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Too Bad Jim ( 1994 )
Shake ‘em On Down / When My First Wife Left Me / Short-Haired Woman / Old Black Mattie / Fireman Rings the Bell / Peaches / Miss Glory B. / .44 Pistol / Death Bell Blues / Goin’ Down South BOOGIE TIME! Probably the most prominent artist on the Fat Possum-label (except for maybe Solomon Burke, whose latest album was released by the blues label as well), foul-mouthing, cap-wearing R.L. Burnside is one of a kind. Well almost, since like several of his colleagues at Fat Possum he’s served time (for shootin’ a guy), had his share of bad luck (his father, brother and uncle were killed in a one month-span), and he officially made his debut in the early 90’s (turning the Burnside/FP-story almost into cartoonish proportions). Blame it on Robert Palmer, one-time music critic for The New York Times and author of several books on roots music (you know where to find Amazon, right?), and also responsible for a documentary on Mississippi hill country-blues, called Deep Blues (also the book and soundtrack are available, check them out!). Anyway, Palmer also collaborated with FP-founder Matt Johnson, and produced several albums, the most important of which is probably Too Bad Jim (and Palmer would die in 1997). It not only led to several other releases (about 4 or 5 dozen at this time), but it provided this specific kind of blues also with an entirely new audience of usually young and white people with an interest in loud rock 'n roll. In the meantime, Fat Possum also became formally connected to punk rock label Epitaph, and I guess that says enough. |
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| Now what does this kind of country-blues sound like? Well, to start with I might say that if you can’t stand the repetitive aspect of blues music, stay away from this, as it’s often tagged “drone-blues” or “trance-blues,” and usually involves the same chord(s) and rhythm, or like Robert Palmer wrote: “Even more so than the Delta, North Mississippi Blues is a churning, jamming one chord exercise in stamina and mass hypnosis, founded on fundamental speech-rhythm formulas (…).” Burnside learned it from Fred McDowell (who was a neighbour), John Lee Hooker and Lightnin’ Hopkins, but he also added some elements of Muddy Waters’ electric interpretation of the Delta music. The main difference is that Burnside’s albums sound much rawer, with primal grooves as ragged as possible (which isn’t necessarily the same as ‘sloppy’), and that’s why it should be played loud, just like Hound Dog Taylor’s stuff. As for the musicians: most of the times there’s only a guitar player and a drummer (yes, this is also where the garage duo’s of today got part of their inspiration, it’s amazing what a racket you can create with two people). Anyway, on this album, R.L. Burnside is accompanied by Calvin Jackson on drums, sideman Kenny Brown on guitar, and, on “.44 Pistol” by his son Dwayne Burnside on bass. The lyrical topics are about the same as in other country blues, I
guess: misery, death, violence, (unfaithful) women, liquor. So it’s
pretty hard to point out highlights as several songs - often re-workings
of traditionals - have similar riffs and patterns to begin with. “Shake
‘em On Down,” for instance, is based (I think,
please correct me If I’m wrong) on a Bukka White song, and sounds
as classic as “Crossroads” or “Dust My Broom,”
while also his cover of Hooker’s “When My First Wife Left
Me” is impressive, sounding like “Boogie Chillen’s”
shabby cousin. Also the slower tracks, like his cover of Hopkins’
“Short-Haired Woman” and “Death Bell Blues”
have that primal core that’s all over the album. I do prefer the
band to rock out though, because that’s when the party gets really
started, and perhaps also because I just like loud guitars and pounding
drums. “Fireman Rings the Bell,” “Old Black Mattie”
and “.44 Pistol” sound as simple as they come, with dirty
slide guitar and great drumming, and when you hear them it’s not
hard to imagine that this is exactly what people like(d) to dance to
in the juke joints. It’s authentic, fierce, hypnotic, stirs up
all kinds of things and emotions, and it rocks. Maybe you could compare
it to a less ornate variation of Bo Diddley’s jungle stomp or
Taylor’s Chicago-trance. If there is a highlight to be
chosen, I’d probably go for the six-minute long album closer “Goin’
Down South,” the man’s interpretation of a McDowell- song,
and one of the most covered of his songs (he himself also included it
in several of his albums). With all the primal passion, greasy slide
playing and unstoppable energy, it’s not surprising that soon
