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Posts tagged ‘CCR’

The Rock & Roll Three-Way: Old Motel Rooms, Beer Runs & Cotton Fields

I’ve never been to Texarkana, TX, but i hear it’s nice. Well, that’s not true. I haven’t heard it was nice, but I have heard a few things, though.

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Texarkana must brew up some of the best suds on Earth, for one. Seriously. Why the hell else would Bandit and Cledus risk life, limb and a lifetime’s worth of speeding violations to get locked into a “hot pursuit” just to race there for a case or two of the stuff?  

I also hear that Texarkana is only a mile or so from Louisiana’s lush fields of cotton. Actually, it is pretty dang close to Arkansas, too. I guess that makes sense; the three parts of it’s names honors all three of the states it is in or borders (Tex-Arkan-Na). Who says our forefathers weren’t crafty?

Seems as though Texarkana has an old motel room that can cure a goddamn lonely love better than some old plane ride. Apparently, if that room is taken, doubling down on a couple shots of hooch will do just nicely. 

It sounds like Texarkana is a special place, eh?  Well, whether or not it truly is, it was special enough to be name dropped in three damn good ditties. Shit, being the N.H. Yankee that I am, I had never even heard of Texarkana until I heard it in a song or two or…get ready for it…THREE! Yes, folks, good old Texarkana, TX is the subject of this instalment of The Rock & Roll Three-Way

I was on a shuffle-a-thon on iTunes one day when I heard Texarkana mentioned three times in three different songs. Was it a sign? Did I have some kind of freakish M.Night Shyamalan connection to Texarkana?  Was Texarkana calling out to me?!? Should I up and go to Texarkana to find out why it beckons!?!

No. The only magic being weaved that day was the digital wizardry of Steve Job’s best developers. My love hate relationship with the shuffle runs deep. I’m an album man. The shuffle and the album don’t mix (ok, bad pun, I know). That being said, without the shuffle pulling out three disperate songs I would never been triangulated right smack dab on 33.4337, -94.0437.

Mind you, this incident happened about five years ago. Since then, I have been chomping at the bit just waiting for some random stranger, in a random bar, to ask the random question: “Name three songs that have Texarkana in them”.

(Cue the shit-eating grin straight into the camera) 

Oh, what a moment that would have been. Alas, it did not happen. Instead, I decided to turn that chance happening into a choice offering of three great songs that all give a hearty shout-out to Texarkana, TX.

East Bound and Down – Jerry Reed 

“Them boys is thirsty in Atlanta and there’s beer in Texarkana and we’ll bring it back no matter what it takes”.

Jerry Reed was a rascal, wasn’t he. Yeah…”rascal” is the right way to describe the guitar pickin’ southern boy. If you are not familiar with his work and his place in “good ol’boy” country music, you should. One of my fave rave Jerry Reed songs is a bit of a signature tune for him, “Guitar Man“. Shit, Elvis liked that one well enough to cover it himself. 

Aside from being a geetar man, Jerry was also an actor…limited range, maybe, but not everyone gets to play an iconic role. Jerry co-starred as “Cledus” in Smokey and the Bandit. He also wrote the hit theme song for it, “East Bound and Down”. You could say that Texarkana had a bit of a starring role in the film, too. I recommend his best of, “When You’re Hot…

A lot of people think Waylon Jennings wrote and performed this. Nope. He did the theme for “The Dukes of Hazzard“. 

Cotton Fields – CCR

“It was down in Louisiana, just about a mile from Texarkana, in those old cotton fields back home”.

Huddie Ledbetter (“Leadbelly”) wrote this song. He plays a pretty inspired version himself. Actually, lots of people have covered this classic: Johnny Cash, Charlie Pride, The Beach Boys and, as posted below, CCR. I like the CCR version. It has a foot stomping, dosey-do, moonshine passin’ feel to it.  In fact, I thought it was their song until I saw a documentary on the Beach Boys. In the docco, Al Jardinde was talking about how he brought this Ledbelly song to the rest of the “Boys” to try out (Hey Al, trying to gain cred with the music community by playing some black guy’s song was sooo Pat Boone of you). 

If you are feeling a bit adventurous, have a listen to Elton John’s version. It is a Frankenstein’s monster of parts CCR version, Beach Boys version and an overplayed xmas carol. I bet you two bails of cotton that Bernie taupin is kicking himself for not writing this one. 

Goddamn Lonely Love – The Drive-By Truckers

“You can come to me by plane, but that wouldn’t be the same as that old motel room in Texarkana was”.

This song is on one of my fave rave albums of the 00′s by one of my fave rave bands of the 00′s, The Drive-By Truckers. It was written and sung by then band member, Jason Isbell. He’s since moved on to slay ‘em with his own outfit the 400 Unit (now that link was crafty, if I do say so myself). 

