25 April 2018
// Bandcamp //
Somewhere deep in the audio version of the post - R.L. Burnside blues bible you'll find, after The First Testament of Bob Dylan and Ray Wylie Hubbard's Revelations, and a few Psalms past brilliant fellow Massachusian outfit Tarbox Ramblers sits a chapter on the power-triune known as WHOA! MAN! JESUS!
Jamaica Plain's own Whoa! Man! Jesus! bring that Burnside boogie and make an album that I wish Dylan couldawoulda made (oh don't get "all Dylan can do no wrong" cranky cuz that last one was overrated to hell 'n back and you know it). Whoa!Man!Jesus! in their album title Must I Holler ask an appropriate musical question given their driving although utterly understated delivery. Must they holler? No. They need not. W!M!J! pack as much punch at a third the volume of most bands. I remember once arguing with a young musician who felt it was much harder and showed more skill to be able to play loud. As I recall I countered with "oh, bullshit." Whoa! Man! Jesus! more than prove me right. These guys could rock the hell out of your parents living room without their neighbors being the wiser. Two guitars+one drummer (and not ones to buck the alt-blues standard - no bass player!) W!M!J! recorded Must I Holler live in the studio save for some tambourine texturizing and it has an understated swing to it that will draw you back for repeated listenings.
While it's the strength of the music that draws you in and keeps you it's the lyrics that will seal the deal. Sure there are the wicked R.L.-ian versions of Bukka White's Shake 'em On Down and Leadbelly's Hangman, Hangman but my friend and yours Jesus make a couple appearances, too. Once in rockin' folker Jesus Was Not American which totally appeals to the knee-jerk bed wetting liberal elite in me. And rather than taking cheap, boring shots at Jesus they lob subtle common sense, cliche-free sarcasm at His followers that give Jesus a bad name. I was delighted to see the song was in part influenced by Rev. Jim Wallis, a minister who (surprise!) is interested in social justice issues. Jesus shows up again (elsewhere more subtly) in Yer Jesus Don't Rock which, according to the WHOA! MAN! JESUS! lyrics blog is "Inspired by those who in response to Hurricane Katrina gazed down from airplane windows, sent Bibles, etc".
But I don't want to over labor the Jesus stuff 'cuz hellfire it's the Dylan/Burnside boogie that takes precedent throughout. I just want to make the point that -GASP!- these guys actually give some thought to what they are about, not unlike Dylan, and that makes me really frkn happy. This is just such a fine, smart, hypnotic album that I do not hesitate to rank Whoa! Man! Jesus! Must I Holler as one of the finest albums I have had the pleasure to hear so far this year. Whoa!Man!Jesus! may play it on the low down but you will play it as loud as you can get away with.
Whoa! Man! Jesus! is dead. Long live Whoa! Man! Jesus!
You can and should download their one album for free from Bandcamp.
PS- I must give THANKS to my pal UKs DJ HiLLFUNK for hippin' me to Whoa!Man!Jesus!
(Originally published AUGUST 6, 2008)
23 December 2017
TALK ABOUT RECORDS Releases Live On Tape Split Series Vol. 1 with America's Lonewolf One-Man Band & Sardinia's River of Gennargentu
Talk About Records // Lonewolf OMB //
River of Gennargentu
Just in time for the holidays comes a terrific release from the Sardinian record label Talk About Records have released a split cassette/digital download recordings with America's Lonewolf One-Man Band and Sardinia's River of Gennargentu.
Both recordings are complete live sets, Lonewolf OMB's recorded at De Melkbus Theatre in Dordrecht, Netherlands, June 3rd, 2015, while River Of Gennargentu's set was recorded at Museo Ex Casa Lai in Gavoi, Sardinia, December 28th, 2015.
Both solo performances carry a certain presence...a feeling that you are in the room as it goes down, the Lonewolf OMB recording the rawer of the two and more akin to the punk country blues of The Gun Club or a fast and loud banjo frailing Howlin' Wolf, where River of Gennergentu is straight Mississippi drone and boogie blues fed thru a fine Sardinian filter that combines with the acoustics of the ancient stone room to somehow harrow it to a more primal...haunted, olde blues...the sound of a lost man in the deep, dark, oak woods, just hollering for help. The occasional dog barks only help set that vibe. I cannot recommend these recordings enough, and cannot wait to hear who's up for Volume two in this series.
