IRMA & SWAMP DOGG: The Canyon Sessions

Back in March, out of the blue, David Marchese from SPIN sent me this link to his impressive feature on Jerry ‘Swamp Dogg’ Williams, Jr., a truly independent and amazingingly prolific R&B artist, writer, producer, publisher, label-owner, and walking definition of  “gonzo”. I knew various bits and pieces about the man and his career; but the article was a welcome and entertaining overview that taught me more. It is great to know he’s still alive and musically kickin’ it at age 70.

Kudos to David for conveying a sense of Swamp Dogg’s multifaceted  personality, along with the talent and savvy that have kept him navigating the back alleys of the music business for over half a century (he cut his first record at 12). Lesser mortals might have packed it in long ago, but he’s maintained the spark and refused to fade away. Read the article and marvel at his, um, Doggedness.

As far as HOTG goes, Swamp Dogg has never had more than a tangential association with New Orleans music;; and 99% of that revolves around his brief but intense collaboration with one of the city’s most revered soul artists, Irma Thomas. In 1970, he was called upon to write, arrange and produce an album’s worth of material on her for the Canyon label, which folded before the LP could be released. Several years later, Swamp Dogg found the means to put it out, albeit briefly, as In Between Tears on his own imprint.

I found my copy in the bins of a Memphis used record store over 20 years ago, and have since picked up several reissues of it, as well as a few of the related 45s; but it took David's solid nudge to get me motivated to investigate the backstory of the project and (slowly) pull together this post.

[Notes: Information herein has been gleaned from my own research and several significant sources: David Marchese’s “The Real Mother****ing Doggfather”, as mentioned and linked above, from SPIN, dated March 5, 2013; Jeff Hannusch’s chapter on Irma Thomas in I Hear You Knockin’ (Swallow Publications, 1985); Swamp Dogg’s notes to the 1993 Shanachie CD, Turn My World Around, and 2000 S.D.E.G. CD, The Little Jerry Williams Anthology (1954-1969); plus Tony Rounce’s fine notes to the excellent 2006 Kent Soul CD compilation, Irma Thomas, A Woman’s Viewpoint: The Essential 1970s Recordings. Also of extreme help is David Chance's massively annotated Jerry Williams, Jr./Swamp Dogg Discography, not to be missed for you completists who don't know about it already.

In Between Tears was first reissued on a Charly (UK) LP in 1981. The also now out of print Shanachie CD noted above contained Swamp Dogg’s Canyon material on Irma, but with certain of the original rhythm tracks replaced by him with newly recorded players. In 2007, he released Two Phases of Irma Thomas, on his own Swamp Dogg Entertainment Group label, a CD compiling the original album along with the 1993 version. Also, Alive Naturalsound Records will soon reissue the original album on vinyl and CD. So, find a way to add it to your collection.]

IRMA’S LATE 1960s DILEMMA

In my February post on Allen Toussaint’s 1965 career reboot, I mentioned in passing that Irma’s promising recording career had several setbacks in the mid-1960s. Imperial Records signed her after their parent company, Liberty Records, bought out Joe Banashak’s Minit label in 1963. Starting in 1964, she cut a string of good to excellent singles for Imperial, recorded mostly in Los Angeles, with at least four songs getting into the charts. Her self-penned “Wish Someone Would Care” was the most successful, becoming a Top 20 hit; but prospects cooled down by 1965, even when Imperial teamed her up with Toussaint back home for the outstanding “Take A Look"/"What Are Trying To Do” (#66137) and other tunes. So, the company let her go.

At that point, Irma went without a recording contract for over a year. As I said in that prior post, I've found nothing to indicate that Toussaint and his new partner in Tou-Sea Productions, Marshall Sehorn, attempted to sign Irma in the interim - a missed opportunity that has never been adequately explained. But, since she had no chance to record, Irma worked the Southern and Gulf Coast circuit playing club and college dates to support her family, also spending nearly a month in 1966 performing on tour in England. She had gone there earlier on the success of ”Wish Someone Would Care” and was still in demand.

Around the start of 1967, Chess Records signed Irma to their roster. The label had developed a prominent soul market presence with Etta James among others others, making the addition of Irma look like a very good move for all concerned. Spurred by Aretha Franklin’s success on Atlantic Records with the Muscle Shoals sound, Chess soon sent Etta, Laura Lee, and Irma for sessions at producer Rick Hall’s Fame [Florence Alabama Music Enterprises] Studios, backed primarily by famed house band, the Swampers. Irma’s sessions resulted in over a dozen finished tracks of fine material written by Dan Penn & Spooner Oldham, Otis Redding, Maurice Dollison, and Oliver Sain, among others. Her excitement at recording there plus the great musicians and gritty, very soulful material brought out some of the best performances of her career.

But, after releasing only three singles from the sessions, none of which were commercially successful, Chess summarily let her go. As Irma explained it to Jeff Hannusch, the company refused to promote her singles or release any more of them because she would not consent to have her gigs controlled by a budding music business mogul, Phil Walden. His agency in Macon, Georgia had a deal with Chess and other labels to book their artists; but Irma balked in particular at the large cut he took out of the performance fees (some of which probably got kicked back to the label). Though she made a brave stand, it meant that Irma missed out on a lot of helpful national touring exposure, as Walden also managed Otis Redding, and booked Sam & Dave, and, of course, Etta James, among many other names in soul music.

[I need to do a re-post on Irma's Chess sides, it's been almost 10 years since I briefly touched on them when all my vinyl was in storage after moving. So, they're now on the list again....]

By 1968, recording opportunities at home had quickly deteriorated due to the bankruptcy and demise of the only significant local studio and associated distribution operation, both owned by the legendary Cosimo Matassa. Many of the independent labels in the area that he did business with closed down or went on hiatus, leaving Irma no chance to make a record in the once thriving scene. Gigs for R&B artists were scarce in New Orleans, as well, with rock bands ruling the roost and a shrinking list of venues to play. So, she went back to working along Gulf Coast, at least until the devastating Hurricane Camille came down hard on the area in the summer of 1969, shutting down or leveling many of the clubs she regularly played.  In the aftermath, Irma parted ways with her band and moved to Los Angeles, working days as a retail clerk to make ends meet and doing pick-up gigs on the weekends, singing mainly cover tunes.

In L.A., Irma reconnected with some New Orleans expatriate musicians and artists who she had known early in her career, including Harold Battiste and Mac Rebennack. That led to some session work as a backing singer, and probably helped bring her to the attention of aspiring label-owner Wally Roker.  A veteran of a New York doo-wop vocal group, the Heartbeats, he had subsequently worked around the business as a publisher, producer and promo man for various outfits, and was just cranking up an independent of his own, Canyon Records, as the decade rolled over.

Roker was swift to scoop up Irma for his new venture and put her in the studio with Monk Higgins (a/k/a Milton Bland) arranging and running the session. Higgins had made his mark on the Chicago scene as a saxophonist, writer, and producer/arranger before relocating to L.A. around the same time as Irma. The resulting tracks were issued as her initial Canyon single late in 1969 or early 1970.

