From Cody Wiewandt at Full Stop The best two essays I’ve read recently both concern Van Morrison and can be found in an semi-obscure tome of rock criticism published by Knopf and edited by Greil Marcus called Stranded: Rock and Roll For a Desert Island, initially released in 1979. The idea behind Stranded is a simple one: get twenty rock critics to pick and write about their ‘desert island’ record. Only one artist had more than one record chosen: Van Morrison; M. Mark (then Arts editor of the Village Voice, now Professor of English at Vassar) opens the collection with a beautifully sprawling take on Van Morrison’s 1974 live album “It’s Too Late to Stop Now”, and later on immortal rock critic Lester Bangs (memorably portrayed by Philip Seymour Hoffman in Almost Famous) champions the seminal Astral Weeks in one of those essays that are perfectly personal. Both of these writers are essentially trying to hammer home one overwhelmingly explicit point: you can talk about Van Morrison, the man, or Van Morrison, the recording artist, but what you should really be talking about is Van Morrison, the poet. Throughout her essay M. Mark maintains a discussion regarding the relationship between Van and W.B. Yeats; Bangs ends his with a juxtaposition between the opening lines of Astral Weeks and a section from Federico Garcia Lorca’s “Ballad of a Small Plaza.” These are both compelling comparisons: Yeats and Morrison share an Irish sense of romantic wilderness (brilliantly described by Marks as a lion’s howl), and one does get a strange sense of serendipity analyzing Lorca’s poem alongside Van’s lyrics, but ultimately neither of these come close to encapsulating the beauty of Van Morrison’s music. Conan O’Brien once said that the problem writing about comedy is that “it’s like trying to hold a gas – the tighter you squeezes, the more it dissipates.” The same idea applies to music: the more you try to cage meaning the less likely you are to ever catch it. This is not to say, however, that Marks and Bangs wasted their time; if anything, it’s to say the exact opposite: these essays, like the best music criticism, are aware of the inherent impossibilities of the form, and, rather than shying away, embrace this futility. These essays, after all, aren’t academic dissertations – they are letters from fans.
And still, with that all being said, I am finding it hard to fight the impulse of comparing “Into the Mystic” to a John Ashbery poem, or the exuberant chorus of “Caravan” to the wild ecstasy of “Kubla Khan”, but I will not give into these urges, and will leave you instead to these two thoughts: one – if you’ve never heard Astral Weeks, download it illegally, or listen to it on Youtube, or Spotify, or whatever, and do it today, right now, and, two – if I could live anywhere it would be within “Brown-Eyed Girl”, somewhere between the cracks of infinite space in sha la la la la la la la la la la te da. Essential Listening: Them Featuring Van Morrison Astral Weeks Moondance Into the Music The Best of Van Morrison (2 vols) Essential Reading
(from Burke's official on-line bio)
At a time when rock and roll was in its infancy and R&B was just starting to get its groove on, Solomon Burke burst onto the scene, shattered the cultural barriers of the time, scored a massive hit with “Just Out Of Reach (Of My Two Empty Arms)” and quickly redefined the way the world would think about music. Conquering hearts, moving hips and electrifying fans in ways no one thought possible, the Philadelphia born legend’s soul-stirring smashes and charismatic presence captured the imagination of young people like no one else of his era. Dubbed by legendary Atlantic Records producer Jerry Wexler as “the best soul singer of all time,” Burke, a Rock and Roll Hall of Famer since 2001, is more than simply a pioneering American legend from another time and place--he is an innovator whose timeless music spans generations and has inspired millions of fans and hundreds of recording artists across the decades.
According to Tim Newby: "Despite the endless parade of fans and praise, Burke always seemed to be two steps ahead or one step behind his contemporaries. While he was always at the forefront of the Soul movement, paving the way for a slew of singers who followed in his large wake, he never had that one timeless hit like so many others of the time that would forever endear him to our memories. So many of his peers of the time had that one huge mega-hit that would stamp them as eternal legends, and while Burke came close, he never found that one everlasting song. He became more known for his inspiration on other musicians than for his music. He is often criminally overlooked by the casual fan".
Neil Portnow, President/CEO of The Recording Academy, praised Burke soon after his death: "GRAMMY-winning soul singer Solomon Burke was revered as one of music’s greatest vocalists and a pioneer of the genre. A deeply spiritual man, his love and passion for his craft kept him touring and performing to sold-out audiences right up to his final days. Few artists have had careers as long, rich and influential as his, and he leaves a larger-than-life legacy as powerful and soulful as he was. The music industry has lost one of its most distinctive voices"
By Phil Gallo:
In a 1983 essay for the album "Soul Alive!," writer Peter Guralnick described Solomon Burke as "the most compelling secular preacher of them all," proposing that Burke's talents were superior to all other soul singers.
