Bilal: Something To Hold On To, Gotsta Be Cool and Lord Don’t Let It

Taken from the as-yet-unreleased album Love For Sale (2006)

I tend to take it as a positive signal when an audience seems a bit perplexed by the performer they’ve come to watch. At the very least, I don’t think it’s a necessarily bad thing. Sure, it might indicate a musician out of step with his fanbase, or for that matter someone simply untalented, but Bilal is neither of these. He’s just on another level.

My friend said to me as we were leaving the show last Friday, “Dude looked like he was freaking the peyote train.” And he did–look like it, I mean. He had a certain transcendental air about him. (His stage presence felt more Jim Morrison than what one might figure the cool “neo-soul” crooner type.) But I got the sense watching him that all the manifestations of his esoteric style–dress, demeanor and vocal execution–were the very ways that made his music impactful. And different. And hard for some of the crowd to get avidly behind, mainly ’cause they were just a little confused.

But one thing’s sure: dude’s killing it. And he’s doing it his way.

There is nothing trite or re-hashed about the way Bilal executes his songs. Inimitable structuring (courtesy of high caliber training in jazz and opera), haunting falsetto vocals, and a mean idea of a backing band (SA-RA suckas!), make for an artist that, even if he can’t get the crowd frenzy of a swooning D’Angelo, delivers on the hope of a future for soul music.

These songs were taken off an album that was never saw a proper release but is widely available for download on the internet. I’ve been fiending this ish since the day I first laid ears on it. Get hip.

Manu Dibango: African Pop Session + Aphrodite Shake
From African Voodoo (PSI, 1972)

A quick hit:

African Voodoo is basically a library-style record of instrumentals done by Manu Dibango of “Soul Makossa” fame and it is, I’d say with some confidence, his funkiest work, by far. “African Pop Session” is some dark, blaxploitation score for midnight stalkers while “Aphrodite Shake” drops a nice, smoky Afro-Latin groove – dig how they pan the congas and drum kit in separate channels.

The Four Mints: Too Far Gone (alt. take)
From Gently Down Your Stream (Capsoul, 1973/Asterisk, 2007)

Boscoe: If I Had My Way
From S/T (Kingdom of Chad, 1973/Asterisk, 2007)

The Rollers: Knockin’ At The Wrong Door
Previously unreleased (Deep City, 1970)

Lynn Williams: Don’t Be Surprise [sic]
From 7″ (Suncut, 1969)

Both from The Outskirts of Deep City (Numero Group, 2008)

I never fail to be blown away by both the consistency and quantity of material that Ken Shipley and Rob Sevier, aka the duo behind Numero Group – and now, they’re new subsidiary reissue label, Asterisk. Seriously – it’s not enough that they’re now the finest soul reissue/compilation label in the game but it’s like they have to rub it in by creating new labels, putting out albums as appendixes and composing liner notes that put most to shame.

To start with, Asterisk is a new venture that’s basically a way for NG to reissue whole albums, package it slightly more austerely, but still offer excellent liners and more importantly, the opportunity to listen to albums that, previously, had been rare as hen’s teeth or rooster dentures. Whatever.

The Boscoe, for example, has become a running joke over at Soulstrut – it’s like a default holy grail. You don’t need to have heard the album…or even like the album…you just want your Boscoe. A product of the same Chicago Black cultural movements that inspired Sun Ra and Phil Cochran, Boscoe has the same kind of liberation/spiritual vibe as those other albums, only filtered through some viscous funk that leaves you feeling dirty and uplifted in the same moment. Note: Numero Group has also released the album on vinyl.

The Four Mints’ project dates back to Numero’s very first anthology on the Capsoul label. The Four Mints were some of the more prolific artists on that Columbus, OH imprint and their LP was the only album Capsoul ever released before folding. As the liners warn you: the original wasn’t an “album” in the Sgt. Pepper meaning of the term; it really just puts together all the group’s 45s onto a single disc plus a bonus song (the studio version of “Too Far Gone”). Beautiful stuff all around – their output was gorgeous (peep “Do You Really Love Me“). I was especially taken with this “alternative take” of “Too Far Gone,” which, in my opinion, is better than the official take – it’s more sparse, has stronger drums but still has the great harmonies.

Their new Outskirts of Deep City CD follows up on their previous Deep City anthology which highlighted this powerfully influential Miami label where folks like Betty Wright got their starts and Clarence Reid made a home for himself for a spell. Keep in mind – the Outskirts album contains tracks left off the first comp (plus many songs that turned up after, including a slew of never-before-released songs) and despite being the follow-up, the album is smoking. “Deep” indeed.

The Rollers’ “Knockin’ At the Wrong Door” is one of the songs NG discovered on reel to reel and this is the first time the song has ever seen a release. If it sounds kind of familiar, that’s probably because it’s clearly “borrowing” from the Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back” but despite being derivative on the rhythm track, the group’s hook is a fine creation on their own and really sells the song.

