Deep Soul Treasures for the Heartbroken
For those of you who have been reading this blog since the previous site location (home.earthlink/~uncorrected), you know that I concur with Bob Dylan on this point: "I believe in Hank Williams singing 'I Saw the Light." I also believe in The Webs singing "It's So Hard to Break a Habit"; Clarence Carter singing "Slip Away"; Betty Lavette singing "Let Me Down Easy"; Irma Thomas singing "Time Is on My Side"; Eddie and Ernie singing "Thanks for Yesterday"; Baby Washington singing "Breakfast in Bed"; Reuben Bell singing "It's Not That Easy." Christ, why don't I name every song on all four volumes of Dave Godin's Deep Soul Treasures? I could, I should!
For those of you who don't know, Dave Godin was a British soul music devotee who was largely responsible for bringing Motown music to the UK. In this sense, he must have had at least an indirect effect upon the British beat bands. Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, he kept the soul flame burning long after the the original music had played out or mutated into other forms. In the mid-nineties he compiled the first of his Deep Soul compilations for Kent, the UK-based r&b reissue label. What is Deep Soul, you may ask? To quote Godin, you might call it, "(A) darker, more troubled side to Soul Music." The broken-hearted, grown up, gospel-drenched, bluesy side of the music. Less dance-oriented, more crying in your beer or whiskey-type music. Over four volumes Godin compiled devastating sides from both the obscure--Raw Spitt--to the famous--James Brown and created a new faith, at least for this listener.
It's said that the legendary Hasidic mystic, Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav, believed that part of ones prayer life should be made in the form of an intense, personal, emotional conversation with God. This form of prayer was called hitbodedut. To quote Nachman's biographer Arthur Green on the subject of hitbodedut, "The longing and intensity with which hitbodedut is performed should bring the person at times to the very edge of death; he who practices it regularly will live always in a state near to broken-heartedness, and will be ready to respond even to the slightest knock on the door of his heart."
I believe that such states can be attained by listening to these four great compilations repeatedly over a few day period, as I've just done. I don't know, maybe that doesn't float your boat, but you, my dear reader, are denying yourself some profound moments if you don't check out the music of Doris Duke, Eddie and Ernie, and the Knight Brothers. Dave Godin died last year from lung cancer. RIP Dave Godin.
Over in vinyl land, it's been a bit Flat and banjo-haunted. Which is to say, I spun the Flatlanders' debut disc, More a Legend Than a Band. I believe the Rounder version I own (1989) is the first vinyl edition of what was orignially an eight track release from the early '70's. The Flatlanders, if you didn't know, consist of those West Texas honky tonk hipsters and mystics, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Butch Hancock and Joe Ely--plus a saw player! At the time of the vinyl reissue, Jimmie Dale, Butch and Joe, had had varying successes with their singing and songwriting careers, even collaborating at times, but they hadn't rejoined forces under the Flatlanders moniker for any length of time. They finally did so a couple of years ago. About this record: A lonely, spare evocation of small town West Texas life as a 3 a.m. of the soul of the universal condition. It's all in Jimmie Dale's "Tonight I'm Gonna Go Downtown" and Butch's "You've Never Seen Me Cry." It's like Jimmie Rodgers with a degree in philosophy and art. Not to many other country releases from that time (or any other) with a title called "Bhagavan Decreed."
Next: from The Flatlanders to Flatt and Scruggs. Two records by them boys: Don't Get Above Your Raisin' and a collection entitled simply, Flatt and Scruggs. Earl Scruggs: the Louis Armstrong of the banjo. His innovations on the instrument made for more melodic and rhythmic excitement in bluegrass. In a sense, he's as much a father of the genre as Bill Monroe is. Lester Flatt had a fine bluesy voice that belied his permanently middle-aged "cracker" face. There's such excitement and pop to their music in the early days that they sound a lot like a rock and roll outfit to me. Their fifties output is essential, y'all.
