Al Kooper: Fillmore East - The Lost Concert Tapes

AL KOOPER & MIKE BLOOMFIELD: FILLMORE EAST - THE LOST CONCERT TAPES (1968; 2003)

1) Introductions; 2) One Way Out; 3) Mike's Introduction Of Johnny Winter; 4) It's My Own Fault; 5) The 59th Street Bridge Song; 6) (Please) Tell Me Partner; 7) That's All Right Mama; 8) Together Till The End Of Time; 9) Don't Throw Your Love On Me Too Strong; 10) Season Of The Witch.

For those who have thoroughly enjoyed the Fillmore West shows of Kooper and Bloomfield, released in 1969, the Legacy label now offers a generous bonus — here are the same dudes playing Fillmore East now, with a good selection of numbers from shows played on December 13–14, 1968, three months after the Fillmore West gigs. Despite not spending a lot of time toge­ther to rehearse new stuff, the young guitar wiz and the idealistic organ pro were still on an adven­turous kick, and there are only four tracks that overlap between the two shows, making The Lost Concert Tapes a solidly new piece of the old puzzle and a must-have for...

...well, actually, let us not get carried away. Most of the people who even heard of the release of this record, let alone bought it or reviewed it, were probably major fans anyway, so the few gene­ric reviews of it that you might be able to read are likely to be ecstatic. I, however, am doing this from more of a completist angle, and it is a rather unfavorable angle to Fillmore East. The album is shorter, lacks the element of surprise, does not quite give the same impression of a sympathetic chaotic mess, and, simply put, is far more boring.

The biggest problem is that out of the album's 60 minutes, almost half are given over to stereo­typical — and deadly slow — 12-bar electric blues. It does not help matters much that the first of these boasts the participation of young Johnny Winter, who had just had his first album released and attracted the attention of Bloomfield: Mike advertises him ecstatically, then recedes into the background for much of the time while Johnny struts his cool Texan blues stuff, sounding more or less like what he always sounds like — a post-Clapton, pre-Stevie Ray type of middleman. I actually find more fire in Bloomfield's response solos, although the best moment of ʽIt's My Own Faultʼ is probably nearer the end where they finally decide to trade some lines between each other. But yeah, good technique and all.

Unfortunately, this is soon followed by ʽPlease Tell Me Partnerʼ, another ten-minute blues that sounds exactly like ʽIt's My Own Faultʼ; and towards the end, we have Albert King's ʽDon't Throw Your Love On Me So Strongʼ because, apparently, there is nothing Fillmore East audien­ces enjoyed better than slow blues-de-luxe played at tortoise speed. Somehow, this abundance of the slow blues template never seemed particularly annoying at the Fillmore West shows, so I am guessing that they may have wanted to vary their setlists for the next set of gigs, but did not have the time to do it properly, and settled upon blues improvisation instead (ʽPlease Tell Me Partnerʼ definitely sounds like a last-minute filler piece, especially considering its inane lyrics).

Other than the blues stuff, three songs here completely overlap with the Live Adventures setlist (including yet another super-slow performance of ʽThe 59th Street Bridge Songʼ), and the only pleasant surprise is a sharp take on ʽSeason Of The Witchʼ at the very end: Bloomfield does not exactly put Steven Stills to shame, but his own proto-punkish guitar language agrees very well with the song's fuzzy ominousness, and watch out for fine session bass player Jerry Jemmott's fretline-exploring bassline, too.

Overall, I am not calling the album any bad names: I just think that the few months separating Al's and Mike's West Coast gigs from their East Coast ones did not result in any new ideas, and that this particular setlist seems somewhat rushed and let's-try-it-out-and-see-what-happens to me; which, granted, is not always a bad approach by definition, but in this particular case, has resulted in a flawed experience. Mike Bloomfield is a magnificent guitarist, but he is really at his best when playing ʽTombstone Bluesʼ-like material: wasting his undeniable talent on one slow 12-bar blues number after another is barely forgivable. Therefore, proceed at your own risk.

