BILL CLINTON

April 28, 2008 by 2sweetnsaxy · Comments Off
Filed under: Podcasts, Soul/R&B, SoulSites, SoulTrackin' 


Yes, the ex-president of the United States. I knew there was a reason why I liked him. LOL!


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Tracking Lee Diamond

April 20, 2008 by Dan Phillips · Comments Off
Filed under: Podcasts, Soul/R&B, SoulSites, SoulTrackin' 

This week, we go back to the late 1950s and early 1960s to hear some sides by Wilbert Smith, better known by his stage name, Lee Diamond, who for over a decade was a multi-instrumental backing musician, songwriter, and vocalist. I find him an elusive figure, because, while his name can he found in credits and as a featured artist, and there are references to him in various written pieces on the music of the period, I’ve uncovered very little direct information about his life. Early in his career, he worked behind several popular R&B artists, including one of the biggest names in 1950s rock ‘ n roll; and in the mid-1960s, before fading from the scene, Diamond had a hand in co-writing one of the classic New Orleans soul songs. I guess those are pretty good hooks to hang a story on.

While references to Wilbert Smith/Lee Diamond in print usually always say he was from New Orleans, I have found very little about his early background and upbringing. The earliest mention of Wilbert Smith I’ve run across is a listing as drummer (?!) on a Roy Brown session in Cincinnatti in 1951. From the Crescent City himself, Brown was a rock ‘n’ roller before the term was coined and used many hometown players in his band and at sessions for Deluxe Records. Around 1954, the trail picks up again; and we find Smith playing tenor sax in the road band of Shirley & Lee, the Crescent City teen singing duo who were having much chart success on Aladdin Records. While in Nashville on tour, Smith and the band’s drummer, Charles Connor, also from New Orleans, were recruited by a young, flamboyant singer from Macon, GA, ‘Little Richard’ Penniman, for his new band, the Upsetters. Little Richard had done some recording by this point for RCA in 1951/1952 and Don Robey’s Peacock label in Houston in 1953 without commercial success, but was developing a powerful and outrageous stage act, playing the hard-driving R&B coming to be known as rock ‘n’ roll. He and the Upsetters soon became an in-demand, word-of-mouth band working around Georgia and surrounding states out of his home base of Macon. Meeting Lloyd Price at a show there, Richard got a referral from the star and sent a demo tape he made with the Upsetters to Price’s label, Specialty Records, in Los Angeles. Though the label owner, Art Rupe, and his new assistant, Bumps Blackwell, were initially cool to the offering, persistent phone calls from Richard (you can just imagine!) caused them to reconsider and eventually buy out his contract with Robey. In 1955, a session was set up for the singer in New Orleans, where Specialty had already been recruiting and recording local talent (notably, Price). Leaving most of his band behind, Little Richard departed for the city and began making rock ‘n’ roll history.

That first session and many of his subsequent ones in New Orleans were backed by the choice house band at Cosimo Matassa’s J & M Studio, including Earl Palmer, drums; Frank Fields, bass; Huey Smith, piano; Lee Allen, tenor sax; Red Tyler, baritone sax; and Justin Adams, Ernest McLean, or Edgar Blanchard, guitar. This core group played on an incredible number of hit records in the 1950s and influenced the sound of rocking R&B for years; and it was Little Richard’s supreme good fortune to have cut his seminal hits with them. Fast becoming a rock ‘n’ roll star, Richard recruited a new version of the Upsetters as his touring band, keeping Smith, who by now was calling himself Lee Diamond, and Connor, and adding, among others, two sax men he had met at his Peacock sessions in Texas, Grady Gaines and Clifford Burks. Though they were almost constantly on the road, Richard began insisting to Specialty that he record with his own band; but the label only released a handful of sides utilizing the Upsetters. Two of those, “Keep A Knockin’” and “Ooh My Soul”, cut on the fly at a radio station in Washington, DC, while they were on tour early in 1957, are legendary for capturing some of the big, high-energy sound of the horn-heavy band, driven by Connor’s locomotive beats.

