Recently, I had my first rehearsal with the successor to World’s Greatest Sinners, now called Jordan Valentine and the Sunday Saints. I had some ambivalent feelings going into the project, and these have been weighing on me since I reorganized the Sinners a few months ago. If you’ve never been in a band, and especially if you’ve never been a bandleader, its a little hard to put across the many emotions, joys and stressors that come into play. And in the case of the Sinners, I would say that all the best and worst possible elements were present, with none of the mid-ground, solid, reliable stretches that help a bandleader keep her sanity.

I do love and respect everyone that made that project what it was. The highs were really, really high (backing up Archie Bell; a packed to the gills CD release; playing the FNX Block Party in front of thousands of people; any other number of laughs and good times; not to mention meeting my wonderful SO, probably the best thing to come out of the whole thing for me personally). Everyone was super talented, fun, and a friend. But everyone was a character, too, and getting 8 characters to coexist peacefully is tricky business. It requires someone to worry about everyone else’s needs, wants, desires, goals, and general happiness, pretty much 24 hours a day. In that situation, I was that person. It got me a lot of good, a lot of happiness, and also a lot of insomnia, heartburn, migraines, and tears. Sometimes bands are like families, and that can be magic, but it can also be awful rough if you happen to be Mom.

The new project, though, is both an extension of what was good, and a brand new beginning. The change in sound, from a more rock-oriented version of 60s soul, to a funkier, New Orleans and deep south 60s/70s groove, is a much more comfortable place for me as an singer. I’m lucky to have had some Sinners come over with me. And I’m also lucky to have filled in the blank chairs with players who are not only consummate pros, but who also love this music and love to play. And I don’t feel like Mom; I feel like a bandleader. The difference is like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. I feel equal, sure-footed, and most of all, free to stop worrying about everyone else and start worrying about the singing, the music, the whole point of it all. Freedom to enjoy oneself is a beautiful thing.

Two months ago, I was ready to give up singing. It was so hard, I couldn’t see the point, and besides which the stress was making me sick. I thought, maybe the business end is better for me…maybe artist management, maybe booking. But I learned the lesson here that you just can’t let anyone else tell you what’s important or what to hold dear. Its easy to get so stressed out and busy that you lose joy, or sequester joy down at the bottom of the list of priorities, or let others’ joy usurp your own in an effort to please. But at the end of the day, a joyless soul is no good to anybody, and soul music without joy has no soul at all.

I don’t cover a lot of super-personal stuff in this space, but suffice it to say that in the past six or eight months I’ve:

• ended one long term relationship;
• started a new and really wonderful one;
• broken up one band;
• started another band;
• gone to the Ponderosa Stomp in New Orleans, which included freaking the fuck out in the presence of a whole bunch of big musicians (post on that to follow!);
• done some record covers for Muck and the Mires on Dirty Water UK and the Radio Knives (uploads in the Portfolio section soon!);
• saw a ton of shows;
• DJed a bunch;
• bought a lot of records;

…oh yeah and worked the dreaded Day Job. No wonder my floors haven’t been mopped since Christmas.

All that said, now that things are calmer-ish, and I’m over the abject depression that glues me to the couch for a few weeks at the end of every New England winter, I have the free time to do things like read news and think about things that have really not-so-much to do with me. Like the Music Business.

Yeah, I’m in bands, and play shows, and have toured a little, and made some records. But the Music Business still has nothing to do with me, personally. I’ve never been on a major, I’ve never had a sponsored tour, I’ve never had a contract outside of a one-off for Festivals and events. And as it is, I probably make out better financially on doing music than a lot of musicians on my level (meaning, I don’t take losses anymore). But the Music Business is a whole other beast. Saying I’m involved with that is like saying I’m a farmer because I’ve got a container garden on my back porch.

So largely, I’ve ignored it, and did my thing. But an article in the Wall Street Journal today has me thinking. Apparently, LiveNation, the country’s biggest concert promotion company, has started inking so-called “360 Deals” with major artists. Madonna and Jay-Z were among the first, to be followed by the likes of the Stones, the Jonas Brothers, and others. These deals are interesting because they give LiveNation unprecedented control over things like merchandising, which previously would have been controlled by outside entities.

Business folks think this is interesting because LiveNation is taking a huge gamble on both a flimsy concert industry and the long-term value of artists, many of whom are, well…old as hell. The deals signed thus far are long-term, 10-year contracts. But I wonder if these kinds of deals will have a trickle-down effect that could reach us even down here in the depths of indie-land.

