Author Archives: Joseph Neff

Living Waters is the fifth full-length record from E, a band with members based in Boston, MA (Thalia Zedek, guitar-bass, and Ernie Kim, drums) and Boulder, CO (Jason Sanford, guitar, electronic devices). The sound is piledriver heavy and the playing spring-action adept, qualities appropriate for this power trio cut from the cloth of noise rock. 35 years ago, E would’ve fit right in on the Touch and Go Records’ roster, but in 2024 their latest is pressed onto vinyl by the Czech label Silver Rocket. Domestically, it’s self-released via Bandcamp, available now.

The heavyweight punch of E’s sound is impressive given that this is Kim’s full-length debut with the band, replacing Gavin McCarthy. On opener “(Fully) Remote” the sound is pummeling yet elastic, precise without faltering into the overly tight. There is strength through unity; Sanford sings lead with a sense of calm while Zedek wails the choruses, and their combined guitars reach far beyond the standard noise rock approach.

For this album, Zedek has added an extra pickup to her guitar and is running it through a separate pedal chain and octave shifter plugged into a bass amp. This effectively allows her to add guitar and bass to E’s scheme at the same time (rather than multi-tracking one of the two later, which lacks spontaneity). Additionally, Sanford continues to be a wiz with electronic devices in service of harnessing guitar distortion and has redesigned his monosequencer, an apparatus (now all-analog) that triggers bass pulses through a stomp box (leaning again into spontaneity).

Sanford’s guitar is also one he built himself, described as a steel-guitar, though he straps it on like a standard electric, dishing out slide scorch that, as said, lands firmly in the noise rock realm; there are no nods to the blues tradition here. Sanford is heard loud and clear in “(Fully) Remote,” but neither Kim nor Zedek take a back seat role as the band fully clicks.

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The Cool Cloud of Okayness is Tara Jane O’Neil’s latest record and her first in seven years, available April 26 on limited vinyl and digital through Ordinal Records. The diverse sonic landscapes that comprise this new album expand on O’Neil’s growth from her post-hardcore and post-rock roots in the Louisville, KY scene of the early 1990s. At times atmospheric, at other moments rhythmically pulsating, and with O’Neil’s vocal and instrumental presence lending cohesiveness to the whole, the set can be described as retro-futuristic but in an invigorating way, avoiding retread. There is also a reinforcement of O’Neil’s strengths as a songwriter and some exploratory guitar that’s classically Californian.

Yes, it’s been seven years since her last full-length album, an eponymous effort in the singer-songwriter style (a first for O’Neil), but she’s been busy collaborating and experimenting all the while, so that The Cool Cloud of Okayness shows no signs of rust. Impacted by and developed during the pandemic and after the Thomas Fire destroyed the Upper Ojai, California home O’Neil and her partner, the dancer and choreographer Jmy James Kidd, shared with their dog, the record was recorded in the home studio built at the site of their loss.

Unsurprisingly, The Cool Cloud of Okayness is a powerful LP, but it’s not overly heavy in emotional terms. The opening title track features a return to the singer-songwriter zone, the mood in this case jazzy-folky, with O’Neil’s singing and strumming, pretty but sturdy, given an injection of hovering slide guitar (described as “guitar ghost notes”) courtesy of Marisa Anderson. Other guest contributors include Meg Duffy of Hand Habits and Duffy x Uhlmann, Sheridan Riley of Alvvays and multi-instrumentalist Walt McClements.

“Seeing Glass” is an immediate shift in gears, tapping into that retro-futuristic vibe mentioned up top. Evoking but not derivative of Stereolab, it’s just as fair to say the track cultivates a vaguely ’70s Germanic vintage analog feel in its use of keyboards. Ambience swells up and dissipates in the gliding transition into “Two Stones,” which begins with a lone looped vocal and a gradual rise of processed guitar from Duffy before the layered rhythm kicks in and O’Neil’s voice reemerges in lyrical mode.

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The smart choices continue in Craft Recordings’ Original Jazz Classics reissue series. The latest entry, out April 26, is Groovy by the Red Garland Trio. Originally released by the Prestige label in 1957, it finds pianist Garland in the stalwart company of bassist Paul Chambers and drummer Art Taylor. This new remastered edition on 180-gram vinyl with a tip-on jacket brings truth to its title.

