Posts tagged ‘isaac hayes’

February 25, 2013

The Runners-Up: Isaac Hayes

The Runners-Up is a monthly column, wherein we will analyze an album that isn’t the consensus first choice or most canonical title by a given artist, but is one worthy of more attention than it’s received to date. The album we’ll look at this month is…

Isaac Hayes

Truck Turner (Stax)

by Nate Patrin

truckturnerlp

Here’s a question I used to ask myself every so often: what’s Isaac Hayes‘ third-best album? Even before I started digging into the man’s back catalogue—from 1967′s lounge-jazz jam session debut Presenting Isaac Hayes to the mixed-bag post-Stax disco stuff—the top two slots seemed easy enough to figure out. There was Hot Buttered Soul, the 1969 solo sophomore release on which the songwriter reinvented himself as a reinterpreter of the contemporary American pop songbook through a filter of orchestral psychedelic soul. And then there’s Shaft, the soundtrack that made him the Henry Mancini of blaxploitation and revealed his flair for scene-setting and motif-driven eclecticism. But after doing some digging through his peak early-mid ’70s catalogue several years back, through To Be Continued and Black Moses and Live at the Sahara Tahoe, hearing Hayes’ soundtrack to Truck Turner finally led me to discover what his third-best record was.

By which I mean the Shaft soundtrack. I’m going to lay it on the line here and declare Truck Turner to be Hayes’ second-best album, even if no single track on it is any real competition for “Theme from Shaft” when it comes to defining (almost) everything that made Hayes great in less than five minutes. What Truck Turner does have going for it, though, is the fact that it’s a double LP’s worth of compositions that show off every musical trick and innovation at Hayes’ disposal right before his artistic peak was behind him. You want a ramped-up title theme that says as much about a single man’s badassery in as little time as possible, preferably with the assistance of a chorus of women shouting the dude’s name? You got it. Want some deep-cut slow jam love songs with his voice drizzled over it like some kind of narcotic syrup? There’s plenty of those. Want enough sample fodder to choke an MPC? Get yourself a copy.

While Hayes’ versatility shines through in all his best albums, there’s something about the selections on Truck Turner that seem to push things a bit further—maybe because it’s not just another Isaac Hayes soundtrack, but the Isaac Hayes soundtrack to an Isaac Hayes movie. As a film, Truck Turner is wildly, knowingly ridiculous: its cast includes Nichelle Nichols (best known as Lt. Uhura from Star Trek) in her only blaxploitation role as a foul-mouthed madam with half of the movie’s best lines, Yaphet Kotto as a far superior bad-guy heavy than his cornball “Mr. Big” role in Live and Let Die, and Hayes as the titular bounty hunter with a klepto shoplifter ladyfriend and a shirt that smells like cat piss. With that kind of mise-en-scene to work with, Hayes went all out and put together seventeen tracks’ worth of material that lent every last ounce of his artistic weight to a movie that, frankly, isn’t especially deserving.

The vocal cuts range from solid enough to fantastic—the latter category belonging primarily to the title theme, which is like “Theme from Shaft” on uppers, all rubber-kneed rhythm and sucker-punch horns. Meanwhile, “You’re in My Arms Again,” “A House Full of Girls,” and “Give it to Me” are Hayes in seductive, sensitive loverman mode, and if you ignore the goofy circumstances of Hayes writing themes for his own love scenes—in other words, scoring himself scoring—they’re every bit as smooth as his best circa-’70 ballads. But most of the record is taken up by instrumentals, and the majority of those lean towards a mixture of fuzzed-out raw funk and airy soul jazz that embodies Hayes’ street-level sophistication. A few cuts—“Driving in the Sun,” “Now We’re One,” “House of Beauty”—emphasize a noticeable jazz influence that add some unpredictable spark and intricate musicianship to what could’ve otherwise been unremarkable downtempo background cues. Others, like “Blue’s Crib,” “Dorinda’s Party,” and the breakbeat favorite “Breakthrough,” lean heavily on fuzzed-out funk and soul that seem tailor-made to soundtrack parties long after the film left theaters.

