Even though he had some hits, Otis Clay never achieved great fame as a soul man. He’s made some fine discs over the years however, and if prime soul circa the early-‘70s fits into your bag, then you may want to check out the reissue of Trying to Live My Life without You. Initially released in 1972 by Hi Records, a definite signifier of soul quality, the LP is currently being offered on vinyl by Fat Possum. Amongst other redeeming qualities, it’s serves as the best representation of his work under the auspices of renowned producer Willie Mitchell.
Though he’s accumulated numerous honors and is still active today, Otis Clay’s career continues to be defined by the records he cut in the 1970s for the Hi imprint of Memphis, Tennessee. And those who recognize Hi as the label responsible for one of the greatest of all soul movers Al Green should have no problem understanding why Clay’s tenure there produced his most famous stuff.
At the time, Green certainly overshadowed every other Hi artist including the consistent hit-maker Ann Peebles, but it’s also undeniable that his massive popularity was simultaneously positive for the roster as a whole. Without it, it’s very unlikely that Clay’s singles there would’ve ended up partially comprising his debut LP.
But if surely a fruitful association, Clay’s relationship with that now storied company has unfortunately not delivered him from the well-populated ranks of underappreciated soul belters. Where the star of his Hi cohort Syl Johnson has steadily risen to the point where he is now accurately described as a cult figure (with a 4CD/6LP Numero Group box set to his credit), the same circumstance has thus far eluded Clay.
Well, except for in Europe and especially Japan, where he’s apparently huge. Backing this up is the fact that the only known compilation of Clay’s early Chicago period, which found him waxing an impressive batch of singles for the label One-derful, derives from the Japanese imprint P-Vine. And that’s a shame, since those 19 tracks, if given wider exposure, would help to magnify his stature considerably.
It’s true that Clay’s knockout ’68 45 for Atlantic subsidiary Cotillion that coupled his assured transformation of the Sir Douglas Quintet’s “She’s About a Mover” with an outstanding reading of “You Don’t Miss Your Water” has been awarded its share of deserving acclaim. And both of its sides lend much insight into Clay’s work.
Doug Sahm obviously had Ray Charles on his mind while creating “She’s About a Mover,” a fact that Clay seizes upon, and in doing so he establishes a dialogue of sorts. It also gives the tune a disposition similar to the adaptations of Beatles and Stones numbers from a far more celebrated Otis. And the likeness to Redding doesn’t stop there, since the flipside assessment of the oft-covered William Bell monster roughly follows the version found on Otis Blue.
Clay’s “You Don’t Miss Your Water” succeeds because like Redding, he embodied a sensibility that’s largely earthy, with his first (and notably, more recent) musical activity belonging to the realm of gospel. Sadly this single and his other two for Cotillion (plus a sole 45 released on the Dakar label) have lacked any kind of methodical retrospective push. It has all been dumped into the vast sea of YouTube clips however, and that’s where one can soak up Clay’s outstanding take of James Carr’s “Pouring Water on a Drowning Man.”
It was while making “Is it Over” for Cotillion that Clay was first produced by the man behind Hi Records’ most prolific and artistically resonant phase, the great Willie Mitchell. That Otis quickly ended up in Memphis is no surprise. If Green’s explosive string of hits ended up as Mitchell’s main focus, he didn’t leave Clay to wither on the vine, with Hi sharing in the artist’s biggest chart success via Trying to Live My Life without You’s title cut.
Over the years Hi has done a swell job of keeping the studio’s catalog easily accessible for soul lovers of subsequent generations, and an enduring partnership with Fat Possum has resulted in a wealth of prime reissue action. The release of this one finds both of Clay’s albums for the label currently available digitally, and even better, on vinyl.
It’s been a little over a year since Clay’s other LP for Hi, ‘77’s I Can’t Take It, first hit the racks. And the reverse chronological order of reissue might lead some to presume that his second platter is the better of the two, but please don’t jump to that conclusion. While there is much to recommend in I Can’t Take It’s nine tracks, it was mainly compiled from leftover sessions (Clay left Hi in ’74 and formed his own Kayvette imprint) and even reprises “Home is Where the Heart is” from the first disc.
