Sound Salvation Army

Music is in the spirit, regardless of whose spirit it is.

That was part of the message delivered by The Sojourners, a group of gospel singers based in Vancouver. Originally from the United States, all three became Canadian citizens three years ago after adopting the country as their new home. The veteran vocalists were brought together to sing back-ups on an album by blues stalwart Jim Byrnes in 2007, corralled by and including Byrnes’ friend Marcus Moseley. The serendipitous collaboration proved to be heaven-sent and the three became The Sojourners from that day forth.

Moseley, Will Sanders, and Ron Small spent their childhoods singing in church, refining their vocal abilities like countless people possessed of the faith before them. After arriving in the country for those Byrnes sessions, the group has since recorded two albums for Steve Dawson’s Black Hen Records. The recordings encompass a variety of sounds, mostly antiquated. The group is frequently backed up with jazzy double bass, brushed drums, and acoustic, electric, and slide guitar. The tracks are injected with a high degree of soul, frequently recalling the fervor of gospel groups from the 60’s like the Soul Stirrers and The Five Blind Boys Of Alabama. Coming up singing in churches from their youngest years, the group possess incredible strength as individual vocalists and that power grows exponentially when they sing in tandem. They have the kind of chemistry most musicians spend their lives looking for.

During their workshop with Etran Finatawa on Saturday afternoon of the festival you could see people’s heads turning when they began their songs, passers-by drawn to the workshop tent to see who was making such a holy racket (granted, the fiery lead guitar provided by Etran Finatawa’s members probably caught some ears as well). I mentioned their version of The Mississippi Sheiks’ “He Calls That Religion (But I Know He’s Going to Hell When He Dies)” in an earlier post and it was definitely an attention-grabber; it’s lyrical chastising of a philandering preacher and other sordid characters struck me as almost explicit for the day-time audience, regardless of how pious it’s message may have been, especially when factoring in the conviction the group sang it with. To call it jarring is an understatement.

In the interview below, you’ll hear how humble and thankful the three singers really are. It was a genuine treat to get to talk to them, even if I am going to hell when I die.

 

 The Sojourners interview [5:57m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 The Sojourners - Jesus Hits Like An Atom Bomb: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Purchase The Sojourners records in physical form through Black Hen Music or digitally via iTunes.

Pat entries #RFF11, American content, Canadian content, CJTR, Gospel, live music, Regina Folk Festival, soul, The Sojourners

Woof, everybody.

I was trolling my local music shoppe the other day and I heard this thing come on over the stereo. And yes, it’s enough to make a baby cry (see picture at left).

I get that we still live in a puritanical and overly-protective (to the point of absurdity) society where we can’t be trusted to absorb information and art on our own and make up our own minds about its cultural weight or validity. I get that the powers-that-be don’t want the young, stupid, or impossibly impressionable to be exposed to “objectionable content” because of the deleterious impact it might have. I get that people somehow, in 2010, still think swear words are a contributing cause in the inevitable downfall of human society.

But I have no fucking clue why.

Words are just words. I was walking home from work the other day and passed two kids, both less than ten years old, walking their dog. The little boy was saying the word, “dick,” repeatedly to the little girl in reference to the behaviour of an adult. She asked him not to say “dick” anymore. Neither burst into flames, no one’s head exploded, they didn’t keel over dead. Like mature adults they had a even-handed conversation; one was uncomfortable and politely asked the other to refrain from using such language.

Nobody who has the advanced age and muscle structure that would allow them to walk into their local HMV of their own free will has managed to go their entire life without hearing the eff word. Cee-Lo Green knows that. “Fuck You” is a song that is bright, energetic, up-tempo, and about moving on. It isn’t solely about swearing; swearing is just the spice that livens up the stew. Curse words aren’t used as a gimmick; the song is a complete piece of art that doesn’t exist solely for the sake of cursing.

It’s not that there doesn’t need to be a radio edit of their song. There obviously does because of the way the music industry works. But as the industry continues to die off I can only hope that artists like Cee-Lo can exercise the option not to bother.

