band exclusively. The Boston-area label was bigger and had much wider distribution than Arhoolie, plus two fine producers, Scott Billington and Ron Levy, focused on bringing numerous New Orleans artists, old and new, to national prominence with well-produced showcase releases.

I’m thinking Rebirth cut this single somewhere in-between those two albums. Although they were shown as Rebirth Brass Band on the label, Kermit’s spoken intro to “Put Your Right Foot Forward” says it’s “...a new one by the Rebirth Jazz Band....” - either a slip, or the name was still in flux. Batiste had taken them into Sea-Saint Studio in 1987 to record a number of sides, four of which appeared two years later on a Rounder brass band compilation, Down Yonder. There the band was billed as the Rebirth Marching Jazz Band, an awkward variant that thankfully did not stick. Anyway, the tracks on this single (with “The New Second Line” on the flip) may well have been cut at the same session.

At Sea-Saint, the band was again recorded live, pumped up to ten pieces from its typical eight in those days, but the the core as listed on the notes to the CD were lead vocalist Ruffins and Derek Wiley on trumpets, the Frazier’s holding down the bottom, Eric Sellers on snare, plus tenor saxophonist John Gilbert, with Keith ‘Wolf’ Anderson and Reginald Stewart on trombones. As the track attests, by this point they were already well-seasoned and smokin’.

“Indians Here Dey Come” (George Landry)
from Wild Tchoupitoulas, Antilles, 1976
LISTEN

Of course, Mardi Gras Indians are another phenomenon of the by-ways of the city’s black neighborhoods, traditionally appearing in their colorful regalia on Mardi Gras, and again around St, Joseph’s Day. With their increasing popularity, some also suit up at other times of the year for special events and paying gigs, such as JazzFest. Their long, intriguing history, with cultural roots going back to pre-colonial Africa, is well worth exploring.

George Landry, who wrote and sang this tune, was the uncle of the brothers Neville: Aaron, Art, Charles, and Cyril. He is best known as Big Chief Jolly, leader of the Indian gang, the Wild Tchoupitoulas. that he founded during the early 1970s on the family’s Uptown 13th Ward home turf.

In 1970, another group of Uptown Indians, the Wild Magnolias, under Big Chief Bo Dollis, had a historic jam session with Willie Tee and his funk group, the Gaturs, which resulted in the two groups having a succession of fecund collaborations on recordings over the next few years, including several local singles, and two LPs in 1974 and 1975. Their popularity added yet another facet to the inter-related marvel that is New Orleans music and brought the Indians to the eyes and ears of the world. Naturally, coming from a highly musical family, Jolly and his nephews sought to make their own recorded statement based upon his take on the Indians’ songs and the many cultural influences within them.

The resulting Wild Tchoupitoulas album, was recorded at Sea-Saint and released in 1976 on the Island Records subsidiary, Antilles, and had a couple of 45 spin-offs. Although Sea-Saint owners Allen Toussaint and Marshall Sehorn of Sansu Enterprises got the production credit on the LP for working the deal, they at least allowed Art and Charles to have co-producer and arrangement props; but, as Art pointed out in the brothers’ autobiography, he, Jolly, and all the musicians involved had a part in the production process and contributed more than just their fine chops to the overall sound.

Art and Cyril were part of the legendary Meters, under contract with Sansu at this point; and the group became the rhythm section for the project, with added percussion by members of Jolly’s gang. Aaron, whose career was at loose ends, contributed his unmistakable vocal skills; and Charles, who was living in New York, was summoned down to play saxophone. It was the first time that all four brothers had recorded together and set the spark that encouraged them to unite as the Neville Brothers band for an epic, multi-decade ride, once Art and Cyril left the Meters in 1977.

Obviously, a lot of incredible talent and good energy was devoted to this LP, which proved to be a charmingly melodic experience with a pronounced Caribbean feel at times, riding relaxed but highly poly-rhythmic grooves. Though well-received by New Orleans aficionados and the music press, it never was a big seller. Sansu claimed it barely made enough money to recoup the production costs; and, thus, little or no royalties were paid out, souring Jolly on doing any more recording. Still, over the years, Wild Tchoupitoulas has become a Carnival music classic and a must-have for any decent collection of the city’s feel-good music.

I'll be back closer to the day with more Carnival tunes. Party on.....

TRACKING THE BIG Q FACTOR, PART 3: More on the Malaco School Bus Sessions & Beyond

2012-01-03T21:23:00.006-06:00

Happy New Year, y’all.

Rob Bowman’s extensive notes to the 1999 box set, Malaco Records: The Last Soul Company, revealed a lot to me when it first came out about Wardell Quezergue’s years working out of the company’s Jackson, MS studio, including the exact line-up of vocalists he and his partner, Elijah Walker, brought up from New Orleans on May 17, 1970 to wrap up their first big production project there. That trustworthy account, backed up by Knight’s recollections to Jeff Hannusch in The Soul of New Orleans, have Knight, King Floyd, Bonnie & Sheila, the Barons, and Joe Wilson all doing vocal tacks on the sessions which were eventually released by various labels.

Since I covered the Barons’ Malaco sessions in the prior post (just scroll down, if you missed it), this installment focuses on the rest of the slate and examples of records they made at the studio under Big Q’s direction. Most of the contingent took that first trip up in a funky, old, un-air-conditioned school bus that Walker arranged for, an appropriate conveyance in a sense, when you consider the way Wardell schooled singers and musicians for his sessions, and the poly-rhythmic grooves to be found on many of the resulting tracks.

What he presided over during his tenure at Malaco was actually a unique re-allignment of the funk feel, first expressed by his arrangement of King Floyd’s “Groove Me”. Since the song is fairly well-known and easily accessible, I’m not featuring the audio here; but how it came to be, got the Big Q treatment, and became a hit is essential to the story. So find a copy and listen up if you like, as we move along.

Groovin’ With the King

When Floyd composed “Groove Me” a year or two prior to cutting it at Malaco, he was in California working with Harold Battiste, Mac Rebennack, and other New Orleans expatriates on recording and songwriting. He had the song pegged to be funky from the start with the offbeat bass line as its centerpiece; but the tune would have to wait for Wardell to realize its full potential. Floyd almost allowed another artist to record it out West, but balked then the producer of the project wanted to straighten out the groove. Upon returning home, he pitched it to several other vocalists, one of whom, C. P. Love, just happened to be managed by Walker and slated to be a part of the May 17 Malaco sessions. So impressed was Love with Floyd and his songs, “Groove Me” in particular, he offered to let him have his recording slot; and, once Big Q heard Floyd’s material, he readily agreed to the switch. So, the new recruit signed on and was prepped for his performance.

On the day of the sessions, Floyd was one of the few not on the bus. As he told Jeff Hannusch in I Hear You Knockin’, he took his own car up to Jackson; and it broke down along the way, making him so late that he almost missed his chance. Yet, when he finally stepped up to the mike, he got the first number down in just two takes, then nailed “Groove Me” on the first try. Only about a half hour had passed in the studio before he was back on the road for New Orleans to make a shift at work - quick, slick and meant to be.

All along, “Groove Me” was intended as the B-side of his single from the session. The preferred song,”What Our Love Needs”, also written by Floyd, had a more conventional beat and construction, with a smooth soul feel enhanced by Wardell’s evocative orchestration, adding strings and woodwinds to the mix. But, rather than treat “Groove Me” as a throwaway, Big Q channeled the song’s inner moxie, countering the quirky, off-balance rhythmic tensions of the verses with the quick propulsive releases of the choruses, so the music pulsed like some automated soul-funk hybrid under the singer’s assured, imperative delivery. Even though all involved considered it too groove-centric and idiosyncratic for mainstream soul radio, the song would soon prove them wrong.

After all the tracks had been cut, Malaco shopped each artist’s songs to Stax Records in Memphis, which passed on the entire lot, and then to Jerry Wexler at Atlantic, who did likewise. Thanks, but no thanks. As Bowman tells it, the setback took the wind out the the team’s sails, though they were still convinced they had cut some hits. Their first back-up came from a Jackson radio station program director who heard the material and thought Floyd’s songs had the most commercial potential. He encouraged Tommy Couch, co-owner of Malaco, to take a chance and release a single independently.

With no other viable alternative, the studio set up a new label, Chimneyville, and issued Floyd’s record (#435) in August of 1970. When George Vinnett, manager of WYLD, the premier soul station in New Orleans, received some copies soon thereafter, he fatefully gave one to his teenage niece who played it at a party with her friends. They all immediately flipped for the flip side and grooved on it all night long. That enthusiastic, unscientific focus group convinced Vinnett that “Groove Me” could be big, and he began pushing it on the air, much to Floyd’s initial consternation. The singer soon got over it, when the record took off all over town and began to break out regionally.

That’s when Atlantic swooped back into the picture to get a piece of the “Groove Me” action by providing national distribution for Chimneyville through their Cotillion subsidiary, which helped take the record to its #1 R&B, #6 Pop peak. That success, along with “Mr. Big Stuff”, the delayed-release hit for Jean Knight the next year, encouraged Wardell and his writers to pursue numerous other overtly rhythmic projects over the next few years.

Of course, King Floyd had his share of those cuts on subsequent 45s and two albums supervised by Big Q.

“Woman Don’t Go Astray” (King Floyd)
King Floyd, Chimneyville 443, 1972
LISTEN

Another original by the singer, this song initially appeared on the his eponymous 1971 LP, released by Cotillion to further cash in on the success of not only “Groove Me”, but the #5 R&B, #29 Pop follow-up single, “Baby Let Me Kiss You”, a highly funkified variation on the theme of the prior hit. As for the prospects of “Woman Don’t Go Astray”, George Vinnett once again showed his prescience, lobbying to get the track released on a 45, convinced that it too could do great things. That came to pass in 1972, when the single version became another #5 R&B smash.

Simply constructed with just two alternating sections, the song’s appeal lies in the interplay of each different yet complimentary dance groove. The first is built around another hesitating, ostinato bass riff similar to “Groove Me”, while the other breaks into an upbeat swing feel that affords the tune forward momentum. Wardell’s arrangement avoided getting in the way, and focused on that interaction, staying in the stripped down mode of just drums, bass, guitar and organ, plus smatterings of horns throughout. Meanwhile, Floyd’s reliable tenor locked perfectly into the rhythmic mix.

“Woman Don’t Go Astray” appeared on Floyd’s fifth Chimneyville single and would be the last charting track of his career. Due to its success, the song was also included on his second LP, Think About It. Though he stayed with the label for a few more years and put out other good records, the singer and Wardell parted ways somewhere around 1973, due to the oft-used catchall of “creative differences”. Those in the know have said that Floyd was generally difficult to work with, to the point of becoming irrational at times; and things only got worse when when the hits stopped coming.

“It’s Not What You Say” (Michael Adams, Albert Savory, Wardell Quezergue)
King Floyd, from Think About It, Atco 7023, 1973
LISTEN

Here’s a great groover from the final days of the collaboration, which only appeared on Think About It, the last Floyd LP to have Big Q’s involvement. Again, Atlantic released it as part of its Chimneyville Series, but on the Atco imprint this time around.

It was a worthy collection that included a few cover tunes for the first time. The perennial “My Girl” was completely re-imagined and extended by Wardell and Floyd into an impressive, multi-part production with two monologues; and there were two Otis Redding-related numbers (nothing wrong with that!), including the title track, which also appeared on a single. With Floyd’s record sales down, Atlantic may have dictated the use of those songs to try (in vain) for wider appeal. Still, each got the distinctive Big Q treatment; and the bulk of the album’s material was sourced once again from his stable of tunesmiths, as well as Floyd and various co-writers.

Penned by Big Q with Michael Adams and Albert Savoy, “It’ s Not What You Say” is one of the most impressive loose-booty tracks Floyd and his producer made together and certainly should have had a spin-off single of its own. Using the same basic Malaco-era instrumentation from the Chimneyville rhythm section and horns, Wardell further textured the mix with some very effective added percussion, upping the funk quotient considerably. It’s another example of his ability to create intricately layered, interactively syncopated synergy among the players and vocalist, engendering a groove that strips away all excuses not to move.

Listening to this track again (and again), I am reminded why Floyd’s performances on funkier material generally seem his most satisfying. He had a pleasant enough voice, but a limited vocal range, which he compensated for by gearing his approach more toward the rhythmic energy in the music. It brings into focus the importance of having a collaborator such as Big Q, who intuitively understood how to bring out a singer’s strengths and minimize any limitations, and whose poly-rhythmic grooves dovetailed perfectly with Floyd’s emphasis on the meter of his delivery. No doubt such support was vital for the singer to attain the success he had in the business, even though he unfortunately did not fully appreciate the fact.

Call it miraculous, or call it destiny, as the singer did in describing to Jeff Hannusch the chain of events that led to his break-out years at Malaco. There’s no doubt in my mind that the King Floyd - Wardell Quezergue musical connection was a beneficent cosmic convergence for all concerned, including those of us still enjoying the results in the here and now.

Jean Knight's Biggest Stuff

Jean Knight, who came into this world as Jean Caliste, connected with Wardell in an equally unplanned and fortuitous manner. Her recording career began about five years earlier in her hometown of New Orleans, when she came to Cosimo’s studio to cut some demos for Henry R. ‘Reggie’ Hines. He and Lynn Williams co-owned Lynn’s Productions, a Mississippi-based talent management and production company which operated several labels up in the Delta. Hines had recently opened a branch operation with bandleader Al White in the Crescent City to find and develop talent. Among the young, local acts on his roster at that time were the Barons, and a female vocal group, the Queenettes (more about them later).

Caliste’s first record resulted from that session, but actually came out thanks to another wheeler-dealer producer and label owner, Huey Meaux, a Texan with Louisiana Cajun roots, who was also at Cosimo’s recording a project on the great Barbara Lynn. When he happened to hear the demo tracks Caliste had done, he was impressed enough to contract to release the tunes, “Doggin’ Around” and “The Man That Left Me”, as a single (#706) on his Jetstream label in 1965. She adopted the stage name, Jean Knight, for the record; and it would stick. Subsequently, she cut two more singles in Texas for Meaux’s Tribe imprint; but he soon lost interest when none of her 45s did well. The recordings did allow the singer to get some club work around New Orleans and environs; but, by the end of the decade, Caliste was putting bread on the table by working as a baker, with musical prospects for Jean Knight looking pretty flat.

Then, as she related to Jeff Hannusch in The Soul Of New Orleans, out of the blue one day while downtown, she was recognized and approached by a stranger, Ralph Williams, who said he was a songwriter for Wardell Quezergue and had some material he would like her to record. Interested, she soon met with Big Q, and got a tape of songs to consider for an upcoming recording date at Malaco. Of those, she immediately was drawn to the concept of “Mr. Big Stuff”, but put off by the fact that it was paced as a ballad! So, she convinced Williams and head-writer Joe Broussard that it needed perking up to allow her to give the vocal some emphatic attitude that captured the spirit of the lyrics; and Wardell kept that in mind when he recorded the backing tracks.

As the story goes, and I’ve no reason to doubt it, he worked out the arrangements for all the songs to be cut at his first big Malaco instrumental tracking session, while in the car on the way from New Orleans to Jackson. No mean feat! What he came up with for “Mr. Big Stuff” was neither funk, New Orleans R&B, nor straight southern soul. Instead, he infused the tune with what might best be described as a hybrid Jamaican rock-steady feel. Whether it was intentional or coincidental remains open to conjecture; but it was still a fairly unusual slant for the US soul-pop mainstream at the time.

Taking the track at mid-tempo, Wardell had James Stroud keep the snare beat in the pocket on the two and four, allowing the kick drum just a touch of an off-beat, while the interacting patterns assigned to the guitar, bass and horns provided uplifting syncopations. The resulting innovative, infectious bounce afforded Knight evocative support for the take-charge attitude she brought to her vocal romp with the litany of put-downs penned by Broussard, Williams, and Carol Washington.

In contrast, the flip side ballad, “Why I Keep Living These Memories”, by Broussard and Michael Adams, provided a real change of pace and mood, showing Knight could be an effective songstress of the deep, as well. Most everyone involved with the sessions immediately thought “Mr. Big Stuff” had strong hit potential; but, as mentioned, circumstances would lead some to second guess that gut feeling.

Once both Stax and Atlantic had initially passed on everything cut at the school bus sessions, Malaco’s Tommy Couch began to question whether “Mr. Big Stuff”, which he considered a novelty number, was even worth trying to push. So, he left Knight’s tracks on the shelf to concentrate on getting the other material released, including setting up Chimneyville to issue the King Floyd single. It was not until early 1971 that Couch’s friend, Tim Whitsett, who worked at Stax and was a fan of “Mr. Big Stuff”, convinced still skeptical higher-ups at the label to reconsider and take a chance on it. The single came out around March, almost a full year after the recording date; and, by May, the song was #1 in the nation R&B, and had crossed over, climbing to #2 Pop. Later that summer, it became one of the biggest sellers Stax ever had, surpassing two million in sales.

Soon after her record went gold, Stax released the Mr. Big Stuff LP pictured above, produced by Big Q at Malaco with material by his staff writers. The album was decent enough, but contained nothing really outstanding beyond the hit. It didn’t even include her follow-up song soon to hit the charts, although the flip side made it in. Even so, the LP with that imposing blimp-daddy portrayed on its cover sold well; but, despite her flash of phenomenal success, Knight’s run at Stax would prove to be all too brief.

“You Think You’re Hot Stuff” (Broussard, Williams, Washington)
Jean Knight, Stax 0105, Sept. 1971
LISTEN

In age-old record business fashion, Big Q and company tried to keep Knight’s stuff from cooling off by making the next song to be pushed a relative knock-off of the first - not a replica that required a Part 2 designation, but certainly a close enough continuation of the sound and theme that it would be immediately recognized by anyone who had heard “Mr. Big Stuff” more than a few times. They had done similarly with Floyd’s second single.

Often, such ploys can range from lame to simply redundant, but, in this case, the writing of Broussard, Washington and Williams plus Wardell’s arrangement offered up music and a groove that still engaged despite that warmed-over feeling. Though this iteration still has the high-profile bounce, the rhythm track attack is harder-hitting; and Stroud’s drumming nicely slips and slides a bit more to the funky side. The result again gives Knight sturdy, dance-worthy support for the second bout of lyrical trouncing she delivers.

Released in the immediate slip-stream of her prior hit, “You Think You’re Hot Stuff” sold respectably, but reaction was far less intense. It barely got into the R&B top 20 by October of 1971 and went no higher, staying in the charts less than half as long as its predecessor. As for her remaining three singles that Stax released on into 1972, all failed to significantly chart or sell.

“Do Me” (Albert Savoy - Wardell Quezergue)
Jean Knight, Stax 0150, November, 1972
LISTEN

I first featured this tune, which comes from her final Stax single, back in 2006; and it’s certainly worth breaking out again here. I stand by my favorable assessment of the track in that post. Pop that thing! Yes, m’am.

Through no fault of her own, Knight remained an outsider at Stax. During her run, she was under contract with Wardell and company, who provided her with tunes cut exclusively at Malaco. The Memphis label felt her material did not mesh with its sound and direction. So, as she told Hannusch, they attempted to bring her into the fold by offering her good material from their in-house writers that she liked and deemed hit-worthy, but Big Q refused to let her record anything that didn’t come from his production team, no doubt in order to get the publishing royalties involved. So, it became a stand-off. Obviously, Stax wanted more control of Knight’s sound and a cut of the publishing action, too. When they could not get either, they simply refused to release anything else by the singer.

Wardell probably did not relent because he would have been a loser either way. He’d have no publishing income, if Knight did Stax material; and they might lure her away, as well. So he let the deal go under; and, since Malaco seemingly had nowhere else to go with Knight’s recordings, she was through with Big Q by late 1973. Music business power-plays do not go well for those without good options. It was a blow for Big Q’s operation, but much worse for Kinght, whose career never had a chance to fully develop. Stax, on the slide toward bankruptcy, never did sign her; and she bounced from label to label almost yearly throughout the rest of the 1970s, until having two more substantial hits in the 1980s working with producer Isaac Bolden in New Orleans. The last of those was a cover of Rockin’ Sidney’s strong-selling, go-figure novelty nonsense, “My Toot Toot”. In the 1990s, she put out two CDs and continues to perform at festivals and oldies shows up until the present day.

Bonnie & Sheila’s Limited Hang

Of the five acts who recorded sides as a part of these sessions, Bonnie & Sheila are certainly the most obscure. Not only is their record hard to come by these days; but it was elusive at the time of its release. Bonnie told Rob Bowman that she was not sure it was even issued, since she had never seen a copy! Well, Bonnie, if you are still unsure, it was released. I had seen several promo copies, before I chanced upon and bought this stock copy from a UK seller. For those who might be looking for one, note that Sheila’s name is misspelled on the label, making the 45 a bit tricky to search for online.

“You Keep Me Hanging On” (Bonnie Perkins)
Bonnie & Shelia [sic], King 6352, 1971
LISTEN

“I Miss You” (Bonnie Perkins)
LISTEN

Credited as songwriter on both sides of this King single, Bonnie Perkins also had her full name disclosed in Bowman’s box set notes along with that of her singing partner, Sheila Howard. As he also indicated, this was the only commercial release the duo had.

With these tidbits of information, I was able to do further research leading me to believe that Bonnie had also done some recording in the mid-1960s which resulted in two prior releases. On one of them, she worked with not quite ready for prime-time operator ‘Reggie’ Hines, a connection she had in common with the Barons and Jean Knight (see the above section and/or the prior post for details). Bonnie appears to have been a member of the Queenettes, a female vocal group who like the Barons, were signed by Hines to Lynn’s Productions at the time. Both cut several songs for the 1966 Folkways LP, Roots: Rhythm and Blues, a compilation featuring artists from Lynn’s roster, produced by Hines and Al White at Cosimo’s in New Orleans. I discovered Bonnie’s involvement when I checked her other songwriting credits in the BMI database, and found her listed as co-writer on two of the Queenettes’ three tunes on that album. Also credited on those were Hines, probably just getting his producer’s cut; and three other names: Bernadette Moore, Sylvia Moore, and Veronica Thompson, who I am assuming were other members of the group.

If you are an avid collector and/or have been paying close attention here for the last few years, you might recall that Eddie Bo also recorded a group shown as the Queenetts on one of the few 45s for his under-funded and very short-lived Fun label. If that was the same group, which I think is likely, the resulting, extremely rare single (#304) was probably their first release. Both sides were Bo compositions, “So Lucky In Love” b/w “How Long (Can I Hold MY Tears)”; and, from the performances on clips I’ve heard, there were probably fewer than a four members at that point. The participation of Bonnie or the still mysterious Sheila on those two tracks remains unclear.

But back to the 45 at hand. Both of these unassuming pop sides sound like throwbacks to that earlier era, and rather out of place in comparison to the other material recorded along with theirs. I’m not really sure what Big Q expected to achieve commercially going with Bonnie's songs, or why he would not have asked his writing team to cook up something more current for them to release as a debut.

The tunes obviously benefited greatly from Wardell’s arrangements, especially the top side, “You Keep Me Hanging On”, which he presented in the best possible light as a hooky dancer with a great groove courtesy of the in-house band (later known as the Chimneyville Express) at his disposal. I’ve seen this track described as New Orleans funk in several places; but that’s not really what’s going on here, even though Stroud's drumming, syncopated by Big Q design with tambourine reinforcement, is the saving grace of the track. Rhythmically, it’s another hybrid, with all parts, including the vocals, set up with the producer’s usual emphasis on emphatic rhythmic interaction, and performed with such tight tolerances that, once the initial boom-da-boom beat of the intro locks you in, your attention doesn’t fade until the music does. I particularly like the way he reinforced the chorus by repetition, wrapping the chord progression back around itself to make it build. All in all, the track is no doubt a great pop production, creating something engaging out of modest material at best. But I still think the sound was just about five years too late out of the gate to catch a break in 1971, especially on the funk-heavy King label, which seems not to have paid it much mind at all.

I am assuming that Bonnie was the stronger and more expressive of the voices on these cuts, but I have found no clear back-up for that. It’s easy to speculate on what might have happened had that singer worked solo for Wardell on some more challenging material. For a prime example of what she was capable of, seek out “You’re Not The One For Me”, an unissued Malaco track, ostensibly by the duo but with just one main vocal, that was written by Tommy Ridgley and first came to light on the grapevine compilation, Wardell Quezergue Strung Out: The Malaco Sessions. It’s a soulful stunner of a performance on a nicely constructed soul ballad with a very lush, high-class arrangement by the Master, just miles (and miles) beyond what the King sides had to offer. Why it was not released at the time remains another Bonnie & Sheila question mark.

Instead, as things stood, neither of the singers hung on after their first record received its stealth release, and “You Keep Me Hanging On” quickly became their head-bobbing swan song.

Rediscovering the Soul of Joe Wilson

There were supposed to be two deep soul specialists on the school bus to Malaco in May of 1970; but, as noted earlier, C. P. Love gave up his spot at the sessions so that King Floyd could have a shot with ”Groove Me”. That left Joe Wilson, a very capable vocalist with an expressive style and extremely supple range, who was arguably the best pure singing talent signed by Big Q and Elijah Walker. He could easily ascend into high tenor and falsetto, sounding somewhat similar to the great Ted Taylor when he did.

Despite his gifts, Wilson never gained wide recognition when he was making records, although he has belatedly received his share of well-deserved accolades from collectors and fans who appreciate vintage tracks from the deeper end of the soul spectrum. Several of his earliest sides, cut in the mid-1960s for Cosimo Matassa’s White Cliffs label, are prized for the artistry and emotive intensity of his delivery. In addition, his choice work at Malaco has also become more sought after these days, and somewhat easier to come by.

