Jefferson Airplane - Long John Silver 1972

The final Jefferson Airplane studio album -- if their half-hearted 'reunion' from 1989 isn't (and really shouldn't be) counted -- presented yet another alteration in the band's lineup. Not only would Long John Silver (1972) be the second project minus co-founder Marty Balin (vocals), who left after Volunteers (1969), but Joey Covington (drums) also split before the long-player was completed, forming his own combo, the short-lived Black Kangaroo. Covington contributes to a pair of Paul Kantner's (guitar/vocals) better offerings "Twilight Double Leader" and "The Son of Jesus," while Hot Tuna kinsman Sammy Piazza (drums) lends a hand to Jorma Kaukonen's (guitar/vocals) whimsical "Trial by Fire." Eventually, Turtles' and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young percussionist John Barbata (drums) would fill the drummer's stool for the remainder of the Airplane's rapid descent. He would likewise make the transition alongside Kantner,Grace Slick (piano/vocals) and Papa John Creach (violin) into the brave new world of Jefferson Starship. Even more so than on their previous platter, Bark (1971), the material featured on Long John Silver rather blatantly exposes the two disparate factions to have emerged from the once unified Airplane. The Kaukonen/Jack Casady (bass) offshoot -- à la Hot Tuna -- and Kantner/Slick, whose Blows Against the Empire (1970) from two years earlier clearly pointed to the exceedingly cerebral approach evident on Slick's indistinct "Aerie (Gang of Eagles)" and "Easter?," or the mid-tempo meandering of Kantner's "Alexander the Medium." The edgy, blues-infused rocker "Milk Train" is one of the few standouts on Long John Silver, giving Creach a platform for his ever-adaptable and soaring fiddle. Quite possibly the heaviest selection on the package is the Slick/Kaukonen co-composition "Eat Starch Mom." Appropriately, it concludes the effort on a positive charge with the Airplane hitting on all cylinders before landing the craft (for all intents and purposes) the last time. When the LP hit store shelves in the summer of 1972, it became instantly notorious for the cover that transformed into a cigar (read: stash) box. The inner sleeve went as far as reproducing the image of tightly compressed domestic ganja, replete with sticks, seeds and stems. AMG.

listen here

Buy @ Amazon: USA - FR - UK

James Brown - Say It Loud, I'm Black And I'm Proud 1969

Although historical evaluations of James Brown's work during the last half of the '60s tend to focus on the innovative funk of his biggest hit singles, his repertoire -- both live and on record -- in fact remained pretty versatile. Like his other '60s studio albums, Say It Loud - I'm Black and I'm Proud is more R&B/pop-conscious than a lot of listeners would expect, mixing the funky monsters "Say It Loud (I'm Black and I'm Proud)" and "Licking Stick" with soul ballads. It's a notch above similar albums from earlier in the decade, however, in that the slow numbers are usually gritty slow-burns that eschew syrupy orchestration. AMG.

listen here

Buy @ Amazon: USA - FR - UK

Jean Michel Jarre - Equinoxe 1978

As the follow up album to Oxygene, Equinoxe offers the same mesmerizing affect, with rapid spinning sequencer washes and bubbling synthesizer portions all lilting back and forth to stardust scatterings of electronic pastiches. Using more than 13 different types of synthesizers, Jarre combines whirling soundscapes of multi-textured effects, passages, and sometimes suites to culminate interesting electronic atmospheres. Never repeating the same sounds twice, it is obvious that the science fiction hype of the late 70's played a large part in the making of this album. Computerized rhythms and keyboard-soaked transitions scurry by, replaced by even quicker, more illustrious ones soon after. There is always a pulsating beat or a fluttering tempo happening somewhere in each of the tracks, which are titled as a numbered sequence one to eight. Each track harbors its own energy and electronic fleetness, but none are identical in sound or pace. So much electronic color is added to every track that it is impossible to concentrate on any particular segment, resulting in waves of synth drowning the ears at high tide. AMG.