As the well-known story goes, by October of 1957, it was over. The conflicted Richard had suddenly quit the music business for religion. That left his band without a front man and many booked dates to fulfill. In order to finish a tour of the Mid-West, the Upsetters, now led by Grady Gaines, hired singer Dee Clark in Chicago to be “Little Richard” for the rest of the tour; and Diamond started alternating between piano and sax, as needed. In the South, they became James Brown’s backing band for a time, when the singer was given some of Little Richard’s remaining open dates. Charles Connor and Lee Diamond had moonlighted backing Brown while they were in the first version of the Upsetters in Macon. It is there that Connor opened Brown’s ears to New Orleans drumming for the first time, as Brown didn’t just create funk out of thin air. He and many of his subsequent drummers were influenced by New Orleans rhythms. Lee Diamond had even played sax on Brown’s first single, “Please, Please, Please”, and co-wrote a song with him, “Chonnie-On-Chon” in 1956. After wrapping up the touring, the Upsetters returned to Chicago and signed on with Vee-Jay Records, cutting a single there for the company’s Falcon label (#1009) with Clark as front man. At the same sessions, they also recorded two R&B-styled instrumentals, “The Strip” b/w “Upsetter”, released under the name of the band on Falcon 1010, plus these two remarkable sides written by and featuring Diamond on vocals.

“Hattie Malatti” (L. Diamond)
Lee Diamond, Vee-Jay 272, 1958
(Tune in to HOTG Internet Radio)

“Mama Loochie” (L. Diamond)
(Tune in to HOTG Internet Radio)

As enjoyable as this single is on its own merits, it’s obvious that Lee Diamond was nowhere near the level of the incendiary Little Richard – but, who was? Neither side exhibits a rocking groove as intense as Richard’s best records, either, even though “Mama Loochie” has scattered lyrical references to “Slippin’ and Slidin’”. Still, there is a great, in-the-pocket feel to both sides that definitely reveals New Orleans roots and shows the band establishing their own sound. Their dynamic had changed due to the departure of original drummer Charles Conner, replaced by another New Orleans contender, Emile Russell, who had played with Pluma Davis’ band backing Gatemouth Brown prior to signing on with the Upsetters.

These two cuts show that Russell’s drumming style had a syncopated interplay between his kick, snare and cymbals – the polyrhythmic basis of funk. On “Hattie Malatti”, his snare hits hang back just behind the beat, creating the pull of tension and release, augmented by his stuttering beats at the end of bars. Meanwhile, his foot definitely lays down another rhythmic counterpoint on the bass drum, though it is harder to hear due to the poor sonics of the recording. In all, it’s an outstanding groove that I could easily listen to on endless repeat.

I thought that there wasn’t as much going on rhythmically with “Mama Loochie”, as Russell’s snare work has a similar but simpler feel than on “Hatti”. Then I noticed what he was doing on the bell of the ride cymbal throughout the song, overlaying another more complex pattern with somewhat of a Cuban feel, similar to what Hungry Williams brought into popular New Orleans drumming in that period. Surely Russell was influenced by it. I think these tracks provide further evidence of the funk feel emerging into popular music through New Orleans. It’s definitely the kind of stuff we’re always on the lookout for here at HOTG.

Before I move on, I’ve just got to give props to guitarist Nataniel Douglass (another veteran of the Pluma Davis group) for the remarkably hip opening guitar intro to “Hatti” that he riffed on throughout the song, even though it was probably lifted from Chuck Berry. It’s tastefully done. And that saxophone section (Grady Gaines (doing the leads), Clifford Burks and Wilbert ‘Lee Diamond’ Smith (when not on piano) all on tenors, and Larry Linnear, on baritone) – it was massive. I’m sure heard live, these guys would have blown you clean away.

The Upsetters recorded at least four other songs for Vee-Jay** that were not released, including Diamond’s cool “A Girl In Every City” which I featured here in 2004 from the Charly Upsetters-related LP, The New Orleans Connection. It’s in play on the HOTG webcast. But by 1960, Diamond had left the group and gone back home. In New Orleans, he hooked up with Minit Records for two singles, “It Won’t Be Me” b/w “Please Don’t Leave” (#617) in 1960 and “Let Me Know” b/w “I Need Money” (#635) in 1961, working with the up and coming hit-producer, Allen Toussaint.

