10. I Want To Take You Higher (Single Version In Mono) 3:02
11. You Can Make It If You Try (Unissued Single Version In Mono) 3:40
12. Soul Clappin' II 3:27
13. My Brain (Zig-Zag) 3:18
Bass, Vocals – Larry Graham
Drums – Gregg Errico
Guitar, Vocals – Freddie Stone
Keyboards, Vocals – Rose Stone
Vocals, Guitar, Keyboards – Sly Stone
Saxophone, Vocals – Jerry Martini
Trumpet – Cynthia Robinson
The testament of any historically important work of art is that its impact transcends time. By this measure, “Stand” by Sly and the Family Stone is one for the ages. Originating from the San Francisco Bay Area, Sly and the Family Stone was led by Sylvester “Sly Stone” Stewart and featured Rose Stewart (vocal/keyboards), Freddie Stewart (vocals/guitar), Larry Graham (vocals, bass), Greg Errico (drums), Cynthia Robinson (vocals, trumpet), and Jerry Martini (saxophone). The band had already reached the top of the charts in 1967 with the song “Dance to the Music” and although Sly could have taken the sure path to continued commercial success, his consciousness had been awakened by the political environment and social transformation upending the country during the countercultural and civil rights movements.
Being a band of musicians who were black and white, men and women, Sly and the Family Stone embodied the promise and the pain of the country during the Sixties. They encountered racism in many places they performed. They exemplified the youth of the countercultural movement in embracing peace and empowering women. They witnessed the stride toward the New Frontier in 1960 and the lights going out in Camelot in 1963. They watched Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. share his dream with thousands on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1963 and reeled from the nightmare of his assassination in Memphis in 1968.
“Stand” was a soundtrack for these turbulent times. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 ended segregation as a matter of law but integrating the county and ensuring everyone’s equal treatment was easier said than done. Riots erupted in dozens of American cities in 1967 and, in 1968, the Kerner Commission (appointed by President Johnson) detailed the sobering reality of what was happening to the country: “We have visited the riot cities; we have heard many witnesses; we have sought the counsel of experts across the country. This is our basic conclusion: Our nation is moving toward two societies, one black, one white--separate and unequal.” “Stand,” released in May 1969, was an exhortation to American society to change direction. The album’s opening salvo, the title track, begins with an attention-grabbing drum roll and calls for people to move from the sidelines to the front lines, from being bystanders to agents of change. “Everyday People” called out the class and color lines that were long overdue to be erased with a shout of “we got to live together.” “Stand” was also a salve for the nation’s shell shocked psyche with songs like “Sing a Simple Song” and “You Can Make It If You Try” encouraging people to hold on to hope and persevere.
Musically, “Stand” is a blend of infectious dance, swampy blues, and gospel inflections brewed in a potent funk that calls forth ancestors and a new generation alike. Listeners took to the message and the music. “Everyday People” was the number one song in America for four weeks in 1969 and “Stand” went on to sell two million copies. “Stand” sounds so familiar today because Sly Stone influenced everyone who came after him (most notably Michael Jackson and Prince, who in turn influenced everyone from Beyoncé to Bruno Mars). Sly and the Family Stone laid the foundation for interracial, mixed gender, genres panning bands from the Jimi Hendrix Experience to Fleetwood Mac; from Prince and the Revolution to Alabama Shakes. “Stand” was a revolutionary leap forward in artistry and it’s an album we are still learning from today.
By the tail-end of the Sixties, Sly and The Family Stone were riding about as high as anybody could. The group topped the American pop charts (no mean feat), performed for many the show stealing performance at Woodstock and were continually lauded for their grounbreaking synthesis of Soul/Funk and Rock, releasing songs that were irresistably catchy, lyrically savvy and dancable. For whatever reason, though, the Family Stone (especially in Britain) are a footnote in many people's musical history, whereas they should have chapters dedicated to them straight after Elvis, The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. Their music is rich, deep and complex and I don't think any other album by the band depicts the truth of this more immediately than 'Stand'.
Right from the off we are assaulted with this wonderful combination of soul, funk, pop, rock, etc not coming at us seperately or diversely, but all at once in that blended way that the best and most inventive bands offer. Just Listen. 'Everyday People' is still one of the freshest sounding, upbeat, cheerful songs ever recorded. It bounces along in a spirit of optimism and the chorus hits us like a blast of sunshine. 'Stand' is also imbued with a sense of positivity before morphing into a funk-fest during the coda. 'Don't Call, Me N****r, Whitey' is a brutally funky, lyrically inventive song that looked at things from both sides of the racial divide. It would have acted as a real musical jolt at the time and is still surprising today. The band can hit hard ('Sing A Simple Song'), do playful sounding (albeit lyrically sinister) pop, ('Somebody's Watching You') and build a groove so relentless that you won't even notice until your trance breaks ('I Wanna Take you Higher').
Sly Stone hit his songwriting peak at this point and the album was shortly followed by a couple of fantastic singles and b-sides in 'Everybody Is A Star', 'Hot Fun In the Summertime' and arguably the group's finest and most influential moment with 'Thank You...'(listen to the bass). Those songs aren't here but are essential to what the group did at the time. What they recorded after this period was just as groundbreaking with the slower, bubbling, complex rhythms and grooves of 'There's A Riot...'and 'Fresh', but it's the far ranging sounds and sheer excitement imparted in this record that sets it (barely) just above those others. It's influence on black music for the following decade is as profound as that of James Brown and as a piece of music in it's own right, deserves to be sat alongside all those records of the period (Sgt Pepper, Let It Bleed, Blond On Blonde, Electric Ladyland, etc, etc, etc) that are afforded the position of 'classic' in our shared musical consciousness. It is criminal that this album has to be sought out, it should be rammed down our throats. It's that good.
01. Dynamite! 2:43 02. Chicken 2:13 03. Plastic Jim 3:29 04. Fun 2:21 05. Into My Own Thing 2:13 06. Harmony 2:50 07. Life 3:00 08. Love City 2:42 09. I'm An Animal 3:20 10. M'Lady 2:44 11. Jane Is A Groupee 2:49
Bonus Tracks 12. Dynamite! (Single Version Mono) 2:07 13. Seven More Days 3:24 14. Pressure 3:44 15. Sorrow (Instrumental) 3:19
Bass, Vocals – Larry Graham Electric Piano, Vocals – Sister Rosie Stone Guitar, Vocals – Brother Freddy Stone Organ, Vocals, Producer – Sly Stone Percussion – Greg Errico Saxophone – Gerry Martini Trumpet – Cynthia Robinson
Just a matter of months after Dance to the Music, Sly & the Family Stone turned around and delivered Life, a record that leapfrogged over its predecessor in terms of accomplishment and achievement. The most noteworthy difference is the heavier reliance on psychedelics and fuzz guitars, plus a sharpening of songcraft that extends to even throwaways like "Chicken." As it turned out, Life didn't have any hits -- the double A-sided single "Life"/"M'Lady" barely cracked the Top 100 -- yet this feels considerably more song-oriented than its predecessor, as each track is a concise slice of tightly wound dance-funk. All the more impressive is that the group is able to strut their stuff within this context, trading off vocals and blending into an unstoppable force where it's impossible to separate the instruments, even as they solo. The songwriting might still be perfunctory or derivative in spots -- listen to how they appropriate "Eleanor Rigby" on "Plastic Jim" -- but what's impressive is how even the borrowed or recycled moments sound fresh in context. And then there are the cuts that work on their own, whether it's the aforementioned double-sided single, "Fun," "Dynamite!," or several other cuts here -- these are brilliant, intoxicating slices of funk-pop that get by as much on sound as song, and they're hard to resist.
After the record-label driven "Dance to the Music", Sly & the Family Stone, no doubt given significant leverage with the help of a hit single, produced a stream of fantastic albums beginning with 1968's "Life". In some ways like "Dance to the Music", "Life" streamlines the band's sound a bit, but unlike "Dance to the Music", it accomplishes this by taking everything into a mid-tempo, guitar-driven funk stew.
