Joe Tex covers show up in the oddest places. Buddy Killen was one busy song-selling-son-of-a-gun from next door.
Both bands cover Joe's Buying a Book-era snotty little ode to germophobia, "It Ain't Sanitary". It's tailor made for the Coasters, and they really ham it up. It makes me wonder if he wrote it for them. A Coasters Sing Joe Tex album would have been great.
But it's kind of weird when Sleepy Labeef covers the same song on his Sun LP, the bull's night out.
Sleepy must have liked Buying a Book, because this album's also got a cover of the title track. Since the song is mostly one of JT's sermons, it's pretty weird to hear him cover it in his Sleepy baritone, word for word.
That's Joe Tex from "The Joe Tex Show" tearing up "Show Me".
Against the better side of my human nature, I actually read the comments on this youtube video to try to find out when and where there was ever a "Joe Tex Show", and while there was one commenter wondering the same thing, there was no answer. Does anyone know about this?
Here's Joe slowing it down for the kids on Hullabaloo with "The Love You Save"
Like King and Ace, Anna and Chess didn't really work out for Joe. But because of his obvious talent, producer and music publisher Buddy Killen decided to start a label, Dial, specifically to release Tex's records.
Things didn't go very well at first. In fact, a lot of Joe's early Dial singles are a step back in quality and uniqueness from his Anna and Chess waxings, even if they're a leap forward in terms of sound quality. Most of these early singles can be found on the Super Soul compilation pictured above, but they can be a wee pricey for a comp, since a couple of Joe's early Dials are considered Northern Soul classics.
But "Looking for My Pig", one of the best songs (especially for Ichiban purposes!) he cut in the early Dial days, is not. This barn-burning tip/rip to "Walking the Dog" - complete with shout out to Rufus Thomas at the end - only came out on 45 until its eventual release on the First on the Dial CD in 2008.
Another killer early Dial tune not on the Super Soul is "Blood's Thicker Than Water", the flip of "I Wanna Be Free". This is probably the most expensive record in Joe's catalog, consistently fetching over a hundred dollars on the Northern market. So if you see it for a couple of bucks somewhere, don't sleep!
The way forward was planted on "I Had a Good Home But I Left". A call-back to the first two Anna singles, it was a two-parter with a sermon on the flip. This time the tempo was slowed down to a fine Southern lope, and Joe and the band really work off of each other to give his words maximum impact. It gets so good to Joe that he punctuates one bit of wisdom with a "Think about it!" that would make Jerry Lee proud. The track is presented here (for the first time, as far as I can tell) as a seamless song rather than being split into two parts.
The record still didn't sell. But Killen and Tex would take this style to the A-side for the first time at the next recording session, and the results were much different.
If there was one thing that Joe Tex didn't much care for, it was somebody dippin' in his business. From as early as his King-era cover of "Ain't Nobody's Business What I Do", Joe made it loud and clear, again and again, that your business was yours and his business was his, so take your nose and put it somewhere else, thanks.
And who knows your business better than anyone? Those nosey nosey neighbors!
Joe's adversarial relationship with his neighbors began in earnest when he was confronted on an early Dial side by that "Hand Shakin, Love Makin, Girl Talkin, Son-of-a-Gun from Next Door". Admittedly, the HSLMGTSOG from next door seemed to be dippin' in more than Joe's business, so Joe had every right to be perturbed.
Further evidence that JT had a less than kindly disposition towards his fellow tenants comes in the hilarious Drifters parody "You Can Stay". One glance at the title and you'd think it was a welcoming song, but the implied parenthetical title is "(But that noise has got to go)". Maybe Joe's lived next door to Mouse and the Traps.
As much as the neighbors drove him crazy, their antics also amused him - he always got a kick out of petty jealousies and social climbing antics, like in this oddball fuzz 'n' harmonica waltz, "Funny Bone".
How, exactly, do you sit on your elbows?
But the last thing in the world you want to do to Joe if you're a neighbor is to try and borry something. This time-honored complaint has been the subject of many a classic tune since even before Jerry McCain had to loan his neighbor a suit to bury grandpa in. Here's Joe's take, from the Different Strokes, the 1975 winner "My Neighbor's Got the Gimmes". And this is no funny business: "If Jesus would've have lived around neighbors like y'all, y'all would make the man hate you himself!"
