Despite being one of the three Kings of blues, (alongside B.B. and Freddie — both no relation), Albert King was actually born Albert Nelson. While the Mississippi native’s earliest recordings date back to the 1950s, it wasn’t until he hooked up with Memphis-based soul outfit Stax/Volt that King enjoyed crossover success. Ironically, it was at a time when his genre of choice was losing favor with African-Americans as young whites were starting to really delve into the blues. So it’s no surprise that Cream wound up delivering a solid cover of the title track to King’s Stax debut. And that future greats including Robert Cray and Stevie Ray Vaughan would constantly sing his praises.
Backed by Booker T. & the MGs, the imposing left-handed guitar slinger really dug in, serving up the stinging blues shuffle “Crosscut Saw,” affecting the requisite swagger throughout the brassy declarations of “The Hunter” and gently bobs along through a lightly swinging reading of “Kansas City.” Most surprising is King’s effectiveness as a balladeer, not only on the Ivory Joe Hunter’s juke joint weeper “I Almost Lost My Mind,” but on a reading of pop bandleader Ray Noble’s 1934 standard “The Very Thought Of You” that works far better than you’d expect it to.
What Kramer vs. Kramer was to the state of divorce and broken relationships on the cinematic front is what Fleetwood Mac’s legendary 1977 album. With couples Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks splitting, McVies John and Christine recently divorced and drummer Mick Fleetwood having problems with wife Jenny, there was no shortage of subject matter. And while stories of debauchery during the year-long recording session are legendary, the results wound up having the band’s eleventh studio outing become one of the best-selling albums of all time, selling nearly 20 million copies in the United States alone. Between the stellar harmonies, inescapable hooks and lyrically true couplets, songs like “You Make Loving Fun” (about Christine McVie’s lighting director boyfriend), “Dreams” (Nicks’ post-breakup optimism), “Go Your Own Way” (Buckingham’s post-breakup pessimism) and “Gold Dust Woman” (Nicks’ struggles living in Los Angeles) became radio staples and outright classics. A near-perfect serving of pop songs with heft, this Rumours reissue contains a bonus disc of live songs taken from the subsequent 1977 tour that’s rather anticlimactic and another CD containing outtakes from the recording sessions that are only paramount to the most diehard of Fleetwood Mac fans.
Holly Williams – The Highway (Georgiana Records) Talent doesn’t always automatically transfer to the next generation (see Elijah Blue Allman). As the granddaughter of Hank Williams, Sr., daughter of Hank, Jr., and half-sister to Hank III, Williams already tried to go the major label route. This time out, she chose to run with Civil Wars producer Charlie Peacock and self-release her third studio effort. Far more stripped-down and organic than the Nashville native’s first two records, these 11 songs go beyond the tear-in-your beer sentiments that have been the long-held stereotype of country music. Yes, there’s mention of booze and cheating in the opener “Drinkin’,” but Williams deftly handles it by tracing the dysfunction from spouse to narrator all the while including abandonment and self-destruction, framing it all with a mid-tempo mix of pedal steel and fiddle. On the mid-tempo “Railroad,” she masterfully touches on desperation that becomes wanderlust with lines like “You never walked in my shoes, you never understood/Why I was escaping anyway that I could.” Elsewhere, the forlorn “Happy” with its mix of cello, acoustic guitar and harmonizing by six-string strumming hubby Chris Coleman makes it a gem amid a field of musical diamonds.
While the name recognition that comes with cameos by guests like Jackson Browne, Jakob Dylan and Dierks Bentley might draw listeners to Williams’ latest, it’s the songs, all of which she had a hand in writing, that will make them stay. It’s a far more substantial effort befitting her lineage versus what’s being churned out by the Music Row sausage factory nowadays.
The Pogues – The Very Best Of the Pogues (Shout! Factory) For young’uns who think the most authentic blending of punk and traditional Celtic music begins and ends with the Dropkick Murphys and its Beantown anthem “Shipping Up to Boston,” they are well advised to drink deeply of The Pogues. Although in the pre-TMZ world this Irish outfit was oftentimes best known for the various degrees of intoxication and/or inappropriate behavior offered up by frontman/founding member Shane MacGowan, as evidenced by this collection of 18 songs, the Pogues can be defined by far more than MacGowan’s antics. The band’s ability to wield instruments normally associated with Irish folk (tin whistle, accordion, bodhrán) while delivering it all with a punk swagger is what’s made them such a beloved group. And it doesn’t matter if it was while covering other people’s songs (Ewan MacColl’s “Dirty Old Town”; The Dubliners’ “The Irish Rover”) or originals like the immigrant anthem “Thousands Are Sailing” and “The Sunnyside of the Street,” a jangly ode to rambunctiousness, the Pogues always delivered music that begged for communal sing-a-longs and the kind of camaraderie you’d find in a pub. Likewise is the case with “Fairytale of New York,” the MacGowan/Jem Finer-penned MacGowan/Kirsty MacColl duet that’s become a much-loved Christmas classic. Suffice it to say, the Pogues are the touchstone with which the Murphys and Flogging Molly should tip a pint to every time they take the stage.
Otis Taylor – My World is Gone (Telarc) With a cover shot that could have come from Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, Dee Brown’s seminal 1970 book of Native American history, Otis Taylor’s 13th studio album, not surprisingly, embraces some of the same topics. Aided and inspired by friend and Indigenous frontman Mato Nanji, Taylor applies his unorthodox style of trance blues to stories dealing with the world of hardship found on the rez that’s oblivious to the mainstream world (the organ-kissed “Never Been to the Reservation”) to one of the more shameful incidents in America (a mournful “Sand Creek Massacre Mourning.”) Not unlike the better-known Taj Mahal, Taylor possesses gruff vocals that are a perfect fit for singing blues music. Likewise, his creative approach thankfully skips over trite Southside Chicago posturing and instead leans heavily on repetitive riffing and hypnotic vamping coupled with the use of non-blues instruments like tuba, banjo, cornet and fiddle. It works particularly well on “The Wind Comes In,” a John Lee Hooker-like lament of an alcoholic quitting and trying to woo his true love back as well as “Sit Across Your Table,” a song of domestic bliss full of chugging beats and dancing hooks that would fit perfectly into Gary Clark, Jr’s creative wheelhouse. Otis Taylor’s tinkering with the blues is helping it evolve beyond hidebound approaches that threaten to make it stagnant.
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