“Hooker got his first guitar from a traveling bluesman named Tony Hollins, who took a shine to his sister Alice. Hollins had a battered Silvertone six-string he played for Alice on the front porch of the Hooker home while John hovered nearby. Eventually he gave that guitar to John.”
Just your daily reminder that people with vaginas are responsible, one way or another, for so SO much musical beauty. You’re welcome, world.
The actual Detroit-Memphis experiment was that time Willie Mitchell produced Bob Seger, and then Dilla did that SICK remix of Rufus Thomas’ “Walkin’ the Dog.” There’s that super secret Derrick May & Sam Phillips collab I’ve heard about too. But I’ll allow this album title, I guess.
Album from Dot Records, produced by the god Steve Cropper. Fake sky backdrop (ain’t no way I’m going outside topless) by Office Depot. Eyebrows from when the Moors conquered Europe. Waist-hip ratio from Mom, tacos, and forgetting to eat sometimes because my antidepressant decreases my appetite.
I do not recommend Googling the name Armen Boladian if you’re a music dork and you want to stay in a good mood, but back in ’72 I would’ve wanted to give him a great big hug on account of FUCK YEAH WESTBOUND RECORDS. This one came out in late winter, bookended by the lovely lovely sounds of Denise LaSalle’s Trapped by a Thing Called Love and the Ohio Players’ Pain. (FUCK YEAH, WESTBOUND RECORDS.)
Years later, I would finally succumb to peer pressure and do my cover version, even though I’m anti-fur and Daimler AG just don’t make em like they used to.
To all of you who toggle between BleacherReport and the SoulfulDetroit forum when you’re at work, 1) let’s be friends I like you already, and 2) how shaken were you when you found out the real story behind the credits on that Funkadelic record? I WAS SHAKEN. Anyway, a few of those same dudes get loose on this one too – and like my friend Roger from Ohio says, I no longer need astrology thanks to modern technology. Damn do I love a good Dennis Coffey astrological banger, though.
I believe the expression is “The bigger the headache, the bigger the pill.” Less popular but no less true is the expression “The bigger my love for Dr. Funkenstein, licensed administer of ear-canal narcotics including but not limited to rubbery bassline antidepressants, the greater the likelihood that I’m willing to forego monogamy and share my groom with my other sister-wives so we can blow the cobwebs out your mind.”
I wish George would give women a little wiggle room when it comes to roles – we are backup singers and side-project wives, and that’s it – but if I complain I’ll get kicked out of the family and he’ll easily find another fake wife to hit in the protons and make sure her hips keep moving. Having to share Dr. Funkenstein with some other ladies is better than no Funkenstein at all.