Stax-A-Lujah

About 30 years ago a package appeared at my studio door addressed with a familiar chicken-scratch handwriting. I knew it was from Mike D. and within were two CD’s: Derek & The Dominoes’ classic 1970 album Layla & Other Assorted Love Songs and a single-disc compilation called Top Of The Stax: 20 Greatest Hits. There may have been a Post-It Note scrawled Happy Birthday, but I knew what it was for either way.

I turned my nose up at Layla, having been saturated by the title track during my childhood - until I listened. It quickly became a favorite album, a love that continues to this day, although I mainly listen to Derek bootlegs now. Hearing it in context even gave Layla new currency. 

The Stax collection was perhaps even more extraordinary, with not one duff track. I knew a lot of the songs, like Mel & Tim’s Starting All Over Again, Sam and Dave’s Hold On, I’m Coming, The Staple Singers’ Respect Yourself, Green Onions by Booker T & The M.G.’s and, of course, the mighty Shaft by Isaac Hayes. But I hadn’t heard most of them for something like 15 years and what was most amazing was that they operated both at the level of nostalgia and timelessness. As proven out by the other songs, there was a level of quality in songwriting, singing, playing, and production that was perhaps only rivaled by Motown. 

But Stax has that additional grit, with a little more funk to the grooves and real-life adult situations described in songs like I Forgot To Be Your Lover by William Bell and Woman To Woman by Shirley Brown. Top Of The Stax became a daily listen and one of the few albums that needed no adjustments to play at a party. My true love affair with Stax began with that humble collection. 

Over the years I tracked down some of the related albums, like Johnny Taylor’s Tailored In Silk or Whatcha See Is Whatcha Get by The Dramatics. And Isaac Hayes became an obsession, with revelation after revelation from albums like Hot Buttered Soul, To Be Continued and Black Moses, all the way up through his still underrated Polydor years. But when it came to Stax as a whole, I mainly followed the lead of their extensive reissue campaign and focused on the singles, even if they were sometimes packaged up in box sets of impressive weight and size. 

This past June that all changed, however, thanks to a flood of reissued albums celebrating both Black History Month and the 50th Anniversary of the “Soul Explosion” period at the label, which had them rebuilding after the devastating loss of Otis Redding and several member of the Bar-Kays. Many of the albums have been out of print for years in any form and all are appearing on streaming platforms for the first time. While the Soul Explosion took place over a couple of months in 1969, the years spanned by the campaign start in 1968 and stretch all the way to 1975, when the label was shuttered for the first time since 1957. 

While there’s plenty of music among the 30 albums that’s resolutely “on brand” for Stax, there’s enough variety that it makes clear another factor that distinguishes it from Motown: they still believed in older forms of African American music as popular music. While “The Sound Of Young America” certainly had its roots in the blues, gospel and girl group sounds of the 50’s, it was all packaged in bright, shiny new clothes or, by the end of the 60’s, psychedelic mufti. While Stax could go pop or incorporate rock influences, they also persisted in releasing instrumentals and doo wop or church-inflected sounds long after the heyday of those genres. And even if they didn’t hit it big with most of these albums, there is no air of preservation, such as with other labels like Arhoolie or Alligator. The entire history of black music was just in the mix, following the talent they had rather than shunting it into uncomfortable shapes. 

Speaking of mixes, as a public service, I have worked my way through all 30 albums and selected a representative cut from each - with one exception. The most anomalous record in the bunch is also a wretched, festering pile of absolute trash that should have remained in the dustbin of history. I’m speaking of the debut album by the band called The Knowbody Else, who later met with some success as Black Oak Arkansas. While the music is a tepid-at-best attempt at funky southern rock, the vocals by Jim Mangrum are some of the worst singing I have ever heard. Maybe he improved in the BOA days, but I can’t recall one of their songs and I have suffered enough at his hands. I’d rather hear an hour of Johnnie Taylor talking in his sleep. 

Moving right along, the only other qualification was to select a different track if the album contained any hits. So you won’t hear Frederick Knight singing I’ve Been Lonely Too Long, Taylor’s classic Who’s Making Love, or other well-known songs. What I hope you’ll discover is just how strong the bench was at Stax, even if radio or record buyers weren’t always listening in great numbers. Deep cuts, that is, from one of America’s greatest labels, with unsung heroes like Bettye Crutcher coming into focus as bedrock contributors to the catalog. And if a song by an artist you’ve never heard before grabs your attention, by all means check out the album. You may find your respect growing ever greater for the accomplishments of Jim Stewart, Mae Axton, Al Bell, and all the singers, songwriters and players who made this stuff happen. 

Here’s a brief rundown of what you’re going to hear. 

Be Young, Be Foolish, Be Happy by Booker T. & The M.G.’s from Soul Limbo (1969)

The cheese factor can run a bit high on this album, but on this song it works thanks to the interplay between Steve Cropper’s guitar and Booker T.’s organ. Oft-recorded, the song was written by Ray Whitley working with  J.R. Cobb Of Spooky, Stormy and Atlanta Rhythm Section fame. Even as an instrumental, the title of the song says it all!

Soul-A-Lujah by Johnnie Taylor, Eddie Floyd, William Bell, Pervis Staples, Cleotha Staples, Carla Thomas, and Mavis Staples from Boy Meets Girl (Classic Stax Duets) (1969)

This handsome package was well worth the $10 I paid for an original vinyl pressing a few years ago but there’s no denying that it doesn’t quite live up to the excitement generated by the concept. For one thing, the re-recordings of evergreens like I Thank You or Piece Of My Heart have nothing on the originals. For another, the newer songs aren’t very memorable. But this number personifies “exuberance” with a vocal arrangement nearly matching Sly Stone’s ingenuity. Remember the names Bettye Crutcher, Homer Banks, and Raymond Jackson - they wrote this song and many others under the collective name We Three.

I’ve Got A Feeling by Ollie & The Nightingales from Ollie & The Nightingales (1969)

Formerly The Dixie Nightingales (taking off on The Dixie Hummingbirds), this gospel group led by Ollie Hoskins was straight out of the church and gussied up for prime time. As that would imply, the call and response is key, but Al Jackson, Jr.’s extra sharp drumming drives the bus. A fine album overall, even if it doesn’t touch similarly motivated collections by The Staple Singers. 

Wishes And Dishes by The Sweet Inspirations from Estelle, Myrna and Sylvia (1973)

The tail end of a brand name that launched the careers of Doris Troy, Dionne and Dee Dee Warwick, and Cissy Houston while singing backup for Aretha Franklin, Van Morrison, and Jimi Hendrix, the group now consisted of Estelle Brown, Myrna Smith, and Sylvia Shemwell. It was up to them to honor the legacy - and they delivered. I think it's Estelle singing lead on this one, bringing a gospel fervor to a slow-burner with adult themes. Producers/co-writers David Porter and Ronnie Williams wisely let the song go beyond the length of a single. The whole album is a worthy slab of sweet 70's soul.

So Nice by The Mad Lads from The Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Lads (1969)

"Do you remember when we used to play mommy and daddy each and every day," John Gary Williams sings in his creamy high tenor in a song drenched in soda shoppe fantasies and stacked harmonies. Bettye Crutcher collaborated with Carla Thomas' brother Marvell to write this one and it's definitely the most memorable track on the album.