listen here

Buy @ Amazon: USA - FR - UK

Buck Black - Mississippi Bluze Mass 1973

The trippy album cover design and the weird name are enough to make most people who stumble across this album think that it’s going to be a lost psychedelic funk freakout. It’s not. There’s barely any songs that crack the three minute mark and the only solos are taken by saxophone and trumpet (or in one case, harmonica); with the exception of the tune “Stuff I Uze” which seems to be a cuckold’s love song to a drug habit, there is very little here to even place this record in the hazy days of 1973. Even calling the album “funk” (as record dealers seem to have done) is misleading, unless we understand “funk” in the way it was thought of perhaps in the late 60s rather than the early 70s. Buck “D. D.” Black owes a lot to sweaty southern soul of early Stax and Muscle Shoals and none of these songs would sound out of place nestled in that body of work. The horn arrangements are meticulously written and executed, the rhythm section is tight as Botox, and Buck’s vocals cover a wide range of soulful.

Well then, why was this record totally overlooked and to this day (as far I know) remained without a reissue? Good question.

The first thing is probably that it was released on a private press label, which although given a catalog number ending in 07 has no other releases out there that I could find out about. A second reason might be the packaging, which I happen to love but which could have put off potential fans of this music by its slightly ominous ‘black cross’ design and graphic of a squatting naked girl with her feet nailed to a wooden plank and wrists nailed to.. something, maybe the graphic of the text above her head. Then there’s the weird vaguely occult sigil above her head. It’s good to remember that for every potential record buyer who stumbles across an album cover like this and says “What the fuck IS this? I have to have it!”, there are a hundred others who will stop at “What the fuck is this?” and then just keep looking through the record bin for the next Seals & Croft album. But the music isn’t nearly freaky enough to satisfy a lot of the people who fall into the first category, who probably brought the record home and listened to it once (like the copy I managed to find, which looks practically unplayed). The album gives the appearance of being some kind of concept album, supported by the verbose rambling about the albums ‘conception’ on the back cover, and the inner gatefold’s designation of the first side only as the ‘Bluze Mass.’ If you’re expecting the Electric Prunes, don’t. There really isn’t any overriding concept stringing these songs together unless it’s something so esoteric that only Buck Black could see it. I think the bottom line is that grand concept albums were all the rage in `73 and Curtis Mayfield had proven that they could be pitched to the Black American public.
Which brings us to what is the more crucial element that holds this back from true greatness – the lack of a real producer. The album could have used a southern-soul equivalent of a Curtis Mayfield or Donny Hathaway directing and shaping the whole project. Buck’s instincts are right, but he needs someone to help tie it all together. Take it easy, Buck, you’re working too hard, let someone else take charge for a while. I’m talking about things like pacing and song sequencing: the album eventually falls into a predictable pattern of fast song / slow song that makes the it seem much longer than its 30 minutes, even if it never falls into tedium. Although when taken individually each song is a gem in its way, after you put them all together the melodies can begin to sound too similar. What’s needed is someone to make the executive decision to cut one of them out, or combine two of the ideas into one song, or perhaps go one step further and write a bonafide HIT song for the album with the golden Mayfield or Hathaway touch and freshen up the proceedings. But I wouldn’t personally want to make those judgment calls. It should be stated that the record gallops off to a promising start in terms of variety and pacing in the first ten minutes: the uptempo “Love Is All” lyrically lectures us to love our fellow man regardless of the color of his skin or social standing, and that we’re all just a hair’s breadth away from standing in the welfare line (well, except for the 1%..), and the choruses are topped with punchy 8-bar brass runs that would have incurred the jealousy of many a horn-rock band like Chicago or Blood Sweat & Tears. They follow this up with the swamp-funk of Miss Veegalopps, a tambourine-driven gospel revival that involves a lot of jumping up and down of the protagonist, punctuated with the aforementioned harmonica solo. Then we get the first soul-infused ballad of the album, “Only A Fool”, which opens with descending piano chords plunked down alongside a pretty heavy rhythm section. Buck lets loose and shows us his vocal range, dipping into baritone and flying to falsetto in the same lines, preaching about how love blinds us even when someone is “running [their] low-down rotten stinky funky game” on us. Simple and effective.

