Southern Bookman

Farewell, Ginger Baker

The rock supergroup Cream's universal popularity is unimaginable today.

Ginger Baker, the group's pyrotechnic drummer, died Sunday at age 80 in London. Baker, bassist Jack Bruce and guitarist Eric Clapton reached a new level of rock success with Cream, drawing huge crowds with their turbocharged music and selling millions of records. Their once innovative power rock today seems as old-fashioned as the big band era did in the 1960s. Fractured audiences and collapsing album sales now thwart widespread appeal.

Baker, who saw himself as a jazz drummer, hated Cream's ear-breaking sound as Clapton and Bruce accumulated more and more amps for stadium performances. While Baker looked down at rock music, he was acclaimed as one of rock's greatest drummers, fusing jazz and blues rhythms.

Cream's luminous career ended quickly, wrecked by animosity between Bruce, who died in 2014, and Baker, as his New York Times obituary recounted. Baker and Clapton joined Steve Winwood to form Blind Faith, which also flashed briefly.

Known for his unpleasant personality, Baker played with several more bands over the years, and reunited with Bruce and Clapton in 2003.

Several rock stars died early. Baker, who battled heroin addiction, survived the rock era's excesses. Two other aging rockers, Mick Jagger and Paul McCartney hailed Baker as a consummate musician. Clapton continues to perform.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard Russo's "Chances Are" finds redemption for Vietnam War generation

Richard Russo's "Chances Are" is a valedictory for old men who came of age during the Vietnam War.

Now in their mid-60s, three friends from college gather at Martha's Vineyard to examine their pasts.

Lincoln, a successful real estate developer in Arizona, owns the ocean home in Chilmark, Mass., where they seek to re-create a similar get-together decades earlier, after their graduation from the prestigious private school where they met.

Mickey, a lifelong rock musician who never found stardom, and Teddy, a mystical book editor, are the other members of the trio who adopted the Three Musketeers' "All for one, one for all" motto.

Each of them is haunted by the memory of a young woman who disappeared after joining them on their first visit to the island. Meeting her in college, they all were in love with Jacy, their muse, confidant, temptress and moral center. Their efforts to find out what happened to Jacy make for a mystery that runs parallel to their ruminations, which dominate the novel.

Although the characters represent different traits of the 1960s male personality, they are fully developed individuals rather than symbolic abstractions.

Russo at 70 displays a master's craftsmanship. Each well-made sentence seems essential to the narrative. The book is like a well-constructed house with no board or nail out of place. The plot's different elements come together like a symphony.

After a slow beginning, the book gains momentum. Expertly using a third-person omniscient narrator, Russo alternates among each character's point of view.  The interior passages drift toward the solipsistic, but mostly remain on track. He succeeds in giving each character a distinct personality. The characters' viewpoints outweigh the detective story's suspense, making the book more literary fiction than thriller.

Showing the Victorian scope of Dickens and Wilkie Collins, the book also recalls Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises" and Francois Truffaut's film "Jules et Jim." The book gives a fresh take on mythical and classical themes.

Millennials will see "Chances Are" as another monument to baby-boomer narcissism, a portrait of aging men still obsessed by Vietnam choices.

Prone to outbursts of violence and holding on to the '60s drugs, sex and rock-and-roll ethos, Mickey is the least appealing character. His impulsive behavior undermines Russo's painting him as heroic at the book's climax.

Lincoln, battered by the 2008 recession, is the most well-adjusted to the business world, and has a strong marriage and family. He launches an investigation into Jacy's disappearance that leads to a few contrived, unconvincing plot twists.

The cerebral Teddy, emotionally paralyzed by introspection and what used to be called nervous breakdowns, is the most sympathetic character, in the end rising from his self-absorption into a new course of action.

An engrossing closing revelation about Jacy allows the trio to make peace with their pasts. With elegiac tones, the book finishes with hope for renewal. Lincoln, Mickey and Teddy find new reserves of love, forgiveness and purpose.

"Chances Are" continues Russo's late career flowering. Along with Richard Ford, he has assumed the mantle of distinguished older male novelist from Philip Roth, John Updike and Saul Bellow.