I only wish I knew why the world was so afraid of language. As our ability and propensity to use the written word wholly and properly continues to dwindle and fade I expect our fear of words we don’t know or understand will only grow as well.

Thanks, stupid people!

 

 Cee-Lo Green - Forget You [3:38m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Cee-Lo Green - Fuck You: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Pre-order Cee-Lo’s new album the Lady Killer from his website.

Pat entries Cee-Lo Green, fuck ups, r&b, social tension, soul, swear words, Tipper Gore, unnecessary puritanicalism

Parting is such sweet sorrow, you guys. It will be even more so this Thursday night at O’Hanlon’s in Regina, however, as the mighty Polymaths take the stage for the last time. Ever. In the world.

The shame of it all is that they only got one full-length CD out in their time together; one completely incredible full-length CD. It should have made my Best of 2009 list — and likely would’ve been somewhere near the top — but since I’m not as plugged in locally as I used to be I totally missed it’s initial late-December release. I picked up Home Again early this year and it’s been a resounding, poignant listen that I just can’t leave alone.

Keeping in line with their own history (on the So Long, Castle Road EP) there’s a lot of Regina in these songs. The presence of our fair city in Craig Fink’s lyrics shows itself in a variety of forms, from the obvious-to-those-that-are-from-here references in “The Longest Bridge Over The Shortest Span Of Water” (see the wiki for historical footnotes) to more subtle references to prairie life as compared to living in “London-town” or at Queen’s University (both in the comparative mecca of Ontario). There’s almost a thematic arc to the album; softly strummed opener “Age Sixteen” sets the stage with Fink intoning a tale of a young person leaving home for good only to plead ninety seconds later, “Go home.” The album ends with the slow, harmony-draped “Letter From Home,” a spiritual sibling that sees Fink insisting that he can’t/won’t go back to where he’s from.

Those songs, along with the half-dozen or so in between that touch on the same topic, hit close to home for nearly every young Saskatchewanian, I think. Our province’s legacy in the last several decades has been that of a feeder community; our young people inevitably go off to more exciting (re: less flat) places to seek their education and/or fortune. The line, “I’d like to remind you that home is where your shit is piling up” rings true to my generation’s experiences; while we go elsewhere we rarely REALLY leave. For one, the cost-of-living shift between places deemed desirable when compared to Saskatchewan is often stark and makes it tough to take your whole life with you. Moreover, it’s a hard place to get away from. People from other places may not realize it, but the prairies never leave your blood. As blog favourite Emmet Matheson recently opined on the always-delightful Bulldozer With A Wrecking Ball Attached, you’re always from here whether you like it or not.

Fink expertly captures the love/hate relationship that a lot of young people still have about places like Regina. The latter-half track “Winter At Queen’s” sees him lamenting an intense homesickness while studying away from home; the man who once railed against the prairie weather is now idealizing it after seeing the colour of the grass on the other side. Hearing his insistence that he wants to have “a spot to plant his soul” ready and waiting for him is what truly makes Saskatchewanians Saskatchewanians, the cathartic push/pull of needing to experience more but wanting to hold on to that pastoral quietude that defines us as a region and a people.

That’s not to say that this album is unlistenable for anyone that has never seen the sun rise over five hundred kilometres of flat prairie. The other half of the songs here are laudable critiques of love, working retail, and the fragility of dreams. While the Saskatchewan suite of songs stand out to me lyrically, the remainder of the tracks often rise above even those numbers.

