Craig

The one quote about death that always sticks in my mind - and I don't remember who said it - was something about most people either dying too late or too soon. In the case of my late friend Craig Roche, it was way too soon.


He was a true original, an elf, a self-made man who refused to take anything too seriously. He loved music. Craig's talent extended from acoustic to electric, from the traditions of jug band blues to the spectrum of rock and roll, playing in both musical worlds throughout his life. It was a privilege to help hold up the rthymn section in the Led Balloon Jug Band with Craig, observing first hand his amazing agility to coax and occasionally beat sound out of an inverted washtub, a pole and a string. He was equally adept on washboard, kazoo, vocals and - of course - guitar.


Our friendship had solidified at two class reunions in the recent past, since, for those of you reading this who wouldn't know, school was where Craig and I first got to know each other. I would always show up and immediately want to leave, but then he would calm me down with his infectious humor. As a matter of fact, Craig Roche's laugh is immortalized on one track of the original Led Balloon Jug Band Album, punctuating my teen aged coughing fit.

One of our functions besides struggling to maintain the "foundation " of the band's sound, was to provide humor, in terms of spoken asides , shout-outs (Craig's specialty) and general patter that fluctuated between a dismal Vegas lounge act and what passed for vaguely hip in the Sixties but now sounds like a rehearsal for the assisted living center talent show. I would always pull back in the middle of an idea, but Craig would push the envelope, carrying the thought to the most insane extreme, fearlessly jabbing our funny bones - I haven't seen too many people in my life that were capable of getting away with that lind of controlled insanity.


A few weeks back I wrote about Jim Kweskin and Geoff Muldaur in this space, and thoughtlessly implied that perhaps jug band music had somehow disappeared. At 12:57 PM on November 9,2008, there was a comment from Craig "The Bassman" Roche who wrote: "Good God, man, jug band music never left - so how can it come back? It still sounds so sweet, it certainly is a treat to me." Nine days later, Craig died at the age of 59.


Funny - I have a quiz to write, two exams to compose, plus go buy food and a radio show in a couple of hours, but I had to drop everything to get this done. He wouldn't want this to be too serious, so I'll just close by echoing the same sentiments - hanging out and playing music with Craig Roche certainly was a treat to me.

The Devil Makes Three

For two weeks now, I've been driving back and forth listening to The Devil Makes Three. Now that the economic meltdown has set in , this is the only way I can catch up with new tunes, in between my jobs, careening down the interstate. I've come up with a thousand excuses why I'm not ready to write the blog. Meanwhile, in the middle of my ongoing obsession with trying to write quality reviews about lesser known musicians, the strangest thing happened: their music began to grow on me.


The Devil Makes Three's combination of guitar, tenor banjo, upright bass and vocals renergizes a range of musical genres from cowboy strumming to country and western alcohol-fueled laments to Appalachian harmonies to sea chanteys to tongue-in-cheek talking blues. Besides the superior musicianship, the lyrics to their original compositions are clever, catchy and world weary. My two favorites, which seem vaguely autobiographical, are "Graveyard" , with plaintive vocals that evoke REM's Michael Stipe - especially the haunting refrain of "That's me" - and "Beneath the Piano" - studded with those whispered nuggets of small town gossip suggesting the return of tarnished prodigal son. "Black Irish", the first song on their live CD "A Little Bit Faster and A Little But Worse" , is a driving blend of strings and vocals enhanced by the addition of a fiddle.

It was recorded at Don Quixote's in Felton, California which is evident by the way the crowd greets the raucous chorus from the Devil's tune "Shade" , especially the line about " What the hell am I doing drunk in the middle of the day?"


The Devil Makes Three is Cooper McBean and Pete Bernhard playing guitar and tenor banjo as well as sharing vocals, Lucia Turino on upright bass and vocals, and Chojo Jacques on fiddle. They have three CDs which you can find out more about at http://www.thedevilmakesthree.com/. You'll be surprised at how fluid their playing is, but don't be surprised if you find yourself tapping your toes and humming along and chuckling over the lyrics - their music is infectious.