This creates a significant diversity of sound-- fierce distorted guitars ("Dynamite!"), "Eleanor Rigby" ("Plastic Jim"), fuzz guitars and rotated vocals ("Into My Own Thing"), bizarre psychedelid funk ("I'm An Animal") and even "Dance to the Music" pop/funk ("Love City", "M'Lady") all find their way in. Most of it ends up as mid-tempo funk, but it's all really, really good, the only exception being the goofy closer "Jane is a Groupee".
This reissue remasters the record,a ppends a handful of bonus tracks, and includes a detailed liner note essay discussing the album. Like the other remasters, "Life" benefits immensely from the improved sound and really gets new life breathed into it.
My assessment of "Life" is somewhat tempered by knowledge of what the band would be doing in the future-- while it's a superb record, it pales in comparison to its successors. Both "Stand!" and "There's a Riot Goin' On" are among the finest albums of their era. Nonetheless, there's more than enough great material on "Life" to make it worth the investment. Recommended.
Be warned when you put on "Life" you are inviting yourself into a world of rhythmic overload!As the transitional album between Dance to the Music and Stand! this album is filled with a lot of sestained musical dymanics and heavy group activity.The tempo is pretty continually sustained from "Dynamite" through "Into My Own Thing".The hits (the title track and "M'Lady") have the same festive carnaval funk style of "Dance To The Music",although the focus on this recording is much more on the groove,not songcraft so much."Jane Is A Groupee" lives more on the psychedelic shore.The bonus cuts here don't reveal much more then the album does.The major players here?Jerry Martini and Cynthia Robinson are miked up especially high and really punch through."Life" is right about where soul met funk at the crossroads of music and really laid down the groundwork for the upcoming funk onslaught that was Stand! .As the liner notes state 'Life' is often neglected not only because of it's place in Sly's catalog but because it has no big standout hit songs,the exact same problem that befell A Whole New Thing ,the band's debut.But you can sing along to everything here,dance to it and even if it's not very carefully constructed it has a lot of wonderful things to say lyrically as well.So as is true with any definition of the word 'Life' is worth all the time you put into it.
10. Dance To The Music (Single Version In Mono) 2:57
11. Higher (Unissued Single Version In Mono) 2:53
12. Soul Clappin' 2:38
13. We Love All 4:30
14. I Can't Turn You Loose 3:33
15. Never Do Your Woman Wrong (Instrumental) 3:33
Bass, Vocals – Larry Graham
Drums – Gregg Errico
uitar, Vocals – Freddy Stone
Keyboards, Vocals – Rose Stone
Vocals, Keyboards, Guitar – Sly Stone
Trumpet – Cynthia Robinson
Vocals, Saxophone – Jerry Martini
Originally released in 1968.
Track 10 originally released as single A-side in 1967.
Track 12 from Dance To The Music 1995 CD reissue.
Tracks 11 and 13 to 15 previously unreleased.
In my humble opinion,the title track that starts off this album is one of the most perfect pop and soul songs ever recorded!!!It blasts right into existance,spotlights each musician and who can't sing it?It's a MUSICAL DIRECTIVE that's been going on for generation after generation.Obviously one doesn't expect the rest of this album to be able to keep up.But BY GOLLY IT DOES and with plenty more to burn;as an album,but purely a single 'Dance To The Music' is leaps ahead of A Whole New Thing in terms of songwriting and even energym,plenty of which is present on that debut.So what exactly does Sly do here?He just makes sure people who loved the classic single and bought this album hoping to hear more got JUST THAT!"Higher" is also enormous fun-so fresh,bouncy and carnavalesqe that Sly elected to UTTERLY transform it for another big hit on Stand! (you know the one).Then there's "Dance To The Medley"-the title track fleshed out and extended into a KILLER twelve minutes jam where the musicians don't just get spotlighted but DISTINCT SOLOS (Larry Graham's crackling fuzz bass being the highlite of course)and what comes next?Yet MORE catchy,hook filled funky tunes to make you DANCE "Ride The Rhythm",Color Me True","Are You Ready",the more creeping psychedelia of "Don't Burn Baby" and "I'll Never Fall In Love Again".And the bonus cuts?Well aside from th single edit of the title song and "Higher" you get "Soul Clappin","We Love All", the amazing "I Can't Turn You Loose" (don't know why it didn't make the final cut) and 'Never Do Your Woman Wrong",so it's all more more MORE!!!!So 'Dance To The Music' is not only Sly's greatest early album but actually not a bad place to get an introduction to his music.And try to listen to this album,stay still and NOT BE ABLE to avoid breaking out in a sweat!If Amazon let me give this twenty stars,that wouldn't be enough!!!Amazing!!
Sly & the Family Stone came into their own with their second album, Dance to the Music. This is exuberant music, bursting with joy and invention. If there's a shortage of classic material, with only the title track being a genuine classic, that winds up being nearly incidental, since it's so easy to get sucked into the freewheeling spirit and cavalier virtuosity of the group. Consider this -- prior to this record no one, not even the Family Stone, treated soul as a psychedelic sun splash, filled with bright melodies, kaleidoscopic arrangements, inextricably intertwined interplay, and deft, fast rhythms. Yes, they wound up turning "Higher" into the better "I Want to Take You Higher" and they recycle the title track in the long jam "Dance to the Medley," but there's such imagination to this jam that the similarities fade as they play. And, if these are just vamps, well, so are James Brown's records, and those didn't have the vitality or friendliness of this. Not a perfect record, but a fine one all the same.
Desspite the strength of their overlooked debut _A Whole New Thing_, it wasn't until their second LP _Dance to the Music_ that everything came together for this multi-gender, multi-racial aggregation. This is just one of those albums where everything comes together perfectly and everything works. There are no weak songs to be found: even the extended length "Dance to the Medley", and the mid-tempo "Never Will I Fall in Love Again" never let the energy and excitement flag even for a moment. This is about as good a funk album as has ever been created, and although it verges on blasphemy, I'd rank this right up there with the best of James Brown's funk output. It's just that good. What sets Sly and Co. apart is that they were able to effortlessly span genres while creating danceable, funky music that just makes you feel good. They're a little bit rock, a little bit soul, a little bit psychedelic, and a whole lotta funky. The quality of the musicianship is uniformly high, but the fact that Sly is also a brilliant, idiosyncratic lyricist is often overlooked. This is just highly enjoyable, upbeat, feel great music, the likes of which no longer seems to exist.
14. Let Me Hear It From You (Single Version In Mono) 3:30
15. Only One Way Out Of This Mess 3:53
16. What Would I Do 4:07
17. You Better Help Yourself (Instrumental) 2:19
Bass, Vocals – Larry Graham
Drums – Greg Errico
Guitar, Vocals – Freddy Stone
Keyboards, Vocals – Rose Stone
Vocals, Keyboards, Guitar – Sly Stone
Saxophone, Vocals – Jerry Martini
Trumpet – Cynthia Robinson
In truth, this is Sly's best album, an unrecognized wonder, a great lost album. After this bold new work, his music became simpler, here it begins at its most clever and ambitious. What sets it apart from his subsequent output is how eclectic and highly arranged his songs are. It's 1967. Sly is opening up his kind of R&B-- just as the British Invasion opened up the rock/pop song in general. He had already worked with the Beau Brummells, the first American band to respond to the British Invasion. He was a music major in college, so his beginning the disc with a minor key "Frere Jacques" was a conscious borrowing from Mahler...!
The album is consistently strong. Listen to how tight and varied and "Advice" and "Dog" are-- as Sly keeps the beat, but puts the tune through one change after another. Has anyone else written songs like these? Not that I've heard. Wonderful use of the different voices, distinct and blended. Two excellent touching slow ballads: "Let me Hear it from you" (sung by Larry Graham), and "That kind of person" (by Sly's brother, Freddie). Dig the insanely frantic "Turn Me Loose"-- which they used to attach to their equally frantic version of Otis Redding's "I Can't Turn You Loose." Great drumming! Great sound. Beautifully produced, by Sly.
But so many of these potent songs fall apart at the end... Sly didn't have the sense of an ending. And then-- is there a connection?-- he fell apart in the end, and became a druggy shadow of the talented wizard that he once was.
