|
 Into
the Bowels
By
Bill Ketzer
Corrosion
of Conformity
In
the Arms of God (Sanctuary)
Just when I reckoned they had disappeared forever, Southern
juggernauts Corrosion of Conformity thankfully plugged in
the ESPs once again for their first new batch of studio sorties
since 2000’s America’s Volume Dealer. Lyrically, vocalist
Pepper Keenan remains true to his muse with exemplary prose,
but the band explore much more checkered terrain with this
latest platter. They’re more than a little influenced by the
likes of early Sabbath, but unlike so many others, COC learned
more from their ancestors than just bowel emptying hooks.
They appreciate the importance of experimentation with texture
and extrapolation, every album a unique sport, without losing
the maker’s mark: the fiery bellicosity that is expected from
such veterans. Indeed, In the Arms is another incredible
collection, with Keenan always championing a kind of scruffy,
abrasive insouciance in his songwriting that makes the utterly
incapacitating riffage that much more splendid. And here,
his attitude floods new corridors with blazing light. The
almost Middle Eastern “Rise River Rise,” for example, or the
eclectic, Soundgarden-esque “So Much Left Behind” strike an
invigorating counterbalance to filth-churning staples like
“It Is That Way” and opener “Stonebeaker.”
As always, Keenan is no meliorist; the themes remain rifle-scoped
on elemental retribution, poor choices and broad-based societal
decay, the results of which are at times wondrous and liberating
(the punishing puissance of “Never Turns to More” or “Infinite
War,” for instance). Sadly, others are frustrated by the overzealous
stickwork of their session drummer, Galactic’s Stanton Moore.
What makes COC truly mighty is their ability to drive a riff
through your skull with unwavering might. This makes Moore
a liability, despite his obvious talent. The drums are too
loud in the mix, and even if they weren’t, he overplays so
profoundly that at times the lockstep might is obscured by
his unbridled hams. The end of the sulphurous “Paranoid Opioid”
is a perfect example, where a rumbling percussive seizure
kidnaps what should be the song’s most essential moments;
likewise, the otherwise stupefying “Backslider,” which is
peppered almost compulsively with unnecessary syncopated paradiddles
and overindulgent polyrhythms. Thankfully, it is not enough
to kill the disc. Still brilliant, still munificent.
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Dan Levinson and His Canary Cottage Dance Orchestra
Crinoline
Days (Stomp Off)
You heard Dan Levinson in the movie The Aviator, in
which he was one of the Coconut Grove musicians; you can see
him in July and August at the Saratoga Racetrack when he performs
with Reggie’s Red-Hot Feetwarmers. He’s also a member of Vince
Giordano’s Nighthawks, a band re-creating music from the ’20s
and ’30s, and he plays in any number of other ensembles paying
tribute to older styles of jazz.
The Canary Cottage Dance Orchestra explores yet another niche:
a dance-band style of the late teens, exemplified by the Frisco
Jazz Band, who recorded only nine sides but had a widespread
influence. As Levinson points out in the detailed liner notes,
the style still showed a strong influence of ragtime, with
an “even eighth-note” feel. It wasn’t what we think of as
vintage jazz; it provided pleasing melodies and a steady beat
for dancers.
So he termed it “rag-a-jazz,” and played a what-if game with
this new recording. Specifically, what might the Frisco Jazz
Band have done with songs they didn’t record, songs that were
popular during that era? Levinson wrote arrangements for the
23 tracks on this disc and assembled an ensemble of six sympathetic,
talented musicians (he plays both clarinet and c-melody saxophone)
as well as a vocal quartet.
The result is a delightful trip back in time, but with excellent
audio quality. Make no mistake: You have to enjoy this kind
of music in the first place, but if you’re any kind of a fan
of older music stylings, this is a valuable insight into what
people danced to in the days of the Great War.
Many of the tunes endure, such as “Smile, Smile, Smile (Pack
Up Your Troubles),” “Pretty Baby,” “Shine On, Harvest Moon”
and “In the Good Old Summer Time.” Some are pleasing surprises:
“At the Ball, That’s All” is now best known as the tune to
which Laurel and Hardy dance in Way Out West, while
Schubert’s “Serenade” proves as compelling in this setting
as it does spiced up by the John Kirby Sextet (and, of course,
as it does in its original version).
The Blue Amberol Quartette sings on six of the tracks, but
in a style that doesn’t strike me as compellingly authentic
as the instrumentalists—they sing too nicely, going for a
creamy barbershop sound rather than the crisp inflections
I’m used to from the Peerless Quartet or American Quartet.
Perhaps this is how those earlier groups would have sounded
if recording technology back then had been better.
This is a delightful collection that will send you to dancing
once you surrender to its charm. Levinson is that rare breed
of historian who actually lives what he studies, and we need
more textbooks like this recording.
—B.A.
Nilsson
Bobby
Purify
Better
to Have It (Proper)
Plain-spoken, affecting and effective, this is a comeback
album both for Bobby Purify and for the pure soul music of
the late ’60s and early ’70s. It’s a keeper akin to Don’t
Give Up on Me, Solomon Burke’s comeback album of 2002;
Dan Penn, who produced this, cowrote the title track for that
lean, eclectic effort. Penn is the Alabama man who produced
“The Letter” and “Cry Like a Baby” for the Box Tops, and wrote
“The Dark End of the Street” for troubled Memphis soulman
James Carr. Like those touchstones, Better to Have It
packs authenticity and passion.
Some tunes are lame: “Only in America” is hokey if heartfelt;
“Things Happen” is as throwaway as its title. But “I’m Qualified”
boasts everyman conviction, “The Pond” is terrific and funny
vernacular soul a la Jerry Reed’s “Amos Moses,” and “Nobody’s
Home,” Penn’s take on poverty, is heartrending.
The songs wouldn’t ring so true without Purify’s tenor, however.
The man born Ben Moore, whom Penn produced way back in “I’m
Your Puppet,” a hit for James and Bobby Purify, sings with
purity, perfect pitch and power. Blind since 1998, turned
off to music-making until Ray Charles encouraged him, Purify
hooked up with Penn through Hoy “Bucky” Lindsey, who cowrote
the Burke disc’s title track with Penn a few years ago. They
got Purify an album deal, backed him with sassy arrangements
and the cream of Muscle Shoals and Memphis session men, and
turned out a classic, flaws and all. Underrated, underheard,
and the equal of contemporaries Dobie Gray, Ben E. King and
Brook Benton, Bobby Purify earns his day in the sun with this
rich album.
—Carlo
Wolff
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