I don’t own any of Wilson's three fairly rare White Cliffs singles, nor do any of the tracks appear to have been released on comps [A general, well-annotated White Cliffs retrospective is way past due]; but it would surprise me if Big Q were not involved in at least a couple of the productions. As for the singer’s Malaco material, I’ll be covering most of the released sides here; but for a comprehensive overview, Gary Cape’s Soulscape label has compiled virtually every track Wilson did with Wardell at Malaco, including six that were unissued, as part of the 2009 CD, Malaco Soul Brothers Volume 1.

Online, Sir Shambling’s Deep Soul Heaven, researched and compiled by John Ridley, one of the true experts in the field, is the go-to site for the basic lowdown on Wilson’s career (and so many others!), including a discography and some tracks to hear. So, for more details, open up a window on that, too.

“Sweetness” (J. Broussard-A.Savoy-J. Wislon)
Joe Wilson, Dynamo 147, 1971
LISTEN

This fine 45 is the result of Joe Wilson’s initial session at Malaco. The impressively sung, deep soul B-side. “When A Man Cries”, written by Joe Broussard, is available at Sir Shambling’s page on Wilson, or can be streamed courtesy of 9thWardJukebox on Youtube. Due to the number of tracks I’m covering, I’m passing this ballad up.

As previously detailed, when Atlantic and Stax expressed no interest in any material by Wardell’s school bus (and one broken down car) artists, Tommy Couch was left with the dilemma of how to get the tracks placed, and came up with various solutions over the next year. For Wilson's record, he presented the tracks to Musicor, a New York City company which made arrangements for a national release on their R&B subsidiary, Dynamo Records. The record came out in the Spring of 1971; with Wardell getting full credit on it as producer and arranger.

An upbeat spash of fairly straight-ahead southern soul written by Broussard, Wilson and Albert Savoy, “Sweetness” has a great, groove suitable for dancing, a somewhat unusual song structure, and a well-executed arrangement with horns and strings. Following the short, catchy instrumental intro, which repeats again mid-song, the body of the song is front-loaded with the bright chorus, which predominates. The verses, such as they are, alternate with it thereafter, marked by a shift into minor chords. Overall, the tune was well-suited to Wilson’s vocal style; and he sang it with surprising conviction, considering that it was pretty lightweight fare; but that’s the way he rolled.

Although Ed Ochs’ Soul Sauce column in Billboard gave “Sweetness” a pick in April of that year, along with dozens of other releases, the song didn’t make much impact on the airwaves. Musicor experienced some business setbacks around that time and had just gone through an ownership shuffle. Unbeknownst to Tommy Couch, the company was about ready to shut down or sell off Dynamo, which would return under new management a few years hence as a disco label. So, the deck was stacked against the record; and any push they gave it was probably perfunctory at best. Interestingly, this single was re-issued on Musicor (#1501) in 1974; but it again made no waves.

Meanwhile, Wardell had recorded more songs with Wilson, including “Let A Broken Heart Come In” and “(Don’t Let Them) Blow Your Mind”, which Couch and company released on their in-house Malaco label (#1010), likely in early 1971, as well. But, with no distribution or money to promote it, the record wasn’t going anywhere, so Couch again went to Musicor for a re-issue. For the resulting single, either he or Dynamo substituted another Wilson track, “Your Love Is Sweet (To The Very Last Drop)”, for the top side, and put “Let A Broken Heart Come In” on the flip. It dropped not long after #147 fizzled.

“Your Love Is Sweet (To The Very Last Drop)" (A.Savory-M.Adams-J. Wilson)
Joe Wilson, Dynamo 149, 1971
LISTEN

With the resounding success of King Floyd’s “Groove Me”, Big Q and his crew were emboldened to give a similar treatment to many sides on the Malaco production line. Rather than seeing the hit record as a fortuitous fluke, they turned its quirky, herky-jerky groove concept into a template to fashion other potential hits for not just Wilson, but a number of artists they would bring to Malaco over the next few years. It’s an oft told music business truism that nobody really knows which song will become a hit, or how it happens. So, as in gambling, people try all sorts of angles looking for a sure thing, facing the unknowns of chance with ritual, superstition, various questionable formulas for winning and dogma about what works. Obviously, just copying what you did before, or what somebody else did, to get the desired result has always been a popular gambit. Never forget the Skinner box.

Thus, we have “Your Love Is Sweet”, one of Wardell’s musical, mostly one-trick wind-up toys. But, as always, it’s a fun trick, and extremely well-done. Getting caught up in the syncopated inner-workings of all the parts provides a few minutes diversion. But, like the the various sweets mentioned in the lyrics, the result is mostly empty calories, soon forgotten as we’re off in search of our next sugar high. The song's kinship to Floyd's hit is likley what attracted Dynamo to it; and it just as easily could have shown up as a filler cut on one of Floyd’s albums. Wilson did a good enough job getting down and becoming one with the groove; but the tune was really not well-suited to favor his vocal gifts.

“Let A Broken Heart Come In” (Quezergue-Savoy)
LISTEN

Here we find Big Q back working in the upbeat southern soul-pop mode, a better match for Wilson’s smooth moves. It’s an arrangement that had Stroud lay down straight in the pocket snare beats with some customary syncopation mainly in his bass drum footwork, providing deft support both for the ascending/descending progression of the verses and harder drive of the other segments.

Though not a truly great song, it’s certainly good enough that I think it should have remained the single’s A-side, as on Malaco 1010; but, knowing with hindsight the status of Dynamo at that point, such choices ultimately made no difference. The 45 was marked for oblivion. Musicor jettisoned the label soon after this release, giving it the distinction of being the last one of the series.

Wilson’s next and final record through Malaco came about probably late in 1972, when two more tracks produced by Wardell, “You Need Me” and ”The Other Side of Your Mind”, came out on the limited-edition label, Big Q (#1002 - see the label shot of this rare bird at Sir Shambling’s), probably just to get it to some DJs in the New Orleans area and build a buzz for “You Need Me”. Soon thereafter, the single was picked up and re-issued nationally by Avco, another New York-based company, which had recently released two 45s on Dorothy Moore, one of Malaco’s own artists.

“You Need Me” (A. Savoy-W. Quezergue-J. Wilson)
Joe Wilson, Avco 4609, 1973
LISTEN

As you may have noticed by now, I don’t usually concentrate on ballads here at HOTG; but this track has that rare combination of a slow pace and a good groove. Not to mention that it is a classic Quezergue production and Wilson performance, superbly rendered with a well-recorded, full orchestral treatment, the beauty of which is somewhat impaired by the sonic limitations of what the 45 medium (let alone a flimsy mp3 file) can deliver. But you know it’s all good when the fade seems to come far sooner than its 3:32 running time, and you’re not ready for it to end. If you feel this track, I recommend getting the Soulscape CD, which has an extended version in far higher fidelity. It was a big selling point for me, and I’m not generally a fan of down-tempo sides.

In essence, “You Need Me” no has gimmicks. The lyrics are as simple and straightforward as the structure itself. Musically, it’s all about the many entrancing nuances of the interwoven parts, all built upon the subtly syncopated patterns Wardell had Stroud put down. Wilson took the track entirely in the higher range of his impressively emotive tenor, but never oversang, allowing him the latitude to impart feelings of vulnerability and tenderness that only a first class soul man in total control could deliver.

Without a doubt, this is the song that woke me up to the fact that Joe Wilson is the real deal. Too bad it didn’t affect more people that way back in 1973. As it makes abundantly clear, Wardell’s greatest gift was his ability to artfully provide a production platform for a singer to be at his or her best. He didn’t always reach the near perfection of this production, but he was constantly striving for that goal, and got things right far more often than not.

“The Other Side of Your Mind” (A. Savoy-W. Quezergue)
LISTEN

How does one follow an impeccable performance? Few flip sides would stand a chance against “You Need Me”. But we have to take each song on its own terms and decide if the execution matches the intent; and, in this case, I think something a little bit funky and off the wall was a good way to go.

In this case, it seems Big Q was gong for a Staple Singers at Muscle Shoals feel, which is what the Chimneyville Express rhythm and horn sections delivered. It’s a mid-tempo southern soul arrangement with a country-ish sway to the bass, juxtaposed with subtle syncopation in the kick drum and hi-hat push-pulls, tasty guitar licks, Memphis Horns-type fills, plus Wardell’s lower mid-range tonal coloring on electric piano. Nothing wrong with copping a popular sound of the day, when you can pull it off so well. The lyrics are kind of unfocused and offbeat; but Wilson worked with them, applied some grit, and got the job done, although the funky side was not his true forte.

Without a doubt, the Big Q/Avco single was the highpoint of Joe Wilson’s recording career, which lasted a little over two decades, though with some gaps. After “You Need Me” failed to get him the recognition he deserved, he apparently had nothing else released until the 1980s came around, when he again worked with Wardell on several projects. As shown on Sir Shambling’s discography, there was as a one-off single on the BFW label in 1980, and a reprise of “You Need Me” for Maria Tynes’ Ria label in 1987, appearing on a single [which we’ll get to at a later date] and the LP, Come Inside.

For the next installment, I’ll be doing one more Malaco-related post, covering a spate of mainly one-shot singles Wardell produced there for a variety of artists. Hope it won’t be too long. . . .

Have Yourself A Funky Little Holiday Season....

2011-12-20T23:06:00.010-06:00

George Porter, Jr. @ The Blue Moon Saloon ~ Photo by Dan Phillips/
HOTG Archives

....and a groovin' New Year!

2DAT-[BLEW] DAT!! Wait 'til next year.....

P.S. - Happy December birthday, George, Zig and Art, Conee Boswell, Lee Dorsey, Dave Bartholomew, Fess, Red Tyler, David Batiste, Louis Prima, Reggie Hall, Jesse Hill, Guitar Slim, Benny Spellman, James Booker, Tuddy Montana, Baby Dodds, Cousin Joe, Shine Robinson, Chris Kenner, Charles Neville. . . .

TRACKING THE BIG Q FACTOR , PT 2: The Unemployed & the Barons

2011-12-01T14:55:00.008-06:00

After innumerable sidetracks crisscrossing by best intentions, I'm back with the next installment in this series of posts on one of the most significant producers and arrangers on the New Orleans popular music recording scene, Wardell Quezergue, who passed away on September 6th. As noted last time, since I started HOTG in 2004, I've done well over a dozen posts featuring his work; and the links are listed at the end of that piece, should you care to take note. He was deeply involved in bringing many songs and artists to prominence over the years, yet also had countless projects that attained almost instant obscurity, despite his best efforts - such is the nature of the business. In no way am I capable of covering it all. I'll just be engaging in some more representative sampling, leaning toward the lesser known and rarely heard records, while limiting my focus to the busy period from the early 1960s up into the 1970s, when Big Q was primarily working in the singles format.

Last month, I kicked things off somewhere in the middle by featuring singles he made in the late 1960s with the Barons, a distinctive and under-appreciated local vocal group. For the next several segments, I’ll be heading into his years spent commuting to and from Malaco Studio in Jackson, Mississippi during the early to mid-1970s, where he oversaw the production of many fine records, including several national hits. I’ve got sides this time from the two singles the Barons cut there, and am featuring two more by the Unemployed, another vocal ensemble who were in on the first session Wardell did at the studio. But, first let’s pick up the back story where I left off last time and relate, among other fascinatin’ factoids, how he wound up recording New Orleans artists some 200 miles North.

FINDING MALACO

When the Mode label folded in 1969, Wardell and his partner, Elijah Walker, who provided the don’t ask-don’t tell financial backing for their production enterprise* and managed the artists, were at loose ends. The recording scene in New Orleans had woefully deteriorated. As often discussed here, many local labels had folded, unable to operate as a result of the financial collapse of both Dover Records, the go-to distributor for most small independents, and Jazz City, the only decent studio in town at the time. Both businesses had been owned and operated by the legendary local recording pioneer, Cosimo Matassa, whose money management skills simply did not match his technical expertise in capturing music on tape and records.

After Cos declared bankruptcy and forfeited his equipment to the IRS for unpaid taxes, a young recording engineer and musician, Skip Godwin, opened his own studio at the Camp Street location, kept the Jazz City name and had Cosimo working with/for him; but it was not as well-equipped and only lasted a few years. Godwin likely had to charge more for studio time, unable to make deals as Cos had done. So, record producers in the city, such as Toussaint and Sehorn (Sansu Enterprises), Senator Jones, and Quezergue/Walker, were forced to seek more favorable circumstances at out of town recording venues, until Sansu built a new facility, Sea-Saint Studio, which came on line in 1973 with both Godwin and Matassa as part of the engineering team.

In the case of Wardell and Walker, they found out about Malaco, a financially struggling facility that had been started several years earlier by a group of young Jackson area musicians, songwriters and concert promoters. As Rob Bowman relates the circumstances in his excellent notes to the CD Box set, Malaco Records: The Last Soul Company, the duo from down the road met with the Malaco staff around the beginning of 1970, and proposed a working relationship that would be beneficial to both sides. Wardell and his production team would develop material to be performed by Walkers’s roster of New Orleans artists and use the studio and in-house band to record the songs. Malaco would then work to place the results with record labels for a percentage of any profits. The impressive and well-known Quezergue name and reputation in the business helped seal the deal, as the Malaco’s principals surely saw a golden opportunity to get quality sessions run on premises by an experienced hit-maker.

The initial single to come from the deal was the two-part “Funky Thing”, by the Unemployed, a group comprised of various members of the New Orleans production team. Possibly because of Wardell’s past association with Atlantic Records, who had released some of his Nola Records output (notably, Willie Tee’s “Teasin’ You” and its follow-ups), that company's relatively new Cotillion affiliate issued “Funky Thing” soon after it was cut, in the first quarter of 1970, and would later sanction a second 45, as well.

“Funky Thing” - Part 1” (The Unemployed)
The Unemployed, Cotillion 44085, 1970
LISTEN

“Funky Thing - Part 2"
LISTEN

I’ll admit that for a long time I didn’t pay much attention to this repetitious little dance record. It’s got a groove going on with a nice tight rhythmic pocket, but, beyond the title, there’s really not any funk to be found, either in James Brown or New Orleans terms. I had heard it only on CD comps over the years; but, then, I got a good deal and bought the single. Once I dropped the needle and gave it a few spins, that old vinyl mojo kicked in, and “Funky Thing” finally won me over.

The Unemployed were Michael Adams, Joe Broussard, George Quezergue (Wardell’s son), Charles ‘Chuck’ Simmons, and Ronald Walton, who all collaborated to write and record this tune, it seems. As detailed in my earlier feature on Simmons, he and Broussard had been mentored by Big Q since the mid-1960s; and, with the producer's assistance, Simmons had recorded several singles on his own small labels. Broussard started out writing songs for and with Simmons and had become Wardell’s head writer by the time of the Malaco deal. His participation in the Unemployed was a rare venture into performing. Vocally, the group wasn’t nearly as polished or talented as the Barons; but I get the sense that Wardell got them together to do this tune specifically as a somewhat low-impact trial run session at Malaco to see what kind of sound he could get from the house band and new studio environment. The Malaco staff convincingly proved they could take his direction and deliver the goods; and the fact that the resulting single got picked up by Atlantic was even more encouraging.

Cut early in 1970, the tune contains the common elements (or cliches, take your pick) of dance records: rudimentary lyrics, vocalizing that tries to foster a party atmosphere, a few perfunctory references to some steps or moves, shout-outs to various cities and regions around the country, and, of course, the most essential ingredient, a good groove to move to.

The house band at Malaco consisted of guitarist Jerry Puckett, bassist Vernie Robbins, and drummer Steve Featherston (who would soon be replaced). Wardell played organ on the track and directed the horn section, likely imported from home. It’s a pretty much a bare bones arrangement delivering the tune’s one main riff that repeats each bar with a lightly syncopated “and four” on the last beat. What prevents total monotony is the mid-song bridge where the horns suddenly burst in for an energetic eight-bar change-up. Though no creative masterpiece, it made for a catchy, danceable novelty number worthy of radio play, not that it got any.

I’ve seen quite a few promotional issues of this record, but don’t recall running across any red label stock copies, which would have been the ones for sale. Likely that means the release was quite limited and left to miraculously fend for itself without intervention by Cotillion other than passing out some promo copies to radio stations to encourage airplay. As the label photo attests, those incorrectly showed both sides as instrumentals, which may or may not have influenced the DJs, but surely bummed the vocalists!

Even so, “Funky Thing” served its other purpose as a good shakedown cruise for the new collaborators. Soon thereafter, Wardell got seriously down to business at Malaco with some impressive commercial results around the corner. As noted, Cotillion did put out a second single by the Unemployed almost exactly a year later; but, once again, they gave it no push, and it fared no better, becoming the group’s final release.

“Funky Rooster” (The Unemployed)
The Unemployed, Cotillion 44108, 1971
LISTEN

It’s hard to see how “Funky Rooster”, another novelty collective writing effort, could have gotten much commercial traction, anyway, as it neither improved upon or even equaled “Funky Thing” as a song or just a pure groove; and the musical funk was negligible, only cropping up in the brief breakdown before the final chorus, where the drum beats got nicely broken up - too little too late.

Melodically and lyrically, pickings were also slim. Having made a passing reference to chickens getting funky at night and putting a fake rooster crow into ”Funky Thing”, the group stretched that into the ultra-thin song premise of "Funky Rooster", a strange barnyard trope in which a droopy rooster is injected with funk (!?) and runs amorously amok among the chickens. Allot them a point at least for presaging the era of ED medications (or whatever the avian equivalent might be), but deduct 20 for the annoyingly excessive, ersatz roosterisms, which even the energetic horn interjections Wardell summons up can’t counteract

Thankfully, the gang redeemed themselves completely on the other side.

“They Won’t Let Me” (The Unemployed)
LISTEN

Here’s a case where the plug side definitely should have been reversed. “They Won’t Let Me” was a far more substantial piece of songwriting, with an effective arrangement and execution. It would have worked better if the clever, inspirational question and answer lyrics had been delivered by the more expressive voices of the Barons, as the song has the Motown feel to it that Wardell and his writers liked to go with for that group; but this does nicely all the same.

I’m not certain if either side of this single came from that original session at Malaco, or if they were cut later that year. Conceivably, the two “funky” titles could have been done at the same time; but “They Won’t Let Me”, with its far more sophisticated soul-funk groove, leads me to suspect that it was tracked after James Stroud took over the drumming chair.

GETTING ON THE BIG Q BUS

After that initial session for the Unemployed, Wardell came back to Malaco in May of 1970 with many more songs from his writing team, plus some demanding arrangements. Not only did he have to familiarize the band with the new music; but his methods took some getting used to, such as expecting them to reproduce his concepts virtually note for note, beat for beat. For these sessions, the Malaco staff recruited Stroud, an impressive new drummer from Shreveport, LA, to join Puckett and Robbins; and that unit [later dubbed the Chimneyville Express] would become the long-term core rhythm section at the studio. Once trained and rehearsed, these fine musicians, along with a horn section of top Jackson-area players [the Chimneyville Brass] proved up to the task and completed the backing tracks in preparation for the second wave of vocalists Big Q would soon bring in from New Orleans to finish the projects.

He then returned home to thoroughly prepare the singers in his highly methodical way. About ten days later, they arrived at the studio, a few by car, but the rest making the three and and a half hour trip on a well-worn school bus - Elijah Walker’s idea of limo service - not elegant, but it got the job done. Cutting the vocal tracks on these sessions were King Floyd, Jean Knight, Joe Wilson, Bonnie and Sheila, and the Barons, all of whom would have resulting singles released on various labels.

While most of those records did not score, two most definitely did. Floyd’s “Groove Me” and Knight’s “Mr. Big Stuff” both became chart-toppers, though Malaco initially had trouble placing each of them with a label. Both Stax and Atlantic passed on the sides when first presented for consideration. Finally, Malaco started their own new imprint, Chimneyville, in order to release Floyd's single a few months later. Meanwhile, Knight's tracks languished on the shelf at Malaco for nearly a year, until Stax was convinced to reconsider and issue her single. Despite such all too common music business hurdles, the resounding success of those two records was an incredible outcome from that little caravan northward.

Early positive radio response to “Groove Me” in the summer of 1970 helped to facilitate an after the fact deal with Atlantic, who realized they had misjudged the single and offered to have Cotillion distribute Chimneyville releases nationwide for a piece of the action. Once accomplished, the added clout took the song to #1 on the R&B charts; and it crossed over into the pop Top Ten, as well. With Atlantic cooperating, Wardell and the Malaco staff thought they had a good thing going for the material in their production pipeline; but, as is often the case in the music business, it didn’t quite work out that way. What happened (or didn't) to the Barons’ singles Chimneyville released later that year is a good example.

TRYING TO MAKE IT BETTER

Unlike most of the other artists onboard the bus to Malaco, the Barons had been making Wardell-produced singles for several years already, appearing on the Shagg, Mode and Shout labels. The group had enjoyed some local popularity from those, but failed to break into the much ballyhooed mainstream beyond the confines of home. [For more details on that phase of their career, see my prior post.] Still, all involved were sure it was going to happen.

Around the time of the Malaco deal, the Savoy twins chose to bow out of the group and work behind the scenes on production, writing material and helping to coach the singers in the ways of the Q. Replacements Clement Smith and Karl Matthews were then recruited to join remaining co-founders Lloyd Shepard and James Youngblood; but, as Matthews has stated in the comments to an earlier post, Smith did not last long and wasn’t on either of the Chimneyville records. Still, the tracks certainly sound like more than a trio was involved, but overdubbing or the Savoys adding some backing vocal support could account for that; but also note that their are four Barons in the hole photo from the period, shown below (not to mention that there are five [!] Barons in the photo of unknown date on the cover of the Funky Delicacies CD comp? Any help?).

Perhaps to give the group more implied class, or to differentiate them from other groups using the name, their Chimneyville singles showed them as the Barons Ltd, first without a comma, then with. No matter how the name was displayed, these records definitely had something extra gong on in the grooves.

“Making It Better” (W. Quezergue, M. Adams, A. Savoy)
The Barons Ltd, Chimneyville 436, 1970
LISTEN

Following the release of “Groove Me” (#435), this was the second record out of the chute for Chimneyville, and at first gave every indication that things were being made better for the Barons at Malaco. The involvement of Atlantic/Cotillion was reason to believe that the boost they needed to hit the big time was close at hand.

“Making It Better” was by far the most complex and intense composition of the school bus sessions. Fashioned by the writers (this time, Big Q, Michael Adams, and Albert Savoy) to again go after the hard-driving blend of soul, funk and rock found on contemporary records by the Temptations, the song benefited greatly from the talents of the Malaco players and recording engineers (Tommy Couch and Wolfe Stevenson) under Wardell’s direction, making it cook from start to finish, with the sound of a true contender.

The arrangement built an unrelenting dynamo of interactive rhythmic elements, with Stroud’s sharp, hard-hitting drum work, by turns broken-beat and propulsive, providing the perfect internal combustion. The voices themselves were part of that synergy, flawlessly fused with the patterns of beats. Without a doubt, the song was one of the most ambitious and well-executed projects Big Q did while working out of the studio; and, despite the continuing attempts to sound like Motown South, a performance of such high caliber can't be discounted.

“Symphony Of Gratitude” (W. Quezergue & A. Savoy)
LISTEN

The other side was no less an ambitious composition and production, but got somewhat entangled in its attempt to get symphonic within the confines of an under three minute song. In particular, the “lala” sections seem tacked on and fail to mesh with the rest of the tune. Maybe if the Barons had not sung on these, things might have flowed better; but, whatever the reasons were, I think the song deserved its also-ran status.

Still, the playing on this multiphase piece is first rate; and it’s revealing to see Big Q already stretching the studio band and taking them places they probably didn’t think they could go. Listen to James Stroud's frenzied drumming under those lala's, slicing and dicing the beats with some serious syncopation, almost contrary to the song’s rhythmic flow - an edgy bit of arranging on Wardell’s part, for sure.. Meanwhile, his handling of the strings and (at least) one flute on the track displays a harmonic command that goes beyond the pop realm. Considering his expansive abilities; he can be forgiven for occasionally trying to cram too much into such a short format. It must have been frustrating at times for a man who probably really did compose symphonies in his head.

As strong as the topside of this record was, it went nowhere commercially, part of an emerging pattern become a pattern with the way Cotillion handled much of the Chimneyville product. Simply put, they did not live up to their end of the bargain and encourage radio stations around the country to add“Making It Better” to their playlists, other than sending out perfunctory promo copies. Stations got stacks of them each week from many labels; and it was easy for a record to get lost in the pile, unless fortune really smiled and some DJ or station manager plucked it out and dug it, or the distributor brought it to their attention in a more, um, accommodating way.

Still hopeful, Wardell and Malaco released the second Barons record not too long after the first. The A-side, “Gypsy Read Your Cards For Me”, was another strong soul-pop effort, which I covered back in 2007, as linked. I haven’t featured the flip side up to now, but it’s well worth hearing for the stronger funk influence Big Q brought to bear on the production.

“Love Power" (Michael Adams, Albert Savoy)
The Barons, Ltd, Chimneyville 440, 1970
LISTEN

A pulsating funk-rock rave-up with some gospel roots, “Love Power” still retained touches of a Temptations feel [the guitar intro reminds me a bit of the start of their “(I Know) I’m Losing You”], but quickly got down into its own primal thing. Predominantly, it's a one chord wonder of intensely rhythmic linear grooving, with the only musical changes cropping up on the middle eight bar bridge. Remarkably, that was pretty much the “Funky Thing” formula, also co-written by Michael Adams, but boosted to a whole other dynamic.