“It Won’t Be Me” (W. Smith)
Lee Diamond, from Home of the Blues, Minit LP 0001
(Tune in to HOTG Internet Radio)

This track comes from my well-worn (well. . . worn-out is more like it) copy of the Minit compilation LP imprecisely titled Home Of the Blues, released just after Imperial had bought the New Orleans label, and featuring other cuts by Jessie Hill, Aaron Neville, and Ernie K-Doe. Off his first single for Minit, Diamond’s “It Won’t Be Me” is pretty much standard fare for New Orleans R&B of the period, not at all a bad thing; but it just doesn’t have a strong hook like hits of the period that Toussaint produced, “Mother-In- Law”, “I Like It Like That”, “Ooh-Poo-Pah-Doo”, to name but a few. Still, the upbeat, stop-time tune has got some great rolling piano playing (likely Toussaint), pumping horns, and synco-shuffle drumming, more likely than not courtesy of John Boudreaux, that could definitely incite some dancing. Diamond’s vocal here reminds me of Eddie Bo, who was cutting a lot of records for Ric in New Orleans at the time. On the other side’s easy-going ballad, “Please Don’t Leave”, also written by Diamond, the singer moved into Little Willie John territory. So, I suspect the vocal similarities were an unsuccessful attempt at commercial gain through association. I’d be interested in hearing the Diamond’s other two sides for Minit but have yet to run across them either on a compilation or the actual 45.

Somewhat after the Minit releases, Diamond got the chance to record another single through an association with John Marascalco, a Mississippian who had moved to Los Angeles as a young man and in 1956 walked into Specialty Records with some songs he had written that became hits for Little Richard. Marascalco, who knew Diamond and the Upsetters from back in those days, had since gotten into the record label business.

“Good Old Summertime” (Adpt. Marascalco)
Lee Diamond with the Challengers, Lola 100, 196?
(Tune in to HOTG Internet Radio)

“Nothing But A Playboy” (Joyner-Harshman-Marascalco)
(Tune in to HOTG Internet Radio)

The origins of this 45 are not clear. For starters, the sides, a revamped version of “Good Old Summertime” (adapted as a goosed-up dance song) b/w “Nothing But A Playboy”, appeared on two different labels, Bourbon Street #100 and Lola #100. Marascalco owned Lola Records*, which seems to have been based in California, and also co-owned Infinity and several other small labels out there; but I don’t have any information about Bourbon Street other than a brief discography in the R&B Indies, which shows only two other releases besides Diamond’s. Marascalco probably had some connection to that single, too; but one wonders why he issued the same single on different imprints. To confuse things even more, the R&B Indies discography for Lola shows three different singles in their catalog designated as #100, and some of their other issue numbers are repeated as well. The date for this single on the discography is 1966; but, according to a table the R&B Indies provides elsewhere, the delta number used by Monarch Pressing that is stamped in the dead wax on the record indicates it is from July, 1962. As was often the case back then, the labels are undated.

While I think the single was recorded in New Orleans, that is just a hunch based on several things: the fact that Diamond was in the city around that time, the rather complex drumming pattern that sounds at times like it might be by Hungry Williams, and the trumpet riff on the A-side that reminds me of Melvin Lastie’s playing. So, were the Challengers credited here with Diamond an actual group or apocryphal? Hard to say; but I’m pretty certain they weren’t the band by that name that recorded instrumental cover versions of hits in the mid-1960s. I’m guessing this “group” was a made up name for some New Orleans players, maybe to be reminiscent of Diamond’s association with the Upsetters (?). Any other suggestions?

This record is another example of Diamond doing derivative material, in this case from Marascalco. The updated “Good Old Summertime” sounds like it could be some lost side by Freddie Cannon, the Bostonian rocker who was having pop hits at the time quite similar to this. And “Nothing But A Playboy” seems a throwback to the Little Richard era. Not bad, but certainly not great or even very original. While Diamond’s over-saturated, recorded in the red vocals were worthy, this 45 was a non-starter destined for commercial oblivion; and now, almost half a century later, it can sometmes be found in the virtual record bins of ebay.

In 1965, Diamond was writing songs with George Davis, a session guitarist, writer and arranger who had recently started a production company, Par-Lo Enterprises, with another session player, Alvin ‘Red’ Tyler, and Warren Parker. Diamond showed Davis an unfinished song he had, entitled “Tell It Like It Is”, which still needed lyrics. Davis thought it was promising enough to include with other songs they had written together for use in a recording project on singer Aaron Neville. As Jeff Hannusch relates in his book, The Soul of New Orleans, Diamond was incarcerated shortly thereafter and could not write any lyrics for the tune. So, Davis set some down to finish out “Tell It Like It Is”, which Neville recorded soon thereafter. A classic performance, the song surprisingly found no takers when Par-Lo offered it to labels in New Orleans and New York. This indifference forced the partnership to release it on their own hastily set up Par-Lo label, along with another Davis-Diamond song on the B-side, “Why Worry”. Their faith in “Tell It Like It Is” and Neville soon paid off, as the record got airplay and started selling in New Orleans. Then, it began to spread out around the country, eventually charting and rising to number 2 before it was done, with sales of more than two million. But that extreme and sudden success proved to be the undoing of the partnership, its label and the local distributor, Dover Records, owned by Cosimo Matassa. Inexperienced in the business end of record sales, Par-Lo and Dover shipped out tons of singles on credit to meet demand, but were unable to collect their accounts quickly enough to cover their expenses – and went bankrupt. Aaron Neville never got royalties he was due on the sales, as a result. Probably the only people who made anything on the deal were the writers, Davis and Diamond, and their publishing company, who would have received royalties for the airplay, and may still to this day (I know that Davis is still with us and going strong).

