The Chris Moeller Archives

A-Train Summer Concert Series #4 - by Aaron Moeller

Blues and soul legends have been leaving us at an alarming rate. In just the last two years, we’ve lost soul giants James Brown, Wilson Pickett, Billy Preston, Lou Rawls, Ruth Brown, and Luther Ingram, and bluesmen Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown, R.L. Burnside, Henry Townsend and Robert Lockwood Jr. Ray Charles, maybe the biggest of them all, died the year before. When we nearly lost a number of others, like Fats Domino, in Hurricane Katrina, it’s enough to make it seem like rhythm and blues artists are an endangered species. And it’s not like there isn’t a precedence there too. Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, Curtis Mayfield, Marvin Gaye and nearly all the Temptations, among others, were gone long before their time.

Which is why it was all the more poignant to see not one but three of the greatest soul and blues singers in the history of recorded music on one stage Thursday night. B.B. King, Al Green, and Etta James and Her Roots Band played to a sold out grandstand at the Minnesota State Fair and the historical weight of such a triple bill was completely deflated by the fact that all three are still sharp, in great voice, and utterly inspired by and clearly still in love with their profession and audience. These folks are radiant with the knowledge they have the greatest job in the world.

Perusing the fair grounds before the show, my buddy Sam, girlfriend Becky and I sampled some of the most inviting and regrettable fried foods of this still young century. My dinner consisted of macaroni and cheese on a stick, cajun catfish on a stick and part of a bloomin’ onion that I kept in small enough proportions that it wouldn’t dare interrupt my enjoyment of the show to follow. The newspaper the next day said actor Vince Vaughn was in attendance, but I spotted my own celebrity before the show when a slim, suave figure and unmistakably cool white hat proved to be bass guitar godfather, Sly and the Family Stone legend and frequent Prince sideman, Larry Graham.

"Tell Mama" is the old R&B hit for Ms. James that got the evening rolling. It’s one of those near-lost but indelible classics that would earn its place on any top ten list, and it's never better than in a live setting. There’s a reason you can fill a shelf with her live albums. Her game is the concert game. Etta’s recording voice, always too bluesy for mainstream super-stardom - even when backed by string arrangements - with a style too gritty to always be in step with current trends and fashions, lets it all hang out on stage. She started singing as a teenager in the mid-1950s and at 69, she’s never looked better. In the last five years – thanks to gastric bypass surgery – she’s literally lost over 200 pounds. She’s smaller now than when she began her career and is damn near unrecognizable from her album covers from only a decade ago.

She was thrilling. And topical. She commented on Senator Larry Craig and his recent excursions in the nearby Minneapolis airport, while introducing "I Wanna Ta-Ta You Baby" then referenced it again during almost every song that followed. She would put her foot side by side to those of each of her band mates, imitating a "wide stance" as the guys took their solos. A striking cover of Randy Newman’s "You Can Leave Your Hat On" followed and then she grabbed a chair for her most beloved and recognizable song. A synthesizer mimicked strings and then "At laaaaast... my love has come along." It was a jazzy reading, slow and melancholy, amped up by careful phrasing that allowed her to recreate a song she’s sung thousands of times.

A cover of Janis Joplin’s "Piece of My Heart" was my girlfriend’s highlight. Dirty blues harmonica kicked off my highlight – "Baby What You Want Me to Do". It was a performance to make the church deacon blush as the brassy blues belter would frequently stick out her tongue, wiggle her ass and remind the audience that Madonna didn’t invent crotch grabbing. Do not go silent – or sexless – into that good night, Ms. James. "I’d Rather Go Blind", "Sugar on the Floor" and a song of deep lamentation whose name escapes me, one declaring "Back down that road I go", rounded out the unfortunately brief but downright fiery set list.

Al Green - the little brother in this triple bill - was possibly the single best hour of live music I’ve ever witnessed. His face a little fuller, his midsection paunchier than in any of his numerous recent TV appearances, the good reverend took the stage in a tuxedo, flashing his million-watt smile. "I Can’t Stop", the title track to his 2003 outing was a high energy opener. He then passed out roses to adoring ladies during one of his many odes to faith and commitment, "Let’s Get Married". Even on a chilly Minnesota evening it takes little to raise a sweat when you’re gyrating like an ecstatic madman and your dancing and singing is clearly possessed of the spirit. Throughout the evening, the tuxedo jacket would frequently threaten to come off as the ultimate showman would repeatedly drop to his knees with shouts, grunts and that legendary falsetto reaching to the stars.

"I haven’t heard any mention of Jesus tonight. Do we have any of the Lord’s folks here tonight?!" the pastor of Memphis’ Full Gospel Tabernacle asked to loud applause, kicking off "Everything’s Gonna Be Alright (He’s Comin’ Back)". "Just sit back and relax with the groove. There’s nothing to worry about, folks. We got the stuff," he said to even louder applause. Showcasing his sidemen through various solos, with the expected exquisite Memphis horn section, each player seemingly amused and inspired by Green’s relentless enthusiasm, the band stayed at church with double shot renderings of "Amazing Grace" and "Nearer My God to Thee". I’ve heard gospel at pop shows before. Willie Nelson sings "Amazing Grace" at the end of every performance. The last Springsteen tour was essentially a revival tent show. And I’ve heard Bob Dylan drop in "White Dove", "Hallelujah, I’m Ready to Go" and his own "Gotta Serve Somebody", but there can be no abstractions when a pop performer calls out for the Christians in the house to be recognized and then lays a little Jesus testifyin’ on us. It was bold and stimulating – a great artist who knows, follows and loves his muse, doing his thing the way he wants. I would just thank the Lord that as wondrous as his gospel music is, he also returned his secular songs to his setlists in the mid-90s after a 15 year hiatus.