Instrumentally, the song ran lean and mean with no horn accompaniment. The harmonic energy of the track comes almost exclusively from the lower end of the sonic spectrum, which enhances its elemental feel and reinforces the idea of where that love power is coming from. Wardell switched over to electric piano (Wurlitzer, I think) on this one, and voiced it, too, in the lower mid-range. Along with the prominent tambourine, a staple of the Barons tracks, this time a cowbell was added to augment Stroud’s intensely syncopated staccato attack. All in all, the compellingly strong yet simple arrangement highlights Big Q’s unique feel for and emerging expression of poly-rhythmic funk; and, while it was not an identifiably New Orleans vibe, the city’s juice certainly nourished this new hybrid hatched in that central Mississippi incubator.

Once again, the Barons' soulful, authoritative vocalizing synced perfectly to the rhythmic pulse; and that's the kind of delivery and groove that I think suited them best. But, this was to be their last single of the Malaco period, although Wardell would try with them one more time back in New Orleans a few years later on a single for Senator Jones' Super Dome label. It must have been doubly disappointing that another worthy effort, that all concerned gave their best shot, turned up missing on the airwaves and charts, and came to naught.

Rob Bowman's take on the Atlantic/Cotillion pact with Chimneyville is that they agreed to distribute the label just to get a favorable deal on “Groove Me”, which was hot and poised to make some real money, and did. It's also worth noting that, having been acquired by Warner Bros in 1968, Atlantic was already a corporate entity far removed from its close to the street, independent days when getting good music heard was the main concern. Thus, for the other releases trickling out on Chimneyville, it was virtually sink or swim, much more the latter than the former, with no marketing and minimal promotion to radio. After Floyd’s hit faded and his follow-ups did less business, Cotillion cut Chimneyville and Malaco loose entirely around 1973.

Next time, I’ll feature sides from the rest of the school bus session artists, most of which were released on other outside labels. So, check back.

* [Quezergue and Walker seemed to have never quite had a solid name for their operation, as it has been referred to at various times as Big Q Productions or Pelican Productions, and I’ve also seen Music Masters used for the artist management company. Meanwhile, while they were working with Malaco, record label credits often simply showed Wardell’s name (no aliases) as producer and arranger, or sometimes Walker got the producer credit. Most of the records also stated their work was for Malaco Productions, as the studio was wisely building its brand in the business.]

TRACKING THE BIG Q FACTOR, PT 1

2011-10-15T20:11:00.016-05:00

TRYING TO MAKE THE BARONS RULE

Wardell Quezergue began working with the Barons, a New Orleans-based soul vocal group, when they recorded a 45 for Senator Jones in the late 1960s. That convergence of talent is as good a place as any to start my meandering and understandably limited retrospective on this recently departed musicians’ musician, known on many record labels from the era as Big Q, whose body of work is as impressive as it is immense.

Over the last seven years, I’ve done a number of posts related to his handiwork (see a partial list below); and, for the next month or two, I will be featuring more varied and revealing sides that I hope might give some insight into his legacy. Although the music he worked on was not always identifiably New Orleans in its sound, he was very much a product of the city, steeped in music from an early age, who brought his own uniquely valuable sensibilities to bear on every project he touched.

Back in 2007, I did my first post on the Barons (recently revised); which includes an overview of their recording career, plus a nearly complete vinyl discography. If you are not familiar with their work, you might want to refer to back to that, since I will be focusing mostly on the records at hand this time. The group and their music have intrigued me ever since I first heard them on a Funky Delicacies compilation some fifteen years ago; and I have been hunting and gathering their records ever since.

As I noted in that post, male soul vocal groups were few and far between on the New Orleans recording scene of the 1960s; and, the more I’ve thought about it, that seems to have held true across the South, as well, though I can’t figure out why, or am I just missing something obvious? In any case, when the Barons started out in the mid-1960s, there were many groups such as theirs getting national radio play; but the majority were from northern metropolitan areas. Just considering some of the more obvious ones, Chicago had the Dells, Impressions and Radiants, while in Detroit, on Motown-related labels alone, there were the Contours, Four Tops, Miracles, and Temptations. And let’s not forget the Intruders out of Philadelphia and New York’s Little Anthony and the Imperials. But, in their own hometown, the Barons pretty much had the niche all to themselves.

The five years or so that Wardell oversaw their recordings for several record labels was an interesting period in his long career, because it seems evident that he altered his musical approach in an attempt to get the Barons exposure on the national level, which he obviously felt they deserved. That meant making a choice to give the group a sound more in line with what successful soul-pop groups on the US charts were doing.

Generally speaking, Wardell’s forté involved imparting a distinctive sound and feel to a song to make it stand out, the better to become a hit - think of Earl King’s “Trick Bag”, “Teasin’ You” by Willie Tee, Robert Parker’s “Barefootin’”, or King Floyd’s “Groove Me”, for just a few of the best-known examples. His genius was providing a fresh slant to the music with his deftly crafted arrangements; but, in the case of his early work with the Barons, he took a more expedient route.

NON-GREASY KID STUFF

The release of “Kid Stuff” b/w “As Sure As You’re Born” on Shagg 711 in 1968 helped Senator Jones get established in the precarious world of running independent record labels. A few months earlier, his first venture, the Black Patch imprint, quickly crashed after its only release, a strange, idiosyncratic single by Rockie Charles, failed to find a quirky enough audience, and became a money-losing learning experience. Jones would prove to be a resilient businessman with a knack for the hustle, and kept his low-budget projects going by hook or crook while many other local label owners folded. Shagg was the first of his many bounce backs, though it proved to be ill-fated as well..

As Jones told Jeff Hannusch in The Soul of New Orleans, “Shagg was a nickname a lot of artists called me.” He had actually started using it for his company name with the release on Black Patch (“a division of Shagg Records, Inc”), also numbered 711. To fund Shagg’s start-up, he convinced several local businessmen to back him; and, for the lead-off single, Jones recruited the Barons, hiring on Quezergue (shown both as “Big Q” and “D. C. Wardell” on the credits) to take charge of production and arrangement.

Wardell’s formerly successful Nola Records partnership was well on its way to unraveling after a five year run, which is why he was again freelancing. It’s not clear if he brought the Barons to Jones’ attention or not; but, in any case, Shagg was where producer and group first collaborated; and it appeared to be a promising start.

Cosimo Matassa, who recorded the sessions for this single at his Camp Street studio, liked ”Kid Stuff” enough that he paid Jones cash up front for the right to distribute the 45 through his company, Dover Records; but, although the song got significant local radio play and was quickly in demand; success was short-lived. Dover’s quick slide into bankruptcy and Cosimo’s loss of his facilities to the IRS sank his entire enterprise, taking down most of the independent labels in town like Shagg that relied on his services. Had that not occurred, ”Kid Stuff” might even have had a shot at gaining a regional, if not national, audience.

“Kid Stuff” (J. Broussard-R.Williams-C.Washington)
The Barons, Shagg 711, 1968
LISTEN

The simply structured, mid-tempo “Kid Stuff” lent itself well to Wardell’s layered arrangement, which derived most of its rhythmic drive from engagingly syncopated bass work, with additional texture provided by counterpoint horn lines. Singing impeccably, the Barons completed the attractive package, delivering thinly veiled hormonal teen lyrics about a guy trying to convince his girl that they’re old enough to stop playing around and get serious - immediately, if not sooner.

Composed by head-writer Joe Broussard, with Ralph Williams and Carol Washington, who were vital parts of Wardell’s production team, “Kid Stuff” indicates that all involved had their sights set on the mainstream for this group. In a common record business tactic, they hoped to compete with popular soul groups of the day by appropriating elements of their sound. Such a calculated ploy was likely the result of how difficult it was for records on small local labels with no promotional budget to even break-out at home, let alone in metropolitan markets father afield. Any exploitable advantage would have seemed fair game.

Interestingly, in this month’s OffBeat tribute to Quezergue, Deacon John Moore, who played on many sessions for him and may be the guitarist on these very songs, recalls Wardell saying he never listened to what was on the radio, lest it unduly influence his arrangements; but, I don't think he kept that shut off. No one operates in a vacuum in the pop medium, nor can they re-invent the wheel with each new song. Whether or not he was aware of what the current national charters were doing, it’s obvious his writers were. “Kid Stuff” seems fashioned on the same general musical and lyrical themes as the huge crossover hit that year, “Cowboys To Girls”, by the Intruders, which the highly influential team of Gamble and Huff wrote and produced.

Vocally, the Barons seem to have had the flexibility to handle whatever style Team Q threw their way, as is aptly demonstrated by the flip side of this single, an impressive foray into grittier Southern soul that exudes a distinctively Memphis vibe.

“As Sure As You’re Born” (A. Savoy)
LISTEN

Written by Albert Savoy, who was one of the founding member of the group, this hard-driving dancer sounds like it was birthed in some back room at Stax and intended for a Sam & Dave and Otis Redding match-up. Instead, the Barons got to work out on it. As with the top side, if you didn’t know it was all done in New Orleans, there would be no way to tell just listening to it, aptly demonstrating that Wardell, his writers, and the players had the chops to pull off most anything they. tried.

Yet, a national break-out would prove elusive, but not for lack of trying.

MOVING ON TO MODE

After the shutdown of Shagg, it took Senator Jones a while to regroup; but he would go on to release many more records, including another for the Barons a few years later. Meanwhile, the group wound up on the Mode label for their next two singles, probably due to Wardell’s connection to its owner. Contrary to information in the R&B Indies (valuable, but not infallible), Senator Jones was not involved with Mode. Rather, according to Aaron Fuchs of Tuff City (who has re-issued much of Quezergue’s 1960s output - amidst controversy), Ulis Gaines, one of Wardell’s partners in the failing Nola label, started Mode as a fall-back side project. There were just six known releases during its brief flash in the pan; and, on at least half of those, Gaines went with what he knew worked and had Wardell run the sessions for the Barons’ pair, plus one by the mysterious Klicky Robinson, whose deliciously obscure single preceded theirs.

Having never heard the Barons’ initial 45 for Mode (#507), I don’t have much to say about it, other than that the sides were “Are You Here To Stay” written by Joe Broussard, Albert Savoy, and A. Winfield, and ”Love Is So Real” by Broussard and Sterling August. I’ve only seen a label shot of the “Love Is So Real” side. These days, all of Mode’s quite limited output is hard to come by. In fact, few copies likely got into anyone’s hands at the time, either. But, the Barons’ second for the label (#508) was leased by Shout in New York for national distribution, and is a bit easier to come by in that form.

“Society Don’t Let Us Down” (R. Williams-J. Broussard-C. Washington)
The Barons, Shout 242, 1969
LISTEN

If you saw the very short list of some of Wardell’s memorable arrangements I did for OffBeat this month, you know I included this one. There were so many to choose from; but I really do think the song proved to be a surprising exercise for Big Q and the writers, in pursuit of a winning sound for the Barons. In this case, they were going after the funkified, imprecisely named “psychedelic soul” approach of a huge hit from the fall of 1968, “Cloud Nine”, by the Temptations. That group and their Motown writing and production team took a leap of faith themselves when they made the record, changing their direction to follow the lead of Sly and the Family Stone’s intense and popular new style. It paid off impressively, and won the Temptations a Grammy to boot. Again, such is the imitative essence of pop music.

Similarities between “Society” and “Cloud Nine” are hard to ignore: the prominent wa-wa guitar, the galloping groove with heavy emphasis on the hi-hat cymbals and pumping bass guitar that intensifies on the ride-out, the breakdowns, the socially conscious lyrics, and the vocal likeness of each lead singer. While, the Temps’ tune may have been better written, I think the Barons held their own on the vocal front. Wardell’s spare but exciting, highly energized production, captured convincingly by the hard-core session band, had the heat to compare favorably with an outfit having a much bigger production budget and, I’m sure, a better equipped studio. In fact, a technical issue with this recording probably worked against "Society" getting any recognition whatsoever.

Although this 45 is in mint condition, the overall sound is pretty awful. The hi-hat was recorded so hot as to distort and then pushed up in the mix. To make matters worse, either the pressing was bad or the track was mastered with too much high frequency energy, making it painful to listen to at a reasonably loud level. To get something endurable, I used an equalizer to notch out as much of the cymbal hash as I could without unduly affecting other parts of the track. Hope you accept my non-purist compromise.

I’m curious if the Mode version had the same sonic problems, or if the fault was with Shout’s remastering. The Tuff City CD version, transferred from one or the other 45 (the notes don’t say which), sounds about as bad as mine does. If the entire run suffered from the same flaws, airplay would likely have been out of the question. If you have a copy of either version, let me know how it sounds.

“No More Baby Love” (R. Williams-J. Broussard-C. Washington)
LISTEN

This track suffers to a lesser extent from the same high end problems as the other side, making it more probable that there was a mastering/pressing issue. But, with a little sonic tweaking, it too can still give us a good sense of what Big Q and crew were up to.

To my admittedly well-worn eardrums, the lighter impact of this decent flip side dancer refers back to an earlier Motown influence - definitely not any New Orleans identifiers to be heard here, either. As on the top side, it’s another number from Broussard, Williams, and Washington, who truly had a knack for fashioning material inspired by soul-pop radio hits, which Wardell then arranged to suit.

Lyrically, the subject matter of “No More Baby Love” revisits the writers’ earlier “Kid Stuff” theme; and the instrumentation provides another ideal setting for the Barons’ smooth vocal blend. Even with recycled lyrics and a borrowed musical base, this is too enjoyable to be a throwaway.

Ironically, Motown could have had Big Q’s services early on, had they realized how valuable he was when he and a group of local singers, writers, and musicians went to Detroit with Joe Jones in 1963 to offer their talents to the new label. Had Berry Gordy not passed on almost all of them, music history could have been quite different.

While I find the songs on the Shagg and Mode/Shout 45s to be well-executed pop fare, I’m definitely of the opinion that Wardell and his writing staff could have had just as much chance at a hit by fashioning something unique for the Barons, giving them their own signature sound and maybe even throwing in some local rhythmic flavor. Up to this point in the production playbook, what they had in mind for the group was musically derivative rather than truly creative, which significantly decreased the Big Q Factor of the proceedings; but a new direction was in the wind.

“Kid Stuff” made the Barons popular entertainers around town; and they opened shows for many big name artists as a result - but that’s pretty much as far as they got in their quest for the limelight. The production team’s fixation on giving the group the mainstream treatment persisted until Wardell moved his recording operations to Malaco in Jackson, Mississippi in 1970, where a sea change of creativity took hold, bringing into prominence the rhythmic complexities of funk that had been cropping up in his grooves over the years.

Next time out, I’ll feature some of that music from Malaco from the Barons and other fine acts who got the new Big Q makeover there. So, stop back by. I swear there won’t be so long a wait....

More On Big Q From the HOTG Archives:
Curley’s Melancholy Soul Train
Funky To A Fault
Sho Nuff The Q-Funk
Movers and Shakers With the Big Q Factor
Denise Keeble: Giving It Up
Larry Hamilton: On Record (And In Parenthesis)
Having A Double Blast
Here's King Floyd In His Prime
Kung Fu Man Vs Shaft...
Sugar and Spice
Quezergue Onstage and Behind the Scenes
The Staple Singers Get A Joy Ride
The Soulful Tenacity of Chuck Simmons
The Teddy Royal Story
Gentleman June's Boom Boom, Pt 2

Several good excuses for the lack of new content....

2011-09-24T18:09:00.005-05:00

My usual plodding pace of posts has been slowed even more recently by several factors.

First, immediately after Wardell Quezergue's passing, I was asked to do a short piece for OffBeat on a few of his productions I think are important, or, at least, revealing of his talent. That should appear in the October issue as a part of their feature on the man.

After I finished that, it was time for the Ponderosa Stomp in New Orleans. Last weekend, I spent two days at the record show diggin' boxes and gabbing with fellow geeks from all over, and two full nights at the Howlin' Wolf for the concerts - make that three nights, as I went to the Hip Drop DJ showcase at d.b.a. on Thursday to kick it off. Wish I had time to review the event, which had plenty good to commend it, plus some great stuff, including Allen Toussaint [my photo from the floor] and his band taking part in the tribute to Cosimo Matassa the first night, truly awesome, plus the tribute to Stax and Memphis Soul the next night, featuring the fabulous Bo-Keys as the backing band, tight like that. Hope some of you got to go.

By the way, the upcoming issue of OffBeat should also have another article by me on the original Sissy dance as it inspired certain New Orleans songs, which is a distillation of my post on the subject here a few months back. Thanks to Alex Rawls, Associate Editor of that fine publication, for the opportunity to briefly pretend to be a real journalist - twice.

As promised, I've got a post on Wardell in the works, should be up within the week; and there will be more after that - so stay tuned. I'm telling you, I haven't been slacking. . . .

Goodbye to Quezergue

2011-09-06T16:43:00.012-05:00

Offbeat's Best of the Beat Awards, 2008,
photo by Dan Phillips

I am sad to report the passing of another of the Crescent City’s musical greats, Wardell Quezergue, Sr., whose name you will find frequently on these pages, so intimately was he intertwined in the fabric the city’s cultural and music heritage. For almost his entire adult life, he was a vital element of the local music scene as a composer, arranger, producer, and record label owner. His name will probably never be as well-known as Dave Bartholomew or Allen Toussaint; but he stood shoulder to shoulder with them on his own terms; and both of them utilized his talents on various projects. His contributions were manifold. His loss is inestimable.

Keith Spera has a brief but worthy summary of Quezergue’s life and career at nola.com.

I’ll be featuring more of Big Q's projects in the coming weeks, and beyond. . . .

Tracing Benny Spellman's Fortunes, Pt. 2

2011-08-27T10:29:00.004-05:00

Picking up more or less where my prior post left off, I’ll start with another of the late Benny Spellman’s unreleased, Allen Toussaint-produced tracks, probably recorded prior to 1963 from the sound of it. I forgot to include this one this last time, and want to get it in, since it’s a great little number, and one of my favorites. The song first appeared on the 1984 Bandy LP compilation, Benny Spellman (a/k/a Calling All Cars), then on the Fortune Teller collection, which first Charly then Collectables put out later in the 1980s.

“You Don’t Love Me No More” (Allen Toussaint)
Benny Spellman, Bandy LP 70018, 1984
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

I can’t understand why Minit didn’t run with this one at some point, as it’s the perfect vehicle for Benny’s buttery baritone and sounds closer to what Toussaint was writing for labelmate Irma Thomas at the time - the soulful side of pop. Had he given Benny more material like this and actually released some of it, the singer might have had more shots at significant airplay and record sales, instead of remaining a one minor hit wonder.

Toussaint’s impending departure for the service, and Minit’s fate to be sold off by Banashak to outside interests for some needed quick cash insured that Benny’s remaining time with the label was anticlimactic at best; and, when the operation moved to the West Coast, the new Minit abandoned its New Orleans artists. But, as luck would have it, a new label in town was just getting off the ground and afforded Benny a couple of more spins on the recording wheel of fortune.

“Walk On Don’t Cry” (M. Rebennack - P. Harris)
Benny Spellman, Watch 6332, 1964
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Watch Record Company was established in 1963 by Henry Hildebrand, Jr., owner of All-South Record Distributors, and Joe Assunto, who ran the One Stop Record Shop on South Rampart Street in bustling downtown New Orleans. From the outset, what made the label so promising was the creative involvement of talented arranger Wardell Quezergue and musical multi-tasker Earl King. They co-produced most of the sessions and wrote many of the songs, having first collaborated two years earlier on King’s own memorable records for Imperial. The two had also been in the contingent of singers and musicians that Joe Jones took to Detroit early in 1963 to audition for Motown Records, as the New Orleans scene was at low ebb. Remarkably, King ended up being the only one that Berry Gordy put under contract (probably for his songwriting skills, as he never had a Motown release), which is why he was obliged to stay behind the scenes at Watch and did not put out any records of his own for five years.

According to Jeff Hannsuch’s notes to the 2000 Mardi Gras CD compilation, New Orleans Soul ‘60’s Watch Records, Benny’s session for this 45 was the first one Quezergue and King supervised for Watch; but the record’s release took a back seat to Johnny Adams, who had the label’s initial single (#6330), followed by Dell Stewart, a King protege, who scored a strong local hit with “Mr. Credit Man”. Benny’s record was next out of the gate; and, as can be heard, the Watch team stayed with Toussaint’s concept and had the singer continue in the pop mode. On the mid-tempo top side, “Walk On Don’t Cry”, a nicely turned out tune written by Mac Rebennack and the unknown (at least to me) Pierce Harris, the only slight give-away that this might be a New Orleans record was the subtle syncopation on some of the drum rolls, especially in the ride-out. Otherwise, it might just as well have come out of Chicago, Detroit, or New York. Benny’s melodic, assured delivery could have made it a sure thing, but the side was passed over in favor of the flip.

“Please Mr. Genie” (Earl K. Johnson - Benny Spellman)
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

An enjoyable, highly danceable novelty number, “Please Mr. Genie” one-upped “Fortune Teller” for fanciful subject matter, and got the attention of DJs and record buyers around town. King co-wrote it in his own classic, quirky style, tailoring it specifically for Benny. Quezergue’s arrangement emphasized the hooky, vaguely oriental sounding guitar licks, surely played by Earl himself, and insured a more overtly syncopated, hometown kind of groove, by using funk pioneer Smokey Johnson. Rounding out the track was Quezegue’s signature big horn section, adding some needed heft to the rather lightweight fun. Although the song didn’t demand as much vocal technique as the top side, Benny found just the right tone to sell it, dropping down into his signature bass register at the fade out for good measure.

Despite the favorable local response, the song did not break out anywhere else in the country. Watch had no national distribution to speak of; and All-South lacked the resources and staff to promote in distant markets. Hildebrand and Assunto rarely sought to even lease their singles to larger labels, virtually eliminating any chances of wider recognition for their records and artists.

Benny’s follow-up, “Someday They’ll Understand” b/w “Slow Down Baby (Don’t Drive Too Fast)” (#6336), proved to have less impact, hamstrung by weaker material that lacked Earl King’s reliable touch. The A-side’s plodding pop was improved on by the bluesy soul on the back, obviously going for a Ray Charles type feel that Benny handled well, really digging in for an impressively powerful finish; but neither side played to his strengths. The single wound up being his last for Watch.

Also in 1964, probably inspired the local success of “Please Mr. Genie”, Joe Banashak issued a quickie single on Alon (#9018) featuring Benny doing “T’ain’t It The Truth”, which he had either recorded prior to 1963 or overdubbed his vocal onto later. It was a slightly rearranged version of a Toussaint tune recorded four years earlier by Ernie K-Doe and released on Minit before “Mother-In-Law” broke big.

Benny did a commendable job with the re-make; and I think I actually prefer his take to K-Doe’s (something Benny might well appreciate were he still with us); but I doubt the single got much action. It was such a rushed job that Banashak slapped a loose, inconsequential studio jam instrumental on the B-side, “No Don’t Stop”, onto which he had overdubbed Benny, sounding plainly uninspired, and some female vocalists singing the title phrase over and over. Regardless, the release of “T’ain’t It The Truth” and his leaving Watch opened the door to the possibility of Benny working with Toussaint again; and though their reunion in the studio did happen a bit later, circumstances would not favor a fortuitous outcome.

Financial setbacks coupled with Toussaint’s getting drafted had caused Banashak to briefly consider getting out of the record business; but he soon had a change of luck and mind. Chris Kenner’s “Land Of 1000 Dances”, which had not done much when it first came out on Instant in 1962; began getting played around the country the following year, perking up sales considerably. That bump caused Atlantic Records to come to Banashak proposing to put out an LP on Kenner and capitalize on the song’s popularity. Not only did they lease “Land Of 1000 Dances” but also a lot of other back catalog Kenner material for the album. With that infusion of cash, Banashak managed to keep his labels going from 1963 to 1965. He used some other producers for new Instant sessions and also released tracks on Alon by various artists that Toussaint had socked away before leaving for military service, which probably was the source of Benny’s first single for the label. Later, Toussaint also began providing Alon with a supply of mainly instrumental tunes cut in Houston with the Stokes, the band he put together at his Texas base.

In 1965, Toussaint returned to New Orleans and a less vibrant recording scene, making his professional prospects less rosy than they had been. Due to the sale of Minit, most of the artists he had worked with before had scattered to the wind; and business at Banashak’s remaining labels wasn't promising. Kenner’s 45 had been the only significant seller in the prior two years, and it reached just the lower end of the top 100. Thus, even as Toussaint went back to work for the label owner, producing projects mainly for Alon, he felt he needed a fresh start and began seeking an exit strategy.

Probably unaware of all that uncertainly just beneath the surface at Alon, Benny jumped into recording with Toussaint again, hoping the once and future hit-maker might help him find a way back into the charts. New sessions resulted in Benny cutting enough Toussaint-penned material to fill up three more Alon singles. But, by the time the first of those, “The Word Game” b/w “I Feel Good” (#9024) came out in 1965, Toussaint had left the fold for good to form a new production company with Marshall Sehorn and steer the career of Lee Dorsey.

Facing yet another unexpected setback, Banashak must have been somewhat encouraged when he got Atlantic to take over the “Word Game” single as well as a strange little two-parter called “Timber” credited to one 'Candy' Phillips, which actually was a Chris Kenner record written and produced by Eddie Bo, soon to be Toussaint’s successor in the musical chairs of the record business.

“The Word Game” (Neville)
Benny Spellman, Atlantic 2291, 1965
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Taking another stab at making Benny a novelty artist, Toussaint reworked an instrumental track he had done in Texas with the Stokes, which would later appear in its original form as “Young Man Old Man” on Alon 9029. To that he added Benny singing/talking some pre-school level lyrics which transformed the tune into “The Word Game” (...when I say a word, you say the opposite...). It appears to have been inspired by and specifically designed to ride in the slip-stream of Shirley Ellis’ silly (but fairly funky) big-seller, “The Name Game”, which hit the charts in early 1965 and got up into the Top 5. Attempting to siphon some sales off of an existing hit was an often tried music business ploy; and Toussaint was not above it from time to time - Banashak may even have suggested it in this case, as money was tight.