Al Kooper: Rare And Well Done

AL KOOPER: RARE AND WELL DONE (1964-2001; 2005)

CD I: 1) I Can't Quit Her; 2) Somethin' Goin' On (demo); 3) Autumn Song; 4) I Can't Stand The Rain; 5) Baby Please Don't Go (live); 6) I Let Love Slip Through My Fingers; 7) The Earthquake Of Your Love; 8) Bulgarya; 9) Nu­thin' I Wouldn't Do (For A Woman Like You); 10) New York's My Home (Razz-A-Ma-Tazz); 11) Making Plans For Nigel; 12) I Believe To My Soul; 13) Went To See The Gypsy; 14) Rachmaninoff's Birthday; 15) Hey Jude (re­hearsal tape); 16) Living In My Own Religion; 17) The Big Chase; 18) They Just Don't Make 'Em Like That Any­more; 19) A Drive Through The Old Neighborhood.

CD II: 1) I Can't Keep From Cryin' Sometimes (live); 2) I Love You More Than You'll Ever Know; 3) This Diamond Ring; 4) Albert's Shuffle; 5) Bury My Body; 6) Season Of The Witch; 7) New York City (You're A Woman); 8) I Can't Quit Her (live); 9) I Stand Alone; 10) Flute Thing; 11) You Never Know Who Your Friends Are; 12) I Got A Woman; 13) Brand New Day; 14) Love Theme From The Landlord.

Frankly speaking, I do not understand what in the world made Al decide to go ahead with this double CD package — most likely, he just wanted to make a fine present to his beloved self with this «totally killer package» (in his own words). It is one of those ridiculous «half greatest hits, half rarities» things that make fans and novices alike overpay and overcringe; all the more ridicu­lous coming from Al Kooper, the man whose last significant batch of «novices» was probably acquired the week that Child Is Father To The Man reached its chart peak at No. 47.

In addition, the second («well done») CD is odd as hell even for old fans' sakes: for instance, Al has insisted on cramming the entire seven minutes of 'Albert's Shuffle' and eleven minutes of 'Sea­son Of The Witch' from Supersession on it — yeah, these are fine jams all right, certainly well done and all, but coming at the expense of so much other great stuff (the resulting «retro­spective» pretty much stops dead in its tracks around 1971), the choice reeks too much of unpre­dictability for unpredictability's sake. For the Beatles to have a «Millennium Collection» that drops three or four textbook hits in favor of 'I Want You (She's So Heavy)', would be refreshingly cool; for Al Kooper, whose popularity does not even begin to approach Ringo Starr's solo career, it is unpleasantly haughty (but I still love the guy).

Now on to the real meat: the nineteen rarities on CD 1. There is one big catch here. On one hand, Al Kooper does not generally write or perform crappy filler, and most of this vault stuff could make fine, worthy additions to any of his classic albums. However, much of it is in the form of «fully-arranged demos», meaning synthesizers and programmed drums in the place of real com­petent musicians, and vocals that seem processed through a test tube. As soulful, sincere, and me­morable as 'I Can't Stand The Rain' and 'Living In My Own Religion' can be, I just cannot recom­mend them to anybody but the most hardcore fan — not until Mr. Kooper decides to re-record them with a normal band. Sorry, Mr. Al.

A few of the choices are, admittedly, just plain bad, and the worst one is chosen as the opening track — a 2001 remake of 'I Can't Quit Her' as a slow, draggy adult contemporary ballad, throw­ing out everything that was so great about the song's melody in the first place. There is also a bit of cheesy «senti-pop» ('The Earthquake Of Your Love' is like a collaboration between Neil Young, Billy Joel, and disco-era Bee Gees), a stupidly pathetic arena-rock theme with Titanic Gui­tar Solos™ ('Bulgarya') and an instrumental number that sounds like generic Eighties prog rock ('The Big Chase') — yuck.