LiveNation, ClearChannel (which used to own LiveNation), Ticketmaster and other monoliths of the entertainment industry are consolidating at a rapid pace. As record companies flail due to outdated business models and a failure to adapt, it only stands to reason that companies like LiveNation will get into the record-making business. The aforementioned deals are pretty much exactly that. But they want the ticketing angle too: last September, LiveNation’s VP told shareholders they want in on Ticketmaster’s and StubHub’s business as well. In other words, they want to sell you the tickets AND scalp you the tickets. For the seats they own, to see the artists they own, and hopefully sell you some merch. That they own.

Now of course, this doesn’t matter diddly to someone like Madonna. In fact if you read her deal, she stands to make out better than LiveNation, with less risk (of course–she’s Madonna). But what it does mean is that LiveNation is going to be tying up an awful lot of its cash cementing these big deals, and not a lot of cash (if any) buying up mid-level and smaller artists. No big deal, except that if LiveNation is the record company, the concert promoter, and the merchandiser, and nobody but the biggest acts on the planet can get their foot in the door, then where is everybody else going to go?

Not that this is a bad thing. In fact, it could be the best thing, like, ever. Though I think it will probably be more like a pretty good thing. Not that I should comment on businesses which I’m not really involved in, but logic would dictate that a few mid-tier acts will get dropped, a few record labels will fold, and the Polyanna dream of the proverbial Major Label Contract will die (though, you know…it kinda already has). And as the bigs get bigger and the playing field gets smaller, a lot of those mid-tier folks are going to join us down here in the grass roots. Hi, fellahs!

The climate-to-come stands to be good for some folks: indie labels with good distro; young bands who can tour a lot; any bands with internet/promo/design/production/media savvy; really creative independent studios and producers; hugely controversial or niche acts; small-time designers (hey that’s me!); and guys who know how to make tour vans run on old Chinese restaurant cooking oil. Basically, anyone with the skills and smarts, in addition to their musical talent, to either save huge bucks via DIY but with professional results, or stir up enough attention on their own that the bigs will want to break them off a chunk. On the other hand, that same climate stands to be very bad for the dull, the lazy, the inept, and the talentless.

Sounds pretty okay to me.

Happy holidays everyone!

If you’re on my Christmas card list, you probably already get visited with my annual mix CD of the best stuff I’ve dug up in the past year. So I figured I’d put together a podcast for this site as well. You’ll recognize some tunes on here from previous podcasts but I hope you enjoy it just the same.

MizValentine’s Soul Inspiration Volume 5 - Podcast Version

Track Listing and Liner Notes:

1. Meri Aakhon Mein (Edit) - Sapan Jagmohan
Super cool Hindi funk, and a breakbeat dream track, from the prolific Indian movie music duo.
2. Untrue Unfaithful (That Was You) - Nita Rossi
Now living in Italy, she also had a big Northern hit on Hickory with Something to Give.
3. I Ain’t Gonna Cry No More - Timi Yuro
Best known for Hurt and It’ll Never Be Over for Me, this track sounds more like Screamin’ Jay Hawkins.
4. Whiplash - Shells
Obscure ‘65 Chicago soul from the Conlo label, produced by Jerry Butler and Eddie Thomas.
5. Doin’ The Banana Split - The Banana Splits
Its actually Barry White who wrote and sings this, one of the funkiest “kids’” records of all time!
6. Hot Butter n’All - Lou Courtney
Screaming, roaring, filthy dirty ‘69 funky soul from Lou and the Funck Junction, on Hurdy-Gurdy.
7. Ghetto Man - Tony Clarke
This side came out in ’70 on Chicory, but the flip (Love Power) is a bigger DJ favorite.
8. Unhooked Generation - Freda Payne
Jackson 5ish 70s soul from the Band of Gold LP and Holland-Dozier-Holland’s Invictus songbird.
9. Trying to Make a Fool of Me - Delfonics
Sure, it sounds like about 5 other songs, but that string line could start a stopped heart!
10. Dum-de-Dum - The Dynamics
From the fantastic First Landing LP, and a much cooler dancer than the hit, Ice Cream Song.
11. Never On Time - Mel & Tim
Almost my theme song, but you’ll only find it on the reissue of Good Guys Only Win In The Movies.
12. Soul To Soul - Ike & Tina Turner
From the ‘71 Ghana Soul To Soul Festival. Ike & Tina at their most raw, with a bit of the Ghanaian “highlife” sound.
13. I Idolize You - Ill Winds
Really the surf group the Chantays under an alias, doing a fine version of the Ike & Tina classic.
14. Obeah Women - Priscilla Rollins
‘73 sister funk on Roulette with a NOLA feel, along the lines of Tammi Lynn’s Mojo Hannah.
15. Who’s Gonna Help Brother Get Further - Lee Dorsey
From the incredible Yes We Can LP, produced by Allen Toussaint and backed by the Meters!!
16. The Love Bounce - Johnny Cool and the Counts
Crazy R&B dancer on Custom…I don’t know anything else about it, except maybe its from Texas.
17. If You Want Me to Stay - Sly & The Family Stone
A monster Sly classic, covered by many, but none better than the original.
18. To The Other Woman (I’m The Other Woman) - Doris Duke
Searing 70s ballad from the I’m A Loser LP, definitely one of the greatest deep soul records ever.