From here on out, it’s love songs of one variety or another. There’s the swinging, almost jump-blues of “You No Longer Care For Me” and the up-tempo soul nugget of “If I Had You.” But it’s on the album’s second side that the fast/slow pattern I mentioned before actually kicks in. Again, on their own, each of these songs carries their weight, but in the context of what’s come before they seem a bit like a rehash. Repeated listens have mitigated this impression somewhat as I’ve come to appreciate each tune’s merits, but first impressions are important in the fickle music world, and the impression still holds in this case. It’s not until the regal chord changes of the penultimate song, “Back Home To You” that I feel really engaged with the album again. This is Buck’s songwriting as its peak, belting out a soul ballad worthy of the repertoire of an Otis Redding or Sam Cooke. I can’t see why a song like this wouldn’t have been recorded by a ‘star’ if it had been offered as a demo to a major studio. But it’s obvious Mr. Buck Black has his sights set on grander things. The final track is one hell of a closer. Melodically distinct and saddled with a propulsive groove, it also makes us realize we haven’t heard a vocal harmony on the entire album – probably a key failing on a record like this. Here we get Buck harmonizing with himself, which is pretty obvious even if you don’t read the album credits. It works nicely but other voices are also nice on a good soul record. But the lyric “there ain`t nothing that Buck wouldn’t do” should perhaps be taken literally. This is 100% his project. The credits list a Jackson Howe as the producer, who has some engineering and production credits with Muscle Shoals and some folk-rock-country artists. But I get the impression that Buck was kind of a control freak, and/or that Howe didn’t have much inspiration to take control – to add to the sonic impression, there is a somewhat hilarious photo of him with his head bowed and cradled in his hands at the mixing board, an image of studio frustration if there ever was one.

Nothing has been said yet about the identity of Buck Black, because he’s an enigmatic figure about which I know next to nothing. He has a vocal credit on the album “Gris Gris” by Dr. John, but you wouldn’t know this from THAT album’s jacket because everyone there has a bizarre nickname (a tradition that Buck carries onto this album). Thanks to info picked up at another blog, I figured out that his real name was Dave Dixon (‘D.D.’) and confirmed that he is in fact credited on Gris-Gris. That album was recorded in Los Angeles, in spite of all its hoodoo swamp atmosphere. Mississippi Bluze Mass was actually recorded in Mississippi, but mixed in “parts West” in unspecified studios. It’s recorded and mixed remarkably well, in fact sonically it’s a joy to listen to, although it is a shame that it was pressed on cheap OPEC-crisis era vinyl which produces a high-pitched whine in between the tracks.

 So what was Buck’s aka Dave Dixon’s story? Maybe someday we’ll learn it. I’m thinking he lived on the West Coast for a while pursuing a career in the music business, grew frustrated and moved back home to Mississippi and eventually made this album. From the photos, he appears to be a man in his forties, perhaps even fifties. But if this is a debut album it doesn’t sound like the work of a novice – this guy was drawing from lots of experience, playing and singing and bands and writing songs, somewhere. So, I wouldn’t necessarily call this a “lost masterpiece” but maybe an unjustly forgotten near-miss. There are a lot of obscure, private-press records from the early 70s which are obscure for good reason, and whose appeal rarely reaches beyond the type of folks who read the Head Heritage `zine. “Mississippi Bluze Mass”, though, could have reached a broader public if it had more guidance in the studio. Whether it might have lost some of its charm in the process is a question that can’t be answered. Thanks to flabbergasted-vibes.