In the notes to this 2007 release (which includes 5 bonus tracks) we learn that the simplification in the subsequent single "Dance to the Music" was requested by David Kapralik, an executive at Epic, since this amazing first album had failed to achieve significant sales. Sly was much annoyed by this request to "dumb down" his music... but "snarled "OK, I'll give them something." That something was the simplified groove of "Dance to Music." Then came fame, fortune.... and major drugging.
In the next album, "Dance to the Music," only "I'll never fall in love again" is comparable to the superior songs found on the first album. The third album, "Life" is more enjoyable for getting beyond the numbing redundancy of DTTM. And in time, Sly will get to the major charms of "Hot Fun in the Summertime" and "Everybody is a star," as well as the power-house funk of "Sing a simple song."
In time, it also adds up to one of the sadder and more precipitous drug casualties. David Kapralik and cocaine have much to answer for...
But that first album really was a "whole new thing."
The reissue of these long-out-of-print late-’60s albums documents the birth of funk — the bastard offspring of gutbucket soul and psychedelic rock. The collected early works of Sylvester Stewart, a.k.a. Sly Stone, provide a musical bridge between James Brown’s bedrock grooves and George Clinton’s cosmic slop. A former DJ and veteran music-biz hustler, Sly is a supernaturally gifted band leader, arranger, player, producer, songwriter and onstage instigator. The lyrics of his catchy choruses tempered uplifting messages with urban reality; 11his flashy persona and streetwise cool set the style standard for the superbad, superslick early ’70s.
he Family Stone were a comfortable rainbow coalition: Sly’s brother Freddie Stone on guitar, sister Rosie on electric piano, cousin Larry Graham on bass and Greg Errico on drums, plus saxophonist Jerry Martini and trumpeter Cynthia Robinson. Their sound was democratic, too: Each instrumental voice was carefully articulated, always in step with the others. Everybody in the group sang, as one crucial Life track puts it, in perfect “Harmony.”
A Whole New Thing, the group’s 1967 debut, isn’t quite the genre-busting exercise its title promises. To contemporary ears, it more closely resembles a slightly. different thing: straight-up, pumping R&B flavored with some freaky trimmings — a fuzz-tone guitar blurt here (“Run, Run, Run,” “Trip to Your Heart”) some pointed protest lyrics there (“Underdog,” “Dog”). Even when these trappings feel a bit dated, the Family Stone’s boundless high energy, tight musicianship and soulful convictions get the motivating message across loud and clear.
Twenty-seven years later, the title track of Dance to the Music provides a sure-fire jolt of pure adrenalin. Overall the album is uneven, but its highs are intense, prolonged, ecstatic. Earthy bass and drums put a spring in your step while seductive melodies and horn lines tickle your mind. Song titles like “Ride the Rhythm” and “Higher” are more than hooks — they’re statements of purpose. And Sly’s half-spoken and half-sung band introductions on “Dance to the Music” neatly prefigure the rise of rap. “All we need is a drummer,” he declares, “for people who only need a beat.”
Life is where Sly’s dazzling all-things-to-all-people vision snaps into full focus. “Dynamite!” explodes in a hailstorm of volatile, feedback-laced rock. “Plastic Jim,” “Into My Own Thing” and “Love City” connect hippie idealism to wickedly syncopated rhythms. And the joyously hedonistic party numbers — “Fun,” “M’Lady” — just won’t quit. When Sly testifies on “Life,” insisting that “you don’t have to come down” and “you don’t have to die before you live,” the ebullient music supports his spiritual tightrope walk.
The rest, as they say, is history: Sly and the Family Stone’s remaining career paralleled the rise and fall of the baby-boom counterculture. They peaked at Woodstock in ’69, bottomed out after There’s a Riot Goin’ On in ’71 and eventually broke up. Sly Stone remains a spectral presence on the contemporary scene, a troubling rumor at best, though his profound influence can be felt every time you turn on a radio. While the man may not have survived the ’60s intact, surely his music has endured beyond all expectations.
Reeds, Woodwind – Bob Tricarico (tracks: A1, B1a to B2)
Reeds, Woodwind – Eric Dolphy (tracks: B1a, B1b, B2)
Reeds, Woodwind – Garvin Bushell (tracks: B1b)
Reeds, Woodwind – George Marge (tracks: A1)
Reeds, Woodwind – Jerome Richardson (tracks: B2)
Reeds, Woodwind – Steve Lacy (tracks: B1a to B2)
Reeds, Woodwind – Wayne Shorter (tracks: A1)
Trombone – Frank Rehak (tracks: A1)
Trombone – Jimmy Cleveland (tracks: B1a to B2)
Trombone – Tony Studd (tracks: B1b, B2)
Trumpet – Bernie Glow (tracks: B1b)
Trumpet – Ernie Royal (tracks: B2)
Trumpet – Johnny Coles (tracks: B1b, B2)
Trumpet – Louis Mucci (tracks: B2)
Tuba – Bill Barber (tracks: A1, B1b)
B1a, B2 Recorded September, 1963 at A&R Studios, New York City
A2 & B1b Recorded April 6, 1964 at Webster Hall, New York City
A1 Recorded July 9, 1964 at Van Gelders Recording Studio, Englewood Cliffs, N.J.
Born with the Victorian-sounding name Ian Ernest Gilmore Green, and first marketed by major record labels in the 1960’s as a middle-aged hipster in a business suit, Gil Evans … was a unique American artist who rebelled against stereotypes of class and race. Born in Canada of Australian parentage in 1912, Evans was raised mainly in California. He seemed to live with a spirit that was marked by the Californian dream in its purest form: to create the impossible in everyday life, through means that are both peaceful and sensual. It was this humble fire, expressed through an unpretentious demeanor and relentless musical curiosity, which fueled Evans' works and won him the respect of such younger rebels of the 1940’s Jazz scene as Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Gerry Mulligan and Max Roach.
As Richard Cook and Brian Morton observe in The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 6th Ed.: “Evans’ name is famously an anagram of Svengali and Gil spent much of his career shaping the sounds and musical philosophies of younger musicians. … His peerless voicings are instantly recognizable.
Beginning with New Bottle, Old Wine with its very revealing subtitle - “The Great Jazz Composers Interpreted by Gil Evans - and continuing with his orchestrations for Miles Davis on their Columbia epochal associations including Miles Ahead and Porgy and Bess, my repeated listening to Gil’s arrangements revealed a relaxed sophistication, use of very simple materials, and lots of open measures and other forms of space that created a texture in his music that was unlike any other that I’d ever heard before - and with the rare exception - since.
By the time of its issuance in 1964 The Individualism of Gil Evans represented a major step away from the close Columbia collaboration that Gil had formed with Miles and a major step into his own music on Verve [and later Impulse!] which allowed the sonority of Evans’ arrangements to become even more pronounced.
As Stephanie Stein Crease explains in her definitive biography Gil Evans Out of the Cool: His Life and Music:
“ … Gil held his own first recording session for Verve with Creed Taylor as producer in September 1963. Gil lucked out with Taylor (founder of the Impulse! label and producer of Out of the Cool). Arriving at Verve not long before, Taylor made an immediate splash as producer of the first wildly successful bossa nova records (with Stan Getz, Antonio Carlos Jobim, and Joao and Astrud Gilberto), including "The Girl from Ipanema." Verve gave Taylor carte blanche, which he passed along to Gil. Gil was allowed the number of musicians and recording time he wanted. He was even able to record some sketches on studio time—an unheard-of luxury for a composer/arranger. Gil was also allowed to record one or two pieces at a time, whenever he had something ready, instead of conceiving of an entire album beforehand. Taylor was confident that an album would eventually materialize if he gave Gil free reign.
At the first session, Gil recorded two of his own compositions, "Flute Song" and "El Toreador," It wasn't until April 1964 that he recorded another two arrangements; then, in the following six months he recorded six new arrangements for large ensembles and several sketches with a quartet. The resulting album became The Individualism of Gil Evans, released in late 1964.