What’s an I’m the Man (ITM) song? Well, for my money, there’s a certain kind of track that you just have to put on when you’re ready to head out the door on a Friday or Saturday night, a kind of track that makes you stand up straighter, check yourself out in the mirror, and undo that top button just for the hell of it (and maybe the next two, too–why else would you spend $75 on a bra if no one’s gonna see it?!). Its the kind of track they put in a blaxploitation flick, when the lead badass is walking down the street, and all the dealers and ho’s are jumping out of the way of this supernova of cool while admiring his tailor at the same time. Its not the kind of track you do dishes by; its the kind of track you do your hair to, right before that all-important 3rd date. You know what I mean. Its the kind of song that makes you look yourself in the mirror and go, “Fuck yeah–I’m the man!”. Even if you’re a woman.

Its been awhile since I did a record entry here, and there’s a new Soul Hangover coming up on December 17 at the Plough, so I figure we’re overdue! So here’s my vote for my current favorite ITM number: Chairman of the Board, by the Chairmen of the Board.

Now, nothing quite says “I’m the Man” like writing a song about yourself and naming it after your band, that’s a given. But this is one hell of a meaty groove besides. Its also a million miles away from the tightly-wound pop-soul perfection of their bigger hits like Pay the Piper; or the radio-friendly sweetness of Give Me Just A Little More Time or Everything’s Tuesday; or even their later, kinda-weird 70s funk freakout-cum-gospel period (Working On A Building of Love, On My Way to A Better Place). The only thing it really comes close to is ’72’s Elmo James, and even that’s not really that close, its just in the same general neighborhood. The Chairmen of the Board were a band that always sounded like 3 or 4 different bands at any given time–sometimes on the same single even, as with the Give Me Just A Little More Time/Since The Days of Pigtails split. But this track stands out even so as a totally different turn.

Mostly, it stands out because its simple, terribly sloppy, raucously produced and performed, and either because of or in spite of all this, its genius.

Maybe I should back up here and tell a little about the Chairmen, for the uninitiated. In 1967, Holland-Dozier-Holland beat feet from Motown, and started their own label, Invictus. One of the first artists they courted was General Norman Johnson. If you love soul, you probably know his tune “39-21-46″, perhaps one of the greatest record label misprints in vinyl history (the lyric was actually “39-21-40 shape”, not the much more prodigiously-hipped “46″, but the sound engineer and everyone else misheard Johnson’s articulation and an ode to a big-bottomed gal was born). Holland-Dozier-Holland teamed Johnson up with three other singers, Eddie Custis, Danny Woods and Harrison Kennedy, and the Chairmen were Invictus’ first main act, followed quickly by Freda Payne. The group had an impressive string of hits, including their first and biggest selling, the syrupy earworm Give Me Just a Little More Time–a tune we’re still being tortured with on oldies radio today.