Whatever you think of the motivation for this production, there’s nothing really wrong with the underlying track, which has a “Hand Jive” kind of syncopated bounce with some great added tambourine action, or with Benny’s performance, which seems genuinely good-natured. The game Toussaint concocted was even much less complicated than the tangled rules of “The Name Game”.

It has been reported that “The Word Game” did alright around New Orleans; and maybe it could possibly have sparked a flash of oppositional game-song fever across the land, except for a major monkey wrench. While Atlantic agreed to release this single, it doesn’t seem they did much more than test-market it as a promo (as seen in the pictured copy - you rarely run across a stock copy), and took no pains to promote it - that is, pay anybody elsewhere to play it. That’s too bad, not because “The Word Game” really deserved to be a hit, but because it kept DJs from paying enough attention to flip the record over and discover the side that should have gotten the attention.

“I Feel Good” (Neville)
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This exuberant, invigorating piece of pop writing and production, firmly planted on the rockin’ side of R&B, definitely lives up to its title, enough so to be downright addictive. During this period, Toussaint did some experimenting with rock elements in his writing and arranging, another example being the Billy (Al) Fayard single on Alon "I Get Mad, So Mad" with its Beatles/British Invasion influence.

“I Feel Good” (remember the Beatles’ “I Feel Fine”?) demanded little in the way of range or melody, just plenty of good energy and feeling, which Benny certainly delivered, as did backing singers Toussaint and Willie Harper, who were essential to amping up the intensity of the chorus, augmented by Toussaint’s sanctified piano running. If a calculated risk had been taken to make “I Feel Good” the plug side, and had Atlantic seen fit to push it, the song might have crossed over and found an audience; but, expectations were way too low.

[Note: My near mint promo copy of this single is a bad pressing and has a lot of distortion in the grooves, so I sourced the audio for both sides from the Fortune Teller LP. I still haven’t found a decent, affordable replacement for the 45. If all the Atantic promos sounded this crappy, there's another good reason for radio's lack of interest, right there! ]

Banashak released Benny’s other two Alon singles in 1966 after Toussaint was long gone. They stayed local and likely had very limited runs, judging from the prices they sell for these days. I can’t vouch for the quality of the material or performances on “It Must Be Love” / “Spirit of Loneliness” (#9027) since I’ve never even seen a copy, let alone heard the songs; but both are listed in Toussaint’s BMI catalog; and I’m pretty sure neither has ever been re-issued..

On the other hand, Benny’s final release for the label, “It’s For You” b/w “This Is For You My Love” (#9031), can be a bit more easily accessed; as the A-side was a part of the Fortune Teller LP/CD collection, and the other side showed up on the limited edition 1984 Bandy LP discussed earlier. Both are worth hearing, even though not Toussaint’s best work, revisiting as they do familiar pop territory, including the musical changes of “Fortune Teller” on the B-side.

With one classic record (“Lipstick Traces”/“Fortune Teller”) for Minit and a long string of commercial underachievers to show for his years of collaboration with Benny, one might think Toussaint would have cut the singer loose once free of the house of Banashak. Yet, late in 1966, he and Sehorn gave Benny the opportunity to record a single for their new Sansu label.

“Sinner Girl” (Alen Toussaint)
Benny Spellman, Sansu 462, 1967
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Beginning in 1965, Lee Dorsey’s string of hit records, released on the New York-based Amy label, provided the bread and butter that kept Toussaint and Sehorn’s partnership, Tou-Sea Productions (later re-branded as Sansu Enterprises), solvent even as much of the rest of the New Orleans record business collapsed in a smoldering heap around them.

Due to that success, it’s not surprising that Toussaint sometimes modeled his writing for other artists after his work with Dorsey, hoping for some resonance with listeners and record buyers. Such was the case with “Sinner Girl”, the plug side of this single, which could have just as easily turned up as a B-side or LP cut for Dorsey, owing to the similarity of its changes, arrangement and funky, mid-tempo groove to “Get Out My Life Woman”, which had done quite well for Dorsey early in 1966.

“If You Love Her” (Allen Toussaint)
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For the flip side, Toussaint gave Benny something more adventurous to work with, a hook-laden, melodic, semi-precious pop gem with some nice structural complexity and an irresistible rhythmic flow. “If You Love Her” could have been strong enough to contend for A-side status had it not been left somewhat incomplete - missing not only lyrics on the first part of the third verse but also an instrumental solo on the break before the final chorus and fade. Indeed, it was unusual for Toussaint to neglect putting the finishing touches on a tune prior to its release, but the omissions do not detract much from enjoying the tune, if noticed at all. It seems a shame though to have it happen on a song that otherwise meshed so well with Benny’s vocal abilities.

That the record was Benny’s only Sansu appearance and did not make much of a stir commercially likely had nothing to do with his performance or the material. None of the many worthy singles by the label’s artists fared particularly well in the US marketplace - save for Betty Harris’ lone hit, “Nearer To You”, which got into the Top 20 in 1967. Granted there was a lot of competition from domestic soul and pop acts as well as the overflow of British bands on the airwaves; but Sansu’s national distributor, Bell, deserves some of the blame for either being unwilling or unable to give the label’s releases the strong promotion they deserved and needed to break out. The eventual shut down of Sansu in 1968 or 1969 was directly due to that inability to generate hits and the necessary sales that went with them. In addition, the music business was beginning a change of orientation from singles to albums. Sehorn and Toussaint would go on to follow the trend to success; but Benny and nearly all of his Sansu peers would not be with them.

It must have been at about this point, if not before, that Benny realized his career in entertainment was no longer sustainable. Changes in popular tastes hit the New Orleans R&B scene hard, seriously limiting recording and on-stage opportunities. Around 1968, he had his last 45 release, two original songs on the micro-label, MorSoul.

“Foolish Man” (Benny Spellman)
Benny Spellman, MorSoul 007, 1968
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I’m including both sides of this single not just because it was Benny’s final one. I think his choice of direction on them is revealing, as well. A fine, effective soul-pop ballad, “Foolish Man” offers certainly one of his best recorded performances. The changes have a subtle sophistication, maybe even a bit jazz-influenced, and perfectly support the expressive lyrics. Kudos to the young A&R man, Traci Borges, for setting up a sympathetic arrangement that simply allowed Benny to shine. Without doubt, it was right in his sweet spot.

“Dont’ Give Up Love” (Benny Spellman)
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In the “And Now For Something Completely Different” category, we are confronted with the polar opposite side, “Don’t Give Up Love”, in which any semblance of subtlety and sophistication have been tossed out in favor of attaining an undeniable groove and party atmosphere. The changes and arrangement are minimal, the execution direct and raw; but this sucker grabs you and demands that you move, sounding like some unpolished Stax outtake meant for Rufus Thomas with the young Bar-Kays throwing down in the studio.

Judging just the song or vocal, they seem to barely merit even the B-side; but Benny, Borges and band really bring a spirit to bear, heavy on the hard driving soul - no making things pretty and palatable for the pop mainstream. Even with the fake crowd chatter in the background, Benny’s ability to summon such a convincingly spontaneous and joyous dance groove speaks to his resources as an entertainer that rarely made it onto his recordings - more’s the pity. I’m certainly glad he got one last chance to let that genie out of the bottle.

Somewhere during this same period, Benny also cut a very basic demo of a deep soul ballad called “Let’s Start All Over”, probably an original, for Eddie Bo, who was doing A&R at Scram; but nothing came of it. The performance first appeared on the Tuff City/Night Train various artist CD compilation, The Best of Scram Records. There’s another track on the edition of the CD I have (1997) that is also credited to Benny, “For Once In My Life”, which was actually sung by the Jades; but that error seems to have been corrected on the later version of the album available for download. Since Benny never had a release on Scram or the related Power (Power-Pac) label, I find it ironic that the CD cover is a photo of him superimposed in front of a Scram label logo. Even calling the collection a Scram “best of” is a stretch, as few of the other songs on the CD were on Scram, either - several appeared on Power(Pac), and most were never released at the time. So, buyer beware.

Although Benny took a day job representing a beer company to make ends meet, he continued to perform from time to time and was a popular regular at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival for many years. Looking back at his decade of sporadic recording, it can’t be honestly judged a success for a variety of reasons I’ve cataloged in this series of posts; but he did make some good records and turned in a number of noteworthy performances. Though he seems never to have been a high priority artist, at least he got to work with one of the city’s premier writer/producers for most of the run.

In the end, despite whatever else he recorded, Benny will always be remembered for those two timelessly cool tracks he made with Toussaint, “Lipstick Traces” and “Fortune Teller”. The many fallen-by-the-wayside artists we discuss here at HOTG should all have been so fortunate.

Tracing Benny Spellman's Fortunes, Pt. 1

2011-07-31T17:30:00.049-05:00

I really expected bigger things from Benny. He was by far the most popular rhythm and blues artist in New Orleans. He always was working even when nobody else could find a job. And he had those teenagers mesmerized, they just loved him. - Joe Banashak to Jeff Hannusch in I Hear You Knockin’.

Benny Spellman, who would have turned 80 this December, passed away in early June in his hometown of Pensacola, FL. A singer with a pleasing, recognizable sound, whose career in music came about rather by happenstance, he arrived in New Orleans just as the era of the independent local record labels began, and became one of the many new artists who participated in the busy performing and recording scene there during the early to mid 1960s, though, for the most part, he remained on the periphery.

In this post and one to follow, I’ll present some of his lesser-known recordings, which is what nearly all of them were, really, and ruminate on why his talent seems to have been under-utilized over the course of the near decade that he was active.

If you are not all that familiar with Mr. Spellman and want some overview, I recommend a couple of decent recent sketches of his life and career, one by Jeff Hannusch in Offbeat, and the other by my friend, Red Kelly, at the B-Side.

Possessing a mellow, smokey baritone, limited in range but rich with character, Benny would have made a promising soul artist; but that was generally not the kind of records he got a chance to make. He worked primarily with legendary producer and A&R man Allen Toussaint, who wrote much of his material and preferred to cast him more in the role of a pop singer. Of course, at the time, Toussaint was largely focused on releasing quick pay-off R&B/pop songs and had a genuine gift for making them happen, generating a number of national hits, with eager singers lined up to cut more.

Benny didn’t make it to New Orleans until he was in his late 20s, after a hitch in the service. Earlier, he had attended Southern University in Baton Rouge on a football scholarship and got into singing there, including several talent contest wins, but nothing much else came of it at the time. As fate would have it, though, in 1959 he chanced to come to the aid of Huey Smith and the Clowns, who were stranded in Pensacola due to a wrecked vehicle. After giving them a lift back to New Orleans, Benny decided to hang around town for a while. At the famed Dew Drop Inn, he reconnected with guitarist and bandleader Edgar Blanchard, who he had known in Baton Rouge, and was invited up to sing with the band. That opportunity caused such a positive stir in the club that owner Frank Painia hired Benny to sing there regularly, breaking him into the local scene in a hurry, where, over the years, he would earn his reputation as a charismatic on-stage performer.

His first solo recording session also took place in 1959, after he auditioned for the brand new Minit label, started by Joe Banashak and influential disc jockey Larry McKinley. He joined a roster of young talent such as Ernie K-Doe, Aaron Neville, and Jessie Hill (with more soon to follow) under the direction of Toussaint, who was only 21 at the time.

Being a team player, Benny did background singing in the studio whenever needed, but soon got his first feature shot singing his own compositions, “Life Is Too Short” b/w “Ammerette”, which comprised Minit’s fifth release (#606). The top side was a down tempo, minor key meditation that didn’t light any fires but demonstrated that he could create a mood. The flip was the real stand-out, seemingly inspired by the Little Walter hit, “My Babe”, with a burning baritone sax solo. But the record didn't get much radio play or sales action. Early in 1960, Benny was tapped for another single; but this time both sides were penned by Toussaint and his writing partner, Allen Orange, who was also a Minit artist.

“I Didn’t Know” (Toussaint - Orange)
Benny Spellman, Minit 613, 1960
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With strings, no less! Despite that production flourish, the song was a pretty straight 1950s style pop number flawlessly handled by Benny in his smooth mode of delivery. While it did moderately well locally, other artists on Minit were starting to score national hits and get more attention from Toussaint. Thus, Benny didn’t get back onto the production schedule for quite some time, at least as a featured artist.

Later in 1960, he was in the studio when Toussaint was working up a new tune with K-Doe called “Mother-In-Law”. Not satisfied with the voicing of the main hook, which was the title of the song, Toussaint put Benny on mike and had him sing ‘mother-in-law” in his lower register. That did the trick, making it stand out from the start of the song on through and providing contrast to the tenors of K-Doe and second backing vocalist, Willie Harper. The gimmick also put the song into the winning novelty style of the Coasters or the Clowns; helping hook a big hit. After it was released early in 1961, “Mother-In-Law” soon rose to #1 on both the R&B and pop charts and eventually was awarded a gold record.

With that impressive achievement, K-Doe’s star shone brightly for a time, leaving Benny on the sidelines wanting both more credit for his contribution and another release of his own; but that would be almost another year in coming on Minit.

In December of 1960, shortly before “Mother-In-Law” came out, Benny cut a promising new tune for Toussaint, “Anywhere You Go”; but it never appeared on a single. Over 20years went by before it was finally included on a limited issue Bandy retrospective LP simply entitled Benny Spellman (#70018), followed by compilations on Charly and Collectables.

"Anywhere You Go" (writer unknown)
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The most upbeat, danceable track he had recorded up to that point, with an early example of what would become known as the popeye beat, “Anywhere You Go” had its charms as a purely pop endeavor; but, despite Benny’s winning delivery, the song may have been passed over because of its weak lyrics (though they seem Shakespearean in comparison to something like Jessie Hill’s “Ooh Poo Pah Doo”). I have found no writing credit for the song on my Collecatbles compilation LP, Fortune Teller, which has the best (but not perfect) recording details, in BMI, or the US Copyright Office database; which leads me to think that it was a Spellman original that never got registered.

Remarkably, there would be 30 singles issued on Minit between Benny's second and third records, making him best known for his back-up singing to that point, a situation that was not improved by a side project that bore his name and slipped out on an unrelated label in the meantime.

Admittedly, Benny had hard feelings about helping to make “Mother-In-Law” a hit, then not being rewarded with at least a chance to cash in with a single of his own. So, Allen Orange, who was soon to leave the Minit fold, brought him to Johnny Vincent’s Ace label in 1961, recording tracks with Mac Rebennack producing (and playing guitar) that resulted in a one-off 45, “Roll On, Big Wheel” b/w “That’s All I Ask Of You” (#630). Though Vincent billed him as Benny “Mother-In-Law” Spellman so no one would miss the connection, the record proved neither successful, nor quite honest, as Roland Stone actually sang the majority of the A-side on the master take (written by Orange and Earl King) with Benny just doing the “roll on” of each chorus. But Benny, who was still under contract to Minit at the time, did all the singing on the other side, which was a pleasant enough ballad, and one other cut that was not released, the Latin-esque, mid-tempo “Everybody Needs Somebody” which was pretty lightweight and featured a flute as lead instrument. [Versions of these tunes can be found on the WestSide CD collection Soul Stirrings, and probably on at least a few online download sites.]

That little side trip obviously did not put Benny in good graces at Minit and is likely why it wasn’t until February, 1962 that he got the green light to cut what would be his biggest single, “Lipstick Traces”/“Fortune Teller”, on which Toussaint outdid himself, writing and producing a sophisticated soul-pop masterpiece on top, plus a clever, highly rhythmic novelty gem for the other side - both of which are now considered classics.

“Lipstick Traces (On A Cigarette)” (Naomi Neville)

Benny Spellman, Minit 644, 1962

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"Fortune Teller" (Naomi Neville)

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These sides should be abundantly familiar to most of you. If not, they soon will be, as they reward repeated plays. "Lipstick Traces" has a more sophisticated structure than most of the records of the period, yet is so seamlessly well-written, arranged and performed that it flows naturally from start to finish, never drawing attention to its superiority. Toussaint touches worth noting include the instrumental solo by a trombone section (you didn't hear that every day back then) in keeping with the sound of Benny's voice, and the nicely done hook back to “Mother-In-Law”of Benny singing the refrain “don’t leave me no more” in the same lower register, which also repeated at the end of the song with Willie Harper echoing the line as on the K-Doe tune.

As with a number of the Toussaint-generated hits of this period, the song entered both the pop and R&B charts; and by late spring it had climbed to #80 and #28 respectively - not a mega-hit, but certainly a respectable showing. Many stations played “Fortune Teller”, too, turning the 45 into a double-duty seller. Still, despite that significant success, Benny was not favored with an appreciable improvement in his status at Minit, and would have no more hits.

The direct follow-up to “Lipstick Traces” had Benny taking on Toussaint's musical rehash of the hit with far inferior lyrics, “Every Now And Then” (#652), a title that inadvertently but accurately described Benny’s recording schedule. Unable to chart, it was certainly a misstep by Toussaint, who failed to effectively exploit the singer’s momentary prominence, going instead with, at best, uninspired material.

Benny’s next single didn’t appear until the following year; and, although it got back to form with two cool, danceable contenders, “Stickin’ Whicha Baby” b/w “You Got To Get It”, the timing of its release wasn’t favorable. No only had he been too long gone from the public’s minute musical attention span; but Minit was embroiled in continuing problems with its national distributor, Imperial Records, and had by then taken a backseat to Banashak’s other label venture with Irving Smith (and silent partner McKinley), Instant, which also relied totally upon Toussaint’s production skills.

“Stickin’ Whicha Baby” (N. Neville)
Benny Spellman, Minit 659, 1963
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Reinforcing the syncopation of the tune’s mid-tempo popeye groove with rhythmic accents from the horns, Toussaint created an effective get-loose mover that gave great musical support to Benny’s supple vocal. It also subtly refers back to “Lipstick Traces” in the lyrics (quoting its hook, “don’t leave me no more”) and use again of trombones. Toussaint’s piano accompaniment quotes “Fortune Teller” in spots, too. With a chorus that actually does stick with you, this number would have made a far better immediate follow-up to Benny’s lone hit 45, were time travel an option. Instead, it came along too late to garner anything more than a little local exposure.

“You Got To Get It” (B. Spellman, J.L. Spellman, N. Nichols)
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Another fine popeye groover, this turned out to be a pretty strong flip side, even though it sounds like a lot of other songs emanating from New Orleans at the time. Co-written by Benny, whose enthusiastic vocal really makes the song stand out, it has some clever lyrical turns and another winning arrangement by Toussaint. I consider both sides of this 45 to be among the singer's best.

Benny’s next release. “Talk About Love”/“Ammerette” (#664), would be his last for Minit, as a hurricane of changes was brewing for Banashak’s inter-related enterprises. It's a hard 45 to find, since it had a poor prognosis to begin with. My transfer of the A-side comes from the Fortune Teller LP.

“Talk About Love" (Naomi Neville)
Benny Spellman, Minit 664, 1963
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Despite its spare instrumentation, this Toussaint composition is a great little upbeat mover with a bit of gospel feel to it. Basically, it has just piano, minimal bass (acoustic?) and drums, with a sax coming in briefly behind the vocal and for a short solo. What sells this arrangement for me are the backing vocals, with the males simply singling “love” four to the measure, until Toussaint kicked it up a notch, adding the females on the off beats behind the second and third verses, the solo, and the ride out. Benny’s vocal, though pleasant enough, seems too understated overall for the song’s testifying mood. Even though he intensified and upped his volume and register on a few lines, it was not enough to transform the song’s catchy bounce into an outright rave-up.

Interestingly, Benny’s own “Ammerette” from the back of his very first 45 appeared again on the B-side of 664, indicating that there was nothing else left on the shelf to use. “Talk About Love” had been recorded back in May of 1962; and its delayed release meant that it had virtually no chance of success, as Minit was on the verge of being swallowed up and losing its identity as a New Orleans label.

Imperial Records had not been an enthusiastic promoter of the Minit catalog for quite a while, which had proven to be a read drag for Banashak and company in several senses of the term, limiting the number of markets the records got into, and, thus, possible sales. For that reason, he started Instant (initially called Valiant) in 1961 and was distributing those releases though his own company, A-1 Distributors, which he had run since 1957. By 1963, Banashak learned that Lew Chudd, owner of Imperial, was selling out to the much larger Liberty Records in California, leaving their tenuous distribution agreement completely in limbo.

Then came the even worse news that Toussaint had been drafted and would soon be reporting for duty in Texas. leaving Banashak’s labels, including ALON, which he had set up for Toussaint to run, without a producer, arranger and chief songwriter. On top of that, due to cutthroat competition, A-1 suddenly lost many of the biggest labels it handled, quickly forcing the company into bankruptcy. Just like that, the triple whammy.

Cash-strapped, Banashak sold Minit to Liberty, which chose not to keep any of the label’s artists except Irma Thomas, who wound up recording for their reconstituted Imperial imprint. Meanwhile, Banashak was left to tread water with Instant and ALON, almost giving up the music business at one point, but hanging on. Fortunately, Toussaint had left some tracks behind that allowed Banashak to release records by a few artists such as Willie Harper, Eldridge Holmes, and Skip Easterling on ALON. Also, Toussaint started recording instrumentals for the label with a band he got together in Texas, the Stokes.

Meanwhile, having been cut loose from the semi-submerged ship, Benny soon got involved with a new local label, Watch Records, though he would return to Banashak and Toussaint; but, we’ll get to that next time when we cover some sides he did during the last half of his music career.

Minit’s track record with Benny was haphazard at best. While not a world class singer, he was a popular live performer whose sound and ability were certainly equal to, if not beyond, some of the artists on Minit and Instant who had more opportunity to record - Chris Kenner for one. Some careful consideration might have led Toussaint to develop more soulful material for Benny along the lines of what Irma Thomas was getting; though, admittedly, none of her records caught on nationally at the time. But, although Banashak expected better outcomes for his work, Benny, Mr. Go with the Flow, seems to have gotten lost in the shuffle.

I have to remind myself that artist development was not commonly practiced back in the days of seat of the pants, small-staffed, independent record labels scrambling week to week and month to month to find enough of a hit to pay the bills. As Banashak told Hannusch, his initial decision to get into record making was inspired by a friend’s simplistic notion that all it took was to “throw $750.00 [production/pressing costs] up against the wall and hope [you] come up with a hit.” That kind of thinking makes your artists rather disposable commodities in an inherently uncertain and random process - gambling, as always, being the best analogue for the record business.

In that light, Benny was fortunate to have recorded what little he did for Minit and had a bit of success to show for it. Nobody who knows what they are talking about has ever claimed that the music business is the place to get a fair shake.

Suiting Summer To A Tee: Willie & the Gaturs

2011-07-10T11:07:00.003-05:00

The always groovin' music of Willie Tee (Wilson Turbinton) goes particularly well with summer; and hearing it any time of the year summons up that seasonal vibe for me, especially the songs by his early 1970s funk band, the Gaturs, which just seem imbued with heat, humidity, and a feel-good, hang-loose spirit.

So, with the advent of the summer season, I'm pulling out a few rarities by Willie solo and with the Gaturs. I've done a number of background posts on him over the years; and you can find links to them at the end of this post, if you're new to the man and his music or just want some more details on his career, which ended all too soon when he passed suddenly back in 2007.

"I Found Out (You Are My Cousin)" (W. Turbinton)
Willie Tee, AFO 311, 1962
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

This track comes from only the second single of Tee’s career. His first, “Always Accused” b/w “All For One”, also came out on AFO (#307) that year. Still a teenager (18) and just learning the ropes, Tee surprisingly started out recording his own compositions. His songwriting was already well-developed; and he was being mentored by AFO founder, Harold Battiste, who had taught him in a junior high music class a few years earlier. Realizing how much promise Tee held as a vocalist, musician, and composer, Battiste was glad to give the young man a shot on the label, which had been launched the previous year as a partnership of idealistic local African-American studio musicians wanting their fair share of music business profits.

Arranged superbly by Battiste and performed by some of the best of the city’s players, “I Found Out” succeeds musically in every way with its infectious popeye beat (a lightly syncopated, highly danceable shuffle frequently used on New Orleans records of the early to mid 1960s), bright, well-placed horn lines, an organ substituted for the standard piano, and Tee’s exceptionally expressive, supple singing. But when it comes to the lyrics, there is an incongruity between the sunny, dance-inducing, soul-pop feel and the subject matter that surely subverted its commercial potential. Catchy as the song is, I can imagine people suddenly going “say what?” or just laughing (my response), once the words sink in.

While much the rest of the world might be more accepting, even encouraging of the circumstances in question, here in the US, unless you’re part of a polygamist cult or living in, let’s say, a particularly close-knit rural community, it’s an awkward buzz-kill to meet the parents of your new girlfriend and find out they’re your aunt and uncle - especially if, as the song implies, you and she are already well beyond merely kissin’ kin. Ouch. Interestingly, the lyrics never resolve what came of the relationship; but we can assume it had as much chance of success as this song did of getting airplay and selling.

A shame, really. Had Tee just chosen more innocuous subject matter, no doubt the record’s prospects would have increased exponentially. I wonder why he wasn’t taken aside and told something like, “You know, Willie, Jerry Lee Lewis married HIS cousin, but even he didn’t record a song about it! How about a re-write?”

On top of that little obstacle, there was another factor working against all of the AFO projects at this point. Having lost their national distribution deal with Sue Records when that label’s owner ran off with their only hit-maker, Barbara George, Battiste and his partners were left with just the prospect of local exposure for releases by the rest of their roster. Underfunded and sharing mostly red ink by then, not able to generate even hometown hits in the pay to play days of radio, they closed down the New Orleans operation in 1963, with Battiste and some others relocating to the West Coast.