Come On Back by J.J. Barnes from J.J. Barnes & Steve Mancha: Rare Stamps (1969)

This compilation gathered up singles by Barnes and Mancha, like this one originally released on the Groovesville label in 1967. Co-written by Barnes and Don Davis (who later revived Johnnie Taylor's career with Disco Lady), the vocal bears a striking similarity to Marvin Gaye. So does the arrangement, but the strings and conga make it sound about five years ahead of what Gaye was doing at the same time. Influence is a two-way street...

Somebody's Been Sleeping In My Bed by Johnnie Taylor from Rare Stamps (1969)

Compiling Taylor singles, including Who's Making Love, makes for a great album. This scorching blues from 1967 also has the Bettye Crutcher stamp and a masterful vocal from Taylor. Blues, soul, funk, disco - there was little he couldn't do.

My Baby Specializes by Soul Children from Soul Children (1969)

Formed by Isaac Hayes and David Porter after losing Sam & Dave to Atlantic, it took a while for this vocal group to reach their peak in 1973 with I'll Be The Other Woman. But this album is full of gems, many of them covers of earlier Stax singles like this one originally sung by William Bell & Judy Clay a year earlier. With four effervescent vocalists and a trademark, low-slung Stax arrangement, the song is a heckuva groove.

I've Fallen In Love by Carla Thomas from Memphis Queen (1969)

While her chart success was diminishing a couple of years after B-A-B-Y and Tramp (with Otis Redding), there was no lack of artistic success on this album. Swirling strings introduce this moody number, written by Thomas herself, and her complicated relationship to love is embedded in the bittersweet melody.

Don't Make Me A Storyteller - Steve Mancha from J.J. Barnes & Steve Mancha: Rare Stamps (1969)

Kind of a utility player, Mancha never made an album but based on this track he had a fine way with pleading his way through a song. It was also the definitive version of a song later waxed by many other Stax artists, so all credit due to Mancha.

Jilted by The Goodees from Candy-Coated Goodees (1969)

Strings, electric sitar, epic horns - they threw the kitchen sink at this updated girl group song, a typically adult story about getting pregnant and getting dumped on the altar. Co-written and produced by Don Davis, both the composition and sound reflect the rare intrusion of British psychedelia into the normally all-American world of Stax.

One With Sugar by The Mar-Keys from Damifiknow (1969)

In various incarnations, The Mar-Keys had provided back-up on many Stax sessions while occasionally hitting it big themselves. By this point, they were essentially Booker T. & The M.G.'s plus the Memphis Horns and much of this album is made up of redundant covers of hits like Mustang Sally or Knock On Wood. The track has a nice gutbucket feel, however, and all the cowbell you need.

Now You Got Me Loving You by The Dramatics from A Dramatic Experience (1973)

The Dramatics had been plying their trade since 1964, finally hitting it big with their debut LP,  Whatcha See Is Whatcha Get, in 1971. This follow-up doesn't mess with the sly, proto-disco sonics and is nearly as good. Tony Hester, who wrote In The Rain, also penned this number and produced the album.

Baby It's Real by Rufus Thomas from Crown Prince of Dance (1973)

Carla's father was known for extremely danceable, near-novelty songs like Do The Funky Chicken and Do The Push And Pull, but amongst the pandering tracks on this album (Funky Robot, etc.), this song also proved he could lay you out with a ballad when he wanted to - he should have done more like it!

Don't Mess With My Money, My Honey, or My Woman by Mel & Tim from Starting All Over Again (1972)

This track, which opened up the album that contained one of their biggest hits, has an almost Jackson 5 feel and witty, taunting lyrics. The production, by Barry Beckett and Roger Hawkins of Muscle Shoals fame, is slightly more widescreen than the usual Stax sound. 

You Cut Up The Clothes In The Closet My Dreams by Melvin Van Peebles from Don't Play Us Cheap (1972)

The film version of this musical by Van Peebles, known for basically inventing Blaxploitation cinema with Sweet Sweetback's Badassssss Song, was by some reports a misfire. But even bad reviews praised Joshie Jo Armstead's committed performance on this gospel-fueled song, the most well-developed track on this odd album.

Walk Tall (In This Here Land) by John KaSandra from Color Me Human (1970)

Released on Respect, Stax's political offshoot, this album by John S. Anderson is filled with feel-good social criticism/empowerment songs. He's obviously fired up by the smoking-hot arrangement on this song and hearing him dig into the words "Walk tall!" along with the horns is an addictive thrill. While this may be the strongest single song, fans of Joe Tex and Rodriguez should definitely dig into this forgotten treasure.

You Make The Sun Shine by The Temprees from Love Maze (1973)

As impossibly smooth as the Chi-Lites or The Manhattans, this vocal group on Stax's We Produce subsidiary is ripe for rediscovery. There are many pleasures to be found on their second album, but this haunting number, written by Leon Moore, would not get out of my head. Kanye West, who used the song on The Corner by Common, seems to agree. 

Baby, That's A No No by Barbara Lewis from The Many Grooves of Barbara Lewis (1970)

Lewis, who hit the Top 5 with her own composition Hello Stranger (you heard it in Moonlight) in 1963, was already a decade into her career when she recorded this, her only album for Stax. It was also her last album, although she continued performing until 2017. Swathed in echo, her voice sounds flown in from another era on this collection, which is one of the reasons it doesn't quite hit the mark. Also taking on Windmills Of Your Mind after Dusty Springfield was a fool's game for any singer, but this song almost makes you believe she could compete with Aretha or at least Dionne Warwick.

I Could Never Be President by Johnnie Taylor from The Johnnie Taylor Philosophy Continues (1969)

"I could never be President/As long as I'm lovin' you," Taylor sings on this lively number written by We Three. It's just lively enough to make you forget you were hoping he was doing a socially conscious number like Syl Johnson's Is It Because I'm Black? The album has too many covers (It's Your Thing - really, Johnnie?) but goes down fairly easily.

People, Get It Together by Eddie Floyd from California Girl (1970)

Floyd, who co-wrote Knock On Wood with Steve Cropper, was equally at home on either side of the studio glass. In fact, he co-wrote all of the best songs on this long-player (mostly with Booker T.) and gives his all on this inspirational stomper, occasionally sounding like Otis Redding reborn. Floyd is still out there pitching and performed at the Royal Albert Hall in 2017.

Phases Of Reality by William Bell from Phases Of Reality (1972)

Bell has been recording since 1961, hitting it out of the park with his first single, You Don't Miss Your Water. He won a Grammy two years ago for best Americana album and performed Born Under A Bad Sign - which he wrote! - with Gary Clark, Jr. All this is to say, I shouldn't have been surprised that it was hard to pick just one song from this slab of 70's funk, also produced by Bell. It's easy to imagine Sly nodding his head along to this one. Overall, maybe the best album in the whole campaign.

Let Me Down Easy by Inez Foxx from Inez Foxx At Memphis (1973)

Everyone knows Mockingbird, which Foxx recorded with her brother Charlie in 1963. But that chirpy number is world away from this dark-hued jam, a remake of the 1965 Betty Lavette standard written by Wrecia Holloway and James McDougall - and at least as definitive. Her assured, emotive singing throughout will make you wish this wasn't her only solo album.

