Album Reviews

I've always wondered whether Otis Redding's Live in Europe, newly reissued on vinyl by Sundazed, was actually recorded in Europe. Frankly, I doubt it. The liner notes quote Redding reviews from Paris and the various cities in the UK, but they also refer to a Stax-Volt review featuring many artists, none of whom were given an album's worth of stage time, that's a guarantee. The audience here sounds as if it is predominantly Southern black Americans, and it's not racist to say you can tell the race and nationality of the woman who screams at Otis, "Sing 'Good to Me,' baby!" And the opening announcer sounds generically white-bread American (Little Feat's announcer on Waiting For Columbus copped this dude's riff). Maybe he was part of Redding's traveling entourage, but I doubt that too. Not that it matters where this supercharged performance took place.

Why this elegant-sounding Chicago based band steeped in the best of 1970s folk/rock chose to name itself after an obscure, and pretty much ignored fish--a trout relative (Salvelinus malma) that is not pursued either commercially or as a sport fish--is a question I can't answer. Naming your band after a fish is odd--doubly so when it's one that makes it sound as if you're talking about a person instead of a group, as in "Have you heard Dolly Varden?" "No. Who is she?" Or another response: "Dolly Parton? No, but I heard she did a version of 'Stairway to Heaven'! What was she thinking?"

This Otis Rush love fest, produced by Mike Bloomfield and Nick Gravenites at Fame in Muscle Shoals, Alabama, was payback for the generosity and help Rush provided the youngsters back in Chicago during their "formative" years. Led by The Paul Butterfield Blues Band, the white suburban audience that formed the core of the "counter-culture" had discovered the blues. Butterfield had backed Dylan at Newport in 1965, causing a big stir, and soon thereafter Mike Bloomfield and drummer Sam Lay were in the studio with Dylan to record Highway 61 Revisited.

Perhaps, in a perfect audiophile world, Shel Talmy would have arranged to remix these three-track originals to analog for the LP release and to digital for the CD. But this isn't a perfect world. However, compared to my original American Decca "stereo" pressing of The Who Sings My Generation (Decca DL 74664), this is perfection. The original stereo edition was an electronically reprocessed, boxy-sounding compressed mess. While purists may have preferred it in mono, the stereo remix found in My Generation (Deluxe Edition) is respectful and keeps most of the action centered, avoiding hard-left and -right separation. I did get a chance to hear an original UK Brunswick mono pressing, and this reissue has nothing to be ashamed of.

Perhaps you've heard the story by now. It was too good/sad to be true when I caught it a few years ago on CBS's "Sunday Morning." Cassidy was a Washington D.C. cult phenomenon who, it was said, could sing anything from the roughest-edged soul to the most delicate folk. The painfully shy blonde had trouble in front of a live audience but she had her supporters, including Chuck Brown, the innovator of the short-lived D.C. soul/dance/P-Funk-like phenomenon called "Go Go." The idea seemed to be to build it into a genre, competing with what was happening in New York City, but rap and hip-hop overshadowed it. If you can find a copy of Go Go Crankin': Paint the White House Black--a Go Go compilation issued in 1985 on Island subsidiary, 4th & Broadway (Broadway 4001)--you'll get the picture. It's still great party music, and tracks like "Drop the Bomb" by Trouble Funk still pack a powerful punch.

Lonely and Blue, the rarest and most valuable of Roy Orbison's Monument LPs--his first for the label--has been given splendid sonic and packaging care by Classic Records, in both monophonic and stereo editions. According to Classic's Mike Hobson, this is the first time the original master tapes have been used since the original pressings were issued in 1961. At a January 2003 Consumer Electronics Show press conference, Hobson told how the masters were discovered in Nashville and gave every indication of having not been "cracked" since they were used to generate the original LP. What Mobile Fidelity used for its gold CD, or Sony for its gold CD, remains a mystery, then, but when you hear this issue, you'll have no doubt the original tapes were used--especially if you've become accustomed to those CDs.