On the positive side, the long stretch from track 11 to track 15 is almost worth the price of the en­tire package on its own. First, in a fantastically unpredictable manner, there is a cover of XTC's (!) 'Making Plans For Nigel' from Drums & Wires (!!), rearranged as a carnivalesque extravaganza with hopping violins and, the way it seems, accordeon-imitating keyboards (!!!). It is bizarre on its own and even more bizarre compared with the original, but, if possible, even catchier. Then there's a terrific take on Ray Charles' 'I Believe To My Soul' (from 1970, with Mick Taylor on guitar and Al at his deadliest) and a raving hard-rock/power-pop, whichever way you like it, re­invention of Dylan's formerly quiet and introspective 'Went To See The Gypsy'.

Then the next track is, again, spoiled by crappy arrangement, but it is fairly hard to forget a song whose chorus goes "Oh I just can't believe you left me on Rachmaninoff's birthday" (which, as a matter of fact, also happens to be April Fools' Day). And finally, the universally acknowledged highlight of the program is a 1969 big band instrumental arrangement of 'Hey Jude' — no, not the coda, but the song itself, in a fun, stompy, stormy manner that Benny Goodman himself might have envied.

In the end, such positives outweigh the negatives, making the collection a must-have for all those who have admitted Al into the circle of their personal greats, and justifying its thumbs up; and yet, at the same time, coupled with the general deterioration of the Al Kooper Sound on his 21st century albums, it makes me wonder a little bit whether the man hasn't really gone deaf in one ear or something. Then again, I guess when you hit sixty, it is natural of you to cut your own legacy more slack than you used to — or, in a more philosophical manner, it is easier to perceive the little specks of beauty in what you previously saw as monolithic turds.

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Al Kooper: White Chocolate

AL KOOPER: WHITE CHOCOLATE (2008)

1) Love Time; 2) You Never Know Till You Get There; 3) Calling You; 4) I Love You More Than Words Can Say; 5) It Takes A Lot To Laugh (It Takes A Train To Cry); 6) I Cried So Hard; 7) Staxability; 8) You Make Me Feel So Good (All Over); 9) Susan; 10) Hold On; 11) Cast The First Stone; 12) No 1 2 Call Me Baby; 13) Candy Man; 14) I (Who Have Nothing); 15) (I Don't Know When But) I Know That I'll Be There Soon.

This aptly titled companion piece to Black Coffee is a little disappointing. Apparently, Al was on a limited budget, but that does not really explain why he needed to fall back on hollow synthesi­zers and obsolete-sounding drum machines on so many of these tracks — what is this, making up for lack of Eighties output? Stuff like 'You Make Me Feel So Good' sounds simply awful, especi­ally coming out of the hands of such an experienced soundmeister — and the rest of the tracks often come out pretty flat as well.

Out of reach of the major studios and, perhaps, compensating with homebrewn digital tech­nologies, Al is in real strong need of a master producer here, yet, if I understand it correctly, White Chocolate was his first album not to get any official distribution at all: physical CD co­pies could only be acquired from his own site. Well, that's still no reason to infect your atmo­sphere with sounds that never really belonged in it.

Musically, this is another batch of first-rate «white soul / R'n'B» compositions and interpretations that suffer from subpar production and, sometimes, so-so musicianship (Al is still playing with The Funky Faculty, and The Funky Faculty is still playing like a faculty rather than a well-groun­ded rock band), but certainly not from a lack of melodicity or, God forbid, sincerity. There is, in fact, so much R'n'B on here that by now we know: Al Kooper has lived all his life suffering from not having been born in Sam Cooke's, Otis Redding's, or Marvin Gaye's shoes, and even though he has a clear advantage on all three of them now (as in, they are all violently dead and he is peace­fully alive), I miss those early days, when the man was radiating all sorts of styles and gen­res. Now it is as if he just felt the need to resuscitate the old Atlantic Records spirit.

A song name like 'Staxability' says it all, even if the tune itself is a load of fun, and no one really has to concentrate on Al namedropping all of the Stax-Volt heroes (although it does not hurt to refresh one's memory, either — quick, name all of the M.G.s! and most of them, incidentally, are guesting on the actual song) instead of the funky brass riffs. It's an homage, but a good one, but still an homage, and the whole album is this unabashed trip down memory lane. Al covers Eddie Floyd ('I Love You More Than Words Can Say'), Ben E. King ('I Who Have Nothing'), and, in a moment of personal luck, gets to co-write a couple songs with Gerry Goffin himself. It's a bit of an overkill, really, even for Al's standards.

