Orlandivo – Orlandivo (1977) (2003 Japan)

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Orlandivo
Orlandivo
1977 Continental
2003 Japan / Odeon TOCP 67178

1     Tudo Jóia
2     Um Abraço No Bengil
3     Gueri Gueri
4     Tamanco No Samba
5     Juazeiro
6     Onde Anda O Meu Amor
7     Disse-Me-Disse
8     Palladium
9     Bolinha De Sabão
10     A Felicidade

Producer – Orlandivo
Mixed By – Dan Martim, Elinho
Lacquer Cut By [Engenheiro de Corte] – Jorge Emilio     Isaac

Accordion – Sivuca
Acoustic Guitar [Violão] – Durval Ferreira
Arranged By, Clavinet, Electric Piano, Organ, Piano –     João Donato
Backing Vocals [Coro] – Luna (68), Suzana
Bassoon [Fagote] – Airton
Cuica –
Double Bass [Contra Baixo] – Alexandre
Drums [Bateria] – Mamão, Papão (tracks: B2, B3)
Edited By – Yedo Golveia
Engineer – Celinho, Deraldo, Luiz Paulo
Flute  – Copinha, Geraldo
Guitar  – Jose Menezes (tracks: A1, A2, A3)
Percussion – Ariovaldo, Chico Batera, Geraldo Bongo, Hermes , Helcio Milito
Surdo – Antenor

Coordinator – J. F. Blumenschein Filho
Creative Director – Paulo Rocco
Layout, Design – Luiz Tadeu Da Silva
Liner Notes – Chico Anísio
Art Direction – A. Lopes Machado

OBITUARY by Marcelo Pinheiro

“In the early hours of this Wednesday (8th of February), singer and composer Orlandivo passed away at 79 years old. Family members made the announcement, but did not communicate any further details, such as cause of death or the locations where the wake and burial of the artist would occur. Author of more than 200 songs, for enthusiasts of his work Orlandivo had interpreters of such caliber as Jorge Ben Jor, Dóris Monteiro, Wilson Simonal, Claudette Soares, João Donato, Elza Soares, and Ângela Maria. Among these several hundred songs, full of swing and irreverence, are classics like Tamanco no Samba, Bolinha de Sabão, Samba Toff, Onde Anda o Meu Amor, Vô Batê Pá Tu, and Palladium. In spite of such a strong resumé of hits, and for being considered by the bohemian carioca crowd as the King of Sambalanço – a highly successfully musical sub-genre of the 1960s with roots in bossa nova, jazz, and Latin rhythms – Orlandivo remained practically unknown by the great majority of the country. A Catarinense native of Itajaí, after a brief period in São Paulo, he went to live with family in Rio de Janeiro at 9 years of age. At 6, he had contact with this first musical instrument, a harmonica given to him by his father, who traveled the country and Europe on ships in the Merchant Marines – according to him, his uncommon name must have come from this, probably a corruption of Orlandini, seen when his father would make frequent voyages to Italy. A great inspiration as a vocalist for Jorge Ben Jor at the beginning of his career, Orlandivo made it big in the period 1961/62, a time when he reigned absolute as the crooner of the group led by organist Ed Lincoln. In 1962, he released his first LP, A Chave do Sucesso, on the Musicdisc label, a title that made an allusion to one of the composer’s characteristics, the use of a key-ring as a percussive instrument.  In 2013, the cult-favorite self-titled album released by Orlandivo in 1977, with arrangements and collaborations with João Donato, was one of the 50 albums highlighted in the column Quintessência.


ORIGINAL ALBUM LINER NOTES:

After a few years only producing albums, Orlandivo  changed his path.  After all, who else in the country could make the “sound of Divo.”  He is back at it again, younger than when he was mere lad, more experienced, knowing much more about things, with that certain sauce and that swing that helped to create his style.  Orlandivo sings simply and easily, so simple that it seems easy to sing, so easy that it motivates us to also try.  But woe to whoever tries to imitate him.  No, my brother!  Orlandivo is Orlandivo , personal, particular, non-transferable, alive, malandro, sly, so in tune he’s uncool, rascal doing his own thing.  I don’t know if the locksmith is still in business, but I guarantee that the one in his hand is the key to success.  That’s it!   It was good luck for those people who, during this time, lived depending on his songs.  Now, I don’t know!  He’s making them himself, singing them himself.  Better for you, getting you back fresh as a daisy, this really cool guy who sings as well as we think we sing when we’re in the shower.  Thank you, Divo, for coming back  with your good vibes.   We were needing you.