The album contains some of Gil's best music on record. Selections include Kurt Weill's "The Barbara Song" and four Evans originals: "Las Vegas Tango," "Flute Song," "Hotel Me," and "El Toreador." Several of the musicians, including Johnny Coles, Steve Lacy, Al Block, Jimmy Cleveland, Tony Studd, Bill Barber, Elvin Jones, and Paul Chambers, played on all the sessions, preserving a consistency in the textures, mood, and overall sound. Other stellar personnel—Eric Dolphy on various woodwinds, Wayne Shorter on tenor, Phil Woods on alto, and Kenny Burrell on guitar—were on hand for some sessions and recorded with Gil for the first time. Gil plays piano on every track, and his performance, particularly on "The Barbara Song," functions as an indicator of his conceptual direction. On the Weill song, the mood is full of pathos, with Wayne Shorter's tenor sax taking up the cry. "El Toreador," built on one chord, sounds like a development of one of the Barracuda cues; Johnny Coles's plaintive trumpet is the foremost voice, cutting through the rumblings of the low brass and three acoustic basses and a whirring tremolo in the high reeds.
The musicianship on all the Verve sessions is of the highest order. The musicians dig deeply into the music, both as soloists and as ensemble players. Again there is an Ellingtonian parallel; the musical personalities are so strong on these recordings that horn voicings and ensemble passages are characterized by the collective sound of the people playing them.”
And here are excerpts from Gene Lees’ original liner notes to The Individualism of Gil Evans:
"The gifted young composer, arranger, and critic Bill Mathieu once wrote of Gil Evans: "The mind reels at the intricacy of his orchestral and developmental techniques. His scores are so careful, so formally well-constructed, so mindful of tradition that you feel the originals should be preserved under glass in a Florentine museum."
Mathieu's feelings about Evans are not unusual. Without doubt the most individualistic and personal jazz composer since Duke Ellington, Evans is held in near-reverence by a wide range of composers, arrangers, instrumentalists, and critics. This feeling is only intensified by the fact that he is a rather inaccessible man — not unfriendly, or anti-social; just politely, quietly inaccessible — whose output has been small, and all of it is indeed remarkable.
What is it that makes Evans' work unique? This is impossible to say in mere words, but with your indulgence, I'm going to try to clarify some of it. What I want to say is not for the professional musician but the layman; the pros are invited to skip the new few paragraphs.
Every "song" is built of two primary components: its melody and its harmony. Rhythm is the third major factor, but I want to confine myself to the first two.
As the melody is played, a certain sequence of chords occurs beneath it. Now the bottom note of these chords sets up a sort of melody of its own. This is referred to as the "bass line" and it has great importance to the texture and flavor of the music. As a first step to the appreciation of Gil Evans, try not hearing the melody but listening to the bass line on some of these tracks.
Between the bass note and the melody note fall the other notes of the chord. You can put them down in a slap-dash fashion, so that you've got merely chords occurring in sequence like a line of telephone poles holding up the wire of melody; or you can link the inner notes of one chord to the inner notes of the next one, setting up still other melodies within the music. These new lines are called the "inner voices" of the harmonization. How well he handles inner voices is one of the measures of a composer's or an arranger's writing skill.
Gil's handling of them is often astonishing. His original melody, his bass line, and his inner lines are always exquisite. The result is that one of Gil's scores is faintly analogous to a crossword puzzle: it can be "read" both vertically (up through the chords) or horizontally in the form of ihe various melodies he sets up. Heard both ways simultaneously, his music can be breathtaking.
That's part of it. Another and important part is his use of unusual instrumentations. Evans has virtually abandoned the standard jazz instrumentation of trumpets - trombones - saxes. He uses flutes, oboes, English horns (the standard classical woodwinds), along with French horns and a few of the conventional jazz instruments to extend the scope of the jazz orchestra. Evans was one of the first to use French horns in jazz, in the days when he was chief arranger for the celebrated Claude Thornhill orchestra. Not only does Gil use "non-jazz" instruments (usually played by jazz players, however), but he puts them together in startling ways, to create unearthly and fresh lovely sounds.
Finally, there's his sense of form, of logical construction. Everything he writes builds to sound and aesthetically satisfying climaxes, beautifully developing the previously-stated material. I know of no one in jazz with a more highly-developed sense of form than Gil Evans.
Yet, with all his gifts, Gil is oddly down-to-earth about his music. Once, when I told him that some people were having trouble deciding whether an album he had done with Miles Davis was classical music or jazz, he said, "That's a merchandiser's problem, not mine." Another time he said, "I write popular music." What he meant, of course, is that he wanted no part of pointless debates about musical categorizations; that he was making no claims on behalf of his music; and that since that music grew out of the traditions of American popular music, he was content to call it that.
On another occasion he said, "I'm just an arranger" This comment I reject. Even when Gil is working with other people's thematic material, what he does to it constitutes composition. …
To say that this album has been long-awaited is no cliche. It is the first Gil Evans recording in three years. "I stayed away from music for two years!' he said. "I wanted to look around and see what was happening in the world outside of music."
The Individualism of Gil Evans is my favourite Gil Evans CD…even without the bonus tracks that more than double its playing time. 13m 46s of Spoonful is enough for me to up its rating by ½ a star! It’s consistently the most soulful of all the Gil Evans recordings I own.
The opening Time Of The Barracudas is the first of the bonus tracks and is simply hilarious. Elvin Jones is relentless in his attempt to drive the band – but the band can only dip and dabble in such a way as refuses to be driven: a most incongruous match that works wonderfully. At the close, Elvin Jones just drifts to a halt satisfied that he’s done his job even if none of the band seemed to take any notice of him – not even the bass player! Wayne Shorter and Kenny Burrel solo and are always dependable (I love the occasional echo on the guitar). but it’s Elvin Jones who is ever present. The harp at the end is a nice touch.
What a moody opener The Barbara Song must have made if this is now the correct running order. Evans plays his plinkety plonk piano against some of his most mournful arrangements. (The low-register flute-vibrato sounds like an old sound modulator and reminds me of side two of Bowie’s Low album). Jones could have busied himself like he did on the previous number but plays super-minimalistic brushes instead.
I was familiar with Robert Wyatt’s version of Las Vegas Tango before I’d ever heard this one. (His has to be heard to be believed!) This is as mournful as the previous one but is buoyed up by Jones’ Latin tango. The upward theme played on the oboe (or is it a bassoon?) and echoed by the piano, is the most memorable part of the piece. The pep section is a little grating – even more so the fanfares that follow the edit, making the final result a little uneven.
The sombre mood returns where Flute Song begins but soon gives way to a backbeat blues with a ridiculous fluttering accompaniment over which Evans bashes his piano. It’s almost a bad joke but weaving in and out are the flutes and somewhere at the back; Dolphy’s bass clarinet. It doesn’t work perfectly but it’s unusual and has some soul though slightly too long, perhaps. (At one point Evans piano is cut off by an edit suggesting his parts have been added later).
At 3m 30s, El Toreador is never given the chance to go anywhere and sounds like an intro to something that failed to happen. But it fits well into the general mood as Thad Jones playful trumpet seems to mock its grim orchestration. Only Gil Evans could think up something like this. It’s followed by Proclamation; only slightly longer and a companion piece. This time Shorter noodles and Evans rounds things off. These mood pieces wouldn’t bear being extended but make interesting little interludes instead.
Nothing Like You seems a little out of place here: To be generous, it’s a welcome change but is less interesting than most of what has gone before. It ups the tempo but only as fast as the tempo gets anywhere on Miles Ahead...to give you an idea. Anyway Shorter solos and it’s all over in 2 and a ½ minutes.
I’ve never heard MJQ play John Lewis’ Concorde but this arrangement is a minor miracle. Evans exploits the melody to the full, passing it around amongst the instruments - fugue like - and venturing into some ferocious polyphony. Although the trumpet, sax and bass all contribute solos, it’s this rich tapestry that holds the attention.
