Allen Toussaint

I am an unabashed fan of songwriters. It's been a lifelong interest: as a kid, I was already an avid reader of liner notes, and I always carefully studied who wrote the songs I enjoyed.

Today is the 74th birthday of Allen Toussaint, a living legend for anyone who cherishes joyful music that's firmly rooted in a musical tradition.

You can open up my links to read his biography. You'll be astounded by his songs that became monstrous hits for others: "Southern Nights" (Glen Campbell,1977); "Yes We Can Can " (Pointer Sisters, 1973); and "Working in a Coal Mine" (Lee Dorsey, 1966). You will also note how ubiquitous Toussaint has been throughout his career as a producer and supporting player for projects by many popular artists.

I first encountered Toussaint in the 1970s because I greatly enjoyed two songs of his that Bonnie Raitt and Geoff Muldaur had recorded. Raitt rendered "What Do You Want the Boy to Do? on 1975's Home Plate and Muldaur recorded 3 Toussaint numbers on 1976's Motion: the title cut, "Southern Nights", and "What Do You Want the Girl to Do?"

Turned out that Toussaint toiled for Warner/Reprise at the same time as both Raitt and Muldaur. Motion, his 1978 release produced by Jerry Wexler, is a treasure. It's with this album that you learn the Toussaint style: joyful numbers (like "Happiness", a song that never fails to lift me) mingled with smooth and seductive ballads ("With You in Mind"; "To Be With You"). Raitt and Etta James provide backup vocals for many of the tracks here.

Why Toussaint never made a name for himself as a singer is perplexing to me. But he didn't, and he was cast off Warners along with Van Morrison and Arlo Guthrie at the dawn of the 1980s. I fell out of touch with him then, not only due to his not releasing anything but because I was consumed with learning the Great American Songbook (courtesy largely of Sinatra and Fitzgerald).

In 1994 I spied his name on Crescent City Gold, a lovely collection in which he chipped in half a dozen songs. Then there was 1996's Connected - which gave me a chance to introduce my wife to his artistry. She liked it mostly, even though I enjoyed torturing her with these lyrics from "Computer Lady":

I met this lady while surfin' on-line
I believe she's a lady
she created that image in my mind
She came through as if she knew exactly what I needed
When she described herself to me my floppy overheated

She said she'd like the man who is so inclined
to had a strong imagination such as mine
and we could trip off when she could be free
to share some of her software with much of me

CHORUS:
Computer lady (c'mon)
make my night
drive me crazy
with your megabytes
I don't know if you're real
but until I do
Keep my modem hot, computer baby
Keep my modem hot, computer lady

Soon as I get inside, the very first thing I do
is boot up my you-know-what
and I look for you-know-who
and - whoo! - there she is just filling up the screen
with all sorts of sweet talk, just a little bit short of obscene
Saying things that we can do when face to face someday
or maybe some night based on the games we play

Just for a moment I sat back to breathe
and thought about how far we'd come from Adam and Eve

CHORUS

Computer lady, computer lady
visit without hesitation
Computer lady, computer lady
We've got a major situation

CHORUS

Keep it hot
keep it burnin'
keep it on fire
keep it hot
(repeat and fade)

Listening to this track again, I'm swinging along, feeling the happiness, and I'm also gently amused by his humor. Another reason I love Allen Toussaint is that he reminds me of a musician I knew in Chicago, a piano bar entertainer who was a beautiful player like Toussaint and who'd have surely performed this eye-rolling number. Your spirit lives, Les!

Around that time Lisa and I went to hear Allen Toussaint perform at a free concert at the bandshell in Boston. I recall sitting and waiting for the show to start and observing Allen walking alone along the Charles River. I could have easily approached him, but I thought better of it. The image will stick with me, though. Hey, it's better than the memory of saying something stupid!

