Glory Hallelujah

Sorry. Been gone again. Had a sudden opportunity to do something good, and it took me away for awhile.

Also, I take back my last post. Fuck George W. Bush.

Not much time, and I'm tired. So 'til I get bearings back, here's a prime piece of celebration from Mr. Otha Turner. All backwoods drumming and sweet Mississippi fife love. Sing along.

Otha Turner and the Afrossippi Allstars: Glory, Glory Hallelujah (mp3)

Form your own drum and fife band. Give the money you save to something worthwhile (scroll down).

I'm in Love With That Song

It appears as if Alex Chilton is missing in New Orleans. Who knows how many more great musician are missing or lost. Information is sketchy at best, and even the word on Chilton is filtered through various sources. I'm wondering about Quintron, too. Musicians, of course, are no no more important than any other soul in this tragedy. But they do provide a face, a connect, to those who may not know any of the other names on the long rolls of the missing. How many nights did you huddle around your record player trying to decipher Big Star? How many times did you turn up Fats Domino on the radio? Got slinky with Irma Thomas? Some folks have made it out. Some.

There's a million political angles to this disaster. If people would spend as much time searching as they are giving press conferences, maybe more lives would be saved. I don't know. It's a helpless feeling. Heads will roll, and should,but can't we rescue people first? Match people up with their families? Feed the survivors? We're a divisive country in a desperate and divisive time, and there's a large amount of accountability waiting at the end. But, god, let's help the innocent first, and take down the guilty later. They'll get theirs. And should.

I don't much feel like selling product right now. Seriously, instead of buying a Replacements album, donate that money. Here's a list of worthwhile charities.

The Replacements: Alex Chilton (mp3)

Wish I Was In Heaven Sitting Down

Shit. R.L. Burnside died today. Or yesterday by the time you read this. I can't even begin to properly describe what his legacy means to us here at the Mountain. At a time when I equated blues music to the clean tones of BB King and dozens of generic "boogie" bands, or faded old music that I had no connection to, Burnside sent me searching out Lightnin' Hopkins, Junior Kimbrough, Bessie Smith, Howlin' Wolf, the list goes on and on and on. An ongoing lifetime of obsession with the Blues was born here with Burnside. Yeah, stupid. But true. Guess it has to start somewhere with everyone. Purists never really like Burnside. Too much dirt on his strings and flirtation with hip hop beats (where do they think rap came from?). Whatever.

I can't really properly eulogize the man. He's been sick for awhile, and this comes as really no surprise to most paying attention. I'm just going to quote the Fat Possum news release:

Blues artist R.L. Burnside, who redefined the blues genre by incorporating indie rock acts and hip-hop production, died September 1, 2005, at St. Francis Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. Burnside was born November 21, 1926, in Harmontown, Mississippi, and spent most of his life in the north Mississippi hill country, where he worked as a sharecropper and a commercial fisherman and played guitar at weekend house parties. In 1968, noted folklorist George Mitchell recorded Burnside for the first time. In 1991 Burnside was the first artist signed to then-fledgling Fat Possum Records in Oxford, Mississippi. His debut, "Too Bad Jim," was produced by former New York Times pop critic Robert Palmer. Along with his friend, neighbor, and label-mate Junior Kimbrough, Burnside was one of the most popular and important blues musicians to emerge in the last two decades. He recorded the crossover collaboration "A Ass Pocket of Whiskey" with the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion in 1996 and became a cult hero. In 1998, music from "Come On In" was featured in several movies and television shows, including The Sopranos. Burnside sold hundreds of thousands of records in his lifetime. He is survived by his wife Alice Mae, twelve children, and numerous grandchildren.

Those wishing to help should send donations to:

Freeland & Freeland Trust Account Burnside Memorial P. O. Box 269 Oxford, MS 38655 (662)234-3414 All proceeds will go directly to RL's widow, Alice Mae.

Too many places to send donations these days.

Rest In Peace, R.L.