Alluded to earlier; Spoonful is perhaps my favourite Gil Evan's arrangement. According to the liner notes he had his doubts about it but was persuaded to release it in its full, unedited glory. It’s a slow downbeat blues that restrains itself to the point of cruelty before finally releasing itself orgasmic like with a walking trombone and a two note theme so understated as to conquer all. Kenny Burrel, Thad Jones and Wayne Shorter all play with elegant poise inspired by Evans magnificent scoring. Burrel is so far behind the beat he’s a lost soul: Thad Jones doesn’t need a fancy technique as less is more and Shorter with no extraneous elaboration takes it to the climax. Evans interpretation of the blues reaches its apotheosis here in the way his harmonies treat the simplest of two not phrases over and over without ever sounding bland. When it’s over he skits up and down the keyboard as if to say; “nowhere else to go, let’s call it a day”.
The title of the Meters' final album is hopeful, and New Directions does indeed represent if not a new direction, at least a shift from the disco dead end of Trick Bag. From the second "No More Okey Doke" kicks off the record, it's clear that the Meters are gritty again, kicking out some really funky grooves -- maybe not as dirty as their Josie recordings, maybe a little cleaned up, but still pretty funky. The slower numbers betray their era, but in a pleasing way, something that's also true of generic numbers like "My Name Up in Lights," which may have too much talk-box guitar, but still grooves effectively. That may not be a new direction, per se, but it is a welcome change-up after the dud Trick Bag. It wasn't enough to save the Meters and it's not really a lost treasure, but it's a far more dignified way to bow out.
06. (Doodle Loop) The World Is A Little Bit Under The Weather 3:50
07. Trick Bag 3:19
08. Mister Moon 4:00
09. Chug-A-Lug 3:20
10. Hang 'Em High / Honky Tonk Woman 5:35
Ziggy Modeliste – drums
Art Neville – keyboards, vocals
Cyril Neville – congas, percussion, vocals
Leo Nocentelli – guitar, backing vocals
George Porter, Jr. – bass guitar
Kenneth "Afro" Williams – percussion
Tony Owens – backing vocals
Terry Smith – backing vocals
Earl King – father's vocals (track 7)
Powered by the wonderful Leo Necentelli on guitar, George Porter, Jr. on bass, Joseph “Zigaboo” Modeliste on drums, Cyril Neville on drums, and Art Neville on keyboards, this band put together some high-powered music that, aside from the classic “Cissy Strut,” never charted as high as it should have.
This release of the 1976 album shows a band at its peak. Disco was just getting under way, and the band pays tribute with the opener “Disco is the Thing Today.” It’s an okay cut, thankfully, it’s the only straight-ahead disco track and it just helps to highlight how good the rest of the tracks were. The slow funk of “Find Yourself” has a killer groove with Nocentelli giving a clinic on the “popcorn” funk guitar style. On cuts like this one and “I Want to Be Loved By You,” Porter shows off some hellacious bass chops while really holding the groove in line. In fact, the rhythm section work thoughout is amazing! Nocentelli, by the way, is much more than a one-trick pony. Check out the gorgeous octave and single-line work on an instrumental version of James Taylor’s “Suite for 20 G.” Incredible stuff. They also re-do “Hang ‘Em High,” the spaghetti western classic, in a Santana-esque groove where he also shines. And, their cover of “Honky Tonk Women” showcases not just Leo’s rock chops, but the entire band’s. The set also has a blistering version of Earl King’s “Trick Bag.” Monster stuff.
For me, over the years, this is as or maybe even slightly more enjoyable than Rejuvenation. It's kind of funny, since these are the Meters albums I started with about 20 years ago, being a Galactic fan and knowing they were influenced by the Meters and covered their music. These days I consider the later albums with vocals to be more of a footnote to what I consider the classics most representative of their fame: the first couple of slabs that are all instrumentals. That said, there are lots of staple songs on their mid-70's albums that are super funky, full of that great Toussaint production, and very satisfying.
I think the thing that some of the other lukewarm reviews miss is that, though they're lauded as "funk pioneers," The Meters were never really trying to be Parliament, or even Sly & The Family Stone--they started out as more of an instrumental R&B group, and throughout their tenure can really best be described as a foundational New Orleans group.
The reason I bring this up is because this album is probably their most "New Orleans," a concept that can be a little difficult to grasp if you haven't been to the city or steeped yourself in the culture and/or music through research or watching something like Tremé. In my understanding, at least, the representative New Orleans sound is both distinctive but also indistinct, because by definition it's a creole mixture of jazz particular to New Orleans, cajun music, Caribbean music, blues, and later things like funk and rock--the Meters' music is not only informed by all of this, but it also helped develop it and added more nuances that have since become essential elements of the brew. Their music isn't that widely known worldwide, but in New Orleans they are universal and commonplace--you'll hear bands covering them, hear their recordings in cafés, hear other people's recordings of their songs, hear their songs in parades etc., all the time.
I guess this is just a roundabout way of saying that it's tempting in the RYM world to put the band in the "funk" box and demand that their sound be located and judged against the leading lights of that sound, but instead of space-age funk with flying saucers and synthesizers, the Meters were always more organic and just doing a funky New Orleans thing rather than attempting to adhere to some critic's artificial funk orthodoxy.
So, on Fire on the Bayo we get some echoes of their early albums' R&B funkiness, but also some very New Orleans songs like "Talkin' 'Bout New Orleans," "They All Ask'd for You," and "Mardi Gras Mambo," which sound goofy, not funky, and like novelty tunes if you're expecting James Brown funk workouts, but make perfect sense located in the band's New Orleans heritage. The band elsewhere gets down and funky Rejuvenation-style with tracks like "Fire on the Bayou," "Love Slip Upon Ya," "Can You Do Without?" and "Liar," and places in-between on the folksy R&B "Out in the Country" (love that chord progression) and the jazzy guitar workout "Middle of the Road." I really love how well this album exudes the New Orleans spirit--musically as well as lyrically, extolling the virtues of great food, bayou living, and Mardi Gras.
So, while you might be listening to this lumped in context with the entire history of funk music, and it might not meet the standard of what you think funk must or "must not sound like" (major eye roll), you should also understand that that's not what the Meters were concerned with, and New Orleans loves this music just the way it is and couldn't give less of a shit if it doesn't sound like it follows the rules that you decided all good funk music needs to follow. As always, it's in the ears of the behearer but I think a little context is due for this record--check out The Wild Tchoupitoulas for another classic slab of (perhaps frustratingly to your ears) multi-stylistic New Orleans stew, with the Meters playing backing band and vocals by a Mardi Gras Indians tribe.
I prefer the METERS to the NEVILLE's... this album, however, is the perfect middle ground
ZIg's drum beats aren't as over the top, and its not the "Booker T. and the MGs only way funkier" INSTRUMENTAL soul of the METERS... but rather a FUNKY N'awleans Rock and Soul band - - that happens to be driven by the METERS... has more of a '70s disco/fatback beat (and sometimes even Doobie/Southern Rock influence), and the Neville's trademark sweet vocalizations thrown in... but is still the Meters ("Love Slip Upon You" being my favorite cut - - and "Fire on the Bayou" with its red hot rhythm and grimey Hammond being the deserved fan fave !) - - in addition, though not all the tunes are great, many not only show new directions for the band, but suggest new directions for music in general (!)
That said, warning... its not the old instrumental gutbucket METERS sound, the band definitely funks out on half the tracks... Typical to the NEVILLE BOTHERS stuff, there's some eclecticism... including a calypso meets New Orleans/Southern Rock ditty called "They All Ask'd For You", which would probably appeal just as much to a Randy Newman fan as would "Talkin' About New Orleans" - - "Liar" is also funky, but would appeal just as much to the Steve Miller Set, and "You're A Friend of Mine" is a nice ballad, but definitely ain't your typical Meter's bag... On the other hand, check out what starts out as a Wes Montgomery influenced funk/groove thing, then goes in a contemporary Jazz directions and though definitely NOT typical METER shows the interesting directions the band was taking at the time... The 1'27 "Running Fast" in contrast sounds almost like something like The Ohio Players meets early EWF, only ... as played by... well the Neville's with that distinct riff rhythm guitar/organ mix that was there's alone... and, surprise, surprise... album ends with... a Mardis Gras ditty.
