Al Hibbler may receive some respect from fans of vocal jazz and traditional American pop, but for most listeners today, this music will seem quite dated. Unfortunately, even if you are partial to this genre, one must admit this is effectively "sophisticated" lounge music, aiming to be tastefully in the background of classy settings and not much more. Sincerity and provoking emotional solid reactions are generally not the aims of these singers, so listening closely to this will invoke boredom more than anything else. ESPECIALLY since "Danny Boy" has been covered by everybody and their grandma, and unless somebody manages to sing it with a unique, sincere ring (like Johnny Cash did on American IV: The Man Comes Around) or pushes the theatricality to the tenth dimension (like Jackie Wilson did), I have little interest in listening to yet another rendition.
The wonderful Van "Piano Man" Walls arrives here at Atlantic Records, a man seriously responsible for the success of many future classic songs of Big Joe Turner, Ruth Brown, and The Clovers. His performing brilliance generally came from his diligence and tenacity: in other words, he would just play the everlovin' shit out of his instrument, scattering shattered piano notes all over a song whether it demanded such a rock 'n' roll drive or not. It was a unique way of performing that would often make funny songs gritty, lounge numbers blood-boiling, and wild songs even wilder.
Unfortunately, that is not quite what this tune will demonstrate. Van plays some fine piano licks on the song, and Brownie McGhee (Sticks McGhee's brother) gives an amusing vocal performance, but the composition itself is way too generic with too little musical meat provided by the backing players. A mildly entertaining song as a whole but hardly an essential recording.
Verdict: Decent
NOTE: For some bizarre reason, the only song on Apple Music marked as Walls's "Tee Nah Nah" is actually Joe Morris's "Anywhere, Anytime, Anyplace". So, the only way you can hear the song on Apple Music listening to...you guessed it, a recording marked as Joe Morris's "Anywhere, Anytime, Anyplace" on a compilation titled Rhythm and Blues of the 50's Vol. 1. Follow the link above and you should be fine.
This song is not simply Longhair's greatest gift to the musical world: it is, without a doubt, the greatest embodiment of the spirit of New Orleans in musical form ever made. The overflow of life-affirming jubilance, the warm and friendly playfulness, the lazy but funky rhythms soaked in booze, the gritty sense of humor, and musicianship that, at its best, can blow the mind and rock the heart with the glorious musical synthesis of rhumba, mambo, blues, calypso, and so many other genres. "Mardi Gras In New Orleans" captures all of this and more, instantly defining what this city's musical style was all about and inspiring nearly every significant New Orleans piano player since, from Fats Domino to Huey "Piano" Smith, Dr. John to Allen Toussaint.
Miraculously, the song is as individualistic as Professor Longhair gets while still feeling like an anthem of an entire culture. The steady but wobbly roll of the left-hand bassline nearly propels the jauntier right-hand melody forward as they together form the perfect musical parade: all of his songs have a level of tightness that causes their forward march to never halt, but as it cruises down with the bouncy horn fanfares, catchy choruses, lively vocals full of blues grit, and the wonderful, wonderful whistling, it becomes a sprawling and chaotic musical celebration that immediately shakes you down, lightens you up, and sucks you into the fun. Just hearing the damn thing kick in is unbelievably gutsy and effective, so effective that it takes you a second to realize this is actually less musically complex than most Longhair songs. Not that it matters anyway because this level of greatness comes once in a lifetime, and he wisely chose to not mess with the perfection of his piano concoction and, instead, send this song straight to anthemic status with its distinct New Orleans flavor.
The incredible part is that all of these elements come together so seamlessly and organically that you can imagine the whole thing was perfectly formed from the first take. That natural flow is, perhaps, the greatest reason it is still played today during the Mardi Gras festival, widely considered one of the quintessential songs of the city. And even with all the future cover versions, hoards of imitators of this style, and the poor production quality by today's standards, this recording emits a spiritual glow that has never dimmed since it was released. It is a truly inspiring piece of music that captures almost everything I, and so many people, hold dear music, which is why I insist everybody should hear this masterpiece whether or not you listen to New Orleans blues or not. Relistens are guaranteed to occur afterward because who can resist such a perfect vibe?