 

Farewell, Leigh Harris, "Li'l Queenie"

Tipitina's opened just before I left Louisiana as a young man.

I saw Gatemouth Brown, Professor Longhair and Asleep at the Wheel at the club at the corner of Napoleon Avenue and Tchoupitoulas Street in New Orleans' warehouse district. No act matched the excitement of Lil' Queenie and the Pecolators.

Leigh Harris, the diminutive woman with a big, raucous, New Orleans voice, died Saturday at age 65 from breast cancer. Performing as Li'l Queenie with her high-octane band, she blasted out soul, funk, rhythm and blues, and jazz, the city's musical gumbo. Dying her hair orange and pink, she created a stage persona as New Orleans-marinated as Dr. John's.

Leaving New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, Harris found a serene life in rural North Carolina with her husband, musician Rick Ledbetter. She kept making music, recently releasing the album "Purple Heart." In February, she was inducted into the Louisiana Music Hall of Fame.

Her New Orleans anthem, "My Darling New Orleans," was one of the songs featured on the soundtrack of "Treme," David Simon's HBO show about the corruption and resilience that surrounded the city's recovery from Katrina's devastating flooding.

That recognition was welcome; Li'l Queenie and the Percolators' sound was too New Orleans-flavored to gain widespread national success.

She was magical in her hometown, commanding the stage's light, true New Orleans royalty.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

September arrives, but summer remains

In years past, we would have enjoyed a touch of autumn by now.

September no longer marks the end of summer. Temperatures remain in the mid-90s. The continuing heat affects wildlife. Yesterday, I chased off a crazed squirrel that had run up our glass-paneled back door.

I still look forward to the season changing, the arrival of fall, the promise of new beginnings. As is my custom, I played "Try to Remember" on the piano. I'll play the wistful song from "The Fantasticks" all month, meditating upon the passage of youth and time's quickening pace. I'll also seek to learn "September Song" at last.

As climate change progresses, I wonder if future generations will enjoy the coming of autumn, cooler days, the eruption of color.

 

Ken Burns tunes up for country music

I was dismayed to hear that Ken Burns had turned his guns on country music.

Like many others, I was transfixed by Burns' Civil War series. Along with many Southern boys of my generation, I prided myself on detailed knowledge of famous battles and personalities.

But Burns put the war in a broader context, uncovering new information and giving fresh perspectives on characters like Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, Abraham Lincoln, U.S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman.

But I grew disenchanted by Burns' series on baseball and jazz. He embalmed both American institutions beneath a barrage of cliches, overblown pronouncements, commentary from talking heads, and archival material. His earnest, overly reverent approach fell short of expressing the simple beauty of baseball and jazz.

Nor did I care for Burns' look at the Vietnam War. His attempt at balance in discussing American war motives was misguided. In truth, Burns' treatment wasn't the reason I quit watching the show. Reliving the era was just too painful.

After seeing a couple of previews, including a concert at Nashville's Ryman Auditorium, I'm hopeful about Burns' country music series.

While countless books have been written on the Civil War and baseball, country music has received less scholarly attention, although it has generated a substantial literature. That gives Burns a less trammeled perspective from which to view country music.

Country music is loved by a broader audience than jazz, touching upon more aspects of American culture. Jazz's appeal narrowed with the rise of bebop and abstract music, while country's has widened. Country encompasses a broader variety of musical genres, including jazz.

Country has not been burdened by the semi-mystical panegyrics that have weighed down baseball with cliches and overwrought nostalgia. Burns' baseball series was plagued by seeking to match those pastoral views of the game.

Once known as the national pastime, baseball is more and more a regional sport as its appeal declines to younger generations. The genre once derided as "hillbilly music" has increased its popularity, with a range of innovative artists and musical styles.

Like the Civil War, country gives Burns a broader framework for examining different parts of American society. While known as Southern white people's music, country was influenced by black artists and has grown to include Cajun music, Western swing, rockabilly and urban pop. Country music like the Civil War gives Burns a broad palette.