Although Johnson was clearly the main singer (not to mention songwriter), and his hiccupy falsetto became what the group was known for, all the other guys in the group took turns at lead. In the case of “Chairman of the Board”, the man at the mic was Canadian Harrison Kennedy, who both then and now considered himself far more of a raw, gutbucket blues man than the Pips-dancing sweets H-D-H wanted the Chairmen to be. Kennedy didn’t get too many turns on lead (Johnson and Custis’ sweeter voices got a lot more airtime), and for my money a lot of the furor and wail in this track sounds like a pent up wave of something terrible, and damn if the dam didn’t just break. As a former backup singer myself who got the occasional lead track thrown my way, I know what kind of passion you can pour into every phrase when you don’t get that many of ‘em, and that’s what comes through here. The instrumentation is straight up bar blues, in the best possible, non-”blooze” way, with a swagger to it that’s just looking for a fight. I believe its Kennedy playing the gritty harp breaks as well, digging in at every opportunity, and when he sings, “I think I’m gonna blow…let me blow it for ya one time,” I think he’s telling, not asking.

Chairman of the Board was a moderate hit, going as high as #10 on the US R&B chart and #42 on the US Hot 100. The LP from which it came, 1970’s In Session, is a hitmonster from start to finish and the highest charting album of the group’s career. But Kennedy left the group around 1972, and fell pretty much off the radar as far as I can tell, resurfacing only about 7 or 8 years ago with some critically acclaimed traditional blues recordings. He tours again now, mostly in Canada, performing country blues and telling stories, and by all accounts he’s aged like fine wine. But as much as I love tracks like Since the Days of Pigtails, there’s only one CotB track that’ll make me pull on my stockings, go for the higher heels, and make me want to slug whiskey and break men in half, and that’s “Chairman of the Board”. So thanks Mr. Kennedy, for not being the sweet one. Neither am I.

I’ve been thinking a lot about New York lately. I’ve always felt a little stuck, halfway between New England and New York, having spent the first half of my life in New Jersey (Succasunna, about 45 minutes south of the city) and the later half in Rhode Island and Boston. Like most New Englanders, and probably most New Yorkers too, I’ve got peculiar feelings about the place. First and foremost, I’ve been both bothered and comforted by the fact that, in my mind at least, its shrinking.

When I was a kid New York was huge, and endlessly so; I’d take Sunday trips into “town” with Mom and Dad on their one day off from their deli in Jersey, wrapped up in a red snorkel coat and crammed in the back of Mom’s purple Datsun with my little brother. Dad always thought it was super funny to come in thru the Bronx and give us a tour of burning cars, bombed trains and streetcrime, and threaten to “drop us off with a nice family up here” every time we were bad. Dad’s a funny guy. Anyway, my memories of the City as a kid are huge, and mostly food-related (my family being cooks); pretzels, dirty water hot dogs, chestnuts (which I hated, and hate, but always had to have), bialys, lox, matzo ball soup, corned beef on rye, pizza, sno-cones, ice cream…junk mostly, but such GOOD junk, and such a tremendous variety and abundance of it, and more importantly it was junk you could only get there. Special. My parents had a proper deli at home, sure, but nothing tasted the same at home even if it was exactly the same, and they knew it and so did I.

The other thing I remember is that everything seemed ever so slightly bad, but in this really wonderful way that I just wanted more of. I’d have called it ’seedy’ if I’d known that word then. Now, my childhood in NYC was happening in the late 70s and early-mid-80s, so really, things were quite a bit more than slightly bad. But my folks were fearless ex-New Yorkers themselves, living on Bleeker Street in the 60s, and they wanted to make sure I saw everything first hand, for exactly what it was. I remember vividly my Mom’s admonitions to us kids before every trip: keep your eyes to yourself, know where you are, hold my hand, don’t touch anything, don’t talk to anybody. Mom grew up in Park Slope, long before it was nice, and then in a Brooklyn Catholic Girls’ Home, so she knew how to handle herself. The warnings weren’t the scared ramblings of someone who didn’t know better. Still, I remember getting whapped on the back of the head almost incessantly for staring at the freaks and weirdos we’d encounter (I couldn’t then, nor can I now, keep my eyes to myself in a crowd).

I loved crowds in New York, especially the ones that would come out of almost nowhere. I remember being in Manhattan one fall, and turning a corner with my folks and running headlong into a gay pride festival of some kind. The streets went from empty to full of half-naked and/or brightly dressed people instantly, and I got stunned by it. I remember looking up and seeing a man go by with a cart full of tiny, kid-sized plastic “masks” that looked like elephants, tigers, and bears. I yanked on my Mom’s arm and pointed as he went by and desperately wanted one; I remember both my folks laughing and saying, “those aren’t masks for your face”. We went another half block before I saw a phalanx of beautiful boys with the plastic animals covering their privates. I don’t think my eyes stopped being saucers til we were back home in Jersey. Not that I thought they were bad because they were gay (I knew what gay was at a young age, and it was a non issue in my house), but I thought it was just a little bit seedy, in a fascinating way, that boys would run the streets of this crazy city with nothing but an elephant mask over their parts.