Set lists for both
performances are as below. Each cassette is available from the Talk About Records page for a special limited and numbered run of 300 tapes (+digital download) for 6E or approx $7usd plus shipping, and is also available as a digital down load for 6E or approx $7usd
Lonewolf OMB set list:
1. Swamp Hermit
2. Up the river
3. Growling At The Moon Again
4. Coal Black Maddie
5. Flat Spell Blues
6. Band Aid Blues
7. Dream Sea
8. Down At The Tracks
9. Little Black Crow
10. Canned Catfish Blues
River of Gennargentu set:
1. I Need To Move
2. Jump Baby Jump (Jessie Mae Hemphill)
3. Poor Black Mattie (RL Burnside)
4. Between Troubled Waters
5. Hard Times Killin’ Floor (Skip James) / Goin’ Down South (RL Burnside) / My Mind Wandering 6. Someday Baby (Hammie Nixon, Sleepy John Estes)
09 November 2017
Facebook // Bandcamp
I'm so digging the new
album by UK's Crosscut Sores! Comprised of Tim and Scarlett, ex-members of the beloved Jooks of Kent, Crosscut Sores bring the same fkd up punkass garage blues as the Jooks, now with more thick greasy sludge and homemade ratrod distortion slugged in the back of the head with blasts of Stoogian sax and slurried leaks of piano. If anything can blast the winter off your sorry hide and roll your bones into summer it's this 15 tracks of diamond sharp imperial dirt. Get it!
15 September 2017
BUY via Bandcamp // Soundcloud // FB // YT //
The sky's ablaze over Brighton. Heat lightening, knocking the city aglow. A Morphine hum fills the cracks in the sidewalk. The fox at Palace Pier is prowling low, now slipping through fence posts and backyards howling...hearing the music...which way is home?
Brighton, England's Mudlow have a new ep out called Crackling. The last in a series of three EPs and following the Letter To Louise and Minnesota EPs.
I've really dug these collections. They're the perfect length, because Mudlow songs tend to be somewhat cinematic, in depth, vibe, and sonics. Just four songs. Three musicians. You have plenty of time to invest in them at that length. To really listen. Which means there's no room for filler. I'd be happy if they kept on doing EPs. In fact I'd dig it if more bands went this route.
Who has time for seventy-five minutes of music? Do four songs, upload 'em everywhere. Put them out on a thick ten-inch record. A souvenir. That's what people want. A tangible memory of the affair. But I digress about this. Again.
Here's the spiel:
Crackling is a set of four new Mudlow scenes or vignettes as song. I say it every time, Mudlow makes soundtracks waiting for a movie. But here's the thing about this band: They're not a casual listen. I think you kinda gotta get proper old school and actually sit down and listen to the band thru speakers, not ear buds (though that's fine, too) I think you gotta spend some time with them. A glass of whiskey wouldn't hurt (unless it does) and just get lost.
On Crackling, you will take a trip to Mudlow Country. Mudlow consistently do their Mudlow thing. Much like Morphine, Echo & The Bunnymen or Richard Hawley or Waits do theirs. I'm not suggesting Mudlow sound like either...and yet... but rather they are their own thing. They are in the alt-rock-blues-country whatever world, but not of it. This isn't some brit-based Americana wanna-be, either. I may claim Mudlow are their own genre, they're their own thing, yet they are deeply familiar...U.S blues-based rockishness, but with a U.K. pulp novel noir vibe...not quite country, blues, jazz, rock, yet all of these. At once. When it's raining. Downtown. Gritty, rural, yet elegant. Especially when you include their whole catalog, the early work with tough and sometimes haunted Morphine-like saxophone and horn sections.
Mudlow is a terrific (in the true sense of the word) and unique band and they have done their best work here. It's a distillation of the Mudlow sound, poured four fingers deep over three ice cubes on 2017's Crackling.
Let's talk about Mudlow's stylish bassist/ engineer/ producer Paul Pascoe. I can't imagine anyone else recording this band. He's recorded them from the start with Welcome To Mudlow Country to the new Crackling. Pascoe's recordings have always been very tasteful, allowing everything to breath, and giving the band the noir filmic sound it's big salacious heart desires. No instrument overpowers the other. Each is just as important as the other. Like a fist. Like prayer hands. Like the tabletop knife game.
Drummer Matt Latcham is both the knife and the fingers in this equation, stabbing, swinging, but keeping a hand on the table. They're a band that has played together so long they finish each other's musical sentences, each note placed where it should be...on the spot.