R.L. Burnside: Wish I Was In Heaven Sitting Down (mp3)

Ninth Ward

Well. I had another post all planned and written, but in light of recent events, it doesn't seem real appropriate.

The beautiful Miss Mountain and myself had a rather important event in our life planned for this October in New Orleans. Not gonna happen. Least not in October. It doesn't really matter, as peoples' lives are seriously fucked right now. Those who still have their lives. It's a horrible, bone chilling thing.

Mississippi, Alabama, and Louisiana may, arguably, have given us some of the greatest American music in our history. Music made by people. People who are suffering right now.

There's a million songs about New Orleans. They're probably popping up all over the web. As I went to find songs for today's post, my stack of cd's took up my whole coffee table. Hard to choose, and there's more to worry about in the world than what tunes I'm going to post. So, here's two of my favorites.

Professor Longhair: Mardi Gras in New Orleans (mp3)

Tom Waits: I Wish I was in New Orleans (in the Ninth Ward) (mp3)

Instead of buying a record this week, send your money to the Red Cross, or other charitable donations. People need water.

Do the Milkshake

Memphis soul today. Played loud by some white guys. But it's, like, soul baby.

The Oblivians lasted for a relatively short time. Greg, Eric, and Jack Oblivian went on to produce, play on, or star in about a zillion other projects: Compulsive Gamblers, Reigning Sound, '68 Comeback, the Deadly Snakes, The Cool Jerks, to name just a few.

Not to confuse, The Oblivians certainly have the snot and grind of garage/punk in their attack. But firmly embedded in their heart of hearts lies the last great soul band. Sin and Salvation battle with a hipsway under distorted soul grooves, while the alternating vocalists growl to yelp, pleading and fronting for your love, honey.

Nowhere is this more evident than on their finest album, Play 9 Songs With Mr. Quintron. (Quintron deserves his own damn post one of these days.) About a year ago, I posted my favorite song from that album, a pleading church hymn from hell called "Live the Life". So here's another from that album, a locomotive gospel, plus, from Popular Favorites, a song not remotely about sex. Shake it.

The Oblivians: Ride That Train (mp3)

The Oblivians: Do the Milkshake (mp3)

The Oblivians probably don't give a rat's ass where you buy their albums.

Steel Guitar in My Soul

At first scroll this may not seem like the typical post here at the Mountain. Yeah, that's who you think it is down there. But trust me. Have I ever steered you wrong? (I have? Oh. Sorry.)

See, the thing is, I'm real big on road trips. Particularly the ones with no destination. Ones taking place in the deepest hours of the morning. In Autumn. The lore and mythology of the traveler and the hobo, I guess. Static on the radio. Or Elvis. In deserts. Or following a train.

The KLF are probably known as much for their hucksterism ("burning" a million dollars/pounds) as their music (Justified and Ancient, Doctorin' the Tardis, etc.). Truth is I've never much followed the group's antics or musical adventures. But back in the mid-90's a friend, trying to convince me that "electronica" (we called it techno when I was growing up) was the (new)wave of the future, would make me slews of ambient mix tapes. Nothing really convinced much, until I got a tape that featured the following KLF song.

On the album "Chill Out", the group strung together a host of found sounds (birds 'n' trains 'n' things), layered them together with minimal, minor-key synthesizers, a female chorus, and, most importantly, steel guitar. A road trip (choose yr trip) album.

This is the song I heard on the mix tape. It's actually the perfect song for us up here on the Mountain. The clack of the trains provides the rhythm, a gorgeous steel guitar keens sadly and slowly. And then,channeled through the static of AM, fading in and out like a lost transmission, is Elvis Presley all sadness and hurt. The barest of desert pieces, not intended for listening when the sun is out. The sound of a lost America.

The KLF: Elvis on the Radio, Steel Guitar in My Soul (mp3)

Continuing in a similar vein/theme is Clothesline Revival. Taking field recordings from, among other sources, Alan Lomax, adding beats and harmonica, steel guitar(again) and banjos, they create a modern folk album for the alt-jaded. The following features more clattering locomotion and an unidentified train caller from the '30's. It's more of the missing America, lost and wandering, where, and I paraphrase loosely here, a train can take you away from here, but a train won't bring you home.