All and all, if you've never heard this album, but have collected most of the Meter's early stuff, expect to be shocked. If you like Dr. John and The Neville's, but are also a true blue funkateer, you'll dig it... the key element here is a person's willingness to go from Cissy Strut to a such a totally different direction...
Lowell George – slide guitar on "Just Kissed My Baby"
The Meters cut their first three mostly instrumental albums with Josie Records, before signing with Reprise and recording 1972's Cabbage Alley, their first album to feature mostly vocal songs and arrangements. Rejuvenation is the follow-up album. It was produced by Allen Toussaint and recorded at his brand new Sea-Saint Studios in New Orleans. Some of the songs on the album include horn section arrangements by Toussaint.
The front cover artwork features a photograph of a woman sitting on a couch alongside several record albums strewn about her living room, such as Allen Toussaint's 1972 Life, Love and Faith as well as the Meters' own previous LP Cabbage Alley.
By the mid-70s, The Meters, who had risen to prominence as Allen Toussaint’s backing band, were stretching out their grooves. Rejuvenation, their fifth album, marks the point when the New Orleans four-piece became simply unassailable as a tight funk unit. Their dense, repetitive sound, which placed the rhythm section at its very centre, had earned them a mighty reputation. Mick Jagger, no less, was to say that they were “the best motherf****** band in the world”. So although there is material here with the brevity and snap of their legendary early hit, Cissy Strut, Rejuvenation represents a febrile merger of funk and swamp rock.
People Say, Hey Pocky A-Way and Just Kissed My Baby sway and strut – this is beautiful, less-is-more music. What’cha Say is the template for The Blockheads’ sound, and they weren’t the only ones listening. Africa is the most successful track here – chiming with the great 70s Roots-inspired quest for African heritage, it’s almost the sound of stamping feet making their passage back to the motherland. Its skittering, hard-edged beats were tremendously inspirational – the Red Hot Chili Peppers renamed it Hollywood, got George Clinton in to produce and kick-started their career in the mid-80s with it.
Having Art Neville as a vocalist meant The Meters simply were not just a groove band. Song-based material includes Love Is for Me which, with its sweet, soulful female backing vocals, sounds like some lost Atlantic B side from a decade earlier.
It Ain’t No Use shows the debt that Eric Clapton’s records, too, owed to The Meters. By the time it gets into its jamming section – it is nearly 12-minutes long – it has become a showcase for Joseph Modeliste’s remarkable drumming, coming across like a funk Keith Moon. Neville’s block piano chords, Leo Nocentelli’s niggling guitar and George Porter Jr’s bass take this to a far trippier place. Only Loving You Is on My Mind’s cheery, straight-ahead groove seems somewhat superfluous.
If you only wish ever to hear one swamp-soul album, then make this it: Rejuvenation is the epitome of groove-laden, hook-rich, in-your-face funk. Its swagger and strut make it sound remarkably contemporary to 21st century ears.
This album I highly recommend to any fans of James Brown, or Stevie Wonder. The main difference between those artists and The Meters is The Meters have a less slick produced sound that hits you in the gut and you can't keep still. If you can listen to this album without moving something you may wanna check your pulse cuz you may be dead!
This album contains many of the classic tunes by the band such as "People Say"," I Just Kissed My Baby", "Jungle Man" "Africa" and "Hey Pokey A Way". Several of these tunes have been covered by other big names such as The Red Hot Chili Peppers who took the tune Africa and slightly changed the lyrics from Africa to Hollywood. They also covered "Jungle Man" on that same album "Freaky Styley". If you are a fan of funk music than you should definitely own this album. In my opinion everything comes together for The Meters on this album. The performances are full of energy, the production is clean with a nice recorded sound. Check this out if you want to smile while nodding your head.
Drums, Cowbell, Wood Block – Joseph (Zig) Modeliste
Guitar, Tambourine – Leo Nocentelli
Organ, Piano, Cowbell, Tambourine, Vocals – Arthur (Art) Neville
Producer – Allen Toussaint
The Meters' first album for big league label Reprise. The music is a bit more polished than their Josie-output, but not in an intrusive, off-setting way.
Nothing polished about the funk here, to be sure. Right off the bat, The Meters come crashing down hard with the electrifide jungle funk opener "You've Got to Change (You've Got to Reform)", a chugging rhythm riot pumped by George Porter's deep, bellowing bass.
"Stay Away" takes groovalistic mayhem a step further: a super syncopated jam that manages to go all over the place without losing the groove... Check out Porter and drummer Zigaboo Modeliste's interlocking brilliance, especially on the chorus.
A Neil Young ballad may not seem proper Meters material at first glance, but "Birds" is indeed a wonderfully executed, soothing and soulful effort: Nocentelli's teary-eyed guitar lines and Art Neville's tormented vocal deliver the goods.
The Meters combine the sweet with the sweat most aptly on the instrumental "The Flower Song", which is broken down in a slightly calypso-induced, dreamy, mellow part and a big city hunk of funk bridge.
Caribbean vibes are most evident on the infinitely infectious summer jam "Soul Island", while there's a return to greasy gutbucket funkin' rock with the stuttering groove of "Do the Dirt".
Art Neville stretches out on his Hammond on the instrumental, mid-paced beater "Smiling" - which also captures one of Leo Nocentelli's sharpest guitar solos - but the mood suddenly changes when the group delves into the sobering, introspective jazzy ballad "Lonesome and Unwanted People", where the gospel influence is evident as well.
The album nonetheless ends in a grand finale of dirty, Nawlins-styled funk: the self-explanatory "Gettin' Funkier All the Time" brings back the jungle groove, and the band's take on Professor Longhair's Big Easy classic "Cabbage Alley" really is the icing on the cake. Brilliantly rollicking piano riffs, plodding drums, swampy guitars and chant-like vocalizing make this one of The Meter's most satisfying recordings that offers a perfect glimpse of the New-Orleans Funk style they monopolized.
Leaving Josie for Reprise did change the Meters, even if the change wasn't necessarily for the better. They became slicker, jammier, and, in the conventional sense, funkier, even if the grit seemed to start to dissipate. So, even if this is just the Meters' fourth album, Cabbage Alley does mark a sea-change in their outlook, bringing them fully into the '70s and finding them sacrificing feel for texture, even if that's a very subtle transition. Part of the problem is that the group doesn't really have any good songs to hang their sounds onto, but, if you're looking just for sounds and groove, Cabbage Alley doesn't disappoint. The Meters' overall feel might have gotten a little softer than necessary, but they still are a remarkably sympathetic, supple group and it's a pleasure to hear them play. Still, there's not much here outside of hearing them play, and while that's pretty great, it's hard not to wish that there were songs, even when they delve into smooth soul like "Birds" or when the group simply jams on mid-tempo grooves, that stood out from the pack. [Some reissues added two bonus tracks -- both parts of "Chug Chug Chug-A-Lug (Push and Shove)."]
To anyone already familiar with The Meters from their three seminal Josie albums - "The Meters" (May 1969), "Look-Ka Py Py" (December 1969), and "Struttin'" (June 1970) - "Cabbage Alley," (May 1972), the band's debut for the the Reprise label, must have felt like a radical departure. More than half of its ten tracks feature vocals, and the exploratory mood and stylistic range display a band evolving creatively and unafraid to take risks. During the Josie era (which began with the first of nearly a dozen hit singles, 'Sophisticated Cissy', in the Fall of 1968), and closed with Josie's bankruptcy less than three years later), The Meters' effortless telepathy and dazzling rhythmic inventiveness helped shape 'funk' and revitalized the New Orleans r & b scene, producing 50 or so tracks, nearly every one a marvel of concision and creativity within a tight formal framework. Clearly, "Cabbage Alley" was deliberately intended to be heard as a unified album, and unlike the Josie classics, features no obvious hit singles ('Do The Dirt', a funky near-sendup of dance records, bombed). Sundazed, which has reissued the entire Meters catalog, includes two bonus tracks from a killer single issued early in 1973, a few months after this album, "Chug Chug Chug-A-Lug (Push N' Shove) Parts 1 & 2." They are a highlight of this expanded edition.