Before leaving, Battiste worked a deal for Irving Smith’s new local label, Cinderella, to release two worthy tracks left over from earlier AFO sessions, which were bundled into the imprint's second 45.

“Foolish Girl” (Ken Kerr)
Willie Tee, Cinderella 1202, 1963
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

This rarely heard, addictive piece of pop ear candy with much more conventional lyrics was one of Tee’s best performances for Battiste and company, impeccably backed by the AFO Executives. There’s really not a lot to the song; but the jazzy, uptown arrangement with its insinuating, bossa nova inspired drum groove by John Boudreaux perfectly made up for that and gave the still teenaged Tee a perfect excuse to again display his deceptively smooth vocal power on the affecting melody line.

It’s hard to understand why he never made it to the music business big leagues by virtue of his singing, let alone his other gifts; but opportunity, timing and luck never quite lined up for him. In the case of this single, Smith, who ran a successful record store on St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans, did not prove to be an adept record promoter, as none of the seven releases on Cinderella went very far at all, with sales probably limited to his shop.

In addition, this 45 is unusual in that it was split between two artists. The flip side features Harold Battiste doing a jazz sax instrumental with the A.F.O. Executives, a well-rendered, big band arrangement of “These Are The Things I Love”. Maybe we’ll get to that when I take a look at the career of Mr. Battiste, who later did go fairly far into the upper echelons of the industry as a producer, arranger and music director while out in Los Angeles. That’s another project too long on the HOTG back burner. Of course, you can avoid the middle blogger here and the wait by simply reading Battiste's excellent memoir, Unfinished Blues.

A few years father on, Tee came close to getting a boost up to the next level when recording for Nola Records, a new label owned by his cousin (this hook-up was all about business!) Ulis Gaines, Wardell Quezergue, and Clinton Scott. They had a deal giving Atlantic Records the option to take any release on the label that they thought had promise; and that was exercised on Tee’s first Nola single, “Teasin’ You” / “Walking Up A One Way Street”, two deft, easy-going Earl King soul-pop songs. “Teasin’ You” broke big on Atlantic, nearly making the R&B Top Ten; but, although they issued two more top-shelf singles on him, neither did well enough to keep Atlantic interested. Not surprisingly, though, those singles have become favorites of the Beach Music scene with its perpetual summertime slant.

Tee spent the next few years back in relative obscurity, making records for the local market again on Nola and its subsidiaries, Hot Line and Bonatemp, until the company went under. He also teamed with Gaines to start a new label, Gatur, which had to shut down almost as soon as it opened due to the crash of the city’s multi-label distributorship, Dover Records, owned by Cosimo Matassa, which caused much collateral damage to the local music business. You can find his Atlantic and Nola-related sides, plus a few from Gatur, on the Night Train compilation Teasin' You.

Late in the decade, Tee got another shot at national recognition on a deal with Capitol that resulted in an ill-conceived, quickly scuttled white-bread pop album, I'm Only A Man, (over)produced by David Alexrod, from which two largely ignored singles were also released. I’ve previously discussed* the utter disconnect of this project (which is still highly prized by collectors) with the rest of Tee’s career. So, suffice it to say here that Tee quickly moved on.

By around 1970, he and Gaines decided to reactivate Gatur, giving Tee a chance to jump into the flourishing funk scene in the city with his new band, simply dubbed the Gaturs. Of the ten soul-funk singles on the label credited either to the Gaturs (4) or Tee (6), none did especially well commercially, even though Atco picked up the first of them, “Cold Bear” / “Booger Man” (#508), for national release in 1972. Yet today, a number of the Gatur tracks are considered classics and coveted by collectors worldwide.

Naturally, because they're highly sought after, these records are hard to find (or afford), but Tuff City/Funky Delicacies did compile a lot of them on the Wasted CD way back in 1994 allowing far more people to hear them than ever did at the time they were made. I’m featuring a couple of sides today that I haven’t gotten to before from the woefully limited Gatur section of my vinyl archives.

“Wasted” (W. Turbinton)
The Gaturs, Gatur 510, ca 1972
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

As I’ve pointed out in earlier posts, most of Tee’s instrumental compositions and productions on Gatur were more about atmospherics and pure groove than structural elements, and “Wasted” is certainly strong evidence of that. It’s like the musical treatment for some movie scene, meant more to suggest a mood than go much of anywhere musically. While still cool, it has much less impact than the impressive, addictive top side, “Gator Bait” (misspelled on the CD). “Wasted” was probably a more or less spontaneously composed track on which Tee’s electric piano (Wurlitzer), his brief flurry of soloing, and spare, slightly abstract chord voicings reveal the jazz sensibilities never far from the surface in much his work.

Bassist Erving Charles seems a bit lost on this track; but what makes the groove immediately engage and carry us through the tune is the intense percussion, reinforced by Louis Clark’s wah-wah guitar attack. The use of congas (probably ‘Uganda’ Roberts) and a hi-hat (Larry Pana) in lieu of a full set of drums summons up a primal, ancestral kind of rhythmic drive that may well have been inspired by the concurrent collaboration Tee and his band were having with the Wild Magnolia Mardi Gras Indians during this period.

For more details on the flip side of this record, plus Tee’s work with the Indians, see my "Of Gaturs and Indians"** post from 2007.

“Yeah, You’re Right You Know You’re Right” (M. M. Turbinton)
The Gaturs, Gatur 555, ca 1972
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Both sides of this 45 stand apart from the other instrumentals Tee wrote and produced for the Gaturs due to more substantial structures and his use of a horn section on the arrangements. “Yeah You’re Right” is similar in approach to some of the vocal tunes he did under his own name for the label, such as “I’m Having So Much Fun” on #557, most all of which were more involved productions, some even having strings.

On this laid back but engaging groove, the congas and a closed hi-hat carry the beat for the acoustic piano and bass in the intro, until Pana kicks in on his drum kit and the guitar picks the central riff of the tune, followed by the horns coming in on the chorus. Funky Delicacies dates recording of the Gatur material at around 1970; and, if so, the tracks were probably cut at Jazz City in New Orleans, Cosimo’s former studio being run by Skip Godwin, and then released over the next couple of years.

“A Hunk Of Funk” (M. M. Turbinton)
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Belying it’s title, the far more high energy flip rocks a series of loosely strung together riffs with more high energy conga action atop minimal drums, plus solos on overdriven lead guitar and organ. Meanwhile, Tee’s voice soulfully moans away in the background. It’s kind of strange and doesn’t go much of anywhere, but still makes for an enjoyable rave up counterpoint to “Yeah You’re Right”.

As for the writer’s credit to M. M. Turbinton [possibly his wife, Marilyn] on both songs, I haven’t a clue, since the name is not shown in the BMI database; so it was not one of Tee’s registered monikers; and, oddly, neither of these song titles shows up there either.

But rather than geeking out on that tangent for a fortnight, I’m moving on to explore some other topics and will try to be back soon with more from the overflowing boxes and teetering piles of grooved black plastic discs here at HOTG central. Hope these tracks help to augment your revelries and enhance your reveries this summer and beyond. Yeah, you’re right.

A Series of Firsts for Willie Tee AFO, Atlantic, & Nola sides
More Than A One Hit Wonder "I Want Somebody", Atlantic 2302
Did Saying Yes Lead To Mercy? "You Better Say Yes", Atlantic 2302
*Willie's Reach Capitol, Gatur, and UA tracks
A Cracked Bell and A Cold Bear The ATCO single & Anticipation LP
Gatur Grooves "Get Up" from the Wasted CD
Indians Comin’ "Handa Wanda", Wild Magnolias, Crescent City 25
Carnival Funk Convergence "Ho Na Nae" from The Wild Magnolias
Hey La Hey "Fire Water", Wild Magnolias, Treehouse 801 B
**Of Gaturs and Indians "Gator Bait", Gatur 510 plus "New Kinda Groove" from They Call Us Wild, Wild Mangolias

The Sissy Variations or The Queen of Funky Dances

2011-06-18T11:42:00.091-05:00

[Updated and revised 9/4/2011]

This session’s batch of New Orleans vinyl contains songs associated with a dance called the Sissy, also known as the Sophisticated Sissy, the Sissy Strut or Sissy Walk. In all, there were six such dance records that came out of the Crescent City in the mid to late 1960s. When I considered doing a post one the ones in my collection, I realized that I really didn’t know much of anything at all about the dance itself, beyond the song titles and whatever lyrics there were that I could decipher.

At that point, as always happens with these things, my OCD research mode kicked in; and I was off on various tears and tangents, trying to wrap my brain cells around when, where and how such a dance and the songs it spawned came to be. Once I got into it, I found out about quite a few R&B and funk records that referenced the Sissy from around the US, besides the New Orleans numbers. These were released mainly between 1964 and 1969. And though the craze died down after that, it's possible that the dance never quite died out in New Orleans.

ON THE ORIGINS OF THE SISSY

From the 1950s onward, American rock ‘n’ roll, R&B and pop music was rife with songs about dances, aimed mainly at teenagers, or the nearly-so, comprising the post-World War II Baby Boom generation. Some of the songs promoted a particular dance (Mess Around, Madison, Twist, Mashed Potato, Popeye, Monkey, Pony, etc), while others sought acceptance more or less by association, name-checking a list of current dances over a groove intended to make bodies move. Either way, record makers sought to latch on to a popular dance tend, or even create their own craze and cash in, either on the local level or, for the really big payoff, nationwide. Occasionally a dance went viral, creating a demand for the latest record(s) associated with it; but a far larger proportion of dance songs weren't big sellers, if not complete duds nobody heard. Even the few that were significant dance hits had a short shelf life, soon supplanted in pop culture’s relentless obsession for and pursuit of the new.

Many dances arose in the African-American community, with some becoming popular enough to cross over the deep racial divide of the time via radio, jukeboxes, and even TV, to be picked up by young whites; but many steps and moves did not. As it looks now, the Sissy was never adopted by white dancers to any significant degree; and even over on the other side of town, it stayed underground in the nightclub environment, and thus was enjoyed by a somewhat older crowd.

[For a much more thorough, well-researched study of dance fads (which I regret I didn't know about before I embarked on this venture), I recommend Tim Wall's Wallofsound blog post, which is taken from his chapter on the subject in the book, Malnig's Ballroom, Boogie, Shimmy Sham, Shake: A Social and Popular Dance Reader. I appreciate his helpful comments on this post. I always hope this process will be a participatory learning experience as well as a groovefest.]

With the passage of more that 40 years, information on the origins of the Sissy is scant, leaving much of the story subject to supposition and conjecture, including where the dance started, and why it might have been called the Sissy in the first place. How did it catch on and spread around the country with such a name during the repressive times? "Sissy" has long been a pejorative term for men thought to be wimps, or less than masculine, not to mention its outright homosexual implications.

As JD Doyle points out on his massive Queer Music Heritage website, there is evidence in black culture of songs using the term "sissy" in blues recordings from early in the 20th Century. Ma Rainey did "Sissy Blues" in 1926, and Kokomo Arnold's "Sissy Man Blues" first appeared in 1935. These songs definitely weren't about dancing, but indicate that blacks have called gay men "sissies" in common usage for a long time. After learning where the first Sissy dance record was released, and later hearing from people who saw the dance done in New Orleans, I have concluded that it is quite possible that the Sissy actually began in the gay community.

My initial hunch was borne out when I got an eyewitness account from my friend, Willie West, the great soul singer and performer whose career spanning over 50 years is still going strong. He gigged regularly at dances and clubs in the city during the 1960s, when the Sissy, or Sophisticated Sissy, as he heard it called, was around. So, I hoped he had first hand knowledge about the dance; and I’m glad I asked, because Willie had some revealing things to say about it:

I remember the Sophisticated Sissy. It was a dance that the gay guys started where you wave your arms around and switch your booty. I never did it, but saw it in the clubs. It caught on with the straight people. I don't think the white people knew anything about it. It was mainly the black community imitating the way the gays switched and sashayed around. That's how "Cissy Strut" came about, the Meters song, from that dance [well, in an indirect way, as we'll see]. The New Orleans music was funky. I didn't know the dance traveled outside. . . . I thought it was a product of the city and stayed in the city.

I have recently been in contact with George Porter, Jr., legendary New Orleans bassist and member of the original Meters, one of the most influential funk bands of all times. Both he and his wife, Ara, recalled seeing the Sissy danced at the Nite Cap, a local club, where George had a regular gig in 1966 and 1967 along with drummer Zig Modeliste, and guitarist Leo Nocentelli, as part of Art Neville and the Neville Sounds, the band which would soon transform into the Meters. While he told me that West's description of the dance was close to what they saw, he also said, "I don't remember gay guys in the Nite Cap. I'm not saying they were not there. They were just undercover....Where [the Sissy] came from, I have no idea." But Ara Porter helpfully added that "everybody did the dance, straight and gay."

I also got a chance to check in with my friend, Teddy Royal, a still active jazz and funk guitarist and composer from the New York area, who moved from there to New Orleans around 1970 to play in King Floyd's road band, the Rhythm Masters. As I suspected, Teddy witnessed the Sissy, too, in New York nightclubs before he moved south. He told me it was pretty wild - lots of arm and hip action. From those insights, I have gotten a little clearer the picture of what the Sissy was all bout. Certainly provocative for the times, the Sissy probably did cross over, but from the gay community to the straight, even as it remained essentially a black dance. It seems to have been a good-natured goof on the mannerisms of effeminate gay males devised to be danced to groove-heavy R&B music. Naming it the Sissy would have been in a sense wryly ironic, playing with the term others had used as a put-down. I'm sure straight people who saw it in clubs took to the dance for both the humorous aspect and the over-the-top, let it all hang out movements.

Even in New Orleans where revelry abounds, it must have been edgy, associated with a subculture few people yet openly acknowledged; but I guess the fun people on both sides of the fence had with it allowed the dance to become not just accepted and but popular. But that genesis of the Sissy would likely be why there is not much more than a mention about the it in articles about 1960s dances, and certainly no step diagrams!

As for the song that first referenced the dance, that seems to have been “The Sissy” by Bob (Relf) and Earl (Nelson), which appeared in 1964 on the small Chene label out of San Francisco, surely no coincidence. The duo was based in Los Angeles (though Earl was originally from Lake Charles, LA) and had their most memorable hit the previous year with another dance tune they wrote, “The Harlem Shuffle”, released in L.A. on the Marc label. After that charted, they followed up with other, less successful dance songs, including “The Sissy”, also an original. More than likely, they geared it to the place where the dance was already coming on strong.

Hearing “The Sissy” [sorry the audio’s not too good at that link] for the first time, I was struck by how much the music and arrangement seem inspired by Major Lance’s big, Curtis Mayfield penned dance hit, “The Monkey Time”, from the previous year, but lack that impact. Bob and Earl’s lyrics called the Sissy a new, “funny little dance” and claimed that “you’ve got to be a little shy to let her know that you’re her guy.” Hmmm. Anyway, they went on to describe some of the moves: sliding, dipping, putting your hand on your cheek, then your hip, and plenty of shaking it - fairly generic dance song patter, and not very revealing, which was the way on other Sissy songs with vocals.

I think the early date of the record makes the West Coast, and particularly San Francisco, long a gay mecca, the plausible point of origin for the Sissy; but how it spread to other major metropolitan areas of the US, remains open to speculation.

DEFINITELY A FUNK CONNECTION

Between 1964 and 1970, there were over fifteen songs associated with the Sissy released on singles in the US; and I tracked down and listened to all I could find, helped out immensely by Mr. Fine Wine’s Downtown Soulville WFMU radio show playlists and audio archives, seemingly inexhaustible veins of musical information, plus some more YouTube “research” that you’ll find in some of the links farther along. The dominant similarity I noted on nearly all Sissy records was that the music was strongly rhythmic, if not outright funk-oriented to varying degrees. Interestingly, the rise of both the Sissy and funk music coincided, certainly making the dance one of the first directly associated with the style. From the start, the groove angle has been what really fascinates me about the phenomenon as it relates to New Orleans, the essential, elemental funk nexus in the US. So, it's not surprising that's where the next Sissy-related record appeared and that the city produced more of them than any other part of the country.

DOIN’ THE SISSY IN THE HOME OF THE GROOVE

It's not a stretch to say that certain New Orleans dancers were early Sissy adopters, given the city's active gay community and social scene, and the fact that the second known song to name-check the dance, “Do The Sissy", came along in 1966. As I mentioned last year in my post about Chuck Simmons, Ninth Ward auto mechanic and soul singer, the track appeared as the A- side of the very first single by Simmons and his band, Charley Simmons and the Royal Imperial,s on the tiny, short-lived PJ Records label, with an uncredited Wardell Quezergue providing arrangement and production assistance. An upbeat groover aspiring to James Brown’s feel-good, brand new funk bag that was so hot at the time, the song’s strong point was its drumming, and featured some nice breaks. The rest of Chuck’s band weren’t slackers, either, offering up a decent approximation of that JB thang. Short on lyrics, Simmons pretty much just shouted out “Sissy” at random points amidst various grunts and Brownian screams, managing to eek out a rhyme with, “Hold that groove. Keep the beat. Do the Sissy all in the street”, which could have happened come Mardi Gras day in the French Quarter, when so many things are possible.

As Simmons told writer Kevin Goins in the notes to the Funky Delicacies compilation CD on his career, Hustler’s Strut, they decided to put out a dance record thinking it would have a better chance at getting played on the radio; but significant spins were not in the cards, either because the label lacked the clout to make it happen or the Sissy wasn't quite ready for prime time, maybe both. It is possible, though, that the 45 found its way onto some jukeboxes around town and reached its target audience of local dancers anyway. Meanwhile, a Sissy record from a different Southern music center broke out in a big way.

At some point after Simmons’ release, the Sissy seems to have become known as the Sophisticated Sissy. I don’t know what caused that upgrade, or whether it signified a change in the dance itself; but the transition first became apparent in my old stomping grounds of Memphis, TN, thanks in part to none other than one of the kings of cool dance records, Rufus Thomas.

RUFUS & FRIENDS HELP SOPHISTICATE THE SISSY

In June 1967, Stax Records released “Sophisticated Sissy”, written by Sir Mack Rice, Isaac Hayes, David Porter, and Joe Shamwell, and performed by Thomas, an irrepressibly energetic novelty song specialist and WDIA disc jockey. The record made it into the top 50 of the national R&B charts, ending a three year hit drought for Thomas, as Rob Bowman states in his excellent notes to The Complete Stax Singles 1959 - 1968, adding that “the Sissy was a big dance at the time.”

As with a lot of Rufus’ records, “Sophisticated Sissy” was funky in that Memphis style, with the drums holding down a medium tempo two and four pocket, while the bass licks provided much of the counter-rhythm, supplemented by sparse piano chords on various offbeats and some syncopation in the horn lines. The way the lyrics run, both Sissy and Sophisticated Sissy are used to refer to the dance that everybody is doing down at the disco when the singer comes in and is shown how to do it right by “five sweet girls” (hope he checked IDs).

Written by the cream of the Stax tunesmiths, Thomas’ “Sophisticated Sissy” is lyrically one of the best of the genre, although it didn’t delve into details on how the dance was done - probably wouldn’t have been broadcast if it had. Notably, it fades with Rufus calling out the names of some cities and regions around the country, which was an often-used device in dance songs to lock-in a national connection, which worked just fine in light of the response. The Sophisticated Sissy was on the scene.

Just a few months after Thomas' hit, Roscoe Bowie from the Washington, DC area tried to get a piece of the action, releasing his hard driving, instrumental dancer, "Broadway Sissy", on the TEC label. With almost a rock feel (shades of "Gimme Some Lovin'"), it had some tricked out drumming on the breakdown, but was just too frenetic to be considered funk. Great record though it was, I think it pretty much stayed local, leaving the door open for New Orleans to come back with a another Sissy spin.

CURLEY SCORES AT HOME WITH HIS OWN SISSY

In 1968, June 'Curley' Moore,Jr. recorded a separate “Sophisticated Sissy”, released as a two-part 45 done in a uniquely New Orleans fashion, but surely inspired by both Thomas’ record, which likely had done well there, and the growing popularity of the dance itself.

Moore had his own track record in the novelty song market, having been an original member of the highly successful New Orleans vocal group, the Clowns, who fronted pianist Huey Smith’s show band and sang the many funny catch-phrase songs Smith wrote and recorded from the late 1950s into the early 1960s. After lead vocalist Bobby Marchan left the group to go solo in 1960, Curley took over for him; but the hits stopped coming, causing the group to leave Ace. Smith took the group to producer Dave Bartholomew and the Imperial label, where they made some more good records in the same vein, but without any more commercial success. By 1962, they had calling it quits.

One of the many idiosyncratic vocalists on the local scene, Curley had a nasal but pleasant, recognizable sound, with a fairly limited range. His next significant recording date came around 1965, when he worked with producer/arranger Wardell Quezergue and songwriter Earl King on a 45 that had “Soul Train” on top, a rhythmic but strangely melancholy sounding song, which I featured here in 2007. With lyrics that borrowed from Chrs Kenner’s 1962 “Land Of 1000 Dances”, name-checking a number of dances and locales around the country, the tune was a great vehicle for Moore’s voice. It did quite well locally, appearing both on Quezergue’s Hot Line and Nola labels, but didn't break out into other areas of the country.

From there, Curley signed on with Allen Toussaint and Marshall Sehorn’s Sansu label and production company, cutting three singles during 1966-1967, billed as ‘Curly’ Moore. Though several of the sides held promise, none of Sansu’s releases were being properly promoted by their ostensible national distributor, Bell Records, and by 1968 the label had been shuttered, unable to get any action going on its numerous talented artists.

Meanwhile, after the departure of Eddie Bo from production duties at Joe Banashak’s various labels, Huey Smith came on board and was making some successful local records on Instant with two groups he had put together, the Pitter Pats and the Hueys. Impressed, Banashak gave him the green light to record other artists; and Smith began to write and produce some trend-setting sides, starting with his former front man from the Clowns.

Though he doesn’t get a lot of credit for doing so, Smith was one of the people on the local recording scene, along with Quezergue, Eddie Bo and Allen Toussaint, responsible for bringing funk more prominently into the mix in the mid to late 1960s. During his tenure at Instant, records he produced on Moore, Larry Darnell, Lee Bates and Skip Easterling helped make overt the funkiness that had long been percolating in the city’s popular music, ushering in the start of a new era. Without a doubt, “Sophisticated Sissy” was one of the turning point tunes in that regard.

“Sophisticated Sissy, Pt 1” (H. Smith - B. Brandon)
Curley Moore, Instant 3295, 1968
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

“Sophisticated Sissy, Pt. 2”
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Huey Smith wrote this with Brenda Brandon, who collaborated (probably as lyricist) on quite a few of the records he produced for Instant. While it’s definitely different and even less sophisticated than Thomas’ Stax hit, both do have a few lyrical similarities: alternating the use of Sissy and Sophisticated Sissy in the chorus, and name-checking other parts of the country. Smith and Brandon included Louisiana, too, on Part 1; but I can’t quite make out what Moore is singing there. They added New Orleans to the list on Part 2. You also hear Moore calling out some other dances on Part 1, echoing “Soul Train”; and, more importantly, the lyrics gave a taste of how the Sissy was done. Here’s my approximation:

You looks a bit, and you shake your hips.
You wiggle around and let your backbone slip.

I've always thought that the near universal dance phrase “let your backbone slip” was probably code for pelvic thrusting. Not all that revealing, the rhyme is at least some confirmation of what Willie West saw going on in the clubs, especially the hip shaking. Focusing on the music, if you go back and listen to “Soul Train”, it’s obvious that Smith simply appropriated the changes from that song’s verses and used them as the basis for “Sophisticated Sissy”, adding an instrumental turn-around here and there for linkage. While the tune was certainly no great creative achievement, what set it apart and made it work was the funky drumming.

Obviously, Smith realized this and set up the arrangement to immediately engage backsides. The song starts with the drummer playing the song’s get-down, broken-beat groove solo for the first six bars; and my bet is that it was the masterful Smokey Johnson capturing the rhythmic high ground with an off-kilter yet in the pocket strut that transformed this otherwise rather pedestrian effort into a dancefloor filler. Smokey, who gave New Orleans music of the 1960s so many memorable grooves, had also supplied the more subtle, bossa nova-like syncopation on “Soul Train”; but this time he must have been given carte blanche by Smith to exercise his prerogative, because he didn't hold back. His attack took everybody else along for the ride and made Rufus Thomas’ Stax track seem stiff by comparison.

When New Orleans did the Sophisticated Sissy, funk was coming forward in the popular records of the day, having long been present in spontaneous, buck-jump second line dancing to brass bands at street parades and the polyrhythms of drumming by Mardi Gras Indians and in other African-based rituals. In a city where party is not only a verb but a way of life and the term "loose booty" was surely coined, this new dance found fertile ground to grow in.

Given that atmosphere, it shouldn't be at all surprising that, as Joe Banashak told Jeff Hannusch in I Hear You Knocking, Moore’s “Sophisticated Sissy” became a “big record around town”; but unfortunately again for all concerned it didn’t extend much beyond the city limits.

[Note: Flashing forward to 21st Century New Orleans, the Sissy, or some form of it just might live on in the Sissy Boom, a dance done to the city's unique hip-hop bounce music, or in a popular local fringe phenomenon, gay rappers doing hyper music that has come to be called "sissy bounce". These are emerging from the underground thanks to YouTube and revealing articles such as this and even the New York Times; but any connection to the older version is mere speculation....so far.]

