Bo Diddley

I'm A Man: The Chess Masters 1955–1958

Hip-o Select

originally published October 17, 2007

Who played blues that might as well have arrived from Mars? Bo Diddley. Who's credited not only with contributing to the birth of rock and roll, but also electrifying and popularizing a primal rock rhythm synonymous with his own name? Bo Diddley. The box guitar-toting Diddley was a unique breed among the Chess Records roster in an era when his labelmates included heavyweights like Howlin' Wolf and Chuck Berry. A large portion of Diddley's most definitive and influential work for Chess is compiled on the gracious double-disc I'm A Man: The Chess Masters 1955–1958, a 48-track collection that vividly demonstrates that Bo knew way more than how to lay down that funky beat.

Even when adopting a standard blues rhythm and backdrop, he rarely sounds run-of-the-mill. More often, Diddley injects a surprising jolt of new musical flavor, like the speedy shuffle that greets the tombstone blues of "Who Do You Love" or the jangly bossa-nova texture of "Hush Your Mouth." As a bluesman, he was unpredictable, but as a bandleader or straight-man emcee, Diddley was a veritable loose cannon. Infectious tracks, like the lascivious call-and-response of "Bring It To Jerome" or the salty dialogue "Say, Man" (in which Diddley and bandmate Jerome Green take turns playing the dozens with one another) sound looser, less inhibited and more worldly, even, than almost anything else, save for Howlin' Wolf.

With many of the set's inclusions presented in final and alternate takes, we're provided with an unfancified, but nonetheless intricate, blueprint for the genre-bending work that would influence artists from Hasil Adkins to Captain Beefheart. Headed by an off-the-wall personality that helped greatly in birthing baby rock and roll, I'm A Man proves there's much, much more to Mr. Bo Diddley and his knee-slapping rhythm than a shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits.

Michael Andrews

Badfinger

Badfinger & Wish You Were Here

Collector's Choice

originally published October 17, 2007

Poor Badfinger. A group of lads hand-picked and tutored by the Beatles for a successful run on the Apple imprint, Badfinger's high career expectations plummeted upon signing with Warner Bros. following their mentors' unceremonious split. The band's subsequent bad fortunes affected singer Pete Ham so much that he hung himself shortly after his group's breakup, while bassist Tom Evans ended his life the same way in 1983.

So, when listening to the re-released final two albums from the band (and its first two for Warner), one might wonder, first, why Warner didn't give the hard-working 'Finger more of a push after wooing the group into a lengthy, convoluted contract and, secondly, why Badfinger and Wish You Were Here have lain dormant and out of print for so long.

Ritchie Unterberger, in his notes to the reissued Badfinger, recounts how the bandmembers felt unprepared and off their mark during its recording. Little of that uneasiness, though, shows in the final product. Always lauded as a "great singles band," Badfinger is better experienced as a whole, though tracks like the spirited "Shine On" and Ham's horn-driven "Matted Spam" are about as tight and melodically proficient as power-pop singles could get in the early '70s. High-energy track "Andy Norris" closes the album, giving somewhat of a preview ("Run outta money, run outta luck…") of the band's future. However, judging solely by the quality of the first Warner Bros. album, it's tough to think of the song's angst-ridden lyrics as an unintentional prediction of things to come.

By the time the band released 1974's Wish You Were Here, Badfinger was hanging on by a string, or rather, a major label deal with five contracted albums left to go. Guitarist Joey Molland penned much of the album, with previous main songwriter Ham taking a back seat in that department. At only nine tracks, the album retains much of the band's melodic guitar glory, but the prickly lyrics to songs like "King of the Load" and the closing medley of "Meanwhile Back at the Ranch/ Should I Smoke" show the once-future Beatles sounding weary and ready for either a long-expected big label push or a new lease on life.

Instead, acts like E.L.O. and Cheap Trick would carry on the Beatles banner as Badfinger short-circuited and faded into the history books. The same year as Ham's suicide, Pink Floyd would release its own LP titled Wish You Were Here, almost totally eclipsing Badfinger's hushed finale. Listening in hindsight, many of today's young power-poppers are lucky there once was a band like Badfinger that effortlessly blended sentimentality with machismo and left a catalog of extraordinary singles - if not albums - in its wake.

Michael Andrews

Ed Askew

Little Eyes

De Stijl

originally published October 17, 2007

Some artists call themselves outsiders, but court much attention for their wares nonetheless. Not New Yorker Ed Askew, of whom almost no concrete background or personal information is known save for his tenure as a student at Yale and his affinity for "the tiple," a high-pitched ukulele-style instrument. Following the re-release of his 1968 album Ask the Unicorn in 2005, Askew's harder-to-find (because of its being pulled from release due the original ESP imprint's mounting debt) follow-up Little Eyes now sees a digital rebirth. Previously, the album was only available in vinyl issued by De Stijl in 2003.

Askew's off-pitch singing is a fitting foil to his jangly, almost dulcimer-sounding instrument. When he hits the right chords, it's almost as if Askew's playing the high-resonance uke with a bottleneck slide. Some Dylan influence can be heard in his crackling pitch, but, artistically, Askew was more in tune with true outsider folkies like Skip Spence and Judee Sill. Songs like "Waiting in the Station" and "My Love Is a Red, Red Rose" have little but these two tools to back them up, revealing a mood of loneliness, solitude and general uneasiness flowing throughout Little Eyes.

Askew, though, remains a unique talent to behold. His quavering, boy-man voice has been recycled and retooled many times over, with Jack White being the most obvious adopter/ comparison. Little Eyes is best enjoyed late at night with the lights down low, the window propped open and a willingness to explore Askew's long-lost hazy, cryptic style of confession.

Michael Andrews