Willie Bobo: Spanish Grease
Taken from the album Spanish Grease on Verve (1965)

Willie Bobo: Broasted or Fried
Taken from the album Do What You Want To Do… on Sussex (197?)

Willie Bobo: How Can I Say Goodbye?
Taken from the album Do What You Want To Do… on Sussex (197?)

There are moments when we can transcend all the infractions perpetrated against us by our neighbors. When, maybe for a week or a day or an hour, we can forget the Sunday morning ranchera hoe-downs, the persistent, cackling drunken laughter at 4 am, the occasional menacing glare. All it takes is that one connection that had hitherto gone unrealized. Yesterday, I found that link in Willie Bobo.

The neighbors in question are a tremendously unruly bunch (5, 6, 7 of them? Who knows?). All men, Mexican and few centro-Americanos. They work as mechanics at the quick lube joint around the corner and are all equally fanatical for a good Norteno ballad. (Read Tuba, Accordian, Crooner, Weird Laughter, Et Al). It strikes me that they must be nearly deaf (or if not, soon to be) for the decible level at which they listen to their tunes must register near the roar of a departing rocket ship. They usually start drinking around eight thirty on Sunday morning; the musica begins promptly at eight.

Ranchera is just one of those things that, try as I might, I absolutely CANNOT condone. I want to be able to appreciate it. But I just can’t. And I had all but given up hope. The weekly party became known between my roommate and me as The Sunday Morning Skull-Fuck. But last Sunday, something changed. I heard a distinctly conga-tinged rhythm. The playful horns. Then, at long last, “Guajira…” I could have cried for joy.

I could do eight posts on Willie Bobo–and maybe I will; DON’T TEST ME SUCKAS!–but I’ve limited this particular update to the track that my neighbors blessed me with the other day, as well as a pair of very different, VERY funky Bobo joints off an early Seventies album recorded on Bill Withers Sussex label. The Bo-Gents record is apparently a bit of a rarity, but if you ever see it around, don’t blink, buy it. It’s the closest thing to a straight funk album that I’ve ever heard from the prolific conga-player.

The vocal track, “How Can I say Goodbye”, may take a minute to grow on you. But have faith, it will. The voice, which will perhaps initially strike you as borderline loungey, drips and oozes it saccharine sweetness all over the beat, until the whole mess becomes like a savory tub of sugar-free pudding. You know you’re not supposed to like it, but you do.

As for “Spanish Grease”, it’s classic. Richard Dorfmeister threw down a naughty little latin-house version on a past volume of Verve Remixed. Definitely worth a look.

I should bake my neighbors a cake.

Lady Sovereign: Random and Chi Ching and 9 to 5
Taken from one bootleg download (2005) and two 12″ singles on Island (2005), respectively

I remember driving to work one morning last January. I was groggy and hungry and less than thrilled to be sacrificing another precious day of my life to the cause of a t-shirt slinging quasi-kiddie-pornographer. Just before I pulled into the company parking lot a song came on the radio: it was like a stripped down, beat-up dancehall joint. It straight thumped. It also sounded like it had been recorded in a dumpster with discarded kitchenware for instruments. Then there was the driving, urging tone; the unmistakably British voice, plowing through, stomping on, singing, rapping, squealing over the roll of the track. When the filtered, tinny chorus finally hit, I was sold: “Sunshowers…” I sat in my car and listened and when the track ended I turned the radio off and went to work. But I couldn’t get the song out of my head.

Within a few months of that day, M.I.A. blew the f up. She has since appeared on at least a dozen major magazine covers, sold out shows across the country, cut a track with Missy Elliot, and has recently signed on to open for Gwen Stefani in what will be probably be one of the biggest U.S. stadium tours this fall.

Last night after the show in Hollywood, my friend Ben, who had only discovered M.I.A a couple months back, looked visably shaken. “Where did she come from?” He just couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The show last night was that good. People filed dumbstruck out of the theatre, shaking their heads. I’ll keep it simple. If you don’t know, now you know: BUY HER ALBUM. SEE HER LIVE. It’s like watching an ’87 Chuck D on speed, in a hundred pound female frame, rapping all Brit-stylee over booty bass beats. WORD!!!

