Post by Jonel on Dec 2, 2003 11:42:56 GMT -5
Posted on Sun, Nov. 30, 2003
Green brings back that lovin' feeling
The topic was singing, and Al Green, who knows a thing or two about it, was talking about the ability to communicate passion beyond words shared by so many vocalists of the 1960s.
"You listen to David Ruffin," he said recently, recalling the late lead voice of the Temptations. The Rev. Green, who still holds Sunday services at the Full Gospel Tabernacle in Memphis, Tenn., was doing interviews to promote I Can't Stop, his first secular album in more than 20 years, and was in the mood to share his theories about what happened to soul. "The guy can flat-out do it, and I don't mean technique. He's going to take you where he's going."
Then Green, 57, decided to demonstrate. He began to sing "Ain't Too Proud to Beg": "Well I got a love so deep, in the pit of my heart." He copied the familiar Ruffin declaration right down to that extra pressure on love, nailing the phrase exactly. "You see how he's singing that. By the time he gets to 'Ain't too proud to beg and you know it,' well sure enough, you know it. That's meat, man. He sang with that bravado, you can't help but feel what he's feeling."
That, Green laments, is the one thing missing from the pyrotechnical outbursts of modern singers.
"Now I like singers out there, don't get me wrong," Green said, mentioning Jill Scott and Erykah Badu among his favorites. "But there's a kind of unselfish thing that the David Ruffins did that you don't hear much anymore. It's too much about the singer now, not the song or the story. Nobody seems like they want to make me believe."
And that, right there, is why anyone who cares about singing should say a little prayer of gratitude for the return of Al Green.
We need him. Not for his chops, or because I Can't Stop, which was produced and arranged by Green's longtime Memphis collaborator Willie Mitchell, does such a convincing job of recreating the magic of those early '70s hits - such romantic miniatures sheathed in silk as "Tired of Being Alone," "Love and Happiness," "Let's Stay Together."
We need Green for the character he brings to his accounts of love's joys and inevitable devastations. We need him for the gruff business end of his voice, a low gravel roar that carries, now more overtly than ever, a bit of blues wisdom. And for the butterfly falsetto, his money shot, that makes you realize he is not like other mortals. And for the trademark fadeaway that begins on earth and ends somewhere in satellite orbit, the musical embodiment of the high, lazy, arcing jump shot that eventually lands in the sweet spot of the net.
We need Al Green because the singers of today have crazy skills, yet lack sense about how to use them; nobody alive saturates the words with his particular type of nuance. We need him because he can sing a totally cheesy lover-man cliche and not just get away with it, but be completely believable - he's the ardent one who's begging and somehow retaining a bit of pride at the same time. We need him, because he's maybe the only man on earth who can put back some of the mystery R. Kelly took out of seduction.
When Green decided to move away from gospel and sing love songs again, the most important thing for him was sincerity. It was, he says, not about the subject matter - glorifying a deity or a woman - nearly as much as the intention behind the words. One reason he waited so long was because it seemed to him that so many soul men were in it for the quick score.
"If you say you love someone and you're just lying, then it ain't worth doing. Please forget it. Don't waste anybody's time," Green says, re-creating the conversation he says went on in his head. "If you say it and you mean it, and you feel it, then that's important and you should do that. I said to myself, and this is after thinking about it for a while, 'Well, I mean it.' For me, that was the point where I was able to reconcile my feelings about doing this kind of music or that kind."
The songs of I Can't Stop echo, and sometimes copy, the things Green and Mitchell did way back when. The title track is propelled by a little disco shoop-shoop, while "I've Been Waitin' on You" bustles along, its old-school funk backbeat inspiring some vintage Green catcalls. The album's ballad standout, "Rainin' in My Heart," evokes a smoldering Otis Redding after-midnight vibe, with Green saving his most memorable entreaties for a tremendous final chorus and closing fadeout. Other songs replicate the chord progressions and slithering, brooding atmospheres of Green's classics, and if sometimes the themes are threadbare, Green, the consummate pro, wrings as much vitality as possible from them.
It is, without question, a calculated throwback, designed to enchant anyone who remembers just how amazing it was to hear songs like "Call Me" and "Tired of Being Alone" on the radio. The instruments are all natural, the tracks recorded in the same room where Green and Mitchell so often made magic. But there's nothing studied about Green's performances, nothing that suggests modern-day cynicism, no trace of telltale comeback desperation. No, Green is just telling stories he evidently believes. He's loose when he wants to be, or a prowling cat ready to pounce when the song warrants it; you hear him ad-libbing, rearranging the melodies into an impulsive and beautiful expression that narrowly eludes convention, and realize that more than anything else, Al Green is having fun.
And for all those moves, the ego that so often reduces soul to a kind of muscle-flexing game is notably, thankfully, absent. Mitchell calls him the "best singer ever," predicting "you won't see another one like him for 50 years." Green makes no such boast. He just sings, and that's enough.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Contact music critic Tom Moon at 215-854-4965 or tmoon@phillynews.com.
