Friday, March 31, 2006

 

It may have been the weed, or might have been the weather, but the blues had become an obsession for me. It must have been raining for a week straight, and all I could listen to was Albert King, Muddy Waters, and Jimmy Reed with a howl in his voice like he had a nail in his foot. BB King 7 inch records, heard at 45 rpms for two dollar and fitty. Flip side got a crackle in it, but it do, man... it do.



Found me a copy of the Pacific Gas and Electric Company Blues band. You know the one? Couple them cats left to form Canned Heat back in 1968. I got me the album called 'Get It On.' On Bright Orange Records, with a label that look like the fruit. Lead singer, Charlie Allen, had used to be the drummer, but sang like a ole blues cat and the rest the band tole him to get out and sing and stopall that drum-work. He can sing, too. He sounds like Sammy Cooke at one point and another he's got a Janis Joplin jones. Doing the moanin' and groanin' and carryin' on she do. This band was from San Francisco back in the summer of love. They cover this Booker T and the MG's tune called The Hunter. You got to hear it. It punches through with a steady, forward shuffle and trucks and trucks and the dude up front is begging you that there aint no place to hide. He the hunter, meng.






Mingus on the other day.
He hollers Eat That chicken!_________________________Eat that CHicken!
The entire band barrels
along as ragtag as Sun RA,
____________________________the father of boisterosity.

Thats the blues aint it?
I mean, it aint guitar and drums,
has a lot of brass and strange changes,
but its the blues somehow? Aint it? It gotta be.

posted by Hog 4:51 PM