it would attract the attention of both players and fans of stripped
blues ‘n roll (see: next album). Ok, ok, it looks like I’m
overrating this album, plus it never had the impact of seminal recordings
by Robert Johnson, Elmore James, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker or Buddy
Guy, but the album is damn great, and a thrilling 41-minute
piece of blues as raw as it gets. |
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A Ass Pocket of Whiskey ( 1996 )
Goin’ Down South / Boogie Chillen / Poor Boy / 2 Brothers / Snake Drive / Shake ‘em On Down / The Criminal Inside Me / Walkin’ Blues / Tojo Told Hitler / Have You Ever Been Lonely? The R.L. Burnside Blues Explosion! With albums as raw and rocking as Too Bad Jim, it couldn’t take long before some blues-indebted rock band would come to R.L.’s aid, and that’s exactly what happened when rocker Jon Spencer (former chief of noise-rock outfit Pussy Galore, and formerly of his own blues/rock-project) and his cohorts expressed their interest in doin’ some stuff with R.L., which resulted in what’s probably Burnside’s best-selling album, A Ass Pocket of Whiskey. Recorded during one drunk afternoon, and as juvenile as the title suggests, Ass Pocket might very well be that year’s dirtiest release, oozing out a slightly crazy atmosphere and having the presence of four (!) guitar players (Burnside, his sidekick Kenny Brown, Jon Spencer, Judah Bauer). As a result, it’s a lot noisier than the previous albums, with layers of chugging guitar over each other, some just proceeding along roughly, others howling and wailing with lots of distortion. Most of the vocals are shouted by R.L., but even better are often the call-and-response games he plays with the other members. For instance, during the mad “The Criminal Inside Me” that has one of the dirtiest, muddiest and coolest grooves Burnside ever committed to tape, there’s a great conversation when Spencer asks Burnside for a few nickels to buy a bag of potato chips, and Burnside tells him (while the music fades out for a while) “I tell you what, if you don’t get out of here and make it fast, or I’m gonna put my foot right in your ass.” |
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Immature and juvenile? Yes, of course, but a swearing and cursing R.L. Burnside can be plain fun and because of his experience the man has a wicked timing, which combined with his unarticulated Mississippi drawl, results in something completely different. Elsewhere, the album has a combination of more predictable and awkward choices: The familiar “Goin’ Down South” kicks off the album and does a good job at it, sounding loose and uncooked. An energetic cover of John Lee Hooker’s “Boogie Chillen” then steers up the tempo a bit, followed by another Burnside-penned boogie, the short “Poor Boy.” Like “The Criminal Inside Me,” “2 Brothers” is essentially more of a story with some background music than an actual song, and of course (what else did you think?) it’s about misdemeanour. Not very captivating, but it’s kept short and followed by a great rave-up, “Snake Drive,” the album’s loudest, fastest and almost dirtiest track, a slab of undiluted punk-blues with primal guitar playing and crashing drums, courtesy of Russell Simmins. Another Burnside classic, “Shake ‘em On Down” closes the first side, but this version doesn’t reach the stellar heights of the one on his previous album. The second album side then is made up of songs Burnside and The Blues Explosion wrote together, and they were probably entirely improvised on the spot, at least that’s what they sound like. I already mentioned the unusual “The Criminal Inside Me,” but things will even get weirder. “Walkin’ Blues” is a slow and pummelling blues tune that’s performed without much competence or attention (and what the hell is that Casio SK-1 doing there in the background?) so that it sounds a bit out of place there. Next up is “Tojo Told Hitler,” another Burnside-monologue set to nifty blues licks, but the chaotic pay-off comes in the form of “Have You Ever Been Lonely?”, probably one of the noisiest pieces of music a 70-year old ever became involved in, with loads of feedback, distortion, screaming, howling and mock-preaching. It’s also the song in which Spencer does his notorious “talk about the blues”-routine, which has been a highlight during his concerts for a few years. But it still is a Burnside-album of course, as the man bursts with foul-mouthing energy and conviction, easily making up for the album’s flaws and occasionally slight content. A Ass Pocket of Whiskey is the album to play when your grandparents are around. When they’re having a bad day, because of rheumatism, melancholy or something else, just expose them to the wild and untamed sounds of this bad motherfucker, called R.L. Burnside. It just might crack them up. |