I’m not posting M.I.A. tracks. For one, you’ve probably heard ’em already (if you haven’t, The O.C. (I refuse to link The O.C. on moral grounds) is featuring her in few days–yeah, she’s that big). And if not, you better just by the whole damn lot of them. ‘Cause I’m not gonna start ripping apart the album.

What I will give you is a taste of some very interesting competition. Lady Sovereign is 19 (!#@$!!), also British, white, and perhaps the rawest female rap vocalist I’ve heard since Jean Grae. But unlike Grae, who brings her brilliant lyrics over a rather predictable framework of straightforward hip hop beats, the S.O.V. brings her fire over whateva. Dub-stepper jams, garage bombs, straight grime. And she kills ish every time. Plus, she’s got that uncanny gift for stunningly fresh hooks. Hear this: this girl is going to be big. Maybe not M.I.A big, but big nonetheless.

She busted out like what! as one of a handful of artists featured on the Run the Road compilation that dropped seven or eight months ago. She’s sharp as a tack, lyrically versatile and can drop a battle rap like I ain’t heard in a minute. Rumor has it she’s hitting the States this winter. Could be the next British Invasion… stay posted.

Syl Johnson: Is It Because I’m Black
Taken from the album “Is It Because I’m Black?” on Twinight (1970)

Ken Boothe: Is It Because I’m Black
Taken from the album “Darker Than Blue: Soul From Jamdown” on Blood and Fire (2001)

Daz-I-Cue: Bloodfire
Taken from the 12″ “Bloodfire” on a blacklable (2005)

Wu-Tang Clan: Hollow Bones
Taken from the album “The W” on Loud (2000)

I woke up yesterday morning to a ringing phone. Still half-asleep, I answered. “Is this Wil?” “Yes.” “You’ve won $25 gift certificate to Aaron’s Records. Come by to pick it up whenever you want.” I think I may have squealed though I’m not sure because the overwhelming joy nearly blacked me out. It may not seem like much, but when youse broke as me, twenty five bucks seems like a thousand. Still in my pajamas, I jumped in my car and headed into Hollywood.

Long before the L.A. branch of Amoeba Records cast its long, dark shadow over every struggling vinyl playground within five hundred miles, a little mom and pop store on Highland Avenue reigned supreme. Back then Aaron’s Records was the place to be. Forty years after opening they’re still going strong, if a bit embattled from the daunting presence of Amoeba just a few blocks away. Anyhow, in celebration of their fortieth birthday they decided to go absolutely BA-NA-NA-S! They have been running massive discounts all month on their entire stock, getting progressively juicier and jucier. As of yesterday every used record in the store was 40 percent off!!! Zoinks! Crazier still, they decided to offer up a couple of celebratory bonuses to a few lucky beat junkies, myself among them. Thus the call, thus the trip to Aaron’s.

All of this is just to say that amidst my wicked splurge yesterday I found this Daz-I-Cue(check out the Bugz website) remix of what is perhaps (?) my favorite soul song of all time. The reworking isn’t revolutionary, but it’s damn good and to be honest with you, I’d drop ten bucks on an ABBA cover of this song. Furthermore, much to the certain delight of all you lucky blokes out there in the blogosphere, it inspired me to do a post dedicated to the song that begs the question: Is there something inherently wrong with a man as white as I am, singing–no, wailing–at the top of his lungs “Is it because I’m black?” Is it weird that in the core of my soul I identify with this man’s very afrocentric lyric? That it moves me, almost to tears?

I want to drive Cadillac cars! I want to make it! I want to BE somebody!

I’m not going to go into a long biography of Syl Johnson (or the Wu or Daz or Ken Boothe for that matter). I can’t right now. It’s like a hundred degrees outside and I got sweat coming out of my ears.

Just enjoy the music. Maybe I’ll update this post when it cools down.

(Murphy’s Note: I dropped my digital camera the other day so I couldn’t get shots of the album covers. But honestly, peep Syl in his prime. Who needs a lousy cover?)

