B. B. King: One Kind Favor

B. B. KING: ONE KIND FAVOR (2008)

1) See That My Grave Is Kept Clean; 2) I Get So Weary; 3) Get These Blues Off Me; 4) How Many More Years; 5) Waiting For Your Call; 6) My Love Is Down; 7) The World Is Gone Wrong; 8) Blues Before Sunrise; 9) Midnight Blues; 10) Backwater Blues; 11) Sitting On Top Of The World; 12) Tomorrow Night.

There is definitely an attempt to find some sort of different edge here; unfortunately, in the long run One Kind Favor still ends up being «just another B. B. King album». Of course, one should never forget that it is «just another B. B. King album recorded at the age of 83» — at this point, each new release from the man is a must-hear, if only as a source of inspiration for all of us low-down quitters like Mick Jagger and Angus Young.

Good news involve producer T-Bone Burnett, who has dedicated much of his life to finding a perfect balance betwe­en progressive technology and archaistic atmosphere; one more return of Dr. John, whose piano playing is often enough to make even a turd burst into flowers; and a number of golden oldies that had never before received the B. B. King touch. Bad news are that T-Bone's production style and King's standard idiom do not mesh well together; that most of the extra studio musicians are little more than paid professionals; and that most of the golden oldies are standard 12-bar fare — and do we really need another version of 'Tomorrow Night', what with Reflections released a mere five years earlier?

Granted, the album starts out tremendously well. Blind Lemon's 'See That My Grave Is Kept Clean', whose lyrics also lend the album its title, obviously has a lot of relevance for King these days, and even though there is no reason to think that he meant it as a final musical gesture, he clearly sings it testament-style, in a wearier voice than usual. Meanwhile, Burnett surrounds his delivery with dark, swampy atmosphere, with a muffling effect on Jim Keltner's drums and a thin organ membrane that is more felt than heard. Nothing of the kind can be found on any other B. B. King album — this is the finest intro-bait we've had from the man in maybe thirty years or so.

Alas, already on the second track, even though the production values mostly remain the same, the magic starts to dissipate. Had they concentrated on darker, deeper material throughout, One Kind Favor would truly be different. But this is where B. B.'s self-imposed limitations step in: he is such a big-hearted optimist that he can never stay steeped in doom and gloom for too long. Enter­tainment has been his motto all these years, and what kind of an entertainer would want to spend an entire hour depressing his audiences?

Throughout all of the remaining eleven tracks, Burnett is pretty much helpless. He still puts that echo on the drums, brings the bass high up in the mix to make things run in a jazzier vein, buries Lucille under waves of brass and keyboards — no dice. There is a physical limit to what you can do with the 12-bar form delivered by an 83-year old whose style of playing and guitar tones have not changed all that much ever since they learned how to run electricity through a six-string.

Also, it worries me to say this, but it does seem like King is honestly sounding a little tired and worn down here: the singing is quieter, shakier, and, overall, somewhat less expressive than it had been even three years earlier on the 80th jubilee album. This may be one of the reasons why 'See That My Grave Is Kept Clean' works so well on the senses — and why all the other songs do not. In this situation, he could perhaps concentrate more on the playing than on the singing, and on the slow mood pieces rather than aggressive mid-tempo blues-rock ('Backwater Blues' and 'Wai­ting For Your Call', both of them seriously overlong, still work better than something like 'How Many More Years' in this setting). On the other hand, the last time it happened, his idea of a slow mood piece was the sweet lounge sound of Reflections, and that's no salvation either.

What to do, then? Retire? Apparently, that is not going to happen as long as the man is physically capable of doing something to that guitar. All that is left us is sit back and endure: as long as the King refrains from embarrassments (say, a duet with Eminem or a production deal with the Bama Boyz), everything that he records until his demise (currently scheduled for the aftermath of World War III from a bad cold caught on Keith Richards' funeral) is going to be listened to with the pro­per reverence. As for One Kind Favor, I'd like to give it a thumbs down, but it does have one ter­rific performance, and in any case, we are way, way past the thumbs stage on here.