But is it me, or does he borrow from (of all people!) Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons for the slowed down middle section of that song?
In 1968 Joe Tex found himself in yet another one of those situtations where he was ahead of his time and involved in something that has interesting echoes in modern day soul, r&b and rap: the Soul Clan.
Originally conceived by Don Covay and Solomon Burke, the original Soul Clan was supposed to be the following individuals: Covay, Burke, JT, Wilson Pickett, and Otis Redding.
The idea was that these huge soul stars would record together, pool their resources, and become a positive force for the black community. They would take the proceeds from their recordings and set up trust funds for their children and for the community. The concept was sort of like an early version of, say, Roc-a-Fella records, and was in part inspired by Sam Cooke's forming of SAR records - the notion that the best way for black entertainers to achieve financial independence by setting up their own collective.
Unfortunately, Otis died in the plane crash, and Pickett backed out, claiming he didn't need to be a part of the Soul Clan, that he had plenty of hits on his own. Redding was replaced by Arthur Conley, Pickett by Ben E. King. The group released their first 45, which was supposed to set them on a pathway to world domination.
But the only thing that ever came of the Soul Clan concept beyond that 45 was a single, dodgy, compilation LP.
The recording itself also has something of the vibe of later hip-hop singles, where rappers guest on each other's records - all the vocals were done around a pre-recorded backing track in separate studios at separate times, with the performers each taking a verse, doing their own schtick and call outs, based around their own hits and personas. The Soul Clan never really met in the studio.
Solomon Burke claimed the Soul Clan 45 was stopped on its run up the charts by mysterious corporate forces, who shut the record down.
"The Soul Clan was deliberately destroyed because we were becoming a power structure. Our interest as a Soul Clan was to build a financial empire, and once that was found out, we were destroyed."
Whether this is true, or if it's more likely that the Soul Clan single didn't top the charts because it depends more on star caché than truly good songs or artistic chemistry, is at this point a matter of speculation. It's still a heck of a thing to get to listen to.
The New Boss. The Dapper Rapper. The Soul Preacher. The Clown Prince of Soul. There's lots of stuff to know about Joe Tex - whose career spanned the entirety of the classic soul era and peaked with some of the most consistent, hilarious and wise soul LPs of the 1960s. But the first thing you need to know is that Joe didn't play.
I'm serious! Dude quit school in the very first grade because they had recess every day!
By 1968, JT was at the peak of his popularity. He was one of the most popular live soul entertainers going (witness the numerous pictures from Greg G's trolling of the Jet archives of Joe getting mauled by fans) and he had a long string of winning R&B singles.
And while the two albums he released these years continue to follow the Tex/Killen formula, they also have a deeper soul sound. Having the same sort of crossover appeal that typifies the earlier Dial releases does not seem to be a priority. Part of me wonders if this is because around the time Happy Soul was released in 1968, Tex secretly converted to the Muslim religion. He'd eventually change his name to Yusuf Hazziez and quit show biz completely for a few years, but more on that when we talk about I Gotcha.
Regardless, they're both really good records with lots of great tracks.
Side one of Happy Soul in particular stands up with any LP side of soul music you'd care to name. A bunch of the tracks from this record have been posted elsewhere on Ichiban through the course of the month, but a couple haven't been covered yet. I'm a big fan of the home-town hi-jinx of "You Need Me", which has an almost Tom T. Hall vibe to it in terms of its telling little details. "Some were crying, and some bought lunch!"
And my DJ box is always packing the freight train of laffs that is "Go Home and Do It", because of one glorious occasion when I played it, much to the crowd's delight, right after some jerky couple finally got kicked out of one of my gigs for being obnoxious.
Buying a Book has another great autobiographical song about Joe's early Texas childhood, "Grandma Mary" and the civil rights anthem "We Can't Sit Down Now". And of course there's the title track.
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Now, can someone actually explain to me what the phrase "buying a book" actually means? I haven't been to figure that out for 20 years.
