Al Kooper

[Jahfin]

from NY Times:
July 3, 2005

Like a Complete Unknown. In Fact, Like a Rolling Stone.
By PETER APPLEBOME

AL KOOPER figures there are worse things than being an honest
dinosaur.

"The music I play is primarily music that has become extinct," said
Mr. Kooper, famous first for his legendary organ work with Bob Dylan
long, long ago. "I'm not interested in keeping current, I'm the
antithesis of that record Carlos Santana did a few years back. If
he's happy, God bless him, but I couldn't do that."

At 61, almost no one alive has lived as much rock 'n' roll history
as Mr. Kooper in his assorted lives as performer, producer, sideman,
songwriter, hustler, author, talent scout, enthusiast, critic and
muse. It's a career so rich, convoluted and at times absurd, you
want someone to find a way to film a rock version of "Zelig" with
Mr. Kooper popping up at almost every bend in the road.

His first big break came at 14 with the Royal Teens, perpetrators of
the 50's novelty number, "Short Shorts." He played twist numbers
with Paul Simon at Chubby Checker-era debutante parties and
wrote "This Diamond Ring," hoping it would be recorded by the
Drifters. (He does an improbably terrific bluesy version of it
today, which can be found on a career retrospective, "Rare & Well
Done.") He bluffed his way, playing an organ he didn't know how to
turn on, into the most famous sideman turn in rock history: the
Hammond B-3 cascades that helped define Mr. Dylan's "Like a Rolling
Stone" and then "Blonde on Blonde."

He was present at the creation of the New York rock scene with the
still beloved Blues Project; concocted perhaps the best rock horn
band ever - the original incarnation of Blood, Sweat and Tears - and
discovered and recorded Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Southern rock avatars.
He played the French horn part at the beginning of the Rolling
Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want" and recorded with
George Harrison the day after John Lennon died.

Now, after spending much of the 90's semi-retired in Nashville, he
is two-thirds blind, a little paunchy but back plugging away, on the
Internet, in two part-time virtuoso bands and, rather amazingly, on
his first solo record of new material in 30 years, a jolt of primal
soul, blues and R&B called "Black Coffee," due out July 12.

It's a little hard to be sure if his story is an uplifting tale of
survival in rock's shark pond or a Darwinian parable in which the
shark always wins. Yes, Mr. Dylan in his book, "Chronicles Volume
One," lamented Mr. Kooper's status in "eternal musical limbo" and
suggested he was "the Ike Turner of the white world" and should have
teamed up with Janis Joplin. No, his new album will not outsell
Coldplay. But he figures it's no small triumph that he has made it
back at all.

"My mantra is, if you don't expect anything, you'll never be
disappointed," said Mr. Kooper, who has the air of an eccentric
English professor, his curly hair thick and gray, his voice given to
odd, owlish inflections. "That's what's kept me sane through my 47
years in the music business."

Mr. Kooper's biggest moment came in 1965 when he was invited to
watch one of Mr. Dylan's recording sessions by the producer, Tom
Wilson. Far too nervy to behave himself, Mr. Kooper arrived early
with his guitar and sat down nonchalantly with the other musicians
until Mr. Dylan came in out of the rain with a young kid who turned
out to be the guitarist Michael Bloomfield. "I never heard anyone
play like that, and he was just warming up," he recalled. "So I went
back to the booth where I belonged."

But when the organist, Paul Griffin, was moved over to the piano
during the recording of "Like a Rolling Stone," Mr. Kooper stole
back down to the organ, picking the song up by ear and laying back
an eighth note with each chord change to make sure he had it right.
His playing became almost as much a part of what may be rock's most
famous song as Mr. Dylan's voice. He was 21.

On "Blonde on Blonde," he joined Mr. Dylan in Nashville, rehearsing
the band, playing Ping-Pong or watching television for hours while
Mr. Dylan furiously scribbled lyrics and then recording all night.
("It was the one time I looked at the music and thought, 'Where my
fingers go is going to be forever.' ") That's mostly him doing the
nutty Salvation Army Band shouting on "Rainy Day Women No. 12 and
35."