TRUE SOPHISTICATION ATTAINED

It is impossible to discuss the many Sissy records without acknowledging two homegrown instrumental hits that served to put the name, desensitized to “Cissy”, back onto the national charts and airwaves, this time full-frontal funky.

“Sophisticated Cissy” (Neville-Porter-Modeliste-Nocentelli)
The Meters, Josie 1001, 1968
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Also in 1968, Sansu Enterprises’ newly hired studio backing band took the emerging local funk scene to the next level, achieving national recognition for the fresh sound of their own early instrumental recordings. Allen Toussaint and Marshall Sehorn had recruited Art Neville and the Neville Sounds from their highly successful gig as house band at the Ivanhoe club on Bourbon Street. Art had set the group up like Booker T & the MGs, as a combo with B-3 organ and guitar as lead instruments, plus bass and drums, but diverged in their approach, focusing on a sound where, as Art put it in The Brothers Neville, “Rhythm became everything. . . As opposed to playing songs, we were flat out grooving, vamping on beats that could go on for an hour. . .Ain’t nothing like low down grooves to get folks dancing."

In the studio, their initial instrumental group recordings were between-session jams that Toussaint caught on tape. Realizing that the material was not only way cool, but marketable, Sehorn secured a deal for the band, renamed the Meters, with Josie Records in New York; and their first single taken from those jams was “Sophisticated Cissy” b/w “Sehorns Farms”.

Released late in 1968, “Sophisticated Cissy” got into the R&B charts and went as high as #7 by February of 1969. It was Sansu’s biggest hit since Lee Dorsey’s run a few years earlier. Simultaneously laid back and stone funky, the tune was just a snippet of what the band could develop live; but its soulful vamping was enough to convey the creative ways drummer Zig Modeliste and bassist George Porter, Jr. could mess with the beat and still stay in the pocket, while Neville and guitarist Leo Nocentelli improvised melodically on top. Given its pace, you wouldn’t think this song was designed for Sissy dancing; and there’s a reason for that.

At least on their earlier sides, the Meters did not have names for their spontaneous compositions; and it was left to Toussaint to title them for the records, since he didn’t have much else to do. From the get-go the band arranged and produced their own material, without getting credit for it, of course. Seeking a commercial hook, Toussaint named “Sophisticated Cissy” after the Rufus Thomas hit, as Art recalled; but, it just as well could have been going after the more recent local buzz of Curley Moore’s record.

The Meters, though, had a far different musical concept in mind. So, though it name-checked the dance with the variant spelling, “Sophisticated Cissy” wasn’t really conceived with the Sissy in mind. Ditto for their second release and next hit, “Cissy Strut”, which came from the same group of studio jams as the first and got up to #4 in April that year.

“Cissy Strut” (Nocentelli-Neville-Porter-Modeliste)
The Meters, Josie 1005, 1969
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

I’d hope that everybody is already familiar with these Meters sides; but I’m putting them up for their part in the Sissy/Cissy saga, and also for comparison with the other tunes. Listening to these against the others just shows how far ahead of the game the Meters were early on. It would take a long time for anybody else to catch up; and you could say that no one ever really did. Starting out, what they were doing actually was sophisticated music, closer to jazz than R&B, though geared for get-down dancing (as was early jazz, let's not forget). The pure funk impulse is about spontaneous improvisation by the players; and it’s an ensemble concept that goes way, way back in the city’s musical history.

I can see why Willie West and, I’m sure, a lot of people at the time linked “Cissy Strut” with the dance done in the clubs, and not just because of the title. I'm sure the stone funk groove seemed made for the Sophisticated Sissy. I even found a few references that indicated that the dance started being called the Sissy Strut, too, after this one came out.

YET ANOTHER SOPHISTICATED SISSY COMES TO LIGHT

I can’t get away from the Sophisticated Sissy as it related to New Orleans without bringing up the rarest record to use that name in its title, the highly elusive (and some thought illusory) “Dance of the Sophisticated Sissy” by the Bobby Williams Group.

I found the song title while going through Mr. Fine Wine’s playlists and show archives and was first able to hear it there. He indicated that the record was on Banashak’s Seven B label, but I did not find it shown in the almost complete Seven B discography in The R&B Indies. Since there are sill unknown titles for #7032 and #7040, with #7037 questionable, on that list, I assumed that “Dance of the Sophisticated Sissy” probably was one of those.

When I contacted Mr. FW for confirmation, he told me that the only information his copy has printed on the labels are the logo, song titles (“Deatsie” is on the other side), name of the group, and some confusing matrix numbers - but no record number, or names of producer or arranger (and I have since seen a photo of another copy of that label - thanks, Kim!). This indicates to me it was probably either a test pressing, or more likely a very limited edition promo copy for radio play consideration. If any stock copies ever saw the light day, I’d be surprised - but you never know.

While poking around for more information on this record, I discovered that I actually have audio of the song in question on a vinyl compilation (Vampi Soul's two LP set, In the Pocket With Eddie Bo) in my archives. I had not realized it, because, as I learned, the track is mis-titled on the comp, and I had never listened to the side with that track (I have a lot of the songs on 45s). I found out about that and the set's other problematic errors in Martin Lawrie's online review, or I probably wouldn’t have known what the song actually was when I heard it. I’m putting it up here in the pursuit of completeness, and because it’s at least interesting in its own strange way, though any relation to the dance it references is tenuous at best.

“Dance of the Sophisticated Sissy”
Bobby Williams Group, Seven B, ca 1969
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

You may remember drummer Bobby Williams and his group because they backed Eddie Bo and Inez Cheatham on an earlier, well-known Seven B single (#7017) from 1968, “Lover and A Friend”, which was leased to Capitol along with #7018, the groundbreaking “Boogaloo Mardi Gras” by just the band itself, which I discussed back in 2009. Renowned for Williams’ poly-rhythmic grooves, which he called simply “the bouncy beat” (flash forward 40 years to that local hip-hop I mentioned). Both of those earlier records were Bo productions and definitely prime examples of the new era of emergent funk in New Orleans.

As Martin pointed out in his review, when he mentioned "Dance of the Sophisticated Sissy", there is no evidence that Bo was involved with this record, though it was a Seven B release of some sort. Bo had bailed on Banashak and gone over to the Scram label in 1968. Instead, the project could have been supervised by Bo’s successor, Huey Smith, or maybe was an independent production submission under consideration for release. The BMI database does not list this title; so, who wrote it also remains unknown.

At any rate, it’s kind of a hybrid of garage-rock and R&B; and the only link to the Sophisticated Sissy seems to be its oddly classical sounding title.Not really an artfully crafted or arranged instrumental, either, the tune doesn't seem to have been designed to be a dance record. From the plodding intro onward, the first half of the song gathers some steam but is underwhelming groovewise and not helped by a series of awkward ascending and descending chord progressions. You have to wait until over halfway through for the fun to kick in, when Williams’ second line inspired drum break comes from out of nowhere and seems to wake everybody up. In the final minute or so, things finally start coming together. The playing and even the mix improve; but, just as it gets better, it fades. Too little too late. I think the title was just tacked on as afterthought to pick up some hoped for buzz from the previous Sophisticated Sissy records. Musically flawed as it may be, I’m sure this kind of oddball rarity could bring in big bucks on sale or at auction. But as a true Sissy record, it didn't qualify for prime time.

SOME KIND OF SCRAM SISSY SCAM?

The last of the known New Orleans Sissy singles involved the previously mentioned Scram label and producer, writer, arranger, and actual artist Eddie Bo in what may have been another one of his bait and switch ploys, using the name of another artist who did not even appear on the record. The late Mr.Bocage’s methods of making and promoting music could be unorthodox and scattershot, his nature at times impish and enigmatic. Even those who directly questioned him about these things never came away fully understanding his motives. Of course, all of this adds to the mystique of his recording projects, while frustrating those of us trying to suss out the actual circumstances and details behind the fascinating, sometimes hard to find records he brought to the world.

Before we get into the song, let’s try to clear up this business of the artist named on the label. Sonny Jones was a New Orleans blues and R&B singer whose career started in the early 1950s, when he was known as Little Sonny Jones. When Bo parted ways with Banashak in 1968, he moved over to help Al Scramuza re-start his Scram label, which hadn’t been active for several years. At the time "Sissy Walk" came out, Jones actually was one of the artists besides Bo himself cutting sides for Scram and had one single issued that he actually sang on, “Seven Days” / “Stolen Moments” (#114), which directly preceded “Sissy Walk”, and at least one unissued track, “I Wonder”.

You can find the impressive, deep “Seven Days” and “I Wonder” on the Night Train CD, The Best of Scram Records. There is one other Bo-produced track attributed to Jones that I know of on the Funky Delicacies compilation, Funky Funky New Orleans (first of the series), “Lighten Up”, which has the exact same backing music as “Sissy Walk”; but the lyrics are completely different and the vocal sounds nothing at all like either Jones or Bo. Instead, I peg it as an unreleased Walter Washington session (which I actually prefer to “Sissy Walk”, by the way). Still with me?

The bottom line is that the vocalist on “Sissy Walk” was definitely not Sonny Jones. How can I be so sure? Well, for starters, just listen to any track that Jones actually sang on and compare, including some of his fine early records for Specialty and Imperial. There is also a more modern recording of him from a 1975 LP that was re-issued on CD by Black Top in 1995, Little Sonny Jones New Orleans R&B Gems. But it really only takes one or two of any of his tunes to let you know that his voice was quite different than Eddie Bo’s. That said, such a Bo authority as Martin Lawrie in his Eddie Bo Discography still attributes “Sissy Walk” to Jones, saying that his voice and Bo’s sound “almost identical”. I respectfully beg to differ; and Larry Grogan has my back on this one - it's Bo.

As to why Jones got the credit on this single, I haven’t a clue. Might it have been a mistake on the part of label owner, Scramuzza, you say? Maybe Sonny did a version that didn’t work out, or that Bo thought he could do better himself, and so later overdubbed his own vocal. If Sonny’s name was still on the tape box or session sheet, Scramuzza could have sent it out to be pressed as by Sonny Jones. Yet, that seems way too easy, since Bo had done this kind of thing several times before, using another name on something he did, even on an earlier Scram 45, and would do it again.

Now that we’re totally clear on this (I sometime wonder why I have readers at all), here’s Bo’s contribution to Sissy-dom.

“Sissy Walk (Pt 1)” (E. Bocage - A. Scramuzza)
Sonny Jones, Scram 115, ca 1969
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio
“Sissy Walk (Pt 2)”
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Except for a brief change on Pt. 1, this is one of those one chord wonder tracks with much more rhythmic emphasis than harmonic, making it not only suitable for dancing in general, but probably prime for doing the Sissy, though I don’t think the record caught on even locally.

As opposed to Bo's two-part funk monster hit with James Black on drums, "The Hook and Sling" (#117), which came out on Scram just shortly afterwards, “Sissy Walk” had far more subdued drumming, a softer, syncopated shuffle with some nice push-pull hi-hat action, over which the other instrumentation added an effective thrust and grind that makes the track worthy of repetition, more so than the lyrics, which were perfunctory at best. The overall feel and function of the tune still shows a fixation with the James Brown funk influence, but, as “Hook and Sling” would demonstrate, Bo was ready and able to move beyond the derivative into his own unique explorations, which I'm sure kept the Sissy dancers plenty busy.

As I mentioned at the start of Sissy Quest 2011, there were also a number of songs related to the dance from other parts of the country, most released in the same time frame as the New Orleans contributions. I’ve got details and audio links on the list below* for the ones not covered in the post. Pretty much all are great groovers. For some of these, the national hits by Rufus Thomas and the Meters probably had as much to to with the Sissy or Cissy in their titles as the dance itself - but it’s hard to know exactly where the motivation came from at this point. Good as they are, these others probably had no more than local or regional success, if that. Let me know, if I'm off about any of this shaky load of speculation.

All I'm sure about is that funk was beginning to bubble up all over back then, providing excellent conditions for those so inclined to let loose and do the Sissy in any of its variations.

* THE SISSY LIST (OUTSIDE OF NEW ORLEANS)
“The Sissy”, Bob and Earl, Chene 103, 1964 [see post]
“Sophisticated Sissy”, Rufus Thomas, Stax 221, 6/5/1967 [see post]
“Broadway Sissy”, Roscoe and Friends, TEC 3012, 9/26/1967 [see post]
“Do The Sissy”, Albert Collins, Imperial 66391, 1968-1969 (Los Angeles) "Automatic Sissy", The Dynamic Walton Brothers, Big Hit 300, ca 1968 (Detroit)
“Do The Cissy”, The Stingers, Stax 0035, 1969 (neither funky, nor a Memphis group)
“Cissy’s Thang”, The Soul Seven, Soultex 103, 1969 (Dallas)
“Sissy Walk”, Freedom Now Brothers, All Brothers 42269, 1969 (Philadelphia)
"Sissy Walk", Billy Ball & the Upsetters, Apollo, 1969 (Indianapolis)
“Sissy Football”, Village Soul Choir, Abbott 2028, 1971 (New York) "Sissy", Bugs Bower, Pip 8920, ca 1971 (New York)
"Be Cool (Willie Is Dancing With A Sissy)" Joe Tex, Epic 50352, 1977 [honorable mention]

As Wallofsound notes in the comments, "Broadway Sissy" can be found on The Cleethorpes Story CD compilation; "Sissy Walk" by Freedom Now Brothers was comped on The Philly Sound Get Down - Funky Philly Instrumentals; and there's yet another instrumental with the same title (added to list) by Billy Ball & the Upsetters on the MidWest Funk CD.

[Again, many thanks to Mr. Fine Wine, Willie West, and Kim Segura for their help, and also to Wallofsound, and Kevin Coombe at a great resource, DC Soul Recordings, for finding out the date of TEC 3012.]

The Importance of Herman Ernest, Part 2

2011-05-15T11:59:00.003-05:00

In case you were wondering, I haven’t fallen off the face of the Earth. . . yet. I’m just way behind on my posting after festival month down here and all. I made it to the French Quarter Festival, up to Memphis to help my dad celebrate his 86th birthday, then three days of JazzFest (you’ve got to pick your shots when the price gets so high), some of Festival International in Lafayette, and various side events and gigs. I also did taxes somewhere in there, which was not the least bit festive. In whatever rare, brief pockets of free time available, I’ve been working on this long-delayed final installment of my two-part post on the late master groove-keeper, Herman V. Ernest, III. In drips and drabs, I finally got it done.

As before, I am only focusing on examples of his playing that I have on vinyl. But there’s much, much more on digital beyond that. I’m hoping you’ll get inspired to do your own research and seek some of that out, because good things regularly happened when Herman was in the band. To date, we have gone from his earliest known (at least to me) recording date, 1971, into the first decade of his career as a studio musician. This time I’m backtracking to pick up some more of his 1970s sessions before moving into the 1980s.

Only in his 20s during the period I’ve covered so far, Herman came on strong and proved himself quickly, as discussed in Part 1, taking advantage of opportunities that came his way. Impressively, within a year of the doors opening at Sansu Enterprises’ Sea-Saint Studio, he earned a place as one of the principal drummers, working on often rigorous sessions for in-demand and demanding producer Allen Toussaint, who has worked with the best and always holds the players he uses to a high standard.

Not long after Herman made his mark on LaBelle’s Nightbirds and Phoenix albums (see previous post), Warner Bros sent the Sansu team a production project that would prove to be quite a contrast to the dynamics of those LPs. I am bringing it in because the connection Herman made through his work on the sessions proved to be a significant stepping stone to higher profile road work and more national exposure.

In 1975, keyboardist and vocalist William D. ‘Smitty’ Smith, a busy L.A. session player with some impressive credentials on the mainstream music scene of the day, came to New Orleans to record a solo album for Warner Bros. He brought in half the songs on the LP, three of which he co-wrote with Eric Mercury and two with David Clayton Thomas. Toussaint composed the others, as well as arranging and producing all the tracks, of course. The usual impressive array* of local talent was on hand to make the music happen, including Herman, who drummed on every cut.

SMITTY’S GOOD FEELIN’

“Fooled Ya” (William D. Smith - David C. Thomas)
William D. Smith, from A Good Feelin’, Warner Bros, 1976
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Even with Toussaint’s involvement, there was nothing really exceptional about the material on A Good Feelin’, and the pacing was generally slow. Smith’s vocals were serviceable, nothing more. Maybe I am reading too much into things (such is blogging!); but I have the feeling that Toussaint was not particularly inspired on any level by this project, though he certainly delivered an album that was competent and professionally done. Still, as I’ve said before, Toussaint not fully engaged could still run circles around standard fare pop record production; and the quality of his arrangements and the playing by the Sea-Saint session crew afforded the record its share of above-average musical moments.

“Fooled Ya”, written by Smith and Thomas is one of the few upbeat songs on the album, and shows what Herman could contribute on just an average day at the office, proving Dwight Richard’s point from the last post that an important part of Herman’s value on a session was that he “could make a groove out of anything”.

Toussaint’s poly-rhythmic modus operandi is well-displayed on the song, interspersed as it is with instrumental syncopation. But, the arrangement presented the rather odd conjoining of a vamp that echos “Big Chief” on the verses with an otherwise disco feel elsewhere. Deftly navigating the unusual cross-genre terrain, Herman managed to make the concept cohere, punching out some funk, yet syncing it to that consistent beat meant to make bodies hustle across dancefloors. His ability to artfully resolve such a drumming dichotomy was clearly becoming a specialty.

Although A Good Feelin’ went nowhere in a hurry commercially, Smith came away from the project impressed enough with the drummer that he brought the rhythm section of Herman’s club band, Cypress, along for one of his next jobs, arranging and playing on a new Richie Havens album.

*[Players on A Good Feelin’: William D. Smith, piano/ Allent Toussaint, keyboards/ James Booker, organ/ David Barard, bass/ Herman Ernest, drums/ Steve Hughes and Leo Nocentelli,, guitars/ Alfred ('Uganda') Roberts and Kenneth ('Afro') Williams, congas/ + 9 piece horn section]

RUNNING WITH RICHIE

1976 found former 1960s counter-culture troubadour and soulful folk-rocker Richie Havens transforming into a pop artist, having recently signed with a major label, A&M Records. It seems he was looking for a new band to go along with his new sound, and, in recruiting Smith for the initial album project, Havens got a potent one in Cypress. Going to Hollywood that year, Herman, bassist Tony Broussard, and guitarist Darryl Johnson participated on the tracking of the LP, The End Of The Beginning; and, duly satisfied with the results, Havens hired them to back him on the road, as well.

The material on the LP was predominantly covers of popular tunes by the likes of Bob Dylan, 10cc, James Taylor, Steely Dan, Van Morrison, and the Doobie Brothers. On all but two of the tunes, ‘Smitty’ Smith did the arrangements and played with Cypress on the tracks. Booker T. & the MGs took over for the remainder. Not bad company to keep.

When I pulled out this LP and started reviewing the songs, though, I doubted that I could find anything much worth talking about here, not because the playing was in any way deficient, but just that everything seemed to have that safe, standard-issue record industry production approach. Then, finally, on the last cut of Side 2 (or, as shown on the cover, the “Faster Side”!!), I hit groove paydirt.

“Long Train Running” (T. Johnston)
Richie Havens, from The End Of The Beginning, A&M, 1976

A big hit in 1973 for the Doobie Brothers, the original version rocked along in its own way, mainly powered by the rhythm guitar attack and some peppy conga playing. The song became a staple of classic rock radio formats around the country, ad infinitum. But this take is something else again and should convert even fans of the Doobies to it’s turbo-charged groove, as Cypress upgraded the rolling southbound freight motif into a pulsing bullet train. Despite the myriad times I’ve heard the hit version on the radio over the years, the arrangement and musicianship here completely sidetracks the earlier record and can make it seem like a weaker cover version. Whether Havens had the right voice for the song is debatable; but, without a doubt, this young rhythm section could already operate on a higher level than the standard issue pop acts of the day.

Totally locked in, Cypress delivered an unrelenting, monster groove. Beginning with a fairly straight-ahead four-on-the-floor kick drum and back-beat snare attack, Herman introduced increasingly syncopated hi-hat intricacy as he picked up steam along the way. After the first percussion-fueled breakdown, he transformed the rhythmic thrust into a furiously funky locomotive shuffle that hauled a huge load of booty shaking rhythms on down the line. It’s a tour de force performance abetted by Broussard, whose fleet-fingered, galloping bass lines amplified the intensity along with Johnson’s churning rhythm work and fiery lead runs. Joey Oliver provided the organ embellishments, while Smith kept up on piano throughout, but obviously was just along for the wild ride.

Kind of a shame all that brilliance was brought to bear on a pop cover tune buried deep down on the LP - but it’s there to be marveled at, regardless. Havens and Cypress toured to support this album as well as the follow-up, Mirage, supplemented by David LeBolt on keyboards; and, from the live tracks I’ve heard, “Long Train Running” was definitely a highlight in concert, too. Two Bottom Line NYC shows, from 1976 and 1978, are accessible at Wolfgang’s Vault; and, on the latter date, the band let loose with an over 11 minute throwdown on the tune that is a wonder of dynamics, drive and endurance, especially on the part of Herman and Tony.

Havens brought Cypress back to Hollywood in 1977 to cut Mirage, which featured originals by Havens and other writers, wisely staying away for the most part from the pop covers approach. One exception was Havens’ interpretation of a Toussaint tune that ‘Smitty’ Smith had originally done the previous year.

“We All Wanna Boogie” (Allen Toussaint)
Richie Havens, from Mirage, A&M, 1977
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

I first heard this song done by Albert King on his Toussaint-produced album, New Orleans Heat, cut at Sea-Saint in 1978, and in which Herman did not participate. The groove and relative simplicity of the tune and lyrics fit well with Kings’ bluesy funk approach and gruff vocals. After that, I discovered Smith’s earlier take on A Good Feelin’, which had a more stripped down, somewhat less engaging arrangement than what Toussaint put together for King. Havens’ cover with Cypress plus Lebolt and Smith on keyboards, Paul Williams on rhythm guitar, and Gary Coleman on percussion, was recorded in between those two and outside of Toussaint’s sphere; but, of the three, it sounds best to me.

For one thing, it’s just got a hipper, more substantial uptown funk vibe and feel to it than the others, built around Herman’s struttin’ groove and understated syncopation. Broussard did some supple slipping and sliding on the bass strings, playing around with the beat; and Johnson’s lead guitar sounds positively Steely Dan-ish. Havens, who is credited with arranging all the basic tracks on Mirage, not only layered the instrumentation poly-rhythmically, a la Toussaint, but re-wrote the song in a way, adding a catchy repeating vamp and the mid-song instrumental solo section with a nicely contrasting set of changes, both of which enhanced the structure and flowed perfectly with the original concept. Nice trick. It takes a keen mind and great ear to improve on Toussaint. So, kudos to Richie Havens for going for it, which was surely made much easier having Cypress to work with.

As things often go in the continual record industry crapshoot, neither of Havens’ albums did well enough in the marketplace to encourage A&M to renew his deal after Mirage. When the related touring finally played out during 1978, he and the band separated as well. Herman went back to doing sessions at Sea-Saint, including Lee Dorsey’s Night People LP, featured last time, and another now nearly forgotten project Toussaint was producing for the great soul/blues belter, Etta James.

Mirage inner sleeve, L-R: Tony Broussard, Herman, Smitty Smith, Darryl Johnson, Dave LeBolt(?), Richie Havens.

ETTA’S CHANGES

It is at this point in the story that audio engineer Danny Jones came into the picture at the studio, and over the next few years worked on numerous projects that involved Herman. I met Danny in the 1990s at a NARAS (now called the Recording Academy) function, as I recall, when he was back living and working in Memphis. At the time, he graciously consented to an interview for my radio show and imparted tons of valuable information about the New Orleans phase of his recording career. I subsequently moved to Louisiana and he to Texas; but we got reconnected when he discovered the blog; and, recently, he generously shared more with me about those remarkable days and his memories of Herman.

Arkansas-born, Danny had been a professional drummer earlier in his career, playing on the road with numerous big name acts. Then, he decided to exit the tour bus and became a studio engineer and producer. In 1978, he was working in Memphis when Marshall Sehorn, who had heard one of his recording projects, contacted him about coming to work for Sansu. After going down to visit the Sea-Saint facility in New Orleans and meet with Sehorn (Toussaint was out of town at the time), Danny sensed that working there would be a great opportunity and soon joined the staff. He didn’t really know much about Allen Toussaint at the time; but would work regularly with him on numerous projects over the next 5 or 6 years. As a result, Danny has nothing but high praise and respect for his former boss, considering him, in no uncertain terms, a gentleman and a genius.

The Etta James project was the first thing I was on at Sea-Saint. It was already well underway when I got there..., which was in 1978. All four of us [the engineering staff], me, Skip [Godwin], Roberta [Grace], and Cos [-imo Matassa] worked on it. - Danny Jones

Tracking for Etta James’ album, which was being recorded for Warner Bros, had started earlier in the year; and, as Danny states, by the time he got involved, many of the basic backing tracks had been cut.

Herman had played on those and is, in fact, the only drummer credited on the album jacket. So, I was surprised to hear from Danny that, when he engineered the recording of three later songs on the LP - “Don’t Stop”, “Night By Night”, and “Wheel of Fire”, another local drummer who would become legendary, Johnny Vidacovich, had done those sessions. Quite possibly, that was because Herman was back out on the road with Havens for a few more dates. Still he did the majority of the drumming on the LP.