Plus, I love Dolly, Loretta, Jimmie, Ernest, Bob, Hank, Sara, Mama Maybelle and many others. I hope Burns plays a lot of country songs and cuts down on the talking heads.

 

Aretha Franklin shakes the rafters in gospel documentary "Amazing Grace"

Aretha Franklin never left the church, her father exclaims in the documentary "Amazing Grace."

The film shot in 1972 shows Franklin recording her live gospel album "Amazing Grace" at the New Temple Missionary Baptist Church in Los Angeles' Watts district.

Unlike the album, her career best-seller, the film remained locked away for years because famed director Sydney Pollack failed to synchronize sound and action. Producer Alan Elliott discovered raw footage, fixed the technical problems with digital technology and completed an 89-minute film.

But before her death, Franklin prevented the documentary's release. After she died, her estate agreed to let the film come out in 2018.

Franklin grew up singing in the Detroit mega-church of her father, the Rev. C.L. Franklin, a nationally known evangelist. She'd already recorded her big popular hits in 1972, when she decided at age 29 to return to her gospel roots and record the live album. 

A regal presence in white caftan and robes, Franklin reaches a higher realm with her singing. As her father says in an electric appearance, her voice was a gift touched by God.

Performing gospel standards like "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" and the title song, along with pop-inflected numbers like Marvin Gaye's "Wholly Holy" and Carole King's "You've Got a Friend," Franklin marshals her vocal power like an ethereal instrument, reaching high notes that cause men to weep and women to faint.

Gospel powerhouse the Rev. James Cleveland is a commanding presence, extolling the audience with his booming voice, accompanying Franklin by singing and playing the piano, and conducting the fine Southern California Community Choir. At times overweening, Franklin softens his showmanship with warmth and his enthusiasm for gospel.

Under the direction of the young and vibrant Alexander Hamilton, the Southern California Community Choir steals many scenes. With silver vests and black shirts, the choir responds to Franklin with passion and energy. Their "amens," frenetic movements and spirited singing reveal the roots of  James Brown and other soul performers.

In one of the best moments, a male choir member with Afro and mustache fights back tears as Franklin improvises on "Amazing Grace." Her other-worldy keens and soaring and falling registers show a stunning virtuosity. Her father says she reached a "synthesis" of Mahalia Jackson and Cleta Ward. Her "Amazing Grace" mixes in elements of Eliza Fitzgerald and instrumentalists like Charlie Parker and Lester Young, blended into her special artistry.

Franklin's crack band of guitarist Cornell Dupree, drummer Bernard Purdie, bassist Chuck Rainey and keyboard player Kenneth Lupper make the oldest gospel hymns swing. As someone said, the blues gave rock and roll its rock, and gospel its roll.

The low-tech camera finds a surprise among the gray-lit audience, Mick Jagger and Charlie Watts, unrecognized by the congregation. The Rolling Stones at the time were recording Exile on Main Street in Los Angeles. That album's gospel flavors likely were influenced by Franklin's performance.

Franklin's voice sends the audience into emotional raptures. A female companion of  the gospel pioneer Ward faints, and two women rise for an impromptu, frenzied dance. Seated at the piano, Cleveland can't resist a glance at the shaking backside of one of the women.

The appearance by Franklin's father gives the film a dramatic boost. C.L. Franklin heads to the altar and gives an impassioned appreciation of his daughter. A forceful, calculated speaker, Franklin exudes an unsettling mix of religiosity and charisma, inspirational and seductive.

His pride at his daughter's career glows when he tells an anecdcote about someone he sees at the cleaners saying that Aretha should return to the church. He answers that she never left. Songs like "Respect" retain their gospel foundation.

Later, in a strange scene, Franklin wipes the sweat from his daughter's s face as she plays the piano and sings a hymn about a place where people never age.

Cleveland was a mentor to Franklin when she began singing in her father's church as a child. During the film, her impassive face reveals her reserves of power in the presence of the two dynamic men of the gospel world.

The film's recovery is itself a story of "Amazing Grace." Franklin's voice, the impassioned performances of Hamilton, Cleveland and the choir, and the fervor of the congregation are uplifting gifts to a wounded nation. A TV channel would provide a great public service by broadcasting the movie to a broader audience.