Verdict: Masterpiece
Be sure to also check out the version of the song on Rock 'n' Roll Gumbo. It doesn't have as much great piano work but sounds even more anthemic!
Professor Longhair himself had little to do with the story of the Atlantic label, but nearly any decent compilation of Atlantic R&B will, as a rule, include a couple of his songs. Reason? Even though, for Professor Longhair, the label was just a means by which he could get some dough, for the label themselves, Longhair's recordings were an event: not everybody working for Atlantic Records understood it at the time, but they were given an opportunity to cut some sides for the greatest piano-playing genius of New Orleans during his early peak. By giving him this platform, they were among the first to release FOUR timeless New Orleans standards ("Hey Little Girl," "Mardi Gras In New Orleans,""In The Night,""Tipitina") and release two more of his classics ("Hey Now Baby" and "Ball The Wall") on the future New Orleans Piano compilation. Quite an honor for an up-and-coming label that hadn't even become a household name yet.
Still, it really is all about Longhair and Longhair alone here. This song is simply a masterful demonstration of how proper use of dynamics and creative phrasings can transform an ordinary blues melody into something genuinely magical. Just listen to how he places an extra accentuation on that second-to-last note each time that funky piano riff is played, letting it tumble into completion rather than giving it a smooth finale. Or listen to how, before returning to the main groove, he plays a lighter melody that he literally punctures with a sharp glissando, shattering your mind into pieces before sucking you back into its intoxicating strut. With phrasings like these, the recording's drunken stumble feels alive and visceral in a way you can only get from a great bluesman like 'Fess, but the incredible fluency and flow of his piano-playing style allows it to attain the tightness of a perfect piece of machinery.
And if that doesn't already impress you enough, wait until you make it to the "Look what you gonna miss, honey!" solo. This is where Longhair's raw potential is unleashed in all of its glory: the heavy bassline is almost bone-crushing and the light part is incredibly beautiful in its airy and playful elegance, yet both of these parts mesh together perfectly as two facets of Longhair's personality, forever locked into battle for the rest of his career. Really, no other player in the history of the blues has placed heavy basslines and light melodic phrases together in a way that sounds so incredibly organic, and this is one of the first (and finest) demonstrations of this gift. Add in his deep, gritty vocals with his fun but cocky attitude, and you got yourself a recording that hasn't aged a day since 1950. Of course, he would sporadically produce more of this brilliance in the '50s and '60s before reaching his technical peak in the '70s, and while most of the performances on Rock 'N' Roll Gumbo and Crawfish Fiestawell surpass "Hey Little Girl" in terms of complexity and intricacy, in terms of raw power, he would pretty much never surpass the astonishing impact of his best Atlantic recordings.
Another vocal jazz ballad from Ruth Brown, so those expecting something like "Teardrops From My Eyes" or "5-10-15 Hours" need to be a bit more patient. At this point, the label was still playing it safe, and since "So Long" was quite a commercial success (#6 on the R&B charts), they were going to have Ruth sing a couple more songs like it. The bad news is that "I'll Get Along Somehow" does not have the same level of vocal invention as its predecessor, which is not really her fault: the song itself does not lend itself to much diversity of emotional expression.
Yet, Ruth can bring so much energy to her performances that she can make these stiff standards sound fresh and alive, burning with a believable passion that we normally expect from the likes of Nina Simone nearly a decade later. Even if this sort of music puts you to sleep, the song's ending alone is worth the whole trip: a massive vocal blowout where Ruth sustains those final notes to leave a crater in her listener's mind. In a way, she is already singing and performing with the mindset of a soul singer, ditching the restraint of the pre-war generation for deeply personal, gritty, and honest deliveries. That's what makes these early songs of hers still quite treasurable: her vocal inspiration, confidence, and versatility are all there, but since the material given is not to her strengths, she bends and forces them to obey her command. No wonder, in less than a year, Ruth Brown would get those tough and kickass R&B songs that she was born to sing.
