“Louder – I can’t hear you,” Patty instructs the audience in the opening stretch of this 1964 romp. The crowd of what sounds like young girls, all too happy to oblige, belts back the title refrain, pleasing her. “All right now,” she says. Aside from a laidback swing with some bouncy brass and a noodling guitar, there’s not much to this song. But you can feel and hear the ease and comfort in Patty’s voice as she rides the groove; she’s in control, sounding confident and loose. Though Patty doesn’t come across as a particularly skilled or technically gifted singer, she’s having a ball. And that’s what I find so appealing.
This 1964 song, one of only six the band ever recorded, is a stiff shot of cool caution. Telling his girl not to rely on him, the singer’s already wobbling when he instructs her, “don’t lean too much on me.” Halfway through, the guitarist lets loose a psychedelic solo, spiking the sonic punch with fire-water fretwork. For sure, this is intoxicating stuff. The party doesn’t last long though, and before it hits the three-minute mark, it’s all over.
The Band’s Richard Manuel possessed a voice of unparalleled beauty. Over the course of its 10ish-year recording career, The Band released a variety of material: down-home hootenannies, old-timey floor-stompers, and Americana-laced folk tales. Though each member took turns singing, it was Manuel who consistently stepped up to the mike whenever The Band played a heart-gripping ballad. His piercing falsetto is instantly recognizable and communicates a vulnerability and honesty made all the more poignant considering his 1986 suicide. Songs like “Tears of Rage” and “I Shall Be Released” are great, showcasing his range, but “Sleeping,” off the 1970 album Stage Fright, is a little looser – it might just be my favorite.
Listening to this 1965 bootleg, it’s clear why the Stones never put the song on an album: it just doesn’t hold a candle to the original version by Otis Redding. Still, it’s cool to hear Mick Jagger do his best impression of the soul great. And even though he misses the mark, you can’t blame him for trying. Fact is, the Stones got their start ably covering songs by black Americans. What I find most interesting is hearing the young band, heretofore accustomed to upbeat blues structures, getting in a new groove, playing slow and letting it build. Otis’ band had it down pat – later releases proved the Stones could do it too, to great effect.
As a staff writer for Stax Records, William Bell partnered with Booker T. Jones (of MGs fame) to pen hits for just about everyone in the label’s stable. In 1961, he had a hit of his own with “You Don’t Miss Your Water.” However, it wasn’t until 1967 that his first LP was released. This cut, off that album, The Soul of a Bell, is a standout. With its tight groove rooted to the piano, it casually ventures into smooth-operator territory. The tasteful horn section, along with the nimble bass line, helps by adding just enough punch to each chorus. Famed Stax guitarist Steve Cropper even gets in a quick lick around the 1:40 mark. But it’s Bell who holds it all together. Like him, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Ten years ago, George Harrison died. He was fifty-eight. This pretty John Lennon song (probably written with Yoko Ono in mind) reminds us to love and live life, one day at a time. To live is to be lively – make every day count.
