It begins well: several solid albums of traditional Dixieland jazz. The first, attributed to Al Hirt and his New Orleans All Stars, barely features his trumpet. He plays with some unnamed but able-bodied all-stars and leaves the singing to the unidentified professionals. The results are a wonderful yet generic collection of timeless songs, though "Floatin' Down to Cotton Town" might raise a few eyebrows, especially opening with a "Dixie"-tease as it does. Hirt starts to show off just a little bit more on a second album, but there's nothing too obnoxious (yet). This album and most that follow are credited to Al Hirt, so it's no longer clear if he's playing with those same All Stars anymore. Swingin' Dixie is an apt title and description for another collection of relatively familiar trad-jazz songs; curiously, the streaming version of this album that I listened to was clearly ripped from vinyl, pops and hiss and all. I dare say the next album merely adds an exclamation mark to the title and continues with more of the same on Swingin' Dixie!, but it's undeniably great jazz playing. I'm not sure I heard them all, but there are at least four Volumes of Swingin' Dixie between 1958 and 1962. The live albums from this era on the Audio Fidelity label are the best. They are well-treasured classics and the ones to snag if you see them in a used record bin. He's playing live on several of these albums at the now-defunct Dan's Pier 500 in New Orleans. This, at least, is no gimmick. He and his band were playing nightly in the French Quarter from the mid-1950s until he got too popular in the 1960s. Then he opened his own club, like fellow New Orlenean Pete Fountain did, and became a minority owner of the NFL's New Orleans Saints. He then starred in what is improbably the first Super Bowl's first halftime show in 1967; a few years later he alsoplayed the National Anthem at the Super Bowl- with signature aplomb. Hirt also had a weird career-long association with horse racing, which he'd been playing at since high school. He wasn't down at the track just for Jazz Fest! His nicknames included "Jumbo" and "The Round Mound of Sound," which is vulgar enough but at least it doesn't mention his signature beard.
My listening experience skipped next to Al Hirt at the Mardi Gras, a superb live capsule that sounded great via the 1999 remastering. Despite existing as a perfect time capsule of live Dixieland revival music, it didn't chart at the time, unlike his first two for RCA in 1961. Things changed though in 1961 when he signed with RCA Victor, for whom he recorded two or three records a year through the whole of the 60s. That's a couple dozen albums of all kinds of music for RCA, and then a handful more in the 80s.
His big break occurs in 1963 with Honey in the Horn, which went all the way to #3. It is mostly this type of music he would pump out throughout the Sixties. It's not exactly Dixieland jazz anymore, but it will sound familiar to any observers of the early 1960s. It wouldn't be out of place in the background of a 60s stock footage montage, perhaps at a swinging bachelor pad - or in an elevator. Honey in the Horn features "Java," which was a bit of a runaway hit and became his signature track, appropriately as it captures his near-silly effervescences on the trumpet perfectly. The cringeworthy orientalism isn't exactly out of place in his catalog either, though I'm sorry to say that producer/songwriter Allen Toussaint probably needs to shoulder some of the blame on this one. Toussaint had a year earlier given the track to slip-note-style piano player Floyd Cramer, who just missed the U.S. Top 40 with his version. But it was a big hit for Hirt, and won him a Grammy for best Instrumentalist. It will show up on most of his live albums: first at Carnegie Hall and later with the Boston Pops.
He follows up the success of Honey in the Horny with another album of authentic-sounding New Orleans music, but it doesn't chart nearly as well. His next one does even worse, and deservingly so. Beauty and the Beard with Ann-Margret is almost creepy in the way they verbally flirt and giggle with one another through the album. The whole awkward enterprise is unintentionally campy, though I'm sure some theater freaks out there are going to love it. There are a lot of spoken word and speak-singing duets between the two. For example, in the middle of what could be a perfectly legitimate number, she sings: "Won't you come home Bill Bailey?" to which he speaks in response: "Actually, yes, I'm seriously considering it." <eye roll> And it goes on like that, with him responding to many of the lines she sings, frequently with something as simple as a gruffly spoken, "yea, that's right, baby." This album's ridiculousness was almost intolerable upon first listening, but a dozen albums later it was a distant memory; still, this is at least the worst of his scholocking nonsense singing and un-jazz-like overplaying.