Clothesline Revival: Calling Trains (mp3)

Return to the RAWK on Friday. Buy your train tickets from your local travel agent. Or, hell, if you can't afford it, hop a ride in the boxcar.

Lord Love a Truck

Hey, look. More truckin' music at the Mountain. For your weekend enjoyment.

This is actually supposed to be a post about Junior Brown, as I've covered Red Simpson already. At some point. I think. It's been one of those days.

So Junior Brown, then.

Brown comes pretty damn close to being a novelty item in most folks' record collections. He notes in his website that people who don't like country (and western) tell him they like his stuff. Not sure why. He's pretty damn country. Maybe they're still stuck on the idea that Garth Brooks and Travis Tritt or similar hat singers are actually country (and maybe they are. Why not, I guess.). Junior's pretty quirky, and some purists have decried him for a lack of authenticity. If you've read here for awhile, y'all know I get a little tetchy about throwing the "authenticity" tag around. It's a stupid label.

What we do know about Brown is that he's a fuckfantastic guitar player, particularly his steel work. I believe he refers to his instrument (which he designed himself) as a "guit-steel". Pretty self-explanatory, that.

We also know that his voice is deeper than Death Valley, all Texas twang and bottomed out rye whiskey, but always, always tuneful and in tune. He's got Roger Miller's style and Hank Snow's groove. And Hank Thompson's way with words. But really, the artist closest to Junior Brown is Junior Brown. In a ten gallon hat.

Brown's vocal and guitar style lend themselves most perfectly to Texas hot rods and long journeys in a big ole truck. It's music that moves. Man.

Both of these songs are duets with the legendary Red Simpson. In the way the two songs on the last post started the same, these two end the same, with Red and Junior jawing with each other, taking off from the classic "Where's the Truck".

Lord love a truck.

Junior Brown and Red Simpson: Semi-Crazy (mp3)

Junior Brown and Red Simpson: Nitro Express (mp3)

Shop independently, 'n all that.

A Girl's Organ is Her Friend

We love the organ here at the Mountain. From Shirley Scott and Jimmy Smith to Booker T and, yes, Tom Waits, and all points musical inbetween and outside. It's greasy and nasty, smooth and soulful, sexy and spiritual. Any kid in their garage or bedroom (see: 60's, rock) can transform themselves into a god of groove with but a few simple chords. Ok, it aint quite that easy, but it all depends on what you want to use your organ for.

Regardless, this really isn't a post about the organ. Except that the organ is featured on both of the following tunes. And both tunes are rockin' little garagegroove songs by girl groups. And I've been looking for an excuse to post both these songs, and that seemed to tie it all together. Bit of stretch, huh? Yeah, I thought so.

I like girls who play with their organs. Sue me.

Frankly, I didn't know much about The Heart Beats. Still don't really, outside of the afore-linked website. The song appears (for my purposes here) on Sundazed's fantastic series of discs, Garage Beat '66. Apparently The Heart Beats were a sort of more talented Shaggs (kitsch/hipster factor aside, how often do you really feel the need to listen to the Shaggs?), at least in terms of age and stage-parent factor. The main difference is that not only could the girls actually play their instruments, they had some crazy rhythm in their...erm...organs. The following tune has skyrocketed to the top spot in my various media playing devices. It's got a tribal beat, sweet as sexpot honey vocals, and is drenched in a rhythmic organ grind guaranteed to please the stodgiest of Stereolab fans. Man, I wish I was Lupe Lu.

The Heart Beats: Little Latin Lupe Lu (mp3)

Then, of course, there's Thee Headcoatees. Originally known as the female version of, surprise, Thee Headcoats , the band featured a young lady by the name of Holly Golightly, whom y'all are probably aware of by now. While Golightly has mellowed some in recent years, Thee Headcoatees are classic beat trash, in the Childish tradition. This is an oft-covered cover (and I'll be damned if I know who did the original), and it's based on (or rather a response to) another multi-covered classic. Guess which one. Oh, yeah, it features an organ amongst the clatter. I think I wish I was Melvin, too.