It Ain't Easy by The Bar Kays from Do You See What I See (1972)

On tracks like this, The Bar Kays made some of the most convincing 70's music in the Stax catalog. The band, which had to be completely reconfigured after four of their members died alongside Otis Redding in 1967, was now coming hot off of backing Isaac Hayes on Hot Buttered Soul and ready to prove themselves as a funky, socially-conscious force to be reckoned with. Let's hope the prior album, Black Rock, is reissued soon.

Harlem Heaven by The Rance Allen Group from A Soulful Experience (1975)

Known mainly for his modernizing influence on gospel, Rance Allen's sweet falsetto perfectly describes a more earthly heaven on this track from a fine album released on Stax's Truth subsidiary. The reggae-influenced arrangement, by Ronnie Williams, who co-wrote the album with David Porter, is as charming as the song. 

If I Give It Up, I Want It Back by David Porter from Victim Of The Joke?...An Opera (1971)

Even though he wrote those dozens of hits alongside Hayes in the 60's, Porter on his own as a frontman was not the same proposition. Full of odd interludes and an ill-conceived cover of The Beatles' Help, the album falls flat as a whole but his belief in the Stax sound of earlier years is almost enough to make you forget that he was stuck in the past. Hayes was already far in the future and would never look back.

I Let My Chance Go By by Frederick Knight from I've Been Lonely For So Long (1973)

The title song outshines the rest of the album, but there's nothing wrong with this regret-soaked ballad and the out-chorus alone is worth the price of admission. Don't feel bad for Knight - he wrote Be For Real and Ring My Bell, both of which have had long lives.

Little Bluebird by Little Milton from Waiting For Little Milton (1973)

When you learn that Little Milton made his name on the Chess label it makes perfect sense that he was as accomplished a guitarist as he was a singer. He had also been honing his chops since 1953! Working in a vein similar to B.B. King (he covers The Thrill Is Gone on this album), he blows out this old Booker T./Hayes/Porter tune into an eloquent and epic blues. 

Soul On Fire by Kim Weston from Kim Kim Kim (1970)

It's hard to understand why this Motown alumnus didn't become another Gloria Gaynor or Thelma Houston after hearing this nearly overwhelming performance of a song she wrote with her husband Mickey Stevenson. The soul was indeed on fire. Unfortunately, however, she didn't make an album for 20 years, skipping the Studio 54 era entirely. Listen to the whole album and imagine what could've been.

Better Get A Move On by Louise McCord from Wattstax: The Living Word (1973)

While any Stax playlist worth its salt should have something by Isaac Hayes or The Staple Singers, both of whom appear on this live album, this absolutely astonishing performance of Bettye Crutcher's song by gospel great McCord just seemed like perfect way to bring things to a close. You will be forgiven if you clap along with the audience!

Let me know what hits the mark for you and visit this site for more info from Stax.

Listen to all the tracks here or below and keep track of other 2019 reissues by following this playlist.





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Aretha Anew

Even before Aretha Franklin left us to become "one of the featured voices of the angels," as Smokey Robinson put it at her funeral, I was starting on a journey through her musical legacy, trying to put some shape to it in my mind. A quick self-examination laid bare how much received wisdom I was carrying around, even with all the listening I've done over the years. Casting aside all shibboleths, I realized how many questions I had about her career. Were the Columbia years truly musically barren? What happened at Atlantic after the hits? Was any of her time at Arista equal to her best work?

What follows is a brief overview of some of the thoughts I had while listening to every track available on Spotify on a quest to assemble a playlist that would give you "A Brand New Look At Aretha."

Columbia records stewarded the careers of Billie Holiday and Miles Davis, to name just two artists, working with latter for over 15 years in one of the great artist-label relationships. Greater still is their connection to Bob Dylan, who has worked with them for over 50 years and, aside from a brief time at Asylum, will likely finish his career with all of his albums under their wing. So what did they get wrong with Aretha Franklin?

Listening to the nine - nine - albums of material Aretha recorded for the label from 1961 through 1965, the word that keeps coming to mind is “another,” as in she could be “another Dinah Washington” or “another Ruth Brown” or “another Sarah Vaughn,” or even “another Nellie Lutcher” - but in all those years and sessions, Columbia never seemed to grasp that she could never be anyone else, she could only be Aretha Franklin - and we will surely never have another one of her. 

Like Holiday, Davis, and Dylan (and Elvis, Patsy Cline, The Beatles, Hendrix, Bowie, Michael Jackson and a few others), Aretha, when she finally came into her own, stood alone in her field, a shining example of the music that defined her - and which she in turn defined. Of that group, Aretha was among the most relentless about maintaining her privacy, only occasionally having her personal life spill into the media circus. Her reticence made it easy to focus exclusively on Aretha’s music as I went through my process, but it also sometimes lent an impersonal quality to her music, something I will touch on later.

But crawling through her the Columbia recordings, including some that weren't released until later, I did find some gems, but I also heard a singer still finding her own voice. I don't think the stylistic waywardness was entirely attributable to her producers. Also, a quick look at the credits puts the lie to the “Atlantic gave her back her piano” myth, as she did play the instrument on some sessions. 

But it can’t be denied that after joining Atlantic Records in 1966, Aretha instantly hit her stride. She took immediately to producer Jerry Wexler's approach, which had her singing at the piano on most tracks, often accompanied by two of her sisters, Erma and Carolyn. They also chose recent and new songs more tailored to the times and her sensibility, finally escaping Tin Pan Alley, and had her collaborating with younger musicians like the mighty King Curtis. However, hindsight in this case is a lot fuzzier than 20/20, as even at her peak for every classic, indelible album like I Never Loved A Man The Way I Love You, Lady Soul, Spirit In The Dark or Amazing Grace, there’s usually one or two others less well remembered.  

Consider the fact that during her 12-year tenure with Atlantic, Aretha released 19 albums, not including compilations - and her reputation was mainly built on just four of them. Atlantic might have served her well by insisting on slowing things down a little to keep the pipeline of great - not merely good - songs full. But massive, world-beating success tends to cloud people’s judgement as they seek more of the same. It also should be noted that her time at Atlantic overlapped with her most dedicated work on the civil rights movement, which may have also stretched her thin at times. That legacy is a crucial part of her life, but I will leave it to others more qualified than I to describe it.

Then came the Arista years, starting in 1980, when she became yet another legend scooped up by Clive Davis, along with Lou Reed and Iggy Pop. Like them, Franklin struggled a bit commercially under Davis’s glossy approach, especially at the beginning. She released 10 albums over 23 years with the label, during which time she found some success in the MTV era. While she did fall prey to some of the sonic foibles of the time, working with outstanding talents like Marcus Miller and Luther Vandross kept some of that in check. 

I sometimes feel a sense of over-familiarity with the  great Atlantic albums, especially I Never Loved A Man and Lady Soul, so I decided to ignore one or two of them while making the playlist. The hit singles were so ubiquitous (and perhaps over-licensed to film and television) and I listened to the albums so many times that they are a part of my DNA. So, my brief going in was to hopefully include at least one song from every album while keeping the final result to no more than two and a half hours. This was tougher than I thought as I didn’t realize how many albums she had put out overall - close to 40!