“Save A Little Bit For Me” (Mamie Galore-Dee Ervin-Monk Higgins)

Irma Thomas, Canyon 21, 1969

“That’s How I Feel About You” (Vee Pee-Mamie Galore-R. Brooks)

Though displaying #21, this single was really only the label’s fourth release. Roker started numbering at 18, since it was commonly thought to be beneficial to give DJs the illusion that a record company had been around for a while. Higgins co-wrote the top side with his wife, who generally went by Virginia Davis or Mamie Galore on writing credits, and Dee Ervin (a/k/a DiFosco Ervin, Jr). Ms Galore is also acknowledged as writer of the flip along with one Vee Pea, which BMI shows as an alias for....Virginia Bland (she needed two alias on one song?). Ray Brooks (a/k/a Marshall R. Greathouse in the BMI database) also got in on the credits. Obviously, these folks were well-prepared to make an end-run around the IRS, should either of these songs have struck paydirt and generated royalties; but that contingency failed to arise.

While Irma did a fine job on the mid-tempo soul of “Save A Little Bit For Me”, which has a pleasant-enough, generic gospel feel, the song just doesn’t go much of anywhere musically. The real keeper to me is her take on the other side’s deeper and much more engaging “That’s How I Feel About You”. It is simply killer, sounding like something from her Imperial pop catalog in terms of style and instrumentation. Still, neither side registered enough airplay to trigger sales, and left Roker to consider another approach to effectively utilize and display Irma’s soulful assets.

To retool, he turned to a multi-faceted talent who had recently signed on to provide services for Canyon.

ENTER THE DOGG

He was one weird dude, but he knew how to take care of business. - Irma Thomas’ nutshell assessment of Swamp Dogg, as quoted in I Hear You Knockin’

Jerry William, Jr. came to Canyon in his late 20s after having worked for Atlantic Records’ new Cotillion label for a frustrating year or so. A recording artist since his teens, he had been on a succession of labels in New York and Philadelphia, and involved in writing and production, too. At Cotillion he cut a few singles himself and produced records for other vocalists, but scored no hits and was unable to deal with the corporate record-making mindset that had become the Atlantic Group status quo. So, he and they parted ways in 1969. Several LSD trips during the period left his creative spigot stuck open and tricked-out his already singular nature with a new attitude, inspiring Williams to write a bunch of new material and head South to record. In his recollections to Marchese, Swamp Dogg pegged the spot for those sessions as Muscle Shoals with the Swampers backing him. But it must have been a slip of the tongue, since they occurred one state over with a different band.

In his liner notes to Little Jerry Williams Anthology (1954-1969), Williams recounted how in 1969 he approached Phil Walden, who had just opened Capricorn Studios in Macon, Georgia, about a partnering in a production deal. They reached an agreement, and Walden gave Williams use of the studio and staff musicians (though not the Swampers, a few had played at Fame) to record artists doing his material to be placed with outside labels. The first projects were albums on Tyrone Thomas (a/k/a Wolfmoon) and Doris Duke. Williams placed the eponymous Wolfmoon LP with Capitol Records; but they soon had second thoughts and killed the deal. As for Duke's album, Williams shopped it around without success, until he went to L.A. and found Wally Roker, who agreed to release it on his new Canyon imprint. The LP, I'm A Loser, and first single taken from it for radio play both charted. Things were starting to pop.

His next production session at Capricorn led indirectly to him doing an album of his own. After recording a local singer, JoAnn Bunn, doing two of his songs with disappointing results, Williams overdubbed his own vocals on the tracks and took them out to Roker, who gave him the green light to make his first-ever LP. He told Roker that he wanted to call himself "The Dogg" on the record to make a break with his earlier career; then, while back in Macon to cut the rest of the material, the session band described the Dogg's sound as "swamp music", which caused him to hatch the full Swamp Dogg moniker - at least that's how he recalled it in 2000.

Swamp Dogg's Total Destruction To Your Mind [newly reissued] came out on Canyon in 1970 along with two spin-off singles and met with near total broadcast indifference, or maybe it was stunned confusion at his Zappa-esque multi-genre approach. In any case, with no radio play to speak of, the records neither charted nor sold. Undeterred, he plunged ahead with productions on several other artists he brought to Capricorn, working almost non-stop on albums by Raw Spitt (a/k/a Charlie Whitehead) and Sandra Phillips (Too Many People In One Bed) that would also be released on Canyon with the same resounding thud of hitting a commercial brick wall.

Essentially the same rhythm section played on all those sessions: drummer Johnny Sandlin, keyboardist Paul Hornsby, guitarist Jesse ‘Pete’ Carr, and bassist Robert ‘Pops’ Popwell. All except Popwell had played in the Hour Glass with Gregg and Duane Allman a few years earlier. Sandlin and Hornsby were young veterans of the Alabama rock and soul scene, and wound up in Macon through their connections to the Allman's, who had signed with Walden's management company and were recording at Capricorn. Carr became a regular session player in Muscle Shoals around the time of these recordings, and was just doing some side work with his old bandmates.

Meanwhile back in L.A., Roker wanted to give Irma a better shot, and contracted with Swamp Dogg to take over the making of her next single, with a full LP to follow. There was no material at hand, so the ever-enterprising producer, as he asserted in the Shanachie CD notes, enlisted a friend, George McGregor, another A&R man, to come up with two good instrumental tracks that SD could write lyrics to and use for the 45 sides. McGregor obliged, supposedly creating and recording them the next day in Muscle Shoals where he was doing some sessions at an unnamed studio. I am assuming the recording was done at Muscle Shoals Sound, recently opened by the Swampers, because the Shanachie CD, which includes those sides, credits certain members of the MSS studio crew for playing on them, along with the Memphis Horns and pianist Spooner Oldham (a former Swamper). That would also explain the high level of playing.

In short order, McGregor caught a flight to L.A. to deliver the tapes to Swamp Dogg, who claims to have written lyrics for both sides within a few hours of getting them (with help from Troy Davis on the B-side). He then rehearsed with Irma for a couple more, cut her vocals, and delivered the masters to Canyon by the next afternoon. Even if he hyped that timeline just a bit in the telling, obviously Irma was right about his work ethic. Her second Canyon single hit the streets in a relative flash.

“I’d Do It All Over You” (Jerry Williams, Jr)

Irma Thomas, Canyon 31, 1970

That these songs have a country music feel to varying degrees is likely no accident. Williams may have ordered them up that way, as he has acknowledged being strongly influenced by country artists he heard on the radio while growing up in Portsmouth, Virginia. Generally, that manifests in the lyrics he writes with their down-home turns of phrase and strong narrative elements - characteristics that both country and soul music share.