In addition to getting the music down, Danny had the enjoyable and enviable honor of engineering some of Etta’s vocal sessions; but the entire project soon was stopped in its tracks. Having heard the work in progress, higher-ups at Warner Brothers decided to pull out, ending their contract with the singer. According to Danny, Etta said the reason they gave her for doing so was that the record was “neither fish nor foul”, meaning they felt the material didn’t easily fit into any established demographic-driven commercial radio pigeon hole, which would have made the record hard to promote and market. Of course, going in, somebody should have considered that neither Toussaint nor James had a reliable history of fitting neatly into commercial formats; but, when it did dawn on them, they cut their losses, shutting off the monetary spigot. Sansu put the tapes in storage and went on to other things, while Etta’s management shopped around for another deal to hopefully finish the nearly completed LP. In 1979, RCA got a notion and became involved, allowing work to briefly resume; but, they too soon withdrew.

It wasn’t until 1980 that MCA took up the challenge and funded the completion of the album. Released on their T-Electric subsidiary, the LP was titled Changes, after one of the tracks, written by Carole King. As far as Danny is concerned, it was a very appropriate title for what the vagaries of the music business put Etta and Sansu through to get the record to market.

“Mean Mother” (Willie Hutch)
Etta James, from Changes, T-Electric, 1980
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

“Mean Mother” was one of two songs on the album written by Motown artist and songwriter Willie Hutch, who likely specifically created them to be strong, low-down funk vehicles for Etta’s imposing vocal prowess. On this early session, Toussaint and the studio crew helped realize that intention, generating a roiling bed of poly-rhythmic cross-currents that provided plenty of support for the soulful power of the singer’s attack. Her screams on the second half of the song are positively scary. Capturing dynamic moments like that is what good audio engineering is all about.

The underlying foundation for all that syncopation was Herman’s dependable groove, a perfect cocky strut that he punched up with self-assured funkitude on the turnarounds and spontaneous fills, giving the track that zen-like, simultaneous state of being loose yet tight, off the cuff but right in the pocket. His partner from Cypress, Tony Broussard, played bass on the entire record, which also had Leo Nocentelli and Steve Hughes on guitars, Toussaint, Robert Dabon, and Sam Henry,, Jr. on keyboards, and percussionist ‘Afro’ Williams. The horns on this track and several others were arranged by noted R&B multi-tasker Dunn Pearson and probably overdubbed in New York City.

Ultimately, though, MCA’s gamble in getting Changes to market did not pay off; and the LP was quickly remaindered. A shame, really, as it is a great record and highly recommended for its with plentiful grooves and worthy performances by all. I’ve featured a cut from it before and will revisit it again, I’m sure, as it was one of Toussaint’s overall funkier productions of this era. If you do some hunting, the vinyl is usually not that expensive to pick up. Look for other cuts to taste on YouTube, too. It’s never been re-released on CD.

[Etta has been in poor health lately; and our thoughts and best wishes go out to her.]

After appearing on several tracks of Dr. John’s 1979 Tango Palace album (see prior post), cut in in Hollywood, Herman again returned home and began a busy run at Sea-Saint. On one particularly notable project, Patti LaBelle returned to make an album that would get her and the Sansu crew at least briefly back into the charts.

PATTI GETS RELEASED

I have to tell you, I love [Released]. It was my first chart record. It probably could have gone higher, but it was Patti’s last record in her contract with Epic...and she ended up not re-signing with them. The song, “Release”, was in the disco charts for about a minute and a half and made a little noise there. Then, “I Don’t Go Shopping” went maybe into the Top 20 R&B [actually, it got up to #26]. The album was in both the R&B and the pop charts for a while; and I was hoping it would have done more. You know, a couple of years ago I went on the internet surfing around, and I think I found cuts from the album on nine different CD compilations. - Danny Jones

After the breakup of her vocal group, LaBelle, in 1977, Patti LaBelle stayed with Epic Records as a solo artist and made four albums over the next three years, culminating with Released in 1980, on which she worked again with Toussaint. In contrast to the Etta James record, LaBelle had the the mainstream squarely in her sights, and Toussaint’s production accommodated that goal with suitable arrangements, impeccably performed by the assembled musicians, mostly Sea-Saint regulars, that insured top-notch accompaniment for Patti’s amazing voice. Though it wasn't an unqualified smash, Released hit its intended niche, sold respectably and, as Danny noted, made a decent chart showing.

Toussaint worked up three of his compositions for the LP, while LaBelle and her musical team, James ‘Budd’ Ellison and Edward ‘Rev’ Batts, wrote most of the others. As drummer of record on the entire project, Herman served up grooves geared to what the producer and artist were going for. On the several upbeat numbers, that involved a distinct disco feel. As always, though, Toussaint’s arrangements slipped in enough counter-rhythms to give the songs a distinctive character. Probably the most effective and impressive of those was his big, multi-instrument tracking session for “Get Ready”, which started off as a rather straight ahead dancer, but developed a compelling Latin-funk feel over its course.

“Get Ready” (Lookin’ For Loving)” (Patti LaBelle, James Ellison, Edward Batts)
Patti LaBelle, from Released, Epic, 1980
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Skip [Godwin] cut the basic tracks [on Released]; and I cut most all of the vocal tracks, instrumental solos, strings and other overdubs. I figured Allen was going to have Skip mix the record. So I went to Allen and said, “....I’d just like you to know that I’d like to have a shot at it, or at least part of it.” And he said, “Well, let me consider that.” A couple of days later, he had a meeting with both of us, and gave us both lists [of the cuts he wanted each to mix]. We didn’t have automation; and on one of the songs, Skip did the mix, and Allen didn’t like it and gave it to me; and I didn’t like my mix either.... It was “Get Ready”. So, I left everything set up on the console with a note for Skip, “This mix is too much for one person. Will you come in here with me and let’s get this thing mixed together?” It took both of our hands mixing that. In my career at Sea-Saint that’s the only one that required another engineer to sit in with me to mix. There was a lot of moving to do [on the console channel controls]...a lot of changing going on. So, Skip came in; and the two of us nailed it. - Danny Jones

Definitely so; and a fine mix it is, no matter how many hands were involved. There was a lot happening instrumentally on this one - no doubt about it.

For Herman’s part, he played it straight on the bottom, going with the steady, metronomic, four to the bar disco kick beat, using the hi-hat for some simple, subtle push-pull, which gave the two percussionists on the track, ‘Afro’ Williams and Miguel Fuentes, room to run with their more complex, entwined poly-rhythms. David Barard’s bass athleticism is a highlight on the track, as well. His multi-note runs provided more engaging rhythmic counterpoint to Herman’s steady drive.

Without doubt, “Get Ready” is further evidence of Herman’s ability to consistently establish an engaging groove upon which Toussaint could build an arrangement worthy of the intensity that Patti LaBelle brought to bear; but, although he had repeatedly proven himself a valuable asset to any session, his days at Sea-Saint were numbered.

[Other players on Released were Toussaint, Ellison and Sam Henry, Jr. on keyboards, Batts and Ronald Smith on guitars, plus a 10 piece horn section. Backing vocalists were Joy Van Hall, Ed Batts, and Vernon (a/k/a Phillip) Manuel.]

ON THE OUTS WITH THE IN-CROWD

During 1980, Herman also played on tracks for two major label jazz albums recorded at Sea-Saint, which proved to be his last regular sessions there.

Ramsey Lewis’ Routes, done for CBS, was a split project. The keyboardist recorded all the songs on the first side plus one on the second in Los Angeles with a separate backing band and arranger/producer Larry Dunn of Earth, Wind & Fire (Maurice White had once been Lewis' drummer). The remainder of Side 2 consisted of four tracks penned, arranged and produced by Toussaint that Lewis cut in New Orleans with members of Sea-Saint’s house band, including Herman, bassist David Barard, and ‘Afro’ Williams on percussion, with Toussaint and Sam Henry, Jr. playing supporting roles. On these numbers, Herman was called upon to simplify down to the point that he became more or less a living beat-box, yet with a feel no machine could ever match.

In concept, the album was all about the smooth jazz/pop-R&B instrumental sound that has been Lewis’ bread and butter for decades, featuring him on both acoustic and electronic keys. But numerous cuts on both sides expressed elements of funk to varying degrees, including one of the most pronounced, “Come Back Jack”, by Leo Nocentelli, who also played guitar on the Sea-Saint segments. I featured it here some years back; and my not so great digital burn of the track back then led me to believe a drum machine was used - but Danny Jones wrote in to set me straight!

Then there was Touch Of Silk, another smooth jazz outing, from veteran R&B/jazz guitarist Eric Gale, which appeared on Columbia and featured Toussaint’s arrangements and compositions on all but one track. Sitting in with Gale at various points were some well-known guests such as saxmen Grover Washington, Jr. and Arthur Blythe, plus organist Charles Earland. Backing tracks again were by some of Sea-Saint’s finest, including Barard and Williams, with Toussaint and Robert Dabon on keys, plus Gary Brown doing additional sax work. Although hometown giants James Black and Idris Muhammad were the only drummers listed on the credits, Danny Jones verified that Herman participated, as well, and that, in a number of instances, there were two drummers playing on the songs.

The unfortunate omission of Herman’s name on the jacket of such a prestigious album (Quincy Jones wrote the brief notes) led to hard feelings on Herman’s part and created a rift between him and Sansu that resulted in the end of his tenure at the studio. In many ways, it was the end of an era.

The last time I saw him was in New Orleans probably in the 90's. I was touched by how excited we both were to see each other. We had both shared in what I feel was a very special time around Sea-Saint. There was a relatively small "family" that worked and hung out at the studio. I really do mean "family". Leo Nocentelli and I talked about that when the Meters were honored at the Premier Players Awards in Memphis years ago. I guess when you work that much together at something you love, you form a bond. Herman was involved in some of the best projects I worked on in N.O. with Allen.......... Patti LaBelle, Ramsey Lewis, Etta James, to name a few. - Danny Jones

Fortunately for Herman, there was certainly other good session work to be had locally, brought about by a resurgence of interest in and demand for New Orleans music. New studios were opening and beginning to cater to the growing local music scene, which ended Sea-Saint’s decade of dominance. Before too long, Herman was again working on tracking for an A&M Records album.

MORE FIYO

On March 6 of this year, the very day Herman passed away, although I did not know about it until the next, I posted the Neville Brothers’ powerhouse version “Hey Pocky Way”, from their 1981 album, Fiyo On The Bayou, as part of my Mardi Gras 2011 celebrations.

As I said on that post, the brothers Neville really made a name for themselves with this killer record, which never had a significant radio presence but got into a lot of people’s hands and heads via word of mouth and being heard at parties, gradually greatly expanding the cult of New Orleans music lovers and drawing unfamiliar listeners back to discover what the Meters, Wild Tchoupitoulas, and the individual brothers themselves were all about. Even though he never played in their live band, as far as I know, Herman Ernest was well-chosen as the drummer on their fist A&M LP, recorded primarily at Studio In The Country in Bogalusa, LA. As Dwight Richards pointed out last time, it’s not an exaggeration to say that his gift for creating addictive, accessible grooves was a serious part of what made Fiyo On The Bayou such a memorable underground success and helped move the Nevilles forward.

Joining Herman in the rhythm section were his long-time recording partner, David Barard, Art Nevile on keyboards (Dr. John sat in on several songs, including the one below), and Art’s former running partner in the Meters, Leo Nocentelli. This next tune, on which Herman works off the funky side of a classic Caribbean groove, shows how these seasoned session men found the sound.

“Run Joe” (J. Willoughby - L. Jordan - W. Merrick)
The Neville Brothers, from Fiyo On The Bayou, A&M, 1981
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

A #1 R&B hit in 1948 for the great saxophonist/singer/composer Louis Jordan and his band, the Tympany Five, the original “Run Joe” took its musical inspiration from popular, cleverly worded Trinidadian calypso tunes.

Like New Orleans R&B, calypso music from the islands was a potent mixture of African and European influences, making “Run Joe” a brilliant cover choice for the Neville Brothers, who, as a group, have always expressed those Caribbean roots to some degree. Well executed and featuring brother Cyril on lead vocal, the tale of an entrepreneurial venture that runs afoul of the law updated the lyrics and modified the music, even dropping in some doowop on the ride-out, while retaining the spirit of Jordan’s intent.

Once again, Herman managed a seamless synthesis of styles, breaking up the kick, snare and tom beats as in funk while infusing his groove with a relaxed island lilt via swinging syncopation, reinforced by his steady patterns on the hi-hat, plus percussionist Ralph MacDonald’s agogo bells; making it all sound so easy and natural.

A RHYTHM MASTER UNTIL THE END

The mid-1980s brought in a true renaissance for New Orleans R&B, soul, blues, funk, and jazz. Scott Billington and Ron Levy, hip young producers from roots label Rounder Records descended on the city from Cambridge, Massachusetts hot to record one of the city’s hot new acts, the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, and languishing legends including Irma Thomas (a Rounder artist to this day), Johnny Adams, ‘Wolfman’’ Washington, James Booker, and various Mardi Gras Indians. Around the same time, brothers Hammond and Nauman Scott started the Black Top label in the city, distributed by Rounder, focusing primarily on the blues, and began making records with and reviving the careers of other nearly forgotten local luminaries like Snooks Eaglin and Earl King, as well as numerous other Gulf Coast and regional artists.

Other local labels sprang up as well, as all the interest reinvigorated the local scene and put the city’s recording business into high gear. Herman played on his share of those sessions, backing Snooks, Johnny Adams, Earl King, Grady Gaines, Carol Fran, and Irma Thomas, to name but a few.

So, let’s hear one example from that period, a cut taken from Irma’s second Rounder album, written by none other than Herman’s former employer.

“Old Records” (Allen Toussaint)
Irma Thomas, from The Way I Feel, Rounder, 1987
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

This is one of my favorite Toussaint songs - maybe it’s the subject matter. As far as I know, it has never been recorded by anyone else; so, he might have written it specifically for Irma to pay tribute to those memorable old records they made together in the early 1960s. There are not many artists who have been able to enjoy such long and productive careers in popular music; and these two deserve not only all the nostalgia this song summons up, but our sincere praise and appreciation for the music they continue to bless us with.

Playing on six of the album’s tracks, Herman was joined by bassist Harold Scott, the great Renard Poche on guitar (who played in Toussaint’s band at Jazzfest this year), keyboardist Craig Wroten, with Irma’s co-producer, Scott Billington, taking the harmonica solo. Once again, his importance is evident on “Old Records” in the deft handling of this laid back groove, solidly and authoritatively providing the perfect rhythmic foundation to keep the tune soulfully on track without drawing undue attention. The song's a fitting tribute to Herman, as well, for all the sweet musical memories he left us with.

Even after he began playing regularly on the road and in the studio with Dr.John, Herman continued doing session work for a variety of artists up until his death. One particularly funky recording date worth noting was his appearance in 1993 on Maceo Parker’s Southern Exposure album for RCA/Novus, recorded mainly in Metairie, LA. Joining him in the rhythm section on most of the cuts were George Porter, Jr., Leo Nocentelli, and Maceo’s B-3 man, Will Boulware. Choice stuff. I’ll have some cuts from that and several of his Rounder and Black Top sessions in play on the webcast soon.

From his early days backing King Floyd in a band called the Rhythm Masters, Herman lived up to that elite designation throughout his career. He may not have been the funkiest New Orleans drummer, but was consummately one of the all-around best.

I’ll let Danny Jones close this one out. Again, I thank him and Dwight Richards for their memories of Herman and those heady Sea-Saint days.

You know, I had traveled around the country for years playing drums before I started my engineering career. I got back into playing seriously in the 90's. Without a doubt I was influenced by the great New Orleans drummers that I had recorded: Zig Modeliste, Johnny Vidacovich, Bunchy Johnson, and, of course, Herman. He had "pocket and drive".... His musical priorities were in the right place.

What I remember the most, though, was the humor that he added to every session. I will miss his playing, but nothing compared to missing Herman, the person. He was a great guy!

The Importance of Herman Ernest, Part 1

2011-04-03T20:21:00.045-05:00

* [Update 5/15/2011: I am late in reporting the passing of Sam Henry, Jr., long-time music educator, keyboardist, composer, side-man, arranger, and band-leader, who is mentioned below in this post and in Part 2, and has been a focus in several other previous posts. He died on April 23rd and will be missed. I recorded several hours of background interviews with Sam a few years ago, and hope to use them to do a feature on him later this year. My condolences to his family, friends, fellow musicians and fans for their loss. Peace]

It’s been a while. This time, I’ve got the first part of what has grown into a fairly huge tribute to the great New Orleans drummer, Herman Villere Ernest, III, known to many on the scene as “Roscoe”, and occasionally called “Herman the German” by his long-time musical collaborator and employer, Mac Rebennack, a/k/a Dr. John. As previously noted, Herman passed away on March 6, the Saturday before Mardi Gras, after a lengthy fight with cancer.

The more I’ve thought about his incredible musicianship and enormous body of work, the more I’ve had to write - this blog, of course, being as much about my own obsession as it is a resource that others might find informative and maybe even entertaining. Even if the audio on HOTG weren’t sourced predominantly from vinyl, I could never cover more than a mere smidgen of the sessions Herman recorded over a career that spans some 40 years. Take a look at his impressive session credits, though incomplete, at Allmusic to get a feel for his range.

For help with this effort, I have enlisted background from Danny Jones, who engineered numerous sessions at Sea-Saint when Herman was holding down the groove and humorously holding forth between takes; and, I consulted another always helpful source, Dwight Richards, drummer for Chocolate Milk, who knew Herman from way back. I truly appreciate their information and insights. Danny’s recollections will help fill in on Part 2.

ON THE ROAD EARLY ON

I’ve uncovered very little information about the youthful musical foundations of Herman Ernest, born in 1951 and, as far as I know, a lifelong resident of New Orleans. Obviously, coming up, Herman got a great musical grounding in the Home of the Groove, his fine-tuned musical instincts and strong rhythmic sensibilities enhanced by the cultural osmosis of second lines, Mardi Gras Indian runs, and myriad other opportunities to hear exceptional players performing at events across the city. If you have more details about his younger days to share, please contact me.

The same age as Herman, Dwight Richards started a band in the late 1960s called the Deacons with fellow students from St. Augustine High School. He told me he did not run into Herman on the active teen music scene in those days, and learned from the program handed out at the funeral that Herman had been in the Job Corp for a while after high school, which might explain why. It was a few years later, in the early 1970s, that the two crossed paths.

Around 1971, just out of his teenage years, Herman was hired on as drummer in vocalist King Floyd's new road band, the Rhythm Masters; and they began to tour hard on the strength of Floyd’s funk hit, “Groove Me”. Guitarist Teddy Royal, who I did a big feature on back in 2006, was also in the group, having been recruited by Floyd when the band was in New York City.

As Royal recalled, the rest of the rhythm section at the time consisted of conga player Eddie Folk, plus the Dabon brothers, Ernest on bass and Robert (‘Rock’) on keyboards. Because the house band at Malaco Studio was backing Floyd on his records, the Rhythm Masters did not cut anything with the singer; but, they did get a chance to record there, making their own 45 which came out on the one-off Success label. It was surely one of Herman’s earliest appearances on vinyl.

“I Can Do Anything You Can Do” (King Floyd - Teddy Royal)
Rhythm Masters, Success 100, ca 1972
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

I posted the flip side of this single, “Black Conversation”, on Part 1 of my Royal piece; and the audio is in rotation on the HOTG webcast. While Teddy was the main creative instigator on the songs, the band contributed to the process and developed the hip, jazzy R&B arrangements themselves. The basic melody of “I Can Do Anything”, originally titled “NIckle Bag” (those were the days!), was based on the Deep South folk tune (and New Orleans brass band standard,) “Li’l Liza Jane”, which was the only thing about the record that might have sonically hinted at a Crescent City connection. Although the two instrumental sides were well-played and enjoyable, the 45 was never widely heard, and so did not live up to the commercial promise implied in the label’s name. The only release these cool young guns had as the Rhythm Masters, the 45’s limited run has made it a relatively hard to find collector’s item some 40 years on.

Eddie Folk’s conga playing was so prevalent on the tracks that Herman’s contributions to the grooves were understated to avoid rhythmic clutter; but his subtly syncopated accents and breakdowns on the hi-hat throughout can clearly be heard. Tasteful, savvy playing from someone still learning the ropes.

The Rhythm Masters split from King Floyd after a year or two of touring, because the singer had a habit of leaving them stranded on the road and not paying them regularly, and was generally hard to work with and for. Going out on their own, they changed the band name to World Blues and started gigging around New Orleans, utilizing several impressive singers during their run, including Larry Hamilton, C. P. Love, and Marilyn Barbarin. It was at that point that Dwight Richards, who was still gong to Loyola University at the time, started seeing the band play around New Orleans and met Herman through the Dabon brothers, who had also played in the Deacons.

In 1974, the brothers left World Blues to join with Dwight and others in Chocolate Milk; and, in short order, the new outfit had a management and production deal through Allen Toussaint and Marshall Sehorn’s Sansu Enterprises, got a recording contract with RCA, and began tracking their first album at Sea-Saint around the time of the sessions for LaBelle’s Nighbirds album. Herman was the primary drummer on the two Toussaint-produced LaBelle LPs, so he would frequently run into Chocolate Milk at the studio.

After World Blues, Herman formed another club band with Teddy Royal called Cypress, which had a strong female lead singer - though no one I’ve talked to seems to remember her name! Teddy left the band in the mid-1970s to tour as band-leader with Malaco hit-maker Dorothy Moore; but Herman kept Cypress going, though his side projects were having much better results.

Throughout this period, Herman had been getting session work at Toussaint and Sehorn’s new Sea-Saint Studios. So, we need to backtrack a bit to discuss how that came about and led to the break that boosted his professional reputation and took him into the next important phase of his career.

MOVING ON UP TO TOUSSAINT

By the time I showed up [at Sea-Saint], Herman already was in there - he had a chair; and I came in as new kid on the block as far as sessions were concerned; but, after that, things began to rotate, and at times it was either me, Herman, or even Zig [plus several others fine drummers here and there, such as Bunchy Johnson] on different projects, or sometimes on the same project, playing on different songs. Herman and I were both on the Lee Dorsey album [Night People], for example....

Herman knew everybody in our band...and would come to our sessions and rehearsals and just hang out. Eventually, our bass player, David Barard, and Herman would start working with Dr. John. One thing about Herman, he always had a lot of stories, always had something to laugh about, was always imitating somebody and making a big production out of a joke.

As a drummer, I always admired his playing. I wouldn’t necessarily say he always played a strictly funky style, but he always played with a groove....He could make a groove out of anything! He came up with that beat on “Lady Marmalade” and the distinctive beats on “Night People”; but I’d say he generally had a more straight ahead style, and a perfect example is what he did with the Neville Brothers [the Fiyo on the Bayou album] on their version of those Meters songs you talked about on your blog. He gave them a groove that appealed to the masses instead of that purely New Orleans funk thing you could only understand if you drink our water.

Herman was doing more sessions at Sea-Saint that anybody...and, besides just being a good drummer, it absolutely had to be because he was best at taking directions from Allen. - Dwight Richards

Several years ago I also had several long conversations about the early days at Sea-Saint with Sam Henry, Jr.*, one of the founding members of the legendary New Orleans funk band, the Soul Machine. A regular keyboardist and arranger at the studio throughout the 1970s, Sam told me that he used Herman on sessions there even before the studio officially opened in 1973. Having written a number of new songs, Sam asked Toussaint for and was granted permission to use the still “untuned” studio to record demos. Getting his foot in the door working with Sam was the key to Herman becoming quickly recognized at Sea-Saint as a versatile, dependable drummer; and being at the right place a the right time would soon really pay off for him.

You may recall that, starting in 1968, the Meters had been Sansu’s house band for production projects on Lee Dorsey, Betty Harris, Eldridge Holmes, and many others. After the group started recording hits of their own, Sehorn got them a long-term album deal with Warner Brothers in the early 1970s. At the same time, Toussaint also was signed to WB as an artist, songwriter and producer, which helped bring in the seed money to get the Sea-Saint facilities built, as there were no up-to-date recording studios in the city at the time.

When Sea-Saint was ready for the big time later in 1973, an opportunity opened up for Herman, because the Meters’ drummer, Zigaboo Modeliste, had various issues with Sansu and could no longer tolerate playing Toussaint’s strictly micro-managed arrangements - often detailed down to each an every beat. For the most part, Zig simply quit playing on the producer’s sessions for other artists. At first, Toussaint turned to Smokey Johnson, a legendary, go-to session drummer back in the 1960s, but soon realized that Herman had the perfect blend of chops, discipline, and adaptability in the studio. Even more importantly, Herman seemed to have the temperament to work under Toussaint’s demanding standards. One of the first calls for a session Herman got, if not the first, from Toussaint was a big one, working on what would be the breakthrough album for LaBelle, the high-energy female vocal group fronted by Patti LaBelle.

“What Can I Do For You” (James Ellison - Edward Batts)
LaBelle, from Nightbirds, Epic,1974
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

For the sessions, Herman plus Art Neville, George Porter, Jr. and Leo Nocentelli of the the Meters served as the rhythm section, supplemented by Toussaint on piano and percussion, and several key members of LaBelle’s band. Herman played on every track except two assigned to Smokey Johnson; and I’m beginning to think he might actually have been called in to replace Smokey on the sessions.

“What Can I Do For You”, written by LaBelle’s guitarist and keyboard player, would be one of two hits pulled from the album, but the far more modest one, only getting into the mid-level of the Hot 100. An extremely athletic trio of powerful vocalists, who put copious energy into their performances in the studio as well as onstage, LaBelle required songs that had sufficient intensity and drive to bring out all they had to offer. Just listening to the tracks on Nightbirds is a workout; and I’m sure the players’ stamina was put to the test repeatedly on the sessions.

Particularly amazing on this track is the long ride-out which contains a riveting break-down on which Herman again works his hi-hat magic. It never fails to re-align my nervous system. Toussaint’s impressive arrangement is definitely one of his signature multi-instrumental, poly-rhythmic adventures, a complexly constructed mechanism of interacting parts with very tight tolerances and absolutely no room for error. Everyone had to be on top of their game to pull it off so flawlessly.