Courtesy of the Philadelphia Inquirer www.philly.com/mld/inquirer/entertainment/7369871.htm
Green brings back that lovin' feeling
The topic was singing, and Al Green, who knows a thing or two about it, was talking about the ability to communicate passion beyond words shared by so many vocalists of the 1960s.
"You listen to David Ruffin," he said recently, recalling the late lead voice of the Temptations. The Rev. Green, who still holds Sunday services at the Full Gospel Tabernacle in Memphis, Tenn., was doing interviews to promote I Can't Stop, his first secular album in more than 20 years, and was in the mood to share his theories about what happened to soul. "The guy can flat-out do it, and I don't mean technique. He's going to take you where he's going."
Then Green, 57, decided to demonstrate. He began to sing "Ain't Too Proud to Beg": "Well I got a love so deep, in the pit of my heart." He copied the familiar Ruffin declaration right down to that extra pressure on love, nailing the phrase exactly. "You see how he's singing that. By the time he gets to 'Ain't too proud to beg and you know it,' well sure enough, you know it. That's meat, man. He sang with that bravado, you can't help but feel what he's feeling."
That, Green laments, is the one thing missing from the pyrotechnical outbursts of modern singers.
"Now I like singers out there, don't get me wrong," Green said, mentioning Jill Scott and Erykah Badu among his favorites. "But there's a kind of unselfish thing that the David Ruffins did that you don't hear much anymore. It's too much about the singer now, not the song or the story. Nobody seems like they want to make me believe."
And that, right there, is why anyone who cares about singing should say a little prayer of gratitude for the return of Al Green.
We need him. Not for his chops, or because I Can't Stop, which was produced and arranged by Green's longtime Memphis collaborator Willie Mitchell, does such a convincing job of recreating the magic of those early '70s hits - such romantic miniatures sheathed in silk as "Tired of Being Alone," "Love and Happiness," "Let's Stay Together."
We need Green for the character he brings to his accounts of love's joys and inevitable devastations. We need him for the gruff business end of his voice, a low gravel roar that carries, now more overtly than ever, a bit of blues wisdom. And for the butterfly falsetto, his money shot, that makes you realize he is not like other mortals. And for the trademark fadeaway that begins on earth and ends somewhere in satellite orbit, the musical embodiment of the high, lazy, arcing jump shot that eventually lands in the sweet spot of the net.
We need Al Green because the singers of today have crazy skills, yet lack sense about how to use them; nobody alive saturates the words with his particular type of nuance. We need him because he can sing a totally cheesy lover-man cliche and not just get away with it, but be completely believable - he's the ardent one who's begging and somehow retaining a bit of pride at the same time. We need him, because he's maybe the only man on earth who can put back some of the mystery R. Kelly took out of seduction.
When Green decided to move away from gospel and sing love songs again, the most important thing for him was sincerity. It was, he says, not about the subject matter - glorifying a deity or a woman - nearly as much as the intention behind the words. One reason he waited so long was because it seemed to him that so many soul men were in it for the quick score.
"If you say you love someone and you're just lying, then it ain't worth doing. Please forget it. Don't waste anybody's time," Green says, re-creating the conversation he says went on in his head. "If you say it and you mean it, and you feel it, then that's important and you should do that. I said to myself, and this is after thinking about it for a while, 'Well, I mean it.' For me, that was the point where I was able to reconcile my feelings about doing this kind of music or that kind."
The songs of I Can't Stop echo, and sometimes copy, the things Green and Mitchell did way back when. The title track is propelled by a little disco shoop-shoop, while "I've Been Waitin' on You" bustles along, its old-school funk backbeat inspiring some vintage Green catcalls. The album's ballad standout, "Rainin' in My Heart," evokes a smoldering Otis Redding after-midnight vibe, with Green saving his most memorable entreaties for a tremendous final chorus and closing fadeout. Other songs replicate the chord progressions and slithering, brooding atmospheres of Green's classics, and if sometimes the themes are threadbare, Green, the consummate pro, wrings as much vitality as possible from them.
It is, without question, a calculated throwback, designed to enchant anyone who remembers just how amazing it was to hear songs like "Call Me" and "Tired of Being Alone" on the radio. The instruments are all natural, the tracks recorded in the same room where Green and Mitchell so often made magic. But there's nothing studied about Green's performances, nothing that suggests modern-day cynicism, no trace of telltale comeback desperation. No, Green is just telling stories he evidently believes. He's loose when he wants to be, or a prowling cat ready to pounce when the song warrants it; you hear him ad-libbing, rearranging the melodies into an impulsive and beautiful expression that narrowly eludes convention, and realize that more than anything else, Al Green is having fun.
And for all those moves, the ego that so often reduces soul to a kind of muscle-flexing game is notably, thankfully, absent. Mitchell calls him the "best singer ever," predicting "you won't see another one like him for 50 years." Green makes no such boast. He just sings, and that's enough.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Contact music critic Tom Moon at 215-854-4965 or tmoon@phillynews.com.
Courtesy of the Philadelphia Inquirer www.philly.com/mld/inquirer/entertainment/7369871.htm