It was shame when he left the DBTs. They have done very well with the two albums since he left the band, but he was the secret ingredient while he was there. Check out the bow-down albums he contributed heavily to: The Dirty South and Decoration Day

(I’m going to see the Jason Isbell-less DBTs here in London on Sunday night)

So there you have it: The Rock & Roll Three-Way, Texarkana style: 1 > Jerry Reed, “East Bound and Down”  2 >> CCR, “Cotton Fields”  3 >>> The Drive-By Truckers, “Goddman Lonely Love”. 

Because you couldn’t be there: Thank you for the Friday Night Sounds & Turn-Ons…

Back in the late 90′s I moved to Boston. I was a bachelor. I was a damn good bachelor, too. I lived alone in cool little apartment right near Fenway Park. It was a three room’er: hang-out space, kitchen and bedroom. The bedroom was in a “secret room” hidden by the two sliding mirrored doors that looked like a wall.

If that wasn’t creepy enough for potential female guests…I lived in the basement. It was called a “Garden Level” apartment; a fancy name for “cheaper rent because you barely get sunlight in here and you are close to the trash room”. Nonetheless, it was my own pad and it was cool. I wish I had a few pics, but I was in a “no evidence” mode back then. 

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I had a good crew of friends that were a phone call away from going out to strike sparks at any moment. I had a good job and a good income. I had the means and the motor to run the streets all weekend long. I wasn’t reckless, but I was certainly restless. That being said, footing the solo Boston rent bill was tough on the wallet at times. 

When I did go out, my engine revved high and fuel got burned. Fuel is expensive. When the tank started to run dry, I had to make the decision to go out only one night a weekend to save a bit of cash; most often that was a Saturday night. Friday night was my night to stay in.  

Why Friday?  Well, we’re going to have to defer to old T-Bone Walker to answer that one:  “The eagle flies on Friday. Saturday I go out to play” (“Stormy Monday“). I distinctly remember hearing the lyric and agreeing with the man. “Saturday I go out to play”…damn straight T-bone. Damn Straight. 

I didn’t mind staying in on Fridays. In fact, I looked forward to it. Friday was the night I would stay at home and listen to music. I didn’t own a TV then and didn’t care to. All I needed was the music. Friday night was for music: reading about it or listening to it…or both, if I so pleased. TVs?! I didn’t need no stinkin’ TVs!

On Fridays after work I would stop by the local package store and purchase provisions: a twelve pack of ales, a refresher pint of Wild Turkey (if needed) and a couple cans of beer nuts. I would hurry on back to my pad and hunker down for a night of sounds and solitude.

I loved those nights. I learned so much about music and was able to dig deep into my collection. Back then there was no iTunes or streaming; primitive tools only.  I had great ONKYO receiver, a decent set of Bose and the “shuffle” of it’s time, a six CD changer. A six CD changer: I don’t even own a CD player anymore. I’d get the vibe on just right: top up a tumbler of WT with plenty of ice, dim the lights, flame up some candles, slip on the cans and push play. 

I loved it, but like all good things my Friday sound and solitude nights ended. Why? I had to see about a girl (check it out at 2:22). Once I met my (future) wife my desire to stay in on a Friday night…let alone stay away from her for one night…left me. I still had no money, but I was hooked on her. In fact, in order to take her out…this still pains me…I sold chunks of my CD collection. I can still remember the gut-punch feeling when I sold my “Stax-Volt Complete Singles“ collection (nine CDs of raw soul!). Aw, Hell…it was worth it in the end. 

Fast forward just about eleven years later to this past Friday night. I had just returned to London from a work trip to my old bachelor stomping grounds: Boston. My wife and I decided we wanted to stay at home, make some dinner and have a cocktail or two. Just like that, the old music muscle memory kicked in: a perfect Friday night to get the old vibe going again and listen to some tunes. 

We got the mood just right and then I hit play. We had  a hankering for a country-tinged listening session. I plucked songs from my collection: some of our old fave raves and some new sounds to turn my wife on to. We sang and smiled and drank and danced while the box played on. Hot damn… 

While we were having our fun, I thought of the artists. Did they have any idea how much we were enjoying their music at that moment? Did they understand how they were connecting with us…how indelible they had become to us?  Did they think that no one gave a shit about music…their music…anymore?  The answer was No to all of the above. 

I often think about if I were to run into my music heroes…what the hell would I say? There is only one thing to say: thanks. Thanks for all the sounds, turn-ons and being the soundtrack to so many of my life experiences. Whew, that’s a heavy trip to lay on someone, eh? It’s true though, right?. 

Because they all couldn’t be there when we had their sounds on, I wanted to say thanks. Thanks for making your music and sharing it with us. There are people out there who are listening to your tunes…over and over and over again…and loving it. Just like my wife and I last Friday night. 

