Ain't No Use
So this little sojourn began when I ordered Vol. 5 of Los Hombres Calientes, innocently enough, and before I knew it I was traveling into the soul of New Orleans, the place where corpses float if it rains too much. Vol. 5, Carnival, track 12, "George Porter."
So why are they singing that? - "that" would be "George Porter," Irvin Mayfield and Bill Summers starring as “they” in this intense masterpiece, not to be confused with those giant ants in Them! – when they chant that “Oh, George Porter” ostinato thingie-poo?
A few left mouse clicks and a little Google taught me that they were singing about the bass player for the Funky Meters so, not to feel left out, I went ahead and ordered Funky Meters [LIVE] from the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival DVD.
See there’s George Porter, Jr. and he plays a powerful bass, working it up with David Russell Batiste, Jr. on the drums to insure there’s always a steady Funk Beat there in the background and this Neville guy, Art, christening brand new babies on the Hammond, pnch of soul between the cheek and gum and, if that weren’t enough, some white dude named Brian Stolz spooning out bowls of musical gumbo on the gee-tar.
Holy shit, the petunia in the onion patch has the file and the okra, he gets this faraway look in his eyes, like Tonto spotting the posse, this big goofy grin, looks again, kicks a foot pedal, and unvarnished truth suddenly flows from his 6 strings. He walks over to Art, who is all ears, and tells him a little story in funky notes. Then George Porter walks on over and they have a little conversation with their axes, some good food, a little pussy, and a private moment of communion with the Jesus man himself. Yeah, I remember that, we both were there for the whole thing. Then ol’ David kicks in a new groove; the whole band is on it like ants on honey. Possession! That look again! Stoltz is a madman! 800 orgasms, 800 beignettes with chicory coffee from Cafe du Monde, andouille and boudin dripping off his chin, descending chromatic funk right through the gates of hell, all the eyebrows go up; he's in his own world and here’s the roadmap, my friend. Lawdy, lawdy, lawdy, I’d pay 600 bucks and cut off the tip of my dick to play like that but it would be useless because Brian Stolz is a prophet. There can only be a few of those and there would be many if it were that easy. You gotta listen.
7:54:33 PM 
|
|
