I Have a Nagging Suspicion It Was Tomorrow Yesterday

In my experience, artists, in the few times they’re right about stuff, always seem to be right for the wrong reasons. Their intellectual house is furnished in odd ways, which helps them to see things differently than other folks. Because the intellectual furniture is in weird places, they tend to stumble over things other people pass by without noticing.

So they figure out the what where others miss it, but the how and why totally escapes them. It’s probably because they use the same, weird logic they use to achieve their strangeness to instruct others how to be normal. The leader of World Party was right-handed, but turned a right-handed guitar upside down and played it lefthanded. Outre approaches like that lead to interesting results, but they’re not likely to be of much use at someplace mundane like the water department.

Then again, this is a downright sensible sentiment to deal with the Ship of Fools problem:

So the world might indeed end tomorrow. But Ship of Fools was recorded in 1986, and it hasn’t yet. Its composer Karl Edmond De Vere Wallinger died last March.

It reminds me of something an economist once said. “The market can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent.”

David Sanborn R.I.P.

Well, David Sanborn won’t be down for breakfast. He died of cancer a couple of days ago. He was an interesting, and very influential musician. Even if you don’t know his name, you’d recognize his saxophone playing on any number of pop, R&B, and jazz recordings. Like this one:

Sanborn was playing for money with Albert King when he was only fourteen years old. He did lots of session work, anonymous except for other musicians. For about twenty years after Young Americans, everybody making a record wanted someone who sounded like David Sanborn. In many cases, the quickest way to get someone who sounded like David Sanborn was to simply get David Sanborn. Here’s an in incomplete list of sessions from the Wikiup:

James Brown, Bryan Ferry, Michael Stanley, Eric Clapton, Bobby Charles, Cat Stevens, Roger Daltrey, Stevie Wonder, Paul Simon, Jaco Pastorius, the Brecker Brothers, Michael Franks, Kenny Loggins, Casiopea, Players Association, David Bowie, Todd Rundgren, Bruce Springsteen, Little Feat, Tommy Bolin, Bob James, James Taylor, Al Jarreau, Pure Prairie League, Kenny G, Loudon Wainwright III, George Benson, Joe Beck, Donny Hathaway, Elton John, Gil Evans, Carly Simon, Guru, Linda Ronstadt, Billy Joel, Kenny Garrett, Roger Waters, Steely Dan, Ween, the Eagles, Grateful Dead, Nena, Hikaru Utada, The Rolling Stones, Ian Hunter, and Toto.

I remember him very kindly. I was a working musician in the late 1980s, and I was often awake at odd hours. Or more accurately, I was rarely asleep. Sanborn was the co-host and house band impresario of an after hours teevee show called Night Music that was about the only show I’d ever watch. The show was always jam-packed with interesting, often offbeat musicians, and sometimes assembled in unusual groupings. They had Conway Twitty, Miles Davis, and everybody in between.

Eclectic? How’s this for one night’s lineup: Stevie Ray Vaughan, Pharoah Sanders, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, The Platters on video tape from 1955, Van Dyke Parks, and Maria McKee. That’s out there, man.

Speaking of crosstown traffic and six degrees of separation, Stevie Ray Vaughn was friends with Albert King, who was friends with David Sanborn. Stevie also played on a David Bowie record. The music world is like that, sometimes. I remember Stevie doing that interstellar take on Albert King’s playing style when the show was first broadcast.

Sanborn got a rep as a smooth jazz dude, but he didn’t like it. He was good at it, but he was good at everything. He didn’t like the pigeonhole. He had plenty of heavy jazz dudes on the show, and he held his own with all of them, include guys like Wayne Shorter.

Sanborn had a serious bout of polio when he was a kid. One of his arms was kind of withered, and he had trouble breathing properly. A doctor suggested that he should take up a wind instrument, instead of playing the piano, to build up his lungs.

I ain’t no doctor, but I think it helped.

It’s a Groove Thang

Back in the ’80s, I used to play in blues and R&B bands, at least until I got tired of making no money. I surrendered to the zeitgeist, and started playing whitebread pop covers soon after. Happy Hour shite. I was instantly swimming in money and free beer and chicks, of course, but I still can’t hear three or four bars of a Beach Boys song without breaking out in hives. I specified three or four bars because that’s all I ever hear, before I plunge whatever’s making Beach Boys noises into the nearest tub full of water. This has led to problems when it’s a live band. Whatever. They all have it coming.

Da blues was really popular in the ’80s. Well, sorta. There was a lot of it, performed mostly in front of next to nobody. In the bar band world, the dividing line between straight blues and R&B was pretty much erased. I played electric bass, so I actually had something to occupy myself during R&B songs. The grooves were heavy on bass and drums.

We used to mine a weird little store that sold ’45 records used to load jukeboxes. It was cheaper to buy singles than whole albums when all you needed was an individual, audience-recognizable track. The original records were twenty or thirty years old already, and sometimes hard to lay your hands on back then. We were in cover bands, so we never played anything obscure, so the juke box guy always had what we were looking for.

This, I believe, is the granddaddy of all R&B groove thangs from that milieu. The Rosetta Stone of the genre. Junior Walker:

That’s James Jamerson playing the bass on the record. He’s in low earth orbit compared to the intergalactic stuff he played on later records. You could do worse than to learn Jamerson bass lines. He’s ranked Numero Uno on Bass Player Magazine’s 100 Greatest Bass Players list. Hmm. That’s news to me. Not that he’s number one. I’d rank him 1-10, and start the rest of the list on 11, but that’s just me. I’m only expressing surprise that a magazine thought bass players could read. And there are more than 100? I could barely play the thing, and I always worked. I thought there were only like forty of us.

Shotgun is about the first song I can remember learning on the drums, too. Big right foot, there. Of course the guitar part was also seminal. Learn that sharp 9, shangalang chord and you’re ready for bidness. It’s fun to watch Junior Walker sing and play, or at least mime Shotgun in that video. He was on Motown, and they were still in their Andy Williams sweater and business suit mode back in the early sixties. Everybody Frug!

It’s amusing to read that Junior was just supposed to play saxophone on the record, but the singer that Berry Gordy hired didn’t show up to the session. Junior offered to sing it to supply a reference track they could record over later. They liked it so much they released it that way. It was a big hit. Number One on the R&B singles chart, #4 on the Billboard chart.

People still recognize this song. They put it in the Grammy Hall of Fame in 2002. However, V-neck sweaters and skinny ties no longer need apply, I gather. Look what someone recently did with Shotgun using AI animation. Alice From the Hood Pulp Fiction Grand Theft Auto Wire in Wonderland:

Yikes. Hey, getting back to playing in front of nobody, the song made it all the way to RomCom movies in Norway. Let’s watch Public Enemies have a frosty go at it:

The song itself is truly a groove. There are essentially no chord changes. It’s all based on rhythms. James Brown would perfect this approach shortly after this. Lots of other musical people (who could afford the whole albums) mined the groove thang for their own sound back in the ’80s too:

So Shotgun was the Ur-Groove-Song for me, and I suspect plenty of other musicians. Not just Norwegians, either. That is, at least until Wilson Pickett showed up with this:

Lawd have mercy.