Interestingly, White Chocolate came out sunnier and shinier than Black Coffee: half of the songs are either loud, pompous, life-asserting anthems, pleasantly offset only by Al's ever-whini­fy­ing, but still highly resonant, old voice ('I Love You More...', 'You Make Me Feel So Good', 'Susan', 'No 1 2 Call Me Baby'; some of these I can easily imagine on post-Al Blood, Sweat & Tears albums — after all, how much emotional difference is there between 'You Make Me Feel So Good' and 'You've Made Me So Very Happy'?), or equally loud and anthemic tunes with just a slight touch of melancholy, but no tragedy ('Love Time'; the fast moving 'You Never Know 'Til You Get There', arguably the album's most introspective and personal number that begins with a subtle lyrical nod to Dylan's '115th Dream' and could have been really great if its main melodic hook weren't played on some cheap-sounding electronic keyboard — to my ears, it would need a couple of real cellos to truly come alive).

In a way, that's good, because the world has seen way too much whinying from old rock'n'roll farts al­ready; and I have no idea if Kooper is so much internally at peace with himself as would seem from listening to the album (so much so that he wraps it up with the happiest, cheeriest «car­­nival gospel» performance about death ever put on record) — but even if he isn't, White Chocolate gives no sign of that. It may be somewhat monotonous, and it certainly is a disgrace to the classic «Al Kooper sound», but I do believe him when he writes how much fun he had ma­king it, and, after all, at the ripe age of 64 he should feel absolutely free to lock himself in that one particular groove that, throughout his whole life, he has loved the best. Thumbs up.

Al Kooper: Black Coffee

AL KOOPER: BLACK COFFEE (2005)

1) My Hands Are Tied; 2) Am I Wrong; 3) How 'My Ever Gonna Get Over You; 4) Going, Going, Gone; 5) Keep It To Yourself; 6) Get Ready; 7) Imaginary Lover; 8) Green Onions (live); 9) Another Man's Prize; 10) Childish Love; 11) Got My Ion Hue; 12) Just For A Thrill; 13) Comin' Back In A Cadillac (live); 15) (I Want You To) Tell Me The Truth.

In Al's own words, this album had been «thirty years in the making», and it certainly sounds like it, because no album (at least, no rock album — we aren't talking Wagner operas here) that had been thirty years in the making could ever aspire to turn out to be a jaw-dropping masterpiece in the end (what with spontaneity being a major component of it and all). Instead, it is simply the first «true Al Kooper» album of new material in 30 years, if, out of purism, we disregard the bi­zarre Baxter collaboration and the all-instrumental Rekooperation — and it is simply every bit as good as any other true Al Kooper album. No better, no worse.

Still, it is a somewhat special feeling to be listening to a brand new Al Kooper album in the 21st century and realize that the man has not really withered one little bit. Call it the old grumble gru­mble, but only grizzled Sixties veterans manage to preserve the proper amounts of energy and cre­ativity so as not to sound completely out of vogue in their, er, sixties. Of course, almost no­body no­ticed Black Coffee when it came out — and why should they, when they so rarely noti­ced the young Al Kooper? — but those few who did, all gave rave reviews (Al himself was asto­nished at one such review in the Mojo magazine, no less), and I can't blame them. They had no choice, if you ask me.

Seventy minutes worth of material here, with hardly a second idly wasted. Even the two live jams included from a gig with his new band, «The Funky Faculty» (apparently, consisting entirely of his fellow music professors at the Berkelee College in the Boston!) are terrific: Booker T. & the MG's 'Green Onions', fully respecting the cool grimness of the original (Al begins with a rather slavish imitation of the old organ solo), adds blazing rock solos and fades out just as the repetitiveness factor threatens to kick in. 'Comin' Back In A Cadillac' is a semi-original that begins with a brass riff borrowed from 'Bony Moronie', immediately becomes a part facetious, part bitter-ironic autobiographic rant ("Right now I don't have a dime / Most folks say the life I live is a crime"), and then unpredictab­ly turns into a «soul clapping» session with the audience. How Al Kooper-ish.

