Playing with Myself "Done Somebody Wrong"

Another take on one of my favorite Elmore James tunes

Playing with Myself: "The Weight"

I've been meaning to work up a full version of "The Weight". I guess now seems as good a time as any to record a quick solo version.

Everyone loves The Band's "The Weight". It's an FM radio staple, a bar band anthem singalong, and been covered by too many artists to count from the moment it was released. Robbie Robertson's evocative tapestry of a drifter weaving through a colorful cast characters is both fantasy and relatable at the same time. The simple, folksy song structure lends itself to interpretation by artists as diverse as The Staple Singers, Joe Cocker, and even Aretha Franklin, among so many more the song would have reached over saturation were it not so good.

It's Aretha swampy take that inspires this version. Duane Allman famously played slide guitar on her funky, soul take that downplays the melancholy original. Decades later, the Allman Brothers would cover "The Weight" in the same style as an homage to their fearless leader.

Playing with Myself: "Ain't Wasting Time No More"

Most artists can work alone at home, but musicians are feeling the isolation. I even got a little tired of being limited to just one instrument, so I decided as long as I'm alone together I might as well play with myself. Here is a favorite, the Allman Brothers Band's "Ain't Wasting Time No More"

"It Hurts Me Too"

Day Whatever of COVID Quarantine. Felt like playing some Elmore James on my Tricone.

A New Gibson Les Paul

I've been playing out more, which has left less time for recording. Playing is always more fun than recording, so it's definitely a good thing. One project lasted exactly one gig, but it was a decent gig - here is me playing slide on "Ain't Wasting Time No More" (apologies for the portrait mode video)

But I couldn't let all of 2019 go by without posting something, so here's a quick look at the Les Paul I recently added to my arsenal. After years of playing a Les Paul Goldtop, Dickey Betts switched to a Paul Reed Smith for the 1994 tour. Being a huge fan of Dickey's sound, I sold my Les Paul and saved up for a Paul Reed Smith of my own. I was 14 and did not fully understand that what Dickey was playing was PRS's new McCarty Model which was an homage to Gibson. It had a 3-way pickup switch and a thicker body and a shorter neck. I thought it looked (pearl bird inlay!) and sounded pretty cool. Dickey switched to a Gibson ES-335 the next year and I spent the next 20 years trying to get the PRS to sound like a Gibson, which, I found, is impossible.
  
After playing in a few bands the past year, I grew frustrated with the "brittle" PRS tone. The sustain wasn't what I wanted, and too often it sounded closer to a Strat. So I found a deal on a used 2013 Gibson Les Paul Studio 1970s Tribute. Being a 1970s Tribute, it's my shade of brown and had no cumbersome pick guard. Of course, tone is more important than anything, and the Dirty Fingers pickups were way too metal for me. So I swapped out the pickups for some Seymour Duncan Pearly Gates (I managed to hack the dreaded Gibson circuit board) which I had bought when attempting to brighten up my PRS. They didn't do much for the PRS (probably because they were out-of-phase from the factory which I had to fix), but sang in the Les Paul. I also swapped out the hardware to accentuate the satin brown burst. It sounds great, I really missed the Les Paul tone.

Here's the before and after.

And the whole fleet:

"Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain"

When asked to list my favorite guitarists, I often receive a few baffled looks from those expecting a list of Axe-Slinging Super Shredders. Sure, usual suspects like Dickey Betts, Duane Allman, Derek Trucks are at the top, along with the legendary blues powerhouse Albert King, but right up there is the Red Headed Stranger himself: Willie Nelson. But how can I possibly prefer Willie Nelson as a guitarist over the likes of Clapton or Hendrix? Well, it's not all about guitar pyrotechnics and I can listen to Willie pick his famous busted up nylon-stringed Trigger all day.

After years of writing country music standards like "Crazy" and "Hello Walls" for other artists, Nelson became a country music hero in the 1970s by stripping the strings and slick arrangements that dominated sequined Nashville tunes of the day. Nelson's rustic approach (and rugged appearance) gave his country music an authenticity that was missing from the Charlie Riches and Conway Twittys of the mid-1970s. Along with fellow industry rebels like Waylon Jennings and Kris Kristofferson, Nelson helped created a sub-genre of its own: Outlaw Country. People who couldn't stomach Tammy Wynette and George Jones singing about domestic discord could totally get on board Willie Nelson's fresh, rootsy approach to country music.

But even among his Outlaw brethren, Willie Nelson's music was tonally different. Nelson's music was often somber, compared to the sweaty, coke-fueled vamping of Jennings' barrel house shows, or even the Hollywood-produced music of fellow "Outlaw" Johnny Cash at the time (he had his own TV show). 1975's Red Headed Stranger was a melancholy concept album that put Nelson's creaky, pained voice that was never slick enough to break into the Nashville mainstream on full naked display. Along with a delicate jazz guitar approach, far removed from the telecasters of James Burton and the Gibson Doves of Hee-Haw, made this music universal by crossing genres (Nelson released an album of jazz standard covers, Stardust, shortly after Stranger). Red Headed Stranger was as lonesome as a Hank Williams tune, with the rawness of Jimmy Rodgers or the Carter Family, minus the twang and yodeling that had become a Nashville cliche.

Gregg Allman with Willie & Trigger, Farm Aid, NYC

So I picked "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain", a song written in 1947 by Fred Rose and covered by a number of artists such as Roy Acuff, Hank Williams, and Charlie Pride. You'd be forgiven for thinking Willie Nelson himself wrote it, the song has all of his hallmarks and was heavily featured in the movie adaptation of Red Headed Stranger a decade later. The arrangement is bare, and although Nelson's voice relates the despair truthfully, it's Trigger that caries the tune. It's often more difficult to perform a song with less, a stripped down tune is on full display. That's why the simple dobro part I included took me a while to arrange. It's a song that deserves to breath, and tough to approach when Willie did it so perfectly.

"Uh Oh Love Comes to Town"

The first Talking Heads album I picked up was Stop Making Sense, an album I bought blindly knowing nothing about, other than I wanted some Talking Heads in my rotation. Often times record companies will fool a buyer by designing a live album to appear as a "Greatest Hits" album, disappointing the customer expecting to hear familiar radio hits. That wasn't the case with me and Stop Making Sense. As an Allman Brothers fan, I was into live music, and the Talking Heads were an excellent, energetic live band. Also, Stop Making Sense isn't your typical live album. It's one of the greatest concert films ever put together, artfully designed for stage by David Byrne, and expertly filmed by Jonathan Demme, who understood that the spectacle on stage was the attraction, not the LA crowd. Once I owned the film on disc, I watched it constantly (as my roommates will attest to). But there was still a lot of Talking Heads to explore. I picked up a bunch of their studio albums, including their first one, 77, which hits the ground running with the catchy and upbeat, "Uh Oh Love Comes to Town".

As one of my favorite bands, I'm surprised it took me this long to cover a Talking Heads song. But I go in and out of love with them, listening to them in heavy doses and just as quickly turning them off for months. But not all music I enjoy listening to is music I can perform. David Byrne has a specific style and delivery that is difficult to adapt - his unique voice isn't always pitch perfect, but it's always honest and vulnerable. It's a similar issue I had when I covered a Lou Reed song. I tried to forget Byrne's delivery and sing it as if I'd never heard it before, which doesn't mean it's good, but it's less worse. I decided to adapt the steel drum to dobro and add a little mandolin to give the song the same fun, light step that attracted me to the original.