No Woodstock nostalgia

I won't be joining the nostalgia for Woodstock's 50th anniversary.

As rccently explored in the New Yorker, a 30-plus CD set is out that records every moment of the festival that trashed Mr. Yasger's farm in upstate New York in mid-August 1969.

Every song. Every groovy statement from a performer on stage. Every whir of helicopter blades. Every peal of thunder, and distorted buzz from a speaker. Every announcement, such as the one about the bad brown acid going around.

I wouldn't pay 5 cents for the package, but I did see some of the Woodstock documentary on TCM recently. Some of the performances held up, such as Joe Cocker's cover of the Beatles' "A Little Help From My Friends." John Sebastian with his hippie-dippie tie-dyed goofiness was endearing. Richie Havens' peace anthems sill stirred the emotions. In their first public performance, Crosby, Stills and Nash were show-biz pros.

But the fatuous 'far out" dialogue made me shudder. The interviews with the hippie kids were a testament to idiocy. The event was a statement of wasted opportunity, of a human dead-end.

As authors David Wallace-Wells in "The Uninhabitable Earth" and Nathaniel Rich in "Losing Earth" have detailed, the communal, earth-loving ethos of Woodstock had no long-term effect.

Rich shows how the oil companies derailed efforts to cut carbon emissions. Wallace-Wells documents how emissions have increased in the last few years. Now, the world is running out of time, if it hasn't already.

When I was a young hippie, speaking that same spurious lingo, I enjoyed Joni Mitchell's "Woodstock" with its line, "we've got to get back to the garden." Tbe garden is burning.

 

 

Will Jimmy Buffett demolish Fiddlin' John Carson?

Jimmy Buffett's company wants to build a monstrous Margaritaville development in downtown Atlanta, destroying the building where Fiddlin' John Carson in 1923 recorded the first national country hit.

The Margaritaville plan sounds like the kind of high-concept debacle that has plagued the city for years. Remember Planet Hollywood and the ESPN Zone? These urban pleasure palaces sizzle for a few years, then fizzle out, leaving a hole in the urban fabric.

Buffett's development across the street from Centennial Olympic Park would bring the destruction of a small building at 152 Nassau Street where Carson recorded "That Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane" in 1923, along with "The Old Hen Cackled and the Rooster's Going to Crow."

Famed New York talent scout Ralph Peer recorded country singer and fiddler Carson and several local black performers at the building for Okeh Records. Despite Carson's wavering voice and the recording's scratchiness, "The Little Old Log Cabin" caught fire. The song's success led to a flourishing Atlanta recording industry, which eventually faded away as country music found a permanent home in Nashville.

Unless architect and downtown resident Kyle Kessler can succeed with a last-ditch effort to save the 152 Nassau building, the original site of Atlanta's recording industry will disappear, according to an excellent article Tuesday by the AJC's Jeremy Turley. Despite Kessler's online petition that has received 8,000 signatures, the Buffett company is preparing for the imminent demolition of the 152 Nassau building, Turley reported.

A deal with former Mayor Kasim Reed led to the Margaritaville developers receiving building permits for a 21-story Wyndham Hotel and time-share condos above an amusement park, according to the article. The city planning department sought to stop the project, but the developers threatened to sue. Reed then told the company he would support the plan if the luxury hotel were included, the newspaper reported.

Designed to draw aging affluent Parrotheads, the development will be near the giant downtown Ferris wheel, State Farm Arena, Mercedes-Benz Stadium, the College Football Hall of Fame, the World of Coca-Cola and the Civil Rights Museum.

Despite these attractions, someone would have to be pretty wasted in Margaritaville to buy a time-share in downtown Atlanta. The Buffet company's plan contains all the signs of those Atlanta developments that have crashed in the past.

Ace AJC columnist Bill Torpy sounded the alarm in May about the threat to the Nassau Street building. The preservationists don't want to prevent Buffett fans from having their fun. They only ask that the Margaritaville plan incorporate the building in some way.

But the developers say they need to destroy the building to install a garbage facility, or a restaurant "grease trap," according to the AJC.

