My friend Jim was selling some more dollar records this weekend. He had the tent out in its usual place in the back yard of his tiny duplex. Turns out he had nine new boxes of records. “Got a bunch from Illinois,” he said.
The weather is turning in our corner of Wisconsin. Our days for outdoor crate digging are growing increasingly few.
Though it was late Saturday morning by the time I got to Jim’s back yard, the temperature hadn’t made it past 50. Under the tent, out of the sunlight, with a brisk wind, it was a bit nippy. Not a problem, really, except that my fingers are increasingly sensitive to cold as I get older. They were getting sore by the eighth and ninth boxes.
But one of those dollar records warmed me right up.
I’d not been aware that Dionne Warwick had done an album of soul, R&B and Beatles covers. But there it was — “Soulful,” on the Scepter Records label. Warwick recorded it in Memphis in 1969, co-producing it with the great Chips Moman.
Now if I’d been paying attention, I’d have remembered “Soulful.”
My friend Larry included a couple of the Beatles covers from this album on his Funky 16 Corners Radio v.54 podcast back in July, and there they are, sitting in my iTunes. Larry described “Soulful” as being “filled with a grip of excellent soul covers.” You are correct, sir!
Enjoy a couple of those covers, but be aware that they come with a few pops and crackles. I find that part of the charm of old records.
“Do Right Woman, Do Right Man,” and “People Got To Be Free,” Dionne Warwick, from “Soulful,” 1969.
The first cut is a passionate cover of the Aretha Franklin tune written by Moman and Dan Penn. The second cut is a cover of the Rascals tune, given a joyous, upbeat, almost gospel-like rendering.
When I lived in Madison, Wisconsin, in the ’80s, one of the local rock stations, WMAD, would play the same combination of tunes every Friday afternoon, supposedly marking the official start of the weekend.
I want to say it came about 2 p.m. because I often heard it in the car while heading home from the Y after playing basketball.
To this day, more than 25 years later, I cannot think of one song without the other. They are forever paired in my head. In this order.
And, yes, they do suggest the beginning of the weekend.
In which the late, great Mr. Hartford — with whom a friend claims to have smoked some dope way back when — suggests, “Hey, babe, you wanna boogie?” It is as rough and full of grunts as Donna Summer’s “Love To Love You Baby” is smooth and full of moans.
Oh, yeah, we all have the end of the work week on our minds.
This came from Australia and was written by George Young and Harry Vanda, who in the late ’70s and early ’80s were Flash and the Pan, one of my favorite groups. Young also produced the early work of AC/DC, in which his brothers Angus and Malcolm still play.
Whether these songs are still played in this order on Friday afternoons on WMAD, once a rock station at 92.1 FM and now a country station at 96.3 FM, I cannot say. It would be nice, though.
I pushed the wrong button and it was gone forever.
A couple of years ago, our son recorded the message on our answering machine. It started fairly routinely: “Hi, you’ve reached the Ash-Roberts household. We can’t take your call right now, but if you leave your name and number, we’ll get back to you.”
It ended this way, with a bit more urgency and all the authority an 11-year-old’s sing-song voice could muster: “If you’re calling for Evan, please leave a message.”
Evan is 13 now. His voice changed over the summer, dropping to the hard, flat sound typical of a teenager from the upper Midwest. The voice on the answering machine was our only audible link to the way he used to sound.
I wanted to record the recording, to preserve that memory. But I pushed the wrong button, or perhaps the right button at the wrong time. The answering machine erased Evan’s message rather than playing it.
I am as bummed about screwing that up as anything I’ve been bummed about in a long, long time. Of course, I still can hear Evan’s sing-song voice in my head. My only hope is that the memory lingers.
We’re flattered whenever music publicists want to share something new with us. Especially when those acts are among those we’ve long known. As one publicist put it, “adult-facing artists.”
If we’re lucky enough to get a review copy, it gets put to The Car Test. I put it in the car and play it whenever I’m driving. That way, it gets heard more than once. That way, I get a good sense of the album.
That said, a few words about “Gift of Screws,” the new album from Lindsey Buckingham.
A confession: I don’t know much about Lindsey Buckingham beyond his work in Fleetwood Mac. I have none of his previous solo albums.
However, after giving it a few spins in the car, I’ve enjoyed his new album, “Gift of Screws.” Especially three songs at mid-CD: “Love Runs Deeper,” “Bel Air Rain” and “The Right Place To Fade.”
“Love Runs Deeper” and “The Right Place To Fade” have a classic mid-’70s Fleetwood Mac vibe. Mick Fleetwood and John McVie join Buckingham on the latter. “Bel Air Rain” is more moody, more edgy, infused with an L.A. vibe and some fine guitar work by Buckingham.
“This is probably the most rock ‘n’ roll album I’ve ever made,” Buckingham told John Soeder of the Cleveland Plain Dealer.
That could be why I like it so much.
“Love Runs Deeper” and “Bel Air Rain,” Lindsey Buckingham, from “Gift of Screws,” 2008.
(Postscript: If you’re wondering why there are so few details, I was working without liner notes or production notes or a lyric sheet. Most of the details came from other reviews and interviews.)
These are mp3s from my collection, taken from vinyl whenever possible. Enjoy. All music presented here is shared under the premise of fair use. This blog is solely intended for the purpose of education, a place for me to tell stories and write about music and cultural history. If you are a rights holder to any of the music presented and wish for it to be removed, please email me directly and it will be taken down.
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The text is copyright 2007-2023, Jeff Ash. Text from other sources, when excerpted, is credited.