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B. B. King: 80

B. B. KING: 80 (2005)

1) Early In The Morning; 2) Tired Of Your Jive; 3) The Thrill Is Gone; 4) Need Your Love So Bad; 5) Ain't Nobody Home; 6) Hummingbird; 7) All Over Again; 8) Drivin' Wheel; 9) There Must Be A Better World Somewhere; 10) Never Make Your Move Too Soon; 11) Funny How Time Slips Away; 12) Rock This House.

Another jubilee, another batch of boring, uncomfortable duets. But there is an extra kick here, as compared to King's earlier gueststar-studded records: it is rather fun to hear the 80-year old gran­grandaddy outsing (nearly always) and outplay (occasionally) most of his guests, including those who had not yet been born when the man was already cutting sides, and who, at this point, are as much «elder statesmen» of popular music as he is, and sometimes more.

I mean, it must have been a pretty cruel joke on King's part to drag Roger Daltrey in the studio: the poor guy sounds completely out of voice, breath, and life-supporting devices trying to outdo his 19-year-older partner on the rough blues verses of 'Never Make Your Move Too Soon', whe­re­as B. B. still delivers those lines almost exactly the same way as he did thirty years earlier. Dit­to for Elton John on 'Rock This House', the album's only uptempo number that closes the procee­dings on a good-timey retro-Fifties note — but perhaps bringing in Doctor John instead of Elton would have spiced things up in a more amusing manner.

The rest of the duets are not exactly pitiful, but there is nothing on here that would, somehow, confirm that this particular person placed his/her stamp on this particular song for any respectable reason. Most of the people are just wasted — either because, as is often the case, they were only too happy to hide behind the wall of B. B.'s years (if so, why the hell did they join him in the stu­dio at all?), or because, perhaps out of a lack of experience of working with the King, they didn't quite understand what to do and how to do it.

Van Morrison: sings a 12-bar blues tune without any passion at all, perhaps because 12-bar blues is simply not his forté. Billy Gibbons: there is no place for classic ZZ Top irony on a B. B. King song. Eric Clapton: hollow, manneristic soloing on 'Thrill Is Gone', possibly because he is trying to do it King-style — isn't it a little odd, considering that King is playing on the very same track? Sheryl Crow: she can write a good song or two, but crooning the blues? Might as well bring in Madonna. John Mayer: the Big Boring Guitar Hero of our time, adding absolutely nothing to 'Hu­mmingbird' and I am still not sure subtracting how much. Etc. etc.

The only track that might be worth tracking down is the duet with Bobby Bland on 'Funny How Time Slips Away' — unlike most other pairings, the Bland/King collaboration goes back to the mid-Seventies, and the two have a good way of understanding and complementing each other; their «conversation» is simultaneously amusing and touching, justifiedly nostalgic in tone, and does not feel one bit strained.

Everything else does. If it qualifies as a birthday present, it must be one of those «Official Im­portant» presents that so often spoil all the fun at jubilees — you know, getting something very solemn-looking, very expensive, and completely useless. Anybody celebrating his 80th jubilee and still having a recording and performing career is OK in my book at least out of sheer respect (and, while we're at it, King still occasionally smokes and blazes in concert, even if he has to sit rather than stand throughout the whole show); but in this case, it is the man that we want to hear, not his (lack of) interaction with his deliberately or coincidentally wooden partners. I'm sorry, Mr King, but the duets just have to go. Thumbs down.

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B. B. King: Reflections

B. B. KING: REFLECTIONS (2003)

1) Exactly Like You; 2) On My Word Of Honor; 3) I Want A Little Girl; 4) I'll String Along With You; 5) I Need You; 6) A Mother's Love; 7) (I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons; 8) Neighborhood Affair; 9) Tomorrow Night; 10) There I've Said It Again; 11) Always On My Mind; 12) Cross My Heart; 13) What A Wonderful World.