But, whether he got ample rewards for his efforts or not, his contribution to “Tell It Like It Is” was certainly Lee Diamond’s shining achievement in the music business. Hannusch never said why Diamond went to jail and for how long. But, I know he wrote several other songs in the mid-1960s, two of which, “I Caught You In A Lie” and “Yak Yak Yak” were recorded by Robert Parker on a couple of singles for Nola Records after his initial big 1966 hit, “Barefootin’”. As kindly noted by Travis in the comments section, Sir Shambling’s fine site showns Diamond as writer of Marilyn Barbarin’s first single, “One Little Word”, on the Nola label. Also, there is evidence that later Diamond made at least one more record, teaming up again with George Davis for “Nobody But You” b/w “You Were Made For Me”, billed as George & Lee on the local International City label around 1971 (anybody got a copy?).

Although I lose his trail after that, I have found out through a contact that Lee Diamond passed away in 1981. What we know about him, just through his association and connection with some major names and events in New Orleans music history, makes for an interesting back story to the records and session listings bearing his name. Because he hung in through the good times and the hard times of his business, he left behind a nice little legacy that is well worth remembering.

* [Note: I almost forgot to thank Andi Grabsch, who last year sent me a detailed comment on my first Lee Diamond post from 2004 (linked above), concerning the Lola single and label. I did not know anything about them and began researching further because of his information. He has since done extensive research on Lola and other of Marascalco's related labels, which can be viewed on his website. It's in German , which is not a probelm for some of you; but, even if you are like me and can't read it all, the discography and label scans are informative in themselves.

I appreciate the heads up, Andi. Because of you, I've found out a little more about Diamond and Lola Records. Maybe, we'll both learn even more, if there is somebody else out there with a few more pieces to the puzzle.]

** Pete Hoppula has an extensive online Upsetters discography that you should defintely take a look at, as it extends to CD comps of some of their early recordings.

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The Background Flow – Episode 6

April 17, 2008 by The Complete FlowCast · Comments Off
Filed under: Podcasts, Soul/R&B, SoulSites, SoulTrackin' 

Trax from Obsidian Blue, J Dilla, The ARE, ILLmind, Rashid Hadee and others…

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Larry Hamilton: On Record (And In Parenthesis)

April 5, 2008 by Dan Phillips · Comments Off
Filed under: Podcasts, Soul/R&B, SoulSites, SoulTrackin' 

This week I’m back with more sessions from Malaco Studios in Jackson, MS, where, during the early 1970s, Wardell Quezergue produced/arranged many records for hand-picked New Orleans vocal talent such as King Floyd, Jean Knight, the Barons Ltd, and the artists featured today. The more I explore the music from that period and place, especially the earlier sides, the more I get a sense of the soulful, funky little assembly line Quezergue had going. With songs written primarily by his New Orleans team, sometimes known as Pelican Productions, he would create hooky, rhythmic arrangements (usually starting with just a tuning fork!) and work with the locally recruited singers to perfect their presentation. Then the material was ready for final assembly and polishing at Malaco, where Big Q would thoroughly teach the in-house studio band the arrangements and record the rhythm tracks, before finally inserting the well-rehearsed vocals. One thing’s for sure, he saved a lot on money on studio time with that efficiency.