listen here

Buy @ Amazon: USA

Jaki Byard - The Jaki Byard Experience 1968

Pianist Jaki Byard and the wondrous Roland Kirk (here switching between tenor, clarinet, and manzello) were two of the few jazz musicians who could play in literally every jazz style, from New Orleans to bop and free form. If only they had recorded a history-of-jazz album. Fortunately, they did meet up on a few occasions, including this brilliant quartet session with bassist Richard Davis and drummer Alan Dawson. They romp on Bud Powell's "Parisian Thoroughfare,"Thelonious Monk's "Evidence," "Shine on Me," and "Teach Me Tonight." Byard duets with Davis on his own "Hazy Eve," but best of all is the pianist's duet with Kirk on "Memories of You." This set was also reissued as half of the Roland Kirk two-LP set Pre-Rahsaan. AMG.

listen here

Buy @ Amazon: USA - FR - UK

Fine Wine - Fine Wine 1976

West Coast rockers Fine Wine reunited guitarist Jerry Miller and bassist Bob Mosley, who previously teamed as founding members of the legendary San Francisco band Moby Grape. After the Grape dissolved for the second time in 1971, Miller and Mosley continued touring as Fine Wine, recruiting singer/guitarist Michael Been (an alumnus of late-period H.P. Lovecraft as well as the frontman of his own project the Original Haze) and session drummer John Craviotto. After several years of touring, Fine Wine signed to Polydor, with their self-titled 1976 debut appearing only in Germany; the group split soon after, with Miller and Mosley rejoining the Moby Grape fold while Been later enjoyed success fronting the Call. AMG.

listen here

Buy @ Amazon: USA

Hunter Muskett - Every Time You Move 1975

A fine band of UK folk singer-songwriters, presenting a rich blend of pseudo ballads. The group was also notable for the inclusion of future Magna Carta / Albion Band guitarist Doug Morter. Other members of the band were Roger Trevitt, Chris George and Terry Hiscock. Their second album was produced by Keith Relf of the Yardbirds.

After the break up of Hunter Muskett Morter went on to perform with artists including Richard Digance, the Maddy Prior Band, Michael Chapman before joining the Albion Band (1979, 1983-86) and Magna Carter (1980-82). In the mid-80s he worked with Jerry Donahue And The Nerve. AMG.

listen here

Buy @ Amazon: USA - FR - UK

Jefferson Airplane - After Bathing at Baxter's 1967

The Jefferson Airplane opened 1967 with Surrealistic Pillow and closed it with After Bathing at Baxter's, and what a difference ten months made. Bookending the year that psychedelia emerged in full bloom as a freestanding musical form, After Bathing at Baxter's was among the purest of rock's psychedelic albums, offering few concessions to popular taste and none to the needs of AM radio, which made it nowhere remotely as successful as its predecessor, but it was also a lot more daring. The album also showed a band in a state of ferment, as singer/guitarist Marty Balinlargely surrendered much of his creative input in the band he'd founded, and let Paul Kantner and Grace Slickdominate the songwriting and singing on all but one cut ("Young Girl Sunday Blues"). The group had found the preceding album a little too perfect, and not fully representative of the musicians or what they were about, and they were determined to do the music their way on Baxter's; additionally, they'd begun to see how far they could take music (and music could take them) in concert, in terms of capturing variant states of consciousness.

Essentially, After Bathing at Baxter's was the group's attempt to create music that captured what the psychedelic experience sounded and felt like to them from the inside; on a psychic level, it was an introverted exercise in music-making and a complete reversal of the extroverted experience in putting together Surrealistic Pillow. Toward that end, they were working "without a net," for although Al Schmitt was the nominal producer, he gave the group the freedom to indulge in any experimentation they chose to attempt, effectively letting them produce themselves. They'd earned the privilege, after two huge hit singles and the Top Five success of the prior album, all of which had constituted RCA's first serious new rock success (and the label's first venture to the music's cutting edge) since Elvis Presley left the Army. The resulting record was startlingly different from their two prior LPs; there were still folk and blues elements present in the music, but these were mostly transmuted into something very far from what any folksinger or bluesman might recognize. Kantner, Jorma Kaukonen, and Jack Casady cranked up their instruments; Spencer Dryden hauled out an array of percussive devices that was at least twice as broad as anything used on the previous album; and everybody ignored the length of what they were writing and recording, or how well they sang, or how cleanly their voices meshed. The group emerged four months later with one of the rawest, most in-your-face records to come out of the psychedelic era, and also a maddeningly uneven record, exciting and challenging in long stretches, yet elsewhere very close to stultifyingly boring, delightful in its most fulfilling moments (which were many), but almost deliberately frustrating in its digressions, and amid all of that, very often beautiful.