It's been quite some time since B. B. concentrated exclusively on his sentimental side, so he can certainly be excused for spending a well-tucked evening with The Great American Cornbook on his lap. More than that, he can be excused for triggering a predictable series of associations: «Old time balladry» + «78 years of age» + «an album called Reflections» → «nostalgia» / «looking back on that long long road» / «that old, tired noble heart» → RESPECT.

None of which surmises that anyone will ever be interested in hearing this album more than once — the usual fate for about 70% of King's output, for sure, but Reflections doesn't even make for decent party music this time, unless you're talking about your grandparents' high school reunion party, and even in that case it is not clear why they would want to hear B. B. King impersonating Nat King Cole, Armstrong, and Dionne Warwick instead of the real thing.

Factual data are scarce and uninteresting. The arrangements are loud and bombastic, with lots of brass and strings and very little guitar, although, to be honest, when B. B. is in the mood for a soulful solo, he does it admirably well, e. g. 'On My Word Of Honor'. There is a strangely large amount of steel and slide guitar, too, which may be puzzling for those who are well aware of the man's monogamy, but, apparently, most, if not all, of those parts are played by wiz kid Doyle Bramhall II. It gives the proceedings a slightly Nashvillified whiff, too, which is OK by me — anything to take the emphasis off that high school ballroom spirit is welcome.

Maybe — a very uncertain maybe — but still, maybe the album could have been turned into so­mething vaguely more interesting had its production not been entrusted to Simon Climie, the man almost single-handedly responsible for strangling Eric Clapton's mid-1990s comeback in the cra­dle and, consequently, for making the Clapton/King collaboration (Riding With The King) ten times less the experience that it could have been. The man has an unparalleled gift for sucking life, energy, and brawn out of anything — he could probably make Manowar sound like Bread without them noticing. On the other hand, it is not clear how exactly would it be possible to brea­the new life into those dusty old standards, especially if the artist behind them is a dusty old relic himself (no offense). Thumbs down — avoid unless you're on a really acute sentimental kick.

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B. B. King: Makin' Love Is Good For You

B. B. KING: MAKIN' LOVE IS GOOD FOR YOU (2000)

1) I Got To Leave This Woman; 2) Since I Fell For You; 3) I Know; 4) Peace Of Mind; 5) Monday Woman; 6) Ain't Nobody Like My Baby; 7) Makin' Love Is Good For You; 8) Don't Go No Farther; 9) Actions Speak Louder Than Words; 10) What You Bet; 11) You're On Top; 12) Too Good To You Baby; 13) I'm In The Wrong Business; 14) She's My Baby.

"Makin' love is good for you", King tells us with the complacency of a man who really knows what he's talking about — implying that, perhaps, makin' love is still good for him, too, regard­less of the discrepancy between the year 2000 and his own birthdate, usually given as 1925. Ad­mittedly, it is great to know that the guy is still doing well in the life-enjoying department. Unfor­tunately, it is the only great thing about this album.

(Well, perhaps, other than letting us know that all of these years he's been "in the wrong business": "Should've been like Michael Jackson when I was the age of five / But I chose this guitar, now I'm broke and can't survive" — ha ha. Then again, considering the man's embarrassing stunt for Burger King two years later, perhaps he was being serious. No one can contest, after all, that the King of Pop did make a hell of a lot more dough than the King of Blues — on the other hand, whose life has been the longer and happier one?).

Anyway, Makin' Love is simply one more Blues On The Bayou: exact same band, exact same production, exact same styles and exact same evenness bordering on the boring, or maybe just plain boring — the «bordering» explained by the fact that it takes some guts to call a B. B. King album «boring». However, having already digested most of the man's discography, we now know what kind of things the man is really capable of, and few, if any, of these heights are scaled on Makin' Love's relatively timid and tepid workouts.