The Return of Geoff Muldaur and Jim Kweskin

The original Jim Kweskin Jug Band was as big as the Beatles. If you find that hard to believe, just remember that Paul and John started out as - guess what? - a jug band named the Quarrymen Skiffle Band. Kweskin assembled an exceptional group of musical innovators in the early 1960s, most of whom went on to pursue solo careers, including Maria (D'Amato) Muldaur, eclectic banjo player Bill Keith, bluesman Geoff Muldaur and Jim Kweskin himself. Before last Saturday night in Framingham, I hadn't seen Muldaur and Kweskin on stage since the days of the Mooncusser Coffee House on "Circus" Avenue in Oak Bluffs. Thanks to that ever vigilant traditional music aficionado Will "Shade" Melton , those days came back to life , if only for a couple of hours.


Going to the Amazing Things Art Center in downtown Framingham was also nostalgic in respect to my own alleged career. I spent six years of my life working at an AM radio station in Natick, convinced that fame and fortune would be mine once the Boston stations decided to hire me, but - in the interim - had the distinction of covering the Framingham selectmens' meeting every Monday night. I never forgot the train station roof. You couldn't help but notice the sagging, nearly collapsed canopy of rotten shingles as you drove by, a symbol of small scale urban blight. Surprisingly, the concert was in a converted firehouse in the middle of downtown with an excellent Brazilian restaurant across the street, where Shade and I relaxed with an impressive buffet. Although Framingham's new look was commendable, I never did get to see if they fixed the train station roof.


Geoff Muldaur's voice is truly unequalled, coaxing out a long slow blues, adding a little vibrato, or just singing gently along with his guitar. Muldaur was the opening act. He joked easily with the audience between songs, his bemused expression indicating that we were all in the same age bracket, complete with the quip about the stock market, a far cry from the Vineyard. It was a pleasure watching him run through a fluid mix of blues and folk, including a slow Lonnie Johnson blues , the late Eric Von Schmidt's "Light Rain", and a Vera Hall tune that gave Geoff another chance to show off his vocal range. When Jim Kweskin arrived on stage, the Jug Band rose briefly from the ashes as they ran through some of the most familiar tunes, including, of course, "Fishing" with both guitars ably incorporating the melody. I quickly reverted to being a gawky fifteen year old cradling a cup of flavored coffee back in the day in Oak Bluffs.


When Jim Kweskin came out to start the second set, he added a fiddle player and a stand up bass. His penchant for folk music covers a wide range, from the talking political commentary of the Deperession strummers to the high energy ditties of the 1920s flappers, giving each song his own ironic twist. Once Geoff Muldaur returned , they were off and running, racing through jug band tunes like "Papa's On The Housetop" and "The Blues My Naughty Sweety Gives To Me", the fiddle player's hair-raising licks boosting up the energy level. The image that stays with me was the encore, Muldaur and Kweskin driving through a spine-straightening version of "Minglewood Blues" with Muldaur bellowing: "Well I was born in the desert/I was raised in a lions' den". The grand finale found all of us oldsters crooning:" Stealing/Stealing/Pretty mama don't you tell on me/Cause I'm stealing back to my same old used to be."


I wonder if this means jug band music is coming back - or - more to the point - did it ever go away? Besides, how often can you escape these days from the election or the stock market or the price of food for a few hours and actually have a good time - in downtown Framingham, of all places. I guess this means I'll have to go back now. After all, I still don't know if they ever fixed the damn roof!

Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings

Most bands at weddings end up being a polite disappointment - they play too much"
cover" music or not enough, they sound too loud or too soft, or the tunes are endless jams of Lawrence Welk favorites fronted by a so-so lead singer, so I expected "the usual" at a wedding I went to earlier this year. It quickly became apparent that Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings were not only a real band, but a dynamic blend of soaring vocals (Sharon has been nicknamed the female James Brown) and a solid foundation of funk, just the right act to get the reception cranking. Sharon even got down and danced with the lucky couple.


Fortunately, one of the pre-wedding presents left in guests' rooms days before the ceremony (this wedding happened at a posh Jamaican resort) was a copy of "100 Days, 100 Nights" on Brooklyn's Daptone Records. I kept glancing at the cover, but didn't listen to it until I was back home. The title tune "100 Days, 100 Nights" caught my ear from the first riff - a quiet almost orchestral introduction - to the last soul-drenched vocal, Sharon Jones' powerful voice fronting a "gospelized" chorus (The Voices of Thunder) as she describes why it takes so long "to know a man's heart."


