Son Of Dave - Call Me King

When beatboxing harp player Son Of Dave warns that he’s going to ‘Kick Your Butt’ on the opening track of his new album, he ain’t fooling around.  It’s shuffling and snuffly, with hints of ‘Baby Please Don’t Go’ along the way, but in its primitively, unconventionally hypnotic sorta way, it’s fit to make you a slave to the rhythm – but, of course, a very different rhythm from Grace Jones.

Son Of Dave prepares to eat harmonica

That sensation of having yer tush sparked into motion is one of the big takeaways from Call Me King.  ‘Waste Time With Me’ kicks off with a low-down rumbling rhythm, while SOD’s harp alternately grumbles and squeaks, and clanking percussion adds to the jaunty, hip-shuffling vibe.  It is, quite simply, good fun.  There's more going on instrumentally on ‘Call Me King’, to back its cool, sprechgesang vocal, but ultimately it boils down to generating a crafty kind of swagger that Ian Siegal would be proud of.
‘I’m Going Monkey For Your Love’ combines a chugging rhythm, rat-a-tat vocalising and injections of piano to become irresistibly hip-swivelling.  It’s funky as all hell, worthy of Mia Wallace paying a return visit to Jackrabbit Slim’s and yanking Vince Vega onstage for another twist competition.  And if that sounds retro, then in its own warped way ‘Knock Off’ resurrects the spirit of Louis Jordan, even Louis Prima maybe, with a vibe taking in nagging and swinging harp, more rinky-dink piano, jungle drum fills and even snatches of scat.  If you wanna be a cat who knows where it’s at, then this is the juke joint daddy-o.
There’s more focus on the lyrics with ‘F That Daily Mail’ – a title to warm the cockles of my heart, the “F” cheekily delivered with a toot of harmonica.  It’s not so much a rant as a sardonic sideswipe about the “old man selling lies to the suckers”, set to an easy groove that gradually gets more emphatic, a subterranean bass line contrasting with tinkles of piano and falsetto harmonies to provide witty extra colour.
There are work song roots to the slower ‘Remaining Days’, but the closing ‘Jump Hoops’ underlines the blues roots of SOD’s sound more clearly, being a stop-time grooving throwback to John Lee Hooker’s – but delivered in Son Of Dave’s stripped back, harp-led, off-kilter fashion.
Of course, you may listen to the ten tracks and 27 minutes or so of Call Me King and, such is Son Of Dave’s idiosyncratic style, and you may conclude that none of the above accurately represents what you hear.  Which is fine.  But I bet your feet will still be tapping.
 
Call Me King is released by Goddamn Records on 8 April 2022, and can be ordered here.

Journey to the Blues #2

About six years ago I was in the throes of separation and divorce, and in sore need of distraction, when an old friend winged me a heap of music downloads.  None of it was familiar, and she explained that she’d recently come to the realization that she’d scarcely listened to anything new since about 1992.  But then she’d come across a download site called emusic.com which only made available stuff from independent labels, and these were some of her discoveries.

So over the following weeks I began to acquaint myself with a variety of new names.  These included Crooked Still, who performed what I took to be (in my ignorance) a beguiling country song called ‘Come On In My Kitchen’ – actually, as I was later to discover, a cover of a Robert Johnson song.  There was also Son of Dave, a bloke who mixed blues harp and beatboxing to considerable effect on a set that included ‘Crossroads Blues’, ‘Rollin’ an’ Tumblin’’, and ‘Mannish Boy’.  But the strongest impression was made by The Black Keys, a less than photogenic blues duo from Akron, Ohio - a place that I vaguely recalled as the home of a 70s punk/new wave scene made most famous by Pere Ubu.

The Black Keys are a big deal now of course, but when I first came across their debut album  The Big Come Up guitarist-vocalist Dan Auerbach and drummer Pat Carney were still on the way up.  Here were some purveyors of stripped-down, fuzzed-up blues played with passion and feel but also a modern edge. It was like Jack White stopped dicking around with gimmicks, and instead got on with delivering a stream of catchy blues songs.  It didn’t fit into any kind of neat template I recognized, but I recalled the bluesiest aspects of Rory Gallagher, the rumble of early George Thorogood, the raw appeal of early Beatles, and hints of Hendrix. Auerbach had a soulful voice, and coaxed a tuneful storm out of his guitar, while Carney laid down solid foundations and filled the gaps on drums. What's more, the two of them had the kind of tight but loose connection with each other that made the whole thing gel.

It was a potent brew, and in no time I’d got hold of two of their subsequent albums - thickfreakness from 2006, and Attack & Release from 2008, both of which more than lived up to the promise of their debut album. I actually managed to pick up a cd of the latter for three quid somewhere, and was tickled to find that for that derisory price I was also getting a dvd of the duo playing live.

For all that the recipe sounded basic, I realized that Auerbach and Carney weren't without a spirit of adventure. Attack & Release was produced by Danger Mouse, aka half of Gnarls Barkley, who was hardly someone I might have associated with this kind of down and dirty blues. Which just goes to show how much I knew, because he succeeded in adding some more delicate instrumentation and colour to the band's palette without destroying the fundamentals – and subsequently repeated the trick when collaborating with them on the albums that shot them to arena status.

Bemused and enthused by The Black Keys, I began to explore emusic.com myself, and before long found some other artists who turned me in the direction of the blues, such as Ian Siegal and the North Mississipi Allstars.  I was intrigued to discover, over time, that these three had particular connections to some key Mississippi blues figures, and to some extent to each other.
Meantime I was also listening to Planet Rock Radio, where I first came across Joe Bonamassa, who by now had broken through as a mainstream rock artist.  At first I wasn't terribly impressed, regarding his version of 'The Ballad of John Henry' as somewhat redundant in the face of Springsteen's Seeger Sessions recording of the same tale.  But gradually I was won over by songs such as 'Sloe Gin', 'Dust Bowl', and 'The Whale That Swallowed Jonah'.  Here was more evidence of new things happening in the realm of the blues, and it not only sharpened my enjoyment of the blues rock that had stayed with me since the 70s and 80s, it made me keen to explore further.  The blues journey took another step forward.

You can read Journey To The Blues #3 here.