Thee Headcoatees: Melvin (mp3)

Support your local Organ Grinder.

Gonna Get Tight

Lest anyone be concerned, the Mountain has only given up one vice, not the complete package of sinful behaviours. We still appreciate a nice pint or six now and again, particularly tunes detailing said activity. Thanks to all those leaving comments and emails of encouragement and support. Things are going swell to date. Pretzel rods are very tasty things.

Before we get to today's musical tales of booze and sin, check out the swell site, Hickory Wind. From their website:

"HickoryWind.org is all about Americana music -- that twangy, rootsy, rocky, folky, country, grassy, jammy, or Celtic-y music we love. We want everyone to love this music, and we're here to help share it with the world. Pull up a chair and grab your guitar, banjo, mandolin, fiddle, or whatever. We'll always be sure to tell you what key we're in and how the words go. On this front porch, even the audience sings along.

That sums it up pretty well. The proprietors/contributors are based in Raleigh, DC, and Tokyo, respecitvely. Great articles, with a few fascinating tales of obsession. (Check out the Ryan Adams post).

Now.

Been a while since I had a proper booze post. Nobody, I mean nobody, does drinking songs better than our friends in the Country and Western tradition.

Tommy Duncan was the featured vocalist for Bob Wills' classic Texas Playboys period. Eventually leaving the Playboys for a solo career (before rejoining and quitting several times again), he never had quite the same success alone as he had in a group setting. Which is a shame. As the voice behind such classics as "Time Changes Everything," "Stay a Little Longer," "Take Me Back to Tulsa," and "Bubbles in My Beer," Duncan represents the sound of Western Swing at it's most timeless and classic. The following tune has actually happened to me. More than once. Dammit.

Tommy Duncan: Who Drank My Beer(While I Was in the Rear) (mp3)

Moon Mullican is referred to by many as the King of the Hillbilly Piano Players. Maybe so. As an influence, you can hear his style in blues, swing, and rock, particularly Jerry Lee Lewis. A bit of a character, Mullican never achieved the fame he was probably due. Here's Mullican lending his distinctive style to the Sunshine Boys.

If ya can't smoke, ya might as well get a little tight, I say.

Sunshine Boys: Gonna Get Tight (mp3)

Local taverns have better jukeboxes.

Smoke Smoke Smoke That Cigarette

As you might guess, today's theme is smoking songs. Why, you ask? Well, today is day one in the adventure we like to call "quitting smoking". Yup, the Mountain's giving up the nicotine. 20 years is a long time to just chuck in the wastebin, so we'll see how I do. By all accounts I'll be crankier than usual (if that's possible)(and you've been warned), and I'll probably gain about 60 pounds or so. No patch or nicorette gum, just a year's supply of straws, suckers, and pure cussedness. Boy howdy, this is gonna be fun.

For your aural enjoyment, then, we'll start with a classic Tex Williams side:

Tex Williams and His Western Caravan: Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette) (mp3)

Then we'll get one of my fave rave fellas, Johnny Bond, to swing and pick through his version:

Johnny Bond: Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette) (mp3)

Even though she's not what one would call "regular fare" here at the Mountain, I've always been kinda keen on Miss Peggy Lee:

Peggy Lee: Don't Smoke In Bed (mp3)

Nick Drake may not be talking about cigarettes. I dunno:

Nick Drake: Been Smoking Too Long (mp3)

And, finally, from the man who informed us that we, indeed, can't rollerskate in a buffalo herd, another piece of sage advice courtesy of the mighty Roger Miller:

Roger Miller: Dad Blame Anything a Man Can't Quit (mp3)

No smokes = more dough to spend at the local independent rekkid store. Or, that's the idea, anyway.