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Come On In (1998)
Been Mistreated / Come On In (live) / Let My Baby Ride / Don't Stop Honey / It's bad You Know / Just Like a Woman / Come On In (part 2) / Rollin' Tumblin' (remix) / Please Don't Stay / Shuck Dub / Come On In (part 3) / Heat A customer's review on Amazon: "History can be an important teacher. We've seen this happen before with the great bluesmen back in the late 60's and early 70's. Why do these folks think they can take something that is pure and downright perfect and improve on it is just a comment on how big egos can grow. It's one thing to appreciate something great for what it is but it's another to try and manipulate it and turn it into something completely opposite of it's intention." I couldn't disagree more with a purist attitude like this. There's nothing wrong of course with the authentic product (and Burnside's Too Bad Jim was great example of that), but on the other hand there's also nothing wrong with a contemporary approach that tries to combine the best of both worlds. Much earlier than this, artists like Captain Beefheart (or more recently The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion or Zen Guerilla) realized you don't have to be black and "live the blues" to mess around with it. Implementing elements of the blues (or any kind of music) in your own brand of music can be fun and liberating, and as long as it doesn't result in hollow postmodern pastiches (which, unfortunately happens a lot), why should there be something wrong with it. I can imagine that several people discovered the old/authentic stuff after they'd heard Jon Spencer havin' fun with a 70 year old from Mississippi. |
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On Come On In, another unlikely combination is created: that of R.L.'s repetitive delta blues, combined with dance beats and samples, courtesy of Tom Rothrock (mainly notorious as Beck's producing sidekick). Several reviewers praised Burnside's willingness to experiment and lauded his genre-blending collaboration with Rothrock, but here reliability obligates me to point out that Burnside recorded everything before Rothrock got his hands on it. Making this album was an idea of the people at Fat Possum, so they sent the tapes to Rothrock, who then was given total freedom. It was only after the album was finished that both artists met. Now, it's not that Burnside didn't like the result, he did. In my opinion, the project wasn't exactly successful though, as the tracks that were left untouched made the biggest impression on me: a live version of "Come On In" and a scruffy version of "Just Like a Woman" are good examples of the man's raw music and basically confirm what was shown on earlier traditional albums. As for the experiments with beats, samples, and loops: a few are successful, but several are merely interesting and seem intended to stress Rothrock's versatility as a studio wizard. An exception is "Let My Baby Ride," which gets a sparse but tough hip-hop beat that somehow seems very infectious and stresses the thrilling simplicity of Burnside's guitar chops. "Come On In (part 2)" takes the theme from the live original, repeats it over and over again, adds some beats and saxophone, creating a hypnotic groove in the process. Also the second take on "Come On In," in which another blues lick is sampled is quite successful, but the remaining tracks are less impressive. Although "It's Bad You Know" boasts some harp work by the late great Lester Butler, it's a track that's rendered unsuccessful because Rothrock just tampers around too much with it, as if he's been working on a solo project that by coincidence also involves some blues samples. Similarly, "Shuck Dub" doesn't leave much left of R.L.'s original music, and annoying sound effects and bleeps 'steal' the show. In "Rollin' Tumblin'" and "Please Don't Stay," some competent cut 'n paste is going on (with certainly the latter sounding like a Moby-exercise), but unfortunately it amounts to nothing spectacular. It all goes to show that 'authentic blues dude + notorious studio pro' not necessarily equals a captivating and liberating result that appeals to both audiences. Definitely an interesting initiative, Come On In somehow fails to live up to its promise, resulting in an album no one really benefits from. |
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Read album reviews of similar or related artists: Hound Dog Taylor |
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