In retrospect, and after hearing The Meters' late period Josie singles only recently collected on the "Zony Mash" CD, these changes seem less surprising. When the Meters had national hits with their early classics "Sophisticated Cissy" (November 1968), its even more successful followup "Cissy Strut" (March '69), "Look Ka Py Py" (October '69) and the rest, black music was still primarily marketed to a singles market. Curtis Mayfield, Stevie Wonder, Sly & The Family Stone, and Marvin Gaye were all instrumental in a shift towards using the album as unified artistic statement. Also, the Sundazed reissue campaign has made it clear that the Meters' integration of lyrics, vocals, additional percussion, and influences ranging from rock (Hendrix, the Stones), Caribbean, Kenny Burrell, and beyond are already evident in those later Josie recordings. "Struttin'" offered several tracks with group vocals ("Handclapping Song") or solo leads by Art Neville ("Darling Darling Darling"). And the revelatory collection "Zony Mash," a previously unissued fourth Josie album of sorts, collects both a- and b-sides of four Josie singles issued after "Struttin'," between September 1970 and September 1971, and these non-album sides include killer instrumentals like the wah-wah driven funk of "Zony Mash" and "Sassy Lady" as well as vocal tracks such as "Message From The Meters" and the structurally complex "I Need More Time" clearly predict directions the band was exploring before they signed with Reprise. What is perhaps most distinctive about "Cabbage Alley" is the sound - Ziggy Modeliste's drums on those Josie albums is bone dry, hard, with a visceral presence that enhances his astonishing, always shifting rhythm patterns, atop deep bass grooves by George Porter and the direct presentation of Leo Nocentelli's arsenal of effects - chicken scratch funk rhythm, jazzy Wes Montgomery-inspired soloing, stinging yet dry lead statements. And always, the churning, rhythmic organ of Art Neville. On "Cabbage Alley" the mix is cleaner (even when the music is grungey), Modeliste's kit sound less resonant. This approach makes it the perfect transitional work before the group's Reprise-era masterpiece, "Rejuvenation" (1974). Once one gets used to the differences however, "Cabbage Alley," though slightly uneven (how could so eclectic a work not be?) proves highly rewarding.
Even when the material is slight, the performances as welll as the musical textures offer fascinating listening. "Cabbage Alley" opens with a pair of hard rockers written by Nocentelli - each running over five minutes. "You Got To Change" suggests hard rock influenced by Led Zeppelin and Band Of Gypsys, but the dense interplay of guitars, various percussion instruments (and yes, Cyril Neville, who appears here, was already adding congas to the later Josie singles), keyboards, and the never-static rhythm section stamp this as an invigorating, listenable funk gem with a long, improvisational instumental section (think of the Stones' "Can't You Hear Me Knocking" meets "Voodoo Chile") that fades too soon. "Stay Away" despite a pedestrian lyric, simply amazes - Leo Nocentelli had likely heard early Funkadelic, but the virtuosity and imagination - instrumental and production - on display here create a powerful soundscape with hallucinatory, dub-like effects. After these two heavy hitters Art's interpretation of Neil Young's gorgeous "Birds" is a dramatic shift, and Leo follows this this with the jazzy, mellow (but splendid) instrumental "Flower Song." "Do The Dirt" is a return to simpler themes, musically and lyrically, but it works as a funky, tongue-in-cheek dance number, at 2:35 the shortest track on the set. Art's "Smiling" is another solid instrumental that shows off the band's cohesive interplay. "Lonesome and Unwanted People" is Nocentelli's latest excercise in social commentary, musically stately and elegant. The lyrics are heartfelt,if not very subtle. My favorite track on the set is "Gettin' Funkier All The Time," and like many Meters songs it fades too soon for my taste; this deep groove stunner evokes Sly's "Riot" (and in a reigned-in way, Miles Davis circa '72), George Porter popping his bass while the whole band simply does what it does best, turning in an irresistable and virtuosic performance around a simple vamp. The original album closes with a splendid version of Professor Longhair's "Hey Now Baby" that doubles as title track. The two sided bonus single, "Chug Chug Chug-A Lug" (issued early in 1973), written by Modeliste and Nocentelli, elevates this set with an infectious groove that portends the more integrated funk of 1974's classic "Rejuvenation" while evoking the group's classic Josie hits, and both parts feature some terrific dirty soloing from Nocentelli.
All in all, this set may be off-putting at first to those familiar with the Meters' Josie classics, but deeper listening reveals marvelous telepathic interplay, and "Cabbage Alley" has given me much pleasure. Fortunately, the Meters still had more great music in them before they ended their career a few years later in bitterness and frustration.
As the third full-length album released by the Meters, Struttin' may not appear to be drastically different than its predecessors, at least not on the surface. After all, the title of the lead single "Chicken Strut" intentionally recalls their previous biggest "Cissy Strut," and it has the same basic Meters groove. And if the essential sound remains unchanged, that's because that organic, earthy funk is the Meters' signature. Other groups have tried to replicate it, but nobody ever played it better. Because of that, Struttin is an enjoyable record, even if it never quite feels like anything more focused than a series of jam sessions; after all, that's what it was. This time around, however, the Meters did make a conscious decision to emphasize vocals, and not just with shout-alongs on the chorus ("Chicken Strut," "Same Old Thing"), but with Art Neville's leads on covers of Ty Hunter's soulful uptown shuffle "Darling, Darling, Darling," Jimmy Webb's groovy ballad "Wichita Lineman," and Lee Dorsey's "Ride Your Pony" (the Meters provided support on the original recording). This gives the album a bit more diversity than its predecessors, which is welcome, even for devotees of the group's admittedly addictive sound. But the real difference is how the band seems willing to expand their signature sound. "Hand Clapping Song" is a spare, syncopated breakdown without an obvious through-line, while "Joog" turns the group's groove inside out. These variations are entertaining -- as entertaining as the vocals -- and the songs that are solidly in the Meters tradition are also fun. The results are pretty terrific, though given the fact that Struttin' never really pulls itself into a coherent album, it may be the kind of first-rate record only aficionados of the band will need to seek out.
The Meters' last album for local independent label Josie is another sure-shot marathon of sparse funk mastery. 'Struttin'' also is the final disc that has the band in a virtually complete instrumental mode - adding vocals was experimented with here - "Wichita Lineman" - but the bread and butter of The Meters' remained chant-heavy instru-funk.
This is best examplified by the crazy funk romp "Chicken Strut", a delicously bouncin' groove featuring some hilarious faux-chicken cackles and crows. And the beat goes on with such tasty New-Orleans vittles as "Liver Splash" - a bluesy, uptempo groove kicked in the rear by Porter's thumping bass pops - and the bare naked Louisiana swamp funk of "Joog", with drummer Modeliste's ultra-suspenseful beats and Art Neville's muddy organ wails.
Guitarist Nocentelli provides some razor sharp chanks on "Go for Yourself", a messy jam showcasing Art's organ skills. Aggressive, vicious funk returns with the heavy duty "Same Old Thing", which is drenched in Neville's thick-as-molasses Hammond riffs and propelled by Porter's percussive bass hooks. "Hand Clapping Song" may well rate as The Meters' most minimalistic of minimalist funk work-outs, with nothing more than drums, bass and Nocentelli's twangy guitar to counter the loud hand clapping throughout. It's back to the Big Easy with "Darlin' Darlin", where Art takes the lead vocal, turning in a cajun/funk/swamp thang best described as a boogie-ballad. Nocentelli's teasing, metallic, chipping guitar notes on "Tippi-Toes" gives this jam its edge, while The Meters' go for some serious Sly Stone soul rockin' on "Britches".But the heaviest funk is reserved for "Hey! Last Minute", a ruthless groovathon driven by Modeliste's fatback, in-the-pocket drumming, and a stupendous cover of Lee Dorsey's "Ride Your Pony". The Meters had backed Dorsey up on the original, and their own rendition is just as fiery.