Immediately after that cringey duets album we get something completely different. Pop Goes the Trumpet is his first, but not last, album with the Boston Pops Orchestra, and fair enough- the pairing makes a lot of sense. The album opens with some heavy-trumpet bull-fighting music: it is like Sketches of Spain without taste and subtlety. There are additional orchestral pop numbers. Next, Sugar Lips is where it really starts to come together, or fall apart depending on your perspective- or your definition of "real jazz." He gets back on the pop charts with a return to his signature sound. The title (and) track perfectly captures his main frolicking tone and happy-go-lucky style. Nobody will confuse his tone for the glory of Miles Davis or Louis Armstrong holding a note, but it is a distinct sound that he will mine over and over again throughout the early- and mid-Sixties. His virtuoso dexterity on the trumpet are often cited, but nobody is going to get his tone confused with true jazz greats. At all. This is something completely different. I just can't imagine Satchmo or Miles playing anything close to the jollyness of "Sugar Lips" (later gaining even greater prominence as the theme song to a daytime gameshow called Eye Guess that aired for three years).
It goes on like that with Cotton Candy, which was also released in 1964 (his fourth album that year). It's nominated for the Album of the Year Grammy- and it features the Anita Kerr Singers on backing vocals. The album charts and so does the single "Walkin" - at least the Easy Listening charts, on which the title track goes all the way to #3. Some of these renditions on this album (or maybe it is the reissue 20 years later) are the classic versions that are omnipresent during Carnival and show up on various Mardi Gras compilations over and over again through the years. Many times before cracking this album I'd definitely heard the exact versions of "Basin Street Blues" and "Saints" featured here. I always thought he was playing with Pete Fountain here, but maybe not. It says Al Hirt on the album cover, but it is alternately credited to Al Hirt and His Orchestra or Al Hirt and His Chorus. The next year he keeps us guessing with a Christmas album that is not Dixieland, not swinging bachelor bad music, and not orchestral pops; rather, it is occasionally all three, and I enjoyed it! At this point it was a genuine surprise, but the adaptions are perfect for each song. Al Hirt's Christmas album is deserving of another spin...in December.
Producing several albums a year, every year of the 1960s, his impressive output for RCA Victor pretty much guarantees that a search through a crate of old records at a garage sale or thrift store will turn-up at least one Al Hirt record. There are more...
He reels it in perfectly for Live @ Carnegie Hall, with beautiful, fancy arrangements. He still has plenty more of his main saccharine-sweet thing again on That Honey Horn Sound. Then They're Playing Our Song really settles down for a bit. There are maudlin strings and plenty of them. Remarkably, he takes on a completely different musical persona, playing with the same warm, previously elusive restraint throughout the album. It is kinda sleepy--there is nary a drum beat to be found--but some listeners will surely consider it relaxing. The Happy Trumpet splits the difference between the on-Quaaludes sounding last album and the excessive exuberance that had preceded it. Sure, it has got "The Happy Trumpet" on it and "Candy Man Jones", but it is generally not as as sickly sweet as some of the earlier albums.
Next, he's on TV again playing the soundtrack song from The Green Hornet and releasing a whole album of TV show themes. Quentin Tarantino, who you may recall from the previous blog entry as using Al Green in Pulp Fiction, used the Green Hornet song in Kill Bill, to some acclaim, although it is pretty clearly a rip-off of "Flight of the BumbleBee." The Horn Meets "The Hornet" sees Hirt covering various contemporary TV theme songs while usually adding a very-60s guitar, along with a traditional rhythm section, and occasional keyboards. The mix adds a lovely flavor to these songs, and I enjoyed some of them, especially the thematic pieces that weren't the main theme from The Green Hornet ("The Hornet's Nest" and "Night Rumble"). We also get the themes from Get Smart, The Monkees, King Kong (?), and Tarzan. His rendition of "Batman" is perhaps the best example on record of his fabled overplaying.
Then Al goes Latin! Damn if this guy didn't keep me guessing on every single album, working hard to prevent boredom. His playing is mostly more restrained for this album, and he sings not a note. The first note of the next album, however, reveals that 'ol Sugar Lips is back. Soul in the horn? I should have seen that one coming. I didn't love his version of "Mess Around," a beloved Ray Charles song that was almost unrecognizable. And then he's got the nerve after the "soul" album to return to Dixieland. Yet, color me impressed: that makes like 7 consecutive albums that virtually all hit different genres. Music to Watch Girls By is difficult to comment on; it doesn't break any new ground. In 1968 he released Al Hirt Plays Bert Kaempfert and somehow that is one that charts (slightly) for the first time since The Happy Trumpet, two years and seven albums ago. For a collection of songs by a German guy, Hirt keeps the tone mellow. I mean, really moderate the whole time- not too bright, not too chill, just consistently medium.