20.11.76 Chico Anísio


A lot had happened in Brazilian music between the last time Orlandivo fronted a group back with Ed Lincoln, and this tremendous collaboration with João Donato, who blessed it with his Midas touch that was on quite a golden streak at the time.  All the musical movements between those years seem to be celebrated here with an easy joy, sounding contemporary (both then and now), but with no real concern with genres or trends, searching – as he might put it – for the Brazilian sound anywhere he finds it.   The overwhelming theme here, at least for me, seems to be  texture – and that is no small measure the work of João Donato.  Donato coaxes smooth and amicable aural shapes out of components that tend to have rough edges.  The keyboards are softer, the Farfisa tone on Tamanco No Samba sounds like a few resistors were removed to make the sustain sputter out a little early.  Sometimes when listening to this, my memories go back to the times I had to eat steak with a spork in the sanitarium, because we were not allowed to have any knives for safety concerns.  It was awkward at first, but ultimately some of the best steak I’d ever eaten.  From shout-outs to Jorge Ben and Gilberto Gil (the ‘Bengil’ of the second track) to the groovy accordion of Sivuca on Gueri Gueri, everything here has a very digestible flow to it.  Another chance to point out Donato’s arranging genius is his instinct to resist the obvious – he uses Sivuca on the aforementioned Gueri Gueri, but not on the actual forró song here, Juazeiro, where you might expect him to be trotted out.  The album injects some of his classic hits in between new material, with many great contributions from his main writing partner Durval Ferreira.  Yes, Orlandivo does sort of sing “like nobody’s listening”, like we all do in the shower, or like when I am trying to impersonate João Gilberto and failing.  The record ends on an appropriately dreamy reading of the classic bossa nova anthem Felicidade.  I remember thinking to myself, “Why?”, the first time I heard it.  But the answer is more than a simple “why not?”.  It’s an appropriately subtle conclusion to what is an understated capstone in the discography of one of first great musical masters to leave us in 2017.

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Walter Bishop, Jr – Coral Keys (1971) (Black Jazz BJ/2)

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“Coral Keys”
Walter Bishop, Jr.
Released on Black Jazz 1971 (BJ/2)
Japanese Reissue 2005 Black Jazz/P-Vine

Coral Keys 6:20
Waltz For Zweetie 5:08
Track Down 4:51
Soul Turn Around 7:18
Our November 4:10
Three Loves 5:00
Freedom Suite 7:50

All songs composedand arranged by Walter Bishop
Produced and engineered by Gene Russell Continue reading

Gene Russell – New Direction (1972) (Black Jazz BJ/1)

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Gene Russell
New Direction
1972 Black Jazz BJ/1
2003 CD Reissue Black Jazz BJ/1

1     Black Orchid     3:13
2     Hitting The Jug     4:42
3     Willow Weep For Me     4:48
4     Listen Here     3:15
5     On Green Dolphin Street     5:02
6     Silver’s Serenade     4:54
7     My Cherie Amour     3:01
8     Making Bread     3:21

Bass – Henry Franklin
Electric bass – Larry Gates (tracks: 1, 8)
Congas – Tony William
Drums – Steve Clover
Piano – Gene Russell

Producer – Gene Russell


“New Direction” is maybe the misnomer of the year as far as jazz records released in 1972.  This album looks squarely to the past golden age of acoustic piano-led soul jazz for its inspiration.  There is nothing unpleasant here, by any means, but these are sounds you could find  executed with more panache and variety on  any given Junior Mance, Ahmad Jamal or Ramsey Lewis record.   Mostly this album is of historic interest because Gene Russell was the founder and executive producer of the Black Jazz Records label, which has since developed quite a cult following for its stunning recordings that explored adventurous (but accessible) pathways into modal, spiritual, and ‘conscious’ jazz, like the masterful entries from Doug and Jean Carn.  The history of the label and its reissues is something of a mess, with its master tapes even being sold on eBay at one point.   None of the songwriters are credited on this sketchy CD pressing from the early 00’s, for example, and none of them are originals.  Most casual jazz fans will recognize that a few of them are standards.  This label debut opens up with the Latin jazz of Neil Hefti’s “Black Orchid”, and serves up a memorable groover in Eddie Harris’ “Listen Here.”  I’m not sure Russell has the chops or the vision to make “On Green Dolphin Street” or “Silver’s Serenade” good for much more than background music.  By the time the rather pointless rendition of “My Cherie Amour” comes around, I’m afraid the idea of this record is firmly established: this is solid dinner jazz with which to take your seat and order a cocktail and a small appetizer, while you await the main act to come on stage — in this case, the main act being THE REST OF THE BLACK JAZZ CATALOG.  He closes with Gene Harris ‘”Making Bread,” which seems like a fitting conclusion for all this.  Harris, whether with The Three Sounds or his wonderful records on his own, was the Master Chef who, along with an entourage of other culinary alchemists, made possible the sonic kitchen that would be the playground for the great music to issue forth from the Black Jazz imprint.  So now with the hors d’oeuvres out of the way, the real menu is ready to be rolled out.

