1969, part 4
This is my penultimate week looking back at 1969. None of these albums (##21-30) are perfect, but their distinctive flavors are strong enough to remain compellingly appetizing forty years along.
I should probably have ranked this higher, because at its best it’s positively revolutionary: “Everyday People” (the group’s first #1 pop single), “I Want to Take You Higher,” the title track (both Top 40), “Sing a Simple Song,” and “You Can Make It If You Try.” But “Sex Machine” (nothing to do with James Brown’s song) goes on too long and “Don’t Call Me Nigger, Whitey,” however apt its sentiments, is not great art. Still, this is one of the most important funk albums ever.
Riley had already made his mark with the seminal Minimalist composition In C, but Rainbow was heard by more people; in an era of mind expansion, tastes expanded too and the album crossed over to the rock audience.
The debut of one of our finest guitarists, heard here (aside from the arrangement of Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring”) at his rootsiest.
Multi-racial, multi-stylistic, and multi-platinum, Santana was more than just wailing lead guitarist Carlos Santana; Gregg Rolie’s soul-jazz organ and white soul vocals gave this edition of the group just as much of its identity, as did the three drummers’ Latin grooves.
Or, as the band wanted to name it, Volunteers of Amerika. The label nixed that, but “up against the wall motherfucker” in the opening anthem “We Could Be Together” got by. Not every track ranks with the highlights – that song, Jorma Kaukonen’s “Good Shepherd” (an exquisite arrangement of a gospel blues standard), “Wooden Ships” (which the Byrds thought too controversial to record), “Eskimo Blue Day,” the title track. But the band’s sound was so finely honed at this point that everything hangs together well. Alas, the band would splinter after this peak. (The live album Bless Its Pointed Little Head, which ain’t too shabby either, also came out in ‘69).
New Orleans’ organ-powered masters of the instrumental groove hit hard with “Cissy Strut” and many variations on their indomitable sound. Bassist George Porter and drummer Ziggy Modeliste form as tight a pocket as any funk band ever had, organist/leader Art Neville is incredibly soulful, and guitarist Leo Nocentelli adds grit and grease.
The rawer sounds of his sophomore effort rank higher by offering greater exhilaration, the Dylanesque “Last Trip to Tulsa” is rather dry musically, and each LP side opens with instrumental filler (albeit enjoyable). Nonetheless, there are many fine songs here beyond the familiar “The Loner,”
Producer Norman Whitfield transformed the group’s sound on side one of this LP with three lengthy cuts of psychedelic funk: the title track, a spectacular reworking of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine,” and “Run Away Child, Running Wild.” Side two was business as usual, and less memorable though still enjoyable.
The first American supergroup: David Crosby from the Byrds, Stephen Stills from the Buffalo Springfield, and Graham Nash (a British ringer, but a California resident) from the Hollies. Not all the songwriting stands up (Nash, I’m lookin’ at you), but the vocal blend sure does, and I am continually amazed by how underrated Crosby’s moody, musically sophisticated contributions are.
Joplin’s solo debut actually disappointed people at the time, not measuring up to the high standard of Big Brother & the Holding Company’s Cheap Thrills. In retrospect, though, it holds up pretty well, her soul album complete with horns and funky bass.