He just keeps on rolling. His later 60s jazz albums are very "now" in that they have a contemporary 60s sound for sure, something about those backing vocalists being the only vocals is so vaguely interesting. He does "Wichita Lineman" and some more easy listening classics. The albums are starting to become indistinguishable. Next up is Unforgettable, which is anything but. The strings and back-up vocalists are present, but don't worry - listeners will have no problem hearing that brash horn blowing way on top of all the other sounds. It's absolutely, consistently chill, but it's also very basic. No song rises above the others and the whole things sounds like background music. That said, if you want some sounds to read, sleep, chill, or seduce by then this record will do the job without any invasiveness. Then... he gets hit with a brick in the mouth at Mardi Gras and his prolificness slows down. Saturday Night Live parodied the event.
So after 1969's Here in my Heart he goes almost 20 years without releasing an album again. His return in 1989, Cotton Candy (again- yes, the same album title from 1964) at least makes sense and is a notable return-to-form in his vast catalog, although he stopped working for RCA. Ol' Sugar Lips is back and he's ditched the Quaaludes in favor of a return to some Dixieland roots, albeit with a brashness that bellies his original traditional playing. The next album, however, is definitely and clearly attributed to the Al Hirt Band. Jazzin at the Pops is the sound of an artist running out of steam. Virtually all of these songs have appeared before in his catalog, some of them--like "Java"--repeatedly. And they didn't sound as worn-out the first time through. As pop standards these songs are OK, but it is not great jazz. There's another Christmas album and a couple of live compilations before the end. His last is, fittingly, 1996's Live At Bourbon Street. He passes way at home in New Orleans in 1999.
In the end, a review of his full discography in chronological order forces some questions about Al Hirt. Is this legitimate New Orleans Jazz? Or is it music for squares who don't know any better? Is it really-literally-elevator music from the time period? For what it is worth, in Good Morning Vietnam he's the example of what the uncool DJ wants to play, contrasting with Robin William's hip selections. Yet, paradoxically Hirt is often seen as overqualified for the music he was playing, especially the pop standards if not the Dixieland (though charging him with overplaying is certainly not unfounded). Scott Yanow at All Music put it succulently when he said "he could have done so much more with his talent." He studied classical trumpet at a Chicago conservatory and played in some of the big swing bands before returning to New Orleans to carry the torch of the traditional Dixieland movement; again, that is the retro resurgence, rather than the original players. His work with legendary New Orleans clarinetist Pete Fountain is his best (they both went to Jesuit High School), but that is his early work before degenerating into churning out pop pap endlessly for multiple decades.
In retrospect, as a burgeoning jazz listener and I dare say aficionado, I went into this one with a certain amount of cynicism. Not only have I seen this guy floating around in the used record bin a lot, but I've also heard his versions of some of these Carnival standards also floating around and even in my collection for awhile. Individually some of these sound like corn-ball cheese. and they are. But damn it they are corn-ball cheese from New Orleans, which is worth something in my book. And the sheer variety with with this guys delivers is undeniably impressive and kept me somewhat engaged, even as I grew weary of the over-the-top playing.
[in Colombo voice] There's just one more thing...
Is Al Hirt incredibly racist?
Perhaps not overtly so. Maybe in the 60s whistling "Dixie" wasn't frowned upon with the same weight that it is today. Maybe he's just not-racist, and therefore (since he's not anti-racist) his sees no harm in playing "Going Down to Dixieland" and others like it that paint the slavery-past with cheery colors. Perhaps he views it all as his Heritage. There is no denying that the man is playing in a genre (Dixieland Jazz) that he didn't name himself. Strictly speaking, "Dixieland" is a style of jazz music, but of course it can't help but be associated with "Dixie," which is a nickname for the old South - and you know what that means. But Dixieland is such a foundational genre that we can easily swap it out with the term "traditional jazz" - which is maybe exactly what we should do, even if Al Hirt hadn't figure it out yet. Of course the genre was started by black folks in New Orleans around the turn of the 20th Century--thus raising issues of cultural appropriation--, but it had its heyday in a revival movement that started 20 years later. Hirt is an undeniably large figure in that revivalism. Not to get too into the history of jazz, but it all began a generation earlier: when soloists got bored with big bands and wanted to jam. Hirt's music is "traditional" in the sense that he and other revivalist are implicitly reacting against the emergent bebop and cool jazz styles, which really leaned into the improvisations and experimentation. There's another warning flag: an implied uncomfortableness with and reactionary response to the explicitly racial directions of new jazz. I may not have even raised the issue it it wasn't for a genuinely alarming album cover of his.