The low down::--->
1. Crackling - Car wheels on a rotten paved and gravel road turn with a screech of tire on asphalt headed to anywhere but here. Storm clouds forming, windows down...night is coming on.
2. Bad Hand - A classic english blues, but you wouldn't know it. #Swingit!
3. Caz - Harrowing blues.
4. Red Ribbon - Classic old timey story of trouble, po-lice, and colored lights.
Lyrics for each song on Crackling, provided by Tobias Mudlow, are below:
Crackling: You said you were going to leave, you never got that far, somewhone's going to pay for the damage to my car. When you quit your crying , fetch your things from the yard, that's a heavy horizon, it's a gathering of clouds. You could take another step a little closer to the fire. The skylines alive, with javelins of light, like filaments under glass as they crackle and die, There's clean sheets on the bed, I'll sleep down the hall, some money on the night stand, you could leave after the storm. Or you could take another step a little closer to the fire.
Bad Hand: No warm welcome waiting when your women gets home,X2. Just another old mare, slipping through the fence post, just another old mare. She can't stand me no more. You ought to not let her ride another mans mule,X2. She'll leave you sad and lonely, like a hair lip fool, leave you sad and low. She can't stand me no more. My reason for breathing is leaving on this evenings train,X2. She took off with my best friend, now I see my kids on the weekends, she took off with my best friend. She can't stand me no more. I wound up in an alley on a pallet in the pouring rain,X2. Curled up like a bill fold, I laid my bad hand down, curled up like a bill fold. She can't stand me no more.
Caz: Your momma's calling you Caroline, you been out till 3am, you got boys in the back of your daddy's car, your gonna wake the dog in your back yard. Caroline where the hell have you
Been? Long blond hair and an overcoat, drinking wine and getting loaded, they say some swallows never land? Pop the cap throw back your head. Caroline where the hell have you been? Poor old absent minded Si, they shaved his head when he lost his mind, like the day old J.P. Jumped the river, he got high too fast and fell to quickly. Caroline where the hell have you been???
Red Ribbon: I dropped a little red ribbon down by the roadside, I let diesel soak up in the sand, an old fella over by the gas pump, with a loaded forty five, nickel and pearl grip curled up in his hand, stone cold and a straight back in the sunshine, I feel like the whole world turned numb, my belly sticking to my shirt tails, a cold sweat on my brow, I got a little taste of copper on my tongue. God damn you God Damn why you got to do things that way? I got up this morning , so much trouble now I should have just stayed where I lay. Now I can see the red lights on the hill top, I can see the blue lights on the ridge, somebody must have heard the gunshot, they phoned the police, I guess they told them what I did, Can you hear them banging on my front door, now they're running around the back, somebody's blowing on the bullhorn, telling me to get down, on my knees hands on my head. God damn God damn why you got to do things that way, I woke up this morning, so much trouble now, I think I'll just stay where I lay.....
Here's a special NSK Remix of the track Crackling, along with a remixed instrumental version. Finally, the music of Mudlow has been orchestraed, while keeping and deeping their Mudlowness. They are amazing, powerful, beautiful pieces.
12 May 2017
|I see a dozen spirits in this photo.|
BUY // Label // FB //
Chicken Snake stands tall in the collective shadow of bands like The Gun Club, The Cramps, Handsome Family, CCR, Cap'n Beefheart, Stooges, X...and the ghosts of the early-mid Rolling Stones, too, for that matter.
They're bands that excavate and reimagine American blues and country music into their own primeval landscape, their own often base yet book-smart, shadowy, cinematic, symbolized, and often haunting world-view of rocking. Chicken Snake dance with that long, dark southern shadow through a Sticky Fingered New York City swamp at vesper, doing a bluesy, Velvetsy, graveyard boogie.
From Bristol to Detroit, New York to Mississippi, they're a band that conveys a definite sense of place, and you can't help but know where they're coming from, and where they're residing. I hear music that's deeply, naturally southern...gothic...but this is not some Qute retro hokem jingle-jangle homage, but rather, it's a dark and low down music with myth and mystery, folk-life literacy, and back road country cautions.
Listen, in the vale of the night, the new moon rising over the hill, dogs begin to howl. You up and take off running down a tenebrous trail thick with cedar knees to trip on, and Spanish moss to get tangled up in as you hustle to the sliver-mooned late dark of a gravel road where, in the distance shining hard, you see the lights of a hotly lit dog-trot house, and you stop...breathing hard...to listen...at a guitar growl and a voice moaning, "Tombstone head and a graveyard mind..."
