Best 2007 Soul & Funk Albums, part 2
Numbers 11-20, again mixing new releases and historical items, including various-artist compilations.
This album makes its impression with its dark mood and sound more than through standout tracks, though some of the songwriting’s strong, notably Willie Nelson’s pathos-drenched “Somebody Pick Up My Pieces,” W.T. Davidson’s psychologically questioning “They Call It Love,” and the heart-wrenching “Talking Old Soldiers” by Elton John and Bernie Taupin. The Southern country-flavored soul backing from the Drive-By Truckers and some Muscle Shoals legends is a great complement to LaVette’s craggy, weathered voice. The songs – all covers but one – are frequently bitter (albeit more resigned than angry), a quality strongly amplified by LaVette’s crackling voice, so this is an intense album utterly unsuited for easy listening, an uncomfortable experience that will drive many listeners away. But if you’re in the right mood, it may sound like a masterpiece.
An eccentric one-shot from 1969. Jackson, best known as the bassist in Eddie Harris’s very popular jazz band, follows his boss’s lead by applying electronic treatments to his acoustic instrument. The sound of his bowed instrument Echo-Plexed, amplified, filtered, and generally beefed up is set amid a psychedelic mix of jazz and funky soul from two lineups featuring contributions from many of the greats of Chicago jazz and R&B – guitarists Phil Upchurch and Pete Cosey, trumpeters Lester Bowie and Leo Smith, alto saxophonist Roscoe Mitchell, tenor saxophonist/flutist Byron Bowie, pianist/organist Jodie Christian, drummer Billy Hart, and more. In other contexts, these guys could get very far out and very atonal; here they do stretch out but always within a groove and a tonal center. No connoisseur of outré soul-jazz should be without this.
Yeah, I never heard of him before either, but I’m glad this 18-track compilation – in better sound than some VampiSoul efforts – introduced me to the music of this Peruvian saxophonist/flutist. There’s a huge amount of stylistic variety in these ‘60s and ‘70s recordings, but plenty of good grooves.
Apparently released in Germany in 2005, this took two years to make its way across the ocean. Recorded in 2003, it reprises some of Hebb’s recording career’s high points: a duet on “Sunny”; his wonderful cover of the country standard “A Satisfied Mind,” also a ’66 hit; “Bound by Love,” a ‘67 single; and “Love Love Love,” a hit in England in 1972 considered a Northern Soul classic. Read my full review here.
Never mind crate digging, the new thing is archive digging, and soul is proving to be especially rewarding territory. These 1973 tracks, most previously unreleased, offer yet another sterling example. Amnesty was an Indianapolis band combining the vocal talents of The Embers and the instrumental skills of The Crimson Tide. Their mix of harmony-vocal soul with deep funk will please P-Funk fans, while occasional traces of Afrobeat recall Osibisa and Mandrill. There’s nothing about the thoroughly enjoyable music here that explains why it wasn’t released at the time, until the bit in the booklet notes that says the Lamp label for which they recorded specialized in rock. The 1970s’ loss is our gain now that this killer album has finally appeared.
Florida Funk 1968-1975 (Now Again)
Reed Roberts of the Mighty Dog Catchers is quoted as saying, “I wasn’t listening to no local bands, the only band I was influenced by was James Brown’s. Straight up.” Based on this compilation, he wasn’t the only Floridian who felt that way. The focus is on obscure artists (the only “name” is Blowfly) and tiny labels, with most of the material coming out on 45s, but the sounds are familiar and the talents are big. The Universals get the 22-track set off to a great start with the anthemic 1970 joint “New Generation,” which is so great that it’s a shame their distribution was so bad – but we’ve got it now!
Believe it or not, this was a Belgian band (though singer Kari Kenton has Cuban blood) mixing Latin, Brazilian, and funk sounds. The group started out in the 1950s, broke up in the ‘60s, then reunited to make this 1971 LP. It’s a lot of fun, but it’s the heavy-breathing orgasmic final track, “Jungle Fever” (sort of a Latin version of Serge Gainsbourg’s “Je T’Aime Moi Non Plus”), that’s the hit, familiar now not only from its original version, which went all the way to #8 on the U.S. singles chart, but also as sampled for Public Enemy’s “Cold Lampin’ with Flavor” and more. Fans of esoterica will want the whole thing, though.
African soul-funk from Staten Island? You bet your sweet ass – which will be shaking and grinding to their down-and-dirty rhythms. Moving forward while looking back, they’re yet another of the great acts on Dap-Tone, the Brooklyn label dedicated to proving that the multi-faceted glories of ‘70s R&B live on. Budos Band plays horn-heavy instrumentals with a minor tinge – a highlight is the Smokey Robinson-penned Temptations chestnut “My Girl” played in minor and retitled “His Girl.” Keeping this infectious style alive with verve and imagination, Budos Band is thoroughly enjoyable.
Yeah, this is kind of outside the genre boundaries, but it’s certainly funky in its no-wavey way. There are lots of Contortions live albums, many from the same period as this June 1980 Rotterdam show. This is nearly the best, musically and sonically, and its latest issue adds three worthwhile 1987 demos. The rhythm section of bassist Al McDowell and drummer Richie Harrison provides the funky yet stabbing foundation over which guitarists Patrick Geoffrois (slide) and Fred Wells can slip, rasp, and bludgeon while trumpeter Lorenzo Wyche and leader Chance (alto sax, organ) spray squalling free jazz and Chance blurts his lyrics of alienation, mock dance instruction, and brilliant covers of Michael Jackson’s “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough” and James Brown’s “King Heroin.” The demos are the vicious “Disposable You,” “I Don’t Want Nobody to Give Me Nothing” (another fine JB cover), and the hip-hoppy “Truth or Consequence.”
Undoubtedly some vintage R&B fans will quibble that I shouldn’t have left out the Betty Davis reissues in favor of this admittedly very minor effort. But I enjoy it more. This is about as obscure as soul gets, featuring a teenaged Buffalo vocal duo, Bobby Nunn and Eugene Coplin, that recorded a single issued by Nunn’s father on his little MoDo label. Bobby went on to bigger things than this derivative effort (working with Rick James, releasing albums on Motown), but there’s a sweet innocence here that I find irresistible.