Finally, on the subject of banjos, Heather the Cat and I enjoyed the 1980 debut recording of Bela Fleck, Crossing the Tracks. If Earl Scruggs is the Louis Armstrong of the banjo, Bela Fleck is the John Coltrane or Sonny Rollins. When it comes to Bluegrass, I'm a bit of a formalist. I appreciate innovative playing, but I like it to have soul, which I don't always find in the music of Mr. Fleck and his "Newgrass" ilk. But I dig this record, because it's solidly in the tradition--as when he covers Earl Scruggs's "Dear Old Dixie"--while flirting with newfangled stuff such as Chick Corea's "Spain." This recording has flash and soul.
For those of you who don't know, Dave Godin was a British soul music devotee who was largely responsible for bringing Motown music to the UK. In this sense, he must have had at least an indirect effect upon the British beat bands. Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, he kept the soul flame burning long after the the original music had played out or mutated into other forms. In the mid-nineties he compiled the first of his Deep Soul compilations for Kent, the UK-based r&b reissue label. What is Deep Soul, you may ask? To quote Godin, you might call it, "(A) darker, more troubled side to Soul Music." The broken-hearted, grown up, gospel-drenched, bluesy side of the music. Less dance-oriented, more crying in your beer or whiskey-type music. Over four volumes Godin compiled devastating sides from both the obscure--Raw Spitt--to the famous--James Brown and created a new faith, at least for this listener.
It's said that the legendary Hasidic mystic, Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav, believed that part of ones prayer life should be made in the form of an intense, personal, emotional conversation with God. This form of prayer was called hitbodedut. To quote Nachman's biographer Arthur Green on the subject of hitbodedut, "The longing and intensity with which hitbodedut is performed should bring the person at times to the very edge of death; he who practices it regularly will live always in a state near to broken-heartedness, and will be ready to respond even to the slightest knock on the door of his heart."
I believe that such states can be attained by listening to these four great compilations repeatedly over a few day period, as I've just done. I don't know, maybe that doesn't float your boat, but you, my dear reader, are denying yourself some profound moments if you don't check out the music of Doris Duke, Eddie and Ernie, and the Knight Brothers. Dave Godin died last year from lung cancer. RIP Dave Godin.
Over in vinyl land, it's been a bit Flat and banjo-haunted. Which is to say, I spun the Flatlanders' debut disc, More a Legend Than a Band. I believe the Rounder version I own (1989) is the first vinyl edition of what was orignially an eight track release from the early '70's. The Flatlanders, if you didn't know, consist of those West Texas honky tonk hipsters and mystics, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Butch Hancock and Joe Ely--plus a saw player! At the time of the vinyl reissue, Jimmie Dale, Butch and Joe, had had varying successes with their singing and songwriting careers, even collaborating at times, but they hadn't rejoined forces under the Flatlanders moniker for any length of time. They finally did so a couple of years ago. About this record: A lonely, spare evocation of small town West Texas life as a 3 a.m. of the soul of the universal condition. It's all in Jimmie Dale's "Tonight I'm Gonna Go Downtown" and Butch's "You've Never Seen Me Cry." It's like Jimmie Rodgers with a degree in philosophy and art. Not to many other country releases from that time (or any other) with a title called "Bhagavan Decreed."
Next: from The Flatlanders to Flatt and Scruggs. Two records by them boys: Don't Get Above Your Raisin' and a collection entitled simply, Flatt and Scruggs. Earl Scruggs: the Louis Armstrong of the banjo. His innovations on the instrument made for more melodic and rhythmic excitement in bluegrass. In a sense, he's as much a father of the genre as Bill Monroe is. Lester Flatt had a fine bluesy voice that belied his permanently middle-aged "cracker" face. There's such excitement and pop to their music in the early days that they sound a lot like a rock and roll outfit to me. Their fifties output is essential, y'all.
Finally, on the subject of banjos, Heather the Cat and I enjoyed the 1980 debut recording of Bela Fleck, Crossing the Tracks. If Earl Scruggs is the Louis Armstrong of the banjo, Bela Fleck is the John Coltrane or Sonny Rollins. When it comes to Bluegrass, I'm a bit of a formalist. I appreciate innovative playing, but I like it to have soul, which I don't always find in the music of Mr. Fleck and his "Newgrass" ilk. But I dig this record, because it's solidly in the tradition--as when he covers Earl Scruggs's "Dear Old Dixie"--while flirting with newfangled stuff such as Chick Corea's "Spain." This recording has flash and soul.
posted by ken at 5:49 PM
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