As for the studio recordings — «black coffee» is indeed the perfect way to describe their general style: somewhat on the dark side, with plenty of bitterness, and yet, at the same time, an overall pleasing, satisfactory, mind-clearing effect. The music is not quite as diverse as usual, generally well set within the classic R'n'B pattern, with occasional excourses into Dylan-ish singer-song­writing and the lounge style, but all of the songs are exceedingly well-written, starting from the anthemic brass riff that opens 'My Hands Are Tied' and all the way down.

Al's voice, which was never one of nature's treasures to begin with, has become even lower, crack­lier, and whinier than it used to be; but the genius of Al is that he always knew what kind of stuff this voice was best fit for, and Black Coffee is the final proof, because the songs are lower, cracklier, and whinier, while never losing the necessary soulfulness. 'Going, Going, Gone' is an old man's rant at the inevitably changing times (with a funny stab at hip-hop culture as opposed to «deep soul music» which I cannot help enjoying), but it is nowhere near as flat and close-minded­ly bitter as, for instance, Steve Stills' 'Seen Enough'. Songs like 'Keep It To Yourself' and 'Ano­ther Man's Prize' seem to be borrowing the vibe from Mark Knopfler — gloomy, introspective, nocturnal broodings, but also catchier and more interestingly arranged than the average Knopfler song (Dire Straits always sucked at spicing up their sound beyond just one awesome guitar).

As usual, there are some interesting covers — 'Get Ready', 'Just For A Thrill' — that almost seem to be there for comparison with how well Al can write his own songs in a similar style: 'Am I Wrong' is a cross between swamp blues and boogie that stands loud and proud against Smokey Robinson's fast-paced register, and 'How 'My Ever Gonna Get Over You' matches Lil' Arm­strong's mood and depth bit for bit, with Al's raspy vocal performance treasurable over the song's musical content (generic, but tastefully arranged lounge stuff).

Overall, Black Coffee is very much an old man's album, and that's a compliment: always true to himself, Kooper recognizes his age and is not ashamed to make nostalgia, retro-reflection, and slow-burning, bitter-esque emotion into the central themes. Which never completely suppresses the desire to rock out, either, as the 'Green Onions' cover successfully demonstrates. Charismatic then, charismatic now, he is aging just like a good wine should, settling so comfortably into the «el­der statesman» role that the hat-tipping reflex becomes unconditional, and so is, of course, the thumbs up motion.

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Al Kooper: Soul Of A Man

AL KOOPER: SOUL OF A MAN (1995)

1) Somethin' Goin' On; 2) I Can't Keep From Cryin' Sometimes; 3) I Stand Alone/I Can Love A Woman/New York City; 4) Flute Thing; 5) Don't Tell Me (Repo Man); 6) Two Trains Runnin'; 7) Heartbeat; 8) Sleepwalk; 9) Just One Smile; 10) I Can't Quit Her; 11) I Want A Little Girl; 12) My Days Are Numbered; 13) I Love You More Than You'll Ever Know; 14) Spoken Intro; 15) Made In The Shade; 16) Downtime; 17) Violets Of Dawn; 18) Albert's Shuffle; 19) Closing Medley (You Can't Always Get What You Want/Season Of The Witch).

Is this a stupendous live album, or what? Imagine a double live CD led by, say, Eric Clapton, with three songs performed by the original Yardbirds, four by the original Cream, and an extra three by the original Derek & The Dominos (minus the dead guys, of course), plus a bunch of so­lo stuff plus a bunch of whatever else came along — old stuff, new stuff, you name it. Clearly, despite all of his allegedly easy-going nature, Clapton could not pull it off in one go, nor would he ever want to. Leave that kind of bewildering stuff to crazy schemers like Al Kooper.