Itopia: Moses
taken from the album “Jah Children Invasion” on Wackies (1986)

Love Joys: It Ain’t Easy
taken from the album “Jah Children Invasion” on Wackies (1986)

Wayne Jarrett: Do You Really Know
taken from the album “Jah Children Invasion” on Wackies (1986)

The year is 1986. Good music–as art, as history, as a way of life–is teetering on the precipice of extinction. Madonna reigns supreme. “Thriller” has already come and gone, heralding the beginning of the end for MJ. Hip-hop is still in it’s too-early-to-be-great stages. Reggae bands across the globe are falling victim, one by one, to the insidious scourge of the synthesizer. Bob Marley is dead. Roots reggae seems to be in its death throes.

Then, on the horizon, seemingly out of nowhere: Wackies. The Bronx-based brainchild of Lloyd “Bullwackie” (I can’t make this shit up) Barnes, Wackies became the beacon of hope for the despairing masses who had all but given up. Barnes recruited an incontestably solid line-up of talent, minor and major. Appearances by Sugar Minnott, Max Romeo and Horace Andy ensured the dubious listener that this was a label of substantial clout. Andy, by releasing the historic “Dance Hall Style” on Wackies, elevated the label to rock solid status (Biggup!!). However the label was also home to many lesser known artists who would cut tracks for various compilations that Wackies would periodically release. In this way the roots world was introduced to the Love Joys and Wayne Jarrett, and to a lesser extent Itopia.

The Love Joys, from Brixton, England, consisted of cousins Sonia Abel and Claudette Brown. Their first recording on the Wackies imprint was entitled “Reggae Vibes”, but it wasn’t until their second album, “Lovers Rock”, that they were recognized as stone-cold killers of the rootical sound. (Both of these have be recently re-released and can be found quite easily) After recording these seminal female roots records, they disappeared, never again recording for Wackies or anyone else.

Wayne Jarrett. Man oh, man. Listen to this cat’s voice! Is there a sweeter honey? A protege of Horace Andy’s, Jarrett dropped the bomb with his “Showcase Volume One”, which, along with “Dance Hall Style” is probably one of the top three recordings of this era in my book.

I’ll be straight with y’all: I don’t know a damn thing about Itopia. Dope track though, huh? I loves me a rootsy falsetto. Sing it brother.

A LOT of the Wackies catalogue has been or is in the process of being re-released. Seek it out and buy it. Now.

Albert King, Pop Staples & Steve Cropper: Tupelo
taken from the album “Jammed Together” on Stax (1969)

Charlie Musselwhite: Christo Redemptor
taken from the album “Stand Back!” on Vanguard (1966)

There was a time when mixtapes spoke the words that we didn’t know how to. Maybe it was in the eighth grade, and you, lacking the proper tag lines or else not having reached the necessary threshold of drunkenness, couldn’t possibly conjure in your own stoned-out vernacular how you felt about such-and-such dream girl. But you had to tell her somehow. So you spent hours in front of your boom box digging out proper servings “Bonita Applebaum”, “Sexual Healing”, “Brown Eyed Girl”—whatever. The fact that you were jumping more genres, song-to-song, than a David Byrne compilation didn’t matter: What mattered was the message. And how that message was conveyed by the masters; guys who’d been in your selfsame shoes, had a little perspective, and had a few choice lyrics and a nice groove to jam on.

You’d give the girl the tape with a timid grin, and maybe she’d give it a listen and maybe she wouldn’t. And maybe she’d understand the not-so-clandestine message and maybe she wouldn’t. But at least you’d said your piece.

Blues music has always been particulary potent in these contexts. Mainly because, at its core, it is so emotionally evocative. And, not incidentally, because a vast quantity of the stuff was recorded specifically to either woo a girl or to pine her leaving. It comes from an emotional place.

But let’s forget about the girl for a minute. What I’m really getting at is the rawness of the sentiment that is expressed through a plaintive falsetto, or the transcendent power of a repetitive blues riff. In many cases the lyrics themselves are almost arbitrary. (Some of the most moving moments in blues music are in the half-sung, improvised raps in the middle of an otherwise scripted song.) It’s that you can simply feel what is being sung or played or even just rapped about.