So…many, many thanks to Friday Night’s Honor Roll: Elton John, Loretta Lynn, Tammy Wynette, Jamey Johnson, Waylon Jennings, Keith Richards, Willie Nelson, Rolling Stones, Emmy Lou, Gram Parsons, Lucinda Williams, Dawes, Ryan Adams, Ray Lamontagne, CCR and last, but certainly least, Ms. Mavis Staples. 

Hey if you really want to connect with your fans and you are in the neighborhood on a Friday night, stop on by. The door is always open, the drinks are always strong and the music is always shit-hot

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 (click the pic to see the tracks)

 

Again, I thank you…

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From Blogs to Brussels, music is the great communicator (Albert King ain’t too shabby either…)

I don’t know how to speak French, but I sure know how to speak Albert King.  

I just returned from a weekend in Brussels where French is the primary language. I took French I and II in high school; I was horrible in both. Ironically my pitiful performance in these two classes resulted in the first set of double-”D’s” I ever got my hands on in high school.

I can croak out a few random phrases: “shut the door”, “what time is it”, “I am cold/warm”; none of which are worth much without context. Such is the traveller’s life. When you are not fluent in the local tongue you have to get by on common human connectors: laughter, winks, nods, smiles and, as I experienced this weekend, music.

Our train pulled into Brussels late Friday night. We were there to see the famous xmas markets and had a long day of roaming and wandering planned for Saturday.  Before we called Friday done and dusted, we popped into a nearby pub to wash down some eats with a few delicious Belgian brews. 

The next morning my wife was cracking the early morning whip and was hot to get started on our market tour. Before we cut a path, we stopped for coffee. Seated across from me, she put down her latte, smiled her “I’m on to you” smile and asked me, “so…did you find one“?

She knows me oh so well.

Before every trip we take, I always search out the local independent record shop/collectors. It is not always that I find “one”, but I did in Brussels; fortunately it was right in the centre of town. It is also a thrill to flip through European record bins in hopes of finding some old time used to be. 

We walked the markets all day, tasted the local foods and drank much “chaud rouge” (hot red wine).  Once we had our fill of the markets, my wife wanted to rest weary bones in a local cafe. Perfect.  This was my window to self-indulge with a trip to the record shop. I wasn’t exactly sure where it was, but I was hell-bent on finding it. 

As I was scurrying through the streets, I heard the sound of a lone guitar man playing and singing for the passers by. There were lots of street performers out that day, but only one was playing music to my ears: Creedence Clearwater Revival. I swore I heard some one playing CCR; not just your standard CCR ditty, but a relatively obscure CCR song: “Cotton Fields”. I love this song. It was built for the foot-stomp and sing-a-longs and I partake in each every time I hear it. 

I followed the sound until I saw who was playing it. There he was sitting on a crate, a Pete Seeger look-a-like strumming on his amplified acoustic. “Cotton Fields”!?! Of all the songs in the CCR catalog, why the hell was he playing “Cotton Fields” and doing so in the middle of Brussels?  Questioning it would only ruin the sweet surprise of it all. Instead I threw him a handful of Euros and did what comes natural: tapped my foot and sang along. My guess was that I was the only person who knew that tune within earshot…and I loved that.

Here is a quick clip of him finishing the song…with a bit of help on vox from yours truly:

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Watch on Posterous

As soon as he was done, I made haste for the shop. After a few more lefts and rights, I was there: “The Collector Record Gallery”.  The sign was a dead giveaway that I had arrived, but I knew that before I saw it. As I made my way up the street I could hear the loud, searing sting of Albert King’s Flying V. 

The front window was full of vinyl, DVDs, books and CDs. Store front windows display their top wares in order to get people to come in to see what else is inside. This was a damn fine store front window. Inside there were a dozen or more serious vinyl flippers like myself. From what I could tell I was the only English speaking music freak in the shop. 

Myself and five other guys were leaning on the counter positioned around the turntable.  None of us said a word, but we were speaking the same language: Albert King. Albert King was our translator. A few of us were rocking back and forth to his blues and everyone was smiling and nodding at one another.  This is why music is so damn cool. You don’t have to understand the lyrics, you don’t have to know what the hell the song is about…shit, you don’t even have to know who is singing it. Ain’t nothing to do but sit back and let the man play…

We all had a few blues albums under our arms ready to buy. I motioned to one of the guys to see what he has holding. He handed his stack over to me. This guy had taste: live Magic Sam, Fred McDowell and a Mike Bloomfeld bootleg. I smiled and shook my head in a approval and pretended to take them for my own! He reached out for them and shot me a “oh, no you don’t” look and then chuckled. The other guys joined in for laugh, too. 

I paid for my selections, shook a few hands and then left the shop. 

I am continually amazed at the role music has had in my making friends and acquaintances all over the globe.  Whether it is through this blog or random record shops in Brussels, music has been my great communicator.

Hail, hail rock and roll…

 

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