Anyway, lots of other flashes of things come to mind that reinforced my childhood notion of NY as an endless source of all things tantalizingly gigantic and bad. A lot of stories filtered back to me secondhand, from the nights my folks would hire a sitter, dress up and head into town for a date. Somebody threw a bottle rocket at my Mom on New Years’ Eve in Time Square; a guy tried to beat up my Dad because he heard him say something bad about Mr. T in a bar. My uncle, who still lived in the city, won $100 off my Dad in a backroom poker game, only to have my Dad win it back, along with an ante of some dirty magazines (which I later snooped and found in their bottom dresser drawer). My folks saw famous people everywhere, and my Mom got picked up by both Louis Gosset AND Ray Charles; when I later saw the film Ray and Jaime Foxx re-enacted the “wrist thing”, I knew Mom hadn’t been lying back when I was six. Once a year, they’d take a rare weekend off to go to the Restaurant Show at the Javitz, and they’d always get the best room they could afford at the Helmsley. I never got to stay there but I was fascinated by this palatial, mythical hotel that was so beautiful but run by the most evil of Wicked Witches.

What my trips to town and my parents’ stories didn’t put in my head, the nightly news did. When I was a teenager and we left NJ for quiet little Kingston, RI, one of the first things I noticed was there were no murders on the news. Not a single shooting even, and sometimes not even a fire. Car accidents made the news when nobody even died. Growing up on 5, 7 and 11, this was another world of impossible peacefulness (later to become impossible boredom as I got older). But when I was little, I loved the evening news. I loved the New York Police especially, and later, the Guardian Angels. I thought there must be nothing cooler on earth than to be in charge of keeping the peace in such a sprawling, insane place. When Bernie Goetz happened, my folks, who were tired of the city’s crime rate flooding across the river and into north Jersey, jumped in with both feet. They had FREE BERNIE t-shirts they wore and distributed in their store (something I think they may regret in retrospect, along with their ELECT TRUMP ‘80 bumpersticker campaign). New York was like a big, romantic war-zone, pre-war Berlin with bagels, sushi and drag queens. What could be better? Or bigger?

So I’ve been a little sad, over the past few years, to feel my big, bad New York shrinking. It’d be easy to blame a whole lot of things–Guiliani, 9/11, Bloomberg and wherever he put all the squeegee guys–but that’s trite. I think, most pedestrian of all, its just age. A few weeks ago, me and some bandmates took a trip down to the Cavestomp Garage Fest in Brooklyn, and my friend Georgia and I bought Metrocards and tromped all over Manhattan and Brooklyn. And whereas the subway maps used to look labarynthine, now they just look logical. Brooklyn used to seem like a huge, barren wasteland overshadowed only by the sprawling dunes of Queens, but now it seems, well, kinda nice. Bed Stuy, Harlem, Alphabet City, the Bowery, Times Square–all those places that had an almost mythical magnitude and badness, have lost some of that, the attractive scariness, and the larger-than-lifeness. Which is not to say that I’ve lived in Boston so long that I’m going to go skipping through East New York with a basket of daisies; its still a city, and its still New York. And at the same time, the city is actually nicer now than it was then–cleaner, safer, all that.

But I think, as I come into my 30s, me and New York are balancing out. Its gotten nicer, cleaner, and more manageable (if not, as some would say, a little more boring–I say try Kingston RI). Meanwhile, I’ve been some places and seen stuff; I’ve been robbed, had some shitty apartments, done drugs, fired a gun, been homeless, had a fistfight, worked in a beer n’ a beating bar, witnessed crime, almost died a few times, had my heart broken. I’m catching up to New York and its catching up to the nice little me I used to be. So while I’m sad to see some of the mythical beast go down, I’m also a little comforted by it. I felt as happy walking around Manhattan a few weeks ago as I’ve been in a long time, and not just in a wide-eyed wonder kind of way, but in a way that tweedy, wooly Boston has never really given me. So who knows what’ll happen.

All I know is, I’m really psyched for Saturday. And I hope the boys in the elephant masks show up.

