Hokie Joint, Emperors New Clothes – or Not?

The following review appears on the excellent Blues in the North West website.

Gig Review – Garston RBL, 10 June 2011

The unfortunate cloak of cynicism that envelops us with the passing of time, can become as much an effective weapon in the detection of hype as it is a hindrance to discovery. Keeping this in mind, there have been so many good things spoken about Hokie Joint over the last twelve months, it’s hard to know what to believe. For those still clinging to the last straws of new musical hope, the only logical course of action is to drop the veil of pessimism and go see what the fuss is all about.

If allowed only one word to describe Hokie Joint, it would have to be ‘quirky’. Being unlikely candidates for adoption by the British Blues scene, they seem unwilling bedfellows within a genre that has at least in England, become dominated by either guitar-slinging child prodigies, or slick, formulaic, middle-aged musos. Although having members of multiple age groups, this is a band who manage to avoid the usual clichés that currently reign on the circuit and set out their own agenda for playing ‘The Blues’ or as they put it, “Taking the Blues to the masses”.

Production wise, Hokie Joint offer the uninitiated punter a visual stage-theme, some left-field song compositions and a neat line in between-song anecdotes. In fact, it’s easy to forget that you’re actually attending a gig presented under the guise of ‘The Blues’; sure, there’s elements in there, but the bigger picture contains a lot more than a mono-genre flavour. Traditional Blues connections are maintained by the not too in-your-face harp of Giles King and the youthful but skilful slide-work of Clapton influenced guitarist, Joel Fisk. It’s fringe-Blues, but it works. Ask yourself if we really need another British Bonamassa/SRV teenage clone and the answer surely has to be, “No!” That’s where the likes of Hokie Joint inject their freshness, daring to drag the British Blues scene to a new platform, and not surprisingly, gathering a clan of followers in their wake.

There are no egocentric dominations at a Hokie Joint gig. Sure, people get to shine, but not in the usual tasteless limelight, generated by predictable guitar fuelled histrionics. No, these guys are a lot more subtle with their trade. Take the almost veteran rhythm section of Fergie Fulton and Stephen Cupsey Cutmore. Neither engages in futile soloing; they are completely comfortable in each others pockets, having forged a union together over many years, wiping out the need to make any personal musical statements. If these guys fell down the stairs whilst playing, they’d still sound like they were falling together.

Undoubtedly, what sells it for the Hokie’s comes from the way singer/vaudevillian frontman Jo Jo Burgess delivers their offerings. Tom Waits has been mentioned frequently as a connection point but if you listen closely, you can hear references to The Pogues, Folk music, the Stones, Polka music, The Doors, sea shanties, Ian Dury, Eddie Vedder, the Feelgood’s – in fact, traditional British Blues is the last place your brain cells will be tapping into for a familiarity check. When was the last time you saw a singer wear Guy-liner at a Blues gig? Exactly; this is a new breed for a tired scene, putting fresh coal onto a fire smoking on its last embers.

The icing on the cake has to be that the band have a healthy set of their own material. Yes folks; these boys don’t rely on regurgitating a back catalogue culled from the last thirty years of tired, unimaginative Blues/Rock favourites. Instead, they choose to showcase their own songs from two-CD’s worth of musings on life, the latest being, ‘The Music Starts to Play’. So here lies the challenge: Can other British bands rise to the mantle and dare to throw a spark into the works of a flagging engine? It’s certainly possible, and Hokie Joint may have just kick-started a long, overdue, revolution.

Steve Jordan, In Support of the Mediocre

The following review appeared on the Mike Dolbear Drummer’s Forum in January 2010.

For me, John Mayer is a conundrum, shifting between two extremes. On the one side, he plays the solo artist peddling sickly-sweet, pedestrian, gentle, tortured love songs; the kind found playing on the end credits of chick-flicks. Thus, he has a huge female following and often seen on the arm of Hollywood’s glitterati.

The other side of the coin finds him in his ‘John Mayer Trio’ guise where the music is rawer, funkier and delivered with a lot more balls.

