Isn't it a-bout
time, as Steve Stills once sang when with his band, Manassas, surely a-bout
time to feature a live album? They're a hit-and-miss affair, live albums, and
probably worthy of a separate category. Playing and being recorded live is,
musically speaking, the final frontier. When a live album's not up to scratch,
you question whether the band is worth your admiration or allegiance. But when
a live album fires on all cylinders, it's quite another matter.
There are some legendary live albums that stand out of
the pack, some of which are happily in my collection and may feature in
subsequent slots: B.B. King's Live at the
Regal, James Brown's Live at the
Apollo, King Curtis's Live at the Fillmore
West, Donny Hathaway Live, the
Fania All-Stars live either at the Yankee Stadium or the Cheetah Club, Pharoah
Sanders' incendiary quartet of 1981, und
so weiter. There are, too, some surprisingly lacklustre affairs by some of
the greatest artists of the 20th century: Bobby 'Blue' Bland's and
Marvin Gaye's live offerings, for example, might leave you wondering what all
the fuss was about.
As a teenager, I learnt to play on my tennis racquet the
guitar parts of both John Cippolina and Gary Duncan, as featured extensively on
Quicksilver Messenger Service's mainly live Happy
Trails album. These days, as I approach codger-dom, there's one live album
that consistently lifts me out of my chair and gets me contorting my face and barking
unnecessarily. That said, I'm possibly the only person who would lobby for A Night in San Francisco as the most
exciting live album of all time.
It came out in 1994
as a double CD, ironically not long after I saw the little man at Sheffield
City Hall. It was one of those notorious occasions when the Irishman couldn't
really be bothered. He was off at around the hour mark, using the old clichéd
encore trick to generate a bit of enthusiasm and value-for-money, and though it
was good to say that you'd seen him live, it left a slightly sour taste and a
feeling that you'd been short-changed.
Of course, Sir Van
has always blown hot and cold, presumably depending on his mood (which is customarily
curmudgeonly). At least his reputation is such that he can assemble a great
band, which always helps. I bought the double album, It's Too Late To Stop
Now, back in 1975, the year after it came out. Now there's one that does
garner many a critical vote for one of the best albums of all time. It was
recorded with Van's trusty Caledonian Soul Orchestra: a most consistent and
dependable of outfits.
I can't remember
much about the band that night in Sheffield. Teena Lyle was there on keyboards
and vibes, but there was certainly no Georgie Fame (or Fay-emm, as the man from
Belfast calls him) on organ, and it's Georgie to my mind who seems to be the
real powerhouse behind some of Van's greatest performances. I submit as evidence
a film recording of a blistering concert by Georgie Fame & the Blue Flames
in New York supported by the Belfast man at his committed best.
For the night at
The Masonic Auditorium in 'Frisco, special guest stars pop up of the calibre of
the Dutch saxophonist, Candy Dulfer, and of R&B legends John Lee Hooker,
Junior Wells and the mighty Jimmy Witherspoon. It probably only lacked Mose
Allison and Ray Charles for Van's dream team. And you can hear how he just
revels in their company. 'The blues, the whole blues and nothing but the
blues,' he exuberates at one point. Apart from 'Spoon and John Lee and Georgie
himself, there are supplementary vocals from Van's seeming protégé, Brian
Kennedy (whose voice is admittedly too wet for such raw rhythm & blues), a
friend's chum, James Hunter, and the proud dad's daughter, Shana (on 'Beautiful
Vision'). I suspect that they were recruited to give the Man's pipes a bit of a
rest, but it doesn't matter: the ensemble work in largely perfect harmony.
The great thing
about a live album is that it allows an artist to stretch out and improvise
outside the more regimented confines of a studio recording. Most of the
numbers, particularly on the second disc, are amalgams either of his own
numbers or of R&B standards or of both, as in for example the two epics on
the first disc, the first when Van's 'See Me Through' segues into his 'Soldier
of Fortune' and then into a snippet of Sly Stone's 'Thank You Faletttinme Be
Mice Elf Again'; and the second a glorious segue from the ever-dependable
'Moondance' into Rogers and Hart's immortal 'My Funny Valentine'.
'It's too late to
stop now!' Van hollers towards the end of the longest work-out of the night on
the second disc, and there just so happen to be a couple of throwbacks to the
earlier album on Disc 1: his own 'I've Been Working', in itself as authentic a
piece of R&B as you'd wish from the composer of 'Gloria', and Sonny Boy
Williamson's funkiest of all funky blues numbers, 'Help Me'. (To avoid
disappointment, seek out an extraordinary ballistic version by Sugar Blue, the
harmonica player used by the Rolling Stones on 'Miss You'.)
Everything simmers
beautifully on the first disc before coming to the boil on the second. 'It
Fills You Up' indeed. All 70-plus minutes of it, from Georgie Fame's opening
bit of vocalese on 'Jumpin' With Symphony Sid' to the almost predictable
'Gloria' that brings everything to a standing, stomping conclusion. But it's
not just 'Gloria'. In conjunction, less predictably, with Johnny Kidd & the
Pirates' 'Shakin' All Over', it's probably the finest version of Van's youthful
smash in the world. 'Some decorum, please!' the Man reiterates during the
proceedings and it's clear just how much he's enjoying himself on one hand, and
how funny the old curmudgeon can be in moods like this.
Sandwiched between
beginning and end, in among a bevy of transcendent performances, are 31 minutes
that beat almost anything I've ever heard on a live album. 'I first heard this
song by Bobby Bland in '64' (probably while he was still cleaning windows), Sir
Van announces in a typically matter-of-fact manner before launching into a
monumental 16-minute version of 'I'll Take Care Of You', intertwined with James
Brown's 'It's A Man's Man's Man's World', that knocks the socks off the
timeless original. 'It's hustle time!' for sure. There's a deliciously
unexpected vibes solo from Tina Lyle, a honking sax solo by Candy Dulfer and
some terrific secondary vocals from James Hunter.
It couldn't
possibly get any better than this. But it does, by jingo it does! Doc Pomus'
'Lonely Avenue' has always been one of my favourite Ray Charles numbers. But no
one out there does it better than Mr. Morrison. Over almost 15 minutes – and
incorporating wonderful trumpet, sax and organ solos – the cast roils a
simmering stew, just keeping you in a delicious state of tension as you
anticipate boiling point. It's a rollercoaster ride from 'Lonely Avenue'
through 'Be Bop a Lula', then Van's lazy '4 O'Clock In The Morning' and a brief
snippet of Sly's 'Family Affair' before Van's 'You Give Me Nothing But The
Blues' is followed by Jimmy Witherspoon's' entrance for 'When Will I Become A
Man?' and 'Sooner Or Later'. Then it's back to 'Nothing But The Blues' followed
by a dash of Roy Orbison's 'Down The Line' before we're led hollering and
screaming back to 'Lonely Avenue' for a suitable rousing finale.
'Did you feel the spirit in the house tonight!?' the MC demands at a suitable point in the proceedings. Van and his band did over those two nights, and the audience certainly did. I defy anyone who loves soul and R&B not to feel that same spirit as they listen to this livest of live albums. No wonder Van was knighted for services rendered. No wonder he's consistently named among the finest soul singers of the age – and stage.