In which we all learn that a h-o-m-e without l-o-v-e is just a h-o-u-s-e. Excellent 1963 B-side by the one and only Ernie K-Doe, penned by Joe Tex and never recorded by anyone else that I know of.
Joe's fourth Atlantic/Dial LP is, for me, his best - and one of the best soul LPs I've heard, period. Joe's performances are infectiously joyous, the arrangements on the tunes are exciting (and loaded with guitar!) and it's his best collection of original material ever. The two covers only add to the good natured, hilarious vibe of the entire record.
It starts with one of Joe's patented responses to a current hit, this time the "Tramp" rewrite "Papa Was, Too" (more on this one on Wednesday) and never lets up. "Watch the One (That Brings the Bad News)" is a great blues vamp about shoe shops, eating chicken, and rattling bags. "Lying's Just a Habit John" is a funny and instructional riff on the "Twistin' the Night Away" melody - it seems there are good lies and bad ones and John's are no good.
And the three that start side two are total jaw droppers. The countryish bowed bass fiddle hook that breaks up the title track is Buddy Killen arranging at its best. "The Truest Woman in the World" is one of JT's greatest sermons ("98% of us are jealous and suspicious and the other 2% are sneaking around!"). And what can be said about the soldier so in love with his girlfriend that he uses her letters to inspire him to get him some more enemies in "I Believe I'm Going to Make It" except maybe . . . "Batman and Robin!"
And then there's "S.Y.S.L.J.F.M" a song so good it gets its own post tomorrow.
James Brown was never afraid to give his King/Federal forefathers some - producing singles for the "5" Royales, recording a tribute album to Little Willie John and an album for Bill Doggett. But even if you were a major influence on JB, it doesn't seem like you got to ride for free.
None of his fellow Federales entered JB's circle more deeply than Hank Ballard. According to RJ Smith's Brown biography The One, seeing Ballard and the Midnighters' act was a major influence on the Famous Flames, and Ballard claimed that he repeatedly told Syd Nathan to sign the Famous Flames. So when the man who wrote "the Twist" saw his fortunes failing, Brown stepped in to help him out.
The first record Brown produced for Ballard was a 1963 recut of a Midnighter's classic, "It's Love Baby (24 Hours a Day)". The new version adds a vamped up intro and coda to the familiar parts of the song, and Ballard sounds clearly jazzed on the recording - shouting a Joe Tex/Jerry Lee style "THIS IS A HIT!" at the outset and commenting on the general quality of the track 2/3 of the way through.
1n 1968 Hank was put on the JB consciousness train, recording a couple of James's "black power" numbers, including his biggest post-Midnighters hit, "How You Gonna Get Respect (When You Haven't Cut Your Process Yet)". This musically and thematically direct sequel to "Say It Loud (I'm Black and I'm Proud)", laden with some of the heavy didactics of "Don't Be a Dropout", except this time it was all about straight v. curly hair. Ballard delivers the message well, and the Dapps, who backed JB on "I Can't Stand Myself", rock out.
According to RJ Smith, Ballard that tells the story of this song. Apparently Hank and James suddenly found themselves surrounded by Black Panthers, who pulled guns on the two and demanded that Brown stop wearing his hair processed. So in some ways, "How You Gonna Get Respect" was James and Hank buying a little "protection" from the Panthers!
The two modes of James' handling of Ballard established by these two tracks, specifically either updating Ballard's classic sound or turning him into a kind of Brown spokesman, play back and forth across the records they'd make together.
Ballard released the Brown-produced You Can't Keep a Good Man Down in 1969, and it mainly sticks to updating the Ballard sound. The Dapps are the principal backing band, and their slighly-less-slick-than-the-JBs sound meshes well with Hank's voice. There's a version of "Unwind Yourself", which came out in its definitive version by Marva Whitney, and a remake of the Midnighters' "Teardrops on Your Letter" and a "Let's Go, Let's Go, Let's Go" rip, "Thrill on the Hill". There's also a modernized reinvention of "Sexy Ways" called "You're So Sexy", a snazzy cover of "Slip Away", and a fine addition to the canon of songs about trains that have soul, "Funky Soul Train".