For “I’d Do It All Over You”, McGregor [who, strangely, got no writing credit for either song] designed an upbeat, straightforward, rockin’ country sounding romp. The Memphis Horns pulled the feel over to the R&B side, which Irma reinforced with her own soulful, throwdown-hoedown delivery. Still, the song’s jokey title line hook kept it fairly lightweight.

“We Won’t Be In Your Way Anymore” (Jerry Williams, Jr - Troy Davis)

Once again, the B-side proved to be more impressive.  Musically, “We Won’t Be In Your Way Anymore” has a great mid-tempo soul feel and arrangement, augmented by a repeating section with a rock progression and some hot lead guitar riffing that serves as the intro, the lead-up to the third verse key modulation, and the ride-out. Irma sounds perfectly in her element here, investing much grit and emotion into the song’s strong storyline about a marriage breaking-up, while she deftly navigated some tricky, at times prolix, wording. If indeed she only had a few hours to learn these songs before cutting them, her talent and professionalism deserve even more props than usual. She showed herself to be a worthy match for Swamp Dogg’s go-for-it attitude.

Upon completing the 45, the producer took Irma to his home in New York to work up material and rehearse for the forthcoming album sessions. [I can only assume that Roker was picking up the tab for all the production-related travel expenses Swamp Dogg and his associates were racking up.] They spent about a week in preparations, then went down to Macon for the sessions at Capricorn. As noted earlier, the studio band were pretty much the same players who worked with Swamp Dogg on his other Canyon projects there, with the addition of Duane Allman [uncredited on the original LP cover] on two tracks. The drummer, shown only as “Squirm”, is a question mark, though. I’m unsure if that was Johnny Sandlin, who was doing more engineering and producing for the studio and new Capricorn label. Bill Stewart might be another possibility.

Once the majority of the tracking was done, Swamp Dogg sent his boss a reference copy to hear; and, after reviewing it, Roker called Capricorn and cancelled any further sessions, declaring the album complete and perfect as it was.  Even though some additional overdubs (“sweetening”) and a final mix had not been done, SD says his outsized ego led him to agree with Roker’s assessment; but, as it turned out, there was another motive for the sessions being cut off.

Canyon was deep in debt, its finances depleted. Before the album could be released, Roker took the company into bankruptcy and quickly out of business. The only Canyon/Swamp Dogg success stories had been Doris Duke’s album and first single [both still highly regarded by soul fans], which reached respectable levels on the charts; but sales were insufficient to cover the production costs for the label’s many other records that did not register at all with radio and the public. Not wanting to see his efforts go to waste, Swamp Dogg purchased the master tapes for Irma's album from Canyon, probably at liquidation sale prices  It would take several more years, but the ardent over-achiever kept hustling and eventually found a way to get it released.

At some point before the transaction, Roker managed to press up one more 45 on Irma, using two tracks from the Capricorn session tapes. He put it out on his own very short-lived, self-named label, seemingly set up in hopes of having a Hail Mary hit that would get him back into the black - the independent record business, of course, being nothing more than hard core gambling by another name.

“These Four Walls” (Len [sic] Farr)

Irma Thomas, Roker 502, 1970

This is one of only two songs from Irma’s Canyon sessions that Swamp Dogg did not have a hand in writing. Composed by Lynne [sometimes shown as Lynn, but simply misspelled on the label credit] Farr, it featured the same fine production treatment as the rest of the tracks and a top notch vocal by Irma. What the tune lacked was a truly engaging melody and structure that could have made it a sure-fire radio standout. As we will see, there were others to choose from that could have better fit the bill.

The flip side, “Woman’s Viewpoint”, was simply an excerpt from the extended monologue Swamp Dogg wrote for Irma that was part of a lengthy medley [discussed below] taking up the majority of the second side of the LP when it was finally released. Though the monologue wasn't prime radio material either, Irma has used it as part of her stage act for many years.

None of the handful of singles on Roker, including Irma’s, brought about the desired miracle, each quickly falling by the wayside, as another label bit the dust. Yet Roker the man survived the ordeals and worked in the music business for decades thereafter.

Following the Canyon debacle, Irma had a rebound fling with Atlantic Records, whose Cotillion subsidiary came courting as 1971 rolled around. It is tempting to think that Swamp Dogg recommended her to the label; but I have no hard evidence to back that up. According to Tony Rounce, Cotillion recorded her at several locations over the next year, including Detroit (!?), where sessions for a potential LP took place, as well as Miami (at Criteria), Philadelphia (at Sigma Sound), and, finally, Jackson, Mississippi at Malaco. For reasons unknown, probably corporate dithering, out of all that tape, the only two songs Cotillion got around to releasing came from her one Malaco session. “Full Time Woman”/“She’s Taken My Part” appeared on a lone single (#44144) issued late in the year, and were decent tunes well-produced by Wardell Quezergue during his incredible run at the studio [covered here in 2011 and 2012].

Despite impressive performances from Irma, the record was not pushed and went nowhere. Rather than give her another chance and more promotion, Cotillion mysteriously showed her the door instead. From what Rounce relates in his notes to the Kent CD, her many other tracks for the label remain tied up in corporate legal limbo and probably will never be available for issue by anybody. We will never know what treasures there may be slowly oxidizing on some shelf.

BRINGING FORTH FUNGUS

Around 1973, Swamp Dogg somehow convinced the North American division of the BASF Corporation, a huge German chemical manufacturing company that made myriad industrial products, to back his new record label, Fungus. [How I wish I could have been at that presentation meeting. I imagine him promising that it would spread widely and be hard to eradicate.]. With a seemingly modest financial infusion from BASF, he was finally able to release the languishing Wolfmoon LP [which he has described as “pop gospel”] and Irma’s In Between Tears, plus a new album by Charlie Whitehead, along with several related 45s; but none took hold on the radio or in the marketplace. It appears that Swamp Dogg was not able to secure national distribution for his label or an adequate promotional budget to propagate his product.

Thus Fungus never thrived, persisting for only about a year before BASF, whose closest prior brush with the music business had been making recording tape, thought better of their tentative venture and cut off Swamp Dogg’s cash flow - a move that consigned the label’s few offerings to the realm of future collectables.

For Irma’s long delayed and finally realized album, the failure of Fungus was tragic. Despite trippy but amateurish cover artwork that didn’t well represent the content, In Between Tears  held songs that effectively showcased her talents and deserved to be heard by the public at large. Here is some ample proof that she and Swamp Dogg were a good match in the studio.

“In Between Tears” (J. Williams, Jr - T. Davis)

Irma Thomas, from In Between Tears, Fungus 25150, 1973/1974

Another of Swamp Dogg’s collaborations with Troy Davis, this strong title song was worthy of Irma’s emotive, utterly engaging vocal treatment. It was also released on a Fungus single (#15141) in 1973, the second of only two spun off from the LP, and certainly merited radio play and a place in the charts. Instead it got the commercial cold shoulder, even though the entire album had a positive mention in the “Also Recommended” section of Billboard’s “Top Album Picks” during September, 1973, as well as a mini-review in their July, 1974 “Recommended LP’s” listings. Both rightly noted this song as one of the stronger offerings.