So here’s the rub. I was driving up to S.F. about a week and a half ago—just as the flood waters were rising, and New Orleans was devolving into chaos—listening to hour after hour of NPR coverage of the horrors going on down there, and I started to feel overwhelmed with all these inexplicable feelings. And I couldn’t make any sense of them. So I turned the radio off somewhere around Fresno. I popped in an old mixtape I had made a few years back and the first song to play is “Tupelo”. And about a minute in, when Pop says “women and children/ screaming and crying, “—man, I just lost it.

Without getting too leaden with the touchy-feely talk, this post is in honor of the folks down there. These tracks resonate very strongly with me right now. Individually and especially together they possess all of the painfully acute resonance of great music that just makes sense given the right context.

The first track is an all-star line-up of Stax vets, Pop Staples (of the more gospel-oriented Staples singers), virtuoso southpaw guitarist Albert King, and Steve Cropper, who, as a founding member of the MG’s, and as a writer/arranger for Otis Redding, Wilson Pickett and Sam & Dave, was instrumental in creating the 60’s southern soul sound. The three of them united on “Jammed Together” (produced by Isaac Hayes) to create an essential late 60’s blues record.

Charlie Musselwhite hailed originally from Missouri, but arrived at legendary bluesman status under the tutelage of the great Sonny Boy Williamson on the Chicago scene in the 60’s. Christo Redemptor (an appropriately Biblical title given the magnitude of the disaster in the Gulf states) is taken from his first release, “Stand Back!”

Midnight Star : Curious
taken from the album “Planetary Invasion” on Solar (1984)

Imagination : So Good, So Right
taken from the album “Body Talk” on MCA (1981)

Someday I’ll have children. Not soon, but eventually. And someday those children of mine will reach an age when, if but slowly, they awaken to the world of soul music. Perhaps they’ll be listening to the radio in friend’s car one day and hear those first plucked strings of Love and Happiness, or maybe they’ll be seduced in a record store by Sam Cooke’s alluring smile, enough to pick up Night Beat and give it a listen.

If my future progeny inherit even a shadow of my love for R&B, they’ll be hooked from that day forward. Chances are they’ll want to know more about this universe of groove… At which point, noticing the tens of thousands of records (let’s be optimistic here: this is years from now) that their father has lying around the house, my child may come to me and say, ‘Father, tell me what you know about this thing called Soul Music.’

I could begin with the obvious choices. Marvin. Ray. Stevie. Curtis. Babyface. But no, I must remind myself, I will save those for later; those musical monoliths will be discovered in due course. I will begin my story elsewhere, in the least likely of places: A land of twinkling synthesizers and flaring purple outfits. A land of blips and beeps and drum machines. A land where superstars were defined both by the length of their jeri-curl and their instrumental intro’s. Where all roads lead to glorious, candle-lit, very slow sex. This is 80’s soul.

Midnight Star is a clear favorite. Purveyors of “Midas Touch” and “No Parking On The Dancefloor“-quality jams, the Calloway brothers hit (harder still?) with the subtler, drop-them-panties anthem that was later sampled to great effect by Kurious Jorge (an essential early-Nineties one-album wonder who has since dropped into obscurity). There is an element of cheesiness that pervades many of the masterworks of this genre, but don’t be fooled—these are certified bullets. The kind of tune that registers on such a satisfying gut level, that I have actually seen grown white men weep on a dancefloor when Curious drops.

Lesser known Imagination can hang with the best of them. A European, Eighties-era funk/soul outfit? Unheard of, right? (No, Boney-M doesn’t count.) If the three solid minutes of slow-building electro-instrumental introduction (think Kano) don’t have you and your girl in a compromised position on your parents’ couch then you’ll certainly find yourself there by the time the hauntingly simple chorus hits. And it is Oh-so-good, Oh-so-right.

For added effect, drop the two, back to back in a set. They mix perfectly and will very likely induce massive group ejaculation.

With a little fatherly advice like this, it’s safe to say my kids are gonna get laid. A lot.