Karl Denson—- Dance Lesson #2
(Blue Note Records)

My rhythm manifesto is trapped in the left foot syndrome. The bump and grind to me is almost like watching a football play. My feet kick out in search of other shins, and my arms flap around like some carnie tilt-a-whirl. Dancing with a partner is social suicide. I try to reflect what the other person is doing, mirroring their moves so I can complete the groove jigsaw. However, to them, I look like one of those funhouse mirrors that are cracked in the middle. Oh well, what’s a white boy supposed to do?
My epiphany came recently when I picked up Karl Denson’s latest release, “Dance Lesson #2.”

Somehow, my body loosened up. My feet popped at the right time and my hips did a swagger that would have made Dick Clark blush. For the first time in my life, I actually performed a ... dance. I looked at the title again, certain the Mr. Denson had every one of us left-footers in mind. His 20 years of performing was probably rife with watching one too many goofsters flopping around like an ice cube on grease. “I can’t take it anymore,” Karl must have whispered to himself. “If no one else is going to lead these people, I guess it’s up to me. Come, faithful saxophone!”

Those who aren’t familiar with Denson are missing perhaps the funkiest bandleader of the 21st century (pardon me, Mr. Brown). He is a saxophone monster, carving dance heavy beats with his present band, The Tiny Universe. He is also responsible for creating the now legendary San Diego band, The Grey Boy Allstars, as well as performing with trumpet shaman Fred Wesley (on four records) and Lenny Kravitz (“Let Love Rule” and “Mama Said”). Karl is known for his West Coast boogaloo sound — a mesh of intense funk coupled with a relaxed feel that beckons a Count Basie philosophy. Those who know Mr. Denson’s work realize his capacity for turning a mild-mannered venue into a hopping sweat hall. Of course, no one (until now) actually realized that he is very accomplished jazz performer. This album is his first venture with the legendary Blue Note Records, a company world-renowned for lassoing the greatest jazzers (i.e., John Coltrane) in the world.

The house band on “Dance Lesson” would have made Charlie Parker envious. R&B master guitarist Melvin Sparks joins the fracas along with eight-string wizard Charlie Hunter. Chris Wood (Medeski, Martin, and Wood) serves as the bass backbone, and drummer Zak Najor (Grey Boy Allstars) ensured that Karl felt cozy in the studio. Those who think turntables are a sacrilege should consult one D.J.
Logic. He is a consummate weaver, stitching remixes in the appropriate gaps and causing even the staunchest jazz observers to whisper, “Woooow!” His infusion on this CD gives this jazz album an Evil Knievil ramp into the unknown. Rounding out this impressive caravan is acid jazz percussionist E.J. Rodriguez (from the band Brooklyn Funk Essentials), and dual organ contributions from Leon Spencer Jr. and Ron Levy (B.B. King).

The title track is a circulatory starting gun. Logic’s mixing is dominant at the start, only allowing Denson to infiltrate when necessary. This is not a complaint by any means. The other performers find ways around the scratching and give the song a layered simplicity. This is also a harbinger of things to come. We all know that Karl is the star, but this album is about letting everyone shine. “Like Like Dope” makes you want to sag your pants down low and walk the street like butter was in your knees. Crescendos appear and descend into instrumental mayhem. The instruments converge at one sound and then spill all over the place, giving the listener a buffet of tweaks. Denson’s flute appears in this song and he does it with such grace that I almost forgot about his sax proclivity.

Chris Wood’s trademark thumps indicate it’s time for “Rumpwinder,” a little tune that recalls Denson’s West Coast sounds. It gives the virgin ear an understanding of what to expect at a live Tiny Universe show. Charlie Hunter’s lone contribution on the album is not to be taken lightly. My only complaint (and yours will be too) is why Hunter is not on more cuts. This is mellow boogie, kind of like a patient dance teacher that waits for the rest of the body to catch up. And it will. This is Denson’s calling card — “Oh yes, I supply the funk, but I’ll ease everyone into it. Not everybody was born funky like me!”

“Flute Down” steps back a little and allows Karl to once again become the Pied Piper. The others follow, with Rodriguez proving his savvy as a percussion daddy. Leon Spencer’s organ work is especially nice here. This song is perfect for long sunset drive. “A.J. Bustah” recalls the ghost of Coltrane and gives the album its first authentic jazz number. The rhythm section has that doh-wop feel, recalling those bars where no one is talking because the house band is doing all the conversing. Karl’s tenor work on this cut displays his range and willingness to pursue new portals.

“A Shorter Path #2” recalls a Herbie Hancock number at its most serene. Spencer once again delves into fluid key work, allowing Denson huge holes to caulk. Guitarist Sparks works off Denson like an appendage, giving weight to the sax-man when needed. This is gorgeous minimalism and the band produces a full sound without noodling to ecstasy.

Of course, Karl wouldn’t be true to himself without having a song titled, “I Want the Funk.” This is just another notch in a long glittery belt of funk specials. The final cut, “Who Are You,” is 12 minutes of everyone spilling their otherworldly talents onto one cut. Logic steps up first and builds around the cascade guitar work of Sparks. The rhythm section steps up nicely before Denson’s tenor once again intrudes into the meelee. “Who Are You?” is essentially asking each musician to identify himself; what common folks like myself would call a jam session.

The question now is, “Can Hunter dance.” The answer is still a firm “No!” But, records like “Dance Lesson” prove I’m not hopeless. It talks to my body in a different way than my brain does. It’s a shame I can’t mainline this stuff.