Listening to the cut on the original album, it is hard for me to fathom why Swamp Dogg later lamented that the album was "unfinished" and became so dissatisfied with his production work that he replaced much of the rhythm section parts with new players for the Shanachie CD some 20 years later. One can always second guess here and there, but the solid arrangements and session playing done at Capricorn still stand up well. Obviously (and thankfully), he had a change of heart, as his Two Phases of Irma Thomas CD in 2007 contained both the first version and its remuddled counterpart; and the latest reissue goes back to the source tapes with just up-to-date remastering.

“You’re The Dog (I Do The Barking Myself)” (J. Williams - G. Bonds - C. Whitehead)

Swamp Dogg wrote this punchy slice of Southern soul with two other of his collaborators, Gary “US” Bonds and Charlie Whitehead. He put it on the B-side of Irma's first Fungus single, with the deeper  “She’ll Never Be Your Wife” on the topside.

One of the first things you notice on “You’re The Dog” is a heavier grit that builds in Irma’s voice as the song goes along. The quirky lyrics call out the so-called man in her character’s life for not living up to his part of the bargain. As with many of the album’s other numbers, it’s theme relates to the emotions and resilience of a woman wronged in a relationship - a worthy concept perhaps inspired by Irma’s personal story. Another notable feature of this track is a taste of Duane Allman’s lead guitar playing. That’s him bending strings with a touch of distortion during the ride-out, counter-punching with Irma’s outright screams.

“What’s So Wrong With You Loving Me” (J. Williams - C. Whitehead)

Making a case for infidelity, this composition by Swamp Dogg and Charlie Whitehead strays from the general theme I just mentioned, but is one my two favorite cuts in terms of song structure and production values, ranking up there with the title track. The high class arrangement brought in a tympani drum; and the string section, used tastefully throughout the record, has a more prominent role here.

However gonzo Williams wanted to appear on his own records, with Irma he was a sympathetic producer intent on providing material and arrangements that would display her talent to its best advantage. In the case of “What’s So Wrong”, he again gave the music a radio-worthy, mainstream sound, while Irma’s earnest, soulful delivery of the subject matter kept the track real and relatable.

“Turn My World Around” (J. Williams - C. Whitehead)

This all too brief closing track of the LP comes after a lengthy (almost 14 minutes) medley on side 2 featuring the extended monologue, “Coming From Behind”, and an over 7 minute reworking of Irma’s own classic composition, “Wish Someone Would Care”, that gets so intensely deep that you almost need to be in a pressurized suit to listen to it.

On “Wish”, Swamp Dogg stretched her performance to the point of excess, pushing Irma to her vocal and emotional limits for the sake of the theme mentioned above; and she showed herself to have the incredible strength and stamina to take it that far. Impressive as that is, the long track makes for demanding listening, and does not lend itself frequent plays.

Instead of leaving the downtempo medley as the album’s final statement, SD used the much more upbeat “Turn My World Around” as the thematic closer. It’s no lightweight throwaway, even though the lyrics seem a bit more like an afterthought. The production values were as high and substantial as on any of the other cuts; and Irma's performance is just as worth taking in - so much so that the fade-out really is at least a minute premature.

* * * * * * *

When considering the collaboration of these two great artists, one takeaway for me is that, ultimately, Swamp Dogg’s creative efforts and skills in crafting an album that allowed Irma to shine were undone by his lack of the marketing clout needed to get the best songs onto the national airwaves for maximum exposure. Irma's old fans and prospective new ones lost out on some great music and the many pleasures of hearing her in her prime [which she's still in, btw!]. It’s an all too common story of the pitfalls of independent record-making, where having a worthy product is only half the battle.

Had a larger label taken the record over from Fungus, repackaged and pushed it, In Between Tears might have given the singer’s career a needed boost during a decade of record-making doldrums.

How disappointing and frustrating it must have been for Irma to have cut great performances for a succession of labels, many of which were not released; with the ones that did make it to vinyl not getting heard, either.   As Irma told Hannusch back in the early 1980s,

At this point I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll never have another national hit.You’ve just got to have big bucks. It’s been my luck to be with [either] a small company that can’t promote, or a big company that won’t promote. I honestly don’t know what to record anymore.

Fortunately, a few years after she said that, her world finally turned around. She began to fully come into her own as a recording artist and concert performer when Rounder Records, a rare breed of independent label with their own distribution network, came into New Orleans on a mission to lift some of its greatest musical artists out of their relative obscurity into the national spotlight. With their support and a gifted producer, Scott Billington, her popularity has continued to grow through a string of excellent albums; and in 2007, she received a Grammy Award for her Rounder CD, After the Rain.

It is also gratifying to see Swamp Dogg getting attention again, too, through new reissues of his own records and productions for others. His belief in the value of In Between Tears and enduring appreciation of Irma's gifts kept the album alive in various forms over decades by way of licensing and repackaging. May the latest versions bring still more fans to both of them and finally win accolades for the masterful product of the serendipitous pairing of their soulful talents.

SUPER SUNDAY SHOW-OFF 2013

Hi, y'all. I was in NOLA last weekend for the Record Raid [found a few fine fetishes to bring back] on Saturday and also managed to catch an outstanding double bill at d.b.a. on Frenchmen Street that night featuring locals Good Enough For Good Times and Corey Henry's Treme Funktet [great sound in the club with Benny Hare running the board] - a funky good time for sure.

The fun continued the next day, as I got up and just made it over to Central City for the Super Sunday 2013 Mardi Gras Indian parade before heading home. Here are some more photos I took along the route. If I hadn't been an extra crispy geez by that point, I would have stayed for the big post-parade throwdown in Davis Park with multiple brass bands, et al.

Stay tuned, got another music post on the burner........

TOUSSAINT 2.0: Footnotes & Follow-Ups

Last month I started a series, Footnotes & Follow-ups, that I’ll be coming back to occasionally to feature tracks and information that update or relate to specific previous posts. When you think about it, everything around here relates to other posts somehow. That’s really the underlying HOTG concept. Like life in general, the whole New Orleans music scene was and is about interconnectedness. The groove nexus. But lest this become a metaphysics lecture, let’s get to the music and circumstances at hand.

As with the first entry, this one has to do with Allen Toussaint and the artists he worked with. The focus is on the period 1965-1966, a transitional time for him when, just back from several years of mandatory military service, he felt the need to seek new opportunities and reboot his career. As luck would have it, that's exactly what he did.
[The basic timeline for events has been pieced together from several of my usual sources, John Broven's great Rhythm & Blues In New Orleans, and Jeff Hannusch's two classics, I Hear You Knockin' and The Soul of New Orleans (if you don't have 'em get 'em), plus my own research.]