There are five Atlantic albums from the late 70’s that are NOT on Spotify, which helped with the playlist's length but hindered completeness. None of them were commercial successes, but any fan of Aretha or funk and soul from the era will find good stuff within their grooves. Until Atlantic heeds my call on Twitter to add them to the platform, I direct you to YouTube or even DailyMotion to find songs from With Everything I Feel In Me (1974), You (1975), Sweet Passion (1977), Almighty Fire (1978) and La Diva (1979). There must be a story there, as the label also neglected to include those records in the set disingenuously called The Atlantic Albums Collection. It’s frankly a shame and even disRESPECTtful that music-biz shenanigans are suppressing a quarter of her output for the label. Her last album of new material, A Woman Falling Out Love (2011), which she self-released, is also not available for streaming - yet. 

Now to the playlist. While many of these songs may be unfamiliar to you - as they were to me - they have held up to repeated listenings and enriched my understanding of Aretha's extraordinary career. Here’s a rundown of all the songs I ended up with, along with some interesting tidbits I learned along the way. 

BEGINNINGS

While The Blood Runs Warm (from Aretha Gospel aka Songs Of Faith, 1956)

Like most soul singers, Aretha got her start in church. This live album, recorded at New Bethel Baptist Church in her hometown of Detroit, probably under her father’s gaze, gives us a fascinating peek at those origins. The 14-year-old Aretha displays extraordinary command, both in her singing and her piano playing, and if the shadow of Mahalia Jackson looms large, that was true for every gospel singer who came after her. Jackson was also one of several women who took care of Aretha after her mother died in 1952 so some of the influence was very direct!

THE COLUMBIA YEARS 

Won’t Be Long and Who Needs You (from Aretha in Person with the Ray Bryant Combo, 1961)

After all I read about the Columbia years, this debut album opened with a nice surprise in the sprightly and swinging Won’t Be Long, written by John Leslie McFarland, a so-so songwriter and arranger assigned to Aretha by John Hammond, the legendary record man who signed Franklin to the label. It’s not a great song, but Aretha goes for it - listen to her voice crack when she sings “on the 5:03.” Who Needs You?, a rare Billie Holiday co-write, is even better. Aretha sings this kiss-off song like she means it, with a smile in her voice and adding little Lutcher-like hiccups, a young singer trying on another’s guise. However, it was also a style that was at least 10 years gone. She’s at the piano on this track and you can hear the difference. 

Rough Lover (from The Electrifying Aretha Franklin, 1961)

Much of this second album is a disappointing retreat from the hints of success on the first one, with the producers rooting around in the Great American songbook for ill-fitting numbers like Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive. Hardly electrifying, and even worse was the echo they put on her voice, giving it distance when clarity and closeness were required. This song, another McFarland original, tries a bit too hard, but the fun Aretha is having pretending to be a salty old blues singer is infectious. Also, the “Now listen here, girls” intro sounds a lot like the Aretha we would come to know and love a few years later. 

Without The One You Love (from The Tender, the Moving, the Swinging Aretha Franklin, 1962)

The sweeping strings that announce Aretha’s first recorded composition indicate just how far off the mark Columbia was drifting in their search for a sound for Aretha. It’s a highly derivative ballad, not without melodic sophistication, but she struggles a bit to give it shape. There's actually a Berry Gordy, Jr. song called I'm Wandering on the album, a minor effort made worse by an intrusive trombone. But at least it showed an awareness of Motown, which had already put songs at the top of the charts by 1962.

Skylark (from Laughing On The Outside, 1963) 

Aretha’s ballad style is showing considerable improvement on this Hoagy Carmichael-Johnny Mercer chestnut, with more dynamic range and structure. Listen for the way she hits the word “skylark” after the bridge - wow. There’s another original on the album, but also a lot of songs that had been recorded by others, including Ella Fitzgerald, who seems to be the inspiration for the cover photo. 

Note: after this point, the Columbia years get a little tangled, as they were recording more than they were releasing in their elusive search for a sound and success. Some material was put out on albums after 1966 in an attempt to piggyback on the big sales Aretha was racking up at Atlantic. In 2011, a comprehensive box set tried to put some coherence to the sessions and I have used that to try to put the songs in the order in which they were recorded. 

I May Never Get To Heaven (from Take It Like You Give It, 1967, but recorded earlier (1963?); now on Tiny Sparrow: The Bobby Scott Sessions) 

Even with all their flailing about, Columbia never tried a gospel album with Aretha, though they had had considerable success with Mahalia Jackson. She sounds very comfortable with the churchy overtones of this song and her singing is extraordinary - check out how she uses her breath to support the ladder of notes in the chorus, especially at the end of the song. Bobby Scott’s production is uncluttered and crisp. 

Nobody Knows The Way I Feel This Morning (from Unforgettable: A Tribute To Dinah Washington, 1964) 

Dinah Washington had died just two months earlier and Aretha sounds very inspired to pay tribute on this track, which is one of her finest blues recordings - period. It’s a master class in inflection that will have you hanging on every iteration of the word “morning.” Also helpful is a very engaged small group featuring the great Paul Griffin, who played with everyone from Bob Dylan to Steely Dan, on organ, alongside the classy George Duvivier on bass and the explosive drummer Gary Chester. The string-heavy ballads, like the title track, come across as fairly rote, but this is still one of Aretha’s more consistent Columbia albums. 

One Room Paradise (from Runnin' Out Of Fools, 1964)

Another McFarland number, which means that it succeeds despite being a bit of a parody. Even though he had somewhat of track record, mainly dating to the 50's, it's mystery to me why he had so much cred with John Hammond. They had Bob Dylan right there and never thought to try Aretha with one of his songs! But a tight arrangement including some delightful interaction between Aretha and the background vocalists make it the best recording on the album. That surprised me because seeing Walk On By, Every Little Bit Hurts and My Guy On the track list raised my hopes - yet they all fall curiously flat. 

I’ll Keep On Smiling (from Take A Look, 1967, but recorded earlier (1964?); now on Take A Look: The Clyde Otis Sessions)

“I’m gonna smile and take it baby,” Aretha nearly spits out at the top of this song (another original composition) in a way that makes you think she had other things on her mind besides a wayward man. Was it her first civil rights anthem?

One Step Ahead (Single, 1965, now on A Bit Of Soul)

This winsome, starlit ballad met with some success at the time - Aretha even performed it on TV! While it still feels nearly a decade out of date, its charms are undeniable. Hip hop producer Ayatollah agreed when he discovered it in 1998, kicking off his career with a beat made from the song, which was made into a hit by Mos Def. 

Take It Like You Give It (from Take It Like You Give It, 1967, but recorded earlier (1965?); now on A Bit Of Soul)

This Aretha original, brief though it is, starts to hint at a contemporary soul sound, with some nice call and response vocals and a tougher delivery from the burgeoning Queen. 

Cry Like A Baby (from Soul Sister, 1966, but recorded earlier (1965?); now on A Bit Of Soul)

This early Ashford & Simpson song, co-written with Jo Armstead, finds Aretha romping all over the tight arrangement, especially at the end. Not perfect, but definite signs of life. In David Ritz's Respect: The Life Of Aretha Franklin, Clyde Otis, who produced most of her later Columbia tracks, revealed some of the challenges they had working together. “Strange woman. Brilliant woman. A woman blessed with inordinate talent,” he told Ritz, "and yet, for all our time together, a woman I never really understood or even got to know. I saw her as a woman holding in secret pain — and I wasn’t let in on those secrets.”