Frankly, some of these songs are fucking astounding in how completely amazing they are. The band is firing on all cylinders in this recording, expanding their no-nonsense guitar-bass-drums-keyboard 4/4 rock and roll to incorporate genuine moments of soul music with incredible effect. The two stand-out tracks are both slower songs that begin with patient musical build-ups and Fink’s gentle singing (which transitions into near-growling insistence over their running time). “Unreliable” is the first (and possibly only) truly classic soul number written by Regina’s rock and roll underground, a tense, perfectly-arranged track that gives Fink the opportunity to exorcise the demons of a hundred spurned lovers, culminating in a note-perfect guitar solo that adds just the right amount of chaos into the closing. “Burst Into Flames” is a rumination on personal shortcomings and the conflicting nature of reality versus the dreams of our youth, a genuinely affecting number with a mournful tenor that feels like an ending, and not a good one. “I’m laundry hung out on a line,” Fink admits, before insisting with his last breath that geography might once again be playing a part in how he and his character’s lives end up.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, at least half of the band members are leaving Regina for grad school. If the lyrical content of this album is any indication I have every confidence they’ll be back some day. Saskatchewan might be the one place where you can go home again.

I can’t say enough about this album, and this isn’t future-nostalgia or pre-beak-up hysteria. I’ve been spinning this disc non-stop for months and it is worth every revolution. I don’t understand how this record and this band aren’t getting the acclaim and attention that your Library Voices or your Rah Rah are having showered upon them. No, they don’t have 14 people in the band and they don’t give away free candy at shows. They write the balls off some smart, passionate rock music and make no apologies for it.

Come out to O’Hanlon’s on Thursday and let them know that’s still worth something. Send them off to grad school with some fucking smiles on their faces.

 

 Polymaths - Sputnik Sweethearts [4:11m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Polymaths - Unreliable [4:12m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Final show is Thursday night at O’Hanlon’s. BE THERE. Click right here for more information.

Get the record from Regina-based Urban Planning Records; it comes in a crazy paper case!

Pat entries Canadian content, indie rock, local music, Regina, rock, soul, Urban Planning Records

While the name Dojo Workhorse implies two things that are very physical and manly, you might get an entirely different sense from listening to this debut album than its sobriquet might suggest.

See, Dan Vacon doesn’t shy away from talking about his musical influences, even in song. As previously mentioned in our review of his band’s last album, the song “Ghosts We’re Buried On” discusses the roots of Vacon’s love of music. He’s described the Dudes brand of rock and roll as Al Green meets the Flaming Lips. The dude is the modern embodiment of white-boy soul. This album is his attempt to illustrate that fact, but it’s not the tempestuous brand of soul. There is no gittin’ on up-ah. This is an album that is alternately gentle yet celebratory, lovely yet concerned with lovin’.

I suppose the easy way out of this review would be to say that this is the sensitive side of the Dudes frontman, a more acoustic-leaning, down-tempo distillation of their most passionate moments. But that’s not quite the whole truth, as far as I see it anyway.

To begin: this might be one of the loveliest albums released this year from a musical standpoint. The stable of contributing musicians has clearly been carefully chosen and every note is lush and vibrant, from the subtle handclaps of tracks like “Misbehave” and “I Got Life” to the buoyant horns littered through the majority of the tracks to Vacon’s gently intimate, at times pleading, vocals. I can imagine many young ladies turning the lights down and listening to this record in the bathtub. Relaxing!

But sensitivity is only one part of the puzzle. While the majority of these songs are tender, balladic even, he keeps his sense of humour intact. The intimate and self-reflective nature of most of the songs doesn’t lend itself to some of the humourous premises posited in some Dudes’ songs, although hearing Vacon attempt to woo a potential paramour by quietly insisting, “Fuck what your girlfriends say/let them pay for tomorrow/their time is borrowed/give me today,” could bring a smile to one’s face. One the Dudes-liest moments comes in the same song (”Misbehave”) when he opens with the incredible, “I want to hold your hand/but I’m a modern man.” I’m not sure what that means, but it’s entertaining.