Another quiet decade ensued, but then Toussaint's cherished city was leveled by a flood in 2005 and ever since then he's been working tirelessly. Prominent efforts include a collaboration with Elvis Costello (2006's River in Reverse) and actor Hugh Laurie (2011's Let Them Talk). He has subbed for Paul Schaeffer on Letterman and performed in residence at Joe's Pub in New York.

Allen Toussaint is your classic songwriter. He's little-known outside of serious musical circles, but his contributions to the field are deeply appreciated by any serious listener or player. You are in for a treat if you haven't heard of him. Come dip into some of my links and then keep your eyes out for his next project or when he sails through your hometown!

Here's Allen performing "What Do You Want the Girl to Do?". His opening remark about Bonnie Raitt will make you chuckle!

Here are the Pointer Sisters singing "Yes We Can Can". I know we can make it! Yeah!

Amazing photography in this YouTube video of "Working in the Coal Mine"

Great to have a clip of Allen singing "Southern Nights" on You Tube!

Irma Thomas had a hit with Toussaint's "It's Raining".

Are you a Robert Palmer fan? Enjoy this photo montage of him as he sings "Night People" by Allen Toussaint.

Tony Orlando

An album that endures


Tony Orlando's inspiration

During my youth rock and roll supplanted my father's music. He took it in stride. Occasionally there was a small victory. Take Louis Armstrong's hit "Hello Dolly!" or the music of Bacharach and David. That provided some respite for the grownups. But for the most part the proverbial rug had been pulled out from under him. Until along came Tony Orlando and Dawn.

Tony Orlando was a song and dance man in bell bottoms. He first emerged as a hit maker with the Latin-flavored "Candida" and "Knock Three Times", but it was his partnering with two black women and their subsequent blockbuster "Tie a Yellow Ribbon" that sent them into the stratosphere in 1973.

Capitalizing on their popularity, CBS gave Tony Orlando and Dawn a variety show in 1974. My father adored it. Looking back, I can see how their show, like Sonny and Cher's, kept a traditional show business form alive. By the Watergate era, the variety show was in trouble. The Ed Sullivan Show had gone off the air in 1971, and Dean Martin and his Gold Diggers had fallen out of fashion. Sure, comedians like Carol Burnett and Flip Wilson could still get shows, but what about the singers?

Rock and roll was less dependent on TV to market its product. Instead it had the monster stadium concerts. Besides, these musicians were far less comfortable as traditional entertainers. Could you imagine James Taylor doing a standup routine, for example? That kind of presentation was viewed as utterly inauthentic and old school by the younger set. They'd rather retreat into themselves and acquire a Bob Dylan-like mystique, communicating very little with their audiences. (Why did they have to? At that time the kids just flooded the gates!)

So Tony Orlando and Dawn were an anomaly. Their patter before songs was of the standard-issue variety: Tony would say something foolish and egotistical, and the gals would roll their eyes and offer some sarcastic comeback. (Sonny and Cher followed the same model. Cher had one of the best eye-rollers in the business!)

My family watched this show together. It provided a nice bridge in a time of changing values. As kids, we delighted in how shows like "All in the Family" and "The Jeffersons" tackled racism and sexism. My parents must have felt besieged at times. But then there was Tony Orlando making nice. He had long hair and a thick mustache. He looked Hispanic - which indeed he was, with a little Greek mixed in. He was backed by black women, just like Ray Charles. But he had my parents' values.

I mean, Tony Orlando had Jackie Gleason and Jerry Lewis on his show. He loved the entertainers of the previous era. That was obvious in his hoary humor. What was most striking about him though is a quality that still draws me to him today: it was clear that Tony Orlando admired Al Jolson.

Jolie set the standard for entertainers who gave their all to an audience. Much of Judy Garland's repertoire was inspired by him. Jolson, who appeared in the first movie with sound (The Jazz Singer), was famous for leaving it all on stage (his slogan was "You Ain't Heard Nothin' Yet") and songs like "Mammy" and "Swanee" which recalled his early years in vaudeville doing blackface entertainment.