Perhaps “New Direction” was designed as a deliberate look back to how we got “here” (‘here’ being soul jazz in 1972), in which case we can hear it as a reverent homage and statement of purpose.  In all other respects, though, I won’t hesitate in saying that this is the least interesting entry in the entire Black Jazz discography.  But since it is my intention to follow through on a promise made long ago about sharing a bunch of that music here at Flabbergasted Vibes, we might as well start with BJ/1.   Rusell gave us a mildly more interesting and considerably more funky record in 1973’s “Talk To My Lady,” which we’ll get to soon enough.


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A word:  times are tough all over, and I’m reinventing myself for the third or fourth time in life to adjust to our New Reality.  I am trying to save some money so that I can relocate to a place where there are actual jobs for people with my kinds of skills.  I’m stuck in a rut, y’all, and it’s been hell getting out. If you enjoy reading these posts, consider making a donation using one of the buttons on the sidebar to help offset the costs of getting this blog online.  Any amounts are welcome.  Thanks!

Beth Carvalho – Pra Seu Governo & Canto Por Um Novo Dia (2003 2-em-1)

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Beth Carvalho
2 X 1: PRA SEU GOVERNO (1974) / CANTO POR UM NOVO DIA (1973)
2003 EMI Music 583745 2

PRA SEU GOVERNO (1974) Tapecar LPX.22

1. Miragem (Nelson Cavaquinho / Guilherme de Brito)
2 1800 Colinas (Gracia do Salgueiro)
3 Tesoura Cega (Walter Queiroz / César Costa Filho)
4 Maior É Deus (Eduardo Gudin / Paulo César Pinheiro)
5 Fim de Sofrimento (Monarco)
6 A Pedida É Essa (Norival Reis / Vicente Matos)
7 Pra Ninguém Chorar (Paulo César Pinheiro / Edmundo Souto)
8 Me Ganhou (Gisa Nogueira)
9 Falência (Nelson Cavaquinho / Guilherme de Brito)
10 Vovó Chica (Jurandir da Mangueira)
11 Agora É Portela 74 (Paulo César Pinheiro / Maurício Tapajós)
12 Pra Seu Governo (Haroldo Lobo / Milton de Oliveira)

CANTO POR UM NOVO DIA (1973) Tapecar LPX.19

13 Hora de Chorar (Mano Décio da Viola / Jorginho Pessanha)
14 Canto Por Um Novo Dia (Garoto da Portela)
15 Se É Pecado Sambar (Manoel Santana)
16 Homenagem a Nelson Cavaquinho (Carlos Elias)
17 Evocação (Nelson Ferreira)
18 Velhice da Porta-bandeira (Eduardo Gudin / Paulo César Pinheiro)
19 Folhas Secas (Nelson Cavaquinho / Guilherme de Brito)
20 Salve a Preguiça Meu Pai (Mário Lago)
21 Mariana da Gente (João Nogueira)
22 Fim de Reinado (Martinho da Vila)
23 Clementina de Jesus (Gisa Nogueira)
24 Memória de Um Compositor (Darcy da Mangueira / Betinho)
25 Flor da Laranjeira (Humberto de Carvalho / Zé Pretinho / Bernardino Silva)
26 Sereia (Tradicional)
27 São Jorge Meu Protetor


If I had to invent a singer, she would (naturally) need to have a very beautiful voice.  After this, I would train her enough to sing well, learning the secrets of phrasing, division, breathing, projection, naturalness, these things that you learn in school.

Later, I would say to her that all of this was not enough.  A singer is not a musical instrument.  She is a person, a human being, and it is fundamental that this is made clear when she sings.  The emotions, sadness, joy, depression, anguish – all this that popular music suggests has to be transmitted when it’s time to sing.  So much depends on her so that the music is not shorn of its sensations when it’s communicated.

Finally, I would tell her to sing things that come from the people.  The songs made by the geniuses of the people, full of talent and unspoilt by commercial ambitions and the neurosis of novelty so common to composers of the middle class.  I would suggest that she serve as a point of entry between popular culture and consumerism, not allowing the goal to jeopardize the origin.  She would have to be, therefore, a singer of great talent.

Beth Carvalho saved me the trouble of this work.  She already exists.

– Sérgio Cabral


This is a bit of a ‘stop gap’ post because the world should filled with music but I don’t have a lot of time to help with this Divine Mission today.  Along with Clara Nunes, Beth was one of the people whose albums first got me into samba when I was just visiting there as a tourist.  I think the first album I heard, at a friends house was Nos Botequins da Vida, one of her first efforts for RCA.  Shortly after, I was lucky enough to find that album and one of these – Canto Por Um Novo Dia, I think – in my regular stop-and-frisk of the street vendor’s carts in every city I passed through.   They are pretty common albums, nothing “rare groove” about ’em, but it’s your loss if you overlook them on that count.  I still feel like Beth gets taken for granted by many Brazilian music fans, maybe because her management did not have the strategic foresight to arrange for her to die young.  She is still around performing, making the occasional record, but has thus far shown zero interest in surrounding herself with young hipsters in the studio to ‘update’ or reinvent what she does, so has yet to become subjected to any awkward revivals.

On top of their strong repertoire drawing from the best of the many composers available to her, these early albums also have the presence of her mentor Nelson Cavaquinho playing guitar on many tracks.  You can hear his distinctive plucking of the strings from behind the sounding board, as well as some occasional backup singing, alongside Dino 7 Cordas.  There is also Abel Ferreira on clarinet, Copinha on flute, Wilson das Neves on drums, Paulo Mauro on a couple of arrangements.  This last handful is all on on Pra Seu Governo, which is inverted chronologically on this 2-on-1 CD.  I’m not sure why they did this, but it probably is the stronger of the two albums in terms of immediately just grabbing hold of you.  It has also the best samba marimba ever, on Monarco’s O Fim do Sofrimento…  The earlier album Canto Por Um Novo Dia is equally excellent, and features arrangements by César Carmargo Mariano, at the time in the middle of a string of classics for Elis Regina.  It opens with the heart-wrenching Hora de chorar, which is a bit less upbeat of an ‘opening number’ than Miragem, perhaps. Beth delivers a great mix of tunes on both albums from composers old and new, and maintains the laid back, roda de samba vibe that I think is one of the things that endeared her so much to Nelson Cavaquinho.

So now, the sound … It is a big step up from the horrific Discobertas boxset (I’ll keep laying into that point until people stop buying them – I’ve never seen a label so worthy of going out of business).  But this EMI reissue has still got “issues.” The EQ is relatively neutral, but the source for both albums appears to be vinyl copies.  I suspect Tapecar didn’t keep their masters or else preserved them so poorly that they are useless now. So, surely EMI has access to fancier A/D conversion units than I have at my disposal, but unfortunately they also slapped some heavy CEDAR noise reduction on it that sucks all the transient frequencies out.  There is audible compression too that you can really hear kicking in at some places, but it’s used judiciously for the most part, adjusted to sound pretty natural and doesn’t distract too much.  However, listen to the whole disc with a pair of headphones and I all but guarantee you will have listening fatigue and a headache before you are a couple songs into Canto Por Um Novo Dia.   Although my vinyl copies of these are probably less than pristine, they might still warrant a needledrop here sometime for the handful of us who still care about these things.

 


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Eugene McDaniels – Headless Heroes of the Apocalypse (1971)

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“No amount of dancin’
Is going to make us free.”

The Left Reverend Eugene McDaniels

    Recorded at Regent Sound Studios and Atlantic Studios, New York City
1971 Atlantic SD 8281 (Original release)
This reissue 200_ by Scorpio/Rhino records

Acoustic Bass – Miroslav Vitous
Drums – Alphonse Mouzon
Electric Bass – Gary King
Featuring – Welfare City Choir
Guitar – Richie Resnikoff
Piano, Music Director – Harry Whitaker
Vocals – Eugene McDaniels, Carla Cargill

Producer – Joel Dorn
Recording and remix engineer – Lewis Hahn

Vinyl; Pro-Ject RM-5SE with Audio Tecnica AT440-MLa cartridge; Speedbox power supply; Creek Audio OBH-15; M-Audio Audiophile 192 Soundcard ; Adobe Audition at 32-bit float 96khz; clicks and pops removed with Click Repair, manually auditioned, and individually with Adobe Audition 3.0; resampled using iZotope RX 2 Advanced SRC and dithered with MBIT+ for 16-bit. Converted to FLAC in either Trader’s Little Helper or dBPoweramp.  Tags done with Foobar 2000 and Tag and Rename.


Inauguration day special, y’all.

Dim the lights for this one.

I’ve heard different rumors about Eugene McDaniels and the Nixon administration – that the FBI was tapping his phone, that Spiro Agnew himself called Atlantic Records to complain about this album, which would seem to indicate that the reactionaries were much hipper to popular culture than I personally give them credit for.  But it’s not too far fetched – his most famous song, Compared To What?, which became a huge hit for Les McCann & Eddie Harris and then again for Roberta Flack – may be the boldest, most biting sociopolitical critique to ever top a record chart, and has apparently been covered by 270 different artists by today’s count.  So I can believe that, for the forces of Empire, Eugene McDaniels was a man who had to be stopped.  Atlantic Records dropped him after Headless Heroes of the Apocalypse.  The record is a profound and mercurial work of art that is revolutionary, less in some kind of militant way than in its general refusal to fit into any preconceived framework.  Instead, it carves out its own space and leaves the listener transformed and looking at the world differently than before they put it on.  This album, and Eugene himself, were their own gestalt.

I’m still thinking that, someday, I will file a Freedom of Information Act on Eugene McDaniels to see what, if anything, the Deep State was thinking about him.  This is what how I imagine a summary of his file might read:

  “McDaniels, Eugene Booker.  Born February 2, 1935 in Kansas City.  Black communist singer with known jazz associates.  Calls himself a Reverend, may be planning to form a religious cult or commune – field reports are inconclusive.  Believes rock singer Mick Jagger to be the Antichrist.”

I have been wanting to post about this album at various moments throughout the last couple of years.  It’s become a relevant soundtrack again and a source of solace for me.  The enigmatic  McDaniels is truly one of the great unsung songwriters of the twentieth century, because I think he wanted it that way.   This record gets name-checked a lot because it’s been sampled by prominent artists. The grooves are undoubtedly deep, and the musicians first rate – in fact the notes to the 2005 reissue of this on Water Records, with the limited space they have, talk more about arranger and keyboardist Harry Whitaker than they do Eugene.  Granted, Whitaker is the special secret sauce that makes this album stand out from its 1970 predecessor “Outlaw.”  That album is also really great, but this one is explosive and astounding,  unquestionably a masterpiece.  It was made with almost no budget, with Whitaker doing the arrangements, and with minimal overdubs (mostly just vocals, except for the first track which has a second guitar and some percussion added).   H.W. deserves tons of credit for the sound and cohesiveness of the final product, but for me it is McDaniels’ voice, lyrics, melodies and above all his completely unique vision that make this an album about which I can say “There’s really nothing else quite like it.”   It was a boundary-defying fusion of funk, jazz, rock, and soul; a record that is utterly psychedelic without a single wah peddle or production gimmick, hell there isn’t even a solo anywhere here in spite of the fact that every one of the musicians were utter virtuosos.  Apparently Whitaker wanted to bring horns in on the record but they had no money for it.  I’m so glad they didn’t, because its sound of lean restraint became an essential characteristic of its sound.  It’s intense, but also relaxed.

When I say he is enigmatic I guess I just mean enigmatic to me, because he left a big musical footprint with an incredible career arc, but chose to spend most of his life rather quietly away from the spotlight.   We’ll have a look at his YouTube channel that he started sometime around 2010 in a minute, but first let’s recap the basic facts first. McDaniels was a huge cross-over hit-maker in the early 60’s with “100 Pounds of Clay,” a song so popular that my parents remember it from their high school days, and “Tower of Strength,” both when he went by Gene rather than Eugene.  In the middle of the decade he wrote the song that would end up being recorded innumerable times, Compared To What?, the royalties from which presumably left him set for life.  At the end of the decade, McDaniels features prominently on one of my favorite Bobby Hutcherson albums, the adventurous and politically-charged Now!   He never lost the pop instincts he honed early in his career, but chose to make uncompromising, uncommercial music.  Like one of the only other people I would put in his category, Andy Bey, he also had a classic jazz singers voice (check out Freedom Death Dance…), and a four octave range, and he apparently preserved both up to the very end, in spite of  – or is it because of? – disengaging from the crazy world of the music industry.  The guy was too deep for the machine to process, and he didn’t need the money, so he went and lived his life privately, and took very good care of himself.  Listen to this man speak for a few minutes about Compared To What.  He looks so great here, with no indication that he would pass away within the year

 

Now is the place where normally I might indulge in a track by track breakdown of this record.  I could do that, and maybe someday I will, but it should really be heard first, and I bet some of you haven’t played it yet.  So let’s all listen to it and meet back here in a month to discuss it?  Really, it does speak for itself, and has to be absorbed with all of its quirks.  It should be left to the listener to follow his labyrinthine thread that ties together end-times religious imagery; invective against war and calls for justice that are clever, funky, and tuneful; a story of how everyday life as a black man going about everyday capitalist acts (trying to exchange an item at a grocery store) can lead to a near race riot; and a narrative of the colonial “settling” of the United States, decrying the indignities visited on First Nations peoples.   This last track is the climactic closer to the album, The Parasite (For Buffy), which in spite of just having guitar-bass-drums and vocals, comes off almost orchestral in its sweep (which is definitely a testament to Whitaker, who I imagine standing in front conducting them all with a baton).  It’s a breathtaking unity of words, music, execution.  McDaniels vocal control here is worth a study of its own: the verses have a sweetness that becomes a snarl in schizophrenic increments, with the anger slowly being peeled back in single accents and intonations, replaced again by sweetness almost like he is trying to hold back the demon.  Until, by the end, his voice becomes a raw exposed nerve, with the final minute collapsing into literal screaming and the group attacking their instruments in a free-form festival of noise, an avant-garde blast, like the sound of the universe diving into its own navel.

You have to hear it to believe it.


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Flabbergasted Freeform No.18 – 2016’s Eternal Aftershow Pt.2

eternal-afterart_2

Here is an aural tradition that I only occasionally follow – a mix of some of the many remarkable musicians, singers, composers, and arrangers who left this planet during the last year (now itself good and dead, 2016).  For the dozen or so people still listening to these podcasts,  I had at one time intended and promised to post this in the last weeks of the year.  A lot of factors made that into much less of a priority when the time rolled around, but there was also the uncomfortable hunch that we weren’t quite out of the woods yet regarding celebrities reaching their expiration dates.  I even considered a horror movie type scenario where any still-living musicians who just happened to play on these tracks might be put at risk, or even worse, some Ring-like scenario where just listening to the podcast might kill you. So I quite reasonably decided to hold off until the year had safely passed to finish it, and now here it is, completely free of demonic powers.

It is by necessity incomplete: there were just too many stiffs to work with.  I opted not to include Muhammad Ali’s perplexing rendition of “Stand By Me” from 1963, for example.  I also couldn’t find the right moment to fit in a track from the bootlegged 1977 studio session where Paul Kantner briefly fired Grace Slick and Marty Balin from Jefferson Starship, and replaced them with Carrie Fisher and Blowfly.  The abandoned album was tentatively to  called “Blowfly Against the Empire ’77”.  It was a concept album, of course, and hard to take any one song out of context…(*edit: I legitimately forgot Buckwheat Zydeco, and I even had some of his records pulled.  Boo, hiss…)

A few artists from Part One (done way back in October) were repeated here, but most were not.  So if you are wondering where are Natalie Cole, Gato Barbieri, The Brothers Johnson or Phife Dawg, have a look back in the archives.  I don’t recall if I ever mentioned Rudy Van Gelder by name during either show, but surely he recorded at least a couple things in there somewhere.  A playlist will be uploaded in a few days time.

Besides streaming this show on Mixcloud, you can also get direct downloads in the links below it.  If you feel inspired, you can make a little donation with one of the buttons on the right-hand column – every penny helps to cover the costs of hosting this site.


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