The album's 11 songs formed five loosely constructed "suites," and it didn't ease listeners into those structures. Opening "The Ballad of You and Me and Pooneil" (a Kantner-authored tribute to Fred Neil) amid a cascading wash of feedback leading to a slashing guitar figure, the band's three singers struggle to meld their voices and keep up. A softer, almost folk-like interlude, highlighted by Slick's upper-register keening, breaks up the beat until the guitar, bass, and drums crash back in, with a bit of piano embellishment. Then listeners get to the real break, an almost subdued interlude on the guitars, and a return to the song at a more frenzied pitch, the guitar part dividing and evolving into ever more brittle components until a crescendo and more feedback leads to "A Small Package of Value Will Come to You, Shortly." This brilliantly comical and clever percussion showcase co-authored by Spencer Dryden and the band's manager, Bill Thompson, is a million miles beyond any drummer's featured number in any popular band of that era, and it leads into Marty Balin's "Young Girl Sunday Blues," the most rhythmically consistent song here and one of a tiny handful of moments that seem to slightly resemble the band's past work. The aforementioned tracks comprise just the first suite, designated "Steetmasse."

"The War Is Over" suite opens with "Martha," the album's folk-style interlude, almost a throwback to the group's original sound, except that the listener suddenly finds himself in the midst of a psychedelic delirium, heralded by the dissonant accompaniment and a high-energy fuzztone guitar solo (spinning out sitar-like notes) coming out of nowhere and a speed change that slows the tempo to zero, as though the tape (or time, or the listener's perception of it) were stretching out, and the pounding, exuberant "Wild Tyme," a celebration of seemingly uninhibited joy. "Hymn to the Older Generation" is made up of Kaukonen's "The Last Wall of the Castle," an alternately slashing and chiming guitar pyrotechnic showcase that rivaled anything heard from Jimi Hendrix or the Who that year, and Grace Slick's gorgeous "Rejoyce," a hauntingly beautiful excursion into literary psychedelia, whose James Joyce allusions carry the Lewis Carroll literary allusions of the previous album's "White Rabbit" into startlingly new and wonderful (if discursive) directions and depths. "How Suite It Is" opens with the album's single, the lean, rhythmic "Watch Her Ride," whose pretty harmonies and gently psychedelic lyrics persuaded RCA that this was their best shot at AM airplay and, true to form on an album filled with contradictions, it leads into "Spare Chaynge," the crunching, searing, sometimes dirge-like nine-minute jam by Kaukonen, Dryden, and Casady that wasn't ever going to get on AM radio -- ever -- and, indeed, might well initially repel any Airplane fan who only knew their hit singles. "Shizoforest Love Suite" closes the album with Slick's "Two Heads," with its vocal acrobatics and stop-and-go beat, and "Won't You Try"/"Saturday Afternoon," the latter Kantner's musical tribute to the first San Francisco "Be-In" (memorialized more conventionally by the Byrds on "Renaissance Fair"); it features many of the more subdued, relaxed, languid moments on the record, divided by a killer fuzz-laden guitar solo.