Al Jolson wanted to be loved every time he hit the floorboards. I love his persona and I was delighted to find Tony Orlando aping it. (Of course, this insight comes upon reflection.)

Tony Orlando and Dawn's New Ragtime Follies (1974) made the connection clear. Here was an old-time show committed to vinyl, complete with a prelude and postlude. I still love to listen to it - and I can get eye rolls from my wife when I do! "Say Has Anybody Seen My Sweet Gypsy Rose?" and "Steppin' Out (I'm Gonna Boogie Tonight)" and a host of other songs would lift my father's spirits the moment he touched needle to vinyl.

This album is paid homage by a site called All Music. I hope that you'll take the time to read their remarks. Looking on Amazon, I see that this album was finally digitized a few years ago and has received 8 breathless customer reviews that place it on a well-deserved pedestal.

"You Ain't Heard Nothin' Yet" until you purchase this release!
_______________________________

Here's Tony Orlando and Dawn singing "Sweet Gypsy Rose" on their show.

Enjoy this clip of Tony Orlando & Dawn accepting the "Best Musical Group" award at the 1976 American Music Awards show. (I love the moment where George Burns says to him, "And I want to kiss you!")

Art Garfunkel

Every morning I check out the celebrity birthdays in the newspaper. Yesterday was Art Garfunkel's 70th. My thoughts have lingered upon him.

Although Art has released some fine albums and acted in at least one great film, he is mostly a sad and slightly comic figure in mind--and it's not just the hair that prompts this comment. (The hair was indirectly memorialized in So I Married an Axe Murderer. Check out Mike Myers telling his kid to put his noggin down.)

I'm also thinking about Art Garfunkel claiming that he's read over a thousand books. (They're dutifully cataloged on his website.) Or perhaps it's the image of him walking across America, or across Europe (as he's currently doing, apparently). Here's a famous guy who has always struggled to assert himself as an artist.




In regards to his acting, Garfunkel's best was his first: Mike Nichols's Carnal Knowledge. Sharing the screen with Jack Nicholson is definitely a career highlight, even though his departure from the studio to work on this film led directly to the breakup with Paul Simon. (Think again about the song "The Only Living Boy in New York" from Bridge Over Troubled Water and the lines "Tom, get your plane right on time/I know you're eager to fly now". (Tom was Garfunkel's name when he and Paul first started out as the duo Tom and Jerry.)

Garfunkel's acting career fizzled after the 1970s. His performances weren't embarrassing and his films were well-received: witness Catch 22 and Bad Timing.) But it seems he simply dropped out in the 1980s. That's when the walking and the writing poetry began in earnest.

His departure from the pop scene was spurred not only by the dismal sales of his solo releases in this period, but also by the suicide of his long-time girlfriend. His thoughts during this period are captured in Still Water, a collection of poetry that you can enjoy on his website. (It's pretty good, although there are some embarrassing moments.)

There's no middle ground in regards to liking his music. You either think it's unbelievably wimpy and begin immediately to ridicule it, or you fall into it because you're a sucker for soft sentimental sounds. I fall into the latter camp.

My favorite albums are 1975's Breakaway and his collection of Jimmy Webb songs that followed it, Watermark.

The former features outstanding versions of "I Believe When I Fall in Love" (by Stevie Wonder) and "Rag Doll" (by Bruce Johnston of the Beach Boys--who would later pen Barry Manilow's immortal classic, "I Write the Songs").

Breakaway was initially a commercial flop. Columbia pulled it from the market and fortified it with a single ("What a Wonderful World" with Paul Simon and James Taylor providing backup vocals) before rereleasing it and enjoying a better outcome. I simply love Jimmy Webb, and there are great versions of his songs on this album, especially "Crying in My Sleep", "All My Love's Laughter" and "Marionette".

