The late Bobby Charles—he was one of the founders of swamp pop—is likely best remembered as the fella who wrote “See You Later, Alligator,” which none other than Bill Haley turned into a smash hit. He’s also the fellow who wrote ”Walking to New Orleans,” which Fats Domino turned into a hit. Bobby Charles was one of those unfortunates who never managed to figure out how to turn their own versions of their own songs into hits.
In Charles’ case, it’s not too hard to figure out why. Charles had a sleepy slur of a voice that is almost indistinguishable from that of Randy Newman’s. And in the studio, Charles kept the stovetop burners down low. He didn’t do electrifying. But if Charles’ voice at first sounds like a criminally laid-back proposition—if a heavy-lidded hound dog could sing, he’d sound like Charles—once you’ve become accustomed to it you’ll want to hear it again and again.
The first couple of times I listened to 1972’s Bobby Charles—which marked Charles’ return to music after a long hiatus—I was underwhelmed. Charles sounds like he just woke up after a long nap, and his songs are as humble as Charles himself. And what makes this aw shucks, ain’t no rock’n’roll hero here pose even more remarkable is that Charles recorded the LP with a veritable who’s who of musical greats, including four members of The Band—Rick Danko coproduced the record and cowrote the wonderful “Small Town Talk”—along with Ben Keith, Billy Mundi, Mac Rebbenack, Amos Garrett, David Sanborn, and I could go on but won’t.
The best thing about the very relaxed Bobby Charles, besides the way it sneaks up on you and steals your heart, is the way the little things tend to jump out at you. Levon Helms’ brilliantly spare drum work never fails to amaze. And the more you listen to the guitar on opening track “Street People,” which covers the same territory as The Band’s “The Shape I’m In,” the more exciting it sounds. On “Long Face” Garth Hudson’s organ work stands out, while Charles makes his case (“You’ve got to give me all the love I want”) in his wonderfully unimpassioned way. The ballad “I Must Be in a Good Place Now” features some lovely piano, and it’s a thing of beauty, the way Charles drawls and slurs his way across the melody. On “Save Me Jesus”—a protest song turned to as low a temperature as humanly possible—Charles sounds like Randy Newman got out of bed one morning and said to hell with irony.
“Small Town Talk” is an unprepossessing swipe at the jealousy and rancor of small town gossipmongers, and opens with some mellow whistling and a keyboard figure that will hypnotize you if you’re not careful. The down low, seventies edition of Eric Clapton could have turned this one into a hit, and why he didn’t remains a mystery. Meanwhile the up-tempo “I’m That Way” is as close as Bobby Charles comes to a rocker, what with Charles telling his lover he’s going splitsville and almost sounding angry, sorta. The piano work is totally hep, man, and Danko’s top of the line bassmanship also shines. Why, the energy level on this one is so high it actually inspires somebody in the recording studio to shout, “Yeah!”
“Tennessee Blues” is lovely, thanks largely to some el primo accordion work by Hudson and Charles’ vocals. What a swamp dog is doing in Tennessee is beyond me, but let it be, let it be. As for “Let Yourself Go” it’s the laziest paean to the joys of sex this side of “Lay Lady Lay.” And the pedal steer guitar is to die for. As for “Grow Too Old,” it’s the LP’s second hardest rocker, what with its great piano, most excellent sax playing by David Sanborn, and bona fide impassioned vocals by the King of Cajun Comatose himself.
Bobby Charles never managed to make much of a dent as a performer, but listening to Bobby Charles has turned me into a froth-mouthed fanatic. The record is a lost masterpiece, and proof positive that Charles was plenty more than just the guy who, as Robbie Robertson said upon introducing him at The Last Waltz, wrote “See You Later, Alligator.” I’ve already begun to check out his earlier work, which includes such immortal tunes as “Take It Easy Greasy,” “Watch It, Sprocket,” and “I’ll Turn Square for You.” But I’m getting off point. What I really want to do is beg you to give Bobby Charles a listen. No, make that five listens. Like me, you are guaranteed to go from underwhelmed to enthralled.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
