THE BUTTERFIELD BLUES BAND: THE RESURRECTION OF PIGBOY CRABSHAW (1967)
1) One More Heartache; 2)
Driftin' And Driftin'; 3) Pity The Fool; 4) Born Under A Bad Sign; 5) Run Out
Of Time; 6) Double Trouble; 7) Drivin' Wheel; 8) Droppin' Out; 9) Tollin' Bells.
If I ever had a nickname like «Pigboy
Crabshaw», I'd probably have to join the Church in repentance, but Elvin
Bishop seemed okay with it, and his pals in the band liked it so much that with
the departure of Bloomfield they put it in their album title to commemorate the
beginning of Bishop's brief rule as the Butterfield Blues Band's only guitar
player. Brief and, may I add, somewhat inessential. Elvin was neither the
band's frontman nor its stuntman — he just played that guitar and never seemed
to think all that much about leaving his mark on the world.
It would be cool as hell for me to say
something important like «There was so much more to the original Butterfield
Blues Band than Mike Bloomfield», and follow it up by saying «and this is
effectively shown on the band's third album, where they effortlessly
demonstrate how they can get by without Mike's talents», and then justify this
further by pointing out that «Bloomfield was, after all, 50% talent and 50%
showman flash — without him, Butterfield, Bishop, and Co. are finally able to
concentrate directly on the music and sacrifice their egos for the benefit of
the music». But hey, what can I do? All said and done, I'm a fan of egos. And
the most successful sacrificers of egos are, in a way, the biggest egotists of
them all — like J. J. Cale, for instance.
The
Resurrection Of Pigboy Crabshaw
is just a regular electric blues album now, abandoning all the genre-crossing,
tradition-marrying pretense of East-West.
To «compensate» for Bloomfield's departure, Paul brings in a whole new brass
section — a good one, to be sure, including none other than the
soon-to-be-legendary David Sanborn on alto sax; but the big band approach to
their source material is neither new nor revelatory. Furthermore, the album
title seems to suggest that previously, Bishop's talents were at the least
undervalued and underused, and that now is his chance to shine; but the guitar
parts are very subdued throughout the
album, and when it is over, it will most likely be remembered as a sonic field
dominated by Butterfield's harmonica and the brass section, never the guitar.
And maybe it's logically cool, but most of the arrangements leave me cold,
bored, and almost amazed that they would dare offer something like this in the
middle of 1967 — what with Cream and Hendrix setting completely new standards.
The record consists almost entirely of covers,
with just two short Butterfield originals for an excuse: ʽRun Out Of Timeʼ,
co-written with sax player Gene Dinwiddie, is a playful fast R&B groove
ruled by nimble brass flourishes, but it fades out way before it could evolve
into anything mind-blowing; and ʽDroppin' Outʼ, co-written with songwriter
Tucker Zimmerman, is... a playful fast R&B groove ruled by nimble brass
flourishes? Okay, it's soulful enough, but Butterfield is still unconvincing
and unexceptional as a vocalist.
The covers are hardly any more exciting —
particularly the unterminable, mindnumbingly slow ʽDriftin' And Driftin'ʼ, whose
tortoise tempo and thick brass layers attempt to build up an atmosphere of
solemnity, but don't do much in that respect other than the fact of their
existence. Butterfield and Bishop do deliver a couple of harmonica and guitar
solos where it seems like they are really trying, but by the time they get
around to them, the song has already long since outlived its usefulness.
ʽDouble Troubleʼ is unworthy of both the shorter, far more focused and ten
times as bleeding Otis Rush original and
a later Dire Straits-style reinvention by Eric Clapton; ʽBorn Under A Bad Signʼ
is totally expendable in between the Albert King original and the grizzly Cream
cover; and the list may be continued.
Bottomline is that this record, while not
stereotypically «bad», is just very, very boring. You have to have a really
subtle appreciation for Butterfield, one that goes deep beyond the surface and
maybe even adds an imaginary touch or two, or a very rigid, academic type of
respect for electric blues to truly enjoy The
Resurrection as something above background music; and I have neither, so I
just have to rate it as a thumbs down. Especially in the overall context of 1967, when, you know, it was
almost shameful to release a record
of such profound mediocrity.
Wowza, there's some cheesy artwork. It definitely dates the record directly to its period, and in a most unflattering manner to boot. Generic watercolor sketches for an album of by the numbers boogie. Meanwhile, Canned Heat at least had the sense to develop a singles game.
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ReplyDeleteThis is actually an entertaining record. Double Trouble does indeed remind me of SRV in one of his tamer moments. And I like the arrangement on Tollin' Bells. But PB doesn't do much for me...he sounds like a more soulful version of Bruce Willis singing the blues. And his harp playing is okayish, but nothing like the masters. They were below the standards of '67 that's for sure--basically a 60s version of the Blues Brothers.
ReplyDeleteOuch! That's an unflattering assessment, although perfectly fair. Also, have you noticed their cover art is worse than worse than ever Canned Heat's or Savoy Brown's? :)
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