Excuse me?! Greatest trumpet artist in America?! "Greatest," eh? Hirt doesn't even make the top TEN list of best trumpet players on this list by folks who know better than me. Here's another well-curated list on which he doesn't even crack the top 15. "Jazzfuel.com" also gives him no love in their exhaustive list. Is he saying all those other guys are not "artists"?
Al Hirt is a lot of things, and a lot of them are good. But to make the claim that this man making silly noises with his horn, playing loudly over the whole band, and rarely understanding restraint- that he is somehow greater than all the other trumpet players in America is a bold claim that only serves to draw attention to its own absurdity. I mean, who decided that he was greatest?! Louis Armstrong is still alive in 1960 and nowhere near the end of his career: in fact, it was the mid-to-late 60s that saw him finally gaining widespread, cross-cultural acknowledgment for the playing he'd been doing for 40 years at that point. He hit it big, unexpectedly, with "Hello Dolly" and then "What a Wonderful World" comes out after that. There's also a trumpet player you may have heard of called Miles Davis. He's at the near-peak of his long career, with many ups and downs yet to materialize: 1960 is the year he releases Sketches of Spain to much acclaim, just a year after the revolutionary Kinda Blue. Maybe, and I'm deadly serious, maybe Al Hirt thinks he is the greatest trumpet player in America because nothing he does is revolutionary. Just off the top of my head, Dizzy Gillespie and New Orlean's own Lee Morgan also come to mind as far greater players. I would be hard-pressed to find someone who thinks Al Hirt's trumpet playing is greater than any of these people, and I worry about what might be informing such an opinion. It's not that hard to imagine that a belief in Hirt being the greatest may even be rooted in prejudice. Are these the same people that credit Elvis for starting rock and roll? Do they also just happen to think that Eminem is the only talented rapper? With some added information that Hirt was the son of a police officer and that he played in the N.O. Junior Police Band, I'm leaning towards "low-key racist AF." #BLM
Still: Hirt was inducted into the Louisiana Music Hall of Fame in Nov. of 2009. As such, there is a life-size bronze monument of him inside New Orleans's Music Legends Park, which is a lovely little oasis on Bourbon Street. His was actually the first statue erected there, as he is credited with bringing New Orleans music to mainstream America, for launching the careers of so many local musicians, and for playing regularly so often in the Quarter. And when you put it like that, fair enough - give the man a monument. Fittingly, he stands next to a statue of his old friend Pete Fountain. Here they are together again, going out on a high note, as they encore together at the end of Hirt's show at Wolf Trap in 1979.
The biography starts like this: born to an Arkansas share cropper, Al Green is the 6th of 10 children. His family moved to Grand Rapids, Michigan, where a teenage Green got kicked out of his devout family's house for listening to Jackie Wilson. His young life had some tumultuousness to it that would periodically revisit his personal life. Things were rough for the young Green but picked-up for him quickly while he was still in high school.