Turns out Sharon was born in Augusta, Georgia, and grew up imitating the "hardest working man in show business" JB himself, who hails from Augusta as well. Like many R & B acts, including Wilson Pickett and Aretha Franklin, Jones started out performing in church, branching out into singing with local funk groups and appearing in talent shows. She headed North to New York , supporting herself as a prison guard at Riker's Island as well as an armored car guard for Wells Fargo between session work. Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings officially formed in 2001. "100 Days, 100 Nights" was recorded at Daptone Records in Bushwick, which is their own independent label. According to their site, the "Daptone Soul Sound" has attracted the likes of Kanye West and Amy Winehouse among many others, while Sharon Jones continues to record for artists as diverse as Lou Reed and They Might Be Giants.


Besides the title tune, "100 Days" , the band delivers a consistent blend of James Brown induced funk, gospel and a hint of Motown soul, but clearly putting their own mark on tunes like "Something's Changed", "Be Easy", "Tell Me", and "When the Other Foot Drops, Uncle ". Sharon Jones' voice soars behind the solid musicianship. Check out their recordings and the Daptone Soul Sound at http://www.daptonerecords.com/.

The (Dave) Hole Story

I first heard Dave Hole's sizzling slide guitar on one of Alligator's compilations, "Crucial Guitar Blues", doing a tune called "Phone Line." These CDs are a boon to us deejays because you get twelve different artists and because somebody else has already picked out the "best" tunes - at least, that's the assumption. I got addicted to his frenetic edgy vocal styling and the sounds he conjures up out of the guitar. My new favorite is "Short Fuse Blues", off - I admit it - yet another compilation, but this cut stretches the limits of the instrument, making it scream, wail, and drift off into the gray area between blues and rock, echoing Clapton and Hendrix.


As it turns out, "Short Fuse" was the name of Dave Hole's band as well as his first recording in 1990, the result of 20 years touring the Western Australian pub circuit. Hole moved Down Under with his family at the age of 4. His fascination with the blues started when Dave heard a friend's Muddy Waters album at the age of 6, finally picking up the guitar when he was 12. Since there were a few thousand miles separating Hole from the Mississippi Delta, he taught himself by listening to Elmore James, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Mississippi Fred McDowell and - naturally- Robert Johnson. Breaking a finger in a football accident actually lead to his unique style - he was left-handed, so Dave Hole simply switched to playing right handed, putting the slide on his index finger and letting his hand hang over the neck - a method that stuck even when his finger healed.


"Short Fuse" proved to be Hole's breakthrough. He sent a copy to Guitar Magazine, which gushed over his music to the extent of comparing the unknown Australian to Albert King and Stevie Ray Vaughn, which got the attention of Alligator Records president Bruce Iglauer and resulted in a contract for the first non US resident in the label's history.


I picked up a copy of "Under The Spell" at the North Atlantic Bluesfest last July, little realizing it was the Australian Recording Industry Association's top pick for Blues/Roots in 1999, the only one of Hole's ten albums to win that designation. The integration of his expressly modern lyrics - as evoked by titles like "Holding Pattern" and "More Love, Less Attitude" - with his outstanding runs and frequent meltdown solos will have you on your feet plucking away at your air guitar - not that I would do anything like that. Some of my other favorites are "Bird's Eye Blues", "Yes or No", and "Blues is the Truth", but I actually listened all the way through, resisting my radio induced temptation to just play one or two cuts.


Dave Hole has done the global circuit, appearing at blues festivals from Brazil to Belgium. When he's not on the road, Hole holes up in Western Australia for six months out of the year. As I begin scouring the racks for more of his CDS, I am reminded of the fact that Dave Hole has raised my level of appreciation for Australian imports to new heights - a definite improvement over Fosters and dwarf -tossing ,mate.

Crazy About "Crazy" , or Here Come The Judge

By now we are all aware of the "face in the crowd" movie format - kid comes out of nowhere with unbelievable talent, soars to the top and sinks down dramatically in a sea of drugs and booze, ultimately ending up penniless and pointless. The story of guitarist Hank Garland doesn't follow that pattern exactly in the feature film "Crazy" (One of the entries in this year's Rhode Island International Film Festival) but the elements seem all too familiar.


From the moment the story unfolds as Garland gets advice from Hank Williams seconds before Garland's first Grand Old Opry performance, the film is speckled with legendary performers who relied on Garland's "session" playing - Roy Orbison, Elvis Presley, Patsy Cline. The detail is remarkable, from the clothes to the cars to the old-fashioned recording studios and clubs, but the soundtrack stands out in relation to the story, as it makes the transition from the emerging country and western sound of the late 1940s to the brash rock and roll of the mid-1950s to the legendary jazzmen beginning to make their mark during the same era. One of the film's pivotal moments occurs when Garland goes to a "black" club in New York to hear a rising star named Wes Montgomery. The seasoned country picker abruptly shifts his focus to jazz, a monumental transformation in an era when desegregation was alive and well.