IN THE MOOD TO MOVE

Coming unexpectedly in 1963, Allen’s draft notice marked the end of a remarkable three year run of success, during which he wrote, arranged and produced numerous national hit records for Joe Banashak’s Minit and Instant labels with artists such as Jessie Hill, Chris Kenner, Ernie K-Doe, Aaron Neville and Benny Spellman. Even many of the records that didn’t do as well around the country were popular at home and are rightfully considered classics today, including those of Irma Thomas, which deserved better than they got.

Losing access to Toussaint’s talents was bad enough for Banashak’s business prospects, but also in 1963 other serious setbacks nearly sank his entire record-making enterprise. Los Angeles-based Imperial Records, which had an exclusive contract to distribute the Minit label nationally, was bought-out by another much larger L.A. company, Liberty Records. The change of ownership scuttled that agreement; and, without a distributor or his hit-making producer, Banashak cut his losses and “sold” the label to Liberty. It was a murky deal, at best. Liberty may have simply appropriated all of the Minit masters Imperial held and paid Banashak a pittance as compensation]. The new bosses dropped all of the Minit artists except Thomas, who they signed to Imperial and moved more toward the mainstream.

On the heels of that reversal, Banashak was soon forced into bankruptcy after the failure of another business he owned, A-1 Distributors, which sold independent records wholesale to retailers. Understandably discouraged and struggling, the cash-strapped entrepreneur was slow to regroup, barely keeping his recording operations afloat by releasing stored tracks by artists such as Eldridge Holmes and Willie Harper that Toussaint had cut prior to leaving town, and bringing in other producers for a few half-hearted projects. Without access to national distribution, he had to promote the records to local DJs on his own, probably without being able to provide the usual inducements for airplay. It was worst-case independent label limbo, leaving him hoping for a miraculous hit while waiting for Toussaint to come back and save the day.  

Meanwhile, Allen was experiencing his own money woes around the time of his induction, having trouble getting his substantial royalty payments from BMI for radio and jukebox play of the songs he had written. At least part of the problem was due to a mix-up about his using “Naomi Neville” (his mother’s maiden name) on songwriting credits. While he was gone, Banashak helped get the matter resolved, resulting in some large checks coming the writer’s way. Allen was appreciative; but the situation he would come back to after two years did not bode well for his career aspirations. Most of the great Minit artists he worked with had moved on; and Banashak’s remaining labels were stagnating, including Alon, which he had started in 1961 for Toussaint to run.  

Upon Allen’s return in 1965, Banashak began releasing material Toussaint had written while in the service and mainly cut in Houston with the Stokes, a band he had put together at his base. There were a total of 10 singles issued from the Stokes sessions, all on Alon with one exception, and under several names: the Stokes [5]; the band’s drummer, Al (a/k/a Billy) Fayard, [2], the Young Ones [1], plus one in his own name. The release not on Alon, “Younka Chunka”/”How Tired I Am”, which I featured in 2010 {see link below], was directly leased by the California-based Uptown label (#701), and, for unexplained reasons, showed the apocryphal “K. C. Russell” as artist, though Fayard was the lead vocalist. As for the single featuring Toussaint, it was definitely an anomaly at the time, his first solo release using his actual name [his earlier instrumentals for RCA and Seville used ‘Tousan’ and ‘Al Tousan’], and first upfront vocal on record.



“Poor Boy Got To Move“ (Naomi Neville)
Allen Toussaint, Alon 9021, 1965

Listening to the lyrics on both sides of this single knowing that Toussaint would quit his association with Banashak a few months after coming home, it’s apparent that the subject matter of the tunes, the sense of loss at the end of a relationship and the need to move on, mirrored what had been on his mind. I’m sure he had not discussed those feelings with his boss/partner at that point. Had Banashak paid attention to the song titles and gist of the lyrics, perhaps he would not have been so surprised when Allen jumped ship.

As he has acknowledged, Toussaint was not interested in being a featured artist in those days, feeling most comfortable composing and taking care of the details of the recording process for others. Singing backup on certain tracks had been the extent of his voice being heard on any record up until this point. So, I’m not sure he intended his lead vocal takes on these songs to be released. He sang them likely because his preferred vocalists were all back in New Orleans; but just the fact that he committed the performances to tape indicates he was serious about the material. I get the sense that Banashak was just putting out all of the Stokes sessions that were finished, hoping that, with Allen’s involvement, at least a few would generate some sales. Yet, even if Toussaint had not expected the appearance of this single, it undeniably provided, in his own voice, a fitting coda to his time with Banashak’s enterprise.

Also apparent in the material on both sides is that Allen was directing his songwriting and production goals beyond the confines of the local market. In “Poor Boy Got To Move”, I hear the obvious influence of Curtis Mayfield’s work with the Impressions from several years prior. The song structure, melody line, harmony vocals and Toussaint’s singing that slipped here and there into falsetto, all go to show how well he could assimilate and get to the essence of another’s sound. I see it as an experimental exercise to get his creative juices flowing while away from home, and evidence that his inspiration was drawn from many sources.


“Go Back Home” (Naomi Neville)

Speaking of experimenting, there is something almost classical about the construction of this next beautifully executed tune, taking it a step beyond everyday mainstream pop fare. The stately, meditative feel and satisfyingly simple melody are set off by elements of complex instrumental harmony, as where the mainly minor key passages resolve to a major. To listen deep into it is to catch a glimpse of Toussaint’s innate, intense musical sophistication that would become increasingly evident as he matured. As a writer and arranger, he never could be confined to any particular genre, working comfortably in and among many styles, and often incorporating multiple musical elements into a single piece, as here when he ends each chorus with a bluesy, Ray Charles-like piano run - a perfect release from the restraint of the more formal sections. In time, experts far beyond my meager abilities will affirm Toussaint to be simply one of the great American composers.

None of the Alon tracks, which Banashak continued to issue well after Allen had left the fold, got much public attention on their own; but, as I have noted before, one of the sides, “Whipped Cream”, from the first Stokes 45 (#9019) was heard and quickly covered by a popular California trumpeter named Herb Alpert and his studio band, the Tijuana Brass, on a 45 for his own A&M label. It became a fairly substantial hit and was later used regularly on the TV show, The Dating Game, providing more happy returns for Toussaint’s reopened royalty stream.
 
Prior posts on Toussaint's work with the Stokes, and others on Alon:

Stoked For Solid Gold
Some Greasy Holiday Sides and a Desert Topping
Younka Chunka Returns....
Good Stuff Beyond the Fluff
Tracing Benny Spellman's Fortunes, Pt 2

A FRESH START IN THE CHARTS WITH LEE DORSEY

Soon after getting back to the Big Easy, Allen was approached by Marshall Sehorn for assistance on a project that did not involve Banashak. A colorful record promoter, producer and wheeler-dealer originally from North Carolina, whose exploits over the years became increasingly outrageous, Sehorn had previously worked for Bobby Robinson’s Fire & Fury labels out of New York and come to New Orleans several times to oversee sessions for the label’s local artists, Bobby Marchan and Lee Dorsey. After Robinson’s labels closed shop in 1963, Sehorn continued on his own to try to make something happen with Dorsey, recording two singles on Lee that he placed with the new Constellation label out of Chicago. When they failed to get much notice, Sehorn asked Toussaint to help record a four song package in hopes of getting the singer a deal with a national label.