Burke did not take that compliment lightly. He consistently paid tribute to his peers by covering the songs of Sam Cooke, Otis Redding and Ray Charles at his concerts, making it clear that he was part of an inspiring group came from the same roots of country, gospel, pop and R&B.
Burke died Oct. 10 at the age of 70 in Amsterdam, where he had flown to perform. He lived in Los Angeles.
A native of Philadelphia with considerable amount of gospel experience before he went secular, Burke distinguished himself in the early '60s by fusing country with his R&B style. He had a substantial influence on the Rolling Stones as well as Bruce Springsteen, Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes. In the late 1970s, the Blues Brothers' had America singing his song "Everybody Needs Somebody to Love."
In 2002, he recorded one of that year's finest albums, "Don't Give Up On Me," which featured songs from Elvis Costello, Tom Waits and Nick Lowe. But with no top 20 hits, Burke remained a cult artist from the 1970s up through his last album, "Nothing's Impossible," released earlier this year.
“The Hardest-Working Man in Show Business,” “Soul Brother Number One,” “the Godfather of Soul,” “the Minister of New New Super Heavy Funk” — in whatever guise, James Brown is unquestionably one of the most charismatic musical icons of the 20th century. An irrepressible performer, ruthless but highly proficient bandleader, awesome dancer, and, unquestionably, the man who flipped soul music on its head to create funk, Brown became a huge black cultural symbol in the 1960s and ’70s. He’s certainly altered the course of black popular music more than once, with his innovations flowing into the careers of Michael Jackson, Mick Jagger, Public Enemy, Prince, and a multitude of others.
The music he cut in his prime, as well as his idiosyncratic screams and squeals, have formed the bedrock of hip-hop. He’s subsequently become the world’s most sampled artist. He’s also had to struggle with addiction and personal tragedy, especially in his later years. In 1988, he was imprisoned for two years, convicted of aggravated assault and failing to stop for a police car following a high-speed police chase from Georgia into South Carolina. His third wife, Adrienne, died unexpectedly after undergoing plastic surgery in 1996. But today, he still tours, and his performances belie his septuagenarian physique. James Brown is undoubtedly a complex, sometimes misunderstood, but always absorbing figure.
He was born in a one-room shack in the woods of South Carolina in 1933. His parents split up when he was four years old and he moved in with his Aunt Honey, the madam of a brothel in Augusta, Georgia. Poverty dominated his youth; he danced for money, shined shoes, picked cotton, and was dismissed from school for “insufficient clothes.” He developed his unique, compelling voice by singing in church. But at the age of 15, after breaking into a car, he was sentenced to between eight to 16 years in jail. While incarcerated, he led a gospel choir, demonstrating his organizational prowess at an early age, and was befriended by a local musician, Bobby Byrd. Upon his release three years later, he was aided by the Byrd family and became part of Bobby’s vocal group.
Eventually gravitating toward R&B music, the group, which came to be known as the Famous Flames, performed across Georgia in the mid-’50s. They impressed Ralph Bass, a King Records talent scout, with their demo tape of “Please Please Please,” and the song was released in 1956, becoming their first hit single. In 1958, “Try Me” was also released and more hits followed. In the late 1950s and the 1960s, James Brown stubbornly mastered every dance craze like the “camel walk,” the “mashed potato,” and the “popcorn.” He invented some too, often declaring he was about to “do the James Brown.”
His concerts were passionately anticipated. “Pee Wee” Ellis, his saxophonist, once commented: “When you heard James Brown was coming to town, you stopped what you were doing and started saving your money.” Recorded in 1962, the album LIVE AT THE APOLLO is an awesome document of Brown’s dramatic shows and the raw, emotive power of his voice. The record sold millions of copies, establishing James Brown as one of the leading black performers of the period.
The Flames toured ceaselessly throughout the 1960s, often performing five or six nights each week, and Brown, who promoted and planned his tours, was a sharp businessman, hitting “money towns” at the weekends. A perfectionist, he famously fined his musicians for missing notes or playing the wrong ones. And when he yelled out the name of a musician, that person was expected to improvise perfectly on the spot. Another saxophonist, Maceo Parker, admitted, “You had to think quick to keep up.” In 1965, during THE T.A.M.I. SHOW in Santa Monica, James Brown performed before the Rolling Stones. Of their respective performances, music historian Nelson George, observed: “Mick Jagger jiggled across the stage doing his lame funky chicken after James Brown’s incredible camel-walking, proto-moon-walking, athletically daring performance.”