These two worlds loosely stitch together on occasions, aided by the catalyst AKA producer, composer, MD and drummer, Steve Jordan. For this reason alone, I chose to risk going to see Mayer in concert last night at a small (by today’s venue standards) theatre in Manchester.

The whole venture was a personal gamble. First of all, I could find no official written confirmation that Jordan would be accompanying Mayer on the UK dates. Secondly, I was about to break my rule of never attending a gig purely for the purpose of seeing the drummer. Having been bitten and severely disappointed by this in the past (Vinnie Colaiuta with the grossly over indulgent compositions of Jeff Beck), going to see Mayer on the chance of getting the Steve Jordan experience was in theory, a potential disaster.

My sketchy presumptions about Steve Jordan were telling me that it was unlikely that he would be doing the European tour. Jordan is apparently, expensive and Mayer’s Euro dates were all smaller non-arena venue venues. Even if the venues were sold out, it would still cost big bucks to tour an American band on a handful of dates. With this in mind, my reckoning of an appearance by Jordan was veering toward the side of unlikely, with the excellent JJ Johnson being tipped as favourite. However, the unmistakeable ‘SJ’ vintage logo on a black Bass drum skin confirmed that Mr Jordan was indeed in the house, having chosen to accompany his friend to an area of the world suffering its worst winter for decades.

None of my accompanying associates were particularly enthused with Mayer’s latest offering, ‘Battle Studies’. Our collective hopeful predictions were at best, he would only play a few tracks off the new release, plunder the best material from ‘Continuum’ and make forays into some of the songs from his Trio work. We were to be disappointed. Wishful thinking on our part had been far too optimistic and Mayer had done exactly what most other artists would do – tour a new album.

In my eyes, John Mayer is a number of things, amongst them, a fine guitar player, a reluctant front-man, an average songwriter, a great interpreter of other people’s songs and a songwriter who has written a handful of very good songs. With such low key, slow tempo compositions on ‘Battle Studies’, there is very little material to put any real fire into. To carry a set of this sort of material above boredom level, you need musicians with a strong sense of subtlety along with the ability to add fuel to the fire when necessary. Mayer’s band did not fall short in any way on this score, underpinned by some of the P H A T E S T drumming I have ever witnessed. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if Jordan was MD for this tour as it was clear that he drove the show.

In a live situation, Jordan is able to bring to life what come across as sterile takes on some of the tracks on ‘Battle Studies’, putting an extra spark into songs he’d laid down in the studio months before. It wasn’t that he played anything extra (he’s a master at underplaying anyway), it was simply because there exists that ‘It’ factor with Steve Jordan. His live feel is astounding. I can’t explain why. It’s not like something you can learn from books or DVD’s. It just is, the Steve Jordan inner-clock and the reason why so many songwriters want him on their material. John Mayer is a very lucky man to be able to have him supporting his music and is no doubt aware of his good fortune.

At the end of the day, it comes down to simplicity, serving the music and having your OWN sound. So what does that leave the rest of us with? In days of old I would be banishing myself to the practice kit, trying to decipher those Vinnie-Dennis licks to try and incorporate them into my playing. So what now? Do I buy myself a set of 17” Hi-Hat cymbals or fit my shells with wooden rims? No; the answer lies elsewhere. The answer is, to simply be your self. The question isn’t “what would Jordan-Porcaro-Bonham-Gadd-Colaiuta etc play now?”; the question is, “what would YOU play? What feels good for the band?” and having the self-belief to trust your own instincts.

My guess is, Steve Jordan has spent very little – if any – time in his life worrying about how other drummers would do it. He is a Master of his own game and his game is one of simplicity and originality. No wonder John Mayer chooses him to breathe life into what would otherwise remain, lacklustre exercises in song writing.

Review: Krown, Washington and Batiste – ‘Triple Threat’

The following Joe Krown Trio review appears on the Blues In The North West Website.