Going by the title alone might lead to the assumption that Groovy is Red Garland’s attempt to get hip with the R&R generation, knocking out versions of (for instance) “Windy,” a Lennon-McCartney, a Dylan, and with maybe a couple contempo movie themes sprinkled in. Or perhaps the record captures the pianist dabbling in soul-jazz a la Ramsey Lewis or Les McCann or later Horace Silver. Possibly it’s a boogaloo crossover.

But no, no and no; by 1963, Red Garland was essentially retired, at least as a recording artist, at some point returning to his native Texas, reportedly to care for his mother. A few more records with Garland as a leader were released as the ’60s progressed, but they were all collected material from ’62 or before. There was a successful if not especially celebrated ’70s comeback, but the music on which Garland’s reputation rests was cut between 1955-’62 and is primarily focused upon his work in the quintet of trumpeter Miles Davis and sessions with tenor saxophonist John Coltrane.

Garland frequently teamed with bassist Paul Chambers and drummer Philly Joe Jones, with the three designated as “The Rhythm Section.” The praise was specifically bestowed due to their work with Davis, but they also added value to Sonny Rollins’ Tenor Madness and were spotlighted in the title of Art Pepper’s Meets the Rhythm Section.

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Remembering Charles Mingus, born on this day in 1922. —Ed.

Bassist-bandleader-composer Charles Mingus remains one of the most important figures in the history of recorded sound. A jazzman of uncommon versatility, his extensive achievement is deeply linked to a voluminous personality and an occasionally volatile temper. In 1963, as part of a brief, fertile association with Impulse! Records, he waxed The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady; it’s widely rated as the apex of his career, which in turn awards it placement amongst the great moments in 20th century music. A vinyl reissue is out now courtesy of Superior Viaduct.

Please forgive me if I’ve fallen egregiously behind the times, but I continue to perceive the goal of education as more than a factory churning out highly efficient producers brandishing economically useful skills, a mass of graduates left to dodge underemployment in hopes of spending decades in the modern workplace’s existential ditch. But maybe I’m just frightfully naive in considering higher learning as the valiant endeavoring to intellectually engage with generations of individuals, hopefully leaving them at least somewhat prepared for the ups and downs of existence, and potentially armed in adulthood with the knowledge to utilize portions of history’s immense landscape to their advantage.

And not only history but art, which is easily the most disrespected component in contemporary academe. This may come as a shock to anyone aware of the number of art schools, conservatories, and Liberal Arts institutions taking up residence from sea to shining sea, but my observation concerns quality rather than quantity; to get down to the matter at hand, while Charles Mingus’ life and music are far from absent in the educational curriculum, I know of no school offering an extended, intensive course in Mingus Studies.

That’s a shame, for it’s a program of vast possibilities, and though discerning jazz fans might think it contrary to his legacy, the objective wouldn’t be the tailoring of copycat instrumentalists (bluntly, an impossible task) but instead an immersion into reading, writing, discussing, creating, and of course a whole lot of listening.

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Those hankering for an international strain of stripped-down ’60s rock blare should investigate Mejor de Los Nuggetz: ‘60s Garage and Psych. It serves up mucho Spanish language R&R action and arrives on opaque red vinyl just in time for Record Store Day courtesy of Liberation Hall. The bands (and one gal singer) hailed from various locales in Mexico, Spain, and South America. The songs are all covers of rock, R&B, and pop hits from the USA and UK. A few radio station IDs and commercials for cars and cola enhance the weave of a very appealing listen.

Driving home the impact of the Rolling Stones on the ’60 garage rock phenomenon, the Mexican band Los Apson opens Mejor de Los Nuggetz with an echoey, stomping “Satisfacción.” Additionally, the Barcelona-based Los Salvajes are featured with two Stones covers, “La Neurastenia,” an energetic version of “19th Nervous Breakdown” with killer bursts of fuzz, and “Todo Negro,” a reading of “Paint It, Black” that deftly retains the urgency of the original. “Voy Por Ti,” the last song on the album and the second by Los Apson, dishes out Willie Dixon’s “The Seventh Son” in the spirit of the early Stones.

Much of the source material on Mejor de Los Nuggetz derives from the UK. There’s “Nuestra Generación” by Barcelona’s Lone Star, a lean, manic take of The Who’s “My Generation,” while later in the album, Los Belmonts of Mexico City brings “Arriba Abajo Y a Los Lados,” an impressive version of The Yardbirds’ “Over Under Sideways Down.” Later still, Mexico’s Los Matemáticos are heard with “Me Atrapaste,” a ripping run-through of The Kinks’ “You Really Got Me.”