The music started off great right away with Al Green's first album. Back Up Train (1969)is an incredible collection of songs, especially for a debut, and is not to be overlooked, though it often seems to be: the title-track single did well but the album did not. These early albums bristle with a youthful authenticity that I would miss when I'm ten or more albums deep into his discography. This first one bridges the 60s and 70s wonderfully. It sounds a bit like "oldies," but by the third song the orchestra and back-up singers kick in, and it's veering towards his mid-70s signature soul sound already. It's such a nice sounding soul album, with an an incredible variety in his repertoire and his voice: funky, chilled, rocking. Note that the album features the real-spelling of his last named (Greene) and comes out on Hot Line Records, a label formed by his high school friends, who also played in his band and wrote most of the songs. Their lyrics aren't always great and the production isn't quite perfect (yet), but the drums anticipate that 70s warmth and the also-warm organ is kept effectively low. The album gets re-released several times over the years following various record label acquisitions, including for the first time in 1972 when "Guilty" re-charts as a Top 30 R&B Hit. This practically a 4-star album that promises a 5-star classic in the future, and that promise is fulfilled shortly. While his first album didn't really catch on much initially, it led to his fortuitous connection with Hi Records. So the second album is immediately better, but the fact that Green Is Blue (1969) is considered his breakthrough album is a disservice to his first. There are a bunch of covers here: they are nice vehicles for his incredible voice, but I just didn't need to hear "My Girl" done none-too-differently from the original, nor additional covers of both "Summertime" or "The Letter" - though the drum-breaks in the later would get sampled a lot in hip-hop (by both The Notorious B.I.G. and Salt-N-Pepa among others). The cover of The Beatles "Get Back" is wonderfully sick though and well worth it, yet not to be confused with the song that precedes it, "Get Back Baby," which in my mind needs a comma between the last two words. The 40th Anniversary edition of the album from 2009 includes another Beatles cover: "I Want To Hold Your Hand." However, the originals on the album are standout tracks and mark the beginning of Green's career-long collaboration with producer and player Willie Mitchell; they called him "Papa Willie" because he ran Hi Records. We have him to thank for that hard-hitting bass/drum sound, heard here and on the likes of Booker T and the M.G.s. As much as Green's second album improved from the first, the third one really kicks hard right from the start. I love the way the overblown vocals distort just a bit when he's yelling, but not, of course, when he switches to that soulful crooning, offering a somewhat miraculous range of possibilities. Although it still relies on a bunch of covers to fill out the album, the smooth-yet-heavy-hitting 70s soul sound was now fully in place for Al Green Gets Next to You (1971), which contains the title track, a bluesy version of the Temptations' "I Can't Get Next To You," but not "I Wanna Get Next To You" (that song is by Rose Royce of "Car Wash" fame). I won't complain much about anyone covering The Doors, but Jose Feliciano had already covered "Light my Fire" a few years ago; we don't really need to hear routine soul covers of random hits. At this point in my discography listen I was still waiting for him really to come into his own with more original songs. The next album is a really big deal, but the one after that is my favorite. Let's Stay Together (1972) in an indisputable classic. The title track was a runaway success, and his only number-one pop single, even before it was memorably used in the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. And he and Poppa Willie wrote most of these songs themselves. The notable exception is Green's legendary and stunning cover of The Bee Gees "How Can You Mend A Broken Heart," which I want to say is better than the original, itself a #1 disco hit; it's Green's version that shows up on a bunch of contemporary movie soundtracks including Good Will Hunting. It brings me no joy to also report that in 2008 "Green's version was remade into a duet with Joss Stone for the soundtrack to the Sex and the City movie, with her vocals overdubbed onto the track"; the freakin' nerve of these people sometimes, I swear!
Although Let's Stay Together is the treasured classic, his next one is actually my personal favorite. I'm Still in Love with You is also released in 1972 and I prefer it. It doesn't have his most famous songs on it, but it is a five-star experience with some really stellar moments. It's entirely possible that I favor this album simply because it was on the jukebox in the all-night diner I worked at in New Orleans. And let me tell you, there were some Good Times had there, especially during Mardi Gras. I distinctly remember punching in "For The Good Times" one last time as I clocked-out of my last shift, blowing kisses to everyone as I dramatically backed out the front door. The song is incredible and vastly underrated in Green's repertoire, even though it was a Country hit for a bunch of other people; it is some of Kris Kristofferson's greatest songwriting, but so much more than just another cover here. The fact that it immediately follows a somewhat-needless rendition of Roy Orbison's "Oh Pretty Woman" just adds to its power. How was it not a single? Maybe because he didn't write it, but the song is an unforgettable encapsulation of Green at his very best: that is to say, perfect. I don't know that his voice has ever sounded smoother. The deep strings are so awesome. And that organ! The little riff the organ does the second time he mentions "the raindrops" is a transcendent musical moment of an absolutely perfect performance; it's penultimate trill waiting until just the right moment to embellish the soundscape. Thank you, organist Charles Hodges, who also played and wrote with the likes of Boz Skaggs and Albert Hammond- and holy shit in 2020 The Mountain Goats got him to play on their album!I'm Still in Love with You grooves from start to stop, and I've never grown tired of hearing a single moment on it. "What a Wonderful Thing Love Is" made my own wedding soundtrack because it is the track least about heartbreak.