"I-I-I... I’m so in love with you... whatever you want to do," the crowd sings along. "Is alright with me...eee... eee." Cool breeze, moonlight, soul classics. "Let’s Stay Together" gave way to his sizzling cover of the Bee Gee’s "How Can You Mend a Broken Heart". The music stutter-stopped and started again in a tease of false endings that showed the tightness of his rhythm section. "Gotta make it sound like it does on the record," Green said with a wink and a grin, before the horns launched the song back to the heavens.

Green ripped through a medley of songs to show "where our music comes from": "I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch)", "My Girl", some Otis Redding and a double shot of Sam Cooke’s "Bring It On Home to Me" and "Wonderful World". These brief song snippets got the crowd singing along but were unnecessary in comparison to the performances from Green’s own songbook: "Here I Am (Come and Take Me)" and "Tired of Being Alone", both opportunities to show off the pipes of his talented backing singers. With brevity the show’s only weakness, Green lamented that his time was up and he hadn’t even gotten to "I’m Still in Love with You", "You Ought To Be With Me", "Take Me to the River", or any number of other hits. A performer no doubt loves audience participation, but no one would have complained if he had substituted any of his handful of other number one R&B hits for the covers medley.

An almost whispered "Something that can make you do wrong, make you do right", a few guitar strums, some familiar organ chords and the drummer tapping off three launched the closer – a thrilling "Love and Happiness". Reverend Green can always be counted on to employ the tightest horn section in the business and they got their grandest showcase yet as they came down front and center to play that legendary rising stutter riff that kicks in near the middle of the song. That moment on the recorded single – at about the three minute mark – is one of those musical licks that floors me every time. I always anticipate the moment and turn up the car radio at just the right time, guaranteeing chills down my arm, and almost as though I’m hearing it for the first time in decades, transcendence actually feels like something real.

There’s no following Al Green, but B.B. King is the consummate performer and his own relaxed style need not compare with anyone. Where Al Green is all energy, ol’ Riley King’s is all casual professionalism. Al Green may be a Memphis legend for nearly 40 years, but another favorite son, B.B. King, is still two decades up on the man. I wasn’t sure what to expect from King’s set. One of the first concerts I ever attended as an adult was a King show at the Des Moines Civic Center in 1994. He was pushing 70 then and that was 13 years ago. He had a run in Europe a year ago that was billed as a farewell tour and yet here arrives another summer and another tour through the states. The guy cut his first record in Memphis in 1947. Elvis was in the 8th grade. With a consistent pace of a few hundred shows a year, we’re talking about a conservative estimate of more than 15,000 shows. According to his website, as I write this, he has 10 shows scheduled over the next 13 nights.

King’s band played a solid ten minutes before B.B. even made an appearance. Each horn player took a solo than casually strolled around stage as the others had their turn. (Jazz players don’t usually have such a large stage to mill around.) With the cool, perfectly still weather, it was the most laid back setting I’ve ever seen for a popular performer. Introduced – as always – as the King of the Blues, King arrived to a standing ovation. He’s heavy and hobbles a bit at eighty-one. His first words were an apology that his knees are bad and he would be sitting throughout the performance.

The relaxed show was mostly snippets of his famous songs filled in with extended conversations with the crowd. The first growl from that famously gruff voice and the first notes played from that familiar sidekick, his guitar Lucille, both brought a roar of applause. "Why I Sing the Blues" was the first tune. (If you’re curious about the answer to the song title, you see he’s been around a long time and he’s really paid his dues.)

"When Love Comes to Town" warranted an introduction. Bono of U2 wrote the song for him. Most of the between song banter consisted of self-deprecating comments on aging, women and Viagra: "Young women today are always coming up to me, saying, ‘aw B, you so cute'. Where were these women when I was younger?" "I’m a bluesman / And a good man" was the claim of one song. "Just Like a Woman" – not the Bob Dylan tune – was another song. "You Are My Sunshine", a song I remember him playing in ’94 too, was the lone audience sing-along. We got snippets of "Nobody Loves Me But My Mother (And She Could Be Jivin’ Too)" and "How Blue Can You Get". Ol’ B’, it seems, had it bad with one woman in particular. He bought her a brand new Ford, she said "I want a Cadillac". He bought her a 10 dollar dinner and she said "Thanks for the snack." He let her live in his penthouse, she said it was just a shack. He gave her seven children and now she wants to give ‘em back! No wonder he’s been downhearted ever since the day they met.

He had shout-outs for Ms. James, and also for Mr. Green – "my pastor" he called him. The set closer was that damnable rascal, that lowdown after-hours bar closer, "The Thrill is Gone", and maybe it’s that sentiment of impermanent love that helped drive home the wonder of the man’s seeming perpetuity and timeless artistry. Again, a honking horn section punctuated Lucille’s moans. Lyrics to an earlier song had declared, "I’ll roam this highway ‘til I die" and as a spoken aside, he assured the crowd, to roaring applause, "I’m gonna do this ‘til I die, folks." We'll be listening long after that.

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