Spain’s Los Mustang’s version of The Beatles’ “Please Please Me” is a crisp chime-pop delight. A few years later and the band had gravitated to the other side of the Atlantic for inspiration with “La Carta,” a take of The Box Tops’ “The Letter” that is faithful to the original as it establishes a growing tendency toward pop.

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Singer, guitarist, and songwriter Ernest Tubb was a groundbreaker and an enduring star in the country music field, charting hits across four decades. Collecting early sessions with his backing band the Texas Troubadours, ORG Music’s Record Store Day 2024 release The World Broadcast Recordings 1944–1945 offers a vivid portrait of Tubb’s emerging talent, its 14 tracks reinforcing the artist as the trailblazer of the style known as honky-tonk. The set is available April 20 in a limited edition of 1,800 copies.

Like most successful musicians, Ernest Tubb struggled to find his footing. Enamored of the great Jimmie Rodgers, Tubb’s first record, cut in 1936 for RCA, was a tribute to the Singing Brakeman. “The Passing of Jimmie Rodgers” was unsuccessful in terms of sales. After a tonsillectomy changed his singing style (and ended his ability to yodel a la Rodgers), Tubb first turned to songwriting before giving performing another shot in a manner far less indebted to his idol.

Cut for Decca in 1941, “Walking the Floor Over You” was Tubb’s first hit and just as importantly is the disc where the honky-tonk subgenre effectively begins. The removal of those tonsils resulted in a sharp vocal twang that helped set the standard for male C&W singers across most of the ensuing 20th century; it’s safe to say that Tubb inspired as many imitators, some becoming major stars in their own right, as Rodgers did himself.

“Walking the Floor Over You” was rerecorded by Tubb numerous times in his career, with the first revisit heard here, from sessions held in Los Angeles at Decca Records in 1944. World Broadcasting System was a subsidiary of Decca that offered recordings direct to radio stations on a subscription basis (rather than selling to record stores) through an exclusive agreement with the musician’s union immediately following the resolution of the recording ban of 1942–1944.

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Somewhere in the Stars by Richard, Cam & Bert brings a healthy serving of late ’60s Greenwich Village folkie flavor to Record Store Day’s spring 2024 festivities, which take place this April 20. Consisting of Bert Lee, Campbell Bruce, and Richard Tucker, vocalists, guitarists, and songwriters all, the set is also positioned at a stylistic crossroads at the dawn of a new decade. Warmly sung and deftly played, the album is limited to 1,200 copies on transparent cherry vinyl tucked into a tip-on jacket with a heavy insert and a DL code, released by the Delmore Recording Society.

Richard Tucker, Campbell Bruce, and Bert Lee recorded a proper LP, but Somewhere in the Stars isn’t it. Cut after the songwriter demos heard on this set, Limited Edition dates from 1970 and is described as something of a private press that was sold mainly at gigs. That album has been reissued, but only digitally, so Somewhere in the Stars is the place to start for vinyl mavens as the contents are quite appealing. Indeed, this album is now the point of entry for anyone intrigued as to how Richard, Cam & Bert fit into the whole ’60s folk shebang.

To avoid burying the lede, Tucker comes to this record with a rather deep connection to Karen Dalton, the pair formerly married and collaborators. “Are You Leaving for the Country,” a Tucker composition, is well known from Dalton’s 1971 classic In My Own Time, and “Sleeping in the Garden” was co-composed by Tucker and Dalton. These songs combine with “Sitting in the Kitchen,” the album’s title track and “Ship” to establish Tucker’s contributions as central to this set but not overshadowing.

“Sitting in the Kitchen,” distinguished on the album by its basic rhythmic accompaniment, is a clear statement of purpose as crowd pleaser, relaxed but crisp with harmonies that might be influenced by the nascent uprising of CSN&Y, but existing on a distinct and more appealing plane. “Are You Leaving for the Country” is also enjoyable if not as strong as Dalton’s version. “Ship,” the last of Tucker’s compositions, is fast paced with group harmonies throughout combined with sturdy strumming and flourishes of deft picking.

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Celebrating Herbie Hancock in advance of his 84th birthday tomorrow. —Ed.

The short description of Herbie Hancock’s gorgeous 1965 LP Maiden Voyage, is that it’s the ’63-’64 Miles Davis Quintet with Freddie Hubbard subbing on trumpet. But as nicely as that reads, it’s actually much more. Hancock’s fifth and best record as leader, to this point it was also his most ambitious, and was additionally something of a rarity in jazz terms; a wildly successful and delightfully peaceful concept album.