The night is dark and the sky is blue as Chicken Snake hitches Hasil Adkins' rattling commodity country trailer to the eternal night boogie of John Lee Hooker's '67 Coupe De Ville. They top it off with Keith n' Ronnie's Funkycountrybluesstomp Slash n' Gas, then pull that lowboy out into the drone of a north Mississippi, west Louisiana, Alabama sunset. Chooglin. In the rearview, you can just make out Buddy & Julie Miller playing cards with Lux and Ivy in a TV-lit kitchenette at the No-Tell Motel, lovingly warmed by The Fire Of Love...then Iggy and Alan Vega walk in with a stack of southern B-Movies and a bottle of lightning...
Jerry Teel is straight out of Andalusia, south Alabama, between Enterprise and Opp, north of the gulf, north of Niceville. Pauline Teel hails from Orange, Texas, a small town on the Tx/La border. The Teel's met Josh, a Pennsylvanian, and Jessica, a Virginian, in NYC after Katrina. Josh, worked at a record store near Jerry and Pauline's place, and both couples it turned out were New Orleans refugees, though they didn't know each other in the Crescent City.
I asked Josh Lee Hooker about his musical connection with legendary punk country blues guitar maestro Jerry Teel, (formerly of The Chrome Cranks, Knoxville Girls, Boss Hog, Honeymoon Killers, among others) and he tells me,
"I think Jerry and I have a rare shared affinity for our specific conception of music. I mean that we each created (as any passionate listener does) our own idiosyncratic notions of what makes music good, what things have meaning and what don't—and then it turned out that those independent, idiosyncratic notions happened to be eerily similar. So, it's very easy for me to play with Jerry, because we have the perspective without having to discuss anything. Of course, it's also my great privilege to play with him, whose work I've known since the early 90s."
Guitarist Hooker (no relation beyond spiritual) is a perfect foil for guitarist Teel, and the two men work as a team, like gandy dancers, like knife-fighters, like Glimmer Twins, while minimalist on-point drummer Jessica-Melain, elegant on snare and floor tom, keeps the primeval hunch from falling off the bone. Singer Pauline Teel is a powerful and wise presence, teaming with Jerry on vocals or singing solo, walking like Ivy, like a dust devil, like a Fire Spirit...countering Jerry's rusty, country plaint as punk poet Loretta to his Howlin' Conway.
Tombstone and Bones is a hard, soulful, bluesed-out, country-infected rock and roll album, and that represents so well with the first track, the low country evol soul duet of Muddy Water Mystery with it's slow, drawling refrain,
"I don't want to get on your bad side,
don't know what kind of mood your in"
It's the sound of menace, of a darker shade of night, a faster flickering candle, the pages of a book turning on their own, or a car coasting down hill on a on a moonless night, on a graveled country road, and going no-brakes 'round the corner...
Now, Donna Lynn, in a perfect world, would be a monster hit single, with its insanely evil Bo-Chuck-Keith-Stooges guitar paroxysms, with its one-string solo fury....drummer Jessica is a simple yet efficient machine, as Teel and Hooker throw knives and hurl bombs of beautiful guitar savagery like we sure as hell don't hear enough of these days.
Guitarist Josh Lee Hooker tells me,
"The Donna Lynn guitar stuff is my attempt (after my understanding of Cale-era Velvet Underground) to create tension and momentum, principally through "wrong" notes, and notes that start off "right" but then are bent and pulled into something more atonal.
Jerry and Pauline have had the song Donna Lynn since the very beginning of the band, back in '09 maybe. We played it a few times during rehearsals for the 1st record, but never really came up with a good version. Only recently, with the Velvets/Alan Vega thing we do now, did it actually sound right."
Black Crow Talkin' Blues is a rockin' old-timey natural world gospel song, but Hot + Cold is a Crampsy pompatus of love, breakin' it down, layin' it out.
The candy-silver metal-flake holler of Black Pony, with it's mocking, ascending guitar line, Louisiana campfire nightmare vocals, and trottin' dog drum beat, is a dream I don't want to have, but I don't mind to visit from here. Rich Man Blues could be a 'Stones out take, or better yet a Ron Wood outtake.
Lay It Down is evocative of a late summer heat spell- hot, dirty, and threatening, like a cross between Bo Diddley and a Saturday night fight.
Tombstone and Bones ends the set with haunting slide work, and some gorgeous harmonica set to a woozy gospel blues lamentation, "It's too late, too late, too late, too late, lock up your door, shut up your gate, their ain't nothin' left, but a tombstone and bones..."