Trouble In Mind (from Yeah!!!, 1965)

This was the last album Columbia released while she was still signed to the label. Having her record live in the studio with a small band (including the great Kenny Burrell on guitar) was a good idea, but adding phony applause and marketing it as a live album was a terrible one. Fortunately, all that was stripped away during the reissue program allowing us to judge the album more clearly. In the end, it's another missed opportunity due to the mostly lousy song selection. This classic blues fares quite well, however, and you can hear Aretha taking charge when she counts the band in from the piano. Her phrasing is starting to acquire the clipped, declarative style that would take the world by storm.

THE ATLANTIC YEARS 

Don't Let Me Lose This Dream (from I've Never Loved A Man The Way I Love You, 1967)

There aren't really any deep cuts on this five-star classic album, but this bossa nova-inspired song, co-written by Aretha and her first husband, Ted White, is a personal favorite of mine. It has all the qualities of the four singles released from the record, including carefully modulated dynamics and a very compelling, natural feeling to the arc of the song as she subtly ramps up the tension. Her piano dances all around the track and the harmonizing with Carolyn, Erma and Cissy Houston is sheer bliss.

Ain't Nobody (Gonna Turn Me Around) (from Aretha Arrives, 1967)

Ronnie Shannon's Baby, I Love You is the only real classic from this album, which was released a mere five months after the titanic I've Never Loved A Man. But this tune, written by Carolyn, has a delightful insouciance and a great background vocal arrangement. It deserves to be better known.

I Take What I Want (from Aretha Now, 1968)

After the downturn of Arrives, Aretha and her team regrouped and cut Lady Soul (1968), which was another end-to-end winner that should be in everyone's collection. Aretha Now, which came out just a few months later, was nearly as good. Sam & Dave originally cut this Isaac Hayes-David Porter-Teenie Hodges number, but Aretha's version puts a more relaxed spin on it. Jerry Jemmott gives a masterclass in bass playing and Cissy Houston and the Sweet Inspirations add enough extra sass that it's hard to call them "background" singers.

(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction (from Aretha In Paris, 1968)

This first live release is highly underrated and is an energetic blast from start to finish. When she cut this signature Stones song on Aretha Arrives it was stiff and sounded miscast. She kept at it though and really ripped into it live, finding new contours in Mick Jagger's monotonic vocal line. She obviously loved the song and kept it in her setlist at least through the early 70's.

Rambling (from Soul '69, 1969)

While not all of this "big band" album works, when it does Aretha is clearly having a great time, as on this Big Maybelle cover. She never really stops singing throughout - listen to the way she heralds in the sax solo (either King Curtis or David "Fathead" Newman) - and the last minute finds her riffing and scatting, inciting the band to "tell a story" and wailing until she's nearly breathless. You will be, too.

Eleanor Rigby (from This Girl's In Love With You, 1970)

The funk is getting a little harder on Aretha's first 70's album and no more so than on this storming take on Paul McCartney's introspective jewel. As we know from Respect, Aretha had no trouble changing lyrics to suit herself and the little twist of saying "I'm Eleanor Rigby" is surprisingly effective. Also surprising is that there's more of the church here than in her version of Let It Be, which McCartney had written with her in mind. Her ownership of Eleanor Rigby is impressive, but she couldn't do the same with Son Of A Preacher Man, forever the property of Dusty Springfield. The tight group of Muscle Shoals musicians hearkens back to her first work with Atlantic just three years earlier.

Why I Sing The Blues (from Spirit In The Dark, 1970)

Keeping up with her brutal schedule of two albums each year, Aretha also managed to have four originals on this record, including the brilliant title track. That song became another thing entirely on stage, as in this astonishing whisper-to-a scream workout from Antibes in 1971. Even when she hands the mic off to dance, you know who's leading the band. She stays at the electric piano in another amazing version from the Fillmore West - until she gives it up to Ray Charles! This B.B. King song closes the album and she sings it as if she lived it - and she probably did.

Love The One You're With (from Live At The Fillmore West, 1971)

"A little something that we're experimenting with tonight," says Aretha, introducing her version of the Steven Stills song, "And we hope you enjoy it as much as we're going to." Her ear had no doubt picked up on the touches of gospel and Muscle Shoals soul in the original and she amplifies all those things with her tightly drilled band. Even though this album is rated fairly highly, I feel like she doesn't get the props as a live performer that she deserves. An expanded version from 2015 adds two more complete concerts, including full opening sets by King Curtis. An especially poignant moment comes near the end of the March 7, 1971 show when Aretha says "Look for King and I to do our thing, for years to come," not knowing that five months later he would be brutally murdered, ripping away one of her staunchest musical companions.

A Brand New Me (from Young, Gifted and Black, 1972)

This album had a fairly long gestation, being recorded from August 1970 through February 1971. Six singles came off of it, including the phenomenal Rock Steady, which might be her funkiest composition. That song was a showcase for the great drummer Bernard "Pretty" Purdie, and the whole record is filled with sharp studio musicians, which results in maybe a little too much polish overall. This song, written by Philly Soul avatars Kenny Gamble, Jerry Butler and Theresa Bell, was originally recorded by Dusty Springfield in 1969. Unlike with Son Of A Preacher Man, Aretha has no problem making it her own. She finds a higher register in her voice and captures the tune's exuberance perfectly.

How I Got Over (from Amazing Grace, 1972)

Over a decade into her professional career it was well past time for a gospel album from Aretha and the landmark live album that resulted was more than worth the wait. This version of the Clara Ward standard is a good representation of the ecstatic feel throughout. A documentary film, directed by Sydney Pollack, was shot during the recording of the album and finally completed in 2011. Aretha blocked every attempt at showing it during her lifetime; it remains to be seen if her estate will change that.  [Update: After Aretha's death, her estate allowed the movie to be released, to almost universal praise. Stream it here.]

Young, Gifted and Black (from Oh Me, Oh My: Aretha Live In Philly 1972, 2007)

This concert, recorded at an industry convention, was a great discovery. While it's a less expansive show than the Fillmore sets, it has some unique features like this instrumental version of the Nina Simone song that Aretha had covered on her most recent studio album. She really shines as a bandleader here, clearly delighted to be among instrumental equals. She comps for everyone's solos, keeping a lively background going, and when it's her turn she sparkles in a rhythmic dialog with the conga player that keeps everyone on their toes.

Hey Now Hey (The Other Side Of The Sky) (from Hey Now Hey (The Other Side Of The Sky), 1973)

It's hard to know where to lay the blame for this, the first near-total disaster of Aretha's Atlantic tenure. Was it the fault of Quincy Jones, who was still some years off from finding his way as a producer outside of jazz? Aretha was co-producer, however, so some of the responsibility is hers. Was she missing the sure hand of King Curtis, who was a savant when it came to combining pop, soul and jazz? We'll never know, but there are so many wrong directions here that it's hard to know where to start. From the interminable version of the Leonard Bernstein-Steven Sondheim song Somewhere, to the wrong-footed take on Moody's Mood For Love, not to mention deservedly forgotten songs like Mister Spain, there's not a lot good to say about the album. The brightest spots come from Aretha's pen, as on So Swell When You're Well, a collaboration with New Orleans piano genius James Booker, and the title track. The main part of the song is hard funk, with stunning playing from the rhythm section and pianist Spooner Oldham - and Aretha singing the heck out of it. There's an almost psychedelic bridge that doesn't really work, but it doesn't last long, and you can't hold her ambition against her.