Krown, Washington & BatisteModern groups choosing to base themselves around the Hammond B3 organ enter inclement waters at their own peril, considering the footsteps they have to follow in. Mention names like Jimmy Smith or Jimmy McGriff and you have to seriously consider whether it’s worth setting sail into seas already traversed and conquered by previous Masters. However, Joe Krown has an Ace card hidden up his sleeve with the words, ‘New Orleans’ stamped all over it; meaning his trio are good to leave port.

Joining Krown for his latest CD, ‘Triple Threat’, are Walter ‘Wolfman’ Washington (Lee Dorsey, Irma Thomas, Johnny Adams) on guitar/vocals and Russell Batiste Jnr (The Funky Meters, Allan Toussaint, Robbie Robertson, Harry Connick Jnr) on drums, setting the bar way above the realms of the average. Their 12 track offering has a mixture of instrumental and vocal songs, making a refreshing change from similar collaborations within the genre that often leave non-musicians out in the cold after 3 numbers. Furthermore, the unit exert a bit of extra creative muscle by penning most of the tracks themselves, rather than regurgitating done-to-death R&B/Jazz Standards. Most impressively – and unusually – we see the drummer getting more than his ‘some’, by the inclusion of no less than three compositions written by Russell Batiste.

Proceedings kick off with an easy-listening funk number from Washington, ‘Only You’, featuring a soulful vocal delivery reminiscent of the Bobby Hebb classic, ‘Sunny’. Next up is a Krown instrumental, ‘Down By The River’, a groovy, mid-paced cut, with heavy emphasis on the B3 (naturally). ‘Last Two Dollars’ is a nice, laid-back, Bluesy non-trio composition drawing more vocals straight from the Wolfman’s soul. Batiste’s half-time funk instrumental, ‘Ridin’ Thru The Mountains’, conjures up an aural image of what it must be like, should The Meters turn up to play at a Louisianan Gospel church service.

‘For your Love’ is another non-trio composition; a 12/8 Blues ballad with a slightly scratchy vocal from Washington utilising a Berry-Gordy-produces-Marvin-Gaye approach, forcing delivery at the edge of the singers comfort zone; a tactic invoked to capture yearning within vocal performances. The album title track is a 3-way instrumental, a funky-jazz journey where guitar and drums get to shine in call-and-answer sections (check out the cheeky fireworks from Batiste). There’s even a step into Prog-Rock keyboards territory at one point (honestly!), before morphing back into the funky backbone of the track. ‘Twelve’ is a grooving ½ time shuffle composed by Batiste with a heavy tilt on lead-Hammond. ‘Out Of The Dark’ presents itself as a Gospel-tinged ballad from the pen of Washington, wrapped within the haven of a heartfelt voice.

‘Dame Dreaming’ takes us back into ½ time shuffle territory, this time from the house of Krown, with more than a few Hammond nods towards the house of Art Neville. If this funky instrumental doesn’t get your head nodding in time, then someone better check for a pulse…’Can I change My Mind’ is the final non-trio composition in the collection, as well as being Washington’s closing vocal track, setting up space for the concluding instrumentals. ‘Rollin’ With Big Pat’ is yet another product of the funky drummer who incidentally, is no slouch in the songwriting stakes thanks to a multi-instrumentalist childhood. ‘Spirit Of The Wolf’ closes the album, another 3-way composition taking the form of an up-tempo, Gospel-feel shuffle.

Pulling off an album in this gamut of the R&B spectrum takes bags of knowledge, understanding, experience and above all, taste. Being A-List New Orleans players obviously helps things fall slickly into place; for one, the lack of a Bass player is never apparent, such is the skill of Joe Krown at covering the low end. Russell Batiste is more than capable of lashing a canvas with unfeasibly complicated Gospel-chops; but he doesn’t, because he understands space within music that less tasteful players would choose to fill up with ego-paint.

As a collection of works, ‘Triple Threat’ could happily occupy the same shelf as say, 1998’s ‘A New Shift’, by Pee Wee Ellis. Considering these guys probably play most nights to audiences in New Orleans, it’s likely that this is the sort of music that keeps rears on bar-seats rather than sending people out in search of the banal. Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of sound you’ll find in an English City, simply because we don’t have an
equivalent to New Orleans producing such diversity within music. Thanks to collectives like Krown, Washington & Batiste committing their flavours to CD, we at least get the chance to sample a style of R&B that seems to evade the vast majority of UK Blues artists. If we’re lucky, Krown may bring his trio to grace our shores at some point in the near future, giving us a lesson in musical styles we find difficult to home-grow ourselves.