It's a haunting, primitive sound, Chicken Snake's.
A raw, unpretentious old-timey/ swampy/ stonesy, creeptastic, Super Primordial Mejores éxitos de Rock sound tempered in North Mississippi hill country trance and drone blues...a driving, primal, dirty, citified country blues and boogie that sounds as fresh and dangerous today as it would have eighty years ago. One of my favorite albums of the year. I highly recommend it.
20 February 2017
// TOMPKiNS SQUARE RECORDS //
The new Harvey Mandel album - Snake Pit, on Tompkins Square Records is dynamite. Featuring six new songs (and a couple of old ones) Snake Pit is Harvey Mandel's fifteenth album and his first to be widely distributed in twenty years.
If you've heard Mr. Mandel's guitar work with Canned Heat you'll have an idea of his sound. Blues-infected and dirty...physical...muscular... with a strong bottom end, but it's also often ornate, elegant, and heady.
He's a thoughtful player, who can play a barrage of notes if needed but might just choose to kill you with a single-note solo instead. He's no show-off, rather, like all greats, he does his thing and hopes that you catch up to it.
Mandel can be slyly futuristic, and at the same time primitive. At times recalling the work of Trower, Hendrix, Page, Nelson, Carlos, etc...the usual gang...yet he remains wholly himself, and like Willy and the other gentlemen Mandel isn't afraid to take chances with jazz, funk, blues phrasings, and like Santana (or McLaughlin) he soars as he solos straight through your soul. Sustain set to Eternity, baby.
Deeply southern funky,
hard diving west coast blues,
upholstered in Detroit,
Mandel's guitar like a Cadillac,
Raised in Chicago, Mandel made a name for himself in San Francisco in the late sixties, jamming with the likes of the Grateful Dead's Jerry Garcia, later he went on to join John Mayall's band, and later found The Pure Food and Drug Act.
Harvey "The Snake" Mandel's third gig with Canned Heat was at Woodstock. His first was at Fillmore West when Canned Heat's guitarist quit. Mike Bloomfield played one set, Mandel the other.
You might have heard him on two songs on the Rolling Stones 1975 album, Black and Blue. He auditioned to be replacement for Mick Taylor, but that gig went to Ronnie Wood, which only makes sense. Snake Pit is the culmination of all that. It's an impressive career, that was nearly severely shortened by cancer. But #FuckCancer. Harvey Mandel's back with Snake Pit.
In reading about Mandel, the most common descriptor I came across was searing. That's perfectly accurate, but it's also very personal music, heavy, flying, dancing, crawling, feeling, leading, caressing, hammering music... metaljazzbluesrockfunksoulsomethingorothermusic. Whatever it is, it's alive, and it is powerful.
I don't know what his current health status is. I believe he's on the mend, but I do know he's had some serious ugliness, health wise, and I read had to pawn his guitars and sell his publishing to pay for healthcare.
We both know you haven't heard a good, serious, electric, virtuosically dirty guitar album in ages.
Snake Pit is Harvey Mandel's blues. His music should be heard by you. He's not like everyone else. Check him out, then give him your money. Thank-You!
03 February 2017
Facebook // Big Legal Mess Records
And it don't. Age. Mean a thing. But then again, you get to a certain vintage, a grown-up age, and you think, on the inside, that you're twenty-seven, or thirty-three, or forty...but really...you're not. You're not even close. And it used to be that you could get away with it...but then your looks start to betray you, and your body forsakes you, and there you stand. Jilted. Old.
As Junior Kimbrough sang you, "Done Got Old." Grown up things matter now. When you listen to music you want to hear about grown people's problems. The grown-ass blues. Sung with a grown-folks soul, by someone who has been there and can maybe tell you what it's all about.
Experience. That's what 62-year-old Robert Finley brings to the game. He's qualified. He's bonafide. He'll satisfy. He's got grownassity. He goes to work. He gets the job done. He plays music for grown folks.
The title of the album is Age Don't Mean A Thing.
Robert Finley is a retired carpenter, army/music vet from Bernice, Louisiana, a tiny saw-mill town (pop. 1800) carved into the woods at the confluence of a number of state highways in the middle of northern Louisiana. After joining the Army at 17, he led an Army band, and as a young man it was not uncommon for him to play 6-8 hour gigs, but once out of the service, it was tough getting gigs, so he took up his father's carpentry trade. Unfortunately, after years of work as a craftsman, he began to lose his eyesight, so he turned to music. Now, at 63, Finley has released his first album, and it's a testament which proves that age really ain't nuthin' but a number, especially when it comes to music.