I wish I could recommend an outstanding solo or vocal part, but I cannot. 'I'm In The Wrong Bu­siness' is, indeed, a fun curio and a potential laugh riot for the jaded B. B. fan, just because the lyrics are so outrageous. As for the guitar licks — each one of these you've heard a million times by now, and, at the very least, owning Blues On The Bayou automatically makes owning Ma­kin' Love a complete waste of your money. Choose one and leave the other for your enemy.

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B. B. King: Let The Good Times Roll

B. B. KING: LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL (1999)

1) Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens; 2) Is You Is, Or Is You Ain't (My Baby); 3) Beware, Brother, Beware; 4) Somebody Done Changed The Lock On My Door; 5) Ain't That Just Like A Woman; 6) Cho Choo Ch'Boogie; 7) Buzz Me; 8) Early In The Mornin'; 9) I'm Gonna Move To The Outskirts Of Town; 10) Jack, You're Dead!; 11) Knock Me A Kiss; 12) Let The Good Times Roll; 13) Caldonia; 14) It's A Great, Great Pleasure; 15) Rusty Dusty Blues; 16) Sure Had A Wonderful Time Last Night; 17) Saturday Night Fish Fry; 18) Nobody Knows You When You're Down And Out.

Ten years on, this album has obviously lost any relevance it might have ever possessed, but in 1999 it may have done a decent job of introducing a handful of young B. B. King fans (yes, the brand name does indeed attract young fans on a continuous basis) to the legacy of Louis Jordan, a whoppin' eighteen cuts from which are faithfully covered here by King, assisted on piano — and, once, on vocals — by none other than Dr. John.

Naturally, Louis Jordan was as much of a seasoned pro and underrated genius at his schtick — jump blues and swing — as B. B. King was at his; naturally, it is just as unlikely for B. B. King to excel at Jordan-style jazz as it would have been unlikely for Jordan to excel at King-style blues. That B. B. was a devout fan of Jordan is beyond doubt: he'd already covered 'Let The Good Ti­mes Roll' on many an occasion, and his entertainment style borrowed lots of its easy-going ele­ments from Jordan's. But to do an entire album of Jordan tunes, including prime Louis cuts whose musical table tennis between Jordan and his band is supposed to take one's breath away like no­thing else, that takes quite a bit of gall. How the man came up with the idea in the first place, we'll never know. The big questions are — (a) does he pull it off? and (b) what's the payoff?

Surprisingly, it all works. Had B. B. concentrated on Jordan's slow blues stuff, such as 'I'm Gon­na Move To The Outskirts Of Town' or the album-closing 'Nobody Knows You' (which Jordan ne­ver «owned» as such but, apparently, covered), he would have turned it into just another blues al­bum — a regularly good blues album, perhaps, well suited to King's style and persona, but it would be rather silly to call it a Louis Jordan tribute album. On the contrary, most of the album is devoted to Jordan's fast, rollickin' numbers that give B. B. a chance to flash his boogie licks — a chance that he doesn't use nearly as often as he should, usually ceding the spotlight to Dr. John and the brass section and concentrating on the singing.

This is where he is bound to lose: no matter how easy-going and inspired his backing band is, no­body can beat the original Tympany Five, and no matter how convincing and authentic B. B. is in his phrasing, he wasn't born with it the way Jordan always seemed to be. B. B.'s guitar and Dr. John's piano are the two edges that they have over the original, but the original was all about sin­ging and brass interplay — it's a little like trying to improve on Chuck Berry by adding a master church organ player to 'Brown Eyed Handsome Man'.

It is admirable that the end result is as much fun as it really is, but, honestly, at best Let The Good Times Roll is a one-time listen to admire the man's lively spirit: let us not forget that the man was a whoppin' seventy-four years old while boppin' and groovin' to the merry sounds of 'Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chi­ckens' (in comparison, Jordan was sixty-seven when he died, and pretty much stopped boppin' and groovin' upon reaching the age of fifty). For that alone, it defini­tely deserves a thumbs up, and now go do yourself a favour — pick up one of those cheap Jor­dan compilations available everywhere, and 'Let The Good Times Roll'!

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