Obviously a man of tood taste and sensibility. On his second album, Into the Purple Valley, he's had the smarts to include an instrumental, "Great Dreams From Heaven," by the little-known but highly-regarded and almost legendary Bahamian Master of Sand and Conch, Joseph Spence, which certainly goes to show that Cooder has not only attended the graduate department of the College of Musical Knowledge, but that he's been doing his homework as well.
And besides the great merit that accompanies the inclusion of this little bit of Spenciana, Ry Cooder sure can play the fuckin' bucket!
As well as dress too! As attested to by the neat 1942 two-button pin-striper he's sporting on the inside cover, worn over a ritzy Aloha barf shirt (vintage 1935) that's open at the neck and which is set off by a pair of properly scuffed 1938 Miami Floaters (which brings to mind all the superstitions and taboos about wearing dead men's shoes). All this and he's still standing in front of an incredible Commie-yellow 1939 Buick convertible with one flat white-wall and his arm around a smiling sylph whose lips are parted as if in invitation to who-knows-what? Very plucky.
Inside we find a good record which, like its marvelously overstated jacket, is terribly reminiscent of the bad old days, the Thirties. "How Can You Keep On Moving (Unless You Migrate Too)" is a traditional Depression Era ditty of uncertain parentage that, like the other traditional songs on this album, Cooder has adapted for a slide guitar and small rock and roll group arrangement. The songs on this album that come to us from the Depression all seem very timely in the context of 1972, which is pretty funny because one would have thought we'd be through with all that bullshit by now but, fakeout on us, we're not, and Ry has had the sense to show how music and words that were written 40 years ago still apply to the ridiculously awful conditions with which people are forced to live. "Billy The Kid" is also a traditional though apolitical number that gives Ry a chance to show off some handsome plucking of the mandolin and also the fine small band that was assembled for this record–Jim Keltner and Milt Holland on percussion, producer Jim Dickinson on piano, and Chris Ethridge on bass.
"Money Honey" is an old Jesse Stone number that is the rocker of this album; Ry gets off some incredibly beautiful slide guitar licks that show the source of his reputation as a legendary sideman. The song has a funky stop-time beat and a throaty chorus, and if there's a single on this LP, voila. What follows is a hilarious morsel of calypso pre-reggae nonsense called "F.D.R. in Trinidad" which is about Roosevelt's visit to the Land of the Hummingbird in 1943, and which is probably the only song ever written whose words explicitly mention Cordell Hull. What a treat! Washington Phillips' immortal and touching "Denomination Blues" rounds out the side with Jim Dickinson doing a nice job on celeste, a suitably muted and blowzy horn section, and Ry distinguishing himself with his bizarre voice (he sounds like one of the Carpathian Wolves).
Side two opens with far-and-away the best cut on this album, Hudie Ledbetter's all time paean to lowdownness, "On A Monday," which is highlit by some more chunky slide stuff from Ry. Next a haunting version of Johnny Cash's "Hey Porter," slowed down some and spiced with a lovely, soulful mandolin accompaniment that counts as one of the best things that Ry has ever put down on wax. The aforementioned "Great Dreams From Heaven" follows, a gorgeous, simple piece for guitar that Ry plays with grace and understanding. Its composer, Joseph Spence, has an old, hard-to-come-by album on Elektra, and if you're interested in folkways, I'd suggest a listen. The playing and singing of music took some bizarre turns down there in the Bahamas, and good for Ry for picking it up.
"Taxes On The Farmer Feeds Us All" sounds like an old Wobbly drinking song and features Van Dyke Parks on piano. The song is given a somewhat light treatment, but there's a lot happening in the words and they should be listened to, especially in these frightening days of Creeping Agribusiness. The last cut is Woody Guthrie's "Vigilante Man," and all I can say is Thank God musicians are still listening to Guthrie and playing his songs. They continue to say more about America today than those of anybody else.
As for Ry Cooder, it's good to know that there are musicians around who are still dealing with reality. And it's good to know that he's still doing those terrific, uncanny things with his instrument. Good record.