Listen, Robert "Slim" Finley is no spring chicken (not that that matters, right?) and if he never did another album, Age Don't Mean A Thing would live on as a classic soul blues album. The kind of album they used to make in Memphis at Stax Records, or Hi Records, or further down south at Jackson, Mississippi's Malaco Records, by artists like O.V. Wright, ZZ Hill, Johnny Taylor, Bobby Bland, Howard Tate.
That's not to say Age Don't Mean A Thing is retro. It just is what it is. It's genuine. And it's a style of soul blues that I've been listening for- it's something a little rougher, a little tougher, a little brassier. It's dynamic, unslick and smooth, and Finley, with his crackin' band, plays like the vet he is.
The production is on point, thanks to BLM's Bruce Watson and Jimbo Mathus of his own bad self, the performances are committed and hot. It's really a tight, funky album, top to bottom. Some heartbreakers, some dance songs, some grooves...it's straight classic juke joint soul blues, and you know you need some of that. Look, you got your Sharon Jones' (RiP, bless her heart) your St. Paul's, your Nathaniel Rateliff's, Your Nigel Hall's, and many other's keeping the faith, keeping that soul ember alive....but Robert Finley comes from the wood that that ember was lit from, and he is keeping it lit.
Please y'all. Go buy Robert Finley's new album Age Don't Mean A Thing. Give him your money. It's a square deal all the way around. Cheers to all the goood people involved in making this album happen.
Really. Go buy it. Right here---> Big Legal Mess Records.
|||| Here's my spiel :: --->
1. I Just Want To Tell You rocks like an early Parliaments jam, because that's what it is. Kinda. The chorus, anyway. Robert Finley's original reworking of George Clinton's I Wanna Testify is just aching to be covered by a marching band. The horns are hot and swinging, the backup singers are rockin' like a squad, the organ's roiling, and the drums and bass are stomping it down. It's a backyard party and all y'all are invited!
2. Age Don't Mean A Thing is a classic blues number, and while it's bottom is in Chicago, its head is in Memphis. Finley's band really shows on this one, helmed by the infamously renowned Jimbo Mathus, it features members of Memphis mainstays, or lynch-pins if you will- The Bo-Keys, plus a high profile set of Memphis vets like drummer Howard Grimes (who played with everybody from Al Green to O.V. Wright) to genre neighbors like Al Gamble of St. Paul And The Broken Bones on the keys, making for a hot, broad group of passionate believers. Somewhere, Bobby Blue Bland is dancing.
3. Let Me Be Your Everything is where Finley brings some the flavor of his native state of Louisiana. This one chugs and choogles, spicy with horns, and Jerry Lee-esque piano dressing. This one's for dancing, and workin' it out.
4. It's Too Late - A heartbreaking blues lamentation on ill-timed love.
5. Snake In The Grass is such a pretty soul blues, considering the subject matter. A slow swinger with tasteful horn accents slipping into the yard, an organ on the porch, and a drummer in the bedroom. Funky, stankyass snakes.
6. Come On - Oh, yes! Indeed. Here's that funky FunKy shit. This is a summer bbq party jam! Jimbo's band is hot, sexy, and slanky, and Finley directs and rides their dirty southern soul party grooves like the pro he is, the entertainer that he is. #thewayIlikeitisthewayitis #yougotsomethingthatIneed #comeon
7. Make It With You - Yes, it's that song by Bread, and Finley and his band do it such soulful justice. They bring out something in that song that I bet even David Gates didn't know was there. I love seeing a song so familiar turned towards the sun a little, and Finley's version has got that and some ardent Mississippi/Louisiana moonlight, too. A simply gorgeous version.
8. You Make Me Want To Dance is a rockin' shuffle that Southside Johnny should cover.
9. Is It Possible To Love 2 People - Wow. What a way to close an album. Finley asks the age-old question: Is it possible to love two people at the same time? Or are you losing your mind? You meet someone, and someone can't keep it all friendly and above board. You do know the difference between right and wrong, but next thing you know, they broke you down, and you're in trouble. The answer is yes, of course, it's possible, but someone ain't gonna like it. Life gets awkward, gets tricky, gets deep, and gets messy. Joyful, intimate, funky, and alright!
No matter how old you are.