Herbie Hancock has had a long and illustrious career, and in tandem with his contribution to the groups of Miles Davis, Maiden Voyage is probably his finest moment. As a look at the personnel relates, the disc is closely tied to Miles’ ‘60’s work, but as a standalone document Hancock’s masterful session equals anything Davis produced in the decade with the exception of the live material from the Plugged Nickel.

Some will disagree and a few will downright scoff at the notion of Maiden Voyage being rated so highly, in part because of its lack of edginess and decidedly refined sensibility. This circumstance extends to the considerable influence Hancock’s record wielded upon subsequent endeavors in the jazz and rock fields, byproducts that span in quality from mediocre to flat-out awful.

But that’s okay. What Maiden Voyage lacks in bluesy grit or fiery abstraction is greatly made up for by boldness of aspiration and a beautifully sustained mood, and as the title track and “Dolphin Dance” have both become late-period jazz standards, a certain percentage of underwhelming interpretations is basically inevitable.

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Voluminous of discography with an unflagging underground spirit, Sunburned Hand of the Man has returned with Nimbus, releasing April 12 on vinyl (black or “big blue”), compact disc, and digital with cover art by Tony Oursler through Three Lobed Recordings. It’s a wide-ranging set packed tight but flowing loose with psychedelic groove jams, post-Beat poetic recitations, and even a delightful folky strummer courtesy of returning member Phil Franklin. Loaded with guitars and rhythm and synths and even mellotron, the album is a fine extension of the Sunburned ethos.

Sunburned Hand of the Man reared to life in mid-’90s Boston, growing out of the deep underground psych-art-scuzz outfit Shit Spangled Banner, but the contracting and expanding troop really hit their grooving-jamming-racket stride in the decade following as part of the burgeoning New Weird America movement (their 2004 CD No Magic Man was released by Bastet, a label associated with Arthur magazine).

Once wildly prolific, with roughly 20 releases coming out in limited editions (mostly CDrs and a few cassettes) in 2008 alone, Sunburned’s output has slowed in recent years, but they’ve still managed to rip multiple CDrs every year in this century so far, some archival, others freshly recorded. Regarding vinyl, Nimbus is a follow-up to Pick a Day to Die, issued in 2021, also by Three Lobed Recordings.

Fluidity of lineup with a solid core is something of a Sunburned constant. Nimbus was recorded last year with Michael Josef K, Matt Krefting, and original member Phil Franklin returning to the fold and fortifying a core of founders John Moloney and Rob Thomas. The other players include Conrad Capistran, Gary War, Shannon Ketch, Wednesday Knudsen, Adam Langellotti, Jeremy Pisani, Taylor Richardson, Ron Schneiderman, and Sarah Gibbons, who’s credited here as making her proper recorded debut with Sunburned.

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The bassist, composer, and bandleader Moppa Elliott is best known for his playing in the wildly inventive ensemble Mostly Other People Do the Killing, but his creativity is manifest in various other groups, including the quintet Advancing on a Wild Pitch and the nonet Acceleration Due to Gravity. Both have new LPs out now via Elliott’s Hot Cup label. On Disasters, Vol. 2, the five-piece delivers a warm and deep straight-ahead set of Elliott originals, and on Jonesville, an album inspired by bassist Sam Jones, the nine-piece group offers a wilder compositional ride. They are rewarding both singly and considered together.

Released in 2022, Disasters, Vol. 1 was recorded by Mostly Other People Do the Killing in a trio configuration of Elliott, pianist Ron Stabinsky and drummer Kevin Shea, with Stabinsky and Shea doubling on Nord electronics. Across that record, Stabinsky’s piano establishes Elliott’s “inside” compositional core as the bassist’s foundation is supple but sturdy. Shea’s frequently explosive drumming sends the record down a less conventional path. The electronics ensure Disasters, Vol. 1 won’t be mistaken for any other album.

As stated above, Disasters, Vol. 2 is a more straight-ahead affair, though it thrives on toughness of execution, in part through the choice of baritone sax, played by Charles Evans, and trombone, played by Sam Kulik. Alongside Elliott, pianist Danny Fox and drummer Christian Coleman round out the band. Two compositions “Marcus Hook” and “Dimock” return from the first volume; as on the prior set, all of the pieces are named after “towns in Pennsylvania that experienced historical disasters.”

Through an underlying disdain for conventionality, Advancing on a Wild Pitch brings the descriptor straight-ahead into question across Disasters, Vol. 2 in a manner that’s a bit reminiscent of Charles Mingus. Not surprising given Elliott’s chosen instrument, but the feel is based more in the horns recalling Jerome Richardson and Jimmy Knepper. As in Mingus’ work, there’s a boldness in both ensemble play and soloing here that suggests an affiliation with the avant-garde without ever embodying it.