Nonetheless…Its been awhile since I’ve checked in, and that’s because there’s just so goddamned much going on right now. In my designer life, I’ve just finished a bunch of projects, including some new DVD artwork for my friends Black 47 that I’m particularly proud of. In my band life, we just this Friday played a GREAT show at Ye Olde Abbey Lounge (click here for some pics, flattering and otherwise, at JustBill.net), and successfully and without a hitch pulled off two new songs: From the Days of Pigtails by the Chairmen of the Board, and Stay Away From My Johnny by Freda Gray and the Rocketeers (big ups to Miss Georgia of the Sinners for bringing that one to my attention…as my friend Juddy says, no matter how hard you try, there’s always something that’s gonna get past ya). And in my personal life, I’m getting ready for the amazing Cavestomp 2007 in a couple weeks, in NYC, not to mention the incredible WFMU RECORD FAIR THE SAME WEEKEND OMG!!!11!1! I’ve never been before, and clearly I’m excited to be parted from my cash at such a wonderful event.

So that’s what I’ve been doing instead of writing about records. Oh yeah, and I have a job too. But there’s DJing news afoot as well… in addition to the upcoming first installment of Sen Sa Shun! at Church, October 30 and the Soul Hangover at the Plough & Stars tonight, its official that the latter is now a monthly event (THANKS JIM)!! I’ll post upcoming dates shortly, but in celebration, please enjoy this new Soul Hangover Podcast: Part Deux, garagey flavor in honor of the 12 days left til I get to see the Sonics!

MizValentine’s Soul Hangover Part Deux (WARNING: 24.9MB MP3 File)

Playlist:

Meru Aakhon Mein - Sapan Jagmohan
Willie Whopper - Willie Colon
Upstairs On Boston Road - Sammy Gordon & the Hiphuggers
Love’s Gone Bad - Chris Clark
Liar, Liar - The Castaways
Egyptian Shumba - The Tammys
Papa T’es Plus Dans L’Coup - Sheila
Love Is Like An Itching In My Heart - The Supremes
The World Don’t Owe You a Thing - Freda Payne
Cashing In - The Voices of East Harlem
Never On Time - Mel & Tim

Soul Hangover Podcast Volume 1

Tracklist:

(Intro: Jerry-O)
Ghetto Man - Tony Clarke
(Intro: Jimi Hendrix)
Gimme Shelter - Merry Clayton
Jumping Jack Flash - Thelma Houston
Dum-de-Dum - The Dynamics
The Watts Breakaway – The Johnny Otis Show
(Intro: Little Richard)
From the Days of Pigtails and Fairy Tales – Chairmen of the Board
Tell Me What’s On Your Mind - Cyril Neville
(Intro: Allen Toussaint)
Who’s Gonna Help Brother Get Further - Lee Dorsey
There’s A Break In The Road - Betty Harris
Standing On The Outside - Charles “Soul” Brown
Black Skin Blue Eyed Boys - The Equals

And now, of Soul Sistahs and the Stones….

Probably the most common non-soul comparison my band World’s Greatest Sinners get these days is to the Rolling Stones, so lemme lay two new (to me) Stones covers on ya for today, both sung by tremendous soul mamas who are huge influences of mine: Merry Clayton’s Gimme Shelter, and Thelma Houston’s Jumpin Jack Flash. Give a listen, then we’ll talk:

Gimme Shelter - Merry Clayton, Ode, 1970

Jumpin’ Jack Flash - Thelma Houston, Dunhill, 1969

OK, dig it? So let me just start this by saying, Robert Christgau is a friggen idiot.

Yeah, yeah, Dean of American Rock Critics…my ass. You listened to that Merry Clayton song above, right? Now read what Christgau had to say:

Second-rate material stupidly overproduced and unreflectively emoted. Even the title song, which retains a lot of power, sounded better when she was duetting it with Mick Jagger–that is, she sounded better. Maybe that’s what it means to be a great backup singer. C+

Now, okay, I realize this kinda thing is Christgau’s schtick. And he brushed off Straight Outta Compton too, so I do think he’s a couple Iron Cities short of a sixer. But man. Are we even listening to the same tune?