Needless to say, this is not the album by which one should start listening to this band -- "Spare Chaynge" remains an acquired taste, a lot more aimless than, say, the extended jams left behind by the Quicksilver Messenger Service, though it did point the way toward what Kaukonen and Casady would aim for more successfully when they formed Hot Tuna. But most of the rest is indisputably among the more alluring musical experimentation of the period, andKantner's "The Ballad of You and Me and Pooneil" and "Watch Her Ride," as well as Balin's "Young Girl Sunday Blues," proved that the group could still rock out with a beat, even if not so prettily or cleanly as before. [After Bathing at Baxter's was represented poorly on CD until 1996, when it was finally reissued in an upgraded edition, which was later deleted and was only available as part of the bizarre 2001-vintage Ignition box. It has since been remastered again, with very important, downright essential bonus tracks, as of 2003. Additionally, After Bathing at Baxter's was the last Jefferson Airplane album to appear in a mono version, which sounds very different than the more common stereo mix, and has yet to show up on CD.] AMG.

listen here

Buy @ Amazon: USA - FR - UK

Irmin Schmidt - Kamasutra 1969

It's hard to believe that it took more than 40 years for this album to surface, since it's undeniably an important piece of history and arguably a bit of a lost Krautrock classic. Kamasutra was a sexually themed 1969 film by director Kobi Jaeger. Future Can keyboardist Irmin Schmidt, who by that time was both an experienced classical musician/conductor and a soundtrack composer, was hired to provide the music. The group he brought to the sessions was the Inner Space, which would become Can by the time of their 1969 debut album, Monster Movie. Recorded right around -- likely just before -- the Monster Movie sessions, this then is more or less Can's "real" debut album. Even now, details on the sessions are scant -- the CD booklet contains copious liner notes about the film and, curiously, nothing about the music. Album credits are also maddeningly unspecific, but it's been confirmed thatSchmidt is joined here by Can men Malcolm Mooney on vocals, drummer Jaki Liebezeit, and guitarist Michael Karoli, and it's a good bet that the featured flutist is original Can/Inner Space member David C. Johnson, who departed in 1969, and that the bassist is indeed Holger Czukay. With the exception of the Mooney-fronted, Velvet Underground-on-acid "There Was a Man," the music Schmidt and company came up with for Kamasutra is different enough fromMonster Movie or the contemporaneously recorded Delay...1968 that you probably wouldn't immediately guess in a blindfold test that this was Can, but there are definitely connecting threads. Much of Can's early music was, after all, written for soundtracks, and moving from the thumping, hypnotic funk-rock grooves of "In Kalkutta III" to the tumbling, Eastern-tinged psychedelia of "Im Tempel" and "Im Orient" and the bluesy, proto-Krautrock guitar workout "Mundharmonika Beat," it's not too tough to connect the dots to some of Can's first flowerings. AMG.

listen here

Buy @ Amazon: USA - FR - UK

Janis Joplin - Pearl 1971

Janis Joplin's second masterpiece (after Cheap Thrills), Pearl was designed as a showcase for her powerhouse vocals, stripping down the arrangements that had often previously cluttered her music or threatened to drown her out. Thanks also to a more consistent set of songs, the results are magnificent -- given room to breathe, Joplin's trademark rasp conveys an aching, desperate passion on funked-up, bluesy rockers, ballads both dramatic and tender, and her signature song, the posthumous number one hit "Me and Bobby McGee." The unfinished "Buried Alive in the Blues" features no Joplin vocals -- she was scheduled to record them on the day after she was found dead. Its incompleteness mirrors Joplin's career; Pearl's power leaves the listener to wonder what else Joplin could have accomplished, but few artists could ask for a better final statement. [The 1999 CD reissue adds four previously unreleased live July 1970 recordings: "Tell Mama," "Little Girl Blue," "Try," and "Cry Baby."] AMG.

listen here

Buy @ Amazon: USA - FR - UK

David Allan Coe - Texas Moon 1977

A life-long renegade, singer/songwriter David Allan Coe was one of the most colorful and unpredictable characters in country music history. One of the pioneering artists of the outlaw country movement of the '70s, he didn't have many big hits -- only three of his singles hit the Top Ten -- but he was among the biggest cult figures in country music throughout his career.

