Funny but I was eatin’ french fries and a falafel while freakin’ to Feufollet when I realized their En Couleurs was one of the best albums of 2010. Two Universes (Feufollet Records/Thirty Tigers) might lay claim to that honor in 2015. The band is from Lafayette, Louisiana. Their precious gumbo of Cajun, real country (not that TV and radio crapola), swamp rock, honky tonk, zydeco and sweet pop sung alternately in French and English is absolutely mesmerizing. They swap instruments. They switch lead vocals. They split the songwriting. “Feufollet” is French for “crazy fire.” Wow.
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When Allan Harris was growing up in Harlem, his aunt had a famous soul food restaurant located right behind the legendary Apollo Theater where he would go on Sunday matinees to see all the leading black entertainers. Now, at 58, after 10 albums, this esteemed vocalist/guitarist/bandleader/composer has written and interpreted the kind of songs he used to hear at bars in the 1970s. He calls it Black Bar Jukebox (Love Productions/Must Have Jazz) and he’s being compared to Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra. His originals reek of late nights, that one-more-cigarette, one-more-drink kind of loneliness where only the bartender seems to understand your problems. Yet his purview is esoteric enough to cover John Mayer (“Daughters”) and Elton John (“Take Me To The Pilot”). Produced by Brian Bacchus (Norah Jones), backed up by a tight drums/bass/keyboards/percussion/guitar band, when Harris sings “Got A Lot Of Livin’ To Do,” you believe him. That’s because his delivery is intended to suit the purposes of the song. No frills. No stupid vocal tricks à la those awful American Idol singers. Just pure lyric interpretation where he is in service to each song he sings. This even includes the over-recorded chestnut “My Funny Valentine.” He’s a singer’s singer.
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Powerhouse guitarist Joe Bonamassa always seems to be better when he’s either playing the blues or backing up a red hot smokin’ mama like Beth Hart. Sure, he went slumming in that mediocre Black Country Communion band but wisely opted out of a tour. He knows his strengths. On Ooh Yea: The Betty Davis Songbook (J&R Adventures), he provides sterling fills and Jimmy Page-like answers to the questions posed by red hot mama Mahalia Barnes, the daughter of one of Australia’s biggest rock stars, Jimmy Barnes. On 12 covers of songs originally recorded by funk pioneer Betty Davis, Barnes intensely rocks. Davis was the wife of trumpeter Miles Davis. In the ‘70s, she recorded three landmark albums that were as freaky as they were funky. Hers was a kinky kind of underground before-her-time feminism focusing on fetishes. She turned Miles on to Jimi and Sly, thus changing the champ of cool into a crazy fusion funkster. Songs like “Nasty Gal,” “If I’m In Luck I Might Get Picked Up,” “He Was A Big Freak,” “Game Is My Middle Name,” “Anti-Love Song,” “You Won’t See Me In The Morning” were too damn weird for 1970s radio but as covered by Barnes, might bring back some interest in this long-lost wild woman (still alive at 69). Mahalia Barnes & The Soul Mates featuring Joe Bonamassa are riveting.
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The Only Folk Collection You’ll Ever Need (Shout Factory) is two discs and actually lives up to its title. Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, Donovan, Gordon Lightfoot, Tim Hardin, Judy Collins, Odetta, Lead Belly, Kingston Trio, Dave Van Ronk, Peter Paul & Mary, Ian & Sylvia, Tom Paxton, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, Doc Watson, Tom Rush and more with one song each says it all.
I’m not ashamed to admit crying when I saw Joan Baez sing “There But For Fortune” at Woodstock in 1969 knowing her hero husband David Harris was sitting in jail as a political prisoner of the U.S. for anti-war and anti-draft activism.
I still say Woody Guthrie’s “This Land Is Your Land,” written in protest of Irving Berlin’s maudlin “God Bless America,” should be our National Anthem instead of that horrible “Star-Spangled Banner” war song.
John Prine’s “Angel From Montgomery” includes the great line that still gives me chills: “how the hell can a person go to work in the morning, come home in the evening and have nothing to say.”
I can’t listen to Phil Ochs without getting a lump in my throat knowing that the 1960s spirit ended at the exact moment he hung himself.
Mississippi John Hurt was a sweet soulful sensitive man whose “I Shall Not Be Moved” brings back memories of a civil rights struggle in this country that has hardly been resolved.
The 30 songs here have been perfectly picked.