The preservationists point out the irony of a Buffett enterprise removing a major landmark of Atlanta's music history. Buffett began his career performing in small Atlanta clubs, according to Torpy and others.

The building on Nassau street isn't that distinctive, and has housed many businesses over the years, including a "Gone With the Wind Museum."

The Buffet corporation could easily find a way to preserve the place, perhaps as a museum of Atlanta's musical history, including Buffett's career.

The country pioneer Carson has a darker tie to Atlanta's history. He stirred anti-Semitic fervor by performing on the street during the Leo Frank murder trial in 1913. Frank, whose innocence has been established by historians, was convicted for the slaying of Mary Phagan and subsequently lynched by a mob in Cobb County.

Along with its place in music history, the 152 Nassau Building should be preserved as one of the last downtown sites dating back to that turbulent era of Atlanta's past.

 

 

 

 

 

Musician Doug Kershaw's "The Ragin' Cajun" a story of redemption

Louisiana performer Doug Kershaw's "The Ragin' Cajun" finds joy and redemption in a rough life of setbacks and self-destruction.

To be published in October by Mercer University Press, "The Ragin' Cajun" tells the common musician's story of numbing performances, drug addiction, poor life choices and unscrupulous managers and record producers.

The book stands apart from other rock memoirs in the literary quality of its revelations about Cajun culture.

Along with the Cajuns' well-noted joy, humor and musical talent, the book discloses the culture's violence, depression and propensity for addiction.

Sadly, it also details how cultural repression and existence on the edges of American life led to deep feelings of inferiority. In recent years, Cajun music, literature and cuisine have found long-overdue recognition.

Written with the novelist Cathie Pelletier, the book brings light to a little known and vanished way of life. Kershaw spent his first years on a houseboat on Louisiana's Mermentau River, where his Cajun family eked out a primitive swamp existence before World War II.

His father, Daddy Jack, precariously supported the family as a fisherman and trapper while his mother, Mama Rita was mired in punishing work. Their life seems medieval in its lack of modern comforts.

Unlike the happy portrait in Kershaw's signature song "Louisiana Man," his father was a violent drunk who frequently beat his mother and threatened the rest of the family. In a gruesome and gripping account, Kershaw tells how his father killed himself with a shotgun.

Despite Daddy Jack's violence, Kershaw remembers him fondly as a hard-working, resourceful man who generally treated him with kindness. Father Jack also gave his son the gift of music. And, the inspiration for "Louisiana Man," one of the best songs of the rock era:

"He's got fishing lines strung across the Louisiana river,
got to catch a big fish for us to eat.
Setting traps in the swamps catching anything he can,
he gotta make a livin', he's a Louisiana man,
Gotta make a livin',  he's a Louisiana man."

The book's Dickensien story gains narrative power when Mama Rita moves the family to the small town of Lake Arthur. There, Kershaw, who began playing a fiddle fashioned from a cigar box, launches his musical career playing "Jole Blon" and other Cajun favorites outside a cafe.

The strength and perseverance of Mama Rita were a constant rock for Kershaw until her death. The book relates how she gained her own slice of fame from Kershaw's career.

Kershaw and his brothers Pee-Wee and Rusty begin playing in the rough Cajun clubs in Jennings, La. Eventually, Kershaw and his brother Rusty find regional success on radio and early TV. Beset by unscrupulous managers, the Kershaws make their first recordings and land regular engagements at clubs along the Highway 90 strip around Lake Charles near the Texas border.

Now performing as a duo, Rusty and Doug record a couple of hits and land a spot on the most famous country show, the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville, Tenn. The book gives recognition to the group as rock pioneers. Fusing traditional Cajun music with country and the blues, Rusty and Doug helped create rockabilly, the driving force of early rock.

After Rusty decides to leave the duo, Doug Kershaw continues as solo performer and songwriter in Nashville, hanging around with other future stars like Kris Kristofferson and Roger Miller. As with other musicians rising to fame, Kershaw gets hooked on drugs, in his case alcohol, amphetamines and eventually cocaine. Apparently he avoided heroin, which has wrecked so many musicians' lives.