Let's Stay Together and I'm Still in Love with You both come out in 1972, which is already a remarkable output, but then he puts out another album every year of the 70s...until the unpleasantness 1978. That said, his next album Call Me (1973) is supposed to be his masterpiece, but I read that for the first time after listening to it - and didn't really feel it upon my initial listening. It continued the greatness for sure, but I hadn't regularly heard most of these songs much before, as opposed to my old favorites. I was most struck by the multiple country numbers: a cover of Hank Williams' "I'm so Lonesome I could Die" (which, lyrically at least, is a good fit) and another of Willie Nelson's "Funny How Time Slips Away." Green and Papa Mitchell wrote most of the rest. The album was a hit, but the singles haven't endured as well as some of his other songs...Unless you're into pop-soul, of course. I'm wondering now if Al Green is to soul music what Bob Marley is to reggae: I don't know much about soul, but I know Al Green, and I know I like it.
1973's Livin' for You marks the start of a protracted but undeniable decline, as perhaps indicated by the somewhat absurd, illustrated album cover. It does contain the notable hit "Let's Get Married," and--other than a forgettable cover of "Unchained Melody"-- features all Green originals. Something has begun to slip though. It would almost be impossible to replicate the exquisite perfection of 1972 over and over again. The next albums, Al Green Explores Your Mind and Al Green is Love, just seem to repeat the formula without adding much of anything new to the mix. These aren't bad albums - they are generally good. However, they don't approach the Classic status of the earlier masterpieces....and is that so wrong? How many masterpieces is a man supposed to produce in his prime? Is one enough? Two? There are definitely some slightly awkward moments that arise. I couldn't believe how many times he ended up singing a duet with himself. I love the orchestral arrangements, but the strings really seem to be carrying some of these later songs with more than just so some spry countermelodies, especially on the Al Green is Love. That's The Memphis Strings playing with him once again. I'm not really complaining, but these albums are like that first one: not to be missed for fans of Al Green but otherwise less impressive than other key albums. You'll please forgive me if when I heard "Take Me To the River" I was almost ready to dismiss it as another apt but unnecessary cover, yet of course it was the Talking Heads (and others) who covered this Al Green original! The spoken word intro to the album version of "Take Me To the River" dedicates it to honey-voiced bluesman Junior Parker, who once notably covered the Beatles "Tomorrow never Knows." But again, the songs work well together and the albums are fine, but it is hard to justify spending too much time on this stuff in a world where Love and Happiness also exist. When people discuss the impeccable production on those classic albums it is not always easy to understand what they mean, but listening to these follow-up releases shows what it is like to just go through the same motions with the same instrumentation but somehow lack the perfect sound.
Things change noticeably for Full of Fire and Have a Good Time - and it is difficult to ascertain why. Willie Mitchell is still on board as a writer, and I'm assuming producer in some capacity, and Teenie Hodges is still around playing guitar and helping write. Hodgeses are on organ and bass. But the production values have begun to shift ever so perceptibly. There is some poly rhythmic stuff going on and they have otherwise begun to tinker with the sound. The palate gets broadened again and the sound distinctly altered for the bizarrely specifically titled The Belle Album (1972),his 12th but his first other than the debut recorded away from Mitchell and Hi Records. Most of his old band is gone too. The occasional bluesy acoustic guitar he prominently plays himself is an alright new sound and the clavinet is a great addition. However, the synth strings are so thin and whiney sounding, and I'm not a fan of that wacky sax that starts showing up either. All of these new sounds are incorporated somewhat more effectively on the next album, which finds Green in a more solid groove with that new instrumentation and production. That would be 1978's Truth n' Time, which, like the previous album, he self-produced. I'm a sucker for "To Sir With Love" but it's hardly a stand-out track here. There's not much to dig into here on his last secular album for a long while, but I liked the sound a little more than the previous slew of albums.
To bridge the coming gap, someone releases a live album of his at some point later in 1981. Apparently it is "rare and raw soul." It is taken from two June 1978 shows in Japan, right after he won the Tokyo International Music Festival's Grand Prize with his passionate performance of "Belle". The live band is alright- it's the new guys. Even if the songs don't all exactly sound right, his voice is still golden. At least the synths aren't even pretending to be real strings anymore. The horns are real, though they almost have trouble keeping up when they decide to do "Love and Happiness" crazily fast as an encore. I don't like how the album is chopped up with selections from both nights collected, rather than the presentation of a smoothly flowing show; the few songs that do lead into each other are appreciable. It's a great listen though: he's having fun with the audience, stretching out with some of these songs, and it's sweet when he sings his stage banter. There's a great moment when he's sing-shouting at the audience off-mic while the band plays lowly behind him. Overall, it's bit post-prime, but I thoroughly enjoyed the review of what turns out to be only the first third of his career, with the religious stuff in the middle period next, and then a less prolific late stage.