For a series of three gigs, recorded in New York in February 1994, Al got together the original members (well, not all of them, but most) of both of his old bands —The Blues Project and Blood, Sweat & Tears, as well as his new band, the Rekooperators, led by Jimmy Vivino. In addition, he got Johnnie Johnson (the Johnnie Johnson, of Chuck Berry fame) to play some piano, and John Sebastian (the John Sebastian, of the Lovin' Spoonful fame) to blow some harmonica — in fact, something tells me he could have gotten anybody, including President Clinton on tambourine, they just ran out of space listing all the guests on the album cover.

With such an eclectic presence spearheaded by one of the most eclectic artists the world has ever seen, one should be prepared for everything. Now, obviously, Al did not get the old bands back together to make them play post-rock: the old chestnuts are respectfully revisited en masse, from the Blues Project's 'Flute Thing' and 'I Can't Keep From Crying' to BS&T's 'My Days Are Num­bered' and 'I Can't Quit Her'. Apart from that, however, instead of concentrating on his solo care­er (mostly reduced to a brief three-song medley in the early part of the set and just two numbers from Rekooperation), Al concentrates on...

...oh boy, this is always my favourite part with this guy. Let's see now: there's Randy Newman ('Just One Smile'). The Rolling Stones (well, somehow, Al is justified in choosing 'You Can't Al­ways Get What You Want', considering that he played on the original; and this is the only live rendition of this classic song I've ever heard that emphasizes the initial choral part instead of just dropping it, as the Stones always do). Friggin' Lynyrd Skynyrd — 'Made In The Shade', not even one of their better-known tunes, but turned into a New Orleanian hedonistic delight with Johnnie Johnson's help. And, even less expected — Adrian Belew, with 'Heartbeat' ("I cannot even be­gin to tell you how difficult it is to play this song", Al complains before launching into it, "cause Ad­rian Belew is nuts!"). The band does a great job on the song, though.

Not everything is picture-perfect. The Blues Project, for instance, was a really early venture for Kooper, who did not really begin to bloom until 1968, and while the band was quite decent when covering contemporary psych-pop (e. g. Eric Andersen's 'Violets Of Dawn', one of the highlights here as well), their «blues» thing was rather generic, and little has changed since then — eleven minutes for Muddy Waters' 'Two Trains Runnin' is overkill. And on 'Albert's Shuffle', Jimmy Vi­vino does not particularly well match the shoes of the late great Mike Bloomfield (who, himself, must have had a great time watching the shows from Heaven through direct satellite trans­mis­sion). Also, one strange post-production defect concerns Steve Katz, the guitar hero behind both Blues Project and BS&T, who, for reasons beyond rational comprehension, did not give per­mis­sion to release his playing, so his parts had to be re-recorded in the studio by Vivino.

But none of this is truly significant next to the general feel of the record: once again, and once again from an entirely different angle, you get a potpourri of Americana (I sometimes forget Ad­rian Belew is American, too) played with just the right mix of professionalism, sincerity, and ac­cessibility. And Al is in perfect form as a singer, too — for instance, his rendition of 'I Love You More Than You'll Ever Know' almost matches the original in tension and passion, and this is a major feat; the original vocal performance was so perfectly modulated that each single live ver­sion by BS&T I've ever heard was always a letdown. Here, allowing himself some minor leeway during the coda, Kooper delivers the goods exactly the way I feel they should always be delivered if 'I Love You More' is destined to remain what it has always been (namely, one of the most soul-shattering, tear-jerking songs ever written). His grumbly sense of humor works well, too ("I hate playing this song...", he says about 'I Can't Quit You', "...except with these guys").

Soul Of A Man is a goddamn perfect title. It is not a «career summary» — it omits way too much from Al's career, and adds way too much from his non-career for that — it is merely a re­af­fir­mation of Al's original purpose in music, and shows him fully capable of pulling off everything he did thirty years earlier, and more. Look up «artistic integrity» in your local encyclopaedia — if you don't find a picture of Al Kooper next to it, I'll be very much surprised.

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