Let Me In Your Life (from Let Me In Your Life, 1974)

With Jerry Wexler back in the producer's chair, this was a huge improvement over the previous album. There were new collaborators on board as well, including Donny Hathaway and, on the Bill Withers song that opened the album, Brazilian legend Eumir Deodato. The album also makes fewer concessions to rock and pop, which could be seen as a reflection of the fragmentation of the audience, in part thanks to that other Atlantic act, Led Zeppelin. Disco was on the rise, funk was getting deeper, and some white listeners may not have been following as closely as they once had.

I Get High (from Sparkle, 1976)

After the disappointing sales of With Everything I Feel In Me (1974) and You (1975), her last two albums with Jerry Wexler, Aretha got wind of Curtis Mayfield's score for the movie Sparkle. In the film, a tale of the rise and fall of a singing group not unlike The Supremes, the singing is done by the actors, including Irene Cara of Fame fame. But Aretha used her legendary status to muscle in on the soundtrack album and sang over the original backing tracks, scoring both commercial and artistic success. This song is the most "Curtis" sounding on the album, which makes it my favorite.

Aretha closed out her time at Atlantic with three albums that are ripe for re-appraisal. Sweet Passion (1977) found her working with Motown great Lamont Dozier, Almighty Fire (1978) paired her up with Mayfield again (and was sometimes funkier than Sparkle!), and La Diva (1979) was her first true bid for the disco dance floor, with Van McCoy, The Hustle man himself, lending a hand. Her singing was always fine and all three albums have their moments and would have found places on this playlist. The music biz is no stranger to posthumous cash-grabs and this is one case where some deluxe reissues would be more than welcome.

Just as Aretha was transitioning to Arista, her first new label since 1967, tragedy struck when her father, C.L. Franklin was shot in a robbery attempt. Not only was he a nationally known preacher who had marched with MLK, he had guided Aretha's early career and appeared on Amazing Grace. He was in a coma for the next few years, but just as with King Curtis, Aretha mostly kept what must have been devastating sorrow out of her music.

THE ARISTA YEARS

Take Me With You (from Aretha, 1980)

Aretha's first album on her new label featured a few holdovers from the Atlantic era, most notably producer Arif Mardin, but there were a lot of new faces as well. Chuck Jackson (not the Any Day Now singer but one of the writers behind Leaving Me by The Independents) co-produced and wrote several of the songs, including this sprightly dance number. Aretha had obviously been paying attention to the great disco divas and absorbed their techniques, turning in an amazing, inspired performance. If it seemed a little late for disco in 1980, time's flattening effect allows us to enjoy Take Me With You as catchy and fun party-starter. The album sold fairly well, but was not quite the knockout punch she needed. Much of it has not held up, either veering into "adult contemporary" territory, or trying too hard, as with the regrettable "update" of Otis Redding's I Can't Turn You Loose. The cover photo, a relatable but glamorous shot by Hollywood legend George Hurrell was a huge upgrade on some of her later Atlantic albums, however!

Truth And Honesty (from Love All The Hurt Away, 1981)

Written by the trio of Burt Bacharach, Carol Bayer Sager and Peter Allen, this track is thankfully not a gloopy mess, but rather a classy and upbeat variation on one of Aretha's favorite themes: treat me right. Arif Mardin was back as producer and Marcus Miller, who would become an important collaborator, makes his first appearance on an Aretha album, playing bass on several tracks. There was also a so-so duet with George Benson and a couple more horrid remakes, namely You Can't Always Get What You Want and Hold On I'm Coming, which bizarrely earned a Grammy award, Aretha's first since 1974.

It's Your Thing (from Jump To It, 1982)

The title track was a huge hit, although in retrospect it's not much of a song. This track was another remake and really should not have worked, but the arrangement and Aretha's joy in singing it make it an infectious winner. Marcus Miller's bass is insane and the vocal arrangement, which included Erma for the first time in years, is hypnotic. Producer Luther Vandross no doubt had something to do with that. The horns, arranged brilliantly by Jerry Hey, equal anything on Off The Wall or Thriller, on which he worked that same year. There's also a nice collaboration with the Four Tops and a Smokey Robinson song to end what was Aretha's most consistent album in quite some time.

Pretender (from Get It Right, 1983)

Having got it right with Jump To It, Aretha stuck with Vandross and Miller for the next album. She seems to connect with this slinky song, another in the "treat me right" genre. The title track was a decent slice of shiny 80's funk, with Aretha toying with a new huskiness in her voice. The last song, called Giving In and credited to Clarence Franklin (also the name of her first child), has touch of gospel and makes me wonder if she was coming to terms with her father's situation. But it's also a pretty bland love song, so who knows? In any case, he would be dead within a year.

Integrity (from Who's Zoomin' Who?, 1985)

Sales for Get It Right were lower than Jump To It, so Arista head Clive Davis took matters in hand, ditching Vandross and Miller and bringing in Narada Michael Walden, another jazz fusion guy making the switch to pop and R&B. Davis's instincts were correct, at least commercially, and Aretha rose to the top of the MTV and Billboard charts with Freeway Of Love, Another Night and Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves, giving her a platinum album and making her a star for a new generation of listeners. She also had another go at Van McCoy's Sweet Bitter Love, finally conquering a song she had first recorded at Columbia in 1965 . But it's this self-penned (and self-produced) song that's the hidden gem for me. It's less cluttered than much of the album, and the Dizzy Gillespie trumpet solo is a perfect touch. You also feel for Aretha, because someone is taking advantage of her, whether in love or business. She was still seeking respect all those years later.

He'll Come Along (from Aretha, 1986)

Of course Walden was back as they tried to hit the same heights as Who's Zoomin' Who. They almost made it, sales-wise, but much of the album was a bloated mess. Even with Aretha back at the piano, the cover of Jumpin' Jack Flash was wretched, and the other singles weren't much better. This song again written and produced by Aretha, is a return to a gospel-soul sound and is filled with hope for romantic possibilities. She sings to raise the roof, especially on the ad libs near the end.

We Need Power (from One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism, 1987)

Speaking of power, now that Aretha had regained some clout, she turned back to the church for her second gospel album. This gave her a chance to sing more with her sisters and with Mavis Staples, who was more up to the challenge than other duet partners like Annie Lennox and George Michael. Structured like a service and recorded at her father's church in Detroit, the album is both a personal statement and a near-definitive document of a crucial part of African-American life. As this song proves, the fervor was as real as it was on Amazing Grace, even if fewer people were listening this time around. One impetus for making the album might have been her sister Carolyn's health. She was probably already being treated for the breast cancer that killed her the following year, another of Aretha's pillars of support gone too soon.

He's The Boy (from Through The Storm, 1989)

After the gospel shouts had faded, and Carolyn had died, it was back to business as usual. Walden produced again and there were more duets, with James Brown, Elton John, Whitney Houston, etc. A lot of that stuff sounds pretty bad at this late date, but Aretha rescued the album with another original tune, leading a small band (including Louis Johnson on bass) from the piano and delivering an understated vocal that's a coy and sexy delight.