Still, his record sales were steadily declining at this point... And then he beat his girlfriend unconscious with a tree limb. It wasn't the first assault charge leveled against him either, including previously from his pregnant wife; this time the charges were dropped - though just because she didn't show up in court. The worst of it was in 1974: first his secretary sued him for back-pay and for shoving her through a glass door, and then he got in a fight with his girlfriend - who then killed herself. Then right after he got out of the hospital from that incident (she threw a pot of boiling grits on him) his cousin abducted him at gun point over money, again not his first tussle over disputed funds. In his defense, after all that trouble he stops making popular records completely and turns to the church. There have been sprinkled references to God, and then increasing allusions to Jesus, throughout the first half of Green's long career, but then he gets a little preachy. More than a little, he actually becomes a literal preacher and that is reflected in the tone and contents of his mid-career stretch of albums: there's about 10 gospel, Christmas, and contemporary Christian albums. I listened to each of these- once:
The Lord Will Make a Way
Higher Plane
Precious Lord
Feels like Christmas
I'll Rise Again
Trust In God
He is the Light
Soul Survivor
Sure there are some predictable though nice cover songs thrown in, and there are some traditional songs too, but he mines the same type of material over and over again on these albums, with little engaging about the overall sound or instrumentations. The Christmas album is functionally funky and occasionally soulful - the ballads work better than the intolerable version of "Jingle Bells". While the songs on these Christian albums with a choir are some good gospel tunes, otherwise the instrumentation and production are shadows of their former glory. The production gets increasingly 80s sounding, to a degree that it becomes grating by the time of his last fully religious album, Soul Survivor (1987), which gives us a minor hit in "Everything's Gonna be Alright," his first charting song in over a decade. It's OK if you miss(ed) this one and his next gospel one Love Is Reality (1992). Sure, his voice is still great, but he doesn't use it well. He raps about Jesus on a couple tracks and it is awful. This stuff would have fit right in on 1980s pop radio, but it is sad to hear it from this soul master. The instrumentation and production are disappointing: fake organ, slap bass, synth drums, and obnoxious sax solos all over the place. I'm not universally opposed to a child's choir, but here it is a particular misstep. The songs with a full gospel choir though again offer a more impressive power, and the man's enthusiasm for his faith cannot be denied. But Love is Reality got some really bad reviews, which it deserves; it might be his career nadir. It made me yearn for any half-forgotten track from any of those first few albums.
You may recall Green's return to secular music, which was inauspiciously on the soundtrack to the movie Scrooged, in 1988. Bill Murray is pretty funny in that movie, and "Put a Little Love in Your Heart" is featured memorably, though I'm not sure I ever knew it was Al Green's triumphant return to pop music until now (maybe because the song was originally and more appropriately played by Jackie DeShannon in 1969). Something about the fake snow and smiles makes the music video less than palatable. Afterwards he releases about seven albums between 1989 and 2005. Some of these are good, some are contemporary Christian, and some of them are lost, or at least not available for streaming right now. In some cases that remains a mystery: I'm not sure why I could stream all 10 pointless Christian albums but not his 26th Your Heart's In Good Hands, which was celebrated as an overdue return to form in 1995. I also wanted to hear 2003's secular I Can't Stop, which was released on Blue Note Records (his first for Blue Note and first album after after an eight year break in recording) and produced once again by Willie Mitchell; it doesn't seem fair that I had to go to YouTube for someone's CD rip of the album, but I did. The album is good and it charted: the best he'd done since 1975's Al Green is Love. Mitchell and Green tried to replicate that magic one more time for Blue Note on 2005's Everything's OK, which some say is even better than I Can't Stop. Again I had to listen to somebody's uploaded version, but ultimately I'm glad I did. Both those albums were solid and, while lacking stand-out tracks and slightly suffering from a long-past-peak vibe, are a welcome reprieve from the butchery of the 80s and 90s.
