Sometimes it just depends on how you hear a song. What some see as a schlocky cover (and might not even make it through the first listening), others might see as an whacked-out extension of one of the simplest rock riffs of all time. And more than likely anybody who makes it past the thought of a sax player covering Led Zeppelin is listening out of curiosity or knows the name King Curtis. In either case, his reworking of "Whole Lotta Love" is one that begs for repeated "what's going on here?" type listenings.
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I could have easily been in the schlock-seeing category of listeners had not been for my younger brother Ted, AKA Snail (a nickname with absolutely no relevance to anything, other than being spouted out once by one of my high school friends. In fact, though I address him as Snail only in affection, I've no idea whether he hates it or not). So far on this blog, I've resisted bringing up the profound experience of growing up with my brothers, two absolute rock n' roll hearts, in the same bedroom. It's a subject that goes so deep that, once tapped, would probably read like a biography. Suffice it to say that it not only shaped my taste in music, it shaped my life; and that's not an understatement. Everything musical moment in my life has stemmed from the stereo wars and record collecting of our teens. I bring this up now only because it was a King Curtis tape from Ted that first made me think of Curtis as something other than a hired gun. I was cognizant of his work, but owned none of his solo work.
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As it is Father's Day, and Ted's birthday was earlier in the week, I will allow myself a slight digression, if only to publicly recognize the influence of both of my brothers, and my unwavering awe at Ted's skills as a Dad. Without an ounce of corn, I gotta say, I love you bro.
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About the song, though it starts out as a relatively faithful cover, with Curtis's sax replacing the vocals, at 1:15 it turns into a fuzzed out, horn-heavy, 70's movie chase scene freak-out, replete with a Latin tinged rhythm section. You are definitely rewarded for listening to the whole song and, by the time it ends, disappointed the overload doesn't last longer.
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1 comment:
I gotta say, I like it when a bit of autobiography sneaks into your musical musings. Don't we all react viscerally - where we were when we heard it, and maybe most importantly, who we were?
Love Candy Rock. Thanks.
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