The first single of the "Woman Who Built Atlantic" may not be earth-shattering on its own, but in the context of her future classics, it already shows quite a bit of the greatness to come. The song itself is nothing special: a vocal jazz ballad about the common subject of giving a tearful goodbye to the one you love. Yet, Ruth manages to convey quite an impressive range of emotions within less than 3 minutes: youthful optimism, tearful apologies, anguished cries, bitter nostalgia, and so much more. Even with a standard, Ruth imbues each and every lyric with a different micro-emotion, allowing the listener to savor every second of this performance. Whether the label understood it or not, Ruth had already arrived as a monster vocal talent, and while that alone couldn't make this a classic recording (even a performer of Ruth's caliber still couldn't turn a song like this into a great one), it is still quite a nice way for her to begin her rise as the true "Queen of R&B."
To think such an incredible and revolutionary piece of music could have been lost to history: Sticks McGhee played this song frequently while in the military, and in 1947, he recorded the song for a single on Harlem Records, a label that went out of business in 1948. The disappearance of the label easily could have been the demise of the tune from the public conscience, but thankfully, a New Orleans distributor contacted Ahmet Ertegun (the co-founder and president of Atlantic Records) asking if he possessed copies of the original single, and Ertegun, knowing Stick's brother Brownie, got Stick to re-record the song for his label. The single that resulted would become a major landmark commercially and artistically. Commercially, because the single ended up hitting #2 on the R&B charts and ushered in the beginning of major financial fortunes for the label that would culminate in the '50s and beyond. Artistically, because it was unquestionably one of the first rock 'n' roll songs ever recorded, and few songs recorded earlier could claim such a title so firmly.
I understand those who note that the melody is still too strongly rooted in the jump-blues tradition to be truly rock 'n' roll, and there were even two other songs released in 1949 that were written and performed understanding what "rocking out" entailed as a philosophy, Jimmy Preston's "Rock This Joint" and Wynonie Harris's "All She Wants To Do Is Rock." "Drinkin' Wine, Spo-Dee-O-Dee," a drinking tune through and through, lyrically still doesn't stray far away from most rhythm and blues music of the time. Yet, if we focus on the performance itself and less on those minor details, this song is absolutely rock 'n' roll and miles ahead of its time, bringing us closer to the era of Chuck Berry and Scotty Moore that was soon to come.
The most important distinguishing element of the song is the (excellent) guitar playing: like any great rock 'n' roll recording, it sounds like a raggedy, rebellious, but fun-loving guy with his trusty guitar trying to take on the world by kicking its ass, and Stick accordingly delivers inspired and fluent guitar work in each verse until it erupts into a punchy, marvelous guitar solo. Moreover, Stick delivers such a perfect rock vocal performance, balancing the humor and lightweight fun of a drinking party with the grit and toughness of the blues. It is this incredible artistic presence that makes this song such a delight even today, where you can laugh along to the "spo-dee-o-dees" (which Stick used to say "motherfucker" in place of "spo-dee-o-dee" when performing it in the army) while smashing wine bottles to the groove of those guitar solos. No wonder it was so widely covered in the future, most notably by Johnny Burnette's gruff and aggressive Rock 'n' Roll trio, by Jerry Lee Lewis with pounding piano showcases (both in the '50s for Sun and the '70s in London), and by Wynonie Harris, maybe the most perfect person to cover the song (after all, wouldn't this song fit perfectly with a guy who sung about quiet whiskies on the shelf and making love to lovin' machines?). Yet, nobody captured all of the dynamic sides of the song better than Stick did here, so do yourself a favor and hear this absolute classic of wild rock 'n' roll fun as soon as possible.