Enough about Xgau though, let’s talk about Clayton, and about this version. Pull out your copy of Let it Bleed and give the original a spin; its a helluva song to begin with of course, dripping with apocalyptic passion, and of course that’s Merry singing right alongside Mick after Keef’s solo, briging it all to a nasty, churning, crazed apex. And while Mick has said in interviews that having Clayton on the record was the producer’s idea, there’s something so inherently Stones about it… after all, everybody knows what a hardon the lads had for the likes of Tina Turner and other black American soul stars, so having a former Raelette and grande-dame of soul backup singers alongside Mick is really a natural. To my ear, there’s an awful lot of Tina in Mick’s singing style, and there’s an awful lot of Tina in Merry too, so the Clayton-Jagger combo on the Stones version is like listening to Mick singing alongside the voice he probably hears in his head. For my money, that’s also what makes this cover great; the Stones’ original, while perfect in its own right, is perfectly about British white males reflecting back American black music. In Clayton’s version, the mirror is removed and its just pure, raw soul. The roots are there, particularly in the guitar sound and lines, but the unleashed rhythm section is funky as hell, the horns are positively southern-soul, and the organ and choir are straight out of church on Sunday. And of course, there’s Merry herself; her performance is totally possessed, intense, like she’s going to blow apart at any moment, or else bring down the end of days herself with just one more chorus. Born on Christmas day in New Orleans and raised up in the church, I believe it could happen. The record was never a hit that I know of, but for my money, it should’ve been.

The second track, Thelma Houston’s Jumpin’ Jack Flash, is of course from her monster of a debut album, Sunshower. You can’t really ask for a stronger debut than this LP, produced, written and arranged by the phenomenal Jimmy Webb, probably one of the most idiosyncratic guys in pop music. I, like most girls my age, knew him first as the guy behind the Last Unicorn movie, which of course I tortured my parents with by making them take me to the Cinema 10 to see it no fewer than 50 times (thank God for DVD players!). But Webb was a hit machine, Brill Building-style, and Sunshower was his pet project and Thelma Houston a vessel for his immense talent. Which is not to say that Houston wasn’t a monster in her own right; her range is stunning, and she’s a total chameleon, moving between songs and styles like she’s ten singers. Webb knew the level of talent he was dealing with, too. He described Houston as “the most prodigious talent I have ever encountered” and said that she “manifested everything great about the black female voice.” That’s gotta rank up there in “Rock Guys Giving Soul Singers Effusive Compliments” right alongside George Harrison calling River Deep Mountain High the finest record ever recorded. Webb had a flair for conceptualization as well as instrumentation, and the overarching theme of Sunshower seems to be a song for every side of Thelma Houston; it might be disjointed, if it wasn’t all so beautiful, and seamlessly united by her graceful, athletic interpretation and performance. Compared to the rest of the album, Jumpin’ Jack Flash is positively bombastic, but it works–Houston can be a sweet songbird or a soulful crooner, but she can also belt it like nobody’s business, and that’s made abundantly clear on this track. I read somewhere that there’s a Stravinsky line in the string break, which I wouldn’t know enough to hear, but Webb’s arrangement of the Stones is certainly effectively cheeky in addition to rocking hard. Unlike Gimme Shelter, it makes little reference to the original, but Webb and Houston are so good…well, who gives a damn.

That’s all for now… but there’s a box of new picks coming my way soon and I’ll be back with the story on a NOLA rarity that you won’t even believe.

Cheers, Jordan Valentine

So…who the hell am I? Depends on who you ask I guess. I’m Jordan Valentine, 31, and I live, work and raise hell in Boston, MA. I lead a band called World’s Greatest Sinners, basically a revolving cast of characters playing soul, R&B and funk with an emphasis on the obscure. We must be okay at it because the WFNX & the Boston Phoenix named us Best R&B Act for the past two years, which is pretty cool. I’m also an illustrator and graphic designer, and have been doing posters, CD art and other design work for bands for the past five years. I also make 1″ buttons for just about everybody. These days, I’m also justifying my crackhead-like addiction to vinyl records by DJing at a bunch of places in the area, including the Plough & Stars in Cambridge (October 22), the Baseball Tavern in Boston, the Abbey Lounge in Somerville (October 19) and Ralph’s in Worcester, with hopefully more to come.

That last bit is what this blog is gonna be about: records, the stories behind em, and where you can catch me spinnin’ em. I’m sure there’ll also be more than a few stories here and there as well, seeing as I manage to get myself knee-deep in all kindsa nonsense on a fairly regular basis. I hope to get to post a regular podcast segment as well, which I hope you dig. So read, comment, get in touch, and hopefully enjoy yourself!

Cheers, Jordan Valentine