Ah, last minute Christmas shopping. You can smell it (overused car brakes), see it (red strewn eyes from boiling blood), and feel it (“uh, sir, could you get your elbow out of my back. I’m trying to swipe my card as fast as I can”). The Spirit of Christmas has arrived, and for some it means a dark possession that not even Santa Claus (and his assembly line elves) can appease. The scramble has begun, and that means last-minute quests for the elusive X-Box (or whatever new fangled kid’s item which alleviates the need for Ritalin). For the older clientele, there is the ominous prospect of clothing. Socks and underwear drain the soul, and that “Frosty accosts Bambi” sweater from your long lost aunt (mentally and visibly) will take up residence with the moths within a day.

The solution: move to a place that doesn’t celebrate Christmas, or find items that aren’t going to run out of stock, or be three sizes too small. Down below, I’ve comprised a short (wish) list of things that should still be in stock when the day of reckoning (Christmas Eve) arrives. Of course, if you’ve finished all your shopping (nerd), then I know of a lowly writer who is accepting gifts for a short time only ...

The North Mississippi Allstars - “51 Phantom”
(Tone Cool/ Artemis Records)

This is essentially the debut album for the North Mississippi Allstars. Their first album, “Shake Hands With Shorty” (Grammy nominated), is a compendium of covers from some of their biggest influences — Junior Kimbrough, R.L.Burnside, and Mississippi Fred McDowell. The trio (Luther Dickinson — guitar, vocals; Cody Dickinson — percussion, washboard madness, guitar, vocals; Chris Chew — bass, vocals) did the covers justice, displaying a keen wisdom for the swamp blues boogie that the North Mississippi hill country sweats from their porous juke joints.

“51 Phantom” is the trio’s first attempt at songwriting and composition, and brother, it’s sweeter and nastier than a bowl of collards in hog drippings.

Overseen by legendary producer Jim Dickinson (the father of Cody and Luther), “51 Phantom” is familiar blues territory, but it’s bolstered by boogie sounds latticed with the primal need to improvise. The Dickinson boys are well versed in the hill country blues, and their taste for the sound came before their vocal chords were in working order  “I was in my dad’s studio one day hanging out, and my mom scooped me up to carry me back to the house,” Luther told New York Times’ Neil Strauss. “He had a huge old Ampex eight-track machine, and I pointed to that and said, ‘Studiolioliolio.’ And that was my first word, studio, before mama or anything.”

The Dickinson Boys (despite their father’s early attempts to keep them away from music) formed their first band in third grade. They moved on to punk outfits (appropriately named DDT and Pigs in Space) and even did studio backup for folks like the Replacements and Mojo Nixon. But, it was only a matter of time before the boys came back to what hemmed their souls together.

“There’s something about the hill country style that I just love,” Luther told Strauss. “Like R.L. says, ‘it ain’t nothing but dance music.’ It’s very trancelike, with long songs droning in one key. There’s not a lot of chord changes, so it just flattens out into an even groove, real melodic and rhythmic. I dunno man, it just appealed to me more and more. It makes you want to boogie.”

Power trio is not a word handed out like a street flyer. Heavies like Cream and Govt. Mule deserved the title, and now the regal crown has been handed to NMAS. Luther’s guitar recalls the snakey voodoo riffs of Mississippi Fred McDowell, the sneer of Dickey Betts, and other sounds that might have originated on the Devil’s dotted line. Cody’s drumming is tighter than Gene Krupa’s wrist and Chris Chew provides a bass backbone that creates a spasm in any unwary dancer.

“51 Phantom” is a greasy testament to these sounds and is remarkable for a group that’s still in their mid- to late twenties. Tracks like “Snakes in My Bushes” and “SugarTown” are short in length (less than four minutes), but the primal energy is enough to produce ear blisters. The instrumental section of “Sugartown” is especially dirty as Luther quickens the riff, while Cody matches his brother’s speed with some dexterous washboard work (catch this live if you can, Cody does some things on the ribbed instrument that’s almost ... sacrilegious).

The covers are there too. Kimbrough’s “Lord Have Mercy” and Pops Staple’s “Freedom Highway” are done with authentic reverence; and Luther’s mentor, 92-year-old Othar Turner (who taught the younger to use feeling over technique), lends his cane fife on the original track, “Circle in the Sky.”

My favorites on the album are two ballads, “Leavin’” and “Up Over Yonder.” The splendor of these two songs displays the band’s willingness to explore all avenues, and its piercing beauty goes straight to the heart. “Yonder” is especially mournful, and its drenching sounds fit well with Luther’s vocals bidding adieu to friends, family, and lovers.

Fortunately, NMAS won’t be saying goodbye for a long time. They’ve just begun with their imprints, and their impression will be felt by anyone who worships the grand order of roots music.

John Hartford - “Aereo-Plain”
(Rounder Records)

I wish someone had prodded me harder. For years, I was instructed to listen to Hartford, the man who gave bluegrass a facelift with humor, thunderous instrumentals, and a desire to loosen the tight traditional collar. Hartford had an innate grasp on music that only a few musicians understood. If Bill Monroe was the daddy of bluegrass, then Hartford was the upstart son; he emboldened his new grass ranks and showed the world that bluegrass could have as many side streets as jazz.