The Blind Boys of Alabama
- Spirit of the Century

“Hunter, I’m having trouble staying on my path of human misery,” Satan told me the other day.

“Why’s that, my troubled Lucifer,” I said from a distance.

“Well, you see, there’s these fellows from Alabama who sing gospel just as sweet as honeysuckle,” it confided to me.

Sweet? Honeysuckle? Are these the statements of an individual who bathes in fire?

“I’m using words I’ve never uttered before,” he stammered, “like, ‘testify’ and ‘salvation.’ Could it be that I’ve been wrong this whole time?”

I didn’t know what to say and the forlorn fellow walked away with his tail between his legs. Could a simple album actually save an entity that oozes of evil? I got a hold of a recording of The Blind Boys of Alabama, “Spirit of the Century,” and my life has been altered ever since. This is gospel the way it should be. It’s so full of soul and determination that it’s hard to ignore the message. Since 1939, the Blind Boys have entertained audiences of all spectrums - religious, secular, black, white, good, and evil.

“We went into our old-time style on this new album,” says The Blind Boys’ leader and founder Clarence Fountain to Billboard Magazine. “We let our minds go back to 1939, when we were students at the Talladega Institute for the Blind, in Alabama.” Fountain joined an all male chorus and was taught a lot of material by white songwriters, like “Tenting Tonight on the Old Camp Ground.” The radio had different intentions, exposing Fountain to black gospel music like the Golden Gate Quartet and the Soul Stirrers. The four-part harmonies struck Fountain deep, and he decided to form the Happy Land Singers with several of his buddies. Revivals took on a new visage whenever Fountains’ group stepped on stage. The demand was high, and the group found gigs all around the country.

“Then a promoter put us on a show with another blind group, the Jackson Harmonies from Mississippi,” said Fountain to Billboard. “He billed it as a contest between the blind boys of Alabama and the blind boys of Mississippi. The name worked good so we stuck with it.”

The meat of their music is that rural, Southern sound that digs to the greasy depths of the listener, detoxing any kind of angst. What makes the Blind Boys so distinct is their willingness to layer blues, funk, and rock into their Pentecostal lyrics. This openness also expands to their venues. The Blind Boys are comfortable at arts centres, churches, festivals, nightclubs, and around the world (an overseas tour is planned for later this year). I asked a couple 2001 Jazz Fest attendees who their favorite performer was, and the common reply was “The Blind Boys of Alabama, of course.” When I asked about any other performers at Jazz Fest, I was confronted with a blank stare. The flock is growing.

This immersion into the world of “harlots and thieves” has allowed the group to come in contact with “instruments of the devil.” Big names like John Hammond and Charles Musselwhite have joined the choir on many an occasion. These live collaborations led to the 2001 release, “Spirit of the Century.” Tom Waits, Ben Harper, and the Rolling Stones all have songs covered on this release and they are each done with conviction.

“The most challenging part,” producer John Chelew (whose credits include John Hiatt’s “Bring The Family”) told Billboard, “was getting Clarence and the other Blind Boys to truly connect with the lyrics on the contemporary songs by Tom Waits and Ben Harper. Clarence told me, “We can’t sing these songs until we really understand their message - we’re not robots. The superficialities of the songwriting are different from what you hear in traditional Gospel, but underneath there’s the commonality of the human experience. Once Clarence identified with that, everything was fine.”

Fine as hot molasses on welcoming griddlecakes. Each song on “Spirit” is a journey in search of everlasting peace ... as well as some music culled from the humid dust of the Crossroads. The saviors are the voices, and the instruments are the forked tail accompaniments. Other guests on the album include multi-instrumentalist David Lindley (various guitars and the Middle Eastern oud) and British bassist Danny Thompson and drummer Michael Jerome, who are the rhythm section for the legendary guitarist and songwriter Richard Thompson.

Tom Wait’s “Jesus Gonna Be Here” opens the album with Fountain’s distinctive, scratchy wail.

“I don’t have to shout, I got me no reason, and I got me no doubt,” he declares. Hammond’s guitar and Musselwhite’s harp lend an almost sacrilegious bend to the song, but Fountain keeps his eyes on the light. It reminds me of watching a tent revival in the middle of a black swamp. “No More” is even filthier. The slide work on this cut gets everything rambling as the intermittent declarations of “No more ... Jesus be the one I’m looking for” volleys with the strings. “No More” is a drencher, with every sound gurgling out until its bled dry.

“Run On For a Long Time” is funk wrapped in a morality tale “I went down on a bended knee, listening to the man from Galilee,” George Scott (original member) tells the listener with sass as a cherubic chorus backs him up. The rhythm section on this song could be accused of moonlighting with P-Funk. Who says religion can’t intermingle with body wiggles?

Think you’ve heard every version of “Amazing Grace?” Try listening to this old standard to the beat of “House of the Rising Sun.” Dark and light coexist on this song. The redemption of the soul is counteracted with the grim landscape that “Rising Sun” is known for. This is the pattern on the whole album - a wrestling match between the peaks and chasms of a person’s religious outlook.

Other noteworthies include Harper’s “Give a Man a Home,” the hellfire creedo on Tom Wait’s “Way Down in the Hole,” and the Rolling Stone’s “The Last Time.”

The Blind Boys open their eyes on each cut and create a visionary album that will tug at anyone who appreciates music. This is simply not a gospel album. It is an album that speaks to everyone. It does not preach, nor is it saying to go out and attend church every Sunday. “Find the path,” it tells you.
“Each individual gets there in a different way. We’re not here to judge, brother, we just want everybody to shuck and jive.”

 

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