And two tracks in particular stand out as classics in their own right. “Pursuit of the Pimpmobile” is the longest cut on the album at just over nine minutes, and while its car-chase origins fit the film well, it doubles as a monster of a proto-disco jam, working its way up from a sneaky hi-hat curb-crawl to a frenzied, tense conga-driven groove. On the other side of the LP—and the other side of the spectrum—is another extended workout, “The Insurance Company,” the theme for a trio of assassins sent to terrorize Truck Turner. That song’s an oozing, skulking, suspenseful trudge that rides off flanged piano stabs and reverbed plastic-bottle rattles, then erupts into a horn-driven, icy-fingered slab of psych-soul that sounds like Bernard Herrmann workshopping with the J.B.’s. If there’s anything Hayes did in his musical career that’s more diabolically chilling, I haven’t heard it yet.

Unfortunately, neither the movie nor the album were blockbuster hits—at least not on the level of Shaft. As celluloid immortilization goes, Hayes probably won more admirers as the Duke in Escape from New York or (god help us) Chef on South Park. And this soundtrack is only commercially available as a two-fer that lumps it in with the music from Tough Guys—itself a fine record and the first soundtrack Hayes released in ’74, but not nearly as expansively ambitious as its followup. Hayes wouldn’t record anything else this front-to-back great for the rest of his career, and for the rest of the ’70s it usually took him three or four LPs to even bring up as many ideas as this one soundtrack does in its 72 minutes. But it’s not necessary to think of Truck Turner as the last great album from Isaac Hayes‘ prime—all you need to do is hear it as a good personification of what his prime actually meant.

“Pursuit of the Pimpmobile”:

March 26, 2012

Miles Davis In The ’80s

by Phil Freeman

[The following is the text of a paper I delivered at the 2012 EMP Pop Conference in New York last week, under the title "From the Corner to Carnegie Hall and Beyond: The Urbanization of Miles Davis 1972-1991." Thanks to all who attended.]

I think On the Corner might be the most important album Miles Davis ever released. Naturally, when it was released, critics hated it. One of the most infamous reviews came from Down Beat. It read, in part, “Take some chunka-chunka-chunka rhythm, lots of little background percussion diddle-around sounds, some electronic mutations, add simple tune lines that sound a great deal alike and play some spacey solos.” If you’re not a jazz nerd, you might be thinking, “Wow, that sounds awesome,” but you would be wrong. Here’s the thing, though: Subtract the bit about spacey solos and couldn’t you be describing the Bomb Squad in the late ’80s, or Timbaland in the late ’90s? You can hear hints of half the important developments in black music of the last 40 years on that record.

It wasn’t until the 2000s that On the Corner finally got its due. In the booklet for the 2007 boxed set The Complete On the Corner Sessions, percussionist Mtume, a member of Miles’ band from 1972 to 1975, said, “Sometimes some music has to wait for a new generation of listeners; we had to wait for a new generation of critics to come along before On the Corner got true respect.”

On the Corner was received the way it was because Miles Davis was still regarded as a jazz musician in 1972. In fact, he’s still seen that way today. The entire second half of his career is regarded as a weird, vaguely shameful tangent, rather than as an important development unto itself. This is willful blindness, basically, rooted in market forces and status anxiety. Because the more you look at the landscape of mainstream black pop culture at the time, the more sense On the Corner makes. Between the beginning of 1971 and June 1972, the month On the Corner was recorded, Earth, Wind and Fire put out their first two albums; Sly and the Family Stone released There’s a Riot Goin’ On; Isaac Hayes put out the soundtrack to Shaft; and Funkadelic released America Eats Its Young. These are records that combine hard, gritty funk with complex orchestrations and ambitious production techniques, and On the Corner fits much better with any of them than it does with jazz. But the jazz industry, and its adjunct, the jazz press, continued to insist on ranking Miles Davis with the players of the 1940s and 1950s like Art Blakey, Dizzy Gillespie and Sonny Rollins, all of whom were still making bop-rooted music and playing standards on stage.

But On the Corner is much more than just a funk record. Musically and symbolically, it’s a complex, multilayered statement about New York City and Miles Davis’s place within it, and it kicks off a two-decade stretch of engaging with, and impacting, contemporary black pop culture in ways he’d never done before.

First of all, the album sounds like New York. The rhythms are funky, but they’re constantly interrupted by jarring noises. A percussive rattle here, a squiggly saxophone line or a stab from a keyboard there. It’s like when you’re sitting in an apartment, wondering if the siren you just heard is part of the movie you’re watching or not. The combination of instruments—electric guitar, keyboards, percussion from India, Africa and Latin America, sitar, and horns—is like walking down a Manhattan street and hearing six languages in as many blocks.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 47 other followers

%d bloggers like this: