Emmylou Harris, Roy Buchanan, Tommy McLain & Patsy Cline : Sweet Dreams

Somewhere East of Eden Dawn breaks.

You open your eyes to greet The Sun.

That lucky old Sun, He got nothing to do but roll around Heaven all day.

All Day.

Now, you have lots to do.

You have goals and tasks and targets.

You have reflections and reviews to consider.

You have outcomes and KPIs to attain.

You have stratagems.

Things to do. Places to be.

Youre on the case. You’re in charge.

All day. Every Day.

Until, eventually, that lucky old Sun has rolled all around Heaven to set in The West.

Now, The Moon has dominion.

Now, you need your sleep before you can face another busy, busy Day.

And, with Sleep, unbidden, unstoppable, come The Dreams.

Everybody has them Dreams.

Dreamers find their way by Moonlight.

The Captain of the Watch and his Guards are no longer at attention – in fact they are carousing in the Town – AWOL.

And, if they should glance up from their cups all they will say is:

He is a dreamer; let us leave him : Pass.

Unfettered you slip the bonds of time and are free to wander the echoing halls of memory.

Free to peer into the open doors and to ascend/descend the Escher stairs to secret rooms.

Who knows who you will meet?

Perchance all that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

Perchance dreams are all you will truly ever own.

Poor as you are you have your dreams.

You have your dreams.

And, you have to dream if you are to live.

Though you are nothing you have in you all the dreams of the world.

Life without dreams is a broken winged bird.

Some dreams will not survive the fluttering of your opening eyelids.

Some dreams will stay with you for ever after and permanently alter the colour of your mind.

Some dreams, though you are yet to know it, will be the last, the very last, dream of your soul.

Some dreams are nought but the gleanings of an empty heart.

An empty heart.

Why can’t I forget my past and live my life anew …

Instead, instead, instead.

Instead I’m having Sweet Dreams about you.

Sweet Dreams about you.

 

Don Gibson, the Nashville Laureate of Heartbreak, wrote, ‘Sweet Dreams’ in 1955 and singers have been launching it into the ether ever since.

Don put it out first but it was Faron Young who had the first Hit.

Don had another go in 1960 and emerged with a nice morose version that got even more people listening.

But, in 1963 Patsy Cline, who sang supremely in the Key of Heartbreak took the song to another dimension of feeling.

Patsy Cline had a voice that seemed to possess ancient knowing about the human heart.

Every Patsy Cline vocal is an intense drama that commands you to listen with deep attention.

Her bruised and anguished tones tell you; this is how it is and you know it too don’t you?

You might not want to admit it but Patsy makes it plain.

No good pretending.

Troublous dreams this night doth make me sad.

I should hate you the whole night through.

The whole night through.

Instead I’m having Sweet Dreams about you.

Once you’ve fallen asleep none can know what dreams may come.

Should you be grieved in the spirit visions in your head may trouble you all your live long days.

Jacob and Daniel and Joseph.

And in 1966 from Jonesville Louisiana Tommy McLain.

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Tommy’s version of Sweet Dreams will play forever in your dreams from the moment you first hear it.

Surely this version was recorded direct from the soundboard of your dreaming soul.

Why cant I forget my past and live my life anew?

Why, Why, Why!

Tommy’s time banishing, heart stopping, ethereal vocal seems to surround your senses with the vibraphone adding further levels of sensual derangement.

Floyd Soileau recorded Tommy in his Ville Platte Studio but was not convinced this version would sell.

He changed his mind when it was reported to him by the owner of a local bordello that the song was No 1 on their Jukebox – a favourite of the working women and customers alike!

Later on as the song got picked up by national distributors and major radio stations three Million record buyers came to agree with the folks back in Ville Platte.

 

 

Emmylou Harris (a firm Jukebox favourite) has always found the sweet heart of any song she chooses to sing.

There’s an ache in her voice that it is even more emotionally affecting now that her hair has turned to silver and her knowledge of the trials of the world has deepened.

Here, live with The Nash Ramblers she sings like the angel always out of sight in your dreams.

The one you hope will return to those dreams again.

The one you could listen to the whole night through.

The whole night through.

 

 

Some dreams don’t need words.

Some yearnings cry out beyond syllables.

Roy Buchanan made his Guitar sound your deepest dreams.

Now some will tell you this is because he played a 53 Fender Telecaster and some will wax lyrical about overtones and pinched harmonics.

Maybe. Maybe.

Yet, there is something in Roy’s playing that’s undreamt of in philosophy or guitar manuals.

When he plays like this the valleys are exalted and the hills and mountains made low.

When he plays like this the hills and mountains are made low.

When he plays like this the rough places are made plain.

When he plays like this the crooked places are made straight.

 

 

I call that a Sweet Dream.

A Sweet Dream.

You can be in my dream if I can be in yours.

 

Tom Waits : Kentucky Avenue

St Paul tells us when we are grown to adulthood that it’s time to put away childish things.

As a guide to moral conduct that may well be sage advice.

There are choices to be weighed in the balance.

There are responsibilties to be shouldered.

There are strengths and weaknesss to be acknowledged.

There are trials, torments and traumas to be survived.

Yes, you need to look at the spinning world with a cool appraising adult eye if you are to navigate it safely.

And yet … we all carry the child we once were within our skins and deep in our psyche.

There is a knowing, an untutored first poetic knowing, known and retained by that child, we would all do well to tap into throughout all our adult days.

You should never be so old not to want to fly away on a magpie’s wings and hop that freight train in the hall all the way down to New Orleans in the fall.

All the way to New Orleans in the fall.

 

 

Tom Waits tells crazy stories blazing with drunken truths.

Tom Waits tells crazy stories blazing with sober, artful lies.

Tom Waits tells crazy stories that make perfect sense to the labouring adult crying out for rest and the blithe bubble blowing child within you.

Tom Waits tells the best damn stories you ever heard and Kentucky Avenue is one of his very best.

The song is brilliantly composed and sung in the continuous present we live in during our childhood days.

The characters who populate the story are ordinary figures and at the same time shadow thrown giants looming on the young mind’s eye.

Eddie Grace’s old Buick is rusting on his drive and Eddie don’t drive no more but Wow! you know those holes in the side … they’re bullet holes! (From the time when Eddie ran with the mob – how do ya think he got that limp?).

Mrs Storm looks at at the world from behind fly blown curtains and she don’t talk to no one not even the mail man since that son of hers went missing in the war.

He used to keep that lawn of hers so perfect it was greener and truer than Augusta.

Sshhh …  don’t put a toe on that lawn – she will stab you with a steak knife if you do!

When you are a child you haven’t exhausted your capacity for pleasure and your sense of wonder is acute.

Man, half a  pack of Lucky Strikes and a packet of macadamia nuts is more treasure than Long John Silver ever dreamed of.

When you’re a child you don’t have to be told you’ll live forever you just know – let’s go ever to Bobby Goodmanson’s and jump off the roof!

And .. oh oh .. the secrets. The secrets.

Hilda plays strip poker when her mama’s across the street and (he told me and he don’t ever lie) Joey Navinsky says she put her tongue in his mouth.

And … oh oh … when you got just one friend, a blood brother … you own the world. The world them others don’t even see … seems like they walking around stone blind.

Let me tie you up with kite string, I’ll show you the scabs on my knee!

Fabled adventures are born every new Dawn – watch  out for the broken glass, put your shoes and socks on,and come along with me

Let’s follow that fire truck, I think your house is burning down!

Let’s  go down to the hobo jungle and kill some rattlesnakes with a trowel (It ain’t dangerous at all ..).

And, oh oh … when you’re having adventures you don’t calculate repercussions – don’t you just love the sound of breaking glass?

We’ll break all the windows in the old Anderson place!

We’ll steal a bunch of boysenberrys and smear ’em on your face .. how great we’ll look!

And, ah ah .. when you give and get presents as a child they are like no presents you’ll ever get again:

‘I’ll get a dollar from my mama’s purse, buy that skull and crossbones ring
and you can wear it round your neck on an old piece of string.’

The things we did and the things we nearly, nearly did!

Remember that time we spit on Ronnie Arnold and flipped him the bird or the day we would have slashed the tires on the school bus if the janitor hadn’t woken up!

That’s the kind of thing you do when you’re Blood Brothers (funny how you’re much closer to your Blood Brother than the brothers in your house – you don’t share your dreams and secrets with them!)

I’ll take a rusty nail, scratch your initials in my arm and show you how to sneak up on the roof of the drugstore.

And … oh oh .. when you see with the eyes of a child you see with a clarity .. a vision it’s so easy to lose as your eyes grow accustomed to the adult world:

I’ll take the spokes from your wheelchair, and a magpie’s wings
And I’ll tie ’em to your shoulders and your feet
I’ll steal a hacksaw from my dad, cut the braces off your legs
And we’ll bury them tonight out in the cornfield

Just put a church key in your pocket
We’ll hop that freight train in the hall
We’ll slide all the way down the drain
To New Orleans in the fall

 

 

Thank you Tom for reminding me of how a Magpie’s wings can take you places a 747 never could.

And for letting me keep looking out for that freight train in the Hall.

Let you into a secret … one day I’m gonna ride it all the way down to New Orleans.

Planning to do it in the fall.

In the fall.

Bobby Bare, Arthur Alexander, Tom Jones, Pam Tillis : Detroit City

People leave Home for all kinds of reasons.

As many reasons as there are people.

Running from.

Running To.

In search of safety.

In search of Danger.

Wherever they go, for whatever reason, no one ever forgets the Home they left.

Even, especially, if they can never go back there again.

Except in dreams.

Everyone has those dreams.

Jimmy :

When Daddy got home from the War he was sporting a chest full of medals.

Trouble was now he had only one arm and poison headaches near enough every day.

Makes running a small farm damn near impossible.

Some people say that’s what turned him mean.

Those folks mustn’t have known him before the War.

He’d always been mean as a mean rattlesnake on his meanest day.

Don’t know how Momma put up with him.

Except she’s one of them people who when she makes a promise she means to keep it.

For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

Drunk or sober.

Arms around or fists Flying.

Me, I had to take mean when I was a Kid and I put up with it, for Momma’s sake, when I  could have fought back.

Then, one blue hour of the morning I decided it was time to take a freight train north.

Leave them fields of Cotton far, far, behind.

It’s a long way from Lubbock to Detroit.

Cotton field to Car Factory.

Ford or Packard or Chrysler.

Momma never would leave Daddy or Texas for that matter.

Detroit’s got jobs.

Jobs that pay.

A man can make his way.

Another thing Detriot’s got – Baseball.

The Tigers.

See if Al Kaline is as good as they say.

Don’t doubt they got Jukeboxes I can pump some quarters into.

Surely they got some Hank Williams and some Buddy Holly.

I wrote a letter to Mary Margaret saying I’d send for her when I’d made my fortune.

Shouldn’t be more than a couple of years.

A couple of years.

We will still be young.

Left a note promising Momma I’d write home every week.

That’s a promise I mean to keep.

 

Henry :

They say working a shift at Ford is hard work.

Well, not if you spent years picking Cotton.

That is work.

Back breaking work in the Sun.

Cotton Fields at dawn and dusk can seem beautiful.

But, when you’re working in them until you drop it’s a cruel beauty.

Oh, sure, we ain’t slaves no more.

Might as well be.

Might as well be.

Stay in line.

Stay in step.

Lower your eyes.

Move aside Boy!

Mississippi Goddam.

Strange fruit hanging from Southern trees.

School children sitting in Jail.

Some say a change is bound to come.

But when?

How many people got to die first?

Not sure if I even hear the murmur of a prayer.

Gonna ride that freight train North.

To Detroit City.

Where a man can get a Man’s job.

Now, I know Detroit ain’t no paradise.

Still have to have be alert, wary.

But, plenty of us up there now.

They call it the great migration.

Add me to the number.

They got Baseball there.

The Tigers.

One of our own Jake Wood on the team.

Like to sit in the bleachers and cheer him Home.

Maybe after the game find a bar with a good Jukebox.

Hit the buttons for Ray Charles and John Lee Hooker.

One scotch, One bourbon, One beer.

Got to leave a lot of family behind.

Promised Momma I’d write and that’s a promise I’ll keep.

Soon as I can I’ll send for Wilma.

If I make enough money and things change down here maybe I’ll come back one day.

Everybody dreams of Home even if living there was a nightmare.

Gareth :

Mining villages are very close knit communities.

Everyone knows you.

And your Mam and your Da and all your brothers and Sisters.

At least they think they know you.

My Granda was a miner.

My Da is a miner.

My Brothers went down the pit too.

But not me.

Passed the scholarship exam to go to Grammar School.

Some people are just naturally good at Sport.

I’m just naturally good at writing essays and passing exams.

i was never going down the pit.

College.

Cardiff.

A new world.

Finding out who you really are.

Getting to know yourself.

Or, admitting something you always knew about who you were – what you were.

He was a sailor from Detroit.

Couldn’t help myself.

Love is Love is Love.

So, I moved to Detroit.

I write Home to Mam and Da and tell them how well I’m doing.

Let slip that I’ve met a very nice girl and maybe …

I can trust them not to read between the lines.

I go to Tiger Stadium to see Baseball.

It’s not the Arms Park but you do get that sense of a crowd becoming a community.

There’s a bar nearby with a good Jukebox.

Don’t think anyone back Home will have heard of Smokey Robinson – but I bet one day they will.

Amazing how often I dream of Home.

Maybe I’ll go back for a visit.

Next year.

Or the year after.

Linda :

When I was 16 I was just filled to bursting with dreams.

And, none of those dreams were about living a quiet life at Home.

No dreams about Cotton fields and calling on kinfolks to see how they’re doing.

No dreams about settling down with the quiet boy who lit up every time he saw me.

No dreams about catching the train South with my heart pounding louder and louder and louder with every turn of the wheels.

No, No, when I was 16 my dreams were about a life filled with colour and fanfares in far away Detroit City.

Detroit, where I would make my own money, in my own way.

Detroit, where people would see me as my own person, not – oh that’s the third Henderson  Sister.

Detroit, where I would find a man who would make every day feel like a holiday.

Nearest I get to a holiday now is when I put Patsy Cline on The Jukebox.

I write home every week.

In my letters life must seem glamorous up here.

I don’t talk about the man, the men, anymore.

I wonder if they can read between the lines?

 

I want to go home
I want to go home
Oh, how I want to go home

I want to go home
I want to go home
Oh, how I want to go home

I want to go home
I want to go home
Oh, how I want to go home

I want to go home
I want to go home
Oh, how I want to go home.

Notes :

Danny Dill and Mel Tillis wrote the Song.

Bobby Bare’s typically laconic Version from 1963 gave him his first top 10 Country Hit launching a career filled with expertly chosen songs examining the joys and pains of living an everyday life.

Detroit City was Arthur Alexander’s last recording for the Dot Label In 1965.

No one has ever sung with such quiet, affecting passion.

Tom Jones has always had the capacity to give dramatic burnish to a Song and it is cheering that in his autumnal years he is turning more and more to songs that allow him to express that side of his talents.

Pam Tillis has carved out an impressive career of her own. Her reading of her Father’s Song honours them both.

By happenstance I see I have published this post on Pam’s Birthday.

Many happy returns!

First Aid Kit : Wonderful homage to Emmylou Harris ‘Emmylou’

Some things we know to be true.

No life escapes the bitter wind.

Everybody wants to have a home and someone to come home to.

Like The Boss says : Don’t make no difference what nobody says –  Ain’t nobody like to be alone.

Two can easily do what’s so hard to be done by one.

Elizabeth and Darcy.

Tristan and Iseult.

Rochester and Jane.

Scott and Zelda.

Odysseus and Penelope.

Anne and Gilbert.

Everybody’s got a hungry heart.

Every wandering bark is in search of a guiding star.

And, once found, will sail, unafraid, even to the edge of doom.

Everyone yearns to find that voice they were meant to harmonise with.

Someone, a confidante,  who knows just where you keep your better side.

Someone who forgives your falters.

Mere speech cannot wield such matters.

Turn to Song.

To Harmony.

Find someone you can sing out loud with in your own true voice.

Oh, oh, Emmylou needs Gram.

Image result for gram parsons and emmylou harris images

And Johnny needs June.

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Sing Darling.

Sing with me.

Sing with me.

Sing with me.

 

 

Two Sisters.

Johanna and Klara Soderberg.

Voices entwined.

The mystery of unspoken sibling connection.

Other worldly gleanings.

Finding an alchemy unrevealed to the single voice.

A tribute to the voices that called their own.

At 14 and 16 discovering the longing and the keen in, ‘Love Hurts’ and, ‘Thousand Dollar Wedding’.

Gram and Emmylou.

Johnny and June.

Johanna and Klara.

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Everybody’s got a hungry heart.

Scarlett and Rhett.

Fred and Ginger.

Lancelot and Guinevere.

Beatrice and Benedict.

Nick and Nora.

Carol and Therese.

Hadrian and Antoninus.

Menakhem and Sheyne.

Boundless as the Sea.

Look, Love and Sigh.

Walking out among the ancient trees to lie down among the flowers.

Face to face with the sky.

Of the very instant that I saw you.

Everyone’s got a hungry heart.

Sing with Joy.

Find the Magic.

Things grow if you bless them with patience.

Fermina and Florentino.

Virginia and Vita.

Robert and Elizabeth.

Bogie and Bacall.

Rick and Ilsa.

Play it one Time.

Play it one Time.

Sing Darling.

Sing with me.

Sing with me.

Sing with me.

Sing this one for Emmylou.

Sing this one for the ghost of Gram.

Sing this one for Johnny and June.

Sing this one for Emmylou.

 

 

 

Jukebox Jive with Garland Jeffreys : Getting The Story Through

 

I’m delighted today to launch a new Feature, ‘Jukebox Jive with …’.

The aim is to provide an insight into the social and musical roots of artists close to the heart of The Jukebox.

It is a special pleasure that we begin with Garland Jeffreys for I have been an avid fan of his work for over 40 years!

Garland generously spared an hour of his time for a telephone interview with me to discuss his influences, his mentors and contemporaries and the records he most cherishes from his own catalogue.

Delightfully he also frequently broke into song down the line from New York to illustrate his answers.

 

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Garland is a singer, songwriter and performer of immense talent.

Someone who was best friends with Lou Reed and regularly called up on stage by Bruce Springsteen.

People, ‘In the Know’ know what a great artist Garland is!

He has written dozens of haunting songs which provide searching insights into what it is to live an engaged modern life.

Drawing on the traditions of Jazz, Blues, Rhythm and Blues, Doo-Wop, Reggae and Soul his work shines a forensic light onto the issues of The Working Life, Race and Class, Love and Sex in post World War 2 America as refelected in the Nation’s premier City – New York.

Garland was born in June 1943 and grew up in Brooklyn’s Sheepshead Bay. His heritage was a mixture of Black, White and Puerto Rican – not forgetting a trace of Cherokee!

It’s undoubtedly the case that such a complex heritage gave Garland an outsider status – too black to be white, too white to be black.

While this provided a series of challenging scenarios in his youth it had the artistic advantage of making him a sharp and subtle observer of the world around him.

His parents were hard working people who instilled in him a love of music and pride in doing a job well.

Perhaps it’s better at this point to allow Garland to tell you himself; through his wonderfully warm and affectionate memoir song, ‘14 Steps To Harlem’ what it was like growing up in the 50s and 60s in such a household.

 

 

IJ – Who was the Artist who called your own voice (as Bob Dylan’s was called by Woody Guthrie)?

GJ :

Well, I grew up in a house filled with music.

My Mother loved Duke Ellington, Dinah Washington and Frank Sinatra.

I loved those and discovered for myself someone as great as Nina Simone who I used to see perform at The Village Gate.

All this stood me in very good stead later when I shared a stage with Jazz Giants like Sonny Rollins and Carmen McRae – you should have heard our duet on, ‘Teach Me Tonight’ (Garland croons … should the teacher stand so near, my love)

There’s a depth in Jazz I’m mining to this day.

I always could sing so naturally I sang along to the radio – those fabulous R&B, Doo-Wop and Rock ‘n’ Roll songs saturated the New York air.

If I have to pick one I’ll go for Frankie Lymon – he was a hell of a singer and he was my size!

Frankie could really sing and not just the uptemp hits everyone remembers but also heart rending ballads like, ‘Share’.

Frankie sang songs filled with energy and sweetness and you knew he was talking about the real life lived out on the New York Streets.

A record I just couldn’t stop playing?,,,

Well I’d have to say Frankie Lymon (don’t forget The Teenagers) with, ‘I’m Not a Juvenile Delinquent’.

 

 

IJ – Was there a Radio Station/Radio Show that was important in introducing you to the Music you love?

GJ :

We all listened to WINS and especially to Alan Freed’s Moondog Show.

I loved the Sports coverage on WINS too.

I was a true Brooklyn Dodgers fan – proud to say I was there in 1947 when Jackie Robinson played his first Major League game at Ebbets Field!

Later on I used to go to see broadcasting legend Bob Fass at the WBAI Studios

I went there a few times with the great Bass Player, Richard Davis, who played on my own records as well as being the instrumental star of Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks.

Richard was a great musician but a humble man.

He was something of a mentor for me as was Paul Griffin (who played Piano on Dylan’s Like A Rolling Stone among many other classic recordings).

Of course, I was close with Lou Reed from our days at Syracuse University – boy were we the odd couple!

IJ : What was the first record made by one of your contemporaries that made you think – Wow they’ve really got it!

GJ :

Oh, Yeh … Bob Dylan’s ‘Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright’.

I’m a couple of years younger than Bob Dylan.

I used to go to and play at New York Folk Clubs like The Gaslight and Gerde’s.

I saw him then. He has always been a fascinating character.

Managing to be a fantastic self promoter without obviously being one.

He had a unique style and his songs just made sense of the times we were living in.

He wasn’t afraid to be challenging politically and in personal relationships.

 

 

IJ : Which of your own Records was the first to turn out exactly how you wanted it to?

GJ :

I’d have to say that would be, ‘Ghost Writer’ from 1977.

That was an inspired record – the whole album where everything came together. The songs, my singing and the musicians I played with all playing at a peak.

Songs like, ‘Cool Down Boy’, ‘Why – O’ and, ‘Spanish Town’ said something then and they still do.

Dr John’s on there and David Spinoza.

Hugh McCracken who played Guitar and Harmonica deserves a lot of credit.

Sadly he died 5 years ago now – that’s the way when you’ve been in the music world as long as I have.

Ghost Writer as an individual song tells my story.

A New York City Son trying to make my way while having fun.

Someone who knows about tradition in Literature – Shakespeare, Spencer and Sydney and who knows that there’s a poetry in the streets that demands to be expressed.

I agree with you that Ghost Writer is a, ‘Blue Hour’ song – a vision that comes from the ghosts whispering in that hour that’s the last of the night or the first of the morning.

I also love that Dub Reggae feel we got down.

 

 

IJ – What other albums make up your top 3?

GJ :

‘Escape Artist’ from 1981 and, ‘The King of In Between’ from 2011.

As to individual songs I would have to go for, ‘Wild in the Streets’ which was a breakthrough song for me and something of a New York City Anthem.

It’s a Song every audience expects me to play and I make sure not to disappoint them.

I still love it – I make sure to play it straight just like I recorded it.

From more recent times I’m proud of  ‘Coney Island Winter’ which says a lot about modern America and stands up for people who need to be stood up for.

Garland started that menacing whispered intro…

This is a classic.

A Song alive, vibrating, with the energy of the Streets.

An energy that can be exhilarating  but which can also be threatening and at times even fatal.

It’s a song that has the beat, beat, beat of the summer sun and of hot young blood.

A song to be sung on the stoops and the fire escapes and on the baking roofs.

 

Garland was nearly 70 when he made one of his very best albums, ‘The King of In Between’.

What’s almost miraculous about this record is that it has the energy and rage of youth combined with the craft and wisdom of maturity.

‘Coney Island WInter’ has the unstoppable power of a Locomotive yet has a profound tenderness towards those left behind by a cruel and heedless system.

It’s a story that happens every day that only a rare storyteller could make come so thrilling alive.

 

IJ – What was your greatest ever Live Show?

GJ :

A show that really stands out for me was one from The Ritz in NYC with The Rumour backing me up.

Those English guys can really play! (the partnership is brilliantly captured on the Rock ‘n ‘Roll Adult CD)

IJ – What Song by another Artist do you wish you had written?

GJ :

For it’s simplicity, its power and its endless playability I would have to say, ‘Gloria’ by Van Morrison in his days with Them.

A Million Garage Bands can’t be wrong!

IJ – Who’s an under rated Artist we ought to look out for?

GJ :

Garland Jeffreys ! (Seconded! The Immortal Jukebox)

IJ – Nominate a Song – one of your own or by someone else to take up the A100 slot on The Immortal Jukebox.

GJ :

Garland Jeffreys – ‘Ghost Writer’.

IJ – Anything you’d like to add?

GJ :

Sure – I’d like to say that I’m forever grateful to all my fans and supoorters. I’ve spent my life trying to make the very best music I can and that’s what I’m always going to do.

Oh ..and if you’re starting out as a musician I’d advise you to protect your copyrights!

Start  your own record company. Of course the main thing you’ve got to do is love the music, the writing and the performing.

Wise words. Wise words.

New York has had many great chroniclers.

For my money Garland deserves his place among them.

His songs have an urban strength and urgency tempered by empathy for the outsiders and also-rans so often unblinkingly passed by.

Songs can be so many things.

For me Garland’s songs have been lifeboats when the tempest raged, lamps to light the way to a safer shore and ladders to climb up to the Stars.

What moves me most is the sense that I am witnessing a unique voice and vision telling me hard won truths.

Jackie Robinson said that the most luxurious possession, the richest treasure anyone can have is their dignity.

Garland has assuredly joined Jackie in that All Star Dugout.

Today, June 29, is Garland’s Birthday.

Happy Birthday Garland – may your Songs always be sung.

 

Notes :

Many thanks to Claire Jeffreys for setting up the Interview.

Thanks too to Mick Tarrant for the introduction.

A Garland Jeffrey’s Playlist :

In addition to the tracks above I regularly play

‘I May Not Be Your Kind’

‘One-Eyed Jack’

‘Matador’

‘Jump Jump’

‘Miami Beach’

‘Don’t Call Me Buckwheat’

‘Hail Hail Rock ‘n’ Roll’

‘I Was Afraid of Malcolm’

”Til John Lee Hooker Calls Me’

‘Roller Coaster Town’

That would make a hell of a mix CD!

 

Willy Deville : Rebirth in New Orleans – Beating Like a Tom Tom

If you can’t find your way follow The River.

The River.

The Mississippi River.

More than two thousand miles all the way.

Well it winds through Bemidji, St Cloud and Anoka.

St Paul, Redwing and Pepin.

On through Minneiska, La Crosse and Potosi.

Lansing, Prarie Du Chien and Galena (hats off to U S Grant)

Sabula, Moline and Oquawka.

Right by Keokuk, Kaskaskia and Hannibal (hats off to Sam Clemens)

Thebes, Cairo and Osceola.

Memphis, Greenville and Helena (hats off to Levon)

Vicksburg, Natchez and Baton Rouge.

That’s how you find your way to the Crescent City.

As it flows The River is always picking up freight.

Flotsam and Jetsom.

Ramblers, Rebels and Gamblers.

No account Losers and Aces up the sleeve sure fire Winners.

As it flows it gathers up and gathers in tall tales and stories, myths and legends, bawdy jokes, rhymes and half rhymes, drunken vows and whispered poems.

As  it flows it gathers up and gathers in melodies and rhythms and lyrics and binds them into Songs.

In a small studio in the Crescent City musicians meet and greet each other.

No ones a stranger.

They all been breathing the same air for years and years.

They know who’s good and just how good they are.

Everyone knows Fats and Dave and ‘Fess.

Mac and Earl and Plas.

Alan and Cyril and Zigaboo

The Studio don’t give them a whole lot of time but they don’t need it.

Count off … let’s roll!

We respect a real song.

More we revere them.

Let the years decide which ones get remembered.

Somewhere out there – maybe thousands of miles Up River someone will respect and revere these songs like we do.

The music gets caught on tape and they press up the vinyl.

The guys on the radio play it when they alloŵed.

In the Roadhouses and Honky Tonks the button is pressed on The Jukebox and the song blooms in the night air.

We got another one to cut now.

A true message always gets through.

Decades later a Singer sweats through another night with the monkey on his back.

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The Dreams take him back to sweet days of youth but they don’t linger there.

No, there’s jeering Demons in the hours before the Dawn and they don’t always fade away in the light.

Always. Always The Songs.

He’s made a lot of mistakes in his life.

A lot.

But, he’s always respected and revered the true songs.

The ones with heart and soul.

The ones that keep turning up in your dreams.

The ones heard on the radio and played on the Jukebox when he was starting out.

The ones you know it ain’t so easy to sing unless you can really sing.

Songs that play in your head sometimes at 33rpm, sometimes at 45, sometimes at 78- depending on what and how much medicine has been taken.

In the roaring traffics boom.

In the silence of a lonely room.

Beating. Beating. Beating.

Big blue diamonds instead of a band of gold.

Oh, I’ve been a fool my dear – a fool by heart.

Beating. Beating. Beating.

I’m loaded out of my mind.

Loaded out of my mind.

Beating. Beating. Beating.

I’ve played the game of love and lost.

Lost.

All through the night all I do is weep.

Tossing and Turning.

Tossing and Turning.

You on my mind.

You hold me and won’t let go.

Hold me and won’t let go.

The beating of my heart.

Beating. Beating. Beating.

Beating like a Tom Tom.

Beating like a Tom Tom.

Now, I know, I know, I’m so defiled in this world I’ve made.

Maybe my own Mother and Father would abandon me.

Maybe they’d be right.

Yet, maybe there’s still a power that could gather me up.

A power that would gather me up.

But, I gonna have to move to find it.

Kind of a pilgrimage.

The River – I’ll follow The River all the way.

All the way.

Got to find my way Down River.

Down River where the Songs come from.

All the way Down to the Crescent City.

Find me those guys who can really play.

They all know each other.

I need the place and their time.

The time and the place.

I need to believe again.

To believe.

Theyll know straight away if I can really Sing.

Gonna ask ‘em to play, ‘Beating Like A Tom Tom’

My heart been beating to that for a long time.

A long time.

Let’s see what kind of Mojo I can show them.

Count it off…

Freddie … make that guitar real pretty ….

‘ … Tossin’ and I’m turnin’ all in my sleep ….’

 

All Right!

Now do you believe?

Got some storefront gospel in there too by God.

I think we did right by old Ernie there guys!

Now Ernie K Doe is one thing but Little Willie John is sure another.

Ain’t a singer alive who heard Willie who didn’t get The Fever.

Willie lived inside the song.

Held it up to the light so it glowed in your mind.

Lodged deeper than a bullet in your heart.

Remember, ‘Big Blue Diamond’?

‘Blue diamonds, big blue diamonds on her finger
Instead of a little band of gold
Big diamonds, big blue diamonds tell the story
Of the love that no one man could hold’.

You got to feel that ache.

The ache for the love behind that band of gold.

The ache.

Count it off ….

 

Yeh … that’ll do it.

Lonesome in the moonlight.

Lonesome in the moonlight.

We all been there.

Looking up with a broken heart.

I was trying to sing it for Willie John in prison looking up at the moon.

Hey Mac what about that one of Alan’s about being a fool by heart?

Ah … Hello My Lover – that’s it.

‘I’ve been a fool, my dear, a fool by heart
But I’m done up in my mind

Oh … I’m gonna try my best to do what is right
I’m gonna be with you, yes I will, both day and night …’

Let’s see if we can get a second line feel here  – raise everybody up.

Gonna dance my way through this one Mac.

When this one comes on everybody gonna dance.

Count it off …

 

Ain’t no hiding why I come down here.

Don’t need to tell you guys what that Junk will do to you.

If I ain’t got as right to sing that Junker Blues – who has?

Here’s one for you Champion Jack!

We all craving for something to make the dawn easier to face.

No messing ..gonna sing this one straight … tell the story.

It’s all about the tempo.

Count it off …

‘Some people call me a Junker ….’

 

Well, ain’t that the best damn feeling!

Got to take these songs out on the road guys.

Take it to the people and show them a new side of me.

Get that Tom Tom Beating.

Get that Tom Tom Beating.

‘ … Tossin’ and I’m turnin’ all in my sleep ….’

 

 

Notes :

Willy Deville in search of musical and spiritual nourishment and respite from being, ‘Willy Deville’ in New York moved to New Orleans in 1989.

Hooking up with Carlo Ditta who owned Orleans Records they conceived the idea of a, ‘Little Record’ that would celebrate Crescent City classics whether they were hits outside New Orleans or not.

A stellar Band was assembled and the resulting record, ‘Victory Mixture’ shows a great singer mining depth after depth from these songs.

The success of the enterprise led to live shows captured on, ‘Big Easy Fantasy’.

Willy Deville could really sing and singing these songs brought out the very best in him.

Listening to him here it’s hard to imagine anyone ever singing these songs better.

P.S. Special thanks to Harvey G Cohen for reminding me of Willy’s New Orleans recordings.

I highly recommend Harvey’s book on Duke Ellington.

He can be found on Twitter @CultrHack.

P.P.S.

bienvenido a la máquina de discos a todos mis lectores en México

 

 

Bruce Springsteen, Chuck Berry, Emmylou Harris : You Never Can Tell

When you are young you think you know.

You know how the world works.

You know just how things are going to turn out.

But you find out the world is a much stranger place than you thought.

People – your parents, your friends, your one and only love, strangely decide to behave in ways you never expected.

The 16 year old school no-hoper strangely turns out to a world-beater by 25.

Volcanos erupt. Impregnable Walls are torn down.

True Love sometimes turns out to be exactly that.

You learn not to make such definite snap judgments.

When things happen you didn’t see coming you’re not outraged.

Instead you smile a wry smile and say ’C’est La Vie – it goes to show you never can tell’.

 

And, if you’re a great songwriter reflecting wryly on life and love you decide to write a song filled with acute observation, humour and wisdom.

At least, that’s what you do if you’re Chuck Berry – even if you’re in Prison when the inspiration strikes.

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Chuck was, of course, a writer of both inspiration and deliberation.

There’s immense craft in the song.

The story is told in four short verses.

‘C’est la vie say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell’ is an arresting and immediately memorable lyric hook neatly and beautifully rhythmically encapsulating the moral of the song.

The AAAA Rhyme scheme is used with finesse and wit building up rhyme by rhyme a complete picture of the situation.

Chuck delights in marrying his New Orleans Creole Rhythm with a French name for teenage spouse, Pierre, and playfully using both madamoiselle and Madame, in the correct order, to signify that the truly in love couple have indeed rung the chapel bell.

So, married life begins with a well stocked Collerator just crammed with those dinners they wolfed while watching their favourite shows. I wouldn’t be surprised if they mixed that ginger ale with something a little more potent!

I was delighted to discover that ‘Coolerator’ was a genuine brand name (see image below) and that the refrigerators were manufactured in Duluth – making it certain that they would have been known to Bob Dylan and very likely stocked in the family electricals store.

 

It was a teenage wedding, and the old folks wished them well
You could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle
And now the young monsieur and madame have rung the chapel bell
“C’est la vie”, say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell
They furnished off an apartment with a two room Roebuck sale
The coolerator was crammed with TV dinners and ginger ale
But when Pierre found work, the little money comin’ worked out well
“C’est la vie”, say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell
They had a hi-fi phono, boy, did they let it blast
Seven hundred little records, all rock, rhythm and jazz
But when the sun went down, the rapid tempo of the music fell
“C’est la vie”, say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell
They bought a souped-up jitney, ’twas a cherry red ’53
They drove it down to Orleans to celebrate the anniversary
It was there that Pierre was married to the lovely mademoiselle
“C’est la vie”, say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell

 

Chuck always delighted in his references to US Car Culture and I have to admit that from the first moment I heard You Never Can Tell I sorely longed for a ‘Cherry Red ‘53’!

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I haven’t got mine (yet).

But, I surely did get me a fine Hi Fi Phono and boy, as all my neighbours will tell you, did I let it blast!

And, taking pride of place among my 700 or so 45s there will always be a high stack of Chuck Berry singles.

Because he was the greatest songwriter of the primal Rock ‘n’ Roll era and because nothing lifts the spirits like three minutes of prime Chuck Berry!

Consider that You Never Can Tell was preceded by, ‘No Particular Place To Go’ and succeeeded by, ‘Promised Land’ – a run of classics that would have worthily constituted a lifetime’s achievement for another songwriter/performer.

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I should draw your attention to the glorious piano playing of Johnnie Johnson for once foregrounded in this song.

Released from dramatic guitar playing duties Chuck concentrates his genius on his sly and smooth vocal.

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Of course, it was a given that once a new Chuck Berry song hit the airwaves and Jukeboxes that a flood of cover versions would appear.

So many to choose from for our Immortal Jukebox!

Let’s kick off with Emmylou Harris and her aptly named Hot Band more than kicking up their heels!

 

 

Emmylou and Co hit that shuffle rhythm from the get go don’t they.

Glenn D Hardin on piano and Hank Devito add colour with England’s own Albert Lee providing the stellar guitar.

What an apprenticeship in the big time this was for the young Rodney Crowell!

Naturellement he was in love with Emmylou  – putting him in company with all red blooded music fans of the time!

Now we let the arm come down on something really special.

You want a demonstration and distillation of the spirit of Rock ‘n’ Roll?

My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen and Jukebox afficianados the whole world over I give you the one and only Ronnie Lane with Slim Chance!

 

 

Now that’s a New Orleans second line party!

That’s ginger ale laced with the very finest bourbon!

That makes the big toe in your boot shoot straight up to the sky!

Every time Ronnie Lane strapped on his bass and stepped to the microphone he put his whole heart and soul into his performances exuding sheer glee in the music he was making.

The same holds true for Bruce Springsteen.

I love this version of You Never Can Tell from Leipzig in 2013.

Bruce takes the crowd request and coaches the initially sceptical Band until they produce a wonderfully ragged celebration of Chuck Berry’s anthem.

Chuck Berry will always be the heartbeat of Rock ‘n’ Roll.

Thank God apostles like Bruce Springsteen, Ronnie Lane and Emmylou Harris ensured that the message still resounds.

 

 

And, even today, somewhere in Chicago or Cairo someone is saying – you know we could really do a killer version of that Chuck Berry ‘C’est La Vie’ song.

It goes to show you never can tell where a great song will end up except that it will surely keep traveling on.