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Southern folksinger Sammy Walker recorded a quartet of albums in the last half of the 1970s for Folkways and Warner Brothers (the latter produced by Nick Venet), disappeared from the record scene for a decade, and came back with a scattering of releases in the '90s and '00s. As on these earlier albums, the directness of his vocals shows the heritage of the '60s folk revival pioneers who have served as his inspirations, including Phil Ochs, who got him his first label deals. His songwriting is likewise direct and topical, echoing Ochs, Guthrie and Dylan (at his more lucid and less opaquely poetic), as well as early social witnesses like Leadbelly.
Walker accompanies himself on guitar and harmonica on these character-driven songs, with Tony Williamson's mandolin sweetening several tracks. The album opens with a depiction of oddball loners whose surfaces you see on city streets, but whose back stories you'll never know. It's a fitting start to an collection whose title track proudly declares the singer's square-peg independence. The theme reappears in "Homer Byron Guthrie," depicting individualism accrued through longevity turned into isolation, and the portrait of "A Cold Pittsburgh Morning" provides an even more stark view of aging. Walker sings a first person story of desperate circumstances in a disarmingly conversational tone on "Another Sad Song About You," and wraps the domestic battery of "Marvin and Paula" in an ironic chorus. More plainly emotional is "And the Mississippi Delta Cried," the story of Emmett Till's 1955 murder, served here as a reminder that hatred's not dead.
The writer's social conscience fuels "If Jesus Don't Show," an elegy for a planet harboring fundamentalists who believe Jesus' resurrection will arrive before global warming turns the lights out on the human race. Social observation and the album's individualistic theme are crossbred on "Proud and Poor" lionizing the family farmer whose generational work ethic is deprecated by today's conglomerated, multinational economy. Walker connects with the ripped-from-the-headlines folk genre on "In the Year Twenty-O-Four," a clear-eyed report of the Indian Ocean tsunami. As a progeny of the 60s folk boom, Walker's developed a lyrical voice that's matured from the unfounded certainty of youth (cleverly admitted on "Someday I'm Gonna Rock and Roll") to the weathered viewpoints of middle-age. The torch he was passed continues to burn brightly. [©2008 redtunictroll at hotmail dot com]
After twenty years and twelve albums -- eight studio, four live -- the poppy blues-rock jam-band best remembered for their long-lived radio single "Run-Around" sought to bring the spontaneity of their stage playing into the recording studio. Forsaking their usual pre-production regimen of scripted arrangements, their latest songs were fleshed out as a group in the studio, hoping to capture the inspirational moments of the creative process, rather than a practiced reproduction. Whether they were successful is hard to say, as the telepathic musical connections born of years on the road has resulted in an album that's still highly detailed, tight and surprisingly smooth.
The band turns the guitars and drums up for a few tracks, but much of this album is rendered in a more subdued style, verging on adult contemporary pop. John Popper's distinctive vocals still provide plenty of emotional power, but it’s the melodies of the mid-tempo numbers, and the catchy touches of keyboard and synthesizer that linger. The opening ode to American troops, inspired by Popper's USO visits, starts with a burbling synthesizer and gliding acoustic guitars before warming to a more emphatic chorus. A similar climb is found on "Borrowed Time," opening as a soulful piano ballad before forceful bass notes ratchet up the emotion. The shuffle of "You, Me and Everything" harkens back to "Run-Around," but with a synthesizer figure that evokes the lyrics' open road, and the light funk overtones continue with the wah-wah guitar of "Love Does," and the picturesque "Orange in the Sun."
The band adds a touch of Stax-styled horns and piano on "What Remains," and attacks the blues on "The Beacons" and "How You Remember It." The album closes with the lengthy freeform rant "Free Willis, Ruminations From Behind Uncle Bob's Machine Shop," proving that Bruce Willis (the guest ranter) isn't Tom Waits. Still, "Return of Bruno" fans everywhere will rejoice. Blues Traveler fans on the other hand, those who've kept the band going for twenty years through album and ticket sales, may hope this album's move to the middle (and dearth of harmonica) is more of a diversion, like 2005's broadly experimental "Bastardos!," than a wholly new direction. That said, Popper's renewed focus on melody is a winning direction. [©2008 redtunictroll at hotmail dot com]
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Forty-five years after the original lineup of little-known Northfield, Vermont garage band fell apart, they're back, and damned if they don't sound good. And by good, I mean gritty, sloppy, frenetic, proud, tough and all manner of adjectives not usually applied to a quintet of sixty-year-old rockers. Formed among the thriving (yet isolated) scene encompassing Northfield, VT and Plattsburgh, NY, Mike & The Ravens offered up the sound of 1962: pre-Beatles DIY rock recorded in a cavernous roller rink and free of the trend-driven straightjacket radio would eventually impose. The results held more in common with the savage sounds of the Pacific Northwest than the sides waxed in Chicago or Los Angeles, and the band became local heroes. The group's original recordings can be found on the scene compilations "Heart So Cold: The North Country '60s Scene" and "Cry of Atlantis: The North Country Scene '58-'67, Vol. 2," and the group omnibus "Nevermore: Plattsburgh '62 and beyond."
The group compilation follows the Ravens principles, lead vocalist Mike Brassard and songwriter Stephen Blodgett, from their initial meeting in the Ravens through a variety of '60s and '70s bands that ranged from early frat rockers through psych-tinged sunshine pop. In these new sessions, recorded in 2006 and 2007, Brassard and Blodgett reunite with the other three original Ravens (Bo Blodgett-lead guitar, Brian Lyford-bass and Peter Young-drums) to stomp convincingly around the Point Rouses, NY club that hosted their state debut over forty years earlier. The results find plenty of howl left in their voices, growling fuzz in their strings, and a rhythm section that can still crank up the heart-pounding excitement you'd expect on a Saturday night. The band opens with their 1962-penned "Roller, Roller Rollerland!" and quickly reveals how they got the rink's floor bouncing up and down under the weight of bopping teens.
Stephen Blodgett's new songs retain the freewheeling spirit of his earlier work, but the unusual titles ("Sweet Potato Red Sez Polly Don't Ride" "Once I Was a Dancing Bear") and sly lyrics also speak to the his post-Ravens psych work. The band, particularly Bo Blodgett on guitar, also reach past 1962 for some mid-60s garage and fuzz sounds. You still get the grunting energy of classic frat-rock, but layered with some brain-buzzing guitar and off-center lyrics. The claxon intro to "Who Will Love You" is an apt warning of the onslaught to come, and the carnivorous howl of "She Wolf" fleshes out its story of a man-eater. The album closes with the seven minute title track, and though stretched to hippie ballroom length, the group never loses its raucous engine room chug of guitars and vocals. The band's early singles are highly prized among collectors, but often regarded as not having captured the band's true vitality; forty-five years later, the Ravens make the most of their second chance. [©2008 redtunictroll at hotmail dot com]
