Harold Wheeler’s music credits are a long, strange trip – played keys on the original “Blinded by the Light,” conducted for Galt, and did the arrangement for Nina Simone’s truly bonkers/unpleasant version of “My Way.” Get this one for the opening/title track, the closest thing to sexy that a man named “Harold” can produce and the best slinky banger that Isaac Hayes with Johnny Allen on string arrangements never recorded. It’ll give you something to talk about with Yasiin Bey if you ever get stuck in an elevator with him.
Good fucking riddance: Joey Crawford, Pitbull, the word “framily,” Toyota commercials that have managed to make me hate the Muppets (!), Mark Jackson and JVG’s cornball love affair, Dwight Howard’s big dumb face, Klay Thompson’s big dumb face, having to type “Klay” spelled that way, amateur psychoanalysis of Roy Hibbert, people defending poor Don Sterling (LOLOLLLLLL), Deron Williams’ disturbing hair, the nickname “the Servant,” and LeBron Raymone James. NOW LET’S GO TO WORK, KHALIL MACK.
I’ve been blessed with plenty of luck, I love blowing up cars, I’m full of anger and beauty and guilt and sorrow and DNA that predisposes me to alcoholism, plus my name is LOGAN, so I don’t need to do much to prove my Irishness to you people on 3/17 or any other day. But there’s never enough Lynott for me in life nor on the Internet so I’ll take any excuse to post him. And because lady record dorks (like the titular character in opening handclappy banger “Rosalie”) and supercool lanky half-Guyanese bass players both tend to get fetishized by people who love music, I swear it’s like Phil and I are forever buddies in the struggle. Happy St. Patrick’s Day, yall.
(Get this record. “Wild One” is the tragic, pretty soundtrack to me riding my horse through a cold Dublin field at night. And “Freedom Song,” about a man named Jack McDuff – but not THAT Jack McDuff, guys – has the loveliest, Thin-Lizziest chord progression you can possibly imagine. Get it.)
I used to be a reallllllll pain in the ass music snob, and I didn’t like Jimmy’s sweet voice or the fact that he’s not Rasta because I had real strict guidelines for Jamaican masculinity in my record collection. I also did not care for this album opening with a song about the wickedness of womanly charms (“You came along with temptation and made me do wrong, I left my home and my good family, now you bring shame and disgrace on me, I was attracted to your vanity so I strayed in the wrong direction, now my life is full of misery,” etc. etc., aww somebody needs a nap and a bottle.)
Years later, I relaxed, grew and developed as a person, became slightly less of a pain in the ass, and came to love Jimmy’s vocal purity and grace. “I’ve Been Dead 400 Years,” I learned when I revisited this record, is my CUT. I also decided Jimmy’s spiritual beliefs are fine by me since Rastas consider oral sex unnatural so they are a people who cannot be liked or trusted.
My Invictus/Hot Wax listening cutoff point is right around ’73-4 – Honey Cone (FUCKING LOVE THEM), Chairmen of the Board, and Brian Holland’s ode to me, “Super Woman”). I will therefore never listen to this record for pleasure, and in fact will only listen to it if I’m having a Laws Family binge-listening session – an event that would only take place so I could eventually get to Afro-Classic and Pressure Sensitive. Great cover, though.
I played this at my backyard BBQ at my house in the 3rd Ward back when Ford was in office and Pistol Pete was on the court in a Jazz uniform and we did a Soul Train line (I joined in during MY CUTS “You’ve Got Your Spell on Me” and “Party Happy”) just before we all stripped down and jumped in Lake Pontchartrain, remember?
(That spot next to my big window lets in lots of beautiful sunshine but it also advertises how sheer this shirt is. Hence the arm protection.)