In 2008 Green gets the full revival treatment with a worthy comeback album featuring a bunch of special guest spots from the likes of John Legend and Corinne Bailey Rae. Lay It Down sounds consistently great, with a contemporary-yet-classic groovy sound thanks to production from ?uestlove. It was nominated for a Best R&B Album Grammy, but lost out to Jennifer Hudson's debut.
Then that's it. He hasn't released an album since Lay it Down, and that might be a fitting high-note to go out on. Not much occurs between 2008 and now (2022), an exception being a one-off for Amazon Music: a version of the oft-covered "Before the Next Teardrop Falls"; it actually sounds pretty great! That voice is still golden. He still shows up for awards ceremonies too. In addition to his 11 Grammys (mostly for gospel), Green was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1995, and he got the Kennedy Center honor in 2014, which is a BFD. Among other honors, he's also in the Gospel Music Hall of Fame and The Songwriters Hall of Fame. All of this is fitting and right, even if a comprehensive listen of his impressive output reveals its unevenness.
Al Green is apparently still an active pastor, after more than 40 years. And he's a 33rd Degree Mason.
First of all, Al "Carnival Time" Johnson should not be confused with Al Johnson. (Or Al Jolson for that matter.) And, no, I am not going to listen to Al Johnson's entire catalog just because of this confusion.
Secondly, this was a bit awkward at first because I was trying to wrap my mind around reverence I didn't immediately understand... because it wasn't all about the music. This guy is now over 80 years old and has been making music since he was a kid. And doing great things for New Orleans. Al "Carnival Time" Johnson is a cherished New Orleans musician...and yet it is hard to deny that, to most listeners, he has ONE GOOD SONG. Guess which song it is? It is in his name. Folks should definitely value and appreciate him for his contributions back in the day, but his offerings since that hey-day are slim. And yet he has been consistently continuing to rock out for years (at least at Carnival time). If I am going to be musically frank though, the handful of modern recordings are found to be wanting. These recent few albums sound rough and amateurish. It is like those Casio keyboards that you press "C" and get a beat and chord and a bass-line in C. Then play the blues. NOLA forgive me, that's what this stuff sounds like. Who are these New Orleans players backing him up? I'm not sure. Beyond Carnival from 2013 just can't hit the way it's supposed to or used to, but hey- why not? "Lower Ninth Ward Blues" needed to be sung, though there's not much to the song. "Jail Bird" is a sorry tale of domestic abuse. I appreciate the attention to the difference between Mardi Gras and Carnival in "Mardi Gras Strut," but the music isn't exactly The Meters- at least not anymore. It's a shame that the modern canned-sounding version was how I had to listen to his acclaimed 1958 hit, "Lena." That one later-day full length is the only such album I could find streaming other than repeated versions of "Carnival Time." There are lost albums then from 2006 and 2007 then too, but OK. He redoes "Carnival Time" as "Super Bowl Time" in 2013 when Mardi Gras coincided with the Super Bowl(?!)- thus his comeback album of sorts that same year. That was at least his second time with that trick, having trotted out "Who Dat Say?" in 2009, which was literally just "Carnival Time" again re-written for the Saints in the Super Bowl; that time he was excellently backed by modern New Orleans players, Egg Yolk Jubilee. Yet another version of "Carnival Time" featuring the Soul Rebels Brass Band even more recently ends up on the Treme Soundtrack, and that mix is genuinely great. I'd go see this guy live. So as far as I can tell, his entire discography consist of three extant albums, but there was session work and singles back in the late 50s and early 60s. And he's still out there! OK, I can see loving the guy. That one song is so good, and no Carnival playlist is complete without it.
Fairly recently, in this rare interview he sheds some light on the mystery. Some light is shed on the absurd lyrics of his one hit. One interesting tidbit is the revelation that the clubs named in the opening lines ("The Green Room is jumpin'...") were located in the part of the Treme neighborhood that got razed when I-10 came through. Another fun-fact is that he is Grand Marshall for Life of the Red Beans Parade, on Lundi Gras. The man is a legend, and fittingly so. Both of his old songs are absolutely fantastic on The Complete Ric & Ron Recording, Vol. 2: Classic New Orleans R&B and More, 1958-1965, recorded at Cosimo Matassa's famed French Quarter studio that was a home-base to Fats Domino and all those other guys. One of Johnson's two songs on that compilation is "Carnival Time." That's one great song.
He's still very much doing this and reinventing that song! Watch this too...?