He achieved a significant though not all that remunerative sort of
stardom in the 1960's and 70's through his work with Blood, Sweat
and Tears and his "Super Session" album with Mr. Bloomfield and
Stephen Stills. But he never quite duplicated that success on his
own. As a band member, he developed a reputation as something of a
musical martinet, so sure of his own ears that he could be hard to
live with. So after founding Blood, Sweat and Tears, he was kicked
out by the other members, who went on to make what critics have
generally called lousier music but much more money after replacing
him with David Clayton-Thomas.

"It reminded me of 'Frankenstein,' " he said. "I built this monster,
and the monster turned around and killed me for my trouble."

His solo albums never got the critical acclaim the first Blood,
Sweat and Tears one did, and even some admirers admit he is limited
as a singer, but they also say it doesn't matter.

"You get the feeling he would die for rock 'n' roll," said John
Simon, who produced Mr. Kooper, and the first Blood, Sweat and Tears
album as well as Janis Joplin, the Band, Simon and Garfunkel and
others. He almost did in 2001 when he lost most of his vision and
suffered a brain tumor. And there are bittersweet and just plan
bitter notes in Mr. Kooper's tale.

"This business is as rotten to its artists at it was 50 years ago,"
he said. "One of the good things about the Internet is that it has
helped to lessen the power of the record companies. So there's a
little light at the end of the tunnel - these companies might die,
and I hope to be around to attend every funeral."

There's something more than a little eerie about Mr. Kooper, a white
boy who tried to channel Ray Charles, now almost blind himself,
pursuing the old musical truths like the last practitioner of a
dying faith. These days he does radio shows on England's Radio
Caroline and runs a spiffy Web site, alkooper .com, where he
recommends iTunes downloads and has an annotated 100 Best List, full
of succinct rock critic haiku ("Pet Sounds Box Set" No. 1, "Songs
for Swingin' Lovers" No. 2, "Phil Spector Box Set" No. 3, "Music of
Bulgaria" No. 44) that belongs on anyone's 100 Best List of 100 Best
Lists.

Without a string of hits to guarantee bookings, he can't live on
performing. But he plays solo and with two bands: the Funky Faculty,
made up of professors at the Berklee College of Music, and the
Rekooperators, made up of top New York musicians. (He'll be at B.B.
King's Blues Club and Grill with the Funky Faculty on July
13.) "Right now, playing before an audience is the greatest thing in
the world," he said. "In my 60's, it's finally knocked sex out of
No. 1."

And even if it's not likely to make him rich, his new CD offers
primal Blood, Sweat and Tears horns, unexpected mandolins, Ray
Charles homages, a live version of "Green Onions" with crazed
Norwegians shouting along, and a funny, cranky soulful remembrance
of things past called "Going, Going, Gone" that's quintessential
boomer blues.

"When I started, I was probably 10 percent talent and 90 percent
ambition," Mr. Kooper said. "Now I think it's totally reversed. I've
learned a lot of wonderful things, but it's hard to get me out of
the house."

[J.LeP]

Thanks for the article, Super Sessions is still one of my all timers! I have worn out the LP and a cassette. I love turning friends onto this new, for them, music.

[Jahfin]

From RollingStone.com:
http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/ ... on=single1

Legendary musician/producer releases first solo album in almost three decades

Before today, Al Kooper hadn't put out a solo record in twenty-nine years. And it wasn't for a lack of material: The musician/producer had accumulated about 140 songs since his previous album. He cherry-picked his favorites, along with a few choice blues and soul covers, for Black Coffee, released on Steve Vai's Favored Nations.

"Like me in 1972, he is a recording artist who started his own label," Kooper says of Vai. "But I signed Lynyrd Skynyrd. I guess he's not going to be that lucky with me."

In addition to his solo recordings, Kooper has contributed to some of rock's most famed recordings: He played the signature organ riff on Bob Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone," and provided the French horn for the Rolling Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want." He produced Skynyrd's first three albums, as well as records by artists ranging from blues legend B.B. King to New Wavers the Tubes.

A member of the Blues Project in the mid-Sixties, Kooper founded Blood, Sweat and Tears, but he left after 1968's critically acclaimed Child Is Father to the Man. He went on to play sessions with Jimi Hendrix, the Who and George Harrison, and he teamed with guitarists Michael Bloomfield and Stephen Stills to record Super Session (Kooper is currently assembling a Bloomfield box set).