Allen had first worked with Dorsey on “Lottie Mo”/”Lover of Love”, two classics from a one-off 45 he produced for Banashak’s Valiant label [soon renamed Instant] in 1958; and he had crossed paths with Sehorn before in New Orleans. They met at a Marchan session Sehorn ran for Fury in 1960; and the next year Sehorn hired Toussaint to arrange Dorsey’s first Fury single, “Ya Ya”/”Give Me You”, with the top side becoming a #1 hit.

Although Allen was still working for Banashak, he agreed to do the Dorsey project on the side.The old ties were starting to unravel. Once they were tracked, Sehorn shopped the songs to Bell Records in New York, who agreed to release them, assigning Dorsey to their Amy subsidiary. The first single featured Toussaint’s energetic dancer, “Ride Your Pony”, which quickly moved up the national charts and into the top ten by the summer, confirming that the writer/arranger’s mojo was officially back - and Lee’s, too.



“Ride Your Pony” (Naomi Neville}
Lee Dorsey, Amy 926, 1965

Just as Allen’s own Alon single closed a chapter in his career, this song opened the next one with a bang, several of them in fact! You can tell by the poppin’ energy of this track that he was inspired by the opportunity to write for Lee again. In terms of lyrics and concept it was one of hundreds of songs based around a dance, the Pony in this case, with the standard name-checking of various spots around the country; but several things set it apart. Of course the pistol shots were definitely an attention-grabbing, novelty gimmick that worked as intended. But the propulsive groove of this tune is what really locks the listener in from the first note with its fresh, hip, tightly-wound funk. Toussaint constructed the infectiously syncopated arrangement from a very spare instrumental backing of drums, bass, two guitars and a baritone sax. Though you don’t really notice, the song has only two chord changes, which obviously are just enough. Topping it off, the rudimentary melody line proved a perfect fit for Dorsey’s engaging, rhythmic, conversational vocal style.

The record easily held its own against the many high-quality tunes on the radio that year, and clearly got Dorsey noticed again. On the strength of it, he was invited to perform at the Apollo Theater in Harlem that year; and, for this important gig, Sehorn had Toussaint come along to direct the band. While there, the two discussed partnering a start-up production company to develop, record, and market talent. As Sehorn recalled in his own down-home way to Jeff Hannusch,

Allen and I went to dinner and talked about starting some kind of deal. Allen had some offers from Motown and the West Coast, but he told me his convictions were in New Orleans, and that’s where he wanted to stay.

The success of “Ride Your Pony” was the turning point. Allen soon gave Banashak his notice, and joined Sehorn in forming Tou-Sea Productions. With Dorsey as their first client, Sehorn negotiated a deal giving Amy exclusive rights to the singer’s releases; and more hits followed. In short order, Tou-Sea began recruiting a bevy of other artists Toussaint was interested in working with, including Eldridge Holmes, Betty Harris, Willie Harper, Willie West, Diamond Joe, and Benny Spellman. It also did not take the partners long to start their own labels: Tou-Sea and Sansu, which would be distributed by Bell, and Deesu, which Sehorn kept close to home by signing a distribution deal with Cosimo Matassa’s Dover Records. A music business Odd Couple, the new partners would work together well over two decades using a simple division of labor: Sehorn handled the business and Toussaint the music.
Re: Allen & Lee:
When Lee Met Allen
Ya Ya's In La La Land
Two More From Toussaint

JET-SETTING WITH ELDRIDGE HOLMES

One of the first vocalists Allen worked with in the new production company was the exceptional Eldridge Holmes, who he had recorded previously for Alon in 1962-1963, resulting in five singles. Most had been released while Allen was in the service, but languished, because, as discussed, Banashak was not able to properly promote them.

Before Tou-Sea had even set up their new labels, Allen cut a number of new tunes with Holmes that Sehorn then leased to Jet Set, a small, obscure soul label out of Washington, DC. Two singles by the singer appeared under the Jet Set imprint, “Humpback”/”I Like What You Do” (#1006) which probably came out late in 1965, followed by “Gone, Gone, Gone”/”Worried Over You”. Unlike most of the artists Allen worked with back then, Holmes wrote a lot of his own material. Three of the Jet Set sides were collaborations by the two, with “I Like What You Do” written by Toussaint alone. I featured the hard-driving dancer, “Humpback”, here back in 2007; and this is the perfect opportunity to get around to the second Jet Set 45.



“Gone, Gone, Gone” (E. Holmes - A. Toussaint)
Eldrige [sic] Holmes, Jet Set 765, 1966

As my promo copy shows, this was the plug (A) side of the record; and they managed to misspell his first name on both sides. In terms of structure and melody alone, it’s a competent piece of middle of the road mainstream soul-pop that in lesser hands might not have been worth noting. But, the performance and packaging kicked it up enough in quality to put its hooks in when you hear it and make you want to stay to the end and play it again. Certainly one of the city’s best soul singers, who never got his due or the chance to perform up to his full potential on record, Holmes provided the emotional investment and technique necessary to make the rather cliched lyrics (probably his contribution) ring true. That impression is bolstered by Toussaint’s perfectly balanced, intricately arranged instrumental presentation. There is nothing at all average about the perfect rhythmic flow, fine musicianship, and flawless singing that allow this number to exceed its potential.

For my money, though, they should have been plugging the other side.

“Worried Over You” (E. Holmes - A. Toussaint)

This is soul-pop of a different order. Toussaint’s mix of off-beat stop-time and regularly paced sections provides riveting tension and release, making the mid-tempo song more substantial than its short running time, just a second shy of two minutes, might suggest. At points, the stop-time segments leave gaps where all we hear is the fading reverberations of Holmes voice, drawing us deeper into an encounter with the singer’s consummately soulful delivery. It’s a master class in the arts of composition, arrangement, and production working together to showcase a great vocal performance and help impart the emotion behind the lyrics.

Even though Bell Records bought out Jet Set just prior to this release, which seemingly should have given the record more of a chance to be heard, neither side got noticed. And Jet Set folded shortly thereafter.

As time went by, it became apparent that very few of the Tou-Sea productions other than Dorsey’s got effective promotion under Bell’s distribution contract. Sehorn intimated as much to Hannusch, saying that Bell always held a grudge against him, because he would not give them exclusive rights to everything the partnership produced. Of course, doing so would have ceded the company almost total control of Tou-Sea’s destiny plus a larger cut of any profits. Since the entities were already closely tied through Dorsey’s Amy deal, you can’t blame Sehorn for wanting to leave some other options open for the partnership to generate a hit with other artists and make some money. The standoff goes a long way in explaining why Bell would have worked Dorsey’s records harder than any of the partnership’s other releases.