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Remembering Carl Perkins, born on this date in 1932. —Ed.

Carl Perkins was one of the major shakers in the peak period of Sun Records, and these days he gets his due mostly as an architect of classic rockabilly. In that regard, one of his many hits compilations will provide an accurate if not comprehensive analysis. To get a taste of the full-blown ‘50s Perkins experience however, one will need to dig a little deeper, and seeking out the 1988 LP Honky Tonk Gal is an excellent choice.

Many outstanding recordings were made in the USA in the decade immediately following the Second World War, but at the top of the heap are a few truly indispensable documents. Amongst them can be found Charlie Parker’s master takes for Dial and Savoy, the high lonesome sound of Bill Monroe’s Blue Grass Boys as captured by Columbia and Decca, Muddy Waters’ electrification of the Delta in Chess Studios, and perhaps inappropriately since it compiled 6 LPs worth of material from prewar 78s, the Anthology of American Folk Music as issued by Folkways.

But if an outlier, I’ll stump passionately for that Harry Smith-compiled doozy. On top of being one of the few multi-disc sets that can be listened to in its entirety without a hint of exhaustion, it just as importantly established a disparate songbook that’s continued to influence music right up to this very minute. And the icing on the cake is how the inspired assemblage of a bohemian painter (and record collector!) integrated American folksong two years before the Supreme Court handed down their unanimous blow to the ugliness of segregation with the Brown v. Board of Education decision.

And that relates pretty well to Samuel Cornelius Phillips and his Memphis Recording Service, later known more famously as Sun Records, a small business concern that was really on a creative mission in loose disguise. It was also the cradle of some extremely essential postwar music. For instance, Jackie Brenston’s “Rocket 88,” considered by some to be the first rock ‘n’ roll song. Or that behemoth of the blues The Howlin’ Wolf, who delivered his first sides there. And by the mid-‘50s it was where a bunch of poor white cats, to borrow a phrase from the mouth of Presley, got real real gone for a change.

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California-based tenor saxophonist Harold Land had a long and versatile recording career both as a sideman and as a leader. Of the latter albums, The Fox, first released in 1960, is widely considered to be his best; it sees reissue on 180 gram vinyl April 12 as part of Craft Recordings’ ongoing Contemporary Records Acoustic Sounds Series. It is an album defined by sturdy ensemble play, inspired soloing, and a multifaceted backstory. We delve into it all below.

On The Fox, Harold Land and his assembled crew tear into the opening title track with such energy that it sounds like the year is not 1959 (this set, an early producer credit for David Axelrod, was recorded in August of that year) but 1949, infused as it is with uncut “get the no-talent scrubs off the bandstand” bebop verve.

1949 was the year Land debuted as a leader on record, cutting “San Diego Bounce” b/w “I’ll Remember April” by the Harold Land All-Stars, a 78rpm disc issued by the Savoy subsidiary Regent. That record’s vintage means Land was firsthand witness to the angular intensity of the original bebop era, though “San Diego Bounce” isn’t bop but a potent strain of instrumental R&B.

Land’s rise in stature included a lengthy stint performing and recording with the Clifford Brown/Max Roach Quintet, a key group in the refinement of hard bop in the mid-1950s. Following the end of that band due to trumpeter Brown’s untimely death in a car accident, Land joined the outfit of bassist Curtis Counce, a move that first brought him into the sphere of Contemporary Records, where Counce recorded and Land cut his debut LP, Harold in the Land of Jazz in 1958.

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Remembering Merle Haggard in advance of his birthdate tomorrow. —Ed.

Merle Haggard is a man who needs no introduction. His music, however, is best served by a thoughtful entry-point that reflects his emergence as one of country music’s truly singular figures. As the first LP he recorded with his estimable backing band the Strangers, it’s not the only Haggard record you’ll need, but it does establish the beginnings of a very fruitful period and essays with precision the attributes that make him such a valuable artist.

Along with Buck Owens, Merle Haggard was a principal architect of the Bakersfield Sound, a strain of country music rooted in the ‘50s that broke big in the following decade, providing an alternative to the Nashville Sound that was dominating the C&W charts during the era. Calling it the original Alt-Country will make many folks wince, but it’s not that far off the mark. For in eschewing the syrupy string sections, overly polite backing singers and general pop slickness of the Nashville Sound, a production-driven style that later morphed into a movement called Countrypolitan, the Bakersfield musicians were retaining the glorious essence of Honky-Tonk (a form derived from the work of Jimmie Rodgers, Western Swing-man Bob Wills, and Hank Williams) that prevailed on the C&W charts during the ‘50s.