However there’s a bit of a catharsis inherent in those asides, which are littered throughout a number of songs. Vacon posits the record as a more serious endeavour, a more intimate and insightful work. There are several tracks here that are downright heartbreaking: the trio of songs falling in the middle of this record (”Late For Life,” “Laval Street,” “How To Be Lonesome”) are as honest and affecting as any I’ve heard in a long time. They perfectly embody the beauty and catharsis of life and its numerous frightening realities. There are stirring string arrangements, french ladies singing and some genuine human regret and emotion. But when the songs on either side of that suite utilize filler lyrics that completely pull you out of the moment it is completely and genuinely disappointing.

To wit: Vacon’s plea in “Ohio” to a lover: “Angel, spread your wings/and get us the eff out of here.” This injection on “Truly Wasted”: “And I’m like, what the fuck?” The aforemetioned kiss-off to a lady’s girlfriends.

I understand that young people like to curse. I do it an awful lot myself, so much so that it drove my mother off of Facebook. I have no doubt that it’s reflective of how Dan is in real life and how he relates his feelings and how he writes. But it seems purposefully anachronistic and jarring when set against such beautifully orchestrated songs. It makes those portions of the songs feel half-done, half-considered.

Now, I can forgive it in proper context. “I Got Life” is the inverse of Marvin Gaye or Sam Cooke’s gospelizing, an athiest anthem that is confident but not antagonistic. He sings, “I feel alright/I’ve got the lord in me/which is a surprise/because I don’t believe in nothing” and “Don’t if feel good not to be a total asshole?/No one ever goes to hell, go on, forgive yourself/I am good just because I am/heaven can’t tell me nothing.” That I identify with, and not only because I share the same philosophy. But in the context the word “asshole” comes off somehow smoother, more properly-placed.

I really like this record. I love the huge string parts, the sprightly acoustic guitar, the horn charts, the flutes, the acapella closer, the incredible melodies and harmonies. I love the honesty of these songs. Without the few lyrical bumps in the road this is an absolute winner.

 

 Dojo Workhorse - the Universe [3:28m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Dojo Workhorse - Laval Street [2:35m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Dojo Workhorse - Road Prayer [2:43m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

The band’s official website seems non-functional, but their myspace directs purchasers to Amazon Canada. There’s also this site, although it seems to be major label affiliated. They edorse iTunes as well.

Pat entries Canadian content, Dojo Workhorse, indie, pop, soft rock, soul, the Dudes

We’ve got a special treat for our readers: A he said/she said review of the latest album from Calgary band The Dudes. Pat will take first crack at it because he got his shit together fastest, but Tanis gets the final say.

PAT:

I’ve been listening to an awful lot of Sam Cooke in the last eight months or so and I think he would heartily approve of The Dudes. While they may aim for the aesthetic of Al Green meets the Flaming Lips, I’d wager their obvious passion and enthusiasm for life, love, and soul-affirming music makes them spiritual cousins to the late, great songwriter and many others that have dabbled in “soul” music.

Tanis and I both loved The Dudes’ previous album, Brain, Heart, Guitar, for its energy and sense of fun. The band shoots for the aforementioned vision and in their own, “white-boy soul” kind of way, achieves it. Now they’ve got a new album out called Blood Guts Bruises Cuts and it has been way too long.

While the lead vocals of the nerdily-bespectacled Danny Vacon may not at first (or second) blush be what the average listener might consider “soulful,” he performs the balls off his songs, alternately purring like a kitten and pleading like a sinner for the salvation that only love/sex can bring. Serving as the undeniable centrepiece of the band, he pushes his voice to the peaks and valleys mined by soul singers through the decades, allowing the band to put a downright Costello-ian pop-rock spin on the genre.

There are two centrepieces in my opinion: first is “Mr. Someone Else,” a spiritual cousin of sorts to “Jessie’s Girl” in which Vacon covets a friend’s lady…hard. It is a quintessential Dudes song: it doesn’t take itself too seriously, but the arrangement is taught and muscular and the lyrics are honest and direct, a bald-faced and lustily covetous tale that would likely be considered ribald in polite company. They band is also totally willing to rock a cowbell in a non-ironic fashion.