Coe then toured with Grand Funk Railroad, a signal that he drew as much from rock's traditions as he did from country. Soon, he began performing in a rhinestone suit given to him by Mel Tillis, as well as a Lone Ranger mask, and began calling himself the "Masked Rhinestone Cowboy." Coe's concerts became notorious for their unpredictability -- frequently he would roar up on-stage astride his enormous Harley, swearing at the audience. He cultivated a large cult following with his act, but he couldn't break into the mainstream. However, other artists found success with his songs -- in 1972, Billie Jo Spears had a minor hit with his "Souvenirs & California Mem'rys," and in 1973, Tanya Tucker had a number one hit with Coe's "Would You Lay With Me (In a Field of Stone)." After Tucker's hit, Coe suddenly became one of Nashville's hottest songwriters; some of the biggest country artists -- including Willie Nelson, George Jones, andTammy Wynette -- recorded his tunes, leading to his own contract with Columbia Records.Born in Akron, OH, Coe first got into trouble with the law at age nine. As a result, he was sent to reform school. For the next 20 years, he never spent more than a handful of months outside of a correctional facility -- he spent much of his twenties in the Ohio State Penitentiary. Released from prison in 1967, the wild-haired, earring-wearing, heavily tattooed Coe went straight for Nashville, where he lived in a hearse that he parked in front of the old Ryman Auditorium, the home of the Grand Ole Opry. Although he didn't conform to Nashville's professional standards, he soon gained the attention of the independent label Plantation Records, which released his debut album,Penitentiary Blues, in 1968. Followed within a year by a second volume, all of the songs on these albums were based on his prison experiences.

Although Coe had a successful career, it was one plagued with many setbacks. The conservative Nashville music industry frequently snubbed him and he had tax problems with the IRS; at one time, they seized his Key West home, and he went to live in a Tennessee cave until he got back on his feet. Toward the end of the '80s, Coe remarried and began to settle down. Throughout the '90s, he was a popular concert attraction in America and Europe. In addition to his musical career, he also acted in a few movies, including The Last Days of Frank and Jesse James. He also published a novel, Psychopath, and an autobiography. The LPRecommended for Airplay was issued in 1999. The new millennium saw the release of Long Haired Country Boy in 2000; Songwriter of the Tear appeared on Cleveland the following yearCoe's first two singles for Columbia didn't come close to the country Top 40, but his 1975 cover of Steve Goodman's "You Never Even Called Me by My Name" cracked the Top Ten. Although a string of moderate hits followed, he rarely cracked the country Top 40, although in 1977 Johnny Paycheck tookCoe's "Take This Job and Shove It" to number one. During his 13-year association with Columbia, Coe released 26 albums, including the double-album set For the Record: The First 10 Years (1984), 1986's Son of the South (featuring Willie, Waylon, Jessi Colter, and other "outlaws"), and the highly regarded A Matter of Life and Death (1987). AMG.

.listen here

Buy @ Amazon: USA - FR - UK

Chicago Gangsters - Gangster Love 1976

Despite their name, the Chicago Gangsters were originally from Ohio, consisting of brothers James, Sam, Chris, andLeroy McCant. Their sound ranged from heavy funk and disco to sweet, smooth soul balladry. They adopted the nameChicago Gangsters after catching on with the Gold Plate label, where they worked with prolific songwriter/arranger Richard Evans and a number of Chicago's top studio musicians. Their debut LP, Blind Over You, was released in 1975 and contained the slamming funk of "Gangster Boogie," as well as a minor hit cover of "I Choose You," which Willie Hutch had originally recorded as the love theme to the film The Mack. The title track of their 1976 sophomore albumGangster Love was another minor hit, and also the first 12" single their label ever issued. 1977's "I'm an Outlaw" was their last single for Gold Plate; a year later, they cut "Windy City Boogie" for RCA. Dropping the "Chicago" part of their name, the Gangsters subsequently signed with Heat and recorded a third album, Life Is Not Easy Without You, in 1979. They continued on into the early '80s before disbanding. "Gangster Boogie" became a massively popular sample item for hip-hoppers and breakbeat aficionados, most prominently appearing on L.L. Cool J's hit "Mama Said Knock You Out"; their first album was eventually reissued as Gangster Boogie. AMG.

listen here

Buy @ Amazon: USA - FR - UK