Classic Honky-Tonk was exemplified by such major cats as Ernest Tubb, Webb Pierce, Hank Locklin, Lefty Frizzell, and a little later on George Jones, and it was a band music that flourished on the stages of the very clubs that named it. While the early years of the Bakersfield Sound overlap that of Honky-Tonk, by the ‘60s and its national breakout through Owens and Haggard, it was appropriately assessed as a reaction against the pop sensibilities of a city that in 1960 was designated as the USA’s second biggest record producing center.

If the Nashville Sound developed into Countrypolitan, the Bakersfield thing also continued to thrive, influencing contemporaneous work from important artists like Johnny Paycheck and setting the stage for the Outlaw movement of the ‘70s. It also touched both The Beatles and The Stones and was a crucial ingredient in the creation of both country-rock and the stuff we now indeed categorize as Alt-Country.

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On April 5, Mississippi Records delivers an absolute gem to seekers of prime African heat as they reissue the eponymous 1973 album by Mali’s Rail Band. Spiked with Afro-Cuban richness and relentlessly funky, the record sells for hundreds of dollars in original form when a copy miraculously becomes available. Mississippi’s edition, on black or transparent blue vinyl, is far more affordable and is no less moving a listen.

As detailed on the cover, the Rail Band was the house act at the Buffet Hotel de la Gare in Bamako, the capital of Mali. Formed through sponsorships by the country’s Ministry of Information and Railway Administration, the bandstand was in the bar of the Buffet, a station hotel, located near the railway, hence the group’s name. The five gigs a week were long (reportedly 2pm until late), but that much playing led to the striking ensemble cohesion heard on this record.

The first Rail Band album, Orchestre Rail-Band de Bamako was released in 1970 on Mali Music, a label directly funded by the Ministry of Information. It was reissued on vinyl by Mississippi back in 2011. That set documents a band that was already sharp. Rich with jazzy horn wiggle, the sound glides as much as it grooves, though there is no shortage of rhythmic potency throughout.

By 1973, the Rail Band was a well-oiled engine of funk combustion. Initially issued by RCAM (stands for Rail Culture Authentique Mali), this self-titled second LP stands amongst the finest African sounds of its decade. Yes, that’s a bold statement given the diversity of the continent’s output in those ten years, but the Rail Band’s stylistic hybridization elevates them to top tier.

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For some, Bruce Cockburn needs no introduction. However, just as many (maybe more) are unfamiliar with the persevering Canadian singer-songwriter’s talents, a reality Tompkins Square’s Josh Rosenthal fully understands. Rather than leave this deficiency unaddressed, James Toth Presents… Imaginational Anthem Vol. XIII – Songs of Bruce Cockburn arrives April 5 on LP, CD, and digital. Featuring nine readings of Cockburn songs by an impressive cohort of contemporary indie artists including Jerry David DeCicca with Bill Callahan, Powers Rolin Duo, Wet Tuna, and the set’s curator in the duo Armory Schafer, the album is poised to enlighten newbies while satisfying longtime Cockburn fans.

In the notes to this worthwhile set, Josh Rosenthal lays out his reasons for following up Imaginational Anthem Vol. XII, a multi-artist tribute to the late guitarist Michael Chapman, with a similar goodwill gesture. In short, it pertained to a nagging disrespect to Cockburn through oversight from a listenership that’s clued into a younger, edgier, and more indie-aligned scene.

It bears mentioning that Cockburn is a certifiably huge deal in Canada, as knowledge of his artistry has also spread elsewhere. While never as big in the USA as he was at home, Cockburn’s songs were once heard on stateside commercial rock radio. But as the decades have passed, the guy’s stature has seemed to diminish even as he’s remained active.

Rosenthal puts the blame in part on the lack of championing from tastemaker musicians. It’s an assertion that resonates as accurate. I’ll add that Cockburn’s never been a darling of critics the way that some purely instrumental fingerpickers and folky singer-songwriters were and are. And unlike the recordings of those more celebrated names (say, Fahey, Jansch, Hardin, Cooder), Cockburn’s stuff pre-Dancing in the Dragon’s Jaws was pretty scarce in the bins new or used, at least in more suburban areas of the USA.

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