Today’s segment of my ongoing saga about the music from the Malaco/New Orleans nexus focuses on one of the songwriters who Quezergue used, Larry Hamilton. Also an impressive vocalist, he got an early start, joining the locally popular late 1960s soul-funk outfit, David Batiste and the Gladiators, as lead singer while still in high school. Unfortunately he wasn’t singing on their only known 45, the legendary “Funky Soul”, which was primarily an instrumental. While he was working with Quezergue during the early 1970s, for some reason I really don’t comprehend, Hamilton only got to record two singles under his own name: Pelican 1233 and two funky sides on the decidedly obscure Ham 101 (“My Mind Keeps Playing Tricks On Me” b/w “Ain’t Nothing Like That Funky Music”). He did not record again, as far as I know, until Allen Toussaint chose him to be one of the artists on the roster of NYNO Records in the late 1990s. Hamilton’s enjoyable eponymous CD for the label was produced by Toussaint, full of fine musical accompaniment, and featured songs from the pens of both men.

Around the age of 20, Hamilton wrote or co-wrote a number of songs that were recorded by some of the impressive artists that Quezergue was working with at Malaco, Irma Thomas (“She’s Taken My Part”), Jean Knight (”Save The Lat Kiss For Me”), and, of course, two other vocalists featured today, Johnny Adams and King Floyd. Later in the 1970s, Albert King also recorded Hamilton’s slow cooking lift of B. B. King’s “The Thrill Is Gone” called “The Feeling” on his Toussaint-produced New Orleans Heat LP; and there is an Etta James track out there somewhere (”Get On Your Job”, anybody know of it?) with his name attached.

Take a listen and find out a little more about Larry Hamilton both as a featured artist on one label and as one of the credited writers on a couple of others.


Hole photo by Rick Olivier

“Gossip” (Michael A. Adams, Albert Savoy, Larry Hamilton)
Larry Hamliton. Pelican 1233, ca 1971
(Tune in to HOTG Internet Radio)

Though it starts with some gimmicky, unnecessary chipmunkish chattering, “Gossip” is not a trivial novelty number. Its writing, arrangement and performance are top-notch; and the side offers another shining example Quezergue’s production style. Unlike looser funk grooves, the inherently structural, poly-rhythmic parts he established in this arrangement can seem almost mechanical and unnatural, if you think too much about it (guilty!); but, taken as a whole, the groove gives up a uniquely fascinating herky-jerk syncopation that immediately engages the backside as if a switch had been flipped.

Many of you are familiar with another funk song named “Gossip”, written by the Meters’ Leo Nocentelli and recorded in 1970 by the band, backing Cyril Neville on his first solo outing. Hamilton was likely aware of it and inspired by at least the subject matter to write his own “Gossip”. Although the Meters’ funk groove wins hands down by comparison, I frankly think the Hamilton/Quezergue/Malaco collaboration is probably the better song overall. The lyrics are much more substantial. Hamilton’s delivery is certainly more soulfully nuanced than Neville’s ‘just let it rip’ delivery. And his song has a better, multi-part structure that Quezergue highlights with his dynamic arrangement, as opposed to Nocentelli’s linear groovefest. Nothing wrong with either of them. They just are two totally different approaches.

One of the dangers of the assembly line production approach to popular music is that, if you aren’t very careful, you can fall back on using standardized parts that end up giving your product a sound too similar to the others, too self-referential; and you lose your competitive edge. There have always been blatant record company attempts at copy-cat songs, trying to rehash a hit. It’s the “they bought it the first time – maybe they’ll buy it again” school of turning a quick buck and taking the easy way out, which obviously worked enough of the time to keep them trying. I bring this up because Hamilton’s “Keep The News To Yourself”, the b-side of “Gossip” fell into this trap, with the bass line and general arrangement resembling a slightly sped up version of King Floyd’s “Groove Me”, which was the first big success of Quezergue and the Malaco Groove Assembly Plant that same year. While it was well-played and performed, “Keep The News To Yourself” really had nothing fresh to offer either lyrically or musically. Plus that side is noisier -so I didn’t include it.

You’ll note that Hamilton’s co-writer here is credited as Elijah Walker, who often got producer credits on Quezergue’s various Malaco records of the period, as well. Walker was a rather shady-dealing business/money man in partnership with the Big Q, backing his recording projects. Typically, such an operative often got reimbursement in the form of some percentage of profits and/or producer fees and songwriting credits, though he did not actually perform those functions. If you were a writer who wanted to get your song placed, you would likely be expected to give up a piece of your potential royalites to somebody for the priviledge. Such was/is the way of the record business

“Let Us Be” (Larry Hamilton & Elijah Walker)
King Floyd, Chimneyville 439, 1971
(Tune in to HOTG Internet Radio)