You Can't Take Me For Granted (from What You See Is What You Sweat, 1991)

Even with sagging sales, Clive Davis doubled down on the Who's Zoomin' Who strategy, adding more duets and a passel of producers to Aretha's first album of the 90s. She looks less than thrilled on the cover and album-buyers responded in kind. I hate to keep harping on this, but she sounds most engaged on another of her own songs with her own stripped down production. Was she telling Davis not to take her for granted? Either way, he seemed to not be paying attention.

I'll Dip (from A Rose Is Still A Rose, 1998)

After nine records in 11 years, Aretha finally took a break. When she was ready to get back to work, Davis (to his credit) urged her to take stock of the current scene, including neo-soul and hip hop. Even if the album only went gold, it was a good move artistically, with Aretha sounding more than comfortable in new surroundings. While people still remember the Lauryn Hill-produced title track, as far as the rest of the album goes, this sinewy Dallas Austin song is ripest for rediscovery. It's almost a duet with super-funky bassist Colin Wolf - maybe she was reminiscing about all those sessions with Marcus Miller and Louis Johnson while she sang.

So Damn Happy (from So Damn Happy, 2003)

Five years later, after taking time off to care for her sister Erma, who had throat cancer and died in 2002, Aretha was still trying to keep up with the charts. She worked with Mary J. Blige and Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis, but also followed new Arista head Antonio Reid's lead in trying to get back to her roots a little bit. This song is a good example, but was it better than the other originals she had been sprinkling around her last few albums? Maybe not, but at least Reid was noticing and had her include two more of her own songs on the album.

Teach Me Tonight (from Sings The Great Diva Classics, 2014)

After Christmas album in 2008 (see below), Aretha self-released A Woman Falling Out Of Love, which she also executive produced in 2011. It's a bit of a mixed bag, but New Day, a groovy bid for the dance floor, is worth revisiting, and she obviously loved Sweet Sixteen, the B.B. King song she included, performing it until the end of her life. For her last studio album, however, she signed with RCA and rejoined Clive Davis for a misconceived collection of covers. Even though "The Aretha Version" of Adele's Rolling In The Deep was her 100th entry on the R&B charts, it was frankly beneath her to sing it. The take on Prince's Nothing Compares 2 U, produced by Andre 3000 of OutKast, was almost weird enough to work. But it was this song, ironically a return to Tin Pan Alley, that held the most charm. Written by Gene De Paul & Sammy Cahn and a hit for Dinah Washington in 1954, it gave Aretha a chance to show off her still-expert jazz chops and steer clear of bombast. But on the whole, this album was not the career capstone anyone was hoping for.

The Lord Will Come Again (from This Christmas, Aretha, 2008)

OK, I cheated. I wanted to end where we started all those songs ago, with a gospel song, so I swapped the order of the last two albums. Christmas albums are usually terrible and I had zero expectations for this one, originally released as an exclusive sold only at Borders Bookstores. "That's so depressing," my wife said when I told her about it, and I had to agree, picturing that now defunct chain of stores. But there's more than one good song on the album and this traditional spiritual is her best studio performance (for live performances, look no further than Obama's inauguration or the "coat drop") of the new millennium. Aretha's arrangement is pure, unvarnished contemporary gospel and her choice of background singers (Twatha Agee, Shelly Ponder and Fonzi Thornton) could not have been better. She rides the mesmerizing rhythm to glory, taking us home one more time.

When I finally came to the end of this journey, I felt clearer on those three questions I articulated above. The Columbia years were not entirely devoid of worth, but can be heard as an extended time of growing up in public. After the hits, her Atlantic years become complicated, possibly reflecting her personal struggles and a lack of support from the label. The two decades at Arista, and afterwards, really only touched on past glories but hold many special moments nonetheless.

After you've had some time to absorb all these songs, I hope you'll have found some new favorites along with a new perspective on the career of one of our most acclaimed and legendary musicians. Tell me one of your favorite deep cuts and let's keep Aretha Franklin's memory alive the way she would have wanted, through her songs. 

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Bob Dylan’s Bootleg Gospel

Father Bob Zimmy doesn’t so much enter the conference room as apparate there, black hoodie drawn Unabomber tight, opaque sunglasses banking the fire of his piercing blue eyes. He sits down at the long, mirror-polished mahogany table, conforming his lanky frame to the Italian leather ergonomics of the chair at the head. He flicks a lever somewhere underneath the seat with the confidence of a NASCAR driver shifting and accelerating into the winning position, the chair tilts back and in the same motion, Dylan’s immaculately worn cowboy boots rise up and find a home on the wooden surface. He sweeps off the hood, removes the sunglasses with a precise pincer grasp on the bridge, and looks up at the three people at the front of the room: “Whaddya got?” The question comes out more like a secret, but he’s got nothing more to say.

The first exec fiddles with his shirt collar and presses a button on the embedded console. A title slide appears on the screen to his left: “Bob Dylan Bootleg Series Vol 13: Proposal One.” He clears his throat but before the first word is emitted, there’s a creak from Dylan’s chair. He’s holding up his hand, sunglasses still within, like an extra appendage. “There’s no poetry in PowerPoint,” he rasps, “shut that thing off.” The exec flicks his eyes at his colleagues, complies without a word, and starts his pitch. 

“There’s a lot of social media buzz around performances from the Nineties, on YouTube and in various Facebook groups. There’s a consensus building that you had something special going on then, especially in the wake of Time Out Of Mind and all the new songs it put into the set.” Dylan moves his head almost imperceptibly, his way of telling the suit to continue. “So, here’s the cover art for Bootleg Series Vol. 13: Never Ending Nineties - The Baxter-Campbell-Jackson Years.” He slides a glossy printout down the table before resuming. It's a mock-up of a cover featuring photos of Dylan with Bucky Baxter, Larry Campbell and John Jackson. “We based it a little on this Duke Ellington package from a while ago, The Blanton-Webster Years. Won a Grammy, highly acclaimed, still mentioned as one of the best catalog releases of all time.”

Dylan contemplates the cover art for a few silent minutes before swinging his legs off the table and leaning in. “That might be good for the Duke,” he says, “having those other fellas names on the cover. But he was six feet under by that time, and I ain’t there yet. Nothing makes me happier than bootlegging those bootleggers on YouTube - that money doesn’t swear - it sings - but no.” He doesn’t even need to say “next” for the next victim to know she’s at the plate. 

“Thanks, Bob,” the woman says, looking a little overheated in expensive denim, and glancing at some bullet points in her binder, “Your Live at Budokan album is one of your most divisive, with some people claiming it was too glitzy, like Elvis in Vegas. What most people don’t know is that you rehearsed that band for over a month before going tour. It was one of your largest groups and you wanted them tight.” Dylan cocks his head, he’s interested. “You had them work up 150 songs in preparation, many of which were never performed outside of their original studio versions. And there are two previously unpublished songs that were only ever worked on during those rehearsals.” She stops talking, gets up, walks down to where Dylan is sitting and puts a piece of paper in front of him. 

The mock-up shows a photo of Dylan in a circle with all the Budokan musicians, standing in front of a stage dense with gear. The words on top say, Bob Dylan: The Bootleg Series Vol. 13: Budokan Or Bust. Dylan picks up the sheet, giving it a hard stare. The exec hands him another document, which shows the potential track listing. “We’re thinking eight CDs and a DVD for the deluxe version, with a two CD standard issue. We -“ Dylan holds up a hand. 