The rest of the album follows suit, melding proto-rock sentiment and modern power-pop chords while Vacon analyzes, laments, appreciates, celebrates, and embraces love every way shape and form (including the wonder of make-outs and hook-ups).

If “Mr. Someone Else” is the yin of the album, the yang comes with “Ghosts We’re Buried On,” in which Vacon traces the roots of his musical passion back to a beat-up guitar played with fervor on his Grandfather’s porch, the soul of the music intertwining deeply and irrevocably with his own.

I could talk at much greater length of the wonderful and joyous songwriting displayed on Blood Guts Bruises Cuts, the razor-sharp hooks of lead single “Pretty Lies,” the band’s softer side showing through on “Small Mercies” and “Had Enough Of It,” the footloose and fancy-free celebration of life that is “Ever Been To Taiwan?” Instead, I’ll leave it up to you (and Tanis) to do yourself a favour and pick this album up.

At its very least it’s a perfect summer road-trip album; at its greatest, every track is a triumph that deserves to be heard.
_________________________________

TANIS:

When you move across the country to start a new job, the last thing on your mind should be bumping your flight to the next day so you can go see a band rock and roll all night before you leave, but thanks to The Dudes, I have done this. I only slept about an hour before hopping a plane from Calgary to Toronto, but their live show at the Hi-Fi was worth it and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Especially after listening to their latest effort.

The Dudes released Brain Heart Guitar in 2006, so the repeated lines “It’s a long time comin’” from “Pretty Lies,” the first single off new release Blood Guts Bruises Cuts, seem especially fitting. It took awhile, but by God, was it ever worth the wait.

The Dudes have turned this mother out, unleashing waves of jangly guitar, witty lyrics, hooky choruses you can shout along to and generally crafting the kind of happy, energetic songs that make legends out of local bands. They’re everything you want in a great pop act and they kindly ask that you respect their right to rock your face off, too.

Thanks to some tight producing, Blood Guts Bruises Cuts sounds much more complete and explored than Brain Heart Guitar. The band has stretched their legs, done some living, figured out who they really are and filled every corner of this album with their experiences. And they smartly did not slick everything up. This still sounds distinctly like The Dudes. Every song leads you down the corridor of their existence, pointing out pit stops taken and influences found along the way and the resulting album is the pinnacle of their creation.

The guitars are brash and bold – almost overdone – but they’re countered by frontman Dan Vacon’s shy, sweet voice. I wouldn’t be surprised if every word out of his mouth was accompanied with a nerdy shrug like “It’s OK, I guess.” He has this offhanded way of singing the most brilliant lines, just lazily letting slip these witty lyrics like they’re nothing. It’s positively Joel Plaskett-esque! There are also references, some overt, some subtle, to the Blues Brothers, Bon Jovi, the Beach Boys, Aerosmith, Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash. AND, I hear musical nods to Van Halen, The Cars, Cheap Trick and April Wine, among others.

At first, I thought Blood Guts Bruises Cuts was good. The second time through, I thought it might be better than Brain Heart Guitar. By the third listen, I knew it was. This album is so luscious and ripe, this band so primed for success. It will be so totally bogus if The Dudes don’t shoot to fame on the back of this bad boy.

I love the raucous and rockin’ “Ever Been To Taiwan?” and “Had Enough Of It,” a bright little duet with Calgary singer Lisa Lobsinger, recently of Broken Social Scene fame. And Pat’s mentioned the SUPERB “Mr. Someone Else,” the paen to the best song ever written. But the real standout for me is “Girl Police.” It’s awash with big, happy guitar riffs and power chords, a barely-contained ’80s sound, soaring oooooohs and aaaaaahs and with Vacon’s soulful vocals bobbing over it all. I can’t wait to see how they rock it live. I imagine there’s going to be some Budokan level shit happening there. Not to mention, it has the catchiest listing of names in a song since “Mambo No. 5.” Oh, come on. Like you never sang along!