As such, the latter record can’t help but connect like a well-intentioned sampler, and one that simply lacks the cohesiveness of Trying to Live My Life without You. However, I will note that half of the ’72 album collects songs from Clay’s early Hi singles, a fact that will no doubt inspire some readers to assume I’m splitting a few hairs.
But again, don’t be so hasty. It might seem in retrospect that Hi’s strategy circa ’72 was to capitalize on “Trying to Live My Life without You”’s rise to #24 on the R&B chart, but since that song made its run late in the year, it’s pretty clear that the LP was issued simultaneous to, or even more likely before, the single. “I Die a Little Each Day” didn’t make it onto 45 until ’73, and in upping the exclusive cuts (at the time) to six, the majority wins.
What’s more important is that all ten of these selections came from a quick spurt of Clay/Mitchell collusion, so if they don’t cohere into a statement as magnificent as Green’s long-players from the time, the tunes still come together pretty nicely. Across the succinct running time Clay’s grittiness, power and range are combined with the punch and spark of the illustrious Hi house band as Mitchell adds just enough sophistication to satisfy the decade’s commercial R&B trends.
The title track is the opener, and it’s an excellent synopsis of the above. For starters there’s the voice, gruff and authoritative, so when the lyrics impart that he used to smoke five packs of cigs a day, well, you kinda believe him. And yet smooth; he does a terrific job of interacting with a trio of femme backup singers, turning an additive that is too often a soul liability into a definite positive.
Then there’s the band, full of assured vibrancy, pushing the festivities along. Leroy Hodges’ drums alone, packed with crisp momentum, are a showcase in how to do things right. But the horn section, which included Stax vets Wayne Jackson on trumpet and Andrew Love on tenor, brings true Southern Soul panache.
Indeed, “Trying to Live My Life without You” is a fine ‘70s extension of the previous decade’s Staxian model, but it was also no throwback. In fact, the song was contempo enough that Bob Seger’s cover rose to #5 on the pop charts in 1980. But a larger element of ‘70s currency comes through the disc’s string arrangements, which derived from James Mitchell, Willie’s brother.
For this writer anyway, the use of strings in a soul/R&B context tends to lessen the overall reward, but in this case they go down pretty easy, chiefly because they are so well-integrated into the whole. “That’s the case with “I Die a Little Each Day,” and especially with side two’s cover of Jackie Moore’s “Precious, Precious.” Mitchell’s contribution is never syrupy, and by the end of the track visions of Van Morrison are dancing in front of my mind’s eye.
I’m talking specifically about Astral Weeks, people. No, “Precious, Precious” doesn’t shoot for the elevated atmosphere of the poetically maudlin like that classic does, but the fleeting similarity in texture is worthy of mention. As is “I Love You, I Need You,” which finds Clay inhabiting a slow, Percy Sledge-like tempo and exploring it for nearly six minutes. Toward the end, Charles Hodges’ bursts of organ are truly magnificent.
That song makes the best case for Trying to Live My Life without You’s standing as an album. While a couple of tracks here are merely very good (e.g. the sing-along pleasantry of “Holding on to a Dying Love,” and the promising but somewhat anticlimactic “I Can’t Make it Alone”) they are balanced by numbers like “Home is where the Heart is,” which was notably Clay’s Hi debut.
That one’s loaded with the singer’s disciplined verve and more of Hodges’ exquisite drumming. The raspy edge in Clay’s voice during “”You Can’t Keep Running from My Love” is also delicious, and to extend an analogy, the Green-like rhythm-hitting of closer “Too Many Hands” is as rich and flavorful as homemade gravy. So if you’re looking to add some meat to your bones, look no further.
As an LP, Trying to Live My Live without You falls a wee margin short of masterpiece level, but as it plays the flashes of brilliance tally more than a few. And frankly, I wouldn’t want to not have any record that finds Clay pleading “please somebody take your hand and slap some sense into me.” It’s a wonderful little moment of soul candor, easily reflective of what makes his music worthwhile. Hopefully the neglect of his earlier material will soon cease, but until then anyone looking for an introduction into the work of Otis Clay should consider this as their first destination.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B+