As for Herman, I think you can hear that he was playing some rather odd patterns in the body of the song, almost more like some proto-drum machine at times, which indicates to me that he was reproducing Toussaint’s drum line ideas, kept fairly spare because there was a lot of conga playing on the album (which, I believe was rendered by Toussaint himself, by the way). That Herman had the chops and attunement to play prescribed, idiosyncratic patterns, turn them out as an infectious groove, and keep the whole over-the-top shebang under control is testament alone that he was a top-notch drummer - and proof that Toussaint had chosen wisely.

Of course, the mega-hit on this LP was “Lady Marmalade”, which rose to #1 on the pop chart in 1975, somewhat surprisingly, since it sounded like nothing else on the radio - raunchy lyrics, sassy vocals dripping with attitude, and definitely strutting its funky stuff. The unlikely writers of the tune were Bob Crewe, who had a long history in mainstream pop music, penning numerous hits for the Four Seasons, and the younger Kenny Nolan, who also did the falsetto lead vocal on the far from funky original version of the song by the Eleventh Hour, recorded earlier in 1974. Hearing that record, Toussaint had the audacity to re-imagine it, tricking-out the presentation so that LaBelle and company could have their way with it and take the little alternative tourism fantasy from Super-8 to 3-D. They must have left a window open over on Clematis Street during the session, because track is imbued with so much local heat and humidity that, to this day, some people think Allen wrote it himself.

As noted by Dwight and other sources, it was Herman who suggested to Toussaint the beat that nailed down the “Lady Marmalade” groove, which split the difference between the straight-ahead drive that would soon be way over-exposed in the disco craze, and the more idiosyncratic down and dirty syncopations of local funk. His performance became an impressive part of his professional portfolio, and, to me, demonstrates Herman’s ability to synthesize an off-beat rhythm into something the general public could readily grasp and go ga-ga for on the dancefloor. It also proved that, given the opportunity, Herman could do much more than play as directed. He was a creative collaborator.

With LaBelle’s commercial success came the opportunity for Toussaint to oversee their follow-up for Epic, Phoenix, which came out the next year and was also done at Sea-Saint. While I’ve featured this next song from that LP before here, it’s been a while; and since it’s another tribute to Herman’s ability to handle unusual, complex material, let’s cue it up again.

“Action Time” (J. Ellison - E. Batts - N. Hendryx)
LaBelle, from Phoenix, Epic, 1975
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

On the Phoenix sessions, there was a more of a mix of Sea-Saint regulars with members of Labelle’s band; but Herman was the driving force on every track. Porter and Nocentelli played on most of the songs; but on this one and two others, Carmine Rojas was the bassist. James Booker took over on the organ for all the cuts; and Toussaint added the other electronic keyboards, with James Ellison, LaBelle’s musical director, on acoustic piano. Steve Hughes, and Ed Batts handled the additional guitar parts.

Though Toussaint wrote none of the material, his influence was again all over the record in the highly rhythmic arrangements he orchestrated. Herman seems to me to be again playing pre-determined patterns for the most part on “Action Time”, especially the stop-time vamp that starts the song and separates various segments, but it’s definitely more on the funky side in such a tight-is-loose way that many of the accents and flourishes were likely his own.

What comes off as brilliant to me, no matter who came up with it, is the way Herman’s snare work matches LaBelle’s staccato singing on the ride-out segment, turning it into a celebratory processional march for these outrageous divas. Had it been let lose and left to it own devices, this segment would surely have immediately broken down and morphed into a second line. To my mind, the action they get moving here is down at the other end of the spinal column.

OTHER 70s SESSIONS AT SEA-SAINT AND BEYOND

In 1976, Sansu produced and recorded an album at Sea-Saint for ABC Records on English blues legend John Mayall. Toussaint was at the helm, of course, and contributed all but three of the songs that made it onto the LP. As you might imagine, it was a mismatch of artist and producer, since Toussaint didn’t do blues and Mayall was unsuited for the R&B pop model by any stretch, though it seems ABC was trying to push him toward the mainstream with the usual misguided (if not completely clueless) record company zeal.

Still, the resulting record, Notice To Appear, wasn’t really a train wreck at all, due to some worthwhile material with excellent arrangements and execution. Mayall seems to have been a good sport about doing things according to Toussaint’s playbook, and used his great band on most of the tracks. Though well out of their comfort zone, they pulled the songs off - but the LP was no slamming success in the marketplace. For Mayall fans and the general public, it must have seemed as much a curiosity then as it does today; but, to Toussaint fans, it’s certainly an interesting find not only for the arrangements, but the rarely heard material he brought to it.

On three of his own songs, Toussaint did the tracking with some of his studio regulars, including Herman Ernest, Tony Broussard on bass, and the woefully under-recognized local guitarist, Steve Hughes. I’ve picked a standout example from the LP that again highlights why Herman was an important contributor to the Sea-Saint sound.

“Hale To The Man Who Lives Alone” (Allen Toussaint)
John Mayall, from Notice To Appear, ABC, 1976
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

One of Toussaint’s unique hybrid pop songs, mixing elements of rock, soul and funk with a quirky storyline - sounding something akin to a cross between what Little Feat and Steely Dan were up to - “Hale To The Man” had its debut on this album. As far as I know, it was covered only once, and that was on another Toussaint-produced LP, In A State of Bayou, an instant obscurity by pop rocker Brian Hyland done the next year. For that project, Toussaint literally re-cycled the tune, using the backing track from this session again. By the way, I have no idea why it’s “hale” and not “hail” - other than just being a subset of quirk. It’s not a typo, since it’s also shown that way in the BMI database.

What reaches out to grab you on this original track is the monster playing by the ensemble, inter-connected by Toussaint’s deft arrangement. Everything worked off of Herman’s cookin’ groove, a punchy backbeat drive, perfectly in the pocket, that just kept getting more complex and funkified as the song progressed. It’s all so engaging in fact that Mayall’s vocal limitations and somewhat awkward handling of the lyrics are barely noticed. Meanwhile, I keep imagining Toussaint doing his own version of it, and sincerely hope that happens someday. He would kill on it.

As I think these prior songs demonstrate, Herman had the ability to simultaneously drive a song forward and mess with the beat in creative, poly-rhythmic ways, which surely endeared him to Toussaint, who wrote songs that often walked a jagged edge between genres, and created arrangements that demanded a high degree of rhythmic flexibility. At this point, Herman already had what it took to be hailed as one of New Orleans' finest drummers; and he was just getting warmed up.

Playing on Sansu sessions was not the only game going down at Sea-Saint. Early on, Herman tracked some exceptionally funky drums for Wardell Quezergue’s production of Chuck Simmons’ 45, “Hustler’s Strut”, which later re-appeared with new lyrics as “Lay It On Me”. I featured it in my post on Chuck last year. Senator Jones also had a production line going at the studio during the 1970s, putting out numerous singles and a few LPs by various artists for his own and outside labels. A host of great local players cut those records, including Herman, who appeared on soul-funk instrumentals by saxophonist James Rivers, and some of Johnny Adams’ records, among others.

1976 was also when Herman began a several year stint playing on the road and recording with soulful New York folk-rocker Richie Havens, joined by New Orleans compatriots, Tony Broussard on bass and lead guitarist Darryl Johnson, who were members of Herman’s band, Cypress. As a matter of fact, Havens continued to call them Cypress while they were with him. Broussard did his share of Sea-Saint sessions back then; and Johnson occasionally worked there himself (see Night People). During their time as Havens’ rhythm section, Cypress participated on at least two of his albums, End of the Beginning (1976) and Mirage (1977). Herman may have gotten connected with Havens through William D. ‘Smitty’ Smith, a busy LA (as in Los Angeles) session pianist who came to Sea-Saint in 1975/76 to make his own album with Toussaint, A Good Feelin’, for Warner Brothers , which I'll get to at some point.

When not touring, Herman continued to play studio dates at Sea-Saint; and in 1978 participated in what would be Lee Dorsey’s final album project, Night People.

NIGHT WORK, IF YOU COULD GET IT

As Dwight Richards has told me on several occasions, Toussaint in those days ran his basic tracking sessions mostly at night, starting in the evening hours and often going until dawn. Any given night there were many musicians lounging around Sea-Saint, socializing, playing cards, and eating the food, as they waited to see if they could pick up a session. Besides the core of regular players from Chocolate Milk and the Meters along with Herman, Teddy Royal, Sam Henry and others, a who’s who of the city’s legends could also be found there, including Earl King, James Booker, Irma Thomas (looking to sing backup!!), and even Professor Longhair at times. It was quite a scene.

Knowing that makes it easy to see how Toussaint came up with these lyrics:
Night people. Hanging out. Looking at each other.
Waiting for something to happen.

“Night People” (Allen Toussaint)
Lee Dorsey, from Night People, ABC, 1978
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

I first did a post on this song back in 2005, and it’s well-worth a revisiting. At the time, I was not sure whether Dwight or Herman played on it, as both are listed in the credits for the album as a whole; but we know now, as Dwight has confirmed., that it was Herman who developed the beats for this outright funk excursion.

Sansu’s biggest hitmaker of the 1960s, Lee Dorsey, had been without a record deal since 1971 and was happily working away at his body and fender business, when Toussaint and his partner, Marshall Sehorn, convinced him to make the Night People album in 1977, which Sehorn then placed with ABC for national release - though by all the copies I saw back then in cut-out bins, the company did little or nothing to promote it. As in the old days, Toussaint wrote all the tunes, recorded the tracks with his studio regulars, then had Lee come in and do the vocals.

One wonders how “Night People” could not have been a hit, since it’s a killer track, certainly the highlight of this very well done album, with a signature Toussaint arrangement full of highly rhythmic instrumental interplay*. Despite what the lyrics say, something is definitely happening from moment we hear Herman kick in on his full kit after the intro - an incredible groove.

To me, the hallmark of great funk drumming is that it is a spontaneous creative process. There are no set patterns, as the drummer rarely repeats himself. Essentially, he or she extemporizes, using expertise and poly-rhythmic sensibility to syncopate and break-up the beats repeatedly in unexpected ways while still keeping the groove coherent. Though it may sound effortless to hear, that’s where the high level of skill comes in, because truly funky drumming is obviously complex, with a far higher math involved than standard playing; but it has to be so ingrained in the drummer that it’s virtually instinctual - you can’t think about what you are doing, or you’ll lose it. It’s all happening in the moment, too fast for conscious computation or reflection.

The amazing thing about Herman Ernest is that he could play the full-out funky of “Night People”, or scale it back and use those tricks to subtly enhance a more straight-ahead approach, as a song or arrangement required. That, for me, is what pushes him up into world-class territory.

*[Players on individual tracks of Night People weren’t shown, but on the list for the album as a whole were the cream of the late 1970s crop at Sea-Saint: Herman and Dwight on drums; ‘Afro’ Williams and Kim Joseph on percussion; David Barard on bass; Toussaint, Robert Dabon, James Booker and Marcel Richardson on keys; guitarists Darryl Johnson, Steve Hughes, and Eugene Synegal; with Amadee Castenell and Joe Smith on horns.]

TO MAC AND BACK

Since Herman’s death, I’ve read in several obits comments by Dr. John saying that they played together for almost 40 years. Now, I don’t want to fault his memory or mathematical skills; but it does not appear that Mac regularly recorded or played live with Herman until the mid-1990s, after his long-time drummer, Fred Staehle, left the band. Without a doubt, though, Herman was a valuable asset to Mac’s shows and albums for many years after that, but the earliest evidence of Herman being in the band I have found is on a concert at Montreux in 1995, which may be available on DVD. Also, try the 1996 concert CD, Trippin’ Live, with Dr. John and band recorded in London at Ronnie Scott’s club, for a great example of Herman’s contributions during that period. Over the ensuing years, he would go on to become the musical director of the group, as well.

Actually, Mac is not that far off the mark, in one sense. He and Herman had a connection that went pretty far back. While it's possible that they first met at Sea-Saint in 1974, when parts of Dr. John's Desitively Bonnaroo album were being cut there, they seem to have first worked together later in the 1970s when Mac did two Dr. John album projects for Horizon Records, a subsidiary of the A&M label.

In Mac’s book, Under A Hoodoo Moon, first published in 1994, there is a grand total of one mention of Herman, more or less in passing, discussing a group of musicians Mac was involved with during the recording of his Horizon LPs, City Lights (1978) and Tango Palace (1979), produced by the legendary Tommy LiPuma. Not only did those musicians participate on the sessions to varying degrees, some of them also backed Dr. John on a limited number of gigs to promote the releases. Having become affiliated with A&M though his work on Richie Havens’ two records for the label, Herman gained entry into that group with Mac, and possibly did play some gigs with him at the time. More importantly, Herman was asked to lay down grooves on four Tango Palace tracks, recorded in Hollywood.

“Renegade” (Mac Rebennack - Gerry Goffin)
Dr. John, from Tango Palace, A&M/Horizon, 1979
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Neither City Lights nor Tango Palace got much commercial traction; but the former certainly has come to be considered one of Mac’s classics. While Tango Palace doesn’t share that consensus, mainly due to its inconsistent songwriting, the performances by Mac and the diverse collection of top-shelf session players**, some from New Orleans, but many not, were outstanding; and Herman more than held his own by comparison with the other formidable drummers on the sessions, including the legendary Steve Gadd.

Mac wrote the clever, catchy “Renegade” with pop song-stylist Gerry Goffin, who had much success years earlier creating hits with Carole King. In Herman’s hands, the song had a strong, bouncing strut to it, anchored by his in-the-pocket backbeat, spiced up with funky fills. On top of that, LiPuma and co-producer Hugh McCracken added plenty of supplemental percussion, including multiple marimbas, and a nice breakdown just past the halfway point over which Mac did his own kind of rapping.

The Horizon label folded soon after the release of Tango Palace, which, as a result, never had a chance. After that, Dr. John went without a major label record deal in the US for a decade and continued to fight his heroin addiction, before mounting a comeback in the late 1980s; but he did continue to do some live performances and was a regular at JazzFest over the years. As I mentioned earlier, the next recording Dr. John did that had Herman on it was Trippin’ Live, followed by the experimental funk of Anutha Zone in 1998. From that point, Herman played on every other Dr. John album up until the latest, Tribal, looks like.

If you know exactly when Herman became a regular or even a substitute drummer in Mac’s live band, let me know; as I just can’t recall when I first saw him at one the their shows.

**[Tango Palace players: Dr John, keyboards; Abe Laboriel, bass; Steve Gadd, Herman Ernest, and Andre Fischer, drums; High McCracken, Alvin Robinson, guitars; Fred Staehle, Steve Gadd, Herman Ernest, Paulinho Da Costa, Neil Larsen, Ronnie Baron, percussion; plus a large horn section arranged by Harold Battiste and Dr. John; and tons of backing vocalists including Tami Lynn and Ronnie Baron.]

Stay tuned for Part 2, which I hope to have up in a week or so, give or take, right as festival season kicks in. I’ll have some more of Herman’s work for Toussaint at Sea-Saint from around 1980, maybe a song or two from those Richie Havens LPs, plus a little something extra to close it out.

SELECTED ROSCOE-VISION:
Herman Roscoe Ernest III
The Drummers Cometh
Dr John & the Lower 911

2011-03-07T23:53:00.027-06:00

H A P P Y

M A R D I

G R A S !!!

2 0 1 1

All photos by Dan Phillips

MARDI GRAS HOTG FLASHES

2011-03-06T01:15:00.048-06:00

[Updated, March 7, 2011 - Herman Ernest passes.]**

Mardi Gras, coming up this Tuesday, unusually well into March this year due to Easter’s late appearance on the calendar, seemed like it would never get here. All that extra time, and I am still late getting to more seasonal vinyl suitable for mood alteration; but, now those little digital audio files are finally stuffed full like spicy musical boudin, and ready to be served up hot.

Also, starting this weekend and going until Ash Wednesdy, HOTG Radio on the web is once again streaming hours of suitable Carnival grooves for the celebrations. So, link up, listen in, and get a party started wherever on the planet you may be. Let’s hope our feet hold out for the duration.

“Feet Can’t Fail Me Now” (The Dirty Dozen)
Dirty Dozen Jazz Band, Mad Musicians, 1983
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Recorded just about a year prior to the version titled “My Feet Can’t Fail Me Now”, which appeared on their debut Concord Jazz LP of the same name, this 45 cut has my vote as the better take. To me, it’s more immediate and, though obviously done in a studio, closer to the funk out in the street. The later LP had killer recording quality, and a more rehearsed, generally slicker, impressive presentation; but the version of “Feet” on it is strangely even more uptempo than this track, but less rhythmically engaging - more of a sprint than a quick steppin’ second line feel.

By the 1983 release of this single, the Dirty Dozen Brass Band (don’t know why the record label substitutes ‘jazz’ for ‘brass’) had been together for about five years, experimenting with and formulating their fresh approach to the bass band tradition. Though definitely hot, they were not quite the ultra-tight, turbocharged, monster ensemble that would soon enough emerge, but there was plenty of great blowing on this session, starting with the wicked groove laid down by tuba virtuoso, Kirk Joseph, and lots of hand-held percussion (not present on the LP version), plus their unstudied unison singing, all giving the illusion, at least, that they just marched in from the parade route.

I remember well hearing this cut on jukeboxes around New Orleans and on WWOZ, too, if I’m not mistaken, when I was in town back then and being totally captivated by it. But I did not score a copy, and have yet to find one - although I do have another, earlier Mad Musicians single by the band, as shown in the post linked above. When I mentioned my lack of this record here last year, blog follower John, from all the way over the International Date Line in Guam, contacted me. A former New Orleans resident, he got the single when it came out and generously sent mp3s and label shots of the sides (“Lil Liza Jane” is on the flip). What you see and hear is from his copy, and my appreciation to him abounds.

“Mama Roux” (Creaux - Hll)
Dr. John, The Night Tripper, Atco 6635, 1968
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

The plug side of this promo 45 and “Jump Sturdy” on the back were taken from the first Dr. John (The Night Tripper) album, Gris Gris. Last year, on my Shine Robinson post, I told some the back story of the LP’s creation, so feel free to read up, if needed. I’m sure Atlantic, Atco’s parent company, was trying to find some way to market at least a small part of the unconventional (read “potentially unprofitable”) album that producer Harold Battiste had presented to them. So they pulled two of the more, um, accessible (and shorter) tracks for radio play. But this was obviously not a commercial radio-friendly project. The album succeeded not via the usual business model, but was embraced by the youth culture underground of the 1960s and free-form FM radio stations starting to pop up. Its cult of popularly grew organically and slowly from the grassroots up, via word of mouth and knowing nods - not that most of us knew what the hell Dr. John Creaux, as he presented himself, was talking about at the time. It just had an exotic vibe.

Meanwhile, from his end, Mac Rebennack, the long-time session musician, producer and writer, who assumed this performance persona, seems to have given a lot of thought to the presentation, bringing in many previously arcane and obscure aspects of the New Orleans cultural experience, influences of the African musical diaspora, voodoo, hoodoo, the spiritualist churches, and, of course, the Mardi Gras Indians, as referenced on this track, all tinged with the psychedelia of the day. When Battiste, a fellow expatriate form back home, approached Mac in Los Angeles about making an album for a new production company, the concept was ready to go, and they ran with it, following their creative bent, rather than radio formats.

A note on the sound. This seems to be a rough mix of the song, and not the way it appeared on the LP. The relative volumes vary and lack balance. Maybe somebody grabbed the wrong reel to master the single. It certainly wouldn’t have encouraged radio play. But, as iffy as the mix is, I like this track because you can easily hear the perfectly enticing drum work of John Boudreaux, whose insouciant funk shuffle on the tom-toms is sublime.

“Mardi Gras In New Orleans” (Roy Byrd)
Joy Ride, Chippewa Records, 1980
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Joy Ride, the short-lived, high energy band put together in 1979 by master bassist George Porter, Jr. and guitarist Bruce MacDonald in New Orleans, cut the tracks on this single as part of an album project recorded at the legendary Studio In the Country, in Bogalusa, LA. Unfortunately, the album wasn’t released at the time, though it was shopped around to various labels, and did not find its way into the marketplace until Tuff City’s Night Train label put it out on CD in 2005 as Searching For A Joy Ride. I did a feature on it back then, where you can find more details on the exceptional band and recording.

As Michael Hurtt’s detailed notes to the CD reveal, the only release at the time from the sessions was this rare 45 (courtesy of my wife, who got it from Bruce when it came out) with its hand-drawn and lettered label, which came out on Porter’s Chippewa Records in 1980. “Money Money”, a funkified MacDonald original, was intended as the A-side, with their unconventional take on Professor Longhair’s “Mardi Gras In New Orleans” on the back. But, with Carnival season approaching, it was the B-side that got the attention, though some of it was negative blow-back from unadventurous purists offended by the band’s messing with a rather sacrosanct song in the Carnival music cannon. So, the record didn't do particularly well; and, though the band was very popular in the local clubs, they broke up after just a couple years.

Judge for yourself what they did with Fess’ anthem. George called it “syncopated rock”, but Bruce just calls it funk. Note how he picked patterns on guitar that had been a part of Longhair’s densely instricate piano work, while Sam (“Soul Machine”) Henry’s driving keyboard, though deftly played, doesn’t copy what Fess did at all. Conceived purely as a party song that they regularly played on gigs, Joy Ride’s recorded version of “Mardi Gras In New Orleans” attempted to capture some of that live vibe with lots of percussion and simulated “crowd” noise, but probably would have been better off without it, since Ricky Sebastian’s blend of rocking punch and second line buck-jumping bounce provides plenty of upbeat groovin’.

“Hey Pocky Way” (Art Neville, Leo Nocentelli, George Porter, Jr, Jospeh Modeliste)
The Neville Brothers, from Fiyo On the Bayou, A&M, 1981
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Re-working the Meters’ 1974 appropriation of Mardi Gras Indian’s music, “Hey Pocky A-Way”, on their Rejuvenation album, former Meter, Art Neville, and his bothers, rendered this version on their break-out second album, Fiyo On the Bayou, in 1981. This is as close to a hit as the song and the band ever got. It wasn’t released on a single, as far as I know, but the LP wound up in the collections of a large cross-section of people over the years (almost everyone I knew, it seemed) - not a mega hit, but plenty popular enough to make them well-known far beyond just the Deep South.

Overseen by successful R&B and pop producer Joel Dorn, the album sessions were done at Studio In the Country, utilizing some top-flight session players, rather than the brothers’ stage band, to back their vocals and create an impressively recorded sound true to their roots, blending hometown funk with soul, Caribbean and rock ‘n’ roll influences. What kept it real was that the basic rhythm section remained local, with Art on keys, fellow Meter alum Leo Nocentelli on guitar, David Barard (Chocolate Milk) on bass, and the always incredible [and, sadly, now late**] Herman Ernest on drums. For more back story, see my previous post on the album.

An all-time Mardi Gras classic in its own right, this version of the song doesn’t have the back in the pocket funk-sway of the Meters, but, instead, it is immense and in your face from the first beat - just an unstoppable tsunami of a groove. No way to resist - so just accept it and get totally swept away.

** [Upate, March 7, 2011: I just learned this morning of the passing yesterday of Herman Villere ('Roscoe') Ernest, III, long-time drummer for Dr. John and valued contributor to so much great music, whose legendary professional career goes back into the 1960s. During the 1970s he was a regular session player at Sea-Saint Studios, appearing on and enhancing many of Allen Toussaint's productions, and has since appeared on innumerable recording projects, including the featured track above. He will be much missed. I'll have a post on him after Mardi Gras. Let's keep the celebrations funky in honor of Herman!]

“Onwu Ama Dike”
Krewe of Eris, from The Feasts of the Appetites of Eris,
Domino Sound, 026, 2010
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

Ben Berman, in his Offbeat review of this album, describes the basics of the Krewe of Eris like this, “an annual Mardi Gras marching parade, a swarm of costumed miscreants who meet in the Bywater and meander through the Upper Ninth Ward and the French Quarter.” According to Berman, on this particular run, recorded on the streets by Matt Knowles, the aggregation included over 60 people playing various horns, drums and other percussion instruments, all at varying levels of expertise, but equal in their fervent enthusiasm. And with sounds and rhythms like this, spontaneous outbreaks of dancing, if not outright acts of fornication, are bound to follow in their wake.

Matt is the proprietor of Domino Sound Record Shack, a friendly, uncompromisingly retro vinyl shop worthy of your undying support when you come to New Orleans. He released the album of selected KoE tracks on his own in-house label. When I called to ask for his permission to post “Onwu Ama Dike”, he informed me that it was the only cover tune on the LP, and, as its sound and title suggest has an African origin, originally appearing on an early 1970s record by the Nigerian outfit, St. Augustine & His Rovers Dance Band. The cultural feedback loops in the Crescent City never cease to amaze me.

Thanks to Matt for the opportunity to share this recent rarity with you. Drop by the store, pick up a copy and browse da bins. There’s no website (did I mention retro?); but I do think he compromised a tad and added an air conditioner for when it gets real sticky. . . .

“New Orleans Mambo” (Michael Pellera)
James Rivers Quartet. from The Dallas Sessions, Spindletop, 1985
Hear it on HOTG Internet Radio

I featured this one way back in the first month or so of the blog. Read the details there. It’s past due for a re-post.

Saxophonist Rivers, who I have posted-up several times here, and the then young jazz gunners backing him put together a really fine, funky album full of fire, definitely his best overall effort. Too bad that it has never been re-issued.

Another flat-out joyously irresistible groove, this is what Mardi Gras celebrating is all about - without a doubt! Have some fun on the holiday, y’all.