“This could almost work,” Dylan says slowly, “but there’s one problem. Ian Wallace was perhaps the worst drummer I ever worked with. Every building needs a floor,” he adds cryptically, “Or you got nowhere to stand.” He puts the pages down, pushes them away on the slick wood, and speaks volumes with his eyebrows as he looks at the third A&R person, a balding man with stringy hair and an unkempt beard, typical aging hippie. 

The man reaches under the table, picks up a small musical instrument case and places it on the surface. Looking directly at Dylan, he flicks open the two clasps and lifts the lid, revealing a tambourine nestled in black foam. With his eyes still on Dylan, he picks up the tambourine, shakes it high above his head and brings it dramatically down onto his other hand. There’s a second of silence that he fills with a deliberate rhythm, getting up from his chair, and stalking towards Dylan, making full eye contact and singing, in a thick New York accent: “You may be an ambassador to England or France/You may like to gamble, you may like to dance/You may be the heavyweight champion of the world/You may be a socialite with a long (it sounds like “lawnnnng”) string of pearls/But you’re going to have to serve somebody/Yes, you are, you’re going to have to serve somebody/Well, it may be the devil or it may be the lord, but you’re going to have to serve somebody!”

He’s timed it perfectly, so on the last word he stops right in front of Dylan, slapping the tambourine one last time on his hip. Maintaining eye contact, Dylan waves one hand in the air, a wry grin starting on his lined face. The old hippie reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a wrinkled sheet of paper with his mock-up, unfolds it, and places it in front of Dylan. It shows the singer onstage in a shamanic pose, arms outstretched, wearing a guitar, in full electric preacher mode. Above the picture are the words “Bob Dylan - Bootleg Series Vol. 13: Gospel Train (1979-1981).”

Dylan indicates the chair closest to him and the man sits down, the other two execs forgotten by both of them. “This I like,” Zimmy says, “because everybody hated and misunderstood that whole time. It was as if I really was Judas - but I had murdered Bob Dylan.” He makes air quotes when saying his name. “So what are we talking here? Live stuff? Rehearsals, outtakes, demos? Hell if I can remember how all those records happened. I DO know for sure that I wanted Saved to be a live album but Columbia said no," He looks pointedly at the other two execs in the room, who pretend to check their phones. "Can we do that?”

“Absolutely,” his new best friend says, pulling another document out of his pocket, “and more, much more.” He unfolds the paper, smoothing it down on the table. It’s an 11x14 spreadsheet, with song names and  recording dates and locations, color-coded to show which songs appear multiple times. “We’ve got all of Saved, except for A Satisfied Mind, in brilliant performances, and all of Slow Train and most of Shot of Love, too! We even dug up 14 unreleased songs. Now listen to this..." He pulls a phone out of his pocket, unlocks it with his face, and makes of couple of gestures. The familiar "bloop" sound is heard as a Google Audio device picks up the signal. He presses play and Slow Train starts playing, but in a completely different version from the one on the studio album. It has a stomping beat and an aggressive edge, with two extraordinary guitar solos that push it into the stratosphere. By the time it ends, Dylan is pounding his hand on the table with the rhythm.

"Hot damn!" Zimmy exclaims, "That was some hot shit band, huh? You know, I got Jim Keltner, the ultimate studio rat drummer to come on the road with me. He told me he cried after every song on Slow Train Coming. Little did he know we'd be out for almost three years! And Fred Tackett on guitar, he was at loose ends after Lowell George died, and Little Feat was in flux. Then I had Tim Drummond, a gut-punching bass player if there ever was one. Spooner Oldham on keys - name someone better." He shakes his head slowly, marveling in the memory of it. "Then I had a little gospel choir to lend some sweetening, as the old record men used to say. Talking about Clydie King, Carolyn Dennis, Regina McCrary...couple others. These women could make the phone book sound like hallelujah. I even married one of them," he finishes slyly. "Good as they were, though, I think we should leave their solo sets off-a this thing. We want to focus people on my songs, do a little hard-sell. Same goes for my sermons - who knows what the heck I was going on about, anyhow. I was in the moment. That moment has past, but the songs' time is still to come."

The stringy-haired man utters a near-silent "Amen," and plays a few more songs. Everything sounds sizzling. Ballads burn with quiet fire, rockers are super-charged, even in rehearsal, and abandoned songs hint at new directions and further possibilities. One standout is a rehearsal of Slow Train that seems to come out of the mist, horns and percussion giving it sonic equivalence to Bob Marley & The Wailers circa 1979. Another rehearsal take, of Caribbean Wind featuring a weeping pedal steel, is finally, maybe, a definitive take of a most elusive song. Zimmy listens carefully, then remarks, almost to himself, "That one I couldn't quite grasp what it was about when I finished it."* There's also a very different, searing version of the same song, from its only concert outing in 1980, and a never-before-heard song called Making A Liar Out Of Me that's nearly the equivalent of Blind Willie McTell's surprise appearance on the first Bootleg Series release.

After a couple more live tracks, Dylan puts up a finger: "You hear how good this stuff sounds? We wanted to make a live album, remember, or albums - Shot Of Love could've been better, too - so we took extra care with our stage set-up. Look at the pictures - in many of them you'll see a four foot by 12 foot piece of Plexiglas, in between the drums and the choir. We put that baffle in there to keep the vocal bleed out of the drum mics. S'gonna make it a hell of a lot easier to master the tracks, since most of them are from cassette, right?" Everyone else in the room nods in unison. They know they've just had a brief audience with expert producer Jack Frost.

Dylan picks up the spreadsheet, starts running his finger down the columns, nodding once in a while. "I like this. You've got the cream of the live crop up top, looks like - that can be a standard release, two CDs or four LPs, and then you've got some rehearsals and outtakes, plus two more complete shows for the deluxe set. Sweet." He takes a last look at the document, puts a finger on the title and says, "We might have a problem with this Gospel Train business. What about Trouble In Mind?" Zimmy thinks for a minute. "No - Trouble No More, 'cause no one will have a problem with my "gospel era" (air quotes again) when they hear this big ol'box of goodness!" He pushes the spreadsheet back over to the old hippie, who returns with it to his seat and packs it away with the tambourine. "Good. Let's get this out by fall, right?" Everyone makes agreeable noises as Father Bob Zimmy stands up, corrals his frizzy hair with the hoodie, drawing it tight, and slips the sunglasses over his eyes. Before anyone can say a goodbye, he's in the wind. And they've got work to do.

*This is the only real Dylan quote, from an interview with Cameron Crowe referenced in the liner notes. The story about Jim Keltner's tears is also factual, as related by him to Mojo Magazine, December 2017.

Note: I haven't seen the documentary that comes with the Deluxe Edition yet. I'm sure the live footage is scintillating, but the sermons, written by Luc Santé and performed by Michael Shannon have proven divisive among viewers. Plus ća change...

Pick your version of Bob Dylan – Trouble No More – The Bootleg Series Vol. 13 / 1979-1981 - every home should have one. Still among the unconverted? Check out the sampler on Spotify.

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This will be my last regular review of the year - time to get on with detailing the Best Of 2017!