The Lynn Williams is something I put on SS about 3 years ago but when I saw it show up here, I figured it was time for a re-up. What I said about it last time still holds: “That’s not a typo with the Lynn Williams’ song. For some reason, the label for the 45 says “Don’t Be Surprise” not “Don’t Be Surprised”. Go figure. Whatever the mistake, the song isn’t: it’s a fantastically moody and sulty soul cut out of Miami. Reminds me a little of Isaac Hayes’ “Walk On By” – not nearly as well-produced, but just the feel of it: dark and dramatic. (And yes, before anyone says it, Jurassic 5 sampled it. Ok?)”

I should also add that this song is more than just dark – Williams sounds fatalistic at times. The one line that stands out to me: “don’t be surprised/if you see me/laying on the railroads tracks/don’t be surprised/if I let a train run/up and down my back.” Damn girl, he’s just a man – it’s not worth it!

Cortijo Y Su Bonche : Sorongo & Tiempo De Amor
taken from the album “Sorongo” on TICO (1968)

Cortijo Y Su Bonche : Agua Que Va A Caer & Ublabadu
taken from the album “Ahi Na Ma! Put It There!” on TICO (196?)

Cortijo Y Su Bonche : Pa’ Los Caserios & Pa Guayama
taken from the album “Pa’ Los Caserios” on Actuality (197?)

Sorry for lack of posts. Between the 102 degree fever that had me stuck in bed and doing several shows last week (being groggy on stage is where it’s at), I was short on quality record listening time.

Rafael Cortijo is a legendary figure in Puerto Rican music, being one of the first to bring the Bomba and Plena rhythms out of the slums and into the ears of the vast record buying public – in PR and elsewhere. He’s perhaps most famous for his early recordings with vocalist Ismael Rivera and his later more straight ahead salsa records, but for a brief stint while Rivera was in jail on drug charges, Cortijo put together this highly original group “El Bonche”. Before “salsa” was a widely recognized term (or musical concept), Cortijo used El Bonche to mix various Latin styles in new ways. Little bit of boogaloo, little bit of bomba, whole lot of descarga. These are the only three records I’ve seen with “El Bonche”, and they lead the way up to Cortijo’s one-of-a-kind foray into funk which was captured on 1974’s “Maquina Del Tiempo” LP (also highly recommended). While these songs lack the wah-wah and fuzz guitar prevalent on that album, they make up for it with their highly danceable swing and playful, catchy hooks (see: “Ublabadu”). You can credit Cortijo’s daughter, Fe, with the uncommon addition of female vocals – not sure why more Latin groups didn’t do this at the time, it sounds pretty cool on cuts like “Tiempo De Amor” and “Pa’ Los Caserios”.

The man’s output was such that I could easily do several more posts covering different periods of his carreer and have no difficulty coming up with hot tracks, but for now at least, that’s all you get.

The Exciters: Yo, Que Nada Tengo + Let Your Self Go
From S/T (Tamayo, late ’60s?)

Margie Joseph: I Can’t Move No Mountains + The Same Love That Made Me Laugh
From Margie (Atlantic, 1975)

I was thinking of something Murphy’s Law wrote a few weeks back: “THE DEEPER YOU GET, THE DEEPER THE MUSIC GET. There is more ill music out there than you and I can wrap our sorry little heads around.”

To me, the second statement actually refutes the former because really, there’s an incredibly, unfathomable amount of “ill music out there” on the surface that you don’t always need to “go deep” in order to find it.

That isn’t to say that “going deep” doesn’t have its own rewards. But rarity and quality are not commensurate. The relative quality of my best $10 albums probably kick the ass of other records I own that go from 10-20 times that. The main difference is that Al Green and James Brown albums were pressed in the millions. West Coast Revival…not so much.

Ultimately, it’s about searching for the sublime and to a certain extent, whether that manifests in the form of a $1 bin cut-out record or a $300 private press LP off Atomic’s wall, if you have the means, either is worth acquiring. Of course, rarity is a quality in and of itself…not because it’s better but often it is…quirkier. I’m generalizing of course but for those who don’t believe that popularity is determined by marketing alone, songs/albums that catch fire usually do so because they appeal to a wide swath of people. The albums that end up with runs smaller than batting averages – those are the ones that never caught on with anyone. Maybe they were ahead of their time. Maybe they were just too weird. Maybe someone was broke. Regardless, the higher up the record chain (or deeper if you prefer), it’s more likely you’re going to find something that’s just a bit “off.” And that may not always equate to sublime in the way, say, Willie Mitchell’s production is sublime. But it can equal “something you haven’t heard before.” (Secret translation: “interesting enough that you just mortgaged your daughter’s college fund for it.”)[1]

This post mixes it up both ways. I start with The Exciters’ self-titled album on the Panamaian imprint Tamayo. Like most, I learned about the group through the excellent Panama comp that my man Beto worked on and luckily, when he had a copy for sale, I decided to take the plunge on it. It is, to be sure, a very quirky album, which befits the unique Panamanian geography of sound.

