Let us now celebrate the riff, that hard nugget of repeated melody that grabs hold of your collar and won’t let go even after you’ve cried uncle. “Crosseyed Cat,” recorded by the inimitable Muddy Waters in 1977, kicks off with a slamming blues riff that announces business from note one. This is dirty electric blues, the kind Muddy and the band can sink their teeth into. Who is more pissed off by this ocularly impaired kitty, McKinley Morgenfield (no one is actually named “Muddy Waters” at birth) or the members of a handpicked outfit that includes James Cotton and Johnny Winter? It’s hard to tell; both the singer and his colleagues are tearing paint off the walls. Cotton on harmonica and guitarists Winter and Bob Margolin hold on to the riff like it’s a life raft, while drummer Willie “Big Eyes” Smith and bassist Charles Calmese slam the groove senseless. And when it comes time for pianist Pinetop Perkins to solo, collective mayhem ensues with everyone joining in on the fun just like it’s the good old days at Chess Records. (No hard feelings Pinetop, it’s just the way to do it if you want to do it right. ) And that no-good feline? “He’s too big to be a house cat,” Muddy informs us, “and he’s too small to be a lion.” His finding: “There’s something wrong.” Indeed.
Joe South is best known for his Grammy-winning 1969 hit “Games People Play,” a clever bit of pop-protest beloved by all who appreciate the charm of a well-picked electric sitar. Before the multitalented South made his mark as a gifted singer-songwriter he was an A-list session player. (Among the notches on his amp are the guitar run that ushers in Aretha Franklin’s “Chain of Fools,” and his which-way-is-he going bass work on Bob Dylan’s “Visions of Johanna.” This was a special musician.)
“Don’t It Make You Want to Go Home” just missed the Top 40 in 1969, but it’s a beauty that still can offer inspiration to songwriters who appreciate that making a left turn is often exactly what a song needs to go big. As he begins his tale, South is heading south. The imagery and colloquiallisms couldn’t get more down home. South is seductively trading on the back-to-the land vibe of the late Sixties; he’s ditching the big cities and heading to where life is good — or so he remembers it. Guess what? Time has brought changes. Let’s put it this way: ain’t nobody going skinny dipping around here no more. A killer chorus softens the cold blow of reality.
First the disclaimer. Even after nearly thirty years of investigating the world of classical music I’m still very much the novice. I continue to dip indiscriminately into a huge body of hallowed sounds, letting my ears determine my taste. If I hear something that moves me I let it pull me in whatever direction it will. I hear what I hear, I learn what I learn. I’m no expert, but I try to trust my own evaluations. Disclaimer over.
Igor Stravinsky composed his “Symphony of Wind Instruments” in 1920, seven years after the momentous premier of his modernist monument “The Rite of Spring.” The symphony is an attractively odd piece that follows unexpected routes. It’s a compact work that doesn’t luxuriate in its beauty. Melodies come and then are gone. Moods shift. We are asked to grab onto what we can and then to let go with an open hand. I’m as drawn to Stravinsky’s orchestration as I am to his arresting melodies and oblique harmonies. The omission of massed strings and percussion, leaving a small-scale contingent of brass and wind instruments to carry the day, lends airiness and space. It’s all very mysterious and more powerful for that. Whether the above performance represents the piece at its best I will leave to informed afficiondos. All I know is that I like it.