The Dudes JUST missed the cutoff for Polaris Prize consideration this year, but I’d like to think that next year, they might be nominated for this stellar effort because I’ve already got it on my best-of list for 2009.

 

 the Dudes - Mr. Someone Else [4:25m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 the Dudes - the Ghosts We're Buried On [5:02m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

The Dudes’ website proclaims Blood Guts Bruises Cuts is “available in stores” (DEAD BUSINESS MODEL WHAT?), but is also on Amazon and of course, iTunes. Obviously, we’d rather you contacted your independent retailer (if you still have one) and procured a copy through that means, but we don’t run your life. You’re an adult.

Pat entries, Tanis entries Calgary, Canadian content, pop rock, power pop, soul, the Dudes

I’m primarily a new music guy, but I have a great affection for “classics” when its warranted.

I don’t listen to a lot of older music aside from the really genre-defining artists. There just isn’t enough time. But Springsteen, Ella, Cash, the Clash, Black Flag, the Misfits, Beatles…you make time for the ones that count.

At the top of my list is Sam Cooke, one of my all-time favourite songwriters. They call him the man that invented soul, but he’s just a damn good writer that managed to stay on top of his game for a lot longer than some others did. A big part of that effort was staying on top of musical and dance trends and playing to both the kids and the oldsters.

His most recognizable tracks (”You Send Me”, “A Change Is Gonna Come”, “Chain Gang”, “Wonderful World”, and “Bring It on Home to Me”) alternate between swooning, orchestral love songs destined to melt AM radio hearts and playful party tunes that celebrate clever wordplay and every dance craze that struck the U.S. between 1960 and 1975. Much of his songs followed the musical conventions of the time, and what really set him apart was his voice.

In time he would be named the fourth greatest singer of all time by Rolling Stone, but when he was just getting started he was known only in the gospel music community. He had a successful group before venturing into the scary secular world. He had dozens of Billboard hits, starting with his very first mainstream single. They just kept building and building. He exploited numerous dance crazes along the way, penning tunes about and for dancing the cha-cha-cha, the Twist, and the Shake (I think that’s a thing, right?). But it was his voice that carried each and every track to incredible heights, a full, forceful tenor that bursts forth with an innate ease that clearly demonstrates his gospel roots. Even when he’s singing about having “some chick” to talk to he fills the speakers with an unmistakably relaxed but prominent delivery.

While the man and his work never really went away, I’ve been noticing him popping up in the collective subconscious a bit more frequently in recent months. Two favourite groups of mine have recently paid tribute: Drag The River covered “Having A Party” for a recent 7″ single and the Gaslight Anthem crib his lyrics on occasion in some of their work. Everyone from Jimmy Buffett to Colin Meloy to John Lennon to Cat Stevens to Simon & Garfunkel have taken turns interpreting his catalogue. Hell, Otis Redding has covered Cooke multiple times and he’s a legend in his own right.

In the short seven years he was working he wrote songs that were loved the world over. Who knows how high he could’ve climbed if not for his unfortunate and sketchy death at the age of 33.

Anyway, I’ve been spinning some of his greatest hits daily for the last month or two and I thought it was time I shared some with you. While they aren’t all immediately recognizable they all sound familiar and welcoming enough. Let’s remember a legend.

 

 Sam Cooke - Rome Wasn't Build In A Day [2:29m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Sam Cooke - Touch The Hem Of His Garment [2:02m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Sam Cooke - Another Saturday Night [2:26m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Sam Cooke - Having A Party [2:27m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Sam Cooke - A Change Is Gonna Come [3:14m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Pat entries classics, early rock and roll, legends, Sam Cooke, soul

My feet hurt like a motherfucker.

They walked 20 city blocks in Toronto. In heels. They stood for two hours in a hot-ass club while canned soul music trickled down the walls of The Phoenix. They shifted - ever so slightly - to the right to avoid the annoying couple beside them. They wished fervently they were encased in comfortable, worn-in Converse instead of the “No, seriously, I know these are damn cute, but you have got to be kidding me with this shit!” heels. They SWORE they would carry me against my will to the back and lean against the wall two songs in.