Chimneyville was Malaco’s house label, which had released King Floyd ’s “Groove Me” as its first single after both Stax and Atlantic Records had turned the song down. Of course, fairly soon after it came out, “Groove Me” shot up to #1 on the R&B charts late in 1970, followed quickly to #5 by the similar sounding “Baby Let Me Kiss You”, early in 1971. Suddenly, Atlantic snapped to attention and gave Chimneyville a distribution deal and issued an LP, King Floyd, on their Cotillion label, which had as it’s second cut on Side One “Let Us Be”, written by Larry Hamilton (with Elijah Walker again getting his cut – see above). That summer, the song (shortened by about a minute from the album version) was released on Floyd’s third Chimneyville 45 with “Got To Have Your Lovin’” (by Joe Broussard and Michael Adams), which was much more of a funk powerhouse and got some brief airplay and chart action.

Though it was pretty much a b-side and an album cut, I think “Let Us Be” is one of Hamilton’s better songwriting efforts of his early period. It’s right in Floyd’s limited vocal wheelhouse (he wasn’t much of a power-hitter), giving him a decent melody to hang onto over some interesting changes, and an uncomplicated chorus. Meanwhile, Quezergue’s arrangement offered a mid-tempo groove with a smoother, more subtle funk, propelled by the pumping bass, kick drum change-ups, and syncopated sticking on the turnarounds. As always, his horn charts are choice, too. By not falling back on any of those standard assembly line parts and same old grooves, Hamilton and Big Q helped Floyd make one of his more distinctive records that put his sound midway between Memphis soul and New Orleans funk, appropriately recorded in a city located almost exactly between the two cities.

Players on the King Floyd album were identified as the Chimneyville Express Rhythm Section (a name that did not stick) and consisted of Jerry Puckett, guitar; Wardell Quezergue, piano & organ; Vernie Robbins, bass; and James Stroud, drums & percussion. The horns, the Chimneyville Brass, were Ed Butler, Hugh Garraway, Rick Thorley, Lee Komegay, Eddie Williams, Charles Wicker, and Perry Lomax. Background voices (”the Chimneyvillettes”?) were Jackie Dorsey, Annie Bass, and Katherine Dalvit.

The only other song of Hamilton’s Floyd cut, “I Feel Like Dynamite” (co-written with Albert Savoy), from 1974 on Chimneyville 10202, revisited the more linear funk of his first two hits. And, while the playing was spot on, the pieces well put together, and the vocal engaging, it still feels more like a funky holding pattern than a progression.

“More Than One Way” (L. Hamilton – E. Walker)
Johnny Adams, Atlantic 2834, 1971
(Tune in to HOTG Internet Radio)

Back to the assembly line. But what a grooving factory job. “More than One Way” is pretty much boilerplate grooving from Big Q, the main assembler, calculated by Hamilton and his boss to ride the “Groove Me” slipstream to Hitsville. Of course, such was not the case; and we again point to the drawbacks of Plan A – too much similarity can breed, if not contempt, indifference in the marketplace. Then again, I am not sure if Atlantic did very much to market and push this release around the country. Probably not. Remember, if you will, that they had also passed on Jean Knight’s “Mr. Big Stuff”, cut at the same session as “Groove Me”. Knight’s single languished for a year before Stax picked it up and hit paydirt. For some reason, as Rob Bowman tells the story in the notes to The Last Soul Company, Jerry Wexler did not dig Quezergue’s productions, which admittedly were somewhat out of the ordinary. He took on “Groove Me” only after it was a certified smash, made some money on distribution and the LP, and let the rest of the Malaco’s New Orleans acts slide.

Though boilerplate it may be, I dig this tune, which is certainly greatly enhanced by the vocal prowess of the great Johnny Adams, testifying to Hamilton’s clever, truthful lyrics. Adams’ singing seem so effortless, with such a natural purity to his tone. No melody to speak of? No problema for Senor Johnny. He could get a lot of use out of just a few notes, work ‘em, bend and stretch ‘em, goose ‘em on up into the best damn little run you’ve ever heard sung over and over for almost three minutes. In the course of his long career, Mr. Adams excelled at interpreting soul, the deeper the better, and sophisticated, jazzy blues. But, it’s always a pleasure to hear him get hold of some funk – you don’t often hear a voice of his caliber doing it. That’s why, despite the abysmal commercial results, Hamilton and Quezergue still lucked up with this one. Johnny Adams took it higher.

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