Art Garfunkel has always worked with people that I admire. Kenny Rankin provided vocal backup for him on 1988's Lefty. Richard Perry, whose name as a producer appears on many albums in my collection (since he worked with Carly Simon and Ray Charles), has produced Art Garfunkel. Why, even when Art chose to try his hand at songwriting in 2003, he selected a contemporary singer I adore, Maia Sharp, to work with him.

I've been a faithful follower of Art Garfunkel (although I declined purchasing his latest collection of standards, thinking such a sleep aid is unnecessary for me these days). I hope that he recovers from his vocal problems that may be partly due to smoking. I urge you to spend time checking out his work, as I've done for the past couple of hours it took me to put this entry together!

The Jayhawks Issue :: Paste mPlayer

The Jayhawks make for quite a pleasurable listen. They hit the musical scene about 15 years or so ago and now have reunited for a new album on Rounder. Check them out! The way their voices blend is unique. If you like melodic folk-rock, this may be a group for you!

The Jayhawks Issue :: Paste mPlayer

The Bronze Buckaroo

Herb Jeffries turned 100 today. He's remarkable for many other achievements besides that one.

Here he is with the Duke Ellington orchestra singing "Flamingo". This song, which has sold an estimated 14 million copies over its lifespan, established Jeffries as a singer.

Looking at the video, I'm struck by how much he and Billy Eckstine sound alike. Also it's notable that there's a certain look that white audiences found palatable with these two singers as well as with the Duke: snappy dresser, copper-toned, gelled hair, and a mustache.

Except, as this promo makes clear, Herb Jeffries had trouble at first finding an audience. Turns out that he was too white for black audiences, and too black for white listeners.

After passing himself off as a Creole and finding an audience with Ellington, Herb Jeffries did something even more remarkable: he became the world's first and only black-singing cowboy, starring in five westerns in the late '30s.

Here he is as a cowboy in a 1938 short. Terrific song, wonderful harmonizing: man, I am a sucker for that lone guitar and a song on the prairie!

I found out about Herb Jeffries in my usual way, by rifling through CDs in a used music shop and taking a chance on a release entitled Herb Jeffries: The Bronze Buckaroo (Rides Again). It must have paid $3 for it, and I haven't listened to it much, but in honor of him I'll listen to it now.

You might want to check this recording out: backup singers for this recording include Take 6, Sons of the San Joaquin, and the Mills Brothers. Herb (who's 84 at the time) duets with Michael Martin Murphey (remember "Wildfire"?) and a host of other singers.

Lou Rawls

I knew him first as a lounge singer. "You'll never find," the rich baritone intoned, "a love just like mine/that can love you/the way that I do." Now here was a song that crossed boundaries! My father loved it and - though I wouldn't admit it at the time - I found it arresting too.

He was a presence on the TV screen with his campaign for the United Negro College Fund. "A mind is a terrible thing to waste" was the slogan. I'd see him host telethons for this venture. The tux put him squarely in Sinatraville.

I didn't think much more of Lou Rawls until I was in a restaurant and heard his duet with Phoebe Snow on their sound system. (The song: "A Lover's Question". The CD: 1993's Portrait of the Blues. It was my first of many Lou Rawls albums.)

Lou Rawls synergized many of his predecessors. He had the smooth and liquid delivery of a Nat Cole or Brook Benton. He could perform a blues howl and holler that recalled Joe Williams in his prime with Count Basie. Given the time when he was making a name for himself, he must have provided inspiration to singers like Otis Redding. I mean, this guy delivers a lyric!

I've been grooving in my car to a 2-CD set that Capitol reissued in 2006. Black and Blue and Tobacco Road were Rawl's third and fourth albums released in the mid-1960s, and they present two strikingly different styles. On the former he dips and dives through a program on blues classics like "Kansas City" and "Trouble in Mind". He hits you hard with Billie Holiday's "Gloomy Sunday" and Fats Waller's "(What Did I Do To Be So) Black and Blue". It is a stunning set that I guarantee will hold your attention, despite the singularity of musical style.