4REAL – The Manic’s in Liverpool

The Manic Street Preachers, Liverpool Guild of Students, 08/10/10

Image of 'Postcards From A Young Man'It was early last week that I took the call. An old friend phoned and asked me if I fancied going to see the Manics on a free ticket as he’d been let down last minute. “What’s the venue?” was my first reaction, seeing as I refuse to go to gigs in anything other than theatres or where the room size negates the requirement for watching the band on a huge flat screen. When I heard they were playing at the students union hall I couldn’t take the offer up fast enough. After all, didn’t they play bigger venues than this normally? Apparently, this was a ‘back to clubs’ style tour in support of their latest release, ‘Postcards From A Young Man’.

It surprised a few of my friends when they found out I was going to see the band – after all, I’d never been an outward or obvious supporter of them, but there was something lying dormant in the appreciation sector of my brain that went right back to the early 1990’s. Probably 1992 to be specific.

I can remember back in the day when Radio 1 used to have live sessions by bands during the daytime. I was living in my first house, not enjoying a period in the musical wilderness, playing one too many gigs I hated. Then, out of the blue came this band, live on the radio, seemingly with the balls of The Clash and a lyrical sensibility that reflected living in post-Thatcher Britain under the rule of drab, establishment-educated men in boring grey suits. My ears pricked up to the sound of ‘Motorcycle Emptiness’, then I guess the same cynicism that Steve Lamacq pondered over kicked in as I wondered if they were really “for real”. After all, punk was long over, The Clash were history, Weller was mute and Britain was happy to languish in a Dance culture, seemingly content with the easy escape offered by cheap electronic music, served on a bed of Ecstasy. So weren’t these Welsh boyos just jumping on a bandwagon from the past? Well, perhaps not so I gave them the benefit of the doubt.

Over the next decade I watched from the sidelines as they continued to build a solid fan-base on the back of successful albums and equally passionate live work. As a spectator, I more than enjoyed their live appearances on the BBC’s ‘Later’ show and was glued to the documentary made about the disappearance of Richey Edwards. Despite my self-promises to buy their CD’s and go to their gigs, I never quite got around to it, so the phone call I took was a fresh chance to do something about my apathy and get my ass over to pay my respects, respect being something I have an endless supply of for this band.

A sold out hothouse of a hall played host to the event, identical to the student union venues I’d played around the country over the years. Was a band of their magnitude they really going to play in such a tiny room? Not that I was complaining, I just couldn’t believe my luck at the opportunity for the small price of a train ticket.

And so it began, the consummation of an 18 year on/off affair with a band I’d never quite crossed the line to make full commitment with. “Why the hell didn’t I do this earlier?” was my initial reaction. The band were nothing less than I expected and had lost none of the passion I’d detected belting out of the radio all those years ago. Hit after hit were delivered with the gusto that none of the young bands I see on ‘Later’ today have a hope in hell of achieving. You can’t fake angst in music. It has to be real. If you lived through the ravages of the post-79 Conservative government as a child and then a teenager on the wrong side of the economic divide, the idea of fighting back at the bastards in power was never far away. For me, the Manics are the last of my generation still operating under a policy that is still as valid today as it was 30 years ago, though there’s a bit more sophistication to it these days.

Personal highlights of the set were the solo-acoustic version James did of ‘You Stole The Sun From My Heart’ (stunning) and ‘Ocean Spray’, the poignancy of which, was lost on me until after the gig, though something touched me about its performance. Later on, I discovered the underlying theme behind the song and how it mirrored events in my own life.  The closing statement James Dean Bradfield emphatically addressed to our collective was something along the lines of, “there is no us and you – only WE!” And you know what? I believe he was 4REAL. This time though, the razor blade could safely stay in its packet.