Despite his many successes, the sixty-one-year-old Kooper has had a love/hate relationship with the music business. After releasing 1976's revealingly titled Act Like Nothing's Wrong, he pulled the plug on his solo career, before retiring from the music business altogether in 1989.

Now, the reenergized Kooper is back, and doesn't plan to ever stop playing.

Why did it take nearly three decades to release a new album?

When Act Like Nothing's Wrong came out, at the time it was the best that I could do. United Artists took out a big ad campaign and gave me tour support for a big three-month album tour with a large band, and everything was done right. So I said to myself, "If this doesn't do well, I am going to quit doing this and concentrate on producing records and other things, because I'm just wasting my time." It didn't do well, so I kept my word. In 1989, I left the music business altogether, and, of course, my life was much happier. Then about ten years ago, I had some really good material and my skills had improved, and I wanted to make this album. But I realized that I had painted myself into a corner: from about fifty years old, it's not easy to get a record deal. Through a weird chain of events, I was offered a deal at age sixty, and I went, "Yeah, now I can make that album." And here it is.

Describe the musical evolution between your last album and this one.

I'm the same person, except that I am playing better, I am writing better, and, finally, I got to be a better singer. I have been lambasted over the years for not being a good singer. I feel like I'm learning something every day, and that's a good way to feel when you are this age. When I was in my twenties, I took a lot of chances and wrote very complicated music. As I got older, I stopped doing that, and the music got a little simpler and the lyrics got better.

Why didn't you like the music business?

I didn't belong there. I just was surrounded by a lot of things that always made me uncomfortable -- mostly dishonesty and greed, two things that I am not particularly good at. I kept my eyes open because I saw other artists around me whose windows had shut and they didn't really know it. When I saw that in other people, I thought it was not good and undignified, and I wanted to preserve whatever small amount of dignity I had left after all my years in the music business. I just watched for the time I felt my window had shut, and in 1989 I left L.A. and moved to Nashville. I had to get out of there.

Is there a balancing act of keeping your music fresh and unique but not chasing pop music sounds?

I am the antithesis of that. A long time ago, I decided the music I liked and wanted to play -- old-time soul music, or what they call deep soul music -- so I spent all this time trying to learn how to play it as best I could. That is what I continue to do. I just like so many different kinds of music that they pervade my consciousness.

Tell me about the new song "My Hands Are Tied."

That is a song that I wrote to emulate "You Can't Always Get What You Want," which I was doing live -- mostly because I played on the original record and it was a great key for me to sing in. I wrote it like Sticky Fingers-era Rolling Stones, in that it had horns in it and it was something that I could really picture Mick Jagger singing.

Tell me about "Going, Going, Gone," which you co-wrote with Dan Penn ["The Dark End of the Street," "I'm Your Puppet"].

It's a very personal song about growing old, about how they stop making the things that you like to buy as you get older, until you wake up one day and you are a senior citizen, and they don't make anything that you like.

What is your life like these days?

I had a very tough year in 2001. I lost two-thirds of my sight and also had unrelated brain surgery. Universally in this country, that was a really bad year for everybody. There were a lot of other things that happened to me that were bad -- but I am just glad that I survived everything. I am totally used to my sight situation now, and I can deal with it. I thank God that it wasn't my hands or my ears.

I play as much as I can. I have three ways of performing: One is solo, which is a lot of fun because it gets the frustrated comedian out of me. Then I have two bands, the Funky Faculty, who are all teachers at the Berklee School of Music, where I used to teach. That is the band that plays on this album, and it's been together six years. The other band is the Rekooperators, which is made up of the TV people -- Jimmy Vivino and Mike Merritt [from Late Night With Conan O'Brien] and Anton Fig [from Late Show With David Letterman]. Obviously, we can't play out too much because they are on TV every night. We've been together twelve years and play weekends every once in a while.

Is this the happiest time in your life?

No. Physically, it is very tough. When I turned sixty, I started to feel sixty. The wildest I ever was was in the Seventies, and I was really happy in the Sixties because I felt like I was part of this renaissance of music that was so strong and permeated everybody. Now, I'm just grateful I can live out my years doing what I love. B.B. King is going to play until he goes, and John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters played until they went. And that is what I would like to do.

BEVERLY KEEL