It is most urgent for me to consistently remind myself that music, most often, didn’t just materialize from nowhere. Most urgent, especially, when confronted with an album or a band that sounds as if they arrived on the wings of some unseen miracle, like someone holy opened their palm somewhere, and out came the Meters, fully formed and already spiraling through a series of immersive grooves, each of them sounding like the birth of a new universe.
But the reality is that someone beat a drum somewhere once. Someone sounded an alarm with a voice that summoned another voice and then another. The reality is that the drums and the voices and the dancing might have taken place in American streets or in American fields, but these traditions were carried over by a people who were forced to be here, forced to work and build and care for land that wasn’t their land, families that were not their families. Their music and celebration was a reaction to that series of ongoing thefts.
And so, in New Orleans during the late-18th century, there were Sundays and Congo Square. For those people enslaved in the Spanish-dominated city, Sunday was treated as a day of rest. Enslaved peoples would take their free afternoon and gather right outside the city, the only place city leaders would allow them to congregate in groups. The space in which they gathered was originally given the name Place des Negres, and then Place Congo, and then Congo Square.
There, hundreds of enslaved Africans could gather to dance, to make music with bamboula drums, bells, gourds, banjos, the instruments of their hands and voice. These gatherings continued well after the Civil War, even when white officials attempted to quell the celebrations, in part by re-naming the area after Confederate general P.G.T. Beauregard. But the music and the dancing continued.
These gatherings held together the sounds and traditions of African music, but they also enlivened the ability for improvisation—to grant an improvisor and their audience a doorway to emotional and physical release, or freedom, however brief. For those who know, for those who have ascended to some place—literally or otherwise—with no firm plan on how to descend, improvisation, when aligned with other equally adventurous folks, can be exhilarating. A promise that for each moment you decide to reach your arms out into the air, another set of hands will emerge, ready to pull you along towards whatever is next.
By 1969, the Meters were New Orleans Notorious, a band that you’d heard even if you didn’t know you’d heard them. In their earliest forms, they played as the Neville Sounds: Art Neville (keyboards), his brothers Aaron and Cyril, George Porter Jr. (bass), Leo Nocentelli (guitar), and Ziggy Modeliste (drums). When Aaron and Cyril left, the foursome became the house band for Allen Toussaint at Sansu Studios by day and tore through the New Orleans club circuit by night. It’s always fascinating when a band releases two albums in close proximity, particularly in the same year, and particularly if the two albums are a debut and a so-called sophomore effort. There are those who say you are writing your first book or making your first album your entire life. That everything you’ve lived before the point of creation overflows and pours itself into that first creation. Thus, making any second effort more challenging, with a sometimes shorter timeline, a more shallow well of inspiration to pull from, and so on. But there are moments that feel like an artist is saying, “Well, no. I’m still taming the overflow, and I have learned to do it better than I did the first time, and I can’t wait to show you.”
The self-titled Meters debut was released in May of 1969 and was steered by its opening track, “Cissy Strut,” which was honed for a couple of years as the band’s opening song. While the debut has its brilliant moments, it only suffers (and barely suffers) from what many great debuts suffer from: an attempt to prove everything at once. The Meters wanted to demonstrate the band’s total ability, to show off their immense capabilities in navigating the second line sound of New Orleans and their lack of selfishness, a band so tight that its members didn’t mind sacrificing some time so that another member could chase a melody.
Their second shot, Look-Ka Py Py, was released just seven months later, before the year kicked its last bit of sand down the hourglass. And it is here that the miracle of the Meters flourishes: the band that was on stage tearing the Ivanhoe apart night after night found a way to become that same band on record. It is sort of a reverse effect, their debut album free of pressure, imagined or real. The longest song on the album is three minutes and 18 seconds, and the rest of them barely push past 2:45, each unfurling into what feels like effortless jam sessions, where the band tries to keep up with each other on a quest to find some shared sonic revelation, and then when it is found, the song ends. Take “Funky Miracle,” one of the few songs that doesn’t end with a fade-out, and instead ends with a collision. Modeliste’s drums bump up against the rest of the band, and then a hard stop. Silence before the exit. It is the equivalent of a nod, a gesture. We did it, through the beautiful mess of sound, we found each other.
The album is best defined by Modeliste and Neville’s tug-of-war. On an album with no spoken language, language is born elsewhere. Out of instrumental gestures, out of silences, out of two sounds crawling atop each other over and over. The Meters do all of this well on Look-Ka Py Py, but Neville and Modeliste do the latter the best. They spend most of “Little Old Money Maker” trying to outpace each other in small bursts while Nocentelli plays a mediator, getting his efficient and measured guitar licks in between the delightful grappling. This interplay works best when the two lead each other toward a room of their own, where they can be at their most adventurous. “This Is My Last Affair” opens—as most tracks on the album do—with Modeliste announcing his entry, but then Neville takes over and soars for nearly three whole minutes.
The Meters were an adventurous band, obsessed with the collective sound over individual accolades. George Porter Jr. is one of the greatest bass players who has ever lived, and what makes him great is his unsung work. Every band of more than two people has to have one member at least somewhat content with doing what they do, doing it like no one else, and doing it to serve the greater good without showing off too much. It’s easy to point to songs on Look-Ka Py Py where members of the band get to show out. “The Mob” sees Nocentelli wading to the front of the line, for example. But the labor of Porter is always there, underneath everything else. Another testament to the fullness of this perfect record, a fullness that is as spectacular as it is labyrinthian. If there is an album worth getting lost and wandering through, let it be this one.
Lately, I’ve been considering this idea of doing work for the greater good, even if it means that people don’t know you by name, by voice, by any single aesthetic. In some ways, the Meters are still what they were in 1969. They’re famous far beyond New Orleans, of course. But they’re still a band that some people certainly have heard without knowing they’ve heard them. At a party a few years back, a DJ flipped Cameo’s “Rigor Mortis” into the Meters song “Rigor Mortis” (admittedly, a thrilling moment for me, specifically) and as the latter reached its final 30 seconds, there were a couple of people I was with who did the thing I sometimes do. The “I know this song…but I don’t know this song” gesture that takes place when a series of familiar but unknown sounds descend.
To say that this is, in part, because the Meters were primarily an instrumental band seems too easy. But maybe the real thing I’m trying to unlock is what happens when a band is so good, and so precise, that they make music that serves as an efficient backdrop to anything and everything. The Meters are so good that they can blend into the atmosphere; they can become the air. This, too, is a miracle—one that does not render the band forgettable in any form. It does, in fact, tie them to that old New Orleans history of a people, otherwise bound by their torturous obligations to a land they didn’t choose to be on, seeking a way to transform the world as they knew it for a couple of hours every Sunday. Until, through their movement, through their sound-making, that corner became a new corner. That is where the sound echoed until it was the only sound.
One of my favorite samples, all time, is Amerie’s “1 Thing,” which borrows from the Look-Ka Py Py song “Oh, Calcutta!”—the nine seconds from 1:41 to 1:50 in the track. The Amerie song fractures and loops those nine seconds and runs them over and over again to craft a beat that never gets exhausting and never feels stale. For the brief second in the loop where Modeliste’s drums vanish, I find myself panicked, aching for them to return, like a child watching their beloved parent cover their face with two hands.
There’s some heartbreak in the way the Meters were sampled and the amount they were sampled, particularly in the late ’80s and early ’90s. “Cissy Strut” alone was sampled 71 different times. Even more familiar was 1970’s “Hand Clapping Song,” with its repetitive chant of clap your hands now, people clap now being sampled in 92 different songs. They never got properly credited or compensated for some of those uses. In a 2008 interview, Gary Porter mentioned that the band had been sampled over 140 times, and only about two-thirds of those were properly paid off, in processes that took years.
And so, the miracle of the Meters is also the miracle of restraint. It isn’t just there in the length of the songs themselves, but also in knowing that every movement in every song could be stretched into an epic, and choosing, instead, to offer a small window into a dazzling moment, and then moving on to something else. Let the legacy of the Meters be a great many things, but at the core, I believe them to be a band invested in wonder, in exuberance. In the kind of delightful childlike awe of finding a miracle around every corner, and therefore, eternally seeking new corners.