[Just a geek note on the numbering of this single and Jet Set in general. According to the R&B Indies, Jet Set issues ran from 1001 in 1965 to 1009 sometime in 1966, when Bell came into the picture. The label then had just four remaining issues, numbered 765 - 768. The rapid demise of Jet Set suggests that Bell’s business model included not just efforts to hamstring their competition, but eliminate it whenever possible.]

Sad to say, Holmes’ luck would not get much better. His next release, “Until the End”/Without A Word” came out on Sansu 469 in 1967, followed by “Beverly”/”Wait For Me Baby” (#477), but both received little play beyond New Orleans. He then had four releases on Deesu over the next few years, at least three of those backed by the Meters at unknown recording locations. Both sides of his first Deesu single, “Where Is Love”/”Now That I’ve Lost You” did well enough locally to attract Decca Records to reissue it (#32416) nationwide. Following up, Decca directly released a pair of Toussaint produced tunes as their second and last 45 (#32488) on the singer, a rehash of Dorsey's hit, “Working In The Coal Mine” along with the fine, self-penned, deep soul ”A Love Problem” (#32488), before losing interest due to slow sales.

When Dover records collapsed in financial ruin in 1968, Deesu went into hiatus, reappearing about a year later with a new label design/logo, but the releases fared no better than before in the marketplace. Probably Holmes’ best known 45 these days, “Pop Popcorn Children”/”Cheating Woman”, still with Toussaint in charge and the Meters on board, was released by Atco in 1969, but did not do well enough to merit a follow-up. Then came a Holmes single produced by Senator Jones with the involvement of Charles Brimmer around 1970 on the local micro-label, Kansu. But the singer was back working with Toussaint (at least according to the label credits) in 1972 for what would be the final record of his career, cut in Charlotte, NC, and issued there on the short-lived Brown Sugar label.

Wikipedia UK has what appears to be a complete [but perhaps not quite chronological] Eldridge Holmes discography; and there's a brief bio of him at Allmusic. Here are links to my prior posts on the singer:
Three Sides of Eldridge Holmes
Eldridge Holmes Sells "The Book"


BETTY HARRIS: SANSU’S SOLE WOMAN

If you look at the roster of artists attached to Tou-Sea Productions, the dearth of females is glaring. Other than a one-off 1968 single on the Tou-Sea label by a strong, if somewhat tonally challenged, vocalist from the Atlanta area, Zilla Mayes, Betty Harris was all by her lonesome on the distaff side of the list. Likewise, during Toussaint’s tenure at Banashak’s Minit, Instant, and Alon labels, Irma Thomas had been the only woman with up-front billing. As in the world at large, male dominance was routinely endemic in the New Orleans recording scene for decades; but that’s a sociology topic for another day.

To their credit, Toussaint and Sehorn did sign Harris early on, who proved to be one of their most talented and relatively successful artists; but they found her in New York City rather than on the local or regional scene. Getting her on board in 1965 was definitely a promising score for the production company; but during their four year association, she would only come into town periodically to overdub vocals on productions Toussaint pre-recorded for her; and, as good as it was, It was never more than a long distance relationship.

While Harris was a talent worthy of Toussaint’s attention, I’ve always wondered why the partners never brought Irma Thomas in to work with Allen again, since there was a window of time when she would have been available, between her contract ending with Imperial early in 1966 and her recordings for Chess in 1967. In fact, Imperial had hired Allen soon after he got out of the service in 1965 to produce (and write) several tunes for her, which appeared on her impressive 45, "Take A Look"/"What Are You Trying To Do" (#66137) and LP [Take a Look] for the label; but, the always promising combination did not jump-start her declining sales, nor did her final Imperial single produced by the very hot James Brown. Her lack of a hit certainly wasn’t a quality issue. It had more to do with the airwaves being crowded with amazing music in those days, plus the British Invasion in full force, making it hard to compete even for such outstanding talents.

So, why wouldn’t Irma have been a good match for Tou-Sea Productions right after that? Even fresh off a disappointing collaboration, it’s hard to fathom why they would not want Irma on their side. But maybe it was Irma who held back, deciding to put any further recording plans on hold for a time when she left Imperial. She needed to make money for her family and so began gigging regularly on the busy Southern college circuit, which kept her on the road. Also, as Willie West confirmed to me recently, Tou-Sea was not paying the artists any money up front to sign with them; and, while, they did pay them a set fee per song [possibly union scale] for the sessions they cut, only those who had hits might get compensated any further for their work, and I emphasize the “might”. Having been around the block several times with different companies by that point, Irma may not have been interested in such an equation.  In any event, she and Toussaint never connected to make a record again.

[Note: Actually, Irma did finally sign with Sansu briefly about a decade later; but Toussaint never developed any material for her or recorded her, other than singing back-up from time to time at Sea-Saint Studio. What a waste. She parted ways with them for good after Sehorn recorded her performance at the 1976 JazzFest without her knowledge and licensed some of the songs to Island Records for inclusion on a double LP compilation of performances related to the event. She wasn't compensated for that, nor later when he re-licensed her live set to Charly in the UK, who released an album under her name, Hip Shakin' Mama, in 1981. To this day, Irma considers those tracks to have been bootlegged. But it was pretty much standard procedure for Sehorn. Harris, too, received no royalties for her Sansu records at the time, but won ownership of the recordings after a protracted legal battle some 25 years later.]

In Betty Harris, Toussaint found another gifted, soulful female vocalist to work with and write for; and I’m sure Sehorn saw nationwide breakout potential in their collaborations. Pete Nickols’ definitive summary of Harris’ life and career at Sir Shambling’s Soul Heaven [see link below], relates that she was born in Florida and grew up in Alabama, left her strict, religious home as a teenager in the later 1950s and went to New York City to seek her fortunes as an R&B singer. She first met Allen there in 1965, having finished a stint recording for the Jubilee label under the guidance of the great producer and writer, Bert Berns, scoring a decent-sized hit with his song, “Cry To Me”.

It’s highly likely that the meeting occurred at the time of Lee Dorsey’s Apollo show. Sehorn may have known Betty already from his prior dealings in the NYC music business and introduced her to Allen; but, however they connected, Harris quickly signed with the partners and became the initial artist to record for their new Sansu imprint. Her first single (#450) paired two new Toussaint numbers, “I’m Evil Tonight” and “What A Sad Feeling”; and Betty would record eight more for the label, plus a duet outing with Lee Dorsey. The only significant national response came from her amazing, deep take on Toussaint’s “Nearer” in 1967, which charted and became a modest hit.  After Sansu shut down in 1969, Sehorn placed one more 45 on Betty with SSS International, featuring Toussaint’s trippy funk classic, “There’s A Break In The Road”; but it failed to actually deliver any breaks other than James Black's incredible beats, and was her last release for decades.