Ballard's next couple of singles, "Butter Your Popcorn" and "Blackenized" were far more Brown-centric, and I'm not sure either Ballard or I feel them very much. Both are catchy and fun enough, and "Blackenized" has some great lines, but I don't know that either have that leering joy that makes the best Ballard records get up and strut. "Blackenized" in particular sounds like Brown making further political gestures to the Panthers through Ballard.
Mr. Ballard, may I help you with something?
Note JB does the intro his own bad self
Hank's next major appearance in the James Brown universe is without a doubt his weirdest - his two numbers on Get on the Good Foot. Now, this may hardly be the post to say it in, but I'm going to say it here and say it loud - with one or two exceptions, James Brown's studio long players are chaotic and make little sense. I know he claimed that "Papa Don't Make No Mess", but he was obviously not talking about his studio LPs. It didn't matter whether it was Syd Nathan putting them together haphazardly or James Brown putting them together with total artistic control - they're almost all messes. JB was a singles artist, even if most of his best post '65 singles should have been 12" 45s, rather than seven inch two-siders.
Even by his messy standards Get on the Good Foot is outright weird and full of filler. And even a 13 minute "Please, Please, Please" is not quite as weird as "Funky Side of Town" or "Recitation by Hank Ballard".
"Funky Side" is as loose and one-take as it gets - James Brown, Bobby Byrd, and Hank Ballard namecheck everybody from themselves, to Bob Dylan, to the Honeycombs, to Isaac Hayes, to, grudgingly, Joe Tex - and the results are just peculiar. First off, no one sounds quite together - the harmonies are random at best, everyone keeps cracking up, none of the psychic connection that exists between Brown and Byrd on, say, "Sex Machine", is present, and Ballard seems incapable of working ahead of the beat - his own signature vocal style was to lay back.
But nothing is odder than "Recitation by Hank Ballard", which is, essentially a testimonial/advertisement for a record that you presumably have already bought and brought home and are listening to. For six minutes. The first half is just Hank kind of reading through the song titles, but the second has him ruminating on his career, how he got caught "wandering around the graveyard of losers" and how James Brown was the only one who believed that his talent was still relevant.
The variety of scenarios about how/why this track was laid down and/or included on the record beggar the imagination, especially since Ballard's voice carries with it equal parts ambivalence and gratitude. Did Hank hear the album, pull up some prerecorded vamp and testify? If so, JB's bottomless ego certainly would not pass up the chance to have one of his heroes say so many nice things about him. Did they need six more minutes for the double LP so James sent Hank in the studio to fill out the space? If so, is there some kind of passive/aggressive sarcasm in some of the lines, or is Hank just so laid back it just sort of sounds that way? There is a major story in these two's relationship that has yet to be fully unpacked.
Ballard recorded several more singles for People Records in the 70s, and even had a =hit with "From the Love Side" (he even calls himself "Love Side" Ballard in his recitation) in 1972. Let's wrap this up with a cool live version from Soul Train.
Take it easy - you haven't been suddenly transported back to 2011. We'll get back to the Tex-in' tomorrow, but for today I couldn't resist posting this unreleased-until-the-90s 1968 cover of "Taking Care of a Woman (Is a Full Time Job)" by Ichiban's Mr. December, Arthur Alexander. Arthur was one of the few soul artists of the 60s who displayed his country influence as much as Joe. The OG is on the I've Got to Do a Little Bit Better LP, which, believe me, we will get to in good time.
I'm too hung over from DJ'ing last night to do anything better.
Obviously I'm not one to belabor a point, but here's a second connection between Mr. Ichibans of December and February. This time it comes courtesy of Clyde McPhatter.
On a 1966 Amy/Stateside 45 (seen here in its non-styrene UK pressing) Clyde covered the early Arthur Alexander hit, "Shot of Rhythm and Blues".
And on the flip he drops his version of "I'm Not Going to Work Today", Joe's calypso-fied ode to parental exhaustion. The song's from Hold What You've Got but must have been around for a while - Boot Hog Pefferly and the Loafers released it on Sound Stage 7 in 1963, and Hold What You've Got didn't come out 'til 65.