In 1965, the immaculate rhythmic tension of “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag” ushered in a new style of music — funk. Throughout the 1960s and into the early 1970s, James Brown increasingly abandoned melody and harmony, focusing on rhythm in songs like “Cold Sweat,” “I Got the Feelin’,” and “Give It Up or Turnit a Loose.” Brown admitted, “I was hearing everything, even the guitars, like they were drums.” By the end of the 1960s, he was mercilessly reducing every instrument to a percussive role.
James Brown’s involvement with the civil rights movement also began in the mid-’60s. He embraced it with the same energy and dynamism he devoted to his performances. In 1966, the song “Don’t Be a Drop-Out” urged black children not to neglect their education. In the same year, he flew down to Mississippi to visit the wounded civil rights activist James Meredith, shot during his “March Against Fear.” From 1965 onward, Brown often canceled his shows to perform benefit concerts for black political organizations like the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC). In 1968, he initiated “Operation Black Pride,” and, dressing as Santa Claus, presented 3,000 certificates for free Christmas dinners in the poor black neighborhoods of New York City. He also started buying radio stations.
By 1968, James Brown was very much more than an important musician; he was a major African-American icon. He often spoke publicly about the pointlessness of rioting and in February 1968, informed the black activist H. Rap Brown, “I’m not going to tell anybody to pick up a gun.” On April 5, 1968, African Americans rioted in 110 cities following civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination the day before. James Brown was due to perform in Boston, Massachusetts. Mayor Kevin White and Brown decided to proceed with the show and televise it. They realized people could not resist watching a James Brown concert, and the riots gripping other cities were averted in Boston.
In May 1968, President Lyndon Johnson invited James Brown to the White House. The following month, the government sponsored him to perform for the troops in Vietnam. In August, he recorded “Say It Loud — I’m Black and I’m Proud.” Brown later attested the song “cost me a lot of my crossover audience,” but it definitely caught the rising spirit of African-American nationalism and became the unifying anthem of the age. He graced the cover of LOOK MAGAZINE, which asked, “Is this the Most Important Black Man in America?”
Throughout the first half of the 1970s, James Brown continued to make the charts with songs like “Sex Machine,” “Get on the Good Foot,” and more political material like “Talkin’ Loud and Sayin’ Nothing.” His popularity dipped momentarily when he supported Nixon’s reelection in 1972, but he bounced back, writing the soundtracks to BLACK CAESAR and SLAUGHTER’S BIG RIP OFF. In 1973, his first son, Teddy, died tragically in a car accident and the IRS stalked him for millions in back taxes, but the concerts and hits didn’t stop. He performed at the Ali-Foreman fight, “the Rumble in the Jungle,” in Zaire and was paid $160,000 to play at the President of Gabon’s inauguration in 1975. In 1976, 20 years after his first hit single, James Brown entered the charts with “Get Up Offa That Thing,” but his career was consumed by disco, a payola scandal, and financial and domestic difficulties.
In 1980, his appearance in the film THE BLUES BROTHERS was the start of his comeback. Having a hit single with “Living in America,” from ROCKY IV, helped too. In 1986, he was one of the first inductees into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Emerging hip-hoppers, like Afrika Bambaataa and Public Enemy’s Chuck D, either recorded with him or praised him as an important influence. Despite this, Brown continued to struggle, very publicly, with personal demons, imprisonment, and addictions well into the 1990s.
On December 25, 2006, Brown died at approximately 1:45 AM EST (06:45 UTC) from congestive heart failure resulting from complications of pneumonia, with his agent Frank Copsidas and his friend Paul Sargent at his bedside. According to Sargent, Brown stuttered "I'm going away tonight", and then Brown took three long, quiet breaths and fell asleep before dying.
The son of a blues singer and apparently a fave of British rockers in the early 60's (his songs were covered by both The Beatles and Stones), Arthur Alexander never crossed over to white Amurrican kids. Too bad, as his stuff was very good - smooth, strong early 60's soul in the Sam Cooke style, with a strong country thread as well.
Along with Rick Hall, he helped start the Muscle Shoals recording studios - no small feat. And there he knocked off his first hit, "You Better Move On." After that he parted ways with Hall and switched labels to Dot, where he floundered before scoring some more hits such as "Anna."
Illness sidelined him for several years. He drifted around as a staff writer and made a few more, sometimes well-received, comeback attempts. He passed away in June 1993.