But then, somebody flipped a switch. House lights down. Stage lights up. A rustle of a curtain and the band emerged, swathed in dark suits, skinny ties and sunglasses at night. Strutting out to a favourite track from Kid Koala’s “Your Mom’s Favourite DJ,” they earned even more of my love. They tore into a couple funk soul Mellomatic numbers that, combined with the trippy mini-dress of the girl in front of me and the sheath dress and headband of my companion, transported me to an earlier time. A time I’d never experienced beyond my own teenage disection of my parents’ album covers. Until last night. I told my feet to shut the hell up. When 110 pounds of sweet soul excitement in the form of Miss! Sharon! Jones! stepped onstage, my feet listened to me. They had no choice.

If you are going to see Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, you should see them in a deliciously fetid sauna of a club that is off the beaten path, and you should definitely stand front and centre. If you are lucky enough to get a spot that gives you an almost unfettered view of the stage (damn you, tall guys!), you damn well take it and keep it and don’t ever give it up. Even if two hours later, you find yourself wondering when the hell this damn show is going to start already. Then, when it does start, when you find yourself wishing death on the sound tech who didn’t bother to check that the mic of this funky lady was working proper, you will stand there and you will smile and you will wait until everything is, as Miss! Sharon! Jones! would say, nice… and easy… 

Because I guaran-damn-tee you that you will enjoy yourself despite your aching feet. You will even find it in yourself to dance non-stop for an hour and a half until the sweat is rolling off you AND Miss! Sharon! Jones! You will clap your hands, stomp your feet and participate in a call-and-answer demand for more with guitarist and hype man, Mr. Mellomatic himself, Binky Griptite. You will put your lips together and blow as the band and Miss! Sharon! Jones! bound out for an encore that will amaze and astound. 

For the next two days, your feet will pay you back for every step you took that night and you will retreat to your comfortable Doc Martens and your fuzzy slippers. But when you reach for your well-worn canvas Vans, you will see those strikingly handsome heels sitting in the closet, mocking you. And you will smile. They earned that pain. Every time you take a painful step down, you’ll hear the refrain of “My Man is a Mean Man” echo in your brain chamber and remember the tall, dark, drink of water Sharon pulled up onstage to dance. You will remember watching Tommy “TNT” Brenneck of The Budos Band, ”Tall Ass Tommy” as Sharon calls him, cradle his butterscotch-coloured Gibson and wish it was you in his arms. You will crank the stereo to 11, hear the iconic drumming of Homer Steinweiss and tap your tender toes. You will feel the thrum of Bosco Mann’s funky, funky bass penetrate your heart. HORNS! I said HORNS! You will WISH you had horns to call out to for a fanfare! You’ll watch the Super Soul Revue’s Queen of Funk shake every part of her body that can be shook and a few she’s invented special for the occasion.

Most of all, you will cherish a sharp moment of silence during the encore that cuts into the club’s very core like a hot knife. On a blistering cover of ”It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World,” Sharon’s powerful vocals scream “He’s lost!” And there is a silence so complete and total you will wonder if you haven’t been struck deaf, abandoned by everyone else in the club. Until she breaks it with a raw, throaty call of “In the wilderness!”

You will recall Sharon Jones intone those bluesy, ballsy words for the rest of your life. You will feel it in your soles, oh yes. But more importantly, when the blisters have peeled and the pain has ebbed away, you will feel it in your soul. You will. You will.

 

 Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings - How Long Do I Have To Wait For You?: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings - Answer Me: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings - Let Them Knock: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Seriously, yo. My feet still hurt. Ease my pain and check out Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings at:  

Soul searching at: iTunes

Oh, trust me, you are gonna want this shizzle on vinyl. Do a little analog Dap-Dippin’ with the Dap Kings at: Daptone Records

Tanis entries funk, live music, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, soul