/Rolling Stone Magazine/
Tracklist:
01. How Can You Keep Moving (Unless You Migrate Too)
02. Billy The Kid
03. Money Honey
04. F.D.R. In Trinidad
05. Teardrops Will Fall
06. Denomination Blues
07. On A Monday
08. Hey Porter
09. Great Dream From Heaven
10. Taxes On The Farmer Feeds Us All
11. Vigilante Man
And besides the great merit that accompanies the inclusion of this little bit of Spenciana, Ry Cooder sure can play the fuckin' bucket!
As well as dress too! As attested to by the neat 1942 two-button pin-striper he's sporting on the inside cover, worn over a ritzy Aloha barf shirt (vintage 1935) that's open at the neck and which is set off by a pair of properly scuffed 1938 Miami Floaters (which brings to mind all the superstitions and taboos about wearing dead men's shoes). All this and he's still standing in front of an incredible Commie-yellow 1939 Buick convertible with one flat white-wall and his arm around a smiling sylph whose lips are parted as if in invitation to who-knows-what? Very plucky.
Inside we find a good record which, like its marvelously overstated jacket, is terribly reminiscent of the bad old days, the Thirties. "How Can You Keep On Moving (Unless You Migrate Too)" is a traditional Depression Era ditty of uncertain parentage that, like the other traditional songs on this album, Cooder has adapted for a slide guitar and small rock and roll group arrangement. The songs on this album that come to us from the Depression all seem very timely in the context of 1972, which is pretty funny because one would have thought we'd be through with all that bullshit by now but, fakeout on us, we're not, and Ry has had the sense to show how music and words that were written 40 years ago still apply to the ridiculously awful conditions with which people are forced to live. "Billy The Kid" is also a traditional though apolitical number that gives Ry a chance to show off some handsome plucking of the mandolin and also the fine small band that was assembled for this record–Jim Keltner and Milt Holland on percussion, producer Jim Dickinson on piano, and Chris Ethridge on bass.
"Money Honey" is an old Jesse Stone number that is the rocker of this album; Ry gets off some incredibly beautiful slide guitar licks that show the source of his reputation as a legendary sideman. The song has a funky stop-time beat and a throaty chorus, and if there's a single on this LP, voila. What follows is a hilarious morsel of calypso pre-reggae nonsense called "F.D.R. in Trinidad" which is about Roosevelt's visit to the Land of the Hummingbird in 1943, and which is probably the only song ever written whose words explicitly mention Cordell Hull. What a treat! Washington Phillips' immortal and touching "Denomination Blues" rounds out the side with Jim Dickinson doing a nice job on celeste, a suitably muted and blowzy horn section, and Ry distinguishing himself with his bizarre voice (he sounds like one of the Carpathian Wolves).
Side two opens with far-and-away the best cut on this album, Hudie Ledbetter's all time paean to lowdownness, "On A Monday," which is highlit by some more chunky slide stuff from Ry. Next a haunting version of Johnny Cash's "Hey Porter," slowed down some and spiced with a lovely, soulful mandolin accompaniment that counts as one of the best things that Ry has ever put down on wax. The aforementioned "Great Dreams From Heaven" follows, a gorgeous, simple piece for guitar that Ry plays with grace and understanding. Its composer, Joseph Spence, has an old, hard-to-come-by album on Elektra, and if you're interested in folkways, I'd suggest a listen. The playing and singing of music took some bizarre turns down there in the Bahamas, and good for Ry for picking it up.
"Taxes On The Farmer Feeds Us All" sounds like an old Wobbly drinking song and features Van Dyke Parks on piano. The song is given a somewhat light treatment, but there's a lot happening in the words and they should be listened to, especially in these frightening days of Creeping Agribusiness. The last cut is Woody Guthrie's "Vigilante Man," and all I can say is Thank God musicians are still listening to Guthrie and playing his songs. They continue to say more about America today than those of anybody else.
As for Ry Cooder, it's good to know that there are musicians around who are still dealing with reality. And it's good to know that he's still doing those terrific, uncanny things with his instrument. Good record.
/Rolling Stone Magazine/
Tracklist:
01. How Can You Keep Moving (Unless You Migrate Too)
02. Billy The Kid
03. Money Honey
04. F.D.R. In Trinidad
05. Teardrops Will Fall
06. Denomination Blues
07. On A Monday
08. Hey Porter
09. Great Dream From Heaven
10. Taxes On The Farmer Feeds Us All
11. Vigilante Man