I wish I had time to delve into more of Harris’ Sansu material [soon come, mon]; but, fortunately, Nickols has done a great job with the topic in his lengthy piece, which includes selected audio. So, I encourage you to listen and read up there - become a Betty Harris fan, if you’re not one already! Here's that link, plus my paltry prior posts on Betty:

Betty Harris: Sir Shambling's Deep Soul Heaven
Two More From Toussaint
Who You Gonna Call?

 I’m just concentrating on one of her Sansu records this time, which by coincidence happens to tie together her early and later recordings with Toussaint.



“Mean Man” (Allen Toussaint)
Betty Harris, Sansu 478, 1968

This was Betty’s seventh Sansu solo single and came after her 1967 double-sided duo project (#474) with Lee Dorsey, which did not get the notice it deserved. From both the sound of this track and the date, I am pretty sure that the newly-hired Meters were the operative rhythm section on this track. There is definitely a step up in the energy of the playing and the funk.

As with most all of his work with Harris, Toussaint was at the top of his game in all departments on “Mean Man”, and having the Meters on board just added emphasis to the fact. The track displays his complex, trademark amalgam of interdependent parts that worked together flawlessly. The arrangement, playing, and singing are so precisely on target that they automatically induce our surrender to the polyrhythmic movements of the eminently danceable groove, and lock us into the easily accessible melody line and lyrics.  

It’s such a cool song in all regards that the only explanation I can come up with for why it didn’t make the charts goes back to the alleged Bell grudge against independent releases from Tou-Sea Productions. They had to be giving promotion of those records short shrift; and it was definitely starting to take its toll.  

Evidence of the growing strain can be seen in the decision not to produce a new track for the singles’s B-side and, instead, recycle one from her third single. In fact, they had also reused “I’m Evil Tonight” as the flip for “Nearer” the previous year. More than likely both were money-saving moves rather than a lack of fresh material being available. I'm sure they had o pay Harris' expenses to come down and record. Even if second-hand, though, their choice for the back of “Mean Man” definitely was worth hearing again.

“What Did I Do Wrong” (Allen Toussaint)

Originally on the flip side of another sadly underappreciated single (#455) from 1966 that featured the driving dancer, “Twelve Red Roses”, this tune is a fine example of what Betty has always considered to be her strongest suit, emotive, deep soul balladry. Taken at a moderate mid-tempo that Toussaint subtly tricked-out here and there with rhythmic change-ups, the song’s bluesy simplicity allowed her to dig in and render a gritty, richly dynamic performance that reveals her true gift for spellbinding phrasing, alternately on the beat, pushing against it, or hesitating, to keep the listener hanging on every meaningful word. Sublime.

Of course, this track was too early to have had the Meters on it, but is not diminished in any way for that. The musicianship is outstanding, and the feel of the track has a lot in common with a song from an outside project Toussaint produced that same year on another underappreciated soul singer.

BRIEFLY UNDER THE BIG TOP WITH LOU JOHNSON

MY 2011 post, Sansu 70s: Allen, Lee and Lou, featured a segment on material from Lou Johnson’s 1971 Volt LP,  With You In Mind, which had Toussaint’s manifold involvement. As I noted there in the background information on Johnson, he started recording in the early 1960s for New York City‘s Big Top Records and its Big Hill subsidiary, scoring several modest hits. Notably, up and coming songwriters Burt Bacharach and Hal David provided much of his material and produced some of those sessions. Three of their tunes that appeared on Lou’s singles, “Reach Out For Me”, “Always Something There To Remind Me”, and “Kentucky Bluebird” [a/k/a “Message To Michael (Martha)”], were covered and made much bigger hits by Dionne Warwick a few years later, again under the guidance of that production and writing team.

Big Top and the smaller Big Hill and Hill Top labels were owned by the hugely successful Hill  & Range music publishing company. By 1964, the principals found running record companies too distracting and let them go.  But, in 1965, Big Top was briefly reactivated with Bell Records as its new distributor. Of the mere five listed releases from the company before it finally went away for good, Lou Johnson had three of them. And, for the final one, Toussaint and company got the call to produce.

Of course, Bell farmed this project out to the Tou-Sea team due to the continuing success of the Dorsey-Amy relationship; and I’m pretty sure the session took place in New Orleans with Cosimo Matassa engineering. While Allen also got one his songs placed on the B-side, what may have most intrigued him about the project was the chance to do his own arrangement of a Bacharach-David tune.



“Walk On By“ (Bacharach-David)
Lou Johnson, Big Top 104, 1966

I suspect the Big Top bigwigs picked this well-known feature track for Johnson, trying to get him back to his earlier successes (though limited) recording the songwriters’ material. Dionne Warwick’s original version, also produced by Bacharach and David, had gone to #6 on the pop charts and #1 R&B in 1964. As a successful writer/producer, Toussaint no doubt had great respect for the sophisticated musical sensibilities and hit-making skills of his peers and realized that he faced the tough task of doing justice to their great song while giving it a different enough spin to allow Johnson’s take to stand out. The bar for success was set quite high, and the deck was stacked against the single in several ways.

Without doubt, the delicate vocal  on Warwick’s version was a perfect fit for the tasteful, spare instrumentation and bossa nova influenced feel of its groove. The overall arrangement was nothing less than masterful, state-of-the-art pop production, making it an instant classic. So, I can’t help admiring the fearless assurance of Toussaint’s approach, allowing Johnson to come at the song from his comfort zone and display his trademark gospel-influenced vocal fervor.

For the most part, the song wasn’t altered much structurally or melodically; but Toussaint cast it in the warm trappings of a Southern soul feel, embellished by his sanctified piano fills and the subtly syncopated horns, making it at once totally recognizable yet miles away from the original. As brilliant an accomplishment as it was, the record went exactly nowhere. Big Top’s impending dissolution was likely the major factor, offering little incentive for Bell to promote it more than sending out DJ copies. At best, it was a paying project for Tous-Sea Productions, a challenging exercise for Toussaint, and created the opening to work with Johnson again a few years later.

Although the B-side of the single is not prime Toussaint material, I’m including it because I’m guessing that not many of even the most serious of his fans have heard it.

“Little Girl” (Allen Toussaint)


Allen’s contribution turned out to be an unsuccessful attempt to design a song for Johnson in the Barcharach-David style. He set it up around some of the changes in “Kentucky Bluebird”; but it was too labored an effort, and definitely lacked his usual rhythmic flow and ease with a melody. Even with Johnson’s well-sung, professional presentation, the song’s place on the back side of a poorly distributed single was fitting.

Toussaint has had his share of creative missteps over a long career - it’s only natural; and I usually don’t dwell on them; but the context of this one is interesting and helps to explain what he was up to, at least. If you just heard the song on its own without knowing anything about it, you might have a WTF moment.

Down the line I hope to explore other aspects of Toussaint’s creative journey. There’s much more from even this brief window of time, but it’s a wrap for now. Other topics crowd my desk, floor, shelves and boxes. Long dormant grooves beg to be heard again. So, I’ll be back with more. . . .