Battling his addictions, poor business decisions and disastrous first two marriages, Kershaw perseveres and achieves success, thanks to an appearance along with Bob Dylan on Johnny Cash's national TV show. From there, Kershaw's fame grows as a frequent performer on TV, in Las Vegas, and in international concerts. He also records several hits.

But his personal life collapses. As financial worries mount, his addictions worsen. Later sections of the book grow less appealing. Brutally honest, Kershaw gives an unpleasant self-portrait of an unreliable, abusive personality. He explodes at band members and gains a bad reputation for showing up late for performances. His volatile behavior led to the hackneyed nickname echoed in the book's title.

Redemption comes with his marriage to his third wife, Pam. Despite starting a family with Pam, Kershaw continues his destructive behavior until Pam insists that he change his ways. With that dose of tough love, Kershaw at last finds tranquillity.

Assisted by his co-author Pelletier, the 83-year-old Kershaw tells his story in a frank, sometimes vulgar voice. His accounts of seeking to overcome addictions can be grueling, but he remains engaging even at the worst moments.

His earthy humor and folksy anecdotes reflect the Cajun joie de vivre that enabled them to overcome poverty and persecution. The book displays the story-telling power of "Louisiana Man."

The Mercer University Press deserves praise for publishing "Ragin' Cajun," which belongs among lauded recent memoirs by Bruce Springsteen, Keith Richards, Bob Dylan and Neil Young. Along with giving an in-depth look at the music business, Kershaw and Pelletier illuminate a forgotten segment of Cajun culture.

The book provides a valuable discography, including recordings Kershaw made with his brother Rusty, who died in 2001. Kershaw's extensive recordings, including those of traditional Cajun songs, warrant in-depth exploration.

With his Cajun novelty numbers and crowd-pleasing antics, Kershaw has been discounted as merely a niche musician. A dynamic performer, stylish songwriter, distinctive singer and accomplished fiddle player, Kershaw stands with the recently deceased Dr. John, Allen Toussaint and Fats Domino in the top tier of Louisiana musicians.

And, as this book richly illustrates, among the state's best storytellers.

 

How dark "Oklahoma" revival gave country flavor to "People Will Say We're in Love"

The "Oklahoma" revival now on Broadway gives a darker, stripped down interpretation of Rodgers and Hammerstein's classic musical.

New York Times theater critic Jesse Green in Sunday's Times analyzes how the new production changed "People Will Say We're in Love" from an operatta confection to sultry country-influenced love song.

In the new show, Curly strums a guitar as he serenades Laurie, shifting from the light-opera style made famous through the years by such stars as Gordon MacRae and Shirley Jones and Hugh Jackman and Josefina Gabrielle.

Portraying Curly, Damon Daunno at one haunting moment in the new rendering breaks into a Hank Williams-reminiscent yodel. As Laurie, Rebecca Naomi Jones shimmers close to Daunno in a sultry, seductive dance, a radical shift from the coy and mocking performances of  Jones and Gabrielle.

Without bogging down in technicalities, Green analyzes how the revival directed by Daniel Fish changed the song's flavor. Music director Nathan Koci replaced the traditional theater pit orchestra with an on-stage ensemble that plays country string instruments.

In a treat for those with some understanding of musical theory, Green analyzes how Koci changed the song's key and voice styling. With all of the changes, one of Rodgers and Hammerstein's most beautiful songs keeps its essence.

The Broadway revival has resulted in a new cast recording. A separate Times article traces the history of "Oklahoma" cast recordings. The first was Decca Records' pioneering effort in 1943, recorded on multiple 78s.

I'm looking forward to hearing the revival cast's new interpretations of standards like "Surrey With the Fringe on The Top" and the sweeping theme "Oklahoma."

After years as one of those Rodgers and Hart acolytes, I gained new appreciation for Hammerstein's collaboration with Rodgers by hearing Blossom Dearie's jazzy and seductive recording of "Surrey With the Fringe on the Top."

Koci's new arrangements of "Oklahoma" songs will open the music to new artistic interpretations. A country or pop duo will surely follow Koci's path and record "People Will Say We're in Love."