I still hadn’t heard much of Hartford when he passed away last year. I regretted missing his last Grey Eagle performance, and I committed a huge error when I did a report for Shindig on the Green. Several of my friends were out there picking, when they delved into a beautiful cover of “Steam Powered Aereo-Plane.” I asked someone, what the name of the song was and they told me “Aereo-Plane,” which my waxed ears misinterpreted. I wrote a review of Shindig and mentioned that several of my friends did a gorgeous cover of the late John Hartford’s “Airplane.”

My cheeks are still crimson, but at least I’m now educated. “Air ... Aero ... Aereo-Plain” is simply incredible. Originally released in 1971, Hartford organized some of finest musicians in the world — Tut Taylor (Dobro), Norman Blake (guitar), Vassar Clements (fiddle) and Randy Scruggs (bass) to form the Aereoplain Band. Arrangements were not discussed beforehand and (as Hartford recalled in 1996), “anyone could play anything or any lick at any time irregardless of whether they knew it or not — or they could lay out — that was their prerogative.”

“A tune would start,” Hartford continued, “and I would stand there and then I would look down and discover my hands busy at the music and that I was just two eyeballs floating in it.”

“Aereo-Plain” is a manifestation of unstructured music. When the album was spawned, it was a breathing life force, almost like the musicians were pawns for a sound that happened to sweep in the studio that day. It seems almost fantastical that the deeeeeep soul came from the belly of a mortal. Hartford’s voice is reminiscent of a charismatic campfire narrator; his vocals disarm any pretensions, which allows the rest of the being to hear the glorious picking that flows out like a streambed of honey.

“With a Vamp in the Middle” makes me cry every time. I had the good fortune of seeing Sam Bush perform this number a couple of months back and I swear my skin has been infected with goose pimples ever since. “Play fiddle, play, all night long, I can hear you screaming at me,” Hartford belts out as his merry band descends upon the ethereal component of jam. This song is perfect — good picking, haunting songwriting, and an emotional rollercoaster.

Instrumentals are short, but as effective as any twenty-minute concerto. The musicians know their place immediately and everything’s melting before the track is a minute old. The boys even take a whack at gospel, as they turn “Tear Down the Grand Ole Opry” into a living room revival.

Hartford’s eloquent banjo kicks off the title track, “Steam Powered Aereo-Plane,” before his comforting vocals send the song soaring. I love his voice on this number, as his range dips and rises with the protagonist of the song. Hartford also proves that bluegrass doesn’t have to be a somber occasion with songs like “Up on the Hill Where They Do the Boogie” and “Holding”.

Purchase “Aereo-Plain” only if you’re prepared to acknowledge that the rest of your bluegrass collection will be inferior.

The Hobbit
by J.R.R. Tolkien

Poor Bilbo Baggins. Recently, we “Tall Folk” have ignored the hair-footed fellow who first showed us Middle Earth. Unless you’ve been hiding out in a cave with Gollum, you know that the 40-year wait for the first movie installment of “Lord of the Rings” is almost over (there was a cartoon done by Ralph Bakshi in 1978, but its mediocrity has made it almost nonexistent).

Tolkien’s first masterpiece, The Hobbit, has been shoved to the side in favor of the trilogy that’s spawned board games, leather bound books and even die-cast Gandalfs residing inside Happy Meals.

Before you become immersed in the trilogy (and I promise you will, brave traveler), check out the book that started it all. Tolkien used to spin these tales to his children and grandchildren before someone told him that it might behoove him to write it down for the rest of the world to enjoy.

The late 1930s was a barren time for fantasy, and Tolkien descended upon the parched land with a pen that summoned dragons, dwarves, goblins, and the beloved hobbits. The Hobbit is incredible because it still breathes with a life that our present minds are still discerning. More amazing is that there is no profanity, sex, or self-indulgent remarks by the author. Tolkien wrote The Hobbit without the omnipotent personality that many fantasy writers display. He wrote like the Hobbits existed, and that he was merely passing on a tale that the Middle Earth forefathers gave to him. By writing like this, Tolkien gave hope to the reading faithful — the visible world was only a cloak for the magic that lied beneath.

The Lord of the Rings is grander in scale, but The Hobbit is grander in tale. This is where we are first introduced to the Hobbits and Middle Earth (complete with a full illustrated map). The great wizard Gandalf is first summoned here, as well as the nasty “precious,” Gollum. The reader also encounters the Ring, which laid the groundwork for the later trilogy. Characters like the rueful Dragon Smaug and the stubborn dwarf-king Thorin jump off the print and make every reader wonder if they’re lurking outside the door. There’s so much in the 300 pages — adventures, comedy, multiple epiphanies, perils, tragedy — that a singular read is usually not enough.

The Hobbit is a fantasy story, but it teaches all of us that we have adventure in our souls; we just might need a little cajoling from close friends or the wizard-looking fellow that lives down the street.

(Hunter Pope writes about music, books, movies and any other subject he chooses. He can be contacted at w.h.pope@worldnet.att.net)

 

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