You can literally throw a dart at the tracklisting (preferably not however) and each song will come from a vastly different genre. My favorite song is actually the “Exciters Theme” (but you’ll have to cop the CD to enjoy it in full) but there’s also a nice merengue tipico track, “Ese Muerto No Lo Cargo Yo,” for the dancefloor. There’s also several American covers, none more mesmerizing than the Spanish language cover of “I, Who Have Nothing”, “Yo, Que Nada Tengo.” I don’t know how they’re processing those guitars at the beginning, but it almost sounds like a steel guitar…played underwater.

No less surprising is the cover of James Brown’s “Let Yourself Go” – a modest 1967 hit. The version doesn’t hold up against the original (though the Exciters’ guitarist should do Jimmy Nolen proud) but I do always love hearing Brown covered outside of the U.S.

Ok – so that’s the money record. Here’s the bargain bin gem: I first heard “I Can’t Move No Mountains” when Hua and I did our Redwood gig and he dropped this Joseph track on 45. It sounded amazing played out loud – the kind of disco cut you wish people would think of when they hear of the word “disco” instead of crap like this. (For starters, it all but annihilates the original. I seriously can’t get enough of this song and best of all – it’s off an album that rarely goes for very much at all (at least on vinyl. The only CD version that’s been readily avail was on Japanese import but it looks like it’s finally getting a domestic release next month). It’s a proverbial steal.

Plus, besides that song, you also get a very nice cover of Bill Withers’ “The Same Love That Made Me Laugh.” Sweet.

The moral is that there’s so much great music out there to discover and whether it costs you $1 or $100 or even $1000, the experience of hearing a great song for the first time is [wait for it]…priceless.

[1] Here’s a little secret: I almost never share songs from the latter, “top shelf” albums or 45s. This is likely a generational thing – I’m young enough to enjoy – really enjoy – blogging about music but I’m still part of an older school of collecting that keeps certain cards close to the chest. I know other bloggers/collectors don’t feel the same way (hence the rash of album-oriented audioblogs that post up stuff like, well, like that West Coast Revival album that I spent a pretty penny on only to see it posted up two weeks later. %*#)@!) and I respect their generosity, especially since it helps expose me to other records. That said, my holy grails and white whales tend only to get shared at the club or on a mixtape but I never felt Soul Sides suffered for it since, as noted, the amount of great – common – records out there is unbelievably deep that it’s not like anyone’s lacking because they haven’t heard that Filipino version of “Tango Goo Bonk” I keep squirreled away.

Bob Azzam: Rain, Rain, Go Away, Berimbau and The Last Time
Taken from the album New Sounds on Columbia (1968)

Query: Where in pop music does a bespectacled Lebanese-born Egyptian-Jew who, on a single album, records covers of Alan Toussaint, The Rolling Stones and classic Brazilian standards fit in… Is there a home on the charts for a guy who sings in six languages, borrowing sonic textures from Kalamazoo to Timbuktu and everything in between?

Answer: Yeah. He’s got a home alright. And I’ll tell you exactly where he fits in: right at the damn top.

By the time Bob Azzam recorded these songs, he was already a household name. Kids across Europe, the Middle East, North Africa and Asia Minor had been hip to the avuncular Azzam for nearly a decade. He had crashed the musical scene in the late 50’s with his sincerely off-beat hit “Mustapha”–sung in French, Arabic and Italian–about meeting a girl in an Egyptian night club. At one point in the course of that song he claims (in Italian) to adore her like “salsa pommodore” (tomato sauce), which to the fledgling Azzam-o-phile may sound wierd. But considering that other of his hits include a song called “Fais-mois du couscous, cheri”, which translates to “Make Me Couscous, Darling”, the sauce simile might seem so bizarre.

(Imagine Justin Timberlake comparing his broken love with Britney to a crumbled Pop Tart [Ouch. No pun intended.] Damn. Music done changed.)

Azzam would spent most of his adult years living in and touring around Europe preaching his pan-global gospel to legions of multi-ethnic diaspora, European-minded Europeans, and generally curious passers-by. And, to my mind, he must have left his mark on them all: music for the masses; something for everyone.

Anyhow… These selections come from a superb album which reflects in its 30-odd minutes all the wonderfully diverse music stylings of a guy clearly unperturbed by the idea of mixing flavors from around the world into a pungent, zesty stew where bongo meets sitar and fuzz meets flute… Maybe that’s what he meant by “salsa pommodore”–a sauce of his own peculiar and delicious blend. A kind of Azzam-esque Gumbo Funk. Hm.

(As a side note, I think that this music could be categorized as “Exotica”, though I think that would be a bit of a misnomer. The founding principle of Exotica–correct me if I’m wrong–is white man’s (read: colonizer’s) take on foreign (read: colonized) music. So while the Azzam’s stuff bears some sonic resemblance to the iller strains of Exotica, I think he kind of transcends the genre because he is all that he represents.)