Ironically, Hank Garland doesn't sink into a morass of booze, drugs and one night stands - he actually marries the girl of his dreams, moves to the "suburbs" and stays faithful, even on the road. But his flirtation with African-American performers drives an unexpected wedge in their relationship, a gap that widens even further when Garland decides one day to claim his share of the royalties from "Jingle Bell Rock", a song that he co-wrote, setting up a confrontation with the so-called Nashville Mob . His career goes rapidly down the tubes, compounded by the fact that Garland's skittish wife takes up with his chief rival. Hank ends up in a mental institution, his will broken by shock treatments that render him helpless, left to spend endless hours mindlessly picking at the instrument that defined his life, relegated to one last performance at the place where it all began - The Grand Old Opry.


"Crazy" is just about perfect, between the reverence for the different genres of music it presents so well , and the film's uncompromising portrayal of Hank Garland's unique life. In a way, the film elevates the unsung heroes of the music biz, the studio players that provide the backbone riffs and hooks that help define a "hit" record.

Thrills and Chills With Rod Piazza and The Mighty Flyers

I first heard Rod Piazza and the Mighty Flyers doing "Night's End" on a Blacktop Records' blues instrumental compilation. I couldn't get enough of the song - the harmonica playing was uncomplicated but overpowering, the lyrics were fresh, and the song just had a late night, low light, end of the line feel to it - plus people like me who do radio shows like songs that mention radio shows. The next tune that caught my ear was Rod and the MFBQ playing "Mellow Down Easy", bringing out the contrast between Paul Butterfield's nimble harmonica playing as opposed to Rod Piazza's mouth harp on steroids, but his mastery of the instrument comes out full force along with the band on their latest CD "ThrillVille" available from http://www.deltagroovemusic.com/ .


The first thing that strikes you is how much music is being generated by just 4 people: Rod doing lead vocals and mouth harp, his wife Honey on piano and thunder bass (Named 2008 Pinetop Perkins Piano Player of the Year), Henry Carvajal on guitar and Dave Kida on drums. I also like the way they blend in a variety of styles, from straight up Chicago blues riffs to a hint of fifties bop and sixties rock with a West Coast flavor. The opening cut - "Hate to See You Go/Shake Your Hips" - shows off Rod's ability to switch styles from a penetrating Little Walter riff to Slim Harpo, sticking a little discography lesson in between, paying homage to past players while putting his own twist on their music. "Westcoaster" reminds me a little of this record my mother bought from Columbia back in the day by the Harmonicats, featuring the - to my little kid ears, anyway - "massive" sound of the chromatic, sometimes suggesting the accordion a la Lawrence Welk, or a saxophone, or a sort of harmonica orchestra - it's a big , smooth, soothing sound , a musical wave that carries you along nicely with a jazzy flavor.


Piazza's version of Junior Wells' signature tune "Hoodoo Man Blues" is flavored with hard core blues harp and sizzling piano runs, reportedly prompting veteran bluesman Billy Boy Arnold to tell Rod: "..Junior ain't never played it that good." That same harmonica/keyboard interplay lights up "Get Wise" , while "It Can't Be True" follows a more traditional R & B approach. "Stranded" gives Honey Piazza yet another opportunity to tickle those ivories, as well as on "Stranger Blues." "MFBQ" pays homage to James Brown and those gutbucket Stax/Volt rhythms, while "Sugar" sounds like a salute to the classic late 40s/early 50s crooners.


Every time I write about a bluesman who's relatively new to me, I realize how far behind the curve I am - after all, Rod Piazza's been recording music for over 40 years, has cut 25-30 CDS and played on 5 or 10 more. Check out "ThrillVille" - you won't be disappointed. As far as my lack of blues education is concerned, all I can say is : "Better late than never."


(PS: I've gotten some good feedback on "Mondegreens" which is great, but I forgot my most renowned examples - Paul Butterfield's singing on "Born in Chicago" . What IS he really saying on the chorus: "My first friend went down/ When I was seventeen years of age/ Best thing I can say about that boy/ (Mondegreen portion) "He got laid? He got brave? He got paid? "(Anybody know the answer?)