The latter album features swingin' Lou. It's a finger-snapper from start to finish. I especially recommend "Ol' Man River" and "Rockin' Chair". My spirits are lifted immediately when listening to this one.

Sweet Lou - I am so glad that I found you as I matured as a listener. You were one of a kind!

Memorable Music Biographies

I have three music documentaries to recommend to you. Two are about subjects who led troubled lives. One is about a singer who is much more together.

First to get to our troubled subjects. Let's start with Phil Ochs. I loved There But for Fortune. Ochs was a "topical" folksinger who for a short while was head-to-head to many listeners with Bob Dylan before Dylan went electric. His songs are overtly political: ripped right from the day's headlines, as one of his albums titled All the News That's Fit to Sing puts it. Ochs's music survives today because of its startling directness, and the singer's warm, somewhat nasally delivery. There has really been no one quite like him since.

I loved watching footage of him singing songs that are seared in my memory: "There But for Fortune"; "Love Me, I'm a Liberal"; "Draft Dodger Rag" and "When I'm Gone". As the documentary proceeds and Och's great cause (ending the Vietnam War) is realized not with a bang but a whimper, you can see his enervation and frustration showing.

His drinking accelerates and debauched travels begin. Ochs's friends movingly describe his decline and descent into paranoia. It went on for around 5 years until his suicide at the age of 35. The film ends with Dave van Ronk performing "He Was a Friend of Mine" at a memorial concert. Quite moving.

I regret that Ochs didn't continue the direction he had forged when he moved to California in the late 1960s. Check out The Pleasures of the Harbor if you want to hear an idiosyncratic but powerful development as a songwriter. He would have traveled a fascinating road had he survived.



My second tragic tale is of Harry Nilsson, surely one of the most talented pop tunesmiths of the late 1960s to the mid 1970s. It's ironic that Nilsson's hit gold with "Everybody's Talkin'": it's one of the few songs that he sang that he didn't write! Perhaps you also know him for "One" (is the loneliest number that you'll ever do) or "The Coconut Song" (you put the lime in the coconut and call me in the morning) or "Living Without You".

This guy had a way with melodies that made the Beatles envious. He was good buddies with John Lennon and a big drinking buddy of John's in the '70s when John was estranged from Yoko. Nilsson cranked out albums through most of the '70s, but the dawn of disco really spelled the end for him. After working on the score for Robert Altman's movie version of Popeye in 1980, he was through. No more work came from him. One assumes he drank heavily and suffered a crisis of confidence for the remainder of his life. (He died of heart problems in the early 1990s).

Nilsson's body of work is justly celebrated by anyone interested in writing moving and memorable pop songs. He was playful at times in his music and then he can slay you with a love song or a ballad of regret. He sang with a lovely voice that drove every word home. I never tire of listening to him.

I enjoyed the documentary, especially the extensive footage showing Harry recording A Touch of Schmilson in the Night. This was an album of standards that he recorded in 1973 with the great Gordon Jenkins and his orchestra. I must say, that album is a desert-island disc for me!


My last documentary is about Bill Withers (Still Bill). What a wonderful guy he is! Withers hit the top of the charts during Nilsson's time with songs like "Ain't No Sunshine" and "Grandma's Hands". The documentary covers this hectic period in his life and then reveals how he stepped away from the limelight in the early 1980s never to return again. But no drinking and no tragedy here! He was just done. He wanted to enjoy his marriage and raising his kids.

I loved Bill's journey back to West Virginia to visit where he grew up, and I was especially amused by the obvious deep admiration displayed by Tavis Smiley and Cornel West as they drop by to visit him. Bill Withers comes across as one cool cat. I was deeply moved by his character and basic decency.

Music documentaries are hit and miss, but you won't go wrong carving out 90 minutes to view any of these works!